#hes......... in a dream it seems..........

[straylightdream]

touching yourself

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: actor!yoon jeonghan x afb.reader

what happens when he finally achieves his dream and it isn’t what he thought it would be?

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, mutual pining, romance, comfort, angst, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): actor/celeb au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.7k

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: depression, anxiety, jeonghan is really going through it, severe stress from a job, alcohol consumption, crying, lots of emotions, mentions menstrual cycles

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: phone sex (multiple scenes) mutal masturbation, needy jeonghan, switch jeonghan, hand job, fingering, oral (both rec), sex via FaceTime, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, thumb sucking (Jeonghan rec), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, nicknames: honey, baby (hers) Hannie, baby (his)

𝐚𝐧: this story is directly connected with @gotta-winwin’s Joshua story “typo and error”. This is part of the that’s showbiz, baby! collaboration. Please show the other writers love and support. Thank you so much @lovetaroandtaemin for this wonderful banner. Thank you @studioeisa for helping me navigate and beta reading this.

🎧: touching yourself - japanese house | no shame - 5 seconds of summer | like i need u - keshi

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

This is everything he has ever wanted, he repeats to himself over and over. Standing in a hotel bathroom. Today was hell. After shooting for fourteen hours he’s not sure if he wants to punch the wall or go to sleep. He’s absolutely physically and mentally exhausted.

Splashing water on his face he takes a long deep breath. Growing up this was all he ever wanted. All throughout high school and college he was in all the theater productions he could possibly join. Being an actor has always been his dream. So why is he absolutely miserable? This his second show he's filmed and this one just seems so much harder.

hannie: are you awake?

honey: you know for a big time actor that text really gives frat boy energy.

hannie: it’s not a booty call text.

honey: then what would you call it mr. superstar?

hannie: it’s more of ‘I’m lonely and need a friend to remind me why I do this.

There isn’t even time to set down his phone before it starts ringing. The nickname “honey” he gave you back in college appears on his phone with a photo of him with his arms wrapped around you pops up.

“Hello,” his voice is low. He sounds like he’s on the verge of crying.

“Hannie, what’s wrong?” His mind feels like it’s a million places at once. With his back resting against the wall he slowly slides down. His butt hitting the white marble flooring. A heavy sigh passes his lips as he pushes his finger through his long hair. “I don’t like that you’re not saying anything.”

“I wanna go home,” he whispers.

“You’re almost done filming. You have only seven days after this.”

“This show is so much harder than the last one.” Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath desperately trying not to cry.

“Hannie-“

“What time is it where you are?” He needs to change the subject. He doesn’t want to think about this show or how long he’s stuck here.

“It’s three in the morning.” He can tell you sound sleepy. He shouldn’t have woken you up.

“I shouldn’t have texted you.”

“Hannie, I told you when you left I was here no matter what time.” The night before he left he stayed at your place. He stayed up all night telling you how stressed he was about filming this movie. “What are you doing?” Your voice sounds so soothing to him.

“Sitting on the bathroom floor trying not to have a breakdown.”

“What time is it where you are?”

“It’s midnight.”

“Are you dressed for bed?”

“I was going to take a shower so I’m just in my boxers.” Leaning his head back against the wall he takes another deep breath. “I wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there with you.”

“I always said this was my dream. Why am I miserable?” A salty tear slides down his cheek.

“It’s harder than you thought it was going to be, and that’s okay. Things will get easier.”

“If I buy you a ticket, will you fly out here in the morning?” He knows this is a crazy request but he needs to see you.

“Hannie.”

“I know it’s insane to ask. Your job lets you work from home. Maybe bring your work computer and you could work from the hotel room.”

“A plane ticket at the last minute is expensive.”

“Baby, I don’t fucking care. I need you here with me.” He’s never called you baby before. And for some reason it just feels right to call you that. Maybe it stems from the fact that he’s always wanted you to be his.

“Okay–“ you practically whisper into the phone.

“I'm gonna hang up literally long enough to book you the first flight I can get you on tomorrow and then I’m going to call you back.” Reaching up he pushes away the tears that have stained his cheeks.

“Okay. I’ll start packing now. I’ll send an email to my boss and put in for some PTO for tomorrow when I travel. Maybe take a shower and call me once you’re in bed.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon, honey.”

The phone call ends and he pushes himself off the floor. He leaves the bathroom and grabs his laptop. Wasting no time, he booked you a flight for eleven in the morning. He emailed all your flight information to you.

Walking back into the bathroom, he strips off his boxers and steps into the hot water. Just knowing you’ll be with him in a little over twelve hours is a relief. Leaning against the cool marble wall as the hot water washes over him.

Hopping out of the shower he towel tries his hair and wraps a towel around his waist. He doesn’t bother getting dressed, he just lays in the king size bed still in a towel.

It’s been about forty minutes since he hung up the phone. Picking up his phone he goes into his favorites and clicks your contact info that’s listed first. On the fourth ring you answer the phone.

“Hannie, I got your email.”

“Thank you for doing this.”

“Hannie, I just wanna see you happy.”

“Honey, you make me happy.” It’s true. He doesn’t think anyone has ever made him as happy as you do. “Do you mind that we’ll have to share a bed? Or I could book you your own room?”

“I don’t mind sharing a bed. I might ask you to cuddle since I’m flying to a different country for you.” The sound of your soft laugh makes him smile.

“I’ll never complain about cuddling.”

“Did you get dressed for bed?” You asked. He glances down at his towel that is still wrapped around his waist.

“No.”

“Hannie, what are you wearing?” Your voice sounds a little more upbeat.

“Just a towel.” He hears movement and assumes you’re laying back down in bed.

“I didn’t expect you to basically be naked on the phone with me.” A soft laugh echoes into the phone. Jeonghan can’t help but smile.

“Am I allowed to ask what you are wearing?”

“I don’t know if you will like my answer.” You have definitely piqued his interest. He just lets out a hum. “I’m wearing your baggy shirt you left at my house and panties.”

Glancing down at the towel Jeonghan can feel himself starting to harden. “Do you normally sleep in my clothes?”

“When did you leave your shirt here? It started when I found it.”

“Like two months ago?” His fingers start to toy with the edge of the towel. “I like that you sleep in my shirt.”

“What are we doing here, Jeonghan?” It sounds weird you calling him his full name. Since you became friends in college he’s called you honey instead of your name and you call him Hannie.

“I’m not sure. But I like whatever this is.” He can’t help but sigh leaning further back on the pillows. “We can stop right here if you want. We can hang up the phone and pretend this never happened.”

“I don’t want that,” your voice is so soft.

“What do you want to happen?” He swallows loudly.

“Will you take off your towel?” You're both crossing a line you won’t be able to go back from.

He puts the phone on speaker and sets it on the bed next to him. Undoing the towel he lifts his hips and tosses the towel to the foot of the bed. Evening being alone on the bed he feels suddenly very exposed. Taking a deep breath he drags his fingers down his stomach. “Can you take your panties off but, leave on my shirt?”

“Of course.”

“This isn’t the first time I’m touching myself to the thought of you.” This is the first time when he cums thinking of you he won’t feel guilty.

“I think about you often.” You sigh.

He starts fully hardening in his hand as he pictures you touching yourself. He focuses on the tip spreading the precum that’s started leaking. A low moan passes his lips.

“I bet your cock is pretty,” you moan.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m already so wet. I get wet just thinking about you.”

Closing his eyes he imagines you laying next to him. His breathing is already unsteady. “I bet your pussy tastes sweet just like you.”

“You’ve never even kissed me, Hannie,” you tease.

“When you get here tomorrow, I’m going to kiss you like I need you to breathe. And once we’re alone I’m going to strip you naked and devour every inch of you. I’m going to eat your pretty pussy like it’s my last meal on this fucking planet.”

“Hannie–“ you don’t even try to hold back your broken moans. He tightens his grip on his painfully hard cock. “I’m playing with my clit but it’s not enough. I feel empty,” you whimper.

“Baby, do you have any toys you can fill your little pussy with?”

“I have a dildo-“ you sound so shy suddenly.

“Can you use it? Pretend that it’s me filling you up.”

There is a moment of silence before Jeonghan hears a squelching noise. Your moans echo through the phone. “Fuck- Hannie-“

Biting his bottom lip he fights back moaning too loud. His hand continues to pump his length. He’s not going to last long and he knows it. “Baby, go as fast as you can handle.”

“Can you go fast too? Imagine I’m riding you.”

His imagination goes wild picturing you on top of him riding him.

The phone call is filled with the sounds of moans and whimpers. Jeonghan brings his finger towards his chest. His long index finger slowly toys with his nipple as he gets closer to the edge.

“I’m close—“ he can’t wait to hear how you sound as you fall apart.

“I’m going to cum—“ he responds.

“Hannie—“ you moan as you find your release.

“Honey—“ he moans, painting his hand and stomach with thick ropes of his milky release. “Fuck-“

There’s a few beats of silence as you both ride out your highs. “Did you still want me to come see you?”

“Of course I do, baby.”

“We should both probably get to sleep. I’ll probably arrive while you’re on set.”

“I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up from the airport and the front desk will have a key ready for you.”

“Okay. What happened to your text wasn’t a booty call?” You let out a little laugh.

“It wasn’t planned to be. I just really wanted to hear your voice. I missed you.”

“I always miss you. Goodnight Hannie.”

“Goodnight honey.”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The whole time Jeonghan is on set he can only really think about you. He lights up when he receives a text from you.

honey: I just got to the hotel.

hannie: the front desk has a room key for you. please let me know when you get inside.

honey: I just got in. Omg this bathroom is huge.

hannie: my mental breakdown started in that bathroom.

honey: I don’t want you to stress anymore. I’m here now.

hannie. I think we’re wrapping my scenes in an hour.

honey: how does you arriving back to the room and finding me naked in the bath sound?

hannie: amazing. I’m now going to try my best to not get hard on set.

honey: just one more hour and you can do anything you have ever wanted to me.

hannie: I should say this in person, but I’m a little scared. We can’t go back after this. I want you so badly I can’t just be your friend.

honey: that’s good. I don’t want to be friends anymore. I want to try to be more.

hannie: please be naked when I get back.

The moment that cut was called on his scenes his assistant was following him as he practically ran to his trailer.

“Jeonghan, you have an interview scheduled for tomorrow at 10am. It’s going to be in the conference room of your hotel.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Jeonghan goes to grab his clothes hoping to get out of this costume quickly.

“I’m assuming since you have company you won’t need my assistance with anything tonight?” His assistant sounds hopeful they might fully get the night off.

“Ben, I don't need you tonight. Can you just have a car ready to pick me up in ten minutes? And just make sure you’re there before my interview tomorrow.”

“Okay, Jeonghan. Have fun with your friend.” Ben pats him on the back before exiting the trailer.

Jeonghan doesn’t think he's ever left a set faster in his life. Getting into the car he’s checking emails trying to keep himself distracted. That’s until a new message from you pops up.

honey: are you on your way?

hannie: I should be there in ten minutes.

honey: I’ll start the bath now.

Walking into the hotel room, he shuts the door and locks. The moment he enters the bathroom his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you naked sitting in the large bathtub.

“Hi, Hannie.” You give him a soft smile.

“Hi, Honey.” Without another thought he instantly starts removing his clothes. The moment he is fully naked he joins you in the bath. He sits opposite of you with his legs on either side of yours. Just the sight of your breast just below the water has him hardening.

“I missed you.” You whispered.

He takes a deep breath trying his hardest to calm down. “God, I have missed you.”

Reaching out you start to draw aimless circles on his knee. He can’t help but smile as he watches you. “Hannie, you’re not going to give up on acting right?”

“No. I was just lonely and stressed.”

“I don’t want you to be lonely anymore. I’m always here for you. You can call me anytime at night or day. We can just talk or we could have more phone sex.” Your ending comment earned a smile from him. If someone would have told him that when he left to film this series you and him would be here now. He would have told them they were crazy.

“You still haven’t kissed me?”

“Come here.” Leaning forward you both meet in the middle. Reaching out, he rested his hand on your cheek. “You’re so pretty.” God, he could spend hours just admiring you.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” He instantly smiles at your sweet words.

The moment your lips finally touch he feels a sense of warmth take over him. His hands hold your face as his lips move against your. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his oxygen deprived lungs. How on earth has he gone his whole life, not knowing how you taste.

His stomach is filled with butterflies just like it always is when he’s around you. Even back in the day when you were freshly eighteen. From the moment he met you Jeonghan knew you were going to be special to him.

Pulling away you rest your nose against his. “This feels so right.”

Leaning back, you close your eyes and smile. How did he ever get so luckily to have you in his life? You feel like sunshine on a rainy day.

“How long can you last in this bath without properly touching me?” You’ve always loved to tease him.

“Maybe two more minutes.”

Without saying a word you stand up. Getting out of the tub you walk naked across the bathroom. Grabbing a towel you slowly start drying off. Jeonghan’s eyes are locked on your body. Snapping out of his lust filled haze he gets out and grabs a towel. Silently you both stand there drying off.

“I think it’s time you fuck away all your frustrations.” Walking towards the door you hold out your hand. Workout saying a word he laces his fingers with you.

Taking your hand he pulls you towards the bed. “Do I need to get us condoms?” He realizes he definitely doesn’t have any in this room, and he didn’t ask you to bring any.

“I’m on birth control. Remember you took me to my appointment to get my IUD?” Oh, he remembers that vividly. You got it because your ex wanted to stop using condoms and Jeonghan was trying his hardest to be supportive. But the idea of that loser getting to fuck you completely raw had him seeing red.

You stand at the foot of the bed. You push your fingers through his dark hair. You can’t help but admire how pretty he is.

“I don’t want to assume anything.”

“Yoon Jeonghan, when was the last time you had sex with someone that isn’t your hand?” It’s embarrassing that you know too many details about his sex life, or better yet lack thereof.

“It’s probably been a year. I’m so busy with work.” Unfortunately his hand has been his best friend when it comes to finding any sort of release these days.

“I’m clean, I got tested after Jay and I ended things six months ago. I haven’t had sex with anyone other than my toys and my hand. Jeonghan, if you want to do this, we can. I trust you more than anyone I have ever been with before. Hell, I care about you more than anyone else.”

He definitely loves you, even though he wouldn’t be bold and say those words right now. He most definitely trusts you as well. Going bare the very first time you have sex means a lot.

“Are you sure?” You release his hand and take a small step back.

“If you don’t want to go bare Jeonghan, we can get condoms. I’m just giving you the option.”

“God, I want to feel you completely bare.” He pushes his finger through his hair. He feels like he’s going to go insane if he can’t be inside you. “Lay on the bed, honey.”

Crawling onto the bed Jeonghan watches you. “Spread your legs, baby. I believe I made a promise that I want to eat you out.”

The moment his head is between your legs he eats your pussy like he’s a man starved. Your finger tangled in his hair holding him close. He practically makes out with your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

He never tasted anything sweeter as he felt you fall apart against his tongue.

The moment he’s hovering over you staring into your eyes as he pushes into you for the first time he realizes this is what it feels like to feel whole. That empty feeling in his chest no longer existed. Your hands claw at his back holding him close. His lips touch anywhere they can reach. His pace starts out slow but deep.

Your moans and whimpers echo off the walls. You move his face so he’s looking down at you. Running your thumb across his bottom lip he opens his mouth. Slowly you slide your thumb in, pressing down on his tongue. He’s lost in a haze of lust.

“So good for me,” you moan.

Pulling your thumb out of his mouth he smiles down at you. “Did you like that?”

“Fuck—“

Reaching down he moves your leg so it’s resting on his hip. “Faster.” You plead.

His pace picks up and the moment he feels your orgasm hit you hard he practically sees stars himself. He’s never come nearly as hard as he did right then. His salty release paints your walls milky white. Sitting back on his knees he’s still snug inside you. The sight of you squeezing him is something he’ll ever get over. Ever so slowly he pulls out. Watching as his release slowly leaks out in a glob. Without even thinking he runs his fingers through your folds pushing it back in.

“Fuck—“

“Is that all you can say?” You can’t help but tease him.

“You might have broken my brain.”

Hopping off the bed he runs off to the bathroom in all his naked glory. He comes back holding a warm washcloth. He gently wipes away the mess he made.

Crawling back into bed he pulls you close. He hopes he can do this with you forever.

As your head lays on his chest he can’t help but think about what happens next between you. All he knows is being able to properly hold you feels perfect.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s another long day for Jeonghan. He spent the morning doing interviews, and now he’s on set for three hours filming. He’s fully focused on work, but there is a little thought in the back of his mind that is reminding you’re waiting for him at his hotel room.

Once he’s finally back in the hotel for the night he finds you lying in the bed dressed in nothing but one of his baggy shirts and cute little thong. You're focused on watching something on your phone. You don’t even notice he’s back, until he clears his throat.

Laying your phone on the nightstand you smile at him. “Hi, Hannie.”

“Hi, honey.”

“How does ordering room service and cuddling sound?”

“Perfect.”

That night was perfect for him. He told you about his day on set while you shared a pizza. You turned on some romantic comedy you had been telling him about. He doesn’t really pay attention to the movie. He’s too focused on the way you’re curled up against him. He doesn’t feel as lost knowing he has you by his side.

The movie finally comes to an end and at that point the only thing either of you can focus on is each other.

Laying on your stomach, Jeonghan has a pillow under your hips. He’s pressed up against your back. Your thong has been pulled to the side as he slowly thrust into you. This new angle has him hitting spots he hasn’t hit before. He’s kissing his way across your shoulders moaning sweet praises against your skin.

You fall apart together before you both drift off to sleep.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been two weeks since you flew out to meet him on set. You haven’t fully labeled your relationship, but you’re clearly together. At this point, you’re apart more than you’re together. Phone sex has become a staple of your relationship.

A part of being famous that Jeonghan hated was he had to hide parts of his private life. His one goal was to keep you away from the public eye. He refused to watch you get hate or to hear that people are spreading gossip and lies about you.

Laying down in another hotel room, his mind wanders to you just like it always does. Closing his eyes, he pictures you.

hannie: are you awake?

honey: that sounds like a booty call text.

hannie: I miss you.

honey: do you miss me or just my pussy?

hannie: I miss everything about you.

honey: did you want to talk on the phone?

hannie: please.

Two seconds later the phone rings. This time, your contact photo is a picture of him kissing you.

“Hi, Hannie.” Your voice is as sweet as honey.

“Hi, baby.”

“What are you wearing?” You instantly ask.

“I’m laying here in boxers. What are you wearing?” He’s already starting to get hard at just the sound of your voice.

“A tank top and thong.” His brain instantly starts picturing you.

“Can you get naked for me?”

“Of course.” He hears the sound of rustling of fabric. He takes this as his opportunity to remove his boxers. “Should I get one of my toys?”

“Do you have a vibrator you can use?”

“Yes.”

He starts stroking his length thinking about your naked body on display. The buzzing sound lets him know you have found your vibrator.

“Fuck— Hannie—“

He starts pumping his length faster. Before you Jeonghan has probably had phone sex once before. Now he can’t get enough of it. The idea that you’re on the other side touching yourself to his voice is intoxicating.

“Baby, can you pump two fingers in you?”

“Yes,” your voice is needy and high pitched.

“I wish this was you touching me.” He focused on his sensitive head knowing that it would easily push him over the edge.

“Do you miss my mouth or my pussy?”

“I miss everything about you.”

He misses being able to touch. The moment he’s home, he doesn’t think he’ll let you out of his sight.

“I need more.” You whimper.

“Add another finger.” Just the thought of you naked in bed has him close to falling apart.

He focuses on sensitive tip, knowing he’ll fall apart with little effort.

“Honey—“

“I’m so close—“ You’re a whimpering mess.

“Hold the vibrator against your clit baby.”

He moves his hand up and down his hardened length. His orgasm is getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Hannie—“

“Cum for me baby.”

“Fuck—“ your voice is a high pitch whine. Falling apart on your fingers is not the same as being filled with Jeonghan’s length.

His breathing is uneven, practically ragged. Salty cum paints his hand and stomach milky white.

“God, I miss you.” He pants.

“I miss you too, baby.” He can’t help but smile at your response.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s been three weeks since he’s been home from set and in that time he’s been taking every opportunity he has to spend it with you.

Many days have consisted of you staying at Jeonghan place. You’ve brought your laptop and you have been working from Jeonghan’s kitchen. He takes this time to just enjoy your company and spend as much time as possible with you.

Today, you had to go into the office and Jeonghan had a meeting he didn’t want to attend.

Jeonghan hates the days he has to go into the office. Sitting in the conference room he’s listening as Wonwoo the CEO, Seungcheol the talent recruiter, are talking about a new star that has signed on. He’s not even sure why he needs to be here for this.

A heavy sigh passes his lips earning a glance from Junhui, the legal intern who is sitting next to Wonwoo.

“Jeonghan, we need to talk about your press tour. You need to start soon,” Wonwoo says.

“My show wrapped last month.” The idea of doing press makes him want to scream. His goal for right now was to just spend time with you.

“Well, we think it’s a good idea to do a few interviews talking about upcoming projects.” Joshua chimes in. “It will be good for your social media presence.”

“What upcoming projects?” He instantly sighs, leaning back.

“We have another role we want you to start filming next month. It’s a romantic drama. The new actress we booked will be starring with you.” He was hoping to get a longer break between projects. The idea of filming a romance isn’t his favorite idea right now.

“I didn’t know I booked another role.” So much for the break he thought he was getting.

“We have one more thing to discuss,” Jihoon the head of HR chimes in. Jeonghan instantly has a sinking feeling. He has an idea about what they’re going to bring up.

“What is it?” He sighs, pushing his finger through his hair.

“We’ve heard you’re in a relationship.” Jihoon says.

“Nothing in my contract says I can’t date,” Jeonghan glances over at Junhui. If anyone in this room fully understands his contract, it’s Junhui.

“We aren’t telling you you’re not allowed to date. We’re just asking that you don’t go making this relationship social media official. For the company’s sake and for the press of your upcoming movies, we’re asking you to keep your relationship private.”

“My goal is to keep my relationship private. I don’t want the public bugging her.”

“Filming a romance series, people will probably link you with your co-star. I wouldn’t exactly deny you’re not together but don’t confirm it.” The idea of a showmance made Jeonghan feel sick. It almost feels as if he’s cheating on you. “I can tell by your face you made you hate that idea,” Wonwoo says. He instantly notices that Joshua seems quite irritated suddenly. Maybe this has something to do with the new girl he’s been working social media for.

“When do I start filming this?” Jeonghan has grown tired of this meeting and just wants to go home.

“You leave for Jeju in three weeks.” Soonyoung the head of marketing chimes in.

“Okay.”

He thought after finishing this last project he would be happier with his career choice, but he’s still sad. Maybe that’s because he knows it means he’s going to be lonely once again. Maybe going away will feel different this time knowing that he has you. Maybe you’re the change he truly needed in his life.

Standing in the elevator, he decides to text you. He’s hoping he can see you tonight.

hannie: are you busy tonight?

honey: I’m finishing a work project and I’ll be free after five.

hannie: sleepover?

honey: your place or mine?

hannie: mine. I’ll order your favorite thai place for takeout.

honey: oh look you truly know the way to my heart.

hannie: thai food is the way to your heart? Not my amazing head game?

honey: that’s the other way to my heart lol

hannie: it’s good to know I know both ways to your heart.

honey: I got to go back to work but I’ll see you at 5 baby.

You calling him ‘baby’ will always give him butterflies.

When five twenty rolls around, you let yourself into his apartment. From the moment he moved in here, he gave you the code to the pin pad. He made the choice to make the code your birthday.

He smiles at the sight of you dressed in a pair of leggings and baggy shirt. The shirt looks extremely familiar. At some point you’ve definitely stolen it from him. He realized you had stolen more of his clothes then he noticed you had.

“Hannie, if you planned on getting laid tonight, I’m on my period.” Walking over you sit on the couch next to him.

“I didn’t call you over just for sex. I like spending time with you.”

“Okay.” You give him a soft smile.

“My period sucks. I’m extra emotional and I’m horny.”

“Well, if you want to have sex I have no problem doing it. We can fuck in the shower or put towels down.” Jeonghan isn’t disgusted at all at the thought of period sex. If it’s something you’re comfortable with he would do it.

“Can we just cuddle tonight?”

“Absolutely.”

Things have always been so easy with you. Jeonghan can truly feel like himself. He’s not an actor that people desperately want to get to know. He’s simply just Jeonghan, or better yet he’s your Hannie.

Curled up in bed he loves that you’re dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of panties. There is something about you wearing his clothes that he loves. Since college, he’s called you a clothing thief, but he’ll never complain. He always smiles when he sees you wearing one of his baggy shirts.

“Honey?” He’s laying on his back, your head is resting on his chest. He’s slowly running his fingers up your spine, tracing the details of your skin.

“Yes?”

“You’re my best friend.” He nuzzles his face in your hair. The sweet scent of your mango shampoo, that reminds him of warm summer days.

“Are you friendzoning me?” You knit your eyebrows together confused by what he means.

“I’m hopelessly in love with you.” There is a long moment neither of you say anything. Your hand rests over his heart. Closing your eyes, tears slowly slide down your cheek. “Baby, are you crying?”

“I have loved you for so long.” You can’t even look at him. You just nuzzle your face against his bare chest.

“Honey, I’ve loved you for years and I will love you forever.” Slowly you finally look up at him with glossy eyes. He gently rests his fingers under your chin. ”I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Being with you made everything feel like it’s falling into place.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming this new romantic drama has been going fine. He’s a lot happier than he was during the last series he filmed. He knows his new relationship with you has helped with that lonely feeling that just kept eating away at him. There is something nice about knowing he can just text you telling you he loves you. Or just being able to call you and say he wants to hear your voice.

This shoot has been a whole different experience for him. Well, there has been one issue though. Jeonghan has grown to have a nice friendship with Vi, his romantic lead in the series. From the beginning he told her all about his relationship with you. Vi has been a great sense of support on the set. A few times the two of them have gotten dinner together with some of the other crew.

From the first day on set it’s been very clear that him and Vi are only friends. She often even asks about your relationship. All the crew knows he’s taken, but for some reason Joshua doesn’t seem to understand that. Jeonghan learned immediately after seeing his new costar interact with her social media manager something was up. Joshua is clearly not the actor of the two of them. That man for the life of him couldn’t hide his feelings for Vi. Joshua wasn’t able to hide his hatred towards Jeonghan either. Whenever he and Vi would film a kiss scene Jeonghan could feel Joshua’s hatred radiating off him.

It’s another day on set that has been absolutely exhausting. Jeonghan can feel Joshua’s eyes burning into him. This day on set is long enough and the scenes Jeonghan has been filming are emotionally draining. He looks over Vi and she seems completely oblivious to Joshua glaring.

“Hey, can we talk?” He taps her shoulder.

“Sure.”

“Can you tell Joshua to get his shit together? Joshua is clearly in love with you and he’s really starting to piss me off with the dirty looks.” Jeonghan is already miserable wishing you were here with him. The last thing he needs is a grown ass man pissed at him because of another woman.

“What?”

“Vi, please don’t play dumb right now. Joshua Hong, your little social media boy, is obsessed and in love with you.” He paused for a moment. “And don’t get me wrong you’re great but I think everyone on this set knows I’m in love with _ _ _ _.”

Vi lets out a soft laugh and looks over at Joshua who’s eyes soften the moment he stares at her. “Is it obvious he loves me?”

“Yeah, and please make it obvious to him neither of us are interested in each other.”

He watches as Violet walls off towards Joshua.

Heading off to his trailer he can’t stop thinking about you. He opens his phone and instantly goes to text you.

hannie: are you working?

honey: yeah but I can text you right.

hannie: I hate Joshua.

honey: what did he do now?

hannie: all he does is give me dirty looks and I’m tired of his lovesick idiot act. all he does is bitch and moan when I’m around.

honey: have you told violet?

hannie: I told her he’s clearly in love with her and I’m with you so she needs to tell him to knock it off.

honey: he’s probably not a fan of watching the girl he’s in love with kiss someone else.

hannie: I’m not a fan of having to kiss the girl he’s in love with. Are you okay with me having kissing scenes?

honey: I knew what I signed up for when we started this. It’s a part of your job.

hannie: can I call you tonight?

honey: of course. I should be home around 8. When do you stop filming?

hannie: I think the call sheet says 10.

honey: I’ll be waiting for you.

-

Laying on the bed in his hotel room he stares at his lockscreen for a long moment. It’s a photo of the two of you together. He’s kissing your cheek and you have the biggest smile on your face. Opening his favorites contacts he presses your name.

“Hi, baby,” your voice is gentle.

“Hi honey girl.” He puts the phone on speaker, setting it on the bed next to him.

“You’ve called me that since we were eighteen but you never told me why.”

He can’t help but smile thinking back to when you were both eighteen. He stands up and pulls his shirt off. “Because from the moment I met you I thought you were sweet as honey.”

“Am I still sweet as honey?”

“You’ve only gotten sweeter.” He unbuckles his belt.

“Do I taste as sweet as honey?” Your voice sounds intoxicating as you ask this.

“You taste sweeter than you could ever imagine.” He starts to push down his pants.

“Hannie, are you changing?”

“I’m in my boxers.”

“Can you get naked for me?” You sigh.

“Absolutely.”

“Can we facetime?”

“Yeah we can baby. Can you get naked for me?” He desperately wanted to see you.

Slipping off his boxers, he stands fully naked. He’s already starting to harden at the thought of seeing you. Propping his phone up he switches the call to a video.

Suddenly, you appear on screen in all your naked glory.

Your fingers toy with your perk nipples. Your glossy bottom lip is captured between your teeth.

“Tell me what to do Hannie.”

Laying back on the bed he takes his length in his hand and slowly starts stroking himself.

“Baby, spread your legs for me.”

Silently, you follow his command. Your legs are spread wide with the camera angled perfectly to see your glistening folds.

“Play with your sensitive clit.”

His eyes stay focused on the screen watching as your finding makes quick circles on your puffy clit. He keeps a steady pace pumping his cock. Your bottom lip is captured between your teeth, attempting to hold back moans.

He starts focusing on his blush colored tip that’s leaking precum. He doesn’t bother trying to hold back his broken moans of your name.

“Can you come from just playing with your clit?” He knows you can, but he wants to hear you respond.

“Yes—“

“Pretend it’s my fingers and come for my baby.”

He tightens his grip chasing his release. His eyes are lust blown, watching you through the screen. Tilting your head back, your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out his name. He can tell by your movements you’re cumming.

“Honey—“ he moans your name, painting his hand and abs with his milky release.

Both of your breathing is heavy. He can’t help but smile as a fucked our giggle passes your lips.

“You know, if you were here, I would make you take a shower with me.”

“I wish I was there to take a shower with you.” He looks down at his stomach that’s covered in a sticky layer of his cum.

“I can’t wait for this series to be done, and to have a break from seeing god forsaken Joshua Hong.”

You can’t help but laugh at his disdain for his co-star’s social media manager.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming is finally done and he’s just returned from a month of traveling promoting his newest project. Jeonghan can take a break and just spend time with you. He wants nothing more than to spend the week just lost in your presence.

He practically moved into your apartment. He wants to spend every waking moment with you.

He is sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee with you.

“I don’t think I want to film another romance series anytime soon.” He lets out a sigh, his fingers fidgeting with the lavender cup.

“I support whatever you want to do.” You give him a gentle smile.

“Can I ask you something that’s probably insane?”

“Yes, should I be scared?”

“No. You can work from home, right?” He knows this is a big ask.

“Yeah, I realistically only have to go into the office every couple months.”

“Would you travel with me to film my next series? It’s in five weeks and we will be staying in a beach town.” The idea of having you with him the whole time he’s filming sounds like a dream to him.

“Are you being serious?” You definitely weren’t expecting him to ask that.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what you want?” You look down at your own cup of coffee for a moment.

“I don’t feel as lonely as I did before. But I want you by my side the whole time.” He honestly wants you by his side for everything he does in life now.

“Then I’ll go with you.” A smile spreads across your lips.

“I love you, honey.”

“And I love you, Hannie.”

Jeonghan knew if he was going to pursue his dream sometimes it would be hard and there would be times he’s lonely. He knows now that no matter what you’ll be by his side. Whether you’re physically with him or you’re just a phone call away.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming his new series had been a dream knowing you were there with him. Every day after filming no matter how late it was he got to spend time with you. Some nights you would explore the beautiful beach town together and then other nights you would spend locked up in your hotel together, naked and exploring each other's bodies.

Jeonghan was the happiest he had ever been filming. After a long day on set he picked you up and took you to the beautiful restaurant his co-star told him about.

Hand in hand you walked near the beach after eating dinner. He can’t seem to keep his hands to himself.

Pulling you in by the belt loops on your jeans his lips crash into yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you roll your body into yours pressing yourself against him. His tongue moves along your bottom lip, earning a sinful moan from you.

“Baby, we’re in public.” You tease him by pulling back.

“Then I need to take you home.” He smiles.

The moment you enter your hotel room he’s stripping off your clothes with a sense of urgency. There is a trail of fabric leading to the bed. Smack in the middle of the king size bed, you’re completely bare. He’s sitting on his knees thrusting into you at an incredibly slow but deep pace. One of your legs is hooked over his arm. While his other hand rests on your mound toying with your puffy clit. You’re already one orgasm deep, and he’s clear he’s working on pulling another one out of you.

Your fingers grip the expensive cotton sheets below you. Eyes roll back as the white hot wave of your second orgasm hits you hard.

“Hannie—“ His name is nothing more than a broken prayer.

“You’re made for me—“ he moans watching you with a look of wonder on his face.

“Please.” You aren’t even sure what you’re begging for. You aren’t sure your body could handle another orgasm, but you want more. His thumb never stops playing with your clit.

“Close—“ He lets out his own broken moan.

Your orgasm is barely finished when another hits you hard, this time triggering his own release. His hips slam into you at a quicker pace. His thick white release fills you to the brim. Pulling out slowly he watches as his release slowly leaks out.

Closing your eyes a fucked out smile plays across your lips. You look absolutely beautiful like this. To be honest, he thinks you look beautiful every moment of your life. He quite literally might be obsessed with how much he loves you.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Everything feels as if it’s collapsing in on him. Opening twitter, he didn’t expect to find photos of you and him spread across his timeline.

He’s hit with a wave of nausea at the nasty things being said about you. Random strangers are nitpicking every little detail about you. He hates that they know your name, and how “inside sources” are telling people you met in college.

The bathroom door opens. Looking up he can see by the look on your face something is wrong.

“Hannie—“ You sound upset and he already knows why. “Chaewon called and said photos of us are spreading all over online.”

“There is a photo of us kissing last night.” He tosses his phone on the bed. He knows this happened because he wasn’t careful. He hasn’t thought twice about going on public dates with you. He didn’t bother worrying about the fact that someone could have seen you kissing after dinner. This all happened because he was careless.

“We can figure this out.” You step closer to him.

“I think you should go back home.” The look of disappointment on your face feels like he’s being stabbed. He’s trying to protect you and all he’s doing is hurting you.

“Hannie—“ Tears start sliding down your cheeks.

“I think it’s best we aren’t spotted together anymore here.”

A laugh passes your lips. “This is so fucking stupid. Why does it matter if they know who I am?” He’s making you feel like he’s ashamed to be with you.

“I want what we have to be private.” He pushes his fingers through his dark hair. He starts pacing the hotel room anxiously.

“I’ll go home, but Jeonghan—this is the first time you’ve ever truly hurt me. I think we need to take a break. When you’re home and ready to talk you know where I am.”

He stops in his tracks. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed. A wave of nausea hits him like a ton of bricks. Without even trying, he’s broken your heart. He’s done the same things he’s seen too many men do to you. He swore to himself up and down he would never hurt you, and here he is asking you to go home.

“Honey—“

“I’m going to pack now. Can you book me a flight please?”

He sits on the bed booking you a flight, all while tears slid down your beautiful face as you packed your bag.

Three hours later a taxi takes you to the airport. He doesn’t get to kiss you goodbye, he doesn’t deserve to.

The moment the door shuts he lets himself finally break down. The hollow feeling in his chest is back.

There are two more weeks on set and this is going to be absolute hell.

The following days are filled with unanswered text from him. He knew you wouldn’t answer but he wished you would.

hannie: I’m sorry. I love you and miss you.

hannie: I shouldn’t have sent you home.

hannie: I hope you’re sleeping well.

The more time you were gone the harder filming felt for Jeonghan. Long stressful days left him sitting in his hotel room missing you. Any time anyone invited him out, he made excuses. The idea of having fun while you were home heartbroken made him feel sick.

hannie: one week left. I forgot how hard this is.

hannie: I’m sorry.

hannie: I love you.

hannie: I’m sorry. I messed up.

hannie: I’m coming home tomorrow. Can we please talk?

honey: yes.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Filming has wrapped, and the second Jeonghan’s plane landed he took a taxi to your place. Logically, he should have stopped by his apartment to drop off his luggage. All logical thoughts have left his head. The only thing he can possibly think about is getting to you. With his suitcases in tow he took the elevator up to your apartment. These last few weeks have been absolute hell. He never wants to go this long not being able to see you.

Walking up to your, door an anxious feeling is eating at him.

Normally he would put in the key code to enter, but that didn’t feel right. Knocking he patiently waits for you.

Moments later the door cracks open and there you are standing on the other side. A smile tugs on his lips at the sight of you. God he’s missed your beautiful face.

“Hi.” He awkwardly says giving you a little wave.

“Come in.” You step aside.

He wheels in his luggage. Leaving it by the white table by the door where you have always stored your keys and your purse. He kicks off his shoes. He stares at you for a long moment studying how you look. There isn’t the normal sparkle behind your eyes. You look sad, and he knows it’s because of him. Taking a deep breath he follows you over to the couch that sits under a big window that looks out into the city. He remembers the first time he made love to you on this couch after coming home from filming that series that changed everything between you. That was the first time he almost told you he loved you. Maybe if he would have been brave enough to admit it then things could have played out differently.

Sitting on the couch next to you, things feel weird. He hates that he caused this. In the years he has known you, things have never felt awkward.

“I’m sorry.” He finally says.

“Jeonghan, you hurt me.” You look down at your knees.

“I know. I was so scared that people online were going to hurt you with the cruel things they would say, that I carelessly hurt you—“ he paused. “I shouldn’t have sent you home. We could have gotten through this together.”

Reaching over you, you rest your hand on his knee. “We're a team, we can figure out this stuff together. This is all uncharted territory for us. But we can learn together.” You’ve always been the most level headed of the two of you.

“Please forgive me honey.”

“Promise me you’ll never hurt me like that again.”

He rested his hand on top of yours. “I won’t ever hurt you again. I love you so much.” He’s willing to do anything to prove to you that he’ll never hurt you again.

“I’m fine if people know who I am. I don’t care about what the internet thinks about me. I love you, Hannie, I don’t need them to love me. I just need to know that you’re always going to love me.” Your words earn a smile from him. Leaning over he rests his head on your shoulder.

“I’ve loved you since college and I will love you forever.”

“We can figure out how to navigate the world knowing who I am together.”

“I guess this means you can go to a red carpet event with me now. My company hasn’t bothered denying the photos or rumors.”

Pulling away from you, he looks into your warm eyes. Leaning forward pressing your lips to his for a gentle kiss.

“My company just said they don’t comment on my personal life.”

You can’t help but smile and press your lips to his again for another quick kiss. “I guess I can get red carpet ready.”

“We’re back together right?” He needed to know.

“Oh, Hannie, we were never broken up.”

“I’m so glad I fell in love with my best friend.”

“That’s good because I fell in love with my best friend.”

Things aren’t always going to be easy for Jeonghan, and being an actor isn’t exactly what he thought it would be. But he likes his job, and he’s glad he’s always going to have you by his side no matter what.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[jade-zzz]

RISING SUN

Waking up with Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake.

TRIGGER WARNINGS : Soft Yandere themes, possessiveness, mild psychological instability, psychological dependence, implied reader is kept in captivity.

A/N : wrote one for Tim and thought I might as well do some more,, god you can tell who my favourite is. Feeling very soft yandere today so that’s what were going with INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS ENCOURAGED!

DICK GRAYSON

Night and morning alike, Dick Grayson clings to you with unabashed devotion, his presence a constant warmth against your skin. His hair brushes your cheek, his limbs curl possessively around yours, and his very being seems moulded to fit you. His warmth bleeds into your bones, his breath fans against your neck as his limbs stay tangled with yours. There’s no hesitation in his affection—he touches with desperation, holds with fervour, and grants you his full, undivided attention whether dreaming or wide awake.

He doesn’t just sleep beside you. He envelops you. Even unconscious, his body knows where you are. The moment you shift, even slightly, his grip tightens. A leg drapes heavier over your hips. An arm coils more firmly around your waist. His lips brush your shoulder in a ghost of a kiss, a soft murmur escaping like a warning—or a plea.

"Stay."

Even in sleep, his body refuses to part from yours. His subconscious is a lover all its own, denying you escape, drawing you closer the moment you try to slip away. One slight movement and his leg hooks tighter around your waist, a soft, unconscious whimper spilling from his lips, as if the idea of separation wounds him. His lips bruhs your shoulder in a ghost of a kiss, a soft murmur escaping like a warning– or a plea.

When daylight finally spills through the curtains in thin golden strands, and the room blinks into morning, the cycle begins anew—a ritual of affection so natural, so constant, it feels like breathing. The morning doesn’t change him. If anything, it makes him worse– needed, more intense. As long as it’s your hands brushing against him, your voice whispering his name, Dick greets the morning with a smile that tugs gently at the corner of his mouth, dreamy and content. The sunlight trickles through the curtains, catching in his lashes as it illuminates the room. And when you try to pull back or sit up, he frowns—just slightly—but it’s enough to freeze you in place. You know that frown.

That look in his eyes—not sorrow, but something sharper, hotter. A flicker of irritation darkens his gaze, the kind that simmers just beneath the surface, anger carefully caged behind clenched teeth and a tight swallow. He doesn’t speak it, doesn’t let it spill, but it’s there—waiting, restrained only by the thinnest thread of control.

“Don’t go,” he whispers. “You know I don’t like when you leave me.”

A day without your kiss is not just unpleasant to him—it’s unthinkable. A punishment. A betrayal. And when he finally kisses you, it’s slow, deep, and possessive, like he's trying to taste every reason you might have for leaving and erase it from your mind.

And your scent—God, your scent. It’s carved into him. The softness of your shampoo, the unique rhythm of your breath, the velvet timbre of your voice—they anchor him to reality. Or maybe to the dream he refuses to wake from. Because if this is a dream, he’ll do anything to stay in it.

When you nod—because what else can you do with his arms so tightly around you, his love so fierce it threatens to drown you—he smiles again.

Content. For now.

JASON TODD

The first thing you notice is the heat—Jason sleeps warm. Like a furnace beneath the sheets, all hard muscle and calloused hands. His arm is slung lazily across your waist, fingers curled into the fabric of your sleep shirt like he might accidentally lose you if he loosens his grip.

He breathes deeply, chest rising and falling against your back in a slow, grounding rhythm. For a few moments, you lie still, savoring the quiet and the rare stillness of him—Jason, who rarely rests, rarely softens, rarely lets down his guard.

The faintest shift in the sheets, the whisper of breath too close to his ear, and his eyes flutter open on instinct alone. Muscle memory honed by years of living in the shadows. He’s trained to wake the moment the world changes around him—even in the middle of a dream. But in sleep, stripped of his armor and edge, Jason is oddly vulnerable. And when he first blinks awake—still half-lost between dreams and reality—his face is painted with a dazed, unfocused confusion. His brows furrow. His lips part. It’s an expression so deeply uncharacteristic of the man you know— Red Hood —that if this was under other circumstances, you might’ve not been able to help but smile. It's absurd. Endearing, even. Almost boyish.

It was easier this way.

Easier to let yourself believe in the quiet illusion, to drink in the morning stillness like it wouldn’t eventually shatter. Whatever made the steak taste better—whatever dulled the sharp edge of reality, if only for a while—was worth indulging. Moments like this made it almost effortless to pretend. And it isn’t just watching. It’s etching.You're trying to carve the image of him into your mind with such precision it could survive fire and time. The same way he's already burned you into his.

Because even in sleep, even with his guard down and the morning light spilling gold across the bed, there’s a kind of claiming in the way he holds you. The way his fingers curl possessively at your hip. The way his breath ghosts over your collarbone like a whisper you weren’t meant to hear.

Even after countless mornings tangled together beneath the sheets, his gaze still flickers with disbelief when it lands on you. Like he doesn’t quite trust that you’re real. That you haven’t vanished in the night. That this life, this moment, you, haven’t all been conjured by his desperate need for something soft in a world of violence.

You reach out, fingertips brushing across his cheek in a featherlight caress, brushing a strand of dark hair back from his brow. And for a breathless second—just one—his body stiffens.

It happens in an instant.

His eyes snap open—vivid blue and sharp—and his arm tightens around you with a sudden, trained instinct. His hand catches your wrist midair, hovering over your cheek like a soldier bracing for a hit, confusion flashing in his gaze. Because even in half-sleep, Jason Todd doesn’t expect kindness. He expects threats. Ghosts. Loss.

But then he sees your eyes—warm, patient, full of love—and that familiar flicker of recognition washes over him like the tide.

His fingers relax. Your hand settles again on his cheek, warm against scarred skin. He leans into the touch like a man starved. Then, he kisses your palm—a slow, reverent press of his lips, as if anchoring himself with the taste of your skin.

His thumb traces the bones of your hand with gentle strokes. You feel his breath steady. His hold loosens from survivalist grip to something more human.

“Don’t ever leave me like that,” he mumbles.

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“You moved,” he says, accusatory, but tired. “Thought you were gone.”

There’s a pause. You don’t answer. Instead, you lean in and brush a kiss over the scar near the edge of his mouth, then another across his jaw. He exhales again, this time through a smile, and drags you flush against him with a heavy arm.

There’s something sacred in these seconds—this fragile peace he carves out of a lifetime of chaos. He knows better than most how fleeting normalcy can be, how easily it can be taken, burned, or bled dry. He doesn’t trust the world to let him keep anything good.

And yet, as he pulls himself from bed, still blinking away sleep, the scent of your skin still clinging to his hoodie, he lets himself believe in it—for now. And as he watches you hum to yourself in the golden morning light, hair brush in hand, Jason finds himself clenching his fists just a little tighter.

Because if the world ever tries to take this from him—

He doesn’t care who he has to become again.

He’ll make sure he never wakes up alone.

TIM DRAKE

You wake up slowly, like someone rising from the depths of a dream, suffocating in something warm.

Your brain takes a moment to process what you’re feeling: heat. Breath against your neck. Arms wrapped around your waist. A weight draped over your legs. Something clinging to your shirt—no, someone.

Tim.

Your body is plastered against his. He’s wrapped around you like a living straitjacket, chest to your back, nose tucked beneath your ear, one of his legs slotted between yours. One of his arms is curled under your neck, the other across your waist, hand fisted in the fabric of your sleep shirt like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, clutching you with an almost feverish need, even in his dreams. His grip is tight–too tight– not frantic, but possessive, like a child clutching onto their favourite toy.

You could’ve sworn you had fallen asleep on your bed, how you’ve ended up on the floor in the living room is beyond you. His tendency to nap at any hour - anywhere, included dragging you along with him. Unfortunately , more often than not you ended up awkwardly cradled against the windowsill or god forbid limbs tangled on top of the kitchen counter.

Tim naps where exhaustion claims him–without warning, without concern–and if you’re with him, which is becoming increasingly consistent with how you’ve practically moved into his apartment, you become apart of that ritual.

You try to shift slightly.

Bad idea.

He lets out a soft sound, almost a whimper, and tightens his grip. His whole body moves with yours like you’re tethered together. You feel his breath hitch, his hand pressing firmer against your stomach. He’s not awake—but his body knows. You sigh softly.

The sun’s barely peeking through the blinds of his apartment. You’re supposed to be up early today. Shower, groceries, maybe coffee with a friend if you get there in time. But—

A heartbeat later, his voice rumbles against your skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

It’s barely a whisper, hoarse and sleep-rough, but it freezes you. Mornings with Tim are not gentle. Tim Clings. He burrows. He pulls you back into bed– or whatever surface you’ve both collapsed on–with a quiet desperation borders on instinct.

He will not let you leave easily.

You glance over your shoulder. His eyes are still closed. Maybe if you persist– if you whisper his name gently, trace your fingertips down the length of his spine– he may finally open one eye, begrudgingly surrendering to consciousness. But only on his terms.

“Tim?” you murmur.

"Stay five more minutes," he murmurs, half-lost in a haze of sleep. And by five, he means forever.

A/N: pick your poison,, which one would yall rather be stuck with? personally id go with tim but thats just bias speaking, idk if id be able to deal with waking up on the floor when i was sleeping previously in my bed

[purplereina11]

You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one

Wordcount: 12.6k

You're standing in the queue at Heathrow, passport in hand, half-asleep and already regretting the jeans you chose. It’s too early to be alive, and your little brother has been humming the same four bars of a song for the past ten minutes. Loudly off-key.

Your mum's elbow nudges you in the ribs. Not hard, but enough to knock you out of your daze.

“This’ll do you good,” she says in that gently smug way she does when she’s convinced she’s right about something. “A bit of sunshine. A bit of space.”

You sigh and don’t reply, you know exactly what she’s getting at. She doesn't mention her name, your ex, but the meaning is clear. A change of scenery, to get you out of your 'mood.' As if Catalonian air can magic away the sting of being ghosted by someone you thought you were building something with.

You blink down at your boarding pass. Terminal 5. Gate B42. Barcelona.

“She wasn’t right for you anyway,” your mum continues, adjusting her sunglasses on top of her head. “Always seemed a bit… slippery, that one. Eyes like a fox.”

“Mum,” you say, through gritted teeth.

“What? I’m just saying. Bit of flirt, wasn’t she?”

“She literally met you twice.”

“Exactly.”

Your dad, mercifully, steps in before the conversation spirals into a psychoanalysis of your entire romantic history.

“Let’s not start the holiday with an inquisition, yeah?” he says, dragging your youngest brother out from behind a pillar where he’s been attempting to lick the marble for reasons unknown.

You glance around at your family two younger brothers already wrestling each other, your dad with travel pillow marks on his face, your mum clutching everyone's passports like the Queen of Organisation and you, heart slightly bruised, clothes slightly rumpled, off to a Spanish wedding that promises at least one full-blown breakdown yours or your cousin’s fiancé, you’re not sure yet.

Carmen is a professional footballer, espresso snob, and absolute beast at board games has been around for years. From the moment your cousin Ben introduced her at that bonfire party, you liked her. She’s sharp, a bit sarcastic, and surprisingly sweet when no one’s looking. You’ve had your fair share of deep chats with her during family holidays, usually while Ben’s off being loud somewhere nearby with your brothers and his own.

You’d even go as far as to call her a friend now one of the good ones. The kind of person who sends you memes at 2am and somehow remembers your favourite wine. You’ve never watched her play football, though. You always promised you would, and she always shrugged and said she understood you didn't get the appeal.

Apparently, several of Carmen’s teammates are flying in for the wedding. Some big names, your brothers are already buzzing about maybe meeting actual professional athletes. You couldn’t care less.

Well. That’s what you tell yourself, but somewhere in the back of your mind, curiosity stirs you've seen the players they've been showing your mum they hope go because they have questions they want to ask.

As the plane begins boarding, your mum gives your arm a little squeeze. “You’re going to have fun, love. You’ll see.”

You nod, but you’re not so sure. You’re jetting off to a country where you can only ask where the library is, to watch someone else marry a woman of his dreams after a lengthy relationship while yours just fell apart.

Still, the thought of warm air, Carmen’s familiar face, and a weekend away from everything you know? That has a certain appeal.

Maybe you’ll flirt badly with a local waitress. Maybe you’ll dance with a stranger. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll learn to say something more useful in Spanish than 'Dónde está la biblioteca?'

You file onto the plane with your family, shuffle into your seat, and try not to think too hard, your ear phones go in and you edit some posts and reels for your instagram account.

☀️

You’re sat by the pool, legs crossed, laptop in front of you more for show than function. You told yourself you’d catch up on a few things before the garden party tonight, maybe answer some emails, but the screen’s been idle for ages. The cursor just blinks, smugly, while your brain drifts off somewhere warmer than home but not quite relaxed either.

Your jumper lies in a crumpled heap behind you, abandoned the second you stepped into the sun. It’s still got the faint scent of Heathrow on it, rain, recycled air, something sterile. At 4:30 this morning, it had felt like a good decision, now, sitting under a Mediterranean sky in a soft cotton co-ord bralette the same pale grey-blue as your joggers and jumper you feel more put together than you intended.

The pool in front of you glitters in the heat, somewhere beyond the villa walls, a lawn mower hums faintly. Inside, you can hear your mum trying to figure out the coffee machine, and the boys are already arguing over who’s getting top bunk in the guest house.

Then a shadow falls across your laptop.

You look up.

“Hola, guapa.” Carmen smiles down at you, barefoot, sun kissed, effortlessly relaxed. She’s wearing a loose white shirt tied at the waist and denim shorts that somehow make her look like a travel ad. Her hair is up in a knot and there’s a soft flush to her cheeks, sun or excitement, you’re not sure which.

You return the smile and reach up as she leans down for a hug, the kind that lingers just a second longer than polite. Familiar, warm. She's always hugged like she means it.

“Hey,” you say, settling back again. “You ready?”

She sits on the edge of the lounger next to you, dragging a towel across her lap like she might actually get in the water but never does, “I’m nervous,” she admits, shielding her eyes from the sun. “But I just want it to happen already, you know? Then also... I want everything to slow down. Like, I want to bottle this part.”

You nod, understanding more than you expected to. “Yeah. You’ve waited ages for this.”

“Nineteen months,” she says, pulling a face. “Ben’s been counting like he’s on parole.”

You laugh softly. “It’ll all be perfect. You two are kind of annoyingly great together.”

Carmen tilts her head. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “You’re weird in exactly the same ways. It works.”

She lets out a breath and smiles again, this time softer. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

You mean it, too. Whatever’s been clinging to you since the breakup, the weird quietness you carry around like a second skin, it feels lighter here. Carmen has always been easy to talk to, the kind of person who doesn’t need you to be funny or impressive. She just gets it and you like her for that.

“There’s a garden thing tonight,” she says, standing and brushing invisible specks of dust off her knees. “Family and friends. Chill drinks, some food. Nothing fancy, but come down, yeah? Everyone’s arriving.”

You blink up at her, briefly thrown. “What, like... everyone everyone?”

“Not all at once,” she grins. “But enough. My parents, your gran, Ben’s work mates, some of my teammates and friends... it’ll be good vibes. You might even enjoy yourself.”

You groan lightly and flop back onto the lounger. “I’ll come if I can wear something that doesn’t involve a bra.”

“Totally allowed,” she calls over her shoulder, already walking away. “It’s Spain. No one cares.”

You watch her disappear through the French doors and then glance back at your screen. You close the laptop.

You lean back, eyes closed, face to the sky, the breeze carries the scent of jasmine and the sound of familiar voices starting to gather, you just hoped you had an outfit you liked yourself in for tonight

☀️

The villa’s garden is bathed in early evening light, all golden edges and long shadows. Lanterns sway gently between olive trees, and fairy lights snake along the trellises like fireflies caught in ivy. The air is warm, sweet with something citrusy, and the music is low just enough to make people sway slightly as they talk.

You’re holding a glass of white wine and trying not to wobble in your heels on the uneven stone path. The dress you threw on soft blue with little embroidered daisies moves just enough when you walk to make you feel like you made the right choice. You’ve even got mascara on, minimal effort, but effort was made.

You spot Carmen deep in conversation near the buffet, her hands moving animatedly. Ben’s nearby, already slightly tipsy and laughing with his best mate. There’s an easy glow to everything, like this moment might belong in someone’s memory forever.

You wander a little, sipping your wine, exchanging polite hellos with people you half-recognise from photos. Some of them are Carmen's family, some are her friends. Some are very clearly footballers, you’re not sure which is more intimidating the ones who look like they bench-press you for breakfast, or the ones who are stunning in a terrifying, should be model kind of way.

Then someone taps your arm. “Hey! There you are.”

You turn and grin immediately. “Patri!”

Patri Guijarro pulls you into a hug, warm and soft. She’s in a flowy dress and trainers, and somehow still looks like she could outrun everyone here. You’d met her on the English hen do a couple of months ago, after a lot of prosecco and an aggressively chaotic karaoke session. She was surprisingly funny, soft-spoken, and spent half the night teasing Carmen lovingly in Spanish you didn’t understand.

“You look good,” she says, in accented but clear English.

“You too,” you reply. “I almost didn’t recognise you without a disco ball behind your head.”

She laughs. “That club was scary.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m still recovering emotionally.”

You drift into easy conversation, she asks about your flight, your family, your job and you ask about training, the wedding prep you knew she'd been heavily involved in, how Carmen’s been holding up. It’s the kind of chat that soothes your nervous system, friendly, just what you needed.

Your eyes wander absently across the garden, and pause and there she is. Leaning against the low stone wall, just beyond the lanterns talking to someone, holding a drink, dressed in something simple and sleeveless. Her hair’s tied up in a lazy knot, and there’s a single gold chain around her neck catching the last of the light.

She looks over, it’s not dramatic, it’s not slow motion, no string quartet starts playing but she meets your eyes like really meets them and you smile. Purely instinctively, the polite kind polished, low-stakes, casual.

She doesn’t smile back exactly but she doesn’t look away either.

There’s a beat too long that passes and you start to wonder if you’re supposed to say something. Raise your glass? Nod? Then she looks away, quickly, like someone just called her name.

You blink, flustered. Not visibly, but enough that your chest flickers like someone lit a match inside it. You glance at Patri, who’s still talking, oblivious. You nod along, try to focus, but your eyes drift back to the stone wall.

Alexia is still there, only now she’s half-turned, back toward you, someone’s laughing beside her. She’s not looking your way, but something about her shoulders, the slight stiffness, makes you wonder. Did she actually blush or was it just the heat and your imagination.

☀️

You're sat at a long wooden table under the vines, plates scattered with half-eaten tapas patatas bravas, olives, jamón, little toasted things you can’t pronounce but keep eating anyway. Your youngest brother is trying to stack anchovy tins, your dad’s telling a story you’ve already heard twice today, and the wine is just beginning to buzz behind your eyes in that soft, slow way that makes everything feel slightly tilted and golden.

You’re halfway through a garlic prawn when someone crouches beside you, lightly pressing a hand to your arm.

It’s Carmen. “Hey,” she says, voice just for you, eyes dancing a little. “Alexia just asked me about you.”

You pause mid-chew, swallow and sip your wine. “Who’s Alexia?” you ask casually, glancing at her over the rim of your glass.

Carmen’s eyebrows lift like she’s caught you in a lie. “You don’t know who Alexia is?”

You shake your head. “I don’t follow women’s football. I barely watch your team.”

She snorts. “You’re the only person at this wedding who doesn’t know her name. That’s kind of amazing.”

You raise an eyebrow, half amused. “Is that a good thing?”

“It might be,” she says, smirking.

Then she tilts her head, just slightly, and gestures subtle, practiced. Her fingers barely move, but your eyes follow the motion across the garden and there she is. Gold chain, sleeveless dress, that same loose knot in her hair. She’s standing by the drinks table now, laughing softly at something someone said, a glass of red wine in hand. The twilight’s catching on her collarbones, her expression is relaxed but not careless like someone used to being watched but never quite performing.

“That’s Alexia,” Carmen murmurs. You try not to stare, so you look back at Carmen instead, Carmen grins. “She noticed you before.”

You make a noncommittal sound and jab your fork at a tomato, trying not to overthink whatever it is you're feeling.

“She asked if you spoke Spanish,” Carmen adds, watching you closely now. “Said you looked pretty in that dress”

You scoff, “Clearly this dress is doing more for me than I realised.”

Carmen nudges your knee with hers. “Don’t act cool. She never asks about people. Ever.”

You glance across the garden again.

Alexia’s not looking she’s talking to a group, but her body’s turned slightly in your direction like she’s ready to glance at any second. “She doesn’t speak great English,” Carmen adds.

“Perfect,” you say. “Neither do I when I’ve had wine.”

Carmen laughs and squeezes your shoulder before standing. “You’re going to talk to her later.”

“I’m really not.”

“You are,” she says over her shoulder. “She’s already asked your name.”

You blink down at your wine glass, then glance back at Alexia, who, as if summoned, briefly lifts her eyes again and catches yours.

Just for a second and this time, you’re sure, she blushes or maybe it’s the wine. You've had too much wine yourself to be sure you decide.

☀️

You’re walking past the lower terrace with a family friend, Sarah, one of your aunt's old uni mates, who’s halfway through telling you about her latest yoga retreat in Lisbon when you hear your name float across the garden.

“Hey!” Carmen’s voice, light but deliberate.

You turn instinctively. She’s seated at a low table with a small group, mostly women tall, tanned, athletic, all with that relaxed energy that makes you suddenly aware of how you're walking. Her arm lifts, hand up in a beckoning wave, fingers curled in a ‘come here’ gesture that gives you no real choice.

“Sorry,” you murmur to Sarah. “The bride beckons”

Carmen’s already smiling as you approach, her eyes a little too pleased with themselves. “Sit,” she says, standing just long enough to take your hand and pull you gently down next to her, casual, in that way she gets when she’s playing matchmaker. However this time instead of you watching amused, you were the target. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you are to every woman around the small table.

Carmen doesn’t give you time to panic. “Patri, you remember Y/N from my hen do right.”

You smile, already knowing exactly where this is going. You glance at Patri, who’s mid-laugh, holding a beer with her elbow resting on the back of her chair. "Yeah, we caught up before"

You catch Carmen looking at someone over your shoulder, her eyes flicking but before you can glance around, she clears her throat.

“Oh,” she says, like it just occurred to her. “Have you met Alexia?”

You turn and there she is, right next to you. You hadn't realised, somehow she’d been quiet, watching or maybe just letting the noise happen around her. Her gaze meets yours with that same unreadable softness from earlier. Up close, her features are sharper than you expected. Her hand rests casually on the stem of her wine glass, and there's a faint glow to her skin from the last of the sun.

You blink, caught slightly off guard, “I haven’t,” you manage. “Hi.”

She gives the tiniest nod, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Hola.”

It’s a little awkward but not bad. Just aware of the slight language delay. The kind that makes you both overthink what comes next.

Carmen leans into you like a mischievous translator. “She understands more than she speaks,” she says. “Just don’t talk too fast.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply, smiling, still half-facing Alexia.

Carmen leans in again, lowering her voice just enough to make it clear it’s for you alone. “So…” she begins, a teasing lilt already blooming in her tone. “Where’s your plus one? Don’t tell me you left Lily behind in rainy England.”

You blink, it’s not the question that catches you off guard, it’s the fact she doesn’t already know. You shift slightly, wine glass pausing just below your lips. “We, uh…” You glance at Alexia beside you instinctively, as if the answer might be written somewhere on her arm. “We’re not… seeing each other anymore.”

Carmen pulls a face, not a shocked one more like a satisfied shrug. “Oh.” Then, casually, “I never liked her.”

You let out a quiet laugh, caught somewhere between exasperation and relief. “Jesus, Carm. Bit late with that opinion.”

“I didn’t want to start something.” She shrugs again, unapologetic. “But she always made you smaller, like you were waiting to be approved or something.”

You glance down, tracing a condensation ring on the table with your thumb. It’s not untrue, you just didn’t realise how visible it had been “I'm honestly surprised you didn’t hear already,” you say. “Thought the family gossip network had international coverage by now.”

Carmen smirks, tilting her head. “I’ve been in wedding tunnel vision. No one tells the bride anything useful.”

There’s a pause not awkward, but still. You feel it settle in your chest a little, the quiet that comes after a name you’re not saying anymore. You catch Alexia shifting slightly beside you, as if she’s listening without meaning to.

“She wasn’t coming anyway,” you add, more to fill the silence than to explain yourself. “She made that clear before I even booked flights.”

Carmen’s smile softens. “Well, her loss.”

You glance up at her, smiling faintly picking at a piece of manchego when Patri leans forward, elbows resting on the table, and fixes you with a look that’s gentle but completely unreadable.

“So,” she says, a little softer than before. “What happened?”

You don’t pretend not to understand. You could, you could laugh it off or wave your hand like it’s all ancient history, but the way she says it makes it easier to answer. You exhale slowly, watching the wine in your glass catch the light, “She just…” You pause, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. “Didn’t really see me. I think she liked the idea of me, the version she imagined but not the actual human.”

Patri nods slowly. She doesn’t interrupt.

“She had this… plan,” you continue. “Everything scheduled, future-proofed. Perfect on paper and I wasn’t always… I don’t know. On script enough for her.”

You glance up, and Alexia is listening now openly, seeing Alexia watching you with that quiet focus sends a flicker of heat up your neck.

“I kept giving in to keep the peace,” you add. “And then one day I realised I didn’t even like the version of me she wanted and had create for herself.”

Patri doesn’t say anything for a beat, “That’s brave.”

You shrug. “Felt more like falling off a ledge than bravery.”

“Still,” she says, “you didn’t stay small.”

You smile faintly. “No. Just single.”

That gets a laugh, even Alexia lets out a breath of amusement soft, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. She leans forward then, just slightly, not enough to take over the conversation, but enough to join it.

“How long… ago?” she asks, the rhythm of her words careful, eyes flicking toward Carmen for reassurance.

You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Couple of weeks? Not long about 6 weeks.”

Alexia nods slowly, like she’s translating your answer into something she can sit with. “Still… hurts.”

It’s not a question, it’s not even sympathy, just understanding. “Less than it used to,” you say honestly. “Still catches me sometimes, though.”

You’re just about to deflect the conversation change the subject, maybe make a joke when Carmen, never one to leave a moment alone, leans in with a shake of her head and a glass of wine raised in something far from a toast.

“She got what she wanted,” she says sharply. “The exposure. The followers. She’s riding that little clothing brand sponsor now like she got it on her own.”

The words land with a certain heat, not cruel, but cutting in their clarity. You blink, a little stunned. It’s one thing to think it to yourself, it’s another thing to hear it spoken aloud and learn others think it to.

There’s a short silence. Someone across from you, you think her names Mariona makes a low 'ooof' sound under her breath. Patri raises her eyebrows, even Alexia looks slightly caught off guard, like she’s trying to make sense of the bluntness.

“Wait,” one of the girls says a defender, you think, from Carmen’s club. “You’re an influencer right?”

Carmen doesn’t wait for you to answer. She turns, hand sweeping theatrically toward you like she’s introducing royalty. “She’s the influencer,” she says. “She’s modest. Very chic, very understated, but yeah she’s pretty well known back home. Go on" She turns back to you with a grin that dares you not to answer. “Tell them. Come on. How many followers?”

You laugh, looking down into your wine like it might offer an escape route. “Carmen…”

“May as well just say Alexia’s going to Google you later anyway.”

You look up slowly, cheeks warm, eyes catching on Alexia’s moving from you being caught in the cross fires, “Okay, fine,” you say, tone dry. “One point eight.”

“Million,” Carmen adds like she’s your manager. “On Instagram.”

There’s a collective little ripple around the table not dramatic, just a hum of impressed whistles, nods, raised brows. “Holy shit,” someone says. “What do you even do?”

You shrug, brushing it off. “Bit of fashion, bit of travel, some brand campaigns.”

“And the ex,” Carmen adds, never missing a beat, “was tagging along the whole time. Always conveniently in the background when the cameras were on.”

“Carmen,” you say gently.

She holds up her hands, mock-surrender. “Fine, I’ll stop, but I’m allowed to be mad. You were always too nice to say it, but she used you.”

You take a breath and let it sit, but you don't need to defend it, not anymore. “Well,” you murmur, lifting your glass again, “at least she looked good doing it. My lighting’s fantastic.”

That earns a wave of laughter, even Alexia laughs soft, behind her hand, but clearly amused.

She tilts her head slightly toward you. “I… follow now?” she says, a little uncertain, gesturing toward her phone.

You laugh, more genuinely this time. “If you like mirror selfies and badly subtitled skincare reels… sure.”

She smirks. “I like… mirrors.”

You make eye contact with her, trying not to snort into your wine.

Patri leans closer to Carmen and mutters something in Spanish you don’t catch, and they both giggle.

☀️

Later, when the sun has dipped low enough to leave the table in shadow, people start peeling away.

Carmen’s been pulled into a conversation about tomorrow’s seating chart. Patri's wandered off, still laughing with two teammates, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. Music still playing low, something Spanish and slow, pulsing softly from a speaker tucked beneath a fig tree.

You and Alexia are still here, the last two on the table, like it was all orchestrated to leave you alone.

You’re both leaning back in your chairs, glasses half-full, watching the remaining flickers of gold light play across the garden. There’s a warmth to the air that isn’t quite heat anymore.

She shifts beside you, turns her head. “You… okay?” she asks.

You glance at her, surprised. “Yeah. Are you?”

She smiles faintly. “Sí. I mean…” She squints a little, searching for the words. “Not… ‘okay’ bad. I mean… you seem…” She gestures vaguely in the air, then gives up. “It’s hard. English is hard.”

You smile, letting your chin rest in your hand. “You’re doing fine. Better than my Spanish.”

“Your Spanish is… cute.”

You raise a brow. “Cute?”

Alexia shrugs, one shoulder up, smirking. “Like… baby goat. What’s the word—”

“Goat?”

“Sí,” she says with a laugh. “Little legs. Trying.”

You let out a helpless laugh, nearly choking on your wine. “Okay, rude.”

She leans toward you, not close enough to touch, but enough to let you see the glint in her eyes. “But funny. I like funny.”

There’s something bold in that, not flirtation, exactly, but honest and simple. You smile, slower this time. “Well… I like your necklace.”

Alexia glances down, fingers brushing the fine gold resting at her collarbone. “This? It’s nothing.”

“It’s nice,” you say. “Looks good on you.”

She tilts her head slightly, a question in her eyes. “You look… good. In your dress.”

You feel the blush rising before you can stop it. “Gracias,” you manage, awkwardly.

She smiles like she knows exactly how flustered you are and is being generous enough not to tease you about it. At the table, the tapas dishes are mostly empty now, half-melted ice cubes floating in the bottom of sangria glasses.

She’s still sitting across from you now, elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, between you sits a shared plate of olives, a waitress had brought over.

You pick one up, chew slowly, then realise too late you’ve got the pit in your mouth and nowhere to put it. Your eyes dart toward the plate, then around the table, napkin? bowl? Earth to swallow you?

Alexia watches, blinking once. Then she gestures to her own empty glass. Taps the rim, tips it toward you slightly a signal.

You glance down at your wine glass, still with a finger of rosé clinging to the curve.

“Go on,” she says, and though the words are few, they land with an almost smug kind of confidence.

You delicately drop the pit into a glass. “I feel incredibly classy right now.”

She grins. “Very. Elegant.”

You laugh softly, covering your mouth. “You speak more English than you pretend to.”

She shrugs. “Only when… I want.”

You lift your brows, “So you don’t want to most of the time?”

She considers, eyes narrowing like she’s pretending to think. Then, very dryly “People talk too much sometimes.”

You let out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

She leans back slightly in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her fingers toy with the edge of the tablecloth as if she’s thinking of something but doesn’t know how to ask. “I… didn’t know who you were,” she says finally.

You smirk. “Same.”

“No football?”

“I knew you were someone,” you admit, “because of how people looked at you, but no, I didn’t know who you were.”

That makes her laugh soft, low, honest. “I like that.”

You glance sideways, picking at a grape. “Must be a relief, not being recognised.”

“Yes,” she says, then pauses, eyes flicking upward. “No. I don’t know. Is both.”

You nod. “Being seen’s not the same as being known.”

She points at you. “That. Yes. That one.” Alexia leans forward, elbow back on the table, “I try English,” she says. “Now. You laugh - not allowed.”

“I would never.” She raises a single brow. “…unless it’s really bad,” you add.

She gives you a look. “Okay. First try.”

You fold your arms dramatically. “I’m ready.”

She takes a breath, clearly building up to something. “You… have…” she squints, “very… calm face.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting. You blink. “Calm?” She nods, smiling a little, like she knows it didn’t land perfectly but still meant it. You tilt your head. “That might be the nicest weird compliment I’ve ever had.”

She nods again, more confident now. “Yes. Like… soft eyes. Not loud.”

You feel it then not the words, but the shape behind them and for a second, the language barrier stops mattering. You smile slowly, not breaking eye contact. “Thanks. You have nice eyes too.”

Alexia looks down, just briefly, brushes her hair behind her ear, the breeze picks up a little, curling along your bare shoulders. You shiver without meaning to, and before you can react, she picks up the light jacket from her lap and offers it over.

You hesitate, she gives you a look that says take it. You do and neither of you says anything else for a long time.

Alexia’s resting her elbows on the table again, chin in hand, watching you like you’re a puzzle she hasn’t quite decided whether to solve or just sit with.

“Be honest. Have you understood any of what I’ve said tonight?”

Alexia tilts her head. “Mmm… maybe thirty percent.”

You laugh. “That’s generous.”

She nods, serious. “Sí. I like your voice. Even when I don’t understand.”

That catches you, not dramatically, but enough that it lands somewhere a little too close to the centre of you. “Oh,” you say, unsure what to do with that. “Thanks. I like yours too. It’s very… Barcelona.”

She grins. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. A little rolled, a little confident. Sounds like you’re always saying something clever. Even if it’s not.”

Alexia laughs, pushing her hair behind her ear once again something you notice she does when she's obviously nervous. “I like when you talk with hands.”

You raise your brows. “I don’t—”

She mimics you instantly, hands fluttering up mid-sentence in mock frustration.

“Oh my God,” you groan, laughing. “I do that.”

“Like little bird,” she says, smirking.

“I’m gonna stop talking.”

“No, no,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “Please. Keep talking. I learn… you.”

You meet her eyes and there's a pause. It’s not flirtation, not yet. Just interest, bare, warm curiosity. You can feel it pressing gently between you like a question no one wants to phrase too directly.

So you give her something softer.

“Okay,” you say. “Lesson one.”

Alexia perks up, mimicking a classroom face. Hands folded neatly. “Sí, profesora.”

You resist the urge to laugh. “British slang. Ready?”

She nods.

“If someone’s being annoying, you call them a muppet.”

“Muppet?” she repeats, frowning. “Like the frog?”

“Exactly or the pig. All of them.”

She repeats it once more, slower. “Muppet.” Then points to herself, straight-faced. “Me?”

You grin. “Definitely not. You’re more of a menace.”

Alexia tilts her head. “That is good?”

You shrug, sipping your wine. “That depends”

She watches you for a second longer, eyes soft, almost amused. Then she leans back, stretching slightly, like she’s trying to shake something off. “Spanish slang tomorrow,” she says. “We trade.”

“Deal,” you reply, smiling. “But no football words.”

“No football,” she promises, then adds with a smirk “Maybe one. Small one.”

You roll your eyes. “Menace.”

She grins, the moment lingers light, uncertain, like something half-shaped and in the distance, someone calls your name, maybe your mum, maybe a cousin and just like that, the bubble breaks.

Alexia glances toward the sound, then back to you. “I go,” she says softly.

You nod, standing too. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both stand there facing each other, not quite sure how to part like the rhythm between you hasn't figured out its next beat yet.

So you just smile, “Good night, Alexia.”

“Buenas noches… muppet.”

You burst out laughing as she walks off, shaking your head, the warmth of it still buzzing in your chest.

☀️

The morning passes in a quiet, familiar rhythm your mother knocking softly on your bedroom door, your brothers bickering half-heartedly over hair gel and shirt buttons down the hallway. It’s all oddly soothing, being wrapped up in their noise again, since leaving the family home and moving out.

You sit cross legged on the floor with your mum, taking turns with the mirror propped up on a chair. She smooths a bit of colour onto her cheeks while you clip your hair up soft, elegant, a few loose strands left to frame your face.

Your dress is lilac, something easy and light. Strappy, with a flowing skirt and an open back that catches the breeze when you move. It’s not showy, but it feels like you.

Your dad sees you last. He blinks a bit too quickly and just says, “That’s a lovely colour, you look lovely sweetheart” like he’s trying not to ruin his own makeup with tears like mum was.

By the time you're all outside, the garden’s been transformed. White chairs lined in rows under the olive trees. Carmen’s teammates and friends milling about in tailored suits and dresses in soft summer tones, music trickling low through the speakers.

When the ceremony starts, it hits you harder than you expect watching Carmen come down the aisle, radiant and unshakable, Ben trying not to cry before she even reaches him. It’s the vows that really undo you. The way they speak to each other without flinching. No smoothing over, no shrinking, just love, in its purest form.

You feel the sting in your throat before you can stop it, blinking quickly as you dab beneath your lashes with a napkin someone hands you.

Afterwards, you’re handed a small cone of white and lilac petals. Everyone spills out toward the stone path that winds around the ceremony space, confetti station, Carmen called it. You take your place just near the front, adjusting your heels, trying not to get emotional all over again.

That’s when you feel it, just the lightest brush not a bump, not an accident a gentle nudge seemingly intentional. You glance sideways and she’s there. Alexia, standing beside you, calm and casual like she’s been there all morning.

Her dress is a kind of deep, metallic bronze sleeveless, backless, clinging like it was poured onto her. It catches the sunlight in all the right ways, like light wants to follow her. Her hair’s tucked up, makeup soft, but it’s the ink that draws your eyes.

Tattoos curl over her back in quiet lines and shapes, bold in some places, delicate in others. You catch a big cat, a few words you can’t translate, something that might be a heart. You have to look away before you stare too long.

She glances down at your cone of petals. then at your dress, “Same colour,” she murmurs.

You blink, startled slightly by the sound of her voice so close. You nod. “Lilac. Like fate.”

Alexia smiles. “Or good eyes.”

You look ahead, where the newlyweds are posing for photos, waiting for the cue. Everyone around you is laughing, distracted. You hum, adjusting your grip on your cone. “I like your dress”

She replies, “You… look happy today.”

That surprises you, you glance at her. “Do I?”

She nods. “Less heavy. Good colour for you, also.”

“Thanks.” You smile. “You’re still a menace.”

Alexia grins. “Cállate. Muppet”

You smile letting a breath out for a laugh lowering your head as you hear the photographer call out something in Spanish people raise their cones, laughter bubbling.

You lift yours too, side by side with her, ready to toss lilac into the air, her arm brushes yours, and neither of you move away. Just before the petals fly, Alexia glances sideways at you quiet, deliberate. “After confetti,” she murmurs, “maybe… drink?”

You smile, still watching the sky “Sure.”

The petals drift and fall like soft rain, laughter bubbling around you as Carmen and Ben duck under a storm of colour. You toss your handful a second too late, distracted her shoulder still pressed lightly against yours.

The applause begins to fade, the moment moving on, but Alexia doesn’t.

You glance to find her still beside you, hands now empty, her gold chain catching the sun.

“Drink” she says again, this time softer. No question mark, not quite, just an offering.

You nod before you think too hard about it. “Yes. Please.”

She takes a step back, lets you fall into step beside her without asking. You follow the curve of the garden path together, away from the crowd, past tables laid out with summer flowers and delicate wine glasses, toward the little outdoor bar tucked beside a stone wall draped in ivy.

The bartender smiles when Alexia steps forward. She orders in Spanish, clear and easy. You catch the word vermouth, and something that sounds like con hielo.

You blink at her. “Vermouth?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “My drink. Not sweet.”

You glance at the bar menu, half to avoid her eyes, half to stall. “Can I just get a rose wine?” you ask the bartender, more sheepishly than you mean to.

Alexia leans in a little. “Safe choice.”

“I usually get lemonade in it but I feel that would be bad here” you speak looking back in the direction you came you spot your mother watching and give her a look as Alexia is speaking Spanish to the bartender.

When you catch her saying, "Limonada" at the end, you turn your head back

“I ask, for you.” you give a look that she just smiles at, she picks a little umbrellas made for a cocktail off the bar and tucks into your hair making herself giggle as your drinks arrive. You both take them, then turn together like you’re following the same unspoken route. Not too far from the bar, just over to the low stone wall nearby, warm from the sun and shaded by a broad fig tree.

You sit side by side, not touching not speaking for a beat, both clearly both over thinking what to say, you take the little umbrella from your hair to inspect it, when Alexia gives you that look again that half-smirk, half-scheme expression that means she’s about to say something just to get a reaction.

“What?” you ask, wary but already smiling.

She shrugs, far too casually. “You.”

You blink. “What about me?”

“You’re such a muppet,” she says, sipping her vermouth.

You groan. “Seriously? You’re still on that?”

She nods. “It’s my best English word. Very strong. Very accurate.”

You laugh, helpless. “I should never have taught you anything.”

Alexia tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. But now, I teach you.”

“Oh God.”

“No, no,” she insists, turning toward you, that gleam in her eye back again. “Is fair. You learn Spanish now.”

You set down your glass tucking your little umbrella in the glass. “Alright then. Impress me.”

She points to herself. “Yo.”

You nod. “I.”

Then she points to you. “Tú.”

“You.”

She smiles. “Very good. Now repeat.”

You go along with it. “Yo. Tú.”

She leans in a little, eyes glittering. Then she says it slower this time, like she wants to make sure it lands properly. “Tú eres muy guapa.”

You frown, trying to copy it. “Too eh-res... muy gwa-pa?”

She grins. “Perfect.”

“What does that mean?”

Alexia takes a sip of her drink, suddenly looking far too pleased with herself. “Not telling you.”

You blink. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “Is more fun this way.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Is it rude?”

“No.” Her voice is soft now, careful. “Is nice.” She’s watching you not just amused, but something quieter behind her gaze. Her dress catches the light, the curve of her tattoos like stories she’s letting you almost read.

“Is it a compliment?” you ask.

Alexia just raises her brows and repeats it again slower this time, “Tú eres muy guapa.”

You feel the words settle in your chest, even if you don’t understand them yet. There’s weight to them, a softness. “I’ll Google it,” you say eventually.

She smiles. “Not now.”

“No?”

“Later. When I’m not there.”

You study her, trying to read her without the help of a translation, but all you get is that familiar flutter, like something in you recognises that she's maybe flirting. You sip your wine again, trying not to smile too hard. “So what do I say back?”

Alexia taps her lip, pretending to think, then she leans closer, just enough to make you hold your breath. “Gracias,” she murmurs, voice low. “That’s all.”

You repeat it softly. “Gracias.”

She nods, eyes still on yours. “De nada.”

You sit there a moment longer in the quiet hum of the evening, in this small stretch of shade, it still feels like only you two are in existence.

Like maybe you don’t need the translation. You shift slightly on the stone ledge, setting your empty glass down with a quiet clink. You glance over at her.

You’re about to speak about it when she speaks.

“I teach you another.”

You look over, eyebrow raised. “Another mystery sentence?”

She smiles. “Sí.”

You huff a laugh. “Alright then. Go on.”

She shifts to face you a little more and says it slowly a gentle rhythm to the way it rolls off her tongue.

“Me gustas.”

You try it. “Me goo-stas?”

She shakes her head slightly, leans in, says it again, “Gus—like ‘goose,’ but softer. Me gustas.”

You mimic her. “Me gustas.” Alexia smiles, but doesn’t translate it.

“You not going to tell me?” you ask, already anticipating the answer.

“No,” she says, smug. “I like your face when you guess.”

You look at her, her knees almost brushing yours now, her drink nearly forgotten between you. “Is it nice?” you ask.

She shrugs, though her smile doesn’t fade. “Depends who says it.”

“And if you say it?”

Her gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a breath, “Still not telling you.”

You scoff. “You’re insufferable.”

She just raises her glass slightly, as if to toast your frustration, but before either of you can speak again, a shout rings out across the garden.

“Oye!” It’s Patri, grinning wide, already pointing toward a table on the lawn. “Beer pong!”

Carmen lifts two red cups in your direction like it’s a formal declaration. You can’t help the smile that creeps over your face.

Alexia stands, brushing invisible dust from her dress. “You ready?”

“Are you?” you counter, arching a brow. “I hope you’re not expecting to win.”

“I always win.”

“You’re going to be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

Alexia grins as she steps ahead, already starting to walk back toward the music, before she gets too far, she glances back over her shoulder catches your eye again, and with a faint smirk, repeats it under her breath, “Me gustas.”

You're not sure what it means, but you hope she says it again.

Someone’s set up a beer pong table near the garden wall, red cups already half-filled, teams forming in chaotic pairs. You’re pulled into the mix before you can think to resist Carmen shoves a drink in your hand, Patri’s already laughing like she knows something you don’t as you're put on her team, Alexia put on Carmens, and the crowd’s loud and loose with post-wedding energy.

Somehow, it happens every time it’s your turn to shoot, Alexia ends up opposite you, of course she does. She’s watching you with narrowed eyes and a smirk like she’s trying to intimidate you but you’re just having fun watching her lose.

She’s not... great, in fact, she’s bad and extremely not taking it well.

“This ball is too light,” she mutters after your third perfect shot lands, another cup sliding away from her side for her to drink.

You just raise your brows. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. It’s not... regulation.”

“It’s a garden table at a wedding, Alexia. Nothing is regulation.”

She glares down at the table like it’s personally offended her. Then looks up, grumpy, sulking and downs her drink. “The table’s not level either.”

You laugh. “Keep going. I want to hear the full list of excuses.”

“The cups are too close.”

“Uh huh.”

“My side is windy.”

“There is no wind.”

She doesn’t answer, just squints at you over the rim of another drink like she’s plotting your downfall.

Then it’s your turn again as it appears the rest who were playing preferred to watch you beat Alexia spectacularly so it became a 1vs1.

One easy flick of your wrist, plunk. Another cup gone from her side, Alexia groans, loud and dramatic, and turns away like she can’t bear to look at it.

“Come on!” you laugh. “Drink up, you haven’t even finished the last one!”

She glares down at the two cups now waiting for her. “This is unfair.”

“It’s literally the rules!”

“I hate this game.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do now.”

You laugh again, and she finally breaks a reluctant grin pulling at her mouth as she picks up both cups and clinks them together tipping one into the other before downing it like a woman defeated. Her nose scrunches at the taste. She mutters something in Spanish that definitely isn’t polite.

You raise an eyebrow. “What was that?”

She wipes her mouth, blinking. “I said you’re annoying.”

“Was it actually that?”

She nods solemnly. “More or less.”

“Say it again. Properly. Teach me.”

Alexia leans across the table a little, holding your gaze, and says it slowly, “Eres insoportable.”

You repeat it, with terrible pronunciation. “Eres insoporable.”

“Insoportable,” she corrects, smug again.

“And it definitely means annoying?”

She smiles wide. “You’ll find out.”

You hum, "I'm making a list in my phone to ask Patri to translate later"

She raises her eyes to yours and shakes her head, "Google. Later" she waves her hand way, "Wait til home"

It’s your turn again, another shot, another cup.

She doesn’t even pretend to be cool this time she just groans and drops her head back dramatically. “No. No, no, no. I want a new opponent.”

“Too late,” you grin. “You’ve started something now.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“You literally called me a muppet an hour ago.”

“That was affection.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. This” she gestures at the table, then at your smirk, “this is war.”

You grin, cheeks aching from laughing, chest warm with more than just alcohol. Across the table, Alexia squints at you through mock outrage, and you just raise your drink to her. “To your downfall,” you toast.

She clinks her empty cup against yours with a grumble. “Muppet." and you both burst out laughing again.

You’re barely wiping spilled beer off your fingers before Alexia’s already pointing at the cups again.

“Another game.”

You raise your brows. “You’re serious?”

“I almost won.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“I was close.”

“You had four cups left.”

Alexia shrugs, drunk logic already smoothing her stubbornness into confidence. “I let you win.”

You laugh grabbing a beer bottle to fill the cups again, "Of course you did" You point at her, "I don't know much Spanish but.. Mierda"

You watch Alexia lean back laughing her hand clutching her stomach before you glance toward Carmen, Patri, and two more of Alexia’s teammates hovering near the drinks table. They’re watching you both now not subtly, either. Patri lifts her eyebrows at you in that 'hmm?' way that’s only half-mocking. Carmen has the smug smile of someone who’s decided she was right about something long before it happened.

You ignore them, Alexia's resetting the cups with a reckless, imprecise shuffle. “You in?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, but don’t start crying again when I win.”

“I didn’t cry.”

“You whined about the wind.”

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response just hands you the ball with a pointed gesture. “Ladies first,” she says.

You sink your first shot effortlessly, another groan from her, then she drinks and something shifts.

The more Alexia drinks, the better she gets. Her throws tighten, her hand steadies, and the smug grin on her face grows more confident with every cup you lose.

You squint at her after your third miss in a row, she gives you a look over the rim of your cup, you mutter under your breath as you drink your next penalty cup, "That wind really died down, huh?"

Alexia grins, she heard you, then plunk. Another one lands on your side and you sigh dramatically.

You glance over you still have an audience, like your increasingly ridiculous rivalry has become a full-on wedding sideshow as a couple more of the footballers have joined the little group, but you don’t care. You’re too focused on the way Alexia keeps watching you after each shot. Like each time she hits, she’s daring you to react. Like it’s not even about winning anymore.

You point at her, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Yes.”

“You were terrible half an hour ago.”

She shrugs, cool as anything. “Motivation.” You stare at her, she just raises an eyebrow and says too casually “Me gustas, remember?”

You swallow, that familiar phrase again, still no translation, still no context but it lands heavier now.

You blink, then shoot and miss again Alexia grins wide and reaches for your next cup.

“You’re going to gloat forever, aren’t you?”

“Sí,” she says, laughing

☀️

The party sprawls out now as they set up the dinning room for the meal, games and music everywhere to occupy guests, people laughing too loudly, champagne corks popping mid-sentence, someone’s uncle challenging Carmen to a dance-off near the speakers.

You're pulled straight from the beer pong table by a group migrating toward a row of lawn games, you seem to have been adopted by the Spanish football first team. Patri tosses you a look like she’s ready for round three, but Alexia’s already trailing after you, stubbornly close, that competitive glint still alive in her wine-glossed eyes.

“Connect Four,” she says behind you, tapping your shoulder as you slow near the oversized version on the grass ahead.

You look back. “You sure? That’s a thinking game.”

“Exactly.”

You smirk, slotting in a red disc. “You’re really brave.”

Alexia raises her brows but doesn’t bite. She drops in a yellow one, eyes locked on the grid like she’s plotting world domination. You counter, she counters again. People are watching, not quite cheering, but hovering, definitely amused.

You lean sideways, pretending to inspect the board. “Your poker face is slipping.”

She doesn’t look up. “This is me focused.”

“Right.” Another move, then another, then click you drop the winning disc and let out a triumphant gasp. “Boom!”

Alexia steps back, blinking. “No.”

“Yes!”

She squints at the grid like it personally betrayed her. “That doesn’t count.”

You laugh. “What doesn’t count?!”

“I was distracted.”

“By what?”

She pauses, her cheeks flush, then she speaks, “Your… elbows.”

You almost choke on your drink. “My elbows?!”

“They were distracting.”

You’re laughing so hard now it’s almost embarrassing. “Just when I thought you couldn't be any more of a sore loser. This is worse.”

“I will win something tonight,” she insists, looking around like she’s about to challenge you to an arm wrestle, or chess, or a race to the drinks table.

“Nope,” you grin. “I’m on a streak.”

“I hate your streak.”

“You love it.”

“I hate it,” she repeats, but she’s smiling, her eyes lit up with the thrill of it all the game, the drinks, the way you keep meeting each other in these little pockets of the night where it feels like it’s just the two of you.

Someone calls your name, a cousin waving from the karaoke setup now forming near the terrace.

Alexia hears it too. “No,” she says immediately. “Not singing.”

“Oh, now you’re scared?”

“I fear nothing.”

“You fear losing.”

“I fear karaoke.”

You grin wide, stepping toward her like you might drag her there anyway. "I thought you feared nothing.

She steps back, holds up a finger. “If you make me sing,” she warns, “I’ll say more things in Spanish that you don’t understand.”

You pause, then lean in, just slightly. “I’m not sure that’s a threat anymore.”

Alexia blinks once then smirks and you catch sight of the Jenga tower across the lawn, tall and precarious.

You nudge Alexia’s arm. “Jenga?”

She raises her brows. “You want to lose again?”

“You lost last time.”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

You’re already walking, Alexia follows, of course she does, brushing a hand along your arm briefly as she passes you. You pretend not to feel your whole body register it.

The tower’s almost your height, you face off like it’s a championship final. A few people hover again Carmen and Patri, drinks in hand, clearly watching from a distance, doing a poor job of pretending not to whisper about you both, but the rest of the world fades out when Alexia picks her first block.

The game begins slow, careful pulls, little smiles, narrowed eyes, utter silence between you and then it starts getting risky.

“You’re wobbling it on purpose,” Alexia mutters as you nudge a centre piece loose.

“I’m strategic,” you counter, not looking up. “Big difference.”

The stack sways slightly Alexia watches your hand like she’s studying a match replay.

When you finally slide the block free, she lets out a low whistle, “Lucky.”

“Skilled.”

“Lucky.”

Then it’s her turn, she kneels down slightly to reach one of the lower blocks her backless dress shifting as she moves, the shimmer of metallic brown catching the fairy lights strung above. Tattoos peek out like secrets across her shoulders and down her back. She glances up once, catches you watching her, and smirks. “Distracted?” she teases.

“By your elbows,” you shoot back.

She laughs, actually wobbles the tower with her shoulder, gasps, and steadies it again with the most dramatic gasp you’ve ever heard.

“See?” you say. “That was luck.”

“Cállate”

You grin and lean in closer, both of you now circling the tower like cats. “Careful,” you say as she reaches again. “Jenga’s a cruel mistress.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“So are you.”

“I’m passionate.”

“Right,” you say. “Passion’s what made you yell about the wind earlier.”

She pulls the block free clean and impressively quickly, she stands slowly, eyes bright, close to you now, close enough that your shoulders brush. Neither of you move. “You’re going to knock it over,” she says.

“I am not.”

“I can feel it.”

“You just want me to.”

“Maybe.” Your hand is on the next block, it slides, a hair’s width and sticks. You freeze Alexia leans in close to your ear, lowering her voice. “Muppet…” you giggle, the block slips from your grip the tower sways violently and crashes to the grass.

Laughter erupts around you, but you barely hear it. Alexia’s got that smug, dangerous grin again like she planned it all along.

She leans in and whispers something in Spanish slow, deliberate, impossible to understand but definitely smug.

You groan. “Not fair.”

“Very fair,” she says. “Me gusta ganar.”

“Translation?”

She shrugs innocently. “Guess.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear if that means ‘I win’…”

Alexia’s already walking off with a victorious sway in her step, tossing a wink over her shoulder. You just shake your head, smiling helplessly.

She walks off like she’s just won the World Cup chin high, victorious strut, that smug little grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. You stand there a second, stunned by her dramatics, then you walk with pace after her. You never chase women and yet here you were literally chasing after one you didn't even know 24 hours ago.

“Hey,” you call, catching up to her just as she grabs another drink from a tray someone’s weaving through the crowd with. “Do that again.”

Alexia looks over her shoulder, amused. “Do what?”

“That” you mimic her wink, squinting one eye dramatically, “your little victory wink.”

She tries to keep a straight face, but her smirk betrays her. “You liked that?”

You’re already laughing, folding your arms. “Do it again.”

She turns fully toward you, drink in hand, eyes locked on yours then closes both eyes at the same time, you burst out laughing.

Instinctively you reach forward and touch her forearm at her side, “That’s not a wink, Alexia!"

She shrugs, fake-casual. “Yes it is.” She does it again with so much confidence.

“You’re malfunctioning.”

“Muppet.”

You nudge her arm, she bumps you back but doesn't pull back anywhere near the distance she had been, you lift your drink to her, eyes still dancing. “To your terrible wink.”

She taps hers against yours gently, her voice low, her gaze not leaving yours. “Eres muy guapa.”

There it is again that same phrase from earlier. You pause, holding her eyes. “Still not translating that one?”

She smiles, tilting her head. “Nope.”

You sip your drink. “Rude.”

Alexia leans a little closer, lowering her voice just enough for it to feel secret. “Maybe later.”

☀️

You hadn’t planned on dancing not in heels, not in this heat, not after at least three different games involving alcohol. But when the music shifted to something warmer, something with a heartbeat, Alexia found you effortlessly amongst your family, tugged your hand gently and tilted her head toward the garden dance floor.

You hadn’t said yes, but you also hadn’t said no and put up no fight whatsoever.

Now here you are her hand in yours, the lights strung above flickering golden, the music thudding faintly underfoot. She’s not a great dancer not in the traditional, spin you like a film scene way but she’s confident and playful, and that’s better.

She twirls you once, clumsily, you both laugh, “You’re going to dislocate my shoulder,” you tell her with a smile seemingly permanently fixed to your face when she was near.

Alexia just grins, you sway together in that loose way that isn’t quite a slow dance but definitely isn’t friendly distance anymore. One of her hands finds yours again not tight, not formal, just there. Holding it like she has every right to.

Your fingers slip together easily, her hair’s falling loose around her shoulders now, her dress still catching the light like copper fire. Every time she leans in close to say something in your ear, you feel the warmth of it curl down your spine.

It’s almost disappointing when you hear Carmen’s voice calling your name through the music.

You turn, laughing, she waves you over, she notices your smile fade ever so slightly, and beckons you like a mother would, you give Alexia a look and leave her on the dance floor one of her friends happily taking your place

“Oh, finally!” she says, eyes wide and dramatic. “I thought we’d have to physically separate you two with a broomstick.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re not—”

She lifts a brow. “Joined. At. The. Hip?”

“She made me dance!”

“She made you laugh. A lot.” Carmen folds her arms, mock stern. “You looked like teenagers. Very flirty teenagers.”

You try to dodge it, but you’re smiling too much to be believable. “We’re just messing about.”

“Mmm.” Carmen is not buying it.

You blink at her, suddenly curious. “Okay, serious question.”

Carmen perks up. “Finally. Go on.”

You lower your voice a little, keeping it light, casual. “What does ‘me gustas’ mean?”

Carmen stares at you. “Who said that?”

“Hypothetical question,” you say, holding up a hand. “Just tell me.”

She eyes you. “It means ‘I like you.’ Like… I like you. Not like ‘I like pizza,’ but you-you.”

Your stomach does a weird little flip, you cover it with a sip of wine. “Okay. Interesting.”

Carmen leans closer. “What else?”

You hesitate. “What about ‘eres muy guapa?’”

“Oh,” she grins. “That means… ‘you’re very pretty.’” You stop sipping Carmen squints at you. “Why are you asking these?”

“No reason.”

“Mmhm.” Her grin grows, all too knowing. “Just, you know, collecting phrases for your Spanish textbook?”

“Exactly.”

Carmen’s already backing away into the crowd, smug as anything. “Well, maybe your Spanish is better than you think, guapa.”

You glance back toward the dance floor Alexia’s dancing there, half-lit in the string lights, your breath catches as you realise the most stunning women you've ever seen thinks your pretty.

☀️

The dinning hall is now set up for the evening meal, round white-clothed tables stretch under woven lanterns, the sun setting into a gold haze over the hills. You’re sat with your parents and brothers, all of you a little sun-flushed and half full from the first two courses. Your uncle is telling a long-winded story you’ve already tuned out of twice.

You’ve got your phone hidden in your lap, screen dimmed low, lazily scrolling through your own Instagram feed mostly old holiday posts, blurry selfies, the odd sunset you’d thought looked profound at the time. You hadn’t expected to get a notification, but there it is at the top of your screen.

alexiaputellas liked your photo.

And not just any photo it’s from two years ago, she was scrolling your instagram, you blink, smile and tilt your screen slightly away from your brother clearly looking for some entertainment.

Your thumb hovers over the notification, and then instinctively you glance across the tables just casually. She’s over on the far side with Carmen’s teammates, half turned in her chair, laughing at something, her hand out as a women opposite handed her phone back over the table. She doesn’t look at you, which makes it somehow worse, or better, you can’t tell, but you were a topic of conversation amongst her friends.

You open your DMs and click on Patri’s name, you and her had shared polite messages after the hen do.

You: Tell Alexia she’s real smooth for liking a picture from two years ago

You barely have time to look up again when you hear it a burst of laughter from the table across the way, sharp and sudden. You catch sight of Patri, cackling as she shoves her phone toward Alexia. A few others are craning to see, all of them delighting in your digital callout.

Alexia's face is a picture, you can see the blush from here, you try not to smile. Fail and look back down at your plate like you didn’t just throw a spark into a very flammable situation.

Your phone buzzes again.

Patri: She’s gonna kill me but she says fue un accidente.

Patri : She also says you’re still a muppet.

You snort softly, enough for your brother to glance at you. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head. “Just something stupid.” But your heart’s beating a little faster now, and when you risk another glance up Alexia’s watching you from across the tables.

You look back at your phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard, biting back a grin as you type.

You: Can I ask you to translate something for me?

It’s harmless, mostly, you know it'll get a reaction, you hit send, then glance up briefly, only to feel another buzz almost instantly.

Patri: Alexia said come here.

You look up properly this time, sure enough, Alexia’s watching you from across the way, her arm draped over the back of her chair she tips her chin toward you not quite a beckon, not quite a challenge and you know exactly what she’s doing.

So you stand excusing yourself and heading through the tables, a few heads turn as you approach, Alexia doesn’t say anything as you approach. Just points at you with a single finger and says, through a grin “No translation. You Google. Later. In home. In England.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips from you and without thinking or maybe very much with thinking you step in a little closer, gently grab that pointed finger, and hold it between yours. “You’re not my captain, darling,” you say, smiling up at her, “you can’t tell me what to do.”

She blinks, smiles wider, like she’s just been challenged and loves it, she leans a little closer her voice low and full of wicked amusement, “You don’t listen very good.”

You raise your brows. “I do when I want to”

“Stubborn.”

"I prefer determined"

You hear someone behind her whisper something someone else stifles a laugh but you’re not paying attention to anything now except the look she’s giving you. Finally, you release her finger with a little flick.

“Fine,” you say, stepping back. “But I’m still Googling it.”

“Later,” she says.

“At home?”

“In England,” she echoes nodding, laughing.

You walk back to your seat with your pulse dancing somewhere in your throat and the ghost of her hand still between your fingers.

You slide back into your seat, smoothing the skirt of your dress and reaching instinctively for your wine. Your cheeks are warm whether from the alcohol or Alexia’s grin, you’re not sure, probably both.

You lift your glass and take a sip, trying not to let the smile tugging at your lips give too much away, but your mum is already looking at you and not in the vague, distracted way she looks when she’s trying to figure out if the canapés had goat cheese in them. No this is the look.

She leans in gently, voice soft so only you can hear. “Is that the girl who’s been taking all your attention all day?”

You blink, then laugh quietly. “What happened to pretending not to notice things?”

“I gave up after child number three.” She nudges your arm. “So?”

You glance across the garden Alexia’s listening half-heartedly to something Patri is saying, but her eyes flick to yours over her shoulder the moment you look. She smiles just slightly and then pretends to be fully engaged in whatever story is being told.

You look back at your mum, exhale a breath through your nose, half-laughing. “She’s…” You shrug, a little helpless. “She’s nice. Funny. Annoying”

Your mum tilts her head. “Pretty.”

You nod. “Very.”

There’s a pause. You toy with your napkin, you’ve always been open with her. She was the first one you told about you liking girls. The first one you told when you first kissed a girl to.

So you don’t bother pretending now. “I think I like her,” you say, your voice a little smaller than before. “But it’s probably just the wedding. The sun. The wine. I've just got caught up in it all, it’s not like I’ll see her again, is it?”

Your mum gives you a knowing look the one she saves for when you pretend you’re being logical but your heart’s already halfway over the fence. “Stranger things have happened,” she says gently. “And you’ve always been a sucker for a complicated smile.”

You laugh. “Thanks, Mum.”

She pats your hand. “Just don’t let your head talk your heart out of something fun.”

You nod, quietly, you try to change the subject as dessert menus are being passed around, someone’s arguing about whether churros count as wedding cake, and Carmen is gracefully making her rounds in her sleek, glittering gown, hugging relatives and posing for photos.

But your mum isn’t letting this go. “Alexia,” she says again, as if you haven’t already been over this. “So she’s Spanish?”

You blink at her. “We’re in Spain, Mum.”

“I meant from here. Local.”

You nod reluctantly. “Barcelona.”

“Ah.” She smiles, too casually. “And is she…?”

You give her a look. “Yes, Mum. She’s gay.”

“Just checking.” She takes a sip of wine, but you can see her brain still turning. “So she plays for a team?”

“Yes.”

“Is she any good?”

“Mum.”

“What! I’m just trying to build a picture!”

Before you can answer, Carmen appears at your side, radiant and flushed from all the attention, crouching down slightly between the two of you. “Are we gossiping without me?” she asks, eyes darting between you and your mum with a knowing grin.

“Oh good,” your mum says brightly, turning to Carmen like she’s been waiting for backup. “You’ll know. Tell me more about this Alexia. She seems lovely.”

Your stomach sinks slightly. “Mum—”

But Carmen just lights up with mischief. “Oh, Alexia?” she says, pretending to think. “Captain of Barça. National treasure. Stubborn. Competitive. Terrible loser.”

“She’s been very sweet with my daughter,” your mum says.

Carmen glances at you. “Oh yes. Very sweet.”

You shoot her a warning glare. She ignores it.

Your mum continues, relentless. “Is she seeing anyone?”

“Mum!”

Carmen laughs, delighted now. “She’s not. But she is very picky, I'm not aware of her dating many people at all, the bigger she got the less she did it.”

Your mum leans in conspiratorially. “She liked one of her photos from two years ago.”

"How do you even know that?" You asked, your mum simply pointed to your brother beside you.

Carmen’s face lights up like Christmas. “No she didn’t.”

“She did!” your mum confirms, like this is a joint investigation. “And then this one had the nerve to act like it wasn’t a big deal.”

You hide your face in your hands.

Carmen pats your shoulder. “It is a big deal. That’s the Instagram version of writing someone’s name in a notebook and drawing hearts around it.”

Your mum nods solemnly, “Exactly.”

You peek between your fingers. “Can you both please find another hobby?”

Carmen grins and gets back to her feet, smoothing her dress. “I have to go be charming again but don’t worry, I’ll let Alexia know she’s already passed inspection.”

You groan. “Carmen”

She walks away backward, grinning, and says, “Your mum likes her. That’s basically marriage in Spain.”

You drop your head to the table, your mum just pats your back, smug as anything, “I’m good at this,” she says. “Admit it.”

You mutter into the tablecloth, “I should’ve sat at the kids’ table.”

☀️

The laughter still carries on behind you a soft chorus of music, chairs scraping, someone yelling out a slurred toast in Spanish as your family begins to slip away from the glowing lights of the wedding. The night has worn on, the heat finally giving way to a cooler breeze, and the sky overhead is scattered with stars.

Your heels click softly against the stone path as you walk alongside your parents and your middle brother, all of you drifting slowly back toward the house.

Your mum’s arm is looped around your dad’s, and she’s humming some old wedding tune under her breath. Your brother’s rubbing at his neck like he might have pulled something during the earlier, aggressive limbo game.

You’re quiet, restless in your own skin, because you’d been waiting.

You hadn’t said it out loud, not to them, not even to yourself really, but somewhere in the slow moments between dancing and dessert and that sun-drunk laughter, you’d been hoping that you might catch her one more time.

A glance, a word, a stupid half-argument about who actually won Jenga. Something, but as you all say goodnight to lingering cousins and sleepy toddlers being carried back inside, you glance around one last time, and she’s not there.

The chair she’d been sitting in earlier is empty, the space by the bar where you'd sat together after the ceremony is dark now.

You slow a little behind your parents as you near the main house, your steps soft on the old terracotta tiles, one last glance over your shoulder. Still no sign of her.

Your mum looks back at you, noticing the lag. “You alright, love?”

You nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just tired and my shoes are hurting”

She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you as you take your heels off but she lets it go.

As you step inside, the coolness of the villa brushes over your bare shoulders. You’re holding your shoes in one hand, dress swinging lightly around your legs. You tell yourself it’s silly, you barely know her, you won’t see her again. You weren’t expecting anything, but still, you were hoping.

And when you crawl into the big unfamiliar guest bed, in the quiet hum of night, you stare up at the ceiling for a long while the sounds of celebration muffled now through thick walls.

You don’t cry, you don’t ache, but the pillow still smells like sun cream and wine and a day you weren’t ready to let go of.

☀️

It’s well past 3am, the villa is silent now, thick with the hush that only comes after a long, sun-soaked day of celebration. The kind of quiet that hums just beneath the surface, like the air’s still catching its breath.

You’re lying on top of the sheets, in your tank top and soft cotton shorts, scrolling aimlessly, light from your phone casting shadows on the wall and then tap. You freeze. Tap. Tap-tap.

You sit up slowly, the curtain flutters as you move it aside and then, with a confused squint, you push the window open.

There she is, Alexia, standing below in the garden, where moonlight pools across the grass like spilled milk, hands clenched, shoulders slightly hunched like she’s not sure if this is a good idea or a very bad one.

You lean against the sill, still a little dazed. “Can I help you?” you ask, a soft smile playing on your lips.

She tilts her head, that familiar smirk tugging at her mouth. “I wanted to say… was nice, meeting you.”

You rest your forearms on the window frame, chin tilted just slightly. “You threw rocks at my window to say that?”

“Yes.” A pause. “Romantic, no?” You bite back your grin and your brows lift Alexia shrugs below you. “Maybe not romantic or smart.”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “What would you have done if I didn’t hear you?”

She grins, wolfish. “Climbed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re wearing heels.”

She holds up her hand, fingers spread. “Footballer legs.”

You rest your cheek against your arm, watching her. Her hair’s pulled back now, messier than it was earlier, her dress still clinging to her but a jacket slung over her shoulders since the temperature had dropped.

There’s a pause, then you say it, soft, teasing. “You’re not very good at goodbyes, are you?”

She kicks a bit of stone with her foot. “No.”

“I was looking for you,” you admit before you can stop yourself. “Earlier.”

That catches her off guard her eyes flick up quickly, like she wasn’t expecting you to admit it. “I know,” she says.

You smile slowly. “Stalker.”

Alexia smiles back. “Romantic.”

Then she steps back one pace, eyes never leaving yours. “Okay. I go now. Let you sleep. My lift home is waiting”

You don’t say anything right away. Don’t want to break it, but as she turns slightly, you call softly, “Alexia?”

She looks back, you hesitate then grin. “I lied. I’m totally Googling what you said to me earlier.” Lying again that you didn't already know

She shakes her head, laughing silently, then calls up “You won’t find it right. Not if you spell it how I said it.”

You gasp dramatically. “You tricked me?”

Her grin widens. “Always.”

She starts walking away, then throws one last glance over her shoulder. “Sleep good, muppet girl.”

You watch until she disappears behind the trees, then you close the window softly and slide back into bed. This time, when your head hits the pillow, you’re smiling and sleep comes easy.

[rorynni]

One of my favourite parts about Toya’s unit outfit and general design post-third anniversary is the way his style changes as his character evolves.

At the start of the game his outfits were very heavily leaning into street fashion, and in some ways it seems like he’s just imitating Akito (the foundations of their outfits are very similar: layered jackets and hoodies). I think this reflects the way he followed Akito in chasing his dream despite initially not knowing much about it, just to get away from his father and classical music and immerse himself in something completely different. It’s a nice outfit, but ultimately there are aspects of it that don’t really suit him, as if he’s trying to cast away his history with classical music and present himself as an entirely new person.

His post third-anniversary unit outfit is still influenced by street fashion, since that’s the genre of the unit he belongs to, but there are also aspects of it that are uniquely “Toya-like” if that makes sense. The turtleneck and blazer style jacket definitely convey his personality a lot more truthfully. His other outfits in untrained cards also seem to have shifted to match this style change (of course he still wears street fashion because the genre is very dear to him). I think it’s interesting that this change to his design happens after the events of the story where Toya starts to learn to embrace himself and his history with music.

[heesmiles]

I'm a sucker for a bad x good trope !! i think usually you would expect a good ! girl x bad ! boy trope but i like the way this is just a little bit different. I'm so excited to read it !!

The loud music in the house made Jungwon's eardrums tremble, the number of people increasing by the minute seemed to be slightly suffocating and the drink in his glass was already running low. - Deadass me in any social setting.

He turned around and saw you. Your hair was loose, with a glass in your hand and a – he squinted in the dark lighting and saw a – lollipop – in the other hand. The dark red leather jacket was extremely tight around your waist, contrasting with your black jeans. - stop the lollipop what a hot detail

A very cute goody two-shoes. - nerdy wonie for the win

Jungwon swore he felt his whole body stiffen. Did you just call him cute? The tips of Jungwon's ears turned red and you couldn't help but enjoy teasing the boy.

He completely fascinated you. - stop but he is so cute !!!! i'm so soft for him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind crazy?” He whispered back with a disbelieving look that amused you deeply. “Yep, I’ve heard it many times, I’m aware of it.” - i love this dynamic already omg

He could ignore you, block you and simply pretend nothing happened, but something inside him couldn't resist the curiosity he felt if he answered. What would be the reason for your call? - HELPPP WHY IS SHE CALLING HIM THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

“Do you like cats?” He asked as a kitten snuggled into his lap. “I never thought much about it, but they’re cute.” You replied seeing how relaxed Jungwon looked. - he IS a cat.

“You look like a cat.” You said out of nowhere and he looked at you quickly “A cat? Why?” He asked and you got closer “Because you’re cute and serious.” - i've never seen anyone refer to cats as cute and serious but it makes so much sense and describes jungwon to a T.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Jungwon almost choked on your question as you ran your fingers down his shirt. “Be honest.” - NKJNFNFNDKJNKN CUTIES

Jungwon's eyes widened as he woke up suddenly, his chest rising and falling in shock from the alarm as he stared at the ceiling of his own room. He was dreaming. It wasn't real. - HELP NO NOT IT BEING A DREAM IM CRYING

Jungwon couldn't deny it, you were important to him. - MY CUTIES

He looked deep into your eyes and in an impulse, Jungwon lowered his hand to the corner of your neck and closed the distance, giving you a sweeping kiss. All the rest of his consciousness faded away when you pulled him by his shirt, running your hands through his soft black hair. - FINAL FUCKING LY

ME RN

“Damn I really like you, like,” He started to say as he wrapped his arms around you tighter “I'm truly madly deeply in love with you.” Your stomach turned at his confession and how he kissed your collarbone. He moved his kisses up your neck making you see stars in the air. - screaming crying throwing up

Jungwon had to admit: Jake was right. There were sparks between you two after all. - I LOVE THISSSSS omg

The dynamic between Jungwon and the reader was so sweet! i loved reader as a character alot she was. so cute and very blunt which was a great contrast to Jungwon's more reserved and sweet persona omg i ate this up

Yang Jungwon — TRULY MADLY DEEPLY

You are a free spirit, untamed and adventurous. Jungwon is methodical, disciplined and completely predictable. Complete opposites, an unlikely match, Jungwon did not expect his existence would fascinate you, the troublemaker of his course.

PAIRING: — Good boy Jungwon x Bad Girl / Troublemaker Reader (f)

GENRE: fluff, super suggestive, smutyish (kinda), college au, good boy × bad girl trope (we love), strangers to friends to lovers.

WARNINGS: heavy making out, double meaning jokes, mentions of alcohol, skinship, reader falls first Jungwon falls harder, very suggestive in the end but overall fluff.

WC: 10.8k — masterlist - perm taglist

— Author Note: Since I had this idea with Jungwon I couldn't help but write for the last 3 days, he's been wrecking me so bad lately lol. It's my first work with Jungwon and it's a bit longer than my other works, but it's totally worth it. Hope you guys like it, If there are any errors please lmk.

The loud music in the house made Jungwon's eardrums tremble, the number of people increasing by the minute seemed to be slightly suffocating and the drink in his glass was already running low. Jungwon didn't have the habit of going to many parties, he was a little more reserved and liked to be that way. However, he made a few exceptions when Jay invited him saying that it would be legendary.

This time was no different, another party at Jake's house that Jay insisted would be legendary and Jungwon should go to meet more people. Not that Jungwon didn't have many friends, but Jay was way more sociable than him, so he always had someone new to introduce.

As he watched Ni-ki do a funny dance in the middle of the living room, he sat down on the couch that was miraculously free and picked up his phone. He had barely been there for an hour and was already wondering if he should have come.

“I can’t believe you’re already on your phone.” Jungwon looked at Jay, who was in front of him with a look of disbelief. “I’m enjoying the party,” Jungwon replied, “admiring Ni-ki’s beautiful moves.” His tone was laced with sarcasm.

“Man, you need to socialize more like actually talking to people.” Jay sat down next to him sighing “I’ve already met a lot of people thanks to you, thank you very much.” Jungwon saw how the room seemed even more crowded than it had been a few minutes ago.

“You’re impossible,” Jay shook his head negatively, “but at least try to enjoy the food and drinks, Jake chose the best ones.” Jungwon nodded and looked at his own glass, seeing that he would need to refill it soon. “Okay.” He had already passed his final exams so he would try to enjoy this night without thinking too much about studying.

“I'm going to get another drink, do you want one too?” Jay stood up asking uncertainly and Jungwon shook his head, clutching his red cup “I'll finish this one first.” He raised the cup, and Jay gave a side smile “Okay, bro. I'll be right back.”

Jungwon leaned his back against the back of the sofa and turned his gaze to the dance floor that had formed in the center of the room. While trying not to laugh at Jake and Ni-ki having the most hilarious dance battle in the world, his attention was diverted when he felt someone sit down next to him, a sweet scent exuding along with a loud laugh.

He turned around and saw you. Your hair was loose, with a glass in your hand and a – he squinted in the dark lighting and saw a – lollipop – in the other hand. The dark red leather jacket was extremely tight around your waist, contrasting with your black jeans.

“Wow, these guys are hilarious, right?” You commented as if you knew him while Jungwon was still staring at you “Yeah.” He replied automatically and you looked back at him, making him feel embarrassed.

Your eyes scanned his clothes, a perfectly plain dark blue sweatshirt over a white long-sleeved shirt, a thin gray necklace contrasting with his perfectly parted hair. His face was in perfect condition, practically sober. You bit your lower lip trying to contain a smile as you realized that he was clearly one goody two-shoes guy who must have been forced to be there by some friend.

“And why are you sitting here?” You asked curiously, moving closer and Jungwon moved back a little, surprised at how straightforward you were. “I’m enjoying the party.” He replied, looking away and you smiled a little, seeing his reactions.

“Enjoying the party while sitting down?” You raised your eyebrows. Your question made Jungwon run his hand through his hair lightly and give you a closed lip smile “Yeah, something like that.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you realized how right you were about your assumptions. He really was one goody two-shoes guy.

A very cute goody two-shoes.

Your curiosity grew when you realized that he couldn't hold your gaze for long. Ideas began to appear in your mind in a catabolic way while Jungwon remained looking at his cell phone, and then at the track, trying to distract himself.

“Maybe you should try dancing too.” Jungwon looked at you again, giving you a sarcastic smirk and you couldn’t help but notice his small dimple forming. “I can’t dance.” He replied, staring at you as you sucked on the lollipop. “Neither can I, but these are things we do for fun.” He saw your hands searching for something in your pants pockets. “It’s like eating candy while drinking, I know it probably cuts the effect of alcohol, but it’s cool at a party.” Jungwon saw you pull a lollipop out of your pocket and offer it to him. “For you, try it.”

'This girl is weird' was the first thing he thought before taking the candy as you stared at him shamelessly. He felt aware of your gaze and his cheeks suddenly heated up.

He wasn't used to interacting with many girls, especially girls who were strangely direct like you.

“Don’t put it away, you have to try it now.” Jungwon was almost putting the candy away when you came closer and held his forearm, making him nervous. He was already in the corner of the couch so he couldn’t move away any further. “O-Okay.” He quickly replied, opening the candy, trying not to look at you.

'Why does she stay so close?' he thought before putting the lollipop in his mouth and you pulled away slightly and clapped your hands slowly, satisfied with Jungwon's reactions. "So? Isn't it good?" You asked and he just nodded without saying a word.

“You’re kind of shy, aren’t you?” Jungwon noticed how you leaned back against the couch, your arm resting on the backrest as your temples brushed against the fingers of your hand. “What’s your name?”

Jungwon had a small internal debate as to why you seemed so interested in talking to him, but decided to introduce himself anyway. “Jungwon, what’s yours?” He asked and you gave him an excited smile. “Jungwon... that’s a cool name.” You said, lost in thought. “You can create many nicknames. Jungwonie, Jungie, Won...”

With each version of his name being said, Jungwon was sure that you were clearly different from anyone he had ever met. A little crazy, but interesting at the same time. “AH! Wonie too!” Your gaze met his “Well, Jungwon, my name is y/n.” You finally introduced yourself “Nice to meet you, let’s get along well.” You took a sip of your drink, raising the glass like a greeting, making him think that the alcohol was probably cooperating with your actions.

“Sure.” He replied, thinking that your name seemed relatively ordinary compared to your over-the-top personality.

Your little interaction got interrupted by Jay who arrived and gave you both an excited smile “Oh? y/n? I see you finally met my friend Jungwon.”

Jungwon sighed. Of course you know Jay, now everything made sense.

“Hey Jay, it’s been a while.” You saluted Jay and looked at Jungwon. “Yeah, Jungwon is a really nice guy.” Jay noticed how you were looking at Jungwon curiously. “If I knew he was this cute, I would have met him sooner.”

Jungwon swore he felt his whole body stiffen. Did you just call him cute? The tips of Jungwon's ears turned red and you couldn't help but enjoy teasing the boy.

He completely fascinated you.

“Oh?” Jay gave a smirk “It’s because he doesn’t go out that much.” Jay walked towards the couch and you stood up at the same time “I figured.” Jungwon watched you walk “Well boys, now I have to go, but it was great seeing you again Jay,” You turned to Jungwon with a mischievous smile “And it was wonderful meeting you, Jungwonie.” You teased him and he looked away, scratching the back of his neck and nodding.

“See ya.” You gave one last smile and disappeared into the crowd.

Jay looked at Jungwon, laughing at the interaction he just witnessed, and sat down next to him. “I see I interrupted something.” Jay gave a teasing smile, nudging him with his shoulder and Jungwon sighed running his hand over his face “Man, I need another drink.”

Jungwon was relieved to think that he didn't have to worry about seeing you again as this would probably be the only and craziest interaction he would have with you.

That's what he thought.

The week had already started again and Jungwon had arrived early for class as usual. He methodically placed the materials on the table, checking if he had forgotten anything and smiled with satisfaction to see that everything was okay. He opened the laptop, turning it on as the teacher arrived in the room preparing the class material.

Jungwon was extremely responsible with his academic life, always being punctual and completing his assignments on time. He felt good about getting good grades at university and achieving all the goals he set for the future.

For Jungwon, there was nothing better than predictability and discipline in life.

As the teacher taught the class, Jungwon typed up notes on the topic, completely focused on the subject. Before he could write down the last topic spoken, his attention was snatched by your arrival, sitting next to him panting as if you had run a marathon.

“Am I late?” You asked in a whisper and his eyes widened in shock, staring at you in complete disbelief.

“y/n??? What are you doing here?” He asked, completely flabbergasted by the sight of you putting your backpack on your feet and a notebook on the table. The fact that you approached him to the point of sitting next to him as if you were great acquaintances was simply shocking to Jungwon.

You looked at him smiling, getting closer to him. “What do you mean, silly?” Jungwon’s stomach turned at your voice so close to his ear. “We’re on the same major.”

If he already thought you were crazy before, now, he was sure.

Jungwon didn't usually memorize the faces of everyone he had classes with, but he doesn't remember seeing you in any class before. How was it possible that you had the same classes, and your presence had gone unnoticed? You were like a hurricane that arrived and caught everyone's attention.

“I’ve never seen you in this class before.” He answers quietly, turning his attention back to the teacher’s explanation. “That’s because I sit in the back, Jungwonie.” You replied, poking his cheek with your index finger, making him give you a deadly look that amused you.

Teasing Jungwon has officially become one of your favorite hobbies.

“y/n, I need to focus on this class.” He said seriously and you smiled sideways “Sorry, I’ll let you study.” You straightened up and decided to write in your notebook while Jungwon sighed, running his fingers over his eyebrow.

'Is this a dream?' He wondered internally as he gave you quick, surreptitious glances at how you wrote things in such a messy pattern that it made him want to correct everything into an organized bulleted summary.

No margins, paragraphs or spaces. You simply wrote the way it came to your mind.

“You know Jungwon, you get super hot when you get serious like this.” Jungwon looked at you shocked again by your words taking away all the little focus he had. His ears and cheeks were clearly red. A heat rising up his neck.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind crazy?” He whispered back with a disbelieving look that amused you deeply. “Yep, I’ve heard it many times. I’m aware of it.”

Your smile intrigued him. How could someone act like that after just one interaction at a party? He sighed and turned away, trying to ignore your presence, even though he knew it would be impossible.

“This subject is important, it will be on the next tests.” He commented one last time trying to make you focus on the teacher and not on his profile.

“Okay, I’ll pay attention.” Your posture now resembled his, looking straight ahead, focusing on absolutely everything the teacher was saying.

After a few minutes, since Jungwon didn't say anything else, you felt curious and took the opportunity to watch how he typed on his laptop. The veins that ran from his forearm to his hands distracting you. You couldn't resist and sat a little further to the right, slowly approaching him until you could see the screen of his laptop, admiring how he managed to write everything down in such an organized way.

Your scent invaded Jungwon's senses, making him turn around slowly and be caught off guard by your face so close and move away again. "What are you doing?" He asked, seeing how you seemed to be practically glued to his side. "I'm seeing how you take your notes." He hadn't noticed before, but now he saw that you were chewing gum. "They're very organized."

He nodded and decided to ignore what you were doing and try to focus on what he was writing again. “You should do the same.” An idea popped into your head and you smiled. “I think you could teach me.” He scrunched his face at the suggestion. “No thank you, I pass.” He sighed seeing that the last few topics were incomplete due to the distraction that was your presence.

“Geez Jungwonie, don’t be so mean.” Jungwon jumped when he felt you quickly touch his left knee before crossing your arms and staring at him “I want to be a good student.”

“Then start paying attention in class and stop talking.” He gently brought his laptop more to his side and nodded at the teacher with his head.

You pouted playfully, but then smiled, enjoying how Jungwon seemed more expressive than he had been at the party.

Jungwon was more fun than you thought.

The rest of the class you decided to stay quiet and pay attention to what the teacher was saying. Jungwon, on the other hand, had his mind full, wondering how you could be like that. Even though you stayed quiet for the rest of the class, the fact that you were standing next to him and occasionally glancing at his summary to get an idea of what to write in yours took all of his attention away.

When class time ended, he mentally thanked himself that those minutes of mental torture were over. Your presence made him more nervous than any bad joke Jay ever told in his life.

“Jungwon, I loved sitting next to you, let’s do it more often.” You said and he sighed, feeling an absurd mental fatigue. “I hope not.” You laughed at his sincerity and pinched his cheek before grabbing your bag to leave. “Bye, wonie!” Every time you said a nickname for Jungwon, he felt a shiver run through his body.

He had no idea why you seemed so interested in him, but he knew your presence messed with his focus and he needed to be careful about that.

“Man, it’s been so hot lately.” Jake commented, fanning himself with his shirt as he and Jungwon walked towards a drink machine near the dorm. “It’s becoming unbearable.”

“I agree, I get thirsty all the time.” Jungwon stood in front of the machine pondering what he would choose to drink.

Jake chose a soda while Jungwon chose a natural orange juice “Nothing better than a cold drink to cool down.” Jake commented and Jungwon laughed as they walked to the campus building, but they stopped on the way when Jake pointed to a girl walking with an old lady by your side “Hey, isn't that y/n?”

Jungwon looked in the direction Jake was pointing and paid attention to the scene.

You were helping an old lady cross the street while she held onto your arm. Your smile was big as you interacted with the old lady. “Do you know her?” Jungwon asked and Jake nodded “She’s kind of peculiar, but she’s nice.” He replied and Jungwon watched the scene as you left the old lady in a safe place and then ran back to campus.

“She’s definitely peculiar.” Jungwon replied, continuing to walk with Jake before hearing you call his name “Jungwon!!”

You waved from afar and the boys watched you slowly approach. “What a coincidence to find you here.” You commented and Jungwon continued drinking his juice “We take the same course, it’s not that much of a coincidence.” He responded by turning his head to the side and you laughed at his answer.

“Indeed, you’re right. But it’s always good to see you.” You replied, making him look away and turned to Jake. “It’s nice to see you too, Jake.”

Jake chuckled “That’s good to know. Were you helping that old lady?” He asked, and you put your hands in the pockets of your jeans nodding your head “She seemed to be having trouble crossing the street, so I wanted to help her.” You commented, and he smiled “It’s nice how you took time to help her.”

“That’s what anyone should do.” You replied and turned to Jungwon “And you Jungwonie, where are you going?” He, who had been silent this whole time, looked at you confused “I’m going to the next class...” He commented as if it was an obvious thing that you should know since it was class time.

“Oh, you’re so disciplined Jungwon, I also have a class now, but I think I’ll go out for some ice cream since it’s so hot.” You replied as you stretched slightly “You’re going to ditch class?!” Jungwon widened his eyes in disbelief and you laughed “Relax, it’s an extra class that doesn’t have mandatory attendance.” Jungwon sighed at your response “Still...”

Jake was silently watching the interaction and Jungwon and chuckled when he realized the interesting mood between you two.

“Anyway, I have to go now. See you guys around.” You replied by waving goodbye with your right hand and left in the opposite direction, making Jungwon run his hand through his hair, shaking his head negatively.

“She’s so weird...” He spoke softly, but Jake laughed, putting his arm on Jungwon’s shoulder. “And what was this atmosphere between you two?” His friend asked, moving his eyebrows mischievously.

“What atmosphere?” Jungwon replied, walking ahead and Jake following behind. “Come on man, I could feel the sparks flowing between you two.” His friend said teasingly.

Jungwon sighed, deciding to ignore Jake's comment. "Let's go, I don't want to be late for class."

Jake just smirked and followed Jungwon "Alright sir, I'm coming."

It was late at night when Jungwon was in his room sitting at his desk, making his plan for the next weeks. He separated the curriculum for each subject and organized the subjects by day so he could get ahead and study in advance.

He contently smiled when he finally organized everything in his digital planner and could start to get ahead with all the subjects without stress for the next few days.

As he turned off his laptop, his thoughts were interrupted when his cell phone vibrated on the table and the screen lit up. He was surprised to see that he had received a message from an unknown number at this time of night, since his friends knew that he usually went to bed early.

When he unlocked his phone to check the messages he received, Jungwon couldn't believe what appeared in front of his eyes.

[Unknown] — Good night, Jungwonie.

[Unknown] — Are you awake?

22:31 pm

‘It couldn't be.’

[Jungwon] — How did you get my number?

22:32 pm

Read.

It seemed like an endless cycle, when he thought he was at peace, you appeared out of nowhere taking away all the focus he had.

He stared impatiently at his cell phone, seeing that you'd read the message and hadn't replied, making him anxious. His heart began to beat faster with the fright he got when his cell phone started ringing, and he saw that you were calling him.

Awkwardly he tried to lower the volume of the ringing that broke the silence in his room.

He could ignore you, block you and simply pretend nothing happened, but something inside him couldn't resist the curiosity he felt if he answered. What would be the reason for your call?

He struggled for a few seconds before accepting the call and putting the phone to his ear and hearing your voice on the other end.

"Oh?" You answered Jungwon "I thought you were going to ignore me." Your warm laugh tickled Jungwon's ear. "You didn't answer my question." His voice came out a little more serious than he intended.

"Oh, it was really easy, I asked Jay to give me your number because I wanted to talk to you." The sound of your breathing got louder because the microphone is closer to your mouth.

'Of course it was Jay.' He thought looking at the ceiling.

"So? What do you want to talk about?" Jungwon leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking about what would be so important that you would get his number and call him late at night.

"Well, I was feeling so lonely, so I thought about you and decided to call you." Jungwon's cheeks heated up at the way you said it, even though it didn't have the double meaning that crossed his mind.

"So, basically, you just wanted to call to pass the time?" He wanted to confirm his suspicion, and you laughed "That's right!"

"Haa..." He let out a laugh through his nose and you managed to catch it over the phone "You're laughing now, aren't you?" Your voice sounded excited "I can't believe I'm not there to see your smile in person."

Jungwon decided to get up from his chair and go lie down on his bed, ignoring the whirlwind of sensations that always arose every time he interacted with you.

He couldn't understand how you managed to keep him hooked with your unexpected actions. Maybe it was the curiosity he felt about what kind of person you were and why you acted that way.

"You don't make any sense," He replied looking at the ceiling placing his arm over his forehead "shouldn't you go to sleep if you're bored? It's already late."

You laughed, amused by Jungwon's authoritative tone. He was so prudent.

"Jungwon, when I'm bored, I don't sleep, I do something to have fun." He closed his eyes again as he listened to you "And it's not even that late." You replied and he sighed feeling tiredness hit him "For me it is." Jungwon slept early, his sleep was sacred.

"Well then, let's talk until you fall asleep." You said and he thought how weird that was.

Never in his entire life had he stayed on the phone with someone until he fell asleep, this was completely new to him.

"I'm an easy sleeper, so you'll probably be talking to yourself soon." He didn't deny the proposal, but he didn't want to give in so easily. He knew you'd do whatever you wanted anyway.

You chuckled, "Hmm, that's fine by me." The way your voice seemed sweet despite the joking tone made Jungwon wonder how he ended up in this situation.

As you talked about random things and funny stories from your adventures, Jungwon, who was listening intently, felt his eyes grow heavy. He vaguely remembered you talking about running away from the police and how you had a pet rabbit that ran away before falling fast asleep.

"And then he said— Won?" You giggled when you heard his soft breathing on the other end and no response. "Have sweet dreams." You wished him hanging up the call, letting Jungwon rest for now.

Jungwon was coming back from the library when he saw you from afar and started to wonder when your presence started to become normal in his daily life. You started to sit next to him when you had classes together, but now you let him focus better. He was also used to it when you talked to him in the hallways or sent him a picture of something completely random during the week.

Little by little he was no longer scared when you appeared out of nowhere, but despite being so present, you had the gift of mysteriously disappearing, and he realized that he didn't know much about you other than the barbaric stories you told him.

As he walked to the classroom you stopped him in his tracks with a suspicious smile. Jungwon looked at you curiously wondering what you were planning this time.

“Good morning, Jungwonie. Where are you going?” Jungwon looked at you, noticing how different you looked today, wearing a black denim skirt and a white turtleneck while drinking strawberry milk. You looked almost angelic.

“To class, as always.” He replied, taking a step back as you approached him.

“So, I have an idea.” Jungwon eyed you suspiciously “I’m afraid of your ideas.” He replied, making you laugh and pull him by the shirt to speak in a lower tone “Let’s skip class.” You whispered, and Jungwon sighed “Are you out of your mind?” He decided to ignore you and keep walking, but you stopped in front of him again “Hear me out!! It would only be today, and you’re already advanced in the subject. One class wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Jungwon looked up at the lights on the ceiling wondering why he was still listening to you. Clearly you had ideas that involved - not being responsible - with college.

“And what are you planning?” He asked and you smiled seeing that he didn’t deny the idea immediately.

“It’s a surprise.” You grabbed Jungwon’s sleeve and he shook his head “Absolutely not.” He looked at you and noticed that you didn’t have a backpack “You didn’t even come with a backpack? Were you already planning this?”

“Jungwon, I promise it will be fun, pretty pleeease, just for today!” You pulled his hand, and his eyes widened “You won’t fail for missing a single class, you know that.”

He was shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he debated internally about what to do. If it were the old days, he would have refused and gone to class immediately, but now he was actually debating whether or not to skip class.

Jungwon picked up his cell phone and saw that the next class would be a subject he was good at. “I can only miss the next class, then I have to come back.” He looked back at you, biting his lip anxiously, and you gave him a blinding smile.

“You’re going to love it, Jungwonie!” You intertwined your fingers with his hand and pulled him out of the college, making Jungwon’s heart suddenly race at the contact.

'What the hell am I doing?' He thought in disbelief that he would actually skip class just because you suggested it.

☆

Jungwon stared at you silently, watching you play with a cat on your lap. Apparently, your big idea was to skip class to go to a cat cafe near campus, because according to you, it would be easier for Jungwon to get back to his next class.

It was funny how you showed a new side of yourself every time Jungwon interacted with you. A part of him didn't want to admit it, but he was having fun. The day was peaceful and the cats in the place were super docile.

“Do you like cats?” He asked as a kitten snuggled into his lap. “I never thought much about it, but they’re cute.” You replied seeing how relaxed Jungwon looked.

You looked at him with a side smile, noticing how he looked away. His reactions always amuse you to the extreme. How could he be so cute? Your desire to tease him grew even more.

Jungwon lowered his gaze and stroked the head of the cat that slept on his lap.

“You look like a cat.” You said out of nowhere and he looked at you quickly “A cat? Why?” He asked and you got closer “Because you’re cute and serious.”

Jungwon's cheeks heated up when he saw how you were staring at him. “You know what? I guess I really like cats.” You teased him and laughed, watching as he gave you an awkward smile. His little dimple showed, and you held yourself back from touching his face.

Looking at the time on his phone, Jungwon saw that it was almost time to leave. The kitten that was on his lap woke up, stretched and slowly left, making Jungwon get up.

Jungwon offered his hand so you could stand up, since you were wearing a skirt. You noticed his kind gesture and gave a sincere smile, thinking how considerate he was, even though you disturbed him daily.

“I really enjoyed hanging out with you, Jungwon.” You squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes as you stood up straight. Jungwon nodded, giving you a tight smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Yeah, it was nice.” Was all he said before turning to leave the place.

You let go of Jungwon’s hand and followed him in a comfortable walk back to campus. Even though you were silent, Jungwon’s presence alone was extremely comforting, and you had already teased him enough that day.

Deep down, he didn't want to come back to campus, but he wouldn't admit it.

You were finishing washing the cups when you heard the noise of the cafe door opening. Your eyes saw that it was Heeseung arriving late with a smile on his face “Sorry I'm late, thanks for saving me once again.” He commented as you took off your apron and handed it to him.

“You owe me one. This is the fourth time I’ve covered your emergency shift.” You stretched as you watched the night begin to draw in through the cafe window. Every now and then, you would do favors for Heeseung, partly because he was your best friend, but also because he always helped you out when you were in trouble.

“Here, to make it up to you.” You looked at two tickets in Heeseung’s hand “It’s an underground rock band. They’re playing later.” Your friend looked at you mischievously “You can go with Jungwon.” He whispered, making you quickly grab the tickets, seeing the band’s name.

You looked at him suspiciously at the mention of Jungwon's name. Ever since Heeseung saw you laughing on your phone while talking to Jungwon, he never missed an opportunity to tease you.

Even though the time was a little late, you smirked thinking about the vision of going to a concert with Jungwon in the middle of the night.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea.

“You’re a genius, Heeseung! Thank you!!” You grabbed your bag and left the place.

☆

Jungwon was in a deep sleep when he woke up to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He rubbed his eyes, trying to read the name on the screen and saw that it was you. 'Of course it's her.' Sliding his finger across the screen, he answered while yawning slightly “Hello?”

“Jungwonieeee, were you sleeping?” Your loud voice made Jungwon move the phone slightly away from his ear “I was.” He turned on the light in the room trying to get rid of the rest of the sleep he had “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb your sleep, but I have an invitation to make.”

“What is it?” Jungwon sighed, knowing he wouldn’t escape whatever you were planning.

“Let’s go out now.” You said directly, “My friend Heeseung gave me two tickets for a concert later, we need to go.”

Heeseung? Jungwon turned his head to the side at the mention of the boy. He remembered seeing him before at a few parties, but never interacted with him enough. A strange feeling formed in the pit of Jungwon's stomach, but he decided to ignore it.

“y/n, I should be sleeping.” He sighed, scratching his head as he looked at the schedule. “And we have class tomorrow! It’s still Wednesday.” You laughed at Jungwon’s worried tone.

“No problem, breakfast tomorrow is on me.” Jungwon was silent for a moment. “Is the place far?” He asked, getting out of bed. “Noo, it’s really close.” You cheered up seeing that Jungwon was interested “Come on, it’ll be cool.” Your voice seemed more seductive than usual at that moment.

“Okay, send me the location.” He said and you laughed “Silly, I’m already waiting for you in front of your building.” He widened his eyes and opened the curtain of the bedroom window seeing nothing on the street “I’m just kidding.”

Your laughter made him smile unexpectedly. “You’re impossible.” He headed towards the bathroom, knowing he would have to take a shower and get ready at the last minute.

“I send you the location, byee Jungwonie!!” You hung up, and Jungwon decided to get ready for yet another adventure you got him into.

☆

You were standing outside the bar where the concert would take place when you saw Jungwon arriving. Your eyes widened when you saw how much more handsome he looked than usual. He was wearing a black tank top with dark jeans and a leather jacket that adorned him perfectly.

When he gave a slight smile, running his hand through his hair, you felt a heat rise up your neck. He was so hot.

“Heyy, Jungwonie.” You pushed yourself off the wall and walked towards Jungwon. “So, you really came, huh?”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He stepped closer and you nodded with a small chuckle “Of course.”

He saw the door and stood beside you. “So, shall we go in?” You asked, and he nodded.

The night was just beginning.

The place was surprisingly full, with many people bumping into each other and Jungwon instinctively took your hand so that you wouldn't get lost in the place. The band was finishing adjusting the instruments on stage when you reached a good position to see the stage.

“Are you a fan of this band?” Jungwon asked beside you and you laughed “I’ve never heard of them in my entire life.” Jungwon leaned down slightly to hear you. Your whisper made him bite his lips trying not to laugh.

Going to a rock concert of a band you didn't know on a random Wednesday was so you.

“You're funny.” He spoke lowly, but you heard it anyway. The loud sounds of the instruments made your voices almost inaudible.

As the band began to perform their opening sets, Jungwon was thinking about how crazy this all was. He was at a bar, in the middle of the week, to see a show because you called him.

In a way, in the last few weeks, he had been living a lot more since he met you, but at the same time, it was scary. It was distant from everything he had planned, and it made him wary.

You were like a breeze that suddenly appeared when the sun was too hot, but at the same time disappeared just as quickly. Even though you had built a kind of friendship, he still wanted to know your dreams, more of your story... he simply wanted to know more about you.

His train of thought was interrupted when he saw that the place started to get crowded, and some guys started pushing you. Instinctively, he stood behind you, giving the rude guys a deadly glare.

You could tell he wanted to protect you, but he was too shy to touch you. His hands were in the air around you, and you smiled, pulling his hands to your waist. Jungwon was caught off guard, seeing you turn slightly to say something, “What a gentleman...” Your smile distracted Jungwon “That’s better.” He nodded, feeling his ears heat up.

When the show started, you didn't talk much, but you laughed a lot because you took the opportunity to scream when everyone else screamed and clapped madly at the end of each song. Jungwon would pull you into his chest occasionally when he saw that someone wanted to cross in front of you and you knew you made the right decision to invite him out.

☆

When the concert ended, Jungwon thought that he wanted to enjoy it more. As much as it was fun, you couldn't talk much because of the volume of the instruments.

“So Jungwonie, did you like it?” You asked as you walked down the street with him. “I liked it. It was very different from the concerts I’ve been to before.” Jungwon put his hands in his pants pockets as you both went to a part of the city that didn’t have many people at that time.

You walked up some steps that led to a small park that had a beautiful view of a part of the city. The place was empty, and Jungwon sat next to you on a small bench there.

“You know, I really admire you Jungwon.” You confessed as you looked at the moon that it looked particularly beautiful that night. “Why?” He asked curiously.

“You seem to have everything in order. You’re always so organized, I bet you have everything planned.” He looked at you intently. This time you were being sincere, as if you wanted to vent about something. “In a way, yes, but it requires a lot of sacrifices, so it’s not that simple.” Jungwon sighed, knowing all the daily sacrifices he makes for his goals.

“I wish I was like that,” You gave a sad smile. “It’s like I can’t follow through on the goals I set for myself.” Jungwon was silent for a moment, thinking about what to say. “I know we’re very different, but everyone has felt lost at some point in their lives.” You looked at him, seeing how kind his expression was. “Until you find your focus, it’s okay to fail and try again.”

You looked away, feeling your eyes water slightly. Maybe you just needed to hear that.

“And personally speaking,” He cleared his throat, “I also wish I could be a little freer like you, but it’s not easy for me.” You looked at him in surprise. Jungwon didn’t seem like the type of person to say something like that directly. “I like being disciplined, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go out for a few days.” He gave a wry smile, scratching the back of his neck, and you laughed.

“Well, I told you it would be cool.” You laughed, standing up from the bench. “You’re actually a pretty nice guy, Jungwon.” Your gaze lingered on Jungwon’s figure who looked like an angel under the moonlight. “I hope you don’t change.”

Jungwon gave a cute smile that made you want to hug him “I promise I won’t.” He replied, standing up too “Now let’s go, because tomorrow you’ll pay for breakfast.” He went ahead and you laughed “Hey! Wait for me!”

And so, you had a peaceful walk back to the dorm in a wonderful mood that you both didn't want to end.

Jungwon didn't know how you ended up in his room, but you were there.

You looked around the room, analyzing each decoration and Jungwon felt aware of your presence. Everything was meticulously organized just as you expected.

Jungwon wasn't one to have a lot of things. He was a believer in necessary minimalism. His desk had only a few notebooks and books neatly stacked, a simple closet, and his bed had a dark blue sheet neatly folded.

His room was very clean, and you smiled seeing how he had a small frame with a family photo and some keychains next to it.

"Your room is nice..." You turned to Jungwon seeing how tense he looked. "It's just like you." He gave an awkward smile and looked away. "It's pretty plain, but I like it."

You approached slowly with your hands behind your back "Jungwon, I'm curious..." Jungwon looked at you, feeling his stomach churn "About what?"

Your gaze was firmly fixed on the boy who had rosy cheeks watching every step you took.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Jungwon almost choked on your question as you ran your fingers down his shirt. “Be honest.”

He swallowed hard and looked away, "Y-Yes." You smiled, grabbing his chin and turning his gaze back to you, "You know, Jungwon, you're so cute." He took a step back and you got even closer.

"I like that." Your hands touched Jungwon's chest, who felt the back of his calf touch his bed. He walked backwards so much that he ended up sitting on his own bed, seeing you in front of him with an amused smile.

Your makeup was beautiful, your cheeks were flushed and your lips looked softer than usual. Jungwon couldn't speak at the sight, his heart racing at the way you bent down to be in his line of sight.

Jungwon was sweating, feeling a sudden heat rise through his body. He moved away slightly, leaning on his hands, unable to say a word.

This was wrong. He wasn't the kind of guy to take girls to his room, but he couldn't resist you. He knew he should probably be nice and find a way to get you out safely, but he couldn't say a word.

Not when you were climbing on top of him without any warning. Jungwon's breath hitched as you ran your hands down his chest, your face close to his.

He looked away and you giggled. "Have you done this before?" Jungwon felt a shiver run through his body when he heard your voice whispering in his ear. "Yes." He spoke quickly and you arched an eyebrow. What a surprise.

You chuckled, your breath fanning his face. You pulled his face up by his chin to face him, your thumb going up to Jungwon's mouth. “You have pretty lips." You whispered as you slid your finger across his bottom lip. "You too." He replied, staring at you.

You were surprised by his answer and gave a mischievous smile. Jungwon gasped when he felt your full weight on his lap, his heart was beating so hard with so much nervousness that he could only swallow dryly waiting for your next steps.

Your left hand was holding his shoulder, and you had such a deep gaze that he felt hypnotized. He would do anything you wanted if you kept looking at him like that.

With both hands you pushed his coat back, taking it off. He threw the coat to another corner while you noticed how red his ears were.

"Jungwonie," you called out to him and he looked at you eagerly "do you want to touch me?" Your question made Jungwon feel butterflies in his stomach. If you could read his mind you would know that was all he could think about right now.

"Yes." He sighed, closing his eyes as he felt your lips place a kiss on the corner of his neck.

Your hands pulled his hands to your hips. “You can.” He tentatively moved his hands from your hips to your waist, swallowing hard when you moved closer.

Your hands touched his cheeks, bringing his face closer to yours. He looked into your eyes, and you smiled, touching your noses. You were so close he couldn't think straight. Your breath mingled with his as you closed the distance and kissed him.

Jungwon felt the world stop with the movement of your lips on his. A soft, delicate kiss making him tighten your waist. You moved your hands to his hair, making him more desperate.

He brought your body closer to his and you smiled into the kiss, his cheeks redder than usual. He brought his face closer to yours again and you pulled away, teasing him.

He was so hot when he looked desperate.

"Easy, I'm not going anywhere." You replied and he felt slightly embarrassed, but that soon passed when you kissed him again, your hands going up under his shirt.

His breath hitched as he felt the touch of your fingers on his skin. His arm wrapped around you completely, the kiss becoming more desperate.

He pulled away to kiss your neck but was interrupted by a loud noise.

— BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP —

Jungwon's eyes widened as he woke up suddenly, his chest rising and falling in shock from the alarm as he stared at the ceiling of his own room. He was dreaming. It wasn't real.

He sat up in bed and ran his hand over his sweaty forehead. His entire body felt hot with the shame he was feeling at that moment.

A feeling of guilt invaded his chest. How could he dream things like that? Especially about you. His fingertips touched his own mouth thinking about how everything seemed so real. He couldn't forget.

The headache from sleeping so little seemed unbearable as he tried to adjust to the brightness of the room. He pulled off his own sheet, throwing it to the side, trying to get up.

He had to face the reality that it wasn't real, and he would need to see you and pretend to be normal. He looked at his watch and broke out in a cold sweat when he remembered that you are going to have coffee together that morning.

'Great.' He thought indignantly to himself.

☆

After he got ready to go out, he looked in the mirror and realized how bad he looked. Dark circles under his eyes and his excitement on the floor.

He didn't know how to forget his dream, and much less how he would face you that morning. He sent you a message asking where you were. Maybe it would be better for him to ignore everything he dreamed and continue like nothing happened.

He walked into the campus and was greeted by Jake who looked at him confused "Man, you alright?" He noticed how Jungwon looked more dejected than usual.

"Just a rough night." He sighed, picking up his phone and seeing that you still hadn't responded to his message.

"You should take care of yourself, the heat is terrible. I heard that two people fainted today because of it." He commented and Jungwon nodded.

"I'll keep that in mind." He replied "By the way, have you seen y/n? I texted her earlier and she hasn't responded yet." Jungwon asked and Jake shook his head "I don't know, but you can ask her best friend." Jake looked back and pointed down the path "I just passed him, it was a boy in a red shirt and black pants, I think you know him, it’s Heeseung."

"Thanks, see you around." Jungwon left first and Jake smiled seeing how this time it was him who was looking for you, and not the other way around.

As Jungwon walked down the hallway looking for Heeseung, a part of him felt pathetic. He didn't understand why he seemed so desperate to find you, you could be busy and then you would answer, but he felt like he needed to see you.

He made a small run touching your best friend's shoulder who looked at him curiously. Heeseung recognized him instantly "You're Heeseung, right?" He asked worriedly and the boy smiled gently "Yes, and you're Jungwon, Jay's friend. I remember you." Jungwon just nodded before asking what he really wanted to know "Do you know where y/n is? I texted her and she didn't respond so I got worried."

Heeseung widened his eyes, understanding the situation. "Dude, didn't you hear?" Jungwon felt his heart tighten at Heeseung's tone. "What?" Heeseung sighed. "She fainted because of the heat. She's in the campus infirmary, I'm coming back from there."

Jungwon felt all the color drain from his face when he heard the news. You? Fainted? You, who has so much energy and never sit still?

“Where is the infirmary? I need to go now." He despaired and Heeseung grabbed his shoulder "Calm down, otherwise you'll be the next one to faint if you act like this." Jungwon let out the air he didn't know he was holding. All the worries he felt before disappeared because you were all that mattered right now.

"I'll take you there." Heeseung lightly squeezed Jungwon's shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you the way."

"Is she okay?" Jungwon asked on the way and Heeseung nodded. "Yeah, she was taking a nap when I went there. She must have been tired."

Jungwon felt a little more relieved, but he still wanted to see you with his own eyes. Heeseung took him to the place, leaving him at the entrance. "I need to go now, take good care of her." He said and Jungwon thanked him for his help. "Of course, thanks for showing me the way."

Heeseung gave Jungwon a friendly smile, "It's okay brother, don't worry." He replied and Jungwon felt a pang of guilt for harboring strange feelings towards Heeseung who seemed like a nice guy.

He said goodbye and Jungwon entered the infirmary looking for you. His eyes searched the area until he saw you lying on the bed with your eyes closed and sleeping peacefully. He carefully approached and sat down on the chair next to your bed.

He wouldn't leave until you woke up.

While you were sleeping, he noticed how long your eyelashes were and how relaxed your eyebrows looked when you slept. How angelic your face looked when you were expressionless.

He brushed a few strands of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. Your cheeks were slightly pale, perhaps from the weakness.

He looked around and saw that there was no food or water there, so he left his bag on the chair and went to buy some supplies from the machine outside the room. When he came back you seemed to have shifted position, your arm gently hugging the sheet.

He side smiled at how cute you were sleeping and started to think about how he ended up in this situation. You were just a strange girl he met at a party but now became important to the point where he watched you sleep in an infirmary ward.

Your presence was already part of Jungwon's life and he couldn't ignore it. His fingers lightly caressed your cheeks, warming the place.

Jungwon couldn't deny it, you were important to him.

When you started to move, he retracted his hand and looked at you curiously. You blinked your eyes slightly, stretching. Your gaze scanned the room, realizing it was the infirmary and finally noticing Jungwon's presence by your side.

"Jungwon?" You asked confused looking around "Why am I here?" Your head hurt a little and Jungwon made you lie down again.

"You fainted from the heat, you should stay here, rest and hydrate yourself." He said as he adjusted the pillow for you.

You searched your mind for your last memory and remembered that you had arrived at the campus gate before everything went dark out of nowhere. Jungwon looked at you intently, his shy persona being replaced by his comforting presence by your side.

"We were supposed to have coffee together." You mumbled sadly as you looked at him. Jungwon gave the first smile of the day, lightly caressing your forehead. "Your health is more important. We have all the time in the world for that." He answered gently and you felt your heart melt at that.

Jungwon looked even more handsome today. His presence was like an anchor you could rely on. He brought you unparalleled peace.

"You need to hydrate." He handed you a bottle of water so you could drink. "Okay." You replied, drinking the water and trying to relax. Your gaze fell on Jungwon who was staring at you, and you looked away, feeling self-conscious.

"You need to go to class." Jungwon snickered at your comment "I'm not leaving here." He replied taking the bottle back and giving you a cupcake so you could eat.

You gave Jungwon a mischievous look. “Oh? Jungwonie is going to skip class to take care of me?” You chuckled “I’m honored.”

He touched your cheek and smiled, "Looks like you're feeling better already." He commented and you nodded "Yes! Thanks to you Jungwonie, thank you very much."

"You're welcome." He saw how happy you looked and remembered the dream he had earlier. He looked away, feeling his heart suddenly race.

This was not a good time to remember that.

"I'll recover and I promise we'll have breakfast." Your voice was softer as you lay back down on the bed, closing your eyes as tiredness took over.

"Then recover quickly." Jungwon said smiling seeing how comfortable you looked to try to sleep again in front of him "Sweet dreams."

He let you rest while he played with his phone. As long as you were okay, nothing else mattered.

After you had fully recovered, Jungwon bombarded you with messages daily reminding you to eat regularly, sleep at the right times, and prioritize your health.

Since he was attentive and helped you over the past few days, you suggested camping with Jungwon over the weekend as a way of saying thank you.

You rented a car and bought a tent so you could enjoy the nice weather. While researching perfect camping spots, you found a great one that wasn't too far away, wasn't too crowded, and had a beautiful setting.

Jungwon was initially worried. Apparently, he wanted to avoid any scenario that could be dangerous for you, but you assured him that you were already recovered, and it would be fine.

Reluctantly he accepted, and now you were at the site setting up the tent until you noticed that the weather seemed cloudier than usual.

"The breeze is great." Jungwon said as he took a sip of water and rested after holding the heavy irons at the base of the tent.

"At least that." You replied, closing the tent's zipper and seeing that it had turned out great "It turned out perfect, we'll be able to enjoy it a lot."

Jungwon smiled "Yes. By the way, when are we going to set up the other tent?" He asked and you looked at him confused "There is no other tent."

The silence that hung in the air was embarrassing.

Jungwon was speechless and you began to realize that since you only bought one tent you would probably have to sleep in it together. His cheeks turned slightly pink and Jungwon cleared his throat trying to lighten the mood "I can sleep in the car, no problem."

"No way." You turned around and replied immediately "You did all the work, you're not going to sleep on the hard car seat."

Jungwon sighed at your stubbornness "y/n, I won't let you sleep in the car either." You gave him a smirk "Then let's sleep together."

Another silence filled the air.

Jungwon felt his throat close up, memories of the dream he had reappearing in his mind.

"It's fine with me, if you want..." Your voice sounded slightly hesitant, a little embarrassed. Something new for Jungwon, considering you always seemed confident.

"Are you sure?" He asked, looking at you. "Absolutely." You returned his gaze and answered honestly.

He knew that there was no going back on this decision, so he accepted the consequences that would probably come from it.

"Come on Jungwon, the day is beautiful, and I saw that there is a small river there where we can take some pictures." You opened the tent and went out first, changing the subject.

He gave a smile, following you. “Show me then.”

You two walked around the place and realized that you were the only ones there. A small river ran through the place making the landscape even more beautiful.

"Jungwon, take some pictures of me." You said laughing as you posed holding your summer dress. He smiled as he recorded everything.

"Go a little to the left." He directed you and you smiled as if it were a professional photoshoot "Jungwon come too."

He walked over to your side and you pulled him closer so you could take a selfie. He smiled wider, showing off his dimple, and you put your faces together for a cute photo.

You swiped your finger on the screen looking at the pictures, feeling happy with the interaction while Jungwon looked at you from the corner of his eye. He couldn't ignore how much more beautiful you looked today.

Your loose hair and red dress matched perfectly. He stared at you, feeling butterflies in his stomach that were impossible to ignore.

He knew what that meant: he liked you. Not just a simple liking but liking you to the point of accepting any crazy idea you suggested, doing whatever it took to make you happy.

He was completely in love with you, and he couldn't deny it anymore.

"Jungwon, I loved these photos, let's try some with the phone horizontally." You said and he smiled taking the phone from your hand "Sure, whatever you want."

You smiled at his response as you took more pictures near the riverbank.

☆

Jungwon went to get some snacks from the tent while you dipped a part of your feet in the river. He came back smiling holding some snacks and you got excited.

"Oh, that looks good." You saw a sweet pepero and cheered. "I knew you'd want some candy." Jungwon commented and you smirked. "You know me so well, Jungwonie."

He smiled as he handed you the pepero, but before you could enjoy the snacks, the sound of thunder startled you and a sudden rain began to fall on the two of you.

Jungwon took your hand as you ran back to the tent when the rain suddenly got heavier. You went in first and Jungwon followed right behind you, zipping up the tent. The rain was so heavy that you were amazed at how strong the tent was.

"I didn't expect it to rain today." You commented, putting the snacks away in a container in the corner.

"Me neither." Jungwon turned to you and took off the light coat he was wearing to place on your shoulders. You looked wetter than him, maybe because you were wearing a dress.

"Here, so you don't get cold." He said and you looked at him. "I'll try to get a towel from the car." You held his arm. "No, the rain is too heavy. It's better to wait." Your gaze and Jungwon's met and a silence hung in the air.

Jungwon’s hair was wet, his bangs were plastered to his forehead, and his shirt was slightly see-through. You couldn’t help but check him out.

He noticed your gaze and felt his heart suddenly race.

Just like in his dream, you approached him. Jungwon felt an unsettling sensation run through his body seeing how your eyes were looking at him with such tenderness.

“I’m not cold.” Jungwon swallowed hard as you took off his coat, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath you. He was paralyzed, as if he didn’t know what to say, enchanted by your gaze.

Jungwon's right hand touched your cheek, removing the small droplets of water that were there. "Are you sure?" His gentle tone made your stomach flutter. "Yes." You smiled, realizing that he kept his hand there on your face. His thumb made circles on your skin, an act that showed affection on his part.

He looked deep into your eyes and in an impulse, Jungwon lowered his hand to the corner of your neck and closed the distance, giving you a sweeping kiss. All the rest of his consciousness faded away when you pulled him by his shirt, running your hands through his soft black hair.

Your back hit the soft mattress as Jungwon climbed on top of you. The kiss was desperate, his hands roaming your body. Jungwon groaned into your mouth when you pulled the hair on the back of his head, making you smirk in the middle of the kiss.

When his hands went up your legs, you pulled away to breathe, Jungwon's mouth devouring your neck making you gasp. "J-Jungwon." You whispered, closing your eyes and he brought his face close to yours, looking into your eyes. For a moment he realized what he was doing and swallowed hard.

He wanted to say he regretted it, but the way your eyelashes adorned your eyes as you looked at him, your flushed cheeks and how the fabric of your dress seemed like a huge impediment to his hands made him sure he didn't want to stop.

“I’m sorry.” His lips brushed gently against yours. “I couldn’t help myself.” His fingers lightly squeezed the skin of your thighs and you smiled. “It’s okay, I want it too.” You responded by giving him a long peck.

He observed every detail of your face. Your eyes, your nose, your mouth, the line of your jaw, your collarbone that was now completely exposed. You were completely beautiful, and he could no longer contain the feelings that invaded his chest “y/n,” He whispered giving you a soft kiss “I like you.” He was the first to confess and you smiled entwining his hair between your fingers “I like you too, Jungwonie.”

He laughed at the nickname and kissed you slowly. You wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him towards you as you felt him deepen the kiss with his tongue. Jungwon could only think about how he would enjoy this moment as if it were the last time.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, trailing kisses down your jawline. “You drive me crazy.” You moaned as you felt his lips on your neck. You just nodded desperately and felt your breath catch in your throat as he moved his hands up from your thighs to your back, under your dress.

“Jungwon.” You moaned his name involuntarily as he lifted the fabric of your red dress. He liked it when you called his name like that, as if you were desperate for something more.

The raindrops fell harder on the tent's material as you pulled Jungwon's shirt up, touching Jungwon's abdomen. You were surprised to feel how toned and soft it was. Jungwon's moan was swallowed by your mouth in the desperate kiss you gave him, your hands exploring his arms and back.

“Damn I really like you, like,” He started to say as he wrapped his arms around you tighter “I'm truly madly deeply in love with you.” Your stomach turned at his confession and how he kissed your collarbone. He moved his kisses up your neck making you see stars in the air.

“I don’t want to stop.” He confessed before kissing below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then don’t stop.” You replied as you felt the soft skin of his abdomen with your fingertips “Please.”

You looked at him like you had been asking for this for a long time. You gave him an obscene smile that made him want to sink you even deeper into the tent mattress and never come back to the surface again.

Jungwon's strong hands that once explored every skin on your body lifted all the fabric of your dress and you helped him take off his shirt. Every contact with Jungwon's skin lit a spark between you.

“You’re beautiful.” He pulled your face up by your cheeks and moved his hand down to your neck, his thumb gently caressing your throat as you tried to breathe since you were completely out of breath. “Please be mine.” He whispered against your lips “I already am.” You replied and he smiled before enveloping you in a completely passionate kiss.

☆

Jungwon hugged you while stroking your hair. You drew random patterns on his cheek thinking about everything that had happened.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You broke the silence by laughing “I was surprised when you kissed me, but I loved it.” Jungwon looked at you carefully thinking how beautiful you looked in his arms “I couldn’t resist.” He replied and you kissed his cheek.

“And to think that before you could barely look at me.” He smiled “You were impossible.” The way he looked at you made you feel so many feelings at the same time that you were speechless. You had never liked anyone the way you liked Jungwon, and this was new to you.

“I’m looking forward to seeing more sides of you, Jungwon.” You whispered, giving Jungwon a kiss. “You’re like a box of surprises.” He pulled you closer. “And I’ll show you everything you want to see.” The sound of the rain being the perfect soundtrack for the cozy moment between you.

Jungwon had to admit: Jake was right. There were sparks between you two after all.

.

.

[0scarp1astr1]

˖ 𐔌 𝐀 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮࿐.۫

જ⁀➴ Desc: || As Lewis Hamilton’s sister and a busy fashion designer, love was never a priority—until your best friend George, with help from his girlfriend, sets you up on a blind date. You meet a lovely guy without realizing who he is; now, you've broken a rule without knowing. And even when you find out..you both decide to keep it hidden.|

ᯓ★ Charles Leclerc x Fem! (Hamilton) Reader

ᯓ★ 3x Genre: Fluff, Angst, Humor

ᯓ★ Warning: Nothing major! Just a fight!

ᯓ★ Requested? No

Author Note: Charles Leclerc! This is the first solo fic on the blog for him. If it’s bad, I apologize. I write half of these when I’m half awake.

☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★☆★☆☆★☆★

Being born into the Hamilton family felt like a blessing—one you didn’t fully understand until you were older. To the outside world, the Hamilton name carried legacy, speed, and triumph. But to you, it meant warmth, laughter, and safety. And above all, it meant Lewis.

From the moment you were born, Lewis became your shadow. Your older brother—your protector, your secret-keeper, your greatest champion. There was never a time you could recall where he wasn’t right there, watching over you with that gentle big brother energy. He held you in his arms when you were just hours old, and from then on, something unspoken rooted deeply between the two of you. A bond no spotlight or fame could shake.

You both grew up chasing your own dreams, carving your own paths. While Lewis chased victory on tracks across the globe, you were sketching in notebooks, sewing by hand, and whispering dreams of runways and high fashion. But no matter how far apart your worlds seemed, he was always in yours.

“You’re gonna be something incredible one day,” Lewis would tell you when he saw your hands covered in thread and fabric scraps, frustration on your brow after a long day of failed designs. “You’ve got the eye. You’ve got the soul.”

He was there through every milestone. From the innocent nervousness of your first school dance to your senior prom, Lewis always made sure you were cared for. You remembered how he sized up your prom date with folded arms and a quiet stare before letting him take you out. Later that night, he texted you: “If he even looks at you the wrong way, I’m coming to get you. Love you, baby sis.”

And when your heart was broken—once, twice, more times than you’d admit—he was there too, letting you cry into his shoulder.

“Don’t let any man’s foolishness make you question your worth,” he whispered one night as he gently brushed a tear off your cheek. “You’re beautiful. Strong. You’re you. That’s more than enough.”

Those words stayed with you.

As you got older, your admiration for him only grew. You followed his career passionately, cheering from the stands every time your dad, Anthony, allowed you to travel. You were there at Silverstone, Monaco, even Singapore once. You knew every detail of his racing history by heart—not just because he was your brother, but because he inspired you. You wanted to succeed the way he did: with grace, with grit, with heart.

It was during one of those race weekends that you met George. He was younger, full of charm, and refreshingly down-to-earth. You hit it off instantly—laughing in the paddock over shared jokes, learning about cars in a way that actually made sense thanks to him.

“George is good people,” Lewis said one day with a nod of approval as he caught you two chatting. “I trust him with you.”

You smiled. “You trust him more than I trust your wardrobe choices sometimes.”

“Oi,” he chuckled, nudging your shoulder, “I’m a fashion icon.”

Eventually, your world extended beyond just racing. Toto and Susie took you under their wing. Susie became like an older sister to you—wise, elegant, and always ready for some “girl time.” You’d sit together during race weekends, sipping coffee while watching Jack toddle around.

“He looks so much like Toto,” you laughed one morning, watching the boy pick up a toy car and zoom it across the floor.

“He’s got his sass too,” Susie added with a wink.

They became your second family, tied together by shared passion and years of trust.

When Lewis sat you down one evening in Monaco, a thoughtful expression on his face, you knew something was coming.

“I’m leaving Mercedes,” he said quietly.

Your breath hitched. “What? Why?”

“It’s time,” he said simply. “Ferrari came calling. And I want a new challenge.”

You sat back, absorbing the weight of it. “Does this mean I shouldn’t hang around Mercedes anymore?”

He looked at you with soft eyes, shaking his head. “No. Don’t be silly. This is my choice—not a war. I have no bad blood with anyone there, and you shouldn’t either. They love you. Toto, Susie, George… they’re part of your life too.”

Relief washed over you like a tide. “Okay… I’m glad.”

But life wasn’t just about supporting your brother—you had your own. Your fashion career had started to bloom, albeit not without struggle. The late nights in Monaco spent hunched over your desk, bleeding ideas onto sketchbooks. The moments where doubt gnawed at your resolve, whispering that maybe you weren’t cut out for this world. But in those moments, your phone would buzz with a message from your dad: “Keep going. You’ve never been a quitter.” Or Lewis would FaceTime you from across the world, just to check in.

“Show me the latest,” he’d grin, propping the phone on his dashboard.

You’d hold up a design, trying to hide your nerves. “It’s not finished…”

“It’s fire,” he’d say immediately. “I can already see it on a runway in Milan.”

You’d roll your eyes, but your heart would feel lighter.

That was the magic of being a Hamilton. Yes, the name carried weight, but the love in your family—the support, the loyalty, the belief in each other—that was what truly made it a gift.

And through every twist, turn, and race, you never forgot it.

The Monaco flat gleamed in the golden hue of noon. Sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, dancing off the marble floors and bouncing off the scattered chaos of your workspace. Bolts of fabric draped across chairs, colorful swatches layered like a mosaic on the table, and dozens of hand-sketched designs lay half-finished. Pencils, measuring tape, coffee cups—organized chaos, exactly how you liked it.

You didn’t flinch at the sound of the door unlocking. Not even a glance.

But then you heard the soft, familiar panting and gentle taps of paws.

"Ah, you brought my dog!" you gasped with a grin, turning around as Roscoe trotted in like he owned the place.

A warm chuckle followed, rich and familiar. “Firstly,” Lewis said, stepping in behind him, “he’s my dog. Secondly, I brought him because I’ve been texting you all damn day and haven’t heard a peep.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. “Wait—really?” You reached for your phone on the cluttered side table and groaned. Ten unread messages. “Shit. I’m sorry, Lewis. I’ve been locked in.”

He strolled further in, his eyes scanning the battlefield of paper scraps, crumpled sketches in the trash, empty mugs stacked dangerously near the edge of the counter. He bent to pick up one of the balled papers and unfolded it, glancing over the design.

“I can tell,” he muttered, giving Roscoe a little pat as the dog waddled toward you, tail wagging.

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing your temple. “This is a major piece I’m working on. If I don’t design this the way I see it in my head, I’m going to lose it. This could be the one that gets me out there—like really out there. And I don’t want to screw it up.”

Lewis nodded slowly, lowering himself onto the arm of your plush white couch, surveying the energy you’d poured into the room—your drive practically dripping from the walls. He knew you. Knew this side of you well.

You weren’t just trying to be good. You were trying to be unforgettable.

“I get it,” he said finally. “You’re grinding. You’ve always been like this when something matters to you.” He glanced around, eyes settling on the pinboard above your desk covered in half-formed ideas and a quote from your dad, written in permanent marker: 'Perfection doesn’t come easy. Keep stitching.' “Still, don’t forget to breathe.”

You scooped up Roscoe into your arms with a little huff, the bulldog instantly relaxing against you like a warm weighted pillow.

“Please,” you mumbled, walking to the living room and plopping down into the cushions, “I’m perfectly content with little Roscoe. He’s the only man in my life who doesn’t stress me out.”

Lewis followed you, flopping down beside you with a laugh. “And you’re completely buried in work,” he added, nudging you lightly with his elbow.

You smirked. “Says you, Mr. ‘Married to the grind and no one else.’”

He tilted his head, smirking. “The difference is, I’m older than you. I'm 40. When you get closer to 40, love starts to look different.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, drama king, for the record—I’ll be 27 tomorrow, which feels like ancient history to my knees.”

He chuckled. “Twenty-seven… damn. I remember when you were stuffing glitter into my shoes and crying over that one dress you made with duct tape.”

“That was experimental fashion,” you replied with a mock glare. “And for the record, the glitter was deserved. You told everyone at school I still slept with a nightlight.”

He threw his head back laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth. “That was one time!”

“Still one too many,” you said, but your smile betrayed your affection. You leaned into the couch, Roscoe now snoring softly on your lap, your fingers absently brushing over his back.

There was a brief moment of silence, the kind only shared between two people who didn’t need to fill it with words. Lewis glanced over at you again, more serious this time.

“You know,” he began, “I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you. This thing you’re building—your name, your brand—it’s real. Don’t let your fear of not being there yet make you forget how far you’ve come.”

You swallowed the small lump in your throat, touched by his sincerity. “Thanks, Lew.”

He shrugged, casually but not without heart. “You’ll have your moment. The world just hasn’t caught up to you yet.”

Lewis glanced over at you, sensing the shift in energy, and decided to steer things into lighter territory. “So,” he began casually, stretching his legs out and leaning back into the couch, “I have to ask—what’s the plan for the big birthday tomorrow?”

You let out a breath, still stroking Roscoe absentmindedly. “Honestly?” you said with a shrug, “Not much. You know how Dad is—he wants us to spend the morning together, maybe have a little birthday breakfast. Something chill.”

Lewis nodded knowingly. “Classic Dad. He probably already bought a candle shaped like a 3 just to mess with you.”

You snorted. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

Lewis gave you a sly look. “Assuming you actually show up on time and don’t get stuck here crying over your sketchbook again.”

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “Hey! I don’t cry every time. Just when my ideas fall apart and I’m sleep-deprived and hormonal and spiraling—so, you know, normal stuff.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I just don’t want Roscoe calling me at 8 a.m. like, ‘She’s curled up on the floor again, mate. Bring snacks.’”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ll be there, alright? I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t have to keep treating me like one.”

Lewis turned to look at you more seriously, his expression softening. “I know you’re not. But I don’t care. I’m forty now, and you’re turning twenty-seven tomorrow—and I’m still your big brother. That doesn’t change. Not ever.”

You smiled, touched by the weight in his voice. “I know. And I’m glad you haven’t changed. I mean it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” you said, sitting up a bit straighter. “But guess who left me a message?”

Lewis tilted his head. “Wait—don’t tell me. The guy from the bakery?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes! He’s been spamming me with messages, asking if I’ve ‘thought about that coffee date.’ Like sir, it’s been two weeks. Move on.”

Lewis let out a low whistle. “Persistent.”

“Pathetic,” you corrected, frowning. “He’s nice, sure, but... I don’t care about any of that right now. I don’t care about love, relationships, the whole dating game. My heart’s in my work. That’s where I am, and I don’t want distractions.”

Lewis nodded slowly, his voice calm and steady. “Well, that’s true. You’ve always known what you wanted. And if this—this life, this career, this grind—is where you desire to be, then so be it. I support you, one-hundred percent. Even if I do have to keep bringing Roscoe over just to make sure you’re eating.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, a small, grateful smile curving your lips. “Thanks, Lew.”

He rested his chin lightly on top of your head, his voice softer. “Anytime, sis. Always.”

For a while, you both just sat there. The afternoon light poured into the apartment, golden and quiet, casting long shadows on the floor. Roscoe snored gently on your lap, the soft hum of the city outside your window the only sound breaking the silence. And in that moment, your messy apartment, your overworked mind, your birthday nerves—they all faded into the background.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that evening, after Lewis had left and Roscoe had obediently followed him out the door, the flat fell into a thick, echoing silence. The kind of silence that crept in slowly—settling in the corners, winding through the fabric scraps, resting on your shoulders like a soft, invisible weight. You stood by your desk, still in your pajamas, arms crossed as you glanced at your half-finished sketch.

The light from the city glowed through the windows, soft and distant, but inside your apartment, everything felt still. Too still. It was in that quiet moment you realized just how familiar this loneliness had become. A presence you'd kept buried under ambition, folded neatly beneath the layers of your craft and pride. You told yourself you were fine. You always did.

Until the front door opened.

Your head snapped up, startled, eyes narrowing. You weren’t expecting anyone.

“George?” you asked, unsure.

And there he was, stepping inside like he owned the place—holding up a bottle of wine in one hand, an uneven grin on his face. “It’s me,” he said, voice light and teasing. “How’s my favorite little loner doing?”

You exhaled a breath through your nose, unimpressed but not truly annoyed. “Not funny.”

He smirked, closing the door behind him. “I know, I know. Carmen already gave me the lecture. Said to quit it with the nicknames and act more ‘emotionally available.’”

You hummed, folding your arms. “Are you sure you’re listening to her?”

As if on cue, Carmen stepped in behind him, her own smile softer—apologetic, even. “He’s not listening at all.”

You let out a breath of amusement, crossing the living room to greet them properly. “What are you two even doing here?”

Carmen stepped forward and handed you a small bag of your favorite snacks, the kind you only treated yourself to on bad days. “Well, you’re turning twenty-seven in less than twenty-four hours,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “We figured... why not crash your place and turn it into a proper sleepover?”

George held up the wine again with a triumphant smile. “It was my idea.”

You arched a brow. “Of course it was.”

“But I also brought ice cream,” he added.

You blinked. “Okay, fine. You’re forgiven.”

The three of you eventually settled into the living room—blankets tossed over the couch, wine glasses clinking lightly, an old movie playing in the background that none of you were actually watching. It felt easy. Comforting. Familiar in the best way.

“So,” George said eventually, lounging back on the cushions, his gaze finding yours with that boyish curiosity. “Tell me about your love life.”

You made a face, nose wrinkling. “Right... my love life.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, nudging your foot with his. “I’m serious.”

Carmen sat up, watching you closely with the kind of look only a friend could give—gentle but perceptive, as if she could already read the words you hadn’t spoken.

George leaned in a little, his expression losing its playfulness, just for a moment. “I care about you, you know that?”

The sincerity in his voice surprised you more than it should’ve. You looked at him, then at Carmen, and for the first time that day—maybe the first time in a long while—you felt it. The warmth of being seen. Not just for your work, or your ambition, or your drive to prove something to the world. But for who you were when everything else quieted down.

You nodded slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... I know. I care about you guys too.”

George leaned back, satisfied with your answer, reaching for the remote to change the movie. “Okay, enough feelings for one night. Let’s watch something where at least one person gets murdered in the first five minutes.”

Carmen groaned. “George, absolutely not. It’s her birthday, not Halloween.”

You smiled—genuine, easy, grateful—and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. Maybe you were a little lonely sometimes. Maybe you buried it deep. But tonight, you didn’t have to be. Not with them.

The wine had softened the air between the three of you, laughter coming easy now, interrupted only by the occasional crackle from the half-watched movie playing in the background. But despite the warmth of the room, your thoughts wandered. George had asked about your love life, and though you’d played it off at first, the silence that followed tugged at your honesty.

Finally, you spoke—soft, quiet, like you’d just realized the words yourself.

“My love life isn’t real.”

The room stilled, as if the wine paused in their glasses and the flickering screen forgot to move.

George turned his head toward you slowly. Carmen stopped mid-sip, her eyes searching your face.

“I don’t go out or anything,” you added with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “No dates. No dinners. I just… work. And when I’m not working, I’m recovering from working.”

George leaned in, arms propped on his knees, his voice gentler now. “Okay. Spill.”

Carmen smiled, scooting closer, her hand brushing your arm. “We’re all ears, babe.”

You sighed, tucking your legs under yourself. “It’s not like I don’t want to meet someone. I just—don’t really make space for it. I guess I’ve convinced myself it’s safer this way. Less disappointment. Less distraction.”

Carmen gave you a look filled with empathy. “You’ve been building a dream. That’s not something to feel bad about.”

George nodded. “Exactly. But you also deserve to live a little. Not just design gowns for people in love—you deserve to feel it too.”

You didn’t answer right away, but a quiet warmth pressed into your chest at their words.

Meanwhile, across Monaco...

Charles stared at his brother like he had two heads.

“A blind date?” he repeated, unimpressed.

Arthur sat on the edge of the couch, waving his phone like it held the answer to all of Charles’ problems. “Yes, Charles. A blind date. You know… when two people go out, talk, maybe smile for once?”

Charles leaned back against the kitchen counter of his immaculate flat, arms crossed, his jaw tightening. “I’m not interested.”

Arthur groaned, dramatic as ever. “You never are. Ever since Alex—”

“Don’t,” Charles warned, his voice low.

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t keep weeping over someone who walked away. You’ve been stuck in this mood for months. Monaco’s starting to feel depressing and that’s saying something.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You sleep alone, you work out alone, you barely smile. That’s not fine, that’s functioning.”

Charles looked away.

Arthur took the opportunity to press further. “Just one date. I’ll even handle the profile. Make it sound tasteful—sophisticated. Someone artsy, elegant, not clingy. Like… designer energy.”

Charles blinked. “Designer energy?”

Arthur grinned. “You know what I mean.”

Charles exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It just sounds like a bad idea. A setup. I don’t do well with setups.”

“But what if it’s different this time?” Arthur said. “What if someone actually surprises you?”

Charles didn’t answer.

Instead, he stared out the large glass window of his flat, the lights of Monaco glittering below, dancing on the water—like the world was busy moving on while he stood still.

Back in your apartment, Carmen was already scheming. You didn’t notice it at first, but she exchanged a look with George—one of those secretive, mischievous glances that meant trouble.

“So,” Carmen said, sweetly, “hypothetically... if someone were to set you up with a mystery man, how would you feel about it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hypothetically? I’d think you’re both out of your minds.”

George grinned. “But you wouldn’t not be curious... right?”

You stared at them both, the wine glass paused just inches from your lips, a skeptical brow raised. “How would you even get me on a blind date?”

George smirked, the kind of grin that only meant one thing—he’d already thought this through. He lifted his phone like it was a trophy. “Simple. There are apps for this now. Real ones. Blind-date apps. No photos required, just your words. You write a profile, someone reads it, likes what they see, and boom—mystery date locked in.”

You blinked. “You want me to go on a date with a man who doesn’t even know what I look like?”

“Exactly!” he said, like it was the most brilliant idea ever conceived. “No pressure, no pretenses. Just vibes and words.”

You turned your gaze toward Carmen, silently pleading for logic. “Should I trust this?”

She didn’t give you an immediate answer—just pursed her lips in thought, then offered a soft hum. “Monaco is full of men. But most of them are surface-level. This... could be interesting. Let yourself have a night that’s different. Even if it doesn’t end in a love story, let it be something you’ll remember. Something fun. Something just for you.”

You hesitated, playing with the hem of your pajama sleeve. The idea was terrifying, but it also sparked something—something small and flickering inside you that wanted to feel new, wanted to step outside the rhythm of sketches and solitude.

George suddenly perked up. “I would set you up with one of the drivers directly, but ya know…” He waved his hand dramatically. “Lewis and his stupid no-F1-driver rule. No teammates, no paddock crew, no friends, no flirty engineers. The Hamilton guard dog policy.”

You laughed, almost choking on your wine. “That sounds about right.”

He leaned closer. “Seriously, he’d come after me if I even let you breathe near any of them. Like Esteban, great guy.”

Your eyebrows rose with curiosity. “Esteban? He’s not even—no. That’s not even on the radar. Plus, I never met him. Best I don't. You know, I don't watch F1 really. I just usually go to support my brother. I don't know anyone but you."

George shrugged. “It’s a shame. He’s single, sweet, probably could handle your mood swings… right up your alley.”

Carmen cut in with a giggle. “Don’t listen to him. But do let yourself experience something. You’ve been hidden in this flat too long. You’re not meant to spend every night buried in fabric. Just try it.”

You let your eyes flick between them both. The room was cozy, filled with soft light, laughter, wine—and for once, you didn’t feel the pressure to be “the designer.” Just a woman. A woman being seen.

You sighed, finally leaning back with a smirk. “Alright. Fine. But I want creative control of the profile. I’m not going on a date with some crypto bro or a man who thinks wearing boat shoes counts as personality.”

George grinned. “Deal. I’ll screen the weirdos.”

“And for the record,” you added, “I don’t mind dating a man outside of F1. That world... it’s different from mine. I’m not trying to fall for someone who's already halfway married to their career.”

Carmen smiled knowingly. “That’s fair.”

You tapped your finger against the wine glass thoughtfully. “Still... it would be nice. To meet someone who sees me.”

George opened the app with a flourish. “Then let’s build your mystery profile, designer girl. Time to manifest a Monaco man who might just change your mind.”

Charles sat at the edge of the couch, phone in hand, half-focused as he lazily scrolled through the blind date profiles. Most of them felt forced—long bios stuffed with buzzwords, selfies filtered into oblivion, and a strange obsession with yacht photos. Each new one seemed more desperate to escape the app than the last.

“‘Looking for my king’... Nope,” he muttered. “‘Manifesting power couple energy’... definitely not.”

He was about to shut the app when a profile caught his eye. Simple username. No photo. Just words. It was different enough to make him pause.

“Hm... the username on this one is... something,” he murmured, holding the phone up toward Arthur without taking his eyes off the screen.

Arthur leaned in. “What’s she about?”

“Says she’s a designer. Twenty-six.” Charles scrolled a little more, skimming through the bio. “Lives in Monaco... No kids, no pets. Doesn’t go out much. Works a lot. Sounds like she keeps to herself.”

Arthur gave a small nod. “So, basically, your female twin.”

Charles gave him a dry look but didn’t deny it.

“I mean, I should give it a try, no?” he asked, brow raised as if seeking permission he didn’t want to need.

Arthur smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “You should absolutely message her. She sounds like the kind of woman who won't ask for a selfie mid-conversation. That's rare.”

Charles exhaled, eyes still on the words she’d written. There was something quiet about her tone. Something thoughtful. Not trying to sell herself—just telling the truth.

He hovered over the keyboard for a second, then finally began to type.

The glow of your phone screen illuminated your face in the dim living room as you lay curled up on the couch, Carmen and George practically glued to your sides. Every time the notification buzzed, they leaned in like co-conspirators in a heist.

“Okay, okay—he replied again,” you whispered, heart beating faster than you cared to admit.

George peered over your shoulder. “What’d he say this time?”

You read it aloud, your voice a little softer this time. “‘I’m not great at small talk, but I’m really good at listening. So, tell me what kind of cake you’d have if you were celebrating quietly, with no pressure and no expectations.’”

Carmen clutched a pillow, eyes wide. “That’s... so specific and thoughtful.”

George held up his hands triumphantly. “Alright, whoever this mystery man is, he’s good.”

You smiled to yourself, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. “What do I say back?”

“Be honest,” Carmen urged gently. “Like you were in the profile.”

So you typed:

‘Lemon cake. Something not too sweet. Something simple.’

And the conversation kept flowing. Throughout the night, text after text, word after word—easy, honest, natural. You didn’t feel the need to perform. He wasn’t trying to impress. There was comfort in that. You didn’t even realize how late it was getting until your phone buzzed again with a new message that made your breath catch.

“Would you be open to meeting? Tomorrow night maybe? I know it’s your birthday. But I’d like to be a quiet part of it.”

You sat up, blinking at the words, rereading them twice.

“This complete sweet stranger,” you said aloud, slowly, as George and Carmen leaned in again, “he wants to set our date for tomorrow night... since I told him tomorrow’s my birthday.”

Carmen squealed immediately, flailing her hands. “He remembered?!”

George pumped a fist in the air. “WE DID IT! WE GOT YOU A BLIND DATE!”

You laughed, covering your face with one hand. “This is insane.”

Carmen tugged the blanket tighter around you with a proud smile. “It’s not insane. It’s happening. And tomorrow night, you’re going on a birthday blind date—with someone who actually listens. That’s rare.”

Across town, at Charles’ flat...

Charles sat hunched on the couch, phone in hand, his own expression unreadable. Each message from you made him straighten just a little, made something unfamiliar stir in his chest.

He read your last reply—“Lemon cake. Something not too sweet.”—and smiled without realizing it.

Arthur leaned over, chin resting on Charles’ shoulder like a nosy child. “Did you ask her out yet?”

“I just did.”

Arthur read the message over his shoulder and let out a low whistle. “Smooth. Soft. Sweet. Is this your rebrand?”

Charles rolled his eyes, but his voice was quieter than usual. “She’s different.”

Arthur grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Guess we’re buying you a birthday gift for her this year.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun poured into your favorite café in Monaco, casting a soft golden glow across the terrace as the sea breeze drifted in. You stepped in, already dressed and glowing, the confidence of turning twenty-seven sitting lightly on your shoulders. Your father and Lewis were seated at your usual corner table, two steaming cups of coffee already waiting.

“Morning, birthday girl,” Lewis greeted with a warm smile as your dad leaned in to press a quick kiss to your temple.

“Morning,” you hummed, sliding into the seat across from them, taking a grateful sip from your cup. The quiet clinking of cutlery and gentle chatter filled the space around you.

“So,” your father began after a moment, “after this, you got any plans? Or is it back to the design cave?”

Before you could open your mouth, Lewis scoffed dramatically and leaned back in his chair. “We already know her answer: work, stress, repeat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully, then cleared your throat. “Actually... I have a date tonight.”

Lewis paused mid-sip, slowly lowering his coffee cup. “Really?”

You raised a brow. “Wait... you support this?”

He nodded, shrugging as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah. As long as he’s not one of my friends or anyone from F1, then we’re golden. That’s the only rule.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Relax, he's a stranger. Total blind date. I can assure you he has absolutely nothing to do with cars, engines, or pit stops. Probably doesn't even know what DRS means.”

Lewis gave you a suspicious squint. “What’s his name?”

You smirked. “Nice try. That’s staying a mystery—for now.”

Your dad chuckled, stirring his coffee. “Let her have this, Lew. She’s twenty-seven now. Not fifteen.”

Lewis raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes stayed on you. “Alright, alright. I’m just saying... no breaking the rule. You know how I feel about all the drivers. No Lando, no Carlos, no Pierre, no anyone.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Please. I already rejected Lando five times.”

Lewis snorted. “Yeah, and it took you long enough. You were this close to folding when you called him fine.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Heaven forbid a woman acknowledges a man is attractive without throwing herself into his arms.”

Lewis cringed and looked away. “Can we not talk about what makes you feel things?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Relax. I’m just saying—I’ve known George for years and never once crossed a line.”

Your father gave Lewis a pointed look. “You gotta give her a little more room, son. She’s a grown woman. And frankly, you’re not gonna be able to big brother her forever.”

Lewis leaned on the table, eyes softer now. “I know. I just worry. You deserve something real, that’s all. Not someone who’ll come and go like pit crews on a rainy Sunday.”

Your smile softened, your gaze settling on him with warmth. “That’s why I’m trying something new. Someone outside the storm. Just a guy who doesn’t know my last name or what world I come from. Just... me.”

Lewis nodded slowly. “Alright. Then I’ll trust you.”

“So… you met him through that blind date app thing?” Lewis asked, squinting at you over the rim of his coffee cup.

You nodded, your smile light and hopeful. “Yep. We use usernames, no pictures, no real names. Just... talking. Getting to know each other without all the surface stuff.”

Lewis leaned back in his seat, arms folded. “That sounds so unlike you. I can’t help but feel this wasn’t entirely your idea.”

You grinned, tucking your hair behind your ear as you took another sip. “Guilty. My favorite couple showed up last night and basically staged an intervention.”

His brow lifted. “Let me guess. George and Carmen?”

You nodded proudly. “Of course. They came in like a Hallmark movie. Carmen brought snacks. George brought wine and chaos.”

Lewis groaned. “Ah yes, his gossip wine. The one he brings specifically to talk nonsense for hours.”

You laughed. “Exactly. It worked. I wasn’t planning to go through with anything, but then I started talking to this guy and… I don’t know. He’s different.”

Lewis watched you for a moment, your expression soft and strangely lit from within. The kind of glow he hadn’t seen on you in a long time.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice quieter this time.

You met his gaze, sincere and steady. “No. But I’m open to it. And that feels... good.”

He gave you a slow, reluctant smile. “Alright. But if he turns out to be some washed-up lounge singer with a comb-over and a fake Rolex—”

“I’ll send you an SOS under the table.”

Lewis chuckled. “Deal.”

After a few warm snapshots with your brother and your father—arms wrapped around one another, laughter caught mid-frame—you hugged them both tightly, breathing in their familiar scents and warmth before saying your goodbyes.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” your dad said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Lewis ruffled your hair the way he always did, grinning. “Be safe tonight. And don’t text me if the food’s bad—I’m not coming to rescue you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thanks for the confidence, big brother.”

As you all parted ways and you made your way out onto the sunny Monaco street, the wind lightly toying with the hem of your dress, you paused in surprise.

Leaning casually against the side of a sleek black car, arms folded and sunglasses perched on his face, stood George.

“I’m on outfit duty,” he announced smoothly.

You laughed, walking toward him. “Oh? Since when?”

“Since Carmen called dibs on hair and makeup and told me I had to earn my gossip wine privileges,” he replied with a wink.

You crossed your arms, raising an amused brow. “Should I trust you with this? This is the birthday blind date outfit we’re talking about here.”

George pushed off the car and opened the passenger door for you. “You should. Trust me on this. I’m going to dress you like you walked straight out of a fashion magazine, and that man is going to fall.”

You smirked, sliding into the car. “No pressure then.”

He shut the door with a grin. “All I do is deliver.”

Charles stood near the center display in the small, charming Monaco florist shop, his eyes scanning the neatly arranged bouquets. The air was filled with the soft scent of petals and eucalyptus, sunlight filtering through the glass windows. His fingers grazed over a few stems until he paused, pointing without hesitation.

“These,” he said, voice quiet but certain.

Arthur peeked over his shoulder. “Roses?” He tilted his head, brow raised. “You sure about that?”

Charles nodded, though his expression was unreadable. “Roses are… classic. Not too much, but still thoughtful.” He glanced toward the tiny handwritten tags, inspecting the shades of pink and cream. “She said she liked things that aren’t too sweet. Simple.”

Arthur leaned against the nearby counter, arms crossed, watching his brother a little too closely. “Alright, Romeo. What’s next? Gonna serenade her too?”

Charles gave him a side glance but didn’t bite. Instead, he looked toward the small display of delicate jewelry behind the counter. A modest collection of local artisan pieces—elegant, understated, not overly flashy.

“I was thinking... maybe a necklace. Something subtle. Just… a small birthday gift.” He hesitated. “Am I moving too fast?”

Arthur shrugged, clearly torn between teasing and actually being helpful. “I mean... yes. And also no?”

Charles blinked. “Thanks. Very helpful.”

Arthur chuckled. “Look, it is her birthday. So yeah, maybe it’s a little extra for a first date, but it’s thoughtful. If she’s anything like how you’ve described her—quiet, passionate, soft but strong—I think she’ll appreciate it.”

Charles nodded slowly, almost to himself, as he stepped closer to the counter. “It’s not about impressing her. I just want her to know I’ve been listening.”

Arthur smirked. “Now that is dangerously close to you catching feelings.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We haven’t even met yet.”

“Mmhm,” Arthur hummed. “That’s how it always starts.”

Charles huffed, deciding to search for someone to wrap the bouquet for him. Arthur followed close behind. "Just saying!"

“Lorenzo will probably help you get ready,” Arthur said, eyeing the bouquet now wrapped neatly in Charles’ hands.

Charles nodded, his gaze lingering on the roses as they walked out of the shop. “I know how to dress for a date. I’m not doing this to impress anyone. I’m doing it to… get out. To breathe again.”

Arthur looked over at him, quieter now. “Yeah. I know.”

They walked in silence for a few steps, the sound of Monaco’s streets humming softly in the background. Charles' jaw tightened for a moment, and Arthur didn’t miss it.

“The truth is,” Arthur continued gently, “you needed this. A chance to meet someone new, feel something new. The last thing we need is you staying stuck in the same heartbreak loop.”

Charles didn’t reply right away. He just kept walking, the bouquet clutched in one hand, his other tucked in his pocket.

Arthur added, “She was lovely—don’t get me wrong. But people grow apart. You gave what you could. It’s okay to move on now.”

Charles stopped at the curb, eyes on the pavement for a second too long before finally glancing at his brother. “It’s not that easy.”

“I know,” Arthur said, softer this time. “But maybe tonight doesn’t have to be heavy. Maybe it can just be… a start.”

Charles exhaled slowly, nodding once. “A start.”

George clicked his tongue the moment you stepped out of the changing room, his face twisted in theatrical disapproval. “I’m sorry, no. The green throws me off. It’s giving... elegant Christmas tree.”

You let out an exhausted sigh, arms slumping at your sides. “We’ve been through ten dresses.”

He began counting off on his fingers. “The golden one was too much. We’re not dressing for a red carpet. The green—pretty, yes—but those weird embroidered flowers? No. Hot pink?” He gave you a look. “That’s go-go dancer on her fourth tequila shot and ready to black out.”

You crossed your arms. “It’s called statement color.”

“It’s called no thank you.”

You groaned as he kept going. “The yellow one—super cute, but honestly? More ‘housewife feeding chickens at dawn’ than birthday girl on a mysterious blind date.”

“Okay, ouch.”

George didn’t flinch. “I love you, but someone had to say it.”

He held out a dress, carefully retrieved from its protective garment bag like it was made of gold thread. “Now. For the love of fashion and your birthday, try on the one I specifically picked for you.”

You stared at it, narrowed your eyes, then snatched it from his hand with a huff and stormed back into the changing room.

From the other side of the curtain, your voice rang out in protest. “You are so lucky I care enough to listen to this nonsense.”

George was unfazed, casually tapping his foot. “Because you love me, and we’re best friends,” he replied smugly.

You muttered under your breath. “Yeah, like I have a choice.”

He smiled. “You absolutely do. But you still choose me.”

You paused for a beat as you adjusted the dress inside, voice quieter now. “...Maybe. Just maybe, I’ll like it.”

George leaned against the fitting room wall, folding his arms with a smirk. “Oh, darling, you’re going to love it. And so will he.”

The soft shuffle of fabric and the occasional muttered complaint were the only sounds coming from behind the fitting room curtain. George stood just outside, arms crossed, tapping his foot like a judge awaiting a final contestant.

“I swear,” you called from inside, “if this dress doesn’t work, I’m going back to the green one and we’re done.”

George smirked. “You say that now... but wait until you see yourself.”

The curtain slid open.

You stepped out.

And for a rare moment, George fell completely silent.

The off-the-shoulder black dress hugged your figure perfectly, the structured white neckline giving just enough contrast to make the look timeless. Paired with your heels and softly styled hair, it wasn’t just a dress—it was the dress. Elegant. Clean. Effortless.

George blinked, then slowly grinned. “Oh, my God.”

You turned toward the full-length mirror, your breath catching slightly. “Wow...” you whispered.

“See?” George gestured wildly, like a magician revealing his greatest trick. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get out of you! You look like you’re about to walk into a movie scene and completely destroy a man’s sense of reality.”

You smiled, a bit shy. “It’s... classy.”

“It’s everything.” George came to stand beside you. “Mysterious, elegant, confident. He won’t know what hit him.”

You looked at your reflection again—this time with a flicker of wonder in your eyes. “Yeah… maybe I’m ready.”

George raised an eyebrow in the mirror. “No, babe. You are ready.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Charles sat on the edge of his bed, eyes locked on the ticking hands of the clock on the wall. Each passing minute pulled him closer to something unknown—but for once, it didn’t feel suffocating. He was dressed neatly: a dark tailored suit, soft charcoal gray, paired with a crisp white shirt. No tie. Clean, simple. Thoughtful, like the man wearing it.

Cologne faintly lingered in the air, and his hair had been combed back with just enough effort to look effortless. His phone sat on the table, face-up, glowing softly with the last message he’d sent you:

“I’ll be the one holding the roses.”

“Just go get your girl!” Arthur called dramatically from across the flat.

Before Charles could answer, a gift bag was shoved into his hand, the roses balanced against his arm—and the front door was promptly shut behind him.

He blinked, standing alone in the hallway, bouquet in one hand and a cautious sort of hope in his chest. “Merci, Arthur,” he muttered with a shake of his head, walking toward the car.

Meanwhile, across town, you sat in the backseat of a sleek car, legs crossed, fingers absently twisting the thin chain of your bracelet. The dress fit like it was made for you, the cool evening air slipping through the cracked window and brushing against your skin like nerves made visible.

“Just so we’re clear,” you muttered, glancing toward the front seats, “I can drive myself.”

George didn’t even look back, one hand draped casually over the wheel. “Oh, we know,” he said.

Carmen turned slightly in her seat, a soft smile on her lips. “But we insist. Besides, we don’t trust this mystery man yet. One of us had to play Uber, and George demanded the aux cord.”

You chuckled, about to protest when your phone buzzed in your lap.

George glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “Who is it?”

You smiled, reading the message quietly.

Lewis: Good luck. Be yourself. And text me if you need anything. Seriously. 💙

“Lewis,” you murmured. “Just checking in. Wishing me luck. Classic big brother move.”

“Aww,” Carmen smiled warmly. “He loves you. He’s just scared of letting go.”

George snorted. “I’m scared for the guy who doesn’t realize he’s about to be sat across from you.”

You laughed lightly, tucking your phone away, but in the depths of your chest, your heart began to pick up a faster beat. Excitement. Nerves. Curiosity. The unknown.

Tonight, you’d meet the stranger who only knew your words. The man who remembered lemon cake and silence. Who wanted to be a quiet part of your birthday.

And neither of you had any idea how familiar the other already was.

After thanking George and Carmen—who each gave you their own dramatic farewell (“Don’t fall in love too fast!” from George and “Text us if he’s weird!” from Carmen)—you stepped out of the car and into the golden-lit entrance of the restaurant.

The soft hum of music and the clinking of glasses filled the luxurious rooftop air as you stepped into the restaurant, heart skipping slightly in your chest. The host gave you a polite nod after checking your name. “The other party has arrived. Right this way.”

You followed him through the elegant interior, heels clicking against marble, up the winding staircase that led to the rooftop. The scent of fresh flowers and faint citrus from the lit candles danced in the air. Monaco’s skyline shimmered around you like a velvet painting—romantic, rich, and utterly intimidating.

Your eyes darted around nervously until the host stopped beside a table for two nestled under the warm glow of hanging lights.

“Here’s your table,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”

You gave a small, polite smile and a breathy, “Thank you,” before turning toward the man sitting there.

And then everything slowed.

The stranger looked up from the menu, his posture straightening slightly when his eyes met yours. For a heartbeat, neither of you said anything.

He was handsome. Striking, even—clean-cut with soft brown hair, sharp cheekbones, and those eyes... bright and curious, the kind that made you feel like he was looking straight through your layers.

He stood politely, tucking the chair back with a gentleman’s grace. “Hi,” he said, voice low and smooth with a French accent. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but… you’re beautiful.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, caught off guard in the sweetest way. “Thank you,” you replied, shy but smiling. “You clean up well yourself.”

He chuckled softly, stepping aside to help you into your seat before returning to his own. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to recall the name. “I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you. I, uh… I don’t really do this kind of thing.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, then grinned. “But I’m glad I did.”

You let out a small breath of a laugh, glancing around the candlelit terrace. “This place is… a lot fancier than I imagined.”

“I wanted it to feel like something special,” he said, watching you with interest. “Especially since you said it’s your birthday?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it is. I didn’t expect to spend it with a stranger.”

Charles smiled warmly. “Then let’s not be strangers for long.”

And for the first time that night, the nerves started to melt away—replaced by the soft thrill of something new. Something possible.

“I brought you some birthday gifts,” Charles said gently, reaching beneath the table. From beside him, he pulled out a bouquet of soft roses and a small, elegant gift bag with a satin ribbon.

“Happy birthday.”

You blinked, visibly stunned as you slowly took them from him. “Wow… thanks. I—didn’t think you’d pull something so romantic.” A light laugh slipped from you, warm and breathless.

He laughed softly too, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried it’d be too much. Too fast.”

You shook your head, smiling more genuinely now. “No, this… this is a really nice way to celebrate. Thank you. Truly.”

You peeked into the gift bag, eyes widening further when your fingers brushed against a velvet box. Gently, you pulled it out and flipped open the lid, revealing a delicate, shimmering necklace—elegant, understated, and clearly expensive.

“Charles… this looks like it’s worth a lot,” you said quietly, your fingers resting just near the pendant. “You didn’t have to do this. For a stranger.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes soft. “I wanted to do something kind. From what I read on your profile… you seem like someone who gives a lot of herself to others. Quiet, hardworking. Like you don’t get many moments like this.”

Your smile faltered for a second—but not out of discomfort. Out of recognition. That was exactly it.

You closed the box and placed it carefully back in the gift bag, knowing deep down that you’d be wearing that necklace. Not tonight. But soon. It already meant something.

“I do stay to myself a lot,” you admitted. “I’m a fashion designer. Not the runway, celebrity kind. Not yet, at least. But I’m working on something big. For a small show. Hoping it gets my name out there.”

“That sounds incredible,” he said. “A busy woman, from what I gather.”

“Very.” You let out a small laugh. “Most days, it’s just fabric, pins, coffee, and a hundred sketches I hate the next morning.”

He smiled at the image, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “Tell me more.”

There was something so disarming about the way he listened. Like he genuinely wanted to know—not just hear.

“Well,” you continued with a slight shrug, “aside from burying myself in work, I have a wonderful dad, and a few siblings. My older brother is the one who hovers and checks in constantly—sweet, but a little overbearing at times.”

You grinned softly. “I don’t have any pets. Would love one, but time doesn’t really allow it. And no kids either—not something I’ve thought about seriously in my twenties, you know? I mean, sure, parenthood seems sweet in theory, but we’re still young. There’s so much we haven’t even seen yet.”

Charles listened, quietly mesmerized. Your voice, your ease, your honesty. There was something magnetic about it. Even as you rambled—especially as you rambled—he found himself hanging on to every word.

And before he even realized it, he was smiling for no reason at all.

“So,” he said, his tone soft and curious. “What made you try blind dating? If I’m being honest… you don’t strike me as the type to use an app either.”

You laughed gently. “Touché. My best friend and his girlfriend—they staged a whole intervention. Said I needed to get out more, live a little. I figured one night wouldn’t hurt.”

He chuckled. “Sounds familiar. My brother did the same. Said I needed to stop moping and… well, try again.”

There was a brief pause. Not awkward. Just full. Like you were both taking in the quiet revelation that, somehow, through the pressure of others and the unpredictability of timing… you ended up here.

“Guess the universe was doing us a favor,” you said softly.

Charles looked at you for a long moment, his eyes warm.

“Maybe it was.”

Dinner had stretched far longer than you'd planned. Hours melted away like butter on warm bread. The rooftop lights glowed softer now, Monaco twinkling behind you, a lull of laughter and clinking glasses surrounding the two of you like distant music.

The wine bottle sat almost empty between your glasses, and the plates were half-cleared—forks pushed aside as conversation carried on like it always belonged there.

He’d told you everything. Not all at once, but in pieces—his voice soft and slow when he spoke of his last relationship, the way it unraveled, how he tried to hold it together. You listened, not because you had to, but because it was easy. It was natural.

You shared your own past, the guys who hadn’t taken your dreams seriously, who made you feel like you were too much and never enough all at once. Somehow, he didn’t flinch at any of it. He just listened.

And somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a blind date… and started feeling like the beginning of something else entirely.

You leaned back slightly, your laughter fading into a warm smile as you looked at the nearly empty bottle of wine. “So, Charles…”

He raised an eyebrow, mirroring your smile. “Yes?”

“I think we’ve officially finished that bottle,” you mused, tapping the neck of it lightly.

He glanced at it and laughed. “We definitely have.”

“And yet…” you tilted your head slightly, teasing, “we barely even scratched the surface of our lives.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I’m a driver. That’s the easy part. You’re a fashion designer. Also easy. But you’re right... we haven’t really dug yet.”

You lifted your glass, swirling what was left. “Well, if you’re a driver…” you said casually, smirking slightly, “then you should drive me home.”

Charles grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I would love that.”

You blinked, cheeks flushing slightly. “I—I was joking.”

“I wasn’t,” he said smoothly, his gaze lingering on yours just long enough to make your stomach flutter.

You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping to your glass. “God, I don’t usually flirt like this.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low and sincere. “Then I feel lucky to be the exception.”

You looked at him then—really looked. This man you hadn’t known existed a day ago was somehow already making your heart beat differently. And while you didn’t want to fall too fast… you couldn’t deny the feeling.

“We should have just one more romantic little nightcap,” you said with a lazy smile, your voice soft, the wine making your words just a touch warmer than usual.

Charles mirrored your grin, eyes still sparkling under the soft rooftop lights. “I’ll order us one more,” he said.

But one became two. Two became three.

The line between strangers and something more blurred under the Monaco stars. Your cheeks were flushed, his eyes softer, looser with each glass. Every laugh melted into another. Every glance lingered longer than the last.

Your clutch sat untouched beside your chair, your phone buzzing silently inside with texts and calls—Carmen, George… even Lewis, probably. But none of it reached you. None of it mattered in this moment.

“You are too sweet,” you giggled, cheeks aching from how much you'd been smiling.

Charles leaned closer, voice low and laced in charm. “You make me that way.”

Somewhere in the swirl of tipsy teasing, flirty banter, and honest smiles, something real had started to bloom. Neither of you named it—but it sat there, quiet and heavy and humming between your glances.

Eventually, the check came. Charles paid with no hesitation, and you stood with your roses gently tucked under your arm, the gift bag holding your necklace swinging lightly in your grip. You walked out with him still talking—still laughing—still feeling something unfamiliar but magnetic.

The moment you reached his car, your thoughts were hazy but clear enough to know what you wanted.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and without another word, you leaned in—and kissed him.

It was warm and slow and unexpectedly perfect. He tasted like wine and something softly unfamiliar, but it settled in your chest like a secret you’d been waiting to uncover.

When you pulled back, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, so… change of plans, back to your place?”

Charles smirked, the kind that was both sweet and sinful. “I don’t see why not.”

He opened the car door for you, that same gentleman streak never breaking—no matter how drunk on the moment he was. You slid in, glancing over with a coy smile.

He slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring softly as Monaco blurred behind you.

Meanwhile, across town…

Carmen paced back and forth across your living room like she was expecting the floor to crack under her next step. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

George sat on the couch, arms crossed, trying to appear calm—but the slight twitch in his eye betrayed him. “We need to breathe. Just—breathe. She hasn’t texted, okay? So maybe she’s fine.”

Carmen threw her arms in the air. “She’s fine? She’s with a stranger, George. A stranger we convinced her to meet on an app! And if we don’t get her back in one piece, you know what’s going to happen?”

George sighed, bracing for it. “Angry Lewis?”

“Angry Lewis,” she repeated dramatically. “Do you want to see Lewis Hamilton show up at our door with that big brother energy and a whole lifetime of ‘I told you so’ in his pocket?!”

George clicked his tongue. “Fair point…”

They both stared at the door in silence.

“Call her again,” Carmen said.

“I already did—twice.”

“Then text her. And pray.”

George grabbed his phone with a groan. “This is how it ends, isn’t it? We try to be good friends, and we get taken down by a serial killer on a blind dating app.”

Carmen glared. “You don’t even know if it’s a serial killer!”

George raised a brow. “You don’t know that it’s not.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The morning sun spilled across the large bed, golden and far too bright for the subtle pounding in your head. You stirred beneath the sheets, stretching your arms and legs only to find the other side of the bed cold. Empty.

A quiet wince left your lips. Wine headache. Classic.

“God... what time is it…” you mumbled, blindly reaching for your clutch bag tossed by the nightstand. You pulled your phone free, tapped the screen—and immediately froze.

12 missed calls. 28 unread messages.

Carmen. George. Lewis. Toto?!

“Shit.”

You sat up abruptly, blankets clinging to your bare chest. Your head pulsed. Your heart thudded.

Call 1: Carmen.

She picked up on the first ring.

“You have got to be kidding me!” she half-screamed. “I thought you were dead, Y/n!”

You winced. “Okay—ow—Carmen, calm down. I’m sorry. I’m alive, okay?”

“We didn’t know that! George and I literally slept on your couch waiting for you to show up or text or anything!”

You rubbed your temple, guilt sinking in. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Where are you? We’ll come get you.”

You looked around. The room was… nice. Too nice. Expensive sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows, an ocean view that made you want to weep.

“I… think I’m at his place. My date’s.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Okay,” Carmen said slowly. “You better come home in one piece. I love you, but please call Lewis before he comes here breathing fire.”

“I will.”

She hung up before you could say more.

Call 2: Lewis.

He answered with no hello.

“Have you lost your entire mind?”

You flinched. “I’m sorry! I was out on my date, my phone was silenced. I didn’t think—”

“You never think when it comes to this stuff,” he cut in, exhaling hard. “You scared the hell out of me. I didn’t sleep.”

“I get it, Lew. I messed up.”

“I’ll tell Dad you’re okay,” he said flatly. “But I’m coming over later. You and I—we’re having a long talk.”

Click.

You groaned, tossing the phone aside and dropping flat against the bed again. “Fantastic.”

You flung the blanket off—then squeaked, immediately pulling it back up.

You were naked.

Eyes wide, cheeks heating up, you squeaked, “Oh my god. My clothes… where are my clothes? Did we—oh my god did we?”

Just then, you heard a muffled voice from the hallway. “Leo, stop—hey—come back here…”

Seconds later, Charles appeared in the doorway, following a tiny, bouncing puppy into the room. His hair was tousled, his shirt wrinkled, and the smile he gave you was soft and sleepy.

“You’re awake.”

You blushed furiously, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Where are my clothes?”

Charles ran a hand over his jaw, chuckling softly. “Last night was… really nice.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Charles. What. Happened.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Relax, mon cœur. We didn’t do anything like that. No full-on... you know.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “We made out. A lot. There was some... other stuff. But nothing more. Just… the basics.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“Oral?” you asked, voice a whisper.

He gave a guilty smile. “...Yeah.”

You fell back into the pillows, groaning into your hands. “I’m so irresponsible.”

Charles chuckled. “You were charming. And a little tipsy. I wasn’t going to push things. Trust me—I liked last night just the way it was.”

You peeked out at him, still red in the face. “You promise you didn’t, like... use me or something?”

He tilted his head with a soft smile. “Non, mon ange. I think you used me.”

You let out a tiny laugh despite yourself.

“Your dress and heels are in the laundry room,” Charles said from the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, his voice soft and low. “Shower’s all yours, mon cœur. Feel free to wear something of mine. I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.”

You let out a sigh of relief, your body still tucked beneath the sheets. “You’re dangerously perfect, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Don’t give me too much credit yet. Wait until you see my hoodie collection.”

You smiled faintly, your cheeks still slightly warm as he gave you one last reassuring glance before closing the door, giving you privacy. You peeled yourself from the bed, wrapping the blanket around you as you padded into the bathroom.

The moment you saw the large glass shower and warm steam rising from the polished tiles, your shoulders relaxed. It was exactly what you needed. Quiet. Warm. Private.

As water poured down, washing away the wine, nerves, and lingering lipstick, Charles made his way to the living room, ruffling his hair and settling onto the couch.

His phone buzzed just as he grabbed it.

Lewis Hamilton.

Charles answered casually. “Bonjour.”

“Hey, Charles,” Lewis’ familiar voice came through, cool and easy. “Just a heads up—I’ll be a bit late today. I’m heading to my sister’s place first.”

Charles leaned back on the couch, his gaze momentarily drifting to the hallway. “No worries, mate. I’ve got… a guest here anyway. Won’t be leaving until I pull myself together.”

Lewis chuckled lightly on the other end. “Alex?”

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. Definitely not Alex. I’m not going back there.”

“Fair enough,” Lewis said. “Just thought I’d check. Take care.”

“You too.”

Click.

Charles dropped his phone onto the cushion beside him, stretching an arm across the back of the couch, eyes trailing up to the ceiling. The irony hadn’t hit him yet. Not even close.

Back in the bathroom, steam curled around your shoulders as you turned off the water, wrapping yourself in the soft towel provided. You felt better—clearer—yet still utterly unaware of the name “Charles Leclerc,” still unaware of his world of speed, podiums, and red Ferrari suits.

He didn’t recognize your last name either. Not with the haze of the night before, your profile missing a photo, and the intimacy of the date distracting him from logical connections.

The truth hung above both of you like a ticking clock—neither of you hearing it yet.

You were just two people—two strangers, sweetly tangled in something brand new—too caught up in the glow of it all to realize just how complicated this was about to become.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The ride to your place was quiet, but comfortably so. Monaco rolled by outside the car window in soft golden tones, morning light catching the sparkle of the sea and rooftops. You sat with the roses delicately balanced in your lap, the velvet necklace box resting beside you like some kind of secret treasure.

“I’m still really sorry,” you said quietly, turning to look at Charles, guilt flickering behind your smile. “I didn’t mean to make everyone panic.”

Charles glanced at you briefly, eyes kind. “No worries. Truly. I had fun. I needed it—even if you don’t realize it.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “I needed it too,” you admitted, your fingers brushing over the petals of the roses.

When he pulled up in front of your flat, he shifted into park but didn’t move to open his door. Instead, he looked at you with a faint smile. “Wait. Let me have your number.”

You blinked, pleasantly surprised, and nodded. “For another date?” you asked, your tone soft, a little playful.

He leaned slightly toward you, resting an arm on the steering wheel. “Another date,” he confirmed, “and to have a very good excuse to keep in contact.”

You smiled, exchanging numbers, your fingers brushing as you passed the phone between you. “I had fun. Truly,” you said.

He gave a small nod, his voice low and warm. “Me too… Y/n.” He winked at the end, and your heart did a little somersault you tried to ignore.

You stepped out, roses in hand, clutch under your arm, and turned to wave as he drove off. For a moment, you just stood there—smiling like a fool in love… even though you’d promised yourself not to fall too fast.

You pushed open the door to your Monaco flat, and before you could even step fully inside, George was storming toward you.

“Do not hey me! I thought you DIED,” George exclaimed, immediately wrapping his arms around you like a human seatbelt.

“Oh my god—Russell, put me down!” you laughed, nearly dropping the roses. “I’m not a missing child!”

“I cannot do that,” he said dramatically, squeezing tighter. “I am clinging to life itself right now.”

Carmen stood off to the side with her arms crossed, but her eyes were soft and worried. “We were really worried. You didn’t text. You didn’t call.”

“I know, I know,” you said, finally breaking free of George’s hug. “I messed up. My phone was on silent, and the date just… kind of swept me away.”

“I told you not to trust blind dates,” Carmen huffed, but her voice betrayed relief.

“I’m fine. He was sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful. He even gave me these.” You set the roses on the table delicately, placing the necklace box beside them. “He drove me home, made sure I was okay. Like, I got very lucky.”

George leaned over the roses suspiciously. “So what’s his name, hmm? Did he lie about having a yacht or something?”

“Charles,” you said casually, walking toward your room. “Charles... something.”

George and Carmen froze. “...Charles what?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t ask for his last name. Should I have?”

George looked at Carmen. Carmen looked at George.

“Oh my god,” George whispered.

“You’re kidding,” Carmen mouthed.

You turned back, confused. “It's weird to ask for last names on first dates." you said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Carmen grinned, settling beside you on the couch with wide eyes and eager energy. “Give us all the details!”

You laughed lightly, waving a hand. “Okay, okay. Let me have a snack first—and then we’ll get cozy.”

A few minutes later, you returned to the living room with a plate of buttery croissants and a glass of sparkling water, curling up between them as if the night before hadn’t completely flipped your world upside down.

“So,” you began, “we met at this fancy rooftop restaurant. Like, chandelier-fancy. He’d already gotten a table, and there were roses waiting for me.”

George raised his brows. “Roses? Wow. Straight out the gate.”

“He gave me a necklace, too,” you said, nodding toward the box on the table.

Carmen’s eyes sparkled. “Shut up. On a first date? Who is this man—and does he have brothers?”

You laughed again. “It was really sweet. He didn’t come off pushy or weird. We just… talked. About everything. His last relationship, my work, what we both want. It didn’t feel like a date from an app. It felt like…” you paused, searching for the word.

“Like you’d known each other longer than a night,” Carmen offered, smiling gently.

You nodded. “Exactly.”

“I cannot wait to meet him someday,” she said dreamily.

“One day, you will,” you promised, biting into your croissant. “Just give him some time. I want to see how things play out. Keep it real.”

George leaned back. “Only right.”

Just then, the front door clicked open. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“You,” Lewis said, walking in with all the exhaustion of a man who hadn’t slept.

You groaned softly. “I just started telling them about the date, can I have five minutes of peace—?”

Lewis cut in, frustration simmering beneath his voice. “That doesn’t matter, Y/n. You can’t just disappear and leave your phone on silent.”

“I wasn’t disappearing,” you said, setting your glass down. “It was one date. I didn’t think I needed to check in every hour.”

“I don’t care if it was dinner or a weekend getaway,” he said firmly, stepping further in. “I’m your brother. I need to know you’re safe. You didn’t text anyone. Not me. Not Dad. Not even Toto—and that man wakes up at four in the morning worried about tire strategy and you.”

You winced, guilt tugging at your expression. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Carmen interjected gently, “She’s safe. She’s here. And the guy treated her really well.”

Lewis narrowed his gaze. “And you met him?”

“Not yet,” George said, before flashing a guilty look. “But we, uh, helped her get the date.”

"Oh great! So you guys could have set her up with a serial killer and never known." Lewis said.

"I'm okay, Lew." You assured. "I'm here and I'm okay and it won't happen again, I won't silence my phone again, so take a deep breath...and relax."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll relax. Later, I have to meet with the team at the paddock for the upcoming GP," he said.

You hum. "I have to work on some of my fashion designs, but I'd love to stop by. See you on your Ferrari team at work, and of course, to stop in and see Toto and Susie, and maybe squeeze my way to McLaren to see my two favorite boys," you stated.

George hums. "Wow, so you're going to paddock hop today? How nice," he mumbled. "It's just practice," he said as you hum. "And I'm going."

"touche"

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was just a simple practice today—nothing grand, nothing too loud. No interviews. No press chaos. Just the subtle buzz of engines and the clean Monaco breeze blowing through the paddock. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to be there, to watch your brother do what he loved. After all, you needed some air before diving back into your designs and the endless piles of fabric and sketches.

Even if… your mind was still dancing with the warmth of last night’s memories. The wine. The laughter. His kiss.

You shook it off.

You walked alongside George, his presence always calming, always familiar. He was rambling about Carmen—his usual lovestruck, slightly dramatic way of doing so—and you smiled as you listened.

"You two are like... the best couple ever," you said warmly. “And my best friends.”

He smirked. “We try our best. She mostly tolerates me.”

You both chuckled, the sound light and comfortable. The air between you was filled with that easy rhythm of close friendship—bouncing between jokes and stories, effortlessly killing time as you strolled near the edge of the paddock.

Until—

Your laughter died in your throat. Your heart skipped. Your eyes widened.

You stopped walking.

Your arm shot up and pointed before you could think.

“Him. George—him. He races?”

George followed your line of sight, eyebrows raising casually. “Yeah… that’s Charles Leclerc.”

You blinked. “He races?”

George turned to you, confusion painting his face—right up until he saw the way your expression crumbled. The way your breath caught.

“Oh,” he muttered.

Then louder. “Oh no.”

You grabbed his arm and pulled him with you, away from the walkway, ducking just behind one of the garage walls out of view of anyone passing by.

“Whoa—hey—Y/n, breathe,” he said, hands gently on your arms now. “What’s going on?”

You stared at him, practically whispering now. “George. That’s him. That’s the guy. From last night.”

His eyes blinked rapidly, doing the math. Then his mouth fell open in slow-motion horror. “Wait… wait. You went on a blind date with—Charles Leclerc?”

You nodded frantically.

He ran a hand down his face. “And Charles Leclerc is your brother’s teammate—now. After the transfer.”

You stared blankly at him. “Why didn’t I know that?! I didn’t recognize him last night—I didn’t even think!”

George looked around, as if Lewis might appear out of nowhere like a thundercloud. “Okay. So. What was Lewis’s number-one, carved-in-stone, hell-will-freeze-before-it-breaks rule?”

You swallowed hard. “…No dating F1 drivers. Or anyone in the paddock. Ever.”

George pointed a finger at you. “Exactly.”

You groaned, dragging your hand down your face. “This is a disaster. George. George. What do I do?!”

He placed both hands on your shoulders. “Okay, okay. Don’t freak out. It’s fine. Maybe he won’t recognize you.”

You looked at him like he was insane. “He kissed me, George. Twice. And I woke up in his bed.”

George blinked. “Okay yeah, you're screwed.”

“Oh, thank you, George! Just what I needed—pure panic and doom,” you hissed as you paced in a small circle behind the garage, clutching your bag and trying not to scream.

George held up a finger with dramatic flair. “Okay, listen, we can hide you.”

You gave him a flat stare. “George, you cannot hide me in a paddock. We’re literally surrounded by cameras, drivers, mechanics, and people who probably know my last three hairstyles.”

Without another word, George yanked off his hoodie and tossed it over your head. “There. Crisis averted. You’re Carmen now.”

You squawked. “I am not Carmen, I’m clearly taller—”

“Relax. I got this.” he whispered, already pulling you by the wrist around the back of the Mercedes garage like this was a military-level operation.

You had zero time to protest before you heard a familiar voice, calm and charming as ever:

“George.”

George spun around like a kid caught sneaking out. “Charles! Charles Leclerc! My man—Monaco’s shining prince,” he blurted with a tense grin.

Charles blinked at him, clearly thrown off by the greeting. “Right…”

Then his eyes flicked to you—well, to the hoodie-covered version of you—and he raised a suspicious brow. “Why are you hiding Carmen under a hoodie?”

George’s laugh was painful. “What? This?” he gestured vaguely at you, stepping in front of your body like a malfunctioning security system. “She was just—uh—complaining about the sun. Brutal sunburns, you know how women get—fragile and dramatic about, uh…melanin!”

You audibly groaned under the hoodie.

Charles tilted his head. “Carmen’s not that dramatic.”

“She is today!” George insisted, nudging you hard. “Babe, say something!”

You froze. Then in the worst, most broken Carmen impression imaginable, you muttered, “Uhm… oui… soleil… bad.”

George clapped a hand to his face.

Charles blinked slowly. “She doesn’t even speak French.”

George laughed way too hard. “No, no! That’s the new her. French Carmen! Embracing the local culture. Anyway—look at the time! Gotta go! Carmen and I have to—uh—rub aloe on each other!”

He began dragging you away, your legs barely cooperating under the weight of panic and secondhand embarrassment.

Charles stood there for a beat, brow furrowed, watching you both stumble away like two guilty middle schoolers sneaking out of class.

“…That’s not Carmen,” he muttered.

Charles turned the corner quickly, eyes narrowing as he tried to brush off the odd encounter with George. But just as he stepped forward, his shoulder bumped gently into someone else. He turned instinctively, already ready to apologize.

“Oh—je suis désolé—” He froze.

“Carmen?” he blinked hard, confusion thick in his voice.

Carmen tilted her head, mirroring his expression. “Charles? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

He stared at her. Really stared.

She wasn’t in a hoodie. She wasn’t with George. And she certainly hadn’t just called the sun ‘bad’ in broken French.

Charles took a slow step back. “Wait... if you’re here… then who—” He spun around, eyes scanning the paddock in search of the hoodie-covered mystery woman George had practically thrown into another dimension.

Carmen squinted. “What’s going on? You look rattled.”

“I think...” he muttered, brows pinched, “I think George just tried to pass someone off as you.”

Carmen’s lips parted, curious and amused. “Why would he—”

Charles’s eyes flicked back to her, then widened slightly.

“No... no way...” he breathed. “It was her. The girl from the date.”

Carmen furrowed her brow. “Wait—Y/n?”

He blinked.

“…Y/n?” he echoed slowly, like the name had just been unlocked in a memory vault.

Carmen’s eyes grew wide. “Oh God, you don’t know, do you?”

“Don’t know what?”

“She’s Lewis’s sister.”

Charles’s face dropped.

Silence.

The entire paddock suddenly felt louder. Engines in the background, chatter from the media zone, radios buzzing. But none of it reached him. Only that single, horrifying realization echoed in his mind:

He kissed Lewis Hamilton’s sister.

He almost slept with Lewis Hamilton’s sister.

“Oh no,” Charles whispered, visibly paling. “I’m going to die.”

“Charles—DO NOT TELL LEWIS!” Carmen whisper-yelled, chasing after him like a woman on a mission, her boots clicking furiously against the paddock asphalt.

“I’m not!” Charles called over his shoulder, already weaving through people. “But I have to see her—I need to talk to her!”

“CHARLES!” she groaned, practically running now. “Wait! We can make a deal! Negotiate! Mediate! Don’t go rogue!”

But Charles was gone—darting like he’d just seen a yellow flag in qualifying.

As Carmen sprinted after him, a pair of familiar red-clad legs stepped out from the Ferrari garage. Lewis had just finished a debrief, earphones dangling from his neck, a towel slung around his shoulders. He paused, watching Charles fly past, with Carmen hot on his heels.

He squinted. “...Charles?”

Then blinked as Carmen flew by. “...Carmen?”

“What in the—?”

But instead of chasing them down like a brother with questions should, Lewis just pulled his towel tighter around his neck, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, “Nope. Not my circus today.” He popped one earbud back in and resumed his casual walk like chaos wasn’t screaming right behind him.

Further down the paddock—

“You are—Charles?” Toto turned around just in time to be nearly shoulder-checked by a panicked Monegasque man in full Ferrari red.

“Sorry! Can’t stop!” Charles blurted, not even breaking stride as he zoomed past the Mercedes team principal.

Carmen followed behind, panting. “Just—let him go, I’ll sedate him later!” she called to Toto. “Oh! Hey Kimi!” she added as she flew by.

Kimi Antonelli, halfway through biting into an energy bar, slowly lifted his hand to wave. “Uh…hi?”

He looked up at Toto, who was still standing stunned.

“...Do I ask?”

Toto didn’t look away from where Charles disappeared around a corner. “Absolutely not.”

You stood near the back of the paddock with George, trying your best to act like everything was fine. He was mid-story about Carmen when your eyes suddenly locked on someone in the distance. Your stomach dropped.

“Shit…” you mumbled, grabbing George’s arm.

He looked up. “What?”

You didn’t respond right away, watching as Charles made a beeline toward you — fast, determined, and clearly not just here to say hello.

George followed your gaze, and his expression fell into place. “Ah. Okay. Yep. That’s a situation.” He straightened up, then glanced around awkwardly. “Um… I’ll grab Carmen. We’ll, uh—give you two space.” He gently guided Carmen a few steps back as she gave you a sympathetic look.

Charles didn’t wait for pleasantries. His eyes were intense, his jaw tight. “You should’ve told me.”

You blinked. “Charles—”

“No, seriously, Y/n. I told you I was a driver! you told me you were a fashion designer and nothing else!"

Your lips parted in disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”

“No! You knew exactly who I was once you saw me, and you didn’t say a word until after.” His voice was rising with frustration. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

You clenched your fists, your voice rising to meet his. “Because I can’t date Formula 1 drivers! It’s a rule — my brother’s rule. And when you said you were a driver, I didn’t think F1! You could’ve been a track-day racer or a damn Uber driver for all I knew!”

Charles stared at you, clearly not expecting that level of honesty. But he pressed further. “Still doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me. You should have. So why?”

You finally snapped.

“Because I’m tired of people only liking me for my brother!” you yelled, your voice cracking as your emotions spilled out. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? To constantly wonder if someone wants me, or if they want access to Lewis Hamilton?”

His brows softened, but you weren’t finished.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to meet people, men especially, and realize halfway through that they’re only interested because of my last name? Because of the clout? Because I’m ‘Hamilton’s sister’ and not Y/n?” You pointed to yourself, frustrated tears brimming.

“I didn’t tell you because... for once, I wanted someone to see me. Not the name. Not the family. Just me. And last night, I thought you did.”

A heavy silence fell between you.

Charles looked like he wanted to speak, but for a moment, he couldn’t. The truth of your words hit him harder than he expected, and you—standing there, angry, vulnerable, and shaking—looked like someone whose walls had been forced down after too long of holding them up.

George and Carmen stood back quietly, watching, not daring to interrupt.

Finally, Charles said softly, “I didn’t know… I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

You wiped your cheek roughly. “Yeah, well. Now you do.”

Before you could say anything else, Charles reached out and gently cupped your face in his palms. The warmth of his touch startled you, but you didn’t pull away.

“Y/n,” he whispered, holding your gaze. “Last night… it meant something. I don’t care if sneaking around his back gets us killed by Lewis himself,” he added with a small, crooked grin. “I want to see you again. Another date. Just you and me. No labels, no pressure, just... time to keep laughing like we did. It felt good to just be with someone who didn’t care about the cameras or the chaos.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding under your ribcage. His thumbs brushed your cheeks softly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you quieted.

“You’re serious?” you asked, a whisper of disbelief in your voice.

He nodded. “As long as you can keep this a secret... I’ll keep it too.”

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Okay… another date,” you said, your voice firmer now. “But this doesn’t make us a couple. I want to move slow. I don’t want this to be fast or messy or reckless.”

He smiled, dropping his hands slowly but still close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Then slow it is,” he said. “No pressure. Just... us. One step at a time.”

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Keeping your relationship with Charles a secret from Lewis was never easy. The guilt lived quietly in the corner of your heart, even when you smiled, even when Charles cupped your face and told you everything was okay. That it was worth it. That you were worth it.

And maybe he was right.

Because a week after that first chaotic paddock run-in, your second date happened — and it was nothing like the first. There was no tension. No foggy wine haze. Just you, him, and the gentle sway of the ocean as his yacht floated under the Monaco moonlight.

The sea shimmered like spilled glitter beneath the stars, and you wore a soft, silk dress he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Charles, in a white linen shirt that danced in the wind, held you gently as music played from a vintage speaker tucked in the corner of the yacht deck. Your bodies swayed in rhythm, barefoot and easy, your cheek resting against his shoulder. You had never laughed more freely. You had never danced with your eyes closed.

He kissed your forehead that night and whispered, "This feels right. Doesn’t it?"

And it did.

From then on, the dates became routine, like a secret rhythm only the two of you shared. Dinners in tucked-away corners of Monaco. Walks along the beach with Leo pulling at his leash while you both talked about everything and nothing. Movie nights where you'd end up tangled together on his couch, half-watching the screen, too busy studying the way he looked when he was relaxed.

Within a month, it wasn’t just dating. It was existing together.

There were nights you fell asleep in his bed and mornings you woke in yours with his arms wrapped around your waist. His necklace occasionally sat on your nightstand. Your lipstick showed up on his coffee mugs. Leo would climb onto your lap like he belonged there — and he did.

When work consumed you — when sketches blurred into seams and fabric — Charles always had perfect timing. He’d show up with your favorite drink, a little croissant, and kiss the top of your head. "Breathe, mon cœur," he’d whisper. “Come lie down. Just ten minutes.”

You’d argue, and every time, he’d win. You’d end up wrapped in a blanket on your couch, your sketch pad abandoned, your head on his chest as his heartbeat lulled you into the first rest you’d had in hours.

He’d clean up after himself at your place, and you did the same at his. The unspoken rhythm became: love in little things. Folding his hoodie and placing it neatly over the back of a chair. Gathering your sketch papers and placing them in piles. Wiping down his countertops. Picking up Leo’s toys. When you looked at him now, you didn’t see just a fling. You saw someone.

But the secret — the heaviness of keeping it from your brother — it lingered.

Even as the months passed, even when Charles officially asked you to be his girlfriend — sometime in the third month, over breakfast on his balcony, with orange juice in one hand and your hand in the other — you still hadn't told Lewis.

You’d stared at him, sleepy and warm in one of his Ferrari shirts, and said, “Is this you making it official?”

“It’s me trying to stop pretending I don’t already think of you that way.”

You said yes, with a smile too big for your face.

And yet... every time Lewis called, every time he asked how you were, something inside you twisted. Because he didn’t know. And he would hate it. And it was getting harder to lie.

George saw it coming before you did.

“You’re getting careless,” he said one day, eyes flicking up from his phone as you sat across from him in a little Monaco café. “He leaves your place late. You smile when his name comes up. You hum Ferrari songs.”

You laughed, but George didn’t. “I’m serious, Y/n. Be careful. You two… you’re like… in love or something.”

You looked away. You couldn’t even deny it.

Because maybe, just maybe, you were.

The snow outside blanketed the streets of Monaco in soft white, a rare sight that made everything feel quieter, softer — almost like the city itself was holding its breath. You stood by the tall window of your flat, the soft layers of your sweater pulled tight around your frame as steam curled from your untouched mug of tea on the windowsill.

Behind you, Lewis stood, also watching the falling snow. His cup of hot chocolate rested in his hands, warming his fingers. The soft instrumental music playing in the background barely filled the space between your shared silence.

"You know," he spoke, his voice calm and thoughtful, "your winter fashion show is going to do good."

You turned slightly to look at him, your face lit by the soft glow of string lights decorating the room. He offered a half-smile, nudging your shoulder. "Even if it’s just a small event."

You took in a quiet breath, eyes lingering on the flakes outside. "Actually..." you began, your voice low, "...it's not going to be a small event."

Lewis turned to you fully, his brows raising with interest. "Wait—what? You got a bigger show?"

You nodded, biting your lower lip as the smile threatened to take over your whole face. He blinked once, processing, before gently setting his mug down on the nearby table and wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug. "I'm so proud of you! I knew my little sister was capable of something amazing!" he said into your ear.

You chuckled against his shoulder, burying your face there for a moment. He was so proud, so encouraging, and your heart ached with the weight of what you weren’t saying.

Because deep down, you knew exactly how this opportunity came to you. It wasn’t luck or coincidence.

It was Charles.

You could still remember it so clearly — the way he told you over dinner one night, casually mentioning he pulled a few strings to get your portfolio into the right hands. He tried to act cool, like it wasn’t a big deal, but the moment he said “they want your work in the main showcase,” you had squealed, leapt into his lap, and tackled him back onto the couch.

He laughed so hard that Leo barked in confusion, circling around the both of you.

You’d kissed every inch of his face, hands in his hair, overwhelmed by the happiness he’d brought you. He didn’t do it to impress you. He did it because he believed in you. He told you, "They didn’t say yes because of me, they said yes because your work speaks louder than I ever could."

You had never loved someone more in that moment.

The warmth of the memory made your chest tighten. You cleared your throat and pulled slightly back from Lewis’s embrace, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Well, you know… Lewis," you started, eyes on your hands, "I actually… had some help getting it."

He tilted his head. "Was it Dad?"

You shook your head slowly, avoiding his gaze. "No… just… someone. Someone who believed in me, I guess."

He watched you for a moment, lips pursed in thought, but he didn’t press. "Well, whoever it was, I owe them a drink." He reached for his mug again. "Just tell me the date of your show, I’ll be there — front row."

You smiled. "Thanks, Lew."

But even as the snow fell gently outside, even as warmth filled the room, your mind couldn’t help but linger.

One day, you thought, he’ll know. One day I’ll have to tell him.

But today wasn’t that day.

So you could proceed to spend careless time with Lewis.

Even if guilt kept eating at you.

Two hours into the night, the apartment was warm, filled with the low hum of music and the soft crackle from the faux fireplace video on the TV. Your mug of hot tea sat empty beside Lewis’s finished hot cocoa, the lingering steam gone, but laughter still echoed between the two of you.

It was one of those rare, peaceful evenings—just you and your older brother, sharing old stories, poking fun at each other, and letting the world slow down for once.

Then your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You glanced down instinctively, lifting it as you continued laughing—but the smile faded fast as your eyes scanned the message:

“I’m on my way up.”

Your heart dropped.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You sat up a little too quickly, phone still in hand, panic tightening your chest. “Hey, Lewis!” you said, voice pitched just a little too high. “Aren’t you ready to head home?”

He looked at you with a slight frown, blinking slowly. “Hm? Not really, no. I was actually thinking I might crash here tonight.” He stretched and leaned back against the couch, completely at ease. “The couch is nice, the atmosphere’s chill, and I get to hang out with my favorite sister. Why would I leave?”

You let out a nervous laugh, nodding, then immediately regretting how frantic it sounded. “Yeah, that’s…great. Just…I mean, you don’t have to, you know? Your bed’s probably way comfier.”

He raised a brow at you. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No! Not at all!” you said quickly, your hand tightening around your phone. “I just, um… remembered I have to do some stuff tonight. Work stuff.”

Lewis squinted at you, suspicion now creeping onto his face. “At 9:30 at night?”

You froze. Your mouth opened—then closed.

Knock knock.

The knock at the door sent an immediate bolt of panic through you.

“Who’s that?” Lewis asked, leaning forward slightly.

You jumped to your feet. “I’ll get it!”

You rushed to the door and cracked it open with your body half blocking the view. Standing there in a casual black coat and a teasing smile, was Charles.

Of course he looked devastatingly handsome.

And of course he knew what was going on the moment he saw the sheer panic in your eyes.

“Lewis is still here?” he whispered.

You nodded furiously, stepping out and shutting the door gently behind you. “I thought he’d leave hours ago!”

Charles grinned. “What do you want me to do? Wait downstairs?”

“No, just…” you looked around in every direction like a spy on the run. “Give me five minutes. I’ll...make something up.”

“I can pretend to be your neighbor dropping off sugar,” he offered, amused.

“Charles.”

He smirked. “Five minutes. I’ll be just down the hall.”

You turned back toward your apartment and inhaled deeply.

Time for the Oscar-winning performance.

You stepped back into the living room with a big, fake yawn. “Wow, I think the tea’s hitting me. I’m getting so tired…”

Lewis looked at you like you were slowly losing your mind. “Okay?”

“I should probably get to bed,” you continued, too cheerily. “You sure you don’t wanna head home? You have Roscoe, who needs care! right?”

He folded his arms. “Y/N, seriously—what is going on?”

You faltered for a beat.

Then, before your mouth could betray you even more, your phone buzzed again.

Charles.

“I’m down the hall, leaning against the wall, looking very cool. No pressure 😇”

You groaned, rubbing your face.

Lewis was staring now. “Do you have a guy coming over or something?”

You choked. “Wha—what? No. I—of course not. That would be absurd. I don’t even like guys. I mean, I do, but not like tonight—I mean, not that I wouldn’t—Oh my God.”

Lewis’s eyes widened. “Y/N…”

“I have to open the door,” you said, walking away in defeat. “Please don’t freak out.”

You opened it again.

Charles leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, and greeted you with a smug, “Your sugar delivery has arrived.”

You stepped aside wordlessly and let him in.

Lewis stood from the couch. His jaw dropped. “You?!”

Charles raised both hands like a man caught red-handed. “Bonsoir.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “So… Lewis. This is Charles.”

Charles gave a half-wave. “The blind date.”

Lewis blinked between the two of you.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You stepped firmly in front of Charles, your brows knitting tightly as you faced Lewis. “Just listen,” you said, voice steady but heavy with frustration.

Lewis’s eyes burned with anger, his jaw clenched tightly. “You broke my rule! My number one rule! No F1 drivers. No one from that world!” His voice rose, filled with disbelief. “But Charles? My teammate? My friend?!” His words cut sharp through the tense air.

He took a step closer, voice shaking with barely contained rage. “And you,” he said, glaring straight at Charles, “you knew. You smiled in my face at every race. And you were with my sister the whole time.”

Lewis’s voice cracked as he looked between the two of you, the hurt evident beneath the anger. “So what? What were all those excuses you gave me to leave early? What was the truth behind them?”

Before Charles could open his mouth, Lewis’s temper snapped. He grabbed Charles by the collar, slamming him hard against the wall. The sudden force echoed in the room.

“Lewis! Stop!” you shouted, stepping forward, panic threading through your words.

Lewis’s glare didn’t waver as he spat, voice thick with betrayal, “You lied to me! You fucking lied! You kept this a secret from me.”

Charles met Lewis’s glare evenly, voice calm but firm. “You can be mad at me all you want, but I love her.”

Lewis scoffed bitterly, his eyes flashing with venom. “Yeah, like you love every woman you’ve ever been with.” His words were harsh, a cruel jab meant to sting. The room crackled with tension, the weight of years and broken trust pressing down on all of you

Lewis’s voice cracked with raw emotion, anger burning in his eyes. “My sister is not the fucking rebound to Alex! Not to any of your problems!” His grip tightened on Charles’s collar, the frustration and protectiveness colliding in his tone.

Charles met Lewis’s glare, equally fierce. “I’m not using her as a rebound. We’ve been together for months—months! I spent her birthday with her! I was her blind date! I’ve been seeing her behind your back, and look at how you’re acting right now. No wonder she didn’t want to tell you!”

Lewis’s hold became even firmer, the tension thickening the air.

You stepped between them, voice shaking but resolute. “Lewis, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

At that, Lewis finally loosened his grip, stepping back and locking eyes with you, his breath heavy and uneven. “You tell me everything! It’s trust between us—you and I! We’re best friends, siblings—we trust each other.”

You squared your shoulders, pointing a finger firmly at his chest. “We do! But you can’t keep telling me what’s allowed and what’s not allowed! You can’t control who I see.”

Lewis’s expression shifted, the anger softening just enough to reveal the deep worry beneath. You sighed, trying to bridge the divide. “You need to go home, calm down, and we’ll talk in the morning.”

He scoffed, eyes still burning. “Save it. I don’t want to talk in the morning. You lied to me. You both kept this from me. I was only looking out for you. Because I didn’t want you to get hurt like you have been before.”

You groaned, exasperated. “Lewis, don’t start this.”

“No,” he shot back, voice cracking with frustration. “I have to be honest. You didn’t tell me—you lied to my face. And all I’ve ever done was protect you—from guys who would only hurt you. I kept you safe because all you ever know is heartache. I was scared! And you lied to me.”

Charles shook his head, stepping forward calmly but firmly. “She’s fine with me. She’s been safe with me. And she’s nothing like Alex. I love Y/n for who she is.”

Lewis sneered, unable to hide his anger. “Save it. You were lying to me! Smiling in my face at every practice, every team meeting, every media day, every race. You smiled at me—what the hell were you doing behind closed doors?”

He knitted his brows tighter, voice bitter. “Playing with my sister?”

Charles rolled his eyes, unfazed by the jab. “Actually, we were doing very intimate things. In fact, on the very couch you sat on.”

Lewis lunged toward Charles, rage spilling over, but you stepped sharply between them, voice ringing out with authority.

“ENOUGH!”

The word stopped them both in their tracks. Your voice trembled but held power. “Both of you go home. Right now. Both of you. Just go.”

You could see the anger and frustration still burning in their eyes, but also the weight of your words sinking in. Neither moved for a moment, tension thick in the room, until slowly, both turned away, retreating from the battle you never wanted but now had to face.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

That night, you lay awake in bed, the silence pressing down on you like a heavy weight. One lonely night stretched into days—days filled with unanswered messages and missed calls, Charles wasn't talking to you, his name lingering in your mind like a bittersweet echo. Lewis didn’t reach out either, his absence only deepening the ache in your chest. You hated this feeling—this unbearable tug-of-war inside your heart—as if you were being forced to choose between two worlds, neither of which you wanted to lose.

You threw yourself even more into work, day after day, trying to bury everything else. George would stop by, try to reach out, but you barely responded—words caught in your throat, eyes distant. He’d make you snacks, quietly setting them down, but you never touched them. Watching you like this tore at his heart. He hated seeing his best friend so lost, so closed off. But deep down, he knew he had to do something.

Despite the cold snow falling outside, George called Charles and Lewis, insisting they meet him at the café—you loved that place. When they arrived, the tension between them was thick—staring daggers, barely a word exchanged.

George finally broke the silence. “Alright, enough of this childish nonsense,” he said firmly. Both men turned to him.

“He started it,” Charles shot back, defensive.

Lewis scoffed. “Says the fake friend and teammate who’s sleeping with my sister.”

George rolled his eyes. “No, seriously. Enough. Both of you—zip it. She’s drowning in work, pushing herself harder than ever with that winter fashion show coming up. And you two need to be there. But first, you’ve got to stop this stupid tension you’ve created.” He pointed at Lewis. “You’re her brother, not her babysitter or her dad. Of course you care, but you can’t chain her down. She’s a grown woman making choices that make her happy.”

Turning to Charles, he added, “And if you love her, you should want the same. Who cares if it’s you? It could be some reckless playboy like Lando, or some creepy old guy looking for a sugar baby. But it's you.” His voice hardened. “As her boyfriend, you should be ashamed for not answering her calls and texts. She loves you, and you love her. I’ve watched her before and after you came into her life—she smiled more, relaxed more.”

They both fell silent, the truth sinking in.

“Now,” George continued gently, “Say whatever you want from now on, but forcing her to choose between you? That’s just childish.”

Charles glanced over at Lewis, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Lewis exhaled, shoulders softening. “I’m sorry too. I’ve just seen her hurt before—badly. I guess I tried too hard to protect her… maybe more than I should have.”

Charles gave a small nod. “You’re her brother. I understand. I should’ve told you earlier. But please believe me when I say—I love her. More than you probably know. When I’m with her, I see her for everything she is. Being with her… it’s the best part of my life. I look at her and I see my future. One day, I want to marry her. So no, Lewis, I’m not going to break her heart. I know how lucky I am.”

Lewis cracked a small smile. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”

George leaned back with a satisfied hum. “Great. You two finally made up. Now I expect both of you front row at her show. And if you're not—well, don’t make me come after you. My fist has your names on it.”

That day marked a turning point for both Lewis and Charles. The tension that once stood like a wall between them had crumbled, replaced by understanding and mutual respect. They realized that your happiness mattered more than any pride or past disagreements. Now, it was you who deserved the apology—and you would get it.

The night of the fashion show arrived, wrapped in the hum of chatter and clinking glasses, the venue sparkling with elegance and wealth. The kind of crowd that made your stomach twist. Every polished face, every scrutinizing eye—it all made your nerves hum with electricity. You were scared. Anxious. Drowning in thoughts of everything that could go wrong.

This couldn’t fail. Not tonight. Not when you had poured your heart, your soul, and every waking hour into this. This was your dream. Your moment.

Backstage, you gathered the models, trying to keep your voice steady. “Alright, remember—every piece is art. Walk like you're wearing something timeless. Elegant,” you said, scanning each of their faces. “You know what you’re doing.”

Your throat was dry, your nerves transparent to anyone who looked closely enough. But even as you tried to focus, a familiar thought lingered in the back of your mind—Lewis and Charles. Would they come? Had they really listened?

Suddenly, you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Turning, you were met with your dad’s reassuring smile as he pulled you into a hug. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’ve got this.”

You let out a quiet hum, forcing a small smile. “I just… I really hope people like my designs.”

He laughed softly, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were a kid. “They’re going to love them. I know they will. How could they not?”

And just like that, a little bit of the weight lifted from your shoulders.

Your father gently handed you the microphone, offering a soft, encouraging nod. You took it with a quiet “thank you,” your heart pounding as you stepped onto the runway. Dressed in one of your own handmade designs—a stunning gown that shimmered under the lights like freshly fallen snow—you looked every bit the visionary you were. Elegant. Poised. A living introduction to the art you were about to unveil.

You took a breath, eyes scanning the sea of faces before you. Then, with a steady voice, you spoke:

“Thank you all for being here tonight. This moment means everything to me. Each of these designs you’re about to see—each stitch, each detail—was crafted with love, passion, and purpose. My Winter Wonderland collection isn’t just fashion. It’s a reflection of emotion, of creativity, of elegance that I hope will ripple not only through Monaco, but across the world.”

You paused, letting your words land.

“My name is Y/n Hamilton… and tonight, you’ll witness what elegance and royalty look like—through my eyes. Through my art.”

The room erupted in applause, camera flashes beginning to flicker. You smiled faintly, nerves still swirling, and turned to make your way backstage. As you disappeared behind the curtain, the lights dimmed to a soft, icy blue. Music swelled through the venue like a cold, enchanting breeze, and one by one, the models began to emerge—each one wearing a piece of your soul, walking the runway like royalty, like winter itself.

And just like that, your dream was coming to life.

From backstage, you peeked through the curtain, heart racing as each model stepped into the spotlight. The soft blue lighting cast a magical glow across the runway, your designs gliding down the catwalk like snowflakes—each one unique, powerful, unforgettable.

Then, out in the crowd, your eyes found them.

Charles and Lewis had arrived.

They sat beside your father in the second row—close enough to see every detail, every stitch. Lewis was dressed in a sleek black suit, no longer guarded or cold, just watching, quietly moved. And Charles… Charles looked completely taken. His eyes didn’t leave the runway, not for a second. He saw you in every piece—your mind, your hands, your heart.

Lewis leaned over to your father. “She really did this…” he murmured, a mixture of awe and pride in his voice.

Your dad smiled. “Told you she would.”

Charles sat with his hands folded, gaze locked on the next model, who wore the same silhouette you had walked out in—only in silver, encrusted with crystals that caught the light like frost on glass. He could see your soul in the fabric. The emotion in the movement. This wasn’t just a fashion show. It was your story being told in silence, and he was listening with every breath.

Backstage, your team moved with care, each model perfectly timed. You watched your vision unfold from the shadows, nerves slowly melting into pride. You didn’t know they had come—not until you saw them with your own eyes. And just like that, the ache you'd carried for days began to loosen.

You hadn’t lost them.

They were here.

And they saw you—truly saw you.

The night had finally begun to slow, the music faded, the last model had walked, and your Winter Wonderland show had come to a magical close. The adrenaline was still coursing through you, but now it was mixed with something even more powerful—pride, love, and relief.

Backstage, laughter and soft conversations filled the air, and you were suddenly pulled into a warm, emotional hug by Carmen.

"You did it," she whispered, voice thick with tears. "Y/n, that was beyond amazing."

George was right behind her, wrapping both of you in his arms before pulling back just enough to look at you. “I’ve never been more proud of you,” he said, sincerity written all over his face. “Every single second of that show—you owned it. You were powerful. You were you.”

You held the bouquet they had given you close to your chest, heart full. “You two are the best friends I could ever ask for,” you said softly, overwhelmed. “I’m so happy you were here.”

George let out a mock scoff, blinking fast to hide the shine in his eyes. “Miss Hamilton, please. I would’ve fought the snowstorm with my bare hands to be here tonight.”

Carmen smiled tearfully and took your hand. “And when George and I get married someday—you’re making my dress. No one else. It has to be you.”

You blinked, heart catching for a moment before breaking into a watery smile. “I would be honored. It'll be the most beautiful gown anyone’s ever seen. I promise.”

The three of you stood there for a moment—laughing, sniffling, holding each other—wrapped in friendship, in history, in a kind of love that few people are lucky enough to find in this life.

Then, just behind them, you saw Lewis.

He walked toward you with your dad beside him, and the look in his eyes—soft, humbled, proud—made your heart twist.

Without a word, you stepped into his arms. He held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head like he had when you were little.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “For what I did. For what I said. For not trusting you to know your own heart. I let my fear speak for me… and I hurt you.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “You were trying to protect me. You’ve always done that.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “But I can’t protect you from everything. I shouldn’t. I need to let you grow, even if that means letting you fall sometimes. And… if Charles is who you choose—then I’ll support you. I’ll accept it. Because it’s your life. Your happiness. And that’s what matters most to me.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and your voice cracked just a little. “Thank you, Lewis. That means everything to me.”

He smiled and touched your cheek gently. “I may not always get it right. But I’ll always be your big brother. And I’ll always love you.”

You hugged him again—longer this time—and for the first time in days, your heart felt whole.

In that moment, everything felt right. The people who loved you had shown up. They’d hugged you, cheered for you, and made amends. One by one, they left you with warmth in your heart and a smile on your face. But now, as the crowd thinned, the energy faded, and the cold crept in… you were alone.

You looked around, eyes scanning the space in quiet hope.

But Charles was nowhere in sight.

A wave of disappointment hit you unexpectedly. You wrapped your fur coat tighter around yourself and stepped out into the quiet night. Snow blanketed the streets like a painting—soft, serene, and cold. Winter had a way of being both harsh and breathtaking.

Then, from across the way, a voice broke through the silence.

“Hey... no need to walk home, mon ange.”

You turned, heart skipping.

There he was.

Leaning against his car, hands in his coat pockets, that soft smile on his face—the one that only appeared when he was looking at you.

“Charles…” you breathed, a smile tugging at your lips.

He walked toward you, gently wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in. His lips brushed yours in a kiss that was warm despite the cold all around you—like home.

“You were incredible tonight,” he said against your mouth. “Every design, every detail… it was all so you. Beautiful.”

You exhaled, pressing your forehead lightly to his. “Thank you.”

He took your hands in his, his voice lowering with sincerity. “And I’m sorry. For what I said to your brother. I let my frustration get the best of me. But George… well, George made sure we heard him loud and clear.”

You let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

Charles continued, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “What I’m trying to say is… I love you. I love you so much. And I hope we can move forward—together. Because you’re not a rebound. You’re the love of my life.”

Your heart clenched at his words, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

“I’m glad I went through all that heartache,” he said, voice cracking just a little. “Because it led me to you. If I hadn’t listened to my brother, if I hadn’t gone on that blind date… I never would’ve met you. And now, I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, deeper this time—full of every word you didn’t have to say. And in the middle of that snowy street, in your fur coat and heels, with Charles holding you close…

You felt more loved than ever.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

It was a beautiful morning in Monaco, the golden light spilling softly through the windows of the flat. The scent of cinnamon and rosemary drifted in from the kitchen, wrapping the home in warmth. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner, fully decorated with delicate ornaments and soft lights. Leo was curled up contentedly on the couch, watching the room with lazy interest.

You smiled warmly as you glanced into the kitchen. Charles’ mother was there, gently stirring something on the stove. “Do you need a hand?” you asked, stepping closer.

She turned to you with a kind smile. “Lewis is helping me, dear. I think I’ve got more help than I need.”

You laughed softly and looked toward the living room, where Arthur and Lorenzo stood by a half-opened box of decorations. “Arthur, Lorenzo,” you called with a grin, “could you two hang up some garland around the windows and staircase?”

“On it,” Arthur replied, and Lorenzo gave a playful salute as they got to work.

You turned to your father with a warm smile. “Where’s the star?”

He retrieved it from a small box on the side table, handing it to you carefully like it was made of glass and gold. You took it gently in your hands, then looked to Charles, who was just behind you.

“Little help?” you asked with a smile.

He chuckled, moving beside you. The two of you reached up together, carefully placing the star at the top of the tree, your hands brushing, your eyes meeting for a moment too long. A simple gesture, but filled with so much more.

You—the fashion designer, the rising name in elegance and winter collections. Lewis Hamilton’s sister, a title you wore with pride. And now… Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend. The woman who had unknowingly become the center of his world.

But in his heart, you were more than that.

Much more.

Tucked away in a drawer in the bedroom was a small velvet box—an engagement ring, hidden safely, waiting for the right moment. He hadn’t told anyone. Not yet. But he knew. He knew what he wanted. And it was you.

In this moment, everything felt exactly as it should. Lewis was in the kitchen, laughing with Charles’ mom as they worked together on breakfast. Your dad was tying garland around the banister with Arthur and Lorenzo, full of smiles and quiet joy. And just as George and Carmen stepped through the door, arms full of drinks and cheer, the room filled with even more light.

Every piece of your heart was here.

And every piece of his.

In a warm Monaco flat, surrounded by love, family, and future promises, you couldn't have been happier.

[veneralice]

art credit to @Qianbenshan on X ! all credit to the artist!

divider credit to @cafekitsune ! all credit to the original creator of the divider!

the ocean’s call / rafayel (m.)

rafayel just thought it would be funny to lead the fisher’s daughter astray by crowning her in water and blood - he’s killed so many of rafayel’s brethren, after all. if only he had known how hard it is to resist the desire of something you cannot have. (14.7k words)

content/content warnings: reader as the daughter of a fisher who hunts mermaids for their caviar (yum), reader and father’s relationship is not physically abusive but perhaps emotionally idk how to properly describe but i don’t want to leave it untagged, reader probably has some daddy issues (and i don’t mean that in the mocking way but in a the-author-has-daddy-issues-and-this-shit-is-not-funny-or-sexy kind of way), some body-horror detailing caviar harvesting, stealing star wars names for my background characters because i just finished andor and i’m not good at naming stuff, oral sex (male receiving), body worship (fem. receiving), switch!rafayel who seems submissive at first but in reality is just a crybaby dom, animalistic behavior (rafayel’s shark ass bites reader), some flesh-eating thoughts on rafayel’s behalf because you give him cuteness aggression, no actual cannibalism (wouldn’t that be funny) (i love yellowjackets), some overstimulation (both receiving) if you squint, idk . Idk i just kinda went crazy over this . who even wrote this

You were nine when your father took the joy out of the sea for you.

Perhaps you should start this off differently. You should remember the way it was a perfect summer’s day, and you had just finished your very first day of tutelage under the shrine maiden in Whalefall City. Your mother, whose rejection of that idea had been whittled down like a wooden arrow for the entire spring, had finally relented and allowed you to pursue a shrine maiden’s education. One day, it would be her daughter calling her to prayer and not the sneer-faced woman who currently held the title of ‘seasinger’. It wasn’t because your household was necessarily non-religious, or averse to the faith practiced in the city.

It’s just that your father spits on the holy city’s faith by partaking in the hunt of mermaids, just for sport, just for fun, just because he can.

Before that magical summer, you had never once been able to affix a picture to that. You knew your father was a talented fisher who was able to draw out even the most difficult of oceanic bounties, and he always made sure your family was fed. But you were a daughter, you see, a fact your father always had secretly mourned no matter how much it hurt your mother (“How I have groveled and suffered to deliver you to this earth!”), and thus you had never been taken with on the boat to hunt the mermaids littering the shores of Whalefall City.

You’ve seen them. It’s impossible not to. They dive in elegant curves, as whorling as the waves, a star-speckled shadow across the water before they disappear in its depth. The colors of the rainbow, the shimmer of the night-sky in their tails. More myth than real life. More dream than reality. Yet still here, sharing these waters with the citizens of the city. Lurking. Hiding. Surviving.

As per your own tradition, you bend down at the curve of the cliffpath you always took towards the sea and scoop up the wild-growing oceanvales. This was something you never once had told anyone about, and it was a daily routine you never neglected, feeling as though the day would remain incomplete if you didn't. This was not part of the religious teachings one received in the halls of the Dolphin's Hall, but it was a part of you, just as the ocean was. In the end, everything returns to salt. You throw the oceansvale into the waves and watch as the petals dissolve above the water's surface, as if sending a paper lantern off to carry your wishes.

In that moment, on the edge of you casting one last look at the horizon and in the turn of your heel to begin the climb back home, a blue-haired, child-like head bobs above the waves. You almost miss it, absentminded as you are, but you do see it: the small hand, barely differing to your own human one, furling around the petals and taking them with it as both hand and mermaid disappear. It makes you smile, almost making it worth it; as if this routine had finally been acknowledged for what it was. You wondered if mermaids and humans could be friends.

You couldn't have known how decisively crushing your father's answer would be.

The door is already open when you come home. An ominous sign, a warning for yet to come. The door was never left open, especially not on days where your father is supposed to take to the sea so he can partake in his favorite illegal dealing. There's no specific law condemning the prizing of roe out of a mermaid's womb, but it isn't looked upon with favor, either. The scriptures had always foretold of a deep unity between earth and sea, between moving plates and shaking waves, between mineral and salt. To turn your back on the ocean's creatures was to turn your back on the seasinger's preachings. That does not erase the hunger for their caviar, though, and the black market flourishes. And as long as the black market for caviar flourishes, your father refuses to cut into his own pockets, especially now, when the taxes in the city become more unforgiving and unforgiving with the preparations for the festival that is to be celebrated in just a moon's turn.

Your father is standing just beyond the door, in the dimly-lit hallway leading to the comfort of your mother's kitchen. His face is suffused with blood, red with anger, a fact that makes you duck your head in alarm, but is in vain. As soon as he sees you, your father's hand grips your frail shoulder and turns you toward him, his face the shadowed grimace of a man annoyed. "Did I not tell you to not go near that cliff time and time again?" he chastizes. For the moment, he holds himself back; your mother has drawn herself up in preparation of your defense, and her face mirrors the storm clouds you perceived in your father's grimace. But you can feel the need for him to shout rise steadily, like a tsunami beginning to swallow you whole. You lower your gaze to the ground, not knowing what to say. When you don't answer, your father finally shakes you and barks out, "Speak, girl! If it hadn't been for old Luthen pointing you out to me, I would have never found out about this, and then we'd be fishing out your bones out of that damned cove instead of a good piece of salmon for dinner!"

"Oh, leave it!" Your mother's hands shake off your father's threatening grip, and you allow yourself to breathe again. At your mother's chest, the world is safe. There are no scary men or scary bed-time stories about the unruly ocean. Instead, the scent of cinnamon and warm wood wraps you in its’ embrace, and you hide your face in the crook of your mother’s arm as she glares at your father. “She’s gonna be a seasinger, this girl is, and I won’t have you interfering with it. We all agreed to listen to her wishes. She’s not gonna be a fisher like you, Galen!”

“Well, I sure hope she won’t, because she does not heed a single warning I’ve ever taught her about it! Those mermaids don’t exactly gallop into my nets of their own free will, they’re dangerous!”

“You’ve made your point, now shove off.” Your mother glides her hand over the curve of your head. Protective, caring. Her presence is the calming lighthouse in the stormy seas, guiding you home, and although your father is still enraged, you believe the worst to be over. You are wrapped up in a childhood kingdom that is still entranced with the unknown, the beckoning of the deep, the ocean’s call. No one has taught you how to drown yet.

Not yet. But someone will, now.

Your father, your only father. You remember him tying knots in all ur robes, the way he made you laugh when swinging you up into the skies, up, up, and beyond. His fingers digging into the sides of your tummy to tickle the giggles out of you, claiming the sound was so joyous that all on earth and in the sea should rejoice in it. But you also remember the way his fingers dug into the soft of your flesh, yelling at your fingers bitten down to the quick, belittling you for your fear. The sneer on his face when he couldn’t fathom where your stupidity came from. The stormy eyes. This was the man who had never been taught better on how to love his family, and he won’t change for you, not for your mother or anyone else.

So when he encircles your wrist with his manacle-like fingers, you already know you’d been hoping for a reprieve and now the guillotine came swinging down to behead you. Your mother’s startled voice speaks up, but you cannot even begin to decipher the words, because your father is already shouting, “I don’t want to hear it, not from you, not when it’s your fault she’s turned out this soft and naive! If she wants to be a seasinger so badly, I’ll teach her what it means to sing into the sea!”

Her panicked voice is swallowed by the wind as your father begins to tug you down the pebbled path winding down from your house into the city, but you quickly turn off-path as your father begins to steer you towards the ocean. The salt is in your eyes and in your mouth, and you cannot be sure if the sharpness on your tongue is the rain, your tears or the taste of pure fear. As you angle up your head to look at the house one last time, your mother stands in the door, looking incredibly forlorn. You understand that look very well: that although your father is an incredibly hotheaded, temperamental man, the fact still remains that his little sport paints a target on the fishers’ backs.

It is time to stop romanticizing the mermaids now.

It’s the only thing you can think of as they claw the mermaid to ship. The words repeat over and over in your head, like the sharp stones thrown against the waves as the soft water makes them yield. They become round and pliant, your thoughts, running together in a string as you stare at the sight and try not to look. You don’t want to see. You don’t want to see. But they make you: Old Luthen (you’d spit on the name if you could) has his hands settled on your shoulders, keeping you turned towards the sight of your father and his shipmates heaving the gods’ dearest creation on deck. You try to see through the face, make yourself not acknowledge it, as if it could help if you pretend not to take note of her face. But she looks back at you, straight on. Her pearlescent eyes zero in on the way old Luthen has his fingers carved into your shoulders, the way he could crush and grind you down like brittle bones if you resist. And she understands: you are as trapped as she is. It is a terrible thing, this understanding that passes between the two of you, and you wish it hadn’t happened, wish she would have growled and screamed at you as she did at her captors.

The understanding flees her eyes pretty quickly when they begin to carve her out like a pig on a spit.

It’s terrible. The fear on your tongue turns into bile, and then you find yourself swallowing back vomit, not trusting yourself to throw up when your father was still intent on punishing you. The knife glides into the soft-scaled tail way too easily, giving way to a glittering, human-like nightmare. You’ve seen the way clams guard their precious pearls, the almost pretty membrane surrounding them to keep them safe. The translucency of it made it a beautiful wonder to behold, but there’s nothing beautiful about this, not when they’re clawing at the mermaid’s insides as if they were the bothersome strings of a spider’s web. The mermaid thrashes and screams, and then the bloodcurdling noise coming out of her mouth is unrecognizable, because they begin to serrate at the edges of her wound to drive into the hard scales surrounding her womb. To get everything, y’know, there’s people paying a pretty penny for their organs. S’pposed to have miracle healing properties. You swallow and swallow and swallow, but when they begin to tear at the flesh that was supposed to keep her roe safe, and the guts begin to speckle your feet, you find your way out of Luthen’s prison-hold and throw up right over the side of the ship. You can still hear her sobs, despite the sound of Luthen’s laughter - can’t stomach the fisher’s life, can she, your daughter? - and more deafeningly so, you can hear how loud the silence is in your ears when she finally quietens down, when she returns to the sea, the only burial the men give her. One last time, you’re looking at her as she bobs in the waves, her helpless arms streaked with wounds she suffered as she strained against the nets and knives. You think of those arms, and her ocean eyes, the way they had looked like a nightmare come true and yet the gaze they contained had been softer than any look your father had ever given you. Maternal, almost.

You close your eyes and think of your own mother. You guard that image of her, imprint it on the back of your eyes as your father settles his hand on the top of your head. Wanting to slip back into the role of the nurturing, caring father. Your fists clench and unclench at your sides. “It’s not a pretty thing, girl,” he says, and it’s supposed to sound soothing. Instead, it feels like he’s stabbing your ears with the same knife he used to gut her womb with. “They know what we’re capable of. They like us just as little as we like them. Your songs will help you nothing. It changes nothing.”

But something had changed. Irrevocably, unrepairingly, it had changed. As they paddle you back to the shore, all you can think about is the fact that this mermaid, this stranger, had viewed you more kindly than your own father had. And you carry that look with you as you grow into a woman, as unacknowledged and resented as the young daughter you had been.

From his hidden viewpoint, Rafayel can only glimpse the edges of your skirt. It’s a silver, diaphanous material, hugging the back of your legs like a seastar clings to the rocks. Expensive. Noteworthy. The garb the students of the shrine’s faith don as they perform their traditions, as if they don’t smile at the sea’s creations with one corner of their mouth and spit with the other. Disrespectful, your faith is, as disrespectful as your father’s nets and his arrogance as he takes to the sea. Rafayel’s sea. “Father, you forgot to take your hooks with you again,” your voice then rings out, freeing him from his hateful looks. It sounds too melodious. It should be as scratchy, as bothersome, as vile as humanity’s existence. But he is Lemurian at heart, and he cannot help himself from appreciating your lovely voice. A true seasinger, he begrudgingly thinks, but then he hastily corrects himself. A seasinger with the talent for it, but a liar nonetheless. Humanity can only deceive. “You should at least maintain the illusion that you’re hunting for something … legal. They’ve been cracking down on the black market’s dealings for a while now.”

“Only makes my prizes more precious, girl,” comes your father’s dry retort. He’s never once called you by your name in the entire time that Rafayel has begun to trail you, following your traces around town. He hears the gentle splash of your feet hitting the water, feels his senses prickle as he becomes aware of the way your body braves the spitting sea. “Just means I’ll get a better fetch for this stuff because of how rare it is. Alright, hand it over, before you catch a cold. Stupid attire you’ve got on there barely even protects you from the wind.”

“The sea warms me, father.”

“Pah!” The mockery comes easy to your father, he, whose entire business relies on his mockery of the Lemurian species. He can’t tell whether you’ve handed the bucket to your father, but he can tell when you retreat, the way your toes send up sandstorms all along the beach as you wade back to shore. “Spare me. If I wanted a sermon, I’d be sitting next to your mother in that overstuffed hall of yours. And I’ve told you countless times to avoid this cove!”

You ignore the latter part of his sentence. “The Dolphin’s Hall would have to be hit with a meteorite to ever move you to its sanctuary, father.”

“Ha! Haha!” His laughter seems biting, then becomes less striking as your father begins to paddle away. It creaks, heavy with his gear; the little rowing boat is just a distraction from the heavy vessel way out in the ocean his friends are waiting for him on. “It hasn’t taken your humor, at least. Alright, get back now. Go on!” He has to shout as the distance grows. “Gonna catch a cold, you will! And kiss your mother from me!”

The murmured answer you give him is lost on both your father and Rafayel, but it doesn’t sound very assenting. What isn’t lost on Rafayel is the realization that your father is the worst person in the world, but you are his favorite daughter, and that knowledge drags you down like an anchor rapidly descending. Keeping you in one places, weighing you down. Your footsteps become heavy as you walk up the beach, not as graceful as the way you had carried yourself in the sea. As he begins to follow you upstream, following the ocean’s arms deeper into the woods which border your village, he can still hear you angrily muttering to yourself.

He doesn’t know what to make of that. When he had suggested to his court that he’d revenge himself on the fisher and his entourage, his advisors had only given him a pained smile. Most of the elders still cling to the memory where their devotees on land would outstretch their hands in a blessed union, where their friendship made the moon wax and wane with happiness. They shake their heads in sadness with every murdered mermaid, as if that would fix anything. And yet, there are also those with a mind as murderous as his, still cautioning him, she’s not her father. If we take what is precious to them just because we can, what makes us better than them?

Morality. Rafayel scoffs to himself, sounding as resigned as you did in your trudge upward. As if that could help with anything. Had your father thought of morality when he had killed sweet Lyra right before her wedding night? Had he thought of morality when he desecrated her corpse for a handful of eggs, which could have been Rafayel’s nieces and nephews to dote on?

The ocean merges into a river he refuses to swim in, so Rafayel halts at the edge of the water to watch your slight frame disappear into the city. He doesn’t like to leave behind his tail in favor of awkward, human legs, but if he wants to keep an eye on you, he will need to. He’s getting pretty good at this, actually: Looking at you. Memorizing the way your lips curve into a smile, the shark teeth glint inside the grin you sport for when something makes you laugh. The way your light and deft fingers can tie the most powerful of sailor knots. The way your gentle hands hold a knife in the most reverent manner, as if this was an honor entrusted to you, not in the uncouth way your father points it at precious life.

You are not like him, uncomfortably so. It rankles Rafayel to see how much you are trying to escape your father’s taint.

The more he watches, the more he sees that taint poisoning you. You are a river current, slowing, slowing under the poison the human world dumps into you. It eats away at you, the way the rust claims the metal it swallows before it destroys the metal whole. The way you lower your head like a supplicant, shameful of the tales your fellow shrine maidens carry when your father sports another ‘treasure’ on the market. The way you paint on a smile when necessary, because you do not have the strength to face the naked truth. Your careful fingers, always touching in devotion. Moving to prayer. Guiding along to the sea’s chants. Hands of peace, not of war.

Of course, that only makes you an even more delicious offering. Even the gods know an innocent life is more precious than the forced sacrifice of a man already doomed for punishment.

As the sun sets on Whalefall City, people begin to flood the Dolphin’s Hall with eager chatter. Rafayel melts back into the shadows of the impressive dome, becomes one with the many murals depicting the ocean’s history. The hall itself is decorated in such an ornate manner that it makes Rafayel question whose devotion had turned into flesh here, bearing fruit to a worship so true that even Rafayel doesn’t dare think of blasphemy. Perhaps there was a time where humanity hadn’t been an accursed thing for him to ponder over. A long time ago, when words and actions still had meaning.

But then is not now. And now, everything has changed.

He watches as that change warps you, the shadow that passes over your face taking on the shape of his long lost Lyra. When you look up again to lead the group into prayer, your eyes have steeled over - as if through the entire room full of people, his thoughts have reached you. They hang above you like the clouds gathering before a storm as you begin the sermon, your voice crystal-clear, never wavering. Whatever doubts your father has stirred in your heart, they do not find their way here.

The last bell of prayer rings out at the same time as you bow to the masses. In acknowledgement, they murmur back their only line in the script - may the moon guide you through the storm - and then turn, flooding the exit like over-eager sardines squirming inside a can. Rafayel joins the stream of people, casting one last look back at you, but you’ve already risen again and turned your back on him. Your connection is broken now, a fact that Rafayel is secretly relieved, then aggrieved about.

Why does that matter to him, anyways?

On a full-moon night, Rafayel decides to cut you loose before you can confuse him further.

He’s been anticipating this for days now, anxiously looking up into the sky every time his head broke through the waves. As a seasinger, you are required to take part in monthly ablutions under the light of the full moon, returning to her domain of power before the wax and wane pulls at the seas. You’re supposed to take the maiden in training with you, but over the past few months, you’ve rejected her every time, gently but sternly relegating her to other tasks to be completed inside the Dolphin’s Hall. You want to be alone with your shame, alone with the fact that you seem to speak to the moon like she’s your only friend.

You’re not aware of the fact that Rafayel has been quietly listening on, every full moon night. As a Lemurian, he does not partake in a faith that revels in the worship of the sea. And yet, here he sat come every full moon, hiding himself in the rivers converging into the shallow pool in which you submerge yourself. He cannot keep hanging on to your every word. If he wants to revenge himself on the old fisherman, he has to do it now, before his too-humanoid-heart foils his plans and spares you. He thinks of Lyra and her kindly face, knowing she’d disapprove, but he makes himself go through the motions anyways.

He hadn’t been prepared for your reaction.

You don’t divest yourself of your clothes when you enter the pool, but Rafayel doesn’t have to imagine much to paint a picture of what is beneath, anyways. The satin hugs the shape of your body like a fervent lover, beginning to pool around you as you accept the water’s embrace. Lower and lower you sink, before you dive into the water to be fully submerged and rise again. He comes to a halt just a few feet away from you, on the periphery of your gaze. You do not see him yet. But he sees you. He sees the way the water falls in rivulets from your luminous lashes as they frame your clear eyes, sees the way the moonlight drinks in your irises. There’s a jealousy he cannot pinpoint inside his chest as the water begins to tear down your cheeks, framing your face so gently. You shudder slightly when the cold begins to settle in your bones, and your hands come to cover your exposed arms. As Rafayel realizes that he should not feel so enticed by the sight of a mere mortal being and his heart begins to tighten, you finally turn your face and realize that you aren’t alone here.

For a very long, heart-stoppingly awkward moment, no one says anything.

Rafayel stiffens up, waiting for your scream. He has planned this carefully, and he knows there is no way any help will reach you here, not when you’re in his domain. The moon may peer her gaze over these waters, but the water is his dominion, his kingdom. You are trapped inside the palm of his hand, and he is readying himself to swallow you whole.

But you don’t scream.

Your breath comes more shallowly, speeding as your lungs rush to fill air. He idly wonders how that feels like, the way the lungs balloon inside that easily broken chest. Despite all this, despite the circumstances, despite the fact that you are quite aware what the sight of a mermaid might mean to you, your eyes do not fill with fear. So Rafayel doesn’t move, either. He watches you and the way your chest constricts, listens how your breath stutters. And then you finally speak. “Is it you?” you whisper. “Did you hear my prayers?”

The magic of the moment is broken then, and Rafayel audibly breathes out. He almost breaks out into mocking laughter, - me, fulfilling your prayers? - but he stops himself short, not intending to waste the opportunity. If you would come willingly to meet your fate, then that would be even better. “Your prayers?” he repeats, and then, although he couldn’t make his disbelief clearer, he says, “Do you really think a being like me would bother to listen to any of your prayers? After all your kind has done to us?”

You take in his words with an austere expression. “No, I suppose not,” you murmur out, biting down on that full lower lip. No, don’t think about biting that lip for her. Don’t think about it. He chases away his own thoughts and instead begins to wonder why you’re not scared yet. Are you aware that there is nothing you can do to change this fate? “But one can hope. I couldn’t ever call myself a seasinger if I didn’t still have faith that the earth and the salt could reconcile again.”

“And whose fault is it that a reconciliation seems to be so impossible?”

You blink at him, fresh rivulets of water carding through those lashes like tears. You look like you’re crying, even though Rafayel knows you are not. “Do not take me for a hypocrite,” you tell him, sounding entirely too earnest. “I am quite aware of whose fault it is. We humans bear the sins of our fathers, after all.”

You sound bitter.

She’s not her father. If we take what is precious to them just because we can, what makes us better than them?

Rafayel hums at that. It doesn’t matter; it doesn’t change anything. He’ll kill you swiftly if he has to, give you a kind death. It’s better than anything your father’s crewmates have ever given to any mermaid they’ve stumbled upon. You won’t suffer, that he promises you, but he’s not going back on his word, not for anything. So he makes himself move closer. You still don’t scream for help as he approaches you, just muster him warily, like you’ve encountered a familiar face on the street yet cannot remember where that familiarity comes from. “And if I was your friend?” he asks, challenging your logic. “Then what? Would all be forgiven, and we’d dance in a circle throwing flowers?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

You stretch out a hand.

He should spit on it. If anything, he should claw at that hand like a man drowning and pull you into the depths. Your father does not deserve to cradle your corpse and reminisce about the day he’s held you for the first time. He deserves to suffer beyond all measure, and Rafayel intends to see to that. He schools his features into polite neutrality before he readies himself for the killing strike.

Rafayel draws in a shuddering breath. And then, like the liar he is, he takes your hand.

It is as soft as he had imagined. Too human, too weak, too frail. Every bone and sinew feels like it will give with just a squeeze, broken beyond repair. It feels like a betrayal.

He can barely make himself think a proper thought when you use the opportunity to step closer to him. He can smell you now, that distinct scent of myrrh and burnt offerings that clings to your skin. This is the scent he’s been using to track you for months. Below the too-thin garb of your seasinger attire, he can see the way your precious collarbones lift and sink in quick succession, your breath coming entirely too fast now. You’re panicking. You are deathly afraid of him. And yet you ignore that fear to squeeze his hand, as if this was just another interaction in the Dolphin’s Hall to you. In your eyes, he finds that steady faith that holds your spine rigidly straight, the look you can never give your father because of how you defer to him. “You’re much taller than I thought,” you tell him, your voice shaky. Then you give him a tentative smile. The light of your hope is reflected in that expression, and it hurts to realize that he will be responsible for diminishing that forever.

It’s okay, he tells himself. I’ll just grow closer to her so she’ll trust me, and then, when I’ve got her wrapped around my finger, I’ll kill her in front of her father’s eyes. “You look too small for a human, so I’m not certain you’re equipped to be delivering these kinds of judgements on appearances,” is all he says in response.

“Well, that is a valid observation.” You haven’t let go of his hand yet. Rafayel makes no move to free himself, either. You are locked into this situation, moved by something neither of you can understand. You let your gaze roam over the entirety of his face, the way it lingers on the sharp edges of his ears, the scales rippling down his throat. He certainly hopes you don’t see the way he squirms beneath that gaze. “But you’re my friend now, so you’ll forgive me for my deadly honesty. I fear that is just part of who I am, so you’re going to have to live with it.”

“Is that how one becomes a friend? This quickly?”

“Oh, certainly. You’ve been holding my hand for quite some time now. No,” you rush to say as he attempts to disentangle himself, fingers flashing to grip his arm. His first instinct is to strike out, to defend himself from humanity’s danger. He wrestles that instinct down until it becomes nil. He is bending at the edges, unraveling like threat inside your skilled hands. You guide him back towards you and intertwine your fingers. Your seasinger voice lulls him into a sense of security that is going to get him killed someday. She’s already bewitching you far too much for this plan to work, his inner voice cautions. The sound is growing increasingly frantic, every thought stumbling after the other until it turns into a senseless avalanche. Kill her now, before she undoes us all. Kill her now. “Will you let me prove that our friendship can work?”

No, his inner voice shouts. She’s your enemy’s daughter. SHE is your enemy. KILL HER NOW.

The warmth of your hand melts into his every bone. Sinking in like poison. “I suppose I have no choice,” he tells you, sealing his fate.

Rafayel begins to realize how fucked he is.

He was already quite aware of his awful disposition before he ever approached you, the way your mortal face charmed him the way a snake ensnares its victims. Too pretty for a human, a trap laid bare. He feels that very trap biting into his skin every time you smile at him. It draws blood every time your touch brushes him. As ridiculous as it sounded, he feels himself exploding from a second puberty, your every notion setting fire to his blood.

He struggles to maintain his murder fantasies. It’s a little bit difficult to focus on when all his dreams plague him with the image of you.

Today, you’ve asked him to accompany him to the hidden cove that he’s watched you frequent when he was still trailing you. It’s a beautiful location, the sandbank curving to accommodate the ocean’s kisses as it laps at the earth. Almost absentmindedly, your bare feet come to a halt every few meters to gather up a bundle of oceansvale, a flower you’re particularly fond of and have been ridiculed with by him. Idiot human, he had said, as if your obsession with the ocean wasn’t big enough already. You’re a seasinger, for crying out loud. Aren’t you religious enough without an obsession with the only flower that blooms near these waters?

You’d only looked at him with a steady, self-satisfied look. Are you jealous, per chance?

Yes. As if. Like he’d care what you’re obsessed with and what not. Anyways, mermaids don’t fall in love with humans. They kill them. By luring them to the sea, to be exact, so you’re halfway to the gallows already, so who’s the idiot now?

“What’s all this, then?” Rafayel wildly gesticulates around him - at the sweeping cliffs, the sand-carrying wind, the beautiful beach. The atmosphere is way more serene than he is, a calm and quiet getaway. The perfect hiding location for a forlorn daughter. “I hate using my human legs. If you were going to take me to the ocean anyways, why torture me before you do it?”

“I very much appreciate you using your human legs, Rafayel. But I am afraid the hike up to the mountain and down to this place is the point of the trip.” You give him a lopsided smile, the kind that makes him dizzy with emotions. Sickening. He clenches a hand inside the pocket of the jacket you lent him. “You know, I’m a little disappointed you don’t recognize the place. This is where I first met you. I remembered you straight away, yet you were ignorant.”

He waves away the words. “I’m a Lemurian, after all. Time passes much more differently for us than it does for your kind. What does an encounter like this mean in the grand scheme of things? ‘Tis a single star in the universe we traverse.”

The words make you frown. In fact, the frown disfigures your face entirely, your nose scrunching and your lips twitching together in an expression of dejectedness. He almost eats his words, almost hurries to tell you that of course he remembers, that he couldn’t forget the tiny human who bothered to throw the ocean flowers, even though its inhabitants were humanity’s enemies, but then you speak up again and the matter becomes irrelevant. “Then I ought to be thankful this star turned out to be brighter than it was. I’m quite thankful we got to meet again. I’ve always wanted a chance to meet a mermaid, to fight back against this enmity between our species.”

“Quite the conciliator, you are.” Rafayel follows you down unto the beach. Your feet trace a path into the sand which he follows dutifully, making sure to cover your tracks in case your father still admonishes you for coming here. “Is that what you meant when you saw me for the first time? ‘Did you hear my prayers’?”

“Yes. My mother’s always mocked me for that too, you know. She’s the only one who listens to me about this stuff, and even though she loves me a lot, she’s not above teasing me. I guess it’s kind of an inside joke in my family.”

Rafayel takes note of the way your eyes steel over. He knows you long enough now to recognize that stance. If you were a soldier, this would be the position you’d move into if you had to defend yourself against the thoughts about your father. Even when he is not present, he haunts your wellbeing. Even when it’s your mother you think about, his phantom always lurks right behind. “Your father isn’t too fond of the ocean?” he asks. The lie on his tongue tastes vile.

Like the rotting corpse of a gutted mermaid.

You shake your head. “No, he’s fond of the ocean, alright,” you correct. When you sink into the water, clothes and all, Rafayel joins you immediately. Before your eyes, his legs merge back into his trusted tail. It makes you shake with laughter. “You know, I wanted to make a joke about you being like a fish in water, but um. You are one. A fish, I mean. In water.”

“You’re too funny,” Rafayel deadpans. “Truly, I am beside myself with laughter.”

You turn away your face and laugh into the palm of your hand, as if that could hide your mirth. Not like he’s feeling every single vibration in the water that your quiet giggles send out. The sound settles in his chest, taking root there. “Note taken,” you chortle still. “I’ll work on my jokes.”

“Don’t bother. You’ll never be as funny as I am.”

“Oh yeah?” You swivel your head around to him. Whatever smart response Rafayel was cooking up dies inside his mouth, turning dry in the face of your beauty. The dimples in your cheeks make you look younger than you are, your face luminous with real happiness. This is what had been lacking from your expression inside the Dolphin’s Hall. You were living for your faith, for your duty, leaving yourself much too neglected. But you were finally growing comfortable inside your skin. Opening up to him.

Kill her, the voice still whispers. He smothers the spark of that thought before it sets his brain on fire. Rafayel swallows. “Is that all you brought me here for, then?” he sighs. “To bore me with your unfunny jokes and reminisce about the past?”

“You sure do know how to kill the moment.” The sentiment makes you snort. You finally turn your face to the horizon, and Rafayel can breathe comfortably again. Looking at you for too long makes him want to dig into you. With knifes, of course. Not with kisses. Or his fingers. Of course not. Nothing of the sort. None. “I just wanted to free my mind for a little bit. It gets incredibly loud in there, sometimes.” You tap your temples, the guardians of your thoughts. He wants to climb into that brain and see for himself how loud it is. He’d risk turning deaf to hear. “Everyone always looks to me, because I’m a seasinger, but they aren’t looking at me, not really. So I make myself entirely into that role I’ve been given. And I lose sight of who I really am. When I’m here, I don’t have to do that. I can just listen to the ocean. And she listens to me.”

You sound wishful.

In his own silent moments, when Rafayel discards his own roles, he is able to admit to himself that he wants to read your every wish from your lips and make them come true. If possible, he’d crown you in oceansvale and pearls, to show you the beauties of the watery underworld and all it has to offer. But that is something he can never allow himself to desire. So, like you, he makes himself steel over, and then asks instead: “Aren’t I listening to you?”

“Sure, but you’re just required to, aren’t you? You’re my friend.” You nudge him with your shoulder, the touch a brand of fire on his skin. You’re so, so warm. Rafayel chases that sensation as you lean away, and you let him drape himself over you, already used to his clingy behavior. You’re my friend. You’re my enemy. “The ocean doesn’t have to listen, but she does. She’s been a better parent to me than my father has. He’s always thought I wasn’t worth raising because I was of the cursed sex, anyways.”

“Does that matter? Your mother loves you.”

“But he’s my father.” And your voice breaks. As he angles another look at you, he realizes that you’ve been gazing at the sea with tears in your eyes. If you were Lemurian, you wouldn’t need him to crown you: your own pearl-teary eyes are already beginning to fill with treasure. Like tidepools, they spill over, painting your face in salt-burned tear tracks he wants to kiss until his mouth runs dry. Rafayel curls an arm around you, all thoughts of murder forgotten, and all he can think of is how to comfort you properly so you’ll never have to mourn your father again. “He’s my father,” you repeat with a muffled voice against his shoulder, as if he didn’t hear you the first time, “He should have loved me anyways. I would have become the son he wanted if he gave me the chance. But he didn’t want me. He didn’t want me.”

Rafayel doesn’t know if it’s the ocean or his blood he hears rushing in his ears. His mind has already become clouded with rage, swirling into a hurricane that tears your father apart. He rocks you back and forth, and he hopes it feels like the ocean is cradling you, carrying you far away from your sorrow.

It’s already been two full moons since Rafayel has become your ‘friend’.

Your birthday has come and gone, and you’ve scared Rafayel out of his own skin when you burst into tears as you accepted his gift. It’s just a necklace made of a shell, idiot, he had clarified, flustered. It’s not like I spent money on it or anything. It was just something I had laying around and wanted to get rid of.

Rafayel, you had said, voice shaky with teary joy. It’s everything to me.

It’s getting harder and harder to convince himself into doing what he set out to do.

Particularly today he finds himself reaching back for the memory of his bloodlust, watching you guide new devotees to the sea to be baptized, like turtles taking to water for the first time. He’s seen his fair share of baby turtles scrambling to the sea, muddling up the waves as their tiny legs fought to master them. These children are not dissimilar to the freshly born turtles. Traitors, the lot of them, he thinks to himself, but the threat feels hollow. Cursed species, they are. Liars and deceivers all. He tries to ignore the irony of that prejudice considering the nature of your relationship.

When you finally send the kids off and join him in the water, he schools his features into a childish pout he hopes will mask his hatred. “You’ve made me wait all evening,” he complains, the annoyance in his voice real. It has been quite some time since you got to unwind with him. The thought of Rafayel looking forward to seeing you again had made him panic, and he had scrambled to avoid you for a few days before his own longing drew him back to you. “I was freezing to death here.”

“As if!” Your laughter rings as jubilously as the bells inside Dolphin’s Hall call to prayer. There’s a myth as old as humanity which decrees that when the bells ring twelve times, the gates of heaven will open to flood the world entire. Only the true believers will become one with the sea, the earth finally reunited with its one true love. The planet will become a single ocean again, and it will be as if land and sea never had separated, all creatures under the moon united under one banner. “I know exactly well that wherever you live is way colder than whatever temperature these waters are. This must feel like a hot bath for you in contrast.”

Rafayel sniffles, caught in the lie. “It’s the principle that counts.”

Your smile gentles. “Rafayel,” you say. The way that name rolls of your tongue makes him want to roll his eyes back into his head: if all sermons sounded like this, he’d be the most devoted follower of the sea’s faith alive. Your voice is the single most exultant sound any living creature could create. Perhaps you were a siren in your past life. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”

I miss you all the time, he thinks. I miss you even when I fantasize about killing you. I miss you even when I should be grieving all the mermaids my brothers and sisters have lost. I miss you even more when I watch them take brides and grooms and make the kingdom of the depths a happier place in the face of adversity. You would like us, the way we cling to hope like you do. “I bet you’d like that,” he drawls out, feigning normalcy. “Any living being would want to be missed by me. I’m very beautiful, after all, and very desired.”

“Truly? Are they all vying for your attention down there?” You flick his shoulder, intending to be teasing. Even the pain is welcome. He tries to ignore the way his stomach flips. “And yet you’re here for me. What an honor, oh desirable bachelor.”

“You should be honored,” he tells you. It sounds arrogant, but why shouldn’t he be? He is beautiful after all. For once, he’s not lying. Rafayel takes pride in his appearance, and he preens at the chance of receiving a compliment from you.

You cock your head at him. It’s supposed to look threatening, but you hold all the danger of a sweet otter. “Don’t make me laugh,” you tell him, still joking, but your voice is breathy.

Maybe his looks don’t leave you as untouched as you pretend to be. Maybe he’s not the only one feigning.

Rafayel brushes his fingers over the hollow of your arms, following the veins as they reach upward. It makes you shudder. He delights in it. “I adore hearing you laugh, sweetling, but it’s not the intention I have here,” he says. He is in and out of his body at the same time. Most times, he smothers these thoughts before they reach his mouth, yet he continues to speak as if this were just another dream of you. “Go on. Say it. Tell me I’m beautiful.”

Your lips part, speechless. Behind you, the human world goes on, tickering away like a fluid mechanism. With or without you. You look like as if you realize that the ocean is beckoning. He is beckoning. If you’re not careful, he’ll drown you, bones and all. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper then, the sound of it caught up in the rushing of the waves. They cling to the sand, dragging it with the pull of the tide. He yearns to do the same.

His hand comes up to cradle your face. You fit perfectly into it, as if you were made for him. As if he was made to compliment you. Rafayel’s heart stutters in his chest, threatening to burst. “Again,” he says, his voice steady. (He doesn’t know how he does it. He feels like he’s about to explode.) “You can do better than that.”

You draw in another sharp breath, your lungs fluttering. The human body was so very fascinating. He wants to reach inside you and look at everything, feel it all. “You’re truly beautiful, Rafayel,” you try again, and this time, you pitch up your voice. Every word is clearly enunciated. You look at him straight on. “All the wonders in this world pale in comparison to you.”

Oh. Oh.

“You,” Rafayel breathes out. His fingers are shaking on your face, but they hold on. Latching on to you. If he strengthened his grip, will he be able to crush your skull? Will he be able to reach inside? His body feels heavy with desire; as he bends towards you, he finds that you’re already meeting him halfway, and this time, the soaked material of your clothes exposes the sight of your stiff nipples. He yearns to warm them up for you, to take them in his mouth and kiss you until you’re burning from the inside out. He’s always wondered what you would taste like.

You are both torn out of the fantasy at the sound of your voice in a human mouth, carried by the wind from the shore. You draw apart hastily, as if a spell had been broken, and you fumble to rearrange your clothes and fix your hair although nothing had happened. Rafayel tucks his traitorous hands behind his back.

“I,” you manage to say, your voice drowsy with the lingering desire, “I have to get back. I’ll see you?” You phrase the order like a plea, as if Rafayel wouldn’t bend over backwards for you. You miss his assenting, fervent nods as you whirl around and wade back to shore, your own hands drowning in the material of your dress as you lift it up and wring it out. The water trails behind you in his stead, leaving him behind.

He’ll totally be able to carry out his revenge, alright.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to resist you.

The more time passes, the more it feels like the sun rises and sets just for you. Your happiness is his own, your sadness his bitter grief. Every emotion you ever display resonates so deeply in his soul that he grows hazy with responsibility, wants to reshape the world in your image. Every tear you shed is carefully collected like his own well-cared for treasure, every laughter bottled in the memory palace of his mind. His mind traces each and every one in your absence, creating melodies which cannot compare to your voice. He is becoming enraptured. He is coming undone.

Even the distance is beginning to choke him. You feel so close and so far. He wishes to lap at your body like the ocean does when you perform your prayers, wants to smother you in a hug that threatens the ocean’s might when you dive down with him. In the few times where you were able to swim with him - your timetable strict, your parents suspicious - he’s allowed you to trace your hands over the scales of his tail. To you, it’s the satisfaction of a curiosity. To him, it is a so startling intimacy that he wants to weep. There is no room for justice as his heart expands to encompass you, and it grows inside his chest, breaking apart his ribcage so it can guard you from the world. There are no words. You’re in every breath, every steady push of his blood.

Although the active threat of your father’s suspicions has come between the two of you, every meeting rarer, but becoming more precious over time, it cannot erase the wish for his soul to reach for you. You doze away in your place on the stony slopes surrounding the pool you perform your ablutions in, and Rafayel is content to guard your slumber, dipping in and out of the water. He never strays away for too long. He makes sure to count every strand of those stunning lashes that had already enticed him when he first met you here, follows every vein inside your face to see where it branches into. What was hated has become dear to him now, your humanity as endearing as your very existence. He wonders what you dream about. Wonders if you dream about him, as often as he dreams about you. His brain has become very enamored with you, every fold of the thing having been etched over with memories of you.

Your father is already hounding you. Your newfound happiness hasn’t gone unnoticed. It should please Rafayel, how your friendship has changed your life for the better. You are standing up straight, opening up to the world. When you laugh, it finally sounds like your vocal cords are singing in true harmony, never again pushing for the falsity you used to employ to wave away concerns.

If anyone were to discover you were sneaking away with a mermaid, they’d be dumbfounded. Perhaps they’d mock you for it. But if your father were to discover you two, then it wouldn’t take much until Rafayel would find himself face to face with the same knife he used to kill Lyra.

I’ll have to tell her the truth, Rafayel thinks then, stricken. If I really love her, then I have to let her go. He closes his eyes, losing himself to the sharp sting of grief inside his chest. That’s what Lyra would have said, anyways. She was always so enthusiastic about fairy tales and happy endings and true love. He mourns for the way his childhood had been shaped with the loss of her, and the loss of all the mermaids that had ever died an unjust death. But it has taken on a new meaning. He looks into your face and cannot find it himself to justify the means to the end he had intended for you. There was nothing vengeful or freeing about this. If anything, he’d push himself off to his own metaphoric end, because Rafayel has reached the ends of his wits and he’s finally accepted that there is no you without me. He stretches out a hand to card his fingers through your dry hair before it can fall into the water. What a blessing it is to do at least this, to be cherished by you.

He begins to ask himself how he is supposed to leave you.

As Rafayel’s thoughts take a turn for the worse, you open your sleep-drowsy eyes. They are still blurred over with the dreams you’ve been chasing, just slowly becoming clear and taking in your surroundings. “Raf?” you whisper, and he tries not to melt at the nickname. No one’s ever thought up a nickname for him. So many things you’ve given him that he will never be able to repay you with. So much light you’ve brought into his dark, dark life. The bottom of the ocean, despite all its magic, had never been as bright as this. “I’m here,” he tells you, the sentence literal, but he means it with every ounce of his soul.

You blink away the last traces of unconsciousness, your pretty lips stretching open to release a yawn. “I was afraid you’d left,” you tell him. Also so literal. But in the way you look at him and your tone turns up with hope, he finds himself recognizing the underlying meaning, just as you had discerned his.

He’s told you so many lies already. What’s one more? “I’d never leave you,” he tells you, and he tries to mean it. In another universe, he would be able to mean it. Rafayel swims closer so he can throw an arm over your frame as you lie back down, and he angles himself up so he can cage you in-between his hands. As he arranges himself, he abandons the scales and tail in favor of his awkward human legs, caging your delicate waist inbetween his knees. He’s balancing himself on top of you now, not caring if the drops of water pearling off his skin splash on you.

You don’t look like you care, either. You stare at him as if there’s nothing else in the world, just the two of you for all eternity. The thought fills him with happiness.

Slowly, very slowly, as if asking for permission, you lay your hands on his naked chest. The tips of your fingers are even softer than the palms of your hands, a testament to your nature. Not a toiler, not a warmonger. Something more peaceful and calmful, that brings his own soul rest. “I dreamt about you,” you tell him, honest as a Lemurian. He smiles at the inadvertent way you had answered the question he’d been thinking of while you were sleeping. “What was your dream about?” he asks, anchoring his weight on one hand so he can use the other to curl around the side of your throat. He can feel the pocket inside it traveling as you swallow to gather your bravery.

“A little bit like this situation right now.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate, friend.” Rafayel’s fingers dig into the supple flesh of your shoulder as they move, then gently claw at your skin as he follows the curve of your arm. He’s always been fascinated with your human skin, the way it seems entirely different from Lemurians although they look so similar. The smallest of things could break it. Bruises bloom like flowers with the lightest force. It makes him want to cage you inside his chest, where he can keep you safe from harm and make sure no one will ever hurt you again. It’s irrational, and unnecessary. But he just can’t help himself.

You narrow your eyes at him playfully, blissfully unaware of his thoughts. “Are you enjoying this?”

Now Rafayel begins to smile as well. It is entirely genuine, and only reserved for you. He is yours, heart and soul. “Of course I am,” he confesses, feeling as exposed as a newborn babe. “You always act so unbothered by me, you know. I was beginning to worry whether I was the only one caring about this … friendship.”

Your own hands have begun to wander. You place them directly on his cheeks, directing his gaze at you, as if you weren’t already the single fixed point around which his entire existence was centered around “Rafayel,” you say. “I don’t want to be just your friend.”

His breath catches. He searches your eyes for a joke, for the mockery, but you are serious. And for once, his own mind blanks at the possibility that his feelings might be reciprocated. “Do you… mean it?” he whispers, afraid. Vulnerable. She’s human, she’s a liar, she’ll lie to you, watch. This isn’t possible. This is a trick.

“Shall I prove it to you?”

Rafayel’s heart stops.

(God, he always knew you’d be responsible for his death.)

The answering smile you give at the sight of his eagerness makes his insides melt into the same constitution as a jellyfish. There is a fire at the core of his existence, and you have come to kindle it. He feels the blood rush; in his cheeks, in his body, down his abdomen. He is alight with emotion, bursting at the seams. As you flatten your palm and curve it around the shape of his chest, he chokes out a, “Yes. Please.”

Your touch is hesitant, but your eyes are determined. “I love you, Rafayel,” you finally tell him, the magical words that crack open his chest like a volcanic crater exploding into the water. He collapses against you, crushing his lips against yours, and then he can’t tell where you start and he ends because of how you meld against him. Every inch of his body comes alive with the sensation of you against him, and you fit into every curve inside his body. Your lips carefully trace the shape of his own, moving against his tenderly, carefully. He can’t bring himself to entertain the same restraint as you do: as he digs his hand into the curls of your hair, he angles your head appropriately and then delves inside to finally taste that sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for so long.

Your answering whimper is smothered almost immediately by his beckoning tongue. Greedily, selfishly, Rafayel kisses you as if his life depends on it; like he might die without ever getting lost on your tongue, dissolving like sugar. He groans into your mouth when you carefully tangle your tongue with his own, not used to this kind of kiss. When he tries to pull back to grant you a reprieve, your heavenly lips wrap around the tip of his tongue, sucking on it in the mock-fashion of a blowjob.

He almost comes then and there, that’s how embarrassingly obsessed he is with you. Only you.

You chase him as he disentangles himself, but Rafayel quickly busies himself with your throat, littering those veins he’d been staring at like a vampire starved with kisses. “You have no idea,” he whimpers into the skin there, speaking directly into your soul, “how you make me feel. No idea. You’re dangerous.”

You don’t mock him for once. Instead, Rafayel is gently pushed to the side. Before he can worry about being rejected, you straddle his lap and sit down like a queen crowned on her throne, and the sight makes him so breathless that Rafayel finds himself falling back against the wet ground without complaint. Your lips are kiss-swollen and smiling, a sight he mentally declares to be his favorite sight in the world. “I’ll find out soon, enough,” you promise, the words as delicious as your kisses. “For example, how does this feel?”

And you grind down, your clothed core sliding over his exposed cock in a perfect glide.

Rafayel throws his head back, cussing in Lemurian. He doesn’t even realize the crack of pain as his head hits the ground, his entire nervous system too caught up with the sensation of you rubbing against the most sensitive spot of his body. There’s a sound he doesn’t immediately recognize, a quiet giggle that shakes your entire body, and then the feeling of the weight on top of him shifting as you bend down to kiss your way down this body. “My Rafayel,” you murmur against his abdomen, lips shaping the words against his hipbones. He almost trills in happiness at the sound of that. Yours. “You’re so, so, so beautiful.”

If it was possible to dissolve in extreme happiness, Rafayel would be seafoam on the water surface right now.

He digs his fingers into the hard stone, unyielding as it is, as your lips seem to vanish off his skin right before reaching his already erect dick. He catches the look of your eyes, the slight surprise at his size - he can’t lie, it makes him want to puff up in pride - but then you begin to sport a scary smile, the kind that makes Rafayel realize that you’re going to suck the life out of him, and he’s already on the brink of death from the possibility of this happening alone. “My love…” he begins to caution, but then he chokes off as each and every one of your fingers wraps itself around the shaft of his cock, and there is no consciousness to form thoughts, no thoughts at all.

You kiss the tip of the head, tongue peaking out to catch the first beads of pre-cum. “Gonna make you feel good, I promise, Raf.”

He wants to answer, he swears he does. There is just no way he can. Rafayel’s entire body arches off the ground as you take him in your mouth, and he’s barely aware of the way you slightly choke on the size of it - his hands go to your head, are you alright, are you okay, love? - yet that doesn’t stop you; the slide of his cock on your tongue continues and continues and continues, and then he feels himself hit the back of your throat and he cries out in pleasure, feeling like a star that’s exploded.

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

You sound like you want to laugh; your mouth shakes and shudders around him, and that makes him tug at your hair, unwillingly, instinctively. He’s about to apologize, but your own tugged out moan makes him hold himself back. He hates hurting you, but you seem to enjoy it, so he tangles his fingers into your hair and gently begins to guide you up and down, up and down. He hisses at the sensation, of the clenching around his dick, the gentle swipes your tongue makes when you get to. “You’re so good to me,” he tells you, watches the way your eyes light up with the praise. He’s never even thought about how lovely and romantic sex could be. Love-making. “So good.”

You hum, and Rafayel hisses; it’s a delicious kind of vibration, both torturous and pleasing. “Please,” he pleads with you, his fingers shaking. Not aware of what he’s asking. But you seem to understand, you speak the language of his soul; you hollow your checks and suck, and then his eyes do roll back so far into his own head that he thinks he can finally see his brain and all the images of you he imprinted on it. As your fingers begin to stroke in time with your tongue, he begins to feel like he’s shaking out of existence, both here and not. Both bound and untied. The coil in his abdomen begins to tighten, his toes curling at the way you drag your tongue around the tip, suckling, teasing. Your lips pop as you remove your mouth, pumping him quicker and quicker, watching him. A predator devouring its prey. “Beautiful,” you say again. “The prettiest, my Rafayel. Look at you taking it so well.”

He keens at that, hands sliding down to claw at your arms, not sure if he wants you to stop or keep going. He’a never experienced an orgasm building up like this, a literal supernova beginning to build at the edges of his perception. “I,” he gasps out, looking for words, finding none, but you help him out of his predicament by kissing him messily, the taste of his own pre-cum lacing his tongue. Your hand, every caress growing in pressure, continues to pump his cock even when he cries out against your mouth, even as his teeth find your shoulder and latch onto it to bite it. You don’t push him away, not even when he explodes into your hand, his release beginning to pearl over your hand as you continue to fuck him through the orgasm. When he begins to sob against your collarbone, pushing at your dangerous hands, he finally understands how deadly a single human being can be.

You’ve ruined him, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

The second you remove your hand, Rafayel flips you onto your back and begins to lick your fingers clean, pleased at the way your mouth drops into that cute little shocked ‘o’. Intertwining your fingers, he drags his tongue over every inch of your palm, taking note of the way your eyes zero in on the length of it. His chest rumbles, pleased; he wants to be as desirable, as perfect to you as you are to him. You are an absolute miracle, a wonder to behold. “Your turn,” he tells you, and your eyes darken.

But you shake your head. “Raf,” you say. Your voice is deadly serious. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to explode into a thousand pieces and you’ll never see me again.”

Despite the sensuality of the situation, Rafayel finds himself bursting into laughter. Your own obscene, reddened lips curl into a matching grin, and for the moment, you are both innocent again, youthfully in love. Love-making, he thinks again. I want to make love to you for the rest of my life, for all eternity. “I love you,” he says out loud. “And I don’t want you to explode. But I want to show you how much I love you, as well. I want to worship you from head to toe.”

Your eyes widen in the most adorable way. As someone who’s always lowered herself as a supplicant, you find yourself entranced by the idea of being an object of worship. “You do?” you ask, unsure.

Rafayel raises your still sticky hand to his face, not caring about the mess. He wants to be messy with you. He wants to be part of you. “There’s nothing else in this world,” he begins, kissing the inside of your wrist, nuzzling the skin there. “I adore as much as you. I already worship you. Your hands, your face, your waist, your entire body. All of it is holy to me, holier than any faith I’ve ever believed in my entire life. And if that is a sin, then I will die the happiest sinner to have ever graced this earth.”

The way you blush at his words make him want to eat you whole. He’s never once considered partaking in human flesh, and although he isn’t too fond of what could possibly be considered cannibalism, his desire borders on the urge of devouring you entire. You are just too sweet.

“I’m going to eat you,” he actually tells you. Your answering laughter only makes his chest constrict in pure, unbridled joy.

He backs the words up with another gentle nip to your fingers, his sharp teeth only stopping short of breaking the skin; he finds himself back at your throat, lapping up the thin stream of blood and listening in to the way your laughter turns into a strangled moan. “Oh,” you yelp. “I thought that was a joke.” That makes Rafayel grin; with the taste of your salt on his tongue, he begins to kiss the space inbetween your chest, his fingers gently rolling your nipples through the thin dress you’re wearing. You sigh in please, your back arching just so slightly at the feeling of his fingers on you. “Adore this chest,” he tells you, trying to stay true to his word, but he’s already getting lost in the delicious sight of you surrendering to your pleasure. Following an urge that’s been haunting him ever since that almost-kiss on the beach, he wraps his lips around the rose-bud like nub and suckles it into his mouth, the sound of your sharp outcry like music in his ears. He groans against your chest and hopes you can hear the sound inside your heart; he wants to crawl inside and live there, reside under your skin. As he kisses the nipple with the same fervor he did your mouth, his other hand gently fondles the neglected nipple until you begin to whine for him to stop, the gentle torture not enough for you.

He abandons your chest in favor of your soft, soft stomach - he smushes his cheek against it like a cat, reveling in the way it feels. “God, I love you,” he says, hands cupping your waist. You don’t answer him, too lost in the sensation of his knees beginning to grind against your exposed core for some friction: your dress has ridden up, revealing the lack of underwear. His mouth runs dry, sparing only a moment of pondering where he asks himself whether the seasinger’s attire just doesn’t include underwear; you don’t leave him any more time to think as your fingers claw their way down his back, the pain as erotic as your lewd moans. “Please,” you beg him, grinding up your hips against his. He’s rock-hard again, straining to be inside you. “Please, I need you so bad. Fuck me, Raf.”

“You’ve got a filthy mouth,” he grits out. It’s not a reprimand, more an articulation of how crazy you drive him. Rafayel’s hands glide to the small of your back, lifting you up to receive him, readying you. You’re staring straight into his eyes, panting heavily, and he wonders whether you’re actually seeing him or staring into his soul. “I love you,” you say in response, clinging to the words like a lifeline. His heart jumps and jumps and jumps in chest, struggling to break out of its cage to join hands with yours. The head of his cock nudges against your labia, opening you up, and you fold open like a pond lily, more beautiful than even the oceansvale you adore. “I love you so much.”

“But I,” he tells you, voice strained, “love you more.”

And he pushes inside.

For a second, it feels like all kingdom come. It’s blasphemous and religious all at once; Rafayel feels whole, feels like you’ve become one person as he stretches you open. You feel so perfect around him, so, so perfect. “Oh, gods,” you whisper, the only time you take the name of your articles of faith in vain, a fact that he’s arrogantly proud of, and then Rafayel draws back and curls back inside again, the head of his dick nuzzling against something spongy that makes you wail like a woman stabbed. He almost pulls out, if not for the way you kiss him like this is the last time you ever will, your tongue inside his mouth before he can register, and then the hunger you illicit in him is too much to tolerate and Rafayel begins to fuck into you.

“Full,” you whimper, the words drawling together on your tongue as if you don’t even have the peace of mind to formulate the thoughts properly. Rafayel drags his cock back, pulling out almost entirely before he snaps it back inside; you bare your teeth at him in the same manner as he had done before he had bitten you, which would have made him smile at the way his behavior’s rubbing off on you. But there’s no space to do anything, no controls inside his mind. He’s become prisoner to your gummy walls, the way your warmth swallows his whole, every clench of your pussy around him like a shooting star frying his nervous system alive. “So perfect,” he whines, letting his instincts take over, and your fingers shakily hold on to his shoulder as he begins to piston in out of you. The slapping of flesh meeting skin is so loud it makes you screw your eyes shut in embarrassment, yet you offer up your body all the same. Your legs interlock behind his back as he continues to grind into you, in and out, in and out, in and out. “God, you take me like you were made for me. You’re a dream come true. You are. You are.”

“Rafayel,” comes your pitiful answer, but he’s not paying attention to you right now, not when his body is so hyperfixated on the way you make him feel and the way your own pleasure becomes the forefront of his mind. “S’too much. Slow down.” Your pussy flutters around him, dragging him back in every time he tries to pull out, and his solution is to pump into you quicker, harder, deeper. There is no sound, none that could be described when his cockhead begins to kiss your cervix, and now Rafayel’s chasing after your climax, desperate to get you there before he comes again. There are tears pooling at the edges of your eyes, tears which he licks up with the same delicacy he would use to gorge on you, lose himself in the taste of your cunt. His own tears blur his sight, dripping onto your face, searing into the skin there. “I can’t,” he bawls, sounding entirely too heartbroken for the way he fucks you, the way he folds your body into position to take him better, take him deeper. The bloody trails your nails leave on him don’t even make an impression on him anymore. He sobs into the curve of your throat, chasing, chasing. He ruts into you like a man possessed.

Even in your fucked out state, your shaky hands brush away the tears from his face. He hisses into the palm of your hand, swallowing his sobs, ignoring the hiccups. His own hand finds its way down your body until he’s sure he’s found your clitoris, finding the confirmation in your stuttered out “Fu-u-uck,”, and the hasty circles he draws have your thighs shaking in time with the constant snapping of his own hips, meeting him halfway as he chases your climax, pounding you into the ground. “Gonna come, gonna come, gonnacomegonnacomecomeRaf.” The last of your sentence becomes unintelligible as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, and he holds you close to his chest and continues to fuck you through it as his own begins to spill inside you, no stop to it seemingly in sight, up until the heartbreaking sob that falls out of your mouth breaks him out his trance and snaps him awake. His hips come to a stuttering halt, the picture of a stumbling drunk, then stop completely, and Rafayel slumps, still inside you. He can feel his semen dripping outside, running down his thighs, pooling on the ground. He’s dimly fascinated by the fact that he even has this much cum, but the majority of his consciousness focusses on the way you kiss his forehead, his head, everything you can reach.

“Don’t expect me to move anytime soon,” he mumbles from where his face is smushed against your boobs, and your laughter makes his head shake like the oceanvale bobs in the wind. “Well, darling. You’ve certainly showed me how much you love me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started, Raf.”

This time, it’s he who laughs. He hides his face in your chest and laughs, loud and free, in a way that he’s never been able to ever since he’s been a child. He feels your fingers comb through his blue-pink hair and feels like he’s finally home.

When you wake up from another nightmare in the night, crying for Rafayel like he’s abandoned you, he kisses every tear away until he’s positively certain you’ll never remember the way that dream felt again. You are safe in his arms, joined to his hip, bonded to his soul.

Caught up in so much luck, Rafayel forgot the looming threat.

He forgot how perfectly capable your father was of stealing away Rafayel’s happiness

The memory of Lyra drifted away from him as steadily as his craving for revenge did. She had raised him like her own in his dead mother’s stead: they’d been best friends once, and she became his only connection the mother that had labored and labored to give birth to him. Lyra had always warned him to take good care of his long hair, as it looked exactly the same as his mother’s, and she’d spent all her free time brushing the tangles out. It wasn’t Rafayel she was seeing, not really. But if she was chasing the after-image of her best friend in her son, then there really wasn’t anything he was going to do about it, not when he looked into her face and could only see his mother. They had been united in their loss, and then loss had divided them again.

It’s mother’s long hair, and Lyra’s plea for him to maintain it, that ends up being weaponized against him. Someone is tearing at his hair like a leash, pulling him from the safety of the pool. “Father, no!” You shout. You’ve never raised your voice in anger, not once. “Let go of him!”

“I’ve told you countless times!” Your father’s voice overpowers your own easily, as loud as the thunder before the lightning, as loud as the bells inside Dolphin’s Hall. Rafayel had always guessed you’d been trying to drown out the sound of your father’s shouting, the way he’d done your entire life. “They’re not to be trusted! Ask him! Ask the bastard why he’s entertaining you in the first place!”

You draw back from the accusation, the word ‘entertaining’ like a slap to the face. “He loves me,” you defend him, but your voice has become meek, small. As Rafayel thrashes in your father’s and a second man’s hold, he catches sight of your pale face, the way it’s stained with fear. For his life? Or because of an anticipated betrayal?

“Bullshit.” The unknown man spits at the ground.

“I love her,” Rafayel manages to stay. There’s a punch thrown at him that bites the taste of blood back into his mouth, foreign, not as welcome the way your blood had been. His teeth have cut into the insides of his cheek. “Which I can say with more certainty than you can, you bastard. Yes, I’ve entered her life under a guise. You murdered the woman who raised me. You’ve killed countless of my siblings. But I saw the way you starved your daughter of love and affection, and I vowed I’d never do that to her.”

“Do not play hero with me,” your father says, the hatred in his voice like the lash of a whip. Your own small hand spins out, and for a moment, Rafayel scared he’s lost you, that it’s him you’re going to strike. But your fingers wrap around your father’s wrist, as i you can do anything, as if this wasn’t the hand controlling your entire life. “Let him go, or I swear I’ll tell everyone,” you vow. The threat inside your voice is as venomous as the enmity your father’s had contained. “I’ll tell them where that caviar you so adore comes from, I swear it. Let him go or kill us both. Or maybe I’ll kill you.”

Your father halts in his shock. Rafayel can’t tell what is happening, his head still lowered to the ground by the hand pinning him there, tearing at his hair. It loosens then, and he’s kicked aside, like some stray dog that was a bother and is then forgotten. When he looks up, he sees you locked in a stare-off with your father - your father, whose looking at you as if he’s never once seen you in his entire life.

Perhaps he hasn’t.

“Walk,” is the only thing your father says then. “Walk before I forget myself.”

Rafayel struggles to sit up, to defend you as you had defended him, but you shake your head at him, the dismissal clear enough.

He watches as you leave him behind. How ironic, for you to have feared abandonment, when here he sits being abandoned now. Lost and alone.

In the following days, you don’t turn up. When Rafayel comes to search your human house, despite the fact that your father had threatened to kill him, the building is empty, stripped of all its belongings. None of the vendors in the city know about what has happened, giving only absentminded shrugs and I-do-not-cares. You’ve turned into an actual dream, a fantasy conjured by his love-sick brain, a haunting nightmare. He finds himself clenching his chest as if the heart contained inside was going to give out, broken apart like an empty shell by a mere mortal’s love.

He fears he’s going to die like this.

Alone, and unmourned, and forgotten.

When his desperation mounts in impulsiveness, he either decides to flee Whalefall City or look for you one last time. He can’t remain here, not when he looks everywhere for you, in the strange faces of this place or the gentle tosses of the waves in the harbor, in the sound of a melodious seasinger calling to prayer. It’s driving him insane. He turns up on the steps of Dolphin’s Hall, half-crazed from the loss of you.

It’s there where he witnesses the miracle of the Gods.

It’s not you, sadly; but your shrine maiden, freshly appointed as the new seasinger, hurries thorugh the throng of hall-going attendees. “It’s you!” she exclaims, a haunting echo of the very first words you addressed at him.

That makes him wary. “How do you know who I am?”

She blinks as if Rafayel was the one acting suspicious. “Well, because she’s told me, of course. And your description doesn’t really fit to any of the people here. In a city like this, it’s easy to recognize a new face.” The girl - no, woman - unfolds a letter, revealing a penmanship that he’s never seen, but which he recognizes with his heart.

Rafayel, the very first word on the paper shapes, in elegant loops, written in the soft scribbles of love.

He’s gone to meet you before the letter can hit the ground. Your successor, shaking her head, watches him go.

You’re right where you said where you would be, sitting in the surf like a mermaid would, your human legs anchored in the sand as the ocean drinks the earth. Your arms are crossed over your chest, over clothing he’s never seen before: garment from below the sea. His heart pounds inside his chest.

When you turn your head to face him, the smile on your face is entirely real.

Rafayel hurries to meet you, and then you are embracing each other like one soul being knit together; there was a physical pain in being separated from you that had strangled him for every second that you had been gone, drowning on land like a beached fish. He swipes your windswept hair out of your face, behind your ears, holding your head in his hands. You fit there, as always, like a missing puzzle piece. “I thought … you wouldn’t want to see me again,” he chokes out, the words a struggle. His tongue is heavy with sorrow, weighed down by his betrayal. “I mean, I wanted to tell you the truth. Long before I ever wanted to confess my feelings. I was going to do this properly. But I didn’t expect you.”

You snort, as if amused. “I could see that.”

His thumb strokes your cheekbone, as gentle as a clam reaches to embrace its pearl. “No, you don’t understand,” he tells you, and his chest unlocks in the same way it had when he had allowed himself to be vulnerable with you. “From the very beginning, I hadn’t expected you. I came to you with a heart heavy with hatred, blind with pain. I was so sure of myself, so sure of what was going to happen. But you reached inside me and changed everything. I’ve never even realized how painful it was to be me. Not until you administered the cure.” Rafayel leans his forehead against yours, tasting his tears. Crying, for the first time in so long. Only you. Only you. “Say something. Please.”

“Rafayel.” Your voice is wondrous. When Rafayel looks into your eyes, he only sees pure and unadulterated love, the kind of love that had drawn him off the edge of self-destruction and right into your safe arms. “Don’t you realize you’ve done the exact same thing with me? You’ve come into my life and filled it to the brim with a kind of joy I’ve never thought would be possible for me. I had resigned myself to my fate, to always be under the thumb of my father, and then you came, with all your unbridled anger and pompousness and unconditional love. If it hadn’t been for you, I might never have been able to shake off my parents’ expectations and build a life for myself with you.”

“With me?” Rafayel speaks the world gingerly. As if he can’t let himself believe it. As if he can’t let himself believe that the kinds of happy endings Lyra had always lectured him about were possible, after all.

If you witness true love, hold on to it.

Your fingers are reverent on his face, your smile so all-encompassingly loving. “How else are we going to heal this deep rift between mermaids and humans? I promised to show you, after all.”

Rafayel bursts into laughter. It’s an unexpected reaction, as unexpected as the miracle in his life that had been you, love of his life you. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” he admits, and instead of taking your hand as he had done so long ago under the secretive gaze of the moon, Rafayel finally gets to kiss you in the light of day, claiming you in front of the whole world.

[saymyname-aufic]

The therapist sighed, "We'll discuss it when you're sitting in my office again on Wednesday. How is the wife and kids?"

Apollo shrugged, "They're all...doing their own thing."

"That sounds good. But, your voice says otherwise."

"Phoebe had a...upsetting dream, last night. Audrey's been calming her down, but, well, toddlers."

The therapist smiled, "Children never seem to respond well to nightmares."

"Can't blame them. I don't."

"I know," the therapist said. "How's everything else in your life?"

Apollo smiled, "We never talk about you."

"Well, you are paying me to help you."

"Yes, but this isn't therapy."

The therapist shook his head, smiling, "I suppose you're right. Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

Apollo shrugged, "You have a husband?"

"Yes. We met...uh, I think six years ago now. Married for two."

"You don't wear a ring."

"No, I lost it. And, he chewed me out. I slept on the couch for a few days, hurt my back badly and he forgave me."

"Audrey always threatens it."

"Sleeping on the couch?"

"Yeah, she never means it though."

Do you think covid existed in the Season? Do you think that for 2020-2021 Zeus couldn't host two Seasons. He had to wait until 2022 when restrictions finally lifted?

I'm gonna assume that covid didn't exist for my own sanity

[kenpachissluut]

Jujutsu Kaisen men and how long they last (18+) ᥫ᭡

‹𝟹 warnings: smut content, explicit language, 18+mdni, fem!reader, breeding, manhandling, selfishness, multiple orgasm, squirting 

Toji Fushiguro - all night long baby ‹𝟹

When i tell you that man is relentless, then you better believe it. Toji could pound your pretty cunt all night long especially if he‘s in the mood. Manhandling you like a ragdoll, folding you like a piece of paper until you are nothing but an screaming cum coated mess. He needs some little breaks in between tho, he’s still an old man after all.

Sukuna Ryomen - one - two rounds ‹𝟹

Sukuna’s stamina is endlessly. But if he would fuck you all night long you would just break. That man’s rough thrusts are deep and so intense, that every single hit makes you feel dizzy and make you see stars. One, maximum two rounds is enough to take you beyond worlds and let you drift satisfied into an deep slumber with your pussy stuffed full with his cum.

Nanami Kento - two - three rounds ‹𝟹

Nanami doesn’t need a break, just your pretty body squirming underneath him and moaning his name. That’s enough to spurn him on, to the point when he noticed your drowsiness and his slight fatigue after a few rounds. Until then he hits you with powerful deep intense thrusts right into your cervix and gifting you the best fucking orgasm in the whole world. Atleast one of them.

Shiu Kong - two rounds ‹𝟹

My Man Shiu‘s stamina lasts for atleast two rounds. At the beginning he would fuck you slow but with deep thrusts until his movements become more sloppier and rougher at the time he’s close. He‘s just too lazy for round three but he makes an exception when you offer him to ride his cock and giving him an beautiful squirt - show.

Satoru Gojo - two - three hours ‹𝟹

Satoru is like an little bunny, full with energy even when he’s tired as hell. Fucking you for many rounds that seem totally endless but intensive like an dream. Sometimes slow and intense, sometimes rough and merciless. He takes full focus on your pretty pussy, wanting to bring you over the top with his cock and stuffing you full with his sperm.

Naoya Zenin - two rounds ‹𝟹

Naoya only lasts for atleast two rounds. Why? Cause that is enough to satisfy that egotistical bastards pride. Giving you one orgasm atleast, he pounds your pussy with hard and deep thrusts, until you squirt all over him coating him in your juices. Seeing you coming undone on his cock and being an total mess spurns his male ego even more on for round two, where he only take interest in his own satisfaction.

Kenpachissluut writes ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

[darnell-la]

Im obsessed with reader babytrapping Old man Logan 🚨 him begging her not to make him cum inside sounds fuckin filthy

Can you guys do more of this maybe + taking him raw for the first time

Reader is like 19/20 so he didn't want to babytrap her but she is the one that wants it and he is gone for it

“C’mon, baby, please — I’ve been so good all day,” y/n whined as she pulled at the man’s jeans, asking him to let her ride him raw. She knew the two haven’t ever fucked without a condom, but tonight, somehting in her wanted to feel him.

They’ve been dating for a few months now, and y/n has been trying to tell Logan that she’s a grown adult. If she asks for something, especially sexual, she really wants it.

Logan couldn’t understand that, though. He loves y/n, but she was unbelievably young. He felt like if he filled her up, even once, he’d be a dirty bastard. Y/n forever tells him she couldn’t care less about how someone else would react to their sex life, but the judgment always stayed in the back of Logan’s head.

“Baby, relax, okay? It’s been a long day, and I think it’s time to rest up before tomorrow, yeah?” Logan said, rubbing y/n’s cheek, but she never gave up. She continued to pull on his jeans until they slipped down, revealing his hard-on through his boxers.

“Bub, c’mon, now — Don’t start actin’ out,” Logan said, only making y/n giggle at his slight threat. “I just need you, baby. I’ve been waiting all day,” y/n said in her usual honey voice. By that, Logan could just imagine how wet she was.

As Logan sat back, y/n quickly slipped her pants and panties off. “Y/n, not right now,” Logan said, lying to himself. He knew he wanted to feel y/n wrap around his bare skin. He dreams about this all the time, but he just couldn’t give in. Not so easily.

“Yes, right now,” y/n said with a smirk as she climbed on top of her boyfriend. “If you really wanted to relax, you would’ve thrown me off the roof already, baby, so shut up,” Logan’s eyes widened at her attitude.

The man wanted to roll over and on top of her to fuck her into their shared bedroom, but somehting in him froze. The control she had over him right now made him feel different, but in a good way.

Y/n noticed that once she pulled him out of his boxers. He was sticky. It seemed like he had already come a load, but it was all just pre-cum.

“Looks so good — I wonder how it’ll feel,” without warning, y/n sunk down onto Logan’s cock, taking him all the way in her with a loud whiny moan. Logan, on the other hand, tried keeping himself calm, but the way his feet curled, fingers gripped her waist, and eyes shut, she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

“Feels good, baby? You feel me fully now?” Y/n asked as she leaned down, inches from the man’s face. “Tell me, baby. I wanna hear it,” y/n said, thinking he’d never give in, but he did. “F-Feels good, Bub — S-So good,”

The pleasure running through y/n’s body quickly overtook her core. She felt an instant heat coming along. It never took y/n long to cum around Logan’s huge cock. He was massive.

“Are you gonna finally fill me up, or what, baby? I’ve been waiting,” y/n said as she got comfortable in the crook of Logan’s neck. Now, all she was doing was bouncing onto his cock, slipping up and down his shaft and coating it with her cream.

“G-Gonna have to get up soon, baby- Fuck,” Logan groaned roughly as his hands gripped y/n’s ass, spreading them apart and controlling her speed. Now he was making her fuck on his cock faster the she could’ve.

“Nah uh — I wanna feel it,” y/n said, still in the crook of his sweaty neck. “N-No, baby, not this time, I- Fuck — I can’t, Bub,” Logan said, worried but still not slowing down her pace. She felt so damn good, he swore he was about to moan like a weepy teen boy.

“Ssh, just cum in me,” y/n said, basically hypnotizing his brain. All he could think of now was the way her cunt wrapped around him harshly, and the sounds she was making. She was unbelievably wet and more creamy than usual. He was obsessed with this moment.

“F-Fucking Christ, baby,” Logan cursed as his fingers and toes locked up. “I-I can’t just- Oh my god,” Logan said, trying to get whatever he wanted to say out as his cock twitched, but couldn’t.

Soon, the man was filling y/n up, spilling into her more than he usually does inside a condom. Within seconds, his cum leaked from her cunt as she continued bouncing.

A few times, Logan tried to tap her thigh, telling her to stop or slow down, but she wouldn’t. She wanted everything from him. Every last drop, even if that meant he’d pass out, and she’d catch a cramp.

“Fucking hell, y/n, stop it,” Logan’s said as his hands now gripped her waist, but she never stopped. If he wanted her off, he’d do it. He was a damn mutant, and she wasn’t. She knew he was enjoying this moment of being innocent about filling her up.

“You’ve got another one in you, baby. I just know it,” y/n said as her hand crept up and slightly tightened around his neck. “I want to be filled all the way, baby,”

Logan couldn’t believe how obsessed she had gotten over being filled. Some may have been scared, but him? That only made his head get light and his mouth part. Logan wasn’t the type to have an overdramatic orgasm, but damn, was she good at this.

“B-Bub,” Logan tapped at her body again, but this time with cracks in his voice. She could barely hear him. “G-Gonna cum,” was the last thing he said before he let out trapped groans and moans.

Right behind him was y/n, gushing down onto him as she kept riding, allowing his cock to slip into her better than before.

“C-Can’t stop cumming, Bub — Fuck,”

[prettyliittleviolets]

˗ˏˋ 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧 ♱ ˚. ⋆

⋆ ｡˚ remmick x reader ˚｡ ⋆

town misfit remmick and preacher’s daughter reader as guilty as sin by taylor swift

NOTES this was supposed to be a blurb... can you tell where i got carried away and went full fic mode. don't care though because it's YUMMY!

WARNINGS remmick x fem reader. religious undertones and references. preacher's daughter reader. town misfit remmick. non canon plotline. reader’s race and features not specified. no use of y/n. sexual content. masturbation. implied voyeurism if you squint.

WORD COUNT 2.3K

as the preacher’s daughter, you have spent your entire life incredibly sheltered by your family and the church, tucked carefully away from everything deemed unholy. you spend all of your time either curled up inside the house, lazing around the empty chapel, or doing the occasional small errand that has been deemed safe enough for you. you know they’re only trying to protect you, but the thought of being hidden away from the world, from everything real, is sickening.

❝ my boredom's bone deep, this cage was once just fine. am i allowed to cry? ❞

you can't help but daydream about everything that sits just outside of your reach — no matter how wrong you know it may be. you fantasize about running off and never looking back; not sparing a second thought for your family, your responsibilities, or that godforsaken church for the rest of your life. of course, these are just delusions that fill your head when nothing else does, nothing more. forever your father's perfect, holy little girl, you could never turn your back on that, no matter how much it ate away at you each and every day.

that is, until, you stumble across town misfit remmick for the first time. you had been rather busy in town that day, yout errands taking much longer than usual, and by the time you had stared to set off home, the sun had already began to set. you didn't notice remmick until he spoke, and even then it still took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkening alleyway against which he leaned. "'s a lovely dress, darling." his voice rasped in an almost melodic hiss. "what's a pretty thing like you doin' out so late? and all alone, too..." he stepped out from the shadows, lit only by the gentle glow of oil lamps seeping through curtained windows. you stepped back, nearly paralyzed. his lips seemed to twitch at that, and he continued. "no need to be scared, sweetheart. name's remmick."

of course, you had heard his name before; maybe hushed between two gossiping neighbors at the supermarket or chiding by your own father. but being in his presence was something otherworldly in itself. he had an almost omniscient quality — as if he could read every thought that poured from you. some half formed excuse was mumbled over fragile breath, and before he could protest, you were already off, scampering away like a wounded animal.

however, you didn't escape him by any means. he haunted your thoughts day and night, looming over your conscience like an incarnation of every sin that could cross your mind. there was something intoxicating about him, maybe his piercing blue eyes, that bored into you so viciously you could feel it. maybe it was his deep, rasping voice, which called to you from the shadows like a siren's song. or — it was just how wrong it all was. he was bad, everyone in the town was sure of it.

and maybe you wanted to be bad too, if only once.

❝ i dream of cracking locks, throwing my life to the wolves; or the ocean rocks, crashing into him tonight. he's a paradox. i’m seeing visions, am i bad? or mad? or wise? ❞

as the days passed since your first encounter with him, your thoughts had only spiraled further. visions of him haunted you, replaying the first time you ran into him. silent whispers of hoping that you would stumble across him again found their way into your evening prayers — a secret shared between you and god only. it was wrong, and you knew it. you held these thoughts tightly inside of you, as if worried they would spill out at any moment, revealing how disgraceful you had been.

❝ i keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault. someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk. ❞

but suppressing your visions did nothing but heighten them. he made his way into your dreams, repeating the words he spoke to you — and whispering new ones, ones so wrong you found yourself waking up with a deep, twisting feeling in your gut and a deep red flush painting your face. when not asleep, you imagined what he was like underneath his stoic, mysterious demeanor. what he had done to be so excluded from the rest of the town. how he would talk to you if it was more than a few words. what he would look like with shirt unbuttoned.

you had completely lost any rational need to be "good'. he was all consuming, every thought controlled by the idea of him. you were desperate to see him again, to hear his voice, to feel his touch. he had invoked something completely new inside of you. part of you shied away from the feeling. it was something unfamiliar — a hot, bubbling sensation that left you both exhilarated and nervous. yet, something about it all felt hauntingly real; like the line between illusion and reality wavered unsteadily, ruled only by chance, able to change at any given moment.

❝ these fatal fantasies, giving way to labored breath. taking all of me, we've already done it in my head. if it's make believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow? ❞

you sought him out. it was an unnatural feeling, sneaking around to catch glimpses of a man — and not only that, one you knew you shouldn't — but you couldn't help it. you were drawn to him almost magnetically, like your body yearned to be near him, in his presence. you began to stray from your usual routine: spending less and less time idling in the church, busying yourself in town with unnecessary tasks, lingering in the still streets well after most shops had closed.

your neighbors were quite caught off guard by your sudden shift in attitude. "oh, sweetheart," the kind shopkeeper, who you had been visiting more and more regularly, cooed, "it's great to see you out more, it almost seemed like you were locked up in that church." you held back a bitter laugh, and instead smiled sweetly at the kind woman, taking the paper bag of your purchases from atop the counter. you bid her farewell, before ducking out of the shop.

the town was growing quiet as the sun sunk, casting an orange glow over the storefronts, streets lined now only by the occasional passerby. you strolled over to a nearby bench, your legs curling underneath you as you brushed out the bunched fabric of your skirt. you watched as the orange-painted street fades to a soft grey and then a deep blue. a small tune finds its way to your lips, an old hymn you once knew the lyrics to. now, only a faint hum escapes you, but it's familiar, soothing. you lull yourself into a gentle daze, almost forgetting why you stalled in town to begin with, until a low voice broke the quiet night.

"pretty night out, ain't it?" he hums out, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. like he knows why you're here, and that it's not to admire the scenery. the humming dies on your lips, and your eyes flicker over to where he has appeared, leaning against a telephone pole a bit down the street. his hands are tucked in his pockets, and a lit cigarette balances itself between his lips. his eyes are trained on you, a flicker of amusement behind his dark irises.

your stomach churns. you had intentionally lingered in town, waiting for his arrival, knowing he would appear — and still, his presence stirred a pit of nervousness inside of you. you avoid looking at him, eyes trained on your now restless hands in your lap.

"yeah." you let out quietly, almost inaudible. "'t's nice."

he chuckles lowly, a sound that sends heart pounding against your chest. "don't think you daddy would approve of you bein' out his late, would he now?" your gaze flicks up to him, and he strolls over to the bench you sit on, pace slow and antagonizing. "unless, little miss goodness is having a rebellious streak?" he laughs shortly, stopping in front of you.

your words falter, unable to find a response. he reads you like a book, and it borders on tantalizing and disconcerting. eyes wide and vulnerable, you look up to meet his gaze, heart pounding. he grins.

"i'll take that as a yes."

you quickly gather yourself, frazzled and suddenly all too hot. you bid remmick a goodbye that comes out as no more than a soft chirp before swiftly carrying yourself home. you can feel his presence as you stumble back, following you, registering your every move, but you're too overwhelmed to be bothered. the very thought of him — his disheveled look, his words in the town, how he can read your every emotion and intention by just looking at you — it frenzies you breathless, and you lose your footing more than once on the brisk walk.

you find yourself stopped at the door of the small church instead of your house, clearly led by your feet rather than your mind. your hand hesitates on the brass knob. maybe it was better to spend the night at the church, avoid your father's questioning about you coming home so late. surely he would understand if you lost track of time in your devotion, and decided to spend the night instead of venturing home so late.

your fingers twisted the knob, the old door groaning open under your touch. you entered quickly, the door swinging shut behind you, and you collapsed against it, exhaling a deep, shaky breath you weren't even aware you were holding. you allowed yourself to sink to the floor, your back pressed flat against the door.

god, why did he have to be so... intoxicating.

a hot feeling stirred in your gut, one that had grown familiar over the past weeks. he enveloped your mind, down to his very scent. it's like you couldn't escape him, or maybe, you just weren't trying to. your eyes flickered shut, the image of him standing over you as you sat on the bench flooding your mind. your breath caught in your throat, lips parted in a silent prayer.

it’s so wrong. wrong, to feel this way. wrong, to think these thoughts. wrong, to interact with him.

but, as your hands slowly slips past the waistband of your skirt, all you can think about is how right it feels. the

your fingers slide between your lips, already slick and aching for a presence you know you can not fill. a soft gasp escapes you, filling the silent room. you long for him, clenching around nothing as a desperate heat winds inside of you. you need him here, whispering softly into your ear, that terrible smirk spreading across his face as you squirm underneath him. you picture what he would do, how he would grasp your frame with his rough hands, pulling you from against the door and laying you against the floor. how he would hover over you, trailing his way down your body, leaving chaste kisses in your skin. how he would pull your clothes off ever so gently, as if you might break in his hands, before devouring you completely.

you whined at the thought, hips stuttering against your own hand, a cruel reminder that he wasn’t actually here to take you as his own. your fingers pressed into the soft, sensitive flesh, and you bit down on your bottom lip at the contact. eyes pressed shut, your fingers slid up to the bundle of nerves crying for your attention. rubbing against it, you let out a strangled moan, making no effort to muffle yourself. the winding sensation inside of you only intensified, and you bit down on your lip so hard you could taste the blood beading from it. grinding against your fingers, you imagined how he would feel inside of you, if his length would fill you perfectly or pull you open so wide you might split. you needed him so badly it hurt.

and then, you could sense him, the same way you could feel him following you. your eyes shot open and your heart stuttered, skipping a beat, before continuing at it’s rapid pace. however, your fingers didn’t falter, and a string of soft moans fell from your lips. your mind raced at the weight of his presence, but was clouded by pleasure, unable to think straight. all you could comprehend: he was close, and you needed him even closer.

the winding heat had grown almost too intense to bear, filling you with a unshakable need. two fingers slid inside of you, thumb still focused intensely on your clit. you moaned in soft breaths, his name making it’s way to your lips, legs shaking with tension. as you curled your fingers inwards, rocking against the heel of your palm, the spiraling tension inside of you finally burst, shattering into a starburst of pleasure.

your head hit against the wooden door, lips falling open in gasping breaths. warm blood trickled from the corners of your lips, pouring slowly from where you had hit down too hard. you wiped at drip with your hand, a deep burgundy smearing your palm. your eyes flickered shut once more, catching your breath.

you could still sense his presence, and god, it felt like it was pounding — no, pulsing against the door behind you. coming down from your high, it was almost too much to bear. you pulled yourself to your feet, stumbling forward towards the altar, before collapsing onto one of the pews, curling into yourself.

next time, you would make sure that if he followed you, he would show himself.

❝ what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind? one slip and falling back into the hedge maze, oh, what a way to die. my bedsheets are ablaze, i've screamed his name. building up like waves, crashing over my grave. without ever touching his skin, how can i be guilty as sin? ❞

© PRETTYLITTLEVIOLETS

[brokenbough]

I had to get this off of my chest, it's pure fluff and annoying!reader (according to Simon)

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

Thonk

Simon turned to the side, looking at the new recruit on his shoulder. Your head had fallen onto his shoulder, using him like a pillow.

Simon wasn't happy about this new predicament in the slightest, especially not after Soap had taken a picture of it like it was a spectacle to behold.

It was incredibly disrespectful to use your commanding officer like a pillow, let alone Ghost. But you didn't care. Not in the slightest.

Well, it didn't seem like you cared much as you slept, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn closer as if you were having a bad dream.

He tried to move you off of him, shaking his shoulder, your shoulder. Nothing worked. You slept heavy, something condemnable in the military. Sleeping heavy meant you weren't alert, aware. Bad for business in all the wrong ways.

He called for your name, your rank, but nothing worked. You were out cold and using him for warmth.

He decided he'd deal with it when he landed. In 6 hours.

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

2 hours passed and you were still out cold. Then 3 and 4.

Soap was up now, laughing his ass off again, waking up Gaz and Price who also seemed more than amused. The mission was clearly exhausting for you. It was your first, it didn't surprise the older and more experienced men around you, but it was still a sight to see.

Simon was pissed.

Had he stayed completely still during that entire time? Yes. Did he enjoy any second of it? Absolutely not.

Somehow, you had wiggled one of your arms under his, holding onto his bicep.

Then, you had the audacity to smile. Your eyebrows no longer drawn or lips parted. They were now pulled softly to each side of your rosy cheeks as you muttered. He almost asked you to repeat it before it before it registered.

"That's nice." You had said, nuzzling closer to him as if he was something soft enough to nuzzle.

Your smile had become dizzying to him as the words pingponged inside his head.

That's nice.

Nice? Him? Nice?

It was laughable at best, damning at worst.

He tried waking you up multiple times throughout the flight. A series of taps on your shoulder to shaking you. You just mumbled some jumble before squeezing his arm softly, smiling, and heading right back to dreamland.

You clung to him the rest of the flight, smiling that stupid smile as you relished in his warmth, melting into his side.

The plane landed and everyone moved off except for the two of you. Him against his will, and you against his side.

You stayed there for another hour before finally waking up.

You were teased about it relentlessly when you both returned to base and chewed out for almost an hour by Ghost himself.

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

Weeks passed before the next incident that got you your callsign: Thorn.

On a mission in the cold and infamous Russia, you had fallen into a river the team had been crossing. Rushing to the safe house, your clothes were quickly pulled from your body as you shook violently. Ghost, ever the bigger man of the group, was tasked with warming you by the fire. He held you, yelled at you to keep your eyes open, and wrapped you up in his warmth.

You finally got over your mild case of hypothermia before falling into a deep sleep again. This time on top of him. You curled into his side, pushing your small feet between his legs to warm them before nuzzling into his chest.

It was more than embarrassing the next morning as your clothes were handed to you.

"Twice in two months." Soap teased, watching your face turn red at the raggedy dinner table the equally raggedy safe house had to offer. "Should I be expecting another next month?" He asked with wiggly eyebrows.

You shoved his face away, going to apologize to Ghost who was on watch.

The conversation was short and curt, him sending you off with calling you a proper thorn in his side.

Gaz joined in on the teasing, calling you Thorn, and the dreadful, fluster inducing name stuck.

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

Unfortunately for the reputation of the Big Bad Ghost, it didn't take long before he had come to crave the heat you offered on his side.

Sitting next to drowsy you, or being forced to when all the seats were taken, had become a past time of his and Soap and Gaz were eating it up.

They had a hefty collection of photos of each encounter (that they caught) by the time Christmas came along. Ghost should have known it was trouble when Gaz and Soap had given you two a present together in the lounge room where the celebration was taking place. You, ever the naive, had just been happy and honored to get a present from two of your favorite people.

The groan that echoed throughout the room was loud enough that you could hear a pin drop in the aftermath.

Everyone had stopped to look at a pink faced you and a more than unamused Ghost as a roll of film was pulled from a decorated box. The bastards had taped every Polaroid picture together and it rolled out like loose toilet paper.

Everyone, except you and Ghost, laughed as the pictures were examined. It, more often than not, included a sleeping you and an angry Simon giving a death glare to the photographer. On a rare occasion in the collection of photos, there would be a photo of you and Ghost, huddled up together, asleep.

[dakusan]

How The y Court You (Vampire Seduction 101)

Vampire!SKZ OT8 x Reader | eight vampires. eight courtships. and every quiet, calculated way they make being chosen feel like fate.

🌹synopsis: Welcome to Vampire Seduction 101. This isn’t a love story. It’s a field guide for how they choose you, study you, orchestrate you. Not all vampires hunt with fangs. Some use flowers. Letters. Custom playlists. Some knock. Others already have your keys. Every profile begins with a courtship style. They don’t fall in love. They fall into you. And build the cage from inside your chest. You call it seduction. They call it already done.

💌a/n: okay. LISTEN. first of all—i’m sorry for the first version. i don’t know what spell i was under. i thought i was writing vampire seduction and somehow ended up with ✨vampires but make it porn✨. it didn’t fit. it didn’t breathe right. this version? better. because vampire courtship actually is not sex. not chaos. it is ritual. precision. obsession dressed in quiet affection. i wanted to make it NSFW originally but that’s not what this is. i really hope this version is much better and you enjoy it more. thank you for being patient. i hope it lives in your chest cavity the way it’s living in mine 💋🦇. p.s. if this one hit different—slower, sharper, deeper—reblog it. let me know the ritual worked. p.p.s. tell me your favorite vampire. i’m collecting data. for science. or stalking.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Paradise — EXO « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:37 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

🩸 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 // Abnormal | The Leader

Composed. Relentless. Devotion built like a fortress around you.

Courtship Style: Chan doesn’t flirt. He fortifies. He doesn’t chase. He chooses. And once you’re chosen—everything changes.

You don’t notice it at first. The second cup of coffee on your desk. The way your groceries never seem to run out. The warm hoodie folded on your couch that you swear you didn’t leave there.

You start dreaming of him before you ever see him. And when you do? It’s in passing. At night. Always near a streetlamp. Always watching.

He never says too much. Never touches. But his voice? Low. Measured. Gentle like a lullaby made of steel.

“Let me walk you home.” “You shouldn’t be out this late.” “I noticed your lights were off for three days. Were you sick?”

He calls it concern. You call it comfort. But it’s ownership, waiting to bloom. Chan learns you like a blueprint. He catalogues your sighs, notes your routines, tailors his presence to your loneliness. And when he finally touches you—just a brush of knuckles, a hand at your back—you lean in like you’ve been waiting your whole life.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t remember when it started. Maybe it was the day someone left orchids on your doorstep—your favourite, though you’d never told a soul. Maybe it was the night a man’s silhouette walked you home from the shadows—always just far enough to not be real.

Or maybe it was now. Now, when he stands in front of you, dressed in charcoal wool and midnight silence, placing a velvet box in your palm like it weighs less than his restraint.

“It reminded me of you,” he says.

Inside is a necklace—simple, but devastating. A dark garnet set in a delicate rose gold setting, the stone carved with your initials.

You’ve known him for three months now. Or rather, he’s let you know him. Bit by bit. Hour by hour. He speaks slowly. Moves gently. But you’ve never doubted the force beneath it. When he takes you out, it’s always somewhere quiet. expensive. safe. Private rooftops. After-hours galleries. Candlelit corners of museums you didn’t know opened at night.

“I booked the entire floor,” he said once, when you gaped at the empty hall of mirrored sculptures. “I wanted it to be just us.”

It should be too much. Too fast. Too intense. But he never touches you without asking. Never pushes. Never forces. Still, every time you wake up, there’s something new: — your favourite pastry waiting at your desk — your name whispered in a stranger’s dream — a tailored coat in your size, already broken in with your scent

You never see him do these things. But you know it’s him. Always him.

There’s something devastating about how deliberately he loves. He never hides that he wants you. He just refuses to take without invitation. He never kisses you first. But he watches your mouth like it’s a sacrament he’s not yet holy enough to touch.

He sends letters, sometimes—written in ink so rich you’re sure it was pressed from crushed roses and wine. Folded into parchment that smells faintly of smoke and sandalwood. Each one signed with his name.

On one of your dates, he brings you to a vineyard. Not a restaurant—the entire vineyard. It’s winter now, barren and beautiful, trellises skeletal under silver clouds.

He lights a fire. Pours wine he says is older than most empires. Then he tells you something no one else has.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” he says, voice low, eyes locked to yours. “Not your blood. Not your time. Not even a kiss.”

“Then why all this?” you ask.

He smiles. “Because if I’m to be damned by desire, I want it to be desire I earned.”

The silence between you shifts. Thicker now. Softer. You look at him. Really look. The broad shoulders draped in black wool. The hand curled around his glass—barely suppressing the tremble when your knee brushes his under the table.

He’s not pretending to be calm. He’s just choosing to be.

You realize, suddenly— He’s not waiting for you to fall in love. He’s waiting for you to realize he already has.

And when you kiss him that night—finally, breathlessly, fingers in his curls—he sighs like a man who’s been underwater for centuries, and just now remembered how to breathe.

Because Bang Chan courts like a vow. And you? You’re already his holy thing.

🩸 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 // Abnormal | The Prince of Teeth

Elegant. Ritualistic. Lethal devotion wrapped in silence.

Courtship Style: Minho doesn’t fall often. But when he does—he falls decidedly. No games. No glamours. No guessing. He won’t flood you with gifts or whisper pretty nothings just to hear himself speak. He won’t show up where you are by chance—he’ll ask to see you. And if you say yes, he shows up on time, dressed well, and holds the door open like he was born to. He doesn’t love loudly, but he loves deliberately. He watches what matters to you—and shows you that he saw. You like cats? He donates to a local shelter in your name. You’re learning to cook? He handwrites his family’s jjigae recipe and includes a box of the exact spices he uses. You wore a necklace once and never again? He asks why—and listens to the answer. He doesn’t flirt with words. He flirts with consistency.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t expect flowers from Lee Minho. But he brings them anyway. Not roses. Never anything cliché. Today it’s blue thistles and white tulips—sharp and quiet and unexpectedly lovely.

“They reminded me of you,” he says, handing them over with a half-shrug, like it’s no big deal. Like your heart didn’t just knock against your ribs.

Your second date is simple. Thoughtful.

A tucked-away gallery filled with black-and-white photographs. He barely speaks—just watches you wander, nodding occasionally when your eyes light up.

“You like architecture,” he says after. “You kept staring at the lines.”

You blink. “You were watching me?”

“Of course I was,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How else would I know what to give you next time?”

Your third date? A quiet, high-windowed café. A sketchpad set on your seat. You didn’t tell him you draw.

“I saw the graphite on your fingers,” he explains. “I figured you ran out of pages.”

Minho’s romance isn’t chaotic or grandiose. It’s intentional. He doesn’t drown you in affection. He builds a place for it. One you can trust. One you can return to. Again and again and again.

He never makes promises. He makes patterns.

Wakes you up with a morning message—dry, short, often sarcastic. But always sent at the same time. Asks how your day went every evening. Remembers the answer. Brings you lunch when you forget to eat. Doesn’t scold. Just puts it in front of you and says, “Try the soup.”

Minho is steady like a tide. Silent when you need it. Fiercely present when you don’t know you do. Not a whirlwind. Not a fantasy. He’s the man who waits outside your building with a paper umbrella when it rains and says, “Took the long way. Needed the walk.”

Your fourth date? He teaches you how to make dumplings.

The kitchen smells like sesame and steam. Your hands are messy with flour, your braid keeps slipping loose. He rolls his sleeves up, doesn’t complain once when you ruin his shirt with soy sauce.

You ask him why he’s doing all this.

His gaze is unreadable for a second. Then he says: “Because I like you. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t.”

“So this is… what? Wooing?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He leans against the counter, eyes sweeping your face. “I don’t want almost. I want you. Properly.”

No one’s ever said that to you so plainly before. No hunger hiding behind it. No game. Just truth, dressed in clean hands and sharp cheekbones.

That night, he walks you home without touching you once. Doesn’t kiss you at the door. Just looks at you for a long moment—like he’s memorizing the way the light hits your face.

“Tell me when,” he says.

You nod.

And the next morning, there’s a single white tulip waiting on your windowsill.

Because Lee Minho courts you like he means it. And when he loves, he does so with silence, surety, and the kind of care that turns staying into a sacred act.

🩸 𝐒𝐄𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐈𝐍 // Normal | The Enforcer

Fiercely Devoted. Tenderly Observant. Worships the ground you walk on.

Courtship Style: Changbin doesn’t flirt to impress you. He adores you from day one—and you know it. He’s the type to fumble his words when you smile too hard, then spend all night writing a letter that says what he really meant. He respects space like it’s sacred, but still makes sure you feel chosen. Every second. Every step. You mention you’re cold once? He shows up the next day with a custom hoodie embroidered with your initials. You say you’ve never been to a concert? He books VIP tickets. And gets a seat that faces the stage and lets you lean on his shoulder. He doesn’t overstep. He doesn’t assume. But he makes it clear—he wants you. Not for a night. Not for a thrill. For always. He listens better than anyone you’ve ever met. Recites your favourite quotes back to you when you forget how to believe in yourself. Cooks for you when you’re too tired. Asks permission before touching you, even just to brush your hair behind your ear.

Mini Ficlet:

You don’t notice it at first. The extra protein bar in your locker. The umbrella left leaning by your door on a rainy night. The playlist you found on your phone one morning—filled with songs you’d mentioned once, offhand, at dinner.

But then there’s him. Seo Changbin. Big smile. Bigger heart. Eyes that track you like you’re gravity.

“You okay?” he asks, every time you look the tiniest bit off. “Need anything? Water? Snack? A nap and a forehead kiss?”

You laugh the first time. He doesn’t.

“I’m serious.”

He takes you to the gym on your second date—not for a workout, but because he wants to see what makes you strong. Between sets, he grins every time you beat your personal best. Offers his water bottle like it’s sacred. Wipes a bead of sweat from your temple with a reverent thumb.

“You’re amazing,” he says, voice low and proud. “Do you know that?”

Your third date is homemade bibimbap at his place, candles flickering, your favourite show queued up. He wears an apron. It says “Simpire Chef” in stitched red thread.

You ask if it’s a joke.

“Nope,” he says. “It’s a lifestyle.”

The fourth date is a quiet walk through a night market—he buys you a moonstone ring from a stall you barely glanced at. Later, when you ask how he knew your size, he only winks.

“I have good instincts. And maybe I borrowed one of your rings when you weren’t looking.”

You roll your eyes. But your chest is glowing.

It’s never about the money. It’s about how much he notices.

He remembers your deadlines. Sends silly voice notes when you’re stressed. Brings your favourite fruit to your apartment with your name carved into the peel like it’s a ritual.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he says once, when you pause before reaching for his hand. “You don’t have to rush anything. Just let me stay close.”

And you do.

Because Changbin courts like a man who believes love is a promise. Not a prize. Not a performance. Just a steady hand held out, palm up. Waiting. And when you take it—finally, fully—he laces your fingers together, brings them to his lips, and whispers against your knuckles: “I’d wait another lifetime just to do this right.”

🩸 𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐍 // Abnormal | The Siren

Romantic. Expressive. Devoted like a disciple.

Courtship Style: Hyunjin doesn’t date you. He paints you into his world. Everything becomes about you—from the brushstrokes on his canvas to the songs he hums when he thinks no one’s listening. He doesn’t just fall. He descends, feather by feather, like an angel surrendering to gravity. He brings you flowers, yes. But they’re always arranged by meaning. White gardenias for secret admiration; Purple hyacinths for deep sorrow you never told him about; A single red camellia when he’s ready to say “I love you” without speaking. He writes you letters. Not just love letters—devotional scrolls. He doodles your initials in the margins, signs them with wax seals, and never asks if you’ve read them. He leaves them tucked in books, under your pillow, slipped inside your coat pocket. His love doesn’t demand. It offers. He’ll take you to art museums and stand behind you, barely touching, whispering how the light catches on your hair. He’ll draw your silhouette a hundred times before ever daring to kiss you. Hyunjin courts you like you’re a divine secret.

Mini Ficlet:

You find the sketchbook before you find the courage to ask.

It’s filled with you—your eyes in the morning light, your smile caught mid-laugh, your hand reaching for something just out of frame. Each page is dated. Some are smudged. Some soaked at the corners, as if he wept while drawing you.

You’re not even dating.

Not yet.

Hyunjin walks you home every time you stay out too late. Buys your favorite pastries without asking. Sends you poems at 3AM with a “This reminded me of you. I hope you’re dreaming something soft.”

Once, you told him you liked the stars.

So he brought you to a hill just outside the city, wrapped you in blankets, and traced constellations onto your palm with his finger.

“This one,” he said, guiding your wrist, “I’ll name after your laugh.”

Another time, you cried in front of him—something small. Stupid, you said.

He didn’t speak. Just knelt in front of you, pressed his forehead to your knee like a knight surrendering, and whispered: “Nothing that hurts you is stupid.”

“I look awful,” you mumbled.

Hyunjin tilted his head, resting his cheek on your knee now, grinning up at you with that infuriating, heart-melting sparkle.

“You look real. I like real,” he said. “Also, your nose gets pink when you cry. Very cute. I might draw that next.”

You shoved his shoulder, half-laughing through your tears. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” he said immediately—then paused. “I mean. Hopefully. Someday. Pending approval. From HR. Which is... you.”

You broke into full laughter then, the kind that shook your shoulders and made your ribs ache. And Hyunjin—Hyunjin looked at you like he’d just witnessed a miracle. Like you’d cracked open a world he’d been painting blind, and now there was colour.

He never rushes you. Never asks for more than you’re ready to give. But he offers—daily, hourly, like a love letter folded into time.

On your birthday, he brings you a cake he baked himself. It's lopsided. Icing smudged. He’s got flour on his cheek and a candle stuck in crooked.

“Is this edible?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“No promises,” he grins. “But it’s made with love. And too much cinnamon. And possibly one egg too many. You like protein, right?”

You eat the whole thing. Together. Off paper plates, sitting on the floor, laughing so hard you forget what loneliness tastes like.

And when he kisses you again—weeks later, on a rainy morning under a café awning, fingers laced tight in yours—he does it laughing. Giddy. Like a boy who just found out magic is real and has your name.

“I loved you before I met you,” he murmurs after, pressing his forehead to yours. “But this? You choosing me back? This is my favorite version of fate.”

Because Hyunjin doesn’t just romance you. He reveres you. He cherishes you. He makes you feel like being loved by him is both sacred and silly—a sacred thing with jelly on its chin and glitter in its pockets.

🩸 𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 // Normal | The Shadow Walker

Clingy. Chaotic. Loves you louder than anyone ever has.

Courtship Style: Jisung doesn’t court you in the traditional sense. He adopts you like a stray thought he can’t put down. One day you’re acquaintances, the next he’s texting you twenty memes a day and showing up with bubble tea “just in case you were sad or bored or hungry or slightly thirsty or missed me a little.” He doesn’t confess. He accumulates. Your Spotify wrapped suddenly has his favourite songs; Your fridge always has his weird snack combos; Your phone background mysteriously changes to a photo of you two (he swears it “just glitched”). He’s the loudest thing in your life—and the softest, too.

Mini Ficlet:

One day, Han Jisung was your loud, chaotic friend who kept showing up with a second sandwich. Now? He's asleep on your couch in a hoodie that smells like you, mumbling your name into a pillow like it's a prayer wrapped in drool.

You don't even fucking remember when you agreed to go on a date with him. But, here you are, him always in your space, on your couch napping and drooling.

“Did we… start dating?” you ask one day, halfway through a Netflix binge, your head on his shoulder.

He pauses. Blinks at you. “We’re not??”

You laugh. He doesn’t.

“No seriously, babe. I’ve been in a committed relationship with you for, like, seven months. I made you a playlist called ‘She Could Punch Me and I’d Say Thank You.’ That’s not something I do for friends.”

You do start dating officially after that. Or maybe you just start acknowledging it. Either way, nothing changes—and everything does. He still texts you in all caps. Still fake-cries if you don’t answer in five minutes. But now? He kisses your cheek when he drops off food. Holds your hand when you walk. Shouts “THAT’S MY GIRLFRIEND” any time you do literally anything, including sneeze.

You tell him he’s embarrassing. He tells you you’re hot when you’re annoyed. You throw a pillow at him. He pretends to die.

But beneath all that chaos is something startlingly serious. Like when you’re stressed and he reads to you until you fall asleep. Or when he shows up at your workplace during a late shift, holding your favourite drink, eyes all soft and worried.

“I just wanted to see your face,” he says, quieter than usual. “It makes the noise in mine stop.”

And when he finally tells you he loves you, it’s not loud. Not a joke. Just whispered against your neck after a long day, arms around you like armor.

“I know I’m a lot,” he murmurs. “But I’ll love you right. Every version of you. Loud or quiet. Messy or magic. Just let me stay, okay?”

Because Han Jisung courts with friendship, laughter, and loyalty. You don’t fall in love with him. You trip—face first—and he’s already there at the bottom, holding out a juice box and saying: “Took you long enough, baby.”

🩸 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗 // Abnormal | The Dreamer

Gentle voice. Corrupt touch. Dangerous devotion.

Courtship Style: Felix doesn’t ask for your attention. He radiates until you can’t help but turn toward him. He’s warmth incarnate—smiling like a sunrise, touching your arm just a second too long, laughing like the two of you already share a secret. He burns easy, but never recklessly. His affection is loud, his intentions louder, and his desire? Always hiding behind a wink. Or a lip bite. Or a murmured: “Tell me to stop flirting and I will. You won’t, though… will you?” Felix courts like he’s falling and loving it. He brings you coffee with your name written in hearts. He sends voice notes just to say he missed your voice. He insists on “sun days”—your private tradition of skipping responsibilities just to stay in bed with the curtains open.

Mini Ficlet:

You swear you’re not imagining it. The way his gaze lingers. The way he always finds you, no matter where you are. The way his hand always settles just above your knee under the table, like a promise he’s not quite ready to cash in.

He brings you sunflowers one day. Not roses. Not peonies. Sunflowers—loud, bright, unapologetic. Like him.

“They reminded me of your laugh,” he says, grinning as he sets the bouquet in your arms. “All sunshine and kind of… illegal. In a good way.”

Your cheeks burn.

“I should arrest you,” you mutter.

“Oh please do,” he purrs. “But be gentle. I bruise easy.”

You shove him. He laughs. But then—he looks at you. All warmth gone. What’s left is molten.

“I’m serious, you know,” he says softly. “About you.”

Later, he takes you on a date that isn’t a date (Except it is. He’s just waiting for you to call it that). Rooftop blanket. Takeout. Shared earbuds. His pinky hooked around yours like a pinky promise. The stars are out. So is the moon. So is his heart, apparently.

He leans in and murmurs, “Y’know… if you ever wanted to, we could just stay like this forever.”

You laugh. “What, on a roof?”

“No,” he says, smile curling. “On you.”

You roll your eyes. He doesn’t mind. You always roll them—and you always blush after.

He starts showing up more. With snacks. With games. With that stupid grin. You say you’re not in the mood to hang. He offers to just sit beside you, “for atmosphere.” Then somehow you’re tangled on the couch, your head on his chest while he scrolls for a movie you’ve already seen.

He insists you bake something together one night.

“I’m not a baker,” you warn.

“I am,” he says. “You just stand there and look cute.”

You throw flour at him. He retaliates with sugar. It escalates fast. You’re breathless, covered in powdered sweetness, half-laughing, half-melting when he pins you to the counter with dough-covered hands.

“You’ve got something on your face,” he whispers.

“You do too.”

He kisses you anyway.

You burn the cookies. He calls them love-blasted shortbread disasters. Eats six.

He writes notes. Sticky ones. Slips them into your jacket, your bag, your favourite book. One night, you find him humming in your kitchen—wearing your apron. Cooking something elaborate. With candles already lit.

You blink. “Did you break in?”

“I used the key you pretended not to give me.”

“…That’s not how pretending works.”

He grins. “Neither is love, apparently.”

He doesn’t ask to stay over. He just does. He doesn’t ask to hold you closer. He just fits. Like the spaces between your fingers were always waiting for his rings. Like your nights were always meant to end with him whispering: “You know I’m falling, right? Faster than I should. Not that I’m gonna stop.”

And maybe it’s the way he never lets you doubt it. Not in the way he kisses your temple after you’ve fallen asleep. Not in the way he carries you to bed when you refuse to move. Not in the way he holds your face like you’re the sun—and he’s the vampire stupid enough to burn for you (not that he'd burn, given he's an Abnormal, but go with it). Because Felix courts with warmth, with chaos, with craving— but above all, with clarity.

🩸 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 // Normal | The Beloved

Dry wit. Reluctant softness. Secretly yours before you even know it.

Courtship Style: Seungmin doesn’t court like a romantic. He courts like a realist who accidentally fell too hard and refuses to admit it. He won’t say he likes you. He’ll just roast your taste in music. Then send you a playlist. Labeled: “Fix your standards. Start here.” He won’t compliment your outfit. He’ll say, “You wore that? On purpose?” Then immediately take a photo when you’re not looking and make it his phone lockscreen. His flirting is all sharp edges and sidelong glances. If he calls you annoying, you’re already halfway to being his. And still—beneath the banter, Seungmin shows up. Remembers how you take your coffee. Waits until you’re home safe. Asks how your day was and actually listens. Buys your favourite gum. Takes you on dates disguised as “hangouts” and grumbles when you call it cute.

Mini Ficlet:

You’re fighting again.

Over something stupid. Probably the last donut or your tragic Spotify history. He’s smirking. You’re pouting. The usual.

“I honestly don’t know how someone with your taste functions in public,” Seungmin says, shaking his head like a disappointed tutor.

“Keep talking,” you shoot back, “and I’ll block you on everything.”

He blinks. Then grins. “Cute. Like you could go five hours without texting me.”

You go quiet.

Because, well. You can’t.

Later that night, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find—

A box of your favourite snacks. A hoodie you thought you lost. A note.

“Thought you’d be dramatic and sad. I’m not doing this because I care. I just don’t want you crying on my hoodie.”

You roll your eyes. Smile anyway.

He’s not big on grand gestures. But he shows up when it counts. You mention your favourite childhood show once? The next week, he has the full DVD set in his bag. “Stumbled across it. Don’t flatter yourself.” You say you’re too tired to go out? He drags you to the convenience store. Buys two drinks. Tosses a jacket over your shoulders without looking at you. “I needed air. You just happened to exist nearby.”

One day, you fall asleep on his couch. You wake up warm. Covered. Music low. The lights dimmed. He’s in the kitchen, quietly washing mugs.

You say nothing. Neither does he. But when he turns to glance at you—his eyes soften like he’s watching a sunrise he doesn’t want to end.

You catch him smiling. He scowls instantly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m soft.”

You laugh. “You are soft.”

He groans. “Ugh. I knew I should’ve let you freeze.”

You start noticing it everywhere. The way he always buys an extra snack, then pretends he “accidentally” got two. The way he adjusts his walking pace so your steps line up. The way his sarcasm slows down when you’re quiet—like he knows when to tease, and when to just… be there.

One night, he calls you without a reason.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You didn’t send me a meme today. Thought maybe you died.”

You snort. “Would you miss me?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’d just have to find someone else with horrible taste in music. Tragic.”

But the next day, your favourite drink shows up at your door. No note this time. Just a sticky tab on the bottle that says:

You better not be sad again. I’m busy this weekend and can’t deal with your feelings until Monday.

And then:

...Unless it’s serious. In which case, tell me now so I can cancel.

That’s how he does it. Quiet commitment. Unspoken loyalty. Sarcastic devotion. You’re not dating. Not officially. But you’ve already become a habit to him. You realize it the day he gets genuinely mad—not fake-annoyed, not teasing. Someone hurt your feelings. And when you tell him, he goes silent. Dead quiet. Then he asks, low and sharp: “What’s their name?”

You blink. “Why?”

“Just curious. No reason. Definitely not going to curse them.”

“…You’re not serious.”

He tilts his head. “You think I wouldn’t? For you?”

You freeze.

Because his voice doesn’t sound sarcastic anymore. It sounds deadly. And suddenly, it’s so clear: He’s been choosing you. Every day. In every way. Not with grand declarations. But in the spaces between arguments. In the silences after laughter. In the way he always remembers where you left your phone, what song calms you down, and when to stop joking—just to wrap you in the quietest kind of love.

So you lean against his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you stay there. All night. And when you wake up? There’s a note stuck to your forehead.

I like you. Don’t make it weird.

🩸 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍 // Normal (Evolving Abnormal) | The Smile with Fangs

Soft charm. Hidden heat. A smile that sneaks under your skin.

Courtship Style: Jeongin courts like he’s been planning it forever—but wants you to think it’s spontaneous. A mix of Chan’s old-school romance and Felix’s sunshine flirtation, he leaves you laughing and breathless in the same moment. He’ll bring you flowers “because they looked lonely without you,” but hide a note inside that reads like a love letter. He buys matching rings, shrugs when you notice, then blushes when you wear yours. He’s all easy banter and eye contact that lasts a second too long. He doesn’t just listen—he memorizes. The way you sip your drink. The songs you hum. The one day you said you hated rain—and how he always shows up with an umbrella. With Jeongin, the courting is gentle until it isn’t. Until the teasing falls away and he’s looking at you like he already belongs to you. And he does.

Mini Ficlet:

It starts with a dare.

“I bet you won’t show up to our next hangout in something that isn’t tragic,” he says, eyeing your hoodie with mock disdain.

So you show up in a dress. And he chokes on his drink.

“You look—” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “That’s… illegal.”

You raise a brow. “So I won?”

“No,” he grins, cheeks pink. “I did.”

Later, he tugs you by the wrist into a photo booth, insists on five different poses, and refuses to give you the strip. “Evidence of your crimes. It’s safer with me.”

You roll your eyes. But when you get home, the photos are in your bag. You have no idea when he managed to do that so quick, but he did.

He doesn’t mention it the next day. Just sends a text.

jeongin 🦊: u look better in those pics than me. rude.

you: you insisted on five poses.

jeongin 🦊: exactly. more chances to suffer.

You laugh. But your fingers linger on the photo strip anyway. Especially on the third one—where you're both laughing so hard his eyes are almost closed, and your head’s tilted toward his like it belongs there.

From then on, the courting becomes a quiet game. He sends you videos of cute animals with captions like “you when I look at you”. He wears that one cologne you complimented—then pretends not to notice when you lean in a little closer. He starts showing up to your classes, "coincidentally" holding your favourite drink. Leaves your favourite snack in your bag with a sticky note: “bribery. stay cute.” He draws hearts on the fogged-up café window and denies it. Blames the barista.

He randomly brings you keychains from vending machines. Ones that make no sense—tiny frogs, a plastic spoon, a lopsided heart. “This one’s you.” he says, handing you the spoon. You start collecting them on your bag.

He buys a small sketchbook and fills it with dumb little doodles: you as a cat. You as a villain. You as the reason he’s broke because “someone eats too many croissants.”

He doesn’t say I like you. But he wears the bracelet you made him from string and beads. Keeps the wrapper from the gum you shared in his wallet. Asks your friends what kind of earrings you’ve been looking at lately, then acts surprised when he “randomly found” them on sale.

One evening, he takes you to a rooftop arcade. You win every game—barely—and he pretends to be devastated.

“You’re cheating,” he accuses.

“Am not.”

“Then marry me,” he blurts.

You freeze. So does he.

“…That was a joke,” he says immediately.

It wasn’t.

The next week, he gives you a hoodie. Custom-made. Embroidered over the heart: fox boy’s favourite.

Jeongin’s courtship isn’t loud. It’s a slow-burn playlist. A silent “text me when you get home.” A bag of snacks he swears he didn’t buy for you—but somehow match your exact cravings. It’s teasing that feels like touch. Laughter that feels like safety. Looks that linger too long.

He courts you like a secret he doesn’t want to keep anymore.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy

[bronzealchemy]

just keep falling, part 6

⋆. 𐙚˚ you miss gideon and get a nightly visit from caleb

you went to work. you went home. you cried. you slept horribly. then it began again. work. home. crying. bad sleep.

you tried to reach gideon, but he didn’t pick up. he didn’t want anything to do with you – that was more than clear. it was as if someone put a knife directly through your chest. a feeling you were way too familiar with. 

the next night, you were half asleep … when caleb returned. you didn’t know how he got into your apartment – but you heard his footsteps in the hallway. a noise you had known for years. there was a part of you that still hoped, this was a dream. the other part longed for him, missed him so much your soul was broken into pieces. 

the door opened. you squeezed your eyes shut. the bedsheets rustled. he sat on the corner of the bed, reaching for you. a slight touch on your arm.

„don’t pretend you’re asleep, honey.“ his voice was hoarse as whiskey and melodic as ever. you couldn’t believe he was here. couldn’t believe he really was alive.

you jerked up – and there he was, violet gaze fixed on you. „I hate you“, you spit out. then you shoved him. „I hate you.“

he smiled at your words. „didn’t seem that way when you begged me for my cock.“

your body reacted on it’s own – your hand collided with his cheek. the echo of your slap and your breathing were the only noises in the room. you stared at each other, your chest heaving, his smile wiped from his lips. 

„you left me for over a year. you let me believe you were dead. and then you played mind games with me and gideon to the point of us doubting reality. give me one reason … one reason not to pull my weapon right now and shoot you.“

there it was again, his slight smile. it was different than the one you were so familiar with. this smile had an edge to it. a different side to the caleb you once knew. „do it, honey. I invite you to.“ the smile faded slowly. his brows furrowed, the violet in his eyes turning cold. „because it wouldn’t hurt less than what you have done to me already.“ 

your cheeks flushed, angry heat creeping into them. „I thought you were dead!“

„you couldn’t wait for gideon to …“ 

you didn’t let him finish the sentence. in one swift movement, you grabbed your gun from the nightstand, then you were on him, straddling him, gun pointed right to his head. „one more word and I’ll make sure you die for real this time.“

caleb leaned back on his elbows, looking up at you. „are you sure you’re ready for that, little apple?“ 

„you have lost every permission to give me a petname“, you snarled, pushing the gun deeper into his skin.

caleb grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. „can gideon give you a petname?“, he sneered. „what does he call you, huh? baby?“ he laughed without any humor. „I heard him call lots of girls by that petname at the DAA, you know. we had fun times together. or rather gideon had a lot of fun. with a lot of girls. there were times where he fucked several in …“ 

without letting him finish that sentence, you yanked your hand back, ready to strike – but he was faster. in one swift motion, he spun you around until he was the one pinning you down, forcefully grabbing both of your wrists. you held on to your gun, grinding your teeth together. 

„stop talking about him!“

„why? I thought you loved talking about him.“

you hooked your legs around his, shoved your elbow up, and managed to throw his weight off you. the two of you tumbled off the bed and hit the floor hard, but you had the upper hand again, with your arm pressed down his neck.

„you don’t even have the decency of telling me the truth. of explaining anything.“ your voice started to shake, so did your arm. 

„I couldn’t come back to you.“ suddenly calebs voice was softer. „I wanted to, but I couldn’t. even now … being here is a safety risk for you.“

you tried to wrap your head around his words. „I … I don’t understand.“

„there’s so much I want to tell you, but I can’t. but trust me – if I would have had the choice, I would have never left you. never. I promise you that.“ 

your grip on him faltered. your shoulders started to shake. even though you weren’t sure this was enough, you started to question whether your anger was right. it was a start, at least. 

you gulped. „I still want to kind of shoot you.“ 

„and I would like to shoot gideon. and you. sooo … we’re kind of in the same boat, right?“ 

you pressed your lips together, so the laugh didn’t slip out. then you sank on him, not being able to choke him anymore. caleb wrapped his arms around you. your bodies seemed to melt into one in one earth shattering, all consuming hug. it wasn’t like the last time, where you both claimed each other. it was like in the past – with him hugging you so tight as if you were his anchor and he yours. for a second, all of the horrible months of grief disappeared, all your anger, all the pain and you only felt him. the rise and fall of his chest. his heartbeat, steady and very much alive. 

„I missed you“, he whispered.

You couldn’t answer. „I missed you, too“, didn’t even begin to cut it. but there was a little voice inside your head, whispering another name. 

gideon. 

„I’m not the only one you should explain yourself to, caleb“, you whispered.

suddenly he got stiff. „yes, you are.“

you pulled away slightly to look into his face. „gideon has a right to know, caleb.“

his jaw was tightened, his eyes dark. hurt crossed his face. „you were with him.“

„I was“, you replied. „and I don’t regret it.“

he avoided your gaze, but you grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at you. „I love you. I have never stopped loving you. I’m angry, because you left me. I’m heartbroken that you kept these secrets from me. but I wouldn’t have survived the last year without gideon. I … he‘s important to me. and he was important to you once.“ 

„that was before he …“ he didn’t finish the sentence and it lingered between the two of you. 

„gideon didn’t betray you. and I didn’t either. we didn’t plan for this to happen. I know it hurts you, and I understand … but please know that it would never had happened if you didn’t die. we grieved you, caleb. we bonded over that. and that bond … it won’t ever disappear.“ 

he cupped your cheek, his thumb softly stroking your cheek. „I hate that it had to come to this. but … I think, with time, I’ll be able to understand.“

you leaned your forehead against his, until you shared your breath, his hand never leaving your skin. 

„you need to talk to him.“, you whispered.

caleb only answered with two soft spoken words. 

„I do.“ 

[mustyrosewater]

𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖐 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖝 𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖇!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 11,658

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: meeting your long distance boyfriend over a ranked match of mortal kombat wasn't the typical meet cute you'd always dreamed of, but it seemed to work out perfectly.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: descriptions of mortal kombat gore, phone sex, long distance relationships, SMUT, no protection (please use protection.), the angst that comes with having a partner over three hours away. probably spelling errors. no descriptions of the reader other than she has her nipples pierced.

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: as soon as i saw that erik plays mortal kombat on my first watch, i immediately fan girled as somebody who's been a hardcore mortal kombat fan since i was like ten, this is the result of a hyperfixation and somehow smashing out 11k words in two nights, enjoy!!

“FINISH HIM.”

“Oh, fuck you man.”

The angered words of your opponent rung through your headset, finally deciding to turn on the voice chat feature as the deep-voiced announcer finally called out your win. 

On the screen in front of you, you quickly mashed in the quick-timed combination to spur on Mileena’s fatality against the Scorpion that this stranger was playing as.

Watching with a satisfied grin, the 3D-modelled character stabbed the other in the head with her two sai, spinning his head a few times before ripping it off in a satisfying conclusion to the randomly matched online battle. 

Whoever it was on the other end of the match, they seemed unsatisfied to take the loss elegantly, letting out a small string of muttered curses. 

“Uh uh, no way, that was bullshit.”

You hadn’t yet turned on your own mic, and a majority of the time you wouldn’t bother to accept the requests of rematches, but your curiosity was peaked as this person seemed so intent on trying to beat you again. 

ErikTheInkman.

Boring username, you thought, but based on the stats displayed under his username, he played frequently, just as you did. 

It couldn’t hurt to play a few more rounds and get a few more wins under your belt to potentially rank up, and he did seem pretty intent on trying to beat you.

Finally clicking the X on your controller to accept the rematch, you reselected Mileena in the character menu, just as you always did.

Of course, you dabbled in other characters, but she had always been your favorite, the one you sunk the most hours into learning to perfection, her move sets and combos ingrained deeply in your head. 

The newest Mortal Kombat was barely over a year old. Still, in that time you’d managed to rank up a hefty amount, sinking hours into your gameplay to unlock the cosmetics and even delving into buying some of the DLC they’d released.

You watched your opponent reselect Scorpion, seemingly also preferring to stick to a certain character as was the norm for most of the other people you played online with. 

Selecting a randomly generated match was something you did slightly less often, usually choosing to play with friends, but with the trouble of most of your friends living in different time zones and none of them being awake for the time being, you bit the dust and went into a randomly selected match. 

The characters spoke their little introductory quips to one another, something you always enjoyed watching before a match to get into the headspace you wanted, before it began. 

As the announcer called out the beginning of the match with a deep-seated “Fight!” erik the inkman, or whatever I’m his username was, sprung into action immediately.

His technique was a bit sloppy at times, but nowhere near terrible, you still had to concentrate to hold your own against him, but as the match progressed you could see him getting pissed off from the way he played. 

Winning the first round with relative ease, you heard him key his mic back on as the second round started. 

“Are you fucking serious!”

It was nowhere near the first time you’d experienced the wrath of a man’s emotions when you played online matches, keeping your profile name fairly androgynous leading to a slight decline, but it was also the reason you usually chose to keep your mic off. 

Continuing on to the second round, you noted him continuing to talk while the two of you played, something that you could not stand, finding it to be extremely distracting while you tried to concentrate.

“Why are none of my combo’s working, My fucking controller is broken i swear to god.”

You didn’t care for anything he was saying, hardly even taking it in as you carefully and hastily let your muscle memory guide you as you played. 

Hitting an attack at a particularly well timed moment, you almost jumped in your seat in excitement as it triggered one of the particularly gore filled X-ray sequences, watching the 3D rendered Scorpion to be pummeled by your Mileena.

“Oh, Fuck off!”

With only a limited amount of health left in both of your characters, you could almost hear him mashing the buttons through his mic, finally feeling yourself reach your wits end as you felt your concentration slipping, tapping the button in your head seat to unmute your mic. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

Your voice seemed to quite him initially, leaving you with just enough time to hit a fatal blow onto his Scorpion, not even bothering to trigger a fatality when the announcers booming voice spoke out, letting his character simply fall to the ground as the timer finished. 

Letting out a deep sigh, you adjusted your cross legged position on your gaming chair, realising that your sigh had been audible from the mic you’d forgotten to put back on mute. 

“Just, jesus dude. Calm down, it’s not that serious.”

You left it at that, not waiting for a response as you exited the match and finding yourself back on the main menu of the game, deciding this was a good time to take a break as any, feeling almost as if you’re blood pressure had risen just from that interaction. 

Holding up your phone, you leaned back in your chair and tried to check to see if any of your friends had messaged on discord, finding no new notifications present on the menu screen. 

Only able to let out another sigh, you chose instead to scroll through instagram, looking over whatever came up in your screen, family and friends posts flying across the page as you flicked through them mindlessly. 

The sound of a notification through your headset turned your attention away from your phone, seeing a notification popping up on the corner of the screen.

‘ErikTheInkMan has sent you a friend request.’

Furrowing your brows, you stared at the notification momentarily, confusion playing across your features and you leaned forward and clicked onto his profile.

A stereotypical profile picture of some crudely drawn skull was showing next to his username, along with his rank and stats.

Before you could look at anything else on his profile, a message popped up following the friend request. 

“GG.”

As you took a moment to scoff at the attitude of the guy who’d just sworn and basically had a tantrum, another message followed. 

“Sorry.” 

Look, even if it was only one word, there was at least some part of you that appreciated the apology, almost taking pity for the guy who probably just got a little bit too heavily invested in his gaming like a lot of people did.

Maybe that’s why you accepted his friend request. 

The acception of his friend request was the last thing you’d done before one of your friends finally messaged you to let you know they were getting on the game, starting the process of queuing up with them, forgetting all about the angry stranger for the rest of the night.

Relative nothingness seemed to follow for the rest of that night, no more messages from him or any other attempt of a rematch. 

Not until the next day at least, when you’d gotten home from work and decided to blow off some steam by jumping in again, knowing how unlikely it was that any of your friends would actually be online, but you still wanted something to do.

So when roughly fifteen minutes after you logged on, you got a message from ErikTheInkMan, asking if you wanted to play a couple more rounds, you accepted.

You don’t explicitly say yes, didn’t even respond to the message itself, simply sent him an invite that he responded to just as promptly, throwing the pair of you in a lobby to select your characters. 

Neither of you spoke at first, but as you scrolled across to select Mileena once more, you gambled a risk by unmuting yourself and speaking.

“Just don’t yell like a man child this time.”

When you said that, you immediately heard laughter ring through your headset, embarrassed laughter of somebody who’d made a fool out of themselves and knew it whole heartedly. 

“I really am sorry about that.” his voice began, having a softness to it you hadn’t had the chance to hear yet. 

“Most of the time people either don’t respond or they’re yelling back at me, kinda got a bit desensitised i guess?”

Letting out a small “Mhm.” you continued going forward with the match, the pair of you locking in your characters and continuing forward. 

You couldn’t have known you both would have continued on for hours playing, eventually delving into a conversation of light playful jabs, making each other laugh as your matches grew more casual, rolling with the even mix of wins and losses on both sides. 

“I’m gonna get you this time, watch out.” 

He spoke with an audible smile, actively in the middle of knocking off a large amount of your health bar through a series of combo’s 

“Oh sure, you can try, but you’re hopeless.”

You’re response only let out a low laugh on his part.

“Oh you’re in for it now.”

The time spent in countless matches seemed to offset your initial meeting all together, now finding yourself getting nothing but sheer enjoyment out of the banter the pair of you shared. 

So much so that by the time you’d actually spared a glance at your clock for the first time tonight, you’d let out a small “Oh shit.” with a laugh.

“What is it?” he enquired, that same audible smile present in his tone.

“I should have gone to bed like, two hours ago.”

As you both laughed at your realisation, you listened as he seemed to check his own time.

“Shit, same here. I have to open tomorrow, we fucked up.”

Your mind wandered for a moment thinking what he might do, a question that might have to be left for next time you spoke, if there even was a next time at the very least.

“Alright, well, i’m gonna head off then.” you kept your tone kind, not immediately offering to play again with him, just keeping it open enough without shutting it down completely.

“Wait, do you have discord?” 

His immediate enquiry made you feel the slightest bit shy, a smile coming to your face as you laughed softly.

“Yeah, i’ll message you my tag.” 

Going into the messages feature of the game, you double checked it on your other monitor, already having had it open from the beginning of the night, and typed out your tag for him to look you up. 

“There you go, okay, i really have to get to bed now though.” you laughed through your words, finishing up your conversation with a mutual good night and exited the game, turning off your pc and getting ready for bed. 

Neglecting to check your phone until the next morning, you’d seen the notification from discord, the banner reading that a friend request had been sent your way, the time reading to only a few minutes after you’d fallen asleep the night before. 

Still named as ‘eriktheinkman’ on discord, his profile picture was still of a macabre nature, some sort of sketched picture of a snake across a dagger, potentially drawn by him? you weren’t entirely sure.

Taking the plunge and sending the first message wasn’t something you’d usually do, but it was all you could think about as you could ready for work, taking only a few seconds to type out a quick “good morning :)” before promptly putting the phone face down on your kitchen counter. 

By the time you’d gotten a response, you were already at work, maybe he was a few hours behind you? you hadn’t asked specifically where he was from but he clearly had an american accent, what if he was canadian? maybe you hadn’t picked it the accent correctly.

You’d sat down at your lunch break roughly an hour after initially seeing the notification, finally opening it up to see what he’d sent in response.

“morning. how’d you sleep?” 

It was a standard response obviously, mundane yet still left you with butterfly’s in your stomach, something so simple.

“not bad, still managed to wake up to my alarms lol.”

You hadn’t expected such a prompt response, seeing his profile become active within less than thirty seconds before you could see him start typing.

“wish i was in the same boat. was late to work, client was already waiting.”

Smiling to your screen, you tried to guess what he might do for a living, imagining a plethora of different things in your head as you watched him start typing again before you could even respond.

“we should play again tonight if you’re not busy.”

his lack of any smiley faces seemed fitting to the person you’d already gotten to know, being an avid user of emoji’s and hearts amount other things yourself, it was odd to see, but already didn’t seem out of character for him. 

“i don’t think i am, i finish work at 6:30, it’s like 3 now for me.”

Now with the understanding he’d woken up late specifically, you wondered if your guess about him being a few hours behind you was still correct, your mind brimming with the possibilities of where he was from. 

“oh okay, that works, it’s around 2 for me now, i should be finishing up at 6 as long as my boss doesn’t pull any shit.”

There was your answer, only roughly an hour behind you.

The thought made you giddy for some reason, maybe just excitement at the idea of meeting a potential friend that actually lived in the same continent as you, much less potentially only being a few states away.

“sounds perfect :)” 

Just as quickly as it started, your lunch break was over, sentencing you back to your job which awaited you with open arms, unable to keep your thoughts away from erik the ink man, as you’d come to start calling him in your head. 

The night when you came home and jumped back onto Mortal Kombat within only minutes of walking through the door, a night of even more laughter and playful insults that you knew now were done innocently, seemed to have kickstarted a long distance friendship between you and erik, coming to know each other by name. 

As the months drew onward, it got to the point you were talking to erik almost every day, messaging him on your lunch break to complain about annoying customers, he’d do the same when he had the free time during his shifts, joking about the people that would come in asking him for infinity symbols, or sleeves consisting of lions, roses and clocks. 

His dry humour was the best part of your day, the way he’d poke fun at you and send sarcastic comments your way that only made you laugh and playfully insult him back. 

Even when you were just cooking dinner, you’d end up calling him over discord and filling him in about your day while he either closed up the shop for the night or while he laid down on his couch absentmindedly playing something else. 

It was a sense of peace to the end of your days, being able to chat with somebody you grew to consider a close friend, as well as having a gaming buddy that actually lived reasonably on par with your time zone.

When he’d first mentioned off handedly that he finished off a tattoo that’d been a few sessions in the making that day, instead of sending it to you over discord like he usually did, he told you to just look him up on instagram, stating that it was easier.

You weren’t even entirely sure what you were expecting your friend to look like, never having conjured up some image of him in your head previously, so going from a blank slate to the tatted up, dark haired and blue eyed guy in the photo, happily tattooing away, well it was a bit of an unexpected jump. 

“I guess it’s only fair you actually see what i look like now.” you’d mused to him, following the instagram that he’d sent to you, waiting for him to notice the notification.

It’d only taken about a minute and a half till you received a follow back. 

“You’re such a fucking nerd.” erik mused, only stirring a laugh from deep within you, no doubt seeing the pictures of your gaming set up and the pictures from within the comic book store you worked at, goofy faces made with your coworkers. 

“Shut up.” was all you’d been able to respond with, now having such a different type of feeling now that you actually knew what the person behind the voice looked like.

Of course you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. 

Every little sarcastic jab you threw at each other that felt like it carried even the slightest bit of flirting was now making you want to blush and hide your face like an idiot, always thankful that erik couldn’t actually see you. 

“I’m coming for you now.” 

Going from Mortal Kombat to a series of different games was now something you did quite often with erik, finding that you actually shared quite a few in common, finding that Dead by Daylight was a semi common one that you’d both suggest on the days where you gamed together.

“If you hook me i’ll moan.” you jokingly threatened, your mouth curling into a grin as you controlled your character, weaving over pallets and rounding corners as the killer erik was playing as found itself hot on your trail.

“Now i absolutely wanna hook you.” he responded, his killer gaining on your survivor at an alarming rate that had you letting out a little squeal.

“Oh get off my ass!” you laughed, there were still two other survivors he could be gunning for, but it made too much sense that he was targeting you specifically.

“Hmm, no. I was that ass specifically.”

His response only had you rolling your eyes, letting out a groan of annoyance when he downed you, his character picking yours up and walking towards one of the hooks that was close by. 

“No come onnn, let me cut a deal with you please.” you put on a mockingly begging tone, trying to button mash to get out of his killers hold. 

“You can’t whore your way out of this one.” he laughed through his words, hooking your character with no hesitation, the scream cutting through your headset as you put your controller down with a huff, only able to watch helplessly as the entitiy’s claws murdered your character.

“That was rigged, i refuse to accept that.”

“Now who’s having a tantrum?”

He was laughing just as much as you were as you watched the rest of the game play out, letting out a satisfied cheer when the last survivor escaped through the hatch, unable to be caught and murdered by erik’s killer.

“Yes! fuck you! that’s what you get!”

What had started as playful, slightly flirty insults initially, seemed to delve a bit deeper as time went on, going from unserious to being rooted in something unspoken between the pair of you. 

Now at the level of sending stupid little selfies to each other throughout the day, it’d been you who’d seemed to pull the first official check mate of whatever it was going on between you two.

You’d been getting out of the shower when your phone first vibrated, holding the towel wrapped around your body with one hand as you opened up discord to see him making a stupid face, obviously laying in bed judging by the messy hair and pillow behind his head. 

Obviously you could have waited until you got dressed to send something back, gotten into your pajamas and sent a similar selfie back from the comfort of your own bed. 

But you didn’t. 

Not even 100% certain of what you were doing, the sudden burst of confidence (potentially mixed with how goddamn pretty he looked in the initial selfie he sent you) seeming to prompt you to take a photo of yourself using the mirror, smiling softly as your wet hair and towel around your body was shown just enough to convey you’d only just stepped out of the shower 

At first, it’d taken him a little bit to respond, your anxiety was already telling you that you’d pushed it a bit too far, that this was the part where he ignored the picture or let you down easily, after five minutes of freaking out, you felt your phone vibrate again, opening the message hastily. 

“not even gonna lie, kind of wish you sent me that while you were still in the shower but i’ll take it.” 

He was still being playful, but it seemed like you were both in the same page, a mutual agreement now that there was definitely more to the flirting and the comments than just gaming buddies being silly.

Initially you stared at his message, biting your lip and now feeling completely unsure what to do from here, the sudden burst of confidence now entirely overshadowed by anxiety.

Before you could think to type anything or send another image, you watched an image begin to load up from erik, almost dropping your phone when you looked at it.

He’d obviously decided to take another selfie, his faded t shirt and boxers clearly in frame now, only seeing his mouth in the photo pulled into a slight smirk.

The clear image of his boxers also very clearly showed him half hard, the tartan pattern seeming to show every little detail through the thin material.

This was it, permission sent clear as day on his end, whatever it was that was about to happen between the two of you, he was giving you the green flag.

Overthinking the image more than you probably needed to, taking a moment to toy with the angles, you eventually settled on an image of yourself with the towel now falling a little bit more, your face slightly more in view than it was previously, sticking you tongue out in a mischievous way.

As opposed to previously, erik’s response after you sent the image came in much quicker this time, already seeming to make his frustration known.

“you’re making it really hard to be miles away right now.”

That was soon followed by a picture that was fairly similar than before, only difference being that why had initially been a half hard tent in his boxers was now standing far more, his hand resting on his stomach.

You could have done nothing but send photos back and fourth to each other all night, make it a painfully slow process, but there was definitely a build up that needed to be addressed, the comments you’d been throwing at each other for weeks now were starting to boil over, there wasn’t any room left to wait.

When you called him, he answered within a single ring, already hearing how deeply he was breathing. 

“You’re trouble.” were the first words out of his mouth, breathless and hurried. 

“Let me see you.” 

Calling him seemed to have opened the floodgates, any and all but if coyness and subtlety now thrown out the window and discarded by the both of you.

When you pulled your phone away and turned on your camera, the image of him soon followed, you’re smiling face being all the was in frame, biting your lip.

“Hi.” you whispered, unsure why, considering you lived alone, but he didn’t seem to mind, only smiling back at you as he slowly sat up in bed.

“If you don’t show me what’s under that towel, i’m gonna fucking burst.” 

His words felt like fire over your skin, it felt the slightest bit odd, about to show yourself to someone you’d never even met in the flesh, yet all with the comfort of how well you’d come to know him. 

Biting your lip to try and hide your smile, you held up your phone to show more of your body, now holding the towel across your chest, otherwise letting it hang loosely, hiding the parts of yourself that you knew he wanted to see. 

Even through the phone, you could hear his breathing get deeper and rougher, see the way his brows furrowed a bit as his eyes raked over your body with a laser focus. 

“Shit.” he whispered, seeming to sport a bit more confidence than you currently were, pulling his phone away from his face to show how he was currently palming himself through his boxers, no hesitation present on his features at all as his mouth fell open.

“I-I’ve never done this before.” you spoke, breaking the silence but showing no intentions of stopping your teasing, just finding yourself slightly unsure of what exactly you should be doing right now, overthinking what exactly it might be that he wanted you to do.

“Yeah? Me neither.” his words were a delicious mix of a huskiness and a grunt that had you already pressing your legs together “it’s okay, it’s okay.. just.. i’ll tell you what to do.. if you don’t wanna go any further, just say the word. okay?” 

God he was so sweet, so considerate, it only made you want to do this even more, wanted to see him touching himself to the sight of you, knowing how badly he wanted you. 

Nodding, you tilted your head and smiled, the innocent look on your face already having an evident effect on erik as he watched you through his phone, squeezing his cock through the fabric of his boxers as he moved his hand to slip under the waist band and start to play with himself lazily. 

“Need to see those tits, please baby.” 

The way he asked, begged to see you had you already starting to feel weak, like your stomach was doing cartwheels, barely even leaving you enough brain power to concentrate on letting the towel drop away from your breasts, using your now free’d hand to squeeze them for him, running your fingers so softly along the underside, running across your flesh in a way that seemed to spur an audible groan from him, especially when he saw the barbells that sat through your nipples, watching as his eyes locked into them immediately. 

“Jesus, when were you gonna tell me about those..” 

For a moment you were too sheepish to even speak, running your thumb over the peaks and letting out soft pants through your open mouth. 

“Not really an easy thing to just mention out of nowhere.” you laughed softly, watching as he shook his head softly, seemingly sharing your sentiment of being lost for words. 

“Fuck, you have no clue how much i’ve thought about you like this.”

Biting back a shy smile, you shut your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you run your hand along the soft flesh of your tits. Knowing that you were producing that much of a reaction from Erik purely from him seeing these parts of you, it would have been a lie if you’d said the feeling wasn’t a little bit addictive.

“Pinch em’ a little, please baby, just like that.”

His words caused your eyes to open back up, seeing that his face was now contorting into a mural of different expressions, the struggle to keep his eyes open visible on his face as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. 

As much as you were shy, the idea of doing these things in front of a camera making you feel weak, the adrenaline was out weighing it completely, the image on your phone screen of Erik pulling down his boxers with one hand, all to reveal..

“Oh my god, is that-“

The silver ball’s of the curved barbell sitting snugly inside the reddened tip of his cock caught the light of the camera and glinted softly in the dark room he was in.

Your words brought a croaked laugh out of his chest, turning the camera back to his face and smiling as you could see his shoulder moving while he pumped himself slowly and lazily. 

“Guess I can't give you any shit for not mentioning hidden piercings now..”

All you could do was nod your head and let out a small “uh huh”, already feeling hypnotised by the sight of him running his thumb over his tip that was met by the silver ball of the barbell. 

“Fuckin’ hurt like a bitch, worth it though.”

His chesty laugh sounded like liquid velvet to your ears, it made it seem like this wasn’t real at all, like you were just having a wet dream about someone you’d come to consider one of your best friends and that you were gonna wake up any second and you’d be back to nothing except flirty remarks and unspoken attraction. 

Except this was definitely real, when he turned the camera back to his face, his mouth hanging open and his chest rising and falling deeply, you knew your own brain was incapable of conjuring up an image like that. 

“Let me see those pretty tits again, don’t be selfish.”

You knew he wasn’t being genuine with his remark about you being selfish, it only made you smile more, bringing your phone back to an angle where both your face and torso could be seen, continuing to play with them for him, trying to hardest to put on a show, a private one that was purely for yours and his eyes. 

“Erik..” you practically mewled his name out, your voice shaky and unstable, only seeming to get more of a reaction out him, his shoulder moving in a way that signalled he was starting to pump himself faster. 

“Fucking- god, say my name again.” 

When you repeated his name, letting it come out similar to a prayer to a god, breathing it out so that it sounded like some sort of arcane word that had unknown power over him. 

You watched his eyes squeeze shut and his head fall back on his pillow, his mouth hanging open as he continued to let out a series of throaty groans that rose and fell in pitch at a rapid pace. 

“Holy shit, holy shit.”

Knowing that something as simple as saying his name could have this much a reaction from him, the power you held, it just made your mind swim with the possibilities of what it would be like if he was here with you right now, or you with him. 

You pictured laying down on his bed, making a mess of his grey coloured sheets as he took you from behind, how it would feel to have his strong hands gripping your hips as he pounded into your womb at an unforgiving place.

When your hand had made it’s way down to your clit, you couldn’t even remember, too wound up in chasing your own release to even try and keep track of how long you’d both been sitting here watching each other play with yourselves. 

All you were aware of was how close you were, letting the thoughts of what you’d let him do to you drive the rest of the fantasy in your mind, the idea of him putting that pierced dick inside you and filling you up to the brim with his cum seeming to do the job perfectly, feeling the tightness in your stomach begin to wind itself together.

“Erik, Erik, i think i’m gonna cum.”

“Yes baby, please, fuck i wish i was there, i wanna cum inside you so much, oh my- fuck!”

His own noises were cut off my silence as you watched him seem to still for a moment, only to start moving again at a much slower place, his head rising up while he suddenly began to make noises again, coming out as high pitched cries he seemed to cum all over his belly from what you could see as the camera started to fall out of frame, rolling up to show half of his face and the wall behind him. 

It hadn’t been long for you to follow, the sounds he made proving to be the perfect final little bit of a push you needed in order to be plunged into the cooling pool of an orgasm that had your toes curling and your thighs shaking. 

Falling back from your position sitting on the edge of the bed, you felt your back hit the blankets and stared up at the ceiling as you started to come down from your high, suddenly becoming aware of the fact your heart beat was pounding in your own head, shutting your eyes and just letting the sound of your own panting be accompanied by the sounds of Erik’s own coming from your phone.

You must have sat there for at least another thirty seconds or so, cause eventually you heard Erik’s words coming out with soft laughter. 

“You still alive?” he asked, only just now realising your phone had been abandoned next to you, no doubt now facing your ceiling. 

“No.” you responded, only resulting in another laugh ringing out from him as you finally sat up, grabbing your phone and rolling onto your stomach, holding it back up so you could Erik again, who was now standing once more and seemingly cleaning his own release off his stomach with a tissue. 

“Must’ve died and gone to heaven.” 

You let your face fall forward onto the blanket as you laughed at his words, looking back up to see him looking at the camera once more and smiling softly, looking at you as if you were a piece of art. 

At first there was nothing but silence as you watched him sit back down on his bed, running a hand over his face briefly, as if you were waiting for each other to speak first and address what just happened. 

“What did we just do?” you asked, letting a sigh leave your lips and your brows furrowing as a confused smile crossed your features.

“Well, i hope i’m correct in assuming this..” he began “But i think we just did something that was a long time coming.” 

Looking at you expectantly, you waited for a moment before nodding, embarrassment suddenly flooding through you as you realised how long you’d both let this play out because you were both just too stupid to communicate. 

“Yeah, that checks out.” you laughed, standing up and letting the phone rest on your night stand as you pulled out your drawer and grabbed a pair of pajamas to get closed into it, pulling a pair of shorts on and stepping back into frame as you pulled a shirt over yourself. 

“Careful, my dicks still really sensitive, don’t start her back up again.” he joked, making a pretend pained face as you smiled, his sense of humor seeming to have come back after the post orgasm clarity. 

“Her?” you questioned with a smile, only for him to nod. 

“Of course.” he responded as if it was obvious. 

-

A long distance relationship wasn’t something you’d ever thought about in great detail, at least not before Erik; yet it was something that just seemed to work perfectly for the two of you, for the most part. 

There wasn’t a whole lot of change in routine, other than your gaming sessions and late night phone calls finishing up with “I love you”s and occasionally more instances of the two of you getting off over video call.

It was quickly evident just how insatiable the both of you were, sending Erik photos with your shirt pulled up while he was at work knowing how much it was going to drive him crazy, just the same for him to send you videos late at night of him lazily jerking off when you didn’t have time to call him. 

There’s only so much that can be done when you lived at least three or four states away, when the video calls weren’t enough anymore, you graduated up to remote control toys, a vibrator he could control using his phone, which he had used more than once to get the upper hand during a match. 

“Oh, eat a dick!” you’d yelled with a laugh, practically bouncing in your gaming chair as your team got the upper hand, ready to secure yet another win against the team he’d been playing against. 

Yeah well, it’s all fun and games until he decides to turn it all the way up out of nowhere, a soft shriek leaving your lips as you feel yourself flying forward, the hands holding your controller beginning to shake as a bruising amount of vibration descends upon your clit. 

“That’s not fairrrr!” you’d whine, turning to look at the screen where you had your webcams set up, only seeing Erik grinning like a smug idiot as he puts his phone down and picks his controller back up. 

That’s also great, amazing actually, but it gets to a point. 

When that point is almost eight months into officially being a couple, finally being introduced to his siblings when they poke their heads into frame, waving to them and letting Erik introduce you officially as his girlfriend who just happens to live over a thousand miles away. 

His sister followed you on instagram, already starting a steady routine of sending you funny reels and replying to your posts with hearts and smiley faces. 

His brother seemed to love you, always being heard asking if he could say hi in the background when you were talking to Erik, each and every time making an effort to ask you how you were going, the biggest sweetheart you’d ever met in your life. 

You hadn’t been there when Erik had told his parents about you, but you had gotten a text from him to let you know that his mother and father really wanted to meet you, or at least, talk to you over a video call. 

No matter how much he reassured you that you had no reason to be nervous, that he’d already shown his parents pictures of you and gushed non stop to the point that they already were voicing how excited they were to finally talk to you, you were still pacing back and forth while you waited for Erik to call you. 

Absolutely nothing in this world could have prepared you for how amazing his parents were, how kind they had been, the way they’d smiled so brightly when you started the call like they were more excited to see you than even Erik was. 

When Erik’s father had patted him on the shoulder, gushing about how happy he was that his son had found such a nice girl and how proud he was. 

You knew Erik liked to put on a tough guy front, but the way he smiled while his father praised him, the sight warmed your heart in such a way that you’d never felt before. 

His mother was the sweetest woman you’d ever had the pleasure of speaking to, asking you so intently about yourself, it hadn’t taken long for you to just fall absolutely in love with the rest of Erik’s family just as much as you were head over heels in love with him. 

Maybe that was why the distance had finally started to get to you, the desperation to feel something as simple as holding his hand but knowing that you couldn’t, it had started to boil over for you, coming to a head at the end of one of your many phone calls. 

“Alright, i gotta go to bed baby, it’s already so late.” he laughed, hearing the soft shuffling of him rolling over in bed. 

The time on your clock read close to 1:30 AM, not an unusually late time for you guys to finish your calls, but you knew he had to open the shop tomorrow, you knew he needed to actually be up at a reasonable hour. 

You really did just wanna say good night, tell him you’d see him in the morning, but the words couldn’t bring themselves to come out, all you could do was sniffle softly as you felt tears welling up in your eyes.

“Baby?” he asked, concern already starting to lace his voice when you didn’t respond, even more so when he could hear that you were audibly in the brink of tears. 

“I hate this..” you whispered with a shaken voice, rubbing your eye with your sleeve as you felt tears already starting to stream down your cheeks. 

“What’s wrong? talk to me, are you okay?”

While it took you a moment to find the words, only able to release a small number of pathetic sobs as you could hear the way your boyfriend was starting to panic over the phone, you finally spoke, gathering yourself so that you could relieve him from the anxiety of wondering why you’d seemingly started crying out of nowhere.

“I just wanna hold you, I wanna hold your hand. We’re gonna hang up this call and i’m just going to lay down in this bed alone knowing your over a thousand miles away and there’s nothing i can do about it.”

Your words were wobbly, a vomit of feelings you’d spent the last few weeks bottling up, only to now all come out at once like an opening of floodgates that you couldn’t find the strength to get a handle on. 

At first you were worried about how he was going to respond, already imagining all of the things he might say in response to your sudden rant, when he was already tired and needed to go to bed. 

Letting out a sigh, he spoke.

“I know.” he began, his tone taking on a much more vulnerable tone than you’d expected, his voice coming in an octave higher than it was before. 

“I hate it too, god, you have no idea how much i just wanna hold you, it’s been getting to me too baby.” 

His words only seemed to bring on more tears, your face falling into your hands, all you wanted was to lay your head on his chest and cry it out, but you couldn’t even do that.

“We’re gonna get there soon okay? I’ve already been talking to my dad about trying to get time off work, it just needs to be planned, that’s all.”

Letting out one more pathetic little sniffle, you nodded your head, even if it was just a phone call, wiping your tears one more time as you tried to find something to say.

“I love you, you know that right?”

His words made a weak laugh bubble up from your stomach, always loving the way it sounded when he said it, always making you feel better straight away.

“I love you too.” you breathed.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can tomorrow, but you need to sleep baby, I can tell you’re tired.” 

You could hear the smile on his words as he offered you comfort, only able to wish him a goodnight and a good day at work tomorrow before you finally hung up the call for the night rolled over to try and get some sleep. 

-

When you’d gotten the phone call from Bobby, you’d initially thought that maybe something had happened, why exactly would he be calling you directly and not just either messaging you or getting Erik to call you; nonetheless, you answered.

“Hey Bobby, everything okay?”

You’re next best suspicion was that this call most definitely had something to do with the fact that Erik’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks, maybe he needed a hand with picking something, or he wanted to see what you were thinking of getting him, not that you could really send a lot unless you had it shipped. 

Just as quickly as you’d spoke, you heard Julia’s voice come through, realising quickly you were on speaker phone with the pair of siblings. 

“How soon can you get time off work?” 

With that conversation, a devious plan by Erik’s two siblings was set in motion, his mother partially being involved, they explained. 

All that you had to do was give them a time where you would be free and not working, and Brenda would book you a plane ticket. 

“We’re gonna give him the best birthday present of his whole goddamn life.”

-

The flight had been almost three hours, the final step in a two and half week long plan to hide any and all hints that you were going to be flying out from your boyfriend. 

It was already arranged that Julia was going to pick you up from the airport under the guise of running out to get a few things for the little party that the family had planned, all you had to do was make sure that your flight didn’t crash horribly and everything would be fine. 

You’d lied through your teeth when Erik had called you that morning, explaining that you were going out to go see some family and that there wasn’t any service where they lived, which he promptly bought completely and without question. 

He had no reason to doubt you of course, it was a reasonable enough excuse to have your phone off, considering it had already happened before when you went to visit family in the past. 

With Erik more than thoroughly distracted with the celebration for his birthday underway, as well as your flight finally landing, it was only going to be less than an hour before you were finally standing face to face with your boyfriend for the first time ever. 

The thought alone was already making your hands shake as you walked through the terminal dragging your suitcase behind you. 

When Julia had spotted you, you’d both been unable to hide back the squeals you let out as you embraced each other, already over the moon with finally being able to greet Erik’s sister, who’d come to embrace you wholeheartedly as a friend. 

“Oh I can’t wait to see the look on his fucking face!” she’d mused, taking your hand immediately and guiding you through the rest of the terminal and out into the massive parking lot where she’d helped load your suitcase into the trunk. 

The drive was by no means helping your nerves, knowing that with every meter you crossed you were getting closer and closer, even just knowing that Erik was only a thirty or so minute drive and not a whole set of states away? it was making you feel giddy and nauseous all at the same time somehow. 

Your knee was bouncing incessantly as the tall buildings began to slowly morph into suburbia, houses with bright green lawns flying past your window. 

You had no idea which house was the Campbells, so it was just a waiting game of when the car was going to slow down, your heart beating at a pace that made you feel like it was going to burst out of your chest and you’d die from a heart attack before you even got the chance to finally meet your boyfriend in the flesh. 

“I don’t know if i can do this.” you blurted out, fear evident on your face as you turned to Julia who only burst out laughing at the look on your face. 

“You’re gonna be totally fine!l she encouraged, taking a hand off the steering wheel to rub your shoulder. 

“Erik on the other hand? he might piss his pants.” 

Just as she said that, you felt the car slowing down, a house coming into view which she turned the car towards, pulling into the gravel driveway, which promptly made you feel like you were going to start hyperventilating.

Never before had you felt so much anxiety, yet at the same time wanted to break the window down and sprint to the front door and kick it open. 

So many stupid thoughts began to flood your brain, what if you didn’t look the same as you did on camera and he didn’t like you? What if he suddenly decided he didn’t want to be your boyfriend anymore? 

You hadn’t even realised you’d just been sitting there staring at the house in silence with a panicked look on your face until Julia spoke. 

“I just texted Bobby, we’re ready to go.” she grinned at you, unbuttoning her seatbelt and shimmying her shoulders at you excitedly. 

“Are you ready?” she asked, only finding yourself able to nod silently as you exited her car, pulling your suitcase out of the back seat and approaching the door at Julia’s side with shaky hands. 

Exchanging one more look, Julia grinned as she knocked on the door softly, being greeted by Bobby’s grinning face as he pulled you in for a quick hug. 

“Oh my god, you’re real!” he spoke with hushed excitement. 

You could already hear music coming from the backyard as the siblings began to sneak you through the door like you were a secret package that needed to be delivered without detection. 

“Okay, they’re in the backyard, let’s move.” Bobby spoke to you, letting Julia walk ahead and out to the backyard carrying the supplies she’d apparently been sent out to get. 

With a hand on your back, Bobby guided you to the backyard, light greeting you as you looked around frantically, spotting every member of the Campbell family one by one before finally landing on the back of a band shirt and a head of dark hair fiddling away with the grill. 

“Erik!” Julia called out, looking at you briefly with a grin “I got your present while i was out!” 

“Uh huh.” he responded, barely paying attention to his sisters words as he continued tinkering with the machine, not turning around just yet.

You felt like you were gonna be sick any second, jesus, turn around Erik, turn around. 

As if he’d heard your telepathic command, he turned to look at his sister, a bored look in his face as he expected to receive some sort of stock standard last minute present. 

The very second his eyes met you own, you’re terrified smile beaming at him from only a few meters away, his reaction wasn’t really that far off from what you expected.

“Oh my fucking god!” his voice was loud, his hands coming to tangle in his hair as he looked across at you like you weren’t real for a few seconds before he looked over at his sister. 

“Are you serious?!” 

You knew it wasn’t a bad yell, that he was probably just in shock, hell, you’d had hours to process this and you felt like you were still in shock yourself. 

Tears started flooding your eyes as soon as you heard his voice for the first time not coming out of the phone, when it seemed to dawn on both of you that you were here standing in front of him, physically here. 

Without hesitation, Erik only muttered one more quick “Fuck off.” astonishment still clear on his face as you both bee lined it for one another, crashing into each other so quickly you almost knocked each other over. 

There was no chance of holding back your sobs, loud and embarrassing but you couldn’t find it in you to care, you were finally holding him in your arms and you had absolutely no intention of letting go. 

“Holy shit, Holy shit.” his words were muffled from where his face had found itself tucked into the crook of your neck, still wobbled enough to where you could tell that he was also fighting back tears. 

Swaying in each other's arms to the point that you almost fell over more than once, you didn’t want to risk pulling away, fearing that you’d pull away and he’d no longer be there in front of you. 

Finally being able to pull away and look up at him, you could see how puffy his blue eyes already were, using your sleeves to reach up and wipe them away for him, the pair of you both laughing through your tears. 

“Happy birthday.” was all you could manage to croak out, letting yourself be cut off by the feeling of his hands on your cheeks, pulling you in as he leaned down to finally lay a deep kiss on your lips, something you’d both been itching to feel for months now. 

He tasted like the beer he’d been drinking, and his stubble tickled your lip but you couldn’t find it in you to care in the slightest, only feeling so completely and utterly overjoyed to finally be inhaling his scent and feeling his lips against yours. 

Pulling away, he pulled you against his chest all over again, letting you wrap your arms around his middle as he rested his chin on the top of your head. 

“I fucking hate you guys so much.” he laughed, the family erupting into laughter at his comment. 

-

The entire span of Erik’s birthday celebration had been spent by his side, not allowed to leave his side for even one second. 

When you’d been speaking with Bobby and Julia, he stood behind you with his arms around you and his chin resting on top of your head, and when you sat to finally have a proper meeting with his Dad, he sat by your side and kept his hand on your leg. 

He peppered your face with kisses as you both just stood there holding each other, letting you explain every step of the elaborate plan you and his entire family had hatched behind his back. 

“So you did this all behind my back, and still managed to keep it a secret?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief as you nodded.

Leaning forward to place yet another kiss on your forehead, he just smiled down at you like you were a gift from god.

By the time the celebrations were wrapping up, it was almost midnight, and everybody was more than tired enough to be pretty desperate to hit the hay. 

As you said your goodnights, gave his mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek as she told you how happy she was that you were finally here, you could see Erik coming over with your suitcase, an arm coming around your shoulder. 

“Let’s put this up in my room.” he sighed, obviously quite tired himself from the day. 

Heading up the stairs trailing behind Erik, you watched him open up his bedroom door and were finally greeted with the sight of the bedroom you’d only ever seen in the background of your video calls, seeing it in person hardly even felt real, finding yourself giddy all over again. 

Standing there in the middle of the room for a few seconds, it hadn’t been long before you felt arms wrapping around you from behind, Erik letting his forehead rest on the crook of your neck and he took a deep breath of your scent in, letting out a satisfied groan. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here.” he spoke, only making you smile brighter as you turned in his arms, facing him and letting your forehead rest against his own as you both closed your eyes. 

“I can’t believe it either.” 

Resting your hands on his cheeks, your eyes remained closed as you captured his lips in a soft kiss, just letting them rest there as his arms around tightened. 

As innocent as it started, it had only been a few seconds before Erik was already deepening the kiss, neither of you showing any form of hesitation as you began to embrace each other. 

His hands found their way to your waist, starting to squeeze at your flesh as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip, the desperation you held for each other was finally able to reach its fullest form now that you were finally alone.

Opening your mouth up to him, you tasted the beer and cigarettes on his tongue, even the slight aftertaste of sweet birthday cake that had been cut up for everyone, exactly what you imagined he’d tasted like. 

In any other instance, you both would have taken your time, but it would have been stupid to assume that there would have been any kind of patience shared between you right now, Erik’s hands were already finding their way under your shirt, leading you to where his bed sat in the corner of the room.

As soon as the back of your knees hit the bed, you let yourself fall onto it with a soft laugh from Erik, his knee finding its way between your legs almost as if it was an instinct, like you knew each other's bodies perfectly even if this was the first time you’d even touched each other. 

The desperation shared between the two of you was borderline pornographic, gripping each other like you were going to fall away any second, Erik pulling away only for a second to tear off his shirt like it was burning his skin, before moving to his belt buckle with shaky hands. 

You worked at your own clothes, comfortable for the sake of the long flight, coming with the benefit of also being easy to remove. 

As Erik came back down, you were halfway through removing your shirt, something he was more than happy to help you with, throwing it onto the floor of his room with no regard as to where it landed. 

“I need you.” you whispered against his lips that had found their way back onto his own, his grip on you tightening in response to your words, almost so hard it hurt, a groan coming from deep within his throat. 

“I know.” he breathed out, his hands wasting no time before moving to the waistband of your pants, pulling at it until you raised your hips slightly off the mattress, leaving you laying there in nothing but a tank top and panties, a sight that had him simply staring down at you in silence, panting. 

He looked at you like you were made of clouds, like with just one more touch you’d fade away any second, this was more than just lust driven hunger, there was an unspoken need between the two of you, desperation to feel each other in a way you could only imagine until now. 

“There’s so much i want to do to you right now.” he huffed, running his fingers lightly against your chest, his hands coming to lazily grab at your tits, running his thumb against one of your hardened nipples that was now poking against the thin fabric of your tank top, only eliciting an open mouthed moan from you, a whimper that came out in a way you weren’t even conscious of. 

“But all I can think about is burying myself so deep inside you that you see stars.” 

His words, the image they out in your head, it had to keening for him and grinding your pussy against his knee like an animal in heat, but you couldn’t even find it in yourself to be self-conscious about it, you were just as desperate for him as he was for you, if the hard form now running against his jeans was anything to show. 

“Please, baby, please.” 

Your words had him gripping your legs tightly, pulling away from you only briefly, hooking his fingers into your panties to take them with him as he backed away, kneeling on the floor and pulling you harshly to the end of the bed.

Unable to hold back the small squeal as he pulled you and hooked your legs over his shoulders, you both found yourselves laughing like kids at a sleepover, his index finger coming to rest on your lips.

“Shut the fuck up, jesus.” he wheezed, leaning forward to give you one more quick kiss on the lips. 

“You gotta be quiet, can you do that for me?” he asked, leaving you to respond with a nod as you bit your lip, raising yourself on your elbows briefly to watch him sink his face between your legs. 

The second you even felt his stubble tickle your thighs, much less the feeling of his tongue licking a long stripe across your pussy, your head tipped back and your mouth fell open, a silent scream escaping as he dove in to devour you with little hesitation. 

Fuck, you’d waited so long for this, any thoughts you may have had about how this was going to feel were absolutely nothing compared to the real thing, nothing you could have conjured up in your mind was anywhere close to how earth-shattering it felt for him to run his tongue through your folds. 

The sounds were sloppy, ringing in your ears along with a choir of guttural moans coming from Erik’s end, like he’d been stuck in a desert for days and only just now had gotten his hands on water. 

He lapped at you like he didn’t want to waste a single drop of you, gripped your thighs so hard that you knew for a fact there was going to be red marks by the time you were done.

When his hands hooked under your knees, pushing them forward without warning so that they were nearly next to your ears, he pushed his tongue into you with no mercy, the feeling of him fucking you on his tongue having you feel like you were about gush right then and there.

For a moment or two, you could have literally sworn you went blind, a hand flying to your both to try and hide the absolutely pathetic sounds that were coming out of you, your other hand coming down to tangle through his soft dark hair. 

“Come on baby, cum on my face, fucking do it.”

His words of encouragement had been more than enough, paired with the feeling of his fingertips landing on your clit to rub fast and quick circles, his tongue going in and out of you, you felt your entire body still, your thighs instinctively trying to push together only to be held open by his strong hands. 

He kept going until you were pulling at his hair trying to get him to stop, letting out soft mewl’s of overstimulation, the muscles in your stomach were still turning, your pussy still pulsing by the time he came back up to be face to face with you.

His chin was glistening in what little light there was in his room, a grin on his face that matched his blown out eyes, so dark that they almost looked black. 

You couldn’t even form words, your orgasm had wrecked you so much that all you could do was let out little hums, kissing him lazily when he leaned down to take your mouth against his. 

As you made out with him, you already began to feel him running the tip of his cock against your folds, gliding along the flesh that was now absolutely soaked, so wet that you wouldn’t be surprised if you hardly even felt him slide in at first. 

“Can I put it inside you, please baby, please let me put it inside you..” 

He whispered and begged against your lips, the cold feeling of the metal from his prince albert against your sensitive clit already having you spasm softly underneath him. 

The only thing you could do was nod, finally opening your heavy lids to look up at him and just stare into his bright blue eyes that stared back down at you. 

You could tell how much he was holding himself back, letting his cock get swallowed up by your pussy, his mouth falling open as the warmth embraced him, a choked out moan falling from deep in his chest. 

Your hands came to rest on his cheeks once more, your foreheads connecting and eyes shutting tightly as he slowly let himself bottom out; as much as you’d always heard people describe it as feeling like they were literally molded for one another, you’d never actually taken it seriously. 

But now you knew exactly what they were talking about, when he finally sat completely inside you, his pelvis resting snugly against your own, it truly did feel like two puzzle pieces coming together, like you were completely filled by him in every meaning of the word, every crevice being filled in by him to complete satisfaction. 

Even you weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there before he finally started to move his hips, it could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but time just seemed to move differently when he was inside you, you fluttered around him, every time you did making his hips stutter. 

The pace he initially set was slow, but hard, barely even pulling out halfway before he pushed back in again, each time managing to hit that sweet spot deep inside you like he’d been doing it for years, like he was a master of his art. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, his forehead found itself resting against your collar bone as he thrusted into you repeatedly, rhythmic grunts and whimpers coming from him in time with each time he pushed it back in. 

“Erik, baby, please.. harder…”

There wasn’t anything else you could have said to have had him change up so quickly, a growl finding itself from deep within his chest as he rose up from his spot on your collar, his eyes appearing to be almost glazed over as he wasted no time beginning to increase the pace of his thrusts.

Looking up at him, he held himself up with one hand, using his other to hook under your knee once more, bringing one of your legs up so that he could begin hitting even deeper, at even more brutal speed, your hand immediately coming to grip his arm tightly as you let out a choked gasp. 

When you’d asked him to fuck you harder, you should have known that meant almost having the wind knocked from your stomach, small sounds leaving you in a way that you couldn’t control. 

He was pulling almost almost entirely out of you for each thrust now, his tip just on the border of falling out before he slammed back inside, a wet slapping sound ringing out with every single time he rammed himself back into you at a pace that had you beginning to see stars just as he’d said, now finding yourself unable to control the moans coming out of your mouth.

His hand that had been holding your leg flew to cover your mouth, silencing you only slightly as he stared down at you, shaky breaths coming out of him as he set an absolutely bruising pace, almost like as much as he was trying to keep you quiet, he was also just as determined to have you crying out his name for dear life. 

“Been wanting to be buried in this pussy for so long” he growled, his eyes squeezing shut “just fucked my hand and thought about nothing but this.” 

The words he was spouting paired with the brutal thrusts he was laying into you were almost too much, you felt yourself getting dizzy as your eyes seemed to almost roll into the back of your head. 

“Fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum..” he warned, his thrusts getting shorter and shorter as he pulled out less with each, but only continuing to get faster and harder as he twitched inside you.

“Gonna fill this fucking pussy up? huh? fill you with my cum?” 

All you could manage was a nod, his hand pulling away from your mouth, both of them now gripping your hips and fucking you at a borderline merciless pace as you just laid there and took it.

With a sudden stop, and a few more slowed shallow thrusts, he shut his tightly, his cock twitching as he started to paint your insides with hot spurts of cum, his hips shaking as he rode out his own orgasm with short slow thrusts, gripping your hips so hard you knew you were likely going to have bruises the next morning. 

For a while, you just both laid there, his forehead coming to rest once more on your collar bone,  the pair of you covered in sweat and so tired out you could barely move. 

You knew you should get up, probably try to make some sort of effort to get cleaned up, but with the fact that you were both seemingly now paralysed, also mixed with the fact that being locked in each others arms was incredibly peaceful, all you could do was reach for the blanket that he’d been pushed astray by your initial activities, and pull it over the pair of you, settling into a comfortable enough position where he still sat inside you.

Stroking the back of his head softly, he let out a soft hum that communicated to you that he was definitely comfortable, just as you were, a smile coming to your face as you kissed the top of his head. 

“Gonna have to shower in the morning..” you whispered softly, only getting another small hum in return. 

“Good, i’ll be ready to do this all over again by then.” he chuckled softly, his head finally raising up to smile at you, leaning forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss. 

“Can’t wait.”

[sunkissedsentry]

Spellbound

Bob Reynolds x Goth!Reader

Summary: Bob sees someone he used to know while at a bar with his new friends, someone who was there for him when nobody else was, even when he felt like he didn’t deserve it. Bob decides it’s now or never, never wanting to be without her again. (Bob and goth!reader were highschool sweethearts for years til she ended up in the hospital and was forced to move back with her parents under suicide watch.)

Warnings: (mentions/description of past of the following: self harm, suicidal ideation, mental institution, drug abuse, addiction) past/established relationship, rekindling old flame, reader is a singer in a goth cover band, being each others first and only, bob doesn’t drink, kissing, slight angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,446

A/N: if this gets popular i’d love to do a second part, probably smut or something along those lines! just really wanted to do a goth reader lol, and the song inspo is Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees :) this is my first time writing bob so pls be nice

—

Why he decided to let Yelena drag him to this dingy bar was beyond him, he didn’t even drink. She had insisted it would be good for him to get out of the tower but this felt anything other than good. His sweater was too itchy, the air was too thick, everything smelled like alcohol, and possibly worst of all, the tables were unbelievably sticky. Not even the ice cold Dr. Pepper in his hands was all that good.

These past few months after everything that happened have been difficult. Adjusting to a new home, gaining newfound trauma, dealing with old trauma, all while working to stay sober. It was weighing on him worse and worse, but he couldn’t deny he was doing better than he was before. It was a different struggle, a better struggle, one that seemed worth it at the end of the day. Still though, he often caught himself dreaming of an old life, in particular a person from before.

You. With your dark hair, black nails, and endless amounts of twisted jewelry, it all haunted him like a shadow, but not like the void. A shadow that felt like closing the blinds after a long day in the sun, a shadow that felt like curling up in black sheets for a nap, a shadow that felt like home. He had told Yelena all about you.

About how you were his first everything, first kiss, first love, first girlfriend. What he didn’t say was that he knew you would be his only, even just the thought of being with someone new made his skin crawl. He was sure that if he never got to make his way back to you, to show you how good things have gotten— how good he could be for you— then he would never love again. It was melodramatic, but it was true.

He told her about when you met in high school, you had just moved to his home town when you were both juniors. He told her about going to prom with you, about your black lacy dress that drove him insane. He told her about when you got your apartment together, about everything you did for him as his addiction got worse. How patient, despite how difficult it got. He told her about how you got ripped apart, about how everything went even further downhill for him. When he found you, splayed out on the bathroom floor, blood running down your arms, he told her all of it. About how the doctors told him he couldn’t take care of you, that you couldn’t take care yourself. It tore him apart watching your parents take you away, getting every letter he sent returned back, unopened. He knew it wasn’t you doing it, but it hurt all the same.

That was when it got worse, so much worse. That was when he got arrested. That was when he decided to go to Malaysia, because if he couldn’t have you, at the very least, he could get better for you. Or find a drug that’ll finally get rid of him. He wasn’t sure why he told her everything, but it felt like he needed to. Like maybe if he wasn’t the only one who knew about how he still felt for you, maybe it would bring you back into his life. Maybe you would find each other again.

Staring at the dingy, sticky table in front of him wasn’t going to bring you back though. He wasn’t even sure what he would say if he did. ‘Hi, I got turned into a blonde super soldier, but I’m better now’? How could he even begin to explain all that’s happened since leaving Florida? A sigh wracks his body as he slouches further down into the bar stool he’s sitting on. Yelena rolls her eyes as she drinks another swig of straight vodka, it almost made him wretch just watching it. Ever since he became sober, he hasn’t wanted to have even a drop of alcohol. The thought of anything clouding his judgment makes him queasy.

“What is going on, Bob? You have been sulking the whole night.” She groans and leans back against the wall next to him, he turns his head to watch Ava, who came with them, hit on a redheaded woman beside Yelena. “You are like… bringing down the mood, no offense.”

Bob rolls his eyes and shakes his head, like the mood is any of his fault when this bar is the loudest, dirtiest bar he’s ever been in. He takes a swig of his pop, letting the now empty can tink against the tabletop. Yelena’s eyebrows shoot up, like she’s had some sort of ‘Ah-Ha!’ moment.

“Ooh… I know what it is.” She nods her head in confirmation, twirling the rings around her finger in a soothing sort of motion. “You are missing your little mistress of the dark.”

He groans at the nickname for you and lets his head hang back in exasperation. He had put an Elvira poster up above his bed because he had seen it in a store and it made him think of you, and since he didn’t have any of the old polaroids of you, it seemed like a good idea. That is, until Yelena snuck into his room to steal a book, saw the poster and laughed so loud it made birds fly away outside the tower. She hasn’t let it go since.

“What? There is nothing wrong with liking Elvira! Beautiful lesbian icon— not that your girl is a lesbian, just that Elvira— eh, you know what I mean.” Yelena rambles before throwing a hand up in defeat, Bob almost wants to laugh. She looks at him seriously suddenly, her boot tapping against his leg. “C’mon man, tell me what’s up.”

He sighs again, back slouching farther forward, hands fidgeting with the long-empty pop can. “I just miss her. Wish I could’ve gotten sober for her before, or at the very least get to be sober for her now, but I’m not sure if that’ll ever happen.”

After he says this, a live band begins setting up in a dim corner of the bar. Yelena and him pay it no mind though. Yelena leans forward, pieces of her meticulously slicked hair falling out of place, she rests a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

“Never say never, Bob.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile, and a well meaning nod, but it does little to relieve him of the pit in his chest. All he’s really grateful for right now is that he hasn’t lost control and voided the entire city again, because the longer he seems to go on, the pain and the distance just seem to keep growing. He almost says this to her when suddenly a familiar, melodic, melancholic voice begins singing on stage.

From the cradle bars, comes a beckoning voice. It sends you spinning, you have no choice!

Bob almost falls off his stool with the speed at which he whips around to face the stage. He hasn’t heard your voice in so long, he’s close to bursting out into tears. As his eyes fall on the stage, he sees you, clad in a black velvet dress. There’s about three different necklaces hanging on your neck, accentuating the deep V of the dress, and your black witches boots accentuate the slit up the side. Your a vision in onyx and it takes the breath from his lungs, he doesn’t even hear Yelena calling for him as he feels compelled to get closer to the stage. You’re still singing, it’s enchanted him.

Following the footsteps of a rag doll dance, we are entranced! Spellbound! Spellbound!

The way you move your body is slow and hypnotic, your arms twirling upward and your hips circling slowly. He’s seen you dance like this before but now, now it’s so much more than it was. More beautiful than anything he’s ever seen before, more meaningful than any words could ever be. He’s never been a dancer, but watching you, hearing you, it makes him want to be. Even as you finish your opening song, he can’t seem to find his breath again, heart pounding in his ears.

Entranced, entranced. Entranced, entranced. Entranced, entranced!

He’s never felt more connected to that word than now. Everything he ever loved before is stood before him and he can’t seem to move. He’s both thankful and petrified when your eyes meet his. Your dark makeup more prominent as your eyebrows screw up in surprise, and what looks to be confusion, pain even. Yelena tugs at his sleeve suddenly, and the electricity between you is severed. Your eyes fix themselves on the middle of the crowd and you avoid his gaze, it hurts but he feels it’s the least of what he deserves. Though, he’s not sure why.

“Why did you leave—“

“It’s her.” He blurts out, cutting Yelena off even though he knows how much she hates that. He can’t help it, he needs her to know it’s you. He needs her to see you, because he needs to know if it’s real. If you’re actually there and it’s not just some beautiful fever dream from stewing in this humid bar for too long. She looks up and her mouth goes slack.

“Oh, my God.” She whispers, hands coming up to rest at her waist, incredulously. “How the hell did you pull her?”

Bob barely even registers what she said as you turn and stalk off stage, muttering something to your similarly-dressed bassist. Your bassist announces that she’ll be taking over for you on lead vocals, and then you disappear out the back door. He’s terrified of what your thinking right now but he knows if he doesn’t follow you, he may actually never get to see you again. Yelena follows him, Ava squeezing her way through the crowd to finally catch up and ask her what’s going on.

The air of the alley way hits Bob like a train as he swings the back door open. He can hear Yelena explaining the situation to Ava in hushed whispers as he steps into the alley, face to face with you in what feels like decades. You look disappointed and it almost kills him. He wants to pull you in and rub the worry lines out of your eyebrows like he used to before, he squeezes his hands together to stop himself. He knows how hard it is for you to let people in, to let them touch you, and maybe he was close enough before but all of that is gone now.

He’s about to say your name when you interrupt him.

“I went back for you.” You can’t look him in the eye, your voice trembling. “After I got out of the institute, I went back to Florida to find you. You weren’t there.”

It makes him want to break out sobbing, imagining you alone in your previously shared apartment. He hadn’t even told anyone where he was going or what he was doing. You must’ve been worried sick. It all comes crashing down on him now as tears flow freely down his cheeks. He knows Ava and Yelena are watching awkwardly from behind but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I-I’m so sorry.” He whispers your name like a prayer. He wants to tell you how much he thought of you, everything he wanted for the both of you. He can’t seem to get the words out. It kills him. “So, so much has happened.”

His words are flimsy, wavering even before he says them. He hopes you can hear the sincerity despite the tremor in his voice. He hopes you know how much he missed you, how much he needs you. All that comes out is a weak: “I’m, uh, I’m sober now.”

Through your own tears, a smile eases its way onto your lips. You look at him like he’s the sun, like he’s the only good thing you’ve ever had and he’s just given you a gift. You step forward cautiously, he can’t seem to meet your eye. You reach your hand out for him and he takes it without hesitation.

“I missed you so much. I was so worried.” You pout, eyes overflowing with tears. He looks at you finally, dark blue eyes swimming with so many unsaid words. He hopes you’ll give him a second chance to get to say them.

“I missed you too, every day.” He smiles but it’s coated in so much self doubt it feels sour. Your other hand comes up to touch his cheek gently, thumb brushing against his cheekbone. Your cold hands have never bothered him, he runs hot and he enjoys getting to heat you up. “There’s so much I wanna tell you.”

“Then tell me, and don’t you dare ever disappear again.” There’s a finality to your tone, but it’s not daunting, it feels like coming home. He wants to scream for joy, he kisses you instead. He hears Ava and Yelena enter the bar again. He couldn’t care less.

Your lips are soft and familiar, something he’s missed more than he could say. Your hands gently rub over his chest and neck, like you’re trying to decide if he’s real or not. He moans into your mouth as your deft fingers clutch the curls at the nape of his neck, you always knew what to do to have him breathless. He squeezes your soft hips in his big hands, loving the feel of crushed velvet between his fingers. The belt around your waist bumps against his knuckles like a curse and he wants nothing more that to take off all your clothes and show you just how much he’s missed you, but he pulls back. He watches as you chase after his lips, hoping to feel him for just a second longer.

“I wanna do this right.” He mutters, fingers flexing on your side. His forehead is rested against yours and his ocean-dark eyes are spearing into your soul. It always baffled you how much more melancholic he could be than you, but it was just another thing that drew you to him. “Will you give me another chance? Will you go out with me?”

You almost laughed, to you he had never even lost you. You’ve always known he was the only one for you, all you know now is that you need to do a better job of showing him. You kiss him once more, slow and sensual. You pull back to whisper: “Of course, my love. You’ve always had me.”