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jungwnies · 2 days ago

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ASKING YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND TO HELP YOU DECORATE THE HOUSE FOR XMAS 🎄

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : genre : fluff ୨ৎ : tws : light kissing, nothing heavy ୨ৎ : word count : 3094

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : it's finally xmas season & this one was so fun and cute to write i love it >.<

ʚ・max verstappen

it was a couple weeks before christmas, and you were sitting on the floor, a box of ornaments and tangled lights in front of you. max was on the couch, scrolling through his phone, looking entirely too relaxed for someone about to be recruited for decorating duty. you glance up at him, already preparing your argument.

“baby,” you say, dragging out his name a little.

he doesn’t even look up at first, just gives you a hum. “hmm?”

“i really want to decorate the house for christmas. the tree, the mantel… everything.”

that gets his attention. he finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “decorate? like, the whole house?”

you nod, trying not to laugh at his expression. “yes. it’s our first christmas here together, and it’ll be fun. please?”

he sighs like you’ve just asked him to do the impossible, setting his phone down and leaning back. “i’m going to be terrible at this,” he mutters, already standing up.

you grin and pat the spot next to you on the floor. “you’ll survive.”

turns out, he wasn’t exaggerating—max is hilariously bad at decorating. the lights are a disaster. he pulls them out of the box, only to end up with a massive tangle in his hands. “how does this even happen?” he grumbles, holding up the mess. “these things are worse than a bad strategy call.”

you laugh, reaching over to help. “just give them to me before you make it worse.”

then it’s the ornaments. he starts off just randomly putting them on the tree until he gets oddly picky about the placement. “you can’t put two gold ones right next to each other,” he says, moving one.

“since when do you care about ornament placement?” you tease.

“i don’t, but this looks wrong,” he says, smirking.

when it’s time for the star, he insists on lifting you so you can put it on top. “don’t fall,” he warns, steadying you with both hands.

“you’ve got me,” you reply, laughing.

later, as you both sit back and look at the finished tree, he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “it’s not terrible,” he says, but the small smile on his face tells you he’s secretly proud.

you let out a soft laugh and give him a kiss on the cheek, "it's perfect considering this is our first christmas together."

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was a chilly december evening, and the house already smelled faintly of cinnamon and pine. you were standing in the living room, a box of decorations at your feet and the christmas tree still bare in the corner. lewis wandered in, his beanie still on from walking roscoe outside, and gave you a curious look.

“baby, you planning to do all that by yourself?” he asked, nodding toward the box.

“was kind of hoping you’d help,” you said, looking up at him with a playful grin.

he chuckled, stepping closer and taking off his beanie, his curls springing loose. “you know i’m terrible at this kind of thing, right?”

“you’ll be fine,” you said, pulling out a strand of lights. “besides, it’s about the effort, not perfection.”

he raised an eyebrow, a skeptical smile on his face. “you sound like you’re setting me up to fail.”

but, to his credit, lewis dove right in, untangling lights with the focus of someone preparing for a race. “these things are like tire warmers,” he muttered, holding up a hopeless knot.

“i don’t think pirelli makes christmas lights,” you teased, reaching over to help.

once the lights were on the tree—after much adjusting and a few laughs at lewis’ questionable wrapping technique—you moved on to the ornaments. he took his time with each one, carefully inspecting them like they were trophies, even asking about the stories behind a few.

“this one’s cute,” he said, holding up a small handmade ornament. “you make this?”

“when i was a kid,” you admitted, a little embarrassed.

he laughed gently as a slight smile spread onto his face. he help the ornament carefully, placing it near the middle of the tree. “it deserves a good spot.”

when it came time for the tree topper, lewis insisted on doing it himself. “gotta make up for my shocking lights performance,” he joked. he climbed onto a chair, carefully placing the star on top while you steadied him.

stepping back, the two of you admired the tree, the warm glow of the lights filling the room. lewis slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “not bad for a rookie decorator, huh?”

you leaned into him, smiling. “you did great.”

he kissed your temple, his voice soft. “it’s not really about the tree, you know. it’s about moments like this.”

and as roscoe wandered in, settling near the tree with a content sigh, you couldn’t help but think he was absolutely right.

ʚ・george russel

it was late afternoon, and you were sitting on the couch with george, boxes of christmas decorations scattered around the room. the tree stood bare in the corner, waiting for some life to be added to it. george leaned back, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch, watching you as you sorted through ornaments.

“are we actually going to decorate today, or are you just going to stare at the boxes?” you teased, holding up a tangled string of lights.

he smirked, pushing himself off the couch. “alright, alright, i’m coming. but you know i’m terrible with the lights. they’re always a mess.”

you handed him the string, grinning. “well, you’re in luck. you’re tall, so you can deal with the top of the tree.”

george rolled his eyes playfully, taking the lights from you. “great. the perks of being tall. you get stuck doing all the hard jobs.”

“you’re lucky i’m not asking you to string lights outside,” you joked, sorting through the ornaments. “now, don’t mess it up.”

he stepped up to the tree, carefully draping the lights over the branches. “don’t mess it up,” he repeated in a slightly mocking tone, turning back to flash you a cheeky grin. “you’ve got a lot of faith in me.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i do. just... don’t make it look like you threw them on blindfolded.”

george chuckled softly, finishing his work and stepping back to inspect it. “there. masterpiece. what do you think?”

you tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “hmm... it’s not bad. i’d give it... seven out of ten.”

“seven?” he gasped, feigning offense. “love, that’s a solid nine at least.”

“if you say so,” you teased, holding up the star. “want to do the honors?”

he took it from you, carefully placing it on top of the tree. stepping back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “there. now it’s perfect.”

you smiled up at him. “you know, you’re not so bad at this after all.”

“told you,” he said with a wink. “i’m a man of many talents.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

it was late afternoon, the golden light streaming through the windows as you wrestled with a tangled mess of christmas lights. carlos wandered into the living room, wearing his usual casual track pants, a hoodie, and that slight smirk he always seemed to carry.

“qué haces?” (what are you doing?) he asked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you struggle.

you sighed dramatically, holding up the lights in defeat. “i’m trying to decorate the tree, but these lights have other plans.”

he chuckled, that low, warm laugh of his, and walked over to you. “ay, dios mío. you didn’t wait for me? i could’ve saved you from this mess.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “oh, so you’re an expert at christmas lights now?”

“of course,” he said, grabbing the tangled strand from your hands. “i am el rey de las luces, the king of the lights." he gave you a wink, but within seconds, he had the lights in just as much of a mess as you did. “eh… maybe not.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “great job, amor.”

“oye, oye, don’t laugh. i’ll fix it,” he insisted, his accent thick as he focused on untangling the lights. his brow furrowed in concentration, the same look he wore when analyzing data back at the paddock. eventually, he managed to untangle the mess, holding up the lights triumphantly. “see? easy.”

stringing the lights around the tree became a team effort—or, more accurately, a comedy routine. carlos kept stopping to adjust them, stepping back every few minutes and tilting his head. “no, no, this side needs more. it’s like setting up the car��balance is everything.”

“you’re overthinking it, amor,” you teased, mimicking his accent slightly, which earned you a playful glare.

“cariño...don’t start with me,” he warned, pointing a light strand at you. “you want a perfect tree or no?”

when it came to the ornaments, carlos became surprisingly sentimental, asking about each one. “this one—where is it from?” he asked, holding up a little wooden angel.

“a market in my hometown,” you said. “my family bought it years ago.”

he smiled, carefully placing it near the top. “then it goes somewhere special.”

finally, the star. carlos insisted on doing it himself, grabbing a chair and climbing up with dramatic flair. “el momento más importante,” (the most important moment) he said, grinning as he carefully positioned the star at the top.

when he climbed down, he stepped back beside you, hands on his hips as he admired the tree. “mira. perfect,” (look. perfect) he said, nodding with satisfaction.

you glanced at him, smiling. “not bad for el rey de las luces.” you tease.

he looked at you, pretending to be offended. “eh, don’t disrespect the king.” then his face softened, and he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “but seriously… it’s nice, no? makes the house feel… like home.”

and with the glow of the tree lights reflecting in his warm brown eyes, you couldn’t agree more.

ʚ・charles leclerc

it was the weekend before christmas, and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar. you were trying your best to bake cookies, but the dough was a bit more messy than you expected. charles had just returned from his morning run, his hair still damp from the sweat, a towel casually draped around his neck. when he saw you, there was that warm smile—always so soft, so fond.

“hey, mon amour,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless, his accent as soft as the morning light streaming through the window.

“my love,” you smiled back, rolling your eyes playfully as you looked at the mess you’d made. “i think i need help here.”

he crossed the room with the grace of someone who was always in control, always in the moment. stepping behind you, he wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. “bien sûr, anything for you,” he murmured in your ear, the words full of that effortless affection he always seemed to have for you.

“really?” you teased, glancing up at him. “because if you burn these cookies, you’re doing all the decorations this year, including the tree.”

charles chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “je vais pas brûler les cookies, don’t worry, i’m a professional.” (i won’t burn the cookies)

“uh-huh, and what if i don’t want a professional? what if i want my boyfriend making cookies with me?” you grinned, nudging him lightly.

his eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “tous les jours avec toi sont parfaits,” he whispered, as if it was the most natural thing to say. (every day with you is perfect.)

you felt your heart flutter, your smile growing. “you’re making me all mushy inside,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“c’est toi qui me rends comme ça,” he replied, his voice filled with a sweetness that made everything feel softer. (it’s you who makes me this way.) you didn't really know any french, but these sweet words he said repeatively were easy for you to pick up.

he kissed the top of your head, then took the mixing bowl from your hands, stirring the dough with a calm focus. “you know, i was never good at this... but with you, it’s different. everything feels easy.”

you watched him with affection, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at you. there was something so deeply sincere about him, as if every word, every touch, every moment together felt like a promise. “i feel the same way,” you said quietly, heart swelling with love.

he stopped for a moment, setting the bowl down and gently cupping your face, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. “je t’aime tellement,” he whispered, his eyes locking with yours in that way that made everything else disappear. (i love you so much.)

“i love you too,” you replied, voice a little unsteady from how full your heart felt in that instant.

he kissed you then, slow and soft, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the kitchen, the cookies, even the christmas tree that waited in the corner of the room. it was just you and him, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” you whispered when he pulled away, resting your forehead against his.

“c’est simple, mon amour,” he said with a tender smile, his voice full of that same quiet certainty. (it’s simple, my love.) “you’re everything i never knew i needed, and more.”

and in that moment, as the soft twinkle of the christmas lights reflected in his eyes, you knew—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

ʚ・lando norris

it was a chilly evening, and you and lando were driving home from christmas shopping, the car packed with bags and decorations. you were both exhausted, but there was that festive excitement in the air.

lando glanced over with a mischievous grin. “so, what’s the plan for tonight? we’ve got the tree to decorate and i might need to save you from messing it up.”

you rolled your eyes. “oh really? you think you’re the master decorator now?”

“obviously,” he replied, grinning. “i’ve got amazing taste. no one’s topping my skills this year.”

“right,” you laughed. “because last year you couldn’t even get the star on top of the tree.”

lando gasped dramatically. “hey, that was one time! and you were totally distracting me with your light-wrangling skills.”

“sure, sure,” you teased as he parked in the driveway. “let’s see how ‘amazing’ you really are this year.”

once inside, lando eagerly got the boxes of decorations, already talking about how tonight’s tree would be perfect. ��first, we do the lights, then the tinsel, and finally the ornaments. it’s a science, really.”

“a science?” you grinned, grabbing a string of lights to untangle. “sounds like something you made up to sound more impressive.”

“maybe,” he laughed, “but trust me, i’ve got this. no tangles, no mess. just perfection.”

you set to work, and as you both decorated, lando made everything feel fun. his jokes and playful banter had you laughing the entire time.

“just don’t break any ornaments this year, alright?” you warned, glancing over at him as he placed a glass bauble on the tree.

“no promises,” he winked. “but trust me, it’ll look perfect when we’re done.”

you smiled, already knowing he was right. with lando, everything—even decorating a tree—was a little brighter and a lot more fun.

“you’re ridiculous,” you teased, admiring the tree.

“but i’m your ridiculous,” he said, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “and that’s all that matters.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

it was a warm evening, and you and oscar were sitting on the balcony, the australian summer air soft and easy. the christmas lights shimmered faintly in the dimming light, but something about it still felt a little off.

“you know, it’s just weird,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “christmas in summer. i keep waiting for snow, but it’s... hot.”

oscar glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took a sip of his drink. “yeah, i get it,” he said quietly. “it’s different. but i think it’s kind of nice, you know? christmas in the heat, just feels... relaxed.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “i just can’t get used to it. christmas is supposed to be cold. cozy, with fireplaces and snow.”

“it’s still christmas,” oscar said, his tone calm and steady. “just... a little warmer, that’s all.”

you smiled, but still felt a bit out of place. “i can’t be the only one who thinks this is strange, though. there’s no snowball fights, no cold air... just heat.”

oscar chuckled lightly, leaning back and stretching out. “yeah, i guess. but, uh... christmas on the beach is pretty great too, you know? different, but good.”

you gave him a sideways glance, still skeptical. “how do you just... accept this? i feel like i should be wearing gloves and snow boots.”

he shrugged, his gaze soft but sure. “it’s just how we do it here. doesn’t make it any less christmas. you’ll get used to it.”

you looked at him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. “maybe... but i’ll probably be dreaming of a white christmas while i’m sweating in this jumper.”

oscar’s smile widened slightly, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “if you want, we can just have our own little cozy corner. christmas is about whatever makes it feel right, yeah?”

you leaned against him, feeling more at ease. “yeah... i guess so. still feels a bit weird though.”

“you’ll get there,” he said with a calm smile. “just gotta give it time. but hey, at least we’re together, right?”

you smiled, your heart warming in the quiet evening. “yeah, you're right. it’s still perfect with you.”

“and, if it helps,” oscar added, his eyes twinkling slightly, “we can make the house feel a bit more christmasy—like, wintery christmas, if you want. i’ll help you set up whatever you need.”

your face lit up at the idea. “you’d do that? really?”

“yeah, we can hang fake snowflakes, maybe throw some fairy lights everywhere... i’ll even wear an ugly christmas sweater if it makes you feel better,” he teased, his smile soft but sincere.

“that sounds perfect,” you said, feeling the warmth of christmas already starting to settle in. with oscar by your side, maybe this summer christmas wasn’t so strange after all.

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freyadragonlord · 2 days ago

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Recently I’ve been thinking about the different types of love languages in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, The S-Classes That I Raised, and Lout of the Count’s Family…

Not to say that each of the stories describes only one single kind of love language; they are, after all, all novels that focus on Found Family, with many different types of relationships between characters that express their love for each other in as many different ways.

Yet, I’ve noticed how at the core of each of these three stories there is one specific act of love that recurs more than others, and that becomes the true Theme each novel revolves around.

In Lout of the Count’s Family, the main love language is providing food and a home.

“Home” is such an important concept in LCF that Cale collects houses like they were pokemon cards. The source of his trauma when he was a child as Kim Roksu was that he was not given sufficient food, and that where he lived was not truly a shelter where he could feel safe, just a place he was trapped in.

And I don’t think there are ever more than 2 chapters in a row without a character offering food to others, or asking if they’re hungry, if they’ve eaten, why haven’t you eaten, here have some apple pie!!

Cale uses his newfound money and power to make sure his loved ones are provided for. That’s how he adopts bonds with most of his new family.

The first thing Raon does after he’s freed from the prison he’s been trapped in all his life, is to leave food for this hopelessly weak human.

Choi Han, who has lived alone in a dangerous forest for decades, would do anything to protect his home.

The Crown Prince, who has been isolated and untrusting of everyone ever since his mother died, makes sure to always have cookies in his bedroom in case guests “break in” for a visit at any time of the day or the night.

I love you, you’ll never be hungry again. I love you, my home is your home.

In The S-Classes That I Raised, the main love language is words.

Yoojin’s powers are literally activated by telling people “I love you”. Because all he ever wanted was to say “I love you” to his brother one last time.

Because the tragedy that starts the story happens because Yoohyun loved and protected his hyung in secret for years. Silence creates misunderstandings, it creates distance, it leads to loss.

Loving someone isn’t enough, tell them! Reassure them. Remember what they say, because their words are important!!

Ever since the regression, Yoojin always let people know when he loves them and appreciates them. “You’re perfect, you’re cute, you’re so talented, you’re so handsome, you are loved.”

And as the novel progresses, whenever Yoojin is in pain, or doesn’t know what to do, he turns to Sung Hyunje because he needs to be reassured, he needs to know he did well, he needs to hear he is still important to the people he loves.

I love you, please know that I love you! I love you, please tell me you love me back.

And finally, in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the main love language is time.

Time is one of the greatest sources of horrors in ORV. Eternities upon eternities of suffering, being trapped for ages in the same, hopeless loop, wishing for everything to just stop.

And yet, time is also the greatest gift characters give to each other.

Because the wounds Dokja suffered as a child, and then again and again through his whole life…. They need time to heal. They need so much time. They will probably take forever.

So let them take forever.

Despite how much pain and worry he causes his companions by giving up on himself over and over again, his companions never give up on him. And he doesn’t understand why!! He doesn’t think he’s worth it. But it’s not his choice, it’s theirs. And they will go through as many tries, as much pain, as much time as it takes, before they can finally save him.

I love you, so I will wait fifty years for you. I love you, so I will live through thousands of lifetimes to find you. I love you, so I will read and reread your story for the rest of time, just to keep you alive.

#been feeling some feelings #love languages #omniscient reader's viewpoint #the s classes that i raised #lout of the count’s family #orv #sctir #tsctir #lcf #tcf #trash of the count's family #cale henituse #kim roksu #han yoojin #kim dokja

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insomniadreamzz · 2 days ago

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Hiiii I love your writing! Maybe you could do a jinx x bigger like chubbier reader with a SHIT TON of stretch marks who’s just really insecure especially cus jinx has such a nice body and reader js doesn’t 🥲🥲🥲 totally asking for a friend! Heh… he… hm. 😑😑

Aww thank you! ❤️ Ofc I can. I hope you like this one.

Before I start this. Everyone is perfect just the way you are, thin, chubby, tall, short every body is amazing their own way and I will love to write this because I do want to include every kind of person in my x Reader stories ❤️

Fluff and a lot of love in this short❤️ plus a little nudity and mentions of chubby reader

———

Perfect

You knew Jinx for a long time now and you were friends. Actually you had a crush on her but you never dared to tell her, you were insecure about your body, you weren’t thin like her, you were a little chubby which made you feel like she wouldn’t like someone like you.

Jinx just finished working on something before she joined you on the couch in her workshop, sitting down beside you she sighed. „Done! Finally. Now I can take a little pause.“ She said as she leaned back, your eyes falling on her beautiful body resting beside you. „You definitely deserve a pause. I didn’t see you doing anything else today.“ You mentioned and she answered with a hum, nodding her head. Suddenly she turned to her side, hugging you tightly. She loved cuddling with you especially after working, it just calmed her down.

„Thankfully you are here. You don’t know how much this helps me.“ Jinx said with a soft whisper, making you blush a little bit. „How so?“ You dared to ask and Jinx smiled, a little giggle leaving her lips. „Because my voices a silent, they finally shut up when I cuddle you. Crazy right?“ She mentioned and it meant everything to you. You hugged her back and various options went through your mind. You wanted to kiss her but would she like it? Maybe she liked someone else? Maybe you’re just a good friend to her and nothing more. Friends can hug like this after all.

Your insecurities start overwhelming your mind you didn’t even notice Jinx staring at you. „Hey is someone home there??“ She asked, patting your head and made you get back to reality, looking at her, feeling a bit embarrassed by driving away with your mind. „Sorry what?“ You asked, causing Jinx to laugh at your reaction. „You’re cute.“ She said before pressing her lips against yours. Your eyes widened in shock but seeing she really wanted it, having her eyes closed you realised this wasn’t a daydream, closing your eyes and kissing her back.

The kiss lasted for a little longer, wishing it would never end but Jinx pulled back, looking at you with a loving gaze as she caressed your cheek. „Was this enough to show you how I feel?“ She asked with a teasing voice as her fingertips caressed your cheek so gently. You just nod slowly, not really finding the right words to say, her hand now moving underneath yours shirt, feeling your skin. The feeling of her cold hand against your skin made you shiver and tensed a little bit, she noticed and frowned in return. „Is everything alright? I mean…we don’t have to if you…“ „I want to!“ You cut her off. „I just…I am not as pretty as you are.“ You mumbled as you looked away from her gaze but she grabbed your face to make you look back at her. „This is bullshit.“ She said, encouraging you to take your shirt off, with a deep blush and a uncomfortable expression you again looked away. The stretch marks on your body were just the worst, you hated them.

„We don’t have to if you-…“ You started but get cut off by another kiss from her, her thin, fragile body pressed against yours, the contrast was huge but she didn’t care. Jinx loved you just the way you are and she showed, kissing you deeply as her hands caressed your body. Soon pulling back to catch her breath.

„You’re perfect.“ Jinx mumbled against your lips and you finally trusted her, feeling loved and you wouldn’t want this moment to stop, eventually ending up to explore each others bodies and making each other feel good.

#x reader #fanfiction #female reader #x fem!reader #lgbtq #short imagine #arcane #arcane fanfic #jinx #jinx x fem!reader #jinx x y/n #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #love

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onegayastronaut · 2 days ago

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Home for the Holidays

Words: 2402

The mornings in Westview had a comforting rhythm, especially during the holiday season. The sun spilled golden light over the neatly trimmed hedges dusted with snow and pastel-colored houses adorned with twinkling lights, waking the quiet streets with a gentle glow. In your little cul-de-sac, life moved at its own serene pace, a stark contrast to the chaos that often lay just outside its borders. Here, the days began with the warm scent of coffee, the rustle of newspapers, and the soft hum of companionship.

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, a steaming mug in hand, as Agatha bustled around the room. She wore her usual cozy cardigan, now complemented by a festive scarf, her dark curls slightly disheveled, and her expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. Wanda, still wrapped in her scarlet robe, stood nearby, her hands deftly moving as she flicked through a recipe book. Every so often, she would glance up at you with a smile that made your heart flutter.

“You’re going to burn the gingerbread again, Agatha,” Wanda teased, her Sokovian accent soft in the morning air.

“I am not going to burn it,” Agatha shot back, wagging a butter knife in her hand. “And even if I did, you’d just magic it back to perfection, wouldn’t you, darling?”

You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee. The gentle banter between them was as much a part of your mornings as the sunrise. It was a rhythm you had grown to adore since the three of you decided to settle here together, away from the complications of your past lives. This little suburban bubble was your haven.

“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Wanda said, turning her gaze to you. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, setting your mug down and hopping off the counter. “Just enjoying the view,” you replied, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into your embrace, her body warm and familiar against yours.

Agatha cleared her throat dramatically, drawing both your attention. “If you two could pause your sappy moment for a second, I’d appreciate some help hanging these stockings.”

“Oh, she’s jealous,” Wanda said with a smirk, her green eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Jealous?” Agatha snorted, though the corner of her lips twitched upwards. “Sweetheart, I don’t get jealous. I’m far too mature for that.”

“Mhm, sure,” you teased, releasing Wanda to grab the stockings from the nearby box. “Where would you like these, oh wise and mature one?”

Agatha swatted lightly at your arm with a dish towel, a grin breaking through her mock-annoyance. Moments like this felt like the glue holding your unconventional little family together. You weren’t just partners; you were a team, a well-practiced trio learning to navigate life’s small joys and challenges together.

After breakfast, you all fell into the easy flow of your holiday routine. Agatha tended to the garden, humming under her breath as she hung string lights along the hedges with an almost magical touch. Wanda worked on a cross-stitch pattern by the bay window, occasionally pausing to sip her tea and admire Agatha through the glass. You found yourself on the porch swing, a book in your lap, basking in the quiet contentment of the moment.

When the door creaked open and Wanda stepped outside, you scooted over to make room. She sank down beside you, her hand immediately finding yours.

“You know,” she said softly, her thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin, “it’s days like these that remind me why we chose this place.”

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” you replied, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“It is,” she agreed, then added with a playful glint in her eyes, “Though I think Agatha secretly misses the chaos sometimes. She’d never admit it.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Agatha called from the garden, waving a strand of lights in mock indignation. “And I don’t miss it. I just have… a healthy appreciation for the dramatic, that’s all.”

Both you and Wanda burst out laughing, your voices mingling in the crisp winter air. Agatha’s theatrical flair was just another thing you adored about her.

The afternoon was spent in the kitchen, where Wanda and Agatha engaged in an impromptu gingerbread house competition. Flour and icing dusted every surface, including your nose, as you acted as the impartial judge. Wanda’s house was perfectly constructed and decorated with precision, while Agatha’s had a rustic charm that matched her personality.

“So, who’s the winner?” Wanda asked, leaning against the counter with a confident smirk.

“Obviously me,” Agatha declared, before you could even open your mouth. “Look at this masterpiece!” She gestured to her slightly crooked but undeniably creative structure.

You pretended to deliberate, taking another bite of a gingerbread cookie. “Hmm, I think the real winner here is me,” you said, grinning. “I get to eat all of this.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was impossible to miss. Agatha crossed her arms, her expression mock-serious. “Fine, we’ll call it a tie. But only because I’m feeling generous.”

As the day faded into evening, the three of you found yourselves on the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket. Wanda rested her head on your shoulder, her fingers intertwined with yours, while Agatha leaned against the armrest, her feet propped up in your lap. The warm glow of the Christmas tree lights bathed the room in a soft ambiance. A holiday movie played on the television, though none of you were paying much attention. It was enough just to be there together, surrounded by the warmth of your little family.

“I don’t say it often,” Agatha began, her voice softer than usual, “but I’m glad we found this. Found each other.”

Wanda lifted her head, her eyes meeting Agatha’s across the dimly lit room. “Me too,” she said, her voice filled with quiet sincerity.

You squeezed Wanda’s hand, your heart full. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

Agatha’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Well, lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

The following morning brought the first real snowstorm of the season. Heavy flakes drifted down in a soft, steady rhythm, blanketing the town in a pristine layer of white. You stood by the window, sipping your coffee and marveling at the peaceful scene outside.

“It’s perfect,” Wanda said, joining you with her own mug. She leaned her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck.

“Perfect for staying inside,” you said, glancing over at Agatha, who was layering up in an impressive number of scarves. “Where are you off to?”

“I promised Mrs. Abernathy I’d help her fix her lights,” Agatha replied, rolling her eyes as if to downplay the act of kindness. “The poor woman’s been wrestling with that inflatable Santa for days.”

Wanda grinned. “You’re such a softie, Agatha.”

“Oh, hush,” Agatha said, though the faint blush on her cheeks was unmistakable. She grabbed her coat and a tin of cookies you’d baked together the day before. “Don’t wait up for me.”

As the door shut behind her, Wanda pulled you toward the couch. “Looks like it’s just us. What should we do?”

You smirked, setting your mug down. “I have a few ideas.”

By the time Agatha returned, the house was filled with the warm aroma of mulled wine and the sound of soft holiday music. She stomped the snow off her boots in the entryway, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

“Smells good in here,” she said, shrugging off her coat. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Wanda replied, handing her a glass of wine. “Just a very competitive game of Scrabble.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And who won?”

You and Wanda exchanged a look. “It’s… still up for debate,” you said, earning a laugh from Agatha.

The rest of the evening was spent decorating the tree. Ornaments from past years were unpacked, each one sparking a story or memory that filled the room with laughter. Wanda carefully placed a delicate glass star at the top, her powers steadying it in place. Agatha stood back, her arms crossed, surveying the final result.

“Not bad,” she said, feigning indifference. “Could use more glitter, though.”

“You and glitter,” Wanda teased, nudging her playfully.

“It’s an art form,” Agatha shot back, winking at you.

As the night wore on, the three of you curled up on the couch once more, watching the snow fall outside. Agatha’s hand rested lightly on your knee, Wanda’s fingers intertwined with yours. It was moments like this that made everything else fade away. The world outside could wait. For now, this was all that mattered.

The next morning brought with it a plan for a holiday craft day, an idea Agatha had proposed with surprising enthusiasm. The dining table was soon covered in ribbons, glue sticks, construction paper, and an assortment of tiny baubles. Wanda’s precision was unmatched as she folded intricate origami stars, while Agatha opted for a more “free-spirited” approach, resulting in a papier-mâché snowman that leaned heavily to one side.

“It’s avant-garde,” Agatha declared when you raised an eyebrow at her creation. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” you teased, gluing sequins onto a homemade card. “I understand you’ve created a snowman who looks like he’s had a little too much eggnog.”

Wanda giggled, her eyes sparkling as she added finishing touches to her own wreath. “It’s charming, Agatha. Very you.”

The day passed in a blur of glitter and laughter, the three of you fully embracing the silliness of it all. By the time evening rolled around, the house was a sparkling testament to your combined efforts, with handmade decorations adorning every available surface.

On Christmas Eve, you decided to exchange small, heartfelt gifts. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of spiced cider filled the room. Wanda handed you a neatly wrapped package first, her eyes filled with quiet anticipation. Inside was a hand-knitted scarf in deep, warm tones that matched your favorite coat perfectly.

“I’ve been working on it for weeks,” she admitted, her cheeks faintly pink. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely, pulling her into a hug. “It’s perfect.”

Agatha’s gift to you was less traditional but no less thoughtful: an enchanted charm that glowed faintly when you held it. “For protection,” she said casually, though her expression was unusually tender. “Not that you need it with us around, but it never hurts.”

“Thank you, Agatha,” you said, your voice soft as you met her gaze. “I’ll treasure it.”

The gifts you had for them were simple but heartfelt—a custom-made journal for Wanda to sketch her designs and record her thoughts, and a vintage cookbook for Agatha, complete with handwritten notes from you on which recipes to try first.

That night, as you all sat by the tree, the room glowing with warmth and love, Agatha pulled out an old record player and placed a vinyl on the turntable. The soft strains of a classic holiday tune filled the air, and she extended a hand to Wanda.

“Dance with me,” she said with a small smile, her tone teasing yet sincere.

Wanda hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand. They swayed together in the dim light, their movements easy and natural. After a while, Wanda reached out to you, pulling you into their circle. The three of you moved together, a quiet rhythm of love and connection weaving between you. It was in that moment, with the snow falling softly outside and the world reduced to the warmth of your shared embrace, that you felt truly, completely home.

Christmas morning arrived with a sense of magic in the air. The three of you woke to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the snow outside glistening like diamonds. Agatha was the first to get out of bed, claiming she had to "check on something," leaving you and Wanda to savor the cozy warmth of the blankets for a little longer.

When you finally made your way downstairs, you found Agatha in the kitchen, humming softly as she flipped pancakes shaped like stars and snowflakes. The dining table was already set, adorned with holly and candles, making the morning feel even more special.

“Pancakes for Christmas?” you asked, grinning as you leaned against the doorway.

“Pancakes and mimosas,” Agatha corrected, motioning to a tray of glasses filled with sparkling orange juice. “I figured we’d start the day right.”

Wanda appeared a moment later, her face lighting up at the sight of the spread. “It looks beautiful, Agatha.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Agatha quipped, though the pride in her eyes was clear. “This is a once-a-year kind of effort.”

The three of you settled at the table, sharing stories and laughter over breakfast. Agatha’s pancakes were surprisingly good, though she claimed it was her “innate culinary genius” rather than the cookbook you’d given her the night before.

After breakfast, it was time for the annual snowball fight—a tradition that had started your first winter in Westview. Bundled up in coats and scarves, you headed to the backyard, where the pristine snow was perfect for forming snowballs. Agatha, ever the strategist, immediately began building a snow fort, while Wanda used her powers to craft perfectly round snowballs with uncanny precision.

“You’re cheating!” Agatha called, dodging one of Wanda’s throws.

“It’s called being efficient,” Wanda replied, her laughter ringing out as she launched another snowball.

You joined in the fray, your sides aching from laughing as Agatha’s fort crumbled under the onslaught of Wanda’s precision and your sneak attacks. By the end of it, all three of you were breathless and covered in snow, collapsing onto the ground in a heap of giggles.

As the sun began to set, you returned inside to warm up by the fire. Hot cocoa was passed around, topped with marshmallows and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Agatha leaned back against the couch, her eyes half-closed as she sipped her drink.

“This,” she said softly, “is what it’s all about. Days like this.”

Wanda nodded, her hand finding yours. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the life you’d built together. The holidays weren’t about grand gestures or elaborate celebrations—they were about moments like these, filled with love, laughter, and the warmth of family.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x agatha #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #mcu #mcu x reader #mcu imagine

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lloydskywalkers · 1 day ago

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barometric pressure

it's finally getting cold here and actually feels somewhat like winter so!! Zane on the brain, i rewatched s11 again and had feelings about the complete and total lack of addressing everything that went down in the Neverrealm, etc, so here's a shorter snippet of Zangst (that isn't even angst really it's just snow ramblings oops)

Exactly four months, six days, and an indeterminable amount of hours (it is ten) after they returned from the Neverrealm, the clear, crisp skies of late autumn give way to the gray, overcast start of winter.

It’s a painfully familiar sky, one Zane knows nearly as well as he knows himself. The graying clouds are as clear a signal of snow as anything, though he’s already well-prepared.

Vex’s whispers returned to his ears around the same time the first, familiar chill began seeping through the monastery walls.

For others who are not Zane, though, snow could still mean happier things. He still recalls the expression on Kai’s face the first winter he’d spent with them, snowflakes dotting his eyelashes as Jay wildly demonstrated how to craft a lopsided snowman. So Zane hopes, however weakly, that the rest of them can welcome the snow as enthusiastically as they have in the past.

His hopes are neatly shattered, however, when the first thing Cole does is set straight out for the woods and return with enough firewood to burn down the entire mountain.

“What are you gonna do, roast every marshmallow in Ninjago?” Jay gapes at him.

Cole rubs the back of his neck, firewood precariously balanced in one mitten-covered hand, his nose a shade darker than the rest of him from the growing cold. “Just thought we should be prepared,” he says. “In case the power goes out, or we just, you know. Wanna have a fire.”

Zane feels the room slip a little colder from his words alone. Or perhaps it’s his imagination — it’s been active, of late. For example, Vex and his whispers are several dozen realms away, and Lloyd is choking on the hot chocolate he’s drinking too fast instead of staring lifelessly at him from a frozen prison. Kai and Nya are fighting over the few coats they have that aren’t torn or stained or covered in what’s either glitter or the fragmented remains of their last enemy’s vehicle, not encased in blocks of ice, voiceless and empty.

Cole is…now distracted and giving him concerned looks, while Jay struggles to keep the firewood from spilling over his arms.

Ah. He’s drifting, again.

“How about we start the fire — in the fireplace, Cole, help—”

“Are you okay?” Cole asks bluntly, absently adjusting his hold on the firewood as Jay stacks the loose logs back in his arms.

“Of course,” Zane says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A crucial error. He knows better. Leaving things at ‘of course’ is a risky move, but it’s certainly a better option than flat out asking Cole to pounce.

Jay makes it first. “Yeah, ‘cause when I’m fine, I disassociate staring out the window for hours all the time.”

“I was not disassociating.”

“Uh-huh. Hold on, lemme find a dictionary. Right next to ‘disassociate’, there’s a nice little picture of—”

“Lloyd,” Zane says. “You will find my image next to ‘emotionally removed’.”

“That is dissociating, and Lloyd’s next to ‘traumatized’. Nice try, though.”

“We’re all next to traumatized,” Cole mutters, finally giving up and dumping his stack of firewood next to the door. Zane quietly calculates how long it will take Kai to set it ablaze, along with how much it will cost to replace the door if it ends up collateral damage.

“Not me,” Jay says, hands on his hips. “I’m next to optimism. Which you could all use, you know.”

Cole stares at him in disbelief. “Optimism? You’ve predicted our deaths like, six times in the last month alone—”

“It’s called a joke, where’s your sense of humor?”

“Jokes are only funny if you aren’t screaming them, and — oh no you don’t.”

Zane sags in defeat as Cole snags him by the back of his sweater. He was so close, too. Normally, Cole and Jay’s arguments are the perfect time to make an escape. Either they’re getting more observant, or he’s getting careless.

“Look.” Cole lets go of his sweater, crossing his arms in front of himself. Zane can’t tell if he’s warding off the chill, or warding off the same dark thoughts that have haunted them all since the snow began sticking. “I know we’re not…there, anymore, so it’s different. But if you’re having a hard time—”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Cole huffs, his forehead still scrunched up in worry. “But if you were to hypothetically be having a hard time, I’d hope you could talk to us. Any of us. It doesn’t have to be me, just…” He looks away, staring out the window wistfully.

“Winters have always been fun, with everyone,” he finally continues. “Remember the first time it snowed, when it was just you and me and Jay?”

Zane avoids his eyes. He does remember, of course. He remembers everything, even the things he wishes he could forget. But the memories of those early days, the first few months adjusting to living with others in the monastery, have yet to be tainted with any kind of darkness.

Jay had been near-comically scrawny back then, hair pressed resolutely against his forehead from his countless attempts to get it to stay there. Cole had been smaller, too — a bit sharper around the edges, his walls a bit higher, but still open enough to make Zane feel like a part of their little team. He still remembers Cole’s laughter, observing Zane’s terrible first attempt at sculpting anything from the snow, Jay his long-suffering teacher.

It had been the first time snow had meant anything fun, instead of the perpetual silent blanket that cut Zane off from the rest of the world.

And now here he is, years later, with all of Jay and Cole’s efforts gone to waste.

“You should come outside with us, after Cole finishes his firewood mountain,” Jay suddenly says, a bit breathless. “See how your snowman skills are shaping up.”

It takes Zane a moment. His mouth is full of refusals, his mind stuck on the fact that the last shape he made from snow was an enormous, vicious ice dragon that nearly killed everyone he loves.

But Jay looks painfully hopeful, and a bit too nervous that Zane will say no, and Cole’s edges are so soft now, Zane fears his own sharp edges will only hurt him.

“Give me a moment,” he says, forcing his tone to sound light. “And I will. I will join you.”

Cole’s eyes light up, and a beaming smile breaks across Jay’s face.

“Sweet!” Jay claps him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go drag Nya out of hiding, but the snow’s piling up in the courtyard, so if we get out early enough we can ambush Kai with snowballs when he comes out.”

Cole rolls his eyes. “I’m not digging you out of your snow grave this time,” he calls, following after Jay.

“Spoken like someone who wants to take on Nya in one-on-one combat!”

“I’m not insane, I’m not doing that either!”

Zane hesitates, left alone in the hallway. He crosses his own arms against the sudden chill, tiny stabs of regret already making themselves known.

It is easy to lie, but what will happen when he actually joins them in the snow? What if the icy chill sets in, miles of white all around, and he loses himself again?

The others weren’t there. They know his role in the Neverrealm, of course, but none of them saw the monster he let himself become. The depths of his cruelty, his coldness, what he was capable of — all of it remains Zane’s secret to keep.

Well.

That is a lie, and with it lies another significant reason Zane should avoid setting foot outside. His presence will only ruin things.

Yet the quiet, aching part of him seeks out the exception anyways, because deep down, Zane is just as selfish as any other person.

Lloyd looks little better than Zane feels, his eyes glued to the graying skies with the same look of faint dread Zane stared the drifting snowflakes with. His knees are drawn up tightly to his chest where he sits on the sofa, his mouth pinched as he picks apart the already-fraying edge of his scarf.

His expression softens when he sees Zane, mouth curving up into a faint smile.

“You get cornered, too?”

At his brief look of confusion, Lloyd nods at the thick jacket Zane’s wearing.

Zane looks away. “They seem to think it will be fun. A snow day.”

“Mmh.” Lloyd turns back to the window. With a sigh, he slides his legs out, standing as he throws the threadbare scarf around his shoulders. “Guess we should get out there, before Jay starts building his nightmare snowmen in the courtyard.”

Zane blinks at him, taken aback. “You’re joining them?”

“Duh,” Lloyd frowns. “I wanna have fun, too.”

“Ah.” Zane isn’t sure if what he feels is guilt, envy, or some odd mix of the two. Confusion, he finally decides on. “It doesn’t…you’ll be alright, in the cold?”

Lloyd’s expression falls, but he doesn’t look away. He fiddles with the edge of his scarf, as if turning words over in his head.

“I’ll be okay,” he finally says, in the quiet, softer way he speaks now.

He used to be louder. Zane remembers, down to the exact cadence of his voice — straining a bit too low for his throat, acting a bit too old for his age. Less…reserved.

Younger.

Then Lloyd smiles, and Zane reminds himself that Lloyd’s voice is also lighter, these days. It’s been growing more so, ever since the last of the Oni attack was cleared away and the unhealthy pale left his skin. Lloyd’s quicker to laugh and easier to poke at. Slower to step into the role of leader, preferring to linger behind with the rest of them, as if he can soak up their warmth like a sadly starved sponge.

“I don’t mind wind,” Lloyd continues. “I like volcanoes. I think I’ll be fine in snow.”

He worries his lip, eyebrows furrowing. “The question is whether or not you will.”

Zane startles. “That is not—” He closes his mouth. The words do not come easily, or much at all. How can he make Lloyd understand, that he has no right to fear the snow? When snow is his element. When any pain caused by it is only his fault, in the first place. When Lloyd still bears the scars of frostbite, when Kai’s hands tremble in the cold, when Jay watches Cole with worried eyes and Nya frets over the water heater each night.

Lloyd’s hand settles tentatively over his own, a bright burst of warmth that quells the tremors Zane hadn’t realized run through his fingers.

“How about this,” he amends. “We can either stay inside and steal all Cole’s marshmallows for our hot chocolate, or you can come outside and help me fix Jay’s ugly snowman?”

Zane looks down. It’s a kind trick Lloyd’s using, one he’s learned well. Simple decisions — one a retreat, one a cautious step.

A part of him still balks at the idea of stepping out into the cold. Vex’s voice lingers in the freezing air, the reminder of bitter ice beneath his fingers and the cries of his friends.

Kai’s laughter shatters the silence, muffled through the monastery walls but no less clear. He can hear Nya’s quick follow-up, a round of foul cursing that would have Sensei frowning at them all.

Zane lets out a breath.

It is selfish. It is self-centered and short-sighted, and it is all but an insult to what he’s done to the people of the Neverrealm.

And perhaps Zane is a terrible person, after all.

But Zane is not a coward, either.

And Zane is fortunate enough to have a family, one who would lie and steal and cross realms and frozen wastelands for him, and he thinks, perhaps this once, he can be selfish for their sakes.

Squeezing Lloyd’s hand briefly, he nods. “I suppose it would be cruel to the poor snowman, to leave him in Jay’s hands.”

A smile splits across Lloyd’s face, a faint echo of the boy who dyed his uniform pink.

“Okay. Pixal’s got a scarf for you, then.”

Pixel does indeed have a scarf for him, and it is perhaps the most disastrous thing Zane’s ever laid eyes on.

“I don’t understand what happened,” she says, staring at the scarf in his hands. Her face screws up in frustration, lips set in what could be called a pout, if he didn’t know better. “I followed the instructions to the letter. My slipknots were perfect.”

Zane carefully places the scarf around his neck, wrapping the crooked, colorful mass of fabric around as many times as he’s able.

It ends up being about four, and he wonders briefly how many stores Pixal bankrupted of purple yarn.

“I love it,” he tells her. “Thank you.”

Pixal’s face breaks into a bright smile. “It’s warm, isn’t it? I wanted to be sure, that it was warm.”

Ah. The many layers make a bit more sense now, and Zane’s heart aches.

He does not deserve this, but the scarf still sits around his neck. Lloyd still waits for him by the door, endlessly patient and hopelessly trusting.

Kai still beams when he sets foot outside, blinking snowflakes from his lashes as he waves, moments before Nya dumps a bucketful of snow over his head.

Jay still lets him reshape his snowman, only scowling once at his critique before asking him which of their family they should recreate in snow.

Cole still smiles, when Zane sweeps out that same warm smile in the snowman that only just resembles him.

And Nya finally lets her hourly crisis over the water pipes go, handing him a snowball instead and instructing him to let Kai have it.

He doesn’t know the answer to Lloyd’s question, exactly. Whether or not he’ll be okay, when the snow falls heavy and the reminder of what he’s done presses heavier.

But he does know that the cold that followed him from the Neverrealm does not reach him, not even as he’s tackled into a heavy drift by Cole halfway through their snowball fight.

And perhaps, for now, that can be enough.

#ninjago #zane julien #everyone else is there too but #mostly zane #enjoy the peaceful fic zane it will not last long #my fic

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fioredeciliego · 1 day ago

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Softly, Sweetly - Winter x Fem!Reader

12.5k words

The morning air in the office was crisp with the scent of fresh coffee and lingering hints of printer toner. Minjeong adjusted her blazer, her sharp eyes scanning the rows of desks as she walked through the bustling corporate floor. It was her first week as the new manager—a title she’d worked tirelessly to earn. Being an alpha in a field where appearances were everything, she’d perfected the art of self-control. Her instincts had no place here.

“Good morning, Manager Kim,” a cheerful voice greeted her. Minjeong nodded with a polite smile, not breaking stride. She kept her expression neutral, her shoulders squared. No one needed to know how tightly wound she felt beneath the surface.

The breakroom door was ajar, and as Minjeong pushed it open, something in the air shifted. Her breath hitched. A scent, warm and delicate, wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was unmistakable: vanilla, butter, and the faintest hint of lavender. Her instincts stirred before she could stop them, her wolf perking up like it had just found something—someone—important.

Minjeong froze mid-step, her eyes scanning the room. A tray of cookies sat on the counter, golden and fresh, a few crumbs scattered around it. She frowned slightly, glancing at the lone figure sitting at the small table in the corner.

You.

Your head was bent over a book, a steaming cup of tea beside you. You looked so at ease, oblivious to the chaos of the office just outside the door. The moment felt oddly intimate, as though Minjeong had stepped into a scene she wasn’t meant to disturb. Her wolf growled softly in approval, a low hum of recognition.

She shook her head, forcing herself to move. Minjeong was here to grab a coffee, not to—…whatever this was.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice even. You looked up, startled, your eyes meeting hers. For a moment, Minjeong forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, good morning,” you replied, offering a shy smile. “You must be the new manager. Minjeong, right?”

Hearing her name in your voice made something in her chest tighten. She gave a curt nod. “That’s right. And you are?”

“Y/N,” you said, setting your book down. “I work in marketing. I, um, bake cookies for the team on Fridays. I hope that’s okay?”

Minjeong blinked. You thought she might disapprove? She glanced at the tray again, her fingers twitching with the urge to grab one. “It’s… nice. I’m sure the team appreciates it.”

Your smile widened slightly, and Minjeong felt her heartbeat quicken. She hated how her composure wavered under your gaze, like you could see right through the layers she’d carefully built around herself.

“Would you like one?” you offered, gesturing to the cookies.

Minjeong hesitated. Something about the idea of taking one felt too personal, but the way your eyes sparkled with anticipation made it impossible to refuse.

“Sure,” she said, stepping closer. She picked one up, the warm cookie soft against her fingertips. She bit into it, and the taste was as comforting as the scent that lingered in the room.

“It’s good,” she said after a moment, keeping her tone neutral.

“Thank you,” you said softly. There was a flicker of something in your expression, something almost… hopeful. Minjeong quickly looked away, busying herself with pouring a cup of coffee.

“Do you bake often?” she asked, more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity.

“Pretty often,” you said, shrugging lightly. “It’s kind of my way of relaxing. Helps me feel grounded, you know?”

Minjeong wouldn’t know. Relaxation wasn’t something she indulged in. But she nodded anyway, sipping her coffee. The warmth didn’t quite reach the tightness in her chest.

She lingered longer than she intended, watching as you returned to your book, completely at ease. The contrast between your serenity and her constant self-discipline was almost jarring. But it was the scent that stayed with her long after she left the breakroom, weaving itself into her thoughts and refusing to let go.

By the end of the day, Minjeong was mentally exhausted. Meetings, presentations, and the constant effort to keep her instincts in check had drained her more than usual. As she gathered her things, her thoughts drifted back to you. To the way your scent had wrapped around her like a protective cocoon.

It wasn’t just pleasant. It was calming in a way that nothing else had been in years. She hated how much she craved it already, how the memory of it lingered on the edge of her consciousness. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t professional.

“Manager Kim?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She turned to see one of her coworkers standing hesitantly by her desk.

“Yes?” she asked, straightening up.

“Just wanted to say thanks for joining us today. I know it’s been a busy week for you,” they said.

Minjeong gave a polite smile. “Thank you. Have a good evening.”

As the office emptied out, she found herself standing alone, staring at the breakroom door. The faintest hint of your scent still lingered, teasing her senses. She shook her head, forcing herself to leave.

At home, Minjeong dropped her bag by the door and sank onto the couch. She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She’d worked so hard to suppress her instincts, to present herself as an alpha who could be trusted in any situation. But you… you had cracked something open in her with just a smile and a tray of cookies.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a text from her assistant, reminding her about a team lunch next week.

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the coffee table. As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t the last time you’d be on her mind.

Minjeong prided herself on her ability to remain composed in any situation. Meetings, deadlines, and even high-stakes negotiations barely fazed her. But now, as she sat in a mid-morning conference room, facing a dozen employees, her calm exterior was slipping.

She stole a glance toward you, seated across the table. You were scribbling notes in your planner, a small smile tugging at your lips. That scent—a warm mix of vanilla and sugar—was still faint in the air, and Minjeong was losing her grip on rational thought. It wasn’t overpowering, but it lingered in the corners of her mind, making her restless in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

“Minjeong, what do you think?” someone asked, snapping her back to the present.

She blinked, realizing that everyone was staring at her, waiting for a response. “I, uh… Yes. Of course.” She cleared her throat and straightened in her seat. “Could you repeat the question?”

There was a murmur of suppressed laughter around the table. Minjeong’s second-in-command smirked but repeated the inquiry about projected timelines. She nodded briskly, giving an efficient, if generic, response that seemed to satisfy the room. When the meeting resumed, she glanced at you again. You were grinning now, but it was subtle, almost hidden behind the tilt of your notebook. Did you know you were driving her to distraction?

By the time the meeting wrapped up, Minjeong was on edge. Everyone filed out, but she lingered, pretending to tidy her papers. Her heart sank when she realized you were still at the table, reorganizing your planner. Alone with you, she felt the tension in her chest tighten.

She couldn’t just sit in silence. Say something—anything, she told herself.

“The cookies,” she blurted out, louder than intended.

You looked up, startled. “Pardon?”

“Your cookies. I mean, the ones you bring every Friday,” Minjeong stammered, feeling her cheeks heat. “They’re really… nice.”

You blinked, and then—to her simultaneous relief and mortification—you burst into laughter. It wasn’t mocking, though; it was light and genuinely amused. “Nice?”

“What I meant,” Minjeong said, quickly backpedaling, “is that they’re good. Great, actually. Really great. Everyone likes them.”

You tilted your head, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Thank you, Minjeong. I’m glad you like them.”

“I…” she hesitated, unsure of how to salvage the moment, “I’m not just saying that because of the… cookies.”

Now it was your turn to look confused. “You’re not?”

“I mean, I am saying it because of the cookies, but also because you…” She trailed off, realizing she had no idea where she was going with this. Her internal monologue was screaming for her to stop talking.

“Because I what?” you prompted, resting your chin on your hand, clearly enjoying her awkwardness.

“Because you… seem to put so much care into them,” she finished lamely.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, you closed your planner and stood, your warm scent enveloping her as you passed by. “Thank you, Minjeong. That means a lot.”

She watched you leave, feeling both relieved and utterly defeated. Great job, Minjeong, she thought bitterly. You’ve officially forgotten how to talk like a normal person.

The rest of the day didn’t go any better. Minjeong found herself distracted during her afternoon meetings, her mind replaying your smile and the way you’d looked at her in the conference room. By the time her last meeting ended, she was ready to call it a day. She was gathering her things when she heard a soft knock on her office door.

“Come in,” she called, forcing herself to sound professional.

The door creaked open, and there you were again, holding a small container. Her heart rate spiked.

“Hey,” you said, stepping inside. “I had some extra cookies left over. Thought you might want some.”

Minjeong blinked at you, momentarily stunned. “Oh. Uh, thank you.” She stepped forward to take the container from your hands, careful not to let your fingers touch.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m not bribing you for a promotion or anything.”

She managed a chuckle, relaxing slightly. “Good to know. I’m not sure my integrity could survive that kind of scandal.”

You grinned and glanced at your watch. “Well, I should get going. Have a good evening, Minjeong.”

“You too,” she replied automatically, watching as you disappeared down the hall.

When she opened the container, the scent hit her like a tidal wave—comforting and intoxicating all at once. The cookies were still warm, their edges golden and crisp. She picked one up, taking a bite. Perfect, of course.

Later that night, Minjeong sat in her apartment, the empty container resting on her coffee table. She’d polished off the cookies in record time and now found herself staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment she’d spent with you that day.

“You’re losing it,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples. But despite her frustration, she couldn’t help but smile. Maybe she’d been awkward today, but it didn’t seem to matter. For the first time in years, she felt something other than restraint.

Minjeong dropped her bag on the floor and shrugged off her blazer, letting out a heavy sigh. The day had been relentless—back-to-back meetings, demanding deadlines, and an inbox that seemed to multiply the moment she glanced away. Her head throbbed, and her shoulders ached from the tension she’d been carrying all day.

She moved toward the couch, loosening her tie and unbuttoning the top of her blouse. As she sat down, something soft and familiar brushed against her fingers. Her scarf. She frowned slightly, picking it up from where it had been draped over her bag. She hadn’t even realized she’d brought it home; she usually left it in her office during warmer months.

Bringing it closer, she froze. That scent. Subtle yet unmistakable—a warm blend of vanilla and sugar. It wasn’t just the fabric softener or any lingering fragrance from her office. No, this was your scent, the one that always lingered faintly when you walked by her or leaned just a little too close while passing her papers in a meeting.

Minjeong’s grip on the scarf tightened as she inhaled again, slower this time. The tension in her body seemed to ease, her mind quieting in a way it hadn’t all day. The calming effect was almost immediate, as if the stress that had piled up over the hours was being gently swept away.

She leaned back against the cushions, holding the scarf against her chest. It wasn’t intentional at first, just a subconscious reaction to the comfort it provided. Her thoughts drifted to you—the way your laughter lit up the office, the delicate smile you gave her whenever she passed by your desk. And, of course, the cookies. Those damn cookies.

The realization hit her like a jolt: she was craving this. Craving you. Not just your scent, but the sense of peace you brought with it. It wasn’t something she’d consciously acknowledged before, but now that she’d felt it, there was no denying it. You had somehow become her haven in the chaos of her daily life.

She closed her eyes, letting herself bask in the quiet moment. Her alpha instincts stirred faintly, a protective warmth blooming in her chest at the thought of you. It wasn’t overwhelming, not the way she’d been taught to fear growing up. Instead, it was grounding, like a steady pulse reminding her of something she hadn’t realized she was missing.

Minutes turned into an hour as she stayed there, holding the scarf. Her apartment, usually too quiet after a long day, felt less lonely now. But with that comfort came another emotion: guilt. She shouldn’t be clinging to this scarf like some lovesick teenager. You deserved better than to be the object of someone’s selfish yearning, especially when she hadn’t even mustered the courage to tell you how she felt.

Minjeong’s eyes fluttered open, and she set the scarf down gently on the couch beside her. She needed to get a grip. This wasn’t fair to you or to herself. Still, as she stood and moved to the kitchen to prepare a late dinner, she couldn’t help but glance back at the scarf.

That night, as she lay in bed, the memory of your scent lingered. Minjeong’s mind wandered to what it might be like to have you close, not just in the abstract sense but here, in her space. She imagined you sitting on her couch, sharing a laugh about something trivial. She imagined brushing flour off your cheek after a baking session, your laughter soft and sweet as she teased you for being messy. The thought brought a warmth to her chest that she hadn’t felt in years.

Her hand drifted to her phone on the nightstand. For a brief moment, she considered messaging you. Something casual, something that wouldn’t betray the flurry of emotions she was feeling. But what would she even say? “Hey, your cookies are great, and your scent calms my overworked alpha instincts”? Yeah, no. That wasn’t happening.

Instead, she sighed and placed the phone back down. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow she’d find the courage to say something—anything—to let you know how much you meant to her. For now, she closed her eyes and let the memory of your scent lull her to sleep.

The next morning, as Minjeong got ready for work, she hesitated before leaving her apartment. Her eyes fell on the scarf, still draped over the couch where she’d left it. She debated bringing it back with her, but something held her back. It felt too personal now, too intimate to casually return to the office.

With a small sigh, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door. The scent might not have been with her anymore, but the sense of calm it had given her lingered, a quiet reminder of the comfort she’d found—and the feelings she couldn’t ignore any longer.

The office was unusually quiet that evening, the hum of fluorescent lights the only sound accompanying Minjeong as she reviewed a spreadsheet in her dimly lit office. Most employees had left hours ago, leaving the building in an almost eerie state of calm. She liked it this way—no distractions, no small talk, just the numbers and her thoughts.

But as she stepped out of her office to grab a file from the printer, she caught sight of a light still on in the breakroom. Her brow furrowed. The breakroom was supposed to be locked after hours. Curiosity got the better of her, and she made her way over, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

Pushing the door open, Minjeong froze. There you were, sitting cross-legged at one of the round tables with a laptop open in front of you. Your brow was furrowed in concentration, a pen twirling absently between your fingers. Beside you sat a small plate of cookies—of course—and an empty mug with faint coffee stains.

“Y/N?” Minjeong’s voice came out softer than she intended, but it still startled you. You looked up, eyes wide for a moment before a smile spread across your face.

“Oh, hi, Minjeong. Didn’t expect anyone else to be here this late.”

She stepped inside, her curiosity piqued. “I could say the same about you. What are you working on?”

You gestured to your laptop. “The quarterly report for the marketing department. I wanted to get a head start since things are going to get hectic next week.”

Minjeong nodded, impressed but not surprised. You’d always struck her as someone who went the extra mile, though she couldn’t help but notice the faint circles under your eyes. “You could’ve done this tomorrow. Staying late isn’t mandatory, you know.”

You shrugged, your smile turning sheepish. “I know. But I work better when it’s quiet. Plus, it’s… nice to have some time to myself.”

There was a weight to your words that Minjeong couldn’t quite place, but she decided not to push. Instead, she glanced at the plate of cookies. “Did you make those here?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I brought them from home. Baking’s kind of my thing. Want one?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

You slid the plate toward her, and she picked up one of the cookies. It was warm and soft, melting on her tongue with a burst of buttery sweetness. She couldn’t suppress the small sound of approval that escaped her.

You grinned. “Good?”

“Better than good,” Minjeong admitted, setting the half-eaten cookie down. “I think these are your best yet.”

“High praise from the boss,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “But yeah, baking helps me unwind. Keeps my hands busy and my mind clear.”

Minjeong leaned against the counter, intrigued. “So it’s more than just a hobby?”

You nodded, your expression turning thoughtful. “Yeah. Living in the city can be overwhelming sometimes, especially for an omega. Baking’s like… my way of staying grounded. The scents, the textures, the routine of it—it’s comforting. Familiar.”

Her heart softened at your candidness. She’d never really thought about how challenging it might be for you, navigating a high-stakes corporate environment while balancing your instincts. “That makes sense. It’s important to have something like that. A safe space.”

“What about you?” you asked suddenly, tilting your head. “What keeps you grounded?”

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard. No one had ever asked her that before. She crossed her arms, considering the question. “Honestly? I… don’t know. I’ve always just focused on work. It’s what I’m good at.”

You frowned slightly. “That sounds… exhausting.”

She shrugged, trying to play it off. “It has its moments. But it’s not so bad. I’ve gotten used to it.”

Your frown deepened, but you didn’t press the issue. Instead, you reached for another cookie, breaking it in half and offering her a piece. “Well, maybe you need to find something that makes you happy outside of work. Everyone needs a little sweetness in their life, right?”

Minjeong took the offered cookie, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

For a while, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the tension of the day melting away. Minjeong found herself relaxing in your presence, the usual weight of her responsibilities feeling just a little lighter. She didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you stretched and yawned, glancing at the clock.

“Wow, it’s already past ten,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “I should probably head home.”

Minjeong stood, her protective instincts kicking in. “Let me walk you to your car. It’s late.”

You looked surprised but didn’t argue. “Alright. Thanks, Minjeong.”

As the two of you made your way to the parking lot, the cool night air hit your faces, refreshing after the stuffiness of the office. Minjeong stayed close, her sharp senses on alert for any potential danger. When you reached your car, you turned to her with a grateful smile.

“Thanks for keeping me company tonight. It was… nice to talk.”

“It was,” Minjeong agreed, her voice soft. “Drive safe, Y/N.”

You gave her a small wave before getting into your car and driving off, leaving her standing there under the dim glow of the parking lot lights. As she watched your taillights disappear into the distance, she felt a strange warmth in her chest—a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

Maybe, she thought as she made her way back inside, it was time she found her own version of sweetness. And maybe, just maybe, it was closer than she’d realized.

The hum of the office carried on as usual, phones ringing intermittently, keyboards clacking away, and the soft murmur of conversations filling the air. Minjeong sat at her desk, head bent over a report she had been reviewing for the past half hour. Her concentration was only half-hearted, though. Every so often, her eyes drifted toward the far side of the room where you sat, completely engrossed in your work.

It wasn’t unusual for Minjeong to find herself distracted by you these days. Your presence had a way of grounding her yet simultaneously throwing her off balance. It wasn’t just your calming scent—though that was a major factor—it was the way you carried yourself, your quiet confidence, and the little smiles you shared with everyone. She knew she needed to get a grip, but you made it incredibly difficult.

“Minjeong…” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to find her second-in-command, Jihoon, standing by her desk with a knowing smirk. “Staring at Y/N again?” he teased, just loud enough for a few nearby coworkers to hear.

Minjeong’s eyes widened, and she immediately straightened in her chair. “I was not staring,” she replied defensively, her tone sharp enough to make Jihoon chuckle.

“Sure, boss. Whatever you say.” He leaned on the edge of her desk, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “But you know, if you keep looking at her like that, people are going to start talking.”

“They’re not already?” another coworker, Soojin, piped up from a nearby cubicle. She swiveled her chair to face them, her grin mischievous. “Minjeong practically turns red every time Y/N’s around.”

Minjeong’s ears burned as she glared at Soojin. “I do not. And for the record, can we focus on work instead of pointless gossip?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “It’s not gossip if it’s true.”

Minjeong groaned, running a hand through her hair. “This is completely unprofessional.”

“Oh, come on,” Soojin said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just teasing you, Minjeong. Lighten up. Besides, Y/N’s sweet. If I were you, I wouldn’t deny it so hard.”

“There’s nothing to deny,” Minjeong insisted, but her words lacked conviction. Her traitorous cheeks were already giving her away, flushing a faint pink that made Jihoon and Soojin exchange amused glances.

From across the room, you glanced up, sensing the commotion. Your gaze landed on Minjeong, and for a split second, your eyes met. The moment stretched longer than it should have, and Minjeong felt her pulse quicken. You smiled softly, tilting your head in curiosity at the group gathered near her desk. Then, you went back to your work, leaving Minjeong to deal with the aftermath of her coworkers’ relentless teasing.

“See?” Soojin said triumphantly. “She’s got you flustered already.”

“I’m not flustered,” Minjeong hissed, though the way she avoided their eyes told a different story.

“Alright, alright,” Jihoon said, holding up his hands in surrender. “We’ll drop it… for now.”

Minjeong shot him a glare before turning back to her report, determined to ignore the growing heat in her cheeks. But even as she tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the memory of your smile or the way her heart had stuttered when your eyes met.

By lunchtime, the teasing hadn’t entirely subsided. Minjeong was walking to the break room when she overheard a pair of interns whispering near the coffee machine.

“Do you think Minjeong likes Y/N?” one of them asked, not bothering to lower their voice much.

“Oh, definitely,” the other replied. “She’s always looking at her during meetings. It’s so obvious.”

Minjeong cleared her throat loudly, and the interns jumped, spinning around to face her with wide eyes.

“Ladies,” she said coolly, “I suggest you find something productive to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused before scurrying out of the break room.

Minjeong sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. This was getting out of hand. She grabbed a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, taking a moment to collect herself. The break room door swung open, and she tensed, expecting another nosy coworker. Instead, it was you.

“Hey, Minjeong,” you greeted, your smile as warm as ever. “Taking a breather?”

She nodded stiffly. “Something like that.”

You moved to the coffee machine, humming softly as you prepared your drink. Minjeong watched out of the corner of her eye, silently berating herself for not saying something. Anything.

“So,” you said casually, breaking the silence. “What’s everyone talking about today? I feel like I missed something.”

Minjeong’s heart skipped a beat. “Nothing important,” she said quickly, perhaps too quickly.

You glanced at her, amused. “Are you sure? You’ve been looking a little… distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” she insisted, though the defensive edge in her voice probably undermined her claim.

You chuckled softly, stirring your coffee. “If you say so.”

She opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, realizing she’d only dig herself deeper. Instead, she focused on sipping her own coffee, hoping the heat from the drink would explain the flush in her cheeks.

“Well,” you said, turning to leave, “if you ever want to talk about whatever’s distracting you, I’m a pretty good listener.”

Minjeong nodded mutely, watching as you walked away, your scent lingering in the air long after you’d gone. She set her coffee down and leaned against the counter, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

Maybe… just maybe… her coworkers had a point.

The office buzzed with its usual energy as the day wound down, employees shuffling papers and exchanging pleasantries on their way out. Minjeong leaned against the doorway of her office, watching the scene unfold. Her sharp gaze scanned the room until it landed on you. You were at your desk, head tilted as you listened politely to one of the marketing associates—a man who was leaning in a little too close for comfort.

Minjeong frowned, her instincts prickling at the sight. She told herself to stay calm, that there was no reason to interfere, but the feeling gnawed at her as the moments dragged on.

“You’re always so cheerful,” the man’s voice carried across the open floor. “How do you manage it? Must be all those cookies you bake for us.”

You chuckled politely but shifted back in your chair, creating a subtle distance. “I just enjoy baking. It’s a good way to unwind.”

“Well, maybe you can bake something just for me sometime,” he pressed, his tone too familiar. The insinuation in his voice made Minjeong’s jaw tighten.

She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the simmering protectiveness rising in her chest. It wasn’t her place to intervene. You were capable of handling yourself, and she didn’t want to overstep. But when he moved even closer, leaning over your desk with a hand braced on the edge, her restraint snapped.

“Come on,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

You hesitated, your polite smile faltering. “I… really don’t think—”

“Y/N, can I borrow you for a moment?” Minjeong’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. Her steps were deliberate, her posture calm but radiating authority as she approached.

Your head whipped toward her, relief flashing across your face. “Of course.”

The man straightened, clearly annoyed. “Oh, we were just chatting. No rush.”

“Actually, it’s time-sensitive,” Minjeong said, her tone polite but firm. Her eyes locked onto his, unwavering. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Her presence left no room for argument. The man hesitated, his jaw tightening, but he eventually stepped back. You gathered your things quickly, and Minjeong’s hand lightly brushed your elbow as she guided you toward her office. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” you said, turning to face her. “I… didn’t know how to get out of that conversation.”

Minjeong leaned against her desk, crossing her arms. “He’s always like that?”

“Not always,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “But he can be… persistent. I try to brush it off.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the protective instinct she’d been holding back flared again. “You shouldn’t have to. If he ever makes you uncomfortable, let me know.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… protecting me, Manager Kim?”

Minjeong stiffened, realizing how her words might have sounded. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture. “I’m just ensuring a safe and professional work environment,” she replied, though the faint pink tinge on her ears betrayed her.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her attempt to maintain professionalism. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Good,” Minjeong said, trying to recover her composure. She glanced at the clock on her desk. “It’s late. You should head home.”

You hesitated. “Are you staying late?”

“Just finishing some reports,” she said, brushing off the question.

You tilted your head, studying her for a moment. “Don’t overwork yourself. Even managers need rest.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile. “Noted.”

Satisfied, you gave her a cheerful wave and headed out, leaving her alone in the quiet office. Minjeong sighed, running a hand through her hair. The lingering trace of your scent in the room calmed her, even as her thoughts raced.

The next day, whispers rippled through the office. Minjeong’s intervention hadn’t gone unnoticed, and it didn’t take long for the gossip to reach your ears.

“Did you see how Manager Kim handled that guy yesterday?” one coworker said, leaning over the partition of a cubicle.

“She’s so cool,” another agreed. “Didn’t even raise her voice, but he backed off so fast.”

You tried to focus on your work, but the murmurs made you smile. Minjeong’s actions had been subtle yet effective—a balance of authority and care that you couldn’t help but admire.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself standing outside her office with a small box of cookies in hand. You knocked lightly on the doorframe, peeking inside. Minjeong looked up from her desk, her expression softening when she saw you.

“Hi,” you said, stepping inside. “I wanted to say thank you again for yesterday.”

“No need to thank me,” she replied, setting down her pen. “I just did what anyone would do.”

“Not everyone would have stepped in so gracefully,” you said, placing the box on her desk. “I made these for you. As a thank you.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she opened the box, the familiar scent of your baking filling the room. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, though the small smile on her lips betrayed her gratitude.

“Consider it a token of appreciation,” you said, your tone teasing.

Minjeong chuckled, picking up a cookie and taking a bite. As the sweet flavor melted on her tongue, she looked up at you, her gaze warm. “You know, these might be your best batch yet.”

You grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As you turned to leave, she found herself wondering how long she could keep her feelings in check—and if she even wanted to.

When the door closed behind you, she leaned back in her chair, the taste of your cookies and the sound of your laughter staying with her long after you were gone.

The soft hum of music filled your cozy kitchen as the late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden glow over the countertop. Minjeong stood at the edge of the counter, eyeing the array of baking ingredients with a look that could only be described as apprehensive.

“So, this is where the magic happens,” Minjeong said, her hands resting awkwardly on her hips. Her confidence, so steady in the corporate world, seemed to falter in the face of flour and sugar.

“Magic might be a stretch,” you teased, tying an apron around your waist. “But baking is supposed to be fun. Relaxing, even. So don’t overthink it.”

“Relaxing,” Minjeong repeated, as though testing the word on her tongue. She picked up a measuring cup and examined it like it was a foreign object. “Right. Relaxing.”

The idea for the lesson had come up earlier that week. Minjeong had been unusually tense during a meeting, her alpha instincts likely strained by the pressures of the job. Hoping to lighten the mood, you’d casually mentioned your baking hobby.

“If you ever want to relax, you should join me sometime,” you’d said. “Baking cookies works wonders.”

She’d looked at you, her expression skeptical but intrigued. “You think I’d be good at baking?”

“Not at first,” you admitted with a grin, “but it’s about the journey, not perfection. Besides, it’s fun to try something new.”

To your surprise, she’d taken you up on the offer, showing up at your apartment that evening with an apron she’d clearly borrowed from someone else. It was light pink with frilly edges, entirely at odds with her usual serious demeanor.

“You’re really committed to this, huh?” you teased when you saw her at the door.

“Don’t make me regret this,” she’d muttered, her cheeks tinged with color as she stepped inside.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re going to be fine. Just follow my lead.”

Minjeong exhaled, rolling up her sleeves with dramatic determination. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“First step,” you began, pointing to the flour, “measure out two cups of flour and sift it into the bowl.”

She nodded seriously, grabbing the bag of flour. With one strong motion, she tipped it over the measuring cup. A white cloud puffed up instantly, coating her hands and the counter in a fine layer of flour. Minjeong froze, her eyes wide.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” you said, biting back a laugh as you grabbed a dishcloth to clean up the excess.

“Why does it get everywhere?” she muttered, glaring at the flour as though it had personally wronged her.

“It’s part of the process,” you said, smiling. “Baking is messy, but that’s what makes it fun.”

Minjeong didn’t look convinced, but she carefully measured out the flour again, this time with exaggerated precision. You handed her the sifter, and she hesitated before shaking it over the bowl. When a fine, snowy stream of flour fell neatly into place, she brightened visibly.

“See? You’re a natural,” you said encouragingly.

She gave you a skeptical look but allowed a small smile to tug at her lips. “What’s next?”

“Next, we add the baking powder and salt.” You gestured to the small bowls of pre-measured ingredients. “Just toss them in.”

This part went smoothly, and Minjeong seemed to regain a bit of confidence. That is, until you handed her the mixing spoon.

“Okay, now we cream the butter and sugar together,” you instructed. “It’s all about getting the texture just right.”

Minjeong eyed the bowl of softened butter suspiciously. “This doesn’t look right to me already.”

“It’ll look better when you mix it,” you assured her.

She dipped the spoon into the bowl and began stirring with what could only be described as excessive enthusiasm. Butter and sugar flew out of the bowl, splattering onto the counter and her shirt. You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer.

“Minjeong, stop! You’re going to redecorate my kitchen at this rate,” you said, clutching your stomach.

She paused, her face a mixture of embarrassment and determination. “I thought you said baking was relaxing!”

“It is,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “For people who aren’t trying to stir like they’re fighting for their lives.”

Minjeong groaned but started laughing along with you. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”

“Not hopeless,” you said, moving closer to take the spoon from her. “Just… enthusiastic. Here, let me show you.”

Your hands brushed against hers as you guided the spoon, and Minjeong’s breath hitched slightly. The moment lingered just a second too long before she cleared her throat and stepped back, letting you take over. Her ears were tinted pink, but she tried to focus on your demonstration.

“See? Gentle but consistent,” you said, glancing at her with a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Minjeong watched you work, her gaze softening. There was something about the way you moved—so at ease in this environment—that made her chest tighten. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so freely, or felt this at peace.

“Your turn,” you said, handing the spoon back to her.

This time, Minjeong took her time, carefully folding the ingredients together. The butter and sugar began to blend into a creamy mixture, and she shot you a triumphant look.

“I did it!” she said, grinning.

“See? I told you you’d be fine,” you said, nudging her playfully.

The rest of the process went more smoothly, though there were still a few hiccups—like when Minjeong accidentally cracked an egg too hard and had to fish out the shell, or when she forgot to set the timer for the cookies and nearly burned the first batch. But each mistake was met with laughter, and by the end of the evening, the kitchen smelled like warm vanilla and chocolate.

As the two of you sat at the table, sharing the fruits of your labor, you noticed how Minjeong’s shoulders seemed more relaxed, her usual corporate stiffness replaced by a quiet contentment.

“You know,” she said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in years.”

“That’s the power of baking,” you said with a smile. “And maybe the company helped a little, too.”

Minjeong’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world outside your small kitchen seemed to fade away. She reached for another cookie, but her hand brushed yours instead, making both of you freeze.

“Sorry,” she murmured, pulling back quickly.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your cheeks warm. The air between you felt charged, but neither of you dared to break the spell.

Eventually, Minjeong cleared her throat and stood, gathering the plates. “I should probably get going. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” you said, standing as well. “Thanks for… you know, being a good sport about all this.”

She chuckled, brushing flour off her shirt. “Thanks for not giving up on me after the… butter incident.”

As she walked to the door, she hesitated, turning back to look at you. “I… I had a really good time tonight. Thank you.”

“Me too,” you said, your smile genuine. “Maybe next time we’ll try something easier. Like cupcakes.”

Minjeong laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You sighed as you stood at the office entrance, peering out at the relentless downpour. Of course, today of all days, your car was in the shop for maintenance.

“Looks like you’re stuck,” a familiar voice said behind you. Turning, you saw Minjeong, dressed impeccably in her usual business attire, holding a large black umbrella in one hand and her bag in the other. Her sharp eyes softened as they landed on your slightly disheveled figure.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing awkwardly. “Guess I didn’t plan for this.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her lips curving into a small smile. “Your car’s still at the shop, right?”

You nodded, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, it’s been a pain this week.”

“Come on,” she said, already reaching into her bag for her keys. “I’ll drive you home. No sense in getting drenched.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” she interrupted gently. “It’s not out of my way. Besides, you’ll owe me one.”

You hesitated, glancing back out at the rain. It was falling harder now, and you really didn’t want to ruin your clothes—or catch a cold. With a sigh of resignation, you nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Minjeong.”

She smiled, leading you to her sleek black car parked nearby. The rain intensified as you reached it, and she quickly opened the passenger door for you before darting around to the driver’s side. Once inside, the warmth of the car was a welcome contrast to the chilly storm outside.

Minjeong started the engine, the soft purr filling the enclosed space as she adjusted the heater. “Comfortable?” she asked, glancing at you.

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, buckling your seatbelt. “This is really nice of you.”

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Consider it part of my duties as your manager.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I didn’t realize driving employees home was in your job description.”

“Only for special cases,” she teased, pulling out onto the rain-slicked streets.

The streets were quieter than usual, most people having already sought shelter from the rain. The rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers and the soft hum of the car’s engine filled the silence between you. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though; there was something peaceful about sitting beside Minjeong, the world outside muted by the storm.

“It’s rare to see rain like this in the city,” you commented after a while, your voice breaking the stillness.

Minjeong glanced at you, her eyes warm. “It is. But I don’t mind it. There’s something calming about it, don’t you think?”

You smiled. “I guess so. As long as I’m not caught in it without a ride.”

She chuckled softly, her laughter low and melodic. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence again, the rain forming a soothing backdrop. Then Minjeong’s voice broke through, quieter this time. “You know, it’s… nice. Spending time like this.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. “Yeah, it is,” you agreed softly. “I guess we’ve both been so busy that it’s hard to just… slow down.”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “That’s the city for you. Everyone’s always moving, always rushing to the next thing. Sometimes I feel like I’m running just to keep up.”

Her words struck a chord, and you found yourself nodding. “I know what you mean. It’s easy to get lost in the chaos.”

Minjeong’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, her knuckles paling. “It’s harder when you’re… different.”

You turned to look at her, noticing the tension in her jaw. “Different how?”

She hesitated for a moment before exhaling slowly, her breath visible in the cool air. “Being an alpha in a place like this… it’s not easy. There’s so much expectation, so much pressure to… control everything. To suppress instincts, to fit into this mold of what’s ‘acceptable.’”

Her confession caught you off guard. Minjeong always seemed so composed, so in control. Hearing her admit to struggling with her alpha nature made her feel more… human.

“I’ve always wondered about that,” you admitted. “How you manage to stay so calm and professional all the time.”

Minjeong gave a small, rueful laugh. “It’s a balancing act. Most people don’t realize how much energy it takes. How much I… how much I’ve had to suppress to keep that image.”

Your heart ached at her words. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” she said quietly. “But it’s what’s expected. Alphas are supposed to be strong, reliable, in control. There’s no room for mistakes, no room to… just be.”

The vulnerability in her voice was striking, and you felt a sudden surge of protectiveness. “You know, Minjeong,” you said gently, “you don’t always have to be perfect. It’s okay to let yourself feel things. To let yourself… be human.”

She looked at you then, her eyes searching yours. The rain blurred the edges of the world outside, leaving only the two of you in focus. “It’s hard,” she admitted. “Especially when…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though debating whether to continue.

“When what?” you prompted gently.

Minjeong hesitated before speaking, her voice barely audible over the rain. “Especially when someone’s scent makes it harder to keep everything in check.”

Your breath caught, the meaning behind her words sinking in. “Minjeong…”

She looked away, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Sorry. That was… probably too much.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s okay. I just didn’t realize…”

“That you affect me?” she finished for you, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yeah.”

Minjeong smiled faintly, her expression softening. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. If anything, it’s… grounding. Comforting, even.”

Her words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the heater. You didn’t know what to say, so you settled for a small smile. “I’m glad.”

The rest of the drive was quieter, but the silence between you felt different now—charged with unspoken emotions. By the time Minjeong pulled up to your apartment building, the rain had eased to a gentle drizzle, the sky still heavy with clouds.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt, your voice softer than before.

Minjeong nodded, her gaze lingering on you. "Anytime," she said. "Really."

You hesitated for a moment, the warmth of the conversation still wrapping around you. Finally, you gave her a small smile. "Goodnight, Minjeong."

"Goodnight, Y/N," she replied, her voice carrying an unfamiliar softness.

As you stepped out of the car and into the drizzle, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted. Minjeong waited until you were safely inside before driving off, her car disappearing into the rain-soaked night. Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, your heart still racing.

The office was bustling as usual, a midweek rush that had everyone scrambling to meet deadlines. You were no exception, rushing from one end of the office to the other, juggling an armful of documents and a coffee mug you had precariously balanced on top of the stack.

“Y/N, do you need a hand with that?” someone called, but you waved them off with a distracted smile.

“No, I’m good!” you replied, already halfway to your desk.

Minjeong, seated at her desk across the room, glanced up from her laptop at the sound of your voice. Her sharp eyes tracked your movements, a hint of amusement on her face as she watched you maneuver through the sea of desks like a busy bee.

She had been keeping an eye on you more often lately, though she wasn’t sure if it was her alpha instincts or something else entirely. Either way, she couldn’t help but smile softly when you finally made it to your desk, setting the pile down with a triumphant huff.

But just as you turned to head toward the breakroom, chaos unfolded in the blink of an eye.

One of the office assistants, rushing by with a loaded cart of supplies, misjudged the narrow space near the staircase. The cart clipped the corner of your desk, sending its contents tumbling. You instinctively stepped back to avoid the spill, but the assistant, flustered and off-balance, accidentally bumped into you.

The world seemed to tilt as you stumbled backward, the edge of the staircase suddenly far too close. Your heart leapt into your throat as your heel missed the step, and you felt yourself start to fall.

“Y/N!”

Before you could process what was happening, strong arms wrapped around you, yanking you back from the brink. The momentum sent both of you tumbling onto the floor, but Minjeong’s body cushioned your fall.

The office fell into stunned silence. Everyone froze, eyes wide as they processed what had just happened.

“Are you okay?” Minjeong’s voice was low and urgent, her breath warm against your ear. Her arms remained firmly around you, as if afraid to let go.

You nodded shakily, your hands clutching at her blazer for support. “Y-Yeah. I think so.”

Her eyes scanned you, sharp and precise, searching for any sign of injury. When she was satisfied that you were unharmed, her gaze shifted, hardening as it landed on the assistant who had caused the commotion.

“What were you thinking?” she snapped, her tone cutting through the room like a blade.

The assistant stammered, their face pale. “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

A low growl rumbled in Minjeong’s chest, primal and protective, sending a chill through the room. The sound was quiet but unmistakable, and it made everyone within earshot tense. Even the assistant, who had been scrambling to pick up the spilled supplies, froze in place.

“Minjeong,” you whispered, your voice gentle but firm. “I’m okay. It’s fine.”

Her growl subsided at the sound of your voice, her grip on you loosening slightly. She exhaled deeply, the tension in her shoulders easing as she looked down at you.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her tone softening but still tinged with concern.

You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “I promise. Thank you for catching me.”

Minjeong blinked, as though coming back to herself. She realized then that she was still holding you, her arms wrapped securely around your waist. Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly helped you to your feet, clearing her throat.

“I…sorry,” she muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“It’s okay,” you said, your smile turning playful. “You kind of saved my life, you know.”

Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smile forming despite her embarrassment. “Just doing my job.”

As the tension in the room began to dissipate, your coworkers slowly returned to their tasks, though not without casting curious glances in your direction. The assistant apologized profusely before hurriedly cleaning up the mess, clearly eager to avoid Minjeong’s wrath.

You crouched down to help pick up the scattered papers, but Minjeong stopped you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“Let them handle it,” she said firmly. “You should sit down and rest.”

“Minjeong, I’m fine,” you insisted, but the look in her eyes told you there was no arguing with her.

“Please,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost pleading.

The softness in her tone caught you off guard, and you relented with a small nod. She guided you back to your desk, her hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before she stepped away to check on the situation.

For the rest of the day, Minjeong stayed close, her presence a constant source of reassurance. Whenever you caught her glancing in your direction, her eyes filled with concern, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest.

And though you didn’t say it out loud, a part of you felt safer knowing she was there.

The days had grown longer and more vibrant since Minjeong and Y/N’s near accident on the stairs. Minjeong had become more protective than ever, though she masked it with her usual calm demeanor. But something had shifted between them. The air felt heavier when they were together, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of them was ready to address fully—until today.

Minjeong stood by her office window, staring out at the city skyline. She had been rehearsing her words all morning, a coffee mug clutched tightly in her hand. Her assistant had noticed the alpha’s uncharacteristic hesitation and wisely decided not to interrupt her.

“You’ve got this,” Minjeong muttered to herself. She took a deep breath, set her mug down, and strode confidently out of her office. But as soon as she approached Y/N’s desk, her composure wavered. The omega was typing away, her brow furrowed in concentration, and Minjeong couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Y/N?” Minjeong’s voice came out softer than she intended. Y/N looked up, her expression brightening immediately.

“Oh, hey, Minjeong. What’s up?”

The alpha shifted on her feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how many people were around. She cleared her throat. “Can we talk? Privately?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Sure. Just let me finish this email.”

A few moments later, they were tucked away in an empty conference room. Minjeong closed the door behind them, her heart pounding.

“Is everything okay?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Minjeong said quickly, then winced at how abrupt she sounded. She took another deep breath, willing herself to calm down. “Actually, I… I wanted to ask you something.”

Y/N tilted her head, curiosity replacing her concern. “Okay?”

“Would you… would you like to go out for coffee with me?” Minjeong’s words came out in a rush, her cheeks tinging pink. “I mean, just the two of us. Not as coworkers. Just as… us.”

Y/N blinked, her lips parting in surprise. For a moment, Minjeong feared she had misread everything. But then, a slow smile spread across Y/N’s face, and she nodded.

“I’d like that,” Y/N said softly.

Relief flooded through Minjeong, and she couldn’t stop the grin that broke across her face. “Great. How about tonight?”

Y/N’s smile widened. “Tonight sounds perfect.”

The coffee shop Minjeong chose was cozy and tucked away in a quieter part of the city. It was the kind of place where people came to unwind, with warm lighting, soft jazz music playing in the background, and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Minjeong had arrived early, her nerves getting the better of her.

She had just finished checking her reflection in her phone screen for the tenth time when Y/N walked in. The sight of her took Minjeong’s breath away. Y/N wasn’t dressed in her usual office attire but in a casual sweater and jeans that somehow made her look even more stunning.

“Hey,” Y/N said, smiling as she approached the table.

“Hey,” Minjeong replied, standing awkwardly before motioning for Y/N to sit. “You look… great.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You do too.”

They ordered their drinks, and for a while, the conversation was light and easy. They talked about work, the rainstorm earlier in the week, and the latest office gossip. But as the evening wore on, the conversation turned more personal.

“I’ve always loved coffee shops like this,” Y/N said, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “They remind me of home.”

“Home?” Minjeong asked, leaning forward.

Y/N nodded. “I grew up in a small town. There was this little café where everyone would gather. It’s where I first started baking, actually. The owner let me use the kitchen after hours to experiment with recipes.”

Minjeong smiled, picturing a younger Y/N covered in flour and determinedly mixing batter. “That sounds… nice. Peaceful.”

“It was,” Y/N said wistfully. “But I wanted more than a small-town life. So, I moved here. It’s been good, but sometimes I miss how simple things were back then.”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “I get that. The city can be overwhelming, especially when you feel like you have to constantly prove yourself.”

Y/N looked at her, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Is that how you feel?”

Minjeong hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Being an alpha in a corporate world like ours… it’s complicated. People expect you to be strong, assertive, always in control. But sometimes, I just want to… not have to be any of those things.”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Minjeong admitted. “But then there are moments that make it worth it. Moments like this.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her cheeks flushing. “Minjeong…”

The alpha shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Sorry, that probably sounded cheesy.”

“No,” Y/N said quickly, her voice earnest. “It didn’t. I… I’m glad you asked me out tonight.”

Minjeong’s smile widened. “Me too.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking, the hours slipping away unnoticed. By the time they left the café, the city was quiet, the streets glistening under the soft glow of streetlights. Minjeong insisted on driving Y/N home again, and this time, the car ride was filled with comfortable silence and shared smiles.

When they reached Y/N’s apartment building, Minjeong walked her to the door.

“Thanks for tonight,” Y/N said, her voice soft.

“Thank you,” Minjeong replied. “I… really enjoyed it.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “Me too.”

For a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading away. Then Y/N leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Minjeong’s cheek. “Goodnight, Minjeong.”

The alpha’s heart raced as she watched Y/N disappear into the building, her hand unconsciously brushing the spot where Y/N’s lips had touched her skin. She stood there for a moment longer, a smile spreading across her face.

Tonight had been perfect.

The day began like any other—files to review, meetings to attend, and the faint aroma of coffee and paper wafting through the office. Y/N was unusually quiet that morning, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a subtle tenseness that Minjeong couldn’t ignore. Though Y/N smiled politely when spoken to, her eyes seemed distant, her body language subdued.

Minjeong noticed immediately. She always did.

From her office, she watched Y/N shuffle through her tasks with uncharacteristic sluggishness. Something was wrong, and the faint prickling of her alpha instincts told her it was more than just a bad day. She tried to focus on her own work, but her gaze kept drifting to Y/N’s desk. It wasn’t until the omega abruptly stood, gripping the edge of her desk for support, that Minjeong’s concern sharpened into alarm.

Y/N’s scent shifted—a faint, sweet warmth that drifted into the air, growing stronger by the second. Minjeong stiffened, her instincts roaring to attention as she recognized the telltale signs of an omega entering an unexpected heat. Around the office, other alphas subtly straightened, their noses twitching as they picked up on the scent. Minjeong’s jaw clenched.

She was out of her office in seconds, crossing the floor to Y/N’s desk. “Y/N,” she said softly, her voice low enough to avoid drawing attention but firm enough to cut through Y/N’s haze.

Y/N turned to her, her eyes glassy and unfocused. “I… I think…” Her voice wavered, and she swayed slightly on her feet.

“Come with me,” Minjeong said, stepping closer. She gently placed a hand on Y/N’s arm, steadying her. The touch seemed to ground the omega, and she nodded, leaning into Minjeong’s support. Minjeong’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in Y/N’s expression, but she pushed it aside. Right now, Y/N needed her.

The other employees were starting to notice, their whispers and curious glances only heightening Minjeong’s urgency. Without a word, she guided Y/N toward the elevators, shielding her from prying eyes with her own body. When a junior alpha from accounting started to approach, Minjeong shot them a warning glare, a low growl rumbling in her chest. The other alpha froze, then wisely retreated.

Once inside the elevator, Minjeong pressed the button for the top floor. The building had a few unused executive suites that were kept locked and private. It was the safest place she could think of.

Y/N’s breathing was shallow, her face flushed as she leaned heavily against the elevator wall. Minjeong stayed close but kept her hands to herself, knowing how overwhelming physical contact could be during a heat.

“We’re almost there,” she murmured, her voice steady and calming. Y/N’s eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment, Minjeong thought she saw a flicker of gratitude.

The elevator dinged, and Minjeong led Y/N down the empty hallway to one of the locked suites. She used her master keycard to unlock the door, ushering Y/N inside before closing it firmly behind them. The room was quiet and spacious, with a plush couch and large windows overlooking the city.

“Sit,” Minjeong said gently, gesturing to the couch. Y/N obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a soft sigh. Her scent was stronger now, filling the room with a warmth that made Minjeong’s pulse quicken. She forced herself to focus, setting her bag down and taking a step back to give Y/N space.

“Do you need anything?” Minjeong asked, keeping her voice soft. “Water? A blanket?”

Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the couch. “I… I didn’t think it would happen here,” she said, her voice thick with embarrassment. “It’s never been so sudden before.”

“It’s okay,” Minjeong said firmly. “You’re safe. Just focus on breathing, alright?”

Y/N nodded, closing her eyes as she tried to steady herself. Minjeong watched her carefully, her own instincts warring within her. The protective urge to stay close was almost overwhelming, but she knew better than to act on it. Y/N needed comfort, not pressure.

After a few moments, Y/N’s breathing evened out slightly, though her flushed cheeks and the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead betrayed the intensity of her heat. “I… I’m sorry for causing a scene,” she said quietly, not meeting Minjeong’s eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” Minjeong said immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a weak smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Minjeong’s expression softened. “Not always. But I mean it. You don’t have to feel bad for something you can’t control.”

For a while, the two of them sat in silence, the tension in the room slowly easing. Minjeong stayed by the door, her arms crossed as she kept a careful eye on Y/N. Despite the situation, there was something oddly comforting about being here with her, away from the chaos of the office. It felt… intimate, in a way that Minjeong hadn’t expected.

“Minjeong?” Y/N’s voice broke the quiet.

“Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. “Thank you. For helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if… if you weren’t there.”

Minjeong’s chest tightened, a warm ache spreading through her. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said softly. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Y/N looked up at her then, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. For a moment, the room felt impossibly small, the air between them charged with something neither of them dared to name. Then Y/N’s lips curved into a faint smile, and the tension eased, replaced by a quiet understanding.

“You should get some rest,” Minjeong said, clearing her throat. “I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on things.”

Y/N nodded, leaning back against the couch with a tired sigh. As her eyes fluttered shut, Minjeong settled into a chair by the door, her posture relaxed but alert. She knew the next few hours would be long, but she didn’t mind. Protecting Y/N, keeping her safe—it felt right. Natural.

Minjeong found herself anxiously smoothing down her blazer for what felt like the hundredth time. She stood outside a cozy café nestled in the quieter part of the city, a place Y/N had chosen for their second date. Their first official outing had gone better than Minjeong could have hoped. But today felt different. She could feel the weight of words she’d been holding back pressing heavily on her chest.

“Minjeong!” Y/N’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. Turning, Minjeong saw her walking up the cobblestone path, a soft smile playing on her lips. She wore a light sweater that made her look impossibly warm and approachable. Minjeong’s heart did a somersault, the kind that left her both exhilarated and terrified.

“Y/N,” Minjeong greeted, her voice softer than she intended. She held the door open, and they stepped inside together.

The café was a charming little nook, its walls lined with bookshelves and fairy lights. The gentle hum of conversation filled the air, mingling with the rich scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries. They found a quiet corner, and as they settled into their seats, Minjeong couldn’t help but notice how Y/N’s eyes sparkled when she looked around.

“This place is lovely,” Y/N said, her hands wrapping around the warm cup of tea the barista had just placed in front of her. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here before.”

Minjeong nodded, watching her as she spoke. She loved how Y/N’s voice carried a gentle lilt, how her presence seemed to soften even the sharpest edges of Minjeong’s restless mind.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” Minjeong said, a teasing glint in her eyes. “But I agree. It’s... cozy.”

Y/N chuckled softly, and for a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks. Minjeong felt the tension in her shoulders ease, but the words she needed to say lingered at the back of her throat, refusing to come out. It wasn’t until Y/N leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand and looking at her with those impossibly kind eyes, that Minjeong realized she couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice hesitant. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Oh? What is it?”

Minjeong hesitated, her fingers tightening around her coffee cup. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I... I like you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “A lot. More than I think I even realized at first.”

Y/N’s smile grew, and she leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable for a moment. Minjeong’s heart pounded in the silence that followed, her mind racing with every worst-case scenario.

“You’re really bad at hiding it, you know,” Y/N finally said, her tone playful. “I’ve known for a while.”

Minjeong blinked, stunned. “You... knew?”

“Of course I did.” Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’re not exactly subtle, Minjeong. The lingering stares, the way you always find excuses to be near me... It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

Minjeong felt her face heat up, and she ducked her head slightly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was waiting for you to,” Y/N admitted, her voice softening. “I didn’t want to rush you. Besides, I liked seeing you figure it out on your own. It made it feel... genuine.”

Minjeong looked up, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. There was no teasing in her gaze now, only warmth and sincerity. Something inside Minjeong eased, and for the first time, she allowed herself to smile fully.

“I don’t know why I was so scared,” Minjeong said, her voice barely audible. “I just... didn’t want to ruin what we have. You’re important to me.”

Y/N reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on Minjeong’s. “And you’re important to me, too. More than you probably realize.”

The gentle weight of Y/N’s hand against hers sent a wave of warmth through Minjeong, and she squeezed it lightly. For a moment, the world outside the café faded away, leaving only the two of them in their little corner of peace.

As they left the café, the cool evening air greeted them. They walked side by side, the city’s lights casting a soft glow around them. When they reached Y/N’s building, she turned to Minjeong, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“Thank you for tonight,” Y/N said. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too,” Minjeong replied, her voice gentle. She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “Y/N... can I—?”

Y/N didn’t let her finish. Smiling, she closed the small distance between them, standing on her toes to press a soft, lingering kiss to Minjeong’s lips. It was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but when Minjeong responded, cupping Y/N’s face with trembling hands, it deepened into something that felt like a promise.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N’s eyes were bright, and Minjeong felt like she could conquer the world. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Y/N said softly, her voice laced with something Minjeong couldn’t quite place but knew she never wanted to lose.

Minjeong nodded, unable to keep the smile off her face. “Tomorrow.”

As she walked away, Minjeong felt lighter than she had in years. She didn’t just feel like an alpha or a manager or a woman trying to navigate the complexities of life in the city. She felt like someone who had finally found home.

The soft hum of the oven filled Minjeong’s cozy apartment, mingling with the warm aroma of freshly baked cookies. It was a stark contrast to the quiet professionalism that usually defined their weekdays at the office. Here, away from deadlines and meetings, the world felt smaller, simpler—just the two of them, and a batch of chocolate chip cookies.

Y/N stood at the counter, hands dusted with flour as she worked dough into perfectly round shapes. Her laugh was light as she glanced over at Minjeong, who was struggling with her own misshapen attempts.

“How do you make it look so easy?” Minjeong grumbled, holding up a lumpy ball of dough that barely resembled a circle. Her lips were slightly pursed in concentration, but her cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“Years of practice,” Y/N teased, leaning closer to inspect Minjeong’s work. “But hey, this one’s not bad.” She picked up the lopsided creation and held it between her fingers. “See? Almost perfect.”

“Almost?” Minjeong raised a playful eyebrow. “Harsh.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes sparkling as she turned back to her tray. “You’ll get there. Eventually.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face. She set down her latest attempt and stepped closer to Y/N, brushing her hands on her apron. “You’re just showing off now.”

“And?” Y/N smirked, her tone light and teasing.

The playful banter filled the room, a rhythm they had fallen into so naturally that it felt like second nature. It was hard to believe that just months ago, Minjeong had been too nervous to even compliment Y/N’s cookies at work. Now, she was elbow-deep in cookie dough, laughing at her own failures with someone who had become the most important part of her life.

Minjeong reached over and stole a small pinch of dough from Y/N’s tray. Before Y/N could protest, Minjeong popped it into her mouth with a smug look.

“Minjeong!” Y/N gasped, her hands on her hips. “You’re going to throw off the balance!”

“I’ll risk it,” Minjeong said, her voice muffled by the dough. She grinned and leaned on the counter, watching as Y/N shook her head, half-exasperated and half-amused.

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, but her tone lacked any real heat.

Minjeong’s gaze softened as she watched Y/N’s smile linger, even as she pretended to scold. This was the kind of happiness Minjeong had never thought she’d find—effortless, genuine, and entirely tied to the person standing in front of her.

The oven timer beeped, pulling Minjeong from her thoughts. Y/N moved to grab a mitt and carefully pulled out the tray, setting it on the counter. The cookies were golden brown, their edges crisp and centers soft. Minjeong leaned closer, inhaling deeply.

“Smells amazing,” she murmured.

“Of course it does,” Y/N replied, feigning pride. “It’s my recipe, after all.”

Minjeong chuckled and grabbed two mugs from a cabinet. “Milk or tea?” she asked, holding them up.

“Milk,” Y/N said, her tone definitive. “Cookies without milk are just sad.”

Minjeong nodded in agreement and poured two glasses of milk, setting them down on the small table in the living room. She returned to the kitchen and began transferring cookies onto a plate, doing her best to avoid the ones she’d shaped—those would stay hidden for now.

Y/N noticed and nudged her. “They all go on the plate, Minjeong. Even the… unique ones.”

“Fine,” Minjeong sighed, but she couldn’t stop smiling as she added the misshapen cookies to the plate.

Once the cookies were ready, they settled on the couch together, the plate balanced between them. Rain pattered softly against the windows, and the warm glow of a single lamp bathed the room in a cozy light. It felt like a scene out of a movie—a peaceful, domestic moment that neither of them wanted to end.

“I never thought I’d be here,” Minjeong admitted after a long stretch of comfortable silence. She glanced at Y/N, her expression thoughtful. “With someone who makes me feel so… grounded.”

Y/N looked at her, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in Minjeong’s voice. She set down her cookie and turned to face her fully. “You mean that?”

Minjeong nodded, her gaze steady. “I’ve spent so much time trying to keep my instincts in check, trying to be the kind of alpha who doesn’t make people uncomfortable. But with you…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. “I don’t feel like I have to hide anything.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled softly. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Minjeong. I like you just the way you are.”

The sincerity in her voice made Minjeong’s heart ache in the best way. She reached out, hesitating for a moment before taking Y/N’s hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Y/N squeezed her hand gently, her eyes shining with warmth. “For what?”

“For being you,” Minjeong replied. “For making me feel like I’ve finally found where I belong.”

The moment stretched between them, filled with unspoken emotions that didn’t need words. Minjeong leaned closer, her eyes flicking to Y/N’s lips for just a second before she pulled back, her cheeks pink.

Y/N chuckled, reaching for another cookie. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Minjeong groaned, covering her face with her free hand. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Y/N teased, biting into her cookie.

Despite her embarrassment, Minjeong couldn’t help but smile. She leaned back against the couch, her hand still intertwined with Y/N’s. The scent of cookies lingered in the air, mixing with the faintest trace of Y/N’s calming scent. a/n: sigh, i kinda gave up on this one halfway through😭😭 the burnout is real you guys.

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tillsfan · 17 hours ago

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“hate is easier than a word as vague as love” cards analysis

seeing sua's card, i immediately got the impression of her putting up a facade. her keeping her mouth SHUT, and holding her throat. i feel this represents sua’s dishonesty towards mizi, her deliberately hiding the truth of alien stage, yet slowly losing her composure because she knows she can't hide the truth forever. she knew her death was coming, yet she continued to force stability.

i also view her covering her neck as her actively hiding the reality, since her neck was where she got shot. she actively hid the truth of death until the end, with her forced expression and hiding the crack. she's also sweating, showing guilt towards her own actions. but sua's selfish. so she continued with her facade to make mizi happy. her extensive blush compared to the others, her lack of tears, the severity of her cracks.. does this make sense. this whole card symbolizes both her dishonesty and her selfish nature

mizi's card is interesting. first of all, her crack is where sua's blood splattered on her. as sua died, she was still smiling, like it took her a second to process what was going on. you can tell she's suffering, she's literally holding herself together, yet she puts on a smile. i feel her card shows that she is processing things later than others, possibly continuing to avoid the reality of sua's death, because ignorance is all she knows. it's as if she's trying to remain positive, to remain that false light of hope, instead of grieving like a normal person. maybe not outwardly, because we know mizi was pretty closed off after sua’s death—but maybe she’s trying to convince herself. convince herself that she can save everyone, giving herself that false hope. sua's deciet did stunt mizi's growth after all.

mizi’s color scheme here is pink, and while it could be said that it’s just because it’s her signature color, i feel it’s something deeper. it can symbolize the “rose-tinted glasses” she had on, as her perception of anakt and alien stage was an idealized/perfected version. we know she never knew the reality of alien stage before it was forced to hit her like a truck. though, her eyes and tears are a very noticeable blue, which i perceive as the reality and grief finally seeping through her perfect world.

i am posting an individual mizisua analysis tomorrow. i want to delve deeper into them outside of just these cards.. so sorry that theirs is quite short

ivan's card is a great contrast to mizi's and sua's. ivan is very visually suffering, he's in severe distress. ivan's card represents his overflowing of inner emotions, as he kept them in all his life. he hid them, let them bubble up inside until they boiled over. we know ivan has learned to keep up a facade, hiding his true childish, selfish and intense nature. he kept his intense emotions for till hidden all his life, and when he was finally about to die, he went all out. his final actions were almost like he was venting, letting everything pour out at once because he never made them prevalent. he let out his affection and hatred he's held for till all his life in the span of a few seconds.

his color scheme is also pure red. colors in alien stage hold great meaning, and red is often associated with intensity and rebellion. the colors here can represent both his intense overwhelming emotions, and his hidden resentment towards till. you can also piece that together with his expression, he seems very clearly frustrated. all in all, ivan's card represents many things. how he hid his emotions until they became overwhelming, and his overall conflicting feelings towards till.

ivan's crack is also across his face, furthering the idea of him holding up a false persona. the hearts are pooling out from both ends, representing the burdening amount of emotion he's had to keep inside. he felt his emotions were different, shallow, therefore he chose to hold them in until it killed him. he's also actively holding himself together, showing the struggle he felt hiding himself.

the first most noticeable thing is the crack placement. his crack is where ivan has always touched him, ivan had a habit of caressing till's cheek, which was the most gentle gesture he ever gave. till is very clearly mourning ivan here, and was well aware of ivan's presence throughout his life. ivan was his stability, in a way. now that ivan isn't there to hold him, he's falling apart. it almost feels like a missed opportunity on till's end, his feelings finally being recognized only after ivan left him.

till's expression is very conflicting, his eyes being unevenly opened and his mouth tilting in difierent ways. this can represent how lost he feels without ivan. this could also represent how he doesn't know how to feel at ALL, seeing as how he had such a small amount of time to even grieve ivan's death, and how he never properly confronted his feelings towards ivan. he has shielded himself from the reality of ivan all his life. this can also be seen with how his hands are LITERALLY shielding his head. till's coping mechanism is avoidance, he deeply fears intimacy, so he chased after someone he knew he could never obtain (mizi). he avoided ever confronting how he truly felt about ivan, because if he did, he knew he had the chance of losing someone close to him again. but avoiding ivan's reality didn't change the fact they were really close. till cares. till cared so much that it led to his demise.

till's color scheme is blue, visualizing the deep sorrow engulfing till. throughout round 7, till was heavily distressed and upset, his feelings overpowering his ability to properly perform, leading to his loss. till does not know how to confront sadness, seeing as how he let it submerge him in round 6 as well. he's very mentally weak DUE to his avoidance + fear of vulnerability in both relationships and his own emotions. he never allowed himself to properly get close to anyone, he couldn't develop the mental strength needed to survive.

#alien stage #alnst #alnst analysis #alnst till #alnst ivan #alnst sua #alnst mizi #alien stage till #alien stage sua #alien stage ivan #alien stage mizi

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babyangelsky · 2 days ago

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My Favorite Performances of 2024 💖✨

Welcome to Babyangelsky's 2024 Wrap Up! To commemorate my second year of watching QL dramas, and my first year of actually talking on my blog, I've compiled a series of lists to celebrate all the QL things I loved this year!

Please feel free to take my categories and make lists of your own and tag me in them if you do!

💜 All the lists can be found here! 💜

AKA, the "I Love Everything You Do With Your Face" awards. I mostly mean that figuratively but I also mean it literally because expressions are my favorite part of acting. However, it isn't only expressions that make a performance stand out to me.

♡ Chris Chiu & Kurt Huang (Unknown)

It's been months and I can still hear Chris' scream in this scene. It was gutwrenching. It hurt. Some actors are great with expressions, some with line delivery, but Chris is all-rounder. He acts with his entire body. The control this man has over his microexpressions and his body language is incredible to watch.

And Kurt is no slouch either. This man can create tension by simply entering a scene. He draws focus even when he's in the background. There's this intensity to the way he uses his eyes that almost makes you hold your breath. He's mesmerizing.

♡ Benjamin Tsang & Liu Dong Qin (The On1y One)

The sheer number of times I had to pause every episode of this show to have a breakdown about how much I loved this man's face and what he was doing with it. I'm obsessed and in love with him and his microexpressions.

The effect that Benjamin's face has on me can only be matched by the effect this man's voice has on me. He's so careful with his line delivery. He injects the perfect amount of emotion and nuance and breath into everything he says and keeps you hanging on every word.

♡ Fort Thitipong & Peat Wasuthorn (Love Sea)

I was so enamored with every single little thing that Fort and Peat did with their faces as Mahasamut and Tongrak that from the second episode onward, I posted about my favorite expressions every single week starting with this scene.

So much of acting is in an actor's expressions and body language and the two of them embodied these characters so well that you could always tell exactly what they were feeling and thinking.Their acting in Love Sea was leaps and bounds ahead of where it was in LITA and I am so proud of them both.

♡ Kim Nu Rim & Lee Sun (Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo)

I truly believe that there are only really two reasons why something is difficult to watch: either it's done poorly or it's done well. This show is an example of the latter.

Everything is done well. It was done so well and acted so beautifully, in fact, that it was brutal to watch almost the entire way through. Do Hoe's expression upon seeing his reflection in the mirror as he contemplated killing his father is something that's going to stick with me for years.

As is Ju Yeong taking off his cross necklace so he could confess to Do Hoe through the wall. It's absolutely insane to think that this was Lee Sun's first lead role. He did a spectacular job.

♡ Kamimura Kenshin (Our Youth)

This. Man's. Eyes. The way he can go from showing the most devastating, heartbreaking vulnerability to being the sultriest little minx you've ever seen would piss me off if I wasn't so delighted and impressed by it. He's intoxicating to watch. I've thought about that popsicle scene and the "infect me" line every single day since I first watched them.

♡ Becky Armstrong (The Loyal Pin)

Becky's portrayal of Anin was rich and nuanced and complex and I loved it. She was able to strike such a great balance between being so bold and ballsy when Anin was standing up for herself, being soft and loving with Pin, and being regal and intimidating when the situation called for it.

That scene at Pin and Kuea's engagement? Hoooo boy. Magnificent.

♡ Bible Wichapas & Fuaiz Thanawat (4 Minutes)

I waited so long to have Bible back on my screen and he did not disappoint. Great was a character that experienced a lot of fucked up things and complex emotions about those things and Bible was able to portray all of them beautifully. The way he carried himself as both versions of Great and how he interacted with his environment and other characters was a delight to see.

As for Fuaiz, every time I see him his acting gets better and better and I have a feeling that's not gonna stop any time soon. We got him in two roles this year and seeing him go from sweet innocent White in DFF to tormented, grieving, seductive Tonkla in 4 Minutes was a treat. He shined so much in this series. He drew you in, made you feel for him, made you root for him. Just an incredible job all around, I'm genuinely so proud of him.

♡ Lee Tae Vin (Love for Love's Sake)

From the very beginning of this show, it was so clear how much care Lee Tae Vin put into his portrayal of Myung Ha and how important it was to him to do it well, especially considering his past experiences. This is an actor who loved the character he was playing and there was never a second he was on screen where that was in any doubt. He bodied this role.

♡ Top Piyawat & Mick Monthon (Every You, Every Me)

Top and Mick each played several different characters in this show, all with different dynamics between them, but X and Namping were by far my favorites. Top's portrayal of Namping was so delicate and alluring with such an undercurrent of sadness beneath it all. The POV shots were a gift.

And Mick's X was so helplessly and hopelessly entranced by him. The way he looks at Namping like he's the most breathtaking work of art he's ever seen and also like he wants to devour him with his eyes is fantastic. I love the choice to let the silence and tension simmer between them because it was in those moments that you could really feel what they felt for each other.

♡ Yin Anan & War Wanarat (Jack & Joker)

The way Yin and War tore everybody's hearts out in episode ONE and then put them back and ripped them out again and continued in that cycle for eleven more episodes is insane. These two men are spectacular criers. They're spectacular with their eyes and body language. The Jack and Joke we saw pre-time skip may as well have been different characters entirely from the Jack and Joke that existed post-time skip.

And then on top of that, War had the extra challenge of portraying different characters every time his character took on the Joker persona and they ALL FELT DISTINCT. You can always tell when an actor puts their all into a role and Yin and War did that and then some.

♡ Namtan Tipnaree (Pluto)

I will always be impressed by someone who can not only play twins but play them well and man, can Namtan do it well. The styling obviously does a lot of the heavy lifting to help distinguish the two characters but she's got the mannerisms and microexpressions down so cold that even if the styling wasn't distinctive enough, you'd still be able to tell Ai-oon and Ob-oom apart easily. Even her voice changes between the two characters. Phenomenal job all around.

♡ Kim Yun (See Your Love)

Because the character that he's portraying is deaf, Kim Yun's performance relies entirely on his expressions and body language and he is doing a beautiful job. The fight he has in the hospital with Raiden's character where he breaks down and the conversation he has with his parents are his two best scenes so far. You don't have to hear his lines to feel the emotion he puts into them.

♡ Up Poompat & Poom Phuripan (My Stand-In)

You know what I really admire? When an actor can make me want to throw a character in front of a train and then turn around and put me in all my feelings while I still hate them and then slowly make me love them. That's what what Up did with Ming and I enjoyed every moment of it. This man plays toxic SO well. Ming was the worst the entire time and I still fucking loved him because Up is just that good.

Meanwhile Poom was over here doing devastating and wonderful things with those beautiful expressive eyes of his and hurting and delighting me in equal measure. He's insanely, insanely good at acting with his eyes but there were also so many little body language moments I deeply appreciated.

♡ Force Jiratchapong & Book Kasidet (Peaceful Property)

Force and Book were really only in one part of one episode of Peaceful Property but their story made such an impact that it left everybody watching crying on the floor. Their performances as Phoom and Vicha were incredible. The brought those characters and the love between them to life in such a beautifully poignant way.

I'm so excited to see them in Melody of Secrets next year. I know they're going to do great things with a more challenging script.

#babyangelsky's 2024 wrap up #unknown the series #the on1y one #love sea #let free the curse of taekwondo #our youth #the loyal pin #4 minutes #love for love's sake #every you every me #jack and joker #pluto the series #see your love #my stand in #peaceful property

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clxrk-kent · 2 days ago

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clark kent (tom welling) x reader

The city was bustling outside the window, its lights flickering like a million tiny stars against the night sky. Inside, it was quiet, save for the sound of a clock ticking in the corner and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You sat on the couch, wrapped in a cozy blanket, your thoughts swirling as you replayed the evening.

It had been an exhausting day. You'd caught up with old friends, attended a meeting, and had a thousand thoughts to process, but the one that lingered most was the moment you and Clark Kent had shared earlier that day. You’d always felt a connection with him, a chemistry that neither of you had ever quite acknowledged—until today.

He had stopped by your apartment under the pretext of “checking in,” but you both knew it was more than that. It had been one of those rare moments when Clark allowed himself to relax, to let his guard down. You’d seen him laugh more freely than usual, heard him speak about things that weren’t related to his superhero persona, his journalistic work, or the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He was human with you.

And you could feel it—the pull between you both. It was magnetic, a quiet tension that simmered beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniable.

When the door creaked open, your heart skipped. You hadn’t expected him to come back, but there he was, looking as handsome and disarming as ever. Clark’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, his eyes softer than you remembered. He was dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and jeans, his hair tousled as if he'd just returned from a run.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, his voice low, like it always was when he was uncertain. But the way he said it, his eyes never leaving yours, told you it was anything but a casual visit.

"Not at all," you replied, your pulse quickening, betraying the calm facade you tried to maintain. "Come on in."

He stepped into the apartment, and you noticed how he seemed to exhale the weight of the world as soon as he crossed the threshold. He was always in control, always the perfect reporter, the fearless hero, but here, with you, he didn’t have to be. He could let the world spin without him for a moment.

Clark walked over to the couch and sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. You could smell the faint hint of fresh air, like he’d just flown in from somewhere. His presence was always comforting, but tonight, there was something more. His fingers brushed yours as he leaned back, the brief contact sending a shockwave through your body.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breathing, a shared, unspoken awareness hanging in the air between you.

Finally, Clark turned to you, his eyes dark and intense. “I didn’t expect this… you know, being here with you like this.”

His words were soft, almost unsure, and it struck you that despite everything he had faced, Clark Kent was just as vulnerable as anyone else. He wasn’t always the confident, invulnerable hero the world saw. With you, he was just Clark. The man you had grown to care for in ways that neither of you had openly discussed.

You met his gaze and smiled, your voice low and steady, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His lips quirked into a half-smile, but the expression quickly deepened as his eyes flickered to your lips. The world seemed to stop for a moment, the hum of the city outside the only sound, a distant reminder of everything you’d left behind to focus on the moment you were sharing now.

Slowly, as if testing the water, Clark leaned in. His breath was warm against your face, and before you could even fully process the shift, his lips were on yours—gentle at first, tentative, as if asking for permission. Your heart thudded in your chest as you kissed him back, the touch of his lips sending a rush of warmth through your veins.

He deepened the kiss, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer as he gently guided you onto his lap. The world outside seemed to fade as your body responded to his, drawn to him in a way you couldn’t control.

His hands were strong, yet careful, as if he were afraid to break something. His lips moved against yours, his kisses becoming more urgent, more passionate, as if he were trying to convey everything he had kept hidden in the depths of his heart.

You broke the kiss, breathless, your forehead resting against his. “Clark…” you whispered, your voice shaky from the intensity of the moment.

His eyes met yours, dark with desire, but also something softer—something more vulnerable. “I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he confessed in a low voice. “Not with you.”

And before you could respond, Clark pulled you back into another kiss, this time more desperate, more consuming. The world outside didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this moment, this connection. He was no longer Superman, and you were no longer just a friend—this was something else entirely. Something raw, something real.

#tom welling x reader #tom welling #superman #smallville #x reader #clark kent x y/n #one shot #clark kent x reader #clark kent #dc comics #dc universe #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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honeyncherry · 2 days ago

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Through the Looking Glass - One

Rafe Cameron x Reader

content: drinking, tension (rafe likes to look at you)

word count: 6k

prologue

The last time you set foot in a new school, you were nine years old. Your father had sent you off to a prestigious boarding school halfway across the country. Though it wasn’t a school, not really. It was more like a factory, cold and unyielding, designed to shape children from high-profile government families into the next generation of leaders and operatives. The halls were filled with future politicians, intelligence agents, and power brokers. Each was more intense, more cutthroat, and more determined than the last.

Breaks were a luxury you couldn’t afford. The instructors were strict to the point of being merciless, expecting perfection and punishing anything less. The curriculum was relentless, grinding you down and reshaping you into something sharp and efficient. There were no sleepovers or giggling with friends, no carefree afternoons in the park. Just drills, evaluations, and endless expectations. You learned quickly how to suppress your emotions, to quiet the part of you that wanted to cry or rebel.

You became what they wanted: disciplined, composed, and ready to take orders. But walking onto the University of North Carolina’s campus felt like stepping into another universe.

The differences were staggering, almost surreal. Where the boarding school had been rigid and sterile, UNC was alive, teeming with energy and freedom. Some students sprawled out on blankets under monstrous oak trees, laughing and playing games of spikeball in the sunshine, while others sat in their own study groups more focused on gossiping about who was interested in whom than working on their essays.

The buildings, their brick facades draped in ivy, stood proud yet inviting, as though welcoming you into a new chapter of your life. It was a world you’d only ever viewed from a distance, in movies or fleeting glimpses during missions. It felt chaotic, free, and utterly alien to you.

UNC wasn’t just one of the country’s top business schools; it was also renowned for its vibrant social scene. Greek Row was the epicenter of it all, alive with parties that raged late into the night, music spilling into the streets. On game days, tailgates transformed the campus into a sprawling festival, with canopies, kegs, and mini grills crowding every open space. Each weekend brought something new to celebrate, another excuse to gather and let loose. It was a world you could barely imagine fitting into, let alone navigating by yourself.

But you didn’t have to imagine. You’d been preparing for this moment for nearly a year. From the second the case file landed on your desk, you’d immersed yourself in everything UNC had to offer. You memorized its culture, its traditions, and even its most recent scandals. You knew which bars on Franklin Street were the most popular on Thursday nights, which fraternity houses held the most exclusive parties, and which sororities had the most influence. You even learned the best shortcuts through campus, routes that would let you avoid campus police or slip away unnoticed.

Your apartment was a short ten-minute walk from the heart of campus. On the surface, it seemed ordinary: a modest brick complex tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. But as you approached, the details stood out. The doorman, Johnny, was the first clue. He wasn’t just a friendly face stationed at the entrance — he was part of the agency, placed there to keep an eye on you. Whether his presence was meant to protect you or monitor you was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Either way, it offered a small sense of security in an otherwise unsettling situation.

Johnny greeted you with a polite nod as you entered, his expression neutral. You returned the gesture with a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes. It wasn’t personal; you simply couldn’t afford to let your guard down. Not here. Not yet.

The elevator ride to the third floor was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery filling the space. When the doors slid open, you stepped into a hallway lined with neutral-toned carpeting and soft overhead lighting. Your apartment was at the end of the hall. The space was small but well-appointed, with sleek, modern furniture, warm lighting, and a fully stocked kitchen. It looked nothing like the cramped dorms you’d read about in your research, where freshmen shared tiny rooms and whispered secrets late into the night.

You set your bag down just inside the door, taking a moment to absorb your surroundings. This was it. Your new life. For the next semester you wouldn’t be the girl forged in the cold, unyielding halls of your past. You’d become a confident, ambitious, college girl who blended seamlessly into this bright, chaotic world.

The girl who walked into this apartment was no longer a government agent’s daughter or a product of a childhood spent in the shadows of high-stakes operations. She was a girl who went to all the football games and studied on the quad. Someone who danced under neon lights at Sigma Chi parties and laughed too loudly with friends in the library.

At least, that’s who you needed to be.

You crossed the room and pulled open the blinds, letting the golden light of the setting sun flood the space. From here, you could see the edges of campus. Students moved in clusters, their voices carrying faintly through the evening air. Somewhere out there, Rafe Cameron was waiting.

You’d seen his face a hundred times in the photos tucked inside his dossier. From the cocky smirk, the piercing blue eyes, the sleek buzzed blonde hair, it was all etched into your memory. You knew his routines, his weaknesses, his tells. You’d studied him like a final exam, preparing for the moment you’d meet him in person. Yet, as you stared out at the campus, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach.

Because no amount of training could prepare you for what came next. This wasn’t just another assignment you sat on the sidelines of, watching every move, critiquing every wrong step. It was your very own assignment. The decade long case you were meant to crack. And this was Rafe Cameron, the key to the entire operation.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers gripping the edge of the windowsill. The world outside seemed so vibrant, so full of life, but you knew better than to get swept up in it. This wasn’t about fun or freedom. It was about the mission. The stakes were too high to let anything distract you.

You turned away from the window, the sound of your sandals clicking softly against the polished wood floors as you moved back toward your bag. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of doubt tried to take hold, but you pushed it down. You couldn’t afford doubt.

Brooke O’Brien was UNC’s very own Barbie doll. The kind of girl who seemed almost too perfect, her presence glowing with an effortless charisma that felt more polished than natural. Maybe it was her blonde curls and doll-like hazel eyes, or the way she lit up every room she entered with an energy that was both magnetic and overwhelming. Either way, she was someone people both admired and envied in equal measure.

To you, Brooke was… a lot. Too much, maybe. But that didn’t matter. She was your way in. If there was one person you needed to befriend, it was Brooke O’Brien.

When you saw her crossing the quad toward you, waving enthusiastically, you braced yourself. Her dazzling smile and quick pace made it seem like nothing could stop her.

“Wow!” she called out, her voice ringing through the crowd. “It’s so great to finally meet you!”

Before you could react, she had thrown her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Caught off guard, you hesitated for only a moment before hugging her back. If she was this excited, then so were you. Or at least, that’s what you had to make her believe.

“Totally,” you said, pulling back with your best gleaming smile. “Everyone here already seems so friendly.”

Brooke’s laugh was light and airy, the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh along even if you didn’t know what was funny. “Oh, honey, you don’t even know! UNC is, like, the friendliest place on Earth. You’re going to love it here, I promise.”

She slipped her arm through yours without hesitation, as though you’d been best friends for years, and began guiding you across the quad. Her energy was infectious, and you found yourself grateful for how easy she made it to keep up the act.

“So,” she said, turning her head to study you, “first impressions? Be honest.”

“It’s... a lot,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the bustling campus. “But in a good way.”

Brooke beamed. “That’s what I like to hear! College is supposed to be a lot. It’s all about finding yourself, you know? And trust me, UNC is the perfect place for that.”

You smiled politely, wondering if the line about "finding yourself" was something she said to everyone or if she actually believed it. Still, it was hard not to be drawn in by her enthusiasm.

As she gestured toward a row of buildings, pointing out the arts building and student union, she glanced at you curiously. “So, tell me about your last school. What was it like?”

The question was casual, but your stomach tightened all the same. You’d been preparing for this, practicing your answers until they felt natural, but it was still unnerving to hear it aloud. “Oh, it was... fine,” you said with a small shrug. “A lot smaller than this. Not as lively.”

Brooke tilted her head, her curls bouncing slightly. “Really? Where’d you go again?”

“Uh, Hawthorne College,” you said, dropping the name of the small liberal arts school the agency had assigned to your cover story. “It was nice, but it didn’t really feel like the right fit.”

Brooke nodded knowingly. “Oh, I totally get that. Sometimes you just need a fresh start, you know? That’s what I love about UNC — it’s, like, impossible not to find your people here.”

You nodded along, grateful that she didn’t press further. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

“You will,” Brooke said firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “College is all about reinventing yourself. I mean, when I got here, I was, like, so shy. Couldn’t even raise my hand in class without turning bright red.”

You raise an eyebrow, struggling to imagine Brooke as anything less than radiant and self-assured. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe not that shy,” she admits with a laugh. “But still, this college changes you. In the best way. You’ll see.”

As she leads you through the quad, Brooke chats non-stop, pointing out landmarks and weaving in bits of campus gossip like it’s second nature. You nod along, doing your best to look captivated while mentally filing away the information that might actually be useful.

Brooke’s warmth was disarming, a sharp contrast to the cold precision you’d been trained to embody since becoming a pre-teen. For a moment, you wondered if it was genuine or if everyone here wore their own kind of mask. Either way, letting your guard down wasn’t an option, not even with the sweet and charming Brooke O’Brien. Not with so much riding on this.

“That’s the library,” Brooke says, gesturing toward an imposing brick building covered in ivy. “You’ll spend way too much time there during finals. Oh, and over there—” she points to a cluster of tables shaded by oak trees, “—that’s where the serious study groups hang out. They’re, like, terrifyingly intense. But if you ever need help with a project, that’s the place to go.”

You nod, making a mental note. “Good to know.”

Brooke stops suddenly, spinning to face you with wide eyes. “Wait! I have to introduce you to my favorite place on campus.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabs your hand and pulls you toward a small café tucked into the corner of the quad. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits you as soon as you step inside, and you can’t help but feel a small pang of appreciation. For all her energy, Brooke seems genuinely excited to share this with you.

“Isn’t it cute?” she gushes, gesturing toward the mismatched chairs and cozy lighting. “I swear, their iced caramel macchiatos are life-changing. And if you ever need a good place to study, this is it.”

“Noted,” you say, allowing a small smile to slip through. It’s hard not to truly warm up to her enthusiasm, even if you’re supposed to be keeping people at arm's length.

The two of you grab drinks before heading back outside, and as you settle onto a bench near the quad, Brooke leans in conspiratorially. “Okay, so now that you’ve got the basics, it’s time for the fun stuff.”

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. “Oh?”

“My friends,” she says with a grin. “You’re going to love them. Well, most of them.”

She launched into a detailed rundown of her friend group as the two of you sat and enjoyed your drinks. You had to admit, the coffee rivaled anything you’d had in the city.

“Okay, so first there’s Maddie, she’s my best friend. She’s super sweet, but, like, don’t get on her bad side. She’ll smile while ripping you to shreds, and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

You chuckled, making a mental note of Maddie’s name.

“Then there’s Sabrina,” Brooke continued. “She’s the fun one. She can make anyone dance, even if they swear they don’t dance. Seriously, she could probably convince a statue to do the Cupid Shuffle.”

You smiled, appreciating the way Brooke’s tone shifted slightly with each new person she described. It was obvious she genuinely cared about them.

“And then there’s Liam,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “He’s... complicated. Kind of a wild card, but in a good way. He’s always down for an adventure. Like, last week, he tried to convince us all to go skydiving. At midnight. I don’t even think that’s legal.”

Your brows lifted. “Sounds interesting.”

“Oh, he is,” Brooke said with a knowing grin. “But don’t worry. He’s harmless.” She hesitated for a moment, her expression shifting slightly. “And, um, Chase. We’ve been... talking. Kind of.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up slightly. “Talking?”

“Okay, maybe more than talking,” Brooke admitted, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “He’s cute, but, like, he can be so frustrating sometimes. He has this thing where he just disappears for days and then texts me like nothing happened. But whatever. It’s not serious.”

The slight edge in her voice suggested otherwise, but you didn’t press. “He sounds... nice?”

Brooke laughed, rolling her eyes. “He is. When he wants to be.” She paused for a moment, her expression shifting. “And then there’s Rafe.”

Your heartbeat quickened at the mention of his name, but you kept your face carefully neutral. “What’s he like?”

Brooke hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “He’s complicated too. Intense, definitely. But once you get to know him, he’s one of the most loyal people you’ll ever meet.”

She took a sip of her drink, her brows knitting together. “Lately, though, he’s been in a mood. Something about a girl he was seeing. But he won’t talk about it. Anyway, he invited everyone to a sports bar tonight, so maybe he’s trying to shake it off.”

You nodded, keeping your expression casual even as your thoughts raced. A girl? That wasn’t in the file. Who was she, and what did she mean to him?

Brooke’s face brightened again, and she reached out to squeeze your arm. “You should come! It’ll be fun, and you can meet everyone.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, feigning reluctance. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Are you kidding?” Brooke laughed. “You’re not intruding. You’re with me now, and trust me, they’ll love you. Besides, I’ll pick you up, so you have no excuse.”

You let out a small laugh, unable to resist her enthusiasm. “Okay, fine. I’ll come.”

“Yay!” Brooke clapped her hands together. “This is going to be so much fun. Text me your address and I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.”

Later that evening, after carefully choosing an outfit, you stood by the window. The campus nightlife flickered to life below, a vibrant pulse that felt both foreign and inviting. When Brooke’s text came through, your breath caught for a moment before you grabbed your bag and headed down.

She waved excitedly as you approached, her pristine convertible parked at an angle, music thumping from the speakers like it was an extension of her energy.

You climbed into the passenger seat with a bright smile and as she pulled away, she launched into another flurry of conversation. This time, it was all about classes, professors, Chase, and her favorite spots on Franklin Street.

“I swear,” she said, shaking her head, “Professor Klein is the worst. Like, don’t even bother trying to win her over. Just turn in your essays on time and pray for a C.”

You laughed, relaxing slightly as Brooke’s chatter filled the car. For all her energy, there was something undeniably comforting about her. It was easy to see how she’d become the center of her friend group — and why she was exactly who you needed on your side.

When the sports bar came into view, its neon lights glowing against the night sky, Brooke turned to you with a grin. “Ready to meet the crew?”

You nodded, your stomach tightening with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

The moment you stepped inside, the bar thrummed with life, a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and thumping bass. The mingling scents of fried food and beer created a sensory overload that left you slightly off balance

This was nothing like the polished, controlled environments of stuffy dinners with your father and his colleagues. Here, the chaos was unfiltered: crop tops and cutoff shorts replaced formal evening wear, discount beer flowed from taps instead of martinis, and greasy nachos piled high replaced hors d'oeuvres served on silver platters.

Brooke led the way, weaving through the crowd like she’d done it a hundred times before, her confidence a beacon in the chaos. You followed closely, trying not to bump into too many shoulders as you glanced around, taking it all in. Groups of students laughed loudly, some leaning over the tables to shout above the music, others already swaying slightly from one too many drinks.

“Over here!” Brooke chirped, pointing toward a table in the corner where three people were already seated. As you got closer, you could make out two girls and a guy, all of them mid-conversation and laughing.

“This is them!” Brooke said, practically bouncing on her toes as she gestured to the group. “Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about.”

The girl with dark, pin-straight hair was the first to look up, her sharp look flicking over you before her lips curved into a welcoming smile. “Hey! I’m Sabrina. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” you said, returning the smile as she reached out for a quick handshake. Her grip was warm but firm, and she had this effortless confidence that instantly put you at ease.

The guy beside her leaned back in his chair, his grin easy and a little mischievous as he said, “I’m Liam. You must be the new girl Brooke’s been hyping up.”

You laughed lightly, glancing at Brooke. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry,” Liam added, raising his beer. “If you can survive Brooke, you’ll fit right in.”

“Shut up, Liam,” Brooke said with a roll of her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. “And this,” she added, gesturing toward the last girl at the table, “is Maddie.”

Maddie’s sharp gaze flicked over you, her crossed arms and measured tone making it clear she wasn’t quick to warm up. “Hey,” she said, her words as neutral as her expression.

“Hi,” you replied. Maddie didn’t smile, her silence sharper than words, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was sizing you up.

Brooke patted the seat beside her, breaking the moment. “Come on, sit! I’ll grab us drinks in a second.”

As you slid into the booth, the group’s chatter flowed easily around you. Sabrina asked about your classes, Liam cracked jokes that drew groans from Brooke, and even Maddie softened slightly, her dry humor slipping through now and then.

But as the night went on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something, or someone, was missing.

“Where’s Chase?” Brooke asked suddenly, leaning closer to Sabrina and Maddie.

Maddie smirked, tilting her head toward the bar. “Over there. He’s with Rafe.”

Your stomach tightened as you followed her eye line, scanning the crowd until your eyes found them. Chase was easy to spot, leaning against the counter, his grin wide and animated as he chatted with the bartender. He was exactly as you’d seen in the photos: open, carefree, the life of any conversation.

But the man beside him was a different story.

Rafe Cameron was the kind of person whose presence you felt before you saw him. His presence preceded him, tangible and charged, like the static before a storm. He stood at ease, resting his arms on the bartop, his sharp features caught in the dim light that carved shadows along his jawline. When his eyes found yours, it wasn’t a question, it was a statement: I see you.

The air shifted. The sounds of the bar faded into a dull hum. His intensity sent a ripple through you, one you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t expected this — not from a man you’d studied for months, memorized through pages and pages of official documents. Yet here he was, impossibly real and entirely unsettling.

There was no smile, no casual acknowledgment, just a quiet intensity that felt like it was meant to see past every carefully constructed layer.

“He’s looking at you,” Brooke murmured, her voice low and tinged with amusement as she leaned in closer.

You blinked, breaking the moment as you turned to her. “Who?”

She smirked knowingly, her view flicking back toward the bar. “Rafe. I told you, he’s intense.”

Your pulse quickened as you stole another glance. Rafe was still angled toward you, though his focus had shifted momentarily to Chase, who was speaking beside him. He didn’t respond to whatever Chase had said, his attention half-turned as though occupied by something else entirely.

Brooke’s playful tone broke the spell and you turned your attention back to the table, willing yourself to focus. But even as you smiled and joined the group’s chatter, Rafe’s gaze lingered in your mind like an unfinished thought.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, breaking through your thoughts. “So, tell me… what’s your major?”

You blinked, grateful for the distraction as you turned toward her. “Communications,” you replied, the answer smooth and practiced. “I was studying it at my last school, so it made sense to stick with it here.”

“Smart choice,” Liam chimed in, resting his elbows on the table. “You could probably out-talk all of us, huh?”

“Definitely me,” Brooke interjected with a grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose an argument, Liam.”

“That’s because I don’t lose,” he said, lifting his beer in mock celebration.

“Oh, please,” Maddie cut in, her tone dry. “You lose all the time. You just don’t know it.”

The group laughed, and you found yourself smiling despite the underlying tension still buzzing in your chest. Sabrina drew closer, her curiosity apparent. “Why communications, though? What’s the endgame?”

You hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “I guess I like the idea of... connecting with people,” you said carefully. “Understanding how they think, how they move and work. How to utilize that to your advantage. It’s fascinating.”

Sabrina nodded, her smile genuine. “I get that. Honestly, it sounds way more interesting than my major. I’m stuck in econ.”

“Econ’s useful,” Liam said, shrugging. “You’ll be the one bailing us all out when we screw up our taxes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what economics is,” Maddie muttered, though her lips twitched into a small smile.

The conversation flowed easily after that, with Sabrina asking about your transition to UNC and Liam tossing out lighthearted quips that kept the mood buoyant. Even Maddie seemed to loosen up a bit more, though her sharp watch still flicked toward you now and then, like she was assessing your place in the group.

Just as you were beginning to relax, you felt a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. The energy at the table changed, the noise around you seeming to dim as two familiar figures approached. You glanced up instinctively, your breath catching as Rafe and Chase came into view.

Chase was the first to speak, his grin wide and easy as he set a tray of drinks on the table. “Miss us?”

“Finally!” Brooke said, clapping her hands together. “What took you so long?”

“The line’s insane,” Chase replied, sliding into the booth beside her. “Be grateful we didn’t give up and just grab water.”

Rafe didn’t say anything as he followed, his movements measured and calculated. He placed a glass in front of Maddie before taking the last empty seat across from you. The table suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, as his presence settled over the group.

Brooke leaned into Chase, nudging him playfully. “So, are you just going to ignore our new friend, or...?”

Chase’s eyes flicked to you, his grin widening. “Oh, right. You’re the transfer, right? I’m Chase. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Thanks,” you introduced yourself, your voice steady despite the way your pulse had quickened again.

“And this,” Brooke said, gesturing to the man sitting across from you, “is Rafe.”

His name lingered in the air for a beat too long, the unspoken weight of it making your chest tighten. Rafe’s gaze met yours again, the intensity in vision eyes sharper now that he was closer. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment, as he nodded once.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice softer than you intended.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, carrying an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The table filled with chatter as the others picked up where they’d left off, but you barely heard it. Rafe’s watch didn’t waver, fixed on you in a way that felt deliberately unnerving, as though he wanted you to squirm. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn't welcoming either. It was something else entirely. A silent challenge, perhaps, or a test you weren’t sure how to pass.

“So,” Chase said, drawing your attention to him. “How are you liking UNC so far?”

“It’s... different,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “Bigger than my last school, for sure.”

“Better parties, too,” Liam added, raising his drink in mock toast.

“Oh, absolutely,” Chase agreed. “Stick with us, and you’ll see the best this place has to offer.”

“She’s already stuck with us,” Brooke interjected, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ve claimed her.”

“Possessive much?” Maddie muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone now.

The laughter at the table felt like a reprieve, a momentary distraction from the way Rafe’s presence filled every corner of your awareness. Even when you weren’t looking, you could feel his eyes on you.

As the conversation continued, you risked another glance at him. He was sitting back slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. When your eyes met, his brow arched just slightly, as if to say caught you.

You looked away quickly, your cheeks warming despite the chill in the air-conditioned room. The tension was almost unbearable.

“Another round?” Brooke suggested, breaking the moment as she reached for her empty glass.

“Yes, please,” Sabrina said. “And get me some fries while you’re at it.”

Brooke stood, tugging Chase up with her. “Come on, you’re helping.”

Chase groaned but followed, leaving the rest of you at the table. Liam immediately launched into a story about some party mishap the night before, pulling laughter from Maddie and Sabrina. Their energy was light and easy, but your focus drifted. The conversation faded into the background as a quiet tension hummed in the air.

You absently toyed with the straw in your drink, the condensation cool against your fingertips. It wasn’t the story keeping you distracted, it was a feeling, steady and insistent, like the faint pull of a current just beneath the surface.

Your eyes flicked toward Rafe, catching him mid-motion. He leaned forward in his seat, his fingers resting lightly around his glass. His expression was unreadable, but when his eyes met yours, something shifted. His expression shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, like he was inviting you into a silent exchange you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “so, does he always let her boss him around like that?” You nodded toward the bar, where Chase and Brooke were deep in conversation with each other.

Rafe’s lips curved faintly into something between a smirk and a smile. “Only when it’s easier than arguing.”

His voice was low, smooth, and somehow it cut through the noise of the bar as if it were meant just for you. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he added, “Besides, Brooke likes to think she’s in charge. No harm in letting her believe it.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Generous of you.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a casualness that felt anything but. “And you? Do you let people boss you around, or are you the one calling the shots?”

The question caught you off guard, the weight of it settling in a way that felt heavier than the words themselves. You played it off with a shrug, your voice light as you said, “I guess it depends on who’s asking.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his regard was steady and unflinching. The space between you felt charged, as though the brief exchange had opened a door you weren’t sure you wanted to walk through. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the tension shifted. Rafe leaned back again, his attention flicking to the table for a moment before returning to you.

“Fair enough,” he said simply, his tone neutral but laced with something that made your pulse quicken.

The conversation broke as Liam’s voice rose in laughter again, drawing your focus back to the group. You turned away from Rafe, but the weight of his words, and the way he’d looked at you, like he was turning over some unspoken thought, lingered in the back of your mind.

Chase and Brooke returned a few minutes later, Brooke balancing a tray of drinks with the practiced ease of someone who could do it blindfolded. Chase trailed behind her, a basket of fries in one hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

“Fries are here, ladies and gentlemen,” Chase announced, sliding the basket onto the table with exaggerated flair. “You’re welcome.”

“And drinks,” Brooke added, placing the tray down and handing out glasses. “Okay, who’s ready to have some real fun?”

Sabrina immediately perked up. “What kind of fun are we talking about?”

“Dancing, duh,” Brooke said, her eyes gleaming with excitement as she looked at you. “Come on, you’re coming with me.”

You returned her smile easily, “lead the way!”

Brooke’s grin widened. “Now that’s the energy I like! Let’s go.”

The group cheered enthusiastically as Brooke grabbed your hand, tugging you out of your seat with surprising strength and pulling you toward the dance floor with a playful urgency. The music grew louder as you wove through the crowd, the bass thrumming beneath your feet and mingling with the laughter and chatter around you. It was vibrant, intoxicating, and all too easy to step into.

The moment you reached the dance floor, you fell into the rhythm naturally. The beat pulsed through your body, every movement intentional but fluid. This was the game you were built to play, slipping into the moment, owning it, and making it look effortless.

“See?” Brooke shouted over the music as she spun to face you, her hands grabbing yours. “Isn’t this amazing?”

You laughed, matching her energy. “I get it now. Totally worth it.”

Brooke twirled herself dramatically, her curls bouncing with the movement. “I knew you’d fit right in. Seriously, I’m so glad we met. It’s like, you were meant to be here.”

Her words carried a warmth that felt genuine, even though you knew you couldn’t take them at face value. Still, you played along, letting your smile widen as you leaned in. “I’m glad, too. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Same,” Brooke said, her expression softening for a moment. “You don’t even know. You’re like... the missing piece. It’s been forever since I clicked with someone this fast.”

The sincerity in her voice struck you more than you expected, and you squeezed her hands briefly before letting go, your movements falling effortlessly back into the music.

“You’re making this way too easy!” You teased.

“Good!” Brooke laughed, tossing her head back, “that’s what friends are for.”

The crowd pressed in around you, bodies swaying and shifting with the beat, but you held your space with ease, your movements a blend of precision and spontaneity. Brooke’s laughter rang As Brooke spun you, you caught a flicker of movement near the table. Rafe leaned forward across the table, murmuring something to Chase.

His hand moved absently to the edge of the table, fingers drumming once, twice, before stilling. Chase laughed, gesturing animatedly, though it was clear Rafe’s attention wasn’t fully on him. There was a restlessness to his movements, a little pull that made your focus longer than you meant to let it.

“Don’t look,” Brooke began a second later, leaning in with a grin that was both teasing and knowing, “but Rafe had been staring at you for, like, five minutes straight.”

You blinked and turned to Brooke. “Really?”

Brooke gave you a playful nudge. “Uh, yeah. It’s not exactly subtle.”

Your stomach fluttered as you glanced back toward the table, this time catching Rafe’s gaze. His fingers rested lightly on the table’s edge now, his posture easy yet fixed, as though he was aware of exactly when you’d look. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile, but enough to leave you wondering what it meant.

“Told you,” Brooke said, leaning closer. “You’ve got his attention.”

Your heart raced, but your exterior stayed calm. You held his focus a bit longer before turning back to Brooke with a playful shrug. “Maybe I’ll let him keep it. He’s cute.”

Brooke gasped and twirled you dramatically, her laughter ringing out above the music. “Oh, I like you! You’re dangerous.”

You grinned, letting the energy of the moment wash over you. The weight of Rafe’s attention only added to your focus, sharpening every movement, every smile.

The song shifted and Brooke leaned in again, her voice warm and truly genuine, “I mean it. I’m really glad you’re here. You’ve made this semester so much better already.”

“Right back at you,” you said, matching her sincerity.

But even as you spoke, the weight of Rafe’s fixation clung to you, impossible to ignore.

You glanced back at the table, catching his focus once more. His expression hadn’t changed, but something in his eyes made your chest tighten. A heat spread through you that had nothing to do with the dancing.

He wasn’t just looking. His stare lingered, sharp and probing, as if peeling back layers you hadn’t meant to reveal. It felt deliberate, practiced. Like a skill honed over years. This wasn’t just attention. It was control.

And Rafe Cameron knew how to hold it. Everyone was aware of it. He was the kind of guy who turned heads effortlessly, who drew people toward him whether they wanted to be near him or not.

For a split second, you’d doubted if you were the one setting the trap — or if you’d already stepped into his.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction

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4linos · 4 hours ago

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the gingerbread fix.

kim seungmin x gn!reader

synopsis: after seungmin unintentionally ruins the gingerbread house you’ve worked hard on, the two of you rebuild together, learning the importance of compromise and enjoying the process.

wc: 989

part 5/8 holiday series. 🎄

The week before Christmas, you’d come up with a fun idea, a gingerbread house decorating competition. You were excited about it, knowing that you and Seungmin could have a fun, festive time together. You’d gathered everything, the gingerbread kits, icing, sprinkles, and candy. It was going to be a lighthearted and playful competition to see who could create the best house, but you didn’t anticipate just how seriously you’d take it.

The night of the competition arrived, and the air was filled with a delicious smell of sugar and gingerbread. Seungmin was enthusiastic at at first, but when it came to decorating, he turned into the class clown. You concentrated on the house, carefully decorating every inch, placing the candy, and ensuring the frosting stayed neatly piped. Meanwhile, Seungmin slapped some frosting here and there, paying little attention to any kind of structure.

With each passing minute, you became more focused. You couldn't help yourself, it wasn't just about winning; it was about doing something special, showing that you cared about doing it right. Seungmin, on the other hand, was having a good time, nonchalantly bothering you as he randomly added candy canes and took nibbles out of the candy pieces. Every time you looked over, he gave you a grin, as if the whole thing was a joke to him. You tried to hold back your increasing frustration, but it came out when Seungmin, chuckling to himself, leaned over and touched your gingerbread house, just to tease you.

The whole thing crumbled.

You froze, staring in disbelief at the pile of crumbled gingerbread. Your heart dropped. You'd worked so hard to make that house perfect, and now it was ruined. Seungmin, still chuckling, stared up at you with wide eyes. He hadn't realized how serious you were about this. "Seungmin," you asked, your voice tight with rage. "What did you do?" His face fell, and he moved back. "Wait, I didn't mean to—" "No! "I've been working on this for hours, and you just…ruined it," you snapped, your words coming out harder than intended. His expression showed guilt, but the frustration was too much.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice genuine. “I didn’t mean to mess it up. I was just joking around…”

You shook your head, biting back the anger and disappointment welling up inside you. “I don’t need you to joke around. I thought this was supposed to be fun, but now you’ve ruined it.”

Seungmin stood there, looking helpless. “I didn’t realize you were taking it so seriously.”

You folded your arms across your chest, hurt. “It’s not about that, Seungmin. It’s just… I wanted this to be something special. I wanted to share something with you, but instead you made me feel like it didn’t matter.”

The room fell silent for a minute. Seungmin, for the first time all night, looked completely serious. "I'm really sorry. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He hesitated, then looked down at the mess on the table. "I’ll fix it. "I promise." You didn't respond immediately away, the anger still simmering, but you were beginning to feel the sting of guilt yourself. You snapped at him when he didn't deserve it. You were frustrated and disappointed, but it didn't mean he deserved to be on the receiving end of it.

Later that evening, you went to the kitchen to grab a snack, still giving Seungmin the silent treatment. You were hurt, but you didn’t want to escalate things further. But as you opened the fridge, you heard him come in behind you.

"Sit down," he urged gently, putting you onto the table. "We're not giving up on this." Before you could argue, he had left the room, returning shortly after with two new gingerbread house kits and an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry for messing around," he said cautiously, placing the boxes on the table. "Let's do it properly this time, together." You sighed, but couldn't keep the slight smile tugging at the edges of your lips. Despite everything, he was trying. He really was.

“Okay, fine,” you said, sitting back down. “Let’s do it again.”

So the two of you began again, this time more focused and serious. Seungmin, who had not been trying too hard before, now worked quietly beside you, delicately piped the icing, and set the candies with care. His gingerbread house was still a little disorganized, but there was something adorable about how hard he worked to improve things.

As the night progressed, you both began to relax. Your frustration gradually faded away, replaced with laughter as you giggled about how horrible Seungmin's house was looking. Even his decorating attempts failed miserably, but you couldn't help but laugh at how hard he was trying. "You're not winning this time," you mocked, staring at his house, which was leaning to one side and consisted of more sweets than actual construction. Seungmin grumbled, obviously dejected but taking it in stride. "Alright, fine. "I’ll let you win."

You grinned, finally feeling the tension dissipate. “Thanks for letting me win. That’s very generous of you.”

Seungmin smiled sheepishly, giving you a playful shove. “I’m just happy we’re not fighting anymore.”

You both sat back, looking at your respective gingerbread houses, your hearts lighter than they had been earlier. “I’m sorry, too,” you said, your voice soft. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I was just really excited about this.”

He smiled at you, and the warmth in his gaze made you forget about the previous tension. "It's okay. I'm just glad we're doing this together." "Yeah," you replied, leaning against him. "Next year, though, we're definitely doing this seriously." Seungmin laughed and wrapped his arm around you. "Next year, we'll have an even bigger competition. But for now, let us just enjoy this." And with that, you both giggled together, enjoying the moment while the Christmas lights flickered softly in the backdrop.

[taglist: @lixies-favorite-cookie..]

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crimson-kisses · 3 days ago

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Duetsche Zunge

Characters/Fandoms/Pairings: Yandere! Gilbert Beilschmeidt || Prussia [Hetalia] x Fem!reader Warning: This story will contain xplicit yandere themes, proceed with caution [includes non consensual acts, toxic relationship, physical violence & the like] Author's notes: I honestly took some inspiration from @shini--chan 's works. Her every piece is marvellous, especially Gilbert's character. She has made me mad and intrigued over that man, I say. Also, remember that lot has been going around the world lately, and try to educate yourself and contribute as much as you can.

Gilbert would be absolutely thrilled and intrigued if his darling already knew German—it would spare him the frustration of teaching her everything from scratch. He would be amused and think the way she spoke. Her pronunciation or tone was absolutely adorable.

But of course, being who he is, that wouldn’t necessarily stop him from challenging her, testing the level of her knowledge and fluency. He’d be curious to know what her taste would be in German literature, music, or cinema. Would she favour Goethe’s romanticism, or perhaps the darker allure of Kafka’s surrealism? Would she hum along to Beethoven or lose herself in the melancholic strains of Schubert?

He would likely discover these preferences by observing (read: stalking) her, a brow arched up elegantly as he leaned back on the walls of the library. There, he would watch her conversing with others academically, seeming more like a statue of a scholar or a professor with his disguise of black-rimmed glasses and dark eyes, watching the way her lips curved around sweetly spoken words.

However, being a perfectionist, he could quickly identify any gaps in her knowledge—a slip of grammar, a wrong word here and there, or even a misstep in interpretation. Perhaps she’d confuse a complex construction for a simpler one or misuse an idiomatic expression.

Noting down the mistakes with a stern frown and a disappointed click of his tongue, Gilbert would sigh, unable to tolerate even the smallest errors. He’d push her relentlessly, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection. Papers, after papers, books after books, would pile up around her as he corrected her trembling attempts, his calligraphic writing starkly perfect beside her shaky efforts.

For someone who appeared so rugged, he was surprisingly methodical, almost reverent, when it came to written words, as evidenced by the piles of his ancient diaries filled with neat, precise entries.

It was definitely a cruel mixture of his ego and intense love toward her that drove him to hone her fluency to a level of perfection he alone could crave. Writing, reading, speaking, and even singing—he demanded mastery in every form of expression, shaping her abilities into something he could both admire and control.

But he wouldn’t stop at just German. This rigorous approach extended to other languages in which he excelled, such as French, Italian, and even Russian (though his dislike for a certain Russian man might make things a bit more complicated).

Each session would become a gruelling trial that demanded discipline, focus, and sheer willpower. He’d test her French with its elegant nuances, pushing her to appreciate the subtleties of verb conjugations and melodic flow. Italian, with its passionate rhythm, would become another challenge, the sharp sounds of “c” and “g” perfectly flowing from her lips, just as he demanded. And then, of course, there was Russian—harsh, guttural, and complex—he would revel in hearing her stumble over its sharp consonants, unable to help himself as he smirked with a mix of ego and possessiveness.

Whether it was the elegance of French, the flow of Italian, or the intensity of Russian, Gilbert would make sure she mastered every word, every subtle difference in accent, every cultural nuance, until she spoke each language with an expertise that reflected his possessive influence.

Gilbert would also push her to master ancient languages like Latin and Greek. His admiration for the roots of Western civilization would bleed into his obsessive teaching, as he demanded perfect fluency in these classical tongues.

He’d make her translate passages from Cicero or Horace, test her knowledge of Homer’s epics, and measure her understanding of Plato’s philosophy. Every misstep in conjugation or syntax would be met with sharp reprimands. Yet, at the same time, he would find immense satisfaction in hearing her articulate the beauty of ancient prose, especially when she finally grasped the elegance of Latin’s rhythm or the precision of Greek’s structure.

It would be a sight to watch the man who seemed so restless—always planning, calculating, and never stopping—suddenly appear like a scholar carved from marble. His focus was unwavering, his attention to detail sharp as a blade, whether it was through his quiet admiration or relentless demands, Gilbert made it clear that he wouldn’t stop until she was flawless—not just in language but as a reflection of his obsession with her.

The words on the paper danced as your eyes blurred, hesitant gasps escaping your quivering lips. Each tap of the thick ruler against the desk matched the frantic rhythm of your racing heartbeat. A deep sigh reached your ears, making you tense as a tear dropped, blotting the writing beneath it.

“Wrong. Do it again,” he said, his voice steady but firm, just above a whisper. You could feel the heat of his breath against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words curling into your senses like a soft yet dangerous caress. His forearms, toned and defined, flexed with each controlled motion as he tapped the ruler once more against the wood.

The veins on his arms stood out, a clear testament to the power that lay beneath his skin. His shirt, rolled up to his elbows, emphasized the muscular tone of his arms, the fabric taut as he moved with practiced precision.

“Your knuckles must be throbbing, don’t you think so?” His voice was low, almost velvety, though the slight edge in it made your skin prickle with a sense of haunting despair.

Of course, German would always be Gilbert's top priority. Whether it was the ancient words from his old Teutonic Knight days, the forgotten Prussian of his youth, or the more modern German that had evolved, he would be relentless in teaching you.

He would smirk, watching your hesitant expression, those furrowed brows and strands of hair sticking to your flushed face as you tried to keep up with his rapid-fire lessons. Every time you stumbled, he’d feel a rush of satisfaction, knowing he was pushing you—testing your limits.

And just as you began to feel like you might grasp it, he would pull you further, introducing an even more archaic form of the language. You'd be faced with Prussian words, forgotten phrases from the past, or the formal German of his time as a powerful state, and he'd watch as you struggled to keep up.

But Gilbert never took pity. To him, this wasn’t just about learning words—it was about learning what they meant, what they represented, about becoming part of a deeper history that only he understood intimately.

Naturally, he expected you to speak German at all times when addressing him. After all, he was Prussia—the proud embodiment of his nation's strength and culture, and to him, the language was not merely a means of communication, but a symbol of power, authority, and legacy. He found the way you spoke it utterly captivating—the way your lips shaped the words, how your expression would soften or harden depending on the tone.

Every mistake, every mispronunciation, only seemed to drive him further. He would often reply to you in German despite your slipping into another language— he would become cold, refusing to acknowledge you fully. His childish spite would rise, and he'd deliberately turn his back, offering you nothing but a sharp glance.

"Are you even listening to me?" you snapped, frustration mounting as you tugged at your hair, your words coming out in a burst. The tension in your chest was unbearable, and yet, Gilbert didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, the soft creak of the leather under his weight barely audible. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, curling into a satisfied smirk. His eyes, gleaming with amusement, never left you as he observed your growing frustration, watching you unravel with quiet delight. He loved seeing you like this—on the edge, teetering between control and chaos, and utterly at his mercy.

He didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between you. It was as if your words were meaningless to him. He had no intention of addressing your frustration, no intention of actually listening to what you were saying. He was too busy savoring the sight of you. The sharp tone in his voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth, effortless—teasing, almost mocking, a rhythm he knew all too well. Of an ancient German dialect that almost made his words hard to understand.

"Careful with the bread," he murmured, his voice low and cutting through the silence like a blade. "Don’t make it too tough."

You froze for a moment, the absurdity of his words washing over you. He wasn’t listening. Not to you. Not to the frustration in your voice, not to the growing anger burning in your chest. His gaze never wavered, still fixed on you with that predatory calm, like a cat watching its prey squirm. And all the while, you could feel the weight of his attention, suffocating and demanding, making your blood boil even hotter.

Your hands, already trembling from the intensity of the situation, clenched into fists. You turned away quickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was too late. Your mind raced, and you felt the overwhelming need to take out your frustration on something—anything. The dough in front of you.

You slammed your hands into it, pressing harder than necessary, your fingers digging into the soft dough with surprising force. It was as though you could feel his presence behind you, even though he said nothing more, watching you knead the dough with a strange, mocking stillness in the air. You wished it was his neck beneath your hands instead, the pressure of your palms imagining the crushing sensation of him being the one to break under the weight. The thought alone made you grit your teeth.

Gilbert’s smirk never faltered, his eyes still on you, studying every move you made. He had already won, and you both knew it. You were powerless against his presence, against his control. His lessons weren’t games. They were training. And you were exactly where he wanted you.

Though he often found amusement in the banter between you, even encouraging it at times, Gilbert wouldn’t take kindly to any attempts to push things beyond their limits. Swear words or throwing personalized insults his way would undoubtedly irritate him. He thrived on the playful back-and-forth, enjoying the challenge of testing boundaries, seeing just how far he could push you before you snapped.

But as much as he revelled in this dynamic, there were unspoken rules that, if broken, would have severe consequences. Gilbert was not one to tolerate disrespect, not even in jest. His pride, especially when it came to how others viewed his authority, was something you learned to tread lightly around.

He had a way of making you feel small when you crossed that invisible line. It wasn’t outright aggression, no—it was more subtle, calculated. His silence, his smirk, the way he’d cock his head and stare at you with those piercing eyes—each glance felt like a silent reprimand. His lessons weren’t games. This was training. And training wasn’t just about learning skills or techniques—it was about understanding power dynamics, submission, and control. For Gilbert, discipline was an art. You had to earn his approval, prove you were worthy of the lessons he would give. Disrupting that delicate balance, however, meant harsh consequences.

The playful back-and-forth, while it could go on for hours, was never just for fun. He was sharpening you, moulding you into something he could admire, something that would never question his authority again. When you got too comfortable, too confident, Gilbert would make sure to remind you that this was his world and you were merely a participant in it. A slip of the tongue, a crass word, a sharp insult—that was all it took for him to remind you who was truly in charge.

And when you crossed that line? He’d make sure you knew it wasn’t something to be taken lightly. Gilbert would drop his usual teasing tone and replace it with something colder, something darker. He didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to raise his voice. The shift in his demeanor alone was enough to make the air feel thick with tension. You’d find yourself walking the thin line between fear and desire, unsure of where one ended and the other began, but knowing that if you made the wrong move, there would be consequences.

The toothbrush and the mouthful of toothpaste threatened to choke you, your mouth wide open as a strong grip held your head in place by the hair. Gilbert probed the depths of your mouth with firm, deliberate strokes, bringing you to the brink of nausea. Foamy spit dripped from your lips, guttural moans of pain echoing through the washroom as tears framed your face. Your attempts to reason with Gilbert fell on deaf ears. All it took was one bad day for him (you couldn’t really tell with the man), and your profanity-laced outburst had earned you this punishment. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he slightly relaxed his grip on your hair, allowing you to violently spit out the bitter toothpaste that had been building up in your mouth. You instinctively reached for the tap, desperate to rinse the foul taste away, but were met with a firm hand that stopped you short. “No water for that filthy mouth of yours,” Gilbert sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to feed you a bar of soap and using the toilet brush.” You almost threw up.

While he didn’t outright disdain other languages, Gilbert was quick to show his disapproval if you focused on them too much. A subtle sneer or dismissive remark would betray his jealousy. In his eyes, your enthusiasm or preference for another tongue was a challenge to his authority, a dilution of the bond he sought to forge.

He wanted German to be your priority because it was his, and he needed to hear it from your lips as proof of your connection. It wasn’t just about teaching—it was about domination, ensuring that his influence extended into every word you spoke and every thought you had. And, of course, his pride demanded it. After all, why would you need anything else when you had him?

Nonetheless, he adored your voice, no matter what language you spoke. Whether stumbling over unfamiliar words or weaving through proses, there was a softness in the way you sounded that captivated him. It wasn’t something he’d admit easily, but your voice was his favourite melody, one he could listen to for hours without growing tired.

Of course, German is sacred to him—a reflection of his very being. It wasn’t just a language; it was his legacy, his culture, and the soul of the people he had once represented. The language of warriors and poets, of triumph and despair, it was a thread connecting him to his past. He expected you to embrace it—not out of mere interest, but as a testament to your devotion to him. And he always cherished it hearing from you.

You sat beside Gilbert, stiff and uneasy, as he delved into a thick book titled 'Geodesics in Curved Spacetime'. The topic was so far beyond your comprehension that you couldn’t help but think, What the fuck even is this?

It was one of those days when he insisted you sit close, your hands folded on his thigh, while one of his palms gripped it firmly, the other flipping through the velvet pages of the Russian text. His hold on you was both grounding and possessive, the weight of it reminding you that there was no escape from his whims.

The subject seemed to irritate him more than intrigue him; his brows furrowed, and the occasional sharp exhale signaled his growing frustration. He’d call you over at times like this, either to steady his nerves or to force you into reading it aloud, despite your stumbling attempts.

Sometimes, he would pause to explain a concept in German, his voice steady and commanding, expecting you to follow his train of thought no matter how lost you felt. On other occasions, his enthusiasm would bubble over, and he would yip and yap, his words spilling in rapid, fervent analysis that left your head spinning. You could only nod along, hoping he didn’t notice your bewilderment.

Most often, though, his focus shifted to something more intimate. He would pass you a well-loved novel—its pages slightly worn, its binding soft to the touch—and order you to read aloud. His fingers would trail lazily along your arm as he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, the tension leaving his features with every word that left your lips. In those moments, you felt like an extension of him, your voice the tool that brought his favorite stories to life. His grip on you would loosen, his breaths growing deeper and steadier.

Those were his calmest days, and your beautiful voice, the rhythm to his immortal heartbeat, seemed to be the only thing capable of soothing his restless spirit.

Refusal—or any form of misbehavior—when he asks you to speak his language would never be tolerated. Utter refusal would be met with the coldest of glares, a silent warning that would send a shiver down your spine. Testing him with silent treatment or petty acts of defiance would only irritate him more.

His expectations are simple but non-negotiable: learn the proper German etiquette. Speak clearly, directly, and without hesitation. Your words must be precise—no unnecessary embellishments or mindless chatter. He values sincerity, respect, and most of all, discipline.

When spoken to, you are expected to answer promptly, politely, and with the right tone. You must use Bitte (please) and Danke (thank you) when appropriate— if you don’t, he’ll remind you, and the lesson will be harder than you anticipate. There is no room for laziness in his world, especially when it comes to how you communicate.

Gilbert tapped his fingers on his forearms as he stared at you from across the table, his piercing gaze unwavering. You sat with an unsightly scowl, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the food in front of you. The tension in the air was thick—your earlier attempt to escape had been swiftly thwarted by his firm grip on your arm.

"And what do we say?" he asked, his voice smooth but laced with impatience.

You shot him a defiant glare, the sting of your pride burning brighter than your hunger. Your teeth gound together as you glared at the plate of Sauerbraten, the tender beef marinated in rich spices paired with the tang of red cabbage and potato dumplings. The smell alone made your stomach growl, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

"D..." You grit your teeth, barely able to utter the word. His unblinking stare burned into you as if daring you to try him. "Danke."

"Ah ah," Gilbert bent forward, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Full sentence."

You clenched your fists, the taste of defeat sour in your mouth. There was no escaping him now. "Danke... für das Essen."

"Good girl." Gilbert’s voice was soft, but the approval in it was unmistakable. He straightened in his chair, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Jetzt können wir essen!"

Of course, being the rather egoistical individual he is, Gilbert would revel in hearing you address him with titles in German. Whether it was Herr or Mein König, the words rolled off your tongue like honey, fueling his insatiable desire for your complete submission. He would demand such titles not merely out of tradition but as a way to solidify his dominance over you-reminding you that he was the one in control, always.

And if you hesitated or refused, you'd soon find yourself either kneeling at his feet or bent over his knees, forced to beg in the very language he adored.

The sight of you, voice trembling and face flushed, was intoxicating to him. He couldn't help but feel a massive thrill corroding his bones as your tone wavered with such an adorable desperation, the words escaping your pretty lips like a melody crafted just for him. Gilbert always loved the way you sounded, gasps, grunts or so, your voice like a finely tuned instrument only he could master.

You were his little songbird, and sometimes he liked to take that metaphor literally. He wouldn't mind having you sing as he played his flute, guiding you with gentle nods or sharp corrections if you didn't get it quite right. On calmer evenings, he'd rest his head on your lap, your soft hands threading through his silver hair as you hummed or sang him a lullaby. Those moments of quiet surrender were his personal heaven.

Every word you spoke in German was a delicacy he devoured straight from your lips. He also expected your words to reflect affection and politeness. Loving phrases, respectful tones, and perhaps even a few nicknames of your own design.

Nothing overly cheesy, of course, but Gilbert wouldn't hide his cheeky grin if you hyly called him something intimate. A soft Liebling (darling) murmured in the warmth of your shared bed would earn you a teasing remark right before he captured your lips in a sealing kiss.

In the bedroom, his expectations only deepened. He wanted to hear you whisper his name like a promise, gasping out mein Schatz as he thoroughly claimed you. Every word, every sound you made was proof of his hold over you, a mark of the loyalty he craved so desperately.

And in those moments, he'd remind you just how much he loved your voice - the voices that only he could truly bring out of you, the ones he wants to hear from you, the one thing that could ever bring peace to the storm within him.

Your dress spread around you like the petals of a flower, delicate yet trapping, as gilbert’s hands—rough and unyielding—skimmed over the bare skin of your legs. you shivered beneath his touch, every nerve on fire as you tried to suppress the sob rising in your throat.

“Was ist los, Maus?” (what's the matter, mouse?), his voice coiled around you like smoke, soft yet suffocating. his body leaned in, the weight of his presence making it impossible to move, let alone think. “Hast du etwa vergessen, wie man schön bittet?” (have you perhaps forgotten to ask nicely?).

your mind swirled, thoughts slipping through your fingers like sand. had he done something? the strange heaviness in your limbs, the faint haze clouding your senses—was this another one of his games?

“B-bitte,” you rasped, voice trembling as you fought to form the word, “bitte, G-Gilbert, ich—”

his grip on your hips tightened abruptly, the sharp press of his fingers stealing the rest of your sentence. his crimson eyes bore into yours, gleaming with a twisted mix of hunger and amusement.

“Das ist besser,” (That is better) he murmured, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Nicht perfekt, aber es wird reichen.” (Not perfect, but it will do)

tears pricked at your eyes, your chest heaving as you forced out another plea, desperate to appease him. “gilbert… bitte… verzeih mir,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his thumb brushed against the curve of your waist, deceptively gentle.

“ah, Liebling,” he said, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. “Das ist mein gutes Mädchen.”

he pulled you closer then, his control as unrelenting as the heat radiating from him, leaving no room for escape. you were his—mind, body, and voice—and he made sure you understood it.

With every searing touch and word.

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padfootagain · 4 hours ago

Text

Love in Verses (XVIII)

Chapter 38: ‘They are elsewhere beyond the night way higher than day in the blinding brightness of their first love’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time for an… eventful second date! Also, I couldn’t find a decent translation of that poem, so I made one myself… sorry if it sounds a little clumsy.

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3120

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Les enfants qui s’aiment

The children who love each other Kiss standing against the doors of the night And the passers-by who pass by point at them But the children who love each other Are not there for anyone

And it is only their shadows That shiver in the night Exciting the passers-by’s rage Their rage, their disdain Their laughter and their envy

The children who love each other Are not there for anyone They are elsewhere beyond the night Way higher than day In the blinding brightness Of their first love

Jacques Prévert

You looked at yourself in the mirror, considered your tenth outfit.

Yeah, that was the best one, you reckoned. You would settle for it. And even if it wasn’t the best one, you had already spent an hour getting ready and trying to pick your clothes for your second date with Andy, that was enough. He had literally seen you today at work, you had been friends for months, he had seen you naked at this point… your outfit was good enough. He knew what you looked like… you felt heat spread across your frame at the thought that he knew what you looked like under these clothes.

Better not think about that now, this activity was scheduled for later tonight. Now, you were ready to get going, head for the restaurant where you had booked a table for two. Andrew had planned the first date, you were the one to handle the second. Something much simpler, you hoped he wouldn’t mind. You had booked a table at a delicious Italian restaurant, knowing how much Andrew loved Italian food. You had bought him flowers, were planning on inviting him for the rest of the night. God, your body trembled at the memory of your previous weekend, of the pleasure that had spread throughout the night and morning following your first date. Andrew was definitely something else…

You cleared your throat, grabbed your purse and the flowers you had bought. You were the one to pick up Andrew tonight, you wanted to surprise him with the restaurant, he didn’t know where you were going.

So, you headed to his apartment, heart pounding, struggling to breathe, a strange mix of nerves and excitement. And love. So much love. What a lovesick fool you were…

You knocked, waiting for a reply that didn’t come. You frowned hard, rang the doorbell. Maybe he hadn’t heard you. You were starting to panic already, doubts about yourself and your own worth messing with your busy head.

But now the door was being unlocked, you relaxed again. He had simply not heard you knocking, everything was…

Andrew flung the door open, eyes wide with panic and fear. He was wearing sweatpants, hair messy, glasses lopsided on his nose. He looked at you with a puzzled expression. He blinked, eyes lingering on your body before settling on the flowers, which made his frown deepen. And then he looked into your eyes again and panic only grew, making his eyes impossibly round.

You had to admit that you were disappointed… you were going on a date, you had spent so much time getting ready… was he really going to wear sweatpants?

“Oh my God…” he let out in a breath.

“Hi!” you forced a smile, hiding your disappointment.

“Hi,” he answered automatically. “Christ… what time is it?”

“Erm… 7 p.m…”

“Christ! Holy shit…”

You raised a surprised eyebrow… but then the wave of disappointment that rushed against your heart could not be hidden.

He had forgotten about your date…

“I’m so sorry… I… I need to cancel for tonight.”

Cancel?

“What?” you mumbled, blinking tears away.

“I…”

But then you heard a whimper coming from inside his home, saw the look of terror in Andrew’s eyes.

“I was about to leave,” Andrew added, and he was frantic when he reached for his car keys, his jacket, his wallet, a cap…

“What’s happening?” you asked, voice fragile even though you didn’t want to look that way, even though you wanted to be strong and be mean and petty and go home to cry your heart out…

He stared at you for a moment, frozen in his movements.

“Are these for… ?” he trailed off, and you handed him the flowers.

“Yes, they’re for you.”

He blinked at you, stared at the bouquet as if he tried to understand the meaning behind your words, as if he couldn’t figure what it all meant.

He took the bouquet, you saw that he was blinking tears away.

“Oh… thanks, that’s very sweet,” he told you, voice soft and deep, making your heart melt.

But then the whimper came again, you noticed it was coming from the living room.

“What’s going on?” you asked again, but Andrew merely rushed to the room.

He let you follow him, put down the flowers on his coffee table.

Elwood was lying on his side on the carpet, eyes shining with tears, slightly panting.

“He’s sick,” Andrew mumbled, voice trembling with panic. “I don’t know… I don’t know what’s wrong. Everything was fine, and then we came back from our walk, I took a shower, I was about to get ready for our date when I heard him crying, and he was like this… I don’t know what’s going on…”

And then everything became clear. Instead of being disappointed, relief washed over you.

You weren’t the problem, he hadn’t forgotten you. Elwood was ill, he was about to head to the vet, Andrew was clearly panicking, he had not thought about warning you…

“We should take him to the vet,” you said, kneeling next to the dog and soothingly stroking his head to keep him calm, to reassure him.

“I was about to leave. Christ, I’m so sorry Y/N, I forgot to call to cancel for tonight…”

“That’s alright, it’s not your fault… Let’s take care of Elwood, yeah?”

Slowly, he nodded. You noticed the tears in his eyes, the way he was trying to remain calm, but he was clearly close to surrendering to panic.

“He’s gonna be alright, don’t worry.”

Your voice was soothing, reassuring, and when Andrew nodded, you noticed how his breathing became more regular, how he regained control of himself, for a part, at least.

“I’ve called the vet, they’re expecting us.”

“Okay, let’s get this good boy in the car, huh?” you cooed at the sick dog, and he closed his eyes as you stroked his head the way you knew he liked.

Andrew picked the dog in his arms, let you close the door of his home behind him. He had to slow down a couple of times on the way to the vet, fear making him drive above the speed limit. But your hand on his thigh seemed to help, you noticed how he let out long exhales whenever your rubbed circles there.

The vet was waiting, indeed. Andrew apologised for the late hour, but the vet was quick to reassure him. After a couple of minutes spent examining the dog, the conclusion was that Elwood must have eaten an object of some kind. An ultrasound scan revealed that he had indeed eaten a small screw. The vet was reassuring, there was no internal damage of any kind, but the form of the object and the relatively sharp edges were the cause for the dog’s pain. You were sent back in the waiting room while the vet was pumping Elwood’s stomach. You sat down in the chair next to Andrew, and he reached for your hand as soon as you were seated. Your hold on his fingers was as tight as his on your hand.

You were both quiet for a while, Andrew’s eyes fixed on the white ceiling, his expression unreadable. He seemed so big in the tiny waiting room, in a chair that seemed too small for him. A true giant.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

His voice was deeper than usual. Soft, gentle. You loved that about him. That he looked so big, so physically intimidating, but that the second he opened his mouth he was revealed as a gentle, kind soul. His voice was warm, reassuring. Quiet, most of the time. The sound always soothed you, anchored you, calmed you down. You felt safe whenever you could hear his voice, its softness wrapping around you like a cocoon.

“For coming here with me,” he clarified while giving your hand a squeeze. “I was… I was pretty scared for a moment.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, even if his eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, on the crack that ran through the white paint.

“You were about to shit your pants, you mean,” you teased, and it did make Andrew chuckle.

“Yeah, for a minute, I kind of was,” he admitted.

You studied the angle of his jaw, the length of his throat that extended like this, with his head tilted back. His hair was a messy bun, he took off his glasses to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand and didn’t put them back on just yet. He blinked a couple of times, looked up again, the back of his head resting against the wall behind his chair. Your eyes lingered on the freckle above his eye you could glimpse at from where you sat, on the corner of his lips that was still turned slightly upward after his laughter.

“I should have called you to cancel for tonight. I’m so sorry,” he went on, and the trace of his smile was gone for good.

“You should have,” you nodded. “But you were upset, you weren’t thinking straight. It’s okay.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. I’m just relieved Elwood is going to be okay.”

“I still have no clue where that screw is coming from…”

“He’ll be okay.”

“I know… I know…”

“He’s going to deserve lots of treats and petting…”

“Like he doesn’t get lots of those already. I spoil him.”

You laughed.

“Yeah, I bet you do.”

A minute passed in silence. Andrew rubbed circles into the back of your hand.

“Can we still go on a date? Like… can we reschedule?”

“Of course.”

“Our real second date will be good, I promise.”

“I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting a vet appointment tonight,” you laughed again.

“Me neither,” he winced. “What had you planned?”

“Italian restaurant.”

“Fuck…”

As if on queue, his stomach let out a low rumble, and you both laughed at the sound.

“I love Italian food.”

“I know,” you nodded, and he finally turned to you.

You exchanged a tender smile, before he would lift your hand to his lips and kiss your knuckles. You grinned at the tender gesture.

“I mean… we could still order some pizza,” you offered. “Watch a movie or something.”

He seemed surprised by your offer.

“We’ll have to go to my place, I want to keep an eye on Elwood.”

“Of course.”

He nodded, clearly refraining a smile.

“I’ll make our real second date good. I promise.”

You heaved a sigh.

“Andy… I don’t care…”

You shook your head, tried to gather your words.

“I don’t care about what we do. I know what’s going on in your brain. I know you’re trying to convince me to stay or something… but you don’t have to. Not everything has to be perfect. It just needs to be us. I’m not going to leave simply because our date is not going according to plan, alright? Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”

A tinge of playfulness lit up his gaze, tugged at the corner of his lips. He was about to become a cheeky, adorable menace, you knew he was. Still, you read in his eyes the gratefulness he felt at your words.

“So… I can come to our next date looking like a mess, like that? Sweatpants and disgusting hoodie?”

You couldn’t refrain a laugh.

“Forget what I said. Put pressure on yourself. So much pressure!”

You mumbled your next words, and he made you repeat them so he could understand them.

“Even like this, you look good,” you repeated, making him blush.

“You’re gorgeous, by the way,” he spoke tenderly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

“Thanks,” you smiled.

“If we go back to my place, and have pizza and a movie, I’ll dress properly for you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I feel foolish next to such a beauty.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was stammering.

“Right…”

Soon enough, Elwood was free to go home. He would need a lot of rest in the coming days, but all was well now. Andrew carried him to his car, and then to his apartment, even though the dog was able to walk on his own now. He spent a while with his dog, petting him, speaking reassuring words while Elwood was lying on his cushion on the floor, and Andrew was sitting beside him. He waited until the dog was asleep, and then he joined you on the couch. You had let him take care of Elwood, feeling that he needed a moment alone. You could hear the quiet snore as the pet slept, tucked in his bed, close to the wall of the living room.

“Alright, I’m gonna get changed,” said Andrew. “You can order whatever you want for tonight.”

“You’re sure?”

“Course.”

“Then… pineapple on pizza it is…”

He spun around, waved a disapproving finger at you.

“I draw the line at slaughtering Italian food, be careful.”

You laughed, ordered your meal while he was getting ready.

When he reappeared with his hair brushed and falling on his shoulders, wearing a turtleneck and some brown trousers, you were too stunned to speak for a second. You let your eyes roam across his frame, studied the way his outfit complimented his body.

Your mouth watered, and you struggled to regulate your breathing.

“So… when is the crime against humanity being delivered?” he joked, sitting by your side again.

“Not too long now.”

“Grand. I’m starving.”

You cleared your throat.

“You… you look amazing, by the way,” you mumbled, trying to hide your reaction to him.

He smirked, leaned closer.

“Can I kiss my gorgeous girlfriend then?”

You nodded with a giggle, letting him close the space between your lips and his. The scent of his cologne was driving you crazy, the brush of his thumb across your cheekbone made you tremble.

Your food arrived sooner rather than later, you settled on the sofa to watch a movie while you ate and talked. Once your pizza (without pineapple) had disappeared, you cuddled into his arms, feeling his lips pressed to your hair every now and then.

“Thank you again for the flowers,” Andrew broke the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you while you watched the movie. “I had never been given flowers before. That’s nice.”

You watched the bouquet that rested there, on his coffee table. He had put the flowers in a vase after coming home from the vet, they were a little wilted after spending some time without water, but Andrew didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s a silly gendered norm.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Thank you.”

You stopped paying attention to the movie when Andrew reached for your chin, gently guided your head towards his so he could kiss you once more. He tasted of the tomato on the pizza, of the red wine you had been drinking with your meal. His hold on your waist and chin tightened as you deepened the kiss, reached up to run your fingers through his hair.

You weren’t sure how you had found yourself straddling his laps, but you were now, the movie still playing behind you but it went on unnoticed. Your back was to the TV, the voices were drowned by your laboured breaths, by the blood thumping in your ears, by Andrew’s soft noises, a mixture of sighs and small growls.

And God… he was such a good kisser…

You shuddered when his hand slipped under your clothes to touch the skin of your shoulder. You paused, took a minute to find back your breathing although you didn’t move out of his embrace, merely rested your forehead against his.

“You’re okay?” he asked in a whisper, voice so deep it made your head spin.

You nodded, hummed.

“Can I be honest?” you asked, and Andrew was quick to encourage you to speak again.

“I really want to stay the night,” you whispered, making Andrew chuckle and nod, his nose brushing against yours in the process.

“I was hoping you would stay,” he admitted, and your heart made a happy jump at his confession.

“Someone’s trying to get laid…” you joked, and Andrew exploded with laughter, throwing his head back in bliss when you ridiculously wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“I should defend my honour as a gentleman,” he answered, grinning from ear to ear and struggling to speak as he still laughed, “but I would then be lying through my teeth. And we can’t have that.”

You laughed too.

“What do you want then?” you asked, your tone still playful, while Andrew was struggling to calm down.

“Oh… terrible things. Very… sinful in nature, definitely.”

He was holding your waist, cradling your cheek. When he blinked up at you, you felt so loved…

“You know, I… I know I kind of… ruined our date, but…”

“It’s not your fault, I’m not mad.”

“I know. And I… I’m grateful for your understanding, and for helping me tonight, for still being here. But I… Actually, I’m spending a very nice evening with you, despite the chaos I’ve provoked.”

You chuckled at that.

“I’m having a very nice evening too,” you nodded in agreement.

He brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, you felt your breath get caught in your throat at the sweet gesture.

“I know it didn’t go according to your plans, but… I’m very happy right now,” he spoke in a quiet, deep voice that made you feel safe and warm.

“I’m happy too,” you nodded.

“Can this still count as our second date?”

You laughed in surprise.

“Hmmm… yeah, okay. Only I have a couple of conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Yes! First, we go to the Italian restaurant I had planned on taking you to for our next date, cause you’re going to love it.”

He nodded with a grin, and your heart made a happy jump at the thought that he was excited for another date with you.

“And second… we move to your bedroom now. Because… there are things that I want to do with you… and I can’t do them with Elwood in the same room as us.”

You noticed how Andrew’s cheeks turned crimson, he laughed good-heartedly at your joke, but couldn’t disagree.

“Sounds like a plan,” he nodded, before letting his gaze fall to your lips. “God, I want you so bad… you have no idea what you do to me.”

You bit on your lip, wore a suave voice when you reached for his cheek, tilted his face towards yours slowly. You noticed how his breathing became more irregular.

You heard him audibly choking at your next words.

“Why don’t you show me then?”

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier fanfic #hozier au #hozier series #hozier hozier professor au #professor au #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #series

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spencerrsmopbucket · 1 day ago

Text

Tides of Venom (3) | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You. the Snake of Seven, had a knack for being efficient. You'd do what needed to be done to get out of the arena alive. But is it that simple?

Warnings: Death. Brutality, basically. The reader being the Snake of Seven.

(NOTE: I am writing the arena and the games differently. It won't be exactly like the movie. The arena isn't a clock, for one. It's very similar to the one in Katniss's first games -- except more water.)

The waiting area was oppressively quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the training facility. Gone were the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of exertion. Here, the silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint hum of Capitol machinery and the soft clicks of heels against polished floors as attendants flitted in and out, making final adjustments to the tributes’ outfits.

You sat in the corner of the room, perched on a small bench as you tightened the laces on your boots. The gear they’d given you was lightweight but durable, designed for speed and agility rather than brute force. Perfect. The Capitol had spared no expense in ensuring every tribute had what suited them. Something practical. You cracked your neck as you closed your eyes, taking a deep slow breath.

You were strapping in. You were becoming her.

Across the room, Reid paced nervously, his fingers twitching at his sides. His dark hair was slicked back, but a few strands had already fallen loose, sticking to his forehead. He looked up at you every so often, his expression a mix of fear and determination. You could see it in his eyes: he knew he didn’t stand a chance out there. Not against the Careers. Not against the arena itself. And certainly not against you.

“You need to stop pacing,” you said sharply, not looking up from your boots. “You’re wasting energy.”

He stopped mid-step, glancing over at you with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. It’s just… hard not to think about what’s coming.”

You finally looked up, your cold e/c eyes locking onto his. “Thinking won’t help you now. You either act, or you don’t. That’s the only thing that matters in this arena." You say coldly, standing up.

Reid nodded, though you could tell your words hadn’t reassured him. He sat on the bench opposite you, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “You’re not scared?” he asked after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head, studying him. Scared? No, that wasn’t the right word. Fear had no place in your mind anymore. Not after everything you’d been through. “Fear’s a luxury I can’t afford,” you said finally. “Neither can you.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked away. “I’ll try.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. Reid wasn’t going to last long. He was smart, sure. Probably the smartest person in the room. But intelligence only got you so far in the Games. The Careers would tear him apart the moment they got the chance. That thought settled heavily in your mind, twisting uncomfortably in your chest. You’d made up your mind days ago, but now, sitting here with him, it felt more real than ever.

In your own interest and in the best interest of Reid, you would take him down first. Before anyone else touched him. In some twisted way, in a way that you knew his parents wouldn't understand, it was an act of mercy. An act of kindness. You would be quick, keeping it as painless as possible.

Maybe you would take the coward's way and kill him while he was asleep. Maybe you would creep up behind him and snap his neck. Whatever it was, it would be your first act in the arena. You weren't going to let one of the bloodthirsty careers, especially Cashmere, who had shown an interest, get to him.

He was too soft, too gentle, too kind.

The waiting room’s oppressive stillness was broken by the sharp sound of the door opening. A Capitol attendant stepped inside, her polished smile as jarring as it was false. Her words were clipped, her tone professional, like this was just another day at work for her.

“It’s time,” she announced.

You stood immediately, tightening the last strap on your gear. The air around you grew heavier, the tension suffocating as you glanced over at Reid. He hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides before he rose to his feet. His face was pale, his jaw set, but his trembling hands gave him away.

“Stay close,” you said again, your voice firm. It wasn’t a suggestion.

He nodded quickly, following behind you as the attendant led you into the hallway. The stark, polished walls glimmered under artificial light, the hum of Capitol machinery filling the air. Your boots clicked rhythmically against the floor, a steady beat counting down the seconds until everything changed.

The launch pads came into view, their cold metal surfaces gleaming with a sterile finality. Capitol technicians bustled around, making last-minute adjustments and murmuring instructions you ignored. The attendant gestured toward your designated platform, and you stepped onto it without hesitation.

The metal beneath your boots was icy, a jarring contrast to the heat simmering in your veins. The glass cylinder descended around you, sealing you inside with an eerie hiss. Across the room, you caught one last look at Reid as he stepped into his own tube. He glanced your way, his eyes wide, searching for reassurance you didn’t have to offer.

As you started ascending, you once more closed your eyes, speaking to yourself in your head.

Don't be merciful.

Don't slow down.

Don't show weakness. For the love of God, don't show pain either.

Get what you need, nothing extra. Don't waste time.

Be smart. Always be one step ahead.

Ignore Finnick Odair.

When your final thought rang through, you opened your eyes. You were being lifted into the arena.

The arena was a brilliantly crafted nightmare. It was a perfect circle, with the Cornucopia perched on a central island surrounded by water. The golden horn gleamed blindingly under the sun, its shadow stretching across the pristine white sand that encircled it.

The water surrounding the Cornucopia wasn’t the refreshing blue of a tropical paradise. It was a dark, ominous teal, its surface deceptively calm, rippling faintly under the weight of the tension in the air. Beyond the water, the arena’s outer edge formed a ring of dense jungle, the foliage impossibly thick and teeming with life. Towering trees with unnaturally large leaves cast deep shadows, and the air buzzed with the constant sound of unseen insects.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked around.

The jungle beyond the water loomed like a living wall, an unrelenting mass of greens and browns that seemed to move and breathe on its own. Thick vines twisted like snakes around tree trunks, and the undergrowth was so dense you could barely make out what lay beyond the first few feet. The shadows within the trees were darker than they should have been, as though the jungle itself was hiding secrets, waiting for the right moment to reveal them.

The air was heavy with the oppressive heat, already making it hard to breathe. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck as you stood still, your boots firmly planted on your platform. The sound of the jungle’s distant life—the chirps, growls, and rustles—melded with the faint lapping of water against the shore. It was a cacophony of unease, designed to unsettle even the strongest minds.

You shifted your focus to the Cornucopia, your sharp eyes scanning the scattered supplies. Weapons glinted in the sunlight, their edges polished to a lethal shine. Packs of various sizes were scattered haphazardly across the sandy island, their contents unknown but undoubtedly essential for survival. The tantalizing glimmer of resources was a trap—a lure for the desperate and the greedy.

To your left, Reid stood frozen on his platform, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in the scene. His wide-eyed terror was palpable even at a distance, and you clenched your jaw. You had no room for distractions. Reid was a dead man walking; it was only a matter of when, not if.

The countdown began.

A booming voice echoed through the arena, counting down from sixty, and the tension became suffocating. Your hands curled into fists, every muscle in your body coiled and ready to spring. Each second that ticked away felt like an eternity, the sound of the clock reverberating in your ears. You inhaled deeply, steadying your nerves. You had one chance, one opportunity to grab what you needed and retreat.

“Forty-five,” the voice droned.

You assessed the tributes, your mind calculating distances, reactions, and potential threats. Cashmere stood with a smirk on her face, her hand flexing at her side like she was already envisioning her next kill. Finnick’s expression was unreadable, though his stance was loose, casual, and far too confident. Brutus practically vibrated with anticipation, his eyes locked on the Cornucopia like a predator eyeing its prey.

You noted their placements and trajectories, marking who would go where. You weren’t the strongest or the fastest, but you were smarter, more calculated. You wouldn’t waste time vying for weapons with the Careers—those were theirs for the taking. You needed supplies, something to sustain you in the hellscape that awaited.

“Thirty.”

The seconds blurred together now, each heartbeat syncing with the countdown. Your eyes darted back to the Cornucopia, mentally tracing a path to the nearest pack that wouldn’t put you in the Careers’ immediate line of fire. A medium-sized bag lay just off-center, near a long, slender blade half-buried in the sand. Close enough to risk. Far enough to escape.

“Fifteen.”

Reid shifted nervously, glancing toward you as if looking for direction. You didn’t return the glance. He needed to make his own choices now. The arena wouldn’t wait for you to hold his hand.

“Ten.”

The sound of your own breathing drowned everything else out. Your chest rose and fell rhythmically as you prepared to sprint. Your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to move, to act.

“Nine.”

The sunlight glinted off the Cornucopia, a final cruel beacon of hope for those foolish enough to think they’d find safety there.

“Eight.”

Your muscles tensed, coiled tight like a spring about to release.

“Seven.”

This was it.

“Six.”

No hesitation.

“Five.”

Every second counted.

“Four.”

A decision was a life.

“Three.”

The world stilled.

“Two.”

The game began.

“One.”

And then, the gong rang.

The instant the gong rang, you propelled yourself forward, your boots slamming against the metal platform as you launched into motion. The sand was firmer than you expected beneath your feet, but you didn’t let it slow you down. Your eyes stayed fixed on your target: the medium-sized pack lying just off-center from the Cornucopia, its muted green fabric almost blending into the sand.

Around you, chaos erupted. Tributes surged toward the golden horn or scattered into the jungle, their movements frantic and desperate. The sharp clanging of metal meeting metal filled the air as the Careers, with their practiced ease, went straight for the weapons. The sounds of screaming began almost immediately, some cut short, others turning into gurgles as blood spilled into the pristine sand.

You tuned it out. All of it. Your focus was singular.

The pack was closer now, and you adjusted your path to grab the blade lying beside it. You skidded to a halt, crouching low as your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife. Its weight was perfect—light enough for precision but heavy enough to do damage. You sheathed it quickly, slinging the bag over your shoulder in one fluid motion before turning back the way you came.

You darted away from the Cornucopia, weaving between other tributes as the chaos continued to unfold. A boy from District 10 lunged at you with a spear, his face contorted with fear and desperation. You sidestepped him easily, slamming the heel of your boot into his knee as you passed. He crumpled to the ground with a scream, but you didn’t look back.

The jungle loomed ahead, its thick shadows promising cover but also danger. You pushed forward, your breath steady, your movements calculated. You didn’t hesitate as you plunged into the dense foliage, the cool shade of the trees enveloping you like a second skin. The sound of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia faded slightly, muffled by the jungle’s oppressive canopy.

You didn’t stop running until you were deep enough that the sounds of violence were just an echo. Finally, you slowed, your breaths coming hard and fast as you ducked behind a massive tree trunk. You slid the pack from your shoulder, quickly unzipping it to assess your supplies.

A waterskin. A few packs of dried meat. A coil of rope. A small first-aid kit.

Not bad. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get you through the first day. You slipped the knife from its sheath, holding it tightly as you scanned your surroundings. The jungle was eerily alive, its sounds louder now that you’d stopped moving. Insects buzzed relentlessly, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures moving through the underbrush.

Your mind raced as you considered your next move. The Careers would consolidate their power at the Cornucopia, picking off stragglers who lingered too long. You had to stay ahead of them, keep moving, and find a vantage point to observe the arena’s layout. Knowledge was your best weapon here, even more than the blade in your hand.

Your eyes narrowed as you thought of Reid. He’d run in the opposite direction, veering off toward the water’s edge when the gong sounded. He hadn’t even tried for supplies, his fear and lack of instinct driving him to flee. You exhaled sharply. You couldn’t think about him now. Not yet.

A faint rustle nearby snapped you back to the present. You tensed, the knife in your hand at the ready. Your heart pounded in your chest as you strained your ears, trying to determine whether it was an animal or another tribute.

“Come out,” you said coldly, your voice steady despite the tension in your muscles. “I don’t have time for games.”

The underbrush parted slowly, revealing…

...a woman, a Victor you didn't recognize, her wide brown eyes filled with terror. Her hair was tied back messily, dirt streaking her face. She held no weapon, just her trembling hands raised slightly in a gesture of surrender. She was from one of the outlying districts—you recognized her as the girl from 11, the one with the quick hands during training.

She froze when she saw you, her chest heaving as though she’d been running for her life, which, in a way, she had.

You didn’t lower your knife. “What do you want?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the blade in your hand, then back to your face. Finally, she whispered, “Please... don’t.”

Your grip tightened on the hilt, but you didn’t make a move toward her. Your mind calculated the risks. She wasn’t a threat—not yet. If you let her go, she could alert others to your position. If you killed her now, it would be cleaner, simpler, less risky in the long run.

But her trembling frame, her pleading eyes—it twisted something in your chest. A pang of something unfamiliar. You shoved it down. Compassion had no place in this arena.

“Turn around,” you ordered sharply. “Walk away, and don’t let me see you again.”

She hesitated for a moment, her body rigid with fear. Then, with a quick nod, she backed away, keeping her eyes on you until she disappeared into the foliage.

You exhaled heavily, letting your arm drop as the knife remained at your side. A small part of you cursed your decision, but the rest—the part that still clung to a shred of humanity—felt relief.

You slid the knife back into its sheath and adjusted the pack on your shoulder. The jungle wasn’t going to wait for you, and neither would the other tributes. You needed to find higher ground, something that would give you a better vantage point to scope out the arena.

The faint sound of running water caught your attention, and you followed it cautiously, keeping low and moving quickly. The dense jungle opened up slightly, revealing a narrow stream cutting through the terrain. You knelt by the water, cupping your hands to take a quick drink, your ears tuned to every sound around you.

As you rose, your thoughts returned to the bloodbath. The Careers would be regrouping by now, and anyone who had tried to challenge them was likely dead. Reid’s face flashed in your mind again, pale and terrified as he’d sprinted toward the water’s edge.

He wouldn’t survive the night.

Your jaw clenched as you forced the thought away. Survival came first. Attachments—emotional or otherwise—were liabilities. You tightened the straps on your pack and began moving upstream, your eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

The arena was waking up now, and you could feel it. The air grew thicker, the sounds of the jungle louder, more chaotic. The Capitol’s hand was everywhere here, manipulating the environment to push you, trap you, force you into confrontation.

And yet, as the sun began its slow descent, you felt a flicker of resolve deep within you. You weren’t here to survive. You were here to win.

Whatever it took.

Hours had passed. The sound of the cannon was like a beautiful melody, reminding you of those that you wouldn't have to take care of. You were up a tree, glaring down onto the ground, waiting for someone to drop down on.

Alerting the others of your position was stupid. You wouldn't move until you had to. You wouldn't move until there was someone to get rid of, to get you closer to home.

Your bag hung on the branch securely as you sat next to it, your expression mildly bored. You prayed to yourself that Reid hadn't died yet.

As if on cue, you heard his voice.

Pleading.

Then, you heard Cashmere's.

Your body tensed immediately, muscles coiling like a spring as you shifted silently on the branch. The sound of Reid’s voice, frantic and desperate, cut through the humid air, sharp enough to make your chest tighten.

“No, please,” he begged, his voice trembling but still carrying that faint, foolish hope that someone might show mercy. “I don’t have anything you want. Just let me go.”

Cashmere’s laugh followed, low and cruel. It echoed through the jungle like a predator’s growl. “Let you go? Oh, sweetheart, it’s not about what you have. It’s about making a statement.”

You inched forward on the branch, your e/c eyes narrowing as you spotted them through the foliage below. Reid was on his knees, hands raised defensively in front of him, his face pale and streaked with sweat. Cashmere stood over him, a spear glinting in her hand, her posture casual yet predatory. She was savoring this moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with its prey.

“Please,” Reid tried again, his voice cracking. “I’m not a threat to you.”

“That’s the problem,” Cashmere said smoothly, twirling the spear. “You’re too easy, Reid. No challenge. No fun. But I’ll admit...” She tilted her head, smirking. “Your fear is so fun.”

Your grip tightened on your knife as you watched, anger simmering in your chest. Cashmere wasn’t killing him for strategy or supplies—she was doing it for the thrill, the spectacle. It was pointless. Cruel.

And you weren’t going to let her have the satisfaction.

Carefully, you secured your pack and shifted your weight, positioning yourself on the branch directly above them. Your mind worked quickly, calculating the angle and force you’d need to take her down cleanly. You couldn’t afford a drawn-out fight—not with other tributes potentially nearby.

“Any last words?” Cashmere purred, raising the spear with a flourish.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, pushing off the branch. “Mine.”

You dropped like a shadow, landing squarely on her back with all your weight. The impact sent her stumbling forward, the spear clattering to the ground as you wrapped an arm around her throat, yanking her off balance. She thrashed wildly, her hands clawing at you, but your grip was ironclad.

“Reid, move!” you barked, your voice sharp.

He scrambled back, wide-eyed, as you wrestled Cashmere to the ground. Her nails raked against your skin, drawing blood, but you didn’t flinch. With a quick, precise motion, you drove your knife into her side, aiming just below her ribs. Her body went rigid beneath you, a strangled gasp escaping her lips before she collapsed.

You heard garbled speech as crimson poured from her mouth, her eyes still wide in shock. Moments later, they closed in what seemed to be exhaustion.

The cannon boomed a second later, the sound reverberating through the jungle like a judge’s gavel.

You shoved her body off you and stood, breathing hard as you turned to face Reid. He was staring at you, his face pale, his hands trembling. “You... you saved me.”

You barely registered the words before your gaze snapped to Reid, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. But as you took a step forward, your instincts screamed at you. You were being watched.

A shadow darted behind a nearby tree, too subtle for Reid to notice, but not for you. Your heart sank as another figure emerged from the foliage.

It was the girl with the dark hair, the one who had been trailing behind you both. You didn't have time to think. She’d seen everything—Cashmere's death, your unguarded moment. She wouldn’t hesitate.

Reid was too distracted by the scene unfolding before him, too overwhelmed by the adrenaline and shock. You had to act fast.

Before the girl had a chance to make her move, you whirled around to face Reid, your hand snaking out like a viper. You grabbed his neck in a brutal grip, yanking him toward you with surprising ease. His eyes widened in panic, but he didn’t scream. He just stared at you, trying to process the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“W-what—what are you doing?” Reid gasped, his voice trembling.

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” you hissed, your face cold and emotionless. “I'm sorry. But this is the easiest way. I'm doing it for you.”

His face contorted with confusion, his body struggling weakly against your iron grip. His hands clawed at your arm, but it was futile. You could feel his pulse racing under your fingers, his fear palpable.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t... please don’t do this. I trust you.”

But the trust was meaningless. You had your orders, your mission. And that mission wasn’t to protect him. It was to survive.

With a swift motion, you twisted his head to the side. His body went limp instantly, the bones in his neck snapping like a twig, the life leaving his eyes in an instant.

The cannon fired immediately after. The sound deafening, final.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you stood over his lifeless form, your hands slick with blood. It didn’t matter how much your heart ached in that moment. It had to be ended before he suffered a worse fate. The worry was setting you off focus -- and even if you'd tried to save him, to bring him home, it wouldn't have worked. You couldn't act as well as Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. It would've cost you too much.

You stood over Reid’s body, your chest heaving with a mixture of exhaustion and something darker—something you didn’t want to acknowledge. But then, as you looked down at him, something unexpected happened.

A single tear, clear and cold, slipped from the corner of your eye and ran down your cheek. It was slow at first, as if the reality of what you had just done was finally settling in. The warmth of it contrasted sharply with the coldness of your heart, and for the first time in a long while, you felt the weight of your actions.

You quickly wiped it away, as if the motion could erase the moment. But it stayed with you, the faint trace of moisture on your skin, lingering like a whisper of the person you used to be—the one who might have hesitated, the one who might have saved him.

But you couldn’t afford that weakness now.

With one last glance at Reid, you turned and disappeared into the jungle, the tear still burning a path on your face, even as you moved further away from everything that had just happened. The silence swallowed you whole, and the only thing left was the sound of the jungle and the fading memory of a decision made in the name of survival.

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