#I like the idea of this version of his clothes.

[muwapsturniolo]

Raw Dawg 𐂯 M. Sturniolo

"We uhh...W-we could go raw?"

⟢ NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, smut, fingering, condoms/raw sex, snowballing (or some version of it?), that's it me thinks. let me know if i missed something please!!!!

part 1 here (you don't have to read part one because it's chris. this is just the matt version!!)

Dividers are made by @bernardsbendystraws (as usual)

Needy.

That's what you and Matt were both feeling.

It had to have been something in the air. The two of you woke up that morning with an anxious feeling in the pit of your stomachs. However, it wasn't anxious in a way that made you feel sick, no, it was something good.

As the two of you went about your day, the touches lingered, and the glances lasted longer than they should have. There were a few times his words seemed to have a double meaning, and there were also a few times when you shot him your famous bedroom eyes.

The day was filled with strong sexual tension - neither of you could handle it anymore.

The door shoots open as both of you tumble into his bedroom, teeth clashing, tongues tangled, and clothes falling - you couldn't get enough of each other.

As soon as you both land on the bed, his fingers find their way to your excessively wet cunt. It's not an exaggeration, you were dripping. You could feel it all day, the slimy liquid seeping out of you, squelching softly between your folds.

"Shit-" he hisses as he pulls away from the feverish kiss, looking down between your bodies. Your inner thighs were drenched with your own mess, his middle and ring finger looking the exact same. His mind was going crazy trying to figure out if he wanted to taste you, or simply fuck you. Both seemed like wonderful options, but with the way you're looking at him, he knew which option to go with.

He shoves his soaked fingers in your mouth, letting you taste your own juices as he haphazardly reaches into the nightstand for a condom. He tears it open with ease, having done it many times before. It was second nature to him, the two of you deciding it was the best contraceptive.

He rolls the condom on quickly, your hands holding the back of your knees as he lines himself up. In one swift motion, he was inside of you, both of you moaning at the first sense of relief. He grasps your thighs, starting to give you the pleasure you both so desperately crave, however, an issue occurs.

You whimper as he slips out of you, his tip prodding at the lower entrance you two don't indulge in. "Shit- I'm sorry sweetheart!" He grabs his dick once more and slides it inside of you, but it happens again,

and again

and again

and again

"Matt," you whine, tears of frustration already building in your eyes. He was frustrated too, all he wanted to do was fuck his girlfriend for hours on end - and he couldn't.

"Fuck sweetheart, I know I know. You're too fuckin' wet, I-I can't stay in!" He rakes his brain trying to think of a way to make this work.

"Get on top."

He catches the glare you give him and he groans, "Dawg, I don't know - Did you just call me dawg?" You stare at him in disbelief, there was no way he just called you, his girlfriend, dawg.

"First you tell me to get on top, and now you're calling me dawg?"

"Ok ok I'm sorry! I don't know what you want me to do! You're too fuckin' wet for me to actually fuck you and you being on top is the best thing I can think of!"

The two of you stare at each other, breathing harshly and frustrated. Both of your minds are buzzing with ways to make this work. The tension has been building all day, and you both were determined to make this work. It was only a few seconds later when Matt got an idea, his body language becoming shy.

"We uhh...W-we could go raw?"

"Matt- I know! We never go raw, we agreed on that, but baby I don't know what else to do. I really need you." His hands rub over the back of your thighs needily. You look over his face with an unsure look. Of course you wanted to have sex with him, you've been waiting all day, but would you risk going raw?

"...Fine, we can go raw. Just make sure you pull-" You're cut off with his lips slamming against yours, your body already melting into the kiss.

"Pull out, I know."

In one swift movement, he takes the soaked condom off, throwing it to the floor with no care. He was eager, he finally gets to experience sex with you raw.

Just like the previous times, he lines himself up, slowly pushing in.

It was shocking how much of a difference condoms made. You could feel everything, his warmth, the vein running up the side of his dick. He could finally feel the real warmth of your velvety walls, the sponge-like texture.

You two felt close - Connected.

He starts off with a few slow thrusts, trials if you will. When he realized that he was finally staying inside, something in him changed.

He pushes your legs to your chest, his grip harsh as he begins slamming into you vigorously. Your eyes roll back, your jaw dropping at the new and incredible feeling. The headboard was slamming into the wall, surely leaving dents and scratches into the plaster.

His moans combine with yours, creating a pitch-perfect harmony. Your bodies are covered in a thin layer of sweat, the heat between you too making the room smell like a mixture of lust and love.

You felt good, so good to the point where you no longer cared.

You manage to push his hands away from your thighs, your legs collapsing on the bed as you pull him closer. Your eyes are half-lidded, glossy as you give him those puppy dog eyes.

"P-Please, need you to c-cum in me!" You urge, pleading for him to give you something you usually would never want - but it was a craving, you were feigning for it.

You needed it.

You miss the way his pupils dilate due to him slamming into you with newfound vigor, your eyes rolling all the way back as your body lurches with each thrust. You could feel the tip of his dick reaching your cervix, nudging the sensitive spot and making you see stars.

"Fuck- god m'so close!" He grunts, his jaw clenched as he tries to get you closer to the edge.

He doesn't have to work that hard, all it took was him moaning in your ear and you were releasing all over him. You let out a small scream as your juices splash between you both, wetting the sheets beneath you as well as both your bodies.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving deep scratch marks on his milky skin as he continues to rut into you. It was becoming too much and he knew it. He whispers sweet words into your ear as he pumps into you relentlessly

"Gonna cum soon. You want me t'fill you up? Give you my babies?"

"Gonna look so pretty preg- oh fuck!"

The idea of you being filled to the brim with his seed, and being pregnant, was enough to send him over, his body shaking as he moans and groans into your ear.

The two of you lay there, fucked out and sweaty as you try to catch your breath. He sits up and pulls out of you, pushing your legs back to watch himself drip out of you.

You were a sight for sore eyes, you looked so pretty like this.

He couldn't help himself.

Despite knowing you're sensitive, he lowers his body and attaches his mouth to your cunt. You jerk and grab at his hair, yanking harshly as you feel his fingers dipping into you. Thankfully it wasn't long, but you still had no chance to catch your breath.

It was something so new and erotic, the way his lips met yours and his tongue pushed the warm salty liquid in your mouth. You moan at the taste, swallowing each drop eagerly.

He pulls back from the sloppy and lustful kiss, staring at you with hungry eyes.

"No condoms for the rest of the night. Hands and knees, now."

[heartmix]

MV1 w/monster energy lover

silly little idea i had while i was at a work conference last week and all i was drinking were coffee and energy drinks. (i am a monster girl myself)

Lando Version

F1 Masterlist

Everything in Max's apartment was red bull

he lived and breath red bull

you've thrown out a few shirts so he wears normal clothes to events

the first time he saw a monster energy can in the fridge he thought it was a prank

"Very funny schatje"

"What are you talking about? its my favorite energy drink."

he lost it

"I have a whole fridge dedicated to red bull, you have energy drinks anytime you want."

"I don't really like red bull"

one would think someone kicked his cats

Max did everything to try and get you to like the brand

he hunted down every single flavor made so he could find the PERFECT one - spoiler there was none

"what the big deal? i'm not forcing you to convert. I like what i like."

"What if someone sees a can in my fridge?"

"no one comes over."

"what if you want at the paddock? can't have it seen there."

"I head over to mclaren all the time, Lando's fridge is always stocked."

youre surprised he hasn't notice you sneak to mclaren to steal a drink or two

that was his final straw. no way was he going to let that slide

the next day the fridge was filled with your favorite flavors

he even requested for a few cans to be in his drivers room fridge at races, much to everyones dismay

[harryhighkey]

let you go

hi! - this is lowkey the last part of my frontman x reader series!!

thank you so so so much for all the love on this series I have had the best time writing it!!! I love my version of In-ho fr and I'm glad others did too!!

lowkey the last part because I'm not fully done with these characters yet but this series is done, does that make sense? lmaoo basically end of series but not end of them !!

please let me know what you think!!!!!! happy reading!!

a frontman x reader series - masterlist to series here

Waking up felt like bliss.

The bed you were sleeping on was the comfiest bed you had ever slept on, the sheets around you were so soft against your skin, the pillow your head rested on curved against your neck and skull perfectly.

You sighed at how comfortable you felt, your eyes still closed as you were still in that limbo between being asleep and awake. You couldn't remember the last time you had such a peaceful sleep. All the aches and tightness that had gathered up in your body over the past days had left from your rest in this bed of luxury. Did this mean that the games were over?

The games.

Your eyes sprung open at that thought, suddenly you were snapped wide awake.

Your surroundings were unfamiliar, the room all black and sleek. You sat up in the bed, the sheets falling from your body at the movement. That's when you realised you were out of your Player 183 outfit. The blood stained green and white outfit had been replaced for a clean black shirt that had a baggy fit on you. You pushed the sheets from you further and saw that black sweat pants dressed your bottom half. They also looked baggy but the drawstring had been done up tight to keep them on you.

Just as you were wondering who had dressed you, you then noticed the clothes weren't the only clean thing. You yourself realised how you felt so clean and fresh. The slightest smell of soap still lingering on your skin.

Who bathed me?

The relaxed state you had been in while waking up was quickly changing. Your breath quickened as you started to panic, you had no idea if you were still in danger or not.

In a rush, you jumped up from the bed and went to the door. You were terrified as your hand gripped the handle, you didn't turn it yet, you had no idea what was on the other side. What if another sick game was waiting for you? You pressed your ear against the door, it was silent. You took in a deep breath and attempted to turn the handle.

It was locked.

"Fuck." You said out loud. You tried again, but it would not budge, you were trapped in here. Once you stopped trying to turn it, you heard a noise on the other side, your heart beat faster as you leaned in again. You could hear someone walking right towards the door.

Frantically you turned back around, frightened tears filling your eyes as you looked for somewhere to hide. Your quick scan of the bedroom came up empty. You heard a key going into the door handle, you had to act fast.

The next second, you were scrambling under the bed. As the door opened you clamped your own hand over your mouth, not wanting to make a sound.

You watched black boots take a few steps into the room and shut the door once they were in. The boots walked around the bed, you kept your eyes trained on them, the only other thing you could see of this person was the ankles of the black suit pants they wore.

"You can come out now." He spoke, that same authoritative voice you had come to know so well the past few days.

Young-il?

"Come on, pretty girl. Weren't you so much more comfortable on top of the bed?"

It was definitely him, but you had no idea what was going on. Why was he dressed differently too? Why were you both in this room? How had you made it out of the fight? You were trying desperately to piece together your last memories of the fight between the players and the guards, but you were pulled back to reality by the man kneeling on the ground. You watched with wide eyes as he leant down and finally, you could see his face.

You were relieved it was him, but he looked different like this. Dressed in all black, his hair pushed back. He was the one who had been comforting you when you felt exactly like this these past few days, but right now he half looked like a stranger.

You hadn't said a word but he was gathering all he needed to know from your body language. He saw how scared you were, cowering in on yourself under his bed. Slowly, he held out his hand to you. "Let me help you out from under there." His voice came out harder than he meant it to. While you had been sleeping, he had to go back to being the Frontman, and he had to do to gain control back from the players. It had been intense. You frowned at his tone, and he knew he had to bring back the man you knew him as, the man he wanted to be for you. So he tried again, softer this time. "It's me, baby, you don't have to be scared."

Your eyes shifted from his and to his hand, remembering all the times you had held it, all the times that same hand had helped you, comforted you, guided you, lifted you, caressed you, touched you. Cautiously, you placed yours into his, your fear easing a little at the familiar feeling of his hand engulfing yours, grateful that still felt the same.

He aided in pulling you out from the under the bed, sitting you down on the side of the bed where he sat beside you, his hand never letting go of yours.

The silence between you both was deafening, you had a thousand questions going through your head, you weren't sure where to even start.

"You're safe now, you're out of the games. For good." He told you, one of your unspoken questions answered.

In-ho had become a master at reading body language, you were being guarded right now but he was concentrating on any micro expressions you might offer up. You looked up at him, your eyes locking onto a few strands of his slicked back hair that had fallen forward from when he had knelt down just then. Those strands of hair made him seem more like the man you had come to care for. He noticed you looking, he squeezed your hand in his, wanting to prompt you to talk.

"You look different." Was all you could manage to say, you slipped your hand out of his and as much as he wanted to grab it again, he let you have your space. You scooted back up to the headboard, leaning your back against it and gathering your legs to your chest as a makeshift guard.

He needed you to come back to him, to open up, to let him in again, so he tried to keep things light-hearted. "So do you." He gestured to the clothes on your body with a smile. You looked down at yourself in the black clothes that didn't belong to you.

"Who's clothes are these?"

"Mine."

"Who dressed me?"

"Me."

"Who bathed me?"

"Me." He answered your questions honestly. You snapped your gaze to his, eye contact locked with one another. Your face was screwing up, you felt exposed. Subconsciously, you wrapped your arms around yourself and pulled your legs in tighter. He could see you thinking the worst, he couldn't have you thinking of him like that. "I didn't do anything else other than wash you. I thought you would rest much better feeling fresh and clean. I would never touch or do anything like that to you without your consent." His words were serious.

He wasn't wrong, you had enjoyed a very deep sleep. That lead you to another thought. "When did I even fall asleep? I don't remember getting here." You were thinking out loud. You remember saying bye to Dae-ho. The bullets flying. Running with Player 001. Him kissing you. Him drugging you.

In-ho kept his face still as you suddenly froze. You were piecing it together, you were remembering. You were trying your hardest not to react now that it was coming back, but he was a master in unspoken human language.

"(Y/N), anything I did was to take care of you-"

"Stop." You cut him off, lifting one of your hands and holding it in front of his face. You looked back to him, a frown etched into your face. You focused on his eyes, they were still the same. You still trusted them. Slowly, you lowered your hand. "What was in the needle?"

"Just a bit of general sedative, it was only meant to knock you out for a couple of hours."

"How long was I out?"

"11 hours."

"What?! Why was it so long? Did you give me more?!" You were instantly angered, he had to diffuse this.

"No, no. You must have been exhausted from the games, you were deep asleep. I kept checking on you to make sure you were okay. I didn't try to wake you, I figured you needed the rest."

"I've been here the whole time? In this bed?"

"Yes. Except for when I bathed you, I did that then put you to bed."

"I was completely knocked for that?"

"Yes." He continued to answer you honestly, if your constant questions was going to keep you here with him, he was glad about that, so he would continue to answer.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Bathe me."

"I-"

"No." You cut him off again. "Show me. I need to know how you did it. Show me here what you did."

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air was so thick between you both that you were almost panting. You knew there was other things you should be asking him, he knew it too.

He shifted first, removing his heavy boots, discarding them on the floor and then moving across the bed until he was sitting beside you. His back leaning against the headboard with his legs outstretched. You kept your eyes trained on him, as he did with you.

"I was like this, but, if you want me to show you..." he looked down at the empty space in between his legs and then back to you. "I had you in front of me."

Your eyes trailed down his position on the large bed. Against your better judgement, you crawled to the spot in front of him. Once you were sat between his legs, you leant back against him. His solid chest felt familiar against your back, like you were back in your tiny bunk. He wrapped his arms around you, despite everything, his touch still comforted you so you relaxed against him.

"We were like this?"

"Yes."

Silence fell between you both as you tried to picture it. You found yourself wishing you had been conscious for it, to experience being so intimately close to him. Was that wrong? You weren't sure he was the man you thought he was anymore.

You needed to distract yourself from those thoughts. "Where are we?"

"My bedroom."

You looked around the room again, searching for clues that told you more about him, desperate to find something that showed you he was still the man you had grown close to. There was nothing super defining, the room was so minimally decorated.

Who was he?

You wouldn't find out unless you asked. But you were terrified of an answer you already knew.

"Young-il-"

He cut you off. "In-ho."

"What?"

"My name is not Young-il. It's In-ho. Hwang In-ho."

Suddenly his hold wasn't comforting, you tensed up, tears blurred your vision, you hadn't even known this man's real name. What if it all had been fake? You tried to get up but he tightened his hold around you.

"Let me go!"

"No."

"Yes!" You thrashed against him, but your strength was no match for his. At one point you had freed one of your arms but all you'd managed to grab was a pillow that just as much hit your own head as well as his when you swung it back to get him with it. Before you could grab anything else, he pinned your arm back under his in the hold he had around you. You tried arching your back but he would twist his arms further around you. restricting the space you had to move.

You tried to wiggle, squirm, kick, turn and flail out of his grip, but it was no use.

You collapsed back against him with a sigh, your chest rising and falling with quick breaths.

"Are you done?" He spoke with a clenched jaw.

"No." Stubbornly, you began tossing and turning again. In-ho's patience was wearing thin, his fingertips started to dig into your sides. However when you stopped and flinched, yelping out an "ow!" he relaxed his fingers, remembering how you had been hurt during Mingle and it was right where he was pressing into you. He saw the bruises that were painting your skin when he had you in the bath, how could he hurt you knowing they were there?

You'd found it unintentionally, his weakness. Your chance to escape was so close. "You're hurting me!" You cried out, his heart ached at the thought, he had sworn to do the opposite of hurting you, he was meant to keep you safe, unharmed.

The second you felt his hold loosen, you broke free. You didn't spare a moment before you leapt up from the bed

"(Y/N)!" In-ho reached out for you but you were already opening the door and making a run for it.

You ran through a black hallway until you were in a much larger room. You didn't stop moving as you looked for a doorway, knowing In-ho was only steps behind you. Upon spotting it, you sprinted.

"(Y/N), stop!"

"No!" You yelled back, your hands landing on the door handle but when you went to twist it, it didn't move. "No." This time your no was defeated. You were faced with another locked door. You were trapped.

You hadn't left the games at all, this was just another one, a different kind. A game where your heart was playing against your head. Your heart wanted to run right back to the man who had trapped you in this room, if he didn't care about you, you would be dead by now. But your head said to find a way out, he had lied to you, you couldn't trust him.

You turned back to In-ho, he had stopped chasing you - knowing you couldn't get out - instead he had taken a seat on the luxurious couch in the centre of the room. His eyes locked onto yours as he took a sip of the dark liquid in the glass in his hand.

You broke the eye contact first, distracted by an object that was resting on the table beside the couch. Your breath hitched in your throat as you walked closer, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you lifted it.

It was a mask, all black, you could see a distorted looking face made out of geometric shapes within it.

"Do you like it?" In-ho dared to ask, seeing you hold it in one hand while your other traced the lines along it.

You looked back to him then. "Let me out, In-ho." You said his name with distaste.

He shouldn't have but he smiled, he liked hearing you finally say his name even if it was said with spite.

Your temper was reaching it's boiling point and acting on an impulse, you brought the mask up and threw it right at his face with all of your strength. His reflexes were quick though, he brought his hands up in front of his face to block the impact. The mask smashed the glass that was still in his hand. Pieces of it went flying, one of which was right to his face, leaving a cut to his cheek.

As he lowered his hands from his face, it was his temper that had reached a boiling point now. You stepped back as he stood up, you were terrified of what he would do. He noticed and it annoyed him more.

"Stupid girl," he started with an insult, "you should know by now that I won't hurt you." His voice was laced with anger. "The taking of your life would have been an easy one. Instead, I chose to keep you alive, which proved to be a much harder task." He brought his hand up to his own face to apply pressure to the cut, blood beginning to pool and threatening to spill down his skin. "It seems I can't have the same trust in you, though." In-ho was a master manipulator, he wanted his words to make you feel guilty.

It worked.

Before you could say anything, he picked up his mask and took quick steps to the door, using a key to unlock it.

"Wait!" You yelled as he opened it and stepped out, you tried to hurry over to it before it was closed, but you weren't quick enough. The door was locked again.

-----

You didn't know how much time had passed since In-ho had left. You just knew it had been a long time and you had gone through a range of emotions.

First it was anger, you pounded on the door, screaming at the top of your lungs, throwing things around. Next came claustrophobia, sure the area of this apartment was large but you were locked in here. That lead to the hyper alertness, familiarising yourself with every inch of this space. You'd found certain things that told you more about him, - In-ho - you'd said his name out loud again and again, getting used to saying it in place of Young-il. Fear filled you when the door opened and guards walked in, but they didn't say a word as they brought in food and drinks on a bar cart for you then quickly exited. Seeing the guards confirmed you were still somewhere close to where the games were taking place, that lead to you feeling concerned for the people you'd grown closer to in there. Were they still alive? Were the games still taking place?

The games. The all too familiar panic surged through you as the haunting memories you had experienced filled your mind, all of the terror, the sounds of gun shots, the hundreds of dead bodies, the blood, death, death, death.

You lost the ability to take in a complete breath, each time you attempted to do so it would only make your airflow more uneven. You tried putting your own hand against your chest, the same way Player 001 had done when he calmed you down from feeling this way. Your trembling hand didn't have the same magic touch.

What you didn't know is that In-ho had been keeping an eye on you from the cameras hidden so up high you didn't spot them. He was busy keeping an eye on the contestants now that he had officially resumed his role as Frontman, but he was never so busy that he couldn't watch over you, as well.

He'd observed you going through each emotion over the past several hours. This was the worst one for him to see because of the guilt that consumed him. In-ho as the Frontman kept these games going, the games that had done this to you. His own trauma from his own experience of being a contestant had turned him into the Frontman, he couldn't let yours turn you evil, he had to keep you good. You were his last shred of hope.

-----

You hid yourself away in the bed, you cacooned yourself in the luxury sheets and blankets, you weren't even that cold, you just wanted to shield yourself with something. Much like a young child who was experiencing a loud storm for the first time. Tears spilled down your cheeks, whimpers sounded out, your body shivered, you weren't sure how you ever going to get used to dealing with the terror you had experienced.

You were facing the doorway when In-ho walked in. Scared eyes meeting concerned ones. You knew it was wrong but you were so relieved to see him. He knew that was wrong too.

For tonight, you both would ignore that fact. "Please hold me." You cried out and it was his turn to feel relief. All he wanted to do was hold you and comfort you, but he needed you to let him in first.

Once he joined you in the bed, his arms came around you to pull you against him and you tangled your legs with his.

"Deep breaths, remember?" In-ho told you, moving his hand to your chest and holding his open hand against it to soothe you. You listened and with your eyes locked on his, you tried to take a full one in, the air got hitched in your throat more than a few times. "Again." In-ho commanded, nodding with each breath you took until they finally evened out.

Laying there with your heads on the same pillow, this felt like the man you had known, but he was different now.

"Was Young-il real?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho didn't know how to answer. It was an act to begin with, but his feelings for you were the most true thing he had felt in a long time. "Yes and no." You frowned slightly and averted your gaze from his and he felt you make the slightest shift away from him. "Everything between us was real."

You sighed and then silence fell between you both. You were still having that internal battle in your mind of if you could accept all of him now. What you didn't know is that In-ho had been having his own internal battle and he'd made the decision for you.

"I'm going to let you go, let you leave." He announced. Witnessing you still experiencing the affects of the games even though you were out and safe, he knew you needed to not be around any reminders of it at all if you were to properly heal. Him included. He knew the risk of this, that you could go out and report what had happened, but that had happened before, barely anyone got taken seriously. He was willing to take that risk for the sake of your mental wellbeing.

"What?"

"In the morning, you'll leave. I'll arrange it for you, you'll get home safely. Your debts have already been taken care of. You'll be completely free of anything that happened here, I promise you."

You were in shock, some sort of relief washed over you, but you were indifferent to it. You were hearing what he wasn't saying.

"I won't see you again?"

"No."

You couldn't deny the pain in your heart at the thought of that.

"Leave with me?"

"I wish I could, but it's not that simple for me, baby."

The glimmer of tears appeared in both your eyes as you looked at one another, your bottom lip wobbled and In-ho's gaze shifted to it. There was something he had to do just one last time.

When he leant in to kiss to you, you clung to him. Your heart swelled at the feeling of his lips on yours. The taste of salt snuck in as a few tears fell between the kiss, you weren't sure if they were yours or In-ho's.

In-ho pulled back first, but he quickly left another chaste peck to your lips. "I have to go." He said simply, he was breaking his own heart and he knew the longer this goodbye was drawn out the worse of an affect it would have on him.

"No-" You reached out for him as he started to get up from the bed, you managed to grab one of his hands.

He turned to look at you with a sad smile, bringing your hand up to kiss it, too. "Stay in here tonight, have a good sleep, you're safe in here. A guard will knock on the door in the morning, you answer when you're ready, they'll wait for you. And then you'll be taken home."

He went to turn away but you tugged on his hand. "In-ho," how bittersweet you were finally calling him by his real name so sweetly, but he wouldn't hear it again after tonight. "Can you rub my head until I fall asleep?"

He knew he should have said no, just like he should have the first night when you asked him the same thing, then none of this would have happened. But he was greedy when it came to you, how could he deny his pretty girl this last request?

"Yes."

[diushek]

Schrödinger's Cumplane: adopting a stray cat and they name him Bingpup, they share an apartment so that Shang Qinghua can write whatever he likes without fear of not having the money to pay the rent, they do their monthly shopping together choosing things that the other likes, they go to dinners and coffee shops just for entertainment (not as dates), they share room and bed sometimes even because of the number of times they fall asleep watching anime or criticizing dramas on the TV in Shen Yuan's room. Obviously, everyone - family, neighbors, friends, people from forums - thinks they are... something. Relationship. A couple. Married. God knows.

And Bingge appears in search of his Shizun's soul. A soul that has not been taken by another cheap copy of him... But, this little Shizun also seems to have been stolen by another cheap version of himself?!

Because the man who lives with that Shizun, with that wild hair, those disheveled clothes, even the broader shoulders!! It's like seeing a weaker, more worldly version of himself. They share the same eyebrows and eyes, even!

But the only "Bing" is that black cat who hisses him a lot, and... what kind of name is Airplane? Why does his little Shizun call that cheap copy of him that?

WHY HIS SHIZUN CALL HIM QINGHUA?

Luo Binghe only appears in their lifes to say: I will stay. This cheap copy of him is weak enough to not put up any resistance! And his little Shizun, after the initial shock, asks him a million questions and decides not to call the cops - what the hell are cops - decide what, well. It doesn't matter. They have a spare room anyway and Binghe can occupy it.

And Luo Binghe doesn't understand anything.

Well, if this Shizun is supposed to have already been taken over by that weak and mortal copy of him (not a hint of demonic blood, not a bit of spiritual power! Ha!), why doesn't he behave like a husband should? Why doesn't he cook for him, why doesn't he worship the ground he walks on like the other he?

That just means that Binghe has a better and easier chance to show his best against this Shizun! Ha! In your face cheap copy!

(Shang Qinghua has no idea why Luo Binghe hates him so much. He stays away, writes, complains every time Shen Yuan forces him to stop writing ABOUT BINGHE'S SEX WHILE THE REAL BINGHE IS IN THE SAME ROOM. Well, he is a man of habits, and his novel continues sell.)

(Shen Yuan feels a little intimidated by the fact that he has Luo Binghe living in his home. He also wants to beat up Shang Qinghua for the clear and obvious self insert mannerisms he put into his Stallion Protagonist. Damn, he would love to not see the similarities, but now he can't stop noticing and it's driving him crazy! They're like brothers! The same wrinkle of the nose when they don't like something, the same grimace of the lips before saying something unpleasant, the same fucking intense eyes! Fuck it!)

[metalomagnetic]

Things we know about canon Sirius pre Azkaban, since you say apparently people only refer to teenagers when they speak about Marauders:

'brightest student' (along with James) according to McGonagall

ring leader of the Marauders, also according to McGonagall

'great accomplishments' according to Dumbledore

smart, confident in his knowledge of magic according to the Pensive

does well on his school tests

tall and handsome, dressed in wizarding robes according to Pensive, photographs, and Harry describing him.

says he is bored and wishes for a full moon shortly after Snape almost got killed by Remus

a bully

James starts bullying Snape just because Sirius is bored

has a flying bike

has posters of women all over his bedroom

leaves home because he doesn't get along with his family and spends at least a summer living with James and his parents

Now, that was canon Sirius. Straight from the books. Let us see Fanon Sirius (and yes, there are many versions of Fanon Sirius, but we all know the biggest one):

he's an idiot that needs Remus to spoon-feed him information

he is not the leader of the Marauders, more like a follower of Remus.

is a bad student

short

for some reason he's always dressed in muggle clothes that weren't even common with the muggles back in the 70s.

he's a drama queen instead of 'haughty and elegant'

Canon Remus:

does not stand up to his friends when he clearly would like to because he disagrees with the bullying, but he shuts up

is shy

is a coward

we have 0 ideas if he is a bookworm or if he's smart

has loving parents

is on the sidelines of the Marauders. Sirius and James trust each other (and Peter) over Remus (hence they never tell him about the Secret Keeper scheme)

height isn't mentioned, but when he's together with Sirius, Harry only comments that *Sirius* is tall, not Remus

does not have face scars, never had

adored Dumbledore, is the 'yes man' of the universe, biggest Dumbledore fan that has ever lived

Fanon Remus:

Alpha male

22 feet tall

Casanova of the century apparently

either an orphan, or his parents don't love him

a genius

face full of scars

doesn't like Dumbledore

Canon James:

loves Lily

hates dark magic, uses it as a reason to bully Snape

Fanon James:

doesn't mind fucking a blood purist obsessed with Voldemort

Canon Regulus:

loved by his parents, the golden boy, the perfect son

joined Voldemort

has a shrine for Voldemort in his room

blood purist

dies because he's mad Voldemort mistreated his slave

Fanon Regulus:

tortured by his parents

misunderstood cinnamon roll

loves a blood traitor like James

Canon Barty and Evan Rosier: loyal followers of Voldemort, dedicated to him until they die

Fandom Barty and Evan: cute misunderstood cinnamon rolls, good guys, not at all bigoted, Voldemort who?

I can go on. But I think I showed my point. Sure, you can add to them a lot because there's not much, indeed. But what we do have in canon, it's there, and it's clear, and some of us miss intelligent, tall Sirius, some of us want blood purist Regulus, some of us want bully James and Sirius. Is that simple.

I won't even go into the travesty the fandom made of Snape and Dumbledore, it's not even worth it.

My point is Fandom Marauders are unrecognisable from Canon Marauders. They are turned into a completely different bunch of people.

Write them however you want. Fandom is fun, and we can all write our AUs and our weird, outlandish scenarios (trust me, I adore writing and reading really weird pairings that would never happen in canon in a million years) but stop saying 'there's no canon Marauders'. Stop arguing with people that say they miss canon Sirius or X or Y.

You can have your Slytherin Skittels, and other people can have their own versions, and other people can be book-purists. It's alright.

You write Jegulus, that's fine, great even! I'm writing a Jegulus fic as we speak. Just stop insisting it's something that would ever happen in canon, is all I'm suggesting.

ppl be posting shit like "I miss canon Marauders"

Babes, there is no "canon" Marauders. Most of the shit ya'll think is canon, are just old headcanons that used to be widespread before other (usually queerer) headcanons gained popularity.

There is so little information about the "canon" Marauders - and even the info we have cannot be trusted because it's usually memories, influenced by a character's bias - that trying to make a somewhat comprehensive character out of the given material is impossible, let alone 4 characters.

Everything is fanon. Everything is headcanon. And that's the beauty of this fandom.

(Ofc my favourite part is when something actually is canon via the books or movies, and people reject it as fanon.)

[vixenvtuber]

Hi Miss Vixen! Do you have any recommendations for Valentine’s gifts? I’m a bit brain dead from school, and can’t fathom anything to give to my partner.

i personally like to give practical gifts-- things that can be eaten, used, or are needed. so if your partner, for example, had something they use daily or at least often break recently, replacing it, to me, is a very thoughtful gift-- but maybe you buy them a valentine's themed version of whatever it was, or some other themeing that will remind them of you/your relationship like a show or game you both like, an inside joke, etc

i'm not a big fan of generic items that just take up space like valentine's bears/stuffies, fake flowers, little knick-knacks or things like that, but maybe your partner would find something like that sentimental and nice-- that's up to you to determine, but that's just my personal feelings on them

real flowers are always a good standby if you're really at a loss. flowers smell nice, liven up a room, and don't live forever, so eventually they'll stop taking up space. it's a nice way to say "i'm thinking of you and i love you" without giving them junk that will clutter up their life (just be careful not to get them any flowers that might be poisonous to any pets they may have)

practical is great though. mugs, keyrings, clothing/shoes, or maybe even a hyper-specific item that you know they need that i wouldn't even think of

also experiences are nice!! a little scavenger hunt, game, trip to an amusement park, movie/concert tickets, etc etc

for future reference i HIGHLY recommend starting a list in your phone of items your partner mentions needing/wanting offhand, or items that would solve problems your partner mentions a lot-- that way, you can go back to that list of things every time you need a gift idea for birthdays, christmas, whatever. super useful

good luck!

[bibookdemon]

(MDNI WITH THIS POST!!!)

Thinking of cumplane

Please feel free to message me about cumplane AAAA

Need more cumplane mooties

Also if you're afraid to message first, feel free to comment and I'll message you first uwu

A thought for a fic below the cut:

Thinking of a fic where SQH and SY haven't met yet

Wherein SQH is a horny little beast and one of the things he absolutely loves is being degraded. So after he posts a chapter, he turns off his computer, grabs his phone, and disappears to the couch (that folds down into a bed) and waits for a bit, maybe scrolls through his socials or watches some meme videos

And before too long, he hears the telltale ding of a comment, and he knows it's SY because he's turned off notifications for any of the other comments, and besides, SY almost ALWAYS comments first.

And so he opens the comment and he slowly slips his hand in his pants and rubs over himself

And he's so *so wet* even when he's only a couple sentences in because he knows just how much SY 'hates' PIDW (why does he continue reading it???) and despises the author because it's so 'disgustingly written' and that's really fuckin hot

His most-detailed comment writer, his biggest hater (fan) telling him all about his shortcomings. (He honestly rewrote the entirety of PIDW + gave it an actual ending + updates it occasionally when SY comments to add in smth he said - simply to gift to SY. He just hasn't worked up the courage to message him and tell him all about it. Cause he has a big fat crush. He really kinda sorta super wants to ask SY out.)

Anywho, he imagines he's straddling one of SY's thighs - he doesn't know what he looks like but he imagines some nerdy but strangely alluring and somewhat strict-looking guy - and rutting against it as SY types out a comment on his latest chapter

He imagines SY stopping his typing every so often to direct his words and attention to SQH, just telling him how pathetic he is, how his writing is sub-par, how he must be such a nasty-minded person to write such extensive smut scenarios, how SY doesn't even help him get off, just makes him move back and forth until he finally finds his release.

And probably scolds him for making such a mess, but SQH can't help it, he really can't when someone is speaking to him the way SY is speaking to him-

And it's during his post-orgasmic haze that he exits the comment and decides to message SY (I reckon there's a DM feature and while SY has his DMs set to limited, they're open to authors and friends messaging him)

And he gives SY a time and address for a local cheap coffee shop. Not really fancy, but the only place he can afford at the moment. And he just says smth like: 'Meet up with me here, we can work out our differences.' His brain is too muddled to dwell on the fact that he has no idea where SY is from and that his message is honestly so vague and weird that SY is probably horrified.

He falls asleep pretty quickly, and when he wakes up, he sees the message he sent, regrets it, but then rushes to get ready cause HE GAVE A TIME FOR THE NEXT FUCKING DAY?! He rushes to get the alt version novel printed and grabs his best clothes, then he's out.

He probably takes the train, and he's glancing at his phone anxiously every so often, and he's late, but then he's there, shoving the door open to the shop-

He spots SY in the corner, just sipping on a coffee, typing furiously on his laptop, looking like he hasn't slept in a long while his eyebags are so big. Also his glasses are taped in the middle. (I personally think that SY is such a shut-in that he takes forever to go out and get new glasses despite being perfectly financially stable...)

And he sits down in front of him, and he plops his stack of papers on the table. He doesn't say anything, he's honestly really nervous now and kinda guilty about the fact that he's been getting off to this guy's comments but...wow. SY is actually fucking gorgeous. Well, to him. He has a few acne scars, but his face is otherwise clear, and there's the tiniest bit of chub left in his cheeks, yet his cheekbones are still pronounced. His eyebrows are perfect, his hair is short and silky and frames his hair perfectly. And holy shit he really wishes he could get a look at the body beneath the clothes. Because if the rest of him is like his face...he's totally SQH's type.

But he doesn't say anything. And then SQH goes to open his mouth and say smth and SY stops typing and looks up at him and slowly closes his laptop. He looks strict with the look he has on his face currently: Intense, sharp, tired, but focused.

And then he sighs and it all kinda melts away and he actually looks really awkward/anxious as he looks at the table, and SQH can see him fiddling with his hands. And he just mutters: "Look bro, those comments weren't actually meant to be that mean, and I came because I wanted to say sorry, and I'm sure there are reasons for it...idk bro you seem chill? It's your story, and you're human, and it has nothing to do with my thoughts and opinions and-"

And SQH just slaps the stack of papers and slides them over toward SY. "Dude. I know PIDW is crap. I have to pay the bills." And he's not trying to be mean or anything about it, he couldn't care less what SY thinks (but also he's internally screaming BITCH IF YOU DONT KEEP ROASTING MY STORY IM GONNA FUCKING DIE-) he's just pretty straightforward. (I think when he's nervous he goes quiet, and he'll ramble when he's comfy around someone.)

And SY is just like "???" And he flips through some of the papers and his eyes go wide and there's just this SPARKLE in them (SQH thinks it's the cutest thing he's ever seen and he wants to kiss those beautiful eyes) and he's like "Bro, is this what I think it is?!" And SQH nods and SY just wiggles in his seat with this stupidly huge grin and starts reading through it, and every few seconds he points out smth he likes, or smth he didn't see coming, or etc etc. And they literally sit at that table and make conversation about this alt PIDW and SQH is happy and SY is happy. And then SQH realizes it's been a hot minute and he probably should get home and etc etc

But SY looks absolutely upset about this because he NEEDS to rant about this alt version because he's so fucking in love with it and even messaging SQH his every thought isn't enough

So SQH invites him over (totally a great idea. Did he ever clean up the wet stain on his couch from...?) And SY is immediately like NO I CANT IMPOSE + he doesn't want the vibe to change and mess up SQH's writing, so he invites him to the hotel he's staying at and SQH is so relieved and immediately says YES

And they pack their stuff up and go outside and he starts walking in the direction of the train station when he hears a beep beep, and there's this luxurious-ass car that SY is getting into. And he tries (and fails) to hide his surprise because is SY rich?!

Upon arriving at the hotel, yeah, yeah he's rich. They're at the fanciest place in town, and they go almost to the very top. It's a large suite. And then SY apologizes for not getting a larger room, it was just really short notice, and SQH is just 'dobdoavd9svs9acs9svs9vxozv' malfunctioning.

Anyway, after he gets over it, they start talking about alt PIDW. Hours and hours and hours pass like that. It's a long novel, so suddenly it's 2 or 3 in the morning, and they're not even halfway through (SY is a really fast reader holy shit) and SQH realizes it's time for him to go home. So he goes to get up (when did they end up in the bed together, side by side?) And SY grabs his wrist because he doesn't want him to go yet he NEEDS to binge alt PIDW and suddenly SQH is tumbling down, right onto him.

Their noses are just barely brushing, their eyes are locked onto each other, and maybe it's just SQH but are they both red and breathing a bit harder?

And then SY just asks: "Do you like boys?"

And SQH can only nod once, slowly, and then they're kissing, lips smashing together, and SQH is decent at kissing, and SY is...not but oh well, and they're tugging at each other, and they're breathless, and when they break away from the kiss they're both panting and tousled.

SQH: Please tell me that wasn't just me (even when SY very obviously was a happy participant, he's still worried cause holy fuck is he really...?!?!?!?)

SY: Y-yeah. If you wanna? Or is it weird that like- I never imagined you'd be this...hot, Airplane-Bro. (And he's blushing and can't look SQH in the eyes) I kinda always imagined you to be like...idek.

SQH: Well...I'm not whatever you imagined? I guess? ... I don't think it's weird? I mean, you weren't exactly wrong when you typed your comments (he shudders at the thought) about the fact I'm just a...horny little bastard.

SY: Sorry. Heh. About that. But um. I guess it's a good thing you *are*? Right?

SQH: Right. So you're cool with this?

SY: Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Please. Oh! Uh, I just realized, um, names. I'm Shen Yuan.

SQH: I'm Shang Qinghua.

And then they're pausing awkwardly, briefly, before they're kissing again, and then the clothes are pulled off, then they're figuring out what feels great to the other, and they're just setting up a decent rhythm.

They eventually finish alt PIDW together. And SQH, once again brave in his post-orgasmic haze, asks to date SY. And then he also admits he wants SY to keep commenting with as much ferocity as usual. He explains why and SY just goes bright red, but he's so down.

SY does have to return home soon, but he makes arrangements for SQH to move in not long after (a couple months at MOST, which were spent traveling back and forth by SY) - "Look bro, I absolutely need any updates to the alt, any insights, any brainstorming, to be said aloud IMMEDIATELY" - "You just want the great sex and cuddles" (SQH has become very teasing very quickly, and very confident in his sexuality, tho SY is still rather shy about it) - and SY goes bright red as usual XD

If you've read this far, PLEASE MESSAGE ME OH MY GOD. I NEED TO RANT ABOUT CUMPLANE MORE. And also if I do write fics for them I'll send you snippets. :3

And yeah. *thumbs up*

Have I fed you well, gremlins???

One last note: T4T cumplane my beloved

(SQH is on T and has had a breast reduction, SY is on T and has had top surgery but no bottom surgery, which he's still deciding if he wants or not.)

(ALSO - they do get to degrading eventually but SY is very nervous about it at first aha)

[charliedawn]

Hi Charlie! Kindly coming into your ask box- First of all how are you? I adore your stories, I read them whenever I'm feeling down and it's perfect whenever I want to forget about my real life problems haha.

I was wondering how would the slashers react to a Hungarian y/n? Obviously I never found anyone writing about this scenario, for we 'hungries' are few. I'm actually Székely (Hungarians who speak the older version of the language and live in a different region than actual Hungarians), which means I'm Transylvanian. Like how would they react finding out that reader can literally move around with a bottle of alcohol on their head without it sliding off? Having long hair that is traditionally braided in two, and red ribbons braided in it (this is female case, which means the girl is 'on the market'), being able to speak multiple languages, meeting bears every single month given living in forest mountains, and owning traditional clothes that in old times mean high status? I'm sorry that this sounds so personal but like all my life (ever since I found out about slashers) I wanted to know how one might react to this kind of situation, given most fandoms, OBVIOUSLY include English reader. You can ignore if you want and sorry if u don't understand what I wrote :')

If you don't want to write for this (like I feel like I'm being too specific and personal with things) then I guess how they would react to reader with an interesting accent- all my English friends told me they love how I speak it's funny for them. Sending hugs and kisses I adore ur work <3

No need to apologize ! My pleasure. This is a really unique and interesting request, and I had fun searching what a Székely reader would be like. I hope I did it right. 😆

Slashers React to a Székely Reader

Jason Voorhees

Jason, being deeply connected to his own forested home, would be fascinated by your experiences with bears. He’s used to dealing with intruders, but meeting a bear every month ? That’s next-level survival. He’d probably view you as someone incredibly strong and capable, which earns you a lot of respect in his eyes. Your ability to balance a bottle on your head would both impress and confuse him—he’d tilt his head like how ? He is a clumsy man and if he tried the same, no bottle would survive. If you let him touch your traditional clothes, he’d be extra careful, appreciating the craftsmanship and the colors.

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t react outwardly, but he watches. A lot. He’d probably test your balancing skills by suddenly throwing something your way while you’re carrying the bottle. If you catch it without dropping the bottle, you’d get a slow approving nod. He might also silently grab a red ribbon from your hair, just to see how you react—if you snatch it back, he’ll keep doing it just to mess with you. But, he would also appreciate the traditions and understand your connection to nature—since nature is fairly important to him as well. If you could, he would ask you to learn the language. True, he would not be able to speak it—but just hearing it would make him happy. He would also ask you to teach him your traditional dishes.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms would fixate on your braids and ribbons. He’d like the idea of your clothes being a ‘status’ marker since Brahms is from a higher-class family himself. But the ribbons…he would like them, but might get possessive, asking you to remove the ribbons or change their color so others don’t think you’re ‘on the market.’ Because you are not. You are HIS friend. No sharing or letting someone take you away from him. He’d also adore your ability to speak multiple languages, insisting you talk to him in Hungarian just so he can hear how it sounds. Your traditional clothes ? He’d want you to wear them all the time in the manor, seeing them as regal and elegant.

Bo & Vincent Sinclair

Bo would act like he’s unimpressed but would secretly be very intrigued. He’d tease you about the bottle-balancing trick—"Alright, but can ya do that while runnin’ ?"—but would absolutely brag about it to tourists before luring them into his trap. He would show them your trick and kill them while they are dumbstruck. Or he would ask you to bring his beers like that—and exclusively like that. And when he first saw you in your traditional clothes ? He was mesmerised. You looked like a damn princess. When you told him what the braids and ribbons meant though…Bo suddenly grabbed your braids and quickly pulled your braids loose…On the market ? Like hell you are…

Vincent, on the other hand, would love your traditional clothes. He’d want to sketch you in them, fascinated by the detail and historical meaning behind them. He would love to take pictures of you too. He would ask you about your culture and be really interested. He would also be impressed by the bottle trick and would immediately inform Bo because Bo would be impressed too for sure.

Norman Bates

Norman would see you as someone from another world—elegant, mysterious, and old-fashioned in the best way. He’d be captivated by your hair and the meaning behind the ribbons, maybe a little too curious about your availability status. If you ever wear your traditional clothes, he’d compare you to an old painting, romanticizing it. Your survival stories about the mountains and bears would leave him both impressed and slightly intimidated.

Norman *comes up behind you and slowly wraps his arms around you from behind* : "…Te vagy gyönyörű, drágám."

He would learn the recipes for Székely Gulyás (Székely stew), Puliszka (A cornmeal dish similar to polenta, eaten with cheese, milk, or stew) and Töltött Káposzta (Stuffed cabbage, a staple at Székely celebrations) to surprise you.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy would not take you seriously at first—until he sees the bottle trick. Then, suddenly, he’s got a new game to play. He’d try to mess with you by making dream versions of your traditional clothes wrong just to see if you notice the inaccuracies. He’d also probably joke about the bears—"So, what, you got one as a pet ?" If you start speaking Hungarian with him, though ? He’d hate it—he loves running his mouth, and now he doesn’t know what you’re saying. He would have to get a dictionary. He doesn’t like reading.

Pennywise & Penny

Pennywise would see you as someone tied to old traditions, which he respects in a strange way. He’d enjoy the idea of you carrying history with you. Penny, on the other hand, would love that you meet bears regularly—he’d probably insist that the next time you see one, you have to bring him along. The bottle-balancing trick ? Oh, now it’s a game. He’d try to distract you just to see if you mess up.

Penny would definitely imitate you and laugh as he starts dancing with three bottles on his head.

Jack Torrance

Jack would instantly bond with you over alcohol—if you can balance a bottle on your head, you must know good drinks, right ? He’d want to drink with you, hear your stories, and maybe even try balancing a bottle himself (bad idea). Your language skills would impress him, but he’d be especially curious about your encounters with bears—probably comparing it to his experiences in the snowy Overlook. He would also use you as an inspiration for his work and ask you questions about your traditions. He would also be interested in learning your language.

Ghostface! Eddie Munson

Eddie would be so hyped about your skills. "Dude, that’s metal as hell ! You walk around with a bottle on your head and survive bear encounters ? Like…what ?" He’d immediately ask you to teach him your language, failing horribly but loving every second. Your traditional clothes would remind him of a fantasy character, and he’d start calling you things like “the warrior queen of Transylvania.” He’d also be obsessed with the fact that you speak multiple languages—every time you switch to Hungarian, he’d dramatically pretend to swoon.

You: "A mosolyod beragyogja a napomat."

Him *looking at you with a big smile* : "I didn’t understand a single word that just came out of your mouth, but I love it."

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Thirty Seven

Aylah’s POV:

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in Kayla’s bedroom, my fingers running down the sides of the black bodycon dress I was wearing. The fabric hugged my curves, a little more snug than I was used to, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just… different. I never really wore dresses like this, especially when I had something to prove, something to run away from, but tonight felt different.

It wasn’t just the clothes; it was the way I was feeling—the thrill of freedom, the distraction of the music, the promise of forgetting everything that had been weighing on me.

The dress was simple but elegant, the black shade making my skin pop and the cut accentuating every inch of my body. I had chosen it because it felt like it would blend in yet make me feel powerful. Tonight, I was trying to channel something I didn’t know I had in me—a version of myself that didn’t care about responsibilities or the tangled mess in my chest.

I adjusted the straps, checking myself from every angle. My hair was loose, falling in soft waves over my shoulders, and I’d kept my makeup fresh, bold but not overdone. The red lipstick felt like a punch of confidence. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for—maybe reassurance that I looked good, or maybe that I could pull off something that made me feel confident for once.

Just as I turned to check the back, the door opened, and Kayla walked in, her heels clicking against the floor with each step. I looked at her in the mirror and immediately noticed we were dressed almost identically, both of us in bodycon dresses that hugged our figures in all the right places.

She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning me up and down, and then a slow grin spread across her face. "Damn, girl," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "Look at you. You’re gonna turn heads tonight."

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, my nerves coming through. "You think so?" I asked, still not quite convinced.

Kayla stepped closer, her eyes never leaving mine as she ran her hands down the side of her own dress. She was wearing a deep emerald green dress, the colour flattering her tan skin and bringing out the brightness of her eyes. She was effortlessly beautiful in a way that made me feel like I still had a lot to figure out about myself.

"You’ve got it, AJ. Trust me," she said, her tone teasing but reassuring at the same time. She grabbed my arm lightly, making me face her. "You’ve always had it in you; it’s just about owning it."

I exhaled, looking at her reflection in the mirror. "I don’t know, Kayla. I just...feel like I’m pretending. Like I’m putting on a mask to forget everything I’ve been thinking about lately."

Kayla tilted her head, her expression softening. "Hey, no one said you have to have it all figured out. Just tonight, forget about the messy stuff. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself. You’re allowed to let go."

I let her words sink in, the idea of being able to breathe for a little while—just for one night—settling into me like a gentle weight. I’d been so caught up in everything lately, especially with how complicated things had been with Adam, how I couldn’t make sense of my feelings. But maybe this was the night to stop thinking. To just be.

I met her eyes in the mirror, and she gave me an encouraging smile, stepping back and spinning in front of me to adjust her own dress. "Plus, you're not the only one who’s been thinking about other things tonight," she teased, her grin widening as she raised an eyebrow. "We’re going to have fun, right?"

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing off me, even if just for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you’re right. Let’s just make it a night to remember... or forget."

Kayla winked at me. "Exactly. And trust me, you’ll forget all about him and all the stupid drama when we’re sipping cocktails at the club."

I glanced at my phone on the bed, the screen lighting up briefly with a text from Adam. I didn’t bother reading it. The last thing I needed was to get lost in the complexities of my emotions tonight. I had enough of that in the past few days.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my clutch and slipped on my heels, making my way toward the door. Kayla followed suit, the two of us walking side by side, a silent understanding passing between us.

"You ready?" she asked as we walked out of the room and into the hallway.

"Yeah," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "Let’s do this."

The moment we stepped through the club’s entrance, the noise hit us—blaring music, pounding bass, the heat of a crowd that felt alive, electric. The darkened interior of the club was awash in neon lights, the flickering colours casting sharp, vibrant shadows over the packed dance floor.

Strobes sliced through the dim atmosphere, creating jagged lines of light that danced along the faces of the partygoers. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, cologne, and the distinct scent of alcohol, a cocktail of excitement hanging in the air.

The music was thumping with deep house beats and electric synths, each sending vibrations through my chest, the rhythm pulling at the edges of my body as if coaxing me into the chaos. The floor was a blur of movement, people lost in the music, some dancing, others talking loudly, all illuminated by the vibrant colours that seemed to change with every beat. The atmosphere was wild and uninhibited, the kind of place where people could leave their worries at the door and become someone else for the night.

As Kayla and I walked in, heads turned almost instinctively. The club’s energy shifted slightly, as if everyone was taking note of our presence. I caught glimpses of eyes following us—some curious, some admiring, others appraising us as we made our way through the crowd. The rhythmic pulse of the music seemed to become louder, more pronounced, as I adjusted my posture and tried to exude the confidence Kayla had been encouraging me to embrace.

With each step we took, the crowd parted, like waves pushing us forward, until we reached the bar area, where Cyrus, Leah, and Serena were already waiting. The trio were seated in a corner booth, drinks in hand, all of them laughing, the bright neon light casting a playful glow on their faces.

The moment they spotted us, their expressions lit up. Serena was the first to stand, her eyes widening as she took in our outfits, her lips curling into a grin.

"Look at you, AJ!" Serena exclaimed, her voice carrying above the noise, her gaze scanning me from head to toe. "You look like you just walked off the runway!"

I couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, feeling the tension I had carried throughout the day begin to melt away. "Thanks, Serena," I replied, adjusting my clutch and giving her a playful wink. "You’re looking gorgeous yourself, as always."

Leah followed suit, her eyes glimmering with approval. "Damn babe, you are on fire tonight," she added, her words teasing but genuine. She turned her gaze to Kayla, her smile widening as she took in her dress. "Kayla, you’re killing it too! That green is everything on you."

Kayla grinned, the compliment clearly lifting her spirits as she spun once in place, letting her emerald dress catch the light. "Thanks, babes," she said, reaching over to give Leah a playful bump. "I might have to steal some of that confidence from you tonight."

Cyrus, leaning back in the booth with his drink, grinned mischievously. His gaze flickered from me to Kayla, then back to me again, a knowing look in his eyes. "Well, damn," he drawled, his voice dripping with a mix of admiration and amusement. "You two have definitely raised the bar for the rest of us tonight. No wonder the whole club’s been staring."

I shot him a playful side-eye, rolling my eyes, though my lips tugged upward in a smile. "Don’t flatter us too much, Cyrus."

We each began to laugh, my anxiety easing almost instantly before Kayla grabbed my hand ushering me to follow her, “Come on. Let’s get on that floor before I start dancing without you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I hesitated for only a moment before I moved, the heels clicking sharply against the floor as I followed her lead. The moment I was on my feet, it was like the atmosphere shifted entirely. But now, with the lights casting bright flashes across our faces and the pulsing beats calling us, I felt the heat of the night settle around me like a second skin.

Kayla immediately moved forward, making her way toward the dance floor with an effortless sway in her step. The confidence she exuded was contagious, and I found myself smiling, following her toward the center of the chaos.

The space around us seemed to open up as we moved through the crowd, the sound of the music growing louder, the bass vibrating in my chest. The dance floor was packed, but there was a kind of energy here—an unspoken freedom that came with being surrounded by strangers, all of us lost in the rhythm.

When we finally reached an open space on the floor, Kayla started swaying her hips to the beat, her body moving with fluidity as if she had been waiting for this moment all night. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the rhythm seep deep into me, then opened them to see her already spinning around, the confidence in her movements undeniable.

I let go of any lingering self-doubt. There was no room for hesitation here, not in this moment. I started moving, too. My body followed the beat, my feet shifting across the floor with growing confidence as the music filled every inch of the room. I felt the heat of the crowd around me, the sweat on my skin, the adrenaline building with every passing second.

The world around me seemed to fade away, and for those moments, it was just the music, the lights, and the energy of everyone dancing together. My friends were with me, but it felt like we were all connected by something bigger, something that didn’t require words or explanations.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Leah and Serena had joined us, too, already getting into the groove, their movements carefree and natural. The energy was electric, and I couldn’t help but laugh as we all danced together, losing ourselves in the beat. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about Adam, or my mixed feelings, or any of the complicated mess that had been clouding my mind because of Jungkook. I was here, in the moment, with my friends, letting the music drown out everything else.

As the song shifted to a new track, I found myself feeling lighter, the worries slipping away. My body moved to the rhythm without second-guessing myself, and the freedom was intoxicating. Kayla caught my eye again, giving me an exaggerated wink as she twirled, her body twisting effortlessly to the rhythm. I laughed and twirled along with her, spinning with a sense of abandon I hadn’t felt in a long time.

The flashing lights, the laughter, the music—it was everything I needed, even if only for tonight. A distraction. A release.

I let the moment carry me away.

The music shifted again, this time into a faster beat, and the energy on the dance floor seemed to intensify. The crowd around me surged, and I was lost in the rhythm, my body moving to the pulse of the music with abandon. Kayla was beside me, laughing and twirling, and I felt a sense of freedom I hadn’t allowed myself in a long time. The air felt thick with excitement, the weight of the night lifting with every beat.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me—too close, too insistent. A guy had sidled up, his hand brushing against the small of my back as he tried to press his body closer to mine. I froze for a split second, my body tensing at the unwelcome contact.

I knew the signs—knew exactly what he was trying to do, and it was the last thing I wanted right now.

Without missing a beat, I twisted around sharply, stepping back to put some distance between us. My gaze shot up to meet his, irritation flashing in my eyes. "I’m not interested," I said firmly, the words sharp, cutting through the music that was still pounding around us.

The guy, clearly a little taken aback by my response, hesitated for a moment before he gave me a sleazy grin. "Come on, babe," he said, his voice slurring just enough to make me cringe. "You’re too pretty to turn down."

I took another step back, my hand raised as if to ward him off. "I said, not interested, back off before I make you regret it," I spoke, my tone unwavering. I wasn’t about to let some random guy ruin my night. 

The moment I spoke the guy’s smirk faltered, and his eyes flickered with annoyance. But before he could say anything else, I saw a familiar figure approaching from behind—Cyrus, Leah, Kayla, and Serena. They were making their way over, their expressions shifting from casual to serious when they saw the tension in the air.

"Is there a problem?" Cyrus asked, his voice low and commanding, stepping up beside me with Leah and Serena right behind him, all of them looking directly at the guy. Kayla stood beside him, ready for whatever might come next.

The guy looked at Cyrus for a moment, sizing him up, then his lips twisted into a sneer. "Fuck off," he spat, clearly trying to intimidate him.

Leah’s eyes narrowed. "I know you didn’t just tell my best friend to fuck off," she snapped, her tone venomous, and I could see the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t about to let him get away with that.

The guy just smirked, not backing down. "Shut up, bitch," he shot back, his voice laced with anger.

I felt the heat rising in me, but before I could respond Kayla was already stepping forward, her hands clenched into fists. "That’s it," she said, her voice firm. And before anyone could stop her, she lunged at him.

In the blink of an eye, she tackled him to the ground, pinning him with surprising force. "You don’t talk to my friends like that!" she yelled, landing a hit to his shoulder. The others joined in, rushing forward to help hold him down as he struggled beneath them.

I couldn’t believe it. My mind was still reeling from what had just happened, but now, my friends were really going for it. They were hitting him all over, pushing him down further as the guy flailed, shouting curses.

"Guys, stop! We’re going to get kicked out!" I tried to shout, my voice rising above the chaos, but it was hard to get their attention amidst the loud struggle.

Leah grabbed the guy by the collar and pulled him up just enough to lock him in a chokehold, her muscles tense with the effort. "That’s what you get for fucking with us," she spat in his ear, her voice deadly calm despite the intensity of the situation.

Serena, meanwhile, had pulled out her phone and was recording the entire scene, laughing like she was watching a movie. "This is going viral," she said between giggles, holding the camera just above the guy’s flailing head. The whole thing was almost surreal, but it didn’t seem to stop any of them.

Suddenly, the club’s security appeared, two towering figures marching toward the scene, their eyes scanning the chaos before they moved in to break it up. One of the guards reached down, pulling Leah off the guy, while the other held back Kayla, who was still itching to land another hit.

The large, imposing figure of one of the guards grabbed the guy and began dragging him outside, his hand gripping the man by the collar like he was nothing more than a ragdoll. He barely had time to process what was happening before he was roughly escorted away.

Once the guy was out of the way, the other bouncer turned to us, his face still stern but less angry now that the situation had calmed. "What happened here?" he asked, looking at us for an explanation.

I could feel my heart still racing, but I quickly spoke up, trying to keep my voice steady. "He tried to touch me and I rejected him," I said, the words coming out sharper than I expected. "But he wasn’t getting the message and then got aggressive."

The bouncer’s face darkened with anger. "I’m sorry about that," he said quickly. "We’ll make sure this guy is dealt with. He won’t be allowed back here again." He seemed genuinely apologetic, giving us a nod of reassurance.

Leah, always the one to add a bit of flair to everything, laughed, elbowing Cyrus and Kayla as the bouncer turned away to deal with the guy. "We definitely gave him a lesson in respect," she said with a grin.

Kayla joined in, shaking her head. "Badass is an understatement," she said, her voice playful but full of pride. 

Serena, who had been holding her phone the whole time, flashed it at us. "I am definitely posting this," she said, giggling. "What a scene."

"Totally," Kayla added, throwing an arm around Leah's shoulders. "We make one hell of a team."

Cyrus smirked, shaking his head. "Now I don’t know about you guys, but I think it’s time to get drunkkkkk!"

That was all the encouragement we needed to let the night take us wherever it wanted, to throw ourselves headfirst into the chaos without hesitation. The bar gleamed under the neon lights, shots lined up like soldiers waiting to be taken, their amber and jewel-toned hues reflecting the pulsing glow of the club.

Without a second thought, we grabbed them, our hands brushing as we lifted the glasses in an uncoordinated but enthusiastic toast, the crystal-clear clink barely audible over the pounding music. The liquor hit hard, burning its way down our throats, but instead of slowing us down, it only seemed to ignite something reckless in our blood, something untouchable and wild.

The games started innocently enough, a round of Never Have I Ever that quickly unravelled into Truth or Dare, and before long, we weren’t even keeping track of the rules anymore, downing shots for reasons that no longer made sense but felt completely necessary in the moment.

Kayla, her eyes glassy with amusement and mischief, turned to me with a smirk, barely steadying herself as she pointed in my direction. “You,” she declared, pausing for dramatic effect as if she were about to deliver the most important decree of the night, “are getting on that table. Right now.”

There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to refuse. The second I climbed onto the wobbly wooden surface, the entire room seemed to pulse with me, the bass of the music thrumming through my bones, my heartbeat syncing to the deep, vibrating rhythm as I threw my arms up and let myself move without thought, without hesitation, without care.

The world tilted, but whether it was from the drinks or the sheer euphoria of the moment, I couldn’t tell, nor did I want to. Below me, Cyrus whooped, his drink splashing over his fingers as he lifted it in celebration, while Kayla cackled, phone in hand, capturing every second as she screamed, "ICONIC!" at the top of her lungs.

Time became something fluid, impossible to track, slipping away into a blur of flashing lights, tangled limbs, and breathless, full-bodied laughter that made my ribs ache. We danced until our legs could barely hold us up, drank until the floor beneath us felt more like the deck of a rocking ship than solid ground, and clung to each other as we navigated through the intoxicating, exhilarating chaos of it all.

At some point, walking in a straight line became laughably impossible, but none of us cared, our bodies colliding as we stumbled together toward the exit, barely able to stand yet unwilling to let the night end just yet.

By the time we spilled onto the street, the cool air wrapping around our flushed skin in a welcome contrast to the heat of the club, Kayla and I were holding onto each other for dear life, our laughter bubbling over as if we had discovered some great cosmic joke. And then, without warning, with the kind of certainty that only comes from being perfectly drunk and perfectly happy, we started singing—no, screaming—the words to Judas by Lady Gaga, our voices loud, unfiltered, and completely off-key.

"I'll bring him down, bring him down, down…"

We didn’t care who was watching, didn’t care that the lyrics came out slurred and slightly out of sync, didn’t care that we were stumbling over our own feet as we twirled dramatically beneath the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

"I'm just a Holy Fool, oh, baby, it's so cruel."

Kayla nearly collapsed from laughing, gripping my arm so tightly I almost went down with her, and for a moment, I thought my lungs might give out from how hard I was laughing too. The city stretched out in front of us, glittering with possibility, the night still thick with electricity, and in that perfect, delirious moment, we were invincible, untouchable, weightless, and completely, overwhelmingly alive.

I slurred to Kayla, "Uhhh, we need to go homeeeeeee."

Kayla pouted theatrically, her lower lip jutting out as she clung to my arms like a lifeline, her body swaying slightly with the lingering dizziness of too many drinks. “Nooo, I wanna drink more!” she whined, her words stretching out in a sing-song tone before she suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. Without waiting for my response, she spun on her heel and skipped—literally skipped—back inside, disappearing into the neon-lit chaos of the bar, leaving me outside. The night air was cool against my flushed skin as I stood there, swaying on my heels, laughing softly to myself for no reason at all.

The world tilted slightly, my vision blurring at the edges, but I barely noticed too busy continuing my dramatic off-key rendition of Judas. My limbs felt light, my thoughts even lighter, and for a moment I let my body move with the unsteady rhythm of my own amusement. But when I spun around, a little too fast for my alcohol-clouded coordination, I collided directly into something—no, someone.

A startled yelp escaped me as I stumbled backward, but before I could topple over completely strong hands gripped my arms, steadying me with a firm but careful hold. My head snapped up, my hazy vision adjusting as I blinked rapidly trying to focus on the person in front of me. My brain struggled to piece together features, but nothing was clicking, and instead of making an effort to figure it out I just grinned—big and goofy.

“Sorrrrryyy, mister!” I slurred, the words tumbling out in a bubbly mess accompanied by a breathless giggle.

The person’s hands remained steady on my arms, his grip grounding me just enough to keep me from toppling over completely. “Aylah?” he asked, his voice laced with something suspiciously close to concern. “Shit, are you okay?”

I squinted, tilting my head, my brain working overtime to connect the voice to a face, to a memory, to literally anything, but my alcohol-soaked mind had other plans. My lips parted in an exaggerated gasp of realization and I pointed dramatically at his chest.

“You’re not Aylah. I’m Aylah!” I declared, as if this was the most profound revelation in the world. And then, for absolutely no reason at all, I collapsed into laughter, my entire body shaking as the giggles took over, unstoppable and delirious.

The guy—whoever he was—did not look as entertained as I was. His expression shifted, brows knitting together as his grip on my arms adjusted slightly, as if debating whether or not I was about to completely collapse. “Are you drunk?” he asked, his tone hovering somewhere between amused and genuinely concerned.

I threw my arms out as wide as they would go, nearly losing my balance in the process but catching myself at the last second, wobbling like a cartoon character trying to stay upright. “Noooooooo!” I drawled, the word stretching out dramatically, full of false conviction and pure drunken energy.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and I could practically see the skepticism radiating from him. My grin only widened.

He let out a heavy sigh, the kind that sounded equal parts exhausted and resigned, rubbing a hand over his face before fixing me with a look that made it clear he had already made up his mind. “I need to get you home,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

But, of course, I wasn’t about to let that slide. “Noooo, I wanna drink more!” I whined dramatically, swaying on my feet, my body teetering forward before I caught myself on his arm, giggling as if gravity itself was a joke.

“No, you’re wasted,” he said firmly, his hands gripping my shoulders to steady me.

I opened my mouth to argue, fully prepared to launch into some kind of passionate, slurred defense, but before I could get a single word out, he bent down and, without warning, hoisted me effortlessly over his shoulder.

For a second, my brain short-circuited.

And then—

“WEEEEEEEEEEE!” I squealed, kicking my legs playfully like a child on a carnival ride, my arms flailing dramatically as if I were soaring through the air instead of being kidnapped against my will. “I’m flyingggg!”

“Stop swinging your arms,” he grunted, gripping me tighter to keep me from completely flopping off his back. “You’re going to be sick.”

I gasped, appalled at the mere suggestion that I wasn’t in full control of my body. “Nooooo, I would never!” I protested, but the words came out more like a giggle than an actual defense.

To prove my totally sober and responsible state, I patted his back reassuringly. Well—okay, maybe it was more like a slap. A loud, resounding smack echoed through the night air.

“Wow,” I mused, letting my fingers linger as if I had just made the most ground-breaking discovery of the century. “You have a really nice ass, mister.”

His entire body tensed, and I swore I heard him physically groan in frustration. “Aylah,” he warned, voice strained, “behave.”

But instead of taking him seriously, I just burst into laughter, completely unbothered, resting my chin against his back like a smug little gremlin as he carried me toward his car.

Once we got there, he set me down carefully—probably out of fear that I’d just collapse like a ragdoll—and with practiced efficiency, he guided me into the passenger seat, reaching over to buckle me in like I was an overgrown toddler. I wiggled slightly, making the process as difficult as humanly possible, but he just sighed again, clicking the seatbelt into place before shutting the door with a firm thud.

Through the windshield, I watched as he leaned against the car, exhaling deeply as he pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen before he pressed it to his ear.

“Are your friends still inside?” he asked, glancing at me.

I nodded lazily, my head lolling to the side. “Mmmhmm.”

He clicked his tongue, clearly debating something in his head before grabbing his phone and speaking into it. “I need you to pick up some people up from Club Elysium,”

The person on the other end didn’t even hesitate before responding. “Jesus. What happened?”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could already feel a headache forming. “Aylah’s wasted. And not just ‘needs a glass of water’ wasted—fully gone. She tried to argue with me about her own name, called me ‘mister,’ and then—” He paused, exhaling sharply. “Then she smacked my ass.”

There was silence on the other end before a choked laugh broke through. “She what?”

As he talked, I just sat there, humming to myself, watching him through half-lidded eyes and thinking that, despite everything, he really did have a very nice ass.

After ending the call, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to face me, his expression hovering somewhere between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Alright,” he said, voice steady but firm. “Do you have your house keys with you?”

I blinked up at him, my alcohol-soaked brain struggling to process the question. My brows furrowed in deep concentration as if the answer was buried somewhere in the depths of my mind, just out of reach. Then, suddenly, a brilliant idea struck me, and I gasped dramatically, throwing my arms out wide.

“I live in the skyyyyyyyy!” I declared, dragging out the word as I tilted my head back to gaze at the night sky above, my body swaying slightly in my seat. The stars looked so pretty. So shiny. Maybe I did live up there. Who was he to say I didn’t?

He let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing a hand down his face, but I caught the way the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to fight back a smile and failing.

“Aylah,” he started, his voice laced with patience he probably didn’t have. “You do not live in the sky.”

I gasped again, clutching my chest in mock offense. “How dare you?” I slurred. “I’ll have you know, the clouds and I are very close. I’m practically their queen.”

His head dipped forward for a second, as if he needed a moment to gather the willpower to deal with me. Then, after a deep breath he straightened, his expression resigned. “Fine,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m taking you to my place.”

I perked up at that, my grin stretching from ear to ear. “Ooooh, didn’t realise you had a crush on me.” I teased, wiggling my eyebrows. 

He groaned, reaching across to buckle me in again when I immediately started wiggling out of my seatbelt. “For the love of God, just sit still.”

I giggled, leaning my head back against the seat. “Your place better have snacks,” I mumbled, already half-asleep.

He sighed again, this time heavier, but as he drove off, I swore I heard him chuckle under his breath.

Jungkook’s POV:

As I drove through the quiet city streets, my gaze flickered to her every so often, a fond smirk tugging at my lips. She was an absolute mess—her makeup slightly smudged, her dress slightly wrinkled, and her hair a tousled halo around her face—but somehow, she still managed to look adorable. Her head kept lolling to the side, her eyelids fluttering as if she was fighting sleep, but the slow, even rhythm of her breathing told me she was already losing the battle.

The soft hum of the engine and the distant glow of streetlights cast a sleepy haze over the car. When I got stuck at a red light, I turned slightly, only to find that she had finally given in, completely knocked out. Her head had slumped forward at an awkward angle, her cheek pressed against her own shoulder, her lips slightly parted.

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head with amusement before reaching over, careful not to wake her, and gently tilting her head so she rested more comfortably against the door. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, barely more than a breath, and she murmured something incoherent in her sleep, shifting slightly but never fully waking.

Noticing the way her bare legs curled slightly from the cool air, I grabbed my jacket from the backseat and draped it over her lap. She barely stirred, only nestling deeper into the seat, her fingers twitching slightly against the fabric of her dress.

Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the parking garage of my hotel, the soft beeping of the car shutting off breaking the silence. I glanced over at her again, still completely passed out, her body limp and weightless in sleep. With a quiet sigh, I stepped out, rounding the car to open her door. The moment I unbuckled her seatbelt, she shifted slightly, her brows furrowing for a brief second before relaxing again.

Carefully, I slipped my arms beneath her, lifting her into my chest with ease. She was warm and soft against me, her breath fanning lightly against my collarbone as she instinctively nestled closer, her fingers weakly gripping the fabric of my shirt.

The elevator ride up felt longer than usual, the soft hum of the music filling the quiet space. Every few seconds, she’d mumble something unintelligible, shifting slightly but never waking, completely lost in whatever dream world she had stumbled into.

Finally, I reached my suite, nudging the door open with my foot before stepping inside. The room was dimly lit, the soft golden glow from the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the space. Carefully, I laid her down on the bed, adjusting her so she wouldn’t wake up sore in the morning. She barely reacted, just curling onto her side with a small sigh.

With a smirk, I crouched down, gently sliding off her heels one by one so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Her toes flexed slightly at the sudden freedom, but otherwise, she didn’t stir.

After grabbing a pack of makeup wipes from the bathroom, I returned to the bedside, lowering myself gently onto the mattress beside her. She was still lost in sleep, her features soft, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in slow, even rhythms. The dim lighting of the room cast gentle shadows over her face, highlighting the remnants of the night—smudged eyeliner beneath her lashes, traces of lipstick fading from her lips, a faint flush on her cheeks.

I peeled open a wipe and, with careful hands, began to clean the streaks of mascara and eyeliner clinging to her skin. The cool sensation made her shift slightly, a quiet whimper of protest escaping her lips as she scrunched her nose and turned her face away.

I chuckled under my breath, running a soothing hand through her hair. “Just a little bit more, baby,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her temple. “Then you can sleep.”

As if my voice alone was enough to ease her, she stilled beneath my touch, her body relaxing, her breathing deepening once again.

I worked quickly, wiping away the last traces of makeup before tossing the used wipes into the bin. Once finished, I pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it snugly around her shoulders to keep her warm. Just in case, I grabbed the small waste bin from the corner of the room and placed it beside the bed, knowing how the aftermath of a night like this could be unforgiving. I also set a bottle of water and some painkillers on the nightstand, within reach for when she woke up.

Satisfied that she was comfortable, I pushed myself up, ready to leave her to rest—

But before I could take a step, her fingers curled weakly around my wrist.

“Don’t leave,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with the soft vulnerability of sleep.

I froze, feeling something tighten in my chest, something warm and unfamiliar.

She was still mostly unconscious, her grip loose and drowsy, but the way she reached for me, the way she clung as if my presence alone made her feel safe, sent a quiet ache through me.

A small smile tugged at my lips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I assured her gently, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. “I’m right here, baby.”

At my words, a faint, contented smile ghosted over her lips, and though her fingers relaxed, she didn’t fully let go.

I stayed for a few moments longer, just watching her, making sure she was truly settled before carefully slipping her arm back under the blanket. She barely stirred, her chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. With a quiet sigh, I stood and made my way to the couch, grabbing a spare blanket from the wardrobe. The plush cushions weren’t nearly as comfortable as the bed, but I didn’t mind.

Lying down, I draped the blanket over myself, folding my arms behind my head as I let my gaze drift back to her sleeping form. My body begged for rest, but still, I stayed awake just in case she stirred. Just in case, in the quiet vulnerability of sleep, she reached for me again—and if she did, I’d be right here.

[apple-cider0]

Мне всё равно нравится этот персонаж. Ничего с собой не поделаю. :)

I still love this character. I can't help myself. :)

Translation:

If you're looking for light,

Then in the end

You can find him.. Even in

someone else.

The light is burning in

our souls as well. ♡

[sysig]

For Requestober, Req.1

Scri dressed as an angel, Edgar dressed as a demon. It would be fun to see the roles swaped regarding costumes!

Day 3 - Angel and Devil('s Advocate)

[kheprriverse]

Ough I wanna give Ares a new design so bad…

[anglerflsh]

robots

[st4rsinthenight]

★soooo, art of the dayyyyy-★

★erm, here's human!rise!mikey★

🎨| ALT VERSION ↓

[tricksterringmaster]

all these incredible meta writers i really respect: sirius didn't have tattoos, remus didn't have scars, almost no one wore muggle clothes at any point

my brain every time without skipping a beat: ...but

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Jotaro time!