#my logic is surely flawless about this

[daincrediblegg]

Hello💕 How about Tyrion Lannister, Jon Snow, and Khal Drogo for Husband, Bestfriend, and Brother?

OOOOOOOOH WHAT A LINEUP!!!! what a fucking lineup.

god. I mean shit. shit. really hard not to go danny dynamic route here and say Husband drogo brother jon and bestie tyrion (because this then assumes khal drogo would still die and then I'd be free to bone tyrion...)... But I digress I won't do that because I have to go with my heart Husband: Tyrion Best Friend: Jon Snow Brother: Khal Drogo

Because 1) obviously I'm not a fool and also as someone who likes their men less pretty and more pathetic Tyrion really fits the bill for me. babygirl I WILL love you in spite of all of your internalized ableism. we can do it together 🤝2) I feel like Jon Snow would be a good bestie to have. but more importantly 3) I can't see Khal Drogo having any besties. but if you're his family he WILL fight for you tho. and frankly I think that's pretty cool ergo. bro time.

[rvp32]

Falling for the Unknown

Karina x reader

length: 10K

Thank you so much msafterhours and kesujo for proofreading

The crowd surges with energy, the stadium shaking as Tottenham wins a corner kick. You shift in your seat, the weight of your brace tugging at your leg—a constant reminder that you should be out there on the football pitch, not watching from the stands. Your knee bounces restlessly, gripping them so tightly you're worried they'll snap. All you want is to be out there on the pitch. Not here, not like this, sidelined when every part of you is aching to play.

The seat next to you creaks, and someone slips into it. You glance over and see a woman wearing an oversized hoodie and a cap pulled low over her face. Despite her casual outfit, there’s an air about her—a presence that’s hard to miss. She offers a small nod and an even smaller smile, tucking herself in as though she hopes to disappear.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, her voice soft but steady.

“No problem,” you reply, shifting slightly.

You try to refocus on the game, but something about her pulls at your attention, her quiet energy filling the space between you. When Son Heung Min takes possession and streaks down the pitch, she leans forward in her seat, her hands balling into excited fists.

“You’re rooting for Tottenham?” you ask, breaking the silence as a half-smile tugs at your lips.

Her focus flickers to you, and you catch the faint curve of a grin under the brim of her cap. “Not Tottenham. Heung Min Son. He’s from Korea. Same as me. Gotta cheer for my own.”

The way she says it—with pride, subtle but unmistakable—makes you smile. She feels familiar, though you can’t put your finger on why.

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug. “Watching him is great and all, but I’d kill to be out there right now. Watching just isn’t the same when you know what it’s like to play.”

Her head tilts slightly as if she’s studying you. “You used to play?”

“Kind of,” you hedge, not wanting to make it a big deal. “I just... miss it, that’s all. The game. The rush. Being part of it.”

You glance back at her to find her watching you, curious but unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she says, her tone casual but pointed.

"Oh, right," you reply, then tell her your name. She repeats it to you and offers a smile and a hand. Her grip is warm but firm, and her smile is understated, but you notice it all the same.

"I'm Jimin"

Her name rolls over you like a mystery, simple yet layered. You get the feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye. And maybe, just maybe, she’s thinking the same thing about you.

The match kicks into high gear, and with every near miss or botched pass, the tension grows. You're so focused on the play that you almost miss the low chuckle beside you.

“Are they trying to lose possession?” Jimin says, biting back a grin as one of United’s midfielders gets dispossessed in a sloppy tackle.

You lean back in mock offense, shaking your head. “Bold words for someone cheering for a team that’s about to concede.”

She gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you! Tottenham has been flawless today.”

“Flawless? Did we watch the same first half? Pretty sure Son had a one-on-one and managed to kick it straight at the keeper.”

“That was strategy,” she counters, narrowing her eyes playfully. “He was… throwing the keeper off for the next one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ah, of course. Miss on purpose to make him overconfident. Genius.”

She smirks, rolling her eyes but not bothering to defend her logic. You find yourself grinning despite yourself. For someone so discreet, she’s got a lively, quick wit that keeps you on your toes.

A few minutes later, one of your defenders attempts a clearance and shanks it straight up into the air. Tottenham pounces on the mistake, but the shot flies well over the bar.

Jimin lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “See, that’s what happens when you make fun of Son. Karma works fast.”

“Yeah?” you reply, gesturing at the field. “Looks to me like karma hit your team there. Did that shot even stay in the stadium?”

Her laugh is soft but genuine, bubbling out before she can stop herself. “Okay, that was bad,” she admits, still giggling. “Maybe they’re tired from carrying the match.”

“Carrying? You mean carrying the ball to their goal line?”

Her jaw drops, and for a second, you’re sure she’s trying to come up with a comeback. Instead, she lightly nudges your arm with her elbow, a mock scolding gesture. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.” You grin, glancing sideways at her. She’s not looking at the field now, but at you, her face slightly hidden beneath her cap, her expression amused but softer than before.

As the game heats up, you both start reacting in sync—wincing at close calls and groaning when your respective teams miss chances. But there’s a lightness in your shared frustrations, and the banter flows naturally.

When United fumbles an easy counterattack, you drop your head into your hands. “Are we playing with our shoelaces tied together?”

Jimin bursts out laughing, practically leaning into you. “At least they’re consistent! I feel like this could be a comedy show.”

Moments later, Tottenham fluffs a promising free kick, sending the ball soaring into the stands. You glance at her and deadpan, “Your turn. What was that, a field goal attempt?”

She stares at the pitch, lips pressed together in an attempt to look serious, but the edges of her mouth twitch. “I have no explanation,” she says, shaking her head. “Let’s just say they’re… being humble.”

“Humble?”

“Yes,” she nods confidently. “They’re giving United false hope before destroying them.”

“Destroying themselves, maybe.”

You nudge her with your elbow this time, and the spark of challenge in her eyes is enough to tell you she’s about to retort. Before she can, the crowd erupts as United forces a save from Tottenham’s keeper. Both of you pause, swept up in the thrill of the moment.

When the noise dies down, Jimin grins at you. “Okay, fine. Your team has their moments.”

“You mean ‘moment,’ singular,” you reply. “We’ve only had one good play.”

She tilts her head, lips pursed. “You’re more self-aware than I expected.”

“Why, thank you,” you shoot back.

The words hang there for a second, easy but charged. She laughs softly, looking back at the pitch. It’s not much, just a small moment shared between two people in a stadium full of thousands. But somehow, it feels significant.

The final whistle blows and the stadium erupts into a medley of cheers and groans, depending on which side the fans were on. You barely notice. The game could’ve ended an hour ago for all you care. Your thoughts are preoccupied with the woman sitting next to you, the one who somehow turned a frustrating day on the sidelines into something you’re reluctant to let go of.

Jimin stretches her arms lazily, a satisfied grin on her face as the players begin to shake hands on the pitch. “Well, that was fun,” she says, pulling her hoodie tighter. “Stressful, but fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” you tease, gesturing to your team trudging off the field. “I’ve aged ten years watching that mess.”

She laughs, the sound genuine, and you can’t help but smile back. For someone who made such an effort to stay inconspicuous, she’d become the center of your focus. Her easy banter, quick wit, and that occasional spark of mischief made the ninety minutes flash by faster than you thought possible.

People start to filter out of the stands, and you glance at the growing exodus with a sudden pang of panic. You don’t want to leave, at least not before figuring out how to see her again. But how do you ask without sounding like… well, a complete idiot?

“Thanks for keeping me entertained,” you say, testing the waters. “I was worried I’d spend the night sulking, but you made it bearable.”

“Bearable?” she repeats, pretending to be offended. “What a glowing compliment.”

“Fine, you made it… slightly enjoyable,” you say, grinning.

She narrows her eyes at you but lets it slide, standing and dusting imaginary lint off her hoodie. “Well, I’m glad I could brighten up your very exciting night of sitting still.”

You watch as she adjusts her cap, clearly preparing to leave, and the urgency spikes. Your chance is slipping away, and your tongue feels like it’s made of lead.

“Hey,” you blurt out awkwardly, and she pauses, looking at you expectantly. You scramble to keep your tone light. “So… do you, uh, give your number to people who survived watching their team crash and burn?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, and for a split second, you worry you’ve blown it. But then a small, amused smile plays at her lips.

“Survived, huh?” she echoes, reaching for her phone. “You make a compelling case.”

Your heart jumps as she taps her screen and then holds it out toward you. You quickly input your number and save it. “I’m putting myself down as ‘The Entertained.’ Just so you don’t forget,” you say, trying to hide your nerves with humor.

She laughs softly, tucking the phone back into her hoodie pocket. “I’ll make sure I remember.”

As she starts to step away, she pauses and turns back to you, her expression thoughtful. “By the way, there’s this bar at The Lowry Hotel. Quiet, discreet, nice atmosphere. If you’re free tonight…”

Her words hang in the air, the invitation surprising but undeniably deliberate.

You blink, processing her suggestion as quickly as you can without looking like a complete idiot. “I… yeah, I’d like that,” you manage, your voice betraying the excitement you’re trying to keep in check.

“Good,” she says, her smile small but somehow brighter than the stadium lights. “Meet me there around eight?”

You nod, trying to play it cool despite the fact your heart is doing somersaults. “I’ll be there.”

She gives you a quick wave before disappearing into the dispersing crowd, leaving you sitting there with a racing pulse, a saved number, and a strange feeling that maybe tonight isn’t over just yet.

The crowd thins, the noise of the stadium fading into the background, but your thoughts are anything but quiet. Jimin’s parting words linger in your mind, looping like a highlight reel: Meet me there around eight. You’ve been invited to a lot of things over the years—interviews, parties, sponsorship deals—but this? This felt different.

You finally make your way to the dressing room, joining your teammates. Their banter is loud and animated, dissecting the game’s highs and lows, but you’re barely tuned in. A couple of them throw curious glances your way, probably picking up on your distracted demeanor, but you brush it off with noncommittal smiles and nods. The injury already drew enough unwanted sympathy; you weren’t about to add, “Oh, by the way, I met someone incredible in the stands tonight” into the mix.

After a quick round of goodbyes, you head home, the familiar comfort of your flat both a relief and a source of frustration. Tonight’s meeting looms, and for the first time in ages, you’re genuinely nervous.

Standing in front of your wardrobe, you stare blankly at the options. Button-ups feel too formal, but a hoodie seems too casual. And then there’s the crutch—practical, necessary, and ruining the aesthetic of every potential outfit you try to piece together. You sigh, slumping onto the edge of your bed.

“This shouldn’t be this hard,” you mutter to yourself. But it is.

It’s not just about the clothes. The pressure comes from how rare this feels—how rare she feels. She didn’t look at you like everyone else does, with that glimmer of recognition that usually comes just before the questions, the assumptions, the offers to take a picture. She laughed at your jokes, called you out when you were being cheeky, and for a while, you forgot about the brace around your leg and the ache of not playing.

There’s no way she knew who you were, right? She didn’t talk about goals or rivalries or the usual clichés you’ve grown used to hearing. She felt really—interested in you, not your career or your reputation.

You rub your hands over your face, both excited and nervous. It had been years since anyone made you feel that way. Fame had a way of isolating you, creating a chasm between you and the rest of the world. But Jimin? She didn’t feel like the world—she felt like the bridge you didn’t know you needed.

You glance at the clock: 6:45 p.m. The thought of being late tightens your chest, but the idea of overthinking and over-dressing makes you groan. Standing again, you sift through the closet with a new goal in mind—keep it simple.

Finally, you settle on a clean, dark jacket over a simple shirt, jeans that fit just right, and comfortable shoes that won’t make your crutch feel more awkward than it already does. There’s no denying the crutch complicates things, but for the first time, it feels secondary. Your nerves don’t come from the injury or how people might stare—they come from the thought of seeing her again.

You glance in the mirror and adjust your jacket. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. And besides, she already liked you enough to invite you out. Maybe tonight, for once, it’s not about appearances but the connection you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The excitement bubbles under your skin, tempered by discomfort but impossible to ignore. As you grab your keys and head out the door, you can’t stop thinking about the moment she smiled at you and said Good. Tonight felt like it could be something more than just another night—and you couldn’t wait to see if that was true.

The Lowry’s bar hums with gentle, quiet energy as you settle into your seat at the counter, the clink of glassware and a low murmur of voices in the background blending in an almost soothing way. You take in the surroundings—a few scattered patrons, cozy lighting—and fiddle with the cocktail napkin beneath your old fashioned, trying to distract yourself from the small knot of nerves that keeps tightening in your stomach.

You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been until the moment you sat down here, waiting. The minutes crawl by and your mind begins to overthink everything. What if she changes her mind and doesn’t show up? What if she realized inviting you out was a mistake? The simple thought twists something deep inside you.

But just as you’re about to take your first sip, a hand grazes your shoulder—light and gentle, like an electric jolt that cuts through the sea of your anxious thoughts. You snap your head around, and there she is—standing before you, an effortless beauty.

She’s dressed in an emerald shirt dress, and the way the light hits it gives the fabric a liquid shine that you can’t help but notice. The rich green hue complements her fair skin, and the dress moves gracefully with her every motion. It fits perfectly, cinched just enough at the waist to highlight her figure. The sleeves fall delicately, and there’s a small slit along one side that catches your eye as she shifts her weight. Her long black hair tumbles over one shoulder in soft waves, framing her face in a way that somehow makes her seem even more striking than when you first met.

Her look is confident, but she doesn’t radiate the usual celebrity vibe—there's no over-the-top flair or pretense. She seems grounded, accessible, someone who isn’t caught up in her appearance, even though it’s clear she could make heads turn effortlessly. As she takes the seat beside you, there’s no sign of the usual guarded behavior of someone used to the spotlight. In that moment, she’s just another person you’re meeting—and it’s oddly refreshing.

“You didn’t have to wait this long,” she teases with a soft, playful smile, her eyes warm with that casual, no-pressure charm. “Were you worried I’d bail?”

You can’t help but feel a little more at ease. “Not at all,” you reply, brushing away the thought of being stood up. “I just got here early.”

She chuckles a sound that immediately sets you even more at ease. “You're definitely on time. I, on the other hand, maybe took my time getting ready.” She taps her fingers on the bar and grins, looking slightly sheepish, though the confidence never fully fades from her presence.

You look her up and down, no longer trying to ignore how stunning she looks in that dress. You take in the way she’s carrying herself without even trying too hard, and for the first time in what feels like a long while, you feel normal sitting beside someone.

“You look great,” you finally manage, your voice softer than you intend, surprised by how genuine your compliment comes across. She didn’t need any fanfare, no show of luxuries or grand gestures—she just is.

“Thanks,” she says, slightly flustered but masking it with a small shrug. “I figured this dress would be fine for a restaurant of this level.”

“I was trying to look decent, too,” you joke. “But I wasn’t sure what ‘decent’ meant in this situation.”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “That makes two of us,” she says, leaning against the bar a little more comfortably as she orders a drink, her tone laid-back and completely at ease.

“So,” she says after a moment, glancing at your drink. “What is it about an old-fashioned you like? Never had one before myself.”

You pause, surprised at the genuine curiosity in her voice—like she’s asking not because she’s trying to keep up with some conversation routine, but because she truly wants to know. “I don’t know, really,” you respond, grateful for the chance to dive into the simplicity of this interaction. “It’s reliable, you know? Like me—when it comes to drinks. Doesn’t need a bunch of flair. Just straight to the point.”

“Straight to the point?” she echoes, eyes gleaming in amusement. “Then I’m glad I’m not a ‘complicated cocktail.’” She laughs at her own joke, nudging you playfully.

It’s funny how quickly the conversation flows—how easily the weight of self-awareness seems to vanish. You’re talking to her just like you would any ordinary person, and she’s responding like you’re just an ordinary guy. For that moment, there’s nothing remarkable about either of you; there’s no fame, no headlines, just two people trying to have a quiet night out after a chance encounter. And for some reason, that makes everything feel all the more real.

As you settle into the rhythm of the conversation, the noise of the world around you fades into the background. And with each passing second, it’s harder and harder to picture the world that she could potentially live in—the one you don’t know about, where she could be someone completely different from the woman you’re laughing with right now.

The conversation flows effortlessly between you two as the night stretches on, each exchange between you both deeper than the last but still lighthearted enough to make you both chuckle without thinking too hard. There’s an ease to it—a sense of freedom in just talking, being completely unaffected by the distractions that life usually throws at you.

“You know, sometimes I think it would be nice to just… disappear,” Jimin says, taking a sip of her drink, her gaze distant for a brief moment. “Not permanently, just… vanish for a while and live somewhere where nobody knows your name. No expectations, no pressures. Just doing whatever you want, you know?”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of understanding. There’s something so undeniably human about the need for freedom. “I get that. It’s easy to get caught up in everything else, especially when people start treating you differently. It's almost like you can’t even exist for yourself anymore.”

She looks over at you, her eyes thoughtful, catching the light from the bar just enough for her long lashes to cast soft shadows against her cheeks. There’s an almost wistful look to her, but it doesn’t diminish the softness in her gaze. “Exactly! Like… you can’t be your real self, because you’re always someone else in their eyes. Whether it’s someone’s idea of who you should be, or the version of you they want you to be, you stop knowing who you are.”

You smile gently, admiring the way her eyes shift when she speaks, the way her voice seems to take on a dreamier, more intimate tone, revealing a side of her you’ve never seen on stage or through the screen. “Yeah,” you reply, “I get it more than you probably think. I’d love to just take a break, and escape for a bit. No cameras. Just… do whatever feels right.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. “Seems like we’re both yearning for the same thing,” she says. “Maybe we’ll just disappear together.”

The weight of her words sits between you, but before either of you can fully sink into it, she lets out a small laugh. “Can you imagine? You and me, in some random country, pretending to be regular tourists.”

“You think we’d blend in?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “If people saw you, they’d probably think we were famous from the second we step out.”

“Not true,” she counters, leaning closer, her laugh becoming brighter. “I could wear sunglasses the whole time, and no one would know it’s me.”

“Ha, well I could walk around and claim I’m a professional soccer player for, like… a tiny club or something,” you lied, leaning back in your chair, resting your hand on your drink, you don’t want her entire view about your profession, you want her to genuinely get to know you.

Her eyes flash with mischief. “You? A soccer player? I’ve seen your crutch. Hard to pull that off.” Her words are teasing, but there’s a genuine lightness in her voice that you can’t help but smile at.

She shakes her head, her laughter twinkling like it’s a shared secret, and you catch yourself for a second, admiring how incredibly radiant she looks in this moment. It’s not just the way her face lights up or the way her dress catches the bar lights; it’s the sense of comfort she exudes as if you both get what the other needs.

Suddenly, the waiter comes over, breaking the mood entirely. He’s an older man, and you can see a certain tiredness in his eyes. “Excuse me, but we’ll be closing soon,” he says politely, his voice kind but firm. His words are almost apologetic as he gestures around the bar, indicating that the night is ending.

You glance at Jimin, and both of you are suddenly brought back to the reality of time. There's a momentary, almost imperceptible shift between you both—a small sigh, a quick look, and then that familiar weight of the outside world pressing in.

"Right," you say, laughing awkwardly, “Guess it’s already late, huh?”

Jimin seems to be calculating something, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought before meeting your gaze with a sudden gleam of mischief. “Actually,” she begins, her voice dropping to a playful murmur, “if you don’t mind… we could hang out in my room for a bit after. I always end up missing out on the fun when things get too busy. Plus… you don’t seem to be in any rush to go anywhere.”

You grin at her, finding it impossible not to tease. "Ah, so you’re trying to keep me around for more of your delightful company, huh?"

She raises an eyebrow in return, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What, are you saying I couldn’t get enough of you?"

You laugh lightly, the playfulness sparking once again between you two. “You’re right, I could see why you’d need some more of me.” You give her a cheeky wink, and even though you’re half-joking, the warmth from the playful exchange makes you feel suddenly at ease. In her presence, things just seem... lighter.

Jimin laughs again, a sound that sends a pleasant shiver through your chest. “Maybe just this once. You’d be surprised how often I’ve had to cancel plans or end up by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my time alone, but… tonight’s been Amazing”

The sincerity of her words lingers with you for a moment before your grin returns. "Well, I guess I’ll take you up on your offer," you say, nodding toward the door. 

You both stand, the light atmosphere between you two still strong, keeping things easy and uncomplicated as you begin to walk toward the exit. You’re about to follow her when she turns and pauses, giving you a look that’s almost too soft to be fleeting but too playful to be serious.

“Well, come on then," she says, her voice low but excited, full of intent. “Are we going or not?”

The walk to Jimin’s room is lighthearted, with teasing remarks flying back and forth, keeping the mood buoyant. When the elevator doors open, she playfully gestures for you to follow her, her emerald dress swishing gently as she leads the way down the hallway.

“You didn’t expect a five-star suite, did you?” she says over her shoulder, unlocking the door.

“Of course not,” you tease. “But given the night’s events, I’m just glad you’re not leading me to the janitor’s closet.”

She bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she pushes the door open. Her room is modest yet elegant, with warm lighting and a cozy feel. It’s much less extravagant than you’d expect, which, in a way, fits perfectly with the down-to-earth side of her you’ve gotten to know.

As the door shuts behind you, she kicks off her shoes and flops onto the small sofa by the window. “Okay, we’ve discussed soccer and random dreams, but what about food? What’s your guilty pleasure?” she asks, patting the seat beside her.

You drop down onto the couch, leaning back comfortably. “Pizza,” you admit almost sheepishly. “The greasy, extra-cheese kind that’s probably got more calories than I need in a week.”

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Pizza? That’s so basic! I thought you’d be more creative. Aren’t athletes supposed to have fancy nutrition plans or something?”

“I do,” you retort, smirking. “But pizza is my cheat day savior. Don’t tell me you’re above a classic slice.”

She tilts her head, grinning. “Fine. But if we’re talking cheat foods, I win. Tteokbokki—spicy rice cakes, no competition. If there’s a heaven, it’s probably made of that.”

“Tteokbokki?” you repeat, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me mushy rice cakes drenched in spicy sauce beat pizza?”

“First of all, mushy is the wrong word,” she says, jabbing her finger toward you in mock offense. “And second, tteokbokki is a cultural treasure. You don’t deserve it.”

You both crack up at each other’s exaggerated expressions, bantering back and forth about which food reigns supreme, each escalating into increasingly ridiculous arguments. When you both tire out, the mood has shifted to a calmer energy.

The conversation starts to fade naturally, and silence settles in like a comfortable blanket. You’re sitting closer than you realized, her arm resting just inches from yours. The soft glow of the lamp lights up her features—the gentle curve of her cheekbones, the glint of her eyes that seem to hold a secret only she knows.

And then, without even fully realizing it, you both move at the same time. You lean in, and so does she, the space between you evaporating in an instant.

When your lips meet, the world seems to fade into the background. The kiss is slow and unhurried, and yet it feels like time itself has stopped. Her lips are warm and soft, fitting perfectly against yours, and for those few seconds, it’s as if nothing else matters. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough that you’re sure she can hear it.

The kiss lasts only a moment, but it feels eternal, filled with a mix of tenderness and unspoken emotion that you hadn’t realized had built up between you both. When you finally pull back, your eyes meet hers. She’s looking at you, her expression unreadable but not unhappy.

And then it hits you—what just happened. Your stomach flips with a mixture of exhilaration and nerves.

“I… uh…” you begin, trying to find the words, but none come.

Jimin blinks, then lets out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension just enough. “Well… that happened,” she says, her voice warm, laced with the same kind of tension that you’re feeling.

“I wasn’t planning on…” you trail off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

“Neither was I,” she says, her lips curving into a small smile. Something is comforting in the way she’s looking at you, her hand unconsciously brushing against yours.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the gravity of what just happened settling in. But beneath the surface of the shock, you feel something else—a flicker of something new, something that feels undeniably right. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken emotions, the electricity between you both palpable. You wonder if you should say something, break the silence, or try to bring things back to the easygoing vibe you’d both been enjoying all night. But before you can even think of what to say, Jimin shifts slightly on the couch, her fingers brushing against your knee as if testing the waters.

You glance over at her, and there’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before—a quiet intensity, a question, and an answer all at once. She’s still close, close enough that you can see the way her lips part slightly, close enough to catch the faint sweetness of her perfume mingled with the softness of something else—moisturizer, maybe, lingering on her skin.

Then, without a word, she leans in.

Her hands find your face first, delicate fingers framing your jaw as her lips crash against yours with a sudden fervor that takes your breath away. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering doubt. The kiss is deep and consuming. Her body presses against yours in a way that leaves no space between you, and her warmth is seared into you through the thin fabric of her dress.

You respond instinctively, your hands moving to her waist as if drawn there by some unseen force. Her dress feels silky beneath your fingers, cool to the touch compared to the heat radiating from her skin. The kiss grows more passionate with every second, her lips soft and full, tasting faintly of the wine she sipped earlier, mingled with something uniquely her.

Her hands slide to the back of your neck, her touch firm yet tender as she tilts her head, deepening the kiss further. Your senses are overloaded—her scent, her touch, the way her body seems to fit perfectly against yours. The world outside her room ceases to exist, and all that remains is her—her lips, her hands, the sweet and intoxicating press of her body against yours.

You’re acutely aware of everything in this moment: the way her hair brushes against your cheek, the subtle warmth of her breath as the kiss slows just slightly, becoming less urgent but no less intense. Her lips move against yours with a rhythm that feels both deliberate and effortless, each motion sending a shiver down your spine.

Her moisturizer leaves a faint taste of sweetness on her skin as you kiss her deeply, a detail that makes this moment feel impossibly more intimate. The air grows heavier between you, charged with an unspoken understanding that transcends words. Her hands slide downward, resting against your chest as she finally pulls back just a fraction, her lips hovering close to yours as if reluctant to let go entirely.

When her eyes meet yours again, they’re smoldering, and her cheeks flush in a way that only makes her more stunning. She lets out a soft, unsteady breath, and her lips curve into the faintest smile.

“Well…” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “That should clear up any doubts, don’t you think?”

Her tone is teasing, but there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in her gaze that makes your chest tighten. You can’t help but laugh softly, the tension breaking just slightly as you rest your forehead lightly against hers.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice husky and tinged with disbelief. “Message received loud and clear.”

She smiles again, her thumb brushing absently against your cheek as her gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes. It’s clear she’s not in a rush to move away, and you realize that, for the first time in a long while, you feel entirely at ease—no pretenses, no masks, just her and you, connected in a way that feels both new and somehow inevitable.

For a moment, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The glow of the soft lighting dances on Jimin's skin, accentuating the curve of her jaw, the delicate shape of her lips, and the faint blush blooming across her cheeks. She looks breathtaking—no, beyond breathtaking—and you can’t help but get lost in the surreal nature of the situation.

Here you are, sitting so intimately close to someone who seemed to fit perfectly with you as if the universe itself had aligned every star to bring you together in this moment. But the intensity of it all—the vulnerability, the yearning in her gaze—has your thoughts racing to places you shouldn’t linger.

Without even realizing it, you lean forward again, capturing her lips in a slower, more deliberate kiss that is still filled with the magnetic pull you feel toward her. Her hands, soft and unyielding, begin to explore your chest, tracing light circles over the fabric of your shirt, the warmth of her palms seeping through. A faint shiver courses through you, but a voice in the back of your head—one part reason, one part hesitation—makes you pull back.

You rest your forehead against hers for a lingering moment, your breath still catching up with the intensity of her kiss. “I don’t know if we should go any further,” you whisper, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “I don’t want us to do something we might regret tomorrow morning.”

The room is silent save for the faint sound of the city outside, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Jimin doesn’t respond immediately, and her silence feels louder than anything she could have said. It creates a sinking feeling in your chest, and for a split second, you wonder if you’ve completely misread her—or worse, let her down.

Taking her lack of response as a quiet agreement, you swallow hard and gently start to shift away from her. “I should probably go,” you murmur, rising to your feet. There’s a soft ache in your voice that even you can hear. This isn’t what you want, but the last thing you’d ever want to do is make her feel rushed into something.

As you head toward the door, a soft, almost imperceptible sound makes you pause—a faint rustling, followed by the light tug of fabric. You glance down, and your heart nearly stops when you see her slender hand gripping the edge of your shirt. Her touch is gentle yet firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What if I want this?” she asks softly, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. You turn to face her, and the raw emotion in her eyes catches you off guard. “What if I want you? What if this… is what I need?”

The vulnerability in her voice hits you like a wave. Her confession, so open, so unguarded, leaves you speechless for a moment. You can see the truth in her expression, the way her hands cling to your shirt as if letting go would shatter something fragile between you both. She’s not being impulsive—she’s being honest, and it terrifies you how much you want to believe her.

“Jimin,” you whisper, stepping closer and gently cupping her face with your hands, your thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “Are you sure about this?” Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, caught somewhere between hope and uncertainty.

Her gaze never wavers as she nods, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve never been more sure,” she murmurs, her hands sliding up to rest against your chest. “You’re not like anyone else. With you, I feel... free. I don’t want this night to end.”

Her words wash over you, and any lingering doubts crumble under the weight of the sincerity in her voice.

“Nor do I,” you whisper into her neck as your lips place gentle kisses all over them. Her skin was smooth and smelled like almond vanilla, you couldn’t get enough of her. 

Raw desire takes you over more and more, chipping away at your control as your hands caress and explore her body.

“Jimin, any more than this and I won’t stop, this is your last chance to run,” You warn.

There is no reply from her side, but her actions speak a hundred words. The dress she is wearing is now on the floor, exposing her well-sculpted body. The dress she wore earlier didn’t do enough justice to how perfect this woman is. 

Looking at her body in nothing but a bra and panties puts you in awe. How could something so perfect exist? The need to touch and feel her takes over and you rush to her. The kiss was a mess both of you longed for each other, there was a need to get closer to her that you couldn’t satisfy. Jimin’s legs now warped around your waist and her back slammed against the wall, the kiss was intoxicating but the need to worship every single inch of her body was more.

The kiss breaks when you pull away from Jimin much to her dismay but you are not going to let go of this chance to worship her body. You trail kisses from her cheeks to her collarbone. Her gentle moans and gasps are driving you crazy. You want this woman screaming and moaning your name. 

Your lips latch onto her neck, biting, and nibbling at her sensitive skin. It was going to leave a mark on her pale skin but you didn’t care at least not right now. While your lips were placing naughty little kisses all over her neck, Jimin’s legs let go of you and she is now with each leg around yours. Your hand slowly moves to her panties. 

Jimin soaked through her panties and she freezes up with a loud gasp when your hand grabs her inner thigh. Looking at how she reacts, you tease her a little, hands hovering over her thighs tracing her skin and pulling away just before it reaches the place she wants it at.

Jimin whines when your fingers move in the opposite direction. She can’t take much more teasing, and you finally give her the touch she needs. Jimin let out a loud gasp; you rub her clothed pussy for a few more seconds. The room is filled with the sound of Jimin’s sweet moans; her legs are giving in. 

“Just take off my panties. Please just stop teasing,” Jimin says, there is growing frustration in her voice, and you are not going to deny her any more pleasure. 

The very next moment, you tear away Jimin’s panties and are presented with a glisteningly wet pussy and you are mesmerized by it.

“D-don’t stare,” Jimin’s hands now cover up the very thing you so desperately want to taste.

“No need to be shy, Jimin; you are perfect. Let me worship this perfection, and I will give you a night that you won’t be able to forget,” You say as you place a kiss on the hands that are covering her crotch.

Jimin’s breath hitches at your words, her hands trembling slightly as they shield her from your hungry gaze. The tenderness in your voice, laced with raw desire, sends a shiver down her spine. She hesitates for a moment, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, but then slowly—agonizingly slowly—she lets her hands fall away, revealing herself to you completely. Her vulnerability only makes her more breathtaking, and you feel your own heartbeat thundering in your chest, a perfect rhythm to match hers.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your voice thick with awe as you lower yourself closer, your breath warm against her skin. Jimin squirms slightly, her thighs twitching under your touch, but there’s a flicker of trust in her eyes that tells you she’s ready—more than ready. You press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, eliciting a shaky whimper from her lips, and it’s like a spark igniting something primal between you both.

Your hands slide up her thighs, gentle yet firm, parting her legs just enough to give you access to her glistening core. The heat radiating from her is intoxicating, and when your lips finally brush against her, Jimin’s head falls back with a moan that’s equal parts relief and desperation. “Oh… oh God,” she gasps, her fingers instinctively threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if she’s afraid you’ll tease her again.

You don’t. Not this time. Your tongue traces her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, the way she trembles beneath you. She’s sweet and addictive, and every little sound she makes—every hitch of her breath, every choked whimper—fuels the fire building inside you. You can feel how much she needs this, how much she needs you, and it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of you, locked in this perfect, electric moment.

Jimin’s hips buck slightly, chasing the sensation, and you respond by deepening your movements, your tongue circling her clit with a deliberate tenderness that has her crying out your name. “Yes—please, don’t stop,” she begs, her voice raw and unraveling. You glance up at her, and the sight nearly undoes you: her eyes half-lidded with lust, her lips parted as she pants, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s a vision of pure, unfiltered need, and you’re determined to give her everything she craves.

Your hands grip her hips, anchoring her as you lose yourself in her, the intimacy of it overwhelming. The way she responds to every flick of your tongue, every press of your lips—it’s like she was made for you, her body fitting against yours as if it’s always belonged there. You can feel the tension coiling tight inside her, her legs trembling as she teeters on the edge, and you want nothing more than to push her over it, to see her fall apart in your arms.

“I’m so close,” Jimin whimpers, her voice breaking as her fingers tighten in your hair. “You feel so good—I can’t—” Her words dissolve into a moan as you suck gently on her clit, your eyes locked on hers. The connection between you is palpable, a current of heat and trust and something deeper that neither of you needs to name. You can feel her unraveling, her body arching toward you, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

When she comes, it’s with a cry that echoes through the room, her entire body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over her. You don’t stop, guiding her through it with slow, reverent strokes, tasting every pulse of her release. Her hands clutch at you desperately, grounding herself as she rides out the high, and you feel a surge of pride and adoration swelling in your chest. She’s yours at this moment—completely, utterly—and you’re hers just the same.

As her breathing steadies, Jimin looks down at you, her eyes glassy and soft, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You’re… incredible,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but dripping with affection. She reaches for you, pulling you up to her, and when your lips meet hers, it’s a kiss that’s slow and deep, tasting of her and the intimacy you’ve just shared. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours, and it’s like the two of you are one entity, fused by something beyond words.

“I’ve never felt like this,” you admit against her lips, your hand cupping her face as you gaze into her eyes.

“Neither have I,” Jimin whispers back, her voice a soft confession that sends a jolt of heat through you. Her hands roam your chest, tugging at your shirt with an urgency that mirrors the ache building inside you. You help her strip it off, and soon her fingers are tracing the lines of your body, her touch igniting every nerve. She pulls you closer, her lips brushing your ear as she murmurs, “I need you… all of you.”

Her voice undoes you. You shed the rest of your clothes in a frenzy, and when you’re finally bare before her, Jimin’s eyes darken with desire, her breath catching as she takes you in. You position yourself between her thighs, the heat of her core radiating against you, and for a moment, you just look at her—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her chest rises and falls with anticipation. She’s perfect, and you’re about to lose yourself in her completely.

You guide yourself to her entrance, teasing her just for a second, and Jimin’s hips lift toward you, a silent plea. Then, slowly, you push inside her, and the sensation is overwhelming—tight, wet, and so warm that it steals the breath from your lungs. A groan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, as her walls clench around you, welcoming you in like you were always meant to be there. “Fuck, Jimin,” you rasp, your hands gripping her hips as you sink deeper. “You feel… incredible.”

Jimin’s response is a broken moan, her head tipping back as her nails dig into your shoulders. “Oh God, you’re—so deep,” she gasps, her voice trembling with the intensity of it. She’s stretched around you, her body molding to yours like it was crafted just for this moment, and the way she shudders beneath you tells you she’s feeling every inch as keenly as you are. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, locking onto yours with a look that’s equal parts vulnerability and ecstasy. “It’s like… you’re perfect for me,” she breathes, and the words hit you like a tidal wave, amplifying the intimacy of being buried inside her.

You start to move, slow at first, savoring the way she pulses around you with every thrust. Each motion draws a whimper from her, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, deeper. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice a sultry melody that drives you wild. You lean down to kiss her, your tongues tangling as your hips find a rhythm, steady and deep. The friction is exquisite, her slick heat enveloping you, and every thrust feels like a declaration of how seamlessly you fit together.

After a few minutes, you shift, gently guiding her onto her side. You lift one of her legs over your shoulder, and when you slide back into her from this new angle, Jimin’s cry is sharp and unrestrained. “Oh—yes,” she moans, her hands fisting the sheets as you hit a spot that makes her entire body quake. You can feel the difference too—the way her walls tighten even more, the way every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you both. “You’re so good,” she pants, her eyes glazed with lust as she reaches for you, needing to feel your skin against hers.

You oblige, leaning down to press your chest to hers, your breaths mingling as you pick up the pace. The position lets you grind against her clit with every thrust, and Jimin’s moans turn into desperate, breathless cries. “I can’t—I can’t get enough of you,” she gasps, her hands clutching your back, pulling you impossibly closer. The heat of her, the way she clenches around you, is driving you to the edge, but you hold on, wanting to see her unravel again.

You pull out briefly, earning a needy whimper from Jimin, but you’re quick to reposition her. “On your knees,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire, and she complies eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. When you enter her from behind, the angle is devastating—for both of you. She’s tighter like this, her ass pressing against your hips as you thrust deep, and the sound she makes is pure bliss, a high-pitched moan that reverberates through the room. “Fuck, you’re—so big,” she groans, her head dropping forward as she pushes back against you, meeting every thrust with equal fervor.

You grip her hips, steadying her as you lose yourself in the rhythm, each movement drawing a symphony of gasps and moans from her. “You take me so well,” you growl, your own pleasure mounting as her walls flutter around you, signaling she’s close again. You reach around, your fingers finding her clit, and the moment you start rubbing tight circles, Jimin’s entire body tenses. “Yes—right there,” she cries, her voice breaking as she rocks against you, chasing that peak.

The sight of her like this—back arched, sweat glistening on her skin, her hair a mess from your hands—sends a surge of possessive pride through you. She’s yours, and you’re hers, and the way you move together feels like a dance you’ve known forever. You thrust harder, deeper, and she matches you, her moans growing louder, more desperate. “I’m gonna—” she starts, but the words dissolve into a scream as she comes undone, her body shaking as her orgasm rips through her.

You slow just enough to let her ride it out, but you’re not done—not by a long shot. You pull her up so her back is flush against your chest, your arms wrapping around her as you thrust up into her still-trembling body. “You’re amazing,” you whisper into her ear, your lips brushing the shell of it as you move slow and deliberate, savoring the aftershocks that ripple through her. Jimin turns her head, capturing your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss, and the way she clenches around you tells you she’s still lost in the haze of pleasure.

“You feel so good inside me,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice soft but dripping with need. Her hands reach back, tangling in your hair as she grinds against you, urging you to keep going. And you do, shifting her again—this time onto her back, her legs spread wide as you settle between them. When you slide back in, the look in her eyes is pure adoration, and it fuels you as much as the physical sensation of being buried in her once more.

You gaze down at Jimin, her body spread out beneath you, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The connection between you feels unbreakable, a current of desire and intimacy that keeps pulling you both deeper. You thrust into her again, slow and deliberate, and her moan is soft but laden with need. “You’re driving me crazy,” she breathes, her hands sliding up your arms to grip your shoulders, pulling you down for a kiss that’s all heat and hunger.

The rhythm builds naturally, your hips rocking into hers as the bed creaks beneath you. Her legs tighten around your waist, urging you deeper, and the way she clenches around you sends a shiver up your spine. “Fuck, Jimin, you’re so tight,” you groan, your voice rough as the pleasure coils tighter inside you. She meets your thrusts with her own, her hips lifting off the mattress, and the friction is maddening. Her breath hitches, her nails digging into your skin, and you can feel her trembling on the edge again.

“I’m—oh God, I’m coming,” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut as her body arches beneath you. Her orgasm hits hard, her walls pulsing around you in waves that nearly undo you. You grit your teeth, thrusting through it, and the sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream—pushes you over the brink. “Jimin—fuck,” you growl, spilling inside her, your release crashing through you with an intensity that leaves you dizzy. You collapse against her, both of you panting, your foreheads pressed together as you ride out the aftershocks.

But you’re not done—not even close. After a moment, you pull out, earning a whimper of protest from Jimin, but you’re already moving. “Come here,” you murmur, guiding her off the bed and toward the wall. She follows, her legs shaky but her eyes alight with anticipation. You press her back against the cool surface, lifting one of her legs to hook around your hip. “I want you right here,” you say, your voice low and possessive, and she nods eagerly, her hands gripping your shoulders.

You slide back into her, and the angle makes her gasp, her head tipping back against the wall. “Oh—yes,” she moans, her voice echoing faintly in the room. She’s still sensitive from before, and every thrust sends a jolt through her, her body trembling against yours. You brace one hand against the wall beside her head, the other holding her thigh as you move, deep and relentless. “You feel so fucking good,” you mutter, your lips brushing her neck as you nip at her skin. The heat of her, the way she grips you, it’s intoxicating, and you can feel the pressure building again.

Jimin’s hands slide down your back, her nails raking lightly as she clings to you. “Harder,” she pleads, her voice raw, and you oblige, slamming into her with a force that makes her cry out. “Right there—don’t stop,” she gasps, her body tensing as another orgasm builds. You reach between you, your fingers finding her clit, and that’s all it takes. She comes undone with a scream, her body shuddering against the wall, and the sight of her—wild and lost in pleasure—triggers your own release. You groan her name, your hips stuttering as you cum inside her again, the sensation overwhelming as you press yourself flush against her.

You’re both breathless, but the fire between you hasn’t dimmed. After a moment, you pull her away from the wall, her body pliant in your arms, and guide her toward the small desk in the corner of the room. “One more place,” you whisper, a grin tugging at your lips, and Jimin’s eyes sparkle with mischief despite her exhaustion. You turn her around, bending her over the desk, her hands bracing against the edge as she arches her back instinctively.

“God, you’re perfect,” you say, running your hands over her hips before sliding back into her from behind. She’s slick with arousal and your previous releases, and the sensation of entering her again is almost too much. “So wet for me,” you murmur, and she moans in agreement, pushing back against you. Your voice rough as you start to move, slow at first, then faster as her moans grow louder.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” Jimin pants, her voice breaking as you thrust deep, hitting that spot that makes her tremble. The desk rattles beneath her, papers sliding off as you pick up the pace, your hands gripping her hips to keep her steady. She’s a mess of gasps and whimpers, her body responding to every move you make, and you can feel her tightening around you again. “I’m gonna cum—again,” she warns, her voice desperate, and you lean forward, your chest pressed to her back as you drive into her harder.

“Do it,” you growl, your own climax building as her walls flutter around you. She cums with a cry, her body shaking beneath you, and the way she pulses around your cock sends you spiraling into your third release. “Jimin—shit,” you groan, spilling into her once more, your vision blurring as the pleasure crashes over you. You hold her close, both of you trembling as you ride out the high together, the desk creaking under your combined weight.

Finally, you pull out, your legs weak but your heart full. Jimin turns to face you, her face flushed and glowing, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips. “You’re insatiable,” she teases, her voice soft as she steps into your arms. You kiss her gently, tasting the salt of sweat on her lips, and guide her back to the bed.

You collapse onto the mattress together, limbs tangled as you pull her close. “You’re amazing,” you murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She nestles against your chest, her breathing slowing as exhaustion takes over.

“So are you,” she whispers, her voice fading as her eyes flutter shut. You feel the weight of her body relax against yours, her warmth seeping into you, and as your own eyelids grow heavy, you drift off, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the tangled sheets. You stir awake, a faint smile tugging at your lips as memories of the night flood back—Jimin’s touch, her voice, the way you fit together so perfectly. You reach out, expecting to feel her warmth beside you, but your hand meets only cool, empty fabric. Your eyes snap open, and a jolt of confusion hits you. She’s not there.

“Jimin?” you call softly, sitting up, your voice hoarse from sleep. The room is silent, eerily still. You scan the space—the wall where you’d pinned her, the desk still askew from your passion—but there’s no sign of her. Panic creeps in as you stumble out of bed, your heart pounding. “She wouldn’t just leave,” you mutter to yourself, tearing through the room in a desperate search for something, anything—a phone number, a hint of where she’s gone.

You flip over pillows, rummage through the bedside drawer, even check under the bed, but there’s nothing. The clothes she’d worn are gone, her presence erased as if she’d never been there. Your chest tightens, a sinking dread replacing the warmth you’d felt just hours ago. Then, on the desk, beneath a shifted paper, you spot it—a small, folded note.

With trembling hands, you pick it up, unfolding it to reveal two simple words in her delicate handwriting: Thank you. That’s it. No explanation, no goodbye, just those two words staring back at you, cold and final. Your breath catches, and a sharp ache blooms in your chest, an icy chill permeating through your bones, leaving you cold and empty. You sink onto the edge of the bed, the note crumpling in your fist as your heart shatters. She’s gone, and all you’re left with is the ghost of her touch and a thank you that feels like a knife to the soul.

The days after Jimin’s disappearance stretch into weeks, then months, each one heavier than the last. You replay that night in your mind endlessly—her gasps, her laughter, the way she’d clung to you—searching for clues you might’ve missed. It’s as if she’d vanished into thin air, leaving only that crumpled thank you note, now worn from being unfolded and refolded in your pocket. Life drags on, hollow and incomplete, and though you try to move forward, a piece of you stays tethered to her, aching with unanswered questions.

Preseason arrives like a lifeline. You’re a midfielder for Manchester United, freshly recovered from a nagging ankle injury that sidelined you for months. The team’s trip to South Korea for a small tournament feels like a chance to shake off the rust—both physical and emotional. The first match is against a local club, and you start on the bench, easing back into the rhythm of the game. The whistle blows for halftime, and you’re jogging back to the pitch, mind focused on tactics, when the stadium erupts into cheers for the halftime performance.

You glance up at the Jumbotron out of habit, and your heart stops. It’s her—Jimin—moving across the stage with a group of dancers, her presence commanding the crowd. She’s radiant, her movements sharp yet fluid, every step a testament to her grace. You freeze mid-stride, the noise of the stadium fading into a dull roar as your eyes lock on her. It’s been months, but the sight of her cracks something open inside you, a flood of longing and disbelief. Then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, her gaze flicks toward the sideline—toward you.

For a split second, her mask slips. Her eyes widen, her step falters ever so slightly, a hiccup in her otherwise flawless performance. Most wouldn’t notice, but you do—you know her, even after all this time. The moment passes, and she recovers, finishing the routine with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. You’re left staring, breathless, as the crowd roars and your teammates nudge you back into motion. The second half begins, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in the shock of seeing her again. You play on autopilot, your body moving while your thoughts whirl—Why is she here? Why didn’t she stay? Manchester United wins, but the victory feels distant, overshadowed by the ghost of her on that stage.

The final whistle blows, and you’re off the pitch in an instant, sprinting toward the tunnel. You scan the shadows, heart hammering, hoping—praying—she’ll be there, waiting. But the tunnel is empty save for staff and lingering reporters. Disappointment crashes over you, sharp and familiar, and you trudge to the locker room, mechanically showering and changing. She’s slipped away again, and the realization stings deeper than before.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, a teammate claps you on the back. “Oi, mate, someone’s waiting for you outside. Looked pretty anxious.” Your pulse spikes, and you don’t even respond—just bolt for the exit, shoving past curious glances. You step into the cool evening air, and there she is, standing by a barrier, her dancer’s outfit swapped for a simple hoodie and jeans. Her eyes meet yours, and the world narrows to just the two of you, the months apart dissolving in an instant.

You stop a few feet away, breath catching as you take her in—her nervous fidgeting, the way she bites her lip. She looks different, yet achingly familiar. Neither of you moves for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. Then, almost in unison, you both speak, voices soft and tentative.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” she echoes.

And in that single word, a fragile thread reconnects, trembling with possibility.

TBC

[dollishmehrayan]

HOW BATBOYS COMFORT INSECURE READER ── .✦

a/n: I celebrated my birthday and i had a fun time and tysm to all the people who wished me a hppay birthday (a lot tbh I was shocked and so happy) but this was a request by @cup-of-doodles !! so yeah (enjoyy)

(Tags: batboys x insecure!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments for Days: Dick would not hold back. “You think I look good? Sweetheart, you’re the real catch here.” He’d follow up with a series of exaggerated compliments, like, “If beauty were a crime, you’d be serving a life sentence.” And then yk he’ll be like your hype man of like this tiktok audio (here).

Goofy Distraction: To lighten the mood, Dick would do something ridiculously goofy, like pretending to be a terrible dancer and saying, “See, you’re already doing better than me.” He’d shimmy awkwardly across the room just to make you laugh but if you cry even more he might feel guilty.

Overprotective Vibe: He’d pull you into a hug, ruffling your hair. “You’re perfect the way you are, and if anyone says otherwise, I’ll literally punch them in the face. Just give me the word.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy Compliment: He’d cross his arms and look you up and down, pretending to be unimpressed. “You’re lucky I love you, because damn, you’re fine as hell, and I can’t even look at you without getting distracted. It’s annoying.”

Jokes to Distract You: Jason would then casually add, “But if you keep saying you’re not perfect, I’m gonna start charging you for all these therapy sessions I’m giving you.” His face might be all grumpy, but the look in his eyes is soft, reassuring you.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Logical Support: Tim would approach it in his usual, logical way. “Okay, so you feel insecure about that? Let’s talk it through. Statistically speaking, you’re practically flawless, the ratio between your lips and eyes are perfect with your nose calculating right in the perfect spot.” He’d likely pull out a notebook, listing all the reasons you're amazing, with a dry, humorous commentary.

Techy Distraction: To cheer you up, Tim would start showing you funny memes or videos he’s saved. “See? This is how you should feel—unbothered and hilarious.” He’d give you his best attempt at a cute smile, which might look a bit awkward, but he means it.

Self-Deprecating Humor: He’d then add, “And if you still don’t believe me, let me know. I can hack into the Batcomputer and get a list of all the things you’re absolutely amazing at.” He’d wink, though you know he’s completely serious.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Confused, but Caring: Damian would be initially confused by your insecurity. “What is this nonsense? You’re perfect.” He’d cross his arms, giving you a disapproving look. “You don’t need to change a single thing. If you insist on thinking otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to lecture you on your obvious superiority.”

Unintentionally Hilarious Comfort: In his usual serious tone, he’d continue, “Whoever made you feel insecure is an idiot, and I will make them regret it. Though, I’ll do it in a proper way, without any unnecessary violence—unless it’s truly necessary.”

Small Gesture: Despite his serious demeanor, he’d take your hand, pulling you closer with a soft, “You are the best thing in my life, and I will ensure you never forget that again.” (Then he’d mutter under his breath, “And if you need more reassurance, I’ll just have Alfred tell you how amazing you are again.”)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Stern, But Loving: Bruce would give you a soft, stern look, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t get to think that way, not about yourself. Not ever.”

Overprotective Vibe: He’d pull you into a hug, patting your head like he’s telling you a secret. “If I’m going to let anyone be insecure, it sure as hell won’t be you.” His touch would be gentle, that way he makes sure you feel seen and heard.

Dry Humor: He’d add, “Now stop trying to make me talk more than I need to. But if it makes you feel better, I’m always here to remind you how amazing you are, even if I have to do it in my very limited free time.”

[growth-opportunities]

"If you think about it, it was actually very feminist of me to get huge tits," her argument began.

"If you think about it, it was actually very feminist of me to get huge tits." Judging by the look on Faye's face, this was surely flawless logic.

Terry disagreed. "Faye, what are you-"

"After all, isn't feminism about a woman choosing what she wants to do with her life? Whether she wants to be a mother or a career woman or anything else she chooses?"

Shutting her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose did little to slow Terry's growing headache. "Seriously, Faye, that's not-"

"It's only in the last fifty or so years that banks were prohibited from taking a woman's marital status into consideration when considering credit applications! So, if I want to put $10,000 of saline on my credit card, really that's a celebration of-"

"Jesus fucking christ, Faye! Will you shut up for one goddamn second?"

Terry's outburst stunned Faye, blinking up at her friend. "Oh, uh, of course. What were you saying?"

"I was trying to say that, honestly, no one gives a shit about your huge fucking tits!"

"...Really?"

"God, no! Get yourself a butt to match or lips that take up half your face! Dye your hair platinum blonde and wear nothing but pink! I do not give a single flying fuck!"

As much as she could in spite of the Botox, Faye furrowed her brow. "...Wait, if you don't care about... Then why did you-?"

"I don't care about your saline stuffed balloontits, Faye. Really I don't. What I do care about is my girlfriend's cock buried between them!"

Recognition flashed across Faye's face. "Oh! Oh, I see..." Thoughts rushed in on Faye, clouding over her mind. Her eyes shifted down to the ground and Terry could almost hear the gears turning as well as the ringing of a little bell when Faye finally circled around a thought.

"I've got it! Question: do you own a strap? ...Terry? Terry, where are you going? According to feminism- Terry!"

[dovesdreaming]

Boutiques and bionics

Summary: Chase’s girlfriend loves to shop and is a bit of a diva but fits right into the davenports with her loving attitude towards them.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

Chase Davenport sat in the middle of the sleek Davenport mansion's spacious living room, his eyes glued to the tablet in his hand. The holographic projection flickered, showing a complex blueprint for a new bionic enhancement he'd been working on. The numbers and diagrams danced in his mind, but his concentration was abruptly interrupted by the sound of heels clicking on the marble floor. “Chase! There you are!” a melodic voice chimed, filling the room with an energy that was both captivating and, at times, overwhelming. Chase looked up, his expression softening as he saw his girlfriend, you, walking towards him. You were a vision of glamour, as always, dressed in a perfectly tailored designer outfit that complemented your flawless style. Your dark hair was swept back in a sleek ponytail, and you wore a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on your head like a crown.

“Hey, y/n” Chase greeted her with a smile, setting his tablet down on the coffee table. You, the epitome of fashion and flair, had an aura that could light up any room. Despite your diva like tendencies, your love for shopping, designer brands, and everything luxurious. You were kind-hearted and adored the Davenport family. You had a way of making everyone feel special, even if your enthusiasm for the latest fashion trends sometimes overshadowed the more mundane aspects of life.

You sauntered over to him, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “Guess what I just found at the mall? The most fabulous dress! It’s perfect for that gala you’re dragging me to next week”. Chase chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist as you showed him a picture of the dress on your phone. It was a stunning piece, all elegance and sophistication, just like you. “I’m not dragging you anywhere. You were the one who said you’d be happy to come”. You smirked, leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “True, true. But we both know you’re the one who’s really excited about this whole sciencey gala thing. I’m just there to look pretty on your arm”. Chase laughed, knowing you were only half joking. He loved how different you were; where he was analytical and logical, you were vibrant and spontaneous. But it worked. Somehow, it just worked.

“And how are my favorite couple doing?” a voice interrupted from the entrance. You both turned to see Donald Davenport, Chase’s adoptive father and the genius behind the bionic technology, walking in with a grin on his face. You instantly brightened, stepping away from Chase to greet Donald with a hug. “Hi, Mr. Davenport! I was just telling Chase about the amazing dress I got today. You’ll love it, it’s absolutely to die for!” You exclaimed, your enthusiasm infectious. Donald chuckled, patting your shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll look fantastic, y/n. And please, call me Donald”. Chase watched the interaction with a warm smile. You had been part of his life for almost a year now, and in that time, you’d become close to his family. You had a unique way of winning people over, even Leo, who was usually skeptical of most people.

“By the way, y/n” Donald said, as they all moved toward the living room, “Tasha wanted me to ask if you could help her pick out an outfit for the gala. She said you have the best fashion sense out of anyone she knows”. Your eyes widened with delight. “I’d love to! Tell Tasha I’ll be over tomorrow to help her out”. Chase’s heart swelled with affection as he watched you chatting animatedly with Donald. Despite your love for all things glamorous, you never hesitated to go out of your way to help those you cared about. You were kind, compassionate, and brought a vibrancy to the Davenport household that Chase hadn’t even realized was missing.

After a few more minutes of chatting, Donald excused himself to go back to his work, leaving Chase and you alone again “So” you began, turning to face him with a mischievous glint in your eyes, “I was thinking we could have a little date night tonight. Maybe dinner at that new rooftop restaurant downtown?”. Chase hesitated, glancing back at his tablet. He had planned to spend the evening working on his latest bionic project, but one look at your hopeful expression and he knew his work could wait.

“Sounds perfect” he said, slipping his hand into yours. “But I’m picking up the tab this time. You always insist on treating me, and I want to return the favour”. You giggled, squeezing his hand. “Deal. But only if you promise to let me drag you into a few shops afterward. I saw some shoes that would look amazing with my new dress”. Chase rolled his eyes playfully but nodded. “Alright, but you’re going to have to explain to me why you need another pair of shoes when you already have a closet full”.

You laughed, pulling him towards the door. “Oh, sweetie, there’s always room for more shoes. Now come on, let’s go. We have a date with the stars and some fabulous cuisine!”. As you left the mansion, hand in hand, Chase couldn’t help but marvel at how lucky he was. He had his family, his work, and you-a girl who brought color into his meticulously ordered world. And for once, he was more than happy to let go of his logical side and just enjoy the adventure. Because with you by his side, life was anything but predictable and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

Thank you for reading!

[raven-dor]

bucky barnes is concerned for you - drabble #2

my allergies are really bad right now and it got me thinking about how a certain super soldier would take care of you when you're sickly... so enjoy!! - ♥️💗 sickness, you and bucky aren't officially dating (sort of a flirtation if you will), slight angst ig, fluff ending (assume bucky can't get sick) this is for my sickly people!!

word count: 1,006

"Achoo!"

You groaned, wiping your nose and laying back in your bed, staring at the ceiling. God, this was a fate worse than death. Worse than any villain you'd fought.

Allergies mixed with a common cold were not for the faint of heart.

You were an Avenger; you should be able to deal with it.

You'd tried to push through, to continue with your daily routine, but Steve took one look at you and said you were 'out of commission for the week.' Whatever the hell that meant.

You'd frowned at the Captain's orders; your sparring partner was supposed to be Bucky that day. Sam had teased you, saying that Bucky would still be around waiting like a puppy when you got better. You'd flipped him off, storming off to your bedroom.

Things were comfortable between you and the super soldier. Neither of you had admitted your feelings, but they were there, a constant through it all. You knew he liked you, and he knew you liked him, and right now, that was all you needed.

Bucky hadn't seen you in days, and that was the way you'd like to keep it. He'd seen you bloody and injured, but this was a new level of vulnerability, one that you weren't sure he would want to witness.

The universe had other plans, it would seem.

"Doll?" His voice was doubtful, knocking on your door to ensure you were there. "You in there?"

"Go away!" You grumbled, covering your face with your hands. "Come back in two to three business days."

"You're freaking me out, baby." He sounded concerned. In any other situation, you would have considered this sweet, endearing even. Right now, you just wanted to lay in the dark in complete silence. "Let me in."

"No way." You laughed, triggering another coughing fit. "Trust me on this one, Bucky."

"I don't think I can do that." You were sure he was frowning, his eyes dark with worry. "C'mon, Doll. It's me."

You felt anxious. That's it: anxious, nervous, pathetic in a way. You wanted to keep this flawless image in his head, one that he could enjoy, not find repulsive. "I know."

"I won't think less of you or anything like that. Promise."

"You might." You whispered, fear overtaking logic.

"Try me." You cursed his super hearing, allowing Friday to unlock the door. His towering frame was virtually glowing in the hallway lighting, your cheeks burning as he shut the door. He crossed his arms, frowning. "What's going on with you, Doll?"

"Don't come any closer." You whispered, pulling the covers over your mouth. "I could be contagious."

He sat down beside you, scoffing. "I haven't gotten sick since 1944."

"What if this is the one that gets you?" You joked, actually, when you thought about it, what if that happened? "We can't risk that."

"Doll." He sighed. "You're worrying me."

You lowered the covers from your face, eyes watery as you observed Bucky take in your appearance. "I-" He stood up, and you watched in horror as he walked into your bathroom, turning on the faucet. "What are you doing?" You cringed at your own voice, nasally and sharp.

"Getting a washcloth." He turned the faucet off, walking back toward you. "Hold still."

You wished you were brave enough to say that he hadn't needed to say that, that he made you inherently still, afraid to make the wrong move.

"Okay."

He was gentle as he raised a hand, wiping the hair out of your face. "There you are." Your eyes widened, and he laughed, cleaning off your face with the warm cloth. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

You sighed, staring at the ceiling, his gaze suddenly too much. "Allergies. And a cold."

He frowned. "That sounds rough." He sat the washcloth on your nightstand. "Wanna tell me why you didn't want me to come in?"

Your eyes welled. "I- I didn't want you to see me like this, okay?"

He tilted his head. "You didn't want me to see you sick?"

When he said it like that, you felt silly, guilty even. Nodding, you sat up, fingers grazing over his. "I didn't want you to see me and- and lose interest." He laughed, actually laughed at you. You scoffed, glaring at him. "I don't know what's so funny about that."

He held your hand in his, kissing the back of it gently. "I love taking care of you. You know that, right?"

You nodded, thinking back to the many times Bucky had patched you up after a mission, the many times you'd patched him up. About how gentle he'd been, how comforting. You sighed. "But this is different."

"How?" He raised an eyebrow. "Because the way I see it, my mission is to take care of you, to comfort you, to-" His cheeks flushed, and you smiled, squeezing his hand. "Just let me take care of you, yeah?"

"Promise you won't get sick?" You whispered. "I don't want Steve yelling at me."

"Steve would never yell at you." He laughed. "But yes, I promise."

"Ugh." You leaned your head against the headboard. "Can you just- stop being so perfect?"

His laugh rang through the air again. "No can do."

You bit your lip, trying to hide your growing smile. You gestured toward the space beside you, smoothing out the sheets. "Care to watch some Criminal Minds?"

He grinned, settling in beside you. "I'm gonna order your favorite. For later." Pulling you into his side, you found comfort in his hold, laying your head on his chest as the TV came to life. "Crab rangoons and everything."

"Get an extra order of crab rangoons." You muttered, eyes drooping. "I know how much you like them."

He smiled, kissing your temple softly. "Get some rest, Doll. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

Your eyes finally shut, one last thought echoing through your mind as your exhaustion finally got the best of you. "I hope you know how much I like you, Bucky."

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[hellobykittys]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 (𝐈𝐌)𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓.𝐈𝐈𝐈 ✦ 𝐂𝐋¹⁶

SUMMARY: Charles Leclerc, a Formula 1 star, faces the decline of his reputation after breaking up with art curator Alexandra Saint Mleux. Under pressure from his team, he is forced into a fake relationship with one of the most popular influencers of the moment. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. WC: 3.4k WARNING: teasing, fake relationship

PREVIOUS PART | MASTERLIST | SMAU VER | NEXT PART

Monaco was especially sunny that morning, the calm sea reflecting the clear, cloudless blue sky. For Charles, the scene felt almost cruel, given the weight he had been carrying ever since Sofia and Lorenzo presented the PR plan to him. Now, the most delicate part of the operation was about to begin: the first public appearance with Y/N.

The meeting had been carefully planned to look casual and discreet, far from prying eyes. Of course, strategically placed paparazzi would make sure the moment was captured, but the idea was to create an authentic, almost spontaneous vibe. The plan was a drive through the streets of Monaco in a sports car, followed by a stop at a low-key café. Simple enough to stir up a buzz without looking forced.

When Charles arrived at the meeting point, a mischievous grin already played on his lips. He spotted Y/N from a distance, flawless as always. She wore a white summer dress that could have come straight out of a fashion editorial, paired with simple sandals and sunglasses reflecting the shimmer of the sea. She looked like part of Monaco’s perfect backdrop.

He waited for her to get into the car before greeting her.

“You look like you just stepped out of a summer campaign,” he said as she opened the door, his tone laced with a bit of teasing.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression already skeptical. “And you look like you just rolled out of bed,” she replied, giving him a pointed look at his slightly messy hair and basic t-shirt.

Charles chuckled, adjusting the steering wheel. “Give me a reason to look good, and maybe I’ll make an effort.”

Not in the mood for his banter, Y/N just rolled her eyes and settled into the seat. Charles started the car and drove at a slow, relaxed pace through Monaco’s narrow streets, which seemed to irritate her even more.

“You know you’re going to have to look interested, right?” she said without looking at him, her eyes fixed on the view outside.

“I am interested,” he retorted, leaning slightly toward her. “Just not sure if it’s in the drive.”

Y/N turned her head to stare at him, her look making it clear he was already testing her patience. Before she could respond, Charles spoke again.

“I didn’t know you had a place in Monaco,” he commented casually, referring to the house where he’d picked her up earlier.

“I don’t,” she replied, returning her gaze to the road. “It’s a friend’s place. Would be weird to have a boyfriend in the city and stay in a hotel, don’t you think?”

Charles raised his eyebrows, surprised by the logic. “Your mind works fast. How did you come up with that?”

“I won’t take credit for this one,” she said, crossing her legs elegantly. “It was Sofia’s idea. Since your house wasn’t an option, my friend kindly lent me a room.”

He laughed, caught off guard by the comment. He hadn’t even considered offering his house—well, Sofia probably made sure that wasn’t an option. “Sofia really thinks of everything, huh?”

Y/N shrugged, turning her attention back to the scenery.

The comfortable silence was broken when Y/N turned on the radio and picked a random song from Sabrina Carpenter’s new album. She began humming quietly, as if she were alone.

Charles raised an eyebrow, surprised. “So you like Sabrina Carpenter?”

“I do,” she replied, not bothering to look at him.

“Great,” he said, smiling. “We should go to one of her shows on my week off. What do you think?”

Y/N turned to look at him, her gaze sharp. “Like you did with your ex?” she teased, her voice dripping with irony. “Going from Swiftie to Carpenter. I don’t think your fans will like that. I can already picture the TikToks with ‘Déjà Vu’ playing in the background. I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”

Charles laughed, clearly unfazed by her sharp tone. He even seemed to enjoy it.

“So you were following my old relationship? How cute. Didn’t know you were also a fan of mine.”

“In your dreams,” Y/N shot back immediately. “I’m just a chronically online girl.”

Charles laughed louder, taking the chance to tease her even more. “Well, at least you admitted you pay attention to me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that escaped.

The café they chose was small, discreet, and strategically positioned with a partial view of the sea. The place was perfect: charming enough for a date, secluded enough to avoid crowds, but of course, there were a few paparazzi already strategically spread out.

Charles and Y/N settled at an outdoor table, the sun in Monaco bathing the area. Before she could pull out the chair, Charles jumped ahead, making sure to exaggerate the gesture as if it were a scene from a romantic movie.

“Thanks, Prince Charming,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Anytime, my princess,” he replied, a mischievous smile on his face, more for teasing than to please.

Y/N just rolled her eyes and adjusted her dress as he took his seat at the table.

A few minutes later, the waiter appeared with the menu, leaving them to decide at their leisure. The silence between them was slightly uncomfortable, but not unbearable—more like a tense calm.

After flipping through the menu for a few moments, Y/N closed it and made her choice. “I’ll have a lemon water and a chocolate tart.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Chocolate tart? For breakfast? That’s pretty bold of you.”

She smirked, challenging him. “And you? What are you going to order? Something more ‘appropriate’?”

“An espresso and avocado toast,” he answered with a touch of theatricality, closing the menu.

The waiter took their orders and left, leaving them alone again.

Charles leaned back in his chair, watching Y/N intently, and asked the question that seemed to be bothering him. “Okay, so what do we do now?”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning slightly over the table. “What do couples usually do on dates like this?” she asked, as if it were obvious. “I believe they talk, right? At least that’s what I used to do.”

Charles let out a short laugh. “Sounds easy when you say it like that.”

“Because it is easy,” she shot back, with a superiority in her tone. “Or maybe you’re less experienced with relationships than you let on.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m a great boyfriend, ma chérie. I’m just trying to figure out which version of me you want the public to see today.”

Y/N gave an ironic smile, adjusting her sunglasses on her head like a tiara. “Surprise me, Leclerc. Just try not to overdo it.”

Charles flashed a mischievous grin. “Overdoing it is my specialty. You should know that by now.”

She just shook her head, murmuring something softly that Charles couldn’t hear, but it sounded like a challenge. The tension between them was almost palpable—a mix of competition and chemistry that they both stubbornly ignored.

“Are you going to want me to accompany you to the Monaco GP?” Y/N changed the subject, her tone casual. “I was thinking… I think it might be a bit too soon for me to go with you. Maybe it’d be better if I went with some friends.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested in her concerns. “I think all this caution is over the top. Aren’t we supposed to make people think we’re together? So just show up with me there.”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between letting people know and rubbing it in their faces,” Y/N explained, as if it were obvious. “I’ll go with some friends and we’ll meet in more discreet parts of the paddock. It feels more natural.”

Charles sighed, a half-smile forming on his face. “I don’t get why you ask for my opinion if you’re just going to decide everything on your own.”

“I just want to be nice and make you think your opinion matters,” she replied, with a sweetness that was obviously fake.

“You’re evil,” he said, amused, but with a tone of surrender.

The brief silence that followed was broken by the waiter, who brought their orders. Y/N thanked him politely, while Charles just nodded, still observing every move she made as if he were trying to figure her out. He seemed to study her as if she were a puzzle full of unexpected twists.

“So,” Charles began, stirring the sugar into his espresso. “If we’re going to pretend to be a couple, we need some backstories. You know, those little tales that all couples have.”

Y/N cut a small piece of her pie and looked at him over her lemon water. “And what do you suggest? Should we make up a romantic trip to Paris or something?”

“Why not?” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious idea in the world. “It’s cliché, but it works. Or maybe something simpler… like our first date?”

Y/N laughed quietly, a sound that mixed irony and amusement. “No one’s going to ask us that, but you’re right. We need to think of some details: how long we’ve been together, what we know about each other… those things real couples would know.”

Charles leaned forward on the table, his gaze full of mischief. “I could tell you all about me right now, but you’ll have to do the same. It’s a test.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and took a sip of her water. “I don’t mind telling you the basics. Now, if you really want to seem convincing, you’ll need to put in a little more effort.”

“Effort? I’m a Formula 1 driver, chérie. No one knows how to perform under pressure better than I do.”

She smiled but didn’t bother to respond, focusing on finishing her pie. Charles watched her for a moment, noticing the smile that seemed sincere, almost carefree—a curious contrast to the controlled and flawless persona she usually displayed.

“You’re taking this more seriously than I thought,” he remarked, lifting his espresso cup, a mix of surprise and admiration in his voice.

“It’s not just your image at stake,” she replied simply, but there was something in the determination of her tone that caught Charles’s attention.

The conversation took an unexpected turn. They began sharing basic details about each other—hobbies, likes, and even a few funny stories that came up spontaneously. At some point, without either of them realizing, they laughed together, as if they were long-time friends. From a distance, anyone watching would see just another couple on a casual date, exchanging smiles and light conversation.

As Charles finished his coffee, Y/N made a comment about the pie, but before she could continue, a fan approached hesitantly, interrupting their conversation.

“Charles, can I take a picture with you?” the boy asked, admiration shining in his eyes.

Charles smiled warmly and stood up without hesitation. “Of course!”

Y/N stayed seated, watching the interaction from a distance. She saw the driver crouch down to meet the boy’s eye level, exchanging a few words before posing for the picture. The scene was incredibly genuine—something she’d never admit out loud, but it made her smile faintly.

When the picture was taken, the boy looked at Y/N, hesitating for a moment before saying, “Sorry to interrupt your date. You’re really beautiful, and you make such a cute couple.”

Y/N blinked, slightly surprised by the comment, but quickly regained her composure.

“Thank you,” Charles replied, winking at the boy. “You’ve got good taste.”

The boy laughed, thanked them again, and ran off toward his parents, leaving the two in a brief moment of silence.

“Cute couple, huh?” Charles remarked, sitting back down and crossing his arms with a mischievous smile.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a nearly imperceptible smile appeared on her lips. “Just a polite kid trying to be nice. Don’t get too excited.”

“Yeah, sure,” he teased. “But maybe he’s just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“So that means our plan is working,” she replied, taking one last sip of her lemon water. “But for today, I’ll let you enjoy the compliment.”

Charles laughed, and for a moment, the teasing gave way to something lighter, almost comfortable.

After a few more minutes of conversation, during which Charles managed to get a few more laughs out of Y/N—to his satisfaction and surprise—they both realized that time had passed faster than expected. He called the waiter to ask for the check, insisting on paying, which earned him another skeptical glance from her.

“You know you don’t have to try to be a gentleman with me, right? I’m not impressed,” she said while he signed the receipt.

“I know,” he replied with a provocative smile, standing up to push her chair in. “But I like to keep up appearances. What if the waiter decides to tell some tabloid I’m a terrible boyfriend?”

She let out a soft laugh, grabbing her purse and adjusting her sunglasses before they headed toward the car together.

Outside, the Monegasque sun was still mild, but the sea breeze made the weather pleasant. They walked side by side, a discreet distance apart, but the curious glances of a few passersby were already starting to appear. Charles opened the car door for her, which earned him another skeptical look.

“I didn’t know you liked acting so much,” she teased, settling into the seat.

“It’s not acting,” he said, leaning in slightly to look at her closely before closing the door. “It’s natural charm.”

She rolled her eyes as he walked around to the driver’s side, starting the car with a smooth motion.

The drive back to her friend’s house was calm, but not without the usual comments. He insisted on driving slowly, claiming he wanted to enjoy the view, which left her slightly impatient.

“Are you scared to drop me off or are you just trying to annoy me?” she asked, pretending to sound casual as she fiddled with the strap of her purse. “You’re definitely enjoying pretending to be my boyfriend a little too much.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But you don’t seem all that different.”

Y/N just shook her head, choosing not to fuel the conversation any further.

When they finally reached her friend’s house, he stopped the car in front of the gate. Before she could open the door, Charles stopped her with a comment.

“See you at the Monaco GP? You’ll need to be in front of the podium when I win the race.”

She paused, looking at him, confused, before smiling enigmatically. “You’re way too confident for someone who’s only won once on this track.”

She opened the car door and got out, walking toward the entrance without looking back. Charles watched her for a moment, chuckling quietly to himself before starting the car again and driving back home.

Even after he had turned the corner, the interaction lingered in both of their minds—though neither of them would admit it.

The heat of Monaco was beginning to give way to a cool breeze as the sun set, painting the sky with shades of orange and pink. Y/N had just stepped out of the shower and could hardly wait to throw herself on the bed and relax. Pretending to be the girlfriend of a Formula 1 driver was proving to be more exhausting than she’d imagined.

She flopped onto the soft mattress and, almost instinctively, grabbed her phone. Among the notifications and irrelevant messages, one caught her attention. It was from Clara, asking about a picture of her and Charles kissing at a club.

Y/N’s heart sank for a moment. She clearly remembered that night. One of the few times she’d let her guard down, and Charles… well, he had been irresistible, more charming than usual. But how had that photo surfaced now?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered to herself, sitting up on the bed and zooming in on the image to take a better look.

She let out a deep sigh and opened Instagram. The post already had hundreds of thousands of likes and a flood of comments. Some praised them, saying that she and Charles made the perfect couple, while others speculated about the “fake” nature of their relationship.

As she scrolled, a mix of discomfort and irritation washed over her. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy; it was the fact that this could ruin all the work they’d done to control the narrative.

Meanwhile, at Charles’s house, the driver was lounging on the sofa, distracted by a game on his console. His older brother, Lorenzo, walked in with his phone in hand, wearing a mischievous smile.

“Hey, petit frère, you didn’t tell me things were going on with Y/N,” he said, plopping down on the couch next to Charles and showing him the phone screen.

Charles paused the game and looked at the photo. His expression was a mix of surprise and irritation. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s everywhere. Someone posted it just now, and it’s already gone viral,” Lorenzo replied, trying to hold back his laughter. “So… wanna tell me what happened? If you two had something going on, you could’ve told me, it would’ve made my job and Sofia’s a lot easier.”

Charles huffed, tossing the controller aside. “It was months ago, at a party. Nothing big. Just one night.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Nothing big? Doesn’t look like ‘nothing big’ to me when you’re kissing like that.”

“You’re not helping,” Charles retorted, rubbing his temples. “This is going to mess everything up. We had a plan, and now this photo pops up out of nowhere.”

“Well, you know how the internet works,” Lorenzo said, still amused. “But honestly, you two look pretty natural in that picture. Maybe this helps, you know? Shows you’ve been together longer than planned.”

Charles shot his brother an exasperated look. “You really think Sofia’s going to buy that? She wants everything under control, and now there’s a picture from months ago that could ruin the whole plan.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “You get yourself in trouble, little bro. Not my problem, but… just out of curiosity: was it just a kiss?”

Charles hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, a sly grin creeping across his lips. “Of course, it wasn’t just that. But she acted like it never happened. I woke up, and she was already gone.”

Lorenzo burst into laughter. “So, that’s why you’re always trying to get under her skin. It bruised your ego, huh?”

“Shut up, Lorenzo,” Charles grumbled, but there was amusement in his voice.

Back at Y/N’s house, she decided to call Sofia before the situation got any more out of hand.

“Please tell me you saw the photo,” Y/N said as soon as Sofia picked up.

“I saw it,” Sofia replied, her voice calm but tinged with concern. “I’m already keeping an eye on social media. We can’t ignore it, but we also can’t look desperate to control it. I’ll come up with a strategy, but you need to talk to Charles. You two need to align on what you’re going to say if anyone asks.”

Y/N sighed, already tired just thinking about talking to him again. “Alright. I’ll call him now.”

She hesitated for a moment but finally dialed Charles’s number.

“Y/N,” he answered quickly, his voice alert.

“So, you’ve seen it?” she asked, getting straight to the point.

“Of course, I’ve seen it. Lorenzo hasn’t stopped laughing since he found the photo,” he replied, mixing frustration with humor.

“Great. Now I have to deal with you and your brother,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Look, it’s not the end of the world. We can use this to our advantage,” Charles suggested, trying to sound optimistic.

“Use it to our advantage?” Y/N repeated, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how much this could complicate everything? All the work to look like the perfect couple is going down the drain now!”

Charles paused, his voice softening. “Or it could show we really have a history, that what’s going on now didn’t just come out of nowhere. I think people will buy it.”

Y/N stayed silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Okay, maybe you’re right. But we need to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“We’re already on the same page, chérie,” he said confidently, and something in his tone, as annoying as it was, managed to reassure her in some strange way.

“So, should we meet tomorrow to iron out the details?”

“It’s a date,” he responded, and Y/N could almost picture his smug smile on the other end of the line.

“It’s not a date,” she shot back, ending the call before he could respond.

Still holding her phone, Y/N flopped onto the couch, taking a deep breath. If the day had already been long, the night was shaping up to be even longer.

tαglıst: @charlesgirl16 @sltwins @lizzyzzn @seonghwaexile @weekendlusting @kahhorri @oikarma @freyathehuntress @nichmeddar @janeh22

[thefemmefatalexo]

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 1 - Invisible in the Spotlight

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: Welcome to chapter one guys! Feedback is appreciated as always hehe. Also, the taglists for all of my stories are still OPEN, so make sure to get tagged so you don’t miss out on any new chapters! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{introduction} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Campus is chaos, as always. The sidewalks are packed with students rushing to their next class or chatting in tight little groups like they’ve known each other forever. It’s the first month of the semester, but it feels like everyone’s already found their place—everyone but you. You walk with your head down, weaving through the crowd as quietly and invisibly as possible. That’s been your strategy for years now. It works. Mostly.

You didn’t think living at home while attending college would feel so… stifling. At first, it seemed like the logical choice: save money, stay close to the familiar, and avoid the pressure of navigating both a new school and a new city. But now you’re not so sure. Sharing a roof with your parents and your step-sister, Mia, is starting to feel like you’re suffocating.

The comparisons never stop. Mia, the perfect daughter with her flawless tennis career and her endless achievements. She’s a campus celebrity in her own right—everyone knows her name, her face, her victories. And then there’s you. The one people glance at for a second before looking past you. The one who never quite measures up.

You pull your hoodie tighter around you as you pass a group of students standing by the fountain. One of them mentions Mia’s name, and you feel your stomach twist. Something about her latest tournament win, how she’s heading to the finals soon. It’s not surprising, but it still stings. She’s everywhere. Even here.

You shake the thoughts away and head toward the coffee shop near the engineering building. It’s your usual escape—a place to grab a moment of quiet before your next class. The line is long when you step in, but the familiar smell of coffee and the soft hum of indie music make it worth the wait. You tug your phone out of your pocket, scrolling mindlessly through messages you’re too tired to respond to.

That’s when it happens.

The force of someone slamming into you from behind nearly sends you tumbling forward. Your bag slips off your shoulder, and your coffee almost flies out of your hands.

“Whoa, careful there,” a smooth voice says, almost lazily, as though you were the one at fault.

You turn around, already annoyed, and find yourself face-to-face with him.

Satoru Gojo.

Of course, it’s him. Because who else would nearly knock you over and then smile at you like you owe him an apology? His snowy white hair practically glows under the fluorescent lights, and his blue eyes—hidden behind those ridiculous round sunglasses—glint with amusement. He’s tall, too tall, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence that only someone who’s never been told “no” can manage.

You’ve seen him around. Everyone has. Satoru Gojo is one of those people you can’t ignore even if you try. He’s an engineering major with top grades, an influential family name, and a reputation that precedes him. Girls throw themselves at him. Guys want to be him. He’s the king of campus—loud, obnoxious, and completely full of himself.

And now, unfortunately, he’s staring right at you.

“I think you dropped something,” he says, gesturing to your bag on the floor.

“No, really? Thanks for pointing that out,” you deadpan, bending down to pick it up.

When you straighten, his grin is still plastered on his face. It’s infuriatingly smug, like he’s thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

“You’re new,” he states, as if it’s a fact.

You glance around the room, hoping the line will move faster. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I know everyone here, and I definitely don’t know you,” he says, leaning casually against the counter like this is the most fascinating conversation he’s had all day.

“Congratulations. You’ve solved the mystery. I’m new.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel his eyes studying you, probably trying to figure out why you’re not falling all over yourself like the others do. “You don’t seem very impressed by me,” he finally says, and there’s a mock pout in his tone.

You can’t help but snort. “Why would I be?”

His grin widens, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? You don’t care enough to figure it out.

You step forward as the line moves, eager to order and leave before he decides to keep talking. But, of course, he follows.

“New girl, huh? So, what’s your name?”

“None of your business,” you reply, still not looking at him.

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cold and mysterious. I like it.”

You roll your eyes and finally make it to the counter, ordering the cheapest coffee on the menu. As you fumble with your wallet, you hear him behind you, ordering something unnecessarily complicated and way too expensive.

When you turn to leave, you catch his gaze one last time. His grin hasn’t wavered. “See you around, mystery girl,” he calls after you.

You don’t bother responding, walking out the door as quickly as you can.

But as you step back into the crowd, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s right.

Because as much as you want to stay invisible, something tells you Satoru Gojo isn’t about to let that happen.

[moineauz]

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋

synopsis: you've learned a lot being dr. ratio's assistant and had to wrestle with your ever conflicting feelings. just when you thought you knew all about your boss, he proves you wrong.

side comments: kinda just let myself go free style with this one. is every piece meant to make sense? not really lol.

extra: gn reader, arguments, angst to fluff

IF LOOKS COULD KILL, THEN YOU WERE SURE VERITAS WOULD BE CROWNED YOUR MURDERER with how the rings of his auburn eyes shot arrows of pure disdain.

The two of you clashed at every given moment. His blunt nature and imperious side comments made your spine coil and fume. It didn't help that he loomed over you- his broad princely shoulders leaving you little room to breathe.

Aeons, you despised him. Utterly abhorred his patronizing demeanor and flawless eloquence. This man could trip on his own sandals and the universe would turn it into a Renaissance painting. Passion and pursuit were the drive of his world and the astute gaze of his eyes punctured through ignorance like a blade. His hands drafted words into colosseums: persuasive essays to keep knowledge public and education free.

The limelight fell onto him and Veritas never faltered. Never wavering in his resolve, loyal to his values and word all while clinging onto his very namesake- the truth.

It made you quiver slightly- it made you linger upon his visage like how you'd stare up at an altar.

How could a man like him bother to gaze down at you?

"You think I despise you?"

Your lips part, and you fold your arms across your chest, stepping back slightly, "Well, I- I am merely deducing your actions as such."

Veritas scoffs, exhaling slowly as he rubbed his temples, eyebrows furrowing, "Then clearly you lack the deductive skills. You're my assistant for Aeons sake, I hired you for a reason-"

"Yes, to file your papers, clear your schedule, accompany you to lectures and debates," you heave, grinding your teeth, "I know my responsibilities well doctor. But surely you don't think you've been- been so-"

You pause, searching for words until they get lost in your throat. Lost in his troubled complexion and hues of softening auburn. He steps forward, arms reaching and lips parted.

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't understand," you seethe, his face grows blurry and the blood underneath your skin boils, "I've been your assistant for a year! And still the same look of scorn."

"Scorn?" he mutter, a mixture of confusion and irritation rising in his eyes, "I never-"

"And yet you did!"

You point your finger at him, the tension hangs taut above you two. Like a ribbon coiled around your wrist, leading down to your fingertips, linking with his. Your chest rises up and down, you could hear his heartbeat thundering like rain. Veritas looks down at you, eyes never departing, never retreating in shame.

At that moment- with your finger pointed at him, faces barely apart- Veritas feels, for the first time in years, a fool.

"( Name ), I never-" he fumbles, pressing his lips together before resuming, "Scorn is the last impression I-"

"Really now?" you scoff, "Backing out now? Come on Veritas I'm not a idiot-"

"I know!" he exclaims, raising his hands, "You're the farthest from being a fool. You're-"

You're breath hitches.

"You're brilliant."

You pause, heat diffusing, "Brilliant? Veritas what are you-"

"You're brilliant because of your words, for the life you choose to pursue," he cuts through, in your peripheral vision you see his hands quiver, "You're brilliant because at the end of the day, you render me a fool. Stupid because I can't confront my own truth."

"Veritas..."

"My logic be dammed," he muttered, gingerly stepping forward, heart racing, "Not once did I hate you. Even during our heated debates."

“On the contrary, I left feeling properly defeated.”

You blink, anger now stripped away and exchanged for something inexplicably possible: amusement.

And a tinge of quiet frisson.

"I really thought you hated me."

Veritas tilts his head, "Oh? What happened to that-"

You lean forward, placing your lips on his cheek with the gentleness of an angel. The motion is prompt but strangely familiar. As if done like clockwork when a new dawn begins.

It shuts Veritas up effectively.

"If you wanted me so bad," you muse, slipping past his shoulders, "You could've just invited me to dinner."

His response is immediate, like instinct, "Consider it done."

You're long behind him now, hand grazing the doorknob. That's when you smile. You're shoulders felt lighter, arms more supple. As if you were springing into an invisible tomorrow: an unknowable future, the kind you craved fervently.

"I was wrong too, Veritas."

You open the door, truth spilling behind you in ripples, a familiar, salty wetness pushing you forward.

"I never could bring myself to hate you."

masterlist.

[hannahssimblr]

On the bike again, sun high, cutting through salted road tracks around Fairview Park. Over the Tolka, the Royal Canal, O’Connell Bridge across the Liffey—water like slush in there, churning instead of flowing. I could do this ride with my eyes shut. A hundred times, weaving the city’s arteries, knowing them like the veins on my wrist. But under snow, Dublin is extraterrestrial. A surreal experience as the lights turn amber to red, pedestrian crossing clicking with nobody to cross. Shadows are sharp and perfect as the old Georgians along the quay throw geometric shapes like paper cutouts. My gears clunk, chain clicking, careening around Westmoreland Street. Tyres bump over tram tracks. Barricades of snow, shovel-blackened, line the edge of every road. Icy wind in my face draws tears from the corners of my eyes as I pedal on. 

Jen’s living in Ranelagh these days. Basement flat of a little redbrick place off Sallymount Avenue. It’s horrendous in that sort of authentic Dublin way. Obligatory bathroom mould, kind of thing. Paint on one side of the house is bubbling with damp, and the perpetual smell of old cigarettes permeates every corner. A film of sticky yellow residue from a long departed smoker still clings to the low ceilings, which I ran my finger though the last time I visited. Rolled it into a gooey dust ball and stuck it in Jen's face when she was trying to wash the dishes.

She’s in her bedroom painting her toes when I haul my bicycle through the weeds and chain it to the fence. I pound my fist on the window and frighten her. Mouth in a startled little O before she grins at me, her usual wicked smile. A mouth full of short, rounded teeth. 

“Well you. Are you chilly?” she says, unlatching the door.

“Yeah,” I launch myself inside, grabbing her head and kissing the top of it a dozen times while she cackles. She’s done something weird to her hair again, half white, half black, split down the middle like Cruella De Vil. “Any luck with those dalmatians?” I ask. She ignores me and slams the door behind us. 

“Welcome home, stranger,” she heads for the kitchen, MDF cabinets bloated with water damage. Barefoot, her heels are blackened from the dirt of the floor. “Will you have a coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks. That’d be really nice.” Seat myself at the table then. Textbooks strewn about, eyes glazing over the titles as the kettle boils and she spoons instant coffee into a mug. “How’s college?”

“Shite. How about you?”

“It’s alright.”

“Are they still wanking themselves off over your paintings over in Berlin? Turner the Wonderboy.”

I just smile. “I’m doing fine.”

She throws her head back in a laugh. “Say no more. And the rest of it all? The job?”

“Oh, Christ.” Weakened from even thinking about it, I have to put my head on the table. 

“Not great, is it?” Jen sinks into the seat opposite and slides the mug to me. I hold it, slightly too hot to touch, and let the warmth prickle through my palms. Staring into its murky depths like a crystal ball, while chunks of undissolved grounds float about the surface. A pair of eyes laden with dark circles stare back. 

“Do I look corpse-like these days? I feel like I’m sort of rotting from the inside out.”

“No. Sure you’re only gorgeous. You get more gorgeous every time I see you.”

“Hmph.”

“Welcome to the working world,” she says, her glee barely disguised. I’m starting to see things for how they are now, in a depressing sort of way. Looking back on things I said to her before, about not affording things or not feeling welcome in certain places, and cringing about it. To know I was ignorant and spoiled, going about my life with my nose in the air while my friends faced struggles beyond my comprehension. Even last year, when Jen moved here, I told her to pick a nicer place. Somewhere with natural light, closer to town, assuming my logic was flawless. I want to tear through the fabric of time and sock myself across the jaw. 

Sipping her coffee, Jen leans back and gazes out the tiny window into the yard out back. It’s a tip out there. A nearby business uses it to store its bins and dump its miscellaneous waste, though nobody actually knows if they have permission to do so. “And how’s the lovely miss Astrid? The most recent pics I saw of ye were off in Slovenia or somewhere, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah, our anniversary trip. That was November. She’s fine. She’s…” I trail off and stare at the table. The upstairs neighbour crosses the room overhead, the thump of feet shaking the ceiling. The TV goes on. It’s so loud we can hear every word of the afternoon weather report. “She’s doing well with her ceramics,” I manage. “She’s got an exhibition on next week, which she’s pretty excited about.”

“Oh, wow, yeah. Good for her.” Jen’s smiling encouragingly, eager to show that my relationship with Astrid doesn’t bother her. Wants me to know she supports the choices I have made, even if lately I don’t even really support them myself. It’s my fault it’s like this anyway, with Jen, I mean. The times she’s expressed doubts about the fairness or ethics of my relationship, I’ve made her feel like her opinion is an imposition. Defending Astrid, like, no, she doesn’t mean it like that/I know it sounds bad, but it’s just the way she says it/She finds it hard to sound sincere. “I just care about you,” she said glumly during a call, and I made sure to smile, so it came across in my voice. “I know, Jen, and I love that about you. It’s just that it’s hard to ‘get’ a relationship when you’re not in it. I don’t want to feel you’re judging her when you actually just don’t know her.” Eventually, Jen stopped venturing beyond the realm of small-talk. This bright smile is her way of staying out of it.

“I’ve seen her ceramics online, actually. They’re cool,” she says.

“Oh, yeah? You think?”

“I followed her on Instagram a while back, yeah,” her smile strains before she adds, “they’re not ceramics you’d have clattering around your kitchen, though, are they? They’re a bit out there.”

“Yeah, so basically they’re not meant to be functional. They’re meant to reflect, like, states of metamorphosis and conflict, creating, um, organic shapes inspired by human figures and the landscapes of northern France where she has spent a lot of time. She fires them multiple times to kinda represent the passage of time. It’s a whole statement, rather than, you know, a mug to have your tea out of.”

“Aw yeah. Dead cool. I wouldn’t have got all that from looking at them.”

Silence. Jen takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyes flicking toward the window. “All good to see Shane later?”

“Yeah. That dinner thing? Of course. Why?”

She nods, still looking out, like she’s working something out in her head. Then: “Did he—” She stops. Frowns slightly. “Never mind.”

I sit up. “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

I just look at her.

She sighs. “Did he text you about Evie’s birthday thing?”

A jolt of energy moves between us. “No,” I say, carefully. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” A wince. “Shit. He probably meant to. You know what he’s like. Or maybe he texted me and assumed I’d text you, which is my bad…” she does not stop speaking, and I do not stop her, both knowing if I allow her to go on, we will not have to acknowledge the situation, as the room tips slightly, becoming unreal.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s totally fine,” I hear myself saying in between gaps in her words, weaving in and out of her cyclical ramblings, reassuring myself, really. “Simple mistake. It’s no big deal. It’s fine, it’s fine. Jen. Nobody’s fault.”

“No, but we don’t have to go,” she’s saying. “I told him maybe, you know, maybe if we felt like going, but it’s going to be mostly people from her college, I think. It could be completely be weird if we went, you know? Since we don’t know her anymore, really, do we?”

“No, you’re right, yeah. We wouldn’t have to.”

“And when I saw her months ago, she said she doesn’t care about any of it anymore, so.”

I stop. “You saw her?”

Jen blinks. “Yeah, yeah. I saw her at some bar. Did I not tell you that either?”

“Uh, no. I think I’d remember if you did.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, yeah… I was out one Friday in this bar on Dame Lane. One of those horrible swanky places where cocktails are like a million euro. Ran into her in the toilets fixing her makeup.” Her eyes flicker away, avoiding mine. “I didn’t even know it was her at first. She was like… I dunno, like, all sharp angles, tiny little dress with her whole back out. Different, you know?”

Leaning forward now, chewing on that word. Different. Fascinated by its implications. The feeling she’s some unlockable character, an outline with features unrevealed. Discover myself loathing the idea of change. I don’t want it. I want her to be where I left her, on that beach, lying on a beach towel in some perpetual summer, waiting for me to come back. 

“How?”

She shrugs, a forced gesture. “Oh, like, she just looked like she belonged there.” 

“That’s not what you actually mean.”

She presses her lips together. “Okay, well, like, she was cold, Jude. I tried to bring up that summer, just to clear the air, say I was sorry for sticking my nose in, but she shut it down. Properly shut it down. Acted like I was dragging up ancient history that no one but me even cared about.”

A flicker of something ugly moves through me. “Right.”

“She actually said, why are you talking to me about this?” she shakes her head. “Like I was a weirdo.”

“Oh.”

“And then about half an hour later,” Jen hesitates, then, knowing the next part will land wrong. Saying it anyway. “She was outside, tongue kissing some guy in the smoking area like her life depended on it.”

A sharp pulse in my stomach. I have to glance away. “Really?”

“Yes.” She lowers her voice to a gossipy whisper. “Aggressively. Like she wanted people to see.”

A beat of silence. We look at each other. “Well,” I say, my voice light and detached as I can manage. “I suppose she can do what she wants, can’t she?”

“Yeah, power to the women, et cetera. He wasn’t handsome, by the way. He was kind of vegetarian looking.”

I squint. “I don’t actually give a shit how vegetarian-looking the men she kisses are. That’s not something I’m up at night wondering about.” 

She laughs. “Oh, right, well, I’m just saying. Anyway, that’s just reminded me I have to tell you about this lad my mate was going out with. Talk about weird men. He was into improv comedy, and the first date, took her to an open mic comedy show…” 

I stare blankly while she talks. Words swimming around me like abstract sounds muffled behind a screen. Sharp angles. She said. Where? Her cheeks? Her hips? A vision of said backless dress, curve of her spine, leaning over a sink. Blue lights. The Evie in my head covers her face in embarrassment at the thought of wearing a dress like that. “God, no,” she cries. “You wouldn’t catch me dead. I’d never.” 

“... and he bombed.” Jen says with emphasis. “Like, nobody laughed. They actually heckled him.”

“Oh, gas.” I reply. 

And kissing this vegetarian-looking guy. What is it with that? Liam from the surf shack was relatively vegetarian-looking, thinking back on it, wasn’t he? Big leather sandals on him. Is that actually just what she likes? Feeling threatened now by men who get the lentil burger off the pub menu. I could take him down onto the floor in three seconds with the power of animal protein. I boast to imaginary Evie inside my head. She’s not listening to me. Her boyfriend is showing her how he makes deodorant out of coconut oil. 

“... she went on a second date too, after all that. And it was so much worse…”

I drain my coffee, drum my fingers on the side of the mug. Get up and wander towards the window and look out of it. “Mm. Some guys are just so fucking weird,” I say as Jen expands the universe of this nightmare date, introducing the element of one-sided polyamory. 

“... anyway, she’s better at telling the story. I’ll get her to tell you herself. Hey, maybe after dinner I'll invite her over. We could grab a few cans and just hang out here. What do you think?”

I’m fixated on a robin, hopping from one snowy twig to the next. “Hm? No. I think I’ll go to the party.”

She stops. Makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “Wait, are you messing?” 

“No, whatever. We’ll just swing by and say hello.”

I don’t look around to see her reaction, but feel it, a charge in the air. “Jude, like… Sorry, but what’s the point of that?”

“A few drinks. It’ll be fine. Just say happy birthday to her, and then we can go. I just want to be civil.” 

“Okay.. are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like that anymore between us anyway, you know? She doesn’t care, and I obviously don’t care either. It’s just, like, two old friends running into each other.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, then with resignation, says, “alright, I suppose if that’s what you want to do.”

I stretch. Easygoing. Roll my neck and shoulders, shaking something off me. “Yeah. It’ll be fine. It’s casual.”

The silence sits between us, stretching out as she watches me, waiting for something. But I don’t give her anything. Nothing to give. 

 Outside, the robin takes fright and flits away, disappearing into the perfect blue sky. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[me-kume]

Interview w Caleb

Caleb on his affection, the value of relationships, and how love helps him stay strong.

mekume: Define love in your own words.

Caleb: Love?… Love isn’t some fleeting impulse or a shallow emotion you can measure with words or gestures. It’s a coordinate system—an invisible guiding force, if you will. It shapes how you perceive everything, controls your decisions, and defines your vulnerability.

To me, love and peace are incompatible. It’s what remains when everything else turns to ash on a burned-out site. It shows itself in actions—when logic tells you to walk away… but you can’t. You defy everything, even reason. Because there’s someone whose safety, whose very existence, matters more than your status. More than your life.

In a way, love is obsession. Not the pathological kind, but… inevitability. It gives you no rest, bows to no conditions or rationality. It demands nothing yet takes everything. True love is dangerous. Ruthless. It brooks no compromise. But when you feel it, you don’t ask if it’s worth it. You just love. That’s all.

mekume: Describe your beloved. What emotions does she stir in you?

Caleb: Hmm… My beloved? She alone could replace everyone else. Maybe it sounds unhinged, but her presence gives me boundless calm—like my mind slows down, and all the noise finally fades.

Then there’s this protective urge. Not some heroic theatrics, but something primal. It lives beneath the skin, operating apart from my mind. I don’t try to rationalize it. Feelings aren’t meant for logic. They just are.

She brings warmth into my life, and I’m endlessly grateful—but with it comes fear. Those two are inseparable. When you treasure something, you fear losing it. This fear… it doesn’t paralyze. It sharpens your focus, wakes instincts like a cornered animal. It forces you to weigh every word, every choice that touches her.

These emotions aren’t weakness. They’re my compass. Their pull is a gravitational anomaly: you can’t evade it, no matter how hard you try.

mekume: What about cheating? Could you ever cheat? Or forgive it?

Caleb: Trust is the bedrock of any relationship. Infidelity shatters it—and without trust, nothing survives time or trials. I would never betray her. Not out of principle, honor, or duty. Save those pretty words for pulp romance novels. My feelings and choices align: I choose her daily. That excludes every other woman.

Forgiveness?… That’s thorny. I can’t rule it out—no one’s flawless, and forgiveness isn’t some snap decision. It’s a long, grueling process needing time, sincerity, and effort from both sides. It doesn’t just happen. Sure, the world’s full of liars who say "I forgive" but keep picking at the wound. They seethe, manipulate, wait for the next betrayal. That’s not forgiveness—it’s mutual torture. Masochism.

But love is about choice. And I choose to forgive.

mekume: What’s most valuable in a relationship? And hardest?

Caleb: After the infidelity question, this feels like fresh air. Simple answer: trust. It’s the foundation. Respect, understanding, support? Vital, but they’re just byproducts of trust. Those pillars crumble without it.

The hardest part? Hiding truths or making choices that hurt someone you love. Balancing duty against personal feelings… Staying loyal and honest when circumstances scream otherwise. That demands strength—and sacrifice. Not just for yourself, but for them.

In the end, the strongest bonds are forged by weathering storms and still choosing each other. That’s the real value. And the greatest trial.

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Whenever there's a line up event, one of the things that I'm starting to look forward to the most are the show's english names. They are always...interesting. Anyway, a lot of new stuff. They are certainly rivalling gmmtv in terms of content and the event itself. That was looooong and there were a LOT of announcements.

Before I go into new shows. We finally got a date for The Next Prince and it's April. Also Zomvivor has a new teaser and it will air...soon. Goddammit. Speaking of elusive air dates, Khemjira is also coming...soon. It's like they don't want me to be happy. I need all the horror. Your Sky of Us will be a special 3 episode event that will follow the characters into adulthood. I like the idea of seeing the couples after the show's hea so this should be nice. Now for everything else. I added link to the mdl pages and the trailers, so if you don't want my unsolicited opinions just click on the links below the pics.

[ MDL | Trailer ] Love Upon a Time - It's not exactly a new announcement but we finally got a pilot with the new cast and I really enjoyed it. I'm convinced that Net is one of those actors that can have chemistry with anyone so this should be good at least when it comes to the main couple. When it comes to fantasy thai bl, I never want to get my hopes too high because a lot of the time they tend to forgo internal narrative consistency for the sake of the romance, but either way, I will be watching this one.

[ MDL | Trailer ] Your Third - MaxNat romcom, why not? When it comes to the romance, I think they can pull it off, but the comedy? Not so sure. I don’t hate anything here, but I can’t say I really love anything either.

[ MDL | Trailer ] Mr.Fanboy - Well this should be interesting. I do like when bl goes a bit meta, so I'm looking forward to see what DMD has to say about this. AuAu and Save fans must be losing it to see them as leads, and I was surprised to see James. I thought he wasn't gonna be in any series for a while, but I'm not as well informed about these things. Interesting cast and concept. I will be tuning in.

[ MDL | Trailer ] You(r)Tuber - Do you see what I mean? These names kill me. Looks cute. Surprised to see Earth and First but nothing really excites me about this one. Oh wait, I'm wrong, there are pets and more importantly a cat. That makes me happy.

[ MDL | Trailer ] Duang With You - My crumbs have graduated and I'm screaming. I love everything about this, but honestly, I love TeeteePor. They are beautiful. I also love a shameless flirt that will thaw the heart of a brooder. So I'm winning either way.

[ MDL | Trailer ] Restart - This is giving Elite but with some extra bullying for good measure. It's also giving nakedness galore. DMD knows their audience. I'm guessing we will be seeing a lot of showers. I'm happy to see Tommy again. I'm not sure if this is exactly bl, but with the amount of naked boys in the pilot alone, might as well be.

[ MDL | Trailer ] Magic Lover – I guess it was only a matter of time for BL to start playing with magic. I mean, we're in our vampire season, so this was the next logical step. Anyway, ThomasKong are back. And Keng… I have to admit, very few actors illicit a strong reaction from me solely based on their looks, but Keng is one of them. That guy has an absolutely flawless face. I like that we have 3 different couples and I like fantasy and fated mates so I'm definitely on board.

[ MDL | Trailer ] HUG E-Lhee The Musical - Ok, I LOVE musicals. Seriously. And let’s be real, when it comes to musicals, especially the more comedic ones, there’s always a built-in level of cringe. Which is fine. People randomly breaking into song pretty much guarantees that. But throwing BL into the mix, along with some folks who aren’t exactly great singers? That might just be a step too far for me. No shade, just a personal preference.

Also announced was another ThomasKong show, Unknown Lover, and a DMD Sitcom, หอตัวดี, with literally all the boys.

Well, that's everything from me. Obviously most of these will come in late 2025 and 2026. And despite everything I just said, I’ll probably still end up watching the first episodes of all the shows.

[dandylovesturtles]

havin' all these Splinter and Leo thoughts. augh.

this is partly the fault of @/turtleblogatlast's post about Leo just wanting to make Splinter proud.

post-movie

...

Seven days post-invasion, and Leo is feeling (relatively) pretty good. Sure, he's still on a truly ridiculous amount of painkillers and he can't walk two steps without collapsing, but he's able to stay awake and talk to his family and considering where he thought he would be right about now, well... that's everything.

So yeah, he's feeling pretty good. He just finished his lunch of soup and a protein shake, warm and a little drowsy while he listens to April talk about some of the more ridiculous conspiracy theories that have started spreading on the surface. Donnie's tinkering with one of his smaller inventions while he listens, Mikey is nestled in Raph's lap, and everything is calm and cozy in their makeshift medbay.

And then his dad walks in and says, "I would like to talk to Blue, please. Alone."

And suddenly Leo doesn't feel so good anymore.

"Aha, wait," he says quickly, reaching out and grabbing April's sleeve just before she rises from her chair. "Whatever it is, you can say it in front of everyone, right?"

Splinter shakes his head. "This is a conversation I think it is best we have in private." He makes a shooing motion at the others, and April pulls her sleeve from Leo's fingers with a helpless shrug.

"See ya in a few, Leo," she says, then walks out. The others look from Splinter, to him, then back to Splinter, and one by one they each get up and shuffle out, too, with their own hasty farewells.

Traitors, every single one of them.

The door closes, and Leo finds himself alone with Splinter for the first time since coming back from Staten Island. Or at least, the first time he can remember. He was pretty out of it the first few days; most of what he remembers is muddled and confused. And embarrassing. He cried a lot more than he'd care to admit.

Splinter hops into chair April was sitting in and pulls it closer; he has to stay standing to be anywhere near eye level with Leo. He wishes he could read Splinter's face, but his expression is giving nothing away. Sometimes it's easy to forget he spent a not-insignificant part of his life as an actor, until something like this happens.

Leo decides to speak before he can. Head him off at the pass, or something.

"If you're going to yell at me, just remember my eardrums are already damaged."

Which is true - turns out being 1, too close to an exploding alien spaceship and 2, getting punched in the head repeatedly by an alien very mad about said exploding spaceship is bad for the ears, even when you don't have outer ears like a human. So super loud noises are a bad idea right now, and thus Leo cannot be yelled at. Flawless logic; maybe he can keep using that every time he gets in trouble.

For the first time, his dad's expression shifts, just a little. A deeper frown, a heavier set to his brow.

"You think I came in here to yell at you?"

Leo feels his stomach twist. Does he have to spell it out? "I mean, didn't you? That's usually what kicking everyone else out is leading up to."

"I see..." Splinter is still unreadable, looking a little too intensely at Leo. "And what do you think I want to yell at you about?"

He really does want it spelled out. Leo suddenly realizes that there won't be any yelling because this is his punishment: to admit everything he's done, to speak all his sins for his dad's ears. Lay it all out in his own tongue and show that he understands, really and truly, the depths of his screwups.

Oh, he understands. He understands it so well he may choke on the words.

"...For losing the key," he says finally, and it stings on its way out. He hasn't talked about it since it happened; every time he tries to say anything to the others, they shush him, saying, "It's okay, Leo, everything is fine now."

It's not okay, and everything isn't fine, and this is when he finally hears about it.

Finally, an identifiable emotion on Splinter's face: horror, dawning clear and present. And Leo doesn't understand that, because doesn't Splinter know he lost the key? He was there for that conversation, wasn't he? Leo's memories of that day have grown a little hazy between the drugs and the recovery and the fact that thinking about it for too long makes him go fuzzy around the edges, but he's pretty sure he remembers Splinter being there. He flicked popcorn at Leo's head. He probably should have done more than that; maybe then Leo wouldn't have made such a mess of things.

Splinter doesn't say anything right away, just stares at Leo with that horrified expression, and the silence is so scary that Leo starts filling it without even thinking.

"I was kidding about the whole... not yelling at me thing. I know I deserve it. I mean, I was fooling around, doing what you and Raph told me not to do, and I doomed the whole world doing it! Some leader I am, right? And I know I'm not exactly your favorite son to begin with, and that's fair, because I keep letting you down, but this is definitely my worst screwup to date, and you yell at me when I don't close the fridge door all the way or throw balls around the TV room so why wouldn't you yell at me for destroying the planet, right...?"

His voice peters out at the end, too hoarse to continue. That's the most words he's strung together over the last week, and for the first time he's glad for his injuries, for stopping him from spewing any more embarrassing word vomit just to fill the air.

Splinter is still looking at him with that same horrified expression. If anything, he just looks more upset, which means that Leo at least accomplished his goal.

Leo's waiting for the yelling to start, but when Splinter finally says something, it's, "You think I have a favorite son?" throwing Leo for a loop once again.

"Uh, yeah?" he says, because that's all there is to say. He's always assumed it's Donnie - the "funny one", the one who fixes Splinter's TV when it's broken, and the only one of them likely to get a real job and move out of the house. But even if it's not Donnie, it's gotta be Mikey, or Raph. His brothers are amazing and talented, and all Leo has ever been good at is winning the Lair Games.

Splinter closes his eyes a moment, and when he opens them his face moves back to a more neutral expression. "I do not have a favorite son," he says, firm and serious. "I love all of you just the same."

Leo thinks that can't be true - if it is, he feels bad for the other guys. But he doesn't think he can just say that, so he says, "Yeah, Dad, of course," instead.

Splinter looks a bit crestfallen. "You don't believe me?" he asks, and shoot. Leo has no idea how to respond to that.

"...I know you love us," is what he says. And that's true, it is! He just doesn't know how his dad could like him as much as the others.

Splinter's expression turns sad. He reaches out and lays a furry hand on Leo's arm, careful of his bandages and all the many wires he's hooked to. "You think you doomed the world?"

"I lost the key," Leo repeats. "It was all my fault. It's why I had to..." His voice fumbles over the words, and he revises. "It's why it had to be me."

Splinter's mouth twists. He climbs out of the chair and onto the mattress, careful not to jostle Leo as he settles down on his knees.

"Blue," he says softly, gently palming Leo's face this time. "None of this was your fault."

Leo's stomach twists again. He thought he was being punished, but somehow this is worse.

"Yes it was," he argues. "I lost the key," for the third time, "and... and I ignored the order to retreat, and got Raph captured, and and and, I ignored the guys and tried to force our way into Metro Tower, and it was me who told Donnie to try to fly that stupid ship, and because of me Mikey had to-"

"Leonardo," says Splinter, sharp, and Leo goes silent. His dad looks devastated, but he keeps his hand on Leo's cheek, brushing with his thumb, and for the first time Leo realizes his skin is wet. Splinter sighs heavily, his entire frame seeming to droop with the weight of it.

"Leonardo," he repeats, softly this time. "You did not doom the world."

"But-"

A furry finger on his lip quiets him.

"You did not doom the world," Splinter repeats, once again firm and serious. "You did not take the theft of the key seriously, because you did not know what it was, the threat it represented. But it was the Foot Clan who chose to use that key, fully knowing what evil it would unleash. That is not on you, my son. The responsibility falls squarely on them."

Leo doesn't know how much he can believe that - isn't it their job to stop the Foot Clan? But Splinter looks so sure as he says it, and his hand is still tender on Leo's cheek, and for the first time a little bit of doubt seeps into Leo's heart, telling him that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't all his fault after all.

But still...

"Even if that's true," he says, with heavy emphasis on the if, "everything I did after that-"

"You are young," his dad interrupts. "You are inexperienced. You are learning. And the amount of growth you showed us all, even over just that one day... You shined as brightly as I know you can."

Again, Leo's stomach does a twist - but it's a happier one, this time. Splinter's voice is sincere, leaving no room for doubt, and Leo can almost, almost believe that this is true, that his dad has believed in him from the very beginning. Has seen something in him, whatever it was that led him to make Leo the leader, that lead to him putting trust in Leo.

He just wishes he felt like he'd done more to earn it.

"You did not doom the world," says his dad again. "You saved it. But, it never should have been like that to begin with. You should never have been facing down such a fierce foe so young, especially as alone as you boys were. And you-"

His voice becomes choked up, and Leo's heart lurches.

"You... sacrificed yourself to save us all. I... I am your father, and I... could not protect you."

He's crying. His dad is crying, and Leo feels panic, reaching out to try and stop this.

"Dad-"

"No." Splinter holds up a hand, giving his head a hard shake. "All I ever wanted for you boys was to save you from the sacrifices asked of our family. And yet I could not - and for that, you paid dearly. You almost paid the ultimate price, and we almost lost you forever."

A thick knot forms in Leo's throat, and he can barely get out, "I'm okay, Dad, I'm here."

"Yes you are." Splinter squeezes his shoulder desperately. "You are here. You are safe. But that doesn't change that it should not have been you to begin with."

Leo watches in dawning horror as Splinter steps back, then kneels over on the mattress.

"This is why I came in here, Blue. Not to yell at you. To apologize."

He presses his forehead against the sheets.

"I am so sorry that I could not protect you."

He's crying. So is Leo, openly now. He reaches out for his dad, fumbling for his shoulders and urging him to straighten up.

"No, Dad... This wasn't your fault!"

"But-"

"No! It was just... it was just a really, really shitty thing that happened, okay? It was the Foot Clan, and the Krang, but it wasn't- it wasn't..."

Splinter raises his face and looks at him, and suddenly the words he's been trying to get Leo to believe for the last several minutes barrel into him and Leo crumbles.

"...I didn't have to do it," he says.

"No." Splinter gets up, coming closer. "You had nothing to atone for. You did it because you are brave, and you are kind, but this was never yours to fix."

Leo sucks in one harsh breath, then another, and then he's sobbing harder than he ever has in his life, and his dad hugs him tight, his arms warm and his fur soft where Leo buries his face in his shoulder.

All the feelings he's pushed aside - the ones he didn't think he had the right to feel, because he'd had to do it, he had to make up for his mistakes - bubble over, gripping him with grief and despair but also relief, that he's still here to cry and be hugged by his dad.

"I was so scared."

"I know."

"I thought I wouldn't see you guys again."

"I know. We thought we had lost you, too."

"I just... I didn't know what else to do... I couldn't let him... I couldn't..."

"Shhh, it's alright. It's over now. We're all safe."

Leo hugs his dad back, as tightly as he can with his injuries, and sobs and sobs until he's all out of tears. And all along, his dad tells him he is safe, he is good, and he is loved.

Later, Leo feels even better than he had before.

[swiftjay23]

Heaven Help Me

Pairing: Fallen Angel! Sunoo x Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Bittersweet, Fluff-to-Angst-to-Fluff, Crack

Vibe: Warm skin, cold wings, soft smiles in secret; choosing love over eternity. Also listen to Ocean Eyes and Birds Of a Feather if you want the complete deal. I LOVE Billie arghhh <3

Word Count: 4867

🗂🕯️ Taglist: (To my wonderful followers, those who reblogged some of my posts, and one who wanted to be added to the taglist<3)

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee,

⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @add-this-to-that,

⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,

⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk

⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,

⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @queenvash, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish

You stared at the gooey mess on your counter that was a fork five minutes ago.

The toast wasn’t coming out, and you weren’t about to lose a bagel to bad machinery. So you did what any perfectly rational, non-caffeinated adult would do grabbed the nearest thing within reach, which happened to be a fork (why? you didn’t know), and jabbed it into the toaster slot like it owed you rent.

It sparked. It fizzled. It melted.

Now you had five forks.

You sighed. “Classic.”

You didn’t care much—this kind of thing happened more often than it should. But your neighbor? She cared. A lot. In fact, she cared enough to report you to building security at least three times a week. You were on a first-name basis with two of the guards and the intern.

God.

You weren’t even hungry anymore. The rain had started. And now you were forkless and toastless.

How could your day possibly get worse?

You shoved on your sneakers and bolted out the door, hoping to avoid another awkward “no ma’am I’m not starting fires” conversation.

--

Meanwhile… Somewhere a little higher.

"You have to protect her," God said.

Sunoo stared at Him in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” God replied calmly.

“She’s a walking hazard sign,” Sunoo argued. “She tried to fix a toaster with a fork. If you send me down there, she’s going to get electrocuted within the hour!”

God didn’t flinch. “Then make sure she doesn’t.”

“Why me?”

“Because she’s yours.”

Sunoo froze. “Mine?”

God’s gaze was steady. “Lee Y/n. You’re her guardian. She’s your assignment now.”

“But,” Sunoo tried again, grasping for logic, for mercy, for a loophole. “Why not just let her be?”

God turned, offering no further answer.

--

You didn’t believe in angels.

You believed in things like black coffee, weird coincidences, and the ability to laugh even when everything was falling apart, but angels? That felt like something you outgrew when you stopped watching cartoons and started paying rent.

But then he caught you.

Your shoelace had betrayed you again. Middle of a rain-slicked street, paper bag of pastries flung into the air, your balance a goner. And just before the ground could do what it does best, he appeared, arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close like you were precious cargo. Warm. Solid. Gentle.

“Gotcha,” he said, voice soft but confident. Like this wasn’t his first time.

Your heart stuttered. “H-Holy sh—” What you had meant to say is, HOLY SHIT YOU'RE GORGEOUS.

“Language,” he said gently, smirking. You could have swore you're heart did summersaults right there and there You were going to pass out. Not from the fall, but from his face.

You blinked at him. Up close, he looked like a painting. Skin soft like it had never seen sunburn. Soft brown hair, rain-slicked and curled at the ends. Skin too flawless to be human. Eyes like still water. Calm.

“I, sorry, I don’t know how I—” you managed to mumble. He tilted his head, smiling. “You fall a lot, don’t you?” You narrowed your eyes. “Wait... have we met?”

He stood straighter, suddenly cautious. “Not exactly.” “And yet you’re catching me like you’ve done it before.” He looked like he wanted to say no. But his silence said otherwise.

A breeze passed between you. Light filtered through the clouds just enough to make the rain look silver. And for half a second, you swore, swore, you saw something shimmer behind his shoulder. Like the edge of something vast. Feathered. Flickering.

He caught your stare, then looked away. You stepped back slowly. “Who... are you?” His voice was quiet. “Just someone who’s always been around.”

You opened your mouth to speak, ask more, accuse him of being weirdly poetic, but he was already walking away, hands shoved into the pockets of a cream sweater too clean for this weather.

“Hey!” you called out. “You didn’t even tell me your name!” He paused at the corner and glanced back, eyes gleaming.

“Sunoo, and don't you worry dear, we're going to be seeing each other a lot more often.” And then he was gone. Well, that was weird.

A handsome stranger shows up, saves you, stuns you speechless, casually reads your mind, and leaves?

Totally normal. Totally fine. Not unhinged at all.

-0-

You didn’t see him for three days after that. Not that you were keeping count.

Not at all.

You definitely weren’t counting the times you almost burned your tongue microwaving tea or tripped on your own shoelaces again and instinctively looked around like he might show up.

He didn’t.

Instead, you started hearing things. A faint whoosh behind your shoulder. The soft creak of your windowsill. Your plants were standing straighter. Your toaster hadn’t tried to kill you since.

Part of you was convinced you’d imagined the whole thing.

Until you woke up in the middle of the night and found a feather on your pillow. Not just any feather—long, shimmering, white with a faint golden glow. You touched it. It vanished.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “I’m either insane... or something weird is really going on.”

The worst part?

You weren’t sure which was scarier.

You were swept from your feet. You weren't even sure if he was real. It was a dangerous game. An addictively dangerous game. The kind that tasted like sugary lollipops and cigarettes.

-0-

There were worse things than being assigned to Earth.

Demons, for example. Or wrath training. Or watching over finance bros.

But you? You were a new category altogether.

Sunoo stood perched atop a streetlamp, invisible to human eyes, eyes narrowed as you attempted to pry a stuck piece of toast from the toaster using, oh dear God, a knife this time.

“No,” he whispered to himself. “No, no, no.”

He vanished in a flash of gold and appeared in your kitchen just in time to phase the metal object out of your hand. You blinked, looked around, and muttered, “Huh. Weird.”

He exhaled.

“Weird?” he repeated to no one. “You almost zapped yourself into next week and it’s weird?!”

He faded back out before you could see him, retreating to the rooftop above your apartment. It was raining now, gentle droplets catching on the tips of his wings.

He groaned, flopping onto the ledge. “I’m going to be smited.”

The wind rustled, carrying whispers from higher above. Celestial static.

“Is she alive?” “Barely,” he muttered. “Good. You’ve only been down there three days.” “It feels like three years. She tried to fight a vending machine with her bare hands yesterday.” “That’s not fatal.” “She climbed on top of it!”

The voice paused.

“You’re attached already, aren’t you?”

Sunoo sat up slowly, eyes dark with something that was definitely not attachment.

“…She talks to her plants,” he said.

Silence.

“…She named them after BTS members.”

More silence.

“…She sings when she thinks she’s alone. And she makes up the lyrics.”

A pause.

“…She makes jokes in elevators to strangers. And gets awkward when they don’t laugh. But she laughs anyway. She laughs like she means it.”

The voice softened.

“You’re falling.”

Sunoo closed his eyes. Rain hitting his skin. Wings slowly dimming.

“She’s gravity,” he whispered. “How am I supposed to stay above her?”

Sunoo watched from above over every assignment he was supposed to keep alive. You weren’t supposed to be this interesting. Guardianship was supposed to be boring. Keep them safe, keep them healthy, don’t get involved.

But you laughed too loudly. And cried during commercials. And sang badly in the shower. And named your basil plant Taehyung.

He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop hovering. Couldn’t stop noticing how his wings beat faster when you smiled at your reflection, even when your eyeliner was crooked. Angels didn't have hearts, because they too, had once died to become what they are, but Sunoo could swear there was a faint drumming against his chest every time you waved at the little kid across your balcony.

He told himself it was fine. He told himself it wasn’t personal.

But he knew. Even if he never touched you. Even if he never said a word. He was already falling, and he also knew, that he would never be forgiven for it.

Then silence.

Except, below, your kitchen.

Oh sweet Jesus.

You were trying to shove your hand in the toaster because the knife had bent under your wrath.

Sunoo nearly exploded out of his skin. He was not to be exiled because you hadn't been taught basic conductivity.

“NOPE. Not today.”

He swooped in, wings disguised, fists clenched. He knocked on your door.

Silence. Then soft footsteps. The lock clicked.

You cracked the door, peering out. Eyes wide.

“…Sexy stranger?” you blurted. Sunoo blinked. “…Sexy stranger? Really?” You blinked again. “You're real?” He sighed. “Unfortunately.”

When you still didn't let him in, "May I come in?" in the politest way he could muster. You didn't have to know he was plotting to baby proof your whole apartment.

"Also, can you stop electrocuting yourself? Trust me babe, there are better ways."

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, fingers still clutched around the edge of your door like you were waiting to wake up. He looked the same as earlier, cream sweater, damp curls, those obnoxiously celestial cheekbones, "Who are you?" you finally blurted out, you didn't mean that in a rude or condescending way, but now that you rethought, you were going to go and vent about it to your personal diary, 'How could I say that to sexy stranger??'

"Oh, honey." His eyes gleamed dangerously, "I wouldn't tell you even if I knew."

“This is a dream,” you mumbled.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you dream of sexy strangers often?”

“…No. But if I did, they probably wouldn’t show up at my door to save me from electrocution.”

He gave you a pointed look. “Then stop putting your hands in toasters.”

You huffed. “Okay, wow, someone’s judgy for a hallucination.”

“I’m not a hallucination.”

You blinked. “That’s exactly what a hallucination would say.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can I come in before you light something else on fire?”

You didn’t even answer, just stepped back and opened the door wider. He entered like he belonged there. Like he’d done it before. Which, terrifyingly enough, he might have.

You followed him into the kitchen, where the toaster sat, still sullen and slightly smoking. He walked straight up to it, poked the edge with a single glowing finger, and the whole machine hummed softly… then popped out your toast.

You gasped. “It works?!" then turned to him, "Are you like, IDK, Batman or someone?"

“It’s not supposed to,” he muttered. “It’s completely fried. Like your fork. And your knife. And possibly your neurons.”

“Okay,” you said, eyes narrowing. “I get it, I’m a danger to myself and others-”

“I never said ‘others.’” He glanced over his shoulder. “Just yourself.”

You paused. “…That’s somehow worse.”

He looked at you then. Full-on. His eyes weren’t just calm. They were deep. Like the sky. Like still water. Like looking at something endless. “I’m not here to judge you,” he said softly. “I’m here to protect you.”

There was a silence. A real one. No banter. No smoke. Just you and the boy who dropped out of the clouds. You asked quietly, “What are you?” He tilted his head, "Do you not get it? I-"

"Please?" you asked, softly, curiously. “I’m a guardian angel.” Wow, he folded fast. You blinked. Then blinked again.

Then burst out laughing. “No, seriously,” you said. “Are you, like, part of some... cult cosplay group?”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even blink. He just stepped forward.

And slowly, like the air was unzipping, two gossamer wings unfurled from his back. Soft white. Shimmering with gold veins. Glowing faintly in the artificial light of your apartment kitchen.

Your breath left you. Holy. Shit. He was real.

You stepped back until your shoulder hit the fridge. “So... you’re really an angel?” He nodded once.

“And I’m... what? Your little chaos project?” “No,” he said firmly. “You’re my person.” Your mouth went dry. “That sounds suspiciously romantic.” “It’s not supposed to be.” His voice lowered. “But it’s becoming a problem.”

You didn’t even have a joke for that.

Your heart was thudding so loud, you were pretty sure he could hear it. And Sunoo? He looked at you like he already knew every version of you, the part that cried at commercials, the part that forgot to water your plants, the part that was just... trying to keep going.

You swallowed. “Are you going to keep saving me from small appliances?”

He smiled, something wistful pulling at the edge of his mouth, "Sadly, so consider your friendless ass and mine as friends." You gasped dramatically, "I thought celestial heavenly being aren't suppose to swear?!" You said it like it was a crime, that made him chuckle. "What God doesn't know, doesn't hurt him." his eyes sparkled mischievously. And HOLY RABID CHICKEN, you just melted like your fork right there.

-0-

Over the past few weeks, Sunoo had saved you more times than you had melted your forks (which- you must admit- was a lot-) and you increasingly found yourself oddly....

attached?

But you knew it was fruitless, this was forbidden. It could either end in both of you being separated for eternity, or have Sunoo become a fallen angel, which you were sure he didn't want.

And he definitely didn't like you back, you were too chaotic for your own good. It's just a little crush.

Yet you found yourself thinking about him every moment.

There was the umbrella incident.

You had once again forgotten your own. The sky cracked open as you left your apartment, clouds leaking like broken pipes. You cursed under your breath, already soaked, and turned to head back—

-and someone was holding a white umbrella over your head.

You froze.

“Hey,” Sunoo said, casually, like he hadn’t materialized out of nowhere. “You really need to invest in waterproof shoes.”

You turned to him, startled. “You, you scared me!”

He offered the umbrella handle to you. “Then maybe stop standing in the middle of the street.”

“You’re always around at the weirdest times.”

He shrugged. “Or maybe your life is just always weird.”

You took the umbrella. Your fingers brushed.

Static. Not the dangerous kind. The kind that made your heart do a tiny cartwheel.

You didn’t ask him to walk with you. He just did.

And somewhere between your third sarcastic comment and his dry reply, you realized it felt natural. Too natural.

Like he’d been walking beside you your whole life. And you couldn't help... but think, that maybe, just maybe, your life had found it's purpose.

And you were afraid of losing that purpose.

-0-

It happened fast. One minute, you were arguing with a barista about why cold brew should not cost the same as your rent, and the next, the light above you exploded.

Glass. Heat. Crackling wires.

You didn’t see it. You didn’t have to.

Because Sunoo was already there. He’d shoved you back instinctively, one arm curling around you, the other raised just in time to shield you from the burst. The shards never touched you.

But him? You hadn’t noticed at first. Not until you got home.

“Sunoo,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing at the red seeping through his sleeve, “are you bleeding?” “No,” he said.

You pointed. “That’s literally blood.” “That’s ketchup.” “Sunoo.”

He groaned, collapsing onto your couch like a teenager who just got grounded. “Okay, fine, it’s a little cut.” You knelt beside him. “Show me.”

“I’m fine.” “Sunoo.”

He looked at you. Really looked. And you saw it again, that flicker of something in his eyes. Worry. Shame. Something like… guilt?

Slowly, he pulled his sweater sleeve up. Your breath hitched.

There, along the inside of his arm, was a long gash. Shallow but angry. Raw. Already bruising. “Oh my God,” you whispered. “This—this happened because of me.”

“No,” he said firmly. “It happened because of gravity. And light fixtures. And a really overpriced coffee shop.”

You stared. “Sunoo.” His voice softened. “It’s not your fault. You’re not a problem, Y/n, You’re a person. People get protected.”

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he would do it again. A hundred times. A thousand.

And that? That made your throat burn more than any scraped elbow ever could. Without a word, you stood and went to your bathroom. Rummaged through your cabinet. Returned with a first aid kit you’d never opened.

“Give me your arm.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That shut him up. You sat beside him, close. Close enough to smell the faint scent of rain still clinging to him. Like he never really left the clouds.

You dabbed at the cut gently, your fingers brushing his skin. He didn’t flinch. But he watched you like you were something sacred.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve healed from worse.” “Well, congrats,” you said. “You’re healing from this one with me.”

Sunoo was quiet for a long time. Then, in the softest voice, he whispered, “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

Your hands paused. “What?” “To angels,” he said. “You’re dangerous.” You looked up. He was already looking down at you. “You make us fall.”

Your heart beat faster, you put a hand on his chest to make him hold his position. Unlike others, who believed Angels shared every humans heart, you didn't. And needless to say, you were surprised to find a faint thud against your palm. You weren't alone, though, Sunoo was alarmed too.

He jumped up quickly, ignoring the blood from his wound now staining the sleeve of his crisp sweater. "I-" he pushed past you gently, "I need to go." "Sunoo.." you whispered, softer than the feather you had encased on your nightstand.

But Sunoo was already out of your door, and when you went to call for him, he wasn't there. but the space he left behind didn’t stop glowing. Your heart was in as many pieces as the exploded glass.

-0-

You didn’t sleep that night.

Not because of the blood, or the glass, or even the way your toaster was still humming mysteriously on the counter.

It was because you couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face. The one right before he left. Like he’d said too much. Like he’d felt too much.

Your fingers still tingled from touching his skin. Your palm, where his heartbeat had echoed faintly against it, felt scorched. But angels didn’t have heartbeats. Not unless they were—

Don’t go there.

You buried yourself under your blanket and stared at the ceiling until morning.

-0-

Sunoo didn’t return.

Not the next day. Not the one after. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That you were fine. That your kitchen hadn’t tried to murder you all week, and maybe that meant you were doing great.

But your apartment felt quieter. Your plants drooped. Even the air had lost that faint scent of rain. Even your reflection in the mirror looked… lonelier.

There were no feathers on your pillow. No umbrellas appearing from nowhere. Your toaster stayed stubbornly intact. And the rain didn’t shimmer anymore.

You tried not to miss him.

But you did.

You tried writing about him in your journal. Just to get it out. But every time you tried to describe him, your pen stalled. What were you supposed to write? Dear Diary, I think my guardian angel has abandonment issues?

Or worse—I think I made him bleed, and now he hates me. So you stopped trying. And you waited.

-0-

Up above. Sunoo felt heavier. His eyes were dimmer, the clouds were heavier, and his wings were shedding. His wings had never shedded before. He didn't beg to come back, he didn't beg to leave. But he didn't beg to stay either.

He remembered the way he had said you name before he left you, he had seen the timed you didn't water your plants anymore, he had seen the way you wrapped yourself up in your blanket instead of getting up in the morning.

-0-

The next time you saw him, it wasn’t a miracle. It was a breakdown. You were on your roof. It was raining again. And you were crying.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just that quiet, slow kind that happens when the world is too heavy and your heart has no more space. And then he was there.

No wings. No glow. Just Sunoo. Soaked to the bone. Breathing hard like he’d been running. “Why are you—” “I couldn’t stay away.” You blinked. “You left.” “I know.” “You said you wouldn’t.” “I lied.”

Your voice cracked. “Why come back?” “Because you’re the first thing I’ve ever wanted for myself.” The silence that followed was the kind that cracked the sky. He stepped forward. You stepped back. “I can’t do this,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m still here.” You looked at him. Really looked. And realized how human he looked.

Tired. Cold. Real. “I’m scared,” you admitted.

“So am I.” You stared at each other like the world might end any second. And maybe it would. But right now, you reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away.

There was no kiss. Not yet. But the distance between you had never felt smaller. And somewhere, far above the clouds— Something cracked. Not like thunder. More like wings breaking, a few shimmering white feathers dropped to the ground and hissed. Sunoo didn’t fall that night. But Heaven began to notice.

he visits didn’t stop.

Sunoo kept showing up. Sometimes for a moment. Sometimes for hours. He brought you lemon cake once. Said it reminded him of you, sweet, a little messy, and impossible to hate.

You told him that was the worst compliment you’d ever received. He just grinned.

But there were rules now. No touching too long. No looking too long. No wanting too much.

Heaven was listening.

He said he could hear it sometimes, the whispers. Faint cracks in the clouds. Static in his ears. You said that sounded horrifying. He said it sounded worth it.

You didn’t kiss. Not even when you wanted to.

Not even when he looked at you like you were more precious than all the stars he’d flown past.

-0-

He fell.

You didn’t see it happen. You didn’t witness the sky tear open or hear the trumpet-blast of wings being ripped from grace. But you felt it. The ground shook.

The streetlight outside your window flickered violently. Your glass of water cracked down the middle. And your body jolted like something had just been severed in the air above.

Then the knock came. Soft. Familiar.

You opened the door expecting... someone else. But there he was. Same boy. Same cream sweater. Except now, he was drenched. Mud on his knees. Skin scraped. No glow. No wings.

Just… Sunoo.

Human. You found Sunoo in your hallway, collapsed and drenched, steam rising from his skin like divinity was trying to burn itself out of him. His wings—what was left of them—flickered with dying light, feathers singed and curled at the ends.

The fall should have killed him. It didn’t.

You dropped beside him, hands trembling. “Sunoo—Sunoo, look at me—please—” He groaned, barely conscious. “It’s alright,” you whispered, “you’re here. You’re safe.”

His eyes opened slowly. And for the first time, they looked human. No glow. No shimmer. Just pain. “I remembered something,” he rasped.

You froze. “What?” His voice cracked. “Your laugh.” You blinked. “What do you mean?” “I heard it. In the fall. Before everything. Before this life. It was you.” He stared at you like he was seeing you clearly for the first time. “You’ve always been the reason.”

You didn’t understand. But something inside you did.

It was like the world shifted sideways. Like the cracks in your memory finally opened wide enough to swallow you whole. A flash:

You, standing in a garden not built on Earth. Dressed in light. Smiling up at him, your hand in his. Another—

Sunoo kissing your forehead as fire bloomed in the distance. Whispers of rebellion. Of punishment. Another—

God’s voice. Cold. Final. “You are no longer my daughter.” “You will forget him. He will forget you.” “You were never meant to touch the sky.”

And then— Silence.

You gasped, stumbling back, your mind reeling. “I—oh my God.” Wait no, was it, Oh My Father? But that just didn't sound right.

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “You remember.” “You, we—” You both said it at the same time. “We’ve done this before.”

And suddenly the pieces fit. The inexplicable pull. The familiarity in his gaze. The ache that had never made sense, until now.

“I’m not just your assignment,” you breathed. He nodded, voice thick. “You were mine. Before. Before Heaven. Before the fall. Before everything.”

You looked down at your hands. “And I’m not just human.” Sunoo’s voice was barely a whisper. “You were His daughter.”

Silence echoed louder than thunder.

Outside, the storm was dying, but inside, something else was rising. A memory. A prophecy. A punishment disguised as mercy.

You were never meant to find each other again. But you had. And now? Now Heaven was unraveling.

Sunoo reached for your hand—not glowing, not divine, just his hand. Human. Fragile. Real. And you took it.

Because love like this doesn’t die.

Not even when God Himself tries to erase it. He looked up at you with eyes full of things he didn’t know how to name.

“I messed up,” he whispered. “You’re bleeding again,” you said.

He laughed once, humorless. “Guess I better get used to that.”

You stared at him. At the way he shivered slightly in your too-warm living room. The way he kept his hands in his lap like he didn’t trust them anymore.

“What happened?” you asked.

He didn’t look at you. “They told me I had to go back. That I was getting too close. That you were... distracting me.”

“And?” He looked up.

“I didn’t go.” You blinked. “I told them I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t leave. That I—” He stopped. His throat worked.

“That you what?” you asked gently. He exhaled, slow and shaky.

“That I would rather fall than stay away from you.” You stared, "You told God, father- you would rather spend a mortal life with me rather than in paradise?"

He smiled, bitter and soft. “Here I am. Fallen. Probably damned. Definitely mortal. And all I can think is... I hope you’re not mad at me.”

You stepped closer. “You gave up eternity for me?” “I didn’t even hesitate,” he said. “That’s the worst part.” You didn’t know whether to cry or kiss him or scream. So you did the only thing that made sense.

You took his hand. And this time? There was a heartbeat. A real one.

Slow. Steady. Human, as if it was testing how much pain a hundred broken hearts could hold. You pressed your forehead to his. “I don’t know what happens now.”

Sunoo smiled, something quiet and infinite in his eyes. “We live. Messily. Dangerously. Probably with at least three more toaster accidents.” You laughed through your tears. “And if Heaven sends a retrieval squad?”

He grinned. “Then we run. But not before you finally buy a fire extinguisher.” And just like that.

Your guardian angel became yours in the only way that mattered. Not because he saved you. But because he chose you.

You leaned in. He didn’t back away. His eyes were shimmering, not with light, not anymore, but with something braver, and more ambitious than you had ever seen him.

You pressed your lips to his.

Not sweet. Not perfect. Just real.

Like forgiveness. Like fire. Like every life you forgot and every version of him that still waited at the gates.

He kissed you back, and something inside you clicked. Not like lightning.

Like a lock. Like a door that had waited centuries to open.

Somewhere, far above the clouds, past the stars and the soundless halls of Heaven, God paused.

And for the first time since your banishment, He did not speak.

Because He knew.

No command could unwrite this. No memory wipe could bury it. He shook his head in disbelief, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He turned his back.

Sunoo had fallen. And you, you had risen.

Not back to Heaven. But forward. Into something more.

Two exiled hearts. One broken rule. And a love so stubborn, it burned brighter than grace.

Outside, the storm finally broke. Inside, he rested his forehead against yours, chest still rising too fast.

“You’re really here,” he whispered. You smiled, tears still clinging to your lashes. “You fell for me.”

Sunoo’s thumb brushed your cheek. “You caught me.”

And somewhere behind you, quiet, nearly invisible, your toaster sparked. But this time, neither of you moved.

"The toaster's malfunctioning again." you chuckled wetly, Sunoo smiled teasingly, "Heaven help me."

The End

Masterlist

[simplepotatofarmer]

a better proposal

the continuation of my fake marriage c!dnb au written for @alterdnbweek!

The cloak was spread out on the floor of the prison cell with one edge rolled up into the world’s most pathetic attempt at a pillow. Dream was resting his head on the lump of fabric, staring up at the ceiling, his intact leg bent at the knee and swaying back and forth. He had given up on trying to sleep and Techno had given up on trying to get him to sleep. The bags under his eyes said he needed rest but it didn’t come easy in Pandora’s Vault even for Techno who had always been proud of his ability to sleep anywhere. Techno yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. At the sound, Dream turned his head and looked at him.

“Did I disturb you, Dream?” asked Techno with a grin.

Dream gave a quiet laugh.

“No.” The expression on Dream’s face was one Techno was familiar with and he readied himself for whatever nonsense specifically designed to make him shake his head was about to come out of Dream’s mouth. “I was just thinking…”

The grin on Techno’s face widened fondly.

“I’m sure, I’m sure.”

For a moment the tables were turned and Dream shot Techno a look before rolling his eyes.

“Fuck off, Techno, I-I am,” he said. “I was thinking, how—how did you propose to me?”

Techno blinked.

“Heh?”

The question hadn’t been what Techno was expecting and he stared at Dream who raised his shoulders in an awkward shrug before folding his hands across his stomach. His eyes were back on the ceiling.

“We’re pretending to be married, right? So, I mean, you had to propose, right?”

Glancing up at the ceiling as if he thought he could find whatever inspired Dream to go down this line of questioning, Techno mimicked his shrug.

“How d’you know I was the one to propose? Maybe you were the one,” said Techno.

Dream scoffed and rolled slightly onto his side to stare at Techno.

“It’s your idea that means you were the one to propose.”

The logic was flawless, Techno had to admit. With a groan, he stretched out onto his belly until his face was only a few inches away from Dream’s. Dream watched with what Techno thought was suspicion and a bit of eagerness.

“Alright, you’ve got a point.” Techno propped his chin up on one hand. “Lemme think. It had to be something epic, obviously.”

Dream nodded, face serious.

“Obviously.”

This close, it might have been possible to count the freckles on Dream’s cheeks and nose. He was watching Techno intently, eyes never leaving his face, and Techno felt a blush rising. The thought that they were close enough he could kiss Dream wouldn’t leave. He cleared his throat.

“It was the middle of battle. You were surrounded by enemies—”

One of Dream’s hands darted out and smacked Techno lightly on the arm.

“Hey!”

Techno caught Dream’s wrist. Dream wasn’t that much shorter than him but he had always been lithe and the starvation had taken that into painfully thin territory. Techno could wrap his fingers completely around his wrist.

“Remember, I’m the one proposin’ here, Dream, that means I get to decide.”

“Alright, fiiiine,” said Dream.

It would’ve been easy for him to tug his hand away – the grip was gentle – but he didn’t. Techno’s fingers moved upwards until he was able to lace them together with Dream’s.

“Where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?” Dream rolled his eyes and Techno grinned. “Oh right, so there you were, surrounded by enemies. I had already finished off the guys I was fightin’, obviously.”

Dream rolled his eyes again but he was smiling.

“Obviously,” he said, the sarcasm thick and amused.

Techno squeezed Dream’s hand a little.

“I saw you were in trouble and pearled right in the middle, just in time to parry a fatal blow. Together – see, I’m givin’ you some credit, Dream – we finished off the rest of ‘em just as the sun began settin’. In the orange light of the sunset, you actually looked kinda pretty.”

In the orange light of the lava, Dream did look kind of pretty, Techno thought, even with the feigned look of annoyance. He was still looking at Techno and he had leaned in closer and Techno didn’t think he had realized it.

“Then?” Dream prompted.

Techno shifted where he lay. He hadn’t realized he was staring.

“I took your hand,” he said, squeezing Dream’s hand, “and got down on one knee, askin’ you to marry me. Of course, you were ecstatic and said yes, Techno, I’ll marry you because I can’t believe someone as cool and handsome as you would want to marry a homeless guy.”

The laugh Dream gave was loud and delighted.

“Oh my god! What is wrong with you?” His voice rose and fell, squeaking out as his cheeks turned bright red. “You—That’s the worst proposal ever, Technoblade! Y-you didn’t even give me a ring or flowers or—or kiss me!”

The thought that had been stuck in Techno’s mind was white hot. He leaned in a little.

“It was the middle of a battle, Dream, I didn’t have time to stop to pick flowers, alright?”

Dream tilted his head up. His breath was warm on Techno’s face.

“Lame. I could—I could definitely do better.”

Techno’s laugh was soft and amused.

“Yeah? Alright, man, you tell me how you’d do it,” he said.

It was quiet for a moment and Techno was certain he could hear Dream’s heart racing just as quickly as his own was.

“I would’ve, like, done the whole candlelight dinner thing. I mean, I can’t really cook but whatever. I would’ve gotten you flowers,” said Dream, triumphantly, as if he had won the game they were playing.

Rubbing his thumb against Dream’s knuckle, Techno nodded slowly as he considered Dream’s words. He was considering a lot of things, like the curve of Dream’s mouth and the butterflies in his stomach. He was trying to ignore the way Dream was looking at him because he had a feeling it mirrored his own expression.

“Oh, I see, I see. You would’ve gone full rose petals on the floor, huh?” Dream didn’t answer because Techno had leaned in close enough that his snout was just barely touching the corner of his mouth. They both held perfectly still until Techno raised an eyebrow and said, “I guess you would’ve kissed me, too.”

When Dream answered, his lips brushed against Techno’s skin. He said, with no sarcasm, “Obviously.”

A shiver went down Techno’s spine and it pained him to move away.

“Y’know what, Dream? I’ll give it to ya, yours was better.”

[creative-frequency]

Lucanis Dellamorte x Reader: Late Nights & Delayed Confessions, pt.3

Summary: There is only one bed. Part 3 of 5. Word count: 980 Notes: (Unresolved) romantic tension, pining, you’re an Antivan Crow, no spoilers for Veilguard → Part 2 → My writing masterlist

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Lucanis prompted instantly as you stepped inside your room.

“Don’t be silly,” you replied.

“Then where do you suggest I rest? In the closet?” He spread his arms and pointedly looked around.

“Hm, it might be a tight fit, but…”

Lucanis scoffed.

This familiar back and forth brought back remnants of times that were somehow simpler, somehow more filled with hopes and dreams. You had long since abandoned those three notions in everything related to Lucanis Dellamorte.

“There’s enough room for us both,” you continued as nonchalantly as possible. Meanwhile the thought of sharing a bed with him made your pulse quicken.

You both looked at the said bed. It looked even smaller now.

Lucanis inhaled deeply and searched your face for a moment. He probably didn’t find what he was so intent on seeing since he sighed again, clearly vexed, and crossed over the floor to sit on the bed. Without any further ado, he started taking off his cloak, jacket and boots, and lovingly placed three throwing knives, a dagger and a short sword on the bedside table.

You just stood there. Staring. Probably your mouth hanging open with a high probability of a line of drool. So ladylike.

Sure, you had seen him taking off his… stuff and not just in your daydreams. You had seen men undressing, and been an active participant in the activity and what usually ensued after, but witnessing Lucanis go through the motions made your heart lodge in your throat. It felt somehow very wrong and very right.

Suddenly it also felt like decades had passed since the last time you had been alone with him. Memories of flowing wine and a secluded balcony in Treviso surfaced. It had been a hell of a contract and the execution had been flawless. Some visuals of the celebrations afterwards were still hazy and you hadn’t dared to ask Lucanis to clear up the fog.

There was… heat. And heartache. A wine-induced drunken haze? Or maybe something more.

You shook your head to dissipate the tingling sensation. You hadn’t asked Lucanis about that night before and you wouldn’t start that conversation now.

You started taking off your earrings, gaze bouncing between the master assassin and your own motions in the mirror.

“Are you sure the man wasn’t just trying to rob you because you’re walking around in those?” Lucanis met your eyes through the mirror and nodded to the small pile of jewellery on the side table.

“Mm. Maybe,” you ventured softly, “But they were a gift from Illario on last Satinalia, so I wanted to wear them.”

Lucanis looked away, but didn’t comment. That frustrating, perfectly blank slate on his handsome face would be a frightening opponent in Wicked Grace.

You didn’t exactly hurry in preparing – mostly mentally – to bed, and yet the moment still arrived altogether too soon. Lucanis was waiting for you, stalling. You could see he didn’t approve of the idea, but had likely arrived through a very precise, logical line of thought to the conclusion that this couldn’t be helped. For one night, you could sleep standing on your head if need be. Lucanis was probably thinking along the same lines. You needed to be up early and well rested for the journey back to Treviso in the morning. Viago would actually murder you if the Merchant Prince contract wouldn’t be handled by the end of the week.

“I’ll take the door’s side,” you said and embarrassment burned hot because of how squeaky your voice was.

“Right.”

You avoided looking at Lucanis and shuffled to your side of the bed. It was so small. This was a terrible idea.

The mattress dipped behind your back as Lucanis laid down. There was only one blanket and you cursed yourself for not having the foresight to snatch an extra one from Illario’s room.

You lifted the blanket and tossed the other half of it behind you so that Lucanis could have what little comfort it offered. Both of you were mostly dressed, but it seemed disrespectful to hoard it all to yourself.

Lucanis didn’t say anything as he settled the blanket over his side, but you were already feeling the warming effect of sharing. You scooted just an inch backward to narrow the gap between your bodies.

“You’re going to fall off the bed. Come closer,” Lucanis said quietly.

Those two last words rushed the air from your lungs, attached your heart into your throat to prevent inhaling more and threw a match into the barrel of gaatlok inside your chest. Heat rushed through your whole body to chase the escaped air and for a second, breathing ever again seemed impossible.

Lucanis turned slightly to look over his shoulder. You were petrified.

“Fiore?”

Could he not.

“I-I’m fine,” you managed.

He turned back and silence fell.

You really needed to calm down. Treat it as just a job. It was not the first time you were sleeping next to another warm body. You both were reasonable and functional adults. This was a matter of convenience. If Lucanis realised you were doing calming breathing exercises, he didn’t address it.

He shifted a little, tugged at the blanket and let it loosen again. You focused on breathing.

Lucanis scooted backward just like you had done and all of a sudden your back was pressed against his. A backwash of the heat flooded back into you. Forcing your body to relax was suddenly effortless. Like this warmth had been what you were just waiting for in order to settle in for the night. Your breaths were steady. Lucanis’ back was moving subtly in tandem with his breathing.

Now, if only you could have fallen into dreamless sleep.

He had called you ‘Fiore’.

Who had you been kidding, there was absolutely no way you could fall asleep next to Lucanis Dellamorte.

-

→ Part 4