#people who try to make everything black or white. people who want to always be in control of their situation and the big dangerous vehicles

[ghostgirl-22]

Artrick seeing two lesbians making out that look like girl versions of them like almost identical, pats like "dude check it out, they look like us, its literally us" 😭

Dorks lmaooo i love this <3

i threw this in too cause you know pats just gotta feminize him a little.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, unedited though I’ll try to come in later and clean it up

—-

It’s an unseasonably warm Saturday night… one of those nights where it’s still 80 degrees at midnight. They’re in San Francisco and the streets are flooded with people. He’s starting to feel the effects of the weed gummies they took before they left Patrick’s hotel room while they stand line for some nightclub. It’s been disappointing watching all the groups with girls go in at a much faster pace but it’s still early.

“Is it like this every Saturday?” Art asks, gazing around the crowded streets. Everything feels just a little bit heightened now.

”Well it definitely was when me and Tashi were here,” Patrick smirks. He’s gazing at a group of guys shirtless in cowboy hats with sashes on, one of them with a white hat his sash says “Bride to be” all of them walking across the street towards a gay club called Town.

Art’s a little bit overwhelmed if he’s honest. He’s not ventured too far from Palo Alto. He tells Patrick it’s because he’s too busy with work and tennis and school but the truth is he’s kinda having a hard time making friends. He’s so used to Patrick being his built in companion. He never had to venture out alone. A new movie comes out and he doesn’t even have to ask… he just buys the tickets and even if Patrick isn’t interested he tags along. If one of Art’s favorite bands is touring his plans are usually… me and Patrick and whoever else wants to come. But Patrick is always a given.

At Stanford he doesn’t have that. Most of his teammates have other friends or developed friendships in their freshman year. He’s playing with mostly juniors and seniors. Tashi is a superstar who everyone knew or wanted to know from day one so she’s always busy.

No one is mean to him but he does often feel like he’s struggling to find a rhythm. He’s alone a lot of the time and every interaction just feels superficial or like he’s trying too hard to be liked… which is a bit exhausting. None if it comes naturally… and he knows he doesn’t make it easy for people to get to know him either. So used to Patrick who could often tell him how he felt before he realized it himself. Patrick does that He’s starting to realize a lot of the friends he has outside of Patrick he met because of Patrick. Like having him there makes it so much easier for Art to open up… to be… known.

Art can’t admit that to him. He already feels pathetic enough sitting on his hands waiting for Patrick and Tashi to be available.

“Dude,” Patrick says, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

Patrick gestures and Art follows his gaze… not sure what he’s looking at.

“You see that? Or am I just really high?” Patrick asks.

“See what?”

“Over there… our dopplegangers.”

Art blinks and squints. He doesn’t see anything and he starts to wonder if maybe Patrick is just really high and then… two people. One with curly blonde hair and the other with curly black, they’re even dressed similar to what the two of them would wear… both in jeans… one in a dark top with white sneakers and the other in a white t-shirt.

Art giggles a little bit. It has to be the weed because he’s not normally a giggler. He covers his mouth but then he has to laugh again. “We’re really fucking high.” Art says as the dopplegangers disappear inside the bar across the street.

“Dude we should follow them,” Patrick says. “Not in a creepy way…” he adds when Art raises his eyebrows. “I just wanna make sure we’re not hallucinating. Come on, why don’t we go over there? There’s no line.”

“Don’t you think there’s no line for a reason?” Art asks.

”Not everything that is worth doing just cause everyone else is doing it.”

“Huh?”

“What I mean is what if everyone was falling off a cliff, would you?”

”You’re stupid when you’re high,” Art grins.

“Shut the fuck up… you know what I mean. Come on,” Patrick snakes his arm around Arts dragging him away.

Art looks back forlornly at how close to the front of the line they’d gotten. But then the bouncer lets a group of 7 girls skip ahead and he shrugs. “Okay fine.”

The woman checking IDs at the entrance of the place across the street stares at them with a mildly confused expression as they hand her their IDs. Art is a bit alarmed that she can tell they’re fake. But she just waves them in with a sort of resigned look and he breathes a sigh of relief. It’s clear Patrick didn’t share any of his concerns. He walks inside like he’s been 21 for years.

There is a crowd but it’s not overwhelming. The music is loud but it seems like they’re setting up the stage up front for a live band. Patrick approaches the bar and orders two rum and cokes, Art leans in next to him. Patrick closes what’s left of the distance between them. “Dude there they are.”

Art turns to look. They’re a few feet away. Blonde leaning into the brunettes ear. Now that they’re closer Art realizes the blonde is a girl, he can see she’s wearing some kind of lip gloss and her eyes look like they're lined with a mascara or whatever girls use to make them pop. She’s smiling at the brunette grabbing onto… her?

The brunette is a girl too. Black curls falling into her eyes. She doesn’t have wild freckles the way Patrick does. At least not that Art can tell in the dim light of the bar.

”Maybe they don’t look as much like us as you thought?” Art says, smirking as Patrick hands him his drink.

“Yeah well…” he trails off as the not-so-doppelgängers start kissing each other. It’s an odd thing to watch because when you can’t see their faces they do kind of look like—

Art feels his stomach flip flop from the memory. Unable to look away, watching the way the brunette is cradling the blondes face, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths. She kisses like— like Patrick.

Art wishes he could stop thinking about that night in the hotel room in Flushing. He’s probably the only one still obsessing over it. Probably because they ended up together and he’s all alone with the memory. A little sick to admit the way he’s thought about Patrick just as much as Tashi ever since then.

He’s dragged from his thoughts by a sudden sharp nudge. it’s Patrick and Art realizes he’s been staring non stop and now their girl dopplegangers are sliding down the bar towards them.

“You guys are almost as cute a couple as we are,” blondie grins, clearly noticing the resemblance.

“I love when the gays come out to a lesbian bar.” The brunette adds and that’s the moment when Art’s slowed down weed addled brain realizes that nearly everyone in the place is female. He turns helplessly to Patrick cheeks slowly heating up with embarrassment and it’s clear Patrick’s just realizing it too but instead of looking properly ashamed…he starts grinning.

“Uh we’re n-not—“ Art begins to stammer his apologies.

”We’ve gotta support each other,” Patrick interrupts throwing his arm over Art’s shoulder. “Besides I usually call him my girlfriend…because he’s just so pretty.”

It’s stupid and Art rolls his eyes but the brunette laughs. “He is kinda pretty.” And the blonde grins, nodding in agreement.

“We’re waiting for our friends. You guys wanna join us?” Blondie asks.

And just like that it goes from odd and humiliating to sitting across from their doppelgangers (blonde Alicia and brunette Nikki actually) and trading shots while singing along to a live cover band. Patrick is just so fucking charming. Art wishes he had even a modicum of that charisma. A couple more girls join them. Surprisingly two of them go to Stanford. They even exchange numbers with Art promising to come watch him play tennis. He promises to go to one of their on campus theater productions.

Five minutes out with Patrick and he’s made friends easily. And that would be fine. That would be enough. But the whole night Patrick’s flirting with him like they’re together. Probably just trying to keep up the facade. It starts out as little things, cupping Art’s cheek, rubbing his hand on the small of his back. Calling him pretty, beautiful. Making the girls call him pretty too.

“God, Patrick,” Art mutters to him, barely able to stand it. It’s got his brain all fucked up (his body too, he’s been nursing a semi for the past hour, shifting to try and hide it from him). Not quite sure how he’s gonna recalibrate back to normal again after tonight.

Then at the end of the night when they’re just about to leave Patrick pulls him closer, an arm wrapped around Art’s shoulder, starts sofly talking in his ear in that gentle tenor “i love when you just go with it… like a good girl. Don’t think too much.”

Art shifts again as his cock fills out fully. Who knew how much he wanted to be Patrick’s good girl.

Patrick starts mouthing at his neck. So drunk. Still a little high. Low rumble of his laugh vibrating along Art’s throat. Laughing like he knows what he’s saying is stupid but he also knows it’s making Art crumble anyway.

Art shivers for the feeling and turns towards him. Faces so close they’re breathing each other in… lips just inches apart…and suddenly they're lips touch. Patrick’s arm still over his shoulder, lips so soft, tongue slipping shamelessly into Art’s mouth. Art hums and feels Patrick smile against his lips breaking the kiss.

Art turns away, heart pounding in his ears before Patrick directs his head back and kisses him again. It feels different than the hotel room. More deliberate. More… everything… everything that left Art tangled up in knots for months. He doesn’t know how long they kiss. Could be 5 minutes… could be an hour. He just knows he’s vibrating out of his skin by the time Patrick eases back. Fingers brushing along Art’s cheek. A little half smile spreading on his lips.

“Damn I’m supportive but save it for the bedroom boys,” one of the girls teases. And it’s only then that Art remembers where he is. Dazed he tries to laugh it off. The whole night feels surreal.

They say goodnight to the girls and they hop in a cab to ride back to Patrick’s hotel. “Nice job, I think you really convinced them,” Art says lightly, still trying to figure out how to come back from that.

“What about you? Are you convinced?”

Art feels his skin burning up. “Of what…”

Patrick laughs. “You think the girls are gonna go home and hook up?” He smirks.

“Dude. Oh my god.”

“What? I mean imagine it… our doppelgängers kissing… then you and I kiss. Our doppelgängers fucking… then you and I…”

“Oh…” Art feels his heart start to beat a little faster.

“That’s right…” Patrick smirks leaning in for another kiss, one hand settling onto Arts lap where it’s obvious he’s not calmed down. “Just go with it.”

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[scorpiosbite]

when actress!reader and drew made it official

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── after casually seeing each other for a few months after that first hook up after the club and then going on that first date, you and drew finally make it official.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in october 2024, at this point actress!reader and drew have been seeing each other casually for a few months, after their hook up and subsequent date in LA. actress!reader is currently in the midst of filming Anora.

you were holed up in your LA home that you were renting while living LA for the filming of your new movie Anora. it was your day off and you were going to spend it rotting at home and swimming in your pool. you’re a big homebody, although people assumed that you were someone who was always going out, you weren’t, going out for non-work related reasons was a rare occurrence. it’s not like you don’t enjoy going out, you do. but going to clubs and parties was something that you enjoyed once in a while, for special occasions and with the right people. and if you were being honest it got repetitive. going to parties, getting drunk, surrounded by people you don’t know or care about. you would much rather spend your time at home and be able to truly be yourself. you were sinking further and further into the plush couch in your living room, your book propped on your knees. when your phone rang.

drew calling…. accept?

you smiled lightly at the sight of his name lighting up your screen, you let it ring for a beat before you answered, wanting to torture him for a bit. “hey.” the greeting came out like a sigh, almost as if the thought of him relaxes your mind and body. “hey, baby.” you grinned and your cheeks flushed at the low tone of his voice, god everything about him was sexy, and you could see the smirk dancing on his lips through the phone, like he could feel the effect he has on you. “what are you doing today, pretty girl?” you hummed glancing at the time on the clock, ten am. “nothing ‘m just gonna chill at home, maybe go swimming, weather’s nice in LA.” drew chuckled, a low rumble, that sent shivers up your spine. “not like london, huh?” you giggled lightly, “yea, not like london.” drew made a noise of agreement. “you mind if i come over?” your fingers played with the band of your shorts. “what if i say, yes, i do mind?” drew snorted, you could hear him shuffling in his seat. “i’m just gonna come over anyway.” you rolled your eyes, playfully. “creep.” you retort, and he laughed, a sound that came from his chest and made your heart jump. “i’ll be there in ten, baby.” you bit your bottom lip in anticipation. “mhmm hmm.”

you were still laid up on the couch, reading your book when your doorbell rang, you smiled before making your way to the door, pulling it open. drew stood in the frame, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and baggy black cargo pants, his buzzed hair now grown out in a baby mullet, fuck he looked good. his hands were locked behind his back and he gave you a crooked smile, his tongue pushing into his cheek, and his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he gave you a once over. suddenly you were reminded of your lack of clothing and you felt you face heat up in turn. drew’s eyes raked over you, running over your tight black boy shorts with a cute little bow on the front and then your black bandeau top with the little matching bow on the middle of the upper hem. after what felt like eternity, you cleared your throat. “you wanna keep looking at me, or come in?” drew smirked, unashamed of being caught staring, well it wasn’t like he was trying to be subtle. “hello, to you too, y/n.” he teased in a slightly sarcastic tone. you rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t fight the smile that creeped onto your face. you led him to your living room, his eyes unabashedly staring at your ass while you walked, and you may have purposely swung your hips a little more than usual for him.

now, you and drew were laid up on your couch together, he sat with his legs spread, his arms resting on the top of the couch, you were laying against his side, you head rest on his shoulder, and your knees bent, toes brushing against the side of his thigh. drew’s hand came down to play with your hair and you snuggled your face closer into him. “how was filming yesterday?” you sighed “long, i had a lot of pole dancing scenes to film.” drew leaned his head back, letting out a groan. “why would you tell me that?” you chuckled, you had noticed this effect you had on him, and adored using it to your advantage. deciding to make it way worse you turned your head, so that you could whisper directly into his ear. “they had me dressed in barely anything, drew.” you whined, he shot up, picking you up with ease and throwing you over his shoulder. “that’s it. we’re going swimming.” you giggled loudly, punching his back, and kicking your feet as he walked to your room.

spending time with drew felt effortless, everything about him set your mind to ease and your heart ablaze. just like now, when he lounged on your bed in a pair of swim trunks you had found, while you changed into your bikini in the walk-in closet. drew’s eyes widened as you came into view, the white bikini leaving basically nothing to imagination. not that it mattered, drew had seen everything anyway. he sat up spreading his legs apart, and you stepped into the space. drew’s hands came up to your bare legs, caressing the flesh. your hands came up to his hair. stroking the strands, pushing them back from his face. drew hummed “i can’t believe you’re real.” you smiled at him. “thanks, pretty.” drew made a face, tugging you onto his lap so that you sat sideways across his thigh. “shouldn’t i be calling you pretty?” he stroked your thighs with his large hand. “ok, what should i say? yea, you’re well fit, lad.” you exaggerated your accent. he laughed “yea, alright, let’s just get in the pool?”

you were sat on the edge, your legs submerged in the cool water. the heavy LA sun was beating down on your back. but the heat wasn’t bothering you like it usually would, not when the shirtless man wading through your pool is the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. you laughed loudly as drew splashed and you aggressively kicked your legs in attempt to splash him back. drew grabbed you by the waist and lifted you from where you were sat. you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. marvin gaye’s distant lover blaring loudly from the speakers. the two of you didn’t feel the need to speak to each other. simply enjoying each other’s presence in the cool water. drew’s hands stroking your back in comforting circles. you couldn’t help yourself from placing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. he smiled at the gesture. a heartbreaking smile that only confirmed your growing feelings for him. he returned the gesture with a soft peck to your chin.

now the two of you sat on the couch in your patio. sunglasses perched on your noses, sharing a marlboro red. drew was quiet, deep in thought with serious look on his face, but you didn’t bother him, knowing that he would bring it up to you himself. the smoke wafted into the air as you handed him the cigarette for one last drag before he put it out on the ashtray that sat next to him on the couch. you sighed leaning your head onto his shoulder, his hand tangled in your wet hair. your legs bent up on the couch, his spread. “i wanna say something.” you turned your head so that you look up at him without lifting from your place on his shoulder. he really is so pretty. “i know it’s still early, and that you’re going back to london once you’re done filming, but this—today—actually, any time i spend with you is the happiest i’ve felt in my life. and i want to be able to be how we were today everyday, in front of everyone. i don’t want to hide what i feel for you. and if you don’t feel the same that’s ok, i just want you to know that i’ve never felt like this before, these past few months have shown me how good we are together.”

you smiled he was so sweet and so nervous and you thought it wouldn’t be long before you would fall in love with him, or maybe you already have, “i want that too, drew.” his cheeks were pink and he stared down at you with those cerulean eyes, filled with hope and adoration and your heart stirred. “yea?” his voice was low and shaky, like you held his heart in your hands, bared and beating, just for you. “yea.” you brought your hand to his face, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb. he nodded as his eyes rushed between your eyes and lips before he crashed his lips with yours. the kiss was messy like he was conveying every emotion he had kept pent up, in fear that you wouldn’t feel the same. but now that he knew you did, there was no need to hide anymore.

TAGLIST: @sunnybunnyy2 @percysley @wearemadeofstardust0 @idgasb @pinkpantheris @emmaaas-posts @grace-sully @chimmysoftpaws @angvl3tears @josephandrewstarkey

i’m back!!!! i’ve been overseas and literally got back today and wanted to get back to it so here’s this one for you guys. also i’m in the midst of updating my tag list so bare with me, and as always hope you enjoyed!! xx

[luna-azzurra]

Writing a Morally gray character

Think about their backstory, what shaped them into who they are? What do they believe in? And, most importantly, what pushes them to get out of bed every morning and keep going? These characters aren’t simple good or bad. They’re caught in the middle, in that murky, complicated space between black and white. That’s where they get interesting because they’re constantly wrestling with themselves, trying to figure out the right choice, or if the “right” choice even exists for them.

You need to show this internal battle. Imagine your character being torn between what they believe is morally right and what they actually want. This is where the real drama comes in, it’s like watching them juggle their principles with their desires in real-time. They’ll mess up, and they’ll make decisions that are sometimes questionable, but that’s what makes them human and relatable. One way to really highlight their complexity is by putting them in situations where there’s no clear answer. You know, those moments in life where everything’s kind of a mess, and you’re stuck trying to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do? Your character should face situations like that. These gray areas create tension because readers won’t know which direction the character will go, and honestly, your character might not know either.

And don’t forget, growth is a huge part of writing a morally gray character. People aren’t static, they change based on what happens to them, and your character should too. Maybe they start off with a strong sense of morality but, over time, that starts to shift. Or maybe they start with shaky ethics and slowly become a better person as they learn from their mistakes. Growth can also go the other way, they could spiral downward, giving in to darker impulses. Either way, they need to evolve, just like people do in real life. That’s what keeps the story fresh and unpredictable. The last thing you want is a character that stays the same the whole way through.

Also, please, no stereotypes. A morally gray character doesn’t have to be a brooding anti-hero with a tragic past (unless that’s your vibe, but even then, switch it up). Give them quirks that make them unique. Maybe they have unexpected motivations, like they’re doing something shady for a cause they genuinely believe in, or they’ve got a weird sense of humor that throws people off. Whatever it is, make sure they feel like an individual, not just a copy-paste character we’ve all seen a million times.

Even when your character makes decisions that aren’t exactly clean-cut or heroic, the reader still needs to understand why. Show their vulnerabilities, why they doubt themselves, why they hesitate, and why they ultimately make the choices they do. It’s all about making them relatable, even when they’re walking that fine line between right and wrong. People might not always agree with them, but they should at least be able to see where they’re coming from.

And remember, every choice your character makes should have consequences. They don’t exist in a bubble. Their decisions should ripple out and affect not only them but the people around them. Maybe they make a selfish decision, and it ends up hurting someone they care about, or they try to do the right thing, and it blows up in their face. One last thing, just because your character lives in that gray area doesn’t mean they don’t have any sense of right or wrong. They might have their own personal code they follow, even if it doesn’t line up with society’s morals. Maybe they justify their actions in a way that makes sense to them, even if other people wouldn’t agree. It’s all about exploring that space where they’re not totally good, but not totally bad either. That’s where things get really interesting.

Think about where your character is going. Is their journey going to push them to become a better version of themselves? Will they fall back into old patterns and never really change? Or will they stay stuck in that moral gray zone, constantly torn between doing what’s right and doing what feels right for them?

[terrestrialnoob]

Harley crawled into the apartment. It was organized, but it looked like the occupant didn't have a lot of time for cleaning. She walked softly through it, taking it in. There were photos of her target and what had to be her family, but no friends or romantic partners. Some had a pair of older adults, matching traits meant bio-parents. More of the photos were of the target and a younger boy - a little brother, the highest likelihood of becoming another target if things go bad.

Harley continued forward, following the light to where her target was. She stood in the doorway, looking in.

Dr. Jasmine Fenton, Arkham Asylum's newest psychologist, just got her degree and everything. She did what most newbies do, actually thinking she could get through to the Joker. Harley didn't want to say it was impossible, but everyone who tried ended up in a new job or dead. Harley would try and make sure it was the former and not the later.

Harley watched as the redhead read over a file as she ate from a takeout box. She didn't want to scare the girl, yet. The scaring her away from Joker came later. So, she had to wait for the perfect moment to-

"I know you're there." Jasmine didn't look up from her file, but held out the last box of Chinese food in Harley's direction. "There's plenty if you want some."

"Awe, you ruined the surprise." Harley walked out of the shadows of the hallway into the girl's home office. She snatched the offered box of food and took a few bites as she jumped to sit on the desk.

"I'm hard to sneak up on." Jasmine said, closing her file and finally looking at Harley. "So, Dr. Quinzel, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"

"Oh, call me Harley!" She laughed, she wasn't called Dr. all that often any more. She tapped her chop sticks on the file Jasmine just closed. "I thought you'd like a consult on your new patient, Dr. Fenton. I've got a lot of experience with him."

"I prefer to go by Jazz." She said with a smile, "While I appreciate the offer, I'd like to see how far I can get on my own. And, sorry, but I'm pretty sure your license was revoked."

Harley nodded as she swallowed to get the noodles out of her mouth. "I get it! You're new, fresh outta school, gotta prove yourself. But Joker ain't the guy to do that with. He eats people like us for breakfast, and in all the years he's been in Arkham, no one's been able to get anywhere with him."

Jazz sighed, "I don't like to believe people are lost causes. There's always something we can do to help."

"You can't help everyone, especially when they don't want it. And it's not just a question if whether or not he can be saved or whatever." Harley set down the now empty box, Jazz pointed to another one that still had food in it, but Harley declined. "If you keep it up, he'll think you're worth his time to torment. There's no telling what he'll do when he inevitably gets himself out again."

"I'll be fine." Jazz said, but Harley had to cut her off before she said something stupid.

"It's not just you! You've got family out there he can target, your parents. Your Brother! Anyone you date will become a target! He'll do everything in his power to make your life miserable!"

Jazz chuckled. "If he wants to target my family, his funeral. My parents are - were supervillains. They've really only become less- well, hyper-focused on eradicating an entire race of being- in the past few years. And my brother - I'm pretty sure he's conditionally immortal. So that's nothing to worry about."

"If it's conditional, Joker will find a way around it." Harley said, but she had to admit, this might have been an unnecessary trip. "You sure y'ain't got nothing to worry about? What about you? How conditional is your mortality?"

Jazz smiled. Her mouth seemed too wide and with too many teeth. "Oh, I am nowhere near immortal. But..."

She stood up and the room was suddenly a black void. Toxic green eyes and mouths filled with glowing white teeth opened around them. "I doubt anyone could get close enough to test it."

The room was suddenly back to normal, but whatever that thing was was still there. Harley could see its eyes watching her with amusement from inside Jazz's oversized cardigan.

"Well, I guess this really was a wasted trip. You've clearly got it covered."

"Not entirely." Jazz said, her hand wend up to her neck to rub nervously, "Well, you see... I don't really have a lot of friends. People tend to get - uh, creeped out, you know? Or chased off by my parents or brother or whatever..."

"You wanna be friends?" Harley laughed so hard she almost fell over.

Jazz's face turned bright red and the shadow eyes looked way less amused. "Yeah, stupid question. You've clearly got your own things going on."

"No! No, no." Harley had to take several deep breaths before she could look Jazz in the face again. "I 100% wanna hang out with you!"

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She took another deep breath, "I mean, I really should have made a support system before trying to take on the Joker back when I worked for Arkham. This" she pointed between them "can only end well."

Jazz's face turned brighter than the sun. "Oh my gosh! This is amazing! We should - I have Thursday's and weekends off - What - what kind of things should we-"

Oh man, Jazz was like an excited kid. She must have had a really lonely childhood... they can psychoanalyze each other later. "Come over for girl's night next week. I'll tell my gf and bff to expect an extra person... Does the-" she motioned to the cardigan creature "-go everywhere you go? Does it need food?"

"Oh, don't worry about Jet, they only eat who I tell them to."

Harley barked out more laughter. "You're going to fit right in!"

---

Now featuring a Part 2

[itsxarien]

how bad do u want me | natalie scatorccio x reader

“Cause you like my hair, my ripped-up jeans, you like the bad girl i got in me.”

SUMMARY: After a quiet conversation with Coach Ben in the wilderness, you come to a realization about yourself that you’ve been avoiding for a long time - you’re in love with your best friend, Natalie Scatorccio.

warnings: nsfw, smut with plot, slight angst!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The fire was dying again.

You and Coach Ben sat across from it, the silence thick between you. Most nights, no one really talked anymore. But tonight—tonight felt heavy, like something needed to be said. You were chewing on a piece of dried something (you didn’t ask), half-listening to the hiss of the flames when he broke the silence.

“You ever been in love?”

The question felt like it came out of nowhere. You blinked at him. “What?”

He gave a tired shrug. “It’s the kind of question you think about a lot out here.”

You stared into the fire for a long time, the heat kissing your cheeks. “No,” you answered too quickly. Then, quieter: “At least, I don’t think so.”

Coach nodded, then said gently, “What about boys?”

“I dated some, but my heart was never really in it.”You shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “It’s always been like that. I tried. I kissed them. I let them take me out. But it just felt like going through the motions. Like I was acting out a scene someone else wrote.”

He looked at you, not with judgment but with something like… curiosity. “So what does feel real to you?”

Your heart stuttered. The answer lived right there, under your tongue, ready to spill. And once you started talking, it didn’t stop.

And someone came in your mind.

Natalie.

You let out a long breath and started speaking, your voice softer than usual.

“When me and Natalie were younger… I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed Natalie. But there was always something between us, something I could never quite explain.” You paused, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. "When we were at my house, my mom would always be downstairs, cooking or doing something. And Natalie and I would go up to my room, lock the door, and just... be together."

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to find the right words. “We’d lie there in my bed, close, too close sometimes. I’d press my legs against hers, feeling the heat of her body next to mine.”

“I think I always knew, even back then, that I wanted more. But I didn’t know how to say it, how to make it real.”

Coach Ben stayed silent, watching you as you spoke. His presence was comforting, and yet, there was a pang in your chest as you relived those memories.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You and Natalie were sitting on her bed in the dim light of her room, the air thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and the faint aroma of her cheap perfume. The faint sound of music played low, something from the ‘80s. Queen, maybe? You weren’t sure, but the static from the speakers added to the feeling of everything being just a little bit hazy.

She was sprawled across her bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily, her ripped jeans showing more skin than you'd care to admit. Her black eyeliner smudged just slightly, as it always did, and her messy hair framed her face in the way it always did—like she didn’t care, but still somehow looked like she owned the room.

You were sitting a little too stiffly beside her, in your usual outfit of pink, a fuzzy sweater and white skirt with a flower hairclip on top of your head. A stark contrast to her—the good girl, the one who was always so... perfect.

You were used to the way people looked at you both, always wondering how the two of you ended up as best friends. You were opposites in every way. You were the quiet, perfect girl, the one who sat in the front of class and smiled politely. She was loud, messy, always caught up in something she shouldn’t be.

Still, here you were. Side by side, as you always were. Yet tonight, something felt different. You could feel it in the air, that shift that always came before something bigger, something you weren’t ready for but knew was inevitable.

“I don’t get why you hang out with me, (Y/N),” she muttered, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. She turned her head, her eyes searching yours for something—maybe an answer. "I'm trouble, you know that, right?"

You glanced at her, biting your lip. You always hated when she said things like that. Like she wasn’t worth it, like you weren’t worth being around her.

“You’re not trouble,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You’re just... complicated. But I like complicated.”

She snorted, a sharp sound that made your heart flutter in an oddly comforting way. “Yeah, sure. You like it ‘cause you’re perfect. You’ve got everything together. I’m just a mess.”

That ache you were feeling deep in your chest earlier felt heavier now. The gap between the two of you was always there, but tonight it felt bigger, harder to ignore. You looked at her again, really looked at her. Natalie—your best friend, the one who you’d known for years, who knew you better than anyone else ever could.

“Maybe I like you because I’m not perfect,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And I don’t want to be.”

There was a long pause as Natalie processed your words. She tilted her head slightly, watching you closely, and then a small, almost sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You’re so good to me, cupcake,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest at the nickname. That nickname. She only ever called you that when she was soft, when she wasn’t trying to hide the part of her that was vulnerable, even if she didn’t always let herself show it.

“I’m not... I’m not good,” you whispered back, your words shaky. You wanted to say more, but the words were stuck in your throat. "You... you’ve been through so much. And you—"

But Natalie cut you off with a shake of her head, her expression turning serious. “You’ve always been good, (Y/N),” she said, her voice like gravel. "You just don’t see it. You always help me, no matter what. You keep me from falling apart."

Her words hung in the air, and you could feel them pressing down on you, making everything feel heavier. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to let me in, you know? You can—"

“I’m not going anywhere,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly more forceful than before. She moved closer to you, her leg brushing against yours as she did. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, making your pulse quicken.

The closeness was something you both had always shared—laying side by side, pressing your legs together when you watched movies, when you talked about everything and nothing. But tonight, with everything hanging in the balance, it felt like so much more.

You stared at her for a long moment, the words you wanted to say stuck on your tongue. But then she spoke again, her voice quieter, more vulnerable this time.

“Promise me something,” she said, looking down at your intertwined legs. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. No matter how... messed up I get.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

The air between you two felt thick now, like something unsaid was hanging there. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud yet. You couldn’t tell her what you were really feeling, not when the world seemed so uncertain.

You were so different. She was so different. And yet, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere but right here with her.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me once,” you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your face.

“Said it was practice."

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Madonna crooned from the cassette player, half-muffled by your bedroom pillow.

Like a virgin… touched for the very first time…

Natalie was sprawled next to you, one foot crossed over the other. Her flannel was sliding off one shoulder, eyes smudged with the kind of liner she never wiped off before crashing at your place. She had a joint in hand, laughing at something stupid you’d said about math class.

“Wanna practice?” she asked, not looking at you.

“Practice what?”

She raised a brow. “Kissing.”

You thought she was joking. But then she rolled over onto her side, facing you, close enough to smell the weed and grape soda on her breath.

You hesitated. “Okay.”

She leaned in like it was nothing. Like you were the one being weird about it. Her lips brushed yours, soft, slow, as if she’d done it a hundred times.

You didn’t even move at first. You just felt it—this terrible, perfect spark crawling up your spine. You kissed her back, and it felt like falling. You wanted to cry, and you didn’t know why.

When she pulled back, she grinned.

You wanted her to do it again.

And she did, again and again.

When she kissed you, it wasn’t playful. Not really. It was slow, searching. Her tongue moved against yours like she was memorizing it.

Later, she had pulled back, breathless, eyes darker than the night.

“Damn,” she whispered. “They don’t kiss like that.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me again, later,” you told Coach, your voice cracking. “A bunch of times. And then she touched me.”

You didn’t mean too say it out loud, but it was already gone. Out in the cold air, hanging there like smoke.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had been late, after another party, when she’d stumbled into your car, laughing. Her eyeliner smeared, her voice sticky sweet with whiskey.

“You’re always so soft,” she murmured, leaning against you in the passenger seat, cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re always so loud,” you said back, trying to steady your voice even though your hands were trembling on the wheel.

She laughed and turned her head, eyes glassy, breath warm on your skin.

“You ever think maybe I’m loud ‘cause I don’t wanna hear myself think?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. Just drove her home in silence, the quiet between you almost unbearable.

That night, she left her bedroom door cracked open like she always did when she didn’t want to sleep alone. You followed, heart hammering like you were doing something wrong.

You helped her change. Her skirt was hitched too high, her shirt sliding down one shoulder. When she sat on the edge of her bed, legs loose and lazy, she reached for the strap of your sando, tugging them, letting it leave your shoulder.

“Wanna practice again?” she whispered, lips brushing yours.

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing. “Yeah,” you said, and kissed her.

God, you kissed her like it would be the last time. Like it had to count.

It started soft. Your lips, her tongue, the way she cupped the back of your neck. But she tasted like smoke and sugar and something that burned, and soon your sando was half off, her hands under your bra, skimming the bare skin of your sides.

She touched you like she meant it. Like she’d been thinking about it.

Her hand slid beneath your waistband, fingers grazing the elastic of your panties. Your hips jolted.

“Natalie…” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.

She paused, eyes locking with yours. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

Her fingers dipped lower, slow and careful, until she brushed against the wet heat of you. You choked out a sound, half gasp, half whimper.

“God, you’re already soaked,” she said, voice low and rough, almost reverent.

She kissed your collarbone as she slid a finger inside, then two. Her touch was practiced, but gentle. She curled them just right, dragging them slow, deep, the heel of her hand pressing firm against your clit. You buried your face in her neck, biting down to muffle the moan tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. Her fingers worked you open, curling and stroking, coaxing you toward the edge until your thighs were shaking, your back arching, your hands twisted in her sheets.

You came like that, trembling in her lap, forehead pressed to hers, a quiet sob catching in your throat.

She kissed you after, messy and slow. Then she pushed you gently down onto the bed and climbed between your legs.

“Wait - ” you started, but her mouth was already there.

She kissed your thighs first, soft, dragging her teeth across the skin. Her hands pushed your legs open, steady and sure. And then-

Her tongue. Warm, slow, deliberate. She licked a long stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, teasing, tasting.

You cried out.

“Natalie -”

She moaned against you like she was drunk on it. Like she wanted to ruin you slow.

And she did.

The last thing you remembered before the flashback burned out was the sound you made. loud, raw, real - and the way she looked up at you from between your legs like you were something sacred, as she enjoyed

You never noticed but the way she looked at you, it was love.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You looked down at your lap. Your hands were shaking.

“It was my first time,” you admitted.

Coach Ben nodded, listening intently.

You thought that was it—that the conversation would taper off into silence like everything else here did. But then he looked at you again, steady and quiet, like he was waiting for something to click.

“Maybe the love you’re looking for,” he said gently, “has always been in front of you. Waiting.”

You froze.

The fire popped. Your heart did too, in a different way.

He said it like he knew something you didn’t. Like he’d seen it in the way Natalie passed you her joint with soft fingers. The way she always sat just close enough that your knees touched. The way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t looking - tired, tender, like she didn’t know how to say don’t go.

“Maybe,” he added, “you’ve just been looking for it in the wrong people.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t have an answer.

Just Natalie’s name echoing through your chest like a secret you’d been too afraid to tell out loud.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe she’d always been right there.

Waiting.

And as you return to the cabin the, faint rise and fall of Natalie’s breathing as she lay curled up on the cot, her face relaxed in sleep.

There was space next to her, an empty spot on the edge of the blanket, clearly left for you.

You smiled softly to yourself, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to you.

As you moved closer, the cool night air from the door fading behind you, you hesitated. You knew what you were feeling now. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. You couldn’t hide from the truth.

Coach Ben’s words echoed in your mind—Maybe the love you're looking for has always been in front of you, waiting. You thought about it again, about how, all this time, you’d been searching for something that was never really gone.

It had always been Natalie.

You gently eased into the space beside her, sliding your arms around her waist and pulling her close. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her body fitting into yours like it was always meant to. You hugged her tightly from behind, feeling the warmth of her skin seep into yours.

And in the quiet of that moment, you realized what Coach Ben had meant. You’d been looking for love in all the wrong places, convinced that there was something out there for you, when all along it was right here. Right in front of you. Waiting.

Natalie.

The love you’d been searching for, the love you had been too scared to admit, was already yours.

And as you held her close, the world outside the cabin seemed so far away. The noise, the chaos, it all faded to nothing. All that mattered was the warmth of her body in your arms and the gentle sound of her breathing.

 Coach Ben had been right after all.

THE END

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You run into your snobby ex boyfriend after a drunken party. Things go south from there. tw: female reader, hinted murder, possessive behavior, condescension, financial(?) abuse, classism

You know this is a stupid, stupid idea. Going home at God knows what time in the pitch black is never a good idea, you think drowsily, head still spinning from the last beer, but even more so when you're tired, pissed off and tipsy. You're freezing, naked shoulders wet from the chilly midnight rain - but instead of soft damp linden, you smell molden concrete and metal. You fucking hate this city. You hate the stupid, flashy, obnoxious parties for rich people, and this shitty university in the middle of nowhere, and even the scholarship that forced you into close proximity with the freakish upper class of east New Hemptison.

"Baby!" A familiar voice sinks into the muddy darkness and you have to physically restrain yourself from emptying your stomach right there on the street - and knowing your neighbours, you'd have to clean it after too. His steps fasten and soon you feel his hand gripping your shoulder to turn you around. Standing before you, glistening just like some prince from a fairy tale, is everything you despise about this town. The fact that he's perfectly prim and proper despite the pounding rain, that his teeth seem almost pearly white in the dark, that his hair is crisp and slicked away tastefully, that even now he's wearing a fucking Armani shirt with the cheesiest pair of jeans (ones you could never afford) - it makes you want to crawl back to the cave you came from, two continents away, and never look back.

"Baby, where have you been?" He sounds terribly concerned as he pulls your shivering body in for a tight bear hug, running his hands through your absolutely soaked hair - murmuring something incomprehensible to your drunken mind. "I was worried sick, missy." His voice drops slightly, but it's all for show. He's playing the part of the good boyfriend, like always - and you fell for it once, you did, but you know better now. "I called you, like, sixty eight times. And nothing." He swallows, big hands trembling around you. "Just radio silence. I thought something bad happened to y-"

"Oh, f-uucking beat it." Your patience finally snaps and you push him off swiftly, barely contained anger starting to resurface again. Today was supposed to be about you, about healing, about feeling better, but just your luck - the very problem had found you, just like always. No matter where you go, your troubles follow. "You know what you did, asshole. Don't you d-aare play innocent with m-me." You hiss drunkenly, stumbling all over your words before hitting the wall all on your own. Mathew, of course, doesn't waste the oppurtunity to get closer to you - just so he can help you regain your balance, of course. The golden boy of Saint Hemptison would never take advantage of an intoxicated girl - much less his ex girlfriend who he's still hopelessly in love with, supposedly. Right.

"Baby, please, you're drunk - you're not making any sense." The man whispers softly, placing his hand at your hip. "Let's go to the penthouse. We can talk about this in the morning when you are more aware of your thoughts."

When you're more aware of your thoughts? You almost laugh. It's quite bittersweet when it hits you that he doesn't respect you even now - maybe he never has in the duration of your miserable relationshop, that in his eyes you'll always be the poor girl in need of a white knight. Just a little trophy to show off, if a bit broken in certain spots.

"I am not going anywhere with you." You mumble, trying to calm down - to appear cold and collected, the complete opposite of what he wants you to be. "Look, I know that you're mad at me, babygirl, but I'm sure your little temper tantrum can wait until tomorrow. You know I don't like this neighbourhood. Let me take you to a safe place for the night, okay?" He reaches for your hand again, but this time you swat it away in fury.

"Who are you to act so worried about me, huh?" You can hear your voice breaking as the tears prick at your eyes - hot and shameful. Crying in front of him is the last thing you want to do, but god, it's so hard not to when this whole night has been a disaster after a disaster. You're truly at your wits' end. "After what you did? You are truly shameless." You squeal, and admittedly, it feels fucking great to finally say it.

Your former lover's face twists into an unrecognizable grimace as he watches you tear into his heart with ease - and as you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist painfully. This time something is different about his eyes - they're not longer smiling. Now they're two bottomless gray pits devoid of kindness, the same eyes you saw the night of the accident as he caressed your cold cheek with bloody knuckles.

"And what did I do, love? Hm?" He tilts your chin up by squeezing your throat, forcing you to meet his eerie gaze. Suddenly all your tipsy bravado evaporates into thin air. "Please, refresh my memory. I really can't recall the events of the past two weeks - since you've been avoiding me and all..." His fingers dig into your skin and you wince just like a kicked puppy - but he doesn't bulge an inch. Suddenly everything comes flooding back - the touches you convinced yourself were sensual, not possesive, the glances you once thought of as romantic, the constant interrogations, the strange emails, the cryptic calls, the dead roses at your door. "I couldn't sleep - or eat for that matter. I am half a man without you. I lose myself completely."

It all makes sense now. You feel like crying, because it's so crystal clear... and you've been a willing fool. You had closed your eyes, because it was easier to lie than to accept the truth bubbling just under his surface - under the dimples and the smiles, and the hundred jewelry boxes still lying unopened under your bed.

"You - you killed him! You monster!" You gasp, unable to stop your lips from uttering the lethal. You thrash around to no avail, you're stuck. "How could you? Jack was your friend!" You hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop the sobs, too scared to look at the crazed man holding you. He simply rolls his eyes, letting you soak his shirt with your pretty tears. "Don't be so dramatic - it's just some broken bones. He'll be fine... as long as he stays away from my things."

You raise your head shakily - you're drowning between hatred, fear and misery. The adrenaline is making you even more disoriented than the liquor percentage in your bloodstream.

"I am not a fucking thing for you to-" You hiccup, growing woozy as you hit weakly against his chest. The corners of his lips curl up slightly as he chuckles at the pitiful display. "For you to just own!" You keep going, cheeks purple from pent up fury - there's something tearing at your insides like you want to scream, you need it to come out, but you find yourself unable to push it off your flesh like it's been ingrained with glue and a shovel.

"You're wrong, baby. I do own you." Mathew says with the sweetest, softest voice you've heard in your life, sugary and bitter like poisonous honey. "Let's say you want to break up-"

"We already broke u-"

His eyes pierce you mid-sentence. You quickly close your mouth.

"Let's say," He repeats through gritted teeth, holding you so tightly you might just merge into one being. "That you want to break up with me." He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. "Hypothetically. Then what? You have no place to live. I know you're staying at that shithole of a hotel down the street right now - it's filthier than a brothel, no?"

You want to say something - to argue, to scream. To tell him that he's being a rich, condescending asshole again, that you like the hotel - despite the mold and the cockroaches and the way there never seems to be hot water. Despite having to lock your door four times so you don't get assaulted in your sleep.

You say nothing.

"You don't have to confirm it. My agent tracked you down a week ago. Whatever - you'll run out of money in, approximately, 9 days." He smirks maliciously, with unhidden spite - just like a little devil. "Then what? You don't even have an address. And you know the city hall will take their sweet fucking time to help you register - if they don't make you pay a fine first." He strokes your chin cruelly. "We both know just how much they care about clueless little foreigners with less than a penny to their name." He whispers, twisting the dagger in. "Hell, they may even cut your scholarship. And. then. what." Your ex pronounces each word slowly - making sure you can understand it, feel it - fear it.

You imagine your family back at home. You can hear their voices over the phone, your mom smiling as you tell her about your day, your father asking you what you plan to do after college - whether you will still remember them, whether you'd take care of them once they have nothing left, since you took everything with you. The money, the hopes, the happiness...

"F-fuck you..." You whimper faintly, falling against him. You feel defeated, and the sharp words are all you have left. "Why are you doing this to me?" You mumble to yourself, suddenly feeling drained to the very bone. The man begins stroking your hair as he rocks you gently to the side. "Because I love you." He slowly kisses down your neck. "Because I'm the only one in this city who gives a fuck about you, and-" You can feel his smile against your burning cheek. "Because you're mine."

[jupiterpilgrim]

Drown With Me

Pt.2: Interpolation

Ningning x Minji x Male Reader

word count: 7K

part 1 | part 3

A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.

I wish I could be everything you wanted.

—

Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.

We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:

The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.

She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.

“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.

She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.

Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.

You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”

Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”

Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.

“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”

She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”

“Coke?”

She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”

“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”

“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”

“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”

“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”

She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”

You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.

“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”

Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”

“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”

The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.

You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”

She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.

You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.

—

The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.

At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.

Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.

“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.

She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”

She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”

“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”

You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”

“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”

“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”

You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”

“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”

Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.

It’s nice.

She’s nice.

“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”

She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”

“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”

“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”

Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.

“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.

You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.

“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”

“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”

“Exactly.”

She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.

—

Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.

Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.

Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”

“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.

“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”

That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”

“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”

Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”

“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”

Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”

Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”

“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.

Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”

Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.

Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”

“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.

“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”

Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”

Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.

“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.

Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”

Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”

Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”

Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.

“Hey, Minji?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”

—

The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.

No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.

The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.

Or at least, she tries to.

What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.

“Shit—!”

She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.

“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.

Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.

You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.

“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”

“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”

“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.

Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”

She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”

“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.

You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.

“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”

Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”

“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”

She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”

Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”

“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”

She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.

Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

—

The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.

Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.

“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.

Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”

She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”

“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”

“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.

But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”

Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”

Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”

“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”

Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”

Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”

“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”

“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”

Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”

“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”

“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.

“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”

Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”

“And you’re just friends?”

“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.

Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.

“Can I go too?”

Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”

“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”

“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”

“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”

Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”

Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”

“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”

Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.

Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.

“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”

Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”

As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.

Now?

She has no idea what’s about to happen.

—

The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.

You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.

Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.

Minji.

She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.

“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”

You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”

Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”

You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”

Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”

You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”

“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”

“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”

Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.

“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”

“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”

She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”

Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”

Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”

“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”

“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”

Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”

You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”

“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.

“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."

“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.

You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”

“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”

“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.

“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”

“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”

You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”

She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”

Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”

Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”

You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”

“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”

Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”

“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.

Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”

The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.

—

The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.

Monday Night

Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.

“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.

“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.

“And for you?” you ask Minji.

“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”

You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”

“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”

Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”

“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”

You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”

Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”

The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.

“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.

“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.

Wednesday Night

Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.

“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.

“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.

“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.

“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.

Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”

You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”

Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”

“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”

“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”

Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”

You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”

Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”

“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”

Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.

Friday Night

The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.

“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.

“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”

“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.

“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”

“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”

“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”

As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.

Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”

Both of you turn to her, surprised.

“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.

“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”

Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.

Sunday Night

The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.

“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”

“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”

Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.

“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.

“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”

“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.

“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.

“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”

You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.

Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.

As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.

—

The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.

Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.

Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.

“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.

She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”

“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.

“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”

“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.

Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”

The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.

Later That Week

The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.

But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”

“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”

“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.

Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.

Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.

At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”

Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.

The Bar, One Week Later

It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.

But it’s just Minji.

She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”

“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”

There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.

“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”

Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”

part 3

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

141 as your drug dealer boyfriend

Ghost- Let's be real with ourselves, Ghost is not a good man. He doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets his. He will do anything to get what he wants and there is no stopping him. It's what made him a great soldier, and it's what makes him a great kingpin. He moves weight to put it lightly. There isn't a moment where an uncut key is unmoving; from a warehouse, to a plane (or car, or train), to a distributor, to a pusher, to up someone's nose. He'll try to do some damage control, make sure things aren't cut with fent, but that's only to make sure customers keep coming back. He likes to keep his hands clean, in the sense that he'll never be the one to pull the trigger on anyone that's out of line. Living up to his name, no one knows what he looks like. Hell, a lot of people don't even think he's real.

But when it comes to you, Simon's a different man. No talk about work, just you and him. Other than the multiple hidden guns around the house and Glock he sleeps with, life is normal with you. Holiday homes in the French countryside and Bahamas. Designer everything. Sports cars in all your favorite colors. You want for nothing. It's the life he wanted for you. After all those years of crying and hurt when he was away for weeks or months, you deserved the world. Want the new Hermès bag? You got it. Can't choose between the black or white louboutins? Get both. Stop eating you out because you can't feel your toes anymore? Sorry love, only thing he can't do for you.

Soap- Johnny is a small business owner. Weighs everything out by his own hand. Presses his own pills. Let's you help baggie everything up. A social butterfly, this man is at every concert, rave, or music festival. Sometimes he has a friend help push his stuff when he just wants to stay home with you, but for the most part he's his own salesman. And a damn good one. Never has overstock. No matter how much he brings with him, he'll always sellout.

Has a supernatural sense of being shorted. Can tell if a bag is even a few grams off just by holding it.

"Ye'r an idiot if ye think ye kin short me."

And when the other party denies, he always keeps a pocket scale on him, setting the parcel on it. And sure enough, he's always right.

He'll come home with a few grand, the only job you have is to sit there and look pretty. And roll his spliffs. Sitting in his lap, tucking the rolling paper into itself and licking it closed while he counts out a fat wad of cash. He hands you a fat stack,

"A've never bin good wi' money. Ye know how to spend it better than me."

He never touches the stuff he sells, no need to when all the dopamine he needs is right between your legs.

"Ten times better than any o tha' shite, anyways."

He pants in your ear while folding you in half, firm grip on your throat.

Gaz- When it comes to psychedelics, Kyle is your go-to man. He's a fucking genius, synthesizes his own DMT and LSD in a lab. It's a state of the art facility, clean with the latest and greatest equipment available. He supplies the whole Northeast. If it's a hallucinogen, it's most likely Gaz's product. And if it's good, it's definitely his. He has a cozy set up with some "organization" that he cooks for. Steers clear of actually selling to people, no need to when his clients line his pockets so well. Never brings work home, he even wears different clothes when he's in the lab.

He has a set schedule he has to adhere to but sometimes he's able to take vacations with you. And that's how you ended up bent over a balcony watching the sunset in Punta Cana,

"I work so hard to make you happy, now it's my turn yeah?"

A breeze sends a shiver up your spine while he kisses your shoulder,

"I know a private beach where you can even out those tan lines,"

Of course he doesn't give a shit about that, he just wants to fuck you silly on the seaside (and show off to anyone who might be watching.)

Price- Caring and nurturing, the man naturally has a green thumb. And alongside his prized heirloom tomatoes, he grows really, really good weed. Has a whole growroom in his basement, decked out with proper ventilation, ACs, UV lights, the works. The man grows medical grade weed that private clinics buy from him. He's legit. And of course he serves the public as well under the table, sells only to people he knows and established clients can refer others to him. He treats his plants like his babies, even going as far as to play music for them (according to him classical music helps them grow better???). You don't know where he finds the time, but he also made you rose garden for your anniversary. He brings up the idea of a family every so often. He'll finish as deep inside of you as possible,

"Let's replace that plant nursery for a real one, yeah love?"

Gonna write actual stories for each one if y'all like this ( . * 3 * . )/`

[yenhan]

TF141 & International student neighbor pt. 2

Next - Masterlist

Synopsis: choose your fighter, Aunt Wang VS military men

The day had been long. We’re talking are-we-sure-it’s-not-weekend-tomorrow long. You'd spent most of it hopping between the university hall and the immigration office, trying to track down a document they’d somehow lost again. Three times in a row, how could a public institution lose a non-criminal record so many times? Did they feed their paperwork to a magical tiger pet kept under the desk? You were starting to suspect they stored things in a black hole powered by bureaucracy and spite. At some point, a clerk told you to come back “next week, maybe, if you’re lucky,” and you almost threw a chair at him. With violence. But you didn’t. Because you were superior and an adult and had exactly two tissues left in your bag; you weren’t about to waste one when it was barely 11 o’clock in the morning.

So, like any competent and mildly running-on-caffeine person, you went to Aunt Wang’s for food.

Oh, Aunt Wang was yelling. God may help her victim…

Her tiny shop, wedged between a butcher’s and a century-old pharmacy, survived on selling frozen dumplings, cheap snacks, and the occasional expired energy drink. In a nutshell, every broke student’s three Michelin stars restaurant. You’d long given up questioning how she got imported curry fish balls from Malaysia or why she always knew when you were low on laundry detergent. Aunt Wang knew everything. She also had opinions about everything. Especially when her prices were being questioned by two men who looked like they’d survived war zones but apparently couldn't survive the cost of instant noodles.

You were halfway through shoveling pre-cooked egg fried rice into your mouth when you heard the familiar ruckus. At first, you thought she was scolding the delivery guy again for mixing up her cartons of rice wine and white vinegar. That happened two days ago; the lad scurried off crying after bravely succumbing her ire for 6 minutes and 11 seconds. Yes, you timed it. Speaking of Lads™, half of your dream team was there.

“Eight pounds? For fungus?” John Price raised an eyebrow at a pack of Swiss brown mushrooms.

Wang shot back in rapid Mandarin. Something about inflation and people not appreciating the labor of small shop owners. Gaz was next to him, holding a suspiciously dented can of coconut milk like it might explode. “We just want to make curry, not buy the entire rainforest.”

Price grunted. “Back in Basra, we could get ten of these for a quid.”

Wang cut him off with a menacing 老外 and 吃不起不要吃. You coughed loudly to hide your chuckles, setting down your microwaveable rice bowl. Your oh-so-stealthy cover couldn’t possibly work when your neighbors had already memorized every detail of your laugh and smile like tattoos carved on their brains. You didn’t know that, though.

You turned your head from the wobbly plastic table you were squatting at, clutching your chopsticks like they were lifelines. There he stood, your favorite Captain Beard himself. And lovely, lovely Gaz, sleeves rolled up, trying not to choke on air. "Translation?" The younger man asked hopefully.

You sighed, stepping in. “She says if you can’t afford it, go cry to your government, not her. Also, that your beard makes you look like a fisherman whose Finding Nemo campaign failed.”

Price blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wang pointed at him, nodding. “老水手。”

“Old sailor,” you said promptly. “She’s not wrong.” Price looked vaguely betrayed at that quip.

You helped settle the argument with a few words and a reminder that Wang would accept payment in cash and only in exact change. When Price asked why, you whispered, “Last week someone paid her with a coin from 1986 that turned out to be a game token.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, handing over the coins.

You sat on the wooden stool near the register, tucking into your rice, warmth spreading from your mouth down to your frozen toes. Wang had even added a boiled egg, on the house. You must’ve looked extra pathetic today; that was basically a declaration of love from her. The men lingered by the exit, fiddling with their bags of groceries like they weren’t sure what to do next. It was awfully endearing. Gaz finally leaned over, looking at your bowl. “That any good?”

“Best three-minute meal in the UK,” you replied through a mouthful. “Better than those jellied eels you and Johnny persuaded me into trying. I may not have forgiven you yet for that stunt.”

Price walked past and placed a hand on your shoulder. You swore it wasn’t tears burning your eyes at his offer. “We’re making curry. You can come. Or don’t, it’s up to you, kid.”

Gaz added, “There’s beer, too. Not the good kind, y’know. Not poisoning-inducing, though.”

Your eyes prickled. You didn’t cry. You absolutely did not. You had the waterworks in full blast in front of Simon just last week; your dignity was still reeling from that. And the scolding the captain gave you afterwards because you should’ve just gone to them, they would make it better.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “I might join if I finish my reading.”

“Bring your books, Johnny likes reading aloud when he’s drunk. Calls it ‘dramatic education.’” The sergeant raised two fingers over his shoulder.

Lifting your head just enough to be heard, you called after them with a crooked grin. “Only if he agrees to put more effort into the Italian accent, he sounds like Super Mario on steroids. And tell Ghost he better not just stand in the corner judging us like some emotionally repressed Batman. He’s reading the villain lines, or I’m not coming.”

Price muttered something about "bloody spoiled brats." It was a start.

Woke up to a couple of hundreds of notes and felt like a confused cat meme. Anyway, I got plenty of random ideas for this, enjoy!

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

I love that you are writing for Dr. Abbott! 🩵

Can I pretty please request him with a younger reader like mid 20’s (or just the general idea of an age gap because I love me an old man) where he finds out he’s her emergency contact. He’s obviously older & he thinks she should pick someone her age instead in case something happens to him but he’s the only one she wants in every part of her life and reassures him. I hope that makes sense & isn’t too lame!

Not lame!! Loves an older man!!! They can be so sexyyyyy!!

Listed

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x MedStudent!Reader

Summary: Dr. Jack Abbott isn’t a man who lets his guard down easily. He’s precise. Composed. Rational. But when he finds out you — bright, mid-20s, and entirely too stubborn for your own good — listed him as your emergency contact, something in him unravels. Not because he doesn’t care. But because he cares too much.

He didn’t mean to see it.

You left your chart open on the counter when you got called away to Imaging, and Jack just needed the last lab values to sign off on your pre-op clearance.

He scrolled. Found what he needed. And then his eyes caught on something else.

Emergency Contact: Dr. Jack Abbott Relationship: Personal

His brow furrowed. Personal. Not “supervisor.” Not “colleague.” Just… personal.

He didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t bring it up that day, or the next, or even the one after that. But it stuck.

Because he knew he was older. Knew people talked. Knew that in some ways, he’d always have a foot out of the world you were still building for yourself. And part of him had convinced himself that was good. Safe.

But seeing his name there, in black and white, in a space reserved for the one person you trust when everything goes wrong—It scared the hell out of him.

He finally brought it up when you were sitting in his office after hours, half-eaten takeout between you, the city lights bleeding through the window.

You were cross-legged in his chair, scrolling through your phone and humming under your breath when he said, quietly—

“You should change your emergency contact.”

You blinked. “What?”

He kept his eyes on the food. “I saw it. On your chart. The other day.”

You tilted your head. “Okay… and?”

“I just think,” he said, voice too even, too careful, “you should pick someone closer to your age. Someone who’ll be around for a long time. Just in case.”

You stared at him. Slowly put your phone down.

“Jack.”

“I’m not saying it to be dramatic—”

“No, you’re saying it because you’re afraid,” you said, soft but sure. “That you’re not enough. Or not right. Because of the age difference. Because you think I should want someone who can run a marathon with me or go to brunch with my college friends.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t look at you.

You stood up, walked around the desk, and sat on the edge in front of him. Your voice was quieter now.

“You’re the one I call when I have a bad day. When I’m scared. When I don’t know if I can do this.”

He looked up at that, meeting your eyes.

You shrugged, small and honest. “Why wouldn’t I want the person I love to be the one who’s called if something happens to me?” The word love hit him like a sucker punch.

“I don’t care how old you are, Jack,” you said. “I care that you’re you.”

He swallowed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah,” you said gently. “It is.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for days. Maybe he had.

You slid your hand into his, thumb brushing his knuckles. “You’re not temporary, Jack. You’re not just the for now part of my life. You’re the forever part.”

Silence.

Then—“I’m not going to live forever,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“No one does,” you replied. “But you’re here now. And that’s who I want.”

He looked at you for a long time after that. Like he was trying to find the cracks in your certainty. But there weren’t any. There never had been.

And finally, quietly—He squeezed your hand and didn’t let go.

[furioussouls]

LADS boys as strict professors who only have a soft spot for their wife

with [chubby reader]

Warnings: tooth- rotting fluff, chubby fem! reader

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me, they are from the game "love and deepspace" by InFold. All lore references and worldbuilding belong solely to the creators.

requested by a sweet anon (hope it lived up to your expectations :3)

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚୨୧⋆｡

Xavier:

Xavier's students know their professor to be the best hunter to ever exist; he was agile, capable, strategic, strong and yet gentle in the face of danger. He's open to every single question, he won't make you feel bad about yourself for asking even the most obvious questions and adds enough physical practice to balance out his thorough lectures. However, he's also one of the more intimidating professors that teaches the new generation of hunters; he'll disarm threats in the blink of an eye while his face remained the same neutral expression. His students have never seen a person fight as well as he has. He's not the type of man you'd want to piss off. Sometimes when they're staring into his emotionless face, they feel an icy shudder run down their backs.

Xavier stood in front of his students in his usual business casual attire and explained the proper strategy of defending oneself in a battle where everything seemed hopeless.

"Let's assume you're in the middle of a battle and you're too exhausted or hurt to continue, what's the next step? Yes, you." Xavier nodded at one student, who was raising his hand.

"You need to try to adapt your fighting style to your current level of exhaustion and you must-"

"No", Xavier interrupted the student quietly and looked through the room to find somebody else willing to participate but nobody else raised their hand. Xavier sighed softly and ran his hand through his blonde hair.

"Retreat. If you're too exhausted to keep fighting, you must retreat. If you're unable to because you're surrounded or in the middle of a dangerous situation- trust in your partner. They're supposed to back you up and be dependable."

His students looked at each other in confusion. Trust your partner? That's the answer?

One student raised their brow and hesitantly lifted their hand. Xavier noticed the hand and perked up. He took off his round glasses and pointed with them to the student, who raised their hand.

"Excuse me if I'm overstepping, Professor, but who was your partner?" The student asked some of the other ones looked up at him curiously.

"Ah", Xavier exclaimed and slowly blushed a beet- red. The sides of his mouth tugged up until his mouth split into a soft grin. His pearly white teeth were exposed and he scratched the back of his neck. "Well, that would be my wife. We were partners- I mean we still are. But in more ways than one now." He stammered and cleared his throat.

"Is she a good hunter?", asked one student.

"Oh yes, she is. She's so capable and strong, cute as well. Our fighting styles complete each other so well and we always depend on each other during battles. It's a great feeling to trust your partner this freely." He gushed with a soft smile. He opened up his phone and showed the lockscreen picture of you; it was your cute chubby self wrapped in the lanky arms of Xavier.

Some of his students giggled, which caused Xavier to blush and clear his throat. He put his phone away and continued with his lecture. The students that believed Xavier to be the craziest alpha male hunter are now upset that their hero is nothing more than a little puppy for his wife.

Zayne:

Zayne stood in front of his nervous students. He was dressed up in a suit, not one bit out of place; his black hair sitting perfectly, his black tie sitting smugly against his chest. Even his shoes were clean and polished. He really was as perfect as people made him out to be. He was one of the youngest cardiac surgeons at Akso hospital and is holding lectures about the human heart. Zayne sighed and pushed his glasses closer to his face with his long, scarred fingers.

"I understand some of you had questions about the assignment", said Zayne, his voice soft and deep.

One student hesitantly raised their hands and swallowed when Zayne raised his hand toward him and nodded. "Well the material is a bit.. difficult to understand, since we're only in our second semester."

Zayne tilted his head and seemed to consider his students words, his eyebrows furrowed so hard that a wrinkle formed in between them. The student swallowed, he hoped he hadn't ruined his chances with one of the most influencial doctors of his time.

"I understand the feedback, but I am not sure how much easier I can make it for you. The material is very limited. I shall look for better ones but I can't promise-", a soft knock interrupted Zayne and he turned towards the door.

"Excuse me, Professor Zayne?", your round body walked through the door with a bento box. Zayne's strict face softened immediately and he called out your name. "What are you doing here?", he asked you softly as his cheeks bloomed into a soft pink. You handed him his bento box and told him that you would go on a mission for a few days and that you wanted to see him off in person.

Zayne swallowed and the side of his mouth gently tugged up as he looked at the box. "Thank you very much, dear."

Dear? His students jaw dropped and they looked at each other in disbelief. Did that just really happen? Did Dr. Professor Zayne just call you dear while blushing? You waved at the students and they waved back at you incredulously.

Zayne cleared his throat and nodded "We were just talking about the assignment I assigned. Apparently it's.. too complicated."

You raised an eyebrow at him "Well, I hope you took their criticism seriously. I'll be off then. Have fun, guys", you winked at them and walked out the door.

Zayne cleared his throat and smoothed over his shirt after he sat his bento box down on the table. "I'll find some easier reading material for you and readjust the difficulty level of the assignment", he agreed softly and smiled at your lunchbox.

His students chuckled amonst themselves. Hopefully you'd drop by more often. They certainly wouldn't mind.

Rafayel:

Rafayel stood in front of his students' paintings and examined them with furrowed eyebrows. He hated this process, because art is not something that can just be graded like any other subject. It is deeply individual and personal to everybody and it feels wrong to grade such personal pieces. However, he is so damn bored with all these pieces. They're all missing that little something, of course all of these drawings are objectively good; a nice understanding of colour theory and shadows and applying different techniques and methods. All of it was good, but it was artficial and it felt too clean. Not authentic enough.

Rafayel sighed and raked his beautiful hands through his fluffy hair. He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling.

Some of his students rolled their eyes at his familiar dramatic antics and others gulped and fidgeted nervously with their fingers. They all knew of Rafayel, of course. He was one of the most popular artists of his time and his works are phenomenal. It would be horrible if a brilliant man like him were to tell his young, sweet students how horrific their art is.

Rafayel stood up and walked through the room. He was as graceful as a gazelle, his button up shirt tugged neatly into his black pants.

"All of you have passed, you were all good.", he exclaimed in a bored tone.

The fidgeting stopped and the students looked up at him with in shock. "Really?"

"Yes. All of you have a great understanding of your preferred style and you did well", he yawned and turned to face all of his students "However, I'm not impressed. You have all passed this final, so create something better for me. This one won't be graded and it has no deadline. Just create something for me, something that really inspires you. Not something you can just paint well. Find a muse and paint it multiple times in different art styles and mediums, let your creativity flow. None of my students will turn out to be just a conventially acceptable artist." Rafayel shuddered at the thought and looked at the faces of his students.

One of them raised their hand "What would be a good example of a muse?"

Rafayel hummed and tapped his finger on the table "Anything you want; music, sadness, your dog, nature, your fashion style... people. My muse would be my wife." Rafayel smiled softly and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out his notebook and revealed you; he painted and drew you in many different art styles, backgrounds and positions. Your plush body always wore a soft blue gown, and your hair was styled the same way. His art looked real. Not necessarily because he was painting you in Realism, but more because of thelove and passion he felt for you.

Rafayel smiled softly and gently stroked over the pages. "This is what I want from you."

Sylus:

Sylus was a business professor. He wasn't necessarily a mean professor, but my god was he intimidating. Sylus stood in front of his students in his all black outfit. His piercingly red eyes stared into the crowd and he smirked softly.

"Hmmm", he hummed, his voice husky and gravelly. "Nobody knows the answer to my question?

"I thought it might be answer a)", a voice squeaked out and Sylus checked his notes and nodded at the student. "Very good, thats the right answer."

Sylus knows he comes off as a strict man, he really isn't though. He's also a very forgiving grader but he also knows his attitude comes off as intimidating to his students, even if he doesn't mean to be.

Sylus' phone chimed three times and he looked down; 'My sweetie' was calling. A bright smile spread on his face and he turned to his students "Excuse me, it's my wife. Hello, sweetie. Yes, I folded the laundry before I left. It should be on your bed. I left some of them on the heater so your sweater would be warm and cozy for you. Yes, the oversized one. You're welcome, honey. How was your day so far? Oh, good. I saw you packed me lunch before you left, thank you. You're the best wife one could ask for. Oh what I'm doing right now? I'm supposed to hold a lecture and answer questions", A few beats passed and Sylus chuckled deeply at your embarassed and quick rambles and turned to his students. "Alright, alright. My wife says I'm supposed to hang up now, so I'll do that. Goodbye, sweetie. I'll see you later. I love you", he hangs up his phone and smiled.

"She sounds lovely, doesn't she? I hope you all will experience the love that she has for me." Sylus said dreamily and looked back down on his answers. "Does anybody know the answer to the next question?"

Some of his students looked at each other and giggled loudly. More students started to participate during his lectures now and Sylus thankfully fell into a more comfortable rhythm with his students, and it was all thanks to you. You make everything better, you seriously do.

Caleb:

Caleb is a Professor of Flight Engineering and is licensed to give his students their pilot certificate. He is known as "the iciest Pilot and Professor" amongst his students. He teaches them both the practical and the theoretical experience that they need. Caleb is not a mean Professor, but he's definitely a strict one. He allows no disrespect towards himself or any of his students and expects his students to give their best at all times. If that "best" is only 60%, then he'll only expect 60% from you, but nothing less.

Caleb stood in front of his exhausted student. He stared at him neutrally, but not unkindly and asked "What's this piece of the engine called?" Caleb pointed at the tiny piece of metal.

His student sighed, his shoulders sagged and went back into the push-up position.

"20 push-ups, this time. You can do better than this, next week I'll ask you the same questions so study harder, alright?", Caleb turned around and asked his other students the some questions as well.

The same student walked in the park later in the afternoon with his girlfriend. He looked around and pointed at two people "Look, babe! That's my Professor Caleb." Both of them walked towards Caleb and his student's jaw dropped.

Caleb was... smiling? His lips were stretched into a bright smile as he twirled your thick body around. He looked up at you and grinned like a lovesick fool, his eyes only one step away from turning into two little hearts. Your hand was wrapped around his necklace and you pulled him closer to you like a dog and he chuckled and buried his face in your shoulder. Calebs nose gently traced along your collarbone and his strong hands wrapped around as the warm spring breeze gently drifted over your hair. The sun shone over the both of you and lit your faces up. The two of you looked straight out of a painting.

Caleb noticed his student and smiled at him and his girlfriend "Hello". You turned around and smiled at the two as well and looked up at Caleb in confusion. "That's my student", Caleb explained and kissed your forehead. You smiled and them and held out your hand "Hi, I'm his wife."

His student looked at you incredulously and shook your hand.

[noveauskull]

Bounty Hunting The Wrong Guy [NSFW]

characters: sylus x reader

warnings: 18+, smut, age gap (reader is 21 here), bounty hunter mc, it takes a while to get to the smut part, nipple teasing, punishment, swearing, fingering, clit teasing, piv (penetration), wrists bound (by evol), no protection, bratty reader (sort of)

-----

You let out a satisfied sigh when you plopped your body onto the wooden chair placed conveniently next to a table full of different weapons and devices you probably will have no need on using at the moment, staring at the unconcious white haired man in front of you that was tied down onto the other wooden chair in the room.

Without wasting a second, you stretched your right leg out to get a better grip onto the phone that was in your pocket, giving it a few taps to call a certain someone about your lucky find.

A few rings passed by and the person on the other end finally answers, you didn't waste a second to let them know that your end of the job was done and that you were ready to receive your pay, and next order.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy!! If it isn't my favorite-"

"Cut to the chase. You got the man or not?"

You let out another sigh, this time annoyed. No matter how good your mood is it'll always get ruined by something, or in this case, someone.

"Yeah yeah, your man's right here with me" You rolled your eyes, checking your nails to see if you had made any damage on them while trying to capture your target from earlier.

"Send proof"

You immediately brought the phone away from your hand to switch it into camera mode while the call was still on, taking a quick picture of the tall, muscular man with white hair and black clothes on, before clicking open an app to send the picture to the person on the other side.

"There. Jerk off to it." You muttered before putting the phone back to your ear, hearing only silence for a little bit.

The silence followed up with a few mumbles, it seems like there were other people other than the person who paid you to catch this person, and it looks like they had an issue with the image you sent them.

"...That's not him"

The other end spoke, and your eyebrows furrowed immediately. Not realizing you had uncrossed your legs as you leaned forward in disbelief.

"What do you mean? He perfectly fits the description you said. Tall, white hair, and can fight. He put up a great fight and he has white hair. With a vague description like that I have to earn something in return for being able to catch something like this!"

You raised your voice, but the person wasn't buying it. How were you even supposed to find a man when he wears a mask all the time?

"We asked you to find Lumiere, not the Leader of- Ah forget it. This never happened"

Your mouth dropped in disbelief. Instinctively your legs forced your body to jump right up, now you were pacing around the room with your hand to your head, you seriously fucked up this time.

And to add the fact that they mentioned, what? A leader? A leader of what exactly? Well it probably doesn't even matter since you were currently at N109 Zone. Everything here is dangerous and oh boy...

If you had caught the Leader of Onychinus that lives here at N109 Zone... No. There's no way you'd have easily caught him.

"Wait, wait! I'll do it again, I'll toss this guy on the streets and get you the guy you want okay! If you could just find more intel on him-" You desperately tried to reason with them, but it didn't matter, their mind was set.

"The deal is off, girl. Whatever you do with the guy you have there is not our business. Goodbye"

Before you could talk them out of it any further, they hung up on you. However you were stubborn and you sent them a few texts, but it seemed like they had already blocked you.

"Fuck!" You cussed. Throwing your phone onto the worn out couch that was on the other end of the room. Usually you were very good at what you do, but it seems like making a few mistakes could happen as well.

The entire time you were freaking out and pacing around your room thinking of what to do next, you didn't realize that the man you had handcuffed onto the chair had been awake the moment you called your client.

He was kind enough to listen to what your true intentions were before he made a move on you, so when it was clear that you got the wrong man, he let you have your moment of distress before he decided to do anything else.

You didn't have the energy to drag the heavy man all the way out at the moment. Right now you needed a drink, a strong one at that. You'll deal with this man on another day, but not today.

Just when you were about to open the doors leading to another room, you found yourself struggling to create a gap on the two gigantic thick pieces of wood. A frown stronger than before engulfs your face as you tsked.

"What the-"

You were cut off when you heard a click behind you. Without wasting a second you turned your head to face the white haired man that was supposed to be unconcious on the chair, but instead you found him standing right in front of you.

Before you could lift your hand to attack him, he had your hands pinned onto the door with a dark red mist, almost resembling the color of blood, you were going to use your legs next, but they were also useless as they remained stuck.

"Shit!" You cussed under your breath, things were starting to get really dangerous. But you tried to remain calm, since you always knew how to get yourself out of situations like these.

"Wrong guy, huh?" The white haired man raised his eyebrow at you. His hands shoved into his pockets as he looked down to meet his eyes with yours, you felt mocked. But you weren't gonna give in.

"Heh yeah... Bummer"

You awkwardly laughed, trying to find a way to escape. Eyes darting around the room to find something that would help. But your search was futile when his hand grabbed your face and turned it to face him, your wide eyes locked in with his crimson ones.

"There's no use finding an escape, kitten. You're stuck here with me until I decide to let you go" His deep yet dominating voice calmly said, the sudden nickname he gave you made you furrow your eyebrows.

"Until you decide to let me go? Oh hell nah"

You shook your head to release the grip on your face, you were planning on acting like a small fry and crawl your way out, but something about being looked down on bothered you, and you just had to say something about it.

"Listen man, I don't know who you are, but I admit this whole thing was my fault, okay? If you need something to compensate for whatever loss you had I'll give it, just name your price"

In a strong yet calm manner, you bribed the man in front of you in an attempt to free yourself, but once again, like deja vu, he wasn't buying it.

"I don't think so"

You heard him answer before your entire vision is covered in red and black, few feathers can be seen swishing around before the dirty and worn out room you were at was replaced with an extravagant one with a dark aesthetic. A bedroom to be exact.

Your eyes widened in shock, frantically letting your head move left and right in disbelief. Did you just teleport?

"What the hell..." You whispered, not releasing that your hands were bound behind you now.

You had no idea that evols could teleport, or maybe that was this guy's whole shtick, either way, right now wasn't the time to be impressed.

Before you could ask why you were brought into a bedroom, a large hand wrapped itself around your left arm and pulled you toward the bed, gently yet strong enough to toss you onto the bed, the sudden gesture made you immediately go to defense mode.

"Hey man what gives-" You yelled, but the moment you turned your head you were an inch away from the white haired man's face.

You didn't realize this before because of how stressed out you were but, he was very attractive.

"A little kitten decided to pull me out from a very important meeting, I would just give that kitten a little flick on the forehead and be on my way, but to know that I wasn't even the kitten's main target is a bit annoying"

He said, each word he spoke made you feel his hot breath on your lips, but you had to stay focused and get out.

"W-Why's that?" You slightly furrowed your eyebrows once more, trying to mask your awareness with an innocent confused look.

"Because I can't kill it without a reason" He concluded. The red gleam in his eyes made you shudder, the bloodlust was there alright.

You still didn't know who this man was, however. So as if the threat didn't happen, you audaciously decided to open your mouth to ask.

"By the way, who even are you?"

You had no idea your tone was so mocking as to how curious you were, you watched as the man had a lost expression on his face, it didn't show shock, but he was definitely taken back by your question.

"...How old are you?" He answered back with a question completely irrelevant to yours, but you answered him anways.

"21, why?" You watched him scoff.

"The way you behave is like a child" You weren't exactly phased by his words, cause you were too busy figuring out how to release yourself from the evol that was holding you in place.

Your silence hinted the man that your focus was on something else, and that bothered him. So to grab your attention he sat himself of the bed and lifted you up, now you were suddenly sitting on his lap, back facing him.

"Woah!" You exclaimed, out of everything you thought of you weren't expecting him to lift you up like nothing and have you sat on his lap.

Oh, it kinda feels comfy...

You thought, snapping yourself out of it when you remembered the situation you were in.

No wait! I gotta lock in!

"H-Hey what are you doing, man!?" You yelled, turning your head to eye the intimidating man who smirked at you.

"You don't think you can just leave after putting me in such a sorry state without compensation, do you?"

Your eyes widened at his words, suddenly a shiver ran down your spine. It seemed like the fear hasn't kicked in until now. In response to his question that wasn't particularly seeking a response, you gulped.

"I-I told you I'll do something as an apology earlier..." You said in a quiet tone, almost mumbling, but still audible.

"I rather not wait. I'm not a patient man"

You felt his large hands wrap itself around your torso, holding you still as you felt something hard poke your ass. You stared into the distance with wide eyes, almost like you were in daze before unconciously muttering the words-

"What the fuck"

"It looks like compensation won't be the only thing I need to gain tonight, but also a lesson for that mouth of yours" He whispered into your ear, you felt your face heating up from the sudden intimacy.

You didn't want to admit it, but you were excited.

You remained silent, waiting to see what his next move was. You were too busy suppressing how you felt to notice his hands moving under your clothes to feel your bare skin, until you felt his cold fingertips. Making you flinch and your breath hitch.

"Sylus..." He whispered.

"...What?"

"I'm Sylus"

You felt your face crumble in shock. Suddenly freezing before struggling to look back at the man slowly. You heard about him so many times before ever since you came to N109 Zone. There's even posters about him throwing in high prices if he was captured.

It was stupid that your client didn't accepted Sylus, because he was probably worth more than Lumiere. But even if they did wanted Sylus, you'd probably still end up in the same situation as you are now.

"...Fuck" Like a machine that reacts through cuss words, you swore under your breath. Watching the man himself, Sylus tilt his head at you with a raised eyebrow.

"...Fine, make it quick" You concluded. You decided to get over with whatever he wanted. Knowing that running away was futile now that you knew who he was. Totally not because you wanted to spend some time with the attractive older male.

"...I like your confidence" He smirked, his hands now actively trailing upward to lift your bra upwards under your clothes, his fingers brushing against your nipples, the unexpected gesture made you close your eyes on instinct, biting your lower lip.

You felt his fingers circle around your areolas, you could tell he was playing with you, and with the pride you had that bothered you. But you can't help but stay quiet and let him touch you the way he pleased, something about his touch was making you lose all reason.

Not realizing that you were squirming the entire time, you heard him groan behind you as you unconciously wanted to feel his clothed dick on your swollen clit, being the one in control, he noticed your needs.

"Don't move, or else I'll be getting more than a compensation from you" He warned.

"Tsk! Then hurry up, old man!" You groaned impatiently, face red from having your nipples touched bare by someone else other than you.

You didn't realize that your words would cost you when his right hand suddenly went from your breast to slipping down your pants in one swift move, making you attempt to move away from his hand like an idiot.

"W-What are you-?!"

"You want me to hurry up right? Then I will do just that" He said calmly, rubbing your clothed cunt to feel your juices soak your underwear. It felt uncomfortable and dirty, yet you can't help but shiver in excitement.

Sylus used his fingers to rub around your clit too. Letting the wetness rub against it so that teasing you would affect you more than it should, also to rile up my reactions from you.

You huffed when you felt him playing with your nipple with one hand, and the other rubbing on your clothed pussy. It felt good, but it wasn't enough, you were starting to wonder what kind of compensation Onychinus' Leader was even looking for at this point.

"S-Shit" You groaned, feeling impatient of having your body played around with no sight of release soon.

"Swearing again? You really are looking for some sort of punishment" It seemed like Sylus didn't like your sharp mouth, so he decided to give you something to learn to not do it again.

You had to hold back a whine when he suddenly removed his hand from your throbbing cunt, only to put it back in again, this time directly without having your underwear act as a barrier.

The bare feeling of his fingers on your wet clit made you roll your eyes back in satisfaction, finally getting the stimulation you've been eagerly wanting the entire time.

"Mmph! A-Ah there!"

You shamelessly moaned, thrusting your hips against his fingers to feel them rub against your small and swollen clit, just a few strokes and you'll finally get the release you've been wanting.

"So naughty" Sylus whispered into your ear, connecting his lips onto your neck and giving it a suck, letting his teeth add onto the friction to distract you from the pleasure you were getting from your cunt and nipple.

"I wanna cum!! H-Hurry up!!" You demanded, although Sylus found your tough personality endearing, he won't stand for being ordered around by someone as small as you.

"And what makes you think you deserve release so early? You need to learn your place, sweetie" His voice deepened as he warned, your eyes widened when his finger suddenly dragged itself down to your hole.

Before you could react, he already pushed one finger in, like he knew you already, his finger found it's way onto your sweet spot. You had to let out a gasp before moaning nonstop, feeling his finger continuously poke onto the same spot until your orgasm neared.

"N-No- Wait! P-Pleas- A-Ah!"

You threw your head back when he added another finger, tears forming in your eyes that you never thought would be from the pleasure you were getting, the orgasm you were going to have was being forced out of you without a second thought, you almost lost yourself in what the main goal was.

Right when you felt like you were inching towards cumming, Sylus removed his fingers from your hole that was now clenching around the air, hoping for something to substitute the painful arousal that was pooling out of it.

"Ah ah ah, bad kittens don't get their fill yet" He teased, you felt your vision turning foggy from the desperation creeping onto you. You almost forgot your hands were rendered useless at the moment because you still weren't free.

"C-Come on..." You whispered, almost in defeat. Your voice hinting a strong sense of desperation, almost making you sound cute.

"Don't worry, I'm not done yet"

Sylus reassured you, using his evol to pull your pants down along with your underwear, the action didn't make you notice he had lowered his own pants as well, releasing his hard veiny cock that was almost as large as a shampoo bottle.

"If you take this, then I'll accept your compensation and let you go" He rubbed his cock against your entrance, you couldn't see his length properly, but a few rubs and a very visible vein was enough to give you a shock.

"W-Wait that's way too big, I-I can't-"

"You can and you will. Or do you want to compensate me with your life?" He said, he wasn't serious. But how would you know? You're too drunk off your mind to think.

"..." You pressed your lips into a thin line, shutting yourself up from protesting any further.

"Good girl"

Sylus gently laid you down on the bed, your hands that were bound behind you now in front, as well as you having a better look of his cock. It was big enough to reach his belly button, and that intimidated you greatly, yet you couldn't wait to find out what it was like to have your gushing hole get plugged by it.

"Don't struggle" Was all the white haired man said before he started teasing his tip onto your hole, slowly pushing himself in as he watched your juices gush out of your hole to make room for his cock.

"A-AH! T-Too much!!" You whined, but Sylus believed you were stronger than that.

"I'm not even halfway in. But if it's too much for you i'll stop. Though I expected a bounty hunter to be more tougher than this" He mocked, watching your face glare at him.

"B-Bring it on, old man!! I'm no pussy!" You retorted, to which he chuckled at you.

"Good to hear"

He gave another push into your hole, you were sure with this one he was definitely more than halfway in. The feeling of his cock stretching into you while pushing onto your cervix made you cry in a manner you would have never thought you could do.

"O-Oh fuck!!" You exclaimed, having tears well up in your eyes again.

"Tsk, that mouth needs more than a lesson" Sylus tsked, before grabbing your face to kiss him, with no warning he had his tongue distracting you from the mix of pain and pleasure you were receiving.

His kiss was rough, yet so comforting. He made sure not an inch of your mouth was neglected before he started thrusting in and out of you.

You couldn't help but moan into his mouth with your eyes rolled back, right away with a few thrusts you could feel your orgasm that was denied earlier finding it's way back, and it was dangerously close too.

"M-Mmphh!!" You started becoming more aware of the smooching noises and squelches your mouth and hole was making, but everytime you tried to listen you'd be distracted by the loud slaps of Sylus' cock onto your pussy continuously.

Each time he hits the right spots you can't help but keep your eyes hung at the roof of your head, crying into the hungry kisses Sylus gave you to make your hole clamp down his dick.

Before you could even realize it, your orgasm finally arrived. Leaving you a moaning mess crying from stimulation. Also letting Sylus finally break the kiss between you two to relieve himself.

"A-Almost there" Sylus muttered in gritted teeth, not stopping for a second to chase his own ejaculation into your cunt while you helplessly laid on the bed, taking in his length continuously with every broken moan that left your mouth.

In a groan, Sylus let himself cum into your gushing wet hole that soaked the bedsheets, giving your forehead a small kiss before finally releasing your wrists and pulling out if you to let his cum spill out your twitching hole.

You could leave right now, but after having your hole destroyed and throbbing, you couldn't even sit up if you wanted to. The white haired man that was now lying beside you knew it all too well.

"Am I... *huff* ...free from... *pant*... compensating... ah.... you now...?" You said in between pants, your voice cracking from how hard you cried, your little attempt to speak made Sylus smile at you, hand on his head as he stared at you like he adored you.

"Hmm... No"

Your mouth dropped in disbelief, snapping your neck to look at the smirking white haired man.

"Perhaps I need to be compensated a few more times, only once isn't enough"

He wrapped his arms to hold you close to him, now your eyes were locked onto his chest, as he rested his chin onto your head while you remained speechless.

It looks like you got yourself in real big trouble with the one man you tried to avoid the entire time bounty hunting...

Onychinus' Leader Sylus.

-----

A/N: GUESS WHO CAME BACK W A NEW SMUT ONESHOT? thats right, i know i usually only do WUWA smut but i did mention I play LADS and oml... SYLUS...

PLEASE PUT ME ON A CHOKEHOLD SIR I AM YOURSSSS

ZAYNE PLEASE DON'T MISUNDERSTAND I LOVE YOU OKAY 😭😭😭

anyways enjoy your meals ✨️✨️✨️😋

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader

Route: Recovered dove: How they and batfamily got close

Author's note: Route: Recovered dove will be consistent of parts that describe the future of Joker's kid! reader, who succeeded in getting close with batfamily, so you can say it`s more hurt/comfort, maybe fluff (?) In my masterlist, you could see another route (Route black fog), and this one will be the opposite to Route: Recovered dove Warnings: Grammar (as usual), mental traumas

Ideas for some parts form here This part is here despite everything, so please enjoy reading 💖

The first person who you got close with was, of course, Alfred. Seeing how clueless and helpless you were with basic living stuff and how eager you were to learn and help made old butler realize that you were not a threat, you are just a child. And a very sad one at it. It seemed like you didn't understand how a kid should behave. Kids shouldn't be scared all the time, and kids should not flinch in various situations. But then again, have he even seen a normal kid in this family? Of course not. You were traumatized just like the rest of the kids. And he knew he had to be gentle with you.

Even if you thought that on the family movie night you were alone, watching the rest of the family having happy time, you weren't alone. And weren't that sneaky. Alred watched you. He saw your silent tears. He understood your pain and how you were hurting. And that's breaks his heart. He knows that you were struggling with a lot already, new life that was too complicated for you to navigate and get used to, new things, new home, new people, but same weight of judgment from others on your shoulders, and you were facing this alone. So he decided to stay by your side. Every morning , he wakes you up, cheeks up on you. You are invited to help him cook, but he keeps an eye on the knives and other sharp objects, especially after scissors incident. You are invited on afternoon tea time, and he is invited on your TV time. He also introduced you to various old classical English soap operas (Firstly, yes, he watches them, secondly, would show detectives, but he doesn't want you seeing something disturbing), which you watch with interest, try to understand how people act. He practiced speaking with you, helping you talk instead of mumble. He also is the one who tells you about family, telling you about each and every one.

Alfred, I'm happy to see you figuring out your likes and dislikes, considering all of you try is new for you. You liked the breakfast? He will cook it for you more often. You liked the tea? You will drink it on the afternoon tea.

For you, adjusting to your new life isn't easy. You have specific habits you can not control, and he knows some of them, Jason had similar, for example, hiding the food in your room or eating once a day. So he has to make you eat more, and explains to you why hiding food in your room is not a good option. He also notices your other habit that you do not notice. You make your wounds worse without realizing it. One time you accidentally cut yourself by breaking a cup, accidentally of course, and he doesn't blames you, even if you do not belive him, but he noticed your fidgeting with wound, not letting it heal fully. But unlike Jason, you have other habits that he can describe results of trauma. Flinching is just one of them. You tend to stay away, have distance, and you are always too quiet. He sees how you are afraid of showing your emotions, how you prefer to choose something natural, for example when he was bandaging your cuts from broken cup he was about to use bandages with animals, kids patterns Dick choose and forced on Damian, and you asked him to use a simple white one.

Alfred is here for you, and he wishes others would be too. So, of course, he had a stern talk with Bruce about your situation. And Bruce remembered what was escapism his sight. Yes, you. When you were in medbay, your condition was critical, so he was on alert, but since you recovered and started to stay in manor, he allowed himself to relax. You were on every breakfast, so you were fine, right? Wrong! After talking with Alfred, Bruce decided to pay more attention to you, but without an immediate approach. That was also the time he noticed your new haircut. Yes, he definitely needs to give a closer look to you. And he noticed those worrying habits Alfred told about. Okay, Bruce, we have a child who are traumatized. What will we do to help them without taking them in? Lead them to therapy! But how do you accept this idea? So he slowly started building the communication with you. It started with check-ins, when small questions about your likes and dislikes. And then there opened the opportunity to talk with you about going to therapy. One time he saw you watching a documentary on TV, he joined in. And while putting his cup on the coffee table, he saw you flinch. Making you talk about it wasn't easy. You just stared at him, looked, as if trying to construct perfect answer just from his reaction, but at the same time, knowing that answers that worked with Joker won't work with Bruce. He knew you needed his patience, his understanding. You needed safe space, and he decided to give you that. And when you did talk, he held his breath. He knew things were bad, but hearing this from you made him feel worse. He reminded you that you were safe now, that you had him. He gently hugged you while you needed him and comfort. And when you calmed down, he introduced the idea of therapy for you and met your confused look. He had to explain it simply, and after some time, you agreed. Although it took some time, he now drives you to every one of your therapy sessions, making sure you feel alright and fine. And when you were well enough to go to an explore city, he made it a point to show you good but quiet places in the Gotham. It started from little garden park, when quiet book shop, and small cafe.

On one of those days, he was driving you back, he left his tablet with open files on the latest investigation about the Scarecrow dashboard, he was looking through them while waiting for you, trying to figure out unusual composition of the toxins, he couldn't find it in his date base, and Tim was asleep after whole week of all nighters As you saw the tablet, you couldn't help your curiosity and look at it, and as you recognized what you saw, you quietly said.

- it is an incomplete product of the conversion of ibotenic acid to muscimol

Now that got his attention, he looked at you, a bit confused that you said so, but decided to see if you could say more

- I've run tests, it didn't recognize it as such

- It's probably because it's incomplete, frozen by other chemicals. In this state, it provides both effects. Father used to use it in this state.

- How do you know this? - he asked, a bit of suspicion in his voice

- well, I was in his lab... and I know this because he tested it on me, too.

Bruce regretted that he asked, remembering how much of a trauma you had because of your father. He put his hand on your shoulder in a comforting way

- You are not there anymore - he said gently, on which you just nodded.

- Do you work with that sort of things a lot - you said pointing on the tablet

- Yeah, more than I would like - Bruce said, a bit tiredly

- Can I see it? I might recognize some more.

Bruce looked at you, analyzing your words and your body language, and seeing that you are sincere, he said

- when you are about to have an excursion in a real lab.

From that moment, you became a welcome guest in batcave. Of course, Bruce keeps an eye on you while you were there, but you've never done something to make him distrust you. And this way, your knowledge may be used in a good way.

You were surprised when one day, you heard knocking on your door just after breakfast and saw Dick. He was smiling at you and greeted you happily when you opened. He started happily bubbling about something, and you couldn't quite keep up with him, so you just looked at him confused, yet you were still happy to see him, happy that he kept his promise.

- So, are you going? -he asked, his tone giddy

- where?

- I promise that we will hang out, and considering good weather I decided we can go for a outing in the garden - you looked at him confused.

Dick heard from Bruce and Alfred that you were making progress to go outside, but yet you didn't do it regularly enough, but you vitamin D! And, since he promised to hang out with you, and the weather today was good, he decided that it was the perfect opportunity to interact with you to sun. He understood you didn't want to go far from home, so the garden seemed like the best choice.

Before he came to get you out, he prepared a cozy little hang out spot, comfortable chais, and table with boardgames and snacks. It wasn't in open sun, but it was lightened just fine. He wasn't sure if you liked boardgames or were familiar with them at all, but he knee it was a good option for bounding.

When he checked, you were all set to go, he lead you outside, walking slower than usual so that you could catch up. Seeing your cute curious eyes taking in all the surroundings of the garden was endearing.

When he led you to the spot, he told you about games, letting you decide in which play first. For every game, he explained rules, as good as he could remember them. Although he guided you through each and every game, he was enjoying it, enjoying seeing your reactions, enjoying seeing sparkles of happiness in your eyes. Even if he knew you deserved the chance, seeing you now made his resolve stronger. He couldn't help but feel protectiveness towards you. He couldn't help but want to be a reason for your smile, Gods, he wants to see you smile so so much.

From that day, every time he is in manor, he pays you a visit. He will take walks with you in the garden, or he just joins your activities. Watching birds? Okay, he is in and even talks with you about them, and by the way, he bought you puzzles with robins and nightingales (he thinks this way he will make you even closer to the family). Watching TV, he is in, sitting next to you, asking you opinion. Oh, by the way, you are attending family bounding events. He will drag you there and beat up everyone who will disagree with him on it (but of course, not on your eyes)

And when he saw in in batcave, seeing how you talked with Bruce about some sort of toxin, he was amazed by how good you were in it. He was happy to see how you were fitting in both civilian and vigilante sides of his hectic but lovely family. He can't help but smile.

Jason had the opposite reaction on seeing you in batcave. What the hell were you doing this. How the hell you were able so easily to differ between toxins and their components. It wasn't just right. You weren't right. You shouldn't be here. Was it some sick prank from the clown that Bruce, Dick and even Alfred ignored? Okay, Dick is gullable, but Bruce? Was his habit of picking up children for his collection that bad? And Alfred.... he knew the man knew he was more he was letting on, so it confused him.

He seemed to see every step you made as wrong, and he wasn't about to stop until he started watching. He knew that neither Bruce, Alfred, or save goodness, Dick never would hit you, and considering how long you were here, you still was flinching. He noticed how you were hesitating to do things you should not hesitate to do. How you were, unlike your father, reserved and quiet, as if afraid to show yourself.

It made him think. Think really hard. Were you really a monster he saw you? Or were you a victim yourself? After that, he couldn't help but see similarities. Another child who grew up in a crime alley, another child taken in by the Bat, another child whose life was impacted by Joker.

Broken. He was broken by clown, so were you. Even when he was broken, his family didn't see him as lost cause, so why did he immortal thought you were one?

He decided to give you a chance. After 6 are not a monster .... yet.

Though he planned on tolerating you in distance, one time he couldn't just stay away. You were in the living room, but instead of watching TV, you were trying to read a book outloud, probably practicing speach (he can vaguely remember how Dick and Alfred discussed it), but seems like you were struggling. Some words were coming out broken, in your stuttering voice, but you weren't giving up

He walked up, sitting next to you, quietly looking at the book, not skipping the fact that you flinched. The situation was a mess. He never was good with kids, demon-brat is his witness, but he can do at least something, right?

- A knight - he read for you, voice more gentle than usual one - and that one is responsibility.

Reading with you slowly, helping you to promote and understanding words was oddly calming experience. Maybe you weren't as bad as he thought. Maybe you are even cute. Well. You really rubbed onto him.

While Tim also keeps his distance from you, he does study you. And he notces all the sings that you weren't in your previous predicament by your desire, which is obvious, who would have choose such a fate, he never did. Yet, you make him worry. He can't control it.

All the data shows that even though you were a real kid of Joker, you became Joker Junior after Tim. That means that after Joker failed with Tim, his attention went to you. It doesn't put right with him.

He knew that he shouldn't feel guilty, yet he could not. All he can do is just ignore you when you come in to bring him coffee, duty you help Alfred with.

But when he, after much needed sleep, expected to continue Scarecrow case right when he left off, that horrible toxin, only to hear you helped solved it and find antidote, he was more amazed than horrified.

He decided to make an investigation of his own. He purposely left different printed chemicals formulas around, so you would notice and comment. Although he thought you won't recognize any of them, you did recognize them, but couldn't name every one of them scientifically. He could tell you had knowledge, and thay it could be really useful, but you didn't get structure for it in your head, so he decided to help.

Kindred spirit, that how he felt about you when he saw oh so familiar thirst for knowledge in you. And you were learning quickly, too. You hand your own struggles. But he saw that you worked to overcome them.

And well, he liked teaching you, telling you about his tech. He liked going you actually listened. He liked how, after a few study sessions, you, though timidly, were asking him real questions. That made him want to spend time with you

One day, when you were supposed to study with him, he decided to help you study something else : games. Yes he had to choose 0+, so that he could be sure I won't trigger you, but now he was a game parter. And Dick sometimes joins in.

Now, he can actually look at you. Smile at you. Not only did you 6 his interest but won a place in his heart.

Damian, grumpy as always, was taking out his anger on training dummy. He just had not one stern talk, but three! Subject: you. What does his father mean that he should try and understand your situation? What does Alfred mean when he says that Damian should be nice to you? What does Grayson (Even Grayson!) mean when he says that you and him should get along? Him? Damian Wayne, get along with sorts of you? Have you done anything in your life for it?

You may be smart in chemistry and quick lerner, but he is smarter! He is better in general. And you are weak, clumsy ... maybe that's why everyone is protective of you. Tt. That makes you even more weak.

Though Damian can see how you try to get along with others, how you try to get used to manor. How you try to avoid him. Wait, he is the only one in manor whom you avoid. At first, he didn't mind, Drake and Todd avoided you as well, but now. He is alone in this avoidance game. And he feels like he is losing. He hates losing.

- What's so special about you? - he thinks, as he walks to your room, the furtherest one, he noticed. You are avoiding him.

He watched you do different things, watching birds, reading, and solving puzzles, as if you avoided him.

He shouldn't even be this pissed off about it. Why should he. But he is.

He can't believe he talks with Grayson about how to spend time with you. He can't believe he asking Father for special crayons, once that would be easy to your for someone who never held them before. He can't believe he is asking Alfred about your living room visits. But here he is, sitting that paper and crayons on the table. Waiting for you. Once you are in the room, the trap is closed. He says that you WILL draw with him, and you do.

He feels oddly proud when you say that the bird he drew is pretty. You should admire him after all. But he can't help but smirk. He feels oddly concentrated when he explains to you how to draw, his voice calm, as if it was his only purpose to make you understand how to do it.

Surprisingly, he doesn't mock your works. He just looks at your reaction. You seem as monotonous as ever, yet he can see that happy glint in your eyes, of which Grayson told him. He feels oddly satisfied.

Though he would never admit it all outloud, to even to himself. This knowledge is inside him, warming him up, more than he thinks. By the way, he scheduled his next art class for you already.

It takes time to build trust. It takes time to get used to, but it seems it has been enough time for you to finally become a real part of batfamily. But, of course. It's only the beginning of the story

--------------------- ♤ ♡ ◇ ♧ -----------------------

Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinion and have a good day 💖

Tag list :

@socially-embarrassing , @leovergurl , @deathbynarcisstick , @cryptic-arr0w , @lynns-cornerr , @cxcilla ,  @charlotteking23 , @ninihrtss , @lillycore , @pix-stuff , @tfamidoingwithmylife , @linoalwaysknows , @00hellohello00 , @lilithskywalker , @bagofrice , @lenaisaloser , @devilslittlehelper , @camilo-uwu , @l3v1us , @eyeless-kun , @stargazingbutgayer , @wpdarlingpan , @weirdothatreads , @maybea1

if i forgot to add someone to the tag list, please let me know, and i will add you to the next part

[goyardgoyangi]

‧₊˚✧ agora hills ✧˚₊‧

You’ve been best friends with Geto Suguru’s younger sister for years, practically growing up around him. Back in high school, he was the cool, untouchable older brother, always just out of reach while you were the quiet, awkward friend who never felt seen by him. But college changes everything—now, guys can’t seem to keep their eyes off you, and Suguru’s protective instincts kick in. When he sees one too many guys getting too close at a house party, he steps in, claiming you in a way that leaves you breathless and questioning everything you thought you knew about him.

suguru geto x reader

wc: 2.8k

mdni (18+), read with discretion

The loud bass from the speakers thud against the floor, and the air is thick with the smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat. You wouldn’t have come to a party like this if it weren’t for your best friend dragging you along—something about getting out more and embracing college life.

You’re not exactly opposed to the idea. After all, college has been a reset button, a fresh start to your new life as a real adult. And judging by the way guys are looking at you tonight, they’ve noticed. The stares, the attention—it’s all so different from high school.

You tug down the hem of your black dress, one that clings to your curves just right, the kind you wouldn’t have dared to wear before. You’re finally comfortable in your skin, letting yourself enjoy the feeling of being wanted.

But the one person whose attention you weren’t expecting to have?

Suguru Geto.

You spot him near the couch, lounging with one arm draped over the backrest, a shot of soju dangling loosely from his fingers. He’s always been effortlessly cool, exuding that calm, self-assured energy that makes people gravitate toward him. He’s laughing at something his white-haired friend says, but the moment his eyes flicker toward you, his expression shifts.

It’s subtle. A small pause. A quick scan from head to toe.

And then, the sharp clench of his jaw.

You look away before he can catch you staring, but something about his gaze lingers. Suguru has always been around—your best friend’s older brother, who never really seemed to pay attention to you beyond mandatory casual small talk whenever you came to the family house.

So why does it feel like he’s watching you now?

"Come on," your best friend nudges you playfully. "Let’s get drinks."

You follow her toward the kitchen, weaving through the bodies packed into the house. A few guys shoot you interested glances, one even stepping forward to introduce himself. You entertain the conversation for a moment, but there’s a prickling sensation at the back of your neck—like you’re being observed.

And when you turn slightly, you see him.

Suguru, still on the couch, his drink untouched now, his eyes fixed on you.

Something dark flickers in his expression when the guy leans in a little closer, his hand brushing against your arm.

Interesting.

You test the waters, laughing at something the guy says, letting your fingers ghost along his wrist as you take the drink he offers. It’s harmless. Flirting, just for fun. But the second you glance back at Suguru—

He’s already moving.

And when he stops right beside you, his presence so overwhelming that the guy next to you instinctively takes a step back, your stomach flips.

Suguru doesn’t look at him. He only looks at you.

"Didn’t expect to see you here." His voice is low, edged with something you can’t quite place. His voice sends a shiver down your spine before you fully turn to face him.

Suguru Geto leans against the kitchen counter, veiny arms crossed, dark eyes tracing over you in a way that makes your breath hitch. He looks effortless, as always—black jeans, black tee, his long hair pulled into a loose bun. You’ve known him for years, ever since you became friends with his sister, but lately, something about the way he watches you feels... different.

You force a smile, trying to push away the unknown feeling. "Figured I’d have a little fun. It’s the college experience, right?"

His jaw ticks. "Yeah. Fun." His gaze flickers to the drink in your hand, then to the guy beside you. He’s assessing, calculating. Then, as if coming to some unspoken decision, he turns his full attention back to you.

"You’re here with someone?" Suguru asks, voice low.

"Not really," you answer quickly. "Just your sister."

The guy who was chatting you up looks between the two of you, clearly debating whether or not to intervene. But one glance at Suguru—the intensity in his dark eyes, the silent back off that radiates from him—and he makes the smart choice.

You barely have time to process before Suguru’s large hand wraps around your wrist. "Come on," he says, guiding you through the crowded house before you can protest. You let him. Maybe it’s the curiosity, maybe it’s the heat that still lingers where his skin touched yours.

Or maybe it’s the way his grip tightens just the slightest bit—like he’s afraid to let go.

He leads you upstairs to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. The noise of the party muffles slightly, leaving you alone with him in the dim light. Your eyes dart around, still unsure why he brought you here—the bathroom of all places—but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re lost in thought.

"What's your problem?" you murmur, glancing at him through the mirror.

His jaw tightens again, the muscle working as he steps closer. "You shouldn’t be in a place like this," he mutters, his voice unusually tight. "Go back home. I want you to be safe."

You turn to face him fully, the words spilling out before you can stop them. "Why? Because I’m like a little sister to you?" The bitterness in your voice surprises you.

Suguru’s posture stiffens, something sharp flickering across his face, and for a moment, his gaze seems to darken with something you can’t quite identify. "Is that what you think?" His voice is low, colder now.

You let out a dry laugh. "It’s how you act. You’re always hovering, chasing guys off. I get it—you’ve known me forever. I’m just—"

He moves before you can finish, stepping forward and caging you between his body and the sink. His hands plant firmly on the counter, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

"You really think I see you as a sister?" His voice is calm, but the tension in it is palpable, as if he's trying to keep control.

Your breath catches. "Suguru—"

His fingers trace up your arm, slow and deliberate. "I’ve liked you for a long time," he admits, voice thick with intensity. "I’m just not hiding it anymore."

Your heart pounds in your chest as he tilts your chin up, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. The tension is suffocating, your body betraying you as you lean in slightly.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmurs, his lips brushing above yours just before they crash onto yours with a fervor that pricks your skin with fire.

The kiss is hot and desperate— years of unspoken desire finally breaking free. His hands roam down to the curves of your waist, gripping you tightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You melt into him, your fingers tangling in his long hair, pulling him closer, your pulse racing as he lifts you effortlessly onto the counter.

The party rages on downstairs, but up here, it’s just the two of you. And as he deepens the kiss, hands gripping your thighs possessively, you realize—he was never just watching over you like a brother.

He was watching over what was his.

Suguru’s hands burn against your skin, fingers pressing into your thighs like he’s memorizing every inch of you. His kiss is demanding, rough—like he’s making up for all the times he held back. And maybe he is.

Your head spins as you clutch onto him, lips parting under the dominance of his tongue. The bathroom counter is cold beneath you, a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," Suguru murmurs against your lips, his breath heavy. His fingers trail beneath the hem of your dress, barely grazing your skin, and it’s enough to make you tremble. Your mind is a mess—Suguru, your best friend’s brother, the guy who’s always been just out of reach. He’s always been protective, but you thought it was because he saw you as family. Now, with the way he’s looking at you, touching you, it’s clear you were wrong.

"You never said anything," you whisper, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"I couldn’t," he admits, his voice low and strained, like the words are harder to say than they should be. "You were off-limits.”

You shiver at the weight of his words, the truth they hold. "And now?"

His grip tightens. "Now, I’m taking what’s mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends a thrill racing down your spine. His lips find the curve of your neck, tracing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse. You gasp when he nips at your skin, sucking just enough to mark you—enough to make sure you’ll see evidence of him tomorrow.

"The way guys look at you now—it drives me insane."

Your breath hitches. "Sugu—"

"Seeing you tonight, letting those guys get too close, watching them try to touch what isn’t theirs..." His hands tighten on your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter until your legs instinctively wrap around him. His voice is thick with frustration, with something darker. "It’s been killing me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Something shifts in his expression—hunger, control, a raw, undeniable intensity. He lifts you off the counter effortlessly, pressing you against the bathroom door, his body flush against yours. His lips are on yours again before you can take another breath—this time slower, deeper—like he’s savoring the taste of you. One hand clamps over your mouth, stifling the desperate whine crawling up your throat as he grinds his cock against your soaked panties. The scent of sweat and cheap alcohol clings to the air, but all you can smell is him—dark, musky, intoxicating—as you hear him groan against your ear.

“Been waiting to feel you like this,” he murmurs, teeth scraping your neck. His hand slides from your mouth, trailing down to wrench your dress up your thighs. You gasp, arching as his thumb finds your clit through the damp fabric, rubbing slow, sadistic circles.

“Sugu—ah!—someone could—”

“Let them hear,” he murmurs, sinking to his knees. His tongue replaces his thumb, diligently lapping at you through the lace until you shudder, thighs trembling around his shoulders as you cum for the first time. When he rips your panties aside, his laugh is low, wicked.

“Look at this… cumming for me already.”

He lifts himself back up, two fingers plunge into you without warning, curling hard as his mouth closes over your nipple, sucking greedily through the thin fabric of your dress. Your back arches off the door, a broken moan escaping before his palm slaps over your lips again.

“Quiet,” he orders, fingers pumping faster, deeper, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit with every thrust. “You gonna cum twice before I even fuck you? Pathetic.”

You nod frantically, hips jerking against his hand, but he withdraws abruptly, leaving you empty and shaking. Before you can protest, he spins you around, bending you over the bathroom sink. The mirror rattles as he yanks your hips back, his cock—thick, veins pulsing—slapping against your ass.

“Beg,” he demands, dragging his swollen mushroom head through your slick folds. “Beg me to wreck this tight little cunt.”

“Please—!”

He sheaths himself in one brutal stroke. The stretch burns, and your scream melts into a choked sob against his palm. His hips snap forward, each thrust forcing a wet, filthy squelch from where your bodies join.

“Fuck, fuck—clenching like you wanna milk me dry,” he snarls, fingers bruising your hips as he fucks you harder, faster, the counter creaking beneath you.

When he flips you onto your back on the floor, hiking your legs over his shoulders, you barely recognize your own voice—high, reedy whimpers muffled by his thumb pressing your tongue down. He looms above you, sweat dripping from his bangs as he reenters you with a groan, this angle forcing him deeper, wider.

“Gonna feel me for days,” he promises, one hand squeezing your breast roughly, pinching your nipple until you thrash. “Every time you see my sister… you’ll remember her brother’s cock splitting you open.”

The slap of skin grows obscenely loud, his heavy balls hitting your ass as his pace turns erratic. You feel him swell impossibly thicker, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Take it—take all of it—”

But just as you start to spiral into orgasm, there’s a loud knock at the door.

The handle jiggles.

Both of you freeze.

"Yo, who’s in there?" A voice from the other side slurs drunkenly.

Suguru curses under his breath before pressing his forehead against yours. His grip on you stays firm, unwilling to let go. “Occupied!” he barks, refusing to stop his thrusts, his hand clamping tighter over your mouth as you clench around him, hurtling toward release. The footsteps retreat, and he smirks down at you, eyes even darker with hunger.

“Cum,” he orders. “Now.”

You shatter silently, back bowing into a slutty arch as he spills into you with a sexy, guttural moan, his cum hot and relentless, painting your walls in thick pulses. He keeps moving, milking himself through it until you’re both trembling, a mess of sweat and sticky thighs. The humid air clings to Geto’s long black hair as he looms behind you, strands slipping like silk across your collarbone when he leans down to bite the back of your neck, claiming you.

“You love this, don’t you? I know you love me, you love my dick” he rasps, his voice rough as his hips snap forward, driving his cock deep into you again. The sweat-dampened ends of his hair drag over your nipples with every thrust, the faint swish of strands brushing skin mixing with the wet slap of his balls against your ass. You arch, gasping, but his palm smothers your moan. You retaliate—fisting his hair and yanking his head back, exposing the sharp lines of his throat as he groans, the sound low and feral.

His grip on your mouth loosens, damp hair cascading over your chest as he drops his mouth to your breast, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a bruise claiming you as his. The sensation of his lips and teeth working your nipple while his hair tickles your sternum pulls a broken whimper from your throat.

“Shhh,” he mocks, blowing cool air over the wet mark he’s left. His hips never slow, each brutal drive of his cock punctuated by the slick squelch of your arousal and the muffled creak of the bathroom sink beneath you. “You’re so fucking loud. Think your friends wanna hear how desperate you are?”

You shake your head frantically, but he only chuckles, the vibration of his laugh humming deliciously against your skin as he adjusts his grip, dragging you into his lap. His length throbs inside you, veins catching on your walls as he changes the angle. His hair falls forward like a curtain around your faces, muffling the world outside as he grips your hips.

“Ride me,” he orders, voice gravelly with desire. “And keep. It. Quiet.”

You roll your hips experimentally, the stretch burning deliciously, and his head tips back with a hissed, “Fuck—” as his hair sweeps over your thighs. The strands cling to your damp skin, dragging wet trails as you rise and fall, the bulbous tip of his cock grinding against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl. One of his hands finds your breasts, kneading roughly, while the other stimulates your clit with every bounce. The dual sensation of his thickness splitting you open and those long, veiny fingers teasing your most sensitive nerves have you clenching around him, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as your cum leaks past his fingers.

“Greedy little thing,” he growls, suddenly flipping you over the bathroom counter. His hair sweeps over your back as he mounts you from behind, the cool contrast of it against your feverish skin making you shudder. He slams into you with a grunt, his pace erratic now, the wet smack of his pelvis against your ass echoing in time with the bassline shaking the walls outside. His hair falls around you both as he pants filthy praise into your ear:

“Take it—take every inch—shit, your cunt’s sucking me in—”

When he comes, his groan is guttural, primal, his hair sticking to the sweat on your spine as he empties himself inside you, hips stuttering. You feel him pulse inside you as he cums in thick spurts, relentlessly gushing inside your walls until it’s nestled in your cervix, milking himself dry.

As he pulls out, his cum slowly drips onto the bathroom floor in wet plap plap plaps, and the excess remnants of his release make a mess glistening from your cunt to your thighs. “Look at you,” he hums, admiring your shaking body as his finger brushes over your swollen clit. “Your cunt’s already crying for round two.”

[natalicss]

Like We Were In Paris II

kwon ji-yong x american pop star!reader

part one

summary: you and ji-yong have been dating for a couple years, and you’ve kept under the radar this entire time. after the gala de pièces juanes, you two attend the chanel spring-summer 2025 haute contour show. however, the two of you are starting to get tired of keeping your relationship a secret.

warnings: not proofread AT ALL! i’m way too lazy for that, sorry. celeb!reader, implied age gap (reader is mid-twenties), lots of fluff, lil bit of angst, use of y/n, i still don’t know how to use this app i feel like an elderly man using a cell phone.

word count: 4.9K

nat’s notes: hey y’all! i came back for part two AS PROMISED! this was actually very hard for me to write as i kept changing my mind about how i wanted this to go. so im sorry in advance if its not all that great LMAO. i do wanna write a lil more about american pop star reader & jiyong, maybe i’ll do some sort of head canons about them, or some stuff about their relationship early on. i’m not sure. i also tagged the people who asked to be & i will try to keep tagging people in the future (if they wanna be). anywhore, i hope that you guys enjoy this, if you don’t…sorry<3 toodles!

tag list: @infinetlyforgotten @petersasteria

After the successful Gala Des Pièces Jaunes event, you had spent the next couple days in dressing rooms. You had been invited to Chanel’s Spring-Summer 2025 Haute Couture Show. You said yes, of course, having an affinity for fashion, and never turning down the chance to be near your long-term boyfriend. You and Ji-yong had been to a couple of the same fashion shows before. It was always easy to slip by with nobody noticing your connection. Oftentimes, you two were not seated remotely near each other and are far too busy with the peers around you to sneak away. 

But this last week felt particularly more difficult. Unlike in America or South Korea, where you knew the paparazzi and knew very well how to remain under the radar, the Paris press was more complicated. You and Ji-yong had to weave your way around in more secrecy than ever. Every method you could imagine. Some instances, the two of you would sneak through a back door and slide into cars to avoid the cameras. Other instances, the two of you would make separate nonchalant appearances. Ji-yong would leave the hotel first, shy and polite as he waved and greeted the people around him as he’d slip into a car and drive off to his next location. You, wearing designer clothes and sunglasses as you walked out with a big smile and a more confident approach. You’d get in your own car, sliding into the back with your security with a huff. Within moments, you’d open your phone to shoot a text to your lover. 

Y/N

i didnt get to say it before you left, but you look handsome today<3

You knew it’d only be a moment before he responded. 

Ji<3

Thank you, Aein, you look beautiful!

You and Ji-yong hated that you couldn’t spend this Paris trip together more. After all, you two had all of the same events, same meetings, same friends to visit, and yet you couldn’t be by his side at any of it, not in public. Part of you didn’t mind, used to the routine, but part of you was starting to grow tired. It wasn’t like two years ago, when you first started dating. At that time, Ji-yong was still on hiatus, you were working on your fourth album, and everything had to be a secret. Secret vacations, secret visits, secret dinner dates where the two of you wore silly disguises. You were good sports, making a game out of it and playing ridiculous characters to see who cracked first. But that was two years ago. He was back in the spotlight again, you had released your fifth album a few weeks ago, he was releasing his own work. You two were confident in your relationship, everyone was. What was holding you back?

There was no black and white answer. On one hand, now was the perfect time to announce to the world that their rumors of you dating a random Hollywood actor were all false. On the other hand, were you so willing to give up that last piece of privacy you did have? You weren’t worried about the hate on either side, despite knowing how fans often get if they don’t approve of their favorite celebrities' relationship. 

You had been in a public relationship way before Ji-yong. It was years ago, back when you were still new to the world of fame and glamour. Every corner you turned, the cameras flashing, the wave of hate you’d received, the amount of gossip around every song you released being about them or not, their interviews for their movies always being about you. Your careers had been forced to blend due to the way people reacted. The world had taken your last relationship by storm and had seemingly strangled it with their love and adoration. The lack of privacy, individuality, and respect for the two of you had been what led to you and your last partners split. It took the two of you years before the media finally stopped associating everything either of you did together. So, understandably, part of you was worried about that happening again.

You thought about all of this as you and Ji-yong were getting ready for the day. You both had things to attend to, tomorrow being the fashion show. One last fitting, one last meeting with your teams. You were styling your hair as Ji-yong had finished getting dressed, the agreement for him to leave the hotel first still agreed on. He looked at you, and you could see the way his eyes softened as he observed your eyes. He knew everything about you, down to the way your face looked when you were deep in thought, perhaps about to drown yourself with your ability to overthink.

“Are you okay, love?” He asked, speaking in Korean first as he approached. You didn’t say anything, busy running your fingers through your hair as he quietly stepped next to you. He met your eyes in the mirror, his lips curling. “There she is.” You blushed at his words, putting your hands down as you finally turned your body to face him. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” He asks, reaching up to adjust your hair framing your face.

You didn’t know where to start. You and Ji-yong had talked about this a million times before. You two had always agreed to keep things the way they are. You weren’t sure if he was ready to change that. As he watched you get lost in your thoughts again, he tilted his head to meet your gaze. Your eyes were glossy, not all there as you already started mapping out every way the conversation could go, preparing yourself for every out come.

“Jagiya, you’re worrying me,” 

You blink. It takes you a second to come back to the present, taking a deep breath as you try to explain the heavy complicated feelings in your heart. “I’ve been thinking, through this whole trip,” You subconsciously reach for his hands, looking for comfort and something to anchor you down. He lets you, his thumb running along your skin in soothing patterns. “I don’t know how much longer I want to keep us a secret.” You blurt, staring at your connected hands rather than his eyes. You were too worried about what you might find. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then another. Your heart twists in anxiety, but you don’t dare to look up. Ji-yong’s breathing changes, only the slightest bit, but you notice. He stops his thumb from tracing its delicate patterns, instead letting it tap against your skin. You feel guilty. You both had so much to do today, this conversation could have waited til tonight, after the show tomorrow, or at just about any other time. You weren’t sure, but you knew this wasn’t it.

Ji-yong adjusts his posture, pulling one hand away from yours, only to bring it to your face. With the gentlest touch, he lifts your head so you finally see his eyes. They’re not angry, or frustrated, or even remotely annoyed. Instead, they’re as soft and warm as they’d always been, making your heart flutter the slightest bit. To be honest, Ji-yong had thought about this too. He’d admitted before that going public worried him. He was a celebrity, and that immediately brings its own multitudes of hardships. He knew that he’d keep any and all relationships a secret, unless the person he was with said otherwise. You had come into his life, unexpectedly, and changed his entire world in the best ways he could imagine. And here you were, the person he knew was the love of his life, staring back at him with sadness because of that very sentiment. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been feeling it too. He wanted to hold your hand down the streets of Paris, the two of you pointing out different things you loved about it, sharing kisses under streetlights. That night at the Gala, he had wanted to kiss you as soon as he was off the stage. And when you were finished performing? He wanted to part the crowd and sweep you into his arms, like he did at your own tours. But he’d been worried, worried about what people might say to you or about you. He knew how harsh they got. He knew you could handle it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put you in that position unless you were ready.

His hand, which caresses your face with a certain level of sincerity you only ever felt from him, was soft and moved gently. He smiled, a soft gentle one that made you feel more at ease as you realized he wasn’t mad at you in any way. “It hasn’t been easy, has it?” He asks you, raising a brow. You only shake your head, lips pursed into a line. He studies your features like you’re a work of art (cause you are). “I miss every second I’m not with you. All I can think about is where you might be. If you’re smiling. If you’re anxious. If you’re laughing. If you’re thinking about me, too.” He leans in close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And then you text me, and all I can think about is how lucky I am to be with you, and how mad I am that you’re not next to me.” You nod in understanding. You’d always felt that way about him, to the point it made your heart clench.

“I love you,”

“I love you more.”

You’re blushing wildly as he kisses your lips softly. Your feelings for him being translated into simple intimate touches. You’d never experienced something like Ji-yong before. You never wanted to let that go.

When he pulls away, he’s reaching for your jacket hanging off the back of a chair. You smile at him, memorizing his face like you’d done a million times before. You slide your arms into the jacket, letting your boyfriend adjust your outfit slightly. He focuses on your hair, bringing it out form under it and framing your face. Everytime his fingers brush your skin it leaves faint tingles in their wake.

“Why don’t we talk to everyone when we get home?” He suggests, looking back at you. Your eyes widen. You search his expression. “If you’re positive, then I’m with you.” 

You smiled wide. You couldn’t help it. “I’ve never been so sure of anything.” Your arms wrap around his neck, and he laughs softly as you start to kiss all over his face. “I want nothing more than to scream about how I’m dating G-Dragon.” He rolls his eyes playfully, still not used to you using his stage name after all this time. 

The rest of your days went smoothly. Both of you finishing up with your work, having dinner with friends, coming back to the hotel room to spend every possible moment together. Soft laughter as you each told stories from your pasts (many you’ve already told), legs tangled together under the sheets of your bed. Small intimate touches. Fingers tracing shapes on skin. Gentle kisses. Messy hair. If possible, your eyes were certainly heart shaped every moment you looked at him.

It was hard to hide it, even now, as you sit at the Chanel show. Both of you had arrived at different times, wearing extravagant outfits. You could feel his eyes on you as you posed for the cameras. He tried to keep his composure when he knew you were near by as he did interviews. Luckily for both of you, you’ve had years of practice. You held your head high with confidence, switching your energy from your usual softer self to the person you were on stage. America’s pop star. America’s princess. The way you posed yourself elegantly, batting your full lashes and gave your most sultry looks. How was Ji-yong supposed to not look? You were sitting in your seat, looking down at your phone as a text popped up.

Ji<3

You’re the most beautiful one here

You looked across the runway, your heart skipping a beat. He was already looking at you, a knowing shy smile on his face as he kept his phone in his hand. You smiled back at him, looking back at your phone.

Y/N

Says you<3 I love you

You put your phone in your lap, looking around some more. You felt lucky you had been to so many events, most of these people you already knew one way or another. It made small talk with the people next to you flow easily. Every now and again, you’d sneak a glance at your boyfriend, who was always staring at you like you were the show itself. It was hard to hide your blushed face, keep your voice from pitching when you talked to the other celebrities, and nearly impossible not to stare right back at him.

The show itself seemed to pass by with ease. You watched thoughtfully at every piece, making mental notes of things you particularly liked and wanted to mention to your assistant later. You’d lean over to your new friend of the night, whispering about different pieces and sharing your thoughts. You could see Ji-yong completely focused on the show, his eyes studying every model with intrigue. It was clear every piece that came out was being calculated into various looks. If he thought of something that worked, he’d raise his phone and take a quick photo. You smiled every time, excited to hear what he was thinking of later.

As the show came to an end, you were talking with your team as you felt someone graze past you. You looked up to see your familiar boyfriend, smiling at you fondly. You knew there were cameras everywhere, one minor slip leading to a whirlwind of chaos and news articles. The anxiety in your chest felt tight, but you kept your cool, straightening your posture and giving him a smile.

Ji-yong looked around, as if silently piecing together something. You followed his gaze, trying to see exactly what he was looking at. To you, there was nothing particularly interesting one way or another. Some fellow stars were talking, being interviewed, or just admiring the scene. Photographers were taking photos of guests, journalists asking people various questions. To you, it looked like every other fashion show even you’d been to. To Ji-yong, it looked like an opportunity. 

There were no words shared. His hand clasped around yours, and without thinking your fingers tightened around his. You blinked in surprise, looking ahead as Ji-yong started pulling you through the sea of people. You were wide-eyed as you looked around. Your teams hadn’t noticed you disappearing, but you knew that wouldn’t last long. But Ji-yong moved with purpose, walking through like this wasn’t strange or something other people should take a second glance at. You tried to mimic his confidence, but the butterflies in your stomach refused to simmer down.

In a quiet corner away from the cameras and the wandering eyes, Ji-yong finally came to a stop. You looked at him with a surprised expression. Your lipstick-painted lips parted slightly as you watched him look at you. He adjusted the tie around his neck, something he’d been doing the entire day. You looked behind you, worried who was watching, but a hand wrapping around your waist caught your attention.

His lips pressed against yours. Soft, passionate, and urgent. You squeaked in surprised against him, your hands landing on his chest as he pulled you further into the corner. Hidden away from your peers, from your teams, and from the layers of paparazzi. Your hands clutched tighter onto his jacket. His hands, which traced your body slowly, slowly lifted to grab your face with the most gentle touch. As he pulled away, you could only blink at him with big doe eyes.

“I couldn’t stand there and act like you weren’t the most beautiful thing here.” He whispers. 

The words caused your heart to do flips against your ribcage. His touch seemingly brought you back to earth, his thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone. “Says you, Monsieur G-Dragon,” You tease as you run your hands over the jacket again. This time, he’s the one trying to hide the way his cheeks blush. You looked at the bow tie with the flower on it, tilting your head as you reached up, slowly maneuvering the flower off. He looks down, blinking at it as you hold the flower in your hand, “Is that better?”

He reaches up, adjusting the tie again, and smiling softly. “Yes. Thank you.” He says finally. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual” You sigh dramatically, shrugging your shoulders. Ji-yong chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Got whisked away by a hot guy, can’t complain.”

Ji-yong raises a brow in amusement. “Is that what happened?” He asks. You look around. “What else would you call this?”

He steps closer, looking up in thought as he lets his arms wrap around your waist. His lips in a line as he tilts his head slightly. He narrows his eyes at you playfully. He didn’t have an answer. He rather liked the idea of whisking you away from the public eye. He did it often, though usually it was more hidden than this. You leaned into his touch, a natural instinct. The rest of the world seemed to drift away, even in moments like this. Only you and Ji-yong existed. Life was better with him. He knew you like the back of his hand. He knew how to make you laugh, how to calm your nerves, how to soothe your cries. He knew your favorite snacks, your order at your favorite coffee shop, and your favorite movies. The same could be said for you. You knew how to quiet his overwhelming thoughts, how to make him smile in stressful moments. You knew his favorite songs to play in the car. His favorite jewelry pieces to wear. You had his tells of when he was anxious or upset burned into your brain. And when one of you were around the other, everybody else melted into the background. Your love trumping anything else.

“We should probably get back out there,” You whisper. He hums in agreement, but neither of you make any move to leave. You lean closer into him, your head resting on his chest as his chin rested on top of your head. You knew it wouldn’t be long until the two of you were together again; a few hours at most. Lately, those hours felt like decades.

Ji-yong gave you another squeeze. “You go out first, jagiya,” He whispers. You pull away from his embrace, staring up at him. The way your glossy eyes sparkled up at him. It was like he could see every ounce of love for him you had, pouring out of you. He framed your face in his hands, kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” You whispered against his lips. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his touch, looking back at him again as you walked away. He only smiled softly. Your heart yearned to stay in that corner with him forever, until your managers found you and ripped the two of you apart. You chewed the inside of your cheek, turning away from him completely as you looked for any sign of your team.

In the dark of your hotel room, you and Ji-yong were a tangled mess of bedsheets and limbs. The rest of the event blew by, you making some lame excuse to your team that you had gone to the bathroom, and Ji-yong telling his team that he was looking at some of the pieces again. You ended up having a romantic dinner together, talking about the event and the people you ran into. A quiet night with glasses of champagne and flirtatious glances.

But now, as the two of you were sleeping peacefully in your quiet room, your phones began to buzz. A violent series of notifications flooding both of your phones. You begin to stir first, rolling over slowly, pulling Ji-yongs arms off of you as you reached for your cellphone. A series of calls, texts, emails, all from your manager, publicist, assistant, even friends of yours. You blinked a few times, your eyes squinting at the bright screen as you opened up a text from your closest friend. A news article.

Unexpected Couple! Musician Y/N L/N Seen With K-Pop Idol G-Dragon at Chanel Fashion Show

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach. No, no, no. You had been so careful for so long. You scroll, your breath escaping you as you look at a photo of you and Ji-yong. His hands on your face, his lips on yours. Another photo of you looking up at him like he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen (he was, to be fair). For a moment, you just stared blankly. Your thoughts struggle to catch up as your body seems to react for you. Nausea came over you. The room suddenly felt too small. The words on the screen burned into your eyes.

You looked at the top of your phone, seeing another phone call from your manager coming in. You ignore it, reaching over to your boyfriend and shaking him. “Ji?” You whisper. When he doesn’t immediately respond, your eyes begin to water. The anxiety, the fear, the stress catching up to you. It crawls up your spine like some sort of ugly clawed fingers reaching for your throat. You shake him again, a little more harsh as you croak. “Ji-yong.”

His eyes shot open. He flinches awake, looking around the room in a momentary panic before looking at you. First, he relaxes, realizing it’s just you. Then, his tired eyes take in yours. The tears threatening to spill over, your shaking frame, your heavy breathing. He sits up now, looking you over in concern. “Aein…? What’s wrong?” As he wakes up, he hears his phone. He turns to look at it, but the whimper from your lips stops him. Slowly, you hand your phone over. Ji-yong looks at you in confusion, but takes it and looks down.

Oh. 

Oh.

What was once a comforting silence now felt cold. The incessant vibrations of his phone on the nightstand made your ears ring. You crawled out of bed, wearing one of Ji-yong’s shirts as pajamas. You paced the carpeted floor, running your hands through your hair. Ji-yong remained silent. He read the article. Then he reread it. Then he read it again. He looked at the photos over and over. The title. The numerous texts you were getting. For a moment, he didn’t know how to react. He sat in the bed, dumbstruck. 

On one hand, part of him wanted to be relieved. The secret was out, and there was no reason to hide his love for you anymore. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be on your terms. Organized by your teams. Some staged paparazzi sighting, or maybe a hard launch on your social medias. He wasn’t sure. The two of you never discussed it that far. Now there was no choice. All because he’d dragged you into his embrace in secret. A selfish moment, now on the cover of multiple articles.

Slowly, he put your phone down, putting it on silent before reaching for his own. He winced at the number of texts he was getting, reaching triple digits. He even saw texts from Taeyang and Daesung, two of the few people who knew about your relationship. But he didn’t answer anyone, turning his own phone off so he could set his attention on your pacing figure. “Jagiya,” He pulls himself out of bed, approaching you with soft eyes. You keep pacing, shaking your head as you try to sort your racing thoughts. “Jagiya, look at me,” He reaches for your hands, pulling you to face him completely. His heart ached as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. Your eyes wide with fear and worry. You wanted to go public. But not like this. You’d done so well at keeping your life private, and now it felt like it had been stripped away from you before you could even do it yourself. “I’m so sorry,” 

His words caught you off guard. There’s a heartbeat of silence as you look at him. Your brows crinkle together as you look at him. His sad, anxious expression as he guiltily looks away. “What?” You whisper, a moment of clarity through your emotional storm.

Ji-yong swallows, looking around the room as he holds your hands tightly. Your touch being the only thing grounding him to this moment. “If we hadn’t, if I hadn’t pulled you away, they wouldn’t have seen anything.” He explains. Your eyes dance over his face as you let what he’s saying register. You shake your head. “Ji,” You coo, reaching forward to push his mint hair out of his face. He looks at you, eyes sad and guilty. “It’s not your fault. We knew that there was a risk. Since day one.” You remind him. You were right. Since you started dating two years ago, there was always the possibility the media would find out about the two of you. Both of you are major stars, with public lives (to some degree). “I just, I can’t believe it got leaked at a Chanel show.”

Ji-yong is quiet for a moment, looking over at you. “The photos are cute.” He says. You look at him in surprise. You think about the photos, how oddly scenic they were, how the photographer had captured a genuinely sweet and beautiful moment. You couldn’t help but laugh, wiping at your tears. Ji-yong cracks a smile, though the worry in his eyes still evident. Not worried for himself, no, but worry for you.

“Our managers are going to kill us.” You say, your voice weak from crying and still being tired. Ji-yong nods his head. “What are we going to do?”

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly in curiosity. “What do you want to do?” He asks you. Naturally, the two of you drift towards each other. Your arms wrap around each others frames, Your face tucked into his neck as you close your eyes. His grip on you tight, still gentle, and protective. His fingers rake through your hair as he waits. No rush for you to answer. No rush to figure out the rest of the world. He lets you simmer in his touch, your mind still racing. 

You clutch onto him, not moving away from him as you start to talk. “I want you. That’s it. I want to be able to be with you. I’m not ashamed of being with you, Ji. I’m proud. So proud of you, being with you. I love you.” You feel his arms tighten around you. Slowly, you lift your head and look into his eyes. Now, they were glassy. 

Ji-yong blinks away the pending tears as he sniffles. “You’re the love of my life, Y/N,” He whispers, reaching up to push your hair out of your face. You lean into his touch. “I will never be afraid to say that.” 

You lean closer, kissing him softly. Your heart still pounding against your chest, your mind still a storm of fear and worry for what wrath you’d face from the media, but it didn’t matter. Not in the long run. You had Ji-yong. You loved Ji-yong more than you could ever explain to him or anyone else. And you knew that the two of you would figure it out together. You’d figure out everything together.

“Are you ready?” He asks you, looking at your phones on the bed. This was it. No more secret rendezvous. No more sneaking around. No more lying in interviews about your relationship status. Everybody knows now. There was no hiding from it now.

You smile at him, your eyes sparkling in the way he loved. You nod your head. “I’m ready,” You assure him.

And by the time the two of you would be leaving Paris, on your way back to Seoul, the entire world knew the secret you’d been keeping to yourselves. And in the early morning as you rushed out of your hotel with your security guards, you two didn’t hide from the paparazzi. Ji-yong walked with you, hand-in-hand, as you walked towards your car. The shouts of fans and cameras catch your attention. You smile and wave, blushing wildly as you realize this was real. 

Ji-yong stands up straighter, his hand tightening in yours as he pulls you close. His hand releases yours, only to wrap around your waist tightly as he leads you forward. Ji-yong opens the door for you, despite the security guard reaching for it. Fans scream in awe, and you lean over quickly to press a kiss on his cheek. A weight you didn’t know was there, suddenly lifted. You beamed as Ji-yong slid into the seat next to you. His expression matched yours. Filled with love, excitement, a certain fondness and admiration. “Au revoir, Paris,” Ji-yong muttered as the car started to move. You giggled, leaning into him as you looked around the streets.

“Taeyang and Daesung will never let us hear the end of this.” You muttered, playing with Ji-yong's fingers absentmindedly. A gentle groan comes from Ji-yong, causing you to laugh again. An infinite amount of teasing and playful jokes awaited the two of you back home. Along with a million questions from friends, coworkers, the media, and who knows who else. But you were okay with that. It hadn’t been completely on your terms, but it was yours. Ji-yong was yours.

And if nothing else, it made your stories about Paris far more entertaining.