#and I can’t even study for it or work on it

[0gl1tch0]

-AWAY! Fuck you. We’re done! And honestly this is a long time coming. Things have been shit, you have been shit, for so long. Looking back I don’t know why I put up with it. Momentum? But this, this is on another level. You got my family involved. Don’t fucking talk to my family! We’re done. Fuck you. This is goodb-

I only know one spell.

Forget. Forget. Forget.

I can use it on one person, and have them forget forget forget one thing, at one time. Use it on someone else and they remember, immediately.

It’s not the most useful spell. It can’t cover up anything with two witnesses. It can’t hide any memory indefinitely.

And I can’t use it on myself.

I would.

It’s hard to pick the one thing I’d use it for.

YOU wouldn’t believe it. I just got pulled over and I’m like super high. And I’m sooo nervous. Like this pig is definitely knows. But he goes back to his car to run my plates and he must have gotten a car or something, cause he just flipped on his lights and drove AW-

Susan is at the library on a Tuesday. She’s supposed to be at work, but she forgot. So she went to the library like she usually does on her days off. It helps her study. She’s earning an online degree in public health. She’s a good person trying to help. Plus, she doesn’t want to be a security guard forever.

But she does want to be a security guard for now. And the second I make someone else forget forget forget something, she’ll remember. She’ll be running back to work confused with no excuse. I suppose if I did it to her enough then the government would fire her. But I need her to keep her job, at least for now.

So I change what I’m forcing her to forget forget forget. She grabs her purse and starts sprinting out the door to her car. She doesn’t remember to log out of library computer though. I don’t let her.

-N we talk? If you’re busy it’s okay but this is important. Last night I was hanging out with one of the guys from work. I thought he was sweet, and we were having fun, I dunno. I was just so drunk. It started to rain and I was cold and I wanted to go inside but I just passed out on the ground. And he was laughing. He just left me there. My memory gets hazy after that. YOU-

It’s a funny thing, memories. Every time you think about them, they change. They aren’t records you play and put back on the shelf. They’re stories you tell yourself, over and over, memorizing the newest telling each time. Your biggest regrets? Those terrible things seared into your brain? You aren’t reliving a particularly bad moment. No, you spend the rest of your life telling yourself the same sad story, over and over, combing through the details looking for any little thing you could have changed. But it doesn’t matter. The ending is always the same.

Even if your mind slowly massages your recollection, reality brings back the pain you can’t forget forget forget.

Take Susan, for instance. She shot and killed someone. And she’s been retelling herself those every day since. I can see it, in the version history of the report of the incident on her computer. Certain truths become fuzzier. Certain falsehoods more distinct. Her memories of the biggest regrets of her life smoothing like wood, as she tries to sand away a chaotic hectic and jagged piece of her foundation into something she doesn’t hurt herself to touch. But the guy is still dead. The smooth shaft of wood still ends in the point of a spear. And she’s stabbing herself on it. Trying to forget forget forget.

Her boss says she’s a hero. The mayor is going to meet with her. Only she’s not going to remember the meeting.

I only have a few minutes before she runs back into the library and signs out of the computer. I won’t need half that to clean up after myself. I’m not the kind of person whose presence leaves evidence. Not anymore.

-ught about it. For a long time. And I. I dunno. I like you a lot. It’s just. I mean how would that even work? Maybe we should just be friends. CAN-

Getting into the restaurant will not be easy. I can’t sit down at a table without a reservation. Even if I cast a spell on the hostess, that won’t change whether or not the tables are full. And if I get a table, I have to order something. This isn’t a place regular folks can afford, and I can’t even scrap together regular people money. Maybe it slips the waiters mind and he doesn’t bill me, but I’m leaving here with my spell on the Mayor. I just need to get close to him for a moment.

One moment. That’s all any of us ever need. That’s all any of us ever get. We are all just a collection of what we did in a small list of moments.

-HIS is a really bad time. I’m sorry, my dog just died. I really can’t think about anything else right now. I don’t have the THOU-

Human beings, ultimately, are just a pile of chemicals. Big meaty lumps controlled by electrical signals powered by a series of gasses and fluids, flowing at a steady rate each and every second. We are a teetering balancing act of chemical input and chemical output, existing as a filter in a river of time while reality sifts through us.

It’s not the balance that makes us. It’s the imbalances. It’s the different needs and cravings at different levels. What does it mean when the introduction of someone’s scent increases our endorphin levels? How do we shape our lives if the thing we’re missing comes in a pill that the government can take away? What does it say about us if the thing we’re missing doesn’t come in any pill at all? What would you do to try and find balance? How good does something have to feel to be good enough?

We are all just piles of chemicals trying to bond.

And I’m standing in the bathroom because I let one chemical spill out.

I cut myself on my arm, walked into the front room, and asked if I could clean myself up. Of course security would let me through. I didn’t even need to use a spell to be left alone in here, although I’d planned to. Most people are inherently good, most of the time. And I erase a little bit of people to get what I want. What does that make me?

AND he’s dead. Oh my god he’s dead. I just found his obituary. It says he killed himself, Jesus Christ killed himself months ago. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me, the best part of me. I think we were like… platonic soulmates. And he’s been gone. Just gone. For months! I can’t believe it. Please say something. I can’t take TH-

I’m not going to kill the mayor.

I could, maybe, I think. For a few minutes have him forget forget forget to breathe.

But I don’t want anyone to die. I just want there to be a little less hate. I want Susan not to have hated anyone who scared her while she was working alone. I want Susan not to hate herself for what she was expected to do while afraid. I want Susan not to hate herself for what she does now, just to get one evening where she feels good.

I want the first world to function less punitively. I want the world to understand decisions were little bursts of energy through couple soupy wrinkles of meat, and sometimes that energy misfires. Sometimes that meat is wrong.

But we don’t do that. We see something wrong and we hate it. We hate it like that will make it right. If the force of our disdain and the extremity of our punishment are extreme enough we can beat the things we hate into submission. We treat the human psyche like its only remedy is ballistic repair. Hit it to make it start working. If the signal is still fuzzy hit it again.

We hit each other and ourselves so hard and so often that the only remaining ways to cope are the exact things we hated in the first place. We hate the poor so we take their homes away. We hate the fat so we force them to stay inside where we cannot see them. We call addicts criminals and brand them for life, barring them from any alternatives that might feel good.

And the mayor? He needs people to vote for him. So he has to be the paragon of our hate. He has to embody it, to take that nebulous hate and through his pen channel it into legislation. In front of dozens of cameras he’s going to sign a bill that condemns those of us hurting the most to even worse cells at even worse prisons for even longer sentences. And he’ll do it with a smile, in front of dozens of cameras, shaking the thankful public’s hand.

But it won’t do anything. You can’t unring a bell. You can’t untake a pill or unpull a trigger. Susan won’t bring that boy back when she rethinks the story, when she takes pain killers, when she gets fired for having them or when she spends time in a cell. He will always be dead.

So I won’t let the Mayor do this. For three days the bill will sit in a shelf in his desk that I command him to forget forget forget.

That’s the best I can do. I just stop things from getting worse. I don’t know how to make things better. That’s not my part of the phrase.

No I think we could move in together. What’s the worst that happens, I have a shitty year there? I’m going to have a shitty year here. Besides, you’re my best friend. If we get into a fight I’m sure we can’t forgive and-

You only know one spell, and it isn’t even a high-level spell. But between its versatility and your creativity, you’ve still made a name for yourself.

[cheftsunoda]

hii my love, could i possibly request a poly with carlos and rebbeca? with reader being an architect/ archeologist studying in edinburgh?

redesigned— cs55 + rebecca

smau + blurbs

you always thought your life would be built in clean lines and quiet mornings. tucked away in edinburgh’s grey stone charm, buried under piles of models and sketches, you were content building your future from the ground up—brick by brick, draft by draft. loving quietly and living softly. until rebecca. model, muse, and your first real love—rebecca donaldson walked into your life like a thunderstorm in a glass house. she swept you into her world of fashion weeks and flights, of candlelit rooftops and cameras that never stopped flashing. and yet, somehow, she always made space for you. for the silence. for the stillness. for love that felt like breath. you both were never looking for more—until a gala in barcelona. until carlos sainz. he shouldn’t have made sense. but he did. he saw you. he saw both of you. and maybe, for the first time, your carefully drawn plans weren’t ruined. they were just… redesigned.

fc : julie knezvic

(a/n): hi angel!! i hope you love and i am sorry that it took so long, im just a little behind rn. love you sm.

—

yourusername

liked by iamrebeccad, yourbff, yoursister & 2,301 others.

yourusername : random dump for you as i am too busy trying to survive my last few weeks of uni 😭

tagged : iamrebbecad

—

view 100 other comments.

yourbff : body is STILL tea tho. (so proud of you love) (you and rebe r so damn cute)

liked by yourusername and iamrebeccad

↳ yourusername : we love and miss you SO MUCH.

liked by yourbff and iamrebeccad

↳ yourbff : becs can you pls convince her to stop studying just for a night and we can all go out and have fun

liked by yourusername and iamrebeccad

↳ iamrebeccad : babes i am working on it i promise. she is stubborn 😭

liked by yourusername and yourbff

↳ yourbff : trust me i KNOWWW

↳ yourusername : right here guys

↳ yourbff : we know. hopefully you see this and decided to let yourself have some fun.

liked by yourusername and iamrebeccad

username0 : how long have her and rebecca been dating??

↳ username1 : around 2 years i believe!

↳ username0 : aw omg. they r so cute

yoursister : can’t believe my baby sis is about to graduate 😭

liked by yourusername and iamrebeccad

↳ yourusername : you say ‘baby’ as if we aren’t a year apart

↳ yoursister : still a baby TO ME

liked by yourusername

iamrebeccad : so proud of you baby! you deserve everything and more. love you 🩷

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : love you even more. would not have survived w out youuuu

—

You’re on your third coffee of the afternoon, hunched over your desk, sleeves rolled up, graphite smudged across your hand like battle scars. The model in front of you is refusing to cooperate, and the sun is setting outside the Edinburgh flat you and Rebecca have half lived in for months. She leans against the doorframe—hair up in a loose bun, wearing one of your old hoodies that somehow still looks like a Vogue editorial.

“Babe,” she says, drawing the word out like honey, “how attached are you to your studies this weekend?”

You don’t even look up. “Deeply. Passionately. Borderline Addicted..”

She crosses the room, arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind, chin resting lightly on your head. “That’s cute. Unfortunately, I’m here to kidnap you.”

“Rebecca—”

“Barcelona,” she cuts in. “Sun. Sea. Minimalist wine bars. Me in a silk dress. You in that black jumpsuit that makes people fall in love with you. Come with me to the gala.”

You glance at her from the corner of your eye. “I have five boards to finish by Monday.”

“And I have one very stubborn girlfriend who hasn’t taken a break in weeks,” she murmurs, nosing against your cheek. “You’re starting to talk in floor plan metaphors in your sleep.”

You huff a laugh, trying to stay strong. “If I don’t finish this model, I’ll fail.”

“You’ll finish it. But not this weekend.” She pauses. “Because I have reinforcements.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Reinforcements?”

She grins like she’s won something. “Your best friend. She’s flying in. I booked her a flight this morning. She’ll be in Barcelona waiting for us with two Aperol spritzes and a disposable camera.”

Your mouth parts slightly. “You didn’t.”

You cave. Of course you cave. Because it’s Rebecca, because it’s Barcelona, because she’s looking at you like you hung the stars—and because part of you wants to be reminded that there’s more to life than models and deadlines.

You lean back against her, eyes closing for a second. “Only if you let me bring my sketchbook.”

She kisses your temple, smiling. “Deal.”

—

Your suitcase is open on the bed. And still, somehow, empty. Rebecca lounges beside it in a silky robe, legs crossed, sipping her oat milk latte like the world isn’t burning in the form of your wardrobe meltdown.

“Okay,” you say, flinging a pair of trousers onto the pile for the third time. “I have absolutely nothing to wear.”

She hums, unconvinced. “You have literally three garment bags of stunning outfits, and yet you are now debating between the same pair of linen pants and that ‘reliable’ black dress that’s one dry clean away from falling apart.”

“I don’t like being perceived,” you grumble, yanking open another drawer. “Especially not in Barcelona. At a gala. With your friends. Who are all supermodels.”

Rebecca slides off the bed and wraps her arms around you from behind, hands warm over your waist. “They’re not my friends. They’re acquaintances I occasionally make eye contact with at runways. You, on the other hand, are the love of my life. Which, I’d like to point out, is more important.”

You lean back into her, your voice softer now. “Still nervous.”

“I know.” She kisses just behind your ear, gently. “But you’ll be breathtaking. You always are.”

She pulls away slightly, rummaging through your closet and pulling out the slinky black jumpsuit with the open back that you wore on your first real trip together. “You’re wearing this.”

You blink. “That’s… from Paris.”

“Exactly.” She hands it to you with a wink. “Let’s remind the world who made me fall head over heels in the middle of a hotel hallway.”

—

The jet is quieter than you expected. Sleek leather seats, dimmed lights, and a tray of strawberries and champagne already waiting. You curl up against Rebecca in one of the oversized seats, your legs draped over hers, the hum of the engines low and steady beneath you.

“Is this a kidnapping or a honeymoon?” you ask, eyes closed as she runs her fingers through your hair.

“A prelude,” she says. “To your well earned escape from architectural hell.”

You laugh, half asleep, letting your hand trace lazy circles over the inside of her wrist. She leans down and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips—slow and unhurried.

“You’re going to love it,” she murmurs against your mouth. “The city, the sea, the food. I’ll take you to that Gaudí museum you’ve been obsessed with since forever. And the gala… You’re going to walk in and ruin everyone’s night in the best way.”

You smile against her lips, dazed and warm. “Only if you’re holding my hand.”

She tangles your fingers together. “Always.”

—

The wheels touch down on the tarmac just after noon, and you blink awake to golden light pouring through the windows of the jet, warm and sleepy against your skin. Rebecca is already smiling at you, one hand stroking your cheek, the other holding her sunglasses by the frame.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she murmurs. “We’re here.”

You stretch with a sleepy groan, her hoodie still drowning you as you sit up. Barcelona smells different already, even from the window — like heat and citrus and the sea in the distance. The flight felt short, maybe because you spent most of it curled up in Rebecca’s arms, half listening to her whisper soft, ridiculous commentary while flipping through design magazines with you. You’re halfway down the steps of the plane when you spot her—your best friend—bouncing on her toes near a sleek black car waiting on the runway, waving both arms in the air like she might take off.

“There she is!” you shout, already sprinting.

She crashes into you with the force of someone who hasn’t seen you in far too long, arms tight around your neck, both of you laughing so hard it echoes off the runway.

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically. “You’re real. You exist outside of voice notes and crying over thesis reviews.”

You mock glare at her. “I was not crying. I was… processing stress. Loudly.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, starchitect.”

Rebecca walks up behind you, smiling fondly at the chaos. “You must be the famous best friend who gets more good morning texts than I do.”

She shrugs. “Guilty. Someone had to emotionally support her through model glue disasters and coffee fueled breakdowns.”

“I can hear you both,” you deadpan.

Rebecca kisses your cheek in response. “Still adorable when you’re defensive.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm.

The three of you pile into the car, luggage loaded, air conditioning on blast. Your best friend immediately hands you a disposable camera and a tiny bottle of sunscreen.

“For the photos,” she says, “and so you don’t get roasted again like last summer. I’m not dealing with lobster YN in every candid this time.”

Rebecca leans over and stage-whispers, “Did she tell you about the time she got so sunburnt in Capri that she walked like a 90-year-old for three days?”

“Rebecca.”

“Oh, she told me,” your best friend grins.

You groan, burying your face in Rebecca’s shoulder, who just laughs and presses a kiss to your hair. As the car winds through the narrow streets toward your hotel, Barcelona spreads out around you—sun-soaked buildings, palm trees, motorbikes weaving through traffic, balconies draped in ivy. And in that moment, with Rebecca’s hand laced in yours and your best friend humming along to the Spanish pop song playing through the speakers, it feels like everything is exactly where it should be. It doesn’t matter that there’s a gala tomorrow. Or that you’re probably going to trip in heels at some point. Or that Rebecca’s world still feels a little too fast, a little too beautiful. Right now, it’s just the three of you. And it’s perfect.

—

The hotel suite smells…well…sweet, the scent of Rebecca’s perfume curling through the air like a promise. The sun’s nearly down, casting that golden hour glow across the skyline of Barcelona, softening the sharp edges of the city outside your balcony. From inside, the room hums with quiet movement—heels clicking gently on marble, fabric brushing skin, the low murmur of music from the Bluetooth speaker on the vanity. Rebecca stands in front of the full-length mirror, slipping into a floor length silk dress the color of champagne. It clings to her in all the right places, light catching on her collarbones and the soft curve of her back. She catches your eyes in the mirror and smiles softly.

“You’re staring.”

You hum, still barefoot in your robe, curled up in the corner chair with your sketchbook half-forgotten in your lap. “You’re literally unreal.”

She turns slowly, gliding across the room until she’s kneeling in front of you, her hands resting gently on your bare knees. “And you, my love, are not allowed to hide in that robe all night. Come on. Let me help you.”

You let her pull you up, fingers laced. The black jumpsuit hangs neatly on the closet door, the same one she picked out. She helps you step into it, zipping it up with steady hands, smoothing the fabric over your hips.

When you turn to face her, something shifts in her expression.

“God,” she whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me tonight.”

You blush, looking down, but she lifts your chin with one finger, pressing a kiss to your mouth—soft, reverent. “I mean it. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

Later, with heels on and lipstick applied and nerves starting to stir low in your stomach, Rebecca slips her hand into yours as you step into the waiting car.

“I’ve got you,” she says, as if reading your mind. “Always.”

—

The venue is even more dramatic than you’d imagined—an old Spanish estate turned event space, all arches and climbing vines and warm candlelight. The crowd buzzes with the kind of energy you’ve only experienced at fashion week: air-kisses, flowing gowns, and laughter that’s just a little too practiced.You stay close to Rebecca at first, your hand tight around her fingers as she introduces you to people whose names sound familiar from Vogue articles. It’s not your world, not really. But the way she keeps glancing at you—checking you’re okay, brushing your arm with hers when no one’s looking—grounds you. You’re mid-sip of champagne, standing just off to the side of the courtyard, when he walks in. Carlos Sainz.

The buzz ripples almost immediately—subtle, but tangible. He’s wearing a dark suit that fits like it was made just for him, open collar, hair a little windswept like he stepped out of a commercial. There’s something warm and relaxed about him, like he’s completely at ease in the chaos. And yet, the moment his eyes find you—you—his expression shifts. Like you’ve pulled his attention into focus.

He walks toward you, slow and certain, and for a second you assume he’s going to greet Rebecca. Everyone here knows her. You brace for it. But then—his gaze lingers on yours.

“Hola,” he says, smile soft but curious. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You blink, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Hi.”

Rebecca steps in, hand still loosely curled around yours. “Carlos, this is my girlfriend. The brilliant architect I’ve been talking your ear off about.”

Something flickers behind his eyes. “So this is the famous Edinburgh genius.”

You laugh nervously, cheeks hot. “Hardly genius. Just a tired student who got bribed into coming to a gala.”

Carlos grins. “Best bribe anyone’s ever pulled, then.”

Rebecca’s thumb brushes the back of your hand. The three of you stand there a moment longer—his gaze darting between you both, your body language, the way you lean into each other naturally. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks fascinated.

He tips his head slightly, voice lower now. “May I steal you both for a drink?”

Rebecca glances at you, eyebrows raised. Your heart thuds once, hard. You nod.

“Sure.”

And with that, something shifts—quietly, subtly, like the first breeze before a storm. You don’t know it yet, but tonight is the beginning of something. Something uncharted. Something beautifully complicated.

—

You’re seated between them. Rebecca on your left, her hand resting gently on your thigh beneath the tablecloth, fingers drawing slow, absentminded circles into the silk of your jumpsuit. Carlos on your right, nursing a glass of red wine, elbow resting casually on the back of your chair like he’s known you for years instead of ninety minutes. The gala is in full swing now—waiters weaving through tables with trays of Spanish tapas and champagne, a string quartet playing something low and romantic from the garden stage. Lights glitter overhead like a net of stars. And still, you can barely focus on anything but the energy between the three of you. It’s subtle but electric. Warm, blooming quietly under the surface of every glance and word.

Rebecca leans in, murmuring, “This wine is actually amazing,” as she reaches for her glass, brushing her shoulder against yours. You can feel the heat of her, the scent of her perfume still clinging to the air around you.

Carlos glances over. “You two are making everyone here jealous, you know.”

You blink. “What?”

He grins, nodding toward the rest of the table. “Look around. Half the people here are trying to figure out who you are and how you managed to make Rebecca Donaldson giggle like that.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Rebecca says, though she’s smiling into her glass.

“I’m not,” he replies. “I just think it’s rare. That kind of… ease. Most people in this room are trying so hard to look perfect. You two look like you already have everything you want.”

Your breath catches a little in your throat. Rebecca squeezes your thigh gently. “That’s because we do.”

You look between them—Rebecca glowing under the golden light, Carlos watching you with something softer than charm in his eyes. He doesn’t seem like he’s trying to impress you. He’s just curious. Present. Drawn in.

“So, Carlos,” Rebecca says lightly, turning the spotlight, “tell us—how does a Formula 1 driver end up at a fashion gala on a Thursday night?”

He shrugs, leaning back slightly. “I got invited. My manager said it would be good for me to socialize with people who aren’t constantly talking about tyre degradation.”

You laugh, surprising yourself with how easy it feels around him. “Fair enough.”

“But I wasn’t planning on staying long,” he adds. Then, without missing a beat— “Until I saw you two walk in.”

Rebecca raises a brow, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Is that so?”

He holds your gaze when he answers. “Yes.”

Your heart skips. The silence stretches for a moment—not awkward, just thick with something unsaid. Rebecca reaches for her wine again, then turns toward Carlos with playful curiosity.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “what exactly is it that fascinates you?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“She grounds you,” he says simply, looking at Rebecca. “You shine differently when she’s near.”

You feel the breath catch in Rebecca’s throat beside you. Her hand tightens on your leg, and when you turn toward her, her eyes are glassy with something unspoken. And then Carlos turns to you.

“And you… you look at her like she’s made of something holy.”

You stare at him, unable to speak. His voice is gentle, without expectation. He’s not hitting on you. Not in the way you’ve seen others try. He’s just seeing you—both of you—with a kind of quiet reverence that makes you feel… known. The moment is broken only by the clinking of silverware as dessert is served—some delicate Catalan cream and fresh berries—but the weight of it lingers. You eat in silence for a while, your thoughts buzzing.

Carlos turns slightly toward you as he dips a spoon into his dish. “So tell me something,” he says, tone light but curious. “Do you always design things with this much precision… or do you ever let yourself create something messy?”

You blink. “Messy?”

He shrugs. “Unplanned. Unbalanced. A little chaotic.”

You smirk. “I’m an architecture student. Chaos is my natural enemy.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But sometimes… chaos brings the best results.”

You glance at Rebecca. She’s already watching you with that look—the one that knows exactly what you’re thinking. That maybe… just maybe… this doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like the start of something beautifully unexpected.

She leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes flicking between her and Carlos. “Yeah. I’m… just wondering what happens next.”

Rebecca smiles softly, hand resting over yours now on the table. “Whatever it is… I think we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Carlos clinks his glass gently against both of yours. “To figuring it out.”

And in the middle of that glittering courtyard in Barcelona, with Rebecca on one side and Carlos on the other, you realize: You don’t feel like you’re in between them. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

—

The morning starts with sunlight spilling through the gauzy hotel curtains, soft and golden. Barcelona wakes up slowly — a city that stretches before it rises, where the air smells faintly of sea salt and fresh bread, and conversations drift up from the streets like music. You wake with Rebecca curled around your back, still half-asleep, her hand resting lightly at your waist. Her breath is warm against your neck. You smile, eyes still closed. A knock sounds at the door.

Rebecca groans dramatically and pulls a pillow over her head. “If that’s room service and they forgot your croissant again, I swear to god—”

You giggle, rolling out of bed, slipping into one of the hotel robes. But when you open the door, it’s not room service. It’s Carlos.

Wearing sunglasses, holding three iced coffees and a brown paper bag full of pastries like it’s the most casual thing in the world. His smile is crooked. “I brought breakfast. And a proposition.”

Rebecca’s voice calls from the bed. “If the proposition doesn’t involve carbs, we’re not interested.”

He chuckles. “Good thing I know my audience.”

You wave him in and close the door behind him. Carlos steps inside, handing you your drink and then holding up a small envelope.

“What’s that?” you ask, sipping your coffee.

He grins. “Tickets. Gaudí House Museum. You mentioned it last night, remember?”

You blink, surprised. “You remembered?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Of course.”

Rebecca sits up in bed, hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep, grinning at both of you. “Did you just ask us out on a museum date?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow. “If I did, are you saying yes?”

You glance between them, heart blooming.

Rebecca nods. “Let me put on a cute outfit and we’re in.”

The taxi ride is filled with sunlight and soft laughter. You’re sandwiched in the back seat between them, Carlos’s arm thrown over the headrest behind you, Rebecca snapping candids of you both with the disposable camera your best friend gave you yesterday. At some point, Rebecca leans across you to steal a bite of Carlos’s croissant, and instead of pulling away, he just watches the two of you with that warm, unreadable look again — the one that says he’s taking this in like it means more than he’ll say out loud. By the time you arrive at the Gaudí House Museum, the three of you are humming with that easy sort of energy people only find when they’ve stopped pretending.

The museum is quieter than expected, cool and airy despite the heat outside. Everything inside is curved and intentional, dripping with artistry — from the mosaic tiles to the asymmetrical windows to the wrought-iron details that make the house feel alive.You pause in front of a set of floor plans and models, your eyes scanning the intricate designs like they’re secrets waiting to be solved.

Carlos leans in beside you. “So this is your world, huh?”

You nod. “It’s strange. I’ve studied this for years. But being here, in it… it’s different. It feels like touching someone’s dream.”

Rebecca takes your hand gently, her thumb brushing across your knuckles. “You do that too, you know.”

You glance at her. “Do what?”

“Build things that matter,” she says simply. “Even when it’s just in your sketchbook.”

Carlos watches the two of you with that quiet gaze again — soft, and maybe a little reverent. You keep wandering through the house, taking your time. At one point, you all stand in front of a massive stained-glass window that throws patches of color across the marble floor. Carlos snaps a photo of you and Rebecca bathed in the light, and when he shows it to you, your breath catches. Rebecca has her hand at your cheek. You’re smiling at her like nothing else exists.

“You really do light up the room,” Carlos murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You blush, looking away. Eventually, the three of you make your way up to the rooftop terrace. The city stretches out in all directions, hazy and golden beneath the sun. The famous chimneys rise like sculptural flames around you — surreal and magical. Rebecca presses her back against the warm stone, pulling you gently into her side. Carlos leans beside you both, arms crossed loosely, the breeze tugging at his curls.

“I get it now,” he says, voice low.

You glance over. “Get what?”

“How people fall in love with Barcelona.”

You can’t help but smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He looks at you when he answers. “So are you.”

The words hang there for a moment — not a line, not a flirtation. Just truth. You look at Rebecca. She’s already looking at you. And you feel it — that same undercurrent from the night before. Like the three of you are circling something unspoken. Something delicate. But real. Rebecca kisses your temple and leans her head on your shoulder. “This might be the best morning I’ve had in a long time.”

Carlos shifts slightly closer. “Same.”

And in that moment, high above the city in a house built from dreams, you think maybe — just maybe — you’re starting to build something, too.

—

several weeks later

carlossainz55

liked by yourusername, iamrebeccad, lando and 1,109,227 others.

carlossainz55 : 📸

—

view 121,007 other comments.

lando : i feel like the other woman’s other woman rn.

liked by carlossainz55

username00: whomst???

↳ username1 : i believe rebecca donaldson and her gf yn ln. check @/yourusername’s recent post.

↳ username00 : oh that is def carlos in her post.

alex_albon : okay carlossss👀

liked by carlossainz55

—

yourusername

liked by iamrebeccad, carlossainz55, lando and 75,764 others.

yourusername : life + baddies first day on the job;)

tagged : iamrebeccad

—

view 597 comments.

username0 : is this the girl from carlos’ post??

↳ username1 : i believe so…that is def him in the dump.

↳ username5 : him and lando in the likes 😭

↳ username7 : we have lost ladies

↳ username11 : she is dating rebecca though…

↳ username7 : they were both on his ig post…maybe throuple?

iamrebeccad : i am so proud of you, angel! you are killing it. i love you so much.

liked by yourusername and carlossainz55

↳ yourusername : love you even more. could not have done it without you.

carlossainz55 : Congratulations hermosa! So proud! ❤️

liked by yourusername and iamrebeccad

↳ yourusername : thank uuu carlitos ❤️

liked by carlossainz55

↳ username7 : oh yeah we are cooked.

—

The apartment is quiet, sun filtering in through the linen curtains, the scent of fresh basil and lemon lingering from the pasta Rebecca made the night before. You’re at the kitchen counter, barefoot and glowing — still not entirely used to the fact that you’re done with uni. That you’re officially working as a junior designer at one of the most respected firms in Edinburgh. That the world is beginning, finally, to expand. Rebecca hums to herself in the next room, curled on the sofa with a fashion book open in her lap, glasses perched on her nose. Her hair’s up in a lazy bun, an old t-shirt  hanging off her shoulder. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Until the knock. You both freeze.

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you order something?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “No. Did you?”

You make your way to the door, curious, and open it—and there he is. Carlos. In jeans and a grey hoodie, holding a bouquet of wildflowers and a crooked smile that says he’s very pleased with himself.

“Hola,” he says, dimples deepening. “Surprise.”

You blink, stunned. “What—wait, are you—you’re here?!”

Behind you, Rebecca gasps and immediately darts to the door. “Are you kidding me?!”

Carlos laughs as you both wrap him in a hug, arms tangling. It’s warm and a little chaotic, the three of you practically swaying in the doorway.

“I couldn’t miss your celebration,” he says, pulling back just enough to hand you the flowers. “You graduated. You started your dream job. I figured that deserved something… dramatic.”

“You texted me ten minutes ago from Madrid!” Rebecca accuses, hitting his arm lightly.

“I was on the way to your place,” he grins, clearly unbothered. “Needed to keep the element of surprise.”

You’re still standing there barefoot, flowers in hand, heart pounding like you’ve just won something you didn’t know you were competing for. Carlos steps fully inside, glancing around like he’s been here before in his mind. “You two look like you’ve settled into something domestic and terrifyingly cute.”

Rebecca smirks. “We did. You just made it worse.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I’m here to ruin your cozy night in.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh?”

Carlos tugs two envelopes from the inside pocket of his hoodie. “I made a reservation at that rooftop place with the insane sunset view—Rebecca sent it to me weeks ago in a TikTok, so you’re both exposed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Rebecca bites back a grin. “You are unreal.”

“And then, if you say yes, I’m going to romantically kidnap you both.”

You pause, blinking. “Romantically… what?”

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “I want you to come to my next race. I already booked the flights. There’s a suite. It’s hidden. Think sun, espresso, a lot of carbon fiber, and the three of us hiding from the media in style.”

Your jaw drops. Rebecca’s hand finds yours instinctively. “Carlos…”

He smiles, softer now. “Look. I know we’re not putting names on it yet. But I miss you. All the time. And if I can steal you for just a few days—to cheer me on, to kiss you under Italian moonlight, to pretend this thing between us is real for a little while longer… then I want to try. I want to keep trying. With both of you.”

You feel the words settle between your ribs like something sacred. Rebecca squeezes your hand. You look at her. She looks at you. You’re both already smiling.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whisper, heart racing.

Carlos steps closer, brushing your hair behind your ear, his voice lower now. “I know. But admit it… you love it.”

You do. God, you do. Rebecca leans up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thirty minutes, Sainz. If we’re late for our own celebration, that’s on you.”

He winks. “I’ll be waiting.”

As he steps into the living room to give you time to get ready, you turn to Rebecca, breathless.

“We’re going to Italy.”

She grins. “With Carlos Sainz.”

You bury your face in her shoulder. “What are we even doing?”

Rebecca laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Something new.”

And you smile, because it doesn’t feel like chaos anymore. It feels like exactly what you want.

—

From the rooftop, the city looks like it’s breathing — windows flickering to life one by one, cars crawling slowly through the narrow streets below. There’s a warm breeze drifting over the tiles, carrying the scent of wine and sun-warmed stone. You’re seated at a candlelit table nestled beneath a string of golden fairy lights, the linen tablecloth fluttering gently in the wind. Everything is dusky pinks and golds and the soft clink of wine glasses. The kind of setting people spend months trying to plan. Carlos didn’t even flinch when he called ahead.

You’re in a silky deep blue dress Rebecca helped you pick out in ten minutes flat, your hair pinned up with tiny gold clips, and Carlos hasn’t stopped looking at you since you sat down. Not in a showy way — it’s quiet. Constant. His eyes find you every time you laugh, every time you turn toward the view. Rebecca sits across from you, a soft backless dress in burnt orange clinging to her like it was made for her, one arm stretched over the back of Carlos’s chair, her other hand holding yours across the table. Her skin is warm and golden in the candlelight.

“This is completely ridiculous,” you murmur after the waiter pours the first round of wine. “Like, offensively beautiful.”

Carlos lifts his glass. “You deserve ridiculous.”

Rebecca clinks her glass lightly against his, then yours. “To our girl. For surviving sleepless nights, evil professors, thesis disasters, and becoming a full time grown-up.”

You laugh and duck your head. “You two are being weirdly nice to me. I’m suspicious.”

Carlos leans closer. “Fine. Let me balance it out. Do you remember when you tried to explain structural cantilevers to me and ended up drawing a sketch that looked like a sad giraffe?”

Rebecca chokes on her wine. “That was a cantilever?! I thought it was a palm tree.”

Your hand flies to your chest in mock offense. “Wow. I am under attack at my own celebration.”

But you’re smiling. The kind of smile that feels like it’s living in your ribs, spreading slow and wide and warm. The kind you don’t even try to hide anymore. Carlos reaches over and brushes something off your shoulder — a petal from the small bouquet resting on the table — and his fingers linger just a second too long.

“You’re glowing,” he says, so quietly you barely hear it.

Rebecca meets your eyes and smiles, soft and knowing. “She always does when she’s happy.”

The food arrives — shared plates and small bites, things you’ve never tasted before but love instantly. You end up feeding each other across the table, laughing through full mouths, brushing hands as you pass forks and spill wine and get far too invested in an argument about what the best dessert on the menu will be. Eventually, after the plates are cleared and the second bottle of wine is opened, the wind dies down. The city hushes just a little. You lean back in your chair, tipsy and warm, the scent of Rebecca’s perfume wrapped around you and the sound of Carlos’s low voice filling the space between stories. He’s talking about racing, about how everything slows down the second he’s in the car. How quiet it is, even with all the noise.

“It’s not adrenaline,” he says, eyes on the skyline. “It’s clarity. Like the world only makes sense when it’s going a hundred miles an hour.”

Rebecca rests her head against your shoulder. “Is that why you’re so calm all the time? Because you’ve already met chaos head-on?”

He glances at her, something soft behind his grin. “I think I’m calm because I know what matters now.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t have to.

—

Later, the three of you are the last to leave. The waiter brings out one final glass of vermouth and a tiny plate of dark chocolate, and you all sit there beneath the fairy lights like you’ve slipped into another version of the world — one where nothing needs to be defined, only felt.

Carlos helps Rebecca up, his hand settling low on her back with a kind of gentleness that surprises her. When he turns to you, you hesitate for just a second.

Then you reach for him. Your fingers slip easily into his, and he doesn’t speak — just smiles. You walk back to the car with your heels in your hand, your head resting against Rebecca’s shoulder, Carlos’s arm around your waist, his thumb brushing back and forth over your hip. Three shadows under the moonlight. Three hearts slowly, steadily aligning.

—

You’re nestled into a private jet again — only this time, it’s not a whirlwind trip to a fashion gala. It’s something slower. Sweeter. Yours. Carlos insisted. No press, no handlers, no chaos. Just you, Rebecca, and him, headed for Italy.

“Technically,” Carlos says, settling into the seat across from you as the jet levels out above the clouds, “this is a work trip.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow from where she’s curled beside you, your legs draped over hers. “Your version of work includes flying two girls across Europe for moral support.”

He grins. “High performance drivers require emotional regulation. You two are my favorite kind of therapy.”

You laugh, tipping your head back as the sunlight pours in through the window. “Well, we are professionals.”

Carlos slides his sunglasses to the top of his head and watches you for a moment — like he’s memorizing you. The way your hair falls against Rebecca’s shoulder, the soft flush in your cheeks, the way your fingers trace idle patterns into the blanket across your lap.

“You look lighter—calmer,” he says, just quiet enough to be real.

You glance at Rebecca. She’s already smiling. “We are.”

The seatbelt light clicks off, and Rebecca shifts to face you more fully. “Okay,” she says, nudging you with her knee. “Tell him your Italian bucket list. She made one.”

Carlos perks up. “You did?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “It’s not a bucket list, it’s just… a few places I want to see. Sketch. You know. Architect things.”

Carlos moves to sit beside you now, across from Rebecca. His knee presses gently against yours.

“Let me guess,” he says, hand held out expectantly. “Villas, vineyards, maybe a Roman ruin or two?”

You place your phone in his palm, unlocked with your Notes app open. He scrolls slowly, eyebrows rising as he reads.

“You want to see the medieval towers in San Gimignano?” he says. “That’s like an hour from the track. We can go.”

Rebecca beams. “I told you he’d say yes.”

He keeps reading, and then—“You want to sketch the pit lane?”

You blush. “I don’t know, it’s a cool structure. It’s like a weird blend of utilitarian design and showmanship.”

Carlos stares at you for a second, and then says, “You’re genuinely the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

Rebecca hums. “Right? She makes buildings sound like poetry.”

The next half-hour melts into comfortable chatter. You talk about the race weekend, about places they’ll take you between sessions, about what you’ll wear to the paddock. Carlos jokes about putting you both in matching Williams polos and parading you around like his secret weapons. Eventually, Carlos disappears into the back cabin to take a call with his engineer, and Rebecca uses the opportunity to pull you closer, kissing your cheek, then your jaw.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over your bottom lip. “You, me, him. Italy. This whole… thing.”

You tilt your head, voice just as soft. “Does it feel right to you?”

Rebecca looks at you for a long moment. “It feels like it was always meant to happen. We just had to get brave enough to let it.”

Before you can say anything, Carlos reappears, flopping into the seat beside you with a groan. “Well. Apparently my rear wing isn’t cooperating. But I’m not thinking about that yet.”

You smirk. “We can distract you.”

Rebecca grins. “Gladly.”

Carlos rests his arm on the back of the seat, his fingers just brushing your shoulder. “I think this might be the best race weekend of my life.”

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by lando and 2,188,001 others.

f1gossipgirls : So… let’s unpack the situation, shall we? First, Rebecca Donaldson and her longtime girlfriend YN LN make their debut on Carlos Sainz’s Instagram a few weeks back — soft lighting, soft smiles, soft launch vibes. Fast forward—the trio is now very much in Italy. Very much in the paddock. Very much together. Rebecca and Carlos? Spotted on a bike ride together. YN and Carlos? Photographed at lunch with his race engineer. Then YN and Rebecca are seen strolling hand in hand through the paddock like nothing’s changed.…Except on Quali day, YN shows up with Carlos. Walking in. Side by side. And standing next to him during a live interview, casually repping a Williams polo. We’re not saying it’s a throuple… but we’re also not not saying it’s a throuple. 👀

—

The morning begins with sunlight spilling across the balcony of your villa, the kind that turns everything soft and golden. Carlos is still asleep, tangled in the sheets, his arm slung over your waist. Rebecca is already up, barefoot in one of Carlos’s hoodies, sipping espresso and sketching something into your notebook that you’ll find later — a cartoon drawing of the three of you, hearts drawn over your heads.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “We’re taking you somewhere.”

You blink awake. “Where?”

She just smiles. “Italy is full of secrets. Get dressed.”

They won’t tell you anything, but an hour later you’re in the back seat of Carlos’s rental car, winding through the Tuscan hills — green and sun-drenched, dotted with vineyards and wildflowers. Rebecca holds your hand loosely across the center console, and Carlos hums along to an old Italian song on the radio, sunglasses pushed up in his hair. Finally, the car slows near the edge of a medieval town, quiet and ancient. You step out, confused — until you look up. San Gimignano. Your breath catches.

The towers — the ones from your list — rise above the stone walls like jagged fingers reaching toward the sky. Brutalist, elegant, stubborn in their geometry. You’d written about them in a thesis once. But this… this is different.

You stare in awe. “Guys…you didn’t have to.”

Carlos smiles, locking the car. “Of course I did.”

Rebecca laces her fingers with yours. “We thought you deserved to see the real thing. You’ve been talking about it for years.”

You laugh, teary-eyed despite yourself. They walk you through the town slowly, letting you stop to sketch little pieces — an archway here, a crumbling façade there. Carlos carries your bag without you asking, Rebecca keeps tucking hair behind your ear and stealing kisses when you’re not paying attention. At one point, the three of you sit on a low stone wall overlooking the hills, passing a sandwich between you, legs tangled. You lean into Carlos’s side, Rebecca tucked under your arm.

“Do you ever get tired of being adored?” Carlos asks, only half-teasing.

You glance at him. “Do you?”

He pretends to think. “Nope.”

Rebecca hums. “I think she deserves to be adored. Every version of her. The architect. The sleepy one. The one who can’t remember where she put her pencil but can recite Roman history like it’s a love poem.”

Carlos leans in, brushing your shoulder with his. “Agreed.”

You don’t say anything for a while. You just breathe. You let it settle. This is what love feels like — not loud or rushed or fragile. But steady. Expansive. Soft around the edges. Later, Rebecca takes your camera and snaps a photo of you standing between one of the towers — Carlos behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You’re smiling, cheeks flushed, sun in your hair. And when you look at it later, you’ll think — this looks like a beginning.

—

Race weekend has a way of feeling overwhelming. But somehow, with Carlos, it feels calm. He meets you and Rebecca outside the paddock entrance, dressed in his full Williams kit, sunglasses perched on his nose, hair still slightly messy. You’re in one of his oversized team polos — partially on a dare, partially because it just smells like him — and Rebecca’s in all white linen and a pair of black sunglasses that make her look like she’s walking into the Cannes red carpet instead of an F1 paddock.

“Ready to be shown off?” Carlos teases, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and tugging you into a gentle side hug. He kisses the top of your head and then leans over to press another to Rebecca’s cheek.

“Bold of you to assume you’re the one showing us off,” she replies, linking her fingers with yours on the other side.

He grins. “Fair.”

The first few minutes are a blur of cameras and whispers, heads turning as the three of you walk past in tandem. You feel it — the way people are watching, curious. Wondering. But Carlos doesn’t let go of you, not even when one of the Sky Sports guys gives him a very obvious once over. He walks you through the garage first, introducing you to a few engineers, showing you the car like it’s a favorite pet. He explains the updates they’ve made for the weekend, and you’re so genuinely interested — asking questions, tilting your head at the suspension setup — that one of the techs looks thoroughly impressed.

Rebecca leans over and whispers, “He’s going to marry you if you start talking about aero.”

You laugh and Carlos hears and just smiles.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

He leads you around to the Mclaren hospitality suite where, to no one’s surprise, Lando Norris is sitting on a bean bag, eating something from a takeaway box like it’s not Quali day. 

“Ah, finally!” Lando jumps up as soon as he sees you. “The girls! The internet is losing its mind over you lot.”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “And what does the internet say, exactly?”

“That Carlos has taste,” Lando grins, holding out a hand to shake yours and then immediately pulling you into a hug. “I’m Lando. You’re YN. You’re Rebecca. You both terrify me, and I love it.”

Carlos rolls his eyes. “Ignore him.”

“Never,” Lando chirps. “Do you know how long I’ve been begging him to bring you both here? It’s like… morale, Carlos. Atmosphere. He’s been smiling like an idiot for weeks.”

You glance at Carlos. He’s pretending not to blush. Failing spectacularly.

“And you’re YN, right?” another voice calls — and then Alex Albon appears, holding a coffee and looking far too cool for someone awake this early.

You nod, shaking his hand. “Hi. Huge fan of your girlfriend.”

Alex laughs. “Aren’t we all.”

He turns to Carlos, eyes twinkling. “So this is the famous architect slash girlfriend. And the supermodel slash dangerous mafia wife energy girlfriend. Stunning work, mate.”

Rebecca gives him a dangerous little smirk. “You get it.”

The five of you chat for a while — it’s easy, natural. Alex and Rebecca get into an unnecessarily passionate debate about oat milk. Lando and Carlos talk strategy, but every few seconds, Carlos glances at you, just to check you’re still smiling.

—

Later in the afternoon, when the paddock thins out a little and the media starts to shift into race prep mode, Carlos leads you both to the back of the hospitality lounge and pulls you into a quiet corner. He sits down first, tugging you gently into his lap and resting his chin on your shoulder. Rebecca curls beside you on the padded bench, fingers brushing over your knee.

“I’ve never felt this calm before a race,” Carlos murmurs.

You lean your head against his. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s the best thing,” he says. “I’m usually somewhere between tense and mildly homicidal on Saturdays.”

Rebecca hums. “And now?”

“Now I feel like I’ve already won something.”

You’re quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve. The paddock noise feels far away now. Just the breeze through the flaps of the tent, the low hum of passing mechanics, the occasional click of a camera.

Carlos sighs into your neck. “Can I say something dumb?”

“Always,” you and Rebecca say in unison.

He smiles. “If I could take you both with me in the car, I would.”

You tilt your head, half-laughing. “We’d make terrible co-pilots.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But everything makes more sense when you’re near me.”

Rebecca looks at him then — really looks at him — and something shifts behind her expression. Something tender. “You know… this started as something casual. Something fun.”

Carlos nods.

“But it doesn’t feel casual anymore.”

You don’t say anything. You just reach for both their hands — one on either side of you — and squeeze. No labels. No pressure. 

—

The sun is beginning to dip when Carlos crosses the finish line. P8. Not a disaster. Not what he wanted either. Not after how good race day looked. Not after how hard he pushed in quali. He doesn’t say anything on the radio after the cooldown lap — just a clipped, “Copy,” and then silence. His hands stay tight on the wheel until he’s back in the garage. The air inside is thick. No one meets his eyes. There’s too much noise and not enough at the same time — fans cheering in the distance, tires hissing, a metallic clang echoing from the back of the pit. Carlos doesn’t take off his helmet right away. He just sits for a moment. Letting it settle. Then, through the haze, he hears your voice.

“Hey.”

And just like that, the weight cracks. He looks up — and there you are, standing in front of him in the soft blue Williams polo you’d worn all day, eyes full of quiet warmth. Rebecca is beside you, sunglasses pushed into her hair, lips pressed together like she knows exactly what he’s feeling. You don’t ask about the race. You don’t say, what happened? or are you okay? You just hold your hand out. Carlos lets you help him out of the car. His gloves are still on, but your fingers fit between his anyway. Rebecca’s hand finds the back of his neck, grounding.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “We’re here.”

He nods once, blinking hard behind his visor before finally tugging it off. His hair is damp, cheeks flushed, eyes a little unfocused — like he’s still halfway between the car and the world.

Rebecca tugs him gently toward the back of the garage, away from the lights. “Come on,” she says. “Breathe.”

You sit him down on a flight case, crouching in front of him. “You don’t have to be on right now,” you whisper. “You can just… be. With us.”

Carlos closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“It wasn’t a good race,” he admits. His voice is hoarse. Honest.

Rebecca kneels beside you. “That’s not why we’re here.”

You nod, smiling gently. “You are not your result.”

Carlos laughs, just barely. “You two are dangerously good at this.”

��At what?”

He glances between you, soft and overwhelmed. “Loving me anyway.”

And then he leans forward, presses his forehead against yours, and exhales. Rebecca wraps her arm around both of you, pulling you into a quiet little triangle of comfort — there, on the edge of the paddock, while the world buzzes just beyond the garage doors.

“I’d come to every race,” you say into his shoulder.

Rebecca kisses the corner of his mouth. “Even if you finished last.”

Carlos lifts his head, smiling now — small, real. “You know what? That might be my new strategy. Finish badly. Win anyway.”

And as the sky turns gold outside and the paddock begins to clear, Carlos sits between the two people who make it all feel okay — win or lose, podium or pit lane — and knows, with complete certainty—This is everything.

—

carlossainz55

liked by iamrebeccad, yourusername, alex_albon and 5,001,001 others.

carlossainz55 : may not have won the race but i am always winning off the track. i love you both so much.

tagged : iamrebbecad and yourusername

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[heartsiebyul]

What if the overbolt gang were to find Reader crying? But after asking them what's the reason they're crying, they just explain that... They're missing all of the new content from their favorite media!! 😭😭

I rlly just want something silly, so hopefully it could be that? Like Reader is being very dramatic and stuff ig

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

art: twisted wonderland archives

featuring — Overblot boys : Riddle : Leona : Azul : Jamil : Vil : Idia : Malleus.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

☛ Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle nearly drops when he finds you hunched over in the rose bushes, your shoulders shaking. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?!” he demands, only for you to sob out that you’re missing the comeback of your favorite K-pop group.

He blinks. Once. Twice. “I… don’t understand. What’s a comeback? Who came back from where? But more importantly, you’re crying over that?” he says, absolutely confused. But when your eyes well up again, he softens. “W-Well! That’s… understandable! I suppose.”

Despite not really getting it, Riddle returns with a prepared strawberry tart and a blanket. He gently pats your head, muttering, “calm down and get up so you can eat this.” He then gives you a gentle lecture about managing your emotions properly while you sniffle and nibble through your “withdrawal.”

You even dramatically sing a few lines from their track, and Riddle claps awkwardly. “Exquisite vocals, (name).” He’s utterly lost. Still, he lets you show him a few photos of your biases and listens seriously as you explain how unfair it is to miss live fan events. He’s trying his best, okay?

☛ Leona Kingscholar

Leona is napping in the field under a tree when your wailing disrupts his peace. Groaning, he rolls over to see you lying on the grass, dramatically sprawled like a damsel in despair. “You dying or something?” he mutters, and you hiccup out that you’re missing the season finale of your favorite manhwa adaptation.

“…You’re crying because of that?” he snorts, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re such a drama queen.”

But ten minutes later, he’s tossing a bag of dorm snacks at your head and flopping down beside you with a sigh. “Tch. Cry quieter and eat something.”

He listens with one ear as you rant about plot twists and cliffhangers, occasionally grumbling, “They really killed him? Psh. I wouldn’t have.” He secretly likes how animated you get.

☛ Azul Ashengrotto

You’re sobbing in the VIP lounge of the Mostro Lounge, tissues piling up as you complain about the K-pop update drops you’re missing. Azul, mid-study review, startles and rushes over. “Are you hurt?! Is someone harassing—oh.”

His concern quickly turns to confusion when you explain that you’re grieving over missing updates.

He adjusts his glasses, flustered, then nods and leaves. He returns with a dessert platter and a cup of your favorite juice. “Since I cannot provide your missing media,” he says with a sheepish smile, “perhaps a taste of luxury can ease the ache?”

Floyd walks by and loudly asks if you’re “mourning a boyband again.” Azul nearly chokes.

☛ Jamil Viper

Jamil is walking down the Scarabia hallways when he hears sniffles coming from the lounge. He finds you curled up in a blanket burrito, your phone clutched tightly in your hands. “Let me guess, you can’t access your media from your hometown again?” he sighs knowingly, having witnessed this meltdown like clockwork every month.

Without a word, he heads to the kitchen and returns with warm curry and a mango lassi. “Food heals all wounds, even breakdowns.” he teases lightly, handing them to you.

He listens as you wail about the lack of fans and concert tours, occasionally raising a brow. “You get this worked up over them?”

Still, he stays beside you until you feel better, secretly amused by your dramatics.

☛ Vil Schoenheit

Vil finds you weeping on the floor of the dorm lounge, surrounded by your phone and tablet. “Whatever is the matter?” he asks sharply, one brow raised, fully prepared to scold you for such an undignified display. But he pauses when you wail about missing the comeback and new songs from your favorite group.

There’s a long silence. Then, Vil sighs dramatically. “This is exactly what ruins skin elasticity,” he mutters, before vanishing and returning with fruit parfaits and under-eye patches. “At least cry on the couch, not on the carpet and let me preserve your beauty while you grieve.”

He lets you rant while adjusting your posture and gently dabbing at your face. “You are far too radiant to be destroyed over missing an update.”

☛ Idia Shroud

You’re lying on the floor of Idia’s room, surrounded by tissues and dramatically mumbling about the updates you’ll never see again. Idia peeks out from behind his screen. “You’re… alive. Just emotionally wrecked,” he mutters, worried but unsure how to help.

He awkwardly places a bag of chips next to your head and slides over a tablet. “I downloaded a bunch of stuff that’s probably similar to what you had back in your world. I figured you’d have withdrawal symptoms sooner or later…”

He mumbles that he gets it, his own spirals are way worse, and even lets you cling to the sleeve of his oversized hoodie while you vent.

Bonus: Ortho cheerfully tries to find music similar to the ones from your world, compiling a “coping playlist”.

☛ Malleus Draconia

Malleus hears your sobbing echo through the woods beside Ramshackle and appears beside you, only to find you weeping on the floor. “Dear… why do you mourn so?” he asks gently, concerned, as he lifts you into your bed.

When you dramatically declare that you’re missing concert tours and comeback announcements, he looks completely baffled. “…A performance has caused such despair?”

But he doesn’t question it further. Instead, he brings you a basket of treats. “I cannot return you to your world,” he says solemnly, “but I can offer you the warmth of this one.”

He even sits beside you, gently patting your head as you explain the group and the fandom and the heartbreak of missing live streams and updates. Though he doesn’t understand a word, he listens, intrigued by your passion.

⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒⌒

Honestly, I’d be the same, thrown into an unfamiliar world without my favorite media lol

[pinkpurplesunrises]

When the Darkness Felt Endless (You Were the Light I Found)

4500 words - I guess this is a middle long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the anxiety - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of depression and prostetics - Please read with care.

Writer's note: wow, wow, wow, you are all so kind! Keeps me going when the creative brain hits. Enjoy this piece while I finally get to work work. See you next week.

The headlines had stopped screaming her name. The lights had dimmed. The cheers faded like echoes in a cold, hollow tunnel.

Alexia Putellas sat in the back of her apartment, hood up, body curled into the corner of a couch she barely remembered buying. The only sound was the ticking of a clock she wished she could rip off the wall. Time was still moving. Everything was moving. Except her.

Her knee still ached, even though the doctors said it was healing. But they didn’t see the part that didn’t show up on scans. They didn’t hear the static that buzzed in her head every time she looked at her boots. Or saw the photos she’d flipped face-down.

Everything inside her was sharp edges and shame. And that voice… her own voice, somehow sounding like someone else. It told her this was who she really was: not the leader, not the fighter, not the hero. Just broken.

She hadn’t been outside in days.

And then the knock came.

It wasn’t loud. Just three soft, almost tentative knocks. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure if anyone would answer. Or wanted to.

She didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Alexia.” Your voice was gentle, but it carried something heavier underneath. Like you knew. Like you’d been here, too.

She hated that. That you might see her like this.

Why did you see her like this? You are just one of the neighbors.

“I’m not…” she croaked, but her voice cracked like dry wood. “Just go.”

But you didn’t.

“I brought food,” you said. “You can ignore me if you want. I’ll just leave it here.”

Silence.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

That night, Alexia sat with the food untouched on the kitchen counter. Staring at the note you left beside it.

You’re not alone.

She hated how much she wanted to believe it.

You kept coming back.

Every day.

Sometimes with food. Sometimes with nothing but silence and that look. The one that said you see her. Not the athlete. Not the legend. Just her. And she couldn’t stand it.

The third day, she opened the door. Only a crack. Just enough for you to see the bruises under her eyes. Not from fists, but from insomnia and tears.

"You don’t have to…" she started.

"I know," you said. No hesitation. "I want to."

She hated that answer.

Because it didn’t make sense.

People only stay when they want something. That’s what her mind told her. That twisted, looping thought she couldn’t shut up.

What did you want?

Whatever it was, she didn’t buy it.

Fame by proximity? A favor? A story to tell your friends. ‘Oh, I saw Alexia Putellas fall apart once. Up close.’

Or maybe you were just like her… sick with guilt and pretending not to be.

Still, she let you inside that night.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just sat on the floor while she stared at the ceiling. And somehow, in the silence, she cracked.

“They keep saying I’ll come back stronger,” she muttered.

You turned to look at her, eyes soft but honest. "And what do you say?"

She laughed. Bitter, low. "That I’m tired of lying.”

There it was.

The truth spilled from her lips like poison. "I don’t even know who I am without football. Without winning. Without people chanting my name. When it’s quiet like this…" she gestured around the dim apartment, “I can’t hear anything except how much I hate myself.”

Your voice didn’t break, but it trembled with understanding. “I know that feeling.”

She studied you for the first time. Really studied you. There was a weight behind your eyes. Not pity, she would’ve shut down if it were pity, but recognition.

You’d been there, too.

“I used to think if I could just do enough, be enough… maybe I’d stop feeling like a burden,” you said. “Turns out you can accomplish everything and still feel like you’re rotting inside.”

A beat passed. She almost stopped breathing.

Because it felt like you were inside her head.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving.” You paused. “And I wish someone had done that for me.”

She turned her face away so you wouldn’t see the tear fall. But she felt your presence, warm and still. Not trying to fix her. Not telling her to “get back up.” Just… there.

The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was falling alone.

Later that night, as you left, she murmured it… half asleep, half broken, but clear:

“Luna.”

You turned back. “What?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call you,” she said, voice hoarse. “You’re quiet. But you show up when it’s dark.”

You didn’t reply. But you smiled. And somehow, that smile stayed with her long after the door closed.

One evening, she was distant, colder than before. You noticed it the moment you stepped in. Her eyes avoiding yours. Her body taut like a wire ready to snap.

You became her Luna, the quiet light in her darkest nights.

But even the moon disappears behind clouds.

“Alexia?” you asked softly.

She shook her head, voice sharp and brittle. “I don’t need anyone.”

That cracked something inside you. A fissure that had been growing since you met her. But you held your ground. Refusing to let her slip away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said.

She laughed but there was no humor. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”

Her voice broke, just for a second, but that was enough.

“I hate who I’ve become,” she confessed. “The injury, the silence, the empty space where my future used to be. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate her. Hate myself.”

The raw pain in her words stabbed you. You reached out, trembling, to touch her arm.

But she flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m broken.”

You wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t. That no one was broken beyond repair. But your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew this was a battle she had to fight inside herself.

Days passed, and the distance grew. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

You tried to respect her space, but the silence swallowed you whole.

One night, your phone lit up, a message from her.

“Go away.”

It was simple. Cold.

You stared at the screen. Heart shattering.

But you didn’t reply.

Instead, you showed up at her door the next morning. No words. Just presence.

After a long moment, she opened the door, eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

You shook your head. “You don’t have to apologize for pain.”

Her lips trembled, tears spilling down. “I’m scared you’ll leave. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Luna stays through the storms.”

And in that fragile moment, between fear and hope, she let you in again.

She never understood why you kept knocking. Why, out of all the faces in the building, it was yours.

The truth was, you’d never spoken more than a handful of words. Maybe five in total. Mostly just glances through half-open doors or hurried nods in the hallway.

Neighbors, not friends. But something kept pulling you to her door.

Tonight was no different.

Another knock. Three soft taps.

Alexia stared at the door like it was a stranger’s, heart pounding unevenly. She had so many questions, none of which she dared voice.

Why her? Why now? Why someone she barely knew. Someone she’d barely looked at?

She wanted to slam the door. Yo shut out the unknown. But her body betrayed her. The door cracked open.

There you stood. No food. No note. Just that steady, quiet presence.

You said nothing, just offered a small, almost hesitant smile.

She wanted to ask, Why? Why do you care?

But words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she looked away.

“It’s ridiculous,” she finally muttered. “You don’t even know me.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up… eyes steady.

“Because sometimes, when someone’s breaking in silence, the right thing to do is just... show up. Even if you don’t understand.”

Alexia’s chest tightened.

She hated feeling like a charity case. A project. Someone to be saved. She was a fighter, or she used to be. But now… now she felt like nothing.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here.”

You stepped a little closer. Still cautious. Still respectful.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I see you. And you deserve more than being invisible.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Hope, maybe, or just the truth.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

And in that silence, a fragile understanding settled.

But the walls were still up.

And the healing… if it ever came… was still far away.

You started staying longer.

Never asked to. Never assumed. Just waited. Always waited for her to open the door first.

The first time she left it unlocked, you stood there for a moment. Unsure whether it was an invitation or an accident. But when you knocked softly and she didn’t flinch, you stepped inside.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, legs drawn in. A hoodie swallowed her frame.

No words. Just your breath in the quiet.

You sat down across from her, not too close. The space between you wasn’t distance. It was permission. She needed that.

The silence stretched until it didn’t feel like silence anymore.

Finally, she spoke.

“You live across from me, right?”

You nodded. “End of the hall.”

Her eyes flickered over you, cautious. “How long?”

“About a year.”

She blinked. That long?

“You ever hear me cry?” she asked bluntly.

You didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked away. “Bet that was pathetic.”

“No,” you said simply.

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture shifted.

You looked down at your hands. “I used to cry like that, too.”

She glanced up. “Used to?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes still do. Just quieter.”

That earned a dry, bitter huff. Not quite a laugh. But not silence either.

Alexia rubbed at her face. Her fingers trembling. “You know... I thought if I lost football, I’d lose everything. Turns out I did.”

“You didn’t lose everything,” you said.

She met your eyes. Sharp, tired, guarded. “What’s left?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to say me. Not yet. Not when she barely let you touch her shadow.

So instead, you said, “Maybe something you haven’t noticed yet.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

Then she asked, voice low, “What’s your name?”

You gave it to her.

She repeated it quietly, testing the sound. And then... without quite meaning to... she said, “Doesn’t suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She shook her head. “You’re still Luna.”

Your chest ached, but in a good way.

She was letting you in. A little. Enough.

Enough for now.

You didn’t knock.

For the first time in weeks, your knock never came.

The hallway was quiet.

Alexia sat in the dark. Blanket wrapped around her like armor. Phone on the table. Screen blank. No texts. No sounds. Just the ticking again. That clock she still hadn’t taken off the wall.

Her apartment had never felt so empty.

She waited an hour. Then two.

Then three.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you finally realized she wasn’t worth the effort. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

This is what people do. They leave. She should be used to it.

But something about your silence was off. Not cruel, not distant. Just… wrong.

So she stood. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Crossed the hallway.

Your door was closed. No sound from inside.

She hesitated.

Then knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Her gut tightened. She knocked again, firmer. “Luna?”

Still nothing.

She didn’t mean to open the door. But it was unlocked, just like hers had been the night she let you in.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

Your place was dim. Quiet. Lived-in but tidy. And in the far room... she saw the silhouette of you curled up in bed, facing the wall.

“Luna?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

You didn’t turn.

She walked closer. Slowly. And then she saw it. The empty socket beside the bed. A sleek black prosthetic leg propped against the wall. The skin of your thigh raw and irritated. Like it had fought a battle all day and lost.

You still didn’t turn. But you spoke, voice low and flat. “Didn’t feel like being a person today.”

Alexia blinked. The words were a mirror of everything she’d ever said. Everything she thought only applied to her.

And suddenly, she felt like a thief.

You’d been showing up for her. Over and over. And she’d never once asked if you were hurting too. She never noticed your limp, never questioned your quiet exits. Never even saw the piece of you that was missing. Not really.

She’d been drowning so deeply in herself, she never realized you might be wading through your own hell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

You turned your head slightly, eyes tired but calm. “Would it have mattered?”

That answer gutted her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would’ve.”

A long silence.

You gave a tired shrug. “It happened years ago. Car accident. I was in the backseat. Some nights I still dream I’m trapped there.”

She sat down beside your bed, not touching you. Just there.

“I used to think I’d never walk again,” you continued. “Then I thought I’d never be loved. Now I just try to get through the day without wanting to disappear.”

Alexia pressed a fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am.” Her voice cracked. “You were always there for me. And I never asked about you. I never even looked.”

You glanced at her, lips curling just slightly. “That’s okay. You weren’t supposed to. You were drowning.”

She blinked fast, but tears slipped through anyway.

“I’m tired of drowning,” she said, voice almost inaudible.

Then, softer still: “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, just once.

And for the first time, she lay beside you.

No walls. No armor.

Just two broken people, side by side, in the quiet dark.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your window, painting your room with pale gold.

Today was different.

Today you were getting a new prosthetic leg.

Your first in months.

The one designed to move. To run. To jump. To feel alive again.

You turned to Alexia, heart pounding with something close to hope.

“I have an appointment,” you said quietly. “Physio and the new leg fitting.”

Her eyes flickered, hesitation written in every line of her face.

“I don’t know if...”

You smiled gently. “I want you to come.”

For weeks, she’d barely left her apartment. The shadows clung too tight. The pain was too loud.

But something about your invitation felt different. Not a demand, but a promise.

She nodded slowly, pulling on a jacket she hadn’t touched in days.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. A fresh contrast to the stale loneliness of her rooms.

You walked side by side. Tentative but steady.

The clinic was bright, bustling with life and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

You tried on the new prosthetic. Lighter, more flexible. And for the first time in months, you felt the thrill of movement.

Alexia watched, eyes wide, a small smile playing at her lips.

On the way back, you both walked a little taller.

And then, unexpectedly, you saw her.

Eli.

Alexia’s mother.

Her face softened at the sight of her daughter stepping out into the sunlight. Not alone but with you. the stranger who had quietly become her lifeline.

“Alexia,” Eli’s voice was gentle but firm, full of the unspoken worry and love only a mother carries. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she gave a nod.

Eli turned to you, eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing her out.”

You exchanged a glance. Warm and quiet.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel fragile.

It felt possible.

The days after the clinic visit were quieter but not empty.

Alexia noticed it first in the mornings.

She woke without the usual weight pressing on her chest, the dark thoughts that tangled her mind overnight still there, but softer... distant echoes instead of a roaring storm.

You were part of that change.

Not because you said anything profound.

Not because you tried to fix her.

But because you simply were... a steady presence in a wrld that had felt fractured and cold.

One afternoon, Eli stopped by. She lingered in the doorway. Her eyes warm and kind.

“I see a change,” she said softly.

Alexia shrugged, unsure if she wanted to believe it.

Eli smiled gently. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t just walk into your life. They carry a light you forgot you had.”

That night, you two sat on her small balcony, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker.

She turned to you, voice quiet.

“You make this... lighter. Like the weight is still there but I can breathe underneath it.”

You reached out, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“That’s enough,” you said.

Alexia smiled, fragile but real.

In the dark, with you beside her, she let herself hope. For the first time in a long time. That maybe. Just maybe. She wasn’t alone.

The knock was soft but deliberate.

You opened the door to find Alexia standing there. A carefully balanced container in her hands.

“I made lunch,” she said, voice a little shy. “Thought you might want some company.”

You stepped aside, letting her in.

The apartment smelled faintly of warmth and effort. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

You ate together, the quiet between bites feeling less like an abyss and more like a space where something new might grow.

After the last forkful, Alexia looked at you, eyes steady.

“I’m going to the training grounds tomorrow,” she said.

Your heart skipped.

“Rehab,” she added quickly. “I’ve decided I can’t stay stuck. And they have staff there of course. Professionals who can help. Maybe even help you, too. With your new leg.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Would you like to come? Start yours together?”

You blinked, surprised.

“I… don’t really have any training clothes,” you admitted shyly, voice small.

Alexia’s lips curved into a proud, teasing smile. “You can wear mine.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, warm way.

She caught your glance and laughed softly. “I’m serious. You’re going to need something comfortable. Besides, it’s about time I share more than just my pain.”

The morning sun spilled through the windows as you both prepared for the day ahead.

Alexia handed you a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her training clothes, worn but clean.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the fabric. Feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

“You sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a mixture of pride and encouragement in her eyes. “Absolutely. It’s a start. We start together.”

The walk to the training grounds was quiet at first. Neither of you knew exactly what to say, or how to act.

You noticed the way Alexia kept glancing at you. Maybe nervous. Maybe hopeful.

When you arrived, the clinic staff greeted you warmly. Ushering you both into the rehab area.

The room was filled with equipment: parallel bars, treadmills, balance boards. A physical world of challenge and possibility.

You fumbled with the new prosthetic leg, its unfamiliar weight strange against your skin.

Alexia stood beside you, silently offering support.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your first steps were awkward and uneven. The prosthetic didn’t quite feel like part of you yet, and your muscles screamed with unfamiliar effort.

Alexia’s own movements were cautious. Shadows of hesitation flickering in her eyes.

But neither of you gave up.

The physiotherapist guided you gently. Adjusting your posture. Encouraging you.

Between attempts, Alexia reached out, squeezing your hand briefly. A small anchor in the uncertainty.

You caught her gaze, and in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Hours passed in a blur of effort and quiet triumphs.

By the end, you were both exhausted but smiling. The first genuine smiles in a long time.

On the walk home, Alexia slipped her hand into yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For coming. For staying.”

Your heart swelled.

When you stopped outside her building. The world seemed to pause.

Alexia looked up at you. Eyes searching. Vulnerable.

Slowly, she leaned in and your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was hesitant. A question and an answer all at once.

The kind of kiss that promises more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you spoke.

But the quiet between you now held something new.

Hope.

And the beginning of something real.

A few weeks had passed since that day at the training grounds.

You and Alexia were officially together now. Girlfriends, as she’d said once. Shy but sure.

Most days, you found yourself spending hours in her apartment. The place that had once felt like a prison but was slowly becoming home.

Today, you two tackled the chaos of her room. Clothes piled on the floor. Unopened letters. And the shadows that still lingered in the corners.

You laughed quietly as you worked side by side. The easy comfort between you growing.

Later, she mentioned dinner at her mother’s.

“You’ll finally meet my mamá properly,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“And my sister,” she added with a smile.

Your heart fluttered, nerves bubbling up. Meeting family felt like a big step. But one you were ready for.

Before you left, you needed to freshen up.

Alexia’s shower was small, built before your accident, not quite made for someone like you.

You hesitated at the bathroom door, voice trembling. “I… might need some help.”

She looked up. Surprise flickering in her eyes.

You’d never seen each other quite like this. Vulnerable, exposed.

But Alexia didn’t hesitate.

She stepped inside, gentle hands steadying you as the warm water glided over your skin. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the tight, steamy space.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly against your ear, her voice trembling with something raw and real. “Thank you for pulling me out of the dark.”

You leaned into her, heart pounding, feeling the weight of those words settle between you like a promise.

When you finally emerged, clean and steady, Alexia smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

You blushed, heart full.

Tonight, you’d meet her family.

But for now, wrapped in the warmth of each other, you felt ready for anything.

It still felt surreal. This place was yours and Alexia’s now.

A modest one-floor home nestled in a peaceful neighborhood, spacious enough for dreams and laughter and the quiet moments you both craved.

Boxes sat unpacked in the corners, a testament to new beginnings, but the walls already hummed with the promise of life unfolding.

Today was special.

Alexia had a match.

Her first game back after months of grueling rehab, of rebuilding not just her body but her spirit.

You could see the nervous energy radiating off her as she laced up her boots. Her eyes sharp but filled with a fragile hope.

Her mother was coming with you to watch. Her presence a steady, loving force that somehow made the day feel lighter.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as you found your seats.

The whistle blew, and she was off.

Watching her move with fierce determination. The joy of the game shining through the sweat and effort, made your heart swell.

Each pass, each sprint, each goal attempt was a testament to her fight. Not just to return, but to reclaim.

Eli beside you smiled softly, whispering, “She’s stronger than ever.”

After the final whistle, you met Alexia outside the locker room, her face flushed. Breathless. Radiant.

“You did it,” you said, pulling her close.

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and triumph.

“We did it,” she corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

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

Writer's note: your thoughts about this one?

[wonyology]

The Years Next Door (m!reader x Babymonster's ASA) - part II

part I - part III (coming soon)

Summary: Enami Asa - one of, if not the most important person in your life - moved in next door a few years ago. You didn't know back then. It started with awkward first meeting, family dinner and dish washing duty. Looking back now, you still remember it like yesterday. When did things change between two of you? You don't know for sure - but you know that once it changed, no going back for you two.

tag(?): fluff, lots of fluff, maybe fluff only

ASA x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~6.8k - uhm, you guys can read and try to figure out what happens next, have fun reading~~

Also, give your boy a follow if you like what i write

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

 That morning, you woke up feeling different. Sunlight spilled just a bit through your window curtains, giving you that feel good Disney vibe. Yesterday… yesterday was... definitely something. Your eyes hadn’t fully opened yet but they were squinting like crazy as you were reminiscing about her. She called you sunbae, she called you nice, she agreed to go around the neighborhood with you. For a teenager, life hadn’t felt this exciting in a while. 

 Getting up from bed, you walked around a bit before sitting on your study desk chair, taking in the little bit of sunlight that wasn’t covered by the curtains. Reaching out to open the curtains, the familiar view from your room welcomed you. But something changed yesterday, Asa and her family moved in. Just right across from your room, there had always been a window - could that also be her room? You glanced at the clock on your desk, 7:36AM. Should i text her right now? - you thought.

[준혁선베🥋]

hii

are u up yet?

[김아사🌸]

guess ㅋㅋ

You smiled, unconsciously. Thinking of how to reply when she texted back.

[김아사🌸]

you didn’t reply to my text last night

that’s rude, sunbae

 Ohh, right. You were in cuckooland last night because of her, didn’t even remember to reply back. Stupid. Stupid you.

[준혁선베🥋]

uhm… i’m sorry

what time are u free this morning? does 9am work?

i’ll buy u something to eat at the convenience store as an apology…

[김아사🌸]

9am sounds good 

*loopy thumbs up emoticon*

i’m just kidding tho, i’m not mad at you

 You felt relieved - like you just lost 10kg. Looking out the window, you snapped a quick photo of the one directly across from your room before sending the photo.

You sent a photo.

[준혁선베🥋]

is this your room window? it’s across from mine

sorry if it’s not. i’m not trying to be weird…

 Feeling both nervous and excited, you looked at the window. Someone was opening the curtains, you prayed to some supernatural force just for it to be Asa. Please be Asa, please be Asa… The curtains parted a bit, just enough for someone to peek their head out. 

 It was her. Yes!!! Her hair was slightly messy - like it was freshly combed, a few soft strands stuck on her cheeks, eyes puffy from sleep. Cute. So freaking cute. She blinked a bit before waving at you, that graceful beauty of hers made you feel like time just slowed down for the both of you. You knew better than to act like an idiot who just fell in love, not wasting any time smiling and waving back. She then pulled her head back from the window, maybe out of shyness. You stepped away from the window too, crashing right back into the chair with a thudding heartbeat. Glancing at the clock, it was 7:45AM.

[김아사🌸]

see u ㅎㅎ

can u come to my house later???

[준혁선베🥋]

ㅇㅋ (okay), see you later

 Hands running through your hair as millions of thoughts went through your mind, trying your best to keep it together. It wasn’t a date. You were just showing her around the neighborhood, as a friend - no big deal, just being nice, like she said last night. But still, you gotta get freshen up. Can’t go out showing Asa around looking like the neighborhood’s dummy. 

—

 You stand in front of the mirror, towel wrapped around your waist, hair still damp from a rushed shower. “Why do I have nothing to wear?” you muttered.  This was your first time in a while having such a dilemma choosing what to wear. Putting on a pair of clean-fit black pants, a “polite” white t-shirt and the nicest looking jacket you owned. Was it too much? Was it not enough? Was it just about? Whatever. Don’t overthink, it’ll do for now. You’ll hop on IG and look for some new clothes later if  this thing between you two ever works out.

 You then sprayed on four cautious sprays of the cologne that mom got for you on your last birthday. You didn’t know why a teenager your age needed cologne, but somehow, mom knew the best. Love you, mom. It smelled nice, just right, not too strong. Checking yourself out in the mirror once again, just to make sure you looked nice.

 Chill out, act normal. It’s not a date.

 Running downstairs, you slid your phone in your pocket before telling mom and dad you wouldn’t be having breakfast with them as you got plans, not mentioning Asa.

 “Are you meeting up with Asa?” your mom asked.

 You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around. “Uhm…”

 “The cute little girl next door. Your dad said he saw you two waving at each other this morning.” mom said while smiling lovingly.

 “Yeah, I’m just… showing her around. She’s new here”

 “Mm-hm.” Your mom nodded, eyes twinkling like she’s already imagined the entire future in her head. “Do you still have some pocket money left?” 

 You just blinked. “Yes, mom...”

 “Good” your mom walked to you, handing over a neatly folded 10,000 won bill anyway. “Buy her something nice, Joonhyuk-ah. Banana milk and some sandwiches or cream bread, she might like those. Don’t feed her those sausages in the morning, okay?”

 “Mom…”

 “I’m just saying. Your mom knows best.” her hands reached over, trying to brush your hair - which you immediately ducked. “First impressions matter a lot.” 

 You ran to the doorway, putting on your favorite pair of New Balance 550. “We’re just going around the neighborhood mom… I don’t like her or anything.”

 Your mom gasped, clutching her chest and acting hurt, way too dramatically. “You hate your mom now?! It feels like yesterday when you were so clingy to me, now that you are all grown up - you are too cool for the woman who raised you?!”

 “Mom… I’ll be back soon” you groaned. Teasing you had always been her favorite pastime.

 “Be nice to her. I will text Ms. Keiko and ask how you behaved” she called out before walking back to the kitchen.

 Behind all that teasing, you know - mom loves you. Always has, always would. Her way of showing affection was just embarrassing sometimes. Shutting the door behind, you walked slower than usual next door, trying to look cool, or normal. Glancing at your phone, it was 8:56AM. Perfect. A bit early? Maybe. But not late.

 Stopping at the front gate, you wondered. Do I ring the bell? Text? Call her out? Now what?

 Just when you were about to ring the bell, the sound of gates clicking made you freeze. It was Ms. Keiko and one of Asa’s sister, Lisa.

 “Oh, Joonhyuk-ah. Good morning” Ms. Keiko said. Lisa stood beside her, smiling politely at you.

 You straightened and bowed. “Hi, Ms. Keiko. Hi, noona.”

 “Aren’t you a bit early?” Lisa said, a hint of tease in the way she said it - just like last night.

 “Uhm, figured I shouldn’t be late.” your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your jacket.

 “Cute,” she added. “Asa should be down now. She just took too long to look pretty.”

 You nodded, trying not to let the thought of that rattle you, nodding.

 “We are just heading out for a bit.” Ms. Keiko said while opening the side gate slightly for you and stepping outside with Lisa.

 “Oh, we will make sure to come back before lunch.” you replied quickly.

 Just when they started walking down the street, Ms. Keiko smiled and gave you her blessing - half knowing, half warm. “Okay, just have fun, you two.”

 And with that, you bowed goodbye to them. Asa should be here any second now. 

 You heard footsteps. Then the creaking of the gate - there Asa was. Her eyes were smiling at you. She stepped out quietly, was she also nervous to see you too? Her hair was pinned back, left a bit loose on both sides - just enough to allow the sunlight to emphasize her features. She was wearing light makeup, nothing too fancy. A sky blue button-up, slightly cropped cardigan on top of a white tank top, paired with fitted jeans and a clean pair of Nike. Simple, casual yet… so beautiful. Your eyes met for a few seconds too long before she spoke up.

 “Hey”

 “Hi” you replied, a small pause in between - it didn’t feel awkward at all.

 “You came a bit early.” she said while glancing at her phone, not really checking the time.

 “I’m the type to be early.” 

 “So… you lead the way?”

 “Yeah, I’ll show you the local stuff. Secrets only longtime residents know. Real government-level classified stuff.” You nodded, trying to make her laugh.

 And laugh she did, quietly - the kind of laugh that can make a thousand boys fall for her. Just like that, the two of you started walking. Side by side.

 That moment, you felt like Park Kyung’s “Ordinary Love” was playing in the background, and the two of you were the main characters in a teenage romance. The weather that morning was great. Gentle morning air, perfect mix of breeze that made the world feel fresh and warmth from the sun shining at everything in the neighborhood. Just so good that you wished it would stay like this forever.

 The streets of Eungam-dong were nice, peaceful, disrupted occasionally by the sound of cars passing by or people opening their shops. You two passed through rows of nice buildings and light chatter of people starting their day. This silence - with her, felt nice. “Do you always wake up early? Like this morning.” Asa wondered, turning to look at you.

 “I don’t know. Depends on what plans I have on that day.” you shrugged.

 You pointed at the local convenience store just right around the corner. “Right there. Five stars. Nothing else in Korea can compare to this.”

 She smiled. “Wow.”

 You reached for the handle and opened the door for her. The bell chimed softly as you two entered. Inside, the store had everything teenagers like you two needed for a light breakfast. Instant noodle, snacks, cold milk... everything. You know every corner of this store, you’d been here since you were just a kid after all.

 “My treat, as promised. I have government funding.”

 “Funding…?” she replied, her head tilted, brows scrunching just a little bit - looking confused. “What does it mean?”

 Oh right, she’s Japanese - her Korean wasn't perfect back then. The way her voice sounded so sweet, soft and curious reminded you to take things slower with her. Gentler.

 “Oh, funding means… like money. Government money.” you tried to explain.

 She stared at you for a second. Then, she laughed - finally, sounded like candy to your ears. “Wow, must be nice.” The two of you walked to the drinks section. You went straight for the classic. “This one”

 You said while holding up a little bottle of milk to show her. “Everyone in Korea knows this. Legendary. I grew up drinking this… well, I still drink this but, you get the idea.”

 Asa leaned in, her eyes had a mix of curiosity and surprise. Her hand reached out to take the bottle - fingers slightly brushing against yours. Turning it around, she read the label just like your mom would. Are all women this careful? You, personally, just consume anything as long as it tastes nice. 

 “Cute packaging.” 

 “Yup, but I’m sure Japan has way fancier drinks.” 

 You then turned and scanned around. “And maybe… cream bread. Or this sandwich? I’m not sure what suits your taste but these are really nice. You won’t die from it.” you grinned while showing her one of the pastries.  Asa nodded, smiling. “I’ll try.”

 You then grabbed two triangle kimbap (one for her, just in case she was still hungry). Grabbing everything to the counter, you paid with the government funding (thanks mom) and led her back outside. There was a small bench right outside the store, just beside that familiar tree you always walked by on the way to school. You sat down first, she then followed. For a moment, the only sound there was the gentle crinkle of the plastic wrapping and the faint breeze passing by.

 “Try it.” you said.

 She took a sip of the banana milk, blinked for a second. “Mmm… It’s really nice.”

 You smiled, giving her a thumbs-up. “Told you. Only the best stuff.”

 She giggled again, feeling more comfortable this time. She mumbled thank you as you handed her her food, which you already peeled open. You two sat there, enjoying each other’s presence as time passed by - eating, sharing smiles between bites. Just two teenagers, under the morning sun.

 “So what was it like in Japan?” you asked after a short pause, still chewing a bit of kimbap still in your mouth. Damn, you really are your dad’s child.

 Asa started telling you everything - her hometown, her friends, her sisters, how she had to move here because of her dad’s job, where he now worked with your dad. She even told you how scary it was to leave everything and move to a new country, despite her dad trying his best to notify their family two years in advance. You listened. It must have been really tough on her. You couldn’t even imagine moving from Eungam-dong to Yeokchon-dong (which are right next to each other btw). 

 “That’s tough.” you said, in honest.

 “Yeah, but Korea’s nice. I guess I have a lot to do in Korea now.”

 “Uhm, do you watch… like, dramas or listen to K-pop?”

 Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, of course. My mom is a really big Block B fan, she’s the reason why I got into K-pop too. I also learnt Korean through watching dramas. What are your favorites?” Well, that made sense. No wonder why your speech is so cute.

 “Well, I don’t really watch dramas that much these days. I remember rewatching ‘Boys Over Flowers’ with my mom… Mmm, the other one, what is it? ‘Gentleman's Dignity’? Ever heard of it? The one with Jang Dong-gun in it. Really popular with middle-aged women.”

 She shook her head, laughing. “It sounds familiar.”

 “And K-pop, yeah… I listen a lot. Block B is nice, too. I like ‘Her’. My main is TWICE* and Bigbang.”

 “Ooh, I love them too. Super popular in Japan.”

*I LOVE TWICE.

 Great, you two had something in common. She even suggested - just threw it out there lightly - that you two start watching dramas together sometimes, if the chance ever came. Just say the word and I’d do anything with you. The conversation went on for a bit - teenage concerns, favorite songs, both of you two’s hobbies, the way your mood during the day was unhealthily decided by Manchester United’s result (I don’t know if we can stay up next season), how she wanted to try and start dancing… Then it slowed down, into something soft and easy. 

 “So there’s this arcade nearby.” you said, rubbing your hand on your knees. 

 “Oh, that’s nice. I haven’t really had the chance to go to one yet.” Asa tilted her head at you.

 “Wanna check it out? It’s really nice.” you asked, hoping not to sound over-excited.

 “Sure, is sunbae gonna show me all his skills,? she said, standing up slowly.

 “You’re gonna be amazed.” 

 “Or extremely disappointed.” she teased.

 “You’ll see.” The two of you - side by side, now closer to each other - with sunlight following, casting warmth along the peaceful street.

 The arcade was small, tucked in a corner near the main street, but it had everything: from claw machines, basketball game, racing simulators... you name it. LED lights along with a bit musty-but-still-clean-and-magical air of a place where kids, even adults come to make memories. You led the way, like a proud local. You showed her how to use the punch machine. With a light shoulder roll and a quick breath, you stepped up and swung. Baam.

 The machine blared: 674.

 “Woah.” Asa blinked. “That’s pretty good.”

 Did i look cool? You thought. “I mean, could’ve been better.”

 “Should I be scared of you, taekwondo master?” she asked, face holding a grin.

 You tilted your head slightly at her. “Only if you annoy me.”

 She laughed, holding her hands to cover her smile. Something about that way she does that still makes your heart beat crazy - till this day. “Try it, let’s see how you do.”

 Her punch was more like a gentle tap, scoring only somewhere around the 180-200s. She turned her head around looking at you, pouting - clearly playing it for the effect.

 “Not bad. You got potential.” You placed both your hands gently on her shoulders, pretending to console her but actually just taking any chance to be closer with her. You sly devil. And she didn’t pull your hands away, yes!

 After that punch machine victory, you two wandered around - laughing at each other’s poor attempt at racing, throwing bricks like Draymond Green at the 3-point line at the basketball machine and eventually ending up at the claw machine.

 Asa put both her hands on the glass, eyes wide. She pointed at the Crayon Shin-chan plush keychain - with him showing his butt, looking mischievous. Adorable.

 You tried. Then again. It took 4 tries. But you finally got it. The claw dropped it just enough to fall into the prize slot.

 “Victory, hehe.” you said, crouching to grab it, handing Asa the keychain while also hoping you really impressed her. Her eyes were sparkling. She mumbled thank you as she took it with both hands. So beautiful.

 Then, you tried once again to get the same one for yourself. You two walked out of the arcade with matching keychains - hers swinging from her cropped cardigan, yours clipped onto the neck of your jacket. 

 There was still a lot of time before lunch. No need to rush. You showed her the hidden alleyway shortcut behind the bakery - the one no one used except the kids who lived nearby. You passed the local park along Bulgwangcheon stream, stopping by the swings and sat there for a while. Taking in the scenery - the sunlight, the breeze, her beauty. Quiet, peaceful, nice. You showed her auntie Bomi’s snack stall near home, your favorite, where she got brave and tried something spicy - fanning her mouth after the first bite. Auntie Bomi didn’t even let you pay for it, saying it was a welcome gift for “this cute new girl”, she even gave Asa a free egg roll.

 On the way home, she asked if you ever get bored here. “Sometimes” you said. “But now it feels nice having you next door. Hanging out with you is… uhm, fun.” You two didn’t talk about feelings. Not yet. But she got closer to you, exchanging glances every now and then. Oh, before you even knew it, you guys already got home. Just in time for lunch.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

 From that day on, something quietly began to grow between you and Asa. Late night texts, occasional video calls where you two spoke really quietly - not wanting to be caught… It felt so comfortable. You didn’t label it, didn’t feel the need to - maybe she didn’t either. 

 Your families noticed too, of course. They weren’t dumb, not at all. On the first day of school, your families forced you two to take a picture together, saying it would be “nice” to look back on in the future. Well… maybe they’re right. Your mom started asking if Asa had eaten yet so casually, as if she was already a part of your family. Ms. Keiko started calling you over to have meals with their family, like it was second nature. You guys walked to school - Youngrak middle school, together. Just a 15 minute walk from home. You guys ended up in the same class - sitting next to each other, right beside the window at the back of the class. That made everything easier - being next to her almost everyday. The first month at school was a bit tough on her. New culture, new language, new everything. But you were there, volunteering to help her whenever she needed - translation, math homework... Teachers noticed you guys too, being such nice, diligent and studious kids. One of your names can’t be mentioned without the other. Asa adapted really quickly, faster than you thought. The girls at school loved her, of course they did. Look at Asa. Guys at school didn’t really approach Asa, since you were with her almost 24/7.

 Friends also tease you guys, in that harmless silly middle school fashion. Whispering jokes in class, calling her “Joonhyuk’s girl”,... you guys laughed it off. Asa usually rolled her eyes, but not with her signature half smile-half sigh. Neither of you really said anything. Teenagers… 

 Back home, Asa’s sisters’ teasing her even more. They once saw you guys walking home on a rainy day after 학원*. You were holding an umbrella, tilting mostly on her side to shield her from the rain. She blushed like crazy, but you just smiled and waved at them, playing along. Everything about her became part of your life, naturally.

*학원/hakwon: like study/educaiton center for after school study (typically after school, at night), really common in Korea, my country or just Asia in general. 

 As the time went by, you two also grew - not much, but small changes counted. Asa decided to join the dancing club, finally. Part of you felt proud of her, Asa was such a talented girl, drawing, dancing, writing - she did it all, shining in everything she did. The way she danced with those soft, precise grace made everyone feel like they were really fortunate to be in her presence, be near her. The other part of you, was it… jealousy?

 The more she participated in the dance club, the more attention she got, especially from the guys, or those sunbae. Fuck that. Those guys didn't know how special she was, they didn’t treasure her like you did. You hated that, but you still reminded yourself: you two were NOT a thing. Just friends, close friends - next door neighbors.  But then again, they had her front and center for pretty much every school performance. Damn it…

 Meanwhile, you started taking taekwondo more seriously. Going to practice after school as a routine slowly became a rhythm you couldn’t skip. Twice a week slowly increased into three, four times. They had you coming in for the weekend too, but your parents had your back, making excuses for you to enjoy your teenage years whenever it felt like too much. Something about this, growing up, the pressure to do well, to win - was a bit overwhelming, but you still liked it... right? You won a few medals at the city level, yeah… but as a kid. Then you won even a few more as you grew up, to your surprise (not your coach’s tho). Word got around, your names started circulating around the taekwondo circle. “There is this kid, from Eungam-dong, really good - too good for his age.”  You thought it was just gibberish when your friends told you about it. Then came the messages, representatives showing up at your house - talking about “your son’s potential, international level”, then the offer. You got scouted for a sports-specialised highschool, all the way in Suwon. 

 Suwon… away from Seoul, away mom and dad, away from Asa… A school for kids who are extremely good at their sports, for kids who had the potential to represent Korea on the world stage. The best of the best. Flattering, sure… But it was also scary and confusing at the same time. Well, this all happened during later middle school - early high school, let’s roll back the time - to when things were a lot more simple.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

 2019

 It was April, Asa’ birthday. You had been planning for a few weeks. With the help of Lisa and Chisa, you bought her a nice necklace from a really niche online jewelry shop on IG, with your saved up money that you were planning to spend on Juventus summer tour tickets in Korea that summer, planning to see Ronaldo (my GOAT) in real life. But for Asa, everything was worth it. The necklace was really nice, nothing over the top with some cute little charms. That night, you told her present was caught up in some delivery problems. She was a bit sad, which broke your heart but after your families were done celebrating her birthday at her house, you texted her.

10:24PM

[준혁선베🥋]

yah, kim asa, come out for a bit

ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

my mom said she forgot to give you some money for your birthday

[김아사🌸]

what? it’s okay

that’s nice but she doesn’t have too

[준혁선베🥋]

just come out

5 minutes

[김아사🌸]

your mom is too nice

give me one second

 After a few minutes, she was outside, wearing that oversized yellow pajama of hers, Donald ducks printed all over them. Hair a bit messy but still looking like she came out of your dream. Why do you have to look so cute even this late at night? The two of you standing under the lamppost between your houses, eyes gazing at each other. The soft glow from the lamppost definitely didn’t help you either, making her look even prettier.

 “Close your eyes. Give me your hands.” you said, a bit shy.

 “Huh… what are you doing?” Asa said, mouth grinning like she already knew what you were plotting.

 “Just do it or I’m walking back in.”

 “Okay, dummy.” She teased, closing her eyes. She held her hands out. Palms up, Trusting you.

 Right then, a wild thought ran through your mind: you really wished you had given her a light kiss on the lips. Your first kiss, hers too… maybe? No, it’s creepy. Instead, You pulled out a small box from your shorts pocket carefully, like it was highly classified, 24K carat, only-one-in-the-world type of jewelry, placing it into her hands.

 Her eyes opened, lips curling into a cheeky smile. “You really surprised me tonight, Seo Joonhyuk. I was actually mad at you a bit earlier ”. she said, clearly touched

 “Your sisters helped me pick it out. I felt like it really suits you. Just… don’t open it yet. Go inside and then open it. It’s really cold now.” you lied while rubbing the back of your neck. It wasn’t that cold. You were just really shy, so shy that you could die standing right there.

 “Okay, thank you for the gift, Joonhyuk-ah.” Asa waved at you one last time before smiling, going back inside.

 You waved back then walked back inside, pacing around the living room for a bit to calm the storm in your heart before sprinting to your room like a maniac. Thank god your parents were in their room, but little did you know, Asa’s mom was right upstairs in their house, witnessing the whole encounter with a loving smile on her face. 

 Your phone suddenly buzzed.

[김아사🌸] sent a photo.

 It was a selfie of Asa, lips puckered like Donald duck on her pajamas, hands up in a v sign - she was committed to the bit. Your eyes wandered around. On her neck was… there it was, your birthday gift. It was resting just above her collarbone, catching the soft light of her bedside lamp. 

 You stared at it for a while, smiling like you were a fool, president of cuckooland, just when a notification brought back to reality.

[김아사🌸] 

it’s really nice ㅈㅎ ah (your initials)

thank you so much ㅎㅎ

[준혁선베🥋]

see, i know the best

with a bit of help from your sisters, of course…

but still, mainly me.

[김아사🌸] 

you really know my taste huh

thanks again ㅎㅎ

[준혁선베🥋]

happy birthday, kim asa

 She then sent an emoticon of a cute bear, running around panicking with blushes on its face. Heh, i made her day. Well, she made yours too. From then on, you saw her wearing that necklace proudly on every special occasion. Seems like she really treasured your gift, nice.

 Late May came, 채육대 (Sports festival/day) at school

 Your school was buzzing with noise. Colorful t-shirts, cheesy banners. You weren’t really one to be excited for these kinds of events. But this year was different, Asa was here. The weather was a bit hot, but not so much, it was enough to make everyone feel energized.

 Asa, of course, was part of the cheering performance. She had her hair in pigtails, decorated with pink ribbons. She was almost front and center the entire performance, white shirt and black shorts - so simple yet so ethereal, looking like everyone’s first love in a drama. You didn’t want to stare that much, but you couldn’t help it. Her movements were sharp and graceful, always in sync with the rhythm, leading the other girls.

 You yourself were signed up for football, since you were, say, “a bit athletic”. People also knew you were a die hard United fan. When you told her you would be playing that day on the way home, she told you she would be cheering for you. No backing out now, buddy.

 When the match started, you glanced towards the audience and there Asa was, with her friend groups, jumping up and down while chanting something, felt like she was mouthing your name. Your chest felt like it burst open, time to turn into prime Ronaldo and impressed her. It wasn’t serious league football - just 7v7 - but to you, it was serious. Games gone by, you contributed by making passes and escaping presses in midfield to make play for your friends up front. When your team got to the final, you really hoped that Asa saw it all since your head was really into the game and didn’t want her to see you running around like a headless chicken. 

 Your class was screaming like crazy when there was 10 minutes left in the final. Asa was still there, sitting under an umbrella with her close friends. The score was 2-2. Then came a chance, a free kick with 2 minutes left. You stepped up.

 Your friend, Jooheon, jogged over and whispered in your ear “Whip it out right for me, I’ll try and score a header.” You smiled.

 Like mann, shut up. Watch me turn into 2008 Ronaldo and whip this ho in from 20 meters myself.

 You took your chance, kicking it with precision and just enough power. Please don’t embarrass me, ball. 

 As it flew through the other team defence, Joonheon stared “The fuck?”

 Time stopped, well… you felt so. Boom. It’s in. Top bins, baby.

 “Oh shit!”

 “Is it in?”

 The whole pitch erupted. 3-2. You turned to Asa, she was jumping with her hands up, mouth wide open - clapping while beaming at you like you just won the Champions League. You did it, just when you were deciding on what celebration to do, your friends tackled you onto the grass. 

 “You did it, you dumbass!”

 “Gang up on him, guys!!!” You couldn’t stop smiling, even under the dogpile of smelly, sweaty friends. That day was incredible, not because of the win. It was because she was there, you were there. You guys were there for each other, supporting each other even if it was just a sports festival day at school. That feeling when you made her feel happy - that rush - gave you something extra to hold onto when the real competition came. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

 A few weeks later, there was a taekwondo competition, national level. It was nothing like you’d ever seen before, not in a local center, not a school level competition. There were cameras to broadcast everything for TV.  It was held at Jamsil Student Gymnasium. It was huge, high ceilings, LED lights everywhere, rows of chairs stretching out endlessly, banners from every corner of Korea to cheer for their representatives. You still remember that day, it smelled like floor wax, sweat and raw nerves. 

 Looking around, you spotted mom and dad in the crowd, waving their hands like they were at a concert. You smiled, they would never miss this. Asa was sitting between your family and hers, giving you two thumbs up when your eyes met. As you squint your eyes to try and confirm, she was in fact wearing the necklace you gave her on her birthday - just like she would on every special occasion. You waved back at them, half smiling since the nerves were also getting to you. You hadn’t competed in anything this serious yet up until that point. This was "the one" for you to prove it, on the national stage.

 “Representing Eungam-dong, Seoul. SEO JOON HYUK”

 Everything passed by so fast, you had gotten to the final before you even knew it. It was not too easy, but not too hard. Still, those hits and kicks you took hurt like crazy, nothing like you felt before. Like damn, chill on me bruh… 

 As you were resting on the bench, waiting for the final, nothing was in your head except for  the rhythm of Twice’s ‘Cheer Up’. Weird, huh? You didn’t even notice that coach was encouraging you and giving tips on how to exhaust your opponent before going for it. Well, easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one with a sore rib and throbbing legs.

 But then, something made you turn around. A voice cutting through the noise of the arena. It was Asa’s.

 “Fighting, Seo Joon-hyuk. You got this.” she shouted with both her hands around her mouth, mimicking a megaphone. The families were cheering on you too, but for some reason, hers felt like the only one you needed. Time for the final.

 You stepped onto the mat, steady breath, mind relaxed. Fuck… why did your opponent look so big even though you two were in the same weight class. First round… Second round, then came third round. You two were aggressive. Every move hurt even more than the last. Everyone in the gymnasium was holding their breath. Your mom was holding back her tears, seeing her son all bruised up like this. Your dad’s hand was over her shoulder, still worried but knowing you can win this. 

 Fuck. Your neck felt so stiff.  Right leg so sore too.

 Final round, the moment came. You blocked, ducked and then decided to land a sharp body shot. Your opponent came down. It connected. The crowd roared. 

 The buzzer finally rang. You didn’t know how to react, crouching down to your opponent, asking if he was okay. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

 He nodded, while still lying down in pain. “Yeah… okay. Just need a moment to… you know…”

 You stood up while tapping on the side of his arms to signal that everything was fine between the two of you. You stood there, hands on your knees, heart beating like crazy, the adrenaline was through the roof - everything around you seemed so blurry, but you won.

 The ref raised your hand. There it was. The crowd cheered for you. You walked to your opponent and gave him a friendly hug, no hate, he gave you a fair beating. Proper guy. Your teammates, coaches crowded you. Hey, you won something grand, on behalf of your Eungam-dong and your school - which was not really known for athletic talents. But everything faded as you walked over to your family, signaling at the security guard, asking him to let them down.

 Mom reached out first, hugging you, despite the fact that you were drenched in sweat and probably death. “Oh my baby, I’m so proud of you.” She just kept kissing your head, it also smelt like crazy by the way. Your dad was proud on the side, busy taking pictures with his over 10 years old camera, yeah this one is going into our family history book, buddy.

 Her family came to congratulate you too, one by one, not forgetting to ask if you were okay.

 “It’s fine, Ms. I’m just a bit sore here and there.” you lied. It hurt so bad.

 “Come to our house tonight, Joonhyuk-ah. We will make you that magical Japanese potion. Fix you up real good.” Asa’s dad said. Everyone laughed. They are such nice neighbors.

 Just then, a thought crossed your mind - Oh, where was Asa? - your around. Shit, forgot my neck still hurt. There she was, behind her sisters, who were smiling like crazy. Your eyes met, this time, Asa wasn’t screaming or jumping anymore. Her usual self was back. You could tell she was proud, her face said it all. 

 As you took a step toward her, she took one too. In her hands was a towel and a water bottle, seemed like she was gripping it tightly ever since the start of the final - cold, condensation running down the sides. She looked… shy? 

 “Hey…” she said softly while handing you the towel “Congratulations. You did well today.” 

 You grinned, like an idiot, wiping your face and hair. “Really? Did I look cool?”

 She didn’t say anything, that signature half sigh-half smile is back on her face again.

 “I’ll take that as a yes. Thank you very much.”

 That was it, everything felt so peaceful. Then, you were called up to receive the medal, right after the cheering performance ended.

 Right, you almost forgot about that part. As you were walking to the podium, you felt like every pair of eyes in South Korea were on your back. Never the one for this much attention. The ceremony finally began. You bowed, shook hands with the vice president of Korea Taekwondo Association as he placed the medal on your neck. 

 “You really are one of a kind, kid. When it’s time, we will call you up to train for the national team.” 

 You smiled, out of politeness. National team, are you joking???

 Everything was a blur. Pictures being taken, TV interviews, you were now a local legend-celeb. But behind all that noise,  Asa was still in the crowds, tiptoeing behind her sisters to get a better view of you. Media duties done, you walked right back to her and your families. Without even knowing it, you took the gold medal off your neck and put it on hers. She was shocked - not in a bad way, just surprised at how naturally you did this.

 “Hehe, how does it feel?” you asked, still shy but it didn’t matter, Asa was in front of you. Well done, that was smooth.

 “Uhm… nice, I guess…” she said, looking down at the medal, touching to see how it feel. Her lips were also smiling. Cute.

 “I guess your mom is a nobody now. I’ll just live like this with your dad until old age then.” your mom, now done crying, happily teased as she saw the scene in front of her played out.

 “C’mon, mom.” you tried hard not to sound too flustered, while Asa was blushing like crazy, head down as she didn’t know what to do. 

 “Get in, you two. Let’s take a picture.” your dad said.

 Then, you two got closer together. Asa hooked one arm around yours, the other hand holding up the medal like a proud girlfriend. But, remember this, you two were still not a thing yet. However, it didn’t matter. You were just drowning deep in the moment. Meanwhile, Asa leaned in, putting her head on your shoulders and joked:

 “Pose, you smelly dummy.” Right, right. I’m sorry I didn’t take a 30 minute break during the middle of a taekwondo competition to shower before standing next to you.

 Click. A memory was sealed. Later that night, both your families had dinner together - a warm, chaotic celebration in the neighborhood. Everyone couldn’t stop smiling and laughing. Your dad was calling every relative you had to tell them about your big win, even the ones in Busan. Wait, you have relatives in Busan? Mom was so proud, she couldn’t stop talking about how her son won it on national TV.

 Peaceful, warm… The rest of 2019 went by just like that. Both of your and Asa’s families grew tighter - casual dinners, shared nights, moms started going out together and catching up on the neighborhood dramas… What about you and Asa? You guys walked to school together, waited until each other's practices ended. Casually hanging out in the neighborhood, video calls became more frequent, you guys even started dozing off without ending the calls, which felt normal. Even though you two got busier, there was still time for each other. You two kinda became that couple at school that everyone knew about - teachers, classmates, your coach… you name it, but neither of you dared say anything about it. 

 No one said anything. As you guys grew older together, at some point,  whatever this is between the two of you started to feel a bit unusual. A bit too complicated.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Yayy, part II is out now. Sorry for any mistakes, will be going through it again later. Like always, much love to you guys, feel free to leave comments/review/suggestions. ❤️❤️❤️

[cosmogyros]

language-learning advice from a pro

(I started writing this post just now as a message to a friend who asked for language-learning advice. But I’m a GIANT NERD when it comes to language learning, so it got wayyy too long to be a message. So I’m posting it here in the hopes that it might help others as well. I have not edited this or even read through it all yet – it just poured straight out of my fingers – so please let me know if you spot any typos!)

Okay, first of all, there are two parts to language learning: active learning and passive exposure. You can choose to do only one or the other, but you’ll have the most success if you do both.

ACTIVE LEARNING

Active learning is pretty much what it sounds like: actively focusing on the language, learning new words, sounds, phrases, idioms, etc. It’s often centered around a textbook, sometimes with accompanying audio, but you can do active learning in other ways too. For example, you can read a news article online and check a dictionary for every word you don’t know. Or do the same thing with a foreign film – when you hear a word you don’t know (or see it in the subtitles), pause the movie and look it up.

Active learning makes you progress fast, but it also tires out your brain and overwhelms it with new information, making it easier to forget things you’ve already learned. That’s why it’s best to space out your active learning sessions and fill the gaps with passive exposure.

PASSIVE EXPOSURE

The goal of passive exposure is for your brain to randomly encounter words and phrases it learned recently and go “Hey! I recognize that!” This is SO important not only for reviewing and consolidating your memory, but also keeping up your motivation! If the only place you ever encounter your TL (target language) is in your textbook, on some subconscious level your brain will think it’s not that important… because after all, you never encounter it out there in the real world, do you?

Passive exposure can include any of the following and much more: listening to music in your TL; watching a movie in your TL (either with English subs, or with no subs at all and just don’t worry if you don’t understand everything that’s going on); skim-reading a book or a short story or a news article or a blog post in your TL and looking for words you recognize, even if you can’t 100% remember what they mean; finding speakers of your TL in real life and eavesdropping on them; watching instructional YouTube videos or short documentaries in your TL (the visuals ought to help you understand some of what’s going on, even if there are no subtitles); etc.

The idea is to let your TL wash over you without straining your brain at all. Zero effort, just relaxation and fun. You will inevitably notice and understand a few words or phrases, and that percentage will increase as time goes on, but you’re not actively studying when you’re doing passive exposure. Remember the two things you’re trying to achieve with passive exposure: 1) effortless review/practice, by inevitably re-encountering some stuff you’ve already learned; 2) reminding your brain that this language is a real cool thing out there in the world, not just a boring chore located in a textbook.

But there are also two more extremely important benefits to passive exposure that are drastically neglected by most language-learners: 3) picking up the correct pronunciation and accent; 4) gaining an instinct for natural, native-sounding language.

These are two things you will not learn in a language class or from a textbook. You can’t learn them except by doing a LOT of listening and reading in your TL. But the good news is that it doesn’t need to be the “Active Learning” kind of reading and listening; it can absolutely be the “Passive Exposure” kind, and you will still pick this stuff up.

The most important thing, above all else, is to figure out a method of passive exposure that works for YOU personally. This means: do NOT force yourself to repeatedly do something that you don’t enjoy, because you won’t benefit from it. To pick the right method, think of your interests and the things you like to do in your free time: watching movies? reading books? listening to music? writing in your journal? surfing the internet? You can do any of this in your TL, too. Yes, you will encounter a lot of stuff you don’t understand at the beginning. But A) that’s good for you, it helps you learn patience, which every language-learner needs, and B) the internet has free translation tools everywhere you look.

COMBINING BOTH

Personally, I like to pick a well-respected textbook with accompanying audio (Assimil is my favorite; Teach Yourself and Colloquial can also be very good, especially the older editions; Linguaphone used to be fantastic but I’m not sure if it’s still around) and work my way through it, doing one lesson per day if possible. That takes only about 10 to 20 minutes, so that leaves a lot of time for passive exposure. My preferred method is listening to music (I learned a good 50% of my German from just obsessively listening to German pop music in high school), but here are some other things I like to do:

find an internet talk radio station in my TL and put it on in the background

same deal with a podcast

translate a few keywords related to my favorite hobbies/interests into the TL and then paste that text into YouTube and watch random videos in my TL

read a news article in English, and then find a news website in my TL and see if I can find an article about the same topic in that language

watch bad reality TV or soaps in my TL with no subtitles, just trying to guess what’s going on from context

etc.

No Duolingo. No Rosetta Stone. (I’ve written a whole post about the latter here.) You don’t need to spend any money at all, though if you e.g. use a pirated resource to learn and find that it really helps you, I strongly suggest buying it from the original producer after the fact, to say thank you.

MEMORIZATION

This is very much a “YMMV” piece of advice, but: if you’re having trouble memorizing stuff, just don’t. Don’t bother trying to remember anything. Remember that “passive exposure” bit? It does a lot of the heavy lifting in terms of memory. If you keep bumping into the same word or phrase over and over again, you will incorporate it into your body of knowledge almost effortlessly. Of course this is easier with more common words that turn up again and again – but you’d be surprised how well you can get by, especially at the lower levels, with only the more common words!

Intentionally memorizing vocabulary can of course be very beneficial, so there’s nothing wrong with it. But I notice that it’s often one of the biggest pain points for language learners, and I believe language learning should be pain-free.

FROM INPUT TO OUTPUT

Once you’ve gotten a good grasp of the basics of the language, a really effective way to consolidate the knowledge you’ve gained is to use it actively and creatively yourself, in speech or writing (or ideally both!). For speaking practice, besides simply making friends who are native speakers of the language, you can search for a physical or virtual tandem. This is when you meet up with someone who’s a native speaker of your TL and is trying to learn your own language. You can meet for, say, an hour, and chat together for half an hour in your native language, and then half an hour in their native language. So both of you benefit!

Don’t underestimate talking to yourself, too. Whether it’s narrating your actions, complaining to your pet (okay, I guess that’s not technically “talking to yourself”), or simply having an imaginary conversation with someone else, it’s actually a good way to practice.

I also really enjoy writing in my journal in my target languages. The act of hand-writing a word does a lot to help me remember it. If you like writing, of course, you could also look up penpals who speak your TL.

And that’s about it. As always, I am more than willing to answer specific questions on language learning, as this is something of a specialty of mine and I absolutely love to help other folks get started on their own language-learning journeys. Please feel free to drop me a line if you need any concrete advice or are struggling with some aspect of your current language-learning efforts!

[81pastrys]

Unplanned

Part 2 / 5

Summary— They find out how big of a mess they made and discuss their options moving forward— at their parents expense.

Warnings— pregnancy mentioned ; depression ; talks of arranged marriage

A/N— I’m moving fast with this IK but I plan the last one or two chapters to be how it all worked out and their happy lil family.

Series List

Main Masterlist

The weeks following were back to her normal schedule— studying, reading, classes. Her friends hounded her to spill on what happened but she was tight lipped about it. She had forgotten about protection and by the time she realized she could take a Plan B it was too late. All she could do was wait.

Carlos was losing his mind. He texted to check in a few times and got left on read multiple times. He had only told Max what happened that night, scared it’ll come for his racing. Everything was consensual except the unprotected part— but neither of them had thought that far into it. Stupid fucking teenagers is what they were.

It was now time for her to own up to the mistake and take a test. She researched how long it would take to even show up and a few weeks was enough. So, she splurged buying a few good tests. Her friends hadn’t heard from her for days after. Not knowing why nor what she had done.

Carlos sat in shock. Saturday after Qualifying he got a text. Not just any text, no, a text from her. A picture to be exact. It was a Live Photo, her hand shaking for the split second it played. Two lines on one test and ‘pregnant’ on the other sitting in the background.

The silence fell loudly. Carlos shut everyone out, she ignored any calls or texts. She even missed a day of classes. That’s when her friends decided it was enough and seriously worried about her. “If you don’t open this fucking door I’m calling the fire department!” Mia, her best friend, sobbed at her door.

She got up from her bed and unlocked the door, not even bothering to open it for Mia. If the hoodie and sweats told her anything— this wasn’t good. At all. Even if she was sick they’d get a text or an answer. She wouldn’t even miss classes if she was sick. This was bad.

“Oh my god.” Mia knew immediately. Her red face, the hoodie pulled over her unwashed hair, the loose sweatpants and the untidied room was enough for Mia to know something was severely wrong. “What the fuck happened in Monaco?”

She started sobbing again and fell into her Mia’s arms. “I fucked up.” She choked out. After a while of sobbing and more sulking she told Mia everything. That it was all consensual until the end. “I didn’t- we never talked about protection- I mean it was a hook up- but I’m screwed now.” She sobbed less now but tears were still streaming.

“Did you- are you okay?” The question hung heavy. She didn’t say anything but went to the bathroom and returned with a plethora of positive pregnancy tests. She thought Mia’s eyes were going pop out of her head. “No.” She shook her head. “No! This can’t- what?”

The initial shock was enough of an excuse for her absence and her friends let it be. She missed another day of classes but pulled herself up for the next day. She still looked worn and upset but she couldn’t miss another day.

No one questioned her and she trusted they didn’t know why. It was almost summer, and he seemed to be interested in talking it out and not just leaving her. It would work out— she thinks.

Carlos was in the same boat— well nearly. He told Max. That was it. He told Max to keep it quiet, not to tell anybody until he was able to talk with her. They were only texting and he wanted to talk with her in person about this. After Spain he was planning on flying to her.

“What are your parents going to say?” Max asked. Carlos confided in the younger kid since they were around each other most of the time. Max was as shocked as Carlos, as if it was his instead of Carlos’.

“Dios Mio, to get married?” Carlos guessed. “They are against whatever you call this in English.” He added. They wouldn’t take it lightly is basically his point.

“Is that what you want? To get married this young?” Max asked. Carlos shook his head slowly, his gaze locking in on Max’s eyes. “Well you definitely need to talk with her if you want to be involved.”

“I plan to, but if my parents want us to marry and she doesn’t want that then I can’t be involved.” Carlos mentioned. “Ay, I need to plan this out.” Plan he did.

Carlos flew out to the UK right after the race and before the next in three weeks time. They met in a semi-public but disclosed place as to not attract paparazzi or fans. He didn’t want to overwhelm her with that.

She didn’t look the same— not that he had seen her outside of the club or pajamas but she just looked different. It was awkward at first, they ordered fancy teas and made small talk. “I can’t tell my parents, they’re too strict and I just- they’re gonna hate me.” She said, her voice cracking as she did so. “I’d hate to put you in that position.”

He was confused, what position? “I understand that but what are our options?” He asked. He wanted to make it clear it was her decision on anything. They both didn’t mean for this to happen.

She sighed heavily and looked at him hesitantly. “My parents would want us married as soon as humanly possible, I don’t want to terminate the pregnancy- that’s not, that’s not what I want at all.” She admitted. “I can’t do this alone though, so if you don’t want-“

He placed a hand over hers and gave her a soft smile. “I won’t let you do it alone, that’s not who I am.” He said. “If you want me involved I will gladly be there.” She sighed a breath of relief for now. “My parents will say the same, marriage before kids and toda.” (Everything).

“There’s always adoption, but if we can work something out I’d like to keep the baby and raise them with you.” She said quietly, shy even. “This was not how I expected my summer to go.” She sighed.

“Ay dios Mio, me either.” He sighed. “We can work something out, I don’t plan on leaving you alone with a baby to raise.” He assured her.

They agreed on telling their parents and being there for each other as the texts— well paragraphs explaining everything— sent. Phone calls ringing simultaneously nearly a minute later as they shared a glance. As they expected their parents requested marriage immediately. Accepting to an extent considering the situation.

Part 3 will be longer I promise, I promise

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @justaf1girl @pandabiiissh @widow-cevans @itznotsophia @angstynasty @kallanfiona

[kirsteinsluvx]

royal knight!satoru x princess!reader - angst, fluff, forbidden relationships, eventual smut, 4.7k words. first fic kinda nervous lol!

Satoru had been sent off to battle, it's been weeks now with no news back from him, you spent your nights wondering if he was even alive, if he'd ever come back to you. While he was gone, it had been the worst few months of your life as a dreadful decision had been made for you.

You're in your private royal chambers when all of a sudden the door swings open, revealing a bruised satoru, he steps in locking the door behind him. He approaches you sat on the edge of you bed and gets down on one knee, kissing your hand. "I have returned, your highness." He says with a smirk like he always does, except this time he looks exhausted, he looks as though he came straight from the battlefield.

You help him up off his knees and get him up to sit on the edge of the bed, "Come here, get up" you whisper. He lets you help him onto the bed and a small grunt of pain escapes his lips as he winces from one of his bruises. Once you guide him to sit on the bed and he grabs your wrist lightly to pull you closer to him, wanting you to stand between his spread legs so he can look up at you.

"Oh God... what happened to you?" Your eyes fill up with concern as you cup his face studying the state of him, noticing the bruises and cuts from battle, how he reeks of blood sweat and smoke. he can tell that you’re upset and the sight of your eyes welling up with tears has his usual cocky smirk disappearing.

He sighs deeply and his hands go to your waist, the coldness of his hand seeping through your nightgown, he looks up at you "I got into a pretty tough fight... nothing I couldn’t handle though.." he reassures you faintly.

He reaches up to gently wipe the tears away with his thumb, he frowns when he sees the tears streaming down your face and he hates himself for making you cry, for making you worry so much. He pulls you closer towards him and presses his forehead against your chest as he whispers softly. "hey..I’m okay, please don’t cry.." he was always so gentle with you.

"I'm sorry, I just thought I had lost you" you sniffle your hand going through his hair.

He hums softly as you run your fingers through his hair, he always loved when you play with his hair and he sighs softly again at the feeling of your fingers running through his messy white locks as he relaxes into your touch.

He chuckles softly, his voice slightly strained. "you could never lose me princess.. I promised you I’d always come back.. you can’t get rid of me that easily". You laugh softly at that wiping your tears.

He buries his face against your chest, inhaling your scent and relishing the familiar smell of you, his strong arms around your waist keep you from moving away as he nuzzles his face against you.

After a few minutes of embracing each other, you say softly. "Let me take care of you... get u out of this armour, give you a bath, hm?"

He nods lightly in response, pulling away from you, his hands going to the straps of his armour, working on unbuckling them, however from the exhaustion of the fight his hand are quite shaking slightly and he’s struggling to undo the straps.

her softer hands covers his shaking calloused hands "I got it, don't worry.."

he immediately stops what he’s doing and allows you to take over, he can tell that you want to take care of him, which he secretly loves.

He places his hands lightly on your hips as you take care of unbuckling the heavy straps that hold his now damaged and scratched armour on. He looks up at you as you work on his gear and a small tender smile forms on his bruised yet handsome features, he was quite literally perfect you thought.

As you remove the last strap of his armour, his chest is now bare and exposed to you, his muscular torso now littered with bruises and scratches. a small wince escapes his lips as you run a hand over one of the nasty gashes on his chest, you flinch taking your hand back whispering a small sorry, he smiles slightly in reassurance, noticing the worried look in your eyes "Hey, hey.. I’m alright princess, it barely hurts im promise.."

"okay then.. im going to get the bath started..." your murmur wearily taking in his state, then you go to the your adjoining bathroom, filling the tub with hot water, aromatic essential oils and relaxing bath salts.

After a few minutes, Satoru hears the water has stopped running so he assumes his bath is ready. He stands up, still only in his trousers and he goes to lean against the door frame of the bathroom, he stands there and watches you as you prepare the bath for his beaten body, his eyes fixated on your figure as he just stares at you. You turn and find him watching you, you smile softly and go to take his hand. "come on..."

He smiles slightly as you take his hand, his larger hand engulfing yours as he intertwines his fingers with yours as you lead him to the bath tub he lets out a satisfied hum noting how nice the water smell, appreciating the effort you went to for him.

You turn away from him so that he can get fully naked and climb into the tub. he finds it quite sweet how you’re still shy even though you both have seen each other naked several times before, he laughs to himself and he starts unbuttoning his trousers and pushes them down his toned legs, stepping out of them until he’s completely naked before he slowly sinks into the warm water.

"hey..." You say softly as you go to kneel besides the tub, you get a washcloth to help clean him up. He smiles lazily his eyes filled with love and adoration for you, as you kneel beside the tub, his eyes following your every move as you start gently cleaning him up with the washcloth.

He grins cheekily, though you can tell he's tired from the way he speak, "not gonna join me?" To which you burst out giggling hitting him lightly with the washcloth"no way you pervert, you're covered in blood and dirt."He grins glad to see you finally smiling.

He likes the way you take care of him, he notices how you look at his injured body and he can see the concern in your expression but he doesn’t say anything about it, he just lets you nurse him he relaxes even more and leans back into the tub, his eyes half lidded, occasionally looking up at your concerned pretty face.

Once you're done cleaning him up, you come back with the towel, he silently stands up from the tub, the water dripping down his naked and bruised body as he steps out and he allows you to wrap the towel around his waist, his muscles still on full display as he stands in front of you, the material just barely clinging onto his sculpted waist.

You lead him back to your bedroom, intertwining his fingers with yours as he follows you. the towel riding dangerously low on his hips as he walks behind you, his eyes watching your lovely figure from behind. He can't help it when his gaze drops to your hips, admiring the way they slightly sway as you walk, the thin material of your night dress clinging to your lovely curves and accentuating them beautifully.

He tries to ignore the thoughts as he reminds himself that you had just spent over an hour cleaning and pampering him, he should be grateful and appreciate you and your concern instead of having such filthy thoughts about you now, he can't help it though it's been so long. Unaware of the lewd thoughts he's having you help him get dressed in clothes you found for him, you then sit him down on the edge of your bed and apply some ointment to his cuts.

You stand in front of him moving some of his damp hair out of his eyes, "how are you feeling now..?"He exhales softly, his expression softening slightly as he looks up at you and answers your question in a quiet voice. "I'm feeling a little better now.. thank you princess."

You study his face to make sure he's not lying about feeling better. Now that you had taken care of him, and he's not as shaken as he was when he stumbled into your room, you thought it was time to finally let him know. You stroke his cheek gently with your thumbs "I need to tell you something..."

He hums softly as you continue to stroke his cheek gently with your thumbs, his eyes still locked onto your pretty face as he gazes up at you, he can sense that you're hesitant about saying whatever it is you have to say, and it makes him slightly worried. He tilts his head slightly, his expression turning soft and patient as he looks at you, silently asking you to continue and to say what's on your mind.

"while you were away... a lot happened here..." you start off, your hands stills cupping his face as you step closer to stand between his legs.

He immediately becomes concerned and anxious as you say those words, his heart rate instantly picking up as he becomes worried about what you're going to say. He can tell that something has happened while he was off fighting and he has a feeling that it's nothing good. He reaches forward, gently grabbing your wrists as he silently encourages you to continue, his eyes locked on your face intently as he waits for you to speak.

You don't know how to word it, how to tell him without breaking his heart, so you just blurt it out. "im engaged now satoru" you whisper shakily. He looks up at you, his expression immediately changing to one of complete shock, pain and anger all at once. He feels like he's had the rug pulled out from under him, the words you had just said replaying in his head over and over, the realisation and shock that you're engaged now, not to him, but to someone else. He knew the day would one day come, but so soon, he couldn't believe it. He grips your wrists tighter as his jaw clenches, he's struggling to find something to say, his mind is in complete disarray as he just stares at you with an almost betrayed expression.

"What?" He whispers almost not believing it. "I'm sorry" is all you say, tears welling up in your eyes, the words sending daggers through his heart.

His heart clenches in his chest as you start apologising tears streaming down your face. His expression twisting into one of deep pain and anger but also of heartbreak and hurt.He doesn't want you to apologize, he just wants you to say that you're joking, to tell him that you're not actually engaged but the tears and sobs escaping your body indicates otherwise.He wants to pull you into his arms, to hug you and tell you that it's okay, but he's so conflicted, he's hurt.

He takes a deep shuddering breath, his grip on your wrists gone as he drops your hands. "Why.... how?" He manages to ask brokenly, his voice tight with suppressed anger and sadness.

"My parents" the king and queen, you hiccup trying to explain "they demanded it, i was meant to get married at 18 and im now 20 satoru they weren't going to wait much longer..."He scowls in displeasure as he hears that this was all the doing of your parents, his anger towards them instantly increasing as you explain that they had demanded that you get married and you were forced into it because you're now of age.

He runs a hand down his face as she tries to control the anger in his voice.. "Did you even try to refuse?"

"You already know I couldn't" you respond shakily. He feels his anger rising even more when you say you couldn't, he can only imagine how your parents made you feel and how they forced you into this engagement.

He lets out a sharp breath, his voice tight and low as he asks his next question.. "Who is he?"

"Prince Kento, of our allied nation... i think he's around your age..." you say weakly.

His heart clenches even more as you say that you're now betrothed to the crown prince of another nation, not only are you getting married off but you're also going to be away from him in another country... forever? Also the fact that he's around his age only adds more fuel to the fire of anger, jealousy and hurt stirring up inside him.

He forces himself to speak again, despite the tight feeling in his chest making it difficult to even breath.. "When's the wedding?"

"In three months" you choke out, the date had been haunting you ever since it had been set into stone.

He feels like he's going to be sick, the pain in his chest is unbearable as he seethes out his next words. "And you seriously agreed to this?" He knows he shouldn't be angry at you but he can't help it, he's angry at everyone involved.

"Please don't be mad at me" you sob into your hands as you stand before him.

He feels his heart twisting and clenching in his chest as you desperately plead for him not to be mad at you, your tears and sobs making it hard for him to breathe. He wants nothing more than to just pull you into his arms and comfort you, but the knowledge of your engagement is making it difficult for him to even speak.

"How can I not be mad at you?" He somehow gets out, his voice coming out strained through gritted teeth. Your heart completely sinks at that.

He clenches his jaw when you don't say anything, a mix of anger, hurt, despair and resignation building up in him. He still can't bring himself to look at your face, he's scared that when he looks into your tearful eyes, it'll just break him even more."Couldn't you have put up even a bit of a fight?"

"2 years I managed to stay unwed don't act like I didn't put up a fight." You bite back starting to feel frustrated that he's not being understanding.

He clenches his teeth even harder as you say that, the hurt and anger in his chest only growing even more worse with your words. He knew that you probably tried your best and put up a fight for two whole years to not get married, but the truth of the matter is that you failed in that fight and ended up getting engaged anyway. He finally manages to force himself to look up at you, staring into your teary eyes as he speaks quietly. "You still lost in the end.... you really let them win."

"Don't say that" you say trying to hold your ground wiping your face, and God does he hate to see you cry. The sight of you wiping your tears away, trying to hold yourself together while looking completely heartbroken and distraught, it's too much for him to bear. He wants to reach out and pull you tightly into his arms, to just hold you close and comfort you, but his own pain and emotions are keeping him from giving into his urge to do that. He grits his teeth, his voice getting even lower and more strained as he speaks again "It's the truth..."

"You're angry at me." you state blinking back more tears.

He feels his heart twist even more as you accuse him of being angry at you, his expression hardening even more as you speak. He can't deny that he is angry, he's angry at everything, angry at your parents, angry at you, angry at the entire situation, but most of all he's angry at himself. Angry at himself for even falling in love with you. A princess he knew he could not have.

He looks up at you, his blue eyes darkened

and pained as he speaks in an almost cold and emotionless voice... "yeah.. I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Your heart breaks at his cold tone

"Satoru... please..." you reach for his hand.

He feels his throat constrict and his heart clench tightly as you softly speak his name in that pleading tone, "Don't." He growls out, pulling his hand away from your grasp and refusing to even look at you.

You feel sick with how he rejects you, your heart sinking even further.

His heart is in complete turmoil as he sees the way your face falls when he pulls away from your touch, his entire being is screaming at him to just pull you towards him and hold you close, but he refuses to give in to those urges, still angry and in pain over your engagement. He forces himself to keep his blue eyes averted from you and remain cold and unfazed as he speaks again. "You can't just expect me to act like everything is fine."

Seeing him act so cold towards you crushes you "Just listen to me please..." you please clinging to your nightgown your hands in small fists.

the sight of you looking so vulnerable and trying to hold yourself together,makes his heart ache in his chest and he silently hates himself for making you feel this way.

He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself as he forces himself to keep his expression cold and distant as he nods for you to speak. "What?"

You then pour your heart out to him. "you're my first love Satoru, the first man to every understand me, the first man I ever kiss, the first and only man l've ever been with... you mean everything to me... if i could I would've married you in a heartbeat"

His breath audibly hitches as you whisper those words out, a mixture of emotions stirring up inside him as you admit that he was the first man you ever loved and that you were intimate with. Hearing you admit those things makes him feel a mix of anger, heartbreak and love. he hates how even now after discovering that you're going to marry another man, he still loves you so damn much. He grits his teeth, his heart twisting painfully as he speaks in a tight and strained voice... "And yet here you are, agreeing to get married to someone else... "

He was trying so hard to push you away now being cold.

"what do you suggest i do huh? you know they would never let me marry you..." you say letting him know the painful truth.

He scowls deeply, his heart clenching painfully at your question, knowing that you're right. He knows your parents would never let that happen, he was a warrior, an outsider, a mere knight, not of noble lineage, he was never going to be proper husband material for their precious princess... He scowls, his voice coming out low and bitter... "So you're just going to give up and listen to them? You'd rather marry some prince instead of fighting for us?"

His jaw clenched tightly as he continues speaking in a quiet, bitter voice. "You're just going to let them take you away and force you to marry someone you don't even love, just gonna be their obedient little princess?" He sneers.

"Don't say it like that..." you whisper,

He hates how you sound so defeated, how you're practically pleading for him to just... understand... and the worst part is that he does understand, of course he does.

"How else do you want me to say it?" He asks, his voice coming out low, bitter and cold. "I don't know..." you say shakily like you were going to burst into tears again.

His heart clenches at the sound of your shaky and vulnerable voice, at how your voice is sounding so small and close to sobbing again. He hates this, he hates how much he can hear the pain and hurt in your voice, hates how badly he wants to just pull you into his arms and hold you close, but the anger and hurt he's feeling is keeping him from doing so. He lets out a bitter and quiet huff, his voice coming out bitter and cold as he speaks again. "You're driving me insane..."

You step forward wanting to wrap your arms around him "forgive me... please forgive me..."He watches as you step forwards and reach out, your arms wanting to wrap themselves around him, your voice so shaky as you plead for him to forgive you, the sight of you looking and sounding so heartbroken finally breaks him.

In an instant, he's on you, his arms gripping you tightly and pulling you flush against his firm body as he buries his face against your neck, his hands clenching the fabric of your nightgown tightly.

"fucking hell... " He mutters against your skin. He holds onto you tightly, his big arms wrapping around you like a vice as he pulls you against his body, his face nuzzling into your neck, breathing in your scent as he struggles to control his emotions. He hates how much he loves you, he's angry, bitter, devastated, hurt. He lets out a shuddering breath, his voice coming out gruff and pained as he speaks into your skin... "I hate you so much right now... I hate you so damn much."

You nod, in his arms as you cling to him "I know... I know im sorry satoru im so sorry..."

He holds you against him tighter, feeling the way you cling onto him, the way you're sobbing into his chest as you continue apologising to him over and over again. It's driving him insane. He buries his face deeper into your neck, taking shaky breaths as he keeps you tightly in his embrace, his heart clenching at your sobs.

"Stop apologising... stop saying you're sorry..." He mutters in a low and pained voice into your skin. He can feel the way you're grasping onto him, he can feel the tears you're spilling into his chest, the way your body is shaking as you sob against him. It's killing him, he's never, not once, seen you this heartbroken and vulnerable before and he can't stand it.

"Please don't be mad at me please"

The words you whispered in a shaky and teary voice makes his chest twist painfully. He can hear the pleading tone in your voice, the way you're begging for him to not be mad at you, he can feel your body shaking against his own as you continue to cling onto him. He closes his eyes, his arms pulling you even more closely against him, his grip almost bruising as he answers you in a low and tense voice... "I'm trying not to be..."

He hates how weak he is to you, he hates how he can't deny you anything, how you can get under his skin so easily with just your words and pleas... no matter how angry and hurt he feels right now, no matter how badly he wants to lash out and take out all the pain and frustration he's feeling in that moment on you, he just can't do it.

He feels you tremble against him as he holds you against his body, the way your small body is shaking in his arms makes him feel even more frustrated and helpless.

He takes another shaky breath as he continues holding you against his body, his face still nuzzled into your neck as he mutters in frustration. "You're the bane of my existence."

He feels the way your body jerks slightly at his words, the way you stiffen ever so slightly at the harsh words that came out of his mouth. He knows he really shouldn't have said that, he really shouldn't, but the hurt and anger he's feeling right now are getting the better of him. He lets out a harsh, bitter scoff as he presses his face deeper into your neck, his lips almost brushing against your skin as he continues in that cold, low voice. "I wish I never met you"

He knows he's being harsh, he knows he's being an ass and that he shouldn't be taking his anger out on you, but right now, he can't help it. He's jealous, angry, hurt, so damn hurt at the reality of the situation.

He pulls you even closer to his body, his arms squeezing you so tightly it's almost like he's holding onto you for dear life. "and I hate that I still love you so goddamn much... "

"I love you I love you satoru please" you sob hard. He feels his body tense up even more, his chest clenching painfully when he hears you say those words, saying that you love him so desperately as you continue sobbing against his body.

"And I hate you. I do" He's such a liar, saying that he hates you while he keeps his strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you even more against him. He's a goddamn hypocrite and he knows it, but he just can't stop himself from acting the way he does around you.

Even through all the anger and hurt he feels, he still can't help but cling onto you desperately, not wanting to let you go. "Fuck... I hate you so fucking much... "

you pull away from his shoulder, your face nearing his. mere inches away from his lips "that's okay, you can hate me" you murmur so close to his lips, if hating you would help him feel better then so be it.

He tenses up more when you suddenly pull away from his shoulder, his body almost instinctively wanting to pull you back, but then you're so close again, your face only a few mere inches away from his, your breath brushing against his lips as you murmur those words he looks down at how inviting your lips look. The words 'hate me' leaves your mouth and it only pisses him off even more, his lips twisting into a scowl as he says back, his voice low and tense, his eyes fixed on your lips. "I hate your damn guts." He sees your lip quirk up slightly, he then instantly presses his lips to yours to which you eagerly welcome, your lips instantly molding against his, his arms tightening their grip on you even more.

The kiss is intense filled with hate, desperation, and passion. It is hot, messy and frenzied, filled with every emotion you're both feeling right now. He bites and nips at your bottom lip, his tongue licking and licking at the seam of your lips, almost like he's trying to devour you completely.

He deepens the kiss, wanting to taste every corner and inch of your mouth, his tongue and swirling around yours. His hands moving from your waist and slipping underneath the fabric of your nightdress, his calloused hands caressing and roaming over your bare skin, almost possessively as he kisses you hungrily, angrily...

pt. 2 coming soon! likes and reblogs much appreciated!!! hope u guys liked this ^_^

sword divider by @haonian

[rainrot4me]

i love your stuff so, so much! i always forget that creepypasta is a dead fandom so going to look for content on it is a literal fight

with that said, everyone always forgets about clockwork being an artist... do you have anything on her being an artist? i don't even care what at this point

AHHHHAHHAAH YES. These are copied straight my my headcannons doc I’ve had open on Nat, forgive if there are typos.

── .✦

Mixed media queen. Clockwork isn’t loyal to just one art form. She has a sketchbook filled with everything—graphite sketches, inky anatomy diagrams, charcoal-streaked pages, bits of pressed flowers taped next to journal entries. She’ll get fixated on embroidery one week and blood-red watercolor the next.

Uses art to process. She doesn’t talk much about what she went through—being tortured, changed, reborn into violence—but you can see it in her work. Shaky hands rendered in ink. A self-portrait where one eye is normal and the other is an open wound with gears blooming out of it. A girl floating underwater, peaceful, and alone.

Paints on her walls. Her room in the Mansion isn’t cutesy or edgy—it’s hauntingly beautiful. Splashes of oil paint across the wall. Tall figures with blurred-out faces. A whole corner is filled with clocks she’s half-painted and never finished, like time is melting there.

Surprisingly delicate with fine detail. Her hands may be stained with violence, but she’s so careful with a brush it’s almost reverent. Fine linework. Gentle shading. She loses herself in the tiny motions. You’d never think the same fingers that can crush a windpipe could also thread a needle or paint eyelashes.

Art is her version of crying. Nat doesn’t break down or rant or scream when things get bad. She sits down, turns off the world, and draws something with shaking fingers until it hurts less. Headphones turned all the way up, too.

Tried realism, hated it. She doesn’t want things to look “real.” She wants them to feel true. That means strange perspectives, dreamy colors, disjointed anatomy, like how memories look when they’ve been replayed too many times. The realest her art gets is in sketches of scenery or random anatomy studies she does of Toby. She has dozens of blurry, smudged sketches of Toby aiming her shotgun or asleep in the back of her truck.

Embroidery on leather jackets. Sometimes she gets hyperfixated on textiles. She’ll sew into the sleeves of her clothes: anatomical hearts, broken hourglasses, hands reaching toward each other but never touching. The texture calms her, the needle in and out. A rhythm she can control. Any excuse to patch up the tears in her jeans with pretty colors.

Art with violence woven into it. Not in a creepy edge-lord way, but in the way that says: I have seen pain. I am made of it. Let me show you, safely, on paper. There’s a sacred honesty to her darkest pieces. They say what she can’t.

Would 1000% give a handmade sketchbook as a gift. She binds it herself. Stitches the spine. Maybe even adds little doodles or notes in the margins:

“Sketched some while I was away. You can look if you want.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[goddamnitmahtin]

Real Robins Can Fly

( a dc x dp prompt)

As a part of a charity event, Bruce holds a cosplay contest where contestants show off their cosplays, explain their processes and even show off a little if they have a talent of some sort that kind of fits the theme of the character.

Problem? Everyone he invited to be judges at the event are league members and they all had a case suddenly interfere so Bruce and his colleagues can’t show up. So he asks Dick to round up as many of his siblings as he can to be judges for this event. The lineup ends up being Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie and Damian. Duke was almost able to make it but he got caught up with work.

Dick was surprised that Damian even wanted to come considering he was drowning himself in studying for his finals. He was about to graduate high school and wanted to make sure his gpa was flawless. Nevertheless, he found a way to drag his youngest brother out of the library and into the judges panel.

The contest was fine. Most people dressed as local vigilantes or villains that were easy to recognize. There were some really good ones. There were a few that none of them recognized. A few only Tim recognized. Apparently they were from animes or something.

The day dragged on and on, all of them having to stop for breaks at different points. Dick needed to get up and walk around because sitting in one place for too long made his joints hurt. Jason had to leave to do breathing exercises when a really accurate second Robin cosplayer came through holding a crowbar of all things. Tim had to leave a few times to make phone calls as co CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Steph called the babysitter (Cass) a few times about her now 2 year old daughter. And Damian used every single one of those breaks to cram in more studying.

What nothing that day could have prepared them for was the last contestant. The 13 year old boy walked onto the stage with a huge smile in a perfect replica of Dick’s very first Robin suit. Down to the last detail everything was correct. Except that… it had been torn up and damaged in places and there were painted on bruises and wounds in the places missing fabric. Part of the mask was ripped off and being held in the boy’s hand. And the face underneath that broken mask looked just like Tim.

Tim: *after recovering faster than everyone else* Wow. What a suit! What’s your name and tell the process of creating your cosplay.

Danny: *smiles* I’m Danny! I’m 13 years old and I wanted to be Robin! Robin is my favorite vigilante because he’s an inspirational figure for younger people. I decided to design my outfit based on the very first Robin in his first ever suit that he was spotted in but I wanted to pay homage to all of the Robins so I changed it up a little bit. I studied the Robins from the past in photos and was able to come up with at least one thing from each.

Steph: I see. Could you show us these homages?

Danny: YES! *his eyes glowed green in excitement, catching Jason and Damian off guard* I designed the suit itself to look like the first Robin as he was the pioneer of the Robin title but I made the entire outfit from materials only used on the current Robin. As you can see the color scheme for the suit is more muted than the original as the current Robin uses shadows and corners more for attacks than the others did.

Damian: *smiles slightly*

Danny: I chose my wounds and distresses in the costume based on photos of the second and third Robins. They took more physical blows than the rest did. *pointing to each wound, pointing to one in the abdomen* This one is just a theory of mine but I think the third Robin might of at one point had a surgery around here from his fighting style. He would protect his abdomen from attack more.

Tim: …… I see.

Danny: And the fourth Robin was a deviation from the pattern because she was a girl that didn’t have the dark hair that all the others had. She wasn’t Robin for very long but her style and decision making were more unpredictable than the rest so if you just give me a second… *fidgets with his gloves for a moment* Whole watching her footage I noticed how her hair was accounted for in her fighting style without it ever getting into her way. *slides off his glove* So on my wrist I have a replica of the headband she used in her suit but smaller so it’s more of a bracelet.

Steph: *noticing how accurate it is* Oh- wow-

Jason: That’s really impressive Danny. Tell us a little bit more about how you actually created the suit. Your process.

Danny: Well the entire thing is made of an armored flex material that I made in my sister’s basement. I studied pictures of all of the Robin suits and noticed parts of the fabric that stood out and made my prototype from there. *smiles* I have a small sample for you guys to pass around! *hands Jason said sample*

Jason: Oh that’s really impressive-

Tim: You said you made it in your sister’s basement? How did your parents feel about it?

Danny: My parents are gone. It’s just me and Jazz. I spent all of my money on the materials to make this. I’m hoping to win because the prize money will be enough for her to buy a car so she can find a new job. And maybe with the rest I’ll finally be able to go to space camp this summer. I’ve always wanted to go! But we could never afford it.

Steph: *covers her gasp softly* Oh-

Damian: Did you have a talent you wanted to show off for us today?

Danny: YES! *pumps his fist excitedly*

Damian: Could you demonstrate that for us please?

Danny: Okay! *climbs up the light tower next to the stage and hangs from the metal bars like a proper gymnast before jumping off, flipping and grabbing frames and pieces of rigging to swing from, replicating old tricks Dick used to do as Robin that he learned in the circus before flipping down and landing nimbly in the center of the stage* Tadah!

Dick: *absolutely shook* Why did you- choose that as your talent?

Danny: Real robins can fly. So why can’t I?

After Danny leaves the stage, it takes a few minutes for them all to collect themselves from that. Especially Dick.

Steph: So that Danny kid is gonna win.

Tim: 100 percent. He was able to recreate the fabric we make our suits out of through pictures!

Jason: We better not tell Bruce or-

Damian: Too late. I already texted father. He’s drafting adoption papers as we speak.

Dick: *who was planning on doing that himself* Dammit!

Damian: I for one, am thrilled at the prospect that this Danny child will take up the Robin mantle when I leave for college.

Steph: Well real robins can fly so why shouldn’t he? *smiles*

Dick: Stephanie I’m literally going to cry.

[peachywonnie]

cold hands, warm heart

a/n:: ok nobody act surprised about a hockey!enha au... idc its one of my favorite au's hehe. please read the warnings going into some of these stories cause i <3 comfort fics or angst with happy endings so please just look at the warnings before continuing to read when posted!!

taglist!!: open!! comment or ask if you would like to be added <3

masterlist

Lucky Charm

Hockey Player!Heeseung x Childhood Bestfriend!Reader

You’ve known Heeseung before you could even walk, attached at the hip, even as he chased his dream of doing hockey while you chased your own academic dreams. Getting in the same college on different scholarships felt like fate. Everyone see’s the way he looks at you… everyone except you. And he notices every little thing about you, even when you can’t tell that you’re breaking.

coming soon

Polaroid Love

Hockey Player!Jay x Photographer!Reader

Photography has always been your passion, so when you needed an internship for college, you seek out your schools hockey team in hopes to capture some video or photos that you could use for your resume. However, your camera keeps finding a certain player on the team, and he definitely notices how there’s more pictures of him from the previous game than anyone else.

coming soon

Princess on Ice

Hockey Player!Jake x Figure Skater!Reader

Spending your Friday night at your schools hockey game was NOT the plan, being dragged there by some of your friends to “support the other arts on ice.” What you didn’t expect was getting a certain someone’s attention during the game , making Jake want to see more and more of you.

coming soon

Hit me Where it Hurts

Hockey Player!Sunghoon x Physical Trainer!Reader

You’ve been studying to be a physical trainer for a bit now, and after getting the highest marks on your most recent clinical, you get offered the spot to be the physical trainer for your schools hockey team. Having to work with Sunghoon after a nasty injury makes you second guess yourself in more ways than one. Sunghoon doesn’t mind, because if you’re helping him piece himself back together, he would gladly do the same for you.

coming soon

©peachywonnie '25

[butterflypeaflowertea]

yesterday i was talking to one of my colleagues about how i should probably start applying to grad schools even though i’m still uncertain about what would be most useful for me to study for my career because i’ve been putting it off for long enough now and because i’ve realized my parents will not take my professional or creative accomplishments seriously until i have a master’s degree, and suddenly a door off to one side of the shared working space we were standing in flew open and a man i had never met or seen before yelled DON’T DO IT. I OVERHEARD AND CAN’T LET THIS GO ON. DO WHAT YOU WANT WITH YOUR LIFE at me like some kind of pissed-off guardian angel before gently shutting his door closed

[afictionalwhor3]

All Grown Up

Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader

Summary: Bucky's little girl is growing up and he doesn't know how to handle it

Word Count: 2.1k

Divider by @cafekitsune

“Mom! Can you come help me please?!” You hear your daughter Grace yell. You slowly untangle all your limbs from Bucky’s who groaned at all the movement. The two of you were cuddled on the couch, spending your Friday night watching a movie. He glared as you finally got yourself free and you pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Be right back,” You smile before heading up to her room.

Tonight, Grace had a date planned with a boy she was friends with. You and Bucky had always been on the more lenient side when it came to letting her hangout with people. You both agreed that it wasn’t up to you to decide the people she called friends, trusting she would make the right decisions. And when she turned seventeen a couple of months ago, and got her license, the two of you gave her even more leeway. As far as you knew, this would be her first time ever going on a date. And when she brought it up last week at dinner it didn’t go so well. 

~

“Anything planned for the weekend Gracie?” Bucky asked. The three of you had just finished up dinner and were still sitting at the dining room table.

“Nothing set in stone. I might hang out with Taylor and Jess if they aren’t working,” She says, but you can tell she has that nervous look in her eye. The way her eyes bounce between you and Bucky uncertainly, and how she tries to subtly wipe her hands on her pants. 

“Anything you’d like to share?” You ask raising an eyebrow at her

“Actually yes,” She says sitting up taller and taking a deep breath “Next Friday I wanted to know if you guys would be okay with me going on a date?” She asks. You watch Bucky choke unsubtly on his drink, coughing as he puts it down. You wouldn’t lie you were a little shocked by this. But you didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t 

“Yea sure. Who is with?” You ask curiously looking at her. Despite Bucky’s earlier blubbers she beams at you. 

“Oh this boy at school. He’s new and he’s in one of my study groups. He asked me a couple days ago, but I wanted to talk to you guys first,” She says and the more she talks you watch her smile get bigger. You can’t help but to mirror her expression, her infectious energy getting to you as well. Before you could ask anything else, Bucky cuts in. 

“Let’s just wait a minute here,” He says finally having composed himself. “We don’t know this boy, we have never met him, and we are going to let her go on a date with him?” Bucky asks looking at you. You give him a confused look

“Yeah why not?”

“Do you hear yourself y/n? We are talking about our newly seventeen year old daughter spending her Friday night with a boy we don’t even know doing god knows what?” He says. As if someone popped her like a balloon, you watch Grace’s energy deflate. Her back arches as she slowly sinks into herself.

“It was just mini golf and dinner,” She says but her voice is small. The confidence she had a couple of minutes ago quickly fleeting. 

“Yeah Buck it’s just mini golf and dinner. Why are you acting this way?” You ask looking at him as he scoffs pushing himself back in his chair 

“I can’t believe you aren’t acting this way?! You are acting like this is a conversation about the weather. Mini golf and a movie? You really buy that?!” He asks starting to raise his voice. Before you can butt in Grace stands abruptly. 

“It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to ask before I said yes. There’s no need to start an argument over it. It’s not a big deal, I’m just gonna say no. I’m going to my room,” She says, but you don’t miss the way her voice cracks, and the way her brown eyes gloss over. She quickly turns from you guys running upstairs to her room. Your heartbreaks as you watch her leave. You turn your head to glare at Bucky and you don’t miss the pained expression on his face. But right now you couldn’t see pass your anger. 

“Since when don’t we trust our kids James?! I cannot believe you right now! Seriously I cannot believe you just acted like this. I’m gonna go talk to our daughter and make sure she’s okay,” You say venom in your voice. You push your hair back loudly and before Bucky can say anything you are gone upstairs after your daughter. He places his head in his hands sighing at how he messed up. 

Later that night

You stood in the adjoined bathroom doing your skincare routine while your husband laid in bed.  It didn’t take a super soldier to know you were still upset with him. You hadn’t said a word to him since you came in the bedroom. You seemingly weren’t in a rush to join him either. 

When you did eventually finish, you turned the bathroom light off and closed the door behind you. You made your way over to the bed, easily slipping under the covers with your back to Bucky. He sighed as he looked at you and then sat up, 

“Please y/n. I can’t handle you being mad at me too. Please talk to me,” He pleaded with you. You rolled over onto your back so you could look at him.

“I still cannot believe you Bucky. We always promised we would trust our kids, unless they gave us a reason otherwise. Grace has never given us a reason to doubt her. Ever! And she’s seventeen now Bucky! I’m glad she feels like she can be honest enough with us to ask straight to our faces instead of sneaking around,” You say doing your best to get Bucky to see where she’s coming from. 

“Yes I know you’re right. But you have to understand how hard it was-” Bucky starts before cutting him off. 

“Please do not tell me how hard it was for you James,” You say laughing dryly “She is my daughter too. She is my youngest too Bucky. You don’t think it’s been hard for me too? To watch three, now four kids grow up faster than I could keep track of? But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop them from pursuing things because I’m the one scared. Do you know how hard it probably was for her? To know how protective you are of her, and still find the courage to ask us about this. Did you ever consider these things Bucky?” You ask and once again you watch him deflate and hang his head. 

“No. I- I hadn’t thought about it that way,” He whispers. You sigh pinching the bridge of your nose. You took a deep breath before you opened your arms. Bucky looked at you before placing his head on your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist. You played with the dark brown hair that was beginning to gray “How was she?” He asks you softly. As if he was scared of the answer. 

“She was upset. I told her she could go on the date. She said she didn’t wanna make you upset. I said I’d talk to you,” You say as Bucky looks up at you. His blue eyes filled with regret

“I messed up really bad didn’t I?” He asks biting his lip

“She’s gonna forgive you. She’s your little girl, your only daughter. I can tell how sorry you are, but you need to make sure she knows it. She’s only ever wanted to make us proud and she does it everyday. She needs that reassurance from you. And she needs your permission to go on the date. She needs to know that you aren’t angry or upset with her. That all your feelings are coming from a place of love and fear. But not because of anything she did,” You state looking at Bucky. He nods his head in silent understanding as you press a kiss to his forehead. 

~

Now, a week later, you stood in Grace’s door watching her play nervously with her hair. She sees you in the reflection and turns around,

“Does this look okay? He said dress casually, but I don’t know how much is too little and I still wanna look good… Why are you looking at me like that?” She question as you walk closer. You wipe away at a stray tear that escapes your eye. “C’mon mom. Don’t get all mushy on me right now,” She says and you laugh. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just my little girl all grown up,” You say. She rolls her eyes but still allows you to pull her in for a hug. It was true. You weren’t just looking at the seventeen year old before you, but the ten year old who wanted to be a movie star, and the four year old who only wanted princess band-aids for her boo boos, and the little baby that came early but with so much fight. You squeeze her as tight as you can before you pull away. You look at her, moving a stray piece of curly hair that threatened to slip in front of her eyes “You look beautiful Gracie girl,” You smile before taking a step back. “Now c’mon. You said you need to leave by six,” You say making her smile and grab her purse. Before the two of you can walk out, she grabs your hand. “How is Dad?” She asks and it is impossible for her to hide the nervous look on her face. 

“He is fine Grace. We were watching a movie when you called me and he hadn’t mentioned a thing about it,” You say and she nods, but you can tell she was not fully satisfied with that answer. After your talk that night, Bucky had a conversation with her when she got home from school. But for the last couple of days, it felt like the two were still walking on eggshells around each other. You squeeze her hand before ushering her down the stairs ahead of you. 

“Is it normal to be this nervous?” She asks you and you nod your head laughing softly. 

“Yeah first dates never get any easier. I was ten minutes late to my first date with your dad because I thought I was gonna throw up. But I think I turned out okay?” You say looking at her and she smiles back. When you get to the bottom of the stairs you see Bucky standing by the door looking at the two of you. You stand a couple steps behind Grace, watching the silent face-off between the two of them. Bucky makes the first move, walking to her and wrapping his arms around her tightly. She wastes now time closing her eyes and returning the hug. They spend a minute like that before Bucky pulls away to look at her, 

“All I want is for you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you and your brothers. You know that, right?” He asks as she nods her head. Bucky presses a kiss to the top of her head before letting go “I will be waiting with your mom to hear all about it when you get home. That is, whatever you want to tell us,” He says looking down at her. You walk over to the table by the door to grab her keys,

“I don’t want you to be late like me. This boy may not be as forgiving as your dad was,” You say handing her the keys which makes her laugh. “Be safe and have fun. I love you,” You say. She hugs you

“Bye Mom, bye Dad. Love you and I’ll be home soon,” She says. Before she walks out the door, she runs back to give Bucky a kiss on the cheek. He smiles while watching her run back out the front door, closing it behind her. 

[paperbacksinner]

would you like to write matt murdock x female reader where reader has exams at college and feels like she's gonna fail so matt helps her study but not entirely in a fluffy way, more like in a dom!matt way if you know what i mean?

Focus

I think abt this all the time 😭 I’m sorry this one is DIRTY

TW: mild spanking, fingering

———

You’re on your third cup of coffee and your sixth hour of studying when the notes start to blur.

Your fingers are shaking, and you can’t remember if the answer is strict scrutiny or rational basis—all you know is that you’re going to fail, and your heart’s pounding so hard it feels like it might just stop.

Matt can hear it.

He’s been sitting across from you for the last hour, silently working — or pretending to — while you spiral into academic chaos.

And then, without looking up, he speaks.

“Come here.”

You blink. “I—what?”

“Come here,” he repeats, still calm. Still unreadable behind his dark glasses. “Now.”

You hesitate, but you know that tone. It’s not a suggestion.

You rise, heart fluttering. When you reach his chair, he spreads his legs slightly and pats his thigh.

Your stomach drops.

“Over,” he says, voice lower now. “You’ve been bratty with your books all day. You know what happens to girls who let stress make them stupid?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

He raises a brow. “Answer me.”

“No, sir.”

He tsks. “Well. Let’s teach you.”

Your stomach hits his thigh, and within seconds his palm is trailing up the back of your skirt, tugging it higher.

“You’re so worked up,” he murmurs, hand massaging your ass slowly. “You know stress makes you sloppy. You’re not going to fail because you’re stupid — you’re going to fail because you panic.”

A sharp smack echoes through the apartment. You gasp, hands gripping his calf.

“You don’t need more flashcards,” he growls, another slap landing, “you need to focus. And clearly you need me to remind you how.”

The next thing you know, he’s got two fingers inside you, scissoring slow and deep while his voice stays maddeningly even.

“You remember things better like this, don’t you?”

You moan.

“What’s the second prong of the Lemon Test?” he asks.

You hesitate, breath catching. His fingers stop.

“Entanglement,” you whimper. “Excessive government entanglement.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, fingers curling again. “See what happens when you listen?”

He doesn’t let you come right away.

Every time you get close, he stops and makes you answer a question: civil procedure, con law, even torts — things you thought you forgot.

But somehow, with his fingers inside you, his voice in your ear, his discipline warm and firm and dripping in control—

You remember.

By the time he lets you come, you’re shaking so hard you can’t speak.

He kisses your shoulder. Cleans you up. Sits you back at the desk like you’re porcelain.

“Now,” he says gently, pushing your notes toward you, “start from the top.”

And this time?

You do.

[harrywavycurly]

hiii saraah, i’m having the exam (general pedagogy aka literal pain) tomorrow, matter of life and death, i’m terrified, i can’t afford to fail again🥹 not when i studied so hard last 3 weeks, i’m going insaneeee, but your steve fics calm me down even its just a little 😭🫶

Hiii lovey!!! Oh my goodness you’re gonna kick this exam’s ass (or butt sorry for cursing lol) you’re gonna do amazing and it’s gonna go as smoothly as a baby’s bottom! You’ve got this, you’ve studied and you will do wonderful but to help ease your nerves I’ll give you a tiny little Steve drabble. Now be gentle I haven’t written Mr. Harrington is ages so I hope you enjoy and I’m sorry this is the first idea that came to my mind!!💖

Summary: Steve just wants to take care of you✨

“Oh damn.” Steve’s voice is laced with a faint sound of disappointment as he stands at your car door with both hands on his hips, his eyes glaring at the roses he put there earlier this morning that are now a little wilted. “I could’ve sworn she had work today.” He mumbles as he turns on his heal and purses his lips as he looks at the front door of your house.

He quickly walks up the path that leads to your door, giving it a few gentle knocks when he gets up to it. He adjusts his green Family Video vest as he waits for you, not at all prepared for what he sees when you fling it open a few seconds later. His eyes slowly take in your appearance, you’re still in what you slept in the night before because he happened to be the there when you got ready for bed, your hair is a mess and your cheeks and nose are bright red and it makes his chest ache when he hears you let out a small sniffle.

“Oh baby what’s wrong?” He doesn’t give you time to register what’s happening before he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “You’re burning up-why didn’t you call me? I could’ve had Robin cover my shift and come over.” He lists off questions one after the other as he walks you into the house, closing your front door with his foot.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Your voice is rough but still has a touch of that usual softness he loves so much. “Know you’re busy.” You add as he places a hand on the back of your head pressing your cheek against the soft material of his t shirt that he has under his vest.

“Me? Busy? Baby I’m only ever busy when I’m with you or-babysitting.” He mumbles into the top of your head as he begins rocking you back and forth, you wrap your arms around him and let out a sigh of content as his warmth spreads through you helping your achy body feel better. “Come on let’s get you into bed and I’ll make you some soup.”

“You’ll make me soup?”

“Do you not want soup? Want something else? Just tell me what you want and I’ll make it for you.”

“S-soup is fine.” You say with a sleepy smile as Steve gently moves his hands so they are resting on your hips, turning you around so he can walk you towards your bedroom. “You don’t have to do all this.” You tell him as he pulls your covers up to your chest after helping you into bed.

“Yes I do.” He says with a smile as he leans over and runs a hand through your hair. “You’re the love of my life-this is the least I can do for you.” You let out a soft little noise as he leans down and places his lips to your forehead for a sweet kiss. “Now I’ll be right back with some water and some medicine to help you less achy okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” He just grins before turning to walk out of your bedroom but when he reaches your door he looks at you over his shoulder making you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I’d do anything for you-you know that right?” He asks with nothing but love in his voice making your eyes get watery as you just stare at him.

“I know.”

[n01likeu]

Everything.

MINOR DO NOT INTERACT.

Paring: Choi San x Reader Word count: 6k Genre: Exploring themes of longing, control, and explicit intimacy within a relationship facing external familial conflict. Dom!reader, softdom!san, sub!san. Beg beg beg. Please note: This content is for mature audiences due to explicit sexual themes. It contains elements of emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, and power dynamics, as well as descriptions of crying, anxiety, and self-esteem issues. There are also mentions of consensual, safe, and aftercare. Self-indulgent. Reader discretion is advised. Author note: Please, lovies. Give me a heads up if I forgot to mention something that I needed to add, or if there’s any errors. I am new to this, and it’s my first time uploading my work here. I didn’t fully checked my work, do expect some errors, lovies. English is not my first language, bear with me. Happy reading.

You hate him so much. You despise him. Your coping mechanism is to hate your ex, even though you both ended on good terms. All you can think of are the things he did that made you frown—ick, rather. You loathe San. Oh, not really. You ended things with him because of your grandparents. They wanted you to focus on your future by studying business management to take over their company. You’re sick of this. Your parents can’t even protest; they obey as well. They love San, and they want him for you. Too bad, because they also want a “better future” for you.

It’s almost been a month since you last saw him face-to-face. You’ve done everything you could: visiting different cafes with your friends, going out to a park with your dog, isolating yourself in a library, and trying new recipes for pastries within that month. But in the end, San is still in your mind. You keep thinking that he’s supposed to be with you, visiting those new cafes, playing with your dog out in the park, reading books together in a library (but he’d be looking at you, not even a single glance at the upside-down book he’s holding), and baking with you using his passed-down recipes from his great-grandmother. It pisses you off so bad that every time you think of doing something, there’s always a reserved space for him. You hate him because there’s no other thing that could help you forget him since you did it all with him for over six years. You’re in your second year of college, all fucked up, rotting in your bed. Your best friend Ningning had visited your apartment just a few hours ago to lighten you up, knowing you’re not fully okay after finals and your endless reminiscing of San. You felt sorry for your best friend, but she reassured you it was all fine. Satan must be having fun... fucking my life in every way, you thought to yourself.

You’re staring at your ceiling, and now you’re thinking of your ex. You miss how he used to trace imaginary patterns on your arm when you were lying next to him, how his laugh would fill your apartment, making even the emptiest days feel vibrant. You miss the way he’d pull you into unexpected hugs, smelling faintly of the coffee shop he worked at and his subtle, comforting cologne. You miss his endless patience when you were struggling with an assignment, sitting quietly beside you, offering a reassuring squeeze of your hand every now and then. You even miss his annoying habit of leaving his socks by the bed, because at least then you knew he was there. A sharp pang echoes in your chest. It’s not just the absence of him, but the gaping hole where your shared future used to be. Every dream you ever spun, every “what if” scenario, every plan for five, ten, even twenty years down the line, had his face in it. Now, it’s just a blurry, undefined expanse, shadowed by your grandparents’ “better future” and the weight of their company. You clench your jaw, a bitter taste filling your mouth. This isn’t your future; it’s theirs. And you resent it. You resent them. But most of all, you resent San for being so unforgettable, for being so intrinsically woven into the fabric of your life that even tearing him out leaves a ragged, bleeding edge. You close your eyes, wishing for sleep, for oblivion, for anything that could silence the unwavering echo of his memory. But even in the darkness, you can still feel the ghost of his hand in yours, a phantom warmth that refuses to fade.

The city lights hummed around you, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest. You’d decided to brave one of your old haunts tonight—a small, dimly lit bar with good music and even better cocktails, hoping to drown out the persistent thoughts of San. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and faint perfume as you nursed your drink, tracing patterns on the condensation of your glass. Suddenly, a shift in the ambient noise, a subtle change in the energy of the room, snagged your attention. You didn’t even have to look up. You felt him. Every nerve ending in your body tingled with an electric awareness. Your breath hitched. He was here. Your eyes finally lifted, drawn across the smoky room as if by an invisible string. And there he was. San. He was standing by the bar, talking to the bartender, but his gaze, hot and familiar, was already locked onto yours. The casual hum of conversations, the clinking of glasses, the music—it all faded into a distant murmur. There was only him. And you.

He started to move, not directly towards you, but as if on a circuit, heading towards the restrooms, a path that would take him directly past your table. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that now enveloped you. As he approached, his eyes never left yours, a silent, potent conversation passing between you. There was no awkward smile, no forced pleasantry. Just a raw, undeniable hunger in his gaze that mirrored your own. As he drew level with your seat, his pace barely faltered. His hand, warm and calloused, brushed against your lower back, a deliberate, lingering touch that sent a searing current through you. It was a familiar ghost, a memory of countless other touches that had promised so much more. He didn’t stop, didn’t speak, but the brief contact was an explosion of suppressed desire, an unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. You watched his retreating back, your skin still humming from his touch. You knew exactly what that meant. And you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you were going to follow.

As San moved past, the spot on your lower back where his hand had lingered burned like a brand. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension. Your breath felt shallow, caught somewhere in your throat. You watched the line of his shoulders beneath the dark jacket, the way his dark hair caught the dim light. It had been almost a month, but the sight of him, that look in his eyes, the brief, deliberate touch—it had ripped through your carefully constructed walls of indifference. Your mind raced, a chaotic jumble of longing, resentment, and that undeniable, insistent pull of physical attraction. You hated him for doing this to you, for disrupting the fragile peace you’d been trying to build. But a louder voice, a more primal instinct, was screaming something completely different.

Without conscious thought, you pushed yourself to your feet, your chair scraping slightly against the wooden floor. The sound seemed amplified in the sudden quiet that had descended around you. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a sliver of your rational mind screaming at you to sit back down, to ignore the magnetic force drawing you in. But the memory of his touch, the intensity in his eyes that mirrored your own buried desires, was too strong to resist. You took a step, then another, your gaze fixed on San’s broad back as he disappeared through the door marked “Restroom.” You knew he hadn’t actually needed to use them. This was a silent invitation, a pretense.

Taking a deep breath, the humid night air clinging to your skin as the bar door briefly opened and closed, you followed. The dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms felt thick with anticipation. The sounds of the bar faded behind you, replaced by a low hum of the air conditioning. You knew what you were about to do. And despite the turmoil in your heart, a part of you, a deeply buried, fiercely yearning part, couldn’t deny the electric thrill of it.

You reached the restroom door and paused, your hand hovering over the cool metal handle. The low murmur of male voices could be heard from within. Taking one last shaky breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. San was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, his gaze already on you, that same intense, knowing look still blazing in his eyes. The air crackled. The game had begun again.

He was still leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over the glossy texture of his jacket, the silver chain around his neck catching the faint light from the overhead fixture. His dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed a face that was both impossibly familiar and unnervingly alluring in the muted light. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, devoured you. There was no casual greeting, no “fancy meeting you here.” His gaze alone was a physical touch, tracing every curve, every shadow. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, yet vibrating with an unspoken language only the two of you understood. It was the language of six years of shared history, of bodies that knew each other intimately, of a passion that had never truly died, only been forcibly buried. You felt your cheeks flush, a wave of heat spreading through you that had nothing to do with the humid night. You wanted to look away or flee, to break the potent spell, but you couldn't. You were a moth to his flame, drawn in by the sheer magnetic force of his presence.

He pushed off the sink, taking one slow, deliberate step towards you. Then another. The small space of the restroom felt even smaller, every inch of it shrinking until it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. The faint scent of stale cigarette smoke and generic air freshener was obliterated by the clean, distinct scent of him—something woody and slightly musky, utterly San. His hand rose, slowly, as if in a dream, and he reached out. His fingers didn’t go for your face or your hair. Instead, they settled on the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse point. The contact was electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire in your core. It was a possessive gesture, a silent claim.

“You followed,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rasp that sent another jolt through you. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, laced with triumph and a raw, carnal anticipation. His eyes dropped from yours, trailing slowly down your face, lingering on your lips. Your breath hitched. Your body was already betraying you, aching for his touch. The fight you’d been putting up for the past month dissolved like smoke. All the reasons you shouldn’t, all the ‘what-ifs’ about your grandparents and your future, vanished. There was only this moment, this man, and the undeniable truth of your shared, burning desire.

“Of course, I did,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, a confession, a surrender. “Why wouldn’t I?” You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing for a brief moment as his thumb continued its maddening rhythm on your neck. The next move, you knew, would be yours to make, or his. And it wouldn’t involve talking. You snaked your arms on the back of his neck and pressed your lips against him, closing the gap between you and San. His fingers squeeze the side of your neck—enough to make you breathe, even. San’s other hand traveled down on your ass, squeezing it, pulling you closer until you felt his hard, clothed cock. You started to grind your body against him. San let out a low groan against your mouth, a sound of pure pleasure that vibrated through your entire body. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance. The pressure on your neck eased slightly, allowing for more comfortable breathing, but his grip on your ass remained firm, keeping your bodies tightly pressed together. You could feel the undeniable heat radiating from him, mirroring the inferno building within you. Every grind of your hips against his was met with an eager pushback, a silent language of escalating desire. The air around you crackled with an unspoken urgency, a shared need that threatened to consume you both. You felt yourself getting dizzy, not from lack of air, but from the intoxicating rush of his presence, the raw intensity of the moment. The world outside of his embrace faded into a blurry background, and all that existed was the pounding of your hearts, the delicious friction of your bodies, and the promise of what was yet to come.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your forehead resting against his. His eyes, dark with desire, met yours. “God, you drive me insane,” he breathed, his voice thick and rough. His thumb, still on your neck, traced the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, really?” You purred back, a mischievous glint in your eyes, a slight smirk playing on your lips. You could feel the frantic beat of your heart against his chest. His grip on your ass didn’t lessen, keeping you flush against him, making the undeniable evidence of his arousal all the more present. Your fingers, still laced in his hair, gave a gentle, possessive tug. He chuckled, a low, husky sound that sent another wave of heat through you.

“Is it now?” He murmured, his gaze utterly devoted. “Because I feel like I’m the one about to lose my mind here... if you’d allow it.” His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, filled with an almost desperate plea. “What kind of spell are you doing to me, beautiful?”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “What do you want me to do?” You challenged softly, a hint of steel beneath the teasing sweetness in your voice. You felt him tense beneath your touch, a clear sign of his hunger and his readiness to submit. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, a serious intensity replacing the playful glint in his eyes, now mixed with a deep, consuming adoration.

“Everything,” he said, his voice dropping to a near growl, a tone of absolute surrender. “I want you to do everything.” He squeezed your ass again, pulling you impossibly closer, his body vibrating with controlled anticipation. “And I want to do everything for you, to you, as you wish.”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh, a sound that held a hint of delicious victory. “Are you willing to do such thing, San?” You murmured, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer until your lips were almost touching again. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then back up to his eyes, watching the worship intensify.

“Please, love. Let me feel you. Let me fuck you right here, please.” Your hand moved from his neck, trailing slowly down his chest, resting over his heart, which was pounding a frantic rhythm. You felt his sharp intake of breath, a subtle shiver that ran through him. You could feel the undeniable strength of his body, the hard planes of his muscles, yet he was utterly still beneath your touch, waiting.

“Begging already?” you whispered, your voice dropping to a seductive husk. “Then you’ll have to earn it, won’t you?" Tilting your head slightly, a clear signal of your will. “You hear me, San?” The words hung in the air, a silken thread of absolute will.

“Yes. Please, let me touch you…” He spoke in a low tone, grinding on your thighs. Sweating gathered on his forehead and fell down to his jaw as he breathed heavily.

“Fucking insane. I didn’t order you to grind like a dog on me,” you spat. “Kneel.” A last word that followed out of your mouth. San immediately fell to his knees, hands on his lap. Looking at you as a vulnerable piece. The dim light of the restroom played across the silk black dress, highlighting the curve of your back, the enticing hint of your thong visible as you leaned against the sink, supporting your weight.

“Eat me out. Devour me like you own me.” You looked down to San, who was reaching for your ankles, massaging them as his hands traveled up to your legs, kissing them inch by inch, worshipping your body, parting your legs as he went up to your thighs, leaving a mark, and licking them after. His eyes, dark with fervent desire, remained fixed on you as he slowly, deliberately, brought his face closer to your waiting heat. You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin, sending shivers through you that were a delicious mix of anticipation and absolute control. He paused, just for a moment, a silent question in his gaze, seeking your final, unspoken approval, even as his body trembled with eagerness. You watched him, your own breath catching in your throat, the thrill of his utter devotion a potent potion. Without a verbal cue, but with a subtle shift in your weight and a slight parting of your lips, you granted him permission. His dark head dipped, and then his tongue, hot and wet, made first contact. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instinctively gripping the cool edge of the sink behind you.

He was everything you remembered, everything you craved, and more. His movements were precise, deliberate, a worshipful exploration that left no inch of you untouched. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, was designed to push you closer and closer to the edge, a master of his craft, completely consumed by the act of pleasing you. You felt the warmth spread, fire igniting in your core, and the world outside the small restroom dissolved into a blissful haze of sensation. His hands moved to cup your buttocks, lifting you slightly, pressing you more firmly against his mouth. The silk dress rode up, revealing even more of your thong-clad rear. You arched your back, a low moan escaping your lips as the intensity built. You could feel his hot breaths, hear his soft groans of pleasure, mingling with your own. He was truly devouring you, just as you’d commanded, lost in a single-minded pursuit of your satisfaction. The thought of your grandparents, your future, and the entire world outside was utterly obliterated by the exquisite reality of San at your feet, making you burn. As he continued his movements, you found yourself twisting, unable to keep still, your fingers digging into the cool porcelain of the sink. Each stroke of his tongue, each gentle pull, was a direct shot of pleasure, spiraling through you. He paused for a moment, just long enough for you to let out a frustrated whimper, before resuming with renewed intensity, as if punishing you for your impatience, yet simultaneously rewarding you with deeper sensations.

“San,” you gasped, your voice strained, barely recognizable even to your own ears. Your head fell back against the mirror, your eyes squeezed shut, the world now nothing but the rhythmic, insistent pleasure he was eliciting. He didn’t answer verbally, but the way his tongue moved and the increased pressure of his mouth told you he heard your plea and was only going to push you further. He shifted, bringing one hand to cup your mound, his thumb sweeping over your already swollen clit, while his mouth worked wonders. The combination was almost unbearable, pushing you right to the edge. You felt a soft trembling start deep within you, growing, consuming.

“Please,” you whimpered again, the word barely a breath. “San... please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for—was it for him to stop, for him to continue, for release, for more, or for less? It was just a desperate, animalistic sound of pure need. He lifted his head for a second; his eyes, dark and glazed with his own rising passion, met yours. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his lips glistening.

“Beg for it, doll,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble against your skin, just before his mouth closed over you again, sending a jolt that made your toes curl.

A whimper tore through you. “San, I—I need—” Your words broke off into a choked cry as he intensified his service, driving you closer to the edge than you thought possible. “Please... please, I’m almost there…”

He pulled back again, just a fraction, the sudden withdrawal almost painful. You whimpered, reaching out blindly, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. “Don’t stop, San. Please, don’t stop. I need you, fuck.” Your voice was raw, stripped bare of any pretense of control. “Please, baby, don’t stop, I beg you.”

His eyes burned into yours, a successful glint mixing with the absolute adoration. “Say my name,” he rasped, his breath hot against your thigh. “Say you need me.”

“San, baby. Oh god, San, I need you. Make me cum. Please, baby.” Your hips bucked instinctively against his face, a desperate plea for release. You let out a loud moan; you didn’t realized how loud you are. He watched you, a slow, sensual smile spreading on his lips as your desperation grew. He was enjoying every single second of your unraveling, your complete surrender to the sensations he was orchestrating.

“Such a good girl. Begging for me just to fuck her stupid using my mouth,” he purred, the words sending another shiver through you. And then, with a final, deep dive, he pushed you over the edge. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as your body convulsed, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending. You clutched his hair, your nails digging lightly into his scalp as your knees threatened to buckle. He held you steady, his mouth still working, catching every last tremor of your climax, devouring you completely. When the last movements ended and your breathing evened out, he finally pulled away, his face slick with your mutual pleasure. He looked up at you, his eyes still dark with a simmering desire, but now also filled with a profound, almost reverent satisfaction. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a tear from the corner of your eye that you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“All for you, sweet,” he breathed, his voice soft, utterly devoted. He then leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your now-sensitive skin, a lingering, possessive touch. “Always.”

It took a few shaky moments for you to regain your composure, to find your footing again as the waves of pleasure receded, leaving you delightfully weak. San rose from his kneeling position, his movements fluid and unhurried. He didn’t speak, but his gaze, hot and possessive, lingered on your face, reading every lingering trace of your climax. He reached out, his hand gently settling on the small of your back, a silent anchor.

“We can’t stay here,” you murmured, your voice still a little breathless, the words feeling foreign and heavy in the aftermath. The fluorescent lights of the restroom, the lingering scent of disinfectant, suddenly felt stark and unwelcome after the intimate intensity of the past few minutes. San merely hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking your skin. He didn’t need words. He knew exactly what you meant, what you wanted. Your apartment. Your bed. The place where inhibitions could truly melt away. He turned, guiding you gently with his hand on your back, leading you out of the restroom and back into the muffled hum of the bar.

The transition felt surreal. The conversations and laughter of strangers seemed distant, a mere backdrop to the vibrant thrumming between you and San. You didn’t speak a word as you walked past the main bar area, past curious glances, out into the humid night. The air was thick and warm, clinging to your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air-conditioned interior of the bar. He hailed a taxi with practiced ease, opening the door for you before sliding in beside you. The ride to your apartment was a silent symphony of anticipation. Your hand found him in the darkness of the backseat, fingers intertwining, a silent promise exchanged. His thumb drew lazy circles on your knuckles, a comforting rhythm that spoke volumes. The earlier resentment, the carefully constructed walls of hatred, felt like a distant, irrelevant memory. All that mattered was the warmth of his hand, the shared heat in the small space, and the electric hum of what was coming next.

Soon enough, the taxi pulled up to your apartment building. You fumbled for your keys, your hands still trembling slightly, a small laugh escaping your lips. San took them from you, his fingers brushing yours, and effortlessly unlocked the door. He let you enter first, a silent deference that made your stomach clench in a delicious way. The apartment was dark and quiet, save for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the blinds. You kicked off your shoes, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. San closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness, severing you from the outside world.

He didn’t turn on any lights. The dimness felt right, adding to the illicit intimacy of the moment. You turned to face him, the faint light catching the contours of his face, the intensity in his eyes. He reached for you, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

“My love,” he whispered, his voice a low, rough reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your eyelids, then tracing the curve of your jaw with his lips before finally finding yours. This kiss was slower, deeper than before, a lingering promise. His tongue traced your lips, asking for entry, and you readily granted it, your body already arching into his. San’s hands moved from your face, trailing down your neck, over your shoulders, and then found the hem of your black silk dress. He slowly, deliberately, began to pull it up, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any sign, any hint of resistance. There was none. The silk glided upwards, revealing more of your legs, the smooth curve of your hips, until the thong beneath was fully exposed. San took a moment, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You reached for him too, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, then the snaps of his shirt. He stood still, a statue of patient devotion, allowing you to undress him. The leather jacket came off first, then his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen. You traced the lines of his body with your fingertips, feeling the heat radiate from him, the faint tremor that ran through him as your skin met his. San stepped back slightly and took your hand, leading you deeper into the apartment, as if he lived there, to the bedroom. The soft rug underfoot felt luxurious against your bare soles. In the dim light, your bed looked like an island, an irresistible haven. He paused at the edge, his gaze searching yours.

“May I?” he murmured, a silent question asking permission to continue, even though every fiber of your being screamed yes. You nodded, a shaky breath escaping your lips. He reached for the strap of your dress at your shoulder, slowly sliding it down, allowing the silk to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it, the black fabric a discarded puddle. He then lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lowered you onto the soft mattress. He hovered over you, supporting himself on his elbows, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice thick with adoration. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me and mine only.” His hand found the waistband of your thong, his fingers slipping underneath. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, peeled it down your legs until you were completely bare beneath him. He didn’t rush, savoring each moment, each inch of exposed skin. You reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling at them impatiently. He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound, and helped you, shucking off his pants and boxers until he too was naked, his hard form pressing against your bare thighs. He settled between your legs, his weight a delicious pressure. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, leaving a trail of hot kisses along your collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I have dreamt of this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice raw with a desperate longing that mirrored your own. "Of being here again, with you, like this.” You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling his head back slightly so you could meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, almost black, brimming with an overwhelming emotion that captivated you.

“Show me, San,” you whispered, your voice a soft invitation, your hips unconsciously tilting up, pleading. “Show me everything.” He met your gaze, a powerful mixture of adoration and barely contained hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, a deep, consuming kiss that stole your breath away. This was not just desire; it was a profound connection, a reunion of souls that had been torn apart, now finding their way back to their inevitable convergence. His body moved, pressing deeper, finding that familiar, perfect fit. You gasped against his mouth, a sound of pure, unmixed relief and escalating pleasure. He groaned against your lips, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire being as he began to move. Slowly at first, a deliberate testing of the waters, a teasing rhythm that built the excitement. You responded immediately, your hips instinctively meeting him, pushing back, craving the full immersion. His hands found your waist, gripping you firmly, lifting you slightly to deepen the angle, to ensure every friction was maximized.

“My love,” he breathed, the words muffled against your mouth as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw to your ear. “You feel so good. So good.” His breath hitched as you arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. The pace quickened, a primal dance that spoke volumes without a single word. The bed beneath you became a tempest, the soft mattress sinking with each powerful thrust. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him deeper. Your nails lightly scraped against his back as you clung to him, lost in the escalating storm of sensation. His muscles flexed under your touch, a testament to the raw strength he held in check for you. He was a force, yet utterly devoted to your pleasure, watching your face for every sign, every gasp, every subtle shift in your expression. He leaned down, catching your lips in a passionate kiss again, swallowing your moans, mingling your breaths until there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

The air in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of aroused bodies and desperate need. The sounds of your apartment, usually so familiar, were now just the frantic pounding of your hearts and the soft gasps and moans that filled the space. The thought of anything beyond this moment, beyond the exquisite friction and the intoxicating scent of San, completely vanished. This was your true future, the one you truly desired, unraveling beneath you in a tangle of limbs and breathless whispers. He pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and dilated, filled with a burning intensity.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice strained, raw with his own approaching climax. “Look at me, doll.” You met his gaze, completely consumed, your body trembling on the brink. You could feel the building pressure deep inside, the undeniable ascent towards another peak. His eyes, fixed on yours, were the only anchor in the swirling of sensation.

“San,” you whimpered, his name a desperate plea, a worshipful prayer on your lips. With a final, powerful thrust, he drove into you, a deep, all-consuming connection that sent you spiraling over the edge once more. A guttural cry escaped you as your body shook uncontrollably around him, clutching him tighter. He groaned, a primal sound of release, as he followed you, collapsing onto you, his body heavy and satiated. The aftermath was a symphony of heavy breaths and pounding hearts, bodies slick with sweat, entangled in the peaceful silence that followed the storm. He buried his face in your neck, pressing kisses to your damp skin, utterly spent, yet still holding you impossibly close, as if afraid to let you go. He lay heavy on you, his chest rising and falling against yours, the scent of him—a mix of sweat, sex, and his familiar cologne—filling your senses. Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, gently stroked the nape of his neck. The frantic rhythm of your heart gradually slowed, syncing with the steady beat of his. The silence in the room was profound, punctuated only by your soft breaths and the lingering hum of satisfaction that resonated deep within your bones.

After a long moment, he shifted, lifting his head from your neck and propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His eyes, still clouded with the afterglow, held a tenderness that made your own heartache in the best way possible. He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip.

“Are you... Alright, my love?” he whispered, his voice a little rough, a hint of concern in his gaze. He always checked. He always made sure you were okay, even when he was completely lost in the moment. It was a subtle, natural care that had always been one of the things you loved most about him and something you had desperately missed.

You smiled, a soft, content smile. “More than alright, San,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your palm. “Perfect rather.”

A relieved sigh escaped him, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he breathed, the word filled with sincere relief. He rolled off you, but only to lie beside you, pulling you immediately into his side. Your head rested on his shoulder, your leg thrown over his, your bodies still connected by the lingering warmth and the unspoken intimacy.

The city lights still filtered through the blinds, casting faint, shifting shadows on the ceiling. You were both quiet, simply existing in the shared space, in the aftermath of something raw and powerful. You felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you—the lingering resentment for the life your grandparents had dictated, the sharp pang of regret for the time lost, and an overwhelming surge of pure, unadulterated contentment in his arms.

“I missed this,” you whispered, the words barely audible, a confession that tasted like freedom on your tongue. “I missed you.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. His lips brushed your hair. “I missed you too, more than words can say,” he murmured back, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day; It was hell without you—even though I can sense that you hated me to death. I know you.”

You sighed, burying your face deeper into his shoulder. The fragile peace was here, in this bed, with him. The outside world, the demands of your family, the future they had planned—it all felt distant, a problem for another day. For now, there was just this. Just San. And the undeniable, aching truth that you were exactly where you belonged. You felt his breathing even out, a soft snore starting to rumble in his chest. He was falling asleep, utterly relaxed in your embrace. You closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion and the profound contentment wash over you. For the first time in a long time, the insistent echoes of his memory were not tormenting you but lulling you into a peaceful sleep.