#i feel the art brimming through me again though

[shoot-of-corruption]

((Is it a bad thing that I have no muse, but I want to open commissions again?))

[minxmut-cafe]

FETISH

Pairing: STALKER!! Jimin x Reader

Word count: 16k

Warning: smut, sex, stalking, dark themes, voyeurism, dirty talk, cunnilingus, oral sex, vaginal sex, penetration etc

Authors note: I honestly had so much fun writing this!! I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I should do one about another member as well

Synopsis: "When Jimin wants something, he'll have it. One way or the other."

The bakery was quiet as Y/N worked the counter, the early afternoon sunlight spilling across the wooden tables, casting soft shadows on the cream-colored walls. The rich scent of butter and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the faint dusting of flour on the counter. A delicate hum of the oven's warmth was her only companion as she carefully arranged freshly baked pastries in the display case.

Y/N had always loved the rhythm of the bakery. The way the dough felt between her fingers, the way the heat from the oven would settle around her like a comforting embrace. It was simple, predictable—exactly the kind of life she wanted. No drama, no distractions. Just the steady flow of flour, sugar, and quiet.

But there was always something strange about this place. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way certain customers lingered a little too long, as if they didn’t just come for a croissant, but for something else—something she could never define. Or perhaps it was the way the silence would sometimes stretch, too long, too deep, as though the air itself was holding its breath.

A woman entered, her steps light, but her gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. Y/N smiled politely, forcing her attention back to the pastries as the woman selected a few items and moved to the counter.

"Just the usual?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet, practiced.

The woman nodded, placing a few crumpled bills on the counter before leaving without a word. Y/N watched her go, the door chiming softly behind her. The silence returned, but something felt different today. She couldn’t explain it.

Her eyes drifted to the window. Outside, the street was as bustling as usual. People hurrying by, oblivious to the quiet life she led. She was used to the hustle—she’d grown up in cities where the noise never stopped. But here, in this small corner of the world, there was a strange stillness that she could never shake.

As her gaze drifted past the street, something caught her attention. A figure, standing just outside the bakery window, hidden partially behind a lamppost. A man, his face obscured by a hood and sunglasses, his posture tense and watchful. She blinked, sure she was imagining things, but when she looked again, the figure was gone.

She shook her head. Just a trick of the light, she thought.

Y/N returned to her task, pushing aside the odd feeling that clung to her. She had no room for paranoia. She couldn’t afford it.

From the shadows, across the street, Jimin observed her, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his cap. He hadn’t come here to buy pastries, nor to admire the delicate art of baking. He’d come to watch her.

His lips twisted into a slight, cynical smile as he watched her move behind the counter, her fingers graceful as she shaped the dough. She was so... unaware. So focused on the small world she had created for herself. It was almost too easy.

Jimin’s world was not like hers. His was loud, filled with flashing lights, cameras, and the constant hum of voices singing his praises. He was Park Jimin, a star—a god, in the eyes of many. And yet, here he was, in the shadows, lingering in the corners of her life like some kind of invisible force.

He knew everything about her. Where she lived. What she liked to bake. The quiet way she carried herself. The subtle tension in her posture when she felt eyes on her, though she never acknowledged it.

It made him smile to think of how perfectly she fit into the life he had carefully crafted for her. A life where she would never escape him. Where he could watch, and wait, until she was ready to let him in.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed as Y/N glanced toward the window again. She didn’t see him, but he knew she felt something. She’d been sensing him for days now, and it would only be a matter of time before she figured it out.

But he wasn’t ready yet. Not yet. He wanted her to feel the fear first. To see him lurking in the background, like a shadow waiting to pounce. The fear would make her crave him, would make her realize that the only way out was to let him in completely.

He allowed himself a few more moments to study her. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands framing her face. Her movements were deliberate, efficient—exactly how he liked it. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t demanding. She was content, trapped in the little world she’d made for herself.

But that wouldn’t last.

He’d make sure of it.

Y/N's attention snapped back to the counter as the bell above the door jingled again, the sudden intrusion breaking her train of thought. The figure she’d seen earlier? Gone. The street was just as it had always been.

She frowned, pushing the feeling of unease aside. It was nothing. Probably just someone waiting for the bus or some curious stranger with too much time on their hands.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. It wasn’t the first time, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

Y/N sat at her small kitchen table, the soft glow of her laptop screen casting an ambient light across her face. It was late—almost midnight—but she didn’t mind. She’d gotten lost in her sculpting, her hands covered in clay, the world outside slipping away.

As usual, she was lonely at this hour. The bakery had closed, the last customer had long since left, and now there was only silence. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she sat back, debating whether she should check her messages. It had become a small ritual for her. In the last few weeks, someone had been reaching out to her through her online art account. They weren’t aggressive or overwhelming, but their words were kind, supportive.

Y/N had grown used to the occasional comment on her work—most of it generic, encouraging, but nothing that stuck. But this person, "ArtLover23," seemed different. They never just complimented her work—they asked thoughtful questions, made observations, and had a deep understanding of the techniques she used.

Her fingers clicked on the message notification, and a new message from ArtLover23 appeared.

ArtLover23: "I’ve been following your work for a while now. Your sculptures are so unique, they almost seem to have a life of their own. The way you bring such expression to stone… it’s incredible. Have you ever thought about making a piece that tells a story?"

Y/N smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through her. It wasn’t the first time they’d praised her work, but tonight the words felt different. She’d always struggled with loneliness, her quiet life filled with the hum of the bakery, her art, and the occasional student loan reminder. She wanted to believe that someone truly saw her—her work, her passion.

Y/N: "Thank you. That really means a lot. I’ve thought about telling a story with my art, but it’s harder than it sounds. Maybe something a bit abstract, like capturing the movement of water or the fragility of time."

There was a pause before a reply came through. The thoughtfulness behind the response always struck her. It made her feel... seen.

ArtLover23: "I’d love to see something like that. I think you’d capture the essence perfectly. It’s like you’ve already told a story with every piece."

Y/N typed back quickly, the connection sparking a little bit of excitement inside her.

Y/N: "I’m not sure if I’m that good, but I’m glad you think so."

The message she received back was immediate.

ArtLover23: "I know you are. I can tell by how much care you put into your work. You’re different from the rest."

She bit her lip, a small flush rising to her cheeks. There was something about the sincerity in his words that made her heart flutter—just a little. It wasn’t anything she could place. It was all so... harmless, right?

At least, that’s what she told herself.

---

Jimin leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on his desk as he stared at the screen. His lips curled into a small, calculating smile. It was easy, almost too easy. She was responding just as he’d hoped.

Her art had captivated him from the very first time he’d stumbled across her profile. He’d seen so many works in his life—so many faces, so many bodies—but her sculptures had a raw, delicate vulnerability to them that drew him in. The way she shaped the clay, the way she sculpted with such care—he could see it in the way she moved, the way she placed every finger against the surface. She poured her soul into it.

And now, he was the one she would pour her soul to.

He’d watched her from afar for weeks now. It was almost poetic, really. The quiet girl with the simple life. She had no idea who he was—not really. She had no idea that he could see everything. Every movement. Every glance. Every sigh.

And soon, she wouldn’t be able to turn away.

But for now, he was content to play the part of the faceless admirer. "ArtLover23" was the perfect guise—sweet, supportive, and above all, anonymous. He didn’t need to reveal himself just yet. Not until she had become comfortable with him. Until she was so deep in the web he’d woven that she would never dream of escaping.

---

Days passed, and Y/N found herself looking forward to the messages from ArtLover23 more than she cared to admit. He wasn’t just a fan—he was someone who understood. And for someone like Y/N, who often felt isolated in her little world, it was a relief. She looked forward to his thoughtful words as though they were a lifeline.

But as the weeks went on, small, strange details began to pop up. At first, they were easy to dismiss. A comment about her favorite painting—one she’d mentioned only once, years ago, to a friend. A mention of the small park near her apartment, where she often walked to clear her mind. The way he seemed to know exactly how she liked to spend her Saturdays—long afternoons at the pottery wheel, always listening to the same jazz playlist.

Y/N brushed it off. Coincidence, she told herself. He must just be observant.

But the unease crept in. A whisper in the back of her mind. Was it really coincidence? Or was it something else?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she typed a message to him.

Y/N: "You always seem to know so much about me. It’s a little… weird, don’t you think?"

The reply came quickly, as expected.

ArtLover23: "I told you, I’ve been watching your work for a long time. I think I understand you better than most people."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. It was such an innocent reply, yet something about it unsettled her. She wanted to ask more, to confront him, but she didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she replied with something that felt safer.

Y/N: "Well, I hope you’re not watching me in person too. That’s… that’s a little too much, don’t you think?"

The screen went still. No response. Her fingers tapped nervously on the table as she stared at the message. Then, just as she thought he wouldn’t reply, the response came through.

ArtLover23: "I would never. You’re too beautiful to scare, Y/N. You’re safe with me."

Her pulse quickened as she stared at the screen. There was something about the phrase “you’re safe with me” that struck her wrong, and yet, part of her wanted to believe it. It was a paradox. A tangled mess of fear and comfort.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she closed the laptop with a sharp snap, the weight of the message pressing on her chest like an anchor.

---

Meanwhile, Jimin sat back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips.

He knew he had her. The seed of doubt had been planted. She was already questioning herself, and soon, she’d be begging for answers. But the answers wouldn’t come easily. Not from him.

He leaned forward, fingers brushing over the camera he’d installed in her apartment. It was only a matter of time before he’d get the reward he’d been waiting for. He’d make sure she needed him, and when that moment came, he’d step out of the shadows and claim her completely.

The cool morning air filtered through the bakery's open windows, carrying with it the faint scent of fresh bread and the distant hum of the city. Y/N moved mechanically through her routine—mixing dough, shaping pastries, and setting up for the day. Her hands worked skillfully, but her mind wasn’t entirely present. Lately, there was a gnawing feeling at the back of her mind, a weight that followed her everywhere.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed, breaking her from her thoughts. She picked it up and unlocked the screen, her heart immediately skipping a beat. Another message from ArtLover23.

ArtLover23: "Had a thought about your latest piece. What if the stone wasn’t the medium, but the message? What if you could shape the heart of someone, not the material?"

It was thoughtful. It was weirdly insightful. But as Y/N scanned the message, something about it felt... off. The choice of words felt oddly personal, almost as if he knew her more intimately than he should.

With a sigh, Y/N put her phone down, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. She turned her attention to a new sculpture she was working on—a large, abstract piece that would require hours of careful attention. Yet, even as she worked, her mind kept drifting back to the messages, to the strange sensation that someone was watching her.

---

It started small, almost imperceptible. At first, it was the missing jewelry. A necklace she always wore, one with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon, had gone missing from her bedside table. Then it was the earrings she’d been sure she left in the bathroom. Little things. Tiny pieces of her life, slipping away, as if someone had taken them just to remind her they were close.

The strange events didn’t stop there. She began to notice things in her apartment—subtle, disturbing things. The windows she always double-checked at night were sometimes left ajar. Her bathroom mirror would fog up, even though the shower had never been turned on. And once, in the middle of the night, she swore she felt someone brushing her cheek, their breath hot against her skin. When she sat up, heart pounding, the room was empty.

She thought she was losing her mind. Paranoia was setting in, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed. At night, when she walked home from the bakery, her every step seemed too loud, her heart beating too quickly. She’d glance over her shoulder, but no one was there. Not visibly. But the feeling—it was there.

The final straw came when she received another message from ArtLover23. This one was different. It was a photo, just like before, but this time it was more explicit. The image was blurry at first, but it was clear enough—bare arms covered in tattoos, jewelry glinting in the sunlight, the faint outline of a chest.

No face. Just his tattoos. The same ones she had noticed before, but this time, they were more. The swirls of ink on his forearm. The intricate designs on his fingers. It was unmistakable—this wasn’t just any person. These tattoos were too specific, too unique. She had seen them before.

Her breath caught in her throat. Could it really be?

Y/N: “How do I know these aren’t just random pictures? Who are you, really?”

She didn’t send the message immediately. She sat with her finger poised over the keyboard, the weight of the decision settling on her chest. She wanted to ignore it, to pretend it was just another coincidence. But deep down, she couldn’t. The images felt too personal. Too real.

The response came quickly, far quicker than she’d expected.

ArtLover23: "You’ll know soon enough. I think you’ve already guessed, haven’t you?"

---

The unease became a constant companion. Every time she turned a corner, every time she glanced over her shoulder, it was there. The paranoia crept in, weaving its way into her every thought. It wasn’t just the online messages anymore. It was the feeling of eyes on her wherever she went.

One afternoon, she left the bakery for a quick break, needing to clear her head. The streets were bustling with people, but as she walked along the crowded sidewalk, a sharp chill ran down her spine. There was a figure—just a shadow, standing under a tree near the corner of the street. She couldn’t see their face, but the way they stood, so still, so aware, made her feel like they were waiting for her.

She turned the corner sharply, trying to shake the feeling off, but when she passed by a crowded train station later that day, it happened again. She was walking down the stairs, carrying her bag, when she felt a warm hand brush against her lower back. It wasn’t accidental—this was intentional.

Her heart pounded as she whipped around, but there was no one there. The crowd had shifted, and the person was gone, lost among the others.

A lump formed in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t move.

And then, before she could catch her breath, it happened again. A firm hand pressed against her arm, pulling her against a figure in the crowd. She stumbled for a moment, her breath hitching, and tried to push away, but the hand held her firmly in place.

"Careful," a voice whispered against her ear, muffled by the sounds of the city. She could barely make it out, but the voice was deep, smooth. Familiar. It felt like it was laced with a dangerous amusement.

"Who are you?" she managed to ask, trying to pull away, but the grip was too tight.

He didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, the stranger chuckled softly, his breath warm against her neck.

"You’ll find out soon enough, Y/N. But you already know, don’t you?" His voice was laced with something unsettling, something dark. "I’ve been waiting for this moment."

Before she could ask anything else, he slipped away into the crowd, leaving her trembling on the edge of the busy street. She looked around, but there was no sign of him. It was as if he had melted into the crowd, disappeared completely.

She didn’t know what was worse—the fact that someone had touched her so intimately without her consent, or the fact that she felt a strange thrill in it. Her pulse raced as she fought the contradictory emotions inside her—fear, curiosity, and something darker.

---

Back in his apartment, Jimin sat in the dim light of his room, the shadows of the city stretching across the floor. He had watched her—watched her in the bakery, watched her when she was on the streets, watched her when she was completely unaware.

His fingers tapped on his phone screen as he sent her the latest message. He watched her reaction with a quiet, satisfied smile. The game was close to over, but he wasn’t ready to reveal everything just yet.

He would keep her on edge, keep her craving him, until she couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Y/N could feel it in the air. The tension had been building for days, creeping into her life like a storm that she couldn’t outrun. She could no longer dismiss the feeling that she was being watched—couldn’t ignore the sense that someone was always nearby. It wasn’t just the missing jewelry, the opened windows, or the hand on her back in the crowd. No, it was everything. The gifts that appeared in her apartment when she wasn’t looking, the cryptic texts, the unnerving photos—each piece of the puzzle had been carefully placed, one after the other, until they formed an unmistakable pattern. A pattern she had refused to see until now.

But tonight, everything would change. Tonight, she would find out who had been behind it all.

She walked through the dimly lit streets, her steps quick but unsteady. The bakery was closed for the night, the warm, comforting scent of bread replaced by the sharp, metallic taste of fear in her throat. The closer she got to her apartment, the more her unease grew. She could feel it. Someone was there.

And then, as she approached her building, the familiar pressure of being watched pressed into her chest. She heard the rustle of a coat, the faint shuffle of footsteps behind her. Her breath quickened, her heart pounding in her chest, but she refused to turn around.

She had to face this.

When she reached the door to her apartment, she fumbled with the keys, desperately trying to get inside, but her hands were shaking too much. The sound of footsteps grew louder, closer, and just as she was about to step inside, a hand—warm and firm—pressed against the door, halting her.

“Not yet,” the voice whispered, smooth and dangerously familiar.

Y/N’s heart skipped. Her stomach twisted. It was him.

Before she could react, the door was pushed open, and she was pulled inside, her back slamming against the cool, hard wall. The lights were off, but she didn’t need them to recognize the figure standing before her. She had seen him before—through the photos, in the shadows, in her every waking thought.

Park Jimin.

Her pulse raced as her mind struggled to process the sight before her. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

Jimin’s eyes glinted in the darkness, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re surprised,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “You really didn’t know?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as the realization crashed over her like a wave. “You… you’re him?” she choked out, her voice trembling with disbelief. "You're the one—you have been stalking me? All this time?”

Jimin didn’t answer at first. He simply stepped closer, his presence looming over her like a dark cloud. His eyes never left hers, watching, studying her with a calm intensity that made her feel exposed—vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt before.

“Did you think it was just some random stranger?” His voice was almost playful now, as if he were enjoying her confusion. “Did you think this was all just a coincidence?”

Y/N’s mind raced, her thoughts a blur. She wanted to push him away, to scream at him for everything he had done, but her body betrayed her. She stood frozen, unable to move. Her hands were clenched into fists, but they hung limply at her sides.

Jimin reached out, gently cupping her face in his hand. She flinched at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. “You were never just a random person to me,” he continued, his voice dripping with something dark, something possessive. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. I had to have you.”

The words hung in the air between them, suffocating. She recoiled from his touch, her pulse racing as the anger surged within her. “Why? Why me?” Her voice cracked with disbelief, but there was an edge of something else beneath it—fear. “Why would you do this to me? All of it… the stalking, the messages, the pictures—am I just some game to you? An object for your twisted obsession?”

Jimin didn’t flinch. He only smiled, the expression almost affectionate. “No. You’re not a game.” His fingers traced the line of her jaw, his touch light but insistent. “You’re everything to me. You always have been.”

“Everything?” Her voice rose, her fury igniting. “Everything?!” Her hands clenched, her chest tightening with rage. “You’ve been stalking me, invading my life, and you’re obsessed with me? How the hell could I be ‘everything’ to you?”

Jimin’s smile never wavered. He took a step back, his gaze never leaving hers, and for a moment, he was silent. The weight of his words pressed down on her as the room seemed to shrink. The quiet tension between them was palpable.

“You don’t understand, do you?” Jimin’s voice was softer now, almost pensive, as though he were explaining something delicate, something necessary. “It’s not about control. Not about owning you. It’s about needing you. You don’t belong to me, Y/N.” He took another step forward, his eyes narrowing. “But I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Her breath came in quick bursts, and she wanted to push him away, to run. But part of her—something dark and dangerous inside—wanted to hear more. It sickened her, but the curiosity was there, burrowing under her skin.

“No, you’re wrong,” she spat, her voice trembling with both fury and confusion. “You can’t just take someone, not like this. It’s sick! You’re sick! How could you think I would ever want this—this madness?”

Jimin stepped closer again, and this time she didn’t pull away. He raised his hand and gently brushed his thumb against her lower lip, his eyes searching her face as if he were studying her very soul.

“You want it, Y/N,” he said softly, his words almost a whisper, like a confession. “You want this. You feel it too. That’s why you keep coming back. That’s why you didn’t run.”

Y/N froze, the words ringing in her ears. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her heart hammered in her chest. “No…” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “No, I don’t.”

��Don’t lie to me,” Jimin replied, his voice sharp now, confident. “You do want me. You wanted this from the moment you noticed me, didn’t you?”

Her eyes filled with anger, but there was something else there too—a glimmer of truth, something she didn’t want to face. She felt the pull, the sick fascination, the twisted part of her that couldn’t deny the thrill of it all. Of him.

She stepped back, trying to gather her thoughts. “I hate you,” she spat, the words laced with venom. “I hate everything about this.”

Jimin simply smiled, stepping even closer now, until his body was almost pressed against hers. “You’ll learn to love me. You’ll need me. And when you do, you’ll realize how foolish you were to resist.” His lips brushed against her ear, and he whispered, “You’ve always been mine, Y/N. I just needed you to see it.”

---

The room felt heavy, suffocating with their emotions. Y/N’s heart raced, her body trembling with a combination of rage and something darker, something that disgusted her even more because she couldn’t deny it—there was a part of her that wanted him. The power he had over her, the way he twisted her thoughts, it scared her, but it also made her feel alive in a way she didn’t want to admit.

As Jimin watched her, his expression unreadable, she realized something. She could hate him all she wanted. She could push him away, scream at him, but it didn’t matter.

He was already inside her. The damage was done.

The tension between Y/N and Jimin had reached a fever pitch, each moment a precarious balance of power, manipulation, and twisted desire.

Every move she made, every breath she took, seemed to be under his watchful eye, but the strangest part was how he always knew how to stay one step ahead. It was like a game-one where she was both the prey and the willing player, her instincts torn between fighting back and giving in.

He had warned her. She had ignored him.

The night she went out with another customer- an innocent enough date, or so she thought-had been the line she crossed. His texts were brief, cold, threatening: "I warned you about consequences, Y/N. Don't make me teach you a lesson."

She should've listened. She knew better. But her anger, her stubbornness, her need to prove something-it made her reckless. The man on the date had been charming, attentive, everything Jimin wasn't. And for a moment, as she laughed at his jokes and enjoyed the normalcy of it all, she had almost forgotten about Jimin and his suffocating grip on her life. But the moment she stepped through the door to her apartment, that illusion shattered.

Jimin was waiting for her, his posture relaxed but his eyes dark, calculating. The air was thick with anticipation, the quiet hum of power pulsing between them like electricity.

"You thought I wouldn't notice?" His voice was deceptively calm, but there was an underlying edge that made her spine stiffen. "You really thought you could go out with another man and not face the consequences?"

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the words got stuck in her throat. She had pushed him too far. She knew it, and deep down, she regretted it.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but the words got stuck in her throat. She had pushed him too far. She knew it, and deep down, she regretted it.

His eyes narrowed, and without another word, he motioned for her to come closer. "Get over here," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Her feet moved instinctively, but her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and something darker-something dangerous. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scream at him, to shove him away and tell him she didn't need this, but deep down, she understood that this was his world. She was just a pawn in it, and he held all the power.

As she stood before him, her defiance rising, Jimin didn't give her a chance to argue. With one swift movement, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down across his lap. She gasped, her body tense with shock, her hands bracing against his leg to steady herself.

"I warned you," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing the curve of her hips before his hand came down hard across her bottom.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, a mix of pain and shock rippling through her. She tried to squirm away, but Jimin's grip was unyielding, his fingers digging into her sides. Another smack landed on her other cheek, and she gasped again, the sting sending a shiver down her spine.

"Still think this is a game, Y/N?" he asked, his voice low and filled with an eerie calmness that made her blood run cold.

She glared at him, her face flushed with a mix of humiliation and rage. "You're sick," she spat, but the words felt weak, impotent.

He didn't flinch. Instead, he smirked, the amusement in his eyes cutting through her like a blade. "You wanted this, didn't you? You pushed me, and now you're here. Don't pretend you're not enjoying it." Another slap, and she winced, the stinging sensation making her flinch.

Tears welled in her eyes, her chest heaving with the rawness of the moment. Her body trembled from the sting of his strikes, but it wasn't just physical. It was the betrayal-the realization that she had given him control once again.

She should have fought harder. She should have run.

But here she was, in his lap, tears blurring her vision, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The anger, the humiliation, the desire-it all tangled together in a twisted knot that she couldn't undo.

Jimin's hand gently stroked her back, as if he were soothing her, and it only made her more furious. "Shh, it's okay. You know I'm doing this for your own good, right? You need to be taught a lesson. You need to learn that you can't just go around doing whatever you want."

The punishment had been excruciating. The sting still burned in her bottom, a reminder of her defiance and his dominance. She sat on the edge of her bed, her chest heaving with the aftermath of Jimin's touch and the power he had over her. But instead of the quiet moment of reflection she’d expected, the anger inside her surged, bubbling up like a volcano ready to explode.

"You're sick!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "You think you're some god, some... some king who can control every single part of me?" Her hands trembled with rage as she pulled at her hair, pacing around the room. "I hate you! I hate how you watch me, how you manipulate me, how you—"

Her breath hitched, and the words came out faster, more venomous. "You're nothing but a coward, hiding behind your games, your little tricks. I don’t need you!"

She turned to face the bed, her eyes blazing with fury. "You don’t get to decide who I am! You don’t get to control me, Jimin!"

But even as she screamed, even as her mind raced with all the things she wanted to hurl at him, she knew he wasn’t there. He was gone.

Or was he?

Her hands went to her phone—her constant tether to him, to the man who’d been watching her every move—and unlocked it. She opened the messages he’d sent her, rereading the cold, calculated words. The threat in each message. The subtle pull he had on her. And yet, there was nothing. No message. No sign of him.

Nothing.

A sick, twisted part of her—part of her that she had come to hate—waited for the ping of a new message, a new sign that he was still watching. That he was still there. But the silence grew more oppressive.

Was he really gone?

Y/N stood up abruptly, her blood boiling. She couldn’t stand it. The silence. The absence.

Her fists clenched at her sides as she stormed out of her room, her steps echoing through the apartment. She went straight to the drawers, rifling through them with a sense of desperation. Where were they? The cameras. The ones she had always known were there, hidden, watching.

She tore apart the living room, throwing cushions, upturning furniture, desperate to find something—anything—that would confirm he was still here, still controlling her. Her heart pounded in her chest as she ripped through the place. The more she searched, the angrier she became. Each empty space, each hidden corner felt like a taunt.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she found a small, hidden device in the corner of the living room, partially obscured behind a bookshelf. She grabbed it, holding it up like a weapon.

She was panting now, her body trembling from the rage that had overtaken her.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she hissed, glaring at the camera. “You think you’re so damn obsessed with me. You think I can’t see through your games.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, raw from the emotions tearing her apart.

Her fingers were shaking as she typed out a message to him, but her anger was so palpable that her hands could barely hold the phone steady. "If you’re so obsessed with me, Jimin, then come out. Face me. Take me. I’m done with this game, I’m done with hiding. If you’re watching me, come and take me, because I can’t do this anymore."

She threw the phone on the couch with a frustrated scream, her breath heavy as she stared at the empty space around her. The silence felt deafening now, unbearable.

Where was he?

The room felt colder, the absence of his presence almost suffocating. But as she turned around, a shadow in the corner of the room caught her eye. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped forward, her heart racing in her chest.

And there he was.

Jimin, standing in the doorway, watching her with an unreadable expression. He was silent, his gaze steady and calm, almost as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of anger, frustration, and something else—something darker—raging inside her. Her fists clenched at her sides.

“You were watching,” she spat, her voice trembling with the force of her fury. “You were always watching.”

Jimin’s lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. “I’m always watching, Y/N. And you know that.”

He took a slow step forward, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he closed the distance between them. He was calm, collected, but the way he looked at her made her feel like prey.

“You didn’t have to search, you know,” he said quietly. “You already knew I was here. You wanted me to come.”

Her heart raced faster. The realization hit her harder than she expected—he knew. He always knew what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

“You’re sick,” she whispered, but this time, her voice was softer. There was no fight left in her.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Am I? Or are you just as twisted as I am?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The silence between them now held all the weight of the truth.

The silence in the apartment had thickened after Y/N's words, her confession hanging heavily between them. But Jimin wasn't fazed by her fury. He was calm, too calm, and that only made Y/N's pulse race faster, her breath hitching in her throat.

She hadn't expected him to stand there. Hadn't expected him to just... wait. It infuriated her even more.

"You think you can just walk in here, and everything will be fine?" Her voice was barely more than a growl, but the edge in it was clear.

"You think after all of this, I'll just let you have me?"

Jimin stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as if he enjoyed watching her struggle against the growing pull between them. His eyes never left hers, the heat in them unmistakable.

"You already know the answer to that," he said quietly, his voice low, as though they were the only two people in the world. "You've always known it."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. The distance between them was so small now, yet it felt like an eternity. She wanted to push him away, to scream at him, but every inch of her body craved him. The tension between them was unbearable, a raw need that neither of them could deny.

Jimin reached for her, his fingers grazing the side of her face, soft yet possessive. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she swallowed, trying to control the emotions threatening to overtake her.

"Why do you think you're here?" he asked, his lips brushing her ear as his hand slid down her neck. "Because you wanted this. You wanted me to make you mine."

Y/N's body responded against her will, her skin flushing, her breath quickening. She hated how much she wanted this, how much she needed him. But she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to feel everything-wanted him to prove that he could make her forget all the anger, all the hate.

Jimin's hands moved lower, pushing her clothes aside with practiced ease. There was no hesitation, no mercy in his touch. He wasn't going to let her run. Not now. Not ever again.

With a swift motion, he pressed her against the wall, his lips crashing into hers, silencing the words, the anger, everything between them. His kiss was hard, demanding, a physical manifestation of everything he'd built up in the silence, in the stalking, in the control. His mouth claimed hers as though he had every right to do so, and the fierceness in his kiss made her knees weak.

Y/N struggled to breathe as his hands roamed her body, touching her in ways that made her tremble. She tried to push him back, to pull away, but he wasn't having it. He pinned her there, his body pressing against hers with a possessiveness that left no room for escape.

"You're mine," Jimin whispered against her lips, his breath hot and heavy. "You always have been."

His hands slid down her body, caressing her skin with an almost reverent touch, as if he were marking her. His lips followed the trail of his hands, kissing down her neck, nipping at her sensitive skin. The more he touched her, the more she felt herself slipping-slipping into something darker, something she wasn't sure she could control anymore.

"Jimin-" Y/N gasped, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desire.

"You don't get to say my name like that," he growled, his tone filled with a possessiveness that made her stomach tighten. "Not unless you're ready to be mine. Completely."

She wanted to say no. Wanted to scream, push him away, and tell him she didn't need him. But when his lips found her collarbone, when he kissed the skin beneath her ear, she melted. She couldn't fight it. Not anymore.

He pulled her closer, lifting her easily as if she were nothing, and carried her to the bed. Every movement, every touch, was calculated. Every inch of her skin he touched, every time he kissed her, it was a claim. A claim on her body, on her heart, on her soul.

Y/N's hands trembled as they touched his chest, tracing the tattoos she had seen in those secret, faceless photos. His body, the ink, the jewelry- all of it. It was him. And in that moment, she realized she could never escape him. Not now. Not when he made her feel like this.

She reached for him, desperate, and pulled him down on top of her, her legs wrapping around his waist. Jimin groaned against her mouth, the sound of it sending shivers down her spine.

"You're mine now," he whispered again, more urgently this time, as if reminding her of something they both knew deep down.

Her pulse raced as he lowered his lips to her neck, kissing the soft skin there, marking it with the same possessiveness that filled his voice. His hands were everywhere, claiming her as his, branding her with every touch. She could feel the heat between them, the intensity of the moment, and there was no going back now.

As Jimin moved over her, taking control in a way that both terrified and thrilled her, she finally let go. All the anger, all the frustration-everything melted away. There was only him, only this moment, and she couldn't deny that it was everything she had been craving.

In his arms, in his touch, she finally understood.

She had always been his

And now, he was making sure she never forgot it.

He pinned her hands above her head as his free hand reached behind her back to unbuckled her bra. He leaned down to kiss her breasts and suck on her nipples “Fuck you taste so fuckin' good baby, just how I imagined” she whimpered as he bit down on it and moved lower and lower, palming her through her shorts.

He slowly pulled her shorts down with his teeth while making eye contact with her, she almost let out a moan at how hot he looked. He pressed his mouth on her clothed cunt, pressing his tongue on her before pulling it down as well.

She was beautiful, and so fuckin' wet— he couldn't help but dip one of his finger inside her, drawing out a whimper from her, “you've been fantasizing about these fingers for a while, haven't you baby? I've seen you use that weak little vibrator on yourself” she blushed, throwing a hand on her eyes to try to shield herself from the embarrassment.

He pinched her clit, receiving a surprised yelp from her— god she would be the death of him the way her pretty little eyes threw him a glare almost made him cum right there in his pants, he doubled down spanking her clit, it hurt so good it was enough to make her moan out his name and make her eyes roll back.

He smirked “I want your eyes on me princess, you've already been so bad…don't make me punish you twice. Have I made myself clear, doll?” She bit her lip and rested her hand on her side.

He spanks her thighs, “use your mouth pretty” he smirked as she let out a firm yes.

He bent down to flatten his tongue against her— fuck she tasted so fucking sweet, he moaned against her as he pushed two digits inside her sopping cunt, she gasped “hnngh hurts jimin…” he scoffed “if you're hurting with just my fingers how do you plan on taking my cock doll?”

She let out a pathetic whimper and he sighed “don't worry, I'll take good care of my princess. My pretty girls never been fucked, has she?” She shook her head, earning another harsh slap on her clit, “no..” she replied, her lips forming into a pout. Jimin snickered and picked up his pace, bending down to suck and lick on her clit.

He kissed her folds and clit, moaning and praising her. Her head was spinning from the overwhelming pleasure Jimin was providing. It felt so good.

He continued his ministration until she came all over his tongue, letting out an almost guttural moan of his name.

Jimin hummed and sneaked his hands underneath her, pinching her ass cheeks before flipping her over. She heard a muffle sound of belt unbuckling and his pants falling.

Jimin stroked his cock slowly, rubbing it between her folds making her gasp. She peeked over her shoulder trying to get a glimpse of him and the sight alone was enough to make her cum. He looked so fuckin' delicious— his tip a pretty berry coloured and he was sooo deliciously thick her mouth watered at the thought of having him inside her. Jimin noticed her expression and chuckled, rubbing it against her clit, drawing out a small whimper “pretty girl likes my cock hmm? Don't worry baby, a few more minutes and I'll have you bouncing dumb on it”, he pats her head, giggling when he sees her blush.

Jimin grabbed a handful of her ass, fondling it. He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy “your pretty little ass is still so red from the punishment earlier princess. Tell me, did you secretly enjoy it, doll?” she blushed, hiding her face and he kissed his teeth and reached down, sliding his hand up her head and grabbing her hair before pulling her up against him. She let out a startled moan as he pulled her flush against him “ I asked a question princess. Did you secretly enjoy your punishment earlier?” He asked lining himself against her “y-yes…I-I did Jimin” he slowly pushed him tip in, making her eyes roll back as she shook her head “n-no please not…not like this…I wanna..h-hold you please” she begged looking back at him and he hummed kissing her neck and pulled out.

He knew this was her first time and as much as he wanted to pile drive her into oblivion through the back, he wanted to make sure she's comfortable and felt good for the first round. He laid her down comfortably and got on top of her, “is this better my pretty girl?” she nods, and pulls him closer, circling her arms around his neck pulling him close and hiding her face in his shoulder. Jimin kissed her neck before reaching down to rub himself against her, “look at that princess…fuck your cunts so fucking tiny…how's my cock supposed to fucking fit in hmm?” He mused, chuckling to himself.

“It'll fit” she moaned, her chest heaving.

“Is that right princess?” He bit her cheeks, kissing her to distract her from the burn as he pushed himself inside her in one swift motion. She moaned, whining into his mouth. He sucked on her tongue, making her eyes roll back as she rubbed her clit.

He kissed her, squeezing her nipples teasingly. He gave her some time to adjust before pulling out. He was hitting each and every spot inside her. So fucking thick— her eyes rolled back as she clutched on jimins back, scratching it in process as he slowly started thrusting in and out of her.

He slowly picked up his pace. Her eyes rolled back as he started rubbing against her G- spot. Her legs clamped shut around his waist, pulling him unbelievably close to her. “God—fuck princess, don't wrap your legs around me like that if you don't want me to fuck a baby inside your sweet cunt” he moaned, his eyes wandering over her face as it contorts in pleasure.

She looked so pretty as he bounced her dumb on his cock, the only thing leaving her mouth was the moans of his name. She said it like a prayer. He loved it. He had been dreaming about it for the longest time. He kissed her, flicking her tongue with his own as he pounded against her sweet spot.

He felt her throbbing around him, his own cock twitched at the sensation. She clenched around him so tight his vision went blank.

She felt a sharp spank land on her ass “fuck— princess, shit— loosen up! cmon doll, or I'll end up blowing my load inside your pretty little cunt”

Jimin moaned “fuck— that's right baby, cream around my cock, fuckfuckfuck you're clenching so hard—ahn, fuck that's right milk my cock for all it's worth, attagirl” as he fucked her through her orgasm.

“Inside, please…do it …I'm so..so close jimin—fuck, you're…you're so thick” she moaned arching her back against him.

Jimin groaned as he continued thrusting inside her, his hips snapping against her harder and faster. He pulled her In an open mouthed kiss, sucking on her tongue, flicking it and reaching his hand down, rubbing her clit.

Her legs started shaking and her vision went black, as she clenched around him and came all over him.

He pinned her hands above her and started chasing his own high as he came deep inside her. The sensation of him cumming inside her was so fucking addicted, she found herself beggin for more. Wanting him to cum inside her over and over again as he fucked her dumb on her mattress all night long.

[httpiastri]

snowy mountains & hot baths – op81

you, oscar, and an empty spa can only lead to one thing.

genre: very short smut 😶

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: uhhh public sex.... unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it yall!!

author's note: happy valentines day :) wish i had oscar here to celebrate with me... anyway. idk about this one guys 🫠🫠 started out alright but then i hated half of it so i deleted it and rewrote it but it just got worse. and i know that if i don't just post it rn, i will likely procrastinate and never end up posting it at all. yay. hope u enjoy anyway! i also have another oscar fic done that's at least a bit better than this lol.

f1 masterlist

18+ content below, minors do not interact!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

a low groan leaves oscar's lips when he dips his feet in the warm water. he instantly turns around, eyes finding you standing by the door you've just walked through to get to this outdoor area of the spa. he holds his hand out towards you, beckoning for you to step closer.

"it feels so good," he promises, gaze following your every move as you let your robe slide down your arms. his eyes widen when you reveal your newly bought bikini – papaya orange, of course – and a shudder passes through his body at the sight of the tiny material trying it's best to cover you up.

he thanks all the gods he can think of that there's no one else around.

goosebumps grow across your skin now that you're exposed to the sub-zero temperatures, toes curling in the short layer of snow on the deck. you stroll over to him, making sure to let your hips sway a little extra with every step because you know he's watching and you know what he's thinking. the sight of him gulping as his eyes wander up and down your body can only mean one thing.

taking his hand in yours, you let him pull you into the water with him, letting out a content sound when the water envelops your legs and brings the temperature of your body up again. oscar gives your hand a squeeze and leans back, his back hitting the water as he submerged into it. you dive in right after him, making a few strokes beneath the surface before coming up for air again. your hands come up to wipe away the water from your face, before brushing over your hair and tying it up in a messy bun on top of your head.

"this is just what i needed," your boyfriend says, drawing out an agreeing hum from you. it's been a long day – a long week, really – filled to the brim with skiing, hot chocolate drinking, skiing, cable car-rides, and then more skiing. oscar doesn't usually get a lot of time off work, and when he does, he wants to make the most of it. and as his partner, he thinks you should be doing the same, and that's why he's woken you up in the early hours every morning this last week, practically bouncing from how much he aches to go out in the swiss alps yet again.

the hot tub is big enough to swim around in, but oscar makes his way to the side and sits down on the built-in seat, arms stretching out and resting on the edge of the pool. you swim over to him, easily slipping onto his lap and letting your hands rest on his shoulders. oscar tenses up when you sit on him, and you're not surprised by the length already poking up at you – he's just a man, after all – but you decide not to do anything to acknowledge it just yet.

"it's really beautiful here, don't you think?" you ask, looking to your side. the sun has only just set, so the little village isn't completely dark yet. the moon above your heads casts a soft hue over the mountains you've spent all week conquering, stars twinkling among the tops.

"not as beautiful as you, though." there's barely any lightning out here other than the little candles scattered across the floor, but you see the fire in oscar's gaze clearly when you look back at him. he's staring at you like you're the most perfect work of art, the most beautiful thing to ever exist – and your expression matches his, because he truly is your favorite thing to look at in the world. your heart flutters at the contrast between how cute he looks with a few locks of his long fringe curling along his forehead, and how incredibly sexy his body looks with the little droplets of water decorating his muscular chest. he's just stunning.

"you really did a great job with planning and booking all of this, you know," you start. "i may have complained quite a bit when you dragged me out of bed at six am, but... it's all been perfect."

your hands find the space just below his jaw, and it takes all of your strength not to blatantly stare at his thick neck when you feel the muscles under your touch.

"well, perfect except for the fact that my legs are so sore right now."

oscar chuckles at this confession, hands leaving the edge of the pool and dipping into the water instead. "let me help you out with that, then..."

a jolt of electricity shoots down your spine when his palms meet your bare thighs, fingers pressing into the skin and stroking you softly. your eyes flutter closed, loving every second of his massage and growing hotter when his hands make their way further and further up. it doesn't take long before oscar can't hold back anymore, reaching up to press his lips against yours.

you sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself further towards him, your crotch brushing against his as a result. the moan he lets out is so hot that you instinctively begin grinding down against him, wanting to hear more.

oscar gets the hint, but finds himself reaching for your shoulders, holding you back as he leans out of the kiss. your lips chase after him, a frown taking over your face when he doesn't give in. you open your eyes to look at him.

"are you sure... that you want to..." oscar's voice is low but genuine; he knows you aren't a fan of exhibitionism, and that these situations usually only make you uncomfortable.

but the look in your eyes is impossible to misinterpret. "there's no one around..."

he looks around the area once more just to make sure. choosing to go to the spa at 8pm, the exact time when the restaurant at the hotel was the most crowded, was oscar's best idea yet.

he doesn't say anything else. he just grabs the back of your neck, pushing you down to his lips yet again. it's more rushed now, messy kisses pressed against your lips and his tongue swiping across your bottom lip hastily. his other hand caresses all the way down your back, gives your butt a quick squeeze, and then moves to your front instead. his fingers trace the edge of your bikini before dipping inside of it, finding your clit with ease.

your upper body is completely leaning onto him by now, little sounds slipping past your lips as he starts drawing circles onto your already sensitive bud. in no time, he's slipped past your clit, one finger sliding into your core and pumping you a couple of times before being joined by another finger. you can't help but clench around him, exhaling into the kiss.

"please, oscar..." you whine against his lips, and oscar nods, pulling out of you and breaking the kiss. he holds your hips away a little to make space for his hand undoing the knot that holds up his swim trunks, before pulling his dick out of them. he lifts you up, fingers pushing your bikini bottoms to the side but pausing when his tip meets your core. he waits for your nod of consent before finally entering you.

the water helps him glide into you, a throaty moan rumbling from his throat when he bottoms you out. he doesn't give you even a second to adjust, hands on your hips pulling you up before sinking you onto him again.

"fuck," he lets out, throwing his head back when you start to roll your hips against his. "you feel so good..."

you lean forward, forehead resting on the bend of his neck as you bounce up and down on him. your hands move to the back of his head, fingers getting lost in his locks, and it doesn't take long before your movements get sloppier. you gasp when oscar begins thrusting up into you, meeting your downward movements in a steady rhythm.

his grip on your hips grows firmer, rough fingers pressing into your skin and surely leaving marks for tomorrow. he's getting closer, too – you can tell by the string of moans he's letting out in between a bunch of swearwords – and you use your last bit of energy to pick up your pace and help him out. your walls contract around him when you come, and you feel him reach his own high not long after, twitching and shooting into you as you ride out your orgasms.

his hands are more gentle now, brushing up and down your back and following the bumps of your spine. when you finally gain the energy to speak, your words vibrate against his skin. "well, we're never coming back to this spa again." you lean back slightly, looking up at him for the first time in a while. "or the town, for that matter."

his blissed-out eyes meet yours, soft and glossy as he raises his eyebrows. "why's that?"

his flushed cheeks make him look so innocent, but his heaving chest tells another story. "did you not see the cameras?" you question.

"oh, you think we're the first ones to do this here?" you gasp at his wording, splashing some water his way. he laughs. "what, do you really? i reckon this happens here at least once every day. maybe even more."

"oscar!"

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

[wrystia]

push and shove spencer agnew x fem!reader (meet ugly) wc: 745

   you prop the office's back door open with your foot, carrying two carriers worth of drinks in your hands. they're filled to the brim, different coffee orders filling each and every one. stepping into the office, you look around, trying to find your way to the art department. erin had shown you around once after your final interview, only giving you a few chances to meet some of the talent and backstage workers.

  passing through the props department, you cautiously watch your step, anxious to find your people. no one had requested you bring coffees in, but for your first day, you couldn't resist the urge. wires cross the walkway in a couple spots and tables are pushed askew. noticing a few people standing outside of the art department, you bite your lip, knowing that part of this job will be communicating with others.

  "hi- uh hello. i was shown the art department last week after my interview but i can't remember my way around... could any of you point me to it?" you attempt to hold a hand out to shake their's, but the coffees don't seem to want to budge.

  "right, y/n wasn't it? i don't know if you remember but i'm shayne and the art department is down the hall and your first right. it's right near the game room, if that happens to help," the man gives you a warm smile, quickly turning his head towards the location, "and erin can help you from there."

  nodding your head, you quickly thank him, nerves already causing you to feel jittery. your hands shake beneath the pressure and as you walk away, you can feel the uncertainty in your steps. a few people standing off to the side give you an odd look. you're sure you hadn't met them the previous week but also you learned so much about the company, it was hard to keep it all in.

  passing by what looks like a kitchen, you notice the personal touches that comes with everything. it's unique, a trait your old job couldn't have contained even if it tried. smiling to yourself, you find the narrow hallway shayne had mentioned. walking up to an open area to your right, you see erin standing behind one of the other art department employees. she looks up and waves, "y/n, you're here! and with a few treats it seems..."

  "yeah i-"

  you couldn't even finish your sentence or move one foot into the room before someone barrels into you. pressing hard into the side of your body, you push against a wall, cups tumbling from your arms. coffee and matcha covers your clothes and the floor surrounding you. sitting in it, you keep your eyes closed for a second, hoping that if you can't see the damage, it means it isn't real.

  however, you don't have much a chance when someone starts asking if you're okay. opening your eyes, you look up at your accidental assailant and see one of your coworkers standing there with coffee covering his side as well. "uh, yeah, i think i'm okay... god this is such a mess though," you grab ahold of his outstretched hand, pulling you up, "what happened? i feel like a girl standing with two trays of coffees would have been pretty obvious."

  "right, yeah, i was looking the other direction and…”

  "really? i feel like in a place like this with the props and everything that you should look where you're walking. for reasons such as this," you narrow your eyes, lips slightly parted into an upset frown.

  the man furrows his eyebrows, letting go of your hand and bringing his to his side. “well usually yeah, i do. sorry about-”

  “y/n, how about we get you a change of clothes and maybe some reimbursement for the coffee or something. sorry, they’re not usually in the business of running into others unless it’s on set,” erin walks over to you, careful to step over the puddle and grab a towel, “spencer would you mind getting someone to clean this up?”

  “yeah i can, apologies again,” he tries to call out for you as you walk off with erin.

  your head swivels backwards, looking back towards him grabbing a mop and a bucket. there’s something about him that annoys you, but also intrigues you to no end. you turn back around, feeling your heartbeat quicken and your mind wandering with thoughts of the future.

[shoyoist]

ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐒 + 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 !!

content: gn!reader. sfw — fluff. slightly suggestive in shidou's part. featuring: bachira meguru, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, michael kaiser. some of these hcs were suggested to me by other tumblr users! they are credited separately under each part<3

— . ｡˚ ♡ he thinks of these special moments whenever he's feeling down, and it helps him get right back up.

° 𐐒𐐚 . bachira meguru + painting date!

credit to @katasstrophy for the idea! the bachira family has a little art studio built in their house, owned by bachira's mom. he takes you there one time, and though you'd been doing your best to keep things clean for his mother's sake, the two of you end up making a huge mess.

you're intently dabbing brown and yellow paint on your little canvas, looking back at the mental image you've conjured of your boyfriend sitting in a field of flowers and smiling at you, when you hear shuffling behind you.

"baby, baby," is all bachira says in warning. "look this way!" and you turn around, wide-eyed and inquiring as you finally look away from the canvas on which you've been meticulously painting a picture of your rogueishly adorable boyfriend—

only to be met with a splat of bright pink paint across your face. "m—meguru? what the hell?" it's on your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth that had been open in question to bachira's urgent request for you to turn around, and it's nearly in your eye. "god i could've eaten that shit!"

the sound of bachira's unapologetic giggling fills the quiet studio as you get up and pluck a wad of tissues from the box on the table nearby, wiping your face off with it. while your back is turned, he flicks his paint-sopped brush at you again, and you feel the paint hit the back of your neck. "don't do that!"

you stand up straight and turn your back to your easel, squaring your shoulders and doing your best to protect the painting.

"it's—" bachira's laughing so hard now, he snorts in between his words. "it's even worse now, baby — it's all over your face!" and you know that. because you can feel the paint smear down to your chin as you wipe. oh, you think, he's so fucking cute right now, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkly as he giggles.

but that's not going to stop you from retaliating. meguru, you're about to get it.

his mother chewed him out and made him clean the place up afterwards, but bachira would do it again and again and again, just to see your pretty smile and hear your pretty laugh, your eyes lit up as you tried to stay angry with him while the two of you made a mess of yourselves and the studio once more.

° 𐐒𐐚 . hyoma chigiri + poetry analysis date!

credit to @yakshasslut for the idea! chigiri gives you a book of his favourite love poems to read while he's away, and by the time he comes back home, you're brimming with tender feelings for him and he flusters so sweetly when you express it. ever since, it's been a tradition to share and mull over novels and poems together.

not many of chigiri's friends or teammates are well-versed in poetry or literature in general, but there is one novel of prose that each and every one of them can name and recognize within an instant — and it's a book that you gave your boyfriend as a gift, years ago.

it doesn't have much of you in it — it's a collection of poems that express the joys and pains of long distance love, and the only hint of you in it is the lipstick kiss on the front page, with a "for hyoma, my one and only<3" written on it in your handwriting.

he takes it everywhere. flicks through the pages while he's on the plane, while he's resting in his hotel room, and sometimes even takes it with him to games.

he takes so much care to keep it safe and in good condition, but it's quite worn now— he can't bring himself to shelf it, though. it's his most prized posession, almost.

he reads it and keeps in mind that while he's away, you're reading the new book that he had gifted you before he left, and he smiles to himself, imagining how you underline and draw hearts around your favourite lines and write little pencil notes about how "this is you @ me!"

don't get it wrong, chigiri loves being on the field. he loves the glamour, the adrenaline, the fire of scoring a goal — but at his heart, he's soft. domestic.

he hopes fondly for the day he'll get to lay in bed with you again (he's only going to be away for two weeks. but it feels like two months, or even years, sometimes) and have a cozy little date where you just sip on warm coffee and share sweet cakes while mulling over poems together.

it's comforting. it's home.

he thinks about the worn book of poems that sits on your shelf, back at your place. the one he gave you.

the one you read all the time, leaving new annotations bookmarked for him to find each time he picks the book up for a read.

if he ever actually tired of football, chigiri thinks he might just become a poet. for you.

° 𐐒𐐚 . mikage reo + picnic date at the beach!

credit to anonymous! reo is a rich man, and he's so used to fancy dinner dates, luxury trips, first class service, all that. so when you take him on a cute little beach date, getting him to help you cut sandwiches and bake brownies and cookies earlier in the day, it was a new experience for him. and he loves it.

“reo, what about here?” you ask, turning around to look at him as you hop in your cute little sandals on the sand. he's carrying the picnic basket and you have the blanket folded under your arms — and he's been following you across the pretty beach for about fifteen minutes now.

though you ask him if he likes the spot, he knows from the look in your eyes that you actually like this place, and it's nice! the sand is soft and there's not a lot of rocks or seaweed under foot, the shore is a short walk away, and the sunset spills so pretty onto your skin and into your eyes.

he's almost lost in the sight — but when you call his name again, sounding a little concerned as you ask, “reo? you okay?” he snaps out of it and gives you one of his signature, wide and adorable grins. “yeah! here is fine, baby.”

he doesn't know but even his eyes are lit up, the violet of them beautiful and tinted gold in the light of the setting sun, and you can't help but cup his face and kiss him as he puts the basket down and sits on the blanket beside you.

“isn't this fun?” you giggle against his lips, and he hums in agreement, taking your waist in his hands and pulling you in for another kiss. the evening has just started, but he already knows that he'll remember this moment fondly, forever. “mhm, it is fun.”

“you sure?” you ask, tracing his cheek with your thumb, and it's almost a softer, warmer feeling than that of the sun kissing his face. “it's not your usual scene, i know. we can always go to a—”

”no,” reo cuts you off, taking your hand. the smile he gives you is prettier, brighter than any he's ever given you before. it takes your breath away. “it's not my usual scene, yeah.” he chuckles. “in fact, i've never had a picnic on the beach in my life until now. but it's... nice. i love it.”

he says it so softly, and it's rare, coming from your bubbly, bright and ever-so-forward lover. and that's how you know he's telling you the truth.

“alright then.” you kiss his cheek, pulling away and sitting back, dragging the basket closer so you can take the food out. it's just a little kiss, the same as any other kiss you've given his cheek — but somehow, it holds a different sort of warmth, and it comforts him. makes him feel so softly, gently beloved.

and he swears he'll hold this warmth to his cheek, to his chest, to his heart — forever.

° 𐐒𐐚 . michael kaiser + homemade spa date!

credit to anonymous! off days with kaiser are the nicest spent indoors. you go on outdoor dates (and on dates overseas) so often, that it's a nice change to stay at home once in a while and spend some sweet, domestic time with him instead.

“mikka,” your tone is scolding as you cradle his face in your palms, stopping him from wiggling around as you try to stay balanced in his lap. “can you stop moving? the serum is getting in your hair!”

kaiser laughs, the lift of his lips making him look all the more prettier, and hence all the more fucking distracting, as you try to wipe the residual bits of the face mask you'd just peeled off your boyfriend's face, replacing the thick, opaque cleanser with softly translucent moisturizer.

he taps your palmful of moisturizer with an index finger, and with a quick move of the digit he swipes the blob on your nose, making you flinch back and blink in surprise.

“mikka!”

ah, there it is. mission successful. kaiser almost wishes he could go to sleep forever and in his dreams, listen to you calling him by that sweet little petname for the rest of his life. almost.

because he wishes more than that to kiss you all the time. like right now. he leans forward, the smile stretching his mouth giving away his intention to you, but not in time for you to escape. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, kissing you with soft, sweet and swollen lips that you'd just finished exfoliating with sugar and honey.

“baby,” your eyebrows furrow, but you still kiss him back and it makes him chuckle because oh, for all the fuss you make and all the scowling you do, you love him so. “we'll never get to the manipedi by movie time at this rate.”

“movie time can wait, princess,” he sighs against your lips. “all i want right now is to watch you, anyway.”

and his words are romantic, suggestive, and they'd bring a blush to your cheeks for sure — if he hadn't accidentally tipped you off balance in that second.

“mikka!—” you yelp (to his delight) as he grabs you and tries to steady you — but even as he saves you, your hand reflexively flails upwards to curl around his arm for support.

and with a smack, the moisturizer is all over his bicep instead of lathered evenly across his face as it should be.

the upset on your face is apparent, but kaiser only grins expectantly as he grips your waist, adjusts your position in his lap again, waiting.

and you don't disappoint. “look what you've done! mikka!”

[smehur]

Drarry fic recs #5

oxygen [Fic & Art] by @maesterchill

Draco doesn’t smoke. Except when he needs to breathe.

A wonderfully atmospheric rendering of the moment when the tentative friendship hesitantly built through years of unplanned meetings gently turns into a deeper, romantic intimacy. Featuring a lovely, lonely Draco and an incredibly evocative description of the magic hiding in cigarette smoke. 10/10 would read again.

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish

Alrakis • I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA? prongymcprongface • i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

This was so much fun to read, I don't even. A brilliant concept, flawless execution, and bonus points for Draco's online name. ✨👌

For Lack of Wanting by @fluxweeed

Over the last ten years, I’ve worked hard to become a better person. I hate being reminded of who I used to be. But Harry likes it when I’m mean.

I loved this even though it broke my heart. Perhaps because (like with other fics that successfully broke my heart), I could totally see it: a Harry who grows into his fame, a Harry who doesn't look under the surface of things unless forced, a Harry who never spared a serious thought about Draco after the war. And a Draco desperate enough to throw everything away for him anyway. Beautifully crafted and utterly devastating.

By the Grace by @letteredlettered

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Oh, boy. This fic. It left a mark on me. It's the second most literary fic I've read to date (topmost being Running on Air by eleventy7), and by far the most ambitious one. That summary doesn't begin to do it justice. It's a story about the initiative to reveal the wizarding world to the Muggles; the political struggles of those for and against it, including activism, media manipulation, government corruption, and even terrorism; and Harry and Draco in the midst of it all. I also suspect it's brimming with commentary on real life UK politics, but I'm too distant from those topics myself to say more. It is for this ambition, and for the the meticulous creation of a detailed post-war political landscape and the actors trying to shape it, that I wholeheartedly applaud and recommend this fic. Anyone looking for an adult, thought-provoking, political story perfectly set within the Harry Potter world will have an absolute blast with it.

But I can't say I enjoyed it. I picked it up not for the politics, but for the romance. And the romance, while definitely an omnipresent element, was kept so deep in the background, that the reading was an exercise in frustration almost to the very end. This was done purposely, with incredible consistency and discipline, and to great effect, in order to craft the slowest of slow burns. But I, like a kid bored with the things on the news, skimmed through the lot of political discussions (which are what gives the story such a strong literary vibe), constantly looking for the individual, the personal, the relatable; constantly hoping for the feels. And when they came to the fore at last, it was a bit too little, too late.

As much as I admire its ambition and craftsmanship, this is not a story I would read again. But I will never, ever forget it.

Nice Things by aideomai

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Possibly the softest, gentlest, most soothing story I've read in this fandom so far. Something to come back to when my spirits need a lift. There's a scene (spoiler: it asks and answers the question, "are you fucking with me?") that I read three or four times in a row, smiling wider and wider on each go, and another (someone returning after holidays) that i had to revisit at least twice. This doesn't happen often in my reading! I confess I wished for a more detailed exploration of the developing intimacy (read: smut), but I respect the author's decisions; they left me with a heart full of warmth and a head full of dreams.

Many thanks to the wonderful authors in this fandom for sharing their stories, and to all the readers who help spread the word. ❤️

[keehomania]

JOHNNY SUH (서영호) — FRIENDS (2)

(EXTENDED) ✧.* MINORS DNI (18+)

the studio was filled to the brim with creativity, the kind only found in a university art class on a thursday afternoon. it was flooded with students, each absorbed in their own world. the faint smell of oil paints mingled with the earthy scent of wet clay, the low hum of charcoal pencils scratching against paper, and the occasional mutterings of frustration or triumph filled the space. easels were scattered about like skeletons, their frames supporting unfinished works that glistened under the soft light streaming from the high windows. sunlight slanted lazily across the floor, illuminating particles of dust in the air.

the professor, known for her lax attitude, had long stopped bothering with punctuality. she’d drift in whenever the mood struck, her students used to the freedom that came with it. some of them thrived in this lack of structure, diligently working on their projects—focused, hunched over their creations as though they were the only things in the universe. some sketched silently, the sharp scratch of pencil against paper a soothing background noise. others sculpted, fingers molding and shaping clay into forms that seemed to breathe. and then there was you.

you sat in the center of it all, doing absolutely nothing, arms crossed over your chest as you reclined back in your chair with a deep sigh. your eyes scanned the room, half-lidded with boredom, before your gaze inevitably dropped to your phone, face-up on the table like a reflection of your current mood. “holy shit,” you muttered to no one in particular, grabbing your phone and pressing it to your forehead. the cool glass made brief contact with your skin before you heaved another sigh, eyes fluttering shut in frustration. you peeked through one eye only to see some of your foundation now smudged onto the screen. perfect.

“what is it now?” joohyun’s voice piped up, soft yet amused, from across the table. she exchanged a quick glance with seulgi, who was already trying—unsuccessfully—to hide a knowing smirk behind her sketchbook. you waved your phone in the air, leaning back with exaggerated exasperation. “this asshole,” you grumbled, your words dripping with disdain. “he's the one who suggested a hotel instead of a motel, and now he wants me to chip in? like, i won the jackass lottery or something.”

seulgi’s lips finally parted into a grin, the kind of smile that made you feel even more ridiculous for being upset in the first place. she loved this, basking in the drama of your misadventures. you kicked your legs out under the table, letting them dangle as you vented, before dropping your phone with a soft clatter and burying your face in your arms. “who is it this time?” she asked, her voice brimming with barely-contained laughter. “the guy from that app? the one from yesterday?”

you lifted your head just enough to shoot her a look. you’d stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago—no more prince charming, no perfect ending. you were fine with it, honestly. you didn’t need romance; you just needed a little fun. “yeah,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair. “and i wouldn’t even be this pissed if he actually had any game. but it wasn’t even worth spending the night with him.”

joohyun reached over, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. her touch was gentle, sympathetic, as if she knew how many times you’d been through this cycle. you pressed your eyes shut, a shiver running through you as last night’s blurry details flickered across your mind. the cringe settled deep in your bones. “i’m so done,” you sighed once again, this time quieter, almost to yourself.

seulgi was already giggling, and joohyun was fighting back a grin of her own. you sat back up, hands hitting the table with a light thud as you tried to shake off the lingering embarrassment. “smoke break, guys?” seulgi shook her head, holding up two fingers that she’d been doodling on earlier. “can’t. quitting,” she replied in a higher, almost mocking pitch. “seulgi’s on a no-nic diet for the next three days.”

you shot her a look, feigning disgust as you pushed her hand away. “you psycho. what’s in three days?” she linked arms with joohyun, flipping her hair dramatically as if she were some movie star. “a blind date,” she sang, “and i can’t be shaking on the date, so i’m preparing.”

you rolled your eyes. “another blind date? you’re addicted to men, i swear.” the words were barely out of your mouth when you realized the irony of your statement. seulgi didn’t miss a beat, waving you off with a smug grin. “look who’s talking, miss i-fell-for-the-hotel,” she quipped, dragging joohyun away with a playful skip in her step.

you sighed, muttering under your breath, “point taken.” for a moment, you considered staying right where you were, hiding away in your bubble of frustration and second-hand embarrassment. but that wasn’t your style. instead, you pushed yourself forward, sliding across the floor in your chair until you reached the person you really needed to talk to.

“hey, loser,” you called out, your eyes locked on johnny’s figure as he worked. he was hunched over his sculpture, completely absorbed, his hands moving with precision as he molded the clay. his ears were covered with large headphones, barricading him from the outside world, oblivious to your approach. you watched him for a second longer, taking in the concentration etched into his features. workaholic, lunatic, or maybe a bit of both. he’d been your best friend for years now, and somehow, even through all your ridiculousness, he stuck around. you weren’t sure why, but you were grateful.

with a glance you hoped was nonchalant, you swung your boot gently into the back of his knee, not hard enough to topple him over but enough to get his attention. johnny’s head jerked up, his expression morphing from confusion to mild annoyance as he pulled his headphones down around his neck. “what do you want?” he sighed, his voice heavy with the weight of someone who had dealt with you a thousand times over.

you sighed dramatically, mimicking his tone as you flopped back into your chair. “seul and joo left, and now i have no one to smoke with.” you ran a hand through your hair, flipping it over your shoulder with unnecessary flair. “what if i go alone and get kidnapped? what’s my mom gonna do?”

johnny rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he were fighting off a smile. “i should just let you get kidnapped, you psycho,” he muttered, but there was no real venom behind his words. “let’s go.” that was all you needed. you shoved your chair back, springing to your feet with a grin, tapping johnny’s back playfully with your fists as he stood. he tried his best to hide the small smile tugging at his lips, but you knew him too well.

the hallway leading out of the studio was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of footsteps and muffled voices from the rooms you passed. the door clicked softly as johnny pushed it open, letting a stream of late afternoon sunlight flood the corridor. you followed him out, the warmth hitting your skin in sharp contrast to the cool air of the studio. outside, the sky was a pale wash of blues and pinks, the first signs of evening beginning to settle over the campus.

you trailed after him, the soles of your boots echoing faintly against the worn stone stairs that spiraled down to the terrace below. the steps were chipped in places, the edges softened by years of students rushing up and down them, eager for a break, a moment to breathe. you descended with him at a leisurely pace, taking your time as you passed patches of ivy creeping up the sides of the building, the green leaves glistening under the fading sunlight.

as you reached the terrace, a familiar scene greeted you. a few other students were already there, lounging against the stone walls or perched on the benches, cigarettes hanging loosely from their lips, smoke curling lazily into the air. laughter and conversation floated around in a low hum, blending with the distant sound of traffic from the streets beyond the campus. it was a scene you had witnessed countless times—a place where people drifted between classes, seeking a moment of reprieve from whatever deadlines or frustrations weighed on their minds.

you plopped down onto the nearest bench with a sigh, the wood creaking beneath you as you shrugged off your jacket. your hand slid into the inner pocket, fingers curling around the familiar pack of cigarettes. with a quick flick of your wrist, you pulled one out and brought it to your lips, feeling the slight resistance as the filter pressed against your skin.

johnny remained silent as he walked to the edge of the terrace, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the low metal fence. his gaze wandered over the campus below, where students meandered through the courtyard, their shadows long against the golden light. he looked like he was taking in the view, but you knew better. his eyes flickered back toward you, watching in that subtle, amused way he always did. there was something comforting about it—how he never had to say much, how his presence alone was enough.

you struck a match, the flame dancing momentarily before you lit your cigarette. you inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke curl in your lungs before you released it into the air, the cloud of it rising like a small puff of frustration. you smoked like it was the only thing anchoring you, like you could pull something solid from it if you just inhaled deeply enough. johnny’s soft scoff reached your ears, and you glanced over to see him shaking his head. “you’re a real addict, you know that?” his tone was teasing, but his gaze was sharp, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile. still, he accepted the cigarette you offered him, taking it with a look that played at being indifferent but didn’t quite hide the fondness underneath.

“heard last night didn’t go so well,” he remarked, flicking the lighter and inhaling a slow drag before passing it back. you scrunched up your face, the memory hitting you all over again like a wave of distaste. “don’t even get me started. that son of a bitch,” you trailed off, slapping your palm against your forehead as if you could physically erase the entire night from your mind. you took another deep drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke soothe your nerves, though it did little to remove the embarrassment lodged deep in your chest.

johnny’s eyes lingered on you with that amused expression, the one that said he knew exactly how bad your night had been even before you said it. he leaned against the bench behind you, close enough that you could feel the slight brush of his shoulder as he hovered. you could sense his curiosity, see the way his gaze kept flicking toward the phone you had now opened in your lap.

“god, i hate it when they have tattoos like this,” you muttered, swiping left on the latest guy to show up on your screen. the tattoo in question—a lion etched awkwardly across the guy’s chest—made you gag in disgust as you dismissed him with a swipe, your fingers moving swiftly as if the mere sight of it offended your sensibilities. johnny shifted beside you, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “pretty cheesy,” he murmured, taking another drag, the smoke curling around him in a soft cloud. he couldn’t help his hand from subconsciously patting down the tattoo that rested on his shoulder and extended above his pec. it was the same one he did his best to hide under baggy clothes, as he had gotten it done not too long ago. it was safe to say that your words stung.

you set your phone down on your lap, turning to meet his gaze with a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “come to think of it,” you started, the smirk creeping back onto your lips, “the guy from last night had a huge tattoo. wanna know what it said?” johnny shot you a look—half curiosity, half dread—but there was no real stopping you once you got started. he sighed, leaning in slightly, even though you both knew he didn’t really want to hear whatever it was you were about to say.

“‘i will never die,’” you recited with mock gravitas, your voice low as you mimicked the guy's words. johnny blinked, waiting for the punchline. you paused, savoring the moment before adding, “how? false advertising. that dick of his just kept dying and dying—” before you could finish, his hand shot out, pressing firmly over your mouth, his palm warm against your lips. you saw the way his eyes widened, the faint blush creeping up his neck, and you couldn’t help the smile that curled beneath his hand, though you were certain he could feel it.

“shut up,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief as he glanced around, making sure no one else had overheard your scandalous recounting. his hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled it away, exasperation written all over his face. “you’re insane.” you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you as you watched him shake his head. he was used to your antics by now, used to your endless rants about the ridiculous men you met and the even more ridiculous situations you found yourself in. it was part of his job, as your best friend, to listen to it all. as a man, though? he had heard more than he ever wanted to.

the glow of the vanity light cast a soft, golden hue over your apartment’s small, cluttered room. your reflection stared back at you, lips pursed in concentration as you applied the final touches to your look. the lipstick glided smoothly over your lips, completing the look you were known for on nights like these. you loved going out. there was something about the noise, the energy, the feeling of being alive among people, that kept you from ever staying in. the silence of your apartment, the stillness that came when you weren’t surrounded by the pulse of music or the buzz of conversation, felt suffocating.

you leaned in closer to the mirror, adjusting the curve of your eyeliner just so, exhaling softly as the familiar weight of anticipation settled in your chest. a night out was like a ritual—one you had mastered with the precision of someone who knew exactly who they were in those fleeting moments of freedom. the dress you wore tonight—a vibrant shade of red that hugged your body in all the right places—was daring, just as you liked it. your fingers absentmindedly smoothed the fabric, adjusting it one last time before your gaze drifted to your phone on the edge of the vanity.

its screen lit up with a soft glow, catching your attention as the group chat with seulgi and joohyun exploded with messages. seulgi was in full panic mode, flooding the chat with questions about outfits, makeup, and shoes, her usual pre-night-out anxiety in full swing. you smirked, your first instinct to fire back something to simmer her down, but your fingers hovered over her name for a moment before sliding over to johnny’s contact instead.

(y/n) 𖹭

where r we meeting up? (6:24 pm)

you didn’t have to wait long. the reply came in almost immediately, and the corner of your lips twitched in amusement as you read it.

chicago by trina vega

im literally in front of ur house? hurry up (6:24 pm)

you blinked, caught off guard. you glanced back at the time. had you really spent that long getting ready? it hadn’t felt like it, but time had a funny way of slipping away when you were perfecting your look. to be fair, johnny hadn’t exactly mentioned he’d be coming to pick you up. but then again, he always did, so you should’ve known. you let out a breath, casting one last look in the mirror before swapping out your denim jacket for the leather one that hung from the back of your chair. the familiar scent of worn leather greeted you as you shrugged it over your shoulders, its weight a comfortable presence against the soft fabric of your dress.

with one last glance around the room, you flicked off the lights and stepped outside, the evening air cool as it wrapped around you. much to your approval, johnny was exactly where he said he’d be, leaning casually against his motorcycle, the streetlights casting a faint glow over his figure. his lips quirked into a teasing smile as he raised a hand in greeting, eyes glinting with that ever-present, mocking amusement.

“so pretty,” you murmured, but your gaze had already slipped past him, landing squarely on his motorcycle. you couldn’t help the way your eyes softened as you admired it, the sleek, polished surface gleaming under the dim lights. for a second, his expression brightened, the compliment washing over him, but the light in his eyes dimmed just as fast as he realized it wasn’t for him. he let out an exaggerated sigh, his posture relaxing as he pushed off from the bike and reached for the spare helmet. “you should totally sell her to me,” you said, your tone playful but laced with just enough seriousness that johnny couldn’t quite tell if you were joking or not.

he scoffed, shaking his head as he passed you the helmet, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. “you should totally change my name in your contacts,” he retorted, mimicking your playful tone as he mounted the bike with practiced ease. your lips curled into a smile as you swung your leg over the seat, the leather of your jacket creaking slightly as you inched closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. the warmth of his body radiated through his jacket, a comforting presence against your chest. you leaned in, your breath ghosting against the back of his neck as you murmured, “not a chance.”

the proximity, the casual intimacy of the gesture, was so common between the two of you, but you knew exactly the effect it had. you could feel the way johnny tensed slightly beneath your touch, could practically hear the gears grinding in his head. it was always like this—a careful dance between familiarity and something unspoken, something neither of you dared to acknowledge. he didn’t say a word, but the way his hands gripped the handlebars a little tighter was answer enough. he started the engine with a low rumble, the vibrations of the bike thrumming through your legs as you held onto him, your arms tightening instinctively around his waist. you rested your cheek against his back, a small smirk tugging at your lips as the bike roared to life beneath you.

the neon lights of the bar flickered above as johnny parked his bike, the low hum of the engine fading into the steady pulse of the city nightlife. you swung your leg over and hopped off, the heels of your boots clicking against the pavement. as you straightened your dress, a teasing grin spread across your lips when you noticed johnny’s outfit. “hey, you totally copied me,” you said, pointing at the black leather jacket he was wearing, almost identical to yours. your eyes glinted with playful accusation, lips tugging into a smirk.

he scoffed, his response casual as he pulled off your helmet and tucked it back onto the bike. “i’m older than you, loser. you’re definitely the copycat here,” he retorted, giving you a sideways glance. his voice was light, but there was a warmth to the banter, the kind of ease that came with knowing someone far too well. you waved him off with an exaggerated flick of your hand. “details, details,” you mumbled, already skipping ahead to the entrance of the bar, your boots clicking in a hurried rhythm. the thrill of the night ahead quickened your steps, an excitement bubbling in your chest that you couldn’t quite suppress.

johnny trailed behind, slower, more measured, but his eyes followed you with the same fond amusement they always did. you pushed open the heavy door, the familiar warmth and noise of the bar spilling out to greet you. the rich, smoky scent mingled with the low thrum of music, immediately washing over you like a comforting embrace. as you stepped inside, you were met with a chorus of cheers and loud greetings from the group already seated at the far end of the room. seulgi’s voice rang out first, her words blending with the din of laughter. “now we can get the night started!”

johnny gave a small smirk behind you, pulling out a chair between him and joohyun as you made your way over to the table. you took your seat, relishing the way the eyes of your friends danced with anticipation. this was your space, your people, and for a moment, everything outside these walls felt distant, irrelevant. one of the younger guys from your department, jaehee, leaned forward, his eyebrows raised in mock curiosity as he studied you and johnny. “oh, what’s this?” he asked, his gaze darting between the two of you. “you two have the same jacket, you almost look like a couple.”

his words earned a few playful jeers from the others, a chorus of knowing smirks and teasing grins circling the table. johnny stayed silent, his expression unreadable as he ran a finger along the rim of his empty glass, eyes trained elsewhere. but you scoffed in disbelief, waving the comment off with a laugh.

“as your senior, i’m offended,” you clicked your tongue, feigning hurt. “and here i was, considering paying for your drink.” your mock indignation drew a few chuckles from the table, though jaehee immediately clasped his hands together in a dramatic display of asking for forgiveness. johnny, however, seemed distant. you glanced his way, expecting a witty remark or at least some acknowledgment of the teasing, but his jaw remained tight, his focus locked on the empty glass before him. something was off, but you couldn’t quite place what it was.

the next half hour dissolved into a whirlwind of drinks and laughter, the room spinning with the lightheaded haze that came with each clink of the glasses. your cheeks flushed, the warmth of alcohol coursing through your veins as you joined in the cheers and toasts. but even in your tipsy state, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering johnny. he sat there, quiet, his usual sharp remarks dulled by whatever was clouding his mood.

mark, one of johnny’s closer friends, leaned over, his grin wide and tipsy as he slurred out an idea. “let’s play a drinking game,” he announced, the table erupting in agreement. but just as quickly, johnny shook his head, pushing away from the table slightly. “i’m out,” he said simply, his voice firm but not aggressive.

you turned to him, frowning at his sudden withdrawal from the fun. “what’s your problem tonight, dude?” the alcohol gave your words an edge they might not have had otherwise, the confusion morphing into irritation. johnny didn’t meet your gaze, just shook his head again, his fingers tapping restlessly on the table. that only deepened your frown, your displeasure clear as you leaned back in your chair. before you could push further, mark chimed in with a laugh, slapping johnny’s shoulder. “he needs to get laid,” he grinned, his voice thick with alcohol-induced confidence. “give him a hand, (y/n).”

you sneered, your hand trembling slightly as you raised the now-empty bottle toward mark, words tumbling from your lips in a mixture of amusement and frustration. “only after i kick your ass,” you shot back, your tone playful but sharp. before you could do anything further, johnny swiftly reached over, plucking the bottle from your grasp and placing it back down on the table with a decisive clink. his expression remained neutral, though there was something firm in the way he moved, like he was pulling you back from a ledge you didn’t even realize you were on.

you stuck your tongue out at him, your way of telling him he was being no fun, but he just shrugged, his eyes betraying none of the thoughts swirling behind them. he was always like this—stubborn, distant when something bothered him. and you knew him well enough to recognize that something was eating at him tonight, even if he wouldn’t say what.

nonetheless, the room buzzed with excitement as the game kicked off, the energy of the group infectious. “shake your hands and take your shots, the game of death chose you!” came the enthusiastic chorus of voices around the table. even johnny joined in, his voice blending with the others, a smirk pulling at his lips despite the slight edge lingering in his mood. his tolerance for alcohol was impressive, but now, with a few drinks down, even he had loosened up enough to fully engage in the fun.

fingers were pointed, accusations flew across the table, and the countdown began. one, two—then, the inevitable happened. mark, poor mark, let out a dramatic cry of defeat, his head dropping to the table as if he had just lost everything. you clasped your hands together in delight, a wicked grin on your face as johnny leaned back with a chuckle, enjoying the spectacle. the entire table erupted in laughter, the kind that echoed through the room, bubbling up from deep within the belly.

“hat off, asshole,” johnny cooed, tugging at the brim of mark's cap, his grin growing wider as he let out a long-suffering sigh, as if preparing himself for some unspeakable punishment. with exaggerated slowness, mark removed his cap, his face twisted in mock despair. “here, here,” you chimed in, leaning forward with a glint in your eye, pulling the hair tie off your wrist. “he gets the hair tie. you reap what you sow, loser.”

mark sighed again, his eyes fluttering shut as you lazily tied his hair into a messy shape resembling a palm tree, earning another round of giggles from the table. it was all ridiculous, but that’s what made it fun. everyone loved a good humiliation as long as it wasn’t their turn to face the table’s judgment. johnny watched in silence, though he couldn’t quite shake the flicker of irritation that crept into his chest as he saw you leaning into mark, the casual way your hands brushed through his hair. he tried to push the feeling aside, taking a long sip from his glass, but it lingered. a part of him wasn’t entertained—at least not by that.

still, the game carried on. johnny refocused, pulling himself out of his own head as he gave Mark a mischievous nudge. "go up to the table across from us," he ordered, his voice low and amused, "ask those girls if you can dance for them." mark rose from his seat with a dramatic groan, stumbling slightly as he approached the two girls sitting at a nearby table. the group watched with rapt attention, stifling their laughter as he awkwardly tried to charm them into his dance. even johnny cracked a grin, though that strange feeling still lurked at the edges of his thoughts, especially when his gaze drifted back to you.

by the time mark returned, his face red and buried in his hands from embarrassment, you were already reclaiming your hair tie with a triumphant smirk. the laughter around the table began to die down, but the game’s energy lingered in the air, thick and buzzing. you poured yourself another drink, your hand surprisingly steady given the number of glasses you’d already downed, and casually poured one for Johnny too. he accepted it with a nod, his fingers brushing yours as he took the glass.

then, jaehee leaned forward, a sly grin creeping onto his face as he cupped his hands around his mouth to get everyone’s attention. “listen up, listen up,” he announced, his voice dropping as if he was about to share some forbidden secret. everyone leaned in, intrigued, their curiosity piqued. you tilted your head, your glass hovering near your lips as you waited for his revelation.

“who did the deed in the student council room last year?” he asked, eyes glinting with mischief. his words were met with a collective gasp from the table, everyone recalling the scandalous rumor that had circulated last year. you couldn’t help but chuckle, shooting johnny a knowing look across the table. you were the first to find out back then, and johnny was the first person you’d told. the memory of it brought a grin to your face.

“quit playing detective,” you slurred, pretending to be serious as you waved a hand dismissively. “you're barking up the wrong tree.” but your words only fanned the flames of anticipation, everyone now eagerly awaiting the revelation. jaehee leaned in closer, much too close for comfort, and johnny shot him a look, his voice low and dangerous. “get the fuck off me,” he muttered, nudging him back.

but jaehee persisted, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “come on, who did it?” you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t resist the temptation of feeding into the suspense. leaning in even closer, your voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “really? none of you know?” a chorus of shaking heads followed, and you sighed theatrically before giving in. “it was jaehyun and a freshman.”

the table erupted in shock, gasps and exclamations flying in every direction as everyone turned to one another, exchanging stunned looks. johnny shot you a look too, one eyebrow raised, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes that mirrored your own.

“no wonder you're called (y/n) live,” seulgi teased, raising her glass. “breaking news!” the nickname caught on quickly as the group toasted to your latest piece of gossip. the next hour blurred by in a haze of laughter and drinks, the thrill of your revelation keeping the energy high. it wasn’t until you tried to stand that you realized just how much you had indulged. the world tilted dangerously as you wobbled on your feet, your legs giving out beneath you as you crashed back down into your seat.

“(y/n)? are you okay?” mark asked, concern crossing his features as he leaned forward. but you waved him off with a lazy hand, your vision spinning as you tried to compose yourself. johnny was up in an instant, moving toward you like it was second nature. his hand found your arm, steadying you as you clutched the fabric of his jacket for balance. he leaned down, his voice quiet and close to your ear.

���want me to take you back home?” he asked, his tone soft, protective in a way that wasn’t overbearing but just enough to offer comfort. you shook your head, pushing yourself up again. everyone around the table seemed to be waiting for your answer, the night hanging in the balance.

“the next stop is seulgi’s house,” you slurred, but your voice regained strength as you straightened up, determination flashing across your face. “for the afterparty.” and just like that, the room exploded into cheers once more, the promise of more drinks and more fun driving the night forward, even as johnny cast one last glance your way, concern still lingering in the set of his jaw.

you weren't aware of much, floating somewhere between bliss and tipsy oblivion as johnny carried you on his back. his hands held firmly around your legs, adjusting every few steps to keep his grip tight as you lazily draped your arms over his shoulders. one of your hands held a cigarette, burning slowly in the dim night air. you brought it to your lips, taking a slow drag, feeling the familiar warmth slip through your veins. “do you really have to do that now?” his voice was low, exasperated, as he huffed under your weight, his breath curling into the cool evening.

you grinned lazily, bringing the cigarette up to his lips without a word. he paused, looking ahead for a moment, then gave in and took a drag for himself. you watched the smoke billow from his mouth, your eyes half-lidded as you murmured, “you're welcome,” before nestling your head against his back. you felt his body shift, and though he rolled his eyes, he said nothing, just adjusted his hold on you and kept walking.

seulgi and joohyun were ahead, arms locked, sharing one of those knowing glances you were too hazy to catch. mark, trailing behind them, couldn’t resist inserting himself between the two, throwing his arms around their shoulders as if he belonged there. “is there really nothing going on between them?” he whispered harshly, nodding toward you and johnny. seulgi exchanged another look with joohyun, both stifling giggles. mark persisted, wide-eyed and curious. “what? stop looking at each other. i wanna know, tell me.”

joohyun shook her head with a grin, but seulgi saved in. “she swears there isn’t, but,” she trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. “but what? what?” mark whined, quickening his pace as the girls sped up, their giggles floating back toward him.

when you finally reached seulgi’s apartment, the atmosphere shifted. there were more drinks, and everyone seemed determined to keep the night alive. bottles of soju passed from hand to hand, and as soon as one reached you, you eagerly reached out, ready to claim it as your own. before you could even feel the cool glass in your palm, though, it was snatched away.

you turned, your expression scrunching into a playful scowl as johnny twisted the bottle in his hand, lifting it to his lips before glancing down at you. “do you wanna die?” you asked sweetly, though the edge of irritation was unmistakable. he scoffed, taking a swig and meeting your gaze with a smirk. “don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

you pretended to think about it, your lips curving into a mischievous smile before you reached up and yanked the bottle back, catching him off guard. “thanks for your concern, dad, much love.” you took a long sip, the burn of the alcohol feeling almost comforting as it slid down your throat. johnny rolled his eyes again, but you didn’t miss the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he trailed behind you.

“we’re gonna step out to smoke,” you announced to the group, weaving your way through the circle of friends. jaehee and mark followed without hesitation, eager to join in. as the four of you headed toward the small balcony, you slapped johnny’s back playfully, still fighting for the bottle he was now keeping just out of reach. the night air felt crisp against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth buzzing in your veins. you could still walk, but you weren’t exactly steady.

johnny plopped down on the outdoor sofa, and you followed, letting yourself collapse beside him. without thinking, you shifted, dropping your head onto his lap with a satisfied sigh. he tensed immediately, the sudden weight of you pressing into him clearly catching him off guard. you could feel his hesitation, the way his body stiffened as if unsure how to handle it, but when your eyes met his, something flickered in his expression—something unreadable.

he gulped, but before he could say anything, you seized the opportunity, snatching the bottle from his hand once more. you took a quick sip, then handed it back to him with a grin. “thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving only the two of you in the hazy glow of the night.

meanwhile, jaehee paced around the balcony, his voice rising with a familiar complaint. “guys, you guys,” he slurred, throwing his arms dramatically. “joohyun is so pretty up close. oh, god.”

mark let out a laugh, almost too loud for the quiet night. “we get it already. so tell her,” you snapped, exasperated. “we can’t stand your fawning anymore. grow a pair, get rejected, and move on.” jaehee sighed, his body folding in on itself as he slumped forward, his head in his hands. his unrequited crush was a burden to everyone around him, a fact that seemed to grow more evident with every passing drink.

johnny chuckled quietly beside you, pulling out his vape and taking a long drag. you turned to him, your eyes narrowing as you eyed the device in his hand. “i wanna try,” you demanded, your curiosity piqued. “where’ve you been hiding this?” without missing a beat, he blew a cloud of fruity smoke directly in your face, his lips quirking in amusement. “there you go,” he said, his voice teasing. “like it?”

you scrunched your nose, glaring at him playfully before snatching the vape from his hand. you pressed yourself into him, your body fitting too easily against his as you brought the vape to your lips. he was visibly tense, though he tried to hide it, his eyes flickering between your face and the ground as if he couldn’t decide where to look. mark couldn’t help but notice. “how are you not hot, dude? take your jacket off,” he commented, blowing smoke from his own vape as he gestured toward johnny.

you turned to johnny, your brow furrowing in mock concern. “yeah, take it off. what are you, cold-blooded?” johnny hesitated for a beat, but eventually gave in. with a sigh, he peeled off his leather jacket, revealing the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt. the second the ink caught the light, both you and mark gasped in unison, your eyes wide with surprise.

“dude, when’d you get tatted?” mark asked, his voice full of awe. you were just as shocked, your fingers instinctively reaching out to trace the visible lines of the tattoo. johnny barely reacted to mark’s question, his attention focused solely on you as your fingertips brushed against his skin. the contact was subtle, but it sent a shiver down his spine, one that you could almost feel beneath your touch.

“you hate it?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost unsure. you shook your head slowly, still tracing the ink with a delicate touch. your fingers tugged at his shirt slightly, exposing a bit more of the design along his collarbone. “it looks really good, actually,” you murmured, your voice soft and sincere. for the first time that night, johnny smiled—an unguarded, genuine smile that seemed to reach all the way to his eyes.

the next day hit you like a truck. your body felt leaden, your mind trapped in a fog that refused to clear. the hangover clung to you, a dull ache that pulsed behind your eyes with every breath, every movement. sleep had been fleeting, and recovery—nonexistent. but there was no time to linger in your misery; it was the day of the flea market, one of the biggest events of the semester. food stalls, fundraisers, and most importantly, the pride of your department—an exhibit of heartfelt student creations—were all on the agenda.

you dragged yourself into the classroom, still feeling half-dead, only to be greeted by your professor’s knowing smile. she stood at the front, arms crossed, watching you with a teasing glint in her eye. “it smells like you’ve had a long night,” she quipped, her tone dripping with amusement. “of preparing for the market, i assume.” you let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of your neck as you nodded. “obviously,” you said, feigning confidence. “we should consider selling soju, actually.”

your professor clicked her tongue, shaking her head slightly before turning her attention back to the review of preparations. you stifled a sigh, already feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. the hours that followed were a blur of frantic activity—setting up displays, arranging materials, checking every last detail. it wasn’t that there was an overwhelming amount to do, but the lack of help made it feel like you were tackling a mountain alone. every task felt heavier than it should’ve, your body screaming for rest with each passing minute.

by the time everything came together, you were beyond worn out. the thought of quitting, of abandoning it all, floated through your mind more than once. “i should just drop out,” you muttered under your breath, half-serious. “yup, that’s it.” you shook your head, trying to focus as you thought about your next move. the event hadn’t even started, and you needed a break, badly. a trip to the convenience store seemed like the only thing that could save you at this point.

slipping away from the scene, you made your way to the nearest store, the cool air a temporary reprieve from the heat and noise of the market preparations. you grabbed a few essentials—food, snacks, and, of course, alcohol. your hand hovered over a couple of cans of beer, and without a second thought, you tossed them into your basket. it wasn’t even the late afternoon, but who was keeping track? the fluorescent lights of the store buzzed quietly as you stood in line, your mind somewhere else entirely.

when you finally stepped out of the store, bags in hand, the market had transformed in your absence. the stalls were set up, bustling with energy as vendors finished last-minute preparations. the smell of grilled meat and fried snacks filled the air, mixing with the hum of chatter as students and visitors began to trickle in. you walked slowly, taking in the scene as you made your way back. bright banners fluttered in the breeze, colorful displays lining the path, but your attention was pulled elsewhere.

your gaze landed on your group, specifically johnny, standing at the center of it all, laughing with that familiar, easy smile. he stood taller than the rest, always the anchor of the group, but it wasn’t just his height that drew your eyes today. something else caught your attention—the two girls standing in front of him, both smiling brightly, flirting in a way that made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

this was nothing new. johnny had always been popular, his laid-back demeanor and quiet charm drawing people in. but today, something felt different. it wasn’t just their presence that bothered you. it was the way your chest tightened at the sight of him, his jacket off for the first time in a long while, his tattoo partially exposed. the ink was dark against his skin, catching the light as the girls leaned in, clearly captivated.

you scoffed, pulling the bag higher onto your shoulder as you watched the scene unfold. one of the girls made a move—too bold for her own good—and you could see the subtle shift in johnny’s expression, the moment he let her down easy, polite but distant. they exchanged eye rolls before walking away, defeated, and you couldn’t help but smirk. “what a show,” you teased as you approached him, your tone light but pointed. “you’re quite the catch now that you’re inked up.”

johnny rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he made room for you beside him. “what’s in the bag? what’d you get me?” he asked, his voice casual, though there was an edge of curiosity beneath it. you grinned, pulling out two cans of beer and holding them up triumphantly. his eyes widened for a second before he groaned, pushing your hands back toward the bag.

“shit, put that away,” he muttered, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “you psycho. all you do is drink.” you let out a dramatic sigh, slipping the cans back into the bag. “you’re no fun,” you pouted, kicking your legs up and resting them across his lap. his body tensed under the sudden contact, though you didn’t notice, too distracted by the scene unfolding in front of you.

your eyes landed on jaehyun, dressed in traditional japanese clothing by one of the food stalls, his hands pressed together in a namaste gesture as he spoke to a customer. you burst out laughing, unable to keep it in.

“what the hell is he doing? namaste,” you mocked, mimicking the gesture as you stifled another laugh. “i should start using that.” johnny chuckled beside you, pressing his palms together in imitation. “what would you ever use it for?” he asked through his laughter.

you turned to him, still laughing, but your breath caught when your eyes met his. there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made the world feel smaller, quieter. the noise of the market faded into the background, leaving only the two of you in that moment. it didn’t last long, just a brief flicker of something unspoken. but it was long enough for you to feel your heart skip, a sudden jolt you couldn’t explain. and for the first time in a long while, you wondered why being around johnny made you feel this way. because you knew—it wasn’t just about the tattoo.

just as you pulled out the can of beer you’d been craving all afternoon, a familiar figure appeared out of the corner of your eye. your professor, her sharp eyes sweeping the market, walked toward you with a faint smile playing on her lips. she settled herself on the steps above, overlooking the both of you. you straightened up slightly, exchanging quick, sheepish glances with johnny as you greeted her. “well, well,” she said, folding her hands neatly in her lap, “enjoying the festivities?”

you both nodded, doing your best to appear composed despite the weariness clinging to you like a second skin. the professor’s gaze drifted across the market, her eyes landing on jaehyun, who was still stationed at his stall, gracefully bowing to another customer, his outfit swaying lightly in the breeze. “jeong jaehyun, right?” she asked, her voice cutting through the soft hum of the crowd. you both nodded in unison. “that’s him,” you confirmed.

a small smile tugged at her lips. “i remember him. he’s good at what he does.” neither of you responded immediately, unsure if there was more to the statement. you exchanged a glance with johnny, who, true to form, remained silent, staring at the ground as though it held the answers to all of life’s questions.

then, the professor turned her attention fully to the two of you, her eyes glinting with a curiosity you hadn’t anticipated. her tone softened, almost as though she was asking something of little consequence. “are you two dating?” the question hung in the air, far heavier than it should have been. you barely had time to react before johnny tensed beside you, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor. he said nothing. the silence stretched, becoming more uncomfortable by the second.

you broke it with a laugh, the kind of laugh that bubbled up naturally, as if the whole notion were ridiculous. “absolutely not. never ever ever ever,” you said, chuckling through your words. but the professor didn’t seem convinced. she raised a brow, her smile growing ever so slightly. “why not? kids like you always end up getting together.”

her words felt oddly deliberate, and you could sense johnny beside you wishing for the conversation to be over. anything to stop your amused laughter and the strange, lingering feeling the question left behind. you shook your head, still grinning. “we’re the exception, don’t worry,” you assured her, your tone light, though you noticed johnny shift slightly beside you, as though the whole conversation had put him on edge.

the professor let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, clearly unconvinced but willing to drop it for now. she rose to her feet, brushing off her skirt with a practiced motion. “i’ll be off then,” she said, glancing at both of you. “don’t cause any trouble—and make sure to clean up after.” you both nodded in response, watching her walk away, the air still thick with the weight of her question. the moment she was out of sight, you leaned back against johnny’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh, your legs still draped over his lap as you fished another beer out of the bag.

without missing a beat, you cracked the can open with a satisfied exhale, but before you could even take a sip, Johnny’s hand shot out, snatching it from you with ease. you let out a whine of protest. “no, no,” he teased, raising the can to his lips as he took a swig. “i’m sorry, we don’t serve alcohol here.” you glared at him, snatching the can back with a huff. “let me live,” you groaned, bringing the can to your lips and finally taking a sip, savoring the cold bitterness as it slid down your throat.

johnny shook his head in disbelief, his lips twitching with amusement. “is all you do drink?” he asked, his voice laced with mock exasperation. “aren’t you gonna drink at the after-party tonight anyway?” you waved him off with a dismissive hand, not in the mood for his nagging. “you nag me more than my mom does. it’s heartbreaking,” you said dramatically, your gaze wandering up to the sky, watching the soft hues of the evening begin to deepen.

johnny rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of fondness in the gesture. “whatever, dude. just know i’m not gonna carry your ass back home.” you chuckled softly, closing your eyes for a moment as the weight of the day finally started to catch up to you. you knew how these nights went—the drinking, the laughter, the inevitable crash. and yet, you couldn’t help but grin as you leaned further into him, completely unbothered.

johnny wished, more than anything, that he had signed some kind of contract earlier that day—one that would have absolved him of the responsibility of carrying your drunk, disorderly self. this had happened so many times before, but this time felt different. you had gone too far. again.

the night had stretched long past its welcome, the bars closing one by one, until the last stragglers stumbled out into the streets. most of the group had already gone home, leaving johnny with the burden of getting you on your feet. you sat slumped on the curb, outside the entrance of the bar, refusing to move. strangers walked by, some giving curious glances, but most too busy with their own drunken states to notice.

johnny stood a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. you were making a scene, but you didn’t care. you never cared when you reached this point. “hey, let's go. come on,” he said, his voice laced with tired patience as he approached. “everyone’s gone already.” he nudged your shoulder lightly with his foot, but all you did was groan in response.

when it became clear that words weren’t going to work, he crouched down behind you, his body close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. his hands rested on your shoulders, and you could smell the faint trace of cologne lingering in the fabric of his jacket. it was a smell you had grown accustomed to, yet tonight, with the alcohol swimming in your veins, it seemed stronger, more distracting.

“i’m gonna leave without you, you need to get a hold of yourself,” he muttered, though he knew it was a hollow threat. johnny wasn’t going to leave you behind. he never did. you didn’t respond, too caught up in the sensation of his presence behind you—his breath warm against the back of your neck, his hands steady and sure. the world was a blur, but somehow, the closeness of him was the one thing that cut through the haze. you tilted your head back against his arm, your eyes half-lidded as you looked up at him.

“do you know what time it is? we gotta go, man,” he said again, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between you. but you didn’t answer. you just stared at him, catching the flicker of nerves in his eyes as he held your gaze. for a second, he seemed caught off guard, the usually calm and collected johnny looking at you as if he didn’t know what to do next. then, without thinking—because thinking was far beyond you now—your finger flew up to press against his lips, silencing whatever words were about to tumble out of his mouth.

“just shut up,” you slurred, your finger still resting gently against his lips. his eyes widened in shock, his whole body freezing as the world around him seemed to stop. he stared at you, stunned, his mind racing to catch up to what was happening. your words hung heavy in the air, their weight sinking into his chest. “i never noticed before,” you mumbled, your voice low and slurred, “but you’re handsome up close.”

that was it. the world tilted slightly, the alcohol and the intimacy of the moment crashing together in his head like waves against the shore. johnny’s heart was pounding in his chest, each beat louder than the last, his skin burning from the heat of the situation, from the way your finger still lingered against his lips. your finger slowly fell away, but the space it left behind was almost unbearable. before he could fully process it, before he could even think of what to do, you grabbed the back of his head, your fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him down. and then, your lips were on his.

the kiss was messy, uncoordinated, a clash of warmth and alcohol-fueled impulsiveness. johnny’s brain screamed at him to react, to pull away, but his body refused to listen. he was too stunned to do anything but sit there, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat, as you pressed into him, your lips soft against his. it was a sensation he hadn’t expected—hadn’t even allowed himself to imagine. when you finally pulled away, leaving a cold void between you, your eyes met his, heavy-lidded and searching. for a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you thick and electric.

then, as if the shock had worn off, johnny’s hand reached out, pulling you back in. this time, he wasn’t frozen. his lips found yours again, and this time, they moved in sync with yours, each movement slow and deliberate. it was nothing like the first kiss—this one was softer, deeper. johnny’s hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you again, his mind no longer racing, no longer trying to make sense of what was happening. all he knew was the taste of your lips, the warmth of your skin, and the way the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, sitting on a curb in the middle of the night.

he was completely, utterly lost. he was lost in it, in you, in the sensation of you. he was lost in the way you milked him dry, giving him the perfect view of your tits bouncing in his face as you pressed your palms against the wall in front of you, leaning forward with your back arched as you met his pace with swift, harsh bounces with a cigarette in your mouth. he was lost in the way you moaned his name, begging him to go harder, faster before whispering sweet nothings into his ear to push him off the edge. “tearing my pussy open, fuck,” you purred, your breath hot against his ear as the tip of your tongue danced alongside his earlobe, voice muffled with the filter between your lips. “fuck me so good, gonna make me squirt all over this dick.”

he was absolutely lost in it, letting himself absorb the sheer filth of it all. he allowed himself those few minutes of escape, of temporary pleasure. his hands groped the flesh of your tits, squeezing the soft skin and probing at your sensitive nipples. his mind was a mess as his hands slid down your waist before stopping at your hips, cupping your ass. he leaned forward to take your tit into his mouth, letting the other one collide with his cheek as he sucked around your nipple. his hands spanked the soft of your ass, his thumb coming down to probe at your tight, sensitive asshole. he’d never fully push it in, he’d just keep it there long enough to hear you moan some more, to feel you clench around nothing but his fingernail.

“you’re so pretty,” the praise would always come through before johnny could stop himself, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste as they passed his lips. he hated himself for speaking his thoughts aloud, even if it wasn’t intentional. he hated himself even more when you didn’t respond, flashing him a mere smile in response. you were too lost in what he had to offer, your cunt clenching around his dick as you leaned forward to press your lips to his. you placed a single kiss to his lips, enough to give him a taste of the smoke. you pulled away to press the filter to his lips, watching with hungry eyes as he took a long drag.

his favorite part seemed to be kissing you. it felt more intimate than the sex itself. he didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, he knew he’d give in one way or another. his lips clashed with yours, melting against them as he cupped your cheek. he exhaled, blowing the smoke into your mouth as his tongue traced your bottom lip. you kissed him with desire, hunger, all the while he kissed you as if you were fragile, like you were on the verge of breaking. “your dick’s so fucking big, ’m close,” you whined, breaking the kiss to press your forehead against his.

he was just as close, thrusting upwards to match your speed. he practically felt his eyes roll into the back of his head as you tightened around his dick, your thighs slick with your juices and spread to give him the perfect view of your cunt swallowing him whole. you were greedy, but you were tempting, so he let you have him. he wanted more than what you were offering him, but he knew his chances were less than slim. the two of you had allowed yourselves to break the first rule of friendship between men and women, and he had no interest in knowing what would happen the next morning. in fact, he wasn’t even thinking about it. the alcohol had absorbed his mind so nicely that he was unable to focus on anything but you, you and you.

“cum inside me,” you exhaled, your hair plastered to your forehead with sweat. you had never looked more tempting, riding his dick with a cigarette limp between your lips, tits shaking with every thrust he had to offer. “know you want to, johnny.” of course he wanted to, who wouldn’t? he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you in once more as his balls slapped against your ass, the angle allowing him to hit all the right spots.

your best friend groaned in your ear, the sound of his raspy voice shooting straight through your core as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten. you could practically feel him coming up your ribcage as he held you close, pounding into your pussy with all his might. the cigarette trembled between your fingers and, soon enough, you found yourself tossing it aside, your limbs too numb to hold onto anything but the weight of your lust. you tried to reassure yourself that this was no different fro. your usual activities, that it wouldn’t strain your friendship. you wanted to believe it wouldn’t make things weird.

“i’m gonna—” johnny cut himself off with a grunt, his fingers wrapping around the flesh of your hips as he lifted himself once more, filling your pussy to the brim with a loud moan. he let go, his cock throbbing with your walls clenching around it as he came inside you, shooting thick ropes of sticky white into you. it felt too good, all of it. he loved how warm you were, how tight you felt, how he felt like he was breaking you with nothing but the size of his cock. the way you bit down on his tatted shoulder only confirmed his thought.

you moaned at the feeling of his hot cum seeping into your cunt, the scent of smoke lingering in his mouth as you kissed him once more. then, you felt yourself fall apart. you came just as hard, your vision going blurry as you clenched around his softening cock, pussy tightening around it as it spasmed some more, as if to tell you that you had milked it dry once again. you fell apart as you leaned back onto your elbows, spreading your legs farther apart to give johnny one last peek. he saw it, the way his cock slipped out of you and pushed against your slit, oozing with cum he didn’t even know he had in him. he watched the way your cunt throbbed, some of his seed spilling out as you did so. his cock felt hot against your naked thigh, threatening to harden a second time. the opportunity never came, unfortunately, as the exhaustion had a way of overpowering the two of you.

the morning unfolded in a muted haze, each moment stretching out painfully as you navigated through the aftermath of the night before. the air felt heavy, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence of your room. you stood in the shower, the hot water cascading over you, but all it did was intensify the flood of thoughts racing through your mind. “how could you have slept with him?” you cursed yourself repeatedly, the echo of your own voice drowned by the rush of water. “of all people—your best friend. you’ve really fucked this one up.”

you scrubbed at your skin as if trying to wash away the shame and confusion that clung to you, but it was no use. the image of johnny’s euphoric expression, the warmth of his breath against your lips, and the weight of his body pressing into yours lingered like an unwanted tattoo etched in your mind. you knew he must have hated you for what had happened; there was no other explanation.

you paced back and forth in your room, drying your hair with one hand while the other fiddled with your towel. “he’s definitely gonna end our friendship,” you muttered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “can’t let that happen. i won’t.” determination flooded your veins, pushing back the rising tide of despair. you had to face him. you couldn’t let this ruin everything you had built together.

finally, after what felt like an eternity of agonizing over every possible outcome, you stepped back into the shared space. the sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the room in a soft glow, but the beauty of it all was lost on you. johnny was sitting in front of the mirror, hands clasped in his lap, his gaze locked on his reflection. what had he done?

the sight of him sent a pang of regret through your chest, and before you could gather your thoughts, you tripped over the edge of the doorframe, stumbling into the room. a loud clatter echoed through the quiet, and you hissed in pain as you hit the floor. “are you okay?” his voice cut through the silence, concern lacing his tone as he turned to face you.

“oh, yeah. i’m good,” you replied, forcing a nervous laugh as you pushed yourself back to your feet, trying to brush off the embarrassment. but his serious demeanor sent a wave of unease through you. “could we talk for a bit?” his tone was soft yet edged with an underlying tension, and you nodded quietly.

the silence stretched uncomfortably, wrapping around you like a thick fog. you let out a nervous laugh, desperate to break the ice. “woah, i must have alcohol-related dementia, dude,” you said, feigning concern as you tapped your head. “i don’t remember anything, so maybe—” but he cut you off, his voice now colder, sharper. “what? it was all a mistake?”

you froze, the gravity of his words sinking in. you couldn’t let this ruin everything. “yeah, we both made a mistake. we were drunk, right?” your voice was steady, but doubt crept in as you saw something shift in his expression—something dark, something that made you wish you could take back your words. he pulled his shirt over his head, an action so mundane that it sent your heart racing with a different kind of confusion. “since we made a mistake, nothing has to change between us. don’t you think?” the question hung in the air, but he offered no response.

“i'm leaving,” he finally said, his tone abrupt, the finality of it sending a chill through you. you had never seen him like this—so distant, so cold, and the sight of it felt like a knife twisting in your gut. “wait!” you called out, desperation spilling into your voice, but it was too late. he stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding thud that echoed in the stillness of the room.

you stared at the closed door, your heart sinking. “shit, dammit. what have i done?” you muttered, the words barely above a whisper as you leaned your head against the wall, the coolness of it doing little to ease the warmth creeping to your cheeks. the panic set in, swirling in your chest like a storm. you were totally, utterly screwed.

the warm, fragrant steam wafting from the bowl of hangover soup enveloped you as you sat in the cozy little restaurant, seeking solace in its rich, comforting broth. each spoonful felt like a balm for your weary soul, a temporary reprieve from the relentless pounding in your head. you stared into the bowl, your mind drifting through the hazy remnants of the previous night, replaying every moment like a film stuck on repeat. just as you began to find some peace within the familiar flavors, the tranquility shattered with the entrance of a familiar figure.

“jeong jaehyun?” you scoffed, catching a glimpse of him as he strolled by, all confidence and charm, his laughter echoing softly as he greeted someone on the other side of the room. you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself, “namaste,” you mumbled, amused by the ridiculousness of it all. yet, as you continued eating, your smile faded, quickly replaced by the weight of your earlier encounter with johnny.

you returned to your soup, lost in your thoughts, when another figure captured your attention. this time, the atmosphere shifted as johnny strolled in, his expression unreadable. your heart raced as he plopped down across from you, and you nearly choked on your soup. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the silence stretched, thick and tense, as if the air itself was waiting with bated breath. then, finally, he broke it. “last night wasn’t a mistake for me,” he admitted, his voice steady but tinged with something deeper, something that sent a jolt through you.

you blinked, disbelief washing over your features. “and things won’t be the same for me, not anymore,” he continued, and your stomach twisted as you processed his words. “i don’t think i can just pretend it didn’t happen.” your eyes fluttered shut, and you exhaled an exasperated sigh. couldn’t he see how complicated this was? you had been careful, guarded—emotions were messy, and you didn’t want to get caught in the web of your own heart. “so, what’s gonna happen now?” you asked, setting your spoon down with a clink that echoed in the stillness between you.

“i don’t think i can be your friend now,” he stated, and with each word, you felt the reality of the situation sink in like a heavy stone. your eyes widened in realization, shock flooding through you. “i want you to be my girlfriend,” he said, his voice steady but vulnerable, as if he were laying bare his soul on the table between you.

stunned, you stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “you want us to date just because we slept together once?” you scoffed, incredulity bubbling to the surface. “do you even like me?” his silence was a heavy weight, pressing down on both of you. yes, johnny so desperately wanted to say, yes. but he knew better than to voice it; the fear of rejection loomed larger than his desire to confess.

“see, you can’t even answer that,” you said, your tone softening as the initial shock began to subside, replaced by something heavier—an aching uncertainty. he sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rested upon them. “okay,” he conceded, voice quiet but resolute. “if that’s how you feel, i’ll take care of my feelings.” the finality of his words hung in the air like a thread, ready to snap. but without another glance, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor with a painful sound.

“what? wait!” you called out, desperation coloring your voice. you wanted to know what was next, where this left you both. but your plea echoed unanswered, only drawing the attention of the nearby diners, their curious gazes flicking toward the two of you. johnny didn’t stop; he was already gone, leaving you alone amidst the clamor of the restaurant. you had opened pandora’s box the moment you kissed him, and now, everything was unraveling.

the hangover that had clung to you since morning seemed to dissolve as the news of jaehyun treating the group to pizza settled in. your appetite, long dormant, returned in full force, and despite the swirling confusion in your mind, the thought of warm, cheesy pizza made your stomach growl. but with that bit of good news came an unwelcome thread of tension—your thoughts immediately jumped to jaehyun, and the secret you’d let slip a few nights before. had someone told him? did he know?

by the time you and the others arrived at the restaurant, the question still haunted you, but you masked it with a neutral smile as you slid into the seat next to jaehyun. he gave you a polite smile, the kind that was effortlessly charming but hard to read. “hey, haven’t seen you in a while,” he greeted, his tone light but pointed.

“yeah, could say the same,” you responded, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. the memory of last night’s slip-up echoed in your mind, but before either of you could dive deeper into the conversation, joohyun and seulgi appeared at the table, their presence cutting through the awkwardness. “thanks again, jae,” seulgi chimed, and jaehyun just nodded in his easygoing way. you almost felt a sense of relief, but it was fleeting.

mark and jaehee showed up shortly after, their energy infectiously bright as they took their seats. you turned to greet them, but the moment you did, your heart stopped. johnny was walking with them, and the second you caught sight of him, everything inside you froze. instinctively, you whipped back around, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to compose yourself. but it was impossible to ignore the magnetic pull of his presence; your eyes found his across the table, and suddenly, everything else faded into the background. it was silent and unbearably awkward. the look in his eyes was unreadable, but you couldn’t seem to tear yourself away.

“is it just me or did it just get cold in here?” mark asked with a shiver, his innocent comment cutting through the palpable tension. “you’re totally right, i felt a chill,” jaehee added, throwing a knowing glance around the table. jaehyun shot a quick look between you and johnny, but before he could say anything, the pizza arrived, mercifully shifting the mood. the mixed array of seafood, vegetables, and meat was laid out before you, and you seized the opportunity to break the moment, reaching for a slice—though all you did was pluck a piece of shrimp from it, trying to distract yourself.

“you liar, you said you were on a diet,” joohyun teased, breaking the tension with a playful grin. you waved the shrimp in her face with a smile of your own. “obviously, that’s why i’m only going for the shrimp,” you quipped, trying to ease the growing discomfort in your chest. but just as you thought you might be able to relax, jaehyun’s voice pulled your attention.

“a diet? why, are you seeing someone?” his question was innocent enough, but it hit you square in the chest, your heart sinking as you forced out a laugh. “as if,” you replied, the smile slipping from your face as you caught a glimpse of johnny across the table. “you guys know me better than that.” the words barely left your lips when you noticed the way johnny’s expression fell. his face shifted, and for a brief moment, something in you ached at the sight. but before you could dwell on it, mark, oblivious to the growing tension, slapped his chest dramatically as if struck by a revelation.

“now that we’re talking about it,” he began, addressing johnny with a grin. “how would you like to go on a blind date?” a blind date? you nearly choked on the words as they hit you, your surprise mirrored by johnny’s reaction. it was written all over your face as you watched his expression shift, his attention now fully on mark. “with who?” he asked, his voice calm, but you could sense the curiosity laced within it.

mark leaned in, his smile broadening as he wrapped an arm around johnny’s shoulders. “with my friend. she saw a picture of us and is interested in meeting you.” he sounded excited, unaware of the tightening knot forming in your chest. you noticed Joohyun casting a knowing glance your way, her smirk unmistakable. and though you tried to brush it off, the sting was there, sharp and cutting. johnny seemed genuinely intrigued, and for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, it made something inside you twist painfully. the urge to speak up was overwhelming.

“tell your friend,” you interrupted, your voice steady but betraying your inner turmoil, “that seeing any guy just because she’s lonely won’t end well for her. lonely people will still be lonely even if they date.” the second the words slipped out, you regretted them. the entire table fell silent, all eyes turning toward you, even johnny’s. the weight of your own statement hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. his gaze, cool and unwavering, pierced through you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. his next words were measured, deliberate, as if meant just for you.

“tell your friend,” he began, his voice low, eyes still locked on yours, “that i’m more than interested.” the table erupted into cheers, mark and jaehee clapping in excitement, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join them. the bitter taste of jealousy lingered in your mouth, and though you had no right to feel this way, the emotions churned violently within you. you should’ve been happy for him, for his chance to move on. but as you sat there, staring at him, all you could think about was the shift that had occurred between you. and worse, the possibility that you had lost him for good.

you had sworn you’d keep your mind off johnny tonight, but as the hours dragged on, your resolve crumbled. the stupid dating app you relied on felt more pointless than ever, but it was the only distraction you had. someone named doyoung had caught your attention—well, enough to pull you through another empty evening. his messages were blunt, devoid of charm, but that suited you fine tonight. you didn’t have the energy for anything more. you didn’t want to feel.

“so, should we have a drink first?” his voice barely registered, and frankly, you weren’t even sure his name was doyoung. you were already too tired to care. “or should we just get a place to fuck?” the crudeness of his words slid over you like rainwater. you barely flinched. “i don’t know, whatever you want,” you replied, your tone flat, uninterested. everything around you felt muted, dull. the walk to the bar had been just as cold as your mood, and the cool night air did nothing to clear your head.

you didn’t catch most of what doyoung said next, his voice dissolving into the background as your attention shifted. it wasn’t the open bar that caught your eye—it was the people inside. or rather, him. johnny. and he wasn’t alone.

your heart plummeted at the sight of him, seated at a table with a girl who was undeniably pretty. too pretty. you knew exactly who she was—the blind date mark had set up, the girl who had shown interest in johnny. she was laughing at something he said, leaning in closer, her eyes wide and animated, and the worst part? the smile on johnny’s face. that smile, the one you thought was reserved for moments only the two of you shared. the sight of it on his face while he sat next to her made your stomach churn.

“you know what? let’s drink here,” you blurted out, cutting doyoung off mid-sentence, not even giving him time to process the change in plans. before he could say anything, you grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him toward the entrance, your steps quick and impulsive. embarrassment threatened to flood your chest, but you shoved it aside. how could you care about something like that when johnny was right there with someone else?

you pushed your way through the door, the air inside warm compared to the biting cold of the night. the bar was lit, cozy in a way that didn’t match the knot of tension building in your gut. without hesitating, you yanked out a chair and sat down at the table right beside johnny and his date. you could feel doyoung lingering behind you, confused but compliant, sitting down awkwardly.

the girl didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in whatever she was saying to johnny, but he noticed. the moment he saw you, his body tensed, his hand pausing mid-motion, nearly causing him to choke on his drink. you caught the subtle widening of his eyes, the faltering of his smile, and it made your pulse race. “are you alright?” the girl asked him, concerned, and to your horror, she gently reached over to wipe his mouth with a napkin. you felt something in you snap. the intimacy of the gesture, the way she doted on him so casually, it made your blood simmer with a slow burn you couldn’t ignore.

johnny mumbled, “yeah, i’m fine,” but his eyes never left yours. there was a tension there, something hanging heavy in the space between you, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur out of focus. doyoung was saying something next to you, but you couldn’t hear him. all you could do was watch johnny, and he watched you right back. the girl turned back to her drink, oblivious to the silent exchange happening between you and her date. you couldn’t stand it any longer. the weight of it all—his new date, the memory of the night you shared, the way he still looked at you like nothing had changed, yet everything had—it was unbearable.

“on second thought,” you said, standing up abruptly, “let’s drink somewhere else.” your voice came out harsher than you intended, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. the words were sharp, and the moment was suffocating. doyoung didn’t argue. he didn’t have to. the look on johnny’s face told you everything you needed to know—and the look you gave him in return? it spoke volumes. but neither of you said a word. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked out, the cold air hitting your face as you left the bar behind, but the tension from inside followed.

you didn’t even sleep with doyoung that night. not that you ever intended to, not really. the weight of everything had sunk too deep in your bones, leaving you tired and restless at the same time. you lied, telling him you had a headache, watching as disappointment briefly flashed across his face before he nodded. the night fizzled out into nothing, and though you managed to fall asleep, it was fitful, and the morning came too soon.

when you woke, the weight of last night still clung to you like a second skin. the frustration hadn’t faded; it had only settled deeper. you dragged yourself through your routine, still fed up, still over it all, and that mood followed you to your classes. normally, you’d exchange greetings or at least acknowledge the smiles thrown your way, but today you couldn’t be bothered. you brushed past them, head down, the clamor of the hallways nothing but a blur of voices.

in the classroom, you practically collapsed into your chair with a heavy sigh, dropping your bag beside you. you closed your eyes, hoping for just a moment of peace. “hey, what’s up with you?” jaehee’s familiar voice cut through your thoughts. he flicked a strand of your hair with a teasing smile, always too perceptive for his own good. “don’t even,” you groaned, swatting his hand away lazily. “too early for your bullshit.”

he chuckled, but before he could say anything more, mark burst into the room, his excitement radiating from him like a shot of caffeine. “guys, guys, guys! this is so big,” he practically shouted, breathless as he skidded to a halt by your desk. his energy was contagious, but you were too far gone to care.

you tried to focus on his words, but it was impossible, especially when johnny followed right behind him. his presence drew your attention like a magnet, even if you wanted to ignore it. he strolled in casually, but when his eyes met yours, they immediately flickered away, his head dropping low as if he didn’t want to be seen. it stung, more than you cared to admit, and you scoffed under your breath. jaehee was already leaning forward, eager for whatever mark had to say. “what? what now?” he asked, practically vibrating with curiosity.

mark pulled up a chair, sliding into the space between you and jaehee, his eyes darting around like he was about to reveal some top-secret information. “jaehyun totally knows we know his big secret,” he whispered, glancing dramatically between you and jaehee. you barely listened, your attention still on johnny. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, but you felt the tension hanging in the air between you like a tightrope about to snap. every little gesture, every glance was loud in its silence.

jaehee let out an exaggerated sigh, completely absorbed in the gossip. “his sex scandal is the best thing i’ve heard all year,” he said with a satisfied grin, turning to you with his hands pressed together the same way jaehyun had. “namaste, (y/n).” you just rolled your eyes, too exhausted to even respond. the scandal, jaehyun, all of it seemed so trivial now compared to the mess you’d tangled yourself in.

before you could even think of something to say, johnny’s voice sliced through the conversation like ice. “sorry to interrupt your gossip circle, but we should hurry up with the art venue.” jaehee and mark murmured in agreement, but you weren’t finished. your frustration boiled over, and before you could stop yourself, you scoffed aloud. “must be in a big hurry to go on a date.”

you hadn’t meant for it to be heard. you thought it was a mutter, a private sting of bitterness for your own ears only. but no. the second the words left your mouth, you knew you’d made a mistake. the room went still, and you felt johnny’s gaze snap to you. his look was hard, challenging, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if daring you to say more. “yeah, how’d you know?” his voice was sharp, almost condescending, the words cutting through the tension like a blade.

the sarcasm stung, and you couldn’t help yourself. “asshole,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear, before standing abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you didn’t bother waiting for a response, didn’t care to see the reactions from mark or jaehee. you just needed to get out of there. you stormed out, the noise of the room already behind you, but their voices still echoed in your mind. you knew they’d talk about it. you knew they’d wonder what had gotten into you, what had caused the sharpness between you and johnny. but you didn’t care. you were done listening, done pretending.

walking down the street during your break, the weight of the morning still clung to you. the frustration, the sleeplessness—it all pressed down, leaving you exasperated, thirsty, and just done with everything. you passed cafes and restaurants, each one tempting you with the promise of air-conditioning and iced drinks. but it wasn’t until you spotted a small café, its glass window gleaming in the afternoon light, that something finally caught your eye.

it wasn’t the café itself or the ice cream shop connected to it that made you stop mid-step. no, it was the familiar figure inside that pulled you to a halt, your heart sinking instantly. “johnny?” you murmured under your breath, squinting as if that would somehow change the reality of what you were seeing.

you took a step closer to the window, hoping, praying even, that maybe you were mistaken. but of course, you weren’t. it was him. and, of course, he wasn’t alone. that same girl was sitting across from him, leaning in close as they talked, laughing and eating ice cream together like it was the most normal thing in the world.

a bitter laugh escaped you, low and incredulous. “no fucking way,” you whispered to yourself, eyes narrowing. the sight of johnny, with her, at a café, chatting and laughing, was already enough to twist a knot of irritation in your chest. but it wasn’t just that. no, it was what he was holding in his hand that made the blood rush to your ears.

you couldn’t believe it. the ice cream in his hand, the one he was eating so casually, was the exact flavor that had once united the two of you in disgust. mint chocolate. that flavor. you had talked about it with him, joked about how it tasted like toothpaste, how neither of you could stand it. and now, there he was, happily eating it with her, like none of that mattered anymore. “that son of a bitch,” you muttered, the disbelief turning quickly to anger. you could feel your heart pounding, a bitter taste creeping up your throat. you remembered the day like it had just happened.

it was a few months back, during a group hangout. seulgi had been ordering ice cream for everyone, scrolling through the options on her phone. when johnny walked in, you asked him what flavor he wanted. he slid into the seat beside you as seulgi mentioned getting mint chocolate as her third scoop. both you and johnny had shot her the same look of disgust, so perfectly in sync that seulgi had paused, confused. “what?” she asked, looking between the two of you.

“that’s disgusting,” you had said, your voice filled with mock horror. “yeah, you like eating toothpaste or something?” johnny had added, his face twisted in the same playful revulsion. you both shared a knowing look then, a moment of perfect camaraderie as you dapped each other up, leaving seulgi baffled. it had been one of those little moments that cemented your connection, a silly joke that felt like yours alone.

and now, that same connection felt like it was slipping through your fingers. there he was, eating her ice cream, laughing with her. the same johnny who had once called mint chocolate “toothpaste” now sat across from someone else, seemingly oblivious to everything you had shared. you didn’t want to watch anymore. you had seen enough. you had felt enough. with a bitter scoff, you turned away from the window, your heart pounding with something that felt all too much like betrayal. you didn’t know why it hurt so much—it was just ice cream, just a stupid flavor. but it wasn’t, not really. it was the principle of it, the small betrayal of something that had once made sense between you two, now shattered.

you had pushed yourself over the edge. the drinks had blurred into each other, one after the next, until all you could think about was johnny—his touch, his warmth, the way his smile used to light up his entire face. the memory of him tugged at your mind, shifting from simple thoughts to something more intimate: the scent of his skin, the taste of his kiss, the way his eyes used to lock with yours, as if telling you something without saying a word. you remembered the look he gave you, the one that seemed to say “i love you,” and how you had let it all slip away so easily.

that was why you were now slumped over outside the bar, unable to pull yourself together, the world spinning wildly around you. your body felt heavy, sluggish, and somewhere in the background, you heard mark’s voice, too enthusiastic for the state you were in. “should we go for more drinks?” he asked, but his suggestion was met with disapproval. “we gotta get (y/n) up,” jaehee responded, his voice dripping with concern. everyone seemed to be murmuring in agreement, encouraging you, nudging you to pull yourself together. but you couldn’t. not when johnny consumed your every thought.

while you struggled to stay coherent, johnny was at home, leaning against the railing of his balcony, a can of beer in his hand. the night air was cool, refreshing, but it did nothing to clear the turmoil in his mind. he drank in silence, each sip a reminder of you—of how complicated things had gotten, of how much you confused him, and yet, how much he still cared. his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with mark’s name. he sighed, half-hoping it would be you on the other end.

“what is it?” johnny answered, the weariness in his voice clear. “yo, you know where (y/n) lives, don’t you? tell me her address,” mark slurred, the telltale signs of alcohol heavy in his voice.

“what do you need it for?” johnny asked, his concern sharpening. “she’s totally wasted, so i’m gonna call her a taxi,” mark explained, and johnny felt his entire body tense. in an instant, the fog of his own buzz dissipated. “i’ll be right there,” he cut in before mark could say anything else. “don’t call a cab. i’ll take care of her.” the call ended abruptly, leaving mark no time to argue.

johnny arrived shortly after in a cab of his own, pulling up just outside the bar. he could hear jaehee muttering something about how expensive the ride must have been, but johnny ignored it, his focus entirely on you. you, sitting on the curb, your hair a mess, your face flushed from too much alcohol, your shoulders slouched in defeat. “go home,” he told the others, his voice firm. “i’ll take care of her.” though hesitant, they eventually nodded, leaving you two alone in the quiet of the night.

“(y/n),” he said softly, nudging your boot with his foot. “come on, get up.” it took a moment, but something in his voice must have registered with you. with a deep, weary sigh, you pushed your hair out of your face and sat up. your gaze met his, and the world around you seemed to slow down. without a word, johnny slipped off his jacket, draping it over your lap. as you glanced at his tattoo, still visible under the dim streetlight, you felt a lump rise in your throat.

he crouched down in front of you and turned his back. “come on, get on,” he gestured, offering to carry you. but you didn’t move. you couldn’t. the second you tried, the tears began to fall, slipping down your cheeks faster than you could stop them. johnny turned immediately, eyes wide with panic. “what? are you crying?” his voice was almost gentle, but you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“how could you do something like that to me, you asshole?” you cried, your words broken by sobs. johnny froze for a second before reaching out to wipe away your tears, but you pushed his hand away, shaking your head. “no, don’t touch me. i don’t wanna be anywhere near a liar like you,” you sniffled, your voice thick with pain.

johnny sighed heavily, clearly exhausted. "what did i do? you're too drunk to make sense right now." he turned his back to you again, insisting, “just get on my back.”

but instead, you swatted him, hard, making him wince in pain. "you're an ass," you cried out, your voice wavering with hurt. “what’s wrong with you?” he asked, rubbing his back.

“you said you hated mint chocolate,” you finally cracked, your voice a mess of frustration and tears. “all this time, i thought you hated it, but i guess you like her enough to like it, you asshole.” johnny blinked, clearly taken aback. “what?”

“and you said you wanted to go out with me,” you continued, choking on your sobs. “get lost. i refuse to talk to a guy who likes mint chocolate.” you covered your ears with your hands, trying to block him out. johnny crouched closer, his face softening as your sobs began to quiet.

“i didn’t eat it because of her,” he finally explained, his voice low. “i tried it because i heard it was good for insomnia. do you know how much trouble sleeping i’ve had because of you?” you were still stubborn, still fighting the truth. “that's bullshit. why would that be because of me?” you demanded.

his eyes softened even more as he met your gaze. “because,” he said quietly, “i can’t stop thinking about you.” for the first time in what felt like forever, you locked eyes with him, and everything else melted away. in his eyes, you saw everything—his confusion, his frustration, his longing. and in yours, he saw your hurt, your vulnerability, and everything you had been holding back. “you loser,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. “how could you be hitting on me right now?”

and then, despite everything, he smiled. that same smile you remembered, the one that made your heart skip a beat. “come here,” he murmured, his hand reaching for your hair, pulling you gently toward him. you didn’t resist. the second his lips touched yours, everything else faded. you let him kiss you, and you kissed him back. the warmth of his mouth on yours was intoxicating, soft and slow, as if neither of you wanted the moment to end. when the kiss finally broke, johnny exhaled, his forehead resting against yours.

“don’t even think about,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, “calling this a mistake.” you nodded, still catching your breath. how could you? even as you felt the world spinning around you, even while you saw stars, you knew this was no mistake.

✧

a/n: this was so unserious lol i love nevertheless

[shadesoflsk]

Okay but imagine Leon having a hispanic/latino s/o? Like him being introduced to their family at parties and having to memorize all the cousins, him falling in love with all the aspects of their culture. Also i feel like he would love gustavo cerati???? Coming from a latina (boricua y dominicana) this has me kicking my feet and giggling!! Ly 💗!! - 🐚

Hi! This is the first time someone claimed an emoji! I feel so excited, hehe.

And I just noticed I often reply to these asks with just my thoughts not knowing if any of you want a whole fic 😭 If you want one let me know ‘cause I'm dense.

Regarding Gustavo Cerati… you're so real 🐚 anon. In fact, I'm preparing a post which is basically hispanic music I think Leon would like. And let me tell you, there are A LOT OF Cerati's songs. If you guys want to share your thoughts/suggest some artists or songs you're welcome to do so. 🙏🏻

Anyway, I could definitely see Leon being overjoyed dating someone hispanic/latino.

The term itself is really broad, so I'm going to leave the details of the culture as ambiguous as I can so everyone can imagine their own.

leon kennedy x gn reader (reader speaks spanish)

Leon himself isn't someone who actually got to spend his childhood and younger years next to a family, or at least a loving one. So, when he met you, he slowly discovered your upbringing and how beautiful your culture was.

It started with little things. When you first mentioned Leon where you come from, he'd search for one thing he really enjoys—music! He fully believes art is the door to a culture, so there's nothing better than getting to know your country by its artists and songs.

He'd need to translate them, though. He barely knows how to say hello in another language. But then again, he tries his best to actually engage in your culture and show genuine interest.

While he navigates through the songs, typical dances, and festivities, the next step is obvious. As your relationship gets more serious, you'd tell him that your family wants to meet him. He isn't scared, not all. He's actually really excited at the prospect of meeting your relatives and taking such a serious step with you.

However, he is nervous about something.You had previously told him that your family was big, and while it didn't bother him, he isn't confident about his ability to remember names.

Poor boy would be the target of your family's teasing. As soon as he enters your home, some of your relatives would give him a pat on his back, seeing how nervous he is. The whole experience would be overwhelming but in a good way.

You'd introduce him to every family member. He'd say his name as best as he could (He asked you to teach him a bit of Spanish, to at least impress some of your relatives).

Very basic and broken Spanish: “Hola yo me llamo Leon, ¿Cómo estás tú?” Baby is trying his best, and everyone could see how much respect he holds for their culture and language.

He's really respectful in every aspect you could think of. When the little mingling comes to an end and hunger starts to brim in each one of your relatives, Leon would be delighted to try everything.

As soon as he starts eating, there are two outcomes. A) He really likes the food. B) He doesn't like it. For the first scenario, he'd devour the plate. Having something prepared with so much seasoning and love was something foreign to him. He'd whisper and ask you to tell your mom if he could fetch himself another serving. He's too shy for his own good.

For the latter, he'd still remain as respectful as he could. It's okay not to like certain things, and while he tries to finish his plate your family would joke about how he couldn’t handle the spice (even if it wasn't spicy in the first place.)

His favorite activity to do with your family is to see your childhood photo album. They would pull out embarrassing photos of yourself, but he'd think you look lovely. In moments like these, he gets to bond with your family even more, feeling himself blending with them and being part of a family he always longed for.

Overall, Leon would find himself falling in love with you and your culture. No matter how different it's from his own upbringing, he'd be honored to share moments getting to know everything about your country.

[wroteclassicaly]

Warnings: Mentions anxiety, hormones, sad situations, hurt/comfort, mentions smut, and fluff.

~*~

“You worryin’ about somethin’ again?” His gruff voice rouses you from your languid daydreams.

When you take notice of the man at your side, hand propped against his cheek, normal faux bravado on standby — your anxieties ease a little. He’s the only one that can do this for you, and it brims him full of feelings he’s been okay to accept lately, though, they remain unspoken between the two of you. You shrug a shoulder as his arm elongates, dropping a calloused trigger finger to ripple a series of touches across your shoulder and collar bone. You’re looking dazed, thoughts on impasse. He lifts up to scoot a little closer, because you won’t ask yet, but he knows you, and he is all too aware that you need him.

And god, do you ever. The nights when air is impossible, that his mouth can provide you with what oxygen cannot. How his hands can embrace you to bulldoze your physical reactions away. His mossy eyes glistening beneath fluttering lashes.

He sheds his khaki, all of the things that give him his shell, skin to skin with you. His bed, it always smells like you now. And his bedroom, it’s just a room, one that’s become littered with various gifts to him or items you have brought from your own place, including several photos of trips you managed to get him to go on with you. That momentous night at the cabin in West Virginia. Then there’s stuff he’s left at your place — clothes, his art set, a few weapons, some records, and more pictures of that time he took you riding in the fields.

His gentle is reserved for you. Just as it is in this moment. He waits patiently until you arrive at the conclusion of your words. You look up at him, his normal slicked back hair in chocolate strands of disarray. Every freckle, every mole — it causes you to speak from your heart, briefly off topic. “You’re so beautiful.”

He tilts his head, swallowing against that kiss littered jugular. He isn’t used to hearing this, especially from someone he was inside of not even ten minutes ago, a discarded, unopened condom at the foot of the bed. He’s just a regular guy, you’re just a regular girl. No guns, no rumors, no rules, no shouting, no violence, no parents. He can be who he wants to be with you, a different man that he’s finding he enjoys spending solo time with.

“You gonna tell me what’s buggin’ your noggin’, sweet girl?” His accent is thick, making you curl into his hairy chest, running your fingers through the drying perspiration, pulling on the chain.

“How much time have you got?”

“I’ve got unlimited time for you.” Is his automatic answer.

“Everything is just… a lot. I don’t know how to explain it to you. I feel…”

“Overwhelmed?” He can’t hide the slight distress, always worrying this bubble will pop and you’ll run away from him. No one ever stays.

You can sense it immediately, shaking your head. “Overwhelmed in my brain. Hormones and other shit. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”

“Would explain why you were climbin’ all over me the second that you got here.” That gets you to laugh. But his chest is on the verge of exploding with this feeling. The one that he’s too afraid to say yet, that he’s never said.

“I feel the safest when I’m with you. Like, all the bad shit can be dealt with, as long as you’re here.” You let it out, flicking his chain with your fingers, the confession what you can muster. And fuck, he gets it, he really fucking gets it.

You’ve replaced a majority of his nightmares, given him things to look forward to, confidence that is no longer misplaced, and he has to turn with a crinkling of his nose, sniffling slightly. He’s emotional. You know he doesn’t like to show, even around you, so you simple link your arms around his neck and tug him with you beneath the quilt — your breasts smashed into his chest. Your nose bridge nudes his own, lips passing him a feather light graze.

You whisper, “Gator Tillman, thank you for being my home.”

[bluelavendre]

Title: Not just for the cats, but for us.

Pjm x reader Fluff

Highschool AU

I love cats n dogs but when i see jimin i just think about cats. -bluelle ------------------------------------------------------------------

Her fingers danced gracefully across the piano keys, coaxing a melody so pure and enchanting that it seemed to breathe life into the stillness of the room. The familiar strains of Für Elise flowed effortlessly from her hands, each note brimming with emotion, weaving a story only she could tell. The soft glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue over her figure as she sat poised, her back straight yet relaxed, her head gently tilting with the rise and fall of the music.

From my vantage point by the door, hidden just enough to remain unseen, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Her face was serene, her expression a delicate blend of focus and passion, as though the music was not merely played but pulled from her very soul. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, betraying a secret joy she seemed to share with the keys alone.

I leaned quietly against the doorframe, afraid to step closer, lest I break the spell she had cast on the room—and on me. My heart raced, not from nervousness, but from the sheer beauty of the moment. Each note she played wrapped around me, drawing me into her world, a world I longed to be a part of.

The air between us felt electric, though she had no idea I was there. I admired her from the shadows, captivated by the way her slender fingers moved with such precision, her every gesture exuding elegance. The faint scent of the polished wood piano mixed with the aroma of lavender from the room, grounding me in a moment that felt like a dream.

She was art in motion, and I, the silent observer, could do nothing but stand there, mesmerized, wishing the music—and this fleeting, perfect moment—would never end.

“Yah! Jimin-shi, what are you doing over there?” Umji’s voice broke through my thoughts, snapping me out of the quiet reverie I had sunk into while watching her play the piano. My heart jumped, and without thinking, I clamped a hand over her mouth, silencing her instantly.

“Keep it down, Umji!” I hissed, glancing nervously toward the piano room to see if anyone had noticed the commotion.

Her eyes narrowed at me, and I could tell she was about to let me have it once I removed my hand. “Ah… you creep! Why would you—” But before she could finish her protest, another voice rang out, interrupting us both.

“Jimin-ah! Umji-ah! You lovebirds need to get a room or something—you’re literally in school!”

It was Luna, striding down the hall with her usual flair, a teasing grin plastered across her face. And beside her... there she was. Y/n.

“Luna, stop it. Leave them alone,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes at her friend before turning to us. Her voice was calm, but there was a faint smile playing on her lips, as if she found the situation mildly amusing. “Sorry about her. She’s just a bit much sometimes.”

I was frozen, my brain scrambling to form a coherent response. “I—I, uh… it’s fine. Hehe,” I managed, though my voice cracked awkwardly on the last word. My cheeks burned as I felt my face flush red.

Beside me, Umji elbowed me sharply in the ribs, her way of saying pull yourself together. I shot her a look, but before I could say anything else, Y/n spoke again.

“We should get going. Bye, Jimin-shi, Umji!” She waved lightly, her smile warm and effortless, before walking off with Luna.

I stood there for a moment, staring after her retreating figure, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

“You’re so awkward, dude,” Umji muttered, shaking her head as we started walking toward our next class.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. I could still feel the heat in my cheeks, and the ghost of Y/n’s smile lingered in my mind.

As we walked, I glanced at Umji, who was humming a random tune. She had been my best friend since elementary school, always there to back me up—or call me out. And, as annoying as she could be sometimes, I wouldn’t trade her for anyone.

But no matter how much I tried to focus on the next class or Umji’s chatter, my thoughts kept drifting back to that room, to her hands on the piano, and to the way she smiled at me, even if it was just for a moment.

Y/n was the top of the class—a title she carried effortlessly, like it was second nature. She wasn’t just academically brilliant; she had an artistry about her that captivated everyone who got to know her. She could play the piano with a grace that turned music into magic, and her skill with the violin was just as breathtaking. Every note she played seemed to come alive, telling stories no words could capture.

But it wasn’t just her talent that set her apart—it was her humility. Despite how accomplished she was, she never bragged or sought attention. She was the kind of person who’d stay after class to help someone struggling with homework or quietly cheer on her classmates during competitions. She was kind in a way that made you feel special, even if it was just a small smile or a quick “you can do it.”

And then there was her beauty. She was... radiant. Her smile could light up a room, with those perfect dimples framing it so effortlessly. Her eyes, deep and expressive, held the kind of warmth that made you feel seen and understood, even from across the room. Her presence alone made everything around her feel brighter.

I couldn’t help but let my thoughts linger on her, playing out memories of her laughter, the way her hair glimmered under the sunlight, and the way her voice carried a natural melody when she spoke. My mind began to wander further—her smile, her dimples, her eyes, her—

BRRRIIIING!

The sharp clang of the bell snapped me out of my trance. I jolted in my seat, my heart racing as if someone had caught me red-handed. Shaking my head, I tried to refocus, but my thoughts lingered stubbornly on Y/n.

“Ugh, focus, Jimin,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing my things for the next class. But as much as I tried to concentrate on anything else, I knew it was pointless. She had a way of staying in my mind, like a melody I couldn’t shake off.

“What will you be doing this weekend?” Umji asked as we walked down the hall, her voice casual but curious, like she always was.

I shrugged, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “Buying groceries for my cat. He’s running low on food, and he’s already giving me those judgmental stares.”

Umji snorted. “Your cat owns you, doesn’t he?”

“Pretty much,” I admitted with a small grin. “What about you?”

She let out an exaggerated groan, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Dad’s forcing me to go with him fishing.”

“Fishing?” I raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Sounds fun.”

“Fun? Are you kidding? Sitting in a boat for hours, in the sun, waiting for something to bite? No, thank you.” She tossed her head back like it was the worst thing imaginable.

“Still…” I said, nudging her arm lightly, “quality time with your dad isn’t the worst thing in the world. You’ll probably catch something to cook for dinner, right?”

She sighed, half-defeated. “I guess. He does get weirdly happy when I go with him, so... I’ll survive. But if he makes me gut a fish again, I’m retiring as his daughter.”

I laughed at that, picturing her struggling with a fish while her dad gave her instructions. “Retiring, huh? Let me know how that goes. I hear being a cat parent isn’t much easier.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, and we kept walking, her rant about fishing fading into the comfortable rhythm of our banter.

-

Saturday I woke up later than usual, sunlight streaming through the blinds and warming my room. Jenga, my cat, was already awake, purring loudly as he rubbed himself against my feet, his way of demanding attention.

“I know, I know. I have to buy you food,” I mumbled, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He purred even louder, his tail swishing happily.

After a quick breakfast, I got ready and headed out to the pet shop. The cool morning air felt refreshing as I walked, the streets already busy with people running their weekend errands. When I entered the shop, the familiar scent of pet supplies and the faint chatter of other customers greeted me.

Grabbing a basket, I started browsing the shelves, scanning for the brand of food Jenga liked. My mind was preoccupied with deciding between flavors—salmon or chicken—when something made me stop in my tracks.

There she was.

Y/n stood a few aisles away, her long hair falling over her shoulder as she held up a cat toy. She was laughing softly, her voice like music, and beside her was Luna, her ever-energetic friend.

“Lu, should I get this for Hubby?” Y/n asked, holding up a small mouse-shaped toy and tilting her head in mock seriousness.

“Hubby deserves the best,” Luna teased, grinning. “You should get the fancy one with the bells.”

Before I could even think of turning away or hiding behind a shelf, Y/n’s eyes flickered in my direction. For a moment, time seemed to slow. She smiled warmly when she saw me, lifting her hand in a small wave.

“Hi, Jimin-shi!” she called out.

Her smile—those dimples, her bright eyes—it hit me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless. My heart stuttered, and I felt an embarrassing warmth creep up my neck.

I tried to play it cool, giving a small wave back and managing an awkward “H-hey.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, her trademark smirk spreading across her face. “Well, look who it is,” she said, nudging Y/n with her elbow.

Y/n didn’t seem to notice her friend’s teasing. She smiled at me again before turning back to the shelf. I stood there for a moment, feeling like my legs had turned to jelly, before realizing I was still holding the basket awkwardly in one hand.

I needed to move—or at least figure out how to breathe again.

Luna’s phone buzzed loudly, breaking the moment. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered with a grin. “Hey, Jungkook. Yeah, I’m still at the pet shop. Wait, you’re already there? Ugh, fine. I’ll come grab you.”

She turned to me before I could even process what was happening. “Hey, Jimin. You wouldn’t mind looking after my sweet little bestie here while I fetch Jungkook, right?”

“Uh—”

“Great, thanks!” Luna said, not waiting for an answer. She patted my back with enough force to nearly knock me forward and started walking away.

“Luna!” Y/n called after her, but her friend just waved without turning around.

“She’s something else,” Y/n said, laughing softly as she turned back to me.

“Yeah, she really is,” I replied, trying to suppress the awkwardness rising in my chest.

Y/n smiled at me, tilting her head slightly. “So… you have a cat?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, nodding quickly. “His name’s Jenga. He’s kind of a spoiled prince, but, uh, I guess that’s my fault.”

Her eyes lit up with excitement. “Jenga? That’s such a cute name! I have a cat too.”

“Really?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “What’s their name?”

“Hubby,” she said, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“Hubby?” I echoed, trying not to smile too much.

“Yeah, I know it’s a weird name,” she admitted, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. “Luna started calling him that as a joke, and it just stuck. Now every time I call for him, it feels like I’m talking to my nonexistent husband.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “That’s actually adorable. So what’s Hubby like?”

She grinned. “Oh, he’s the sassiest little thing. He acts like he’s royalty. He’ll only eat out of specific bowls, and if I don’t give him attention the moment he demands it, he’ll knock something over just to prove a point.”

“That sounds... way too familiar,” I said with a laugh. “Jenga does the same thing. I swear, cats are masterminds. They know exactly how to manipulate us.”

“Right?!” she agreed, her laughter blending with mine. “But as much trouble as Hubby is, I can’t imagine not having him around. He’s basically my baby.”

For a moment, we both stood there, exchanging stories about our cats, the awkwardness between us melting away. The way she talked about Hubby—with so much affection and warmth—made my heart race just a little faster.

As our laughter faded into a comfortable silence, Y/n brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at me, her dimples showing just enough to make my heart skip a beat.

“We should arrange a kitty playdate for them,” she said, her eyes sparkling with the idea.

“A playdate?” I repeated, slightly caught off guard. The thought of Jenga interacting with another cat—let alone her cat—was both amusing and slightly terrifying. “I don’t know if Jenga plays well with others. He kind of thinks he’s the king of the world.”

Y/n chuckled, a soft sound that made me smile automatically. “Hubby’s the same way. He’s probably going to think Jenga’s his rival or something. But it could be fun, don’t you think? Watching them try to figure each other out?”

I could already picture it: Jenga glaring at Hubby, trying to assert dominance, while Hubby casually ignored him, lounging like the diva Y/n had described. The image made me laugh. “Yeah, it would definitely be interesting.”

“See?” she said, nudging me lightly with her elbow. “It’s settled, then. We’ll pick a day, and they can meet. You can bring Jenga to my place—there’s more space for them to run around.”

Her words caught me off guard. Her place? My mind scrambled to keep up. “Oh, uh, yeah. That sounds great,” I managed to say, trying not to sound too eager.

“Awesome,” she said with a grin, clearly pleased with the idea. “Just be warned—Hubby will probably show off. He loves an audience.”

“Well, Jenga might try to steal the show,” I joked, feeling a little more at ease now.

“Perfect. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone,” she teased, her laughter ringing out again.

As the conversation shifted back to the shelves of pet supplies, I couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of excitement. A playdate for our cats sounded like a silly idea on the surface, but the thought of spending more time with Y/n—even under the guise of being responsible cat owners—was something I wouldn’t dare turn down.

Just as the conversation between Y/n and I was flowing, Luna came back into view, this time accompanied by none other than Jungkook, her boyfriend. He was carrying a bag of snacks, looking like he’d just come from somewhere else, his casual demeanor matching Luna’s usual energetic one.

“There goes my mom and dad,” Y/n murmured under her breath, but I caught it, a soft chuckle escaping me at her playful tone. It was obvious she was referring to how Luna and Jungkook always seemed like the perfect pair of mismatched parents in their friend group.

Luna spotted us immediately, her bright eyes locking on Y/n before turning to me with a teasing grin. “So, have you two been making cat plans or whatever?”

Y/n and I exchanged a quick, amused glance. “Yeah, we’ve been discussing a kitty playdate for Hubby and Jenga,” I said, unable to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

Luna raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jungkook. “Oh? This I’ve got to see,” she said with a grin. “Are you sure the cats won’t end up fighting each other instead of playing?”

“It’s going to be fun to watch either way,” Y/n replied, her voice light, almost teasing. “But I’m more worried about what Jenga will do to Hubby. He thinks he’s top cat around here.”

Jungkook chuckled, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Sounds like a good time. Let me know when it happens. I’ll be watching from the sidelines, ready to break up any cat fights.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. “I’ll definitely let you know,” I promised, feeling a sense of excitement build at the thought of actually seeing Y/n again outside of the store.

Luna turned her attention back to Y/n, her tone shifting slightly. “Have you finished shopping?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything,” Y/n said, adjusting the bag in her hand. “I just need to grab a few more things at home, but I’m good for now.”

“Well, then,” Luna said, her expression turning mischievous, “we’ll leave you two alone now. Bye, Jimin-shi!” She waved at me, a wink accompanying her farewell.

“Bye, Jimin!” Y/n added with a soft, genuine smile.

I waved back, a bit flustered but smiling nonetheless. “See you, Y/n,” I said, my voice a little more soft than I meant it to be.

Luna and Jungkook started walking toward the exit, Luna talking animatedly about some random topic, while Y/n lingered for a moment, her gaze holding mine.

“Catch you later, Jimin,” she said, her smile lingering for just a bit longer than usual.

As she turned to follow her friends, she paused, glancing back at me with a thoughtful look. “Hey, um... do you think you could give me your number?” she asked, her voice slightly quieter but still warm. “For the cat playdate, you know… just in case we need to set a time or something.”

I blinked, a bit surprised but also excited. “Oh—yeah, of course,” I stammered, quickly pulling out my phone and unlocking it. “Here, just—just type it in.”

Y/n took the phone from my hand with a small, soft laugh, her fingers brushing against mine as she typed in her number. “Thanks, Jimin. I’ll text you soon about the playdate.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I said, feeling my heart race a little faster as she handed the phone back.

With one final smile, Y/n waved again. “See you soon, Jimin.”

“See you,” I managed to say, my thoughts a little scattered as I watched her walk away, feeling a mixture of disbelief and excitement.

She has my number. My mind kept repeating the words over and over, and I could feel my heart race a little faster with each thought. I watched as Y/n walked off with Luna and Jungkook, the feeling of her smile still lingering in my chest like a warmth that wouldn’t fade.

I couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot.

But just as I was lost in the moment, the sound of a locker slamming shut broke my daydreaming. “YAH, why you smiling like an idiot again?”

I jumped, startled by the voice. It was Umji, of course, standing at the end of the hallway with an exasperated look on her face. She was leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, giving me a look that clearly said, she knew something was up.

“Umji, can you not?!” I said, trying to hide my grin but failing miserably.

She took one step closer, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t try to act innocent now. I know that look. You’re definitely thinking about something, and it’s probably about Y/n, isn’t it?”

My face flushed, and I quickly tried to wipe the goofy smile off my face, but it was no use. “It’s not like that...” I muttered, though even I knew I wasn’t fooling her.

Umji let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless, Jimin. I knew it the moment I saw you two talking. You’re already all over the place in your head, aren’t you?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Umji was right.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she said, crossing her arms again. “You’ve been staring at her like some lovesick puppy for weeks. And now—now, you have her number? Pfft, you’re doomed.”

“Thanks for the support, Umji,” I muttered sarcastically, but the truth was, her teasing only made me more flustered.

“Yeah, yeah. But seriously,” she said, her voice softening just a little, “if you like her, you should do something about it. Don’t just stand there grinning like a fool.”

I gave her a sideways glance. “I’m not just grinning...”

“Oh, you’re totally grinning,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “You’ve got that look in your eyes that says you’re definitely going to daydream about her later.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it. But let’s just get to class already.”

Umji just laughed. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re so obvious, Jimin.”

I shook my head, but I couldn’t hide the goofy smile creeping back onto my face as we walked toward our next class.

The bell rang, signaling the start of lunch, and I made my way to my locker, waiting for Umji like usual. As I leaned against the cool metal, I couldn’t help but smile again—thinking about the exchange earlier with Y/n. I must've looked like a complete idiot, but I didn’t care. She had my number. She actually asked for it.

"She's again late," I muttered to myself, leaning a little more into the locker as I checked my watch. Umji was always running behind, and I’d gotten used to it by now.

"Hey, Jimin."

I froze. That voice.

I turned around quickly, and there she was—Y/n, standing a few feet away with that soft smile of hers. My heart skipped a beat, and I mentally kicked myself for sounding so obvious earlier.

“H-hey,” I stammered, trying my best not to blush like an idiot.

Y/n chuckled at my flustered reaction, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, she looked even more at ease, like she was used to making people nervous.

“So, I was wondering,” she started, her eyes meeting mine, “are you free on Saturday?”

I blinked, surprised. Saturday? Was she seriously asking me this now? My mind raced, trying to process her words. "Yeah, totally," I said a little too quickly, my enthusiasm slipping through.

Her smile widened, and for a second, I could swear the world around us quieted. “Great! I was thinking, since we’re going to have that kitty playdate, maybe we can do something else after? Like grab a bite to eat or... you know, just hang out?”

“Yeah, sounds perfect,” I said, my voice a little steadier now, though my heart was still racing. I couldn’t believe it. She was asking me to hang out. Outside of school. Outside of the cat playdate. This wasn’t just casual anymore.

"Alright," she said, a hint of excitement in her voice. "I’ll text you the details, but I just wanted to check in if you were free."

“I’m free,” I replied instantly, a smile tugging at my lips that I couldn’t hide.

“Perfect,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll see you then, Jimin.”

Before I could say anything else, she waved and walked off, leaving me standing there, practically glowing. My brain was still processing everything, but one thing was clear—I had just made plans with Y/n. Not just for the cats, but for us.

Umji was beside me smirking “ooooooh. He’s gonna get laid” she said teasingly “Shut up umji!”

Saturday came faster than I expected, like a timelapse in my mind. I woke up at 6 a.m., my heart already racing with excitement. I had the whole day to prepare for Y/n’s visit—and I wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. The house had to be perfect.

I started with the basics: wiping down the tables, vacuuming every inch of the floor. I was determined to make the place presentable, even though I knew it wasn’t exactly the cleanest house on the block. But for Y/n? I wanted everything to be spotless.

As I moved from room to room, my mom appeared, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she came down the stairs. She blinked a few times, trying to wake up. “Son, why so early?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

I paused for a second, a little startled, but quickly replied, “Sorry, Mom. I just have a guest later.”

Her eyebrows raised, and she gave me a teasing smile, her sleepiness vanishing in an instant. “She must be special, huh? Well, I’ll let you finish, and I’ll cook breakfast later. I still have to go to work.”

“Love you, Mom,” I said, trying to hide the grin that was threatening to spread across my face.

“I love you too, Jimin,” she replied, her voice softening as she patted me on the shoulder before heading back to the kitchen.

I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as I continued cleaning. This wasn’t just some casual hangout anymore. Y/n was coming over—for real. And I wanted everything to go smoothly.

“Food bowls, check. Water, check. Extra kitty treats, check.” I ran through my checklist one last time, making sure everything was set. I wanted to make sure Jenga and Hubby—Y/n’s cat—had everything they could possibly need for their playdate.

Finally, I stopped and looked down at my own cat, who was sitting on the couch, watching me with those big, judgmental eyes. “Jenga, please be a good boy,” I said, trying to sound confident.

Jenga responded with a soft meow, almost like he was agreeing—though I wasn’t sure if he understood.

I sighed, giving him a last pat before hearing the doorbell ring. My heart skipped a beat. There she was.

I rushed to the door, quickly fixing my hair one last time, though I didn’t have much time to do anything other than take a deep breath. I opened it, and there she was—Y/n, standing outside with a cat carrier bag in hand, looking just as calm and beautiful as ever.

“Hey,” I greeted, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice. “You’re here.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Yep! Got Hubby all packed up and ready for his first playdate.” She shifted the cat bag, and I could hear the soft meowing from inside. “Hope Jenga’s ready too.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her, the excitement building. “I think he’s ready. I hope they get along.”

“Well, if they don’t, we’ve got treats to bribe them,” Y/n laughed, walking inside after I stepped aside to let her in.

As she entered, I couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. It was happening. Y/n was here. And this wasn’t just a casual hangout anymore—it was something more.

Jenga and Hubby just stood there, staring at each other. The silence between them was almost awkward, as if they were sizing each other up. Jenga, usually the more energetic one, was completely still, his eyes locked on Hubby.

Y/n pulled out her phone, ready to capture the moment. She held it up, her grin widening. “Wow, for the first time he’s like that,” she said, her voice full of amusement as she watched Jenga’s uncharacteristically calm behavior.

I couldn’t help but laugh, too. Jenga usually couldn’t sit still for five seconds, let alone stand there quietly. “Yeah, he’s usually a lot more... active,” I said, eyes still on my cat. “Jenga’s... friendly? Or he’s planning something?”

Y/n chuckled, her fingers lightly tapping the screen of her phone as she recorded. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just being cautious. Hubby can be a little intimidating at first, but once they get comfortable...”

Jenga slowly took a few steps forward, and Hubby blinked, then casually stretched out a paw. It was like a silent invitation. I raised an eyebrow, watching the two of them interact.

“Looks like he’s warming up,” I said, a little surprised.

Y/n laughed softly, still recording. “Maybe they’ll be best buds by the end of the day.”

For a moment, it felt like everything was perfectly aligned—Jenga and Hubby meeting each other, Y/n and I sharing a moment together. I couldn’t help but feel like I was experiencing something special.

A sudden crack of thunder made both of us jump. Y/n let out a small gasp, clutching the strap of her bag as she turned toward the window. Rain was now pouring heavily, streaking down the glass in thick rivulets. The sky outside had darkened, the storm rolling in quicker than either of us had expected.

“Oh no,” she sighed, pressing her palm against the windowpane. “Looks like we’re stuck in here, Hubs.” She glanced down at her cat, then back at me, her expression soft but questioning. “If that’s fine for you, Jiminshi?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to play it cool, even though my heart had already started racing. “That’s totally fine,” I said with a smile, trying to ignore the sudden warmth creeping up my neck.

As the storm outside raged on, the softest, most unexpected sight caught our attention—Jenga and Hubby, snuggled up in the corner, fast asleep. Jenga, the same cat who rarely showed affection, was curled up against Hubby like they’d been best friends forever.

Y/n’s eyes practically sparkled as she clasped her hands together. “Aww,” she whispered, her voice filled with pure adoration. Her eyes formed little hearts as she stared at the two furry companions, completely mesmerized.

I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief. “It’s very unusual for Jenga to be this... cuddly.”

Y/n turned to me, her cheeks still carrying the trace of a smile. “Maybe he just needed the right company,” she mused.

I nodded, before suddenly remembering—I should be a good host. “Y/n, do you want something to eat? Or drink?” I asked as I opened the fridge, scanning the shelves for anything worth offering.

“A water will be fine, please,” she replied sweetly, shifting her focus from the window back to me.

I grabbed a bottle and handed it to her, our fingers brushing slightly. It was barely a touch, but even that small contact made my chest tighten. I cleared my throat, trying to think of something else to keep my nerves from making me awkward.

“Do you want to play video games while the cats are... contained?” I asked, glancing toward the corner where they were still peacefully curled up.

Y/n grinned, twisting the cap off her water. “Sure,” she said. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Jimin.”

I smirked, finally feeling a bit more at ease. “We’ll see about that.”

I set up the console and handed her a controller. We started off with a simple racing game, but soon, things turned competitive.

“Jimin, you’re so bad at this,” Y/n teased, giggling as she zoomed past my car for the third time.

I groaned. “I swear my controller is broken. There’s no way you’re this good.”

She laughed, nudging my arm playfully. “Excuses, excuses.”

The next game we picked was a battle-style one, where we had to fight against each other.

“Prepare to lose,” I declared confidently.

But within minutes, Y/n had completely destroyed me.

“No way! You practice this, don’t you?” I accused, eyes wide as my character got knocked out.

She burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. “I told you I wouldn’t go easy on you!”

The room was filled with laughter, playful bickering, and the occasional “No fair!” from me every time she won. The rain continued to pour outside, but inside, it felt warm and alive.

After what felt like hours of intense gaming, I finally managed to win a round.

“HA! Take that!” I cheered, throwing my hands in the air.

Y/n pouted. “Beginner’s luck.”

I grinned. “Nah, that was pure skill.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you this one.”

I looked at her, smiling to myself. This stormy day, which could’ve been dull and uneventful, had turned into something so unexpectedly fun. Y/n’s laughter, her presence—it made the whole afternoon feel special.

Maybe being stuck inside wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

All the way to school, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. My steps were light, almost skippy, and there was an undeniable happiness bubbling inside me. I finally found a girl who matched my freak, someone who made me laugh, who made my heart race in the best way possible.

“Yah! Weirdo,” Umji’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts as she nudged me with her elbow, a teasing smirk on her face.

I turned to her, still grinning. “Umj-ah, I had the best day of my life!” I practically sang, my eyes twinkling with excitement.

Umji raised an eyebrow before dramatically rolling her eyes. “Lovestruck puppy, aish,” she sighed, shaking her head.

I ignored her sarcasm and clutched my chest like I was in some kind of romance drama. “I’m serious! Saturday was... amazing. We played games, the cats actually got along, and—” I stopped myself, suddenly realizing how ridiculous I must’ve sounded.

Umji smirked. “Uh-huh. And let me guess, you kept staring at her like a lost puppy the whole time?”

I cleared my throat, trying to act unbothered. “I-I did not—”

She cut me off with a loud gasp. “You totally did!”

“Shut up!” I groaned, covering my face as my ears burned red.

Umji just laughed, slinging an arm around my shoulder as we walked through the school gates. “Ah, Jimin, my dear friend, you’ve got it bad.”

I sighed, but deep down, I knew she was right. And honestly? I didn’t mind one bit.

We arrived at school, and just as I was about to step inside, Umji suddenly nudged me hard in the ribs.

"Ow! Umji, stop with the—" I started to protest, rubbing my side.

"Yah! Your crush is coming!" she whisper-shouted, eyes twinkling with mischief.

My breath hitched as I instinctively looked up—and there she was. Y/n, walking through the school gates, her hair slightly tousled by the morning breeze, looking effortlessly pretty as always. She was chatting with Luna, her laughter ringing like a melody in the air.

Panic set in. I wasn’t ready for this. Was my hair okay? Did I look weird? Oh god, what if she noticed how stupidly happy I was just a second ago?

"Act normal," Umji muttered, trying to stifle her laugh.

I straightened up, attempting to look cool and composed, but my body betrayed me. My backpack nearly slipped off my shoulder, and when I tried to fix it, I almost tripped over my own feet.

"Smooth," Umji deadpanned.

Before I could recover, Y/n caught sight of me and smiled. "Good morning, Jimin!"

That was it. That was all it took for my brain to short-circuit.

"H-Hey! G-Good morning!" I stammered like an absolute fool.

Umji snorted beside me. "Lovestruck puppy," she muttered under her breath.

I ignored her. Y/n took a small step closer, tilting her head slightly. “So... up for another kitty playdate next week?”

I blinked, completely caught off guard. Did she just—? Was she asking me to hang out again?

"U-Uh, yeah! Totally! I mean—yeah, that’d be cool!" I blurted out way too enthusiastically.

Y/n giggled. “Great! Hubby had fun too, so let’s plan it soon.”

She gave me one last smile before walking off with Luna, leaving me frozen in place, heart pounding like a drum.

I turned to Umji, who was already shaking her head. "Jimin, you are so obvious."

I let out a dreamy sigh. "I don't even care."

Umji groaned. "You're officially hopeless."

But honestly? I was perfectly fine with that.

Saturdays had officially become my favorite days.

Every week, without fail, Y/n would arrive at my doorstep, carrying Hubby in his little travel bag, a warm smile on her face that never failed to send my heart into overdrive. The moment the door opened, Jenga would perk up, already expecting his new playmate, and the excitement in the air was almost contagious.

"Jiminshi, I think they recognize each other now," Y/n said with a giggle one Saturday afternoon as we watched the two cats sniffing and circling each other.

I laughed, watching as Jenga playfully batted at Hubby’s tail before darting away. "They probably think they own the place now."

Each Saturday felt like a little adventure of its own. Some days, we'd just lounge around, watching as our cats zoomed across the living room, knocking over everything in their way. Other times, we’d try to get them to wear tiny outfits—though that usually ended with us getting swatted at while Y/n cried from laughter.

And then, of course, there were the video game battles.

“You’re so going down today,” I smirked as I handed Y/n a controller, settling onto the couch.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Jimin, I’ve destroyed you every single time. What makes you think today is different?”

“Because I practiced,” I declared proudly.

And yet, ten minutes later, I was groaning in defeat while Y/n laughed victoriously beside me. “You’re hopeless,” she teased, nudging my shoulder.

I didn’t mind losing. Not when it meant seeing her smile like that.

Other Saturdays, we'd just talk—about school, life, our childhoods. I learned that Y/n had always wanted a cat but had to wait until she was older to get one. I told her about how Jenga had randomly appeared outside my house one day and refused to leave.

One afternoon, as the sun cast a golden glow through my window, she leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "You know... these Saturdays are kinda my favorite now."

I almost dropped the glass of water I was holding. "Really?"

She turned her head to look at me, her expression soft. "Yeah. It’s fun. It’s... nice spending time like this."

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

"Yeah," I managed to say, clearing my throat. "It really is."

Jenga and Hubby curled up together on the rug, their tails intertwined as they drifted off to sleep. Meanwhile, my heart raced, knowing that next Saturday, she’d be here again.

And the Saturday after that.

And maybe, just maybe, one day, I’d finally tell her just how much these Saturdays meant to me.

"Dude, are you really just gonna stay like that forever?" Umji said, plopping down beside me as I set down the book I was reading—How to Get Your Crush to Like You Back.

"Like what?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She gave me an exaggerated look before motioning toward the book. "Duh. Reading that without even applying any of the stuff it says." She took a sip from her water bottle, watching me like she was waiting for me to realize something obvious.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I just... I don’t know, Umji." My fingers fiddled with the edge of the book. "I don’t know how to ask her out."

Umji groaned, throwing her head back. "Jimin, seriously? She literally comes over every Saturday. She hangs out with you for hours. Do you need a flashing neon sign that says Ask Y/n Out?"

I let out another sigh, this one heavier. "I’m just waiting for the right time."

Umji scoffed, crossing her arms. "Then find it. Or, I dunno, lose it?"

That made me pause. I frowned. "Lose it? What do you mean?"

She stared at me like I was the densest person on earth. "Jiminah. You are not the only guy who has heart eyes for Y/n."

That got my attention. "Wait, what?"

Umji leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. "Kim Seokjin. The senior. He’s been talking about her a lot lately. Watching her every school performance, going to every event she’s in." She gave me a pointed look. "Like, every single one."

A sudden tightness formed in my chest. Seokjin? The guy every girl in school practically swooned over?

I swallowed hard. "You’re right," I said, my voice firmer this time. "I can’t just sit around anymore. I’m going to confess this Saturday."

Umji grinned and clapped her hands together. "That’s my beste! Finally, some action!"

I exhaled sharply, my heartbeat already picking up at the thought. Saturday. That was the day. No more hesitation. No more waiting.

It was now or never.

I was waiting outside Y/n’s homeroom, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, trying to calm my nerves. My palms were slightly sweaty, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing. Today’s the day, Jimin. You got this.

The classroom door creaked open, and Luna stepped out, eyes glued to her phone. She barely noticed me standing there until I cleared my throat.

“Hey, Luna,” I greeted, trying to sound casual.

She glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, hey. Looking for Y/n?”

“Yeah, is she here?” I asked, peering inside the room, but there was no sign of her.

Luna shook her head. “She was asked by Professor Shin to bring some papers to the seniors.”

“Seniors?” I repeated, a small knot forming in my stomach.

“Yep,” Luna confirmed, casually scrolling through her phone. “You know, for their upcoming events and stuff.”

My stomach twisted slightly. Seniors… Did that mean she was with him? Seokjin? The guy Umji warned me about? The guy who apparently had been keeping a close eye on Y/n?

I clenched my fists, trying to shake off the sudden unease creeping up my spine.

“Uh… do you know where exactly?” I asked, attempting to keep my voice steady.

Luna finally looked up from her phone and gave me a smirk. “Why? You jealous or something?”

I stiffened. “W-What? No! I just—”

She laughed, cutting me off. “Relax, Jimin. She should be back soon. Why don’t you just wait here?”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. Maybe I was overthinking things. But still, the thought of Y/n spending time with Seokjin, even for school work, made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t ready to admit.

“Alright,” I muttered, leaning against the wall.

I’d wait.

And today, no matter what, I was going to tell her how I felt.

A couple of minutes later, I straightened up as I saw Y/n walking down the hallway beside Professor Shin. My heart did a little flip at the sight of her—hair slightly tousled, cheeks lightly flushed, probably from carrying all those papers.

"Thanks for the help, Y/n," Professor Shin said, giving her an appreciative nod.

"No problem, sir," she replied with a bright smile.

That’s when her eyes landed on me.

“Oh, Jiminshi,” she said, blinking in surprise.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

“Uh—hey,” I managed to say, awkwardly rubbing the back of my neck. “I was just… waiting for you.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile. “Oh? What’s up?”

This was it. My chance. My moment.

But why did my throat suddenly feel dry?

Luna, still standing nearby, stifled a laugh and muttered, “This should be fun.”

I ignored her, inhaling deeply before looking straight into Y/n’s eyes.

“I… I wanted to ask you something.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to push past the nerves threatening to paralyze me. Now or never, Jimin. Just do it.

“I wanted to ask if…” I hesitated for half a second before exhaling sharply. “If you’d like to go out with me this Saturday. Like… on a date.”

Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn’t expected that.

“Oh…” she blinked, processing my words. “A date?”

Before she could say anything else, a voice from behind interrupted us.

“Y/n!”

I turned my head just in time to see him.

Kim Seokjin.

The senior.

The guy Umji had warned me about.

He was standing a few feet away, holding what looked like a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. His confident demeanor faltered slightly as he took in the scene—me standing close to Y/n, her looking up at me with curious eyes, and Luna and Umji watching with barely contained excitement.

Jin’s gaze flickered between us, realization dawning on his face.

I knew it.

He was about to ask her out.

But I had beaten him to it.

Umji and Luna exchanged a glance before smirking and casually high-fiving in the background.

Y/n, seemingly unaware of the small unspoken battle that had just taken place, smiled at me—soft, warm, genuine. “I’d love to, Jimin.”

My heart nearly burst out of my chest. “R-Really?”

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah. A kitty playdate is fun, but I think a real date sounds even better.”

Luna let out a dramatic ooooh while Umji snickered. Jin, to his credit, managed to keep his face neutral, though I could see the disappointment flicker in his eyes before he cleared his throat.

“Well,” Jin said, forcing a small smile. “Looks like I was a little late.”

Luna, never one to miss a moment, whispered loudly, “Too late.”

Jin shot her a look but then chuckled, shaking his head. “Good luck, Jimin.” He gave Y/n one last glance before slipping the box into his pocket and walking away.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I had done it.

I had asked her out. And she said yes.

As Y/n and I exchanged shy smiles, Umji and Luna high-fived again, this time even harder.

“Finally,” Umji muttered. “About damn time.”

“Aigoo, finally our baby is dating,” Jungkook said, dramatically wiping away fake tears as he pulled a laughing Luna into a tight hug. The couple’s playful teasing filled the air as they shared the moment with us.

Beside them, Umji was happily stuffing food into her mouth, barely pausing to breathe. "He’s been lovestruck by her like, since forever," she said, voice muffled as she chewed, a proud glint in her eyes. "But because of my words of wisdom, he finally got the guts."

Luna and Jungkook exchanged amused glances, chuckling at the scene. "Words of wisdom?" Luna teased, arching an eyebrow. "That’s what you’re calling it?"

“Hey, I know what I’m talking about,” Umji said, giving a dramatic wink between mouthfuls. “It’s all about timing.”

The park around us felt peaceful—just the kind of place to spend a Saturday afternoon. Y/n and I sat on the grass, our cats, Jenga and Hubby, sprawled lazily between us, enjoying the rare moment of calm. The two cats had become inseparable over the past few weeks, and seeing them curled up together made me smile.

Luna and Jungkook sat a little further away, their playful teasing continuing as they watched us. "I’m still amazed you guys actually did it," Jungkook commented, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "Thought it was gonna take you forever to ask her out, Jimin."

I smiled, feeling a little embarrassed but also proud. "Yeah, well, it wasn’t easy… but it was worth it."

Y/n smiled shyly beside me, her fingers gently brushing against mine as she leaned closer. "I’m glad you asked."

I felt my heart flutter at her words. The warmth between us was undeniable.

Jungkook and Luna exchanged a glance, clearly noticing the shift in the air. Luna sighed dramatically, holding a hand to her heart. "This is so cute, I’m getting heartburn from it."

"Same," Jungkook agreed, giving us a thumbs-up. "You guys make a good couple."

Umji, wiping her mouth and swallowing another bite, joined in with a cheeky grin. "You two better not get too lovey-dovey. I’m still here, you know."

I chuckled. "We’re just enjoying the moment."

It was a peaceful afternoon, surrounded by friends, our cats, and a growing bond that felt like it had always been there. The playful teasing, the laughter, the feeling of being surrounded by people who cared—it all made the day feel perfect.

And somehow, it felt like this was just the beginning.

I blinked, trying to process her words as they slowly sunk in. Y/n turned to face me fully, her smile widening as she watched my expression change.

“You know,” she started again, her voice soft but filled with a hint of playfulness. I hummed in response, trying to maintain my cool, but my heart was already racing.

“I didn’t actually propose the kitty playdate for the cats,” she said, her eyes gleaming as she tilted her head slightly.

My brow furrowed in confusion, but before I could ask what she meant, she added, “It was for us.”

My breath caught in my throat. I felt a warmth spread through my chest, and the world seemed to slow for a second. She wasn’t talking about the cats. She wasn’t talking about the playdate. She was talking about us.

I glanced at her, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the park faded, and it was just her and me, sitting on the grass with our cats beside us, hearts quietly syncing with the unspoken understanding between us.

My heart fluttered wildly in my chest, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “You… you did that for us?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Yeah.”

I felt the corners of my lips twitch into a grin. “I’m glad you did,” I said softly, unable to stop myself from blushing.

Y/n’s smile deepened, and she reached over, gently taking my hand in hers. It was a simple gesture, but it felt so incredibly right.

In that moment, everything just clicked.

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

Umji is a supportive bestie and a foodie

Luna is Luna

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 7)

The art studio’s door chimed as you, Rian, and Blaise stepped through, their shadows merging with the eclectic hues that bathed the interior. Canvases stood around the room, each blank face awaiting the touch of inspiration. The scent of oil paint hung thick in the air.

“This place has got a nice vibe, doesn’t it?” Rian's voice, soft and lilting, cut through the quietude of the studio. His eyes sparkled with a childlike excitement that was contagious. “So cool that you got the owner to let us have the place to ourselves. We’ve been here before, with Connor, but it was for a class and tapas.”

Blaise shrugged, snatching a waxy apron off a peg. Draping it over himself, he quickly tied it, cinching his waist. “It’s just as fun when others are around.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not embarrass myself again. Everyone who saw my art said it looked like one of those Chinese memes.”

“Then I can’t wait to see what hellish creation you dredge forth today.”

You forced a smile, nodding along to their enthusiasm. You should have been brimming with anticipation, eager to let your emotions spill onto the canvas in a riot of color, but your fingers instinctively sought the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric in uneven rhythms. The voices of your friends became muffled, as if you were underwater, their excitement drifting away from your reach. You glanced around the studio, feeling oddly detached from the vibrant scene unfolding before you.

“Y/N? You alright?” Rian’s concern laced his words, drawing you back to the surface. “You haven’t said a word,”

Catchphrase of the century, you scowled.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stammered, pushing your glasses back up. “Just thinking about... light composition and stuff.” Needless to say, you weren't an arts major, and within good reason.

“Composition, huh?” Blaise remarked, one eyebrow arching skeptically. He leaned against a nearby easel, crossing his arms as he studied you. “It’s only for fun. Don’t overthink it. Let the brush do the talking.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. You pulled out your phone, a nervous habit, thumbing through messages that didn't require a response. Each vibration against your palm was a hopeful pang, but his name never lit up the screen.

“Come on,” Rian coaxed gently, touching your arm with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coolness exuded by Blaise. “Let’s start painting. It'll take your mind off things.”

“Sure. Yeah, it’ll be a good distraction.” You agreed, pocketing the device.

You followed Rian’s encouraging lead, picking up a brush with a hand that trembled slightly. As you dipped the bristles into the paint, you hoped the colors would be kind enough to drown out the noise in your head, to silence the persistent whisper of Cillian's absence.

The sun's gentle warmth filled the art studio, its rays spilling across the room and casting a soft glow over the blank canvases that awaited the trio's touch.

Blaise's suggestion hung in the air, delicate yet decisive. “Let’s paint each other. Y/N, let me have you.”

“H-huh?”

“I paint you, and you paint Rian. Rian gets me.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the wooden handle of your brush. You felt exposed under the weight of his gaze. The idea of being observed, of being immortalized. Portraits were more intimate than photos.

"Okay," you acquiesced with a small nod. You settled yourself onto the stool, perching on the edge as if ready to flee at any moment.. Your hands lay folded in your lap, one thumb rubbing over the other in a rhythmless caress.

Blaise watched you for a moment, his pale eyes tracing the lines of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin. In his gaze, there were no traces of judgment, only the silent gathering of details, like a poet collecting words for his verses. He picked up his brush, and you found yourself holding your breath as he approached the canvas.

The first stroke of color seemed to break a spell, and you released a shaky exhale. Blaise worked methodically, the bristles of his brush whispering against the stretched linen. There was a concentration to his movements, a focus that belied the icy aura he often wore like a cloak. His dark hair fell forward, casting shadows over his features that you tried to memorize, to recall later when the silence between them would stretch too thin.

You could hear the soft scuff of Rian moving about the space, the occasional clink of glass as he mixed his paints, but it was Blaise’s presence that consumed your attention. With every mark he made, you felt a strange sense of unfolding, as though he was peeling back the layers of self-consciousness that clung to you like the ill-fitted clothes you often wore.

“Stay still,” Blaise murmured, almost absently, and you realized you had been fidgeting. The words should have felt like a command, but they came out as nothing more than a gentle reminder, a tether to keep you grounded in the moment.

“Sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for—the movement, the anxiety that buzzed beneath your skin, or the fact that Cillian's ghost lingered in your thoughts, an unwelcome specter.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied without looking up. As his brushstrokes continued to shape your likeness, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the slow rhythm of his work, the practiced ease which he captured you.

As the gentle scrape of Blaise’s brush against canvas faded into a soft rhythm, Rian picked up his own palette with an eagerness that seemed to push away the heavy silence of the studio. You watched from the corner of your eye as he studied Blaise, his brows knitting together in concentration. The delicate lines of Rui's fingers moved with a surprising grace, coaxing shapes and shadows onto the stark white canvas before him. He worked quickly, yet with precision.

“Try to get my good side, if you can find one,” said Blaise.

Rian’s laugh was a light sound, almost musical. “Every side is your good side.” he replied, the warmth in his tone wrapping around the chill of Blaise's humor. He dipped his brush into a pool of blue, the same icy shade as Blaise's distant gaze. With each stroke, he added depth to the painting, the cool colors a stark contrast to the warmth that perpetually emanated from Rian himself.

You turned back to your own canvas, where Rian's image awaited your hand. You willed your thoughts away from Cillian and the tightness in your chest, focusing instead on the gentle curve of Rian's lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead. There was a kindness etched into the lines of his face, a tender-hearted openness that you yearned to translate into your art.

Your brush danced lightly over the canvas, tracing the contours of Rian's cheeks, the softness of his eyes that always seemed to offer comfort, even when he couldn't find the words. As you painted, your phone buzzed incessantly on the table beside you, silent messages piling up.

“You’re making me look too nice,” Rian chided gently, peering over at your progress.

“Maybe because you’re too nice,” you countered with a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

“Or maybe you see the best in people,” Rian suggested, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary—a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you carried in your quest to please.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

The last brushstroke fell, a gentle whisper against the canvas, and Rian set down his paintbrush with an air of finality.

“Done,” he announced, his voice a mix of pride and trepidation. The room, once filled with the soft shuffling of feet and the swish of brushes, settled into anticipatory silence.

You stepped back from you own easel to join Blaise, who was already waiting with a curious tilt to his head. Together, they moved towards Rian’s workspace, where his painting stood covered by a sheet of thin muslin, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.

“Let’s see then,” Blaise said, a smile playing on his lips. Rian hesitated for a heartbeat before pulling the fabric away with a flourish that felt more dramatic than he intended.

Laughter erupted almost immediately, echoing off the high ceilings of the art studio. The portrait was unmistakably Blaise, but with an exaggerated scowl etching his brows and eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint not typically found in their usual cool depths.

“Is this how I look to you?” Blaise teased, though his voice betrayed a hint of amusement.

Rian’s cheeks colored, a soft bloom of pink spreading across his fair skin. He shuffled on his feet, looking down at the caricature he had created. “I—I thought a little humor might be nice.”

No, you just can’t paint, you sighed.

“It’s perfect,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a warm chuckle. You reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly, trying to quell the small storm of insecurity you saw brewing behind his eyes. “His nose is a little wonky, so it’s fairly accurate.”

The tension eased from Rian’s shoulders as his friends' affectionate ribbing washed over him. He smiled, a genuine and heartwarming expression that made the earlier disquietude fade. It was in moments like these that he could forget the nagging fears of inadequacy, the pressures that often weighed heavy on his tender heart.

“Let’s snap a pic,” Blaise suggested, his voice unexpectedly light as he pulled out his phone, a device that often lay forgotten in the depths of his pocket. His usual icy facade melted into a rare, soft smile that brightened the dim studio.

You nodded, and together with Rian, they huddled close, their painted canvases cradled in their arms. The camera clicked, immortalizing their lopsided grins and awkward posture. You were glad neither of them requested a redo of the picture.

“Look at us," Rian murmured, his gaze lingering on the digital image, a stark contrast to the raw emotion captured in paint. “Who would’ve thought none of us could pose for a picture?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m photogenic,” Blaise quipped, though the twinkle in his eye belied his sarcastic tone. Moving toward the exit, he held the door open, gesturing for you to go first.

“Thanks for bringing me out,” you quietly said. “Between studying and all the drama, I really needed the distraction.”

Stepping out into the waning daylight, the air held a crisp promise of the evening to come. They lingered on the sidewalk, reluctant to part ways just yet.

“What are we thinking? Takeaway or my place?” Blaise asked, tilting his head towards the street lined with twinkling restaurant signs. “I could do with a change from my own cooking.”

“Your cooking has more character than most things I’ve eaten out here," you replied, though your stomach protested with a quiet growl, betraying your desire for something different—a meal without the bitter aftertaste of solitude.

“I do hope that’s a compliment.”

Rian glanced between them. His eyes, wide in realization, reflected the fading sunset. “Maybe your place? It’s cozier, and we can hear some of your music.”

“Escape it is,” Blaise decided, the decision lifting an invisible weight off their shoulders.

Just as he turned away and began walking, a shadow loomed, briefly eclipsing the glow from a nearby streetlamp as a figure approached. Your heart hitched, a premonition prickling under your skin like static before a storm.

It was a young man, his leather jacket creaking softly with each step. His dark hair hung over his eyes in a fringe. His expression was an unreadable mask that did little to hide the tension in his jaw.

Squinting at him, you stifled a gasp. “Connor? What are you doing here?”

“Just running some errands in the area.” He said, oddly cheerful. As if to prove his point, he waved around a humorously large croissant. The sleeve crinkled as he waved, shedding crumbs. “But while you’re here, what's this I hear about you and Cillian?"

“Odd seeing you around.”

“Errands, like I said. We’re having Italian tonight.”

You quirked a brow. “Baguettes aren’t—”

“Try telling Cillian that.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. You felt the eyes of Rian and Blaise on you, a silent plea to ignore him and not engage. Nevertheless, you drew in a deep breath and sighed.

“Right,” you dryly said, brushing it off. “And about your cousin… He’s being insufferable and needs to apologize to Rian,” you responded, voice firmer than you felt. “Only then will I consider speaking to him.”

Connor’s eyes flickered with something akin to surprise, a crack in his bad-boy facade revealing the boy who still sought approval, still clung to the safety of being Cillian's cousin. His phone vibrated in his pocket, a reminder of the modern world's persistent intrusion, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on your determined stance.

“Y/N,” he started again, but you cut him off, unwilling to be swayed by sympathy or guilt.

“I’m really not mad.” Your words tumbled out, echoing the countless conversations you’d had in your head. With the cooling evening air brushing against your skin, you felt the weight of his judgment pressing back. You feared it. You scorned it, but you wouldn’t suffer needlessly from it. “He just needs to know what he did wrong.”

“And what was that?” asked Connor, hopeful.

“The fuck if anyone knows.” Blaise interjected. Pushing past, his shoulder knocked against Connor’s. “C’mon, Y/N. Let’s not spoil the evening.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape. As they turned to leave, you couldn't help but glance back at Connor, whose slumped shoulders spoke volumes as he watched them walk away, his conflicted loyalties clear even in the dim light of the city's restless pulse.

Connor’s sigh hung heavy in the street-lit dusk, intermingling with the city's symphony of honks and chatter. “It’s just… I’m stuck between you guys,” he muttered, a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually assertive tone. A frown creased his youthful face, casting shadows that flickered like the uncertainties playing across his thoughts. “Cillian is family, but you’re a good friend, and I don’t know who to stand by.”

Blaise stepped forward, the pale glow from the studio windows illuminating his sharp features. His icy aura felt almost tangible, a frosty shield against the chaos of emotions swirling around them.

“Look, maybe I’m overstepping,” he began, somewhat hesitant, “but why are you acting so spineless? There’s no side to pick, only a friend to support. You’ve known her longer than I have, but you can’t see how harmful Cillian’s accusations were? Maybe you’d see that if your head weren’t so far up his ass.” Blaise said, his voice low and steady. Turning away with a sense of finality, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. “How about we head back to my place? My housemates and I were planning a casual hangout.”

His touch was comforting, a calm anchor in the storm of your thoughts. You nodded, feeling the tremble in your limbs settle as you focused on Blaise's offer.

“Sounds good,” you murmured, numbly following along.

“Great,” Blaise’s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “You and Rian have got to try my barbeque. I’m doing everything from scratch. I can’t get the sauce right, but hopefully, your input will help.”

“What would either of us know about barbeque?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t be any less than me, though.”

From a few steps away, Connor’s shoulders slumped as he watched the exchange. With another deep exhale that seemed to surrender all his protests, he pulled out his phone. His fingers tapped against the screen, sending a message into the void.

a/n: not much Cillian this chapter but you know he can't stay away for long. next chapter's a good one i promise ^^

[lcs-library]

(i really love your writing, so im very excited to see that requests are open! also, do you write the menus yourself? if so, thats so cool!! i love the aesthetic so much)

could i ask for an apple danish with tsumugi? and off of the normal menu, a black tea as well (still w tsumu), please. there's so many i wanna request lol, thanks in advance <3

AWAWAWAWA TY GOMPY I'M SO PLEASED EHEHE.... And yes! I write the menus myself, but the images and stuff I use are usually from @.saradika-graphics. That said I can assure you I spent a good two hours poring over a bunch of barista blogs and reddit threads to come up with the new menu and try to think up prompts www... Anyway! Please enjoy!!

Request rules | Cafe menu | Autumn menu

Apple Danish: They bring you/their s/o/their friend to an orchard! How does it go? 

🥚I think Tsumu would have a great time in an orchard! 

🥚He’d be so happy to be surrounded by all the pretty trees, calmly picking apples with you.

🥚“Do you think this one’s good? It’s a bit on the small side, though… but it’s cute. You think so, too? Let’s take it home, then!”

🥚He’s no Omi, but he seems like the type of guy who knows exactly what to look for when it comes to fruit, and every single thing he picks tastes incredible. 

🥚He’s also def the kind of guy who just takes leaves and rubs them between his fingers because Texture. When he thinks you’re not looking, he’ll be caressing the branch and rubbing the leaves as he loses himself in thought. 

🥚“Hm? Ah, I didn’t realize you were there! Sorry, I should be holding your hand, not the tree’s, right? …There we go. Is that better?”

🥚The next day, his phone’s camera roll is filled to the brim with a bunch of blurry photos of you wwww

🥚“Even if they don’t look the best, you have to admit, the blurred colors look nice together, right? We can call it abstract art.” 

Black Tea: How do they comfort their s/o?

🥚When you’re feeling down, I promise Tsumu knew how you felt ten seconds before you did, and is already by your side. 

🥚“Dear, did something happen, are you alrigh- Oh. Come here, sit by me.”

🥚He’s the perfect gentleman, too. 

🥚You want space? He’ll give you space, but not without making you a cup of tea first.

🥚You want a hug? He’s so gentle with you, as if you’ll shatter to pieces if he squeezes too hard.

🥚You’re not sure what you need? That’s alright, you can take your time, he’ll happily sit by your side and rub your back until you’re ready to talk again. 

🥚Once you are, he’ll gently guide you through your feelings, and help you cope(he’s not letting that psychology degree go to waste).

🥚“Will you tell me what happened, please? I promise I won’t laugh, and I definitely won’t be mad at you. I’m here to help, remember? We can do this together.”

🥚And of course, after everything’s over, and you’re calm at the very least, he’ll take his hand in yours, and give it a brief kiss before squeezing it tight.

🥚“I’m proud of you, dear. Never forget that, okay?”

🥚Weh……… the sweetie pie<3

[ammstify]

Late night thoughts but, y'know what I really love in media? Imperfect relationships.

And no I don't mean relationships where they argue a lot or don't completely click together.

One of the tropes that I happen to dislike is the idea of people in love being each others "perfect half", that "complete each other" and "fill the gaps within them" (no innuendo intended).

Sure its sweet, heart warming, and gives off a sense of hope but, realistically, nobody truly completes someone!

Which is how I came up with my own little term for my favorite relationships; Kintsugi relationships.

For those who don't know, kintsugi, also known as kintsukuro, is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using gold, silver, or platinum dust! This creates a rather beautiful but imperfect appearance to the pottery, showing the lines of breakage while holding it together, but never truly healing it all the way.

One of my favorite current ships, Vashwood (aka Vash the Stampede and Nicholas D. Wolfwood from the Trigun franchise) reflect this type of relationship to me!

Both Vash and Wolfwood suffer from their own individual traumas, being filled to the brim with metaphorical and physical scars that eat away at them.

Vash struggles with hundreds of years worth of trauma, reflected upon his whole body after trying to save countless lives from death and violence. Some caused by bandits, some caused by his own brother, and some... Caused by him.

He struggles with nightmares and PTSD, remembering the incidents and death that was all his own fault, mourning the unknown lives that he had taken by accident during both the fall of SEEDS, the July incident, and the destruction of the moon. He relives it, and makes it his whole purpose to avoid those incidents from ever happening again.

And he suffers in silence, hiding behind a fake smile, under a red damaged duster and protective armor, with nobody truly knowing what goes through his head as he lives day by day, trying to provide some hope to the world.

Wolfwood also struggles with quite a lot of trauma, feeling the leftover scars deep within his bones, even though nary are visible upon his flesh. He remembers each bullet wound, each knife stabbing, each bit of blood that was shed before he drank a potion, forcing him back to life to continue fighting.

He also remembers the torturous abuse he went through to become a member of the Eye of Michael, to become their Punisher, forcing his body to age and grow beyond its means and become subhuman.

And even though he denies it, he remembers all the death he has caused too. All the bandits he's fought, all the targets he's followed, all to appease a faceless man to protect his childhood home at the orphanage. He drinks and smokes the pain away, never truly opening up to people while acting like a saintly priest, knowing how much pain he's caused for a cause he didn't believe in.

At least.... Until they met, and left together to search for Knives. And slowly but surely, unlike any other person they met, began to unravel and slowly heal each others open wounds.

The two of them find comfort in each others trauma, their battle scars, their imperfectness, spending every moment as they travel No Man's Land together. The bicker, they fight, they laugh, they smile, they rest and share tears. But they never try to fix each other, only bide their time and ignore their own pain, while finding a purpose in life to live and fight.

They are each others kintsugi, the gold that holds them together, that doesn't completely heal the countless imperfections, wounds, and trauma. But they don't care, because they'd rather share each others tomorrows and feel human for once, even for but a moment in each others presence...

The same applies to a pair of ocs my friend and I have developed for quite some time, with the two ironically mirroring Vashwood in terms of relationship! They both struggle with their own individual traumas, and while they can't completely heal the metaphorical and physical scars, they can mend and soothe the leftover wounds.

They both suffer in silence in their own ways, but find comfort as they unravel each others hidden scars. They're imperfect, they're damaged, they go through highs and lows... but the fact that they have someone to fill part of those gaps with love and comfort makes it all worth it.

And that my friends, is the key to a kintsugi relationship; Embracing and loving imperfection, and healing wounds but never getting rid of them

Also another really cool and similar example that my friend brought up was the Sashiko sewing technique, which like Kintsugi, is focused upon repairing damage on a piece of fabric by creating unique stitches!

To quote from them, “Nothing is perfect nor does it last forever but there is beauty it’s the wounds and cracks that it bears. Showing them healed and not fixed brings a humanness to things that otherwise wouldn’t have it.”

And man...

If that doesn't represent Vashwood's whole relationship in their story, I don't know what does!

They also mentioned, "Something born out of necessity but bringing beauty to it anyway, really does scream Vashwood," which seeing by this quote is absolutely true!

Anyway, for anyone who reads this, thank you for taking the time to do so, and have a good night/day!! Maybe in the future I'll discuss some more fun things with Trigun, my ocs, or maybe another fandom of a certain fantastical variety? 👀

[legitalicat]

Appalachian Sihtric - NSFW Blurb

Based on this tiktok!

Collection masterlist here!

Summary: What's the point of going away except to come back to play?

CW: dirty talk, masturbation, language, p in v sex, property damage, temporary long distance, blue collar man

Pairings: Appalachian!Sihtric Kjartansson x you

Sihtric, about a year into your marriage, decided he was going to work a summer on an oil field while his shop was being renovated. And as such, he was away from you for most of that time. He had to travel states away from. That was okay, really, because you knew he needed this. He needed to prove to himself that he could do whatever it took to support his wife.

You weren't surprised, necessarily, when he started sending you videos of him on the job. But it did surprise you how much you loved them. You loved them enough to not even mind when he later started making tiktoks for his work. The women commenting and thirsting over him didn't even make you flinch.

You never had anything to worry about. The man was as loyal as a dog and called you whining whenever he couldn't make himself cum, begging for you to talk him through it.

Though, if you were honest, you were just as bad. Watching him work on anything had always made you melt. And the forced distance between you did nothing to make you feel any less need for him. It only drove you crazier, until eventually you would put his shirt on and fuck your fingers while on the phone with him.

Much as you were tonight.

"Such a good girl, touching yourself for me," he said over the phone. "Fuck, baby, can practically feel you. Bet you're so fucking tight right now."

"Mph," you moaned out, your fingers buried deep in you.

You were eagerly pumping your own fingers in and out of yourself, brushing constantly over the rough spot in your cunt, bringing you to the edge already. Your fingers were nothing compared to Sihtric, though. Any part of him could give you infinitely more pleasure. Whether you were impaled on his cock or riding his thigh, you never knew a moment of anything but the purest pleasure because of him.

"Need my huge cock, don't you babygirl? Fill you up to the brim and fuck you over and over again until you can't take anymore," he said breathily into the phone.

For a moment, nothing reached your ears but the sound of his voice. Then there was a creak in the floorboard at the foot of your bed. Your eyes, which had previously been shut to drown out anything but him, flew open.

Sihtric stood there, phone in one hand and your favorite flowers in the other. He was staring at you like you were a work of art. Your husband home at last.

He was a bit more tanned than when he had left, his muscles having grown too. All of this you and watched through his videos and video calls. To have him in front of you was something else entirely.

Neither of you spoke as he hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed somewhere. You watched eagerly as he gingerly sat the flowers down on the dresser and ripped his shirt off his body. Actually ripped it. Grabbed it at the neckline and pulled it until the fabric tore and fell to the floor.

You removed your fingers from yourself just before he got on the bed. Sihtric hovered over you and began kissing your neck, his hands trailing over your thighs.

"So sorry I haven't been able to take care of my girl properly," he muttered, nipping at your skin. You shivered as he did so, pussy clenching at his word.

"Fuck me," you managed to say out as you desperately began trying to grab at his belt and undo it.

He chuckled and playfully swatted your hands away before undoing his belt and his pants with just one hand. The whine escaped you before you could stop it.

He didn't make you wait. Once his pants were off and forgotten about, he lined himself up with your entrance. You let out a deep breath you didn't even realize you were holding when he began to push into you. His cock was long and thick, stretching you to the brink. There was a burning feeling that hovered between pleasure and pain since it had been so long, but you couldn't pretend as though you didn't love it.

"Fuck, baby, what a good little wife I have," he whispered to you as he looked down to watch his cock sink into you. "Almost can't stop myself, darlin'."

"Then don't," you whispered, leaning up just enough to nip at his throat.

His hand found yours, interlocking your fingers, before he pushed himself completely into you with a growl. With his free hand, he groped at one of your breasts over his shirt you still wore.

"Should fuck you wearing my clothes more," he said quietly.

He pulled out before immediately thrusting back into you. Sihtric did this repeatedly, sure to join your hips to his. His movements were so hard and deep the entire bed moved, bedframe hitting the wall. You had already been so close.

The sounds of the bed moving, his growls of ecstasy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass all worked together with the way his cock rubbed against that spongy little spot. Already, you were moaning his name and warning of your cumming orgasm. The pressure behind your navel as the invisible band of pleasure built more tension. Your free hand buried itself in his hair.

"Fuck yes, pretty girl. Keep fucking squeezing around me, fuck," he muttered, breathing ragged already. "Need you so bad, need to fucking cum in you."

Your leg wrapped around his waist as his thrusts picked up in speed, allowing somehow for deeper entry into you. Your orgasm took you almost by surprise, the band snapping and a heat flooding over your body.

He cried out your name, stilling his hips and pushing himself balls deep into you. You could both feel the way his cock throbbed while rope after rope of thick cum painted your walls. He was panting, groaning, repeating your name as though you were a goddess that he was praying to.

You were shaking when he pulled himself from you. He laid beside you and held you close, both of you breathing heavy still. Instinctually, you turned to him, burying your face in his neck.

"On the downside, I think the wall now has bedpost shaped dents," he muttered, looking at the wall quickly.

"But you're home. That's all that matters," you whispered.

><><>><><><><><><><><><

Taglist: @foxyanon @zaldritzosrose (message me or comment to be added to the taglist!)

[tomhiddleston]

One More Tomorrow (Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader) - Chapter II.

CHAPTER I.

Summary: Billy's crush returns to The Halcyon for her seventeenth birthday and the two of them enjoy more chances to grow closer.

Pairing: Billy Taylor x Fem!Reader (third person)

TW: so much fluff, blink and you miss it Billy having some impure thoughts, mention of death of a parent, Billy being Billy again

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: I love Billy Taylor so much that I want to scream, explode out of my body, and ascend to the moon. That's the author's note. Also, thanks again to @valeskafics for giving this a read-through for me! c:

Disclaimer: I do not own any The Halcyon characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are always appreciated!

Art deco dividers by @saradika

It is the longest summer of Billy’s life, waiting for the months to tick by and November to finally arrive. Every day is just another shift. The same old thing day in and day out. Now and then, Billy catches himself staring wistfully at the marble staircase as though he will see her coming down to have lunch with her father or pop out for a bit of shopping. He even starts dreaming about her. About taking her dancing or going on a drive through the country. One morning he wakes up blushing after dreaming about her in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward him in a church filled to the brim with white roses. 

Does she dream about him, too?

The stiflingly hot summer months wane on and Billy continually bothers Mr. Garland about the Greenes’ return visit to The Halcyon. Every time he asks, the answer is the same: there has been no request yet about any birthday party, whether for Mr. Greene or his daughter. Billy starts to wonder if she won’t return in the fall. If, maybe, she’s found a beau in Birmingham - one she would rather celebrate her birthday with. One her father might actually approve of.

He starts to mope around The Halcyon when August turns into September with still no word, enough that even Mr. Garland begins to notice. His mum, Peggy, has seen the most of his gloomy mood out of anyone, what with having to watch him drag his feet around their house every morning and night. “It’s about that girl again,” she tells Mr. Garland and both share a sigh. Young love can be such an overwhelming, complicated thing. But this is Billy’s first time coming face to face with it, and she hates to see her sweet boy - her eldest child and only son - like this.

Peggy is, therefore, elated when a letter arrives at The Halcyon addressed to Billy. When he arrives to have tea with her that afternoon, she wiggles her finger at the mailboxes beside her desk and tells him to look. 

But who would write to him? His confused expression only warrants a smile from his mother.

“It’s from Birmingham, Billy.”

He very nearly throws his teacup to the ground to lunge for the letter. Sure enough, that’s his name written in delicate cursive on the back of the envelope. His heart is pounding out of his chest as he tears open the letter and finds an automobile sketch inside with a single folded piece of paper. A handwritten letter so perfect that it almost looks printed.

Dear Billy,

Mr. Garland said you liked my father’s automobiles, so I managed to get one of his original sketches of the Model F for you. It’s not much, but I hope you will like it all the same.

I’ll see you in November.

She’s signed the letter “yours truly.” Not “sincerely,” not “regards.” He’ll be pouring over the meaning of that one for days. But, no matter the meaning of the signature… she’s remembered him. She’s thought of him. She’s taken the time to write to him! And she does still plan on returning to The Halcyon. 

Suddenly, his dreary summer no longer feels so dreary.

November 1939.

The leaves on the trees lining the streets of London have turned orange and fallen. The grass, once kissed with glittering morning dew, slumps from the heavy frost that coats it each sunrise. It hasn’t snowed yet, but winter’s chill is beginning to set in in earnest. 

None of the ladies at The Halcyon dare step through the front doors without their heavy coats, gloves, and scarves any longer lest they catch their death, they lament. The fireplaces roar at all hours to offer some heat to the towering lobby. The doormen keep the doors shut as much as possible to trap the warmth inside. Cold manages to seep in every now and then when an unfortunately timed breeze blows through just as someone is stepping in or out, but it’s never severe enough to linger.

It is only a few weeks before The Halcyon’s lobby will be stripped of its usual flowers, vases, and other decorative trinkets and decked out in full Christmastime splendor. But first, the hotel must play host to the seventeenth birthday party of a certain young woman. And her father has spared no expense in decorating the lobby and the bar for the occasion. 

Before the Greenes even arrive, the lobby is filled with dozens of arrangements of white and pink roses in gold vases. Mr. Greene even commissioned a special tiered gold chandelier for the occasion, which hangs low over a stunning centerpiece of peonies, hydrangeas, roses, and lilies enhanced with sparkling Swarovski crystals. 

The other bellboys whinge about the decorations being too much, but Billy just brushes them off. He knows in his heart that they aren’t enough. Every flower in the world wouldn’t be enough to match her beauty.

He’s proven himself correct when the front doors swing open and she walks in, arm linked with her father’s while the other holds onto her dog’s lead. Billy has made sure that he is the one to take her coat and hat. He notices the coy smile on her rouged lips as he slips the coat off of her shoulders and the soft blush that blooms on her cheeks when his fingers brush against her upper arm. 

“Hello, miss,” he mutters softly, unable to hide his own smile. His heart is full to bursting at being so close to her again. The warm, rosy scent of her perfume is filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

“Hi,” she whispers over her shoulder, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s good to see you.”

“You…” Billy’s mouth has gone so dry that he can’t finish what was meant to be a two-word sentence. He clears his throat to no avail. “Uh huh.”

She’s quickly whisked away by her father and Mr. Garland, who are eager to show off the decorations to her. It’s clear that she isn’t used to such grand gestures, seeing how she nervously clasps her hands in front of her and shifts from one foot to the other. Billy drinks in the sight of her, in her pale blue dress that he guesses has been tailored to fit her judging by the way it so perfectly hugs her every curve. His eyes linger perhaps a little too long on her bum because he hears Feldman clear his throat. 

“Come along, lover boy. Luggage to unload.”

Billy doesn’t see her again until the following afternoon, when he is sent up to her room to take her dog out for a walk. She’s otherwise preoccupied, Feldman says. If it were for anyone else - even His Lordship himself - Billy would have groaned and grumbled about having to stumble about the streets of London being dragged along by a dog. He doesn’t even want to think about the more than few occasions when he’s lost control of a dog’s lead and left the guest’s beloved pet to run amok in the streets. He’s had to dodge cars chasing after more than one poodle or bulldog, only to return to The Halcyon completely out of breath and with his bellboy hat and cloak all askew.

But he won’t let that happen to her dog. There is no way that he will treat this dog as anything but the most precious jewel in the world. 

Walking toward the lobby, he has wrapped the lead around his wrist twice so there is no possibility for the dog to break free. He does thank his lucky stars that the dog is so small and well behaved. Even less of a chance to muck things up. Still… he can’t help but feel nerves churning in his stomach at the thought of something happening to the animal.

“Alright there, Clara?” he asks the corgi as she trots along happily beside him down the stairs. “It’s you and me today. Please be good, yeah?”

“Don’t worry. She always is.” 

Billy freezes. He knows that voice. 

When he looks up, his eyes meet hers. He’s been standing at his post by the door all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but he wasn’t expecting to see her right now. His free hand tugs at his uniform jacket to make sure he looks perfectly tidy and in order.

“Clara, are you going for a walk with Billy today?” She coos in a high-pitched voice to the dog, who spins in a circle in excitement. He watches a small crinkle form at the corner of her eye as she smiles at her beloved pet. Her cheeks and nose are pink from the cold and her hair is windswept, but she still looks as lovely as ever. “Do you… mind if I join you?”

“N-not at all,” Billy replies, sounding more nervous than he’d like to. “Bit cold out, though.” No, he reprimands himself. Don’t try to dissuade her, you idiot! He’s fidgeting with his hands again like he does every time he talks to her. Get it together, Billy.

“It is, but… I need a break from all this last-minute party planning. If I have to look at another table setting, I think I’ll die of boredom.” She rolls her eyes dramatically to emphasize her hyperbole, but Billy still prickles at the mere thought of it. 

“I don’t want you to die,” he responds with a little too much sincerity. But he means it. He can’t think of anything that would be worse.

“All the more reason for me to join you, then, Billy.” 

Her smile softens the tightness in his jaw. He offers a crooked grin in return, but he’s kicking himself inside. Will he ever stop making a fool of himself in front of this girl? He could tell himself a thousand times to act normally around her and he would still muck it all up the second he opens his mouth to speak to her. And yet, she doesn’t seem to mind? She might even… like him? 

He reckons he’ll never understand girls.

Their walk with Clara winds up being the longest they’ve ever spent alone together. It’s so much more than a stolen glance across the hotel lobby or a few minutes spent chatting when he brings her tea. They are strolling through Hyde Park side by side, almost in a world of their own. This isn’t the time of year when mums are out with their babies in prams or old couples are walking hand in hand among the trees. Due to the cold, the park is uncharacteristically empty and quiet, save for their own shoes crunching along the stone path and the jingle of Clara’s collar.

But the very best part is that Billy has gotten a chance to hold a proper conversation with her. If by “conversation” he means “letting her tell him about herself while he bloody clams up yet again.” She tells him about her life in Birmingham, about a book she’s reading, about her father’s company. Anything and everything. He’s happy to hear her talk. He’d listen to her read the dictionary aloud if it meant he could hear the sound of her bright, sweet voice. She has a way of softening the inflection at the end of her sentences that is so warm, so comforting. 

“Billy.” His head snaps toward her like it does every time she says his name. “Is it true that your mum works at The Halcyon, too?”

“Yeah… she’s the telephonist.”

“Oh. I’ve spoken to her, then.” A realization dawns on her and she laughs, throwing her head back in a way that makes his ears go hot. “Oh… Mrs. Taylor. I’m so silly. I should have known. She seems nice.” 

“She is.” Billy wrinkles his nose. “Bit overbearing, though. Sometimes…” He’s convinced that his mum still sees him as her little boy the way she treats him at times. Fussing over his hair, fixing his collar, tying his shoes. As if he isn’t turning eighteen next year. 

“Yeah, but that’s just her being your mum, isn’t it? They’re supposed to be like that. It just means she loves you.”

Billy shrugs. Doesn’t make his mum any less annoying about it. “What about your mum?” 

He realizes he’s well and truly stepped in it when he sees her face fall. He had wondered why only she and her father had been to The Halcyon, but guessed that maybe her mum didn’t fancy traveling. But the way she purses her lips and stares at her feet as they continue walking suggests something else. 

“She died when I was four.” 

“Oh–” Billy feels his heart sink at having brought up such a sorrowful memory. He wants to apologize a million times and it wouldn’t be enough to convey how sorry he is.

“Please don’t feel bad about asking. It’s been so long that I… I don’t really remember her. It’s just been me and dad all this time. And he makes sure I know that I’m loved.” She laughs dryly. “I mean, look at how completely overboard he’s gone with this birthday party. I guess that’s his version of being overbearing.”

Billy’s expression softens. “Well, but… you deserve it, though. I’d throw you a party like that. If I had the money.” He realizes what he’s just said and hurriedly attempts to cover his tracks. “I mean…! If I was your dad. No–” Bloody hell, you’ve just made it worse. 

She laughs in the same way she does whenever he fumbles over his words with her. Not laughing at him, not laughing like he’s stupid like other people tend to do. It’s a genuine, sweet laugh accompanied by that glimmer in her eyes that he loves so much. He pulls his lips inward as he feels new heat rush to his cheeks. 

“Did you get my letter, Billy? From this summer?”

His previous embarrassment almost completely forgotten, his face lights up in a wide grin. He becomes more animated than he’s ever been around her, almost bouncing along the path beside her. She clearly notices, judging by the way she smiles.

“Oh, god. Yeah, I did…! That sketch by your dad… that was bloody incredible!”  

She laughs again, a laugh that seems to warm the air around them. “I’m so glad you liked it.” 

“Liked it? I… I loved it. The Model F is the most brilliant car on the market. But you… know that…” Billy stops himself before he begins to fanboy even more. He feels a little flutter in his heart as he glances sideways at her, though. He dips his head a bit in a moment of sudden bashfulness. “Can’t believe you… you know. Thought of me.”

“‘Course I did.”

Billy turns it over again and again in his mind, trying to decipher the meaning of her words. If he weren’t such an idiot, he’d come right out and ask her. But the words bloom and die on his tongue in an instant. 

He can’t remember a time when a girl ever looked twice at him, let alone thought of him when they weren’t together. Had she really taken time to think about him when she had returned home to Birmingham? Did she think of him when she took tea every afternoon, or when she removed her coat upon stepping inside her house? 

His silence eventually prompts her to prod him with a question of her own.

“Did… you think of me, too, Billy?”

His eyes are wide when he turns to her. He doesn’t mean to stare at her like some startled animal, but he can’t bloody help it. The thought of divulging the truth to her strikes the fear of God in him. 

“Yeah, I did,” is all he can manage to push past the frog in his throat.

Yes, he thought of her. He thought of her every morning as he stepped foot into the hotel lobby. He thought of her whenever he passed the flower shop at the end of his street and smelled the freshly cut roses they had for sale. He thought of her on rainy days, on sunny days. He thought of her morning and night. 

Even his younger sister, Dora, eventually started to notice how Billy seemed to float around their house whenever he would start to think about her. Being only eight years old, it had been a prime opportunity for the younger Taylor sibling to tease her brother relentlessly. But not even Dora’s incessant needling could have dissuaded Billy from thinking about the charming, beautiful girl from Birmingham who had smiled at him and made him feel wanted. Nothing could.

That’s what Billy would have said to her if he’d had the courage to do so. 

Instead, he just manages to flash a shy little smile that seems to satisfy her because she responds with one of her own. 

“Will I see you around at my party tomorrow night?” 

“Yeah… I’ll be working.” 

She doesn’t know that he begged and pleaded with one of the other bellboys to switch shifts with him so that he could be there. He doesn’t tend to work such late evenings. His mum prefers him to be home for dinner. But he would have done anything to be there for her party, even if it means that he will be stood by the door taking hats and coats all night.

“I wish you could come to the party itself,” she mutters softly, perhaps thinking that he can’t hear her. She sounds so earnest that it gives him butterflies. “My dad and my cousin Margaret won’t tell me what they’ve got planned, but I think it'll be a real gas.”

Billy knows he may be a bit daft sometimes, but he isn’t stupid enough to think that he could be anything but a bellboy at her party. When he’s alone with her, it feels a bit like they aren’t from different social classes. That the earrings she wears aren’t real diamonds and her clothes haven’t come from the finest shops in London. That he isn’t a lad from down the street who’s never owned anything that wasn’t second hand. She treats him like he’s someone. Someone worth talking to, worth listening to. Someone who is more than just another worker whose name she’ll forget by the next day.

It brings him crashing back down to earth every time he steps out of their little bubble and back into the real world. In the end, he’s just a bellboy. And she’s a beautiful heiress. Love, affection, even friendship between people like them is something forbidden. That is something that Billy must constantly remind himself of. It hangs in the very air around them whenever he is with her. But it does not stop him from wanting her.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” Billy says, and he means it. “I hope you do.”

Billy laments that they’ve been walking for long enough that The Halcyon has come back into view. Their approach spells the end of their walk together. It’s a return to that real world where they must go their separate ways; him, to his work, and her, to her glittering, beautiful life. 

The hotel lobby welcomes them back with the warmth of the fireplaces, which helps them begin to shake off the November chill. Theirs is a quick goodbye as her cousin pulls her away, shrilly and breathlessly admonishing her for disappearing when there is still so much to do for the party. But she’s sure to give Billy one last tender smile before she disappears into the restaurant.

There’s hardly any room to breathe, let alone move, through The Halcyon lobby on the night of her seventeenth birthday party. If anyone thought there had been too many flowers in the room before, then they would have had to rethink their definition of “excess” upon seeing the state of the lobby tonight. 

Flowers, mostly white roses, cover every pillar, frame every doorway, cover every rung on the bannister. There is even an archway created entirely from flowers at the top of the staircase - the perfect setting for the birthday girl’s grand entrance. And the gold accents have only been expanded upon since the day before. In some places, the light bounces off of the gold candelabras and vases in such a way that it casts a warm reflection on the walls and floor. It’s the most extravagant affair that Billy has seen at The Halcyon in more than a year of working there.

And it’s all for her.

The buzz in the room dies down in an instant when Mr. Greene appears in the archway at the top of the stairs, delivering a short speech about the gathering of family and friends that is eloquent without any of the stuffiness of having been rehearsed. It’s clear by the reaction of the crowd that he has a natural charisma about him - something that his daughter has clearly inherited from him. 

Billy’s eyes widen as she steps out from behind the flowers after being beckoned by her father. There must be a hundred people packed into the lobby, but it’s as though a spotlight has been shined on her. Flash bulbs pop and the room erupts into applause. But all that seems to exist in this moment… is her.

Billy enjoys the perfect view of her from where he stands beside Feldman by front doors. She’s wearing her hair in an elegant updo with roses pinned into her low bun. Her gold floor length gown cascades around her like a sparkling waterfall, flowing over each step of the staircase as she and her father begin to descend arm in arm. The dress is modest, with long sleeves and a v-neck that doesn’t show off too much. But the gold fabric gathers at the waist in a way that accentuates her lovely figure. Billy can’t help but bristle at the thought of all the young men who will get to dance with her tonight and rest their hands on the soft curve of her waist.

But when her eyes meet his from across the room - however briefly - all his jealousy and longing melts away in an instant. 

Billy spends the rest of the evening at his post but finds himself craning his neck each time the door to the hotel bar opens, on the off chance that he will catch a glimpse of her in her beautiful gold dress. He thinks he does once or twice, but he can never be sure. 

The night wanes on and Billy begins to yawn. He’s never worked this late before. If he wasn’t here, he’d probably be fast asleep by now. Feldman tries to send him home at half past eleven, but he just shrugs him off. 

“Billy, you’re falling asleep standing up. Go home.”

Billy hums and shakes his head, lifting a hand to his face to rub at his eyes. “Can’t go yet.”

“What are you waiting for, Billy? For me to have to carry your ugly mug home because you’ve fallen asleep on the job?” Feldman’s rising annoyance with him makes him blush.

“I…” Billy stares at his feet. “Could you do me a favor, Feldman?”

Fifteen minutes later, Billy is pacing back and forth in the dark restaurant on the opposite end of the hotel from the bar. The chairs have been flipped and placed atop the tables for the night. The silverware sits, polished and ready for the next day. The curtains are drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, with only the softest light from the street lamps outside filtering through them. Only the sconces on either side of the door offer any real light to the room. 

Billy has removed his bellboy hat and nervously sweeps his palm over his slicked-back hair to ensure that not even a single hair is out of place. In his free hand, he clutches a small, wrapped box with such a vice grip that his knuckles have gone white. And he continues to pace and pace and pace while he waits for the restaurant door to open.

When he sees the small crack of light at the door begin to grow and spread across the carpet, he stands at full attention with his hands behind his back. Somehow, his heart begins to beat more quickly than it already has been when she peers around the door. Her furrowed brow softens the moment she lays eyes on him.

“Billy… hi.” She’s smiling, and the light beside the door hits her face in a way that gives her an angelic glow. “Heard you wanted to see me.”

If only she knew just how badly he’s wanted to see her all night. He drinks in the sight of her, looking her up and down. He notices little details that he didn’t see from across the room earlier. The teardrop earrings she’s wearing that match her necklace. The little curled strands of hair that fall on either side of her face. The pink lipstick that’s different from the red she usually wears. He’s sure to be quick about it, not wanting it to seem like he’s asked her there just to ogle at her. 

“You look…” 

“Exhausted?” She jokes, but the sincerity on his face gives her pause.

“Beautiful.”

The lighting may be a bit rubbish for seeing her properly, but even he can tell that he’s made her blush. Her hand flies to her cheek as if to hide her smile. Her eyes fall to the floor. Surely she’s been complimented dozens of times tonight. He reckons - he hopes - that his has meant the most of them all.

“Thank you, Billy,” she breathes, finally pulling herself together enough to respond. “You look handsome, too.”

He’s caught completely off guard. The very air seems to leave his lungs. At first, all he can do is shake his head and let out a nervous laugh. “I’m… just in me uniform…” 

She takes a step toward him and he swallows hard. It still feels so hard to bloody breathe. “But you always look handsome��� doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

It’s by some small miracle that Billy doesn’t fall to the ground unconscious right then and there. He very nearly drops the gift he’s still holding behind his back. It’s only when he has to fumble to catch it so it doesn’t tumble to the ground that he remembers why he had Feldman have her come see him.

“I… I, uh…” he flounders trying to speak again. “Bout to be off for the night, but, uh… didn’t wanna leave til…” He clears his throat. “Til I gave you this.”

“What?” He sees her eyes narrow suspiciously, although she keeps her lips turned up in a smile.  

Billy takes a step toward her, dotting out his tongue to wet his lips. “Close your eyes… and hold out your hands.” 

She does exactly as he asks, letting her eyes fall closed before she extends her perfectly manicured hands. Into her cupped palms, he placed the little box he’s kept in his locker all night. He’s seen the pile of gifts that she’s received tonight, the big boxes with their shiny wrapping paper and bags tied up with perfect bows. The one in her hands is no bigger than a makeup compact, and wrapped in crinkled newspaper with a paltry, crooked bow made out of twine. It’s hardly the most glamorous gift she’s gotten, probably ever. He almost feels embarrassed as he sees it resting atop her hands.

When she opens her eyes and sees what he’s given her, she doesn’t react in disappointment. Rather, Billy watches her face light up in a smile.

“Billy… you didn’t have to–”  

Billy rocks back onto his heels and offers a little shrug. “I know… but I… I had to get you something for your birthday. You only turn seventeen once.”

She’s holding the little gift as though it’s a delicate baby bird. “Do you want me to open it now?”

“Well, I– I mean, you don’t have to…” What if she didn’t like it? She wouldn’t have to pretend to be grateful if he wasn’t there when she unwrapped her gift.

But his words go in one of her ears and out of the other. She carefully plucks the bow open and unveils the ruby red box that’s been hiding beneath the newspaper. Inside it, she finds a delicate rose brooch. The stem is made out of a shiny gold that matches all the gold accents dotted about the hotel lobby. The petals themselves are white. Billy thinks he remembers the shopkeeper say that it’s porcelain. 

“Happy birthday.”

“Oh, Billy…” she whispers as she admires the brooch.

He saved up for months to buy it for her after seeing it in the window of the pawn shop down the road from his house on his way home from work one day. His mum and dad usually expect him to chip in for necessities now that he’s employed. “It’s your money, Billy,” his mum said to him when he asked if he could keep a little more to save for the brooch. He put away every penny he could after that. What should have taken him six months to save up, he saved in only four. 

“I, uh… saw it and thought of you,” Billy says warmly. “I know how you… like roses and all…” 

She delicately lifts the brooch from its box and lays it flat in her palm to see it better in the light. She turns it over and over again, treasuring every last detail. And all the while, the smile in her eyes shimmers brighter than the sun.

“Billy, this is so… incredible. It’s beautiful…” 

“Yeah…?” He feels a sense of pride, hearing her genuine gratitude and seeing her joy. 

“Yeah.” She finally looks up at him and he felt his stomach flip. “Billy, it’s perfect. I love it. I love it so much…” She reaches out to take his hand and wraps her fingers around his. Her touch is soft and warm against the calloused pads of his fingers and palm. Bloody hell, how many times can he nearly faint in front of her in one evening?

For a fleeting moment, there’s a force that draws them closer to one another. His senses are overwhelmed by the smell of her perfume, the warmth of her hand in his, the sight of her face so close to his. But he’s a bloody idiot as always and stands completely frozen in place. He wants to lean down and press his lips to hers, but his muscles won’t move.

He clears his throat. “Can I… put it on for you?” 

He sees disappointment flash across her face before she pulls away. She’s quick to replace it with a sweet grin, but he knows he’s missed his chance. He’ll be kicking himself for weeks for this. Stupid, stupid coward. 

“Please.” 

His hands are shaking as he takes the brooch from her and fumbles to clasp it to the front of her dress, just below her left shoulder. 

“How does it look?” she asks.

Billy can think of a million ways to describe her beauty in this moment. Not just the way the brooch looks on her, but everything about her. In the end, he smiles crookedly and settles on the one he thinks encapsulates her best.

“Exquisite.” 

Their time together is short as always. Her party can’t go on without the guest of honor and he can finally allow Feldman to send him home now that he’s given her her gift. His mum’s probably waiting up to make sure he gets home safe and it’s nearing midnight, now.

“Billy, we’re leaving for home in the morning,” she tells him as if he doesn’t already know that. “I guess… you’re off tomorrow.”

In any other situation, he’d be glad that Feldman wasn’t making him come in first thing after working such a late shift. But now it means that he won’t be there to see her off like he did the last time. 

“Can I write to you again, Billy? After I get home?” 

“Of course.” His earlier embarrassment at having denied her a kiss is somewhat dulled by the assurance that she wants to keep in touch. “But my handwriting’s a bit rubbish…”

She laughs. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’d… like to see it. Be sure to write back. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Satisfied, she pulls open the door but stops in the doorway. “Thank you again, Billy. For my present. It’s the best one I’ve gotten tonight.” She chews on her bottom lip, lingering on the boundary between the restaurant and the lobby for just a moment longer. She presses her cheek to the edge of the mahogany door, staring at him as though she doesn’t want to go. But eventually she relents as calls of her name echo through the lobby and she is beckoned back to the party.

And Billy watches dreamily until long after the bar door shuts behind her. 

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