#i miss her so bad its unreal

[peppermintlark]

Sorry I sometimes go mad with nostalgia and reblog a bunch of sexygirlmax2019 posts do you still think I'm hot

[transbeeduo]

thinking about spinel su for the first time in literal years im gonna throw up

[ceeaann]

Opposite Attract !? — Being the Total Opposite of Them

Characters - Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Content - 2k words, hcs, contrasting personality pairings, light angst, possessiveness & protectiveness, established & developing relationships, tender moments, playful banter, mutual (and one-sided) yearning, conflicting morals & values, opposites-attract themes, soft/domestic interactions, power struggles, emotional vulnerability, implied past trauma, affectionate teasing, mild language.

A/N - hi im back haha... this one is a rlly short one cuz im writing smth amazing right now huehue (its sooo good trust ill be posting it in a few days)

— Vi

-You met Vi by accident—wrong place, wrong time, and before you even realized what was happening, she had already handled it.

-"You wouldn’t last a damn second down here, sweetheart."

-At first, she thought you were just another fragile little thing that needed protecting. And at first, you thought she was dangerous.

-(You were right. But not to you.)

-Vi teases you constantly.

-"You’re just so soft, babe. It’s unreal."

-"You say that like it’s a bad thing."

-She grins. "Nah. I like it."

-You try to keep her out of trouble. It never works.

-"Vi, maybe we should think this through."

-"Uh-huh. Lemme know how that goes while I punch this guy."

-"VI—"

-Dating Vi is terrifying.

-"Hey, babe, funny story—I may have started a bar fight." "Vi." "Before you say anything, I won."

-She lives to fluster you.

-"You always get so shy when I call you babe. S’cute." "I—I do not!"

-Vi leans in. "Oh yeah? So if I called you sweetheart right now, you wouldn’t get all shy on me?"

-"...Shut up."

-"That’s what I thought."

-You’ve seen her throw herself into fights for you without a second thought.

-"Vi, stop, you’re bleeding!"

-"They started it."

-"That doesn’t mean you have to finish it!"

-She smirks, wiping blood from her lip. "Sweetheart, that’s exactly what it means."

-But then, one time, you actually hit someone.

-Vi had the guy handled—had him cornered, already mid-swing—until he lunged at you.

-And you punched him.

-The guy went down.

-You stood there, wide-eyed, clutching your fist like you couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

-Vi just stared.

-Then, slowly, she grinned.

-"Well, damn, babe."

-"I—"

-She grabbed your wrist, turning it over to check for damage.

-"You throw a punch like that again, and I might just marry you."

-You turned scarlet.

-Vi never let you live it down.

-"Hey, babe, remember that time you punched a guy?"

-"Vi, stop."

-"Nah, seriously, you were terrifying. I was quaking."

-"I am never doing that again."

-She grinned. "Yeah, yeah. Talk to me after your second punch."

-You keep her grounded. She keeps you wild.

-Balance.

— Caitlyn

-Caitlyn despises rule-breakers. So naturally, she fell in love with you.

-You flirted while she was cuffing you, calling her “Officer Cutie.” She pretended not to care, but her ears were so red.

-You broke out of jail just to see her again.

-"You're breaking the law."

-"You're breaking my heart."

-You treat laws like suggestions. Caitlyn treats them like the word of God.

-"No, you cannot bribe an officer, that’s illegal."

-"Then why do they take the money?"

-"YOU’RE MISSING THE POINT."

-Caitlyn has arrested you multiple times, but at this point, it’s just flirting.

-"Back again, officer?"

-"Maybe if you stopped committing crimes, I wouldn’t have to keep arresting you."

-She gets so flustered when you flirt with her.

-"I swear, you’ll be the death of me."

-"Aw, Cait, don’t be dramatic. You’d look so good in mourning black, though."

-You show up at crime scenes just to mess with her.

-"Fancy meeting you here, Sheriff."

-"WHY are you here?"

-"Moral support. Also, I may or may not have stolen some evidence. Oops."

-First kiss? During a heated argument about morality. You kissed her just to shut her up, and she froze.

-“You—you can’t just do that!”

-“Why not? Worked, didn’t it?”

-Caitlyn is constantly exasperated with you, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

-She scolds you like a mother but spoils you like a lover.

-“One day, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

-“Yeah? But at least I’ll look hot doing it.”

-She has never sighed so much in her life.

-You love making her break the rules. One time, you convinced her to steal a single piece of candy from a store.

-She acted like she personally had doomed Piltover.

-"I CAN NEVER SHOW MY FACE HERE AGAIN."

-"Cait, it was literally a mint."

-"A stolen mint."

-She once caught you doing something very illegal and instead of arresting you, she sighed and went, "Just… don’t do it again."

-That’s when you knew she was doomed.

— Jinx

-You the embodiment of "calm down."

-Jinx the embodiment of "I will not calm down."

-The moment Jinx met you, she immediately decided you were her favorite person.

-You did not agree.

-"So, you’re all serious and broody, huh? Like, all ‘I have a tragic backstory, don’t talk to me’?"

-"No, I just don’t enjoy explosions."

-"Pfft, sounds like a tragic backstory to me."

-Jinx tests your patience daily.

-She steals your things just so you’ll chase her.

-"Jinx, give me back my book."

-"Make me, serious-face."

-You tackle her.

-You are the ONLY person who can calm her down.

-You’re incredibly patient with her. No matter how chaotic she gets, you never push her away.

-That scares her. She’s used to people getting tired of her. But you never do.

-The first time she has a breakdown in front of you, she expects you to leave.

-Instead, you just wrap your arms around her and hold her. No words, no judgment.

-Jinx never admits it, but that’s the moment she realized she’s completely in love with you.

-You always pull her out of danger, even when she insists she doesn’t need help.

"Baaabe, I totally had it handled." "Jinx, you were literally on fire." "Okay, but—" "No."

-Jinx is determined to break through your stoic exterior.

-“C’mooon, just smile for me once, yeah? Bet you’d be real pretty when you do.”

-The first time you genuinely laughed at her joke, she melted.

-She was obsessed with making you laugh after that.

-First kiss? She literally caught you off guard mid-sentence and ran away laughing.

-“You should see your face, babe! Priceless.”

-You are the definition of opposites attract.

-You keep her sane, and she keeps you... un-boring.

— Sevika

-Sevika thought you were too soft for the world she lived in.

-“People like you? They don’t last long down here.”

-“Then I guess you’ll just have to protect me.”

-You weren’t scared of her. That pissed her off.

-But she couldn’t ignore the way you made her feel—like maybe, just maybe, not everything in the world was awful.

-You tended to her wounds without question, never expecting anything in return. That scared her more than anything.

-"I can do it myself."

-"Yeah, well, you weren’t, so sit still."

-Sevika would kill for you.

-You’re the only person she’s soft with, and everyone notices.

-“She’s different when she’s with you.”

-“Nah, she’s just scary in public.”

-You make her believe in something more than survival.

-And damn it, she loves you for that.

-If anyone even breathes wrong near you, Sevika is already cracking her knuckles.

-You're basically her emotional support human, and she has no idea how she ended up this soft.

— Viktor

-Viktor never thought he had time for love. He had science. That was all that mattered.

-And then you came along.

-At first, he brushes off your romantic nature as a distraction.

-But then he catches himself listening to you.

-You talk about dreams, about passion, about things beyond logic, and—damn it—he likes it.

"You’re ridiculous," he murmurs, watching you twirl around his lab with a dreamy expression. "And yet, you keep me around." "...Yes. A mistake, clearly."

-It’s not a mistake. He’s doomed.

-You force him to take breaks, dragging him away from his work despite his protests.

"Viktor, have you eaten today?" "I consumed knowledge." "That’s not food." "It is intellectually nourishing." "You’re ridiculous."

-You leave little notes on his desk when he’s too busy to talk. "Reminder: You’re brilliant and I love you." "Reminder: You need sleep, you absolute workaholic." "Reminder: I’m kissing you later, whether you like it or not."

-He pretends they’re a nuisance, but he keeps every single one.

-The first time you kiss him, he’s so flustered he forgets how to speak.

-"I—uh—hmm—well—" "Oh my god, Viktor, just kiss me back."

-He does. And once he starts? He doesn’t stop.

-Viktor is completely enchanted by you. He never knew love could feel this… effortless.

-"You’re a distraction," he mutters one night, watching you ramble about constellations.

-"A good one?"

-"The only one."

— Jayce

-Jayce is used to people either admiring him or challenging him outright. He’s not used to you.

-You don’t hang on his every word.

-You don’t take his charm at face value.

-You argue. You push back. You challenge him.

-And damn it, you’re good at it.

-"You know, most people find me charming."

-"Most people have low standards."

-"Wow. Remind me why I keep you around?"

-"Because you love the abuse."

-He swears you’ve made it your life’s mission to challenge every idea he has. And worse? You’re smart. He can’t even dismiss you because you actually make good points.

-"This is the best approach."

-"No, it’s the most convenient approach."

-"Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a breakthrough invention?"

-"No, but I have common sense."

-"...Touché."

-He swears he hates debating with you, but the way his eyes light up every time you challenge him? Yeah. He loves it.

-At some point, your arguments stop being about proving each other wrong and start being about understanding each other.

-You’re not impressed by his title, his status, or the way people look up to him. You’re only impressed when he actually earns it.

-That makes him work for it. Not because he has anything to prove, but because he likes knowing he can meet you at your level.

-Jayce flirts like it’s second nature. With most people, it’s effortless. With you? It’s a goddamn battlefield.

-"Come on, admit it. You like me."

-"I tolerate you."

-"You love me."

-"I love watching you struggle."

-"Same thing."

-He’s never had to work so hard for someone’s attention, and it kills him. But the first time you actually soften toward him? It’s over for him. Completely.

-He’s never wanted something so badly in his life. And it’s not just because of the chase. It’s because you make him better.

-You don’t just challenge his ego—you challenge his ideals. You make him think. You make him question things he’s taken for granted.

-And despite all the teasing, all the stubborn back-and-forth, all the arguments? He’s never felt more alive than when he’s with you.

-The first time he kisses you, it’s because you’ve finally pushed him past his breaking point.

-"You’re so—"

-"I swear, Jayce, if you—"

-And then he’s kissing you. Hard.

[landoslvr]

MRS CLARKEY | g. clarke

summary: a scroll through your internet presence as 'mrs clarkey'. [social media AU.]

pairing: fem!reader x george clarke

faceclaim: steph hui

notes: first piece for mrs george out of the wag universe. steph is gonna be the main fc I use for mrs clarkey, hopefully you like it! this is the longest one I've done so far.. definitely want to do a fic for their first meeting and for the useless hotline podcast- maybe even the ski trip!

liked by user, user and 37,923 others

yourinstagram happy halloween 💋💋

view all 281 comments

user you're literally so hot y/n

user I want to be you so bad

user how can I look like that

user jeez u flexible or something baby?

user the dress? the hair? the makeup??? unreal

yourinstagram thank you!! I did it myself xxx

user shes godly

user have fun tonight!!

user she's the only girl I know to have an impromptu photoshoot and then go out drinking

yourinstagram gotta take the outfit for a spin!!!

liked by chrismd10, arthurtv and 58,283 others

georgeclarkeey you should've seen the other guy!

view all 198 comments

user george wth

user its the vomit on the cheerleading outfit for me

chrismd10 looking good mate

wroetoshaw nice eyebrow....... eyebrow singular

georgeclarkeey yes I got that thank you

user AS IF Y/N FOUND HIM ON HER NIGHT OUT

user I KNOW!! I came from her tweets after everyone tagging this guy

chrismd10 you getting referred to as 'this guy' on your own post is so funny to me

georgeclarkeey well, you're huge aren't you?

arthurtv loving the new look mate

user waiting for y/n to join the comments 🫣

user me too 😶😶

yourinstagram its great to know what you look like with both of your eyebrows george! a pleasure to have met you, despite the circumstances...

georgeclarkeey my left eyebrow was too intimidated by seeing betty boop in the flesh it ran away!

user my heart 😭

liked by georgeclarkeey, max_balegde and 37,192 others

yourinstagram went on the useless hotline podcast this week to talk about me saving the george clarke! thank you very much for having me boys 🤍

view all 302 comments

user she's just so pretty

user as if model queen y/n saved youtuber george clarke 😭 not over that at all

georgeclarkeey always a pleasure, you're welcome back anytime you feel like scraping me off of the pavement

yourinstagram anytime you need me, I'll be there to call the ambulance

user LOVE that coat

georgeclarkeey also feeling something.. or someone.. is missing from this post?

yourinstagram idk what you want from me here clarke

max_balegde ahhhhhh!!!!!! such a pleasure to meet the woman that singlehandedly saved my co-host from death <3 thanks so much for coming on, martini besties for life now

yourinstagram call me anytime you need multiple olives!!!

max_balegde three olives, extra dry!!

user stop I hope they all stay friends 😭

liked by georgeclarkeey, chrismd10 and 39,219 others

yourinstagram casual 'saved your life/face' dinner post

view all 331 comments

user nahhhhhhhhh because this is a date

user y/n looks so good 😭😭

user lets not ignore George Clarke wearing something other than a t-shirt

chrismd10 impressed you managed to get him in slacks!

georgeclarkeey your mum brought them for me

user THAT DRESS

user I just wanna be you y/n

user George has major cake its not funny

max_balegde literally should be criminal

georgeclarkeey you saved my life I am eternally grateful

yourinstagram 👽👽👽

liked by georgeclarkeey, chrismd10 and 40,938 others

yourinstagram visiting the mountain tops with some new friends x

view all 370 comments

user bitch we know that's george clarkey, fess up

max_balegde the love of my life really tbh, you look sooooo good

yourinstagram max I'll cry

user drop the link for the jackets!!

user that is george clarke's watch missy

user so you just so happen to be on a ski trip at the same time at george and his friends?????????? coincidence? I think NOT

user I know george is using ever fibre of his being not to comment on this right now

liked by yourinstagrm, miniminter and 59,902 others

georgeclarkeey there's 'snow' way it's this cold in the mountains

view all 286 comments

user Y/N TAKE OF THE SKI MASK COWARD

user we literally know it's her

chrismd10 handsome fellas

user literally just tell us you're dating guys

wroetoshaw high altitude my friend

user love these pics of the boys together

arthurtv distinguished skiers and snowboarders

charliehutchens really good ones too

user do you think y/n had to throw her phone out of her hotel room to stop herself from commenting?

user yes, yes I do

liked by georgeclarkeey, wroetoshaw and 37,981 others

yourinstagram out and about ✈️🗺️

view all 320 comments

user should we tell y/n that she posted a picture of George in the 4th slide and then proceeded to cut his head out of the 6th one????

user let her live in peace I guess???

user wow, no one is immune to stupidity these days 😭

user can't believe they took her so young :(

georgeclarkeey you're not getting that poster back

yourinstagram if you do not return my harry styles poster I will sue

georgeclarkeey I am best friends with a real legit lawyer, so good luck with that love

user LOVE???? LITERALLY JUST PUNCH ME IN THE FACE NEXT TIME GEORGE

liked by yourinstagram, stephentries and 61,192 others

georgeclarkeey chris informed us that you all know we're dating so no more discreet photo dumps I guess?

view all 401 comments

user DISCREET WHERE?

user WAR IS OVERRRRRR

user quick everyone act like we didn't see this shit coming

user the way he tried to do her dirty in the last 3 pics but he literally can't

user she's just so pretty

user I wanna be her

max_balegde mrs clarkey!!!!!!

yourinstagram !!!!!

chrismd10 you're so welcome mate

user she's so gorgeous

user kills me

user george x y/n girlies won today

yourinstagram 🤍🤍🤍 love you big stupid idiot 🤍🤍🤍 once I posted the invisalign it was over..

georgeclarkeey guys gotta eat

liked by georgeclarkeey, arthurfhill and 43,938 others

yourinstagram casual 'I can finally post my boyfriend' post!!!!

view all 493 comments

user guys I love today

user this makes me so happy

chrismd10 the power of drunken lime bike rides!

yourinstagram thank you lime bikes

user the alien picture kills me

max_balegde can't wait to have you back on the pod as mrs clarkey

yourinstagram a promotion, for me???

user george is so cute, I envy y/n!

arthurtv it's about time tbh

user I've been waiting for this one

georgeclarkeey was worth losing half of an eyebrow I guess

yourinstagram maybe the eyebrows were the friends we made along the way?

[writingstoraes]

hello! for the ig imagine, can i request charles with a medical student reader? maybe she's in her final year before residency and even though charles has no clue about medic he still tries to help her with studying. thank you!

patient 🩺

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!medstudent!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: whew being a pre med student ngl this fueled my delusions a lil (jk) anyway i hope u like this, anon 🤍 thank you so much for requesting! i also tried to stick with ig posts since its been so long since i did one thats mostly ig posts hehe

about: supportive charles and his future doctor of a girlfriend!

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez, franciscagomes, and 21,991 others

yourusername officially on my last hospital duty before graduation! can't believe i have spent 4 tiring yet meaningful years of medical school, still feels unreal. couldn't have done it without the love and support of the people i hold dear to me 🤍

charles_leclerc So proud of you, amoùr 😘 Je n'ai jamais douté de toi. I never doubted you

yourusername thanks for being my first patient, baby <3

pascale_leclerc Congratulations, dear! We miss you!

carlossainz55 The group finally has a doctor! That means unlimited recklessness 😎

pierregasly Remember how we always wanted to try riding a bike on the roof

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, arthurleclerc, carlossainz55, and 50,223 others

yourusername a seperate appreciation post for the love of my life — who's witnessed all my lowest lows and highest highs. despite his own busy schedule, he still managed to fetch me from uni/hospital, prepare breakfast for me, and even help me study.

i guess i owe you a ton for all the cancelled dates and postponed plans, charles_leclerc? 💋

ps. the second picture is charles asleep on my shoulder after he helped me study three subjects for a major exam that went on for HOURS. i think i underestimated just how much he loves me :)

carlosluvr GOD i need me a charles right now its bad enough my pre med is killing me

hamiltonmerc Charles out here setting standards ridiculously high there really is just one of him huh 🤨

charles_leclerc Would do anything for you and you know that ❤️ (Honestly got to a point where I memorized some of what you were studying)

carlossainz55 Woah there Mr. Doctor?

charles_leclerc I think I can give you an injection now, mate 😄

carlossainz55 No thanks I still love my life

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen, arthurleclerc and 1,445,211 others

charles_leclerc So incredibly lucky to be with someone as intelligent and hardworking as you. I promise to be with you every step of the way in full support and ready to shower you with love ❤️

Kinda afraid of needles but if you need to practice, I'm always available. Wake me up when you need someone to quiz you or make you coffee. I love you even when you're frustrated when you're practicing your sutures.

tagged: yourusername

charlossf23 You're telling me Y/N has Charles and all I got from medical school was anxiety

yourusername still need you when i study for the boards

charles_leclerc Working on the flashcards already, chèrie 😘

supermaxmax THE FLASHCARDS ARE SO REAL

pierregasly Carlos and I are on the roof tell Y/N to bring her medical supplies

yourusername please get down from there

charles_leclerc added to his instagram story!

-------

tagging: @slytherheign

notes: god pre med is hard wish i had someone like charles 😔 i hope you liked this, anon! thank you so much for reading 🤍

[foreverisntenough]

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 5- 'Maybe' | 'Aperture'

word count - 11.3k

[Run For The Hills - Tate McRae]

The bathroom was impossibly vast, its marble stretching endlessly beneath your bare feet, cold and grounding against the remnants of heat still pulsing through your body. You lost count of the orgasms and couldn’t count the number of positions. Lust had combusted in the bedroom on the other side of the closed door behind you. But here, the dim, ambient light casted a soft glow over everything, making the room feel dreamlike, unreal. Maybe that’s what this was—some fever dream of pleasure and recklessness, a moment suspended outside of time where nothing else mattered but the way he felt, the way he touched you, the way he ruined you.

But now, in the quiet, in the aftermath, it was just you and your reflection. You gripped the edge of the vanity, its smooth stone cool beneath your fingertips as you studied the girl in the mirror. You looked like you had just been fucked. Thoroughly, deliciously, sinfully so. Your hair was an untamed mess, the strands falling over your shoulders, a testament to the hands that had tangled in them, gripping, tugging, holding you where he wanted. Your mascara had smudged just beneath your lower lash line, little shadows of intensity left in the wake of the night. Your lips—God, your lips—were swollen, their color worn at the edges from too many kisses, from the way he had claimed your mouth like he owned it. You sighed, exhaling slowly, and when your gaze met itself again, something shifted. You didn’t just look like you’d had sex—you looked like you’d had the best fucking sex of your life. Your skin was still flushed, glowing with a warmth that came from something far deeper than physicality. A secret little curl played at the edges of your mouth, an unspoken memory lingering there. Your collarbone was marked with the remnants of his lips, the evidence of where he had worshipped you, where he had let his hunger leave a trail of whispered promises on your skin. And yet… You reached for the faucet, turning it on just to fill the silence, the sound of rushing water a poor distraction for the storm raging inside you. You cupped some in your hands, pressing the coolness to your face, letting it run down your neck, hoping it might wash away the contradictions tightening in your chest.

Because you felt alive—a feverish, aching buzz humming beneath your skin, a lingering echo of pleasure still fluttering in your belly. But with it came the sharp edge of fear, slicing through the warmth like a cruel afterthought. You felt like you wanted to fall in love with him. And you felt like you wanted to run away and never look back. You felt like you were special—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he whispered your name like it was sacred. But maybe… maybe you were just one of many. Maybe this was all a game he had mastered, a perfect performance, the same script he’d rehearsed with others before you. You felt taken care of, but was that just part of the act? Worst of all, you felt beautiful. And God help you—you were praying that wasn’t just a lie to get what you had already given.

Trent rolled onto his back, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The sheets were warm, tangled around his legs, still carrying the remnants of your body heat. His chest rose and fell steadily, but his mind was anything but calm. He didn’t reach for his phone. That was unusual. Normally, this would be the part where he disconnected—checked out, let the high fade, let the distance settle before it ever had the chance to turn into something real. But instead, he stayed here, rooted in the moment, yet floating somewhere far away. Because this didn’t feel like usual. Not one bit. And yet, somehow, this felt more real than anything ever had. His fingers grazed absently over the sheets where you had just been, tracing the lingering warmth next to him, the ghost of your presence still imprinted there. His arm outstretched and the scariest bit was that he wished you were there. He used to let out a sigh of relief when a girl left the bed. He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling, unraveling into something that felt dangerously close to too much. The past few hours had been—fuck, what had they been? The best he’d ever felt.The best sex of his life. But more than that, something had shifted, something deep and terrifyingly unguarded. For the first time in a long time—maybe ever—he had felt seen. Understood. Not just for his body, not just for what he could give, but for something beyond all that. The way you looked at him, the way you touched him—it was like you weren’t just taking from him, like you were giving too, like you wanted him, not just the idea of him. And that scared the shit out of him. Because this was never supposed to happen. He had walked into this night with a plan—fuck you, get it out of his system, and move on. And now? Now, he wasn’t sure he wanted that. He wasn’t sure he really ever did. But he wasn’t sure he was ready for anything else, either. You were terrifying. Terrifyingly real. Too close to something he hadn’t even known he could want. You were too good, too nice, too fucking stunning. Too good in bed, too nice to look at, too much of a risk to let in. And worst of all—he had no idea what you wanted. The thought gnawed at him, twisted inside his chest like something sharp and unfamiliar. Was this just sex for you? Did you already have one foot out the door, ready to write this off as some reckless night and nothing more? Or were you feeling what he was feeling—this terrifying, unspoken something pressing in from all sides? His eyes flickered around the dimly lit room, landing on your bag and your jacket. You said you didn’t want to lose it. But did you bring those things with you because you planned on staying? Or did you bring them because you were going to leave the second you got your breath back? He sat up against the headboard, running a hand down his face, frustration and anticipation tightening his chest in equal measure. And then— A sliver of light cut into the room as the ensuite door cracked open. He looked up. 

And there you were.

“Hey baby.” The word slipped from his lips in a quiet murmur, but it didn’t sound the way it used to. It almost sounded foreign, even to him. It wasn’t some smooth-talking trick, not a casual, throwaway pet name meant to tease or charm. No, it was softer now—unconscious, instinctive. Something endearing. Something real. His lips curled into a lazy, lopsided smile, one he wasn’t even aware of, but if he caught himself in the mirror, he would’ve recognized it instantly. Your breath hitched at the sound of the word, it was so obviously different than when he said it all that time ago in Spain but you shoved the lump forming in your throat down. 

“Hi…” you echoed, your voice hushed, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure what came next. A smile flickered across your lips before you bit down lightly on the tip of your finger, a nervous little habit, one he immediately clocked. You glanced around the dimly lit room, eyes searching for the scattered pieces of your clothing. Maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe you were already bracing for the inevitable. Was this the part where you left? Trent watched you carefully, his gaze softening as he took in every detail—your lips, swollen and kiss-bitten; the way his shirt you’d nicked from him, hung off your frame, oversized and impossibly sexy; the warm, post-bliss glow that still lingered on your skin. You were wrecked from him, and yet somehow, you had never looked more beautiful. Then you looked at him. And everything slowed. Your eyes met, holding, lingering. There was no expectation, no pressure, just a quiet understanding stretching between you in the stillness. His fingers flexed against the sheets, a silent war waging within him. The part of him that had always been quick to detach, to create space, to pull away should have told you to gather your things. But another part of him—the part that had been unraveling all night—didn’t want you to leave. Didn’t want distance. So instead, he gave you a lazy, knowing nod. A silent invitation. Come back to me.

And just like that, you let go of whatever instinct had you looking for your clothes, padding barefoot across the plush carpet, crawling back into the warmth of tangled white sheets and soft duvets, and—most importantly—him. Trent barely breathed as you settled beside him. You didn’t intentionally do it, it was like your body was magnetic to his. Drawn immediately to his side by force, not will.

 The weight of you in his hotel bed, the warmth of your body pressing close—it should’ve felt foreign, wrong even, but it didn’t. It felt effortless. It felt like something he wanted. When you curled into him, rolling onto your side and tucking your cheek against his shoulder, one hand splayed wide across his chest, a lifetime of old instincts screamed that he should stiffen, should create space, should make this easier when the morning inevitably came. But he didn’t. Instead, his body melted instinctually. His arm wrapped around you without hesitation, pulling you in tighter, closer, like he needed you there. And suddenly, it wasn’t terrifying at all. Not with you. This wasn’t some mistake he’d regret in the morning. This wasn’t a risk. It was the safest he’d ever felt.

“C’mere, you alright?” His voice was low, thick with something softer than exhaustion, something deeper than satisfaction. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer, guiding you effortlessly until your cheek rested against the steady rise and fall of his chest. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his heartbeat a slow, grounding rhythm in the quiet of the dimly lit room. You had draped an arm over him, your elbow bent just enough for your fingers to find their rightful place against his bare skin, tracing absentminded patterns over the toned plane of his chest. A hum of contentment left your lips, a quiet little sound that made him exhale, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding melting away. Your presence alleviating it all. You pressed a delicate kiss to his chest, and his lips followed suit, brushing against the crown of your head. “Did so good for me,” he murmured, voice barely more than a breath, but heavy with meaning. His hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt you’d stolen—the same one he’d stripped off hours ago in a haze of urgency—fingertips ghosting up and down the length of your spine in slow, soothing strokes. You shivered, not from cold but from the intimacy of it, from the way he was still touching you like he wanted to, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“Not just saying that?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the weight of the question pressing between you. It hung in the space like an exposed wire, open to interpretation—was it teasing? A playful jab? Or was it something rawer, something that bled from the quietest, most vulnerable parts of you? Trent stilled for a beat, then let out a slow, quiet sigh. 

“Nah,” he said, his voice rich with sincerity, deep and sure in the darkness. “You’re perfect, beautiful.” He nuzzled against your hair, inhaling softly, his hold on you tightening just for a second. Like he needed you to know that he meant it. You fit against him too well. Like something designed just for him. A breath hitched in his throat before he spoke again, his voice softer, laced with a rare hesitance. “I’m sorry I didn’t get up and take care of you…” He exhaled sharply, like the words felt foreign in his mouth, like he was stepping onto unfamiliar ground. “I didn’t know if you wanted that. I know it got a little rough so are you– And I��� If you wanted me—” Your sleepy voice cut him off before he could spiral further.

“I want you,” you murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world. And then, softer, “But I have you right here. That’s good for me.” You punctuated the words with a slow, lazy kiss against his chest. Then another. And another. Each one seeping into his skin, settling into the places that had been untouched for far too long. The kisses you pressed against his bare chest weren’t just kisses—they were something more, something searing. Each press of your lips burned into his skin like the heated edge of a brand, shaping the ghost of your mouth against him, a mark he knew he’d carry long after this night was over. Trent wondered if you knew. If you realized what you were doing. Did you understand that you were sending him back into the city with your touch still clinging to him, invisible yet inescapable? That beneath his shirt, beneath the smooth facade he wore so well, he would carry you like a secret wound, raw and humming? He could already feel it—that phantom ache, the slow, smoldering imprint of you, of this. No one else would see it, but he would. He would feel it in every breath, in every shift, in every brush of his fingers over the places where you had left yourself behind. He sighed, rubbing his thumb over your spine, shutting his eyes for a moment, realization settling over him like smoke from a fire he had no intention of putting out—maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he’d let you cover him in a searing blaze of burning kisses, branding him over and over again, if it meant that when he looked down, he’d still find you there. Just like you were now—soft against him, innocent in the way only dreams and illusions could be, your lashes fluttering like quiet whispers, your skin warm, silken, pressed to his like you belonged there. Your scent wrapped around him, sweet and inescapable, dragging him deeper into this delusional euphoria where even the burns felt like pleasure, where the ache of you was something he never wanted to fade. If pain was the price of keeping you with him, etched into him, then so be it. He would wear you like a scar, like a masterpiece painted in fire, and call it love. Love? What was he thinking? Trent was spinning out in a mental war with himself before you hummed again. “That alright?” You whispered as your fingertips traced slow, delicate shapes against his skin, patterns he wished he could memorize but he was distracted. He didn’t know what they meant, but maybe they didn’t have to mean anything at all—maybe it was just the way you touched him, with ease, with a quiet tenderness that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t sure he had the words for.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice calmer now, but laced with something unspoken, something just a little unsure. He glanced down at you, eyes soft as they took in the way you looked beneath the glow of the city lights spilling faintly through the curtains. Your lashes fluttered, your features relaxed, beautifully undone. You fit against him like you belonged there.

“This is perfect,” you murmured, slipping somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, caught in the haze of post-bliss vulnerability, the push and pull of uncertainty, and the deep, inexplicable comfort of being right where you were. ��Right here…” Then, as if some part of you still feared the weight of your own words, you whispered, “That okay?” You asked for his approval twice and you felt silly but Trent felt his heart clench, something foreign yet undeniably warm curling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice softer than he intended, but truer than anything he’d ever said. “That’s okay too. Like you right here with me.” He kissed your hair, his arm tightening around you as his eyes fluttered shut, this time in acceptance. He liked you here with him. More than he knew how to tell you.

“T?” you murmured, your voice wrapped in the weight of sleep, thick with the pull of exhaustion and something softer—contentment, maybe. Trent hummed in response, his fingertips still tracing slow, languid strokes down your spine, mapping the curve of it like he was memorizing you. His touch was featherlight, a quiet kind of reverence, a contrast to the hunger he had devoured you with hours before. You shifted slightly against him, pressing closer, hesitating before you spoke again. “Can I take this off?” Your words were earnest, but there was something deeper beneath them, something unspoken. Maybe it was because the shirt smelled of cologne and a long night, because it wasn’t truly yours, but mostly—mostly, you just wanted to be closer to him. You wanted to feel him, skin to skin, nothing between you. Trent’s lips curled into a slow, lazy smile, one he didn’t bother to even open his eyes for, like he already knew he’d say yes before you even finished speaking. Like you were doing him a favor…and you were.

“’Course.” He shifted beneath you, adjusting so he could sit up slightly, rolling you just enough to meet your gaze. There was a softness in the way he looked at you, something patient, something teasing but entirely fond. “C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and thick with sleep, hands already reaching for you. “Let me help you.” You lifted yourself slightly as his fingers found the hem, peeling the fabric from your body with a slowness that felt intentional, reverent. The shirt slipped over your head, and Trent’s eyes raked over you, dark and glittering with something caught between admiration and lust. He took the shirt and tossed it somewhere into the abyss of the dimly lit room, not bothering to check where it landed. “Don’t need that anymore,” he muttered, smirking. You tried to bite back your smile, tried to keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks, but it was useless. A quiet exhale left your nose, a shy little giggle barely contained, and for a fleeting second, something like nervousness flickered in your chest. It was different now. Post-bliss, post-clarity, lying bare in every way—physically, emotionally—it made you feel… seen. And maybe that was scarier than anything else. 

“Okay,” you quietly muttered. You rolled ever so slightly away from him, as if some part of you still wanted to hide, but Trent was quicker, his hands greedy and sure as they reached for you, dragging you effortlessly back into his arms.

“Nah, nah, nah,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “You come right here looking like this” He shook his head in teasing disapproval of your antics but also in disbelief at how good you looked. His grip was firm but gentle, pulling you flush against him until your cheek found its place against the warmth of his chest again, your body practically melting into his. The feeling of you against him was inexplicably good before and now with no barrier, your boobs pressed against him, your naked bodies tangled again, it was impossibly better. 

“Better, huh?” you teased, your lips brushing his skin in the softest of kisses, your voice tinged with bashful affection.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his deep chuckle vibrating through you. “Much better.” His fingers found your jaw, tilting your face up with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. The room fell impossibly still, save for the slow, measured sound of his breathing, of yours, of the quiet space where you met in between. Then he kissed you. And it was perfect. Not just because of the way his lips moved against yours, or the way he tasted, or the way his hands held you like you were something delicate, something precious. It was perfect because you both felt it. Like maybe this wasn’t just a moment. Maybe this was something more. And maybe that was the cruelest part. That long after you had drifted into sleep, soft and spent laying on him, he was still awake, still burning, still yours.

-

Morning came like a whisper. The soft, golden light of the Parisian sun stretched its way into the hotel room, catching on dust particles, reflecting off the sheer white curtains that billowed faintly with the early breeze from a cracked window. It was the kind of light that turned everything it touched into something more beautiful, more ethereal. It kissed the walls, the crisp linen sheets, and most devastatingly, him. Trent lay beneath you, his body cast in a gilded glow, bronzed skin shimmering like he had been sculpted from sunlight itself. He looked godly like this—untouchable—and yet, you were wrapped in him, tethered to his warmth like he belonged to you. Your cheek was nestled against his chest, where the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart echoed against your skin. His arm still held you, albeit looser now, his grip sleep-heavy and effortless, resting low on your waist. His fingers, lax but familiar, traced absentminded shapes against your bare back, as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. Your legs tangled in ways that made it impossible to tell where you ended and he began.

And it was perfect.

Too perfect. That was the problem. Your body felt a peace so rare it unsettled you, a calmness that ran deeper than exhaustion or comfort—it was something found, something offered. This felt like slipping into water the exact temperature of your skin, like existing without resistance, and that kind of comfort was terrifying. Your mind rebelled against it, against the sheer ease of him, because how could something that felt this good, this natural, ever be real? Your fingers, splayed across his chest, moved idly, tracing gentle, meaningless patterns over his skin. But your thoughts were anything but gentle. They spiraled, unraveling like thread slipping through grasping fingers. It shouldn’t feel this easy. Not with him. Not for you.

The games of the night before—lust and teasing, push and pull—those were easy to understand. This game of cat and mouse, the raw sexual attraction was easy to navigate. Sure, it took a moment to get up to bed since you met in Ibiza, but they made sense, had rules, boundaries. But this? The safety, the way he fit around you, the way he felt like home when you didn’t even know you’d been looking for one? It didn’t make sense at all.  You looked up at his face through your tired eyes and sighed. He was so pretty. His features had gone softer, his long dark eyelashes rested on his cheeks, his perfectly pink plump lips, slightly ajar. He just looked gentler this morning and it almost made you sad. You exhaled softly, willing the thoughts away, and in that moment, Trent stirred beneath you. A low, sleepy groan vibrated through his chest, his arm tightening around you instinctively, pulling you impossibly closer. His face nuzzled into your hair, warm breath fanning against your skin, and just like that, every fear, every reason to run, flickered—burned. Seriously… You thought, exasperated by the way he could ruin every last piece of doubt, even in his sleep. And then, with a sleepy, rumbling hum, he kissed your hair. And unfortunately for you and your current dilemma between mind and body, it felt perfect, he was perfect.

“Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, lazy and deep, the kind of voice that wrapped around you like silk. His hand drifted lower, palm smoothing over the curve of your ass before sliding down your thigh, dragging it over his body more as he pulled you impossibly closer, entangling your limbs further—your body, your thoughts, your heart. You swallowed hard. “Sleep alright?” he asked, his lips ghosting over your temple as he shifted beneath you. You forced a small hum of agreement, scared to speak, scared of what might spill out if you did. Because the words in your throat—the ones clawing to be freed—didn’t know whether they’d come out as I love you or this is too much. Trent let out a quiet chuckle, his chest vibrating beneath your cheek. “Don’t sound so sure,” he teased, the warmth of his amusement curling around you like a beckoning hand. You breathed in deep, trying to steady yourself, but all it did was fill your lungs with him. That faint scent of his skin, a mixture of warmth and something clean, something inherently Trent. And so you sighed, letting go. Just for now. Just under the weight of hotel sheets and morning light.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, the words barely there, but felt. Trent stiffened—not in fear, not in hesitation, but in something else, something deeper. Because he felt it too. The way your lips lingered, the way it was something more than the ghosts of the night before, something real, something neither of you could ignore. The raw wounds of your branding still stinging and now you were rubbing salt in them. His fingers skimmed up your back, slow and deliberate, to the back of your neck,  before tilting your chin up so he could see you, really see you. His dark eyes searched yours, studying every shift, every hesitation. 

“You’ll stay and eat breakfast with me?” He asked you with a slow, lazy smirk. Your breath hitched, because he was asking. Not telling, not assuming, but asking. And in that moment, your body and your mind warred against each other, one screaming yes, the other screaming run. Trent tilted his head, watching you deliberate, and his smile grew, devastatingly boyish, impossibly endearing. “C’mon, please,” he murmured, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to hope. “Last time was good fun, no?” His smirk obliterated every last rational thought, every excuse, every plan of escape. There was only him, only this moment, only the way the morning light kissed his skin and the way you’d never felt more held than in his arms. And the only word left on your tongue, the only one that mattered, was—

“Yeah.”

-

The remnants of breakfast lay strewn across the small table in the room—an abandoned cappuccino, its frothy heart long since dissipated, a single crumb of croissant clinging to the edge of a porcelain plate. The sun had climbed higher, spilling golden light through the windows, turning the cobblestone street outside into a mosaic of light and shadow. Paris hummed around you, alive, indifferent, as if it didn’t know that time was slipping through your fingers. Or maybe it did, and simply didn’t care.

Your departure loomed, a quiet specter in the air between you, but neither of you acknowledged it. Instead, you stretched out the moment, weaving it into something longer than it was meant to be. The conversations meandered, looping in circles around something as trivial as why Waitrose was the superior grocer. There wasn’t even a disagreement, no real debate, just unnecessary elaboration—because neither of you wanted to stop talking. You wanted to hear his voice, to tuck every inflection, every low hum of amusement into the folds of your memory, like pressing wildflowers between the pages of a book. As if you were trying to preserve something fragile, something you knew would fade the moment distance stretched between you. It felt like he was playing with your heart like he knew exactly how much power he held over it. Every smirk, every dimpled grin, every lazy wink sent it lurching, free-falling, as if he were dangling it between his fingers just to see how far he could take it before you broke. But you weren’t ready to break. Not yet. So you smiled back, even as your chest ached, even as the city outside kept moving, uncaring of how desperately you wished the world would pause—just for a little while longer.

The morning light bled into the afternoons, soft and golden through the sheer hotel curtains, casting delicate patterns over tangled sheets and discarded clothes. Paris stretched beyond the window, quiet in the lingering hush of the early afternoon now, as if the city itself knew better than to rush whatever this was—this in-between, this unspoken thing neither of you dared name. Trent sat on the edge of the bed, effortlessly at ease, his bare chest dappled with the faintest glow, his fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you to stand between his legs. You let him, for a moment, the heat of his skin a slow-burning temptation against yours.

“So, photography?” he mused, watching you with something close to awe, something dangerously tender, as you slipped back into last night’s outfit. 

“Photography,” you confirmed, smoothing your hands over your mini skirt, adjusting it in the mirror like it wasn’t the only thing in the room that needed straightening out.

“Maybe you can take my picture sometime,” he smirked, boyish, impossibly endearing. And though you’d never admit it, butterflies stirred low in your stomach at the sight. But you were cooler than that. You had to be.

“Oh, you’d love that, huh, pretty boy?” You cooed, turning slightly in his embrace, reaching out, fingertips stroking his cheek—just to tease, just to keep the power balanced. But his hand was quicker, larger, capturing yours and holding it there, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“I would. I’m asking.” He earnestly replied.

“No, you offered,” you countered, lips curling, still playing, still keeping this game alive, keeping yourself safe.

“C’mon.” He pouted then, full lips tilting into something exaggerated, something purposefully soft, purposefully lethal. And you almost caved. Almost.

“If you’re lucky,” you hummed, slipping from his grasp with a shake of your head, something deliberately disapproving in the way you did it, as if you hadn’t kissed him breathless hours ago. As if your lips hadn’t wiped away the jam on his own over breakfast. As if you hadn’t fallen asleep wrapped in him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. It made no sense to him—how you could burn so hot and then retreat into something cool, distant, untouched by the fire you both knew was there. Like you were fighting against gravity, against inevitability. Like you were pretending the world hadn’t stopped spinning the second you stepped into this room together. He didn’t get it. It was terrifying, this uncertainty, but he wasn’t running from it. Not yet. 

You were jumping from yes to no, no to yes, and all he wanted was for you to sit with him in maybe. To exist in this liminal space where nothing had to be decided. Where maybe was a hotel room in Paris, where maybe tasted like room service coffee and the sweetest, laziest kind of morning. Maybe was the way you stretched against his sheets after a night that still lived on your skin. Maybe was the best sex of his life, the best kind of ache, the best kind of question. And he would stay in maybe as long as you let him.

The room felt suspended in time, bathed in the fading glow of late afternoon, the sheer curtains shifting lazily in the breeze from the open window. Paris murmured outside—distant horns, laughter floating up from the streets, the occasional hum of a passing moped—but none of it touched the quiet cocoon you had built inside these walls. Trent swayed with you in his arms, the heat of his hands kneading the soft curve of your ass, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. Like he wasn’t ready to let go. And neither were you. You’d been trying to say goodbye for an hour, maybe more, but every time you tried to pull away, something pulled you back. Another kiss. Another laugh. Another moment of watching him, sat cross-legged on the bed, eyes wide with a big smile as he paced the room, telling you some animated story with wild gestures, his grin so boyish, so effortless, you thought for a second you might drown in it. You’d ended up in his lap again talking about nothings, nestled into his arms as he showed you something on his phone, and it was all just so easy. He was light. That was the thing about him. He carried himself like the world hadn’t touched him, like he hadn’t let it. And when you were with him, you felt lighter, too. Like there was no weight to anything, no looming consequence, no inevitable ending waiting just around the corner. And then, like a rubber band snapping against your neck, reality came barreling back. It always did. It always would.

"Going to let me see you again?" His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was something beneath it, something that tightened around your ribs and made it harder to breathe. You sighed, forced a soft, knowing smile, running your hands up his arms as if that would make this easier. 

“I don’t think that’s what this is.” As the words fell out you didn’t even recognize them. It was like your lips were moving but you had no idea what was coming out. His eyes fluttered shut, his chest rising as if he might fight you on it, might demand to know why you were so determined to keep him at arm’s length when it was so obvious you didn’t want to. But instead, he exhaled, slow and measured, before his lips curled into something softer, something almost resigned. And then, instead of letting go, he pulled you in tighter.

"It can be. Let me take you out.” His head tilted, his smile coaxing, but there was something deeper in his eyes. No, he wasn’t teasing anymore. He was asking, begging you to just sit with him in maybe. To let yourself stay in this perfect limbo—where maybe was a hotel room in Paris, where maybe was the taste of him still lingering on your tongue, where maybe was a stolen morning that neither of you wanted to end.

"I’m not really the pay-for-sex girlie,” you teased, lips curling as you watched his face shift into playful exasperation. He rolled his eyes, unimpressed but still grinning. But then his voice dipped lower, smooth and warm, threaded with something serious beneath all that charm. 

"Nah, c’mon. We don’t have to have sex.” He mused and you raised your brows with a smile, teasingly surprised by the comment. “I mean, I’d like to.” He laughed at the obvious, gripping you a bit firmer, sending a shiver down your spine. “But I just want to see you again, yeah?" His brown eyes were dark, knowing, daring you to say no, daring you to pretend you didn’t want to see him just as much. You inhaled sharply, your resolve wavering. And then, with a small, exasperated sigh, you gave in. 

“Maybe.” It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough, admitting your defeat. But it wasn’t a defeat, not to Trent, no. This was it. His smile broke wide, bright, victorious. Maybe had never felt so much like a win.

"Give me your number. I won’t hold you hostage today, but I’ll convince you.” His words were smooth, almost too smooth, but his expression betrayed him—earnest, hopeful, just a little vulnerable in a way that made something twist deep in your chest. That was the thing about Trent. You didn’t know him well, not really, but even now, you could tell when something mattered to him, the earnest sincerity. You could feel it in the way he softened just slightly, in the way he didn’t push—just offered.

"Maybe," you murmured again, smiling as you held out your hand, silently asking for his phone. His grin was unstoppable as he handed it to you, the metal cool against your palm. But there was a certain heat in the way he watched you type in your number, like he knew, even if you didn’t, that you were giving him more than just digits. That you were giving him a piece of yourself.

"Till then," he whispered. He tossed his phone tumbling onto the bed, forgotten, as he pulled you in one last time. His body pressed against yours, firm, warm, intoxicating. His lips hovered over yours, breath fanning against your skin, waiting. Allowing you the space to decide—one final kiss, or none at all. And God, those lips—just like his eyes, they taunted you, as if daring you to walk away, as if reminding you how absolutely idiotic you’d be to refuse him.

"Maybe if you’re lucky…” you whispered. And then you kissed him.

And when the elevator doors slid shut, when you were finally alone again, the ache of leaving him settled deep in your bones. Because for a moment—for just one suspended, stolen moment—the world had stopped spinning.

—

[Bad Habit - Steve Lacey]

Once back home in England, Trent felt like he was seventeen again—heart unsteady, palms damp, staring at his phone like it held the key to something he wasn’t sure he was ready to open. Your number was burned into his screen, into his brain, into the spaces between his ribs where the memory of you lingered like an ache. He looked at it every day, thumb hovering over the keyboard, typing out messages only to delete them before they had the chance to breathe.

Something cheeky? No, too douchey. Something simple? No, too dry. Something sincere? God, too cringe.

He had told you he’d convince you, charm you into seeing him again, but here he was—silent. Not because he didn’t want to, but because what if he messed it up? At home, stretched across the sofa, phone resting on his chest, he thought of you. 

In his car, parked outside training, he sat gripping his phone, willing himself to press send, tapping the steering wheel, debating, overthinking, sighing, he thought of you. His pulse pounded like a matchstick ready to strike, but the flame never came. 

Thirty thousand feet in the air, en route to an away game, he scrolled through your Instagram, torturing himself with glimpses of you, your smile, your world—a world he was desperate to be a part of but didn’t know how to step into without falling.

Surrounded by his friends, laughter ringing around him like background noise, he was somewhere else entirely, lost in thoughts of you, playing out every version of a text in his head—only to say nothing at all. The silence stretched, stretched, stretched—despite his heart screaming. 

Trent’s last real relationship had been when he was seventeen, maybe eighteen.  Love, or something like it, had been easy, thoughtless, fleeting. And even then, it hadn’t felt like this. This was terrifying. He didn’t know you. But the potential alone was different. This wasn’t a game he knew how to play. He was used to the short ones, the ones that burned bright and fizzled out before morning, the ones that ended with tangled sheets and casual goodbyes. The ones that left no room for real feelings. But you—you made him forget the rules entirely.

When it came to you, nothing about this felt casual. You made him feel like himself, and yet, someone completely unrecognizable. The stupid smirk he couldn’t wipe off his face when he thought of you, the fluttering unease in his stomach, the way his heart felt too full and too exposed. It was painfully pleasant, a sensation he didn’t know how to hold. You made him feel too much. Made him feel like himself, but in a way that was unsettling. And maybe that was the problem. So he let fear win. 

A week and a half passed. No message. No call. Paris felt like a fever dream, one that left your skin tingling long after you woke up. But the silence that followed? That was real. Just down A56, you held your phone like it might tell you something different, like maybe if you stared at it long enough, his name would appear. But it didn’t. And your heart fractured, little by little, under the weight of a silence that spoke louder than any words ever could, shattered with every unspoken syllable. You heard nothing. It was radio silence. And the thing about silence is that it isn’t empty—it’s deafening. It fills the space between your ribs, settles heavy in your lungs, lingers in the quiet moments when you reach for your phone expecting something, anything. But there’s nothing.

He had said he wanted to see you again. He had looked at you with those eyes, held you in a way that made you believe—maybe, just maybe, this was different. But words without action were just illusions, and illusions shattered under the weight of reality. You were scared of giving him your number in the first place because it had gotten your hopes up, and it ultimately felt like all it did was let them down. You tried to convince yourself it was fine. That it hadn’t meant anything. That he was just another story you’d tell yourself late at night, another fleeting moment caught in the aperture of your life—one you could adjust, control, blur out. But he was the light.

No matter how hard you tried to narrow the opening, to dim his effect, he seeped in anyway. A golden glow spilling into places you had kept dark for so long. And now, without him, winter was approaching, and England felt even colder, even greyer. The days stretched long and colorless, shadows creeping in where his warmth had been. And when the ache became unbearable—when you wanted to feel it, to let the hurt settle into your bones just so you could understand it—you’d open his Instagram. An account you didn’t even follow, one that you knew you’d get lost amongst the millions of other names if you ever did. You’d stare at his feed and your depth of focus would shift. The world around you blurred, dissolving into an indistinct haze. But him—his face, his smile, his presence—was crystal clear. It made you feel sick. Because in that frozen moment, he was there, in perfect clarity, yet impossibly out of reach.

-

This was torture. Trent barely heard anything that night, every conversation around him reduced to a low hum, a muffled buzz, as if he were submerged underwater while everyone else sat comfortably on dry land. He was there, physically—nursing a drink, nodding at the right times—but his mind was miles away, trapped somewhere between Paris and his own hesitation. Then, like a breach to the surface, a single word pulled him back.

"...said she’s a photographer, I think." Leon’s words had barely landed before Trent leaned forward, the hunger in his eyes betraying the nonchalance he wanted to feign. 

“Who?” He asked too quickly, too eagerly. He couldn’t even pretend to be uninterested.

"One of Foster’s friends… She was in Ibiza this summer at the same time I think. I don’t know… I just was hearing Foster’s gonna be in London this weekend with her, I forgot her name – erm…” Leon squinted one eye trying to recall your name. “Fuck she texted it to me hold on.." But Leon’s search was unnecessary as Trent’s pulse spiked.

“Y/N?” The name left his lips before he could catch it. Leon barely had time to confirm before Kieren smirked, his body facing forward but his sharp gaze flickering sideways, watching Trent squirm. Trent leaned in some, curious, hungry for more information immediately but Leon wasn’t speaking nearly quick enough for his liking. He needed to know… now.  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it. She’s a photographer I guess and has work so I was gonna head down, meet Foster.” Leon casually tossed out.  Leon looked at Kieren and his brow furrowed for a moment confused by the response. He frowned for a beat, slower to catch on—until Kieren gave a knowing nod toward Trent’s obvious intrigue. Then it clicked, and Leon’s lips curled into an o of realization. “Heard she’s a pretty big deal. Hard to get ting, y’know?" Leon teed up a tease for Kieren. He was talking about your career, but the implication lingered in the air like smoke. Trent tensed. 

"Yeah, bro," Kieren added smoothly, dragging out the moment. "Heard few do it the way she can." He piled on, both boys with smug smiles as they took sips of their drinks waiting for Trent. Trent exhaled sharply through his nose, picking up his water just to keep his hands busy.

"Heard something like that…" he muttered, then paused. He could feel Kieren and Leon watching him, waiting. He had to act fast, needed action before they called his bluff. "Erm, Lee, Imma be down there… I’ve got Palace on Saturday. You want tickets?” Trent said slowly, as if testing the waters hoping linking with Leon would give him the opportunity to see you. Leon, ever the instigator, took an excruciatingly slow sip of his drink before responding, just to let Trent squirm. Trent couldn’t take the silence. He pressed on, his words tripping over themselves. "Like, you know, mate, can invite Foster—if any of her friends wanna come, just an offer." Trent babbled at a pace that only he could speak at.  His stomach flipped. It was desperate, too obvious. His mates clocked it immediately.

"Wait," Kieren drawled, the smirk deepening. "Didn’t your brother say you lot ran into Foster’s friend in Paris?" Trent’s grip tightened around his glass. His heart pounded a little harder.

"Oh really?" Leon’s eyes flickered with interest, his voice laced with both genuine curiosity and a slight taunt.

"Yeah, brief thing, you know." Trent shrugged, lifting his water to his lips, acting as though the mere mention of your name hadn’t sent his pulse into overdrive. Leon leaned back, as if deliberating. Then, casually—like he hadn’t just thrown Trent into a crisis.

"You know what, bro? Shoot her a message, invite her, and then we can all link up." Leon broached the idea and Trent’s head spun. The room tilted—caught between relief at finally having a reason to text you, sheer terror at the thought of seeing you again, and frustration at his friends for pushing him straight into the fire. The ball was in his court now. And for the first time in years, Trent had no idea how to play it.

-

[Naked - Ayzha Nyree]

You were seeing things. You had to be. There was no other explanation for the unknown number flashing across your screen, for the way your breath hitched in your throat, for the way your entire body tensed as you stared at it—motionless, hesitant. It couldn’t be him. It had been too long. Too much silence, too much nothing, too much proof that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter. And yet your heart betrayed you, hammering wildly against your ribs as if trying to break free. You sat down on your bed, inhaling deeply, pressing your fingertips into the mattress as if grounding yourself might stop the free fall. The air in your room felt suddenly heavier, thick with anticipation and the scent of rain from the open window. The soft hum of the city outside, cars passing in the distance, the muffled sounds from the street below—it all blurred into irrelevance as you finally tapped open the message.

‘Not better late, but it was never going to be never with you. Took me a minute to get the courage to text a girl like you. Been thinking about you. You gonna be in London anytime soon?’

Your stomach twisted. It was everything you had wanted to hear, everything your heart had been aching for. It was cheeky, it was sweet, it was honest. It was him. It was a plan—finally, a plan. And yet, the ghost of two weeks’ silence still lingered in the spaces between his words, in the void he had left you in. You swallowed, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing:

‘I would say it’s nice to know you’re still alive, thought something bad might’ve happened to you but you��re on the telly every weekend.’

Play it cool. Be cool. Be fucking cool. You tried. You really did. But no matter how nonchalant you sounded, the truth was written all over your face—your lips betraying you with the way they curled into a smile, your body giving you away as you rolled onto your stomach, phone clutched in your hands, breath held hostage as you waited for his reply. And then it came.

‘Let me make it up to you. I gotta game down in London, any chance a pretty girl like you will be around?’

Something inside you deflated. The excitement, the hope, the warmth that had been building inside you fizzled out in an instant. No. No, this wasn’t what you wanted. This wasn’t making it up to you. This was convenient for him. This was easy. A ticket to his game? A seat among thousands? Watching him from a distance for ninety minutes? No mention of after. No mention of you. You stared at the screen, the light from your phone casting a cold glow over your face as the weight of realization settled in your chest. He had done this before. The confirmation you never wanted proof of. You weren’t special. You were just another girl he sent tickets to, and an away game too. Was that part of the plan too? Your fingers hovered, then hesitantly typed that you’d try to make it. A lie. You didn’t even want to try.  He replied with something relatively cheeky, suggestive, but then said he’d have a ticket sent to you and more logistical things and it left a bad taste in your mouth.

-

You said you’d try and that’s where you left things. The morning felt heavier than it should have. Saturday crept in like an unwanted guest, settling over you with a weight that made it hard to move, hard to breathe. The invitation had lingered in your mind all week, festering, growing into something that felt hollow. By now, it wasn’t even about going or not going—it was about what it meant. And it meant nothing to him. You found out from Foster that Trent’s mate, Leon, was also going. He had extended the same invitation to her, casual and easy. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just another name on a list. But like the good friend she was, she saw right through it. She had lied—said she might have to help you with work, might not make it. 

Only, neither of you were working. You were tucked into a small coffee shop, a few stops on the Victoria Line away from Selhurst Park, where rain drizzled against the windows and pooled in the grooves of the pavement. The scent of espresso and cinnamon curled in the air, but nothing felt warm. You stirred your drink absentmindedly, a spoon clinking against ceramic, while Foster listened—patient, understanding, letting you unravel even though you both knew it was redundant. You’d been talking for ages and ages and god bless her because it was just repetitive. You didn’t like that you were one of many to Trent. And a part of you felt a little naive to believe that maybe he understood you enough to know that but here you were, proven otherwise. 

“I just—” You let out a sharp exhale, shaking your head. “I’m not interested in this. If he wanted to take me out, it’d be different…” You repeated for the fifteenth time, Foster nodding.  You had been replaying it in your head over and over again. The club in Ibiza. The way he had moved through that night with ease, the way he had known exactly what to say, how to touch, how to leave you breathless. He had a playbook, a script, a pattern. And the worst part? You had felt it. Even then. The voice in the back of your head whispering that you were just another name he knew how to make sound special. It took you fifteen minutes into the first half of the match to decide you weren’t going.

“He said, ‘Let me take you out.’ Those were his words,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you mimicked his Scouse accent saying the phrase, exaggerated and mocking. It wasn’t even bad, but Foster still chuckled, squeezing your knee beneath the table.

“Good accent, babe,” she teased lightly, and normally you’d smile, but today everything felt off. You hadn’t even dressed like you were going to see him—not that you ever planned to really. The outfit [ref index] was cute, but not one you were wearing to impress a boy. Your jeans, oversized sweater, the way you hadn’t even bothered with much makeup. You had told yourself it was because you didn’t care. But didn’t you, the lace bralette and heeled boots implied otherwise. Because if you didn’t care, why did everything feel so heavy? “No, but seriously, I agree with you,” Foster said, shaking her head. “Like, asking to see someone again—implying it would be a date after all his talk in Paris, after Ibiza—and then this? He’s basically just asking you to watch him at work. In the pouring rain. Like, sorry, but that’s a favor to him.” She said calmly, able to keep her composure unlike you. 

“Right!?” You threw your hands up, relief flooding your chest that she understood. “I mean, yeah, he texted me, and I guess that’s something. But it also has been two weeks with nothing from someone who was calling me baby in bed. And still—don’t you think it kind of loses all meaning if he was inviting other people too? Like, cool, watch me run after a ball like the other 20,000 people who are also there to see him. I know I’m kicking off, but it’s just—” You trailed off. Because what was the point in even saying it? The words felt childish, petty, but the ache in your chest was very real. The disappointment sat heavy, bitter on your tongue, the confirmation of everything you had tried to ignore. Foster sighed, her expression softening. 

“Babe, I think this is when boys are just fucking stupid.” You let out a humorless laugh, picking at the corner of your napkin. “Like, yeah, it’s nice he finally texted, and that first message was sweet. He obviously likes you enough to invite you—” she emphasized when you made a face, “—and the fact that he’d want you there with his friends? I mean, that is a compliment. But at the same time… he’s stupid for thinking that would be enough.” The words sat with you. Not wrong. Not exactly right, either. But still, they pressed against something tender inside you. Your breath wavered, your vision going slightly blurry. Shit. “Babe…” Foster cooed, leaning in, but you shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s fine.” You swiped at your eyes before anything could actually fall, waving her off as if you could dismiss the feeling itself. “It genuinely isn’t a big deal. I don’t even know the kid. We move.” Foster didn’t argue, but she didn’t look convinced. She just squeezed your knee again. “Go meet Leon after, Foss,” you said, with glossy eyes, clearing your throat as you laid your hand over hers. “Really. It’ll be fun, and then it also won’t look like I’m a total mess.” She hesitated, searching your face, but you must have given her something that passed for okay, because she sighed again.

“Kay… You sure?” She asked you knowing you wouldn’t accept anything but a yes. You nodded quickly, swallowing down every emotion that had threatened to surface. Foster pursed her lips, then sat back with a little smirk. “Want to like go get something stronger than coffee… I’m nervous to meet him.” She giggled. You rolled your head already standing up. You exhaled, already grabbing your purse and jacket.

“Please god.” You smiled sadly at her.

-

The rain hadn’t stopped all night. Trent sat in his usual window seat on the team flight back to Liverpool, forehead resting against the cool glass as the city lights of London faded beneath them. His knee bounced restlessly, jaw tight, fingers gripping his phone, though there was nothing new to check. No text from you. No last-minute excuse, no apology, not even a half-hearted lie. Nothing. It didn’t make sense. You’d said you’d try to make it. He’d imagined seeing you in the stands, imagined the way you’d look at him, maybe even waiting for him after. He’d thought—hoped—it meant something. That this was the start of… something. But instead, he’d been left scanning the crowd for a face that was never there. And you hadn’t even told him. It pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

He should’ve gone out, should’ve let the boys drag him somewhere loud, somewhere distracting, stay in London for the night. Instead, he’d sat on this flight, arms crossed, head full of questions he didn’t want to ask. The hum of the engines did nothing to quiet the buzzing frustration under his skin. He kept telling himself he wouldn’t text, that he wouldn’t be that guy—desperate, chasing, waiting. But by the time he got home, alone in his bed, the silence of his room made it impossible to think about anything else. What the fuck had happened? The sheets were cool beneath him as he lay on his back, phone in his hand, the screen dimly lighting his face. He scrolled absently, past the messages, rereading your last text. He could’ve let it go, could’ve pretended it didn’t bother him. But it did. It really did.

When Trent woke up the next day he rolled over in bed, sore from the match and hurt by you. He let out a sharp sigh and he gave in.

‘Didn’t see you yesterday… Checking to make sure you’re all good.’

He stared at the message for a second before hitting send, then let his phone drop onto his chest with a frustrated exhale. He hated this. Hated feeling like he cared more than he should. But the thing was—he did care. And you? You saw the text blinking against the glow of your screen as you sat curled up on your sofa, a blanket wrapped around you. Your heart sank. Not because you weren’t expecting it—but because it was too late. He was already back up north, sending a half-hearted check-in after the fact. If he had really cared, wouldn’t he have texted last night? Wouldn’t he have asked sooner? Instead, he’d left London without a word, and now he was messaging like it was an afterthought, like you were a platonic friend. And your mind—stupid, reckless, wounded—spun in circles. Had he gone out after the match? Found someone else to fill the void you left? The idea made your stomach twist. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it shouldn’t matter. But it did. And so, you didn’t reply. Not because you wanted to be petty. Not because you wanted to hurt him. But because you wanted him to sit with the silence he’d given to you just the same.

-

The restaurant was buzzing with conversation, the air thick with the scent of grilled steak and something citrusy from the cocktails circling the room. Trent sat at the long, dimly lit table, swirling the ice in his lowball glass, barely hearing the voices around him. He wasn’t in the mood for this. Not for the music pulsing faintly through the speakers, not for the half-hearted banter, and definitely not for the girls who kept side-eyeing him, waiting for an opening. He should’ve stayed home. His form in training had been off all week. Sloppy passes, slow reactions, his head anywhere but where it needed to be. And no matter how many times he told himself to shake it off, the irritation only deepened. You still hadn’t texted him back. Not even a one-word answer, nothing to let him know where he stood. He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—the fact that you didn’t come to the game or the fact that you hadn’t even acknowledged his messages. It was making him restless. So, against his better judgment, he pulled out his phone.

'I’m going to Cassie’s party tonight… you going?'

As soon as he hit send, he regretted it. Fuck. His jaw tensed, fingers tapping against the screen as he watched the message turn from sent to delivered. He felt like a fucking idiot. A desperate one at that. Cassie’s name, the casual invitation—it looked like he was trying to bait you, like he was trying to make you wonder. He wasn’t, not really. He just wanted to see you, wanted something from you, even if it was just a sharp-tongued reply telling him to fuck off. At least that would be something. Instead, the silence pressed in heavier. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before quickly typing again.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you down in London. Hoping you’re alright.’

He meant it. But he knew how it would read. How you’d see the first message—the name of another girl, no matter his relationship with her, the half-hearted you going?—before the apology landed. It was damage control, whether he liked it or not. And you? You saw it all. The two messages stacked on top of each other, your stomach twisting instantly. First, Cassie’s party. A name you knew but it didn’t matter, you didn’t care.  It was enough to light a spark of something ugly in your chest, even though you told yourself it shouldn’t. And then, the second message—an apology that only made the first feel even more hollow. You wanted to scream. You were right in that Marina in Ibiza. It was exactly what you had been trying to convince yourself of since meeting him. That he wasn’t good for you. That he lived behind this film that made everything a little glossier but in reality it was all the same. That you were setting yourself up for failure, for heartache, for something that would only end with you feeling small. And yet, here you were, fighting every urge to respond. You gritted your teeth, locking your phone and throwing it face down onto your bed like it burned you. He didn’t get to do this. He didn’t get to worm his way into your head, making you question everything. You barely knew each other, and still, he had you on the verge of tears in coffee shops, staring at your phone like it held the answer to something unspeakably important. No. You weren’t going to do this. So, you did the only thing you could. You aired him. Again.

-

Another day, another restaurant alive with the hum of conversation, mocked him. The clinking of silverware against plates, and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table felt like white noise, merely background noise one ping from his phone he was desperate for. Trent wasn’t really there, though. He was physically present, sipping on his drink, nodding when appropriate, but his mind was tangled in something else—someone else. You. He wanted to give up. Should give up. But he couldn’t shake the frustration gnawing at him, the way his stomach twisted every time he unlocked his phone only to see nothing from you. He wasn’t used to this. To silence. To being shut out so completely. He’d invited you to London, reached out after the game, even tried to catch you on a night out, and still—nothing. Cassie’s birthday came and went, no sign of life. And now, here he was, out for dinner with his friends, meant to be enjoying the night, but instead, he was restless. Then he saw her. 

Campbell. She was waiting by the bar, scrolling on her phone, her posture relaxed in a way that told him she had no idea she was about to be ambushed. He moved on instinct, weaving through tables until he was right beside her, his hand gripping her arm discreetly. She startled slightly, her brows raising before she caught sight of him and let out a knowing sigh. Trent didn’t even have to say anything. She knew. You had already spilled your thoughts to her in the same way you had to Foster, to Delaney. Rambling, dissecting, trying—and failing—to convince yourself that this thing between you and Trent was nothing. That it should be nothing. And yet, here he was, desperate for answers.

"Cam, what’s the deal with Y/N?" he asked in a hushed tone, mindful of the buzzing restaurant around them. Campbell blinked, playing dumb. His desperation palpable.

“Erm.. hello to you too." She smiled at him but his expression didn't change. "What do you mean her deal, T?” She asked him knowingly. Trent exhaled sharply. He exhaled looking past her as if he was too afraid to look her in the eye.

"Like... I invited her and nothing. I texted her and nothing..." His voice was tight, his frustration bleeding into every word. Then in a moment of vulnerability his gaze snapped back to her. His eyes searched Campbell’s face, desperate for some kind of explanation. What did he do wrong? Campbell hesitated. She could feel the weight of your words, the things you hadn’t explicitly said but had implied through every frustrated sigh, every conversation about him that always ended in some variation of this isn’t what I want.

"Maybe she was busy then..." she offered carefully, her tone unreadable but apologetic. Trent’s jaw tensed. 

"Busy..." he muttered, repeating the word like he was trying to make sense of it. And for the first time, it occurred to him. Maybe you just didn’t want this. Maybe he meant nothing to you. If you were busy, then of course you wouldn’t reply. That’s what people did when something wasn’t a priority, right? When something wasn’t important. His chest tightened. The thought felt foreign. Impossible. His face fell into an unintentional pout, the weight of rejection settling deep in his stomach. It was one thing to have a girl lose interest—it happened, he wasn’t stupid—but this? This wasn’t just disinterest. This felt like something else. Campbell sighed, shifting her weight in her heels before finally deciding to throw him a lifeline.

"T, look. I won’t speak for her, but just something to consider. Some food for thought, if you will…" She tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Maybe huge public events aren’t everyone’s thing when they want to get to know someone properly." She cooed and Trent stilled. It hit him like a slow, creeping realization. When was the last time he had actually gotten to know someone—properly? His mind flashed back to the yacht in Ibiza. The way conversation had flowed between you two like it was the most natural thing in the world. No crowd, no cameras, no distractions. Just you, giving as good as you got, challenging him, making him want to chase you even when he didn’t understand why. And before that? He couldn’t even place a time. His throat felt dry. Fuck. Campbell watched him carefully, hoping—praying—he’d take the hint. She wasn’t about to push him, but she also wasn’t going to stand here and watch him fumble something that was so obviously important to him. Finally, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders loosening ever so slightly. 

"Alright. Thanks, Campbell… Sorry, have a good night, yeah?" He turned to walk away, looking—feeling—defeated, his brain still scrambled. Campbell sighed, leaning against the bar with a slow exhale. She felt like a damn live wire connecting the two of you, but she could only do so much. The rest? That was on Trent.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 6 - Staying In

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

[tteokdoroki]

Isagi is golden retriever behavior. Tell him to bakr he will do it. Tell him to kneel he will. He will protect you with his whole being even if he seems to be nice guy. He isn’t afraid to throw hand s

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— as close as strangers + yoichi isagi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — while at a bar with your sister, a stranger comes to your rescue and he’s not afraid to come to your defence.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, fluff, strangers to lovers, meet cute, reader has a younger sister, weird men at bars (harassment kinda? but it’s minor), pro player!isagi, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 1.4K.

⭑ notes — thank you nonnie for sending this in!! I got a little itty bit carried away but i hope you like it !! - m.list ✩

unironically, a bar can be one of the most dangerous places on earth. with its overpriced and watered down drinks, loud and disruptive patrons, and not to mention the countless number of men that can’t seem to take a hint. you find the sticky table tops gross and the peanut shells on the floor uncouth but you’re here for your little sister — who wanted no more than drinks and to catch up, filling you in on the details of her latest fling (who she’s sure is the one, despite it being the fifth time) since you returned to Japan.

you work a lot, you travelled abroad for college too so it’s been ages since you’ve last breathed the same air and walked underneath the same sky. you’d feel bad for missing this opportunity to meet someone important in her life while you still had it.

and you love your sister, so while she powders her nose in the bathroom as you both wait for her boy toy, you’ll put up with the stench of beer and the sleazy stranger arms length away from you who just can’t seem to get it through his head that you’re not interested.

“c’mon sweetheart, just one drink. lemme buy you a beer.” the stranger slurs over the top of his own beverage that threatens to spill into you as he encroaches on your personal space. 

shaking your head politely, you lean away. “no thank you. i’m not to keen on beer.” 

“then whas’ your drink of choice, cutie. let me know what i can get’cha.” 

nothing. you refrain from rolling your eyes. nothing that he could afford. grabbing a handful of peanuts to distract yourself, you de-shell them with ease and chew on them to avoid speaking any further. 

“no thank you.” you say plainly, reiterating yourself. 

he still doesn’t seem to understand, cosying up to your side — his alcohol tainted breath cascading over the shell of your ear. “then let’s get out of here, i’ll get you somethin’ you can really enjoy.” 

“i’m waiting on someone.” 

“who? a boyfriend?” 

“yes,” you lie as easy as breathing — you’re almost certain he wouldn’t leave you alone if he found out you were with your sister. “he’ll be here any minute.” 

the stranger lets out a chuff, “i don’t see him, gorgeous girl—“

he reaches for your hand and it causes a wave of uncomfortable goosebumps to rise along your skin. you shudder, hold back a gag, and if only the bartender was closer you could signal for some form of help but you can’t bring yourself to move.

that is until a warm arm slips around your shoulders— and instead of being slimy and unsettling, the presence of this stranger behind you is comforting and safe. “there you are precious,  sorry for being so late, i got caught up with work.” this man’s is smoothe like molten chocolate or rather honey running through your ears, and you find yourself enticed — leaning into him as if he’s a safety net. 

you turn, only just, catching a glimpse of the stranger’s handsome side profile — his skin is golden, glowing as if it had been blessed by the god’s of the son. his eyes are a blue im a shade that you cannot match, it’s almost unreal to you. his hair his soft, his face calm and again, he feels so safe. 

“i missed you,” you breathe the words into existence as if they’re natural, allowing a smile to overtake your features. “it’s okay.” 

the dark haired man gives you a firm nod before looking over your head at the drunkard who had been bothering you. he offers a hand to him. “hi isagi… the boyfriend. do we have a problem, here?” 

you recognise the name from somewhere but say nothing, letting isagi handle the situation from here. 

“n-no sir! i-i’m so sorry i didn’t realise that—“ 

“good,” isagi’s voice lowers an octave, far less welcoming and kind than when he had initially addressed you as your fake boyfriend. “then next time you’ll take a hint and learn to leave women alone when they tell you no the first time. fucking creep.” he spits, squeezing you into his side protectively. 

the stranger’s eyes blow wide and he lowers his head apologetically but you’re too focused on how flustered isagi’s whole act is making you feel. “a-again! i’m really sorry! i’m a huge fan i would never—“ 

“are you just that dense or do i have to repeat myself? scram.” isagi growls once more and does so until the man that had been bothering you flees the scene. within an instant, the tall dark and handsome man jumps away from you with an apologetic smile — and you embarrassingly admit to yourself how much you miss his embrace. “i am so sorry for touching you without asking. i-it’s just that i could see he was making you uncomfortable and no one else was jumping in so i just—“ 

turning around to face isagi fully, you shake your head and offer him your brightest grin. “it’s okay, if it hadn’t been for you i don’t know what would have happened. thank you…”

you pause to give him time and isagi trips over his words to give you his full name. “yoichi. yoichi isagi!” 

you respond with your own name, trying not to dwell on the familiarity of his. 

the pair of you spend the next few minutes chatting about everything and anything. you find out that yoichi likes soccer and has since he was a child. that he was an only child as well, travels a lot and has seen the whole world, though he thinks it gets a little lonely. you shyly admit that you feel the same — especially when work drags you across the globe and away from your family here in Japan.

the flow of your conversation is only interrupted by your little sister emerging from the bathroom excitedly, her nose effectively powdered as she waves an arm at you. “i see you’ve met isagi already!” she beams, sliding into the bar stool on your left while isagi takes your right.

“wait, you two know each other?” you squeak — how mortifying would it be that your younger sibling’s new boyfriend is the man you’ve been crushing on for all of fifteen minutes. “is he…the one?” 

the duo share an amused look over the drinks that your new friend had ordered, your sister shaking you as if to snap you out of your trance of crazy. “god no! isagi is way too polite to be my type. my bachira is a little more adventurous!” she rambles, all love sick like. “no offence yoichi!”

“none taken,” he laughs before focusing all of his attention on you , making you squirm under the surface of his ocean blue eyes. “i’m just here for moral support. bachira was nervous about meeting you so i told him to take a lap around the parking lot to calm down before he came in.” 

“wait bachira— as in meguru bachira? that one player from the blue lock team? i just styled him for my magazine in the US last month? that’s who you’re dating?” you ramble, eyes wide — which only seems to amuse isagi even more.

“uhuh, and this,” your sister grabs you by the shoulders and rotates you to face isagi, who’s cheeks flush red with nervousness. or shyness. “is yoichi isagi. blue lock’s heart and soul and your date for this evening. you’re welcome!” she sings.

“oh my god! i thought i recognised you! s-she used to have posters of you in our room back when bluelock was streaming!” 

“you’re the one that used to kiss them!” 

“you’re the one that’s dating his best friend!” you counter her stubbornly, but her attention is quickly stolen away by the world famous dribbler that slips through the doors — bachira’s own face lighting up when he spots her from across the room. your sister melts, running over and jumping into his arms. you can’t help but swoon, realising that whatever she has going on with bachira is obviously more serious than whatever chance at love she’d had before.

they look happy. you’re happy for her. “they’re cute together, aren’t they?” isagi mumbles, elbowing you gently with the wisps of a smile on his lips. 

“oh yeah, big time.” you agree, taking a sip of your drink as you scoot closer to japan’s beloved striker. “you’re not mad that he swiped her from right beneath your feet?” 

“nah,” yoichi responds simply, scooting closer to you as well. you let your gaze drift over from the happy couple to meet isagi’s fond one, looking down at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. “i’d rather have that kind of happy with the girl who was making out with my merch.” 

you punch isagi in the shoulder out of embarrassment, and when his timbre laughter fills the room — you can’t help but think you’d want that happiness with him too.

[cobalt-knave]

Fiction Podcasts Formatted as Nonfiction Podcasts Recs

I do love an audio drama where the format is a nonfiction podcast, it must be said. Lots of friendship in these because I am a sucker for a good friendship.

The BookMarks

Two best friends, Mark and Marquelle Bookerson (no relation), have a podcast where they review books in an increasingly-wacky-and-fun fantasy alternate modern day. Improvised comedy. The worldbuilding gets weirder with every passing episode, and I love that for it.

Englewood After Dark

Two best friends, Eve and Finn, have a true crime podcast where they unpack cold cases. The pair are college students at a university popularly (and correctly) thought to be haunted. Believer/skeptic dynamic. Horror.

Shelterwood

Nick's sister went missing years ago, leaving a note referencing a town, Shelterwood. When he comes across this strange suburb where time doesn't flow right, Nick follows his lead to find his sister while sending audio back to the normal world to his best friend Solomon to hopefully edit into a full podcast. Hopefully, he can find his sister without being trapped forever in the alluring comfort of Shelterwood. Horror. Warning for kids' toys/cartoons used for horror. (A trope I personally dislike and find very rarely warned for.) Not my favorite on this list, but I love Solomon especially in terms of characters, and I did listen to the full season, actively engaged if not always enjoying it per se.

Rabbits (season 1 only)

Rabbits season 1 follows a journalist, Carly, trying to find her best friend, Yumiko, who went missing while participating in a dodgy ARG. To find her, Carly tracks down and begins to play the ARG, known only as the Game, being pulled deeper and deeper into the reality bending world it entails and creating a shaky allegiance with a fellow player with whom she shares a surprising amount of backstory. Horror, multiverse thriller. Season 1 is incredibly engaging and has a very satisfying plot, and I love Carly's ally Jones so much. If you enjoyed the tv show The OA, especially its second season, you will enjoy this.

DO NOT LISTEN TO SEASON 2. You will be tempted to listen to season 2, but it is not only very bad in terms of characters, plot, and worldbuilding, but it will also kneecap the beats of the first season. Resist temptation. Stick to season 1! Which is good! Warning for unreality, especially the fact that the character has the name name as the actor, and the podcast company is the same as in the fiction.

[naboman]

Ma Chérie Synopsis: There's something about the memories I ramble that makes my heart ache. Ma chérie, are you missing me? pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer + Fem!Reader. Genres: Angst, memories of the past, drabbles.

There is some beauty in the act of "losing what is essentially important", something tragic, worthy of being portrayed on a movie screen and transposed into soft, nostalgic melodies, films he would watch and music he would allow himself to enjoy. Although Chrollo found it a captivating subject, he never liked to imagine losing what was important to him. He had never had anything, his life had never had any purpose or meaning to adhere to. Always so much less than the others, always an inconvenience, that is, until the Troupe was formed. So why would he want to lose the only things that make him who he is?

Well, he lost someone important, someone whose existential value could never be measured in words. Someone who was… Everything.

Sweet memories are the only thing he has left, memories of a sugary tone, accompanied by a bad scenario and inhuman situations, but he had her. So none of that mattered.

No matter how many times he faced death, whether from hunger or illness after so long inhaling the infectious air of the dump, he knew that he would never receive a "goodbye", but a warm squeeze of the hands.

Her hands were not soft, on the contrary, they were calloused and rough, like sandpaper, her touch was rough, but he would never refuse, because it was affectionate. Affection he would never deny, not hers. This led him to wonder at the time, if he hadn't been in such a despicable situation, what would the real texture of her hands have been? Oh Lord, he would give the world to her if he could.

He regrets questioning it so much, regrets being so ungrateful, because soon, the thing that once stroked his face and rubbed his fingers with affection, the warmth of a sincere caress, was gone. As quickly as it came. The precious priceless thing talked about in movies and songs had been forcibly taken from him.

It was unfair. And to Chrollo's displeasure, there was no one to blame. He knew that she was sick and fragile, he knew the risks of exposing her to danger, to the petty crimes she committed for the sake of survival, he knew that he had something to lose if he decided to risk her health in order to have something to eat for one more day. He was already familiar with contempt, but the pain of loss was as acute as the pain of hunger. Even if he had eaten an entire can of canned peaches, the sharp pain that vibrated in his core would not go away.

He was cold, so cold that his bones ached. And unfortunately, she wasn't there to rub his cold hands.

In the cold early hours, he found himself filtering the information, digesting the facts and staring at them. He'd seen people die before, he'd seen the worst of humanity in such a short space of time that it didn't even make him frown, because disgust had already seeped into his daily life. He just wanted to know why it didn't let him rest when he lay on the moldy mattresses.

It was driving him crazy, and he must have been 14? Or 15? Going mad at 15 wasn't the best strategy someone like him could have.

Like Prometheus, Chrollo was having his wounds reopened on a daily basis, from the moment he went to sleep until the hour of sun began to show its first signs in the Meteor City.

So, in order to obscure these memories, for the sake of his newly formed troupe of thieves, he decided to infuse them into the back of his mind, for as long as it took, until the memories became nothing more than a small fragment, of something that Chrollo Lucilfer believes to be nothing more than a bad dream.

An unreal delusion.

The night in York seemed turbulent, hectic and with a touch of danger in the air, not the frightening kind, but the kind that gets your blood pumping, makes a delicious adrenaline rush through your veins, as if even the most ordinary of girls could experience a mind-blowing adventure. But Chrollo's blood wasn't pumping wildly, and he certainly wasn't a girl looking for an exciting, euphoric adventure. He was quite sober, in fact.

Chrollo put his hands in the pockets of his coat, it was a bit different from the long coat he wore, this one was brown and rather ordinary, but still a good coat. He stabilized his posture, there was something in his thoughts that trapped him in the subconscious of ideas, a trance of nostalgia, something he didn't like, but found difficult to disengage from at this point.

He should just stick to the original plan and rent a small cubicle to hide out in with the rest of the troupe, he thought as he eyed the hotel's battered sign, a clear blur between the words in large cursive letters, the coloring was faded and yellowish, but if he had to guess, he would guess that it was something like 'Hotel of Sleeping Beauties!' with several exclamations in a row.

He entered the hotel without any expectations, he didn't need to be smart to understand that the outside was just a glimpse of the inside. His pre-judgments weren't wrong, it wasn't a good dump, but it would do for now. The corners of the walls were moldy and the air was rather damp, and he could feel it when the dust unceremoniously entered his nostrils.

A receptionist, maybe 22 years old at the most, stood on the other side of the counter, he had a bunch of cigarette butts in an ashtray, and one more between his lips, the slow passage to death on the lips of a young man, who stared at him with nothing but boredom. The kind of employee who doesn't receive commissions and neglects his clientele. But to be fair, Chrollo had to admit that his uniform was rather pompous for such a shabby place; red with silver details on his hat.

"[Name], we have a gentleman waiting at reception to be attended to… I suggest you hasten your steps," he said rather loudly into the intercom, almost like a threat, followed by an exhausted sigh.

Chrollo approached the counter with an unreadable expression, and could tell that neither of them would make any further moves unless necessary.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Eddy"

Chrollo raised his eyes to look at the newcomer and, for a moment, he thought he had gone back in time.

His face, his voice, his rigid mannerisms. The perfectly sculpted creature, identical even down to the smallest details of his face. It was perfect. So perfectly the same that it was frightening. Just like the sight of a zombie preserved only to haunt he.

"We still have a few rooms available, sir, I think you'll want to take a look." She sounded professional, neutral and infused, as if Chrollo were just another face among the many she must have seen that evening. Just someone else to serve. A stranger.

Her tone was unapproachable; on the contrary, it was distant, disguised by a cordial kindness.

"Sir?" The woman in question approached with her eyes flashing in curiosity, an essential customer care.

"Forgive me, I'm getting distracted," Chrollo approached, making her step back.

She was so close, so close that he feared he would be blown away with the dust if he tried to touch her.

"It's okay, don't worry," [Name] nodded in agreement, as resigned as a doll kept in the darkest corner of the closet, but still smiling with disdain. That smile that didn't reach her eyes to express anything, only carved to be etched into her flesh and her manners. His gracious appreciation was a sham. "Shall we go ahead? I'll show you the way."

"I appreciate that" Chrollo just nodded, unable to formulate a flattering response, following her as she took the bunch of keys out of one of her pockets.

You should be dead.

You should be dead…

That's what was going through his mind as he stared into her doll-like eyes.

Inspiration from the tale Ma chérie . Thank you for read <3

[lapdogchase]

i miss her (rice i just had for dinner two hours ago) so bad its unreal

[hongluboobs]

tumblr user hong lu boobs have you played any of the new canto yet im very interested in your thoughts

Yes I do!!! I don't want to make a big post on Some Of The Stuff til the whole canto is up (if you are aware of this account and some of my recent postings it may become aware of what i am talking about) but ohhghghgh. This shit Re Awakened the naive cyanism in me!! I thought it was gone. I thought I was over Hong Lu! I haven't even been doing my dailies and weeklies as of late that's how out of it i've been. but NOPE!! We are sooooo limback babey!!

(i apologize for yapping about hong lu right off the bat. its not that guy's turn yet. it's don's world and we are all just living it, but with the way don's character is structured my brain goes more towards a "wait and see" approach for her. I know it'll be awesome and i Am invested but like. this is hong lu boobs dot tumblr dot com. I'm sorry women)

I'll put some basic stuff above the cut and then some more spoiler-y stuff below.

HUGE fan of the presentation this canto. PJM continues to get crazier with this stuff every canto and this is no exception.

In the light of that previous bullet, I am fully expecting some meta fuckery here. They've pulled some cool stuff at the ends of cantos 5 and 6 but. this is the sinner about delusion/unreality! I Live In Fear of whatever pm is cooking.

The setting is also REALLY fun. whenever I saw a new battle bg i was cheering and clapping. they're all so fun and whimsical and there's so much potential for interesting things

I really like seeing how people dress in the north of the city! We've had so many new factions/branches of factions thrown at us so far and I love a lot of the outfits! Will this still hold true when I try to draw them and get upset at the level of detail after drawing standard formalwear on pm characters for so long? Maybe!

The CGs have been really clean so far? As an artist I get worried about this stuff sometimes because it's a lot of work to get done but all the ones I've seen so far are really nice :)

If you aren't reading passives and status effects this canto. do that. my brain might be a little too small atm to comprehend some of the gimmicks w the main enemy type but some of the wording in the enemies passives may be hinting at things. Also some of them are really funny

this Might be my favorite direction they've taken the OST? Honestly it's so hard to pick because this ost NEVER misses but I've been typing this whole thing to that one boss's theme (you know the one)

If you've played through the first part of the canto, feel free to click through the read more for some of my thoughts that delve more into spoiler territory

I am so intimidated anytime the screen goes black and I have to deal with various colored text and Scary Voiceover. I cannot say much on it aside from just how scared i get whenever it happens. I'm pretty bad at identifying voices (especially if i don't understand the language) but these lines just get. so interesting

Here they are all together for my convenience (and potentially yours :) )

I don't have a ton to say on it especially because anything I say can be proven wrong Very Quickly and I am not a don quixote scholar but I think the "Please, please! I don't want an adventure, stop! Please!" line from (who i assume to me) second kindred don is VERY interesting. much to think about regardless!

UPDATE: while I was writing this my buddy lu-is-not-ok (follow him. if you like what I do you'll like what he does.) sent me this image.

Yep, we've got identity stuff going on. Yellow seems to be Our Don Quixote (It's her text color, at least, but back then she'd be the bloodfiend second kindred, hence being able to obliterate that bear immediately, and acting less in line with the DQ we know and love) while red is... maybe the original don quixote? The original owner of rocinate at least,("Your running shoes look like they could fetch a nice price...") who seems obsessed with justice and fixers like ours. I haven't read the book so I don't feel like I can add a ton more to this aside from flat speculation but I am very interested in how this develops.

Ok now I want to talk about Hong Lu stuff. Let's ignore the elephant in the room for just a second :)

I'm a big fan of the exchange between Dante, Verg, and Hong Lu. THERE IS SO MUCH CONCERNING FORESHADOWING IN HERE!!!!! OH MY GOG. I can't handle it.

the specific wording of "the most lucid one" is SO interesting to me. fully expecting these cantos to be a True Combo. I was already anticipating it because they both have so much to do with rules and the boundary of reality and delusion but with the familial hierarchy theme present in bloodfiends its Definitely happening. And the light in Hong Lu's left eye going dimmer??? with the water theming being used??? Gloom/sinking themed distortion Please Please Please. you're nothing. Theres some water connections from the book irt the land of illusion (near the end bao-yu's enlightenment is seen as realizing that everything is akin to moonlight mirrored in the water- it ultimately doesn't matter and everything predestined to happen will occur regardless) and this water theming is present in Hong Lu as well (base ego) but it's really interesting to see it Like This.\

And now. there's probably some other stuff I can talk about but I wanna say things about The Elephant In The Room. If you follow my stuff and are caught up on this canto you know what I'm talking about.

I have been compiling a diagram with every mention of Hong Lu's family across all his dialogue. (which you can see here if interested, though it's now outdated for obvious reasons) We only really get vague mentions, the only direct family appearance is Jia Huan, who shows up to say one line and then fucks off.

I was not expecting to get stuff on Hong Lu This Early. They've been giving us mostly crumbs and I was NOT expecting to get hit by All This. I have been surviving on scraps and I just had the Hong Lu lore equivalent of a rotisserie chicken thrown to me. I'm kind of rusty on DOTRC because I haven't touched up on it in a while and as such I cannot give too many details but it's very interesting to see Xichun.

I'm going to check up on Xichun's characterization in the source later because there's so many characters in that book and she wasn't really one I had that close an eye on during my read. From what I remember, she's one of Bao-yu's cousins who lives in the garden with him, and eventually runs away to become a nun when the family starts falling into decline. (mirroring Bao-yu running away to become a monk for the same reasons.) I'm probably missing stuff I'll catch when I go out to reread the book, but based on how she's depicted here it gives me more of an idea about what themes of dotrc they're pushing for canto 8.

They're for sure emphasizing the familial abuse and how fucked up the jia family is. It almost reads like all of the siblings are in competition with each other (building "factions"). and Hong Lu has said his siblings have attempted to kill him before.

Hong Lu has been like this, which lines up with his book equivalent of Bao-yu, who is notorious for being childish/naive and not necessarily working within the pre established rules and conventions set up by his family. I'm curious how he's managed to survive this long with the jias a lot more willing to Kill Eachother.

"My most amicable sibling" fucks me up so much. what the hell is this family's deal man. I'm really curious about this line, because xichun is not a sibling but a cousin in the book. I'm curious what's gonna happen with Bao-chai and Dai-yu in Limbus because it's very challenging to adapt this story without those two. Dai-yu in Dotrc is one of the characters Bao-yu feels most comfortable being himself around. Generally, the female characters in DOTRC are better people than the male ones, and Bao-yu spends most of his time with the girls as a result. I'm curious how/if they'll adapt this because it's a pretty big thing in the book and they serve as an escape for Bao-yu from dealing with the nightmare that is people like his father. I feel if it was happening, they'd probably write Xichun a little kinder, but I don't know nearly enough to make any sort of call yet. Absolutely TERRIFIED (positive. this is a good thing) for what PM is cooking.

I'm gonna have to cut this off here because i have A Lot of thoughts but i also have many assignments to finish and have been typing this for way too long! Thank you for asking the question anon I hope you enjoyed reading some of my thoughts :) !!

[joelslegalwhre]

Hey

This is my request

Yn is a driver of red bull and its the last race and max verstappen is her boyfriend ( max is not a driver ) and she wins her first worldchampionship with alot of fluff thanks

i love the idea! Be ready for a ton of fluff, i have no self control-

Sorry this took me so long… I had my final exams and was busy crying and being anxious, BUT I‘M DONE NOW whoo, your girl finally has her Abi now😭

pairing // max verstappen x driver!fem!reader

summary // You win your first world championship and Max had already planned everything out for when you get out of your car

warnings // max is not a driver, he‘s living the wag life lmao, just a shit ton of fluff and lovesick max, you‘re the first woman in f1 (did i miss something?)

word count // 2k

Masterlist // taglist // 🥤my kofi if you‘d like to leave a tip🩷

World Champion

Your car literally flew across the finish line as your team clung to the fence to the track, cheering.

You couldn't help but let out a cry of joy. You had done it, you had actually won the race.

That might not be unusual anymore, because winning races was almost a habit.

But today was different, the screams of the fans cheering you on from the stands echoed in your ears. You put your hand out of the cockpit and waved back at them, smiling and completely overwhelmed by the situation.

World champion. You were a world champion now.

The mere fact that you were the first and only woman in Formula One had made a lot of headlines. Right from the start, you felt much more pressure than the others seemed to. And you had shown all the reporters and all the doubters who had made so many comments, good or bad, how you were able to assert yourself in this male domain.

You parked your car according to the rules and not even a second later you were running towards the waiting crowd that was your team, jumping into their arms. The fence separating the people from the drivers was rocking dangerously as you jumped into their arms, almost knocking it over completely. But you were so full of joy that you hardly noticed. The love and joy your team gave you at that moment overwhelmed you. Everyone laughed, whistled and cheered, and you too had to squeal under your helmet. All of this was so absolutely unreal, it was as if you were about to wake up from a dream. A dream that was too good to be true.

But that's exactly what it was, true. This was really happening.

When your mechanics, the pit crew and whoever else was standing with them, put you back down on the ground, your eyes fell on Max. He was standing right up front, next to your mechanics, beaming at you.

As quickly as you could, you took off your helmet and your balaclava. Someone took the helmet and balaclava from your hands, much to your silent gratitude. Your feet carried you to your boyfriend in seconds.

"Congratulations, champion." He couldn't say much more before you wrapped your arms around his neck and silenced him with your lips.

You didn't care who was watching now, this moment belonged only to the two of you. Max gently parted from your lips and leaned his forehead against yours. "You can't imagine how proud I am of you." he whispered, his nose lightly brushing yours. "I love you." you whispered back.

"I love you more, champ." You giggled in response to the new nickname he seemed to have chosen for you now. You didn't mind, quite the opposite, it was a reminder of what had just happened. His breath brushed your lips as he let out a laugh. "I think you need to get back to your job now." Max grinned, still so close to your lips. You pouted and looked into his eyes, "Don't run away, okay?" you joked. "I'm not." He laughed back and gave you one last peck on the lips.

You turned around and thanked the person who had held your helmet for you.

Then you rushed to the other drivers and went through the whole procedure with the weighing and all the other usual steps. The drivers were congratulating you with hugs and brotherly pats on the back.

All the time the cheering of the fans and your team in the background.

The hymns were played and you still couldn't quite believe it. This wasn't just a normal race, it wasn't just the end of the season - which meant you finally had time to genuinely relax - no, it was the day you could talk about for decades to come, the day people would talk about for years and years. The day you made it.

Your anthem played, and as the rhythmic notes rang out, you had to hold back tears. It was emotional, to say the least. But the bright smile on your face outweighed the tears. And so you stood up there, along with Charles and Lewis, and let the sun, still pleasantly warm, brush your face. In your ears now the national anthem of your team.

After receiving numerous congratulations along the way, the garage was finally in sight. "Do you know where everyone is?" you asked your PR manager, who had accompanied you here from the podium, slightly confused. Nobody from the team was outside anymore, and you drew the conclusion that they all had to be in the garage. "They're already inside." she confirmed, grinning at you. Just as you had thought, then. You gave an understandable nod and circled the stack of tires stored diagonally in front of the garage.

Your mouth probably dropped to the floor when you saw your team, Christian and Max in front, together with Helmut, standing in front of you. You were quick to close your lips again, a wide smile dominating.

"What-" it was nothing more than a stutter, you were too overwhelmed with the situation.

"Congratulations!" everyone shouted at the same time, like a birthday surprise. That's when you noticed the shirts they were all wearing. Every member of the team was wearing the same one, and it showed you standing big in the middle, with the words "World Champion" at the top and the year at the bottom. It was one of the pictures from Spain earlier this year, when you had taken first place and had both hands in the air, clenched into fists, in victory.

"We have one for you, too." Christian grinned at you, and gave you an identical shirt to the one he was wearing.

"Thank you." your voice was barely above a whisper, the emotion too strong. Tears were collecting in your eyelashes, and it became hard to see.

You felt two strong arms close around your body, and in the next moment you were surrounded by Max's familiar scent. "Congratulations, baby." he whispered in your ear. He must have told you a dozen times since you left your car, but he just couldn't help himself. Your big dream has finally come true. All those days of hard training had paid off, and he couldn't be prouder of you.

You snuck your nose in the crook of his neck and pressed yourself closer to him once more, before braking away from the embrace.

"Thank you." you now said, addressing your team. "Thank you to each and every one of you. I know so many have said that before me, but it's true, I couldn't have done this without you guys today." you turned to your pit crew with a grin, "You guys have the absolute fastest reflexes I've ever seen. How do you do that?" The men laughed and tipped their imaginary hats, "Is and always will be an honor, Ms. World Champion." one of them joked, making you giggle.

When the hectic and excitement of the past few hours had passed, you could finally go back to your driver's room with Max to relax a little. Some privacy and quietness was something you were beyond grateful right now. All the fuss had worn you out and as much as you were filled with gratitude, your body also screamed at you to just lay down for a moment. After all, you just did a whole race in the heat of the bright midday sun. A cold shower was just about the best thing you could think of right now, but that had to wait for at least another two or three hours, maybe even more. 

"Ugh, that feels amazing." you moaned as you fell onto the small couch in your room. You let out an exhausted breath and let your head fall back to rest on it. "I bet it does." Max laughed and sat down beside you, grabbing your ankles to lift your legs onto his lap. He started to massage your feet, and you felt like you just got sent to literal heaven. "Please, never stop." you let out another groan, which made Max chuckle. "Your wish is my command." 

Your eyes wandered to his shirt, the same one you were still wearing. And after all the months of secret phone calls, always wondering what important things he had to do on these calls and why he left the room you were in when he did, it dawned on you, "Max," you asked, "Were you the one to get all these shirts?" 

He smiled at you, still massaging your feet, „I did. Couldn't let my girl win her first championship and stand there empty-handed." 

"Max," your voice cracked, "I- Thank you," you whispered, as you felt a single tear rolling down your cheek, "So much."

"Baby, don't cry." His thumb wiped the tear from your cheek, and you distinctly leaned into his touch. "Thank you so much." you whispered again. "You don't have to thank me for that, baby." a light smile played on his lips and he shifted slightly, bringing you to sit on his lap.

His hands caressed your thighs, and it sent a warm shiver through your body.

It felt good to rest in his arms and give your sore muscles a break.

You snuggled even closer to him. For a moment you just sat there, in his lap with his hands on your thighs and your arms around his middle. His hands ran up and down in a caressing and soothing gesture. The air in the room was pleasantly cool, thanks to the air conditioning.

Max's hands moved from your thighs to your back and gently moved up and down there too. He didn't push you to tell him everything that you were feeling right now, he just let you have your moment of silence. Later, when you would be back in your hotel room, there would be plenty of time to talk about everything that had happened.

"I love you." he whispered against your neck. You leaned back a little to look at him and smiled. "I love you too."

You cupped his face in your hands, the light stubble of his beard lightly scratching your skin and his scent enveloping you like a soft blanket.

You leaned forward and gently placed your lips on his. Max returned the kiss immediately and lightly nibbled your lower lip, which made you giggle and opened your lips a little. He took the opportunity to explore you with his tongue. The softness with which he kissed you elicited a sigh from you. It wasn’t a hectic or dirty kiss. Rather, it was full of love, affection and emotion. Max made you feel as if it was just the two of you and not a thousand other reporters, photographers and employees who were about to ask you a million questions. Which you were looking forward to, of course, but this moment was still too perfect to end.

Both of you separated your lips to catch your breath. Max immediately pulled your body close to his again and wrapped his arms around you.

"I think we need to get back out there," he whispered in your ear after a while. His breath tickled you a little and you giggled lightly. "Yeah, I think so."

You moved off his lap and ran a hand through your hair, which got a little tousled during your kiss. Max stood up and followed you to the door. "Off to battle." you quipped as you grabbed the handle. Max jokingly slapped your ass, and grinned, "Let's go, you world champion."

🩶taglist: @xcinnamongirl @topguncultleader @larastark3107 @sinfully-yoursss @alwaysclassyeagle @formulas-bitch @lunnnix @alexxavicry @love4lando @pjofics @Poppy4587 @cl16version @maximeverstappen @x-d1vine @ironmaiden1313

[hongmingoo]

I'm Going to Paint Your Heart Yellow!

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!Reader

Warnings: Going Ranger au, kindergarten teacher reader, fluff, toxic relationship, grumpy reader, sunshine seokmin, tiny bit angst.

Word count: 5.3k+

Summary: When a grumpy teacher meets a sweet ranger, an unlikely pair. What will happen when one fall in love with the other? Will they find their mutual standing?

“I’m going to paint your hearts yellow. Going Yellow!”

You simply did not expect this. How could you? This scene is straight out of the cartoons you watched during childhood. Who would have thought that power rangers are actually real living people and their headquarters are next door to your workplace.

You watched, in utter confusion as the six-man team stood before the class of 4 year olds, introducing themselves ‘enthusiastically’ without a hint of embarrassment coloring their faces. Oh, actually one person does looked ashamed of what he’s doing and wishes the ground would swallow him whole. His eyes met yours and the tip of his ears burnt brighter red as he looked away immediately. The secondhand embarrassment you’re getting from this is unreal.

“Seokminieeeee~” a girl cheered. The man who’s hair is dark orange, wearing the uniform jacket with yellow detailing smiled sweetly and waved at her. Oh, he’s cute. You noted.

“That is not Seokminie. That is Going Yellow!” a boy argued.

“Its Seokminie!” the girl argued.

“Going Yellow!”

The banter is going back and forth, it’s going to become chaos soon. The rangers were trying to calm them but they made it worse because more kids started to join the fights. You stood up straight, cleared your throat loud enough for the kids to hear. Immediately, the children went silent.

“Kids, the rangers made their time to come see you today. Are you going to fight? Should I ask them to leave so you could fight instead?” you asked, voice firm.

“No…” they chorused.

“Is everyone going to behave now? So that Mr. Rangers can continue?” you asked again.

“Yes, teacher,” they answered in unison.

“Good. Thank you” you calmly stated, aware that all eyes are on you but decided to just be cool about it despite panicking on the inside.

“Oh, This is Miss Kim Y/n. She’s our new teacher. But ever since she came it has been a lot easier to control the kids because she’s very strict but very kind at the same time” the principal, Madam Lee introduced you. You gave a slight bow to the men and they returned the gesture with an awed smile.

The rest of the day went well. The kids enjoyed the time they spent with the rangers and they seemed to share the same sentiment too. They went back to their office after lunch and the daycare quiet down since most of the kids had gone home with their family. It’s almost 7pm and one kid still hasn’t gone home yet. And you’re left alone with her after Madam Lee went home.

“Soojin-ah. Do you usually go home this late?” you asked as you began to pack up your things. The little girl who was coloring her book looked up at you and nodded.

“Usually, Madam Lee accompanies me because Seokminie gets off work at 8pm. Or sometimes it’s Teacher Seo who stayed behind. But there are days when mom came to pick me up earlier too. But now mom is on a business trip” she explained cutely, her hands flailing everywhere as if to emphasise her story.

“Seokminie?” you asked, sure that you heard that name before.

“My uncle. He is Going Yellow. He worked next door” she cheered. You smiled at her cuteness so you bend down to pat her head. You took a seat next to her to see her coloring book and was genuinely impressed to see it was so neat and tidy. Usually kids her age have a very messy art style.

“So today, I'll be the one to accompany you. Is that okay with you?”

“Okay!! But I’m super hungry right now hehe” she giggled cutely. You noticed she has the same smile as her uncle, it was very bright and innocent that they’re able to melt anyone’s misery right away.

“Oh no… That’s bad but I don’t have any food on me right now. Should we go to the convenience store nearby? It will be my treat. But we’ll have to let your uncle know first, in case he comes here to search for you” you suggested after you rummaged through your bag for any snack you could find.

“Is that really okay?” the girl asked again, she was very polite for her age, you could not help falling for her even more.

“Of course. But it will be our secret only okay?” you chuckled, holding out your pinky for her to hold. She beamed, immediately jumping to her feet to lock her tiny pinky with yours. You helped her to pack her things before locking up the school to head to the Ranger Headquarters next door, hand-in-hand with Soojin.

“Annyeonghasaeyoooo~” the little girl announced as soon as they stepped into the cold office. There was the pink ranger from earlier and he immediately beamed upon seeing the little girl.

“Aigoo, it's Soojinnie. Are you looking for Seokmin?” he asked, kneeling to be on the same eye-level as her. He gave you a polite nod and a smile, acknowledging your presence next to her.

“Eung. Is he here, Hao-samchon? I want to ask him if I can go to the convenience store with my teacher because I’m hungry” she pouted.

“Aigoo, why are you going to the convenience store if you’re hungry? Stay here, I’m cooking dinner right now” another voice piped in from behind you, startling you. The figure appeared, stopping next to the pink ranger, grinning at the girl before turning to look at you. He’s wearing the same jacket as ‘Hao’ as Soojin mentioned but you haven’t seen him before. He is super tall, towering over your frame, with long hair framing his attractive face with a box of groceries in his arms.

“Soojinnie? You’re here?” Seokmin’s voice called from behind you yet again. You both turned to look at him who also had a box of groceries in his arms.

“Seokminieeeee. I’m hungry. I wanna go to the convenience store with my teacher. May I?” she asked, giving him her cutest puppy eyes. Seokmin turned to look at you for confirmation and you nodded.

“I can even leave my things here if you’re wary of me,” you stated. He immediately looked guilty because his eyes went wide as saucers.

“No! It’s not that! Of course I trust you. You’re hired by her school after all” he panicked.

“Just eat here. We’re having dinner” the taller guy said.

“But I’m suuuuuupeeerrr hungryyyyy noooowwww” Soojin whined, enhancing her pout even more.

“How about we go buy some snacks first while you’re cooking then I’ll send her back here for dinner” you suggested.

“You’re staying for dinner too” all the other four stated in unison and you’re left speechless.

“Are you okay just going alone with your teacher? Because I need to go cook. What do Soojinnie want to eat?” Seokmin asked her niece.

“I’ll behave. I want to eat tteokbokki please?” she asked nicely. You almost coo, but held yourself back when the uncle coos at his niece first. He nodded, and let you take his niece away as the both of you trotted to the nearby Family Mart.

“I’ll introduce you again. We have 2 teams. Each teams consists of 6 people and there’s 2 doctors. This is my teammates in Division 1. Our leader, Red is Lee Chan, he’s the youngest by the way. White is Hong Jisoo, Blue is Choi Seungcheol, Pink Xu Minghao, Black Jeon Wonwoo and Yellow is me, Lee Seokmin. For Division 2, Red is Boo Seungkwan, Blue is Chwe Hansol, White is Yoon Jeonghan, Black is Kwon Soonyoung, Yellow is Wen Junhui and Pink is Kim Mingyu. This is our founder Dr. Woo or his real name, Lee Jihoon and his assistant, Hong Yeseung, Wonwoo’s girlfriend. Did you get it?” Seokmin explained as if he’s shooting a rapping bullet through your brain at dinner and you blinked nervously, not getting anything at all.

“She obviously doesn’t get anything with that kind of explanation” Dr. Woo commented.

“It’s okay. Let’s take time to get to know each other. We’re neighbours after all. We’ll see each other a lot” Chan nodded in assurance.

“Aigoo, look at you trying to be the leader” Seungkwan sassed. The rest of the team laughed at their banter and you chuckled, feeling strangely at ease with the lively bunch.

“What’s your name? Seokmin only tell you ours. But not yours. What should we call you?” the sole female, Yeseung asked kindly.

“Y/n. My name is Kim Y/n,” you replied.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n” she chuckled.

It actually doesn’t take long at all to get along really well with them all, considering your nightly routine to drop Soojin at the rangers’ office and staying over a bit to chat with Yeseung while babysitting the girl as she wait for her uncle to finish work. Your work hours are supposed to end at 6pm and it was supposed to be rotational to stay with other teachers but you offered to stay back with her everyday because the other teachers has their own family to tend to, and you’re the only single teacher plus you have a tiny weeny crush on the girl’s uncle but of course you weren’t going to admit that. It’s funny how hard you were trying to hide that but some of them already seemed to notice your crush on the yellow ranger, well except the man himself of course.

It was children day’s celebration, the school decided to work together with the rangers to organize a mini picnic day for the children. The event will be held at the Rangers’ training grounds because their spaces are bigger and can fit more people. Parents are invited to join the picnic but since it was held on a working day, not many could attend.

You were helping around when you noticed the red rangers bicker with each other which color of mats suits the theme the best. Hansol, the blue ranger from Division 2 was standing in between the both of them with a blank expression plastered across his face. In his hands, he was holding red and blue mats as he waited for them to decide which one he should lay on the grass for guests to sit on. You sigh, reaching for yellow mats silently and began laying them on the grass, leaving a bit space in between so that it will be easier to walk around. Hansol noticed what you were doing, and promptly leaving the two to help you lay more yellow mats in silence. He was slow on his actions but you didn’t mind because he was still helping nonetheless.

“We’re using yellow?” Seokmin’s voice was heard behind you, very loud and excited and you had to hold yourself from screaming in shock at his sudden appearance.

“Yellow? I thought we’re using red?!” Seungkwan questioned, looking shocked at how many mats you and Hansol had placed around the venue.

“We’ll be having this picnic next week if I let Hansol wait for your decision on which color to use. Plus, I’m hungry already” you stated, unamused. Seokmin snorted while Seungkwan scoffed at your audacity but he didn’t say anything and just gifted you with his bombastic side eye which you’d get on a daily basis already.

“You did’t have breakfast today?” Seokmin asked, ever the gentlest one– looking at you with his doe eyes. It was so hard to maintain a blank face when you just want to coo at his cuteness but, you’re a cool lady, so a facade is a must.

“I overslept and rushed here without my morning drip” you grunted a bit and he just chuckled at your respond.

“Come with me, there’s some of the meat that’s already cooked. You can eat that first. Jisoo made some coffee too,” he beamed, grasping your sleeve covered wrist and tugging you gently to follow him to the grill. You had to fight the blush that is trying to creep up your face at that intimate gesture but it certainly doesn’t help when you see the knowing looks your friends sent you. Mingyu was holding back his snicker by flaring his nose as he grilled the meat, Yeseung was hiding her grin behind the paper cup that she had been sipping on for the past 15 minutes. Meanwhile, Yoon Jeonghan doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk while his evil twin is beaming at you with his ‘angelic’ smile.

“Do you prefer beef or samgyeopsal?” Seokmin asked, letting go of your wrist only to pull a paper bowl to fill your food as he stared at you with those innocent eyes again.

“Beef” you mumbled and Jeonghan who was grilling the beef quickly placed some in the bowl as he giggled evilly, his eyebrows going crazy as he looked at you. You moved back to stand slightly behind Seokmin as you glared at him, mouthed ‘be quiet’ but the older guy only laughed more, happy to tease you. Seokmin was puzzled, to see his friend acting like that so he turned back to look at you, but you had your blank face on again.

“Why are you so happy?” he questioned innocently.

“Ah, no. I’m so happy that Teacher Y/n wants to eat my cooking~” he laughed evilly with his signature deep giggles.

“Of course she'd want to eat your cooking, you're the best at grilling beef!” Seokmin beamed and you almost threw away the bowl and kissed him stupid.

The picnic started soon after, parents and students filling up the venue, talking and playing with each other. You were just sitting by the coffee counter with Jisoo and Yeseung when a familiar child came running to you.

“Teacher! Come eat with me and my family. Mommy and granny want to meet you,” she beamed up at you while pointing towards where her family is seated. They were easy to spot, as there was a head of dark orange amongst the dark hair.

“Go ahead and join your family” Jisoo mused, his eyes gone as he beamed while his sister nodded along. Sometimes you didn't know if they were teasing you or genuinely happy for you but you had to remind yourself that the Hongs are the most mischievous among the bunch (plus Yoon Jeonghan) so you have to be careful not to be pulled away by them.

You let Soojin guide you to her family, her mother and grandma greeted you with a warm welcome and the man you've been crushing on silently is smiling so brightly it's almost blinding.

“You seemed awfully happy today. Did something good happen, Seokmin? Grandma Lee asked her youngest son.

“Jiwon is back from Canada. And she's coming today, I'm waiting for her right now. Hehe” he answered with a sheepish smile. You could see his sister and mother glancing at each other in concern before turning to look at their youngest again.

“Jiwon? Didn't you two break up already?” His sister asked.

“We did. But Jiwon texted me last week to fix our relationship. So, I agreed”

The atmosphere is tense and you could hear your ears ringing from the knowledge of Seokmin having a girlfriend and you might have been rejected before you even got the chance to confess.

Not longer than 15 minutes after that, Seokmin got up from his sitting position to fetch someone at the gate of the headquarters. He came back, a few minutes later with a woman probably in the same age range as you guys– hand in hand.

The girl took a seat next to you, who had Soojin resting on your lap. She eyed you suspiciously before turning to her boyfriend.

“Who's this? I haven't seen her before?” She questioned.

“Ah, this is Y/n, Soojin’s teacher. She's a close friend now considering she's always there to accompany Soojin while I get off work. Y/n, this is my girlfriend, Jiwon” Seokmin explained, the bright smile never leaving his handsome face.

“Hello, Jiwon,'' you greeted politely, only to receive a frown and half-hearted nod in response. You were quite taken aback by this behavior until you saw Seokmin's sister rolled her eyes in annoyance but didn't say anything else whilst mother only smiled at the new girl.

Jiwon is a brat, you noted.

For the whole day, the girl next to you has been clinging to her boyfriend as if to show off to you that he belongs to her and hers only. You got tired of it eventually and excused yourself to go back to your friends.

“How was it? Their family is nice, right?” Yeseung asked, when she noticed you're back– handing you a cup of iced coffee to soothe your thirst.

“Yeah. But someone isn't”

“Who?”

“Jiwon”

“That bitch came back?” Yeseung questioned, her eyes blazing now.

“You knew her?”

“Well yeah, I punched her in the face once because she was trying to take advantage of my Wonu,” she muttered and you gasped.

“What?! Holy hell, you punched her? What did she do?”

“Well… She sprained her ankle and I asked Wonu to help her because Seokmin wasn't around. And then, she started flirting with him suddenly, when Seokmin came back, she accused Wonu of trying to harass her. Yeah, and I did that”

“Damn… Did Seokmin get mad?” You inquired.

“He did. He was upset with me for hurting his girlfriend but he knew I wouldn't lie and Wonu wouldn't do that to her. So, yeah, he apologized the next day,” Yeseung sighed. You looked back at the couple who were laughing together and sigh.

The days after that passed by normally, you still stayed late to accompany Soojin as you always do, talking and joking around with the rangers including Seokmin occasionally. It was really a big change for you. Truthfully, when you learned that your crush has someone else you'd immediately cut things off with them and run away.

But you found yourself unable to do that to the Yellow Ranger. Not when you see how happy he is to be telling you how his days went by, how happy he looked when he said his girlfriend likes his cooking and how cheerful he is after she came back. Not that he wasn't cheerful before, it's just all of you could see how he's happier now, that he's bouncing in every step he takes.

You didn't know how you could see this even brighter side of him was due to someone else and not you. Maybe you overestimated yourself, because the world does not revolve around you and you absolutely do not have the power to make everyone happy. But a part of you did hope that this unrequited love would be requited anyways, what a wishful thinking.

You were surprised that you didn't run away this time, and you didn't feel as bitter as you did when you were rejected. Maybe your heart really was painted yellow by the ranger, and that is why you're still here, wishing him happiness with his girlfriend. And he'd look at you with his brightest smile, cheeks bunching cutely, eyes gone, nose scrunched as he thanked you.

But today, Seokmin wasn't at his office when you came over at tea time to pass the muffins that you and your class baked. Mingyu had told you he went out with a sullen look on his face earlier. It was raining heavily outside, and you were worried that he didn't have his umbrella with him.

You run around the neighborhood, only to see a familiar figure crouching down behind the concrete tunnel at the playground in the rain.

“Seokmin? What are you doing here? It's raining” you asked as you carefully came up to him. He was still crouching, eyes downcast as his hands held waterproof cardboard over a puppy lying down on the ground.

“This puppy, he's dead. I- I always feed him but I was a bit late today be-because–” he sobbed, still staring at the lifeless puppy below. You crouched next to him, covering his head with the umbrella you brought even though he's already drenched and your heart broke at the sight of him, face wet with tears and raindrops, a frown and pout decorating his handsome face.

It was the first time you saw him cry, because he's always the one who comforts others, always puts others before himself.

If he's the one who always offers his shoulders to anyone who's sad, who offers their shoulders to him when he's upset?

“Do you need a hug?” You offered silently, opening your arms for him. Seokmin pouted even more before nodding and slowly moving to bury his face in your shoulder, and wrapping his arms around your torso as he sobbed sadly. You patted him on his back in a comforting manner, just listening to him crying his heart out for who knows how long.

“Sorry, I've wetted your sweater with my tears…” he mumbled as pulled away from you after he calmed down a bit.

“It's fine. Are you feeling okay now?” You asked with a soft smile.

“Yeah, thanks. But you're all wet too now! I'm so sorry!” He panicked again upon seeing half of your body was wet from the rain too. Your skirt was drenched, same as your shoes and socks.

“Hey, it's fine. I have spare clothes back at school. You've been in the rain longer than I am. We should probably get inside now or else we'll be sick. Come on,” you stood up, offering your hand for him to take. He did, and you walked together to find a box to place the puppy so that he can bring him to the pet crematorium at the end of the block later.

You didn't ask anything to him, it wasn't your place to be nosy of his affairs even though you're dying to know why his members said he's so sullen today.

“I had a fight with Jiwon,” he said out of nowhere when you both were watching the process of the cremation of the little puppy.

“Ah, I see. No wonder Mingyu said you looked sullen today. It's okay you can always talk and fix–”

“She wanted me to quit my job as a ranger,” he added and cut you off. You gasped, but didn't say anything to let him continue.

“I mean, I was fine if she didn't want me to raise the puppy at my apartment because she's always there. But telling me to quit my job just because Yeseung and Wonu are there and you're next door is a bit overreacting, don't you think so?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Jiwon knows we're close to each other. I told her that you're my closest friend next to my members and she didn't like it. She was mad and we argued. She should've known that I love my job very much and she should have just supported me even if she didn't like it but forcing her decision on me is unacceptable,” he complained but all you could hear was ‘you’re my closest friend next to my members’.

The way he rejected you whilst being so unaware about it was so unreal that it stopped being funny to you.

“Yeah, she should have respected your opinions instead of forcing her beliefs on you” you muttered weakly as a response. You both walked back to the headquarters in silence only to hear screaming on the foyer.

“Jiwon?” Seokmin called out. The woman turned towards where you both stood at the gate and she rushed towards you to push at your shoulders violently, making you stumbled back.

“You bitch! Why are you with him?! What did you do?!” she screamed at your face.

“Jiwon, why are you being like this? Y/n was just accompanying me to send off the puppy that I always fed” Seokmin explained, trying to get his girlfriend off of you.

“That damn dog again?! How many times do I have to tell you? It's disgusting!” Jiwon yelled. You grabbed her by the collar, irritated at her constant yelling.

“Shut your trap. You're making a scene” you warned, voice low and demanding.

“And who are you to tell me anything?! Oh, you're ashamed that people are gonna know you're an ugly bitch who's trying to steal someone's boyfriend?!”

“No one's ashamed of anything and no one's stealing anyone. Calm down, Jiwon. Listen to me, please” Seokmin pleaded, pulling his girlfriend away from your grasp.

“Why are you siding with her? Did you actually like her?!” Jiwon shouted.

“I am honestly stunned. How did a guy who's so nice like him ended up with someone crazy like you? Did you put a spell on him or something?” You sighed exasperatedly, before snickering at her in a mocking manner. You've lost your cool. Your anger is blazing right now.

“You called me crazy?! Who do you think you are!” She yelled yet again, splashing the cup of orange juice at your face in anger. The whole foyer was stunned, including Seokmin. No one dares to make a move or utter a thing.

“You should have been grateful that he's the nicest human being on earth, the purest and kindest to ever exist. You should have been kind and respectful towards him, treat him with care and so much love the way he treated his friends and you. The way he deserves. Honestly, he deserves so much better than a nasty piece of crap like you” you spat, venom lacing in your tone. Your eyes are glowering in rage, if looks could kill, the woman in front of you would have died more than a few times already.

“What? Do you think you're better than me? That you deserved him?!”

“I'm not. If I'm better than you, I wouldn't even be here entertaining your pathetic ass. I'd rather ignore your pitiful yapping and tend to him because right now, he needs comfort more than anything. But here I am, standing eye to eye with such an ungrateful bastard when my heart is burning with envy”

It was indirect confession, you realized it too late as you noticed Seokmin's eyes widening at your words. But, you'd rather tell him the truth now instead of seeing him getting hurt by this wench.

“You actually have feelings for him, you shameless bitch!” Jiwon screamed, lurching forward to give you a slap but you were faster. She staggered back, the sound of smack was deafening. All eyes landing on you.

“Stop trying to touch me with your filthy hands. It's disgusting” you spat, before walking away from the scene.

You didn't know how you ended up at Yeseung’s door after that, only staring mindlessly at Wonwoo who had a shocked expression seeing you there– drenched.

“Come on in, Yeseungie is inside” he ushered you in, closing the door behind him.

“Bub, Y/n is here. She needs you” the tall guy had said to his girlfriend who was inside the bedroom.

“Y/n?” Yeseung’s voice was heard before she emerges from the bedroom wearing matching headband and pajamas as her boyfriend.

“Oh my gosh you're drenched. You're gonna wet my floor. Off you go to wash up, I'll bring you a change of clothes” she huffed, pushing you off to the guest bathroom.

“Baby can you get us some snacks?” Yeseung said.

“Yeah, I'll leave them at the door later and I'll be at Soonyoung's place. Call me if you need me, okay? Love you, bub,”

“Wonu left. You can wash up and then we'll talk,”

You ended up crying the whole night, before running down with a fever. It was embarrassing, being heartbroken until you fell ill as if you're still in highschool. It was even more mortifying that your body decided to fall sick at Yeseung’s house– troubling the couple even more. But they didn't mind at all, nursing you back to health as if you're their child.

You saw Seokmin again the next school day and you tried your hardest not to just bolt away and listen to what he has to say instead. You guys decided to talk at a nearby cafe, with a cup of coffee and cakes.

“I broke up with Jiwon” he announced, capturing your attention. You didn't know what to respond to that, so he continues,

“Thank you for saying what you said that day. I was really thankful and grateful for that. What you said made me really happy. Knowing someone thinks highly of me is really comforting,”

“I wasn't the only one. All of us feel that way. All of us think very highly of you. You're the kind of person who deserves the whole world” you mumbled. Seokmin smiled warmly at your words, enough to make you flustered.

“And… I'm sorry I didn't realize that you've liked me for a long while already. Mingyu told me that I've been blind. It must've hurt a lot yeah? Listening to me talk about Jiwon all the time… I'm sorry…”

When his voice sounded sad, you whipped your head up to look at him, his smile gone with a pout decorating his handsome face.

“It's fine. You don't have to be sorry, I'm just glad to see you're happy is all”

“But I am upset that you said you didn't deserve me and you talked badly of yourself. Because to me, you are so caring and loving towards others even though your face is intimidating sometimes”

“I really like being around you, Y/n. You made me feel at ease and I know I can always be myself and count on you. So… will you please not run away and stay until… until I can learn to love you more than a friend does?” He asked, round eyes looking at you with hope. You looked away, trying to hide the blush that's creeping their way up your face but he took it the wrong way, immediately pleading.

“Did you not like me anymore, Y/n? Is it because of what Jiwon did to you last time? I'm sorry, please! I promise I'll learn my hardest even if I'm not the brightest student!” He panicked.

“Only for a short while. I'll stop liking you if you take too much time to learn” you muttered, still staring out of the window at the cats.

“I'll try my best!” He chirped excitedly. His smile came back, beaming at you brightly like the sun itself.

You lied. There's no way you would actually be able to stop liking him, because you're falling in love with him deeper every second you spend with this man. Because your heart has already been painted yellow by the ranger himself. Making you feel bright, easy going and fluttery ever since you met him.

I guess rangers do exist. And their powers actually work too. – you noted, staring at the man who was petting a cat rolling around on the pavement.

“Y/n, let's adopt him!” He quipped, looking up at you with thise shiny eyes again.

“You can adopt him, but why do you need my approval?” You asked.

“Are you not going to be my girlfriend later on? I'll need your approval if you're going to always come to my apartment,” he questioned.

“Have you taken your lesson seriously? I told you I'm not going to wait for long,” you sassed. He gasped, bouncing on his feet to stand up quickly with the cat in his arms. His brows furrowed as he stepped closer towards you with that cute pout again.

“I'm learning! I promise I am. Don't leave. You're not allowed to” Seokmin whined, his fingers curling around your wrist gently. You smiled.

“I'm kidding. I won't leave. You can paint my heart yellow again if I tried to,” you chuckled, pulling your hand away only to lace your fingers together with his.

It was his turn to blush now, even the tip of his ears burned bright red.

“I will! As many times as it takes!” He announced, squeezing your hands together. He looked so cute like this, it warms your heart. You both ended up laughing at your ridiculousness, walking hand-in-hand back to your workplace.

-Fin-

[akariarda]

Immortal hope and a devastating truth-Part2-sadness

Part1

Misako finds Garmadon and then she loses him for the last time.

Thansk anonymous for the request!

A few months had passed. Garmadon was in prison. Instead of being good and living with her and Lloyd, he was behind bars.

Misako contemplated visiting him; she seriously considered it. She even suggested it to Wu, who advised her against it. She knew why;she would probably just end up disappointed.

He was no longer the same Garmadon.

Then trouble began anew. Faith had flown in, injured, flying Firstbloom, bearing bad news.

Lloyd had freed Garmadon from prison. It seemed he was helping the ninjas. Misako allowed herself to naively hope once more.

After finally catching a few short hours of sleep and rest from caring for Faith, Misako woke up in a strange yet beautiful place.

~~~~~~

It was a sunlit meadow, unreal in its freshness and beauty. It was full of flowers and fragrances, a breath of fresh air...

Then she heard singing. It really was him!

"Garmadon!" Misako turned around in excitement and saw him walking. He looked just as he did before he was exiled.

Well, before he became an Anacondrai. He was barefoot, strolling lightly, admiring the flowers.

"Misako!" He turned to her happily, looking at her with that gleam in his eyes—a gleam he reserved only for her and Lloyd.

"Garmadon!" Misako gasped in disbelief, tears welling in her eyes as she rushed into his embrace.

"I thought I would never see you again." Misako said as she held him tightly.

"I was afraid of the same, my love." Garmadon kissed her forehead and wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek.

"Let’s sit." Garmadon said, sitting on the ground, and Misako followed suit.

"I have missed you so much, dear." Misako spoke, gently caressing his face with her hands. It felt a bit strange.

She wanted to ask him how this was possible, but she didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize this moment.

"And I have missed you, my love, with every breath." Garmadon said, leaning in to kiss her. Misako kissed him back.

"Promise me you will stay here." Misako said, holding his face as she kissed him, as he kissed her.

"I..." Garmadon said hesitantly, involuntarily pulling away from her. "I’m sorry..." he said, suddenly standing up.

"Garm?" Misako stood up confused after him. "What..."

"I’m sorry." Garmadon looked at her with tears in his eyes. He gently caressed her face.

"I love you... but I am no longer that man." Saying this, he turned and began to walk away from her.

"No!" Misako cried softly. "I can’t lose you again!" But as she went after him, he began to run.

He was running faster and faster. She tried to follow him, but he vanished into the mist that suddenly formed in the clear sky.

"No..." Misako cried as she fell hard onto the cold ground. The impact was so strong that her vision went black.

~~~~~~

"What!" Misako gasped as she jolted awake, finding herself in a chair in the monastery. She touched her face, which was wet.

"I..." Misako choked as she burst into tears. She didn’t know what had just happened. Many times she had dreamt of Garmadon, especially after he had reappeared.

Many times she had cried for him, but... this felt different than before. It almost felt real. As if she could still feel his warmth on her face and his...

"Hey!" Suddenly she heard Lloyd and dashed into the courtyard. Something was happening.

Soon enough, what she thought was impossible happened. He appeared at the doors of the monastery.

"Garmadon?" Misako gasped in surprise. Perhaps...

"Misako." Garmadon looked at her as if reading her thoughts. "The old me would say something sweet and heartfelt. But I am no longer that man."

Those words pierced her heart like daggers, for the second time in five minutes. She couldn’t think of anything else until the end of the battle.

She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to think about how he helped the ninjas. She didn’t want to think about how she hoped again while he left her... their son while he was dying.

~~~~~~

Later she talked to Lloyd about it.

"I don’t think there’s a chance." Lloyd said sadly. "He has to find himself... not with us."

Misako sighed heavily at those words and hugged him. Her poor boy... Her heart ached to break.

The only thing keeping it together was her child and the memory of how she and Garmadon embraced in that meadow, sharing kisses, beautiful and heartfelt words for the last time.

[shivunin]

The Thought of Other Years

For @ockissweek, today I have borrowed @plisuu's Connor Trevelyan. Thank you for lending him to me! I hope I have done him justice; this has more or less wound up a "what if our OCs who went through the horrors hung out" and well. Here we are!

(Connor Trevelyan & Elowen Lavellan | 1,052 Words | CW: references to unreality)

“Yet whenever I cross the river    On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean    Comes the thought of other years. And I think how many thousands    Of care-encumbered men, Each bearing his burden of sorrow,    Have crossed the bridge since then.” —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Bridge���

Months after the fact, the world still felt wrong to Elowen. 

It would catch her at odd times: the expectation that something she dropped would float instead, or the way space didn’t seem to fold itself into recognizable shapes. It was a difficult thing to articulate to the others. Nothing is what it should be, she wanted to say, but how could she? The Fade was not her home. This world should feel like it belonged to her. It was nobody’s fault that it didn’t.

As always, when she could not articulate something, she tucked it away instead, threw herself into routine and expectations that were more easily understood. It helped sometimes. Other times, she walked to the ramparts and stood silently against the wind, trying to remind herself that the sky was meant to be blue, white, or grey, that she shouldn’t expect green anymore. 

The best times were the ones that she found Connor there, too. 

She knew very little of Trevelyan’s life before the Inquisition, but she found his presence comfortingly resolute. If she were to put the feeling to words, she supposed she would say that it was as if he existed a little more concretely than other people. When he visited the ramparts, the world seemed to part around him like a river around stone. Elowen found it a restful thing to stand in the quiet hollow between the currents. Sometimes, they spoke with each other. Most often, they stood in silence, Connor’s eyes on the camps below Skyhold, Elowen’s on the sky. 

Today had been a very bad day. She’d almost stepped off the side of the staircase to the main hall, expecting gravity to catch her, and had only been saved from a bad fall by Dorian’s hand on her shoulder. He’d been kind about it, hadn’t made a joke of her confusion, but it had been embarrassing nevertheless. There had been other fumbles after—minor ones, in truth—but each had left her feeling worse and worse, a stranger to her own skin, and at last she had escaped up here where she was less likely to be bothered. 

She saw Connor at once, for he was difficult to miss. His armor gleamed in the daylight and he was nearly three heads taller than she; she would’ve been hard pressed to overlook him. He nodded to her when she stopped beside him and she nodded back, folding her arms and leaning forward against the ramparts. They stood still there for a very long time, staring out beyond the grey walls, until at last she spoke. 

“Tomorrow, it’s supposed to rain.”

Connor bent, mirroring her position against the crenel. She could see his eyes in her periphery, green and slate and solemn. He waited for her to go on, so she did. 

“The elfroot in the garden will be ready to harvest soon. This time next week, there will be new horses in the stables.” 

The past few months had not been kind to either of them. What had been done to her was an accident of nature. It had been neither personal nor malicious. The same could not be said about what had been done to him, though of course they’d never spoken about it. Sometimes, she would find him here with fists clenched, the muscle at his jaw taut. Sometimes, he stood very still and wept soundlessly, mouth pressed so tightly together that his lips were nearly the same color as his face. Today, his hands were loose at his sides, his shoulders slumped. 

Connor made a quiet sound. When she looked at him, he was still watching her. 

“In the kitchens,” he said at last, “they were cutting potatoes for dinner. The…sword I commissioned will be finished tomorrow or the day after.” 

When the wind from the valley below blew her hair into her face, she scraped the short strands back out of her eyes. He shifted half a step closer, nudged her elbow with his own. She breathed in the scent of snow and distant smoke and tried again. 

“The supply shipment from the Graves will be here over the weekend—the textiles and leathers, at least. The Chargers are due back with them.”

He sighed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. If it expressed a particular emotion, she could not identify it. Faces were one of the things that remained oblique to her, all but interchangeable when she remembered that they used to be distinct. 

“We expect more Wardens later this week,” he said. “Or so I hear.”

Elowen nodded, but didn’t add anything else. The sky above was blue, horribly blue, and she was relieved when the clouds thickened and hid it from view. 

“It isn’t forever,” she said, to him as much as herself. 

“No,” he agreed after a moment. “It isn’t forever.” 

They didn’t say anything else. People moved past them, handing off messages and making reports. The keep moved in its rhythm, troops skirmishing in the practice ring shouting back and forth to each other, the birds singing in their rookery, the merchants calling from their stalls. Elowen listened to them, her hands pressed to solid, unyielding stone, her arm braced against his. Above them, the clouds gathered and went slowly grey. Below, campfires were lit and war games were played. 

Along the wall, Elowen sighed at last and turned her head to kiss his shoulder. Her mouth brushed cold metal and warm cloth, both precisely where she’d expected them to be. 

“I’ll be at dinner,” she said, and he nodded to her, nudging her once more with his shoulder before she straightened and walked away.  When she glanced back from the stairs, Connor was still there, looking down at the tents below. She could not say why she found this so reassuring, but it was. 

When she turned back to the stairs, she focused on the broken line of them and took each step, one by one, until her feet were on solid ground again.

[polyhexian]

I'm not surprised to see kingers wife confirmed. We see a picture of her! That wasnt an accident. The fact she is also a chess piece is interesting tho. Since everyone has such varied appearances. They obviously have lost their memories, and pomni says "in here" so they mean they met here and became husband and wife. But I wonder if they may have been husband and wife before they came to the circus and then met again and re-fell in love. That would be very sweet, I think. He also comes across so distinctly paternal it makes me wonder if he/they had any children in the real world, and if they still exist. If so I guess it's theoretically possible its pomni, that maybe she came to investigate the mysterious disappearance of her parents and put on the helmet blablabla, but. I don't really feel like that's the case. I wouldn't be surprised if kinger DID have a kid/kids back in the real world though.

JAX.... Every day NPC jax theory becomes stronger. The thing is that because it was so IMMEDIATELY a theory makes me think it's kind of an intentional red herring. Like, jax is SO fucking sus it's unreal. But to me he's sus on a level that it's sus. His susness is sus. I suspect the surprise reveal is likely just that he's as frightened and confused as everyone else is and he just copes by not caring about anything. Obviously Cain is very suspicious but it seems a bit like he is in a more similar boat to the others than he lets on or even suspects. He's got a role he's filling but he's not a true mastermind. Bubble is obviously extremely suspect because bubble is not treated as one of the human residents but also doesn't appear to be an NPC. so what IS bubble. Where does she come from? It would make for a very fun scene revealing that silly bubble is a bad guy I'm sure, but that still feels very surface level.

I think the most interesting part of tadc is that it starts with an immediate mystery of what is going on, and the absolute certainty that there is a twist. They don't have much info but some of it has to be a lie and you don't know which parts. There are facts missing and you don't know where. It's a fun show to speculate on.

This kind of story has a few potential twist directions at the outset. There's the soma direction, not in they're all actually robots or AI or whatever, but that the reason they're in a program could be the twist. That the world ended or something and they've escaped to somewhere their consciousnesses can survive. Could be that this was part of a game being designed that was meant to be sword art online style trapping players, but the devs have stopped it from ever coming out somehow with their own self sacrifice. Maybe all of them are already dead wooohoohoooo. But not like ghosts or something like digital consciousnesses uploaded to a computer and the body died.

With all of the allusions to the circus being Hell I wonder if that is the twist, that it IS hell. Not like literally but like. It was created to punish in some way. Like whoosh, twist, none of our lovely protagonists are innocent good people, theyve all done something Bad and are here as a direct result of it, except for pomni.

Still can't form a true theory IMHO, tho I'm sure ppl smarter than me already have better ideas.