#with simple things like a soft smile and kind eyes

[wzrd-wheezes]

Smitten - James Potter x Reader

AN - Here's a little James fluff that I wrote and completely forgot about lol. Enjoy <3.

He’s smitten. Completely and irrevocably captivated. One glance from her and the world shifts on its axis. When she smiles, his imagination soars and his brain is all white doves and champagne toasts.  

Her laugh isn’t just a sound. It’s church bells on a spring afternoon. He’s not a religious man, but for her, he’d build a cathedral with his bare hands and worship at her altar forever. A simple curve of her lips and he’s envisioning vows under a canopy of twinkling lights, her name being the only prayer he’ll ever need. 

Pathetic. That’s what he tells himself when her hand brushes his. The fleeting touch sparking fireworks he swears other people could see if they looked close enough. In his mind’s eye, he’s already down on one knee, slipping a pretty ring onto her finger. He doesn’t even know her that well yet, but one thing he knows for sure: he’s done for. 

This isn’t like anything he’s ever felt. He’s dated before – flirted, kissed, even thought he’d loved once – but none of that prepared him for this. His heart races, his palms sweat, his cheeks flush whenever she’s near. 

“Mate, you’ve got it bad.” Sirius drawled, taking a long sip of his beer, “I’ve never seen anyone go full Romeo like this before.” 

“Romeo wrote poetry. I’m not writing poetry.” James shot back, leaning against the table. 

“Yet.” Sirius quipped, “Give it a week. You’ll be sitting in your room scribbling odes to her in your journal.” 

“That’s Moony’s thing, not mine.” James teased, raising his glass in mock toast towards Remus. 

Remus raised an unimpressed eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat, sticking two fingers up at James and rolling his eyes, “At least I have the self-respect to not get googly-eyed over someone I’ve spoken to, what? Twice?” 

“Three times.” James corrected automatically, only to wince when his friends dissolved into laughter. 

“You fall in love quicker than Sirius can down a pint.” Remus quipped, clearly enjoying himself. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Sirius tormented, “or have you not planned it yet? Here, Moony, do you think Prongs is a spring wedding guy, or more of an autumn kind of thing?” 

“Spring.” Remus replied dryly, “Flowers blooming. Birds chirping. All very poetic.”  

“Obviously, there’ll be doves,” Sirius added, gesturing grandly as if arranging the scene. 

“Maybe throw in a harpist for good measure,” Remus suggested, deadpan. 

James groaned and dropped his head into his hands, “You two are insufferable-” He froze, mid-protest, his groan dying in his throat as the sound of laughter drifted across the pub. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but the soft sound hit him square in the chest. 

 She was here. 

Of course she was. The universe had an impeccable sense of irony. 

Sirius, ever observant, followed James’s line of sight and grinned like the Cheshire Cat, “Oh, would you look at that.” He said, far too loudly for James’s liking. 

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed, “Shit. What’s she doing here?” 

Sirius and Remus exchanged a shifty glance with each other and Sirius took a slow sip from his pint, his grin growing more smug by the second.  

“You bastards!” James gasped, realisation dawning on him, “You knew she was going to be here! I thought it was weird that you picked this pub and not the Broomsticks!” 

Remus snorted, his mouth splitting into a cocky smile as he nodded. Maybe the universe wasn’t cruel, but his friends sure were.  

“Guilty as charged.” Remus sniggered. 

“Yep.” Sirius replied, popping the ‘p’, “Mary mentioned that they were coming here tonight. Thought you could do with a little push in the right direction.”  

“You planned this?”  James said incredulously, “You’ve been conspiring behind my back!” 

“More like wingmanning really,” Remus shrugged, “You go on about her all the time Prongsy. We were just... facilitating the inevitable.”  

“Right, and what was the grand plan?” James pretended to look annoyed but his heart was racing a little, “I’m supposed to just walk up to her now and –what? Spill my heart out?” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “If you want to. Or you could just start with ‘Hello’. You know, like a normal bloke.”  

“Or go and buy her a drink.” Remus drained the last drop of his beer and waved the empty glass in James’s face, “It’s your round anyway.” he winked. 

James hesitated, glancing across the room to where she stood. 

“Fine.” He muttered, raking a hand through his hair, “but if this goes sideways then I’m blaming you.” 

Sirius grinned, “Oh, it’ll go brilliantly. Go get her, Romeo.” 

Okay, Potter. Play it cool. Don’t trip. Definitely don’t trip. 

James’s heart hammered in his chest as he crossed the pub, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses fading into the background. All he could focus on her- and the pounding in his chest. She looked so effortlessly radiant, standing with Mary and Lily, a drink in her hand.  

Just say hello. He told himself. It wasn’t hard. Two syllables. Completely manageable.  

When her reached their table, she turned, her smile softening when she saw him. “James, hey! I didn’t expect to see you here.”  

Step one: complete. She remembers your name. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting, leaning casually against the table. Or at least, what he hoped looked like casually. 

“Hey. Yeah, funny coincidence, huh? Was just on my way to the bar when I saw you guys. Thought I’d come and say hello.” 

From across the room, Sirius fake coughed something that sounded suspiciously close to “liar!”. James ignored him, focusing entirely on her. As always. 

“Are you out with Sirius and Remus?” Mary asked, smiling at him knowingly. 

“Sat planning their next scheme I assume?” Lily grinned.  

“Probably.” James tried to slyly wipe his clammy palms on his jeans, “I’ve learned not to ask questions.”  

“Smart man.” Y/N smiled softly, “So, are you here to escape them?” 

“Something like that.” the tightness in his chest eased a little, “I’m just heading to get a drink. Do you want anything?” he directed the question towards her. 

“Oh, I'll come with you.” She said, standing up, “It’s my round anyway.” 

He barely managed to keep his face neutral as she fell into step beside him, the warmth of her presence making his brain short circuit.  

“So,” she said, glancing at him as they approached the bar, “Did Sirius and Remus drag you here, or was this your idea?” 

He hesitated for a second, scared that he’d been caught red handed. He could like, pretend this was all a coincidence, but something about the casual way that she asked made him think that she’s just making conversation. She doesn’t know. She can't know. She has no idea how often she’s occupied his thoughts, how ridiculous he’s been about her. 

“They had opinions of the venue,” he settled on, trying to keep his tone light, “Remus often drags us here – cheaper pints and all that.”  

She hummed, considering his answer and then picked up the menu, “So, what’s your usual?” 

James blinked. “My what?” 

“Your usual drink,” she clarified, throwing him a bemused look, “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those blokes who just orders whatever.” 

“Absolutely not.” James lied. 

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully, “You so are.” 

James shrugged, trying not to look thrown off, “I like to keep things interesting.” 

“Yeah?” she said, clearly unconvinced, “So what are you ordering then”? 

He opened his mouth to speak before realising that he doesn’t actually care what he drinks. He couldn’t order a beer, could he? That was far too predictable. A cocktail maybe? Then, to his horror, he blurted out, “What are you getting?” 

She lifted an amused eyebrow, “What, are you going to copy me?” 

“No,” James scoffed, as it that would be ridiculous, “I’m just... curious. Looking for inspiration.” 

She pursed her lips a little, scanning the selection of bottles behind the bar, “I was thinking a rum and coke.” 

“Excellent choice.” James said, as if he had any thoughts on rum and coke whatsoever. 

“That’s what you’re getting, isn’t it?” her lips twitched into a smile. 

He gestured vaguely, “I mean, if I happen to want the same thing-”  

She laughed, shaking her head as she places their order. James exhales, wondering if this conversation is going as awfully as it feels, but she seems relaxed, like this is normal.  

Which for her, it probably is. She doesn’t know. 

“You didn’t properly answer my question earlier.” she turned back to him. 

“Which one?” 

“Why this pub?” she tilted her head, “You guys are always at the Broomsticks.” 

Shit. Shit. 

“Oh, are you stalking me now?” he teased, “Change of scenery I guess.” 

She hummed again, clearly not buying it, but before she can dig deeper, the bartender returns with their drinks.  

James latched onto the distraction like a lifeline as he paid.  

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass. 

She clinked her against his, smiling easily, “Cheers, Potter.” 

His name sounds too good when she says it.  

When he returned to the table, Sirius is grinning like he knows exactly what’s going on.  

James pointedly doesn’t look at him. 

She doesn’t know.  

And maybe, for now, that’s for the best. 

“You’re gone, mate.” Sirius smirks. 

“Completely gone.” Remus agrees. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

[filthygalli]

Unholy

Fem!Reader x Priest!Hwang In-Ho (one shot)

Warnings: 18+, Sexual Innuendo, Not for religious people tbh, mention of fingering, sex, bibles, beliefs, and many more that I forgot. Badly written and also not proofread.

Word Count: 1747

Author's Note: I wrote this while waiting for my friends outside the lobby of my school, it took me an hour to construct something like this but I feel like it's bad, please let me know what do you think! 🥺🖤

You're not as faithful as your parents, they pray everyday and night, thanking god for everyday life that God made for them, going to church every Sunday, worshipping their god, offering help at the church when they can—while you their only daughter and child aren't that faithful, you respect it though, it's just you have more important things to do since you're in college and also working as a librarian at a local Library not too far from your house. You work there for months now and honestly, you enjoy it. You get to read your favorite books while helping the locals to find their own books, recommending them books, telling them where it is located, it's simple but you enjoy it.

One day, there's this Tall and handsome middle aged man went inside the library, he's alluding, his jaw is Sharp, his hair looks soft and fluffy—it almost cover his forehead, it's also a dark brown color, you looked at him from up to down, he wears a rimless glasses, pushing it up on his nose with his index fingers, he wears a black pants, a leather boots that heels clicked everytime he walks—he looks hot and sexy, yet innocent. Too innocent looking for an old man like him, you also noticed his clothing, similar from what the priest wears, black button up sleeve that hugged every muscle on his figure, the way his biceps tightened around the sleeve of his shirt, veins popping out as he adjusts the sleeve from his elbows, then he walked towards you—Wait Towards you?!—His gaze on you is soft and quiet, he slowly walks towards you, the heels of his leather booths echoed through the thick air of silence, You gulped as he smiled at you before speaking, “Hi, Good morning.” He said leaning down a little at your table, Your breath hitched as his dark brown eyes turned up to look at you, ‘God…’ you thought, a silver cross necklace hangs on his neck as he leaned down, “Hi, Goodmorning Sir..” you mumbled as you tried to pretend that your busy, “I'm sorry to bother but I need some help to find a specific book..” he said as he deeply chuckled, ‘Fuck, he looks and sounds so hot’ you thought as you gave him a shy smile, “Ah..What kind of book is it?” You said slightly fixing your skirt as you stood up, He paused for a moment, “Well…I-” he hesitated before chuckling again, “It's a book about.. Erotic fiction,” he said scratching the back of his neck, avoiding your look, ‘Oh…not so innocent at all’ you thought as you gave him a smile, “Well, we have a lot,” you said chuckling at him, “yeah..” he muttered as he smiled back, he smiled brightly, “Follow me, Mr..?” You said walking towards the book section as you turned back to him, “In-Ho, Hwang In-Ho.” he looked down on your figure as he towered you, “Mr. Hwang…please, Follow me.” You said as he nodded, following you after.

“Here we are,” you said as you pointed at the bookshelves full of erotic fictions that Mr. Hwang asked you, “That's a lot…” he said as his eyes wandered through numerous books. In Front of him, his eyes twinkled at the different colorful and dark book covers, “What do you recommend? Ms..?” he said eyeing you, “Y/n L/n” you mumbled as he nodded, “Y/n..” he tested your name on his lips, he liked the sound of it, it's unique and beautiful—perfect for such a beautiful woman like you, “Well, Nice to meet you, Ms. Y/n.” He said extending his hand for you to shake, you looked at his hand, Fuck his hand look so big compared to yours, it's veiny and it looks soft—You extended your hand as you felt his soft touch against your skin, you shook it as Mr.Hwang didn't break eye contact with you, “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Hwang.” You muttered, “In-Ho, Call me In-Ho, Sweetheart.” You blushed at the name he called you, Sweetheart? You repeated the name inside your head, you smiled slightly to yourself, Mr. Hwang noticed it, he smirked as he pulls his hand away from your grasp, “So,” you breathe out, “It's quite odd for someone like you to find such books like these–” you said motioning the books around the two of you, he chuckled deeply, “I like reading, it's just,” he stopped for a moment, unsure of what's he going to say, “I wanted to try the uhm, this kind of genre.” He said as he slowly looked away from you, embarrassed. “I see, well, there's a lot of books that are great under the genre that you're curious about,” you said as you slowly wander your eyes around the bookshelves, finding a specific book that might interest Mr. Hwang—He glance at you; admiring your innocent features, the way you would look at him…it's pure innocence, your soft and pinkish lips, he also noticed your hands earlier , the way his own hands gripped yours, your delicate touch made him shiver a little, The way your skirt hugged your curves—it fits perfectly on you, the only thing he can think about is bending you over on your table as he raise your skirt, spanking your ass hard that'll leave marks on your skin for days, or maybe bending you over as he slid his fingers inside you, pumping in and out of your pussy teasingly as you beg him to go faster as you chase your high, he felt his pants get tight as he thinks about his unholy thoughts about you, for god sake—he’s a damn priest, why would he think such things like this? He'll burn in hell because of you, but his soul is worth burning if he sinned because of you.

He'll make you quiver, shake, and whisper his name like a fervent prayer.

His eyes grew darker, as you explained every detail of the book that you recommended to him. At this point he doesn't need that book, he needs you, he yearns for you.

“Mr. Hwang?” You called his name, “Hmm?” He muttered, snapping himself out of his thoughts, “I said, Would you enjoy these?” You said bringing the two books from your hand to his face, he looked at the dark cover of the book, it had skulls and roses on it, ‘Haunting Adeline’ he read the book title in his mind, “Oh..what is it about?” He asked tilting his head a little, “Well…it's a cat and mouse trope, he stalks this girl and do stuffs to her..” you said almost a whisper, he noticed that you were shy, he finds it adorable, “Ah, I see…that'll do, I'll let you know if I liked it or not,” he chuckled which made you chuckle too, “Alright, just bring it to my desk so I can log the book under your name,” you said as you gave him a knowing look, he nodded and followed you behind.

You logged the book under his name and asked for his details, “Sorry but…what's your name again?” You asked slightly embarrassed. That's a big lie, Of course you know his name. He chuckled, “Next time…I'll make sure you'll remember my name.” He teased as he deeply chuckled, the sound of his chuckle sent shivers down your spine, “It's Hwang In-Ho, Sweetheart.” There is it again, that little nickname. “Right, I'll make sure to remember it this time.” You gave him a smile as you gave the book to him, “Here you go, Mr. Hwang.” he grabbed the book on the table, still looking at you, “I told you to call me In-Ho, sweetheart.” he said as he grinned, “In-Ho…Alright.” You say as you nodded, he left after that.

In-Ho went out of the Library, his mind is full of your image all he could think about is Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. He can't stop himself from thinking such things about you, he feels disgusting, pathetic—he’s a fucking priest! First, he borrowed a book that it's clearly not appropriate for him to read, second, the way he imagined how he will bend you over and fuck you all over the bookshelves in that library makes his pants tight, he groans to himself as he reach his house, throwing the book on the coffee table, he sat down on the sofa as he questions himself about what he just did a couple of minutes ago.

Reading is one of In-Ho’s hobbies. He likes to read any kind of genre of books, he owns tons of erotic fiction in his home, it sounds odd that a priest who's supposed to be reading bibles and pray every day and night likes to read unholy fiction novels. But, earlier at the library it's his first encounter with a woman like you, you're beautiful unlike other women that he had one night stand with, Christ—he’s a priest and he does one night stand?!—He likes how calm you are, how cute you are when you get shy or stutter a little when he looks at you, he yearns for you, he wants you badly, and he'll make you his no matter what.

You sat on your chair doing paperwork as the priest from earlier came across your mind, you thought of how handsome he is for a priest, how veiny his hands are, how fit he is—is he really a priest?—how he looks at you with those eyes, it's not just a normal look, it's the hungry gaze, how his pupils dilate when he looks at you, it's weird because priests should be reading bibles instead of erotic fictions, right? Also…a dark romance book too? You wonder if he likes to read books like that, you wonder what book is his favorite, or where and what church is he a priest on because you want to see him on that altar speaking words of god as you hear it as word of lust, how you want him to moan your name like a prayer, spread your folds like a page from a Bible, or bend your back on the table like how he bends the spine of the book where words of god is written, you feel a pool of wetness on your thighs as you squeeze them together, it feels so illegal, thinking his way, it's filthy and disgusting, Yet you love it.

Author's Note: Aaaaaaa omg thank you for reading my works, we're so close on 300 flowers!! I'm so touched for having such kind and loving readers like y'all:(( I'm going to keep publishing my works for y'all! More updates soon! Thank you!🖤🥺

[yourlovelywriter]

Bewitched by you? (Pt 1)

Lilia x reader…

Slow burn guys.. a little spicy later. 👀

(Mommy kink, angst, jealousy, panties, unusual use of said panties..)

———————————————

I adjusted the collar of my blouse for the third time, frowning at my reflection. “It’s just a job,” I told myself. “A weird job, but still just a job.”

The words didn’t do much to settle the nerves twisting in my stomach. I wasn’t sure why I was so anxious—maybe because I still couldn’t believe I’d actually been hired. When I first saw the listing for an assistant at Lilia’s shop,

I assumed it was a long shot. I had no experience in the mystical or magical, unless you counted binging astrology videos at 2 AM. But apparently, that hadn’t mattered.

Even people who rolled their eyes at tarot and spells knew her name. Some called her a fraud, others swore she was the real deal. Either way, she had power—the kind that made people lean in when she spoke and shiver when she looked at them too long.

I grabbed my bag and took a deep breath. Whatever was waiting for me inside that shop, I’d just have to handle it. Even if my new boss was a little…unpredictable.

The entire walk to the shop, my thoughts raced. What if I messed up? What if she could see things about me just by looking at me? Would she know I was nervous? Would she care?

The storefront was just as strange and dramatic as I’d imagined—deep purple paint, gold lettering on the windows, and a wind chime that jingled even though there was no breeze. A small wooden sign hung on the door, hand-painted with the words “Fate Awaits Within.”

I hesitated. Maybe I should turn around. Maybe I should—

The door swung open before I could finish the thought.

A woman stood in the doorway, her dark eyes fixed on me like she had been expecting me exactly at this moment. She was tall, effortlessly elegant in a yellow-orange wrap dress that hugged her curves, with grey waves of hair cascading over her shoulders. She was the kind of beautiful that made you feel unbalanced, like you’d forgotten how to stand properly.

You’re late,” she said, even though I wasn’t.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. She arched a perfectly shaped brow, then gave a slow, knowing smile.

“Come in, Y/n,” she said, stepping aside. “Let’s see if you’ll last the day.”

I swallowed hard and walked inside, feeling like I had just stepped into something far bigger than a simple job.

The moment I stepped inside, the scent of incense wrapped around me—something warm and spicy, like cinnamon and clove, with a hint of something I couldn’t place. The air felt heavier in here, charged, as if the walls themselves held secrets. Dim lighting flickered from candles perched on shelves, casting soft shadows over the deep emerald walls.

I barely had time to take it all in before Lilia shut the door behind me. The click of the latch sent a shiver down my spine.

“Come on,” she said, her voice smooth, effortless, as if she’d done this a thousand times before.

She moved through the shop with the kind of grace that made it impossible not to follow.

I hurried after her, weaving between displays of tarot decks, glass cases filled with polished stones, and a large circular table where a spread of cards lay waiting, as if a reading had just been interrupted

Lilia swept through a beaded curtain at the back, and I pushed through behind her, stepping into a sunlit office that felt different from the rest of the shop.

Papers and books cluttered a desk by the window, among scattered crystals and an abandoned coffee cup. A sleek black cat stretched across one corner, lazily cracking open one eye before deeming me unworthy of further attention.

“This is your desk,” Lilia says, nodding toward a small wooden table near the window. “You’ll handle calls, appointments, and whatever else I decide to throw your way.”

I straightened. “Got it.”

She gave a slow, almost amused smile. “We’ll see.”

Leaning against her desk, arms crossed, she studied me. I felt the weight of her gaze like she was seeing through me, past the résumé, past the rehearsed answers.

“So, Y/n,” she said, voice softer now, but no less commanding. “Why are you here?”

I blinked. “Um…because you hired me?”

She let out a quiet hum, tilting her head like I’d just confirmed something she already suspected. “No,” she murmured. “Why are you here?”

The question sent a strange chill through me. “I—I needed a change.”

Lilia arched a brow, like she wasn’t convinced. “Maybe.” A pause. Then, with a knowing smile: “Or maybe, you were always meant to walk through that door.”

A shiver trailed down my spine, but before I could respond, she pushed off the desk and turned toward the door. “Come on,” she said, already moving. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

I exhaled slowly, ignored the feeling curling in my stomach, and followed her back into the unknown..

———————————

Hehheheheheh… anyway… this is supposed to be a slow burn but I don’t know if it’s any good.. might just abandon it. But yeah… anywho.. she’s so cute I love her.. 😍

[lexirosewrites]

Ficlet idea, designer Eddie and model Steve

OH NO OMFG this prompt was from a year and a half ago (September 2023) because i apparently wrote this whole thing and then accidentally lost it in my drafts😭😭😭 might as well post it now!

A New Muse

Eddie can’t say how he went from the Indiana trailer park to having his own collection at New York Fashion Week without explaining that things like that don’t usually happen to people like him.

Maybe it was the luck of being born an alpha. Or maybe it was just stupid fate.

Who knows? Certainly not him.

And although he’s been used to the lifestyle of excess and glamor for a while now, sometimes the world he lives in now still manages to amaze him.

All it took was a lucky break and his work being seen by the right people. Then he’d been whisked away to riches and fame, his name becoming known by every young adult in a matter of months.

Suffice to say that by this point, Eddie wasn’t overly surprised when he was asked to do a feature piece in a big time magazine. The editor had specifically requested for him to design a few grunge menswear outfits to be modeled alongside the article about his rise to success.

Eddie spent weeks grueling over his designs, making sure all his pieces were representative of the kind of work he does, but it was a struggle to create something that he was proud of and that would explain his vision of fashion.

The interview itself was simple enough, just a handful of questions by someone who already knew far too much about his life. They skirted around his less than pretty past and played up the rags to riches aspect that everyone loved to oversell when it comes to alphas.

And then came the photoshoot.

Eddie had been given measurements of an up-and-coming model who would be showcasing all of the designs. Supposedly, the guy was fine modeling both masculine and feminine clothing, so Eddie was able to keep his sizing consistent across the board.

The only mistake was that he was never given a photo of the model. Or told that he was an omega.

He had no clue that the model would be the most stunning man he’s ever seen.

“Hi, I’m Stevie,” the angle introduced himself with a dimpled smile and wide eyes. His scent dripping with sugary sweetness. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Eddie almost forgets to shake his hand, too enamored with the beautiful omega being presented to him on a platter. He recovers enough to slip his hand into the waiting one.

“I’m an alpha.”

That’s definitely not what he meant to say.

Steve chuckles, a soft charming little thing.

“Good to know. Do you have a name, alpha?”

Eddie’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He might be drooling. He’s definitely lightheaded.

The omega called him alpha. He could be his alpha.

“Um, I’m so sorry! Eddie! It’s Eddie!” he spits out in a rush, attempting to recover from his temporary lapse in sanity.

Another angelic noise of amusement.

“You’re sweet, Eddie,” Steve tells him, sounding slightly forlorn about it. “But I can’t date a coworker.”

Eddie can practically feel his ears pin back against his head in disappointment like a kicked puppy.

“Oh. Right, yeah, no that makes sense. Smart idea. Gotta be careful when you’re a professional.” His voice is thin and unconvincing.

Being rejected by a perfect angel hurts more than he thought it would.

Steve’s perfectly plump lips turn upward slowly.

“But if you find me after the shoot when we’re not coworkers anymore, you can buy me coffee. That is… if you let go of my hand so I can do my job first.”

Jesus Christ.

Eddie had never let go of his hand.

He loosens his grip long enough for Steve to make it through the shoot and then he vows to never let go again.

They’re mated a year later, right before Steve changes his modeling demographic to maternity photoshoots instead.

And Eddie finds his lifelong muse.

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

You had always been curious about the Lucky Egg Dispenser, a mysterious device rumored to grant adventurers a lifelong companion. Most people who used it received magical creatures, loyal beasts, or helpful familiars.

“It doesn’t hurt to try” you muttered, inserting the required currency and pulling the lever.

With a soft clunk, a smooth white egg rolled out, settling at your feet. You picked it up, weighing it in your hands. The display indicated it would take three days to hatch, not an issue for you. You had raised creatures before, and you always loved trying new things.

But when the time came, and the egg finally cracked open… Instead of a creature, instead of an animal or familiar, a man stepped out.

Tall, elegant, dressed in pristine white with a knowing smile curling at his lips. His bright golden eyes gleamed as he stretched, as if waking from a long dream.

Then, his gaze landed on you.

“Ah” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “So you’re the one who called me.”

Before you could react, he took a step forward, grasping your hand gently but firmly, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

“You may call me Sunday” he said, smiling sweetly. “And from now on—” his grip tightened, his golden eyes never wavering from yours “I belong to you.”

Baby duck syndrome is not what you expected.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Sunday remained close, his golden eyes studying you with a quiet fascination. There was something unsettling about the way he observed you, like you were a puzzle he had already solved but still wanted to take apart piece by piece.

Then, his expression shifted. A small, tired sigh escaped his lips as he leaned ever so slightly against you. “I feel… strange” he murmured, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

Your instincts kicked in before you could think.

“Are you feeling weak?” you asked, scanning him for signs of illness or exhaustion. He had just been born, after all.

Sunday only gave a slow nod.

You hesitated before gently guiding him to the bed. “You should rest” you said, pulling the blanket over him. “I’ll go out and buy some food. Stay here and sleep.”

Sunday blinked up at you, his golden eyes half-lidded, his lips curling just slightly at the corners.

“Okay.” he whispered.

You left, unaware of the way his gaze lingered on your retreating figure. Unaware of the way his fingers lightly traced the sheets you had just touched. Unaware of the way he let out a quiet chuckle, his exhaustion nothing more than an act, a simple game to see how easily you’d care for him.

How quickly you’d let your guard down.

When you returned with bags of food, he was exactly where you had left him, still curled beneath the blanket.

The next morning, as you prepared for work, Sunday sat up with a slow, lazy stretch.

“Take me with you” he said.

You blinked. “You want to go dungeon crawling?”

He tilted his head. “You’re my partner, aren’t you? I should be by your side.”

You hesitated. Taking an inexperienced person into a dungeon was dangerous, even if he had come from the Lucky Egg. But from the way he looked at you, so expectant, so patient, you found yourself agreeing before you could think too hard about it.

“Alright. But first, we need to get you supplies and a weapon.”

Sunday smiled. It was a slow, knowing smile, like he had expected you to say yes all along.

The weapon shop was one of the best in town, known for testing adventurers to determine what kind of weapon suited them best.

Sunday walked in beside you, his golden eyes sweeping over the neatly arranged weapons, his expression unreadable. The shopkeeper, an older man who had seen countless warriors come and go, greeted you with a nod.

“New recruit?” he asked, looking Sunday up and down.

You hesitated before nodding. “Something like that.”

Sunday said nothing, only offering the man a polite smile.

The shopkeeper gestured toward the testing area. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Unlike most adventurers, Sunday didn’t reach for a sword or staff.

Instead, he walked toward a shelf lined with old spellbooks.

He stopped in front of one, tilting his head before picking it up. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the book shuddered, glowing symbols unraveling from the pages, floating in the air like restless spirits.

A deep hum filled the room. Sunday's golden eyes gleamed as the magic coiled around his fingertips. He flipped the book open, running his hand over the text.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spoke a single word.

A shockwave burst through the shop, every candle flickering, every item rattling on its shelves. A surge of energy shot forward, splitting the testing dummy apart with precise, clean cuts, the edges of the wood scorched from pure magical heat.

The shopkeeper let out a slow breath. “…You sure he’s a beginner?”

Sunday turned to you, his smile small but unmistakable.

As if he was expecting your reaction.

The dungeon entrance loomed ahead, an eerie cavern pulsing with an unnatural glow. You had been here before, countless times, even. But this time, you weren’t alone.

Sunday walked beside you, his book tucked under one arm, golden eyes bright with curiosity. Unlike most newcomers, he showed no hesitation. If anything, he looked amused.

“Stay close” you warned as you stepped in. “Dungeons aren’t predictable.”

Sunday merely smiled. “Of course.”

The first wave of monsters lunged at you.

You raised your weapon, already preparing to fight, but before you could react, Sunday murmured something under his breath. The spellbook in his hands flipped open on its own. Ethereal pages glowed, symbols lifting into the air like drifting embers. A pulse of invisible energy rippled outward. The monsters stopped instantly. Their movements slowed, their eyes unfocused, as if they had forgotten what they were doing. Then, one by one, they turned, lumbering away, their aggression erased from their minds.

You stood frozen. “Did you… just make them forget they were attacking?”

Sunday hummed, flipping another page. “Mmm. Something like that.”

Before you could question him further, a second group of monsters appeared. This time, Sunday didn’t wait. He spoke another spell, his voice lilting, almost gentle. The creatures turned on each other.

They screeched and tore at their own kind, their minds completely overwritten, their perception of friend and foe altered in an instant. By the time you stepped forward to deal the final blow, there was nothing left to fight.

“Was that helpful?” he asked lightly.

You didn’t answer immediately. Because no matter how useful his magic was, no matter how effortless he made it seem, there was one undeniable fact. Sunday’s power wasn’t just about attack or defense. It was about control.

After emerging victorious from Sunday’s first dungeon dive, you decided to celebrate.

The bar was lively, filled with adventurers boasting of their conquests over drinks. You found a table for two, ordering food and drinks, letting the adrenaline from the dungeon finally settle.

Sunday sat across from you, golden eyes watching your every move. He hadn’t touched his drink much, merely swirling the liquid in his glass, seemingly more interested in you.

"You did well today" you admitted, taking another sip of your drink.

His lips curled slightly. "Mmm. Did I?"

You gave him a look. "You know you did."

Sunday hummed, tilting his head. "Then… will you keep me by your side?"

Something about the way he said it sent a strange shiver down your spine, but before you could respond, a loud scoff interrupted.

You turned, eyes narrowing as a group of men approached your table. You recognized them, regular adventurers, ones who never liked newcomers.

"Never seen you around before" one sneered, looking at Sunday. "A fresh recruit, huh? Got yourself an easy ride with a partner like that?"

Sunday blinked at them, expression unreadable.

You sighed, already annoyed. "We're just here to eat."

"Yeah?" Another man chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder. "Then maybe you can spare some of those dungeon points for us, sweetheart."

Before he could finish his sentence, he froze. His eyes went blank. His fingers twitched before he abruptly pulled his hand away, stepping back as if he had touched something burning.

The other men stilled, confusion flashing across their faces as the atmosphere shifted.

Sunday was still seated, his book closed, his expression pleasant.

"You're being quite rude" he murmured.

The men stiffened. Their faces twisted as if they were struggling to understand something, as if their own thoughts weren’t their own anymore. Then, without another word, they turned. And walked straight out of the bar.

You stared.

Sunday smiled at you. "Shall we continue our meal?"

You didn't reply immediately. Because once again, he had done something—something unnatural.

By the time you returned home, the alcohol had settled in, leaving you slightly sluggish.

Sunday followed you closely, perfectly composed despite drinking with you earlier.

"You should rest" you mumbled, pushing him toward his own bed.

Sunday let himself be tucked in, golden eyes watching you with quiet amusement.

You turned to leave for the other room, but suddenly, an arm wrapped around your waist. You barely had time to react before you were pulled down into Sunday’s embrace. Your breath hitched as he buried his face into your shoulder, his grip firm.

"Stay" he whispered.

You tensed. "Sunday—"

"Just for tonight" he said. "You're warm."

Your body was too heavy from exhaustion, too sluggish from the alcohol to argue properly. Eventually, sleep pulled you under.

The next morning, you woke up sore.

Your body ached from the awkward position you had slept in, Sunday’s arms still loosely wrapped around you. You groaned, shifting slightly. That was when you felt his fingers brush against your back.

“…You're in pain?” His voice was quiet.

You sighed. “Kind of. You held on too tight.”

“I see. My apologies.”

His tone was light, casual, even. But when you turned to look at him—He was smiling. And somehow, you got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t sorry at all.

It wasn’t surprising that Sunday’s abilities had drawn attention. After the dungeon raid and his effortless control over enemies, it was only a matter of time before a guild or authority figure took notice.

They approached the two of you after a routine dungeon run, their uniforms crisp, their expressions unreadable.

“You there! Sunday, was it?”

Sunday barely spared them a glance.

“We’d like to speak with you. Your abilities are… unconventional.”

Sunday smiled. Not his usual playful one. Not his amused, knowing one. This one was cold.

“I’m not interested.”

The guild members exchanged glances, clearly not expecting such a blunt dismissal.

“You should reconsider. If you join, you’ll have access to—”

“I said,” Sunday cut in smoothly, “I’m not interested.”

The conversation ended there.

You didn’t press him about it. Not yet.

A few days later, you finally had some free time. Deciding Sunday needed to learn more about this world, you took him through the city, explaining how things worked, the market, the trading system, the different factions of adventurers. He listened with interest, though he often focused more on you than on the surroundings.

Then, while passing by a street vendor, you noticed something. Sunday had stopped walking. He was staring at a display of rings, delicate, polished bands, some plain, some adorned with small gemstones.

You raised an eyebrow. “Interested in jewelry?”

Sunday blinked, as if caught off guard. “No” he said, too quickly.

You smirked.

Ignoring his weak denial, you picked up a simple silver ring and handed it to the vendor.

“I’ll take this one.”

Sunday’s eyes widened slightly as you took his hand, slipping the ring onto his finger.

“There” you said. “Consider it a gift.”

For a moment, he just stared at it. Then, he flexed his fingers, golden eyes unreadable.

“…You shouldn’t give things like this so easily.”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something.

But before he could, a familiar, sinking feeling settled in your gut.

You weren’t alone.

You barely had time to react before figures appeared around you, their movements precise, their presence unmistakable.

Guild members.

And they weren’t just here to talk this time.

Sunday stepped in front of you immediately.

One of the guild members raised a hand. “We don’t want trouble. We just need him to come with us.”

Sunday’s fingers curled. You felt it before you saw it. The shift in the air. The way reality itself seemed to bend around him. One moment, the guild members were standing firm. The next, their movements turned sluggish, hesitant.

Some faltered entirely, eyes unfocused, their minds clearly muddled.

“Leave” he said

And they did.

Not because they wanted to

But because Sunday had made them want to.

By the time you got home, the tension had finally faded.

You let out a relieved breath, turning to Sunday. “That was… intense.”

He simply smiled. “I handled it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Then, softly, you asked, “Sunday… why were they after you?”

He hesitated. His usual ease, his usual playfulness—gone.

“…Does it matter?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

Then, with a small chuckle, he looked away.

“Let’s not ruin the mood.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

But the weight of your unanswered question lingered. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sunday was keeping something from you.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. Sunday was too strong, too intelligent, too unnatural.

His level skyrocketed after only a few dungeon runs. His magic wasn’t just powerful, it was absolute. He could alter minds, erase memories, bend reality in ways no normal adventurer could.

And now, the guild wanted him.

But for what reason?

And why wouldn’t he tell you?

You decided to start with the Adventurer’s Registry.

Every adventurer, no matter their origin, had an entry in the system. Even those spawned from the Lucky Egg Machine would at least have basic data—name, level, class, stats.

But when you searched for Sunday, something strange happened. There was no record.

Not incomplete data. Not a hidden file.

Just… nothing.

As if he didn’t exist.

A cold feeling settled in your gut.

Something was wrong.

Determined, you dug deeper.

If the registry didn’t have his records, then maybe the guild—

Error

Your access was blocked.

That was odd. You weren’t a high-ranking adventurer, but you should have been able to see basic guild logs.

Why would Sunday’s information be classified?

Unless…

It was dangerous to know.

That night, you confronted him.

“Sunday,” you said firmly, stepping in front of him. “Who are you?”

He blinked, golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Then, he smiled. “Your partner.”

“Don’t do that.” Your voice was sharper than intended. “I looked you up. You don’t exist. Not in the registry. Not anywhere.”

He sighed.

“…You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Sunday” you whispered. “Tell me the truth.”

He tilted his head, studying you, fingers tracing the ring you had given him.

Then, softly, almost regretfully—he murmured:

“I was never meant to be found.”

And just like that, you realized

Sunday wasn’t just powerful.

He was something else entirely.

Your investigation led you to an unlikely source, an old researcher who had once worked with the guild. The meeting was secretive, hidden within the ruins of an abandoned archive.

"You’re looking into that boy, aren’t you?" the researcher murmured, flipping through aged documents. "Sunday… That’s what you call him?"

You nodded. "You know something, don’t you?"

A sigh. The researcher slid a file toward you. The papers inside were yellowed with age, some pages missing, others barely legible. But what you could read chilled you.

[Project: Daybreak]

An artificial entity, created through forbidden magic. Designed to manipulate perception, rewrite reality itself. A prototype abandoned before completion—

—escaped from containment—

—no known weaknesses—

—do not engage without extreme caution—

Your hands trembled as you turned to the researcher. "This… This means he’s not-"

"Not human" the researcher finished. "Not even from the Lucky Egg Machine. He’s something far more dangerous."

And you had been traveling with him, trusting him, without knowing any of this.

Your breath came fast, panic setting in. "I have to—"

A shadow loomed behind you.

Too late.

A gentle hand rested on your shoulder.

A familiar, comforting voice whispered:

"You shouldn’t have seen that."

Your body tensed, magic seeped into your mind, curling like soft whispers in your thoughts.

Forget

The world blurred.

When you woke up, you were in your bed. Sunday sat beside you, reading a book, his golden eyes calm as he noticed you stir.

"Morning" he said, voice light. "You were out for a while."

Your head felt… strange.

Something was missing.

Hadn’t you been—?

You blinked. What were you even trying to remember?

Shaking the strange thought away, you sat up. Sunday smiled, reaching out to brush your hair from your face.

"You should rest more," he murmured. "I’ll take care of everything."

You nodded slowly, the unease already slipping away.

Because Sunday was your partner.

And there was nothing to worry about.

Right?

[mikuluvu]

SHADOW'S MOTHER

Summary: Graves and his caring wifey to his men.

Phillip Graves x fem!reader

A/n: 7/10 cod fics posted. First post of this american pretty man.

Wars were never meant to be kind, but neither had it hardened you. That was something Graves had loved about you from the start– the way tou remained gentle and kind despite his world being in a disaster. You were his soft spot, the softness he didn’t know he needed until he met you.

And now, you were his wife, you weren’t just a light in his life but also in the lives of the men who served under him. They dound something of a mother hen in you. It started with small, simple things: remembering their names, asking how they were, making sure they actually ate something that wasn’t just ration packs and coffee. They weren’t used to it at first. Most commanders’ wives, if they exist at all, avoid from their husband’s work. But not you.

You made it a point to care for them like they were family. Because to Philip, they were. And if they mattered to him, they mattered to you.

“Eat,” you scolded one of the newer recruits one evening, placing a plate of hot food in front of him. He looked up at you like you’d just handed him a million dollars. His fingers hesitated before he picked up the fork.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, and he ate his food.

Across the room, Philip watched, arms crossed, a smirk on his lips. He didn’t have to say it, but you could tell he was proud—proud of you, proud of the way you took care of his men like they were your own.

It wasn ‘t just food, though. You tended to injuries, fussed lver them when they lused themselves too hard, made sure birthdays weren’t forgotten. You’d fix up torned uniforms more times than you could count.

The first time one of them got hurt badly, you didn’t hesitate. You were by his side, pressing cloth to his wound, whispering that everything would be fine while the medics worked. Later, when he recovered, he looked at you differently. Not the eyes he would give to your husband, but something softer. Like he understood why their commander carried that little bit of peace with him wherever he went.

It wasn’t long before you became lart kf the team in your own way. They looked out for you like you looked out for them. Some of them, the younger ones especially, seemed almost in awe of your kindness. When the world had been so so cruel to them, when they’d been required to fight and kill enemies, you would awlays remind them that they were still good.

One night, as you sat beside Phillip in his tent, he pulled you close, pressing a kiss on your temple.

“They love you, you know,” he murmured against your hair.

You smiled. “They’re good men. They deserve to be cared for.”

He sighed, rubbing slow circles into your back. “You make it easy to believe in something better, sweetheart.”

You leaned into him, listening to the distant hum of conversation from the soldiers outside. “I believe in you, Philip. I believe in them.”

REBLOGS W/COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED. SUPPORT ME BY BUYING ME A COFFEE

[hyunbelievable]

Safe in His Arms

Bang Chan x Reader

Summary: short written fic where he sees your scars. Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

TW: mentions of scars (past SH) hinting at depression/struggles in the past.

Disclaimer: This is written based on results of the poll I did yesterday where our winner was our fearless leader, Bang Chan! 🤍 This will be the start of a series as I will be writing individual short fics for each of the boys!

As usual, requests are open and I’d love to hear your feedback on this because it’s my first attempt at writing something like this! (Please be kind and enjoy!)

🤍🤍🤍

The living room of your apartment is bathed in a soft, flickering glow, the warmth of the fireplace a welcome contrast to the February chill. A thick blanket is wrapped snugly around you as you sit on the couch, a book resting on your lap, though you’ve barely turned a page in the last few minutes.

Your attention keeps drifting — drawn to the man sitting across from you. The glow of his laptop casts a faint light over his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the slight crease in his brow as he works. Your relationship is still new, and moments like these, quiet and peaceful, are rare. The only sounds are the steady rhythm of rain against the window and the occasional crackle of wood burning in the fireplace.

And, naturally, you’re not exactly subtle. Your eyes linger on him longer than they should, and when his lips tilt into a knowing smile, you realize he’s already caught you.

A few more seconds pass before he finally looks up, meeting your gaze. His voice is soft, filled with a familiar warmth.

“You okay?” he asks, closing his laptop.

You nod, dropping your eyes back to your book in an attempt to hide the embarrassing flush that warms your cheeks and ears. “I just like watching you work.”

He hums softly before setting his laptop on the coffee table. “I was just finishing up a few things for the new track, but there’s always time for that tomorrow. I’m all yours tonight.”

Your gaze meets his once more, a teasing smile lifting your lips. “All mine, huh? That’s a dangerous promise to make,”

“And I’m a man of my word,” he replies, a playful glint in his eyes as he reaches for your blanket, giving it a gentle tug.

You squeak in protest, gripping it tighter as he laughs. “Ah, come on, let me in. I wanna be warm too.”

What starts as a simple tug quickly turns into a full-fledged battle, your laughter mixing with his over-the-top declarations about how he’ll surely freeze to death if you don’t share. He gives one final, determined pull, stronger than the last, and the blanket slips from your shoulders.

It’s only then that you realize your sleeve has ridden up.

The shift is almost imperceptible, but Chan catches it immediately. His laughter fades as his eyes follow the movement of your hand, watching as you instinctively reach down to pull your sleeve back into place.

Before you can, his hand is already there. Gentle. Steady. His thumb slides just beneath the edge of your sleeve, brushing over the faint, raised scars lining your wrist.

He doesn’t speak right away. The unreadable expression on his face, the way his fingers hover as if afraid to overstep, says enough. A crease forms between his brows, and the playfulness from mere moments ago is lost as you lapse into a near-uncomfortable silence.

You cover his hand with yours, slotting your fingers between his.

“It was a long time ago,” you whisper, squeezing his hand gently.

His eyes meet yours, and the concern you see there nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. He nods, then brings his other hand up to cup your neck, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Letting out a shaky breath, you pull back slightly, your gaze searching his. Slowly, he untangles his fingers from yours, only to wrap them around your wrist instead. A wave of emotion rises in your throat as he lifts your wrist to his lips, pressing four tender kisses to the discolored skin there. Softly. Almost reverently.

His thumb runs gently along your scars as he looks back up at you, a silent question in his eyes that he won’t ask because he would never push you to talk about anything you’re not yet ready to say.

Exhaling softly, he releases your wrist and pulls you into his lap. His arms wind around you, holding you close as he buries his face in your neck. You bring a hand up, letting your fingers slide into his hair, grounding yourself in the warmth of him; the steady rise and fall of his chest, his soft breaths against your skin, the strength in the way he holds you.

“I won’t ask you to tell me what you’ve been through until you’re ready,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “Just know I’m here. And when the time comes, if it ever does, I’ll feel the same way about you then as I do now.”

🤍🤍🤍

This was so fun to write, and I hope you all love it! 💓

© hyunbelievable, 2025. All rights reserved. Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or adaptation of this work is prohibited.

This is a work of fiction. It is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to depict actual events or real-life personalities. I do not know or have any affiliation with Stray Kids or its members. Any similarities to real events are purely coincidental. No harm, defamation, or infringement is intended.

[amoressb]

───── SLUSHIES 희승 L. HS

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ a fun and silly moment with hee thanks to slushies ｡｡ ʙꜰ!ʜᴇᴇꜱᴇᴜɴɢ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. fluff & wc. 0.9k ; kissing, skinship ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

it was a crisp, cool evening, the kind where the night air feels refreshing against the skin, and the stars glittered above, as if the universe itself was watching over them. you and heeseung had been dating for over a year now, and while you two loved your grand adventures, sometimes it was the simple things that made your hearts flutter the most. tonight was one of those nights—just a casual date under the twinkling sky, but to you both, it felt like a world of its own.

you two walked side by side down the empty street, fingers intertwined. the world around you felt quiet, peaceful, as if time had slowed just for the two of you.

“im so glad we decided to do this tonight,” you said, your voice warm as you glanced up at heeseung, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “we could have stayed in and watched movies, but theres something special about just walking around under the stars.” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “you always make the simplest things feel magical, my love. im just happy to be with you.”

they turned a corner and saw the bright neon sign of a small convenience store glowing in the distance—its colors reflecting off the pavement. it was a place they often came to when they wanted something sweet, but tonight, it had a special charm. as they got closer, the idea of getting slushies felt irresistible.

“slushies?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. you were already anticipating the cool, sugary sweetness of the icy treat.

“slushies,” he confirmed, giving you a playful grin. “and you know im getting the blue one.”

“of course,” you teased, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. “and i suppose ill get the red one, just to make us look even more ridiculous.”

they entered the small store, and the bell above the door chimed, welcoming them inside. the shelves were stocked with all sorts of snacks, but their eyes were fixed on the colorful slushie machines in the back.

heeseung reached for the blue dispenser, and you smiled at the sight of the vibrant icy blue liquid swirling inside the machine. “you know, ive always thought blue slushies were magical,” heeseung said as he filled his cup, his eyes glimmering mischievously. “its like they hold the power of the ocean or something.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “youre such a dork but fine ill get the red one, since youre clearly a walking ocean.” both filling their cups, giggling at how serious their conversation about slushies had become. after paying for their drinks, they stepped outside again, the cool night air mixing with the sweetness of the slushies in their hands.

heeseung slung an arm around your shoulders as you two strolled down the street, sipping your drinks slowly, savoring the icy sweetness. the world around them seemed to melt away with each step, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth of their hands together and the quiet joy of each others company.

after a while, you nudged heeseung playfully. “hey youre getting slushy all over your chin.” he laughed, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “im just too excited about my blue slushie, okay?” you smirked and leaned in, teasing him by flicking a little of her red slushy at him. “well now were even.” heeseung raised an eyebrow and then, in one swift movement, pulled you closer by the waist, laughing. “that was a mistake.”

before you could protest, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, and you melted into the warmth of the moment. but as their lips met, they both paused for a split second, realizing something unusual. the moment their tongues touched, they both laughed in surprise. their tongues had turned purple.

“what… what happened?” you asked, your voice bubbling with laughter as you pulled back just enough to look at him. he opened his mouth in mock shock, “i think we might have just created the most bizarre kiss in history.” you both giggled uncontrollably as you looked at each others stained tongues, the purple hue a perfect blend of your slushies. you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, snapping a quick selfie of you both sticking your purple tongues out, you twos laughter still ringing in the air.

heeseung smiled as he saw the picture. “i cant believe you actually just took a picture of us like this.”

“you know what they say,” you said with a wink. “nothing says ‘couple goals’ like purple tongues.” you both laughed again, walking hand in hand further down the street, your sweet slushies forgotten in favor of each others company. the night felt infinite, as though nothing could spoil the happiness you both shared.

heeseung stopped for a moment and pulled you gently toward him. he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face and gazed down at you with that familiar tenderness you had fallen in love with. “im glad were doing this,” he said softly, his voice sincere. “even with purple tongues, tonight is perfect.” you smiled up at him, your heart full. “perfect because im with you.”

they kissed again, this time lingering a little longer, savoring the sweet taste of each other mixed with the cool, sugary remnants of their slushies. as they pulled apart, both of your tongues still faintly purple, both knew they would always look back on this night—simple, yet full of love, laughter, and the magic that only moments like these could bring.

⋆｡°✩ @miukidoll @sugarikiz @liwinly

[bedlam-barbie]

Out of control

Or Attention part 3

Pairing: In Ho x recruiter!reader ; slight salesman x recruiter!reader for the plot

Warnings: canon accurate violence; gun; fights; hurt and comfort,some suggestive language, VIPs being disgusting,  reader has BPD, mentions of mental illness

Word count: 4.2k

Author’s note: well, somehow what was meant to be a 2 part shot, became a small series, I hope max 5 parts. The more I write, the more I’m eating up this love triangle… Please let me know your thoughts and opinions, also please reblog if you enjoyed!

Part 1 Part 2

Silence draped over them like a heavy blanket, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn't suffocating. There was no pressure to break it, no unsaid words clawing at the edges of their breath. Yet a stubborn part of her still burned—aching to scream at him, to demand that he care.

But she knew he did.

Maybe not as fiercely, not as openly as he once had, but the tenderness lingered in places he thought he'd hidden well. She saw it. Felt it. And that truth, fragile yet unspoken, was enough to still her restless heart.

When he finally turned to walk away, back toward the sea of masked strangers, she let him go. He hesitated for just a second, casting one last look her way before slipping the mask back onto his face.

Was that yearning in his eyes?

Her chest clenched at the thought. Did she dare believe he loved her?

Perhaps in another life, she thought bitterly, we could have been happy.

She let herself dream for a fleeting, reckless moment. 

In that imagined world, he was a celebrated detective, proud and upright, and she his beautiful, devoted wife. They had two children—a boy with curious eyes and a girl who laughed like sunshine. Their home was a charming white house on the outskirts of Seoul, with wide windows, a flourishing garden, and a bright red door.

Her days were filled with joy—cooking vibrant meals from cultures near and far, laughing as flour dusted her apron, guiding tiny hands through math problems. And when evening came, In Ho would return, his face lit with warmth, arms full of peonies just because he loved to see her smile.

After the children had been tucked into bed, they would sway together in the kitchen under the soft glow of the lights, the hum of the world fading away as they danced slowly, quietly, as though time itself belonged to them.

But dreams are fragile things. And hers shattered the moment the mask clicked back into place. Hwang In Ho was gone. What remained was only the Frontman—cold, impenetrable, and unreachable. She downed the last of her drink, forcing the bitter thought from her mind. She'd never been the kind of woman to dream of white picket fences, a loving husband, or children with wide, innocent eyes. In truth, she wasn’t even sure she wanted children at all.

And why would she?

To pass on her tangled mess of generational trauma? Her genetic curse of addiction? Her restless, fractured mind that teetered between darkness and ruin? No. It was better not to bring life into a world that already carried too much weight.

Even if some desperate part of her entertained the fantasy—who would she have them with?

The Frontman? Cold, hardened, and unreachable, carved out of stoicism like a statue of a forgotten god. The lives they lived were dangerous, unstable, always teetering on the brink of disaster. A family with him was impossible.

The Salesman?

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh at the absurdity of the thought. As if that manipulative charmer, who peddled temptations with a devilish grin, could ever love anyone beyond himself.

No, the truth was simple. Children were weaknesses, liabilities. And in their world, weaknesses got you killed.

Better to let the fantasy die before it took root. She glided back into the ballroom with practiced elegance, adjusting her mask until it sat perfectly on her face. Her sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on Gong Yoo, effortlessly charming a small cluster of VIPs. Without missing a beat, she slipped beside him, her presence as deliberate as a choreographed step.

“There you are,” he said smoothly, his hand naturally settling on the small of her back. “Gentlemen, may I present my fellow recruiter.”

The woman offered a smile as radiant as it was dangerous. “A pleasure to meet you,” she said with a teasing lilt, “I’m the dancer—but you can call me the woman of your dreams.”

The innocence of her smile was betrayed by the spark of mischief in her eyes, a contrast that never failed to captivate. One of the men, hidden behind an ornate golden mask, took her hand with a flourish, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Her stomach twisted in revulsion, but her practiced mask remained intact. She was an expert at charming men who fancied themselves powerful, coaxing them into foolish investments—none more absurd than the deadly games they funded.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the man said, his gaze shamelessly lingering on her body, especially her chest. “My, my—you truly are a beauty.”

The Salesman's lips curled into an amused smirk. “Careful with this one,” he warned lightly. “She bites.”

“Good thing that’s how I like my women—feisty,” the man quipped, earning a chorus of laughter from the group. She laughed along, the sound as polished and disarming as glass champagne flutes clinking together. 

The question hung in the air, sharp and shameless:

“So tell us, Dancer. How exactly do you get those fools to join the games? Are you a stripper?”

Hunger dripped from his words, vile and brazen.

For a split second, she imagined slamming his face into the marble floor, painting it red with his arrogance. Her fingers itched to draw the dagger strapped against her thigh and gut him like a pig. But instead, she laughed—a sweet, melodic giggle that masked the storm beneath her composed exterior.

Little do you know, asshole.

Beside her, she felt Gong Yoo stiffen, his polished facade slipping just enough for her to notice the tension in his hand as it gripped her back firmly. The silent message was clear: Easy, darling. Not here. Wait until he’s leaving.

She tilted her head, her voice honeyed and playful. “Oh, Sir, you flatter me,” she teased, feigning embarrassment. “You’ve got me blushing.”

The men laughed, oblivious.

She leaned in slightly, keeping their attention hooked. “Unfortunately, no—I’m not a stripper,” she continued smoothly. “My job’s a little more... subtle. I usually find them in clubs or bars. Get them talking, loosen them up a bit.” She gestured toward Gong Yoo with a mischievous smile. “And then, as my associate here so brilliantly does, I lure them outside and invite them to a friendly game of ddakji.”

Her eyes sparkled with faux amusement as she leaned closer, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Have you ever seen a drunk man stumbling to slap tiles in an alleyway? Truly—something for the books.”

The men roared with laughter, exactly as she knew they would. They were drunk on ego, money, and the illusion of control.Suddenly, the music faded, replaced by the delicate chiming of a champagne flute as Il Nam tapped it slowly, commanding the room’s attention.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth and confident. “Welcome. I trust tonight’s festivities have been to your liking.”

From his elevated position on the grand balcony, Il Nam surveyed the sea of masked guests below. Flanking him were the ever-imposing Frontman and the Officer, their dark figures contrasting against the elegance of the scene.

His words flowed with deliberate grace, each syllable resonating with authority. “As some of you are aware, this year marks my final year as host of the Squid Games. These past thirty-three years have been nothing short of extraordinary.” He paused, allowing a wave of applause to sweep through the room. “None of this would have been possible without each and every one of you.”

The crowd clapped, their masked faces turned toward the enigmatic figure above.

Il Nam lifted a hand, signaling for silence as he continued. “With that, I am honored to announce that I have chosen my successor.” He gestured subtly toward the stoic figure beside him. “Our Frontman, who has dedicated himself entirely to the Games for the past five years, will now take my place. For his unwavering commitment and loyalty, I am eternally grateful.”

He raised his champagne flute with a celebratory flourish. “Join me in honoring our new host.” His gaze softened as he turned toward the Frontman. “You have truly exceeded my expectations.” The ballroom echoed with the sound of clinking glasses and polite applause.

From below, the dancer's eyes remained fixed on In Ho. Despite herself, a warmth bloomed in her chest—pride, quiet and undeniable. She wanted to be indifferent, detached, to mask any trace of emotion.But she couldn’t. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the Salesman watching her, his lips curled into a knowing smirk. Glass in hand, he acted as though the unfolding scene was some private performance meant for his amusement.

“Careful,” he murmured in her ear. “That heart of yours might start showing.”

Before she could respond, chaos erupted.

Gunshots shattered the air, sharp and deafening. Screams rippled through the ballroom as panic took hold. The scent of gunpowder mingled with the metallic tang of fear.

The woman’s eyes darted through the crowd, scanning for the source. A group of masked infiltrators surged forward, pulling weapons from concealed places beneath tuxedos and dresses. They moved with brutal efficiency, shoving some VIPs to the ground and holding others at gunpoint.

Pandemonium spread like wildfire. Guests in glittering masks tripped over one another in a desperate rush toward the exits. Blood splattered across marble floors, staining the opulence with horror.

The Salesman cursed under his breath, his carefree smirk gone. “Shit,” he hissed, stepping closer to her. “Stay down.”

But she didn’t listen.

A cold, determined calm washed over her as instinct took control. There was no time for fear—only action.

An infiltrator broke from the pack, rushing toward a frightened VIP who cowered behind an overturned table. Without hesitation, the dancer intercepted him, moving like liquid steel.

She pivoted sharply on her heel, her hand snapping out to disarm him in one swift motion. The gun clattered to the floor as she drove her knee into his stomach, doubling him over with a strangled gasp. She followed up with a brutal elbow to the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

Gong Yoo watched, his usual bravado replaced by genuine concern. "You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered, eyes flicking between her and the armed assailants still swarming the room.

A second infiltrator lunged at her from behind, blade glinting under the flickering lights. She sensed him before he made contact, twisting just in time to catch his wrist. The knife hovered dangerously close to her throat, but she remained unyielding, twisting his arm until a sickening crack echoed through the room. He screamed as she drove him to the ground, kicking the blade out of reach.

Nearby, the Frontman stood rigid, his mask unreadable but his body tense. For years, he had seen countless brutal fights—but watching her now, there was something unsettling about the recklessness with which she fought.

She's going to get herself killed.

The thought gnawed at him as he moved toward the fray, signaling for security reinforcements.

Three more attackers circled her, weapons drawn. The Salesman swore loudly. “Damn it, woman, what are you doing?!”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she smirked, blood smeared across her knuckles.

"Just having a little fun," she quipped before launching herself at the nearest assailant.

The ballroom became a blur of violence—the dancer ducking, striking, and twisting with brutal precision. One attacker swung wildly; she slipped beneath the blow and retaliated with a savage uppercut that sent teeth flying. Another charged with a gun, but she was faster, closing the distance and slamming his head into a pillar with a bone-crunching thud.

Behind her, the Salesman clenched his jaw. He hated admitting it, but he was worried. Not just impressed—worried.

In Ho, still commanding the scene, issued curt orders to secure the VIPs. Yet his eyes never fully left her.

The woman moved like a force of nature—unrelenting, fierce, and terrifyingly beautiful in her defiance. But no matter how skilled she was, the odds were shifting. More infiltrators were pushing into the ballroom.

The Salesman cursed again. "She's gonna get herself killed out there," he growled, shoving past the chaos toward her.

He moved—a shadow determined to protect the woman who seemed hell-bent on proving she didn’t need saving.A tall attacker rushed toward her with wild desperation, swinging a crowbar. She sidestepped with a dancer’s grace, her footwork precise as she spun behind him. With a fierce kick to the back of his knee, he crumpled, dropping the weapon. She finished him off with a brutal punch that cracked his jaw.

Before she could catch her breath, a voice called out smoothly from behind:

“Darling, I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”

Gong Yoo stepped into the fray, shedding his usual air of nonchalance for something sharper, deadlier. His burgundy tuxedo was immaculate despite the chaos, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and danger alike.

An attacker lunged at him, and Gong Yoo barely flinched, grabbing the man by the collar and delivering a calculated blow to his temple. The assailant crumpled instantly. He dusted off his sleeve with mock elegance, smirking.

“You make it look easy,” she quipped, her voice breathless but steady.

“That’s because it is, darling.” He winked before turning to face two more assailants charging their way.

Together, they moved like a deadly duet. She dodged a wild swing, landing a bone-crunching kick to one man’s ribs, while Gong Yoo disarmed the other with a disarmingly smooth twist of the wrist before delivering a vicious uppercut.

Blood painted the marble floor as the infiltrators realized they were outmatched—not just by guards or the infamous Frontman, but by these two relentless forces who fought with terrifying synergy.

The Frontman observed from a distance, his mask concealing the turmoil beneath. His orders had secured most of the VIPs, but his focus remained on her. She was fast, brutal, and fearless—but also reckless.

One of the last attackers aimed a gun directly at her back.

“No!” Gong Yoo shouted, his usual charm stripped away, replaced by raw panic.

But she had already sensed the danger. With uncanny precision, she twisted, grabbing a broken champagne bottle from the floor. The glass glinted under the flickering lights as she drove it straight into the gunman’s forearm. The weapon fired into the ceiling, plaster raining down as he howled in pain.

She followed up with a merciless elbow to his throat, dropping him like dead weight.

Breathing heavily, she wiped blood from her face, her eyes still sharp and alert. Gong Yoo stood beside her, his hand instinctively brushing her shoulder as if reassuring himself she was unharmed.

“You know,” he panted, half-laughing, “I really thought I’d have to save you.”

“Please.” She smirked. “I’ve got this.”

The Frontman finally approached, his authoritative presence cutting through the aftermath like a blade. Guards were restraining the last of the infiltrators, and silence began to settle over the ruined ballroom.

“You’re reckless,” the Frontman said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Effective,” she shot back defiantly, though exhaustion crept into her voice.

The masked figure didn’t respond, but his lingering gaze on the woman said enough.

She straightened, brushing glass shards from her dress as she surveyed the carnage. The ballroom, once pristine and elegant, now resembled a battlefield drenched in blood and destruction.

“Well,” the Salesman drawled, his smirk returning, “guess that’s what happens when you throw such a killer party.”

The dancer huffed a breathless laugh, but the weight of what had just transpired lingered between them all. 

“It’s been a blast boys, but I need to clean myself up now.” she said and without waiting for an answer from them, she made her way to the bathroom.

She stood at the marble sink, blood swirling down the drain as she scrubbed at her knuckles. Her breathing was shallow, heart still racing—not just from the chaos but from the exhilaration that thrummed in her veins.

She had felt alive.

The crack of fists meeting flesh, the sharp edge of survival cutting through every instinct—it ignited something deep inside her, something she didn’t want to admit she craved. Even now, her hands trembled not from fear but from the fading thrill of battle.

God help her, she’d enjoyed it.

The realization made her stomach churn with guilt. What kind of person savored violence? She had brushed so close to death tonight, yet all she could think about was how addictive it was—the rush, the power.

The door creaked open behind her.

She stiffened, half-expecting Gong Yoo’s smug grin. But no—it was him.

In Ho. Damn it, why was he always there, in the back of her mind? Ready to jump in to save her.

Mask removed, his dark eyes were sharp with concern as they locked onto her bloodied reflection in the mirror.

“You’re hurt,” he said quietly, stepping toward her.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, forcing her voice to steady as she reached for a towel.

He was there before she could pull away, taking the towel from her hand without asking. The roughness of his palm contrasted with the gentle precision as he lifted her bruised knuckles into the light.

“You’re reckless,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

“I know,” she admitted softly.

And she did. Reckless wasn’t new for her—but tonight, it had been different. Tonight, she hadn’t just fought to survive. She’d fought because part of her wanted to. The thought made her want to scream.

But In Ho said nothing more, focused instead on cleaning the streaks of dried crimson from her skin. The room was silent except for the soft trickle of water and the faint rustle of fabric.Her heart pounded—different now, softer, raw. Not from violence, but from the weight of his presence, the tenderness in his touch despite the wall he always kept between them.

“You didn’t have to come,” she said quietly, watching his profile in the mirror.

“Yes, I did,” he murmured, his voice rough.

His words hit harder than any blow she’d taken that night. He wasn’t just talking about tonight—he never was with her. His dark eyes were focused on every little scratch, carefully cleaning them up.

“I handled myself,” she insisted, though the tremor in her voice betrayed the war raging inside her.

“I know,” he admitted, guilt flickering in his eyes. “But seeing you like this...” He shook his head as if forcing the thought away.

Her throat tightened. Why did he care? Why did she want him to care?

"Who were they?" she asked abruptly, her voice sharp, demanding an answer.

"No one you need to concern yourself with," he said, his words cold, but his eyes flickered with something darker. "I’ve already sent the Officer to investigate. But... I did hear one of them shouting, something about doing this for their son." His jaw tightened as he spoke, the weight of his words lingering in the air. "It seems some family of a former player has managed to track us down, and they’ve gathered others, desperate for revenge."

He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking with hers, and for a moment, there was a chilling intensity in his voice. "But don’t trouble yourself, little dove. You won’t need to lift a finger. I’ll make sure they’re dealt with... permanently."

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through her defenses.

Her breath caught. “What?”

“The fight,” he said grimly. “You liked it.”

The truth hung between them, heavy and undeniable.She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, to make a snarky remark—but she couldn’t.

“I don’t know what's worse,” she whispered hoarsely. “That I did... or that I wanted it to keep going.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, brushing his thumb across the cut along her jawline. The tenderness in the gesture made her ache, and for a moment, she wanted to collapse into the warmth of it, to forget the darkness clawing inside her. For just a second, she closed her eyes letting him caress her skin, her defenses fully down.

“You’re not a monster,” he said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.

She let out a bitter laugh. “Aren’t I?”

“No.” His voice was firm, certain. “I’ve seen monsters. You’re not one of them.”

Her breath hitched. “Then what am I?”

His hand lingered on her jaw, thumb tracing the faint bruise. “Someone I can’t stop thinking about,” he admitted softly. The raw honesty in his voice shattered what was left of her defenses. In a perfect world, this would have been the moment they would have kissed, where he would profess his undying love and they would have lived happily ever after.

But alas, this was not a perfect world.

“You have no right to care,” she whispered, her voice breaking trying to fight back against the feelings.

“I know.” He stepped back, the distance between them sudden and painful. “But I can’t help it. You’re all cleaned up,” he said gruffly, retreating to safer ground.

But neither of them moved. Their eyes lingered, heavy with unspoken words. In Ho’s hair remained perfectly styled, slicked back with precision, and his onyx tuxedo fit his frame like it had been tailored just for him. It was almost maddening how flawless he appeared while she stood there, disheveled and bloodied, her dress torn from the chaos.

In a way, it perfectly represented who they were: him, an image of unwavering control, and her, a whirlwind of chaos and recklessness.

The contrast between them stung—like a cruel reminder that they could never truly align. He was every inch the mask he wore: composed, untouchable. And she? She was a storm, a wild force of nature trying to fit into a world of structure.

For a moment, she hated him. Not for who he was, but for how effortlessly he embodied everything she could never be.

Her pulse quickened, the intensity of the moment feeding the restless, chaotic part of her. But she stayed still. Neither of them moved—too afraid, or too proud, to take the next step.

In Ho broke the silence, his voice as controlled as always. "You should leave," he said, but there was something unspoken in the way he said it. A vulnerability hiding behind the command, barely noticeable but undeniable.

She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. "And leave you to play the perfect host?"

His jaw clenched slightly at the jab, but he said nothing, his gaze still locked on hers. The distance between them felt like miles, and yet she could feel the magnetic pull, as though the space was too small to contain the tension brewing between them.

There was a flicker in his eyes—a softness, quickly masked by the cold exterior he’d perfected. "You’re making this harder than it needs to be," he murmured, his tone quieter now, yet still holding that edge of finality.

She took a step closer, ignoring the war waging inside her. “Is it hard for you? Or is it hard for you to admit you don’t want me to go?”

The words hung in the air, too raw, too honest. She saw his eyes narrow, the slightest flicker of frustration passing through them. His body stiffened, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

"I don’t need you here," he said, his voice tight, but there was a pause before the last word—a hesitation that didn’t go unnoticed.

The dancer’s heart hammered in her chest, but she refused to let it show. "Then why do you keep looking at me like that?"

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but he held back, caught between something he couldn’t admit and the image he had built around himself. She saw it—the turmoil beneath the surface. He wasn’t as untouchable as he wanted her to believe.

"You should go," he repeated, but this time, it was softer. Almost... pleading.

It was too much. The fight, the connection, the tension—it all boiled over inside her, and she knew there was only one way to stop the storm in her chest. She closed the space between them.

Her breath caught as her hands came to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart beneath the fabric of his tuxedo. She looked up, meeting his eyes, so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

For a moment, neither of them moved, and in that instant, everything seemed to hang in the balance. Then, slowly, she leaned in. His eyes flickered to her lips, and the air between them thickened, charged with something far more intense than just the heat of the moment.

Just as she was about to close the distance, the briefest hint of hesitation stopped her.

What are you doing?

It was a question that hovered in her mind, but she didn’t have an answer for it. Instead, she pulled back, just enough to look at him, breathless, torn between the impulse to pull him closer and the need to protect herself from what this moment could mean.

His hand twitched, almost as if he wanted to reach for her but stopped himself. She could see it—the war between the man he was and the man she’d forced him to be.

"I can’t do this," he muttered, his voice almost a whisper, thick with frustration.

She tilted her head, meeting his gaze steadily. "You’re the one who won’t do this. But you want to."

He took a step back, exhaling sharply, his chest rising and falling with the weight of their proximity. He didn't answer—he didn’t need to.

And in that silence, the unspoken truth hung heavy: Neither of them was ready for what this could become, but neither of them could walk away, either.

Author's note: please let me know your opinions! should I make it more of a love triangle between the three or tame it down? How are you liking it so far?

[premiumbitch]

THINGS TO MANIFEST - RORY GILMORE THEMED PACK ! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

hi luvs! I decided I'd make this rory gilmore themed pack for the people who want to manifest themselves to be a completely different person, someone they will feel confident to be! also for the amazing shifters who can script this about themselves! enjoy :)

⋆⛧┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧﹥ ┈┈┈┈⛧⋆

BEAUTY ♡ //

Your beauty is effortless and classic, never relying on trends to stand out.

Your skin has a natural glow, thanks to good skincare and stress-free confidence.

Your big, expressive eyes hold curiosity, warmth, and intelligence.

Your lips always carry a soft, thoughtful smile, making you approachable and kind.

Your hair is simple yet beautiful, whether in waves, a ponytail, or tucked behind your ear as you read.

You have an academic elegance, looking stunning even in sweaters and jeans.

Your beauty shines through your personality, making you unforgettable in a quiet way.

Your style is preppy and timeless, with cozy knits, pleated skirts, and classic coats.

You look beautiful with minimal effort, as if beauty comes naturally to you.

Your soft, feminine features give you a youthful charm that never fades.

You have a delicate yet graceful presence, always put together without trying too hard.

Your signature scent is light and fresh, like books, coffee, and the first day of autumn.

You have a soft elegance—your beauty isn’t loud, but it lingers in people’s minds.

You carry an innocent charm, making people feel safe and intrigued at the same time.

You are the embodiment of the girl next door meets Ivy League sophistication.

AURA ♡ //

Your presence is gentle, warm, and inviting, making people instantly feel comfortable.

You radiate an intellectual aura, as if every conversation with you will be enlightening.

Your energy is calm yet passionate, like a person who is always dreaming about something bigger.

You give off "main character energy"—someone who is destined for great things.

You are soft-spoken yet powerful, never needing to raise your voice to make an impact.

You have an aura of mystery, as if your thoughts are too deep for anyone to fully understand.

You carry yourself with humble confidence, never boastful but always sure of your worth.

Your aura is comforting, like a warm cup of tea and a good book on a rainy day.

You have a dreamy, idealistic energy, as if you live in a world of possibilities.

You are quietly magnetic, drawing people in without even trying.

You have a bookish charm, making people instantly associate you with libraries and autumn days.

Your presence is reassuring, making people feel like they can tell you anything.

You give off first love energy—sweet, nostalgic, and impossible to forget.

You move through the world with thoughtfulness, noticing beauty in the little things.

Your aura is a mix of innocence and wisdom, like someone who sees the world with both wonder and depth.

SMARTS ♡ //

You are highly intelligent, always eager to learn and expand your knowledge.

You devour books like oxygen, constantly filling your mind with new ideas.

Your curiosity is insatiable, making you a walking encyclopedia of fascinating facts.

You have a way with words, whether in conversation or on paper.

Your intelligence isn’t just academic—you are emotionally and socially aware as well.

You see life as an endless learning opportunity, always asking questions and seeking answers.

Your mind is sharp and analytical, able to pick up on details that others miss.

You are a natural problem solver, thinking critically before reacting emotionally.

You love deep conversations, preferring intellectual discussions over small talk.

Your vocabulary is impressive, effortlessly using words that others only read in books.

You are disciplined and hardworking, always striving to be the best version of yourself.

You are a perfectionist, always putting in 100% effort in everything you do.

You have an unwavering focus, able to block out distractions when you need to.

You are self-motivated, never waiting for others to push you forward.

Your intelligence is your greatest strength, making you a force to be reckoned with.

PERSONALITY ♡ //

You are kind and considerate, always thinking about how your actions affect others.

You are ambitious yet humble, never letting success make you arrogant.

You are deeply loyal, standing by the people you love no matter what.

You have an optimistic spirit, always believing in the best possible outcome.

You are a hopeless romantic, seeing love as something poetic and beautiful.

You are introverted yet sociable, able to connect with people without losing your sense of self.

You are empathetic, always willing to listen and understand others.

You have a quiet determination, proving yourself through actions rather than words.

You are endearingly awkward at times, but it only makes you more charming.

You are thoughtful and introspective, always reflecting on your experiences and emotions.

You have a gentle rebellious streak, standing up for what you believe in when necessary.

You are nostalgic and sentimental, treasuring memories and meaningful moments.

You are a dreamer, always thinking about the future and the endless possibilities ahead.

You believe in love, destiny, and the magic of a well-written novel.

You are the definition of smart, charming, and quietly extraordinary.

hope you guys enjoyed! requests are appreciated! lmk if you want anything! <3

[whitebirdnoir]

~Where the sky meets the earth~

pairing: Jayce/Viktor

tags: #oneshot #post-canon #alternative ending #dreamlike atmosphere #soft kissing #aftermath of the finale

Summary: Somewhere between life and death, between reality and dream, Jayce and Viktor find themselves in a place created either by fate or by their own hands. If this is the end, they will face it together.

Dedicated to: Dear @scared-nightnurse - Thank you so much for your support! ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ

Note: My first fanfic. Don't judge me harshly, please :)

words: `658

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jayce woke up to silence.

It was strange, unfamiliar. Not the kind that follows an explosion—deafening, crushing. No, this silence was soft, enveloping. As if the very air here was different.

He didn’t immediately realize he was lying on something warm. Smooth. Unfamiliar. Earth? Stone? He couldn’t tell.

And then he felt someone’s presence beside him.

Jayce sat up abruptly, his arms tensing, and froze.

Viktor.

He was here.

Close.

Alive.

Or…

“You’re here,” Jayce’s voice wavered, betraying his emotions.

Viktor slowly turned his head, his eyes narrowing the way they always did when he was focusing. He looked at Jayce as if he wasn’t sure whether he was truly seeing him.

“I thought we were dead,” he finally said, his voice quiet.

Jayce swallowed.

“Maybe we are.”

Viktor averted his gaze, his fingers brushing over the strange surface beneath them.

“It’s empty here.”

“Yes.”

“And quiet.”

“Yes.”

“What do we do now?”

Jayce looked at him, studying the features he knew so well.

Damn it.

He couldn’t imagine being here without him.

His fingers found Viktor’s shoulder on their own. Viktor flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away.

“Maybe we should build something?” Jayce suggested, attempting a smile.

Viktor rolled his eyes.

“You really can’t stop building, can you?”

“And you can?”

Jayce saw how Viktor fought back a smile.

They had always created something. Always.

Jayce stood up, glancing around, trying to make sense of this place. A space woven from light and mist. A world without walls, without a horizon.

“This world…” Viktor ran his hand over the soft surface. “It was made for us, wasn’t it?”

“Looks like it.”

“Maybe we created it ourselves?”

Jayce met his gaze.

“We’ve always created everything together.”

Viktor’s smile was barely noticeable.

Silence filled the space again.

Jayce didn’t think, didn’t plan. He just stepped closer, knelt beside Viktor, and reached out to touch his face.

Warm skin beneath his fingertips.

Real.

Tangible.

“Are you… are you real?” he asked, his throat tightening.

Viktor didn’t answer. But his eyelashes trembled. He didn’t pull away, didn’t joke, didn’t dismiss it like he used to. He simply closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jayce’s.

Jayce exhaled.

His fingers trembled as he traced Viktor’s cheek, a bit rougher than he intended.

Viktor frowned slightly but didn’t move away.

And that was enough.

Jayce leaned in closer, slowly, giving him a chance to pull back.

But Viktor didn’t move.

Warm lips. Cautious, almost hesitant. Jayce didn’t know what he had expected, but Viktor didn’t retreat. He didn’t respond right away, but he also didn’t stop him.

Then—a breath. Barely audible.

And Viktor’s fingers clutched the fabric of Jayce’s sleeve.

An answer.

Soft, fragile, but an answer.

Jayce felt something shift inside him, churn, break apart. As if this strange world they had found themselves in—an illusion, a shadow—had begun to shrink down to one simple thing: the feeling of Viktor against him. The warmth they were sharing in this moment.

And why hadn’t they done this before? Before everything…

He didn’t know who moved first, but the kiss deepened. Viktor’s breath came unevenly, his lips parting slightly, allowing Jayce to push further, more insistent. The taste of warmth, the taste of life.

For a moment, everything became sharper. Urgent, unfamiliar for both of them, but not harsh.

Jayce felt Viktor’s fingers threading into his hair. Trembling, but firm. His own hands traced Viktor’s sharp cheekbones, fingers outlining his jaw with quiet reverence.

And then—Viktor was the first to pull away.

His breath was unsteady, lips still slightly parted.

When the kiss broke, Viktor exhaled softly:

“If this really is our world… I hope it stays this way.”

Jayce rested his forehead against his.

This world could be anything. An illusion, a prison, a dream, death.

But if Viktor was here—then it was everything.

[friedchops]

Boy Next Door -

Satoru x Reader, 18+ MDNI, cheating, infidelity, lonely housewife x boy next door, cougar x cub, mommy/baby boy dynamics kinda?, reader is older, fem!reader. A/N the reader is a bit of a southern belle

Chapter 1?

The morning sun spills golden light across the quiet street as you stand at the door, watching your husband pull out of the driveway. You kissed him on the cheek as a goodbye, the same way you always do—light, practiced, distant. He barely looked at you, barely muttered a word before driving off to whatever keeps him too busy to notice you anymore. You sigh softly, rinsing your hands off in the sink to wash away the sticky remnants of sugar and lemon juice, drying them on your apron. But then something catches your eye through the window.

A jogger, gliding down the street with effortless ease.

White hair. Eyes as blue as the summer sky. And—oh. Oh.

He’s shirtless.

The breath leaves your lungs in a slow, silent exhale as your gaze follows the lean, defined lines of his torso, the way his muscles flex with each stride. He’s young—too young, probably—but that doesn’t stop the warmth from curling low in your stomach, something you haven’t felt in… goodness, how long?

He moves with an easy, effortless grace, muscles shifting beneath sun-kissed skin, his face half-hidden beneath a mess of white hair. You don’t mean to stare, but—well, you are only human.

“What is he doing?” You mutter under your breath, shaking your head. Fool. Doesn’t he know it’s hot outside? The kind of heat that makes the air shimmer and your skin feel like it’s burning the moment you step outside. Honestly, you could probably fry an egg on the sidewalk.

But as much as you want to admire the way his muscles move under the light, you’re too busy being concerned. Does he even realize how dangerous it is to be out in this heat, shirtless, all sweaty? The sight of him is practically a warning sign for dehydration.

It’s ridiculous—there’s no need to look like that for a jog. You bite your lip, a motherly instinct kicking in that has you more worried about his health than the way his body glistens under the sun.

You lean your hip against the counter, still absently wiping your hands as you watch him run down the street, footsteps pounding with every stride.

And then—he looks up.

You’re caught.

But instead of looking away, he grins—wide, easy, utterly unashamed—and lifts a hand in greeting.

He’s waving at you.

A flash of heat rushes to your cheeks. You haven’t felt seen in so long that it nearly knocks the breath out of you. You’ve been doing this same routine every day for the past fifteen years, ever since you were married off to a man who barely looks at you unless it’s to sigh about something. And here’s this young man, casually passing by and acknowledging your existence like it matters.

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone truly notice you, like you’re not just a housewife with a fading apron and a tired smile. Your husband always says you’re too overbearing, too needy, always fussing over every little thing, especially with him. He can’t even stand when you try to plan meals or offer to help with anything, like your attention is a burden. It’s not that you want to be overwhelming. You just—well, you wish someone would care enough to notice. To ask how your day’s been. Maybe it’s silly, but the thought of someone actually looking at you, as if you were more than just the woman who makes his coffee or irons his shirts, stirs something in your chest.

You blink, your heart thumping in your chest as you awkwardly wave back, unsure of what to do with the sudden surge of emotion. But just as quickly, you find your hand falling to the curtain, fingers gripping it and pulling it shut with a soft tug.

You’re embarrassed. It’s silly. You shouldn’t feel this flustered over a simple wave from a stranger, but there it is—this deep, sudden awareness of just how little human interaction you’ve had lately. You shut the curtains, hoping the coolness of the room will calm you, but the warmth in your chest doesn’t go away.

The next time you see him, it’s deliberate. You’re outside, pretending to tend to the porch plants, a pitcher of hand-squeezed lemonade sweating on the table. You don’t have to wait long.

“Hey!” His voice is bright, teasing as he jogs up, all long limbs and glowing skin. He leans against your fence without an ounce of hesitation, flashing that same grin.

You clear your throat, offering a polite smile. “You look like you could use somethin’ cold to drink, sugar.”

“Ma’am, you might just be my new favorite person,” he says, his grin stretches wider, like you’ve just given him the best news all day.

You laugh softly, pouring a glass and stepping forward to hand it to him. His fingers brush yours—just barely, but enough that you feel the heat of his skin.

“You always make lemonade for strangers, or am I special?”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “Depends. Do you always charm women on their porches, or am I special?”

His eyes flicker with amusement, like he’s caught a particularly fun challenge. “Oh, I like you,” he muses, reaching for the offered glass. “Satoru, by the way.”

You already figured he’d have a name that suits him. Something playful. A little too bold.

“Well, Satoru, try not to drop dead from heatstroke out here.”

He hums in satisfaction as he sips, then pauses—too close now, leaning just enough to make you notice. His nose nearly brushes your hair before he inhales, long and

“You smell good.”

The words are too casual, too honest. You freeze, pulse kicking up. He doesn’t move away.

“Your husband around?” he asks next, and it’s so smooth, so effortlessly curious, that you almost don’t hear the underlying note of something else.

“At work,” you say, unaware of the way his gaze lingers.

“Kids?”

You shake your head. His grin softens, something knowing in his expression.

“Guess that means you’ve got a lot of free time.”

And just like that, you realize—this boy, this charming, ridiculous man, doesn’t know boundaries at all.

As the days turn into weeks, Satoru finds himself growing increasingly comfortable in your presence. He lounges on your couch, his muscular frame taking up far more space than he should, as you both watch television together. His hand often finds its way to your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze or a playful pat, always with the excuse that it's just his cultural norm.

One evening, as a particularly intense scene plays out on the screen, Satoru suddenly winces, rubbing his temples.

“Migraine," he grunts, his voice strained with pain. Without waiting for an invitation, he nestles his head into your soft, pillowy breasts, sighing in relief as he feels their comforting warmth envelop him.

“Poor, baby,” you murmur, gently rubbing his scalp to soothe his ‘headache.’ Having no kids and an absent husband means a lot of love to give, and who better to share that with than a man new to southern hospitality?

"Mmm, thank you, y/n," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your chest. "You're so kind to let me rest here." He nuzzles deeper, his lips lightly grazing your skin as he seeks solace in your nurturing embrace. His hands come up to rest on your hips, gripping them gently as he presses himself closer, taking advantage of your natural inclination to care for others.

“Oh,” you gasp as you feel him tuck his nose into your neck and smelling your perfume. This is so far from being appropriate, you’re old enough to be his mother for crying out loud.

And then, he presses a gentle kiss to your throat, humming softly as he presses his weight against you.

“What are you doing,” you ask, trying to keep the shakiness out of your voice as Satoru's hands roam over your curves, caressing and squeezing the soft, womanly figure of your body. He takes advantage of the instinctive tilt of your head, his lips and teeth and tongue exploring the column of your neck with a newfound hunger. A low, appreciative groan rumbles in his chest as he inhales your scent, feeling your body melt against his own.

"It's just a custom where I'm from," he lies, his breath hot against your skin. "Showing affection and appreciation for the ones we care about." He places another kiss, his lips lingering a moment longer this time. His hands on your hips tighten slightly, pulling you a little closer as he loses himself in the comfort and warmth of your embrace. You’re so fucking soft, so warm, so loving.

He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes dark and smoldering with unspoken emotions. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he raises a hand to cover yours on his scalp, guiding it to the back of his neck. His skin is warm and slightly damp from the heat, the dampness seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"You have such a gentle touch," he whispers, his gaze locked with yours. "And such a kind heart. I feel lucky to have you as my neighbor, y/n."

As he speaks, his other hand begins to wander, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the smooth skin of your thigh. The touch is feather-light, almost teasing, but it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Sweetheart, we don’t do things like this, okay?” You murmur softly, moving the hair out of his face, trying to ignore the throb between your legs.

“It hurts,” he whines into your neck, slipping between your legs to rock his aching cock against the fabric of your skirt. “Can you make it go away? Please?”

“Baby,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath while he rocks against you, his brows knitted together. “We can’t do this, I’m married.”

"I know I'm new to all this, but I'm a fast learner," he whispers, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. "And right now, my sweet southern belle, I'm feeling a little… lost." He punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, pressing the growing evidence of his arousal against the curve of your ass. "Tell me, beautiful, how do you usually handle such situations down here in the South?"

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "Wrapped Up In You" – Part 2

The studio was quieter now. The hum of the equipment had softened, the beats fading into the background as Marshall sat back in his chair, taking a break from the music. His mind felt a bit drained, but not from the work—more from the absence of you by his side. The hoodie you’d claimed earlier was now tossed over the back of the chair, and Marshall found himself absentmindedly running his fingers over the fabric, the familiar smell of you still clinging to it.

The room felt… off, without your warmth beside him.

You had stepped out a little while ago, taking a quick break to grab some coffee, but now, as the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, he found himself missing the little things. The way you’d rest your head on his chest, the quiet hum of your voice when you’d whisper something random in his ear, the way you’d just exist in the space with him, making everything feel just a little less… chaotic.

Marshall stood up, pacing a few steps toward the window, staring out at the city skyline, but his mind kept returning to you. He had no reason to feel this way, right? You were just in the other room, probably grabbing that coffee you loved so much. But the silence in the studio felt heavy without you here.

A soft sigh left his lips. This was ridiculous. He was Marshall Mathers, the guy who had made a career out of breaking barriers, writing raw lyrics, facing the world head-on. And yet, here he was, missing the hell out of you over something so simple.

As if on cue, the sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts. You walked back into the studio, holding a coffee cup in your hands, your smile lighting up the room as you caught sight of him standing by the window.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice soft and playful as you took a sip from your cup.

He turned toward you, an unreadable expression on his face. Without saying a word, he walked over to you, his arms reaching out, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Your coffee cup nearly slipped from your hands as he enveloped you in his arms, holding you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. His breath was warm against the side of your head, and you could feel the tension in his body, like he had been holding his breath until you returned.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice softer than usual. It wasn’t like him to be this vulnerable, to admit how much he needed you, but right now, in this moment, he couldn’t help it.

You smiled, setting the coffee cup down on the nearby table before wrapping your arms around him, feeling his muscles tense under the weight of the embrace. “You just saw me a little while ago,” you teased, but your heart warmed at the way he clung to you.

“I know,” he muttered, burying his face deeper into your hair. “But I can’t help it. I just… I need you around, y’know? More than I thought I did.”

It was rare to hear Marshall admit this kind of thing, but as you felt him hold you even tighter, you realized it wasn’t just the work getting to him. He was used to being the strong, independent one—the one who had always prided himself on doing things on his own. But when it came to you, he’d always been a little softer, a little more vulnerable. And right now, he was showing you just how much he truly needed you in his life.

“You’re here, Marshall,” you said, your voice soothing as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I’m right here. You don’t have to miss me when I’m not gone.”

He pulled back just slightly, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark with that familiar intensity. “Yeah, but when you're not with me, it feels like something’s missing. Like I’m not whole without you.” His words were raw, unfiltered, and they made your heart swell in your chest.

You didn’t have to say anything. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything outside of this moment seem unimportant.

As you pulled away, you noticed the way Marshall’s gaze softened, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “You’re the one I need, (Y/N),” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, like a promise. “You’re the one that keeps me sane through all this crazy shit.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer again. “You’ve got me, Marshall. Always.”

He kissed you again, this time with more urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you, as if he was desperate to feel you close in the way that only you could make him feel. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips—it was all you needed to know that in that moment, nothing else mattered. He was yours, and you were his.

And as he held you there, tightly, the world outside faded into the background. You weren’t going anywhere, and neither was he. And for once, Marshall didn’t mind letting someone else take the lead. Because when it came to you, being clingy was the least he could do to show just how much you meant to him.

[ducksido]

Meeting Dahlia Spade and eating chocolate with Deuce (Deuce Valentine)

Valentine’s Day had arrived at Night Raven College, and while the atmosphere was buzzing with romantic confessions and sweet treats, Deuce Spade was dealing with a serious case of nerves.

He had spent the entire morning hyping himself up, pacing in his dorm room, rehearsing what he was going to say to Y/N. It wasn’t that asking them to be his Valentine was a scary idea—it was just that every time he tried to, the words got stuck in his throat.

Finally, after much internal debate (and some tough love from Ace, who told him to “just man up and do it already”), Deuce took a deep breath and found Y/N in the courtyard, sitting on a bench and enjoying the crisp February air.

“H-Hey, Y/N!” Deuce called out, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat in embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached them. “Uh… mind if I sit with you?”

Y/N smiled and patted the empty space beside them. “Of course. What’s up, Deuce? You look a little… tense.”

Deuce swallowed hard. “So, um… it’s Valentine’s Day, right?”

They nodded, amused. “That’s right.”

Deuce fumbled inside his pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled red envelope. “I-I wanted to give you this. And, uh, ask you something…”

Curious, Y/N opened the envelope and found a heartfelt, handwritten card inside. It wasn’t fancy—just simple, honest words from Deuce asking if they would be his Valentine. The effort and sincerity behind it made warmth bloom in their chest.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes soft. “Deuce, this is really sweet. I’d love to be your Valentine.”

Deuce’s face turned as red as Riddle’s hair. “R-Really? That’s… wow! I mean, great! I was, uh, kinda worried you’d say no.”

They chuckled. “Why would I say no? You’re kind, hardworking, and you’re always looking out for me.”

If it was even possible, Deuce’s face burned even hotter. He scratched his cheek and let out an awkward chuckle. “Geez, you’re gonna make me all flustered…”

Y/N grinned. “That’s the goal.”

After a moment of gathering his composure, Deuce perked up. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to visit my mom. She always makes a ton of sweets on Valentine’s Day, and I… I kinda want her to meet you.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. Meeting his mom? That was a big step, but the hopeful look in Deuce’s eyes made it clear that this was important to him.

They smiled. “I’d love to meet your mom.”

Later that evening, Deuce and Y/N arrived at his family home, a cozy little house that felt warm and welcoming. The moment they stepped inside, they were greeted by a cheerful voice.

“Deuce! Welcome home, sweetheart!” Dahlia Spade stepped out from the kitchen, apron on, her expression lighting up when she saw her son. Then her gaze shifted to Y/N, and her eyes twinkled. “And this must be the special guest I’ve heard so much about.”

“M-Mom!” Deuce spluttered, looking absolutely mortified. “I-I just said they were coming over! Not that they’re— I mean, they are, but—”

Y/N laughed, finding his flustered reaction adorable. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Spade. Deuce talks about you a lot.”

Dahlia chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron before clasping them together. “Well, that’s sweet to hear. I hope it’s all good things.”

“Of course!” Y/N reassured her. “He’s always telling me how much he looks up to you.”

Deuce groaned. “Y/N, please.”

His mother beamed with pride, ruffling his hair despite his protests. “That’s my boy. Now, come on, you two. I made chocolate-covered strawberries, cookies, and just about every sweet you could think of. You better have room for dessert!”

Y/N and Deuce shared a glance before grinning. Spending Valentine’s Day with Deuce was already special, but getting to meet his mom and share this moment with him? That made it even sweeter.

Later that night, after stuffing themselves with sweets, Deuce and Y/N found themselves lounging in Deuce’s old bedroom, surrounded by childhood mementos and trophies from his past. The two sat on the floor, passing a box of chocolates between them, the cozy atmosphere wrapping them in a warm glow.

Deuce popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction. "Man, I forgot how good Mom's chocolates are."

Y/N chuckled, watching as a smudge of melted chocolate clung to the corner of his lips. "Hold still for a sec."

Before Deuce could react, Y/N leaned in and kissed the chocolate away, their lips barely lingering before pulling back with a smirk.

Deuce’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in place. Then, his face turned bright red, and he sputtered, "W-Wha—Y-Y/N!"

Y/N grinned mischievously. "What? You had chocolate on your face. Just helping you out."

Deuce covered his face with his hands, groaning dramatically. "You can't just do that without warning!"

Y/N laughed, nudging him playfully. "Guess you'll have to get used to it."

Despite his flustered state, Deuce couldn’t hide the smile forming on his lips. Maybe this was the best Valentine’s Day ever.

[kathlare]

night unfolded

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie reluctantly goes on a date at her sister Elysia's insistence. After a nervous start, the evening transitions from an uncomfortable fancy dinner to a much more enjoyable time at an arcade, where she begins to relax.

Wordcount: 1.7 k

Warnings: use of alcohol, mention of mature content

full masterlist // request over here!

July 21st, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

Amelie stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the straps on her dress for what felt like the tenth time. The silk fabric clung to her curves, a soft black gown that Elysia had picked out for her. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her feel like a different person—one she didn’t quite recognize.

—Are you ready yet?— Elysia’s voice echoed from the other room, her impatience evident as usual.

—Just a second,— Amelie called back, fixing her hair one last time.

—You look great, don’t worry,— Elysia called from the hallway, peeking her head around the corner. She was already dressed in a chic but casual outfit, looking effortless as usual.

Amelie gave a half-hearted smile, still not feeling totally at ease in the dress. Fancy dinners weren’t really her thing—she preferred things simple, relaxed, no expectations hanging over her. But here she was, getting ready for a date she wasn’t even sure about.

She took a deep breath, adjusting her dress one last time, and walked out into the living room where Elysia was waiting.

—Dalton should be here any minute,— Elysia said, barely looking up from her phone. She was texting Joe, her boyfriend, but she’d been the one who’d pushed Amelie into this date in the first place.

—Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m not a child, you don’t have to tell me every five minutes,— Amelie replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

Elysia grinned, dropping her phone onto the couch. —Dalton’s a good guy, I promise. You’ll have fun, I swear. It’s just dinner. You don’t have to marry him tonight, but just... give it a chance, okay? Please? For me?—

Amelie rolled her eyes, but there was no use. —You already convinced me, Ely. I don’t really have a choice now, do I?—

—Exactly! Now go and have fun. I’ll be here when you get back, you know I’ll need the gossip later. No backing out. Got it?—

Amelie gave her sister a teasing smile, but in reality, she wasn’t sure how much she wanted to gossip about this. The whole thing just felt... off. But Elysia had begged her, and it wasn’t like she could say no after all the nudging.

The doorbell rang just as Amelie was about to speak again, making her jump. She stood there, frozen for a second, before Elysia practically shoved her toward the door.

—Go! Have fun! And don’t come back too soon,— Elysia called out, her voice full of excitement.

Amelie opened the door, and standing there, looking like a nervous puppy in a suit, was Dalton Kincaid.

—Hey, uh... Amelie, right?— he stammered, trying to smile but not quite pulling it off.

She nodded, forcing herself to smile. —Yeah, that's me. You must be Dalton. Nice to meet you.—

Dalton nodded, his eyes flicking nervously between Amelie and the ground. He was tall, with a broad build that suggested he worked out—something that was pretty typical of most of Elysia’s boyfriend's friends. His brown hair was a little too long, but it suited him, giving him an almost boyish look. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, but the way he fidgeted with his tie made it clear he wasn’t used to this kind of thing.

—You look... great,— he said, looking her up and down before quickly looking away, like he was worried she might see his nerves.

Amelie couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little sorry for him. He seemed genuinely sweet, and his nerves were kind of endearing in a way. She could tell he wasn’t trying to be awkward, but he was.

—Thanks. You look good, too,— she said, trying to make him feel a bit more comfortable.

Dalton cleared his throat. —Right. Um... are you ready to go?—

—Yeah, let’s do this,— Amelie said, pushing her nerves aside.

The drive to the restaurant was quiet, with Dalton stealing glances at her every few seconds as if checking if she was still there. She could feel his eyes on her, and although she wasn’t uncomfortable, it was a little strange.

As they arrived at the restaurant, Dalton pulled up in front of the large, sleek building, the valet already waiting. The place looked expensive—too expensive for Amelie’s liking. She could already feel the weight of the place, all the polished glass and smooth marble, and the people inside who looked like they were there to seal business deals, not to have fun.

Dalton opened the door for her, and Amelie stepped out, feeling more than a little out of place. She could tell he was nervous, his hand hovering by the door like he was waiting for her to make the first move.

—You okay?— Amelie asked, giving him an encouraging smile.

—Yeah, just... not really used to these types of places,— he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. —But it’s nice, right? I thought it’d be... um, nice?—

She nodded, trying to keep it light. —It’s very fancy, that’s for sure.—

As they walked inside, the hostess greeted them warmly, leading them to their table. Dalton was still fumbling with his tie, and Amelie couldn’t help but think how much it reminded her of Lando—back when they’d first started hanging out. She had seen the same nervous energy, the same awkward attempts at making small talk, and it was... oddly familiar.

But then, once they sat down, Dalton seemed to ease into it a little. The waiter poured them glasses of wine, and they made the usual polite conversation—how was your day, how long have you known Joe, blah, blah, blah. Amelie tried to engage, but she could feel herself slipping away, wishing she was anywhere but here.

Dalton kept glancing around at the menu like he was afraid to pick the wrong thing, making Amelie smile a little. He wasn’t trying too hard to impress her, but he was definitely putting in the effort, even if it wasn’t quite landing. It wasn’t like he was rude or cold, far from it. But she didn’t feel any... spark. She didn’t feel that instant connection that everyone always talked about, the kind that makes your stomach flip.

—Hey,— she interrupted, deciding to be honest. —Do you want to, like, go somewhere else? This place is nice, but it’s just not... really my vibe. Too fancy, you know?—

Dalton blinked, surprised. —Oh! Yeah, no, that’s totally fine. I mean, I just... I thought this would be a good place, but...uh, no, I get it. Where do you want to go?—

Amelie couldn't help but chuckle at Dalton's eagerness to fix things, though she appreciated it. His nervousness was almost sweet—like he was trying to read her mind, but didn't quite know how.

—How about somewhere... a little more relaxed? Like, I don't know, an arcade or something?— she suggested, raising an eyebrow, wondering if he'd be into the idea.

Dalton's face lit up at the suggestion, his nerves momentarily forgotten. —An arcade? Yeah! I’m all in for that. No problem! Let’s go do that. This fancy stuff is definitely not my thing either. I’ll take you wherever you want.—

Amelie smiled, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. This was more like it—no pressure, no pretense. It was nice to have someone who wasn’t trying to force a "perfect" night.

As they left the restaurant, the car ride was lighter now, with Dalton actually laughing at her jokes and the conversation flowing a lot more easily. The arcade wasn’t far away, and as they arrived, Amelie felt her mood brighten.

Dalton parked the car and they walked into the dimly lit arcade, filled with the sounds of clinking tokens and upbeat music. It felt like a completely different world from the stiff, quiet atmosphere of the restaurant.

—This is more like it,— Amelie said, feeling a genuine smile spread across her face. Dalton was clearly more relaxed, and she could see the tension melt away from his shoulders.

—Yeah, I can get used to this,— he said, throwing her a grin. —You know, I think I might actually be good at some of these games. Watch out, I’m going to kick your ass at air hockey.—

Amelie laughed, feeling the ease of the moment settle over her. —We’ll see about that,— she said, already eyeing the air hockey table in the corner.

They spent the next few hours bouncing between different games, both of them getting caught up in the nostalgia of it all. There was something so refreshing about not worrying about appearances, just letting go and having fun. Dalton was still a little awkward in his own way, but it wasn’t like he was trying too hard. He was genuine, and that was something Amelie could appreciate.

After a few rounds of air hockey, some rounds of skeeball, and a particularly competitive game of Pac-Man, they found themselves at a small table near the back, munching on boneless wings and fries with a couple of beers in hand. Amelie felt like she was finally starting to enjoy herself.

—Okay, so I have to admit, this was a good idea,— Dalton said between bites of his food, a playful grin on his face. —You’ve definitely got the better taste when it comes to dates.—

Amelie raised an eyebrow, smirking. —I’m just here for the wings and beer, but I guess you’re not too bad yourself.—

Dalton laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. —I’ll take that as a compliment. Glad to see you’re having fun, though. I was worried I might’ve blown it earlier with all that fancy dinner stuff.—

She waved her hand dismissively. —It’s fine. Honestly, I’m not a big fan of fancy places anymore anyway. When I was younger, maybe... but now, I’m just not into all the... pretentiousness.—

Dalton nodded, taking a sip of his beer. —Yeah, I totally get that. I don’t even know how to hold a wine glass properly, to be honest. Give me a cold beer any day.—

After finishing their food, they decided to take a walk around the arcade, letting the noise and chaos of it all sink in. Amelie was starting to feel more comfortable with Dalton, but there was still something missing—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t that he was bad company; he was kind, funny, and easy to talk to. But the spark that people always talked about... it just wasn’t there for her.

By the time they were heading back to her apartment, Amelie could feel the alcohol kicking in, loosening her up more than she had anticipated. As Dalton pulled up to her building, she turned to him, an idea forming in her mind.

—Thanks for the night, Dalton. It was fun. Really,— she said, her voice soft.

—No problem. I had a blast too,— he replied, smiling at her.

Amelie hesitated, the alcohol in her system making her bold. Maybe it was the carefree mood of the night, or maybe it was the lingering desire to just... feel something. Whatever it was, she found herself blurting out, —Do you want to come up for a drink?—

Dalton’s eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised by the sudden invitation. But then, after a brief pause, he nodded, a half-smile tugging at his lips. —Yeah, I’d like that.—

Amelie led him up to her apartment, the door clicking shut behind them. The moment they were inside, the atmosphere shifted—lighter, but still charged with the lingering energy from their night out.

They shared a drink, chatting for a little while longer, but eventually, the conversation stopped. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, just... different. Amelie could feel Dalton’s eyes on her, and for the first time in a while, she was aware of how close they were.

Before she knew it, her hand was on his chest, and they were kissing. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, but there was a pull there, something deep and heavy, urging them both closer. And just like that, the night took on a different rhythm.

Hours passed, and by the time it was all over, Amelie lay in bed next to Dalton, the moonlight casting shadows on the walls. As he drifted off to sleep beside her, Amelie’s mind buzzed with thoughts.

Maybe he was a good guy. Maybe he deserved someone who felt more for him. But for Amelie, this wasn’t going to be the start of something. She didn’t feel the spark, the connection that would make her want more.

It was just... a night. Just a night to forget about the past, to let loose, and maybe that was enough for now.

[glamourscat]

KUROKO HEADCANONS

i am two days late, I know. but here’s Kuroko’s bday post! Some fluff relationship hcs for my favourite character in knb 🩵

Kuroko is a rather silent, invisible presence. To most people, he’s merely a shadow, slipping in and out of spaces unnoticed. So, if he were to fall for someone, it would have to be someone he’s truly close to. Someone who sees him in a way no one else does. His type is “gentle and kind people,” which means this is definitely a friends-to-lovers kind of love.

Maybe you’re the one who always notices him first. The one who spots him in a crowded room before anyone else even realizes he’s there.

It’s the way he realizes he loves you after months of friendship out of pure coincidence. Perhaps he had a bad day at practice or an argument with Kagami and all he wanted was to disappear for a while. To be alone. And he almost succeeded… but you still found him. You always do. Even in the most unexpected places.

“How did you find me?” he asks, his voice as quiet and even as ever. He sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, his chin resting on top.

“How did I find you?” you echo, eyes soft yet twinkling with amusement. “A magician never reveals their secrets.” Your teasing lilt, the gentle curve of your lips, makes the smallest of smiles form on his lips. One he doesn’t even try to hide.

The way Kuroko loves is quiet, subtle, just like him. It’s in the little things, the details he never misses. The way he always notices what you like, silently making note of it. The way he seeks you out in a room, even if he never makes it obvious. The way he sits beside you, fingers twitching with the subconscious urge to reach out.

It’s in his eyes, how they light up just a little when you’re near, enough for his friends to notice even if he remains composed. It’s in the way his dog has become completely obsessed with you, always wanting to be close, nudging his head against your palm. And if Tetsuya #2 approves, then maybe… this is meant to be.

But who confesses first?

He waits, observing, trying to understand if you feel the same. But at some point, his heart starts to ache with the thought that maybe you don’t. Maybe this quiet thing between you is only something he has imagined.

And then there’s you. You don’t need words to see how Kuroko feels, but maybe, just maybe, he needs to hear it. So you decide to show up at one of his games, something you’ve never done before.

He notices you instantly. Even in the sea of cheering people, you stand out to him. His normally steady hands falter for just a moment as he grips the ball. He wasn’t expecting you to come. He never told you the time, never reminded you of the match. And yet, there you are.

After the game, as the crowd thins out, you wait for him outside the gym. He steps toward you, his usual unreadable expression in place except for his eyes. They are searching, questioning.

“You came,” he says softly.

“Of course I did,” you reply, shifting on your feet. “I wanted to see you play.”

There’s a brief silence before he speaks again. “You could have told me.”

“Would it have changed anything?” you counter, tilting your head.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. “No. But I would have looked forward to it.”

Your chest tightens, a warmth sensation in your tummy. You take a breath, then step closer.

“I like you, Tetsu.”

There it is. Simple. Honest. No teasing, no riddles. Just the truth.

Kuroko blinks once, twice. And then, a rare sight. A full, genuine smile. It’s soft, but it reaches his eyes.

“I like you, too.”

No grand gestures. No dramatic confessions. Just you, just him. Just the quiet understanding that this has always been real. Always meant to be.

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