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magnagaruzenmon · 1 day ago

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Another Life: Aristocrat

So as you know I have two writing partners The expressive and fast talking Star Vader Dio, and the steadfast, hotheaded EmperorDinozenmon, both despite themselves love Twice however I don’t agree with their choices of biases.

For Dio despite all of his over the top flare and larger than life presentation he’s actually really quiet and selective about who he allows in his life and sees him. He swears by his love of Jihyo and if Burlesque is anything to go buy it’s very sincere but she doesn’t fit him at all. His homebody tendencies and unrelenting writing process leans way more towards Mina and her love of legos, violent media and zombies. So for his alternate story I’m doing an alternate version of Burlesque.

If there are two things Dio loves it combat, and thic thighs So I did both in my story for him.

Mina adored the brutal matches held at the Iron Chapel, especially when her favorite fighter took the stage. She only lamented one thing: the unfortunate timing of most of his fights.

Dio Castillo made quick work of his opponents during the day matches—a scheduling choice that would have been inconsequential, if not for one critical detail: Mina was a vampire. Sunlight was her mortal enemy. Yet, undeterred, she attended every one of his fights, a black parasol forever in hand, shielding herself as best she could. Thankfully, Dio’s bouts were often scheduled early in the morning, before the sun reached its cruel peak. Whether by design or accident, it was perfect for her—though Dio had no idea.

Today, Mina perched in the shadowed stands, her parasol angled just so, watching Dio square off against a flower mage named Tiberius. The mage was talented—nimble, strategic—but Dio had him outclassed. He was a tempest of blood and aura magic, utterly relentless.

With a fierce elegance, Dio unleashed torrents of combat magic, flooding the arena in waves of teal and crimson. He moved with a dancer’s grace, every strike fluid yet lethal, each step radiating a beautiful, poisonous aggression that made Mina’s cold heart flutter. She leaned forward, anticipation crackling through her veins.

“Yes, darling!” she cheered, unable to contain herself, as Dio crushed yet another challenger.

As the match ended, Dio expertly recalled the blood he had expended, pulling it back to himself like a conductor commanding a symphony. Mina’s hunger spiked, primal and feral. She watched, entranced, as Dio exited the arena, the crowd’s roar fading behind him. Something within her, long restrained, snapped.

She had to have him.

⸻

Dio was peeling off his gloves in the Iron Chapel’s modest locker room when the door creaked open. He turned, expecting a fellow fighter or a staff member. Instead, she stood there: a vision of quiet elegance, a storm of lustful hunger simmering just beneath her polished exterior.

“Um… can I help you?” Dio asked, caught off guard.

Mina, struggling to maintain composure, stammered at first before finding her voice. “You are incredible,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice was velvet over steel. “I’ve been watching fights at the Iron Chapel for some time now, and you… you’re by far the finest fighter they’ve ever produced. You entertain. You fight with grace. And you’re utterly relentless.”

Dio blinked, nodding slowly. “I appreciate that,” he said carefully. There was no fear in him exactly—he’d fought worse than an overeager fan—but it was rare to see a woman, especially one so aristocratic and self-possessed, so enraptured by the brutal spectacle of the Iron Chapel.

Before he could say more, Mina closed the distance between them, the air between them charged with something electric.

“Would you like to go out with me?” she asked, her voice low, almost predatory.

Dio blinked three times, stunned into silence. And then, almost without thinking—before he could tally the risks, before he could even consider the strangeness of it all—he said:

“Yes.”

Two days later, Dio found himself standing outside a Lego café, still trying to process the fact that this was where Mina had chosen for their date. It was… surprising. He had come to expect something far more formal, far more grand from someone as regal as her.

Mina, as always, looked breathtaking. She wore an elegant white blouse tucked into a flowing violet skirt, her black boots stretching all the way to her thighs. The outfit, despite its modesty, sent violent, electric currents of lust racing up and down Dio’s nervous system. When Mina caught the flash of hunger and desperation barely restrained behind his polite smile, her lips curled into a victorious, knowing smirk. She knew she had him.

They were quickly ushered inside and given a table tucked far away from the windows, deep in the darkest corner of the café. As they walked through the brightly colored maze of Lego sculptures and chattering patrons, Mina leaned in just slightly and murmured, her voice a velvet caress:

“You know, you don’t have to hide that you desire me.”

Dio nearly tripped over himself trying to respond, stammering something unintelligible. Mina only laughed, a gracious, musical sound, before they slid into their booth. She set her ornate parasol neatly beside her and settled across from him, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

A cheerful waiter appeared almost instantly, grinning as he greeted them.

“Will it be your usual today, Mrs. Myoui, or would you like to try something new?”

Mina pretended to ponder the menu for a moment, though she had already sampled every item at least twice. Eventually, she ordered the Blood Moon Coffee and a Raisin Cinnamon Roll.

Dio, after a moment’s indecision, ordered a hot chocolate and a breakfast platter. He turned to Mina with a sheepish grin.

“We can probably share,” he offered.

Mina’s crimson eyes gleamed as she regarded him, the hunger in them layered now with something softer, more amused.

“How considerate,” she purred.

A comfortable silence fell between them as their orders were prepared. They both pulled out the Lego sets they had brought along. Dio revealed two spaceship kits, setting them down with a boyish excitement, while Mina carefully opened a boxed Sakura Tree set she had been meaning to build for months.

She laughed softly as she watched Dio instantly lose himself in his project, brows furrowed in adorable concentration.

Dio looked up, catching her laughter.

“Something funny?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Mina smiled warmly, resting her chin lightly on her hand.

“I just never expected you to be so… innocent outside the ring. I mean, you’re the Crimson King. The Dragon Emperor of Blood and Terror. And here you are, methodically reading Lego instructions like a kid on Christmas morning.”

Dio flushed slightly but smiled brightly.

“Well,” he teased, “you did invite me here.”

Mina laughed again, seeing beyond the blood and violence now. She saw the man—a layered, fascinating man—beneath the reputation.

“I see that,” she said, her voice softening. “So tell me, Dio… how does someone as talented as you end up a magus fighter in a brutal place like the Iron Chapel?”

For a moment, Dio hesitated, the pieces in his hands forgotten. Then, with a shrug, he spoke, as if finally letting go of a burden he’d carried too long.

“By happenstance,” he said simply. “My family are… religious anti-magic fundamentalists. When I started manifesting powers, they pushed me to suppress them. But the more I fought it, the stronger my magic became. It burrowed into me, made itself a part of who I am. Eventually, I couldn’t suppress it anymore… so I turned to fighting others instead.”

Mina’s smile faded slightly, sadness flickering in her crimson eyes. No wonder Dio fought like a man possessed. His magic wasn’t just power—it was survival.

“Your parents are fools,” she said, voice low but firm. “They should have fostered your gifts, not tried to destroy them with their antique fears.”

Dio chuckled darkly.

“The funny thing is… they’re all mages too,” he said. “They just can’t see their magic for what it is. They call it faith.”

Mina stared at him for a heartbeat, shocked. Then she laughed—a rich, delighted sound that warmed the space between them.

“You’re quite perceptive, Dio,” Mina said, a glimmer of admiration shining through her usually poised amusement.

Dio smiled at her, humble and bright. “Thank you.”

Just then, their drinks arrived—rich aromas curling into the air between them. Mina’s Blood Moon Coffee steamed gently in its obsidian cup, and Dio’s hot chocolate was topped with a perfect swirl of cream. As the clink of bricks resumed, models began to take shape on the table, and quick, stolen glances passed like flickers of candlelight between them.

Though they sat nestled in the darkest corner of the café, the warmth they shared seemed to light the space on its own.

At first, Mina had approached this outing as a playful indulgence—another chance to tease, seduce, and maintain the upper hand. But now, sitting across from Dio in this silly, serene little corner of the world, something unexpected crept in.

He radiated calm. Despite his violent profession, there was something soothing about Dio—like the stillness after a storm. Around him, Mina didn’t feel the need to posture, to control. She felt… safe.

Her gaze drifted to him again—his brow furrowed, tongue pressed slightly to the inside of his cheek in childlike concentration as he clicked pieces into place.

Something stirred in her chest. Foreign. Frightening. Wonderful.

And then, without warning, she giggled—a small, sweet sound that burst out of her like a secret, surprising even herself.

Dio looked up, startled but clearly pleased.

“You’re really amused by this, aren’t you?”

Startled by her slip, Mina straightened, her aristocratic instincts snapping into place.

“I merely find it… endearing,” she said coolly, her voice wrapped in velvet and frost.

But even she could hear the lie in it. Her own mask wavered.

Dio grinned knowingly, his tone gentle but teasing.

“You don’t have to act so fancy around me, you know.”

Mina froze. Her first instinct was to preserve her image—to brace and withdraw. But something inside her, something tender and aching, wanted to be seen.

So, with slow deliberation, she set down the delicate sakura branch she’d been building. Her elbows rested on the table. Her chin settled in her hands.

“I suppose I don’t,” she murmured.

Her lips curved into a smile—wide, warm, even gummy—and utterly breathtaking in its vulnerability.

Dio laughed softly, and Mina laughed with him—really laughed. Her voice sparkled, musical and unrestrained. The elegant mask she wore in every ballroom, every shadowed alley, fell away entirely. Her cheeks flushed a faint, rose-petal pink—a color she hadn’t worn in centuries.

“You’re… adorable,” Dio said, like the words slipped out before he could stop them.

Mina blinked, stunned for a moment. Then her head tilted like a curious cat’s.

“You think I’m adorable?”

Dio nodded with zero hesitation.

“When I first met you, you were this terrifying goddess. But right now? You’re just… a really pretty girl building a Lego tree.”

Mina covered her mouth as she laughed again, shoulders shaking with delight.

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be,” she said, voice gentler now, no longer sharpened by expectation or pride.

The next hour passed in an easy rhythm. They traded banter and bites of cinnamon roll, Lego bricks and small confessions. Mina teased Dio about his ships. Dio teased her when her sakura tree lost a few petals mid-build. The sweetness of it all chipped away at the centuries of solitude she’d wrapped around herself like a shroud.

At one point, Mina leaned over the table to point out a flaw in Dio’s build—only to suddenly realize how close they were. Their faces hovered inches apart. Breath mingled. Eyes locked.

For a moment, the clamor of the café faded. The world shrank to a heartbeat between them.

Mina recovered first, pulling back with an exaggerated grace. Her fingers delicately readjusted her collar, though the tips of her ears flushed bright pink.

“Careful, Dio,” she said with mock warning, her voice dipped in mischief. “Get too close, and I might not be able to control myself.”

Dio chuckled, warm and inviting.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind.”

Her heart fluttered—an ancient organ responding to something that felt maddeningly new.

Their food arrived shortly after, and Dio, ever observant, carefully began to organize his plate. With surprising finesse, he selected cuts of meat and vegetables and arranged them onto a smaller plate—precise, intentional, and gently slid it toward Mina.

She blinked, confused.

“How did you know what I wanted?”

Dio shrugged, but his smile was sheepish. “Just a feeling.”

Mina stared at him, more astonished than ever. Somewhere between the battles, the bricks, and the banter, she had made up her mind.

“You’ve made me feel more alive in the last two hours,” she said quietly, “than I have in the last three hundred years.”

Her eyes gleamed, not with hunger, but clarity.

“Dio… will you be my lover? My one true paramour?”

Dio looked at her—truly looked—and without hesitation, replied:

“I’d love to.”

Mina’s eyes widened briefly, then softened. She leaned over the table, cradled his cheek, and kissed him.

The kiss was gentle at first—warm, exploratory, sincere. But almost instantly, something ignited inside her. The warmth bloomed into a heat she wasn’t ready for. Her instincts surged—predatory, ravenous, ancient. Her breath hitched. She broke the kiss before it could turn feral.

Dio, ever composed, blinked slowly and gave her a lopsided smile.

“You’re a really good kisser,” he said, cheeks slightly flushed.

Mina sat back, flustered and wide-eyed, fingers brushing her lips.

“You’re… dangerous,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.

Dio smirked. “Right back at you.”

As the two fell into a natural rhythm with each other dates became more frequent and costly. While Mina had paid for everything Dio felt like he should be doing more for her but couldn’t because he didn’t have 4,000 years of funds to work with until Dio suggested an idea.

It started with one quiet afternoon at Mina’s estate—a “low-effort” date, as Dio called it. No grand illusions, no ballgowns or combat gear. Just takeout, pajamas, and whatever movies Mina had stacked on the console she almost never used.

She hadn’t even owned proper pajamas until Dio asked what kind she liked.

Now, draped in soft lilac satin trimmed with lace, Mina sat curled into the corner of her velvet settee, her bare feet tucked beneath her as she watched Dio bumble around her kitchen like he’d lived there all his life. He wore a faded T-shirt with a cartoon dragon and loose flannel pants, and he looked devastatingly comfortable.

More than that—he looked happy.

“You make a disturbingly good cup of tea,” she murmured as he handed her a mug. “Are you sure you’re not some retired butler?”

Dio chuckled, settling beside her. “I was raised in a house where tea was one of the few peaceful things we were allowed to do.”

Mina hummed softly, cradling the mug in her pale hands. Her mind catalogued the way he tucked his legs under himself, the way his weight made the couch dip just enough for their sides to touch.

She expected the buzz of desire, the easy tension of proximity. What she didn’t expect was this—this quiet hum beneath her ribs. This ache. This… safety.

Dio hit play on the remote, and the screen filled with an aggressively silly romantic comedy about a mermaid barista and a cursed prince who could only speak in coffee metaphors. Mina scoffed at the premise, but twenty minutes later, she was gripping Dio’s arm and stifling giggles into his sleeve.

“This is terrible,” she whispered, eyes wide.

Dio grinned. “I know. Isn’t it great?”

The next time he came over, he brought matching pajamas—his and hers onesies, soft as clouds and covered in constellations. Mina had scoffed. Then blushed. Then wore hers without hesitation.

Each date was like a gentle spiral inward. Movies became marathons. Dinner became cooking together. Their conversations stretched late into the morning, Mina curled against Dio on the floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets, her hair loose and wild from sleep.

She caught herself, more than once, watching him with a feeling that felt too big for her chest.

And that was the problem.

He’d fall asleep beside her on the couch, one arm slung lazily around her waist, and she’d look down at him and feel her fangs ache—not with hunger, but with longing.

She wanted to keep this. She wanted the softness of it, the small domestic rituals. The quiet laughter in moonlight. The late-night confessionals. The sound of someone breathing beside her who wasn’t a dream or a ghost.

Worse—she wanted more.

She wanted children. A family. A little one with Dio’s curls and her sharp eyes, someone to tuck in and read to and protect. A nest, not just a home.

The realization struck her like a blade through silk. She was a vampire. That sort of future had always been off the table—or so she told herself.

Now she lay awake in the stillness after a midnight movie marathon, Dio fast asleep against her chest, and all she could do was stare at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

The ache inside her was no longer hunger. It was hope.

And that was so much more dangerous.

Weeks passed as Mina’s emotions reignited, her cold distant facade gave way to a real warmth that continued to surprise her but Dio always took in stride. Until today as she was fretting over him after one of his most brutal matches.

Mina paced the length of her sitting room for the fifth time, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight, unrelenting line.

Dio lay on her chaise, legs outstretched, wrapped in a fuzzy burgundy throw blanket. His knuckles were bruised, a faint sheen of healing scars still blooming over his collarbone and ribs. The fight had been one of the worst she’d seen—vicious, prolonged, and feral. A ferromancer who bent steel like thread and had turned the arena into a death trap. And Dio had won, of course. He always won.

But when she’d seen him stagger for just a moment—just a moment—her dead heart had clenched in a way that made her want to rip the world apart.

“Sit down, Mina,” Dio said gently, watching her with tired amusement. “I’m fine.”

“You were not fine five hours ago,” she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. “You were bleeding and half-conscious and laughing like a lunatic in a crater of your own making.”

“I mean… that’s not inaccurate,” Dio said, smirking.

Mina rounded on him, suddenly at his side, kneeling beside the chaise like a thunderstorm wearing silk. “Do not joke. You could have died.”

Dio blinked. Something in her tone caught him off guard—raw, shaking, terrified.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that,” she whispered. “Not in three hundred years have I… feared like that.”

Dio reached out and took her hand, gently pulling it into his lap, thumb stroking the back of it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She exhaled, still tense. “You didn’t just scare me, Dio. You unmade me.”

A long beat passed between them.

“You think I’m fragile,” he said softly. Not accusatory. Just… observing.

“I know what a human body can and cannot withstand. And yours—Dio, your ribs cracked. I heard it.”

Dio’s fingers laced through hers, calm and steady. “Mina… I’m not just any human. My blood, my bones—they’re hexed.”

Her brow furrowed. “Hexed?”

He nodded, the ghost of a grin on his lips. “The magic went into my blood remember especially with it being old magic that tends to have unintended effects. My blood and bones are Bound with a triple-folded longevity spell, runes etched into the marrow. I regenerate fast, age slower than most vampires, and unless someone decapitates me and sets the remains on fire during a blood moon, I’m not going anywhere.”

Mina stared at him.

“You’re functionally immortal,” she repeated slowly.

Dio shrugged, bashful. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Her shoulders sagged all at once. The relief hit her like a wave. But so did something else—something heavier, quieter, and altogether more terrifying.

She looked at him—really looked—and felt something coil in her stomach, soft and ancient.

“I didn’t know I could be this afraid for someone else,” she said. “I’ve always kept myself above it. Even when I loved before, it was from a distance. But with you…”

She trailed off, voice wavering.

Dio brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, letting his hand linger. “With me?”

“With you, I feel real. Human, almost. Messy. Soft.” Her voice dipped. “And that’s… hard.”

Dio smiled. “You are soft, Mina. You just spent ten minutes arguing with my tea because you thought the leaves didn’t steep long enough to help me recover.”

“I was being correct.”

He laughed. And then he leaned forward, gently kissing her knuckles. “It’s okay to love me like that. You don’t have to apologize for caring.”

Mina’s eyes shimmered, like crimson glass. “You’re not afraid of how… possessive I might become?”

“No,” he said simply. “Because I’ll love you just as fiercely back.”

She swallowed, something old and fragile in her cracking wide open.

They stayed curled together on the couch after that, watching bad television. Mina’s head rested against Dio’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. And for the first time in centuries, she didn’t feel like a creature pretending to be human.

She felt like a woman with something to lose—and someone worth fighting for.

Later that night It was supposed to be a quiet evening—tea, books, maybe another movie with Dio. But then Mina got the text.

Chaeyoung says you’re finally dating?? Bring him. We’re bored.

—Jihyo

Now, Mina sat stiffly on the velvet couch in the parlor of a candlelit bar that didn’t technically exist on any mortal registry. The air was thick with glamour and centuries-old inside jokes. Dio was beside her, surprisingly relaxed for a man surrounded by four immortal women with fangs and questionable boundaries.

“Wow,” said Nayeon, eyeing Mina’s modest blouse and perfectly coiffed bun. “Look at our Little Duchess, all grown up and pretending she’s not secretly a mess.”

“I am not a mess,” Mina said sharply.

Jeongyeon snorted. “You were literally crying over a spilled cup of pig’s blood last time we saw you.”

“It stained a first-edition Lovecraft.”

“You didn’t even like Lovecraft,” Sana chimed in. “You just wanted to sound spooky and well-read.”

“She used to do that all the time,” Jihyo said, settling across from Mina and Dio with a grin. “Remember the poetry phase?”

“Oh gods,” groaned Jeongyeon. “‘Do not go gentle into that good night’ — except she did go gentle. Right into a satin-lined coffin with lavender sachets.”

Dio tried valiantly not to laugh. Mina elbowed him, cheeks flushed the faintest pink. “You’re all insufferable.”

“And you love us,” said Nayeon sweetly, ruffling Mina’s hair before Mina could dodge it. “How’s the mortal, by the way?”

Dio held up a hand in greeting. “Still here. Not dead. Big fan of lavender sachets, actually.”

The other vampires cackled.

“I like him,” said Sana, sipping dark red liquid from a crystal glass. “He’s got good teeth.”

“I’ve been told,” Mina muttered, sliding her hand into Dio’s under the table.

“So,” Jihyo said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Is this serious, Mina? You getting domestic on us?”

Mina hesitated—but only for a second. “Yes,” she said softly, squeezing Dio’s hand. “It is.”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“Awwwwwwww,” they all groaned in perfect unison.

Mina buried her face in her free hand. “I regret everything.”

Dio leaned toward her, whispering, “They’re like… vampire sorority sisters.”

“They’re my sorority sisters,” Mina said through gritted teeth.

“You were the pledge,” Nayeon teased. “Always trying to out-elegant us with your tea parties and tiny books.”

“And now you’re dating a fighter who drinks chocolate milk,” Jeongyeon added.

“I like chocolate milk,” Dio said, offended.

Jihyo lifted her glass. “To Mina. Our eternal little sister. May she always try and fail to be the most sophisticated one at the table.”

“Cheers!”

Mina groaned. Dio grinned. And somewhere beneath all the chaos and teasing, she felt… home. After several rounds of teasing and a suspiciously spicy blood cocktail courtesy of Sana, the conversation took a turn—as it inevitably did when vampires had too much time and too little shame.

“So,” Jihyo said, eyes glittering with mischief, “have you two… consummated the brooding blood-soaked romance yet?”

Mina choked on her drink.

“Oh my god,” she hissed, dabbing her lips with a napkin as if she could wipe the horror off her face. “Jihyo.”

“What?” Jeongyeon said with a wolfish grin. “You’ve got that freshly-bitten glow.”

“I do not—”

“Definitely glowing,” Nayeon said, nodding. “And soft. Our Little Duchess is getting cuddled, huh?”

“You’re like… radiating ‘I get tucked in at night’ energy,” Sana said, then reached across the table and poked Mina in the cheek. “It’s terrifying.”

“I hate you all,” Mina muttered, clutching Dio’s hand for dear life.

Dio looked between them all, clearly amused. “This is amazing. You’re all like weird, immortal aunties.”

“Excuse you,” Jihyo said, “we are weird, immortal big sisters. There’s a difference.”

“Big sisters who apparently want to know the status of our sex life,” Mina muttered under her breath.

Sana raised an eyebrow. “Well, Mina’s dating a mortal. We have to check! You know how fragile they are. One good bite, and poof.”

Dio chuckled, leaning back comfortably. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Four pairs of vampire eyes turned to him at once.

“Oh?” Jihyo said, intrigued.

“Please don’t,” Mina whispered, burying her face in her hands.

But Dio grinned and said casually, “I’m functionally immortal.”

A beat.

“What?” said Jeongyeon, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” Dio continued, like he wasn’t casually throwing the entire room off its axis. “Hexed blood and bones. Magic in the marrow. Not aging, regenerates fast, can’t die unless you do some extremely complicated magical nonsense under a blood moon.”

The silence that followed was stunned.

Then: “Oh my god,” Nayeon breathed. “Mina, you bagged one of us.”

Mina groaned, sinking lower in her seat.

“That explains the stamina,” Jihyo muttered.

“JIHYO!” Mina shrieked.

The table dissolved into absolute chaos. Dio just laughed, tugging Mina gently into his side.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed red.

“I think they like me,” he said smugly.

“They like you too much,” she growled.

“I’m immortal,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re stuck with me.”

And despite the embarrassment, the teasing, and the fact that Sana had just offered to make them a “bite-friendly bedroom set,” Mina smiled.

Because it was true. He was hers—and maybe, just maybe, forever wouldn’t be so bad. The teasing finally mellowed into laughter and warm candlelight, the group settling into the kind of comfort only ancient creatures and their obliviously charming mortal-plus-one could achieve.

Dio sipped from his chocolate milk—his third, courtesy of Sana insisting he “hydrate like a good boy”—before glancing at the glass in Nayeon’s hand, still tinged deep red.

“Not to break the vibe,” he said, eyes flicking curiously to the drink, “but… this is actually the first time I’ve seen a vampire drink blood.”

The table fell quiet for half a second.

Then:

“Oh my god,” Nayeon gasped, clutching her chest. “Mina, you’re dating a baby.”

“He’s not a baby,” Mina said with a huff. “He’s just… not used to our dietary habits.”

Sana leaned forward, her eyes twinkling. “Relax, Dio. We don’t need to drink blood like in the old days. Only youngbloods—or ferals—need it that badly. Most of us? We’re white mages.”

“White mages?” Dio echoed, brow furrowed.

Jihyo nodded. “We feed on life energy. Think vibes, warmth, ambient magic. We get what we need through food, touch, music, atmosphere.”

Jeongyeon shrugged. “Basically, anything humans can enjoy? We can too. Life force lingers in it. Blood’s just… concentrated.”

“It’s like espresso,” Nayeon added. “Fun in small doses. A lot if you’re hungover or being dramatic.”

“I drink it because I like the taste,” Sana said unapologetically. “It’s vintage.”

Dio blinked. “So you’re telling me you could all survive just eating, like… pancakes?”

“Pancakes, eggs, spicy noodles, emotional chaos,” Jihyo counted off on her fingers. “All very nourishing.”

“Loud karaoke,” said Jeongyeon.

“Sex,” added Sana casually, making Mina immediately choke again.

“I swear,” Mina said, slamming her hand on the table, “I’m going to bury all of you.”

“With what strength?” Nayeon teased. “You’ve gone soft. He’s feeding you grilled cheese and domesticity.”

Dio leaned in toward Mina with a sly smile. “You have been eating a lot of grilled cheese lately.”

Mina hissed like a feral cat.

The girls howled with laughter. After yet another round of teasing (this one involving a dramatized reenactment by Sana of Mina’s “mortal corruption arc”), Mina abruptly stood up from the table, elegant and cool.

“We’re leaving,” she said, taking Dio’s hand with imperial finality.

“Oh no, are you going to go feed on his life force again?” Jeongyeon called after them, waggling her eyebrows.

Mina didn’t answer. But she didn’t let go of Dio’s hand either.

Outside the bar, the air was crisp and cool, the moon cutting silver paths across the empty sidewalk. Mina walked with quiet grace, her parasol closed now and tucked under her arm. Dio followed at her pace, letting her lead until she stopped under a flickering streetlamp.

She didn’t say anything at first, just looked up at the sky like it had answers she couldn’t reach.

Then: “They’re awful.”

“They’re amazing,” Dio said, smiling. “But yes. Awful.”

Mina finally looked at him. Her expression had softened. No more fangs or fury. Just something rawer, more open. “You make it bearable.”

Dio tilted his head. “The teasing?”

“No,” she said. “The… everything. You make me feel seen. Not as some centuries-old duchess or a walking bloodline, but just… as a person. A woman.”

Dio stepped closer, brushing her knuckles with his thumb. “You do the same for me.”

She blinked, clearly surprised.

“I mean it,” he said. “You know when I’m touch-starved before I even realize it. You always pick the right food after a fight—like, uncannily right. You notice when I go quiet and don’t make me explain it right away. You hold me like…” He stopped, voice catching for a moment. “Like someone who knows what it’s like to carry loneliness in your bones.”

Mina’s lips parted, but no words came. Only feeling.

“I love you in all those little ways,” Dio continued. “In the way you tuck your feet under me when we watch movies. The way you always offer your blood but never pressure me. The way you look at me like I’m more than just… power or spectacle.”

Mina made a small sound—somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her hands reached for him, trembling slightly as they cupped his cheeks.

“You’re going to destroy me,” she whispered.

Dio’s voice was barely audible. “Only if you let me love you too much.”

Mina kissed him then—slow, desperate, full of centuries of longing and the terrifying brightness of now. When she pulled back, her eyes were gleaming, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like she might never let go.

“I want… I need something I’m not supposed to want,” she confessed softly, her forehead resting against his.

“Tell me,” Dio said.

“I want a family,” she breathed. “I want yours. I want to wake up to little feet running down the hall and you making bad pancakes and me trying to act annoyed about it when I’m not.”

Dio’s breath caught in his chest.

“I don’t care that I’m a vampire,” she said. “I just… I want to build a life with you. All the cozy, stupid, mortal things.”

Dio smiled like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever heard.

“Then we’ll build it,” he said. “Brick by brick. Just like Lego.”

Mina let out a wet laugh and pulled him in again, this time not for a kiss, but just to hold him. Tightly. Fiercely. As if she’d found something holy in the mundane—and refused to ever let it go. The two of them reentered the bar hand-in-hand, Mina’s usual poise noticeably wobbled—her lips still a little swollen from kissing, her eyes still glassy from confession, and her hand tangled in Dio’s like it belonged there permanently.

Naturally, the moment they crossed the threshold, the teasing resumed like it had been waiting with bated breath.

“Well, well, well,” Jeongyeon purred, draping herself across the back of a booth like a cat who’d scented blood. “Look who’s back from their midnight snuggle session.”

“Oh no,” Nayeon groaned dramatically. “Is he feeding you again, Mina? You’ve got that soft and cared-for glow.”

“I bet it was grilled cheese again,” Jihyo added with a smug grin. “She’s been talking about those sandwiches like they’re ambrosia.”

Mina let out a truly aristocratic huff, nose tilted high—but her fingers still clung tightly to Dio’s shirt like she hadn’t decided whether she’d kiss him or hide behind him.

“For your information,” she said imperiously, “none of you have had grilled cheese until you’ve had Dio’s grilled cheese—with his tomato soup. It’s transcendent.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“…Did you just say ‘transcendent?’” Jeongyeon asked.

“She did,” Sana gasped. “Mina just praised mortal food like it’s gourmet bloodwine.”

“Okay, but hold on,” Nayeon said, leaning forward. “Is it like, crunchy? Or gooey? Or both?”

“It’s everything,” Mina said dreamily, forgetting to sound cool for a moment. “He’s gotten really good. He even browns the butter just right and uses rosemary, and—wait, why am I explaining this to you peasants?”

“Because you’re in love and weak and he makes you lunch,” Jihyo said cheerfully.

Dio, standing beside her, couldn’t help but grin as Mina’s composure slipped further by the second. She gave him a withering glare, but it was entirely undermined by the flush on her cheeks.

“See, I knew you were going soft,” Nayeon teased. “She probably lets you spoon her during movie nights too.”

Dio looked around innocently. “She actually insists on being the big spoon—”

“Dio!” Mina squeaked, smacking his shoulder in horror as the vampires howled.

Sana doubled over in laughter. “Oh my god. Our terrifying baby duchess is a sandwich-making mortal’s little spoon.”

“Big spoon,” Mina corrected automatically—then winced when she realized she’d walked right into it.

Dio beamed. “She really is. And she hogs the blankets.”

“You’re just mad because you like it,” Mina mumbled, folding her arms as if it might protect her from the glee of the undead.

“I do,” Dio said softly, and the sincerity in his voice was so disarming that for a moment, even the teasing died down.

Mina looked at him, the corners of her mouth twitching toward a smile she didn’t try to hide this time. She laced her fingers with his again and let the warmth of his presence settle against the centuries-old chill in her chest.

“I hate how much I like you,” she whispered, almost like it was a secret between them.

“Good,” Dio whispered back. “Because I’m going to keep making you sandwiches until you admit you love me more than bloodwine.”

“I already do,” Mina muttered, barely audible. “But if you tell them that, I’ll turn you into a bat.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

Dio excused himself with a kiss to Mina’s temple and a sleepy smile, making his way toward the restroom. The moment he disappeared around the corner, Mina sighed and leaned forward over the table. Her elegant facade dropped like a curtain at the end of a play.

“Okay,” she muttered, eyes flicking between her sisters-in-darkness. “Can you all stop teasing me for five seconds?”

Nayeon raised an eyebrow, Jeongyeon leaned in like she smelled drama, and Sana clutched her drink with theatrical reverence.

Jihyo blinked. “Why?”

Mina hesitated, then took a breath, voice barely above a whisper. “Is there… is there a way for a vampire to have children?”

The teasing died instantly. The group exchanged quick, surprised glances—except for Momo, who had gone quiet long before Dio left.

It was Momo who answered, her voice gentle but solemn. “There is.”

Mina looked at her, startled. “There is?”

Momo nodded and, without another word, pulled out her phone. She tapped it a few times, then turned the screen toward Mina.

On it was a picture of a little girl with warm, caramel-brown skin, bright eyes, and the most mischievous smile imaginable. Her name—“Suki”—was scribbled in pink on the photo’s border.

“She’s mine,” Momo said softly. “My daughter. Born from my body. Half-vampire. All chaos.”

Mina’s breath caught. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is,” Momo said, her eyes fond but tired. “And worth every moment. But it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

The others fell quiet. Even the usual chaos that followed them dimmed under the weight of Momo’s tone.

“I had to suppress my vampirism completely,” she explained. “Nine months. My body relied entirely on white magic. I couldn’t feed—at least, not like we normally do. I was hungrier than I’ve ever been. Like a newborn again. But it had to be that way… or she wouldn’t have survived.”

Mina swallowed hard. “And the life magic?”

“You have to learn it well,” Momo said. “Not just to survive, but to keep the baby stable. You’ll need food—real food—every day. You’ll be ravenous and delicate at the same time.”

“And Dio?”

Momo’s expression softened, but her voice dropped lower. “It’ll change things between you. You’ll be more aggressive, more territorial. More… needy. And lustful. You’ll fight more. Want more. Demand more. And I know—” her eyes flicked toward the hallway Dio had vanished into, “—you haven’t even been intimate yet. He’s still got that glow.”

Mina flushed, looking away. “We’re waiting.”

“That’s fine,” Momo said. “But you should know… if you go through with this, you’re going to want him in every way. Constantly. Not just to love you—but to anchor you.”

Mina stared at the photo of Suki, her heart torn between longing and fear.

“Is it worth it?” she asked.

Momo didn’t hesitate. “Yes. But only if you’re ready. You’ll need him more than ever. And he’ll have to stop fighting.”

Mina blinked. “What?”

“You’re already scared when he gets hurt, right?” Momo asked gently. “Imagine how you’ll feel when you’re carrying his child. Every fight he takes will feel like a knife. Every bruise, a betrayal. He won’t be able to be what he is now. He’ll need to find a new path. I’d suggest mage school—study under a master, maybe become one himself. He’s strong. Smart. Loyal. He can do it.”

The words hit Mina harder than she expected. Her hands trembled faintly on her drink.

“And once the baby comes?” she whispered.

“You’ll never be the same,” Momo said simply. “But you’ll be more. So much more.”

Mina stared at the photo of Suki a moment longer, then locked her phone screen and leaned back, heart pounding.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Momo just nodded—and a second later, Dio returned with a warm smile and a gentle brush of his fingers against hers, completely unaware of the quiet, seismic decision his lover might be considering.

Eventually Mina and Dio left for real and went home to sleep and recharge for the next day. Dio had a big fight scheduled and needed to be sharp. The soft hum of the city beyond the curtains was a distant echo—muted, forgettable. Inside the apartment, everything was still. The clock on the wall ticked quietly past 4 a.m.

Mina sat on the edge of their bed, curled into Dio’s oversized hoodie, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hair was a dark river down her back, and her hands cradled a mug of untouched tea. The warmth wasn’t what she needed. What she needed… she couldn’t name.

Behind her, Dio lay sleeping, one arm stretched out across the bed, fingers twitching faintly with the dreams he never seemed to remember. He looked peaceful, unburdened—and that made the knot in her chest twist tighter.

She didn’t mean to wake him. But her sigh must have carried too much weight, because she heard the sheets shift and his groggy voice follow.

“Mina?”

She turned, blinking fast. He was sitting up now, eyes half-lidded but alert, already reaching for her.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Nightmare?”

Mina hesitated, then shook her head. “No… just thinking.”

He scooted closer behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “At four in the morning?”

Mina smiled faintly, leaning into the warmth of his touch. “I’ve been up for a while.”

Dio was quiet for a beat, then kissed her neck gently. “Talk to me.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just invitation. She held the silence for a moment longer before finally speaking.

“I talked to Momo,” she said softly. “About… about the possibility of having a child.”

That woke Dio up instantly. He didn’t pull away, but he stilled.

Mina pressed on, her voice quiet but steady. “She told me there’s a way. It’s hard. Dangerous, even. I’d have to suppress my vampirism for the entire pregnancy. Use life magic to survive. I’d be starving every day, like a new blood. Aggressive. Possessive. And—”

She paused, swallowing thickly.

“—and it might strain us. A lot.”

Dio let out a slow breath. “That’s… a lot to carry alone.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you yet,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to scare you. You’ve already seen so many versions of me, Dio. The flirt. The warrior. The bratty aristocrat. But this… this version of me? The one that wants something so soft, so human? I didn’t know she still existed.”

He didn’t speak, but his hand found hers, fingers lacing tightly.

“I watch you sleep,” she whispered, “and I think about what it would be like to see you holding our child. I think about them looking like you, or having your laugh. And then I hate myself for wanting it. Because what if it ruins everything?”

Dio finally spoke, his voice a low, careful murmur. “Mina…”

She looked at him, eyes shining. “I’m terrified. But I’m also… starting to think I want it more than anything.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Do you?” he asked gently. “Do you really want this?”

Mina didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Her voice trembled, but it was true.

“Yes. I do.”

The silence that followed was heavy—but not with dread. It was weighty with possibility, with meaning.

Dio leaned forward and kissed her forehead, holding her close. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “Together.”

Mina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. And for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe again.

Mina had never imagined herself preparing for a child. Yet now, her home with Dio was slowly being transformed—soft blankets for nesting, a new alchemy stove for more nutrition-heavy meals, and bookshelves stacked with grimoires about white magic, life suppression rituals, and prenatal arcane warding.

Dio, ever the homebody beneath his warrior bravado, took to the preparations with a quiet seriousness that made Mina’s chest ache with affection. He cooked for her daily, slipping extra garlic, iron, and life-rich ingredients into every meal. He’d bring home herbal teas he thought she might like, and even researched lullabies from three different languages for “just in case.”

But as the days passed, Mina’s body began to shift. It started subtly—her scent became more intoxicating to Dio, her voice carried a musical hum that made his knees weak. Her thighs filled out, plush and warm, her skin gained a healthy blush, and the silk of her hair shimmered unnaturally in candlelight. By the second week, she was radiating mating pheromones strong enough that even passing dhampirs turned to look at her.

It was getting harder to ignore the need clawing at her. Her possessiveness sharpened. Her appetite—both blood and otherwise—grew harder to restrain. And still… Dio remained careful. Respectful. Patient.

Which drove her insane.

The tension reached its peak after Dio’s last and one of his bloodiest fights. Mina fussed over him so much that Mina arrived at the coven meeting late, dressed immaculately in a midnight silk dress that barely clung to her now wider hips. She was radiant—goddess-like, iridescent, and absolutely livid.

Dio had taken a brutal blow to the ribs that had cracked against the arena floor, and though his hexed bones were already healing, the scent of burnt blood still lingered on him. Mina sat beside him, one leg draped possessively over his knee, fingers idly stroking his jaw—but her smile was tight, her voice clipped, and her crimson eyes glowed with leashed fury.

And then Haewon, a junior vampire freshly ascended and woefully naive, leaned across the table with a too-friendly smile and said, “That was an incredible final blow, Dio. I’ve never seen blood magic used like that. Do you train with anyone?”

Mina didn’t move at first. But her aura pulsed, dark and seething.

Haewon blinked. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You’re new,” Mina said flatly, her voice quiet and ice-edged. “So I’ll excuse your ignorance. But speak to my mate like that again and I will teach you what kind of wounds don’t heal with magic.”

The room fell silent. The other vampires all exchanged knowing looks, several glancing at Momo who subtly nodded: Mina was entering the possessive phase.

Dio reached out, brushing Mina’s hand. “Hey. I’m okay.”

She didn’t look at him. Her jaw clenched tighter. “You could’ve died. I smelled your lungs bleeding.”

“I know. But I didn’t.”

“You’re too careful,” she snapped under her breath, barely audible, “Too respectful. I’m ready. You know I’m ready. But you keep waiting and being sweet and calm and—and I’m burning, Dio.”

Haewon wisely slipped to the far end of the table.

Later that night, when they were alone in Mina’s chambers, Dio gently pressed her back into the cushions and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not waiting because I’m scared of you,” he whispered. “I’m waiting because I want to give you everything—comfort, safety, peace. I love you in ways that don’t always burn.”

Mina trembled under his touch, her breath catching. “I don’t want peace tonight,” she whispered, voice husky. “I want you.”

His hands found hers and laced their fingers together. “Then you have me. Body and soul. And when it’s time, we’ll do this right—because you and I? We’re not just making a child. We’re making a legacy.”

A few days later, The moon hung low, fat and golden, casting soft light through the sheer curtains of Mina’s bedroom. The whole house was quiet—too quiet for someone whose every nerve was on fire.

Mina lay sprawled across the velvet settee in one of Dio’s oversized t-shirts, her thighs twitching, her fangs out, her eyes burning crimson. Her body pulsed with heat and hunger, a low, primal ache thrumming through every inch of her skin. She’d scented Dio the moment he stepped through the front door, and it had nearly broken her.

He was freshly showered, warm, smelling faintly of soap and blood and him. The pheromones in her body screamed at her to pounce. Claim. Breed. Now.

Dio, poor sweet Dio, sat beside her calmly, rubbing soothing circles on her back, his voice low and patient. “It’s almost time,” he murmured. “Just one more night. You’ve got this.”

Mina groaned and buried her face in his chest. “I don’t got this. I’m two seconds away from riding you into the astral plane. I want you so bad it hurts. I want you everywhere. I want you full of me. I want you broken and wrecked and clinging to me like I’m the only air you’ve got.”

Dio chuckled softly. “Well, that’s an image.”

She swatted his shoulder, growling. “Stop being nice. I don’t need nice. I need primal. I need chaos. I need to be ruined.”

“You’re talking in italics again, baby,” Dio teased, kissing her temple.

Mina whimpered. “I swear I can smell your spine.”

Dio shifted, clearly restraining himself. “I’m here. We’re going to do this right, remember? Not just out of instinct. Out of love. With intention.”

“I want to intentionally suck your soul out through your d—”

Knock knock knock.

Mina froze, eyes darting to the door.

Dio blinked. “Did you—?”

Before she could answer, the door opened, and in sauntered Sana with a duffel bag and a grin, followed by Momo, who was already taking off her coat and kicking off her boots.

“Evening, lovebirds,” Sana chirped. “We brought blood pudding and a projector. Girls’ night.”

Mina stared at them, expression murderous.

“No,” she growled. “No, absolutely not. You’re not interrupting—”

Momo breezed by and plopped onto the couch, tossing a stress ball into Mina’s lap. “You’re about to imprint on Dio’s thigh like a duckling. You need a buffer zone.”

Sana flopped dramatically next to her. “You’re too hormonally feral right now. You’ll snap him in half before he even gets his pants off. We’re here to distract you with snacks, trash TV, and physical restraint if necessary.”

“I hate you both,” Mina hissed.

“We know,” Momo said sweetly. “Now eat this pudding and watch this ridiculous dating show where everyone’s secretly a ghost.”

Dio kissed Mina’s forehead as he got up to give them space. “You’ll be okay. I promise. I love you.”

Mina looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes. “I love you too. But if they weren’t here I’d have eaten you whole.”

He winked. “I know. That’s why they’re here.”

As Dio left the room, Mina sighed and flopped onto the floor, defeated and feral and glowing like the core of a dying star.

Sana handed her a spoon. “Here. Distract your mouth before it finds something else to do.”

Mina grabbed it with a growl.

“Tomorrow,” she muttered. “He’s mine tomorrow.”

Momo raised her blood pouch in a toast. “To tomorrow—and surviving tonight.” Mina sat on the floor now, hair slightly frazzled, Dio’s t-shirt stretched across her chest like a battle-worn flag of surrender. Her thighs were pressed together so tightly it looked like she was trying to hold in a hurricane. A half-finished bowl of blood pudding sat next to her, mostly ignored.

Sana was lying sideways on the couch with her feet dangling off the armrest, tossing popcorn into Momo’s mouth like it was a sport.

“And then,” Momo said between bites, “Mina looked at that junior archivist like she was a snack and Dio was her lunch.”

“She was touching his arm for too long,” Mina snarled, her fangs still out. “I could smell her arousal. I was doing her a favor.”

Sana nearly choked on laughter. “You almost tore her throat out in front of the blood scribe! You’re lucky I dragged you out when I did.”

Mina groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “I’m not used to this. I feel like my body’s staging a coup.”

“You’re nesting,” Momo said gently. “Your instincts are trying to prep you for the bond and the baby. That includes being crazy possessive and horny enough to climb a building just to scent mark him.”

“I did think about peeing on his shoes,” Mina muttered.

Sana dropped the popcorn. “Oh my god. Please don’t.”

At that moment, Dio—sweet, doomed Dio—entered the room holding a tray of grilled cheese triangles and a steaming bowl of tomato soup.

“I brought snacks,” he said, smiling.

Mina’s eyes snapped to him like a hawk spotting prey. She half-rose before both Sana and Momo lunged to hold her down, pinning her by the shoulders and arms.

“Nope,” Sana said firmly. “Down, girl.”

Momo grinned. “You’re not breaking the mattress tonight, remember?”

Mina whined low in her throat, “But his forearms are out.”

“He’s literally just holding a tray,” Momo said, laughing.

“That’s worse!”

Dio blinked. “Should I… go?”

Sana took the tray from him. “You should stay exactly where you are. But maybe… three feet back.”

Mina let out a pitiful whimper, burying her face into Momo’s shoulder. “This is the worst. My body’s like, ‘Impregnate me now or I will combust in a shower of love and plasma.’”

“You’re so dramatic,” Momo said, patting her head.

Sana shoved a grilled cheese into Mina’s hands. “Eat this. Food before frenzy.”

Mina bit into it angrily, but her eyes closed in bliss. “He used smoked gouda. He knows.”

“She’s gonna cry,” Momo whispered to Sana. “Look at her. She’s feral and emotional.”

“I’m not crying,” Mina said, definitely crying.

Dio carefully sat on the armrest of a chair across the room, sipping his soup. “You know, this is kind of fun.”

Mina looked up at him, eyes still glassy. “I’m in love with you so bad it hurts. And I want your babies. But also I want to punch you for smelling so good.”

“Thank you?” Dio said, completely overwhelmed but smiling anyway.

Sana snorted. “He’s too pure for this world.”

Momo raised her blood pouch again. “To Dio: survivor of Mina’s pheromonal rage.”

Mina groaned and flopped backward again. “You’re all awful. I love you.”

Sana threw a blanket over her. “Love you too, baby vamp. Now watch this dating show with us before you eat your mate alive.”

On cue Dio left back to the living room where he’d sleep on the couch for one last night. The next morning Dio somehow ended up in bed next to Mina. She held him tight although he didn’t mind at first until he remembered he had an interview with Lady Libertas of the veritas Magic Academy

The sky over the city was painted in the soft lavender of early dawn as Dio adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower, and a faint bruise still lingered on his jaw from the last fight—a fading memory of violence that felt miles away from the atmosphere of Mina’s coven apartment the night before.

Mina was still asleep, curled up in their bed like a queen and a kitten all at once, but Dio had to leave early. Today was important.

Dio rode his motorcycle to he School of Liberation arrived just as the sun broke fully over the skyline. A silver-gilded crest—an open hand releasing a burst of light—was etched into the door. The driver bowed slightly before letting Dio in.

The School of Liberation sat like a floating island in the middle of the city, arcane energy drifting through its crystalline halls. The air shimmered with a kind of magic that hummed freedom, but also discipline. At its heart, in a circular chamber of mirrors and flowing light, sat Lady Libertas.

She was ageless, dressed in layered robes that flickered between white and bronze, her long hair falling like poured sunlight over her shoulders. She studied Dio the moment he stepped into the circle—her eyes glowing with a magic that saw through people.

“You’re late,” she said mildly, though her voice rang like a bell.

“I brought soup for the guards,” Dio offered, holding up a small thermos with a grin.

One of the guards awkwardly sniffed it. “It smells amazing, actually.”

Libertas raised an eyebrow. “You joke under pressure. That’s either foolish or admirable. Let’s find out which.”

She gestured, and the chamber bloomed to life with flowing magical currents and concentric rings of spellwork. “You’ll channel spirit energy through this focus. I want to see how well you resonate with it.”

Dio nodded and stepped into the ring. As the sigils glowed, he reached inward—not toward his blood magic, not to his aura—but toward something else. Something deeper. His self.

The chamber trembled. Wind swept through the room, light flaring so bright one of the mirrors cracked. Lady Libertas stood, visibly surprised.

“…That’s not blood magic,” she murmured. “That’s pure, unfiltered soulcraft. But you channel through aura and blood?”

Dio stepped out of the ring, slightly winded. “Yeah. I guess. I didn’t grow up with tutors. My family was anti-magic. I had to teach myself. Aura came naturally in fights. Blood came when I needed to survive. Spirit magic felt… too out of reach.”

Libertas studied him with new eyes. “You’re uncut stone. But your core—your resonance—is stronger than any I’ve tested in decades. Spirit magic should sing through you like a second language.”

Dio scratched his neck. “I guess I never had the chance to learn the words.”

There was a pause. Then Libertas smiled, a real one, rare and reverent.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

He blinked. “Wait, personally?”

She nodded. “I won’t waste potential like yours. You’re strong, but more than that—resilient. And that’s what spirit magic needs. A heart that won’t break, even when the soul is tested.”

Dio grinned, cheeks flushed. “Thanks. I’m kind of a fast learner.”

“I can tell.” She looked him over once more and said, “Also, tell your vampire girlfriend to stop trying to bribe the interview board with food.”

Dio laughed. “She means well. But yeah… I’ll talk to her.”

As he walked out of the chamber, the wind trailing behind him still carried echoes of something powerful and ancient—his spirit, finally beginning to singing but he was quickly reminded he had someone else to attend to.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when Mina’s eyes snapped open.

She reached across the bed instinctively, expecting warmth. Expecting him. But the sheets were cold.

“Dio?” Her voice cracked with sleep and confusion. Then again, louder—more panicked. “Dio?”

He wasn’t in the apartment.

She sat up too fast. The silk sheets tangled at her waist, her hair spilling over bare shoulders. Her body ached—not with pain, but with the overwhelming need that had been building for days. Now it wasn’t just aching, it was roaring. Her fangs itched. Her thighs pressed together like they could quell the fire between them, but it only made things worse.

Mina’s pupils dilated until her crimson irises were almost swallowed whole. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, skin flushed, nipples hard, thighs trembling. Where was he?

The apartment was empty, and the air smelled like Dio—but old. Faded. Not enough.

Her heart raced in a way that was unfamiliar, terrifying. It wasn’t just desire. It was biology. Her body was screaming at her: He needs to be here. He needs to be inside. Now.

She staggered to the living room, wrapped in one of his shirts, barely able to form coherent thoughts. Everything felt slow and fast at once, like her blood was singing and sobbing at the same time.

She clutched the back of the couch, panting. “I—I can’t take this—I’ll find him—I’ll drag him back and I’ll—”

The door opened.

Mina froze.

And there he was.

Dio, looking slightly wind-blown from the morning commute, coffee in one hand, papers in the other, blinking at her with his usual disarming calm.

“Hey, sleepyhead��”

Mina moved before he could finish.

She tackled him. Coffee spilled. Paperwork scattered. The door slammed behind them as she shoved him against it, her mouth crashing into his with a desperate, growling kiss that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“Mina—” he managed to gasp between kisses, “—are you okay?”

“No,” she hissed. Her voice was wrecked and shaky and burning. “I��m not okay. I’ve been a mess all morning—and you left me.” She kissed him again, deeper, harder, her hands roaming. “I can’t think straight. I need you. I need you so bad it hurts.”

Dio, wide-eyed and breathless, dropped everything in his hands and steadied her by the waist.

“You’re—oh gods, Mina—your scent is everywhere.”

“Because I’m ready,” she groaned. “My body’s begging for you. I can’t keep pretending I’m in control.”

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

She nodded frantically, biting her lip. “I want everything. I want you. All of you.”

Dio kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, grounding her. “Then let me take care of you, Mina.”

The door clicked shut.

She didn’t say a word as Dio scooped her up to the bedroom

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking like dried velvet. “You weren’t here, and my mind—it wouldn’t stop—I need you, Dio. I need you.”

He dropped his satchel without looking. Hands rose gently to her cheeks, thumbs brushing the burning skin beneath her eyes.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip trembled.

Mina had always been poised, divine in the way statues are divine—distant, unyielding, immortal. But now? She was messy. Breathless. Needy. And there was something holy in her breaking.

Dio kissed her, slow at first, like easing a fever with ice. She moaned into him, her entire body curling inward, desperate to be filled, calmed, seen. The kiss deepened, frantic, lips dragging, hands roaming, like both of them were searching for something they’d only ever found in each other.

Clothes came off piece by piece—her blouse fell away like silk rain, his shirt was peeled from sweat-damp skin, and Mina gasped when she felt his chest against hers. The heat of him, the solid, warm thrum of his heartbeat under her palm.

“I want to give you everything,” she murmured. “I want to make something new with you. Something only we can create.”

Dio swallowed hard, eyes glistening with something just shy of tears. He pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Then take all of me.”

And she did.

She led him to the bed not like a queen claiming a throne, but like a woman surrendering to something bigger than magic, than blood, than eternity. Her body moved with aching slowness against his, and Dio met her with reverence, their rhythm building not with urgency, but with certainty.

It wasn’t about lust anymore. It was about fulfillment. About the hush between breaths and the trust in soft hands. About the fire that didn’t burn, but warmed. Mina spread her legs waiting for Dio to fill her and when he did she lost it.

Mina cried out—soft and wild—when she felt the ache inside her finally met. Her back arched as she held Dio to her, desperate to keep him inside, as if he could quiet the storm with the press of his heart against hers.

He whispered her name like a promise.

She called his like a prayer. His thrust were gentle at first but Mina needed more. She had been desperate for so long she needed Dio to be ravenous. So she whispered in his ear

And when they both came undone, it wasn’t a climax—it was a becoming.

Later, tangled in the warmth of each other’s bodies, Mina traced her fingers over Dio’s chest, dazed and glowing, the itch in her womb finally calmed, the hollow in her heart finally full.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that,” she murmured.

Dio smiled and kissed her temple. “Neither did I.”

She fell asleep curled against him, a satisfied sigh in her throat, the scent of salt and clove lingering in the air. And for the first time in centuries, she dreamt of the future.

Not of blood or power.

But of cribs, laughter… and a child with golden eyes.

Despite Momo’s many warnings, Mina’s pregnancy had passed far more smoothly than anyone expected—though not without one major complication. She and Dio hadn’t just had a child. They’d had twins.

Hiro and Suzume Castillo were as different as night and day. Hiro, the elder by three minutes, was fully human but had inherited Mina’s piercing crimson eyes—a mystery even Libertas found fascinating. Suzume, on the other hand, was half-vampire, with silver-white hair and tiny canines that peeked out whenever she smiled. While Hiro radiated quiet curiosity, Suzume was all fire and chaos—a miniature aristocrat with a mischief streak a mile wide.

As for Dio, he had flourished under Lady Libertas’s tutelage. Though not a prodigy in the traditional sense—he’d been self-taught and working with blood and aura magic for years—he completed her six-year curriculum in just three. What he lacked in formal structure, he made up for with relentless drive and a soul resonance so powerful it left even seasoned mages in awe.

Which brings us to today.

The morning began in chaos—gentle, giggling chaos.

A high-pitched shriek echoed down the hallway, followed by the slap-slap-slap of bare feet on hardwood. Another shriek, slightly lower and tinged with laughter, followed in hot pursuit.

Dio cracked open one eye just in time to see two blurs—a streak of silver and a puff of black curls—barrel through the bedroom door.

“Papa! Mama! Wake up!” Suzume yelled gleefully, launching herself onto the bed like a tiny missile.

“Time for pancakes!” Hiro added with quiet urgency, climbing up after her.

Mina groaned from beneath the covers. “It’s not even seven…”

“Wrong,” Suzume chirped, her fangs glinting in the early light. “It’s pancake o’clock!”

Dio chuckled, sitting up and catching Hiro before he could tackle Mina’s side of the bed. “Alright, alright—pancakes it is. But you’ve gotta let Mama get dressed first.”

Mina peeked out from under the duvet, her crimson eyes bleary, her hair an elegant disaster. “They’re too powerful,” she mumbled. “We created tiny warlords.”

“They get it from you,” Dio said, kissing her temple before gently scooping both children off the bed.

“But they get that early bird energy from you giving them reasonable bedtimes,” Mina grumbled as she flopped dramatically onto her pillow.

“I’m sorry I go to bed like a normal person, Mrs. Night Owl. Not all of us can live like nocturnal nobility,” Dio shot back with a smirk.

Mina rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

Ten minutes later, Mina was brushing out her hair in the kitchen, still in her pajama top and silk shorts, while Suzume sat on the counter and Hiro perched at the table. They were drawing runes into their pancakes with syrup—Suzume’s glowing faintly from over-enthusiastic enchantments.

Dio stood at the stove in an apron covered in glitter, courtesy of the twins’ latest “experiment.” He flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate just as his phone buzzed.

Lady Libertas.

He answered on speaker while setting the syrup down. “Morning, Archmagus.”

Libertas’s voice came through crisp and direct. “Good. You're awake. I’m canceling my lecture today.”

Mina raised a curious brow, combing through Suzume’s hair with a silver brush.

“I need you to step in for my soulcraft class,” Libertas continued. “They’re covering resonance fields—and frankly, you’re better at it than I am.”

Dio blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. You’ve refined the process in a way diagrams can’t convey. Just—don’t scare them too badly with the aura projections. And do not, under any circumstances, demonstrate Ultima.”

Dio chuckled, already organizing a lesson plan in his head. “Got it. I’ll be there by ten.”

“Good. You’re officially on the faculty roster now, Professor Castillo.”

Mina snorted into her tea.

As the call ended, Dio turned toward the twins—who were now attempting to levitate their pancakes. One floated, wobbled, then splatted back down with a gooey slap.

He glanced at Mina, who sipped her tea with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Professor Castillo, huh?” she teased. “Should I call you that in bed?”

Dio turned a little pink, grinning. “Only if you want a lecture on how much I love you.”

Mina rolled her eyes but leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Cheesy.”

“Made with the finest soul curd,” he replied, just as Hiro groaned from the table.

“Dad jokes already?” Hiro asked, deadpan.

Suzume nodded solemnly. “He’s evolving. We have to stop him.”

Their laughter echoed through the house, blending with the smell of syrup and the crackle of magic in the air. It was loud, messy, and theirs—a life full of wonder, crafted by love, effort, and a little chaos.

Just the way they liked it.

Because of time constraints—and the undeniable chaos two magically-inclined toddlers could cause during a soulcraft lecture—Mina had decided to drop the twins off at their Aunt Momo’s for the morning while Dio taught his first class.

The drive over was blissfully uneventful, which was rare. The twins, strapped in their car seats, spent most of the ride chattering excitedly about all the fun they were going to have with their cousin Suki.

“I hope she still has the slime bucket,” Suzume said, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“She said she got glitter slime now,” Hiro added with reverence, like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

Dio parked the car in front of a cozy, ivy-draped townhouse with a wraparound porch and flower boxes under every window. He adjusted his satchel across his shoulder, casting a glance at the tiny tornadoes trailing after him like determined ducklings.

“You’ve got your charm anchors?” he asked as they approached the front walk.

Both kids held up their wrists with solemn pride—homemade bracelets woven with protection runes, blessed with white magic and glitter stickers.

“Papa, we’re not babies,” Hiro said with maximum three-year-old indignation, puffing his chest like he was about to duel a dragon.

“You’re three,” Mina deadpanned, gliding up beside them in a sleek navy coat and oversized sunglasses. Despite the morning sun, she radiated cool elegance with a designer diaper bag slung effortlessly over one arm like a purse of power.

They rounded the corner, and waiting on the porch like a one-woman welcome committee was Momo, waving cheerfully. Her five-year-old daughter, Suki, bolted down the steps with a squeal of joy.

“Cousins!” she shrieked, throwing herself into the twins with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for fireworks and candy. The three of them immediately collapsed into a giggling, squirmy hug pile on the front lawn.

“They’re not technically cousins,” Dio muttered under his breath.

“Don’t ruin it,” Mina whispered back, elbowing him gently.

As the kids rolled on the grass debating which slime to summon first, Mina started toward the porch to help settle them in—until Momo crossed her arms and blocked her path with a knowing smile.

“Wait, aren’t you going to watch your husband’s first lecture as a real professor?” Momo asked, her voice lilting with mock innocence.

Mina blinked. “I thought I was watching the kids?”

Momo stepped aside and gestured broadly toward the house. “I’ve got it covered—snacks, Legos, a slime crafting zone in the backyard, and ten gallons of patience. They’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Mina asked, her voice softening just a little with maternal caution.

Momo lifted an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna stand there and tell me you’d rather change slime-covered shirts than sit front row and watch Professor Dio Castillo explain soul resonance—in a fitted linen shirt that hugs his biceps just enough to cause scandal?”

Mina stared at her. “...That’s a strong argument.”

“I thought so.”

A heartbeat later, the twins were safely inside—already neck-deep in finger paint—and Mina was sliding her arm through Dio’s as he turned to leave, tugging him a little closer with a familiar gleam in her crimson eyes.

“You better impress me, Professor,” she purred, lips brushing against his cheek as they walked back to the car.

Dio arched a brow. “No pressure, huh?”

“Oh, there’s so much pressure,” she whispered, her voice like silk wrapped around a dagger. “You’re not just giving your first lecture. You’re doing it with me sitting front row… staring at you like I want to devour every inch of you.”

Dio swallowed hard, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “You realize I’m going to have to give this lecture while actively pretending I’m not turned on?”

Mina smirked, smug and satisfied. “Sounds like a you problem, Professor Castillo.”

He groaned softly, shaking his head as they reached the car. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”

“I know,” Mina said sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat like a queen settling onto a throne. “Now drive. I want a good seat before the freshmen take the back rows and start whispering about how hot you are.”

Dio muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer and started the engine.

The city rolled by in a blur of spring sunlight and enchanted taxis, cherry blossoms drifting through the air like confetti from some benevolent goddess of chaos. Dio kept both hands planted firmly on the wheel, jaw clenched in quiet focus. He was trying—trying—to think about his lecture, to mentally review his notes, to stay calm.

But Mina had no intention of making it easy.

She lounged in the passenger seat like temptation incarnate, one leg crossed over the other, her coat undone just enough to reveal a flash of deep wine-red lace at the neckline. Sunlight danced on her sunglasses, but her mouth was the real danger—a slow, feline smile creeping across her lips like she was already halfway through undressing him with her eyes.

“I must say,” she murmured as they cruised down the glimmering main road, “it’s strange not having someone in the backseat asking if jellybeans count as breakfast.”

Dio glanced at her warily. “Let’s not jinx it. We’ve got maybe two hours of peace. Don’t summon the jellybean gods.”

Mina chuckled, her fingers casually brushing his arm before sliding down to rest lightly on his thigh. “Mmm. Two hours. A blissful eternity in parent time.”

Dio’s grip on the wheel tightened just enough to make his knuckles pale. “Mina.”

She ignored the warning in his voice, or maybe savored it. “Do you realize what this means?” she purred, eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “The twins are in the care of their wonderful Auntie Momo. That leaves you and me… alone. The house, empty. Our bed, untouched. My sanity, fraying.”

She punctuated each phrase with a gentle squeeze of his thigh, sending a shiver up his spine.

“I’ve been so patient, Dio,” she went on, her voice turning syrupy and rich. “Three years of middle-of-the-night feedings, growth spurts, emotional meltdowns—your emotional meltdowns during teething—and those little charm mishaps that turn furniture into sentient furniture.”

He gave her a helpless look. “Charm mishaps?”

She didn’t skip a beat. “Your son turned my silk sheets into crawling ivy last month. They tried to strangle me.”

Dio stifled a laugh. “He’s talented.”

“He’s lucky he’s cute,” Mina said, grinning before leaning closer, her lips a whisper from his ear. “But now… now there’s no one home. No distractions. No slime jars. No talisman glue on the countertops. Just me… and the unholy number of things I plan to do to you once you’re done playing professor.”

Dio made a sound somewhere between a cough and a moan.

“I swear to every god who ever breathed magic into a leyline,” he muttered, “if you keep talking like that, I’m going to drive this car into a dimensional rift.”

Mina leaned in again, one fingertip trailing lazily up the inside of his arm. Goosebumps bloomed in her wake. “That’s why I’ll be waiting in the front row, husband mine. Wearing my shortest skirt. With very, very bad intentions.”

“Mina,” he choked out.

“Yes?”

“I need to drive.”

“I am helping. You’ll be highly motivated to finish that lecture. Think of the reward structure.”

He shot her a look, flushed and exasperated, but his mouth betrayed him with a crooked smile.

“You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” she said sweetly, kissing his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

He shook his head, trying to focus as the academy gates came into view.

“You realize if I crash, they’ll list ‘vampire wife' as the cause of death.”

“They’d be right,” Mina whispered smugly, fingers brushing the top button of his shirt before retreating just in time.

Dio parked the car with the precision of a man clinging to the last threads of self-control. He sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, breathing deep.

Mina reclined in her seat like a cat in the sun, perfectly pleased.

“Now go impress me,” she said with a wink. “And remember—I’ll be in the front row, imagining you without that shirt the entire time.”

Dio groaned.

“I’m doomed.”

“You’re married,” Mina said, sliding out of the car with an elegant swish of coat and legs. “There’s a difference.”

The morning air was crisp as they pulled into the academy, sunlight catching on the spires of the crystalline towers like golden fire. The Academy of Etheric Arts shimmered against the dawn, still quiet, cloaked in the hush of early spells and distant bells. Only a few robed figures drifted across the stone paths—students and staff beginning their day with discipline and incantations.

Dio maneuvered the car into the private lot reserved for senior faculty, per Lady Libertas’s personal recommendation, and parked neatly beneath a tree charmed to bloom year-round. The moment the engine sighed into silence, Mina unbuckled her seatbelt with a slow click that somehow sounded sinful.

She stretched—languid and deliberate—arching her back like a waking predator, the silk of her blouse pulling taut across her chest. Her dark skirt rode just a fraction higher on her thighs, and Dio, valiant soul that he was, immediately focused very hard on the dashboard.

“Mina,” he murmured, already feeling the heat crawl up his neck.

She smiled like the sun was her co-conspirator. “Yes, darling?”

With parasol in one hand and sin in her stride, she stepped out of the car. Her heels clicked with hypnotic rhythm against the mana-smoothed stone as she fell into step beside him. That tight, wicked skirt hugged every curve like a spell tailored to undo him. Her blouse, sheer in the right light, teased the barest shimmer of lace beneath. Her hair was swept up just enough to bare the elegant line of her throat—a throat Dio had kissed many, many times, and now could barely look at without getting ideas.

“You know I have to teach,” he said, voice already strained.

“I do know,” Mina replied sweetly. “That’s exactly why I wore something distracting. I thought of you when I put it on.”

He groaned under his breath.

As they crossed the courtyard, a few students glanced their way—quick, respectful glances. No one dared stare too long. Mina’s aura didn’t just command attention; it warned against it. There was a gleam in her eye and a promise in her posture. He’s mine. Try it and I’ll feed on your ego first.

At the grand lecture hall, still locked and humming faintly with wards, Mina turned and leaned back against the stone archway, one heel lifted behind her like she was posing for a painting. She glanced at the time crystal glowing above the doorway.

“Twenty minutes,” she purred, grabbing him gently by his tie and pulling him close. “That’s so much time.”

“Mina,” he warned, but it came out breathy. She knew that tone. She was winning.

She kissed him then—not rushed, not shy. She kissed him like they weren’t in public, like the past three years of parenting had only sharpened her hunger. She sucked his bottom lip gently before letting her tongue graze it, and one hand brushed the curve of his ear in a featherlight stroke that made Dio inhale sharply.

“You’re evil,” he whispered.

“I’m needy,” she corrected, nuzzling against his jaw. “And considerate. You need to be relaxed for your lecture, right? I could sit on your lap and purr a bit. Maybe nibble your neck. That always helps you focus.”

Dio cursed softly in a language older than sunlight.

“You’re seriously trying to ruin me before my first day subbing for Lady Libertas?”

She didn’t blink. “I want you flustered. I want every soulcrafter in that room to wonder why the air around you smells like ozone and me. I want you to walk into that classroom like you’ve been worshipped all morning. Because you should be.”

Dio’s hands found her waist without thinking, his fingers flexing against her curves in quiet desperation. His lips hovered near hers, his resistance starting to fray.

“I swear, if you keep this up…”

“You’ll what?” Mina teased, eyes gleaming.

He leaned in, his voice a low growl. “I’ll make you pay for it. Later.”

Her grin broke wide, all fangs and wicked delight. “Promise?” she asked, voice lilting with mock innocence. “Because I’ve been such a bad girl, and you haven’t corrected me in so long…”

He nearly lost it right there.

“I mean, really,” she added playfully, “I haven’t paid for anything since before the twins were born. Isn’t that terrible? I’m overdue.”

Just then, with a chiming click, the magical lock disengaged. The heavy doors glowed softly, then swung open to admit the first few early students.

Mina stepped back, instantly composed, smoothing her skirt and fixing her blouse like she hadn’t just shattered his composure and stirred up half a semester’s worth of tension in five minutes flat.

She kissed his cheek with featherlight grace.

“Break a leg, Professor Castillo,” she whispered, sultry and smug. “I’ll be right there in the front row… cheering you on.”

Dio exhaled like he’d just survived a battlefield.

“You’re going to kill me one day.”

Mina laughed softly as she turned to walk inside. “And you’ll die smiling.”

The lecture hall was a sleek amphitheater of glowing crystal and etched runes, every surface humming with stored intent. About thirty students sat in gentle rows of floating seats, notebooks and spellstones ready, eyes forward.

Dio stood at the front in his long sleeve shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up as he conjured an intricate soul-web diagram into the air. Strands of light bent and flickered as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward a glyph spinning slowly above his hand, “when you push a soul-thread too tightly against a corrupted anchor, what happens?”

A few hands shot up. He nodded toward a serious-looking elf girl with rose-gold eyes.

“It frays,” she answered. “Like overstretched silk. You risk soul-burn.”

“Exactly.” Dio smiled, pleased. “Which is why we always make sure not to do that” he said voice faltering sligtly

Mina had crossed her legs in the front row. Slowly.

She sat with an almost absurd air of grace—legs draped one over the other in a way that drew the eye, skirt riding just high enough to be scandalous. Her blouse had somehow shifted looser, baring one shoulder, and her hair had fallen over one eye in a tousled, deliberate mess of temptation.

She was sipping iced tea like it was bloodwine, licking her lips between sips.

Dio swallowed hard.

“and why is Soul burn bad,” he recovered, turning back to the board as his ears flushed pink.

Mina smirked. She didn’t even need to say anything. Just being there—lounging in his direct line of sight like a painting designed to unmake his concentration—was enough.

He paced, pointing to a new set of sigils. “Now, when you synchronize soul-temperament with your anchor—”

Mina tilted her head. She let one heel fall off her foot, dangling it on her toes.

Dio scowled at his wife but remained focused.

Some of the students exchanged amused glances. They all knew who she was. The vampire consort of the soulcraft prodigy. One of the scariest women on the continent. And right now, she was toying with him like a bored cat.

Mina leaned forward a little. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough that her cleavage became a distraction even to herself. She batted her lashes innocently when Dio looked at her.

He looked away immediately, trying to continue the lecture like his entire brain hadn’t short-circuited.

“..that brings us to the Weaver’s Trine. A method used to realign broken spirit channels through new threads,”

Click.

Mina was popping a hard candy into her mouth.

Click. Pop. Swirl.

Dio’s hand clenched the edge of the lectern.

She gave him a knowing look. The you’re doing great, sweetie—but I’m going to ruin you later kind of look.

By the time the class ended, Dio’s magic had shorted out twice, and he’d accidentally called soul-resonance “spirit-writhing,” which he would never live down.

When the final rune flickered off and the students began to pack up, Mina approached the podium, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“You survived,” she whispered, sliding next to him. “Barely.”

Dio glared at her, flushed and disheveled. “You planned that.”

“I did,” Mina said brightly. “You looked so composed this morning. I had to fix it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “When we get home…”

“Promise?” she murmured, pupils dilated, scent laced with barely restrained hunger.

They left the lecture hall to the sound of two dozen students whispering, “They’re so married.”

Dio stood at the front in tailored robes, his sleeves rolled up as he conjured an intricate soul-web diagram into the air. Strands of light bent and flickered as he spoke, his voice confident and clear.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward a glyph spinning slowly above his hand, “when you push a soul-thread too tightly against a corrupted anchor, what happens?”

A few hands shot up. He nodded toward a serious-looking elf girl with rose-gold eyes.

“It frays,” she answered. “Like overstretched silk. You risk soul-burn.”

“Exactly.” Dio smiled, pleased. “Which is why we—”

His voice faltered.

Mina had crossed her legs in the front row. Slowly.

She was sipping iced tea like it was bloodwine, licking her lips between sips.

Dio swallowed hard.

“We… uh… right—soul-burn,” he recovered, turning back to the board as his ears flushed pink.

Mina smirked. She didn’t even need to say anything. Just being there—lounging in his direct line of sight like a painting designed to unmake his concentration—was enough.

He paced, pointing to a new set of sigils. “Now, when you synchronize soul-temperament with your anchor—”

Mina tilted her head. She let one heel fall off her foot, dangling it on her toes.

Dio stammered mid-sentence.

Mina leaned forward a little. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough that her cleavage became a distraction even to herself. She batted her lashes innocently when Dio looked at her.

He looked away immediately, trying to continue the lecture like his entire brain hadn’t short-circuited.

“...uh, that brings us to the Weaver’s Trine. A method used to realign broken spirit channels through—”

Click.

Mina was popping a hard candy into her mouth.

Click. Pop. Swirl.

Dio’s hand clenched the edge of the lectern.

She gave him a knowing look. The you’re doing great, sweetie—but I’m going to ruin you later kind of look.

By the time the class ended, Dio’s magic had shorted out twice, and he’d accidentally called soul-resonance “spirit-writhing,” which he would never live down.

When the final rune flickered off and the students began to pack up, Mina approached the podium, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“You survived,” she whispered, sliding next to him. “Barely.”

Dio glared at her, flushed and disheveled. “You planned that.”

“I did,” Mina said brightly. “You looked so composed this morning. I had to fix it.”

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “When we get home…”

“Promise?” she murmured, pupils dilated, scent laced with barely restrained hunger.

They left the lecture hall to the sound of two dozen students whispering, “They’re so married.”

The drive home was quiet—on the surface.

But in the tight space of the car, the air pulsed with tension. Lustful, electric, and barely leashed. Mina sat with her legs crossed, her parasol resting against her shoulder, eyes forward but smirking. She could feel it—the way Dio’s knuckles gripped the wheel a little too tight, the way his jaw flexed with every memory of her lips on his, her fingers on his chest, her scent clinging to his skin like a spell he couldn’t shake.

She felt it in her bones, and it made her press her thighs together beneath her skirt, the collar of her blouse suddenly too warm.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the yard. Dio barely let the engine finish its sigh before he was out of his seat. He circled the car like a predator and—without a word—scooped Mina into his arms, parasol and all.

She yelped, laughter escaping her lips before being swallowed by a sharp inhale as he gripped her firmly, one hand sliding beneath her thighs, the other cupping the curve of her ass like he owned it. Which, in fairness, he kind of did.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears.

The moment the front door clicked shut behind them, Mina was pinned.

Her back hit the wood with a gentle thud, Dio’s arms caging her in, his body a wall of heat pressed flush to hers. His eyes were molten—furious, focused, and hungry in a way that stole the air from her lungs. It was that same look he used to wear in the ring, back when he was feared for his fists and his fire. Back when she first started falling for him.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he murmured, voice velvet-dipped flame.

Mina gave him a slow, sultry smile, her lashes fluttering. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Professor.”

He didn’t return the smile.

Instead, he leaned in, his breath a slow exhale against her lips. “You almost made me incinerate a soul-web in front of three grad students.”

Her finger traced the line of buttons down his shirt. “And yet, you held it together so well. So composed. So…” she let the word drip like honey, “disciplined.”

Dio’s eyes darkened.

“You remember what I said earlier?” he asked, voice low.

“That when we got home, I was yours?” she whispered, her breath hitching.

“Exactly.”

Without warning, he scooped her into his arms again, this time with purpose—predatory and deliberate. She gasped, arms flinging around his neck as he carried her through the house without breaking stride. Past the tidy kitchen, the dim-lit hallway, the toy basket tucked discreetly in the corner of the living room. The home they’d built together.

He kicked the bedroom door open and stepped inside.

Only then did he set her down, shrugging off his coat in a single sharp motion, fingers already at the buttons of his shirt.

Mina didn’t move.

Her legs felt like melted wax, her mouth dry, heart hammering against her ribs.

Then he said it—calm, quiet, and absolute:

“Strip.”

She swallowed.

There was no edge of cruelty to the command. Just the raw authority of a man who knew her. Who saw her. Who wanted her completely. And she obeyed—not out of submission, but out of trust. Of desire. Of the deep, aching hunger to be his.

She unwrapped herself slowly, peeling away silk and lace, giving him a show as much as a surrender. And Dio watched, unmoving, eyes fixed like she was a constellation unfolding before him.

By the time she stood bare in front of him, his shirt was undone, hanging off his shoulders. The tension in him was visible—jaw tight, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.

He circled her like a man walking the perimeter of a sacred altar. His fingers ghosted along her skin—the dip of her spine, the swell of her hip, the delicate column of her throat.

“You drove me mad today,” he said, voice hoarse. “You designed your entire morning to mess with me.”

“And what if I did?” she asked, chin lifted in soft defiance.

“Then it’s only fair,” he growled, catching her waist and lifting her effortlessly, “that I return the favor.”

He tossed her onto the bed with a strength that made her breath catch—and then he was on her. Not rough, not rushed, but consuming. He worshiped her with kisses that branded and hands that remembered every inch of her body. He whispered her name like a vow and made her feel wanted in every way a woman could be.

He devoured her.

He claimed her.

He left her trembling, overflowing, her body slick with the echoes of pleasure and the unbearable sweetness of being known.

So much so, she half-laughed, half-moaned into his shoulder, “Dio… if you keep going, I’m going to end up pregnant again.”

He didn’t stop.

Every kiss said: Let them come. Let there be more of you.

By the time the stars spun behind her eyes and her voice cracked from saying his name like a prayer, she curled against him, her chest rising and falling with soft, sated breaths. Her hair was a halo of wild silk, her skin kissed red where he’d adored her most.

Dio held her close, strong arms wrapped around her trembling frame, his lips brushing her temple with reverent care.

“You,” she whispered, voice hoarse and full of wonder, “are dangerous.”

He chuckled, low and smug. “So are you. You’re the real menace.”

Mina laughed softly, sleepy and glowing, her fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest.

“I love you, Dio.”

“I know,” he said, brushing her hair back. “And I love you more than ever. Every day.”

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, the moon casting silver light through the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, their twins slept soundly, unaware that their parents had just reminded each other why love—true love—was a force of nature.

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice smut #twice mina smut #twice mina #Mina myoui smut

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ageingfangirl2 · 1 day ago

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Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 8: NEW MEMBER OF THE FAMILY

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

You’re back at your desk. Brighter. Still quiet, but not in that hollow way anymore. Your favourite mug is full. You even begin humming again. The guys haven’t said anything about that night, and you haven’t asked. But something has shifted. Kakucho brings your coffee every morning now without saying a word. Ran asks you dumb questions just to hear you laugh. Koko upgraded the building’s security and your door lock. And Sanzu, well, Sanzu's been behaving… suspiciously well.

Then one afternoon, you hear a soft knock on the reception counter. You look up from the computer and blink, there’s a tiny black carrier sitting on the ledge. Inside, a kitten. Fluffy, wide-eyed, silver-grey fur with darker paws, peering out like it already owns the place.

Rindou’s the one standing there. He had his hands in his pockets. Shrugging like this wasn’t a huge deal, ‘It’s a rescue,’ he mumbles, ‘kinda grumpy. Scratched Ran. Already house-trained. Good with plants. They said her last owner bailed.’

You blink at the kitten. The kitten meows, soft and insistent, ‘…What’s her name?’

Ran appears from behind the divider, rubbing a scratched hand, ‘they named her Bonten,’ he smirks, ‘thought it was fate.’

You stare, and then you laugh. A real one — bubbling out of you like it’s been trapped for weeks, ‘Bonten?’ you echo, leaning closer.

The kitten bumps its nose to the mesh.

‘You little monster,’ she whispers, unlocking the crate.

The kitten crawls into her lap immediately. Like it belongs there. And maybe it does.

The rest of the boys pretend they’re too cool to care. Sanzu loudly declares he hates cats, then leaves a toy mouse on her desk the next day. Takeomi says, ‘Animals are a distraction,’ then shows you how to make homemade chicken treats. Mikey says nothing, but pets Bonten the kitten whenever he walks past, gaze softening for just a second.

You don’t cry anymore, you just scratch under the kitten’s chin and say softly, ‘You're gonna be safe here, okay?’

And maybe you're not just talking to the cat. You just couldn’t imagine the chaos this little fluffy bundle of joy was going to bring to the office in the coming days.

It’s a typical morning in the Bonten office: chaos, paperwork, and the hum of the air conditioning.

The tiny ball of fluff has somehow managed to claim Sanzu’s chair as her new territory. She’s sitting there smugly, tail flicking lazily, while Sanzu stands with his arms crossed, clearly at war.

‘That’s my chair,’ Sanzu growls, trying to act like he’s above this.

The kitten stares at him.

He takes a step forward. She blinks, ‘Move, little monster,’ he demands, but the kitten just meows — loud, high-pitched, almost like she’s mocking him.

Sanzu gasps, ‘You’re seriously not gonna—?’

Without warning, she launches herself at his face, claws out. Sanzu stumbles backwards, barely managing to dodge the kitten’s attack.

‘The hell!?’ he shouts

Ran is leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk on his face as he watches Sanzu struggle, ‘Maybe she doesn’t like your attitude.’

Rindou chuckles from behind him, barely holding it together, ‘The poor thing is just trying to claim her spot. Why don’t you let her?’

Sanzu glares at both of them but finds himself unable to stop a reluctant grin. ‘Fine, she wins. But this is my chair.’

He turns to walk off, but the kitten jumps down with a whisk of fur and follows him. The guys watch as she trots after him, a new tiny shadow under his feet.

Mikey doesn’t do soft. Not in the traditional sense. His gaze is always sharp. His presence is commanding. But when it comes to Bonten, the kitten… there’s an entirely different side of him.

The office is eerily quiet. Everyone’s busy with paperwork, but there's one thing they all notice: Mikey has the kitten curled up on his chest, her little head resting peacefully against his neck, purring softly.

Sanzu raises an eyebrow, casually leaning against the desk, ‘What are you doing?’

Mikey looks up, his usual smug grin replaced with something far more relaxed, ‘Nothing. Just letting her nap.’

Ran snickers from the doorway, ‘Since when did you become a cat person?’

Mikey shrugs, but it’s a far too relaxed motion. He scratches under the kitten’s chin, and her tiny paws flex in contentment, ‘She’s just peaceful,’ Mikey murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

The guys exchange knowing looks, but no one says anything. Mikey wouldn’t appreciate anyone teasing him about his soft spot for the kitten, so they stay quiet.

Koko rolls his eyes from across the room, ‘That damn kitten’s got us all wrapped around her paw.’

And Mikey doesn’t even deny it.

Takeomi, usually the cold, pragmatic one, has a new hobby. And no one can say they’re not surprised when it involves cat treats.

One day, he’s in the office kitchen, the sound of clinking pans filling the air. Koko walks in, eyes narrowing when he sees Takeomi carefully measuring ingredients, ‘What are you doing?’

Takeomi glances up with a smirk, ‘Making something for Bonten.’

‘You mean the cat?’ Koko looks horrified, ‘Are you baking for a cat?’

Takeomi shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a small smile playing on his lips. ‘She’s good for morale. And the kitten likes homemade treats.’

There’s a long silence before Koko cocks his head, ‘You know what? At least it’s not murder. You’ll be a decent dad one day, I think.’

Takeomi glares, ‘Shut up.’

But his little soft spot is out in the open now.

It’s the end of the day. Everyone is wrapping up. And there’s a rare moment of peace in the office. You’re at your desk, Bonten the kitten curled up in your lap, purring happily. The office is emptying. Then Mikey, ever the unpredictable one, stops by.

‘You know, it’s weird,’ Mikey says, looking at the kitten, then you, ‘You’ve got everyone in the palm of your hand, don’t you?’

You look at him with a knowing smile, rubbing the kitten’s ears as you shift the papers on her desk, ‘They all act tough, but they’re soft on the inside.’

‘Hm,’ Mikey smirks, ‘Well, guess that means you’ve got Bonten in the palm of your hand now.’

The kitten looks up at you, gives a single soft meow, and yawns — and that’s enough for you and Mikey to fall silent. The kitten has them all wrapped around her tiny, fuzzy paw. And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sanzu occasionally steals her chair. Takeomi secretly brings her treats every day. Koko sets up a tracking system for her favourite toys. Mikey naps with her on his chest. Ran gives her extra treats when no one’s looking. Rindou spoils her with the best catnip. And Kakucho? Well, he makes sure no one ever gets near her without permission. Bonten’s a family. And this little ball of fur is their newest — and most chaotic — member.

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typewritingyip · 20 hours ago

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The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty One - Crash Site

Part Forty

Warning: Gore, Violence, & Vomit

———

Mech emergency evacuation systems, M.E.E.S; which to be perfectly honest is not the worst acronym in the army. Was initially designed and regulated by the US Army armored suit branch, to bring down the number of pilot deaths and suit destructions.

In its first year of operation it prevented three suits from having catastrophic failures and saved the lives of seven pilots. The initial system was a massive power sink, likely to drain the suit and put it out of commission until new batteries or reactor or core could be sourced.

MECHA’s number one researcher went on to redesign the system as a whole, it prevents 99.1% of suits from experiencing catastrophic failures when experiencing devastating attacks. It saves the pilot around 17.8% of the time. This system saves the governments of the world billions in suit production costs each year.

It costs them millions in wrongful death lawsuits.

Lawsuits are rare when nearly the whole world is living under martial law.

The switch to Shockwaves system’s has become the typical followed path with his rapid advancements and improvements for the integration technologies.

Even if the outcome is less than desirable, his advancements are the fastest and most consistent. His advancements ensure steady income for MECHA, along with free reign to find the path forward.

To end the war. To design the best suits. To be willing to take the steps that some refuse to.

His version of the M.E.E.S is the most used in the world, ensuring the safety of the suit.

Of Arcturus One, two of the four pilots have that system integrated.

—

He slams into the side of the Quintesson, bringing his gun up and firing point-blank, splatting himself and the ground in green gore. It splashed against some of his lower field cameras, but it was easy to reroute the needed angles, shoving against the Quint with his now empty shoulder while digging the gun into the hole he’d made, firing several more times.

Shifting the gun and activating some of the magnets in his platting, it locked in place on his forearm while tearing the Quint in half. Grunting with the effort of it as one arm laid useless on the ground somewhere behind him, the other at present pulling out the entrails of the Quintesson in front of him. Honestly if he hadn’t been a pilot for so long and spent those first few years doing exactly what he’s doing now, he’d probably find the whole situation rather disgusting.

Of course they’d all seen the slightly sideways glances Breakdown gave them when they got covered in the remains of the enemy, tankers rarely got as close as they did or as Breakdown did now.

None of that mattered at the moment though, just thoughts to keep him occupied while trying to ignore Sideswipe’s painfully loud, blaring music.

The music of the bar had been nice and quiet most of the time, nostalgic for a time he’d hardly know but still one he’d been around for. A connection to home and his life before all of this mess.

Sideswipe’s taste in music was significantly louder and less familiar to Hound. It pained him to admit it, mainly because it made him sound incredibly old, he wasn’t partial to the music. He didn’t particularly dislike it, but sometimes the pitches made his ears ache from going through speakers twice. Wincing as a particular note tried to slice his ear drum, Hound turned down his audio receiver even more, “God.” The concussive blow from moving to the next Quint wasn’t nearly as bad.

Spinning on his good foot, Hound crouched for a moment to survey. Sideswipe was still to his left, dealing with a Quint who had managed to wrap its tentacles around his suit, and there were only a few left though he could just see one starting off towards the crashed ship, the same direction the rest of the pilots went off to.

Slowing his breathing, Hound takes a deep breath, shifting his gun back to his hand for now and standing, moving to the next Quintesson in line. He could hardly hear the gunfire now, less from his turned down audio and more from the repetitive action. Sideswipe slams into the Quint in front of him, spraying them both with green, “Ugh, these things are horrible.”

With a glance, Hound shrugs the best he could, “The sooner we get splattered with green, the sooner the fight is over, come on.” There were only a few left, “When we’re done here, we go to the crash site.” Shaking his head, Sideswipe chuckles, “No shit.” Closing his eyes for a long moment, Hound was reminded why they were split up, again, they would get each other killed even if it was just from the banter.

—

Sunstreaker had grown used to knowing there was a sniper at his back, it had been a safety net of sorts, and with only one arm it was turning his stomach unpleasantly. Even with Jazz at his side, the uneasy feeling just wasn’t going away.

After watching some of the fighting on New Kaon, he’d asked Blue for some help with something that he was now very grateful for. Sure, he had the blades on his bracers, but now he was thrilled to have sharp; effectively, claws.

Taking apart the fingers of his suit had been a pain, they had sensors in them that were entirely unfamiliar and magnets like his assistance suit, but they weren’t activated. It had never been his thing, to try and stick to things. Whether buildings or the light armor the enemy sometimes wore.

Blue had been a massive help to get the plating on his fingers off and reshaping them, then filing them, apparently it had been a somewhat regular practice during the last war. Not among the autobots but certainly among the decepticons. It was still a regular practice for them, but more for aesthetics than practical use now.

Sunny knew for him that there was no real aesthetics to it, it was all practical use, use that he was using now.

His hand dug into the side of a Quint, just enough to ensure his bracer followed, why he had never thought of this before he’d never truly know. Slicing upward, it through through the dense mass of the Quintesson and he laughed, pulling his arm back as his enemy basically popped.

Splattering him and Jazz with it’s gore just as another Quint came and wrapped it’s tentacles around his legs. With the missing arm, his balance could have been better, “Fuck!” He was jared in his piloting seat as his suit slammed face first into the ground, groaning as he shoves up and grasping at the ground as it drags him.

Jazz moved in fast and grabbed hold of the Quintessons tentacles and started pulling, twisting his arms around them and pulling, “Where are the others?” Sunny throws himself around and kicks the Quint in its beak like face, “I don’t know, coming eventually.” They both struggled with it, Jazz pulling the tentacles free of the body as Sunstreaker caves in its face.

He breathed heavily, jumping when the booms of Breakdown’s cannon reached his ears, turning briefly to see him before looking back at the army they were trying to keep inside the crashed ship.

The ship, thankfully, had landed on the road and had yet to do tons of damage to the nearby buildings. Earthlings were skilled in taking down their ships, but they were far more fragile than they appear. Keeping it from falling apart of exploding was key at the moment, the surrounding buildings appeared to be residential but thankfully evacuated.

Sunstreaker had no idea where everyone went, but he was glad there were no cybertronians nearby to see the state of their suits. He knew he wasn’t the only person to think they looked like the walking dead.

His vision blurred for a moment, the Iacon street fading into New Kaon sand and he swore.

Swinging back out, he still connected with the approving Quintesson, both in memory and in reality. His head swam and his stomach turned again, gasping as he tore off his oxygen mask desperately, “Jazz, help!” He kicked the Quint back and stumbled.

It took several painfully long seconds for his vision to clear, Jazz in front of him, tearing apart the enemy. Taking several deep breaths and grabbing his water pouch, Sunny gags and tries not to throw up.

He really wished Blue was there, watching his back, he sat on the ground trying his hardest to not throw up. It was bad enough he got alien gore on his suit, it would be even worse to throw up in his cockpit.

—

Hound could hear the booming of Breakdown’s cannon in the distance again as he and Sideswipe moved closer to the crashed ship, the bar had been cleared and Hound had his fallen arm tucked up under the one remaining. He’d have to leave it once they saw Quintessons again, it was too cumbersome to carry around but he wasn’t just going to leave it behind.

Sideswipe was to his back, watching behind them and the sky as the seekers still screamed overhead, “You know, this is very different from any of the times I had to defend Miami.” Nodding a bit, Hound kept his gun up, scanning the surroundings.

”It’s because they're just scouting Earth, they are actively trying to invade Cybertronian space.” Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder at Hound, “Yeah, but why? They’ve been on Earth for thirty years as of today.” Sighing, Hound shrugs again, holding his fallen arm tightly to his body.

With a glance around, Hound leads them between buildings, “We’ve been holding them off for thirty years, I think if we had an army like this, an army of pilots it would be different.” He nearly stops at the sight in front of him, but instead drops his arm and brings his gun up.

The ship had crashed, but Quints were still trying to work themselves out of the gaps in its armor, screeching and clawing at the metal.

His vision was pinging him with each one trying to escape, along with ways into the ship that he could have hardly fit through, now though without an arm those gaps were slightly more doable. His skin itched with the prospect, with the hunt, and he grinned behind his oxygen mask.

Sideswipe’s hand landed on his shoulder, “I’m going to move in to help Jazz and have Sunny fall back towards you.” But Hound was already shaking his head, “No, have him fall back towards Breakdown, I’m going in.” There was a pregnant pause, “Are you nuts?” Shrugging again, Hound chuckled, “Well, slightly.” He glanced at Sideswipe.

They shared a look, “Alright, but you’re not going to have help in there.” He nodded and turned up his comms, “Did everyone hear the plan?” Breakdown grunted with the effort of keeping his suit upright as his cannon went off, “I think it is a stupid plan.” Sunstreaker nodded in the corner of his vision, “Hound, were strikers.”

Chuckling filled the comm, “You guys really should know more about pilot history, Hound used to be a hunter class. This is what he initially tested into.” He paused, “And Prowl says the backup is about twenty minutes out, so it’s now or never that we try to end this ourselves.” Hound hardly had to spare a glance to Sideswipe before running for the ship, gun coming up again.

The comms of course were loud then, “Well, how was I supposed to know he was a hunter class? Since I’ve known him, he’s been a striker and class jumps are rare.” Jazz tore out the throat of an approaching Quintesson while Sunstreaker cut off several of its tentacles, “Hey, welcome to the chaos that is being a soldier then a pilot!” Jazz’s voice was light, even as his foot collided with the beak of the enemy.

Hound was trying hard not to laugh as the intense focus drew in, “Only ones who’d understand that process are Breakdown and I.” His voice was slightly gruff now with concentration, slamming into the side of the ship for a moment to catch his breath. Sideswipe came up fast so he effective wall sat, giving the younger pilot the leverage he needed to jump up towards where Jazz and Sunstreaker were fighting the worst of the hoard.

He breathed deeply for a moment, watching the shadows of his friends on the ground and looking to Breakdown, braces against the corner of a building while his cannon glowed red hot. He’d have to stop soon to prevent it from blowing up in his face, again. Each shot sent his head wobbling slightly.

Yeah, they were going to look like hell after this fight.

Catching Breakdown’s eyes, he nodded for a moment before turning and forcing his way through one of the gaps. As soon as his cockpit was lodged inside, his comms cut out. Sending him into a near silence, “Okay then,” It wasn’t the first time he’d been aboard an Quintesson ship, nor would it have been most of their first times, but this one was four or five times larger than any that had been spotted on Earth.

The ones they’d taken down on New Kaon had all but disintegrated on impact.

Kicking against the slide, he falls to the floor, or in this case the wall, of the ship and sighs. They needed answers and every time they tried to get them, something happened. They also needed to handle the Quintessons that were likely hiding throughout the remains of their vessel.

Hound brought his gun back up and started moving in slowly, bringing up his sensors and different camera settings, he was going to handle all those who remained in this ship. No matter the outcome. He was just thankful his gun didn’t need to be reloaded regularly or he’d be left with just his suit.

This was going to suck.

—

His head was pounding and the only relief he had was honestly the fact that they were in the dark, Bluestreak and Prowl were sitting together speaking quietly. He should probably try to get up to be a part of that conversation, but right now he has hardly been able to drag his corpse over to Optimus.

The last time he’d been caught in a collapsed building hadn’t been so bad, but he also hadn’t been diving onto another person to try and save their life. Primus, he was fragged.

Now Hound was up on the surface somewhere with the other humans dealing with the Quintessons alone. It tore at his spark, he’d had the mechs back for around a stellar cycle now and it had become second nature. Their senses were so different between the species.

There had been more than one occasion where Hound just hadn’t seen the enemy, where any of the humans had, so he’d handled it. The slight lightening to Hound’s visor indicated the appreciation or at least that’s what he figured each time it happened.

Which was a lot.

For sparks sake, the mech could miss the enemy but always find him, invisible or not and that shredded his spark. Looking over to Prowl and Bluestreak, he could see the same worry he felt etched into their faces as well. The humans moved their ways into their sparks with an ease that was almost unsettling, but then again he’d watched the same sort of thing happen with Optimus Prime and Megatron.

That was even after a million years of war, whereas the humans had been nothing but helpful and loving, and nearly perfect. His head was swimming.

Fragging damnit, he loved the mech, and as many times as he had saved Hound’s life, Hound had saved his. If Hound hadn’t found him in the rubble, it might have been cycles before anyone did, because of course Hound would find him.

He’d always find him, because he was human and that’s just what they seemed to do. Full of enough confidence and ego to manage it. Primus, he needed to be with him.

Mirage stared at the ceiling a bit stupidly as his head swam, not moving still, his head pounding.

—

They were able to stand together again, back to back while Sideswipe slashed open the enemy, “Sunny, you should move back.” His voice sounded far away, like his head was under water and Sideswipe was shouting down to him.

Overuse was hitting him like a truck, trying to pull him back again, away from the edge of getting past it, “No, we need to handle this.” He turns and Sideswipes hands land on the shoulders of his suit, “Dude, you have one arm and are out of it. Other than Breakdown and Hound, none of us have guns.” It was the simple fact of being a civilian pilot.

Sideswipe shakes his head a bit, glancing up, “The seekers are covering the stragglers we missed, I think, but for now Jazz and I got this.” He gives Sunny’s suit a bit of a shake, he looks to the camera and watches Sideswipe tilt his head slightly.

”You look like you did after Savannah, take a minute to catch your breath before the backup arrives. Alright?” Nodding a bit, he pats Sideswipes shoulder carefully.

Today has been hell, for both of them. First it was Simon having an overuse-induced panic attack and now he was on the verge of throwing up, his chest hurt and he could hardly breathe. Whatever was going on was far from normal for either of them. So, instead of arguing, he nods a bit.

It was easier than bickering with his brother. With a pat to his shoulder, Sunny turns a bit uneasily towards the back of the ship. Maybe the front and carefully makes his way to a spot where he slides back down the edge, glancing back towards Jazz and Sideswipe again.

The pair were cutting through the Quintessons that squeezed through the gaps in their falling apart ship. He didn’t want to stick around any longer than he needed, turning and running the best he could towards Breakdown. Sliding slightly on the sidewalk before taking his flank, “You doing alright over here?” His stomach turned unpleasantly when he came to a stop.

”As well as one can, how are things looking in there?” Shooting another glance towards the ship, Sunstreaker sighs a bit, “Not great, Hound went in I think. We really need that backup.” Breakdown hummed and stared at the ship, “We’re hurting more than we let on to our allies, yes?” Shrugging a bit, Sunny sighs, “Of course we are, but what else were we supposed to say? Let the Quints invade while we wait for backup?” Nodding slowly, Breakdown shakes his head, “They’ll have our heads.”

Smiling a bit, Sunny shrugs, “Well, yours is almost off anyway.” Breakdown shoved his shoulder and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor with a groan. They both chuckled even as his stomach turned over again.

So much for keeping his cockpit clean, Sunny at this moment was just glad to have taken his oxygen mask off as he curled up in his piloting seat. Getting miserably sick.

—

The halls were disgusting, seemingly to be alive in a way that was hard to explain. Even Hound was having a hard time just looking at them, turning down his main visual feeds and changing to infrared.

Every time he came up on another Quintesson, his gun came up and fired rapidly before moving in. They probably already knew he was here, there was no sense in staying quiet.

Tearing into them was never easy, but the practice had made perfect. Whether grasping at the edge of their jaws, fighting a grip on one of their tentacles, or blasting a hole through its side, ripping a Quintesson apart was the easiest way to kill it. It left nasty, sticky and stinking hot gore in its wake.

Greener than anything should be, it would splatter and cling to the suits, after long enough the joints would stiffen up.

Tonight their apartment's bathroom was going to suffer and be excruciatingly hot, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

His gun comes up again and fires rapidly as three Quints come screaming from around the corner, “Shit!” They slam into him even as he keeps firing, the barrel of his gun turning red from the heat. One of them, or more than one he really couldn’t tell, was quick in wrapping its tentacles around him. Thrashing, Hound continues to swear and fire his gun.

Even opening comms just left his head full of static.

Shouting out of anger, he drops his gun and grabs one of the tentacles, then pulls as hard as he can. Everything narrowed down into an eerily calm focus, life or death, hunt or hunted. And he would not die here.

The tentacle gave way with just the first tug and the grip around him loosened instantly, catching his feet under him before spinning, Hound took one breath before moving back in. Fist colliding with the side of the Quintesson nearest, rupturing its eyes and his hand grasped the socket.

Blood squirted across its companions as Hound threw it into the wall, tearing off some of its shell with it. It broke the light that had at one point been in the ceiling and sent them into near darkness, but their heat signatures wouldn’t escape his view. Not now.

Diving forward, he grabbed a set of tentacles and pulled hard, slamming the head of his suit into the aliens beak with such force Hound could hear the bones or platting under its shell crack and break.

His foot then collided with its already broken face, sending it crashing to the floor and he stomped on it, hard. Breaking the last of its exterior and splashing the floor and walls with its insides. The heat rapidly dissipated before he turned to the third one, which made the fatal error of both lunging at him and existing.

It manages to wrap its tentacles back around him, but Hound hardly noticed, hand digging into the soft more mailable limbs and ripping open its skin there. Breaking through what were likely arteries and spraying the last bit of nearby clean floor with its blood.

The thing shrieked in pain, letting go enough for Hound to swing around, kicking it in the side and sending it colliding with its dead allies. It continued to shriek as Hound picked up his now disgusting gun and fired into its face, caving it in.

His breath was ragged, gasping against the mask for a moment, his heart was racing as his senses came back with a brutal force.

Stumbling into the wall, Hound presses his hand to his chest, gasping for air for a moment more.

This was one of the many reasons why he gave up being a hunter class, you lost yourself to the suit far too easily. But it’s exactly why he missed it. With another few deep breaths, his heart rate comes back down and he looks down on the mess he’d made of the alien hall.

If he could have spit on them, he would have, instead he made do with storming through their corpses. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

There was this grotesque element to being a pilot, to killing these things they didn’t know or understand, but they were some of the first things in Hound’s life he didn’t want to know or understand. To alien and to vile, the things that were trying to take away both of his homes.

The people he loved even. For a moment, just a moment, Mirage’s werey face flashed through his mind just as sharp as any overuse halicunation.

Shaking his head a bit, he took a breath and glances back at the pile of bodies he was leaving behind. They had chosen to come here, to hurt his friends, he was just returning the favor. Looking back down the hall, he starts to stalk towards the end, staying to one side, gun low but ready.

Someday, when the war was over, if he made it to see the end of this damned war, he’d go back out to nature and just wander in the expanse of it all. What brought him to the hunter class in the first place, the desire to track what was unusual. To understand things that weren’t human, even if it was just trees and plants.

For now, he raised his gun and turned right at the end of the hall.

———

A/N

So, I will be honest. I did not feel great about this chapter until I wrote the last part with Hound. When I wrote Mirage’s scene was probably when I started to feel properly in the grove but Hound’s last scene is just *chef kiss*. I love writing fights from his perspective.

Tuesday’s update might be part 42, it might also be the next part of Arcturus 3 or the sequel to Arcturus Negative One, explains what happened with Soundwave. All of those things will be written at some point. At this moment in time I have 0% written for any of them.

So yeah, you can let me know if you have a preference on what gets updated next.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #maccadam #tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #mecha pilot jazz au #mech pilot jazz au #the arcturus missions #hound #breakdown #sideswipe #sunstreaker #mirage #prowl #bluestreak

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coochieannihilator · 2 days ago

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Love in a Hopeless Place

Synopsis: "Fake" affection evolves into real chemistry, forcing Hiromi and you to confront hidden feelings.

Content: Hiromi Higuruma x F!Reader, Fake Dating, A bit ooc?

Word Count: 3,806k

The wine bar is the kind of place that people think is moodier than it is: low lights, deep booths, and overpriced charcuterie boards. You’re halfway through your glass of wine, fiddling with the rim of your glass, when your friend leans over the table with a giddy little smirk that instantly puts you on edge.

You sigh, tipping your head back. “This is either going to be a brilliant idea or a slow, painful descent into secondhand embarrassment.”

She grins. “You’ve met Hiromi before. It won’t be that awkward.”

You arch an eyebrow. “We’ve met like… three times. All at your birthday parties. He barely speaks. I’m not even sure he likes me.”

“You terrify him,” she says, not even trying to deny it. “Which is exactly why this’ll work.”

You’re about to respond when the door opens. You don’t need to be told it’s him—you just know.

“There he is,” she whispers.

You follow her gaze toward the door—and stop short.

Hiromi Higuruma walks in like he’s stepping into a courtroom. Smooth. Controlled. He wears that charcoal-gray suit like its armor, that fits like it was tailored for him this morning. His tie slightly loosened, just enough to suggest he’s been fighting deadlines and depositions all day. His hair’s a little messy in a way that almost feels intentional, and his eyes—sharp, thoughtful, with a tired kind of elegance behind them—scan the room like he’s doing a threat assessment.

Your friend sips her wine, looking pleased with herself. “You’re welcome.”

Hiromi spots your table, makes his way over with that quiet, deliberate stride of someone used to commanding rooms with silence alone. When he reaches you, he offers his hand, firm and steady.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is smooth, low, and polite—like velvet over a blade.

You shake his hand. “So formal. Are we closing a business deal or fake-dating?”

A small pause. His expression barely shifts, but you catch it—an almost-smile. “I like clarity in arrangements.”

You grin. “Great. Here’s mine: you pretend to be completely in love with me for one evening, and I’ll stop calling you ‘lawyer boy.’”

His eyes flick down to your hand before you let go, then back up to your face. “And what do I get if I’m too convincing?”

You blink. “What, like convincing people we’re actually together?”

“No.” His gaze is steady, unreadable. “Convincing you.”

Your friend coughs—chokes, really—into her drink, already sliding out of the booth with a hasty “I’m just gonna give you two a minute” before you can say anything, though you barely notice.

Because Hiromi Higuruma is still looking at you like this is a negotiation he intends to win.

You lean back, arms crossing loosely. “Do all your dates start like a cross-examination?”

His lips twitch. Just barely. “Do all your fake boyfriends come with legally binding clauses?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “Clause one: must be photogenic. Clause two: must make my ex question his life choices. Clause three: must not fall in love with me. It’s bad for the brand.”

Hiromi hums thoughtfully. “Clause three might be hard.”

There’s that silence again—comfortable and electric at once. You hate how interesting he is already. You hate it more that you want to see what happens if you keep pushing.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t even flirted properly yet.”

He leans forward just slightly, voice dropping lower. “You haven’t even seen me try.”

Your pulse flutters and somewhere in the background, jazz hums through the speakers like it knows exactly what’s happening.

You narrow your eyes. “So are you now flirting with me, or are you just incredibly good at playing pretend?”

“I’m incredibly good at reading people,” he replies. “And you’re enjoying this.”

You are. Way more than you should be.

“So,” he says, with a calmness that feels like mischief. “When’s the wedding?”

You swirl the last of your wine, pretending not to notice how Hiromi watches you over the rim of his glass like he’s studying your tells. His drink of choice is whiskey—of course it is. Neat. No garnish, no ice. The man is a walking contradiction: polished but understated, intimidating but—annoyingly—kind of charming when he wants to be.

“It’s next Saturday,” you say finally, setting your glass down. “A lovely garden wedding where I get to sit across from my ex, his perfect new girlfriend, and pretend my heart isn’t shriveled like a week-old grape.”

Hiromi doesn’t flinch. “And you think bringing a stranger with a law degree will help.”

“I think showing up with a man who looks like you will help,” you correct. “If we’re being honest.”

That almost-smile flickers again, fleeting but real. “So I’m set dressing.”

“You’re stagecraft,” you say smoothly. “Very convincing stagecraft.”

He leans back in the booth, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the movement natural and confident in a way that makes you way too aware of how long his legs are. “And what’s my character, then? The doting boyfriend? The emotionally distant but devastatingly loyal one? The reformed bad boy?”

“Please don’t be emotionally distant,” you groan. “I’ve dated enough of those to start a support group.”

His gaze sharpens just a little. “Then what do you want me to be?”

The question lands heavier than it should. You don’t answer right away, eyes drifting to the condensation on your glass. He’s quiet, giving you space, but not looking away. He’s watching the way you think. Another lawyer habit, probably.

“I want someone who looks at me like I’m the best part of the room,” you say after a beat. “Even if it’s just pretend.”

Hiromi’s brow twitches. “That’s a very specific request.”

You smile, slow and sure. “I’m a very specific person.”

“I can work with that.”

And it’s the way he says it—so steady, so certain—that you actually feel a little warmth creep up your neck. You look down, trying to hide it, but he notices. Of course he notices.

“So what about you?” you ask, redirecting. “Why say yes to something this stupid?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Your friend said you needed help, and I don’t mind being useful.”

You blink. ‘That’s… surprisingly earnest.’ “That’s very noble of you.”

“It’s not,” he says, and his voice dips a little—lower, more careful. “I like helping people when I know how. And pretending? That’s just acting, and acting is easy.”

You tilt your head. “Relationships aren’t.”

“No,” he agrees. “But lying is.”

There’s a pause. Something about the way he says it makes you wonder what kind of lies he’s had to live with. What truths he’s buried under all that careful composure, though you don’t ask.

Instead, you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Alright then, counselor. Let’s get our story straight.”

“Hmm?”

“If we’re going to fool a bunch of emotionally stunted wedding guests, we need a backstory. How’d we meet?”

Hiromi thinks for a moment, then gives you a dry, straight-faced answer: “You sued me.”

You snort into your drink. “Okay, that’s too believable.”

“And yet you still fell for me,” he says, unblinking.

‘Damn, he’s good at this.’

“Oh? Confident, are we?”

“No,” Hiromi says, and this time when he smiles—really smiles—it’s slow and surprising and just the tiniest bit shy. “I just think I’ll have an easier time faking it than I expected.”

And suddenly, the whole fake-dating idea doesn’t feel quite so fake.

The reception was golden in a way that made everything look softer than it really was. Lights strung across the ceiling cast a gentle haze over the room, catching on sequins and champagne flutes, blurring out imperfections. It was the kind of beauty designed to be photographed—curated, polished, perfect.

You belonged to it like it was your element.

Hiromi watched you from a distance, half-hidden near the bar, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other held a drink he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. His tie was slightly loose, collar unbuttoned, and he looked every bit like someone who didn’t quite belong here, but you did. Damn, you did.

You were standing near the flower arch with your friends, laughing as someone tried to get the perfect group shot. Your dress shimmered with the movement—light catching on delicate fabric in a way that made you glow. You threw your head back laughing at something one of them said, and Hiromi felt it somewhere deep in his ribs, like a tug.

You weren’t even trying to be beautiful. That’s what made it worse, or better, or impossible.

Someone told you to look over your shoulder for the next shot. You did—smiling just slightly, lips parted, eyes narrow—and Hiromi’s grip tightened around his glass. The kind of smile that didn’t belong in photographs. The kind meant to be seen in private, from close up. The kind you remembered even after you’d sworn to forget.

He didn’t even realize you caught him staring until the photo snapped and you turned, holding his gaze for a second too long. Something passed between you two—acknowledgement, maybe, or an invitation.

Minutes later, you wandered over to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Barefoot now, heels dangling from your fingers. You were a little breathless, a little hot on the cheeks, and your hair had started to come undone.

“You look miserable over here,” You said, reaching past him to set your shoes down. “Had to come rescue you from your brooding.” There was something playful in your tone, but it didn’t land fully. Too much unsaid, too many what-ifs lingering just out of reach.

Hiromi raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize I needed rescuing.”

There’s soft music, clusters of clinking glasses, and enough flower arrangements to trigger a seasonal allergy. Long tables lined with white linens stretch across the lawn, while servers weave between guests carrying hors d’oeuvres on delicate ceramic trays, and you don’t notice most of it, not really.

Because Hiromi is doing this thing—this infuriating thing—where he plays the role so well you forget it is a role.

His presence is steady, commanding—like he’s spent his whole life moving through rooms like that. He always kept one hand at your back as you navigated through tables and flower-draped walkways, always just a touch away, always aware of your pace. Every time someone greeted you, he offered a polite nod or a handshake, never overdoing it, but always enough to make them remember him.

His hand always rested gently at your waist as he guided you through the crowd. Not possessive, not showy, just there. Present. Steady. The kind of touch that says ‘I’m here, you’re safe, let’s do this together’, and somehow doesn’t come off as an act at all.

He leaned in when you spoke, his breath grazing your cheek. He laughed in low, knowing tones like every comment you make is a shared secret. Every move he made was smooth and natural, like he’s done this a thousand times before—but never with anyone else.

It’s the stillness that makes it work. The way his touch lingers just enough to anchor you. The way his eyes drift to your face more often than to the room around him.

He glanced at you again, not just a glance, though. His eyes lingered—just for a second too long—on your mouth, your collarbone, the way your shoulders tensed when you caught him looking. You didn’t pull away.

“You’re hard to read sometimes,” he murmured.

“Maybe I don’t want to be read.”

“But you still want to be looked at.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You saying you’ve been looking?”

“Would it be a problem if I have?”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted closer, slow and smooth, like it meant nothing—but it did. Your shoulder brushed against his arm. Your hair fell forward a little, loose hair pieces brushing his shoulder when you turned your head. He could smell you—something soft and clean and faintly floral, and he swore the air between them changed, grew heavier somehow.

You tilted your face toward his, eyes searching his like you might find something you left there.

“You ever get the feeling,” you said, low and steady, “that you’re one bad idea away from something really good?”

Hiromi’s mouth twitched. “Every time you look at me like that.”

You didn’t smile and neither did he. You looked at him then, really looked, and the kind of silence that followed was sharp at the edges. He leaned toward you, like it had weight, like if he leaned in just a little more, gravity would take care of the rest.

You were close now. Closer than made sense for two people who weren’t something. Close enough that he could feel your breath ghost against his lips when you spoke. His eyes dropped to your mouth again—just a flicker—and yours did the same.

Neither of you moved. Just… leaned. A millimeter more. Then another.

Your hand was resting on the bar now, his just beside it, fingers almost touching. The music from the dance floor swelled, but it felt far away. Like you guys were suspended in something quieter, something just yours.

“Say it,” You whispered, barely audible. “Whatever it is you’re not saying.” Your breath fanned across his lips, warm and soft and heavy with the sweet tang of champagne. His heart knocked against his ribs, slow and loud and stupid.

Hiromi opened his mouth.

And then—

Someone called your name.

Not loud, not urgent. Just enough to slice through the moment like a letter opener through ribbon.

You turned your head, reluctantly, heart still suspended somewhere behind your ribs. A cousin, maybe. Or one of your friends, already tipsy and flushed from dancing, waving you over for a photo, for a toast, for something.

Hiromi’s breath eased out slow as you stepped back, like a camera lens refocusing. He looked down at his hand still on the bar, like he wasn’t sure when it had tightened into a fist.

You hesitated, eyes flicking back to him with something close to apology. “I should—”

He nodded. “Go ahead.”

But there was something in his tone that had shifted. Not cold, just… neutral. Controlled. Like a courtroom door swinging closed.

You didn’t want to leave. Not really. But you also didn’t know how to stay—not after what almost happened. Not with your pulse still stuttering and your skin still lit up in the shape of him.

So you went.

Hiromi watched you fade back into the golden blur of the reception. Watched you laugh and pose and dance barefoot with your friends beneath the fairy lights.

And for the first time that night, he wished he wasn’t pretending.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

The wedding had wound down. Laughter faded into the hush of music playing for no one, and sparklers had long burned down to silver sticks, discarded on the edge of the patio.

You didn’t remember grabbing his hand. Or maybe he offered it first—you couldn’t tell anymore, but you were walking now. Past the dance floor, past the tents and tables, through a narrow path lit only by string lights overhead and the soft glow of garden lanterns tucked among the hedges. The gravel crunched beneath your bare feet. You didn’t care. Your shoes were somewhere behind you, and so was the noise.

Hiromi walked beside you in silence, his jacket draped over your shoulders. He didn’t offer it with words, just settled it there when you shivered once, the fabric still warm from his body. His sleeves were rolled up now, forearms bare and hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight,” you said eventually, your voice low and quiet in the hush of midnight. “But you’re… kind of annoyingly good at this.”

“At pretending?” he asked, without looking at you.

“At making it feel real,” you corrected.

He stopped walking. You did too, almost out of reflex.

The garden opened up a little ahead—just a small clearing with a bench, some flowers you couldn’t name, and the distant sound of water from a hidden fountain. You turned to look at him, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself.

“It’s easier with you,” he said after a beat. His eyes met yours in the dark—soft, unreadable, and so full of quiet longing it almost hurt to look at.

“Why?” you asked.

Hiromi’s gaze dropped to your mouth, flicked back up. His voice was soft. “Because I like the way you look at me… even when you’re trying not to.”

That did something to you. A warm crack down your spine, a flutter in your ribs.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” you said, and the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how true they were.

Hiromi took a step closer, and your breath hitched—just slightly. He raised a hand, slow and careful, like he was testing gravity again, brushing your hair back from your face. His fingers were warm, gentle, grazing your jaw before dropping away.

“You can still walk away,” he said, low and honest. “Tell me it was just for show. We go back to being strangers tomorrow.”

You looked at him, and he looked back, and whatever tension had lived between you all night thickened, slow and certain, like molasses in warm air.

His words hung between you like smoke—heavy, suffocating. You didn’t step back. Couldn’t. Your chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid, everything felt too deeply for something that was supposed to be pretend.

You stared at him, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat. “Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice raw.

Hiromi’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching near his temple. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” you snapped, and suddenly you were close, closer than either of you realized. Your hand had found his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitched, yours did too.

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up, dark and unreadable. “Say it,” he said. “Say it wasn’t real.”

“I can’t.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but shaking with emotion. It came out like a confession, like a wound.

He moved then—not forward, not away. Just leaned in, so close your noses brushed, so close the heat from his mouth ghosted over yours with every breath.

“I wanted to stay scared of you,” he murmured, and you swore your heart stopped. “But you kept looking at me like I meant something… and now I can’t stop needing that.”

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers clutching at his collar. “Then don’t.”

He exhaled shakily, like he’d been holding it in for too long. His forehead touched yours, eyes closing just for a second. But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet.

“This feels like a bad idea,” he whispered.

“It is,” you breathed. “But I still want it.”

There was a beat of silence. One beat. Two.

Then his hand slid around your waist, firm and deliberate, pulling you against him—not tender, not hesitant, but like he was tired of pretending he didn’t want to. Like if he didn’t touch you now, he’d lose his mind.

Your mouths hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, hands gripping fabric like anchors, like you’d both fall if you let go.

Still no kiss. Just the unbearable closeness of it.

His breath was warm against your mouth, uneven. Like he was fighting it, like kissing you would mean losing something he couldn’t get back, but you were done pretending too.

So you tilted your chin up—just enough to close that impossible gap—and your lips brushed.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate.

Hiromi’s mouth crashed into yours like it was the only language he had left. His hand slid up your spine, rough palm splaying between your shoulder blades, holding you like he didn’t trust you to stay otherwise.

You gasped into him, and he swallowed the sound with a low noise from deep in his throat. Not quite a growl—no, something more human than that. Like pain and hunger and relief all tangled together.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, knuckles white, dragging him closer even though there was no space left. He tasted like heat, like fury held back too long, like he was finally letting himself feel and it was too much.

He broke the kiss with a curse, resting his forehead against yours again, chest heaving. “Shit,” he said, voice ruined. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You kissed him again.

Faster this time. Needier.

His hands found your hips, fingers digging in just enough to ground himself. One of them slid up, tracing your jaw, brushing your cheek, like he didn’t know whether to hold you or memorize you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes glassy. “Do we still go back to being strangers tomorrow?”

Hiromi’s eyes searched yours—wild, flickering. And then he shook his head. Just once.

“No,” he said, hoarse. “Not after this.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

His hand was still at your jaw, rough and trembling, and your breath was uneven against his. Every inch between you charged, heated, collapsing.

You leaned into him, and he met you halfway—mouths clashing again, nothing sweet or soft about it. It was a kiss that bruised. A kiss that breathed. His mouth was hot, demanding, like he was trying to consume the moment, like he didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be without you.

Fingers curled in his shirt. His grip tightened at your waist. Each touch dragged you closer, a slow burn spilling through your chest and twisting in your stomach.

You kissed him like you wanted to stay lost in him. He kissed you like he never planned to stop.

There was no space left between your bodies. His thumb brushed your cheek like he couldn’t help it, like he wasn’t ready to let the moment end, and your hands slid into his hair, holding, grounding, needing.

The world around you was silent, but everything between you—every breath, every brush of skin, every beat of your heart—was impossibly loud.

And still, you didn’t let go. Not yet.

His hand found yours, warm and certain, and for a moment, the night felt like it belonged to only the two of you.

#higuruma #higuruma hiromi #hiromi x reader #jjk #fluff #higuruma x reader #hiromi jjk #higuruma x you #jujutsu kaisen #fake dating #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #higuruma fluff #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #mutual pining #your honor i love him

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speedlimit15 · 8 months ago

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guys you wont believe this but ive accidentally messed up the exact same part of my doily twice this week and just got back to where i was and realized i'd messed it up in yet another, even worse way which requires undoing all of my rework. so i've made negative progress on it in the last five days

#its like two steps forward two steps back three steps forward two steps back two steps forward three steps back etc #whats funny is. if i hadnt undone it the second time and done a quick fix none of this would have happened #but i was so intent on it being Perfect that i gave myself a window to make a careless mistake

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silent-sentinels · 2 months ago

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overly simplifying the situation bc full context would take too long: we were doing a thing and it didnt save our progress and now we are frustrated/sad/disappointed.

#[three of swords]#this is not all that is wrong obviously but its something we can say at least... everything else is too big for faucet to just let us say #like damn. annoying. thats so evil.#sigh... life feels so... one step forward two steps back these days. we try not to think about it so hard.#maybe its good we have memory problems honestly. if we were cognizant of all our issues at once i think we'd like. die hdhjgf??#we make a lot of mistakes and it all keeps piling. does not help that we amplify our mistakes to be bigger than they are.#but. its okay. we're only human. all we can do is try.#[loud sad exhale.]#okay. had good moments today gotta remember those. gotta remember it'll be better in the morning.#new day. new sunrise. mistakes are in the past and we'll move forward. joy and love awaits us when we wake up again.#alright.. goodnight..

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abyssyby · 11 days ago

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welded by water

— you take the time to explore the base he offers you as your home, wandering through countless doors. but your favorite will always be the one that leads to him.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OR SYLUS SWIMMING IN A POOL 😩 sylus’s birthday is in 3 days & i’m unwell ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ he’s gonna be celebrated for the first time and my heart bleeds i love him sm. anyway! this idea was born out of that one ingredient story where he pulls u in the pool I SCREAMED its so romantic & thinking abt sylus in a private pool changed my life 😵‍💫 i hope you enjoy!! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | fluff, romantic tension, smoochie kisses, sylus in a swimming pool hehehe

tw: suggestive touches, very brief description of drowning

You knew the base was big. You barely found your way around to the training room, feeling as if the halls shift and shuffle like an enchanted maze. Usually, Sylus would show you around— lead you by the elbow pushing forward, clasp your hands together to pull you to a secret garden, hike you up his hips and carry you to his bedroom.

But today you decided exploring would be a good thing. Equipped with Mephisto on your shoulder (a ceasefire between you two today), you walk down the dim crossroads and forks of the building with confidence.

You’d asked permission before, to walk around and open doors. Sylus merely hummed, lips pressed to your shoulder, saying, “Everything I own is yours.”

You didn’t take that lightly. You refused— tried to— but you knew he was certain. Every word uttered from his lips weighs like a stone in water. You knew, in your heart, he would claim the world and say that all he has conquered is yours to take and use according to your will.

So here you are, assuming responsibility. Knowing the kingdom where you lay claim. With your phone on the notes app open, you tap tap tap away at directions and take stock of the rooms there are in his— your home.

It’s fun to discover to an extent. Although, when all Mephisto can give you is a head nuzzle and a squawk, you quickly lose interest by the fourth armory. Light fingers trace a line down from the bird’s head to his beak, “Where’s Sylus?”

Mephisto shakes, his metallic feathers fluttering like real ones except they sound like windchimes— extremely thin iron tendrils clinking against each other like rain. One of your many favorite things about him.

The bird takes off to fulfill your request. This time, he waits for you to keep up. He leads you past an artificial greenhouse, another showcase room displaying his many gem collections, the boxing gym and then…

Mephisto perches himself on the top of the doorway of two double doors. If you’re correct, you should be west of the house. Maybe a wall of the whole structure. Beyond the threshold could be taller windows and maybe the sky. Maybe a telescope. With all the things you’ve seen, an observatory wouldn’t be surprising.

“Bet you three nut-bolts it’s an observatory.” you say and lean your weight into your shoulder against the door. “Though, I never thought him to be interested in astrono…”

The words fizzle and die on your lips as you’re kissed by a faint blast of moisture and the sound of splashing echoing loud through the hall. Your gaze is drawn upwards at the high ceiling reverberating the sound, and then across the molded crowns of the walls. You follow the pattern, bewildered gaze racing down the curves of the large french windows. The stars— no, the galaxies, splattered like paint onto glass. The moon shines through the glass, and reflects unto the rippling water of the swimming pool.

The pool where Sylus swam with refined grace. Running through laps with no signs of tiring. Breaking the surface of the water for breath, and then going back under to pop up again on the other end.

You’re too engrossed by the look of it all— how a room with a pool can rival the size of a library, can also feel like an observatory. You file your initial guess as a win at that.

Carefully, you step inside. Almost as if afraid to disrupt the sanctity of it all. But you push forward, into the candle-like glow of the lamps around the pool.

You make your way to the edge, sit cross legged and watch him swim. Up and down. Fast, faster. Silently and then with more force. A faint beeping signals his stop, and he emerges from the water like a god that commands the seas. The moonlight shines on his hair and transforms it into liquid silver melting over his eyes.

Warm and cool reflect of the wet planes of his body, creating an ethereal illusion glimmering an otherworldly glow.

And his eyes, so dark and yet brighter than a dying sun, find you. Hold you captive in their focus. Your stomach caves and your chest burns at his perception.

The little jolt he gets in his chest whenever he finds you staring at him like that never fails to fluster him. What a gift to see you in general, but he cannot deny that he loves when you seek him out. When you emerge from your world and join him in his. When he finds you sitting there, staring, waiting for him.

He swims from the other edge of the pool towards you. A swan through the water with practiced grace. And when he reaches your dry little island, he pulls himself up by his forearms to greet you. “Done exploring, sweetie?”

You swallow. Happy he is here, but you often tend to forget how he looks beneath all his designer refinery and comfy, steal-able clothes. Strangled, an “mhm” manages to wriggle its way out your throat.

“Cat got your tongue?” he smirks, catching the way your pupils scramble down so quickly and clumsily over his body. Beneath his cool exterior, his heart spasms with endearment. “Kitten?”

And he’s back— love of your life, most annoying man on the planet. Stupid, cocky look dripping along with the droplets of his face as he challenges you. You dig through your pocket and find a coin.

Swift and easy, you toss it into the pool. It plops and leaves ripples right by his hip. A beat, and then he tilts his head at you in confusion. “Made a wish?”

“Enriching this pool.” you explain. “It lacks gold, and I’ve always seen you as someone who should be swimming in it.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t take it then.” you huff.

He chuckles, turning your upturned nose back towards him with wet fingers, making you scowl. He grins wider, “No, no. it’s just… not enough.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh. I’m sorry, would you like me to throw in a hundred in there?”

He snorts. “Sweetheart, you can do better than that.”

“Your black card drowns then.”

He laughs, whole and soulful. And it echoes through the hall as this beautiful symphony. “None of that is enough to enrich the pool.”

“Calling yourself broke isn’t as humbling as you think.”

“Darling.”

“What?”

“Hold your nose.” splash! In a single movement, he’s grasped your hand and pulled you into the water. Your arms flail, but his touch never leaves you as he hauls his soaked little dragon li up to the surface.

“Sylus!” you screech, finding his shoulders and pulling yourself flush against him for leverage. You didn’t expect it to be that deep. His arms wrap around you tightly as he chuckles.

Truly, how delightful is your misery.

“Now it’s enriched.” he says slowly. Glancing down at your downturned lips and your angry brow. A request you recognize and melts you right away.

Your distance makes it easier to curl your fingers on the nape of his neck and tug his lips to yours in a slow, languid kiss.

You breathe, “How’d you know my wish?”

He grins, pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips in rapid successions. He has no answer, but he lets you know that he wished for it too.

You’re pulled further into the pool, his movements smooth and unhurried as he kisses you again. A man starved. The first drop of water in the desert.

You cling tighter, worried when your feet can’t find the ground. But he guides your thigh up and taps the back of your knee so you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Sweetie.” he murmurs, motions taking pause. He delights in the way you push more, chasing his halted kisses with your soft lips. “Mm, beloved.”

“Yes?” you almost whine, irked by the interruption. Every fiber of his soul frays and blows into the wind at the sound anyway.

“Look.” he says, only because he knows you’ll love it. Gentle fingers wrap around your chin, turning your head towards the length of the pool. With your stillness, the water follows suit, and reveals an endless mirror for the endless sky.

“Oh,” your lips part, your eyes widen, and you get the urge to cling onto Sylus’s strong shoulders a little more. You press your cheek to his to marvel at the beauty he beholds you.

The flecks of lights dance on the warbling glass you swim in, the lunar touch transmutes the water into silk. The sky is on your body and both are doused in starlight.

“Beautiful.” you breathe, touching the silver surface carefully, watching the tiniest waves disturb the image.

“Yes.” he says, but his fingers find your cheek. And his eyes have never left your face, waiting and watching for this reaction exactly. Delighting in the cosmos as well— on your skin, in your eyes. He thinks: Gorgeous. Ethereal. Divine.

All mine.

You turn to see his drunken gaze at you and smile at the implication of his words. Noses brush and kisses resume.

“I think this is my favorite room.” you say, but your head is filled with him who holds you in his space.

His amusement takes form in a laugh, low and suave. “Yeah?”

You hum. Brush his hair back— bundles of moonlight slipping through your fingers— plant your palms on his chest, and lean your forehead on his.

His warm hands travel up your back, pushing you impossibly closer to his warmth. Until you’re welded by the sparks of light in the sky. Until you meld together in a warm loving tangle of limbs and breath. He says, “It’s all yours.”

But amongst all the wealth, the treasures and the rooms he chooses to share with you, he is the only one you truly desire. Him, and your soul asks nothing more.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

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layaispunk · 5 days ago

Text

still here with me | joel miller x reader

my masterlist

pairing: jackson!joel x female!reader

summary: you save Joel.

warnings: spoilers for episode 2. canon typical violence, jackson's hoard, angst, lil bit of fluff. Ellie isnt mentioned.

a/n: i love abby but NOT ON MY WATCH. anyway .... how are we feeling ....? 🫂

The sounds of gunfire crackled through the cold.

The blizzard felt like an entity - roaring, kicking up like ash as the hoard was running toward Jackson’s gates - hundreds of them, more than you'd ever seen. Clickers, stalkers, runners. Screeching. Crawling. Dying in waves, but still coming.

You stood on the wall beside Tommy, breath steaming in the cold as your rifle jerked back with each shot. “There’s too many, Tommy. We need the barrels."

“Fuck!” Tommy yelled, loading another round. “Keep your aim steady!” Tommy barked.

But you weren't hearing him anymore. Your ears were ringing. Joel.

You blinked hard, fired another round. “Tommy,” you muttered, voice tight.

He didn’t turn. “What?”

“I have to go.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“I need to find him. I need to find Joel. Amy said he's at the ski lodge."

Tommy finally looked at her, eyes wide. “Are you crazy?"

“Something’s wrong, Tommy. I can feel it.”

Tommy grabbed your arm. “You run out now, you’ll die. Its a death trap.”

“Then I'll die trying.” you muttered, his hand still on yours.

He hesitated—just a breath—then nodded toward the watchtower behind them. “Back gate. It’s clearer that way. Take a horse and ride fast. You hear me? Be fuckin safe. Go."

You sprinted to the stables, saddled a horse with shaky hands, and rode like hell—snow blurring your vision, heart screaming louder than the wind, outrunning the hoard. Toward the lodge.

Every fiber of you wanted to scream Joel and Dina's names to look for them. To cry out. But you had enough experience to know that you couldn’t.

If they were in trouble, if they're hurt —you yelling would only paint a target on your back. Or theirs. It wasn't an option.

So you rode low in the saddle, head ducked beneath the howling wind, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack a rib.

When you finally reached the edge of the lodge, you dismounted, boots hitting the ground heavy and wet. Snow clung to your coat and lashes. The horse huffed, nervous.

You crept forward, one foot after the other. Fingers clenched around your rifle. No footprints leading away from the door. No sign of anyone leaving in a hurry. Just quiet.

The sky above you was darkening fast, blizzard now in full force.

You walked in, slowly. . It felt like your body knew something before your mind did, like it was bracing for impact. Weathered wood, furniture covered in plastic. Then, you saw a door. You placed your gloved hand on the knob, the other pressing your body flush to the wall beside it. Then you leaned in, ear to the wood.

Voices.

Muffled.

A woman’s voice.

"where was the last place you saw the fireflies?,” she was saying, her tone sharp but almost distant, like she was trying to keep steady.

Think. Think, think, think.

You didn’t know for certain—It could be anyone. But something in your chest twisted so violently, it was like your body already knew Joel and Dina were in that room, and they were running out of time.

How many voices? Two? Three? More? Your blood roared in your ears. You couldn’t make out words—just tones. Angry. Confident. Like they weren’t worried about being caught.

You stepped back from the door, trying to breathe past the knot in your chest and move as quietly as possible. You had to distract them. Get them away from him. Make them come to you.

You crept down the hall, eyes sweeping the room. Old furniture, untouched for years. You spotted a rusted kettle on the stove and stealthily, you knocked it off with your rifle. You usually do this tactic with glass bottles, but you needed to think fast.

It hit the ground hard—clang—echoing through the lodge.

Shouts followed. Heavy footsteps. “What the hell was that?”

You dropped behind furniture just as two came around the corner, both unarmed.

There was a high-pitched ring in your ears, drowning out everything but your own pulse.

Your hands moved before your mind caught up and you stealthily walked behind them and plunged the knife into the side of their throat, a trail of bodies behind you now.

You crept back toward that door, heart slamming against your ribs. You kicked it open hard, rifle raised—ready to die if it meant he lived.

Joel. On his knees, arms up, breathing heavily. Dina passed out on the floor. And in front of Joel —a woman. Armed. Blonde. Braid hanging down her back. Gun aimed at his head.

You didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. Bang.

She dropped before she even turned fully.

The other two put their hands up, trying to save themselves. You fired again. And again. You needed to move fast.

You ran to him. You dropped your rifle, crossed the room in seconds, and crashed into him like you were afraid he might disappear if you let another second pass.

Joel caught you with both arms, pulling you in so tight it felt like your ribs would snap. His eyes were red and teary, his body was shaking. You could feel his heart hammering through his chest, loud and frantic, like it was trying to fight its way into yours.

Neither of you spoke. Just the sound of your breathing—sharp, broken. His forehead pressed against yours. His hand tangled in the back of your jacket like he couldn’t let go.

By the time you made it back to Jackson, the blizzard had quieted, but the damage was done.

The wall was down. Dead clickers littered the snow, half-buried in blood and snow. Smoke curled from where fires had been. Guards moved slowly through the wreckage, dragging corpses, calling out names.

You rode in with Joel just behind you, Dina slumped between your arms on the saddle. She hadn’t woken up yet, still drugged, still breathing.

Tommy met you at the gate - or what was left of it. His face was pale with ash and blood, eyes going wide when he saw the three of you.

Joel slid off the horse first, then reached up to take Dina from your arms.

You followed, boots hitting the red-streaked snow, gaze locked on the chaos around you.

Jackson had survived, but just barely.

You and Joel sat in the quiet of the house, the kind of silence that only comes after something that violent. Your jacket was still damp from the snow, but your hands were warm now—held out toward the fireplace in your home.

Joel hadn’t said much since you got back.

You’d stayed behind, helped with the wreckage. But Tommy had grabbed your arm, eyes heavy, voice low. “You’ve done enough. Take him home. Take care of him.”

So now here you were. Home. With the love of your life.

He sat in the armchair beside you, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was still catching his breath from hours ago. The firelight danced across his face, cutting soft gold into the bruises blooming along his jaw. Gosh, he looks so beautiful.

You walked over slowly, knees brushing his as you knelt in front of him. He looked up—eyes tired, but still Joel. Still your Joel.

“You okay?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Just reached forward, pulling you into his lap like he’d been waiting all night to feel you close.

You curled into him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands threaded into his hair. He let out a shaky breath against your neck, like he’d been holding it in for hours.

You pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him.

Then you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Slow. Careful. Like you were afraid he might break if you weren’t gentle.

“I’m so happy you’re still here with me,” you whispered, voice thick with everything you didn’t say out loud.

Joel didn’t answer—not with words. But the way he held you tighter, like he’d never let go again… that was enough.

For now, it was enough.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fluff #dbf!joel #jackson!joel

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pseudowho · 10 months ago

Text

"So, you go against the hairs...that's right...and then with the hairs..."

"...is-- is this right?"

"Mmm. Now, clean your blade..."

You pretended to tidy the bedroom, sneaking glances up to Kento, and Yuuji, stood shirtless at the bathroom sink. Both had thickly lathered faces, and sharp razors, examining their faces in the mirror with absolute precision.

Sshhhhick. Swshswshswsh. Shhhhick-ck-ck. Swshswshswsh.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Peach fuzz.

"...and so anyway, I said to Fushiguro, shadows are great but sometimes you gotta just hit a guy..."

Kento listened, quiet, his mind always calculating several threads while mentoring Yuuji; yet, he was distracted. The old school corridor bathed in orange evening light, setting Yuuji's hair aflame, to coral in rocks. With Yuuji's nattering profile illuminated, the edges of his cheeks blurred from their usual sharp relief.

Fuzzy.

"...like, Kugisaki gets it, but she's like, just a bit feral and..."

Kento wondered if Yuuji had noticed. Kento recalled he only noticed, when his grandfather brushed his jaw with one clawed-over old hand, softly mocking Kento's furry scowl in lilting Danish. Kento's eyes lowered to the floor, counting his own steps and thinking in one, two, three and thoughtful on four, five, six.

"...Gojo's great but it's hard to learn from a guy who's that far out of my league, y'know? So--"

"Itadori-kun."

Kento had stopped, straightening his glasses, looking out onto suburban skyline. Yuuji stopped with him, inquisitive. A train rattled through, distant, splitting through the sunset. Kento looked back to Yuuji.

"It's important to look tidy, at work. Professional."

Yuuji raised his eyebrows, elbows rounded as he held his arms out, looking down at himself. He shot Kento a bashful smile, rubbing the back of his head.

Fuzzy peach.

"...ah-- yeah...guess I've always been a bit scruffy, huh? My grandad used to tell me I'd never get a job with hair like this."

Kento hummed. He stepped forwards, and raised one long-fingered, broad hand to gently grasp Yuuji's jaw, tilting it back and forth in the amber glow. Yuuji's bottom lip drew up, his eyes wide in surprise.

"...Nanamin?"

"Has anyone taught you how to shave, Yuuji?"

Yuuji blushed, his eyes flicking away from Kento in a mortified little scowl, his jaw still clasped. Kento released him, clearing his throat and checking his watch.

"I think we're finished up, here. Do you have any evening plans, Itadori-kun?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"If you need to go over an area again, get more shaving foam-- not that much-- and repeat the steps..."

"...this is...tricky..."

"With regular practice, you can improve any skill, Itadori-kun. Unless you'd like a beard, which still needs management, you'll be shaving every few days, or more."

"...you always...look so tidy..." swshswshswsh.

"It takes effort." Shhhick. Swsh.

"Yeah right. I bet you wake up like that. Tie and all."

A deep, rumbling laugh. Yuuji's foamy, surprised face, looking so boyish.

You slid past the bathroom. You pulled your phone out, surreptitiously clicking a photo. Kento and Yuuji, leaning over the sink while Kento steadfastly instructed him, became your new phone background, and stayed as such for a full year.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Took a lot of portions to send him to bed with a full tummy."

Kento chuckled at you, his hair mussed and soft. Legs crossed in bed, with a book on his lap, he read to the sound of soft snores in the guest bedroom next door. The lamplight, low and warm, illuminated Kento's face in the gloom.

Stubbly.

You reached a hand out, brushing across his jaw, feeling its sandpaper rasp across your fingers.

"I think you were so busy teaching Yuuji," you whispered, scratching Kento's chin as he crumpled his lower lip up, "that you missed some patches yourself. C'mere."

You stood, walking to the bathroom and sitting on the counter, grabbing a razor and shaving foam. Kento's eyes twinkled at you, feigning annoyance. He walked to you at the sink, looking straight into the bones of you. He grasped your thighs, pushing them apart before settling between them, chuckling again as you lathered his face.

Shhhhick. Swshswshswsh. Shhhick-ck-ck. Swshswshswsh.

You felt a growing pressure between your legs as you focused on shaving Kento's jaw. Kento fidgeted, pyjamas tight and tenting. You bit your lip, smirking.

"...Mr.Nanami. I am trying to concentrate."

"Mmm, so am I, but it's...hard."

"Yes. I can feel that."

Another deep rumble of a laugh. Kento grasped your thighs tighter, pressing forwards into you. You gasped, taking the razor from his face as Kento nuzzled shaving foam into your giggling neck.

"Don't stop." He whispered, a crooked smile on his lathered face. "Concentrate, please, Mrs.Nanami."

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barnacles34 · 2 months ago

Text

Mutually Assured Destruction

Chaewon x Male Reader

Tags: Angst, Smut

9k words

The world is, simply put, against you.

You love Chaewon.

But you can't tell her. Not yet.

New York. Day twenty-one. The hotel hallway stretches before you, each step toward her room heavier than the last.

Your tie feels too tight, your collar suffocating—the uniform of an executive becoming the noose of a condemned man.

Three weeks of silence. Three weeks of seeing her across rooms, of catching her scent in empty elevators, of watching her perform while pretending she was nothing more than a company asset.

Three weeks of dying slowly.

You knock. The sound echoes in the empty corridor. One heartbeat. Two. The door opens.

Chaewon stands there, barefoot, in simple shorts and an oversized t-shirt. No makeup. No stage presence. Just her.

The most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

‘You came,’ she whispers, like she still can't believe it.

You step inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click. The sound of the outside world being shut away.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Three feet of carpet between you might as well be an ocean.

Then she breaks, a dam of tears giving way after holding back too long. She crosses the distance, collides with you, arms wrapping around your waist, face buried in your chest.

‘I haven't seen you for 3 weeks,’ she mumbles against your jacket, her voice cracking, fighting tears that are already falling.

You want to speak, but your throat closes. Her name forms in your mind—a prayer, a plea.

Chaewon.

Her fingers clutch at your jacket, desperate, like you might disappear if she loosens her grip.

‘I am so unhappy,’ she whispers, the words muffled against the fabric.

Your hand moves of its own accord, finding the back of her head, cradling it gently. Her hair is soft between your fingers, just as you'd dreamed during those endless nights alone.

Chaewon!

‘I am so stupid,’ she continues, her whole body trembling. ‘Dear, I cannot live without you. You know this.’

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her face tear-streaked, eyes red-rimmed and vulnerable. She's so close now, her cheek just an inch from yours, her breath warm against your skin.

You dare not look directly at her—afraid that if you do, all your carefully constructed walls will crumble.

Instead, your gaze falls to her shoulder, exposed where the sweater has slipped. Her skin is like milk, almost translucent in the soft hotel light, with that hint of pink beneath that makes her seem both fragile and impossibly alive.

Oh, you want her so badly.

The weight of the past bears down on you. When you were younger, life felt limitless—an odyssey of possibility stretching endlessly before you.

But youth is a loan that must be repaid. Each choice carries consequences. Each victory seemingly increasing the magnitude of future defeat.

How strange to realize you can barely remember the person you were before all this. Before her.

It's as if you've been playing a role for so long—the ambitious executive, the company man—that you've forgotten who you really are.

Her hands move to your face, fingertips gentle against your jaw, tilting your gaze to meet hers.

‘Look at me,’ she whispers. ‘Please.’

You do, and it undoes you. The nakedness of her emotion. The love written so plainly across her features.

‘I love you,’ she says, the words hanging in the air between you. ‘I've always loved you.’

Everything in you wants to say it back. To cross that final line.

To throw away everything—your career, your reputation, your carefully constructed life—just to hold her without fear.

But you can't. Not because you don't love her, but because loving her means protecting her. And right now, loving her means waiting.

‘Not yet,’ you whisper, the words catching in your throat as you brush away a tear from her cheek with your thumb. ‘Not yet.’

The pain in her eyes is unbearable. But there's understanding there too, buried beneath the hurt.

She leans forward, resting her forehead against your chest.

‘How much longer?’ she asks, her voice small.

You have no answer. Only the weight of what stands between you—the company, the threats, the world that has decided your love is forbidden.

Your mouth feels clamped shut, your vocal cords frozen, your eyes burning with tears you refuse to shed.

In the end, you say nothing more.

You hold her for one more moment, committing to memory the weight of her in your arms, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against yours.

Then you let go. Turn away. Walk to the door.

And leave.

—

Chaewon's Diary - May 15, 2025

I cannot remember feeling this way before. The emotions are too new, too raw to categorize.

Rejection should feel bitter. Should taste like failure. Instead, it tasted like promise.

I stood before him, heart exposed, only to hear those two impossible words: ‘Not yet.’

Not never. Not no. Not goodbye.

Not yet.

I should have been humiliated. Should have been angry. Instead, when he brushed the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs, I felt known. Truly seen, perhaps for the first time.

When he uttered

‘Not yet’

I felt warm. Happy.

How am I so happy for rejection?

I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch, memorizing the feeling of his hands on my face, his breath mingling with mine.

Before him, I had never felt the touch of someone who could see past my surface, past the idol, past the carefully crafted image.

I want him.

I know with absolute certainty: No other man will touch my heart for as long as I live.

I will wait, forever and longer.

Not yet.

—

3 Weeks Ago - April 25, 2025

You were staring at a spreadsheet when Chaewon walked in without knocking.

'Hey,' she said.

You kept typing. 'Hey.'

She stood there for a second too long before sitting down across from you. Put her coffee on your desk. The ice shifted.

'So.'

'So,' you echoed, still not looking up.

'You eat yet?'

'What?'

'Food. Have you had any?'

You glanced at your watch. It was almost 8. 'No.'

'Me neither,' she said. 'We should fix that.'

You finally looked at her. She was wearing the same clothes from the morning meeting, but her makeup had that slightly smudged quality of someone who'd been awake too long.

'I've got to finish this,' you said.

'No you don't.'

'I do, actually.'

She sighed. 'Will the company collapse if you don't do it right this second?'

'That's not the point.'

'That's exactly the point.' She tapped your desk with her fingernail. 'Come on. Food. A real restaurant. Thirty minutes.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Liar.'

You almost smiled. 'I have work.'

'Work will still be there.' She didn't blink. 'Food might not.'

'That makes no sense.'

'I know. Just come anyway.'

You looked at your laptop, then back at her. She had that expression, the one that said she wouldn't leave until she got her way.

'Thirty minutes.'

She grinned. 'Look at you, making healthy choices.'

'Don't push it.'

The elevator ride was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just quiet. You both watched the numbers change.

'Where are we going?' you asked.

'Place down the street.'

'What kind of place?'

'The kind with food.' She glanced at you. 'You allergic to anything?'

'No.'

'Good.' She seemed satisfied with that.

Outside, the air felt different. Heavier. Like it might rain again.

'So is this like, a work thing, or...' you trailed off.

'Or what?'

'I don't know. You asked me to dinner.'

'Yeah.'

'So I'm just trying to understand what this is.'

She almost laughed. 'It's food. That's all. Don't overthink it.'

'I'm not overthinking.'

'You overthink everything. It's your whole deal.'

'That's not fair.'

'Probably not—but hey, fair character assessment is a luxury these days.' she giggled.

You huffed under your breath.

You walked together, not quite in step. The city moved around you—people leaving work, heading home, living lives that had nothing to do with quarterly reports or dance practices.

The restaurant was small. Unassuming. No sign outside, just a door between two other businesses.

'Here?' you asked.

'Yeah. Problem?'

'No. Just not what I expected.'

'What did you expect?'

You shrugged. 'Something with a line outside. Trending on Instagram.'

'Wow.' She held the door for you. 'You really don't know me at all.'

Inside was dimly lit. Maybe fifteen tables. Half of them occupied. No one looked up when you entered.

You followed her to a table near the back. Sat down across from her. The menus were just single sheets of paper.

'I come here a lot,' she said. 'After practice sometimes. When I don't want to go back to the dorm.'

'They don't recognize you?'

'They do. They just don't care.' She looked at the menu even though she probably had it memorized. 'That's why I like it.'

The waiter came over. Older guy, maybe fifty. Nodded at Chaewon like he'd seen her yesterday.

'The usual?' he asked her.

'Yeah. Thanks.'

He looked at you.

'Uh,' you fumbled with the menu. 'What's good?'

'Steak,' Chaewon said. 'You like steak, right? You seem like a steak guy.'

'Sure.'

'Medium rare?'

'Medium.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Of course.'

The waiter left. You fidgeted with your napkin.

'You really come here a lot?' you asked.

'Couple times a month.'

'Alone?'

'Usually.'

'Why?'

She looked at you like she was deciding whether to give you a real answer or not. 'Because no one bothers me. Because the food's good. Because sometimes I need to remember I'm still just a person.'

'And your members don't come?'

'They have their own places.' She took a sip of water. 'We don't actually do everything together, you know.'

'Right.'

'You sound surprised.'

'Not surprised. Just...' you couldn't find the right word.

'It's fine. People always think we're this perfect unit. Always together, always in sync.' She traced a pattern on the tablecloth with her finger. 'It's not like that.'

'What's it like?'

'It's like any job. You work with people. You care about them. But you still need your own space sometimes.'

'That makes sense.'

'Does it? You seem like the type who'd live at the office if they'd let you.'

You almost denied it, then didn't. 'Fair point.'

The food came faster than you expected. Her pasta. Your steak. Simple stuff, but it smelled good.

'This isn't exactly what I pictured when you said dinner,' you admitted.

'What did you picture?'

'I don't know. Something more...'

'Fancy?'

'Maybe.'

She shrugged. 'I sit in enough fancy restaurants for work. This is better.'

You took a bite of steak. It was actually good. Really good.

'Not bad,' you said.

'High praise.'

'It is, from me.'

'I know.' She twirled pasta around her fork. 'So, can I ask you something?'

'You just did.'

'Ha ha.' She didn't look amused. 'Seriously though.'

'Go ahead.'

'Do you actually like what you do? Your job?'

You considered bullshitting, then didn't. 'Sometimes.'

'Which parts?'

'The quiet ones. When I'm working on something complicated and it's just me and the problem.' You cut another piece of steak. 'You?'

'Performing. Being on stage. The three minutes where nothing else matters.' She didn't hesitate. 'Everything else is just... stuff I do so I can have those moments.'

'That's a lot of stuff for three minutes.'

'Yeah.' She looked down at her food, prodding with a dash of frustration. 'Yeah, it is.'

You ate in silence for a minute. Not awkward, just... thinking silence.

'Can I ask you something now?' you said.

'Sure.'

'Why'd you ask me to dinner? Really?'

She poked at her pasta. 'I don't know. You looked like you needed it.'

'That's it?'

'Does there have to be more?'

'Usually is.'

She sighed. 'Look, I've sat through enough meetings with you to know you skip lunch most days. And I saw your car in the parking garage at midnight last week when I was leaving the practice room. And then today, you looked...' she gestured vaguely at your face.

'I looked what?'

'Empty-tired, not the usual tiredness you wear on your face. You know?'

You weren't sure what to say to that.

'Anyway,' she continued. 'It's just dinner. It's not that deep.'

'Right.'

'Right,' she echoed.

The silence that followed should have been uncomfortable. But it wasn't, really. Just quiet.

'It's good,' you finally said, gesturing to your plate. 'The food.'

'Told you.'

'You did.'

She smiled, just slightly. 'I'm right about a lot of things.'

'I'll reserve judgment on that.'

'Smart.' She took a sip of water. 'So... was this weird? Me asking you to dinner?'

You thought about it. 'A little.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't be. Weird isn't bad.'

She nodded. 'No, it's not.'

The rest of the meal was easier. You talked about nothing important. Work, a little. Music she was listening to. A book you'd been meaning to read but hadn't found time for. Normal stuff that normal people probably talked about all the time.

When the check came, you reached for it.

'I got it,' she said.

'You invited me.'

'Exactly.'

'That's not how it works.'

'Says who?' She grabbed the check before you could. 'Too slow, Mr. Executive.'

Outside, the air felt damp. Like it had rained while you were eating, or was about to.

'Which way you headed?' she asked.

You pointed vaguely east.

'I'm that way too. For a few blocks, anyway.'

You walked together. Not too close. Just two people who happened to be going the same direction.

'Thanks,' you said after a minute.

'For what?'

'Dinner.'

'Was it terrible?'

'No.'

'High praise,' she said again.

'I mean it. It was... nice.'

'Wow. Nice. I'm flattered.'

'Shut up.'

She laughed. Not her public laugh, the perfect one from interviews. A real one, slightly too loud.

'You know what?' she said.

'What?'

'You're not as scary as they say.'

'Who says I'm scary?'

'Everyone.' She kicked a small stone on the sidewalk. 'The whole office. The interns call you The Terminator.'

'They do not.'

'They absolutely do.' She grinned. 'But I'll keep your secret.'

'What secret?'

'That you're actually just a regular person who works too much.'

'I don't work too much.'

'Sureeee.' She stopped walking. 'This is me.'

You looked up at her building. Nice but not flashy. 'This is you.'

'Yeah.' She rocked back on her heels slightly. 'So.'

'So.'

'Thanks for coming.'

'Thanks for asking.'

She looked like she might say something else, then didn't. Just nodded. 'See you tomorrow.'

'See you tomorrow.'

She turned, walked toward her door. You should have left then. Just turned and walked away.

Instead, you watched her go. Watched as she paused at the entrance, like maybe she was going to look back.

She didn't.

And that was fine. Better, probably.

You turned and walked home, feeling something you couldn't quite name. Not happiness, exactly. But maybe something close to it. Something adjacent.

Like maybe for the first time in a long time, you'd been a person instead of a position. And maybe that was enough.

—

Chaewon's Diary - April 25, 2025

It's stupid to write this down. Dangerous, probably.

I love him.

I tried not to. Made lists of reasons why I shouldn't. His position. My career. The company. The members. The fans.

The lists didn't help.

I tried imagining my life without him in it. Moving companies. Going solo. Leaving the country. None of it worked because he'd still exist somewhere. I'd still know he was out there.

It's not that I need him. I was fine before him. I'll be fine after, I guess.

But I don't want to be.

I love the way he focuses when he reads reports. How he thinks no one notices when he's tired. How he pretends not to care about things but always remembers details about everyone.

I love how he never says more than he needs to. How he leaves room for silence.

I love that he came to dinner with me. That he let himself be normal for one night.

If he doesn't love me back, that's okay.

But I think sometimes… maybe he could.

—

Morning hit you like a truck.

Your phone was buzzing. Had been buzzing. You fumbled for it, eyes still closed.

Missed call. Another. Another. Another.

You squinted at the screen.

9 missed calls from your manager. 4 from some board member. 8 from numbers you didn't recognize.

The time was 7:12 AM.

More buzzing. Texts now. Emails.

You sat up, suddenly very awake.

First text: a link. You clicked it.

"COMPANY CEO AND IDOL MEMBER CAUGHT ON SECRET DATE"

There was a photo. You and Chaewon at the restaurant. Her laughing. You almost smiling. It looked... not innocent.

More links.

"SOURCE CONFIRMS: CEO AND KIM CHAEWON 'MORE THAN PROFESSIONAL'"

"INSIDER: 'THEY'VE BEEN HIDING IT FOR MONTHS'"

You felt sick. Scrolled back through your notifications, mind racing.

Then you saw it. Late-night texts from Chaewon.

1:12 AM

don't freak out when you wake up

someone took pictures at the restaurant

it's already online i'm sorry

1:14 AM

my manager is losing it

company PR called an emergency meeting

they're saying we can't talk to each other

1:27 AM

they want me to say it was just a work dinner

that we barely know each other

is that what you want me to say?

1:41 AM

i can't sleep this is so stupid

we didn't do anything wrong

1:55 AM

maybe we did though

maybe i did

1:56 AM

i've never told you this

never thought i would need to

1:58 AM

i love you

i think i have for a long time

i just never saw the point in saying it

it seemed impossible

2:01 AM

i'm sorry you didn't need this

not now not with everything else

2:03 AM

forget i said anything blame the dinner on me

i'll fix this

Your phone started ringing again. Board chairman.

You let it ring.

Read the texts again. And again.

The world was imploding around you, your career possibly in flames, and all you could think about was that last message.

i love you

Your thumb hovered over the screen. What could you possibly say now? What was left to say when everything had already changed?

The phone kept ringing.

—

The boardroom was too bright. Fluorescent lights reflecting off the polished table where twelve men in identical suits sat judging you.

You'd always seen success as a game with simple rules. Work harder. Think faster. Never look back. That's how you climbed here—by treating everything as disposable.

Turns out you were wrong.

You weren't disposable. Chaewon wasn't disposable. Whatever had grown between you wasn't disposable.

But they were treating it like it was.

‘The optics are unacceptable,’ said the Vice Chairman, his voice clinical. ‘A senior executive and an idol? The media is already spinning narratives.’

You watched his mouth move but barely heard the words. Your phone weighed heavy in your pocket. Her message burned into your mind.

i love you i always have

‘Are you listening?’ Someone was addressing you directly now.

‘Yes,’ you lied.

The Chairman leaned forward. ‘We've spent a decade building this company's reputation. We won't let one indiscretion destroy it.’

Indiscretion. As if dinner between two people was a crime.

‘We've developed a containment strategy,’ said the PR director, sliding folders across the table. You didn't open yours. ‘First, no contact with Kim Chaewon. None. Effective immediately.’

Your jaw tightened.

‘Second, you'll accompany Le Sserafim to America. Three weeks of promotional activities. You'll be positioned as overseeing the company's international expansion. Professional distance will be maintained at all times.’

You looked around the table. Not a single sympathetic face.

‘What happens to Chaewon?’ you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

‘She'll be fine,’ said the Chairman dismissively. ‘As long as this situation is managed correctly.’

‘And if it isn't?’

The question hung in the air. Someone cleared their throat.

‘Then her position in the group becomes untenable,’ said the A&R director finally. ‘The other members shouldn't suffer for her... complications.’

Complications. That's what they called her now. Not their star performer. Not the artist who'd brought in millions. A complication.

‘So that's the deal,’ you said flatly. ‘I go to America. Stay away from her. Keep my job.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And if I refuse?’

The Chairman's smile didn't reach his eyes. ‘Then you both lose everything.’

Simple as that. A business decision.

Your mind flashed to Chaewon. How she looked at dinner. How easily she laughed. The way she really saw you when no one else bothered to look.

For two years, she'd been the one constant. The one person who grew on you.

‘Do we have an understanding?’ the Chairman pressed.

Someone was speaking. You realized it was you.

‘I understand perfectly.’

Everything felt unreal. As if you were a mirage of yourself, observing yourself in the most dire situation.

‘Good. Your flight leaves tomorrow night. The PR team has prepared statements for both of you. Stick to the script.’

They moved on. Budget projections. Q3 forecasts. As if they hadn't just hollowed you out completely.

You sat there, a model of composure. Inside, something was breaking, tearing along a fault line you hadn't known existed until Chaewon walked into your office and asked you to dinner.

The meeting ended. Men in suits filed out, crisis averted.

You remained seated, staring at your reflection in the polished table.

Tomorrow you'd fly to America. You'd watch Chaewon from across rooms, pretend she was nothing to you. You'd do it because the alternative would destroy her.

Your phone buzzed once. A text.

It wasn't from her. It couldn't be. They'd already gotten to her.

You checked anyway.

From your assistant: ‘Car is waiting whenever you're ready, sir.’

You stood up. Straightened your tie. Gathered the folder you never opened.

They thought they'd won. Thought they'd contained the problem.

They didn't understand.

They'd taken everything from you except the one thing that mattered—the knowledge that somewhere in this building was a woman who loved you. Had always loved you.

And for the first time, you were certain you loved her too.

—

You left the boardroom, a hollow shell of yourself.

America. No Chaewon. For three weeks.

They called it mercy. You called it execution.

The flight to Los Angeles stretched endlessly, your thoughts circling like vultures. You didn't sleep. Couldn't. The empty seat beside you an accusation.

Your phone vibrated as the plane touched down.

11:42 PM

landed safe?

Chaewon.

You stared at her message until the screen dimmed, then went black. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

They couldn't monitor texts, could they? Were they watching?

You couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk her.

No response.

The California sun felt wrong on your skin. Too bright, too insistent. Your hotel suite overlooked the Pacific. Endless blue that reminded you of nothing but distance.

Day Three.

8:17 AM

meetings are boring without you to glare at everyone

8:19 AM

the new intern asked where you went

8:22 AM

i told her you were saving the american branch from themselves

You almost smiled. Almost.

No response.

The American executives treated you like royalty. A king in exile. Their offices were too bright, their coffee too bitter, their laughter too loud. You moved through meetings like a ghost, present but never there.

Day Five.

3:04 AM

can't sleep

3:05 AM

is it the time difference or is it just

3:11 AM

never mind

What would you say if you could? That you lay awake too, staring at hotel ceilings, replaying her confession like a film you couldn't pause?

No response.

You worked eighteen-hour days. Not because the work required it, but because your empty room was unbearable. The silence that you once called home—incomplete.

Day Seven.

1:47 PM

there's a rumor you're never coming back

1:48 PM

tell me that's not true

1:52 PM

please

The last word felt like a knife between your ribs. Please. As if you had a choice. As if any of this was within your control.

No response.

The days blurred. You functioned on autopilot, your mind perpetually seventeen hours ahead, in Seoul, where she was.

Day Nine.

5:31 PM

they announced the showcase dates

5:32 PM

we're coming to LA next week

5:33 PM

will you be there?

Le Sserafim. Coming to Los Angeles. Of course. The universe's cruelest joke—to bring her so close, yet keep her untouchable.

No response.

You attended dinners. Networking events. Smiled when appropriate. Spoke when necessary. No one noticed how your eyes constantly swept rooms, searching for threats that weren't there.

Day Twelve.

10:17 AM

we leave tomorrow

10:18 AM

i know you can't answer

10:25 AM

but please, if you can

10:26 AM

be there

They must have warnings in place. Her messages carried the weight of someone being careful—someone who knew the stakes.

No response.

Le Sserafim arrived with the usual fanfare. Cameras flashing. Fans screaming. You watched from the periphery as she emerged from the airport terminal, perfect smile in place, waving to the crowd.

She didn't look for you. Knew better than that.

But you saw the tension in her shoulders. The way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes; not quite the smile she had when she swiped up some of your steak.

Day Fourteen.

No messages.

You checked your phone obsessively. Refreshed the screen until the battery drained to critical. Nothing.

The silence was worse than any words could have been.

The showcase venue was packed—a sea of lightsticks and expectant faces. You stood in the shadows of the VIP section, surrounded by American executives who had no idea you were breaking apart inside.

Le Sserafim performed flawlessly. Of course they did. Chaewon shone like a star brought to earth—her voice clear, her movements precise, her smile blinding.

Not once did her eyes search the crowd. Not once did she falter.

Professional to her core.

You left before the final song. Couldn't bear another moment of proximity without contact.

In your hotel room, you drank two fingers of whiskey and watched the city lights blur through the window.

Your phone remained silent.

Day Sixteen.

You were leaving a restaurant when you saw her.

Across the street, surrounded by managers and security. The group heading into a high-end boutique.

Your driver opened your car door, but you stood frozen, watching as she disappeared inside the shop.

She didn't see you.

When you returned to your hotel, you found a message.

7:03 PM

i saw you today

7:04 PM

you looked tired

You stared at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs.

No response.

Day Nineteen.

The final showcase. The final night in Los Angeles. Tomorrow, Le Sserafim would fly to New York. You would follow a day later.

You sat in the back row, hidden in shadow. Watched her perform for the last time on American soil.

She was transcendent.

Afterward, you slipped backstage under the pretense of congratulating the team. Your company's biggest assets. Your professional obligation.

She stood with the other members, accepting praise from American executives. Smiling. Nodding. Perfect.

Your eyes met across the room.

One second. Two.

Then she looked away, her expression never changing.

But you saw it—the slight tremble of her hand at her side.

Back in your hotel room, your phone lit up.

8:30 PM

i miss you

8:31 PM

i know i shouldn't say that

8:31 PM

i know i shouldn't even text you

8:32 PM

but i can't do this anymore

8:32 PM

please say something

Your chest tightened. Three weeks of silence, and now this—her desperation breaking through, risking everything.

You stared at the screen, knowing what you should do. Delete. Ignore. Follow the rules that kept her safe.

Instead, your fingers moved.

8:35 PM

The coffee in LA is terrible.

A pause. You could almost see her confusion.

8:36 PM

what?

8:37 PM

that's what you have to say?

You smiled faintly. Even the way you message her—capitalized first letters—is unique from hers.

8:38 PM

I hear New York's is better

Might try it when I get there

8:40 PM

when will you be in new york?

8:41 PM

Tomorrow.

8:41 PM

Early flight.

You weren't supposed to be on tomorrow's flight. You were meant to follow a day later. Keep the distance. Maintain the separation they'd enforced.

8:42 PM

you changed your flight?

8:43 PM

Figured I should see the Empire State Building.

8:43 PM

Heard the view is worth the risk.

Your heart pounded. The careful wording. The hidden meaning. Saying everything without saying anything that could truly incriminate either of you.

8:45 PM

there's a small coffee shop

8:45 PM

by the hotel

8:46 PM

i was planning to go there

8:46 PM

after tomorrow's rehearsal

8:47 PM

around 4

A plan. Hidden in casual conversation.

8:48 PM

Sounds like a good place for coffee.

8:49 PM

it is

8:49 PM

they say it's quiet

8:50 PM

not many people know about it

8:51 PM

I like quiet.

The conversation was innocent enough on the surface. Anyone reading would see nothing but meaningless chatter about coffee.

But between the lines: a plan. A meeting. A rebellion.

8:53 PM

i have to go

8:53 PM

sakura is calling

8:54 PM

don't forget to try the coffee

8:54 PM

it's been too long since you had a good cup

You stared at those last words. The double meaning clear.

8:55 PM

I won't forget.

You deleted the conversation. She would do the same.

But the promise remained.

Tomorrow. New York. 4 PM.

Day Twenty-one would break the rules. Day Twenty-one would change everything.

—

You got to the airport before the others. Boarded the flight before the others. Got the first class treatment that the board thinks you like.

The whole seat had a door. You closed it just in case you saw Chaewon. In case you lost it.

Despite it all, you knew she was there, the wisp of her soft perfume serenaded you even through thick mahogany wood panels—through the opulence of first class.

You kept your eyes fixed on your laptop screen. Work emails you couldn't focus on. Words blurring together as your mind fixed on one thought:

Tomorrow. 4 PM. Her hotel.

The ‘coffee shop’ wasn't a coffee shop at all. You both knew that. A code thin enough that anyone monitoring would see through it, yet plausible enough to maintain deniability.

The flight attendant asked if you wanted champagne. You declined. Asked for water instead. Needed a clear head.

Five hours trapped in a metal tube, knowing she was just rows behind you. Five hours of pretending the center of your universe wasn't within reach.

Your phone buzzed. A text from the Chairman.

‘Landing at JFK ahead of Le Sserafim. Good optics. Keep distance in New York. Almost done.’

Almost done. The words echoed.

Twenty days down. One more to go.

Tomorrow, at 4 PM, you would break every rule they had set. You would go to her hotel. You would see her—really see her—for the first time in three weeks.

And then what?

You had no plan beyond that moment. No strategy for what came after. The executive who planned everything had no contingency for this. A hollow cadaver. Waning the flames that could be easily put if you just resisted.

If only.

The plane took off, carrying you toward New York. Toward her. Toward whatever came next.

You closed your eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. All you could think about was her text:

i miss you

Three small words that had unraveled three weeks of carefully maintained distance.

Three small words that weren't the three words you couldn't stop thinking about since that night:

i love you

—

After you left her hotel room, after you hugged her, after you saw her face up close—dangerously close to kissing her—everything collapsed once more. The dregs of your hope were gone once again: You wanted only her. Only her.

You walked past the hallway, trying not to look suspicious under the camera—which, to be frank, was impossible.

And pressed the keycard onto the door, as suspiciously as possible, and entered. With your back to the closed door, you pulled out your phone and messaged her.

4:07 PM

Let’s meet again

4:08 PM

where?

4:08 PM

On the rooftop

4:09 PM

i miss you

4:10 PM

You just saw me.

4:10 PM

i know

4:11 PM

Hang in there.

Chaewon.

4:11 PM

i like it when you say my name.

4:12 PM

Chaewon, this can end your career.

4:12 PM

i dont care.

i want you.

only you.

You slid down the door and sat. With your phone still in hand.

You’re about to risk everything. Was it love that meant protecting her forever? Was it love that meant you couldn’t still yourself for a month or a year, wait, and wait, until she’s finally free?

Damn it all.

—

Chaewon’s Diary—Part 2 of May 15, 2025

He wants to meet me. On the rooftop.

Why?

Is he gonna kiss me? Is he gonna reject me once more?

Was it even a rejection in the first place? He promised. He promised. Oh god, my head hurts, I can’t think of anything.

All I can think of is him. My executive.

—

As the sun turns orange in its preparation for slumber, you make your way to the rooftop of the hotel. The elevator chimes, almost too loud, and you enter with a towel on-hand. There’s moments where the shiver runs through your entire body—not out of being scared, but of the possibility of seeing Chaewon again.

The elevator reaches the top floor. And in your hopes of not seeing anyone there, you were vindicated. No one. Nobody. Just a heated pool with the bougiest accommodations possible.

Thank the heavens, you thought.

Now it’s time to patiently wait, to not gnaw through your teeth like it’s cardboard in anticipation (which is easier said than done).

Regardless, you waited, sitting on one of the chairs, overlooking the sunset. The breeze was chilly, but nothing that you couldn’t endure.

So you waited.

But just for a moment, you closed your eyes.

—

‘Silly.’

Your eyes opened.

There she was. Chaewon. In all her glory

In the 2 hours you haven’t seen her, when the sun gained its slightly orange tint, she’s progressed into something like a goddess. Brown bob-cut, a perfect face…. Perfection incarnate.

‘You fell asleep.’

‘Oh.’ That’s about all you could get out; too busy staring at her.

‘I missed you.’

‘It’s been 2 hours.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re about to risk everything.

‘I know.’

‘Your career. Your… everything.’

‘You are my everything.’ She replies—climbing on top of you. Crystalline tears formed around the rims of her eyes.

‘Chaewon. Please.’

‘There’s nothing quite like this… hm?’ She says, amused at how doomed everything seemed to be.

‘Fighting against inevitability.’ You continue. Pressing your thumbs against her cheekbones once again, where tears flow once again.

‘I’m so selfish.’

‘Don’t say that. Don’t say that… I am too.’

‘I thought if I avoided you. Long enough. Maybe, just maybe, we would’ve had a better chance. Look at me now, on you, risking everything.’

She softly collapsed on your chest, huffing her tears. And you spread your palm along her soft hair, this perfect hair.

‘You are so beautiful. Chaewon.’

‘I love you.’

Perhaps this is where it all topples. The final wall, once a 100-story skyscraper, reduced to mere ruins.

And you kiss her; grab the nape of her neck and press yourself closer to the kiss. Her lips. Her soft moans. Little squeals.

Fuck.

You press yourself against the hotness of her mouth. Her velvety mouth crossed along your own. An apprehensive rush to it—oxymoron be damned—you wanted everything Chaewon—while not crossing any lines.

Despite it all, Chaewon’s soft hands ventured forth to your arms, grasped them tight and placed them right along her thin waist.

She wants it.

She wants you.

And that just about does it.

You release just for a bit. Look at her half-lidded eyes, seemingly, under pure bliss.

‘If we continue…’ You say, each syllable harder than the previous. The fact that you’re here, kissing Chaewon, feeling her body, just as you dreamed, just as you wished for all time—makes it harder to think of all the consequences.

The impending doom—so to speak.

‘You idiot.’ She replies.

‘What?’

‘I’ve risked everything and more to be here with you right now. And you think I’ll flake out now? Of all times—now?’

You laugh, so close to her mouth; you stare at her, and she’s attempting eyebrow-knitted frustration that’s more cute than anything else.

‘You’re so cute.’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘You’re everything to me.’

‘...So are you.’

Her eyes glisten something transcendent and she moves to kiss you again. That velvety soft mouth, of mint, of something fruity.

Pure bliss.

‘I want you.’ She squeaks out, between the kisses.

‘You have me.’ You reply, accidentally bumping teeth. Soft laughter ensues.

She’s so soft against your palms—the small of her back, the tightness of her waist, the bump of her bra-strap. Inbetween it all, moaning something sweet into your mouth. She releases just for a second, catching a glimpse of you; her lips are all kiss-bitten and swollen, soft and supple; ‘We’re two walking cadavers, you know.’

‘Lust and learning Chaewon. That’s all there is to it.’

Instead of a quick and bratty reply—

‘That’s true.’

Her lips land on yours once again. Flight and apprehensive, her thin arms wrap around you like you’re something to lose: tight enough that you know she’s there.

Her meek body is warm against you—just a shroud of clothing between your hand and her milky skin. You needed her. Wanted her more. An indulgence that satiation could barely meet.

So you flip her over; on this thin pool chair, a little bougie, Chaewon was splayed across.

And god.

It was all worth it. Your executive position on standstill—bound for execution. Your impending exile. All of it.

White t-shirt, thin shorts, and just a smidgen of make-up—lip-stick all smudged along her plump lips.

Being away for just a second was tantamount to hell: You dived in. Her body felt so docile and meek under you—squirming along your hot touch. Surround your thick arms around her thin waist, let her back bend in response, feel her stomach press upon you as you kiss her into the pool chair—little soft squeals the guiding light to it all.

Her hands ventured low to bunch up her t-shirt, and you helped her; really, you wanted to press on her soft naked abdomen, venture up to her naked sternum, feeling the soft naked swell of her—

Her t-shirt slipped off quickly, and there laid her gorgeous torso.

You pressed kisses along her collarbone; just enough pressure to leave a mark there for days.

Just in case, you say, don’t forget me, just for a day or two.

You press softer kisses along the softer flesh below her collarbone, feeling her skin, really conceptualizing that she’s there. Really fucking there. And you laugh, under your breath; as if Chaewon knew exactly what you were thinking, her palm lands right on your cheek—softly grazing.

‘I’m here.’

‘Right. Right.’

Gain composure. This goddess awaits you.

So you venture forth. Along her neck muscle, the soft tendon that trembles under your kiss, the loose skin that gets her squirming under you, muscles tensing. Just below her jaw, you suck on her skin, tight, really tight, until you’re sure that there’s a welting hickey right there.

You observe how the red blooms, slowly gaining almost a purple hue. Nothing could cover that.

‘You’re really asking to be caught.’ She says, almost satisfied you left a mark on her.

‘Are you gonna cover it?’

‘Why would I cover what you give me?’ Her expression is pure seduction. Aphrodite incarnate.

Again, your world exploded.

You kiss her rougher this time. Muss up her hair. Venture beneath her waist. Pull at her firm thighs. Hands venture along the sides of her, your cold fingertips get her softly squirming beneath your touch—shimmers of gooseflesh rising along the delicate curves of her side, right under your fingertips.

The bronze sun shimmers off her torso as something like a masterpiece—faint shadows articulated along her perfect body—different orange, yellow hues bouncing off and enhancing the swells and curves and everything she had.

You pull her waist softly to get it bent again, venturing underneath, feeling her spine; venturing along her spine, the soft swell of it all—she’s here, she wants you, all 2 years of it condensed into this moment.

The bra-strap hits you like a reminder that her bosom was hidden beneath, the gentle swells and curves all a devious hint at what lay under.

So you clip it.

She shivers at the realization. The clip was off. And your hands automatically moved to take it off completely.

Her arms softly push together her torso: Displaying the treasure that laid before you.

Beautiful bronze peaks.

God.

God!

‘Ready the funeral wreaths for me. Chaewon.’

She scoffs. Then a soft laugh choked her up.

Your two hands softly teased the sides of her breasts; the way it surrendered to the slightest force; you ventured across her swell, feeling the desperate softness of her naked breasts. All while kissing her desperately. Your hands felt up and down, side-to-side, until she squirmed for relief: That’s when your fingers brushed over her perfect nipples.

And you had to look.

The way she shivered. God. Biting the side of her index finger. Moaning. Soft. Squealing even as you watched her carefully. The way her tongue traced a wet line along her lips—goading you, Aphrodite.

Your kiss ventured down, the soft tendon of her neck, the firm sternum.

Then finally—her breasts.

You kiss the soft skin.

Circling it.

The part that needed relief.

Teasing her. Even if the perpetuity of a multi-billion dollar company finding a way to bury you was crushing, her presence relieved it all.

Latched on.

‘Ahhh~’

‘Music to my ears.’

‘Oh shut up.’

‘Gladly.’

You dug in. Breaths became rigidly quick. Your other hand massaged the other breast. The nipple between your teeth got the most beautiful notes out of her.

By the time you stopped, her entire body shook.

‘Did you just cum?’

Her weak arm fell softly on your chest—apparently—a punch.

‘No.’

A sick grin grew on you, and you wrapped your arms around her; kissing her jawline.

‘You really did cum.’

Before you could do anything, her two hands squished your cheeks together.

‘Take responsibility.’

Trapped between her two small hands, you laugh. ‘I know. I know.’ A soft kiss on her sweat-slick forehead.

Your smirk lingers as you press another kiss against her temple. ‘You’ve got some nerve, you know that?’

Chaewon shifts slightly, resting her chin on your shoulder. ‘Nerve?’ she echoes, voice still breathless.

‘You climbed on top of me, seduced me, came just from me playing with your tits…’ Your hands wander, sliding down the dip of her back, feeling the heat of her skin. ‘And now you’re telling me to take responsibility?’

She hums, fingers tracing light, absentminded shapes on your chest. ‘Mmm. That’s right.’

You chuckle against her perfumed hair—sweet, fruity. ‘And what exactly does ‘taking responsibility’ mean to you?’

Her lips barely brush your ear as she murmurs, ‘It means you don’t stop until I can’t think straight.’

Your breath catches.

And then, you’re moving.

With a swift motion, you flip her onto her back, her body bouncing slightly against the lounge chair. She gasps, eyes wide for only a second before a slow, knowing grin spreads across her lips.

‘Too much?’ you tease, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand.

Chaewon shakes her head, cheeks flushed, wrists tightening. ‘Not even close.’

You take a moment to admire her like this—laid out beneath you, messy hair spread out over the cushion, lips still kiss-bitten and swollen. Her chest rises and falls with anticipation, and her legs shift restlessly against yours, already needing more.

‘I love this look on you,’ you murmur, tracing your free hand down her side. ‘All desperate and needy.’

Feigning offense, ‘I am not needy.’

‘Oh?’ Your fingers dance along the waistband of her shorts, teasing, not quite moving further. ‘Then what do you call this?’

She squirms. Just slightly. Just enough.

‘I call it,’ she whispers, tugging at her trapped wrists, ‘a challenge.’

Oh.

A thrill rushes through you.

Your grip on her wrists tightens slightly, your knee nudging between her legs, pressing against the wet heat of her core. She gasps, back arching, but you don’t move—just let her feel the pressure, let her know exactly what she’s asking for.

‘Careful, baby,’ you murmur, leaning down, lips hovering just above hers. ‘You might not like what happens when I take that challenge.’

Chaewon’s grin is pure defiance, pure want.

‘Try me.’

And so you do.

Your hand finally slips beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingers sliding between her soaked folds, feeling the way she clenches around nothing, already so ready for you.

‘You’re soaked,’ you murmur against her neck, voice full of something dark and satisfied. ‘You’ve been like this since I was playing with your tits, huh?’

She whines, trying to twist her wrists free, but you don’t let her go.

‘You’re not getting out of this,’ you tease, slipping one finger inside her, the velvety pink folds, feeling her tense, then relax, then tighten again as you curl it just right, just fucking right, just until she curls her back to you. ‘You wanted me to take responsibility?’ You slip another finger into her, the tight wetness of her, stretching her slowly. ‘Then take it.’

Her breath stutters. And she moans.

Your thumb circles her clit, slow but firm, coaxing out soft, trembling moans that get swallowed by the night air.

And then, just when she starts getting lost in it—just when her hips start rolling, when she’s clenching desperately around your fingers—you stop.

Your hand is stuck on her wrists, and the other—fucking her senseless.

Her whine is immediate. ‘No, no, don’t—’

You smirk against her throat. ‘Not so fun when I’m the one teasing, huh?’

‘You’re evil.’

‘I’m making sure you really feel it.’ You drag your fingers out completely, holding them up just enough for her to see the way they glisten in the dim light. ‘And you do feel it, don’t you, baby?’

Chaewon glares at you, still breathless, still burning up, but there’s something playful in the way she juts her chin out.

‘Fine,’ she murmurs. ‘If you’re gonna tease…’

Then, before you can react, she hooks her legs around your waist and grinds up against you, rubbing herself against your cock through your pants—needy, desperate, shameless.

Your breath leaves you in a sharp hiss.

‘Shit.’

She grins. ‘What was that?’

You grip her hips, forcing them to still. ‘You really wanna play that game?’

She tilts her head. ‘You gonna stop me?’

No. No, you’re not.

You’re gonna fuck her senseless.

Your grip tightens around her hips, firm enough that she stops moving—but not before you grind back, pressing yourself against the slick heat between her thighs, making her gasp.

‘Chaewon,’ you murmur, voice rough, a warning. ‘You’re playing a dangerous game.’

She exhales shakily, eyes locked onto yours, her body taut beneath you.

‘You sure you’re ready for the consequences?’ You add.

Instead of answering, she licks her lips and tugs at her trapped wrists again. ‘Dear, I forgot about consequences a long time ago.’

You smirk, it’s true. You’re about to fuck her on this pool chair. Open to 360 degrees of vision, just the slightest glimpse and they’d see you fucking Chaewon. The fact that you’d lose your position the moment they saw you within 5 feet of Chaewon, let alone fucking her.

Fight against fate with absurdity.

You shift, focusing on the moment, leaning down so your lips barely ghost over hers. ‘I like you like this,’ you admit, your voice low, teasing. ‘All spread out, squirming, desperate—’

She whimpers when you roll your hips into her again, the friction delicious, just enough to drive her crazy without giving her what she really wants.

‘You’re so mean,’ she breathes, but her body betrays her, arching up, trying to chase more.

You chuckle, finally freeing her wrists—only for her to grab the collar of your shirt and yank you down into a kiss.

It’s messy, all tongue and heat, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, like she’s trying to mold herself to you completely. You groan into her mouth, one hand gripping her thigh, the other slipping beneath her shorts again, fingers finding their place against her soaked entrance.

She’s so fucking wet.

You tease her with your fingertips, barely dipping inside, a soft squelch, just enough to make her whimper into the kiss.

‘God, you need it, huh?’ you murmur against her lips.

She nods frantically, her hands clawing at your shoulders. ‘Please.’

Your breath catches at how wrecked she already sounds. ‘Please what?’

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t hesitate. ‘Please fuck me.’

You curse under your breath.

Then you sit up, hands moving with quick precision—grabbing the waistband of her shorts and yanking them down her legs, tossing them aside without care.

And finally, she’s bare beneath you.

You take a moment, just looking at her. The way she’s sprawled out, chest rising and falling rapidly, legs slightly parted, glistening with need.

‘You’re perfect.’

Chaewon bites her lip, her gaze flicking down—to where you’re already painfully hard, straining against your pants. She reaches forward, fingers trembling slightly as they brush over you, tracing the outline of your cock.

You let out a sharp breath.

‘You’re still dressed,’ she murmurs. ‘Not fair.’

She’s right.

So you fix it.

You shed your clothes as quickly as possible, the fabric falling to the floor, forgotten. When you look at her again, she’s staring at you—all of you—her lips slightly parted, eyes dark.

Then, slowly, her fingers curl around your cock, stroking once, twice, making your whole body tense.

‘Fuck.’

She grins. ‘That was cute.’

You glare at her, grip tightening on her hips. ‘You wanna see cute? Keep talking.’

She laughs, breathy, and guides you between her legs.

Your tip brushes against her entrance, and her laughter dies into a shaky inhale.

You barely push in, just an inch, feeling how tight, how hot she is, and you both groan at the same time.

Chaewon’s nails dig into your shoulders. ‘More,’ she gasps.

You give her more.

You sink into her inch by inch, stretching her, filling her completely, watching the way her pink lips part as she takes all of you.

She feels unreal.

You curse, head falling to her shoulder, breathing heavily against her skin. ‘You’re so—fuck—you feel so good.’

She’s trembling, her arms wrapping around your back, holding you as close as possible. ‘Move. Please—move.’ she pleads, desperately whispering hot breath into your ear, as you bury yourself into her petite shoulder.

And so you do.

Your hips pull back, then roll forward again, slow, wet, a stretched squelch, setting a slow, deliberate pace—making sure she feels everything. Every inch, every pulse, every deep thrust that has her gasping your name like a prayer.

She’s already falling apart beneath you, legs wrapped around your waist, nails raking down your back.

‘Faster. Oh please, faster.’ she breathes.

You obey.

Your hips snap against hers, faster, deeper, her moans turning into desperate little cries with every thrust.

‘You’re taking me so well,’ you murmur, kissing the shell of her ear, your fingers tangling with hers as you pin her hands above her head again. ‘Like you were made for this.’

She nods frantically, barely able to form words, barely able to do anything but cling to you and feel.

Her lips quiver. ‘I was made for you.’

She finally unravels, clenching around you so tightly, her whole body trembling, a gushing pressure around your cock, her musical chant of bliss filling your ears—you follow right after, burying yourself as deep as possible, spilling into her your entire seed, painting her cervix white, losing yourself completely.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing, tangled limbs, the aftermath of everything you’ve held back for so long.

Then, finally, Chaewon exhales, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw.

‘You’re definitely taking responsibility,’ she whispers.

You chuckle, pressing your forehead against hers.

There’s something nonsensical about it all. You’d rather not think about it. Your lover. The woman of your dreams underneath you, who took your seed, who keeps kissing the shell of your ear like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

But it keeps coming back.

The fact that no one caught you on the rooftop is a miracle.

The fact that maybe tomorrow or the day after is the day you get caught is… reality.

You want to fight everything that distends you from your dream, your everything: Chaewon.

But it’s frail. You can see it in her eyes too. Even as you rest your sweat-slick forehead against hers, blowing soft hairs out of her forehead—you can see tears coast on her red-rimmed eyes.

She loves you.

The near chance that you may be separated tears at you, hacks at your soul.

Your heart has wings for her.

Chaewon.

Your queen.

Aphrodite incarnate.

The only one.

TO BE CONTINUED(?)

#smut #kpop smut #fanfic #male reader #kpop #chaewon smut #le sserafim smut

1K notes · View notes

be4chywritez · 2 months ago

Text

red red wine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

the week leading up to Quinn proposing to you, and the chaos that follows him.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

One Week Before

You stand in the kitchen of the lake house, absently scrolling through your phone while Jim and Ellen sit at the table, chatting over their morning coffee. Quinn is perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Jack and Luke beside him, all three listening in as you think out loud.

“I think I’m gonna get my nails done,” you say, mostly to yourself, glancing up from your screen. “I found this cute place nearby on Instagram. Might go check it out.”

Quinn freezes. Luke and Jack do the same, exchanging quick glances before all three of them force identical, strained smiles.

“Here?” Quinn asks, a little too casually.

You nod and turn your phone to show Ellen the pictures. “Yeah, thought it’d be nice to get a little pampered. Ellen, want to come with?”

For a split second, her eyes flick to Jim before she shakes her head with a warm—if slightly nervous—smile. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I think I’ll stay back, got a few things to tidy up around the house.”

You frown slightly, glancing between them. “I mean, I don’t have to go either. I could just hang—”

“NO!”

The entire Hughes family responds in unison, voices overlapping in a loud, comically panicked outburst. Even Jim, who’s been silent all morning, leans forward, wide-eyed like you just suggested setting the house on fire.

Quinn is the first to recover. He clears his throat and plasters on a quick, reassuring smile. “No, honey, you should definitely go. Treat yourself.” He waves a hand toward the door, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant. “Have a nice day out.”

Your eyes narrow. “Okay…?” You drag the word out, suspicious, but slide your phone into your bag anyway. Grabbing your keys, you head for the door, throwing one last curious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Luke lets out a long breath. “Close call.”

Jim shakes his head, grinning. “She almost caught on already. We need to be more careful, boys.”

Downtown is quiet, the main street lined with flower boxes and little local shops. Lakeside Nails sits nestled between a café and an old bookstore, its windows decorated with delicate white lettering.

A nail tech waves you over with a friendly smile. “Hi! You must be my one o’clock.”

“That’s me.” You settle into the chair as she sets up.

“I’m Maya. What are we doing today?”

You pull up a photo. “Something like this? Just a clean, neutral look.”

Maya nods approvingly. “Pretty! So, just a little solo pampering trip?”

“Sort of. I’m staying at the lake house with my boyfriend and his family. Thought I’d take a little break and explore.”

Maya hums, focusing on your nails. “How’d you two meet?”

You smile, thinking back. “Through mutual friends. He was quiet at first, but then he made me laugh when I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know… I just felt comfortable with him.”

“Those are the best ones,” she says with a grin. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “He really is.”

When you walk back into the lake house, Quinn is stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glances up as you come in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up. “Let’s see the nails.”

You plop down beside him, holding out your hand. He takes it, running his thumb lightly over your fingers. “Looks good,” he says, approving.

“Glad you think so.” You lean into him as his arm wraps around you, the warmth of his touch settling you into an easy quiet.

The rest of the evening is simple—pasta and salad for dinner, laughter when Quinn drops a handful of cherry tomatoes and watches them roll across the counter. Later, you curl up under a blanket with an old movie on, his fingers absentmindedly running through your hair. The house is peaceful, filled with the soft flicker of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you. The way his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing everything. Like he’s counting down.

Five Days Before

You wake slowly, the warmth of morning light filtering through the curtains. Quinn’s arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, his breathing steady and close. He stirs, his nose brushing against the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You smile, rolling over to face him. His eyes are still half-closed, messy hair falling over his forehead. You trace your fingers along his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours before bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don’t realize how he looks at you—like you might disappear if he blinks.

“Honey, we’re on breakfast duty,” you remind him.

Quinn groans, shoving his face into your collarbone, stubble tickling your skin. He mumbles something, voice muffled.

You laugh. “No, we can’t let your brothers do it. Unless you want the house to burn down.”

Another grunt, but this time, he shifts, reluctantly getting up. You follow, falling into your usual morning routine.

As you pull on a sweater, he watches from the bathroom mirror, hoping you don’t dig too far into his sock drawer.

Hoping you don’t find the velvet box.

You don’t, thanks to a the higher power, but it only puts more pressure on Quinn to pop the damn question.

Four Days Before

The lake house hums with its usual morning energy—Jack and Luke bickering over who gets the last pancake, Ellen moving around the kitchen with effortless ease, and Jim sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper like he’s immune to the chaos around him.

Quinn, however, is focused on one thing.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you sit at the kitchen table, scrolling absently through your phone. Every few seconds, you look up to add something to the conversation, laughing as Luke launches a grape at Jack’s head. Quinn should be listening, should be jumping in with a comment of his own, but instead, his mind is caught on a single thought: How do I get her to buy the dress?

The dress—the one he wants to see you in when he finally asks the biggest question of his life. He saw it a few days ago when you were flipping through your phone, showing Ellen some boutique you wanted to check out. You hadn’t bought anything yet, just admired a few pieces before getting distracted by something else.

Now, with only four days to go, he needs to make sure you pick the one.

Quinn exhales through his nose and glances toward his brothers. Perfect.

Jack notices first, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Quinn silently glare at him. What? he mouths.

Quinn jerks his head toward the living room, signaling them to follow. Jack and Luke exchange a glance but don’t argue, trudging after him as he disappears down the hallway.

Once they’re out of earshot, Quinn turns to them, hands on his hips like he’s about to give them the most important assignment of their lives.

“Alright, I need you two to do something for me.”

Jack immediately groans. “Oh my god, what now?��

“It’s important,” Quinn says, leveling them with a look.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Like, life-or-death important? Or are we talking Quinn-important, which means it’s about the love of your life?”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, do we need to prepare a eulogy?”

Quinn ignores them. “I need you guys to get her to buy a dress.”

Both of them stare at him.

“A dress,” Jack repeats flatly. “You dragged us away from breakfast for that?”

“Not just any dress,” Quinn says, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels stupid saying it out loud, but if there’s anyone who can pull this off without making it suspicious, it’s these two. “She was looking at this one the other day. It’s perfect for when I—” He stops himself before finishing the sentence, clearing his throat.

Luke catches on first. His eyes widen slightly before he grins. “Ohhh. You mean the dress.”

Jack still looks lost. “What—Oh. Ohhh.”

Quinn nods.

“Okay, so you want us to, what? Trick her into buying it?” Jack asks, crossing his arms.

“Not trick her,” Quinn corrects. “Just… steer her in the right direction.”

Luke grins. “You want us to gaslight her into thinking she needs it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You basically did,” Jack says.

Quinn sighs. “Can you two just do it?”

Luke claps a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Q, we got this. She’ll be buying that dress by the end of the day.”

Jack cracks his knuckles. “Time to be annoying.”

“Just don’t make it obvious,” Quinn warns.

Luke grins. “No promises.”

–

You hadn’t really planned on buying anything today.

The town’s little boutique district is charming, with its cobblestone paths and flower boxes hanging from the windows, but you were mostly browsing—taking in the sights, enjoying the crisp summer air, and, apparently, getting bombarded with very strong opinions from Jack and Luke.

“I’m just saying,” Jack starts, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, “you’ve been talking about wanting a nice dress for a while.”

“Have I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Luke, walking on your other side, nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. All the time. Constantly.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Jack ignores you. “And look at this!” He gestures dramatically toward one of the boutique windows. “A whole store dedicated to dresses! What are the odds?”

“Crazy,” Luke deadpans.

You give them a suspicious look. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re great,” Jack says. “But you’d be even better if you had a new dress.”

Luke nods. “The best version of yourself, really.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “What is wrong with you two?”

“Nothing,” Jack says quickly. “We just care about you. And your wardrobe.”

“Especially that one dress you liked the other day,” Luke adds casually. “That was a good one.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know about that?”

Jack elbows Luke.

He gives you a pained smile, “intuition?”

Luke sighs dramatically, turning toward you. “Look,, all I’m saying is that you should try it on. No pressure. No commitment. Just try it on and see how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Worst case? You hate it, and we all move on with our lives. Best case? You look amazing, and you thank us forever.”

You roll your eyes but, against your better judgment, let them lead you inside. The boutique is small but elegant, with soft lighting and carefully arranged racks of clothing. A sales associate greets you warmly, and before you know it, Luke and Jack are pushing you toward the exact dress they’ve clearly been scheming about.

You sigh, running your fingers over the fabric. It is beautiful.

“Just try it,” Luke urges. “For science.”

“For science,” Jack echoes.

You huff a laugh. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, you both owe me coffee.”

“Deal,” they say in unison.

Ten minutes later, you step out of the dressing room, smoothing your hands over the fabric. The dress fits perfectly, hugging in all the right places, flowing just enough to feel effortless. You glance at your reflection in the boutique mirror, tilting your head slightly.

“Well?” Jack asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Luke grins. “Yup. That’s the one.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You guys are the worst.”

“And yet, we just helped you find your new favorite dress,” Jack points out.

You sigh. “Fine. But you’re still buying me coffee.”

Luke claps his hands. “Worth it.”

Meanwhile, back at the lake house, Quinn gets a text.

Luke: Mission accomplished.

He exhales, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Three more days.

Three Days Before

The morning sun spills through the windows of the lake house, casting warm golden hues over the kitchen. You hum softly to yourself as you pour a cup of coffee, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. Ellen is at the stove flipping pancakes while Jim reads the newspaper at the table, occasionally sipping his coffee. Jack and Luke sit across from him, bickering over who gets the last piece of toast.

Quinn stands by the fridge, looking unusually tense as he scrolls through his phone. You don’t think much of it—he’s always been the quiet, deep-in-thought type—but there’s something about the way he keeps glancing at you that makes you pause.

"Morning," you say, leaning against the counter as you take a slow sip of coffee. "What's up?"

Quinn's head snaps up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His fingers tighten around his phone, and for a second, he looks almost guilty.

"Uh—nothing. Just checking something." His voice is too quick, too casual, and you narrow your eyes.

Before you can push him further, Ellen calls over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, could you grab the syrup?"

You nod and step toward the pantry, but just as you do, Quinn leans closer to Ellen and whispers something.

You freeze mid-step.

It’s barely audible, just the faintest murmur of his voice, but you catch it. Ellen’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she quickly schools her expression into something neutral.

Jim, who’s been mostly uninvolved in the morning chaos, suddenly folds his newspaper with a snap and clears his throat. Jack and Luke immediately stop arguing and sit up straighter, the air shifting ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. "Okay, what was that?"

Quinn immediately shakes his head. "What was what?"

"The whispering. The weird glances. Why do you all look like you just got caught committing a crime?"

Jack lets out a bark of nervous laughter. "Pfft, what? No crime here."

Luke elbows him, and he winces. "We were just—uh, talking about, um—"

"The weather," Jim supplies, nodding sagely.

"The weather?" you repeat flatly.

"Yup," Quinn says, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it aggressively like that’ll somehow sell the lie.

You cross your arms, skeptical. "And what, exactly, about the weather required a top-secret family meeting?"

Ellen waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, just—just how lovely it's supposed to be this weekend! Perfect for, um, outdoor activities."

Jack nods. "Yeah, so perfect. Like, suspiciously perfect."

Luke elbows him again.

You squint at them, taking a slow sip of your coffee, watching as they all sit a little too still, looking a little too casual.

Something is definitely going on.

But before you can press further, Quinn suddenly steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Hey, didn’t you want to go into town today?" His voice is soft, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hip.

You blink up at him. "I mean, yeah, but—"

"Perfect," he says quickly. "You should go. Take your time. Enjoy yourself."

Jack and Luke nod in unison. "Yes. Enjoy. Take hours if you need."

Your eyes dart between them. They are terrible liars. But you sigh, deciding to let it go—for now.

"Fine," you say slowly, grabbing your bag. "But if I find out you guys are hiding something from me—"

"You won’t!" they all chorus at once.

You stare for another long beat before shaking your head and heading for the door.

As soon as it closes behind you, Quinn lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

Luke whistles. "That was way too close."

Jim chuckles. "You boys need to step up your game. She's sharp."

Quinn groans, rubbing his face. "I know. And we still have two more days of this."

Jack claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, bud. You're gonna need it.

Two Days Before

The lake stretches out before you, calm and glassy under the moonlight. It’s late—too late to still be outside, but the warmth of summer lingers in the air, and neither of you wants to go in just yet.

You sit beside Quinn on the dock, your legs dangling over the edge, bare feet skimming the cool water. The night is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the distant rustling of trees.

Quinn hasn’t said much in the last few minutes.

He sits close—so close that your shoulders press together, his warmth seeping into you. His hand is resting between you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but is too lost in thought to do it.

You nudge him gently. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He exhales, a soft, slow sound. "Just thinking."

You tilt your head, watching him. His profile is illuminated by the glow of the moon, sharp angles softened by the night. His jaw flexes, and his fingers tighten slightly against the dock.

"About what?"

He hesitates, then turns to you. "The future."

Your chest tightens, a warmth blooming there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I was just thinking about... where we'll be, years from now." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What it'll look like."

You smile, leaning into him. "And? What does it look like?"

He glances down at his hands. "Us," he says simply. "Still together. Maybe a house. Maybe a dog." His lips twitch. "You always talk about wanting a golden retriever."

Your heart stutters.

"You actually listen when I say that?"

His brow furrows. "Of course I do."

There’s something so earnest about the way he says it—so completely sure.

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I like that version of the future," you say softly.

Quinn looks at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable, something heavy sitting behind them. For a second, you think he’s about to say something—something big.

But instead, he squeezes your hand.

"Me too."

He presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, then rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes, breathing him in, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.

Neither of you says anything else.

But Quinn’s already made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he finds the perfect spot.

And in two days, he asks you to be his forever.

One Day Before

The lake stretches endlessly before you, a shimmering expanse of deep blue beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. A gentle breeze tugs at your hair, and the rhythmic rocking of the boat lulls you into a peaceful state. The water is calm, only disturbed by the occasional ripple from a passing jet ski or the soft lapping against the side of the boat.

You inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you lean back against the cushioned seat. The warmth of the sun kisses your skin, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like time has slowed down.

Jim sits at the helm, hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the open water. His expression is relaxed, a rare sight considering the chaos that usually follows whenever all three of his boys are together.

Ellen sits beside you, sunglasses perched on her nose, a soft smile on her lips as she watches the water shimmer.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she muses, her voice light with contentment.

You nod, shifting slightly to soak in more of the sun. “Yeah, it really is.”

It’s not often that you get moments like this—just the three of you. Usually, Jack and Luke are wreaking havoc, Quinn is rolling his eyes fondly at their antics, and everything is a blur of chirps and laughter. But today is quiet. Peaceful.

You glance around the boat, taking in the emptiness where Quinn should be.

Your chest tightens slightly.

This morning, when you asked him if he was coming, he had been vague—mumbling something about needing to run an errand and promising he’d see you later. You hadn’t pushed, but now, with the afternoon stretching on without him, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Ellen asks gently, tilting her head toward you.

You blink, realizing you had been staring at the empty seat beside you. Forcing a smile, you nod. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Ellen hums knowingly. “Quinn will be back soon, don’t worry. He’s probably just making sure whatever he’s doing is absolutely perfect.”

Jim chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Sounds about right.”

You frown slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Do you guys know something I don’t?”

Ellen and Jim exchange a quick glance, but Ellen’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Oh, honey,” she says, reaching over to pat your hand. “We always know something you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of warmth and comfort. You soak up every moment—the way the sun reflects off the water like scattered diamonds, the sound of Jim’s easy laughter, the way Ellen insists on reapplying sunscreen to your shoulders even though you swear you’re fine.

And for a little while, you let yourself forget the strange feeling in your chest.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Quinn is on a mission.

Your absence is a weight he feels in his chest, but he knows this is worth it.

His boots crunch against the forest floor as he makes his way through the secluded clearing he stumbled upon earlier. The air smells like pine and fresh earth, the quiet only disturbed by the rustling of leaves in the wind.

It’s perfect. Tucked away from the main trails, surrounded by towering trees, with a small opening where the lake peeks through.

This is it.

Carefully, he unrolls the string of photos he printed last week, each one capturing a frozen moment in time—the two of you at your first hockey game together, laughing with noses pressed close; a blurry snapshot of you mid-laugh, taken when you weren’t looking; a quiet moment in bed, tangled in the sheets with sunlight painting your skin.

Every single one tells your story.

His hands shake slightly as he fastens them to the branches, adjusting them until they drape just right.

“Dude, this is insanely romantic,” Jack mutters behind him.

Quinn steps back, hands on his hips as he surveys the clearing. The photos sway gently in the breeze, catching the fading sunlight. Everything is almost perfect.

Except for Jack, who is standing in the middle of the setup like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This is so weird,” Jack complains, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know why I have to be her.”

Quinn sighs, rubbing his temples. “Because I need to make sure everything looks right, and you’re the closest to her height.”

“That’s actually so offensive,” Jack deadpans. “I don’t even know how, but it is.”

Luke snorts from behind the camera. “Just shut up and stand there, man. You’re ruining the vision.”

Jack groans dramatically but doesn’t move. “You owe me for this, dude. Big time.”

Quinn ignores him, stepping closer to adjust the positioning. He takes a deep breath, trying to picture you standing there instead of his little brother, who is doing a horrible job of being still.

“This is where I’ll kneel,” Quinn murmurs, mostly to himself. He drops down, testing the angle, the feel of the moment. His heart races, imagining the way you’ll look—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, the way your breath will hitch right before you say yes.

Jack stares down at him, unimpressed. “I feel like I should be flattered, but mostly I feel like an idiot.”

Quinn huffs, looking up at him. “Can you at least pretend to be in love with me?”

Jack stares blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. “Dude. Dude. I cannot take this seriously.” He turns to Luke, who’s adjusting the camera settings. “Are you getting this? The absolute desperation in his eyes?”

Luke barely glances up. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making this worse?” Jack gestures at the setup. “Quinn is professing his undying love to me right now, and I’M the problem?”

Quinn groans, running a hand over his face. “Just shut up and look moved or something.”

Jack schools his expression into something vaguely serious and stares dramatically into the distance. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, voice overly soft. “We’ve been through so much together.”

Luke nearly drops the camera laughing. “Oh my god,” he wheezes.

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate both of you.”

Jack smirks, but he does settle down a little, standing a bit more still as Quinn makes the final adjustments.

After a few minutes of adjusting the lighting and the placement of the photos, Luke finally lifts the camera. “Alright, let’s get a test shot.”

Jack sighs dramatically but stays put. Quinn watches as Luke moves around, snapping photos from different angles. He frowns slightly, tilting the camera to check the preview.

“It looks good,” Luke says slowly, adjusting the focus. “But I think we need—Jack, stop standing like that.”

Jack scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like a dude who is about to ask another dude to prom,” Luke deadpans. “You look so uncomfortable.”

Jack throws his arms out. “Because I am uncomfortable! I am literally standing in the middle of a fake proposal, playing the role of my brother’s girlfriend.”

Quinn shakes his head. “Fine. Just—stand normal.”

Jack exhales sharply but follows instructions, his posture finally settling into something less stiff.

Luke snaps a few more photos before nodding. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the shot.”

Quinn steps back, taking in the clearing one last time. The photos, the lighting, the atmosphere—it’s all exactly how he pictured it. His heart pounds as he exhales, the reality of it hitting him all at once.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you will be standing here.

Tomorrow, you will be the one in front of him when he kneels.

And tomorrow, you will say yes.

Jack claps him on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, Romeo. Can we go now? I have literally never felt more single in my life.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness behind it. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Luke stretches, shoving the camera back into his bag. “You better make this the best proposal of all time, bro. Because if we went through all of this for nothing—”

Quinn grins, confidence settling in his chest. “She’s gonna love it.”

Jack sighs dramatically. “You owe us.”

Quinn just laughs, already imagining how perfect tomorrow will be.

That night, you’re curled up in bed when Quinn finally slips into the room. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he slides beneath the covers, pulling you into his arms.

“You have fun today?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you hum, half-asleep. “Missed you.”

His chest tightens.

He buries his face in your hair, arms tightening around you. “Missed you too.”

You sigh softly, relaxing into him.

Quinn stays awake long after you drift off, heart thudding with anticipation.

One more night.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Proposal Day

The morning sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting a golden glow over the lake house. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air as you lean against the counter, watching the Hughes family settle into their usual breakfast chaos.

Jack is the first to steal the last piece of toast off Luke’s plate, and Luke retaliates by flicking a grape at his forehead. Quinn sighs, stirring his coffee like he’s debating whether it’s worth intervening. Ellen is at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Jim nurses his coffee at the table, reading something on his phone.

Ellen turns toward you with a smile. “I was thinking,” she starts, “since everyone’s here, we should do a nice family dinner tonight.”

Luke perks up. “Ooh, like a fancy dinner? Do I have to wear a button-up?”

“Yes,” Ellen says firmly.

Jack groans dramatically. “Can I at least wear my nice hoodie?”

Jim barely looks up. “No.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee. “A dinner sounds nice.”

Ellen nods. “Good, because I already bought all the stuff.”

Quinn finally speaks, glancing at you. “You should wear that dress you got.”

You arch an eyebrow. “The one you definitely weren’t scheming to get me to buy?”

Jack and Luke both snicker, and Quinn glares at them before turning back to you, feigning innocence. “What? I just think you’d look really nice in it.”

Luke leans in conspiratorially. “You should do it. Mostly because if you don’t, Quinn will spend the entire dinner sulking and staring at you like a sad puppy.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Jack smirks. “Nope. That’s how we end up with emo Quinn, and nobody wants that.”

Quinn groans. “I hate all of you.”

Ellen hides a smile as she flips another pancake. “You love them,” she corrects.

Quinn sighs, shooting you a hopeful glance. “So, the dress?”

You shake your head, amused. “Fine. But if I do, Luke and Jack owe me dessert.”

Luke claps a hand over his heart. “Done.”

Jack nods. “Easiest deal of my life.”

Quinn smiles to himself, satisfied. One step closer.

Dinner starts out promising enough. The table is set, the food looks amazing, and the sunset paints the lake in warm hues. It should be perfect.

And then… things start to go sideways.

First, Luke—being Luke—tries to help bring the dishes to the table and nearly drops the salad bowl. In his panic to save it, he elbows Jack, who’s carrying a basket of rolls. The bread goes flying, one roll landing directly in Jim’s drink.

“Nice,” Jim mutters, plucking it out with a sigh.

Ellen shakes her head, clearly unimpressed but used to this kind of chaos. “Can we go one meal without something ending up on the floor?”

Jack, unfazed, shrugs. “Technically, it landed in Dad’s glass.”

You try to hold back a laugh as Quinn pulls out a chair for you, but the moment you sit, you realize something is… off. The seat wobbles, just enough to be noticeable, and before you can react, one of the legs gives way entirely.

“Shit—”

You barely manage to catch yourself before fully hitting the ground. Quinn moves fast, steadying you before you can completely fall, but the damage is done. Luke is doubled over laughing, and Jack is wheezing so hard he can’t breathe.

“I—” Jack tries, but he’s laughing too hard to finish. “I swear—we didn’t—touch—that chair—”

Quinn glares at them before looking at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, face burning as you straighten up. “Just my pride taking a hit.”

Ellen sighs. “That chair was wobbly this morning. I told you boys to fix it.”

Jack wipes a tear from his eye. “Well, now we know it was definitely broken.”

Dinner resumes, and for a few blessed minutes, everything is normal. The conversation flows, the food is delicious, and you almost forget about the earlier chaos.

Until Luke, in all his wisdom, decides he needs more steak sauce. He reaches across the table, miscalculating just how close his elbow is to your glass of wine.

The second the glass tips, it’s over.

Red wine splashes everywhere—your dress, the table, Quinn’s sleeve.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, pushing back from the table as the cold liquid soaks into the fabric.

Luke freezes. “Oh—oh, shit. Oh, no—”

Ellen is already up, grabbing napkins. “Luke.” Her voice is the kind of exasperated that only comes from years of dealing with sons who can’t sit still. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luke looks at you with pure panic. “I—I can fix this—”

Jack leans back, shaking his head. “Man, you just ruined her dress.”

“I know!” Luke groans, looking like he genuinely feels terrible. “I’ll—uh—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

Quinn, who’s been silent through all of this, takes one look at you and then turns to Luke with the calmest voice imaginable.

“Get up.”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“Get. Up.”

There’s a long pause before Luke, sensing the very real possibility of Quinn throwing him into the lake, slowly pushes his chair back and stands.

Quinn doesn’t hesitate—he grabs Luke’s napkin and dabs at your dress, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I told you not to sit next to her.”

Luke throws his hands up. “How is this my fault?!”

Ellen sighs again. “Alright, alright, it’s just a little wine.” She turns to you. “Honey, let’s go see if we can salvage your dress.”

You follow her inside, but despite her best efforts, the stain refuses to come out.

You sigh, looking at Ellen through the mirror. “Ellen, I think it’s unsalvageable.”

She looks up at you, guilt evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

When you return downstairs, Luke looks like a kicked puppy, eyes glued to the floor. Quinn scans your dress, his jaw tightening.

“Goddammit, Luke,” Quinn mutters.

You step beside him, nudging Luke lightly with your foot. “It’s fine, really,” you say softly.

Quinn exhales, rubbing his jaw before looking at you. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice quieter now, more certain. “Right now.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of the lake. The sound of crickets hums in the background as you and Quinn walk in comfortable silence, his fingers laced through yours. The chaos of dinner fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

“You okay?” you ask softly, glancing up at him.

Quinn exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… today didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

You squeeze his hand. “You had a plan?”

His smile grows slightly. “Believe it or not, yeah. Kind of.”

You smirk. “Well, that was your first mistake.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

You keep walking, but the farther you go, the more familiar the path becomes. It’s only when the trees thin, revealing a quiet clearing, that you realize where he’s leading you. Your steps slow as you take it in.

Strung between the branches, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon and the fairy lights Quinn must have set up earlier, are dozens of photos—memories captured and preserved in time.

Your breath catches as you step forward, reaching out to gently touch one of them. It’s a picture from your first hockey game together, noses nearly pressed together as you grinned at the camera. Another of you mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with joy. One from a lazy morning in bed, sunlight spilling across your tangled limbs.

Every single one tells your story.

You turn back to Quinn, your chest tight with emotion. “You did all this?”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I—I wanted you to see what I see. Every time I look at you, it’s just… it’s all of this. Every moment, every memory, everything that makes us, us.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” he continues, voice quiet but steady. “I had this whole idea in my head—this big, perfect moment. The dinner, the dress, the way tonight was supposed to go.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “And then Luke knocked wine all over you, and Jack wouldn’t stop chirping, and everything kind of fell apart.”

You smile, tilting your head. “Sounds about right.”

Quinn looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah. But then I realized… this is perfect.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost like he’s realizing it in real time. “The chaos, the interruptions, the fact that nothing ever goes exactly how we plan it. That’s us. That’s our life.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He takes a deep breath, then lets go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. And suddenly, he’s kneeling before you, a small velvet box in his palm, slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

“I don’t need the perfect moment,” he says, looking up at you. “I just need you.”

Your heart pounds, your vision blurring as you try to take in everything at once—the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers tremble just slightly around the box, the way the entire world feels like it’s tilting on its axis.

“Marry me?” he asks, voice soft but sure.

You let out a shaky breath, a laugh breaking through the tears already forming in your eyes. “Quinn, of course I’ll marry you.”

A breath of relief escapes him before he grins—grins in that rare, open way he only does when he’s truly happy. He stands quickly, slipping the ring onto your finger before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

You bury your face in his shoulder, laughing through your tears. “God, I love you.”

His grip tightens around you, his voice warm against your ear. “Love you more.”

By the time you and Quinn make it back, hand in hand, the Hughes family is waiting—Jack and Luke perched on the couch, Jim leaning against the counter, and Ellen practically bouncing in place.

Jack spots the ring first. “Oh my god—”

Ellen claps her hands together, her eyes shining. “You said yes?”

You hold up your hand, and the room erupts.

Jack groans dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “I can’t believe this. Quinn won at life.”

Jim claps Quinn on the shoulder with a proud nod, and Ellen pulls you into a tight hug, murmuring how happy she is for you both.

Luke hangs back, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes darting toward you before dropping to the floor. His face is tight, like he’s been debating something in his head.

You don’t give him the chance to overthink it. Without a word, you step toward him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Luke stiffens in surprise before slowly relaxing, exhaling a breath. “I—I really didn’t mean to ruin your dress,” he mumbles, voice small.

You smile against his shoulder. “I know, Luke. It’s just a dress.”

He hesitates before hugging you back, his grip a little tight, like he’s still worried about the whole thing. “I felt really bad.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving a really good speech at the wedding.”

His eyes widen. “Wait—I can do a speech?”

Quinn sighs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I never said that.”

Luke smirks. “You didn’t have to.”

Jack groans. “Oh god, this is gonna be unbearable.”

Quinn shakes his head, pulling you back to his side. “I should’ve proposed in private,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Nah. This is perfect.”

And as the Hughes family falls into their usual rhythm of chirps and laughter, as Quinn’s hand tightens around yours, you know that nothing—no chaos, no spilled wine, no wobbly chairs—could have made this moment any better.

beachy’s notes: hello babes please please, please send me fic requests

#be4chywrites #nhl x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #huggy bear

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mintmatcha · 5 months ago

Text

Continuation.

Bakugo Katsuki swore that he would die before he let you have Izuku's number.

And yet, somehow, the three of you have ended up together for drinks.

He thinks it's a fair compromise; Izuku can ask his million questions, Bakugo can kill the rumors that the two of you are together, you can-

He's not sure what your goal is, but he can see it shining in your eyes.

Izuku is still in his teaching clothes, a pristine button up rolled up to the elbows and a pressed pair of pants. There's an extra shine and coil to his curly hair, and it smells like sandalwood; he put effort into his appearance and Bakugo knows it isn't for him.

Your words echo in the back of his mind: people always want what they can't have.

"You worked for the commission? As a hero?" Izuku asks you.

You never give direct answers- just these convenient truths delivered with a pretty smile.

"I'm retired."

Lipstick clings to the rim of your drink. It makes your lips looks soft and round, even when you run your tongue across your teeth.

"Retired?" Izuku asks. "Wow, I'm kind of jealous."

"She's my social media manager." Bakugo cuts in. "And a tiktok person."

Not his girlfriend, he wants to add, but he refrains.

"Kacchan says you have a cool quirk." Izuku talks without pause, rambling mostly to himself in that way Katsuku has taught himself to find endearing. His attention never wanes away from you, but you don't blush or squirm. You sit and endure with that damn smile on your face. "What is it called? How does it work? I tried to Google it, but nothing comes up. You are so young to be retired, I just-"

You lean forward and place a hand on Izuku's upper thigh, cutting him off midsentence.

"You have very beautiful eyes," you say, slow, stepping gently over every word. "Wide, wet: like a rabbit's."

Izuku snaps silent. Each one of your nails taps against his thigh, one by one. Bakugo watches how your thumb swipes side to side, how your lips part with your exhale, how your smile creeps up all on its own as you lean even closer-

"You twitch like one too."

"Oh, wow, uh-" Izuku stutters, his whole face flushing a dark pink, so strong it eats his freckles. Finally, someone else understands your goddammit issues. Bakugo swallows down the strange feeling in his chest with the last dregs of his beer.

"I'm going to get a drink, I think." Izuku stands, pulling away from your touch.

"Grab me a beer?" Katsuki shakes his empty can. Izuku nods, then looks at you.

"Soda water with lime."

"No alcohol?"

"I like to keep my wits about me."

The man nods, then practically scurries off to the bar. You huff, content, like a dog that's bought it's master their hunt.

"You scared the fuck outta him."

"He liked it." You pick a piece of lint off of your skirt. "They always do. Watch: he'll come back and sit even closer to me."

Bakugo throws himself back into his seat, arms crossed. "You're so damn cocky."

"Look who's talking, Kacchan." You tilt your head, pouting your lips with fake sincerity. "I can call you that, right? As your girlfriend?"

He sinks even lower in his chair. "You aren't my girlfriend."

"I could be." You mimic him. You lean back and let your knees spread just a bit, just enough that he could see what under if he tried- "The sex would be phenomenal."

That hits him like a shot. It's not that he wants to have sex with you, but he can't deny that the thought crosses his mind every now and again. He thinks about it when he's alone, when the bed feels too big, when he's-

"You don't fucking know that!" He's too angry already, especially compared to your nonplussed response.

"I do.'

"You don't even fucking know me." He points a finger back at you. "And I don't know anything about you."

"It's better if you don't know."

Bakugo sneers. Another nonanswer. He looks back towards Izuku, who's locked in conversation with the bartender. Why would you even bother with him? Someone like you would rip through him like tissue paper. You're right- he is a rabbit, and you're a dog, waiting with your sharp teeth to-

A hand cups his ear. Bakugo watches as you lean in over the table, bringing your lips to his ear.

"I grew up in the commission. One of their little project kids," you whisper. Sometimes, your lips make contact with cartilage and his skin sparks with heat. "I did things for them. Bad things. Illegal things."

"You kill people?" he whispers back.

"You know the answer to that." With every word, you creep closer, until your hands are on his thighs now. "They forced me to retire when Hawks took over. No more need for girls with bloody hands."

It's the truth. Your voice is painfully sincere for once, a strange change from your usual composed self. You're just giving him what he wants, but it's working. It's working. He almost puts his hand around your waist.

If Izuku is a rabbit, he's a fox, and you've lured him out of his fucking burrow. At this point, he'd welcome your teeth in his neck.

"What else should I tell you? My favorite color's red, I love the beach. You're not allowed to pull my hair, I never sleep over after sex," you continue. "I have a scar on my chest. So, you're not surprised when you see it later."

"Stop assuming that I'm going to fuck you."

"Oh, you're going to." You slink back over to your seat. Hands folded over your lap- a snake ready to strike. "I'm going to flirt with Izuku until you break-"

You turn your attention away from him, waving towards the approaching Izuku. "And then you're gonna fuck my brains out, Kacchan."

There's no time to respond before Izuku teeters back, blaming three drinks with a little difficulty. He hands then out, then sits back down-

So close to you that his thigh brushes yours.

"Thank you, little rabbit," you tease, eyes flicking back to Bakugo with a knowing, smug smile.

Fuck, Bakugo thinks. Fuck.

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sai-int · 2 months ago

Text

i saw this a few days ago and i've been plagued by ghoap x reader ever since

The warm water lapped gently at your skin as you leaned back against the edge of the tub, sighing in bliss. The steam curled around you, carrying the faint scent of lavender from the bath salts you’d poured in earlier. After a long day, this was exactly what you needed. Simon and Johnny were stuck with paperwork back on base, so you had the rare chance to soak in peace, letting the heat work its way into your tired muscles.

You’d just started to drift when the sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your daze. Footsteps, heavy and familiar, made their way down the hall before stopping right outside the bathroom.

The door cracked open just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a skull-painted balaclava.

Simon.

He didn’t say a word, just tilted his head slightly as if asking permission. You sighed, amused, and scooted forward in the tub. “Hello to you too,” you murmured.

That was all he needed. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, and within moments, he was stripping off his clothes with practiced efficiency. Then, he slid in behind you, his solid form pressing against your back as he sank into the heat with a satisfied exhale. His arms came around you, hands settling on your shoulders as he kneaded at the tension there.

“Long day?” he asked, voice low and rough against your ear.

“You’ve no idea,” you murmured, melting under his touch.

“Aye, we do,” came a much louder voice from down the hall. “Some of us actually did the bloody paperwork.”

Before you could react, the bathroom door swung open with zero hesitation, and Johnny strode in, already tugging his shirt off. His grin was wide and mischievous as he took in the sight of you and Simon tucked into the tub together.

“ye two weren’t plannin’ on startin’ without me, were ye?”

Simon sighed, his fingers still working against your muscles. “Dunno if there’s room for you, love.”

“Like hell there isn’t.”

And then, he jumped—no—launched himself into the tub

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as Johnny all but catapulted himself, jostling both you and Simon. You squeaked in protest, but the sound was drowned out by Johnny’s triumphant laugh as he wedged himself in between your legs, forming a delectable man-sandwich with you as the middle.

“Fuckin' hell, babe,” Simon grumbled, shaking his head as he wiped a splash of water from his face.

Johnny just beamed, utterly unrepentant. “What? Ye know I hate missin’ out.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned back into Simon’s chest, letting Johnny rest his head against your chest. The water, still warm despite Johnny’s dramatic entrance, wrapped around the three of you as Simon’s hands resumed their massage.

A peaceful silence settled between you, broken only by the occasional sighs of relaxation. Johnny, ever the fidgety one, eventually started tracing nonsense patterns against your legs under the water, and Simon’s pressed soft kiss against your temple, thumbs pressed firm, soothing circles into your shoulders.

“Love my boys,” you murmured, eyes slipping shut.

Johnny grinned, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. “Aye, you’re stuck with us,”

Simon huffed, the sound almost amused as he pulled you even closer. “Poor thing, never stood a chance, hmm?”

#♱ angel’s writing #thinking ghoap thots #ghoap x reader #ghoap x you #ghoap #ghoap fic #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fluff #johnny mactavish fluff #cod fluff #soap call of duty #ghost call of duty #i

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bbrissonn · 2 months ago

Text

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 - 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which luke has some plans for the two of you during the 4 nations tournament break

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wc: 3.1k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: reader is a nail tech !!! slight swearing,nsfw content read at your own risk, not proofread

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ started listening to old money by lana del rey about half way through writing this, im sure you'll be able to figure out what part...

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ reader's instagram is public !!!

"so, you talked to mom for next week?" jack asked luke from besides him on the plane. the team was currently on their way back from pittsburgh after a short two game roadtrip. the 4 nations tournament was less than a week away, meaning luke had 2 weeks where he could finally get his mind off of hockey for a while.

more importantly, he got two spend 2 whole weeks with you and only you. he had been looking forward to february since the announcement of the tournament, having a feeling he wouldn't get picked for team usa because it was only his second year in the league. meaning he had had almost a whole year to plan these two weeks he'd get with you.

luke had almost forced to take your two weeks of vacation off during those specific weeks, and you were quick to alert your boss about it. the two of you had been together for a year and a half now, having met during luke's short stay in new jersey at the end of the 2022-2023 season. you had decided not to go to university, opting to attending cosmetology school. you eventually focused nails, your parents letting set up a small salon in their garage. you had met luke when you were shopping for supplies, the boy looking lost as he looked around himself and down at his phone constantly.

as a native new yorker, it pained you to see someone looking as clueless as he did. most people covered it up well, walking with confidence but having no clue where they were going. him on the other hand, he looked like a lost puppy. you decided to approach him, hoping you could help him.

𓇢𓆸

"lost?" you asked as you approached the stranger, a couple of bags in your hands. the stranger turned his head slightly, looking down at his phone quickly, before his head snapped up towards you. his eyes stared into your for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly before snapping back to reality.

"y-yeah, a bit." he mumbled, suddenly finding himself pushing his shoulders back, fixing his posture slightly. you tried your best to hold in a giggle as he then ran his hand through his hair a couple of times.

"where you going?" you asked, stepping a little closer trying to take a peak at his phone. luke leaned his hand towards you, letting you get a better view, but all he could focus on was you.

"meeting some friends... and my brother."

"visiting?"

"uh... just moved. i actually live in new jersey, we all do, but they insisted we come here so..." he explained, his soft gentle as his eyes stayed glued on you. you looked up at him as you figured out mentally where to send the boy. you hadn't noticed just how much taller than you he was.

"work?"

"something like that, yeah."

"head up that way, about three streets down turn left, you'll see it right away. its got a bright neon sign, hard to miss." you instructed him with a smile.

"you'd think phones would be better at directions by now." he joked awkwardly, making you smile slightly. you finally took a good look at his face. he was cute, a lot cuter than any boys you had seen in a while. "i'm luke, by the way."

"y/n." you smiled at him.

𓇢𓆸

luke had kindly asked for your number before making his way to meet his friends. the two of soon started talking almost everyday, luke had been glued to his phone all summer, making everyone around him a little curious by his sudden change. his brothers eventually figured that he had been talking to you the whole time, but failed to convince him to let them meet you.

when luke had gotten back in new jersey in september, he was quick to asked you to be his girlfriend. you didn't have to think twice as the word "yes" slipped from your mouth before your brain even registered what he had said. you were now nearing your year and a half mark, and luke couldn't be anymore in love with you than he already was.

"oh, uhm. i made plans with y/n/n." luke answered his brother, making jack looking over him.

"she can come too, you know. ma would love for her to be there too."

"the uh, plans, their not plans in new jersey."

"make a detour to montreal?"

"i mean, we'll be there for the games in boston, but we're uh, going away before." jack was now very confused as to what luke was saying. never had his brother, or you, mentioned the two of you taking a trip. for all he knew, you had been talking about how excited you were to explore montreal.

"what do you mean?"

"just, i planned a little something special for her, that's all. non-refundable and all."

"where you guys going?"

"i'm not telling you." luke scoffed, making jack look at him with a fake hurt expression.

"why not?"

"'cause your shit a keeping a secret. and she doesn't know yet, so i'm not telling you." luke explained, making jack scoff slightly before putting in his headphones. luke shook his head at his older brother's childish behaviour before texting you. the two of you had agreed to meet up for lunch between two of your clients, and he wanted to make sure there was no delay within your schedule.

𓇢𓆸

"so, baby, i know you're excited and all about montreal-"

"oh, luke, it's gonna be amazing! we're gonna shop, we're gonna explore. go to that cool thing cole keeps talking about." you said with a smile before taking another bit of your plate. you had met cole the previous summer, when you had flew to michigan to visit luke and his family for a couple of weeks. thankfully you had met his brothers and parents, so the only knew people were their friends.

"about that... we're not going to montreal, babe." luke watched as your smile dropped, and he cursed himself for his words.

"what do you mean? what about jack, and quinn, and all your family?"

"we'll go see them, in boston. i was, uh, hoping you'd wanna take a trip with me. get away from everyone, just you and me. and i'm really hoping you say because it's not refundable, so..." he muttered, scratching the back of his neck slightly.

"o-okay, yeah, that's... that's fine. where are we going?" you were glad you had decided not to schedule any clients during luke's two week break, seeing as he had been talking about this moment since the beginning of the season.

"a lot of places, places you're gonna like. took of everything, housing, transport, it's gonna be amazing, love." the boy said with a grin on his face.

"where?"

"europe."

𓇢𓆸

"oh, my gosh, this place is amazing!" you gasped as you walked the streets of london. your plane had arrived early in the morning, and the two of you waisted no time explore the city. your hand was holding on tightly to luke's, his smile matching yours.

"i'm glad your enjoying this, love." the boy spoke as your eyes looked over at him. you bit your bottom lip as luke softly smiled down at you.

"you're amazing, you know that?" you asked the boy as he threw his arm over your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. he chuckled slightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple before answering your question.

"i try." he whispered sweetly before the two of you entered a shop. you spent the rest of day walking around london, getting snacks from almost every food place luke's eyes landed on, eventually sitting down for dinner, and finally making your way to your hotel room.

"we got an early morning tomorrow, babe, get some sleep." the boy mumbled as your mouth trailed down his neck. luke was laying on his back, with you snuggled to his side.

"what are we doing?"

"we're getting on a train." his answer made you look up at him, your mouth leaving his skin as you gave him a weird look.

"a... train?"

"yes, y/n/n, a train." he giggled.

"where to?"

"france." he shrugged with a proud grin as a gasp left your mouth.

"we're going to paris?" you exclaimed, fully pushing yourself so you were straddling luke's lap.

"we are."

"oh my god, luke!" you said before throwing your arms around him. you had been dying to visit paris since you were a little kid, and the want grew even stronger over the summer as you watched the olympics.

16 hours later, you found yourself sitting in a restaurant near the eiffel tower. the night had set, the tower lighted up, people roaming the busy streets of the city, people were talking, laughing, yelling, so much was going. but all you could focus and think about was the boy in front of you.

"you're starring."

"i am." you answered with a smile. luke flashed you his lopsided grin before taking another bit of his food.

"your food's gonna get cold."

"i don't care." you answered, making luke sigh slightly before placing his fork down.

"alright, what is it?"

"nothing... nothing i just, i love you, you know. a lot. this trip... it means a lot." you stuttered, suddenly feeling like a school girl again. luke's hand reached for yours across the table, rubbing you skin softly with his thumb.

"i know, and i love you." he answered, making you blush as you looked down at your lap. you nodded slightly before finally starting to eat your dinner. the two of you ended your night by the eiffel tower, your camera roll getting filled with pictures of the tower itself, you in front of it, luke in front of it, selfies taken together, and pictures a kind stranger took for the two of you. you then made your way back to a hotel near by, the two being seen from your window.

"baby... baby, slow down." luke mumbled as your hands attacked his button up the second the door closed behind the two of you. your lips quickly connected with his neck, making him throw his head back with a groan. luke's hand found their way to your waist, before pushing you up against the wall. you pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a grin as you arched your back, pressing yourself into him.

"no." you answered sweetly before connecting your lips together. luke felt like he was floating up in the clouds at this moment, your hands pushing his button up off of his body before you hands started touching every single part of his upper body.

"you drive me crazy, you know." the boy stated as your hands squeezed his biceps, which were flexed from his grasp on your waist. they quickly moved to find the hem of your shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving you topless in your lace bra. another groan left his mouth as his lips attached themselves to your neck.

"i know." you said, smirking as your hands now found luke's belt. another groan. just as you were about to undo his belt, you felt luke's strong arms pick you up, and suddenly you were over his shoulder. your giggle echoed through the room as luke dropped you softly on the bed, before crawling over to you.

"i'm so in love with you." he mumbled as he approached you slowly. you were resting on your forearms barely holding yourself up as luke's large figure towered over you. his hands were resting right next to your arms, his forehead inches away from you.

"i'm crazy in love with you, lukey." you mumbled before the boy quickly reached down and connected your lips together, the two of you smiling into the kiss as luke softly pushed you down on the bed.

"luke..." you whispered as his lips slowly trailed down your neck to your chest, his hands locking with yours next to your head.

"yeah, baby?"

"please." you begged as luke pulled your bra down, his lips quickly attacking your boobs as you bit your lips. it had been so long, too long, since the two of you had been completely alone without jack being in the room next to you. it had been so long since the two of you had been able to take your time and truly enjoy yourselves.

"i got you, m'love. don't worry, just wanna take my time with you, show you how much i love you." he whispered as his lips moved further down your body. as he approached your waist, his hands found your skirt, pulling it down along with your panties. you were now fully bare underneath him.

luke pushed himself back on his knees. his eyes admiring your body as he rid himself of his belt and pants, leaving him in only his underwear. "you're so perfect, y/n/n." he whispered as he kneeled back down, his lips kissing your inner thighs softly as he came closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

the rest of the night was filled with soft i love yous, passionate kisses, intense eye contact, your bodies tangled as one, the night was filled of love. luke had fallen asleep first, his arms holding you close to his chest as his chin rested on your head. your face was stuffed into his neck, his cologne being the only thing you could focus on.

it had taken you almost an hour to fall asleep, not because you weren't tired, but because your brain couldn't stop thinking. thinking about how lucky you were, how happy you were, and how grateful you were to have luke in your life. he was the man of your dream.

you still couldn't wrap your head around the fact that you were currently laying in a hotel bed in the middle of the city you had been wanting to visit since you were a kid. that you were laying next you the man who made your dream come true, laying the man who had completely stolen your heart.

and you honestly could not believe this was your life. never in a million years did you think that approaching who stranger who looked completely lost in the middle of new york lead to you laying in his arms in the city of love. it felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from. luke was everything you ever wanted in a man. he was caring, always want out of his way to make you happy, even if it meant just stopping by your salon to give you coffee in the morning, or just to see you for a short 10 minute before your client came. he was perfect. you never had to worry about if he was out cheating, simply because he could never stop texting you and sending you pictures of his teammates blackout drunk when he was out. you were all he could think about, and he was all you could think about.

it was almost like you were scared you'd fall asleep, and wake up all alone in your bed back in new york, and there was no way you wanted that. but the loud snore coming from luke quickly brought you back to reality. this was real, this was your life now, and you couldn't be happier about it.

𓇢𓆸

it was now wednesday, you had taken a flight to barcelona, where you arrived in the early afternoon. you spent your day exploring the city, it wasn't the hottest, but compared to the weather you were having back home, this was way better. the two of you had decided to stop by a couple of local shops, finding the objects perfect to bring back as souvenirs. after your dinner, the two of you had taken a walk on the beach, after you begged luke for the whole dinner to go. he was going to say yes, of course he was, but the way you would always pass pity comments about it always made him laugh. so, he pretended to be hesitant the whole time, but he knew even before you landed in the city this how your night would end.

then early on thursday morning, the two of you flew to rome. you repeated the same process as always, spend the day exploring the city. only this time the two of you got onto another flight that evening, landing in split in croatia. you knew this city. you had been seeing tons of videos on tiktok about it lately. sadly, it wasn't exactly peak beach season, but luke had promised you that you'd eventually come back the summer.

the two had gone to bed right when you arrived to the hotel, the clock nearing morning hours. and when you woke up the next morning, you were all alone in bed. your eyes wondered around the room, only to land on luke standing at the small round table in your room. you let out a groan as you stretched your arms, making your boyfriend look over at you.

"good morning, baby." the boy mumbled as he walked over to you with a smile. he was wearing a robe, and his hair was slightly damped, and you could only guess he had taken a shower recently. he sat down on the bed next to you, his hand reaching for you.

"hi." you smiled, your eyes struggling to stay open. this was probably one of the comfiest bed you had ever slept on, and you did not want to get up right now.

"how'd you sleep?"

"amazing!" you exclaimed, trying to shove yourself deeper into the mattress. luke smiled at you before leaning down and pecking your lips.

"breakfast." he whispered, his head nodding over to the table. his words quickly made you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. just as you were about to pull aways, luke's hands, which were laying on your back, made their way to your thighs and picked you up, standing up from the bed. you squealed as he walked over to the table before placing you down, but keeping his arms around you.

"happy valentine's day, my love." he whispered before kissing your lips. you had completely forgotten that was today. all you had been thinking about was this trip, and the days started just blending one into the other. you smiled as you pulled the boy down, kissing him harder.

"you're amazing!" you exclaimed, bringing the boy into a thigh hug as your lips parted, luke chuckled as he let his head rest on yours.

"when i saw that we had a break this week, knew i had to make it the best valentine's day ever."

"you're amazing!" you repeated, and luke took it as an answer that you loved it. "this is amazing, luke!"

"i'm glad you like it-

"i love it! almost as much as i love you."

"sap."

"shut up." you whispered before connecting your lips again. "i don't ever wanna stop loving you."

"good, 'cause i plan on loving you forever."

𓇢𓆸

- feb 11, 2025 -

youruser

📍 london, uk

liked by lhughes_06, jackhughes and other

youruser yesterday💗💗

👥 lhughes_06

view all 273 comments

lhughes_06 🩵

lhughes_06 obsessed with you

user485 he brought her to london omg 🥹🥹

jackhughes so this is where you two snuck off to

friendsuser so so cute

user5459 may a love like this find me

user234 the booth photos omg

_quinnhughes where was my invite?

youruser @/_quinnhughes lukey said no :( lhughes_06 @/youruser woah now don't make me the bad guy

- feb 12, 2025 -

youruser

📍 paris, france

liked by _quinnhughes, friendsuser and others

youruser dream come true 🩵

👥 lhughes_06

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lhughes_06 anything for you 🩵

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 oh ew 🤣

user869 WERE THEY NOT IN LONDON YESTERDAY??

user927 @/user869 man said "i got a week and im making the most of it"

_quinnhughes still no invite?

youruser @/_quinnhughes lukey is still saying no :( lhughes_06 @/youruser do you really want him here after last night 🤣 jackhughes @/lhughes_06 OKAY THAT'S JUST GROSS

- feb 14, 2025 -

youruser

🎵 call it what you want - taylor swift