#maybe i let a little too loose with this one

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

i know nanami’s only 27, but i can’t help but think that he’s probably got a lot of “old man” traits that he’s acquired one way or another. maybe life made him that way, maybe he chose to act like he is in his 40s and not late 20s, but either way, having him around would be a very interesting experience to say the least because i’m pretty sure he…

he complains like a seasoned retiree. he’s got that heavy sigh, rubs his temple routine down to an art. the kind of man who mutters, “i’m too old for this,” when he’s only been awake for ten minutes. if you suggest staying out late, he just looks at you like you suggested committing a crime.

he has a very specific way of doing things. nanami doesn’t just go grocery shopping—he has a route. he knows which brands he likes, which cashier is the fastest, and he refuses to go on weekends because “that’s when the amateurs show up.” he folds his laundry a certain way, and god help you if you disrupt his system.

his idea of “treating himself” is so dad-coded. nanami doesn’t do impulse buys—when he does spend money on himself, it’s always something practical. “i finally got those orthopedic insoles” or “this is a quality briefcase; it’ll last a lifetime.” and he probably has one (1) expensive pen that he never lets anyone borrow.

he dresses like he’s ready to scold someone for stepping on his lawn. pressed slacks, polished shoes, dress shirts with the sleeves neatly rolled up. casual wear? good luck catching him in it. even his loungewear is suspiciously put-together—like, who wears an actual button-up pajama set in 2025? nanami kento, that’s who.

he drives like a dad. he never speeds, always uses his turn signal, and complains about “reckless drivers” while driving exactly the speed limit. the kind of man who refuses to start the car until everyone has their seatbelt on.

oh, and dating nanami as someone younger than him would be an experience. he already acts like he’s in his 40s, so the age gap (however small) feels so much bigger because he refuses to let loose. but deep down, he wants to—he just doesn’t know how. so to be in a relationship with him is to get used to stuff like this;

he sighs like he’s raising a teenager. if you stay up too late? heavy sigh. if you forget to bring a jacket? exasperated sigh while taking off his coat to drape over your shoulders. if you tell him about a reckless decision you made? pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs like you just told him you totaled his car. but beneath all that dramatic suffering, there’s genuine care. you might get an “honestly, do you have no sense of self-preservation?” but it’s followed by him adjusting your scarf, making sure your shoelaces are tied, and keeping a steady hand on your back when crossing the street.

he pretends to be annoyed by your energy, but secretly loves it. he acts like your enthusiasm exhausts him, but if you ever stopped being excited around him? he’d miss it desperately. when you drag him to try something new, he’ll complain the whole time (“this is a waste of money”), but afterward, he’ll admit—very quietly—that it wasn’t that bad. he likes how you remind him to enjoy life in ways he never lets himself. he’ll never jump in recklessly, but if you say, “just trust me,” he’ll hesitate… then sigh… then go along with whatever nonsense you’re up to, even if he acts like he’s suffering the entire time.

he acts like a responsible adult, but enables your habits in secret. “you shouldn’t be drinking so much caffeine.” and yet, the next morning, there’s an extra coffee waiting for you. “wasting money on little things adds up.” but somehow, that limited-edition item you wanted just magically appears on your desk. he talks a big game about being responsible, but when it comes to you? he has no self-control.

he takes care of you like an old-fashioned gentleman. he opens doors, walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, and insists on carrying heavy things for you. not because he thinks you can’t—just because he wants to. he likes taking care of you, even if he pretends it’s just out of obligation. if you try to carry something heavy, he just looks at you. doesn’t even say anything. just crosses his arms and waits for you to give up and hand it to him. if you call him a gentleman, he’ll scoff, “that’s just basic decency.” but if you really gush about it, you might catch the tips of his ears turning pink.

he thinks trendy slang is ridiculous. you use modern slang just to see his reaction, and it never fails to make him sigh like he just aged ten years on the spot.

“nanami, be so for real.”

“…so for real what?”

“you should just trust the process.”

“i’d rather not.”

if you ever jokingly call him “king” or “bestie” he’ll give you the look. he pretends he doesn’t care, but if you say something really out of pocket, you might actually get him to break character and let out a very exhausted, “what does that even mean?” (you’re keeping track of all the slang that makes him react the most so you can use it strategically. it’s your favorite game.)

he secretly likes when you cling to him. nanami acts like he’s too mature for overly affectionate behavior, but the first time you loop your arm through his or rest your head against his shoulder in public, he freezes. clears his throat. tries to pretend he doesn’t care—but his hand naturally comes to rest over yours, holding you there like it’s second nature. if you ever hug him from behind or whine “but i missed you,” he won’t admit how fast his heart is beating, but he will sigh and say, “i was gone for twenty minutes.” doesn’t matter. he still lets you cling to him as long as you want.

he plans the most responsible dates, but lets you drag him into chaos. nanami’s idea of a date? a nice dinner, a quiet café, maybe a bookstore. nothing loud, nothing unpredictable. your idea of a date? “let’s go to an arcade.” “let’s take a random train and see where we end up.” “let’s sneak into a rooftop at night.” he knows he should say no. but when you look at him like that? sigh. fine. but if you get into trouble, “i had no part in this.” (he’s definitely bailing you out of trouble five minutes later.)

he absolutely dads you when you get hurt. if you get a tiny scrape? nanami reacts like an overprotective father. “what happened?” “let me see.” “you need to be more careful.” and you’re like, “it’s a paper cut.” but he’s already pulling out a bandaid (which he definitely carries with him, because of course he does). if you ever get seriously hurt? he’s scolding you while carefully patching you up. “you’re too reckless.” “next time, call me.” but his hands are so gentle, and he won’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re okay.

he adores when you fall asleep on him. you knock out on his shoulder? he won’t move. his arm is numb, but he doesn’t dare wake you. if you fall asleep on his lap? his hand naturally comes up to run through your hair. if you curl up in bed and mumble “stay with me,” he’ll sigh, say something about how he has work in the morning… and then stay anyway. and if you ever catch him staring when you wake up? he’ll immediately look away. “you were drooling,” he lies. (he was watching you like you hung the stars.)

he acts like he’s too old for all this, but deep down? nanami loves you more than anything. and if loving you takes years off his life? so be it.

[littlemissshifter]

There is no 'imagination'.

Someone needs to tell you this but everyone is too busy struggling between the two so I'll do it. Reality is the only thing that exists. It just exists differently in different planes.

In the 4D we call it Imagination but honestly it's not really something we're 'imagining', it's reality somewhere out there. IT IS reality in your head as well even if you don't believe it.

When you 'imagine' something you're not making it up. Creation is already finished. You're choosing a particular reality. A particular thought. A particular outcome. Because everything has already happened. Think of your mind as a dress up game. There are cloth options (thoughts/realities) in different clothing sections (related to the thing you want). You are combining clothes from those sections to get your desired outfit (desire/outcome).

Imagination is what reality is called in the 4D plane. Imagination is a different name for reality. They are the same thing with different names. This is why we can also say that reality is just an imagination or 'everything is in the mind'. Everything was one all along.

This is very different than saying reality mirrors/reflects imagination. Yes imagination exists sure blah blah blah but it's just a different name for reality. It's something that you haven't physically experienced yet. It's not actually in your head in a way that it's not real. Everything in your head is a very real reality in the multiverse. A very real outcome. Just not yours right now in the present (unless you choose it).

I don't think you get it. Let me explain again. Imagination does not exist in a way you think. Your every single thought, the images in your head, your 'fake' scenarios, your 'fake' arguments, literally anything you can think of or feel inside your head is real. Maybe not here maybe not right now. But it is real in a reality 'out there' which is basically just inside your mind, because the mind is the multiverse.

You are choosing the scenario, the thought, the image from infinite realities out there (in the mind) with infinite possibilities. Like you choose a scenario to happen in your dr except here it has already happened. Everything has already happened. That is you connecting yourself to different realities in the multiverse. The mind is connected to every reality that is existing because it exists inside the mind. That's why it's said that you are the universe. Because YOU ARE. Continuosly shifting, changing, choosing from the mind. You are existence.

Before anyone says something dumb like imagination/4D plane is the true reality I'll explain that every plane is a true reality abiding by their own unique set of rules. There is no true reality to you in your perspective except what YOU decide to BE. You exist in every plane. Your existence in every plane abides by it's rules. Unless you decide to change the rules of your existence.

You can be a 1D object. A line.

You can be a 2D object. A map (if you wanna add spice to it then a talking map.)

You can be a 3D object. A ball. (You already are a 3D being.)

You can be a 4D object. A hypercube.

And so much more. Everything is energy. You're probably a rock in a different reality/universe. Maybe a line in a world of paper. Or a talking ball. Or just a ray of light. Come on don't loose focus now. You're the entire universe what else did you expect?

We strayed a little from the topic here but like I was saying the mind is like a place where every single reality has a tea party. What you don't experience physically doesn't mean it didn't happen. In the mind reality is faster. Because everything is happening right now. The physical plane has a slow moving energy so we can 'experience' our life. Like I said everything happens a little different in different planes.

Everything is a reality (or different universes). It's like reality (you) in a reality (physical plane) which you can mould to your will because you are the reason why it (reality) exists. You are existence itself. Pure awareness experiencing the experience that already exists in you. Your mind. The void.

There is no innerman or outerman you're literally both. One's literally a different name for the other and vice versa. Stop looking for the middle ground when you are the middle ground. You are reason they even exist. Why? because only you exist. Everything that exists is the same thing which came from you with different forms, different names, different energetic pattern, different rules for each of them. That's why everything is connected.

Different realities are creating a reality you're currently living. Your own reality is a mix of many combined together moment after moment so you can experience things in the physical plane.

The reason imagination was even popularised as something that creates reality is because people thought that to experience something we have to 'imagine' it first. But they're wrong. They were doing the right things but intercepting it wrong. We don't imagine anything. We live it the moment we even think about it. Everyone is understanding it now. Imagination is not reality. Nothing was ever imagination in the first place. Everything inside your head was always real.

Reality is fluid. Human beings are fluid. They are both free flowing energies. We pass through different realities the same way different realities pass through us at every moment. Remember folks, shifting is your nature.

Everything is and will always be a reality existing in the multiverse.

Let me decode some popular quotes for you to understand.

- The universe is mental.

Meaning: Everything exists is in the mind because every reality exists where it was created by pure awareness, hence the mind. Realities are expanded outwards through us, chosen from pure awareness experienced through the heart (the knowing/feelings) which exists in your physical body. Which further exists in the mind because it was also created by pure awareness.

Confusing? Well because pure awareness, the mind, realities and us are the same thing expressed in different ways. Like I said everything is connected.

- As within, so without.

Meaning: This one is quite obvious. What we see on the outside of us is also inside of us. I explained all that in this post and my reality is YOU post already.

There is no imagination. Reality has always been the only truth.

I've been working on this post for 2 days hope y'all understood atleast a little. I'm super tired can't wait to just pass out right now. Ignore any typos please and feel free to ask any questions!

[aventurineswife]

I cannot stress how much I love your works

So I have a silly request

Aventurine, Dan heng, ratio, Jiaoqiu, moze, sunday, and Caelus (I don't see much love fr himmmm T^T poor racoon bb) when their s/o steals their jacket,

now they see their s/o with their jacket on and reader sees him without his jacket (them looking like a snack I swear with those snatched clothes) and now both get flustered or flirty

-🍮🩵

The Jacket Chronicles

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Moze x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Flustered Reactions, Teasing, Subtle Possessiveness, Playful Tension, Light Romance, Jacket Stealing Trope, Embarrassment, Vulnerability.

Aventurine sat in his study, lounging comfortably in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. His mind was sharp, focused on the calculations for the latest gambit he was orchestrating. The subtle hum of the lights was the only sound filling the air, a contrast to the swirling thoughts in his head.

But suddenly, he paused.

His gaze snapped to the door, where you had just walked in, his jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. The sight was... distracting, to say the least. The soft fabric hung loosely, but it wasn’t the jacket that caught his attention—it was how you wore it, casual yet so undeniably alluring.

You looked up at him, noticing his wide-eyed expression, and smirked. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing this. It’s quite comfortable,” you teased, adjusting the jacket as it fluttered around you. You looked nothing short of a vision, the way the jacket softened your features and added an air of effortless elegance.

Aventurine’s mind immediately went into overdrive. His usual calm demeanor faltered slightly, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, placing the wine down with a soft thud. “I must admit,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

The comment had its intended effect. You flushed, a little caught off-guard by the heat in his gaze. But instead of backing away, you shot back with a wink. “Maybe I should just keep it.”

He stood up, taking a slow step toward you, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “Careful, darling. Stealing my jacket is one thing, but you might just end up stealing my heart next.”

You laughed, and he couldn't help but pull you closer, letting the flirty banter continue, both of you lost in the tension that had quietly filled the room.

Dan Heng had just finished checking the controls on the Astral Express when he walked back to his quarters. His movements were careful, measured, a reflection of his usual quiet demeanor. But when he opened the door, his eyes instantly found you—wearing his jacket.

His jacket. The one that was a little too big for you but looked perfect with the way it draped around your figure, your hands tucked into the sleeves. He froze for a moment, his eyes locked on you, unable to mask the heat rising in his chest.

You glanced up at him and smiled, clearly noticing the way he seemed to freeze in place. “Does it look alright?” you asked, your tone light, playful.

Dan Heng’s usual calm composure slipped, just for a moment. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, and took a step toward you. "You—" He paused, glancing at the way the jacket swayed around you. “It... looks good on you.”

Your teasing smile grew as you shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I’ll keep it.” You turned to leave, but Dan Heng moved quicker, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Not without a fight,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. The proximity had your heart racing, and you looked up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

His eyes were intense, flustered but determined. “I think I’d like to see how well you can fight for it.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine. You smirked, leaning into his touch, enjoying the moment of playful tension. Maybe you didn’t want to keep the jacket after all.

Ratio was reviewing some notes when he noticed you walk by, his jacket hanging effortlessly around your shoulders. The dark fabric was a perfect contrast to your figure, and the subtle shift in his gaze was undeniable.

He cleared his throat, his fingers still tapping on the edge of the table as his mind scrambled for something intelligent to say. “I—uh—don’t think you understand how much that jacket means to me,” he said, his words blunt yet carrying a hint of something more.

You turned to face him, the teasing glint in your eyes making his heart skip a beat. “Is that so? I thought it looked better on me than it ever did on you.”

He set down his papers, standing a little straighter. “I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison, my dear. You may look good in it, but there is something about seeing you in my jacket that makes me feel... more than a little possessive.” His eyes flicked to the way the jacket clung to you, the small adjustments you made with it.

You smirked, inching closer, the space between you narrowing. “Are you suggesting I’m not allowed to wear it?”

Ratio didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the jacket, pulling it closer to you, brushing his fingers along your shoulder. The playful tension between you both was thick in the air, and his voice softened. “Maybe, just this once, I’ll let you keep it. But be warned, I’m not one to share my things lightly.”

The teasing tone, though, never quite left his voice.

Moze’s eyes followed you as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to the jacket you had casually draped over your shoulders. He hadn’t seen it before, but the familiar shade of violet mixed with the scent of his cologne had him instinctively realizing what had happened.

You looked at him, your posture nonchalant, yet there was a certain way the jacket swirled around you that made his breath hitch. He said nothing at first, but the tightness in his chest grew.

You noticed his gaze, the way his expression hardened slightly. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone deceptively light. “Don’t you like it?”

Moze’s throat went dry. He swallowed, his usual detached demeanor faltering for a second. “It’s not about liking it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as they trailed over the jacket that now seemed to fit you so well, almost too well. “It’s just... not something I’m used to seeing.”

You stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you used to seeing?”

His voice lowered, the usual stoic coldness replaced with something a little more vulnerable. “Someone who wears my things... and makes them look better than I do.” His words were a challenge, but also an admission of the strange possessiveness he felt.

You smirked, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you. “Guess that’s your problem then, isn’t it?”

Moze’s lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp, focused on you. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean I’m letting you keep it.”

You grinned at the playful spark in his eye, realizing that perhaps, he wasn’t as emotionless as he wanted you to believe.

The battlefield’s cold winds howled, but inside the medical tent, it was a surprisingly quiet moment. Jiaoqiu sat cross-legged on a cushion, his feather fan resting against his lap. His usual composure was intact despite his pale salmon hair loose around his shoulders and his closed eyes reflecting his blindness. The faint scent of herbs lingered, remnants of his latest alchemical concoction.

"Jiaoqiu, have you seen my—" you started to ask but cut yourself off, realizing the absurdity of the question.

Instead, your attention was drawn to the elegant jacket draped across a chair—light gold with subtle, intricate embroidery that shimmered under the lantern’s glow. Before thinking it through, you slid the jacket on, savoring its warmth and how it carried the faint scent of his medicinal herbs.

“Ah,” Jiaoqiu’s voice was gentle but curious, his ears twitching slightly. “You��ve taken my jacket, haven’t you?”

“How could you possibly tell?” you teased, watching his lips curl into a small smile.

“Call it instinct—or maybe it’s the sound of fabric brushing against your arms,” he replied. He reached out a hand toward you, and you instinctively stepped closer, guiding it to rest against the jacket’s lapel. “Hm. It suits you better than it suits me.”

You chuckled, only to realize he wasn’t wearing his inner robes properly. His upper body was loosely wrapped in a light undershirt, his sharp collarbones and toned chest subtly exposed. The sight made your cheeks flush.

“Jiaoqiu, you’re—”

He tilted his head. “What? Is there something wrong with me?” His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but his hands now rested on his fan, teasingly tapping it against his palm.

“N-no! You just—you look good,” you stammered, trying to hold your composure as your face burned hotter.

His lips quirked up, though his closed eyes betrayed none of his thoughts. “You sound flustered. Could it be that my darling likes me better without my jacket?”

You huffed, trying to change the subject. “Well, you might not get this jacket back anytime soon—it’s incredibly cozy.”

Jiaoqiu leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a soft, teasing lilt. “Then perhaps I should take something of yours to even the score.”

The Astral Express hummed quietly as it sailed through the stars, casting a serene glow over its halls. Sunday stood near the observation deck, staring out at the endless cosmos. Leaving his tailored vest and crisp shirt on display. You’d never seen him like this before, his usually composed demeanor offset by the casual absence of his tailcoat.

“You left this lying around,” you called, stepping into view. Only it wasn’t true—you had “borrowed” it. Sunday turned, his eyes locking onto you, his wings twitching slightly in surprise.

His tailcoat hung loosely on your frame, the asymmetrical white and blue fabric looking far more casual and comfortable than it ever did on him. The scarf, still attached, fluttered slightly as you walked closer.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home in my attire,” Sunday remarked, his tone calm, though a faint hint of pink colored his cheeks.

“You weren’t wearing it, so I thought I’d put it to better use,” you teased.

Sunday raised a brow, his gaze trailing over your figure. “It suits you better than I expected… though, perhaps I’m biased.”

Your playful retort died in your throat as you took in his appearance. Without his tailcoat, his fitted vest accentuated his waist and shoulders. The way his hair fell over his eyes, paired with the faint flutter of his wings, made him look utterly ethereal—and undeniably attractive.

“You—uh—you look…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning.

Sunday smirked softly. “Lost for words? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t get cocky!” you shot back, though your voice betrayed your flustered state.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You wear it well, my dear, but be careful. I might need to borrow it back… or something else of yours.”

The Astral Express lounge was comfortably warm, but the chill from your earlier excursion lingered on your skin. Spotting Caelus’s jacket on the couch, you couldn’t resist pulling it on. It was heavier than expected, the black fabric adorned with subtle gold accents. You hugged it around yourself, savoring the warmth and the faint scent of him that clung to the fabric.

“Isn’t that mine?” Caelus’s voice startled you. Turning, you found him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Uh… maybe?” you replied sheepishly.

His eyes softened as he stepped closer, but then you noticed he wasn’t wearing much—a simple white shirt clung to his torso, highlighting the subtle definition of his chest and shoulders.

“Caelus, you’re—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your brain short-circuiting at the sight of him.

“I’m what?” he asked, his smirk betraying his amusement. “Cold? I might be… since you stole my jacket.”

Your face flushed. “I didn’t steal it! I borrowed it!”

He grinned, stepping even closer. “Oh? And how long do you plan to keep ‘borrowing’ it?”

“As long as I want,” you retorted, crossing your arms, though the motion only made his jacket swallow you more.

His gaze lingered on you, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “You look… good. Really good.” His voice was quieter now, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you replied, suddenly feeling bold. “But you should know, you look even better without it.”

His blush deepened, and he averted his gaze, muttering, “That’s not fair…”

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act II

“Before you started the bumpers cars act, for the record unless you’re eight years old trying to make your dolls kiss, smashing your teeth together is not an ideal approximation of romance.”

“And [Hattie’s] gaze fell to [Anthony’s], felt as if somehow it was attached to his, as if there were filaments between them hooking together every time their glances connected.”

“Maybe there had already been the faintest glimmer of this horrifying attachment even then. His first steps on a map to a very unexpected destination but somehow it still felt as if there’d been no warning at all. As if a thousand insignificant moments and incidents had quietly woven together until one day he’d turned and he’d fallen and he’d been caught by a net of those impossibly unbreakable threads which he hadn’t realized existed.”

“…[Anthony] was not a touchy-feely person… But when he and Hattie, when their characters had kissed each other into the wall, he’d almost purred against her like a damn cat.”

“It was a closed set this morning so thankfully a very minimal number of crew personnel…On the flip side, the team reserved this level of set closure, basically a skeleton crew, for only the most explicit scenes and semi-nudity.”

“But she never had to worry in the past about being more involved in the dance than she ought to be. Not once had she arranged herself in a castmate’s arms and felt as if they were doing something truly, genuinely intimate…"

“Quite clearly the issue here was her scene partner and the potential for an amped up repeat of what had happened last time. Hard nipples, damp thighs, and a heart trying to burst out of her chest, all from a fully clothed screen kiss. This time, they’d both be all but naked, writhing on a bed, gasping, grinding, sighing.”

“This mattress feels very sturdy.”

“The moment Iris bounces him into the mattress in episode 8..."

“If millions of people were going to watch her ride Anthony like a mechanical bull…”

“Stevie pointed at the ornate mirror near the bed. Her gesture a spectacular symphony of sarcasm. ‘As your pre-seduction routine appears to involve a great deal of hair flicking and smokey glances at yourself, have at it.’”

“Are you looking for something?”

“‘Falling buckets,’ Hattie said. ‘Or collapsing bedframes or beams coming loose…’”

“…when the floorboard beneath [Anthony’s] boot performed a preemptive strike. The wood tilted inwards, just enough to throw off his footing…and his full body weight surged forward. She could see later in hindsight that he had attempted to both shield her head and not crush her underneath him…"

“Anthony landed on his knees with a painful grunt but had barely hit the floor before he was at her side, touching the back of her head and her shaking shoulders. She just had time to register a little too much cool air on the backs of her thighs, then he was smoothing her skirts down protecting what remained of her dignity in an automatic gesture.”

“’Gentle, this bit,’ [Stevie] said. “Romantic, soft.”

“But in the ways that mattered, especially in the context of an intimate scene and the scripts that they all dreaded most, he’d been surprising. If she wanted to expand into the territory of actual truth, he’d been the most confusing, unsettling, and fun scene partner she’d had in four years.”

“They were still holding hands. They realized this simultaneously and let go immediately.”

“’She’s my baby,’ [Cassidy] explained as she turned the key in the ignition. ‘The first thing I ever treated myself to with my own money, and she’s been with me for the whole crazy ride.’ She patted the gear box fondly. ‘I could never part with Penelope.’”

When discussing the underdog love story on Leicester Square, Hattie commented, “If she were a viewer, she’d be shipping them hard.”

While Anthony and Hattie were looking at gravestones, one caught Hattie’s eye…

“The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.”

While reminiscing about growing up, Hattie recalled, “...her mother reading aloud to her from a battered old copy of The Magic Faraway Tree.”

“’Do you remember the day we first met,’ [Hattie] asked suddenly."

“In all honesty, no. His early days on various TV and film sets had all blurred into an archived jumble of long hours, interchangeable costars, despised hotel living. As difficult as it was to imagine now, he had no distinct memory of the very first time he had ever seen Hattie. Although, he might have a vague recollection of earrings shaped like miniature garden gnomes. He did, however, have a crystal-clear memory of the first time he’d actually seen Hattie with all that the emphasis on that word implied.”

“She’d obviously read the ‘no’ in his expression, and her smile widened.”

“’It was a Tuesday morning at Malvern Abbey.’”

“And now she felt excessively wrong sharing close whispering breaths with Patrick especially with Anthony sitting on a folding chair a few meters behind the camera awaiting his queue to slip in for the daydream portion of the scene, and currently watching their every move. His pose was typically lazy, one boot crossed over the other, his fingers tapping on the arm of the chair, but he hadn’t looked away from them once. Something in his demeanor had the usually easy-going Patrick antsy as hell, probably the twitching eyelid.”

“’A definite improvement,’ Stevie’s voice came from behind them, very dryly. ‘And if we’d actually started shooting yet, we could probably call it a day.’”

[meeraonpole]

Kisses That Last Forever : OP81 X Y/N

Summery: Reader always kisses oscar mole and he finally asks why

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast warm shadows across the room, illuminating the peaceful stillness of the night. Oscar lay on his back, one arm resting behind his head, the other loosely wrapped around Y/N’s waist as she nestled against him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was soothing, a steady lullaby in the quiet of their shared sanctuary.

Y/N, content and sleepy, traced idle patterns on his skin, her fingers ghosting over his collarbone before they wandered up to his neck. She shifted slightly, propping herself up just enough to press a soft kiss against the little mole in the middle of his neck. Then, as always, she moved to the second one just above it, leaving another gentle peck there before settling back down against his chest.

Oscar let out a small huff of laughter, his lips twitching into a smile. “Okay,” he murmured, voice laced with curiosity, “why do you always do that?”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question. “Do what?” she asked, playing innocent as her fingers now traced over the fabric of his t-shirt.

“This.” He gestured vaguely towards his neck before he mimicked her movements, pressing two light kisses to his fingertips and tapping them over his moles. “You always kiss them.”

A soft blush dusted Y/N’s cheeks as she hid her face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent.

Oscar chuckled, tipping her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What was that?” he prompted, amused.

Y/N sighed, her expression softening as she reached up to gently touch the mole on his neck. “I don’t know… I just think they’re really cute,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Like little constellations on your skin.”

His eyes flickered with something warm, something tender. He hadn’t thought much about them before, but hearing her describe them with such fondness made his heart squeeze in the best way possible.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, shaking his head, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed the fondness in his voice.

Y/N grinned. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

He sighed dramatically, pulling her even closer until their noses brushed. “Unfortunately for me, I do.”

She giggled, pressing another lingering kiss over the mole on his neck before whispering, “Can’t help it.”

Oscar let out a content hum, burying his face in her hair. “Guess I’ll have to live with it,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her.

The soft intimacy of the moment enveloped them both, as the world outside seemed to disappear. Oscar felt the warmth of her presence against him, the steady beat of her heart matching the rhythm of his own. It was as if nothing else mattered but the quiet, tender connection they shared, the little things that made their bond unique.

Y/N, feeling the same sense of peace, closed her eyes, her fingers still gently tracing the outline of his shirt as she let the weight of the night settle around them. She was content, more than she could express. The simplicity of their love, the way it was made up of these quiet, unspoken moments, felt like home.

“I love you,” Oscar murmured, his voice thick with affection and something deeper, something lasting.

Y/N smiled into his chest, her heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her words floating between them like a promise, gentle and unwavering.

And as the room was filled with the soft hum of their breathing, the world outside still and silent. In that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s arms, content in their shared solitude. The night stretched on, peaceful and full of the quiet assurance that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

This is the moles on his neck i was refering to

Alsooooo the blue banner was from @bernardsbendystraws

not the one with the hearts i cant remember who the hearts are from but ifyk plz tag them

[pacofprunes]

do you have any incel namgyu thoughts,,,

incel! namgyu x reader

warnings — mentions of noncon, drugging, overall dark themes, misogyny, incel namgyu, 18+

just the sight of a woman pisses him off. you really think you’re all that and a bag of chips walking around trying to strut that slutty little body of yours? right….

he wishes nothing but the worst for any women he sees. if the news talks about a rape, he definitely laughs about it with his friends asking about what she wore. oh she was just wearing a hoodie and some leggings? leggings? hm, yeah. she was 1000% asking for it. now you see what happens when you go outside trying to flaunt your ass for a couple of strangers.

anytime he gets a chance with a women sexually, he’s a total asshole. he’s not chasing her pleasure, he’s chasing his own. when he’s done he just leaves her on the bathroom floor or some dingy back alley with cum dripping out of her pussy. he could care less if she gets pregnant. play stupid games then you win stupid prizes. deep down he knows that nobody should even want to get near him, so this is what you deserve. you seriously looked at him and decided you’d let him hit it raw? it just solidifies it all and makes him think “this is why i hate these females.”

he doesn’t outright go looking for a specific women, but if he sees one he likes and she rejects him? she’s fucked. who the fuck does she think she is? he’s probably gonna lace her drink and fuck her despite the protests, how dare she say fucking no to him.

he’s not kind at all. he slaps them around a little, burns his cigarette on them, shit, he even makes sure to spit on them too. he doesn’t just let his cum drip out either, no. he makes sure to shoot that shit all over their clothes and their face. women are nothing but his dirty little cum dump.

he certainly doesn’t search for a relationship either but if somehow he gets himself into one, he’s an asshole of a boyfriend. controlling what his partner wears, where they go, how they look, etc. leggings? no. crop top? no. a shirt that’s not loose? hell no. are you trying to slut yourself out? there’s really no right answer to what his partner can wear. maybe sweatpants and a hoodie but even then, he’d still find something to complain about.

[fawnhart]

sugar and rafes first time meeting ! ㅤ⭑๋ ࣭

You remember the moment your whole life started to crumble. It was a Tuesday, you think. Maybe a Wednesday? Doesn’t really matter. The days just blur together when you’re stuck in a house where you’re not allowed to live

You were listening to Jeff Buckley. You had it on repeat for weeks now, hiding it under a loose plank in the floorboards of your room. Your parents would never allow it. Not in a million years. Especially your mom. She’d explode if she ever found out. Everything was so god damn evil to her

But that day you thought you had time. She was supposed to be gone for at least another hour. It was Wednesday. Church group meetings. It was always a Wednesday.

You slipped the CD into your player old and busted up, the kind with the cassette tape thing but with a CD attachment, so it wasn’t completely outdated. You sat on your bed, staring out at the little slice of sky visible through your window, not really thinking about anything in particular just thinking. Then you heard the door downstairs.

“What the hell is that noise?”

You froze. Your heart dropped into your stomach. You thought your mom wouldn’t be home yet. You’d been so sure. You asked Mrs. Maggie to 1000% sure. But she was early. You scrambled to hit stop, but the music kept playing. Her voice, firm and pissed, was coming closer.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your pulse raced. You shoved the player under your pillow just as she stormed into the room, her eyes narrowing. She was already clutching that look the one that meant something bad was about to happen.

“What did I tell you about this?” Her voice was tight and screechy.

“I wasn’t doing nothin’” you said, your voice shaky. You didn’t even believe yourself. You knew exactly why she was upset. But you had to try. You had to try to be normal for once, even if it was just for a few minutes in your own room.

“Nothing?” Her lip curled, disgust in every word. “Baby, you think you can just fill ya’ head with that filth and call it ‘nothin’?’”

You bit your lip, holding back tears. She stepped forward, pointing at the CD player under your pillow.

“This is demonic! I knew it. You’ve been listening to the devil behind my back. It’s not enough that you’re dressing like... like one of those whores at school. But now you want to be dirty on the inside, too?”

Your throat felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Your mind was racing. What were you supposed to say?

“You’re going to ruin everything I’ve worked for. Everything your father and I have taught you,” she hissed, her eyes wild with something you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t love, not even close.

“it’s just music,” you whispered, too quietly, but she heard you.

She grabbed the player from your bed and yanked the CD out.

“It’s. not. just. music,” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s a gateway. It’s corruption to the brain.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell her that all you wanted was to be normal, to have what everyone else had. a life outside of this house, outside of her rules. But the words never came.

She was moving now, pulling open drawers, emptying them onto the floor.

“all that filth you’ve been hiding from me and I’ve been lenient on is done for. I’m taking it all.”

She tossed your music cds, your makeup, your books. Everything you’d spent months gathering, everything you’d used to try to feel like you were an ordinary girl, was being thrown away.

And then, the worst part.

“Your father won’t stand for this. We’ll have you cleansed”

You faltered. Cleansed? It was such a cold, clinical word. But you knew what it meant. The prayers. The rituals. You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t live through that.

Your eyes were filling with tears, your chest tightening.

“I’m sorry!, I didn’t mean to. I won’t listen to that again, okay? I swear,” you pleaded, though you knew it didn’t matter.

But it was too late, she was already at the door

“You know honey, my church group has been just how ungodly you’ve been acting, but I didn’t believe them….. I hate that you proved them right”

locking it behind her with that final click that meant you were trapped.

You pressed your back against the door, the tears finally spilling over. You couldn’t think straight. Your whole body was shaking, your mind was screaming. I need to get out of here.

You knew what you had to do.

You waited for what felt like hours, listening to the muffled sounds of your mom in the kitchen. The smell of dinner wafted under the door, and all you could think about was how your entire life had been planned for you. You were supposed to be a good girl. A good Christian girl. But you weren’t. And you were never going to be.

Finally, when you thought your heart couldn’t take any more, you got up. You grabbed the little bag you’d hidden in the closet. Nothing but a few clothes, and the money you’d saved up from waitressing at ‘sticky’s’. Quietly, carefully, you pulled out the plank in the floor, grabbed the rest of your hidden things, and shoved them into your bag. You didn’t think twice.

You climbed out the window, holding your breath, praying that she wouldn’t hear you.

Once you were outside, you took off running.

You didn’t know where you were going, but it didn’t matter. You had to get out.

You ran for what felt like forever. The night was cold, but you didn’t care. It was better than being to the place you once called home.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You glanced around realizing you were for sure not on the cut anymore, the big tall houses made it clear to you were on figure eight now.

then you saw him

Rafe Cameron.

You’d seen him around, of course. He was one of the rich kids, always walking around with that stupid confident smile, like he owned the whole island. You’d never paid him any attention. You had enough of your own problems to deal with. But when you saw him standing at the end of the street, leaning against his car smoking god knows what, you froze.

You’ve heard the stories about Rafe Cameron. He’s the kind of guy everyone talks about but no one truly understands.

He’s always been a mystery, and he still is. But there’s something about him, something that draws you in, even though you know you probably shouldn’t get too close.

You never really expected to see him again, not after the way he disappeared seven years ago.

Rafe left figure eight right after that night, the night he ended up in jail. No one knows exactly what happened, but everyone has their theories.

Some say it was a huge mistake, some say it was just a matter of time, others say ward himself drove his only son out of town. But whatever it was, it was enough to make him walk away from everything. His family, his life there, his whole world.

He packed up and drove five hours away, living on his own, far from the memories and the mess the pouges he hated had caused.

In the time since, he’s built himself up. People talk about how he’s thriving now, working as a firefighter or something like that. Hard work, steady pay, and no one really bothers him anymore.

It’s like he’s trying to rebuild his life, piece by piece. But even though he’s been gone for so long, when he talks about his baby sister wheezie, there’s this soft, almost protective vibe about him

Now, he’s back in town, just for her birthday. It’s strange seeing him like this, but there’s something different about him. He’s older, quieter, and maybe even a little lost in his own way.

He was looking straight at you, his brow furrowed, like he knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice muffled by his blunt but clear in the quiet night air.

You stopped in your tracks.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step toward you.

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you weren’t alright!. You were running away from your own life, from your own mother. But you didn’t know how to tell him that.

“I... I’m fine,” you said, but even to your own ears, it sounded like a lie.

He took another step forward, still studying you with those eyes that seemed too kind for someone like him.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “You look rough.”

Your breath hitched. ‘Gee thanks’ Yeah, you looked rough. You had been rough for years. But hearing it from someone else...it hit different.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know him. But you also didn’t know anyone who would help you, not like this. So you warily followed him

You stared at him, confused, trying to figure out if he was serious or playing some sick joke on you.

Then it hit you. He was talking to you like you weren’t just the religious girl with the crazy parents. He wasn’t weirded. He wasn’t judging you.

The last time someone came up to you, the whole town heard about it. Your parents tried getting them expelled from school for harassing you.

That was the last time anyone ever talked to you

“I know you know Wheezie,” he said, a little chuckle in his voice as he opened the door. “you can’t be all bad, right?”

Wheezie? then it clicked, the girl with glasses who could down 6 cherry milkshakes in a row, nice.

“Come on,” he said, the smile slipping from his face for a second, a real one this time. “Let me help you.”

You didn’t know if you were ready for help, but you were so damn tired. Tired of pretending everything was okay. Tired of running. Tired of fighting your own heart every damn day.

You took a deep breath and took up his offer.

He didn’t even look like the guy everyone made him out to be. Sure, he still had that wild, unpredictable look to him, but he wasn’t hostile. He just… asked if you needed help. Simple as that.

You didn’t know what else to say. You didn’t know where else to go.

He didn’t press you with questions. He just turned on the engine, his eyes flicking over you like he was checking to see if you were really serious about getting in.

"You're Wheezie's friend, right?" he asked as you climbed in.

You nodded, glancing at him, trying to gauge whether or not you were making a huge mistake. "Yeah... kind of, she’s always at the diner" you added, almost too quietly. You didn't want to give him the wrong impression, what 18 year old is freinds with a 13 year old?

He smiled just a little, but it was different from the smirks you’d seen on his face at school or around town. “That sounds like her” It wasn’t mean. It was soft

You can’t help but wonder what really happened in those seven years, what it was that changed him, but for now, you’re stuck here in the passenger seat of his truck, staring at his side profile as he drives.

Something about being around him feels oddly comforting, even though you know there’s so much you’ll never understand.

The ride was awkward, the kind of silence that felt thick enough to choke on. Rafe had the radio low, some song you didn’t recognize playing in the background.

You focused on the streetlights flashing by, the pavement blurring, but all you could think about was the tight knot of anxiety in your chest. You didn't belong in this car, in this moment. You should have been running in the other direction, but... for some reason, you weren’t scared. Not yet.

You had no idea where the hell you were going. That’s when he asked.

“So, do you have anywhere to go?”

You looked at your lap, clutching the bag tighter. You couldn’t tell him the truth, not completely. Not yet. "yeah" you said, your voice barely above a raspy whisper.

He didn’t say anything at first. But then you heard him exhale, like he was thinking it over. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been through but….but you’re safe now,” he said, and his voice was surprisingly gentle, like he’d somehow sensed how scared you really were. “Ok?”

“Ok” You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. He wasn’t wrong. You were scared, terrified even, but for the first time in forever, someone wasn’t judging you for it.

No one in your family ever told you you were safe, ever told you that everything would be okay. You sniffled, the tears threatening to spill over.

You didn't want to break down in front of him.

The car slowed to a stop, and you realized you were at a diner, the neon lights buzzing softly. Rafe looked over at you, almost like he was waiting for you to protest or make some excuse. You didn’t. You just followed him out of the car, not saying a word.

Inside, the place smelled like burgers, fries, and cigarettes. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold night outside, and it made you feel a little safer, like you were stepping into something straight out of a movie. Rafe led you to a booth and slid into the seat across from you. For a second, you both just stared at the menu, neither of you speaking. You didn’t know if you were supposed to order, or if he would. But then he broke the silence.

"What do you want?" He didn’t sound like he was expecting an answer right away. Like he was just making sure you were okay.

You looked at the menu, but your mind was elsewhere. You didn’t care what you ate. You just... didn’t want him to feel like he had to do this.

Like he had to take care of you.

“Just fries and a water,” you said, you didn't even know why you said it. It wasn’t like you had much of an appetite.

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t comment on it. He called the waitress over and ordered for both of you. A burger, fries, and a milkshake. When she left, he turned to you, his gaze softer than you thought he’d ever let it be.

"How are you holding up?" His voice was quieter now, the edge gone. He wasn’t the Rafe Cameron you’d heard about, the one everyone warned you to stay away from. He seemed... almost normal, it was freaking you out.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I don't know," you muttered. "Just tired, I guess."

He nodded, leaning back in his seat, but you caught him glancing at you every few seconds like he was still trying to figure you out.

“What are you running from” he said bluntly, his stare showing no signs playfulness, just a full serious look

you looked away, your tears sticking with your mascara and glitter eyeshadow “Home”

“Been there” he nodded taking in your appearance in, how could such a pretty girl like you be so alone and lost?

The food came quickly, and Rafe pushed the plate with the burger and fries toward you. "Eat," he said simply. “I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

You picked at the fries, not feeling hungry but not wanting to make him feel like you didn’t appreciate it. The milkshake was so cold and thick, and when you took a sip, you felt a small sense of comfort settle in. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As you ate, Rafe kept glancing at you, almost like he was waiting for you to crack. When you sniffled again, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve, he frowned. "I already told you, you don’t have to be scared," he said, his voice dropping a little. “You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

It was a strange thing for him to say, considering who he was. But in that moment, you believed him. You really did.

When you finished the milkshake and most of the burger, you felt a little more alive again, but the weight of everything of your family, of the lies, of everything that had pushed you to this point, was still there.

And you still had nowhere to go.

you just had a sparkly sack and a dream.

Rafe didn’t say much after that, just leaned back in his seat, and let you gather your thoughts. But when the waitress came by to take your plates, you stood up, and swung the creaky glass door open feeling that familiar unease creep back in.

"I’ll just go to the docks, the ferry leaves at 6am," you said, Turing around to see rafe as he followed right behind. You were going to take the ferry to the mainland, with the little money you had left. You weren’t sure where you were going from there, but it was something.

Rafe’s expression turned serious, almost annoyed. “No,” he said flatly.

“what?”

“I’m not letting you go to the docks. It’s dangerous, and I doubt you even have enough money to get anywh-.”

“You can’t fix everything!” you snapped, feeling all the frustration you’d been holding back suddenly spill out. "You can’t. fix. everything"

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I can’t fix everything,” he said, his voice firm. “But I can try to make sure you’re okay. I can’t just let you go off like that.”

You glared at him. “You don’t even know me. Why do you care?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at you like he was weighing something in his mind. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his buzzed head. “I know enough.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Your whole world was falling apart, and yet, here was this guy, this person you should’ve never trusted, according to everyone you knew

but then again why does it matter what everyone says? if you’re going by that logic then you would be at the bottom of the barrel.

“You want to runaway right?” he said, voice steady. “I have a place, it’s 5 hours away, that far enough for you?”

“Do you even know how old I am!? Hello, I could turn you in right now for being a weirdo” you asked with sass, anything to get him off of your case

“ ‘sticky’s’ won’t hire under 18.” He said nonchalantly rolling his eyes, “unless you lied or where getting paid under the table? Then I could turn you and your employer in”

You didn’t know if it was the exhaustion in his voice, but something in you cracked. “i didn’t lie, I’m 18” you said your voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you. But no funny business, I will jump out of the freaking car” you said crossing your arms

“Whatever you say, sugar”

Was this a good idea? Probably not. You’re parents would ironically raise hell over this town once they found out their precious daughter had run off with Rafe fucking Cameron

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[bitch-i-migth-be]

I love your brain, please have a biscuit.

I kept thinking about the og baby a lot while I was writing that. Poor thing, just made up so he can die for the sake of the plot.

Also imposter syndrome.

In this case, for example, it would be interesting to see that even if Tim can relate to Kon- it’s not actually the same, because while Kon was made to replace Superman he never actually had to do it, he got to be his own person.

Tim doesn’t get that here.

He did replace someone. Even if that wasn’t the objective of his creation. He is actively living under the name of a dead boy (which later gets even worse after Jason dies and the whole Replacement Robin situation happens), . he didn’t get to be named by people that loves him or even choose one himself.

If anything the scientists who made him gave him some serial number and called it a day, because you know that cloning Danny isn’t easy, it got to have taken many many tries. Tim would be lucky if he doesn’t have it tattooed somewhere in his body like cattle, the GIW was interested in his biology not his aesthetics.

He didn’t have any other option or resources when the Drakes ‘took him in’, and by the time he could have actually done something about it he was already far too deep in his life as Tim Drake. Far too deep in the vigilante life, far too deep in a family and friends

Before becoming Robin, Tim didn’t think he would get that. He thought he would have to bide his time, be the Perfect Little Son he was purchased to be until he actually had a shot at disappearing with the minimum risk of being dragged back to the labs or the Drake’s;

Following the Dynamic Duo around was never supposed to be more than a pass time, and then maybe doing some wishful thinking about how maybe they could help him, and battling with himself about whether it was a good idea to drag them into his mess.

And then the Joker fucked it all up, his chance was gone and he had to step up before Batman managed to kill himself in his grief because no one else would do it.

Can you imagine if somewhere in his archives he actually has a file with a life he invented/built for himself before being Robin? a name he chose?? With so much care because this was supposed to actually be his. Maybe he still tweaks it up from time to time just because he can’t let the idea go, even now.

And if any of the bats ever finds it they would just think it’s another one of Tim’s alias, like Alvin Draper, and maybe they make fun of him because ‘some of those things are really cheesy, Timbo. how did you came up with that??’

And Tim just has to pretend that he is Fine TM ‘yeah, haha, laugh it up’ like it doesn’t hurt because what is he supposed to say at this point?

It was never supposed to get this far. He was not supposed to get attached, to have people he actually cared about and then lie, lie, lie. Not while he was still Tim.

He should have been gone by now, to have finally laid the memory of Timothy Jackson Drake to rest and become his own person.

But He doesn’t want to loose this. He is catastrophizing whenever he is not in deep denial about the situation but it doesn’t change the facts.

He got an actual life now, with family and friends like he always wanted.

But it’s still a fucking lie

In which Jack & Janet Drake manage to neglect their toddler to death and have to find a replacement before the police or, god forbid, the media tears them apart.

It’s a good thing the US Government is getting rid of the GIW’s highly immoral test subjects before the JL can crack down on them.

Ha. Jokes on you, Jason.  ‘Tim’ has always been the replacement.

[thehereticdiaries]

Protective Instincts: Enhypen

Summary: Your best friend shows his possessive nature when another man harasses you

Warnings: Misogynistic comments, intimidation, threats of violence, allusions to drugging in Sunghoon's part, if I missed anything lmk

I have the next chapters for my series outlined!! Now I just gotta find the time to write them 🥲

Lee Heeseung

No matter how busy you were, you and Heeseung always made time to see each other at least twice a month. You have been friends for as long as you remembered, having grown up as neighbors. Your moms would gossip over tea while the two of you got into as much mischief your baby brains could think of. Not much has changed, except now you were the ones gossiping instead of your moms.

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” Heeseung held the door of the cafe open for you. The sidewalk bustled with pedestrians rushing to get their weekend errands done.

“Of course. Make sure you do the same.” You always ended your hang-outs with the same good-byes and a tight hug. You parted ways, walking in opposite directions to get back to your respective apartments. Barely five minutes passed since you left the cafe and yet a FaceTime call from you interrupted Heeseung’s music.

“Wow, did you miss me that much already?” He wasn’t looking at the phone or he would’ve seen the fear clearly written on your face.

“Heeseung.” His eyes snapped down to you, immediately concerned by the tremor in your voice.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think there’s a man following me,” you whispered, as if the man would be able to hear you from several feet away. Heeseung stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, earning him some glares.

“What?!”

“He was outside of the convenience store a couple doors down from the cafe. After I passed him, he looked at me weird and now he’s behind me.” 

“Don’t go home. Start looking around one of the stores, I’m coming to you,” Heeseung instructed while turning on his heel and speed-walking in your direction.

“Okay, uh, I’m in that boutique with the grandma curtain dresses.” You passed that store all the time but never went in because of the gaudy patterns on the window displays. You greeted the cashier, moving to the back of the store to hide.

“Can you see him?”

“He’s looking in the front window.” Heeseung ground his teeth, pushing his way through the crowded sidewalk. A lot of people jumped out of his way when they saw his barely-contained anger. The little bell above the boutique’s door jingled in his ear. “Oh fuck, he just walked in.”

“Stay calm and don’t hang up. I’m almost there.” You shrunk behind a rack of clothes, hoping he wouldn’t notice you. But there was only one other customer in the store, so your chances were slim.

“Hi,” an unfamiliar male voice cut into your conversation. “What are you up to all by yourself?”

“O-Oh, um, I’m just looking for a gift for my mom,” you lied, wide eyes flicking between your phone and the stranger. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, obviously not listening to what you were saying. “How old are you?”

“19.” Another lie. Maybe if he thought you were too young he’d leave you alone.

“So you’re inexperienced, then. Why don’t you let an older man show you how it’s done.”

“It? N-No, no thanks.” At this point, Heeseung borderline sprinted toward the store. 

“No? Why not?” The door slammed open, whipping the poor bell around and startling the cashier. The man ignored it, staring down at you, leaning closer and dropping a hand to your shoulder. “I can promise I’m way better than that little boy you were with before. Where is he, anyway?”

“Behind you,” Heeseung growled. 

“Oh, shit,” the man swore after he turned and caught sight of Heeseung’s icy glare. You have never seen your best friend this pissed off. He shoved the man’s chest, making him stumble and give just enough room for Heeseung to pull you into his side. His arm draped over your shoulders, hand hanging loosely in front of you. His relaxed posture was a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes and voice.

“Did you need something or were you just trying to intimidate my girlfriend?” You flushed at that, glancing up at him, but he kept his steady gaze on the man. 

“Relax, I was just making small talk.”

“By asking a 19-year-old girl if she wants to have sex with you? Fuck off, you’re lucky if I don’t call the cops,” Heeseung sneered, continuing your lie with ease. This grabbed the attention of the cashier. She discreetly pulled out her phone, whispering into the speaker with a hand over her mouth.

“Seriously, kid? You should really be thanking me.” The man held up his hands with a shrug. “I was offering to show her how to make a guy cum. That works in your favor.” You squeaked, ducking under Heeseung’s arm to hide behind him, gripping the sleeve of his hoodie. He didn’t seem to mind, as he reached back to rest a comforting hand on your hip.

“So you’re a pervert and you have no shame, got it,” Heeseung scoffed with a click of his tongue.

“See, I knew you weren’t a real man. You should–”

“Excuse me, sir,” a woman with sharp eyes and a neat bun interrupted. “I will only say this once: get out of my store.” 

“What?!”

“You are harassing my customers. Very young customers, at that, with extremely lewd comments,” the shop owner scolded the man, arching an immaculate eyebrow. “If I need to repeat myself, you will be leaving in handcuffs.” The man bristled, bowing his head and scurrying out of the store.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you sighed in relief but kept your shaky hands wrapped around Heeseung’s arm. 

“It was no trouble at all. You kids have a good day, now.” As quickly as the owner arrived, she disappeared through a doorway behind the counter. You sat in silence until you realized that Heeseung was still gently brushing his thumb over your hip.

“Hee, you called me your girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I did.” He didn’t give you any time to dwell on it, kissing your temple then your cheek and tugging you back out onto the sidewalk. “I’m walking you home.” Your mind reeled as you tried to wrap it around this new information and the sudden affection. You grinned and squeezed his hand.

“Okay.”

Jay Park

You were at a party for one of Jake’s friend’s birthdays. Jay dragged you along, claiming that he needed you there for moral support since the only people he’d know were the other Enhypen boys. Yeah, moral support my ass. Not even a minute after you walked through the front door, Jay veered off when another girl waved him over. So now you were forced to awkwardly mingle with a growing pit of jealousy in your gut. Luckily one of the little cliques adopted you into their circle, easing your nerves a bit. An hour into the party, you managed to break out of your shell and were now laughing loudly with everyone.

“Oh, hey Jay,” one of the guys in the group greeted the idol as he approached. 

“Hey,” Jay greeted flatly while shoving himself between you and the girl to your right. You furrowed your brows at the odd change in behavior. He was normally very polite, opting to gently maneuver you to the side so he could stand next to you. He didn’t even say ‘excuse me’ to the poor girl. You followed his uncharacteristic glare to a guy leaning on the arm of the couch. You thought he said his name was Dan or something similar. 

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, looking back up to Jay. 

“I’m good.” A muscle in his jaw twitched and you knew he was lying.

“No, you’re mad about something. What’s going on?” He didn’t answer. Jay's fiery gaze didn’t waver, even when someone tried including him in the conversation. You rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.”

“Y/N,” a shorter girl with cute round glasses grabbed your attention. “You have to come with us next time we go out! There’s this amazing cafe and the cutest…” Jay tuned her out while moving a hand to your lower back, which you didn’t question. He usually used your body heat as a way to ground himself. He was visibly angry because didn’t like the way Dan was eyeing you up, and he definitely didn’t like that Dan wasn’t backing down while he was standing right next to you. The last of his patience ran out when Dan fucking smirked at him. Oh, so he knew what he was doing. Knowing that only pissed Jay off more.

“What about you, Jay?” The short girl looked at him expectantly. 

“Hm? Yeah, sure.”

“It wasn’t a yes or no question…” She trailed off when you signaled that he was in a bad mood. The conversation carried on like normal for approximately 15 seconds before Dan chimed in.

“Hey, Y/N, has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?” Absolutely the fuck not. Jay’s hand slid from your back to your hip, digging his fingers into you and pulling you flush against his side.

“I tell her every day,” he replied before you even had a chance to process the intent behind the compliment.

“Oh?” Dan cocked his head to the side. “I never asked, but how do you know each other?”

“We’re–”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Jay interrupted you. Every ounce of your willpower went into keeping your composure. You didn’t know why Jay would lie about dating you, but you trusted him. There must be a reason, so you let yourself relax into his side. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really.” Everyone watched the exchange nervously. Between Dan’s arrogance and the edge to Jay’s voice, a thick tension hung in the air. 

“So why’d you leave her alone to talk to Yunah?” You were curious about that, too, to be perfectly honest.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but she was asking for advice. She and the other Illit members want to try rapping in some of their upcoming songs,” he explained. Now you felt a little silly for being so jealous earlier.

“Suuure. You two were just a bit close, in my opinion,” Dan shrugged while looking over at you. Jay’s whole body tensed up.

“I don’t give two shits about your opinion, so stop eye-fucking my girl before I make you,” he snarled, surprising everyone with his threat. Your jaw dropped as you stared at his profile. Under the anger, you could see something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Jay,” you whispered gently, placing your hand over the one squeezing your hip like a lifeline. He finally looked at you, and his resolve shattered at the genuine concern on your face.

“We’re leaving,” he muttered, grabbing your hand and leading you to the front door. “Sorry, Donghyun.” He apologized as he passed the host of the party. You waited until you left the apartment to pull Jay to the side. He dropped your hands to curl his fists by his sides, refusing to look up from the sidewalk.

“What happened in there, Jay? I’ve never seen you so angry before,” you asked while uncurling his fist, tracing over the lines on his hand with your fingertips. You missed the shiver that went down his spine at your touch. 

“I’m sorry, I just,” he interrupted himself with a frustrated growl. “I hated the way he was looking at you.”

“How was he looking at me? And why would it piss you off that much?”

“Y/N, he was basically undressing you with his eyes. I hated it cus I could tell that he was thinking about you like you were a prize,” he gestured with his unoccupied hand during his rant. 

“I didn’t even notice.”

“I know you didn’t. That’s why I came over. God, the thought of someone else wanting you like that just–”

“Wait,” you cut him off, holding both of his hands in front of him. Jay still avoided eye contact, so you had to duck your head down to force him to meet your eyes. “What do you mean ‘someone else’?” His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to let that slip.”

“Is that why you get moody after I go on dates?” You struggled to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Don’t laugh–”

“I’m not!”

“Y/N, seriously.” You took a deep breath to compose yourself at the desperation in his voice. “Yes. I’m sorry I never told you, I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship since you obviously don’t feel the same.”

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot,” you giggled behind your hand.

“What?”

“Jay. I have been flirting with you so much that it grosses Jake and Sunghoon out. How have you not noticed?” He stared at you in disbelief. You had to hide your face in his shirt to smother the cackles that would’ve definitely gotten you some dirty looks from other pedestrians. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around you before chuckling at his own obliviousness.

“Oh. Good, so I wasn’t lying. You’re mine.” His chin rested on the top of your head as he gently swayed back and forth.

“I have been for a while, Jay.”

Park Sunghoon

A long-standing and well-loved tradition in the Enhypen dorm was their monthly movie nights. It started with just the boys, but then Sunoo introduced you to the group. You bonded with everyone very quickly and after a few months, you were allowed to join their sacred movie tradition. Not like anyone, especially Sunghoon, minded you being there. Actually, Sunghoon found it to be the perfect opportunity to get closer to you, metaphorically and physically. Everyone knew his excuse of “sharing the blanket” was just that: an excuse. Well, everyone except you knew and it drove Sunghoon crazy.

The issue with tonight’s movie night was the sudden inclusion of two of Heeseung’s friends. Most of the other members haven’t even met these guys. How the hell were they allowed to crash their movie? To make matters worse, one of them stole both Sunghoon’s last bottle of tea and his spot on the couch next to you. He had to sit in the recliner. All alone. Without his favorite blanket- your blanket- but at least you didn’t share with the new guy. He either didn’t notice or blatantly ignored your discomfort, which was unsurprising for a guy named fucking Tyler. 

So Sunghoon sat there, seething and barely watching the movie, glaring at Tyler from the corner of his eye. You were, arguably, having a much worse time than Sunghoon. You had to deal with this guy’s annoying flirting and inability to accept “no” as an answer. You’ve already told him three times to take his arm off your shoulders. He listened, sort of. He technically wasn’t touching you, but his arm rested on the back of the couch directly behind you. He gave you the worst feeling in your gut. He was definitely not to be trusted with your drink. Your knees ached from curling yourself as deep into the corner of the couch as possible. You needed a break.

“Where are you going?” Tyler asked when you stood. The others turned to you, making you even more nervous than you already were.

“Bathroom,” you mumbled and fled down the hall. Heeseung sighed before addressing his friend.

“Man, you need to chill. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“What?” Tyler scoffed. “No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Heeseung’s other friend insisted. “Just relax, bro. Now’s not the time.”

“Yeah, whatever. There’s nothing wrong with taking what’s available.” A heavy silence fell over the group. Even the movie was quiet. Six sets of eyes stared at an unbothered Tyler. While the others were visibly pissed, Heeseung and his other friend just looked disappointed. You hesitantly reentered the living room and now Sunghoon was actually happy that he got booted to the recliner, since it was between the hall and the couch. As you passed by, he grabbed your hand and tugged you down to sit sideways on his lap. Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

“Just stay here. Please,” Sunghoon whispered. You certainly weren’t about to argue, shifting to a more comfortable position with your arms hanging loosely on his shoulders and your cheek resting against his temple. The tension slowly melted from Sunghoon’s body as he wrapped his own arms around your waist.

“Okay, seriously?” Sunghoon tightened his hold on you when Tyler spoke up. 

“Is there a problem?” The movie went forgotten in the background. Everyone’s attention was on you, Sunghoon, and Tyler. The latter rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and relaxing into the couch.

“Nah.” He shook his head with a huff. “She could have just told me she had a boyfriend and I would’ve backed off.”

“She is sitting right here,” you interrupted. “And I shouldn’t have to tell you anything. You should have stopped the first time I asked.”

“Oop, get him!” Jake encouraged from where he was laying on the floor. 

“How was I supposed to know you wanted me to stop?!”

“Because I told you! I said to stop touching me before the movie even started,” you snapped, back going rigid as you glared at him. One of Sunghoon’s hands slid to your lower back to rub gentle circles on your spine. The other stayed on your thigh, and your hand dropped to his.

“We also told you to stop,” Heeseung’s other friend pointed out. 

“Oh, come on–”

“No, Tyler,” Heeseung cut him off. “You’ve changed ever since you joined your bullshit frat house. I’ve been trying to give you a chance to prove me wrong, but this is it, man.”

“What are you saying, dude?”

“I think it would be best for you to leave. Neither of us want to be associated with a guy that harasses women.” Heeseung gestured between himself and his other friend. 

“Harass, seriously? Whatever. I didn’t realize you guys were such pussies,” Tyler ranted while making his way out of the dorms. The front door slammed shut, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry about him, Y/N. He wasn’t always like that, but I can’t keep holding on to the past. He’s a lost cause at this point,” Heeseung apologized, rubbing his temples to stave off his growing headache.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I’d really like to get to know you all, so I hope I can get a second chance.” 

“You’re cool, man,” Jake reassured him with a pat to his knee. “You tried to step in. That’s proof enough that you’re a good guy.”

“Can we get back to the movie now?” You giggled at Ni-Ki’s impatience. Jungwon had to rewind it a bit, but once it started playing again you moved to get off Sunghoon’s lap. 

“Nooo,” he protested, dragging you back down to sit between his legs. “Stay here.” He pulled your back flush against his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head. 

“O-Oh, okay.” Your face turned bright red, and you were very happy he couldn’t see it from his position. Or so you thought.

“You know,” he started, leaning closer so he could whisper in your ear. “You’re really pretty when you blush.”

“Sunghoon,” you whined and hid your face in your hands. His chest vibrated as he quietly laughed.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone.” He kissed your temple before turning his attention back to the movie. “For now.”

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[gdinthehouseee]

Lucky Star: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: you're a member of 2NE1 and it's finally time for you and your group to debut. thanks to a minor distraction, disaster almost struck moments before you're supposed to go on, but luckily ji-yong is there to save the day--and your career.

word count: 4782

tags: fluff, slightly steamy flirting at the end

ao3 link

Pre-performance chaos filled the shared dressing room: staff rushing in and out, adjusting outfits, reapplying makeup, and running through final checks. The other members of your group, 2NE1, were occupied. Chae-rin was discussing something with the stage manager, Minji was stretching in the corner of the room, while Bom and Sandara were warming up together on the couch.

And you?

You were staring at your reflection in the mirror, barely tuning into the noise around you. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, your stomach flipping for reasons you didn’t quite understand. Well, objectively, it was understandable: the time has finally come for your group’s debut, but your mind was elsewhere. There must have been a deeper reason, right? Maybe it was excitement, maybe nerves. Or maybe—

"You’re gonna rip your outfit if you keep doing that."

A familiar voice snapped you out of your trance. You turned your head to see Ji-yong leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with an amused smirk.

You immediately let go of the fabric and frowned. "I wasn’t—"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe I was. But don’t you have BigBang things to do? Why are you here?" You huffed, your nerves jumping out through your vocal cords.

“Am I not allowed to support you?” 

You gave him a look. "To check on me or to annoy me?"

His grin widened. "Can’t it be both?"

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the mirror, but you could still feel his gaze on you as he walked in and sat down next to you. It was unnerving, but not in a bad way. More like a “why does he always get under your skin so easily” kind of way. It wasn’t just the way he teased you—it was the way he lingered, the way his presence wrapped around you like a thread you couldn’t quite pull loose. He had always been like this, effortlessly slipping past your defenses with a smirk and a well-placed comment.

And yet, beneath all the banter, there was something else. Something quieter.

You weren’t sure if it was in the way he watched you now, eyes flickering with something unreadable, or in the way he always seemed to notice the things no one else did. But whatever it was, it made your pulse stutter in a way that had nothing to do with nerves. And everything to do with him.

"You’re nervous," Ji-yong said after a moment, his tone light but knowing.

You scoffed. "I am not."

He tilted his head. "You only mess with your clothes when you’re overthinking something. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times."

That made you pause. "You… noticed that?"

He blinked, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He hadn’t planned on admitting how much he noticed—the little ways your nerves showed, the way you tried to hide them. But he saw it all. He always did.

And for some reason, it made something tighten in his chest. He didn’t like seeing you doubt yourself. Didn’t like the way your fingers curled around the fabric of your outfit like you were bracing for something to go wrong. He wanted to fix it. To say something that would make that crease in your brow disappear, to remind you that you had nothing to prove to anyone.

He quickly recovered, however, masking the thought with an easy smirk. "Of course. I am very observant."

"Or maybe you just enjoy making fun of me."

"That too," he admitted, grinning. "But seriously, why are you nervous?"

You hesitated before sighing. "I don’t know. It’s stupid."

Ji-yong leaned against the back of the couch, watching you expectantly. "Try me."

Again, you hesitated. You opted to pick up your mic and just play around with it. Carefully, of course. You couldn’t have it damaged moments before your performance. 

You certainly weren’t used to talking about this kind of thing—not with him, at least. Sure, you bantered all the time, but this felt different. More personal. You were used to messing around with him during practice—playful teasing, stealing each other’s snacks, making small talk about the latest trends or whatever ridiculous thing that had happened during rehearsals that day. It was easy, effortless. A comfortable rhythm you had both fallen into without thinking. But this? Talking about something real, something personal? That was different. That was terrifying. If you let your guard down, if you let him see even a fraction of the doubts swirling in your mind, how would he react? 

What if he saw more than that? What if he saw the way your heart stuttered whenever he looked at you a second too long? The way you hung onto his words more than you should? You had spent so much time hiding your feelings behind witty comebacks and casual conversations, and now, with the weight of his gaze on you, you weren’t sure if you could anymore.

After a moment, you exhaled. "I just… I want to be good enough. I don’t want to mess up."

Ji-yong was quiet for a beat before he spoke up. "You are good enough."

You glanced at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounded. "You say that like it’s a fact."

"It is a fact," he said easily. "If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here."

Your chest tightened at his words—not because they made you more nervous, but because they somehow made you feel lighter. Like you weren’t carrying the weight of your doubts alone.

"You really think so?" You asked before you could stop yourself.

He met your gaze, his expression softening just slightly. "Yeah. I know so."

For a second, neither of you spoke. The noise of the room faded into the background, and you found yourself focusing only on the way he was looking in the mirror at you—not teasing, not smug. Just the real Ji-yong.

Then, without a word, he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin bracelet. A simple black cord, with a single charm dangling from it.

You blinked. "What’s that?"

He held it out. "For you."

“Why?”

"Because it’s my lucky charm. And now I’m giving it to you."

Your brows furrowed as you placed the microphone back down onto the dressing table, turned your entire body towards him, and slowly reached out. The charm was small but detailed—a tiny star, slightly worn at the edges, like it had been touched a hundred times before. 

"You carry this around?" You asked, stil staring at the delicate jewelery.

"Yeah. Before every performance, I hold onto it. It kinda became a habit." He shrugged.

You looked back up at him. "But… why give it to me?"

Ji-yong’s smirk faded completely now, his smile softer and his eyes trained on you. "Because I think you need it more than I do right now."

Something warm spread through your chest, something that had nothing to do with simple nerves. You swallowed, looking down at the bracelet before he picked it up and slipped it onto your wrist.

"You better not be messing with me," you murmured. "Or I swear, I’ll—"

He chuckled. "Relax. No tricks. Just luck."

You ran your fingers over the charm, then glanced at him. "Thanks, Ji."

It was ridiculous how something so simple could affect him so much. He heard his name all the time—fans chanting it, members calling for him, staff addressing him formally. But when you said it, when you casually dropped the full syllables and just called him Ji—for the first time, at that—like it was the most natural thing in the world, his heart did this stupid little flutter in his chest. It was personal. Intimate, in a way he wasn’t sure you even realized. No one else had ever said it like you just did. And maybe it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

He smiled bashfully and scratched the back of his neck, stepping back. "Don’t get used to it."

Returning the smile, you laughed. "Too late."

Ji-yong opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Chae-rin called your name from across the room. “C’mon, girl. We’re on in five.”

It was only now you realised you were the only ones left in the room. Not an entirely great start. You turned to go, but just before you stepped away, you looked down at your wrist one more time. The charm glinted under the lights, and for the first time all day, your nerves didn’t feel so overwhelming.

Ji-yong watched as you walked off, hands in his pockets, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

Stepping out the room with Chae-rin, you were quickly escorted through the winding hallways of the backstage area by your managers. You felt like everything within you was racing; your thoughts and feelings, your blood, and not to mention your adrenaline. You took a deep breath as you stood with your group members and friends.

“Everything good to go?” You heard a manager ask your group, and you were about to confirm when you realised you were missing something. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach as you realised you weren’t holding—

"My mic!" You gasped, eyes widening. "I left it in the dressing room!"

The staff around you tensed and the girls looked at you like you were a ghost. You felt the blood drain from your face. This was it—your career was going to be over before it even started.

But before the panic could fully set in, a familiar voice drawled, "Looking for this?"

You spun around. Ji-yong was standing there, casually twirling your microphone in his fingers, looking way too smug for someone who just saved your life. You were simply too stunned to speak. 

"You’re predictable," he teased. "I saw you put it down earlier and figured you’d forget it."

You grabbed the mic from his hands, your heart still racing. "You just knew I’d forget?!"

"What can I say? I pay attention."

There was something in the way he said it—something playful, yet sincere. For a moment, you forgot about the crowd waiting outside, the stage, the cameras. It was just Ji-yong, standing there with that cocky grin, acting like saving your entire debut was no big deal.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling warm. "Well… thank you."

He winked. "I got you."

The staff ushered you forward. As you stepped onto the stage, your nerves weren’t completely gone—but they weren’t overwhelming anymore either. And it was all thanks to your silly little crush.

The stage lights were blinding, the music pulsed through your body, and the crowd was electric. This was it—your debut performance. Your heart pounded, but the moment you struck your opening pose, adrenaline took over. The cheers were deafening, the energy infectious. You could barely take it all in when—

"YEAH! THERE’S OUR GIRLS!"

A seemingly louder voice—way too familiar—shouted from the crowd, making your stomach drop. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Sure enough, you spotted them. All the members of BigBang. Front and centre. Completely ignoring any attempt at blending in. Daesung was jumping up and down like an overenthusiastic fanboy, waving his arms wildly. Seung-hyun stood there, arms crossed with a proud smile. Taeyang was in full cheerleader mode, clapping and pointing at each of you as if you were his personal pride and joy. When did they get here?

But it was Ji-yong—always with the most subtle, but most intense gaze—who still caused your heart racing. His eyes were glued to the entire group, studying every move, like he was seeing each of you in a way no one else could.

You tried to shake off the nervous flutter that the thought brought, focusing back on the performance—but then—

"LOOK AT THEM GO!” Daesung shouted, pumping his fist in the air. You couldn’t help but laugh internally, knowing his tendency to be a little over the top.

Despite the fact that your heart was racing from the performance, you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you at seeing the boys so clearly proud of you and the group. You knew they were supporting you all, but hearing their cheers loud and proud for the whole of 2NE1 made you feel unstoppable.

Minzy, who was just behind you on stage, leaned in close enough for you to hear her without the mic picking up her words. “They’re like our personal fan club.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, glancing to the side at her with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t know they could get any louder.”

Dara shot you a knowing smile from across the stage, barely whispering into her mic as she adjusted her position. “I think your little boyfriend is impressed.”

You froze for half a second, caught off guard by Dara’s words, but then you noticed Ji-yong’s gaze again. He was watching you with an intensity that made your stomach do flips, but there was no teasing or playful banter. His eyes were warm, proud, but… there was something else there. Something you couldn’t quite name.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you quickly muttered back.

“But you still knew who I meant.” She teased quietly.

“Whatever.”

Getting into position for your part of the song—the first part of your performance—you quickly glanced at the boys, all of which were enthusiastically waving their lightsticks, yet you couldn’t help but focus on Ji-yong once more. It looked almost like he was seeing you for the first time, his eyes were full of admiration—truly in awe of your performance so far. To you, his focus almost felt like you were performing just for him. There was a part of you that wished it was just you and him. 

That’s why you had to nail your parts, and you did. Not just for the group and yourself, but for him, too.

Afterwards, the van ride back to the dorm was a whirlwind of laughter and energy. You and the girls couldn’t stop talking over each other, each of you still reeling from the success of your debut performance. The night had been everything you’d hoped for and more—an incredible first step into your career. As the van pulled up to the dorm, you practically jumped out of your seat, eager to celebrate.

“We did it! We really did it!” Sandara was practically bouncing in her seat as you all stepped out, grinning from ear to ear. Minji followed suit, already doing a little victory dance as she skipped up the steps.

"I can't believe it!" Bom laughed, walking alongside you. "We’ve worked so hard for this moment. It feels unreal."

"I know! It feels like a dream," you replied, your heart still racing from the adrenaline. The thought of everything that had led up to this point made your chest swell with pride.

Inside, the dorm was cozy, a stark contrast to the bright stage lights and loud cheers. The atmosphere felt so much more relaxed, and everyone quickly scattered to grab drinks, snacks, and anything that would make this night even more memorable.

You wandered over to the kitchen, the warmth and excitement of the night settling in as you took a moment to let everything sink in. Chae-rin handed you a drink with a proud smile. "You were incredible tonight. Seriously, you looked like a star."

“Thank you, Chae-rin.” You returned the smile, your voice much quieter than before. As the leader of the group, she immediately picked up on the change in your behaviour. She knew you a little too well for your liking. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…”

Momentarily, you looked down at the floor. 

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to put it into words. You weren’t exactly sure why you’d been feeling off, but there was something about the night that made everything feel a little heavier. Between the performance, the teasing from the girls, and the subtle tension you couldn’t deny with Ji-yong, it felt like your emotions were tangled up in a way that was hard to unpack.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “It’s just... everything happened so fast tonight, you know? I think I’m still processing it all. We worked so hard to get here, and now that we’ve done it, it’s like—what’s next?”

“I get it,” she said quietly. “It’s a big step. Sometimes, when you reach a goal, you don’t always know how to feel about it. Especially when it feels like it came all at once.”

You took a sip of your drink. “And it’s weird... because I thought I’d feel proud. And I do, but there’s also this... pressure. Like, we just debuted, and now we’re expected to keep getting better. To keep doing more.”

Her eyes softened, taking a step closer to you. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now,” she said, her voice steady and full of conviction. “It’s okay to feel a little lost. We’re all in this together. And I know you. You’ve always been determined, but you also care deeply about making every step count. You’ll find your way. Don’t let the pressure take away from the moment we’ve earned.”

You looked at her, surprised by how much those words grounded you. Chae-rin wasn’t one to sugarcoat things, but when she spoke, it always felt like she understood exactly what you were going through. You hadn’t expected this level of comfort from her, but in that moment, it meant everything.

“I don’t want to let the pressure get to me,” you admitted, lowering your glass. “But sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be... perfect. You know? Like, we all have our roles to play, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

She gave you a small, knowing smile. “We’re all figuring it out. And trust me, you’re not alone in that feeling. You think I haven’t had moments where I felt like I wasn’t doing enough? Or that I was missing something important? We all get caught up in the idea that we have to have it all figured out, but that’s not the reality of it.” She paused for a moment, letting her words settle. “The important thing is that you’re doing it. We’re all doing it. You’ve come this far for a reason, and it’s not because you’re trying to be perfect. It’s because you have something real to offer. Don’t let anyone—including yourself—convince you otherwise.”

You felt a small weight lift off your shoulders, hearing her say it out loud. Sometimes, the doubt and fear could be overwhelming, but hearing those words from Chae-rin made everything feel just a little more manageable.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice a little shaky. “I needed to hear that. I think I’ve just been holding everything in, trying to be ‘on’ all the time.”

Chae-rin’s expression softened, and she placed a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got the girls, and you’ve got me. Don’t forget that. We’re not just teammates—we’re a family. And we’ve got your back.”

The sincerity in her voice hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you could feel the tears threatening to surface. But you quickly blinked them away, grateful for her words and for the quiet strength she always seemed to radiate.

“You’ve also got the boys. I mean, you saw them out there, right? Our number one fans.” Both of you couldn’t help but to laugh at the thought of the way they were screaming their support from the crowd.

“Thanks,” you whispered again, this time a little more sure of yourself. “I think I just needed to hear that I’m not expected to be perfect. I’m not even sure where I got that idea from.”

“Everyone gets caught in that mindset sometimes,” she said, offering a small chuckle. “Just don’t let it control you.”

You both stood there for a moment, the noise from the living room growing fainter as the conversation between you and Chae-rin deepened. In that moment, you realized that despite all the pressure and uncertainty that came with debuting, you weren’t alone. You had your team, your family—your sisters—and they’d be there every step of the way.

With a final squeeze on your shoulder, Chae-rin gave you a wink. “Now, come on. Let’s get back out there before the others think we’ve abandoned them.”

You chuckled, feeling lighter than you had in hours. “I think I need some time to myself, my social battery is drained. But, seriously, thank you.”

“Of course.” She nodded with a small but genuine smile. “Anytime.”

“I’ll be on the roof if you need me,” you clarified, in case somebody really did need to reach you.

The cool night air felt refreshing against your skin as you stood on the roof, away from the noise and chaos below. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting long shadows across the rooftops, but in this moment, everything felt still. You let out a quiet breath, your mind replaying the night’s performance, the teasing, the congratulations, and the deep conversation with Chae-rin. It was all so surreal—everything you had worked for, everything you had dreamed of. Yet, even now, as you stood here, alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t shake the pressure that had settled in your chest. There was a sense of responsibility that weighed heavy on you. You couldn’t afford to let down the people who had supported you—your team, your family, the fans. But for the first time tonight, you let yourself feel proud of what you’d accomplished, even if it was just a small victory in the grand scheme of things. You had made it this far. You had earned this moment. Maybe that was enough, for now.

A quiet peace settled over you as you stood there, your thoughts drifting away from the bustling celebration downstairs. It felt nice to have a moment of calm, even if it was just for a little while. But then you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, and before you could turn around, a voice cut through the stillness.

“You know, you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. The night’s still young.”

You turned, startled to find Ji-yong standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the railing with a small grin on his face.

“Ji,” you said, blinking in surprise. “I didn’t even know you were in the building. Did you guys stop by to celebrate after the performance?”

“Yeah, we came by,” he replied with a shrug, stepping closer. “But we thought you and the girls might want some time to yourselves. I didn’t want to interrupt. But, now that I’m here... looks like you could use some company.”

“And here I was, thinking you were too cool for group celebrations.”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Who do you think I am? I’m here to celebrate you, of course,” he said with a wink. “You and that lucky bracelet. How could I not?”

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you leaned against the railing, mimicking his casual stance. “You’ve really taken the whole ‘lucky charm’ thing and run with it, haven’t you?”

He grinned, his confidence palpable. “Why wouldn’t I? I picked the perfect accessory, didn’t I? I’m just saying... maybe it’s more than just luck.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly masked it with a teasing tone. “What are you trying to say?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, your voice light but curious.

He took a small step closer, his voice lowering just a bit, his gaze flicking briefly to the bracelet on your wrist. “I’m saying... maybe you’re the one who’s lucky.”

You glanced up at him, your heart hammering in your chest. His words were teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness to them now, a tension that was building between the two of you.

“Is that so?”

He took another step forward, and now, he was standing much closer than you expected. You could feel the heat of his body, the space between you two practically nonexistent. “I think so,” he said softly, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “But I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Before you could respond, Ji-yong was even closer, his body nearly pressed against yours as he leaned in. His hands moved to the railing behind you, caging you in, his arms locking you in place as you felt your breath catch in your throat. He was now leaning over you, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating.

Your heart raced in your chest, and your breath hitched as you tried to steady yourself. “Ji, you—” you started, but your voice faltered as you looked up at him. His eyes were dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t bite,” he teased softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Unless you want me to.”

You swallowed hard, unable to keep the smile off your face as you met his gaze. There was a mixture of playfulness and something else in his eyes, something deeper, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“And what if I do want you to?”

“Well, then I guess you’ll have to let me know.”

You shivered, your pulse quickening at the closeness of him. “I think you’re already too close,” you teased, trying to pull back, but the railing behind you kept you trapped in place.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice full of quiet amusement, but his hands on the railing tightened, keeping you right where you were. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not until you admit you’re at least a little curious about what comes next.”

The boldness of his words hung in the air, and despite your teasing, your heart was hammering, and the air between you two felt thick with unspoken words. You licked your lips, feeling the pressure of the moment, unable to pull away and unable to deny the electricity running through you.

“Curious, huh?” you murmured, your voice a little breathless now, and you gave him a sly smile. “Maybe you’ve got me slightly curious.”

He leaned in a fraction closer, his lips just brushing against your temple as he whispered, “That’s all I need to know.”

"Ji..." you whispered, your voice trembling just the slightest, barely audible in the stillness. His name felt so natural on your lips, but now it was more than just his name—it was a plea, an invitation.

His eyes softened, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his gaze. But then, he leaned in, slowly, almost as if giving you the space to back away, to stop him. But you didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

Ji-yong’s lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel the electricity between you two intensifying, crackling in the air. His breath mingled with yours as he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve wanted this for a while now...”

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours softly at first. The contact sent a shock of warmth through your entire body, and you instinctively leaned into him, your hands reaching up to wrap around the back of his neck. His hand found its way to your waist, pulling you slightly closer, and his lips deepened the kiss just enough to send your pulse soaring.

For a moment, everything faded. The crowd downstairs, the loud celebration, the teasing banter—none of it mattered. It was just the two of you, locked in this kiss, and everything else felt like it didn’t exist.

Ji-yong’s lips moved against yours with a gentleness that was almost unexpected, but there was still a hunger, a desire, beneath it all. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in the softest motion. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his chest, fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt as you tried to pull him even closer, if that was even possible.

When he finally pulled away, just enough for both of you to catch your breath, his forehead rested gently against yours. His eyes were still closed, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

“Ji-yong?”

“Yeah?” He opened his eyes again, his own breath hitching in his throat as he took in your beauty once more. “What is it, jagiya?” 

“Kiss me.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy

[catiroll]

A Dance for Two °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Synopsis: When your daughter wants to attend the Daddy-Daughter Ball, Sevika reluctantly agrees to take her. What begins as a simple favor turns into something far more meaningful than either of you expected.

Warning: nothin rlly

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The tiny bow on Mira’s dress had come undone again.

You knelt in front of her, fingers carefully retying it, making sure it was straight. She stood perfectly still, her small hands gripping the soft folds of her dress, eyes locked on your movements with unusual intensity. Normally, she would have been talking—about the colors, the music, the way her shoes made soft clicks against the floor—but tonight, she was quieter than usual.

You noticed.

You always noticed.

“There,” you said, adjusting the bow one last time before pulling back. “Perfect.”

Mira didn’t respond right away. She turned slightly, lifting her dress in her little fingers and watching how the fabric shimmered under the warm glow of the lanterns. You could see the wheels in her mind turning, but she hadn’t yet found the words she wanted.

Then, finally—softly, hesitantly—she asked, “Mama… do I get to go even if I don’t got a daddy?”

Your hands stilled.

It wasn’t the first time she had asked about fathers. It wasn’t even the first time she had noticed she didn’t have one. But it was the first time she had linked it to something she might be missing out on—something other kids had and she didn’t.

Your chest tightened, and you forced a small smile as you tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Of course you get to go, sweetheart. You don’t need a daddy to dance.”

Mira nodded slowly, but her grip on her dress remained tight. “The other girls said their daddies are taking them.”

Your throat constricted.

Before you could say anything, she looked up at you, something hopeful flickering in her wide eyes. “Could Auntie Vik take me?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

Sevika.

It wasn’t that the idea was bad—far from it. It was just… unexpected.

Sevika didn’t do things like this. She wasn’t soft, wasn’t gentle—not in the ways most people would recognize. But Mira saw her differently.

You saw it too, sometimes.

Sevika was the one who let Mira sit on her shoulders to reach the top shelf. The one who wordlessly passed her a piece of whatever she was eating, even if Mira never asked. The one who grumbled endlessly about how ‘kids were too much trouble’—only to let Mira fall asleep curled up in her lap minutes later.

Maybe… just maybe, this could work.

“You want me to do what?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Sevika stared at you from across the table, one brow arched, her metal fingers drumming against the worn wooden surface. You’d just finished explaining the situation, and judging by her expression, she was either irritated or amused. Maybe both.

“Take Mira to the Daddy-Daughter Ball,” you repeated, this time a little slower, as if that would somehow make it sound like less of a ridiculous request.

Sevika let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You do realize I don’t fit either of those words, right?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “You’re not an idiot, Sev. You know that’s not what this is about.”

She leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “Kid needs a dance partner? Take her yourself.”

“She doesn’t want that.” You hesitated. “She wants you.”

That got her.

Her fingers stilled against the table. Her jaw clenched—just slightly—but enough for you to notice.

“I don’t know how to do this shit,” she muttered, looking away. “Dancing. Balls. Dressing up like some… proper person.”

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “She doesn’t care about any of that. She just wants someone who makes her feel safe.”

Sevika scoffed, shaking her head, but you saw the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something you couldn’t quite place in her eyes.

“You’re good with her, Sev,” you continued, softer this time. “Better than you think.”

Silence.

Then, finally, a long exhale.

“Fine,” she muttered, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting it. “But you owe me.”

A slow grin spread across your lips as you reached up, fingers lightly brushing her jaw. “Oh, I’ll make it up to you.”

She shot you a look, but there was something warmer in her expression now, something less guarded.

She was going to do it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When Sevika arrived at the door that evening, Mira gasped so dramatically you thought she might faint.

“Auntie Vik!” she squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. “You look so pretty!”

Sevika grimaced.

She stood stiffly, dressed in a deep navy vest over a crisp black shirt, looking like she had been physically forced into it. Her usual rough edges hadn’t disappeared—the scars on her hands, the imposing metal arm, the ever-present air of someone who had seen too much—but there was something undeniably striking about her like this.

Sevika scowled, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “Don’t start.”

You only smiled, stepping forward to adjust her tie, fingers lingering just a second too long. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary before clearing her throat and looking away.

Mira grabbed her much larger hand and started tugging her toward the door. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

Sevika sent you a desperate, help me look.

You just waved. “Have fun!”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The ball was something out of a storybook—glittering chandeliers, soft melodies, rows of little girls spinning in their dresses.

Mira fit right in.

Sevika… not so much.

She was stiff at first, clearly uncomfortable under the warm glow of the ballroom. But Mira didn’t seem to notice. She grabbed Sevika’s hands, practically dragging her onto the dance floor, and demanded to be twirled.

And—surprisingly—Sevika did.

Not gracefully, not skillfully, but in a way that made Mira laugh, bright and loud and full. Sevika let her stand on her feet to waltz, rolling her eyes but not pushing her away. When the music shifted to something livelier, Mira pulled her toward the other children, insisting Sevika had to play tag.

And she did.

She let Mira sit on her shoulders to ‘catch’ the other kids, smirked when she won, and even—reluctantly—let her place a tiny, flower-shaped sticker on her metal arm as a ‘prize.’

It was a perfect night.

But then, near the end of the evening, as the last slow dance played, Mira—sleepy, warm, and utterly content—rested her head against Sevika’s shoulder and murmured, “I wish you were my daddy.”

Sevika froze.

Your breath caught.

Mira didn’t say it with sadness. There was no longing in her voice, no ache for something she felt she was missing. It was just a statement. Simple. Honest.

Sevika swallowed hard.

She could’ve brushed it off. Could’ve ignored it, changed the subject, made a joke.

But she didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, she murmured back, “You don’t need a daddy, kid. You’ve got your mom.” A beat of hesitation. “And you’ve got me.”

Mira didn’t say anything else. Just snuggled in a little closer.

And Sevika held her a little tighter.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ When they arrived home, Mira was fast asleep in Sevika’s arms.

You expected her to pass the little girl off and leave. Instead, she carried Mira inside, walking straight to her room and tucking her in without a word.

When she turned back to you, there was something in her eyes—something raw, something hesitant.

“She called me her dad,” Sevika said, voice gruff, but there was something thick in it, something heavy. “Can you believe that?”

You smiled softly, reaching up to touch her cheek. “She loves you.”

Sevika exhaled sharply. “She’s a little brat.” But her voice cracked, just slightly.

You kissed her.

And when you whispered, “Stay?”

She hesitated.

Then—finally—she sighed and muttered, “Yeah. Okay.”

And just like that, she was home.

Masterlist

A/N: i havent made one in so long my bad sorry yall but here we go we got sevika with a duaghter cuz lowkey i can never see her with a son. have a good day wherever u aree

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.8): stop being weird - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

an; lmfao i watched babygirl last night so smut coming in the next few chapters FINALLY!!

part 7- part 8 - part 9

you don’t do weird, dramatic silences. you don’t ignore each other. you don’t fight.

so why does it kind of feel like you are?

it’s been days since the last pogue hangout. since you started seeing rafe a little less. since you realized he wasn’t really… talking to you anymore. not like normal. not like you two.

it’s not like he’s outright avoiding you—he still shows up, still answers when you text—but he’s dry. dismissive. like he doesn’t really care. and maybe you wouldn’t care either, if it weren’t so obvious.

you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling, your phone resting on your stomach. music plays softly from your speaker, some song you don’t even realize is on until it ends. the room feels too quiet. the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.

before you can think too hard about it, you grab your phone and open your messages.

it’s not like you to overthink things. not with rafe. but the whole thing is just… off. and it’s not like he’s going to tell you what’s up—clearly—so you do the next best thing.

meanwhile, your life is moving. no time to think about rafe. no time to care.

you’re at the chateau, cross-faded, curled up against jj on the couch, barely processing the conversation happening around you. his arm is slung around your waist, and at some point, your head ends up on his shoulder. the night moves fast like that, all smoke and static and warmth, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of music from a speaker someone set on the counter.

jj’s rolling another joint, half-focused on pope and john b arguing over something stupid, while kiara eggs them on. you don’t even know what they’re mad about, but it’s funny watching them get worked up, hands flying, voices overlapping.

jj nudges you with his shoulder, eyes lazy, smirking. “you good over there, champ?”

you hum in response, tilting your head back to look at him. “never better.”

he grins, flicking the lighter to life.

at some point, jj drags you off the couch, pulling you toward the kitchen under the excuse of “we need snacks.” the real reason, as it turns out, is to shotgun a beer with you, which you only half succeed at before nearly choking on it. jj laughs so hard he almost chokes too, smacking the counter as he wheezes, before shoving the neck of his hoodie at you to wipe your mouth like you haven’t known each other for two weeks at most.

“you suck at this,” he says, grinning.

“fuck you,” you cough, still recovering.

“nah, that was tragic,” he teases, cracking open another one like you didn’t just borderline aspirate the first. “you gotta commit. you hesitated.”

you glare at him, wiping your chin with his hoodie before flipping it back at his face. “let’s see you do better, mr. professional.”

jj winks, tilting his head back as he downs the beer effortlessly, then slamming the empty can on the counter with an exaggerated gasp. “light work,” he announces.

you roll your eyes. “congrats. you’ve peaked.”

he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a loose side hug as he grabs a bag of chips off the counter. “c’mon, princess. let’s go pretend we got the snacks and not just our crippling alcohol dependencies.”

sometime past 2 a.m., you end up back on the couch, jj next to you, kiara half in your lap, legs thrown over the armrest. your limbs feel heavy, head fogged over with exhaustion, but you feel good. easy. warm in the way that only comes with nights like this.

you don’t check your phone. don’t think about unread messages or stubborn boys who’d rather sit in their heads than get out of them.

not your problem tonight.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @hello-therree

[visceravalentines]

drowning is only as hard as you make it

bo sinclair x gn!reader

2k words. weird melancholy freak behavior. author's thinly disguised smoking fetish. established relationship (lol). Ambrose is lonely. that's it that's the fic.

He always manages to find you.  Every time.  It’s not a game anymore, not really; there’s no use keeping score when only one side is allowed to earn points.  There are no rules, no satisfaction in the victory.  You’d make your way back to the house even if he never showed up.  Today you’re not even hiding.

The row of vacant windows across the street catches the last lazy rays of sunlight.  A few eager fireflies pantomime shooting stars just above the freshly cut grass.  He mows the lawns regularly, every last one of them, dripping sweat in the sticky air.  You think it’s nonsensical.  He doesn’t care what you think.  At least it smells nice.  Nostalgic.  Painful.  

On an evening like this, there should be kids out.  Riding bikes, running through the neighbor’s yard.  Parents watching from their porches.  People chatting, relaxing.  Hell, maybe a dog or two.  But there is only you, and the fireflies.  

The heat of your cigarette creeps dangerously close to your fingers but you wring one last pull off the thing before you crush it against the step.  Scorch marks dot the woodgrain like initials carved in a tree, only better, because they’re anonymous.  Could've been left by anyone sitting sulking on these stairs and pondering ways to disappear.  Plausible deniability.  

Too bad you're the only one here.

You set your hand on the pack beside you, work another one out with your fingers without looking.  It’s all reflex.  It’s all muscle memory.  That’s all you are anymore, something that survives without thinking about it.  

In that shadowy place called Before, you only ever smoked on rare occasions. At parties or bars, always with friends, always a little drunk. You'd never admit it aloud but a part of you used to pride yourself on your restraint–you could stretch a single pack out over a month or more, until the tobacco had gone stale and the cigarettes tasted like dusty paper. Until it was less of a treat and more like a chore to get through the last few.  

Now you drop butts through the grate of your days like maybe you can fill up the emptiness with smoke.  

You sigh and light up, take a drag and let it sweep you up above the gutters.  You imagine the town might almost be pretty from up high.  Hard to tell from here.  

“Didn’t know this house had a chimney.”  

Some part of you remembers what it felt like to flinch when he got this close.  Another part remembers the way you buried your face in his back before he got up this morning.  You exhale nice and slow.  “Thought you knew everything.”  

“Now, we’ve talked about this.”  He leans against the rickety railing, white paint flaking off at the slightest disturbance.  “You know nothin’ good comes from thinkin’.”  

As a matter of fact, you’ve talked about everything already, but that’s never stopped him before.  You’ve heard all the stories sixteen times, could recount his childhood from memory one miserable year after another.  You know where he got that scar.  He knows all about your first kiss.  Eighth grade was hard for both of you for vastly different reasons.  He’s never been to your hometown but he could probably find your old house.  You’ve never met his mother, but you hate her just the same.  Favorite movie, worst fear, where were you on 9/11?  In a zombie apocalypse, he’d choose an ax.  You’d take the shotgun with exactly two shells.  It’s almost romantic, except, well.  

“Hey.”  He slams the heel of his hand against the railing and somewhere along the line, the wood splits with a crack.  “What’d I just say?”  

You look up, jarred loose from your spiral, and he’s shaking his head.  

“Damn fool.  Gimme those back.”  

He reaches out a hand and you slip one last smoke from the pack before you give it to him.  

“Lighter too, baby, c’mon.”  

You hesitate for a second, long enough he has to flex his fingers to make the point.  You hand him the lighter, keep the spare cigarette, tuck it behind your ear.

He peeks into the pack and his lip twitches. “Fuckin’ glutton.  This was full this mornin’.”  

“Sorry,” you deadpan.  

“Sure y’are.”  

You’ve had this conversation too, in just about every house on the street.  You wonder if he ever feels crazy, playing it all out over and over again.  Probably not. He's composed of repetition, a record that skips in the same place every time it's played. You feel crazy, fucking listening to it.  

You watch him work a cigarette loose, watch him hold it in his lips, watch the tendons flex across his knuckles as he lights up. For all the fucking smoke he blows, you still think he looks damn good as he exhales up towards the fading sun. One of life's little cruelties. 

“Y’know, supper ain't gonna make itself,” he says casually. Like he’s trying to piss you off.  He probably is.  

“You sure?” you shoot back, like you’re trying to piss him off.  You definitely are.  

He chuckles, unbothered. “I dunno, baby. Been wrong before.”

“Yeah?  Tell me more.” You're bold these days. Stupid. Dangerous, and not in the same way as the surgeon general's fine print. Dangerous in the present moment. Shaving seconds off your life like taking a pocketknife to a good chunk of wood. But games are more fun with two players. 

He doesn’t want to play, though.  Probably worn out from mowing all those fucking lawns.  He shrugs.  “Nothin’ more to tell.”  

“Pantry’s empty anyway,” you mutter.  The grocery list on the fridge has wrapped back on itself twice over.  He’s been cagey lately, reluctant to venture into town.  You’re down to canned goods old enough to read chapter books.  

“Guess we’ll starve.”  

“Guess so.”  You flick your rapidly shrinking cigarette and watch the ash fizzle frantically down and disappear. The chorus of crickets crescendoes to a dull roar in the silence.  

“You like these, huh?”

You're not sure what he means for a second before you realize he's talking about the cigarettes. You take another drag like you have to mull the taste over, really consider the question. He’s not a patient man, but he waits for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say finally on the tail of your exhale. “Best ones in a while.”

It’s the truth.  He's got his own brand and you like it too, but he's a fucking skinflint, and he only buys himself a pack when he's really hard up. Most of the time he scavenges off corpses and out of glove boxes. And you live off his scraps, so. 

Regretfully, you stub yours out as the flame hits the filter. Your throat is raw, tongue wrapped in the taste of tobacco. Everything in this town is racing to kill you and you wish something would win already. You can feel him watching you, now and always. 

“Somethin’ you need, sugar?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”  

He exhales with relish.  You think about the taste of smoke on his tongue and tobacco on his fingers and you grit your teeth.  He’s a vice in every sense.  

“You pissed at me?”  

What kind of question is that?  You peel a chunk of paint off the stair near your shoe.  “I’m always pissed at you.”  You mean it and you don’t and you’re braced for retribution either way, but none comes.  

“Fair enough.”  

You steal a wary glance in his direction.  He’s covered in flecks of grass.  He shed his overshirt in the heat of the day but it’s back on now, unbuttoned, the tee underneath smudged with green.  He lifts his hat, rubs his brow with the heel of his hand, tugs it back into place.  His face is a little sunburnt in spite of the thing.  

“You wanna fight?”  

You stop breathing for a second, sit very still.  He looks down at you, cocks an eyebrow.  He’s really asking.  

You think about it, really think about it.  Broken skin, broken glass.  No neighbors to scandalize.  You shake your head.  “No.”  

He shrugs, goes back to staring holes in the house across the street.  You almost want him to be disappointed, but his face is placid, expression impassive.  “Alright then.  ‘Nother time.”  

You furrow your brow, look at your shoes.  You pick at the paint, feel it slip beneath your nail like a splinter.  You’d bet five bucks you don’t have that he’ll be back to repaint these steps within the week.  It makes you want to rip them apart so he’d have more to do.  You’re not sure if he’d take that as a gift or as sabotage.  You’re not sure how you’d mean it.  

“How ‘bout we head inside, feel each other up?  See what happens?”  You look at him sharply.  He’s really asking.  “We can do it how you like it.”  

How you like it.  How do you like it?  Does he know?  Do you?

Your expression must be a funny one because he grins.  “What?  You a prude all the sudden?”  

No.  No, but.

You find the words wedged behind your teeth.  “You a gentleman all the sudden?”  

He snorts.  “C’mon now.”  He gives the railing one last yank, almost pulls it loose.  As he rounds the steps he drops his spent cigarette and crushes it underfoot.  “Scoot.”  

You make room on the stair and he sits down heavy beside you, takes up more than his fair share of space, same as always.  He smells like sun and sweat and grass and smoke.  His sleeve rides up and exposes the pink of his wrist.  He pulls it down without thinking about it.  You almost–almost–pull it back up.  

“I’m just tryin’ to figure you out.  Don’t know what the fuck you want.”  

Now that's a dumb fucking thing to say. You want a thousand things.  A meal.  A clock that works.  Cable TV.  An article of clothing that doesn't reek of mothballs and someone else's fear. A normal conversation with a normal human being. Half a goddamn hour to yourself without the urge to lock the doors and set the house on fire. 

Anything.  Anything.  

“A light,” you say bitterly. 

To your surprise, he digs the lighter out of his pocket.  Holds it up to show you, like a peace offering.  He moves his boots down a step, pats his thigh.  “C’mere.” 

You straddle his lap and it’s like you’re walking in and out of a room at the same time.  Your hands find their place on either side of his chest and he’s warm to the touch like a dog lying in the sun.  His fingers play at the small of your back.  You can escape into the maze of abandoned homes or the pattern on the ceiling but you can’t slip away from those eyes at this distance.  They catch you like barbs on wire, as distant and cold as the sky.  

This is how you like it.  His head tipped back, looking up at you.  You run your thumb along the edge of his jaw and he almost–almost–smiles.  

He plucks the cigarette from behind your ear, flips it in his fingers.  You open your mouth.  He sets it on your tongue.  He flicks the lighter, brings it close, and when you breathe in you feel it–the poison of this place, yellow-green, permeating your lungs and all the rest of you.  No use in pretending.  No use fighting the current.  Drowning is only as hard as you make it.  

You wonder if he knows you’d come home even if he never came to find you.  Maybe that’s why he comes anyway.  Maybe that’s why you keep hiding.  So you both have something to look forward to.  Games are more fun with two players.  

It’s not worth thinking about.  Nothing good comes from thinking.  

You start to exhale and he tugs you close, sucking the smoke from your mouth, because he never can let you keep anything to yourself.  Maybe you don’t even want to. 

Your lips touch.  Tangerine thrums behind your eyes.  You’ll go to bed hungry tonight and so will he.  One shotgun, two shells.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he murmurs.  

You’re already working his shirt off his shoulders one-handed.  “Nothing I want.”  

He laughs once, almost breathless, leans back on the stairs so you have to lean with him.  “C’mon now.”  

You toss the cigarette into the dirt to free up both hands.

[darkmagyk]

Hi! Is there going to be a part 5 of Let them Call it a Sin?

Sure. Have Part 5. If you have no idea what's happening, you can start here. 2 3 4

Before she’s gotten Percy, Annabeth has been almost desperately lonely. And it wasn’t that she missed that time, not really. But then she’d done a Queen’s first job: gotten pregnant.

She loved having Percy’s baby. Knowing his seed had taken root, she was growing a piece of him within her. 

But of course, she could not tell everyone who’s child she was a carrying. 

And that made the new focus on her an extra burden. 

She was King Poseidon’s wife, and now everyone wanted a piece of her because of that. 

Sometimes even the king.

She’d gotten 3 perfect months with Percy, but the birth and blessing and recovery had been stressful, so many people, in a house she almost wished was her own. And barely any Percy to speak of. 

She had hoped getting back to the Palace would have been a relief. More space, and perhaps everyone would go back to ignoring her. Especially because she had not had a son.

It had not been nearly so. Their was space, at least. But the attention on her had grown. Now the ladies of court wanted join her at every opportunity. And the king wanted more of her company.

The great balm on her soul was that Lady Sally had been made in charge of the little Princess. And so Annabeth had plenty of excuses to spend lots of time with her, and her daughter.

Though not her son.

Percy had been slow returning to court, needed to deal with something with his vassals and then doing some sort of errand for his father with another lord who was misbehaving. 

She had danced with him at a dinner, and spoken to him once at a meal with his father.

She missed him desperately. His humor and his smile and his kisses. 

And she wasn’t sure if everything that had happened had changed things. 

Was he full of shame having their treason princess?

Was he upset she’d had a daughter, and not a son?

Had his attention found someone else, and would she soon have to accept the marriage of the Duke of Thera and some beautiful young virgin whose affection will be given freely, proudly, and openly. When a queen could only manage two of those.

She was visiting her daughter, her little Annabeth one morning. It was easy enough to shake other’s loose then, to speak of wanting alone time with her child. Only her, the nurse, the wet nurse, the nursery maid, Lady Sally, her maid, and Lady Estelle’s nurse bothered her. She liked at least a smaller crowd

Though, she realized after about an hour, everyone but Lady Sally and her daughter had left. 

“I think I shall take her back to the other room for a nap,” Sally said, glancing at the sun out the window, “I think that will be for the best.”

“Oh?” She didn’t look away from her daughter. “Alright.”

“I’ll leave the three of you alone.”

That got Annabeth to look up. Who had she missed. 

 Then she let out what could only be described as a squeak.

“Percy!”

“Your majesty.” He said, bowing to her, before giving his mother and his actual baby sister a kiss on the cheek. She gave him a pat on the cheek in return, and then left the room. 

“Percy!” She said again, but she did not run to him. Partly because she still held their daughter in her arms. But also because she was not sure what he might be thinking of everything now. 

But Percy, as always, knew exactly what she needed. He came to her, and, with a look at both the window and the door, swept her into his arms. 

He didn’t pull her tight like he might have once, but he kept his hands round her shoulders, and rested his head briefly in the crock of her neck. She knew he loved her hair, and suspected he was trying to feel it beneath her veil. 

He pulled back slowly, but did not move away, still in her space. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, my love.” She saw his face open up at the endearment. Maybe his worries mirrored her own. 

His eyes went over her shoulders again, likely to make sure they were not in the sight line of the window. And then he brought his lips to her’s, laying a delicate kiss on them and cradling her face in his hand. The skin was warrior rough. Strong, powerful, and yet so very very gentle. 

He pulled back again, then, and looked down at the bundle in her arms. Their sweet little girl, wrapped in a silk cloth.

“Can I…”

“Of course.” Annabeth said quickly, handing her over, “she’s yours, Percy.”

He nodded as he took her carefully in her arms. And she could see water in his green eyes, “I know,” He whispered, “she’s mine.”

He just looked at her for a long long moment. Before leaning down and giving her a kiss on her head. “Hello, Annabeth.” And gods she loved his name on her tongue, loved how much more she was going to be able to hear it, “I’m your papa.” She saw the tears then, falling delicately on their daughter’s head. But it wouldn’t have been surprising if she didn’t. Because she felt her own tears start to come as well, “I love you so so much.” He promised their daughter, “I will always protect you.”

Annabeth let out a little sob, and one handed, Percy pulled her to the couch in the room, pulling her into him.

She wanted to stay there, forever, she and Percy and their daughter. It felt like a dream. Back at Percy’s estate. She could be the Duchess of Thera. And their little lady. 

The sound of a clearing throat nearly made her heart stop. 

But it was just Lady Sally, giving them a pointed if apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I do not think I will be able to keep anyone else out for much long.”

“Of course,” Percy said, handing the baby back to Annabeth, before he stood up and strode towards the door.”

“You’re welcome to stay, Percy.” His mother said, “if you are content to visit your little sisters.” She pressed the plural. She wanted him to remember.

Annabeth needed to remember too.

It didn’t make it any easier.

[callme-holly]

I wanted to know how The Outsiders would feel if they brought the reader to Build-A-Bear might have to be like maybe a modern-day Outsiders or, like the reader asked, to go☺️

𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝-𝐚-𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫

a/n: this was so cute omggg. also just a heads up my masterlist is too long to add anything so i will need to make a new one eventually!! i will get round to it i swear

Darry Curtis:

Darry would be pretty confused when you first ask if he can take you; he’d always assumed Build-A-Bear was something for kids and that you were far too old to be going. But when he sees how excited you are, he can’t really say no. He’s mainly there to keep an eye on you and to make sure you don't spend too much money. He might make little comments on outfits, and if you insist, he might just get matching bears with you so that yours doesn't get lonely. Despite not having the money, he’ll still pay for everything, telling you not to worry about it and to consider it a date.

Sodapop Curtis:

Soda is totally down to go to Build-A-Bear with you and is probably just as excited to go. He’ll be bouncing off the walls, helping you pick out everything and treating it like it’s a much bigger deal than it actually is.  When it comes down to that silly ritual they make you do with the hearts, he’s encouraging you to do it with him so that the bear has just as much love from both of you. It pretty much becomes your guys’ child, and he will get a bear for himself so that it can match outfits with yours.

Ponyboy Curtis:

Pony is pretty embarrassed about going at first, but he doesn’t turn down the offer of going. He’ll act all sheepish when you drag him inside, but the second he sees everything and just how bright it is, he relaxes and is thrilled to be there. He’s the sort to spend forever picking out the perfect bear and overthinking every single option. If there's a tiny loose thread, he’ll put it back. You need to have the best one there. He’s also a sucker for the little scents they do as well as the audio recordings. 

Johnny Cade:

He’s a little unsure at first, but he’ll agree to go nonetheless and actually adores it. He loves how excited you get the second you walk in, and he can honestly understand why. He’ll help you pick out the softest bear you can find (I'm picturing that little stuffed black dog) and is thrilled to help you pick out outfits. He doesn’t smile the whole time; it probably unlocks some sort of childish feelings in him because he never got to experience anything like it as a kid. Lets you pick the same and is happy with anything, but he’ll hold on to it forever. 

Dallas Winston:

Dallas is so against going at first because he thinks it’s childish and dumb and a massive bruise on his tough ego. When you eventually drag him along anyway, he’ll grumble and complain the whole time about how “damn expensive everything is”, but he will still help you pick out a bear if you ask. He’ll just sort of follow you around, offering half-hearted support and teasing you when you have to do the heat ceremony thing. If you want help picking outfits, the only thing he’s concerned about is the price of it. Don't ask him for name suggestions unless you want something utterly ridiculous. 

Steve Randle:

Steve is surprisingly way too excited about making a bear with you and makes it such a big deal. He’ll pick out cool outfits that are either sports or somehow car-related, helping you dress the bear and parading it around like a trophy.  He’ll tease you for all your choices but   thinks its cute and will insist on getting one of the little scented things. He’s all for going all out, but if you try to buy the bear an entire wardrobe, he’ll have to stop you and remind you that he’s the one paying for everything. He’ll give you ridiculous name suggestions and will treat the bear like his child.

Two-Bit Mathews:

He thrives in Build-A-Bear; it’s like taking a small child along. Everything excites him, and he’ll be all over helping you pick out a bear. He’ll consider every single option, and when you finally settle on one, he acts like he’s just completed a serious mission. Chooses mismatched outfits and ones that he considers “tuff”. Will probably get the bear sunglasses and a leather jacket too. He’s obsessed with the sound boxes, and you know for a fact he’s recording some stupid, secret message to hide in your bear. 

[fettuccin-e]

Hey noodle! Congrats babe, you deserve it ☺️ what are your thots on “just a little more” and our messy boy Steven Grant? 😈

Hi Mona!!! omg thank you sm!!! and thank you for requesting!!! and for steven?? PRECIOUS HUSBAND STEVEN??? how could i refuse ESPECIALLY because i know this boy is filthyyy and fucking needy as all hell okay ilysm thank you again!!

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader, afab!fem!reader, fingerfucking (r!recieving), unprotected piv, riding, uhh squirting pls dont fucking look at me i am ashamed, overstimulation, light degradation, so much praise holy shit (w/c: 1.1K)

Prompt: "Just a little more."

It’s honestly not that Steven likes to edge himself, or has some kind of fucking superhuman stamina in bed with you.

No, you’ve sucked him off in five minutes flat before, Steven twitching beneath you while he whined, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, fuck it’s so good, you’re so fucking perfect, shit-” while he spilled down your throat. Marc never let him live that one down.

But you swear that sometimes, when he’s got his face or fingers or cock buried deep, so deep inside your cunt, Steven forgets that he has to cum at all.

He gets lost in it, mumbling about how gorgeous you are, how wet you get for him, how good you taste. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve cum, how you cry and wail with every orgasm he wrenches out of your heaving body, he just wants more and more and more. Ravenous.

“Steven, please, I ca-I can’t, oh please-” your pussy makes noises that are utterly obscene, squishing against his hand as he works his fingers into you, jamming relentlessly against your g-spot. You aren’t even sure what you’re begging for at this point; for him to make you cum again, for him to fuck you like you’ve been begging for, for him to show some mercy.

But even then, it’s like he can’t hear you, eyes focused on the way you spread and leak over his fingers, mesmerized by the way you clench around his fingers. He’s been like this since the first orgasm of the night, maybe the second, but God, he just keeps going. He keeps pressing soft kisses to your trembling thighs, using his free arm to brace over your twitching hips while he plays relentlessly with your aching cunt.

It’s too much, he’s been at this for too fucking long, God, you’re leaking everywhere, the bedsheets damp with it. He just won’t let up, your beautiful, treacherous lover, and your whole body locks again with the force of your orgasm, the squeeze of your pussy nearly forcing his fingers out.

His gaze snaps up to your face in an instant, and you can hear his voice through the rush of blood in your ears, murmuring, “That’s it, darling, my God you’re beautiful, so pretty, this pussy’s so tight for my fingers, imagine how it’ll feel around my cock, yeah? How much I’ll stretch this gorgeous cunt apart, right love?”

And it’s so sweet, so gentle, the way he speaks to you, a complete contrast to how he rips you apart with orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

“Fuck me,” you whine, high-pitched and needy, absolutely desperate. “You- you said it, that your cock would feel so fucking good, please Steven, need-need you.”

But all Steven does is chuckle darkly, stretching his fingers out inside you again, and you nearly scream. “Just a little more, darling, one more time for me, yeah?” You can only clench your eyes shut and throw your head back into the pillows.

And when you finally wear him down enough to ease his sticky fingers out of you, you immediately roll him onto his back. If he’s going to fuck you, you’re going to be in charge. You’re going to be the one to make him cum.

You ease his cock into you, hot and throbbing in your hand, and you almost want to cry as he stretches your pussy so good, so perfect, just like he said he would. He moans beneath you, the sound ripping its way out of his chest, as if he’s suddenly realized how worked up he’s gotten himself by playing with your pussy for God knows how long.

You work your hips into his, plunging his cock into you just the way you know he likes. He nudges into your sweet spot just perfectly this way too, and the sensitivity from Steven’s earlier ministrations has lighting arcing up your spine with every nudge, every grind of his cock into your sensitive pussy. 

A mewl escapes you, unabashed and louder than you meant it to,  when you slam down on his cock just right, the hair just above the base of his cock pressed against your achy clit. Steven’s hands fly to your hips immediately, holding you there with an iron grip.

That look is in his eyes again, pupils blown wide and brows furrowed as he rakes his gaze over your quaking body. He punches his hips up, making his hair grind against your clit in a way that makes your head spin, his fat cock somehow reaching deeper into your pussy.

“That’s it, love,” he says, “let me make you feel good. Let me take care of you, fuck, you look so pretty like this, writhing on my cock like a desperate little whore.” Your eyes roll to the back of your head with his words, your hips working of their own volition, on pure instinct as you work his cock into you again and again and again. It’s like you can’t get him deep enough, bouncing on his cock just like he told you to. Making yourself feel good.

When you cum, Steven groans, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips hard enough to leave bruises in their wake as you clamp down on his cock. A shaky moan rattles out of your throat at the feeling, your body aching with exhaustion, your pussy too sensitive as you clench and pulse in his hands. You feel like you could shake apart with the force of it, wrung dry under his unrelenting touch.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, and you open your eyes to see his gaze trained on your pussy, and oh shit, his stomach shines with your wetness, the sheets soaked with it. You’ve never done that before, never-

“Fuck, you made me squirt, oh my God, Steven-” your body burns with embarrassment, and you start to pull off his cock in search of a towel, or something, anything to clean up the mess you’ve made of him. But his hands hold you firm in his lap, using an unseen strength that he keeps under his button-downs and jumpers, his biceps flexing in a way that makes saliva pool in your mouth.

“Don’t you dare, darling,” his voice is a rasp, all dark and ripped apart and feral. Fuck, if it weren’t for the accent, you’d think it was Jake. “One more time, sweetheart, just one more for me.”

“Steven,” you start, but he thrusts his hips up into yours, and the movement of his still-hard cock in your sloppy, sticky cunt makes you choke on your spit.

“Just a little more, sweet girl, just-” he thrusts into you, hard and unyielding, “one more for me.”