#I need to stop looking at the art I hate each time i look again

[purple-st4rz-556]

I keep forgetting to be active here whoops....anyways it's Gorillaz Phase 1 OMG!!!!

OMFG I JSUT RELIZED THAT I DREW THE THUMB FACIND THE WROGN DIRECTION 💀💀💀

[stevens-pastrami-sandwich]

"shoutout to e for being patient zero" no probs matt! any day pal! 😁😁 (help me can somebody hear me please hel

crying screaming throwing up

[kthologue]

his better half — dick grayson 

synopsis. how the world’s greatest detectives found out about dick grayson’s secret relationship with his sworn enemy (aka the progression of your relationship with dick grayson).

contents. fluff, whipped!dick (5k words of him pathetically pining), he’s robin then nightwing, catgirl!reader, parallels to cat/bat, 4 times the wayne family swore that there was something going on between you and dick and the 1 time they found out

notes. return of the cat/bat dynamic with dick! prequel to another fic but can be read as a standalone.

It had started back when he was Robin. No matter how many times he outmaneuvered you, no matter how many times he thought he had you cornered, you always slipped through his fingers like smoke, only to reappear with another scheme, another trail of mayhem across Gotham’s streets.

Tonight had been no different. Another failed heist, this time at the Gotham City Museum. But the encounter had turned nastier than usual. 

Now, back in the sanctuary of the Batcave, Dick sat rigid on the medical table, blood still drying on his suit. He hissed as Alfred’s hands stitched his side with a steady rhythm, each tug of the needle igniting a flicker of pain. Still, it was nothing compared to the fire simmering beneath his skin.

He clenched his fists, jaw locked tight. The pain was familiar, but the frustration was harder to swallow. It was you. The way you moved. The way you smiled through a fight. The way you never made it easy for him.

And worse than all of it, the part he hated most— He wasn’t even sure he wanted you to stop.

“She’s so—!” A groan tumbled from his lips, raw and exasperated.

Alfred barely spared him a glance, humming in mild disapproval before fixing him with a withering stare.

“Master Dick, may I ask why you’ve been picking at your stitches from your last encounter with Catgirl?” His voice was patient, but his raised brow was anything but. “These should have healed months ago.”

Dick’s face heated. He ducked his head, hurriedly muttering an, “I know!”

Alfred held his gaze a beat longer, the look in his eyes making it clear he knew more than Dick would ever admit. But, mercifully, he didn’t press.

Dick let out a breath, a fleeting sense of relief settling in, only for it to vanish the moment he felt another presence in the room.

“I see some things haven’t changed,” a deep voice observed from the shadows.

Dick didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The low timbre, the quiet authority, Bruce had perfected the art of making a simple statement feel like a verdict.

Still, he forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. Bruce stood behind Alfred, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.

“B—” Dick started, but Bruce cut him off with a single, measured look.

“You let her get away. Again.”

It wasn’t an accusation, not really. There was no anger in Bruce’s tone, just a sharp-edged assessment, as if he were dissecting the situation piece by piece, searching for a truth Dick wasn’t ready to face.

Dick bristled. “Her arsenal’s expanded since last time. I was caught off guard.”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. His eyes, naturally cold and unreadable, locked onto Dick, searching, measuring, stripping away every defense with quiet precision.

“One could assume you’re letting her—”

“No.” The denial came too quickly, too forcefully. Dick knew it, and from the way Bruce’s gaze sharpened, so did he.

It was absurd. Robin was a beacon of justice. He didn’t let criminals go just because they happened to be…

Unnerving.

His stomach twisted.

Because they were unpredictable. Reckless. A constant thorn in his side. Because they always seemed one step ahead, because their smirk made his blood run hot, because their laughter had an edge to it that echoed long after they were gone. Because they moved with the kind of sharp, deliberate ease that set his teeth on edge—

Damn it.

Dick clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. This wasn’t about her. It never was.

But the irony wasn’t lost on him. Bruce, of all people, had no right to talk. His own history with Catwoman stretched back long before Dick had ever worn the mask.

They stood in silence, neither willing to be the first to break it.

Bruce’s gaze flickered downward, landing on Dick’s freshly closed wound. His posture eased, just a fraction.

“Just be careful, Dick.” The words were quieter, softer.

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a smirk, the kind that felt more like armor than anything else.

“Yeah. Thanks, B.”

Dick’s just glad no one asks about the wounds you left behind—he likes keeping those for himself.

At the time, everyone brushed off Dick’s strange fixation with Catgirl as a childish rivalry. In fact, Bruce even thought that it was endearing. Everybody knew about Bruce and Selina’s back and forth dynamic, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Dick to have something similar. It was normal for heroes to have nemeses. 

However, it was not normal for Dick Grayson to hold on to the strange obsession years after his time as Robin. 

“Funds in the orphanages in the East Ends seem to be mysteriously disappearing,” Bruce said. “Catgirl is requesting for backup in the investigation.”

Tim piped up, “I can–”

“I’ll do it.” Dick had declared.

Everybody looks at him quizzically but doesn’t push it. If Dick was on a case, he usually got the job done quickly and efficiently, no questions asked.

However, something about tonight felt... different. More than a few eyebrows were raised when everyone watched across the comms as you two fought together during the mission. Nightwing and Catgirl, back-to-back, moving in sync as if you'd been rehearsing for this fight your entire lives. It was a fluid, almost practiced rhythm that made the rest of the team pause and wonder—had they missed something?

Red Robin made a snide remark. Oracle went quiet. Even Bruce didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t have to. The comparison was already there, unspoken but heavy in the air.

The shock wasn't that both Nightwing and Catgirl were working together. Rather, it was shocking how well they worked together. 

The way you anticipated his movements before he made them.  The way he covered you like he’d done it a hundred times before. 

At first, everyone chalked it up to familiarity. The two of you had been fighting each other since your teenage years, after all. History breeds rhythm. But there was something else lurking in the way you spoke to each other—something warmer. Something that had less to do with old grudges and more to do with the kind of intimacy that didn’t fade with time.

“You’re getting rusty, Nightwing,” you called, sidestepping a swinging pipe and landing a clean kick to the thug’s chest.

Nightwing scoffed, flipping over a crate and landing beside you with infuriating ease. “Rusty? I’m the deluxe, high-performance upgrade of Robin. Go ahead, test me out.”

“Tempting,” you said, snapping your whip around another guy’s ankle and yanking hard. “But I don’t test-drive antiques.”

“Ouch,” he winced, slamming his escrima stick into a goon’s ribs. “You wound me.”

“Not as badly as I should,” you smirked, ducking behind him as he blocked a blow meant for you. “Still letting me use you as a shield, huh?”

“Only because you look good doing it.”

There was a brief pause, half a second too long, before you clicked your tongue. “Flirting during a fight? You really have gone soft.”

“I multitask.”

And as the last of the smugglers dropped, groaning on the concrete, the two of you stood back to back, catching your breath. The comms were silent, but only because the rest of the team had gone completely speechless.

“…Do they always fight like that?” Tim finally asked.

“No,” Barbara muttered. “That’s new.”

“They’ve definitely fought before,” said Damian, deadpan. “But I’m starting to think it wasn’t always on rooftops.”

The line went dead with Bruce’s exhale.

And when the mission was finally over and all of the missing funds had been recovered, the smugglers were zip-tied and unconscious— Dick doesn't leave immediately.

He soaks in the quiet thrum of distant sirens and the pulse pounding in his ears.

You were breathing heavily beside him, leaning onto him for support. Your hair was tousled, mask slightly askew, but your smirk was intact, taunting and tired and entirely too irresistible.

“You gonna thank me for saving your pretty face back there?” you asked, arms crossed as you leaned just a bit too close.

He turned to you, one eyebrow raised. “I had it handled.”

“Oh, sure. You ‘handled’ it right into a tripwire.”

“That was strategy,” he said, looking down at you with a grin. “I was drawing them out.”

“You were stalling. Badly.”

“You were watching my back.”

“I always do.”

The air between the two of you tightened. Your usual banter softened into something quieter, something awfully familiar. His hand brushed your wrist, and you didn’t pull away.

“You ever think,” he said slowly, voice low, “maybe we’re better on the same side?”

Your smile flickered. “Dangerous thought.”

“Isn’t that your specialty?”

His hand found your waist, gentle, steadying. Your fingers curled around the edge of his suit. You tilted your head up, lips inches from his, breath warm against his skin.

And then—click.

Static buzzed softly in his ear.

Your eyes widened. “Your comm’s still on.”

He blinked. “Sh—”

“—Nightwing, please tell me we did not just listen to you try to make out with Catgirl mid-mission,” Barbara’s dry voice cut through.

Tim's snort followed immediately. “Can we mute them next time? I’m scarred.”

“Disgusting,” Damian added flatly. “He’s smiling. I can feel it.”

Dick groaned and reached up to yank the comm from his ear, but you were already laughing, backing away with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“You’re cute when you’re caught.”

“And you’re evil,” he muttered, grinning despite himself.

You winked. “You love it.”

And with that, you were gone, leaping off the rooftop like the night belonged to you. Maybe it did.

Dick sighed, still smiling as he turned off the comm and ignoring his family’s bewildered accusations at the interaction.

The next time everyone’s suspicions flared that there was something more going on between Dick and you was during a stakeout.

It was supposed to be a standard nightwatch.

Gotham’s skyline was quiet— by Gotham standards, anyway. Dick was posted up with the rest of the family, patrolling in sync from different rooftops. Chatter filled the comms. Nothing urgent. Nothing personal.

Until he saw you.

Not as Catgirl. But just a regular civillian. Draped across the ledge of a mid-rise rooftop in Old Town. Laughing and relaxed.

With some guy.

Dick’s posture stiffened immediately.

He zoomed in with his scope. Tall. Sloppy smirk. Leaning way too close. And the worst part? You were laughing. Like really laughing. The kind that made your shoulders shake, the kind you used to reserve for those rare post-fight rooftop chats with him.

“Hey, what’s Nightwing staring at?” Tim asked, mild and bored over the comms.

“Target,” Dick replied too quickly. “Suspicious interaction. Female known associate, male unknown. Possible criminal connection.”

“Known associate?” Barbara echoed. “Or—oh wait. Let me guess. Catgirl?”

Silence.

Damian sighed. “He's compromised.”

“Shut up,” Dick muttered, already moving across the rooftop.

He didn’t even wait for backup. By the time he reached them, the guy had just handed something off to you—small, shiny, probably stolen. But before Dick could assess, he was moving. On instinct.

“Step away from her,” he barked, landing hard between them.

The guy barely got a word out before Dick grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

“Hey! What the hell—”

Dick didn’t let him finish. One hit. Two. A sweep to the legs. Too fast, too brutal for standard interrogation. The guy went down hard.

“Nightwing!” You shouted, stepping between them. “He wasn’t even fighting back—what the hell is your problem?!”

“He’s a known smuggler,” Dick snapped. “And he had his hands on you.”

“Wow. Jealousy looks great in blue.”

“Don’t make it worse,” he muttered, his eyes still locked on the guy groaning at his feet.

Back on the comms, silence settled in, thick and awkward, before it cracked.

“Wait…” Tim started, his voice laced with confusion. “Why do you care so much that she’s with him?”

“Yeah,” Barbara added, her tone now unusually sharp, “since when is this personal?”

Damian’s voice was almost too quiet, but cutting. “Did I miss something, or is this a... thing?”

Nightwing didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he turned away, fists still clenched in the aftermath of his uncharacteristic outburst.

And you? You stood a few paces behind him, watching him closely, not angry, not amused. Just curious. Like you were seeing something new. Something that he hadn’t meant to show.

The next night, the Batcave was quieter than usual. The soft hum of the computers and the click of keys filled the air, but there was an underlying tension that none of them could ignore.

Dick sat at the computer, his focus fixed on the screen in front of him, but his thoughts were far from the mission at hand. His mind kept drifting back to that moment with Catgirl, to the way you’d looked at him after he’d snapped on the smuggler. He hadn’t meant to act so... possessive, but it felt almost impossible to push the feeling down.

“Everything’s quiet tonight,” Tim said, breaking the silence. “Guess that’s good news.”

Dick barely responded, just a distracted grunt.

Barbara’s eyes flickered to him, then back to her screen. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Dick. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just focusing.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick look with Damian. “You sure? You’ve been acting weird ever since that last mission.”

Dick stiffened, but he didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said slowly. “You were... different when you were with Catgirl last night. Not just on the mission—before and after. You looked like you were protecting her, but you were also way too harsh on that smuggler. And don’t even get me started on how you acted when you saw her with that guy earlier.”

Barbara tilted her head, clearly intrigued but trying not to push too hard. “It’s not like you’ve never worked with her before. And you’ve never been this... invested. What’s up with that?”

Dick felt his pulse quicken. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that his jealousy had gotten the better of him. But here they were, picking at the cracks.

“I was just making sure the mission went smoothly,” Dick snapped, a little more forcefully than he intended. “Nothing else.”

Damian, who had been unusually quiet up until now, finally spoke. His voice was as sharp as ever, but there was a flicker of something behind his words. “You know, I’m not blind. You don’t usually get this... involved with any of our targets, let alone Catgirl.”

Tim leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Yeah, and what was with the whole thing earlier? You looked like you were about to break that guy in half just because he was talking to her. And I’m pretty sure you’ve never gotten that mad about anyone else on a mission before.”

Dick’s hand clenched into a fist on the desk. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” Barbara asked, her voice soft but firm. “Because whatever it is, it’s affecting the team. We don’t need Nightwing going rogue.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Dick could feel everyone’s eyes on him, each of them waiting for an answer he wasn’t ready to give. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come.

Instead, he stood abruptly, pushing away from the desk. “We’re here to stop criminals, not gossip about my personal life. Let’s focus on the mission, alright?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed as Dick turned away, but he didn’t press further. The tension in the room, however, remained thick, unspoken.

Damian exchanged a glance with Tim and Barbara, his smirk still present, though his gaze was sharper than before. “This is far from over.”

Bruce, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, spoke up from across the room, his tone unreadable. “Keep it together, Dick. Whatever’s going on, it’s not going to help anyone if it affects the mission.”

Dick’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, refusing to acknowledge the way his heart was pounding in his chest. The family wasn’t entirely sure, but they were starting to connect the dots. And once they did... there’d be no hiding it.

But for now, the only thing he could do was deflect and move forward—hoping the questions would die down. Hoping he could keep the secret a little longer.

Despite his family's gradually growing suspicions, Dick doesn’t exactly make an effort to hide it when you two finally start dating. In fact, if anything, he becomes even more obvious. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside the window. Inside, the atmosphere was a world apart from the chaos of Gotham.

Dick was lying on his bed at Wayne Manor, his head resting on the pillow, eyes closed in a rare moment of peace. You were beside him, your fingers gently threading through his hair, the soft touch sending a calm shiver through his body.

"You know, you're making it really hard to keep my cool," Dick murmured, his voice low, almost a hum as he relaxed under your touch.

"Oh, please," you teased, voice light but laced with mischief. "You’re practically radiating smugness. The whole ‘perfect vigilante’ act is getting a little old, you know?"

Dick let out a dramatic sigh, his lips curling into a playful grin. “I can’t help it if I’m a natural at this.”

"Yeah, sure," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Just don’t get too used to it. I’m not gonna make it easy for you."

“Good,” he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I like a challenge.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came when you were together, when the world seemed to fall away. But that peace was shattered with an abrupt, deafening knock on the door.

“Dick!” Jason’s voice boomed from the other side. “Open up! I know you’re in there.”

Dick groaned, pulling his arm over his eyes as if trying to block out the inevitable.

You, unable to resist, sat up slightly, your lips curling into a grin at his frustration. Nonetheless, you shuffle away in the bathroom connected to his bedroom to stay away from Jason’s prying eyes.

Dick sat up quickly, running a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to look more put-together. “I swear, if he barges in here—”

Another knock, louder this time. “You’ve got company, don’t you?”

Dick froze, caught in a moment of shock and embarrassment, but he couldn’t quite hide the flush creeping up his neck. He tried to act normal, shifting on his feet when he finally opens the door. “What are you talking about, Jay?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, smirking. “The I’m getting laid glow. You’ve got it.”

Dick’s jaw dropped, his brain short-circuiting for a second. “What? No—what do you—?”

“Don’t play coy,” Jason said, a cocky grin playing on his lips. “You’re practically walking on sunshine, Dick. You’ve got that ridiculous smile, and the way you’re acting... yeah, I know what’s going on.”

You couldn’t help it; you let out a soft chuckle from your hiding spot, biting your lip to stifle the laugh.

Jason doesn't relent. “So, what’s the deal, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, a little flustered but trying to maintain his cool. “I’m fine, Jay. Just... focused.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. I don’t believe you for a second.”

Before Dick could say anything else, Jason added, “You’ve just got that look. You know, the one you get when—” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air.

Dick’s face flushed even deeper. “This is ridiculous. You’re overthinking things.”

Jason paused, eyes narrowing in a mix of amusement and suspicion. "You’ve been acting different lately, and I’m not blind, you know. Something’s going on."

Dick, who’d been doing his best to look unaffected, now turned his back to Jason, muttering under his breath, “I’m just... not in the mood for your games, Jay.”

He's glad to finally pique Jason's interest, but it was for all the wrong reasons.

Jason, however, was not ready to let this go. “Oh, I’m not playing any games. But you’re acting like a damn schoolboy who’s got a crush. And it’s pretty damn obvious."

You stayed out of sight, peeking your head slightly from the bathroom door, listening to the exchange unfold. Your heart raced slightly from the tension, but you couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips.

Jason was right—Dick had been acting different. But it wasn’t just his look or his smile. There was something in the way he’d been so much more... himself around you lately. More relaxed. More playful.

And Jason was definitely noticing.

“I’m not a schoolboy, Jay,” Dick finally snapped, turning around to face him again, his arms crossed in a defensive manner. "You’re seeing things.”

“Am I? Or is that just your smug ass trying to cover up whatever it is that’s going on?" Jason leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as well, but his smirk was all knowing. “Look, it’s fine. But if you’re gonna act like this, I’m going to start questioning things.”

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, Jason raised a hand. “Save it. I’m not here for a lecture. Just know that I see what’s happening.”

There was a moment of silence as Dick stood frozen, unsure of how to keep denying it. He hadn’t realized just how obvious it had become until Jason called him out on it.

Jason’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying his older brother’s discomfort. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to... whatever it is you’re doing.” He motioned to the room dramatically. “I don’t need to be here for the awkward afterthought phase.”

Dick let out an exasperated sigh as Jason turned to leave. “You better not say anything to anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s our little secret,” Jason replied, turning back toward the door. “Just know that if you start dropping hints, I’m not gonna be the one to blame.”

Before Dick could retort, Jason was gone, leaving the door swinging slightly in his wake.

You stepped fully out of the bathroom then, finally walking back into the room with a mischievous grin on your face. "Well, that was fun," you said, leaning against the doorframe as you watched Dick run a hand through his hair again in frustration.

“Don’t even say it,” Dick groaned, sinking back onto the bed. “I swear, he’s got nothing better to do than mess with me.”

“I did try to stay out of sight,” you teased, walking toward him and sitting beside him on the bed. “But you’re just too cute when you’re all flustered.”

He gave you an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Not cute. Annoyed. Annoyed, embarrassed, and—" He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm never going to live this down."

You laughed softly, leaning against him. “Nope. You’re not.”

His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “Why do you make me look so obvious?”

“You’re making it easy,” you replied with a smirk, resting your head against his shoulder. “I mean, you can’t walk around glowing like you just got laid and not expect anyone to notice.”

Dick let out a deep sigh but couldn’t hide the smile creeping up his face. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

“Because you like me,” you said with a wink, nudging him playfully.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the manor, Jason was already halfway to the kitchen, his grin never fading. He might not know everything, but he knew enough. And maybe, just maybe, he'd wait a little longer to see how long it took for the rest of the family to figure it out.

But one thing was for sure: he was enjoying the drama.

It was only a few short weeks after Jason's confrontation that the truth finally came out. How everyone found out was a complete accident. But, as with most things in Dick Grayson’s life, he was painfully aware of how unlucky he truly was.

It started like any ordinary morning. Quiet, uneventful, but peaceful.

Dick was lounging in the common room, sipping on his coffee, savoring the rare moment of solitude. He’d woken up earlier than usual, feeling content and unusually relaxed after the time spent with you. Everything felt... normal. Peaceful. That was, until everything suddenly took a turn for the worse.

The moment the door swung open, the calm atmosphere shattered. Dick’s gaze darted up to see Bruce walking in, his expression unusually serious, his features set in that familiar, unreadable way.

Dick had thought he was alone. Home alone. He’d been looking forward to a quiet day to himself, relishing in the rare peace that the manor offered. But now, as Bruce stepped into the room, and Dick caught sight of Tim, the panic hit him. His heart leaped in his chest, pounding violently.

His stomach twisted in that familiar, sickening way as the reality of the situation settled in. Tim was home. Bruce was home. They’d found out. And now, it was all crashing down at once.

Dick’s body stiffened, and for a split second, he thought about bolting. But instead, he just froze, internally cursing his luck. The one time he’d let his guard down, and of course, everything went horribly wrong.

"Dick," Bruce started, his voice low but carrying that edge of parental authority that Dick could never quite get used to. "We need to talk."

Dick immediately groaned, sinking further into his chair. “I’m not really in the mood for a ‘talk,’ Bruce.”

“You should be. Someone’s been snooping around your room,” Bruce said, his tone even, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “And they found... lady garments.”

Dick’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson. “I... what? Who said that?”

Tim, who’d been in the room pretending to read his tablet, looked up with a smirk. “Oh, I was the one who found them. Couldn’t miss the cat suit, man. A cat suit? Really? Come on, that’s... weird, bro.”

Dick shot a glare at his younger brother, feeling his face heat up even more. “That’s not—Tim, I swear to God, you have no boundaries.”

Bruce was still giving him that look, the one that meant he was both disappointed and extremely curious about how his son had gotten himself into this mess. “Dick, you need to be careful. This is Wayne Manor. It's not exactly private here. If you're—"

“Bruce, please,” Dick interjected, his voice sharp. “You’re making it sound like I’m hiding a body in there.”

"Are you?" Tim asked innocently, clearly enjoying every moment of Dick’s discomfort. “Because that would explain the whole ‘hiding cat suits’ thing. Is it a fetish thing, or just... a weird hobby? Can’t tell, honestly.”

Dick sat up straight, his hands clenching into fists. "I don’t have a cat fetish, Tim. And can we just not do this? Please?”

But Bruce wasn’t letting it go. “You can’t be so reckless, Dick. You have to think about how your actions affect those around you, especially in a house like this. What if someone else finds out?”

Dick panicked for a second. What if someone else finds out?

“I’m not exactly hiding it, Bruce!” he groaned, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Why are you acting like I’m doing something terrible? And why are you acting like I’m the one being reckless? I’ve been a vigilante for years! I think I know how to keep my... personal life... private.”

“Then why the cat suit?” Tim asked, deadpan.

Before Dick could answer—or yell—at his younger brother, the door to the hallway creaked open, and suddenly, your voice echoed from the other side, confused but curious. “What’s going on? Dick, why are you groaning so much?”

Dick’s heart sank. He’d wanted to be home alone, to enjoy a few hours of peace with you. But now... he realized it wasn’t just Bruce and Tim who had ruined that quiet morning. You—the woman of the hour— was standing on the other side of the door too.

The silence in the room became instant and suffocating. Bruce's gaze shifted toward the door, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Is that... her?”

Tim’s grin widened like he’d just hit the jackpot. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the mysterious Catgirl herself."

Dick’s heart sank even further. He didn’t think he could be more mortified, but somehow, it was happening. How? How could he have misjudged this moment so badly? Panic twisted in his chest, and he stumbled for words. “No, no, wait, it’s not like that, okay?” he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of the embarrassment.

But your entrance only made things worse. You walked into the room, towel wrapped around your damp hair, still drying off from your shower. You had heard Dick groaning from the hallway and were just trying to figure out what was going on, completely unaware that things had already spiraled into uncomfortable territory.

You froze when you saw the three of them in the room, and Bruce’s laser-focused stare locked onto you.

Great, Dick thought, his entire world collapsing in slow motion. This was it. The beans were spilled.

You glanced over at Dick, your gaze flicking to his flushed face, and then back to Bruce, Tim, and the awkward tension that filled the room.

“Oh,” you said, voice light but tinged with humor, crossing your arms over your towel. “So... this is what’s going on? This is... the talk?”

Bruce’s stare was unwavering. “What exactly is going on here?”

Dick immediately jumped to his feet, hands held out in an almost defensive manner. “It’s not—! Bruce, please, it’s not what you think! We didn’t—”

You cut him off with a sly grin, leaning against the doorframe. “I guess I’m the lady who’s been leaving garments around,” you teased, clearly enjoying the shock on Dick’s face. “Maybe next time I’ll just leave a note?”

Dick groaned again, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was more like he wanted to just disappear into the floorboards. He couldn’t even look at Bruce or Tim, he was so caught in the uncomfortable web that everyone had just helped weave.

Bruce’s lips thinned, his face unreadable as he slowly processed the situation. “I think we need to have a very different kind of conversation...”

Tim, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week. I knew there was something fishy going on with you two.”

You just rolled your eyes, not letting Dick get away with it. “Yeah, well, now that the cat’s out of the bag...” you teased, walking further into the room and giving Dick a playful shove, “... maybe we can all stop pretending we’re completely clueless.”

Bruce took a deep breath, his gaze softening slightly. “I expect both of you to be careful and respect the boundaries of this house.”

You chuckled lightly, but Dick just nodded, feeling utterly humiliated. “Right. Got it.”

As you looked at Dick, you could tell he was both relieved and mortified at the same time. Bruce was still processing the whole thing, but at least it was out in the open. Well, almost. Jason had yet to say anything, but you could already imagine the next round of teasing.

"Alright, well, I’m going back to not doing anything weird," Dick mumbled, his face still flushed as he walked toward the door, clearly ready to leave this conversation behind.

Bruce didn’t follow him immediately. He simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod to you. “Just remember, I expect discretion.”

“Oh, we know,” you said, already turning to Dick with a smirk.

And with one awkward silence after another, Dick's relationship with you was no longer a secret. It was now part of Wayne Manor’s unofficial family gossip.

thanks for reading!

[salemlunaa]

SURE TIME IS A CONCEPT, BUT THE CLOCK IS TICKING ◔

what more do some of you want?…

A lot of you need to fix up. stop doomscrolling and complaining and actually apply knowledge.

Do you wanna know how to be like those people who enter the void/ induce pure consciousness with ease after struggling, some of them not even struggling at all? All those success stories that you idolise, screenshot, like, reblog and envy all have one thing in common:

They wanted it. Bad. You need to want it

Those people saw all this shit that they didn’t deserve happen to them, they saw how other people were born with the lives they want, and they decided enough was enough. They weren’t taking shit from the world anymore, they were tired of living lives that they dread, tired of looking at people’s lives with envy, tired of the way life was going for them and how the world treated them unprovoked. They were tired of dreading waking up another day in their shitty realities. Tired of hating themselves in the morning because of another unproductive night. They were TIRED and you need to be too, that fuelled their want for their new lives and got them where they are now.

I’m not saying you can’t be in my asks or you can’t be in my dms. But at what point is it enough? at what point does it become pathetic? You go in these bloggers asks and dms and question them on shit that 1: has been said multiple times or 2: is common sense. But fine, keep playing dumb, keep indulging in the assumption that it “just doesn’t work for you” keep pretending that your just this innocent little baby who “doesn’t understand why it’s not working🥺” 🙄anyway…. You can sit here in this community for as many years as you like while people get what they want.

And although time is a malleable concept that can be manipulated, the clock is ticking, it’s almost 2025 and some of you are right where you started. I need to ask you to sit with your self, look at 2025,2026,2027 heck even 2028, do you see yourself still here? be honest, do you genuinely see yourself with your dream life? if not you need to change your mindset, and stop asking how, you know how!!

Locking in and changing your mindset isn’t this big character development that lasts weeks, it can take seconds. So you could’ve had everything yesterday, 15 minutes ago, an hour ago, even a fucking minute ago, but you’re still here choosing to scroll and act stupid, inhaling new information each day like you were born yesterday. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU NEED TO DO!!! Are you not tired of the same routine, you get motivated from some posts, you get this high, this amazing feeling like you’re so ready to do it, then you procrastinate and if you do manage to try you “fail” and run back to tumblr for the 100th time. Are you not tired of the same shit?

Again, do yall wanna make it to 2025,2026,2027, even 2028 without all the shit you want? At what point does it become enough information and enough questions asked? I know it feels validating and comforting to complain about your circumstances knowing others can relate, but at what point do you stop aligning with the loser who “can’t do it”? Stop acting like you actually give a shit when you say you’re going to apply and then you come back whining. Start acting like you actually want it.

You’re the only one who can change your life, if you want to still complain sure go ahead. Keep the tumblr “for you page” some company while everyone else is actually applying and getting their dream lives. A lot of you don’t want to hear it but with the way you’re wavering you’re probably going to be here for a few more years.

That doesn’t mean you cant change that, i’m not the one who writes your story, it’s you, again, it’s not hard work to change. Like the art of inducing pure consciousness, nothing is hard, nothing needs effort, so you can change your mindset within the snap of a finger and be good to go. But wavering brings you right back to square one.

the clock is ticking and you are STILL here…. LOCK TF IN!!!

SOME OF YOU HAVEN’T MADE ANY SIGNIFICANT PROGRESS, THAT CHANGES NOW!! ⏳💋

[ayyy-pee]

⦂ 𝕝𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕙 𝕣𝕦𝕤𝕙

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader WC: 1.5k Summary: You're starving. And time is just not moving fast enough for you. Art: maoyaoyao519

A/N: Some Nanami fluff because I miss him so bad. I didn't proofread this because whatever! If you see a typo, no you didn't LMAO

You think you hate clocks.

Not digital ones, but the damn ticking ones. What are they called? Analog? Yeah those. 

Yeah, you are slowly, but surely growing to hate those. The ticking that accompanies each move of the seconds hand is driving you nuts the longer it goes on. Not to mention there seems to be no point in it seeing as the damn minute hand never seems to move. Or maybe it does, and you’re just too busy glaring at it to notice.

Regardless, you need time to hurry up.

Your brain feels foggy and your stomach hurts because you’re absolutely starving. It’s your own fault, really. You overslept and ended up bolting out of the house without anything but a granola bar in your purse. And who even knows how old that thing is? You couldn’t even read the expiration date on the crinkled packaging, so you played it safe and discarded it. Now you’re wondering how gross it would be if you dump all of your garbage out just to find it again.

But you won’t. Instead, you’ll wait impatiently for your lunch order to arrive. That is, if time ever decides to take mercy on you and speed up.

It won’t, though. And as if time wasn’t moving slow enough, your boss seems to be punishing you by throwing an impromptu meeting on your calendar the hour before your lunch is scheduled and has been talking in his usual monotone about the most boring topic ever.

It’s difficult to pay attention, to hear anything when your head is throbbing, your stomach is killing you and it’s growling obnoxiously beneath your desk. And that goddamn clock won’t stop ticking! You drop your head into your hands, biting down the groan threatening to bubble up from your chest.

You should have taken a certain someone’s advice and kept snacks in your desk. Well, you did have snacks in your desk. You ate them all months ago and never bothered to restock. You should have listened! Maybe then you wouldn’t be sitting here miserable and ready to take a bite out of your keyboard.

The sound of your name pulls your gaze back to the source – your computer, where your manager awaits your answer to a question you didn’t hear. “You okay? You seem distracted.”

“Oh. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“Looking over the numbers for last months projects, I’m seeing–” 

He drones on and on about finances and decimals, asking you for the projections. All a bunch of boring things that you really could not give a shit about right now if you tried. Because you are distracted, very much so.

“We’re coming up on time, so we’ll call it here,” your manager finally announces, and you damn near burst into tears now that this stupid meeting is over. “Let's reconvene later this afternoon. That work for everyone?”

“Yep, bye!” You jump from the call, not willing to spare another second in this godforsaken room until you get your hands on some–

Light taps on your office door, similar to that clock ticking nearly make you want to scream. Please don’t let it be another colleague coming to talk about this bullshit job or you’re going to rip their head off!

“Come in,” you try to call cheerily, but it comes out as more of a snarl.

The door cracks open slowly and a head of blonde hair emerges from the other side – your husband, the relief that fills you is one you can’t put into words. 

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks, teasingly. He knows you’re about two seconds away from losing it, could feel the tension against the door when he knocked.

You let out the biggest sigh, pouting as he enters your space, quietly shutting the door behind him. In his arms are several bags, and the smell that wafts through the air and straight to your nose is heavenly.

“Kentooooo,” you whine, and he chuckles as he sets the bags down on your desk. He carefully removes all the items inside each bag and your eyes water at the sight of everything in front of you. Your incredible husband seems to have brought an assortment of dishes and has laid said spread out in front of you. Is it too much? Maybe. But you know you’re going to take a bite of every damn thing.

“Sorry it took me so long. I had no idea what you were in the mood for,” he explains, taking the seat in front of your desk. “I just stopped by a few different places and picked up things I thought you’d like.” 

You tut, opening one of the containers, which holds a ham sandwich inside and he quickly reaches for the box, snatching away the meal you’re currently salivating over. “Not that one. You know you can’t have deli meats.” The deep frown that settles on your face is enough to make Kento wince, but he brushes it off, used to this reaction by now.

“Doctor’s orders,” he reminds you, and you roll your eyes.

“Dumbass doctor…” you mutter. “I told you what I wanted, though.” You try another box this time. But after a few seconds of the lid not budging, you think it must need the damn jaws of life to open. 

Your husband shakes his head. “You texting me in the middle of my meeting to ‘feed you or you’re going to commit heinous crimes’ doesn’t exactly tell me what you want.” He leans forward, removing the lid to the container that you’re struggling to open yourself. It contains paella that smells absolutely divine. You dig in immediately, eyes rolling to the back of your skull with the first bite. “Besides, you never want the same thing twice so –”

“Hey, I’ll eat anything!” You argue with your mouth full, which only makes your husband grin the tiniest of grins. “It’s your picky daughter that won’t let me have peace.” With your fork, you point down at your stomach – large, round and wiggling as your daughter dances with delight in your belly.

“She seems to like that, though,” Kento notes, a smile of pride on his lips. Of course he’s pleased with himself to have found something your daughter enjoys enough to let you keep down.

You nod, filling your mouth with another spoonful. Kento takes this moment to take a bite from the sandwich he picked up for himself. He watches you take a bite of other items he’d brought, sometimes mixing two different things that would make any non-pregnant person sick to their stomach. But you seem to enjoy it, and that’s all he cares about in all honesty.

He’ll give you whatever you want. After all, you’re giving him everything he wants and more. Almost nine months pregnant, a top performing director at your company and the most perfect wife he could ever hope for. Yeah, he’d find a way to give you the world if you asked for it.

Kento loves you. He loved you before your pregnancy and he somehow loves you even more during it. He didn’t think it would be possible to love someone with your entire being, and yet, even with sauce on your chin and crumbs hanging onto the corners of your lips, Kento thinks you are the most beautiful person on earth. He wonders if your daughter will be as beautiful as you.

He thinks so.

She will be the perfect blend of you and him, after all. You call him handsome, sexy, hot, all the time. He’s not certain he agrees with all of those adjectives, but he’ll take your word for it. You, however, he has never doubted are absolutely stunning, breathtaking, gorgeous and any other word that could be used to describe the beauty you hold.

He thinks your daughter will be just as gorgeous, and in a few weeks time, he’ll get to experience holding the love you two created in his arms and bear witness to her beauty firsthand.

To say he’s excited is an understatement.

Your satisfied groan pulls Kento from his daydream to find you leaning back in your seat and rubbing your belly.

“How was everything?” He asks, tossing his empty container in the garbage can beneath your desk. He packs up the half eaten leftovers to take with him. He’ll have to head back to work soon. He hasn’t said anything, but his phone has been vibrating in his pocket the entire time he’s been here. It’s probably Principal Yaga. Kento is a little ashamed to admit that he up and left in the middle of their meeting once he’d received your text. He doesn’t feel bad about it, though.

“Tasted like heaven,” you beam. “Thank you so much, babe.”

“Anything for you, love.”

Kento scoots around your desk and you spin in your chair to face him. He kneels before you, placing his large, warm hands against your stomach. He feels the baby move immediately, pressing her tiny foot or hand up into his palm. He can’t stop the wide, toothy smile that spreads across his face.

“She’s happy,” you giggle, smiling softly when your husband nuzzles his nose against you. Your fingers find his hair, stroking through the soft blonde locks and Kento hums.

“And you?” His brown eyes find yours, full of adoration. “Are you happy now?”

“With you, I’m happy always.”

[hjparisian]

angel baby - theodore nott x reader

p: theodore nott x fem!reader w: just some fluff, theo pining, swearing, drinking, ooc(?), kinda modern au? (mentions 1996 romeo and juliet) s: after hearing who his crush is being at the slytherin's halloween party, theo decides to impress her with his own costume a/n: i know i know, very late, but i finally got around to finishing this and still wanted to post it

It was a week before Halloween, which to many, was one of the most anticipated holidays other than Christmas. But it wasn't the candy upper year students were excited for. Rather, it was the Slytherin party that would be happening that night.

All the girls were chatting about who they would be for the night. Ideas ranging from vampires to scantily dressed nurses. It was a night to show off.

Theo never cared much about the costume part. The past couple years he settled on skeleton face paint, mainly because his roommate Enzo has a surprisingly good eye for art.

Truthfully, he had planned to do the same again, despite Blaise's insistence on doing something different. But plans had changed for him.

Theo was at the Slytherin table with the rest of his friends as they chatted about the upcoming event of the season.

"I'm so excited for this party," exclaimed Daphne. "Have you guys decided on what you're wearing?"

"I've decided on a black cat," Pansy told them. "Got the perfect outfit and everything."

"Oooh you're gonna look so good Pans!" (Y/N) told her.

"I know, I'm so excited. What about you Daph?"

Daphne smiles. "I'm going to be a vampire." A sound of 'Ooos' was heard after the girl's answer. "What about you (Y/N)?"

(Y/N) giggles a bit before responding, the sound making Theo's heart pick up a bit. "Do you guys remember that one muggle movie we watched during summer?"

"Was it that weird one where that girl and boy died at the end because their families hated each other?" Draco chimes in.

The girl scoffed at Draco's comment. "Well yes, but you know its more than that." The boy rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, I think I want to be Juliet from the party scene."

"Oooh, is that the one where she's dressed as an angel?" asked Daphne. "You're going to look stunning!"

(Y/N) grins, thanking Daphne. Her smile made Theo's lips twitch a bit, wanting to mirror her. A small nudge was felt on the boy's left side where Mattheo sat, smirking at him. Caught red handed.

It wasn't like nobody knew about Theo's crush on his fellow Slytherin classmate. In fact, Mattheo had been the first to know about it, albeit, not by choice. Theo had kept his interest for the girl low key. It was just that Mattheo had notice Theo staring a little too long at (Y/N) one time and had basically got his friend to confess his crush.

After that, Mattheo had made it his mission to help Theo to get with (Y/N).

"I just wished I could have someone be my Romeo though," (Y/N) confided with her friends. "It would make the costume feel more complete."

"He was the knight right?" Asked Pansy. "That would be so cute."

This had caught Theo's attention again. The gears were beginning to turn in his head.

Back at the dorms, Theo was pacing, Enzo and Mattheo watching him from Mattheo's bed.

"So are you going to tell us what's happening or are we going to continue watching you burn a path in the floor?" Enzo asked his dormmate. "Feel like I'm getting dizzy from watching you."

Theo stops his tracks before looking towards his two friends. "I need to find a halloween costume."

Enzo stared at the boy, confused. While Mattheo had a feeling as to what was stirring in his friend's mind.

"You're going to match with (Y/N), huh?" Mattheo asked.

"Finally!" Enzo shouts, startling the other two. "Thank Merlin, I won't have to do that fucking face paint anymore. You know I was getting tired of that shit, right?"

Theo rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Anyways," Enzo began. "What's (Y/N) going to be?"

Mattheo answered. "An angel basically."

"She wants to be Juliet from that movie we watched over the summer." Theo explained to him as he sat on his own bed. "But during that party scene."

"And Romeo here wants to be her knight in shining armor," Mattheo said.

"Ooh. And let me guess, you need our help?"

"No, well, kinda," Theo said. "Help me find the perfect costume."

"And what will we get out of this?" Mattheo had a look of mischief in his eyes.

"Nothing."

"Well. Then you wouldn't mind if I asked (Y/N) to the party would you? Share a drink or two with her, maybe dance?"

"You wouldn't."

"Oh I would," his roommate said. "Unless you do my homework for a month."

"No bloody way."

"Fine. Three weeks."

"Two and that's final."

Mattheo thought for a second before grinning. "Alright, two weeks it is. Didn't think you'd actually go for it though, was just joking a bit."

"Oh you bastard, I'm going to kill you!"

That weekend, the boys had dedicated their time at Hogsmeade to finding stuff for Theo's costume. They had found the items surprisingly quick thanks to Enzo and his eye for things.

The three had ended their day at the Three Broomsticks with Draco and Blaise, who noticed the bags they carried, but decided to not question it (didn't stop Mattheo from telling them what was going on).

The day of the party had come way too soon for Theo's liking. He stood in front of the mirror, staring at himself with the costume on.

What if (Y/N) doesn't like his costume? What if she thought it was stupid and laughed at him? Should he have done this?

So many thoughts and scenarios ran through Theo's mind, he was half tempted to take the costume off and go for a smoke.

"Theo?"

The boy looked towards the door to find Enzo and Mattheo. The two were examing Theo's current state.

"You good?" Mattheo asked. Theo just shrugged.

"Come on mate," Enzo said to him. "She'll like the costume. And if she doesn't, who cares? Now, let's go for some shots. I know Mattheo has been itching for some."

After a few more minutes, Enzo and Mattheo had successfully gotten Theo out of the dorm room and into the Slytherin common room. And true to his word, Enzo had gotten a couple shots into his dorm mates to liven things up.

Things were going alright for Theo. A couple shots had gotten him feeling more loose, but he was still thinking about (Y/N), whose whereabouts were unknown to him.

He was grabbing another drink when he heard his name being called. Confused, he turned around to find the culprit.

"(Y/N)."

"Hi Theo."

The boy took a second to look at (Y/N)'s outfit, or what he thought was a second. He saw how intricate it was, almost like it was a replica of the costume from the film.

She looked like an angel.

"I like your costume," Theo heard her say. Seems like he wasn't the only one looking.

"Thank you. Don't look too bad yourself."

(Y/N) smiled at his comment. "Thanks. Made it myself."

"Well it looks lovely," Theo said to her. "Drink?"

She nodded, taking the drink Theo offered her.

"Who are you supposed to be?" She asked after taking a sip.

"Oh uh," the boy began. "Romeo. From the movie we watched back during the summer. Thought his party fit was cool."

"Really? Well I like it. You look really good Theo."

Theo felt his cheeks heat up. She liked his costume. He would have to thank Enzo (and maybe Mattheo) for his help.

The music in the common room had begun to slow down. Couples gathered with each other and swayed to the music. Theo turned his head and saw Mattheo dancing with a girl, but he was looking directly at him.

'Ask her' Mattheo mouthed to him, discreetly pointing at the girl next to him.

Theo nodded his head at his mate before turning to his crush beside him. Just as he was about to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue were stolen.

"Dance with me?"

(Y/N) looked up at Theo, waiting for his answer. Out of shock, Theo just nodded. Taking his answer, (Y/N) pulled Theo closer to the center of the room where everyone was. She wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist. Eyes gazing at each other. Everything felt perfect.

"So, why did you choose this costume, Theo?"

He faltered in his steps, surprised at the sudden question. He had two choices, he could be honest and admit his feelings, or lie and say Mattheo made him do it, which is something he would actually do. But the more he looked at her, realizing how close they were, he needed to say the right thing.

"I did it for you."

"For me?"

Theo nodded. "I heard how you wanted someone to match with you to make your costume feel complete. I wanted to make your night special. Because. I like you (Y/N)."

(Y/N) halted her steps, confusing Theo.

"You like me?"

The boy nodded, feeling slightly nervous. "Actually have a while."

(Y/N) took in this new information, nodding at him. The silence between them was killing Theo. He was half tempted to kill Mattheo if she said she didn't like him. Since technically, if he thinks about it, it would be.

As Theo was going through every little thought and concern in his head, he missed out on the girl in front of him trying to speak to him. He finally tuned back into the world when she said his name.

"Hm?"

"Theo, I was trying to tell you, I like you too," (Y/N) tells him with a smile on her face.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well bloody hell finally," said a voice.

The two turned to see Mattheo looking at the two, seemingly having stopped dancing to spy on this moment.

"Thought I would never see the day come where Theo finally admits his feelings for you. I was thinking I was gonna have to make a move myself."

"Mattheo shut the fuck up." Theo glared at his roommate.

Mattheo stuck his hands up. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you too lovebirds alone. Don't be surprised when Enzo is asking you questions when you come back to the dorm." The Slytherin took his leave, relieving Theo.

"I hate that motherfucker," he mutters, raking his hands through his hair.

(Y/N) chuckles. "Maybe, but I think you don't mind him. You guys are best friends after all."

Theo laughs, shaking his head.

"So, I hear there's a Hogsmeade trip happening next week. Would you want to go on a date there?"

"I'd like that." (Y/N) grins.

[tinyfantasminha]

OC introduction

[Thank you @haryuwu, @stestylius-arts and @ai-kan1 for the templates they look so clean and organized and I love them 😋]

Personality:

At first glance, Vic comes across as reserved and ordinary, maintaining cordial relationships without actively seeking friendships. However, once she grows close to someone, her brighter, more playful side shines through—she’s witty, bantering, and a bit tomboyish. She dislikes feeling restricted and tends to rebel against rules she finds unfair or unreasonable. While she firmly denies being a "mom friend," (she repulses the thought even) her actions often tell a different story. She’s fiercely loyal, quietly looking out for her friends and always stepping in to support them when they’re in need, even if she doesn’t admit it outright.

Though Vic sometimes comes across as naive or a bit of an airhead, it’s often by design—she purposefully plays the fool, keeping others guessing about her true thoughts and intentions. Why does she do this? Well… whatever the reason, there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Backstory:

Vic was once a naive, pure-hearted child, eager to please and willing to follow anyone’s whims. That all changed after a traumatic incident during a school trip to the woods. A classmate told her, “Wait right here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Obediently, she stayed put, unnoticed by her teachers or classmates. Hours passed as she waited, terrified and alone, until she was finally found by school staff after her mother reported her missing. This event left a deep scar on Vic, and the phrase “I’ll be right back” still triggers a wave of unease in her. Afterward, her submissive tendencies only worsened. She believed that by doing everything people asked, she’d be liked and accepted, avoiding the risk of being abandoned or badmouthed. Throughout middle school, this behavior made her an easy target for manipulation and psychological abuse. By her final years of high school, something within her snapped. The years of mistreatment awakened a rebellious, sharp-edged side. Vic stopped letting people walk all over her, becoming grumpier, colder, and more distrustful. She built a fortress around her true emotions, frequently lying or feigning indifference to protect herself. Though she hated the version of herself her pain had created, she learned to survive in her own way.

After graduating, Vic celebrated the end of that painful chapter in her life and vowed to reinvent herself. But just three days later, her plans were upended when she was hit by a mysterious carriage.

After the events of the prologue and her enrollment at NRC alongside Grim, Vic was struck by the mortifying realization that she’d have to relive high school all over again. Adding insult to injury, she remembered that, at the time she was hit by the mysterious carriage, she had been on her way to celebrate her graduation with an açaí smoothie—a treat she never got to enjoy. To this day, she can’t help but lament the smoothie that never was.

Notable relationships:

Jack Howl 🐺

At first, Vic was intimidated by Jack, fearing he’d be as condescending and judgmental as her classmates from middle school. However, once she got to know him, his caring and loyal nature quickly won her trust. Because of her magicless status and petite stature, Jack’s protective instincts naturally kick in around her. He often escorts her across campus, which leads to them spending more time together and growing closer.

Vic admires Jack’s honesty and strong sense of justice—qualities she found rare during her school days. His loyalty and protective behavior deeply touch her, even when he tries to hide it behind his tsundere demeanor (which she secretly finds adorable). Around Jack, Vic feels safe in a way she hasn’t before.

As their bond deepens, they begin to pine for each other, turning what should be simple interactions into painfully awkward moments. Jack’s straightforward and genuine nature makes Vic’s carefully constructed mask of aloofness crumble in his presence, leaving her vulnerable and overwhelmed by her emotions. Her feelings for him force her to confront her fears and insecurities, often leaving her shaken.

"If only there was someone like you by my side back then… maybe I wouldn’t have…!”

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Initially, Vic and Leona barely interacted. He seemed indifferent to her presence and quietly appreciated that she didn’t nag him or try to change his lazy ways. However, her frequent visits to Savanaclaw piqued his curiosity, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of thrill-seeker. Her seemingly fragile, harmless appearance contrasted sharply with the boldness it took to linger in a dorm full of beastmen, leading him to nickname her “little mouse.”

Vic usually treats Leona with sweetness, but he sees right through her doe-eyed facade. Her true motives remain a mystery to him, and that intrigue makes him determined to unravel her secrets. To that end, Leona enjoys teasing and flustering her, just to watch her carefully constructed mask crack.

Leona is also keenly aware of Vic and Jack’s feelings for each other, which he finds highly entertaining. He takes great pleasure in cockblocking taunting them about it, using his sharp wit to nudge them closer to confronting their emotions. His teasing is particularly merciless with Jack, often warning him with sly remarks like, “You’d better keep a close eye on your prey, or she might just wander into the lion’s den.” What exactly does he mean by that? Who knows…

Ace Trappola ❤️ and Deuce Spade ♠️:

Vic’s first friends at NRC, Ace and Deuce quickly became two of her closest companions. The trio spends much of their time hanging out and bantering, creating a dynamic full of playful teasing. Her provocations often escalate with Ace, leading to occasional spats, though they’re always quick to reconcile.

With Deuce, Vic adopts a softer, almost sisterly demeanor, though she doesn’t hold back from teasing him—just not as intensely as she does with Ace. Around them, Vic maintains her cool, tomboyish exterior but will sometimes show emotional vulnerability when she needs comfort or support. Ace, however, never misses a chance to mercilessly tease her about her crush on Jack, much to her frustration (and embarrassment).

Idia Shroud💀:

Vic and Idia became friends through the Board Game Club, bonding over their shared interests and similarities. During club activities, they often team up to gently? bully and bicker with Azul, much to their mutual amusement. While Vic enjoys their camaraderie, their interactions mostly happen through DMs, as Idia’s shut-in nature makes face-to-face meetings rare—despite her frequent insistence that they hang out more in person.

Idia has developed a crush on her, which makes him even more hesitant to meet up outside of the club. He’s painfully aware (and secretly salty) about her preference for the athletic types in Savanaclaw, which makes his hopes—if he had any—practically nonexistent. For now, he keeps his feelings to himself, hoping to drown them. Vic, ever the supportive friend, often encourages him and occasionally flirts or gets touchy to tease him, delighting in his flustered reactions. Is she aware of his feelings? Who can say...

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙:

Vic initially had a strong dislike for Azul, finding his sweet-talking, calculating nature, and tendency to demand repayment for even the smallest favors uncomfortably reminiscent of her old classmates. She was openly hostile toward him, often meeting his charm with sharp-tongued, vulgar retorts. Yet, Azul remained undeterred.

Over time, as they spent more moments together in the Board Game Club, their constant bickering and competitive banter began to grow on her, almost without her noticing. She realized Azul was more "relaxed" during club activities, which made him easier to talk to. Vic now views him as a sort of rival, someone who challenges her wit and strategies, though neither likes to show vulnerability or weakness around the other.

If asked whether they’re friends, Vic will promptly deny it with a firm “no,” while Azul confidently responds with a smug “yes.” Despite their clashing personalities and opposing morals, they quietly look out for each other in their own way—remembering birthdays, exchanging souvenirs, and occasionally offering subtle gestures of support. Deep down, Vic knows Azul is an important friend, but she’d rather swallow a rock than admit it. Tsuntsun

Jamil Viper 🐍:

Vic harbors a superficial, puppy-like crush on Jamil, idolizing him and finding everything he does impossibly cool or impressive. Jamil, however, doesn’t seem to return her affections—or trust her, for that matter. He usually cuts her off with polite but firm indifference, which only seems to intensify her fascination, much to his exasperation. To Jamil’s dismay, Vic sighs dreamily whenever he’s cold or sharp-tongued with her (masochist much??) but gets utterly confused and flustered when he shows any hint of worry or care for her.

While Jamil would never admit it, he doesn’t entirely dislike her attention. Her admiration strokes his ego, and perhaps—just perhaps—he’s considering how he might use it to his advantage... t this doesn't seem very healthy...

Rook Hunt 🏹:

Like most people, Vic initially felt uneasy around Rook’s overly flamboyant and romantic demeanor. She couldn’t understand his fascination with her or his flowery praise, often responding to his compliments with pragmatic retorts or modest deflections. However, as time passed and she recognized the sincerity behind his words of encouragement, her wariness faded, and she began to trust him more.

Knowing it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from Rook, Vic sometimes reluctantly vents her frustrations and insecurities to him. In turn, he offers thoughtful advice and unwavering emotional support. He nicknames her “Mademoiselle Fantôme” (ghost) and seems to see right through her composed exterior.

Like Leona, he’s aware there’s more to her than meets the eye and enjoys analyzing her hidden depths. Rook takes particular delight in evoking various reactions from Vic, describing her as a “kitten with hidden claws,” always intrigued by her blend of aloofness and fire.

Trivia:

While Vic appears tomboyish and sisterly with the first years, Jack is the exception. Around him, she’s notably sweeter and more bashful.

The more nervous or flustered she becomes, the higher-pitched (and more pathetic) her voice gets.

Vic used to be close with her older sister, a prosecutor. Her strong sense of justice and argumentative nature were heavily influenced by her sibling.

When heated, Vic becomes highly argumentative, delivering well-constructed, logical points to dismantle her opponent’s stance—a rare display of bold confidence.

Her dream is to become a detective/investigator.

Vic doesn’t get angry often, but when she does, it’s described as a “cold, merciless ire with sharp words that could make a grown man cry” (Ace’s words).

Though she’s a bit of a coward and dislikes confrontation, her quick thinking and improvisation often help her slip out of sticky situations. (Both Leona and Rook take notes on her sharp survival instinct.)

Despite her unassuming appearance, Vic has surprising leg strength and flexibility from self-defense classes she took as a child. She claims she’s rusty and fell out of practice for the most part, but her kicks prove otherwise.

Her birthday (February 4) is the same as Cater’s, so their celebrations are often combined in Heartslabyul. Cater affectionately calls her his “twinsie” and refers to her as “cute lil sis.”

Floyd nicknames her “Axolotl” and teases her relentlessly about her height. He especially enjoys being overly touchy with her in Jack’s presence.

Vic occasionally treats herself to Mostro Lounge visits to gossip with Jade, often about Azul’s defeats in the board game club. Jade uses this intel to tease and blackmail Azul later.

The Light Music Club adores pampering her and repeatedly begs her to join as a singer, but she always flusteredly declines.

Like Ace, Vic can be mischievous and a bit greedy. She shamelessly accepts Kalim’s generous offers of money (though she hopes Jack doesn’t find out...)

Vil intimidates her to no end with his sharp gaze, but she secretly admires him and dreams of having him give her a makeover someday. Rook frequently (and gleefully) tries to push her to approach Vil, much to her horror.

Malleus believes they are closer friends than they actually are, often due to misinterpreting her words and actions. Vic, too kind or maybe scared to correct him, finds herself roped into his gargoyle monologues during their awkward little outings.

[seospicybin]

CAM.

FINAL CHAPTER

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (9,7k words)

Author's note: I want to thank you for following Cam series. It's been fun. Hope you enjoy this one too ♡

Hyunjin shuts the door behind him and doesn’t look back. Each step away from your apartment echoes louder in his head than the last. His chest feels tight, like he’s holding something back—like maybe he should’ve said more. Maybe he should’ve said anything else. But instead, he chose silence and walked away.

He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. That this is better. That he needs the space. That things were getting too tangled, too fast.

It’s just work, he reminds himself. You were helping me. I was helping you. That’s all it was supposed to be.

But the memory of your smile when you offered him lunch creeps in anyway. So does the look in your eyes when you asked if he was okay—genuine, soft, concerned. Too concerned. He could’ve told you the truth. That it wasn’t just about the job anymore. That he was starting to feel something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved to begin with. Maybe he should’ve just focused on his art like he always planned. Still… he feels like he’s walking away from more than just work and that’s what scares him most.

Hyunjin spends the rest of the afternoon staring at the canvas. The brush is in his hand, the colors are ready, but the strokes come out hesitant. Disjointed. Aimless. He tells himself to focus—just paint, Hyunjin. Paint anything. And so, he does.

Slowly, shapes begin to form. A curve here. A slant there. He fills in the shadows, soft and warm, and before he realizes what he's doing, he’s painting you. Your eyes, the exact shade he remembers under the afternoon sun. Your lips, curled in a smile he can’t quite forget. Your skin, the way it glowed under the yellow light in the hallway when you said his name like it meant something. He doesn’t stop until your face is there, staring back at him and he hates it.

Not the painting. The painting is beautiful. But the fact that you’re still in his head—still under his skin.

That night, he lies in bed, restless. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside his window. When he finally drifts off, you’re there again. In his dream, you're laughing. You're reaching for him. You're so close that he swears he can smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your fingertips tracing his wrist.

And when he wakes up, breath caught in his throat, the ghost of your touch still lingers on his skin.

-

You try to move on. You tell yourself it’s fine—that people quit all the time. That maybe he just got busy, overwhelmed, maybe school is catching up to him. You try to reason with yourself, even smile at the thought of him doing well without needing you. But the truth is, none of that makes you feel any better.

You can accept that Hyunjin doesn’t want to work with you anymore. What you can’t accept—what keeps tugging at your chest like a thread being pulled loose—is that he didn’t even give you a reason why.

No conversation. No explanation. Just that look on his face, distant and closed off, and the way he walked away like everything between you didn’t mean a thing.

You think about how his voice used to sound when he laughed at your stupid jokes. You think about his fingers—paint-stained and warm—fixing the lighting for your shoot like he actually cared. You think about the way his eyes used to linger on you, like he wanted to say something but never did.

Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe you wanted to believe he cared more than he actually did. You spiral—hard. The thoughts come in fast and loud. Of course he didn’t want to stay. Who would?

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone like it holds the answers. But there are no new messages. No calls. No missed anything. Just silence.

You tell yourself to move on. To focus. To film something. Edit. Call someone else to help. But none of it feels right. None of it feels like him. And maybe that’s the hardest part. Not that he left, but that he left you not knowing why.

Now you can’t stop thinking that maybe it’s not about work at all. Maybe he just doesn’t want anything to do with you. And maybe... he's right to feel that way.

The curtains are drawn, casting a muted gray over your apartment. You’ve been lying on the sofa for hours, curled up in the same position, the blanket barely clinging to your body as your phone keeps chiming over and over. You know what it is. You don’t even have to look.

Eventually, with a sigh, you reach over and swipe it off the table, the screen lighting up with a flood of notifications—all of them from Lustre.

You open the app. Your inbox is filled with flirty, suggestive messages. Compliments on your last post. Requests. Heart emojis. Tips. Offers. You scroll through them with your thumb, barely registering the words. Just eyes glazed over, searching, hoping—waiting—for one name to appear.

But it doesn’t. He’s not there. Not even a silent like. Not even a ghost view.

Your shoulders drop, a quiet, bitter laugh escaping your lips before you toss your phone aside. It lands on the cushion with a soft thud, screen dimming back to black. You drag yourself up, feet cold against the floor as you wander aimlessly around your apartment. It’s too quiet. Too still. And your mind feels just as noisy as it is empty.

As you walk past the makeshift studio, you pause. Something catches your eye. You lean against the doorway, arms crossed as you stare at it—the massive painting that takes up nearly half the back wall. The one you did with Hyunjin. The colors, bold and chaotic. Your brush strokes and his—blended, layered, messy. Your bodies had moved in sync, hands stained with paint, clothes ruined, laughter echoing as you danced around the canvas like kids. Then, the shoot after—bare skin streaked with color, flashes of camera light, his hand warm against your hip as he adjusted the lens.

You remember how proud he was of that piece. The way you both collapsed on the floor after, cracking open cold drinks, toasting with paint-smeared fingers. The initials you both scrawled in the corner, still visible beneath a smudge of deep blue. It was the first of many. A beginning. And now it just feels like an echo of something that’s already ended.

Your heart aches—sharp and sudden, like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You step closer, fingers brushing the dry surface of the canvas, as if touching it might bring some part of him back even though you know it doesn’t and you’re left there in the silence, missing someone who might’ve already let you go.

Squatting down, your eyes catch the initials in the corner: S.H.

You trail your fingers over them, gently outlining the letters. Your voice barely makes a sound as you murmur, “Sam Hwang.”

The name feels strange in your mouth—familiar, but distant, like something you've read in passing but never truly paid attention to.

Sam Hwang…

You say it again, this time letting it roll slower off your tongue. And then you freeze. You straighten up slowly, eyes widening as your mind starts connecting the pieces.

Sam Hwang.

You scramble for your phone, heart thudding as you fumble to unlock it. Your fingers are unsteady as you tap open the Lustre app and pull up the messages from that one user you had grown fond of—the one who always left sweet, thoughtful notes beneath your content. Never crude. Always kind.

You scroll back through the messages. The way they referenced things you never shared online—small details, like the time you wore your hair differently, or when you used a different song in your clips. It felt like they knew you. Like they saw you.

And then your brain syncs it all at once. The flowers.

Those purple tulips Hyunjin brought you, for no reason at all—just because. You thought it was sweet, random and you were too busy to notice it. But then you remember that it's the flowers on his profile picture. You stare at the screen, your pulse racing.

Mag.Shawn.

Sam Hwang.

It's an anagram. It’s him. It’s been him all along. You cover your mouth with your hand, a shaky breath slipping past your fingers as you try to steady yourself. Every message flashes through your mind now, suddenly reframed in Hyunjin’s voice. The compliments. The support. The gentle teasing. The way he never crossed a line.

Your knees give slightly, and you sit back on the floor with your phone still clutched in your hand, your heart pounding as if you just uncovered a secret love letter that was never meant to be found. Now that you know… everything feels different because it was never just about work. Not really. It was always something more.

-

Hyunjin is tired. Not the kind of tired that paint-stained fingers and aching shoulders bring—but the kind that seeps into the space behind his ribs, hollowing out something he’s not sure he’ll find again.

The school studio had been silent all day except for the low hum of music and the scratch of brushes against canvas. He painted aimlessly, moving through motions that didn’t bring the kind of release they once did. He should’ve felt accomplished. But instead, he just felt... alone.

When he finally makes his way back to the apartment building, the sky is a deep shade of navy. He climbs the familiar stairs slowly, dragging his feet, thoughts tangled like loose threads in his mind.

It’s when he rounds the corner, about to take the next flight up, that he sees you. Sitting on the steps, elbows on your knees, fingers nervously fidgeting. And when you look up—eyes locking with his like magnets clicking into place—Hyunjin stops breathing for a second. He knows that look. It's the same one he saw on that night you first talked to him. You’ve been waiting for him.

You rise slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid you might scare him off. But your voice is steady when you ask, “Can we talk?”

Hyunjin clenches his jaw. His heart hammers against his ribs, screaming yes, yes, let her in—but his head tries to keep control.

“There’s nothing left to talk about,” he says flatly. He doesn’t even look at you when he moves past, doesn’t dare. If he does, he knows he’ll unravel.

You don’t give up. Your footsteps echo behind him, too close, too persistent, and your voice comes again, more urgent this time. “I’m not mad that you quit, Hyunjin. I just need to know why.”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. The words stay lodged somewhere in his throat, too complicated, too heavy to give voice to. His fingers tighten around the doorknob as he unlocks it. He finally turns to face you, his body angled half into the apartment, half still in retreat.

“Can we not do this now?” he mutters. “Just… not tonight.”

He starts to step inside but then you’re pushing forward—determined, fierce—and before he can stop you, you’re inside his apartment. The door clicks shut behind you, and the air between you both thickens.

“I’m not leaving,” you say quietly, “not until we talk.”

And just like that, he knows—there’s no more hiding.

You stand in the middle of the room like it’s a battlefield. You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, trying to brace yourself, trying not to fold. Your voice cuts through the heavy silence.

“Why?”

Hyunjin avoids your eyes. He turns slightly away, jaw tense. “I’m just tired,” he mutters. “I need to focus on school.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just stand there, the weight of his answer settling between you. Then, quietly, you say, “That’s not the real reason.”

Your voice begins to build, unraveling with everything you’ve been holding back. “These past few days I’ve been going over everything in my head, over and over again. I needed to know why, Hyunjin. Why you left like that, without saying a word. I thought maybe I did something wrong, maybe I made you uncomfortable, or maybe…”

Your voice cracks as frustration begins to break through. “Is it because of that night at Sienna’s party? Was it about Felix? Was it... me?”

Hyunjin flinches, hands tightening into fists at his sides. Your words sting in places he doesn’t want to admit. “It’s because I know you don’t want me,” he blurts, louder than he means to. You stare at him, eyes narrowing, confused. He takes a shaky breath, and his voice comes again, rawer this time. “Why haven’t you posted the content we made together? Is it because you didn’t want to do it with me? Because you don’t want me in it? Or is it… is it because you’re ashamed?”

You’re quiet now. The question hangs in the air like smoke. Then you breathe in, shaky and small, and your voice is almost a whisper when you speak. “I didn’t post it because I don’t want this life for you.”

Your arms uncross, and your gaze drops to the floor. “You’re a real artist, Hyunjin. You’re talented. You deserve to be known for your work—not as some guy who makes content with me.”

Your voice is trembling now, your words fragile. “I don’t want to be the reason you get looked at differently. Judged. You’re better than this.”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens. He almost snaps again, but he holds it in. Instead, he takes a step forward, voice low and steady. “Better than what, huh?”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, lips parting like you might speak—but nothing comes out. Another tear escapes, and without thinking, he reaches for you, gently placing his hands on your elbows.

“Do you even know what I want?” he asks, softer now.

You blink, your breath catching, and you shake your head. “No,” you say quietly. “But I know you’re better than this. I know you deserve more.”

His thumb catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

“What if this—” he whispers, voice shaking just a little, “what if you are what I want?”

Hyunjin leans in slightly, the words right there, barely held back. “I want you,” He says, breathing through the emotion swelling in his chest. “And whatever comes with you.”

-

The second those words leave his mouth—“I want you. And whatever comes with you.”—you break.

It’s not graceful or quiet. It’s a sudden rush of breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then your face crumples as the tears fall fast and hot. You cover your face with both hands, like that could somehow muffle the sound of your sob, but it doesn’t work.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen with alarm, as if he hadn’t expected that reaction. As if he doesn’t understand why it hurts you so much to hear something so kind.

“You shouldn’t,” you croak between your fingers, voice thick and breaking. “You shouldn’t want me.”

That’s the part that cracks him open too. He doesn’t ask you why. He doesn’t tell you you’re wrong. He just steps forward and wraps his arms around you like he means to hold every shattered piece of you together. His warmth surrounds you instantly—his arms firm around your back, one hand on the back of your head, gently cradling you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I do,” he whispers, voice close to your ear. “I want you. I only want you.”

You cling to him, your hands fisting into the back of his shirt as if letting go would undo everything. The weight of everything—the confusion, the distance, the aching loneliness—pours out of you all at once, and still, Hyunjin holds you tighter.

You breathe in slowly, trying to steady the trembling in your chest. The worst of your tears have passed, but your throat still burns and your hands are still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, like you’re afraid to let go.

When you finally lift your head, your eyes meet his—deep, warm, unwavering. And it’s there again. That quiet devotion. That stubborn tenderness he always gives you without asking for anything in return.

“I do want you,” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper. “But I just… I know you deserve better.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his thumb brushes softly across your lips, silencing the words before they can cut deeper into the space between you. He looks at you with something like heartbreak and fierce affection wrapped into one.

“You’re the only one I want,” he says, voice low and sure, as if daring you to challenge him again and then he leans in.

His lips find yours in a kiss that’s tender at first, then deepens with something heavier—something full of things he’s been holding back for far too long. It’s not rushed, not messy. It’s slow, consuming, full of warmth and ache and all the unsaid things that have been living between your hearts.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to cup your face with both hands, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath mixing with yours.

“You’re all I want in this world,” he whispers.

And before you can say anything else, he kisses you again—like a vow, like a promise, like he’s sealing every word he just said with the press of his lips against yours.

You pull away just enough to catch your breath, your forehead still resting against his. Your lips are tingling, heart pounding, and there's something new blooming in your chest—hope, maybe. Or something dangerously close to it.

You swallow, eyes flicking down to his lips before finding his gaze again. “Do you… want to continue?” you ask softly. “Pick up where we left off that night?”

For a moment, Hyunjin just blinks at you—like the question caught him off guard. But then a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, warm and crooked and so undeniably him. He lets out a breathy laugh, voice laced with fond disbelief. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.”

Hyunjin kisses you again—deeper this time, with more urgency. Like something in both of you has snapped free and there's no turning back now. His hands slide down to your thighs, and in one swift motion, he hoists you up. You gasp softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his shoulders as you press yourself closer. Your bodies fit together like they remember how it felt—how right it was.

The kiss grows heated, the air between you humming with everything unsaid and everything still to come. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, it feels like the weight on your chest has lifted, like you're exactly where you're supposed to be—held tightly in his arms, kissed like you're the only thing he sees.

Hyunjin carries you down the short hallway with a kind of quiet certainty, his arms secure around you, his breath steady near your ear. Your heart flutters with every step—part anticipation, part disbelief that you're here, that this is happening again but different, deeper.

You glance over your shoulder, peeking into the dimly lit room as the two of you enter. It's the first time you’ve seen his bedroom, and the sight makes your lips twitch. The bed—mattress on the floor, slightly rumpled sheets, a couple of sketchbooks stacked on the nightstand—is exactly what you expected, yet still makes you grin.

You turn your head back to him, raising an eyebrow. “No bedframe, huh?”

Hyunjin just smirks, unbothered. “Didn’t realize I needed one to impress you.”

Your laughter is soft, breathy against his neck, and before you can fire back a reply, he’s already kneeling to lower you onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against your skin, but the warmth in his eyes keeps you steady. He leans over you, his fingers brushing your cheek, and for a second, he just looks at you like he's taking you in all over again, like you're his favorite work of art.

You feel it—that pull in your chest, that ache in your throat—as Hyunjin hovers above you, his eyes locked onto yours. There’s something intense in his gaze, something unspoken yet so loud it fills the room. His stare burns through the quiet, says everything he hasn’t said yet and everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

When he kisses you again, his body settles gently over yours, and you instinctively welcome the weight of him, the warmth, the way his presence wraps around you like a second skin. There’s nothing frantic about the way he touches you—his hands glide over your body like he’s relearning every inch. But even within that gentleness, there’s a sense of urgency. His fingers trail down your arm, brushing the side of your waist, and you can feel how much he wants you—how much he’s been wanting you. Still, there’s something soft in his every movement. Like even when he’s aching for you, he’s still being careful with your heart.

You don’t know what gets into you—but the moment your eyes meet his, wide and expectant beneath you, something shifts. A boldness, maybe. A need to let him feel what you've been holding back. You roll over, catching him off guard, and suddenly it's him beneath you. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and his breath catches as your legs settle on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively find your waist, grounding himself in your touch.

For a moment, you just take him in. The way his dark hair falls into his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker now. You can’t help but trace the shape of him with your eyes, then with your hands—slowly, deliberately. Fingers skimming down his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric.

You start unbuttoning his shirt, one at a time. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your palm brushes bare skin. When the shirt parts open, your hand slides over the contours of his chest—smooth skin, defined lines, the flutter of his heartbeat under your fingertips.

And then your lips follow. You press gentle kisses against his skin, soft and slow, tasting the warmth of him, the way he shivers with every touch. As your kisses trail lower, his breath grows more uneven. You pause just at the edge of his waistband, the tension between you humming like a live wire. You lift your head just enough to look at him, his lips parted, eyes dark with anticipation, and the faintest tremble in his breath. You smirk.

Then you lean in and kiss him—hard. His lips mold to yours instantly, his hands gripping your waist tighter, pulling you closer, like he needs you there, needs this. And between the kisses, your voice dips low, teasing against his mouth.

“Why are you so nervous?” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “It’s not like this is the first time we’re doing this.”

You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the way his fingers flex against your skin. Still, he doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, he surges up, kissing you again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. Like that was all the encouragement he needed.

You melt into it, into him, your body pressed flush against his, his warmth grounding you in ways nothing else ever could. His hands roam—up your back, over your spine, holding you close and you stay there, tangled in him, lips moving together in quiet desperation, slow but insistent, a rhythm you both fall into with ease.

You breathe him in, every kiss tasting like something familiar but new again. And wrapped in his arms, with the weight of his affection holding you steady, the ache in your chest softens.

For now, it’s just the two of you. No doubts, no questions—just this moment, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing he wants.

-

Hyunjin feels every second of your kiss like it’s being etched into his memory—every soft press of your lips, every shift of your body melting against his. You fit against him so perfectly, like your body was molded to match his. And god, he could stay like this forever.

Even with his mouth busy, his heart races as he feels your hand glide lower, fingers trailing the edge of his jeans. He catches your wrist gently, right before you can slip your hand beneath the waistband. You pull back slightly, gasping in surprise, and the look on your face—wide-eyed and slightly mischievous—makes his chest ache in the sweetest way.

You’re straddling him still, your legs snug around his hips, and he props himself up on one elbow, gazing at you. Your lips turn into an adorable pout. “But we’ve been waiting so long for this.”

He knows you’re right. He knows the urgency, the ache in your voice—it’s the same one he feels burning through him.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice low as he reaches up, brushing a few strands of your hair away from your face. He lets his fingertips trail along your jaw before settling just beneath it, holding you gently.

He leans in and kisses you. Slowly. Purposefully. Like he’s telling you everything he can’t quite put into words. When he pulls back, barely an inch from your lips, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “But let's make this lasts.”

You let out a quiet breath, your lips curling into a soft smile, and he swipes his thumb gently across your bottom lip, marveling at the way you look at him like he’s worth something, like he matters. And then he kisses you again, capturing that smile with his lips, holding it there between the both of you—this tender, perfect moment that feels like it could stretch into forever.

His hands find the hem of your blouse, fingers brushing warm skin as he gently tugs the fabric upward and over your head. You let him, your arms rising instinctively, eyes never leaving his. He trails his fingers down the length of your arms afterward, slow and reverent, like you’re something sacred, something to be worshiped.

When he reaches behind you, his fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with ease. You let the straps slide down your shoulders, and he watches as you shrug it off completely, tossing it somewhere forgotten. His breath catches when he sees you—bare, soft, and beautiful in the dim light.

He reaches out, fingertips tracing the slope of your collarbone before moving lower. He touches your chest with care at first, almost in awe, and rests his hand flat on your sternum, feeling the rapid thud of your heart beneath his palm. Slowly, he glides it down until it finds home on your ribcage, holding you steady as he leans in.

His mouth follows next—kisses pressed along your jaw, trailing to the curve of your neck, each one lingering longer than the last. He kisses your chest, hands rising to cup your breasts with a kind of reverence, but also urgency. His palms are warm, fingers pressing in gently, fondling and kneading. When he takes your nipple into his mouth, your breath stutters into a soft moan, and that sound alone drives him wild.

He lavishes attention on you, switching sides, leaving behind faint wet marks on your skin—his own quiet claim. He moves higher, up your chest, his tongue smoothing along your skin before he suckles the hollow between your neck and shoulder, and he feels you shiver beneath him.

Hyunjin breathes you in as he buries his face against your sternum, his lips resting just above your heartbeat. It drums steadily against him, louder somehow now that everything else has quieted — the world, his thoughts, the tension that had built between the two of you over the past days. All of it fades as he listens to the rhythm of your heart, like it’s telling him something he already knows deep down.

Your hands come up gently, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close. Your fingers slide into his hair and he sighs into your skin — the sound barely audible but full of meaning. You don’t speak. Neither of you needs to. It’s not about words right now.

The warmth of your embrace, the bare skin against his, the rise and fall of your chest under his cheek — it feels like a thread, invisible and delicate, tugging the two of you closer until there’s nothing between you. Nothing but the ache of longing finally answered. He presses a soft kiss to your chest, right over your heart, and stays there, still, quiet, content.

For the first time in a long while, Hyunjin feels whole — like he isn’t running from anything anymore. Like maybe this… is exactly where he’s meant to be.

After a long moment, he lifts his head from your chest, his breath warm against your skin as his gaze finds yours — intense and unreadable. Then, without a word, he shifts his weight and catches you off guard, pushing you gently down onto the bed, reversing your positions once more. You let out a soft gasp, eyes wide as you land against the mattress, your hair fanned out beneath you.

His hands frame your face as he leans down and kisses you again — slow, deep, claiming. You can feel the change in him, in the air. It’s not rushed. It’s not just need. It’s more than that now.

As his lips part from yours, his hands begin to explore you again, moving down your sides in a slow, reverent motion. Every brush of his fingers leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When they reach your hips, they linger for a heartbeat before he tugs gently at the waistband of your shorts.

His gaze lifts to meet yours again, seeking permission without speaking, and when you give the slightest nod, he inhales quietly and then continues — slowly peeling them down your legs, your underwear along with them. The air feels cooler against your skin as you’re exposed to him fully, but the way he looks at you makes you feel anything but vulnerable.

He kneels there at the edge of the bed, unmoving for a moment, just looking at you. Not in lust — though there’s desire in his eyes — but in awe, like he’s looking at a painting he doesn’t dare touch, like he wants to memorize every curve of you, every detail, as if you were art in motion. And to him, you are.

His hands are steady as he leans in again, his lips brushing over yours in a soft, lingering kiss before moving lower. He places gentle, fluttering kisses along your collarbone, then down to your ribcage — slow, unhurried. His mouth grazes your navel, then your left hip, each press of his lips last longer than then previous.

You gasp softly when he slips his hand under the back of your thigh and lifts it, his lips finding the soft skin of your inner thigh. He lingers there for a breath, the warmth of his mouth sending ripples through your entire body. Then he trails lower, his lips brushing down your calf, and finally landing on the sole of your foot. The unexpected kiss makes you giggle, the sound breaking through the quiet like sunlight through clouds.

After giving your foot a quick massage, he gently sets your leg down and looks up at you, his expression shifting — no longer teasing or playful, but full of something much deeper. He sighs, almost shakily, and brings his hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

“I should be the one asking if I deserve all this,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “If I really deserve every beautiful part of you… to touch you, kiss you, hold you.”

You don’t say anything — the way you look at him already says enough.

Hyunjin reaches for your hand, holding it tenderly in both of his. He brings your wrist to his lips first, placing a kiss there like he’s sealing a vow, then presses one to your open palm. Then he shifts forward, lowering himself over you slowly. His body presses gently into yours, his skin warm, his heartbeat strong and steady against your chest.

This time, he’s not just close. He’s with you — completely, quietly, and fully present. Molding into you, like the final brushstroke that completes a painting.

Just when you’re completely wrapped in him, he suddenly pulls away, sitting up on the bed with a breathless laugh, eyes flickering with something unspoken. You watch him as he impatiently pushes his jeans down his hips, shedding the last barrier between you. His sigh of relief is audible, and the way his chest rises and falls is enough to make your breath catch.

Hyunjin doesn’t waste time to wrap his hand around his swollen length with evident veins coiling around it, pulsating with need. He glances at you through heavy lashes, his hand begins stroking it up and down, then he murmurs, “Do you want to?”

You don’t answer with words—just a slow, sure nod. He reaches for your hand, guiding it gently, curling your fingers around his hot, hard cock.

The moment your hand wraps around him, his jaw tightens, his eyes fluttering half shut. Together, you find a rhythm—pumping his cock at a slow, steady pace, the tension thick between you as your eyes stay locked, every breath shared and every movement deliberate. There's no rush, just this quiet moment of closeness, of trust and want, unfolding between the two of you.

Hyunjin’s breath hitches as your hand continues its slow movements, the tension in his body unraveling under your touch. His eyes stay on you, dark and intense, until they flicker downward. With one hand still wrapped around yours, guiding the rhythm, his other hand trails down your thigh—light, teasing, reverent.

When his fingers slip between your legs, dipping into your wetness. His touch is gentle at first, exploratory, but it doesn't take long before he’s pressing two digits into you, finding the spot that makes you shift and gasp. His lips part as he watches your reaction, his own breathing getting heavier.

“So wet,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, “so ready for me.” There’s awe in the way he says it, almost like he can’t believe this is real—that you're here, letting him touch you like this.

The sensation of his fingers working you open while your hand still pumping his cock pulls a shiver from deep inside. It’s a push and pull, each of you responding to the other in quiet desperation, building the tension between you. His forehead presses to yours for a second, grounding both of you, his eyes closed like he’s trying to savor every second and when he opens them again, there’s no mistaking the hunger swimming there—an ache mirrored in your own heart.

You barely have time to react before Hyunjin grabs both of your wrists and pins them gently above your head, his fingers firm but careful around your wrists. His eyes meet yours, hooded and dark with want, and for a moment, all you can hear is your breathing—intertwined and uneven.

Then his free hand slips between your bodies, guiding himself down until the thick heat of his cock presses right against where you need him most. He doesn’t enter—only drags his length along your soaked core, slow and maddening, your essence coating his shaft for every time it sides between your folds. The friction makes your back arch, your body instinctively chasing more, needing more. But Hyunjin just smirks, watching the way you react to him as the tip of his cock pressing right on your clit.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice gravelly, lips brushing against your cheek as his hips roll forward again, grinding against you in a way that makes your whole body tense and tremble. “This is how much I want you…”

You whimper beneath him, wrists still caught in his hold, entirely at his mercy. Each slow stroke of his hips is deliberate, calculated to tease, and it works—you're writhing, eyes fluttering shut, your legs falling open for him without a second thought.

Hyunjin leans down and kisses your jaw, your neck, then your lips, swallowing every sound you make as he keeps moving, driving you to the edge without even taking you there yet.

Despite the desperate, breathless moans you let out, he doesn’t ease up. If anything, his teasing only grows more deliberate, each slow roll of his hips keeping you right on the edge, never enough to satisfy the ache building in your core. You squirm beneath him, your breaths coming out shaky, helpless—your body begging for what your lips still struggle to say.

“Please,” you whisper. Then again, more desperate. “Please… please…”

Hyunjin lowers his head, brushing his lips against your temple. “Please what?” he murmurs, voice rough with control, eyes glinting with mischief.

You can’t answer—not with words. Instead, you keep whispering his name between each breathless plea, your hands clutching at his arms, your hips lifting, chasing him. A slow, almost smug smile forms on his lips.

And then finally, you manage a broken, “I want you.”

He pauses to look down between your bodies where your need for him is obvious—undeniable. He can see it from how drenched you are, from the way your essence gets all over his thick shaft.

“Yeah?” he says, low and teasing, brushing the crest of his cock against you, slipping just barely in. “I can see that.”

You let out a choked whimper, nodding frantically, pleading again without shame. “Please. I need you.”

Hyunjin releases your wrists, only to grip your hip with one hand and steady himself with the other. Slowly, achingly slow, he pushes into you—just an inch or two—then stops. The pressure is there, intense and lingering, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. He looks down at you, lips parted, eyes dark and focused entirely on the way you react to him.

“You want more?” he asks, breath hitching as he holds himself still inside you, teasing you with just enough to drive you wild.

Your back arches, fingers digging into the sheets. “Yes,” you gasp. “More. Please…”

Hyunjin leans in, kissing your neck before murmuring against your skin, “Then hold on to me.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t grant your plea just yet. Instead, he moves with intention—slow, shallow thrusts that never go deeper than your entrance, but it’s more than enough. Each time he rocks into you, it sends a ripple of heat through your body, igniting something that builds faster than you expect. He watches you carefully, his hand gripping your hip tighter each time you clench around him.

You’re unraveling beneath him, your breath catching, moans spilling from your lips in broken, rasping fragments. And he can feel it—how close you are, how your body trembles under the weight of your need.

“You’re close,” he whispers, voice husky as he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You nod, unable to form words, completely lost in the feeling. Then it hits. Your back arches, fingers twisting into the sheets as your release rushes through you in waves, pleasure so intense it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

Your body pulses around him, and you’re still gasping for breath when Hyunjin finally moves again. He exhales shakily—almost a groan—and slowly sinks all the way in, filling you completely in one smooth, careful push. He's giving you what you want when you least expect it.

You gasp, overwhelmed, your body still sensitive from the climax. The sensation of him, so hard, so deep and still inside you, makes your whole body shiver. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath brushing over your lips as he hovers above you.

He stills, just holding you, letting you feel every inch of him as your body adjusts—pulsing, vibrating gently around him. “You feel… unreal,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his voice raw with awe.

-

Hyunjin feels like everything.

Inside you, around you—He is all you can feel, all you can see. And for the first time, it truly feels like the two of you have become one. Every breath he takes, you feel it in your lungs. Every beat of his heart echoes in your own.

You wrap your arms tightly around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel his weight, his warmth, his reality. Your lips find his, and he kisses you like he’s been holding back an ocean of longing—eager, deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You pull away just a little, breath caught, lips still brushing his as you whisper, “Hyunjin…”

The second his eyes meet yours, you know he’s listening—really listening. Like your voice is the only sound in the world.

“Take me,” you say, voice low and trembling. “Make me... Claim me.”

His brows draw together, jaw twitching like he’s trying to hold something back. You reach up and brush the hair that’s fallen over his face, tucking it behind his ear, your thumb gliding gently across his temple.

“Come inside me,” you breathe.

That’s when you feel it—something in him shifts, snaps, cracks wide open. His restraint melts away, and suddenly his mouth is on yours again, desperate, aching. He starts to move, slow at first, but there’s something different now. Every thrust is more than just movement—it’s a vow, a promise, a confession.

There’s no bedframe beneath you, just the mattress pressed against the floor, and for a fleeting second, you’re oddly thankful—because with the way he’s moving, rough and hungry, anything else would’ve fallen apart beneath the weight of it all.

His gaze never leaves you. It darkens when he sees your hands slide up to your chest, fingers teasing over your erected nipples, doubling the pleasure sparking through your body. You squeeze and cup yourself, breath hitching, and when you bring your breasts together for him, he takes them in his mouth in an instant. His tongue swirls, flicks, sucks on your nipples and on the flesh of your mounds, drawing shameless moans from your throat that echo off the bare walls.

Then he grabs your hands gently, pulling them away and placing them around his shoulders like an unspoken message—hold on to me. And you do.

Hyunjin picks up the pace, his breath turning ragged against your skin, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping, moaning, unraveling as his body claims yours with everything he has. There’s no space between you anymore, only heat, only movement, only the rush of him building toward the edge.

And when he finally lets go—when he gives you all of him, coming inside you and fill you full of him just like you asked—it feels like a vow, wordless and sacred. A promise sealed with every part of him. He collapses into you, your bodies tangled, breath shared. In that moment, he is wholly, completely yours. And you are his.

-

The bed is cold when you wake up.

The first thing you notice is the emptiness beside you—no warmth, no steady heartbeat to lull you back into sleep. Just rumpled sheets and the faint imprint of where he lay last night.

You blink against the light, slowly sitting up, the duvet clutched to your chest. It smells like him—something between fresh paint and fabric softener—and you breathe it in like it’ll bring him back. It only makes your heart ache a little more.

“Hyunjin?” you call out softly, voice rough from sleep and get no reply.

Your gaze lands on his sweater, half-draped at the edge of the bed. You reach for it, pulling it over your head, letting the sleeves hang long past your hands. It’s warm. It’s him. And somehow, it helps.

You slide out of the bed and walk through the apartment barefoot, your steps quiet. “Hyunjin?” you call again, a little louder this time and still no answer.

The silence makes the apartment feel unfamiliar like it doesn’t quite belong to either of you without him in it. You wander through the space, and your eyes land on the canvas—that one. The one covered by a white cloth. The one he said was a failure. You hesitate for only a second before stepping closer. Your fingers grip the edge of the fabric, and with one careful tug, you lift it. The breath catches in your throat. It’s… you.

A portrait. A figure rendered in soft colors and tender strokes. The way he’s painted you—it’s intimate, it’s raw. It’s real. Not just your features, but the way he sees you. The way he feels you. And he called this a failure?

Your fingertips trail lightly along the edge of the painting, your chest swelling with something deep and warm. He lied. Not because the painting wasn’t good, but because it meant too much to show. And the fact that he created this—that he thought of you like this—makes your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

Then you hear it—the click of a lock turning, the quiet creak of the front door opening. You turn just as Hyunjin steps inside, balancing two takeaway coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other. His sweater hangs a little loose, and his hair is messy from the breeze outside. His eyes land on you in surprise.

“Hey—!”

You run to him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso, and he gasps as he tries to keep the coffee from spilling. His laugh is muffled against your hair as he shifts the cups to one hand.

“Careful,” he says through a breathless chuckle. “Or I have to go and buy coffee again.”

“You left me,” you say with a dramatic pout, burying your face into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I didn’t think I’d be long,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze—and then you kiss him. A soft, sleepy kiss, full of affection. When you pull away, there’s a smile playing at your lips. “Good morning.”

His own smile softens as he leans in again, placing a longer kiss on your lips, like he missed you in the hour he was gone. “Good morning,” he echoes. “Let’s have breakfast, mmh?”

And just like that, the day starts with him again. Just the way you like it.

-

You and Hyunjin settle onto the sofa, breakfast in your laps and a lazy, quiet comfort hanging in the air between you. The sun filters in through the windows, casting a soft glow over everything. He sits beside you, legs spread just enough for you to slide in closer. After finishing your pastry, you cradle your coffee cup between your hands, still warm and fragrant.

Without a word, you scoot closer to him, draping your legs over his lap and letting them rest comfortably between his. He glances at you, smiling softly, and you return it with one of your own.

“So,” you start, sipping your coffee slowly before turning to face him fully, “I saw the painting.”

His brows lift, amused, and a little sheepish. “You did?”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You lied to me.”

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh. “I did say it was a failure.”

You jab a finger into his chest and grin. “It’s me.”

He tilts his head, playing along. “Do you like it?”

You set your coffee cup down on the table, then fold your arms and pout at him. “I don’t like it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I love it,” you say with a wide grin. “So much.”

He chuckles and shifts slightly to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “It’s not finished yet.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “When are you going to finish it then?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You pout again, exaggerated and dramatic. “Why not?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name—something tender, something warm. “Why should I finish it,” he murmurs, “when I have the real one right here?”

You groan out loud, burying your face against his chest. “Ugh, you’re so cheesy.”

He laughs, a full, unguarded sound—and you can’t help but join him, laughing like everything in the world is just a little lighter when you’re together and maybe it is.

You set your coffee cup aside on the table, shifting on the couch so you can climb onto Hyunjin’s lap. He doesn’t protest—in fact, he opens his arms right away, welcoming you into them. You nestle into him, your knees framing his hips, and he takes a long sip of his coffee before placing his cup down as well. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.

You tilt your head and kiss his jaw, then press another soft one to his cheek. He turns to look at you, amused and already smiling when you gently grab his chin and turn his face toward you for a quick peck on the lips. Then you settle back into him, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. His warmth surrounds you, his scent familiar, and when you glance up at him, something in your chest flutters.

“We should go on a date,” you murmur.

His thumb brushes along your cheek, soft and sweet. “Where do you want to go?” he asks.

You hum as you think. “Uhm... To your favorite place?”

He smirks, his hand playfully hovering on your inner thigh, intentionally brushing his knuckles against your clothed core. “My favorite place is right here.”

You gasp, laughing as you lightly slap his chest. “Hyunjin!”

He laughs too, that bright, boyish sound filling the room. “Just being honest here,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender.

You nod, your expression softening. “You know... somewhere that feels personal to you.”

Hyunjin leans in and places an affectionate kiss on your lips, lingering for a second before pulling back just enough to whisper, “I know a place.”

-

Hyunjin pats down the pockets of his jacket, doing a quick mental check—phone, wallet, keys and that thing in the inner pocket of his jacket. All good. He smooths down the front of his shirt and glances once at the mirror near the door, fixing his hair with his fingers before finally stepping out of his apartment.

He walks over to your door, heart thudding just a little faster than usual. It’s strange how it still feels like this with you—like he’s a teenager picking up his crush, not someone who spent the night tangled up in you.

Hyunjin knocks and when the door swings open, He blinks—once, then twice. You’re standing there, looking… breathtaking.

He lets out a soft, stunned laugh, eyes sweeping over your outfit. “Wow,” he says, leaning a shoulder against your doorframe. He says nothing else but his eyes endlessly admiring you.

You laugh, a little sheepish but so proud. “It’s our first date,” you simply point out.

Something tugs at Hyunjin’s chest at that. The honesty in your voice, the way you’re looking at him—it’s soft, real, and he’s suddenly so glad he gets to have this with you.

He grins, stepping closer. “You’re beautiful,” he says, meaning every word. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, “Maybe we should just cancel the whole plan.”

He nudges you playfully, pushing you back a step into your apartment, and you both burst into laughter. But before either of you can say more, he grabs your hand, warm and certain.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go make it a good first date.”

The quiet hush of the gallery wraps around you both like a blanket, softening the sounds of passing footsteps and hushed conversations. Hyunjin walks beside you with his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze darting to you now and then—your curious eyes, the way you lean in just a little to read the small plaques beside the paintings. He’s not sure why his heart won’t stop doing these little flips, but he doesn’t want it to stop either.

Eventually, he stops in front of a painting. It’s large, vivid, a swirling composition of shadows and light that seem to breathe if you look long enough.

You pause with him, sensing something different in his stance, the way he exhales slowly. “This one?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin steps closer, moving behind you and gently resting his hands on your waist. He nods. “Yeah… this one.”

You both stand there in silence for a moment, staring at the canvas. And then, in that quiet space, he begins to speak.

“There was a time I used to come here almost every week,” he says softly. “I'd just stand here and look at it. For hours, sometimes. I didn’t even understand everything about it—I still don’t. But something about it made me feel… seen. Like it understood what I was going through even when I couldn’t say it out loud.”

You listen, still and patient, your fingers brushing lightly over his where they rest on your waist.

“When I couldn’t eat, when I was too tired to sleep, when I was too overwhelmed to paint… I came here. I used this painting to hold myself together.” His voice falters for a second. “But now when I look at it, all I feel is everything I tried to suppress. Exhaustion. Pressure. Loneliness.”

He pauses. You can feel the weight of the memories in his breath.

“I want to change that.”

He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out something small. A glint of silver and a soft charm catches the light as he holds it up—it’s the bracelet you once tried on absentmindedly at that jewelry shop weeks ago. You’d joked about him buying him for you and he hadn’t said anything then, just smiled.

Now, without a word, he gently slips it around your wrist and fastens the clasp.

“From now on,” he murmurs, “when I look at this painting, I’ll remember this moment instead. You. Us.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him, your eyes glistening with emotions you can’t quite name. Happiness. Sadness. Love. Grief. Hope. All tangled up into one beautiful ache.

“Thank you,” your voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

You kiss him, just a brush of lips—but it’s enough to make his breath catch. Then you take his hands and wrap them fully around your waist, holding them there like a promise.

“You’re not alone anymore,” you say gently. “I’m here. You have me now.”

Hyunjin looks at you like you’ve just handed him the sun and then he leans in and kisses you—not in a rush, not in desperation, but with everything he’s been carrying in his heart. Quiet gratitude. Relief. Love. It’s a kiss that says, I see you. I feel you. I’m yours.

And in that gallery, under the gaze of a painting that once held all his pain, he lets it all go—and chooses to remember this instead.

The kiss lingers long after it ends, warmth spreading through Hyunjin’s chest like a sunrise. He stays there for a beat longer, arms wrapped around you, your head resting against his shoulder as the painting stands silently before you—no longer a mirror of pain, but now a witness to something new.

Eventually, you both pull away, your fingers still tangled in his, your bracelet catching the light with every little movement.

Hyunjin glances down at it and smiles softly. “Ready to go?” he asks, brushing a thumb across your knuckles.

You nod. “Where to next?”

He pretends to think, lips twitching. “Somewhere with less staring eyes and more delicious food?”

You laugh, and the sound echoes faintly through the quiet halls of the gallery.

Hand in hand, you walk out together. The doors open, and sunlight spills across the marble floors, welcoming you into the rest of the day.

And as the two of you step into the light—your shoulders brushing, your smiles easy, your hearts just a little fuller than before—it feels like the beginning of something beautiful, something real and it's just getting started.

-

✨ A bonus chapter to Cam is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[rafayelgod]

🔞WARNING NSFW ADULTS CONTENT💦🔞

Just a Quick Game 🌚💦 Please, Miss Bodyguard.

The salt-laced breeze of Whitesand Bay whips through your hair as you practically skip towards Rafayel's art studio. He'd called, just like always, his voice laced with that impatient cheerfulness you've come to adore. "Miss Bodyguard! Where are you? My muse is missing, and my canvas is weeping from neglect!" Honestly, the man was a drama king, but that's part of his charm, isn't it? You smile, the familiar scent of turpentine and paint already tickling your nose as you reach the vibrant blue door of his studio. He is clingy, and he hates waiting. But knowing Rafayel, the impatient wait will likely be forgotten the moment he sees you. And you, well, you can't deny you kind of love being his "Miss Bodyguard," even if your actual role is... girlfriend. Though, bodyguard sounds way cooler when he says it.

Part 1

The door bursts open before you even knock, Rafayel’s dazzling smile almost blinding in the afternoon sun. “Miss Bodyguard! Finally!” He pulls you inside, the studio a glorious chaos of colors and canvases. He’s even more handsome in person, his dark purple hair adorably messy, paint smudged on his cheek, and those purple eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Hey, Raf,” you laugh, letting him tug you further into the room. “I came as fast as I could, drama queen.”

“Drama? this is passion!” He winks, his arm already snaking around your waist. “But you know what this room is missing? Your touch.” He gestures to a blank canvas propped up on an easel. “Come Cutie, paint with me.”

“Paint? You know I’m more of a… stick figure artist,” you tease, but his enthusiasm is infectious.

“Nonsense! Art is feeling. And I feel… the need to teach you.” He grins, pulling out a fresh canvas and a palette of vibrant colours. “Sit, sit.” He pats his lap.

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Best seat in the studio.” He looks at you with those irresistible puppy-dog eyes, and you melt, giggling and settling onto his lap. It’s surprisingly comfortable, his warmth radiating through your clothes.

He hands you a brush loaded with a vibrant cerulean blue. “Now, imagine the ocean, Miss Bodyguard. The way it crashes, the way it whispers… let it flow onto the canvas.”

You tentatively touch the brush to the white surface, feeling a little self-conscious but also thrilled by his closeness. He gently guides your hand, his fingers warm and sure against yours. “See? Don’t be afraid. Just feel it.”

As he leans over, explaining about mixing colours, his cheek brushes against yours. A soft, fleeting kiss that makes your heart flutter. You glance up at him, a smile playing on your lips.

“Focus, Miss Bodyguard, focus!” he chuckles, but then nuzzles your cheek again, a longer, sweeter kiss this time. You giggle, trying to concentrate on the canvas, but his playful kisses keep distracting you. He kisses your cheek again and again, each one sending shivers down your spine.

“Rafayel,” you laugh, “stop it! I’m trying to paint!”

“But you’re so much more interesting than paint,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. “You’re my masterpiece.”

He steals another quick kiss, making you burst into laughter. He’s being utterly ridiculous, ridiculously lovable, and ridiculously flirty. And you’re absolutely eating it up.

Part 2

As you start to get into the rhythm of painting – swirling blues and greens across the canvas, trying to capture the essence of the Whitesand Bay waves – Rafayel’s focus shifts again. He leans his head closer, his breath warm against your hair.

“Mmm, you smell amazing.” He gently inhales, his nose buried in your hair. “What is that perfume you’re wearing?”

You blush, suddenly self-conscious. “Just… just something my grandma gave me. Why?”

“Why?” He pulls back slightly, those golden eyes looking deeply into yours. “Because it’s intoxicating. Like wildflowers and sunshine.” He kisses your cheek again, soft and lingering.

You giggle, pushing playfully at his chest. “Hey.. Rafayel, stop! Really, I need to focus.”

He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay, okay.” He leans back a little, giving you some space… for all of two seconds. Then, his lips are back on your cheek, this time moving lower, tracing a path down towards your jawline.

He kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, each touch sending little sparks through you. You gasp softly, trying to keep your focus on the swirling colours of your painting, but it’s getting harder and harder.

“Mmh, Raf…?” you whisper, trying to sound firm, “stop, ah.. Seriously.”

He ignores you, his mouth now at the hollow of your throat, gently sucking at your skin. A wave of heat washes over you, your paintbrush slipping from your fingers and clattering to the wooden floor.

You instinctively move to pick it up, shifting on his lap. As you lean forward, your backside brushes against something undeniably hard and throbbing against his thigh. Rafayel lets out a low whine, his arms tightening around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“Woah!” you gasp, startled. “Rafayel!”

“Shhh, just… stop moving for a second,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice suddenly husky, different.

You freeze, your heart pounding against your ribs. He’s still hugging you from behind, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm on your neck. And then, he starts to move his hips. Slowly, deliberately, grinding his bulge against your backside.

A gasp escapes your lips. You can feel him, very clearly, pressing against you. "Cutie," He whimpers again, a low, guttural sound, still holding you tightly. The scent of paint and turpentine is suddenly overwhelmed by something else, something hotter, more primal, radiating from him, and now, from you too.

Part 3

Just as you’re about to completely lose your grip on coherent thought, your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket, shattering the charged atmosphere. You groan inwardly, pulling it out to see Tara’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oh, damn it,” you mutter, pulling away from Rafayel slightly. “It’s Tara. I’m supposed to meet her for coffee…” You turn to face him, apologetic. “Sorry, Raf, I totally forgot.”

He looks at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his breathing slightly ragged. “Tara?” he repeats, his voice low. He reluctantly loosens his grip on you, letting you slide off his lap.

“Yeah, my bestie. We made plans ages ago.” You gather your things, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. “I should probably go.”

You start to walk towards the door, feeling his gaze intensely on your back. You reach for the handle, but before you can open it, he’s there. He catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind again, his body heat instantly engulfing you.

“Rafayel!” you breathe, your cheeks flushing crimson.

He nuzzles your neck again, his hold tightening. Then, with a decisive click, you hear the lock engage on the door. Your eyes widen. “Raf? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he smoothly scoops you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you towards a sturdy wooden table near the window, cluttered with art supplies. He gently lays you down on the table, amongst the scattered brushes and tubes of paint.

You look up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes burning with desire. His body is pressed against yours, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. You can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the hard ridge of his desire against your stomach.

“Miss Bodyguard,” he whispers, his voice thick with passion, “I am so bad, so fucking horny right now.” He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “I need you. Just once. Before you go.”

You try to protest, to squirm away, but his body is a heavy weight on yours, trapping you against the hard table. He’s already lifting your skirt higher, his fingers brushing against your thigh, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine.

Resistance melts away. You surrender, the urgency in his eyes igniting a fire within you too. He fumbles with his belt buckle, the sound loud in the suddenly silent studio. Then, he’s pulling down his zipper, and you feel the hot, thick length of him pressing against you, right through your panties.

He positions himself between your legs, lifting your hips slightly. And then, he’s inside you. Hot, deep, filling you completely. "A-ah," You gasp, a surprised moan escaping your lips as pleasure explodes through your senses.

“Oh.. mmh, ah f-fuck..” he groans, starting to thrust, slow and deep at first, then faster, harder. You wrap your legs around his waist, meeting his rhythm, your moans echoing around the studio, mingling with his guttural sounds of pleasure.

“Ah- Raf… Rafayel…” you cry out, your body arching off the table. He thrusts deeper and deeper, his hands gripping your hips, holding you tight as he fucks you, his gaze locked on yours.

The sensations are overwhelming, building and building until a wave of pure ecstasy crashes over you. "I- rafayel!" You cry out his name as you come, your body convulsing around him. He keeps moving, his thrusts becoming frantic now, his breathing ragged.

"Ah.. yes.. Cutie, i'm close,"

Then, with a final, shuddering groan, he comes, burying himself deep inside you, his orgasm pulsating, filling you with his seed, again and again, hot and thick. He collapses against you, still inside, panting, his heart hammering against yours.

Part 4

You lie there, breathless and exhausted, the scent of sex mingling with the paint fumes in the air. Rafayel’s weight is heavy but comforting. He lifts his head slightly, looking down at you, his eyes still dark with desire.

“Not satisfied yet,” he murmurs, his lips nuzzling your neck. He starts to move his hips again, slowly at first, then picking up pace. "Ah- ahh,"

“Ngh, no wait- ahh! Rafayel, wait…” you moan, trying to push against his chest weakly, but he’s too strong, lost in the throes of passion. He keeps fucking you, his thrusts becoming deeper and more insistent.

He lifts you off the paint-splattered table, somehow managing to carry you across the room while still deeply connected. He stumbles slightly, then gently places you on a plush, paint-stained couch. He doesn’t break contact, his body still fused with yours as he continues to fuck you on the soft cushions.

“Ahh, Rafayel,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your head thrown back against the couch. The sensations are still intense, the pleasure almost unbearable.

Suddenly, a shrill ringing cuts through the haze of passion. Your wrist-watch alarm. Tara. Again.

Rafayel slows his movements, his golden eyes locking with yours, questioning. You know you can’t possibly meet Tara now, not in this state, not after this.

With a shaky hand, you reach for your watch, answering the call with a trembling voice. “Hey, Tara… uh, hi.” You try to sound normal, failing miserably.

“Hey! You almost ready? I’m already at the coffee shop,” Tara’s cheerful voice rings through the watch.

“Um… Tara, listen,” you stammer, trying to regain some composure. “Something… something came up. I can’t make it.”

“What? What came up? Are you okay?” Tara sounds concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you rush out, avoiding Rafayel’s probing gaze. “Just… something at home. Raincheck?”

“Oh… okay, sure. Raincheck. Everything really alright?”

“Yeah, totally fine! Talk to you later, okay? Bye!” You practically slam the ‘end call’ button, your breath catching in your throat.

Rafayel’s gaze is still fixed on you, intense and questioning. But then, he smiles, a slow, knowing smile that sends shivers down your spine all over again. He throws his head back and laughs, a deep, rumbling sound of pure satisfaction.

And then, he starts fucking you harder again, faster, more urgently, as if fueled by your little act of defiance, your choice to stay with him, here, now. "Hah.. baby, look at me," He thrusts and thrusts, until finally, with another earth-shattering climax, he comes again, and you come with him, your bodies shaking with release.

This time, when he collapses, it’s with true exhaustion. You both lie tangled on the couch, limbs intertwined, breathing heavily, until the studio is bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

He showers you with kisses, whispering sweet, slightly possessive words in your ear, caring for you as if you were made of glass. Later, he draws you a warm bath, the scent of lavender filling the air. "Stay here tonight, " he says. And that night, you don’t go home. You sleep in his bedroom, wrapped in his arms, feeling utterly content, completely and utterly his, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit like his very own, very lucky, Miss Bodyguard.

- The End - 🌚💋💦

©Melody (Follow for more HOT stories) 🌚🔞💦

[kxsagi]

ok i'm literally about to rip my head off instg. I'm asking because I LOVE your writing, but does anyone remember a ff with Kaiser with multiple trigger warnings (no NSFW) with reader who ran away from home and met him while she was rummaging through the garbage for food? That was the lore or something like that, ISTG I'M GOING INSANE BECAUSE I WAS STARTING TO LOVE IT AND IF SOMEONE CAN FIND IT I MIGHT MARRY THEM. Please let's help each other 🙏

“𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐩”

a/n: girl i’mma be so honest… i have no idea which fic this is and i’ve never read it 😭

but since you really wanna find it… and i like the plot idea… i figured i would write my own version

but if anyone finds the original, pls comment or message me their @ so i can tag them and credit them! 

(art credits go to jinxx_yu on X)

tw: child neglect, poverty, homelessness, implied abuse, food insecurity, emotional distress

you’re ten when you meet him. and you haven’t eaten in two days. 

it’s early morning, still foggy with dew, and the back alley behind the bakery is quiet, save for the soft rustle of your hands digging through the bin. you’re small enough to go unnoticed, quick enough to run if you’re not. but your legs feel heavy today. slow. your stomach cramps with every movement, and your fingers are shaking so bad you almost drop the stale muffin you find. 

you’re about to shove it into your mouth when a voice says, “hey.” 

you spin around, heart in your throat. 

a boy stands there. not much older than you. probably your age, even. but taller. sharper. he’s not wearing a shirt, just black sweatpants a little too big for his slim figure. he doesn’t look scared. doesn’t look mean, either. just curious. 

you narrow your eyes. “what do you want?” 

he remains calm, hands resting in his pockets. “nothing. just… i come here, too.” 

you blink. “to… dig?” 

he shrugs. “sometimes they throw out the ones that are only a little old. if you get here early enough, they’re not soggy yet.” 

you stare at him for a beat. and then you look down at the muffin in your hand. 

“… you want half?” you offer, quiet. 

he’s shocked. you’re too bright for someone living like this. 

“you serious?” 

you break the muffin in two, handing him the bigger half. 

“you’re weird,” he says, taking it. 

“so are you.” 

the two of you sit on the curb, eating in silence. crumbs fall into your laps. he tells you his name is michael, but he says it with an accent (mee-kha-el) and then adds, “but i prefer kaiser.” 

“why?” you ask. 

he shrugs again. “just… sounds cooler.” 

you snort. “okay, kaiser.” 

he grins a little, and it makes your chest feel warm. 

you learn a lot about him that morning. like how he hates the rain because of how fast it soaks his already-worn-out shoes. and how his dad makes everything he does a punishment. how sometimes he climbs on top of the bus stop just to feel above it all. 

you tell him you ran away because home didn’t feel like home. you don’t give details in the moment. you don’t need to. he doesn’t ask. 

“we’re kinda the same,” he says, picking at a loose thread on his waistband. “like… like nobody wanted us. so we had to want ourselves.” 

you glance at him. it’s the first time anyone’s ever said something like that to you. something that feels true. 

you nod. “yeah. we have to be our own people.” 

he holds out a pinky. “so let’s promise.” 

“promise what?” 

“that we’ll find a way out. not just survive. like… really live. better than them. better than this.” 

your throat burns. not from hunger this time. 

you hook your pinky with his. “promise.” 

𐙚

years later, you’re standing in the world’s loudest stadium. confetti rains gold. his name echoes across the world. 

but michael kaiser only sees you. 

you’re at the edge of the field, eyes glassy, mouth trembling with a smile. the same way you looked when you shared half a muffin with him behind a bakery all those years ago. 

he doesn’t hesitate, he jumps the barrier, running straight into your arms. 

“we made it,” he breathes, medal warm between your chests. 

you nod, laughing through tears. “yeah. from trash bins to trophies.” 

he kisses you like a promise kept. 

and when he lifts the world cup over his head, he looks at the cameras, the crowds, the sky, but smiles only at you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

More SOTR thoughts

I think we were all surprised that the tribute center hadn't been built yet and the tributes are being treated ....like that. But hear me out, I think the debacle that was the 50th led to it.

You're Snow. You've got 40-some victors and growing. You're trying to contain them to seperate apartments. You keep the tributes handcuffed and locked in. There's Peacekeepers and surveillance everywhere and no one's afraid to use force to subdue. And STILL they do this. They still manage to team up, to build a coalition. And on top of that, you've got people who have NO RESPECT for the Games, and no respect leads to slip ups, leads to mistakes, leads to people seeing the holes in the capitol's security, and more importantly, in their STORY that the Games are necessary to live and the Capitol is all knowing and all benevolent. You've salvaged it THIS time. But they only have to be lucky once and it all comes tumbling down.

So what do you do? Do you increase security? Go back to the zoo days? Keep the tributes chained in their rooms? Take away their mentors?

No, you can't do that. People like the spectacle. You NEED the spectacle. Furthermore, If you go backwards, you look weak, you look like they won something. You have to go on and pretend nothing happened so the rebels don't get the wrong idea, so the truth doesn't spread, while still increasing security so it doesn't. Happen. Again.

So what do you do? You stop trying to seperate them. You put them all together, all 50 traumatized, fucked up, teenage to 50 something victors, in one place, with the 24 terrified teenagers they are in charge of, so no one can escape each other. A place CUSTOM built to hold them, where YOU control their every movement. No more transporting them from place to place, everything is controlled from the train arriving under the remake center to the chariots entering the tribute center to the helicopters to the arena. Smooth. You have a state of the art surveillance system but one that doesn't draw attention to itself, which encourages looking for where the cameras aren't. You let them meet, let them have the hope of each other's society to keep them calm, but if tempers and grudges fly, that's fine too.

And most importantly, because it's Panem Et Circenses, you make them A SHOW.

You hide them in plain sight. You take them out of their gilded bird cages and let them see and be seen almost, but not quite, like a free citizen of the Caoitol. You get the victors dressed and fancied up too. You put them in the crowds during the interviews and cut the camera to them. You bring them out for interviews and retrospectives, make them talk about their lives, all with gratitude to you. You show off how rich and HAPPY they are and how much the capitol LOVES them , so their districts hate them. You keep them busy, so they have no time to rebel. You keep the trauma fresh, by making it impossible for them to hide from the cameras and drop their personas. You turn them into archetypes, into people they'll have to PLAY for the rest of their lives. You tell the tributes they're your honored guests, you treat them like celebrities so there's no holes in the story that they're anything but respected and cared for by the benevolence of the capitol. And maybe, keeping them distracted with luxuries for a week keeps them content. Less time to mull over how miserable they are when they're being treated so well.

Give them Circenses. Make them BE Circenses. An animal in a cage being treated poorly fights back and tries to get out. An animal in a safe warm enclosure grows to like the safety and luxury of it. They'll start acting like calm little zoo animals if they don't realize they're in cages. All, of course, under your complete control.

And it works. Mostly. Katniss can't imagine running from the reaping. She has no idea that tributes HAVE run in the past, just a speculation. The tribute parade goes off without a hitch. Everything runs so, so smoothly.

Except what Snow doesn't realize is the victors become friends. They become allies. They become FAMILY. it's harder to plot sedition under strict surveillance, but they manage it. And it doesn't take long for them to regroup and try again.

And this time, it works.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

Hey so like i loooove what youve got going on so far!!! So good and soo underrated!!!! i have a little request for you >:)

could you please maybe write something about top??! something sweet and a little spicy hehe! anything is fine! thanks!

thank you so much! and of course i can, enjoy!

☆ feed your impulses

Pairing: t.o.p / choi seunghyun x reader

Word Count: 4,954

Summary: You are invited to your friend’s wedding, but you need a date. After befriending a nice-looking guy in an art museum, you let your impulses win, and that choice may have panned more in your favour than you think.

Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, flirting, tension, fake dating, not famous au, small spice

cross posted on ao3 here

You were not expecting to meet Choi Seunghyun that day. In fact, you had no intention to speak to anyone in the obnoxiously cold art gallery. But then again, impulsivity was a part of you your friends would laugh about while you shrank in your seat in embarrassment.

It was an early spring morning, and you were sat in the living room of your humble apartment, the warm breeze freshening up the place from the dewey air of nightfall, and the windows conveniently angled toward the sunrise so each morning you saw the rising sun pressing comforting kisses on your sleepy face to awaken you from your slumber. While scrolling on your phone, a message from your friend came through: “please please please come to a wedding this saturday, 2pm! bring a date. dont make me beggg! <3” followed by the location of the venue and dress code which all in all was to dress to impress. You liked attending weddings, it was a chance to wear dresses and look beautiful, meet up with your friends, drink, dance, and have a fun time. With life and busy schedules coming as a non-negotiable duo, you and your group’s schedules rarely aligned on days like this. Affirming your attendance in reply to the message, you continued your scrolling activities, picking up your handmade mug to sip on your tea.

It was the date section that caused the sigh to bubble from your lungs to your mouth. You were the only friend that was single currently, and you were absolutely content with that. For some unbeknownst reason, your friends were insistent on you bringing someone to each occasion, and you hated every single man you had invited with you. One was a complete snob, critiquing, scrutinising minute details of everything he could lay his lifeless eyes on. Another, a complete buzzkill, who every time you took a sip of your drink would pout in his seat and complain that women drink too much, how alcohol is a men’s activity, etc. You had no luck finding a person to bring, and that caused no stir in your chest, you did not feel that giving that energy the time of day aligned with your life goals.

You replied to the message affirmatively, a shitty date was a small sacrifice you were willing to make to have a good time. Getting up and brushing the idea off your shuddering shoulders, you decided to head to the art museum that was holding an exhibition for an artist you had forgotten the name of. The glowing sun that was gently caressing your face to natural warmth on your travels to the gallery suddenly dissipated to artificial cool shivers, forcing you to slide on your coat; the air conditioning systems in these vast rooms were always too strong.

You stopped several feet away from a painting that you were not exactly amazed by, but you know you would have felt bad for it if you had ignored it. The moment your eyes drifted from analysing the intricacies of the brush strokes on the old canvas to the man standing beside it, looking at the work alongside you, your heart skipped a step. He was not staring at the painting like you were, not fully. His eyes were just as fixed on details as yours, but his attention was more so focused on you. You had felt it on your skin like a tangible entity, a whisper against the growing goosebumps. You did not mean to stare back so strongly, but his tall frame, sharp jawline, alluring eyes under strong eyebrows, and the way his lips were quirking into a knowing smile—you were instantly magnetised.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He broke the silence, his head gesturing to the painting on the wall, his tousled hair that fell so perfectly despite the messiness flowing with his movement. His voice was as deep and buttery as you had imagined it to be, it held an edge of something dangerous. And you loved it.

You tilted your head in the same direction, pretending to assess the painting, though you were entirely caught in the net of his gaze. “It’s certainly something… interesting,” you replied, an accidental giggle leaving you as you met his eyes.

“You aren’t that into art are you?” He chuckled at your expression, a low sound that reverberated through the air like a challenge. Raising a brow, you huffed amusingly at his sudden presumption of you.

“I like to think I appreciate art in a unique way.” you try to justify, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’m just more of a.. people watcher.”

“Oh?” His interest was especially piqued now, his brow raised slightly, “And what do you perceive when you observe these people?”

You shrugged lightly, a hint of flirtation laced in your words, “People often give themselves away, you know. Without meaning to.” The implication lingers in the air before you continue, “Like you, I know you’re not here for this art.”

His expression gave no sign of faltering, instead his smirk grew, now matching yours. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the same,” you start simply, “I’m only here because I thought it would be a way to kill some time.”

His laugh was richer, deeper this time, it echoed amusement through the hall. “Then I suppose it’s my pleasure to do something to make sure your time isn’t wasted.”

Your head subconsciously tilted, letting his declaration settle between you. He was a bold man, that much was clear, but there was something so undeniably captivating and enticing about him, he had a certain energy that made you want to lean your all into the uncertainty of the situation. The conversation shifted, easy and effortless, the both of you weaving in and out of flirtation and playful banter. You found yourself becoming more and more drawn in by the second, much more than a normal amount for you, especially in such a short period of time. It was as if the air was humming with tension, and it was difficult to ignore.

Eventually, a moment arrived where you needed to make a decision. Your memory flashed back to that very morning, the text message you received buzzing in your head acting as a reminder. The wedding. You couldn’t go alone—your friend had not given you the option to—but even if you were not accompanied, you simply know you would not have the energy to deal with the incessant comments originating from well-meaning pity from your peers questioning why you had come alone.

But who could you ask in such short notice? You glanced at the handsome man beside you, the connection formed between you was unmistakable. An idea struck your brain. You had no reason to believe that this would end well, but you also knew that if it did not go as planned, you could step out from that gallery and never hear from this man again. A wicked, impulsive thought crept into your brain, and without a second thought, you whipped out your phone and opened your friend’s contact.

“i found a +1! he is goooorrrgeoussss ;)” sliding your phone smoothly back to its place in your pocket with a casualness that belied the anxious flutter in your chest. “I have a question,” you began, feeling both bold and reckless simultaneously. He hummed in response, inviting you to hand to him any thought you were thinking.

“I have a wedding this Saturday that I need a date for,” you opened with, trying desperately to ensure your tone sounded nonchalant, watching his face closely, spying for a reaction. “You seem like you could be… convincing enough to pull it off. Are you interested in joining me?”

He did not hesitate, not even for a second, as he stepped closer to you, his voice dropping an octave to a low murmur. “I think that sounds like an intriguing proposition. But tell me, what exactly is in it for me?”

Your heart lurched, fighting any blush from creeping to your face as he closed the prior distance between you. You felt a teasing grin form on your face, “A good time,” you whisper, your eyes ever leaving his, returning the depth and strength that he held, “That’s all you really need to know.” Analysing his features, you spot that a very light blush has begun to dot his cheeks, and his eyes holding something deep and desirable that was unrecognisable and so so difficult to tear your focus away from.

“Well I suppose that’s an offer that I would be stupid to refuse. I’ll need a way to contact you then, hm?” He glanced down to your pocket which held your phone, he must have watched you slip it in there earlier. After trading numbers, part ways for the day, letting him know you will text him the important details he needs to know soon. Turning down the street away from the gallery, you suddenly stopped in realisation. You did not even know his name. After all that bold flirting you managed to pull, you did not ask what his name was, and he does not know yours? You were beside yourself.

Oh, wait. His contact information. Obviously.

You sighed, continuing to walk home shamefully, appalled at your own memory. Opening your phone, you see his contact added to the list and his name is there as he put it. Choi Seunghyun <3 was what he listed for himself. The name rolled around in your mouth nicely, making itself at home in your mind. You liked it, a handsome name for a handsome man—if you were going to daydream about this man constantly until you saw him next; you may as well like how his name matches his face.

The next few days rolled over uneventfully, your work was mundane, you were too tired in the evenings to go out after work. The only atypical thing about this week was Choi Seunghyun, you both had been texting back and forth like you had not met just a few days prior, every time you messaged him, you then were checking your phone every couple of minutes to find his answer. You had good luck meeting this guy, and you consistently thanked the lucky stars for blessing you with this, frequently asking that this would extend beyond an impulsive wedding date.

“What are you wearing on Saturday?” His message rolled in after another conversation topic had faded. “I want to match my outfit with yours. As were ‘dating,’ remember ;)”

The boldness of his message made blood rush to your cheeks, faint colour flushing you, he was such a contrast between the other.. characters.. you had brought to events like this. “a cutesy lil pink number. no more hints!!! it will be a grand reveal when u pick me up as my royal chariot ;)” You send your reply, chuckling at the fact that you had blatantly stated that he would be your chauffeur before a chance to discuss transportation had even arisen.

“Haha, well then, I can’t wait. Pink is my favourite colour, so will you become my favourite girl wearing it? I will arrive at your door to collect you by 1pm. See you then princess.” If it were even possible, you were quite a lot more warm and red reading that last message he had sent. His boldness had you stunned, and you loved being called a nickname by him. You imagined him calling you that with his ever so deep and intense voice, and you shifted in your spot on the lounge flusteredly, trying to shift your train of thought in another direction.

Saturday had rolled around and you were eagerly awaiting Seunghyn’s arrival. To be frank, you had not stopped thinking of him. Every second of each day since you both had met was spent swooning over him, even by just a little bit. You found it odd, you were not one to be attracted to someone to this degree so fast. When you’d go on a random online date, or with someone who a friend had recommended you to, there was never any instant connection like you had had with Seunghyun. This time it was jarringly different, the very thought of him was enough to bring you to girly giggles in embarrassment. A knocking on your door caught you mid thought, and you hurriedly rushed to your front door, your pink kitten heels clicking on the wooden floors as you strode.

“Who is it?” You sung out obnoxiously, your mischievous grin widening when you heard the deep laughter you had yearned to listen to all week.

“Your royal chauffeur has arrived for collection, milady.” Seunghyun responded, matching your energy well. “Will you open the door for a humble man like me?”

You grew nervous, what if he did not like how you had looked? Your mind was reeling at the idea, you felt beautiful, and you wanted nothing more than in that second for him to agree with you. Sucking a deep breath to your tightly closed jaw, you swung open the door, and froze, stunned. As it turned out, Seunghyun cleaned up amazingly–not that you had thought any different, the concept being made physical in front of you made you go crazy. He looked impossibly fresh in his suit, everything was tailored to perfection, and how the fabric fell on him, showing off his broad shoulders, made him look absolutely irresistible. He stood at your door as a dangerous cocktail of temptation smiling at you, pulling you in. To top everything off, his tie and pocket square were a light pink, matching the same colour as your dress and shoes. You were surprised that your jaw was not already on the floor in awe.

Seunghyn’s inner dialogue was no different than yours. His expression softened, he was absolutely starstruck seeing you in your doorway. Your pink dress looked absolutely stunning on you, the colour complimented you perfectly, the fabric hugged all the right places, yet also flowed to the floor elegantly, a waterfall of pink cascading down toward your small matching heels. Everything about you hypnotised him, like he was a pirate onboard a ship, and you, a siren, performing your song, luring him to you. And it was working. You looked gorgeous. In that moment, he knew he had made the right choice accepting your wild offer. Mark his words, he thought, by the end of the night, you will be his favourite girl in his favourite colour.

“It cannot be a coincidence how I continue to keep you captivated," Seunghyun's expression turned mischievous and held up his arm for you to hold onto, causing you to snap out of your trance. "Shall we get going? Your carriage awaits you in the parking area.”

“Why thank you, sir,” you begin, eagerly grasping his upper arm, pulling yourself close to him, subtly feeling his biceps, praying to whoever could possibly be watching over you that he wouldn’t end up noticing. You began to walk with him, looking ahead of you down the hall, you couldn’t see Seunghyun’s face, but if you could, you would notice that he had warm pinks tinting his complexion and a light smile on his face—he had definitely noticed you feeling him up but had no qualms about your curiosities.

"And don't be so sure, you haven’t earned any victories yet. I'm surprised I haven't run off,” you teased, earning a genuine laugh in response that caused a light stir in your stomach.

The wedding ceremony went without a hitch, the wedding party was dressed to the nines, the venue was incredible—a field with trees that swayed in the warm spring breeze. The altar was beneath a canopy of delicate wisteria vines, their purple blossoms cascaded down like a waterfall of petals. Ornate wooden chairs, adorned with ivory ribbons, were arranged on a lush lawn. A vintage wooden arch, draped in chiffon fabric, framed the couple as they exchanged vows, its legs wrapped in ivy and surrounded by flickering lanterns suspended in the trees.

Beyond the ceremony site, a rustic wooden pavilion stood, its open sides revealed panoramic views of the meadow, the vibrant forest beyond, and the distant mountains. The space was bathed in soft sunlight, which danced through the tree branches, casting playful shadows on the ground. Inside, long wooden tables were draped with lace tablecloths, adorned with crystal glassware, vintage candle holders, and lush garlands of greenery, roses, and peonies that cascaded across the surface. To say you were in absolute awe of the area was a complete understatement.

As evening fell, the soft glow of the sunset bathed everything in a warm, golden light. Candles flickered and fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting a magical glow over the entire scene. The atmosphere was serene, yet full of life—romantic, whimsical, and completely enchanting—a true celebration of love in the heart of nature's beauty. After speeches and awkward meetings between you, Seunghyun, and your friends and their families, the crowd was encouraged to drink and have fun, the newlyweds replacing the playlist of soft, background classical music with another playlist, filled with higher energy, more dance-esque songs. 

“Do you care to dance with me, Date? Or are you scared I’ll outdance you,” your eyes held enthusiastic diamonds in them from the lights around you as you turned to Seunghyun. Not waiting for an answer, you quickly rose from your seat and grasped Seunghyun’s arms, pulling him out of his seat.  The alcohol in your system was the step of confidence you needed to become the life of the party—more playful and outgoing, with a flirtatious needy energy that’s hard to ignore. 

Allowing Seunghyun to take the reins in leading you to the dancefloor, it suddenly felt more than that–he was pulling you to a world where the line between what was pretend and what was undeniably reality blurred more and more with each step. His touch was deliberate, and every brush of his fingertips against your skin sent shivers up your spine. The crowd faded around you both, the hum of music, clinking glasses, and conversation becoming background noise to the hard hammering pulse of your heart. Seunghyun knew exactly what he was doing–hands lightly grazing your back to direct you, the heat almost burning through the fabric of your dress, his steady presence guiding you closer to him, anchoring you.

The moment you arrived at your destination, the room grew dim, it was just you and Seunghyun, the distant flicker from the chandelier above, and the subtle heat of his body pressed just a fraction too close for a fake wedding date. You were unsure if it were the alcohol charting its course through you or the undeniable attraction that had been building since the moment you had laid your eyes on him, but you were no longer thinking of the tear-jerking ceremony, the beautifully written vows, or the curated venue decor. Your entirety was focused on him, every inch of him. Your lips parted and your heartbeat rose in your ears; it was no longer light flirtatious teasing–it was a carnal desire, a raw, unadulterated need to feel him closer, to know how it felt to have his lips on yours. Seunghyun’s gaze locked with yours, teasing, provocative, and screaming confidence. His hand that had smoothly slid to your waist held you tighter, closer, the proximity making you lightheaded and dizzy with need. The tension was unbearable.

The evening turned to night, and the energy was winding down, the final notes of music floating through the air. Only a few guests were still lingering, engaged in their own soft conversations, or swaying under the low, romantic lighting. After saying your final goodbyes to the newlyweds, you felt Seunghyun’s hand return home to the small of back, fingertips curling around your waist, guiding you through the pavilion toward the exit.

Stepping outside and walking to his car, Seunghyun slid his sleek jacket off his back and hung over his free arm, leaving him in his white buttoned white shirt and tie. The thin fabric draped over his body in the perfect way, the tightness of it highlighting his shoulders, arms, and back. You thanked the lucky stars being drunk made blood rush to your face, because it made a good excuse as to why you looked so flustered; you definitely liked what you saw. You glanced at his face as he stood beside you, admiring the way the street lamps hit his glowing complexion, casting perfect shadows, further defining his sharp features. At that moment, you knew that it would be impossible for a man to appear any more handsome than Seunghyun was right now. You were absolutely magnetised to him; his mannerisms, every step he took was with grace and pride—it made your heart race like no other. You knew it was not the alcohol in your system making you want—need him in this way, you were completely, irrevocably hooked.

“I have to say,” you teased as Seunghyun opened the passenger car door for you. “I didn’t expect the night to turn out quite like this.”

Seunghyun flashed you that grin again, the one that made your pulse flutter. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning against the car, giving you that slow, smoldering look.

You climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up, unable to hide the smile on your face. “Let’s just say, you’re not exactly what I expected. I thought I was just getting a little fake wedding date, not... all this.” You waved a hand vaguely, trying to mask the fact that you were definitely thinking about all the ways he made you feel things you weren’t quite ready to name.

He slid into the driver’s seat, and the engine purred to life. “You should’ve known better,” he said with a wink. “I told you I’d make sure your time wasn’t wasted.”

The car hummed softly along the road, the quiet hum of the tires matching the soft undercurrent of tension crackling between you two. Still tipsy, you were hazily looking all around you from each window, amused at some inexplicable foolish detail. Then, turning your head, you began to stare at Seunghyun. You scratched your thought earlier about how a man could not get any more handsome under the streetlamp, because in this moment, he was absolutely divine, and you were hungry.  

You were too busy staring at Seunghyun to notice that he had placed his hand behind your headrest, slyly looking behind him out of the rearview window to park the car in reverse in your apartment’s carpark. Your mood dampened, you did not want this night to end here. You thought about inviting him inside your home, wondering if that would be too much so soon. Fuck it, you thought, your impulsiveness had successfully lead you this far; what is the harm in taking it further? Seunghyun opened your door, once again snapping you away from your thoughtful daze. You turned to him as he held his hand out to you to assist your exit. You leaned forward, tilting your head downward slightly so that you were looking up at him through your eyelashes, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“So,” you began, your voice soft and seductive, “Do you want to come up for a drink? I have wine. Or anything else you’d like.”

Seunghyun’s dark eyes sparkled in the light, as if they were a vast night’s sky coated in twinkling stars, uninterrupted by light pollution. “I think wine sounds perfect,” he said with no hesitation. The cool night air brushed against your body, awakening goosebumps which littered across your exposed skin as you walked to the door, you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back. Suddenly, you felt thick, warm fabric drape across your shoulders. Standing in front of you, Seunghyun grips the wide lapels and adjusts the coat over your body to ensure maximum comfort. Electricity sparked across your skin as he not-so subtly ran his hands over your soft skin “while adjusting”. Warmth spread through you, his cologne and natural smell flooding you, sending your mind into a higher level of overdrive than it already was in. You felt the familiar, dangerous pull in your chest again. Hook, line, and sinker–you were absolutely caught by him. You mentally pinched yourself, this was really happening.

Seunghyun smiled at you, “You look cosy in there, are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Hush now, you know you enjoyed yourself too so now get out the way,” You teased, laughing, brushing against him to punch in the code to your building on the faded pin pad.

Inside your apartment, the gentle serenity that juxtaposed the hectic events of the day wrapped around you like a cocoon, your variety of lamps and candles that littered your home creating the perfect romantic aroma. You poured yourself and him a glass of red wine, hands steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. When you handed him his, he took it with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against yours just enough to send a thrill down your spine.

Seunhyun raised his glass once you had sat beside him on the sofa, looking at you with that intensity that had you questioning everything you’d ever known about impulse and attraction. “To a night full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the slightest hint of devilish deviousness dancing at the edges.

You clinked your glass against his, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I’ll drink to that.”

The wine was smooth, a welcome distraction from the heat building between you, but it didn’t take long before the space between you became impossibly small, the sides of your legs fully touching. Seunghyun’s gaze held yours, not a single word spoken, but the invitation was there, lingering like an unspoken promise.

And then, with that signature confidence of his, he closed the gap. His lips brushed against yours gently, teasingly, just enough to make you inhale sharply. It was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, like the first sip of something intoxicating—you knew you wanted more, and greedily, you knew you’d never get enough. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your fingers found their way to his collar, the fabric of his shirt soft, yet crisp simultaneously beneath your touch. Seunghyun deepened the kiss, moving closer, his hand curling around the back of your neck, gripping your hair at the base to create an oh so pleasurable sensation on your scalp, as he tilted his head just so, deepening the connection. It was like he was claiming you as his very in the most delicious, slow way possible, and you were entirely helpless to resist, you would be stupid not to give in to him.

When you pulled back, breathless and tingling, your heart hammered in your chest. You could see the dark, lustful desire in his eyes, and you knew, just as clearly, that he yearned for you as much as you needed him.

“You’re trouble,” you murmured, barely an inch away from his face, a smile radiating lust spreading across your lips.

Seunghyun grinned, his eyes dark with amusement. He leaned in more, your foreheads now touching. “But you like trouble, don’t you?”

You moved to take another sip of wine, eyes never leaving his, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest as you leaned to return to your original closeness. “Maybe. But I think I like you even more.”

The kiss that followed was urgent, fierce, and entirely too short, leaving both of you breathless and laughing quietly into each other’s lips. Boldly, you stood up and held a tight grip onto the tip of his pink tie, dragging it behind you, leading him along as you strode to your bedroom. As the night drew on, neither of you made any move to part ways, the electric charge between you more than enough to keep you both in each other’s orbit a little longer.

The more Seunghyun touched you, the more your body responded–flushed, eager, alive with the pull of desire. If there was one thing you knew with absolute certainty, this was no longer about pretending to be a couple for a wedding, this was about the intimacy between the both of you, this was about need. The carnal ache for him–the way his touch made you forget everything except your craving for him. The look of lust in his face was intoxicating, every word of praise that slipped from his gentle lips in his buttery, deep voice put your mind and body into haywire and you never hesitated in drinking all he had to give you up. 

The collision of wants and slow-yet-fast burning, undeniable heat between the two of you caused you to lose a little bit more control of yourself as each second came and went. Your movements were synchronised and sensual, painting a picture of passion that required no words to be understood. Each caress was a brush stroke on a weaved canvas of intimacy, only occasionally broken by rhythms of his and your breaths and sounds, deep and harmonious, or light, and fleeting, dripping of desire that knew no bounds.

When the first light of dawn peeked through the light, flowy curtains of your bedroom, it found you both tangled in the sheets, no longer needing mere words to fill the space between you. It wasn’t just a kiss anymore, or a fleeting night at a wedding. It was something more—a connection that had started with a simple impulsive decision and, somehow, had turned into something unforgettable.

thank you for reading! let me know if,, you liiiike..? ;)

i actually really like how this turned out !

thank u again for that request anon i had so much fun with this!

[bleedinwidow]

hiii guys.. long time no see..

!!! : NSFW/SMUT, art donaldson x reader, fem!reader, fingering, car shit i think idk, 2019/new rochelle art

wc; aprx. 950

an; i’ve never actually posted proper smut before and i’m kinda shameful LOL. is that normal for the first time posting? perhaps i’ll post enough to get used to it. hope this isn’t too crappy. also this isn’t necessarily proofread so my bad

You can’t help it.

Driving home with Art post-date night had your mind running wild. Sat in the passengers seat in your little tight dress, thighs pressed close together and your hands in your lap, fingers intertwined with a grip so harsh your knuckles turned white.

Your eyes were only on one thing — Art’s hands holding that fucking steering wheel. Years of tennis practise, holding the racket with a tight grip, working each and every muscle in his long fingers; it really, really paid off. He must’ve noticed about halfway through the ride, because that’s when he started drumming them against the wheel every now and then or flexing them, but not even a glance your way.

Your bottom lip juts out, your head lolling against the car window, lifting with each small bump. Art glances towards you, then into the road and back to you again. He reaches out a hand and places it on your thigh; you flinch, and he pretends not to notice. “You all good?” He asks, his voice soft.

You want to scoff. You almost do. But you bite your tongue and nod, staring his hand down with both irritation and utmost desire. It’s just not fair. You’re seconds away from behaving like a petulant child, stomping and kicking and crying until Art shoves his fingers in your mouth to shut you up.

Anyway.

The car ride back to yours and Art’s apartment drags on. The low hum of the radio does a little bit of good to distract you from your thoughts, but they linger in the back of your mind nonetheless. What a burden. You plot as you wait to arrive at your destination. Lily’s with Tashi this week — hence your date night — so there’s no need to worry about that, and you’re sure you can somehow convince (cough, seduce) Art into giving you what you want.

Pulling into the apartment lobby’s parking, Art stops the car and turns his attention towards you with a gentle smile. “We’re here,” he states, rather obviously, but it’s something sweet about him you find charming. You don’t smile back though, no; you pout, and his instantly fades into a look of concern. You hate that you can’t tell whether it’s feigned or not.

“What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” He questions, undoing his seatbelt to face his body more towards you, reaching a hand out to cup the side of your face. His thumb strokes against your cheek in a delicate manner. You half-grumble, half-whine, and a fond smile curls up at the corners of his lips.

You take his hand, the one holding your face, and guide it to your mouth. You kiss the centre of his palm, your own pressed against the back of his hand as you intertwine your fingers with his. You shuffle, climbing over into the backseat and Art watches, until he’s ultimately tugged there with you and seated beside you.

“Baby? What’s—,” before he can finish, he’s interrupted by the surprise that consumes him as his hand’s guided beneath your dress and against the heat between your legs, the fabric of your underwear a lot damper than he had imagined. His lips part slightly, his tongue running over them to hydrate them, watching his hand disappear beneath your clothing.

“Please? You’ve been teasing me,” you beg softly, and your thighs close around his hand, trapping it there. His eyes flicker between yours and his hand, contemplating, and before either of you know it, the pads of his fingers are rubbing firm strokes against you from over your clothing. You squirm, your unoccupied arm wrapping around his, bringing it to your chest as his hand works against you.

Art slides the fabric to the side, and he’s instantly met with the slick of your pussy. You bury your face into his inner elbow with what could be considered a silent whimper, hips bucking faintly. He watches your face closely as his finger glides through your folds, watching for any change of expression, whether it be the scrunching of your nose or the screwing up of your face.

He decides to delay the teasing; you’ve waited enough. His middle finger feels for your clit, pressing down against it once he finds it. He watches as your hips buck, then begins to draw circles against it. Each puff of breath and small sound that escapes from your lips eggs him on further, and he can’t help but rush.

His finger moves quicker as you squirm more and your noises grow louder, legs writhing and grip around his arm tighter. He can’t help but shuffle closer to you to get a better angle, rubbing against the bundle of nerves eagerly, watching your reactions with fascination.

Each twitch of your legs signifies just how worked up you are, and you’re almost embarrassed how quick you’re about to come — you would be, if you weren’t so consumed by pleasure right now.

“Sh—it, Art—,” are the babbles that pass through your lips as you peak, back arching and body writhing. He slows his movements to guide you to come down, keeping his hand idle but still between your legs. He leans in to kiss your cheek, then the underside of your jaw.

“Feel better?”

[celuere]

it‘s happening again.

pairing: ex!arlecchino x fem!reader

context: you just can‘t seem to get over her.

cw: modern au, desperate sesbian lex, rough sex, fingering, strap on,  unhealthy relationship, arle is very bad at feelings, hurt no comfort

word count: 900

art credits: bad thinking diary

got this idea while listening to right here from chase atlantic, i can‘t explain why it fits modern ex arle so well.

hot.

you felt so incredibly hot.

she was burning you from inside with each skilled curl of her fingers sending sparks of ecstasy down your spine. your skin seemingly boiling with how her lips made sure to leave no spot untouched.

you promised yourself to not let this happen again. to not fall back into her net each and every time fate forces you to cross paths again. whether it be at a birthday party of your mutual friends, the gym you both frequent or your local bar. it always ended with your naked bodies entangled with each other. you were the fuel to her fire just like you were drawn to her flame like a moth in the darkest voids of your heart. starved. starved of her. of her touch, her scent, her voice, her very presence. every single fiber in your body was screaming for her. craving her. you could never deny yourself a night with her, even though you already know what will be awaiting you the next morning. 

your attempts to form a single sentence between the breathy moans and whines falling over your lips were immediately cut off by her mouth. plunging her tongue into yours to avoid any kind of confrontation, your teeth clashing together in the instance.

she should know better than this. than letting you get close to her heart again. but it was you. her heart. the bane of her existence. but in her mind she just wasn‘t good enough for you. never will be. she doesn‘t deserve waiting for you at the altar one day, to promise herself to you for the rest of her life. you were the only good thing that life brought her and she didn‘t trust that.

the arch of your back into her while she felt you clenching around your fingers were enough indicator of your orgasm. she would usually stop herself here. however couldn‘t bring herself to. the way your fingers ran through her silky hair, that pleading look she could still make out in the darkness of your bedroom. pleading for her to stay.

in a moment of weakness she flipped you around on your stomach, she had to get you out of her system once and for all.

„a-arle…“

„quiet.“, the sound of a drawer being pulled open followed by the rustling of leather caused your core to slowly melt. you knew what‘s next.

„ass up.“, you hated how much of an effect that sharp tone had on you. causing your already puffy clit to ache at the bare thought. it wasn‘t fair.

feeling the weight of your mattress sink behind you before a pair of tattooed fingers snaked around your hips and pulled you back against her. a whimper so soft and desperate fell out of your mouth as she lubed up the silicone by rubbing the shaft through your slick folds. the sight of your bare ass presented to her, waiting to be plowed into gnawed at her already declining self restraint. 

she was gentle and rough at the same time. robbing you of your last bit of dignity with each drive of her hips into yours, a strong contradict to how tender her hand ran along the length of your spine. 

truth be told, arlecchino was happy she didn‘t have to look at your pleasured face right now. how full of love your eyes still were for her. as if she was somehow deserving of it. it angered her how you couldn‘t see it. how you deserved better than this mess of a person she is. she wants to hand you the world on a silver platter but she can‘t. and she hated it.

she hated herself for being everything you crave yet not what you truly needed.

the sound of your pleading voice bounced off the tense bedroom air, „a-arle, can we- mh-!“, your sounds now coming out muffled as a strong hand pushes your head down into the pillow, her pace turning almost feral.

„can we talk?“

you knew it was a foolish question and you felt beyond humiliated for even trying in the first place. just like it‘s foolish of you to have kept some of her clothes to yourself when she moved out. or how her toothbrush is still sitting in the same glass as yours. or how you refuse to throw away the shared photos of you.

or how you planned on proposing to her.

she was the future you wanted but never got. a flower that was just about to bloom but was stomped down before it had the chance to.

arlecchino was everything you needed yet nothing you owned.

were you crying out of pleasure or heartbreak? you didn’t even know the answer yourself. your fluids soaking the sheets underneath you just like your tears were staining the pillow now. but you‘d cry even more if she stopped now and you felt even more pathetic for it. 

but nothing compared to the emptiness filling up your heart when you woke up in your bed the next day. alone. in a cold bed. with nothing but the soft ticks of the clock thats hanging on the wall filling the room as you stared at the open chat on your phone.

„can we please talk?“

delivered.

[aventurineswife]

HII AUTHOR! ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD DAY? I HAVE A QUESTION. How would the SAHSRAU react if you suddenly got bored with HSR and switched to genshin?

Oh boy... The jealousy and the angst are sure burning up...

At first, they don’t notice.

Everything is normal. The Museum of Divinity still stands. Your artworks are still there. Your music still echoes through the stars.

But then… something changes.

The paintings stop appearing. The music stops playing. The museum doors remain shut.

The characters wait for your next command. It never comes.

The Galaxy is silent.

And that’s when they realize.

“There must be an explanation.”

Welt starts running calculations, probability theories, even dimensional travel theories—anything to explain your sudden disappearance.

Himeko sips her coffee, trying to stay calm, but her hands are shaking. “They’ll be back. They always come back.”

(You in fact did not come back.)

March 7th: "Uh, guys? You might wanna look at this..."

She holds up a blurry, pixelated screenshot she managed to capture—a screenshot of Teyvat.

Himeko’s mug shatters. (Like her heart ahem)

Blade stops moving entirely. His entire reason for existing has just left him behind.

Stares blankly at the sky, gripping his sword. If you are no longer here, then what purpose does he have?

Dan Heng acts calm, but he's already in crisis mode. He's scrolling through files, trying to find any clue as to why you left.

When he sees the Teyvat screenshot, his grip tightens on his spear.

Dan Heng: “…We’ve been abandoned.” (yeah no shit, Sherlock-)

Aventurine immediately plays it cool. "Well, well, well. Looks like our dear Creator has found another plaything."

Sunday is not calm.

"BETRAYAL! TREACHERY! ABANDONMENT! I HAVE BEEN CAST ASIDE!"

He dramatically collapses on the museum floor. Aventurine just watches with amusement.

But the second he sees the Teyvat screenshot—

Aventurine: “…Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

They both hate the idea of you playing another game more than they hate each other.

Kafka smirks, but there’s a sharp edge to it. "So, you’ve moved on, huh?"

Black Swan looks at the fading murals of your art, her expression unreadable. “All things fade… but I never expected our Creator’s gaze to turn elsewhere.”

Deep down, they wonder—were they not enough?

Luocha: "I suppose even gods grow tired of their creations."

Jing Yuan: "Hah… It seems we have been cast aside for another world."

They act philosophical about it, but they’re both lowkey miserable.

Jing Yuan tries to joke about it, but even Yanqing notices something’s off.

Luocha stares at a fading portrait of you, quietly wondering if he will ever see your light again. (Probably not but ahem)

March 7th is the first to start coping.

"It’s fine, it’s fine! Maybe they’re just… on a vacation! Yeah! They’ll be back! Right?"

Sparkle is already scheming. "If our dear Painter has found another world… then perhaps it’s time we follow them there."

(They are actively looking for ways to break into Teyvat.)

Sighs, so the list goes on...

Blade stops fighting entirely. (What's the point if you're not watching?)

Dan Heng avoids everyone. (He refuses to believe it.)

Kafka and Black Swan start theorizing. (Will you return, or is this the end?)

Sunday begins plotting. (If they cannot bring you back, they will find a way to make you remember them.)

March 7th, Sparkle, and Aventurine?

They're looking for a way to invade Genshin. (Yeah, with Silver Wolf's help)

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months.

They wait.

And wait.

And then—

One day—

A new painting appears.

It's… different.

A familiar signature, but a different style.

A mural of Teyvat.

And on that day, the last hope shatters.

You are gone.

Their Creator has truly moved on.

But that doesn’t mean they’ll stop searching for you. Not ever.

My back hurts... I'm taking away your guys' SAHSRAU privilege. I need someone to write this as a fic or expand it and I'm not gonna write it, that's for you. 🫶

[yunsound]

The Third Installment to the Oubing Saga- Yunbing

PRIOR EXPERIENCE NEEDED!

Entry ticket: reading this post and acknowledging that the following is about to be 18+. No, I'm not writing anything explicit, but it's going to be some mentions of sex. Move on.

After finishing Ne Zha 2025 (or the 2019 version if you're a real one), did you feel overcome by the gayness? Did you wonder why the fuck anyone would ever look at their best friend like that? Did shoujo anime music start playing in the back of your head?

...yeah you're not alone.

As previously mentioned, Oubing is currently China's biggest fandom ship (I stay hopeful that this wave of hype will last longer than it did in 2019). I also trust that you all understand why that is.

Seriously, I've never seen any piece of Chinese media except for straight up BL THIS gay.

Let's count on one hand how many BL tropes these movies include.

Red/blue

Soulmates

Only friend

Enemies to lovers

Friends to lovers

Oh oops, we ran out of fingers! Next hand.

Friends to enemies to friends to lovers

Forbidden romance

Demon x angel

Two halves of one... thing

...bondage? I suppose? If you know you know THE scene.

Oh wow look at that we ran out of fingers again. MOVING ON TO THE NEXT HAND-

Okay, I'll stop here. All of this makes Oubing technically a very vanilla ship (ignore the bondage that's mostly a joke. Though you WILL see a lot of art involving Ne Zha's red sash in... different usages) and very sweet. Pure love, I suppose.

Do you know about Shangmei Oubing, a variation on Oubing featuring different adaptations of Ne Zha and Ao Bing? Well now you do. Read this post to figure out what I'm talking about.

If there's a spectrum of the wholesome-ness of Oubing ships, Shangmei Oubing is in the middle. Yes, it's very toxic, but technically Ne Zha does really love Ao Bing a lot, just in the wrong ways.

On the OPPOSITE end of that spectrum, we have Yunbing.

Yunbing is the ship between Ne Zha and Ao Bing from the 2021 movie New Gods Reborn: Ne Zha. The movie itself is on Netflix- it's kind of a mid movie, I'm NGL, but the animation is pretty good.

I haven't watched the whole movie (how do I know it's mid? Because I saw some clips and they made me sigh out loud) so I'm maybe not the most reliable critic, but it's just not peak storytelling, okay?

Yunbing is 80% made TF up (headcanon ships are the best ships) because in the movies they hate each other, like TRUE hate, not gay hate. I'm talking GENERATIONAL hating.

If you ignore canon, though, (my favourite thing to do), you are left with Yunbing, which is honestly really fucking yummy.

Here's a quick overview of the background and dynamic of the ship/movie/characters without spoiling the plot of the movie.

The main character of the movie is called Li Yunxiang (remember that Ne Zha's dad is Li Jing, so technically his full name is Li Nezha prior to him fucking himself up via sashimi-ing his flesh from his bones).

Li Yunxiang is the reincarnation of Ne Zha in a modern setting in the fictional East Sea City (Donghai City). He doesn't know or remember being Ne Zha. He works as a deliveryman I think, or a smuggler or something low-paying and dangerous I think.

In East Sea City, water is in shortage due to the Dragon Clan (now a rich family business) hoarding it. The third son of this Dragon Clan (his name is De San) is, you guessed it, the reincarnated Ao Bing.

Actually I'm not sure if he's reincarnated or if he's just been here the whole time hating.

De San, unlike our polite nice Ao Bing from Ne Zha 2019/2025, or the terrified victim Ao Bing from Shangmei, is a huge bitch. He's also a girlfailure. He's not some mass-murdering psychopath, but he's a spoiled rich brat who lives and breathes capitalism and privilege.

Look at his stupid face. Isn't he punchable? No, despite the blonde hair, the director has confirmed he isn't mixed or foreign, he's just an idiot who bleached his hair.

He was supposed to be some sort of dominant playboy daddy character but the entire nation of China just immediately saw the potential for girlfailure brat bottom and I guess that's where my brain went too.

After Ne Zha pulled his tendons out, his dad paid some SERIOUS money to make him a mechanical tendon. Let me tell you I don't know why but this shot of his metal spine is SO fucking sexy

Sorry for thirsting on main, IDK what it is but it's getting to me.

De San still wants revenge on Ne Zha for pulling his fucking tendons out so he spends like 10000 hours trying his very best to kick Li Yunxiang's (confused) ass and never manages to get there, it's so funny.

See, the main reason this ship is so delicious is the dynamic, not their interactions because this is ACTUAL hate, I'm talking they'd kill each other in an instant with NO hesitation. The sexual tension is through the roof. Okay, they're both straight, but you DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE IN THAT DOCTRINE.

Mild spoiler alert!

There's a scene in which Li Yunxiang gets one over De San by making him crash his car. As De San goes flying out of the car in intense pain, he glances over at Yunxiang, who's looking back at him.

Instead of giving him a middle finger or a thumbs down, Yunxiang fucking gives him a finger heart. IK it's supposed to be mocking but it's so funny, especially the BLATANT rage on De San's face afterwards.

The appeal of this ship is just the hate sex. This is a ship 100% meant for gooners, if you'd prefer sweet vanilla hand-holding and blushing you probably want to go back to regular Oubing.

Why does De San have such pillow princess potential? First of all, look at him. What the fuck is that waist to shoulder to leg ratio?

Second, in the Cantonese dub, he calls his father (Ao Guang) "daddy" (in English btw). Sorry, what? You are a twenty-something year old fully grown man. It is fairly common for rich Cantonese people to call their father daddy (according to my rich Cantonese friend) but it's a little much.

Third, he's such a failure it's hilarious. Spoiler alert: there's a whole scene in which his father calls him a failure and he's like "wait what". He's kind of dumb and pathetic despite being arrogant and proud.

Very princess-like. Chinese version of Drarry, basically. They also both really like cars! TBH if they weren't Ao Bing and Ne Zha's reincarnations they'd probably be really good friends.

Generations of hating each other is such gay behaviour, WHY is that other man on your mind over thousands of years??

Some of the popular headcanons for Yunbing:

Yunxiang calls De San "third princess" or "princess" because he's such a... princess

In the middle of like, fistfighting each other they somehow transition to having sex without knowing how

De San slaps Yunxiang in the face and he's like "on the other side too"

"Only I can be the one to kill him, fuck off!" *surprised look* "No that's not what I meant-"

Inappropriate usage of the metal spine (which is probably more sensitive and delicate...?)

I recommend, if you're looking for Oubing content (of the decidedly not workplace friendly variety) and if you like ENEMIES to lovers (emphasis on the enemies part) that you go through the AO3 Yunbing tag (云冰, I'll link the AO3 tag here directly).

If you want recs please ask me, I am so passionate about all three iterations of Oubing.

To quote a XHS user:

Oubing: Pure love

Shangmei Oubing: Pure fear

Yunbing: Pure hate