#inside bar pattern

[signode-blog]

Mastering Inside Bar Trading Patterns: A Comprehensive Guide

Introduction to The Inside Bar Pattern Trading the financial markets requires a keen understanding of various patterns and signals. One such pattern that traders often leverage is the Inside Bar pattern. This pattern signifies a period of consolidation or indecision in the market, presenting traders with potential opportunities for profitable trades. In this guide, we will delve into the…

[seumyo]

yearning drunk!husband ushijima wakatoshi.

NOTE. contains a bit of alcohol content—though nothing too explicit or anything concerning <33

It always started the same way—kind of like an inside joke that grew wings, feathers, a tab, and Ushijima’s name on the reservation list.

Ushijima never initiated going out drinking with his Schweiden Adlers teammates. In fact, he rarely said anything about it at all. It was always someone else who mentioned it after a game. Always someone else who slung an arm over his shoulder and declared, “C’mon, Ushiwaka, we have to celebrate,” even though Ushijima had never once expressed interest in alcohol, bar food, or drunken conversations.

Still, he always went.

Because it’d be rude if he didn’t at least stay for a few minutes, he thinks.

Sometimes he showed up in his team windbreaker, sometimes in a long, dark gray coat that made him look like a trench-wearing monument of silence. And he never said no, even when the clamor of celebration was already grating at the edges of his patience.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They’d won by the skin of their teeth—an overtime set against a grueling opponent, the kind of match that made even the benchwarmers feel like champions by the end. So of course Heiwajima had started the round-up in the locker room. Hoshiumi had shouted over everyone about their lucky bar down the street, and within twenty minutes, the entire team had found themselves in their regular private suite.

Ushijima sat at the end of the table, his back straight, a glass in front of him filled with alcohol he didn’t particularly like. His teammates were loud and loose and chaotic—laughing at Sokolov trying to arm-wrestle the bar’s bouncer, clapping every time someone dropped a fork, and yelling across the table in at least three different languages.

“A thousand yen says he’ll ask about his wife in twenty minutes,” Hoshiumi said quietly, leaning toward their captain, Hirugami Fukurou.

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Romero replied, fondly grinning. “He gets wistful around minute twelve.”

“He gets wistful the moment he sits down.”

Ushijima was unmoved. He stared at his drink, took a single sip, and let it rest in his hand. He didn’t participate in the yelling, the toasts, or the story someone was animatedly telling about a missed serve from three seasons ago. He just existed—quietly, stoically—as a satellite to the chaos.

Except, of course, they all knew he was waiting.

He always was.

There was a pattern to the transformation. First, he’d sit there like stone. Then he’d blink a little more slowly. His brows would draw together—not in anger, but in vague confusion, like he was lost in a thought he couldn’t solve. His fingers would move against his glass, not to drink but to fidget, just a little.

And then…

“Has anyone seen my phone?” Ushijima asked, barely louder than the buzz of conversation.

Hoshiumi slid it across the table immediately. “Right here, Ushiwaka. Sorry! We took a few pictures here and there.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the screen. It was still lit with the last message from you from earlier that day: Good luck, baby. Don’t forget to stretch your left shoulder. He’d never replied—he never did, not when he was already in headspace—but now, he stared at it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You want to text her?” Hoshiumi asks, lightly teasing, which Ushijima didn’t catch onto.

Ushijima didn’t answer. He opened the thread and typed a few letters. Deleted them. Typed something else. Backspaced. Then just stared.

And then finally: “She hasn’t replied.”

His teammates laughed.

“There it is!”

“It’s only been seventeen minutes! I win!”

“No, you cheated. I said ten, and he didn’t even check his phone until minute twelve!”

“Shh, shh, look at him—he’s pouting.”

“Wait, is this the pout phase? I thought that came after the silent brooding phase.”

“Technically we’re entering pout-brood overlap. It’s a dangerous time.”

Ushijima didn’t argue. He simply set the phone down again and folded his hands in front of him. Kageyama leaned over.

“You want me to call her for you, Ushijima-san?”

Ah, yes. Kageyama was too nice for his own good. Trying to enhance his socialization and trying to lessen his awkwardness with his teammates when the conversation didn’t revolve around volleyball.

Ushijima nodded. Just once. Immediately. “Yes.”

...

“Amazing! He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Can you imagine being that in love?”

“He just wants his wife. Look at him. He’s a whole sad poem in one sitting.”

“She’s gonna get here, and he’s gonna light up like a lantern.”

“May this love run me over.”

Kageyama stood and walked a few paces away from the table, already dialing your number. Meanwhile, the others watched Ushijima sip his drink again—not because he wanted it, but because it gave his hands something to do. His eyes were glued to the screen even though no new notifications had appeared.

Romero leaned in conspiratorially to Hirugami. “Do you think she talks to him in, like, soft tones? Calls him ‘baby’ and stuff?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I think they’re sweet like that.”

“Aw, young love.”

The teasing continued, but it softened. Because underneath the jokes and the laughs was a sort of awe.

Their teammate—so serious, so focused, so unreadable on court—was completely and utterly soft when it came to his wife. Not in a loud way. Not in any way that could be easily teased, really. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

When Kageyama returned, he had a pleased expression. “She’s on her way. Said she just got off work and is driving over.”

Ushijima gave another slow blink.

“Thank you.”

Kageyama nods. Somehow they manage to have conversations even if they just continue nodding to each other.

As soon as Kageyama said it, his phone buzzed with a new message. He didn’t even need to open it. He could tell by the way his entire body relaxed by a single, barely noticeable degree.

Sorry, hun. Just got off work. Are you okay?

He replied.

I’m okay. I miss you.

And then he set the phone down and folded his hands again, this time with more calm. More certainty. You were coming. That was all he needed to know.

The others noticed the shift immediately.

“He smiled.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! Don’t argue with me; I saw it. It was micro. But it counted.”

“He’s already halfway out the door with his heart.”

“Watch, the second she walks through that door, he’ll go full puppy mode.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A gust of cold air followed you inside, along with the soft jingle of the bar’s entrance bell. You spotted them easily—your eyes landing on Ushijima before anything else. And his entire body seemed to change shape.

He stood up—not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had.

You smiled as you approached, slipping out of your coat and brushing off the cold that nipped your nose softly. “Hi, love,” you greeted softly. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said, already reaching for his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, you turned to the table. “Hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

Hoshiumi leaned on the table with a grin. “[Name], your husband is the definition of ‘not trouble.’ We’re just grateful you came to collect him before he sighed himself into the carpet.”

“Tell them what he said!” someone shouted.

“He asked if anyone had seen his phone like it was a national emergency.”

“And he didn’t pout—he brooded. Like a man out of a romantic novel.”

“I think I did,” Ushijima just nodded at their comments about him.

He then stood by quietly, waiting for you to finish your goodbyes. When you looped your arm through his, he leaned ever so slightly toward you.

As they left, Romero raised his glass.

“To [Name]’s husband,” he declared. The table cheered.

Outside, as you two walked toward the car, you glanced up at him, fingers tightening around his arm.

“You really okay?” you asked.

He hummed. Then, in that low, steady voice only you ever got to hear, it softened—

“I missed you,” he said again. “They were loud. I wanted to see you very much.”

You smiled and gave his arm a firm, loving squeeze. “Well. I’m here now.”

And... yeah.

That’s what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[reiding-writing]

Spencer reid who defends cold!reader when an officer makes a sexist remark behind her back

COLD HARD LOGIC. /spencer reid/

the sherrif’s officers assisting your case come with an unhealthy side of misogyny. spencer is not a fan.

s10!cold!reader 1.0k h/c series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | this is exactly 999 words long i love when that happens

The station smelled like burnt coffee and cheap aftershave.

You’d been in places like this before—small-town sheriff’s offices run by middle-aged men who thought the FBI’s presence was more of a nuisance than a necessity. The kind of place where the most exciting case they’d ever had was a stolen tractor or a bar fight that got a little too rowdy.

But this? Three dead women in less than two weeks, each one killed with increasing brutality? This wasn’t something they could handle.

Not that they would ever admit it.

The moment your team stepped inside, you could feel the tension settle in the air. It wasn’t just the case that had them on edge. It was you.

You were used to it. You were the youngest of the BAU’s psychological experts, and you weren’t exactly warm. Your presence had always been a point of contention in these environments—too young, too pretty, too cold. The officers never knew what to make of you, and you never gave them the opportunity to figure it out.

Instead, you focused on the case.

Spencer sat beside you at the metal table, flipping through the sheriff’s pitiful excuse for case files. The rest of the team had split up—Hotch was in the captain’s office, trying to get more resources, while Morgan and JJ were checking out the latest crime scene.

That left you here, stuck in a room full of men who didn’t respect you, sifting through files that told you more about their incompetence than the unsub.

But you didn’t let it show. You never did.

You kept your expression neutral as you flipped through the reports.

The victims were all in their twenties, all last seen at the same bar. The bodies had been dumped near hiking trails just outside of town, but the wounds suggested they had been killed elsewhere. The unsub was growing bolder. Escalating. You were running out of time.

And yet—

“Well,” one of the officers drawled, “at least this case ain’t all bad,”

You didn’t react.

Another officer chuckled. “Yeah, must be nice to have something attractive to look at while you work,”

Spencer stiffened beside you.

You kept your focus on the file, pretending not to hear them.

“Shame she’s such a bitch, though,” the first one muttered. “Bet she’d be a lot more pleasant if someone taught her how to act properly,”

The room went still.

Your fingers tightened around the page you were reading, nails digging into the cheap paper. The words blurred, swallowed by the rushing sound of blood pounding in your ears.

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard something like that.

It wouldn’t be the last.

But before you could decide if it was even worth acknowledging, Spencer pushed his chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor.

The movement was sudden. Loud.

It drew every pair of eyes in the room.

Spencer stood slowly, adjusting his cardigan with deliberate precision before turning toward the officers. His face was calm, but there was something in his eyes—something dangerous.

“You know,” he said, his voice deceptively light, “there’s a psychological phenomenon called the Dunning-Kruger effect. It explains how people with low ability at a task often overestimate their competence. The less skilled someone is, the more convinced they are of their own superiority.”

The room was silent.

“What the hell are you getting at?” one of the officers asked.

Spencer smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “I just think it’s interesting that you’ve spent two weeks on this case with no leads, no insights, and no progress, while she—” he gestured toward you without looking, “—has been here for half an hour and has already identified patterns in the killer’s behaviour that you completely overlooked. And yet, you seem to believe that your opinion of her personality holds any weight.”

The officer’s face darkened. “Look, kid—”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Spencer interrupted. “Because, frankly, your inability to see past your own bias is not only insulting, it’s embarrassing. You expect her to be nice to you? Why would she be? You don’t respect her. You don’t value her expertise. You don’t even view her as an equal. So tell me, why exactly should she go out of her way to make you comfortable?”

The officer opened his mouth, then closed it.

“That’s what I thought,” Spencer said coolly.

You stared at him, heart pounding. Not because he defended you—he’d done that before, in his own quiet ways—but because of the sheer intensity behind his words.

He wasn’t defending you because of what you were to him. You knew if it were any other female member of the team he would’ve reacted the same.

And that makes it arguably even more considerate.

He’s not defending you because of the evenings you’ve spent together, or the careful way he traced his fingers over your skin when he thought you were asleep during a movie.

He was defending you because he respected you. Because he knew your worth.

And that? That meant more than you could ever say.

So you didn’t say anything at all.

Instead, you turned back to the files in front of you, flipping a page with careful precision.

“Now,” you said evenly, “can we get back to solving this case?”

The officers didn’t speak after that.

Not to you. Not about you.

And when Spencer sat back down beside you, you didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t have to.

Instead, you slid your notes across the table, letting your fingers brush against his.

Just for a moment.

Just enough to say thank you.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Gentle

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. Minors, DNI.

Notes: No physical reader descriptions, no use of y/n. Also not beta-read. Because it never is.

Length: 3.6K

Warnings: Bradley took Reader's virginity and didn't know it; Reader was an older virgin; mentions of public sex; under-negotiated kinks; wrist restraints (belt); protected sex; vaginal sex; dirty talk; rough sex; aftercare

Summary: You expect him to be so righteously angry—a pinched expression, a knit brow, a tight jaw. But there’s something in those warm, dark eyes that looks so painfully mournful. 

It’s unfair. You both came. What’s he so put out about?

You’d almost prefer his anger to whatever the hell this is. Anger you could handle—but does he regret last night?

It’s a throwaway comment, one that you’re positive he’ll miss. The bar is bustling and so busy that it's a wonder he’s heard your friend crow it at all: 

“To seeing you with that freshly-fucked glow for the first time!” 

You aren’t scandalized by what she says. You’d told her the truth of it last night—offered sparse details and omitted names. You laugh and cheers with your friends. You’re not embarrassed by the mention, the tease.

But your insides are burning hot at the sight of Bradley in your periphery, his beer frozen halfway to his lips. You drain your drink and clear your throat, simply offering, “Getting another one,” As you push away from the table. You’re determined not to look at him as you go, praying that he just lets it pass. 

But Bradley Bradshaw has never been good at just letting things go. 

You’d been grateful for that last night. 

There had been something zipping between the two of you all day—little looks and lingering glances that had fanned your flames, blossoming into a wildfire as he’d led you into the alley by the bar the night before. You had felt the heat of him behind you, thrilled at the scent of his cologne, the bristle and prickle of his mustache and lips against your neck as his hands had grasped your hips to still you. 

You feel the heat of him as he comes to stand beside you now, smell his cologne as he sets an empty beer bottle down on the bar. Neither of you speak for a few moments. You’d hardly looked at him last night, either—pressed face-first against the brick wall of the alley, your pants around your knees with Bradley’s hand over your mouth to quiet you, his hot breath, soft groans and bitten-off swears pushed against the shell of your ear. 

It's a shame, you think, that you’re locked into this pattern with Bradley. He does have the sweetest eyes. 

“You should’ve told me.” 

He says it just loudly enough for you to hear it over the murmur of bar noise, the conversation, rattle of cocktail shaking, and the distant strain of REO Speedwagon over the recessed speakers. 

Maybe you should’ve. There had been a split-second when you considered it, but it had all happened so fast. 

It wasn’t how you’d always expected it to be. There was no bed covered in rose petals, no romantic music. You’d been so caught up in your need, in the thrill of feeling Bradley as desperate for you as you were for him.

You’d decided, as you’d showered last night, felt the ache of him between your thighs, eyed the bloom of bruises on your hips and a scrape on your cheek from where you’d been pressed against the brick a little too hard, that it was okay. You didn’t need roses or romantic music. You’d just needed the ferocity that Bradley had fucked you with, and the brush of his rough, work-worn fingertips against your neglected clit, and the moan of his voice in your ear as his hips stuttered and slapped against yours. 

“You didn’t ask.” 

You realize as Bradley shifts testily beside you that it’s the wrong thing to say, and maybe a little unfair. You tack on, “Doesn’t matter.” 

“Yeah, it does. I figured—” 

“I know. S'okay. Let it go, Bradshaw.” It’s unlikely, but worth a shot. If there’s one thing Bradley loves, it’s proving people wrong. You know as well as he does just how stubborn he can be, how by-the-book. But some things just nag and nag and he has to litigate them.

You can tell that this’ll be one of the things that he won’t stand for. Dog with a bone. Knight with a righteous cause. 

“You should’ve told me.” 

It’s his new refrain, you realize. You can’t imagine how he must’ve felt when he heard your friend, saw you laugh, waited for you to correct or argue with her. And did he notice the scratch on your cheek then? Did he think of the push of his body against yours, the quiver of your thighs as he’d stretched you wide around him, the buzz of your whimper against his fingers as he finally fucked you? 

"Doesn't matter,” You insist again. “Drop it.” 

“You should’ve told me—” 

“Lower your voice.” 

“I would’ve been more gentle.” 

“I didn’t want you to be more gentle,” You snap, finally turning to meet his eye. You realize immediately that it’s a mistake. You expect him to be so righteously angry—a pinched expression, a knit brow, a tight jaw. But there’s something in those warm, dark eyes that looks so painfully mournful. 

It’s unfair. You both came. What’s he so put out about?

You’d almost prefer his anger to whatever the hell this is. Anger you could handle—but does he regret last night? You sure as shit don’t. 

Your jaw works tightly as you fold your arms against your chest and turn back to the bar. He can regret it all he wants, if that’s what this is. 

“Anyway,” You press on, “I enjoyed myself. Thought you did, too.” 

“I did—” Small wonder, “But—” 

“‘But’ nothing, Bradshaw. We both had a good time. Just…Forget it.” 

You hear Bradley draw in a deep breath before his hand lightly comes down on the bar. When he curses this time, it doesn’t make your stomach flip with excitement. It just pisses you off. 

-- 

“Get in.”

Your annoyance has cooled and shifted to nerves. You glance around the parking lot, openly unsure. You can get a car to take you home. It could be there in two minutes, have you home in twenty. 

Bradley stands still as a statue, hand holding open the passenger side door as he waits. It wasn’t a question like he’d asked last night—”Wanna take a walk?” It isn’t a murmur accompanied by a warm hand on your lower back, steering you away from the thudding bass of the bar, from your friends as your stomach fluttered with anticipation. 

It’s an order, one that you’re tempted to disobey. 

But you climb into the Bronco and buckle up. You look straight through the windshield as he gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. The drive is quiet, and does nothing to calm your nerves. Once Bradley parks, he just warns, “Don’t,” when you reach for the door handle. You expect him to launch into a lecture, but he gets out, rounding the car and opening the door for you. 

He’s practically your shadow as he follows you to the front door. You step aside once it’s open, unsure if Bradley will turn and head home, his self-appointed duty done. But he steps inside, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the back of your couch. He’s been there once or twice, but he still takes his time looking around as you lock up behind him and take off your shoes. 

“Shoes off, Bradshaw.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You want something to drink?” You ask, stepping past him. 

“Water.” 

“You hungry?” 

“No.” 

You nod, flipping on the light in your kitchen and grabbing a couple of glasses for the two of you. You can hear Bradley's footsteps as he drifts lazily through your living room, joining you in the kitchen and taking the proffered glass of water with a murmur of thanks. The two of you sip in silence for a few moments. 

“Maybe I should’ve—” You start, then back off as you feel Bradley turning to look at you. You take another gulp of your water. “There just didn’t seem like the right moment to mention it. And bringing it up—it all would’ve felt like a bigger deal. I didn’t want that.” 

“Could’ve told me afterward.”

“We were more focused on getting back to the others.” 

“You tell ‘em it was me?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s none of their business. Besides, they wouldn't care—and they didn’t ask.” 

“Seems to be your answer for everything these days.” 

You roll your eyes, setting your empty water glass in the sink.

“Okay. You bring me home just to scold me?” 

“No.” 

Bradley steps closer, lowering his water glass into the sink beside yours. You watch his hand lift. Your eyelashes flutter as he cups your jaw, turning your head toward him, his thumb sweeping gently across your skin. 

“Look at me.” He orders. Your focus sweeps up slowly, mapping the swell of his lips, the scattering of scars, the line of his nose before your eyes finally settle on his. He’s devoid of anger, still, and the sorrow is gone. Bradley’s expression seems deceptively neutral, and that’s far more concerning than any look he’s given you before. 

“Where’s your room.” 

-- 

There still aren’t any roses, but at least there’s a real bed this time. Bradley doesn’t guide you face-first into one of your walls or against the door. He keeps a firm grasp on your jaw as his tongue slips between your lips. You wind your arms around his shoulders, fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

You try to urge him back toward the bed, but Bradley slides a hand down to your throat, giving it a warning little squeeze that makes you melt. You smooth one of your hands down his front, fingers skating along the cool metal of his belt buckle. Before you can undo it, Bradley catches hold of your wrist. He breaks your kiss, using the grasp on your throat to tip your head up to the side, and smoothing his lips along the exposed skin. 

“Slow down,” He murmurs against your jaw, the buzz of it tickling your skin. 

“But—” 

“Slow down.” It’s firmer now, and you have to tamp down a grin. You know what that tone is like from Bradley. You’re certain you can wind up face-first on your bed if you play your cards right. 

You just have to piss him off a little. 

You wriggle your wrist from his grasp, tipping your head down against the press of his hand, desperate to catch sight of his belt buckle as you fumble for it with both hands. You hear the short, irritated huff of Bradley’s breath before he catches both of your wrists in one hand. Your mouth waters at the clank of his buckle being undne as he gives your wrists a squeeze and shoves them away from him. 

“Take your clothes off,” He orders. “All of them.” 

There’s steel in his voice now. You begin to turn, your hands curling around the hem of your shirt when you hear him tut.

“Face me.” 

Your face burns hot as you go still. Bradley’s expression is flat again: mirthless eyes, and a firm press to his lips. You tug your shirt up and over your head, undo your bra, then shove down your pants and underwear. 

“Get on the bed.” 

You sit, and wait.

“Lie down.” 

You should scooch back toward your headboard, but instead, you flop down where you are, feet still on the floor. You yelp as Bradley lands a slap on your outer thigh. 

“Don’t play dumb,” He warns. “Go on.” 

You finally slide back, watching Bradley undress and fish a foil packet out of his back pocket. You eye his body covetously as he walks closer, climbing over you and straddling your hips, tossing the condom by your pillow.  

“Hands up.” 

You raise them obediently, holding perfectly still and hardly breathing as he loops the belt around your wrists. He holds your eye as he winds the belt around your wrists and the bedposts, a single brow raised. You can call it off now—you know he'll unwind it, pull back, stop.

When you nod, Bradley tightens it, the leather biting into your skin. 

You want what he gave you in the alley—the rush, his force, his ferocity and bruises. But Bradley kneels on the bed in front of you, curling his hands around your ankles, skimming them up slowly. You squirm, feeling exposed and vulnerable as his hands slip over your thighs, up across your belly. 

“Bradley—” 

“Hush.” 

You suck in a soft breath as his fingers smooth over your sides, pressure just firm enough to keep from tickling you. His head dips, kissing over your belly, up to the underside of one of your breasts. You try to arch into his lips as he leans further up. 

“Please,” You whine, but his tongue sweeps between your lips before you can say another word. You wilt back against the bed, your fingers curling and flexing around one another as your wrists strain against the belt, the buckle clanking against the bed frame. You want nothing more than to grasp and pull his hair, feel the slide of the strands against your skin.

“But—” You breathe as he breaks the kiss.

“Shuddup.” It buzzes against your skin as his kisses travel back down, sucking at each nipple, sweeping past your belly button as his shoulders push your thighs wide. You pull in a shocked breath as his hot breath skates across your pussy, chased by the teasing flicker of the tip of his tongue. You whimper, chasing the slick heat before Bradley’s hands curl around your hips. You open your mouth to complain again—but it dies on your tongue as Bradley laps broadly across your lips. He buries your face between your thighs, moaning lustfully against your slick skin. Your nails dig into your palms at the rattle of his groan shakes through you.

You whine, knees tightening around his shoulders as you shove your hips down against his lips. And though you’d expected him to reprimand you, Bradley’s hand slides up between your thighs, fingers teasing at your pussy. It’s only a moment before he slips one inside, curling it before adding another. You huff softly, cunt squeezing around him as his fingers pumping in and out—and in and out again as your hips chase his manic rhythm.

Your wrists yank against the belt, hips bounding as you chase the curl and snap of your orgasm, Bradley’s name falling from your lips as your pussy rolls against his tongue. He hums, lapping at your pleasure as your cunt clutches at his fingers. Your voice quiets as you settle, cunt pulsing as Bradley nuzzles your thigh, lightly nipping at the skin and slickly soothing it as your movements slow.

As you come back to yourself, you can’t deny the thrill of catching Bradley’s eye—the heat of it as he peers over your belly; the sly glint as he laves his tongue back and forth, fingers curling in your still-pulsing opening. You part your lips, waggling your tongue and grinning as Bradley surges up. 

You whimper as you taste your arousal on his tongue, shiver as his fingers withdraw and his cock twitches against your inner thigh. Your hips tip up on instinct, chasing the heat as Bradley’s length twitches against you. He reels back just far enough to grab the foil packet by your head, ripping it open with his teeth, and sheathing his cock in the latex. 

“Please,” You mumble before he can ask or tease, “Please—Need it, Bradley, I—Oh, fuck,” You gasp as he drives into you with a single stroke. Your pussy clutches at him, your nails digging into the leather of the belt as you push your hips up into his. Bradley’s hands land on either side of your head, flexing in the fabric of your pillow case as he holds himself steadily over you. 

“Shuddup,” He groans again—But my god, it’s a tighter sound than it was before, and it makes your pussy grasp at him as his face presses into your neck. 

“Bradley–”

“Quiet—”

“I need it,” You whimper, shoving your hips up against his, “Fuck, you feel so—Mm, Bradley, please—” 

“Just—” 

“I want more, Bradley, ‘m so—” 

You gag at the sudden intrusion of two fingers sliding between your lips. Your mouth falls open, eyes glazing and tongue laving against the rough pads of his fingertips as they rub over your tongue.

You let your jaw go slack, whines spiraling from between your lips as he finger-fucks your mouth, hips slapping against yours in tandem. Your toes curl in the fabric of your sheets, wrists yanking against your restraints. Bradley plants his knees against the mattress, his hips slamming against yours as the headboard rattles against your wall. You wind one of your legs around his, sucking in a breath as his free hand grasps and squeezes your thigh. 

Bradley pushes his face into your neck, fingers slipping from your mouth to hold your hips. You can’t fight the way your voice stutters in his throat at the slow, concentrated roll of his body against yours. You try to push against him, to urge and speed his pace, but Bradley seems to neither hear nor feel your urging and whines. 

It’s no use. Bradley’s grasp keeps you pinned in place, the slow grind of his hips drawing your orgasm nearer and nearer. 

“That’s it,” He encourages against your jaw. He groans as your cunt pulses around him, your hips bucking as your back arches. 

“Faster,” You breathe, then gasp as his strokes slow and deepen. Your eyes slip closed, pressing your head back against the pillow as your push your body up against his. You shiver, knees squeezing around his hips as the coil of pleasure in your belly tightens. 

“Look at me,” He urges, hand lifting to curl around your jaw. Your head flops like a ragdoll’s, eyes blinking blearily up at him. Your heart stuttering in your chest at the heated focus on his face—the parted, panting lips, and the way his dark eyes skate from your mouth to your slightly unfocused gaze. He tuts when your eyelashes flutter, giving your jaw a squeeze before you can close them. 

“Ah ah. Eyes on me, baby,” Bradley orders. “Show me how bad you want it—Show me,” He repeats as my mouth falls open to insist, “Don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear another fucking word. You’ll take what I give you,” He growls, “And when you’ve cum, you’ll fucking thank me for it.” 

Your eyes roll back into your head as you buck up against Bradley, mouth falling open in a stunned, guttural shout as you cum, cunt pulsing around his cock. Bradley curses, dipping his head and laying a bite on your shoulder as his hips continue to grind slowly and steadily, fucking you slowly through your orgasm.

You wait for him to follow, to tip over the edge, but Bradley’s hips don’t stutter and slow like they did last night. Instead, his fingers slip between the two of you, teasing over your tender, swollen clit as his tongue sweeps across the freshly laid bite mark. You hiss in a shocked breath, hips bucking up into his rough touch. 

“Br-Bradley—” 

“Gimme another one.” 

-- 

Your hands slowly slip down to rest over your head as Bradley unwinds the belt from your wrists, dropping it across his other clothes where they were discarded by the bed. You sigh contentedly as you feel the bed dip and shift beneath you, and hear the soft pad of his footsteps as he leaves the room.

You know that you should move your arms, get some blood back into them, check your wrists, but for a few moments, you just lay there and let your body settle. Your cunt still pulses from the slow, sensual rolls of Bradley's hips, the sure and even way that he’d fucked you through another two orgasms before finally coming undone himself. You draw your knees together, shivering again as you squeeze your slick thighs together. 

“Here,” You hear. Your head lolls to the side, eyes blinking open as Bradley sets a glass of water down on the bedside table. Before you can try and push yourself up, Bradley sits beside you, hooking his arms around your back and helping you slowly sit up. Your head swims a little, and Bradley shushes you softly as you close your eyes to stop your head from pounding, resting your head forward onto his shoulder. 

“Y’alright?” 

“I think so,” You mumble. 

“Give it a minute.” 

“Mm.” You lean back against the headboard, eyes still closed as Bradley’s hands gently brush over your quivering thighs. “I should get cleaned up.” 

“We will,” He says. “Water's heating up for the bath.” 

You peek open one eye, brow raising in surprise. We, huh? But Bradley holds your eyes steadily, unflinching as he picks the water up and holds it out. Your arms throb slightly as you lift them to take the cup, drawing in a sip, then a gulp. 

“Slow down,” He chuckles. 

“Mmm. That again?” You ask, passing back the glass. “All I got tonight was slow.” 

Bradley sets the glass aside, scooching closer and nudging his nose against yours. He searches your gaze for a moment before his eyes dip to your lips. 

“You deserve slow,” He murmurs, “You deserve thorough. And one’a these days, I’m gonna teach you,” His lips ghost yours, “How good gentle can be.” 

“That’s not what tonight was?” 

“With a belt around your wrists? No, baby,” He chuckled. “That’s not what tonight was.” He leans away, grinning as you lean up, lips chasing his. “I’ll go check on the bath. Finish that water.” 

“Yessir.” You watch him get up, swiping your tongue over your lips. “Bradley?” 

He turns, brows raised expectantly, and smiling when he sees you reaching for him. He leans back in when you smooth your hand over his neck, submitting to the soft, searching kiss that you pull him in for.

“For the record," You tip your head back, "You were exactly what I wanted—last night and tonight."

Relief flickers in his warm eyes, lips quirking in a slight smile as he covers his mouth with yours again.

"For the record," He murmurs. "You're gonna like gentle."

"I know I'm gonna like it," You insist, leaning back against the headboard, "Long as it's with you."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​ ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 @nominalnebula

[kingkatsuki]

— lush

It’s no secret to Bakugou that his friends think you’re hot, but he’s never allowed them to act on it before. Until they catch him using a remote controlled vibrator on you—

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader, implied Sero Hanta x f!reader, Kaminari Denki x f!reader, Kirishima Eijirou x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, toys, Bakugou let’s the guys control your lush vibe, dub-con (consent isn’t explicitly stated so could potentially be seen as non-con), long distance, sexting, public setting, nudes, squirting, dirty talk, the guys talk pure filth about you.

Word Count: 3.6k.

Bakugou did not want to be here, and frankly he wouldn’t have turned up at all if it hadn’t been for you. Especially when he knew what was waiting at home for him— you kissed him at the door with a promise to wait up for him when he returned home. Knowing that you’d more than likely fall asleep on the couch by the time he stepped back into the apartment, having to scoop you up into his arms and walk you into your bedroom.

This night out for Sero’s birthday had been planned weeks in advance, and rather than unwinding with him after your long day at work you practically forced him into the shower— alone no less, and made him get ready for drinks at a popular bar in central Musutafu.

Taking a sip of his cold beer as his friends talked animatedly around him in the plush booth, catching up with each other after a few weeks apart. Gathering as Pro-Heroes wasn’t as easy as his days back at U.A. Conflicting work schedules meant that it became near impossible to find the same days, or even evenings off as each other. So this was something to be savoured. Or at least, that’s what you told him as you watched him get ready. Sitting on your shared bed wearing one of his old Dynamight agency shirts and a pair of shorts while he pulled a plain black shirt out of his closet to wear tonight.

Nothing had annoyed Bakugou more than leaving you alone in your apartment to be here, the taste of your gloss still lingering on his lips as he thought about being home with you instead.

You’d made it abundantly clear what your plans were going to be tonight, pulling the little pink toy he’d bought for you out of your magic drawer (as he called it) and settling yourself on your shared bed.

“You put that in I ain’t goin’ at all, sweetheart.” He groaned, leaning against the doorframe as you shook your head with a laugh.

“You’re going,” You reached up to squeeze his cheeks together into a pout, the rough stubble on his face tickling your fingers as you pulled him down into a kiss, “I just need something after the day I’ve had. I’m probably gonna take a bath and wait for you to get home.”

“Then I’m at least controlling that shit.” He growled, pulling his cellphone out of his jeans pocket, “Give me access now.”

Maybe he’d be able to have one more drink before excusing himself early so he could get home to you and sink himself into your warm, wet cunt.

And god, you would be so fucking wet. You’d be soaked from the way his thumb continued to absentmindedly draw patterns against his phone screen. The pink cursor ascended for a few moments before dragging it back down. Picturing how you looked right now with the little toy stuffed inside your pretty pussy as you writhed on top of tussled sheets all because of him.

You[8.59PM]: Kats, stop teasing and let me cum :(((

The notification banner signaled at the top of the screen, causing Bakugou to grin. He’d been teasing you for the last hour with the toy, knowing that the settings he was using weren’t quite enough to have you coming undone for him. But just enough to have you riled up and begging for more—

Bakugou[9.00PM]: You’re the one that wanted to play these games, sweetheart.

You[9.01PM]: Yeah, but I wanna cum :((

The words had Bakugou’s cock throbbing in his pants, pressing against the rough denim as he tried to mask a groan through a tickly cough. Pressing the back of his hand to his lips as he typed another response to you.

Bakugou[9.02PM]: I promise I’ll take good care of you when I get home, baby.

You[9.05PM]: Turn it up a little please, baby? I need it.

With that text you’d sent an attachment. He’d been hiding the screen of his phone beneath the table all evening to avoid any prying eyes or accusatory questions, but this made him shield the screen from any unsuspecting gazes. A photograph of you staring up into the camera with needy eyes, your glossy lips curled into a cute pout as you pulled your shirt— his shirt, above your chest as the fabric bunched together to reveal your perfect breasts.

God, you were so fucking perfect.

Bakugou decided to take pity on you, his fingers pulling the circle up the screen to increase the vibrations. His free hand reaching forward to grab his bottle as he downed the rest of its contents. Determined this would be his last drink before excusing himself to come home to you, not that he’d have to think of any particular reason.

“Work still trying to contact you, bro? It’s gone nine.” Sero asked, leaning his forearms against the table.

“You have been on the phone a lot, is everything okay?” Kirishima looked concerned.

“He’s probably texting his girlfriend,” Denki practically sang.

“Shut up, idiot. Everything’s fine.”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket as he stood from the booth, smoothing his hands down the black denim on his thighs as he made a beeline towards the bar.

“It’s your round yeah, Kats?” Kirishima called after him, the sound drowned out by the loud bustle of the bar as Bakugou leaned against it waiting to be served. He could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, knowing that it was texts from you. But he didn’t want to unlock it to read them now, not when anyone could look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse at what was his.

Forgoing a tray as he held the neck of the beer bottles between his knuckles as he carried them back towards the booth to a cheer and raised arms from Denki. Sharing them out as he resumed his seat and wrapped a palm around the cold base of the bottle, distracted as he pulled his phone out to finally respond to you.

You[9.21PM]: I can’t cum with this, baby. It’s driving me crazy.

You[9.23PM]: You are the biggest tease I swear, Kats. My clit is throbbing :(((

Bakugou grinned as instead of responding to your messages, he left them on read. Opening the lush app as he went back to dragging his thumb across the screen, increasing the vibrations to give you some much needed relief. Except this time Sero was quick to notice the app on Bakugou’s phone screen, quick reflexes snatching the phone from his hands.

“Is this what I think it is?” Sero’s eyes sparkled with mischief as his mouth settled into a wide grin, “No wonder you’re talking to us even less than usual tonight, Bakubro.”

“Give it back, tapeface.” Bakugou practically snarled, reaching across the table to try and grab his phone back. Knocking his beer bottle over in the process, which Kirishima’s quick reflexes managed to save with minimal spillage, the head foaming up from the movement.

“What is that?” Denki asked with curiosity as he leaned over Sero’s shoulder to look at the screen.

“You guys ever seen this app before?” Sero turned it to face the table, the circle still sat in the middle of the screen. An indication of the consistent hum of vibrations pulsing through the toy for you right now.

“No, what does it do?” Kirishima tilted his head slightly, “Is it like a game?”

“It’s an app for a remote controlled vibrator,” Sero explained, “So unless it’s inside you right now, man—”

“Piss off.” Bakugou snarled, baring his teeth.

“Then I’m guessing it’s inside your girlfriend.” Sero surmised, turning the screen back to face him.

“Oh,” Kirishima’s lips parted in surprise, and Bakugou could see the cogs turning in his mind as his thoughts clearly went to what you looked like with this little toy stuffed inside your pussy.

“Wait” Denki’s brows were furrowed as though deep in thoyght, the cogs turning in his mind, “So that means she’s got it in right now?”

“Looks like it.” Sero held the phone in one hand as he used his pointer finger to drag the circle down to the bottom of the screen, stopping the vibrations completely, “How many times has she cum already?”

None of your fucking business, Bakugou thought to himself as he sneered across the table. But he hoped you hadn’t cum at all, wanting to return home and experience the luxury of you coming undone on his cock firsthand.

“Oh fuck, man.” Denki whined, “Your girlfriends so fucking hot. How did you get so lucky?”

“Maybe you should give that back, Sero.” Kirishima shuffled beside Bakugou, clearly intrigued with the conversation but he tried to ignore the dark, depraved thoughts that were running through his mind at this moment.

“Yeah, give it the fuck back.” Bakugou snarled, swiping for the phone again as Sero held it over his head and away from Bakugou’s reach.

You[9.30PM]: Baby, why’d you turn it off completely that’s so mean?

“Oh shit,” Sero read the text that came through from you, “Happy birthday to me.”

“Give me the fuckin’ phone,” Bakugou practically snarled, venom laced in his tone as he hoped you wouldn’t try and send another selfie.

“Come on, man. Five minutes,” Sero pleaded, offering the phone back to Bakugou as a peace offering, “It could be my birthday gift, you know?”

Having his friends fawn over you like this had a warped sense of power rolling over him. It was debauched, depraved and downright scummy but Bakugou found himself falling into the sovereignty.

Bakugou knew he should call you to let you know that he was surrendering control to the app to his friends, or at the very least send you a message to let you know. But deep down he knew it was something that you would probably enjoy, maybe a bit too much, if you knew. Often talking to him about uses for the toy, and whether he’d ever share access with it with his friends. The thought of going home to tell you who had been controlling it just to see the wide-eyed look on your face had his cock throbbing beneath his jeans in anticipation.

“Five fuckin’ minutes.”

“That’s the spirit, happy fucking birthday to me.” Sero grinned as he began to slide his finger against the screen, “You shoulda brought her with you, that woulda been the best gift.”

“You’d never be that fuckin’ lucky, tapeface.” Bakugou snorted, taking a sip of beer as Sero’s tongue poked out from between his lips in concentration. Swirling his finger along the screen with such precision, but Bakugou was certain he had no real clue what he was doing.

“A girl online gave me her code to one of these before,” He grinned across the booth, “Let me watch her on video while I did it too—”

“Don’t even think about it.” Bakugou would rather blow his phone up completely than let his friends see you on video.

“How do you even know she’s got it in right now?” Denki asked, “You could just be messing with a dead toy.”

“She sent a text begging me to turn it back on.” Sero grinned, “He’s probably the one that put it in her, lucky prick.”

Bakugou wished he was the one that positioned the toy inside you, although he definitely wouldn’t have made it to the bar if he had. There’s nothing in this world that could’ve torn him away from your pretty little cunt.

“Can you get her to send us a picture?” Denki continued, “Do you have pictures?”

Bakugou had multiple pictures, and videos, of you using the toy. It had originally been a way for him to help you climax whenever he was called away on long missions, a fun addition to the already steamy video calls you’d have at random hours. The time differences were often large as he’d find himself fisting his cock for you on camera at four in the morning, helping you to cum just before you were getting ready for bed.

“Shut up, asshole.” Bakugou growled.

There was no way he was going to show them a picture of you, especially how hot you looked right now. Remembering the photograph you’d sent him just as he made it to the bar, of you spread out against soft sheets as you gave the camera a sultry gaze. Man, he really was a fucking idiot coming out tonight and leaving you at home.

“Oh, he’s definitely got pictures,” Sero smirked, “Look at the look on his face. I bet she looks hot in them too—”

“Don’t you dare, you fuck.” Bakugou made a swipe for the phone, but Sero was quicker. Handing the cellphone off to Denki as he leaned forward to pick up his bottle of beer with a chuckle, taking a large swig from it as he leaned against Denki’s shoulder to watch his friend play with the app.

“Have you used this when she’s out in public?” Denki asked, looking across the booth at Bakugou while his finger criss-crossed over the screen with speed— probably torturing your poor pussy with the intense changes.

“No.” Bakugou answered curtly. Neither of you had really toyed with the device outside long distance, but it’s definitely something that you’d both talked about before. You’d even suggested he wear it one night, so he could feel exactly what it did to you for himself.

“Man, that’s so boring.” Denki pouted, “If she was my girlfriend I’d have her wearing it to the grocery store.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to make a girl cum by yourself.” Bakugou scoffed, taking another sip of his drink as Denki scrunched his nose in response.

“Yeah I do,” Denki turned the screen to face him, giving anyone in the bar who looked over a glimpse at the adult app on the phone in use right now, “In fact I’m gonna make your girl cum without even touching her.”

Bakugou hoped you weren’t coming right now, especially with how intense Denki had the vibrations. He knew you were already riled up and desperate, and this was exactly what you needed to have you tumbling over the edge. But he’d never live it down if Denki was the one to make you climax, he’d never hear the end of it.

“You should invite her next time, man. We could do this with her here.” Denki continued, his finger pausing on the screen while the dot was sat at its highest point. Indicating that the vibrations were on the most intense setting as Bakugou pictured you writhing against the sheets while the toy buzzed inside you. Picturing the creamy slick that drooled out of your hole at the sensation and stuck to your plush thighs. Wishing that he was there to clean you up instead of fantasizing about it. His cock jumped at the thought as he palmed himself subtly through his jeans while shifting in his seat.

God, he had to go home and bury himself inside you.

“Can I have a go?” Kirishima mumbled shyly, his cheeks glowing as red as his hair as he fisted his beer bottle nervously.

“Knock yourself out, man.” Denki held the cellphone out to Kirishima like it belonged to him, the dot still sat at the highest point on the screen.

What Bakugou hadn’t been expecting is the amount of teasing Kirishima was doing for you. His thumb barely moving the circle above the slowest setting, the low rumble of the toy inside you would’ve been barely enough for anyone and Bakugou knew it had to be driving you crazy right now.

You[9.40PM]: I told you to stop being a tease. I was about to cum. :(((

“Oh, she’s texting you.”

Kirishima showed him the screen as he read the text, and Bakugou had never been so happy that Kirishima had managed to seize control of his phone and the app before Denki had a chance to actually make you climax.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he grinned in satisfaction, certain he’d never hear the end of it (from you or Denki) if he’d managed to make you cum.

Kirishima was gentle and cautious as he continued playing with the app, barely letting the vibrations go above the middle of the screen. But thick fingers continued to make it constant, pushing down to wiggle the line every few seconds as he began to make almost swirling patterns against the device.

“Come on, man. Turn it up to the max.” Denki whined, his arms going across the table in a silent plea to get the phone back into his hands.

“So you can make her completely numb?” Sero scoffed, “You know she’d stop being able to feel anything with you.”

“She’d be able to feel a lot.” Denki grabbed at his crotch crudely as the men sat at the table began to laugh, even Bakugou snorted as he took a large swig of his beer. He had to get home to you soon.

“You ain’t ever made a girl cum in their life so what makes you think you could make my girl cum?” Bakugou deadpanned as Denki pouted.

“I have too!” He whined.

“Oh yeah? When was that?” Sero pried.

“Come on, man. Don’t be on his side—”

“The girls on those camsites don’t count, I’m pretty certain they fake it too.”

“I don’t even use those anymore.”

“Oh wow.” Kirishima breathed deeply when Bakugou turned his attention back to his best friend. Noticing he’d opened the texting app and now a photograph you’d just sent sat open on the screen.

“What the fuck, man?” Bakugou grunted, grabbing his phone off Kirishima has he shielded the screen with his body. Curling over the table as he held the device beneath it.

“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault. I saw the notification and I clicked it—” Panic was evident in Kirishima’s tone as he begun a feeble attempt to explain himself. An attempt that would’ve been easier were it not for the alcohol currently circling through his veins, his voice slurred as his eyes glazed over. Trying to commit the picture he’d just seen of you to memory, as though he’d just had a near death experience and had witnessed the pearly gates.

“Let me see,” Denki practically begged, “God, dude. Please— let me see. Eiji got to see, it’s not fair!”

“Shut up,” Bakugou cut both men off, trying to focus on the picture you’d just sent.

It was a photograph taken from above your body, between the gap of your thighs and your chubby mound as he noticed the dark stain that now splashed across your bedsheets. Bakugou sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when he noticed the text message that you’d sent with it.

You[9.45PM]: You just made me squirt omg

You[9.46PM]: You’re cleaning that up when you get home it’s not my fault :(((

“Fuck, she squirted.” Bakugou mumbled, eyes roaming your exposed skin and the mess you’d made on the screen.

That’s it, he was going home to you now.

“What?!” Denki gasped in surprise, practically jumping over the table in the booth to read the messages, “You made her squirt?”

“Clearly it was me that got her close enough to do it,” Sero grinned, “Eij just got lucky to get her last.”

“And she sent a picture? Can I see it, man? Please.” Denki looked as though he was about to cry, his knuckles turning white from gripping the edge of the table, “Please just one pic.”

Bakugou chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, debating on whether to show the personal picture you’d sent. A picture that had clearly been intended for his eyes only— but he’d explain to you later.

Turning the screen to the rest of the table, ensuring it faced away from the busy bar as his friends leaned in to look at it. Eyes darting across the imagine to try and memorise it in the few seconds that Bakugou had given them.

“Holy fucking shit.” Sero grinned.

“That’s not fair that you get to go home to that,” Denki threw his head against the back of the booth with a groan, “I’d lick it off the floor.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ freak.” Bakugou sneered, scrunching his nose at the debauched comment.

Locking his phone before leaning forward to pick his beer bottle up to down the rest of its contents, slamming the empty bottle back down on the table as he grabbed his jacket.

“Well, you’ve seen what I’ve got waiting for me at home, I’m out.” Bakugou fist bumped Sero as before shrugging his jacket back on.

“Any chance at a video call?” Denki pleaded, clasping his hands together as Bakugou shot him a glare, “What? I’m just asking.”

Bakugou text you as he left the bar, moving quick on his feet to get home to you as quickly as possible as he hailed a taxi.

Bakugou[9.52PM]: I’m not cleaning that up when I get home, I’m making it worse.

[luveline]

hey jade!!! do u think we can get a little something with bombshell and spencer 🙏🙏 missing them

—you and spencer get serious. 1.3k

“So,” you say, holding two hands behind your back, shoulders tight in a vague attempt at flirting, “come here often?” 

“To Austin?” Spencer nods. “This is the tenth time we’ve been in the last five years.”

“Big city. Thirteenth most populous city in the entire country, right? That’s a lot of crime.”

Spencer smiles approvingly. “Right.” 

“At least this one was easy.” 

You’re standing in the sunshine outside of a bar near the hangar, waiting for the jet to finish loading, the rest of the team inside drinking a round of well-earned drinks. Spencer was in good spirits but didn’t seem to love the ruckus, so you’d made some excuse about feeling light-headed and promised you’d be alright as long as Spencer came outside with you. 

You don’t not feel dizzy. You’ve been under the weather all week. Spencer’s concern has had moments of obviousness. He’s roped it in for now, only evidence of his worry the lack of space between you. 

You’re enjoying the game you’re playing for now. You lovingly ignore him. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

“Uh, trying to get home, honestly.” 

“Yeah?” 

“See, I know this girl,” he says, his voice a soft pattern of itself, “and she’s– she’s great. She really is. She’s smart, and she’s beautiful, and she’s stubborn as a mule when she wants to be. She won’t let me take care of her out here. I’m hoping when we get back, she’ll let me take her home. So I can look after her.” He has no intention of playing the ignoring game with you. 

“Stubborn as a mule,” you murmur, leaning back against the bar’s brick exterior, lulled into security by his voice, and the sweet breeze that passes over you, the right side of cold as the sun begins to set behind the buildings across the street and beyond. 

“You like that one?” 

“No. Not my favourite comparison.” 

Spencer holds his hand out across the way, palm up but low, his fingers still. “Stubborn,” he says as you slip your hand into his, “but in a good way.” 

“…I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say softly. 

“But I want to.” 

You don’t know why you’ve been struggling with Spencer lately. It certainly isn’t something he’s done wrong, and it’s not the first time he’s wanted to look after you. But things between you are looking serious. Just a few weeks ago you took the ‘next step’, long overdue, and you told him you loved him. You do. 

“If I did something–”

You wince and he stops. You knew he’d bring it up eventually, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. What a mess you’re making. “You didn’t do anything,” you say. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No, Spencer, it’s not you, really, it’s not, it’s me–”

The face he makes is of unbridled horror. You’re worried he’ll snatch his hand back. He squeezes tighter. “What are you saying?” he asks, his frown a pout that turns your heart. 

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, that was a fright wasn’t it?” you ask, squeezing him too, pulling at him as you slip against his side. Your faces are close enough to kiss. “Not breaking up. I can’t describe how much I don’t want that.” 

“But?” he asks. 

“But… there’s been some chafing, lately, on my end.” 

“‘Cos of me?” 

“Aw, Spencer,” you murmur, turning your front into his side as you hold your free hand over his heart, “no, baby. No… No, it’s not because of you, or– it’s not your fault. I was alone for a while before you, and I guess being sick just reminded me that things are different.” 

“And you don’t like it?” 

“Spencer, please,” you plead gently, rubbing your thumb against his chest. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I love you–”

“I love you.” 

“–and I’m not asking for anything here, not space, not for you to change, I just want to tell you how I’ve been feeling so you can stop confusing it for something you might’ve done wrong.” 

Some days being with Spencer feels like you’re the same soul in two different bodies. It’s moments like this that remind you of how human he is, the depth of his feelings, and how much he cares about you —how much you can affect his life. He’s frowning like he’s not far from tears and you regret ever bringing it up in the first place, but you have to finish now. 

“It’s scary, for me, sometimes, to be with you,” you say eventually. 

“For me, too.” 

“I worry I’ll get used to you and one day I won’t have you.” 

“I promise you will,” he says. 

“But you don’t know that.” 

“For however long you’ll let me have you, you can have me,” he says simply. 

You tease a line into his chest with your two fingertips. “I love how you look after me. There’s nothing like it. I fall asleep sick and I wake up knowing you’re there to make me a cup of tea, and to help me shower when my head’s hurting, you don’t let me down. You know that?” 

“So why can’t I look after you tonight?” he asks, eyes dark as pine tar. 

“You can. You think I’m not going home with you?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

“Please let me come home with you.” 

Spencer lets his forehead drop gently against yours. The breeze runs a loop around your legs and cools your too-warm shoulders, pulling your blouse from clammy skin. For a while, you wait for him to speak, but when he doesn’t you figure you’ve overwhelmed him with your confession, maybe you’ve upset him. 

He rubs the tips of your noses together slightly. 

“Are you still dizzy?” 

“No.” Your voice is a croak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being scared of the future? It’s okay.” 

“I think it sounded like it was your fault.” 

“I won’t take it that way if you don’t mean it like that,” he promises. “I just want to look after you, angel. I want to be with you. I’m scared all the time that one day I won’t have you, but then you smile at me or you–” He laughs. “You tug on my hair trying to make me kiss you and I don’t feel that way for a while. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“The only thing that worries me is life.” 

“Not much you can do about that,” he says.

“I know. I didn’t mean for it to get to you, too.”

He makes a nice humming sound, says, “I want you to feel better, and come home with me, and I don’t really care if I have to beg. You know I will.” 

“You should know you don’t have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

Spencer’s hand comes up to your neck. He holds it carefully, pressing the soft of his cheek against your temple, the other hand working its way behind your back. “And you’re worried I might leave you?” he asks, laughing bashfully as he presses two kisses to whatever bit of skin he can fin, the side of your nose and the soft well under your eye. “When you’re saying stuff like that to me? In public?” 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve said to you in public.” 

Spencer pulls away to meet your eyes. He's smiling. Worry and love line his gaze. “Do you wanna go find something to eat before we leave?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying hard not to smile ear to ear. “Let’s go eat.” 

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

In an angst mood. So you all get to suffer. Enjoy.

Life Line

Pairing: cheater!John Price x wife!reader

CW: cheating. mention of miscarriage. 18+

You're my lifeline, and you're trying to kill me. If I wasn't me, would you still feel me? Like on my worst days?

You sat quietly at the kitchen table. Glass of wine empty and dry, and you've been drinking right from the bottle. Your children are in bed, tucked in for the night after spending the day being spoiled. You went all out today, deciding that your daughter Iyana and your son Jackie could use the fun. After all, depending on how this conversation went, their lives were going to be changed drastically. On the table is your prenuptial agreement, something you thought you'd never have to get out and look at. Next to it is a manilla folder, and in that folder is the photos.

Photos and records of everything the private investigator had uncovered. You had this folder for two weeks before you opened it up. It wasn't because you were afraid of what was in it. No, it was because you didn't want to go crazy right away and leave your kids orphaned because you were liable to murder Captain John Price. Your husband of ten years.

You'd met him by chance. His task force had been assigned to working with the task force you provided contracted work with. You weren't some fancy soldier or government operator. You were just some woman who was good with numbers and analytics and noticing patterns. So it was inevitable that you would notice the pattern of your husband cheating.

It started small. He would be staying at work a bit later than usual sometimes. Maybe he would be out with his team at the bar a bit later than usual. But why would the bank statements not match up those nights? Two charges, one on the card and then a withdrawal for cash from an atm? He normally paid for his team after missions, so the first charge made sense, but the cash withdrawal not so much. Maybe it was for tips after drinking? No, because the withdrawal happened often, and from the account, that was his mad money. The account you only checked when you wanted to slip him money for something nice and fun, in the same fashion that he would do you. And it was always for the same amount, 600 pounds each time.

It spiraled from there. He was careful not to get unfamiliar perfume on him. Didn't get lipstick stains on shirts. What he didn't think you'd do was check his milage on his truck. From home to base was only 20 miles. Base to bar 10 miles. On Thursdays, when he works late, he comes back, and the miles are off for the week.

Patterns is what made you decide to hire a private investigator. And right after, you locked everything down. No sex on the account of your gynecologist saying "Mrs. Price, we're just worried about your cervical health. We need to monitor it."

John Price took it for what it was.

I don't care about the lights or the beams. Spend my life in the dark for the sake of you and me

The front door opens, and it's a Friday night that won't be soon forgotten. You hear John lumbering about. He's on the phone letting Simon know he got home just fine. You feel your insides curdle, and you wonder if Simon, who was the best man at your wedding, knew about this.

John walks past the dining room, putting away his phone, and he stops when the light flicks on. He looks like a deer caught in headlights as he stares at your carefully composed form. "Sweetheart?" He smiles that handsome smile of his. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

"I know John." You say, voice devoid of emotion. Despite the alcohol in your system, you don't slur your speech. "Have a seat. We we need to talk." You watch as his eyes flick down to the wine bottle and then back to your impassive face.

"You okay, Sweetheart?" He comes close and places a hand to your shoulder. His eyes finally land on the prenuptial agreement and the folder and he knows something isn't right. "Love, you've been drinking, let's get you to bed." He gently tries to urge you up and away from the table.

Instead, he hears the safety of a gun go off. And slowly, you press it to his side. "It's loaded. Now either you sit down and we talk, or I swear John we are about to see how serious we take those vows 'till death do us part'."

Even he knows not to test a civilian with a firearm. He glances towards the steps that lead to your children, and he decides its best to go along with this. He doesn't want the kids waking up. "What's this about?" His voice is calm and sturdy. He's in Captain mode, the version you first met.

"Open that folder, John, and tell me what you see." You finally look at him. Really look at him and see him for what he is. A liar, manipulator, and the man you gave 12 years of your life to, and pushed out 3 kids and suffering a miserable miscarriage while he was deployed.

It takes a moment, but he opens the folder, and the pictures spill out. It's photos of a woman, pretty and younger than you. Body still tight, never having to push out a kid and go through gestational diabetes. She's vibrant and young and looks similar to what you used to look like. The color drains from his face and his eyes snap up to yours.

"Sweetheart -" He says, trying to figure out where the photos came from. He's a captain in the S.A.S. He's always got his wits about him. "I don't know -"

"Keep looking John." You say and cross your legs. And there are photos of him with this woman, holding hands and kissing. He was careful to be nowhere near the frequent haunts you and him and the kids had. Her social media screen shots are amongst the photos along with bank statements with regular weekly withdrawals of the 600 pounds.

Your eagle eyes watch him closely. He sits down the photos and meets your gaze. At least he has the decency to do that. It's so quiet you can hear a a fly wash it's face. Your martial home knows that this is the eye of the storm. Next, you open up the prenuptial agreement, ignoring his excuses. They go in one ear and out the other.

"John Price. Remember when you said you wanted a prenuptial agreement since that first marriage was such a mess?" You ask. You flip to page 4 out of 5, and scan the page for lines 15.

"Sweetheart, you're drunk. Why don't we talk about this in the morning?" He moves the take the gun from you and you point it at him. "Put it down Love-"

"I swear I'll kill us both. Do you think I won't?" You say. "Now shut the fuck up and listen."

It's tense, and he really doesn't want to hurt you or have you shoot if he disarms you and wake the kids. He is the hostage for once in an actual hostage situation he has no control over. He lets out a deep sigh and scrubs a hand down his face. "Fine."

"Now. We have a clause that says, if either of us cheats, the offending party gives up 70% of all assets earned during the marriage plus child support and alimony if there is proof."

He visibly gulps. There's sweat on his forehead.

"There's the proof. I have copies with my sister." You say. "Now, either we can renegotiate the rules to our marriage or we can get divorced."

"Love, why don't we try therapy?" He asks, voice quiet. "I know it's no excuse but work-"

"Work is hard for you huh?" You say with a dry laugh, "you get shot at. Shipped off to fuck all nowhere on the regular."

"Sweetheart that's not what I mean. Things have just been different with us."

"When did they become different?" You ask. You already knew when. Last year, when the miscarriage happened. You became a shell of yourself, and when he got back from his disastrous mission, you comforted him. It was three months of hell. You had post partum depression with no baby to show for it. Your sexdrive nonexistent due to the antidepressants. The stress of taking care of the two kids you did have. Dealing with tears and meltdowns and crash outs while he was playing hero.

As expected, he stays quiet.

"John Price. I became a stay at home wife and mother at your request. Put my career on hold because you wanted the kids to have their mother home, so you wouldn't worry about us and our safety. Twelve years, gone just like that." You shake your head. "I know appearances are important to you and your military circle of higher-ups. I know this clause in the prenuptial agreement will ruin you financially. You and I both know you wouldn't want to explain why you're getting divorced to your family and why you have only visitation rights to your kids. So here's what we are gonna do." Your grip on the gun tightens. You pinch the bridge of your nose with your free hand.

"I still think we should revisit this when you're sober Love." He whispers. The shame is thick in his voice, in how he holds his shoulders.

"No. Your choices are we stay married and things appear normal. You can have your sugar baby or whomever she is to you. She doesn't meet our kids. You keep her out of our house. We won't share a bedroom or a bed. We still parent our children together. You have your fun, I'll have my fun. The same rules that apply to you also apply to me."

You both know that John is possessive. He never liked sharing. There have been times in your early stages of the relationship where her had proven as much. Mid-day fucking in his office, with him leaving marks that couldn't be hidden by your blouses. All because Allen, your coworker, got you an iced latte, or Drew smiled too long at you during information briefings. His jaw clenches and works, most likely grinding his teeth at the thought you being wrapped up in some other man's arms.

"No." He says, "That's not happening."

"Then you need to go and get you a divorce lawyer that can argue your case pretty damn well." You move to stand. "If you want to sleep on it. Do it on the couch or your office, but you need to have an answer for me tomorrow night after me and the kids get back from my parents."

You don't say anything else as you disappeared up the steps.

You don't see how he places his face in his hands and tries to fight back tears.

a.n: not sure who to tag... but I think you all would want to read. @gazsluckyhat @leahnicole1219 @uraeus56 @ilostthewar @lostintransist @lay-z

idk may do a part 2 that focuses on the fallout if there is a desire for it.

Part 2 (I ain't) Sorry

[absdollievu]

On Her Watch

Stalker!abby x Reader

Warnings: dark romance, strap usage, sesbian lex,

This is just straight up filth

Part 2!!!!

Something’s… off.

Not wrong. Not yet. Just off.

You can’t pinpoint when it starts, exactly—but it lingers in the edges of your thoughts like a breeze through a cracked door. A quiet unease that builds in silence.

It’s little things.

You stop by Abby’s apartment one afternoon—unannounced. The door’s unlocked. You step inside, calling her name, and she answers from the shower.

You don’t mean to snoop. But your eyes drift.

Her bookshelf. Your photo. Tucked behind a stack of notebooks. A selfie you barely remember taking, blurry and lit by dorm lights—only… you never sent that photo to her. You didn’t post it.

A chill runs down your spine.

In her kitchen drawer, there’s a receipt. A bar you were at two nights ago. She said she was busy.

In her trash—your old coffee cup. From two weeks ago. With your name written in your handwriting.

You say nothing. You leave. Smile when she texts. You go on like nothing’s wrong.

But it gnaws at you.

Because underneath the shock, the unease, the wrongness of it all… is something else. Something low and quiet and thrilling.

You’ve felt her watching before. Those nights your window rattled and your skin prickled with awareness. The weight of a gaze you couldn’t place.

And now you think… maybe it was her.

You should be afraid. You know that.

But you’re not.

Not really.

You’re… curious.

⸻

The next time she touches you, she’s gentler. Like she knows she’s being watched, too.

You let her undress you slowly, reverently, on her bed. Let her mouth trace patterns down your ribs, your hips, your thighs. You watch her this time—how her eyes drink you in like she’s memorizing every inch.

You start to wonder what she’s seen.

What she knows.

And the thought makes you wet.

⸻

It becomes a game.

You don’t confront her. Not directly. You’re not ready for that yet.

But you test her.

You leave your blinds cracked a little more than usual. Sleep in thinner shirts. Stretch in front of your window longer than necessary.

Nothing happens.

Until one night.

You come home late. Alone. The night air buzzes against your bare legs as you climb the stairs. You’re exhausted—but keyed up. Nervous.

Your room is dim, lit only by the streetlight outside.

You know Abby’s apartment is down the block. You know she can see your window from that rooftop she sometimes sits on.

And so—without fully thinking—you undress.

Slowly.

You drop your shirt first. No bra. Then your pants. The streetlight flickers slightly, enough for you to feel on display.

Your chest rises and falls as you turn toward the window, fully bare.

You pause.

And you wait.

At first, nothing. Just silence. Stillness. Your pulse thudding in your throat.

Then—movement.

A shadow. A flicker. A shape across the rooftop.

You don’t squint. Don’t move closer. You know it’s her.

You feel the heat of her gaze like a hand on your bare skin.

Your breath catches. Your thighs press together instinctively.

And then—you smile.

Just a little. Just enough.

You step closer to the window. Drag your fingers slowly up your belly. To your breast.

You watch your own reflection, hazy and hungry.

You part your lips.

Touch yourself—just enough to tease. A lazy, indulgent graze of your fingers. You don’t even close your eyes.

And somewhere across the way, Abby’s hands are clenched tight at her sides. Her chest heaving. Watching. Unmoving. Devouring.

You slip into bed without finishing.

Leave your window open.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

⸻

The next day, she shows up at your door.

Doesn’t knock. Just waits. Like she knows you were expecting her.

Her eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. Her jaw clenched, shoulders tense.

You let her in without a word.

You both stand in the middle of your room, the silence between you thick with the weight of everything unspoken.

And then, finally—she snaps.

“I saw you,” she says, low and hoarse.

You nod. “I know.”

Her jaw tightens. “You did that on purpose.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanted me to see.”

You step forward—closer. So close you can feel the heat rolling off her skin. “What would you have done if I asked you to come in?”

She’s breathing harder now. Her hands clench at her sides. “I would’ve… I don’t know.”

“You do,” you whisper. “You do know.”

Silence.

And then—her hand grabs your waist. Rough. Desperate. Her mouth crashes into yours like a dam breaking.

You gasp into the kiss. Her hands are everywhere—your back, your hips, your throat. She lifts you like you weigh nothing and presses you into the wall, mouth devouring yours with barely restrained need.

Your legs wrap around her instinctively. You grind against her, gasping when her thigh presses between your legs.

“You’ve been watching me,” you breathe. “All this time.”

Her eyes flicker—guilt, shame, hunger. “Yeah.”

“And you liked it.”

A growl in her throat. “I loved it.”

You shudder. “Then show me.”

She drops you onto the bed. Pulls your clothes off like they’re burning her fingers.

“Let me look,” she murmurs. “Just let me look at you.”

You spread yourself open, unashamed. Watching her now—her flushed cheeks, trembling fingers, how her pupils are blown wide with lust and reverence.

She kneels between your thighs. And when she puts her mouth on you—slow, tender, then rough—every thought flies from your head.

She consumes you.

And when you come, you say her name like a confession.

Your hips collapse back onto the mattress, legs trembling, chest heaving, the aftershocks still fluttering in your thighs. Abby’s face is still between them, lips wet, jaw tight.

You start to exhale, the kind of breath you only take when you’re sure it’s over—

But then you hear her voice. Low. Firm. Possessive.

“Nuh uh,” she says low, dragging her mouth up the inside of your thigh. “I’m not done, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flips.

Before you can respond, her hands are on your hips, flipping you onto your stomach like it’s nothing. You let out a startled gasp, face pressing into the sheets, the air sharp against your damp skin.

You feel her move behind you. Slipping off her pants. Knees spreading yours wider. The heat of her body, the strength in her grip.

And then—

You feel it.

The press of something thick and solid between your thighs.

You twist to look over your shoulder, heart thudding. Abby’s gaze locks with yours, dark and feral.

She’s wearing a harness. A thick, matte black strap-on already slick with lube, the base pressed snug to her pelvis. The strap nestles right up against her clit—every grind, every thrust, bound to rub her just right.

You blink, stunned. “You were wearing that the whole time?”

Abby smirks. “You think I climbed up to your window without a plan?”

And then—she pushes in.

Slow at first. Letting you feel every inch. The stretch is deep, full, burning in the most perfect way. You groan into the mattress, one hand fisting in the sheets as your body arches back to meet her.

She’s breathing hard now, panting softly above you, her hands splayed across your back, grounding herself.

“Fuck,” she groans, hips grinding in. The strap rubs against her clit with every motion, and her voice is thick with strain. “I swear I can feel you, baby

.”

You can hear it—her desperation. The control she’s clinging to by a thread.

She starts to move. Deep, rhythmic thrusts. Not rough, not yet—just hard enough to keep you on edge. Her skin slaps against the backs of your thighs. Every grind of her hips sends a whimper crawling out of your throat.

You rock back into her, hungry for it. “Abby…”

“Say my name again,” she growls, voice almost breaking. “Say it when I fuck you.”

“Abby,” you gasp, arching into the next thrust. “Abby—Abby, please—”

Her hand slips under you, fingers stroking your clit in perfect time with the rhythm of her hips. Your thighs quake. Your body starts to fold into it, dizzy and flushed and floating.

And behind you, Abby’s moaning, losing it—her hips stuttering, movements getting sloppier as the base of the strap grinds harder against her soaked clit.

She’s so close. You can feel it in her grip, her breath, her unfiltered noises—this isn’t just for you anymore. She’s fucking herself with you. Through you.

You both fall apart at once.

You clench around the strap with a cry, stars bursting behind your eyes, thighs shaking uncontrollably. Abby lets out a guttural, choked groan, grinding deep as her body tenses. You hear her panting, stammering through her orgasm, hips jerking in time with yours.

You both go still.

Sweaty. Shaking. Twined together in silence.

And then she collapses forward, her chest on your back, lips brushing your shoulder. You feel the tremor still buzzing through her.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, half-drunk on the high, voice hoarse. “You understand that now?”

And all you can do is nod frantically, cheek pressed to the pillow, drooling, and heart still racing.

Because yes.

Yes, you do.

⸻

a/n: alright this is just crazy. Send more reqs!!

[signode-blog]

Trading Inside Bar Pattern

Trading the inside bar pattern is a popular strategy among technical analysts and traders. The inside bar is a two-bar candlestick pattern where the second bar is completely contained within the range of the preceding bar. This pattern indicates a period of consolidation or indecision in the market, and traders often use it to anticipate potential breakout or reversal opportunities. Here’s a…

[pucksandpower]

Unfinished Business

Ghost!Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you arrive in Monaco expecting a once-in-a-lifetime vacation and you certainly get one — a fairytale romance with a Monegasque Prince … from the late 19th century

The gentle hum of a luxury sedan fades as you and your three best friends step out onto the sun-drenched streets of Monaco. The air is thick with anticipation and the salty tang of the Mediterranean. Your eyes widen as they trace the elegant facade of the Palais Grimaldi, its pale stone walls gleaming in the afternoon light.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” Mia breathes, her voice tinged with awe. “An all-expenses-paid trip to Monaco? It feels like a dream.”

You nod, unable to tear your gaze from the intricate architecture. “It’s even more beautiful than the pictures,” you murmur.

Zoe hefts her designer luggage. “Well, ladies, shall we see if the inside is as impressive as the outside?”

As your group approaches the grand entrance, a smartly dressed concierge greets you with a warm smile. “Welcome to the Palais Grimaldi. You must be our contest winners. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

“That’s us!” Olivia chirps, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’m Olivia, and these are Mia, Zoe, and Y/N.”

The concierge, whose name tag reads ‘Philippe,’ bows slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your suite.”

As you trail behind Philippe through opulent hallways adorned with priceless art and glittering chandeliers, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve stepped into another world — or perhaps another time. The weight of history presses in around you, whispering secrets from centuries past.

“The Palais Grimaldi has quite a storied past,” Philippe explains as he leads you up a sweeping marble staircase. “It’s been home to Monaco’s ruling family for over 700 years.”

“700 years?” You echo, your mind reeling at the concept. “That’s incredible. Has it been a hotel for long?”

Philippe chuckles. “Oh no, mademoiselle. The palace only opened its doors to the public a few years ago. It’s still used for official state functions, but the family decided to share its beauty with the world.”

Mia leans in close, her voice low. “I bet these walls have seen some scandalous things over the centuries.”

“More than you can imagine,” Philippe says with a wink. “If these walls could talk ...”

As you reach the top of the stairs, a long corridor stretches before you, lined with ornate doors. Philippe stops before one and produces an old-fashioned key with a flourish. “Your suite, ladies.”

The door swings open, revealing a space that takes your breath away. Soaring ceilings, silk wallpaper, and antique furnishings create an atmosphere of timeless luxury.

“Holy. Crap.” Zoe’s usual composure cracks as she takes in the opulence. “This is insane.”

Olivia immediately flops onto one of the plush sofas. “I’m never leaving. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming when the week is up.”

You wander to one of the tall windows, mesmerized by the view of the sparkling Mediterranean. “I can’t believe we get to stay here for a whole week.”

Philippe clears his throat. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Your luggage will be brought up shortly. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything at all.”

As the door closes behind him, your friends erupt into excited chatter.

“Did you see the size of that bathroom?” Mia gushes. “The tub is practically a swimming pool!”

Zoe is already examining the ornate writing desk. “Look at this. It’s probably worth more than my entire apartment.”

You run your hand along the silk-covered walls, feeling a strange thrill as your fingers trace the intricate patterns. “It’s like stepping back in time,” you murmur.

Olivia bounces on the bed, giggling. “Well, I for one plan to enjoy every modern amenity this place has to offer. Who’s up for raiding the mini bar?”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a whirlwind of unpacking, exploring every nook and cranny of your suite, and planning your itinerary for the week ahead.

As evening falls, you find yourself drawn back to the window. The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of pink and gold. The principality below comes alive with twinkling lights, promising endless possibilities.

“Earth to Y/N!” Mia’s voice breaks through your reverie. “We’re thinking of heading down to the hotel restaurant for dinner. You in?”

You turn from the window, smiling at your friends. “Absolutely. Just let me freshen up a bit.”

In the bathroom, you splash some water on your face and reapply your lipstick. As you study your reflection in the ornate mirror, a strange sensation washes over you — almost as if someone is watching. You shake your head, dismissing the feeling as jetlag-induced imagination.

Rejoining your friends, you make your way down to the restaurant. The maître d’ leads you to a table with a stunning view of the moonlit gardens.

“I propose a toast,” Zoe says, raising her glass of champagne. “To friendship, adventure, and a week we’ll never forget!”

You clink glasses, the bubbles tickling your nose as you sip. As your friends chatter excitedly about their plans for tomorrow, your gaze drifts to the gardens below. For a moment, you could swear you see a figure in old-fashioned dress moving among the hedges. You blink, and the apparition vanishes.

“Y/N? Hello? Anyone home?” Olivia waves her hand in front of your face.

You snap back to attention. “Sorry, what?”

“I was asking what you wanted to do first tomorrow. Beach or shopping?”

You consider for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking about taking a tour of the palace. I’d love to learn more about its history.”

Mia grins. “Ooh, good call. Maybe we’ll run into a handsome prince.”

You laugh, but something in your chest flutters at the thought. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

As the evening wears on and the wine flows freely, you find your thoughts continually drifting back to the palace and its centuries of secrets. By the time you return to your suite, a pleasant exhaustion has settled over you.

You bid your friends goodnight and curl up in your luxurious bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets cool against your skin. As you drift off to sleep, the last thing you see is the moonlight streaming through the window, casting ethereal shadows on the walls.

In your dreams, you wander the halls of the palace. Everything is hazy, like looking through frosted glass. You turn a corner and come face to face with a young man dressed in 19th-century finery. His eyes, a startling shade of green, seem to pierce right through you.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out. A profound sadness radiates from him, tugging at your heart. You reach out, wanting to comfort him, but your hand passes through him like smoke.

You jolt awake, heart racing. The room is bathed in the soft glow of pre-dawn light. You sit up, running a hand through your tousled hair.

“What was that?” You whisper to the empty room.

As the sun begins to peek over the horizon, you can’t shake the feeling that your dream was more than just a product of your imagination. Something about this place, about that mysterious figure, calls to you in a way you can’t explain.

You slip out of bed and pad to the window, watching as Monaco comes to life below. Whatever secrets the Palais Grimaldi holds, you’re determined to uncover them. Little do you know, this is just the beginning of an adventure that will change your life forever.

***

The Monégasque sun beats down relentlessly as you and your friends lounge by the hotel’s exclusive rooftop pool. The glittering Mediterranean stretches out before you, a canvas of blue punctuated by gleaming white yachts.

“Now this is what I call a vacation,” Mia sighs contentedly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses.

Zoe nods in agreement, not looking up from her book. “I could get used to this kind of luxury.”

You smile and close your eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of the sun and the gentle lapping of the pool water. But there’s a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake off.

Olivia notices your furrowed brow. “Y/N, what’s up? You look like you’re solving world hunger over there.”

You hesitate, unsure how to explain the strange occurrences of the past few days. “It’s nothing, really. I just ... have you guys noticed anything weird happening in the palace?”

Mia perks up, always ready for gossip. “Weird how?”

“Well ...” you start, then falter. How can you describe the way your hairbrush moved across the dresser on its own? Or the whispers you heard in the empty library? “It’s going to sound crazy, but I think there might be something ... supernatural going on.”

There’s a moment of silence before Olivia bursts out laughing. “Supernatural? Come on, Y/N. I know you’ve always been into that ghost hunter stuff, but this is a five-star hotel, not a haunted house.”

Zoe looks up from her book, her expression skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not just jet-lagged? Or maybe it’s all that rich food we’ve been eating.”

You feel a flush creeping up your neck. “I know how it sounds, but I swear, strange things keep happening. Last night, I saw a man’s reflection in the mirror, but when I turned around, no one was there.”

Mia sits up, suddenly interested. “Ooh, was he hot?”

“Mia!” Zoe admonishes, but there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.

You sigh, realizing how ridiculous you must sound. “Never mind. You’re probably right, it’s just my imagination running wild.”

But as the day wears on, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. Every shadow seems to hold a secret, every creaking floorboard a whispered message.

That night, as your friends snore softly in their beds, you find yourself wide awake, staring at the ornate ceiling. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts eerie shadows on the walls, and the silence of the night seems to pulse with an otherworldly energy.

Unable to bear it any longer, you slip out of bed and into a robe. Your bare feet are silent on the plush carpet as you make your way to the door. You pause, hand on the doorknob, heart racing. Are you really going to do this?

Taking a deep breath, you step out into the dimly lit hallway. The palace is different at night, the opulence muted, shadows deepening the corners. You walk aimlessly, letting your instincts guide you through the maze-like corridors.

As you round a corner, a chill runs down your spine. At the end of the hallway, you see a figure. It’s only for a split second before it vanishes around the next bend, but you’re certain it was the same man you saw in the mirror.

“Wait!” You call out, breaking into a run. You turn the corner, but the hallway is empty.

Breathing heavily, you lean against the wall. “I’m losing my mind,” you mutter to yourself.

“I can assure you, mademoiselle, that your mind is quite intact.”

You whirl around, heart leaping into your throat. There, standing before you, is the man from your dreams and glimpses.

He’s of average height, with wavy dark hair and piercing green eyes. His clothes are old-fashioned — a tailored suit that wouldn’t look out of place in the late 19th century. But the most shocking thing is that you can see right through him to the painting on the wall behind.

You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The ghost — because what else could he be — holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Please, do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

His voice is gentle, with a slight accent you can’t quite place. Despite your terror, you find yourself oddly calmed by his presence.

“Who ... what are you?” You manage to whisper.

The ghost bows slightly. “I am Prince Charles of Monaco, at your service. Or at least, I was Prince Charles. Now, I’m not entirely sure what I am.”

You blink, trying to process this information. “Prince Charles? But that’s impossible. The current Prince of Monaco is Albert.”

Charles smiles sadly. “You are correct. I’m afraid my time as prince was cut rather short. I died in 1894.”

“1894,” you repeat, feeling light-headed. “So you’re ... a ghost?”

“It would appear so, yes.” Charles looks down at his translucent hands. “Though I prefer to think of myself as ... temporarily disembodied.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you feel a laugh bubbling up in your chest. “Temporarily disembodied? That’s one way to put it.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle with amusement. “I find a touch of humor helps in most situations, even death.”

You shake your head, still struggling to believe what’s happening. “Why can I see you? Why now?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Charles admits. “I’ve been bound to this palace since my death, unable to move on. Most of the time, I’m invisible to the living. But occasionally, someone comes along who can perceive me. You, mon chérie, seem to be one of those rare individuals.”

You take a step closer, fascinated despite your lingering fear. “So all those strange things that have been happening ...”

“My apologies,” Charles says, looking sheepish. “I’m afraid I got a bit ... overeager when I realized you could sense me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Well, mission not accomplished,” you say dryly. “I’ve been terrified for days.”

Charles’ expression turns contrite. “I am truly sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to interact with anyone. I forgot how alarming it might be.”

You study him closely. Now that the initial shock has worn off, you’re struck by how young he looks — no older than his mid-twenties. And there’s a sadness in his eyes that tugs at your heart.

“How did you die?” You ask softly.

Charles’ face clouds over. “That, I’m afraid, is a rather long and complicated story. One that I’m not entirely sure I understand myself.”

You’re about to press further when a noise down the hallway makes you jump. Charles holds a finger to his lips and gestures for you to follow him. He leads you to a hidden door behind a tapestry, revealing a narrow servants’ staircase.

“Quick, in here,” he whispers.

You hesitate for a moment before ducking into the passageway. Charles follows, closing the door behind you. In the dim light filtering through cracks in the wall, you can barely make out his ghostly form.

“Why are we hiding?” You whisper.

“The night guards,” Charles explains. “They wouldn’t take kindly to a guest wandering the halls at this hour. And I’d rather not have to explain why you’re talking to thin air.”

You nod, seeing the logic. “So ... what now?”

Charles gives you a mischievous smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, since you’re already up and about, how would you like a private tour of the palace? I can show you things no living guide knows about.”

The sensible part of your brain is screaming that this is insane. You should go back to your room, crawl into bed, and pretend this was all a vivid dream. But the adventurous part of you, the part that’s always longed for magic and mystery, is practically buzzing with excitement.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” you say with a grin.

Charles’ smile widens. “Please, call me Charles. I think we’re a bit beyond titles at this point.”

He starts up the narrow staircase, and you follow close behind. As you climb, Charles begins to speak in a low, melodious voice.

“This palace has been the heart of Monaco for centuries. Every stone, every timber holds a piece of history. There are secret passages like this one crisscrossing the entire building — escape routes, trysting spots for illicit lovers, hiding places for treasures.”

You emerge from the staircase into a small, circular room at the top of one of the palace towers. The view of Monaco at night is breathtaking, the city a glittering jewel box beneath a canopy of stars.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, moving to the window.

Charles stands beside you, his presence cool but not unpleasant. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Even after all these years, it still takes my breath away. Well, metaphorically speaking.”

You turn to look at him, struck by the wistfulness in his voice. “It must be hard, watching the world change around you while you stay the same.”

Charles nods slowly. “It is ... challenging. But it has its compensations. I’ve witnessed history unfold, seen my beloved Monaco grow and flourish. And occasionally, I get to meet fascinating people like yourself.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and are grateful for the darkness. “I’m hardly fascinating compared to a ghost prince.”

“I beg to differ,” Charles says softly. “You saw me when no one else could. You followed me up here without hesitation. That takes a special kind of courage and openness to the extraordinary.”

For a moment, you’re lost in his intense gaze. Then you remember that he’s, well, dead, and clear your throat awkwardly. “So, um, what else can you show me?”

Charles seems to shake himself out of a reverie. “Ah, yes. Follow me. There’s so much to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur of hidden rooms, secret passages, and Charles’ stories. He tells you about the palace’s construction, about the triumphs and tragedies of the Grimaldi family, about the small, everyday moments that history books never record.

As the sky begins to lighten with the first hints of dawn, you find yourself back in the hallway near your suite. You’re exhausted but exhilarated, your mind whirling with everything you’ve seen and learned.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, a note of reluctance in his voice.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. My friends will be wondering where I am if I’m not there when they wake up.”

Charles nods, then hesitates. “I ... I hope this won’t be our last conversation. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone to talk to.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heart. “Of course not. I still have so many questions. Like how you ended up ... you know.”

“Another time,” Charles promises. “For now, sleep well, Y/N.”

As you watch, his form begins to fade. Just before he disappears completely, you could swear you see him wink.

You slip back into your room, your mind racing. As you crawl into bed, you wonder how on earth you’re going to explain any of this to your friends. But one thing’s for certain — your vacation in Monaco just got a whole lot more interesting.

***

The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of orange and pink. You stand on the balcony of your suite, outwardly admiring the view, but your mind is elsewhere. Your friends’ voices drift out from the room behind you.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Mia calls. “Are you coming to dinner or what?”

You turn, plastering on a smile. “Actually, I think I’ll skip it tonight. I’m not feeling very hungry.”

Zoe frowns, concern etching her features. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting strange all week.”

“I’m fine,” you assure her quickly. “Just ... taking in all the history of this place, you know?”

Olivia rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Only you would come to Monaco and spend all your time geeking out over old buildings instead of hitting the beach.”

You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

As your friends file out of the room, Mia lingers behind. “Seriously, Y/N, is everything alright? You know you can talk to us about anything, right?”

For a moment, you’re tempted to spill everything. But how could you possibly explain Charles? “I’m fine, really,” you insist. “Go enjoy dinner. I’ll see you later.”

Once they’re gone, you wait a few minutes to ensure the coast is clear. Then you slip out into the hallway, your heart racing with anticipation.

You make your way to the library, which has become your usual meeting spot. As you enter, you see Charles materializing near the fireplace, a warm smile lighting up his translucent features.

“Good evening, Y/N,” he greets you, his voice as smooth and rich as aged whiskey. “I trust you’re well?”

You can’t help but smile back. “Better now,” you admit, then immediately feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “I mean, you know, because ... history and stuff.”

Charles chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah yes, the fascinating history and stuff. Shall we delve into more of it tonight?”

You nod eagerly. “What do you have in store for me this time?”

“I thought we might explore the east wing tonight,” Charles says, moving towards one of the bookshelves. “There’s a passage behind this Voltaire that leads to some rather interesting places.”

As he speaks, Charles reaches for the book, his hand passing right through it. A flicker of frustration crosses his face.

“Allow me,” you say softly, stepping forward to pull the book. The shelf swings open, revealing a narrow passageway.

Charles bows slightly. “After you, mademoiselle.”

You enter the passage, Charles’ cool presence right behind you. As you walk, he begins to speak, his voice low and melodious in the confined space.

“This passage was built during the reign of Prince Charles III — my grandfather,” he explains. “It was meant as an escape route in case of invasion. Monaco’s sovereignty was often threatened in those days.”

“But not anymore?” You ask, ducking under a low-hanging beam.

Charles sighs. “Monaco’s position is more secure now, but it wasn’t always so. In my time, we were constantly navigating a delicate balance between France and Italy, trying to maintain our independence.”

You emerge into a small, octagonal room with windows overlooking the sea. Moonlight streams in, casting everything in a silvery glow.

“This was my private study,” Charles says, a note of wistfulness in his voice. “I spent many hours here, dreaming of what Monaco could become.”

You turn to him, curious. “What kind of dreams?”

Charles’ eyes light up with passion. “I wanted to modernize Monaco, to bring it into the new century. We were so dependent on the casino for revenue — I wanted to diversify our economy, improve education, and implement new technologies.”

“That sounds incredibly progressive for the time,” you say, impressed.

Charles nods. “Some thought too progressive. There were those who resisted change, who wanted to cling to the old ways. But I believed — I still believe — that progress is essential for survival.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drawn in by his enthusiasm, his intelligence. This isn’t just some stuffy old royal — this is a man with vision, with dreams that were cut short far too soon.

“What stopped you?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression clouds over. “Ah, well, dying tends to put a damper on one’s plans.”

You wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no,” Charles interrupts gently. “It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

An awkward silence falls. You move to the window, looking out at the moonlit sea. “It must be hard,” you say eventually. “Watching the world change around you, unable to participate.”

You feel Charles move closer, his presence cool at your side. “It has its challenges,” he admits. “But it also has its joys. I’ve seen Monaco grow and flourish in ways I never could have imagined. And now ...” He trails off.

You turn to look at him. “And now?”

Charles’ gaze is intense, making your heart race. “And now I have the pleasure of sharing it all with you.”

You swallow hard, acutely aware of how close he is, ghost or not. “I ... I’m glad,” you manage to say. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Charles.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Nor I you, Y/N. In life or in death.”

The moment stretches between you, charged with unspoken emotions. Then Charles clears his throat (do ghosts need to clear their throats?) and steps back.

“Come,” he says, his tone lighter. “There’s much more to see.”

The rest of the night passes in a whirlwind of secret rooms and hidden treasures. Charles shows you a concealed vault where the crown jewels were once kept, a forgotten ballroom with faded frescoes on the ceiling, even the old dungeons deep beneath the palace.

Throughout it all, Charles regales you with stories — some historical, some personal. You learn about the political intrigues of 19th century Monaco, about Charles’ childhood pranks, about the hopes and fears he had for his country’s future.

As dawn begins to break, you find yourself back in the library, reluctant for the night to end.

“I suppose I should let you get some rest,” Charles says, echoing his words from your first meeting.

You stifle a yawn. “I suppose so. But I don’t want to go.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Nor do I want you to. But your friends will worry if you’re not there when they wake.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. “Will I see you tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be here,” Charles promises. “I’m not going anywhere, after all.”

As you watch him fade away, you’re struck by a realization that both thrills and terrifies you. You’re falling in love with a ghost.

The next few days pass in a blur. During the day, you go through the motions with your friends, trying to show enthusiasm for the beaches, the shops, the nightlife. But your mind is always elsewhere, counting down the hours until you can see Charles again.

Your friends notice, of course. How could they not?

“Okay, spill,” Mia demands one afternoon as you all lounge by the pool. “Who is he?”

You nearly choke on your drink. “What? Who’s who?”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re obviously sneaking out to meet every night. Don’t think we haven’t noticed you coming back to the room at dawn.”

“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammer.

Zoe puts a hand on your arm. “Y/N, we’re your friends. You can tell us anything. We’re just worried about you.”

You look at their concerned faces and feel a pang of guilt. You hate lying to them, but how can you possibly explain the truth?

“It’s not ... it’s not what you think,” you say finally. “I’ve just been exploring the palace at night. It’s quieter then, easier to imagine what it was like in the past.”

Your friends exchange skeptical looks.

“Right,” Mia says slowly. “And this has nothing to do with the ‘supernatural occurrences’ you were going on about earlier?”

You force a laugh. “Of course not. That was just my imagination running wild. I’ve just been ... really into the history of this place, that’s all.”

Olivia shakes her head. “If you say so. But Y/N, this is supposed to be a fun vacation. Don’t spend the whole time with your nose in a history book, okay?”

You nod, grateful they’re not pushing further. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more present.”

But that night, as your friends sleep, you find yourself slipping out once again, drawn to Charles like a moth to a flame.

He’s waiting for you in the library, a book hovering open in front of him. As you enter, he looks up with a smile that makes your heart flutter.

“Ah, Y/N,” he says warmly. “I was just refreshing my memory on some of Monaco’s more obscure laws. Did you know it’s technically illegal to wear stiletto heels in the palace?”

You laugh, some of the tension from earlier melting away. “Seriously? Why?”

Charles grins. “Apparently, they damage the floors. It was enacted in 1898, four years after my ... departure. I always wonder about the story behind laws like that. What outrageous incident prompted such a specific prohibition?”

You settle into a nearby armchair, tucking your legs underneath you. “Maybe a scorned lover stabbed someone with a stiletto?”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “My, what a violent imagination you have. I was thinking more along the lines of a clumsy debutante wreaking havoc on the ballroom floor.”

“Boring,” you tease. “My version is much more exciting.”

Charles chuckles, the sound warming you from the inside out. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Your mind is a constant source of fascination to me.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh? How so?”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering slightly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. “You see the world in such a unique way. You’re not bound by the conventions and expectations of my time. It’s ... refreshing.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply softly. “You’re nothing like I would have expected a 19th-century prince to be.”

Charles’ smile turns wry. “Ah, but I’ve had over a century to adapt and learn. Though I must admit, much of modern life still baffles me. Perhaps you could explain to me the appeal of this ‘Instagram’ your friends keep mentioning?”

You laugh, launching into an explanation of social media that leaves Charles looking both intrigued and mildly horrified. The conversation flows easily from there, jumping from topic to topic with the effortless rhythm you’ve come to cherish in your nightly meetings.

As the hours pass, you find yourself moving closer to Charles, drawn in by his warmth (metaphorical, of course — he’s actually quite cool to be near) and charm. You’re acutely aware of every movement, every fleeting expression that crosses his face.

At one point, Charles reaches out as if to touch your hand, then seems to catch himself, pulling back with a flicker of frustration crossing his features.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Sometimes I forget ...”

You swallow hard, your heart aching. “It’s okay. I ... I wish you could too.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken longing. Charles’ eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the impossibility of your situation crashes over you like a wave.

“Y/N,” Charles begins, his voice rough with emotion. “I-”

But before he can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching the library.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Hide behind the curtain.”

You scramble to conceal yourself just as the door opens. Through a gap in the heavy fabric, you see a security guard sweep his flashlight around the room.

Your heart pounds in your chest as the beam of light passes inches from your hiding spot. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging, your legs shaky with leftover adrenaline.

“That was close,” you breathe.

Charles nods, his form flickering with agitation. “Too close. Y/N, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be putting you in these situations. If you were caught ...”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, don’t say that. I don’t care about the risk. Being with you, learning about you and your time — it’s worth it.”

Charles’ expression softens, a mix of affection and sorrow in his eyes. “You’re extraordinary, do you know that? But I fear ... I fear I’m being selfish, keeping you to myself like this.”

You take a step closer to him, wishing more than anything that you could take his hand. “You’re not keeping me anywhere I don’t want to be.”

The words hang between you, charged with meaning. Charles opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, conflict clear on his face.

Finally, he says, “It’s nearly dawn. You should go, before your friends wake.”

You nod reluctantly, knowing he’s right but hating to leave. As you reach the door, you turn back to look at him one last time.

“Charles,” you say softly. “I ... I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

He smiles, but there’s a sadness in it that tugs at your heart. “I’ll be here. I’m always here.”

As you make your way back to your room, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. You’re falling hard and fast for a man who’s been dead for over a century.

It’s impossible, it’s insane, and yet ... you wouldn’t trade these moments with Charles for anything in the world.

But as you slip back into bed, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains, a nagging doubt creeps in. How long can this go on? What happens when your vacation ends? And most troublingly of all — what aren’t you seeing in your infatuation with this charming ghost prince?

***

The musty scent of old books fills your nostrils as you hunch over a stack of historical tomes in the palace library. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. You’ve been here for hours, your friends long since departed for a day of sunbathing and shopping.

“Find anything interesting?” Charles’ voice makes you jump. You look up to see him materializing near the bookshelf, a curious expression on his translucent face.

You sigh, rubbing your tired eyes. “Nothing concrete yet. There’s frustratingly little information about your death in these official histories. It’s always just ‘Prince Charles died tragically young’ with no details.”

Charles moves closer, peering at the book you’re reading. “Ah, Gustave Saige’s ‘Monaco: Ses Origines et Son Histoire’. A rather dry read, if I recall correctly.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’re not wrong. But I thought it might have some clues.” You hesitate, then ask, “Charles, why don’t you just tell me what happened? How you ... died?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “I wish I could. But the truth is, my memories of that time are ... fragmented. I remember tensions rising, arguments with the council, and then ... nothing. Just waking up like this, bound to the palace.”

You reach out instinctively to comfort him, your hand passing through his arm with a chill. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how frustrating that must be.”

Charles gives you a sad smile. “It’s been my reality for over a century now. But I must admit, your determination to uncover the truth has given me hope I haven’t felt in a very long time.”

Your heart swells at his words, even as a pang of guilt hits you. Are you really doing this for Charles, or for yourself? The thought of him finding peace and moving on fills you with a complicated mix of emotions you’re not ready to examine too closely.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you turn back to your research. “Well, if these books aren’t giving us answers, maybe we need to look elsewhere. You mentioned arguments with the council. Were there records kept of those meetings?”

Charles’ brow furrows in concentration. “Yes, there would have been. Minutes were always taken. But they would have been considered sensitive documents. Not something you’d find in the public library.”

You lean forward, excitement building. “So where would they be kept?”

“There’s an archive room,” Charles says slowly. “Hidden behind the throne room. It’s where the most confidential state papers were stored.”

You’re already on your feet, shoving books back onto shelves. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Charles holds up a ghostly hand. “Not so fast, Y/N. That room has been sealed for decades. It’s not somewhere a tourist can just wander into.”

You deflate slightly, but your determination doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll have to find a way in after hours. You can get me there, right?”

Charles looks conflicted. “I could, but Y/N, if you were caught ...”

“I won’t be,” you insist. “Please, Charles. This might be our only chance to find out what really happened to you.”

For a long moment, Charles studies your face. Then he sighs, a sound tinged with both resignation and admiration. “Very well. Meet me here at midnight. I’ll show you the way.”

The hours crawl by as you wait for night to fall. You make a show of going to bed early, claiming a headache to avoid your friends’ plans for a night out. As the clock strikes twelve, you slip out of your room and make your way to the library.

Charles is waiting for you, his form glowing faintly in the moonlight. “Are you sure about this?” He asks one last time.

You nod firmly. “Let’s do it.”

Charles leads you through a maze of corridors and hidden passages. Your heart races with every creak of the floorboards, every shadow that might be a security guard. Finally, you arrive at an ornate door hidden behind a tapestry.

“This is it,” Charles whispers. “The archive room.”

You reach for the handle, but it’s locked. “Damn,” you mutter. “Any ideas?”

Charles frowns, concentrating. “There used to be a spare key ... ah!” He points to a small crevice in the intricate woodwork. “Try there.”

You feel around and, to your amazement, your fingers close around a small key. With trembling hands, you insert it into the lock. It turns with a satisfying click.

The door swings open, revealing a room packed floor to ceiling with shelves of documents. The air is thick with dust and the smell of old paper.

“Where do we even start?” You whisper, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information.

Charles moves to a section near the back. “The council records from my time should be here. Look for anything dated 1894.”

You begin sifting through stacks of yellowed papers, careful not to damage the fragile documents. Minutes pass in tense silence as you search.

Suddenly, Charles’ voice cuts through the quiet. “Y/N, over here. I think I’ve found something.”

You hurry to his side. He’s pointing at a leather-bound ledger. You carefully open it, coughing slightly at the dust it raises.

As you scan the pages, your eyes widen. “Charles, this ... this is incredible. It’s a record of council meetings leading up to your death. Look at this entry from two weeks before: ‘Prince Charles continues to push for radical reforms. Concerns raised about stability of the principality if plans proceed.’”

Charles leans in, his face a mix of emotions. “I remember that meeting. It was ... heated. Keep reading.”

You flip through more pages, your heart pounding as the story unfolds. “There’s more. ‘Prince’s proposed changes to casino regulations deemed unacceptable. Alternative measures must be considered.’ Charles, this sounds like ...”

“A conspiracy,” Charles finishes, his voice hollow. “They were plotting against me.”

You reach the final entry, dated the day before Charles’ death. Your blood runs cold as you read it aloud. “Situation untenable. Drastic action required to preserve Monaco’s interests. God forgive us.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the implications sink in. Charles turns away, his form flickering with agitation.

“They killed me,” he says softly. “My own council ... they murdered me to stop my reforms.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Charles, I’m so sorry. This is ... it’s unthinkable.”

Charles is quiet for a long moment, then turns back to you with a determined expression. “We need to take this ledger. The truth needs to come out, even after all this time.”

You nod, carefully closing the book and tucking it into your bag. As you do, something catches your eye. “Wait, there’s something else here.”

Behind where the ledger was sitting, you spot a small leather pouch. You open it carefully, gasping as several folded papers and a small object fall out.

“What is it?” Charles asks, moving closer.

You unfold one of the papers with trembling hands. “It’s ... it’s a letter. From you.” You begin to read aloud:

“To whoever finds this, I fear my time may be short. I write this in haste, knowing that forces within Monaco seek to silence me. My efforts to modernize our beloved principality and free us from our dependence on gambling have made me enemies in powerful places. If anything should happen to me, know that it was not an accident. The proof of their treachery is contained within these documents and the vial of poison they intend to use. I pray this never sees the light of day, but if it does, may it bring justice and push Monaco towards the future I envisioned.”

You look up at Charles, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. “You knew. You tried to protect yourself.”

Charles nods slowly, his own eyes shimmering with ghostly tears. “I ... I remember now. I wrote this the night before ... before it happened. I must have hidden it here, hoping someone would find it.”

You carefully gather up the documents and the small vial, adding them to your bag with the ledger. “We have to make this public, Charles. Your murder, the cover-up ... people need to know the truth.”

Charles looks at you with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “You’re right, of course. But Y/N, you must understand what this means. If the truth comes out, if justice is served ...”

“You might be able to move on,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. The thought sends a dagger through your heart, but you force yourself to continue. “That’s ... that’s a good thing, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering near your cheek as if he could wipe away your tears. “It is. But I find myself reluctant to leave, now that I’ve found something — someone — worth staying for.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles, I ...”

Before you can finish, a noise in the hallway makes you both freeze. Footsteps are approaching.

“Quick,” Charles whispers urgently. “Behind that cabinet.”

You scramble to hide, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure it must be audible. The door to the archive room creaks open, and a beam of light sweeps across the space.

“Hello?” A gruff voice calls out. “Is someone in here?”

You hold your breath, pressing yourself further into the shadows. After what feels like an eternity, the guard seems satisfied and leaves, closing the door behind him.

You wait a few more moments before emerging from your hiding spot, legs shaky with adrenaline.

“That was too close,” Charles says, his form flickering with agitation. “We need to get you out of here.”

You nod, clutching your bag with its precious cargo close to your chest. “How do we get back?”

Charles leads you to a hidden panel in the wall. “This passage will take you directly to the guest wing. Hurry, before the guard comes back.”

As you step into the secret corridor, you turn back to look at Charles. “What happens now?” You ask softly.

Charles’ expression is a complex mix of emotions — hope, fear, sadness, and something that looks a lot like love. “Now, mon chérie, we bring the truth to light. Whatever comes after ... we’ll face it together.”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. As you make your way back to your room, your mind races with the implications of what you’ve discovered. You’ve found the key to setting Charles free, to bringing him the peace he’s been denied for over a century.

But as you clutch the bag containing the proof of his murder, you can’t help but wonder: at what cost? The thought of losing Charles, of never seeing his smile or hearing his laugh again, fills you with a grief so profound it takes your breath away.

As you slip back into your bed, the first rays of dawn peeking through the curtains, you know that the hardest part of your journey is yet to come. You’ve uncovered the truth, but now you face an impossible choice: keep Charles with you in this half-life or set him free and lose him forever.

***

The golden light of a Monaco sunset streams through the windows of your hotel suite, casting long shadows across the room. You stand before the mirror, adjusting the elaborate 19th-century gown you’ve rented for the evening’s ball. Your fingers tremble slightly as you fasten a delicate necklace, your mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Charles’ voice comes from behind you. You turn to see him materializing near the balcony, his eyes wide with admiration.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your heart aching at the sight of him. “I wish you could really be there tonight, dancing with me.”

Charles moves closer, his form shimmering in the fading sunlight. “As do I, ma chérie. But I’ll be with you in spirit, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as tears prick at your eyes. “Always with the jokes, even now.”

“Well, one must maintain one’s sense of humor, even in the face of ... impending departure,” Charles says, his light tone belied by the sadness in his eyes.

The word hangs heavy between you. Departure. In just two days, you’ll be leaving Monaco, returning to your life back home. The thought fills you with a grief so profound it’s almost physical.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” you blurt out, the words escaping before you can stop them. “I could stay. I could find a job here, an apartment. We could-”

“Y/N,” Charles interrupts gently, “we’ve discussed this. You can’t put your life on hold for a ghost.”

You turn away, blinking back tears. “But what if I want to? What if being here, with you, is the life I want?”

Charles is quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is thick with emotion. “My dearest Y/N, you cannot imagine how much I wish things could be different. But I am tied to this place, to this half-existence. You have a whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities and adventures. I won’t let you sacrifice that for me.”

You whirl back to face him, frustration bubbling up. “Shouldn’t that be my choice to make?”

“Perhaps,” Charles concedes. “But it is also my choice to refuse to be the anchor that holds you back. You deserve so much more than stolen moments with a specter.”

The truth of his words cuts deep, even as you want to rail against them. You slump onto the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the weight of your elaborate costume.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

Charles moves to sit beside you, the mattress not even dipping under his non-existent weight. “Nor I you. But perhaps ... perhaps this is why we found each other. Not for a lifetime, but for this moment. To bring truth to light, to right an old wrong, and to experience a love that transcends time itself.”

You look up at him, struck by the depth of emotion in his ghostly eyes. “When did you get so wise?”

Charles grins, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Well, I have had over a century to work on my philosophical musings.”

You can’t help but laugh, even as a tear escapes down your cheek. Charles reaches out, his hand hovering just above your skin in a gesture of comfort.

“Come now,” he says gently. “Let’s not waste our last evening together in sorrow. You have a ball to attend, and I, for one, am eager to see how the modern world interprets the grandeur of my era.”

You nod, standing and giving yourself one last look in the mirror. “You’re right. Let’s make tonight a night to remember.”

As you make your way down to the grand ballroom, you can feel Charles’ presence beside you, a comforting coolness in the warm evening air. The sounds of music and laughter grow louder as you approach.

You pause at the entrance, taking in the transformed space. The ballroom has been decorated to recreate its 19th-century splendor, with crystal chandeliers, elaborate floral arrangements, and guests in period costumes whirling across the dance floor.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“Indeed,” Charles agrees, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Though I must say, some of these costumes are rather ... creative interpretations of the fashion of my time.”

You stifle a giggle as you spot a guest in what appears to be a mash-up of Victorian and Edwardian styles. “Well, not everyone can have a ghostly fashion consultant.”

You make your way into the crowd, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Your friends spot you and wave enthusiastically.

“Y/N! Over here!” Mia calls out. “You look amazing!”

You join them, smiling as you take in their costumes. “You all look great too. Are you enjoying the ball?”

Zoe nods enthusiastically. “It’s like stepping back in time. Can you imagine living in an era like this?”

You feel Charles’ amusement radiating beside you. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say airily. “I think it might have its charms.”

As the evening progresses, you find yourself swept up in the festivities. You dance with several partners, all the while acutely aware of Charles’ presence, watching from the sidelines.

During a lull in the music, you manage to slip away from the crowd, finding a secluded alcove near one of the large windows.

“Having fun?” Charles asks, materializing beside you.

You nod, a bit breathless from dancing. “It’s wonderful. But I wish ...”

“You wish I could truly be here,” Charles finishes for you. He holds out his hand in an old-fashioned gesture. “Well, my lady, may I have this dance?”

You glance around, making sure no one is watching, then place your hand over his incorporeal one. As the music starts up again, a slow, romantic waltz, you begin to move together.

It’s a strange sensation, dancing with a ghost. You can’t feel Charles’ hand on your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, but somehow, you move in perfect synchronization. For a few precious moments, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you, swaying to the music.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Charles’ eyes widen, then soften with an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. “And I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought possible.”

As you gaze into each other’s eyes, lost in the moment, a sudden chill sweeps through the room. The lights flicker, and a murmur of confusion ripples through the crowd.

Charles stiffens, his form becoming more translucent. “Something’s wrong,” he mutters, looking around warily.

Before you can ask what he means, a commotion breaks out near the center of the ballroom. Guests are backing away from a spot on the dance floor, pointing and gasping in shock.

You push your way through the crowd, Charles right behind you. As you reach the cleared space, your blood runs cold. Three ghostly figures have appeared, dressed in outdated formal wear, their faces contorted with rage and fear.

“Impossible,” Charles breathes beside you. “It’s them. The council members who ... who murdered me.”

As if hearing his words, the three ghosts turn towards you. Their eyes widen in recognition as they spot Charles.

“You!” One of them snarls, his voice echoing unnaturally in the stunned silence of the ballroom. “How are you here?”

Charles steps forward, his own form becoming more visible to the shocked onlookers. “I could ask you the same question, Lord Beaumont. Or should I say, murderer?”

A collective gasp runs through the crowd. Hotel staff are rushing about, trying to maintain order, but everyone’s attention is fixed on the supernatural drama unfolding before them.

“We did what was necessary,” another ghost, a portly man with a walrus mustache, blusters. “You would have ruined Monaco with your radical ideas!”

“Ruined?” Charles’ voice rises in indignation. “I was trying to save our principality, to secure its future beyond the whims of fortune and gambling!”

The third ghost, a thin man with a pinched face, sneers. “And in doing so, you would have destroyed the very thing that made Monaco unique. We couldn’t allow it.”

You find your voice, anger overcoming your fear. “So you murdered him? Your own prince?”

The ghosts turn their baleful gazes on you. “And who are you to question the affairs of state from a century past?” Lord Beaumont demands.

“She,” Charles says, moving to stand beside you, “is the one who uncovered your treachery. The proof of your crimes has been found.”

A murmur runs through the crowd. You see hotel management huddled in a corner, speaking urgently into phones. In the distance, you can hear police sirens approaching.

“It doesn’t matter now,” the portly ghost says dismissively. “We’re long dead, beyond the reach of earthly justice.”

“Perhaps,” you counter, your voice stronger than you feel. “But the truth will be known. History will remember Prince Charles as the visionary he was, and you as the small-minded murderers who cut his life short.”

As you speak, a strange energy begins to build in the room. The three ghosts start to flicker, their forms becoming less substantial.

“What’s happening?” The thin ghost cries out, panic in his voice.

Charles steps forward, his expression a mix of pity and righteousness. “You’re facing judgment at last, gentlemen. Your unfinished business is complete. The truth is out.”

With a howl of despair, the three ghosts begin to fade away. In moments, they’ve vanished completely, leaving behind a stunned silence.

As the implications of what’s just happened sink in, chaos erupts in the ballroom. People are shouting, phones are out recording, and security is trying desperately to maintain order.

But you only have eyes for Charles. His form is starting to shimmer, becoming more translucent by the second.

“Charles,” you gasp, reaching for him. “What’s happening? Are you ...”

He looks down at his fading hands, then back up at you with a sad smile. “It seems my unfinished business is complete as well. The truth is out, justice, in some form, has been served.”

“No,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face. “Please, not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

Charles moves closer, his hand hovering just above your cheek. “My dearest Y/N, meeting you has been the greatest gift. You’ve brought light to my long darkness, and given me peace I never thought I’d find.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you sob, your heart breaking.

“Nor do I wish to leave you,” Charles says softly. “But perhaps this isn’t truly goodbye. I don’t know what lies beyond, but I do know this — a love like ours transcends time and death itself. Somehow, someway, I believe we’ll find each other again.”

You manage a watery smile. “You promise?”

“I swear it,” Charles vows. He leans in, and for the briefest moment, you swear you can feel the ghost of a kiss on your lips. “Until we meet again, mon amour.”

And with that, Charles fades away completely, leaving behind nothing but a lingering chill in the air and the memory of a love that defied all boundaries.

As the commotion swirls around you, police and hotel management trying to make sense of what’s happened, you stand still in the center of it all. Your heart is breaking, but there’s also a sense of peace, of completion.

You touch your lips, still feeling the echo of that impossible kiss, and whisper to the empty air, “Until we meet again, Charles.”

In that moment, surrounded by the trappings of a bygone era and the chaos of the present, you know that your life has been forever changed. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it with the strength and love Charles gave you, carrying his memory in your heart until, somehow, someway, you find each other once more.

***

The Mediterranean sun bathes Monaco in a warm glow as you climb the steps to the Palais Grimaldi. Five years have passed since that fateful summer, but your heart still quickens as you approach the familiar facade. You adjust the strap of your messenger bag, filled with research materials for your graduate thesis on 19th-century Monégasque politics.

As you enter the palace, now partly converted into a museum, you’re struck by how much has changed. Plaques and displays line the halls, detailing the history of the Grimaldi family. But your eyes are drawn to a new addition: a whole wing dedicated to Prince Charles and his progressive vision for Monaco.

You pause before a large portrait of Charles, your breath catching in your throat. The artist has captured his piercing green eyes perfectly, that hint of mischief in his smile that you remember so well.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” A voice beside you says, startling you from your reverie. “How much history these walls have seen.”

You turn, a polite response on your lips, but the words die in your throat. Standing next to you is a young man who could be Charles’ twin. The same wavy dark hair, the same chiseled jawline, and most strikingly, those same intense green eyes.

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. “Charles?” You whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

The young man looks at you curiously, a small smile playing on his lips. “Well, yes, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met before?”

You blink rapidly, reality reasserting itself. Of course this isn’t your Charles. It can’t be. You clear your throat, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, you just ... you look remarkably like someone I used to know. I’m Y/N.”

The young man’s smile widens, and he holds out his hand. “Charles Leclerc. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

You shake his hand, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that runs through you at his touch. “Leclerc? As in the Formula 1 driver?”

Charles nods, looking slightly sheepish. “The very same. Though today I’m just a tourist like anyone else, enjoying a bit of home between races.”

“Home?” You ask, intrigued despite yourself.

“Born and raised in Monaco,” Charles explains. “Though I admit, I haven’t spent as much time in the palace as I perhaps should have. It’s quite fascinating, especially this new exhibit.”

You nod, turning back to the portrait of Prince Charles. “It really is. The prince was quite a remarkable figure. His ideas were so ahead of their time.”

Charles steps closer, studying the portrait. “You seem to know a lot about him. Are you a historian?”

“A graduate student,” you explain. “I’m here on a research grant, studying 19th-century Monégasque politics at the International University of Monaco.”

Charles’ eyes light up with interest. “Really? That sounds fascinating. I’ve always been interested in history, especially the history of Monaco. It’s a small place, but it’s played such an outsized role in European affairs.”

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “It really has. Prince Charles, in particular, had some revolutionary ideas about diversifying Monaco’s economy beyond just gambling. If he hadn’t died so young, who knows how things might have turned out?”

A shadow passes over Charles’ face. “Yes, his death was quite tragic. And mysterious, from what I understand. Wasn’t there some recent discovery about the circumstances?”

You nod, your heart racing as you remember that night five years ago. “Yes, documents were found that suggested he was actually assassinated by members of his own council who opposed his reforms.”

Charles shakes his head, looking troubled. “How terrible. To be betrayed by those closest to you, all for wanting to make positive changes.”

“It was a different time,” you say softly. “Change is always frightening to those in power.”

Charles nods thoughtfully. “True, but it’s also necessary for growth. Monaco has come a long way since then, but I sometimes wonder if we couldn’t be doing more to realize Prince Charles’ vision.”

You look at him in surprise. “That’s ... that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking in my research. The prince had ideas about sustainable development and diversifying the economy that are still relevant today.”

Charles grins, and for a moment, the resemblance to your Charles is so strong it takes your breath away. “Great minds think alike, it seems. You know, I’ve been looking for ways to use my platform as an athlete to promote positive change in Monaco. Perhaps we could compare notes sometime?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m always happy to discuss history with someone who’s genuinely interested.”

“Excellent,” Charles says, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t we exchange numbers? We could meet for coffee and continue this conversation.”

As you input your number into his phone, you can’t help but notice a small charm dangling from it — a miniature racing helmet. “That’s cute,” you comment.

Charles looks at it and chuckles. “Ah, yes. It was a gift from my mother. She says it’s for luck, but I think she just worries about me on the track.”

The casual mention of his mother sends a pang through your heart. This Charles is very much alive, with a family and a life of his own. You have to remind yourself that he’s not the same person you knew, no matter how similar he might seem.

“Well, it seems to be working,” you say lightly. “You’ve had quite a successful season so far. Won your home race, if I’m not mistaken.”

Charles looks pleased. “You follow Formula 1?”

You shake your head. “Not really, but it’s hard to miss the news when you’re living in Monaco. The Grand Prix is quite an event.”

“That it is,” Charles agrees. “You know, if you’re interested, I could give you a behind-the-scenes tour of the circuit sometime. It’s quite fascinating from a historical perspective as well. The race has been run on essentially the same streets since 1929.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Are you always this charming with strangers you meet in museums?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye that’s achingly familiar. “Only the ones who can discuss 19th-century political reform with such passion.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, in that case, how can I refuse? A tour sounds lovely.”

As you continue to chat, moving through the exhibit, you’re struck by how easy it is to talk to Charles. He’s knowledgeable and curious, asking insightful questions about your research and offering his own perspectives on Monaco’s history and future.

At one point, you pause before a display showcasing some of Prince Charles’ personal effects. Among them is a small, ornate pocket watch.

“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Charles comments, leaning in for a closer look.

You nod, a lump forming in your throat as you remember your Charles checking a similar watch during your midnight explorations. “It’s a shame it’s not working anymore.”

Charles tilts his head, studying the watch intently. “Actually, I think it is. Look closely at the second hand.”

You peer into the display case, and to your amazement, you see the tiny hand ticking away steadily. “You’re right! How did you notice that?”

Charles shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “I’ve always had a thing for timepieces. Comes with the racing territory, I suppose. Hundreths of a second are everything on the track.”

You shake your head in wonder. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I try to keep things interesting,” Charles says with a wink. Then his expression turns more serious. “You know, it’s strange. Being here, learning about Prince Charles ... I feel an odd connection to him. Almost as if I knew him somehow.”

Your heart races at his words. Could it be possible? You push the thought away, reminding yourself that such things only happen in fairy tales. “Well, he is your ancestor, in a way. All Monégasques are connected to the Grimaldi family, aren’t they?”

Charles nods slowly. “True, but this feels different. When I look at his portrait, it’s almost like looking in a mirror. And his ideas, his passion for progress ... it resonates with me in a way I can’t quite explain.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Maybe some things are just meant to be. Some connections transcend time.”

Charles looks at you intently, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? That the past isn’t really gone, just ... waiting to be rediscovered.”

You’re saved from having to respond by the chiming of the palace clock, signaling the approach of closing time.

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “I should probably get going. I have a meeting with my advisor in the morning.”

Charles nods, looking slightly disappointed. “Of course. But we’re still on for that coffee and circuit tour, right?”

You smile, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Charles touches your arm lightly. “Y/N, I know this might sound strange, but ... I feel like we were meant to meet today. Like some force in the universe brought us together.”

You look into his eyes, so familiar and yet new, and feel a spark of hope ignite in your heart. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He smiles, and in that moment, you see not just the Charles of the present, but echoes of the Charles you knew and loved. “Until we meet again, then?”

The phrase, so similar to your Charles’ last words, sends a shiver down your spine. “Until then,” you agree softly.

As you walk out of the palace and into the warm Monaco evening, your mind is whirling. You can’t shake the feeling that something extraordinary has happened, that a promise made long ago is somehow being fulfilled.

You pause at the top of the steps, looking back at the palace that has played such a pivotal role in your life. As the setting sun gilds the stone facade, you allow yourself to imagine, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, some loves really are strong enough to transcend time and death itself.

With a smile on your face and hope in your heart, you descend the steps, ready to embrace whatever new adventure awaits. After all, in a world where ghosts can fall in love and centuries-old mysteries can be solved, anything seems possible.

And, as the promise of a new beginning beckons, you can’t help but feel that the best chapters of your story are yet to be written.

***

The sun-drenched streets of Monaco buzz with excitement as Sofia, a die-hard Scuderia Ferrari fan, makes her way towards the Palais Grimaldi. Her red Ferrari cap and matching team shirt make her stand out among the tourists, but she doesn’t mind. She’s here on a mission: to soak up every bit of Monaco’s rich racing history.

As Sofia enters the palace-turned-museum, her eyes widen in awe at the opulent surroundings. “Wow,” she breathes, spinning slowly to take it all in. “Talk about living like royalty.”

She wanders through the exhibits, pausing occasionally to read plaques or admire artifacts. But her mind keeps drifting to thoughts of sleek racing cars and the roar of engines. That is, until she rounds a corner and comes face to face with a large portrait that stops her in her tracks.

“No way,” Sofia mutters, stepping closer to the painting. Her brow furrows as she studies the face of the young prince depicted. “That’s ... that’s impossible.”

Just then, a tour group passes by, led by an enthusiastic guide. Sofia catches snippets of the commentary.

“... Prince Charles, one of Monaco’s most progressive rulers ...”

“... tragically died young under mysterious circumstances ...”

“... recent discoveries suggest he may have been assassinated ...”

Sofia’s head is spinning. She pulls out her phone, quickly pulling up a photo of Charles Leclerc, her favorite driver. She holds it up next to the portrait, her jaw dropping at the uncanny resemblance.

“Excuse me,” she says, tapping the tour guide on the shoulder. “This Prince Charles, when exactly did he live?”

The guide smiles, always happy to share historical tidbits. “Prince Charles ruled briefly in the late 19th century. He died in 1894 at the young age of 26.”

Sofia’s mind races. “And has anyone ever noticed how much he looks like Charles Leclerc? The F1 driver?”

The guide’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “Ah, you’re not the first to notice that similarity. It’s become quite a popular topic of discussion lately. Some even joke that Leclerc is the prince reincarnated.”

Sofia laughs nervously. “Right, of course. Just a coincidence, I’m sure.”

As the tour moves on, Sofia remains rooted to the spot, her eyes darting between her phone and the portrait. It’s more than just a passing resemblance. The shape of the eyes, the curve of the jaw, even the hint of a mischievous smile — it’s all pure Leclerc.

Lost in thought, she doesn’t notice someone approaching until a voice beside her says, “Fascinating portrait, isn’t it?”

Sofia jumps, turning to see a young woman standing next to her. The newcomer is dressed casually in a flowing sundress, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, um, yes,” Sofia stammers. “It’s quite ... striking.”

The woman smiles knowingly. “Let me guess. You couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to a certain Formula 1 driver?”

Sofia’s eyes widen. “You see it too? I thought I was going crazy!”

The woman laughs, a warm, genuine sound. “Trust me, you’re not crazy. I’m Y/N, by the way. I’m doing some research here for my graduate thesis.”

“Sofia,” she replies, shaking your hand. “So, what’s the deal? Is Leclerc secretly a time-traveling prince or something?”

You chuckle, but there’s a strange look in your eyes that Sofia can’t quite decipher. “I’m afraid the explanation is probably much more mundane. Many Monégasques have some connection to the Grimaldi family. It’s likely just a case of strong genes persisting through the generations.”

Sofia nods, but she’s not entirely convinced. There’s something about the way you’re looking at the portrait, a mix of fondness and melancholy, that piques her curiosity.

“You seem to know a lot about this,” Sofia probes gently. “Are you a big history buff?”

You smile, turning away from the portrait. “You could say that. I’ve been studying Prince Charles and his era for my thesis. It’s a fascinating period in Monaco’s history.”

Sofia’s about to ask more when she notices someone approaching over your shoulder. Her eyes go wide, and she has to stifle a gasp.

You turn to see what’s caught her attention, and your face lights up. “Charles! I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Sofia’s jaw drops as Charles Leclerc himself joins you, greeting you with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. He’s dressed casually in jeans and an oversized hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but there’s no mistaking that face — especially not when it’s right next to the portrait of his doppelganger.

“I had some free time between meetings and thought I’d stop by,” Charles explains. “How’s the research going?”

You launch into an explanation of your latest findings, and Sofia watches in fascination as Charles listens intently, asking insightful questions and offering his own thoughts. It’s clear this is far from the first time they’ve discussed the topic.

Finally, Charles seems to notice Sofia’s presence. “Oh, I’m sorry, how rude of me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sofia manages to close her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m Sofia. I’m a huge fan, Mr. Leclerc.”

Charles grins, shaking her hand. “Please, call me Charles. Always nice to meet a tifosa.”

Sofia gestures weakly to the portrait. “I was just ... I mean ... has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like ...”

Charles and you exchange a look that Sofia can’t quite interpret. Then Charles turns back to her with a wry smile. “Once or twice, yes. It’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it?”

Sofia nods, still feeling like she’s stepped into some kind of twilight zone. “Coincidence. Right.”

You clear your throat, seemingly eager to change the subject. “So, Sofia, are you here on vacation?”

Grateful for the change of topic, Sofia launches into an enthusiastic description of her plans for the next week. As they chat, she can’t help but notice the way Charles and you interact — the casual touches, the inside jokes, the way your eyes continually find each other. There’s clearly a deep connection there.

At one point, Charles excuses himself to take a phone call. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Sofia turns to you with wide eyes. “Okay, you have to tell me. What’s the real story here? How long have you two been together?”

You laugh, a slight blush coloring your cheeks. “Is it that obvious? We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. We met right here, actually, in front of this very portrait.”

Sofia’s romantic heart melts a little at that. “That’s so sweet! But come on, you have to admit, the resemblance is freaky. And the way you two were talking about history ... it’s like he lived it or something.”

You get that strange look in your eyes again, a mix of secrecy and wonder. “Charles has always had a deep connection to Monaco’s past. It’s one of the things that drew us together.”

Sofia’s about to press for more details when Charles returns, slipping his arm around your waist with casual familiarity.

“I hate to cut this short,” he says apologetically, “but I’ve got to run to a sponsor meeting. Y/N, we’re still on for dinner tonight?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you at eight.”

As Charles says his goodbyes and leaves, Sofia watches him go with a mix of admiration and lingering confusion. She turns back to you, determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

“Okay, I know this is going to sound crazy,” Sofia starts, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “but is there any chance ... I mean, has anyone ever considered the possibility that Charles might be, I don’t know, the reincarnation of Prince Charles or something?”

You pause for a long moment, and Sofia holds her breath, half-expecting you to laugh in her face. But instead, you give her a small, enigmatic smile.

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” you say softly. “Sometimes, the past has a way of coming back to us in forms we least expect. Who’s to say what’s possible and what isn’t?”

Sofia’s mind reels at the implications. “So you’re saying ...”

You hold up a hand, your expression turning more serious. “I’m not saying anything definitively. But I will say this: getting to know Charles — the Charles of today — has been like rediscovering a part of history I thought was lost forever. Whether that’s due to reincarnation, cosmic coincidence, or just the magic of human connection, I can’t say for sure. But I do know that it feels like a second chance at something extraordinary.”

Sofia listens, enthralled. It’s like something out of a movie or a romance novel. “That’s ... wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

You laugh, the sound tinged with wonder. “Trust me, I know the feeling. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

As you chat a bit more, Sofia can’t help but feel like she’s been let in on some grand secret. The way you talk about Charles, about history, about the strange twists of fate — it’s all so fantastical and yet, standing here in the shadow of that eerily familiar portrait, she can’t quite bring herself to disbelieve it entirely.

Finally, you glance at your watch and sigh. “I should get going. I’ve got to prepare for dinner soon. It was lovely meeting you, Sofia.”

Sofia nods, still feeling slightly dazed. “You too. And ... thanks. For sharing all of that. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

You smile warmly. “Just keep an open mind. You never know what kind of magic you might encounter, especially in a place like Monaco.”

As you leave, Sofia turns back to the portrait of Prince Charles. She studies it intently, trying to reconcile the historical figure with the modern-day race driver she admires so much.

“Second chances,” she murmurs to herself. “Who’d have thought?”

With one last look at the portrait, Sofia continues her tour of the museum. But now, every artifact seems to pulse with new significance. The weight of history feels more present than ever, intertwining with the present in ways she never could have imagined.

As she steps out of the museum and into the bright Monaco sunshine, Sofia finds herself looking at the city with new eyes. The sleek modern buildings and ancient narrow streets no longer seem at odds, but part of a continuous, living history.

She thinks of Charles Leclerc, of the mysterious Y/N, of a long-dead prince whose legacy seems to echo through time. And as she makes her way towards the harbor, where she knows the Monaco circuit snakes through the city streets, Sofia can’t help but feel that she’s stumbled upon a story far greater and more magical than any single victory.

With a smile on her face and a newfound appreciation for the mysteries of the universe, Sofia sets off to explore more of Monaco. After all, in a place where princes can become race drivers and love can transcend time itself, who knows what other wonders she might discover?

[jehhskz]

Third time's a charm

pairing: nonidol!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: fluffy romance, fastburn, he falls first

wc: 6k

summary: hyunjin just wants a chance - okay maybe three - to make you fall for him

jé's note: my little gift to my beautiful @hyunjincanraptoo, happy birthday amiga, you're a light in my life, our chats always makes me so happy, i love you and i hope you enjoy this little fic and have an amazing day celebrating your life ❤️ ps: send some brigadeiro to me 🤭

my other fics

After a hell of week with noses buried into books and never ending lectures, friday night finally arrived and everyone could finally relax, and if you lived around the campus you'd surely get plenty of options to pick: whether it be night clubs or rooftop bars to karaoke or crashing into fraternities, the dorms would be completely silent, unless… you decided to enjoy some other type of fun.

Hyunjin was walking down the hall with his phone in hand blowing up with messages.

Lia (library) - how come you aren’t at Jack's? 😔

Cecilia (class) - hyun, come to the rooftop, they are having dj’s battle

Angel - bro, they are giving double drinks until 2 *attached: a picture of a blue bottle*

Kelly (café) - Felix told me you just left, right when I arrived? 💔

“So clingy…” Chuckled to himself, putting his phone in his back pocket, stopping in front of his door, pressing the keyword.

Hyunjin coming back to his dorm before midnight and all alone? That was a new.

Because the boy did love to party. You could always know that if there was good music and girls, Hyunjin and his friends would always be there. It was like a pattern, they didn't even need to do anything, the boys simply would leave traces and suddenly be stumbled upon by coincidence by them. It was fun but after some time it got boring, all those hollow girls felt and acted the same, the only difference was their faces, sometimes not even their names.

Hyunjin was bored, he wanted more. He wanted someone new, something different…

The chuckles and muffled chat coming from the end of the corridor caught his attention and he looked over, seeing you opening the door of your dorm with a boy waiting behind, poking your sides.

…someone like you.

The only girl from the building that didn't try to get his number, the one that he only knew the name because you were classmates and still, you never bothered to look for excuses to study with him. In fact, you looked pretty annoyed this morning, when the professor paired up you two for a new project.

Neither you nor Yunho noticed Hyunjin before you entered your dorm. But he thought it would be better that he would get inside too, before calling Felix.

“Hey angel!”

“Changed your mind after seeing the drinks?” The blonde teased when he picked up the call.

“Tonight I'll pass. I'm actually calling because I need a little help” Hyunjin plopped down in bed, kicking off his shoes.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Ji’s there, right?” There was a moment of silence before Felix confirmed.

“Ok, great. I need you to ask her to call y/n, say she needs help” He reached for the bubblegum on his bedside table, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth.

“What?” Felix chuckled, curious about what his best friend was up to now.

“I will explain it all later, now just do me this favor, alright?”

“Yep” Felix beckoned for Ji to come where he was “Gonna talk to her now”

“Ok, great, oh and tell her to be careful, we don’t want to scare y/nnie… just need to interrupt something” Hyunjin smirked, thinking about his next steps.

“Ok, I get it now” Felix also had a smirk while staring at the girl beside him

“She will be calling soon. May I help with anything else?”

“No, thanks. That was all, have fun!”

“Oh, I definitely will…” Felix winked at Ji, that was twirling her hair around her fingers, staring up at him.

~ ♡ ~

Exactly 10 minutes later Hyunjin heard footsteps outside. Waiting just a bit, he opened the door and peaked to check if the area was clear before stepping out.

You were putting your jacket back on when you heard a soft knock on the door. Smiling, you walked there, imagining Yunho changed his mind, deciding to be decent and not letting you risk go out so late all alone.

“You?” Your smile faded when Hyunjin popped the bubble, offering you one of his stupid (and perfect) grins.

“Hello to you, too. May I come in?” His ask was useless since he was already doing it, his shoulder brushing against yours as he casually stepped inside.

You groaned in annoyance, watching him stop and gaze around. The small lilac couch matched the dark purple fluffy rug and pink cushions, beside it there was the desk with your computer, a panel with colorful sticky notes and some pictures, his mouth twisted when he saw a polaroid of Yunho there.

“Nice place…” His eyes roamed over again, everything was so neat and well organized, exactly how he imagined the straight A's room would be. He stopped in front of your bookshelf, noticing how the books were perfectly organized by colors, he couldn’t help the urge to pull the blue and pink out and switch them.

“Stop it!” You grabbed his wrist as he picked the yellow one, ready to switch it with another too. Hyunjin laughed, sitting in your bed while watching you put them back in order.

“As much as I wouldn’t love for you to stay and chat, I gotta a place to be so you need to leave” You grabbed your purse, and paced around looking for where you left your phone.

He sat down in your bed, picking the teddy bear that was lying against your pillow, he scoffed before chuckling lightly, running his finger on its head “Cute”

“So… where are we going?” He looked up at you with mischief when you came by his side and grabbed the phone.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I'm calling an Uber” You drew the password code and opened up the app, Hyunjin shook his head.

“There’s no way I'm letting you get into a stranger's car this late at night” You stopped typing, side glancing at him

“How could it be any different from getting into your car?”

“C'mon, you can't be serious right now” He rolled his eyes.

“I mean, we aren’t friends, I've never even spoken to you before. How could I know if you aren’t dangerous too?”

“Yeah, if it wasn't for Mr Park you'd still be ignoring me…” He gazed at you with wide eyes before narrowing his eyebrows in suspicion “Aren't you the strange one, then?”

You slapped his arm and he let out a fake ouch as if it hurted

“See? I should be the one afraid to get inside a car with you!”

You raised your hand to smack him again, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to face him, making another bubble. Your free hand landed on his knee and you ignored the way your heart skipped a beat and your sudden wish to lean even closer and pop it before he did it, smirking devilishly at you after snapping you back to reality.

“Hey hey, easy there doll. If you wanted to touch me, you should simply ask” He teased and you pulled your hand back with an annoyed groan, straightening up again.

“Ugh, you're so annoying!”

Hyunjin stood up, too close for your liking so you took a little step back, making him chuckle.

“Annoying? Oh, I've been called a lot of stuff before, but that's new” He teased with that damn smirk glued on his face, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking away.

He was loving it, it was refreshing although it surprised him at first. How come you could be so unbothered by him when girls would always be gravitating around him, trying to get his attention, hoping to get in his bed?

“Oh, I know” You scoffed. Of course you knew, every girl loved to brag when they had a chance.

Could you blame them?

You wouldn't lie, you weren’t blind, he was handsome, way too handsome… With that black long and silk hair, his cute nose and plush lips that insisted on tugging into that annoying smile you wanted to rip off his stupid pretty face.

Yes, you could blame them!

Gorgeous or not, he was just a boy at the end of the day, not just that, but one with commitment issues too, which only made everything worse. They should be wiser and use their brains instead of thinking with theirs...

“You know? Oh good, so it means you weren’t so oblivious about me, after all” Teased again, poking your side. You took one more step back, frowning at him, a silent warning for him to stop if he wanted to keep those five fingers intact.

“Yeah, I know exactly what type of man you’re”

“Hmm, why are you making it sound like it's something bad?”

“Because it is” Your cold reply caught him by surprise, he wasn't expecting it, he wasn't used to someone being so bold with him like this.

You couldn’t read his expression while he stayed silent and looked at you, as if thinking about something, and for some reason you felt bad, realizing you should have chosen your words carefully. You felt awkward now.

“One chance!” Hyunjin grabbed your hands, sending a sudden jolt of electricity through them, your eyes widened.

“Uh?”

“Give me one chance, to prove you I'm not as bad as you think”

“Hyunjin…”

“Please” You couldn’t tell if he was playing or being serious right now.

“Why do you care so much about what I think, anyways?” You tried to laugh it off, it wasn't a big deal, but he stayed serious, gazing at you.

“I like you…” He said so casually with a shrug “...Plus, you're stuck with me for the rest of the semester as we work on our project, so I think at least we should get along”

You shook your head, he couldn’t be serious.

“Hyunjin…”

“Two…” He showed two fingers up, biting down his bottom lip, then shook his head, lifting one more “Three!”

“You really won’t leave it, will you?”

“Obviously not” He shook his head, mischievously smiling and poking your sides again and you squirmed “C'mon, y/nnie… just three dates, imagine all the girls who would be dying to be in your shoes right now”

“Yeah, I'll text them on the group chat” You waved your phone “Who wants to volunteer?”

“Ha ha, aren’t you so funny?” He asked sarcastically, picking the phone from your hand “But I already told you, I don’t want them, I want you!”

~ ♡ ~

20 minutes had passed and your heart was still thrumming, stealing glances of Hyunjin while you sat on the passenger's seat of his car.

I want you.

Three little words being repeated inside your mind over and over again.

He was quiet during the whole drive, which was actually surprising, the only sound being the soft balad playing on the radio, but there was a little grin lingering in the corner of his mouth as his gaze was focused on the road ahead.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

As for Hyunjin? He was just hoping your friend wouldn’t ruin his plan when you’d arrive at the pub.

You texted Ji to let her know that you arrived, but got no response, thinking she could be drowning her sorrow with alcohol after being dumped by her man, you decided to walk in and go after her. Hyunjin followed you, grabbing your hand and guiding you inside, you noticed the not subtle glances from some girls towards you, after they would greet Hyunjin, you rolled your eyes and held his hand tighter without even realizing, but he did, gently stroking your hand with his thumb, a smirk playing on his lips as you walked around looking for the blonde.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed when you spotted her, or at least who you thought was her…

The colorful lights that danced around them were making it difficult to tell where Ji started and Felix ended.

Hyunjin's eyes widened up in surprise when he heard your gasp and a wide and proud grin appeared on his face. You started walking towards them, but got pulled back by him, gasping in surprise when you crashed against his chest.

You looked up at him and there it was, that annoying thrumming inside your chest again, but not only that, there was also a subtle dizziness too, as you inhaled the woody scent of his cologne. His hands rested on your arms, and you shivered slightly when he leaned closer.

“Wait, wait. What do you think you're doing?” He whispered and you rolled your eyes, peeking over his shoulder, noticing the blondes’ heavy makeout session was still going on. “Don't you know that’s rude to disturb? Let them have fun!” Hyunjin chuckled, which only annoyed you even more.

“Ugh, I can't believe Ji did that, she was crying just minutes ago”

“Well, it seems like Yongbok saved the day, then” Hyunjin wiggled away just in time before you smack him.

“Y/nniiieeee!” Arms were thrown over your shoulders as an excited Ji hugged you from behind.

You turned to face her, noticing the girl had lipstick smeared all around her lips, pretty much like Felix did when he came around with two cups in hand. You twisted your mouth, watching him talk with Hyunjin, your drunk friend giggling by your side.

“I'm so happy you're here, y/nnie. We are gonna have so much fun!” Ji side hugged you, squeezing you against her.

“Ji, you were crying, what happened? Where's Hong-joong?” You looked around “I'll fight him, what did he do?”

“Hong-joong, uh?” Her eyebrows raised up a bit, looking at you with slightly confusion, Ji noticed Hyunjin's silent plea for her to play along, so she did it. Small nodding, rubbing her forehead “Oh yeah, about that…”

“He isn't worth it, I'm okay…” She waved off as if it wasn't a big deal and then she grabbed your hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief “...now, tell me, you and Hyunjin, uh?”

“There’s no me and Hyunjin, he simply just drove me here” You shrugged, quickly glancing at him just to find out he was already staring at you while chatting with his friend. You turned back to Ji, trying to ignore him.

“He said he wouldn’t let me get into a random's car so late at night”

“Awwn, that’s so sweet!” Ji excitedly clapped and you looked down, feeling a little flustered, it was sweet indeed.

You glanced at him again, noticing he was beckoning at you to go there and you shrugged again at your friend, acting nonchalantly.

“Anyways, it doesn't mean anything” “Of course it does, Hong-joong never offered to do it for me…” Ji admitted and then chuckled, but the humor didn't reach her eyes “...damn, he would call me over and make me pay for the ride to his place…”

Ji's voice was becoming a faint sound as you came to realize how neither did Yunho. The cute boy that you met at the library on a random friday and had been ‘talking’ ever since.

Cute boy skipping a party at some random frat house to focus on his exams that would happen in two weeks? That felt like a huge green flag!

Or maybe he just needed every single point if he didn’t want to fail that semester.

Hyunjin held out a cup for you, but you shook your head.

“We are leaving” You simply told him, crossing your arms.

“Uh? Not even my girlfriend yet and you're already bossing me around?” He grinned and you flustered right away, gritting your teeth.

“No, that’s not what I meant, it's just that we came together and… ugh!”

Hyunjin chuckled, taking a sip of the soda he just offered you “Relax, y/nnie… I'm just teasing you” He took one step forward, invading your personal space as he leaned in before you took one step back, which only made his grin get wider “Has anybody told you how cute you look when you're all flustered?”

“Stop that!” You scoffed, looking away.

“Even more cute when annoyed”

“You seem to enjoy it a lot, don’t you?”

“Oh, I surely do” A new step forward, another step back. Hyunjin smirked, taking one more step and picking a little strand of your hair between his fingers, playing with it then gazing back at you.

Looking into his eyes for a moment that felt way too longer than actually was, your breath hitched and you felt speechless.

“I wanna leave…” You cleared your throat, feeling awkward.

“Oh c'mon, we just got here. Let's stay for a little while” His fingers were still caressing your hair, a mischievous smile playing on his lips “Please…”

Damn, how could you say no to that cute face?

“Okay, fine. Just a little more” Hyunjin's smile got wider and he suddenly hugged you, taking you completely by surprise and also intoxicating you with his delicious cologne that would get stuck on your skin and give you trouble sleeping that night.

“Stay with me and I'll make you glad you came” He whispered in your ear. It wasn't in reference to the lyrics of the song that was playing, Hyunjin knew exactly what he was doing and the way you got tense between his arms, he noticed it worked.

“You really think you're funny” You pulled back, rolling your eyes.

“Oh I can be that, I can be a lot of things actually and I'm sure you'll love every single one of them” His words dripped like honey and a funny sensation rushed down your body like little electricity jolts.

“Very cocky too” You did your best to not let it show, but you were enjoying that side of him, maybe a little too much for your own liking.

“I can be that too…” Hyunjin held your hands, pulling you to dance with him. His hands rested on your waist and you let your own rest on his shoulders, a little too close and a little too good, but you wouldn't dare to say it out loud. So you would turn around when it would get too much, a moment of clarity when the invisible pull to kiss him would become too strong, making Hyunjin fight his own urges then, to not hold your hips and pull you flush against him.

Obviously he was losing it, but could you blame him? So you let him, but just for a second or two, before you'd pull away again, cheeky.

That was the first time you danced with Hyunjin. That was also the first time he didn’t even get a simple kiss when the night ended.

And as ironic as it could sound, he loved it.

~ ♡ ~

You clutched your cardigan tighter around your body, it was particularly chill in that morning and way too early to leave the comfort and warmth from your bed. Stepping inside the bus, you sighed with relief when you felt it was warmer inside, your destination was the natural park, a school trip to do some research for the project you were working on.

Finding an empty seat, you slid down, leaving your backpack by your side and resting your head against the window, your eyes closing instantly, you were tired from staying up until late studying, didn't notice your bag being moved or the shoulder brushing against yours, your head being gently tilted to the opposite side and you let out a little sigh while nuzzling your face against the soft fabric of his hoodie, that known woody scent filling up your nostrils, warming you up inside.

Hyunjin looked down at you all cozied against him and his hand reached out, gently running his fingers on your hair, breathing in the floral scent of your shampoo, he smiled, feeling good and he noticed he could get used to it.

You sleepy groaned, trying to brush his hand off when he poked his finger into your ear, Hyunjin chuckles woke you up.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we arrived” Blinking a few times, you jolted in your seat when you noticed you were basically laying on top of him.

“Slept well?” His tease came along with his chuckles, watching you fix your disheveled hair with your hands. You rolled your eyes.

Looking out of the window, you noticed the trees that surrounded the entrance of the park, a big sign hanging on the trunk of the biggest one with the draw of the map of the site and some instructions for the visitors, glancing back at Hyunjin, you watched him stand up, picking both your bags, you stood up too, following him out.

“You should have woken me up…” You murmured, standing by his side.

“Yeah, but you were so cute talking in your sleep, I didn’t want to interrupt you” He side glanced at you, leaning closer, his tone low just for you to hear, as the other students gathered around, listening to Mr Park's instructions.

“What? I don’t talk in my sleep!” You scoffed.

“Oh Hyunjin, just give me a kiss” He mocked with a tiny voice and your cheeks burned high so you smacked his arm.

“Stop it or I'll ask Mr Park to pair me up with someone else” You hissed at him and he made a zipper motion on his mouth.

“...and you're all adults with internet access so be smart, I'm here to help you with your projects and not to play baby-sitter!” Mr Park didn't bother with the laugh of the students when he finished his talk, turning around and guiding the group to the cabins area.

~ ♡ ~

“I can't believe you got a cabin just for yourself!” Hyunjin followed you out of the reception in the direction of your cabin, still carrying your stuff.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You smiled, admiring the diversity of flowers that made a pathway towards the little matching wooden cabins, it was charming like a little village, with windows adorned with flowers too.

“We're partners, you should stay with me” He said it nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Project partners, there's a difference” You corrected him, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The interior was simple, but as charming as the outside, there were two beds looking cozy with the white wool covers and fluffy pillows, a small bedside table with a lamp, a fluffy white rug between them, a small wardrobe and a door that you assumed was for the bathroom.

“I'm gonna change that soon” He placed the bags on the floor next to the bed.

“A little too confident, aren’t we?” You teased giggling, sitting down on the opposite bed.

“I mean, I've got some credits…”“Just two…” You reminded him when he sat on the bed in front of you, casually resting his hand on your knee, the other going to play with a strand of your hair again.

He was too close again, you wondered what was this boy's problem with personal space. And also with your heart, you definitely should make an appointment to check those random beat skips…

“I thought we agreed on three…” His eyes widened in surprise, letting the strand slip between his fingers.

“We did, but you already used one” You nodded, smiling.

“When?”

“That day at the pub, the Ji emergency…” You didn't notice how soft you sounded, remembering how you danced together but luck for you, neither did him.

“No way, that one doesn't count, I wasn't ready!” He whined dramatically smacking his forehead

.“Of course it does” You insisted, nodding again and chuckling.

“I'd try harder if I knew…” He murmured under his breath, clearly talking to himself as he looked down, his lips pouting as if he was concentrating, contemplating.

You couldn’t help but laugh, it was funny how it looked like he was really taking it seriously “As if you were the ‘try hard’ type”

“You're right, I'm not” His behavior suddenly shifted back to cocky again and you laughed out loud by accident.

You covered your face, letting your laugh calm down and he smiled, admiring you, leaning slightly closer again while the room became silent as you stared at each other.

“Hmm, let’s go look around, we need to find some samples before it gets dark” You stood up suddenly, already making your way out.

Hyunjin followed you, not bothering to take his bags out of your cabin.

~ ♡ ~

Your exploration time had to be cut short due to the weather changing, after waiting for the rain to end, you and Hyunjin decided to go back and explore a little further into the woods, not too far because the sun would set soon, just a quick look to find a very specific flower you wanted, known for its strong healing properties it would be perfect for future works.

“Are you sure they grow in places like this?” Hyunjin was getting tired, it felt like you’ve been working in circles for hours.

“Yeah, they don’t enjoy much sun, so it's probably around here” The path was surrounded by big full trees and pebbles, lots of them, you frowned when you looked down at your feet, the dirt became mud and not only was it slippery it also ruined your allstar.

“What does it look like again?” “It looks like a pink heart, with tiny lilac dots at the end of the petals and… I found it!” You squealed excitedly when you spotted the flower almost hidden between the rocks. Hyunjin chuckled with your excitement, but also felt relieved that the search was over.

In the hype state you hushed to pick it, ignoring how slippery it was, but nature was quick to remember you, making you awkwardly slip your way down the rock you were about to step and if Hyunjin wasn’t quick enough and held your arm, pulling you flush against him, you'd fall right on your butt and completely embarrass yourself in front of your crush with the bonus of doing a special version of the walk of shame with mud all over your butt.

Luckily none of this happened, but from the way you yelped, Hyunjin noticed something still wasn't right. He held you by your shoulders, eyes training down your figure.

“My foot… I think I twisted it…” You looked down, it was hurting pretty bad.

“Ouch, okay… Let's go back and…” His hand was sliding around your waist, but you stopped.

“Wait, we must pick the flower first”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, that’s the most important thing of the project, plus if we simply leave then I'll have hurt myself for nothing” You looked up at him, waiting.

“Okay, fine. Stay here” He rolled his eyes, letting go of you and you did a small nod, smiling.

“Please be careful, Jinnie” His heart fluttered, it was the first time you used that nickname for him. He decided to not tease you about it now, and simply nodded, going to the rocks to pick the flower for you.

It wouldn’t be Hyunjin if he didn’t show off, so of course he had to slid the pathway and go pick another one too, prettier than that first you found, but just to have an excuse to roll his sleeves up and hop back on the rock, coaxing a little worried squeal from you.

“You could hurt yourself” You whined when he approached you, chuckling.

“I'm sorry, promise won’t happen again” He held out the pretty flower “For you”

You smiled, admiring it and feeling a bit flustered, murmuring a shy thank you. You were about to pick it, when he gently placed it behind your ear.

“Cute” He scoffed quietly, chuckling and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. Same heat that would travel all over your body when he held your waist and slid his other arm behind your knee, easily picking you up.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” You squealed.

“I'm carrying you back, your foot will get worse if you walk” He shrugged “Now let's go, it's starting to get dark”

You just nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, ignoring the insistent thrumming of your heart as he made the way back and in that moment, you forgot that others could run into you, only focusing on his scent and the heat coming from him.

“Hyunjin! What are you…” You heard Mr Park's surprised voice and you hid your face against the fabric of his hoodie “You know what? I don’t wanna know”

Hyunjin blushed, his fingers gripping a little tighter on you and he started walking quicker to prevent running into anyone else.

Back into your cabin, Hyunjin placed the pillows against the wall for you to lean against it and put one under your feet, sitting by your side and taking a good look to check the damage, luckily it was just a little swollen. He threw a blanket over you and went out to grab some ice.

Your heart fluttered while you watched the scene unfold, Hyunjin's concerned gaze on your ankle, the plastic bag in his hand getting wet because of the ice melting inside it.

“Is it still hurting?” He murmured, placing the bag a little to the side.

“Just a bit…” You replied and he hummed.You wouldn't lie, you were a little surprised with him, it felt very unexpected to you to see Hyunjin like that.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it was Yunho, would take care of you like this too? It was Yunho, the most boyfriend material guy you knew, of course he would, what a silly question was that? You thought. He appeared to like you, but then why haven't you heard from him for weeks?

Gazing back at Hyunjin, you remembered about a movie you watched, it was a silly romcom, but had a clear message: if he wants you, he will show it, if he wants to date you, he will work for it. Yunho knew all the right words to say, but why did it feel like he would only call you when he was bored?

Your contemplative moment vanished when your phone buzzed, Hyunjin looked up at you, he had put the ice bag aside and was now massaging your ankle slowly, his thumbs pressing the soft skin, sending little jolts up your body. You reached out and pulled the device from your purse, eyebrows narrowing when you saw the notification, surprised with who decided to come back after weeks of pure silence.

Gazing up you saw Hyunjin not even trying to be subtle as he tried to peek up and see who texted you. You bit down your bottom lip, holding back a smirk.

“Your contender…” You waved your phone, teasing him.

“Hunf, I don’t feel threatened” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

“Yeah…” He shrugged, scooting up to sit close to you, smirking, he held a strand of your hair and played with it “I know I’m the favorite”

“Hmm, is that so?” You asked and he nodded, coming even closer.

“Don't you agree?” He whispered, too close, once again. You stayed silent, tucking in your bottom lip, a spark appearing in your eyes as you stared into his just to look away.

Hyunjin’s fingers gently touched your jaw, turning your face back to him. The cabin was quiet, but inside you there was a storm forming up quickly.

“It's a secret…” You whispered, gaze traveling down from his eyes to his plush lips just in time to witness him wetting them. You trembled slightly, looking back up.

“That's okay, your secret is safe with me…” He whispered back, his fingers held under your chin and pulled you towards him, the gap was small but still he did it slowly, as if giving you time to change your mind, to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't…

Instead, you closed your eyes and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he finished closing the gap. His hand caressed your neck until it reached the back while his lips moved against yours, slowly like a caress, your lips parted and his tongue brushed against yours, making your heart skip a beat, he tasted sweet, like the strawberry bubblegum he had earlier, his fingers played with your hair, you couldn’t help smiling through the kiss, noticing how he really seemed to be obsessed with touching it.

He thought it was cute and soft, later you'd learn that, but in that moment he just wanted to keep kissing you and that's what he did.

Kiss you. Over and over again.

Just like that, kiss after kiss, Hyunjin managed to spend the night in the cabin with you…

And much to even his own surprise, he didn’t do anything beyond that.

‘I don’t want you to think I'm using you or anything like that…'

‘I really like you…’

And in that night, between his soft whispered confessions and slow kisses while caressing each other, you met yet another version of Hyunjin, the soft one and probably that would be your favorite.

~ ♡ ~

After a hell of a week filled with projects and finals, all you wanted was to get back to your dorm, slide under the covers and shut off the world for the rest of the month. Your feet dragged on the floor, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you heard the soft click of the door being unlocked.

You yawned, kicking your shoes and letting your purse slide down your arm and fall by the chair, books being carelessly placed on the desk. You didn't notice how the picture of Yunho was gone from your panel, your other friends’ pictures and sticky notes still there, a new picture of a certain shaggy haired boy winking being there instead, your books all out of order went unnoticed too.

But you noticed something new in your bed, lying there beside your plushie, you walked toward it and grabbed it: a new plushie, an extremely squeezable teddy bear holding a heart written be mine. The surprise was so cute you didn't think about the fact he knew your dorm's password, you giggled, holding it tight against you before you called Hyunjin's phone, one, two, three times and no answer, so you decided to go there.

Hyunjin opened the door after the second knock, popping a pink bubblegum and smirking.

“May I come in?” You did it like him when you first interacted, walking inside before he could reply. Hyunjin smirked, watching your reaction.

It was your first time getting into his dorm, so you were definitely curious to see what it looked like, and what you saw was pretty different from your imagination.

The mattress was on the floor, there were cushions and pillows, lots of them, and blankets, one sheet was half up, hanging in a chair. Your eyes widened and you turned to face him.

“A fort?” You smiled as you watched his cheeks getting rosy.

“Hello to you too and yeah… It was a surprise” He scratched the back of his neck, murmuring the end, suddenly fearing your reaction since he never done such a thing for a girl.

“A surprise for me?” Your smile got wider, that was lovely and so unexpected.

“Yeah, I thought I'd have more time before you came back” He shrugged, looking around, it was almost everything done.

You covered your eyes with both hands, shaking your head “Pretend that I'm not here” Hyunjin chuckled, finding your intention to fix the problem very endearing. Noticing how you stood still with your eyes covered, he finished setting the sheets and came back to stand in front of you, he pulled your hands down and your mouth fell agap when you saw the blanket fort complete.

“Awwn, that’s so cute!”

“You're cute” Hyunjin squeezed both your cheeks between his hands, gently shaking your head before he gave you a kiss when you whined.

You both slid inside, cozying up and putting a random movie on the projector that you pretended you’d watch. It didn’t last not even 10 minutes because Hyunjin was already all over you.

“About that plushie…” You whispered a little breathless, fingertips running down his back, under his shirt.

“Hmm…?” His murmur was muffled against your neck, as he kept kissing under your ear, making you shiver.

“Be mine?” You repeated the words written in the heart, waiting for his explanation, Hyunjin smirked against your skin, giving a little nibble before he lifted his head up to look at you.

“Say please” He bit down his bottom lip, cheeky.

“Hyunjin!” You smacked his arm, but a little laugh escaped your lips anyways.

“Ouch! I’m kidding, baby…” He gave you a peck, grinning again “I already am” Hyunjin teased again, as if you were the one asking him to date you.

“Oh my God, you're truly impossible!” You scoffed, but Hyunjin noticed the little smirk on your lips.

“Okay, this time’s serious. Be mine?” He asked softly, caressing your waist, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palm.

“Hmm, I don’t know… gimme some time to think” You did your best to attempt to sound nonchalant, but his frustrated expression and squeeze on your waist broke you into laughter.

“I’m kidding, Jinnie…” You caressed his back again, embracing him a little tighter and leaning forward, whispering against his lips “Because I already am…”

His heart fluttered and he kissed you, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke again.

“Ha ha, seems like somebody's getting really funny”

“What can I say? I'm learning with the best” You shrugged, giggling.

“Oh really? Well, let’s see what else I can teach you…” He closed the gap between you two, kissing you again, this time deeper, body pressing against yours.

And as the night stretched out, you two got lost into each other inside the blanket fort. His phone on silent mode on his desk, shining with new messages notifications, all those girls turned into unknown numbers.

———————— ♡♡ ————————

tagging: @doitforbangchan @athforskz @jeonginsleftcheek @moonchild9350 @hyunjincanraptoo @changbinniescurlyhair 💕

[please-destroy]

It Only Takes A Moment

Natasha Romanoff x Shy!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

.

“I feel like shit.” 

Natasha commented out of nowhere from the sofa across the room. 

You startled at her unexpected statement. Your cereal-filled spoon froze halfway to your mouth. You’d never had a one-on-one conversation with Natasha since you joined the Avengers six months ago.

Then, you noticed Clint shuffling bleary eyed towards the fridge. Your shoulders relaxed.

He yawned, rubbing his face as he regarded Natasha assessingly. You were perched at the breakfast bar, unobtrusive as usual.

Natasha was on the opposite side of the large space, feet curled beneath her on the tiny sofa. 

A purpling bruise on her cheek and a split lip were the painful remnants of her last mission. She looked pale too, tired in an almost chronic way, despite the empty coffee mug next to her.

“You look like shit, too.” Clint decided at last with a lazy grin. 

Natasha smirked back, obviously satisfied with his teasing response. You remembered your cereal and took another spoonful. Curiosity always burned inside you when you watched the two of them interact. You’d never had a mission with either of them before. You didn’t understand the lightness of their back and forth.

As you chewed on your breakfast, eyes roaming over Natasha’s injured face, you felt concern build inside you.

Clint gave you a friendly nod as he stacked a pile of snacks in his arms and left the room.

A steady silence returned in his wake. You were unbearably shy around Natasha as a rule. Something about her calm confidence and unreadable expression made you feel nervous. 

You knew the other Avengers just thought you were quiet.

Natasha was staring absentmindedly out the large window, her coffee long since finished. You followed her gaze outside, glancing up at the pale yellow sun that was still new in the sky.

You watched Natasha’s mouth twist into a subtle grimace of pain as she lifted her hands to try and tie her hair back in a ponytail.

You felt certain as you watched her that her injuries were more than just a bruised cheek. The worry bubbled inside you.

Eventually, Natasha gave up, letting her hair fall back down around her shoulders in a loose curtain. She looked entirely unlike herself. Until today you’d never seen her hair out of a braid.

You slipped off your bar stool and cringed at the way it squeaked on the tiled floor. You hesitated as you put your dishes in the dishwasher. Every day usually followed the same pattern. You knew Natasha was paying no attention to you, expecting you to leave the kitchen and go back to your room. 

When you turned instead to the coffee machine, you felt Natasha’s eyes flicker back to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

.

When you walked over to her, fresh cup of coffee in hand, it was the first time you’d ever surprised Natasha. 

You handed her the mug with a wordless smile.

Natasha’s answering smile was soft but her eyes held a subtle confusion. 

‘Thank you.’ She breathed, blowing automatically on the hot liquid. 

Nerves fluttered inside you. You forced yourself to speak.

‘Are you really okay?’ You asked, as your worry escaped you.

For a brief moment, shock rendered Natasha silent. Her head tilted to the side as she stared at you.

You didn’t know where your bravery was coming from. A burning embarrassment began to build inside you.

Natasha’s expression softened suddenly. She hesitated and then started to speak. 

‘I’m okay. Just had one of those missions.’

You nodded in response, your eyes lingering automatically on the painful looking bruise. From the things you’d overheard about the mission, you knew she was underplaying it. You bit your lip. Natasha watched you silently. 

‘Can I help with your hair?’ You asked at last, in another worried burst that you couldn’t seem to control.

A slight flush caught Natasha’s cheeks. Something like shame flickered in her eyes, gone a moment later.

Your breath caught. She was more human than you’d realised. More beautiful too. 

‘Thank you.’ Natasha replied quietly. ‘I think I’ve hurt my shoulder.’

You nodded again, moving to stand behind the tiny sofa. You lifted her hair tie from the side table and slid it over your wrist. 

You felt Natasha’s body freeze at your first hesitant touch. 

You knew she was expecting you to tie her hair back in a quick ponytail. Instead, hardly daring to breathe, you tried something different. 

Natasha’s breath hitched when she realised what you were attempting. 

You started carefully, twisting pieces of hair together.

‘You don’t have to braid it.’ Natasha whispered after a moment, her quiet voice burning with a sudden rawness. You found yourself wishing that you could see her face. 

‘You like it braided.’ You answered simply. 

Natasha held herself impossibly still as you tried your best to replicate her usual braid. You noticed the light goosebumps raised on her skin.

Eventually, you tied the last piece, your fingers lightly brushing against her neck. 

You moved back around the sofa to face her. 

You weren’t sure if it was the flushed cheeks or your imperfect braid that made Natasha look so young. Her gaze searched yours, her eyes vulnerable.

‘It’s not very good.’ You apologised quietly. 

Natasha shook her head.

‘It’s good.’ She countered simply. There was a raw, raised scar on the back of her hand. You wondered how you’d never noticed before.

Natasha nodded to the space next to her on the sofa. She smiled suddenly, a flash of her usual cool confidence.

‘Do you want to watch some TV?’

You nodded, feeling a warm rush at the familiarity of her tone. A barrier had fallen between you. 

As you settled on the sofa, Natasha switched on the television. The daytime show was familiar, often left playing in the background of the room. 

Natasha touched the end of her braid as she watched. Her gaze stayed on the show, a picture of relaxed attention. 

You couldn’t say the same for yourself. Her light joke to Clint played in your head. The bruises, the scars, the pained movements. 

 After a few minutes, another question fell from your lips. 

‘Was it scary?’ You asked suddenly.

You watched Natasha freeze momentarily, a difficult emotion filling her eyes. You watched her blink the feeling away. She didn’t reply. 

You turned your gaze back to the television, stomach twisting for what she didn’t share. 

Eventually, you settled back against the sofa cushions, finally beginning to relax in her presence. Natasha sipped the last of her coffee.

Your usual shared silence returned.

You hoped you hadn’t ruined everything with one question.

The show ended and a commercial break began.

‘It was.’ Natasha murmured unexpectedly. Your head turned towards her.

‘It was scary.’ She whispered into the air.

This was not Natasha. Not the person everyone else saw. This was someone else. You saw her entirely for the first time.

Unspoken sympathy filled your answering gaze. 

You took her scarred hand in yours and rested it on your lap.

[nylqnder]

DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW? WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x fem!reader

summary: to will, age is just a number. so he prays you don't care that his is a few notches lower than yours.

warnings: older!reader (i don't specify the exact age gap in this but i was picturing something like 4-5 years), underage drinking technically, appearances from macklin + fabian

wc: 4.74k

notes: sort of but not really based on 'does your mother know?' by ABBA. thanks to mack, we all know will has a thing for older girls so i thought i'd play into that in this fic!

The bar was packed, buzzing with the easy energy of a Friday night crowd. Neon signs flickered against the brick walls, and the air carried the scent of spilled drinks, cheap cologne, and warm laughter. The Sharks had taken over a corner of the place, their voices loud and unfiltered as they reveled in a night out together.

These types of outings, where they could get the full team out together, were rare. The elder Sharks, the ones who carried a bit more of a reputation in the city, had sweet-talked the bouncer into letting the underage players (which began and ended with Macklin and Will) into the bar.

And it’s not that Will didn’t like hanging out with the guys — team bonding was important, after all — but he would much rather be getting dinner or playing a friendly game of poker at someone’s house than sitting in a sterile, impersonal bar, surrounded by strangers whispering about the athletes who had taken over the space.

Nevertheless, he didn’t want to be that guy who turned down a team outing, which is why Will was shifting on his feet, half-listening as Macklin and Fabian argued over something to do with the teams' fantasy basketball league. His fingers tapped the side of the glass, slow beads of condensation dripping to his feet. Will’s gaze drifted over the crowded bar, the neon glow casting a hazy shimmer across the patrons.

Then, over Fabian’s shoulder, he saw you.

You were standing in the middle of the room, chatting with a friend, your fingers wrapped around a drink that glowed under the neon lights. It wasn’t just that you were beautiful — though, Jesus, were you. It was the way you carried yourself. The way you were effortless and composed told him you weren’t just some college kid sneaking in with a fake ID. You belonged here. Older, confident, and gorgeous in a way that made Will’s stomach tighten.

Will felt his fingers tighten around his drink. The ice clinked. He wasn’t sure if it was the way your lips curled slightly in amusement at something your friend said or the way your jewelry caught the light, but suddenly, he couldn’t look away.

“You good, bud?” Fabian asked, his voice cutting through Will’s daze. Will blinked, forcing himself to look away from you, unaware of the way he had completely tuned out of the conversation, but it was too late. Macklin turned and followed his gaze, grinning when he spotted the reason for Will’s sudden distraction.

“Ohhh no,” Macklin laughed. “Not again. You and older girls, man.”

Fabian breathed out a laugh, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean ‘again’?”

Macklin snorted, leaning in like he was about to let Fabian in on the best inside joke of all time. “Smitty’s got a thing for older ladies. It’s like, a pattern at this point.”

Will’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Mack—”

But Macklin was already in full storyteller mode. “No, seriously. It’s actually impressive. During training camp, he spent an entire charity event chatting with some reporter — what was her name? Megan? Melissa?”

“Madeline,” Will corrected before he could stop himself.

Macklin grinned like he’d won something. “Right, Madeline. She was like, pushing thirty, and our boy here was in love.”

“No way. You’ve got mommy issues?” he teased, leaning his weight against the bar with a smug expression.

Will scowled at the Swedish player. “I do not have mommy issues,” he shot back, his voice firm, though the way Fabian and Macklin exchanged glances only made their amusement grow.

“Dude, you might,” Fabian said, barely holding back his laughter. “It’s okay. Happens to the best of us.”

Macklin hummed in agreement. “Freud would have a field day with you.”

Will exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Can you both shut up?” He wasn’t even looking at them anymore, his attention already drifting back to where you stood. You had leaned in to say something to your friend, your laughter light and easy, and he could swear he felt it in his chest. You swerved through the crowd, moving to the other end of the bar from where Will, Macklin, and Fabian had set up camp.

Fabian, catching the way Will’s focus had shifted again, grinned. “Oh, he’s gone,” he said, nudging Macklin. “You thinking about making a move, lover boy?”

Will didn’t answer immediately. He knew they were waiting for some sheepish denial, some excuse, but the truth was, he was thinking about it.

He could already hear the chirps that would come if he got rejected, but what if he didn’t? What if you looked at him with the same quiet intrigue he felt pulling him toward you?

“Maybe,” he said finally, rolling his shoulders back like he was prepping for a faceoff.

Macklin made a sound of mock surprise. “No way. Is Will Smith — shy?”

Fabian smirked. “Nah, he’s just trying to figure out how to tell her he still has a bedtime.”

Will shot them both a glare before setting his drink down with a decisive clink. “You guys are the worst,” he muttered before stepping away.

Fabian and Macklin barely held in their laughter as they watched him go.

“Ten bucks says he fumbles,” Fabian said.

Macklin grinned. “You’re on.”

Will wove his way through the crowd, his pulse quickening with every step closer. He wasn’t nervous. Not really. He’d done harder things than this — skated in front of thousands, taken hits from guys twice his size, gone head-to-head with some of the best players in the league. And yet, somehow, walking up to you felt like a whole different kind of challenge.

By the time he reached your side of the bar, he still didn’t have a plan. Solid. Great start.

You noticed him before he could figure out what to say. Your eyes flicked to him, curious, like you were waiting to see if he was just passing by or if he had something to say.

Now or never.

“Hey,” he started, voice steady despite the way his brain scrambled for something smooth to follow up with.

Your lips curled slightly, amusement flickering across your face. “Hey,” you echoed, tipping your head.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting. The bar hummed around you, neon lights painting the scene in electric blues and reds, but for Will, everything had narrowed to just you and the expectant tilt of your head.

He needed to say something. Preferably something that didn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

“I, uh—” He scratched the back of his neck, already mentally cringing. Good start. “I saw you from over there, and I just—”

Your lips twitched. “And you just?”

Will’s mind scrambled, trying to steer the conversation away from the cliff he was about to drive it off. “And I just thought…” He let out a breath, regaining just enough composure to push forward. “I just thought it would be a shame if I didn’t come over and introduce myself.”

Your lips quirked, amused. “Oh? And who exactly am I being introduced to?”

“Will,” he said, his name falling a little too quickly from his lips, like he was trying to get ahead of himself before he could mess it up. “Will Smith.”

“Like the actor?”

Will exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Exactly like the actor.”

Your grin widened, and he caught the glint of your teeth under the neon glow. “That must be a pain.”

“You have no idea.”

You considered him for a moment, the neon glow catching the sharp angles of his face. Up close, he was undeniably good-looking — boyish, but not in a bad way.

There was something almost endearing about him, the way his features still carried that lingering trace of youth, all bright eyes and easy grins. He had the kind of face that wouldn’t look out of place on a college campus, fresh-faced and full of promise, but almost too young to be leaning against the bar like he belonged there.

Your gaze flickered over him, noting the way his jawline was sharp but not quite settled, like he was still growing into it. His confidence wavered just slightly, a split-second hesitation in his stance that made you wonder if he’d been carded at the door or if he’d just slipped past on sheer luck.

Still, there was a charm to him, an energy that made it hard to look away.

“I swear I had something good to say to you, but then you smiled at me, and now I can’t remember a single word. So… hi. That’s all I got.”

Your lips curved. He was trying, at least. But he didn’t have that seasoned ease of someone who truly belonged here. No, he had the slight stiffness of someone who was conscious of their presence, like he was waiting for someone to tap him on the shoulder and ask to see his ID again.

“Are you trying to flirt with me, Will?” you asked, feigning curiosity.

You watched it land, the way his mouth opened slightly before he shut it again, his brain catching up with his reaction. He blinked, then let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. “That depends,” he said, leaning in slightly, his confidence rebounding just enough to take the bait. “Is it working?”

You smirked. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Instead of answering, you let your gaze sweep over him again, slow and deliberate, before lifting your glass to your lips. You took a sip, savoring the way he followed the movement, eyes tracking you like he was bracing for your verdict.

You set your drink down, tilting your head slightly. “How old are you, Will?”

His response came fast. Too fast. “Twenty-one.”

It was rushed, a little too eager, and there was a telltale flicker of something in his eyes — uncertainty? Guilt? The kind of panic that came with trying a little too hard to sell a lie. The words wavered just enough to make you suspicious.

Your gaze flickered over him, taking in the baby face, the patchy facial hair, the way his shoulders squared like he was bracing himself.

“Hmm,” you murmured, pretending to consider it, but the smirk pulling at the corner of your lips betrayed you.

“You don’t believe me?” Will asked, his chest puffing out slightly as if that was what would convince you of his age.

You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Then, finally, you shrugged, lips curving. “I don’t know. You just seem very…” You trailed off, letting your gaze drag over him again. “…eager.”

He scoffed, recovering quickly. “What, and that’s a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” You tilted your head. “Just makes me wonder what else you might be exaggerating.”

Will’s grin turned a little sharper, a little more playful. “Oh, I see how it is. You think I’m all talk.”

“I think you’re trying very hard to impress me.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with challenge. “Is it working?”

And there it was — that boyish confidence that made you want to test him, just a little.

Instead of answering, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting him watch the movement, letting the anticipation build. When you finally set your glass down, you gave him an almost lazy smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Alright… well hypothetically, if it was working… what would happen next?"

Your lips curved, amused by his persistence. “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before snapping back up to meet your eyes, and damn if that didn’t send a little thrill through you.

You pretended to consider it. “Well, I suppose I’d let you buy me a drink.”

Will’s smile widened. “I like where this is going.”

“And maybe, if you were really charming, I’d let you keep talking to me.”

“Oh, I can be really charming,” he assured you, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world. He raised a hand to flag down the bartender, doing it with such confidence that, for a moment, you almost believed he’d done this before. Almost enough to convince you of his age. Almost.

“What’re you having?” Will asked as the bartender made her way over to the two of you.

You leaned in just slightly, close enough to catch the faintest whiff of his cologne — clean, fresh, like something effortlessly expensive. “Surprise me.”

His lips quirked. “Dangerous game. What if I get you something awful?”

You shrugged, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Then I’ll know you have terrible taste.”

Will let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Alright. No pressure.”

The bartender approached, and Will ordered with smooth confidence. A cheer from the other side of the bar muted his words, so the drink would be a surprise to you. You watched the way he carried himself, the way he leaned just enough to show he was comfortable but not overly cocky. He was trying. Not in an over-rehearsed way, but in a way that suggested he actually cared if you enjoyed his company.

As the bartender slid the drinks across the counter, Will pushed the faintly pink drink toward you with a flick of his fingers. “Moment of truth.”

You took a slow sip, letting the moment stretch, knowing he was watching you closely. The drink was smooth, well-balanced, with just the right amount of kick.

You hummed, setting it down. “Not bad. Maybe you do have taste.”

Will pressed a hand to his chest like you’d just granted him the highest honor. “High praise.”

You smirked, watching him. He was settling in now, shoulders looser, his easy confidence creeping back in full force. He thought he had you. You could see it in the way his grin turned a little sharper, in the way he tilted his head just so, like he was already picturing how this night would play out.

Poor thing.

You lifted your drink again, letting your gaze flick just past his shoulder for the briefest moment. And there they were.

Two blonds looking straight back at you.

It was almost comical how badly they were trying — and failing — to be subtle. The darker blond had taken the bold approach, openly staring, not even pretending to hide his amusement. The lighter blond, at least, had the decency to make it look like he was half-engaged in another conversation, but the sharp interest in his eyes gave him away.

You let the corner of your mouth tug upward before shifting your attention back to Will, who still had no idea.

“You’ve got fans,” you mused, taking another sip.

Will frowned slightly, clearly thrown off by the comment. “What?”

You tilted your chin, motioning subtly behind him. “Over your shoulder.”

His brows knitted together before he turned, just enough to catch sight of Fabian and Macklin. They made no effort to look away. Macklin had the audacity to raise his glass in a lazy toast, while Fabian mouthed something that looked like ‘you’re fumbling’.

Will exhaled sharply, turning back to you, shaking his head. “Of course.”

You rested your elbow on the bar, chin propped in your hand. “They always this invested in your love life?”

Will let out a dry laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Only when they think they can embarrass me.”

“So… always?”

“Pretty much.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and maybe that was what did it. The way you looked at him right then, all playful mischief and effortless charm — it had Will reeling, like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here but wasn’t about to complain.

You watched the moment Will made a choice.

The hesitation he’d shown earlier — just a flicker, just enough to amuse you — was gone. Whatever uncertainty had been there had been swallowed up by something steadier, something that almost made you forget why you’d doubted him in the first place.

He leaned in slightly, elbows on the bar, that easy smirk settling on his lips like it belonged there. “So, now that my charming personality has been thoroughly vetted,” he drawled, “are you gonna tell me what you think?”

You arched a brow. “About?”

He tilted his head, as if to say, Don’t play dumb. “Me.”

Confident. Bold. Maybe even a little cocky.

And, for the first time all night, you saw what he was really made of. The kid act was gone. This was Will choosing to stand his ground, to prove to you — to himself — that he belonged here.

You could’ve dragged this out longer, drawn out the game until it lost its shine. But you weren’t cruel, and the truth was, he’d earned a little honesty.

You let out a soft hum, tipping your glass toward him before taking a sip. Then you set it down and met his gaze, letting your smirk soften just slightly.  “How old are you really?”

Will’s brows furrowed, leaning back a little bit. “21, I told you.”

You cocked your head, dropping your voice just enough to make him sweat. “Uh-huh. So, if I asked to see your ID right now, it wouldn't say… what? Nineteen?”

Will hesitated. He knew exactly what you would find if he handed you his ID, which would be proof that Will was nineteen. It was barely a flicker — just the smallest hitch in his breath, the briefest shift in his expression — but you caught it. That hesitation was answer enough.

You leaned back and gave Will a soft smile. “Sorry, Will. You’re cute but I’m not about to get caught up with a kid.”

You slip off the stool, softly placing your hand on his shoulder — his undeniably solid shoulder — and give it a soft squeeze. You go to slip by Will, to head back to your friends, but you can feel the insistent blond hot on your heels. His hand — warm, insistent — curls around your wrist, not forcefully, but with just enough desperation to make your heart stutter.

You could have shaken him off. Could have pulled your wrist free with little more than a glance, but something in his grip — earnest, not forceful — made you pause. You turned back, brows lifted in question, and found Will staring at you with an intensity that almost made you reconsider walking away.

“I swear I’m not some dumb kid,” he says, his voice quiet but no less urgent. “I’m mature for my age.”

You can’t help but chuckle slightly. “That’s exactly what someone too young would say.” 

This doesn’t deter him. “C’mon. Give me… a game of pool,” he says, motioning to the green tables in the corner of the room. “Give me a game to show you I’m not a kid. That I’m worth your time.”

You sigh, letting your eyes flicker over him one more time. Will's confidence is unwavering, but there’s something else there too—a challenge, maybe even a plea. And damn it, you’ve always had a soft spot for reckless confidence.

“Fine,” you say, shaking your head. “One game. But if I win, you have to stop following me around like a lost puppy.”

A grin spreads across Will’s face, a little lopsided, a little cocky. “And if I win?”

You arch a brow. “You won’t.”

His grin only widens. “Guess we’ll see.”

He releases your wrist as you step toward the pool table, watching carefully as Will rolls up his sleeves,  revealing the veins that snake across his forearms. He moves to grab a cue, but you stop him with a teasing hum.

“Nuh-uh. Rack ‘em up first, kid.”

He groans, dragging a hand through his tousled blond hair. “You’re not gonna let that name go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” You pick out a cue stick, giving it a testing spin in your hand as Will racks the balls. “You play a lot?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says, sending you a glance from beneath his lashes. “But I guess you’ll have to find that out yourself.”

You snort, lining up for the break. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when I see something I want.”

You break the rack with a sharp crack, watching as the balls scatter. Two stripes drop into pockets. You straighten, catching Will’s eyes. “Looks like I get to keep shooting.”

His gaze flicks from the table to you, amusement dancing in his expression. “Guess I’m gonna have to distract you, then.”

You tilt your head, giving him a slow, assessing once-over. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Will steps closer, invading your space just enough to make your breath hitch. He leans against the table, his voice dropping into something smoother, softer. “I could start by telling you how good you look in that blue top.”

You shake your head with a smirk, considering your options on the table. “Flattery won’t change the score, Will.”

“No,” he murmurs, watching you line up your next shot. “But it might make you miss.”

Damn it. You sink the next stripe but nearly scratch in the process. Will chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, and moves around the table as you reluctantly hand over the cue ball.

“You’re trouble,” you mutter.

He smirks, bending to take his shot, his voice low and teasing. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. The game continues, and so does the banter — Will making playful jabs, you tossing them right back. He’s good, better than you expected, and when he finally sinks the eight ball with a triumphant grin, he straightens, twirling the cue between his fingers.

“Well?” he asks, stepping closer again, his blue eyes bright with mischief. “What do I win?”

You purse your lips, pretending to think before tapping a finger against his chest lightly. “You get to buy me a drink and maybe I’ll give you my time for a few more minutes.”

Will grins, pushing past the way your choice of words wasn’t completely giving in to him. He gestures toward the bar, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there before. “You know, I’m starting to think you might actually enjoy hanging out with me, despite my 'kid' status.”

You raise an eyebrow as you follow him back toward the bar, where the neon lights cast a colorful glow across the wood surface. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Will. One game doesn’t change much.”

He laughs, low and amused, as he orders another round. You take the drink, swirling it lightly in your hand, watching the liquid catch the light. Will’s sincerity catches you off guard. He’s easy to dismiss at first glance — young, confident, and a bit cocky — but there’s more to him. You lean against the bar, giving him a sidelong glance.

The conversation takes on a different tone after that. You start asking more questions, genuinely curious about his life—his plans, his passions, the things that keep him up at night. And with each answer, you find yourself drawn in, surprised by how much you’re actually enjoying the conversation. His intelligence is sharp, his humor subtle but quick, and his determination is something you can’t help but respect.

Meanwhile, back at the pool tables where they had set up earlier to eavesdrop, Macklin and Fabian exchange looks, baffled by how long you’ve been gone and how animated your conversation with Will seems.

“You think she’s actually into him?” Fabian asks, incredulity in his voice.

Macklin shrugs, glancing back at you and Will. “Or he is way better than we think.”

The night carries on, and as the conversation with Will deepens, you find yourself captivated in ways you didn't expect. He's no longer just a cocky kid in a bar; there’s a subtle confidence in the way he speaks, a maturity beneath the surface that keeps you intrigued. The more he opens up, the more you realize there’s a depth to him, a sincerity that makes you hesitate at the thought of cutting things short.

“So,” you start, leaning in just enough to close the gap between the two of you, your tone soft but probing. “What do you really want, Will? I mean, you’ve been pretty persistent tonight.”

He doesn't hesitate, his smile morphing into something more genuine, less teasing. “I want to prove I’m not a joke. I want you to see that I’m not just some... kid with a crush.” His voice is steady, serious even, and it makes you pause for a moment. The playful edge he’s been hiding all night fades, replaced by something much more earnest.

You arch a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “So you’re not just here to win a bet or get me to give you my number?”

“No,” he answers without a hint of doubt. “I’m not playing some game. I’m serious.”

The honesty in his words makes your breath catch. You set your glass down with a soft clink, suddenly aware of how much closer you’re standing to him, the buzz of the bar fading into the background. Maybe it’s the way his breath is almost mingling with yours, or the drinks were starting to take their full effect, but you decide the night had reached its end.

“I think this is my cue.”

Will’s smile falters, but only just. “Y’don’t have to go just yet.”

You sigh, stepping back slightly. “It’s getting late. I’m sure it’s well past your bedtime anyways.”

He smirks, shaking his head, but his eyes stay locked on yours, warm and insistent. “Can I at least get your number then?”

You hesitate. Your mind races, trying to remind yourself why this is a bad idea. The age difference. The fact that he’s so damn persistent. But something in the way he looks at you, something in his voice that softens with the request, makes you give in.

You pass him your phone, feeling a strange sense of anticipation build in your chest. Will’s fingers brush yours as he takes it, and he types in his number with careful precision. He hands it back to you with a grin. “There. Now we can talk when you’re not busy pretending I’m a child.”

You snort, pocketing the phone as you turn to head for the door. Will insists on walking you outside and waiting with you for your Uber. The night air is cool, and as you wait, your conversation continues. 

Will keeps stealing glances at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he’s already picturing what it would be like to kiss you. You notice, of course you do, but you pretend not to, keeping your expression unreadable even as amusement dances behind your gaze.

The silence stretches between you, charged and heavy, until Will finally gives in with a low chuckle. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You bite back a smile, exhaling softly before shaking your head. “You’re sweet, Will,” you say, voice warm but firm. “But I think we both know that’s not the best idea.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but then he stops himself, nodding once. He doesn’t push, doesn’t whine or beg. Instead, he steps back just a fraction, his smirk returning — though this time, there’s something softer underneath. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Your Uber pulls up, headlights cutting through the dim glow of the streetlights. You reach for the door, pausing just long enough to give Will one last look. “Goodnight, Will.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Goodnight. For now.”

You shake your head, unable to hide your grin as you slip into the car. The moment the door shuts, you release a quiet breath, letting yourself relax against the seat. Your phone buzzes just as the car pulls away, and when you glance down, Will’s name lights up your screen.

Will: you know, if you ever get tired of being old, i’m happy to make you feel young again ;)

You snorted, shaking your head as you typed back.

You: bold for a baby. goodnight, will.

As you shut your phone off, you couldn't help but smile. You can’t deny it — there’s something about him that keeps pulling you back in. Despite the age gap, despite everything. You just hope you’re not making a mistake.

[twilightau]

LOVE VIRUS; L.DH

synopsis — after a fateful encounter with a mysterious resident, you decide to follow his example and became a nurse, just to get the chance to see him again. romance, fate-like moments, you expected a lot from your first meeting after many years... just to find out he is the most insufferable jerk!

genres — first love au, co-workers-to-lovers, doctor au

pairing — lee donghyuck x fem!reader

warnings — language, mentions of death, incorrect medical descriptions, accidentally attempted suicide, sharp objects, medical setting

word count — 7,6k

[ ♡ previous part. ] — [ ♡ next part. ]

Nobody liked the ending of things. Everyone liked beginning something believing or hoping it would help them reach a specific place. Still, that certainty stops once you get the spot you only dreamt about.

Endings were never your think. Everyone liked beginnings, it meant starting on a dream, creating hope, believing in a certain goal. But it all halts it's fairytale-like meaning when you don't know what to begin with.

High school ended in less than eight days, and you were wasting time with your girlfriends in the streets of Seoul, none of you with any ambitions for the future. All you could think of was which bars to sneak into and how to convince a tired convenience store employee on midnight duty to give you a pack of cigarettes for cheaper.

Uncertainty scared you, but it was so damn frustrating to find a career path that suited you. You weren’t the smartest in class, you hated numbers, you were far from the most athletic, and frankly speaking, you hated studying in general. No one was going to accept a student with a bad rep anyway, even though most of the bad doings were done by your friends, you were just merely a bystander.

But what will you become if you cannot find the right path in time?

These wandering thoughts and ‘what ifs' were eating away at your sanity. Your drunk friend waved at you, signing you to another night of drinking all your insecurities away. You smiled at her, about to join the group when you heard a loud clatter behind you. A small elder who was collecting cartons onto his little cart fell to the ground, his frame getting smaller with each bathed breath you took. 

You didn't know how you crossed the road in seconds. Your heart was still racing while you asked the elder if he was alright. You could still hear the ringing in your ear while you told him to follow your breathing pattern. He tried to grasp for something inside the cart, you leaped forward to find his bag hanging on the handle of the cart. But it was too late, the man was already out cold on the ground.

If what you felt before was anxiety, you are now in full worry. “Sir, can you hear me? Please answer me if you can?” You heard his breathing but it started to sound more labored by the second. You searched his bag for any indication but found two unfamiliar types of medicine. You were not a pre-med student and stood frozen at the realization that you did not know how to help this elder.

“Someone help! This man collapsed on the ground!” You yelled into the empty streets of Seoul at twilight. Everyone was busy zombie-ing themselves to a restaurant or club to relieve stress, the working class could not afford to save another person but themselves. You kept shouting for help, feeling the man’s pulse weakening. The sight was making your heartache.

“Are you alright?” You heard from your left, you nodded before taking the outstretched hand without looking, pulling the person down with you to observe the elder. He didn’t seem to mind, immediately getting to work. “Okay, what happened?” You told him how you found him and how long you have stayed and watched his condition.

The stranger starts looking around, grabbing the elder’s bag and rummaging through his things as if looking for specific items. It is the first time you look at the stranger, and you realize it is a handsome stranger. 

The points of his curly brown hair are slightly darker, soaked in sweat as if he came running. His nose had a soft round tip and his lips were upturned, a wide cupid’s bow engraved in his upper lip. You almost start counting the moles on his face before you realize what he might be looking for.

“A-are you looking for these?” Your outstretched hands contain the two unknown tubes of medicine. The stranger looks relieved and nods. He opens the cap and you realize it is a needle instead of a pod of pills. He stabs it into the leg of the elder with a force that shocks you, but his smile reassures you ever so slightly.

“Can you call an ambulance? The number is on that utility pole, I think–” He looks at the medication bottle for a second, “Mister Hwang is going to be just fine, don’t worry.” You nod, but your hands still tremble, the adrenaline leaving your body. The stranger holds you still, “You did well. Mister Hwang is going to be okay thanks to you.” He gave you a warm smile and patted your head encouragingly. 

When the ambulance arrived, the stranger took over the situation entirely. “Hello, my name is Lee Donghyuck. Please go to Neo-Seoul Medical Center, I’m a 2nd-year resident there.” The paramedic nodded and Haechan hopped onto the vehicle behind the stretcher. You watched as the back doors closed and the car drove away, the whole scene leaving you in awe.

The words he had spoken to you were still replaying in your mind, slowly woven into your heart like a design into a sweater that cannot be removed. For the first time in your life, you did not screw something up, you helped save a human and you succeeded. Haechan and the ambulance were long gone by now, but it was almost like the trail it left behind was highlighted in gold; you had found your career path in life thanks to him.

♡

Neo-Seoul Medical Center was one of the most prestigious university hospitals in all of South Korea. Standing in front of a hospital to start your career was unimaginable for you five years ago. And if it depended on your GPA back then, you’d have never been able to start a medical career at all. It helped that you had good study buddies who helped you with the selection exams as well as teachers who truly saw your good qualities behind all the natural clumsiness you radiated.

You smiled at the building once more before Chenle called your name, telling you to hurry up before you got late for your introduction week. He was one of the few close friends you made during nursing school. He was similar in the way he always went beyond for the people he cared for, but unlike you, he doesn’t always act on his emotions.

Your introduction group consists of two other rookie nurses: Ningning and Sion. You weren’t familiar with the two, but it wasn’t unknown that Yizhou was the top student during your years in nursing school. 

The receptionist pointed your group towards the eleventh floor where a head nurse would appoint you each to a department.

Once the elevator door opened, you were met by an administrative nurse who told you to wait a bit. The LED screen above the reception showed that there were several surgeries being performed right now. Your eyes widened at a familiar name between them.

Lead surgeon – Lee Donghyuck – General Surgery  00:02:10:37

He has not left this hospital despite all these years. A small smile creeps up your face. Ever since you decided to study nursing, you had secretly wondered if you’d ever get to work with him. The image of the two of you rushing to help patients always helped you ground yourself while preparing for another practical exam. 

A familiar mop of dark brown curls passed your daydreaming state and you were quick to react. His scent, his hair, his soft features, and his moles; it was just like you remember. You start to realize that he hasn’t moved, your hands unbeknownst to you holding onto the sleeve of his dark blue scrubs. He looks at you with confusion, about to speak but you beat him to it, almost in a hurry to tell him everything you wanted to him all these years before you lose your courage.

“Dr. Donghyuck, I– I’m so glad to see you again. Thanks to your help, I was able to see the path before me and worked hard for the past 5 years to get here. I am so happy to be able to enter the same hospital as you and look up to you as–” He holds up a hand, making you stop mid-sentence. He raises a brow and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. 

“Listen, I don’t have time for this right now.” He looks at your badge and then your fellow rookie nurses behind you. “You are the new rookie?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes before continuing, “Okay. Listen up, you guys, too. Do not ask stupid questions that you could have studied beforehand, do not waste doctor’s time, and –,” he looked straight at you, “Do not talk to me unless necessary. I’ve got better things to do.” You let go of his sleeve, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment and anger. Who the hell does this jerk think he is?

“Seems the rookies have met our fellow Donghyuck” A female voice states, you look to your left to find a woman in purple scrubs next to your group. “Hello rookies, my name is Karina Yu. I’m the head nurse of the emergency department and your temporary mentor while you do the rotations. Now get out your little notepads, write down everything I’m telling you, and make sure to ask if something is unclear. The emergency department isn’t a place that goes slow and steady, if you notice something you must be fast on your feet and react quickly. Understood?”

“Yes ma’am!”

“Nurse Karina is fine, by the way.” She smiled kindly before it dropped and she started to walk and talk like it was a military drill. 

♡

“Okay, this is our weekly schedule board. We have it digitally but since the emergency department is about always being on the move, it would be too troublesome to have someone look it up every seven minutes. I added some ID pictures so you guys can easily distinguish which surgeon and doctor is who.

This is Lee Mark, he is a cardiac surgeon who often handles emergency cases since he just recently switched to CS from GS. The cardiology department is on the eighth floor, but you will find him in the doctor’s room of our department more often. If you have any questions, go to him and he will answer them in detail for you.

This fellow is Lee Donghyuck, he is from general surgery and the main surgeon you will work with here. Liu Yangyang is also a fellow GS specialist and the other surgeon you will meet the most often. Both the general surgery specialists are quite strict and meticulous in their work and it shows in the way that they will hold you accountable for any mistake you make. Remember, this is not nursing school anymore, you passed your exam: now it is real.

“Yes, earlier you mentioned we will start rotations in the ER. Do all four of us start in the ER?” You ask, trying not to get too embarrassed by your little stutter.

“No, from the spreadsheet I received only nurse Yizhou and Y/N will start in the ER. Nurse Chenle will assist Dr. Lee Mark in cardiology and Nurse Sion will join neurology and assist Dr. Qian Kun until the further rotation. The four of you will rotate around cardiology, neurology, and emergency as you have chosen these preferences. Of course, if in any case, those three departments end up not befitting your best qualities, you can apply for any of the other departments you want to try out. After your introductory period, you can decide which department you want to join.” The four of you nod at Karina’s words. 

“The surgeons in our team seem to be young, do we not have any senior doctors in our team on site?” Ningning asks. Unlike the way you asked your question, Yizhou remains cool and focused, her hands writing down everything she hears while her eyes are trained on everything Karina points out.

“Good question, we do have young surgeons because they are exceptionally good and adaptive to the always-changing situations in the ER. Do not let their age fool you, Mark has already finished his fellowship and is only a humble step away from his next promotion. Haechan and Yangyang are both in their last stretches as well and have gained enough trust from the Chief of General Surgery dr. Kim Doyoung to work independently on ER cases while our emergency surgeon Dr. Lee Taeyong is on leave.”

♡

The soft melody of a random R&B song plays in the living room while you clean the fog of your mirror. You look at your tired reflection, but muster up the energy to smile back at yourself. As much as today went by fairly peacefully, you can’t shake off the unfortunate encounter with Dr. Donghyuck. Was five years enough time to change an entire personality, or did your young and naive self paint him in a light he was never meant to be seen in?

“Y/N, where did you put the remote? I swear you never place it back at our designated spot!” Winter complains, already in the doorway of your shared bathroom to give you an earful about designated spots for shared items. But every word she planned to say dies down when she sees your face.

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Didn’t your first day go well?” She takes your hand and leads you to the couch, two cups of warm tea already on the coffee table. “What happened?” She asks after you haven’t answered her first question.

“It’s nothing. Just some nerves” You try to shrug it off, but your roommate keeps staring at you with suspicion. 

“Babe, as a third-year nurse, I have already honed the ability to sense lies whenever I ask my patients about medication. I don’t want to play nurse when I’m at home as well. So spill, what is upsetting little spring sunshine?” You crack a small smile at the nickname; your overexcitement on the first day of moving in made the apartment owner laugh, she said a little spring sunshine will move in with the resident winter princess. Since then, Winter and you have started to call each other those nicknames to become more comfortable with each other as roommates and friends. 

“Remember why I joined nursing school in the first place?” You asked, looking down at your takeout and poking in it with your fork. “Yeah, you fell in love with a resident and wanted to become a nurse so you could work beside him,” Winter answered breezily, slurping a long strand of noodle loudly as she looked for you to continue. 

“Don’t make it sound like I’m doing all this over a crush! I truly got inspired to get into this work field!”

“Was anything I said false though?” You didn’t answer. “Point proven.”

"Anyway!" You try to continue the subject so the two of you won’t go down that tangent. “I met him today and he became a completely different person. I’m not saying I expected him to be 100% the same, but it is kind of sad that I couldn’t find traces of the guy who inspired me in him anymore.” Winter hums, putting the plastic fork to her lips.

“Hold up, you met him today? If you were in intro group four…and you start rotation in the ER…” Minjeong taps the crease between her brows, trying to piece the strings of information together. After a few moments of silence, she gasps at the realization.

“Your first love is Lee Donghyuck isn’t it?” You nod, the burdened expression on your roommate’s face unsettles you. “You look at me like I made a big mistake, is he in a relationship or something?”

“No,” You felt relieved for some stupid reason. “But Donghyuck isn’t exactly the type of guy I imagined you being into. I thought you meant Mark Lee when you first talked about your crush.”

“What’s wrong with Donghyuck?”

“I want to say it’s a rumor, but I saw it firsthand once with a rookie nurse a few years ago. A nurse quit after just a week because Donghyuck gave him a hard time. Be perfect or he will lecture you until you’re about to hand in your resignation letter.” You pale at your roommate’s words, deeply regretting every course of action you took today, including entering the hospital. “But I’m sure it’s just a facade, so don’t lose hope yet!” She tries to cheer you up, but it is already too late. You have dug your own grave.

♡

As if the gods wanted to mess with you for a bit, you were assigned to assist Donghyuck’s patients. To say your first week went bad was an understatement. Karina was right when she said Donghyuck has a low tolerance for questions he gets annoyed at anything relatively quickly.

On your second day shadowing him, you noticed that he had long legs. Legs that do not wait for you and your cart to keep up. He gave you a side-eye when you eventually arrived at the right room, you also got lost because he didn’t wait up.

(“If this were an emergency alarm, the patient might have already died. Keep your head in the game, dreamer.” He mockingly taps his writing clipboard against your cart before turning around and smiling brightly at his patients. You feel like you were fuming from the ears at his act.)

On your fourth day in, you discovered a little hiding area where you could take a break without Donghyuck throwing mean remarks at you. You figured, if he can’t find you, he can’t talk bad about you.

The little box of cookies you found in a drawer was already half gone once you heard two people enter the room, a small curtain separating you from them. 

“Dude, I think that Nurse Y/N might have a crush on you!” Dr. Liu said with excitement. It has been a while since romance blossomed for his friend and the littlest indication that it might happen again made him happy. 

Donghyuck raised his brow, “Who?”, and Yangyang’s smile drowned away. He doesn’t even know your name? “Nurse Y/N, she is – dude?" Donghyuck shakes his head. “For real? The nurse who has been assisting you for the past four days?” 

“Oh, the dreamer. I doubt she’d have a crush on me.” Maybe it was because you couldn’t see his face, but your delusion might have caught a bit of a somber tone in his voice.

“Besides, the chances of something happening between me and her is 0.00001%. Any other rookie might even be better than her.” Lee Donghyuck has proven once again that he is hard to empathize with.

(“Have you seen my chocobi cookies, by the way? I was planning on eating them but I couldn’t find them in my snack drawer.”)

You finished his nasty cookies with no regrets. 

Your fifth day came around and you were doing your rounds without Donghyuck, the doctor was yet to return from a four-hour surgery and thus you ended up doing the rounds with Mark. 

Although Mark was a bit too much of a talker, it was a nice change of pace compared to the GS specialist who criticized your every move. 

“You just have to look through the words,” Mark said after he finally made you share your worries with him. The two of you already arrived at the third room for the current check-up round.

“I’d rather not look straight into his eyes. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t have made it past day one, dr. Lee” You slide open the door and greet the patients warmly. In the room were four patients from a traffic accident that happened on your second day. Because it happened late at night, Mark was already scheduled for a long surgery for pediatrics, causing Donghyuck to do back-to-back surgeries on these four patients. 

Minnie, a high school girl, greeted the two of you with a timid smile, her eyes lingered longer on Mark before meeting yours again.

“Dr. Donghyuck is currently occupied, so Dr. Lee Mark over here is guiding me today.” You explained to the girl, the feeling that she might have a crush on Donghyuck was unbelievable but also kind of cute.

“She has been waiting to thank him since yesterday evening.” Riku, a college student, commented, earning a glare from the girl which caused him to laugh. You hum while prepping Mrs. Choi for a blood sample. After you finish filling two small tubes for the tests, she signals you to come closer.

“Dr. Donghyuck allowed her boyfriend to visit her yesterday, even though visiting hours were already over. The academy hours these days cause students to finish their studies at late hours.” You look back at Minnie, noticing a singular rose in a tiny vase next to a small teddy bear on her nightstand. The scene reminds you of a sweet youth drama.

“How is your appetite, Mrs. Choi? I noticed you didn’t eat much the last few days, if you want, I can alternate a few things on your menu plan to help get your appetite back?” The older woman softly shakes her head. “No need, the doctor gave me some stomach medicine yesterday. I feel much better now.”

Although you added a small comment about Mrs. Choi’s appetite into your nurse log before you clocked out for the evening, you didn’t expect Donghyuck to take the note as seriously as he did. Writing up medicine for patients always required a lot more paperwork, and your seniors in nursing always recommended trying to minimize the prescriptions doctors had to make. 

“I’m glad it is working out, Mrs. Choi. Let me know if you need me to adjust anything, alright?” The lady smiled before turning to Mark. “The other doctor and nurse Y/N make such an interesting duo, don’t you think? They remind me of my first love.” You were already halfway through the room to check on the last patient, the comment made you stop in your tracks a second too long. Mark laughs, “What was your first love like Mrs. Choi? I wonder how Donghyuck and Y/N compare to it.”

You try to focus on the teenager’s stats, Jisoo is also seemingly intrigued by what Mrs. Choi has to say about her first love and late husband.

“We were like opposites. Chan was always driven by his ambitions, he never knew when to stop and enjoy the slow and steadiness of the world. After we met, he used to tell me how I re-taught him how to live life.” Mrs. Choi’s gaze was fixed on the window, but you knew that she was also holding back tears, it was evident in the way she spoke about her late husband. 

You finish up Jisoo’s check-up before returning to Mrs. Choi’s bedside, squatting down and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “He sounds like a love worth spending a lifetime with, Mrs. Choi.” Her gaze turns to you and you can see the glossiness of her eyes. “Thank you.” She whispers before lying down again, Mark and you bid the other patients goodbye before leaving the room.

“You handled that situation well, nurse Y/N,” Mark says after a beat of silence. You give him a sad smile, “She lost so much in the past few days, dr. Lee. If I can lighten that pain for even a moment, I will.”

“You live up to that speech dr. Nakamoto gave on your second day, huh?” You smile, thinking back at the random visit of the pediatrician. He was looking for a specific person (you later figured that person to be Mark) but got thrust into giving the rookie nurses a motivational speech by nurse Jaemin.

(“I don’t think I’m in any position to give a speech, dr. Na.” Yuta eyed the nurses with an awkward laugh, making Jaemin, the ER doctor, challenge him further. “These nurses will rotate into your department soon, anyway. Besides, I doubt you’d come all the way down from the tenth floor to disturb us in our busiest hours, right Dr. Nakamoto?”)

Doctors treat illnesses, nurses heal patients.

Although he probably said those words without much thought behind them, you found new meaning behind those words. Sure, ever since working with Donghyuck, many of your rather superficial motivations disappeared into thin air. But Dr. Nakamoto’s words were a good reminder that Donghyuck wasn’t your only reason. 

It’s patients like Mrs. Choi, those who don’t only suffer bodily injury or illness, but also have a wound to the heart that needs healing. The surgical scars will eventually fade, but without genuine and continued support and care, a patient might carry painful memories for a long time. To you, soothing their hearts for even a moment was a reward worthy of suffering through the nursing program, and even Dr. Donghyuck’s never-ending remarks.

♡

The taste of Winter’s cooking was one you could never quite get enough of, the girl was always in her element in the kitchen and it was evident in her food. Tonight you were also accompanied by Karina. Although you already knew Winter had invited a friend over, it didn’t quite dawn upon you that the nurse friend she mentioned from time to time was going to be the head nurse of your department. The awkwardness from your greetings earlier still lingers ever so slightly in the back of your head, but you try to pay it no mind. It did help that none of you talked about work, rather giggling away with every sip of wine as you talked about your college adventures.

“You know, I think you will do well in the ER, Y/N. If you can handle someone as cold as Donghyuck, I don’t doubt that even the most enraged Karen will get to you.” Karina says in between hiccups. Winter is already leaning on her arm, slowly drifting off with occasional mumbles while Karina keeps rambling on about random thoughts she has. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker, but luckily Winter had opted for wine (the two women had already finished a few shots of soju before you came home) which you were able to handle.

“I think Donghyuck truly has a stick up his ass like he knows the ER is heavily understaffed and yet he is driving any nurse he sees away.” Karina huffs, another large gulp of red wine. 

“It’s one thing to feel entitled because you’re a good doctor, but it’s another to assume every nurse to be at that level from the start, right Y/N?” You try to pry the wine glass away from her hands, but she downs the entire glass before you can.

“Karina, are you going to be okay?” You watch as she stands up and points her finger at the decorative succulent on your dining table. “This plant is dying, it’s withering away.” It was a fake plant.

“I will call a cab for you, Karina. Where do you live?” The woman seems to acknowledge the time and her condition, already stumbling into your hallway to grab her shoes. You follow behind her with her belongings. She laughs a little too loud at your questions and points upstairs. “I’m alright, Y/N. I’m your upstairs neighbor!” She chirps happily as she spreads her arms in the air before blacking out. Great.

The trip is anything but easy: the elevator decides to take everyone else to their respective floors before arriving at the sixth floor, and of course, Karina keeps wiggling in your hold while the other residents keep side-eyeing you in your pajamas.

Since she didn’t quite tell you which unit she lived in, you had to walk past each front door like a creep with Karina’s arms nearly killing your neck. None of the unit numbers 601-604 had her surname on it. You were praying that you didn’t have to go all the way down the hall to unit 610 before you finally read her name underneath unit number 605, right next to Lee Donghyuck’s name. 

You froze, trying to process what this meant, but Karina had already woken up and was loudly banging on the front door of unit 605. You were torn between leaving her here, but she didn’t quite look sober enough to stand steadily.

The door opens after a few loud bangs from Karina, an annoyed – nothing new there – Donghyuck opens the door. His hair was damp and he was wearing grey sweats and a black shirt, a towel around his neck, and black-framed glasses adorning his face – definitely new. It takes everything in you to not admit he looks like a cute nerd in those glasses.

He was about to hurl a mean comment. At this point, you are pro at recognizing this. Donghyuck stops when his eyes settle on you. He raises a brow, and you only reply to his wordless questions with a sheepish smile.

“Your girlfriend had dinner over at our place, sorry. I put some hangover medicine in the pocket of her jacket for her to take in the morning. See you tomorrow, Dr. Lee!” And you ran away, accidentally pushing Karina into Donghyuck’s arms, but you weren’t going to stay there a second longer than needed.

Even though you thought you were pretty sure that you didn’t like Donghyuck anymore, the new information that he lived upstairs with his girlfriend still left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

♡

You were transferring your notes into the nurse logs when Karina entered your little cubicle. “Hey Y/N, are you busy?” You shake your head, moving to the side so the head nurse can comfortably stand in your little workspace.

“Normally I wouldn’t talk about personal affairs during working hours, but I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was upset at my boyfriend and when Winter said the two of you were going to stay at home and just casually drink, I couldn’t help but ask to join. I needed some company for a bit.” She starts to explain, and you start to notice that drunk Karina and sober Karina aren’t much different. 

The scary image of head nurse Karina fades away as you watch her ramble, animatedly making her points with her facial expressions and hands. You smile at the sight, realizing the subtle cuteness of Karina’s true character. “It’s okay, nurse Karina. We all have ups and downs in relationships.” Karina shyly nods, “I also have a little request to make.” You let her continue. 

“Please don’t tell our colleagues about Donghyuck and I living together, it’s embarrassing.” Although you were confused as to why it would be embarrassing, you promised her you wouldn’t tell a soul. She gives you a grateful smile before her pager goes off. Before you turn back fully to focus on your logs again, Karina calls your name. “You can just call me Karina when we are alone. I think we are way past the formalities after what happened.” 

Karina disappears behind the doors and your polite smile falters slightly. You wonder why Winter and Mark didn’t warn you about the relationship between Karina and Donghyuck, feeling stupid that you were so open about your admiration for the man in front of people who knew he was already off the market. 

It wasn’t like you were full-on pursuing him, but it does hurt to know that his type and you were so far off, evidently marking that 0.00001% to be true. Karina was extremely pretty, smart, and good at her job. Sure, she was a rambler and loud drunk, but she easily carried herself in confidence.

A soft cough pulls you back from your thoughts. Donghyuck leans against the wall, handing you his clipboard. “I saw you were filling out the logs, can you upload this chart to Riku’s profile?” You wordlessly take the papers and start typing, expecting him to leave after he says what he needs, but you don’t hear any footsteps. Before you can ask, he starts speaking again. 

“She’s my cousin.” His words were rushed and Maeda Riku’s chart had already taken most of your attention, making the only sound coming out of your mouth a confused ‘huh?’.

“Karina, she is my cousin. I’m not dating anyone. That’s what I wanted to tell you yesterday before you ran off.” If someone told you you would see an awkward Donghyuck less than two weeks into the job, you wouldn’t believe them. The man had a sharp tongue and – just like his cousin – carried himself with certainty, attitude, and incredible skills that steadily established his dominance in the department. But for some unknown reason, he was avoiding eye contact and fumbling with something in his pockets in front of you. 

“Oh.” 

“I gave her the hangover cure, it helped.” He added after way too many seconds, still fumbling with his white coat pocket. You give him a weak smile, not knowing how to act in this strange situation. The air was not tense like it usually was, but it was far from comfortable.

“I got you the same one.” His hands were too fast, but the bottle on your desk and his empty pockets prove that he had been fumbling with the hangover medicine all this time. 

“Thank you…” The act of kindness (?) made you speechless. 

“You were reaching for your head a few times while doing rounds. It’s disturbing my work and the patients. If you can’t handle alcohol, don’t drink.” And the Lee Donghyuck you knew has ruined the moment again.

“I don’t think I deserve scolding when your cousin ended up like that.” Your remark earned a half-hearted scoff from him. You hated the way your heart started beating like your younger self again.

“Just drink it and get ready to join me for your OR testing.” 

♡

The biting winter air felt like tiny pricks against your exposed skin, but you remained seated on the cold wooden bench while hugging your bottle of water tightly. Your OR testing didn’t go wrong, but it didn’t go smoothly either. 

It wasn’t necessarily what Donghyuck said, but it was the way that he said those words to you in a room filled with your peers and other colleagues. He was complaining about how handling different tools wasn’t just about speed, but also about precision, how you were too hasty and could cause dangerous accidents. How he wouldn’t tolerate it if it were to happen in his OR and how you weren’t going in there anywhere soon.

It hurts that just when you finished painting him as an awful person, he started to make you doubt him again, causing his words to twist as painfully as they were the first few days as his assisting nurse. 

You weren’t a big fan of crying, it felt like losing control over your feelings, but you couldn’t help it when you’re so deep into your self-pity party. 

“Nurse Y/N?” The voice of an uncertain Minnie makes you look up, staring into the eyes of an equally teary-eyed teenage girl. You try to wipe away your tears in a hurry to attend to the girl, but she just hands you a handkerchief with a sympathetic smile.

“You know, crying does make everything a bit better, don’t you think?” She asks through a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. You breathe in some more air, feeling better despite being spotted by one of your patients. The two of you don’t say much at first, sitting in a comfortable silence while staring at the few white dots in your pitch-black sky. 

“Boys are stupid.” She suddenly says, catching you off guard. 

“Why would you say that?” 

“They just are, I think girls cry more often because of them than any other reason.” She explains nonchalantly, making you grin at your words.

“Can’t disagree on that.” You mumble.

After a while, you returned inside to finish one last welfare round before switching out with the night shift nurses. You greet Karina as you pass the nurse station, she holds you back by your arm. “I had a word with Donghyuck about what happened during testing, are you alright?” Admittedly, you were still a bit mad at his choice of actions, but you couldn’t blame him for correcting you on something you did wrong. 

“I will get over it, but thank you for looking out for me.” You grabbed your necessities and walked through the dimmed hospital corridors, making your way quietly through the resting areas of your patients. Most were already asleep, some mumbled soft words while you gently checked their stats and some even bid you a good night before turning around to sleep. 

Once you made your way into room 4, you expected Minnie to have returned when you opened your curtain, but her bed was still empty. You frown, remembering how she mentioned how cold it was and that she should quickly return and sleep the night away. 

After a few confused moments at her bedside, you notice the small but important details surrounding her little sleeping space. 

The rose she received days ago bore no petals and the little teddy bear was stuffed inside the small trash can. The conversation from before replays in your mind, and you take out the handkerchief she had handed you. 

You recognize the handkerchief was part of a goodie bag for a small promotion the hospital held once in a while. The words 2023 on the embroidery make you speed walk towards the storage room where older items were kept for PR. 

The storage room wasn’t a huge mess, but it was evident that someone had roughly opened the stored tissue papers and used a few. Your heart ached, thinking how the young girl must have cried in here, feeling lonely and betrayed.

Without thinking, you put out your pager and send out a notification for a missing patient, running towards the terrace where you last saw her. You kept calling her name, heart hammering in your chest as different thoughts spun in your mind. 

Different nurses and medical staff on the floor start spreading and calling out for Minnie, everyone equally worried for the young teenage girl.

You end up on the eighth floor, briefly informing Mark before rushing off into another hallway, feeling more and more anxious with each passing second. You hear a click from nearby and rush towards the sounds, opening the door to a balcony wordlessly as you freeze, Minnie’s hands on the railing and a devastating look in her eyes.

“Minnie–”

"Don't!" Her voice shakes as she puts one leg over the railing. “I don’t want to hear about how young I am, how much life I have to live. What is the use if no one will love me?”

“Why would no one love you?” You ask softly, still stuck in place, afraid that one wrong move will make her do something irreversible. 

“Because I’m permanently broken. Because I have a scar that will never heal. Because I will have to return to the hospital every few years.” Minnie wasn’t directly looking at you, she was staring down the levels, the tears in her eyes dropping down eight floors.

“But it will heal, Minnie. Both your scar and your life.” You carefully take a step, noticing how she doesn’t flinch at your movement. “Right now, you are in a very tough battle, wanting to look the prettiest for a boy you like, don’t you?” She is quiet.

“And having him see you in a hospital gown, having him not see the best version of you, it hurts, doesn’t it?” She closes her eyes, whispering a small and shaky ‘yes’, but you heard her.

“I used to think like that, too. I used to think that once I meet the love of my life, I have to be perfect already so that he will fall in love with me.” Minnie doesn’t react, even though you are certain she knows you’re closing your distance slowly.

“But I found out, quite recently, that I don’t want to be perfect to be loved. I want him to see me at my weakest, and see how I fight my way through my weaknesses. Don’t you want to show him that you are a fighter, too?” Minnie looks up at you, although she doesn’t say it, her eyes tell you everything you need to know.

“Thank you, Minnie. Give me your hand and I’ll help you down slowly, is that alright?” She nods, giving you a hand before turning around. The action makes her foot slip and she slides off the railing with a scream. You lunge forward, holding her hands as tight as you can. 

“It’s okay, trust me, I will not let go.” You grunt, trying your best to lift her, but she is too heavy for you to pull up alone. “Somebody, help!” You shout out in between reassuring words for Minnie. You feel her trying to climb up, causing her grip on yours to loosen. You shout for help again, begging the skies to help this little girl. You were fighting a rough battle with exhaustion, using every fiber in your being to keep the hold on the girl’s hands. 

You start to lose grip, you shout out for help one more time before you feel a warm body against you, arms surrounding yours and holding onto Minnie’s forearms.

“I got you” Donghyuck speaks to you softly before raising his voice for Minnie to hear. “Minnie, I will count to three, and Nurse Y/N, and I will pull you up. I need you to use your legs to climb up, okay? Everything is alright. We got you.”

You finally look at him and he nods counting to three before you gather all your remaining strength to lift Minnie. The three of you land on the ground of the balcony, most of the landing softened by Donghyuck embracing you both. 

Minnie holds onto you tightly, crying into your chest as she keeps mumbling apologies. You close your eyes to keep your tears in, soothing the girl with strokes through her hair. “Everything will be fine from now on, Minnie. You are a fighter, remember? You will show everyone that you are a fighter, okay?” Donghyuck stands up, typing on his pager before the medical staff comes through the door with a wheelchair, taking the shocked teenager from your arms. 

You are still shaken from everything that happened in the past 10 minutes, your legs and arms have completely given up after all the adrenaline wore out. Donghyuck wordlessly helps you on your feet. “Let’s go, my shift ended as well. I’m taking us home.” His voice was soft again, just like when he told you that he got you in your most fearful moment. 

He tugs you forward, but you don’t budge causing him to shoot you a questioning expression. “I can’t walk anymore.”

You didn’t have any ulterior motives when you said those words, but getting a piggyback home from Donghyuck did feel nice.

It still felt odd, you were sure a week ago that you hated his guts, but now and then, he made your heart flutter like five years ago. The thoughts confused you, making you unsure about how you should act around the man. Avoiding him wasn’t an option for now, although you knew your rotation in the emergency department was coming to an end soon. 

“You have potential.” He suddenly speaks as your apartment complex comes into sight. “You aren’t as fast as Nurse Ningning or as knowledgeable as Nurse Chenle, but you notice the small things about patients.”

“I doubt small things matter as much as accuracy and knowledge in this work field, Dr. Lee.” You mumble into his shoulder.

“You might think so, but I know for a fact that if you didn’t notice those things, we might have lost a lovely person today.” It was hard to find the right words to say, so you stayed quiet and let him continue.

“Your attentiveness saved a life, Y/N. Don’t ever think any less of yourself as a nurse.” Normally, you’d assume he is saying this to mock you, but even without seeing his face, you know he said those words sincerely. 

“Thank you for finding me, Dr. Lee.” You say after he steps out of the elevator on the fifth floor. “It’s hard to miss you when you still shout like an endangered teen girl.” Your heart skips a beat.

“So you remember me?” You don’t know why you’re holding your breath, but you are.

“I didn’t at first, but after all the hints and pieces I got from why you joined the nursing program, together with what happened today, I just followed the string of information and realized that young girl was you.”

He has stopped in front of your apartment and you try to hurry off his back before your roommate sees you, but he doesn’t let you go as smoothly as you thought. Your roommate seemed to have sensed you because the door swung open. Winter looks at you, your arms around his neck, and then Donghyuck himself. Before she can open her mouth to say anything, you rip yourself from Donghyuck’s hold – ignoring the immediate absence of his warmth – and wave him goodbye, slamming the door in his face and shushing Winter.

“Girl, you act fast.” Minjeong throws you a smug grin. 

“Please don’t even start, Winter” Unfortunately for you, her grin only widens.

The two of you continue to argue, unbeknownst to you, Donghyuck was still outside, listening to your little arguments with a chuckle. He stops himself from mumbling how amusing your reaction was, the word ‘cute’ almost escaping his lips. His footsteps start echoing again after your voices fade away, heading home in high need of some back pain-relieving patches.

any like, reblog, comment and feedback is appreciated! if you'd like to be on the taglist of this fic, let me know through an ask or comment on this work ♡

[littlelovelunette]

Hihi

Vi x reader where vi sneakily feeds reader aphrodisiac chocolates then makes her wait before giving her sweet sweet relief

Inebriated (3)

Contains implications of drugging someone, inebriated sex, mentions of exhibitionism, spanking, strap use, daddy kink

Vi and you were chilling, leaned against Vi's shoulder you were curled up. "Do you want the chocolates or the popcorn?"

Vi asked you, your eyes were fixed on the television screen where a movie was playing, you answered, "Chocolate."

You both were spending the weekend watching whatever crap movie you both found, the violence and screams displayed on the screen was nothing to the both of you. Having seen firsthand all of Zaun's violence, it didn't bother either of you.

You yawned, even.

Vi, smirking, reached to her side and slowly unwrapped the TABS chocolate, giving it to you. Your eyes were still fixed on the screen when your fingers wrapped around the chocolate bar and you took a huge bite of it, barely caring to look.

You blindly trusted Vi.

But you oughta know the woman was a bartender and had quite a few connections to get alcohol and drugged chocolates for free, if she worked her charm right. However, you were just a teeny bit naïve when it came to that.

Vi lazily turned her head to face the TV, fingers tracing slow patterns on the side of your arm as you both resumed watching whatever crappy movie was playing on the TV.

You felt fine for the first couple of seconds after consuming the chocolate before a weird sort of heat spread through your body and you could feel your panties dampen. Strangely, your nipples were getting hard too.

You shifted, pushing the blankets off your legs because your body felt a bit too warm. It barely helped though, you pulled your collar a little to allow some air into your shirt.

"Ugh..." You groaned, pulling your hair up from your shoulders, forming a bun however you could.

"You okay, my love?" Vi asked, glancing at you, feigning concern.

"Mhm," you hummed.

A bit later, you shifted again, "Vi, I'm feeling really hot, can you put on the AC?" You asked and Vi nodded innocently before turning the air-conditioner on.

"You sure you're just feeling hot?" Vi smirked at you making your brows furrow, "What are you implying?" You asked.

Vi's hand disappeared beneath the waist band of your shorts to rub your wet folds.

"V-Vi," you whispered closing your eyes as you felt her circle your clitoris lovingly.

"So wet for me," Vi whispered as her middle finger dipped inside and into your pussy making you gasp a little.

"F-Fuck..." You stuttered feeling another finger slip inside your hole, pumping in and out in a steady pace.

A growing wet stain appeared on your shorts through the thin fabric of your panties.

"Yeah, you like daddy's fingers?" Vi taunted, fingers digging deeper than before making you whine and moan more, grabbing the armrest of the couch and Vi's shoulder.

"M-m-mhm, daddy, please, fuck me with your strap," you managed to moan out. Vi took her fingers out, stuffing them in your mouth forcing you to clean them off.

"Good girl."

Vi walked off and returned naked with a strap on. You bksuhed at the sight. Vi, however, didn't waste a second.

You pulled your clothes off at the sight of Vi like that, you couldn't wait to have her all to yourself.

She made her way to you in long strides, pinning you against the back of the couch as she guided the huge silicone cock into your pussy.

"O-oh, g-g-gosh..." Your voice was a desperate whisper, rutting your hips towards her for more.

Vi smirked as she forced more of the toy inside making you moan loudly.

"Oh, yeah, just like that!"

Vi's pace was animalistic, the couch creaking in protest beneath you.

Vi picked you up and slammed your frame against the window which was fogged due to the rain outside.

"Vi—! Daddy, what are yo—"

Your nipples rubbed against the cold glass of the window as the movie played in the background. You didn't care to finish your sentence, moaning and pressing your cheek against the glass.

What mattered to you now was that Vi was fucking you so relentlessly. Your pussy squelched around the dildo as Vi thrusted roughly making the window rattle due to the force.

"Bet you love the thought that people might be seeing you," Vi taunted, slapping your ass as she continued ramming the toy into your hole.

"Daddy, please," you moaned loudly, hands grabbing the edge of the window pane as you got fucked hard from behind.

The rain water pattered against the glass making it go cold and foggy while you were stuck trying to ground yourself from the intense pleasure in your pussy.

"You like it don't you? The thrill, huh?" Vi shoved deeper making the dildo hit your g spot and you came on the dildo, fingers slipping down the glass as Vi let go.

You sank down to the ground on your knees, Vi laughed a little seeing you do spent.

"My little princess," Vi knelt down on one knee, hooking one arm behind your knees and the other around your torso, heaving you up bridal style. "Now, just let me spoil you."

[mattsstarlet]

𝐚 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 ₊˚⊹♡

pornstar!matt and camgirl!reader relax in a hot tub after a long day out.

warning: daddy kink.

the warm, bubbling water from the hot tub caressed your skin, sending a wave of relaxation throughout your tired body. matt had an entire day planned out for the both of you, from where to eat breakfast to where to spend the night alone—together. the day required walking, lots of walking, and you being the biggest fan of heeled platforms wasn’t a good idea, so you were thankful when you found out the luxury hotel room that matt rented out also came with a spa.

matt held you tightly against him, his large hands roaming across your body, touching every inch of you as his lips peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder—all while you were sheathing his cock with your warm, needy cunt. 

one of his hands slid up your side, cupping your chin and carefully angling your head to capture your lips in a hot, passionate kiss. you couldn’t help but clench your spongy walls around his length, whining against his lips, inviting his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth.

 a needy whimper followed right after he pulled away just to get a glimpse of you, a string of saliva connecting both of your lips. his hand on your hip squeezed the flesh gently as his eyes traced your features.

“can feel you squeezin’ m’cock, sweet girl. y’wan’ it that bad?” he whispered, his stubble scratching along your jawline, his pink lips brushing all over the sensitive skin, grinning at the sight of your goosebumps. 

a small puff of air left your swollen lips as your wispy lashes fluttered shut, squeezing his cock once again. “pease, just… just fuck me already.” you finally spoke, a hint of desperation and neediness in your tone. 

matt grinned even wider at that, planting his feet on the ceramic floor to buck his hips up, his mushroom tip kissing your cervix. “in here?” he dragged out, his voice shaky, almost as if he were as desperate as you are too.

a tiny gasp swept past you, rolling your head back, resting it against his shoulders. he wasn’t fucking you just yet, but he was already making your brain fuzzy and warm—empty if not, all because you were desperately craving his dick—had been since the minute he picked you up at the start of your day.  “y—yeah, in here. please… daddy.”

the sudden name made matt close his eyes, clenching his jaw tightly, his grip on your hip tightening in a possessive-like manner. opening his eyes, he leaned in once more, his voice low and raspy, his breath hot on your neck. 

“are you really that desperate for cock that you’re callin’ me daddy? hm?”

 your eyes flew open once his hand harshly tugged at the roots of your hair. you didn’t have time to be embarrassed by your sudden bluntness as matt’s cock pumped into you, slowly but surely making sure to hit all the right spots. he was known to be rough and quick; you knew that, but today? today was different.

the hot, steamy water surrounding you both created loud swooshing noises each time his hips came back down. he cupped your tit, playing with the metal bar that intersected through your nipple.

 “mm-hm… daddy’s favorite pussy.” he groaned, lolling his head back, his hand never once leaving your sensitive pebble. he squeezed and pinched while his thrusts remained slow and steady. 

your body shivered each time his tip brushed your sweet spot, whining and moaning like a desperate bitch. “s-so slow…” you breathed out, your eyes falling droopy.

“m’sorry, baby. just… s’makin’ me feel things.” he moaned, adjusting his sitting pattern and hissing at the feeling of your spongy walls gripping onto him. both of his hands held your waist, grinding your hips against him. “yeah, just like that, sweetheart.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍