#it's probably not. and even if it is that's not like...a moral reflection on me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helioooss · 10 days ago

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vi. i need to want something more (the end)

synopsis: after a rare drunken night, y/n wakes up in bed next to the most untouchable girl at yonsei: karina. she’s immediately thrown into a mess she never wanted, torn between her own moral compass and the undeniable pull of something she doesn’t understand. some lines, once crossed, can never be undone.

w/c: 10k+

warnings: heavy cheating, implied sex, alcohol, smoking, just normal uni stuff, swearingggg, slow burn

a/n: so here it is…was a long time coming; i appreciate all of you who stuck around long enough to see the end it. there will be no fics for awhile as i work on editing my older stuff — figured i need to show those a bit of love and polishing too. this series has so much potential to become more, i’ll keep my ears open in the future. always enjoy reading your takes on this chapter, so please let me know how you feel about it :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the light wakes you first. not the usual pale grey cast of a seoul morning, but something softer, whiter. your breath is visible in the sliver of air between your duvet and your face.

the heater’s still warming up — typical. you stay curled beneath the covers a few seconds longer, blinking toward the window, where the light presses through the glass differently now.

you already know.

when you sit up, you’re met with the season’s first snowfall. it’s not heavy yet, still a delicate sheet of white layered over the pavement and trees outside.

the world is slower; even the wind is holding its breath.

you get up barefoot, stepping around the pile of laundry near your desk, your laptop still open from last night. giselle flew back to japan last week and yunjin left a post-it note on your side table saying she was grabbing coffee with ryujin. they’ll probably be out for hours.

you should make coffee, maybe start reading that case brief you’ve avoided all week. instead, you stare out the window a while.

the trees outside are really bare now, snow clinging to every branch like a second skin. you reach for your phone and snap a quick photo.

your fingers hover for a moment before sending it to your parents.

first snow of the season! ❄️

they had invited you to join them in switzerland for the holidays; some rental cabin overlooking a frozen lake, something out of a postcard. you told them you had too much to finish here; that much was true.

the reply comes quickly.

from: dad 👨

beautiful! mum says bundle up. she’s already trying to book you a plane ticket despite your answer still being a firm no. 😂

you smile, a little and your screen dims again.

and then it buzzes.

from: sana 🩵

you still like watching the snow fall from windows?

something shifts in your chest as you stare at her name for a moment — warm and uncertain. before you can think about it too hard, you hit call.

she answers before the second ring.

“hi,” you greet, still watching the snowfall.

“hi,” she replies, voice soft and all. she sounds like she’s speaking from under a warm blanket. “you’re up early.”

“snow woke me.”

“hmm,” she hums. “me too, actually.”

you don’t say anything for a second, just listen to her breathing through the speaker because there’s something grounding about it.

“do you want to come over?”

she pauses, then says: “only if we get breakfast first.”

you smile, small and real. “our usual?”

“of course.”

you end the call and move slowly through your morning — brushing your teeth, pulling on layers, rubbing moisturiser into your face with hands that still feel half asleep. you stare at your reflection for a beat too long; there’s colour in your cheeks from the cold and your hair’s a little flat, but you look more like yourself lately.

or someone you recognise, anyway.

as you zip up your coat, you think of sana. how she’s never asked you to call this anything…or make you feel like you owe her certainty you don’t have.

and still — she shows up.

you think about how easy it would be to keep building this quiet version of love, one morning at a time. back then, you thought maybe the whole world would bend if you just stayed still beside her long enough.

you could get used to whatever this is again.

eventually, a car horn honks twice. when you step outside, the snow crunches beneath your boots. she’s already out of the car, walking toward you with a knit beanie pulled low over her ears. her breath clouds in the air.

the first thing she does is reach for your scarf.

“you still don’t know how to do this properly?” she mutters, unwrapping it halfway to re-loop it snug around your neck. “every year, it’s the same issue.”

“you’re just controlling,” you mumble, lips chapped and numb.

“you would freeze to death without me,” she shakes her head, focusing on the knot. her fingers are cold when it brushes against your neck.

there’s snow caught in her lashes and her cheeks are pink from the cold.

her hair is pulled back loosely, a few strands stuck to her collar. and she’s not looking at you. she’s still focused on that damn scarf. you study her face up close; how her brows knit together in concentration and how beautiful she is when she doesn’t know you’re looking.

“you’re pretty.”

she blinks and looks up; the corners of her mouth twitching. “don’t.”

you grin. “just saying.”

“you’re annoying.” she tugs your scarf tighter and gently shoves your shoulder before turning to the car. you follow, heart warmer than your gloves. “come on.”

the drive to itaewon is short and mostly quiet. the windows fog slightly and she draws a little heart in the glass with her knuckle at a red light. she doesn’t look at you when she does it.

“so,” you begin, glancing at her, “you could be in australia right now; drinking cocktails by a pool. why are you here in seoul?”

she glances over with a smile. “i could be.”

“so why aren’t you?”

she exhales through her nose, barely smiling. “because you’re here.”

“right,” you answer, cheeks flushing with warmth. and it’s enough.

that silences you, looking out the window as the snow settles along rooftops. your chest aches a little and it’s not in the way it used to; not with longing, but just with how much space she still takes up, even now.

grazia is tucked between two boutiques, all brick and wood and fogged-up windows. it’s warm and smells like cardamom and coffee inside. the waiter leads you to a quiet table near the back; you end up ordering pancakes and sana gets eggs on toast with extra mushrooms.

you talk about books — what you’ve been reading, what you haven’t had time to. she tells you about a ridiculous rumour she overheard at a party last week: something about taehyung and a chaebol heir (not jennie this time) who may or may not be fake.

it’s ridiculous.

after a pause, she stirs sugar into her coffee and asks. “so…have you decided?”

you look up at her, then down at your plate. “about the job?”

she nods.

“i think i’m gonna take it,” you answer, running your fingers through your hair. “taehyung’s dad offered me a contract starting next month. i’d be handling mid-scale portfolios. nothing glamorous, but…”

“it’s a start,” she finishes.

“yeah…a really good one.”

she smiles. “i’m glad — you’ll do so well.”

she stirs her drink once more, something milky and sweet. she’s dressed down today; soft turtleneck, old jeans, hair tied back with a velvet scrunchie that doesn’t match.

you rest your cheek on your hand and watch her; she looks comfortable.

“you’re staring again,” she chuckles without looking up and the sound makes your head all warm and fuzzy.

you clear your throat. “you’re always stirring your drink for no reason.

she grins. “i’m thinking.”

“about what?”

“you.”

you scoff into your coffee. “try something harder.”

she reaches across the table to steal a piece of your banana bread, doesn’t bother asking. you let her. then, more softly, she adds: “i’m really proud of you.”

“what for?”

“the job,” she mumbles. “with taehyung’s dad. that’s huge…everyone knows the kim family doesn’t let anyone in so easily.”

“it’s honestly just an entry contract.”

“it’s still a big deal,” she insists. “don’t downplay it. you worked hard and earned it.”

you press your hands around your mug and let the silence linger before asking: “and what about you?”

she lifts her gaze as you watch her carefully.

“when are you taking over your empire?”

sana snorts. “don’t call it that.”

“it is that…your family owns half of tokyo and most of osaka.”

“i mean when you put it like that,” she mutters. “it is…a lot.”

you raise a brow. “so? what’s the plan?”

she laughs, soft and brief — but you keep note of how her shoulders tense.

you don’t press, not yet. you just keep your voice even. “you know it’s coming.”

she leans back slightly, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup. “i know. my dad’s been…bringing it up more often lately. the board’s already making decisions ten years from now.”

her eyes lift to meet yours.

you try to sound gentle; encouraging. “so why not?”

she shrugs, looking away now. “because i’d have to be in japan…full-time.”

she hasn’t said it so plainly before.

you let the silence sit long enough, watching the way she presses her lips together, like she’s already prepared herself for this to hurt.

perhaps the part of you that’s been too afraid to name this…whatever this is — has been waiting for this conversation all along.

“it’s not that i don’t want to,” she adds, quieter now. “but i can’t leave you. not like this. not when we just…started again.”

she meets your gaze once more. there’s something in her expression that makes your chest ache. it’s not doubt.

it’s love, stretched thin by time and distance and the inevitability of her life pulling her somewhere you can’t follow — not yet.

and maybe this is what it means to be grown. to sit across from someone you love, knowing love might not be enough to keep things from changing.

“i’d never ask you to stay just because of me.”

“i know you wouldn’t.”

“but i also wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed to go.”

she exhales, blinking down at her hands. “i don’t want to go if it means leaving this.”

“we’re not a place,” you tell her gently. “we’re not a time either. we’re just…us. maybe we’ll always be.”

you reach for her hand across the table and she lets you take it. her fingers are cold but steady, thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist like she’s trying to remember how to hold on without gripping too tightly.

you think: if this is all we have right now, i’ll take it. and across the table, she looks at you like she’s thinking the same thing.

as you walk back to the car, she slips her hand into your coat pocket; not your hand. just your pocket.

you laugh at her, feeling a bit lighter now. “what are you doing?”

she shrugs, looking forward. “just making sure you’re warm.”

you don’t reply, sliding your hand over hers, not lacing your fingers, just covering them because her palm is cold. you press your thumb into the space between her knuckles and feel her lean a little closer as you walk.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sound of your door clicking open feels louder than it should. your body aches from sitting too long in the same position, neck stiff, legs heavy and your brain mush after hours of reading case law. you drag yourself into the main living area where the scent of cheap popcorn lingers and twilight is somehow playing again — muted blue and green tones flickering across the television screen.

bella is mid-monologue; the sky is always grey in that fuckass town.

yunjin and ryujin are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a throw blanket and a half-empty bowl of snacks between them. yunjin’s legs are draped over ryujin’s lap and they’re blth eating crispy m&ms (because they’re the best) like it’s the end of the world.

you drop onto the armchair beside them.

“how many times do you guys need to watch this a year?” you ask, voice still rough from not speaking all afternoon.

ryujin doesn’t look away from the screen. “you’re uncultured.”

“she just doesn’t get it,” yunjin agrees, nudging you with her socked foot. “she never got the team jacob to team edward pipeline.”

“i was studying contract law while you two watched vampire melodrama,” you grumble.

“that was your mistake,” ryujin shrugs, refusing to look away from the screen. “and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.”

you sit with them a while, with bits of and pieces of them mimicking lines and a type of silence that only happens when people know each other too well to need to fill it. it’s almost dinner time, you realise. you probably haven’t had a proper meal since breakfast.

yunjin turns to you like she’s reading your thoughts. “so, what do you want to do for dinner?”

you hesitate. “uhh, i’m actually going to sana’s soon.”

ryujin raises her brows without comment. yunjin shifts slightly, pulling her knees to her chest.

“movie night?” she asks, a little teasing, but gentle.

you nod, reaching down to adjust your sock. “yeah, she said she found this old japanese film she wants me to watch.”

“what’s going on with you two anyway?” ryujin looks at you. “it’s been a while now.”

you pause because putting it into words makes it feel more solid.

“we’re…good,” you say slowly. “we don’t talk about what it is. but it’s been really good.”

yunjin hums softly. “and…have you heard from karina?”

her name hits like a stone through still water, your shoulders tensing without meaning to. you haven’t thought about her in ages.

not really, anyway. not since early winter, when snow was just beginning to settle and you were still getting used to the way sana folded your blankets and made you tea before you even asked.

after that dinner scene, jimin just simply vanished. no texts or awkward sightings. not even a whisper from giselle, who always managed to mention her in passing before.

and you didn’t chase it. perhaps you were too tired…or maybe you were finally learning how to let silence be what it was.

still, the name makes something flicker inside your chest. it’s no longer pain, not anymore…just something dull and hasn’t fully left.

“no,” you finally answer. “i haven’t heard anything.”

yunjin fiddles with a popcorn kernel. “well, she’s in seoul, i saw her on ningning’s story last week. she was in the background.”

ryujin says nothing for once, she just reaches for the remote and lowers the volume a bit.

your stomach twists. “really?”

“looked like a rooftop thing. not much though, was just a glimpse.”

you nod, mouth dry. “guess she didn’t end up going to europe with jaewook after all.”

“yeah, guess so,” yunjin smiles at you, the way she always does when she wants to comfort you but doesn’t know the words to say.

you push yourself off the chair and stand. “i should get going though.”

ryujin gives you a slight wave. “tell sana we said hi. and look after yourself. and your heart.”

you pull on your coat, scarf still a mess from how it was folded. your bag’s got a change of clothes stuffed at the bottom and a book you haven’t opened. as you walk out into the cold, your breath clouds in the air and the sky has that faint blue cast of early evening.

sana’s apartment is warm, smells faintly of citrus and something boiling on the stove. she answers the door in a navy jumper and fuzzy socks, her hair damp like she just stepped out of the shower. you blink once and feel your chest ease.

“hi,” she grins, already reaching for your scarf, unravelling it to untie it properly now.

you laugh. “seriously?”

“you’ll thank me later.”

you follow her inside, boots off, bag dropped near the shoe rack. she’s already set up her bedroom —blankets stacked and mismatched pyjamas folded on the edge. you change slowly, the clothes a little big on you, the sleeves brushing your knuckles. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you wearing her shirt, but she smiles like something in her has softened.

you settle into the blankets while she brings over miso ramen and sushi on two trays; simple, warm, comforting.

she really insists on playing an old japanese film she watched once with her mum. it’s black and white and slow-moving, all long glances and quiet music. halfway through, your head finds her shoulder and eventually, her chest.

and somewhere near the end, your eyes start to slip closed. you don’t mean to fall asleep. but sana’s warmth is steady, her breathing’s a weird kind of comfort and her hand has found yours under the blanket.

when you stir awake again, the room is darker. the credits are rolling in soft kanji across the screen. she hasn’t moved.

you lift your head slightly and find her staring at you. “were you watching me?”

she smiles, lazy and unbothered. “a little.”

“creep.”

“you’re peaceful when you sleep.”

you groan and bury your face in her arm. “don’t look at me like that.”

she laughs quietly. “and you’re warm, i didn’t want to move.”

you stay there a while longer, the silence easier now. then something tugs at you. “i’m sorry.”

she doesn’t respond right away. “about what?”

“about how we’re still…like this,” your voice is small. “no labels, no real plan — i really need to fix myself.”

she lifts a hand to push your hair back, thumb brushing your temple. “you don’t need fixing, y/n. not for me. i love you the way you are now. and i’ll still love you when that changes.”

you exhale shakily, not sure if it’s relief or fear that floods your chest.

she squeezes your hand to ground you.

“you know when i was a kid,” she adds after a moment, her fingers gently playing with your hair. “i used to imagine running away.

you look up at her. “why?”

“not because i wanted to disappear,” she says softly. “i just wanted to choose who i came back for.”

you don’t say anything.

you just press your face into her neck, grip tightening around her waist while listening to the rhythm of her breathing until you fall asleep again…because maybe that’s what this is. not the end, not even the beginning.

it’s her coming back. and this time, you’re here to open the door for her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the suit bag hangs on the edge of your wardrobe, unzipped and half-open, like it’s waiting to be taken seriously. inside are five options. none of which you picked. sana’s stylist had dropped them off earlier that morning, her usual chirpy self making you try on half of them while sana watched from the bed, cup of coffee balanced on her knee.

now it’s dusk and you’ve been through three shirts, three full outfit changes and a minor crisis about the perfect sock colour. the room smells like sandalwood and setting lotion. your window’s open just slightly, letting in the bite of the air, that particular cold that only ever feels sharp in late december.

sana’s standing behind you, hair already done —glossy, parted perfectly with the ends curling. she’s wearing a black suit, white shirt buttoned down enough to make you look twice. or three times. the fabric clings at her waist and loosens again at her hips.

it’s unfair. criminal, even…to look that good.

you’re standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuff of a white shirt that isn’t yours.

“this one’s too tight,” you complain, tugging at the collar. “i look like i’m going to cry at prom.”

“you always look like that,” she replies, flicking through jackets on hangers. “it’s part of your charm.”

you glare at her through the mirror and she laughs at your own expense without bothering to look up.

you’re staring.

of course you are.

“you’re staring at me again,” she says, not even looking up.

“you look ridiculous,” you reply.

“that’s not what your face is saying.” she lifts the black lapel of a suit jacket and gives you a side glance, smug. “should we match, bub?”

you cross the room before you even decide to. she’s still smiling when you reach her, but it drops slightly — just enough to tell you she knows.

you don’t think.

you’re already up before she can finish her sentence. your hand finds her waist, and then her back, and then her mouth. the kiss lands hard and sure, pulling her in until her spine meets the wall beside your wardrobe. she lets out a surprised sound that turns into a low laugh against your lips when your hands grip her tighter than you mean to.

she tastes like spearmint and skin warmed by sunlight. everything else fades — your open window, the hum of the street below, the muted rustle of ryujin and yunjin bickering in the hallway.

your entire world narrows to the sound of her breathing, quick and uneven, her hands slipping beneath your shirt; not greedy, never, just holding you in place.

when you finally pull away, you’re still gently cupping her face as she blinks slowly, breath catching.

“you’re such an ass,” she starts, voice rough. “you’re really going to do that an hour before i introduce you to my entire bloodline?”

“hmm,” you murmur, forehead pressed to hers. “seemed like the right time.”

she exhales a laugh and shoves your shoulder lightly, but she doesn’t move away. her lips are redder now, eyes much darker. you like how she looks like this — just a little undone.

“you’re the one in a suit,” you continue, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face. “this is your fault.”

she kisses you again — just once, before tapping your chest. “grey suit. last one on the rack. wear the white shirt with the pearl buttons.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“you’ll make everyone nervous,” she confirms, unbuttoning the shirt you just complained about. “it’s perfect.”

when you finally walk out of your room — now dressed, hair styled and tie slightly crooked on purpose, ryujin and yunjin are waiting in the living room in matching red dresses that clearly weren’t planned but still managed to look coordinated.

yunjin looks up from her phone. “are you two done making out?”

sana’s behind you, still adjusting your collar from the back. “oh,” she says lightly. “what gave it away?”

they groan in unison, ryujin grabbing a cushion to half-heartedly throw at you. “disgusting.”

“embarrassing,” yunjin adds.

you just roll your eyes, cheeks still warm.

the minatozaki family meet every year in seoul a few days before christmas, no matter how scattered they are across time zones or industries. they are old money, after all, operating like a boardroom with laughter; polite, but rarely without genuine warmth.

it’s all carefully curated holiday cards, biannual art acquisitions and a shared family lawyer who’s probably been with them longer than most cousins have been alive. and they’re big on tradition, binding them like a woven thread across generations.

sana once told you that missing the family holiday party would be a bigger scandal than missing a wedding of the year. no one has ever dared skip it — not even the cousin who got stranded in switzerland one year; he video called in wearing a tux.

the venue this year is a five-star hotel in gangnam; just one of those buildings with glass facades and understated signage. as soon as you walk inside, the ballroom is glowing with golden lights and crystal fixtures, the chandeliers dimmed to a soft glitter. waiters move between clusters of people with trays of champagne and tiny canapés.

she walks beside you, hand in yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you hear ryujin swear while yunjin nervously fidgets around. her other hand rests lightly on your lower back as she steers you through the room, the guests are all family, more or less: great-uncles and cousins and elders you can’t quite place.

everyone already knows. there’s no guessing involved. they all smile at you politely, a few with surprise but no one dares to question your presence.

her mother hugs you as soon as she sees you, still smelling faintly of lavender and expensive tea.

“finally,” she sighs in relief, smiling. “we were starting to think you were imaginary.”

her father smiles approvingly while eyeing your blazer. “you look very sharp, you wear the colour well.”

you thank him, a little awkwardly, and sana leans in to whisper, “he only says that to people he really likes.”

you laugh, brushing her fingers with yours.

throughout the evening, relatives come and go in waves. they ask what you’re doing after graduation, if you’ve thought about law firms abroad, if you would consider working in japan. you answer each one as politely as you can and they nod like they’re taking mental notes.

sana’s grip never wavers. this is the difference.

with her, there’s no hesitation. she doesn’t shrink you and make you feel like something to be hidden. she says: this is y/n like that means something…it has to.

you think about that as the night goes on. how strange and comforting it is, not to be the shadow in someone else’s story. she’s proud. of you. and the whole room knows it.

then, somewhere between dessert and after-dinner drinks, an uncle announces the annual family photo. the photographer’s already setting up near the grand staircase, light stands flaring against the high ceilings.

you start to step back, figuring this part isn’t for you, when she tugs you gently by the wrist.

“and where do you think you’re going?” she asks, an eyebrow raised in that demanding tone too.

you glance at her. “i figured i’d stay out of the frame.”

“don’t be stupid,” she shakes her head, tone now soft, not scolding.

she brings you forward, weaving through her cousins and uncles, until her mother sees you both and waves you in closer. the photographer arranges everyone once again, gesturing toward the centre of the front row.

sana takes your hand and leads you there — right beside her, between her and her mother like you’ve always belonged.

“this okay?” she murmurs.

you nod slowly.

“good,” she fixes your collar, smooths your jacket, then slips her hand into yours again.

her father smiles at you two and her mother wraps an arm around your waist like it’s second nature.

when the photo is taken, sana’s thumb gently brushes against your knuckles. you’ve never felt more seen in your life.

later on, sana excuses herself to the bathroom and you’re suddenly cornered by ryujin and yunjin near the dessert table. they both have shit-eating grins on their faces like they’ve been here before.

“so,” ryujin begins, popping up beside you with a glass of wine, “you’re marrying another heir of a billion-dollar company? what’s this obsession with rich people? when i said ‘eat the rich’, i didn’t mean in a literal sense.”

you nearly choke on a piece of almond tart. “what the hell are you on about this time?”

“we didn’t realise,” yunjin perches in from the other side. “like, you know, she had this vibe of maxed-out platinum card and four overdue bills she refuses to open.”

“i thought that girl was dangerously living beyond her meanest,” ryujin mutters. “like…’it’s crippling, i’m gonna run away eventually’ kind of debt.”

“and giselle used to pray you never had to cover any of her bills,” yunjin laughs. “she was scared for you.”

“you’re all idiots,” you say, but your cheeks are warm. you sip your wine and glance around the room — gold, velvet, soft laughter under chandeliers.

“seriously,” yunjin continues, nudging you. “how does it feel?”

you pause, thinking about it. “honestly? it feels…nice. to belong in the room, be held like this isn’t something anyone’s ashamed of.”

they go quiet.

and then ryujin offers you a mini tart she already bit once. “you earned it.”

you roll your eyes and take it anyway. you’re halfway through your first glass of champagne when nayeon somehow ends up in front of you. ryujin and yunjin shyly greet her before running away to the bar.

“well, well,” she says, appearing at your elbow like a headline. “if it isn’t little top-of-her-class.”

you nearly choke. “hello to you too, nayeon.”

“you didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?” she laughs, pulling you into a hug. she still smells like endless paperwork. “look at you — looking all grown.”

“you’re not still in that securities firm, are you?”

“worse: corporate advisory. mina’s still keeping me sane.”

as if summoned, mina appears beside her, dressed in an ivory pantsuit and the kind of earrings that could probably pay your rent.

“hey,” she smiles, eyes warm. “it’s really good to see you.”

“you too,” you say honestly. “both of you.”

nayeon leans in. “we always knew you and sana were going to find your way back to each other. she was such a mess about you in undergrad.”

they were two of sana’s closest friends at yonsei. both a few years older than you and practically royalty in their own right; effortlessly composed and always surrounded by people who wanted to be close to them — or be them.

you used to see them around often when you and sana were first getting close. they never treated you unkindly…in fact, nayeon always greeted you with a loud “oh, you again?” and mina would smile quietly, handing you a drink like you already belonged. they were your seniors in every way: in age; in experience; in the kinds of heartbreaks and head starts that come with growing up too fast in worlds you barely feel like you belong in.

even now, years later, the sight of them still pulls something warm and nostalgic from your chest. they remind you of a different time — the nights you stood by sana’s side…feeling small but safe, never knowing just how much she would come to mean to you years down the line.

“i was not,” sana says, appearing behind you with two plates of dessert.

“please,” nayeon rolls her eyes. “she used to leave dinners just to call you and then cry about how complicated everything was.”

“used to?” mina murmurs, eyebrow raised. “i think the streak ended, what — last year?”

you give sana a look. “so i’ve heard.”

she hands you a plate and shrugs. “they’re exaggerating.”

“you used to leave parties to sit in stairwells and call her.”

“i was dramatic.”

“you cried.”

she waves them off, then glances at you with a crooked grin. “they’re jealous.”

“of what?”

“that you’re the first person i’ve ever brought here.”

“what?” you blink in disbelief, mouth already full of something sweet and expensive. “no dates before me?”

“not here,” she repeats. “this place is family.”

“so i’m special.”

she rolls her eyes, a teasing smile appearing in the corners of her mouth. “you literally dumped me and i’m still here, so yeah.”

you nudge her, she bumps your shoulder back.

mina watches you both with a quiet smile. “i’m glad you’re here, y/n. you’re both good for each other.”

it takes you a second to absorb that because you do. for the first time in years, maybe ever, you’re in a room full of people who know each other’s names, whose approval isn’t cautious or polite but warm and unconditional — and you’re not being hidden.

it’s late by the time the car rolls through empty streets. the city lights pass like slow waves against the windows. you’re both a little buzzed from wine, shoes kicked off, blazers draped in your laps.

sana’s fingers are still laced with yours, she looks softer now. her voice quieter as she talks to you, like the world is shrinking back to just the two of you.

your hand rests lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the fabric of her trousers.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur.

“you’re allowed,” she replies, tilting her head toward you.

“so why have you not brought anyone to this party?”

her brow lifts, leaning her head back against the seat. “honestly?”

you nod.

“you’re the first,” she begins to explain. “because you scare me a little, you never asked to be here — you just…showed up and made space without needing to take any.”

you stare at her, a little breathless.

she turns to look at you fully, her expression is open. “it’s always been you, even when it wasn’t.”

you swallow hard.

the car still moves quietly through the city, lights passing over the windows in slow, golden waves. and you think, for the first time in a long time, that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it’s christmas day and sana’s family home is lit like something from an old winter painting. the snow clings to the trees and lines the edges of the roof like icing. and there’s warmth in every room inside; everything made out of oak in that traditional japanese sense.

you’ve never had a christmas like this.

there are matching slippers at the door, monogrammed napkins and the kind of table setting that makes you hesitate before sitting down. the candles flicker low between you all, flames catching on the wine glasses as her father lifts his to inspect the pour.

he sits at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, wine glass already half full. “not too much,” he chuckles, topping yours off. “don’t want you falling asleep before dessert.”

“no promises,” you reply, and he laughs louder; shoulders shaking and all

it’s just the four of you. no cousins, no extended family or staff pacing in the background. sana sits beside you, ankles crossed under the table, her hand brushing your thigh every now and then like she’s checking that you’re still here.

“your parents must miss you,” her mum says, spooning rice into her own bowl. “have you called them yet?”

you shake your head. “not yet, i was waiting until things quieted down.”

“call them now,” sana says softly, nudging your foot under the table. “you can put it on speaker.”

you hesitate, but her mum is already nodding. “that would be great, we would love to say hello.”

your phone is in your pocket so you fish it out, glancing at the time — still early evening in switzerland. you press call. the dial tone hums once, then twice and then your mum picks up.

“merry christmas, darling!”

“hi, mum,” you greet, smiling. “you’re on speaker.”

“oh?”

“i’m with sana’s parents,” you explain. “they wanted to say hi.”

sana’s dad leans forward. “merry christmas, hope you’re both having the best time,” he waves, warm and clear.

you can hear the delight in your mother’s voice. “oh, how lovely! thank you for hosting our daughter this year. we were sorry she couldn’t come with us.”

“she’s very welcome here,” her mum adds. “we’re happy to have her.”

sana chimes in next, her voice light. “hi, mr and mrs y/l/n. thanks for raising the most stubborn woman alive.”

your father’s voice comes through faintly in the background. “you’ve got your hands full, then.”

they all laugh and you feel your face warm. it feels good.

“we’ll let you go enjoy dinner,” your mum adds after a minute more of cheerful noise and small talk. “we’ll talk properly tomorrow.”

you hang up and sana squeezes your knee gently beneath the table.

her father’s already mid-sip of his wine when he says, “so, this firm you’re joining — under the kim family?”

“yes, taehyung’s dad offered me a placement earlier in the year.”

he snorts. “sounds about right; that man’s sharp. got his claws into you before the others could.”

you laugh, shaking your head. “he was persuasive.”

“a good sign,” he nods, raising his glass. “people chase talent, it means you’re doing something right if you’ve got one of south korea’s richest men to persuade you.”

you hum and it settles over you: the warmth, the acceptance, the easy rhythm of it all. there’s no tension in your shoulders and you don’t feel the need to read between words or brace yourself for correction — it’s a slow meal with people who see you as someone worth being proud of.

not tolerated nor excused, but welcomed with open arms.

dinner finishes with tea and fruits. sana’s mum brings out small velvet boxes and pushes one toward you. you hesitate, glance at sana, who’s smiling gently.

“we said no gifts.”

“and we ignored it,” her mum replies.

you open it carefully.

inside is a watch; silver and elegant, the weight of it immediately grounding as you glance at the name richard mille.

jesus christ, you thought.

beside it, wrapped in a velvet slip, is a gold pen with your initials carved at the top of it.

you’ve seen something like this pen before. on sana’s desk, in her hand, tucked into her notebook. she mentioned she got it at eighteen.

you look up, words forming slowly. “this is too much.”

“nonsense,” her father groans. “you’re part of our lives now; get used to it.”

you don’t trust your voice enough to speak, so you nod, fingers curling around the velvet like it’ll anchor you.

they don’t need thanks drawn out and scripted; you know their kindness doesn’t ask for anything in return and that’s the part that stings the most. you never knew you could be carried like this without having to earn it.

and when the table’s been cleared and the kitchen grows quiet and her parents disappear up the stairs with soft goodnights and kind glances, it’s just you and sana again — on the living room floor, legs stretched toward the fireplace, two glasses of wine resting on the table between you.

the fire crackles quietly, the only real sound in the room. you can still hear music faintly from the kitchen; jazz, maybe, but the rest of the world has dimmed.

your head leans slightly against her shoulder. she doesn’t move.

you’re full in every sense of the word. full of food, of warmth, of something else you haven’t named yet. and then your phone buzzes.

you feel the vibration in your pocket before the ring even begins.

it’s faint, easily ignorable, except something in your body registers it before your mind does. you shift slightly, ease your hand into your pocket, still curled up beside her in front of the fire.

the screen lights up and her name flashes once.

karina.

the air feels colder all of a sudden. your stomach twists, a quiet clench that catches you off guard. beside you, sana stirs slightly but she doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t need to. she sees the screen.

you stand up, too quickly.

“i’ll just — be a minute,” you murmur.

you stand without a word and she doesn’t look up.

you step out onto the balcony, sliding the door closed behind you. the air is cold against your neck, your breath blooming white in the dark.

and you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. “hello?”

her voice is exactly how you remember it — low, careful, like it’s measuring the silence between your words before they’re even spoken.

“hi, merry christmas, y/n.”

you close your eyes for a moment, let the wind bite at your face. “merry christmas, jimin.”

there’s a pause. you hear the hum of something in the background and neither of you speak for a second.

“i wasn’t sure if i should call, but you crossed my mind. i guess…you still do,” she continues, her voice is so small it barely carries on top of the breeze. “but i didn’t want to let the day pass without…saying it. i know you were excited for christmas.”

your hand curls around the edge of the railing, feeling the ache before it even takes shape. it’s not a painful, but more like the kind that’s been dulled by time but not erased.

“how are you?” you ask, unsure what to say next.

jimin exhales a shaky breath. “i’ve been better, but my parents are still asking if i’ve managed to win you back,” she lets out something close to a laugh, but it doesn’t reach her chest. “they say it like it’s a job — think they really wanted to know you more.”

you let the silence settle for a moment. it’s familiar, but it doesn’t hurt the same way anymore. you didn’t need to know any of that; no longer have the right to.

“how’s…jaewook?”

she’s quiet for a second too long. “umm, yeah, we broke up the day after that night i saw you. i think i knew i couldn’t keep lying to him and myself after that.”

you chew the inside of your cheek, the words settling slowly, heavy but unsurprising.

“i’m sorry,” you croak out.

“don’t be,” she replies. “i should’ve ended it a long time ago.”

the wind whistles faintly between the railing bars. you adjust your weight, heart beating a little harder than you would like.

“are you happy?” she asks; it’s barely more than a whisper. “with her?”

your breath catches with how much weight the questoon carries. you look through the frosted glass, into the house where sana still sits, curled into the couch, waiting patiently — warm and steady.

“yeah,” you reply after a second. “we’re…taking things slow. but it’s real; she’s real.”

she doesn’t reply right away either. when she does, her voice is rougher than before. “good.”

you believe her, mostly, or at least you want to.

“i’m glad,” she continues, though there’s something behind it…like she’s letting go of something without knowing if it’s the last time.

the silence comes back, thicker this time.

“thank you for calling,” you tell her, meaning it. “it’s really good to hear from you.”

you hear her exhale, something like a smile buried in it. “take care of yourself.”

“you too.”

the call ends.

you watch the snow fall for a few more seconds, then slide the phone back into your pocket, letting the cold seep into your skin just to feel everything clearly.

it was kind, that call. necessary, maybe. but you don’t feel unsteady and you don’t feel torn.

it feels…finished.

sana looks up as you return. she doesn’t move, but her face has changed, ever so slightly — like something pulled rigidly just beneath her eyes.

you feel it settle between you like a window left open just a little too long.

“if you ever want to go back to her,” she suddenly voices out, tone sorrowful: “i won’t hold it against you, i knew what i was getting myself into. and you don’t owe me anything at all.”

your heart drops as you stare at the fire for a second longer before you speak. “sana, baby, i want to keep moving with you.”

the words sit between you, unfurling slowly. she nods. once. but you can see how tightly she’s holding herself together.

under the couch, you pull out the small box you had been keeping for her. it’s not wrapped well and the corners are uneven and you had to tape the bottom twice because you suck at wrapping gifts — but you place it on her lap anyway.

“this is for you.”

she looks at you, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. she doesn’t reach for the gift right away. instead, she unwraps it slowly, fingers catching at the tape.

inside is a square canvas — the edges still a little rough where the paint dried too fast. it’s the two of you, sitting on a bench in that quiet park from that night. backs facing the viewer, just two figures with shoulders leaning in, hair caught in a breeze. nothing fancy, but it’s unmistakably you and her.

you wait while she stares at it.

then: “you painted this?”

you nod. your voice shakes a little. “a few weeks ago.”

her eyes flicker up. they’re glossy now and it breaks something open in your chest. she doesn’t speak for a long time, just holding the frame in both hands like she’s afraid it’ll slip.

you shift a little closer.

“i know we didn’t take a photo that day, we were both too drunk,” you explain, a smile on your face. “but i remember it. i remember thinking that if anything in my life ever felt like home again, it would be that moment — us under the stars, quietly figuring ourselves out.”

her breath hitches.

“i’m still scared,” you admit. “i still think i might mess this up. i still wake up sometimes not sure if i deserve any of it. but i want to try. you’re so, so, so important to me, sana, i never want to lose you again.”

the tears spill slowly, she doesn’t even bother hiding them.

“you’re such a jerk,” she mumbles through a soft laugh. “you couldn’t have said all that before the wine?”

you smile, a little helpless. “sorry.”

she puts the painting down carefully and reaches for your hand. “you won’t lose me, not this time.”

you pull her in gently and she lets you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, the painting resting carefully against her side.

“you matter to me,” you whisper. “always.”

“i know,” she says. “i just needed to hear you say it.”

and so you do. again and again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you wake to the dull hum of your phone vibrating on the nightstand. you don’t reach for it straight away — your eyes are still adjusting. and sana’s breath is warm against your neck, she shifts slightly, murmuring something in her sleep and her arm curls tighter around your waist.

the screen glows again. this time you blink fully awake and glance over.

but the sound doesn’t stop. it pulses again —persistent. you shift, groggy, reaching toward the nightstand where your phone is lighting up.

karina is calling…

“the fuck?” you let out a quiet sigh through your nose, staring at the screen like maybe, if you’re still enough, it’ll stop ringing.

it doesn’t. the digits blur slightly — 2:31 a.m.

sana stirs behind you. “who is it?” her voice is still caught in sleep, soft and heavy.

“it’s…jimin,” you mumble out in slight disbelief. “she’s calling, should i answer?”

you half expect her to roll away, to go quiet like last time. but instead, she rests her hand against your shoulder and says, gently: “answer it.”

you turn to her. “are you sure?”

she nods; her hair’s messy against the pillow, eyes barely open, but she still offers you a small, understanding smile. “i know what it’s like…to be the one who never gets the call back.”

your heart aches at that, but you nod and slide off the bed quietly, grabbing your hoodie from the chair as you step out into the lounge room.

you swipe to answer. “hello, jimin?”

you’re already halfway down the hallway, bare feet padding softly against the hardwood, heart thumping as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

her voice cracks instantly through the speaker. “you answered…i wasn’t sure.”

it’s messy — slurred, uneven, like her tongue’s too slow to keep up with her mouth. there’s noise in the background. a car maybe, or the wind, it’s nothing solid.

“are you okay?” you ask. “where are you?”

“i don’t know,” she breathes. you can hear her sniffle. “i didn’t want to call, i just — i couldn’t not. fuck, i sound so stupid.”

your brows furrow, concern rising. you drop onto the couch, pressing the phone harder to your ear.

“jimin, what’s going on? are you out?”

“i wanted to see you,” she answers, voice trembling. “i keep wanting to see you. i keep seeing you. it’s like — everything i do reminds me of you and i don’t even know if you care anymore. do you still care?”

you sit down on the couch, rubbing at your temple. “what more do you want from me?”

“you,” she says it so fast like it’s always been waiting behind her teeth. “i want you back.”

you close your eyes. “karina…”

“don’t, don’t say it like that, don’t say it in that tone like you pity me.”

you run a hand through your hair, staring at the dark screen of the tv in front of you. “you’re drunk, can you please send me your location?”

“you still care?” she asks, voice wobbling. “you still care about me, don’t you?”

you don’t answer that. instead, you repeat, firmer this time, “send me your location. please.”

she sniffs, quiet for a moment. then the familiar ping of a map drops into your phone. “you didn’t answer me…”

“stay on the line,” you demand. and she doesn’t argue.

you get up from the couch, walking back toward the bedroom. sana’s sitting up now, pulling her hair back into a bun. the bedside lamp is on, casting soft yellow against the walls. she looks tired, but she’s already pointing at her bag.

“keys are in the front pocket,” she gestures you over with a sleepy, understanding smile.

you lean in, press your mouth to her temple, then her cheek, her skin warm and soft against your lips. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be,” she cups your jaw gently. “all i want is for you to bring her home safe.”

“i’ll be back soon,” you whisper.

“i know.”

you slip your shoes on at the door, phone still pressed to your ear as you speak quietly to jimin, who’s gone quiet but hasn’t hung up.

“hey,” you say. “i’m coming to get you, okay?”

there’s no response at first. then: “okay.”

the street is cold and quiet, light snow from the previous night still melting in uneven patches along the curb. you get in the car, engine humming to life with your hand tight on the wheel. you glance once at the rearview mirror and try not to think too hard about where this night is headed.

because even now — even with sana asleep in your bed, with your life finally steady, with love that doesn’t hurt — you’re still driving out into the dark when jimin calls and a part of you hates that you always will.

the streets are empty this late. seoul feels softer somehow, the edges dulled by the chill and the quiet. traffic lights flicker through amber and red, casting slow glows against the frost on your windscreen. the heater hums low.

while jimin’s still on the line, she’s quiet now, only the sound of her sniffling breaking through. you don’t say anything. there’s nothing left to say in the silence and yet you stay on the call.

you drive with one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to your ear, her breath moving in and out like waves.

the location leads you to a quiet side street near a convenience store. a line of taxis sits idle nearby, lights off, drivers probably asleep. you see her before she sees you — curled up on a bench, knees pulled tight to her chest, hair tousled and damp. her coat’s buttoned wrong and she looks smaller than you remember.

the sight of her like this does something strange to your chest — splits it, gently, like an old wound reopening along its scar line. you hadn’t realised how deeply the memory of her lived in your body.

but you get out anyway.

each step toward her feels like walking underwater. heavy and unreal. it’s not like the movies; there’s no music, no chatter, not even the buzz of the neon bar sign — just the sound of your boots crunching over ice and her small, wracked breaths in the distance.

she looks up; mascara smudged under both eyes, blinking like she’s not sure if you’re really here.

“you came,” she speaks, voice shaking. “you actually came.”

you crouch down beside her. “of course i did.”

it’s not even a sentence, really. her lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out except a new wave of tears. she breaks immediately — no hesitation, no pride left to cling to. she just folds into you like muscle memory, like all those months apart didn’t stretch the distance between your bodies.

her arms lock around your neck, shoulders shaking violently, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deeper than sadness.

grief, maybe. or realisation.

“you look so much happier now,” she mumbles into your sleeve, voice muffled in between breaths. “with sana. i see it in your face…you never looked at me like that.”

“that’s not true,” you reassure her. “

she puts a slight distance between you two, wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat instead. her eyes are swollen, cheeks red from the cold. “i ruined it. i ruined everything.

you look at her, really take a good look at her. the way her lips are chapped, she looks so tired. you wonder if she’s eaten today.

if she’s still trying to pretend she’s okay to everyone but you.

“maybe,” you say gently. “but that doesn’t mean i hate you.”

she laughs bitterly through her tears. “you should.”

“i don’t,” you say again. “you loved me in the way you could…it just wasn’t enough.”

the words feel cruel even as you say them, but they’re honest. and maybe she needs that more than kindness right now.

you guide her to the car with gentle hands, barely saying a word. she’s compliant but stumbling, half-apologising through her sobs. her coat slips off one shoulder, and you pull it up, fasten the belt for her. the seatbelt clicks into place and you pass her the water bottle from the centre console.

“drink some of this, you need it.”

she obeys. she always does with you, even now. she’s still crying — softly, into the crook of her elbow. you start the car and pull into the road without asking where to go.

you already know.

the han river’s quiet this time of night. empty car park, the kind of silence you used to share like a secret. back then, it felt like the only place in the city where you could breathe together.

no lights except the scattered halos of streetlamps catching on the water. you pull into the spot she used to love — far left corner, facing the ripples.neither of you speak right away.

the engine hums low on the background.

“i used to take you here every time i ran out of things to say,” she whispers. her voice is hoarse. “and somehow you always found more.”

you turn to her. she’s staring out at the river like it holds every answer she was too scared to look for back then. her hands tremble as she sets the water down to her lap.

“why did i do that?” she asks, voice small. “why did i lie to you every time i told you i was choosing you? why did i make you believe that?”

you don’t know how to answer. you’ve asked yourself the same thing, over and over. back then it felt like she was always reaching for you with one hand and holding something else in the other.

you wanted her to choose, you waited for it. but she never did.

“i was so scared,” she admits, eyes glistening again. “not of you. of what it meant to love you that much and the expectations already set out for me in stone.”

you remain quiet because your throat aches with too much of everything. she reaches for your hand, like she’s checking to see if it’s still real.

you watch the water shimmer through the windshield, her reflection blurring next to yours in the glass. “i tried so hard to let you go, but i think i just…folded you into every part of me instead.”

“i hated myself for how i treated you,” jimin continued, her voice cracking again. “i still do.”

“don’t,” you finally look at her. “you were scared. people make stupid choices when they’re scared.”

“you weren’t,” she lets out a pained sob. “you never were. you always chose me, even when it hurt. even when i couldn’t say your name out loud.”

“and you’re punishing yourself for not being ready, but that’s not love, jimin. it’s guilt. and it’s going to eat you alive if you let it.”

you both sit there for a long time, her head resting against the window and her hand still holding yours.

she folds over again, body racked with sobs, and you do what you’ve always done — you hold her. her head lands onto your shoulder this time and she grips your sleeve like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.

at some point, you find tears slipping out of your eyes too. not because you still want her, not in that way. but because once, you really did. and that kind of loss never leaves quietly.

you stroke her hair slowly, the silence stretching around you like a blanket pulled tight. it’s not cold anymore, but you’re both shivering from everything else.

then, your phone buzzes. sana. asking if you’re still there…but it feels like a different question, like it holds another meaning than just there.

“we should go,” you heave out a sigh. “sana’s waiting for me.”

“okay,” she nods quietly. “okay, we can do that.”

she’s quiet when you drive her home. her hand stays in yours the whole ride, resting on the centre console, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

nothing needs to be said now.

when you pull up outside her building, she doesn’t move at first. she just turns to you, eyes full and steady. she hesitates. and then, barely above a whisper: “will you stay with me tonight?”

you pause, heart twisting, then stills. “no,” you say, as gently as you can. “i can’t.”

she nods, like she expected that answer but it still wounds her. “this is goodbye, isn’t it?”

you look over at her. “i…yeah. i think so.”

she reaches out, touches your cheek gently, her fingers cold but still familiar. you shake your head, but she leans in, presses her forehead against yours and keeps going. “if i ever get another chance…i’ll do it right.”

your eyes sting and having her this close again makes your chest ache. “jimin —“

her voice is barely a whisper now, her tears falling on your lap. “if i have to wait a lifetime, i will. if not this one, then the next.”

you don’t promise anything, but you press your forehead to hers for a moment longer and then pull away.

“please go inside,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “goodnight, jimin.”

she nods and steps out of the car — doesn’t look back but you can see the way her shoulders shake. you watch her walk away until she disappears into the building, and only then do you let the tears fall freely.

it’s not love anymore, not quite. but it’s still something. maybe it always will be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

you don’t mean to make a big deal of it. not really.

the sky’s that bright blue that means late spring is almost over and it’s warm enough that the breeze coming off the han river barely makes a difference.

sana’s leaning back on her elbows, the grass soft beneath the blanket she insisted on bringing. it’s the same one from the last time — the one you two fell asleep under after sneaking snacks into a campus lawn movie night months ago. you’re both stretched out at yeouido park, iced coffee mostly melted between you, the soft hum of people around blending with the low strum of an acoustic busker in the distance.

you should be focused on your book but you’re not. you’ve been reading the same paragraph three times; she keeps tapping your ankle with hers. she’s got sunglasses on, head tilted back like she’s soaking in the last of the coldness before summer pulls it away.

“you’re staring,” she says, not looking at you, her mouth tugged up into the smallest smirk. “i can feel it.”

“i’m not,” you lie, flipping the page like that’ll save you.

she doesn’t push, just keeps tapping your ankle lazily, her foot warm against yours. you want to tell her to stop because it’s driving you mad, the affection of it.

the way she still treats you like someone precious, even when you’ve made her wait all this time.

you glance sideways at her. her lips are soft and she’s wearing your hoodie. she smells like the inside of your pillow. and when she turns her head to face you — sunglasses sliding down a little — you feel it all at once.

every slow moment you’ve spent together since winter. the little things. the movie nights, the long drives, the way she remembers how you take your coffee. how she’s never made you feel like loving her is a countdown to goodbye.

and god, you love her.

you set your book down. “hey, sana.”

she hums.

“can we —” you falter. clear your throat. “can we make this official?”

that gets her. she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, blinks at you like she didn’t hear you right. “what?”

you sit up straighter, stomach twisting. “i mean…i want to be with you. like, actually with you. if you still want that.”

she’s silent for a second too long, in the way you know she’s replaying your words, making sure they’re real. her smile starts in her eyes before it reaches her lips.

“you’re asking me to be your girlfriend,” she repeats slowly, softly, like she wants to savour it.

you nod, heart thudding. “yeah.”

“finally,” she lets out a breath, practically laughs, and then leans forward, pulling you in by the front of your hoodie and kissing you, full and slow and warm like sunlight. it’s like she’s known it would happen, eventually, and now it has. her hands cradle your face as she pulls away. “took you long enough.”

you smile against her lips, relief blooming in your chest. “sorry.”

“i forgive you,” she grins. “but only because you’re cute.”

you groan, bury your face in her shoulder. “i should’ve asked you when you brought me coffee every morning for a week. or when you stayed up all night helping me with my thesis draft.”

“or when my parents bought you that fancy watch for christmas.”

“okay, yes, that too.”

she plays with the hem of your sleeve. “i would’ve said yes every time.”

you look down at her fingers brushing yours. “i know.”

and you do. you really do…because that’s the difference with sana. with her, there’s no guessing. just quiet loyalty, kindness that doesn’t make you feel small.

you both lie back again, the moment settling into your bones. she squeezes your hand once and doesn’t let go and the grass rustles beside you.

you don’t say anything more. you don’t need to. she knows.

and somewhere, maybe not too far off, you think of jimin — how some things burn out before they ever have the chance to be steady. how sometimes, it’s not about who makes your heart race, but who makes it feel safe to stay.

today, you chose safety. and maybe that’s what love is now. not the ache of almost, but the warmth of finally.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fuck, you didn’t plan on seeing her.

not today of all days — when you’re feeling light, even content, walking along the street with a brown paper bag in hand, the apricot pastry tucked neatly inside.

sana had texted you earlier, something about being stuck in a last-minute campaign, promising to make it up to you with takeout and terrible reality tv.

but campus is small, specially after graduation. the cafés are familiar and the corners shared.

jimin.

she’s sitting alone outside, cup of americano going cold in front of her, a book she isn’t reading open on her lap. her hair’s even shorter now, blunt around her jaw and she’s dressed in black again, like she’s always bracing for winter, even in the middle of summer.

you think of walking past or turning around, but your feet don’t move fast enough and she looks up like clockwork — and there it is. the recognition and the pause. her eyes soften the second they land on you and she lifts a hand in a small wave.

your feet begin walk over. there’s no ache in your chest now. it’s something softer; nostalgic.

“hey y/n,” she smiles, a bit brighter now.

“jimin!” you sit across from her, slipping the bag onto your lap. your heart isn’t racing like before, now it’s a steady thrum, a quiet reminder of everything you used to feel.

“hey,” she repeats, voice low.

still familiar. still jimin.

“hi, how are you doing?”

“i’m well,” her lips twitch into something like a smile. “you look good.”

you shrug. “so do you. different…i like the short hair, it’s good.”

it’s awkward in a way it always is with exes…or whatever you two were.

she nods slowly, as if she knows. “i feel different.”

you glance at the book on her table — something classic, spine cracked, pages annotated in the way she always used to do when she was trying to understand something deeply. you used to love watching her read like that, as if the words meant everything and they were a map.

“i heard about you and sana,” she adds after a beat. not bitter, just factual. “and graduating top of your class isn’t an easy feat; i’m so proud of you.”

you nod again, it means a lot coming from her. “we’re doing well.”

there’s a pause. then she says: “she’s good to you.”

“she always has been.”

and jimin looks down, eyes on her coffee. her voice is steady when she speaks; “i’ve been thinking a lot. about everything. about how i was with you. with jaewook, with…myself.”

you don’t say anything. just listen.

“after you,” she continues, “i tried to fill the space with noise. with him. with plans that didn’t belong to me. i thought maybe if i pretended hard enough, it’d go away. the guilt and the wanting.”

you watch her hands as she speaks. they’re calmer now. no shaking, no nervous twitching. just open palms, resting on her lap.

“i broke up with jaewook a few weeks after that night at the restaurant. i didn’t tell anyone. i think part of me was still waiting for you to come back.”

your chest tightens — not painfully, but enough to remind you that the past isn’t as far away as you sometimes pretend.

“but you didn’t,” she adds. “and i’m glad you didn’t because it forced me to stop waiting and start…choosing.”

you tilt your head slightly. “choosing?”

“myself. finally,” she lets out a breath. “i’m taking over the family business.”

that makes you blink. “really?”

she nods, chuckling. “yeah, i always thought it was a sentence. something i’d be trapped in. but now it’s…mine. i want to do it right. make something out of it that means something. not because they told me to — but because i want to.”

you can’t help it; you smile. for her; with her, because you can recognise how far she’s come.

“i’m proud of you for deciding on that; jimin, the ceo of yu group — can’t believe i get to say i knew her.”

jimin looks up then, really stares at you. and for a second, you see her as she was when you first fell in love — messy-haired, sharp-tongued, eyes always searching for something to hold onto.

“thank you for loving me the way you did. i was too young to understand it at the time, too scared and stupid.”

you nod slowly, the words settling somewhere deep inside. “i used to wish you’d been braver.”

“i know,” she smiles, a little sad. “i wish i had been too.”

you both sit there for a while, letting the silence do what words can’t. there’s nothing sharp in the air anymore. no what-ifs or if-onlys; just two people who survived each other.

“i miss you,” she admits, finally.

you meet her gaze. “i miss you too, but i don’t miss us.”

it’s gentle, the way you say it, but you can see it hit her — the truth of it. she doesn’t cry and doesn’t reach for you. instead, breathes in then out.

“and thank you for loving me when i didn’t know how to love you back properly.”

you smile, soft at the edges. “you taught me a lot. even in the mess of it.”

she laughs, a little broken, a little healed. “that’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me i was a total disaster.”

you smile shyly too, brushing imaginary dust off your jeans. “take care of yourself, jimin.”

“you too,” she says. “and y/n?”

you pause.

“if you ever need someone to have your back — even if it’s from far away — it’ll always be me. what i said that night…i meant it. in every lifetime.”

your throat tightens, offering her a small smile. “i know.”

you walk away, heart strangely light. there’s no heaviness, but you carry the knowledge that some people are lessons. and some are homes.

sana’s probably waiting for you back at the apartment now, with her soft playlists and too-large jumpers and the smell of peppermint tea she always forgets to finish, wondering if you remembered the name of the pastry this time.

you did; and this time, you’re bringing it home.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

#heliooosss #kpop x reader #kpop gg #kpop imagines #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #aespa #angst #karina #karina imagines #sana imagines #sana x reader #minatozaki sana

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22ayla21 · 2 months ago

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The Lion Without Underwear

When an innocent visit to Leona turns into a face-to-face encounter with the completely naked "king of the savanna," his poor girlfriend is about to experience the most awkward moment of her life.

Leona's room was an exact reflection of his nature: relaxed, cozy, and with a creative mess. A light scent of sand and spices hung in the air, and the sun sleepily filtered through the half-drawn curtains. In this lazy atmosphere, our "kitty" was sleeping peacefully, as befits a lion at midday — sprawled across the entire bed, his arms and legs carelessly flung out.

And — as usual — in his underwear.

Well... he usually slept in his underwear. But today, apparently, he decided that was for the weak.

Today, Leona was sleeping completely naked, covered only by a light sheet.

The girl, in her kind habit, decided to visit him. Everything was going according to plan: she wanted to wake him up, maybe take him for a walk, or just sit beside him.

And she was sure she would find her lazy "kitten" in his usual briefs.

She quietly entered, tiptoed to the bed, and smiled, seeing his peaceful sleep.

"Leona-a..." she purred, leaning over him. "My sleeping beast..."

In response — nothing. He only sleepily twitched his tail, which hung over the edge of the bed and swung lazily in the air.

Smiling at her mischief, she gently pulled the edge of the sheet to wake him up — just a little, so he would stir and grumble in discontent...

But a second later, the realization of the catastrophe dawned on her.

The sheet slipped off... And she saw... Everything.

Absolutely everything.

No underwear. No protection for her innocent eyes. There was only... Him.

In all his primal glory.

For a moment, silence hung in the room. In her head, it seemed a small apocalypse had occurred.

Her eyes widened so much they could probably be seen from the other end of campus. And then a scream erupted.

The shriek was so piercing that even the birds outside the window fluttered from the branches.

Leona, naturally, woke up. Instantly.

"W-what's wrong?!" he mumbled sleepily, sitting up abruptly and instinctively pulling the sheet back over himself. He hadn't fully grasped what was happening when the nearest heavy object — his own pillow — flew in his direction.

"Idiot! Pervert! Lecherous degenerate!" she yelled, showering him with accusations and gesturing furiously, as if exorcising an evil spirit.

"Hey, take it easy, I was sleeping!" he protested, dodging the pillow and the slipper that followed. "This is my room, after all! What did you expect to see? A prince on a white horse in armored briefs?!"

"I expected at least basic civility! At least some underwear, Leona!!"

Her face was burning with anger, and not only her cheeks were red — even her ears were glowing crimson.

And the worst part — she involuntarily assessed.

Oh yes, she assessed. The size.

And — damn the Great Seven — the size was very, very... impressive.

Not that she was staring on purpose! No! She was an innocent girl! She just had excellent eyesight... And it was almost like — a punch to the gut!

"Uh..." Leona drawled, finally realizing what the matter was. A bruise was already forming on his head from the flying slipper.

"Don't look at me like that!" she shrieked, covering her face with her hands as if that could erase what she had seen from her memory. "It's just inhumane!"

Leona, instead of apologizing as he should, merely snorted, clearly enjoying the situation:

"Hmm. So, impressed, were we?"

"NO, I WAS NOT!" she yelled, but her crimson face said otherwise.

He slowly stretched, rubbing his bruised head, and smirked lazily:

"Well, since that's the case... maybe you should now compensate for the moral damage? Hug a lion, for example?"

"ARE YOU COMPLETELY OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"

"...Or maybe take another look?" he continued casually, stretching in a way that the sheet once again slid treacherously off his hip.

The second scream was even louder than the first.

"I'LL KILL YOU!!!" she roared, bolting out of the room.

Leona collapsed back onto the bed, laughing and burying his face in the pillow. His shoulders shook with laughter, his tail lazily swished across the bed, and mischievous sparks danced in his eyes.

"Ha-ha-ha!" he chuckled to himself. "Well, at least now she knows what kind of lion she got."

And honestly, he wouldn't trade her reaction for even the most well-behaved lady in the kingdom.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland leona #twst #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader

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incognit0slut · 2 months ago

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Devil’s advocate

Softcore Spencer doesn't feel any remorse when it comes to this strange arrangement involving sex. Neither do you.

Category: Smut (18+) Word count: 3.6k Content: fem!reader, dom!spencer, bratty reader if you will, implied age gap, unprotected p in v, spit kink, overstimulation, squirting, and kinda fwb or (more precisely) not-exactly-friends with benefits a/n: it took me more than 3 months to post again and it will probably take me another for the next post (kidding) (maybe not). try to imagine this spencer for a better experience

Spencer isn’t a good man.

A quiet verdict, a fault line.

A truth etched into the grain of his being that is unmoved no matter how many times people say otherwise.

He’s made a habit of the dissection — words, meanings, intent. A lexical autopsy, combing through every definition in the dictionary if it meant finding just one that could give weight to the well intentioned affirmations spoken by those who’ve shared his life through fourteen years of cases. From friends to mentors. From people he considers family. Even his mother has taken part in the exercise in her own way, quietly revising the definition of goodness to fit the shape of her son.

His love for her isn’t enough to convince him.

And he loves her, deeply, enough to bear the fragmented reality she clings to without complaint. Still, her confidence sounds like a desperate attempt to defend a virtue that, as far as he can tell, simply doesn't exist. Her faith in him is stubbornly rooted in wishes rather than proof. Pretty, fragile things wilting from reality. She doesn’t see the cracks hidden behind the glassy surface of his supposedly endearing charm.

Like most people never do. The brilliance of his brain blinds them. They think his mastery of facts or ability to weave information into careful answers is a reflection of some deeper moral foundation. Assuming that the man who can recite obscure case law from memory and deconstruct a lie with nothing but tone and syntax must also be someone incapable of harm. That someone who thinks in algorithms surely knows the difference between right and wrong and essentially follows it. Articulate, therefore righteous.

What lazy math that they run.

The truth, however, is far less romantic.

If there’s anything genuinely good left in him, he likes to believe it’s the act of waiting. Patience still sounds noble enough. It casts him as a silent benefactor, gifting others the space to sketch their own truths while he quietly collects their misconceptions and spends them like counterfeit bills.

He’s getting good at it, too.

Exchange his intelligence for wisdom.

Detachment for strength.

Emptiness for depth.

Little trades, so small and constant they almost feel natural now. As long as he keeps showing them the version they’ve come to accept, no one pauses to wonder if those long months locked inside his own head have carved him down to something less than whole. Selfish, perhaps, letting them cling to these illusions. But it’s a comfortable deception. They get the man they want, he keeps the truth to himself, paying nothing but time and silence for whatever reward comes from that carefully preserved silence.

After all, waiting is nothing more than delayed gratification, isn't it?

And this right here is what he’s waited for, to have you like this — warm and wet and dangling precariously off his bed.

A decadent reward for every second of restraint.

Purely carnal. Blasphemous in its perfection.

Your body curves at an angle that looks uncomfortable, a leg hooked over his shoulder, another barely hanging onto the edge of the mattress with the cool air licking your calf. Common sense tells him a complaint is warranted, yet not a murmur of discomfort escapes your pretty lips. You seem perfectly content to let him mold you into whatever shape he wants. Harmless, he insists, just a mutual indulgence between two consenting adults.

But morality has a way of souring sweet things — and maybe he should be ashamed.

Should be embarrassed at the way he finds satisfaction in this.

Should feel something other than pride watching your brows pinch together in pleasure.

Should care that he’s reduced to fucking you with all the desperation of a man who likes being selfish. It’s statistically uncommon for someone with his level of empathy, yet he stitches hunger into the tender curve of your body, scoring endless sensation with needles that prick and sting but never draw enough blood to slow him. Only if he distanced himself from you could he see the cruelty he’s gouging into the very seams of your skin.

He does no such thing.

He can’t. Not when he’s buried inside you like this, when your breath splits apart into fragile little pieces with weak fingers clawing at his back. Not when his selfishness feels bottomless, a craving so raw and wide and insatiable he's never dared give it a name — but somehow you seem to understand.

Understand what, though?

That he can’t help himself? That despite all the logic, all the reasons why he shouldn’t let himself have you, he does?

That he doesn’t regret it, not even a little?

No.

Good men don’t do this.

But you’re no saint either.

Innocence wears your face, but never fit so poorly. You’re trouble in its finest form — beautifully packaged, masterfully delivered with a smokey laugh that glides over the fine shiver pebbling across his skin as you offer a sly, “You’re getting sloppy.”

The smug little curl of your lips has his heart leaping in his throat, and he would have joined in your laughter if it weren’t for the way your breathless tone slithered into his ears. His brows draw together, sweat dripping down nose as he shakes his head to free the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

“Am I?”

“Mm.” You tip your head back against the bed, exposing the lovely curve of your neck. "Your age is starting to show.”

He finally huffs a laugh, lowers the leg hooked over his shoulder and trails up the inside of your thigh. “That’s not very nice.”

Your teeth briefly catch your lower lip.

“Neither is slowing down right when it’s getting good.”

“You think I’m slowing down?”

You faintly nod. “It’s actually cute how you’re pacing yourself. Should I be worried about your knees?”

That earns a sharp, almost affronted look before his palms grip both your inner thighs, followed by a sudden thrust that sends you back against the mattress. He thinks he’s regained some semblance of power over himself, until you let out a breathless little moan and continue to taunt him, arching your back with full insolence but only half the mockery. Docile in appearance alone when you’re flaunting your nipples in blatant invitation.

“That the best you can do?”

A hand flies to your breast, curling around the supple meat as he catches the stiff bud between his knuckles. “You’re acting brave tonight.”

“Sexually frustrated,” you admit with an exasperated sigh, rolling your hips. Urging him to move again. “Spent the whole day picturing you fucking me stupid and got exactly nothing.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

Nothing feels almost insulting considering how easily he coaxed you through his apartment.

He tries to bend lower, and sure enough, there’s something that feels suspiciously like age nipping at his lower back. A dull throb he quickly swallows as his mouth find your nipple. And toys with it, rolling the taut peak between wet tongue and wetter teeth, each slow suck a deliberate rebuttal that the way he’s been driving his cock into you for the past twenty minutes is anything but nothing.

Your fingers slip into the softest surface of hair.

“Fuck me harder.”

He turns his attention to your other nipple. “That still wasn’t enough for you?”

“If you have to ask, then clearly not.”

His mouth closes around you again, laps slow, teasing circles, all the while you grind your hips, shamelessly trying to fuck yourself with every delicious tug of his lips.

Instinctively, he starts rutting his hips in response. Little thrusts of his cock easing inside you inch by inch. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“I have every intention of finding out,” you counter, pulling him by his curls. “I know you can do better.”

His gaze touches yours.

You smile lazily.

“Go on. Show me.”

His eyelids dip in a slow, dangerous blink, and lets his nose brush the soft swell of your breast. Lingers. Smells the powdery scent of jasmine and honey consuming his senses.

What part of himself can he exchange this time? What currency of half-truths still has any value left?

The answer, adamantly, is etched in the narrow space of his mouth and your skin, a hush too charged to disguise. He doesn't think he owes you anything in counterfeit tonight. No borrowed patience. No repurposed kindness polished thin by repetition. The second you ask for more when he’s been giving you nothing less is the moment every polished veneer he’s spent years perfecting shatters like chipped glass.

So he gives you the one thing he’s never bartered — himself, stripped of caution.

Because no matter how many labels others slap on his name, you’ve never bought into a single one.

Not entirely. You catch the edges that don’t quite align, the rougher layers hidden beneath his careful composure. You see past the softness everyone assumes is the entirety of him, the reputation they’ve stitched together from fragments pieced carefully since he was an innocent young boy with oversized glasses and a penchant for knowledge.

Rationally, he is soft. He’s spent a lifetime wrapped in the belief that his gentleness is his sole trait. That it’s all he can embody.

But not with you.

With you, he's whatever he needs to be.

He's whatever he wants to be.

He pulls back just enough to watch your body seize around him, and drags his tongue over his chapped lips, tastes the salt of effort and the musky smell of sex before channeling what’s left of his energy into his core. Then fucks you harder. Shoving every inch back with a strangled noise of his own, savoring the tight pull of your dripping cunt. Relishing the slight roll of your eyes as he pushes deeper, harder, with a savagery that rips breathless whimpers from the back of your throat with each jarring thrust.

Your moans ride every groaning hinge of the mattress, too, then linger, fogging the dark walls of his room as the wet slap of skin bounces off every surface. Stepping three beats out of time with reason, maybe more, for the way his eyes chase that music down the slope of your belly, following the trail of his thumbs over your mound, over your stretched folds, and pulls the soft skin apart.

His throat rises and falls in time with the motion of his cock — in, out, in, out. For someone so famously averse to germs, the streaks of your slick smearing across his skin outweigh every compulsion, so much so he pries you open even wider and lets a hot ribbon of saliva pool in his mouth. Watches it dribble over your clit. He’s nowhere near coherent enough to care about cleanliness when he can tell how much the slow trickle of his spit sliding down your swollen flesh — a foamy mess now resting heavily on his cock — only seem to intensify your thirst.

You squirm when he moves closer, fingers clawing around his wrist like you’re on the verge of asking for more but can’t bring yourself to say.

Stubborn, he's not surprised.

But he knows you well enough to understand the subtle shifts in your expression. He takes that slightly jutting lower lip of yours as a plea for him to give you what you need, so he smears the extra coat of lube over your clit and rubs frantically. Doesn’t bother to be gentle with it too, not when he’s seen how much you like it under rough hands. He’s proven right when he notices your muscles tensing up.

Your breath stutters. Your body jerks.

He rubs your clit with more pressure. “Good enough for you?”

You swallow thickly, blinking up at him through heavy lids. “Still—fuck—”

“What was that?”

“Still—think you can—do better,” you retort, hiccupping through your words.

It’s beyond him that you’re still functioning. Your hair clings messily to your forehead, damp strands caught in a tangled halo around your face. Your cheeks are blotchy from where his stubble scraped across your skin, lips kiss-bruised and swollen and somehow still trying to get the last word.

You should be done by now. Boneless, reduced to little more than trembling limbs, yet you still have bits of reason floating around that mush he’s turned your brain into. There’s a spark of energy left to bait him. Foolish, he decides, but if there’s even a sliver of you left untouched, he’ll gladly take every fragment that dares to surface.

He wrenches off your body just long enough to fist his cock, dragging his bulbous tip through the sticky fluids down to the puckered hole beneath, then slaps himself through the mess. If it weren’t for your hips bucking shamelessly, he’d think he was wrong for indulging such filthy impulses he’s never dared to overstep. You can’t seem to discern whether the sharp throb is pain or pleasure, but your cunt flutters around emptiness and aches like it's grieving the loss of him.

One stroke after repositioning himself and he’s right back where you need him, hammering into that devastating spot that sends your pupils scattering upward, leaving nothing but the whites of your eyes. He pulls out and does it again.

And again.

And again, until he’s certain all your senses have braided into one indistinguishable pulse.

“Oh God,” you moan, trying to press your thighs together out of reflex, but his grip tightens as he pries them open once more.

You feel lightheaded. Your belly rolls, your cheeks burn, drool slips from the corner of your mouth. You’re so far gone you don’t even notice. Too wrapped up in the desperate drag of breath through your parted lips, too busy chasing the dizzy spark bursting behind your eyes. You’re nothing short of raw nerves, lost in the punishing rhythm that keeps tearing you open and stitching you together in the same brutal stroke.

It doesn’t take long for a high, agonizing squeal to wrench free from your throat as your orgasm barrels through you without warning. Steals your breath away, leaving behind only a splintered string of gasps and trembling cries that fall recklessly from your lips as his pelvis hammers into the curve of your hip bone.

And he catches every fractured syllable and synchronizes his thrusts to the quiver of your voice, or maybe he’s simply addicted to the jagged rise and fall of your moans — like a direct stroke to his ego, trophies he hoards greedily.

He ponders how many more of those rewards he can coax from you tonight, how many more heights your body can scale before it finally gives way. He assumes it’s too much to ask, yet the greedy pulse in his veins insists there’s always more shiver to claim, another breathless note to add to his growing collection.

It turns out to be unnervingly easy.

Your second climax arrives in the span of a single heartbeat.

The third steals in like an electric stab, splintering along your spine as he pins you down and pounds hard into you.

By the fourth, your cunt swells and clenches around him in frantic pulses, yet he’s still fucking you relentlessly as if one more keepsake will finally satiate his greed.

Your hand shake when you lift one to trace his bicep, though it ends up as more of a twitchy pawing than anything resembling grace before you blindly scramble up his shoulder, finding his damp mess of curls again. Its wild, humid knot of heat tangles between your fingers as the most wrecked little whine trembles in your throat.

“P-Pee.”

He blinks, straining to pluck your voice over the rush in his ears. The words barely register at first, but when they do, his own pulse comes apart in a hot scatter mess.

“Need to pee,” you fluster again.

And if that doesn’t unravel him to his bones, he doesn’t know what will.

He tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs. “‘S not pee.”

“What?”

The confusion in your voice is almost cute for someone who usually acts like they know everything. Adorable how you’ve been nothing but provocative all night, only to falter gradually.

“You don’t need to pee,” he rasps. The grip behind your knees tightens, fingers digging into soft flesh as he drives deeper with all the focus he can muster. He’s holding back by sheer will alone now, even when the familiar feeling of his balls growing taut creeps up, but that ache is a small price to pay when he’s painfully aware of what your body is capable of giving.

His cock strikes a deep, delicious spot inside you.

Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck,” you croak. “I’m gonna piss your bed.”

“It’s not pee.”

His words barely register when your whole body winds so tightly that your face doesn’t even look like yours anymore. Eyes unfocused, spine bowing, throat bared. The muscles in your neck tighten like cords that it’s clear you’re still trying to fight whatever pressure you’re under.

“You need to relax,” he urges, finding your clit once again. Wide eyes flutter over intense brown orbs.

“Wait wait wait—gonna pee—”

“You’re gonna come again,” he corrects. He sees you puff out a long breath, which is nothing less strained than his own. “Female ejaculation, different glands. Less than—”

His words catch in a groan as your cunt flutters around his thickness.

“…less than ten percent of the fluid is even related to—to urine.”

Annoyed, you tug on his curls and whine, “This isn’t the time.”

“No better time than now.” His hips continue to buck into you with a sharp, hungry rhythm. “You’ll understand if you stop fighting it.”

“I can’t!”

“You can.” Thwack-thwack-thwack. “You will.”

The sound of his balls slapping against the wet cradle of your ass is making you delirious. Even more so when a warm, buzzing sensation sparks in your core and rushes outward, blooming into this intense prick that spreads across your lower belly with startling speed.

“Oh—shitshitshit—”

“That’s it, just breathe through your nose.”

His words falls on deaf ears. “I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

“You’re not supposed to hold it in.”

"I—wa—wait—Spencer!”

“Let it out,” he frets, and closes the last inch of space between you. Foreheads nearly touching, brows pulling together in quiet frustration. “Need you to trust me for once.”

“I don’t—fuck! I am NOT pissing on you—”

“Do it.”

“I can’t—”

“C’mon,” he prods. “Give it to me.”

You sniff a strangled sob.

“Do it.”

You claw at his hair once more, and any semblance of control that you clung to shatters immensely.

You try to follow his words and suck in a sharp breath. Lungs expanding, ribs flaring, and the rush of oxygen pouring into your blood sharpens every sensation to something blinding. A passage of whines pitches upward as his thumb swipes side to side over your tight nub while he slams into you. Once, twice, over and over — until a concentrated surge of pressure around his cock urges him to pull out.

Warm bursts of liquid splashes onto him. Streaks down his damp thighs, the flushed skin of his skin. Seeps deep into the cotton fabric of his sheets with muffled sounds as your heart thunders wildly in your chest. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that pulls at his mouth the second your eyes flicker with disbelief, or the lazy circle his thumb traces around your sensitive, overstimulated clit. He’s too focused on the way your release continues to mark the bed he intends to sleep in.

"There it is,” he hums proudly, "knew you could do it."

He did. He knew this would happen the moment your breath stuttered into helpless little gasps, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality. His lust blooms unchecked, a fever behind molten eyes, something his vision can’t seem to outrun. Even as his gaze blurs over your dripping hole puckering around nothing, over the tiny bead of precum trickling down your cleft, he’s stunned into silence.

You’re a ravishing mess, and he’s never seen anything so pretty.

You’re on another level of divine that it makes something in his head tick just from the sight. His cock twitches helplessly as he unconsciously inserts himself back through the warm puddle of your flesh, and swears he can still feel you fluttering. Feels the tremor in your sweet, sopping cunt. Hears the faint splatter of droplets beating the sheets with every deliberate stroke of his hips.

He’s long since fallen behind in being a good man, but you certainly deserve something in return for listening to him. So he reaches out, cradles your face between palms that have never claimed to be gentle, and drinks deeply. Tries to steal back the breath you robbed from him.

Kiss, taste, repeat.

Touch, grab, repeat.

But it’s not enough.

He doesn’t think it ever will be.

The dopamine surge won’t last, a notion as clear as the haze of your sweat gluing to his skin. He’s even sure he could rattle off half a dozen papers about reward circuits and compulsive behavior, recite the exact millisecond window in which the pleasure centers will spike and fall. None of it matters when your mouth parts for him and your breath warms his cheeks.

He tries to catalog the way your pulse thumps beneath his thumb, the microscopic tremor in your lashes, the sweetness of carbon dioxide exhaled against his tongue. It becomes another unsolved equation, a tangle of variables his doctorate never prepared him to parse. There’s only the thunderous beat of his own heart and the simple, staggering fact that you’re here, giving when he has taken so much.

But there is no safe dosage of you that will let him step back unscathed. One hit becomes two, two becomes habit, soon habit feels indistinguishable from necessity. An addiction he can’t refuse when it would only mean denying himself the only thing that makes him feel alive.

And if that makes him weak, he might as well be weak for you — again and again until there’s nothing left of him that doesn’t carry the imprint of your name. To ruin or to worship, it makes no difference to him.

He’ll fall to his knees just the same.

Your pulse begins to settle into a calmer rhythm in the hush that follows, and he scatters small kisses along the corner of your jaw, up the sweep of your cheekbone, pausing at the hinge of your lips. The gentle weight of his mouth has you shifting along wet sheets, every muscle tensing at the unexpected softness threaded through his touch.

Tenderness, in your world, feels foreign. Unfamiliar. Ill-fitting. And truthfully, he isn’t much better when it comes to you. Sharper tongues seem to be the better fit for two people who know how to fight more than they know how to surrender.

His lips skate beneath your chin instead, slides along the sweat slick column of your throat and hums, “Think you can do that again?”

Avoidance. It’s the language you both speak fluently.

The stiffness in your body bleeds out with your next exhale.

“…depends on your skill, old man.”

That's it. He can take another one of your barbed little comments. Another sly jab delivered with that pretty pout of your mouth. In fact, he finds himself almost craving it. Your taunts fuel the heat beneath his skin as much as they test his patience, and patience is something he's mastered after all. So he continues to grind his hips. Rubs the tip of your clit with the fine coarse of hair dusting his belly before you’re writhing again.

Peculiar, how easily his selfishness devours reason. Logic. Decorum. How quickly a man who’s built his life on discipline can find himself unraveling for something as simple and devastating as the way you gasp his name.

A good man would’ve stopped at the soft mist pooling in your eyes.

Spencer keeps going.

"If a God is a dog and a man is a fraud then I'm a lost cause." Devil’s Advocate—The Neighbourhood

#lou writes #♾️#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut

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sirxaibs · 3 months ago

Text

Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader

ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼

I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?

masterlist

You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.

ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.

“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.

“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”

The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.

“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”

A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”

“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.

“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”

You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”

“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”

You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”

“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”

You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.

“Alright, you two cut it.”

You both froze.

“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”

You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”

“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”

“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”

“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”

“You remember that?” you teased.

“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”

Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”

“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”

Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”

Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”

“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”

“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.

You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”

“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”

You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”

Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”

But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.

He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”

You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”

“You do call me every night.”

“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”

Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.

Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.

“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”

“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”

“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.

You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.

“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”

You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”

“Unlikely.”

“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”

Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”

“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”

“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”

Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”

“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”

There was a long pause.

“…I’m turning off my comm.”

“You won’t,” you sang.

Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.

“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”

“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”

Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.

“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You absolute menace.”

“See you then, Sweetheart.”

Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.

“God, you’re both exhausting.”

You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”

He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The room was quiet now.

The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.

You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.

It always did, when the room emptied.

He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.

The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?

You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.

And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.

You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.

Would he be disappointed?

You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?

Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.

You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.

You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”

Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.

But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.

So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.

“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”

A pause.

“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”

Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.

He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.

Comms girl <3: You sure about this?

Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.

bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.

Your reply came within seconds.

Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.

He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.

blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.

Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.

He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”

You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.

He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.

Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.

bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?

he typed.

bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.

Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.

Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.

Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:

bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.

Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.

For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.

The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.

He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.

bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.

Nothing.

He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.

Not her.Not yet.

And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.

He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.

His phone buzzed again.

Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.

He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.

bluebird: You nervous?l

Comms Girl: Maybe. You?

He smiled.

bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.

You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.

You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.

Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The drink was starting to sweat on the table.

Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.

He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?

He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.

And he looked.

She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.

Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.

Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.

Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.

Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.

He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.

Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.

bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”

The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.

Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.

Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.

His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.

Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.

Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.

bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.

Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out

He huffed a quiet laugh.

bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.

You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.

He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.

“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.

“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”

You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”

Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”

You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”

“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.

“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Better or worse?”

You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”

“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”

You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.

“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.

“Then let’s even it out.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”

You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”

“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”

A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.

“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”

“Tragic.”

Another moment of quiet, then

“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.

You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.

Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.

You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.

But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.

“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”

Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”

“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”

His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.

Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.

So he gave you more of them.

“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”

You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”

“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.

You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.

After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”

“Hit me.”

“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”

He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”

He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”

You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”

“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”

“She must’ve been so mad.”

“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”

Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”

“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”

His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”

You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”

“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.

“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”

You blinked. “Grandpa?”

“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”

“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”

“I stand corrected.”

The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.

Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.

You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”

The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.

Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”

You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”

He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”

Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”

“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”

You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.

He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:

“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”

You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”

He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”

You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.

“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”

“I do not!”

He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”

You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.

“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”

Your heart thudded hard.

He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.

You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”

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naburi · 6 months ago

Text

FREAKY FRIDAY

SOMI X READER - FT. CHAEYOUNG

TAGS: BODY SWAPPING

2.1K WORDS

“Let’s go to my place” you asked your girlfriend after your anniversary date. You give her a playful smile, hinting what you really meant. Chaeyoung who switched bodies with Somi panics. “I-I’ll ask Somi first,” Chaeyoung said. “What?” Your reaction made Chaeyoung realize her mistake. “I need to go to the restroom” she is in a hurry to call her bestfriend. “Somi! Can I spend the night with your boyfriend?”

“What do you mean?” Somi acts confused even though she knows where this will lead. “He asked if we could go to his place,” Chaeyoung explained. Somi took a moment to respond. She does not like the idea that her best friend could have sex with her boyfriend, even if she’s using her body. But it’s your anniversary, it feels wrong to deprive her boyfriend of a great night. “J-just still act like you’re me,” Somi says. “No! No! I would feel guilty!” Chaeyoung does not like the plan. “You’re still in my body, stupid!” Somi mocks Chaeyoung’s moral compass.

Chaeyoung slowly walks back to your table. “Let’s go,” she said. Walking home, she doesn’t know how her bestfriend acts with her boyfriend. “Is Somi clingy like me? A question echoes through her mind. You are walking beside her, feeling puzzled by your girlfriend’s behavior. Her mind seems off to somewhere and not with you. “Is something wrong?” You asked your girlfriend, wanting to know what’s in her mind. Chaeyoung realized that she can’t go on like this. She needs to act like she is the real Somi. She hugs your arm while still walking. “Nothing, just work stuff,” she said in a cutesy tone.

Your girlfriend didn’t act like this before. She would just hold your hand while walking or whenever you are in public. She also doesn’t change her voice to act cute to you. She may act strange but you can’t say you didn’t like this change in her behavior. You open the door in your apartment. Chaeyoung looks around the room, this is her first time in here. “Look how clean my room is!” You boast to her. Some always criticized how messy your place is but you put the effort into cleaning it for your anniversary. “Good to know! It’s not a mess in here anymore,” Chaeyoung put it together, even though she got criticized by Somi before due to the same thing.

“I really like your boobs, I wish I could have a busty body like you,” Chaeyoung said while looking at their photos from a photo booth. Somi has a great curve from her nice boobs and fat ass that compliments her tall frame. “What! I wish to have a petite body like you!” Somi blurted out. She admires how alluring Chaeyoung’s petite body is. The two continue to exchange compliments while sitting in a Chinese restaurant, not knowing their life will change due to their desires. The two girls head to Somi’s flat. Chaeyoung has been a regular in her place where she now has a dedicated closet to leave her clothes. The two share a conversation in bed until they both sleep the night away.

A sunlight that slips past the curtains woke Chaeyoung first. She looks at the other girl who has her back turned on her. Checking her phone, it’s already 8 am. Slowly standing up, Chaeyoung goes to the restroom half awake. She’s sitting in the toilet, looking down on her seemingly long legs. She didn’t notice her now longer limbs. Standing up to wash her face. She saw Somi in the reflection. “Oh you’re also awake” she said. Chaeyoung looks confused that she can’t see her face in the mirror. She thought that it's just probably that she’s still half awake. She washes her face with water to wake up her senses. She can still only see Somi in the reflection but now has a wet face. Chaeyoung shouts in shock at what's happening.

Somi got woken up by the loud scream of the short girl. She sat up at the bed, demanding an explanation with the early commotion. She saw her body standing just outside of the restroom door. Chaeyoung finally saw her body which was still in the bed. Somi even screams louder in shock. Somi walks fast toward her body. The two look flabbergasted while looking at their own faces. “Is that you, Chaeyoung?” Somi asked while holding her own face. “Yes I am, you’re Somi right?” She said while holding her body. The two instinctive look in the mirror to have a better sense of what’s happening. “You’re in my body” Somi finally concluded. “Did we switch bodies?” Chaeyoung added.

You guided Chaeyoung in the living area. The two of you sit on the couch with the sexual tension growing by the second. “I’m in Somi’s body so it’s okay,” Chaeyoung repeats the phrase in her head, convincing herself that this is okay. She also reminded herself that she is not new to hooking up with strangers. She should treat this situation like just a regular hook up. You noticed that your girlfriend is finally at ease. You hold her cheeks to turn her face towards you. You lean slowly for a kiss which Chaeyoung reciprocates. The two of you exchange slow kisses until both tongues join. You felt the familiar lips of Somi but something is different. Her kisses are more passionate, she’s not waiting for you to initiate, she’s the one inviting you to more kisses. You wonder where your girlfriend learned this. It creeps to your mind that she might be cheating but you know her well. She may have learned this with her friends as she shares to you the things her friends told her about their sexual awakenings.

Chaeyoung leans her body more towards you causing you to lay down on the couch. She positions Somi’s hips directly on top of your forming bulge. Somi hasn’t done this before. Your girlfriend usually pulls you on top, wanting you to press your body onto her. Somi lets you dominate her but tonight is a different case. Somi’s hand finds your face, holding it to kiss you deeper. Somi’s tongue slithered deep in your mouth, intertwining your tongue. Somi also never used this much tongue before in her kisses. She is more of a lip kiss person. She loves the feeling of both of your lips sucking one another even biting your lower lip occasionally.

Chaeyoung pulls away from a kiss with a bough of your mouth are a wet mess. Chaeyoung got turned on by the sloppy makeout session, brushing aside that she’s still in Somi’s body. Chaeyoung moves down to your legs until she finds herself in between them. Somi’s hands touch your legs over your pants, slowly creeping towards your visible big bulge. You want to help her out by removing your pants by yourself but she taps your hands away. Chaeyoung notices that your cock might be bigger than most people based on the huge bulge on your pants. Somi’s tongue slowly licks the huge bulge. You may not feel much as you still have your pants but the erotic scene that you just saw is more than enough to increase your libido. Chaeyoung felt your hard cock pulsating under your pants. Somi smirks as she feels validated on how hard cock is now. Somi’s hand reached into your pants unbuttoning it while her teeth found your zipper pulling it down to reveal your stretch underwear.

She can’t help but to fantasize about how big your cock really is. She uses Somi’s mouth again to pull down your underwear. Your huge fat cock springs up to slap her face. She remembers Somi telling her that you are also half western - half Asian like her. Somi also said that you might not look like one but you definitely are in the right “parts.” Your huge fat cock almost covers half of Somi’s face. “I’m so-,” you're about to apologize for hitting her face with your cock. But Chaeyoung just holds your huge cock and uses it to slap Somi’s face with it. Somi doesn’t like your cock touching her face even giving her a facial is prohibited. She’s very conscious about her face and how smooth she is. She thinks that your cock and your cum will harm her flawless face thus she is cautious when giving you a blowjob.

Chaeyoung hits Somi’s face with your cock a few more times before she starts to tap it in her lips. She smiles before licking the tip of your huge cock. Your tip is also bigger than an average cock, almost looking like a small fist that will destroy her insides. Somi’s tongue continues to twirl on all sides of your tip until it’s all wet. She holds your cock with two hands in preparation of putting it inside her mouth. Chaeyoung successfully sucks a third of your cock but it’s already touching her throat. She removes your cock in her mouth to catch some air. She realized that Somi's mouth is smaller than hers, the sheer size of your cock also didn’t make things easy for her. She moves down to your balls, sucking them before giving your shaft a lick from the bottom up to your tip. She also licks the sides of your shaft, lubricating them for her to swallow all of it. Her ego would not let her give up that easily. She may be in Somi’s body but that doesn’t mean she has Somi’s limitations. Chaeyoung tries to deepthroat your huge cock again. Your fat cock reaches her again but instead of pulling back. She forcefully plunges her face deeper in your cock. The two of you left a groan as you both felt how Somi’s throat got stretched by your fat cock.

Somi looks like a mess like you have never seen before. Tears are forming through her bloodshot eyes. Her mouth is filled with drool as your cock is still deep in her throat. This is the deeper your cock reaches her tight throat. You did not know that your girlfriend can be this messy. Chaeyoung tried to move her face back and forth but your fat cock is blocking the airway. She let go of your saliva filled cock to catch her breath. She felt drools drop down to her boobs. That's when she remembers what Somi’s body has; a nice pair of tits. She instructed you to sit straight on the couch while she removed her top to reveal her well shaped boobs. She kneeled in front of you, putting your cock in between her boobs. Your cock is still wet enough that it lubricates her boobs as well. Somi’s boobs have the perfect balance of size and shape. Her rounded boobs hide the fact of how soft they really are. Somi’s mouth catches the tip of your cock. Somi continues sucks the tip of your cock while your shaft is being pressed in between her soft boobs.

Chaeyoung uses Somi’s tongue again. She alternately swirls her tongue on your tip before sucking it again. She made sure to make a sloppy slurping sound for you to hear how much she likes sucking your fat cock. Your cock twitches, you know that if she continues to suck your cock like this, you can’t help but to bust on her mouth. You tap her head signaling her to slow down. “You learn this from Chaeyoung right?” Chaeyoung was surprised with your sudden remarks. “I heard from her past partners that she’s a great sucker,” you added. A smile forms in Somi’s mouth. She didn’t know that her exes go around town telling how great her mouth is. “Want to have a threesome with her?” Chaeyoung asked teasingly. “C-can we? Would you get mad?” This is the first time your girlfriend brings up a threesome idea. “I’ll think about it,” Chaeyoung says before she continues to suck your fat cock. Your fat cock is still near to bust and she knows it. She bobs her head up and down while she sucks your cock so tightly you can see her cheeks caving in. Chaeyoung felt your cock twitch again, she removed your cock in her mouth and directed it in her Somi’s face. Spurts of cum hit her soft face from her forehead to her nose bridge down her lips and chin. Somi’s untouched face is now covered with loads of your cum. She gets a hold of your cock again, using it to smear your cum all over her face. She can’t hide how mesmerized she is with your fat cock as she continues to slap it in Somi’s mouth. You hang your head back to take a breath. You haven’t cum this much for a long time. You feel your girlfriend leave your cock, you look back up to see Somi’s boobs are dangling while removing her pants. She smiles as she slowly walks back to you.

#reader smut #k pop smut #twice smut #twice x reader #chaeyoung smut #chaeyoung x reader #somi smut #somi x reader

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rootedinrevisions · 6 months ago

Text

Worth More than Gold

SUMMARY: Glen Powell has asked you, his long-time friend and secret crush to be his date to the Golden Globes. The evening is filled with glitz, glamour, and the intoxicating spark of possibilities - both on the red carpet and behind the scene. And at the end of the day Glen may not have won the Golden Globe, but he just might have won something better—you.

A/N: Glen's look at the Golden Globes did things to me and gave me so many ideas. This will probably be the last fic I do for the GG and I'm going to try to get back on track with my WIPs and Requests.

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments and reblogs! I seriously smile and get all giddy like a little kid when I get a notification from you guys so please let me know what I think.

WORD COUNT: 10.8k

TAGS: In Comments.

The hotel room was a whirlwind of chaos, a perfect reflection of Glen’s pre-event energy. The plush carpet was littered with tissue paper from a last-minute gift delivery, a shoe box sat abandoned near the bed, and the sleek black tie Glen had decided to forego tonight was somehow draped over a lampshade.

Glen himself was in the middle of the room, pacing in socks and dress pants, his phone pressed to his ear. “Listen, I’m just saying, Texas football isn’t a sport—it’s a religion,” he declared, his Texas drawl warming the edges of his words. “And if the Longhorns take the game against Ohio State this week, we’re coming for that national title.”

He paused, evidently listening to the journalist on the other end of the call, then grinned as he gestured animatedly with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you want to talk about the nomination. But did you see last weekend’s game? That last play in the second overtime?”

Across the room, you sat curled on the couch, scrolling through your phone but only half-paying attention to the screen. Watching Glen charm his way through an interview about his career or recent projects while managing to somehow steer the conversation to Texas football was nothing new.

“Cufflinks,” said Warren, the stylist ensuring Glen looked red-carpet ready. Warren stood to the side, arms crossed with the patience of someone who’d dealt with a dozen “Glen Powells” before.

“They’re in the pocket of your tux,” you called without looking up, your voice laced with playful exasperation. “Right where I told you I put them earlier.”

Glen froze mid-gesture, patting down his pants pocket first before moving to his jacket. When his fingers closed around the cufflinks, he shot you a sheepish grin.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he mouthed, before turning his attention back to his call. “Listen, I gotta wrap this up. Can I call you tomorrow and we’ll finish this?” he asked the journalist.

With that, he hung up and turned to the room, raking a hand through his neatly-styled hair. “You believe this?” He said, grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’m on deadline and trying to get out the door for one of the biggest nights of my life. And GQ wants to talk about…wardrobe and clothes and who I’m wearing.”

Warren arched a brow, adjusting the velvet Armani jacket on its hanger. “Wardrobe is why I’m here, Glen,” he said with a grin. “Now, if you could refrain from wrinkling this masterpiece, we might actually get you to the event looking like a winner.”

You snorted, rising from the couch. “Poor you,” you teased, brushing imaginary lint off your own shirt. “Must be so hard being adored by millions while wearing designer clothes.”

Glen rolled his eyes and snorted, stepping closer as the stylist fussed with his cummerbund. “Hey, I’m counting on you to keep me sane tonight,” he said, half-serious as he began to tug at the cuffs of his shirt. “You’re my buffer.”

“Buffer?” you repeated, arching a brow. “That’s what I’m here for? Not moral support—just as a human barrier between you and Hollywood?”

“Exactly,” he deadpanned, his grin widening. “You’re overqualified for the job, though.”

You stepped forward, brushing imaginary lint from his shirt, your fingers moving with practiced ease over the slick fabric. Glen watched you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Okay, be honest,” he said, tilting his chin slightly. “One button or two undone? What’s the vibe tonight?”

You paused, letting your gaze drop to the open collar of his shirt, catching a glimpse of the chest hair peeking out.

“One,” you said decisively, reaching up to fasten the second button. “Two buttons undone is too much chest hair. You’re going to a red carpet, not auditioning for a ‘70s cop show.”

He laughed, the rich sound filling the room as he placed his hands on his hips. “Hey, my chest hair is a crowd-pleaser,” he countered, feigning offense. “You don’t know how many compliments I’ve gotten on this chest.”

You rolled your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Please never say that to me again.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Admit it. You’re just jealous you can’t pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a playful tug. “Oh, please. If I wanted to show off chest hair, I’d buy a faux-fur vest and call it a day.”

“Savage,” he said, clutching his chest as though you’d wounded him. “You’ve got jokes tonight, huh?”

“Somebody has to keep your ego in check,” you replied, stepping back to inspect your work. “And you make it so easy.”

Glen chuckled, shaking his head as he tugged at the cuffs of his shirt. “Well, I’ll have you know, Warren said I was rocking this look,” he said, gesturing toward the stylist, who was busy folding tissue paper into one of the garment bags.

Warren didn’t even look up. “Warren also said to stop touching your shirt or you’ll wrinkle it,” he replied dryly, earning a snort from you and an exaggerated groan from Glen.

“Fine,” Glen said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “No more touching. But if I get to the carpet and I’m not turning heads, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’ll turn heads,” you said, crossing your arms and giving him a once-over. “If not for the suit, then definitely for whatever ridiculous sound bite you give on the carpet. You’re physically incapable of being boring, remember?”

He grinned, stepping closer so the space between you was almost nonexistent. “Is that a compliment?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly.

You tilted your head, refusing to let him win. “Don’t get used to it, Cowboy.”

“Ah, there it is,” he said, leaning back with a laugh. “The nickname. I knew it was coming.”

You shrugged. “If the boots fit…”

Glen slid the custom velvet Armani tux jacket over his broad shoulders, the deep midnight-black fabric catching the light in subtle, luxurious waves. He tugged at the lapels, ensuring everything was sitting perfectly, before stepping back with an air of casual confidence.

“Well?” he asked, doing a quick spin on his heels, arms spread out theatrically. “What do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You leaned back slightly, arms crossed, pretending to appraise him critically, but your expression betrayed you. Your eyes swept over him, taking in every detail—the sharp tailoring that hugged his frame perfectly, the structured cut of the jacket emphasizing his frame, and the way the silk shirt beneath hinted at the faintest trail of chest hair.

The stylist had done a remarkable job on his hair, taming the usual tousled locks into something sleek yet effortlessly natural. And the stubble—God, the stubble. He hadn’t bothered to shave completely, leaving just enough scruff to lend him a rugged edge that, if you were honest, made him look even more attractive.

The all-black ensemble was a bold choice, but it worked. The mix of textures—the smooth silk of the shirt, the luxurious velvet of the jacket, and the matte sheen of the tailored trousers—created a look that was polished yet unmistakably Glen.

“You clean up nice,” you finally said, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you took him in from head to toe. “I mean, you almost look like a proper gentleman.”

“Almost?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he turned back toward the mirror, pretending to check himself out.

“Well, the stubble kind of ruins the whole gentleman thing,” you quipped, biting back a laugh.

“Ruin it?” Glen turned to face you again, his voice dripping with mock offense. “The stubble is the pièce de résistance, thank you very much.” He ran a hand over his jaw, grinning when he saw the way your gaze briefly followed the movement.

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “Sure it is. But seriously, you look good, Glen. The best I’ve seen you look in a while.”

For a moment, his grin softened, and his eyes caught yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, more sincerely this time. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead tonight.”

He held your gaze for a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he broke the moment with his signature charm. “Well, I have to. You’re the one who’ll have to be seen with me all night. Can’t embarrass you on your first red carpet.”

You glanced at the clock and froze. Less than an hour until you were supposed to be ready and out the door. Helping Glen finish getting ready had been fun—maybe a little too fun, you realized now, as time ticked away faster than you’d expected.

“I need to go get ready,” you said abruptly, stepping back and pointing toward the door.

Glen smirked, his hands casually adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Go on, Cinderella. Clock’s ticking.”

Without another word, you bolted for your room next door, already running through a mental checklist of what needed to happen to make yourself red carpet-ready in under an hour. Once inside, you kicked the door shut behind you and headed straight for the bathroom. Flicking on the light, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Okay. Hair. Makeup. Dress. You could do this. Right?

You pulled your hair loose from the lazy ponytail it had been in all day, raking your fingers through it and trying to decide if it would look better up or down. Your eyes darted to the neckline of the dress still hanging on the back of the closet door, but you didn’t have time to figure out how to make everything match. You groaned, pressing your hands to your face.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Hello?” you called out, cautiously heading toward the door and cracking it open.

Standing there were two members of Glen’s glam squad—one holding a bag of makeup brushes and palettes, the other with a small suitcase of hair tools.

“Mr. Powell asked us to check on you,” the makeup artist said with a kind smile. “He thought you might be running behind.”

You blinked at them, momentarily speechless. “He... sent you?”

The hairstylist nodded. “He figured you might need a little help. Mind if we come in?”

You stepped aside to let them in, still processing Glen’s uncanny ability to predict you’d be panicking. “Sorry about the mess,” you admitted, glancing at the clock again. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Don’t worry,” the makeup artist said, already setting up her supplies on the bathroom counter. “We’ve got this. Can we see the dress? It’ll help us figure out the best look for you.”

You grabbed the garment bag from the closet and unzipped it, revealing the dress inside. You’d picked it out weeks ago, but standing there now, you suddenly second-guessed everything about it.

The hairstylist tilted his head thoughtfully, taking in the neckline and cut. “With this neckline, I’d suggest pulling your hair up—something elegant but not overdone. It’ll show off your shoulders and collarbone beautifully.”

You nodded, trusting his expertise. “That sounds perfect.”

“And for makeup,” the other stylist added, “we’ll keep it timeless—focus on your eyes, a little shimmer, and a soft lip. Nothing too bold, just enough to complement the dress and the hair.”

“Let’s do it,” you said, exhaling as you sat down.

With practiced efficiency, they got to work. The hairstylist began gathering your hair into an elegant style that framed your face while showcasing the neckline of the dress. Meanwhile, the makeup artist brushed soft gold tones onto your lids, added a touch of liner to define your eyes, and blended everything seamlessly. A quick swipe of lipstick finished the look.

You watched the transformation in the mirror, the tension slowly melting from your shoulders. By the time they stepped back to admire their handiwork, you felt like a completely different person.

“Done in thirty minutes, just like we promised,” the hairstylist said with a grin.

You stood, giving them both a grateful smile. “Thank you. Seriously, I wouldn’t have made it without you—or Glen, apparently.”

The makeup artist laughed. “He seemed pretty confident you’d need backup. Smart guy.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about his effortless charm and how much he looked out for you. “He really is.”

After the hairstylist and makeup artist left, you stood in front of the full-length mirror, a deep breath escaping your lips. You could do this.

You reached for the dress, still hanging from its garment bag, and carefully unzipped it. The soft fabric slid through your fingers as you pulled it off the hanger, feeling a flutter of nerves as you held it up in front of you.

The dress was simple, yet elegant, hugging every curve in a way that made you second-guess your choice. But it was beautiful.

With your heart racing a little, you slipped the dress on. You paused to glance at the mirror as you tugged the fabric up your body, hoping everything would fall into place.

But it didn’t.

The zipper snagged halfway up your lower back. You tugged a little harder, but it didn’t budge. Panic settled in your chest. You didn’t want to rip the fabric or make a scene, but there was no way to finish getting ready if you couldn’t zip the dress.

Your fingers fumbled for your phone, dialing Glen’s number before you could think twice. The seconds ticked by slowly, and your nerves only heightened with every ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said the moment he answered. Your voice trembled slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm. “I need help. The zipper on the dress is stuck, and I can’t get it up.”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming right over,” Glen’s voice was calm, reassuring. You could almost hear the smile in his tone.

The call ended quickly, and before you knew it, there was a soft knock at your door. You quickly pulled the front of the dress to your chest and peeked out, your eyes meeting Glen’s as you opened the door just a crack. His presence was as commanding as ever, but now, standing there, you felt exposed.

“Hey,” you greeted him, offering a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he said softly, raising an eyebrow. “Need a hand?”

You nodded, opening the door wider for him to step inside.

As he entered, you turned, giving him full view of the situation. The dress clung tightly to your body, and you were sure your back looked exposed in the tight fabric. A slight blush crept across your cheeks as your fingers instinctively tugged at the fabric.

“Relax,” Glen said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved behind you and gently grasped the zipper.

After a few tugs and a bit of effort, he managed to get it unstuck, smoothly pulling it the rest of the way up. The dress fit perfectly once it was zipped all the way.

Glen stepped back with a satisfied nod, patting your hip gently. “All good. You’re all set now.”

You took a deep breath, your nerves slightly eased but still there. With a nervous smile, you smoothed the front of your dress down, trying to calm yourself before glancing back at him.

“Do I look okay?” you asked quietly, suddenly unsure of how you appeared.

Glen gave you a slow once-over, his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than you expected. Then, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“You look amazing,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “Seriously. You’re going to steal the show tonight.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension in your chest easing. Glen’s words meant more than you realized, and as he gave you that smile, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Once you were fully ready, feeling the weight of the evening ahead, Glen offered you a reassuring smile as he adjusted his jacket one last time. He gave you a soft nod, signaling that it was time to go.

Together, you left the suite, the sound of your heels echoing in the hallway as you walked side by side toward the elevator. Glen pressed the button, standing close enough to be a silent but steady presence. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly he moved—like he was born to own every room he entered, even though his demeanor was always so grounded.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Glen stepped aside, letting you enter first. When you reached the lobby, the bustle of the hotel faded in comparison to the calm, quiet space Glen seemed to create around the two of you. He was the kind of person who moved with purpose, but never rushed—always thoughtful, always present.

As you made your way toward the entrance, he gave a quiet wave to a few people who greeted him, but he kept his focus on you, his hand close to your lower back as if guiding you through the crowd.

Outside, a sleek black car waited by the curb, the driver standing at attention. Glen held the door open for you with a courteous nod, his hand outstretched to assist you into the back seat.

You smiled, appreciating the little things—his attention to detail, the way he never made you feel like you were inconveniencing him. You slid into the seat, and as you did, Glen quickly followed, settling next to you with a quiet grace that was all him.

The driver closed the door, and the car began to move smoothly through the streets, the city lights reflecting off the tinted windows. The buzz of the evening began to settle into a comfortable rhythm, and Glen turned his attention to you with a soft look.

“You ready for this?” he asked, his tone light but sincere. He glanced down at your dress, the slight gleam in his eyes making you feel all the more seen. “You’re gonna turn heads tonight, no doubt about it.”

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but his words still made your stomach flutter. “I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady.

The car glided through the streets, the hum of the engine and the soft clink of the streetlights outside giving you a sense of distance from the chaos of the night ahead. Your fingers nervously drummed on the fabric of your dress, your gaze flickering from the passing city lights to the reflection of yourself in the window.

Glen noticed the subtle tension in your posture and the way your fingers twitched, like they couldn’t quite settle. His sharp eyes, attuned to every little shift in your mood, moved over to you. He shifted closer, his hand reaching across the space between you with ease, brushing lightly over your fingers before gently taking your hand in his.

"You're going to be fine," he said, his voice low, teasing but gentle, as he gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, smoothing away any remnants of tension. "Just smile and wave, Penguin. You’ve got this."

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, the warmth of his hand in yours bringing a little bit of ease. “Penguin?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow, feeling the tension in your shoulders release with that soft chuckle.

He grinned at you, the kind of smile that melted any nervous edge. “Yeah, Penguin. You know—Madagascar. Smile and wave boys. Smile and wave.” He gave your hand a playful tug, the humor in his eyes lighting up.

You shook your head, but the tension you’d carried with you slowly began to melt. Glen had that way about him—without even trying, he made things feel easy, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. His confidence was infectious, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you could pull this off.

The car hit a smooth turn, the soft hum of the tires filling the silence. You glanced at Glen, his easy grin still in place, his hand steady in yours. There was something about his presence—something grounding, comforting. Without thinking, you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as you let the last bits of tension drain away.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Glen glanced down at you, his expression softening. He didn’t move, didn’t shift away—he just stayed still, letting you rest there. His thumb continued its soothing motion across the back of your hand, and he tilted his head slightly toward yours.

"Anytime," he replied, his voice warm and steady. "You know I’ve got you."

For a moment, the world outside the car faded away. It was just the two of you, a quiet moment that reminded you why Glen was your best friend. His support, his calm energy—it was all you needed to take a deep breath and believe in yourself again.

As the car slowed to a stop, signaling your arrival at the red carpet, you felt ready. Maybe it was the way Glen always knew how to bring you back to yourself, or maybe it was just the fact that he was there beside you, exactly where he always seemed to be when you needed him most.

You stole a quick glance at Glen, catching the way his gaze softened as he looked back at you, his hand still comfortably wrapped around yours.

“Hey,” he said, the tone shifting just a little, serious but with the same undertone of care. “You’re gonna be great, okay? And if you need me to do anything, I’m right here. Just... be you.”

Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, a reassuring pressure that grounded you, and you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

The driver opened the door, and the bright lights of the red carpet began to stretch ahead of you, already swirling with flashes and faces, the hum of excitement palpable in the air. Glen leaned toward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the smooth skin of your neck.

“You’re gonna shine tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with confidence, making you believe it for the first time.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, then flashed him a grin. “Thanks, Glen.”

He winked. “Anytime, Penguin. Let’s go make some memories.”

With that, you stepped out of the car, Glen’s hand still firmly in yours, ready to face whatever the night would bring—with him by your side, you felt ready for anything.

The roar of the red carpet hit you the moment you stepped out of the car. A wall of flashing lights and the constant hum of voices calling out names created a dizzying cacophony. For a second, you froze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The chaos seemed endless, but Glen’s steady hand on the small of your back was the anchor you needed.

“Stay close,” he said quietly, his voice warm and reassuring, almost lost in the noise. He guided you forward with a gentle pressure, his touch never faltering.

Reporters shouted his name, cameras clicked furiously, and fans called out from behind the barriers. Glen’s demeanor shifted effortlessly, the easy confidence you admired about him coming to life under the scrutiny. But even as he navigated the chaos like a pro, his focus never strayed far from you.

When a particularly eager photographer stepped too close, Glen instinctively pulled you in, lacing your arm through his. The motion was protective yet natural, as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered, “You doing okay so far?”

You nodded, the nerves still simmering but far less overwhelming with Glen beside you. “Yeah. It’s just... a lot.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers giving your arm a light squeeze. “It’s always a lot. Just keep smiling and don’t trip. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Moments later, you were ushered to the line of reporters waiting for interviews. Glen kept you close, his hand returning to your back as he led you toward the first microphone. The journalist’s attention immediately shifted to him, questions about his latest project firing off one after another.

“This is Glen Powell, looking dapper as always! Who’s your stunning guest tonight?” one reporter asked, her eyes flicking to you with interest.

Glen grinned, that signature charm lighting up his face. “This,” he said, his voice full of pride, “is the best friend who keeps me sane.” He glanced at you, his expression softening as if to emphasize his words.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as the reporter laughed. “Keeping Glen Powell on track sounds like a full-time job!”

“You have no idea,” you replied, finding your confidence in the moment. Glen chuckled beside you, his presence like a shield against the overwhelming spotlight.

The interviews continued, with Glen effortlessly steering the attention toward his projects while making sure you felt included. Whenever he wasn’t speaking, his hand either rested lightly on your back or your arm stayed looped through his. The gesture was subtle, but it kept you grounded, a quiet reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

In a rare lull between interviews, Glen turned to you, his expression softening as the frenzy of the red carpet seemed to momentarily fade into the background.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost drowned out by the noise around you.

You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the whirlwind of the evening.

“Hey,” you replied, a little breathless.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo from your face, his fingers lingering just slightly longer than necessary. His touch was light, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes searched yours, the usual glint of mischief replaced with something quieter, more sincere. “You okay?”

The simple question held weight, as if he wasn’t just asking about the moment but something deeper. You nodded, your voice catching slightly as you said, “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, his hand dropping back to his side, though the warmth of his touch seemed to linger. “Good. Can’t have my Penguin falling apart on me now.”

The moment hung between you, brief but charged with an unspoken connection that neither of you dared to address. Then the chaos of the red carpet surged back to life, pulling you both out of it.

“Ready to keep going?” Glen asked, his tone light again as he gestured toward the next line of reporters.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

With your arm resting gently on his, Glen led you forward, his confidence bolstering your own. And as the night unfolded, you realized that no matter how overwhelming the evening became, you’d be okay—with Glen by your side.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of elegance, bathed in soft, golden light with tables draped in white linens and adorned with extravagant floral centerpieces. Each table bore name cards in ornate calligraphy, indicating an impressive roster of directors, actors, and other Hollywood heavyweights.

Glen pulled out your chair for you before taking his seat beside you, leaning in briefly to whisper, “You’ve got this. Just be yourself.”

You looked at Glen with a soft smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Powell.”

Within moments, the table began filling with familiar faces. To your left sat Richard Linklater himself, his unassuming charm making you feel more at ease than you’d expected. Across the table, a notable actress you’d only ever seen on-screen chatted animatedly with Glen, who was effortlessly charismatic as always.

“Glen,” Richard said with a warm smile, his Texan drawl coming through as he gestured toward you. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely guest.”

Glen straightened, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he turned to you. “Richard, this is the best friend who keeps me sane—and who’s also had to deal with my Dazed and Confused impression far too many times.”

You laughed lightly, shaking Richard’s hand. “It’s true. If I hear him say, ‘Alright, alright, alright,’ one more time, I might disown him.”

Richard chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A classic never dies, though, does it?”

“I suppose not,” you conceded with a grin.

The quick banter caught the attention of the others at the table, who joined the conversation with playful remarks of their own. You held your own with ease, even managing to get a genuine laugh out of the actress across from you after a comment about the absurdity of some press junket questions.

Glen, sitting beside you, watched the exchanges with a kind of quiet pride, his gaze lingering on you whenever you spoke. At one point, he leaned closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re killing it. Remind me again—why am I not bringing you to all of these things?”

You smirked, taking a sip of water to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Because you know I’d upstage you.”

“Touché,” he said with a soft laugh, nudging your shoulder playfully.

As the dinner continued, Glen made sure to include you in every conversation, subtly steering the spotlight toward you when someone asked about his current projects. You found yourself talking about Glen’s work ethic and how he somehow managed to juggle it all without losing his sense of humor.

“Sounds like you know him pretty well,” Richard observed with a knowing smile.

“I sure hope so after I’ve put up with him for all these years,” you replied, glancing at Glen. “Someone has to keep him humble.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Glen shook his head, though the unmistakable warmth in his expression betrayed how much he loved every second of it.

When dessert was served—an artfully plated creation that was almost too pretty to eat—Glen leaned in once more, his tone playful but sincere. “See? Told you you’d be great.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad for someone who almost didn’t make it out of the hotel room.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening, “you belong here, you know.”

The weight of his words settled between you, a quiet affirmation that carried more meaning than the playful banter that had preceded it. You nodded, the nerves you’d been holding onto finally beginning to ease.

The awards show was nothing short of spectacular, a seamless blend of glamour, artistry, and showmanship. The host kept the audience entertained with clever quips and light-hearted jokes, while presenters took the stage to announce the winners in a variety of categories. The room buzzed with energy as names were called, winners delivered heartfelt speeches, and cameras panned over the crowd of celebrities.

Sitting beside Glen, you couldn’t help but notice how his leg bounced slightly under the table, a telltale sign of his nerves. Despite the outward appearance of ease he projected, you knew him well enough to see through it. Every now and then, his hand brushed his jawline, the slight stubble catching the light, as he glanced at the stage and back at you with an almost imperceptible smile.

You leaned closer to him during a quieter moment. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly, your voice barely audible over the applause filling the room.

“Better with you here,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. The weight of his words sent a gentle warmth through you, grounding you as much as it did him.

As the night progressed, Glen laughed at the host’s jokes and applauded the winners, though you could feel his anticipation building as his category grew closer.

The glitz and chatter around you seemed to blur as the presenter finally took the stage to announce the nominees for Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy.

You felt Glen shift in his seat, his back straightening as his name was called alongside the other nominees. His hand brushed his thigh, and you noticed him take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. Instinctively, you leaned in just enough so your shoulder lightly pressed against his, a silent reminder that you were right there with him.

The presenter opened the envelope, the seconds stretching impossibly long. “And the award goes to... Sebastian Stan!”

The room erupted into applause as Sebastian rose from his seat, making his way to the stage. You clapped along with everyone else, but the knot of disappointment in your chest was impossible to ignore. Letting out a small, defeated breath, you glanced over at Glen.

He was smiling politely, clapping for Sebastian, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. The kind of flicker only someone who truly knew him could catch. Others at the table offered their own words of encouragement, but Glen only nodded politely, his attention still half-focused on the stage.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, your voice low and meant just for him. “You’re still the most talented guy in the room.”

You reached over, resting your hand gently on his knee under the table, offering him the kind of comfort words alone couldn’t provide. For a moment, his gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face. A small, grateful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand briefly covered yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of meaning.

Throughout the rest of the show, Glen leaned into your presence, subtly relying on you to keep him grounded. You noticed the way his body gradually relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the night continued.

When another winner gave a particularly heartfelt speech, Glen turned to you with a quiet chuckle. “At least I don’t have to worry about tripping on the way to the stage.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing out a more genuine smile from him. “See? There’s always a silver lining.”

By the time the final award was announced and the audience began filtering out of the theater, Glen seemed more at ease.

As the two of you stood to leave, he placed a hand on your back, guiding you through the crowd. “Thanks for keeping me sane tonight,” he said, his voice low but warm.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the unspoken connection between you deepen as the evening came to a close.

The after-party was everything you expected it to be: glamorous, extravagant, and a little overwhelming. The main Golden Globes after-party felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully orchestrated networking event. The room was packed with A-list celebrities, producers, directors, and journalists, each armed with a drink in one hand and a carefully curated smile.

Music thumped in the background, but it barely registered over the hum of conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses. Glen stayed by your side at first, introducing you to a few people here and there. You exchanged pleasantries with actors whose faces you recognized from the big screen and smiled politely at directors whose names you tried not to forget.

But before long, Glen was pulled away, whisked from one conversation to the next like the star of the evening. You watched as he posed for pictures, his easy charm making every interaction look effortless. He’d glance back at you occasionally, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wink, but you could tell even he was beginning to feel the strain of the crowd.

You nursed a drink at the edge of the room, trying to stay out of the way while still keeping Glen in your sights. It was easy to lose track of time amidst the chaos, but the constant flow of strangers and small talk started to take its toll. The energy in the room felt electric and draining all at once, and you found yourself wishing for a quieter corner to catch your breath.

After what felt like hours, Glen appeared at your side, his hand lightly brushing your arm to get your attention.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise around you. “This is… a lot, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It’s a little overwhelming. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve smiled so much tonight my face might be stuck this way,” he joked, though there was a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. He glanced around the room, then back at you. “What do you say we head to my party? I think I’ve shaken enough hands and posed for enough pictures to last a lifetime.”

The suggestion was like a lifeline, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Glen’s shoulders relaxed visibly at your answer, and he gave you a small, grateful smile. He offered you his arm, the gesture both protective and grounding as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Despite the noise and flashing cameras still lingering near the doorway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The car ride to the rooftop bar was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos of the Golden Globes after-party. Glen leaned back against the seat, his shirt now unbuttoned to a second button and the faintest hint of exhaustion in his expression.

You glanced at him, smiling softly. “You know, most people would just go to bed after a night like this. Not go to another party.”

Glen chuckled, his head turning toward you. “What can I say? I’m not most people.”

When the car pulled up to the rooftop bar, Glen stepped out first, turning back to offer you his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go see everyone.”

The rooftop bar was stunning, its perimeter lined with fairy lights that cast a warm, golden glow. The city skyline sparkled in the distance, and the faint hum of music drifted through the air. Glen had rented the entire space, and as the two of you stepped inside, you were greeted by the cheerful buzz of conversation.

His parents were the first to spot you, their faces lighting up as they hurried over to greet Glen with warm hugs and congratulations.

His mom pulled you into an embrace as well, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You look stunning tonight, sweetheart. And thank you for taking care of our boy out there.”

“Always,” you replied with a smile, feeling the ease that came with being around Glen’s family.

You scanned the room and spotted Leslie, Glen’s younger sister, waving excitedly from across the bar. She was all smiles as she made her way over, throwing her arms around you in a hug.

“It’s been forever!” she exclaimed, pulling back to give you a once-over. “You look amazing! And that dress—ugh, you’re killing me.”

“You’re one to talk,” you teased, taking in her own dress. “You look incredible.”

Glen was quickly pulled into conversations with friends and other guests, his charm and warmth on full display as he moved through the room. You stayed behind with Leslie, the two of you settling into a quieter corner of the bar.

“So,” you said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell me everything about the engagement. I need details.”

Leslie’s face lit up, and she launched into a detailed recounting of the proposal—how her fiancé had asked, the secret planning, how he included her friends and family in on the surprise. She showed you the ring, a design that perfectly suited her, and the two of you gushed over wedding plans.

“I’m thinking late spring,” Leslie said, twirling her glass of wine between her fingers. “Something outdoors, simple but elegant. Glen keeps trying to offer to pay for everything, but I want to keep it low-key.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said, smiling. “And knowing Glen, he’ll find a way to contribute whether you want him to or not.”

Leslie laughed, nodding. “Oh, I know. He’s the best, though. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Yeah, we really are.” Your gaze drifted across the room to where Glen was laughing with a small group of friends, his easy smile making your own lips curve upward. His hand was resting casually in the pocket of his suit pants.

“You’ve got that look again,” Leslie said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You blinked, snapping your gaze back to her. “What look?”

She grinned knowingly and nudged your arm with her elbow. “The ‘I’m totally into Glen but I’ll never admit it’ look.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What? That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Leslie said, leaning back against the bar with a smirk. “Sure I am.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to brush off her teasing. “He’s my best friend, Les. That’s-” But before you could finish your sentence, Glen glanced over at the two of you. His eyes found yours across the room, and when he smiled—soft, warm, and undeniably genuine—you felt your words falter.

You didn’t even realize you had stopped speaking until Leslie let out a low chuckle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, barely containing her laughter. “You’ve got it bad.”

Realizing what just happened, you tore your gaze away from Glen, your face burning.

“I do not,” you muttered, but the weak protest only made Leslie laugh harder.

She shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Honestly, I’ve suspected this for years, but that little moment right there? Total confirmation.”

“Okay, enough,” you said, waving your hands as if to physically push the conversation away. “Let’s focus less on your brother and my nonexistent love life. Let’s get back to your wedding.”

Leslie just smirked, clearly not buying your denial. “Fine, but for the record? He’s totally into you too.”

You gave Leslie a confused look, followed by a doubtful laugh. “Yeah, right?” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Leslie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your self-doubt. “Why do you think he wouldn’t be into you?” she asked, crossing her arms as if she were gearing up to debate.

You sighed, glancing down at your drink. “I mean…look at him,” you said, gesturing vaguely in Glen’s direction. “He could have literally anyone he wants. Models, actresses, anyone. And I’m just…” You trailed off, shrugging.

Leslie tilted her head, studying you with a knowing smile. “Just what?” she pressed.

“Just me,” you finished weakly, feeling a little silly for saying it out loud.

Leslie let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. Second of all—” She paused, leaning in slightly for emphasis. “You’re the one he asked to be his date tonight. Not a model, not an actress, you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the truth of her words. “That’s just because we’re friends,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Friends,” Leslie repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because friends definitely look at each other the way he looks at you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again. “He does not look at me any type of way,” you insisted, but Leslie wasn’t buying it.

She smirked, nodding toward Glen, who was now making his way across the room in your direction.

“Sure he doesn’t,” she said, her voice teasing. “But just in case you’re still in denial, why don’t you pay attention when he gets over here? You’ll see what I mean.”

Before you could respond, Glen reached the two of you, his presence immediately drawing your attention.

“Hey,” he said, flashing that easy smile of his. “Am I interrupting something, or can I steal her for a bit?”

Leslie’s grin widened as she gave you a pointed look. “Not at all,” she said sweetly, stepping aside. “She’s all yours.”

You shot her a subtle glare, but Leslie just winked at you before turning to join the rest of the group. As Glen’s attention shifted back to you, your heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking over your face as if checking for any signs of discomfort.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just catching up with Leslie.”

“Good,” he said, his smile softening. “She’s been excited to see you. I think she’s secretly more interested in hanging out with you than me tonight.”

You laughed, the sound helping to ease the tension swirling in your chest. “Well, to be fair, I am pretty great,” you teased, falling back into your usual banter with him.

“Can’t argue with that,” Glen said, his tone light, but there was something in his eyes that lingered a little too long, something that made your breath catch just slightly.

The atmosphere shifted subtly as the music transitioned to something slower, a beat just mellow enough to set a softer, almost romantic mood. The chatter in the room seemed to quiet slightly, replaced by the rhythmic sway of the melody. Glen glanced toward the small dance floor, where a few of his friends were starting to pair off, and then turned back to you.

“Come on,” he said, extending a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

You shook your head immediately, taking a small step back. “You know I don’t dance,” you reminded him, your voice firm but playful.

His grin only widened, clearly undeterred. “And you know I don’t take no for an answer,” he teased, stepping closer and gently taking your hand before you could protest further.

“Glen,” you said, a hint of exasperation in your tone, but he was already pulling you toward the dance floor.

“Relax,” he said with a laugh, glancing back at you. “I’ll lead. All you have to do is follow.”

You sighed in resignation, realizing there was no escaping this. When you reached the dance floor, you placed a hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his dress shirt. He wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said lightly as he started to guide you to the rhythm of the music.

“Once or twice,” you admitted, though you still felt slightly self-conscious. “But I’m warning you—I’m not great at it.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured you, his voice low and steady, as if the rest of the room didn’t exist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Leslie standing by the bar. She was watching you with an unmistakable smirk, her arms crossed in triumph. When your eyes met hers, she gave you a knowing look, the kind that said, See? Told you so.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head, trying to silently tell her to knock it off. Glen noticed the exchange, his brow furrowing slightly as he glanced over at Leslie and then back down at you.

“What am I missing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, though your cheeks were already starting to warm.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, his tone teasing now. “What’s going on between you two?”

“Leslie’s just…being Leslie,” you said vaguely, hoping to leave it at that.

But Glen wasn’t letting it go. He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face as realization started to dawn on him.

“Wait a minute…” he said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Is she messing with you about something?”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“Not really?” he repeated, clearly unconvinced. His eyes flicked back toward Leslie, who was now openly grinning at the two of you. “Oh, she’s definitely messing with you about something,” he said with a laugh.

You groaned, your head dropping slightly as you muttered, “I’m going to kill her.”

Glen chuckled, his hand on your waist giving a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he said, his tone playful but his smile soft.

For a moment, you forgot about Leslie entirely, your focus shifting back to Glen as you moved together in time with the music. His gaze lingered on you, his expression unexpectedly tender, and you felt your heart skip in a way that made you wonder if Leslie might actually have a point after all.

As the slower song faded out, you felt a moment of relief. But then the next song started, and your heart sank a little as the unmistakable notes of a love ballad filled the air. The kind that spoke of longing and intimacy, the kind that made you suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were still in Glen’s arms.

You glanced up at him, your lips parting to excuse yourself, but before you could step away, his hand on your back shifted, a gentle but deliberate pressure that kept you in place.

“Stay,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Glen, I—” you started, already shaking your head. There was no way you could dance to a love song with your best friend. It felt too…loaded.

“Just one more,” he murmured, and when your eyes met his, whatever protest you had ready fell away. There was something in the way he looked at you—something unspoken but undeniable. It wasn’t just a friendly look. It was softer, deeper, and for a moment, it left you breathless.

You nodded, barely, and he smiled—just a small, private curve of his lips that made your stomach flip.

He pulled you just a little closer this time, close enough that your chest brushed against his. The hold on your back shifted, his hand sliding just slightly lower, resting at the curve where your back met your waist. It wasn’t inappropriate—just enough to feel a little less like friendship and a little more like something else.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your cheek resting lightly against his chest. His warmth was comforting, grounding, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the song and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You felt him tilt his head, the faintest brush of his cheek against the top of yours. It was such a small gesture, but it sent your heart into a quiet frenzy, a rhythm that seemed to echo in time with the music.

Neither of you said a word as you moved together, swaying gently to the melody. The first verse passed, then the chorus, and you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt to be here, like the rest of the world had melted away.

The song came to an end, the final notes fading into a hum of conversation and clinking glasses around you. Glen didn’t move right away, and for a moment, neither did you. You stayed in his arms, feeling the warmth of his hand still pressed against your back, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.

But then someone called his name from across the room, breaking the fragile bubble that had surrounded you both. Glen’s arm slipped away, though his hand lingered on your elbow for a second longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on yours, as if reluctant to leave.

You nodded, offering a small smile, and watched as he crossed the room to greet a new arrival. The absence of his touch left you feeling untethered, a sudden awareness of just how much you’d let yourself melt into him during that dance.

Needing a moment to collect yourself—and maybe something stronger than a moment of quiet—you made your way to the bar. You ordered a glass of wine and took a steadying sip, trying to push the last few minutes out of your mind.

Of course, Leslie found you before you even made it halfway through your drink.

“So,” she started, leaning casually against the bar with an unmistakable smirk. “That was…something.”

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the blush already creeping up your neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, though her grin was anything but. “I’m just saying, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my brother look at someone like that. Or hold someone like that. Or—”

“Leslie,” you warned, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your attempt at composure.

She laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, for someone who insists she doesn’t dance, you looked awfully comfortable out there dancing with my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you replied, taking another sip of your wine in a futile attempt to drown your nerves.

“Doesn’t it?” she countered, raising an eyebrow. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like something more.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just shrugged, still grinning.

“Relax,” she said, nudging your arm playfully. “I’m not about to make a big announcement or anything. But if you don’t see it yet…” She trailed off, giving you a knowing look before gesturing subtly toward Glen, who was still across the room, laughing with a small group of friends.

You followed her gaze despite yourself, and your heart gave a traitorous little lurch at the sight of him. His smile was easy and charming, but every now and then, his eyes flicked toward the bar, as if checking to see if you were still there.

“See what I mean?” Leslie said softly, pulling your attention back to her.

You shook your head, trying to play it off. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I?” she challenged, her tone light but her expression serious. “Because I’ve known Glen my whole life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. So, maybe it’s time you stop convincing yourself it’s all in your head.”

Her words hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself speechless, staring down into your glass of wine as if it held the answers you were so desperately trying to avoid.

Leslie let the silence linger for a moment before giving your arm another playful nudge. “Just think about it, okay?”

And with that, she pushed off the bar and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts—and the undeniable truth you were no longer sure you could ignore.

You stepped away from the bar, glass of wine in hand, and gravitated toward a quieter corner of the rooftop. The laughter and conversation from the party grew softer with every step, the music fading into a pleasant hum in the background. A gentle breeze brushed against your skin as you approached the railing, the Los Angeles skyline glittering like a sea of stars before you.

You leaned against the cool metal and took a slow sip of your wine, your thoughts drifting back to Leslie’s words. Was she onto something? No, she couldn’t be. Glen was your best friend, the one constant in your life through every twist and turn. You would know if he felt something for you… right?

But then again…

You sighed and rested your elbow on the railing, pressing your glass lightly to your lips. Leslie had known Glen her entire life. If anyone could read him, it was her. And the way she spoke—like she’d been holding onto this knowledge for a while—left you with an uncomfortable sense of doubt.

Could she be right? Could you really have missed something that big?

The sound of footsteps approaching pulled you from your thoughts. You looked over, expecting another party guest, but instead, you found Glen standing beside you. The velvet tuxedo jacket was now off, and his hair was a little mussed from probably running his hand through it one too many times, but his smile was warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning casually against the railing next to you. “You okay?”

You managed a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, just needed a breather.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calm and steady, before arching a brow. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Leslie pestering you at the bar, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” Glen said, clearly not buying it. “Because Leslie may or may not have told me to come find you.”

Your heart gave a jolt, and you turned to look at him. “She what?”

“She didn’t say why,” Glen added quickly, holding up a hand as if to reassure you. “But… she said…enough.”

“Enough?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his smile fading into something softer, something more sincere. “Enough to make me realize I’ve been putting this off for too long.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Glen stepped closer. His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to gauge your reaction before saying anything else.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, his voice low. “For coming with me tonight. For being here for me—not just tonight, but always.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat just a little faster.

“And I need you to know,” he continued, taking another step closer, “how much you mean to me.”

The space between you was nearly nonexistent now, and for a moment, neither of you said a word. His eyes searched yours, his hand twitching at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

You felt it then—that shift Leslie had hinted at, the one you’d been too afraid to fully acknowledge. This wasn’t just your best friend standing in front of you. This was Glen, the man who had been at your side for years, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

He took a deep breath and leaned in slightly, pausing when your noses were almost touching. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his gaze, your heart thundering in your chest.

Glen’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and then his eyes fluttered shut as he raised a hand to your face. His palm was warm as it cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You closed your eyes just as his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But when you didn’t, when you leaned into him and placed a hand lightly against his chest, he deepened the kiss, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you faded—the music, the laughter, the skyline. All that mattered was the way Glen’s lips moved against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath as you both stood there, processing what had just happened. Glen’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin. Your heart raced, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the surreal, breathtaking reality of the moment.

Finally, Glen broke the silence, his lips curving into that familiar, playful grin that always managed to put you at ease. “So…” he began, his tone light but his eyes still holding that intensity from before. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you to next year’s Globes too?”

The laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, breaking the tension in the most perfect way. You shook your head, resting your forehead against his chest as a smile spread across your lips. “We’ll see if you behave, Cowboy.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rested. “Behave? I’m a perfect gentleman,” he said, his voice tinged with mock indignation.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, arching a brow. “Oh, really? Perfect gentlemen don’t usually kiss their best friends on rooftops in the middle of a party.”

His grin widened as he shrugged, his hand still resting lightly on your waist. “Maybe I got tired of being just your best friend.”

Your breath caught again at the sincerity in his tone, the way his teasing words carried so much truth. Glen had always been charming, always quick with a joke or a flirtatious comment, but this felt different. This felt real.

You didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, but instead of pushing, Glen just smiled and leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. And with that, he stepped back slightly, though his hand still lingered on your waist, as if to let you know that even with the space between you, he was still there, still yours.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation, but all you saw was sincerity. The smile that still lingered on his lips wasn’t one of teasing; it was genuine, like he was relieved to have crossed that line with you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you confessed, your voice quieter than usual. “This is... a lot to take in, you know?”

Glen nodded, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of your dress, a small gesture that seemed to ground you.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I get it.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he added, “But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a brief moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself truly hear what he was saying. The uncertainty that had clouded your mind earlier began to dissipate, replaced by something far more powerful—trust.

“I just don’t want to mess things up, Glen,” you admitted, looking up at him again, your voice low but clear. “We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to lose that.”

His hand gently cupped your face, his thumb now tracing along your jawline as he spoke, his voice steady. “We won’t lose it,” he promised, his gaze never leaving yours. “I wouldn’t let that happen. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “Okay,” you whispered, the word feeling like a vow in the quiet space between you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if the world had paused just for you two. It was peaceful, despite everything—the chaos of the party, the swirling emotions inside you. Glen was here, right in front of you, and he was offering you something more. Something you hadn’t expected but couldn’t deny.

Then, in the silence that followed, he grinned, that familiar playful glint returning to his eyes. “So, does this mean you’ll let me take you on a date?”

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him, and couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes twinkled with excitement. He was waiting, his expression open and genuine, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like anything was uncertain anymore. The nerves, the doubts—they melted away in the warmth of his gaze.

"Yeah," you said softly, your voice filled with the quiet confidence that had come from years of friendship and, somehow, this unexpected moment. "I'd like that."

His smile deepened, and for a second, it was as if time stood still. He reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it shy. It was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours. You both stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, as if savoring the moment before the world could rush back in.

"Come on," Glen said, pulling you gently by the hand, “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

As he led you back toward the party, his fingers intertwined with yours, and the moment felt complete. You’d crossed the line, yes, but it was the best kind of line to cross—one that made you excited for whatever came next.

You shared one last look, a silent promise between you two, before re-entering the party, side by side, ready for whatever the night—and your future—held.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction #Glen Powell x reader #Glen Powell x you

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kashverse · 4 months ago

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if there is one child that must be appreciated, it is latte. a good latte deserves cute latte art, just as much as you deserve to witness the absolute chaos that will unfold when you put your boyfriend and a delicate artform in the same room. because, naturally, you—being the genius that you are—decide that these two gifts to humanity must be combined. your boyfriend, with all his charm, skill, or in some cases, sheer unrelenting ego, should absolutely try his hand at making tiny, adorable masterpieces in steamed milk. what could possibly go wrong? …a lot. a whole lot. but you’re in too deep now. the class is booked. the milk is frothing. and your boyfriend? oh, he is about to take this way too seriously.

now, if there’s one thing sukuna cannot stand, it’s being patronized. and somehow, standing there, all six-foot-something, surrounded by people who gasp use stencils for their latte art makes him feel violently disrespected. oh, you think he needs this? you think he can’t make art out of steamed milk? please. his hands were carving flesh into art long before this instructor was even a twinkle in their ancestor’s eye. but if you thought he’d refuse to participate, you don’t know sukuna well enough. no, he takes this as a personal challenge. he learns. he perfects. and when he finally presents his latte art, it’s a perfectly detailed demon face, sharp-toothed and menacing. “oh, uh… cute pitbull!” you say, nudging him before the instructor has a heart attack. sukuna nods sagely. yes. pitbull. definitely. but when it comes to adults he despises? oh, he’s petty. that one customer who dared to critique his “overly aggressive aesthetic”? congratulations, buddy, you just drank a latte cursed with an ancient sigil. sukuna watches them sip it with a smirk, arms crossed, utterly delighted with his petty vengeance. “how’s the flavor?” he asks, smug as hell. the customer just blinks, confused. they’ll probably have bad luck for a week. or diarrhea. who’s to say?

choso, on the other hand, has an existential awakening. at first, he’s simply fascinated. art… can exist in coffee? he stares at the swirling crema, eyes widening as he processes this revelation. the instructor barely explains the basics before choso stands up, dramatically setting his cup down. “this,” he announces, “is a reflection of the fleeting nature of life.” people murmur in agreement, assuming he’s some kind of deep, artistic genius. but oh, no. he’s spiraling now. “you create it, admire it, and then—destroy it with a single sip. isn’t that cruel? isn’t that… life itself?” you have to physically drag him out before he turns the workshop into a philosophical symposium on the ephemerality of human existence.

geto, meanwhile, is here for a completely different reason. does he need to learn latte art? no. does he want to? also no. but can he use it for his own agenda? absolutely. he skips right past the cute heart and bear designs and learns how to write with milk foam. the next thing you know, you glance at his cup and see “JOIN ME” written in elegant cursive atop a matcha latte. “are you serious?” you ask. he just smiles.

“art is meant to convey a message.”

“your message is cult recruitment.”

“my message is inclusion,” he corrects. you have to sit him down and give him a long lecture on why recruiting followers through artisanal coffee is not ethical. he nods solemnly but then winks at the barista like you didn’t just spend fifteen minutes trying to knock some morality into him.

toji, on the other hand, is struggling. “this ain’t for people like me,” he jokes at first, grinning. but five lattes later, he is no longer grinning. his first attempt at a heart? roadkill. the second attempt? roadkill that got run over twice. “babe,” you say gently, looking at the cup.

“don’t,” he warns.

“i just think—”

“DON’T.”

legend says he’s still in the kitchen at midnight, aggressively steaming milk and muttering “stupid fuckin’ foam” under his breath.

meanwhile, gojo…is fighting for his life in this class. he learned latte art off of tiktok one time and now thinks he’s god’s gift to coffee. he enters the workshop smug, flicking his hair and winking at the instructor like he’s about to change the game. and for a while? yeah. he’s decent. he gets the basics down pretty quickly and flexes at every given opportunity. but then. then. some sixteen-year-old prodigy casually creates a mona lisa on their latte. gojo short-circuits. his hair literally stands on end. “this is war,” he mutters. and now he’s hyper-fixated on beating this kid at latte art, muttering “i’m the strongest” while aggressively swirling his milk foam.

but then, there’s nanami, the epitome of poise, precision, and patience. he treats the class like it’s an artform—because to him, it is. he listens intently, follows instructions meticulously, and in just one session, his latte art is restaurant-tier. and it doesn’t stop there. every morning, without fail, he hands you a latte with an intricate, handcrafted design. a heart. a tulip. one time, even a self-portrait. your local café is begging for you to convince him to quit his job and work for them instead. he refuses, of course. but now? well. you kinda can’t start your day without a perfect latte from nanami’s personal, high-precision coffee service.

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the-knight-of-the-stars · 7 months ago

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Are we gonna talk about how that finale entirely erased any conversation about class divisions or are we too focused on ships?

Are we gonna talk about how Caitlyn for a good chunk of the season willingly enforces violence and opression against the lowest class, no doubt directly causing more deaths and suffering, and she is forgiven by the narrative without any meaningful reflecting?

Her great moment getting together with Vi is right after she JUST had a conversation with Jinx where we see she STILL doesn't recognize any class bias she clearly has, insted making it about HER.

Her and the other enforcers are treated like noble heroes in the final battle, all the blame put on Ambesa. Vi's happy ending is getting into a relationship with the exact type of person who perpetuated all the suffering she endured as a child.

Are we gonna talk about how Jayce never leaves his privilege pedestal, never actually reflects on how he was also enforcing violence to the people of the undercity and living on his bliss of progress at THEIR expense?

Jayce, who got help on every step of the way to get to where he is, who wasn't disabled, who never lived the kind of poverty or class obstacles Viktor did, who never recognized the harm he enabled and was complicit to, HE was the one to tell Viktor "People build their own destiny." and "There is beauty in imperfection" ?????

Not to mention the whole bit where he implies Viktor did all that because he wanted to "eradicate what he thought was weakness"??? Didn't we stablished Viktor wanted to HELP THE PEOPLE FROM THE UNDERCITY TO HAVE BETTER LIFE CONDITIONS?? don't try to gaslight me.

I know this is just a TV show, but I need to remind everyone that what perpetuates opressive, discriminatory and violent systems as long and as deeply as they do is indiference. Is turning your head and enabling others to stay ignorant.

Edit: You guys are misunderstanding me. And I admit it is probably my fault, I wrote this high with emotion I wasn't as eloquent.

Jayce's exact choice of words or his time living in the alternate world is nowhere near my point.

My point is, that the narrative is establishing that the privileged character, is the one that has to show (and is quite literally, textually, always the one to show) the underprivileged character that "he was looking at life the wrong way." Forgetting that Viktor's journey of feeling powerless was greatly influenced by the fact he was poor and from the undercity.

That's what I meant by it erasing the part of the plot about class systems. In the end, the story only requires Jayce to understand Viktor's struggle on a superficial level, but the text never recognizes that it as the product of a deeply rooted SYSTEMIC ISSUE. One Jayce and even Viktor on some level, benefited from and perpetuated.

Understanding Viktor still doesn't give him any moral ground, and nobody ever challenges him on that because the story isn't interested in that anymore.

And the same with Caitlyn. She knows what she did what's wrong, fine, she feels bad. Like I said, she still has a class bias, and no character challenges her on it again because the story derails to magic and fighting and whatnot.

The plot just forgets (or ignores) that layer of the story despite it being so prominent up until now.

And ignoring the class discussion does a disservice to every single character because they were initially built on it. You can see it in how they lose the essence they had on s1.

I know y'all love the characters and want to empathize with all their motivations, okay? But the fundamental issue is that characters also represent things, and more so in a story as political as this one. We also have the right to point out that the show told us they represented something and then abandoned that narrative.

What do I think they could have done differently? If I tell you scene by scene we could be here for an entire year. The gist of it is: I think they should have stuck to the character themes they already had established.

Vi as someone fiercely loyal to the undercity beyond her relationship with Powder/Jinx, and being "cursed" by the role of the older sister. Jayce as someone with good intentions but who is ultimately limited by his blind idealism. Mel as a cunning politician who thinks she is on the right path because she isn't violent like her mother, not realizing she is still perpetuating it. Caitlyn as someone kind and compassionate who realizes the institutions she believed in are fundamentally flawed, and because of the way they are built will never be on the side of kindness. Etc, etc.

None of that gets any meaningful resolution.

I am glad if you liked it, or got something from it, you are entitled to your opinion.

I wanted to say this because I was angry, and still am. Because there was so much incredible potential, and honestly, to me, it feels like the writers chickened out on actually saying something in the end.

That's all I have to say about that.

#arcane #arcane finale #arcane season 2 #arcane spoilers #arcane s2 #viktor arcane #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #jayvik #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane

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ephemeralinstance · 1 month ago

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taking out the complexity

I have this hypothesis that at some point quite late in the writing process of Veilguard someone came in and pushed for the moral complexity to be taken out of the game. Because there are several plot lines which seem like they were potentially intended to be more complex than they ultimately were:

Isseya and the griffons. When I first played this I assumed that the punchline would be that she stole the griffons because she didn't trust the wardens with them after what happened - then deciding what to do about her would have raised interesting questions about war, sacrifice, the greater good etc. But instead there was this reveal that she was planning on blighting them, which makes no sense at all and feels shoe-horned in just to make it clear that she is Evil and Wrong.

Ivenci feels to me like they were originally intended to articulate the very reasonable point that it's not good for Antiva to be ruled by a group of unelected assassins - thus setting up an interesting chance to reflect on the nature of the Crows and the necessity of working with groups who do harmful things. But instead the Crows have to be the good guys so Ivenci is made into this weirdly cartoonish villain to make it clear that they are Evil and Wrong.

Relatedly, Lucanis' plot line feels like it was supposed to culminate with a reflection on his relationship with the Crows and the abuse he suffered, probably with the option to turn down being the First Talon and maybe even leave the Crows. But because the Crows have become the good guys this never happens and hence his whole arc feels quite inconclusive.

As this post points out, it feels like Emmrich's lich choice was intended to be darker and for the lich route to be genuinely a selfish option, but instead it's become this somewhat toothless 'dilemma' where both options are right and you never have to feel bad about your decision.

The initial ritual feels like it was a set-up for Rook to unintentionally do terrible harm while trying to stop the world from being destroyed, thus offering the opportunity to reflect on the dilemma that Solas faced in making the Veil and to understand the moral complexity of his situation. There is apparently even cut dialogue from the regret prison on this topic. But instead no one ever blames Rook and Rook is not allowed to blame themself at all, because they have to be The Hero in an uncomplicated way.

I don't know; it just seems to me that there are all these fossils of a more interesting game in there and they've been sort of clumsily written-over because some exec etc wanted the game to be less challenging or targeted at a younger audience or something.

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #veilguard critical #solas dragon age #dragon age meta

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alfascorpiionux · 8 months ago

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Astro notes ~1

Hope you’ll enjoy it~💛

Aries people with Moon in Libra/Virgo can be extremely petty and tend to get jealous easily (this applies to friendships as well). They are very loyal though, and some of the most active, hardworking people you’ll come across.

Libra people are some of the friendliest you can find and are known for their good taste and usually good social skills.

Libra with Moon in Pisces has lots of crushes and falls in love easily (but more times than not with the wrong people, much to their dismay). Is sensitive, undecisive. Can be both giving and selfish at the same time. Needs plenty of time by himself/herself to recharge and get detached from others’ feelings, problems.

Moon in Sagittarius: I cannot emphasise this enough: we absolutely loath showing weakness especially when in a group setting and always want to view the world with the “glass half-full” mentality. The unevolved energies of this placement might have commitment issues beacuse we tend to live life based on principles and have quite high standards when it comes to the people we let it. So when our view of the “perfect” you is shattered it can be quite heartbreaking and we may distance ourselves to study you further or try to forget the hurt you caused us. There is a certain grade of naivety, childlike wonder to this placement which can be infectious to other people. You can make somebody’s day brighter with your words and attitude. You also probably have a very strong moral compass, a philosophical outlook on life and are quite friendly.

The lower energies of this placement predispose to anger (which is expressed differently depending on the house your Moon is placed in; typically it’s more concealed, especially in the beginning), short temper, commitment issues, forgetfulness.

Aries Venus in 12th house: oscillating between shyness and boldness, this native is a mix of curious qualities: fiery passion and flirty banter coupled with increased sensitivity to the needs of his/her partner. Creative, generous, dynamic, there is no dull moment with this native around.

He/She will know how to get to the deepest corners of your soul. He/She is looking for something real, something raw and authentic in you. May not like what he/she finds but wants it nonetheless beacuse it’ll be something special the both of you share.

The lower energies of this placement predispose to escapism, low self confidence, compulsions and difficulties in the dating scene (might start dating late, choose wrong partners or not have strong enough boundaries in relationships).

The higher energies manifest in beautiful, almost self-sacrificing ways: increased generosity and sensitivity to other people, especially children and the elderly, maybe animals too. A certain dreaminess in the way you act, express yourself.

When it comes to making love, you are literal FIRE once you open up and feel ready with the right person. You don’t shy away from new positions, are experimental and might even pull out some sexy lingerie from your drawer (lingerie that nobody else may know about or s*x toys - your secret is safe with me!). Fetishes could be possible but you may not even admit them yourself. 12th house placement could suggest secret love affairs or a special taste for something forbidden. Very careful that you don’t put yourself in situations that disregard your value as a person. Self reflection and journaling could be especially helpful with this position!

Leo Rising: are cool, stylish, proud and regal. Whenever they enter a room you’ll feel a warm and encompassing aura. People notice it and will tend to gravitate towards this native, for good or for worse. Whenever Leo is present, especially in the personal planets, you can expect a certain level of drama and stubbornness. If it’s the ascendant that is in the sign on Leo, the native will have a solid self-confidence, will typically carry herself with much pride and may even be quarrelsome at times. “The queen stands no disrespect” could be their motto. At low expression, Leo rising may continually deny it when they have a problem or refuse to talk about it (mostly out of stubbornness and because they prefer to lick their own wounds and hide them from other people).

Taurus Sun with Cancer Moon: some of the warmest, kindest and most loyal friends you could possibly find. They know the value of the given word, will show up to appointments and will take your secrets to the grave. You can vent to this natives about your problems because they will listen and not be judgmental and will even offer a shoulder for you to cry on.

They are shy at first, especially around strangers but will know to speak up when the situation calls for it. It is perhaps not known about them just how tough they can be. Yes, they may cry easily but will always stand up and move forward. When you annoy they will not only acknowledge it but will also confront you about it. They might not tell you right away that they have a lover for example, even when you are close friends. You ask them why, it’s because “you never asked me yourself”. Truthfully it’s because they value personal relationships and privacy so much. They will not gossip just because they can. And some feelings cannot be simply put to words, they should and could only be shared between the two lovers.

The only low manifestation I see is that they can at times have a very one-track mind, especially if they find an activity they really like. You will ask them 5 times in the span of 2 weeks what they are doing, at different times of day, and they will say “I am dancing” or “I am going riding”. Get the picture?

Gemini with Cancer placements: it can go very different ways, but it will usually lead to a person being very social and having lots of friends and/or lovers. It can lead to “drama queen” behaviour but not always. Native is an emotional kind of speaker and can find common ground with almost anybody. He/She is probably very smart and intuitive. The type of person that will get all the good grades without learning much and will impress almost anybody they meet because of their charm and social skills. He/She could, however, be quite flighty and/or chaotic in everyday life.

When I say the expression of the Moon sign very much depends on the Sun sign, I am not kidding. For example, in case of the Taurus native, the Moon in Cancer amplified his/her “motherlike, feminine” qualities. The two signs felt like they complemented each other. The end result felt harmonious and well-rounded. In the case of the Gemini native, however, it leads to a certain amount of friction, particularly because the signs of Cancer and Gemini have very different manners of relating to life. You can look up the aspects if you want to find out more (I am by no means a professional astrologer only an enthusiast 😆).

At low manifestations it could lead to emotional manipulation, drama queen behaviour, a special taste for quarrelling.

BONUS:

Lilith in the first house: this is not talked about nearly enough - self esteem issues! Lilith being in the house of the self brings a particular type of emotional dilemma, the dilemma of “who am I”. I know it sounds strange, but hear me out. I am sure you’ve already read many other posts that highlight the good qualities of Lilith, until you’ve reached my post, so I will only mention a few: charisma, sex appeal and a mysterious, somewhat rebellious air. It is also said that the native, due to his/her particular kind of aura, will invite partners who will try to tame him/her. I don’t know how true that is, and it is not yet the moment we debate this subject. Perhaps in a future post .

We will talk about the young and naive Lilith who is thrust in this wilderness we call life. She doesn’t know who she is, what she wants and can or cannot do so she stagnates. She observes life and at first tries to be a good girl, always pleasant and accommodating. At first she wants to fit in badly, she want the recognition of others and will do almost anything for it. She needs it like the air she breaths. However, something always happens and her plan never works. Or rather it does, but the price to pay will be exorbitantly high: her whole individuality, her authenticity. But does young Lilith know what’s laying dormant inside her? Being so oblivious of her own authenticity and power, she has nearly lost it completely. She has given in up for someone and now she feels bitter and angry. She has come to a realization. She cannot stand X trait in people(example: dishonesty). Okay, so that means I must be a super honest person or at least value it greatly. Moving on - what’s about loyalty? I think I know something but really am just scratching the surface. Such is the journey of Lilith. A journey of continual self-discovery. It starts with a young, very unsure hero who perhaps is also very naive only to later turn into a determined, empowered, self assured person who will always follow her own path, no matter what other say or do. They will be missteps and perhaps even a few fractures on this journey but it is one only you can embark on in pursuit of the Holy Grail, if you may. At the end of the day, you may realise it has always been inside yourself, hidden, awaiting to be rediscovered and embraced.

Thank you for taking the time to read my post and if you feel you resonate with my writing please leave a comment below and let me know. Would love to chat with you guys.💕

#astro observations #astrology #astro notes #moon in sagittarius #Libra #moon in pisces #astro community #Aries #moon in libra #moon placements #leo rising #venus in 12th house #aries venus #taurus sun #cancer moon

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ladyrosemone · 22 days ago

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Porque te vas

All the promises of my love will leave with you, you'll forget me

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Lads x No-mc

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Life is good.

There was a point where things got dark, tough, certainly depressing, but with the help of your friends and the great therapist who sees you monthly (a huge step forward), you've been able to get back to living your life normally.

There were consequences that came a little later; your job took a big hit, and unfortunately, you couldn't do much to keep it. You didn't really like it, but it paid the bills. Luckily, you made good friends during your time as an employee, even your boss was saddened by your departure, but he left a good reference in your letter, and that will surely be reflected on your resume; In the meantime, you really need something temporary.

The downside to having an advanced degree, a master's degree, and a postgraduate degree is that you're often overqualified for certain positions that would be a great fit for you these days, and you definitely won't ask your friends for financial help even if they say they're more than willing to give it. You appreciate their company and moral support, but it would be great if the world would stop closing career paths to you just because you're more qualified at carrying sacks of potatoes.

While you search, you remember to take moments of relaxation to meditate or simply take a break, that's why you're in Linkon Park, a sunny, cloudless day, with a barely perceptible breeze that refreshes your skin. You walk calmly, watching the children running and playing with each other, the parents not far away watching them or chatting with each other, friends passing the time or enjoying a picnic at the tables, and couples relaxing on the grass.

It's definitely a good day.

- It's mine! It's mine! -

Even the ground is warm! I hope the sarcasm is noticeable.

Luckily, it wasn't a hard blow, just the impact of a large body falling on you like a ton of flour. The good thing was that you partially landed on the grass so your head won't have a huge bump in the morning.

- I'm so sorry! - exclaims a male voice echoing in your ears, It shouldn't echo, right? - Please let me help you -

You look up at the sky, eclipsed by a handsome man; tall, given the way he kneels, with a healthy skin tone, short, dark hair that matches his eyes of the same color, which also matches his casual outfit, he's visibly strong (which is why the impact hurt so much), he looks at you with a worried face, his hand extended, waiting for yours.

Still a little disoriented, you take his hand -Thank you -

- I swear I didn't see you, I'm so sorry - He sounds contrite, and ignores the call of (apparently) his friends, guiding you to a nearby bench so you can sit down. In fact, he helped you reorient your five senses in the right direction, allowing your eyes to see instead of savor the sound.

- It's okay, it's okay - you try to say once you've remembered how to speak, how embarrassing that a tackle took you down like that, but it really was like running into a brick wall. He's so strong!

The next thing you know, it's been a good five minutes of this man apologizing on behalf of his friends (naming each one), saying he'll be more careful from now on, and that he's really sorry he knocked you down.

- I understand! - You don't want to be rude, but if you don't stop him now, he'll probably continue babbling nonstop and apologize on behalf of his entire generation -I understand, no problem, I'm better now -

- Even so… - he mumbles sadly, looking at you with as much sadness as if he'd really done something wrong -Let me make it up to you -

- No need it -

- I insist - and he really does, his sadness turning into determination -Let me buy you a drink -

- I don't drink alcohol -

- A cold drink, like a smoothie - It doesn't seem oppressive in its insistence, more like a kid who knows he broke a friend's toy and wants to make it up to him with another one - There's a really good coffee shop nearby, Destiny Café, do you know it? -

- I've been there a couple of times, it's good - You're not the kind of person who wants to be rewarded like that. You don't know this guy, and he wants to buy you something? You don't even let your friends spend money on you, or you prevent it as much as you can.

- Please -

Well, it can't be worse than being knocked out on the ground in a park.

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In fact, it wasn't bad at all.

You talked for a good hour, maybe more, the smoothie turned into coffee, coffee into carrot cake for him, and chocolate and strawberry cake for you. Desserts were put aside as the conversation flowed like a spring.

Now you know he's a pilot in training, that he likes rock climbing, running on the beach, and cooking for his family and friends, that he enjoys music, reading about aerospace engineering, and that he's an honors student, he even told you about a friend who had been thought dead and suddenly found him posing for a photo on his own tombstone, how crazy!

It's funny, It was a shame he had to leave, but his academy has strict schedules when it comes to his students' free time. But you'll definitely keep in touch, since he took care of checking in on your phone: your good (and annoying) friend Gao Gideon.

Now you just relax looking out the window, watching people pass by, each living their own story, some in their best chapters and others going through their canonical event, it's entertaining to guess what each one is going through.

- Excuse me - a sweet voice calls from next to your table. She's a beautiful girl, an alluring aura surrounding her as if she were a sun you need to orbit - Are you still using the table? There aren't any other tables available, and well...I don't want to bother you or anything if you're still using it -

- Oh no! I was just leaving - You're about to put your things away when she stops you.

- Your necklace - It's a simple silver necklace with a small emerald dangling from it, protected in a crescent-shaped pendant - It's very beautiful; emeralds are my favorite gemstone -

- Mine too - you say, standing up, but that girl insisted so much that you join her for a while (not that you have anything else to do) that you ended up talking for hours as if you were lifelong friends, and you probably are now.

But it was getting late, and you had to go, besides, she'd already told you she was waiting for someone and would be here any moment. So you said goodbye, and before leaving the café, you noticed they were hiring, what a lucky day! Two friends and a possible job in one day.

Life is good, you think, leaving the café with an interview scheduled for tomorrow and feeling good after months in the dark, but you should know that even the light tends to hide shadows amidst the splendor.

Even on a good day, you should pay attention to your surroundings; you never know who you might bump into again.

#love and deepspace fic #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #lads x non!mc reader #non mc reader #lads zayne #lads xavier #lads #lads sylus #lads caleb #lads rafayel #lads x reader #gn reader

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michanvalentine · 2 months ago

Text

Unfortunately, I played Baldur's Gate late, so I often find myself reflecting on concepts that have probably already been discussed a million times. Bear with me — I need to vent these thoughts somehow.

So... Every now and then, while reading various posts around the web, I find myself wondering what those unfortunate 7,006 souls ever did to be so quickly dismissed and condemned. Seriously. I’m stunned by how easily people judge and by the lack of moral and objective analysis. In the game, of course, everything goes — I myself sent them all to hell without much hesitation in one of my runs. They're not real people and the point is to have fun.

But when you stop and analyze the situation from the outside — not as players inside a videogame, but as people with empathy, morals, and common sense who are engaging with a narrative — I genuinely struggle to understand how this act can be seen as justifiable. Among all those souls used in the ascension ritual, the only one that truly deserves to burn in hell is Cazador. The others? Unlucky, foolish, maybe in love. Astarion says it himself: they were people who let their guard down and fell for his sweet words.

"Every one who ever trusted me enough to let down their guard... innocents, idiots, and the unluky."

Among them, there’s surely some piece of shit who hurt Astarion, who abused him, and maybe does deserve to rot in hell alongside Cazador. But others were just drunks, not entirely in control of their decisions. Were some of them whoremongers? Sure — but that’s not a crime. They were seduced, lured in, encouraged — they didn’t drag Astarion into an alley to use him. It was Cazador who exploited and raped him, forcing him into that role.

Were some of them jerks, criminals? Sure. But Astarion himself isn’t a saint — that doesn’t mean he’s more worthy of mercy than they are. He’s not inherently more deserving of survival than his brothers and sisters, for instance. And I say this as someone who loves Astarion. On top of that, these poor bastards have been imprisoned for centuries, starving, neglected, stripped of the most basic decency. Astarion himself points it out.

If you believe Astarion has paid for his past sins by enduring Cazador’s abuse (and on this point I fully agree), then that same logic must apply to them. A little consistency, for God’s sake. Yes, they’re starved vampire spawn — but they’re also capable of self-control. And more importantly, they want to live, just like Astarion. In fact, I would go even further: they are Astarion. They represent the mirror in which he sees himself — and what he sees is so unbearable that he wants to erase them entirely. Just as he would erase that part of himself he considers pathetic and miserable. When in reality, it’s not pathetic at all — it’s the strong part, the part that survived the 200 years under Cazador.

"[...]I don't want to be like them... They are patethic, horrible... [...] That weakness in me is dead. It's dead! I have a higher purpose."

Moreover, it’s made very clear in the epilogue that they’re not mindless bloodthirsty monsters without reason or restraint. If they were, it’d be easy for everyone — for the player, for Astarion, and for the rest of the companions — to sacrifice them all. There wouldn’t be a moral dilemma. There wouldn’t be consequences. No tension in the plot, I might add. It would be completely flat.

But there are consequences. All the companions react accordingly. They condemn the act. They realize Astarion has become a monster. Because the ascension isn’t a walk in the woods with birds chirping — it’s a vile act, a deeply repugnant devil’s bargain, as Raphael himself says. It condemns a multitude of innocent souls to eternal suffering, after being deceived by Astarion (just like the player, who’s drawn in by his charm and simple plan), and after already enduring unspeakable pain under Cazador.

It’s monstrous.

"[...] It's a rather grim tale, even for my tastes. [...] The contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed. [...] Your soul will set off a very weave of death bringing Cazador his twisted life."

A diabolical act that will bring forth something twisted and corrupted, a sick imitation of life.

Somewhere I even read: “The companions suddenly treat AA like he’s evil incarnate when he hasn’t done anything wrong yet!” Seriously?! Honestly, it sounds less like we’re talking about victims and more like parasites. And besides, I don’t even see why these vampire spawn should be considered more dangerous or less deserving than the ones AA would go on to create. So no, you’re not doing the world a favor by eliminating them.

The morally right and more humane choice is to set them free.

Then, if someone in the game wants to kill them because they’re playing an evil character, prefer the ascended vampire, or whatever else — fine by me. Far be it from me to ruin anyone’s fun.

But to justify the act in general, outside the game? Mmmh…

The fact that people love Astarion and that he has suffered — and no one is denying that — at the hands of Cazador, doesn’t automatically give him the right to do whatever he wants or to be excused and treated like a righteous man because of it, especially when he acts like a monster beyond redemption (the damn ritual). Otherwise, why not grant the same satisfaction to Cazador himself? He also suffered at the hands of Vellioth, poor thing. And he suffers deeply because of his condition as an undead, even though he stands above his vampire spawn and possesses everything Astarion believes to be important—power, wealth, status.

"These deathless dreams hold memories of a mortal life once-forgotten. Of the boy I was, the man i became, the monster that will not end. I sleep, but cannot rest. I live, but cannot die. I'm eternal, and I grieve."

Astarion is just one of the many other spawn meant to be sacrificed, identical to the others in every way. The only difference is that we happen to get the chance to know him, that’s all. And most importantly, in what way, during the act itself (the performance of the ritual), is Astarion any different from Cazador? In none. He literally takes his place. So if Cazador is the evil one—the bastard, the monster who must die and be punished—then in that moment, Astarion becomes one too. And it’s precisely by refusing the ritual that Astarion sets himself apart and becomes morally deserving of something—respect and admiration, to begin with—better than the others, better than Cazador. Otherwise, he’s just a thief who brutally steals his tormentor’s life’s work.

It’s not like I’m trying to overanalyze the concepts and the characters — which, for the record, are crystal clear to me and thoroughly explained within the game itself — it’s just that I genuinely can’t understand how mass murder or condemning innocent souls to hell can be seen as just or acceptable outside the context of the game.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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muzansfangs · 1 year ago

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Immoral cravings.

Starring: Nanami Kento x f!reader; Toji Fushiguro x f!reader; Hiromi Higuruma x f!reader;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, age gap but the reader is 21, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, creampie, dirty talk, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, daddy kink, semi-public sex, hair pulling, spanking, marking the partner, power imbalance, immoral relationships, morally grey decisions and men, revenge sex, slut shaming, choking, overstimulation, breeding kink, implied reference to pregnancy (Hiromi);

Plot: they are older than you and you both know your relationship is not exactly healthy. The charm of an older man, a real one, the allure of having someone you should not even think about in such a lewd way were unbearable thoughts weighing on your conflicted mind, though. You gave in, in the end, allowing them to ruin you in ‘worst’ way possible.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Nanami Kento.

You always pested him during his lunch break. At first, it was unintentional. You just dropped by your father’s office to check out on him, walking down the corridor with that ridiculously short skirt. You were a sinful sight for him. He tried to ignore you, going as far as keeping on working and not flicking his gaze up to greet you.

However, not averting his eyes from the screen to soak in your curves was impossible. He started to loathe your beauty. The sound of your voice was enough to make his pants feel too tight. He did not blame you for striking up frivolous conversations with him, or wearing such provocative attires, though. At least, he did not accuse you of messing with him until he realized you had got the hint of what you were doing to him.

You turned into a pest.

Hopping onto his desk, defiant smile gracing your glossy lips, you made sure to spread your legs enough to let him catch a glimpse of your panties. Those stupid white panties, evoking purity and virginity. Did you think you could fool him? You were far from being a celestial being. You were a freaking demon relentlessly testing his nerves. But he was done with you and your pathetic entr’acte.

You were soon going to deal with the painful problem you caused him every single time you casually waltzed into the office with the only intent of driving him mad.

His hand latched onto the back of your neck, pushing your cheek against the mirror in front of you, was the clear sign of how much you had pissed him off. Your skirt hiked up to your hips, as your hands were firmly curled up around the edge of the sink, you let a strained moan leave your lips for a particularly hard thrust hitting your g-spot.

You had lost the count of how many times he had made you come, milking his dick deliciously to make it up for the pent up anger you had caused him.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you can’t take it” he growled, his lips fanning your earlobe as he geave your hip a squeeze, probably hard enough to leave some purple bruises in the shape of his fingerprints.

Your vision was blurry, as tears of pleasure brimmed up in your eyes, your make-up ruined at this point. His thrusts were punishing, the sound of his thighs smacking against your ass was so lewd you almost felt ashamed of yourself. Yet, you could not deny you had been craving him since the day your father introduced you to the workaholic Nanami Kento. The thought of him fucking you to oblivion had almost become obsessive at some point.

“Ngh— It’s too much, Kento” you whimpered, only for him to tangle his fingers through your hair and giving your strands a rough pull.

Mouth agape, cheek leaving the cold surface he had squashed your face against not too long before, you watched the man behind you stare daggers at you through your reflections in the mirror. You were a mess. Black lines of mascara staining your cheeks and your hair unusually disheveled were enough to make your stomach churn.

If your father found out about this you were screwed. Quite literally.

“You are taking it like the good little slut you are. Listen to this. — he rasped out, dragging his length a little slower down your dripping cavern to emphasize the squelching sound of your mixed juices — You are soaked, sucking me in so good. Be a good little girl and let me finish, hm? That’s what I deserve after enduring a painful bulge for six hours every fucking day” he stated, before pulling out of you until only his tip was buried between your folds.

You tried to open your mouth to speak, but when he snapped his hips forward, earning a scandalous high-pitched moan from you, nothing came out if not pleas.

“Gosh! Kento, o my God… It feels so good” you whined out, squeezing your eyes shut as you let him thrust into you once again, resuming that torturous pace that had knocked the air out of your lungs.

The blond man grunted, his cock twitching into you as he approached his incoming climax. His lips found the crook of your neck, nibbling and sucking on the skin as he even praised you “So beautiful, so obedient. You’re a good girl, after all” he chimed, before he stilled into you and filled you up.

Your inner walls tightened around him, your orgasm meeting his one as he held you close to him. It was not just hate sex. He wanted you. You were his precious doll. He wondered how was it even possible that his boss had given life to such a pretty, lovely girl like you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, before your dad comes back from the lunch break” he whispered, pecking your cheek.

Toji Fushiguro.

He had overheard you complaining with his son, Megumi, countless times before you ultimately decided to break up. You two had your fair amount of problems, naturally, but there was one that had made Toji grin from ear to ear. Being into a relatioship with his son for four years had made you pretty comfortable around his shamelessly handosme father too.

Since you often slept over, Toji had suggested you to leave some of your belongings over. Back then it had sounded like a good idea. However, now that Megumi and you had, not so suprisingly, parted roads, you needed to get your things back and forget about that failed love story once and for all. You did not want to cross paths with Megumi and texting his father to ask when you could drop by to collect your stuff, without stumbling into your ex, was your only option.

When he told you Megumi was out for dinner with some friends, you did not hesitate to show up at the door with an empty box between your hands and an apologetic expression plastered over your face.

That gorgeous face of yours, your soft eyes and your sudden bashful attitude were such a delectable sight for Toji. He was shirtless, like most of the time, causing your cheeks to heat up and your eyes to rake down his abs not so subtly. Was it not immoral and pitiful to thirst after your ex’s father? Most definitely, but you were not in the mood to self-deprecate.

Not when, five minutes later, you ended up sobbing on a picture of you and Megumi eating cotton candy together six months before. You had loved him so unconditionally. You had spent the best years of your life with him, feeling glad every single day for having met him. But everything ended, right? Good things were not an exception to that rule.

Hearing your cries, Toji walked up to you, spotting your frail frame sitting on Megumi’s bed and crying your eyes out. What a perfect occasion for him to sneak his arm around your waist and drawing soothing circles on your back. Toji was not an overly affectionate man, not even with his son.

But he was there for you.

You did not even realize how it happened. All you knew was that, after drying up your tears with his lips, Toji was hovering over you. Your shorts had been tossed across the room, as his large hand had slithered down your stomach and past the hem of your panties.

His fingers, plunged deep into your core, stretched you out so deliciously, stimulating all the right spots to make you moan out in pleasure. You hated yourself for having made such a comparison, but your mind kept on screaming Megumi had never made you whimper like that, not even when he was sheathed deep into you.

“Fuck it, you’re so tight, baby. That stupid son of mine could not even fuck you good, right? — Toji cooed, his tongue invading your mouth to swallow your moans with a fiery kiss — Not even when he was balls deep into you? Tell me you want my cock, tell me you want me to stretch you out and I will” he allured you to give in, watching how your thighs quivered and your hips bucked up.

How could Megumi be that dumb to let you go?

“Please, Toji, please…” you meekly choked out, as he sighed and withdrew his fingers out of your soppy cunt.

You whined almost in contempt, but then you watched as he leisurely hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, dragging them down his muscular thighs, and your jaw went slack. His cock slapped up against his V line, veiny, girthy, making your mouth salivating.

“Let me make you feel like a woman. Spread your legs, pretty girl. Daddy’s coming for you” Toji instructed you, making you shivers and wonder what Megumi would have thought of you, if he caught you impaled on his father’s cock.

Your eyes darted on Megumi’s picture on his nightstand and shamed washed over you. No, no, you had to focus on Toji, not on Megumi.

“Oi, eyes on me. Don’t think about that boyfriend wonnabe” Toji scolded you, grasping your jaw roughly as he ran his the head of his cock down your slit to collect your juices.

You swallowed forcefully down, nodding your head as he grasped your ankles and settled them on the top of his shoulders. The touch of an experienced man could not be nearly be compared to that of a twenty-one years old man. Toji knew how to please a woman. The stretch was almost painful, but as he fucked you like that, folded in half, you saw the stars.

You squeezed his dick perfectly, your warmth engulfing him like a glove, as he groaned out in pleasure with every thrust.

“Look at you… So cute and going cock-drunk so easily. No, it’s not going to be the last time we do that, alright? I need to breed that sweet pussy of yours” he huskily said, grasping your lower lip between his teeth and tugging at it gently, asserting once again his dominance over you. Your orgasm, a powerful one after so long, came as a blessing, leaving your body numb.

Too far gone to articulate a speech, you nodded your head, while his hand wrapped around your neck and he finished into you after a few more sloppy thrusts.

You had no idea of the satisfaction he felt in watching his cum leaking out of you and staining his son’s bedsheets. Maybe, just maybe, he had thought about leaving it there for him to understand what his ex girlfriend and his father had been up to while he chewed on some insipid noodles.

Hiromi Higuruma.

He had always been there for you. Your father’s best friend, Hiromi Higuruma, was the man he trusted blindly around you, his daughter, his pride and joy. Everyone in your family appreciated him. Growing up, you had almost lost count of how many times he had joined family dinners and road trips. He was always there for you. Nor you, neither him, though, would have ever thought that in the future he would have bent you over his desk and fucked you to oblivion, scattering the papers carelessly to the floor.

Maybe it was because of his visceral passion, when he talked to you about his profession as a lawyer, that you had chosen to enroll to the local Law School. Everyone, even Hiromi himself, were ecstatic about your decision.

But ambition had pushed you far from home, making you explore other countries as an exhange student. You missed your family, your home, but you soon realized you missed him too. Reading through your textbooks, crying over hard exams, studying to exhaustion, you only thought about him. You wondered if he was proud of you, or if he missed you as much as you missed him.

Sometimes you texted him, he replied almost immediately, congratulating you for your brilliant career. You had become so beautiful. When your father showed him pictures of you, your body blossomed into that of a woman, he found himself cursing his name for the dirty remarks popping out in his mind.

The day you knocked on his office’s door, Hiromi lost the last shred of dignity left in him. You were astonishing, finally an adult young woman exuding a cunning aurea and charm. That tight black skirt and matching high heels you were wearing made his mind spin.

“My father told me you could teach me a thing or two. I’m struggling with a case” you started, your mild voice sounding like a wicked melody he would have listened to forver. He was rational. He knew he should have sent you away before you ended up ruining your relationship, but he could not bring himself to do it.

Human cravings demanded to be satisfied.

“Your father chose the right man for this task. By the way, you look stunning, if it was obvious” he remarked, clearing his throat and closing the door behind you.

The way your red-painted lips parted, your back straightened, while he led you down towards his desk gave away how you felt. He knew people’s reactions, he had seen enough victims and criminals, liars and murderers struggling with feelings in his life to say you were trying to camufflate how you felt or why you were there in the first place.

The moment you began skimming through your documents, all dolled up and finally a colleague, Hiromi fought his dark impulses. You would have looked so pretty bent over his desk, your ass squeezed in his calloused hands, as you moaned out for him.

Two hours into arguing over the best strategy to save your client from jail, his hand suddenly latched around your throat, pulling you close to his body. The sudden action made you gasp for air and blush, but as your hand landed flatly over his chest, trailing down his pectoral, arousal made you press your thighs together. You were so close, the thin fabric of his shirt barely concealing the outline of his chiseled body.

His hand was still wrapped around your throat, his hot breath fanning your lips so hazardously. No, this encounter was not going to end like one of your typical catch-ups. No, this time you would have not said a cheerful, sweet and innocent ‘Bye-bye, Hiromi”.

This time you would have screamed his name at the top of your lungs so erotically that he would have filled you up until his cum dribbled down your inner thighs.

“Your father was right. I’m going to teach you a thing or two today” he murmured, capturing your lips with his in a fiery, passionate kiss. His grip on your neck did not loosen for a second, when his tongue pressed unceremoniously on your lips, parting them and delving into your mouth to involve you into a deeper and fervent kiss.

You whimpered, hands clutching his shirt into your hands as he finally gripped your hips, hand reaching up to unzip your skirt in a hurry. There was no time to waste. You had to be his, now and every single time you crossed roads. When his hands cupped your rear, he groaned, kneading it with passion, as he spun you around to bend you over the desk.

“Don’t worry. When I meet your father, I won’t tell him how I almost fucked a baby into you tonight” he sarcastically commented, unbuckling his belt smoothly as you eagerly slipped your thong down your legs for him. His words went straight to your core, riling you up even more as you smacked the papers and books out of your way to make room for yourself on the polished wooden surface of his desk.

“How many women did you fuck over here?” you asked curiously, glancing at him from above your shoulder.

Hiromi grinned and kissed your neck gingerly, while the tip of his cock teased your bundle of nerves and the area around your opening, not pushing in yet. You were the biggest mistake of his life, but also the most beautiful one. You were a goddess, a flower he had watched blossom, a passion he had nurtured in your last year far from home, from him.

“I’m the one who asks questions here. That’s a cross-examination, princess” he reprimanded you, before delivering a harsh spank that made your body jolt forward. The edge of the desk pressing against your lower abdomen made you suppress a soft wince of pain.

The moment he finally entered you, his cock stretching you out gradually and with care, you arched your back and allowed your insides to embrace him tightly, almost as if you were scared he was going to pull out.

“Fuck… Your pussy should be illegal” he groaned, gritting his teeth as he bottomed out. With your ass pressed up against his pelvis, Hiromi lavished praises on you and the blissful feeling you were gifting him with.

And at the end of his feral, dominant thrusts, he made sure to send you back home with a gift too. Warm, thick, his.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I’m finally exploring the JJK’s field better. I hope you enjoyed this scenario. Honestly, writing this down was a little hard considering how many times I got hot and bothered. Older men have always been my type. Also, the legal shit in there had to be added because, since I study Law, I wanted to make justice to my baby Hiromi. Anyway, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

x o x o.

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