𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

And she feels like home

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s nearing midnight when the rhythmic tapping on the window pulls you from the quiet comfort of your book. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. That sound is familiar. Rising from the couch, you pad softly to the window. Pulling back the curtain, your heart sinks.

There he is—Jason Todd—leaning against the window frame, a silhouette of leather and exhaustion. His helmet dangles loosely from one hand, the other clutching his side. Blood trickles from a cut above his brow, streaking his face.

“Jason!” you gasp, hurriedly unlocking the window and helping him inside.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice strained but laced with the wry humor you know so well. “Miss me?”

Your worry turns into a flurry of activity. You guide him to the couch, muttering something about stubborn vigilantes. He winces as he settles down, his usual confident demeanor dimmed by pain.

“What happened?” you demand, kneeling before him to inspect the damage.

“Bad night,” he mutters. “Some gang thought they could take me out. Clearly, they didn’t succeed.” His smirk is fleeting as he winces again.

“Jason, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” Your voice cracks, tears threatening to spill. “You scare me every time you show up like this.”

He reaches out, cupping your cheek with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the apology in his eyes far deeper than the words. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just… I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Your chest tightens. You can’t stay mad, not when he looks at you like that. Gently, you remove his gloves and begin cleaning his wounds. His shoulders relax under your touch, tension melting away as you care for him.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this alone,” you say softly, wrapping a bandage around his arm. “You can lean on me, Jason. Always.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he reaches out, pulling you into his lap with surprising strength.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

“Maybe not,” you tease, your lips quirking into a small smile. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough but filled with warmth. His arms tighten around you, and you feel his breath against your skin.

“Thank you,” he says after a long pause, his voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For being here. For being you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, the only sound your steady breathing as you hold each other. In that moment, nothing else matters—just the quiet promise of your love and the hope that, no matter what, you’ll face the chaos of his world together.

discussions

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

You stand in front of Anakin, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your gaze burning through him with the weight of your anger. His reckless behavior—always pushing himself into danger, always taking risks as though his life means nothing—has been wearing on you for far too long. The way he smiled after every close call, as if his return was guaranteed. You can’t understand it, not when you love him so deeply, not when you can’t imagine a life without him.

"Anakin," you snap, your voice sharper than you intend, but it doesn’t matter. He needs to understand. "You think you’re invincible? That you can just waltz into danger every time, and I’ll stand here, waiting for you to come back like nothing happened?"

He looks at you, and you can feel it immediately—the shift in his eyes. There’s something about the way his gaze settles on you, not the anger, not the resistance, but the way he takes in your form as though he’s seeing you for the first time. For a moment, you falter, the words on your tongue hanging there, lost in the intensity of his stare.

You try to remain firm, to keep up your scolding, but his presence is like a force pulling you closer, a magnet that draws you in against your will. His eyes—the same intense blue that always makes your heart skip a beat—trace your every feature, lingering on your face, your lips, your eyes.

"You look… beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low, almost as if he's surprised by it. You feel a blush creep up your neck, though you try to fight it. The weight of his admiration is overwhelming, but it’s not enough to make you forget the anger that still lingers in your chest.

You shake your head, trying to regain control. "This isn’t about how I look, Anakin. This is about you putting yourself in danger, again. Do you not care what it does to me when you do that?"

He takes a step closer, his expression softening despite the intensity still in his eyes. You want to stay angry, to keep holding on to your frustration, but the way he looks at you, the tenderness in his gaze, makes it so much harder.

"I care," he says quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "More than anything." He reaches out to touch your face, and you don’t pull away. His hand is warm against your skin, and you feel the familiar surge of love for him, battling with the fear you’ve held inside.

"But I also know," he continues, his voice becoming more serious, "that I can’t live in fear. I have to do what I must do. And I don’t want you to fear losing me, not when I can feel how much you love me." He steps back slightly, giving you space, but his eyes never leave yours.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to shout, to demand he stop, and wanting to reach out to him and feel his embrace. His smile, soft and understanding, catches you off guard. It’s the look of a man who knows he’s wrong, but who also knows that, for all his faults, you’ll always be there for him.

"Promise me," you whisper, the words almost lost in the air. "Promise me you’ll stop putting yourself at risk like that."

Anakin’s gaze softens even more, the conflict in his eyes giving way to the deep love he carries for you. He leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours, and you close your eyes, breathing in the warmth of his presence. "I promise, love" he murmurs, the words sincere, yet you can feel the weight of everything he can’t say, of the duty that still calls to him, even as his heart is tethered to yours.

You let go of the anger, feeling only the peace that comes from being with him.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔

Leon S Kennedy x Reader

The room is bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp. You and Leon lie side by side on the bed, the chaos of the world outside feeling a million miles away. His presence is warm, grounding, and undeniably comforting, his familiar scent mingling with the crisp cotton sheets. Married life with him, though filled with moments of danger and unpredictability, has also been punctuated by a quiet intimacy that feels wholly yours.

You shift slightly, turning onto your side to face him. Leon mirrors you, propping his head up with his hand, his ice-blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he gazes at you with a softness that makes your heart flutter, even after all these years.

“What are you looking at?” you tease, though there’s no edge to your voice.

He chuckles lowly, a sound that resonates deep in his chest. “You. Just you.”

His free hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger, trailing lightly down your cheek, the curve of your jaw, before coming to rest at the base of your neck. The touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his for a moment before turning it over to inspect his palm. It’s calloused and strong, a testament to everything he’s been through. You trace the faint scar along the side of his thumb, your fingertips light against his skin.

“Where’d this one come from?” you ask softly.

Leon glances down at the mark, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Raccoon City,” he answers simply, though his tone carries a world of unspoken memories. “It’s nothing compared to some of the others.”

“Let me see,” you say, gently pulling his arm closer. You start inspecting his forearm, finding a small, faint mole near the crook of his elbow. “I didn’t know you had this.”

Leon chuckles again, his eyes following your fingers as they glide over his skin. “I’m full of surprises, huh?”

“Apparently.” You smile, leaning forward to press a kiss just above the spot. “My turn?”

He hums in agreement, rolling onto his back and pulling you closer. “Where should I start?” His hands find their way to your arms, his touch feather-light as he begins his own exploration.

The moment is filled with quiet laughter as he spots a small birthmark on your shoulder. “How long have you been hiding this from me?” he teases, his thumb brushing over it.

“Not hiding,” you reply with a grin. “You just never asked.”

Leon shakes his head, his smile widening. “I’m going to find every single one.”

His fingers move with a sense of wonder, like he’s unraveling a mystery, trailing along your arm, your collarbone, and down to your wrist. You mirror his actions, your fingertips tracing his shoulders, the dip of his clavicle, and the faint lines of old wounds.

It’s not just the physical closeness but the unspoken trust between you. Each scar, each mark, tells a story, and sharing them in this way feels like the most profound form of vulnerability.

The two of you fall into a peaceful silence, your fingers continuing their gentle exploration. Time seems to blur, and the world outside ceases to matter. All that exists is the warmth of his touch, the sound of his steady breathing, and the unshakable bond between you.

Nightmares

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

You wake to the sound of soft, hurried footsteps padding across the polished floor, barely audible over the hum of Coruscant’s distant nightlife. The warm body beside you shifts—Anakin, his breathing even and steady, blissfully unaware of the disturbance. You smile faintly, brushing away a stray strand of his tousled hair before turning toward the door.

Two small figures appear in the doorway, outlined by the dim light from the hall. Luke and Leia, clutching their blankets, their wide eyes filled with fear. You’re on your feet in an instant, already kneeling to their level before they can say a word.

“Another nightmare?” you ask softly, stroking Leia’s dark curls as she nods, her lower lip trembling. Luke burrows into your side, his tiny hands gripping your nightclothes tightly. You exchange a glance with Anakin, who’s now awake and sitting up, concern etched across his face.

“Come here,” he says, his voice warm and soothing as he pats the space beside him on the large bed. “There’s plenty of room.”

Leia hesitates, her little brows furrowed, but Luke is already climbing up with your help, wriggling under the blankets. You scoop Leia into your arms, kissing her temple as you carry her to the bed. She sighs, her small frame relaxing against you.

The four of you settle in—a tangle of limbs and blankets, the children nestled between you and Anakin. Luke curls against his father, his small hands gripping Anakin’s tunic as though it’s the only anchor in his stormy dreams. Leia clings to you, her fingers twining with yours as you stroke her hair, whispering reassurances.

“They’re safe,” Anakin murmurs, his voice barely audible as he watches them with that soft, vulnerable look he reserves only for his family. “We won’t let anything harm them.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, the galaxy shrinks to just this—your children’s quiet breathing, Anakin’s steady presence, and the love that binds you all together.

Leia stirs, her voice a sleepy murmur. “Daddy, can you tell us a story?”

You glance at Anakin, who raises a brow, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “I think your mother tells better stories than I do,” he says, his tone playful.

Rolling your eyes, you lean closer, your voice soft and soothing as you weave a tale. Anakin chimes in now and then, embellishing with dramatic flourishes that make the children giggle despite their exhaustion.

By the time your story ends, Luke and Leia are fast asleep, their nightmares forgotten. Anakin reaches out, his fingers brushing yours as he whispers, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You smile, your heart full as you glance at your sleeping children. “It’s not just me,” you whisper back, your gaze meeting his. “It’s us.”

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his warmth chasing away any lingering shadows. For tonight, the galaxy can wait. Here, in this moment, you have everything you need.

𝓘 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓻

Jensen Ackles x Reader

It’s late in the evening, the kind where the golden glow of the streetlights softens the edges of the world. You’ve just stepped out of the quaint café where you and Jensen had been tucked away for hours, sharing laughter, stolen kisses, and the kind of quiet moments that make your heart swell. The sky is painted in shades of indigo, and the air carries a slight chill.

As you dig through your bag, you remember.

“I have no car,” you mutter, your voice tinged with mild annoyance at yourself for forgetting. You glance at Jensen, expecting a teasing remark or a playful grin. But instead, he just looks at you, his green eyes warm under the streetlight.

“I’ll walk,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, surprised. “Jensen, it’s at least a couple of miles. And it’s cold—”

He interrupts with a shrug, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “Then I’ll walk a couple of miles with you. No big deal.”

The sincerity in his tone silences any protests you might have had. He steps closer, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you, and he tilts his head, a small, boyish smirk playing on his lips. “Besides, I like walking with you. It gives me more time to look at you.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, and he chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. Without another word, he gently takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and starts leading you down the sidewalk. The city feels quieter than usual, the occasional car passing by, its headlights streaking across your path.

As you walk, Jensen keeps the conversation light, asking about your day and making silly jokes that have you laughing so hard you almost forget the chill in the air. Every now and then, he gives your hand a small squeeze, as if to remind you that he’s there, and that he’d gladly walk a hundred miles just to be with you.

When you finally reach your apartment, your cheeks are flushed from both the cold and his constant teasing. You pause by the door, turning to look at him. “You didn’t have to walk all this way, you know.”

Jensen leans against the doorframe, his hands still in his pockets, and grins. “I know. But I wanted to.” He steps closer, his voice softening as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Besides, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Your heart does that familiar flutter, the one that only he can cause. Before you can overthink it, he closes the gap between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s warm and lingering, like the promise of something more.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he whispers, “Next time, though, let’s take my car. My feet are killing me.”

You laugh, swatting his chest, and he grins like the mischievous troublemaker you’ve fallen for.

dreamgirl

Alexei Vronsky x Reader

You had always known that love could be complicated, but nothing had prepared you for the whirlwind of emotions that Alexei Vronsky brought into your life. He was everything you had ever imagined in a partner — handsome, charming, and filled with a passion that both exhilarated and terrified you. You were engaged to him, but somehow, that commitment only made your feelings more tangled.

It was a quiet afternoon when you found yourself alone with him in the garden, the golden rays of the setting sun casting a soft glow over the petals of the flowers. Alexei stood beside you, his usual composed demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable, more real.

“Do you ever wonder if we’re meant for something more than this?” he asked, his voice soft, but laced with intensity. You looked at him, feeling the weight of his gaze on your face, his eyes filled with longing that you couldn’t deny.

You had always admired Alexei’s ability to mask his emotions, but in that moment, it was clear he was torn. Torn between the life you had been planning together, and the undeniable pull he felt for something else — someone else, perhaps. You didn’t need to ask. The tension between you both was enough.

“I don’t know, Alexei,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, as you gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “I thought I knew what we had, but sometimes, I wonder if we're just holding onto the idea of each other.”

His hand reached out, his fingers grazing yours. The simple touch sent a shiver down your spine. His face softened, as though he understood.

“Maybe we’re afraid to let go,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “Afraid of what it means to love someone completely… to lose ourselves in them.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions that swirled within you. Everything was so uncertain, yet when you were with him, the world outside seemed to disappear.

“I don’t want to lose you, Alexei,” you said, your voice barely audible. “But what if we’re not the people we thought we were when we made these promises?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence enveloping you as he gently cupped your face with his hands. His thumb brushed over your lips, and for a moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

“We were always meant to be more than the promises we made,” he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead in a tender kiss. “You and I… we are meant to write our own story. A story that is not bound by expectations or duty, but by what we feel, here and now.”

His words sent your heart into a frenzy, but you knew deep down that this was the truth you had been avoiding. Your engagement with Alexei was built on expectations, on what others had hoped for you, not on the uncharted path of real, raw love that pulsed between you.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you realized that you couldn’t keep pretending to be someone you weren’t. With Alexei, you were not bound by the future, but by the present — the shared moments of passion and vulnerability that connected you both in a way that was impossible to deny.

In that garden, with the world fading around you, you knew that your love story with Alexei Vronsky would never be simple, but it would always be yours. And no matter what the future held, you would always remember the day when you let go of the promises you thought you had to keep, and embraced the love that was waiting for you both.

I love him

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

You’re standing at the edge of a quiet park, watching the golden light of dusk stretch across the horizon. The world feels both too big and too small at the same time, but as you turn your head, you see him—Timothée. He’s sitting on the bench, looking at you with that quiet smile, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

You feel a familiar knot tighten in your chest. There’s something about him, something pure in the way he makes you feel. But it also scares you. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? In places where love felt too heavy, too much to bear. Past relationships have left scars, and sometimes, you’re not sure if you can let anyone in again.

But Timothée doesn’t rush you. He never does. He watches you, his gaze soft and understanding, as though he sees the parts of you that even you don’t want to face. You can tell he knows. He knows you’re unstable, that your past weighs on you in ways you haven’t even shared. And yet, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays.

You take a step toward him, your heart racing. When you sit beside him, you can feel the warmth of his presence, steady and reassuring. He doesn’t try to fix you. He doesn’t need to. His love is quiet, like a whisper that says, I’m here, and I’ll wait.

“You’re not the only one who’s been hurt,” he says, his voice low, just above a whisper. There’s no judgment in his words, only understanding. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

And you feel it. That truth. The certainty that for once, someone is here for you, just as you are. Your heart trembles, caught in the weight of it all. The fear, the doubt, the belief that no one could ever love you in the way you need. Yet Timothée, with his gentle hands and his even gentler heart, shows you a love that is real, a love that’s not built on perfection but on understanding.

He doesn’t say much, but it doesn’t matter. In this quiet moment, you know that his love is exactly what you’ve needed, even when you didn’t believe it was possible. His love is the best thing that’s ever happened to you—steady, patient, and never too much, never too fast.

You feel like you can breathe.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asks, his voice soft and vulnerable.

You don’t have to answer. You don’t need to. Because in his arms, in his eyes, you already understand. And somehow, that feels like enough.

blah, blah, blah....shut up

Dante Sparda x Reader

You step into the dimly lit cathedral, boots clicking against the cracked stone floor. Shadows stretch long and jagged across the decrepit walls, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through shattered stained glass windows. You know he's here. You always do. The air carries that familiar charge—like lightning waiting to strike.

And then, he speaks.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite thorn in the side. Couldn’t stay away, could you?"

The voice, smooth as silk and sharp as a blade, comes from the darkness above. Dante Sparda. That smirk of his practically audible even before you see his face.

You tilt your head slightly, fingers tightening around your weapon. "You’re the one who makes this whole 'hero of humanity' thing a lot more interesting. Couldn't resist the urge to see me again?"

A slow clap echoes through the cathedral as he steps out of the shadows. That cocky strut of his, the way his crimson coat flares behind him—it’s maddening how he makes the line between charm and arrogance blur. His silver hair glints in the pale light, and his mismatched eyes, one blue and one crimson, are locked on you.

"You’ve got a way with words," he drawls, stopping a few feet from you, Rebellion slung lazily over his shoulder. "Too bad I’ll have to cut this poetry slam short."

You roll your eyes, though your lips twitch in a smirk of their own. "Big talk from someone who’s never managed to land a killing blow."

He chuckles at that, low and rich, the sound curling around you like smoke. "You’d miss me too much if I did." He leans forward just slightly, tilting his head. "Tell me, sweetheart, what keeps bringing you back? The thrill? The chase? Or…" He flashes you a grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Is it me?"

Your stomach twists, and not in the way you’d like to admit. His arrogance is insufferable, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t light a fire under your skin. Still, you’re not about to give him the satisfaction.

"You’re delusional," you retort, stepping closer, daring him to close the gap. "But if you must know, I like keeping my enemies alive. Makes the victories more satisfying."

He hums thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping over you, unabashed and brazen. "Oh, I bet you do."

You scoff, but there’s heat rising to your cheeks, and you hate how he notices. He always does. His grin only widens, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s teasing you just to throw you off your game—or if he really means it. Either way, it works.

"You done yet?" you snap, raising your weapon, the blade gleaming as it catches the faint light. "Or are you just stalling because you know you’re going to lose?"

Dante’s eyes light up with that familiar spark of reckless excitement, and he lifts Rebellion, pointing it lazily at you. "Oh, I’m just getting started, babe."

And then he’s on you, a whirlwind of steel and smirks, the clash of your blades ringing out through the cathedral. He fights like he talks—bold, unpredictable, and maddeningly confident. Every strike you throw is met with a counter, every feint answered with a cocky remark that makes you want to punch that smirk off his face.

But there’s something about the way he moves, the way he watches you, that keeps you from hating him entirely. His eyes burn with more than just battle lust; they hold something else, something you can’t quite put into words. And damn it, you’re starting to think he knows it too.

He locks your blade with his, faces inches apart, his breath warm against your skin. "Admit it," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. "You’re having fun."

You glare at him, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. "Shut up."

He laughs, leaning in just a fraction closer. "You’ll miss me when I’m gone."

You don’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you shove him back with a growl, your blade flashing as you press the attack. His grin only widens, and for a fleeting moment, you think you see a flicker of something genuine behind his cocky facade.

𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽, 𝔀𝓱𝔂 𝓱𝓲𝓶

Regulus Black x Reader

You’ve never given much thought to Regulus Black before. Sure, you’ve seen him in the hallways, always composed, with his sharp cheekbones and darker-than-night eyes. He’s the Slytherin prince everyone whispers about, the one who’s far too serious for his age, but he’s never been more than a fleeting thought in your mind.

Until now.

It starts in Potions class, of all places. You’ve always prided yourself on being decent enough, but today, Professor pairs you with him. Regulus Black. The boy who carries his family’s name like a burden but wears his ambition like armor.

“You’d best keep up” he says without even looking at you as he flips through his textbook. His voice is smooth, like honey drizzled over something bitter.

You clench your jaw, determined not to rise to the bait. “And you’d best stop assuming you’re the only one with a brain.”

The ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. It’s not much, but you see it, and for some reason, your chest feels strange—tight and warm all at once.

You don’t know when it begins to shift. At first, it’s annoyance. His snide remarks get under your skin, but you find yourself countering them with your own sharp wit. He’s infuriatingly precise, and you hate how his quiet confidence seems to unsettle you.

But then there’s a moment. A single moment that plants the seed of something dangerous.

It’s late one evening in the library. You’re poring over a book for a Transfiguration essay when you notice him at the table across from you. His hair is slightly mussed, his tie loosened, and for once, he looks almost…human. Tired, even.

“You’re staring,” he mutters without looking up.

Your cheeks flush, and you quickly look back at your parchment. “I wasn’t staring. I was…thinking.”

His dark eyes finally meet yours, and for a second, you swear there’s something vulnerable in them. It vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual guarded expression. But that second lingers, and it worms its way into your mind, your chest, your soul.

After that, you notice things. The way he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear when he’s focused. The faint scar on his left hand, like a memory of something he won’t share. The way he always pauses before answering questions in class, as if weighing the worth of his words.

You tell yourself it’s just curiosity. You’re intrigued, nothing more.

But then he defends you. It’s during a confrontation in the corridor with some Slytherins who have taken the House rivalry a step too far. You’re outnumbered, your wand gripped tightly in your hand, when Regulus steps out of the shadows.

“Enough,” he says, his voice cold and sharp. The others freeze, their bravado crumbling under his gaze. They mutter apologies and disappear, leaving you standing there, stunned.

“Why did you do that?” you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

You should walk away. You should let this be a fleeting interaction, but something in you snaps. “Who are you, Regulus Black? Really?”

He looks at you then, truly looks at you, and for the first time, you see the cracks in his armor. The weight of expectations, the quiet desperation of someone trapped by his own choices. He doesn’t answer, but his silence tells you more than words ever could.

And that’s when you realize the truth.

You’re falling for him.

It’s not dramatic, like a lightning strike. It’s slow, like the creeping warmth of sunlight after a storm. It terrifies you, because Regulus Black is everything you shouldn’t want. He’s a Slytherin. He’s guarded, secretive, and so achingly distant. But beneath it all, you see someone who is trying—fighting—to be more than what the world expects him to be.

And maybe, you think you can be the one to remind him he’s not alone. Even if it breaks your heart in the end.

a lovely night

Timothee Chalamet x Reader

You’re standing at the edge of a wooden pier, the ocean stretching out in front of you, its surface rippling with the silver sheen of twilight. The sky is a painter’s dream—swirling blues and purples and soft pink streaks that refuse to settle. You wouldn’t have chosen to be here, not with him, but here you are.

“Nice view,” Timothée says, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He’s not looking at you, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. That ever-present air of confidence, or maybe it’s just boredom. Hard to tell.

“It’d be nicer without the commentary,” you shoot back.

He lets out a short laugh, tilting his head toward you. His curly hair catches the fading light, and for a split second, you think it makes him look... well, annoying, actually. Of course he’d find a way to be effortlessly attractive when you’re trying to stay irritated.

“So why are we here again?” you ask, crossing your arms as the sea breeze teases at the hem of your dress.

“You tell me. You’re the one who wanted to walk instead of staying at the party.”

“Yeah, because parties with you are unbearable.”

“And this is better?” He gestures at the empty pier, the lazy waves, the distant hum of the city behind you both.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t leave.

For a while, the two of you stand in silence. The night starts to creep in, the stars blinking awake. Somewhere out there, a couple would be leaning into each other, whispering something soft, something that matters. But here? Here it’s just you and Timothée, stuck in a conversation neither of you wants to admit feels inevitable.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he says suddenly.

“What’s funny?”

“This. Us. Standing here like this. It’s almost…” He pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Romantic.”

You laugh—sharp and incredulous. “Romantic? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m serious!” He turns to you, grinning now. That ridiculous, lopsided grin you’ve seen a thousand times. “It’s the perfect setting, isn’t it? Moonlight, the ocean, you in that dress”

“Stop.”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just… You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.”

The wind picks up, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. Like maybe there’s something unspoken here, something you’d both rather not acknowledge. But then he shifts, breaking the spell.

“You know,” he says, “if this were a movie, this would be the part where we kiss.”

“Good thing it’s not a movie.”

He chuckles softly, and the sound feels warmer than it should. “Good thing,” he repeats.

And yet, as the night deepens and the stars sharpen their glow, neither of you makes a move to leave. Maybe it’s the view. Or maybe, despite everything, there’s something about wasting a lovely night with someone who isn’t supposed to matter.