jolixtreesunn

[jolixtreesunn]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE RAFAYEL

You’ve found yourself drifting away to Rafayel’s Secret Times ‘Sleep aid,’ when suddenly, the faint whispers of counting little fishies start to sound too real.

tags: short isekai au, rafayel x you, fem reader. use of swear words, kinda silly, just fluff i guess.

You’re tucked in bed, tapping away at Rafayel’s body like a crazed woman, a cheshire cat like smirk on your face at all his reactions, ‘’I should paint what you’re doing right now as criminal evidence.’’ His soft voice travels through the speaker of your phone, as he crosses his arms and pouts.

A faint flash of white appears in the top right, a new achievement unlocked. You go to your settings to see the full details, ‘Accidentally ‘’touch’’ 99 times on the home screen’. A chuckle escapes you then, how amusing.

You glance at the time on your phone, it’s nearly midnight. You usually just like to play random videos as white noise while you sleep, but you’d thought you’d try listening to one of Rafayel’s secret times instead. Tapping through the different options, you land on ‘Sleep aid.’ Perfect.

‘’Stop smiling at your phone like an idiot while in bed.’’ Rafayel’s smooth voice travels through your room, you smile slightly at how accurate he is. Some time passes, and he’s starting to sound further away as you’re lulled into a deep sleep, his voice almost wrapping around you in a warm embrace.

‘’Ninety seven little fishies…. ninety eight little fishies… ninety nine little fishies….’’ A warm breeze slither across your cheek, did you leave the window open? A deep inhale sounds beside your ear, he breathes out, ‘’One hundred little fishies….’’ Why does he sound so.. close? You don’t think much of it as your ears lock into the sound of waves crashing, this feels so.. immersive all of a sudden.

The cold breeze trickles through your hair once more, and with a sigh your eyes peel open and you go to move to shut your window since you must’ve left it open. Right? As your hand steadies on the mattress to push yourself up, you feel a faint movement. Your head turns ever so slowly.. feeling more alert than moments before.

‘’You’re still awake?’’ You notice his purple hair first, then you take in the whole of him. His eyes are captivating, warm and violet, holding a hint of amusement as he holds your gaze, he’s wearing a white blouse with all the buttons undone, abs on full display.

Noticing the weird, shocked expression on your face he reaches his hand to your cheek in a gentle caress, ‘’Hey, you okay cutie?’’ His eyebrows furrow slightly in concern, but all you can focus on is the touch of his hand, his fingertips. How real it feels. The warmth of his palm against your cheek. A dream has never felt so real. That’s what this is. A dream.

You slowly extend your hand, and trail it along his toned chest. Trailing ever so excruciatingly slow down his abs. A breathy groan escapes his mouth, and you feel the vibrations on your finger tips. His hand latches onto your wrist, pulling it up and to his face. ‘’Oh, is this what we’re doing now?’’ He states, his voice a mere, alluring whisper.

Your face heats up instantly, and your mouth opens, then closes, and opens once more. ‘’Are you doing an impression of a goldfish?’’ He smiles lazily, a small laugh resonating through the room. ‘’No! I…. uh.. Sorry.’’ You mumble, sheepishly shaking your hand out of his grip, ‘’This feels so real.’’ His head tilts, puzzled at your statement. Your eyes are unfocused, not present in the moment as you stare off into the distance and take in the new, but so familiar surroundings.

His touch is featherlight as he cups your chin, coaxing your gaze to meet his. ‘’Did you have a nightmare?’’ He guides your chin around, assessing it to see if there’s anything amiss. Any signs of something. You shake your head as a no, and he hums in response. ‘’You must be reeeaal tired, huh?’’ He pinches your cheek endearingly, and you give him a ‘what the fuck’ kind of expression in return.

‘’I don’t know about you but I value my beauty sleep, come on. Get comfy.’’ He’s already positioning you both back into a loving embrace, your head resting on his chest, rising and falling with every soft breath he takes. The tension from your body seems to dissipate with every tick of the clock, as you finally allow yourself to mould against him. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

He threads his hand through your hair, lingering with every pass. His touch is reverent, tenderly tracing each strand between his finger tips. ‘’Goodnight Rafayel.’’ The words slip from your mouth, feeling blessed to have experienced such a wonderful dream. A soft kiss is planted to your head then, ‘’Goodnight, my dear mermaid bride.’’

With that, you succumb to the comforting warmth of darkness, your mind quiet. Peaceful. Time passes by in an instant, and the sun eventually rises, the rays gently kissing your eyelids. You find yourself smiling as you wake, slowly blinking as your eyes open to adjust them to the morning light.

‘’Watcha’ smiling about?’’ Your head snaps to the smooth voice, eyes wide. There’s a still silence as you stare at him; your mouth agape. You gasp, and his body jumps momentarily at the sudden noise, ‘’Holy shit.’’

hey!! i hope you lil fishies enjoyed this silly read. sorry if it sounds a bit rushed too, but its a short ff after all. :) i wont be doing a part 2 for this, but i mean.. i might if people want it lol

have a nice day <3

[jolixtreesunn]

Little guppy 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

I just wanted to write something about Dad!Rafayel since i still can't get his Mistsea Lament card｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡

SUMMARY: A little short one shot about you and Rafayel's four year old daughter, Seraphina, who recently just transformed into her lemurian side.

Seraphina was only four when it happened— when she finally got her Lemurian tail.

It had been just an ordinary, sunny afternoon. You, Rafayel, and your daughter were enjoying a peaceful day on your private beach outside your home. A mat was neatly spread across the sand, a beach umbrella casting shade over you as you lounged in quiet relaxation. The sound of waves crashing mingled with the occasional seagull call and the soft babbling of your daughter’s voice.

Rafayel sat beside you, carefully applying sunscreen to Seraphina’s tiny arms while she munched on a half melted ice pop and pointed out everything she could see a crab walking from the shore, a seagull, and a cloud that “looks like Daddy’s face”

"Daddy, I wanna play mermaids!" she suddenly exclaimed, twisting toward him with her sunglasses slightly crooked and a wide, toothy grin — one that looked far too familiar for his heart to handle, that smile that was unmistakably yours.

Rafayel chuckled, his chest filled with warmth at her enthusiasm. "Of course, my little guppy," he replied, scooping her up in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Seraphina had always known she was part Lemurian, bedtime stories and random curious questions made sure of that, but you and Rafayel never knew if she’d inherit the ability to transform. After all, She was only half Lemurian.

Still, she believed.

As Rafayel walked towards the water with her, his legs shimmered and shimmered again, soon forming his tail. Seraphina squealed with joy and kicked her feet in the water, holding his hand tightly as he guided her gently through the shallow waves.

Minutes later, a voice rang out.

“Daddy, look! Pretty colors!”

She held up her little arm, where radiant scales had appeared, shimmering under the sunlight. Rafayel blinked, stunned. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath, then he smiled, eyes soft with disbelief and joy.

“Sweetheart,” he softly whispered, “you’re transforming…”

Back on the mat, you sat up, scanning the water. You couldn’t see them. But then, there they were, swimming back towards the shore.

Rafayel carried Seraphina on his back, her arms looped around his neck, a giggling lemurian child in the making. As soon as she saw you, her eyes lit up and her tiny arms reached forward.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she squealed, tail flicking in excitement, an actual shimmering tail now flopped from Rafayel’s arms, radient and stubby, not yet fully grown, but definitely there.

You stood, heart pounding. “Is that— Rafayel?!”

“She did it,” Rafayel said, in a voice that trembled with joy and disbelief. “She’s got her tail.” he said as he softly kissed Seraphina's forehead.

You reached out instinctively and scooped Seraphina into your arms, her little body cool from the water, her new tail dripping and glistening in the sun. She giggled and snuggled into you, unaware of just how huge this moment was.

Except, she didn’t turn back.

An hour passed. Then two.

Eventually, you found yourselves dragging her little inflatable pool across the living room so she could stay close. She didn’t mind. In fact, she was loving it, lounging like a little sea princess, wrapped in towels and smothered in kisses and attention. Rafayel even fashioned a tiny crown from seashells, which she proudly wore like royalty.

“Being a lemurian is the best!” she happily said, splashing the water lightly. “I don’t want legs ever again!”

That tune changed by day three.

She was sitting in the inflatable kiddie pool in your living room, arms crossed, frowning. “I can’t even walk to the kitchen,” she grumbled. “I want to go get my own snacks like a big girl!”

Rafayel chuckled and gently took her hand, coaxing her into focusing. “Alright, little guppy. Let’s try again. Just think about your legs.. picture how they felt, remember the way they moved…”

She tried. Really hard and focused, she did. But after a few failed attempts and a puff of bubbles, little farts coming out instead of transforming back, frustration bubbled over her.

“This is so dumb!” she huffed, kicking her tail dramatically. “Why won’t it work!!” she said as she kept kicking her tail dramatically, clearly inheriting that behavior from her father.

Seeing her on the verge of tears, you exchanged a knowing glance with Rafayel, who gave a sigh of defeat. “Time to call in the 'expert',” he murmured, already pulling out his phone.

Within the hour, Aunty Talia arrived, walking into your living room like she owned the place, looking equal parts amused and ready to help.

“Well, well. Little guppy got herself stuck, huh?” she teased gently, kneeling by the small inflatable kiddie pool.

Seraphina sniffled and nodded.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Aunty Talia said warmly, brushing a wet curl from her face. “We all get stuck sometimes. But lucky for you, I’ve taught bigger Lemurians than your daddy how to shift. Let’s do this together, okay?”

And just like that, training began.

But even as your daughter pouted and tried again, you knew she’d figure it out eventually. She had your determination, Rafayel’s power, and the heart of the ocean in her chest.

And maybe… a little too much fun being pampered like a princess for now.

[jolixtreesunn]

obsessed - k! bakugo

2. hire someone to 'leak' crude pictures of the two of you on holiday

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

warnings – fluffy and suggestive, bakugo death mention but only briefly.

prev - masterlist - next

katsuki wasn't stupid. he knew what your plan was, and honestly? he didn't give two fucks. you were bound to reach your breaking point one day.

he actually loves this side of you. you matched his inner freak on some level. of course, he was still crowned as the 'bitch' in your relationship, given his infuriating attitude.

you, however, were overjoyed. everything fell into place.

phase one? complete. phase two? already in motion.

you and katsuki had travelled to the Bahamas for the week. it was a little getaway for the two of you since he's always busy fighting.

the first two days were spent wrapped in the sheets. the warm air creating a sexy atmosphere that kept the male going. something about fucking in the heat, getting all sweaty, and using his quirk in the midst of the act got him heated.

not that you were complaining though; you were blessed with the most amazing orgasms of your life.

anyway, today, the two of you decided it was the perfect time to head to the beach... with some secret company.

was it a bit desperate to call the paparazzi, getting them to leak pictures of you and your fiance? possibly.

was it going to make that bitch burn? absolutely.

"are you finally ready, babe?" his gruff voice called out to you.

letting out a breathy chuckle, you hooked the last earring on before facing him. "yep," you said, popping the p, "how do i look baby?" you did a little twirl, letting your frilly, leopard tankini flay around you.

smirking, katsuki placed two hands on your hips, biting his lip at the sight. "you always look amazing, sweets. but this? this makes me want to cancel our plans and keep you inside." he said, nuzzling his nose into your neck.

"well, sucks for you, katsu, because whether you like it or no, we're going out there. you can channel all of your inner fuckboy when we're on the beach." you teased, placing two hands on his chest, pushing back.

katsuki was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt with a pair of khaki shorts. his muscles were on display, including the couple of scratch marks you had left on his chest from this morning.

you placed a kiss on his lips, slow and sensual, subtly biting his lower lip as a warning. "worry less about fucking me and more about how you're going to act all lovey for the 'hidden' cameras."

"yes ma'am," he chuckled. boy did he love the new you.

walking towards your purse, you grabbed the keys, throwing them at him before heading to the door. "grab the speaker; i'm making my way to the car."

the car ride was decent. old 2010s music blasted through the window, as your hair flowed behind you, occasionally stopping to kiss katsuki during the red lights.

you were truly living life.

the moment you reached the beach, the feeling of the dry, hot sand beneath your feet had you relaxing. finally feeling like you could breathe. katsuki was quick behind you, tugging off his unbuttoned shirt and throwing it into a pile of your clothes.

"come here; let's get some sunscreen on you before you look like a tomato," he joked. you scoffed, touching his chest before turning around.

his hands slid up your body, slowly massaging the skin tenderly. your eyes snapped shut, leaning back onto his body as he began. "feels so good, kat. maybe i should make you my personal masseur." you giggled.

"yeah right, like i already don't do all 'at." he groaned teasingly.

as he continued to rub the cream all over your body, you locked eyes with the photographer hidden in the bush. a smirk crawled onto your face as you quickly turned around and faced katsuki.

"have i ever told you how hot you are, baby?" you questioned, eyes half-lidded as you looked at him with the most innocent eyes.

"hmm, no i don't think so." he raised an eyebrow in false confusion. "why? is there something you need to tell me?" his eyes trailed over your body, large hands moving from your hips to your ass.

"nope!" you laughed, running away from the boy and into the water.

"you tease!" he yelled, moving fast to reach your now wet body.

the moment he caught up with you, you were pulled flush against his body as he brought you into a searing kiss. every kiss you shared with katsuki felt magical. he made you feel something. made you mean something.

he was all you could ever ask for, the man of your dreams. you spent your childhood following him around. watching him bully izuku, win the sports festival, and even watching him die. but, during those times, your love for him was simply platonic.

it wasn't until you both bumped into each other while he was on patrol that everything changed. a few months after his breakup with amira, he had contacted you, asking you out on a dinner date. at first, the two of you thought it wasn't anything serious until you shared your first kiss together under the night sky as snow painted the pavement.

breaking away from the kiss, you smiled softly at the man. "i love you." the three words were muttered so softly he could barely hear them.

"i love you too, pretty." he smiled, leaning down and pressing kisses to your neck. tongue poking out to trace the purple marks he left the night prior.

a moan left your lips at the sensation, smiling softly as your hands dragged into your hair. the slight flash of a camera caught your eyes as you nudged katsuki with your knee. he seemed to understand the cue as he effortlessly picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

the moment became intense with mouthwatering kisses and bites being marked all over your body. it clearly gave the photographer what he needed.

"you might be as mean as i am kats. you must really hate her to be doing all this for me."

"i hate everyone. you're just lucky."

the moment you got home, the internet was going wild.

the pictures were up and everyone was going crazy. fans were trending #DYNAMIGHTBACKMUSCLES, #DYNAY/NFUCKING??? and IN PUBLIC IS CRAZY all over twitter. they analysed the way he held you, how he kissed you and, most importantly, the marks on his back and your neck. their most favourite picture was the one where the reddish handprint on your ass was noticeable.

however, the best reaction was from amira. immediately after the pictures were posted, she turned to Instagram, posting a photo dump. the said dump included photos of food, half-empty wineglasses, beach pictures from last year and an old picture of her hand in katsuki's.

the public were immediately quick to notice the types of pictures and who she posted. some sympathised with her, while others called her out on her shitty behaviour. and maybe others included you because you didn't hesitate to post a tweet.

one that read: "he said thank you for the character development. we’ll send flowers."

yeah, you definitely broke the internet.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

@httpskyuko @dahliadaenerys @cherrii-11 @trishiepo0 @shewki @violetraccoon-4 @2elusional @jealousmartini @hhyukasworld @d4rlinxs @stinkinstuffle @peachesvault @onlyisaa @milky2-0 @rickydickydoodahgrimes73 @sirenitym @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @ita606 @k0z3me @d4nyjlk @chuflisworld @attackonnat @rapz-rites @qyuin @sweetlyvibe @teeesthings @alligator-person @disaster-rose @haechansbbg @119jan @minhyrin @isaidoop @mp3nai @amikkoyuzuki @imagine-all-the-imagines @anni3lop101 @kodzubaby @54fangirl @scagliedicuores-blog @wannabewolf @proburfaveblonde @lilithdarkfire @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @lilacs15 @getting-the-pizza @amajikisbabygirl @cielito—lindo @channnee @zuwizy @buckysdoll1940 @chia369 @ssstingryyyyyyy @daughterofaphrodite @skrtskrt1 @bkghq @js-favnanadoongi @smalls-19 @nemisimp @fiselle @rayannasworld @katsukilvr @plusamina10 @ranha1tanislvr @qardasngan @k0orom1 @eclipse-0303 @pearlydays

[jolixtreesunn]

Between Worlds, Between Us - Mark Grayson x Batsis!reader

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Batsis!Reader + Batfam x Batsis!Reader

Summary: After an engineering failure on behalf of Cecil, he crash-landed into Gotham, the city of crime, corruption and a cauldron of Bat(themed-vigilantes)s, the most intriguing of them all being you. You patched him up, insulted his flying, and disappeared.

Neither of you expected to flirt mid-fight, or work well together, or think about it afterward. No names. No identities. Just quick banter, bruised knuckles, and the kind of tension that makes your brothers suspicious.

He thinks you’re mysterious. You think he’s kind of hot when he’s not crashing into buildings. You both think it’s definitely a one-time thing.

Spoiler: it’s not.

He might be Invincible. But you’re inevitable.

Content warnings: Swearing, teasing, violence, mentions of blood A/N: I love Invincible guys

The night was wet and thick with neon haze—exactly the kind of night Gotham liked to dress up in. Rooftops slick. Sirens bouncing off alleyways. Somewhere, someone screamed, which was pretty standard at this point.

You crouched at the edge of the parking garage roof, boots planted steady, watching the idiot in the sky.

He wasn’t a Gotham name. Not one of yours.

Bright blue. Golden-yellow. Hair whipping in the wind as if he thought it looked cool.

He hovered awkwardly over the warehouse below, scanning too slowly, too openly. You could see the hesitation in his posture. like he wasn’t used to the air here. Like he’d just realised Gotham didn’t have air. Just smoke, gunpowder, and judgement.

You pressed a finger to your comm.

“Oracle, Gotham's got a flier, clad in blue and yellow. New guy.”

“Confirmed. Invincible. Cross-dimensional. Vouched by Cecil Stedman of the GDA. Try not to hurt him.”

“No promises.”

You cut the comm and rose silently.

Let’s see how “Invincible” he really is.

You dropped behind him with the grace of a threat. The quiet sound of your boots on concrete made him spin in the air, startled.

His eyes landed on you, dark armour, blank expression, the bat crest clear and quiet across your chest. You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re—uh—one of them.”

You tilted your head. “One of?”

“The Bat people. The... scowl-and-vanish crew.” He chuckled sheepishly, hand on the back of his neck, an adorable gesture.

You blinked. Then smirked. Just barely.

“And you’re the one wrecking Gotham’s skyline like it’s a tourist attraction.” You said, sass laced in your sultry tone.

“Guilty,” he said, holding up both hands. “In my defence, I only knocked over, like, one smokestack. And that building was already leaning.”

“And the gang you chased into it?”

“Still conscious. Mostly.”

You paced slowly toward the ledge, watching the warehouse below. He floated closer to hover beside you, arms folded, you took a note of how his suit clung to his frame, the yellow fore-arm guards highlighting the contours of the muscle. (Sorry guys I think I like men with massive arms it's just really hot imo , comment if you agree)

“You’ve got a name?” you asked, not looking at him.

“Invincible.” He spoke, sounding very vincible whilst saying it, like his name was a foreign concept.

You glanced sideways.

“That’s a bold thing to name yourself.”

“Yeah,” he said, suddenly conscious. “Bit much. Wasn’t my idea.”

You hummed.

“And you are?” he asked, almost teasing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“...Yeah,” he said, and that grin flickered across his mouth again. “I would.”

You looked at him properly this time. Up close, he wasn’t what you expected. Not just the usual flyboy muscles and cocky attitude. There was something thoughtful in the way he held himself, almost like he was still getting used to his own strength. Like he’d been hit more than once and still hadn’t decided if he liked it.

He was… kinda cute.

Unfortunately.

You dropped off the roof without another word. He followed.

You fought together for ten minutes in a graffiti-abused hallway. He took a hit for you. You knocked someone out before he could thank you. You both leaned against opposite walls, breathing hard, grinning through the blood.

“Nice moves,” he said.

“You’re not bad for a flying hammer.”

“So…. can I get your number?”

You looked him up and down. Still catching your breath. Still smiling, but not saying why.

“Ask me again after you learn to land without blowing out someone’s windows.”

“That’s gonna take a while.”

“Then we’ve got time.”

You threw a smoke pellet and vanished. Classic.

Mark coughed. He was still smiling when the smoke cleared.

Back at the Batcave

Jason was the first to bring it up.

“She’s smiling again. That’s suspicious.”

Tim looked up from his screen. “She always smiles after punching someone.”

“No,” said Dick, arms folded. “This is different. This is... rooftop flirtation energy. Bat-and-Cat style.”

They all turned when you walked in, still peeling off your gloves, damp from the rain, bruise blooming beneath your jaw.

“You meet the alien?” Dick asked.

“Maybe.”

“You like him?” He pried, tone curious and inquisitive.

“Don’t be weird Dickhead” You shot back.

Jason leaned closer, squinting. “You’re humming.”

“No, I’m not.” You responded, smiling behind your words.

“You only hum when you like someone or you’ve just committed a felony.”

“...Maybe I did both.” You shot your famous million-dollar smile/

They all groaned.

You walked past them with a smirk.

In another world, Mark Grayson lay in bed that night, staring at his ceiling.

“I have no idea who she is,” he told Rex over the phone. “But I think she’s the most interesting person I’ve ever met.”

"Ugh, Mark you cheesy nerd." Rex chided, secretly happy his close friend had prospects of finding huzz.

He didn’t know your name.

But he’d remember your smile.

And the way it felt to orbit your gravity.

And he realised...

He realised he actually liked it.

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Sources! -

Dividers - @omi-resources

Icon Header - @parkons

Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty

[jolixtreesunn]

CHAPTER TEN: A Week of Normal

”You will be different, sometimes you’ll feel like an outcast, but you’ll never be alone”

Mark Grayson X Kryptonian/Clark Kent! Reader

Prologue|Chapter Nine|Chapter Ten (Here)| Chapter Eleven

w/c: 4.8k

a/n: the buildup of calm before the storm. but hey, Murphy’s Law needs to show up sometime

“Mark.”

“Mm.”

“Mark.”

“Mhm?”

“I need my arm. I need to type.”

You and Mark were in your apartment, sprawled on the couch. Jimmy had left to grab lunch with Lois, both of them shooting you catty, knowing grins on the way out. You’d decided to stay behind, determined to get some actual work done.

Which would’ve been easier if Mark weren’t half on top of you, one arm wrapped around your waist and pinning your dominant arm to your side like he was trying to merge into your ribcage.

“The four of us agreed to get work done,” you reminded him, craning your neck to glare at the crown of his head.

“We are getting work done,” he mumbled, flipping another page in the book he'd been slowly parsing through for the past hour. “You’re thinking about writing. That counts.”

“No it doesn’t. I need my hand.”

“No you don’t. Just type with one.” He smirked and tightened his grip slightly. “You’re Superwoman. You can type fast enough with one.”

You gave an exasperated sigh, then wriggled your arm free despite his indignant whine. He shifted to lay more across your torso instead, clearly sulking, but still made no move to leave the couch.

“What’re you writing about?” he asked after a beat, finally looking up at you. His lashes were thick and his eyes soft. Not quite puppy dog eyes, more like a concerned hamster or a sad hedgehog.

You tried to keep your face neutral. It only half worked.

“Political corruption,” you said as you returned your fingers to the keys. “Lois is covering those Frankenstein rumors.”

“Frankenstein?” He blinked. “Like the monster?”

“I guess?” You shrugged, still half confused by Lois’s explanation. “Apparently there are families not getting the remains of soldiers back. Just nothing. It’s only started happening recently. People are saying the government’s been collecting them. Experimenting.”

Mark frowned, setting the book down on your knees and sitting up straighter. “That sounds really messed up. You think it’s real?”

“I don’t know. Lois thinks there’s something there. She’s deep-diving into it. She’s already three FOIA requests in and managed to get a source to call her back.”

“That’s basically confirmation,” he muttered.

“Not exactly,” you said, clicking a few tabs closed. “But it’s smoke. Where there’s smoke—”

“—There’s a conspiracy,” he finished with a small smile.

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Pretty much.”

He tilted his head, leaning against the couch cushion to get a better look at your screen. “And what about your piece?”

“Local rot,” you said. “Fake charities funneling campaign money. Politicians pocketing money from state construction companies. Big-city grime that never gets a 

spotlight. But if I put one on it...”

“Someone’ll care.”

You nodded. “Hopefully.”

Mark nodded along, then glanced down at his book, one of his dad’s ‘sci-fi’ books. He’d been trying to make sense of them lately. Every few pages, he looked more and more conflicted.

“I keep reading these and trying to figure out what’s real,” he said. “He makes himself look like a hero, but sometimes there’s these slips.”

You paused your typing. “What kind of slips?”

He flipped to a dog-eared page and held it up. “This one, he talks about grieving a comrade. But he doesn’t describe them, not as a person. Just their usefulness.”

You stared at the page, then back at him. “He didn’t think of people as people.”

“Not even other Viltrumites, sometimes…” Mark said.

The room went quiet for a long moment. You closed your laptop slightly, giving him more of your attention.

Mark leaned back into you again. His head found its way to your shoulder, and you let it rest there, your hand brushing lightly through his hair.

“You know,” he murmured, “I hope they weren’t like yours.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your people. The planet. I hope they weren’t like my dad’s.”

You were quiet for a second, then smiled a little for him. “It’s gone. Whatever it was, whoever they were… they don’t define me.”

“Still. I hope they were better.”

You nudged his temple gently with your own.

Mark’s shoulders relaxed against you, and for a while, the only sound was the soft ticking of your apartment clock and the hum of traffic far below.

“…Still think you need a mask when you’re out, though,” he added suddenly.

You snorted.

“Lenses for the wind,” he offered, voice teasing.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Never,” he said with a grin, tilting his head up to look at you again. “I’m going to win this one, eventually.”

You hummed noncommittally and leaned over to press your forehead, then your lips against the top of his head.

Mark jolted then froze like a man struck by a lightning, just for a second, before he visibly melted into you.

You didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the afternoon. Even when Jimmy and Lois burst through the door with armfuls of takeout.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Tag!”

Oliver chimed as he slapped Mark square on the back and took off running again. Mark groaned dramatically, slowing to a stop and watching his little brother dart across the yard like a greased-up lightning bolt.

“You’re bad at this!” Oliver yelled over his shoulder, clearly delighted with himself.

You stood by the back door, two plastic water bottles in hand. The afternoon sun was high and bright, the kind of sticky summer heat that clung to everything and made even the grass feel like it was sweating.

Miss Debbie was out, Mark hadn’t said much about it, just that she had errands and he was on Oliver duty. He’d asked if you’d come help, claiming he needed “extra hands,” but judging by the way he kept smiling whenever you handed him something or sat close, you were pretty sure this was less about supervision and more about spending time with you.

Not that you were complaining.

Currently, they were on round fifty-seven of a game that was somewhere between tag and capture the flag but involved absolutely no flags and wildly inconsistent rules. You weren’t sure how it was scored. If it even could be scored.

You could see Mark slowing down, not from lack of enthusiasm, but from sheer heat. He looked about one more lap around the yard away from face-planting into the lawn.

“Isn’t there a game where I can just lay down on the floor?” he groaned as he jogged over to you and reaching for the water bottle you held out.

“Mark Grayson, ladies and gentlemen,” you teased, “Protector of Earth, defeated by a seven-year-old.”

Mark uncapped the bottle, but before drinking he pressed it to his forehead with a relieved sigh, as if this plastic cylinder of lukewarm water had saved his life. You handed the second bottle to Oliver, who barely took a sip before shouting like he’d had an epiphany, “Hospital!”

Mark blinked at you like you might have the answer. You just shrugged and echoed cheerfully, “Hospital, Mark.”

“Okay, I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like a trap,” he muttered.

Oliver was already rushing away, motioning dramatically. “You have to come with me! You’re hurt, you broke your leg!”

“I—what?” Mark blinked down at him. “When?”

“Ten seconds ago! When I tagged you!” Oliver gestured wildly to the grass, where a stick now lay, apparently marking the site of the imaginary injury. “You fell and then you broke your leg and now you need surgery!”

“I didn’t fall, you didn’t make me fall!”

“That’s not my job!” Oliver insisted. “I’m the doctor, not gravity!”

You snorted into your bottle, and Mark sent you a flat look over his shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” you said, “go get fixed, mister.”

“I don’t know why I brought with you,” he mumbled as Oliver grabbed his hand and started tugging him toward the plastic patio chairs, one of which had now been converted into an imaginary hospital bed.

“Because you like me,” you called sweetly.

“Unfortunately.”

You grinned and sat down in the grass, watching Oliver poke and prod at Mark’s leg with a plastic ruler he’d ran inside and pulled from his school supplies, as well as an armful of other ‘supplies’.

“This might hurt a lot,” Oliver warned seriously.

Mark visibly braced himself, as if he was expecting Oliver to just start hitting him with the ruler. “Awesome.”

“Wait,” Oliver said, squinting at the ‘injury’. “There’s a bug in there.”

“A bug?” Mark echoed.

“Yeah. It’s why your leg broke.”

You bit your lip to stop from laughing.

“Oh, okay, so now I’ve got bug bones,” Mark muttered.

“I’m afraid it’s common for heroes with goggles.” You piped in, unhelpfully. “Bugs get confused and think you’re one of their own.”

Oliver gave him a proud pat on the knee. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix your leg.”

He proceeded to slap a random assortment of cartoon Band-Aids onto Mark’s pants, then held up a juice box like a serum.

“Drink this. It’s my special formula.”

Mark took the juice box with solemn acceptance. “I’m healed.”

“Good.” Oliver turned toward you. “He has to rest for six hours.”

“Oh no,” you said, pretending to be shocked. “He’ll have to stay inside in the AC and eat snacks.”

“The horror,” Mark added flatly.

Oliver turned back to him. “But you still have to play again later. Because I’m winning.”

“I don’t even know how you score this game!” Mark cried, waving his hands in frustration.

Oliver pointed a finger squarely at his own chest. “I make the rules. Big brothers can’t win.”

You burst into laughter.

As Mark groaned and sunk back into the lawn chair, you stood and walked over, brushing your fingers through his hair as you leaned down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. He looked up at you, and even through his mock suffering, you could see the spark in his eyes.

“Alright, inside you two, I’ll even turn some juice boxes into icicles to cool off.” You offered as you stood straight and walked inside.

Oliver yelling as he sprints after you, “Icicles!”

Mark simply let out a tired huff of laughter as he pushes off the deck chair and follows the two of you back inside.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Thanks for coming,” you said, slinging your arm out. The disk of metal scrap went soaring across the open field like a shot, and not even a second later, a white blur launched after it, your new dog tearing through the air like a comet. “It means a lot to us.”

“Of course,” Mark replied, standing comfortably at your side. He chuckled as Krypto skidded to a halt, proudly returning with the flattened piece of scrap hanging from his jaws. “You’ve had dinner with me and Mom tons of times. It’s about time I met yours.”

“I know,” you said, brushing your hair back as Krypto dropped the disk and immediately sat down, tail wagging. “But we both lived in the city. Smallville’s a good bit away. So, thanks.”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at you with that half-lidded fondness that made your stomach flip. Then he turned and whipped the disk back into the sky. Krypto yipped and bolted after it again, leaping over a fence post eagerly.

“You nervous?” he asked gently, his eyes still on the dog but his voice focused entirely on you.

You took a breath. “A little. I mean, they’ve met you before. Just not like this.”

“Like my shirt’s tucked in?”

You snorted. “No, like— like my boyfriend.”

Mark blinked once, then turned fully toward you, a smile breaking across his face. “I mean, I’ve been calling you my girlfriend for a while now.”

“I know.” You nudged his shoulder. “But it’s still different when it’s Pa asking you questions about your intentions while busting out his old shotgun.”

Mark paled slightly. “Wait. He’s not actually going to—“

“No, God no,” you laughed, “but you believed me for a second.”

“I did. I really did.”

Before you could keep teasing him, the sound of screen door hinges creaked behind you.

“Dinner’s ready!” your Ma called from 

the porch, waving a towel in one hand.

Krypto was already sprinting back with the disk when she spotted him. And she smiled and waved at him too. Ma and Pa had been taking care of him since Jimmy told you that the apartment was not pet-friendly, much to your despair.

“He’s housebroken, right?” You asked lightly.

“We’re still figuring that part out,” She admitted.

Mark leaned in. “That’s a no.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, trying not to laugh as you followed Krypto and Mark back up to the porch.

Inside, the house smelled like warm bread, roasted vegetables, and something sweet baking in the oven. You’d never realized how deeply comforting the scent of home could be until you’d been away long enough to miss it. It wrapped around you like a blanket the second you stepped in.

Your Pa was setting plates down on the table when you entered. He looked up, nodded once at Mark.

“Evenin’,” he said simply, but you could hear the difference in how he normally greeting Mark. This one was harsher in a way.

“Thanks for having me,” Mark said, standing straighter.

“Thanks for giving us a heads up so we make enough food this time,” Pa replied without missing a beat. Then he cracked a small grin.

Mark flushed. You nearly choked on your own laugh.

“Pa,” you muttered.

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Dinner was lively. Krypto sat obediently near the kitchen door, occasionally thumping his tail on the floor when food was passed around. Mark, bless him, did his best to eat slow and act like he hadn’t been struggling to even stay in college. Your Ma asked him about school, what he had planned to do. Pa asked about your work.

The normalcy of it all made your chest ache.

At one point, you looked up and found your mother watching you. Her eyes softened when you met them.

You smiled shyly and took another bite of cornbread.

After dinner, while Ma packed up leftovers and Pa headed out to check the well pump, you and Mark stepped out to the porch again. The sun was dipping low, the sky turning the same soft pink and gold you remembered from childhood.

Krypto was curled near the porch swing, belly exposed to the cooling air, twitching slightly in his sleep like he was chasing something in a dream.

Mark leaned against the railing, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“They love you,” you said after a beat, your voice soft.

“You think so?”

“I know so. Ma gave you second helpings without even asking, and Pa didn’t re-interrogate you.”

“He did ask if I knew how to fix a tractor.”

You shrugged. “That’s practically a welcome into the family. Next time you come over he’ll let you help him with the fencing.”

Mark smiled faintly, his eyes scanning the horizon. “I can see why you are the way you are. Not just your folks. It’s quiet out here. It’s nice.”

You leaned into his side, your arms brushing, the wood creaking under your combined weight. “It was a good place to grow up. It still is.”

He was quiet for a moment. The cicadas buzzed lazily in the distance, and the last bit of sunlight painted everything gold. Krypto huffed again and rolled over, tail flicking.

“You miss it?” Mark asked finally.

You didn’t answer at first. The question settled somewhere heavy in your chest.

“All the time,” you admitted. “I miss Smallville, the farm, my parents… The city just doesn’t have what we have here. The air smells different. You can see the stars and the horizon. People wave when they drive by.”

Mark reached out and took your hand, gently threading his fingers through yours.

“Really?” he asked, tone soft, but incredibly teasing.

You glanced down at your hands before smiling up at him. “That, and the city couldn’t put together a good fairground even if they tried. Funnel cake, rigged games, pie-eating contests, a barely put together ferris wheel, they don’t get it.”

“Well,” he said, raising a brow, “you’ll just need to take me to the next one, won’t you?”

“You bet I’m taking you. The city has nothing on a Smallville fair weekend. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the lights of them at night.”

Mark let out a low, amused laugh and shook his head. He pushed off the railing, stretching slightly as he started down the porch steps. “You ready to head out?”

You hesitated, rubbing the back of your neck with a sheepish smile. “Actually… I’m staying the night. My folks still get worried if I’m flying after dark. Some habits die hard.”

Mark turned halfway back toward you, a slow grin spreading across his face. His eyes sparkled with something that gave you butterflies, and also made you want to flick him right in the forehead.

“So,” he said, dragging out the syllable, “if I wanted to stay the night too…”

You crossed your arms, giving him a flat look. “You’d be on the couch. Or in the barn.”

“Barn, huh?” He tapped his chin like he was weighing the options. “Hayloft’s not bad. Pretty private. Romantic.”

You snorted. “I promise you, it’s not.”

“It could be. If you’re there,” he said smoothly, stepping back onto the porch and wrapping an arm around your waist.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m charming.”

“You’re trying to be charming.”

“Is it working?” He winked.

You opened your mouth to argue but he leaned in, brushing his lips just barely against your temple. The softest touch. Not quite a kiss, but enough to stall your breath and freeze the words on your tongue.

Suddenly, every sense went haywire. You could feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft rustle of cornfields beyond the fence line and, unfortunately, your super hearing decided to kick in just in time to register your parents’ conversation inside the house. Something about dessert. Your mom’s asking if there’s still whipped cream in the fridge.

Not exactly the best romantic ambiance.

You exhaled against his shoulder, forehead resting there as you smiled despite yourself. “Maybe not here. Not with my parents twenty-five feet away.”

Mark’s breath caught just slightly, then he gave a quiet laugh, warm against your hair. “Got it. No seduction in radius of parents.”

“You say that like you’re disappointed.”

“Oh, I’m very disappointed,” he admitted easily, eyes sparkling. “But I get it. See how healthy and well-adjusted I am?”

You leaned back enough to look at him fully, your hands sliding down to rest at his hips.

“Come on,” you said, looping your fingers through his belt loops and tugging him gently back toward the porch door. “You’ve earned some pie before you leave for the night.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Okay, give me the sheet,” Mark said, holding out his hand expectantly.

You groaned and flopped dramatically over the back of the couch, but still handed it over. “You’re not even subtle about enjoying this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, cheerfully ignoring the noise you made as he took the cheat sheet. “I’m just being a supportive boyfriend. Helping you study. Being helpful.”

You shot him a glare as he turned slightly, hunched over the notebook like a goblin crafting riddles. Which, to be fair, he kind of was. Just a goblin with excellent bone structure. And muscles. And way too soft looking hair.

You’d always been good at languages when they were living, breathing things, things you could hear, mimic, practice in class or on the street. But this wasn’t like that. It wasn’t Latin, it wasn’t French. It wasn’t even fucking Klingon.

It was dead. And not just dead, completely extinct.

The alphabet was beautiful and maddening, full of glyphs and curves that your brain still tried to match to Earth sounds, even though it wasn’t made for someone who was raised on the Latin alphabet. And without anyone who actually spoke it, or knew the cadence, or pronunciation, or even grammar rules, you were working with a cipher and a prayer.

So you’d been going slow. Memorizing letters. Trying to figure out context. And having Mark write random, simple sentences for you to translate to keep your brain flexible.

But this one?

You stared at the paper, squinting like maybe that would help. “Mark, what is that?”

“Hmm?”

You pointed at the sentence. “Mark. This is anything but simple. What am I reading?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said innocently, holding the notebook just out of reach. “Just gotta read it out loud. Maybe it’ll make more sense that way.”

You gave him a flat look. “Mark.”

He wiggled the notebook encouragingly. “Go on. Out loud. You got it.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine.”

You sounded it out carefully. Translating the alphabet to English then speaking it aloud. It took effort, but you managed to string the sentence together from the strange alphabet.

And then you blinked.

“…Did you seriously write ‘Your boyfriend is incredibly handsome and you should kiss him immediately’ in my dead language?”

Mark grinned over the top of the notebook, smug and pleased with himself. “Took me like fifteen minutes to figure out how to spell that in your alphabet.”

You threw a pillow at him.

He caught it one-handed, still smug. “Didn’t say no, though.”

“I said this was a study session.”

“Hey, emotional support is part of the learning process,” he said, scooting closer on the couch. “What if I’m the reward system? You get through a whole page of translations, you get a kiss.”

“Mark,” you groaned, trying and failing to push his face away. He was entirely too close and entirely too pleased with himself.

“I’m just trying to make this educational,” he whispered.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling.”

You huffed, but your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. Because, of course, he was right. He usually was when it came to reading you.

You settled back onto the couch with your notes, and he shifted to sit beside you instead of hovering. One leg tucked under him, the other stretched out, knee brushing against yours.

“Alright,” you muttered, flipping to the next practice page. “But no more complicated sentences, please?”

“No promises.”

You side-eyed him, and he held up a hand in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Only mildly interesting ones.”

“Mark.”

“Educationally suggestive.”

“You’re gonna get smacked.”

“Worth it.”

You ended up getting through two more pages of translation before your head started to ache. The characters swam slightly on the page and your brain refused to connect any more dots, especially as you hit another cluster of runes that seemed like they should mean ‘apple’ but instead translated to ‘water’.

“Okay,” you exhaled, rubbing your eyes, “that’s enough. I can feel my frontal lobe melting.”

Mark closed the notebook for you and tugged it out of your hands, placing it gently on the coffee table. “Then I’m invoking boyfriend privileges.”

You raised a brow. “Which are?”

“This.” He pulled you gently into his side, arm snug around your shoulders as you curled into him without complaint.

The apartment was quiet for a long moment. The hum of the AC. The low rumble of city life outside. The sound of your breathing slowly matching his.

“…Thank you,” you said softly, eyes still closed.

Mark tilted his head slightly. “For what?”

“For making the impossible feel possible.”

He smiled. Kissed the top of your head.

“I told you,” he murmured. “I’m very helpful.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You took a deep breath in.

Then out.

The breath fogged in front of your face, curling in the cold air like smoke. You didn't bother to shiver. You weren’t too used to this place yet, and honestly, you weren’t even sure if you could feel the cold.

The Fortress was still and quiet, eerily so, despite the crystals humming faintly around you. A chorus of resonance that never quite settled into silence.

You stood alone in the center of the chamber, surrounded by glowing pillars of alien architecture. The crystals from Krypto’s pod, your own, and the translation crystal were all in their places. The light was dim but shifting, casting long reflections on the crystal floor like ripples on water.

It had been a week.

A week of going to work. Of patrols. Of dinners with Jimmy, of coffee and lunches with Mark, a weekend of flying Krypto over farmland in the early hours before the rest of world stirred. You’d clung to that like a security blanket.

But now? Now you were ready to face it.

To face him.

You crossed the threshold into the central chamber and activated the recording again.

The crystal glowed, brighter this time, as if it recognized you more completely. It flickered to life with a low hum and a beam of light, then he appeared.

The man who looked a little too much like you.

Your biological father.

He began speaking in Kryptonian, and the translation crystal hanging at your neck pulsed, syncing with the language. Words scrolled at the edge of your vision, projected through a soft blue light that hovered just above your gaze.

“To my daughter, Kala-El—”

Your breath caught again, but you didn’t interrupt the message. You don’t think you could speak to it, if you tried. Not with the thick lump in your throat.

“If you are seeing this, then I am gone. Krypton is gone. Our home, our people… everything we knew.”

The message continued. His voice was even, measured. A scientist through and through. He explained what had happened: the environmental collapse, the many warnings unheeded by Krypton’s leadership, the urgency of saving what could be saved.

You listened. You watched. You read.

“We had no choice but to send you away. There was no time. The calculations showed a slim but possible chance of survival in an inhabitable galaxy many systems away. We built the vessel for you. We hoped it would be enough.”

He paused, his projection, at least. The image flickered like it was buffering pain, or maybe something heavier that couldn’t be fully translated.

“Your mother and I... we stayed behind. Someone had to make sure the launch succeeded. Someone had to give you a future.”

Your fingers curled tightly into your sleeves.

“Kala, if you are anything like your mother… you will be strong. Not just in body, but in heart. She is the bravest person I ever knew.”

There was a long pause. The hologram looked away, briefly, toward some unseen horizon. A flicker of emotion passed across his face, not rehearsed, not programmed. It was the first moment he didn’t seem like a memory.

He seemed like your father.

“You may feel alone, but you are not. Not only physically, as we’ve been sure to send escape ships ahead of yours in preparation and for your protection. Krypto has always been protective of you. But, Kala, you are our legacy. Our hope. You carry the strength of our world in your bones, and the kindness of our house in your heart.”

You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. You hadn’t realized the tears had come.

The hologram raised its hand, and with it, a floating crystal detached from the surrounding wall. It hovered toward you slowly, its facets glinting like a star in motion. You reached out, fingers brushing over it, and suddenly images flooded your vision.

Not words. Not captions.

Memories.

A woman smiling, dark-haired and fierce-eyed, your mother. The view from Krypton’s towers, golden cities sprawling into pale violet skies. The feel of hands holding you, small and safe. A lullaby in a language you slowly began to understand but felt strongly in your bones.

The crystal pulsed once and dimmed, returning to its dormant state. The image of your father began to fade too, his final words, in the language you suddenly understood, echoing in the stillness.

“You are more than Kryptonian. You are yours. Whatever path you choose, I hope it brings you peace, my daughter.”

Then silence.

You let it settle. Let the quiet become part of you. It wasn’t a clean resolution. It wasn’t closure in the way people always made it sound. But it was the truth.

It was history.

You sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, the crystal still cradled in your hands.

Kala-El.

The name sat heavy and strange on your tongue, like it didn’t quite belong to you yet.

But no matter how you felt about it, it was yours.

T A G L I S T:

@mightymeick , @dandelion-delusion

[jolixtreesunn]

𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠..𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

                                                       ��                 ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc/mc. caleb crashed into lake michigan! in chicago! in front of you! how are you supposed to handle an intergalactic space colonel with abs, manners, and absolutely no clue what walmart is? 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 –  reverse isekai (caleb comes to earth),romance,fluff,comedy, angst, nsfw topics/language, tba 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. lmk if u want to be tagged.

the humming of the farspace fleets deep tunnel grew louder inside his helmet. it was a low, almost soothing vibration that caleb had grown far too familiar with. another day, another shoddy mission. 

“tunnel stability at 98 percent” his earpiece whispers a calm and steady hum in his ear. 

calebs gloved fingers hovered above the holographic controls, eyes narrowed, every movement precise. the swirling lights of the tunnel outside the viewport pulsed in soft gradients of blue and violet like a spiraling galaxy. 

red.

a sudden spike flash across the console.

“warning: tunnel destabilization detected. energy surge inbound.”

calebs brow’s furrow, darting around commands into the console ai. as he does the tunnel outside began to shudder, colors fracturing into unnatural streaks. 

white lights crept into the edges of his visions like porcelain cracks. caleb’s breathing slowed, focused, “initiate emergency shu-”

a deafening pulse of energy surged through the cockpit, shaking the entire vessel. the white light consumed him. his system cracking into static. 

his lips find their way to his apple necklace.

silence.

it was supposed to be a normal afternoon. 

you’d brought your favorite lemonade, found your usual quiet spot by the lake, and pulled out your phone, ready to scroll through tiktok until your brain officially clocked out. the sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, this was nice. this was good. 

peaceful. chill.

honestly? you were thriving.

that is.. till something weird happened.

at first, it was just a strange hum. low but barely noticeable. you glanced around. Nobody seemed to notice. not that there were many people around. you were in a more secluded area of the lake.

the water in front of you rippled. your eyes snap towards the water observing it, already standing up to run.

and then- he appeared.

he just… emerged. like ariel on that rock. or whatever. oh, oh, like moto moto!

one second: empty lake. The next: a sexy man standing waist deep in the water as if reality had just uploaded him directly into lake michigan. 

you froze, blinking, your brain fully short circuiting.

the man was tall. broad. dressed in a military uniform that looked a bit too good on him, his eyes purple like amethyst.. soaked brown hair. his breathing was steady and controlled. he slowly lifted his head, scanning the area like a soldier assessing in a battlefield. and then his eyes landed on you.

you held your lemonade like it was a crucifix. the man tilted his head slightly, as if confused and curious. 

you did the only logical thing any person would do when confronted by a strange man materializing out of thin fucking air in broad daylight.

you whispered, “what the fuck?!”

(commercial break)

he took a slow step toward the shore, water streaming down the armored plates of his suit. you couldn’t move. your feet felt like they fused with the ground. 

you blink. this was not normal. this was odd and weird. you had eyeshot of the lake in front of you and you didn’t see a man walk within your peripherals in the past 15 minutes.

as you think, you fail to notice that he stood a few feet from you. his eyes scanned everything. the skyline. the parked cars. passing birds, you. his gaze was sharp and analytical, but you couldn’t help but catch the flicker of unease. 

for a moment neither of you spoke. then his voice, calm and low, “this isn’t… skyhaven..” 

you stared, “.... i don’t know what that is…” 

he inhaled a deep sigh, his jaw clenching slightly. his  eyes darted up to the sky, scanning. then around again. His hand reached up, unfastening something at his neck. he pulls off the jacket bearing unfamiliar insignia.  

he followed by tugging off his cap, running a hand through his damp hair. without the uniform he almost looked like any other ridiculously good looking chicago tourist who happened to have just crawled out of the lake in his dress blues?

 almost.

his eyes settled back on you. “you’re local,” he stated. not a question.

“y-yeah,” you said, still clutching your drink like a nervous squirrel, “uh. chicago.”

another pause. you watched as he took a small, subtle breath, adjusting his posture, as though trying to blend in. his military ‘tude slipped into something softer, calculated, but oddly polite.

“i need to speak with you. somewhere less exposed.”

you hesitated, your brain running full speed through every true crime documentary you’d ever watched. but there was something about him that didn’t scream danger. he seemed… lost. out of place.

and possibly extremely confused.

…..BUT MAYBE THIS IS WHAT HE WOULD WANT YOU TO THINK

"...you don’t have any weapons on you, do you?"

his brow twitched slightly, almost like a tiny flash of amusement. “no. not at the moment.”

"...okay." against every ounce of common sense, you sighed. “come on. my car’s over there.” oh, what would your parents think?

he followed without hesitation, keeping pace exactly one step behind you. polite, controlled, but clearly still assessing everything like this entire planet was a potential threat.

you unlocked your car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and tried very hard not to hyperventilate as he sat himself into the passenger side, closing the door.

a beat of silence filled the cabin.

you finally turned to him and blurted out, “okay. who — or what — are you?”

the silence hung for a long, awkward beat.

you stared at him, your brain still trying to process any of this, as your fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles went pale. he sat there like this was a perfectly normal tuesday.

finally, he spoke.

“my name is caleb xia. colonel. farspace fleet .this is not my world.”

you blinked.your mouth opened slightly, but all that came out was a soft, strangled noise. “...what.”

“i was traveling through a deep tunnel corridor,” he continued, his voice low, calm, like he was giving a report. “there was a malfunction. anomalous coordinates. i lost control of the vessel’s trajectory and…” his eyes scanned the unfamiliar cityscape out your windshield again. “i arrived here.”

you stared at him.

and then you laughed..

“i’m sorry — what?” you sputtered. “you expect me to believe you're from... space? like, intergalactic, star wars? not, like, russia or something?”

his brow twitched ever so slightly at your comparison. “star wars..? no. no.”

“oh my god, you’re serious.” you clapped a hand over your mouth. “okay. so you’re from skyhaven? which isn’t on google maps, by the way. a colonel?”

“correct.”

you gave him your absolute most deadpan, wide-eyed stare. “are you having a psychotic break?”

if caleb was offended, he didn’t show it. In fact, you thought you saw something flicker across his expression — patience. like he’d expected this. like he’d already calculated your reaction before you even had it.

without a word, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.

you immediately stiffened. “hey, whoa—”

“i’m not armed,” he assured smoothly, pulling out a small, sleek object — no bigger than a deck of cards. the surface shimmered with a faint blue light, metallic but almost liquid in how it reflected. there were no buttons. no seams. the edges curved unnaturally smooth. it definitely didn’t look like anything sold at best buy.

he tapped it once, and the surface came alive . a floating projection emerged, rotating gently in midair like a miniature hologram. complex glyphs and symbols you couldn’t even begin to read spun around a glowing image of what looked like... a planet? a star system?

“this is a navigational core module,” he said quietly. “it tracks dimensional coordinates for deep tunnel travel.” his eyes lifted to meet yours. soft but firm. “your world isn’t on any of our charts.”

your jaw dropped open.

you looked at the hologram. then at him. then back at the floating image, which was still calmly rotating in front of your very real, very human face.

your brain screamed: THAT’S NOT AN IPAD.

“holy shit,” you whispered.

you kept staring at the floating projection like your brain was buffering. if this was a prank, it was a really good one. but nothing about him screamed prank. everything screamed calm, extremely dangerous man who accidentally landed in chicago from a freaking alternate universe, and #needthat.

your voice came out small. “...is that real?”

caleb calmly deactivated the device with a brush of his fingertips — it folded back into itself like liquid metal and slipped neatly into his jacket again.

“i anticipated you’d require additional verification.”

he pulled something else out of his suit. a sleek, block. his phone.

he tapped the screen. the interface lit up in a design you couldn’t even recognize — elegant, minimalistic, even though it was a normal looking phone.

he handed it to you.

you hesitated but took it carefully, half expecting it to electrocute you. the screen pulsed slightly as if reading your touch, but otherwise, it let you scroll. there were apps you didn’t recognize.  

no google. no instagram. no facebook. no tiktok.

your eyebrows furrowed as you flicked through what appeared to be his photo library.

and that’s when you saw it.

a picture of him standing beside a girl — smiling, standing on what looked like a floating platform overlooking a glowing futuristic skyline. the city was breathtaking: glittering towers spiraled into the clouds, neon highways coiled between buildings, flying vehicles zipping silently through the air.

you blinked at the girl beside him. she was pretty, soft-featured, and looked very familiar.

“...is this your girlfriend?” you asked, feeling a weird stab in your chest for absolutely no reason.

caleb glanced at the photo. his expression softened for the first time. “its… complicated.” “oh.” you blinked again, glancing down at the skyline. “is this skyhaven?”

he nodded.  your jaw dropped as you scrolled through more photos — linkon’s towering buildings, vast technological hubs, alien landscapes, even images of creatures you didn’t recognize , all shimmering under unfamiliar constellations.

“this looks like a star wars movie,” you whispered. “only it’s… real.”

star …wars? “it is,” caleb said softly, watching you with quiet amusement as your eyes grew wide with every swipe. “everything you know here would be considered… primitive. in comparison.”

you gave him a scandalized look. “wow. thanks. way to make a girl feel special.”

for the briefest second, you thought you saw something that almost resembled a small smirk twitch at the corner of his lips.

.

you sat there for a few seconds, staring at his face — at the phone still in your hands, at his perfectly calm expression, at the absurdity of what your life had just become in the span of fifteen minutes.

“okay….” you finally breathed. “you… you’re real. you’re actually real.”

“i told you i was.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

you stared at him again. “you literally just glitched into my lake.” he blinked. “yes.”

you groaned softly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “okay. you can’t just… sit in my car forever. we can’t sit here. i guess….you can come back to my place while we figure this out.”

he didn’t even hesitate. “hmm.. acceptable.”

you started the car and pulled onto the road, mentally drafting a list of increasingly bad decisions you were making today. bringing a strange man to your apartment? who may or may not be from another dimension? yeah. real smart. 

it wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot and glanced at him again that your brain hit another very important wall.

oh no.

you had no men's clothing.

you stared at his still-damp suit. he looked like a psyop..!! there was no way you could let him just walk around like that. it screamed cia experiment or cosplay gone way too far.

“okay so…” you said, teeth gritted. “tinyyy problem. you can’t wear that.”

caleb looked down at himself, mildly analyzing the gear. “why not?”

“you’re gonna draw attention. and by attention, i mean you’ll be trending on twitter within thirty minutes. we need to get you into something… normal.”

he nodded, calmly accepting the foreign terms. “then where do we acquire appropriate attire?”

you sighed. “ walmart.”

his brow quirked slightly. “....is that a supplier?” …..well… “sure.” you waved your hand mumbling under your breath, “let’s go with that….”

you drove in silence for a while. stealing glances at caleb sitting perfectly composed in your passenger seat. like being abducted by a complete stranger was totally normal.

meanwhile, your brain was NOT composed. ‘alternate dimension.. far…space…fleet? colonel? another universe? and i have to deal with this at a WALMART?’

“...you sure you’re okay?” you finally ask. “i’m fine.” he answers calmly, his hands resting neatly on his lap, posture completely upright as if he was on a mission. 

“functioning.. gotcha..”  you pulled into the walmart parking lot and immediately regretted every life choice you had made up to this point. it was packed. absolutely packed. cars were crammed into every possible corner. people with their carts wandering around to their cars. horns honking. yelling.

if that wasn’t the cherry on top, a man on the corner twirling his sale sign is now fighting a.. pigeon?  caleb observed it all with the same calm expression he’d worn since appearing in your life. “this is… an important area?” he asked, and you didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or annoyed at how cramped walmart always seemed to be. “apparently.” you mumbled.

the sign man swats at the pigeon, and spins a perfect 360 while the pigeon flaps at him, and you’re confused. caleb tilts his head slightly, genuinely curious, “is this like a… ritual?” you shake your head at him and for what felt like eternity, you finally spot a parking space. 

you weave the endless crowds and cars like a pro.

caleb stayed close behind you, silent and hyper-alert. his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. you could feel stares at him as you weave through people. stares that state, “holy shit he’s tall..” and “oh i’d like to climb him like a jungle gym.” 

the automatic doors whoosh open and..

boom (no not like-)

the walmart hit him all at once.

bright fluorescent lights. loud overhead announcements. giant colorful banners screaming ‘SALE!!’ endless rows of overstocked shelves. the smell of popcorn and something you’d rather not know.

caleb subtly stiffened. his pupils contracted slightly as he looked around, processing the overwhelmingness that is walmart. “this is…” he starts in a low voice, unsure how to proceed. “welcome to america.” you whisper to him.

as you continue deeper towards the store you huff, 

“okay, let’s just get you some clothes before you accidentally get drafted into the army or something..” you said quickly, tugging him gently toward the men’s section. as you steer him through the aisle full of cargo shorts and graphic tees, caleb’s brow furrow at the embarrassing phrases on them.

“is this… what you guys wear..?” he asks, eyeing the rack of t-shirts that read: “ beer bacon and FREEDOM!! ”  you exhale through your nose, “i really hope not.”

as you pull a few t-shirts off the rack, sticking to compliment him instead of making him stick out even more. as you do, you couldn’t hold your curiosity.

“okay can i ask something?”  caleb, standing behind you, turns his head slightly, “what is it?”

“your name… caleb.. that’s like… just your name?” you gestured vaguely, “you’re from like… super earth, and your name is caleb?” 

a small smile touches the corner of his lips, barely. “is there something wrong with my name?” 

you flushed at his question, “no! i just thought it’d be… i don’t know– something more futuristic…?”  as you say that you’re reminded that star wars has a protagonist named luke skywalker. things suddenly seem less befuddled. 

he watched you for a moment longer, amusement behind his eyes, “we have normal names. not everything about my world is different.” you huff, “sure.. except for the part where you’re from another dimension.”

you couldn’t help it. your brain was still whirring. hologram. his iphone 90 or something. the photos. but people did craz things with ai these days. maybe you’re getting scammed right now. or maybe.. you swallowed… he was in a cult…

your mind spiraled: oh my god what if he’s part of a cult and i’m being fucking recruited right now. hot guys from the ‘future’? i’m getting cult-fished… fuck

“okay.. okay.” you blurt before you could stop yourself, “are you in a cult?” calebs eyes shoot towards you, caught off guard, “a.. cult?” he repeats you, and you nod, “like.. weird secret group.. brain wash…you know?” 

his lips press together briefly before he shakes his head softly, “no.” his voice was steady, quiet, and firm. “i am not part of a cult. i’m a colonel of a fleet.” 

there was something in his tone that made your stomach tighten. something fiercely protective under all that calm. you stare at him, trying to poke holes, “ok but all the photos and stuff.. it could be ai..you can barely tell these days!” you half whisper half shout. caleb holds your gaze, steady and unflinching, “that’s true..” he wasn’t offended, “you have no reason to trust me..”

his honestly actually threw you off more than if he had tried to defend himself.

you pull your phone out, quickly typing his full name into google. caleb watches as you quietly scroll through pages of… nothing. no profiles. mentions. linkedin. instagram. facebooks. no news articles. 

you glanced up at him, your heartbeat picking up, “you don’t exist…” – “i do.” he replies softly, “just not here.” 

you open your mouth but no words come out. his voice drops, more gentler now, as if he could sense your overwhelm. “i know it’s impossible. i know how hard this is right now.” he murmurs, eyes locking into yours, “but i’m here. and i am real.” you stare at him, throat dry, 

“god…” you mumble.

.

thankfully after a couple minutes of scanning racks and checking random aisles out, caleb gravitated toward something that actually worked. a dark jacket, fitted white tshirt underneath, dark jeans, and sneakers. honestly? he was giving model vibes. 

you blinked, half impressed, half still spiraling, “how did.. you pick this out so fast..?” 

caleb glanced down at himself, adjusting the jacket slightly, as if evaluating the fit. “something i’d wear back home..” he glanced around briefly before looking back at you, a small grin appearing on his face, “...blending in increases safety.”

you gave him a flat look. “you just analyzed a walmart fit like a military op.”

he offered you one of those tiny composed smiles again, “i’ve got a couple years under my belt.” 

after that you take him to a couple of rows away, “we’re gonna get you pajamas.” caleb’s eyes dart at said pajamas, “i sleep shirtless.” he says calmly and you freeze. you snap out of it and sigh as you mentally prepare to be in walmart for another 30 minutes.

you made it a mission to fill the basket: grey sweatpants, PLAIN tshirts, socks, underwear (you did NOT make eye contact during that aisle) and a basic hoodie. 

‘hes gonna look so fuckin’ fine’

you’re not saying that out loud though. you have some self preservation instincts!

then it hits you.

he has no place to go. no hotel. no wallet. no earth money. hes not even in the solar system. 

you freeze with a loofah in your hand, staring at him in sudden horror, “oh. my god.” you whisper, “you have to stay with me.” why aren’t your survival skills working? 

he looks at you and nods, “yeah.” – “that wasn’t a question!” – “i assumed as much” he drops the toothbrushes into the cart, “you’re a stable option.” he informs, “oh great-” you mutter, “-i’m a stable option.” 

“would you rather i sleep outside?” caleb steps closer, “no.” you mumble, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of him shirtless on your tiny couch, “god no.. just..” your lips twitch, “can you stop being so calm about this? you crash landed in lake michigan.” 

“- and now i’m getting socks. it’s called adapting.” you process his reply and you just roll your eyes, throwing the loofah into the cart. 

. 

the drive home is quiet. your brain is still playing catch up, trying to process the fact that there is a possibly extra dimensional man sitting in your  passenger seat, calmly holding a walmart bag filled with irish spring and old spice. 

when you pull into your garage, the overhead flickers a hum, casting a warm glow over the empty space. as you let out a sigh, you reach for the door handle,

“stop. i’ll get it.” caleb says. your eyes flicker at him and before you can argue, he’s already out, moving around the front of the car. you blink as he opens your door for you, then effortlessly grabs every single bag from the back like it’s nothing. 

“seriously-” you say, shutting your odor, “you’re gonna pull your arm out of socket! let me carry something.” caleb looks at you, unfazed, “you’ve already done enough. i can handle this.” 

that shouldn’t make you feel something.. but it does…

maybe it’s the calm confidence in his tone, or the way the bags crinkle against his hoodie as he turns to the house.. like this was a normal outing– a chore. maybe because he didn’t say it in a smug way a guy might do. 

either way, you catch yourself staring. blushing.  oh god.

you look away quickly and fish your keys out of your purse, “okay well.. thank you! come in..” you whisper in reverence.

he waits patiently behind you as you unlock the side door and lead him into the kitchen. the bags crinkle softly as he sets them on the counter. your tiny kitchen suddenly feels smaller. warmer. like his presence is filling every inch of the space. 

you clear your throat, “i uh..i’ll show you the guest room. it’s a glorified storage room right now but-” “it’s fine.” he says smoothly, eyes scanning the room like he’s still mentally mapping it for exits. “you’ve extended more hospitality than most would.” 

you swallow, “yeah well.. I’m not most..”

his gaze lands on you then, unwavering, “i know.”

you immediately look away again and give him a quiet little house tour.

the living room first. cozy, and a bit small, but its warm with soft throw blankets, fresh flowers on the table, and somewhere you’d like to be at during christmas time. caleb’s eyes linger on that a moment longer than necessary. 

then a hallway, “this is the bathroom,” you say, pointing, “and then this is the… guest room, but that’s a generous title.” 

you nudge the door open, revealing a space that looks like it belongs in a pinterest board. theres a twin bed with an oversized blanket, a small dresser, some spare boxes stacked in the corner, and your extra vacuum leaning against the wall like an elephant in the room.

“it’s tidy.” caleb says simply as he steps in. he runs his hand gently across the edge of the dresser, “you keep things clean.” your eyes flicker up to his face. he doesn’t say it in a judging way– more like appreciates it. or finds comfort in it..

“uh yeah..” you say softly, rubbing your arm, “i like it that way..i don’t do well with messes..”

“i can tell,” he chuckles dryly, “it feels safe in here.” you freeze for half a second. safe. why did that make your stomach do a full somersault?

“anyway-” you clear your throat and gently shove the walmart bag at him, “here’s your stuff. feel free to shower first. i’ll put the rest away..” he nods quietly and composed, then walks toward the bathroom like he already memorized the floor plan. 

a few minutes later, you’re folding his new hoodie and tshirt over the dresser when you hear the faint clunk of the bathroom door swinging open. you turn around instinctively– and you freeze.

he’s in a hot towel– sorry- hes in a normal towel. hes hot. right.

a singular, low slung towel wrapped around his hips, droplets of water still slinging into his collarbone, trailing down his chest. you don’t even know how someone can look that sculpted and casual at the same time. your jaw drops so fast it almost dislocates. caleb blinks, toothbrush in hand, a hand towel in the other, his hair slightly wet and pushed back, “you said to grab my clothes, didn’t you?” 

you forget how to speak. your brain just starts shouting words like shoulders, abs, did i vacuum under the bed? boom shakalaka yes godddd.

“i-uh — yeah.” you finally stammer, holding out his folded clothes like a peace offering, “yes– here– clothes. wear these.” he walks over, very calmly, unfazed, and takes the clothes from you. his fingers graze yours. your soul leaves your body. 

“thank you,” he says, low and warm, then turns to go back into the bathroom. you don’t move for a full minute and just stare at the closed door as you marinate in your thoughts. ‘hes gorgeous. but hes a stranger. hes a man…. a tall, strong, man. he hasn’t hurt you..YET..OR–OR maybe hes a good man!’ you feel delusion settling in as you anticipate your turn in the shower.

.

you shoulder after him, shutting the door a little too quickly behind you, still mentally reeling from the towel moment. no thoughts, just abs and a freshly shaven happy trail. you try to focus. your favorite shampoo. face wash. don’t slip and die in the tub because an interdimensional colonel made eye contact with your entire nervous system now.

when you emerge, fresh faced and dressed in your coziest FLATTERING pajama set, the scene of clean cotton and a little anxiety clinging to you, you find caleb already sitting at the tiny kitchen table. He’s wearing the black hoodie you got him, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and he’s quietly examining a salt shaker like some artifact. you’re a little breathless from how normal he makes it look. 

“dinner is gonna be easy today..” you say, moving past him and into the kitchen, “pasta and garlic bread with um…brownies for dessert.”  he tilts his head, “brownies? what kind?” your eyes slightly light up, “hm.. just normal ones.. any requests?” you say, kinda but not really surprised that he knew about brownies. 

you make quick work of the food. boiling, cooking the protein, heating the sauce, and trying not to burn the garlic bread. caleb watches, like it’s a science experiment. you offer him the job of grating the cheese to distract him, and he takes it seriously. 

dinner is eaten quietly, but not uncomfortably so. you’re sipping water when you finally muster the courage to say, “i was gonna watch something after to wind down. you can join if you want.” 

“i’d like to.” he says, wiping his hands neatly.

you both end up in the couch— him sitting at the very end, and you curl up at the other corner. you pick something light. funny. Something you’ve been half watching in the background lately. “it’s called never have i ever.” you mumble, “teen drama. really girl/woman centered.” caleb gives you a nod, “okay.”

the first five minutes are unbearable. you’re overthinking everything. is caleb bored? is he judging the terrible voiceover by john mcenroe? greatest tennis player ever? oh god, theres a make out scene, already? 

but then he chuckles. very faintly, and you blink at him, “did you just …laugh?” caleb shrugs casually, “i like devi. she’s intense.” you stare at him for a minute before you start to laugh as well, “alright- that’s fair.”

by episode two, the space between you two has closed slightly. you aren’t too sure when it happened. maybe when you passed him a brownie. maybe when you both made the same noise at the love triangle. 

.

it’s nearing midnight when you finally glance at the clock and groan. you stretch where you sat and mumble, rubbing your eyes, “i have to sleep.. I have to check in at the boutique tomorrow..” a part of you feels disappointed, but the other half feels giddy.

caleb nods from the other end, then his eyes make their way towards you, “alright.” you stand and start collecting dishes and brownie crumbs, trying not to think too hard about how normal this feels. like his presence didn’t turn your life inside out in the last ten hours. “I’ll be gone for maybe a couple hours..” you say, stacking plates in the sink. “you could…um.. reorient yourself? chill. stay inside. maybe … don’t get arrested?”

he raises a brow, “why would i get arrested?” 

you gesture vaguely, “i.. don’t know..” which earns you the tiniest smirk from him, “i’ll.. keep a low profile.” you nod, mostly to yourself, as you back down the hallway toward your bedroom. 

you pause at your door, hand on the knob, very suddenly aware that this is your last line of defense between you and the very calm, very lethal, possibly single man in your living room. you squint at him suspiciously, “i swear if you kill me in my sleep..” 

his eyes meet yours without hesitation.

“make it quick..” you finish, deadpan, “i’ve seen too many true crime stories..” 

caleb blinks slowly, amused, “i’ll keep that in mind..”  

you couldn’t help but smile a little

“goodnight space colonel.” 

“goodnight.” he mumbles your name softly. 

                                                                         next chapter

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @miffysoo, @rcvcgers, @udejoenrlddo, @calebsmorena, @carmendanny2, @alayaaaahhhhhh, @asilaydead, @ellexamor, @inzayneforaj, @unstablemiss, @romils, @animegamerfox, @floatinginaer, @sleepisfortheweakpooh, @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes, @nm4565natty, @mentaltrouble2201, @solarlovesxyz, @awwhks, @cinnamonpinktea, @taenosaurrr, @twistedtastefulme, @blessdunrest

[jolixtreesunn]

puppy love ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆. ꙳

PAIRING : shy dorky non-ghostface ethan landry x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none just fluff

SUMMARY : ethan meets your puppy for the first time!

—🦌

you had warned ethan about your puppy before he came over. “he’s tiny, he’s chaotic, and he’ll probably chew on your shoelaces.”

ethan gave you his cutest puppy eyes that made your heart melt every time and nodded nervously, cheeks a little pink. “o-okay. i like dogs.”

though what you didn’t expect was to come back from grabbing snacks to find them both asleep on the rug. ethan, face down in your fluffy carpet, completely passed out. his soft brown curls slightly messy, wearing that oversized white t-shirt you loved on him. (picture)

and right on top of him.

your golden lab puppy, snuggled up along his neck like he was the most comfortable pillow in the world.

you nearly dropped your snacks. you crept closer and crouched, biting back a squeal. the puppy’s little nose was pressed right under ethan’s ear, his chest rising and falling with every sleepy dog sigh. ethan mumbled something. maybe a dream or a sleepy thought but he didn’t move. If anything, he relaxed even more.

you quickly took a photo already planning on using it as your wallpaper. when ethan finally stirred, eyes blinking open, he realized what had happened and immediately flushed red.

“i—i didn’t mean to fall asleep—he just—he climbed on me and—and then i didn’t wanna move ‘cause he looked so—he’s really soft—”

he trailed off, voice small. you giggled, dropping to your knees beside them. “so… you and him are best friends now?”

ethan nodded shyly. the puppy stirred, nudging his face into ethan’s neck even more. “he likes me?” ethan asked, voice soft.

“he loves you,” you said, brushing a curl out of his eyes. “he never naps on anyone. ever.” ethan smiled. slow and soft. his hand slid up to rest on your knee gently.

“guess he knows i’m yours,” he whispered.

[jolixtreesunn]

Engaged-ish

Lando Norris x Grand Duchess!Reader

Summary: in which an obscure Luxembourgish tradition leads to a proposal … sort of

The paddock buzzes like a beehive, sun-drenched and shimmering with the scent of gasoline, sunscreen, and expensive cologne. Cameras flash. People talk in clipped, purposeful voices. Somewhere, an engine snarls awake.

And then — chaos.

Well, not chaos exactly. More like a whoosh, followed by a yelp.

“Oi! Shit! Watch out!”

A blur of black and orange comes flying down the narrow stretch between team garages. Lando Norris, crouched low on a scooter like a gremlin on wheels, is laughing before he slams into something soft and solid.

There’s a crunch of expensive heels.

A thud.

A gasp.

And then-

“Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygod.” Lando’s already halfway off the scooter, scrambling to his feet with hands out like he can rewind time by sheer panic. “Are you — are you okay? I didn’t — I mean, it’s not like, that fast, right? It’s — okay, yeah, no, you’re very much on the ground, cool cool cool-”

You’re lying there, halfway on your side, propped up by one elbow, blinking. Your oversized sunglasses are askew. One of your heels has flown halfway under a stack of Pirellis.

And the guy looming above you is grinning like he’s not sure if he should laugh or throw himself into the Mediterranean out of shame.

"Hi," he says. "Sorry for, uh. Running you over."

You tilt your head, still stunned. “Are you seriously racing a scooter through the paddock?”

“It’s not racing if no one’s timing it,” Lando says brightly, offering you a hand. “… But yes. And that was reckless. And stupid. And really fun. But mostly stupid.”

You stare at his hand. His cap’s pushed up on his head, curly hair spilling out in sweaty tangles. His eyes are impossibly bright. He looks like he just crash-landed from a cartoon.

You take his hand.

He pulls you up with an exaggerated grunt. “Wow. Okay. You’re stronger than you look.”

“You’re more of a menace than you look.”

He grins. "Thank you. Wait, was that a compliment?"

“Not even remotely.”

You dust yourself off, lifting your sunglasses onto your head. Lando watches, then lets out a short laugh.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“You’re — yeah, wow, okay. You’re very pretty. Like, really pretty. You’re probably important, huh?”

You narrow your eyes.

“Are you asking if I’m important because I’m pretty?”

“No! No no no,” he says, horrified. “God, no. I mean — you look like the kind of person who has a security detail and a Wikipedia page. Which is not the only reason you’re important. It’s just … I feel like I’m gonna get sued.”

You smirk. “You might.”

He’s staring at you like you just told him he ran over Taylor Swift.

“Okay. What’s your name? I’ll write you a very panicked apology letter. Maybe flowers? Wait, do you even like flowers? Maybe chocolate. Wait — nut allergy?”

You blink. “Are you always like this?”

He considers that. “Yeah. But sometimes I tone it down for the elderly or if I’m at a funeral.”

You should be irritated. You’re not. Somehow, all this flailing panic is … disarming. He’s like a golden retriever who just knocked over a vase and is now waiting to see if you’ll still pet him.

“I’m Y/N,” you say finally.

“Y/N,” he repeats. “That’s a lovely name.”

“And you are Lando Norris.”

He pauses. “… So you do know who I am. That feels unfair.”

“You ran me over.”

“Right. Nevermind.”

You retrieve your shoe from under the tires with a little sigh. He watches you with a sort of guilty awe. Like he can’t quite believe he survived the collision.

Then, after a beat, “You here for the race?”

You arch a brow. “What gave it away?”

“Could be the Monaco sun,” he says, walking backward beside you now. “But also the outfit. You look too … elegant to be someone’s PR handler. You’re not a driver’s girlfriend either, or I’d have seen you on Insta by now.”

You snort. “What a deduction.”

“I know, right? Sherlock Norris. So … what do you do?”

You stop walking. He stops too. Tilts his head.

You smile. “I would tell you …”

“Oh, you would?” He says, eyebrows bouncing.

“-but I think I want to see if you can guess my job correctly.”

He grins. “Love a challenge.”

You lean in slightly, like you’re sharing a secret. “You only get one guess.”

“Only one?”

“One.”

“Okay, okay. No pressure.” He pinches the bridge of his nose like it’ll help summon divine clarity. “Let’s see. You’re well-dressed, clearly clever, somehow not screaming at me despite the vehicular assault … so you’re either incredibly powerful or completely unbothered by earthly consequences.”

“Very astute.”

He squints. “You’re … a fashion CEO.”

You blink. “That’s your guess?”

He nods, proud. “Big time. Like, quietly running a billion-euro empire from a Parisian penthouse. You look like you boss people around in three languages.”

You purse your lips. “Close.”

“Seriously?”

“No. Not even remotely.”

He looks personally offended. “Okay, then who are you?”

You just start walking again.

“Oh, come on! That’s mean,” he whines, trailing after you. “I guessed. You said I get to know!”

“No,” you say over your shoulder. “I said I want to hear if you can guess it. You didn’t.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Is this what heartbreak feels like? Are you — are you a spy? A secret agent? Do you know Daniel Craig? Please tell me you’re MI6.”

You’re laughing now, which only makes him more dramatic.

“Oh, you’re loving this,” he accuses. “You’re totally enjoying watching me flail.”

“You flail very naturally.”

“Thank you — wait, no. That’s not a compliment.”

“Isn’t it?”

He squints suspiciously. “You’ve got the same energy as my trainer when he says I’m doing a good job but makes the workouts harder.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Okay, mysterious beautiful stranger who may or may not be royalty-”

You freeze for a split second.

He catches it.

“Oh my God,” he says slowly. “Wait. Wait. Are you actually — wait. Like, real royalty? Is that — no. That’s not a thing. That’s a thing in Netflix movies.”

You raise a brow.

“Oh shit,” he whispers.

You don’t confirm. Don’t deny.

He stares at you like you just turned into a unicorn. “I ran over a princess.”

You tilt your head. “Technically, Grand Duchess. Hereditary Grand Duchess, if we’re being precise.”

He’s silent.

For about three whole seconds.

Then, “I’m going to jail.”

You burst out laughing.

“No, seriously,” he says, mouth falling open. “That’s like treason? Assault on a noble? Is that a law? Is there a dungeon? Oh my god-”

You reach for his sleeve, tug it gently. “Relax. You’re not going to prison.”

“But I could be,” he says, stunned. “You’re actual royalty. I think I saw you once, like a year ago! You were on the cover of Vogue or something-”

You glance sideways. “So you have seen me before.”

“I thought you looked familiar! But I just assumed I’d dreamed you.”

You roll your eyes.

He stares at you for another second, then breaks into a wide, sheepish grin. “This is insane.”

“You’re telling me.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “So … you coming to the motorhome, Your Highness?”

You pretend to consider it. “Only if you stop calling me that.”

“Deal,” he says immediately. “But I’m still going to make you guess what my job is, just to even the playing field.”

You glance at his McLaren shirt. “You sell scooters.”

He gasps. “Correct. Wow. Nailed it in one.”

You both laugh.

***

The McLaren motorhome hums with life, all sharp lines and bright orange accents, but it feels like a bubble. A refuge tucked between the chaos of the paddock and the roaring engines beyond. You follow Lando inside, still unsure how you got here — still vaguely amused that he hasn’t stopped talking since the crash.

“You know, I don’t normally just run over people,” he says, leading you past a security guy who gives you both a baffled look. “You’re actually my first. Well. That I know of. I might’ve clipped a Ferrari engineer once, but he was dramatic about it and threw a clipboard.”

You smile, trailing after him. “Is this your version of flirting?”

“Oh no, no, this is panic,” he says quickly. “My flirting is marginally smoother.”

“Marginally.”

“On a good day.”

The motorhome is bustling. Engineers tap away on laptops. There’s a spread of snacks someone’s half-raided. You notice a few people double-taking as they see you walk in, but no one says anything. It’s like they’re used to Lando bringing in strays.

“Do they always stare like that?” You ask under your breath.

He glances around. “What, that? Nah. That’s just them wondering if you’re a Netflix producer, or my cousin, or a very lost model.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so annoyingly casual about this.”

“It’s my greatest skill,” he says proudly, then spins around suddenly. “Wait … here.”

He pulls off his McLaren cap and steps forward, holding it out to you. “Sun’s brutal today. You’ll need this if you’re hanging out here.”

You blink at the hat in his hand. “You’re giving me your hat?”

“Lending it,” he corrects, but he’s already stepping closer.

And then — without really thinking — he lifts it over your head and places it gently on top of your hair, adjusting it with exaggerated care.

“There,” he says, grinning. “Now you look fast.”

You snort. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to,” he says. “You feel fast.”

You adjust the cap slightly, not thinking much of it. It’s warm from his head. Smells faintly like his shampoo and sun.

And somewhere across the paddock, at least four camera lenses catch it. The exact moment Lando Norris — a nonchalant, grinning mess of curls and chaotic charm — places his own hat gently on your head with all the care of someone proposing a life together.

Of course, neither of you notices.

“You look good in papaya,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You raise an eyebrow. “You just like seeing people wear your merch.”

“True,” he admits. “It’s excellent branding.”

There’s a pause, and then you both start laughing at the same time. Loud and open, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Somewhere in the background, a McLaren comms staffer walks by, glancing between the two of you and immediately pulling out her phone.

“Right,” Lando says, flopping onto the couch and patting the space next to him. “Come on. Sit. Tell me everything.”

You lower yourself carefully onto the cushion, still unsure how your diplomatic morning turned into … whatever this is. “Everything?”

“Everything. Like what’s your actual day-to-day like? Are you doing royal things all the time? Are there, like, scrolls? Do you own a sceptre?”

“No scrolls,” you say. “And sadly, no sceptre. But I’m working on it.”

He nods solemnly. “You deserve a sceptre.”

“Thank you.”

“But seriously. Do you have meetings with … I don’t know, other royals? Do you sit in a big room and talk about treaties and wear sashes?”

You laugh. “Sometimes. Though most of my meetings are just government-adjacent. I do a lot of international work. Cultural diplomacy. Economic initiatives. Tourism stuff.”

“So … not just tea parties and ribbon cutting?”

“Shockingly, no.”

He whistles. “That actually sounds important.”

“It is.”

“And exhausting.”

You tilt your head. “It can be. There’s pressure. Constantly being watched. Expectations. Every gesture means something.”

He raises a brow. “Even hats?”

You don’t even flinch.

But internally, you do hesitate. The old Luxembourgish tradition flashes through your mind — one your grandmother once explained with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye.

“If a man offers you something of his, something worn, something marked by him — especially a hat — and places it on your head, it means he offers you protection. Partnership. In the old days, it was a proposal before a proposal.”

You remember laughing at the time. It was quaint. Archaic. Romantic, in a way that felt more myth than law.

You doubt Lando Norris is aware of any of that.

You watch him now — grinning at a text, tossing his phone aside, still slouched like he owns the whole motorhome — and decide not to mention it.

“It’s just a hat,” you say lightly.

He nods. “Right? Totally normal. Generous, even.”

“Deeply generous,” you echo, smiling.

You both fall quiet for a moment. It’s not awkward. It’s … easy.

Then he turns to you again.

“So do you get bored of it?” He asks.

You blink. “Of what?”

“Being important. Being watched. Being … not normal.”

That one hits.

You lean back, letting your gaze drift to the window. “Sometimes. It’s hard to know if people are being real with me. If they want something, or if they’re just pretending they don’t know who I am. Or worse, pretending they do.”

He nods, slower now. “Yeah. I get that. A bit.”

You glance over at him.

“Okay, not the royal part,” he adds. “But … being public. Being expected to be on all the time. It’s weird, right? Like, people think they know you. Like they’ve already decided who you are before you say anything.”

You watch his face as he says it. There’s a moment of real honesty there, flickering between his words.

And you realize he’s not as clueless as he seems.

“I like this,” you say softly.

He looks up. “This?”

“This. Just talking. Not performing.”

He smiles, slower this time. “Me too.”

Someone calls his name from across the motorhome, but he doesn’t look away.

You pick up a packet of cookies from the coffee table, toss it into his lap. “Tell me more about crashing into other people. I want to know how many lawsuits you’re juggling.”

He laughs. “Okay, so once in Silverstone, I clipped George Russell with a golf cart. He insists I did it on purpose, but I maintain it was sabotage from Mercedes.”

You lean in, smiling. “Tell me everything.”

And so he does.

He talks with his hands, dramatic and unfiltered. He tells stories that make you laugh until you’re clutching your stomach. He impersonates Daniel Ricciardo. He makes fun of himself, of the team, of the absurdity of fame. You don’t realize how much time has passed until the room starts to empty.

You glance at the clock and blink. “It’s been two hours.”

“No way.”

You both look around. People are filtering out. The buzz of the paddock is louder now, the day slipping past you like sand through your fingers.

You reach up to adjust the hat again, and Lando watches, biting back a smile.

“You’re really keeping that, huh?”

You shrug. “Finders keepers.”

“I knew it,” he says. “You just came here for the merch.”

“I’m royalty,” you reply. “I came here for the drama and the free stuff.”

He clutches his heart. “A woman after my own heart.”

You hear a few more shutter clicks outside — photographers catching shots through the motorhome windows, lenses like little eyes peering in. Lando doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he’s used to it.

You should care more. Maybe you do, somewhere deep down.

But right now? In this moment?

You don’t.

You’re wearing his hat, and he’s laughing like he’s never had more fun in his life. And you’re just … two people on a couch, pretending the world outside doesn’t exist.

Later, you’ll both hear about the photos. About the symbolism. The headlines in Luxembourgish tabloids translating your laughter into lovers’ whispers, the cap into a silent vow.

But for now, you just look at him and smile.

And he smiles back.

***

It starts early.

Too early for a Sunday race day.

Lando is still half-asleep, blinking against the pale Monte Carlo morning light slicing through the curtains, when his phone explodes.

First it’s the buzz. Then the buzzbuzzbuzz. Then the ping, ping, ping of messages stacking up like a digital avalanche.

He groans, rolls over, tries to bury himself under the pillow. No use. Whatever this is, it’s not going away.

And then-

Cabrón. WHAT have you done?

Carlos is the first one in the group chat. With a screenshot.

Lando squints blearily at it. All caps. Tabloid headline.

A blurry photo from yesterday.

It’s you. Wearing his McLaren cap. Laughing. The moment he placed it on your head captured in too-crisp detail.

And the headline-

HEREDITARY GRAND DUCHESS OF LUXEMBOURG ENGAGED TO FORMULA 1 STAR LANDO NORRIS IN SECRET MONACO CEREMONY?

He blinks again.

“…What the fu-”

Another buzz.

ZAK BROWN: Call me. Now.

ANDREA STELLA: This is not funny. We are in Monaco. Please, for once, use your head.

GEORGE: Lando. Mate. Explain the royal engagement.

MUM: We need to talk ❤️

He stares at the screen like it might bite him.

The Grand Duchess part doesn’t even register at first. He scrolls through more links, more headlines, all variations of the same fever dream.

Symbolic proposal shocks royal observers in Monaco GP paddock.

Royal family confirms no comment

McLaren’s Lando Norris in relationship with Luxembourg’s future monarch?

He mutters, “What the — what is happening?”

Carlos sends another message.

CARLOS: This is the best thing that’s ever happened. Can I be your maid of honor?

CARLOS: Wait. Groomsman. Unless you're planning to wear the dress, then honestly I support it.

Lando doesn’t even have the energy to reply.

He swings out of bed, throws on a hoodie, and starts pacing. The cap. The hat. Was it really that big of a deal?

He offered it because she looked a little sun-blind. He thought it’d be cute. A gesture. Flirty. A laugh.

Not an international incident.

There’s a knock on his apartment door.

He opens it.

Zak stands there with the energy of someone who’s been yelling into a phone for two hours straight. Andrea is behind him, looking like he aged ten years overnight.

“You’re trending,” Zak says without preamble. “Not for winning. Not for pole. Not even for crashing. You’re trending because apparently you’re about to marry into a monarchy.”

“I didn’t — what — no,” Lando says, holding his hands up. “I gave her a hat!”

“An engagement hat!” Carlos shouts from inside the apartment, because of course Carlos has let himself in somehow. “The most sacred of all hats!”

Lando glares. “You’re not helping.”

Andrea pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you understand the implications of this, Lando?”

“No! Because it’s insane!”

Zak exhales. “There are diplomatic rumors flying. Press camped outside the motorhome. Questions coming in from Luxembourg’s government channels.”

Lando looks helpless. “But I didn’t do anything.”

Carlos, now lying fully horizontal on Lando’s bed, grins. “You proposed. With headwear.”

“I hate all of you.”

Carlos lifts a hand. “It’s what we do.”

***

By the time Lando makes it to the paddock, he’s wearing sunglasses and a hoodie pulled up like a man on the run.

He gets stopped four times before reaching the McLaren motorhome.

One PR officer actually bows at him, just to be a menace.

Oscar gives him a slow, impressed once-over and just says, “Your Royal Highness,” with a mocking nod before walking away.

He’s never living this down.

The only thing he wants is to find you.

And, as if summoned by the strength of pure panic, there you are. Standing just outside the McLaren garage, mid-conversation with someone from Alpine, sipping from a bottle of water like you own the place. Your hair is tucked into a sleek ponytail. The sun makes your earrings glint.

Lando jogs up to you, breathless.

“Hey! Hey, hi, um, hi.”

You turn, startled. “Good morning.”

“Not really,” he says, lifting his glasses. “What the hell is going on?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“The cap. The hat. The one I put on your head yesterday? Apparently that means I proposed to you. The tabloids are going crazy. Everyone thinks we’re engaged. My mum texted me.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Wait, seriously?”

He pulls out his phone, flicks through the headlines, and shoves it toward you.

You squint at one. “‘Royal Love Blooms on the Grid?’” You snort. “‘Luxembourg’s Heartthrob Duchess Swept Off Her Feet by McLaren Maverick?’”

Lando’s voice pitches up. “Swept off her feet! I literally ran into you with a scooter!”

You start laughing. Not a polite laugh. A full-body, unbothered laugh. Like this is all the most normal thing in the world.

He stares. “Why are you laughing?”

You wipe a tear from under your eye. “Because this is nothing. You should’ve seen the time they said I was secretly dating a Swiss banker who turned out to be my second cousin.”

He pauses. “… What?”

“Or the time they decided I’d renounced the throne to become a goat farmer in Liechtenstein.”

He blinks. “Okay, that one’s kind of iconic.”

You give him a shrug. “This is what happens when you’re born into a monarchy and dare to show emotions in public.”

He stares at you. “You’re telling me you’re fine with this?”

“I think it’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious? They called me your future consort.”

“Are you not?” You ask innocently, sipping your water.

He splutters. “What-”

You grin. “I’m kidding.”

You’re very not kidding. Not in the way that matters.

Because watching him panic like this — watching him trail after you with his hoodie strings bouncing and his voice pitching up with every breath — it’s … oddly sweet.

He cares. Not just about the press. About you. About how this reflects on you. That matters.

You reach over and tug gently at his hood to straighten it. “Relax. The headlines will change by tomorrow.”

“You really think that?”

“No,” you admit. “But that’s what I tell myself when I’m spiraling.”

He laughs despite himself. “You’re way too chill about this.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“You’re literally a royal and you’re less stressed than me.”

“That’s because I’ve had years of training in pretending I’m not screaming inside.”

Lando looks at you. Really looks at you.

There’s this flicker of something in his chest. Admiration. Confusion. Something just slightly more than fondness.

He exhales. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So are you.”

“I didn’t mean to propose to you.”

“Shame,” you say casually, and walk away before he can respond.

He stands there, stunned, as Carlos passes behind him, humming “Here Comes the Bride.”

***

Back in the McLaren motorhome, the chaos continues.

The PR team is in damage control mode. Zak is pacing with a headset. Andrea has three newspapers folded under his arm and an expression that could melt titanium.

But Lando?

Lando is leaning on the windowsill, watching you from across the way as you chat with someone from Mercedes.

Still wearing his cap. Still laughing like you haven’t just caused a minor diplomatic crisis.

And for some reason … he’s not mad.

He just grins, taps the glass once, and mutters, “Yeah, this is totally fine.”

Absolutely fine.

Nothing is on fire. Nothing at all.

***

You know something’s wrong when Martine shows up.

Martine only shows up when things are very wrong. Like, international-incident-meets-centuries-old-protocol wrong. She’s your primary handler, which is a polite way of saying she’s the one who stops you from accidentally tanking Luxembourg’s economy with a bad outfit choice.

You spot her across the paddock: sharp black blazer, sunglasses that mean business, marching toward the McLaren motorhome with the speed and grace of a small, determined missile.

“Oh, no,” you mutter.

Lando, sitting on a folding chair next to you with his helmet in his lap, glances up. “What?”

You nod in Martine’s direction. “That.”

He follows your gaze and immediately winces. “Oh no.”

“She’s here to kill me.”

“She’s probably here to kill me,” he says, standing up like a man preparing to face execution.

Martine stops two feet away, does not greet you. Does not smile. Just removes her sunglasses and levels the two of you with the look she usually reserves for scandalous budget overspending or cousins dating minor celebrities.

She speaks in a voice so tight it might shatter glass. “Well, I hope you’re both having fun.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she holds up a hand. “No. Stop. Don’t speak yet. We’re in crisis mode.”

“Isn’t that a little dramatic?” Lando offers, with a hopeful grin.

Martine turns to him so slowly it’s almost operatic. “Mister Norris, the Luxembourgish Parliament has just issued a formal declaration of congratulations on your engagement. Your faces are on the front page of every major paper from here to Berlin. People Magazine referred to you as the ‘millennial fairytale.’ And — just to really put a cherry on top — your Instagram post from two days ago has now been recirculated as a ‘subtle announcement.’”

Lando swallows. “That post was about McNuggets.”

“Yes,” Martine says. “And you hashtagged it #lovemylife. So now the press thinks the nuggets were metaphorical.”

You press a hand to your face. “Okay. That one’s kind of on you.”

Martine whirls on you next. “Do you understand the implications of this? Because this is not just a PR disaster. This is a constitutional event. We cannot simply say it was a misunderstanding.”

“Why not?” Lando asks, hands outstretched. “Can’t we just say it was, like, a joke? A mix-up? A funny cultural thing?”

Martine takes a deep breath, as if preparing to deliver a death sentence.

“Because,” she says carefully, “in Luxembourgish law, once a declaration has been acknowledged by Parliament and received no formal objection from the heir apparent within the hour, it becomes a matter of record.”

Lando stares. “What does that mean?”

You sigh. “It means … it’s official. As far as the government’s concerned, we’re engaged.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence. And then Lando says, very quietly, “Oh, my god.”

Martine nods grimly. “Oh, your god, indeed.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” He protests. “I gave her a hat!”

Martine’s eyes narrow. “Which, in Luxembourg, is equivalent to a pre-marital vow of intent.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s ancient tradition!”

Lando throws his hands in the air. “Well maybe someone should’ve written a pamphlet! ‘Hey, welcome to Luxembourg, don’t give royal women hats!’”

“I should have known,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I knew the hat was going to be a problem.”

Martine exhales and pinches the bridge of her nose. “There is a press conference in two hours. The Grand Duke has already spoken to French media.”

You freeze. “Wait. My father knows?”

Martine shoots you a look. “Knows? He’s celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“His exact words,” she says, pulling out her phone and reading from a very official-sounding email, “‘I have always dreamed of a son-in-law who drives fast and talks nonsense. This is perfect.’”

Lando, completely bewildered, points at himself. “Is that a compliment?”

You look at him. “Honestly? I think it is.”

Martine puts the phone away. “You both need to keep this under control. Just for a few days. Until the press dies down.”

Lando’s face scrunches. “Wait. Waitwaitwait. Are you saying we have to pretend to be engaged?”

Martine nods once. “Exactly.”

“Temporarily?” You ask.

“For now,” she says. “But you will both need to act engaged. Convincingly. That means appearances. Smiles. Coordination. Possibly an interview.”

Lando looks like he’s going to be sick. “Interview?!”

“Oh, you’re absolutely doing the interview,” Martine says.

You blink slowly. “So … just to clarify. Our options are either to lie to the international press and pretend to be planning a royal wedding or risk sparking a diplomatic conflict between my country and the rest of the European Union?”

Martine smiles grimly. “Correct.”

Lando leans against the nearest wall. “This is a nightmare.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Could be worse.”

“How?”

You grin. “You could’ve actually proposed.”

He groans. “I’m never giving anyone a hat ever again.”

***

The rest of the morning is a blur.

Your phone doesn’t stop buzzing. Everyone from Monaco’s royal family to your mother’s childhood piano teacher is reaching out.

Lando’s friends have renamed their group chat “THE ROYAL CONSORTS.”

Carlos sends a meme of Meghan Markle waving from a balcony, photoshopped with Lando’s face. Lando throws his phone across the room.

Everywhere you walk in the paddock, people are staring, whispering, smiling in that way that means they think they know.

Lando sticks to your side like a man attached by invisible glue.

“This is surreal,” he mutters, not for the first time. “You’re just … fine with this?”

You glance at him. “I’ve been fake-smiling through political dinners since I was ten. This is honestly one of the less stressful things I’ve had to fake.”

He eyes you. “That’s kind of impressive.”

You shrug. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s insane. But it’s also temporary. We do a few appearances, wear some coordinated outfits, and smile for the cameras.”

He groans. “Do I have to wear a sash?”

“Only if you want bonus points.”

He considers. “Does it come in papaya?”

You grin. “Now you’re thinking like a royal.”

He glances sideways at you. “You really think we can pull this off?”

“I think,” you say slowly, “we have no choice. But yeah. We can do it.”

There’s something unspoken between you in that moment. Some flicker of understanding. And maybe a spark of something else.

***

By the time you arrive at the media scrum, the photographers are already in position. Flashes pop. Lenses aim.

You loop your arm through Lando’s, and he looks down like you’ve just handed him a live grenade.

“What do I do?” He mutters.

“Smile,” you whisper back. “And look like you’re wildly in love.”

He takes a breath, then smiles so wide it almost hurts to look at. A little crooked. A little chaotic.

It’s perfect.

He leans toward you. “Like this?”

You nod. “Exactly like that.”

The cameras love it. Shutters go wild. A symphony of clicks.

Someone shouts, “Any wedding date yet?”

Lando opens his mouth to panic.

You answer smoothly, “We’re just enjoying the moment.”

“Have you met each other’s families?”

Lando again looks like he might choke. You reply, “They’re … very supportive.”

“How did the proposal happen?”

Lando starts to laugh, helplessly.

You answer, “It was spontaneous.”

And that’s how the day goes.

Flash after flash. Smile after smile.

And through it all, Lando — your accidental fiancé, your completely overwhelmed co-conspirator — stays right beside you, fingers brushing yours, as if anchoring himself to reality.

You don’t know what’s coming next.

You don’t know how long you’ll have to keep this up.

But when Lando looks at you with that half-panicked, half-awed grin — like he still can’t believe this is happening — you just smile back.

Because somehow, against all odds this royal disaster? Feels a lot like fate.

***

The Grand Prix is over, the champagne has dried, and the press has moved on to whatever other scandal is brewing in the glittering circus of Monaco. And yet … you stay.

You’re supposed to leave, technically. There’s a return flight booked under your name, a motorcade on standby, and a color-coded itinerary that includes words like “debrief” and “post-engagement optics strategy.” But instead of heading back to Luxembourg, you text Martine something vague about needing to monitor the situation on the ground.

She doesn’t push. She never pushes when you use diplomatic language like that.

And so, you stay — in the sunshine, in the noise, in the afterglow of whatever chaos you and Lando have created.

And Lando? Well. Lando leans in. Hard.

It starts with a bouquet. You think it’s from some Monegasque diplomat until you read the note.

For my one true duchess. Long may she reign.

- Your Devoted Fiancé™

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.

The next morning, there’s a box of chocolates left on the doorstep of your borrowed suite. Heart-shaped.

The note reads: May these sweets bring you half the joy your smile brings me.

- His Royal Himbo-ness

Then come the messages.

LANDO: Milady, I beseech thee … may I take thee to breakfast?

YOU: Only if thou bringest me hashbrowns.

LANDO: I would brave dragons and tyre degradation for thee.

YOU: Good, because I just saw you stall your scooter outside my hotel.

It’s ridiculous. It’s also … weirdly fun.

You keep telling yourself it’s fake, that it has to be fake. A temporary performance to appease international dignitaries and excitable royal fathers with a love for motorsport.

But then one afternoon, you find Lando outside your hotel with a paper crown from Burger King and a daisy between his teeth.

He bows. “Milady. Thy noble steed awaiteth.”

You snort. “You’re riding an electric scooter.”

“And she runneth on pure love.”

He offers his hand, like you’re a princess in a storybook.

You take it.

***

It’s only when you’re not performing — when the flowers are left without a camera flash or you’re laughing in a hallway while ducking behind a vending machine — that Lando starts to notice it.

The quiet moments.

The way your smile sometimes fades the second people look away. The way you’re constantly being trailed by someone in a blazer holding a tablet. The way your phone buzzes and you flinch like it might explode.

It hits him hardest at the hotel bar.

You’re sitting across from him in some ridiculous formal dress, sipping water like it’s wine because the event is too long and you’re too tired, and someone behind you says, “She doesn’t even look that royal.”

You hear it. He knows you hear it. But you don’t flinch. You just smile, poised and polite, and excuse yourself a moment later. You come back three minutes later, smile reset, posture perfect.

He watches the entire transformation with his stomach twisting into a knot.

“You alright?” He asks gently, when the crowds have thinned.

You glance over. “Of course.”

And he doesn’t push. But something in his chest tugs.

***

The idea comes to him in a flash.

“Hey,” he says the next night, casually leaning against the doorframe of your hotel suite. “Wanna ditch this disaster and do something stupid?”

You arch a brow. “Define stupid.”

“Burgers. Reality TV. My place.”

You blink.

“No press, no handlers. Just us. A comfy couch and some bad choices.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he says. “I just thought maybe … you might want to feel normal for a bit.”

You don’t answer right away.

Because it’s absurd. It’s reckless. You have a state dinner in forty-five minutes and there are actual diplomats waiting downstairs to make small talk about Luxembourg’s agricultural exports.

But then you look at him — hopeful, earnest, wearing a hoodie that says “QDRNT” and socks that do not match — and you think screw it.

You shut the door behind you.

“Let’s go.”

***

He smuggles you out the back through the hotel kitchens.

“You’ve done this before,” you note, as he expertly navigates a series of corridors.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I once snuck out past curfew during a sponsor dinner to get tacos with Max.”

“And how’d that end?”

“In a minor fire.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

He just grins.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting in his apartment — barefoot, legs tucked under yourself on the couch, a paper bag of burgers between you.

“You know,” you say, unwrapping one of them, “if this gets leaked to the press, they’re going to think you’re a bad influence.”

He takes a dramatic bite. “Milady, wouldst thou accept this humble offering of ketchup and meat?”

You snort, almost choking on your fries. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet you remain seated.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue.

He clicks on the TV and scrolls to a show that looks suspiciously like Love Island, then leans back and stretches his arms behind his head like it’s the most relaxing evening of his life.

“Do you do this a lot?” You ask.

“What, seduce royalty over fast food?”

“No,” you laugh. “Just … be this normal.”

He shrugs. “Normal’s relative, innit? I mean, yeah. When I can. When people let me.”

You nod slowly. “Must be nice.”

He turns to look at you. “You really don’t get much of that, huh?”

You take a sip of soda. “Not unless it’s scripted. Or has a purpose. Even this … it’s not real.”

He shifts on the couch, voice quieter. “It feels real.”

You glance over at him, something flickering behind your eyes. “It does, doesn’t it?”

There’s a long beat. The show drones in the background — someone screaming about being “mugged off” and crying in a hot tub.

And then he says, softly, “Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“What would you be doing right now if you weren’t, y’know, you? The royal stuff, I mean.”

You pause.

“Sleeping,” you say finally. “Without a schedule. Without worrying if my resting face looks too detached in photographs.”

He smiles, a little sadly. “You’re good at it. The pretending.”

“Too good,” you murmur. “It’s like muscle memory.”

He nods, thoughtful.

Then, in a whisper like a secret:, “I wish I could give you more of this.”

You turn to him fully. “More burgers?”

“More normal,” he says. “More space to just … be. Laugh. Eat crap food and wear ugly pajamas and not have to explain yourself to anyone.”

Something in your chest squeezes.

You don’t say anything.

Instead, you lean over, take a fry from his tray, and say, “You talk too much.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Didn’t mean to-”

“I like it,” you interrupt.

He blinks.

You nod toward the screen. “Shut up and watch trash TV with me.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He salutes. You hit him with a pillow.

He yelps, dramatically falling sideways onto the couch like you’ve slain him. “Oh no! The duchess has betrayed me!”

You’re laughing now, full-bodied and unfiltered, and Lando watches you like he’s discovered something sacred.

And in that ridiculously expensive Monaco apartment — over lukewarm burgers and cheap television — something real clicks into place.

Something neither of you says out loud. Yet.

***

There’s something wildly disorienting about pretending to be engaged while boarding a private jet with your not-actually-fiancé and his team. Everyone’s in branded hoodies, backpacks slung low, and you are wearing sunglasses too big for your face and eating gummy bears out of Lando’s hand.

It shouldn’t feel this easy. But it does.

Lando slouches into the seat beside you, nudging your knee with his. “You ready to charm the entire paddock again?”

You grin, biting off a red bear. “As long as you don’t run me over with a scooter this time.”

He chuckles. “I make no promises.”

The entire team is still buzzing about Monaco, and Lando’s riding the wave like he was born for it. Every time someone asks about “the duchess,” he beams, slings an arm around you like it’s instinct, and says something utterly absurd like, “She saved me from a life of bachelor mediocrity.”

You elbow him every time. He doesn’t stop.

When you land, everything’s familiar but shinier. More photographers. More interest. More rumors. The press is obsessed, still pushing out think pieces dissecting your “engagement,” articles titled How Luxembourg’s Royal Match Might Save McLaren’s PR Season and Love, Speed, and Statecraft: A Modern Fairytale?

You try not to read them. You try not to notice that people are beginning to look at you and Lando like something real is happening.

But the problem is … it’s starting to feel real.

Especially when he FaceTimes his mother from the garage and yells, “Mum! Look who I’ve got!”

You barely have time to blink before a kind, curious woman appears onscreen, waving excitedly. “Oh, she’s gorgeous! Hello, sweetheart!”

“Hi,” you laugh, suddenly weirdly nervous. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Don’t let him get away with anything,” she says warmly. “He’s always been a cheeky one.”

“Mum,” Lando whines, red in the ears.

You smile. “I’ll keep him in line. Royal decree.”

His mum howls with laughter. “Oh, I like her.”

After the call ends, Lando’s quiet for a second, just watching you like he’s never seen you before.

“What?” You ask.

He shrugs, softly. “Nothing. Just … you’re good with my family.”

You nudge his shoulder. “And you brought a duchess to meet your mum over FaceTime in a dirty motorhome. What a catch.”

He grins. “The best catch.”

It’s easy. Too easy. And that’s what makes the next part harder.

***

You find out about the betrothal preparations by accident.

You’re in your suite, half-watching footage from practice, when your phone buzzes with a message from Martine.

Draft of formal announcement attached. Parliament reviewing wording. Father approved. Event tentatively scheduled for end of month.

You stare at the screen. You knew they were talking. You just didn’t know it had escalated.

The file opens to a beautifully typeset letter with phrases like With deep joy, the Grand Ducal Family announces … and in celebration of the enduring relationship between Luxembourg and the international community …

Your name. Lando’s name. Your actual engagement.

You blow out a slow, quiet breath. “… Right,” you murmur.

Because this was never supposed to get that far. This was supposed to be a joke. A misinterpreted hat and a string of PR saves. Something temporary. Something ridiculous.

And now it’s a royal decree in waiting.

***

You don’t tell Lando right away.

You’re not sure how. Or when. Or even if it’ll matter. Part of you wants to see if he’s catching on.

The problem is — he is. But not in the way you expect.

You catch him in the paddock later that afternoon, pressed up against a journalist with a tight smile and a voice that sounds … off.

“We’re just having fun,” he’s saying. “I mean, obviously we’re fond of each other, but come on, it’s been, what, a few weeks? Everyone’s reading into things too much. It’s not, like … real real.”

You freeze. Your chest does something strange.

“Fake engagement,” the reporter repeats, scribbling fast. “So you’d call it fake?”

“No — well — I mean, it’s a misunderstanding. But like, funny. Silly. Not serious-serious. I’m not actually about to marry-”

He looks up.

Sees you.

His mouth shuts instantly.

You turn on your heel before he can say your name.

***

He finds you later in the hospitality suite, tucked into a corner booth with your legs crossed and your arms folded tight. You’re wearing sunglasses even though you’re indoors. It’s not sunny.

“Hey,” he says, breathless like he ran. “Can we talk?”

You don’t look at him. “You should go.”

“Please don’t be mad-”

“I’m not mad,” you say. “I’m just confused.”

He slides in across from you. “About what?”

You take off your sunglasses slowly, like peeling back a layer of yourself.

“Are you embarrassed?” You ask, quiet but steady. “Of me?”

His eyes widen. “What? No!”

“Because I heard you,” you say. “With the press. Like I’m some PR stunt you’re trying to backpedal.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

“I didn’t think they’d take it this seriously,” he says finally. “I thought we were just having fun.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Is that all it is to you?”

He fidgets. “I don’t know.”

You let the silence settle like dust between you.

“Do you think I chose to be born into this?” You ask, softer now. “The titles. The politics. The fact that I can’t even order a burger without it being international news?”

“No, of course not-”

“I’ve spent every day of my life playing by someone else’s rules,” you say. “And then this — this accident, this whole engagement — it’s the first time I’ve actually liked the story I’m in. And you’re out here telling everyone exactly how fake it is.”

Lando looks like he’s been slapped. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“Well, you did.”

You stand.

He reaches for your wrist, but you step back.

“I have to go,” you say. “My advisors are expecting me. We’re planning a fake betrothal gala.”

Your voice cracks a little on the last word.

And then you walk away.

You don’t see the look on Lando’s face as you leave. But if you had, you’d see it plain as day:

Regret. Real, gut-punching regret.

***

Lando’s been outside your hotel for thirty-six minutes.

Thirty-six minutes of pacing, kicking the heel of his sneaker against a marble step, and trying to figure out if knocking on the door of a royal suite gets him arrested. Or excommunicated. Or worse — rejected.

He’s holding a paper bag.

Inside is an apology attempt in the form of your favorite milkshake (two straws, vanilla with caramel swirl), a squished pastry from the café you liked down the block, and a note that says I suck but I’d like to stop sucking, please?

He stares at the door. Then knocks, fast, before he can lose his nerve.

When it swings open, you’re there. Barefoot, in an oversized t-shirt and a messy bun. You look tired. And beautiful. And like you haven’t made up your mind about forgiving him.

“You came all this way to give me diabetes?” You ask.

He lifts the bag sheepishly. “There’s also emotional vulnerability in here. Limited edition.”

You lean against the doorframe. “How limited?”

“Like … might expire in fifteen minutes if left at room temperature?”

Your mouth quirks. “Alright, come in.”

He steps inside. There are no royal advisors. No handlers. No headlines. Just you. And the thudding panic in his chest.

“I brought peace offerings,” he says, unloading the bag onto the table like a raccoon presenting stolen treasure. “Pastry. Milkshake. Handwritten note, because I’m a man of old-school charm and no real plan.”

You sit down across from him, legs folded under you. “Didn’t peg you for the note-writing type.”

“Yeah, well, I panicked halfway through and drew a sad face instead of finishing a sentence.”

You pick it up, scan it. Then lift your eyes to his. “You really drew a sad face next to the word ‘unworthy’?”

He winces. “In hindsight, it was maybe too on the nose.”

Silence.

You take a long sip of milkshake. “Why did you say it wasn’t real?”

Lando swallows hard. “Because I freaked out.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He nods. Rubs the back of his neck. Then looks at you, really looks at you.

“You’re a duchess,” he says. “A literal royal. You speak six languages and have a coat of arms, and every photo of you looks like a Vogue cover. And me? I crash scooters into things and get told off by Zak for being late to briefings because I got distracted by pigeons.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Pigeons?”

“Look, they were doing funny head bobs, alright?”

You huff a laugh. He presses on.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t real because I don’t want it to be,” he says, voice low now. “I said it because I didn’t think I deserved it. Deserved you.”

That catches you off guard. You blink. “You think I’d pretend to be engaged to someone I didn’t think was worth my time?”

“You agreed to it because of a hat, Your Highness,” he points out. “Not exactly a high bar.”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it, grinning, but there’s something earnest in his eyes now. Less golden-retriever panic, more quiet honesty.

“I meant it when I said I like being around you,” he says. “Not because of the title or the press or the fact that you can probably have me banished. I like you. The person who steals fries from my plate and makes up stories about strangers in cafes and gets this little line between her eyebrows when she’s pretending not to care.”

You glance away, trying to hide the fact that your heart’s doing the cha-cha.

“I was scared,” he adds. “Still am, kinda.”

“Of what?”

“Of messing this up. Of not knowing where the fake part ends and the real part starts. Of it being real and you not wanting that.”

You stare at him. Then lean forward. And kiss him.

It’s not for show. It’s not for the cameras or the press or the legacy of Luxembourg. It’s just for him.

His breath catches. His fingers curl reflexively around the edge of the table like he’s grounding himself.

When you pull back, you’re still close enough to see the freckle on his cheek, the way his eyes dart to your lips like he’s already memorizing the way you taste.

“That,” you say, “was not fake.”

He exhales, stunned. “Good. Because if it was, I was gonna have to dramatically fall to my knees and declare my love in rhyme.”

You snort. “Please don’t.”

“I had a verse ready,” he insists. “Something about you being the queen of my circuit and the pole position of my heart-”

You groan, but you’re laughing now. He grins wide, basking in it like sunlight.

Then your smile fades, just a little.

“But I don’t want to keep pretending,” you say. “Not like this.”

He nods. “Neither do I.”

“I want it to be real,” you say. “Even if that means stepping back from the public part. Even if that means confusing everyone.”

“Let ‘em be confused,” he says. “I just want to be with you. Not the tabloid version. You.”

You sit there for a moment. Letting the quiet fill the space between words.

Then you reach for his hand.

“I have to make some calls,” you say. “Tell my advisors we’re not doing a state engagement tour.”

Lando bites back a smirk. “Damn. I had already picked out a tiara to match my race suit.”

You stand, tug him up with you. “Help me sneak out the back?”

He beams. “Always.”

***

An hour later, you’re both in disguises — hoodies, sunglasses, and the kind of hats you only wear when you’re actively avoiding being recognized.

You walk along the water like two teenagers skipping class. Lando swings your hand between you.

“You know,” he says casually, “I don’t even mind if you tell your family we broke up.”

You glance at him. “What, you want me to text my father hey, sorry, not actually marrying the F1 driver?”

He shrugs. “I mean, if you want. But like, add a smiley face so he doesn’t hate me.”

You stop walking.

“Lando,” you say, turning to face him. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“You sure? He looked like he wanted to adopt me and throw me in a dungeon over video call.”

You roll your eyes. “He likes you. He’s just never had to deal with this kind of scandal before. Luxembourg is … very traditional.”

Lando’s quiet for a second. “Do you ever wish you weren’t royal?”

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

“Because it’s lonely?”

You nod. “Because it’s … scripted. Every word. Every move. Every smile.”

He squeezes your hand. “Then let’s unscript it.”

You look up at him.

And in that moment — no palace, no cameras, no ancient traditions — you believe it.

This thing between you isn’t part of the plan. But maybe it’s the best part.

***

The Château de Berg looks exactly like a place where people wear sashes unironically.

Lando stands at the base of the grand staircase, fiddling with the cuff of his tux, while you float down the steps like you’ve been doing this since birth — which, frankly, you have.

You’re in navy silk and diamonds. He’s in mild, manageable panic.

“You okay?” You ask when you reach him.

He stares at you. “You look like a Bond girl. I look like I got lost on my way to a wedding I wasn't invited to.”

“You look great.”

“Yeah, great and very much like a commoner infiltrating the kingdom.”

You roll your eyes, looping your arm through his. “You’re my date, remember?”

“Right. Your real date now. Not just the guy who caused a constitutional crisis with a baseball cap.”

“That was a team hat,” you correct. “And technically, it’s a national treasure now.”

He laughs, but there’s a beat of silence as you both step into the gala ballroom.

Because everyone is watching.

Every. Single. Person.

Politicians, nobles, press photographers, distant cousins who’ve probably never spoken to you but now feel emotionally invested in your relationship status. All of them freeze slightly when they see you walk in.

And then Lando does the most Lando thing imaginable. He squeezes your hand. In full view of everyone. No hesitation.

Your spine, trained by decades of royal etiquette, goes rigid for a half second, then softens. You glance at him.

He just smiles.

“Do I bow to anyone?” He asks under his breath.

“You could,” you whisper back. “But that would be weird.”

“So I shouldn’t curtsy either?”

“I swear to God, Lando-”

“Just checking.”

You lead him through the crowd, nodding politely to various dignitaries who eye Lando with expressions ranging from bemused to is that the F1 boy who did the shoey that one time?

When a Luxembourgish minister tries to corner you with questions about heritage tourism initiatives, Lando — beautiful, clueless, brilliant Lando — steps in and distracts him by asking detailed questions about the country’s road safety infrastructure.

He even nods seriously. “Roundabouts are so underrated, man.”

You almost choke on champagne.

Later, after the violinist finishes a performance so somber you briefly feel like you should repent for something, you tug Lando away toward one of the quieter wings of the palace.

He follows without question. “We sneaking out again? Because I don’t think I’m dressed for burgers.”

“Not this time,” you say, leading him through a hall lined with portraits of monarchs in very large ruffled collars.

You open a door.

The room inside is small by royal standards — still the size of a generous hotel suite — but softly lit and quiet. At the center, on a velvet pedestal, rests a crown.

Not a cartoonish, jewel-encrusted monstrosity. But elegant. Heavy-looking. Steeped in history.

Lando freezes. “Wait. Is that-”

“The ceremonial crown,” you say. “For the heir.”

He blinks. “So … yours.”

You nod.

He steps closer, squinting. “It looks really … shiny.”

“That’s the gold.”

“Right. Of course. Just, y’know, very crown-y.”

You raise a brow. “You want to try it on?”

His head snaps up. “Am I allowed to?”

“Absolutely not.”

He grins. “So obviously I have to.”

You gesture to the nearby armchair like a royal game show host. “Then kneel.”

He hesitates. “Like, actually?”

“If you want the crown, yes.”

He kneels.

It’s chaotic, awkward, and completely him — one knee down, then wobbling a bit because his dress shoes have no grip. You bite back a laugh.

“You sure you’re ready for this responsibility, Mr. Norris?”

He places a hand dramatically on his heart. “I solemnly swear to not crash into any world leaders on a scooter.”

You lift the crown carefully from its stand.

It’s heavier than you remember. Or maybe it’s just that Lando’s looking up at you with that dopey grin, eyes crinkled, like he thinks this is the best joke you’ve ever played on him.

You lower it toward his head, pausing just above.

Then say, soft and teasing, “Do you swear loyalty to the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg?”

He blinks.

Then something changes in his expression. Something unguarded.

“I swear loyalty to you,” he says, quiet now.

Your breath catches. And for a moment, it isn’t funny anymore.

You look down at him. Kneeling. Grinning still, but less exaggerated. Less ironic.

And you feel it — the shift. That terrifying, impossible weight in your chest.

You want it to be true. All of it.

Not just the fake engagement. Not just the headlines or the banter or the jokes about tiaras.

You want him.

The chaos. The kindness. The fierce way he holds your hand in front of a room full of people who’ve probably written dissertations on protocol.

You set the crown down beside him.

“Too heavy?” He asks.

You sit across from him. “Too real.”

Lando folds his legs under him, now seated on the floor in full tuxedo, just inches away. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“Because I said something dumb again?”

You shake your head. “Because you said something honest.”

He rests his chin on your knee.

“That’s the thing about crowns,” he murmurs. “They look like jokes until they’re not.”

You meet his eyes.

And maybe he sees something in yours, because he adds, “Hey, I’m not asking you to make me royal. I’m just saying … you don’t have to wear the heavy stuff alone.”

You don’t kiss him this time.

You just lean your forehead against his and stay there, hearts thudding in tandem.

The velvet. The gold. The hush of history around you.

And him.

The boy who kneeled because you dared him to. And meant every word he said.

***

Silverstone is humming.

The air crackles with adrenaline and overpriced beer and the unmistakable scent of burnt rubber. British flags wave like it’s a national holiday — because in a way, it is. It’s Lando’s home race, and every person within a five-mile radius not cheering for Lewis Hamilton is wearing something papaya. The grandstands are alive with chants and cheers. It’s chaos. Beautiful, electric chaos.

And somehow, you’re in the middle of it.

Again.

You’re not in a palace. Not under a chandelier or beside a velvet rope. You're in a paddock full of sweaty engineers and excited children and a camera crew who keeps zooming in a little too often. The sky above is a mess of clouds that can't decide whether to rain or behave. It feels real. Unfiltered. Like the first inhale after you’ve been holding your breath for years.

Lando is glowing.

Not literally. (Although he’s so ridiculously tanned from being outside that he might be.)

He’s just … alive. In his element. Grinning like a kid who got handed the keys to a rollercoaster.

“Mate,” he says to a McLaren engineer, “if we shave 0.2 off sector two, I’ll get you a beer the size of your head. Swear.”

Then he catches your eye across the garage, and the grin softens. Changes. Like he can’t quite believe you’re there.

“You showed up,” he says, walking over. His suit is half-zipped, gloves dangling from one hand, hair a little flattened by a headset.

You raise an eyebrow. “I said I would.”

“Yeah, but sometimes I think you’ve got a kingdom to run or — what do you call it — ancient royal responsibilities?”

You smile. “I rearranged Luxembourg’s strategic policy briefings to be here. So you better win.”

“Oh God,” he mutters. “National pressure.”

You reach into your bag.

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that?”

“A surprise.”

“Is it a scepter? Please tell me it’s a scepter.”

You pull out a hat.

Not just any hat.

It’s a custom McLaren cap — deep orange with black trim, his driver number embroidered in silver thread on the side, and a small, discreet crest of Luxembourg stitched into the underside of the brim.

Lando blinks. “Wait. What — ”

“I had it made,” you say, holding it out. “For you.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “You made me a hat?”

“Technically I designed it. Royal prerogative.”

He takes it reverently, like it might shatter in his hands.

“Try it on,” you say.

He does.

And you reach up, slow and deliberate, to adjust it — placing it gently on his head.

The way he did with you in Monaco.

The way you now know means something in your culture.

It’s not just cute. It’s not just a gesture.

It’s a statement.

There’s a beat.

A collective inhale from the crowd around you, like everyone saw it and knows.

Someone’s camera shutter clicks.

Then another.

Then three more.

Somewhere, a tabloid headline is practically writing itself.

Lando stares at you under the brim.

“You just …” he starts, voice low.

“Balanced the scales,” you finish. “You gave me yours first.”

His mouth quirks up. “This means I’m the Grand Duchess now, yeah?”

“You would make a terrible duchess.”

He scoffs. “I’d be brilliant.”

“You’d try to turn the royal palace into a karting circuit.”

“I would never-” He pauses. “Okay, I would. But like … a tasteful one.”

You both dissolve into laughter.

The kind that catches you off guard and settles somewhere deep in your ribs.

The kind that means this — whatever this is — isn’t just temporary anymore.

***

Later, while Lando’s giving a pre-qualifying interview, a reporter points to the hat.

“Custom cap today, Lando?” She asks with a wink.

He glances toward you, watching from the edge of the pit wall in sunglasses and a smug little smile.

Lando shrugs. “Gift.”

“From the Duchess?”

His face turns ten shades of red. “Maybe.”

“Looks like a pretty serious gesture.”

He scratches his neck, sheepish. “I mean, if you’re lucky enough to get one, yeah … you hold onto it.”

The clip goes viral before the session even starts.

***

After qualifying, he finds you waiting beside the McLaren motorhome, arms crossed, foot tapping in mock impatience.

“You said you’d get pole,” you tease.

“I said I’d try. Which I did. Very hard. Max just exists to ruin my life.”

You loop your fingers through his. “I’m still proud of you.”

“Even with P2?”

“Especially with P2.”

He shifts his weight. “They’re calling it the Reverse Proposal now. On Twitter. The hat thing.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course they are.”

“I’m trending with your country’s name. I’m not even in Luxembourg.”

“Give it a week. You’ll probably be knighted.”

Lando leans closer. “Would you stay?”

“Hm?”

“After the race. Stay in the UK a little longer. I’ll take you to my hometown. My mum’ll feed you way too much and ask if I’m behaving.”

You smile. “And what would you say?”

“That I’m doing my best.”

You brush a hand through his hair, just under the brim of the cap.

“You’re doing more than that,” you whisper. “You’re making me feel like I’m not just … a crown.”

Lando’s eyes soften.

“You’re not,” he says. “You’re everything but that.”

The cameras catch you leaning into him.

Not for show. Not for press.

Just because.

And somewhere, miles away, in a palace covered in polished marble and a thousand years of history, a staffer is already drafting a new press release.

Not for a fake engagement. Not for a tradition accidentally triggered.

But maybe, just maybe …

For the real thing.

***

It starts like a joke.

The kind Lando makes when he’s nervous. Fidgeting with his hoodie strings, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, saying things like “Right, so if this goes terribly wrong, I can still blame the British weather, yeah?”

You’re in London. More specifically, you’re in a hidden garden tucked behind a historic townhouse, the kind with ivy climbing up old brick walls and roses blooming like they’re performing for royalty. (They probably are.) You’re only in town for a few days — official meetings, diplomatic appearances, a quiet dinner with a visiting Luxembourgish minister. Nothing too scandalous. Nothing that would make the papers.

Until now.

You glance at him suspiciously. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” Lando says, very much being weird.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s thirty degrees and I’m in long sleeves.”

“You’re in a hoodie. Like a gremlin.”

“First of all, rude.”

You cross your arms, stepping in front of him on the cobbled garden path. “What are we doing here, Lando?”

His grin flickers. Just for a second.

Then he exhales.

“Okay, right. So. I wanted to do this somewhere quiet. Somewhere just … us.”

Your eyebrows rise.

“Not in a castle. Not in front of the entire European Parliament. Just … with birds and, like, a suspiciously photogenic squirrel over there.”

You blink. “Are you okay?”

He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie.

And pulls out a hat.

Not just any hat.

The hat.

The one from Monaco. The one he placed on your head the day everything spiraled. The one that started a thousand headlines and at least one constitutional debate. The one you lost your mind over when it mysteriously vanished from your closet last week.

“Is that-”

He nods, sheepish. “Yeah. I, uh … borrowed it.”

“You stole it.”

“Temporarily.”

“Lando!”

“I had a plan!”

You laugh, half outraged, half flattered. “You absolute menace.”

He steps closer, holding the cap in both hands now. And suddenly, he’s not fidgeting. Not bouncing. Just looking at you like the rest of the world has gone silent.

“I was gonna get a ring,” he says. “I have a ring. But I thought maybe this … this felt more us.”

You stop breathing.

He takes a breath for you.

“I didn’t know what I was doing back then. When I gave you this. I didn’t know who you were or what that meant or how much that one tiny moment would mess up my entire life in the best way possible.”

You blink fast.

“Lando …”

“And now I do. Know. Everything. I know who you are. I know what you carry. And I know I want to carry it with you.”

He swallows. The cap shifts in his hands.

“So, yeah. This is stupid and not shiny and it’s probably sweaty. But it’s ours.”

Then — slowly, deliberately — he places it back on your head.

And kneels.

Not dramatically. Not performatively.

Just … reverently.

Like a man who understands now what he didn’t back then.

“Will you marry me?” He says. “For real this time?”

Silence.

Except your heartbeat.

And the click of a single camera shutter — because of course someone, somewhere, caught it.

You don’t care.

You kneel, too.

And kiss him.

Right there in the dirt and roses and British humidity.

“Yes,” you say against his smile. “Obviously, yes.”

***

The palace releases a statement two hours later.

Their Royal Highnesses the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess are pleased to confirm the engagement of Her Royal Highness the Hereditary Grand Duchess Y/N Y/L/N to Mr. Lando Norris.

You pass the phone to Lando.

He stares at it like it might explode.

“Oh my God,” he says. “It’s real. It’s really real.”

And then he pulls out his phone.

“You’re not tweeting,” you warn.

“I’m absolutely tweeting.”

You watch over his shoulder as he types.

@LandoNorris: turns out giving someone your hat is a big deal 👀

also turns out i’m marrying the love of my life

brb crying 🧡👑

You groan. “You put emojis in your engagement tweet.”

“Of course I did.”

“I’m going to be monarch someday and you just used the eyeball emoji.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you said yes.”

He turns to the camera crews still filming.

“She said yes, by the way!” He calls out. “Like, for real this time! Sorry to disappoint anyone still holding out for a princess fantasy. She’s mine now.”

You bury your face in your hands.

It’s absurd.

It’s embarrassing.

It’s … perfect.

Somewhere, your father is probably watching the livestream and toasting with vintage champagne. Somewhere else, Parliament is scrambling to schedule a press conference. And somewhere even farther away, an ancient Luxembourgish historian is definitely writing a very dry academic paper titled “The Sociopolitical Implications of Cap-Based Courtship in the 21st Century.”

But all you can see is Lando.

Grinning like the sun.

Yours.

[jolixtreesunn]

“Hmph, this one transfers too.”

You got new lipsticks, meaning you needed to wear test them as soon as possible. Your guinea pigs? Your two, loving, patient, towering boyfriends of course.

Your lips were rather sensitive at this point, so many kisses, so many makeup wipes, so many new formulas smeared across your mouth. “That’s okay, try the next one.”

Zayne and Sylus sat before you, lounging on your shared bed in Linkon with numerous kiss marks on their lips, cheeks, foreheads, noses, necks, collarbones…

They couldn’t complain, no they wouldn’t dare. Getting showered in your never ending kisses? That would be like begging for water after days wandering in the desert and then declining it because it’s room temperature.

“I’m running out of room.” You settle back on your knees, hands rummaging through the shades you haven’t tried yet while also eyeing both men up and down.

“By all means, kitten, I can take off my shirt.” Zayne’s fingers stop their typing, he had been multitasking this entire kissing endeavor. “That’s a great idea, Sy! Take your shirt off.” A dopey grin stretched your kiss-swollen lips, and a second later Zayne’s laptop is snapping shut.

“Zayne, Sylus is more than enough canvas.” You’re teasing him, of course, watching his hazel eyes snap towards you. “That’s complete nonsense, you need more blank canvas for your art work.” Sylus’ hearty chuckle sounds beside him, his silk button up hitting the floor.

“Someone is sounding jealous, Doctor Zayne.” He’s settling back against the headboard, eyeing you slowly as you applied the next lipstick. “More canvas for me, thanks for being so considerate Zaynie.”

And the man could only shrug his tee shirt up and over his head, ears a burning crimson. “I think that shade would look good on Zayne’s chest, don’t you think, kitten?”

Suddenly, Zayne felt as if he walked right into a trap.

[jolixtreesunn]

「Where the Wind Left Us」 Caleb

       ↳ He died in the war- or so you thought. Years later, he returns with no memory of you, and you're forced to face the man who once loved you like forever... now looking at you like a stranger.

Caleb had once been a fighter pilot, sharp, brave and deeply in love. Before the war, before duty stole him away, he was yours. Have a love rooted in hope, built during quiet moments in the chaos of wartime. But when the war escalated and he was called to serve, to protect the country and to protect you.

You had written to him. Countless letters. Words filled with devotion, with trembling wishes for his safety. For his return. With each letter, you tried to remind him that he was still loved, that you are still here, waiting for him. But the war ended, and he never came back.

You stood among crowds of reuniting lovers, heart clenched, eyes scanning every face that was not his. In your fist, a handkerchief crumpled tight with tears. They handed you a uniform. A final gesture. They said his plane had been shot down over enemy lines. No body. No wreckage. No closure. He had been declared missing in action and then, eventually, dead.

Years had passed. Then decade. Still, you remained alone. Something inside you had died the same day he did. If not in body, then in memory. You could not bring yourself to move on. His absence was a shadow you had lived beside. And then-

"Ouch!" A small voice snapped you out of the daze. You looked down to find a young boy who had fallen in front of you. Without thinking twice about it, you knelt beside him, concern pushing through the numbness. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" You asked. But when the your eyes met, something inside you cracked. A ghost of the past but this time, his eyes resemble somebody else. Someone long lost. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t look away. It was like seeing a ghost, not of the boy, but of someone you once knew better than yourself.

Later, you found yourself seated in a familiar little ice cream parlor. One that hadn't changed much over the years. Once, it had been the setting of the happiest date of your life. And now, across from you, sat the boy with his apple-flavored treat. "Are you sure you're okay?" You asked. "Yes! I'm a big boy now. Not even a scratch can make me cry!" He beamed. And that smile, that smile nearly identical to another's from so long ago. "Say, kid" You asked gently "Where are your parents?" "Oh!" He paused mid lick, then looked up like he'd just remembered. "Probably looking for me! We just got back here because this is my father's hometown!"

It was almost cruel, how easily your heart twisted. Once upon a time, there was a love story. A foreign soldier lost in a strange land, memory fractured by war. And a medical nurse who found him, pieced him together. They met. They bonded. They fell in love, not knowing that time and fate had other plans. And now, you are left with nothing but the ruin of a fairytale that was never meant to last.

"Oh, it's Dad." the child mumbled as he looked out the window. And there he was. Caleb. Alive. Whole. Smiling that same hesitant smile. Though now touched with worry as he spotted his son. So you look away and turn around. "I need to go" You whispered almost to yourself. In the end the child pout, the same way he once does causing you to chuckle despite the pain, despite the heartbreak. Despite the realization that the two of you were in fact, never meant to be together. But it was alright. 

"I'm afraid I'm quite running late for my errands young man." You smile fondly at him. "But-" He was cut off by the sound of his father calling him from the distance. "Well then, goodbye." You stand up, bidding your goodbye to the young child. "Wai- wait! What's your name?" You thought for a moment and look back slightly at the child. "No one, just a ghost from the past." You whispered along the wind. You never look back. And by the time Caleb reach the child's side, you were already long gone. 

♡

It's been a while since you've clean up your lawn. Its been a while since you have done such a thing ever since the revelation that your former lover. The one you thought was dead for the past few years was in fact, alive and breathing. And has a son, a family. It took you a while to pick yourself up from pieces. For years, you mourned for him, loved him in silence. Lit up a candle for a man declared dead with no body to bury. But then, like a cruel twist of fate, he appeared. Alive. Well. And with a child.

You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. That too much time had passed. That you both moved on even though you never truly had. And that he was someone else's now. That he had a family, and your part in his story was long over. But it wasn’t grief you were feeling now, it was betrayal. Not because he had lived. Not because he ha didn't tell you. Because he had come back into your world as if you were a stranger, not the person who once waited for his letters like they were lifelines. Not the person who loved him enough to mourn him twice.

You clenched your jaw, yanking a weed from the dirt with more force than necessary. Why were you so broken over this? He hadn't done anything wrong. No one had. And yet, deep in your chest, a sharp ache remained. You would’ve preferred he stayed dead. It was easier than this.

"Hello!" You pause, something that you tried not to show too much as you turn to face a familiar child. "Hello sweetheart." You tried to smile, really. The child did nothing wrong. Hell, no one did anything wrong. At the same time it really hurts you to be around this child as time went on. "Are you lost sweetheart?" You ask, setting aside your things to talk to the child properly. You haven't seen the boy in days, and now that he was standing right in front of you, it was clear that what happened wasn't a dream. It was true, he was back and you don't know it that was for better or for worse. "Are you okay?" The boy asked catching you off guard. "Of.. course. I'm okay sweetheart. But! but more importantly, Why are you alone again? where are your parents?"

Starting to get pissed off. The Caleb you knew was responsible, a man with taste. You knew who ever we has with right now would be a perfect good match for. But come on! Who lives their child alone?! This isn't the first time this happened, this child also happened to be away from this parents the first time you've seen him. Why are people so irresponsible with their children? Doesn't he love children? He never told you that of course, but you knew he always wanted one and you knew he would be a good dad. So where in the world is he right now-

"My paren-" "Pipsqueak! you little-!!" He pause, you watch him. You watch him watch you, your eyes slowly meeting half way. You did not want to see him. You were doing everything in your power not to see him.

These days, you moved differently. You rarely left your house and even if you did you took side streets, crossed early at lights, pretended not to notice the ache in your chest when someone said his name like it wasn’t a ghost curled inside it. He was back in town, for good, you knew that. But you aren't expecting to see him again, not now. Probably not ever. 

The way he was looking at you. The way it send shiver down your spine. He doesn’t know, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t remember you. He’s not looking at you because he knows you. You told yourself, trying your best to stay calm as he kept looking at you. Why was he even looking at you? He came to pick his son right? Right!

"You" You spoke, sharper than you meant, "Really need to learn how to watch your kid." You did not know where did you get that, words just came out of your mouth before you knew it. Caleb blinked like he wasn’t expecting you to speak first. Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting you. But then he stared at you again, this time, really stared.

The way you tried not to notice how his gaze lingered. The way it clung to your face like it recognized something but couldn’t quite name it. How it made your heart squeeze and your chest ache with things you’d buried long ago. You hate how he still looked at you like that. Like you were something soft in a world gone harsh.

"I- yeah" He replied, finally. "I didn’t know he snuck out again. He’s been doing that a lot lately." "Well, maybe he’s trying to get attention" You snapped, folding your arms. Where did that sassiness came from? "You know, since you're busy with your wife... or whatever." You tried to sound nonchalant, you really do.

But you saw it the moment the words left your mouth, the way something flickered in his expression. Confusion. A little hurt. "My what?" "Your wife.” You repeated, biting down the bitterness. "Look Mister, you've got a family. I get it. But maybe someone should be making sure your son doesn't keep ending up on strangers' lawns."

The way he looked at you like you just accused him of murder. The he said carefully "I don’t have a wife." You thought your ears were playing tricks at you. "I'm not married” He added, frowning. "It’s just me and this little guy over here." You opened your mouth then closed it before opening it again. "I saw you, at the ice cream parlor. You look like family." "We're not" He said simply, eyes softening. "Not like that." You look away. This isn't how you wanted this to go. You weren't even supposed to be talking to him.

Just when you felt like running away. The boy tugged at your sleeve. "Can we still go to the park?" The park? when did the two of you started talking about a park? You glanced down at the boy, then back at Caleb who was still staring at you. Like you were something fragile and familiar. Someone strange all at once. You cleared your throat. "Look, I don’t know what this is. But this little guy right here shouldn’t be wandering off." You smile gently at the boy, gently prying off his hand of your shirt "Next time it might not be someone nice who finds him."

Imagine just when you were about to turn around and walk away for real. "You’re right" Caleb said, voice steady. "You're completely right." What is this guy playing? "So maybe you should help me keep an eye on him. Just for today. Park trip?" 

You hesitated. This man, this stranger who still managed to look at you like you were everything, was asking you to walk beside him again. Even if he didn’t remember. Even if it shattered you. Just then, his son grabbed both your hands and squeezed. "Please? I can hold on both of you this time!" You sighed, you could almost feel a headache forming. "I swear" Caleb spoke quietly. "I’m not trying to make this harder for you." He added. "I just... something about you feels like I’ve known you forever." You didn't answer.

Instead you turn to his son who was looking at you with hopeful eyes. Oh those puppy eyes, who could ever say no to them? "Give me a minute darling, I'll clean this up in a bit." "Oh. Oh! I could help!" You laugh, ignoring the way his stare linger. With your heart pounding, trying not to fall apart as the man who once promised to come back to you followed behind. With no idea he already had.

♡

It began in fragments. A shared walk beneath rusted leaves. A passing smile from across the yard. A quiet lunch in the sun, where the child spoke the most and the two adults sat guarded, orbiting each other in silence.

For you, it was cautious. Your heart, once cracked open by his absence, had been stitched closed over years of grief. And now that he stood right before your eyes, not a memory, but a living echo. With his laugh the same, his presence still magnetic. But his eyes were new. Unknowing. Which honestly made it worse. You didn’t know how to touch a ghost who didn’t remember haunting you.

He was gentler now. Or perhaps he always had been, had you simply forgotten how it felt. He watched you like you were something steady, something quiet. Like he was trying to place you in a dream he couldn’t quite recall. And you tried not to look too long. Not to stare when he leaned back on his hands, when he ran a palm through his hair the way he used to when deep in thought. You tried not to remember how his touch had once been a promise. Now, it was unfamiliar. Unwritten. A beginning that mocked the ending you had survived.

For Caleb, it was instinct.

The pull towards you was natural, like a rhythm he already knew. He could not understand why but it lingered in his chest every time you were near. Like a compass buried deep inside him had found true north. There was something in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching. Like you were mourning while he breathed. Like he had hurt you without meaning to. Like he had once been your world, and now you didn’t even know how to stand close without burning.

You were kind, but careful. Present, but slightly too still. He noticed the way you never leaned in too far. The way your hands stayed folded, as though holding yourself together. And yet, somehow, you two kept finding each other. A cup of tea offered without words. A shared glance when the little guy laughed too loudly. The comfortable silence of two people who knew how to sit with something unspoken.

For you, it was terrifying. To feel the old ache inching back slow, quiet and cruel. To fall for him again, when he had no idea you were simply picking up where he had left you broken.

For him, it felt inevitable. Like he was falling toward something he couldn’t name. Something familiar. Something that felt like home. Even if he didn’t know why.

♡

Caleb hadn't meant to visit.

He was just dropping off for his son's hat. Left behind again after your impromptu park trip. But when you opened the door and offered a gentle, "Come in for a minute." He stepped inside, telling himself it was polite. Just polite. And then he saw it.

First, the jacket. Hanging by the coat rack. Old, military-issued, a bit scuffed. Familiar. Too familiar. Then the model planes. Dusty but lovingly displayed on a shelf, and one of them, one specific fighter jet had a scratch on the left wing. And then the mug. Sitting quietly by the window, like a ghost of a morning ritual. Chipped. Faded. Still readable, Return With Honor. He stared at it like it had slapped him.

His chest tightened. His brain did math. You said you lived alone. That you never married. Yet this place didn’t feel like yours alone. It was layered with someone else's presence. And Caleb, who, despite his calm exterior, had an ego thoroughly capable of jealousy, was not immune.

"Nice place." He said, eyes still glued to the jacket. Boyfriend? No. You said you aren't seeing anyone. But maybe someone from the past? Someone important, judging by the shrine level energy in the room. "Thanks." You replied, walking toward the kitchen. "It's quiet. Suits me." "Yeah. You into aviation or something?" By his question, you paused. "A little." He nodded like that explained everything, but the knot in his chest was winding tighter.

"Those models." He said, referring to the planes. "They're vintage... Collectibles?" "They were someone else's." He felt an ache. "Someone close?" He asked and your silence was enough. Caleb cleared his throat. "Boyfriend?" "What's it to you?" You almost glare at him but ended with a sigh. "Nothing." He said too quickly. "Just curious. Not judging or anything. Totally healthy to you know... keep stuff from a boyfriend." He almost cringe at his own words. Nonetheless he tried to play it cool. "Even years later. It's fine."

"Wasn't a boyfriend." "Oh." He looked relieved then paused. "Husband?" You didn't respond. His jaw clenched. "Okay. Cool. So just- was it serious?" It was entertaining, really. To see him acting like this. Still, "Very." He exhaled slowly, pretending it didn't bother him. Pretending the idea of some air force Romeo haunting your house via jacket and coffee mug didn't sit like a boulder in his gut. "Is he… still around?" He asked.

You turned slightly, enough for him to see the flicker of something in your eyes. Not anger. Not sadness. Something older. But then you blink and it disappears. "No." You said simply, too nonchalant. "He died. Years ago. During the war." Caleb blinked. "Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to-"  "It's alright."

Caleb, in all his complicated grief and confused feelings, nodded gently and then exhaled the kind of breath no normal person should ever exhale after hearing about someone's dead lover.

Relief. An actual, horrible, shameful relief. "So... you never moved on?" Why does he even asked this questions? "I tried." You said, sighing. Looking back, you never truly get over him. Even before this, you carry him with you. "Didn’t stick."

He looked away, heart weirdly heavy. And relieved. Which was so wrong. He barely even knew you. "I'm not saying I was jealous." He muttered under his breath. Clearly wasn't very jealous. "But I just think it's a little unfair that a dead guy still has better closet space than me." You pause, looked at him and then choked on a laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing. I mean. I didn’t say that." He tried to recover but found himself already walking toward the jacket. "That tear in the shoulder? Looks like something from field duty. Enemy fire?" There was a moment of silence before your voice was heard. "Crash." Ah. Damn. He looked back at you. "Did they recover him?" You shook your head, mind replaying the day you received his uniform. "No. The plane was downed over enemy territory. No body. Just..." 

Caleb swallowed, then turned back to the jacket. His fingers brushed the edge of the inner collar. And there, faint but stitched in, was a name. Caleb. His own name.

He blinked. Huh. "That's weird." He whispered to himself. "What is?" "Nothing." He let go quickly, stepping back like the jacket burned him. "Just thought it looked familiar." "You probably knew someone like him." You said, looking at the jacket. "You were a pilot too, weren't you?" He nodded slowly.

The silence that followed was thick with something he couldn’t name. Finally, you turned to him, brows raising. "You okay?" "Yeah. I'm fine. Just..." He looked back at the shelf of planes. "Trying to figure out if I'm feeling haunted or just wildly insecure." You gave him a long look. "Don't worry. You're not the first man to get jealous of a ghost."

♡

It didn’t hit all at once.

Just a flicker. Later that evening, after he returned home and set down his keys. Caleb sat in silence for a long while. Hands resting on his knees, his mind somewhere far behind him. His son asleep upstairs. The house was quiet. But his heart wasn’t.

He couldn't stop thinking about the jacket. The way it had felt under his fingers. The fraying of the collar. The weight of it. Familiar, like a favorite song he hadn't heard in years. And then… the name.

Caleb

His name. Same spelling. Same placement he would have asked for, had it ever been his. And that particular kind of patch stitching, he knew it. Not in theory, not from others but he remembered doing it. Sewing that rip in the field. Threading it clumsily, cursing the cold, using his teeth to pull the knot tight.

The memory was sharp. Real. Immediate. He jolted. For a split second, the sound of wind filled his ears. Rotors. Heat. A hands pressing against his chest. A medic’s voice shouting. The taste of blood. The voice- the voice. Laughing. Crying. Then it was gone. He stared at the floor, breath unsteady, as something ancient and half buried inside him cracked open. He didn’t know the name. Not yet. 

But suddenly, he knew the jacket. He had loved someone once. And he had left them behind.

♡

It had been a while since Caleb last visited. Life had a way of stepping in, work, obligations and the silent ache between two people who used to know each other like breath and now barely touched the surface. He hadn't come by in days, and though you told yourself it was a relief, the echo of absence sat heavily in the corners of the house.

Still, his little boy came. He had a way of showing up with grass in his hair and stories far too big for his age. That afternoon, he sat cross-legged in your living room, babbling about paper airplanes and how he could totally build one that flew to the moon if he wanted. And you listened, smiling through the heaviness.

Then, in the soft lull of conversation, you asked a question that had lingered for too long. "Your dad... what's he like?" When you asked that, the boy shrugged like it wasn't complicated. "He’s kind. And quiet sometimes." He giggle. "He forgets things. But he always remembers the important stuff."

You hesitated before asking, you don't want to get hurt. "Was it always just the two of you?" The boy tilted his head. "No. My real parents died. In the war. Dad, Caleb, was their friend. He says he owes them everything."

The world tilted just slightly beneath you. He wasn’t his son. Not by blood. Caleb had taken the boy in. Raised him. Loved him. Not because he had to. But because it was the right thing to do.

You watch the little boy rummaged through his small backpack and pulled out something you hadn’t seen in years, a small box, worn at the edges. "He gave me this." He said, opening it like it was no big deal. Inside sat a ring. Their ring. The one pair Caleb had with him the night before he left for the war. The one you thought had been lost with him forever. You breath caught.

"He said it was for someone important." He added gently. "That he didn't remember who, not really. But he knew it was meant for someone. That he'd given it to them before everything." The air went silent with something unspoken. "He said that's why we came back here." The child said simply. "Because father- my first dad, told him he had left something important in this town. Someone.”

The ring sat there between them, heavy with memory.

You did not reach for it. Not yet. Because hope was a dangerous thing. And love, especially a love that once had died, was terrifying when it tried to live again. You turned your head, blinking quickly, steadying yourself. You could feel it, fate pulling at the thread. Winding them back toward something unfinished. Caleb didn’t remember you. But somehow, his heart still did.

And yours? Still afraid. But still beating for the same man.

♡

It came to him like a storm. No warning. No slow unraveling. Just a breath, then the world tilted. 

He was standing by your the porch, hand raised to knock on your door when his eyes flicked to the side window. There, through the curtain, he saw you. Front facing him and staring at the ring.

That ring.

The one he had carried through fire and blood and years of unknowing. The one he couldn't part with even when his memories scattered like ash in the wind. The ring he had told himself it was a symbol of something lost, of someone important.

And in that moment, it wasn't just important. It was you.

He staggered back a step, unsteady.

The noise of bombs, of roaring engines, your voice flooded in. Your hands on his uniform, trembling the day before he left. The taste of your kiss. The promise he made with that ring pressed between your and his palms. The letters. The laughter. The ache of missing you so badly that it bled into his bones.

The crash. The fire. Your name screaming on his throat. Your face, framed in smoke, reaching for him as everything fell apart. He remembered it all.

The weight of your head on his chest after long shifts at the field. The curve of your smile when you handed him that ridiculous mug. The way you looked up at him like he was something worth returning for.

He remembered loving you. And the unbearable grief in your eyes every time you met now soft and guarded. Like you were terrified to reach for what had already died once.

His breath came out broken. You didn’t know he remembered. Not yet. But standing there, staring at the one who had waited for a ghost, who still wore that love like an old scar, Caleb realized something. He did not just fallen in love with you again. He never stopped. And now, he finally remembered why.

♡

You noticed it first in his silence.

Not the awkward kind, it was the silence of someone searching for words. The kind that felt like knowing. Like he was seeing you for the first time. Or maybe remembering how he used to.

The way he looked at you had changed. Less like curiosity. More like memory.

He didn't say anything when you offered him tea in the same chipped mug, the one with the faded letters he'd once picked out himself. He just smiled. A Small, soft and took it with both hands, like it meant something. And it did.

You could feel it shifting from within, the weight of unspoken things settling into the space like dust. You did not ask if he remembered. You didn’t dare. Because what if he didn’t? Or worse, what if he did and chose to forget again? You were terrified of loving him twice only to lose him all over again.

He sat across from you, watching you with the same steady calm that used to unravel you within seconds. Like you were a place he had once called home. And now, was again. And still, you held back. Because time had turned your love into something cautious. Because you had built your life around the absence of him, and now, with his presence sitting in your kitchen again, it felt like you were grieving in reverse.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box, not dramatic, not rehearsed, just... instinct. He held it between them without opening it. And you stared. Your heart cracked. "Why are you carrying that?" You asked, voice barely above whisper. He did not answer at first. Instead, he looked at you like someone who had finally, finally found what he had spent years trying to remember. Then he quietly said. "Because I remember who it belonged to now."

You breath hitched. You did not cry. You wanted to but there were no tears left. Just silence, fear, and the tender ache of almost believing him. "You don't have to say anything." You finally spoke. "You don't owe me that." You added.  "I do." He replied. Quiet and steady. "I left you once." There was a pause. "Not because I wanted to, but because the world forced me to." He looked at you. "I won't leave you again."

And you looked away, blinking rapidly. "But what if you forget again?" Fear. "What if I lose you twice?" You don't know if you would be able to handle that again. He exhaled. A breath full of pain and love and all the words he never got to say the first time. "Then I'll come back again." He said, eyes looking for yours. "And again. And again. Because it’s you. It’s always been you. Even without my memories, I found you." You finally looked at him. And in his eyes, you saw him.

Your Caleb.

Not just the man he used to be. Not just the man war tried to erase but the one who had always, in every version of himself, loved you. And in that moment, you don't need the ring. You don't need the memories. You don't need the promises made in uniforms or letters. You just needed this The quiet truth between them. The forgiveness in your heart. And the love that had never really left.

You did not kiss. Not yet. There was no sweeping declaration. No grand reuniting. Just the ring resting between you two. Two hands meeting across the table. And a slow, steady heartbeat that finally, finally felt like home.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

Letter Never Sent

My dearest love,

If this letter reaches you, then I’ve made it back, whole, in one piece, and still yours. And if I haven’t… then let this be something that stayed behind, even when I couldn’t.

There’s something I wanted to ask before I left, but the moment kept slipping away. I was too busy memorizing your smile.

So here it is, written plainly and tucked into these folds of paper like a promise:

Will you marry me?

I don’t ask for forever. Just ust for the chance to return to you. I’ll chase every sky, every mile, every storm, if it means finding my way back.

No matter where the wind takes me… I know where it will leave me.

With you.

Always,

Caleb 

[jolixtreesunn]

❝DAY IN THE LIFE OF TODDLER DAMI.ᐟ ❞

summary ━ au in which older, sibling reader !! takes care of toddler damian .

⤿ fluff , clingy , toothing aching fluff₊⊹

╰›clingy toddler damian who is always up early in the morning . this grumpy toddler has a habit of walking up , five in the morning , crawling out of his crib ninja style and sneaks down into the kitchen and begins to bang on pots and pans that literally wakes up the entire batfamily.

╰› every morning everyone just strolls into the kitchen - dick always tries to pry damian off of the pans causing the child to wail like he's dying.

╰›" please tell me the kid comes with an off button " jason grumbles as he trudges into the kitchen , beelining to the fridge . damian is still wailing , even started swatting at dick. " UHMMM some help would be nice?" dick begs as damian swats him straight in the face.

╰›tim finally walks in and throws himself into a nearby chair , " uhhhh give him to name or something ?" he murmurs. damian immediatly seizes his wailing , " namie ?" he babbles as his eyes look around curiously trying to spot you.

╰›" well that got him to shut up " jason gurmbles as he pops a grape into his mouth. everything was calm and quiet if you minus damian's babbling . dick propped him into his high chair and breathed out a sigh of relief - finally he can eat breakfast in peace.

╰›wrong . so utterly worng because in that very moment bruce walked in and damian immediately began wailing . " YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME -" dick screeches as damian fulls on wails - chubby face turning red.

╰›" of course he starts crying when he sees you " jason sighs out in exaperation and tim just gave bruce a blank look. " HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW ?" bruce yells out. " B HE'S YOUR KID DO SOMETHING " tim yells back tired from everything.

╰›bruce then picked up damian , " shhhhh its okay , its okay -" bruce attempted to soothe the child but damian was not having it , he full on grabbed onto bruce's hair and started yanking it. bruce let put a groan as he attempts to get damian off of him .

╰›in that exact moment , you walk in , eyes blurry from sleep , hair messy as you stroll into whatever choas this was . " what the hell ..." you murmur as you take in the situation.

╰›damian immediately let up his fight ehen he hear your voice and turned towards you babbling and making grabby hands . " name here you hold him " bruce says , voice tired as he straight up shoved damian into your arms. damian immediately wraps himself around you and begins nuzzling his face into your neck like some cat.

╰›" uhmmm okay " you murmur as you take a seat . " namie namie namie " damian babbled on , playing with your hair. " mhmmm you want food ?" you murmured softly as you outstretched your hand and snagged an apple from dick's plate .

╰›" thats litterally mine -" dick yelped but you ignored him and focused on peeling your apple and slicing them. " i can't believe he is acting so nice when name's here and when she isn't he truns into a demon that's sole goal is to terroize our exsistence" jason complains.

╰›you fed damian a slice before popping one into your own mouth , " he's just a kid that's just what kids do " you defended and dick let out a hiss , " i didn't behave like that when i was a kid " ," oh how would you know dickie boy ?" tim asks , " OH YOU WANNA GO THAT LOW HOW ABOUT YOU-" , dick yells out .bruce sighs - already fed up with everyone fighting.

╰›name sighs - this happens every damn morning - of course someone has to start a fight . name fed damian the last of the apple slices before pushing back her chair. " i'm going to work " name grumbled out as she makes a beeline back upstairs . " TAKE THE DEMON SPAWN WITH YOU " jason calls after her.

╰› name sets damian on her bed , the child immediately crawls into her pillows and began biting it like a chew toy. " alright little menance time to get you changed " name announced as she turns to her wardrobe and returns put with a green pants and a yellow shirt with a cartoon cow going ' moo' .

╰› " do you like ?" name asks as she lays out the outfit on the bed . damian just crawls over and sits down on it , " namie " he says pointedly. " alright then , come on let's get you washed up " .

╰› name sets damian in the batub , the bubbles engulf his tiny form , the only thing you can see was his raven hair and green eyes as he spalshes about . name sits at the head of the tub , lathering her hands with baby shampoo .

╰› she then carefully massages it into his hair while he splashes about with a rubber duck . " namie , namie namiee~" he giggles out excitedly. name giggles along with him , " yes dami i see the ducky , is it your ducky ?" name questions as she grabs the shower detachment to wash off the shampoo out of his hair carefully not to get it in his eyes.

╰› " namieeee " he babbles as he makes the duck spin in the water. " yes dami i see the duck spin " . once name is finished with his hair she lets him spladh about a few more minutes while she gets his towel and clothes ready.

╰› she empties the bath and immediately towel dries him off , slipping on his diaper when he gets distracted with her hair. she lathers him in lavender scented baby lotion and slips clothes onto him before taking him back into her bed.

╰› " namiee " damian giggles out as he crawls around the bed . name only smiles as she fishes out her phone and clicks on her youtube and hands it over to dami , " okay dami , namie's gonna shower okay , be good " name tells him before sbe gives him a forehead kiss and runs off to get herself dressed.

╰› name returns back agter a few minutes , dressed in her work clothes as she picks up damian and brings him with her over to her vanity. damian tears his eyes away from the phone and watches her with big staty eyes as name does her makeup routine .

╰› " namiee" he murmurs softly as his tiny hand attempts to grab at name's brush. " you want some sweet boy ?" name asks , causing him to giggle . name thrn gently swishes some blush onto his face causing him to giggle . " pretty baby " she murmurs causing him to giggle. name finishes up , she fixes her own clothes and adjusts damian's along with combing out his spikey hair before she decemds down stairs.

╰› dick , tim and jason were already putting on their sscjool shled and grabbing their backpacks , " bye name !!" they shoyt after her as she enters the garage , " bye guys - don't do anything stupid " she calls afyer them . name unlocks her car , opening the backseat and slotting damian into his booster seat.

╰› alfred passes by , getging the limp ready to drop the other boys to school and bruce to work. " morning master name and good morning master damian " alfred greeted as he gave damian a headpat. " alfie " damian greeted back as he waved at the old man. " morning alfred , take care on the road " name greeted as she double checked damian being secured in his seat before making her way to the driver's side.

╰› " as do you master name " alfred greets back as he too , enters the limo as the boys begin piling into the car . name speds out of the driveway and makes her way to wayne enterprises. she fiddles aorund with the radio and settles in a station that talks about today's news whike in the background damian plays roblox on his ipad.

╰› an hour passes and name parks her car , finally at wayne enterprises . she switches off the engine and grabs her purde from the passenger seat before heading to thr back to unlock damian from his booster seat . name locks her car and makes a beeline to the elevator in the receptionist area.

╰› " good morning miss wayne !" multiple emplouees greet her on her way over and she gives them back a polite " good morning " . name's assistant walks uo to her and gives her a run down of what's on the day's agenda before she takes the ride up the elevator.

╰› unlocking her office , she sets damian in his custom play pen area thats next to her desk. she gives him a big old kiss " be good today okay dami ? if you need me i am right there " sje tells jim as she points over to her chair nearby.

╰› " namieee " damian giggles out as he gives her a cheek a kiss before crawling away to play with his wooden bricks. name's whole morning was spent doing paper work and taking online meetings . at nine , she cutted up some banan slices and gave damian a juice box as a snack to which he eagerly took.

╰› eleven she took her lunch and picked damian up and ride the elevator back down. she handed bruce's assistant some paperwork before she made her way to her way to the cafeteria .

╰› she grabbed herself a lunch , a sandwhich for damian and a coffee before heading back to her office . name cut the egg sandwhich in half and refilled damian's sippy cup with fresh water before handing it over to damian. damian ripped it into tiny sloced before eating it , both spent their lunch eating and watching some random slime video.

╰› tweleve tolled aroind and damian began to get fussy so name immediately picked him up and stepped outside into her offic's balcony . she rubbed his back and began to soothe him , " its okay dami , it's okay " . " namieeee " he fussed , his tiny face turned grumpy as he yawns . " i know hunny , i know i know " she soothes.

╰› when damian was still fussy name whent into her private bathroom to change his diaper thinking that was the issue yet still he was fussy. " namieeeeeeee " he cried out as he hugged her tightly when they left the bathroom.

╰› name sighs as she makes her way into his play pen area and sits into the rocking chair. " let's read a story yeah ?" she asks as she prop the bpy onto her lap . " namie " he answers back as he snuggled himself closer to her. name begins reading him peter pan as she began rocking him back and forth and soon enough he was long asleep.

╰› name continue rocking him for a good while - making sure he was actually asleep before putting him down in a nearby crib to sleep. name continues on her work , at the end of every hour she will check up on damian to ensure he was okay.

╰› soon enough it was three in the evening , damian has finally awoken from his nap and name takes it as her cue to clock out. she organizes her paperwork while damian properly wakes up and by the times shes finished and turns to go get him , damian's already crawled out of his crib making a beeline to her.

╰› name picks him up , " hiii dami ~ " she coos after him , " namieee !!!" he cooed right nack as he hugs her , nuzzling into her . name kisses him on his cheek , " yes i miss you too dami " she anwers. name finds herself buckling damian back into his booster seat before giving him some gummy worms and his ipad.

╰› name then takes him to a nearby park and sets him in a sandbox to which the menance decides to crush some other kid's samd castle. name yelped , " no dami , we do not smash other's sand castles" name scolded him as in the background the other kid started crying.

╰› damian watched the kid cry with a poker face but turned to name to see her talking woth the kid's very angry mom , " teach your kid manner bitch" the woman cursed her put as she grabbed her cryong kid by the arm and stomped away.

╰› name persued her lips , holding back the vile comment she was about to spit back as she watches them leave until she feels a tug on her sleeve. she turns around to see damian looking at her confused , " namie ?" he titled his head .

╰› name sighs aslnd leams down to kiss damian on his head , " it's okay dami , namie's okay carry on okay ?" name assures him. name watches from the swing set as damian carries on building sandcastles amoug other kids .

╰› once the sun began setting name picks up dami and head back to her car , " namiee " damian murmurs as his head nuzzles into her neck . " mhmm love you too dami " name answers back as she buckled him back him and drove them back home .

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ thanks for reading !!

[jolixtreesunn]

Don't wake daddy dad!bucky x mom!reader

synopsis: you've never been able to surprise your husband considering he's an ex trained assassin, but he'll make an exception for you and your daughter on fathers day. not proofread.

wc: 1081

"Mommy when is it gonna be done?" your daughter tugged at the hem of your shirt.

"Shh baby, we don't want to wake daddy." You smiled and whispered to her as you finished plating your husbands food.

Giggles and the smell of breakfast filled Bucky's senses as he woke, eyes fluttering open from the couch that he most likely fell asleep on from being to tired to get to bed after getting in from work last night. He watched his four year old daughter clumsily walk into the living room with a marker and paper in her hand. Placing the paper on the coffee table, she locked eyes with her father and let out a gasp.

"Mommy he's awake!" She ran back to the kitchen shouting.

You looked down at your daughter who had the cutest little pout on her face, you opened your mouth to speak before you felt an arm slither around your waist.

"Mornin' love." Bucky mumbled into your neck, the grogginess apparent in his voice.

You turned to face your husband and gave him a slow kiss on his lips, "You aren't supposed to be awake mister."

"Daddy ruined the surprise." You looked back down to your daughter who was now teary eyed staring up at her father.

You glanced up at your husband who was now looking at you wide eyed before he crouched down to pick your daughter up, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean too."

She sniffled in his arms and you watched as he gently wiped away your daughter's tears, Bucky tried to get her to stop crying but nothing was working.

You walked over to the two and placed a hand on your daughter's back as she cried, you slowly placed your head beside hers on Bucky's shoulder, "Don't be upset honey, daddy didn't know."

Bucky could feel his heart twist at his daughter's upset, especially since he's the one who caused it. The moment was too sweet for Bucky to handle, seeing his daughter cry over something so innocent while you consoled her so gently. Becoming a mother came so naturally to you, you were nurturing, loving and so selfless when it came to your family.

Your daughter wouldn't let up about the problem her poor father unknowingly caused, so Bucky decided to try and create a solution.

"How about I go back to sleep, hm? And then you and mommy can finish the surprise?" Your husband suggested in a hushed tone. Gaining not only your attention, but your daughters as well.

Your daughter's head shot up and she nodded with teary eyes. Bucky set her down and walked back to the couch but not before grabbing the hands of your and your daughter, "You and mom gotta tuck me in though, okay?"

"Okay!" Your daughter replied cheerfully, the way her could change so abruptly always surprised you and your husband.

You rolled your eyes playfully at Bucky earning a wink from him, as the three of you walked into the living room. Bucky returned to his original sleeping position and gave you a cocky grin while you placed the blanket over him.

You were just about to walk away before your daughter grabbed onto the hem of your shirt, "Mama what about goodnight kisses? Daddy needs them to sleep!"

"Yeah mama, I want my goodnight kisses." Your husband restated, the man was quite literally beaming while awaiting your kiss.

You giggled and bent down to give Bucky a peck on his forehead, but he swiftly angled his head upwards and your lips landed on his as he gripped your face gently, causing you to squeal slightly before pulling away.

"Okay, Daddy is going to bed now." You picked your daughter up as Bucky shut his eyes and went back to 'sleep'.

You walked back into the kitchen and finished setting up the breakfast tray with your daughter. You carefully walked with the tray in your hands as your daughter held a handmade drawing and a small wrapped rectangular box.

You set the tray down on the coffee table and signaled for your daughter to wake up her father. Bucky pretended to stir in his sleep earning a small chuckle from you.

"Mmm, m' so tired princess. How about you and Mommy join me?" Before either of you could respond, Bucky pulled both of you on top of him and squeezed you both. Your daughter shrieked with excitement before somehow freeing herself from Bucky's grasp,

"Daddy look what I made!!" She revealed the drawing to your husband, it was a picture of you and Bucky holding your daughter's hand along with a scramble of letters that didn't spell out anything, but he wasn't gonna tell that to his little girl. "Look I drew your arm!"

"Oh my. I love it, princess." Saying he loved it was an understatement. Bucky was on the verge of tears, he had been all morning. Bucky never thought in a million years that he would get to experience peace like this. He never thought he would ever deserve to live the domestic life, hell he still doesn't think he deserves it.

"Sweetheart, give daddy the present you got him. " You whispered.

You watched as her tiny fingers handed Bucky the small box. Your daughter watched eagerly as your husband opened the box to reveal a necklace with a small silver rectangular locket, similar to the shape of his dog tags he always wore around his neck.

Bucky's heart almost stopped as he opened the locket, inside was a picture that he had taken of you and your daughter on the beach during his birthday two years ago. The photo was of you holding your daughter in your arms, the two of you smiling in on the sand as the sunset painted the background with beautiful shades of pink, red, and orange.

That was it.

That was Bucky's breaking point, he could no longer hold back the stinging in his eyes. Tears slipped down his cheeks, he wiped them away quickly but not without you seeing.

"Daddy? You don't like it?"

"No no, I love it princess. Thank you." He said while clearing his throat, he pulled the two of you into his lap and smotherd you both with kisses.

"I love you both," He said softly

"I love you too." You pulled him into a kiss before your daughter separated the two of you.

"Ewww."

Bucky snorted out a laugh,

"Let's eat hm? Im starving."

a/n: this is completely self indulgent but idc. also late fathers day post, this was supposed to be posted three days ago oops. anways this is like a test run for me maybe posting a bucky mini fic I've been working on lol.

like, comments, and reblog appreciated!

[jolixtreesunn]

Welcome home author, how was your day?🫂🫂

I hope you take care of your health.I fell in love with Han Yoojin x reader.Can I make a request Han Yoojin x reader?.Where the reader is his wife in the first life and also know that Han Yoohyun always protecting Han Yoojin behind the shadow so the reader always tells her husband's condition to her brother-in-law but the problem is that the reader died because the hospital she went to was attacked by a monster (you can do whether the reader is pregnant or not). So they both meet again before they get married in the regression .Well yeah it's heavy angst😭 to romantic.😍

Take care of yourself and make sure you get enough water and rest.❤️❤️❤️❤️..Send you hugs and love. 💕💕..I apologize for my English

S-Class That I Raised: Heartstrings [2]

Part 1!

Summary: In which you don't remember Han Yoojin in this life, but he remembers everything. 

Or, Yoojin has nightmares of the past, a constant reminder that he will make you happy in this life. 

(And perhaps, he’s not the only one)

Pairing: Han Yoojin x F! Reader

Note: I'm doing well anon! Hope you are having a fabulous day too! Sending hearts -> you.

Part 2 of the Heartstrings series since it seemed like it was fitting. Made this by listening to Past Lives by sapientdream. 

This came out longer than I expected it too, with a lot more emotional feels. I hope this still satisfies your request! 

Warnings: Angst and fluff because it’s a regression manhwa, what did you expect?

★・・・・・・★

Han Yoojin still has nightmares and visions of the past. 

He dreams of his incompetence and his sorrows, his uselessness and ignorance. 

Every time he sees you, now the S-Class Saintess in the spotlight, there’s something that gnaws at him, telling him to stay away because he was the danger in your first life.

His inferiority was dangerous, as it influenced his attitude and behaviour, but then he met you. 

His healing was slow and gradual, and perhaps now he realized that his brother cared too. After all, you who reported his healing journey to Yoohyun, and Yoohyun, protected both of you in the shadows. 

(His inferiority complex used to curse him, made him jealous seeing your friendly interactions with Yoohyun)

Truly, he used to be such a pathetic man.

In his past life, Han Yoojin would never imagine he would get to marry you. 

His marriage ceremony was small, simple, but warm. While on his side was only him, his brother, and some colleagues, your family was much more full and welcoming. 

To him, you and your family were angels. Supportive, kind, and took him and Yoohyun in like a family. 

Although Yoojin grew up without his parents and took care of Yoohyun alone, he always wanted a family. So he was nervous meeting your parents for the first time. 

But who knew? Who knew parents could be so loving, caring, and protective? Of course, your father and brother gave him “the talk”, and made themselves clear that he needed to protect you and respect you. 

(You made sure Yoojin wasn’t bullied for too long)

Yoojin was constantly reminded of love, and he could see that love change his brother too. 

Despite the fact that he was a F-class hunter, or Yoohyun a S-class hunter, they treated them like sons of the family. 

He could see that you grew up with love, and also share that love with him. 

Of course, Yoojin reciprocated their love and care just like Yoohyun did; he didn’t want to disappoint your family.

But, nothing ever goes smoothly doesn’t it?

One day, monsters appeared near your parents home, and when Yoojin and Yoohyun rushed there, they saw your Father, a normal civilian, protecting his wife and son with all his might. 

Yoojin never had more respect for a man, a father, before. 

With such a proud, relieved smile, your father spits out blood and falls to his knees.

“Take care of my family.”

Only when he saw them, he finally fell with a peaceful smile. 

Those were his last words.

Losing your Father was devastating.

It took weeks for your family to grieve. Yoojin remembers standing beside Yoohyun, and watching you, your mother and your brother pray, cry, and grieve. 

That was when you decided to work more to help support the family, even though the job of a hunter is dangerous.

No matter what your family says, you stubbornly chose to earn money so they can live comfortably.

Even if he was useless, Yoojin always tried to go with you into every dungeon, so he can protect you. After all, he made an oath.

“Father.” Yoojin remembered kneeling before your Father’s photo and kowtow. 

“I will protect (Y/N), and your family. I swear on my name.” 

Yoohyun too, kneeled and swore. 

For the first time in a long time, Yoojin saw such a raw emotion in his younger brother’s eyes. 

Yet, neither of them could fulfill that promise. 

“What do you mean?” Yoojin grabbed the collar of his brother’s jacket.

“Say that again!” 

“It’s my fault that my sister-in-law died.” Yoohyun looked guilty and bitter, which made Yoojin feel even worse. 

“W-What-” 

“It’s because Haeyeon Guild has enemies, and they targeted sister-in-law. They led her into that B-Class dungeon.” Yoojin felt his hands shake as he let go due to shock, his vision blurs, and he tried hard to not let those tears fall. 

“They’re dead now.” Yoohyun says robotically, but the emptiness in his eyes didn’t clear up.

For a moment, the two brothers stood them silently, both gripping at the sad reality. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone.” 

Pathetic. Yoojin couldn’t hold back his tears, just like how he couldn’t protect you. 

Again, a beat of silence.

“Hyung.” As if the reality couldn’t be worse, Yoohyun pulled out a file and handed it to him. 

“I got this from our investigation.” 

Dully, he reached out to read it even though his heart had sunk. 

It was a hospital checkup letter, and when he read it, Yoojin felt dizzy, nauseous as if he was gonna throw up. He remembered that you went out to get a checkup because you weren’t feeling well. 

As if everything was coming to him at once, his legs finally gave out under pressure. 

He just wanted to be with you, but why? Why did you leave him? Just like his parents did? 

“Hyung. Hyung!” Yoohyun managed to catch him before he fainted. 

You were two months pregnant with a child.

His child. Their child. 

Their child that he could never see.

“Yoojin!” Yoojin was used to these nightmares, whenever he woke up, he was out of breath, terrified and self-loathing. 

But this time, you were there. 

Why were you there? It was his room? 

“(Y/N)?” Breathless, he reached out to you, and gently grazed your cheeks. Tears rolled down his cheeks when he thought of your memorial and funeral. 

He wanted to hold you, kiss you, and cuddle you in his arms. 

But he held himself back, he was afraid of repeating the past. 

“I love you.” It was such a tiny whisper, he wondered if you even heard it, and if you did, what would happen? 

Never in a thousand years, would he hear these words from you. 

“I love you too.” 

What? Do you remember?

In that instant, it was as if the dam broke. Yoojin remembered the unbearable grief, the sleepless nights, and the desperate wish for a second chance.

Do you remember? The love they had shared, the life they had built, and the cruel twist of fate that had torn them apart?

Without a word, you pulled him into your arms, holding him tightly against your chest. The warmth of your body, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, was a lifeline that grounded him in the present. His arms wrapped around you, one hand tangling in your hair, the other pressing you closer as if he could meld their souls back into one.

“Bong told me. I dreamed of our past lives.” You whisper in between your tiny sobs. 

It felt so foreign, yet so familiar when you two cling on each other, with tears soaking your clothes.

"I'm so sorry," Yoojin choked out finally, his voice breaking with the intensity of his emotions. "I couldn't save you...I couldn't..."

You shook her head, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "It wasn't your fault," you whispered, her voice hoarse with tears. 

"We were victims. But we're here now, together. We have another chance, and we’re stronger now."

Yoojin cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away tears. 

(Yours or his? Does it even matter now?)

"I promise you," he said, his voice steady despite the tears streaming down his face, "I will protect you. I won't let anything take you away from me again."

You nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. 

"And I will always stand by your side, no matter what."

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, holding each other as they cried, their tears mingling together. The pain of their past life was still there, a haunting reminder of what they had lost, but in each other's arms, it felt that nothing else mattered. 

In his 2nd life, Han Yoojin would never imagine he would get to marry you (again).

His marriage ceremony was small, simple, but warm. While on his side was his brother and S-class hunters who have become a part of his life, your family was full of laughter and warmth.

A stark contrast, but still welcoming as he watches you walk towards him with your father. 

You were beautiful. 

In past lives or in this one, you are an angel. 

“I trust that you will protect my daughter.”

With a bow, Yoojin swore an oath to your father. 

“Yes, I swear, I will make your daughter happy.” 

Your father gave an approving nod, before handing you off to him. For a moment, he felt tears well up seeing him alive and well, and so trusting of him, but he held back. 

He won’t be a pathetic man any more. 

“I promise to stand by your side, in every life, through every challenge. I love you, Yoojin, now and forever.” Hearing your vow, his heart stirs as you share understanding looks. 

Yoojin’s voice wavered as he responded, “I promise to protect you, to cherish every moment we have. I love you more than words can say. In this life and the next, I’m yours.”

When the officiant pronounced you husband and wife, it felt like the world had stopped, and it was just the two of you in the center of the world. Yoojin’s hands trembled slightly as he held yours, but his grip was firm, determined.

“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant announced, and Yoojin leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of promises kept and everything he’s been fighting for all his life.

You. If it’s you, it’s worth it. 

Applause erupted around you, the cheers of friends and family blending into a harmonious symphony of love and support. 

Yoohyun, standing close by, allowed a rare smile to grace his lips, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and happiness. 

In his arms was Bong, your little dog who has snuggled close to him and yips happily at the sight. 

Finally, Bong doesn’t have to be the only one that remembers. 

[jolixtreesunn]

yandere! sung jin-woo with kim dokja!reader mini series [part four]

warnings: angst, canon divergence, aged-up!reader [late twenties], manhwa and light novel spoilers, mention of violence and death, OOC.

Please take caution in reading this series. By continuing to read on from this point, you are consenting to be subjected to reading material that might be sensitive or cause triggering.

If you do not wish to be subjected to a possible series of unfortunate events, leave now and find something much more pleasant to read.

You are responsible for your own Internet consumption.

Hey guys, and welcome back to the next episode of this crossover mini series!

I know that's been a while since anything was uploaded on the Star Stream but as you may or may not know, I had to take some time off from here and focus on my personal life for a while before I was comfortable to come back here to continue writing as it gets colder in my corner of the world. I did get a lot of messages from you guys saying that my health is more important than an update and to take as much time as I needed, that everyone will be here when I come back.

So, to everyone who did send me those messages, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I'm really blessed to have found a community who care about me as a person rather than someone whose content is interesting and wants to read more of it.

Edits were made by the fantastically talented @circeyoru. Image provided by @pa1nrema1ns.

With that being said, let's see what will be broadcasting on today's Star Stream~! Comments from constellations are welcomed~!

divider by @saradika-graphics

Part Two

Part Three

America had been your initial destination to travel after spending a few days in the safe house until you realized it was not a good idea. You had been so focused on completing the scenario that you forgot why you had to avoid the United States; it’s the base of the Scavenger’s Guild, operated by Thomas Andre and where Hwang Doongsoo had been waiting to get clearance to travel to Korea again after being pummeled by Jinwoo’s father. In the novel, the protagonist killed Dongsoo’s older brother, Hwang Dongsuk, in a dungeon. It was in self-defense since the lizard tried to kill Jinwoo and Jinho to make some fast cash.

Dongsoo wasn’t above taking Jinho as a hostage to lure the S-Class Hunter into an interrogation inside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city before Jinwoo kicked his ass. If this bastard did his homework, he’s probably already aware that you’re connected to Jinwoo, or had been until you left Seoul. Getting involved with a major antagonist would cause the novel’s plot to deviate even further, which will give your shitty Side Character System a reason to penalize you for your unintentional involvement, despite your completion of the previous scenario. 

For now, at least you had access to Biyoo’s foodstuff in the System’s shop. The little one needs to eat properly in order to grow up healthy. Mana crystals, not so much since you’ve officially retired as a Hunter. Which brought up the next issues you had to figure out: bringing in a steady income. You’ve saved a lot of money after coming into the novel’s world, but it won’t last forever. You would need to look at online job ads soon. Though if you couldn’t hide in America, there is Europe. The guilds there aren’t close to the ones here in Korea; at most, the relationship is mutual, and you’re pretty sure they wouldn’t care if someone like you is doing a small tour in the corner of their world so long as you don’t cause any problems. 

Guess I’ll have to figure out how soon I can leave Busan. You thought as you carefully slid the diced up monster meat off of the cutting board with a knife, pouring the rancid-smelling stuff into a small white bowl decorated with tiny paw prints. Biyoo immediately dug in once you placed it on the kitchen island, though she almost squeezed her whole body inside of the bowl.  

Seeing the little dokkaebi getting stuck both amused and scared you before you gently pulled her back from behind, careful to not tug on her fur. Definitely will have to prep some meals for too, and there’s also snacks and water. 

You groaned. Whoever said planning a vacation is fun needed to be yeeted out of the window. Or go through a scenario. Whichever made them suffer more. 

Three days later, you locked up the safe-house and drove to Gimhae International Airport. Biyoo was sleeping in your Infinite Dimension Space Coat, a small pocket in infinity that no one could access except you. Your travel documents were still valid and your carry-on bag had everything you needed. As much as you despised the System, the Item Box feature allowed you to store away belongings so long as it wasn’t taller or heavier than your own body. So when security looked through it with their scanners, all they would see were five days’ worth of clothes, toiletries, a charger, and a book. At least you hoped so. 

In the end, they gave you clearance to board the flight, and you left Korea to explore the world. There is a small part of you that didn’t want to leave Korea, you couldn’t lie about that. As a reader, you wanted to make sure that this story reached all the way to the happy ending, even if that’s what the Side Character System is supposed to do. Of course, too much interference from you came with the alternation of Jinwoo's memories. His memories of you. 

It first happened at the hospital. You visited him and made sure he was all right, bringing him some flowers and a plastic bag of his favorite takeout. But instead of seeing a flustered expression on that cute face or a smile, he stared at you as if you were nothing to him. That you meant nothing. 

“Who are you?” He asked calmly, his voice steady and with no trace of emotion whatsoever. You had looked at him for a moment before you smiled bitterly. Of course it’s a sadistic System. When its host doesn’t play by the rules, penalize them in the worst way possible: by having the person you care about the most not know who you are. So you lied and said you were a friend of Jinah’s and came to visit him on his behalf. He bought the excuse, and then that was that. 

You did try to be nice though, when you did cross paths with him in the dungeons. But whenever you said hello to him or extended an invitation to grab a drink after the raid was over, Jinwoo would stare at you with narrowed eyes and politely decline. At this point in his second awakening, he grew distrustful of everyone and believed they had a motive for wanting to associate themselves with him. It wasn’t hard to deduce that he thought you would spike his drink. But you would never hurt the protagonist when all he’s ever done to you is give you hope in a fucked up world in those pages you’ve read over and over on your phone.  You were cruel, perhaps an irredeemable monster, but not to that extent. So, you remained his life companion, but operating from the shadows and ensuring that his family would be safe and taken care of whenever he left for extended periods of time to level up. 

In your defense, you had tried to ignore Jinah’s phone calls with a text citing that you were pretty busy but promised to take her out for coffee when she wasn’t studying or doing chores. But somehow, she tracked you down at a cafe near the train station and demanded why you were avoiding her. You had to lie to her about what was going on because the System threatened to remove her memories if you stepped out of line. Although she wasn’t happy with the story you spun about working too much and lost track of time, you pleaded with her to not say a word about you to her big brother. Sung Jinwoo would hunt you down and kill you if Jinah mentioned it. 

Naturally, she was confused by your paranoia but swore she wouldn't say anything, but hoped things between you and Jinwoo would get worked out because she did miss hanging out with you. You felt your heart plummet to the pits of your stomach when she said that, but you hide your grimace behind a practiced smile.  It would never happen because he doesn’t remember you. 

Time passed, and you had died protecting him  in the red gate and he did not blink as you fell into the snow and took the blow that would have severely crippled him in the fight against the Ice Slayers. Typical of a protagonist like Sung Jinwoo. And a reminder that you will never have a place in Korea, in the world of Solo Leveling, in the protagonist’s heart. As if you really needed to be reminded how insignificant your role is. Plus, he’s fated to be with Cha Hae-in, and that is his happy ending. 

You’ve read those moments in the novel over and over, but having the Side Character System broadcasting them on the screen for you to remind you of your place is a little different than seeing the written letters. You saw how flustered the cool-headed protagonist will get when his shadow accidentally showed Hae-in soaking in the tub when he was raiding the High Orc dungeon with Jinho. You saw Cha Hae-in stumble over her words when he asked her why she wanted to join his guild, and how her townhouse shook after she saw a picture of him with another woman on social media. 

These images were a  message. A warning to not cling onto hope and just let Sung Jinwoo go. To forget about him. And that’s what you have done. Now?  You’ll have to make one on your own without a phone or a notebook or Sung Jinwoo. It was time to move on. Start a new chapter in your life as a background character. 

The first stop on your itinerary is merry old London. And from there? Well, you’ll figure it out as you go.

Taking a hot-air balloon ride in Italy. Walking through the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Buying souvenirs and trying street food in Istanbul’s Karakoy Alley. Enjoying a glass of wine with a plate of tapas after visiting the Basilica in Barcelona. The world is definitely bigger and brighter outside of Seoul. Instead of screenshots on how to defeat monsters and completing scenarios, there are more photos of you and Biyoo, with her acting like a stuffed animal in your hands at different destinations. 

Although touring Europe isn’t a bad thing, there’s still finding a job and a new place to live. Active and retired hunters received certain benefits as long as they kept their license from expiring. It’s why you’ve been able to create so many memories with Biyoo as you have without going broke. But you were cheap, and you would not purchase a house in Spain no matter how persuasive the real estate agent you’re meeting is or the travel blogs say. Staying in the country for over 90 out of 180 days is not allowed for foreigners, even if they have a visa and a Hunter’s license. London had apartments, so did Paris. Problem was most of them had thin walls, so anyone could hear Biyoo if she left alone, mewling anxiously for you to come back home. The last thing you wanted was to draw more attention to yourself.

Almost a month and half later, bouncing between hotels and filling out job applications, you can safely say that you were financially secure and all settled in your new chalet in the French Alps. You stay there in the summer, and rent it out for a fee during the winter when everyone comes to ski or snowboard. That’s where your secondary home, a modest villa in Padua, Italy, came into play. The gardens were extensive enough for Biyoo to wander around in with no nosy neighbors, and your job allowed you to work remotely, so income was no longer an issue. 

Who would have thought Hunters struggled to find the best places to go on a family vacation or wanted tips on not getting scammed at specialty stores when they were out of town? The magazine you now worked for is like America’s Better Home and Gardens, but geared towards Hunters. The supervisor gave you an assignment and you would email the completed article by the designated deadline. Easy enough, and that you were a former Hunter wouldn’t be public knowledge without your explicit consent is a delightful bonus. It also helped to have a pen-name too. 

Things were finally quieting down, allowing you and Biyoo to have a peaceful life far, far away from the novel’s plot. So why hasn’t the next scenario appeared yet?

Did the Side Character System go on a hiatus until certain conditions are met to trigger it again? Is there something you’ve overlooked in your haste to leave Korea? You weren’t sure, since you were still required to complete the daily quests or else there would be a penalty. 

You just hoped this period of tranquility wasn’t an omen that something terrible was going to happen soon. Biyoo wouldn’t be able to handle another sudden move. It would stress her out and she’d go on a hunger strike. 

What you didn’t realize is that trouble in the shape of a brooding S-Class Hunter is already on his way to Europe for a meeting with the Editor-in-Chief of a magazine at their London headquarters for an exclusive interview. Or so that’s what Sung Jinwoo told them over the phone.

Taglist: @ghostdoodlen @heirloomgem @mochinon-yah @phisen @chiikasevennn @silverklaus @cloise @eliciana @lunacielooo @lanxianschoenheit @catowru @bloodytea @victoria1676 @crxscnt @craftnkittn @sum1-r3 @pagenne @obsessedwithromance @charming-mage @yandereaficionado @aria-tempest @diannaflight @thetruepair @toast-on-dandelioms @mydearestbeloved @imaginarydreams @rogueofbullshit @sleepydang @soriansick @sleep-all-day-everyday @yorhanic @skylar896 @lukabwrry @hoodiepandaninja16 @sweetbatherodonkey @vandrirrand0m @colorfulgardenerduck @starzgaze @larettajudith @constellation3fanfic @ignorxntf00l @bellethesleepypotato @jurijyuu

[jolixtreesunn]

OMG YES

Jack Gleeson (Joffrey Baratheon on Game of Thrones) as Puck and Freddie Fox (Gwayne Hightower on House of the Dragon) as Loki in 'The Sandman' season 2

[jolixtreesunn]

The Princess of The Blood-red Commander Igris

Igris x Daughter!Reader (Family) Sung Jin-woo x Reincarnated!Reader(Romance)

Description: Jin-woo became curious of y/n and his relationship with Chul. Igris who became corrupt inspired by beru and his believe of reincarnation from all the kdramas he had watched for years, came to believe that she really is his daughter and wants to know more about her life in the new world. That curiosity of his lead to you unknowingly showing cracks of yourself.

Note: This takes places in the academy arc so SPOILERS if you hadn't read the manhwa. I had this thought when I read a reincarnation!reader x Igris I tried to find it but I can't or remember where I read it.

Part 2 of [this]

When the Girls Running Track started Jin-woo watched Both you and Hae-in. He's plan of making their meeting a coincidence will happen later on.

He wasn't the only who's invested in the competition Igris's eyes are only focused on you.

You run with such determination in your eyes that he knows you'll win. He watched and felt proud and happy, for a moment he thought that with the modern medicine if you, your mother and him were born in this time would he be watching you like this... alive and with your mother?

When you reached the finish line Cha Hae-in beat you to it. Igris for a moment felt frustrated at Hae-In for taking your win but cheered because even when you were 2nd place you had that shine in your eyes and that big smile on your face, he knew you had fun.

"We're both second place" Chul murmur looking at me with the same blank stare and arms crossed I gave him earlier that day.

Both of us sulked by the bleachers "yea"

The sun's already coming down giving the sky the orange hue. As everyone leave the stadium to go home or celebrate you and Chul saw that junior from Chul's race.

He stood there as if waiting for you. His hands tucked in his track suit with his gym bag on his side hanging off the straps across his body.

You'd be lying if you say he isn't handsome and his tall too, you feel your face warming up from his stare.

He is looking directly at you.

"What do you want?" Chul glared, it seems he's still a bit bitter from the defeat

Jinwoo had already met Hae-in and healed her ankle when Igris opened his emotion through their connection to let jinwoo know about his feelings

Igris appeared beside jinwoo as a head bubble and jinwoo remembered all those fights and his loyalty to him throughout all that has happened

He doesn't believe in reincarnations, really but he would be lying if he says he isn't curious

"What do you want?" Chul had asked with that loud voice he remembers well

Jinwoo didn't answer Chul's reprimand but kept his eyes on you before walking closer he noticed Chul's frown depended every step

You stood still curious of what he'll do next with each step uneasiness creep up on you, he slowly takes out his hand out of his pocket then did chul stepped between you two with his hands in front to protect you for what's going to happen

Then in an instant you flinched and closed your eyes "Noona, can I your number?" your eyes snapped open

Wide eyes you stared at him and then the phone extended in front of you and Chul's hands

You didn't even know what happened next only to snap out of it when you handed the phone back with your name and contact number "Thank you" he looked down the phone before giving you a genuine smile "y/n"

You swear hell in moon back that you felt electricity shot up your body and the warm on your face as you watched him go

Both you and Chul still a little uneasy with what just happened. The both of you walked to the station in silence and the warm on your face still hasn't lessen

"Your face's red" chul pointed "why?" his eyes squinting in suspicion

"Huh!?" I looked at you wide eyed "nonononono it's not what it looks like!" I looked away and held both my cheeks

Jinwoo was able to get both contacts from Hae-in and you. For the first time he doesn't know what to text hae-in.

He stares at her contact number the text line flickering waiting for him to type something, anything he doesn't even know why he wants to she's probably asleep by now and it's late.

Well he has an idea but that's not important right now.

Jinwoo turned off his phone and stared at the ceiling letting out a sigh

what is he doing?

"My Liege" Igris's voice rang out the quiet room

"hm?" Jinwoo hummed he already has an idea what Igris would ask him

"If it is not a bother would you mind if you asked if she got home safe?" Igris knew his limits but he couldn't help it and wants to know

By she he met you.

With nothing else to do jinwoo oblige opening his phone and going to your contacts typing out

Good evening, noona. It's Sung Jinwoo

Did you get home safe?

Getting out of the shower you glanced at your phone and saw you had a few messenges congratulating you

One by one you messaged back thank yous and when you saw an unknown number you opened it and saw a very direct message

Sung Jinwoo.

Why would a junior message you asking if you get home safe?

Yes, I did

thanks for asking

Too blant?

I mean I don't even know this kid why would I care?

You press sent and charged your phone starting to blow dry your hair before bedtime.

The next day you told your friends about what happened and they all said that the kid might have a crush on you

You immediately turned down their theories but can't find another reason to replace their assumption

Still you deny it until you found yourself sitting in a coffee shop with him.

It was only supposed to be a stop by to warm up before going to the library when somebody called "noona" to you with the same kind smile from the boy yesterday

And now your here and he kept asking questions about you, you know this, you've done this to the boy you liked once and you couldn't deny it

This kid likes you.

You don't even blame him YOUR BEAUTIFUL!

That's no secret but still! he is younger than you not to mention a future big shot in the hunting association

"Look" You started "I know you like me I'm sorry but I can't return your feelings I already like someone" You lied, stood up and bow your head "I'm really sorry!" you immediately run out of the coffee shop

Jinwoo sat dumbfounded at what just happened with Igris feeling the second hand embarrassment for putting his liege in that position it was him who made jinwoo ask so many questions and now you think his liege has feelings for you

After what happened Igris no longer wants to bother his liege about the matter but that doesn't mean the feelings and instincts of a father died because of that he simply buried it deep down plus knowing she's in a better family and living a safe life is enough to calm his curiosity

But it seems faith has more plans for them when they keep bumping into each other almost everyday.

Then the messages late at night started getting more frequent.

The meetings.

The flutters.

The feelings.

Then the aquarium.

You were babysitting your niece, she wanted to go to the aquarium but you don't know what aquarium she wanted to go to so you asked jinwoo

He knows what your niece was talking about and offered to take you two there, at first you didn't want to bother him but he said he was also bored at home you couldn't refuse anymore

When you and your niece arrived at the aquarium she was cheering it was the same one

Then she innocently asked if jinwoo was your boyfriend and that caused a chain reaction to you and jinwoo well mostly you with your stuttering and your red face

It was awkward but as the three of you got deeper into the aquarium the tension lessen and fun

By the end of the day he offered to walk you both to the station, who were you to refuse?

"My liege" Igris started looking curiously at his king "did you perhaps taken a liking to my daughter?" jinwoo stopped his typing and stared at his phone

He is currently having his late night messages with you when Igris asked the question

Jinwoo sent the message and then looked at Igris "What gave you that idea?" he asked but he already knew, it was all too obvious that even he noticed

maybe just maybe- no

he did.

You noticed it, your brother noticed it, and you parents.

You were getting suspiciously thinner everyday that your mom had to request an appointment at your doctor to see what's happening

After many test and waiting for a day

You collapse.

It was a disease and a very rare one at that. The cure for it is too expensive all they can do for now is keep you in the hospital and keep observation while your parents find ways to earn the money for the cure

Your brother stays by your side after college keeping you company.

It was all happening again and this time you don't know how it will end.

What pathetic way to keep dying. That race competition from three years ago where you met jinwoo was your last

Just like the last timeline. Yes you remember the last timeline when all came to shit.

You were very frail when you were born always sick to the point you couldn't leave the house and hospital was your second home back then

You were in the hospital when your father revealed he had another child with another woman. Chul. Your half brother.

You were 7 years old when chul was introduced to you. He was skinny, he had many wounds and bruises turns out his mother was abusing him

Your own mother couldn't even look at him and your father is always at work to pay for your hospital bills

You took it upon yourself to give the boy your love. Though you didn't have any deadly disease last timeline but you were showing symptoms of eternal sleep

And just in time your brother awakened as an a rank and did his best to save for the future bills of the live support for your eternal sleep

But on his first raid you weren't even able to greet him back when you fell to your death.

Now your going to leave your brother again.

Jinwoo's getting worried. Your texts started to get shorter and you cancel your plans each time and when he called you it was short.

He felt a pang on his heart each time you dismissed his texts and your late night messages barely last an hour

He doesn't know what's going on since he didn't put any shadows on you

When he ran into chul he found out. You were sick he wasn't able to asked which hospital because chul was in a hurry and got away before he was able to ask

Igris was the most restless when he found out. His baby girl is sick again and he's not by her side AGAIN

Your sick?

why didn't you tell me?

where are you?

You looked at jinwoo's messages chul had mentioned you that he ran into him asking for you and he told him the truth well not all of it but jinwoo now knows your sick who were you not to tell him the truth?

You can't ever say no to him can you?

You told him which hospital and with ungodly amount of time he was already knocking softly at your hospital room

"Come in" a small soft voice called from inside the room and jinwoo hesitated to open the door he looked at the name on the door again to confirm

When the door opened you have an oxygen mask on, your thinner, your eyes sunk, your shine is also gone it broke his heart seeing you like this

Your name came out of his lips with a huge lump on his throat he swallowed.

Igris came out in his full form but you couldn't see him much to his distain and jinwoo's relief it won't spook her

Jinwoo entered the room and came towards you with heavy steps you too off the oxygen mask and smile weakly at him

"Hey, handsome" That nickname would have flustered jinwoo if it were another situation but right now all he felt was pain

"Were you even planning to tell me this?" He asked, he came closer his hand found your skinny ones

You looked down "I'm sorry, i- I didn't know how to bring it up" you couldn't look at him in the eye

unbeknownst to you igris's on your side watching the scene unfold

You felt warm hands cup your chin he says your name so softly it's barely a whisper

"jinwoo" you felt unshed tears fill your eyes you don't want to die just yet but the disease is on stage 4 it can't be cured now

When the tears started to fall jinwoo hugged you tightly and kisses your forehead you couldn't register it "jinwoo, i-i love you" you knew this is your only chance or else you'll die not being able to sya it "w-when at the coffee shop-"

"Shhh no no it's alright I know" jinwoo didn't need you to finish because he knows it too he pulled back and looked into your eyes and kissed you "I love you too so please don't say such words your not dying" you wanted to explain but a sob fell out of your lips and you couldn't stop the feeling of happiness that he returns your feelings didn't fixed well with the dread and unfairness that you'll not only leave your brother but jinwoo too

You sobbed yourself to exhaustion and fell asleep with jinwoo cradling you. He watched you sleep red eyes

"My liege please" Igris begged

"I know" jinwoo whispered

You felt liquid filling your mouth on instincts your swallow.

You cradle your son in your arms as he sleeps peacefully, hie ears pressed against where your heart should be while you hum a lullaby

"I heard he was being fussy today" you looked at your husband and smiled when he kissed your forehead

"Welcome home" you greeted leaning into his warmth "he was that ruler's authority thing is scary" you mentioned the recent events that had become more frequent "we should get him a leash or also baby proof the ceiling"

Jinwoo just hummed one of his arms on your tummy while the other hugs you and your son's shoulders while he buries his face on your shoulder taking in your scent.

That's all thank you for reading 💕

[jolixtreesunn]

Ch 6: Sweet Crumbs

Masterlist

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The familiar but very annoying chime of the alarm rang through the small apartment, awakening you from the depths of sleep. Groaning, you groggily reach out to silence it, wishing for just a few more minutes under the comfortable cocoon of your blankets. But duty called, and you had a job to get to. It had been a few months since you found yourself transported into the world of ‘Solo Leveling’, and somehow, amidst the strangeness of it all, you had secured a job at the quaint little bakery down the street, ‘Sweet Crumbs’.

You blinked up at the ceiling as the final remnants of sleep slipped away. The smell of baked goods and coffee was already etched into your morning routine, and found yourself looking forward to the simplicity of it. After navigating the complexities of living next door to Jinwoo and Jin-ah and trying to suppress your knowledge of the future, the mundane comfort of the bakery was exactly what you needed.

After a quick shower and a change into your work uniform, and grabbing your work apron which was pink with polka dot print and made your way downstairs. The streets were still mostly quiet at this hour, the morning light casting long shadows as the city slowly started to wake up.

By the time you arrived at ‘Sweet Crumbs’, Mrs. Kang was already inside, you grin, Mrs. Kang was on it! Her silhouette was visible through the large glass windows as she bustled around the kitchen preparing the first batch of baked goods. Unlocking the door with your own key and relocking it as it shut behind you.

"Good morning!" you called as you hung up your bag on the hook by the entrance.

"Ah, Y/N! you’re just in time," Mrs. Kang greeted you warmly, wiping her hands off on her apron as you peeked out from behind the kitchen door. "We’ve got a busy morning ahead of us. The usual morning rush, plus I promised Mr. Lee that we’d have extra pastries ready for his meeting."

You nodded, already tying the apron around your waist and bending down to wash your hands "I’ve got it covered. We’ll get everything ready in time."

Mrs. Kang smiled, her round face crinkling with warmth. The older woman had become something of a friend to you since you started working at the bakery. You guys had quickly bonded over shared love of sweets and the easy camaraderie that came with long shifts together.

" You're a lifesaver, Y/N," Mrs. Kang said, giving you a playful nudge as you passed while holding a tray of freshly made buns. "I don’t know how I ever managed before you started working here."

You placed the tray in the display case. "I’m sure you were doing just fine before I came along."

"Maybe, but it’s much nicer having you here," Mrs. Kang replied with a wink before disappearing back into the kitchen. It was difficult to fight the smile overcoming your face. It was nice, having a life outside the story you were trapped in.

The morning rush was just starting to pick up as the bakery filled with the usual chatter of early risers looking for their morning fix of coffee and pastries. You worked the counter with practiced ease, your hands moving swiftly as you filled orders, brewed coffee, and exchanged pleasantries with the guests. 

It wasn’t long before the door chimed open again, and Y/N looked up to see a familiar face walk through the door. Jinwoo, dressed in his usual black hoodie and jeans, looked tired, if not looking a little tensed as he made his way to the counter.

"Morning," he greeted you with a small smile.

"Good morning, Jinwoo," You greet back, your own smile widening at the sight of him. " You look like you could use some caffeine. The usual?"

"Please," Jinwoo said with a tired chuckle. "Long day ahead."

You nodded, understanding all too well. you quickly prepared his order, black coffee, just the way he liked it, and slid the cup across the counter. "Here you go, on the house," you said with a wink.

Jinwoo blinked in surprise, glancing down at the cup. "You don't have to do that. I can pay "

"Nah, don’t worry about it," You waved him off. "Hunters get one free coffee a day, remember? It’s the bakery policy."

Jinwoo hesitated for a moment, seemingly contemplating whether or not it would be worth it to argue with you, but he then smiled softly. "Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate it."

"No problem," you replied, leaning your elbows against the counter. "So, what’s on the agenda today? Another raid?"

"Yeah, a small one," Jinwoo said, his expression unintentionally souring before it smoothed out. "Just an E-rank gate, nothing too dangerous." 

You nodded, although he would be alright since he is the protagonist of ‘Solo Leveling’ you still couldn’t help but worry, if you remember correctly he just barely had enough mana to become a hunter. You hum before giving him an encouraging smile.

"Well, stay safe out there," you said. "And if you need a post-raid snack, you know where to find me."

Jinwoo laughed, the sound soft but genuine. "I’ll keep that in mind."

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As the morning rush began to die down, You found yourself with a bit of down time. Mrs. Kang had retreated to the back to handle some paperwork, leaving you lonesome in charge of the front. It was during these quieter moments that you had discovered a newfound passion cake decorating.

It had started a few weeks ago when Mrs. Kang had asked you to help with a last-minute custom order. You had hesitated at first, unsure of your abilities, but after a few tries, you found that you actually enjoyed the process. There was something soothing about the careful precision it required, the way you could lose yourself in the intricate designs and patterns.

Today, you were working on a simple birthday cake for an order. It was a vanilla sponge with strawberry filling, and the customer had chosen to decorate it with delicate pastel flowers made from buttercream. Your hands moved deftly as you piped the icing, you mind focused on the task at hand.

You were just finishing up when the door chimed open again, and looking up you see Jin-ah and her friend Han Song-Yi walk in, their school bags slung over their shoulders.

"Hey, Y/N!" Jin-ah called, waving as you approached the counter.

"Hey, Jin-ah," Y/N greeted with a smile. "And your Han Song-Yi, right?"

Han Song-Yi, a somewhat reserved girl with chin-length hair, nodded enthusiastically. "Thats right, Jin-ah’s told me all about you ."

"Good things, I hope," Y/N said with a teasing grin.

"Of course," Jin-ah replied, rolling your eyes playfully. "We just got out of school and thought we’d stop by for a snack before heading home."

"Well, you ’re in luck," You said, sliding the display case open. "We’ve got fresh pastries and cookies. Take your pick."

As Jin-ah and Song-Yi deliberated over their choices, You couldn’t help but smile at the easy banter between the two friends. It reminded you of your own school days, simple, carefree, (no rent or taxes to worry about) and full of laughter.

After making their selections of some cookies and two iced teas, Jin-ah and Song-Yi sat at one of the small tables near the window, chatting animatedly about school gossip. Their chatter blended into the background and you were called to the back by Mrs. Kang.

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It was nearing the end of the day when the door chimed open once again. You were in the middle of cleaning the back counter, starting preclean up, ready to close up for the day, when you looked up and froze. A woman had just entered the bakery, herface partially obscured by a pink baseball cap pulled low over her head. She moved with quiet steps as if to hide she just walked into a building

Your heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned.

‘No way. What is she doing here? On this side of the city!’

There, standing in the middle of the bakery, was none other than Cha Hae-In. The famous S-rank Hunter. One of the most powerful Hunters in Korea. And she was here, in ‘Sweet Crumbs’, trying to keep a low profile.

You blinked, your mind racing as you tried to process the situation. You had read all about Cha Hae-In in the novel and manhwa, and now you were standing right in front of her, as she looked around the bakery, pondering what to order.

‘Don’t freak out, just keep calm about another major character, randomly appearing.’

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, forcing a polite smile onto your face, all the while trying not to scream. "Hello, welcome to Sweet Crumbs. Can I help you with anything?"

Cha Hae-In glanced up, her expression neutral as she approached the counter. "I’ll just take a box of your cinnamon rolls," she replied, her voice soft but firm.

"Of course," You quickly boxed up the order. Your hands were steady, but inside you were practically screaming. Cha Hae-In was standing right there. How were you supposed to act normal?

Just as you handed over the box, the door chimed open again. This time, it wasn’t a friendly face. Two masked men entered, their expressions hard and their eyes scanning the bakery with an intensity that immediately set the atmosphere on edge. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, had a hand tucked suspiciously into his jacket.

Your heart rate spiked. ‘Oh no.’

The men exchanged a glance before the taller one stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Empty the register. Now."

You froze, like an idiot you had froze. You had been in this world for a few months now, but this was the first time you had encountered something like this. Your mind raced, trying to figure out what to do.

But before anything else could even happen, Cha Hae-In moved.

Faster than anyone could blink, the S-rank Hunter closed the distance between herself and the would-be robbers. There was a blur of motion, and the next thing anyone knew, both men were on the floor, groaning in pain, their weapons two small knives clattering to the ground.

Cha Hae-In stood over them, her expression calm and unreadable as you brushed an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve.

"Don’t bother," she said, hervoice cool and unbothered. "It’s not worth it."

You stared in stunned silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The entire encounter had lasted no more than two seconds, and now both men were incapacitated, their robbery attempt thwarted before it had even begun.

Cha Hae-In turned to you, her expression softening slightly. "Are you okay?"

You blinked, still trying to process what had just happened. "Y-Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks to you ."

Cha Hae-In nodded once, then glanced back at the two men, who were still groaning on the floor. " You should call the police."

You quickly nodd, fumbling for your phone as you dialed the emergency number. Your hands were shaking slightly, but you managed to keep your voice steady as you reported the attempted robbery.

As you hung up, you looked back at Cha Hae-In, who was already making her way toward the door, her box of cinnamon rolls in hand. You hesitated for a moment sneaking a peak at the burglars. Cha Hae-In had tied the two up with some rope she apparently had left over from a dungeon???

So everything should be fine till the police get here. You go into the back and exhale as though you were holding your breath the entire time. Hiding your face in your hands you couldn’t stop from trembling. Who would’ve thought the first threat to your life would be by people. Not the monsters in dungeons.

But now isn’t the time for panic, not when things are about to go down.

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