#the brand new testament

[goga-je-pieroga]

"The Brand New Testament" 2015 dir. Jaco Van Dormael

This two frames has The Shining vibes imo

[godblooded]

so my aunt’s having the treatment and then we have to drive thirty minutes to the er to get platelets for an hour. are you fucking kidding me. are you seriously fucking kidding me.

[oldblackhat]

Everyone is talking again about how they didn’t do jack the first time really and will probably fumble it again while someone else figures it out.

And I agree the phrasing is suspect.

like yes they are such Impressive Failures a la (http://www.wordplayer.com/columns/wp08.Impressive.Failure.html -I saw someone else reference this but cant find the post)

But they like also haven’t managed to accomplish nothing - like they are never the Big Deal Hero but they dont play no role - and really you don’t have to be to have contributed meaningfully. They’re like the non-hobbit members of the Fellowship of the Ring who helped get them to the mountain. Its a team effort is what I’m saying.

Did they avert the apocalypse? No. But immediately afterwards Adam was being threatened by Gabriel and Beezlebub to start it up again, and they introduced doubt confusing them into leaving (which was Az’s idea). And would Adam have been able to come up with the “you’re not my real dad” play in time if Crowley hadn’t stopped time and given Adam a spell to breathe and think?

Also Crowley noticed that Gabriel wrote “it’s in the fly” on the bottom of the box which was a major breakthrough really in resolving the Gabriel mystery. And they immediately argued on Gabriel and Beezlebub’s behalf within miliseconds of learning they they are an item - saying “one at a time” and “what do you want?” and “I’ve heard Alpha Centuri is nice”

I assume in s3 they’ll shoot to fix it all and that’ll get somewhat bungled but they’ll ultimately provide an important contribution that might not be the final death strike but may just help set the stage

Point is they’re not the Big Deal Heros and never will be but really you don’t have to be to have contributed meaningfully - takes a village to avert an apocalypse and all tha

(Are there big deal heros anyway? Adam and his friends won by just being kids who care - really it was a team effort of people showing up and each doing a small part because they care)

(Life is too messy for big deal heros anyway - its all more complicated and grey then that. And that’s both Heaven and Hells downfall that they try to force things into black-and-white so much they fail to see what’s actually happening)

“Only Crowley and Aziraphale working together can hope to put it right.”

Historically untrue but sure, I’ll play along.

[yueebby]

keep dreaming! – gojo satoru

synopsis. down bad? … it’s gojo satoru!

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, he basically has a wet dream of you, you wear tinted lip balm, your first kiss w him (??), suguru plays devil’s advocate

notes. remember spring days!au but can be read alone. anyways, enjoy!! I am writing this while sick (yikes). also of course this wouldn’t be canon compliant if i had not included satoru and suguru’s dynamic! I tried my best to apply their interactions during the basketball match + while theyre leaving jujutsu tech as much as i can.

“satoru…” you murmur, looking up at him shyly. the two of you find yourselves alone in the classroom. a greedy smile plays on his lips, and you struggle to formulate words as your eyes travel from his cerulean ones to his lips. satoru can barely contain his excitement, the anticipation radiates from him like an electric charge.

“say it, [name]. tell me what you want.” he whispers back at you seductively, his eyes are spellbound onto yours. you whine before grabbing the collar of his uniform and pulling him onto you. your lips are soft, so soft. you were made for him, he’s sure, as your lips mold together. as a matter of fact, your lips are so soft that they feel eerily like his pillow–

"get up! we’re late to our mission!" suguru hits the top of satoru’s head with the spare pillow on his bed. the white haired boy immediately activates his innate technique to block his best friend’s attacks.

it was going to be a long day.

“it’s unlike you to wake up so late.” suguru’s hands pause over the shoji door of the classroom. his concern for gojo was more important than the imminent lecture they were going to receive from yaga for their tardiness. “plus you totally sucked today.”

their mission had taken an unexpected turn for the worse when the pair had found themselves stuck in an incomplete domain. the narrow escape was only possible as a result of suguru’s quick thinking with rainbow dragon.

the bandaid on satoru’s cheek is a silent testament to the mission gone wrong.

“i’ve just been tired.” satoru mumbles quietly, heat rising to his cheeks as the memory of the dream flashes in his mind. he was too deep in thought to counter his friend’s insult.

something was definitely wrong. suguru raises his eyebrows, “and it has nothing to do with the fact that i caught you making out with your pillow?”

“i– what?” the heat has spread from his cheeks to all over his face. he hopes his sunglasses cover the blush that was blossoming on his face. suguru lets out a breath of relief. satoru’s blush meant that the matter at hand was only trivial…

“don’t tell me you were dreaming of [name],” his best friend smiles knowingly. satoru groans. suguru definitely knew, he was just playing with him at this point.

their conversation is cut short when the doors slide open by themselves to reveal a certain brown haired girl with a distasteful look on her face.

“satoru is having wet dreams of [name]?” shoko remarks quietly, making sure her comment is only heard by the two males. “i would act surprised, but it’s not like you’re above it.”

“just who do you think i am?” satoru looks down at his friend.  

“a real pervert.” shoko simply replied before quickly making her way back to the desk next to yours. 

satoru’s eyes follow her and make their way onto you. like a fly making its way into a honey trap, he can’t seem to look anywhere else. too busy burning the image of you absorbed in your textbook, he absorbs every little detail from the way your soft lips slightly part to mouth the words of the book to the way your leg bounces underneath the table. were you using a new lip balm? there was a subtle shade difference from your usual choice. gojo makes a mental note to ask you for the exact brand for… personal reasons.

in his trance, satoru fails to notice yaga’s scolding. he had also failed to notice how suguru had already made his way into a desk.

“satoru since you seem so eager to continue standing, i assume you volunteer to solve this equation.” yaga angrily taps the blackboard with a worn out price of chalk. 

satoru stiffens up, not because of yaga’s wrath, but because your attention has shifted from the textbook to him. you blink up at him, the image dangerously similar to his dream. satoru gulps, eyes quickly flitting to the equation messily written on the board. 

at least math equations don’t make him feel like his heart is beating out of his chest.

it didn’t take a genius to notice how quiet satoru has been today. as if he were in his own world, you notice.

“i fear that i may have been giving satoru too much attention lately,” you mutter to your two other friends, mind running laps trying to recall all of the intimate moments you have spent with the white haired fiend— all of which could be characterized as highly inappropriate. 

“you always do,” suguru lazily rests his chin on the palm of his hand on the desk across from you. after yaga’s lecture, the seats had been rearranged appropriately so that the four of you could enjoy lunch together. “lay some of your love on us too.” he gestures his chopsticks to himself and shoko who were sitting side by side.

one could argue that the subtle smirk playing on suguru’s lips were a lot more dangerous than satoru’s. you’re afraid that suguru has started a game that will only end with your downfall.

the silver tongued boy seemed to catch satoru’s attention with his comment.

“ha– mad that you don’t pull? get your own girl,” satoru speaks up for the first time, glaring at his best friend through half lidded eyes from above his dark glasses. the half eaten melonpan in his hand was long forgotten.

“last i checked, [name] wasn’t your girl,” suguru places his chopsticks back down on his bento box. 

you could’ve sworn you saw an irk mark appear on the side of gojo’s face. 

shoko, who had been watching the scene unfold, sips on her juicebox silently. your eyes anxiously flit between the two boys.

“if you’re still mad about that mission, step outside. it’s not like i’m the one savin’ our asses every time.” satoru grits his teeth. 

the loud sound of suguru’s chair screeching on the wooden floor reverberates in the mostly empty room, “you and your uncouth mouth,” he accuses satoru.

shoko flees the scene. smart girl. 

you were about to follow her, but suguru holds out a hand for you to stop,

“i’m just about done anyway. please, don’t cut your meal early on my account,” he looks down at you and your full bento box. the black haired boy leaves no room for discussion when he turns his back to leave the classroom. 

when the shoji doors are slammed shut by suguru, your head whips to satoru who resumes eating his strawberry melonpan. 

“what was that? you’ve been acting strange, satoru– what happened on that mission?”

“don’ worry ‘bout it,” you barely make out the words coming out of his mouth that is full as he munches on the pink bread. 

you scoff, “you can’t just expect me to ignore the argument you just had with suguru. and that ugly bandaid on your face?” you point at the skin-colored bandage haphazardly placed on his face. upon further inspection, you also notice the growing eyebags on his face. it was truly peculiar to see any blemish on satoru’s perfect face.

he pouts, “are you calling me ugly?” satoru doesn't take pleasure in upsetting you, but the gradual way you leaned closer to him sparked an unexpected thrill within him.

“no, i’m worried about you. you’re being weird, satoru.” he was far from ugly.

as your back faces the window, the outside light casts an otherworldly glow around you.

“well, aren’t you an angel?” he tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, completely enamored.

“you never stop, do you? you’ve been completely out of it all day!” your scrutinizing gaze zeroes in on gojo who was mindlessly nodding with a dazed out smile on his face. “and judging by the way you’re all bandaged up, suguru was probably right! i mean you totally got roughed up. the great gojo satoru, wounded.” 

satoru blushes at your angry face. he’d say something indecent, but he fears that it would only scare you away. if only you knew that the reason he was all messed up was because of you.

“it's partially your fault, y'know.” cerulean eyes blink at you sheepishly before being replaced by a newfound mischievous look.

he doesn’t miss the way your anger shifts into confusion.

"excuse me?"

satoru continues, “if it weren't for you appearing in my dream i wouldn't have been distracted by that incomplete domain.” he points to the bandage cut just below his right eye.

“dreaming of me now, gojo?" you raise an eyebrow. the uncomfortable heat that was starting to rise onto your face at the new revelation that gojo dreams about you is ignored.

satoru looks away, "can you really blame a guy?"

you huff, ignoring his comment, “i think yaga has a first aid kit somewhere in the closet.” you make your way to check out the forgotten door in the back of the classroom. 

the cool sterility of medical supplies contrasts with the charged atmosphere left behind in the classroom.

when you do come back with the kit, your heart races, praying he won't notice the hitch in your breath as your fingers delicately tend to the nearly healed scratch beneath his cheek. satoru's ability to evoke strange emotions within you is undeniable.

silence envelops the classroom, broken only by satoru's deep breaths. you're so close that you can almost feel the warm gusts of air from his breath on your face.

"your body healed remarkably fast. i'm not surprised," you softly observe, your focus on the task at hand. satoru smiles, his eyes fixed on your concentrated features.

"yeah? well, i have an excellent nurse," he remarks, tapping the freshly placed bandaid on his cheek. "though it seems she missed one of my injuries."

you furrow your eyebrows. satoru points to his expectant lips, a playful pout on his face.

"no," you plainly state.

"aw, c'mon. kiss it better? i almost died today," he pleads, his eyes silently begging. you shake your head, unaware that it was your fault he nearly lost his head during the mission.

"you really want a kiss?" you repeat, catching on to his persistent request.

he nods fervently, his excitement palpable. was that even a question

you think he was pretty insane– requesting kisses from a fellow peer.

“satoru..” you murmur, leaning closer to him. his eyes were twinkling with excitement. the two of you were all alone, left with nothing but each other. this scene was all too familiar. 

the sides of his lips quirk up into a smirk while he watches your eyes travel all around his face. satoru has been fantasizing about this moment since the moment he laid eyes on you.

“[name],” he says, his voice softer than ever, a privilege reserved for those closest to him—especially you.

just a few more inches and your lips will meet… just a few…

slap!

satoru blinks in shock while you giggle at his confusion. he attempts to ask what just happened, but his mouth is sealed. his hand rises to find a bandaid now on his lips.

“you’re cuter when you shut up.”

 you seal your words with a soft kiss placed on his bandaged mouth.

...

gojo satoru explodes, his voice muffled by an adhesive barrier.

“m.rrry.. m.. mph..mph!”

extra: 

all conflicts were resolved by evening when you had strategically set up a mario kart tournament.

right after you (indirectly) kissed gojo, you fled the scene, leaving a flustered satoru all hot and bothered. you ended up screaming into your pillow.. the same pillow that satoru was laying on not too long ago.

[thegreatermassofdeath]

Happy Halloween! As a special treat for you, my new horror webcomic THE DANCING BONES is now updating every TUESDAY & SATURDAY on her brand new website:

💀 bone.dance 💀

Lesbian lovers DIPLOË and FOSSA dive into the depths of Testament Three, a machine-made megastructure overrun by the dancing plague. There, swarms of skeletons make the ruins their dance floor. It's a dance they dare in order to research the glittery ghouls, and these ladies had better rehearse their steps well — for all it takes to die is the briefest brush of bone.

Will they make it out alive? Or will they join the party?

[mysunshinetemptress]

For England

Alexia Putellas x lioness!reader x ocdaughter!reader

Warnings: Fluff

Even before Melia arrived, Alexia and you had joked about the future. Would we have a mini-me in a Spanish jersey, mimicking her mama's stepovers, or a fearless lioness with your crunching tackles? As it turned out, Melia was a curious mix. From her first kick of a ball, she'd proudly rock a jersey split down the middle, the Spanish crest battling for dominance with the Three Lions As Melia toddled around, she'd proudly rock a mishmash of kits. Or sometimes it would be an oversized Spain shirt drowning her tiny frame, the next a miniature Lionesses jersey that barely covered her knees. You both knew, deep down, that she'd eventually choose a side.

 She was very proudly called "Amorcito," she was your love in a smaller version, a mix of the cultures you both so desperately loved and just like the love that brought you both together.

However, by the age of three, Melia's allegiance became undeniable. The turning point came during the Euros. She was mesmerised by the Lionesses' attacking prowess. Sat alongside your wife as she watched excitedly her passion only seemed to build with every goal an elicited joyous shrieks, every tackle a passionate fist pump. When the final whistle blew, crowning England champions, Melia danced with unbridled glee, waving a miniature Lionesses flag like a warrior queen. 

 I expected a flicker of disappointment, maybe even a playful jab. After all, she was a Barcelona legend, a "Culer" through and through. But instead, a wide smile stretched across her face. Later that night, as Melia slept soundly in her England-themed pyjamas, Alexia surprised me again. With a mischievous grin, she pulled out a brand new Lionesses jersey, emblazoned with "Melia 10" on the back.

"She is a Culer mi vida," she said, her voice soft, "that is my legacy, that is my career, not La Roja. But family? Our family supports each other, no matter the colours we wear on the pitch But supporting England, the lionesses, your team, cheering for your country, her country? That's a love that runs deeper than football."

Her words struck a chord. Melia's choice wasn't a rejection of Alexia's heritage, but a blossoming of her own. It was a beautiful testament to the power of sports to unite families, even if they cheered for different teams.

The World Cup final, with its clash of loyalties, only solidified that realisation. Melia, both yours and Alexias Amorcito, defied expectations throughout the tournament with her continued wear of England jerseys as well as the St George crest painted along her cheeks and her red and white ribbon tied into her ponytail.

Your heart lurched as you saw Melia freeze in the tunnel, her small hand gripping Alexia's Spanish jersey like a vice. The roar of the crowd was a distant echo in the tense silence. Alexia’s warm smile, usually contagious, faltered at the edges. Melia's eyes, brimming with tears, locked with yours.

Alexia, ever the teammate, knelt beside her, a gentle smile on her face. "Hey, Amoricito," she said, "It's okay, you look beautiful. Just a few steps, and then you can change after the walkout, alright?"

Melia, however, remained rooted to the spot, her tiny chin jutting out. Tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring the red and yellow stripes of the Spanish jersey. "I'm English, Mami!" she cried, her voice cracking with frustration. "I can't walk out with you! I'll let them down!" Alexia looked down at Melia confused "Who down Amoricito" "I'm English, Mami, not Spanish! I'll be letting the lionesses down, I'll be letting Mama down" she cried, her voice cracking.

Alexia sighed her voice a soothing balm. "Amoricito," she began, "we all love you, no matter what jersey you wear. You just need to walk out with us, then you can change, okay?"

Melia shook her head, adamant. "But I want everyone to see I'm cheering for England!" Her lower lip quivered, threatening to spill over.

Alexia exchanged a helpless glance with you. it had been planned to perfection this little moment between you all a cute family moment, a symbol of international unity on the biggest stage. Now, it was unravelling before the world's eyes. Your gaze darted towards the tunnel entrance, where the announcer's voice boomed, signalling the imminent walkout. Time was ticking and Melia wasn't letting up or calming down.

Taking a deep breath, You rushed over and knelt beside them your daughter might have been born in England and loved the country with every ounce of her heart but she was so much like Alexia in looks and personality. "Hey, Amoricito," you said softly, your voice laced with calm. "It's okay, sweetheart. We know you love England, the girls know you love England. But remember, Mami is Spanish and she wanted to include her favourite girl during this moment, but this walkout is for both teams, for both of us, for our family and, for everyone who loves football."

Melia sniffled, her lower lip trembling. "But the badge," she hiccupped, pointing at the Spanish crest emblazoned on the jersey. "It's not right."

A warmth bloomed in your chest. Her fierce loyalty, even at this tender age, filled me with pride.

A quick decision had to be made. Glancing at Alexia, I saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She squeezed Melia's hand gently. "How about this," Alexia offered, "You walk out with me, but when we get to the national anthems, you can stand with Mama and the lionesses, okay? English and Spanish."

A flicker of hope sparked in Melia's eyes. She looked down at the Spanish jersey, then back at you. "Can I?"

"Absolutely," You confirmed, relief flooding through you as you looked back at your teammates and your own mascot you had abandoned trying to calm your daughter down.

As the announcer's voice reached a crescendo, the tunnel doors swung open. Alexia took Melia's tiny hand gripping it tightly, as you placed a kiss on her head and squeezed Alexia's hand before grabbing the hand of your mascot.

The pre-game formalities flew by in a blur. As the teams lined up for the national anthems,  Alexia crouched down and winked at Melia. "Ready to change sides, Amoricito?" she asked playfully Melia smiled grabbing Alexia's hand before pulling her towards you and grabbing your hand with hers as she stood proudly in between you both, her tiny voice joining the chorus of "God Save the King," Your heart swelled with pride, a mixture of maternal love and admiration for her courage.

Melia, her smile now radiant, let go of Alexia and raised her hands to be lifted up by you laughing as you kissed her cheeks. "Just hold on for the win, Mama," she whispered, her eyes sparkling. "For England!"

"Maybe next time, we'll walk out with you wearing an England jersey, leading the English fans in cheers."

Melia's eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you promised.

[a-aexotic]

𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, chapter 1

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ! 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ! familial issues, underage drinking, tension (between literally every LOL), blair/serena hating each other, you/blair and you/serena being besties lol, a lotta winfrey lore

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ! ahhhh im super excited, as always please lmk your thoughts !!

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PRESENT DAY.

Hey, Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here, and I have the most surprising news ever. Y/N Winfrey spotted back in town after she disappeared for almost 6 months. But where has she been all this time? Sources tell me she's been living it up in the City of Love, Paris. Oh la la! But what brings our darling Y/N back to the Big Apple after all this time? Could it be a scandalous affair, a family feud, or perhaps a fashionable rendezvous with the elite of Parisian society?

Rumors are swirling as to the reason behind Y/N's sudden return. Some say she's back to reclaim her rightful place among Manhattan's elite, while others speculate that she's returned to stir up trouble in the already turbulent waters of Upper East Side.

But what of Y/N's infamous entourage? Will her loyal subjects, Nate, Isabell, Kati and Blair, welcome her back with open arms, or will there be whispers of betrayal and backstabbing among the ranks of Manhattan's elite?

Will she pick up right where she left off, ruling the social scene with her signature grace? Or has her time away changed her in ways we can't even imagine? So grab your designer handbags and your most scandalous gossip, Upper East Siders, because things are about to heat up in the city that never sleeps. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

As the sleek black limousine rolled to a stop in front of the towering building, the door swung open with a soft whoosh, revealing the figure of Y/N Winfrey stepping out into the cool Manhattan air.

With a flick of your hair, you cast a cool gaze towards your old home, a grand penthouse that stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Winfrey family. The familiar sight of the elegant facade stirred a flurry of emotions within you, memories both bitter and sweet flooding your mind as you took in your old home.

You were too focused on the old home to hear your mother come up from behind you, putting a hand on her shoulder as she examined the home as well. She hadn't been there since the divorce, which was almost a decade ago.

"I know you're nervous, Y/N. But don't let any of them get to you, okay?" Her voice rang in your ears as you nodded slowly. You weren't sure who she was referring to; your father's new family or your old friends. Or maybe, all of the above.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I won't."

With a reassuring squeeze of your mother's hand, you gathered your resolve and stepped forward, ready to face whatever awaited you within the walls of your old home.

Your new family met you with open arms and it felt strange to be back home, the same home you'd left; except, everything inside had changed. There were no more pictures of you anywhere, they were all replaced with wedding photos or pictures of your new stepsister, Charlene. It made your stomach twist in disgust, you couldn't believe your father had a brand-new, shiny family. The perfect family he'd prayed for, you were almost happy for him. Almost.

"So how was Paris, Y/N? Did you like it?" Josie's voice brought you back to real life. You turned your gaze up to meet hers, a tight smile on your lips. You were sat in the living room of the penthouse, alongside your mother and stepmother.

"It was... fun," you reply carefully, your tone neutral. You couldn't bring yourself to admit just how much you missed Paris, how it had felt more like home than this place ever did. Instead, you plastered on a facade of indifference, hoping to shield yourself. "It's too bad that we left."

Your mother let out a light laugh as she glanced back at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can. I just missed New York so much and I'm so happy to be back." What she didn't mention was that the only reason she was back was for her business, she wanted to open more shops in Manhattan.

"Yeah, it's nice to be back," you replied, forcing a smile. Despite your mother's attempt to lighten the mood, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

Josie, your stepmother, chimed in, her voice cheerful. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm sure you'll adjust to being back in no time. Especially with Eleanor's party tonight, you'll be attending that... right?"

"Yes, yes she will." Your mother answered for you. You knew that your mother wanted to reintroduce you back into Manhattan society but you didn't even have time to adjust back into New York time, you were jetlagged.

You didn't want to even think about why you even left in the first place. When you decided to leave, you promised that when you'd come back, you'd leave it in the past. You'd leave him in the past.

Nate. The mere thought of him sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the heartache you had endured before leaving for Paris. You had promised yourself that you would never allow him back into your life, that you would move on and leave the past where it belonged.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed as your mother and stepmother continued to discuss the details of the upcoming event, their voices fading into the background as your mind wandered back to memories you had long tried to forget.

──౨ৎ──

"And if they ask you about the business, what do you say?" Your mother quizzed you as she put on lipgloss, looking into the mirror of the hallway of the building that Blair's penthouse resided in.

You tore your gaze away from your own reflection to meet your mother's eyes, a sense of unease creeping into your stomach. "I'll say that things are going well," you replied, your tone carefully neutral. "That we're expanding and looking for new opportunities in Manhattan."

Your mother nodded in approval, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Good," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Just remember to keep it vague. We're a family, and we need to show the world that we're strong, no matter what."

You forced a smile, though the weight of your mother's words hung heavy in the air. The facade of unity was fragile, and you knew that beneath the surface, tensions simmered, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Your mother finally finished her lip gloss, focusing now solely on you. "Remember, confidence is key. You're representing not just yourself, but our entire family."

"Got it." You answered, the words coming out as more of a reassurance to yourself than to her.

Her words echoed in your mind as you followed her towards Blair's penthouse, the anticipation of Eleanor's party looming ever closer. The elevator dinged and the door opened, revealing the glamorous penthouse of the Waldorf's. Your mother's hand found yours as she squeezed it, reassuring as you two walked back into Manhattan's elite society.

"Priscilla Winfrey! You made it!"

Your mother's head turned to meet Eleanor, a charming smile enveloping her lips as she walked toward her.

"Oh, and is that Y/N?" Eleanor gasped as she studied you, taking every little detail in. "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart. You're starting to look more and more like your mother every passing day."

"Thank you, Ms. Waldorf," you replied graciously, offering her a polite smile. Despite the compliment, you couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at you.

Eleanor's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to your mother, engaging her in conversation. Left momentarily alone, you scanned the room, taking in the familiar faces that surrounded you.

Your eyes landed on your old friend group, all seated on the couch. A sense of nostalgia hit you as you examined their faces, all the nights you'd spent partying with them playing in your head. Isabell, Kati and Chuck sat as they spoke, talking about God knows what.

You couldn't help but wonder where Blair was, it was her party and she wasn't with her friends. And of course, Nate.

Chuck's eyes finally met yours, a wide smirk on his lips as his eyes fell on your body before back to your eyes. But before you could go up to them, you heard an excited squeal behind you.

"Y/N!"

You recognize that voice anywhere; it was Blair. She enveloped you in a tight hug, her excitement palpable as she pulled back to study your face. "Oh my God, it's been too long." she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling but there was something you couldn't quite place. "You look amazing, as always."

You were nervous, it had been so long since you'd seen your old best friend. Your stomach twisted in guilt as you gave her a tight smile, her hands squeezing yours. "Thank you, Blair. You looked stunning but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

Blair's smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure, a flash of something unreadable passing through her eyes. "Thank you, Y/N," she replied, her tone warm but tinged with an undercurrent of tension. "I'm just glad you're here. Like, really here."

You and Blair had been close since you were kids, your families being close since the beginning of time, basically. Your mothers were best friends in school and now, you are too. Before you left Paris, you told Blair and Serena and made sure to give them calls whenever you could. But soon, Serena stopped answering your calls and according to Blair, she just disappeared to a boarding school in Connecticut.

Blair still didn't know the real reason you fled to Paris and that gulit chipped at you everyday, even more now as you saw her lips curve into a rare genuine smile.

"I've missed you, Blair," you replied, your voice tinged with sincerity. "It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back, Y/N." Blair gave your hand a squeeze before she spoke again. "Excuse me for two seconds, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Of course, Blair," you replied, offering her a reassuring smile as she excused herself.

You let out a sigh before turning your focus back to your mom, who was now in a conversation with a person you weren't sure you knew the name of. You knew you couldn't bother her right now, she was networking.

With a resigned sigh, you resigned yourself to the role of observer, content to blend into the background as your mother worked her magic in the world of Manhattan's elite. It wasn't the first time you had found yourself sidelined in favor of your mother's professional pursuits, and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

You couldn't blame her, though. After the divorce, her career had become more than just a family business—it had become her lifeline, it was the only thing she still had.

You remembered the days that followed your parents' separation, the way your mother had thrown herself into her work with a fervor bordering on obsession. It had been her way of coping, her way of escaping the pain and heartache that had threatened to consume her. You didn't blame her, her high school sweetheart had left her for a woman almost half her age, closer in age with her daughter than her.

You found the drinks table quickly, grabbing a glass of champagne and taking a sip of it. As you lifted the glass to your lips, the cool and crisp taste of the champagne washed over your tongue, distracting you from the emotions swirling within you. With a sigh of contentment, you leaned against the table, letting the hum of conversation and laughter wash over you.

As you scanned the room, your eyes fell on a familiar brunette. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized who it was; the person you'd been wanting to escape since you left for Paris. His bright blue eyes met yours and you felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through you. It was Nate, your once-close friend, the one person who had been a constant presence in your life before everything changed.

His gaze held surprise as he caught sight of you across the room, and for a moment, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You were frozen, unable to move as he approached you.

You couldn't escape him now.

Nate's lips curved into a smile as he took you in, with all your glory. "Y/N, you're back. It's, uh... good to see you."

"Yeah, you too." You responded, giving him a short answer.

Nate's smile faltered slightly at your response, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his features before he quickly masked it. "So, uh... how have you been?" he asked, his tone cautious as though treading on uncertain ground.

"I've been good. And you?"

"Me too. I'm happy you're back." He looked down at the glass of champagne as he let out a chuckle. "I'm glad you still have that taste of champagne, some things just never change."

You couldn't help but smile at Nate's attempt to lighten the mood, the tension between you easing ever so slightly. "Yeah, some things never change," you agreed, a hint of warmth creeping into your voice.

"Nate!" Blair's voice echoed as she came up to the two of you, grabbing his arm. "You don't mind if I steal him for a second, Y/N."

You and Nate exchanged looks before you tore your eyes from him and back to Blair, a forced smile playing on your lips. "Of course not, he's all yours." In more ways than one, you thought to yourself as the two walked away, leaving you alone once again.

Before you could relish in being alone again, your mother's voice rang behind you. "Y/N! Blair! Look who's back."

You turned to meet the blonde you'd once called your best friend. Serena. Her gaze held excitement as she found yours, you began walking toward and engulfing her in a big embrace.

You didn't know why she left for Connecticut but you knew she would tell you and Blair eventually. You, Serena and Blair had always been close and tight-knit, no matter the circumstances.

Serena pulled out of the hug and put her hands on your shoulders as she studied your face, a grin on her face. "You're glowing, Y/N."

"Says you. How did you get even more blonde since I've seen you?" You teased as she let out a laugh.

Serena's laughter echoed through the hallway, a sound that filled you with a sense of warmth and familiarity. Despite the time that had passed since you had last seen each other, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

"I've been spending way too much time in the sun," Serena admitted with a playful grin, her blue eyes sparkling. "But enough about me, tell me everything. How was Paris? Did you meet any cute French boys?"

You chuckled at Serena's teasing. "Paris was amazing," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you recalled your time. "And as for French boys, well, let's just say they definitely live up to the hype."

Serena laughed, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "I knew it!"

"Serena?"

You both turned to face Blair, a unreadable expression on her face before she quickly masked it with excitement. She pulled her into a tight hug but you could feel the tension, what the hell did you miss when you were Paris?

"So good to see you, how are you?" Blair pulled out of the hug as she looked in between you.

"Oh, look! The girls are back together, my heart is gonna burst." Eleanor gasped as she observed the scene in front of her, oblivious to the tension in the room. "Are you staying for dinner, I'll set a place next to Y/N and Blair!"

"Yeah, um, there's somewhere I have to go." Serena looked in between you, a guilty expression on her face.

"You're leaving?" Blair's voice sounded hurt as she looked back at Serena.

"Yeah... I don't feel well, I-I just wanted to come and say hi. I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." Serena responded as she slowly began to back up, before she turned away.

Blair's expression dropped immediately back to a bitter expression, looking back to you. "At least you're staying. Who needs Serena anyway?" She whispered the last part as she turned away and began walking away.

You began following behind her, "What did I miss?"

"What do you mean?"

You caught up to Blair and you two began walking toward the couch. "I mean... with you and S?"

"Serena." She corrected. "And nothing except all you know. She left without saying a word, to none of us." Blair sounded bitter but you knew deep down, she was just hurt.

"Well, maybe something happened."

"With what?" Chuck joined the conversation as Blair glared at him. You could feel Chuck's gaze on your dress as he smirked.

"Mind your business, Chuck." Blair spoke as she rolled her eyes.

You caught Chuck's gaze, his smirk igniting a spark of annoyance within you. "Chuck, it's not polite to stare," you retorted, your tone sharp as you shot him a pointed look. Some things never do change, you thought.

Chuck's smirk widened at your words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Forgive me, I couldn't help but admire the view," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You did some growing up in Paris, I could tell." His eyes were focused on your dress as you scoffed.

"Paris does wonders for a person," you replied dryly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

──౨ৎ──

"I'm pregnant! Surprise, Y/N!" Josie shouted as your father pulled her in closer, your jaw slowly falling. She's... what? Your fork clattered against the plate, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed Josie's announcement. Pregnant? The word echoed in your mind, disbelief and shock washing over you in waves.

Your head was pounding, you got home around 12:30 last night because the party lasted a little longer than expected. You were just trying to enjoy your breakfast before school, but then they drop this bombshell on you.

"Wh-what?" You finally managed to stammer out, your eyes wide with disbelief as you looked at Josie. "How does, uh, Charlene feel about it?"

Charlene was Josie's daughter from her previous relationship, she was about two years younger than you and... well, you couldn't stand her.

"You can ask her yourself!" Josie's gaze moved behind you and you turned to face Charlene. Speak of the devil.

Charlene's lips curved into a smile, though there was a flicker of something else in her eyes. "Super excited. I mean, I can't wait to be an older sister."

There was awkward silence before you got up from the dining table, clearing your throat. "Well... I have to get ready for school. This was really nice."

You got up and began walking up the stairs, ignoring their stares. You wanted to stay with your mom but she was staying at The Palace and your father insisted you stayed with them and his shiny new family.

➜ missing out on updates? ❪ navigation. masterlist. taglist. ❫

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE STAR OF THE SHOW, YOU SHIMMER LIKE GOLD ✦ LN4

✦ pairing: lando norris x karateka!reader ✦ words: 4K ✦ warnings: female!reader, latina!reader, no use of Y/N, no use of physical description, a little bit of flirting. ✦ may's radio: me, actually writing for these men going vroom vroom??? whaaaaa?? shut up! lol I tried to explain the techniques to the best of my abilities as a daughter and sister to Senseis (and a once upon a (very short) time karateka). I hope it is understandable!! if not, let me down slowly!! SO, Boy-o needs a badass girl in his life PERIODT!!! And let's all pretend Monster gives a fuck about Karate. I've had this idea for lichrally months, dude. And I was supposed to do another thing with it, but here we are hehehe. Also, not using any name or description for this girlie was HARD so I think I deserve some of y'all thoughts ad nauseam 👉🏽👈🏽, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking btw. N E WAYYYZZ. I love u. I hope u like it. k byee <3

— back to general masterlist

The sun blazed over Monterrey, casting a warm glow on the sprawling city nestled against the Sierra Madre Oriental mountains. The streets buzzed with excitement and anticipation as athletes and fans from around the world gathered for the 12th WUKF World Karate Championships. Banners and posters adorned with the tournament’s emblem fluttered in the breeze, while the iconic Monster Energy logo prominently featured alongside, symbolizing the brand’s unwavering support for the event and its athletes.

Among the throngs of spectators and competitors, one figure stood out, drawing the attention of both fans and the media. Lando Norris, the young and charismatic McLaren Formula 1 driver, had been invited to the championships as a special guest of Monster Energy. Known for his prowess on the track and his engaging personality off it, Lando had a magnetic presence that resonated with fans across different sports. 

The event was a world away from the high-octane world of Formula 1, but Lando was excited for the change of pace and the chance to meet young athletes from around the globe. Recently, Quadrant—a brand founded by him—had been sponsoring young athletes in different sports. It was a new venture for Lando, driven by his passion to support and uplift emerging talents. He had been looking forward to finding more promising athletes to add to Quadrant's growing roster, and the World Championship seemed like the perfect place to discover some of that potential.

As Lando navigated the bustling venue, his thoughts were a mix of excitement and curiosity. Though the world of martial arts was vastly different from the high-speed circuits he was used to, the principles of discipline, focus, and determination were strikingly similar. 

He had to admit to himself that before receiving the invitation, he knew next to nothing about karate. In fact, he’d even had to google the sport just to get a basic understanding. Embarrassingly, he had initially thought Karate and Taekwondo were the same thing. The search results had quickly set him straight, teaching him about the rich history and distinct techniques of this martial art, and giving him a newfound respect for the discipline.

He was eager to meet the athletes, particularly one individual who had captured the world’s attention with her remarkable skills and indomitable spirit.

A 20-something karate athlete from Latin America, had become a sensation in the martial arts community. With two world championships under her belt and many other championship victories, she was not only a formidable competitor but also an inspiring figure for young athletes around the globe. She was specially known for her exceptional skills and strategic prowess in kumite, the sparring discipline of karate. 

Sponsored by Monster Energy, her journey had been one of relentless perseverance and triumph over adversity. Her presence at the championships was not just a testament to her talent but also a symbol of her dedication to the sport she loved. And from what he had seen on videos while he was on his way, Lando also saw potential in her for Quadrant, imagining how she could inspire a whole new generation of athletes under the brand's banner.

The sound of rhythmic, powerful strikes filled the air as athletes from around the world prepared for their matches. Lando was led through the bustling venue to the competition floor, where the large tatami mats were situated. As he walked, he could hear the short—some even lasting longer—, loud shouts of "kiai" echoing through the hall, each one accompanying a sharp, strong technique from the karatekas already competing. The intensity and focus behind each shout sent a thrill through him, underscoring the seriousness and dedication of these athletes.

As he approached, he saw her warming up with stretches, under the watchful stare of one of the coaches of her national team. Lando felt a mix of excitement and slight nervousness. From what he had seen on videos from her past fights, she had a really strong presence, commanding the tatami mat whenever she stepped on it. Her intensity and focus were palpable, and he wasn’t gonna lie and say he didn’t think she was a little bit intimidating. And after spending a short—long—time going through her Instagram, he could also admit he found her beautiful, with her fierce determination adding to her allure.

Once she finished her stretching, he could see her coach pointing his way, making her turn around. He was approaching her with one of the energy drink’s representatives. Noticing them coming closer, she took off her earbuds and looked up with raised eyebrows, her demeanor immediately softening.

Actually…he didn’t know how to explain it…but now that he was in her presence, she didn’t give off intimidating vibes. She still had a commanding presence, don’t get him wrong, but she seemed to be more reserved and shy. He could see her fidgeting with the little device in her hand.

“Lando, I’d like you to meet one of our top sponsored athletes. She’s an incredible talent in kumite,” the representative said. She smiled warmly, a hint of bashfulness in her eyes, as she extended her hand.

“Hi, it’s an honor to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about your incredible achievements,” Lando greeted, shaking her hand.

“Likewise, Lando. It’s great to have you here. I’ve always admired the skill and courage it takes to race at the speeds you do,” she replied, her voice gentle and modest, a stark contrast to the powerful warrior he had seen in videos. “And congrats on your first win back in Miami!”

Lando was pleasantly surprised. “You know about that? Thanks! I didn’t expect to meet a karate champion who’s also an F1 fan,” he said, feeling a bit cocky despite the bashful smile creeping onto his face.

She laughed softly. “I’ve been a fan for years. Watching F1 races is one of my favorite ways to relax on weekends.”

Lando chuckled, his confidence bolstered. “Well, that’s great to hear. Maybe I can give you some tips on racing if you teach me a bit about karate,” he said, winking playfully.

She laughed again, appreciating his playful attitude. “Deal. I’ll teach you how to throw a punch if you show me how to handle those high-speed corners.”

Lando tried to joke, “It’s all about the neck strength, really,” but let out an awkward little laugh as he got a bit flustered. Her reserved demeanor was deceptive; she could hold constant eye contact with a calm intensity that he wasn’t prepared for.

She smiled, her gaze steady and unwavering. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her eyes never leaving his.

Lando felt a strange mix of admiration and nervousness under her steady gaze. Wanting to know more about her mindset before such a big competition, he asked, “How are you feeling about today?”

She took a deep breath and looked down for a moment, then back up at him, her expression humble yet determined. “If I told you I was completely confident about winning everything, I’d be lying. I have pre-fight jitters, just like anyone else. But I’m going to give it my all. That’s all I can do.”

Lando nodded, impressed by her honesty. “I get that. Even in racing, no matter how prepared you are, there’s always that bit of uncertainty. It’s what makes the victory even sweeter, though, don’t you think?”

She smiled, appreciating his understanding. “Absolutely. The nerves mean you care. They keep you sharp.”

Their conversation flowed easily, the initial awkwardness melting away as they shared insights from their respective sports. Lando admired her resilience and the way she embraced her nerves, turning them into a source of strength.

As the announcements for the upcoming matches began, she glanced towards the tatami, her focus sharpening. “I should get ready. It was really great talking to you, Lando. Thanks for the encouragement.”

“Anytime,” Lando replied, genuinely meaning it. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

She gave him one last smile before heading towards her coach. Lando watched her go, struck by the contrast between her shy off-mat demeanor and the commanding presence she exuded when she was about to compete. He couldn’t help but feel a deep respect for her dedication and the way she handled the pressure—and that was kinda hot to him.

Professionalism, Lando. He scolded himself. She’s an athlete, and you’re here to do your job—or a small part of it. 

As he found a spot to watch the competition, he thought about the unexpected connection they had made. Despite their different paths, their shared commitment to excellence and the way they embraced their nerves set them apart as true champions. Lando knew that whatever the outcome of her matches, she would give it everything she had—just like he did on the track.

He could hear the announcer's voice booming through the venue. “Athletes competing in the Seniors D Female category: 21 to 35 years old and 65 kg and over, please approach the number 3 tatami mat.” He listened intently, waiting for her name to be called. It came in the middle of the list, and he could see the group of female athletes approaching the announcer.

She stayed behind the group, her demeanor calm and composed as she waited to hear her name being called. There was a quiet confidence about her that set her apart from the others. Lando noticed that some of the other girls would steal glances at her, fidgeting with their belts or adjusting their karate-gi in a nervous manner. Her presence seemed to unsettle them, a testament to her reputation and the respect she commanded among her peers.

As the roll call continued, Lando observed the competitors closely. The air was thick with anticipation, and he could sense the mixture of excitement and tension that filled the room. When her name was finally called, she stepped forward with a graceful nod, acknowledging the announcement with a quiet strength.

She joined the others on the mat, and the athletes began their final preparations, mentally psyching themselves up for the upcoming matches. Lando watched her closely, noticing how she seemed to center herself, taking deep, measured breaths and rolling her shoulders and neck to release any remaining tension.

As the roll call concluded, the athletes lined up in front of the referee and judges. Lando watched closely as the referee shouted something in Japanese—a command that he couldn't quite understand. Both parties then performed the ceremonial salute, tilting the upper part of their bodies in a bow. The referee shouted again and gestured towards the flags and the public, prompting another salute. 

After the salutes, the athletes moved to their respective sides of the tatami mat. On the right side, some of them were tying up red belts around their waists and putting on red gloves and knee protections. On the left side, the competitors were doing the same but in blue. She was on the left side, methodically securing her blue belt and adjusting her gloves and knee pads that matched her new karate–gi that had blue stripes on the shoulders.

Lando observed the attention to detail in her preparation. Every movement, every adjustment of her uniform, was part of her mental and physical ritual to enter the competitive mindset. It was a fascinating glimpse into the discipline and dedication required at this level of competition.

After three intense matches—all of them won by her—, the announcer announced the final match. He called for her to stand on the two red tatami mats on the left side of the big blue square tatami. Lando watched as she took her place, her expression hardening with concentration. Just before stepping forward, she gave herself a couple of hard pats to her chest—a ritual, he guessed, to psych herself up for the fight.

Her face was set with determination, eyes focused intently on the task ahead. The referee approached both competitors, methodically checking their mouthguards and ensuring all their equipment was in place.

The formalities concluded, and the competitors performed the ceremonial bows to each other and to the referee. She took a second to walk up to her adversary and offer her hand to shake and a head nod as a greeting. 

That’s a nice, respectful and full of sportsmanship gesture, he thought.

The referee then gestured for them to take their positions and announced the start of the match. Each competitor started to move around each other with their guards up and an intense focus. She moved with a grace and confidence that was mesmerizing, her every step exuding a calm readiness. 

Lando could feel the intensity radiating from both competitors as they engaged in a series of swift, precise movements. Each strike was met with a counter, each block with a follow-up attack. The "kiai" shouts punctuated the air, underscoring the power and focus behind each technique. 

Even though she seemed already tired after her past intense fights leading up to this one, she moved with a fluidity and strength that was both beautiful and formidable. Her opponent was skilled, but she maintained control of the match, her strategic prowess and physical strength shining through. The rhythmic exchange of attacks and defenses was like a well-choreographed dance, each move calculated and deliberate.

He found himself completely engrossed in the match, his heart pounding in time with the athletes' movements. It was only a 3 minute fight but somehow it felt longer. He could see the strain and determination on her face, the way she pushed through every challenge her opponent presented. Her focus was unwavering, her resolve unbreakable.

Suddenly, when her adversary moved forward in a punch, she ducked under—and somehow—managed to lift the other girl with her shoulder and drop her to the ground. In a display of quick and swift precision, she then threw three rapid punches to her opponent on the ground. Immediately, Lando saw every judge in the four corners lift their blue flags high in the air. 

The entire place erupted in excited shouts, the crowd amazed by her impressive movement. On the large screen above, the score shifted dramatically from 3-4 to 3-7 in her favor. Kenneth—the energy drink’s representative standing next to Lando—explained to him that the move she pulled was one that immediately granted you 3 points—the highest score you can get. Lando couldn’t help but cheer loudly, caught up in the exhilaration of the moment.

Her focus was unwavering, her resolve unbreakable. She had turned the tide of the match with a single, decisive move, showcasing her skill and strategic brilliance. As she stepped back, she offered her opponent her hand to help her rise, the referee called a brief pause to reset the match.

The crowd's energy was palpable, and Lando found himself on the edge of his seat, completely engrossed in the action. The match resumed, but it was clear that her opponent was shaken by the sudden shift in momentum. She maintained her advantage, her movements confident and controlled, her strikes precise and powerful.

At one point during the match, she received a hard kick to the ribs, and Lando saw her doubling over in pain. Instinctively, he stood up, feeling a surge of worry for her. The referee immediately called one of the medics, who rushed over to check on her. The medic spent a minute examining her, asking questions to which she only nodded in response. After a few tense minutes, she stood back up, her face hardened with determination, ready to continue.

The referee gave her opponent a penalty for the hard kick before signaling for the match to resume. Once it did, she seemed eerily calm, her demeanor even more focused than before. Her opponent, on the other hand, appeared unsettled, thrown off by both the penalty and the unfavorable score. With only 1 minute and 30 seconds left on the timer, visible on the screen above, the other girl began attacking rashly, desperately trying to close the score gap.

But then, in a fluid, lightning-fast movement, she spun and lifted her right leg towards the back of her opponent's head, delivering a light tap with the heel of her foot to the back of it. The technique resembled a scorpion's strike or a spinning hook kick, in Lando’s opinion. But Kenneth identified it as an "ura mawashi geri." A hard and powerful kicking technique. He explained.

The judges instantly raised their blue flags high, signaling their approval of the impressive technique. The crowd erupted once more as the score on the screen shifted from an already commanding 3-7 to an incredible 3-10. With only one minute left, it was clear she had secured the victory.

Lando's heart raced as he watched her dominate the match. The final whistle blew, the referee raised his hand in her direction indicating her victory, and her teammates as well as the crowd’s cheers reached a deafening crescendo.

As she bowed to the referee and then approached her opponent for a respectful handshake, Lando couldn't help but marvel at her resilience and skill. Despite the setback of the hard kick to the ribs, she had emerged victorious, showcasing the true spirit of a champion.

As she left the mat, Lando could see the emotions overwhelming her. Her coach rushed to embrace her in a tight hug, both of them sharing a moment of pure joy and triumph.

Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of relief, happiness, and pride in her achievement. The weight of all her hard work and dedication had paid off in this victorious moment.

Lando watched from a respectful distance, filled with admiration for her incredible achievement. The crowd erupted in applause, acknowledging her exceptional performance and celebrating her as a true champion.

After a few moments, she composed herself and turned to face the crowd, holding up her hand in a thankful gesture.

As she made her way through the cheering crowd, Lando approached her with a heartfelt congratulations. “That was mental! You were absolutely amazing out there! Congratulations on becoming world champion again," he said, genuinely impressed.

“Thank you so much, Lando,” she replied, her voice still tinged with emotion and sounding a little bit out of breath still. “It means a lot to have your support.”

“You deserve every bit of it,” Lando said warmly. And immediately after, looked at her with concern painted all over his face. He noticed she was still having some trouble breathing and was holding her left arm to her ribs. “Are you feeling alright after that kick you received?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

She smiled, trying to ease his worries. “Yes, I'm okay. I had the chest guards on under my karate-gi, so it wasn't too bad.” She paused, then added with a light-hearted chuckle, “I did feel the kick, but it's nothing new at this point.”

Lando nodded, relieved but still a little bit concerned. “You've shown incredible strength and determination.” he said, genuinely impressed.

She nodded, gratitude evident in her eyes. “It's been a tough journey, but moments like this make it all worth it.”

Lando smiled, feeling privileged to have witnessed her victory. “Enjoy every moment of it. You've earned it, champ.”

“Thank you, Lando. It feels surreal.”

“You really commanded the mat out there," he said. “It's no wonder everyone looks up to you. You were truly brilliant.”

She nodded, the shy smile returning to her face. “I just try to do my best. It helps to know there are people cheering for me.”

“Well, you've got one more fan in me now,” Lando said with a grin. “I knew you were good, but seeing it in person... you're incredible.”

As the excitement of the victory settled, Lando leaned in slightly and asked, “Hey...uh... I've been thinking. Would you maybe be interested in joining Quadrant?”

She looked at him, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected offer. Her eyes widened slightly, reflecting a mix of surprise and curiosity. After a brief pause, a smile spread across her face, and she eagerly nodded. “Sí! uh…,” she shook her head a few times, like she was trying to shake the language off her head. Cute. “I-I mean yes! I’d be honoured!”

Lando grinned, pleased by her enthusiastic response. “Fantastic! We'll talk more about it soon. I think we could do some amazing things together.”

She smiled warmly, nodding in agreement. “I'm looking forward to it.”

A moment of silence passed before Lando chuckled nervously. “By the way, I should probably explain what Quadrant is all about.”

Before he could continue, she interrupted gently, “Oh, don't worry. I'm actually a fan of the YouTube videos. I know about the brand already.”

Lando's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You do? That's... really cool!”

She chuckled softly. “Yeah, I've watched a few. You guys have some pretty entertaining content.”

Lando felt a flutter in his stomach at her praise. “Wow, I'm glad to hear that! Means a lot, especially coming from someone as talented as you.”

She blushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Lando. I'm excited about the opportunity to work together.”

Lando grinned, feeling a sense of excitement about the future collaborations. “Likewise. I think we can create something truly special.”

As they parted ways, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement and anticipation for what the future held. Being able to collaborate with someone he admired both as an athlete and as a person was a privilege he didn’t take lightly.

Before they fully separated, Lando impulsively went in for a hug. She hesitated for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed as she was still sweaty from the intense matches. But Lando reassured her with a warm smile, “Hey, it's not a problem at all. I totally understand. I’m super used to the post-competition sweat.” He chuckled.

Her expression softened, and she returned the hug gratefully. As they embraced, Lando felt a sense of something developing slowly within himself. 

Oh, Bob has a crush! He suddenly heard the teasing voice of Max, his best friend, in his head. 

Shut up, you muppet. He groaned. Lando lingered in the hug for a moment longer than intended, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment himself.

When they finally pulled back, he chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No worries, Lando. Thank you again for your support.”

They exchanged a final smile before she had to part ways, both looking forward to the exciting opportunities ahead. Lando watched her walk away, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities.

As he watched with bated breath as the ceremony began, the announcer's voice echoed through the arena, calling the winners to the podium. When her name was called, the small crowd standing in front erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating her hard-fought victory. 

She walked confidently to the podium, her coach following closely behind. The gold medal was placed around her neck. Beaming with pride and joy, she was handed her country's flag. Draping it around her shoulders, she stood tall on the podium, her smile radiant and her eyes shining with accomplishment. The audience’s cheers intensified, and Lando found himself clapping enthusiastically along with them.

It was a powerful moment, and Lando felt a deep sense of respect for her journey and massive achievement. 

But it was more than just respect that stirred within him. Watching her bask in her well-deserved glory, Lando felt his heart swell with admiration and something more tender. The way she carried herself, the mixture of strength and humility, her fierce determination on the mat and the shy kindness she showed off it—all of it combined to create a powerful impression.

There was something profoundly inspiring and undeniably attractive about her, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her even more. She scanned the crowd and her eyes met his. Her face lit up even more, and to his surprise, she smiled and winked at him. The unexpected gesture caught him off guard, and he felt a sudden rush of warmth to his cheeks. Blushing, he quickly looked down, feeling a mix of bashfulness and happiness. However, he gathered his courage and returned the gesture, smiling and giving her a small, appreciative two-finger salute. 

She laughed softly and sent him the gesture back. Lando felt a warmth spread through him, a hopeful anticipation of what their future interactions might hold.

As the ceremony concluded—and after getting photographed a thousand times, and having shaken what felt like a thousand hands—, Lando found himself back in the car on his way to the hotel. Gazing out the window at the bustling city, he couldn't help but feel grateful for having been there, witnessing her triumph and the beginning of what promised to be an exciting partnership.

His mind replayed the moments of the day: her powerful performance on the mat, the way she carried herself with grace and determination, and their brief, meaningful exchanges. The flutter in his stomach returned, and he allowed himself a small smile, knowing that this experience had been special in more ways than one.

Lando knew that this was just the start of something truly special, and he looked forward to the adventures that lay ahead, both on a professional level—and perhaps something a bit more personal.

[cool-fancier]

A Runway To Remember

Synopsis: A renowned fashion designer's romance with a K-pop fashion icon blossoms amid Parisian glamour, culminating in a breathtaking runway debut and promising future together.

Word count:1.3K

The world knew you as a famous fashion designer, a visionary behind the most coveted brand of the modern era. Your designs graced the covers of high-end magazines and adorned the elite. Yet, amidst the glamour and glitz, the most unexpected revelation was your relationship with Jennie Kim, the idol turned fashion icon. When the news broke, fans were ecstatic, their support only bolstering the love you shared.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you and Jennie were nestled on the couch in your Parisian apartment, basking in each other's presence. The city of love seemed even more enchanting with her by your side.

"Can you believe it's been six months since we went public?" you mused, twirling a strand of Jennie's hair around your finger.

Jennie smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Time flies when you're happy, doesn't it?"

You nodded, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I have something I want to ask you, Jen."

"Oh? What is it?" Jennie turned to face you, curiosity piqued.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding with excitement and a hint of nervousness. "How would you feel about walking the runway for my Spring 25 line?"

Jennie's eyes widened in surprise. "Me? Walk the runway?"

You nodded eagerly. "Yes, you. I know it's a lot to ask, but you embody everything my brand stands for—grace, elegance, strength. It would mean the world to me."

Jennie hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I don't know... I've never done a runway show before."

"I understand, but I believe in you. You have the presence and the poise. And I'll be right there with you, every step of the way," you assured her, taking her hands in yours.

Jennie looked into your eyes, seeing the sincerity and love. She sighed, a small smile forming on her lips. "Okay, I'll do it. For you."

You let out a whoop of joy, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Thank you, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me."

The days leading up to the show were a whirlwind of preparations. You were meticulously designing and overseeing every detail of the collection, while Jennie practiced her runway walk with determination. The anticipation grew, and the fashion world buzzed with speculation about what surprises your show would hold.

— — — — — —

On the morning of the show, you found Jennie in the dressing room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She wore a stunning ensemble—a purple gown, flowing and elegant, with intricate lace detailing that shimmered under the lights. Paired with strappy heels that accentuated her long legs, her hair styled in loose waves and flawless makeup, Jennie looked every bit the fashion icon.

"You look perfect," you whispered, wrapping your arms around her from behind and resting your chin on her shoulder.

Jennie blushed, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. "You're just saying that because you're biased."

"No, I'm saying it because it's true," you insisted, turning her around to face you. "You are stunning, and you are going to wow everyone out there."

Jennie smiled, her nerves easing slightly. "Thank you. I just want to make you proud."

"You already do, every day," you said, leaning in to give her a good luck kiss.

Jennie giggled, gently pushing you away. "You're messing up my lipstick!"

The staff around you chuckled at the cute exchange, the room filled with warmth and affection. You watched as Jennie took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and preparing herself for the spotlight.

— — — — — —

The venue was packed, the audience buzzing with anticipation. As the lights dimmed and the music began, models started to strut down the runway, showcasing your latest creations. Each piece was a testament to your skill and creativity, but the highlight of the evening was yet to come.

When Jennie stepped onto the runway, the crowd erupted in applause. She walked with confidence and grace, every step exuding elegance. Halfway down the runway, Jennie paused for a moment, striking a pose that showcased the dress's intricate details. You couldn't help but beam with pride at her confidence and beauty.

Seeing her pause, you couldn't resist. Ignoring your usual reservations about public displays of affection, you hurried up to meet her. Leaning in close, you congratulated her with a kiss on the cheek, a brief moment of intimacy that spoke volumes about your love.

The audience cheered even louder at the sight, thrilled to see you both together. Jennie smiled at you gratefully before continuing her walk to the end of the runway, where she gracefully turned and walked back, capturing every eye in the room.

As she returned backstage, Jennie was greeted by her managers, Allison and Hhuit, who were both grinning mischievously.

"Caught in the act, huh?" Allison teased, showing you a playful wink.

You laughed, a bit embarrassed but unable to wipe the smile off your face. "I couldn't help myself. She looked incredible out there."

"She did," Hhuit agreed, snapping a quick photo of you two. "You make quite the power couple."

— — — — — —

The success of the show was celebrated that night at the after party, with friends, colleagues, and well-wishers sharing their congratulations. Amidst the festivities, you found a quiet moment together, standing on the balcony and gazing at the twinkling lights of Paris.

"Thank you for believing in me," Jennie said softly, resting her head on your shoulder.

"Thank you for trusting me," you replied, kissing the top of her head. "This is just the beginning, Jen. With you by my side, there's nothing we can't achieve."

As you held her close, the city's lights reflected in her eyes, shimmering like stars. Below, the sounds of laughter and music mingled with the soft murmur of the Seine flowing nearby. It was a moment of peace and accomplishment, a rare pause in the whirlwind of your lives.

"You know," Jennie began, breaking the silence, "I never imagined I'd find myself walking a runway in Paris, let alone for someone I love."

You chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Life has a funny way of surprising us, doesn't it?"

"It does," she agreed, smiling up at you. "But I'm grateful for every moment, especially the ones like this."

The night stretched on, filled with shared stories and laughter, as friends and colleagues toasted to your success. Among them were Allison and Hhuit, who continued to tease good-naturedly whenever they caught you stealing glances at each other.

"You two are like something out of a fairy tale," Allison remarked, raising her glass.

Hhuit nodded, a playful smirk on his face. "The power couple of fashion and music, taking over the world."

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a surge of pride not just in your own accomplishments, but in the strength and beauty of the relationship you and Jennie shared. Each glance, each touch, spoke of a partnership built on mutual respect, admiration, and above all, love.

As the night wound down and guests began to bid their farewells, you and Jennie found yourselves once again alone on the balcony. The air was cool, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of spring blossoms.

"Today was unforgettable," Jennie murmured, leaning against the railing beside you.

"It was," you agreed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "And it's only the beginning."

Jennie turned to face you, her gaze unwavering. "I'm excited for our future, for all the adventures we'll have together."

"Me too," you whispered, leaning in to capture her lips in a tender kiss. It was a moment of quiet intimacy amidst the grandeur of the night, a promise of more moments like this to come.

As you held each other close, the lights of Paris continued to twinkle around you, a backdrop to the beginning of a new chapter in both your lives. Together, you knew, there was nothing you couldn't achieve.

[crustyfloor]

FUCK THEM UPPPPPPP TILL OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD

The visuals of Till's splash art (in my humble opinion, the best one so far) is STUNNING. AND very interesting.

For Till specifically to cover All-In is an interesting message to give off, All-In is a song about freedom. A type of freedom that allows you to live confidently and freely, creating whatever type of world you want, the stage is yours, so make what you want of it. living confidently in YOUR OWN SKIN. And living freely "cause you only got one life to live"

Freedom is something Till fights for relentlessly, and confidence is a bravado, as by far the most uncontrolled and tested person in the cast, he still fights for his boundaries and self-expression even when he's punished, molded into something he's not, or beaten into obedience, tested far past the limit; he never loses his bite. A wild dog can never be tamed.

This is the cover that follows what becomes of Till after round 6, and still, in Till's all-in, he sounds so raw, pained, energized, and passionate desperation is evident. It's a contrast from HyunA's celebratory cheers and upbeat mood because Till isn't celebrating the idea of freedom; he's angrily proving to everyone, especially the aliens, that he isn't backing down yet and he'll still keep fighting and that he can fight for his own freedom.

Till's cover of All-in is truly the most powerful depiction of Till's fighting spirit, after everything he's gone through, the pain, the grief. It's all in his voice and the way he sings he's pained the entire time he sings and he's aggressive because the fire of his spirit is lit once again. He's going "all-in" so to speak and expressing himself.

The tape around his neck--

It's a contrast to HyunA who doesn't mind showing her brand, even proudly showing it off as a form of reclaiming her individualism.

Till is different. Because being reminded that he is and was once a pet is not something he would want to remember about himself, he will always bitterly try to distance himself from that fact in any way he can, HyunA feels free from the system when she can own it, but when Till sees his branding, he'll still always feel that collar. It's a testament to his self-deprecation, as long as the evidence of his past is present, and he still feels all the pain the aliens inflicted on him, It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel like he can relate and fit in with the other "fools" who are so free.

It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel free. That's what the aliens wanted, right?

Another interesting part of this is that the name 'All-in" is actually a real-life poker reference, to go "all-in" in poker is to voluntarily bet all of your remaining chips, there is nothing else you can do but hope for the best after that point (and hope you win).

When HyunA sings All-in, she deceives you into thinking she has the upper hand or good hand, and that she will win. When Till sings it, he's giving it all away recklessly, he's showing all he has. Basically, him saying fuck it. he doesn't know if he'll win or not but says, "Let's go all-in and risk it all anyways" Even if internally he knows that this is stupid and risky, this is his foolish rebellion.

At this point he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain, it's his final stand as he lets his heart out not for the crowd, but for the family he lost, himself, a form of self-expression. He will be so nervous, so aggrieved but it's the freest he will ever feel on that stage.

The color symbolism also drives me CRAZY.

For his other two splash art, he's been represented with a color close enough to teal. In both songs, he's open when he sings and fully serene. Teal is a generally calming color, and it's not too evocative. It's more emotional (and has it's own reservations)

And then, we have green, which is a general symbol of growth, new beginnings, and freshness. After all, Till has been through all-in is a sign of his growth. And a new era of his life, or in other words a sudden tonal shift from his depressive state in round 6.

And for my favorite (it's not.) part! the head shot, (interesting how his has nearly the biggest impact out of them all.)

A bit of a theory.

It's a bit similar to one particular art of him, he has a little shape that's almost akin to impact from a gunshot near the same area.

So, I think this is tell-tale symbolism for a future injury, but the gun portrayed is a bubble gun. I believe it is symbolism for the wound being non-fatal, so even if Till loses and gets shot, he'll survive, fundamentally changed. and will probably join the rebellion, too.

/side note

The heartbeats in Till's version of all-in are faster and louder than HyunA's version, similar to CURE.

[alyrasturnz]

cock warming blurb pls

SOMETHIN' NEW

❐ summary » when y/n thought they were going to make love, matt surprised her by gently guiding her into cockwarming instead. as he pulled her close, y/n felt a wave of unexpected intimacy wash over her.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » SMUT, cockwarming, p in v

❐ a/n && w/c » im gonna deactivate soon • 1.06k

“what do you want, hm?” matt coos, his breath warm against your skin as he trails a series of soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, each one a tender caress that sends shivers down your spine.

matt’s back was resting against the headrest of his bed, and you were straddling him, your arms draped around his neck in a tender embrace. soft sighs escaped your lips, mingling with the warm air between you.

“wanna feel you,” you murmured softly, your eyes fluttering open as he gently nibbled at your skin, leaving a trail of delicate marks that spoke of his affection.

“yeah? you do?” he grumbled, his voice thick with desire. each word seemed to vibrate through the air, resonating deeply within you. you felt the unmistakable pressure of his member pressing insistently against your core, a palpable testament to his yearning. 

his breath was hot against your ear, and the intensity of the moment seemed to stretch time itself, enveloping you both in a cocoon of shared longing.

you whine softly as he tuts, still planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on your shoulders. each kiss feels like a brand, searing into your skin and leaving a trail of heated desire. 

his tuts are a mix of gentle reprimand and teasing, adding to the intoxicating blend of sensations that make you shiver in anticipation.

“words, baby,” he murmured, his fingers tracing intricate patterns on the sides of your waist. each delicate touch seemed to spell out an unspoken language of desire, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. his voice was a low, soothing command, urging you to articulate the emotions swirling within you.

“i do,” you said, your voice coming out desperate. “please,” you pleaded softly, each word dripping with a raw, unfiltered need that echoed in the quiet space between you. your eyes conveyed a silent plea, amplifying the urgency and vulnerability in your voice.

“so, so needy,” he smirked, peeling his lips from your body. in one swift motion, he flipped you both over, so you were lying on the mattress beneath him. he hovered above you, his arms on either side, creating a cage of warmth and desire. his eyes bore into yours, a mixture of amusement and hunger dancing in their depths.

he connected your lips together, the kiss a tantalizing dance of passion and restraint. his fingers toyed with the hem of your sweatpants, each touch a deliberate tease that sent shivers down your spine, heightening the anticipation with every passing second.

then, he disconnects his lips from yours, his eyes darkening with desire. with a fluid motion, he removes your shirt, allowing your breasts to spill free. he then reconnects his lips to one of your breasts, his tongue tracing delicate patterns. his other hand finds solace on the free breast, kneading and caressing with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

soft moans spilled from your lips as your fingers tangled in his hair, each touch sending shivers down your spine. the rhythm of your breaths intertwined with the gentle tugging, creating a symphony of passion and desire.

his tongue swirled around your nipple, eliciting a gasp from your lips. then, with a deliberate slowness, he disconnected his mouth from your breast and began to pull your sweatpants down, each movement charged with a tantalizing anticipation.

"let's try somethin' new, hm?" he cooed, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, his voice dripping with a tantalizing promise of uncharted pleasures.

he then slid down your underwear, discarding your clothes onto the ground with a practiced ease. as he shed his own pants, his boxers soon followed, leaving a trail of anticipation in their wake.

his length throbbed with an insistent pulse, the veins standing out prominently as evidence of his arousal. a bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip, catching the light and hinting at the depth of his desire. each moment seemed to stretch, charged with the electric anticipation of what was to come.

his fingers deftly gathered your slick essence, bringing them to his lips with a deliberate slowness, savoring the taste. simultaneously, his throbbing tip, flushed with urgency, glided up and down your folds, teasingly exploring the contours with a tantalizing precision.

“d-don't tease," you pleaded desperately, your voice trembling with a mix of urgency and longing, each syllable a testament to your heightened desire.

"so needy," he tutted, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and desire. as he slid into you, he felt the warm, wet, spongy flesh envelop him, each sensation intensifying the connection between you.

you let out a moan, a symphony of pleasure escaping your lips, as you felt him stretch you. the sensation was both overwhelming and intoxicating, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through your body, each movement deepening the connection and heightening the intensity of your shared experience.

he let out a guttural moan, the sound reverberating through the air, as his eyes fluttered shut in response to the soft moan that escaped your lips. 

for a few minutes, your core desperately ached with need, a throbbing intensity that seemed to consume you. with confusion and a hint of desperation, you asked, "w-why aren't you m-moving?" you stuttered, your voice emerging as a slight moan, a blend of pleasure and pain that echoed through the room.

"m'not planning on moving," he smirked, his voice dripping with a mix of mischief and control. he slowly laid next to you, his body aligning with yours as he gently turned you slightly, ensuring his movements were deliberate and measured. 

each shift was calculated, a dance of restraint and intention, as he tried his best not to disturb the delicate balance. a soft groan escaped his lips, resonating with the tension and desire that hung thick in the air, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

he pulled the blanket over both of you, enveloping your intertwined forms in a cocoon of warmth. your body heat mingled together, creating a shared sanctuary of comfort and intimacy beneath the soft fabric, as the world outside seemed to fade away. 

"w-what?" you stammered out, your voice trembling and barely audible, as confusion and surprise intertwined in your words.

"g’night, baby," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper as he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. he then wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer in a protective embrace.

taglist —  @imwetforyourmom @meatballzerz69 @pinkishpearls @bandanamatt @thedangerousalleyway @muchloveforhacker @frozenpeanutbutterr @jetaimevous @everleiqh @conspiracy-ash @ifwdominicfike @blahbel668 @slutforsturnioloss @realuvrrr @sturnobsessedwh0re @cerismo @zainabthescientist @sarosfilms 

[sweetcherryharry]

sour — 01: driver's licence

Synopsis: Harry and Y/N were the "it" couple from 2013 to mid-2014, until things got extremely messy and they broke up. based on the album 'sour' by olivia rodrigo.

(masterlist)

I got my driver's license last week Just like we always talked about 'Cause you were so excited for me To finally drive up to your house

The California sun beat down on Y/N's face as she stared at the coveted plastic card in her hand, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. She had done it. She had finally gotten her driver's license.

A wave of nostalgia washed over her, the salty breeze and the rhythmic crashing of waves filling her senses. 

It was a golden afternoon at their favorite hidden cove, tucked away from the crowds and paparazzi that constantly hounded their every move. The sun shimmered on the turquoise water as they spread out a worn-out blanket, their laughter mingling with the calls of seagulls overhead.

Harry, ever the romantic, had surprised Y/N with a picnic basket filled with her favorite snacks: strawberries dipped in chocolate, freshly baked croissants, and a chilled bottle of sparkling lemonade. They had spent hours building a sandcastle, their fingers intertwined as they meticulously crafted turrets and moats, their creation a testament to their shared joy and creativity.

As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, painting the sky with vibrant hues of orange and pink, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text from her driving instructor, confirming her upcoming test. Harry, who had been tracing patterns on her arm with his fingertips, looked up with a mischievous grin.

"So, when are you going to get that license, huh?" he teased, gently nudging her with his shoulder.

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush, Styles. It's harder than it looks, you know."

Harry chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I know, I know," he said, his voice softening. "But I have faith in you, babe. You'll ace it."

He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Just imagine," he continued, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "once you get your license, you can come visit me whenever you want. Late-night drives, surprise visits... whatever you want, my door will always be open for you to arrive whenever you want."

Y/N's heart fluttered at the thought. The idea of having the freedom to drive to Harry's house, to see him whenever she wanted, filled her with a giddy anticipation. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, the taste of salt and sunshine mingling with their shared laughter. "I can't wait," she whispered.

The memory faded, leaving Y/N with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. The present moment crashed back in, the stark reality of their separation a stark contrast to the warmth of that perfect day. She traced the letters on her driver's license with a trembling finger, the plastic card feeling cold and impersonal in her grasp. It was a symbol of a future they had envisioned together but would now face apart.

The keys jangled in her hand as she slid into the driver's seat, the familiar scent of Harry's cologne a painful reminder of his absence. The open road that once symbolized freedom and adventure now stretched before her, a lonely path she would have to navigate alone.

But today I drove through the suburbs Cryin' 'cause you weren't around

The moonlight bathed the streets in a cool, silvery glow, a stark contrast to the warmth of the afternoon sun that had witnessed her happiness just hours ago. Y/N's tears flowed freely now, blurring the streetlights into a kaleidoscope of colors as she drove through the quiet suburbs. The leather seats of her brand new car, a gift from Harry for her recent 18th birthday, felt cold and empty beneath her.

When he handed her the keys, he had proudly said that the car was just the one for her; a reflection of her personality, and how it would be perfect for her to drive from the very first moment she got her driver's license.

He had chosen it specifically because it reminded him entirely of her, from the color to the style, making it a thoughtful and sentimental gift, special for her 18th birthday.

She had envisioned this night so differently. Instead of cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway with Harry by her side, their laughter echoing in the night air, she was alone, her heart heavy with the weight of his absence. She had dreamed of driving to his house, surprising him with her newfound freedom, but now the thought of facing him was unbearable.

They had broken up only a month and a half ago, and she swore everything was painful. 

The sting of betrayal was still fresh, the wound in her heart gaping and raw. One day, they were the "it" couple, inseparable and seemingly in love. The next, Harry suddenly broke up with her, with no reasonable explanation.

Soon after, rumors swirled around Harry and a new girl, Nadine Leopold, an up-and-coming model with striking features and an undeniable allure. Y/N tried to ignore the whispers, to trust Harry, that he’d never date someone so quickly after her.

But Y/N's worst fears were confirmed when she saw a photo of Harry and Nadine just two weeks after they broke up, their hands intertwined, their laughter echoing through a crowded club. The image was seared into her memory, a painful reminder of the love she had lost.

She couldn't help but imagine how different things could have been. If they were still together, they would be celebrating her new license, cruising down the highway with the windows down, singing along to their favorite songs. Harry would have his arm draped around her shoulders, his fingers tapping a rhythm on her thigh. They would be laughing, talking, sharing dreams and secrets, their love a warm beacon in the darkness.

But that was a fantasy, a cruel trick of her mind. The reality was that Harry was miles away, probably with her, the girl who had stolen his heart and shattered Y/N's world. The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through her, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles turning white.

And you're probably with that blonde girl Who always made me doubt She's so much older than me She's everything I'm insecure about Yeah, today I drove through the suburbs 'Cause how could I ever love someone else?

As Y/N pulled into the driveway of her childhood home, the tears had subsided, leaving behind a familiar hollowness. The house was dark, save for the faint glow emanating from the kitchen window, a testament to her mother's late-night baking habits. With a deep sigh, she turned off the engine, the silence amplifying the ache in her heart.

The memory of that fateful night replayed in her mind, each detail a fresh wound. The image of Nadine, with her effortless confidence and worldly charm, haunted her thoughts. At twenty, Nadine was a full two years older than Y/N, a lifetime in the eyes of an eighteen-year-old girl. She exuded a maturity and sophistication that Y/N felt she lacked, a stark contrast to the youthful innocence she still clung to. 

The comparison was a constant source of insecurity, a nagging voice in the back of her mind that whispered she wasn't good enough, that she could never measure up to the woman who had stolen Harry's heart from her.

Y/N leaned her head against the steering wheel, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. The driver's license clutched in her hand felt like a cruel irony, a reminder of the freedom she had gained but the love she had lost. She had imagined sharing this moment with Harry, their laughter filling the car as they embarked on new adventures together. Instead, she was alone, her dreams shattered, her heart aching for a love that was now nothing more than a bittersweet memory.

He was everything to her. Her first love, her best friend, the person she had shared her hopes and dreams with. 

And now… he was nothing. Not even a part of her life. 

The thought sent a fresh wave of pain through her, a tidal wave of grief that threatened to drown her. How could she ever love someone else after experiencing the intensity and passion of her relationship with Harry? Was it even possible to find a love that could compare?

And I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone Guess you didn't mean what you wrote in that song about me

Y/N laid curled up in bed, the comforter pulled tight around her as if to ward off the chill of heartbreak that seeped into her bones. The silence of the night was broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on her nightstand, a constant reminder of the passing time, the moments slipping away without Harry by her side.

She knew their relationship hadn't been without its flaws. They were young, passionate, and at times, volatile. There were misunderstandings, disagreements, and moments when their fiery personalities clashed. But beneath it all, there had been a love so intense, so consuming, that it had eclipsed everything else. A love that made her feel alive, invincible, like she could conquer the world with him by her side.

She knew they weren’t perfect, but she had never felt that way for no one.

A lump formed in her throat as she recalled the countless moments they had shared, the stolen kisses, the inside jokes, the whispered promises of forever.

She couldn’t imagine how he could be so okay now that she’s gone. 

Her heart ached with a mixture of anger and longing. The images of him with Nadine, their laughter and shared glances plastered across the tabloids, twisted the knife deeper. How could he move on so easily, so effortlessly, while she was still drowning in the wreckage of their love?

A melody drifted through her mind, a bittersweet reminder of a night spent on the balcony of Harry's hotel room, overlooking the twinkling lights of London. It was a song he had written for her, a simple acoustic tune titled "Just a Little Bit of Your Heart." He had played it for her under the starlit sky, his voice filled with raw emotion as he sang of his love for her, just a few months back.

Guess he didn't mean what he wrote in that song about her.

At the thought, a bitter taste filled her mouth. The lyrics, once a testament to their love, now felt like a cruel mockery, a hollow echo of a promise that had been broken.

'Cause you said forever, now I drive alone past your street

It had been a week since that bittersweet day. A week since Y/N had received her driver's license, a milestone that should have been filled with joy and excitement. Instead, it had become a constant reminder of the love she had lost, the dreams that had shattered.

As she drove to her yoga class, Y/N found herself inexplicably drawn to Harry's house. Logic told her to stay away, to avoid the pain of possibly seeing him with someone else. But a yearning, a desperate hope for a glimpse of the familiar, pulled her towards the familiar tree-lined street.

She drove slowly, her eyes scanning the windows of his sprawling mansion. The lights were on, casting a warm glow that hinted at life within. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anticipation and dread. Was he home? Was Nadine with him? The thought sent a pang of jealousy through her.

Y/N circled the block, her eyes glued to the front door, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, even just a shadow passing by a window. But the house remained silent, its occupants hidden behind the veil of privacy.

Disappointment washed over her, a familiar wave of emptiness filling the void where her love for Harry once resided. She had come seeking closure, a fleeting moment of connection, but it seemed the universe had other plans.

With a sigh, Y/N turned the car around, the headlights illuminating the path ahead.  

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them 'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do, yeah

The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon candles filled the air as Y/N settled onto the plush sofa in Sarah's living room. Her best friend, with her warm smile and comforting presence, had been a lifeline in the weeks since the breakup. Tonight, like many others, Sarah had opened her home, offering a safe haven where Y/N could shed her tears and vent her frustrations.

"I just don't understand," Y/N lamented, her voice thick with emotion. "How can he be so okay? How can he move on so quickly, like our entire relationship meant nothing to him?"

Sarah reached out, squeezing Y/N's hand in silent support. She had heard the same questions countless times, the same litany of grievances against Harry. She knew Y/N was hurting, and she wanted nothing more than to ease her pain.

"I know," Sarah said softly. "I know it hurts. But you're strong, and you'll get through this."

Y/N sighed, leaning back against the cushions. "I know you're tired of hearing me talk about him," she admitted, a hint of guilt in her voice. "I'm sorry. I just... I feel so lost without him."

"Don't apologize," Sarah reassured her. "I'm here for you, no matter what. But I do worry about you, Y/N. You need to start focusing on yourself, on moving forward."

Y/N nodded, knowing her friend was right. But it was easier said than done. Harry had been her everything, her first love, her confidante, her partner in crime. He had seen her at her best and her worst, had shared her dreams and fears. No one else could ever understand the depth of their connection, the unique bond they had shared.

After all, they both knew what it was to be young and in the spotlight. Y/N had been an actress since she was younger, navigating the pressures of Hollywood with all its glitz and scrutiny. Harry had experienced a meteoric rise to fame with One Direction, the world watching their every move. They had understood each other's struggles, the sacrifices they had made, the loneliness that came with being constantly in the public eye.

"It's just...," Y/N's voice trailed off, searching for the right words. "It's hard to imagine anyone else understanding what we went through, what we shared."

Sarah reached out, taking Y/N's hand in hers. "I know, babe," she said softly. "But you're not alone. You have so many people who love and care about you. And even though no one can replace Harry, there will be other people who will come into your life and bring you joy."

Y/N looked at her friend, grateful for the unwavering support. She knew Sarah was right, but the pain of losing Harry was still so raw, so consuming. She had loved him with all her heart, and the thought of moving on felt like a betrayal of their love, of the memories they had shared.

"I know," Y/N whispered, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I know you're right. But it's hard to imagine a future without him in it."

Today I drove through the suburbs And pictured I was driving home to you

The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains of Sarah's guest room, casting a warm glow on Y/N's face. She stretched, a yawn escaping her lips as she blinked sleepily at the unfamiliar surroundings. The events of the previous night flooded back to her, the laughter, the tears, the shared confidences that had momentarily eased the ache in her heart.

As she dressed and made her way downstairs, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beckoned her towards the kitchen. Sarah was already there, humming along to a cheerful pop song as she prepared breakfast.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Sarah greeted her with a warm smile. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I have in weeks," Y/N admitted, accepting the steaming mug of coffee with gratitude.

The two friends settled at the kitchen island, enjoying their breakfast in comfortable silence. But as Y/N sipped her coffee, a familiar longing crept into her heart. She couldn't help but picture herself driving home to Harry after her sleepover, his warm embrace waiting for her at the end of the journey after being the night apart from each other.

She imagined him, his hair tousled, a sleepy smile on his face as he opened the door for her

But as quickly as the fantasy had formed, it dissolved, leaving behind a bitter taste in Y/N's mouth. She blinked back tears, reminding herself that it was just a dream, a cruel trick of her mind. Harry wasn't waiting for her. He was with Nadine now, their laughter and whispered conversations filling the void that Y/N had once occupied.

And with a heavy sigh, Y/N took another sip of her coffee, the bitter brew mirroring the bittersweet reality of her life.

[justenjoythegossip]

THE ONE WHERE HE SAID HER NAME

For people who aren’t aware, Chris was just interviewed on Access Hollywood where he is promoting his dog food brand and talking about his wife’s connection and relationship with “their” beloved dog. Go Portugal! 

First remark, she will no longer be known as Voldemort as it’s the first time since the start of this shitshow that he has ever said her name. Good for her and shame on him. 

Second remark, his background has been blurred for more… privacy (sarcastic coughs).

Apart from those 2 new elements, it’s pretty much the same old stuff. Let’s dig. 

THE TIMING OF THE INTERVIEW

This interview takes place at a time where Chris is gaining a lot of momentum. He just made a very talked about cameo in a huge Marvel hit. As a positive sign, he is gaining followers again, which at least looks organic whether they are real or bots or a combination of both. He is working hard, doing stunts with ASP, in order to look deserving of the Spirit of Service award he is going to receive on September 11th which, by the way, coincides with the one-year anniversary of his wedding. 

This interview is about promoting his dog food brand and their partnership with a giant retail store. Because obviously why not ride this wave of publicity, make more bucks and get more attention? Especially after that planned story on his Insta about his Deadpool cameo and the variety article that suspiciously followed so quickly after it. 

Not coincidentally, this date was supposed to be the one when a BUA was to be announced, as Team PR blogs were insisting. (By the way, that fact alone should enrage Chris’ fans as his team clearly looks in cahoots with them, as many suspected.) 

TEAM PR AND THEIR LASTEST DECEPTION

Team PR blogs have been claiming the contract expired on July 26th, that the BUA was imminent and was to happen before the end of July.

They were clearly lying like they have been lying since the start of this shitshow. Particularly about the ending which was supposed to happen after the Ghosted premiere, after the Peter Holmes interview, after he came back to Insta, after theForbes article, after the papwalk in December… …during the shooting of the Materialists… 

The fact people actually gave credence to their most recent claims is not a testament to their “cunning” manipulation techniques or people’s gullibility but to how much this fandom wants this shitshow to be over. 

As you noticed, one key and vicious member of Team PR was explaining yesterday that Chris’ wearing the ring meant nothing and “was insignificant”. How hypocritical, isn’t it?  When Team PR, Team Real & Team Middle have all been talking & trolling about the precious for months. 

Notice how those Team PR blogs are now deflecting once more with silly diversions such as dog behavior or how allegedly his family will suffer for it (oh please), or play the victim card as they are allegedly receiving threats and hate messages. All of this is meant to distract from the fact that they lied once more. And they did it for several reasons, the most important being... 

ANOTHER CLASSIC BAIT & SWITCH FOR ADDED SHOCK VALUE

We have seen this movie before and repeatedly, haven’t we? The pattern is so similar to what we have witnessed in February with the ski trip. 

And even recently, with all the time she was seen spending in her home country without him (the concert, the birthday), her furnishing an apartment in Portugal, his wearing and hiding the ring every chance he got, and more importantly the stunt at the walk of fame of Kevin Feige where she was seen to be a no show so ostentatiously… Look at how staged that was, and you will realize what the purpose for it was. 

So, what they did was to try to breadcrumb a separation once again, to build up the fans’ anticipation before pulling the rug out from under them in order to add shock value. 

Well done! But FYI the aftereffect might prove very counterproductive for Chris, as his complicity looks more and more obvious and his playing the victim card looks more and more infuriating. 

CHRIS’ COMPLICITY

Chris claimed in his SMA interview how much he hates any forms of manipulation. He should have added that he was fine with it as long as he was the one doing the manipulating.  Indeed, his complicity is absolutely undeniable. 

I have written a post about this topic, if you want to check it out. 

Let’s add to this his recent shenanigans and more precisely what he did with the precious ring. I won’t go too far back and will just use 2 recent examples. 

Do people remember the Jinx commercial where he uses his pinkie to “hide” the ring as he gives food to Dodger? What he is actually doing here is to draw more attention to the ring and promote his relationship with Alba, he also looks ashamed to gain sympathy from his fans and manages to feed the discourse (real or not?) in the process. 

Isn’t it exactly what he did again for that walk of fame ceremony where he allegedly arrived without the ring (like he would forget to wear it) and then get photographed with it from every angle while his wife was a no-show?

Now let’s move on to the most interesting aspects of it all: the brand deal.

THE BRAND DEALS CONNECTED TO THIS SHITWHOW

First observation. You can see the similarity to the interview he did on The View sponsored by Jinx when he came back to Insta just in time for the Black Friday. 

I am not privy to any private information and haven’t seen the contracts but it’s safe to assume that certain businesses of his are directly connected to this shitshow for the simple reason that they have been getting an incommensurable amount of “free” publicity from many prestigious publications & media outlets. 

And by the way, it started before Alba even entered the scene. We can safely deduce Chris had already cashed in on those checks (“free” publicity) and this shitshow was also used as a payment for it. 

Because clearly, dog food and a civil engagement platform are not the “sexiest” businesses. And, the amount of media coverage those companies have been getting seems totally disproportionate compared to Chris’ status and the marketability of those businesses.

Compare this to the media coverage his fellow Avengers have been getting, like Jeremy Renner’s cigar and alcohol businesses, or Scarlett’s The Outset. 

Obviously, Chris gets to promote his businesses Jinx or ASP when he talks or breadcrumbs his relationship to Alba because this is far more selling and salacious for the media and the public. 

Sidenote, now observe the media coverage his commercial for a much “sexier” brand like Audi got, a commercial where he did not have to wear the ring by the way. 

So if you guys are enraged by this shitshow and how it is conducted, not looking at this train wreck won’t change a thing or the timeline but what might have an impact is to boycott the protagonists and the brands that are playing and manipulating you. 

THE ENDING OF THE SHITSHOW

Clearly this shitshow is long-term and won’t be ending anytime soon. And the reason for that is simple. The optics of this relationship aren’t great as he looks like her old uncle and the power imbalance is all over the place. He HAS to stay married to her for a while to give value to this relationship. 

Because clearly, he looks like another Hollywood cliché going through a midlife crisis. The only thing that could salvage a part of his public persona is to make this marriage last so that he doesn’t look like a “one-dollar Leo but without the talent”. 

In fact, it will likely last for much longer and might even escalate (DM is breadcrumbing baby rumors) because one thing appears crystal clear at this point: this marriage seems to be much more than a rebrand and a publicity stunt.

WHAT MIGHT BE COMING NEXT?

There is a rumor that Chris might be selling his LA home after he just sold his Concord house. Not so long ago it was the one in Vermont.

Like some Team PR blogs rightfully said, it was purposefully leaked to the fandom after the house had already been sold. It was a great and very smart PR move. Suddenly, Chris seemed like he was at a crossroads, like it was a new start where anything is possible. 

But as you guys noticed, the background was purposefully blurry for this interview, which gives the illusion he is private when he is really not, also puts emphasis on the crazy fan narrative (Chris has to hide to protect his family from his crazy fans) and more importantly helps to present any fabricated life he wants to the general public. It is a white canvas so to speak. 

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ Chapter Eight: A Great Friend

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 11.5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Your day immediately turns eventful at the very second you open your eyes, receiving a congratulatory message from Hongjoong which was apparently because of your sudden popularity that skyrocketed overnight, following your first photoshoot. As you grapple with this sudden surge of attention, Seonghwa offers a welcome distraction by suggesting you assist Hongjoong with his designs for the upcoming autumn collection, all of which are still in progress.

a/n: apologies in advance, but it should probably be in your best interest to expect slow updates starting from now on 🥲 i’ve been getting busier and busier lately so it might take a little while to upload the following chapters ㅠㅠ lmk what you think about this chapter! reading people’s feedback cheers me up a lot, and i’d really appreciate them especially rn since i’m having a hard time haha

tags: @beabatiny

You awaken to the soft chime of a message notification, the early morning light casting a gentle glow in your room. Blinking away sleep, you reach for your phone on the bedside table, the screen glowing softly in the dim light. The message is from Hongjoong, and your heart skips a beat as you read it.

Seems like you got a good head start in the industry. Congratulations!

Confused, you sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to make sense of his words. You quickly type back, asking him what was going on, as you had just woken up. Hongjoong’s response comes swiftly.

The pictures from your first photoshoot were uploaded last night and they’re currently going viral.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you hurriedly exit the conversation to check the social media platforms associated with Hongjoong’s brand. The notifications are overwhelming. As you scroll through the posts, your face appears repeatedly—each shot capturing a different angle of the Parisian venue, each pose more captivating than the last. The comments are a flurry of excitement and admiration. Each one is a testament to the impact the photos have had.

“Who is this stunning new face?”

“She looks like she stepped out of a painting!”

“Her expression is so captivating; I can’t stop looking!”

“Such a refreshing presence, she’s going to be huge!”

“She exudes this ethereal vibe—like a modern-day muse!”

If there was one thing you were expecting the moment you stepped into the industry, it was definitely not this. Well, you probably should’ve. Your hands tremble slightly as you continue scrolling, unable to fully grasp the scale of the attention. It’s surreal to see yourself through the eyes of so many strangers, each comment adding another layer to the overwhelming reality.

A hand ghosts over your mouth in shock, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes. “Is this real?” you whisper to yourself, the room around you suddenly feeling too small, too quiet compared to the roaring storm of notifications and messages on your phone.

Rushing to the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face, the chill jolting you awake. You even slap your cheeks lightly a few times, trying to dispel the surreal feeling that’s settled over you. The mirror reflects your wide-eyed expression, confirming that this is, in fact, happening. You stare at your reflection, the reality of your newfound attention slowly sinking in. It feels like stepping into another world, one where your life has suddenly taken a dramatic turn.

Still in a daze, you return to your bed, clutching your phone tightly. You reopen the conversation with Hongjoong, asking him if any of this was real. You could’ve just been having a highly realistic dream, for all you know. On the other side of the screen, Hongjoong can almost sense your disbelief.

As real as it can be.

But even through the text, you sense a smile, a quiet confidence in his words. Just as you’re beginning to process everything, your phone rings again. It's Seonghwa. His voice is warm, laced with a hint of amusement as he says, “You’re quite the hit lately. Have you heard of it?”

You let out a small laugh, still overwhelmed. “Yes, Hongjoong actually beat you to it.”

There’s a brief pause, and Seonghwa’s voice becomes thoughtful. “Hongjoong texted you first? That’s... unusual.”

“Huh?”

Seonghwa’s mind lingers on this revelation. Hongjoong, known for his reserved nature, seldom initiates contact with others. He was the type to keep his thoughts to himself, preferring the solitude of his creative processes. For him to reach out so directly is… well, it’s unexpected. He wonders if there’s more to this than meets the eye, but he quickly shakes off the thought, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

He continues, his tone lightening again, “Nevermind that. But seriously, congratulations! This is huge.”

You sigh, a mixture of happiness and anxiety bubbling up. “I still can’t believe all of this is real. It feels like things are progressing too quickly, and while I’m happy, there’s this overwhelming feeling somewhere deep inside.”

Seonghwa’s voice softens with empathy. “It’s completely normal to feel that way, especially since this all came out of nowhere. It can be a lot to take in at once.”

You nod, though he can’t see you, and explain your usual method of coping with major news—pushing it aside until you’re ready to fully process it. “So… what I’m saying is I kinda need to put that method to use right now. Is there anything I can help with over there? I need something to focus on, just to distract myself.”

Seonghwa thinks for a moment, considering your offer. “Well, you could help bring some of Hongjoong’s designs to life. Unfortunately, he rarely accepts help, preferring to work alone because it helps him focus. But I’ll mention it to him and see what he says.”

Seonghwa hangs up the phone, placing it gently on the table in front of him. The lounge area of the building is quiet, save for the soft hum of distant conversations and the occasional clink of cups. He leans back in his chair, lost in thought about the conversation he just had with you. Just then, as if on cue, Hongjoong strolls into the lounge, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. He spots Seonghwa and heads over, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Things are turning out well for her, aren’t they?” Hongjoong remarks, settling into the lounge chair across Seonghwa. His tone carries a hint of pride, and Seonghwa can see a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

Seonghwa, remembering something from the call, tilts his head slightly. “You know, she mentioned you were the first to tell her about all the attention she’s getting. That’s... not exactly your usual style.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “What do you mean? I just wanted to congratulate her, that’s all.”

Seonghwa isn’t convinced and leans forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “You don’t even text first when it comes to both me and Wooyoung. What’s the deal?”

Hongjoong chuckles, shaking his head as if dismissing the notion. “It’s nothing. Just thought she should know.”

But Seonghwa isn’t buying the nonchalant act. His eyes narrow playfully, clearly intrigued by this rare deviation from Hongjoong’s usual behavior. Hongjoong, noticing the look, quickly grabs a crumpled paper from his blazer pocket and tosses it at Seonghwa, laughing. “Stop reading too much into it. There’s nothing there.”

Seonghwa catches the paper, laughing as well despite not being entirely convinced. He decides to change the subject, leaning back in his chair. “So, how are the designs for the autumn collection coming along?”

Hongjoong’s eyes light up at the mention of his work. “I’ve been making good progress with the tailoring and even started on some new designs. Though I left my sketchbook in my office today, I’ve got some photos of the pieces.”

He leans forward, pulling out his phone and handing it to Seonghwa. As Seonghwa scrolls through the images, he’s greeted with a series of designs that reflect the collection’s theme. The first few designs are ethereal yet grounded, capturing the essence of the season. There’s a long, flowing coat made of rich, burnt orange wool, adorned with delicate embroidery of falling leaves. The next outfit is a layered ensemble featuring a deep forest green velvet dress, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, and paired with a capelet that mimics the texture of fallen leaves.

Each piece exudes a sense of elegance and warmth, perfectly encapsulating the quiet beauty of autumn. The use of earthy tones, mixed with subtle metallic accents, creates a harmonious blend of nature-inspired elements and modern fashion. Seonghwa can see the meticulous attention to detail in every stitch and fold, each piece a testament to Hongjoong’s artistic vision. It was admirable, as always.

As he continues scrolling, Seonghwa’s eyes widen slightly when he stumbles upon an unexpected photo—a candid shot of you holding a cat, your face soft with a serene smile. It’s a stark contrast to the fashion designs, capturing a moment of unguarded warmth and simplicity. Seonghwa’s mind raced with questions, his curiosity piqued even further. Why does Hongjoong have this photo, and what does it signify?

Quickly, he scrolls back to the fashion designs, masking his surprise. He hands the phone back to Hongjoong, his expression composed but his thoughts swirling. “These are incredible, Hongjoong. The way you’ve captured the essence of autumn is truly impressive. I especially like the use of textures and the color palette—it feels very grounded yet still has that ethereal quality.”

Hongjoong nods, pleased with the feedback. “Thanks, I’ve been working on capturing that balance. Autumn has this quiet, reflective beauty, and I wanted that to come through in the designs.”

Seonghwa nods thoughtfully, but his mind lingers on the photo he saw. He can’t help but wonder if there’s something more going on between you and Hongjoong, something beneath the surface that he hasn’t yet understood. As he hands the phone back, he decides to keep this little discovery to himself, at least for now, storing it away as something to discuss with Wooyoung later.

Clearing his throat, Seonghwa leans forward, his tone thoughtful. “You know, I was talking to her earlier, and she mentioned feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the sudden exposure. It’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone so new to the industry. She was wondering if there might be any way she could help with the tailoring of the designs. Not only to get some practical experience but also to have something to focus on, something to keep her grounded while everything else is so chaotic.”

Hongjoong listens intently, his expression contemplative. Seonghwa continues, “I know you usually prefer to work alone, to have complete control over your creative process. And I get that—it’s part of what makes your designs so unique. But maybe just this once, it could be beneficial to have an extra pair of hands. She’s genuinely interested in learning and contributing, and I think it could be a good experience for both of you.”

As Seonghwa speaks, he watches Hongjoong closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Before he can elaborate further, Hongjoong cuts him off with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind at all. We can start tomorrow.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. That was a quick agreement, far quicker than he expected. “Good, alright. I’ll inform her,” Seonghwa says, still processing Hongjoong’s easy acquiescence. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, almost tentatively, “Or do you want to do it instead...?”

Hongjoong’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa quickly waves him off, standing up from his seat. “Oh, no, no, nothing. I’ll let her know.” He makes a quick exit, leaving a bewildered Hongjoong behind, still puzzled over the odd exchange.

As Seonghwa strides towards the elevator, the gears in his mind are turning. The ease with which Hongjoong agreed to your involvement, coupled with the candid photo and the early morning text, is starting to form a pattern in Seonghwa’s mind—a pattern that suggests something more than just professional interest.

As the elevator doors open, Seonghwa is met by Wooyoung, who looks ready to step out. Without a second thought, Seonghwa gently but firmly shoves Wooyoung back inside, pressing the button for the floor where his office is located.

“What the hell—” Wooyoung begins, startled by the abruptness of Seonghwa's actions.

Seonghwa cuts him off, a serious look on his face. “There’s something important we need to discuss. Just trust me.”

Wooyoung, sensing the gravity in Seonghwa’s tone, complies without further protest. As they reach Seonghwa’s office, Seonghwa gestures for Wooyoung to double-check the lock on the door, ensuring their privacy. “Just in case Hongjoong walks in.”

Wooyoung complies, yet thete was a puzzled look on his face. “Hongjoong? What does he have to do with this?”

They settled into Seonghwa’s office, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Seonghwa starts, his tone hushed. “Alright, so get this: Hongjoong texted her first thing this morning to congratulate her on the viral photos. Can you believe that?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way! Hongjoong? Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Do-Small-Talk’? Like, for real?”

Seonghwa nods, his expression mirroring Wooyoung’s shock. “For real. And it gets better. He even had a candid photo of her on his phone. You know, not a posed shot or anything, just her holding a cat. She looked so natural and relaxed. I accidentally saw it while scrolling through his design pictures.”

Wooyoung leans forward, clearly intrigued. “A candid photo? From Hongjoong? That’s... well, I definitely didn’t see that coming. What else did you see?” he asked, pushing for more details.

Seonghwa goes into a contemplative gaze. “That’s the thing, Wooyoung. He never keeps personal photos like that. And then, when I mentioned her feeling overwhelmed by all the attention, he was totally understanding. And, get this, he agreed to let her help with the tailoring for his autumn collection without even hesitating.”

Wooyoung's eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, hold on. Doesn’t he literally hate people interfering with his work? What do you mean he agreed just like that?”

Seonghwa holds his hands up, still a bit in disbelief himself. “That’s what I don’t get either. No arguments, no reservations. Just ‘sure, she can start tomorrow.’ It’s so out of character for him. Usually, he’s all about keeping things strictly professional and handling everything himself.”

Wooyoung leans back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “So, let me get this straight. Hongjoong, who never texts first, texts her before anyone else. He’s got a candid, personal photo of her on his phone. And now, he’s okay with her helping out with his designs? That’s…”

Seonghwa nods. “Exactly. And when I asked him about texting her, he brushed it off, saying he just wanted to congratulate her. But I know Hongjoong. He doesn’t do things like this for just anyone. Hell, he doesn’t even text us first, and we've known him for years.”

Wooyoung grins, clearly entertained. “So, what do you think? Is he interested in her? It sure sounds like it.” This was definitely worth the gossip drought that lasted for weeks.

Seonghwa shrugs, though his eyes gleam with curiosity. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely out of the ordinary. I mean, Hongjoong’s not one to show personal interest in anyone, let alone a model he just met.”

Wooyoung clasps his hands together, shaking his head. “This is going to be interesting. We should keep an eye on this. Maybe they’re just friends, or maybe there’s something more. Either way, it’s unusual for Hongjoong.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchange a knowing glance, an idea slowly taking root in Wooyoung's mind. He leans forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You know,” Wooyoung begins, “we could give them a little nudge. Like, play matchmaker. It could be fun.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, hesitating. “We shouldn’t make things awkward between them. What if they’re just forming a friendship? We don’t want to overstep.”

Wooyoung waves off the concern, his enthusiasm undeterred. “I get that, but think about it. Most great love stories start with friendship, right? They’re already getting along well, and there’s clearly something different about how Hongjoong is acting lately. Maybe it’s worth exploring.”

Seonghwa sighs, shaking his head with a faint smile. “You’re incorrigible, you know that? But I suppose you have a point. It’s just... Hongjoong’s been very private about his personal life. We shouldn’t push him into something he’s not ready for.”

Wooyoung nods thoughtfully. “Well, yeah, but he’s been alone for as long as I’ve known him. He’s always so independent and hardworking, constantly putting the company and his designs first. Wouldn’t it be nice for him to have someone who reminds him to take a breather, to enjoy life a little?”

Seonghwa looks away, pondering Wooyoung’s words. He knows that Hongjoong is fiercely dedicated to his work, often to the point of neglecting his own well-being. It’s a quality they all admire, but it also worries them. Hongjoong’s solitary nature, while admirable in its focus, sometimes seemed to be a shield against something deeper.

At the same time, a part of Seonghwa agrees with Wooyoung. Hongjoong deserves to experience love, to be taught what it means to love and be loved in return. To have someone who sees past the professional facade and connects with him on a deeper level. Hongjoong has always been the rock for everyone else, the leader who guides and supports, but who supports him? Seonghwa knows that beneath Hongjoong’s calm exterior is someone who longs for a connection, even if he doesn’t consciously acknowledge it.

Seonghwa finally exhales, nodding in agreement. “Alright, maybe you’re right. He does deserve that chance. But we need to be subtle, okay? We can’t just throw them into situations and expect magic to happen.”

Wooyoung grins, practically bouncing in his seat. “Of course, of course. We’ll be subtle. Well, as subtle as we can be.” He chuckles, already plotting. “We could start with simple things. Like arranging for them to spend more time together, under the guise of work, of course.”

Seonghwa nods, though he can’t help but smile at Wooyoung’s eagerness. „Fine, but let’s keep this quiet. The last thing we need is Hongjoong finding out and feeling pressured or uncomfortable. We’ll just... create opportunities for them to bond naturally?”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with excitement. “Yes, exactly! This is going to be great. Just trust me on this one.”

Seonghwa sighs, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Alright, but no wild schemes, okay? We’re not in a rom-com here.”

Wooyoung laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No wild schemes.”

—

The sound of fabric being meticulously fed through the sewing machine filled the room, but despite the soft hum, your mind was anything but calm. The task at hand was supposed to be a distraction from the whirlwind of unexpected fame and the gnawing anxiety about potential backlash—something that often follows a sudden rise to internet prominence. However, the complexities of threading needles and manipulating fabrics were proving to be more challenging than anticipated. You couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was a bad idea, a sentiment only reinforced by the knots of frustration building in your stomach.

Hongjoong had stepped out to go to the restroom for a moment, giving you a brief respite. It was just enough time to let out a sigh of frustration, your hands pausing their clumsy movements. You were aware of how out of your depth you were, fumbling with the sewing machine in a way that likely confirmed his suspicions. He had asked several times if you needed help, always with a gentle tone that hinted at his concern. But pride—or perhaps a stubborn streak—had kept you from admitting just how lost you felt.

“Maybe I should’ve just volunteered to be burned at the stake in a Salem witch trial—”

“Are you alright?” Hongjoong’s voice sliced through your musings, making you jump slightly. You straightened up quickly, feigning concentration as you adjusted the fabric under the needle. The effort was futile; the moment Hongjoong leaned over your shoulder, his hand resting gently on yours, your cool façade crumbled.

His close proximity, the soft warmth of his hand, and the subtle, intoxicating scent of his cologne were all too distracting. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and I’m gonna need you to answer it in full honesty. Is that okay?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting from his hand to his face and then back to the sewing machine. “I... um... sure, go ahead,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice at bay.

“Do you know how to use a sewing machine?” he asked, his tone patient yet direct.

You winced, slumping in your seat as you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I thought it would be easy,” you admitted, your voice muffled by your palms. “But I had no idea it would be so... intricate? I think I’ve used up half my patience already.”

Before you could spiral further into self-recrimination, Hongjoong’s soft laughter broke the tension. It was a soothing sound, yet its proximity sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He pulled a chair over and sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. You kept your eyes fixed on the sewing machine, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently, taking your hand in his once more. “Everyone starts somewhere. Let me guide you through it.”

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he began, his voice warm and steady. “First, we need to thread the machine properly. It can be a bit tricky at first, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes second nature.”

He gently guided your fingers to the spool pin, showing you how to place the thread. “Make sure the thread is placed securely here,” he explained, his hand lingering over yours for a moment. “Then, we’ll pull it through the tension disks. This part is crucial because it controls the tension of your stitches. If it’s too loose or too tight, your fabric might bunch up or the stitches might break.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his instructions rather than the slight warmth of his hand. “Got it,” you murmured, glancing at him again. His eyes were intent on the machine, but there was a softness in his gaze.

“Next, we bring the thread down here,” he continued, guiding your hand to the take-up lever. “This part moves up and down as you sew, pulling the thread through the fabric. It’s important to make sure the thread is seated properly in the eye of the lever.”

You tried to mimic his movements, your fingers fumbling slightly. He caught your hesitation and gently corrected your grip, his touch light but firm. “Like this,” he demonstrated, pulling the thread through the lever with practiced ease. “See? It’s all about smooth, even motions.”

You nodded again, feeling a bit more confident but still acutely aware of the slight tension in the air. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... different. “And finally, we guide the thread through the needle,” he said, his voice low and patient. “This part can be a bit tricky, especially if the needle’s eye is small. Just take your time and don’t rush.”

As you attempted to thread the needle, your hand shook slightly, and you fumbled with the delicate thread. Hongjoong leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he steadied your hand. “Here, let me help,” he offered, his tone gentle. He carefully guided the thread through the needle’s eye, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

“There we go,” he said with a satisfied smile, leaning back a bit. “Now, let’s get to the sewing part. Start by placing the fabric under the presser foot, like this.” He demonstrated, his hands guiding yours to position the fabric correctly. “Make sure it’s aligned straight with the needle and the edge of the foot.”

You followed his instructions, your eyes focused on the machine but your mind wandering slightly. There was something about this whole situation—the quiet focus, the close proximity, the shared task—that felt nice. You couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of self-consciousness, wondering if he could sense your awkwardness.

“Now, gently press the pedal to start the machine,” Hongjoong instructed, his hand still lightly resting on yours. “Don’t go too fast; just a slow, steady pace. That’ll give you more control.”

You did as he said, the machine whirring to life as you guided the fabric through. Hongjoong watched closely, offering occasional tips and corrections. “Try to keep your hands steady,” he advised. “And remember, it’s okay to stop and readjust if you need to.”

“Okay, got it,” you replied, focusing intently on the fabric and the machine’s needle. But despite your best efforts, you could feel your heart beating a little faster, your palms slightly sweaty. It was all so new, and the added pressure of having Hongjoong right there, guiding you, was both comforting and nerve-wracking.

As you continued to sew, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Hongjoong’s instructions were clear and patient, and his occasional praise—“Good, that’s perfect,” or “You’re getting the hang of it”—helped to ease your nerves. Still, there were moments when you couldn’t help but feel a slight, almost imperceptible tension. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a subtle awareness of his presence, of the closeness between you as he guided your hands and offered gentle encouragement.

After a few more passes, he smiled at you, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “You’re doing really well,” he said, giving your hand a light squeeze before releasing it. “Just keep practicing, and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You smiled back, feeling a mix of relief and a strange, fluttering excitement. “Thanks, Hongjoong,” you said, your voice a bit softer than you intended. “I really appreciate your help.”

As you continued to practice, the room was filled with a quiet focus, the sound of the sewing machine blending with the soft rustle of fabrics and the occasional tap of Hongjoong’s fingers on the table as he worked on his designs. The space was filled with mannequins adorned with various pieces in different stages of completion, each a testament to his creativity and skill.

Hongjoong stood by one of the mannequins, testing out different fabrics and adjusting the drape of a garment. It was a half-finished piece, a beautiful autumn-inspired dress, rich with deep, warm hues and delicate detailing. The design was stunning even in its incomplete state, with layers of fabric cascading down in elegant folds. The room, spacious and filled with natural light, was a perfect backdrop for his work, highlighting the textures and colors of his creations.

As you worked, you found yourself unconsciously humming. It was a habit you’d developed over the years, a way to keep yourself company during moments of concentration. The tune was “La Vie en Rose,” a classic melody that had always been a favorite of yours. Lost in the rhythm of your work, you didn’t notice Hongjoong glancing over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he recognized the song.

The peaceful atmosphere continued until you completed your practice piece, checking the fabric carefully. To your delight, it was flawless, and you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of triumph. You looked up, catching Hongjoong’s eye as he turned towards you, clearly curious about your reaction.

“I think I’m ready to help out,” you announced, holding up the fabric proudly.

Hongjoong smiled, a warm and encouraging expression on his face. “Really? Let's get to work, then.”

You quickly tidied up your workspace, eager to join him. As you approached, you got a closer look at the dress he was working on. It was even more beautiful up close, with detailed stitching and a careful blend of textures. The design was both modern and timeless, capturing the essence of autumn with its rich color palette and sophisticated lines.

On the table next to the mannequin, you noticed Hongjoong’s sketchbook. The sketches inside were detailed and precise, showcasing his vision for the final piece. You couldn’t help but compliment him, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “This looks incredible, Hongjoong. The sketches were already amazing, but seeing it come to life... It’s even better.”

He waved off your praise modestly, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s not even halfway done yet,” he said, glancing at the dress. “There’s still a lot of work to do. That’s where your help comes in.”

He gestured towards the dress, explaining his vision for the piece. “I need to work on the intricate details around the neckline and sleeves. There’s a specific embroidery pattern I want to incorporate, but it requires a steady hand and a lot of patience. I thought we could split the tasks—I’ll focus on the main body of the dress, and you can help with the embroidery.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I’d love to help with the embroidery. It sounds like a challenge, but I’m up for it.”

Hongjoong smiled, clearly pleased with your enthusiasm. “Great. I’ll show you the pattern and we can go over the details together. It’s important to get the proportions and spacing just right, especially since the embroidery will be a key feature of the design.”

“For this part,” he said, pointing to a section on the sketch, “we’ll use a simple running stitch to outline the design. It’s straightforward but effective, especially for creating clean lines. The trick is to keep your stitches consistent in length. If they’re too short or too long, it can throw off the balance of the pattern.”

As he demonstrated, you watched closely, noting the way his fingers moved deftly with the needle and thread. His attention to detail was impressive, and it was clear that every element of the design had been carefully considered.

“Next, we’ll add some texture with a chain stitch,” Hongjoong continued, switching to another part of the design. “It’s great for creating a sense of depth and can really make certain areas pop. You’ll want to keep your tension even, not too tight or too loose, so the stitches sit nicely against the fabric.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice the passion in his eyes. It was evident in the way he talked about each technique, his dedication to his craft shining through. There was something incredibly admirable about his focus and commitment, and it made you feel even more determined to do your best.

Once you both began working, the conversation naturally shifted to lighter topics. Hongjoong broke the comfortable silence first, glancing over at you with a curious expression. “By the way, earlier... you were humming a song. Was it ‘La Vie en Rose’?”

You blinked, momentarily confused. You hadn’t even realized you were humming. “Oh, was I…? Yeah, that’s a favorite of mine,” you admitted with a small chuckle, recalling the familiar melody. “My dad used to play it all the time when I was younger. He had this old recorder, and ‘La Vie en Rose’ was always his go-to song. I guess it just stuck with me.”

Hongjoong listened attentively, a soft smile forming on his lips. “It’s a beautiful song. There’s something timeless about it.”

You nodded, feeling a warm nostalgia wash over you. “Yeah, it’s one of those songs that just... helps me focus. I hum it when I’m trying to concentrate, and sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

As you shared your story, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you, a subtle fondness in his eyes. He seemed genuinely interested, as if he enjoyed hearing about these little aspects of your life. When you looked up from your work, catching his eye, he quickly averted his gaze, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You smiled, amused by the small moment of shyness. “Do you have a favorite artist?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up at the question. “David Bowie,” he replied without hesitation.

“Really? Great choice,” you said, your admiration clear in your tone. “How did you get into his music?”

Hongjoong leaned back slightly, reminiscing. “Back in my school days, a friend of mine always shared their earphones with me. They had a playlist full of David Bowie songs, and I just... got hooked. His music was so different from anything else I’d heard at the time.”

“Was it Seonghwa?” you asked, curious.

Hongjoong shook his head, a faint, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “No, it was someone else. We’ve… lost touch over the years.”

Before you could ask more, your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with a notification from an app you rarely used. Hongjoong glanced at the screen and recognized the image on your lockscreen. “You set that as your wallpaper?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice as he saw the candid photo he had taken of you and the cat.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist. It’s just too cute not to use as my lockscreen.”

Hongjoong chuckled, clearly pleased. “How’s the little guy doing?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” you replied with a grin. “Running away from me and munching on the flowers in our landlord’s garden. He’s a real troublemaker.”

Hongjoong laughed at this, the sound warm and genuine. “It’s hard to imagine him being so mischievous. He looked so sweet and innocent when I saw him.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Maybe you should come by again sometime and see for yourself just how mischievous he can be.”

Hongjoong paused, momentarily caught off guard. Was that an invitation? The way you said it, with a casual laugh, made it seem like a harmless joke. But there was a part of him that wondered if there was more to it. He quickly dismissed the thought, reminding himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

As you continued working on the embroidery, a sudden sharp pain shot through your finger. A fairly large needle had slipped through your grasp, piercing your skin and drawing a bead of blood. You hissed in pain, “Ow!”

Hongjoong immediately turned his attention away from the dress, concern etched across his face as he took a few quick steps toward you. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with urgency. “Let me see your hand.”

You extended your injured hand toward him, wincing as you saw the small but painful wound. Hongjoong frowned, setting your hand gently on the table. “Hold on a moment,” he said, heading over to one of the drawers where he kept a first aid kit. He quickly retrieved the necessary supplies, including antiseptic wipes, a bandage, and some ointment.

Returning to your side, he crouched down to be at eye level with you. When you made a move to stand, thinking you should let him take the seat, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, guiding you to sit back down. “Stay put,” he instructed softly, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he focused on your injured finger.

Hongjoong took your hand with a surprising tenderness, carefully cleaning the wound. “You’ve got to be more careful next time, alright?” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” He looked up at you and smiled, a small, reassuring curve of his lips that made your heart flutter unexpectedly. He then returned his focus to your finger, diligently applying ointment and wrapping it with a bandage.

As he worked, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on his face. The way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the soft lines of his features... It struck you how effortlessly handsome he was, even in such a simple moment. You found yourself thinking that models must be relieved he chose to become a fashion designer instead of competing with them in front of the camera.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly blurted out, “Your lashes look pretty.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, catching both you and Hongjoong by surprise.

He paused, then chuckled, clearly amused. “No, I mean, sorry,” you quickly tried to recover, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I just have this habit of accidentally saying things out loud that are supposed to stay in my head...”

Hongjoong’s laugh, warm and genuine, cuts off your rambling. “It’s alright,” he said, still chuckling softly. “I’m flattered.”

As he continued tending to your wound, you noticed the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled, and how his presence seemed to have a calming effect on you, even when you felt like you were spiraling. You realized that he had probably picked up on your tendency to speak in a single breath whenever you were nervous or flustered—a trait you found a bit embarrassing, but he seemed to find endearing. It’s a little strange.

“Tell you what,” Hongjoong began, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked up at you. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll share one of my unsaid thoughts too.”

You tilted your head, intrigued and a little wary. “I’d appreciate that,” you said, though you weren’t sure what to expect.

Hongjoong smiled, finishing up the bandage on your finger. “I think you look pretty.”

The words hit you like a gentle wave, unexpected yet disarming. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. Did he… did he really just call you pretty? Your mind raced, heart pounding as you tried to find a response. Was he just being nice? Or was there something more to it? Maybe he was joking? Or not, given his sincere gaze? You felt your cheeks heating up again, and you could barely string together a coherent thought.

As you stared at him, wide-eyed and flustered, Hongjoong laughed softly at your reaction. “Sorry,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

You knew from the look in his eyes and the slight smirk on his lips that he definitely meant to say that.

You both returned to your respective tasks, but focusing proved more difficult than before. Your heart raced, and every so often, your thoughts drifted back to Hongjoong’s unexpected compliment. It lingered in your mind, making it hard to concentrate on the delicate stitches you were working on. The realization of why your heart was fluttering was something you preferred to push aside for now, not wanting to dwell on the implications.

Meanwhile, outside the room, hushed whispers filled the corridor, inaudible to you and Hongjoong inside. Wooyoung, eyes wide and a hand covering his mouth, turned to Seonghwa beside him. “So...” he began, trying to process what they had just overheard.

Seonghwa met Wooyoung’s gaze with a similar look of surprise. “No way. Are they really...”

Wooyoung furrowed his brows in contemplation. “But if they were together, wouldn’t she have responded with something flirty? Like, you know, bantering back?”

Seonghwa shook his head, disagreeing. “She’s not that type of person. Not from what I’ve seen.”

Wooyoung pointed out, “Yeah, but when she told him his lashes looked pretty, she started apologizing like crazy. Would she do that if they were dating?”

Seonghwa considered this, then shook his head again. “Uh… no, definitely not. It’s not every day someone apologizes for complimenting their partner.”

“So... what’s the deal with them?” Wooyoung asked, genuinely puzzled.

Seonghwa shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think they’re just friends, but there’s definitely something more simmering beneath the surface. You can feel the chemistry, even from out here.”

Wooyoung nodded, his curiosity piqued. “The awkward tension between them definitely supports your theory. That’s how these things usually start, right?”

He paused, then added with a mischievous grin, “Do we even need to play matchmaker? It feels like they’re figuring it out on their own.”

Seonghwa laughed softly, a sound almost lost in the quiet hallway, but Wooyoung quickly hushed him. “Shh, we can’t let them know we’re here!”

Wooyoung then pondered aloud, “Now that I think about it, they would make a cute couple. Imagine being a model and dating the creative director of the brand you’re working for... It’s like something out of a romance movie.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s only a matter of time before he starts designing pieces specifically for her, just like he used to—”

Their conversation was abruptly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps from inside the room. Panicking, Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchanged wide-eyed looks before quickly scurrying away, eager to avoid getting caught eavesdropping on their friend’s private moment.

Hongjoong spared a glance at both sides of the hall, a confused expression on his face. “I could’ve sworn I heard something from out here…”

—

A couple of weeks passed, and although the internet buzz surrounding you hadn’t entirely died down, you managed to keep yourself distracted from any concerns about potential media backlash. The credit for this went to Hongjoong, who had embraced your offer to assist with his designs. This partnership provided you both with a creative outlet and a much-needed escape from the spotlight.

You stood before the now-completed outfit you had both worked on, admiring the intricate details and the seamless blend of fabrics. “It’s stunning,” you remarked, your voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe how beautiful it turned out.”

Hongjoong smiled warmly at your words, pride evident in his eyes. “You should take some credit too,” he replied. “I genuinely think it wouldn’t have looked this good if I had done it all alone. Your input was invaluable.”

His compliment made you feel shy, a soft blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Well, if you ever need a hand in the future, I’d be more than happy to help,” you offered, your voice slightly timid.

“I’d like that,” Hongjoong murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. An idea seemed to cross his mind, and he looked at you with a glint of excitement. “How about I take you out to dinner tonight? You deserve a proper thank you for all your help. It’s not every day someone offers their time and skill like you did, and I’d like to show my appreciation in a way that’s more than just words.”

You started to shake your head, feeling that such a gesture was too much. “Oh, you really don’t have to. It’s nothing, really...”

But Hongjoong was persistent—as he always seemed to be. He smiled reassuringly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Nonsense. You’ve done more than enough to earn a nice evening out. So, let me treat you. I’ll pick you up from your apartment around eight. Just be ready.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his insistence, knowing you wouldn’t win this argument. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. “But I’m not expecting you to take me anywhere high-end.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew a little mischievous. “Maybe I will be,” he teased, refusing to give a clear answer. “Just be ready, and leave the rest to me.”

A part of you wondered if this dinner had been on his mind for a while, but you pushed that thought aside, nodding in agreement. Your phone buzzed with a message from Madame Dupont, urgently informing you that Pompidou was scratching at your apartment door. Your eyes widened, and you quickly told Hongjoong, “Oh no. I’ve got to go. See you tonight!” before rushing out.

Hongjoong watched you leave, a bemused expression on his face. He shrugged lightly and turned back to the outfit on the mannequin, admiring the final product one last time before heading back to his office. When he arrived, he found Wooyoung lounging comfortably in his chair, looking as if he belonged there.

“Sometimes I wonder if this office belongs to you or me,” Hongjoong mused, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Wooyoung grinned cheekily. “It’s not my fault your office is so comfy. Anyway, are you free tonight? I need someone to go grocery shopping with me,” he whined dramatically. “My fridge is empty, and I feel like I might starve to death.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, maybe next time. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Wooyoung’s curiosity piqued, his eyes narrowing with interest and a mischievous glint in them. “Plans? With who?”

Hongjoong hesitated for a moment, knowing where this conversation was headed. “With her,” he finally said, referring to you. “I’m taking her out to dinner to thank her for helping me with the designs.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, a playful glint appearing in them. He leaned forward, his expression full of intrigue and mischief, as if he had just discovered the juiciest piece of gossip. “Oh? Really? Just the two of you?” he teased, his voice dripping with implication.

Hongjoong sighed, deadpanning, “I know that look, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a grin spreading across his face. “So, is this a date?” he asked, stretching the last word with a teasing tone.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. “No, it’s not a date. It’s just a dinner to say thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung drawled, clearly not buying it. “You hesitated. You’ve got to admit there’s something there. The way you two have been spending time together...”

Hongjoong shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re reading too much into it. It’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner?” Wooyoung echoed, disbelief lacing his tone. “You don’t take just anyone to a fancy restaurant, do you? I mean, I can’t remember the last time you took me to a nice place, and I’m practically your best friend.”

“It’s not about the restaurant,” Hongjoong insisted, though he couldn’t help but chuckle at Wooyoung’s theatrics. “It’s about appreciating her help.”

Wooyoung leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “Sure, just dinner. But you don’t have to dress up for ‘just dinner,’ do you? Or pick her up personally? It’s almost like... I don’t know, like a date?”

Hongjoong could feel himself being cornered, yet he maintained his stance. “It’s not a date, Wooyoung. It’s a gesture of appreciation. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Wooyoung leaned in closer, his grin widening. “Oh, I see. So, if she shows up looking stunning and you two have a great time, it still won’t be a date?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dodging the question,” Wooyoung shot back, laughing. “But seriously, it’s great that you’re taking her out. You two would look good together.”

Hongjoong shook his head again, though his smile remained. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Wooyoung grinned. “But hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, let everyone think what they want. We’re just friends.”

“For now,” Wooyoung teased, his voice sing-song. “But you know, friends can become more. It’s like a... pre-date.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Pre-date?”

Wooyoung nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Like a test run. You get to see how you feel about it, how she feels about it. It’s perfect! And if it goes well, who knows? Maybe it’ll turn into something more.”

“You’re really reaching here,” Hongjoong said, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “But I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“Well, someone has to be enthusiastic about your love life,” Wooyoung quipped, grinning. “You’re too busy being all serious and professional.”

Hongjoong shook his head, still smiling. “I think I can manage my own love life, thank you very much.”

“Sure, sure,” Wooyoung replied, waving his hand dismissively. “But just remember, if it turns into a real date, I called it first.”

Hongjoong laughed, finally giving in to the lighthearted teasing. “Fine, you can have the credit if it does. But for now, it’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner,” Wooyoung repeated, still grinning. “We’ll see about that.”

Hours later, Wooyoung was proven right as he and Seonghwa found themselves in Hongjoong’s penthouse, assisting him in choosing the perfect outfit. The room was filled with various clothing options—jackets, shirts, pants—scattered across the furniture. Hongjoong stood before a full-length mirror, trying on a sleek dark blue suit that accentuated his figure.

“He kept insisting it’s not a date, but look at him now,” Wooyoung whispered to Seonghwa, chuckling as they observed Hongjoong’s meticulous attention to detail. He adjusted his tie, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Maybe he just didn’t want to admit it’s a date because then he’d have to acknowledge it’s the first time he’s taken someone to a fancy restaurant,” Seonghwa whispered back, both of them stifling laughter. The idea that Hongjoong was fussing over an outfit over an occasion he swears isn’t a date was both endearing and amusing.

Hongjoong turned to them, an unamused expression on his face. “Are you two going to help me decide which of these looks more presentable, or are you going to keep gossiping about me even when I’m right in front of you?”

“The latter,” both Wooyoung and Seonghwa replied in unison, causing Hongjoong to roll his eyes with a sigh of resignation.

“Alright, alright, let’s get serious,” Wooyoung said, standing up from the bed. He approached Hongjoong, scrutinizing the suit. The tailored fit and elegant fabric gave off a sophisticated vibe, yet it felt a bit too formal for the occasion. “Maybe something a bit less formal?” Wooyoung suggested, tilting his head in contemplation.

As Seonghwa was about to offer his opinion, his phone buzzed with a message notification. Glancing down, he saw it was from you, containing photos of two different outfits with a message.

Which one looks better?

Seonghwa smiled, knowing you hadn’t mentioned the dinner to him but aware of it nonetheless. You probably thought he was unaware of the plan. He quickly assessed the outfits you sent, noticing that the second—a chic, knee-length dress with elegant detailing—would pair perfectly with one of the outfits Hongjoong had yet to try on. Without revealing his thoughts, he texted back, “Go for the second one,” before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Hongjoong, try on the dark black suit with the silk dress shirt of the same color,” Seonghwa suggested, nodding towards the outfit laid out on the couch. The combination was stylish yet not overly formal, balancing sophistication with a touch of modern flair.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow but complied, heading to the bathroom to change. When he returned, the outfit fit him perfectly, the deep blue contrasting nicely with his complexion and highlighting his eyes. Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchanged satisfied looks.

Seonghwa walked towards him, undoing the first two buttons. Once he was done, he stepped back and nodded approvingly. “You should wear that one.”

Hongjoong looked puzzled. “Why this one?”

Seonghwa simply smiled, shaking his head. “Just trust me on this one,” he insisted, not revealing that the choice was to complement your outfit.

Meanwhile, you were at home, finishing up your preparations. After much deliberation, you had chosen the outfit Seonghwa recommended. The dress was elegant yet understated, perfect for an evening out without feeling too over the top. You sat on your bed, waiting for Hongjoong’s message, your heart fluttering with anticipation and nerves. As the clock struck 8 PM, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

I’m outside.

You quickly grabbed your purse, slipped your phone inside, and made sure to lock your apartment door before heading down to the ground floor.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the sight of Hongjoong leaning casually against his car, his eyes focused on his phone. The soft glow of the streetlights highlighted his sharp features—the strong jawline, the soft curve of his lips, and the way his hair was neatly styled. The suit he wore brought out his eyes, making them seem even more captivating in the dim light.

“Hongjoong?” you called out, your voice slightly hesitant. He looked up immediately, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, his expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance.

As you walked over to him, you could see the admiration in his eyes. He seemed momentarily taken aback by how beautiful you looked, the dress flattering your figure in all the right ways. The elegant fabric and subtle detailing accentuated your features without being too flashy. “Hi,” you greeted him, offering a shy smile.

Instead of a typical greeting, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you, and he finally spoke, his voice soft but sincere. “You look beautiful.”

You laughed lightly, feeling a flush of warmth at his compliment. “Isn’t that supposed to be an unsaid thought?”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “Not tonight, it isn’t.”

He moved to the passenger side of the car, opening the door with a gentlemanly gesture. “After you,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. You thanked him, slipping into the car, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

As the car pulled away, you found yourself gazing out the window, mesmerized by the city’s beauty. The streets were alive with lights, the architecture blending old-world charm with modern elegance. The cityscape seemed to sparkle, creating a romantic and enchanting atmosphere. “Paris is so beautiful...” you whispered, almost in awe of the city’s charm.

Hongjoong glanced over at you, smiling. “It is, isn’t it?” he agreed, his tone reflecting the warmth of your admiration.

The drive continued in comfortable silence, the city's lights creating a mesmerizing backdrop. Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of a high-end restaurant. The building exudes elegance, with large windows showcasing the warm, inviting interior. You looked over at Hongjoong, a hint of hesitation in your eyes. You weren’t used to such fancy places, and the grandeur of the setting made you feel slightly nervous.

Hongjoong noticed your unease and offered you a reassuring smile, his eyes filled with warmth. “It’s going to be great,” he said softly, his voice calming your nerves. He stepped out of the car and walked around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out.

Inside, the restaurant was elegantly decorated, with soft lighting and tasteful decor creating an intimate atmosphere. A waiter greeted you both with a warm smile. “Good evening, sir, madam. Welcome to Le Ciel de Paris,” he said, his voice professional. “May I say, you look lovely this evening, miss,” he added, glancing at you appreciatively.

Hongjoong nodded in acknowledgment, and the waiter led you to the highest floor—a stunning rooftop with a breathtaking view of the city. The night sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples, dotted with stars. A reserved table awaited you, set with fine china and candles, adding to the comforting ambiance.

As you took your seat, you couldn’t help but express your gratitude and slight apprehension. “This is all so... beautiful,” you whispered, your hands fidgeting slightly. “But honestly, Hongjoong, I really don’t think I deserve—”

Your words were cut off as Hongjoong placed his hand gently over yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “Hey,” he said softly, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve this. You’ve been amazing, and I wanted to show my appreciation.”

The sincerity in his voice eased your worries, and you nodded, smiling gratefully. Just then, the waiter approached your table, ready to take your orders. “Good evening. May I start you off with something to drink?” he asked, his pen poised over his notepad.

Hongjoong glanced at you, then back at the waiter. “We’ll have a bottle of your finest white wine, please,” he said, and the waiter nodded, jotting it down.

“And for the main course?” the waiter inquired, looking between the two of you.

Hongjoong smiled at you. “What would you like? Do you have any preferences?”

You looked at the menu, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the options, none of which were familiar to you. “I haven’t tried any of these before... I think I’ll just have whatever you recommend,” you said, smiling sheepishly.

Hongjoong nodded understandingly, then turned to the waiter. “She’ll have the grilled sea bass with lemon herb sauce, and I’ll have the filet mignon with truffle butter,” he ordered confidently, choosing dishes he thought you would enjoy.

The waiter nodded, noting down your orders. “Excellent choice, sir. Your meals will be out shortly,” he said, giving a polite bow before leaving.

As the evening continued, you and Hongjoong indulged in light conversation, gradually easing into more personal topics. You took a sip of your wine and asked, “So, how are you feeling now that Fashion Week is drawing closer? I know there’s still a few months left, but it’s not as far as it used to be.”

Hongjoong leaned back slightly, exhaling softly. “Honestly? I do feel a little pressured and stressed out. The beginning of the process was quite overdue, which has added some tension,” he confessed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his responsibilities.

Hearing this, you immediately felt a pang of guilt. You were acutely aware that the delay was partly due to the time it took for you to return his sketchbook. “I’m so sorry about the sketchbook... I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble or delay,” you began, your voice tinged with regret.

But Hongjoong quickly shook his head, raising a hand to stop you. “No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault at all. I completely understand why it took a while. You had your own reasons, and I respect that,” he assured you, his tone gentle and understanding. “Besides, I’m grateful it was you who found it. The sketches are as personal as they are professional, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to return them.”

He then shifted the conversation, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “As for my goals for Fashion Week, I’m really aiming to showcase something unique. I want my collection to tell a story—something that resonates on a deeper level with people. I’ve been working on integrating sustainable practices into the designs, focusing on eco-friendly materials and innovative techniques. It’s a challenge, but it’s important to me. I want to highlight not just fashion but also a message about sustainability and conscious consumerism.”

You listened intently, impressed by his dedication and vision. “That sounds amazing. It’s great that you’re thinking about the bigger picture, not just the fashion itself but the impact it has on the world. It’s a refreshing approach in an industry that can sometimes seem so detached from these issues,” you responded, your admiration evident in your voice. “It’s inspiring to see someone so committed to their values and willing to take on the challenge of integrating them into their work.”

Hongjoong smiled, appreciating your support and understanding. “Thank you. It’s definitely a journey, but it’s one I’m passionate about. There’s a lot of work to be done, but I believe it’s worth it.”

As the conversation naturally flowed, Hongjoong turned the focus back to you, his expression curious and concerned. “How have you been handling the sudden exposure to the media? It must be a big change for you.”

You sighed, glancing around the restaurant. You noticed a fair portion of the other diners occasionally glancing in your direction. It was hard to tell if they were looking at Hongjoong, you, or perhaps both of you. The attention felt overwhelming, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Hongjoong noticed your unease and seemed to read your thoughts. “They’re definitely looking at you,” he said, a wry smile on his lips. “People are still curious about you. The media has been persistent, trying to learn more about your background.”

You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s quite a lot to take in,” you admitted, your voice carrying a hint of anxiety. “Honestly, it’s a bit scary. What often happens with people who suddenly go viral is that the media and the public can switch up on them. One moment you’re the person everyone wants to know about, and the next, they’re tearing you down for no reason. I can’t help but worry about that, about what people might say or think. There’s probably already hate comments about me out there, and it’s just... unsettling.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his gaze sincere and reassuring. “I understand your concerns, but you shouldn’t waste your time or energy worrying about those people,” he said firmly. “There will always be people who are negative or try to bring others down, especially online where it’s so easy to hide behind anonymity. But what matters is how you handle it. You’ve been genuine and true to yourself, and that’s all anyone can ask for. The people who care about you and respect you will see that, and they’re the ones whose opinions truly matter. The rest is just noise.”

His words were comforting, a reminder to focus on the positive and not let negativity overshadow your experiences. Just as you were about to respond, the waiter arrived with your meals, expertly setting down the plates before you. The aroma of the food was enticing, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the delicious meal in front of you.

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, then turned to Hongjoong with a smile. “And thank you, Hongjoong, for this lovely dinner. It’s really thoughtful of you.”

He smiled warmly. “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad we could spend this evening together.”

You took your first bite of the grilled sea bass, savoring the delicate flavors. The lemon herb sauce complemented the fish perfectly, creating a harmonious and delightful taste. You looked up at Hongjoong, your eyes shining with delight. “This is really good! You definitely recommended the right dish.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Hongjoong said, his smile broadening. “I wanted you to have a good experience here.”

Curious, you asked, “Do you come here often?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I usually only come here when Wooyoung or Seonghwa or both invite me to dinner. I rarely go to extravagant places alone. I prefer staying home or in the office, losing myself in work. It’s just more comfortable for me that way, I guess.”

The evening seemed to slip away like sand through your fingers. Before you knew it, you were seated comfortably in Hongjoong’s car, the soft hum of the engine a soothing backdrop as he began the drive to your apartment. The day’s events, from the delightful meal to the heartfelt conversations, had left you pleasantly exhausted. As you gazed out the window, watching the city lights blur past, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Hongjoong glanced over, noticing your drowsiness.

“You can sleep if you want to,” he offered kindly, his voice a soft murmur. “I’ll wake you up when we reach your apartment.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it would be alright to take up his offer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

He smiled gently, reassuring you with a calm, “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s no trouble at all.”

Relieved, you returned his smile and shifted in your seat, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window. As your eyes fluttered closed, the rhythmic motion of the car lulled you into a peaceful slumber. Hongjoong kept his focus on the road, but every now and then, he glanced over at you, noting your serene expression. As the car came to a halt at a red light, he took the opportunity to gently remove his blazer and drape it over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable. For a brief moment, he found himself mesmerized by your features, a sense of quiet admiration washing over him. A stray strand of your hair fell across your face, and without thinking, he reached out with the intention to brush it away. Just as his fingers were about to touch your skin, the light turned green, pulling him back to reality. He quickly withdrew his hand, clearing his throat and refocusing on the road.

As Hongjoong navigated the familiar streets leading to your apartment, he gently tapped your shoulder three times, rousing you from your nap. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, until your eyes met his. The warmth in his gaze instantly put you at ease. “We’re almost there,” he informed you, a soft smile on his lips.

You nodded, slowly coming back to full awareness. It was then that you noticed his blazer draped over you, the scent of his perfume subtly filling your senses. It carried a complex blend of fruity, floral, and musky notes. Grateful for the warmth, you pulled the fabric closer, a small, appreciative smile gracing your lips.

Upon reaching your apartment building, Hongjoong exited the car first, walking around to your side to open the door. He extended his hand, helping you out of the car. “Thank you,” you murmured, taking his hand and stepping out gracefully. You took a moment to straighten the slight wrinkles in your dress, feeling a bit more composed.

Just as you were about to express your gratitude, a familiar feline figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The cat leaped up, not into your arms as expected, but into Hongjoong’s, causing him to let out a small gasp of surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him awkwardly adjusting his grip to properly hold the cat.

“Looks like Pompidou missed you,” you remarked with a fond smile, tilting your head as you watched the scene unfold.

Hongjoong chuckled, a mix of amusement and affection in his eyes as he gently petted the cat. “I can definitely picture you being mischievous now,” he cooed, lightly tapping the tip of Pompidou’s nose with his index finger.

An idea sparked in your mind. You quickly pulled out your phone, taking a few steps back to capture the candid moment. Hongjoong, caught in the act of playing with the cat, looked both charming and endearing. You snapped a photo, giggling softly to yourself before putting your phone away.

“You have a kind soul,” you whispered, almost to yourself, as you observed Hongjoong. “That must be why Pompidou likes you.”

As if on cue, the cat suddenly jumped down from Hongjoong’s arms and trotted towards the entrance of your apartment building. Hongjoong watched the feline’s departure with a soft smile, then turned back to you.

“It looks like it’s time for you to go inside,” he said gently, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you prepared to bid him farewell. “Thank you for tonight, Hongjoong. It was really wonderful. And thank you for letting me help out with your designs. It was a great way to distract myself from everything that’s been going on,” you said sincerely, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I’ll definitely make sure to return the favor.”

He shook his head, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “You don’t need to. Your presence is enough for me,” he said, then quickly added, waving his hands as if to clarify, “I mean, you’re a really great friend. It’s nice to have you around.”

The term “great friend” resonated with you, touching a part of your heart that hadn’t felt such warmth in a long time. You smiled softly, a heartfelt look in your eyes. “I’m glad you think of me that way,” you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

With that, you exchanged goodbyes, Hongjoong standing by until you safely entered your building. As the door closed behind you, you watched from the lobby as he walked back to his car, giving you one last wave before driving away. You stood there for a moment, reflecting on the evening’s events and the unexpected bond you were forming with Hongjoong. The night had been more than just a distraction; it was a step towards something new and meaningful, leaving you with a warm, lingering feeling as you made your way up to your apartment.

Once you were back home, you quickly settled on the floor with your journal in hand, leaning your back against the bed. The quiet of your apartment contrasted with the eventful day you had, and you felt a comforting sense of calm wash over you. As you opened your journal, the blank pages seemed to invite you to pour out your thoughts and feelings. You began writing, your pen flowing across the paper.

The past few days have been really eventful, thanks to Hongjoong. At first, practicing the ins and outs of sewing was proving itself to be quite the struggle, but I was lucky enough for him to lend me a helping hand with zero judgment. Honestly, I still feel a little embarrassed over offering to help while being well aware I barely knew how a sewing machine operates... But anyway, when I got used to it, I wasted no time in helping him out with one of his designs for his upcoming collection for autumn. We finished it today, and I think it’s safe to say that it turned out great.

He insisted on treating me to a celebratory dinner tonight, and while I had initial hesitance since fancy places weren’t exactly my style, I think his presence helped me get more comfortable with it over the minutes we spent there. He said I was a great friend, too, and I have to say that it was really heartwarming. I can’t even count how many years have passed since the last time someone called me that...

But overall, I had a lot of fun today, and hopefully, I’ll continue to.

🪞 — lividstar.

[pedripics]

PEDRI in Collaboration with AUDEMARS PIGUET - BARCELONAS GOLDEN BOY

Similarly, Pedri grew up in the mountainous municipality of Tegueste in the Canary Islands, surrounded by natural beauty. Spending hours near the sea playing football with his brother and friends, he has experienced the joys of the planet and its beauty before entering a life of football, fashion and bright lights. But a profound sense of where he has come from remains, and humility and humbleness continue to lead the 21-year-old’s choices.

His recent collaboration with Platano De Canarias, an institutional brand fighting malnutrition through the promotion of bananas, is a testament to that. The banana is the most important crop in the Canary Islands and for decades, the industry has been the protagonist of the economic growth of the archipelago – accounting for 60% of Europe’s banana production.  He is also an ambassador for Kick Out Plastic, a non-profit international campaign fighting for a world free of plastic pollution and climate change.

“Climate change is something that affects us all and should concern us all, especially young people,” Pedri explains. “Sustainability and recycling are part of my daily life because my parents instilled it in me since I was a child. Being from a natural paradise like the Canary Islands, which also lives mainly from tourism, I am very aware of the importance of taking care of nature for all of us.” 

As a 21-year-old with over 13 million followers on Instagram, you might not expect such issues to be on Pedri’s radar. Yet he is acutely aware that he not only has the world at his feet but in his hands — a gift he has no intention of wasting.

Intelligent, humble, and grounded, Pedri represents the younger generation with flying colours. He is a role model to all those who find themselves lucky enough to share his position and an indication that the high-profile figures at the forefront of modern football might just have deeper purposes.

On the pitch, Pedri has been hailed like no other — ‘One of the world’s best’ in the opinion of Barcelona’s manager Xavi Hernández, and ‘The signing of the decade’ according to Marca, Spain’s leading sports news outlet.

Lionel Messi’s final campaign in the famous red and blue hoops of Barça didn’t quite live up to expectations but offered an exciting window into what could be. Pedri was fresh on the scene; quiet, innocent, slight in figure and polite in persona; terrorising defences with a low centre of gravity, immense skill, close control and vision. His personality and playing style drew obvious comparisons to the iconic Argentine with whom he had struck up quite the partnership on the field. By all accounts, Barça’s next messiah was born.

But the story of a wunderkind is rarely so simple. Following his move to Barcelona and The Kopa Trophy win, he played a staggering 73 games and over 4,000 minutes in less than a year and subsequently suffered a string of injuries that would leave him out of the side for months at a time. While he has since returned to the team and reasserted his peerless playmaking form, the issue of over-played, over-pressured, fatigued young players falling victim to a demanding fixture schedule remains a pressing problem with the modern game.

“Professional football is very, very demanding, not only physically but mentally too,” Pedri admits. “I try to face things professionally and prepare myself to always be in optimal condition. That’s why it’s even more annoying when an injury forces you to stop and start all over again.

“In difficult moments, my brother Fer — the person I love the most in this life — is the one who protects me and is always by my side. I like to spend my days off at home with him and my family, watching TV series, playing board games and enjoying their company.

At first glance, Pedri appears to be an ordinary young man, but one who is poised on the brink of greatness. As the bricks for the new Camp Nou are laid one by one, Pedri is quietly constructing his own empire, drawing support from family, friends, and his sheer love for football.

“I am who I am because of my parents,” says Pedri. “They raised me with very clear values: you must be humble and respect everyone. I live my life by a quote from the legend Johan Cruyff, ‘Salid y disfrutad’ which means to ‘go out and enjoy’, and I think that sums up my approach to life.”

[fangsforiris]

Where Moths Rot

Prompt: Karlheinz’s Favourite Sacrificial Bride, Innocence, Christa [Sakamaki] Coded, A Kings Want, Peculiar Things.

Person: Karlheinz-centric, Sacrificial Bride

HC’s:

🕸️ The king’s tastes would be centered around anyone with a loose resemblance or uncanny resemblance towards his favourite wife, Christa.

🕸️ As much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, he finds himself drawn to people like Christa, that is, before he’d drive them to a state of ruin.

🕸️ The idea of purity somewhat turns him on (purity kink? — perhaps where Laito got it from, besides his mother).

🕸️ He sometimes mourns what could have been with Christa, and obsessively looks for a replicate as he’s torn her apart.

🕸️ Cue this new sacrificial bride.

🕸️ He isn’t one to interfere with his plan, especially with how much he is banking on The Adam and Eve working. Not only for him, but the entirety of Makai and its races/clans.

🕸️ But this new bride, all he can see is Christa.

🕸️ Or someone who can be perfectly molded into her. Perhaps a bit defiant, maybe docile with a bit of a natural nurturing edge.

🕸️ Someone who can reek of purity whilst their existence being the farthest thing from it.

🕸️ It was no secret that Christa was one of— or in fact— the pillar of beauty in vampiric society. Karlheinz, knowing this, had to have the best by his side. As the king shall have the best, and the king will get whatever he wants and so desires.

🕸️ He’s learned that his desires have clouded his judgement, in terms of wrecking Christa’s sanity far to the point of traumatizing their child— or his favourite child.

🕸️ So in a sense, this new bride is like a redemption. In a way to rewrite what has been written, and learn from his previous error.

🕸️ Karlheinz definitely enjoys learning about religion and outer worldly concepts. One could say he’s obsessed with them.

🕸️ As in, if he has a bride from the church, he’d want to know how far the conditioning went, and what drove them to not question further.

🕸️ The bride he’d be most into would have uncanny or rather peculiar interests.

🕸️ Something to do with moths. 100% the fluttering critters of the shadows.

🕸️ Or at least bugs and critters.

🕸️ He’d treat the bride to his wealth, of course.

🕸️ As if it was the only thing he could offer, he’d be invested in making this poor church child into a brand new noble.

🕸️ Almost like a saviour complex (?) But more so in the sense of having a new pet project that’s equally as invested in this as he is.

🕸️ So as a testament or a way of marking the bride as his, jewellery, clothing— anything and everything is a must.

🕸️ However, soon some would start to make the association that the jewellery and article of clothing choices are pushed towards a specific… almost memorable direction. As if it’s evoking nostalgia.

🕸️ Subaru would be the first to realize it, as one would. Any child would remember their mothers shadow. Especially that of a broken one.

🕸️ Jewelry would be worn similarly, (the pearls, white gold, diamonds, and the pearls—) then clothing would match the flowy, almost translucent, tops, dresses, even nightgowns, the late Christa preferred.

🕸️ It would drive Subaru crazy.

🕸️ Karlheinz is easily one of the most powerful beings in Makai, even revered to as a god. So for him to shockingly find a larger interest in someone, a human for that matter, it would turn heads.

🕸️ Due to his canonical interest in humans, even border-lining obsessive (stated by Shuu,) Karlheinz wanting a personal pet staying alongside him would be a definite.

🕸️ As in, the bride would be almost too hyper aware of their place, especially as a walking, talking, breathing blood bag.

🕸️ I’d like to think that Karl can act almost aloof and carefree, kind of like those trigger happy, sarcastic, memorable TV show dads, should he wish. (We see this in Chaos Lineage [CL] in canon, and his interactions with Socrates, the ghost.)

🕸️ A lot of his carefree, resigned, giddy personality shines through with this bride.

🕸️ After all, being held to one too many expectations from both vampiric society and your own family can be tiring.

🕸️ I’d like to think that the bride is like a safe haven for a release of some sort, either out of duties or the rigorous persona he must upkeep.

🕸️ He’d most certainly share a few glasses of wine (or more?) with the bride. Taking the time to unwind in the fanciest of places. Only fit for that of a king, like himself.

🕸️ I feel as thought he’d enjoy learning more about the human, along with telling stories of his past throughout the thousands of years he’s lived.

🕸️ In a sense, it’s like the two both mutually benefit from having an access to information and conformed familiarity.