#sorry this is so long and it probably makes zero sense but I had to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

svt-luna · 3 days ago

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ʚིᵋ ⋆ CHEOLNA MOMENTS THAT MAKE ME QUESTION JEONGHAN’S BOUNDARIES (HE HAS NONE) ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

synopsis: Seungcheol and Luna acting like an old married couple while Jeonghan watches from the sidelines, questioning his life choices and their boundaries— because they clearly have none.

i have said it once and i will say it again… this might be the best thumbnail edit i have ever made 😝 anyway! due to popular demand, here we finally have the highly anticipated CheolNa moments!! i love these two so much! it was so fun writing this and reading all your requests!! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did! see you on the next one, my lovelies!! 💖💖💖

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST╰ ౨ৎ youtube compilations

[added captions are in brackets] ღ

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

indented italics are additional voice overs

Hey besties. Welcome back to the inside of my brain rot. If you’re new here— first of all, I’m sorry. But also, welcome to the void.

So. A couple years ago I dropped a video that none of us have emotionally recovered from titled: ‘Jealousy Never Looked This Good: Inside the Jeonghan-Luna-Mingyu Triangle’. It was dramatic, it was hot, and it had more tension than my last situationship. Honestly? Oscar-worthy.

BUT. As time passed, the fandom evolved, my delusions got worse, and a new triangle began to form.

Not fueled by jealousy. Not fueled by rivalry. But by pure unfiltered chaos and the complete collapse of personal boundaries.

Yes. I’m talking about the Jeonghan-Luna-Seungcheol dynamic. Or as I like to call them, ‘the soft launch polycule no one asked for but now can’t live without.’

The thing is… unlike the Mingyu situation where Jeonghan was very much “girl, don’t even look at him, look at me,” this time around? It’s giving: “yeah baby, you can flirt with him. But only because I picked him and I’m lowkey also flirting with him.”

Because now that we officially know Jeonghan and Luna have been dating for YEARS— yes, confirmed, yes, engaged, yes, I’m still spiraling— it makes so much more sense why Jeonghan watches Cheol and Luna interact like he’s observing enrichment time at the zoo.

This man has no boundaries. Zero. None. Like he’d probably hand Luna a water bottle and whisper, “hydrate before you flirt with Seungcheol again, baby.”

And what’s worse? Luna’s just as bad. She flirts with Seungcheol like she forgot she’s taken. And Seungcheol? Sweet baby Seungcheol? He’s just standing there twirling his imaginary long hair, kicking his feet and giggling like “this is fine” while his friendship with Jeonghan slowly morphs into shared custody.

So anyway. This video isn’t just about my favorite CheolNa moments. It’s also about how I realized Jeonghan is the kind of boyfriend who lets you flirt with whoever you want as long as it’s someone of his choosing.

Honestly? Power move.

Anyway. Let’s begin.

THE CRUSH CONFESSION

Let’s start strong, shall we?

The chaos began exactly twenty-eight minutes and sixteen seconds into the live.

The set was a Carat fever dream— colorful streamers twisted around balloon garlands, paper confetti on every surface, and a massive “Happy 7th, Carats!” sign hanging crookedly above the sofa line where all fourteen members sat side by side. Platters of fried chicken, ramen bowls, sliced fruits, and soda cans were stacked like a tower of bad decisions on the table in front of them.

The whole vibe felt like a sleepover with too many extroverts and not enough filters.

Luna was settled toward the middle, comfortably with her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, wedged between Dino who had been quietly hoarding grapes and Seungkwan who was already eating dessert before dinner. A few seats down, Seungcheol was half-lounging with his arm hooked around the backrest, the very image of relaxed leader energy— until, of course, the chaos began.

They’re laughing, eating, throwing subtle jabs, and fielding live chat questions. Halfway through the stream, the conversation naturally veers off the rails (as always). It starts with reminiscing.

[i love them 🥹]

Seungkwan, mouth half-full and eyes already glinting with mischief, suddenly perked up. “Okay, wait,” he announced with the enthusiasm of someone about to start drama on purpose, “was there anyone you didn’t think you’d get along with during trainee days?”

A few members made thoughtful noises, but Luna didn’t even hesitate. She reached for a chopstick, picked up another bite of japchae, and said with complete nonchalance, “Cheollie.”

[girl said no hesitation. she’s been waiting for this moment since forever.]

Seungcheol’s offended “Why me?!” came just as the other members burst out laughing.

He wasn’t even seated directly next to her, but he craned his neck dramatically over the heads between them, his pout exaggerated and comical.

[when your gym crush says you were the reason she developed anxiety]

Luna just smirked and popped the noodles in her mouth before explaining, tone perfectly casual, “Cheollie was so annoying during our trainee years. He used to tease me so much during practice or during break… constantly. He would pop out of nowhere just to scare me, or pull my hair when I was tying my shoelaces. Constantly. It was like he had a sixth sense for whenever I was at peace.”

[CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!!!]

A mix of loud laughter and nostalgic groans erupted as a few members nodded knowingly. Jeonghan, sipping his drink lazily, just raised an eyebrow as if to say Sounds about right.

[Be so real this sounds exactly like a 6th grade crush and a lawsuit waiting to happen]

“Ah, so you didn’t think you’d get close because of that?” Seungkwan summarized between bites, his tone amused.

Luna nodded and reached for her soda. “Exactly.”

She lifted the can to her lips mid-sentence— and that was when Seungcheol, who had been eyeing her smugly the whole time, chose chaos.

[He WAITED until she started drinking. I can’t.]

“I liked you, duh. That’s what teenage boys do when they have a crush on a pretty girl.”

[HWHEHBEJWBUSNSHEVUW]

[I REMEMBER WATCHING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME!!!]

[THE WAY MY SOUL JUST EJECTED FROM MY BODY]

The words hit like a bomb.

[If Luna had a nickel for every SVT member who confessed to her, she’d have two nickels… she’d have three but I’m convinced SHE confessed to Jeonghan 🤭]

Luna choked.

Literally.

She sputtered mid-sip, the soda going down the wrong pipe as she bent over in a fit of coughs. Dino and Seungkwan instantly reached over to pat her back, both of them half-helpful and half-hysterical. Dokyeom clutched his chest like he’d just watched a K-drama twist happen live, while Hoshi let out the most high-pitched shriek imaginable.

[Miss thing went from sipping to slipping into the next dimension]

“Yah! Choi Seungc-c-heol!” Luna wheezed between coughs, eyes watering as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Seungcheol was grinning from ear to ear, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He leaned forward slightly with that same teasing glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying every second of her meltdown.

[Cheol, please, she’s on the brink of death]

[He woke up and chose ✨MAYHEM✨girl you mean to tell me he had a crush while calling her a goblin?!?]

Jun was howling, and even Vernon cracked a smile as if the simulation had finally glitched beyond repair.

Once Luna finally recovered, cheeks flushed from choking and the statement, her voice was raspy, “What kind of excuse was that?!” she tried to brush it off as she waved her hand, not wanting the fans to freak out even more than they already were.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan sat there unfazed, calmly chewing on a rice cake and nodding like this was all very old news. “A lot of people liked you back then,” he said with an easy shrug, his voice muffled slightly by food.

There was no jealousy. No surprise. Just casual confirmation.

Luna whipped her head toward him, scandalized. “You knew?!”

[Bae Jiyeon.exe stopped working]

Jeonghan didn’t even flinch. He just glanced at her, one brow lifted in amusement, before going back to his plate. “Mmm.”

[Not Jeonghan acting like she was the community crush]

[She was… she is.]

[Also! THESE TWO WERE ALREADY DATING AT THIS POINT!!? He is unfazed.]

And then, in perfect timing, Seungkwan deadpanned under his breath, “Only back then?”

[That moment when seungkwan becomes the voice of the fandom]

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even meant to be heard. But the camera caught the way he side-eyed Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Seungcheol— who were, in a tragic twist of fate, all seated directly next to one another.

Luna clocked the implication instantly.

[She said “Not today!”]

Eyes widening, she sat up straighter and immediately waved her hands. “Anyway!” she declared a bit too loudly. “What’s everyone’s favorite trainee meal memory? Huh? Remember ramen Sundays? Let’s talk about that!”

The boys groaned, some still laughing, some shaking their heads at the abrupt subject change, but they followed her lead.

[Diversion tactic 101 with Bae Jiyeon]

[She changed the topic like her publicist was in the room]

Later, the video would be clipped, subtitled, slowed down, and analyzed frame by frame.

For months, fans would speculate on that exact moment— on Luna’s reaction, on Seungcheol’s confession, on Jeonghan’s complete and utter chill.

But it wouldn’t be until a couple years later— when Luna and Jeonghan’s relationship was finally confirmed— that Carats would go back and realize what Seungkwan really meant.

And this scene? It became canon. Iconic. Historical footage.

[This live aged like wine and a little bit of delusion]

Jeonghan literally lets another man confess to his girl and just eats his food. Sir, where are your boundaries?!

He has none. This is what this video is for.

IN THE SOOP S2EP3

One of the cutest CheolNa moments 🥹 it’s so wholesome!

The sky was still dusted with traces of night when the camera panned to the main house, nestled in the quiet serenity of In the Soop.

It was just past 6 AM— early enough that the surrounding woods still hummed with the hush of dawn. Inside the house, most of the members remained fast asleep, cocooned in their blankets and dreams, unaware that one of them had already stirred.

Luna shuffled quietly out of her room, clad in oversized cotton pajama pants and a hoodie that draped over her frame like a blanket. Her hair was sleep-tousled, bangs puffed from the pillow, and as she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm, a soft pout tugged at her lips.

[She said: “I woke up like this. I’m flawless.”]

She had no real destination, only the sleepy instinct to move. The main house was dim and still, the sun rays filtering through the windows and casting lazy stripes on the floor. She tiptoed past the kitchen, glanced toward the living room where someone had left a half-empty bag of chips open, then turned toward the sliding doors. With a tug, she slipped outside, the crisp morning air meeting her cheeks as she made her way across the grass toward the playhouse.

[The sun isn’t even up and she’s already giving drama main character energy]

The smaller cabin creaked slightly as she opened the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be there— why would anyone else be up at this ungodly hour? But when her eyes landed on the sofa, she paused mid-step.

Seungcheol was already there.

[BE SERIOUS. WHY IS HE READING AT 6AM LIKE A DAD?!?]

He was lounging with one leg tucked under the other, a book in hand, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up the moment he heard the door open— and paused when he saw her.

His eyes softened instantly, the crease between his brows folding with concern. He closed the book without marking the page and asked quietly, “Why? What’s wrong?”

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

Luna didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked toward him slowly, like a kid navigating the weight of a rough dream. Her voice was barely a mumble as she whispered, “Had a nightmare.”

[my baby 🥺]

Before he could respond, she threw herself down beside him and curled into his side, arms wrapping around his waist without a second thought. Seungcheol instinctively draped his arm around her, pulling her in as he adjusted slightly to make room. His hand rubbed slow circles against her back.

[JAJSBHWJWHSHSBHSHSHSB]

“What kind of nightmare?” he asked softly, his voice still a little raspy with morning.

[good lord 🫠]

But Luna didn’t answer. Her head was now resting on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed again. “Don’t remember,” she muttered, voice muffled against the fabric of his hoodie.

[she’s so fluffy, I’m gonna die]

Seungcheol let out a quiet chuckle, eyes warm. “Of course you don’t.”

He didn’t press her after that. Instead, he reached for his book again with one hand while the other remained loosely curled around her.

The camera lingered on the two for a moment, wrapped in a hush that felt sacred.

[Why does this feel illegal to watch?]

[she literally crawled into his ribs like it was her bed. he didn’t even flinch.]

[boyfriend? no. service animal.]

Minutes passed. The page turned. Luna’s breathing evened out against his shoulder.

And then—

The crunch of gravel outside. Footsteps. Voices.

“Hyung, I swear the deer literally stared at me like I owed it money,” Dokyeom’s voice could be heard clearly before the door creaked open.

Jeonghan entered first, holding a coffee mug with one hand and the other stuffed in his hoodie pocket. Joshua followed with sleepy eyes, and Dokyeom brought up the rear, still laughing at whatever he’d just said.

They all froze the moment their eyes landed on the couch.

There was a beat of silence.

Jeonghan raised both brows and tilted his head slightly.

[The boyfriend be like: “Should I leave?”]

Then, Seungcheol— without shifting even an inch from his position— held a single finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he mouthed, glancing down at Luna, still curled against him.

[HE DID THE DAD SHHHHHH]

Joshua let out a silent “ohhh” as if they’d just walked into a room mid-confession. Dokyeom just gave a cartoonishly exaggerated wink before dragging Joshua by the sleeve toward the art supplies set up at the other end of the playhouse.

That left Jeonghan standing in place, mug halfway to his lips, eyes trained on the two on the couch.

Silently, he made his way over. The camera zoomed in just a little.

He didn’t say a word as he sat down on Luna’s other side, moving with the kind of casual intimacy only Jeonghan could pull off. His hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Luna’s cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture so gentle it was barely a touch.

[I want what they hAvEee!!?]

His voice was quiet as he looked at Seungcheol. “What happened?”

Seungcheol glanced at him, then looked down at Luna, who had shifted slightly in her sleep but hadn’t stirred. “She had a nightmare,” he said simply.

[that’s all he said. BUT IT’S ENOUGH.]

Jeonghan hummed once and didn’t say anything else. He just leaned back against the sofa and kept watching Luna like he was trying to memorize her breathing pattern.

[THE WAY JEONGHAN JUST STARES AT HER FOR A SOLID MINUTES OR SO HAS ME 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[IT’S SO NATURAL FOR THEM!? WTF!??]

[THEY ARE SOOOO DOMESTIC]

The scene faded with the morning light growing brighter through the window, the sound of quiet brushes of paint and muffled laughter from the other side of the room.

GOING SEVENTEEN EP45 TTT #2 (HYPERREALISM VER.)

Here I present to you, one of the most chaotic GoSe episodes in existence.

Dinner had descended into pure, unfiltered chaos in the best way possible.

[MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE TTT EPISODE!]

The sun had long dipped behind the trees, leaving a soft navy blue sky streaked with moonlight and the warm golden glow of the outdoor lights the staff had set up earlier.

Inside the house, the long dining table was littered with empty bottles of soju and beer, tangerine peels, used chopsticks, torn napkins, crumpled tissue, two abandoned slippers, and at least one opened container of yukhoe that no one claimed.

[If you find your slipper at the end of this episode please DM us.]

The members had eaten like they hadn’t been fed in six days. Meat grilled at lightning speed, rice stuffed into lettuce wraps, screams exchanged over who stole the last piece of samgyeopsal, and five separate toasts later, everyone was just slightly too full, way too tipsy, and aggressively competitive about the dumbest drinking games.

“SEUNGKWAN, IT’S YOUR TURN, PICK A NUMBER!” Dino shouted, voice cracking as he waved a beer can in the air like a sword.

“I PICK SEVEN!” Seungkwan yelled back.

“That’s the punishment number! YOU’RE DOING THE DANCE!”

“WH—WHY IS SEVEN ALWAYS THE PUNISHMENT?!”

“BECAUSE WE SAID SO!”

[SVT x alcohol is another beast entirely]

And just like that, Seungkwan was up on a chair doing Twice’s choreography with a scowl on his face the mic up his mouth.

[This is not dinner. this is psychological warfare.]

[do you hear the people sing? singing the song of unhinged men.]

By now, the house had splintered into different zones of madness.

In the entertainment room, a whole arcade corner had been discovered, and Wonwoo and Vernon were now aggressively button-mashing a 2D fighting game, faces stone cold like it was a life-or-death situation.

“I swear to God if you spam that kick one more time—”

“Skill issue,” Vernon replied flatly.

[Testosterone levels are dangerously high.]

Right next to them, in the same room— because SEVENTEEN doesn’t believe in volume control— was the karaoke area, where Hoshi, Dokyeom, Seungkwan, and Dino had unofficially formed a boyband.

And they were screaming.

[They have absolutely lost what’s left of their minds]

Hoshi was on the floor, dramatically belting out Taeyang’s ‘Eyes, Nose, Lips,’ while Dokyeom provided backup vocals with tears of laughter streaming down his face. Dino was adding adlibs that didn’t exist.

[This is a live exorcism. please send thoughts and prayers.]

[Hoshi is actively going through a breakup with air right now.]

Meanwhile— on the other side of the room, nestled into the largest couch like royalty on thrones— were Jeonghan, Luna, Seungcheol, and Minghao.

They had drinks in their hands, snacks on their laps, and the same expression of bemused detachment as parents watching their children go absolutely feral.

[THEY ARE IN DISBELIEF 😂]

Jeonghan sipped lazily from his glass, legs crossed, eyes twinkling as he watched Dino hit a high note that sent the dog somewhere outside barking.

Minghao was leaned slightly into him, talking about something art-related that Jeonghan was nodding through without actually understanding.

And next to them— on the opposite end of the couch— was Luna.

She was curled into a pretzel shape, her knees pulled to her chest as she faced Seungcheol, who sat beside her with an arm resting lazily on the back of the couch. She was deep in story mode now— tipsy, glowing, and absolutely unstoppable.

[Drunk Luna is a vibe]

[She gets so chatty, it’s adorable]

Most people wouldn’t clock that she was drunk. She wasn’t slurring or stumbling. But to the people who knew her best— the rest of the members — it was so obvious.

The giggles. The clinginess. The nonstop storytelling. The pout that kept threatening to take over her entire face.

“—and then I told him,” Luna was saying, brows furrowed like this was the most serious tale she’d ever told, “I told him, ‘Sir, that’s not how you make kimchi jjigae, okay?’ Like. I’ve eaten that dish my whole life. My mommy would cry if she saw what he did to the tofu. She would cry, Cheollie.”

[I legit want to know how they got to this point in the conversation]

She poked his chest to emphasize her point. “He put pickles. PICKLES!”

[How dare he?!?]

[That’s actually nasty 😀]

Seungcheol chuckled, his eyes crinkled in amusement as he nodded along, clearly entertained. “That’s criminal behavior,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

“I KNOW!” she gasped, throwing her head back in horror before bursting into giggles again. “Like— like if I went to your mom’s house and put ketchup in galbijjim! You’d disown me!”

“I’d file for emancipation,” he nodded solemnly.

[Luna drunk-ranting about tofu is my roman empire.]

Luna pouted dramatically. “He ruined the tofu. The tofu did nothing wrong. It was just living its little tofu life.”

[Someone get her a mic she has THINGS TO SAY.]

[SHE IS ADORABLE THO 🥺]

“You should’ve called the police,” Seungcheol said with a straight face.

[Idk if he’s serious or if he’s messing with her!?!]

“I thought about it!” Luna wailed, before breaking into another wave of laughter.

Seungcheol just watched her, head tilted slightly, grin soft and fond in the corners of his lips. He looked utterly relaxed— shoulders slouched, eyes warm, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here, letting this girl drunkenly yell about tofu and food crimes.

[HE IS SO SOFT FOR HER SJNSKWHDSJSUSUS]

[I mean, I don’t blame him.]

Minghao, who had been talking to Jeonghan beside them, turned then, tapping Seungcheol on the arm. “Hyung, I meant to ask you— what time are we starting that basketball thing tomorrow?”

Seungcheol blinked and turned away from Luna to answer. “Oh, I think around ten? The staff said we have time—”

But Luna had stopped talking mid-sentence.

Her gaze shifted back and forth between Minghao and Seungcheol, mouth parted in offense. Her pout deepened like she’d just been personally betrayed.

[GOOD LORD I WANT TO KEEP HER IN MY POCKET AND TAKE CARE OF HER 🥹🥹🥹]

[She was MID-STORY. HOW DARE HE.]

[the tofu deserves JUSTICE.]

Jeonghan spotted it instantly. He grinned into his drink, then leaned over and pointed a single finger at her. “Aigoo,” he laughed. “You’re so cute right now, Nana-ya. Seungcheol-ah, look— she’s sulking.”

He tapped Seungcheol’s knee twice like he was pressing a notification alert. “Your tofu queen is mad.”

[Jeonghan seeing Luna’s face change first 🤭]

Seungcheol turned back to find Luna still staring at him with wide doe eyes and a matching pout, curled tighter into herself like a very offended shrimp.

The second their eyes met, she didn’t even say anything— just looked at him with betrayal so pure and dramatic it could win awards.

Seungcheol burst into laughter. “Aigoo, Jiyeonie, okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her gently into his side. “My bad. I’m back. I’m listening. I’m all ears.”

[I simply cannot handle this anymore.]

Luna narrowed her eyes like she didn’t trust him.

“I promise,” Seungcheol whispered, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. “Tell me the rest. What happened to the tofu.”

[LAHHSHSHEVEJHDJEHSHHSJWUSEH]

“Well,” she huffed, shifting so she was pressed into his side, legs still curled up. “After he destroyed the tofu, he served it with this weird rice that had corn in it—like, not the good kind of corn, like the soggy canned one— and I just sat there like, ‘Is this a prank?’ Like, am I being filmed? Are there hidden cameras?”

[WHERE THE FUCK DID SHE GO?!]

“You were the victim,” Seungcheol nodded solemnly. “A culinary victim.”

“I was! And the worst part?” she said, gasping like she was about to drop the biggest bomb yet. “He said he learned it from YouTube. YouTube, Cheollie!”

“Immediate jail.”

Luna nodded furiously, pleased that he understood. “Thank you! Exactly!”

[her honor. her tofu.]

Seungcheol kept nodding along, completely focused on her, laughing at all the right moments, murmuring little “no ways” and “you’re kidding me” like she was reciting the epic tale of the century.

Which to her? She was. This was her TED Talk. Her tofu trauma testimony.

[This is the most unhinged therapy session i’ve ever witnessed.]

[THE TOFU DID NOTHING WRONG!!!]

Meanwhile, Jeonghan— who had been sipping his drink and watching the two like he was at a play— grinned slowly and tilted his head at the sight.

“Cute,” he murmured with a knowing smile, before he pushed himself up off the couch and walked across the room to where Hoshi had collapsed dramatically on the karaoke floor, head tilted back like Juliet in her final scene.

“Hoshi-ya,” Jeonghan said, crouching beside him. “Are you okay?”

[Hoshi was going through it this ep]

“No,” Hoshi croaked.

“Come on.” Jeonghan hooked an arm under his and pulled him up like dead weight.

And just like that, the night pressed on— wild and warm, full of laughter, chaos, karaoke, and tofu justice.

[We will never forget the tofu]

[tofu 4ever. pickles 4 never.]

LUNA’S AIRPORT SAESANG INCIDENT

This DESEVES an honorable mention.

Okay, okay, okay— Because THIS moment? DESERVES an honorable mention in the Best of CheolNa highlight reel.

No, actually— it deserves its own documentary.

Now if you’ve already watched my video “All Eyes on Her: Seventeen’s Ultimate Protective Moments,” then you KNOW exactly what’s coming.

If you haven’t? Babes. Pause this. Go watch it. Come back. Because the way Seungcheol launched into action like a man on a mission?

Chivalry is ALIVE and it looks like Choi Seungcheol.

So yeah. Honorable mention? Absolutely. Man of the century? YES. Hot as hell for reacting faster than anyone? YOU BET YOUR ASS.

And if this doesn’t confirm that Seungcheol is Luna’s unofficial bodyguard slash soft protector hybrid? I don’t know what does.

Anyway–

LOS ANGELES ‘RIGHT HERE’ WORLD TOUR DAY 1

This CheolNa moment is so bittersweet. Idk if i should cry or… cry…

The night had already been unforgettable.

The stage pulsed with light and sound, casting glows of red, blue, and gold over the packed arena. Fans screamed themselves hoarse, their chants rising in perfect rhythm with the beat.

Seventeen, Seventeen, Seventeen!

The energy in the arena felt like it could split the roof in half.

It was Day 1 of the ‘Right Here’ tour in Los Angeles.

[Day 1 of ‘RIGHT HERE’ tour LA was a MOVIEEEE.]

And despite the bittersweet sting of not having Jeonghan— who was back in Korea serving his military duty— or Jun, who was in China due to conflicting schedules, the show went on. And God, did it go on.

The eleven boys and Luna had brought the damn house down.

They laughed. They danced like their bones were made of rhythm. They screamed into mics and encouraged fans to scream back. They cracked jokes, stole water bottles from each other, and hit every choreo like their rent depended on it.

There were confetti. There were ballads. There was Hoshi screaming “WHERE MY TIGERS AT?” so loud a baby might’ve cried in San Diego.

[The Horanghae cult remains superior]

And through it all, Luna was radiant— shimmering in her sleeveless custom silver crop top and pleated skirt, her voice ethereal, her expressions playful, her dance lines sharper than ever.

[GODDESSSSSSSSS]

[MOTHERRRRRRRRRR!!!! LOOK. AT. HER.]

But more than her performance, fans couldn’t help but watch her… when she wasn’t trying to be watched.

Especially when she was next to Seungcheol.

[No because i was RIGHT THERE (*wink wink*) and they were literally in their own drama.]

Now it was the final ment of the night.

The lights had dimmed to a golden hue, warm and nostalgic. The music was soft in the background, and the energy had shifted from high-octane to heartfelt. All twelve present members were seated on the elevated stage platform, legs dangling off the edge. They looked out into the ocean of light sticks and banners, eyes glassy with gratitude.

The members took turns speaking into their mics, thanking Carats, reflecting on the tour, on missing the others, on what it meant to be here.

Luna was seated between Seungcheol and Dino. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, and her gaze stayed front and center, respectful as Dokyeom shared his thoughts— his voice sweet and trembling with emotion.

“I know this is only day one, but I feel like it’s already a gift just being here with all of you again,” he said. “Thank you for always waiting for us, even when we’re not complete. Jun-hyung, Jeonghan-hyung… I hope we get to be on the same stage again soon. We miss you.”

[Brb… my eyes are sweating…]

The crowd cheered, a soft, collective “Awww…” washing over them like a wave.

Luna smiled softly. But from the corner of her eye, something tugged her attention sideways.

Seungcheol.

He was massaging his left knee.

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t dramatic— he was subtle about it, trying not to draw attention. But her eyes narrowed as she watched his thumb press slow circles into the joint, his brows pinching slightly before smoothing out again.

[she looks so worried]

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it. Even during the high-energy numbers, there were flashes of hesitation. Small moments where he would stop dancing for a beat. Grimace. Breathe in through his nose sharply before catching up again.

Ever since he tore his ACL, his knee had never truly been the same.

[THIS MAKES ME SO FUCKING SAD BRO]

[I hate seeing Cheol in pain 🥺]

And now, despite smiling and leading with his usual strength, she saw the truth in his fingers. In the way his other hand gripped the edge of the platform like he was grounding himself.

Her expression shifted. Worry crept in.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his eye.

He noticed her gaze instantly— and of course, he smiled. A small, practiced curve of his lips that tried to say, I’m okay. Don’t worry.

[What did he do to deserve this?!??)&@2)62]

But Luna wasn’t buying it.

She reached up and carefully removed one of her in-ear monitors, leaning closer, murmuring just loud enough for him to hear her or read her lips.

[🥺🥺🥺]

“Are you okay?”

Seungcheol blinked at her, then nodded once, his lips barely moving as he replied back:

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Luna’s eyes didn’t budge. He could feel her doubt.

Still… she didn’t push. She just scooted a little closer, subtle and slow, until her thigh gently pressed against his. She leaned down and placed a hand on his knee. Her thumb started to move in small, precise motions over the muscle— mimicking his earlier touch, but gentler, more comforting.

Seungcheol exhaled quietly and leaned back onto his hands, watching her fondly. His eyes softened instantly.

[NOT HER MASSAGING HIS KNEE LIKE A WIFE AFTER HE TOOK OUT THE TRASH.]

[But on another note, she’s so sweet]

And then— Luna suddenly reached down and pinched the air above his knee with two fingers, like grabbing an invisible bug, then theatrically flicked it away with a dramatic wrist flourish.

[HER. THROWING. AWAY. HIS. PAIN. I CANNOT.]

[OWUEUEHUSHEJWJSIHWJWIWNSIEJSISJ]

[SHE IS THE BEST PERSON ALIVE WTF?!?]

She did it again. This time, she rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance and muttered something like, “Ugh, take your pain and go.”

[She said “be gone THOT” to his injury.]

Seungcheol burst into laughter.

Real, full-bodied, head-tilted-back laughter that shook his shoulders. His hand flew up to cover his mouth but he was already gone.

[I’m honestly so thankful to her for making him laugh at least]

“Stop,” Seungcheol whispered in a huff between laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re welcome,” Luna grinned smugly.

Then, without thinking— Luna leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on top of his knee. A gentle little kiss that made time stop for a split second.

[SON OF A BITVCHKSJEHEJBSJENJSJSB]

Seungcheol’s smile melted into something warmer. Softer. He looked at her like she’d just rewritten every rule about how to love someone.

His hand came up, brushing through her hair affectionately before settling on her bare knee. His fingers splayed across her skin gently… then slowly began opening and closing like a blooming flower.

That annoying little tingling thing he always did. The one that gave her goosebumps.

Luna flinched with a surprised squeal, her mic barely catching the sound as it escaped her throat.

[HOLY SHIT HER MIC PICKED IT UP SO GOOD I’M DECEASED.]

She slapped a hand over her mouth too late, eyes wide as several members turned to look at her. Mingyu paused mid-sentence, blinking in surprise.

[I CANNOT 😂]

“What?” Seokmin asked.

Luna waved her hand in the air frantically. “Nothing! Nothing. Keep going!”

She motioned toward Mingyu to resume his ment.

The moment the attention slipped away again, she turned back to Seungcheol and smacked his arm playfully.

“Asshole,” she mouthed.

Seungcheol bit his lip, failing to look sorry.

[Me giggling like a child in church. this is illegal levels of cute.]

[Little moments like these… i’m living for it.]

And just like that, under the stage lights of Los Angeles, surrounded by twelve of their closest friends and ten thousand screaming fans… Luna and Seungcheol existed in their own little bubble.

And not a soul dared pop it.

TOKYO CLAW MACHINE JEONGHAN-LUNA-SEUNGCHEOL SIGHTING

This fucking video right here! I– I don’t even know what to think anymore… just watch.

This clip in a nutshell: Tokyo streets. Luna being babygirl. Jeonghan and Seungcheol being down BAD. Let’s unpack this.

A phone camera shakily zoomed in from across the crosswalk, capturing a trio that didn’t even try to blend in— not when were literal K-pop demigods.

“Is that… wait— IS THAT LUNA? AND—SEUNGCHEOL? JEONGHAN?!” the fan whisper-screamed behind the camera, nearly dropping their phone in the process.

A second voice gasped beside them. “They’re here together? In public? IN TOKYO? I’m gonna cry.”

[Same. Same.]

The footage zoomed further as the trio strolled through the narrow Tokyo street, colorful shopping bags swaying in their hands. Their managers and bodyguards lingered a polite distance away, eyes scanning the street with military precision— but none of that mattered.

The holy trinity was right there.

They stopped outside a cutesy pink arcade nestled between two cafés, the claw machine outside practically glowing like a beacon of destiny.

Sure enough, Luna let out a soft squeal and dashed toward it, her shopping bags rustling against her arms. Her boots clacked against the sidewalk, skirt bouncing with every step.

[Luna saw the claw machine and sprinted like her life depended on it.]

Jeonghan chuckled behind her and picked up his pace, while Seungcheol just grinned and followed with a shake of his head.

[Those two just trail behind like loyal golden retrievers I can’t.]

Reaching the machine, Luna turned around and extended her arm toward them, palm out.

“She wants coins!” one of the fans cackled.

[SHE SAID PAY UP, BOYS.]

Jeonghan smirked like he’d been expecting this exact moment his entire life. Without hesitation, he nodded toward Seungcheol, wordlessly nominating him as tribute.

[Jeonghan said “that’s yo sugar daddy right there.”]

Seungcheol huffed a laugh and patted his coat pockets before pulling out a few yen coins and handing them to Luna. Her eyes twinkled as she bowed her head dramatically, muttering what had to be a “thank you” before inserting the first coin.

[She is so real for just holding out her hand like that.]

Luna’s brows furrowed in concentration as she gripped the joystick.

Her target: a My Melody keychain, nestled cruelly between two plush Rilakkumas. She pressed the button, the claw descended, grazed the keychain—

—and dropped it.

“NOOOO!” the fan behind the phone whispered dramatically. “She missed!”

[LOVE the commentary by these two btw 😂]

Luna turned to the two boys with the most theatrical pout in history, her lower lip wobbling slightly.

[GET HER THAT DAMN MY MELODY KEYCHAIN]

Jeonghan raised both brows in mock offense at her expression, clearly amused. Then, wordlessly, he took another coin, stepped forward, and popped it into the machine himself.

[Hannie said “I got this. Watch and learn.”]

He didn’t push her away— instead, he stepped behind her, draping himself over her like a second skin. His arms slid around her, hands gently covering hers on the controls. His chin hovered just next to her cheek, their heads nearly touching.

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A RAGGHHH 🦅]

[I’m not breathing. Is anyone else not breathing.]

Together, they moved as one— Jeonghan guiding her, whispering something into her ear that made her giggle.

[MY MOM AND DADDDDDDD ENJEJRJSHUSBEUS]

The claw descended again— this time, snatching a Hello Kitty keychain instead.

Luna gave a little bounce of excitement as it landed in the prize chute. Jeonghan bent down, retrieved it, and presented it to her with a slight bow and a flourish.

[He gave it to her like it was a proposal I’m gonna go feral.]

She accepted it like royalty, beaming as she clipped it onto her purse. Then, without missing a beat, she turned and pointed again at the screen— then at the elusive My Melody still taunting her from inside.

[She want My Melody!]

[We know damn well why 😏]

Whatever she said wasn’t audible, but it was very clear from her animated gestures and Jeonghan’s dramatic shrug that she was not giving up.

That’s when Seungcheol stepped forward. Cool. Calm. Collected. He slid another coin into the machine like it was second nature.

[“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” –Seungcheol Thanos Choi.]

As Luna busied herself rearranging her new keychain like they were her prized possesion, Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed at the claw. He moved it carefully, finger hovering with surgeon-level focus. Jeonghan stood beside him like a coach, pointing occasionally, giving him little nods of encouragement.

[Not them tag-teaming a claw machine for her.]

[This is a hilarious sight btw 😂]

Then— it happened.

The claw dropped.

It closed.

It lifted.

And the pink bunny-shaped keychain wobbled precariously in the air before— miraculously— dropping into the chute.

The camera shook violently.

“HE GOT IT! OH MY GOD— HE GOT THE MY MELODY!”

[THESE CARATS CRACK ME UP]

Luna’s head turned just in time to see Seungcheol reach into the chute and triumphantly hold out the prize. She beamed like the sun, jogged up to him, and snatched it with a grateful, “Thank you, thank you!” before adding it to the growing collection on her purse.

She looked at them both with such a smug little smile. She didn’t even have to beg. She just pointed— and they delivered.

[“I want it, i got it” ~]

[Luna really said “get me that one” and both men complied.]

[I need whatever delulu potion she’s drinking.]

With the keychains now swinging happily from her purse, Luna clutched her shopping bags again, let out a soft sigh of satisfaction, and turned toward the street.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol fell into step beside her, one on each side, as their little Tokyo adventure continued— bodyguards resuming formation behind them, blissfully unaware that a viral fan cam had just been born.

[Luna doesn’t chase. She attracts. Always.]

[Girl math = one pout = two keychains = two whipped men.]

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #1 - PARIS PUDDLE

Before we start with this next clip, I just want to introduce this next little segment.

So we talked about that moment at the airport when Seungcheol almost rearranged someone’s ancestors because a sasaeng got too close to Luna?

Since you guys absolutely lost your minds over that, and rightly so, we now present to you…

‘PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE: THE SERIES.’

Four clips. One man. Infinite threat levels.

From “awww he held her bag!” to “SOMEONE HOLD HIM BACK HE’S ABOUT TO THROW HANDS,” we’ve compiled every flavor of Papa Seungcheol being the emotional support Rottweiler he is.

HE’S A MAN! HE’S A WALL! HE’S A SECURITY SYSTEM WITH FEELINGS!

So buckle up. Grab your water. Stretch your delulu joints. Because Protective Cheollie is in the building and he came swinging (we are not responsible for any emotional damage caused by what you’re about to see).]

Let’s start off easy and cute— this little moment I like to call ‘The Paris Puddle’.

It had rained hard earlier in Paris— classic cinematic downpour with thunder cracking like it was scored by Hans Zimmer.

The clouds still loomed heavy and gray above the Haussmann-style buildings, casting a moody tint over the hotel entrance, where a modest cluster of devoted fans were still waiting in the damp cold with umbrellas, posters, and Carat Bong light sticks in hand. Their shoes sloshed slightly on the rain-slicked pavement, but none of them cared. No weather could stop them. Not when Luna and Seungcheol were in the city of love.

[Carats in the rain like we’re in a rom-com. Not even God’s tears can stop the grind.]

Some were tourists who had caught wind of the photoshoot schedule. Others were locals— true Parisians— yet all of them shared the same pulse-racing anticipation as a sleek black van finally pulled up in front of the hotel. It glided to a stop, tires hissing against the wet asphalt.

Immediately, a ripple of movement ran through the crowd. Umbrellas were lowered, phones raised like shields, and the fanbase collectively inhaled like they were about to meet God Himself.

[Black van pulls up — everyone: activate fangirl stance.]

[Honestly same]

But they stayed respectful. No one rushed. No one shoved. Just hopeful eyes and shivering hands holding out albums and Sharpies, trying not to scream so loud they’d get kicked off the sidewalk.

The first to emerge was their security, a walking brick wall in a black puffer and earpiece. He looked around, did the usual silent scan, then stepped to the side.

The car door opened.

Cue chaos.

“S.COUPS!!!” a few screamed in perfect unison.

And there he was— Choi Seungcheol, fresh off a shoot, dressed in a tailored camel coat with black slacks and a moody silk scarf around his neck like some kind of K-drama second male lead who was definitely going to steal your girl. His hair was styled soft and parted, glinting under the dim Parisian light.

[GODDDAMNSJJEBSUSHEIHSUEHDISJUS]

He grinned at the reaction, his dimple flashing like a well-timed jump scare.

Then, lifting one finger to his lips, he gently hushed the crowd with a chuckle.

[I AM SAT]

[I’ll go mute if he wants me to]

That was when his hand came up— smooth, natural, instinctual— and rested gently on the top frame of the car door. He tilted slightly, head lowered, eyes tracking the next figure stepping out of the van.

Luna.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[heEeee hEeeeeee¥|$]$?\\>\>\>>\%\2]

She emerged slowly, one hand holding the edge of the door, the other clutching her coat. Her long skirt fluttered delicately in the cold wind, the hem twirling like a petal around her calves. Her heels wrapped around her legs with thin straps that laced up to mid-calf, giving her an almost Grecian look. Her hair, loose but styled, bounced slightly as she moved. Despite the weather, she looked like she had walked straight off the cover of Vogue Paris.

[WHATTHEFUCKISWRONGWITHTHEBOTHOFTHEM?!!??]

The fans gasped again— this time softer, more reverent. A few called her name.

“Luna!”

“Jiyeon!”

She smiled warmly and waved at them. “Hello! You guys are so cute for waiting in the rain!”

[I WOULD WAIT IN A HURRICANE FOR YOU, BAE JIYEON! DON’T TEST ME!]

Seungcheol glanced toward the street and instinctively placed his palm on her back, guiding her closer to the curb and away from any random Parisian car that might dare disturb the sanctity of their moment. They started walking toward the hotel entrance.

[Bonjour bitches. Protective Choi Seungcheol just landed.]

But then— it happened.

A puddle.

Correction: a miniature lake disguised as a puddle. It stretched directly in their path, a deep basin filled with murky post-storm water, glinting ominously under the streetlamps.

Luna slowed, eyeing it, then glanced at her shoes. Her heel hovered cautiously above the edge. She looked like she was calculating a leap.

Big mistake.

[GIRL, I WOULD LAY ON THAT PUDDLE SO YOU CAN STEP ON ME AND WALK PASS…]

[I have a problem…]

Seungcheol had already clocked it. The heels. The slick pavement. The perilous depth of the puddle. The potential clownery if she slipped.

Absolutely not on his watch.

Before Luna could even lift her leg, Seungcheol took one large, confident stride across the puddle. Then, without asking— without even warning her— he turned back, placed both hands gently but firmly on her waist, and lifted her like she weighed nothing.

[Bro thought he was in a drama and HE WAS RIGHT.]

Luna made a startled laugh. “Wha— Cheol!”

She was already on the other side before she could argue. He set her down with the delicacy of a man placing a crown on royalty.

The fans exploded.

“OH MY GOD—”

“S.COUPS, YOU ARE SO STRONG?!”

“NOPE. I’M OUT. I’M DECEASED. I’M GONE.”

“PRINCESS TREATMENT? IN THIS ECONOMY???”

[Accurate reactions because same 🫠]

Still chuckling, Luna waved to the fans, flushed but not flustered, brushing her hands down the sides of her coat. “He’s so dramatic,” she called out playfully.

[Girl just say you enjoyed it]

Then— like this wasn’t already a K-drama finale— Seungcheol crouched down.

[HE 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏 DONE 👏 YET 👏]

Right there on the wet sidewalk. In his expensive coat. Knees bent.

Luna blinked. “Cheollie— enough— what are you—?”

He reached for her ankle. One of the long straps from her heel had come undone in the lift. Without a word, he began to wrap it back around her leg carefully, pulling it snug and retying it in the neatest little bow like he’d done this a thousand times before.

[A man. A man. A maAaaAnN]

[He served. He slayed. He accessorized the fantasy.]

Luna looked down at him, the softest smile curling her lips.

“Thank you,” she said quietly when he stood again, brushing invisible dust off his knees like it was just another Tuesday.

He shrugged. “Can’t have you tripping. Not on my shift.”

[Every man in France just turned to dust.]

And then —just like that— they turned to the fans.

[Acted like nothing fucking happened]

No explanation. No pause. They stepped up to the barricade and started signing posters and albums like nothing had happened.

“Hello! Did you guys wait long? You guys didn’t get too wet, right?” Luna asked sweetly.

“No! We are okay! I love your outfit, Jiyeon!” one fan squealed, practically vibrating.

Seungcheol reached out and signed an album cover, nodding. “Hello.”

“S.COUPS, DID YOU CARRY LUNA LIKE THAT JUST NOW?!” another gasped.

He smiled, completely unbothered before nodding. “She… was gonna… ruin her shoes,” he said in English after hesitating.

[This man is not real. He’s a figment of our collective delusion.]

[ALSO! HIS ENGLISH IS SO FUCKING CUTE!!]

The signing went on for several minutes— ink flying, fans squealing, photos snapping like fireworks. Despite the drizzle still misting from the air, neither Luna nor Seungcheol seemed rushed. They signed each item with care, made eye contact, nodded along to fan comments, and even laughed when someone shouted, “You two better drop a collab next!”

[YESSSSSSS PLEASENEJEJEJHEJSJS]

“Maybe we already did,” Luna teased, shooting a playful glance at Seungcheol, who just grinned and gave a non-committal shrug like “Who’s to say?”

[IM SICK OF THEM. I LOVE THEM SO BAD.]

One by one, the fans started getting their moment. Seungcheol gave polite bows, flashed that dimpled smile, and even signed a phone case with a cartoon version of himself. Luna took pictures with fans, even making matching poses when someone nervously asked her to do a heart. Her voice was sweet, her laugh louder than expected, and she touched her hand to her chest every time someone complimented her outfit.

“I was scared my skirt would fly off in the wind,” she admitted at one point, earning a collective gasp and more screams.

[I LOVE HOW THEY MADE SURE THEY SPOKE TO EVERYONE 🥹]

Eventually, the staff gave a subtle nod— it was time to head inside.

Luna waved both hands toward the crowd, voice ringing out cheerfully. “Thank you for waiting for us! Go get warm, okay?! Drink something hot!”

“Bye, Luna! Bye, S.Coups!”

“Rest well!”

Seungcheol stepped back, waving with one hand as the other found its way instinctively to the small of Luna’s back. It was a featherlight touch, guiding her gently as they turned toward the hotel entrance.

[HAND. PLACEMENT.]

Her heels clicked softly on the wet pavement, and just before the stairs, she paused ever so slightly— eyeing the slick marble steps.

She didn’t need to say anything.

Seungcheol was already there.

Without a word, he extended one hand toward her. Luna placed her palm into his like it was second nature, fingers curling. He helped her up the first few steps, steady and slow, his other hand hovering protectively behind her like a safety net. When her heel caught for half a second on the edge of a step, he caught her waist with the kind of ease that said he’d do it a hundred more times if needed.

[HELP. THE FIRM HAND ON THE BACK. I’M UNWELL.]

[I HAVE REPLAYED THIS ONE TO MANY TIMES]

“Careful,” he murmured near her ear.

She chuckled softly. “Always am.”

[AT THIS POINT I DON’T NEED A MAN LIKE CHOI SEUNGCHEOL… I NEED CHOI SEUNGCHEOL.]

They reached the top step and turned slightly— one last wave to the fans still waiting outside.

Luna blew a kiss with both hands. “Bye bye~”

Seungcheol gave a short, respectful bow and winked.

[HE HAS LOST HIS GODDAMN MIND]

[I’m calling the cops.]

[WHAT ABOUT MY SANITY, CHEOL!?!?]

And with that, they disappeared into the warm golden glow of the hotel lobby, the heavy doors closing behind them with a soft hiss— like the end of a perfect scene.

I’m crying in French.

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #2 - SPIDER SAVE

And here we have the next scene where chaos, fear, and absolutely zero brotherly instinct collide.

This next clip is a collective effort on saving Luna… a collective effort for SOME of them..

Viewer discretion is advised— especially if you’re scared of spiders or watching your faves scream like children.

It was the night after the MAMA Awards in 2023. Fresh off their Grand Prize win, SEVENTEEN had returned to the hotel, finally shed of their glitzy stage outfits and makeup. The tension of the night had melted into laughter, oversized hoodies, bare faces, and that delicious post-win glow. The air buzzed with pride.

[This live cracks me up istg 😂]

In the cozy glow of Luna’s hotel room, all fourteen members squished together in front of their Weverse Live setup. The camera rested precariously on a pile of stacked water bottles and a room service tray— real idol behavior. They’d gone live to thank Carats, express their raw emotions, and bask in the surreal moment they’d worked their whole lives for.

Woozi, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, Hoshi, Dino, Jun, and Minghao were all squished together like an idol burrito on the couch at the side. Mingyu, Dokyeom, and Luna were settled casually at the edge of her bed, and Vernon and Seungkwan took the floor like the two gremlins they were.

Everyone was glowing— some sleepy, some energized, most just buzzing.

Luna was in the middle of speaking when it happened. Her voice was steady but tinged with emotion, hands fluttering like always when she spoke from the heart.

“I just… I still can’t believe it,” she said softly, her hands waving gently as she leaned forward, her all-black long-sleeved top clinging slightly to her frame under the heat of the lights. “We all worked so hard… and getting this kind of acknowledgment? It’s beyond anything I ever dreamed of. Thank you for giving us this chance—”

Then she froze.

Her words got caught in her throat like static.

Her hand had felt something shift. Something weighty. Something… alive.

[THAT THING WAS HUGE]

Her eyes widened, a gasp ripping from her chest like a fire alarm as her arms immediately raised into the air in total surrender.

[NOPE. NOPE. ABORT MISSION.]

Everyone looked at her.

“Jiyeon-ah?” Seungcheol and Jeonghan asked first in unison, confused, brows furrowing.

“Are you okay?” Woozi leaned forward.

“What happened?” asked Joshua from the couch.

“Did you forget what you were saying?” Dino asked innocently.

[The fact none of them saw it is terrifying]

She didn’t answer.

“H-Hannie…” Her voice cracked.

[THE. FACT. SHE. CALLS. FOR. JEONGHAN. FIRST.]

[I’m not okay…]

And that’s when Jeonghan’s head snapped back toward her, expression instantly alert.

“What’s wrong? Nana-ya — what is it?” he asked, pushing off the couch halfway.

Her hands trembled, still hovering above her shoulders like she was under arrest. “It’s on me,” she whispered hoarsely.

[It’s. On. HER!!!]

The moment she said it, Seungkwan, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her feet, turned his head to look.

And saw it.

[KWAN MADE EYE CONTACT WITH IT 🫠]

The massive, hairy, actual demon from hell clinging to the fabric of Luna’s black shirt like it paid rent.

His scream could’ve cracked concrete. “AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH— IT’S A TARANTULAAAAAA!!!”

[YEAH NO. I WOULD’VE DIED RIGHT THERE.]

Seungkwan launched himself backward in a barrel roll so dramatic it deserved its own OST. Vernon saw it next and flinched so hard he flopped flat onto his back like a ragdoll.

[I FUCKING CANNOT WITH THEM 😂😂😂]

Jeonghan was now standing.

“Jeongie…” Luna whimpered, her eyes shimmering with tears. “A spider.”

[Luna said: “Jeongie 🥺” AGGHHHHHHH]

That was all it took.

Mingyu and Dokyeom, who had been right next to her, leapt off the bed like it had become lava, tripping over each other and nearly taking out the lamp as they scrambled.

[HAHAHAHHAHAHAHSBSHEHSJWB]

[THE WAY THEY JUST DOVE AWAY FROM HER 😂]

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I’m sorry!” Mingyu shouted, already halfway across the room, arms flailing like a windsock.

Dokyeom screamed, “IT HAS FUR. FUR, GUYS!”

[It was literally every man for themselves!!]

Woozi, Jun, Hoshi, Minghao, and Dino all collectively cringed and began shuffling away like penguins trying not to fall off an iceberg.

[SO NONE OF Y’ALL ARE GONNA HELP HER??]

The camera— still streaming live to tens of thousands of fans— jolted from the tremors of fleeing members.

In fact the fans saw it first, however, they were so immersed in their conversation, they didn’t see that chat.

The tarantula shifted again. Luna squealed and slammed her hands over her eyes, trying not to move.

“Save me,” she whispered helplessly. “Save me. Save me.”

“I CAN’T, I’M SORRY!” Mingyu shouted again from behind a chair. “LU-LU, I’M SO SORRY, I LOVE YOU BUT I GENUINELY CAN’T—”

[KIM MINGYU USE YOUR MUSCLES AND YOUR HEIGHT?!?]

Tears were now streaming down her face. She felt it crawling. Her breath hitched with every tiny movement.

[“SOMEONE SAVE HER!” I say as I hide behind the screen.]

“Move, move,” Jeonghan barked at them, finally crossing to her.

Seungcheol was right behind him. “Wonwoo, come.”

Joshua was already beside her, crouching. “It’s okay, Jiyeon-ah. It’s fine.”

[I love you Joshua but it really isn’t fine.]

“It’s okay, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan whispered, carefully reaching out, trying to touch anything but the spider. “It’s okay. We’ll get it off.”

“Don’t move,” Wonwoo said, calm but firm.

“Seungkwan! Give me that empty glass and the menu,” Seungcheol said.

“W-Wait—what?!” Seungkwan held them up like he was handling plutonium.

[HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE INVOLVED AT ALL 😂]

“NOW, KWAN.”

Seungkwan half-crawled, half-tossed them over like a reluctant courier. “TAKE IT, JUST TAKE IT!”

[I AM DEAD HAHSHAHHSHSJAHSHSH]

[I rewatch this clip whenever I’m sad.]

“Get it off. Get it off. Get it off,” Luna cried quietly, her voice breaking over and over as her eyes stayed squeezed shut.

Wonwoo and Seungcheol coordinated, slowly, precisely, while Jeonghan kept her locked in place with his touch and voice. Joshua’s hand never left her knee.

With one swift motion, Seungcheol slammed the glass over the spider and slid the menu underneath. It hissed. Or maybe that was just Mingyu and Dokyeom screaming again.

[Those two were ✨YELLING✨]

As soon as it was off, Jeonghan yanked Luna into his arms.

Her entire body crumpled against him like a puppet with its strings cut, trembling and limp.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, carrying her across the room and sitting on the couch with her practically in his lap. “You’re okay, pretty girl. It’s gone. It’s gone now. Just breathe, okay?”

Her face was buried in his neck, shaking like a leaf as he rubbed soothing circles into her back.

[PRETTY GIRL?!!? HOW DID WE NOT SEE THE SIGNS!?]

[I know this is a CheolNa moments video but I cannot help but gush about JeongNa. Sue me.]

Wonwoo and Seungcheol hurried out the room with the spider, muttering something about throwing it out the hotel.

And once everyone was back and settled, the room fell silent.

Shocked. Processing. Haunted.

[The silence after 😂]

Then Luna slowly sat up in Jeonghan’s lap and wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt.

“Does anyone want to switch rooms?” she asked weakly.

[😂😂😂]

“No.”

“Hell no.”

“I love you and all but… no.”

[Just the collective “no’s” is killing me]

The chorus came in like a wave.

“I’ll switch,” Seungcheol said.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

“Please,” Luna whispered without missing a beat, looking at him with the desperation of a woman betrayed by the universe. No hesitation.

“The spider was just trying to congratulate you for being a Grand Prize winner,” Jeonghan said lightly, tightening his arms around her waist.

[A MENACE]

That made them all laugh— some still recovering, some still sweating.

But Luna? She blinked at him, deadpan. “It’s a hater.”

[LUNA. PLEASE.]

[NO CAUSE FACTS.]

“Awww,” came a collective coo from the couch as Jeonghan kissed her temple and tightened his arms around her, rocking them slightly like he was calming a toddler post-vaccine.

[SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING BITCH]

Just a cute little moment for my main ship!

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #3 - FIT FIX

We are now LIVE from Mexico and this is historic behavior.

The bass was thumping like the pulse of the crowd, relentless and euphoric as the final chorus of ‘Very Nice’ exploded across the Tecate Pa’l Norte stage. Spotlights chased after twelve bodies sprinting across the vast platform— chaos incarnate in white, glitter, sweat, and sound.

It was the end of their ninety-minute set, and if anyone was tired, no one was showing it. SEVENTEEN were everywhere at once— on the main stage, the wings, the extended platforms jutting into the sea of screaming Carats— grabbing water bottles and launching them like missiles into the sweltering crowd, pointing mics to the sky, hips jumping in sync, hearts pounding out of their chests.

[I’m sweating and i’m not even there. this is cardio.]

[Aju Nice is just that song yk?!]

The fans were feral. They were drenched. They were howling. And still, they sang along.

By the edge of the extended stage, Luna was crouched low, balancing effortlessly on the balls of her feet in her sky-high black combat boots, her mic pointed toward the front row as she grinned wide at the sea of hands reaching for her. Her black mesh tank clung to her glistening skin, her leopard bralette peeking through beneath. Sequined leopard print shorts hugged her hips, glittering under the lights every time she moved. Her jewelry sparkled— rings, earrings, bracelet, and necklaces— and the tattoos along her rip cage looked like they’d been inked by the stars themselves.

[No because this is LITERALLY the mother we all collectively share.]

[RED HAIR BAE JIYEON IS SUPERIOR!]

She held her mic out again, laughing as the crowd screamed the next “Aju nice!” back at her, nearly shattering the sky.

Then she saw it— an arm in the pit, holding up a brown cowboy hat. It waved wildly in the air, fingers curled in desperate offering. Luna’s grin widened like the start of trouble. With a wink, she reached forward, snatched the hat clean from their grip, and dropped it onto her head like she’d worn it her whole life.

[NOT THE COWBOY HAT. NOT THE COWBOY HAT. I CAN’T BREATHE.]

[ALSO THAT FUCKING SMIRK AND WINK 🧎‍♀️]

[THANK YOU TO THE CARAT WHO GAVE HER THAT]

The fans lost their collective minds. Deafening shrieks pierced the humid night as Luna smirked, tilting the brim of the hat low over her eyes, full Yeehaw Mode activated.

[I CANMOT DEAL WITH HER!?!]

[y’all she just gave us yeehaw Luna. she just served country slay. i am unwell.]

[YOON JEONGHAN COME COLLECT YOUR FIANCÉE]

Still crouched, her laughter barely contained, Luna leaned back into the chorus, belting the next “Aju Nice!” with a fire that could’ve burned down the northern half of Monterrey. But as she stood back up, bouncing to the rhythm, the motion tugged her glittering shorts a little higher up her thighs, the hem riding just a bit too far without her noticing.

[hold on. HOOOOOLD ON.]

From somewhere behind her, Seungcheol saw it happen. The man had been spinning water bottles in both hands, soaking the left side of the stage with his usual finale chaos— until his eyes found Luna.

[Cheol’s guard dog sensors activated in 0.2 seconds flat.]

He was on the move before anyone clocked it. Making a beeline straight for her, dodging Hoshi’s flailing limbs mid-jump and ducking past Dokyeom who was scream-laughing into a mic with his head thrown back. In three long strides, Seungcheol was beside her.

[HE IS A MAN ON A MISSION 🫡]

And then— like it was muscle memory— he reached around her lower back with one arm, planted himself close against her side, and dipped low enough to slip his other hand down the curve of her hip.

[STOP. STOP RIGHT NOW.]

[I CANNNNOISYSGAHSBHSHSJSBHSSHHSB]

Still singing, still grinning, Luna barely reacted as Seungcheol’s fingers ghosted the hem of her shorts, looped through it discreetly, and tugged it down ever so slightly to keep her from flashing half of northern Mexico.

[HE ADJUSTED HER SHORTS. HE SAID MODESTY FIRST. I’M BARKING.]

The crowd erupted. If the energy had been chaotic before, it was now full nuclear meltdown. Phones were raised at lightning speed. Screams climbed into glass-shattering territory. Fans grabbed at their friends, mouths hanging open, full-body shaking.

[Honestly same]

[The way my soul left my body like. that was biblical. that was primal.]

Still wrapped in his arm, Luna glanced sideways at him, smile softening just enough to show something tender beneath it all. Her voice dropped with her next line, sweet and amused as she mouthed, “Thank you.”

Seungcheol smirked, giving her hip a final pat before his eyes flicked up to the top of her head.

[SHUT THE FUCK UP!/7626)/6/)@29]

[He clocked that HAT.]

Luna caught the look instantly.

“Oh,” she said with a wicked little smile, “You want it?”

Without waiting for an answer, she reached up, plucked the brown cowboy hat off her head, and spun it once on her fingers like a lasso.

Then, with exaggerated flair, she placed it right onto Seungcheol’s head, adjusting the fit before tipping the brim low over his eyes.

“There. Much better,” she grinned.

[LET US ALL THANK MOTHER LUNA 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[I’M IN LOVE WITH HER. BUT ALSO HIM. BUT ALSO BOTH.]

Before he could retaliate, Luna trailed one hand down the front of his soaked black tank top— slow, gentle, teasing fingers ghosting over his chest as she passed him by— and then turned on her heel and walked away like she hadn’t just wrecked everyone’s life.

[WHERE IS HER OSCAR. WHERE IS HER GRAMMY. WHERE IS MY INHALER.]

[WHAT?!? IS?!? WRONG?!? WITH?!? HER?!?]

Seungcheol stood frozen in place for a beat, the brim of the cowboy hat shadowing his face.

[Choi Seungcheol.exe stopped working]

Then he laughed. Low. Dangerous. Delighted.

When Luna glanced back over her shoulder, she saw him watching her— smirk crooked, dimple deep, eyes locked like a loaded gun. He tipped the hat at her in return, and she— still walking backward now— winked at him before spinning around and bolting back toward the others at center stage.

[AND SHE WINKED. SHE WINKED. YOUR HONOR THEY ARE PLAYING WITH ME PERSONALLY.]

[CHOI SEUNGCHEOL STAND UP!]

[i need therapy. i need a priest. i need this live in 4k.]

And just like that, Luna vanished into the chaos again— racing back to the group, voice rising in the final chorus of ‘Very Nice,’ leopard shorts glittering, laughter ringing, while the fans continued losing their absolute minds.

Absolute tease. The both of them.

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #4 - LENS LOCKDOWN

Tho clip makes me so feral but also makes my BLOOD BOIL every time. the way some people are so CREEPY to Luna.

Cheol handled it like a KING but I still want to fight everyone.

He said “i will bodyblock for her in 4K” and I cried.

It should’ve been a cute moment.

All fourteen SEVENTEEN members— yes, fourteen,— casually gliding through Incheon International Airport like a black-and-white Calvin Klein ad with matching duffel bags and designer sunglasses. Fans screamed from both sides of the terminal, cameras flashing like strobe lights, phones held high like digital rosaries. Security moved like shadows around them. Their team led the way, airport staff politely panicking in the background, and behind them… media.

Too much media.

Too many lenses.

But Luna didn’t notice any of that. She was too busy vibrating.

[She’s so happy.]

“Guys! We’re going to my home turf,” she beamed, bouncing slightly on her heels as she clutched Jeonghan’s hand like it was a backstage pass to her childhood. “You’re gonna love the rain. And the food. And the chaos.”

Jeonghan only smiled, clearly too sleepy to banter back but definitely awake enough to let his thumb lazily run over the back of her hand as they walked. He looked like he was running on three hours of sleep, a single iced americano, and the joy of annoying airport staff by refusing to wear both shoulder straps of his backpack.

[They are so cute 🥺]

“Are your parents coming to Glastonbury?” Mingyu asked from behind, dragging a suitcase like it owed him money.

“They are,” Luna grinned. “I already warned my dad not to yell out embarrassing things in the crowd.”

“You just guaranteed that he will.”

The group moved like a unit, half asleep but polished to idol perfection. Snapbacks, masks, glasses— yes. Matching suitcases with tiny plushies clipped on them— also yes. Half the members kept their heads down. Others waved at fans. Jeonghan blew a kiss. Woozi pretended not to hear someone yell HUSBAND. Vernon nodded at a fan holding a sign that just said “YOU.”

[Vernon has had it with these signs]

Luna was radiant. Her oversized hoodie was half-tucked into a pleated skirt, and her boots stomped like she owned every square inch of tile. Her hair was up in a red claw clip. She wore no makeup but smiled like she was lit from within, occasionally squeezing Jeonghan’s hand and waving at fans who called her name.

She looked happy. Excited. Comfortable.

That’s when it happened.

They were halfway up the escalator leading toward their gate. Their team was ahead. Security circled the members like satellites. Luna leaned her head on Jeonghan’s shoulder, her arm swinging gently between them.

Jeonghan tilted his head so it rested lightly against hers.

[MOM! DAD! ADOPT ME! PLEASE!]

Seungcheol, just a step behind her on the escalator, clocked it all with a soft smile. He knew that look on her face. He knew that feeling. That joy. He loved seeing her like this.

Then—

Then something shifted.

Something moved.

A rustle. A shuffle. A weird mechanical click.

His gaze flicked sideways, over the edge of the escalator railing, and landed squarely on the camera in the hands of a man walking just behind the security line—. part of the trailing media group. Normal. Annoying, but normal.

Except the angle wasn’t.

The lens was pointed up.

And aimed directly at Luna.

No. Not her face. Not her smile. Not even her and Jeonghan together.

Lower.

Too low.

Far too low.

[PISS ME THE FUCK OFF]

[I WOULD HAVE PUSHED HIM OFF THE ESCALATOR AND ENDED UP IN JAIL 🤷‍♀️]

Seungcheol saw red.

His entire body moved before his brain did. His hand shot out and covered the lens, palm snapping over it like a lid. The camera jolted. The man flinched.

[THAT’S MY MAN!]

Seungcheol stepped off the escalator and immediately positioned himself behind Luna, blocking her completely with his body.

[CHEOL FULLY SWITCHED INTO “IF I CATCH YOU I’M BEATING YOU” MODE.]

His voice was low, dangerous.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, sharp and slow.

The media guy stammered. “I— I was just— creative shot— group angle—”

“Yeah?” Seungcheol’s eyebrows lifted in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Real creative to angle your lens under a woman’s skirt.”

The man opened his mouth again.

“Say another word,” Seungcheol cut in, tone deathly calm, “and you won’t be flying anywhere this week.”

Their security team caught the shift instantly. Two men peeled off from formation and grabbed the man by each arm. He protested. Loudly. The commotion earned a dozen turned heads, including Vernon and Woozi, who looked back with eyes narrowed. Dino stopped walking completely. Joshua blinked, confused.

Jeonghan turned just in time to see Seungcheol’s hand still outstretched.

He looked down at Luna.

Then at the man.

Then back at Luna again.

The dots connected.

Without a word, Jeonghan moved, gently but firmly shifting Luna in front of him, placing himself between her and the now-chaotic situation. His arms came around her in a quiet, instinctive shield. Luna blinked up at him, brows furrowed.

[STFU I LOVE THEM SM 🥺]

“What’s going on?” she asked softly.

“Nothing,” Jeonghan murmured, voice deceptively light. “Just stay here.”

Luna’s brows twitched in confusion but didn’t push. She trusted him. She trusted them.

[We don’t deserve them but i will fight for them.]

Behind them, the man was being dragged away, sputtering, as Cheol spoke to their security team with clenched teeth and an expression carved out of stone. His jaw worked. His hands kept twitching. He looked like he wanted to throw a suitcase.

[🥵🥵🥵]

Then, finally, as the situation diffused and the media noise dulled, he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

Without saying a word, he stepped forward again and planted both hands on either side of the escalator handles, one on each rubber grip. His body formed a triangle behind Luna and Jeonghan. Not touching them, not crowding them— but surrounding.

Blocking.

Protecting.

Anyone behind them now saw nothing but Seungcheol’s back. Tall. Broad. Furious.

[He activated bodyguard mode and I haven’t recovered.]

That was the last image fans saw before SEVENTEEN disappeared through the gate.

No waves. No bows.

Just idols, their team, their guards— and a wall of Seungcheol.

[Glastonbury hasn’t even started yet and the lore was ALREADY off the charts.]

And if I EVER see that camera guy on the street. it’s over for him.

Seungcheol if you see this I’d marry you in front of my mom right now.

KKUMA & BUG WEVERSE LIVE PLAYDATE

Just this entire CheolNa & pets Weverse live

The way this live was supposed to be about the pets but turned into a couple’s domestic comedy hour with a side of jealousy and chaos.

The screen blinked to life with the familiar Weverse Live notification pinging across CARATs’ phones, the caption reading: ‘S.COUPS & LUNA & KKUMA & BUGS!’

[You guys don’t know how fast I clicked on a notification]

The live opened with the camera a bit tilted, someone clearly struggling to adjust the tripod, which only made it funnier when Seungcheol’s voice called out, “Ya, you said you knew how to do this!” followed by a soft chuckle from behind the camera.

A very familiar chuckle.

[JEONGHAN IS BEHIND THE CAMERA I REPEAT THE SNITCH IS IN THE ROOM.]

“Okay, we’re live,” Luna announced cheerily, finally sitting on the floor mat with her legs crossed and a small blanket over them, her wine-red hair loose and fluffy around her shoulders. She looked like the picture of domestic comfort, until she suddenly yelped—��BUGS, BABY NO, NOT THE CORDS—” and lunged off-screen.

Cue chaos.

“KKUMA! STOP FOLLOWING HIM—” Seungcheol groaned, dragging his giant white fluffball in the opposite direction as the tiny brown rabbit darted behind a shelf.

[The bunny has no fear. the dog has no care. Luna has no control. Seungcheol has no authority.]

“Hi guys,” Luna finally greeted breathlessly as she returned to the frame, now with a smug-looking Bugs in her lap like he didn’t just try to commit appliance homicide. “This little criminal is Bugs. Hannie got him for me last Christmas. He thinks it makes up for for him not being here. It doesn’t. But the bunny is cute.”

A loud scoff could be heard from behind the camera.

[BOY– HAHAHHAHAHABAJBSJEBSJSB]

Seungcheol plopped down beside her, Kkuma flopping over on her side with her tongue out and tail wagging like she’d just run a marathon. “KKuma just wants to be friends,” Seungcheol whined, gesturing at the bunny now dramatically grooming himself like royalty. “But someone raised a diva.”

“He’s not a diva,” Luna defended, “He’s cautious. And elegant.”

“Elegant?” Seungcheol stared. “He tried to body slam Kkuma earlier.”

[Bugs is his father’s child]

“He’s establishing boundaries,” Luna shot back, scratching behind Bugs’ ears. “I support him.”

[Luna raising her bunny like a gen z therapist. Bugs has a trauma-informed care plan.]

The comments were already flooding in, fans crying about the cuteness overload. One caught their attention:

“BUGS VS KKUMA FIGHT NIGHT WHEN?”

Luna laughed, holding up Bugs’ tiny paw. “Bugs would win. Don’t underestimate the bite radius on this guy.”

“Okay, but Kkuma has size and the emotional intelligence of a houseplant,” Seungcheol added proudly. “She’ll doesn’t know how to lose. She’ll keep fetching until the world ends.”

Behind the camera, Jeonghan’s laughter could be heard again— quiet, but undeniably there.

Luna leaned toward the screen like she was sharing a secret. “You guys hear that? That’s Bugs’ daddy,” she added, putting air quotes around the word with a dramatic eyeroll. “But he insisted on being here because he ‘missed Bugs too much.’”

“Lies,” Seungcheol deadpanned. “He’s here to supervise you.”

[Y’all she’s blushing. someone hold me back.]

Luna did not blush. (She totally did.) Instead, she ignored Seungcheol and read another comment aloud.

“WHY DO BUGS AND KKUMA HAVE BETTER CHEMISTRY THAN HALF OF Y’ALL’S FAVORITE DRAMAS.”

“I mean…” Seungcheol squinted as Kkuma gently sniffed at Bugs, who gave him a single disapproving thump before hopping two inches away. “It’s giving slow burn enemies to reluctant allies.”

Bugs then launched himself onto Luna’s lap, causing her to shriek-laugh. “Bugs baby! Daddy trained you better than this!” she scolded.

From behind the camera: “He takes after you.”

[YOON JEONGHAN?!!]

“I— WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” Luna spun around but Jeonghan was already silent.

Seungcheol howled. “You’re gonna get smacked.”

“I dare him to try!” Luna huffed. “He’s scared of Bugs.”

“I AM NOT—”

“You are.”

“I AM NOT.”

[It’s always the ones behind the camera starting the fights.]

The pets eventually settled— Bugs nibbling on a little bowl of strawberries Luna brought, Kkuma resting her chin on Seungcheol’s thigh like a certified sad girl. Luna reached over to smooth her hand through Kkuma’s fur and the big dog’s eyes closed in bliss.

“Cheollie,” she murmured, “she’s literally the fluffiest thing ever.”

“You say that, but someone will fight you.”

“He can try,” she smirked. “He’s behind the camera. Powerless.”

[I CANNOT WITH THEM 😭]

The camera suddenly tilted.

Luna screamed. “HEY—”

[YOON JEONGHAN IS FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE.]

Seungcheol leaned forward, squinting at the chat. “Someone said: ‘do the pets get along better than Jeonghan and Seungcheol?’”

He and Luna looked at each other. Then burst out laughing.

Luna replied, “Yes. But only because Bugs doesn’t have to sit through your leadership speeches.”

“Oh, and JeonghanNie does?” Seungcheol said.

“Every single day of his life,” she deadpanned.

“Anyway,” Seungcheol continued, brushing Kkuma’s ears back as the dog began to snore audibly, “We just wanted to do a small live because the kids haven’t hung out in a while, and it’s always good to bond with your fellow single parents.”

[KIDDDSSSSS 🥺]

“Excuse me?” Luna turned to him slowly. “Single?”

[Jiyeon really said “Me? Single?”

“Oh, right. Bugs has a stepdad.”

[HAHAHAHHAHAHAHSBJWHSJWBJWHE]

“I will throw this rabbit at you.”

[JIYEON PLEASE 😂 I AM WHEEZING 😂]

Behind the camera, a loud snort broke the tension as Jeonghan wheezed. “Don’t involve the child in your divorce.”

“OUR child is thriving!” Luna yelled.

[The fact this is our first update of Jeonghan in A WHILE]

[This live is a three-person custody battle and two pets just trying to vibe.]

Luna leaned forward again, noticing another comment.

“kkuma + bugs sub-unit when??”

“Honestly,” she said thoughtfully, “it would outsell all of us. Their logo would be a paw and a paw-pad.”

“I’ll manage them,” Seungcheol offered.

“You’re too emotionally invested.”

“You dressed Bugs in a sweater.”

“It’s cold in the studio!”

“HE HAS FUR.”

[They’re fighting again. the pets are traumatized.]

But Bugs just sat there, blissfully unbothered, chewing on a strawberry like he was above all of this. Kkuma twitched in her sleep, probably dreaming of a chew toy.

Eventually, Luna stretched her arms with a groan. “Okay, before Bugs decides to chew through another wire and Hannie drags me off-camera for defamation, we should wrap this up.”

Seungcheol nodded, giving Kkuma a little pat. “Say bye-bye, baby. We’ll do this again soon.”

Luna blew a kiss to the camera. “Thanks for hanging with us! And remember— if you don’t support Bugs and Kkuma, you’re anti-fun.”

Jeonghan behind the camera: “And anti-cute.”

[YOON JEONGHAN I MISS YOU!!!]

“Exactly.”

[This was not a pet live. this was a sitcom pilot.]

[JeongCheolNa ARE THE FOUND FAMILY TRINITY. GOODBYE.]

So. CheolNa.

The duo that radiates ‘accidentally in love in a K-Drama hallway confession scene’. They’re confusing. They’re chaotic. They’re codependent. And most importantly…

They are the funniest part of my mental illness.

We’ve laughed. We’ve cried. We’ve watched Seungcheol almost commit crimes in airports. We’ve watched Luna gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss while feeding her bunny strawberries and dodging security threats. We’ve watched Jeonghan suffer in silence behind the camera like the single mother of two bickering toddlers.

But the real takeaway?

Bugs and Kkuma need a spin-off series. Immediately. Disney+, call me.

So thank you for joining me on this 17-minute descent into hell, otherwise known as ‘CheolNa moments that make me question Jeonghan’s boundaries (he has none).’

If you came here looking for closure, jokes on you. These two have never closed a single emotional arc in their lives. They will flirt, fight, protect each other, and probably file each other’s taxes out of pure obligation— but will they ever define the relationship?

No. Never. Not until Jeonghan leaks the wedding photos out of spite.

Anyway.

Don’t forget to like, comment, subscribe, and send this video to your emotionally unavailable best friend. And remember:

If Bugs ever starts talking… we’re all in danger.

Until the next one… toodleoo!

comments…

@/lunababybae • 1 day ago ╰ Cheol and Gyu’s confession to Luna are my Roman Empire.

@/rinarieee • 1 day ago ╰ Jeonghan being so unbothered when Cheol confessed to his girl is mind blowing to me

@/gyusshadow • 1 day ago ╰ MINGYU AND DOKYEOK NOSE DIVING AWAY FROM LUNA WHEN THEY SAW THE SPIDER STILL CRACKS ME UP TILL THIS DAY 😂😂😂

@/moonbae17 • 1 day ago ╰ Cheollie is KING of hand placements 🥵

@/saythename • 1 day ago ╰ Jeonghan is fine with their flirting because Luna is fine with him flirting with Cheol

@/mad-lineeee • 1 day ago ╰ Luna going to Cheol when she had a nightmare 🥺

@/mrsbaebae • 1 day ago ╰ “Only back then?” SEUNGKWAN AS HE EYED JEONGHAN!! PLUS THE WAY JIYEON CHANGED THE SUBJECT 😫 1:00

@/alyy1625 • 1 day ago ╰ 15:18 GOOD LORD 🥵 CHEOL TUGGING JIYEON’S SHORTS DOWN

@/jeongnanana • 1 day ago ╰ Luna being a cute and clingy drunk 9:55 she really went 🥺

@/gyuuuuudaily• 1 day ago

╰ THAT WHOLE TOKYO ESCAPADE WITH THE CLAW MACHINE IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE!

@/sallluuuteee17 • 1 day ago

╰ The way Seungcheol carried Luna so effortlessly over the puddle 11:05 HAS ME ON A CHOKEHOLD!

@/lulu-nana17• 1 day ago ╰ THAT CREEP WHO TRIED TO TAKE UPSKIRT PHOTOS OF LUNA SHOULD ROT IN HELL

@/sebongrighthere • 1 day ago ╰ Our first update of Jeonghan after weeks is him supervising the pet play date live cracks me up 🤣

@/missbitchhhh • 1 day ago ╰ This is my Challengers.

@/shadowmyshadow• 1 day ago ╰ It’s always JeongNa or CheolNa not JeongNa AND CheolNa 😣

@/angel7266 • 1 day ago ╰ Our Jiyeonie kissing Cheollie’s knee 🥺

@/hannnieeeee7251 • 1 day ago ╰ 10:45 Jeonghan getting all up behind Jiyeon to help her with the claw machine 🫠

@/user763816262 • 1 day ago ╰ Cheol and Han immediately covering Jiyeonie from that creep 😣

@/ashonashonash_ • 1 day ago ╰ THESE MFS HAD ME STRESSING OUT WITH THAT DAMN SPIDER

@/jijijiyeonienie • 1 day ago ╰ Luna had Jeonghan and Seungcheol working that claw machine while she stood there and looked pretty. That’s iconic behavior 🤭

@/baebybaejiyeonie • 1 day ago ╰ I sense a pattern. Whenever Luna feels sad, anxious, nervous, scared or whatever she immediately goes “Hannie 🥺” and Jeonghan is already nose diving to figure out what’s wrong… and I am here for it.

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

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Taglist: @zhqvie @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl @cocopuff2424 @okoknotco @minvxq @soulphoenix1618 @whineywheeiny @rairaine @toplinehyunjin @ateez-atiny380 @cherrylovescheol @jiimtaee @blurr3db3rry @seomisaho @amanda08319 @peanutbutterslothsstuff @cheolsboo @allthings-fandoms @mystic-megumi @sherlockbye @tastyluvr @luperque @reignofraine @kpoplover-19 @star2013 @frankenstein852 @axleighkaize @jmkookie01 @shhh94 @gigglensnort @stupendouscookiehumanmug

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grandline-fics · 5 months ago

Note

I'm so in love with your writing, I'd love to see the "one bed trope" from you! Maybe a little suggestive, as far as you're comfortable, of course.

DESCRIPTION: There was only one bed

WARNINGS: nothing too suggestive, more on the fluff side

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,065

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I didn't know which characters you wanted so used the most popular form the recent poll. I had intended to do Ace as well but only had the energy to get something done for Shanks and Mihawk. I love this trope so much that i'll probably do more parts in the future. I hope you're happy with what I came up with and I'm sorry I didn't make it suggestive.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

MIHAWK

You were going to kill Crocodile. Not only did he order you to the tiniest island you’d seen in a long while, were the only thing in abundance seemed to be gloomy expressions but he also insisted you go to ‘keep an eye on' Mihawk. Since you considered Crocodile your main superior-a perspective you hadn't dropped since your Baroque Works days- you couldn't exactly refuse the assignment but it just made zero sense for you to be here. For starters Mihawk worked alone and efficiently enough that he didn’t require anyone to look out for him. Plus ‘observation’ wasn’t your usual role in Cross Guild. Normally Crocodile handed you a bounty list, told you to pick one and go get them.

This was just one big headache and to make matters worse after scouring the entire island a call came through from Crocodile saying the bounty had already been completed and just handed in. Now you really were going to kill your boss, but from the look on Mihawk’s face it seemed you would have to get in line. From the receiver, Crocodile’s laugh caught both of your attentions. “Look these things happen so stop pouting. Just make your way back to Cross Guild.”

Mihawk didn’t offer a response and ended the call, walking out of the alley you’d both stopped at to take the call. Silently you fell into step beside the former Warlord, walking the streets of the island for what felt like the hundredth time already. You let out a sigh of relief to see the inn come into view, now the only thing on your mind was trying to get a good night’s sleep and calm your annoyance at the whole situation. You couldn’t even muster a polite smile to the receptionist at the desk. “Two please.”

“Oh.” The receptionist glanced between you and Mihawk, her expression trained with years of experience to appear calm but you both saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes for the smallest moment. “I’m sorry but we’re booked almost to capacity.”

“You’re joking.” You muttered. Why was everything going against you today? “You have nothing left?”

“W-well we’re a small island. Rooms go fast but we do have one room available.” You and Mihawk exchanged a look, both composed. Then the receptionist had to uselessly add. “Only one bed…” With a sigh you held out your hand for the key, knowing there wasn't much choice. Muttering thanks you glanced at the number of the keyring and headed for your room for the night. Stepping inside you found it lived up to your very low expectations but at least it was clean. Silently you eyed the bed you would have to share and looked to your stoic roommate. “So which side of the bed do you want?”

As expected Mihawk was mature and respectable about the whole thing. Calm as ever he chose his side-the one closest to the door- and settled in for the night. Mihawk’s ability to fall over to sleep at ease was enviable because in the dark you could hear his deep, even breaths as he slept facing away from you. As tired as you were and as comfortable as you normally did feel in Mihawk’s presence you just couldn’t fall asleep. While the bed you lay in wasn't the worst you’d ever had to sleep in, it wasn’t the comfiest and living at Cross Guild had practically spoiled you. You’d gotten so used to stretching out, something you couldn’t exactly do at this moment.

Deciding to just make do with your half of the bed and not disturb Mihawk, you rolled onto your side with the intention of getting comfortable. The only problem was you’d vastly overestimated the room you had to move and could only gasp as you felt the bed disappear from under you. In a split second as you braced to hit the ground, you were instead caught by a pair of hands. With ease you were pulled back onto the bed and you tensed to feel your back make contact with the warmth of Mhawk’s chest. “Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s fine, just sleep.” He told you while pulling one arm back to tuck his hand under his pillow. You tried not to react to how sleep brought Mihawk’s voice to a lower register that made it so much more attractive to you. You only nodded at his instruction and shifted slightly, already so much more comfortable than you had been all night. The only thing now was you noticed Mihawk still had one arm loosely draped over your body, not quite holding you but still enveloping you in his touch. “This is only to keep you from falling out of the bed again.”

“I didn’t say anything…” You mused, lips curving into a teasing smile that Mihawk could practically hear in the dark. “If you wanted to cuddle all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this bed.” Mihawk warned in your ear, despite the threat you smirked to feel his arm over you tighten just a little.

“Relax, your secret is safe with me.” Ordinarily you would have teased him a little more but between the tiredness finally winning over you and the warmth of his body against yours being so comforting. For a moment Mihawk wondered if you were genuinely comfortable against him, ready to release you at the first sign of unease. Yet you surprised him when you yawned and lazily placed your hand over his arm and smile in satisfaction as your eyes slid closed, your breathing evening out as you fell asleep.

Mihawk had been taking his time to slowly get to know you and let you in little by little, but now watching you roll onto your other side and curl up against his chest he began to reconsider his actions. Perhaps a few more missions away from Cross Guild’s base wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

SHANKS

This type of situation should not be happening in this day and age. Not with your crew and Captain having the reputation and fame they had. Drawing names to see who was sharing rooms of all things reminded you of when the crew was only just forming and the coin to pay for individual rooms was a luxury. Some of the others on the crew shared your slight annoyance but you all knew that there wasn’t much you could do about it. The ship needed repairs after getting damaged in a ferocious storm with the sleeping quarters affected and unusable for now. You were all pirates after all and you supposed you needed to be reminded of that.

Still though you were secretly hoping you were one of the lucky ones who got their own room. You mentally cursed when Ben pulled out a slip of paper and read your name out. Resigned to your fate you grabbed your drink and took a plentiful mouthful as the vice-captain grabbed another piece of paper to announce your roommate for the night. As you wiped the stray remnant of the liquid from your lip you spotted the man pause and fight a laugh, disguising his amusement by rubbing the lower half of his face. “Captain Shanks.”

Your back went rigid and you ignored the burning stares of the rest of the crew as you instead turned your attention to the man in question. Even he seemed momentarily thrown by the announcement but he recovered swiftly as expected of the laidback man. His dark eyes met your gaze and he offered you a cheeky smile and a wink.

That night when all the drinking had been done you and Shanks stepped into your shared room. Without needed to consult on anything you both instinctively went to your preferred side of the bed to sleep on. You sat down and worked on kicking off your shoes and shrugging out of your coat to at least be a little comfier. You looked over your shoulder when Shanks lightly cleared his throat as he pulled back the cover to settle down on the mattress. “Problem Cap?”

“Not really.” Shanks mused with a sly smile. “I usually sleep naked is all.”

“Poor baby, I’m sure you can be brave and at least keep your trousers on for one night.” You teased, used to your Captain’s antics and knowing he was only making jokes to ease the slight tension at having to share like this. With a tired groan you settled down on your side of the bed as Shanks flicked off the light, bringing the room fully into darkness. “If not the barmaid should still be about to help you.”

“And downgrade my sleeping partner? I’d rather lose another limb.” Shanks told you dramatically, offended you’d suggest such a thing. You let out a huff of amusement and rolled your eyes as you stared tiredly at the ceiling, letting yourself grow more comfortable against the mattress. “I lost count how many of the crew wanted me to swap with them…”

“Uh-huh.“ You mused with a lazy smile before breaking out into a long yawn, sleep coming over you quickly now. “Well aren’t you lucky? Now go to sleep, ‘kay?”

“Can I at least get a good night kiss?” Shanks teased lightly, playfully tapping your nose and grinning in the darkened room to see your tired face scrunch up slightly. He’d said it as a joke, something for you to barely register in your mind as you drifted off to sleep. What he hadn’t expected though was you to roll onto your side and push yourself up with a low hum of sleepiness, not even bothering to open your eyes fully.

He watched silently, completely overcome with curiosity as your hand reached out to skim your fingers against his face, searching for him in the dark. Your hand settled against his cheek and slowly you drew closer. With half-lidded eyes Shanks couldn’t take his gaze off of your slightly parted lips.

“Shanks…” your voice was barely a breathy whisper but it was clear as a bell to Shanks, his attention raptly on you and only you. Quickly you pulled back just enough and opened your eyes to smirk slightly to see Shanks had leant in slightly to chase your lips he had been quietly eager to taste.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Shanks protested with a small pout, his hand dropping to the small of your back, fingers flexing slightly a gesture, to request you close the distance. He wasn’t forcing you, you had all the power here. You tilted your head and smiled at the sudden pet-name. You couldn’t deny the temptation to give in to your own idle curiosities about your handsome Captain. Given how you were sharing a bed and he'd requested a kiss you would have been foolish to throw away the opportunity you had. Still you had to at least get a little bit more fun out of it by keeping Shanks in momentary suspense.

Finally you relented and kissed Shanks, your lips moving languidly against his; it being no surprise to you the he was already returning the action with no hesitancy. There was no fight for dominance in the kiss you shared but you could feel the power and command of Shanks’ presence over you but he left the pace, duration, and intensity entirely up to you. As much as you wanted to take it further, to push your curiosity and attraction towards the man against you for your own satisfaction you had to pull away reluctantly, knowing you wouldn’t have been able to enjoy what would follow fully with how tired you were. “Satisfied with your good night kiss, Captain?”

“You have no idea.” Shanks grinned pressing a quick kiss against your head as you settled down on the bed again. “I can now sleep peacefully and dream the sweetest dreams.”

“Good.” You grinned sleepily, opening your eyes just enough to fix him a playful smile. “I expect a good morning kiss in return by the way.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, love.” Shanks grinned at you, already counting down the hours until he got to feel his lips against yours again but for now he would enjoy the time he had to sleep beside you.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa@kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99

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acexsmhking · 2 months ago

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Do you think you could do some headcanons for Toby if he was in college? I think it'd be fun to see something like that for him!! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞

(𝗻.) 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗲

╰┈➤ Tobias College Head-canons

Summary: Head-canon college for Tobias Rogers

Warning(s): 18+ content, mentions of math, mentions of canonical information, mention of alternative universe

Alternative Universe

Ooo I love this idea SO MUCH OMG

Since his parents kept him homeschooled pretty much his whole life, college is the first ‘real’ school he attends

Of course now that Toby is older they deem that he’s grown enough and that the world has grown enough to let the two collide

Toby… does not like college as much as he thought he would.. a bit of fault to his family

He’s grown so used, so attentive to his mother and sister’s care that being by himself finally is very difficult

He spends a lot of nights on call with Lyra to help himself

Connie calls 2-3 times a day no matter the time difference she always makes sure to call Toby on HIS time zone that’s appropriate

Since his dad is the one good with work Tobias often calls him to help with studying. He’s never quite had to study in the same sense as now so he has zero clue as to what the fuck he’s doing

Of course.. the world is still immature when Toby is college age, though maybe not as much as before but that doesn’t mean Toby doesn’t still come across some unsavory people

IDEA!!!: Toby attending the same college as Tim and Brian??? Omg so cute anyways

Toby mostly goes to a college in Oregon or Washington. He loves the climate and season changing, the nature and funny people

HE HATES CLASSES

He loves his profs though, they’re so funny unironically and he loves when his afternoon prof just brings her dog in

…idk anything about college sorry

He was always very academic gifted and college is no different but by the gods is it… a horror movie

Toby would probably major in something like biology, criminology, Human Resources or straight up psychology. It really depends!!

LOVEW HOLIDAYS, loves being able to go back home and hang out with his family and being babied by his mom

Calls his dad at 3am like “dad… what’s taxes..”

Current Universe

This is probably while he’s in the SCP foundation, they set up college courses for him to take

Again, Tobias is stupidly intelligent so he learns fairly quick

Finds out he hates math

Hates. Math.

But is ridiculously good at long division (actually his favorite… psycho)

He also loves multiplication but DO NOT ask him to multiply beyond 11, that’s when he starts losing it

Tim helps him a lot <3

Sometime Toby has a hard time remembering how to read English words so Tim explains it for him

“What’s that thing that go dirk dirk dirk..”

“Helicopter.”

“Yes!”

Tobias is actually so stupidly academically gifted he graduated earlier, which the foundation was actually thankful for

It’s hard lying to the government

Putting my own headcanons aside, foundation set up for Tim and Toby to live normal lives (under observation of course), they both live in their own separate townhouses

Private by Toby is still close to Tim when he has breakdowns

Again… 3am

“Timothy Wright, you never fucking told me about taxes!”

Falls off his bed laughing

“Why don’t they just tell me what I owe??? WHY DO I EVEN OWE ANYTHING.”

Toby might shoot a billionaire himself

Toby’s college experience in Canon-universe however is definitely 100% online with profs working FOR the SCP to help Tobias

They even set up for Tim to continue his own college courses since ya know.. he only finished somewhat and not everything he wanted to do

: ̗̀➛ This was such a cute idea thank you so much koa bear😽

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanons #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby #creepypasta #toby rogers

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igotanidea · 4 months ago

Text

(6) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

A/N: I'm damn aware it took me ages, I;m sorry! But - as many people asked for it (@pookieisme4life :D) and I DID HEAR YOU ALL, I hereby give you the preludium to the finale!! :D

MDNI!

TW: mention of self-harm/suicidal thoughts, brief description of rough s*x, bit of violence, swearing

***

FUCK!!

She felt like yelling, screaming, falling to the ground, tearing her eyes out, cutting her wrists, anything to get rid of this heavy feeling in her chest.

SO FUCKING STUPID

Falling into the same pattern of behavior as many more before her and – most probably – many more after her.

She should have known better.

No man in relationship ever leaves the girl for a lover

NO MAN.

EVER.

And yet she thought that him… that Dick… that he would be different.

She thought-

STUPID IDIOTIC IDIOT WITH STUPID UNREALISTIC BELIEFS.

Damn, it sucks to be a woman sometimes.

She hated herself.

Not only because of this stupid dickish Dick Grayson, but also because she acted like a piece of shit towards another girl.

Crossing out every single value she ever held dear to her heart.

Idiot.

***

“So, did you have fun?”

“Sienna-“

“Was she fucking better?!”

“Sienna, honey-“

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare calling me honey, right now!” she lunged at him, trying to slap his cheek, scratch his oh-so-fucking-stupid-pretty-face. To hurt him in any way possible, that could never ever measure the amount of pain she was feeling. Too bad Dick could easily predict her every move and block it with zero effort.

“Just listen to me-“ he grabbed both her wrist and held it to his heart. He should have known that her initial reaction that was almost shockingly calm would turn into a blind rage sooner or later.

Clearly sooner.

“You are –“

“A liar, a cheater and unworthy of your attention.”

“That’s not even close to truth.” Sienna struggled against him.

“What can I do to make it better?” – despite letting go off all the pretenses and running after the girl that really mattered to him?

“Nothing. We’re done here.” Finally she managed to wriggle free, walking towards the wardrobe and started throwing his clothes out.

“Don’t say that-“

“I will say whatever the fuck I want right now!” jackets, shirts, pants and even socks flew In every single direction in the room.

“Stop it- Sienna- Come on- “ he grabbed his favorite piece of clothing before it landed on the ground – “Come on-! Sienna! Stop it-!” before she realized what was happening, he was holding her waist, pressing her against the wall.

The tension in the room were tense enough to stop them from making any move, and yet, for a single moment he was way more scared than in any other life-threatening situation he encountered as Nightwing. She was angry. He saw it in her eyes. But there was also vulnerability and some sense of longing. Dick wasn’t exactly sure what this longing was for, but that look- that look of bambi Sienna put on her face made him act completely recklessly.

He kissed her.

No – not just kissed, that would be a heavy understatement.

He consumed her.

That masculine energy and confidence he was always sporting, took a very surprising form of dominance.

His lips moved with hunger, forcing her to submission, shutting down any objections she might have had, causing her body to respond out of pure instincts, moaning and melting into his arms.

Clothes flew around the room again, but this time for much different – arguably more pleasurable reasons.

He fucked her hard and rough, ending with deep, red, bloody scratches on his back and leaving little dents in the wall due to the way the bedframe kept on hitting it.

And even as he became almost brutal, she never told him to stop. If anything – begged for more, pulling him closer, taking him deeper.

As if the pain he was giving and receiving could in any way make up for the fact that for the entire time they fucked he was seeing y/n’s face.

***

“You almost ruined the entire mission.”

He couldn’t even care much enough to respond.

“Nightwing.”

“Uh-huh….”

“Do you realize you could have compromised – “

“Yeah, whatever-“

“I shall not tolerate-“

Dick rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“You are being insubordinate. Do not try to act like your brother. Teenage rebellion doesn’t suit you.”

“Teenage rebellion? Huh! Funny you say it, B, because if anyone, you are acting like a spoiled 5 year old, who gets mad and pouty when someone does a step without his permission.”

“I don’t understand what is happening to you-“

“Of course you fucking don’t!” he finally yelled, spinning around angrily, ready to fight Batman. Instead, however, his eyes grew a little wider in sudden realization. He was not a fucking pawn. He was not a fucking piece of a puzzle Bruce was trying to form to his own liking. (bright discovery for a man his age if you allow me to be a “tad” sarcastic). With that realization he jumped out of the ledge of a building like a acrobat he was and rushed to her apartment.

“NIGHTWING!”

“FUCK YOU BATMAN!”

He was still broken-hearted but for some silly reason, yelling those words into the night, illuminated by Batman’s symbol adjourning the sky like a beacon of hope felt exhilarating. Damn, next thing he knew, he could be joining Jason in his little vendetta against Bruce. How fun would it be? Two brothers, joined by circumstances and similar history, trying to get justice for-

Focus.

“Right, right, focus…” he muttered to himself. “Y/N.”

No matter what, he was going to make things right between them.

***

Where the hell could she be at 3 am?!

Partying? Not her.

Getting drunk at the bar with guys all over her? Not for long, once he beat them all to shit.

Staying at friend’s? Maybe, but then why was her phone on the nightstand, flickering with unread notifications from a few hours ago?

“Y/N?!” he cried out into the silence of the apartment, hoping against hope that she’d answer.

She was not in the bedroom, bathroom or in the living room.

“LET GO!!”

Oh, so there she was-

Outside.

Clearly in danger.

Dick rushed to the balcony to asses the situation, but before he could do anything, she was knocked down and dragged into a car.

“Y/N!!!” he yelled desperately, but it was no use as the black SUV (the fuck it always had to be black SUVs) took off with a squeal of tires, raising a cloud of dust.

“FUCK!”

There was not much he could do at the moment.

“Come with me.”

“Huh!”

“Jeez. Chill out, Blue.” a masked persona that appeared out of nowhere, scoffed at him, easily holding back the punch Dick aimed with his escrima sticks.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I know where they took her.”

“huh?”

“your girlfriend.”

“She’s not- well she is, but technically-“

“Focus, idiot!” the person smacked his head. Not hard enough to cause any real damage, but hard enough to made him come back to reality.

Reality in which Y/N was straightforward kidnapped.

“how do you know—”

“I just know. And now I’m your best shot at getting her back in one piece.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?”

“Trust? Ha! God forbid you’d be so foolish to trust me.”

Dick scoffed.

“Where did they take her?”

“Just follow me.”

And just like that, he followed a stranger into danger.

And despite it sounding pretty lightly due to the rhyming, this self-appointed mission was about to change the lives of not one, not two, but a whole group of people.

And maybe – just maybe – some of them – would end up irreversibly changed.

Last part will be the grand finale!!

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p

@leovergurl

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson x oc #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x you #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x oc #nightwing x you #dc dick grayson #dc smut #smut #dick grayson angst #nightwing angst

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uncookedfeeler · 6 months ago

Text

How it all started 👹

Jessi x Male Reader

Tags : 5k, smut

Loyalty is a deep and enduring commitment that manifests itself in trust, respect and support. It implies a sense of obligation and responsibility where each individual acts in the best interests of the other. This bond, which grows stronger with each passing week, month and year, is the cornerstone of any successful partnership.

For the investor, it's the guarantee of a long-term financial investment, not without risk of course, but also the exclusivity of every opportunity linked to the person being supported.

For the celebrity, it's the guarantee of permanent and intangible financial support, as long as the terms of the contract are respected, as well as access to other resources in the eventuality of difficulties.

It's been a busy few weeks for you, and as the number of visitors to your establishments increases, so does your workload. The financial returns are excellent, your customers seem satisfied with your services on both sides, and there's no sign of a downturn in business, which in a way doesn't bother you and the last thing you want to see right now is problems like scandal.

Scandals are an integral part of the industry in which you do business, and you are no stranger to them yourself. Before you implemented a 'zero' policy in your establishment, there were a number of outbursts from investors who were a little too physical with your customers, which earned you some minor concerns, but also a great deal of respect and trust for the way you handled these problems.

And nothing prepared you for the one that set the nation alight last night, incriminating your oldest client and long-time friend. So you arranged a meeting with this person.

It's not uncommon for you to appear in public at your favourite club, enjoying your own service and waving to the many clients and staff who fill the place. Amid discreet glances and whispers, you sit down at a table in the middle of the room and lean back.

Quickly, one of your employees, accompanied by the manager, appears in front of you to serve you.

"Welcome sir, I'm sorry I didn't come to greet you myself", says the manager in a hurry, the little man looks rather stressed and his face doesn't remind you of anything, probably a newcomer, you think.

The young woman next to him, much more stoic, bends down slightly to greet you.

"Good evening, sir, how are you? A double with ice as usual?" The familiar tone seems to disturb the manager, who is about to reprimand her.

"Yes, please, Seola," you say, smiling at the spectacle unfolding before you, and after taking your order, the young woman gives her manager a dark look of authority before returning to the bar.

"I'm sorry sir, I'll make sure she's disciplined, please excuse her", the manager says to you, bowing to show his respect.

"Haha, don't worry newbie, even if you're her boss she'll give you a hard time" you give the manager a light pat on the back before letting him disappear from your sight.

Shortly afterwards, Seola appears with your drink and sits down opposite you as if nothing had happened.

"So what's he been saying since yesterday?" you ask her in a low voice.

"People seem worried, the fact that it happened right outside the bar doesn't help, especially with the media attention of the scandal", she replies, matching the volume of your voice.

"It's not good at all, is it?"

"Not really, people here know she's directly connected to you, so we need to solve the problem quickly, at least internally"

"Leave it to me, sorry for the trouble"

The young woman gets up and goes back to her work, information gathering is crucial in your field and people like Seola, who are your ears within your walls, make it a lot easier.

And just as you're enjoying your drink with a clear mind, you hear the sound of heels tapping in the distance, then the surrounding noise falls to a deadly silence, and without even looking in the right direction, you know who's just entered the room, and quickly all eyes follow the progress of the woman who appears behind you and finally sits down opposite you where Seola was just a minute ago.

Under the red and dim light of the room, a small woman with long light brown hair appears, wearing a strappy purple outfit that accentuates her huge breasts, slightly hidden by a large sparkling crystal heart necklace. Her make-up is striking, with heavy eye shadow and a bold lip, giving her a pouty look.

"Sit down Jessica" you say firmly and loudly so that the whole room can clearly hear your order, supported by your furious expression, the young woman obeys without saying a word except for a simple one:

"Oppa ... I" that comes weakly from her trembling voice.

It's a show of dominance that you are preparing to display to your audience. Jessi, the woman with such a charismatic and strong image, is crushed under your authority and you intend to make an example of her.

With a simple, dramatic wave of your hand, you ask one of the waiters to bring a glass of water to your table and, leaning back in your armchair, you light a cigarette, even though it's forbidden inside, but no one will dare reprimand you, given the way things have turned out.

The woman keeps her legs together, doesn't dare look at you, and stares at the glass of water in front of her. She's obviously waiting for you to start your scolding, as usual. But this time she's gone too far and you stare at her for several long minutes.

"Oppa, I... I didn't mean to cause so much trouble, The kid came out of nowhere and my friend just overreacted. It's not like I pushed him myself" The young woman finally breaks the silence and looks up at you for the first time.

You don't know where to start, the situation is so bad from every angle, so you just listen.

"Of course I feel sorry for the boy, but with the CCTV and now the police questioning, it's just nonsense. People really do have time on their hands".

You already knew she wasn't the most mature of the bunch, but her reasoning is completely wrong, so you take the lead.

"Is that all you've got to say to me?" Anger slowly builds inside you, from the tension and adrenaline pumping through you.

"YOUR FUCKING FRIEND HIT A CHILD, A MINOR, IN FRONT OF MY ESTABLISHMENT, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" You throw your half-empty glass down, shattering it into a million pieces as it hits the floor. You continue to make large movements towards Jessi, explaining:

"LISTEN TO ME, JESSICA, I AM TIRED OF CLEANING UP AFTER YOU. YOU PUT MY BUSINESS AND EVERYONE AROUND US AT RISK WITH YOUR BULLSHIT".

"Oppa, I'm sorry, sit down." Her voice shaking, she also stands up to try and calm you down, but to no effect.

In your exaggerated anger, you rip off his collar, throw it on the table and grab his face, squeezing his cheeks hard.

"NOW YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME VERY CAREFULLY, YOU'RE GOING TO SORT OUT THIS PROBLEM WITH THE POLICE AND THEN YOU'RE GOING TO LEAVE YOUR LABEL AND MAKE YOURSELF VERY SMALL BECAUSE I SWEAR TO YOU, IF I SEE YOUR UGLY FACE ON TV AGAIN, WE'RE REALLY GOING TO HAVE A PROBLEM".

The pressure and violence of your words overwhelms Jessi, who begins to cry her eyes out, her make-up suffering the effects and running down her face. From the outside, the scene seems to have shocked your audience, who are witnessing a public humiliation, but that's all it takes to show that you're still in control of the situation.

You let go of the woman's face, still in shock, and you can see in her eyes that she is terrified and didn't expect this when she arrived.

"Go and freshen up in a private room, I'll join you in 5 minutes, we haven't finished our discussion yet," you order her, snapping your fingers, and the young woman complies before disappearing from the main room,

You turn to your staff to apologise for the mess and you do the same to everyone in the room, the audience seems to have been captivated by the scene, leaving a feeling of respect but also fear. Finally, you make your way to the corridor where the private rooms are located.

Access to the corridor is controlled by scanning a membership card to open a sliding-door that blends seamlessly into the wall. Although entry to your establishments is already by selection, those who wish can pay to gain access to these private rooms.

Once the door is open, you enter a corridor about twenty metres long, with several doors on either side. Each of these rooms is numbered and equipped for total privacy. As you walk along with your hands in your pockets, one of the doors on your left unlocks and you see one of your clients and former idol, Ms Seolhyun, step out:

"Good evening, Madame. I hope you're having a lovely evening? Everything going well inside?" you say with a warm smile as you stop in front of door N°4, greeting her with a simple nod.

“Good evening, Sir! Everything's going great... I..I just need to go to the toilet, thank you so much for your concern!”, replies the young woman as she leans over to greet you, her large breasts on full display.

You notice the delightful sweat on her face and her gorgeous, slightly flushed complexion. You even take the time to pull up the strap of her dress that has slipped off her shoulder, being careful not to drop the access card that is stuck between her two magnificent boobs. Then you move aside to let her pass.

You discreetly peek inside and see one of your old friends, Mr Hang, sitting on the sofa at the back of the room, enjoying the mouth of a short-haired woman while playing with the breasts of another.

You shut the door yourself with your foot until you hear the click of the latch, sealing the privacy of your clients once again, and make your way back to the room next door, wearing No. 6, you take your hands out of your pockets and pull the belt out of your trousers before wrapping it around your hand. Gently, you scan your card again on the badger by the door and enter the room.

You move slowly into the room, your footsteps echoing lightly on the tiles, each inch adding gravity to the moment, and stop before a kneeling Jessi, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Without a word, you drop your belt at her feet, immediately attracting the young woman's attention, her gaze rising towards you with the anxiety she is trying to hide.

You walk past her, staring at her coldly, and sit down on the beige leather bench just behind Jessi, who is still kneeling. She now has her back to you, emphasising the vulnerability of her posture in the face of your lack of response.

And for the first time since you entered, you start talking to her :

“Come here, darling” you say in a soft, affectionate voice and you see her obey without hesitation. She leans towards the belt on the floor, clutching it between her teeth with total obedience, in a show of deliberate submission. As she moves towards you on all fours, her eyes lowered, she seems to be aware of your penetrating gaze, which follows her without distraction, detailing her every move with silent satisfaction.

Finally, she reaches the seat and gently lifts her head to offer you your belt, her eyes tentatively searching your gaze for reassurance. In that suspended moment, you reach for your belt, then gently loop the strap around her neck, adjusting the buckle with cold precision. The belt tightens just enough to remind her of her existence without compromising her breathing. You take care to use the notch, deliberately drilled a little lower, adapted for this precise use.

“There you go” you murmur in a low, confident voice, Jessi's eyes rise slowly towards you, filled with unreserved submission, but also with a deep and palpable desire, the young woman is waiting for you to set your devotion on her.

“I'm sorry, my darling, for what I did before in front of everyone”, you gently reach out your hand to her, letting your fingers caress her still red cheek with tenderness, your thumb caressing it in a slow gesture, as if you wanted to erase your mistake, the young woman in her vulnerability closes her eyes and slowly lets her head rest on your thigh.

“But... you've been very naughty today and daddy needs to give you a little punishment, do me a favour and take off my trousers” and without further do the young woman complies and starts unbuttoning your trousers and then pulling off your underpants to free your semi-hard cock.

Jessi wraps her fingers around your shaft, gently stroking it to the head in a few thrusts. Then she extends her tongue and slides it along the underside of your cock, from the base to the tip. You let out a soft moan, your head falling back. "Go on girl, just like that..."

She swirls her tongue around your bulbous head, licking the beads of pre-cum dripping from the tip. Then she wraps her lips around it and sucks hard, lowering her head until the glans touches the back of her throat.

"Mmmmh! Now I recognise my little Jessica..." You gasp slightly as Jessi begins to rock her head back and forth, sucking on you with deep desire. One hand cupping and stroking your swollen balls as she works your shaft with her lips and tongue.

In no time at all, your cock is soaked in saliva and throbbing against the roof of her mouth. Jessi gives your swollen head a few more licks before pulling out. "Mmm do you like it when I do this daddy? Let me take care of your big cock a little longer.

She stays on her knees and slowly slides the straps of her tight dress to the side, exposing her huge tits as they bounce under the effect of gravity. You look at her lustfully and your cock continues to harden as they begin to push against each other.

She takes your thick shaft and presses it between her soft mounds, wrapping it in warm, soft flesh, squeezing her breasts around it and sliding it up and down. You just watch blissfully as your cock disappears between the flesh of her breasts, again and again.

Jessi continues to fuck you slowly and sensually, occasionally moving to suck the head of your cock before pushing it back into her cleavage. Her heavy breasts engulf it completely, your thick shaft disappearing each time before reappearing glistening with sweat. The wet, obscene sounds of her movements fill the room.

"What a needy little slut", you growl in approval as she gags and drools on your cock "You like choking on my big cock, don't you?" She hums in response, the vibrations making you roll your eyes.

Saliva drips down her chin as she works you, and you can't resist tangling your fingers in her soft hair, gripping it tightly as you begin to thrust into her mouth. "That's it, take it all in like a good girl", you command.

Jessi relaxes her throat, letting you push your cock deeper until you feel her nose pressing against your pubic bone. You hold her down, your heavy balls resting on her chin before you pull out. She gasps, tears stinging the corners of her eyes, only to see you thrust back in.

You use her mouth like a fleshlight, thrusting into her head and grunting with pleasure. Drool drips down her chin as she gags and chokes on your thick meat. But she was a fighter, she took everything you gave her.

Pulling back abruptly, you slap her face with your saliva-soaked cock, leaving traces of her own saliva on her cheeks. "Open up you little slut," you say, lifting her chin with the tip. "Ah!" Jessi screams as you thrust your cock back into her open mouth. As you start to thrust, you pull on the belt around her neck, tightening it just enough to make her dizzy. Her eyes roll back and she moans like a whore.

Holding her neck tightly, you finally let go of her hair and start slapping her fake tits hard, the impact of your thrusts leaving red marks on her body and you really let go, brutally fucking her face. Her throat swells obscenely with each deep thrust.

"Take it, you cock hungry bitch!" you growl, punctuating your words with particularly vicious thrusts. "Choke on my cock!"

Tears stream down her face as she chokes and spits, her throat convulsing around you, you can feel her dizziness from the lack of air and the rough treatment. But you don't care. All you care about is using your property for your pleasure.

Just before you spit your load, you pull out and point your cock at her face. Jessi manages to get her hands up just in time to grab your thick, heavy balls and stroke your cock as I come. Shot after shot of hot, sticky cum splashes into her face, coating her cheeks, nose and open mouth. She swallows as much as she can but it drips down her chin and onto her breasts.

"Tsk tsk, you're a mess", you say, chuckling darkly as you pull yourself in "Get up and take your dress off, we're going to have a chat while I claim your little pussy again".

Jessi stands up on shaky legs, her tiny body glistening with sweat and cum. Her once innocent face is now covered in your thick, sticky cum. Tears stream down her cheeks as the reality of what has just happened begins to sink in. She looks up at you with pleading eyes, silently begging you to comfort and reassure her.

You pull her towards you, hold her trembling body in your arms and let her rest on your shoulder. "Shhh, it's all right, my little girl", you coo softly, running your fingers through her tangled hair "I'm sorry, Daddy, I was naughty, I didn't mean any harm".

You slowly let her sit on you, her little body spreading out as you stroked her back. Her breasts, now covered with your fingerprints, rise with each shuddering breath. You lean down and take a stiff nipple between your lips, sucking and swirling your tongue around the sensitive bud. A soft moan escapes her as you lavish your attention on her abused breasts.

You align your still rock hard cock with her fully soaked pussy. With a slow, deep thrust, you bury yourself inside her, moaning as you feel her silky walls tighten around you. She lets out a cry, a mixture of pleasure and pain, as you thrust your thick cock into her cunt.

You begin to move, establishing a steady rhythm that makes her pussy throb around your throbbing cock. Her hands come to grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as you fuck her. Leaning down, you capture her lips in a passionate kiss, your tongue thrusting into her mouth to claim every inch of her.

Pulling away, you plant hot, mouth open kisses along her neck before latching onto her pulse point and sucking hard to leave your mark. She arched her back against you, her hips undulating in response to your deep, powerful thrusts. The wet sound of skin against skin echoes around the room, mingling with her moans of need.

"Sounds like someone needed that", you growl into her ear. "Your pussy is really tight, is it my big cock you miss so much?" Grabbing her hips hard enough to leave bruises, you thrust into her, the force of your thrusts bouncing her off your thighs.

Reaching between her spread thighs, you find her sensitive clit and begin to rub tight circles over the swollen bud. She lets out a high-pitched squeal, her head bobbing from side to side as you pull her closer to the edge. Her pussy begins to ripple and quiver around your cock, signalling her impending orgasm.

"That's it baby, let yourself go" you instruct as you pinch her clit between your fingers. "Play on my big cock like a good little slut". Her body tensed, her back on the table as her orgasm overwhelmed her. She begins to convulse, clear fluid gushing from her pussy, covering your cock and balls.

As you feel her tight pussy milking your cock, you let out a bestial grunt. Pulling out, you flip her stomach onto the table, grab your belt again, throw her head back and force your way into her still throbbing hole, giving her no time to come down from her euphoria.

You thrust into her with brutal, punishing strokes, the wet sounds of your cock sinking into her cum-soaked pussy obscenely loud. She moans and sobs, her battered body no match for your relentless assaults. The force of your thrusts shakes her entire body, her crushed tits swaying beneath her with each stroke of your hips.

Leaning over her, you bite her shoulder, growling and moaning like a wild beast as you thrust into her. Your balls slap against her clit with each thrust, bringing her to the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm.

"I'm going to cum, hold your pussy tight", you moan, your thrusts becoming erratic and you tug on your belt as your orgasm approaches. "I'm going to stuff my cum into this fertile pussy." You pound into her a few more times before thrusting deep and crashing against her womb. With a loud groan you explode, painting her insides with thick streams of hot cum.

You continue to rock inside her, driving your sperm into her quivering hole. She moans and gasps as your cock twitches inside her, each spurt sending sparks of pleasure and pain through her body.

Finally, exhausted, you collapse onto your back and pull her onto you. She lies limp, still impaled on your softening shaft, her mixed fluids flowing around your cock. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close as she kisses you lovingly, her small body shaking from the force of her orgasm.

"Shhh, it's all right now", you soothe her, covering her face and neck with soft kisses " I've missed your body, feeling your pussy milking me like that reminded me of all the times I got you pregnant, but we need to talk about what's next, darling". You whisper compliments in her ear until her breathing slowly calms down.

While you're still slumped on the bench, with Jessi resting on top of you, your phone buzzes with an incoming text message. Pulling it out of your pocket, you see that it's from your friend Mr Hang.

When you open the message, you are immediately greeted by an extremely obscene photo. In the shot, three young women - Seolhyun, Choa and Jimin are kneeling in front of the camera, their faces completely covered in huge ropes of thick, creamy cum. Each of their mouths is stretched around Mr Hang's huge semi-erect cock, obviously fresh from an aggressive blow job on its thick shaft. The bulging cockhead, coated in their saliva, glistens obscenely as it emerges between their lips. You can even see trickles of cum dripping from her chin and splashing onto her swollen breasts.

The sheer depravity of the photo makes your cock throb in Jessi's pussy. She moans and clenches around you in response to your arousal. A diabolical thought crosses your mind as to how to respond to Mr Hang's message.

Gently, you encourage Jessi to lift herself off your rigid pole. Cum immediately pours from her gaping hole, her stomach and thighs already soaked in the creamy cum you've pumped into her. It's at this moment that you realise just how much of your cum you've filled Jessica with - it's impossible not to get pregnant with such a load.

Moving surprisingly quickly for having just ejaculated inside her, Jessi collapses onto her back on the table and spreads her legs. Streams of pearly cum continue to ooze from her pussy, running down her slit and spreading over her tanned skin.

You reach out to steady Jessi's right ankle, lift her leg and use your other hand to tilt your phone for the shot. Through the lens you frame the perfect shot - Jessi's cum-filled pussy opening invitingly on the messy table, her swollen pussy lips smooth and glistening with your cum. Swirling ribbons of cum paint the insides of her thighs and the surface of the table a pure white.

You snap a few photos to immortalise the debauchery that followed your crude coupling, the obscene evidence of her well-trained hole. Pressing the screen, you send the most incriminating picture to Mr Hang in response to his obscene message, knowing that he will appreciate it.

As she rests her leg, she looks up at you coquettishly, her face flushed and her eyes heavy with desire. Your palm lands on her ass check with a resounding slap as you rub the pink imprint of your hand across her tanned skin.

"That's how I love you Jessica" you growl, your voice rough with lust. "And I'm far from finished with your wicked cunt, unless I change and hammer your arse".

Jessi moans in need and arching her back, presents her dripping cunt to you like a bitch in heat. You slap her arse again, leaving another red mark on her creamy cheeks. The way she moans and wiggles her hips fuels the fires of your excitement.

You push into Jessi's dripping pussy again as she lies on her stomach and spreads herself for you. "Remember that first night?" You ask, grunting as you sink deeper into her tight warmth. “When my little Jessica spread her legs for her daddy" She lifts her head and gives you a shy smile. "Oh yeah? You really remember our first time together ? When I signed that first contract?"

You grin, remembering clearly. "How could I forget? Eighteen years ago, you were this cheeky 17-year-old young rapper trying to make a name for yourself. So fucking eager and innocent, not realising what you were really getting into with me".

Jessi lets out a small laugh. "Innocent? Please, I knew exactly what I was getting into when I agreed to be your artist and personal fucktoy. I just had no idea how long you'd keep me around once you'd had your fun". Jessi moans, her back arching as she takes you completely inside her "Mmm yes, I'll never forget that Daddy", she moans. "You were so gentle... the first man to claim me completely".

You grip her hips tighter, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you slap her roughly from behind. "And look at you now", you growl in approval. "My perfect little breeding slut. So eager for my cum."

"Always, my body and my womb belong to you," she says, thrusting herself back against you. "You're the only one who's ever satisfied me... who's ever filled me so well"

"Well, yes... that too. But also that you were the one. The girl I wanted to make mine forever," you slow your thrusts, savouring the feeling of her wet heat clutching you. "And I did. I've kept this tight pussy all to myself for eighteen years now."

"Mmm yeah, and what a crazy ride it's been..." Jessi muses, clutching my cock. "Like when I got knocked up, huh?"

You nod, remembering the panic and subsequent solution. "The first couple of times you told me you were pregnant, I nearly had a heart attack. I couldn't risk you carrying my child yet."

"Yep. Abortions and the morning-after pill have become my best friends'". She jokes dryly. "Although I suppose I should be grateful that you always went out of your way to help and support me afterwards".

You nod. "Yes, it's true. I could never get rid of that gorgeous bum, and I haven't even mentioned your tits" You punctuate the sentence with a hard slap on her hip.

Jessi yelps, then moans as she pushes herself back against me "Ffffuck, keep it up. I'll cum again if you do".

You smile and obey, picking up a relentless pace, watching her ass jiggle with each slam of your hips against hers. You slid one hand down her body to squeeze her tits as you fucked her mercilessly. "That's it, come for me Jessica. Squeeze my cock like the perfect little cock muff you are".

"Ungh, so close!" She gasps, the walls around you begin to throb, signalling her impending orgasm "Fuck, I'm coming again... I'm coming!"

Jessi's pussy tightened and she came with a loud moan, her whole body shaking with the force of her orgasm. The grip on her pussy was too strong and with a moan you buried yourself deep and came violently, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into her quivering pussy, still full from your previous load.

You collapsed together on the table, gasping for breath as the aftershocks rippled through us. After a moment you withdrew carefully, watching with satisfaction as your cum dripped out of her wet, saturated hole.

Jessi lay on her back and look at you with a lazy, satiated expression "Fuck, you really let it all out deep inside me, I'm not going to be able to get any more, look how my pussy is overflowing".

You giggle and take her in your arms. "Yes? Well, get used to it again. Because this body is still mine, as it has been for the last eighteen years. And I still have a long way to go before I'm done with it".

She smiled mischievously at you "Mmm, I love it when you get all dominant and take charge. I suppose this is the part where you stuff my pussy every day with your seed?"

You smile back and kiss her deeply, knowing she was right. "And I intend to keep this pussy mine for at least another eighteen years. At least. So get ready because the rules have changed, no more contraception or abortion, it's your turn to make me drink your milk, Mummy"

Your bedroom is softly illuminated by the glow of the bedside lamps. The air is thick with the musky scent of sex and sweat. Jessi lay on the king-size bed, her hair fanning out against the silk pillowcase. Her voluptuous body drenched in sweat, the marks of your passionate lovemaking visible on her ivory skin in the form of red scratches and love bites.

You stand over her, your handsome cock still semi-erect, glistening with a mixture of your combined juices. Her freshly crumpled contract, stained with traces of your thick, potent cum, lay forgotten at the foot of the bed, a testament to the depraved acts you'd just indulged in together.

"Please", Jessi moans, looking up at you with desperate, lustful eyes. "Come empty yourself inside me. I need to feel you come inside me again and again until my womb is filled with your seed."

She spreads her thighs in invitation, exposing her dripping, well-fucked pussy to your delight. "Make me pregnant, Daddyy. Now that my career is over, come and start my life as a mother. Please ravage me again!"

You tower over her, a predatory gleam in your eye as you watch the spectacle of debauchery before you. Your aching cock contracts and hardens at her shameless pleas, ready to deliver another massive load deep into her fertile young womb.

#Wicked club #jessi smut #kpop smut #male reader

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oscinhaslandito · 11 days ago

Note

Could you please write something with Lando when you’re Bradley Coopers daughter and you met Lando during an Grand Prix and have been dating for a few months and now it’s time for him too meet you’re dad for the first time and as you get ready you sense that he’s nervous you saw it on his face when you told him that you have a dinner at youre fathers house with him and his girlfriend Gigi. You’re dad wanted to meet him as soon as he found out that you dated someone but Lando had some grace period with the season but no that the season came to an end he has no other chance you’re not particularly concerned about you’re dad you told Lando as long as he doesn’t say anything against the Eagles he will be fine. Lando and you got caught up in a little make out session which almost ended in you being late. As it turns out Landos concerns where groundless after some introducings you’re dad gets dinner ready and god bless Gigi for being such an sweetheart for asking him questions about his family and F1 too get him comfortable. Later the evening when you talk with Gigi she tells you that if Lea and Khai get too meet him they will undoubtedly love him and you can’t help but smile you saw him with his nieces and it’s just too easy too imagine him with you’re sister and Gigi’s daughter it would be so much fun you tell her if they ever need an babysitter they know who to call and as you look at her bright grin you know that you probably got yourself in trouble there.Much love❤️

omg anon aaaaahhhhh this request is too good!!!!! omg i haven't had a request in so long also gurl the vision?? omg adorbs i hope this is what you were looking for. even took the day off from uni for ya (priorities💀). anyways hope you like it. i had so much fun writing it. enjoy!!♥♥

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader (y/n cooper, daughter of that bradley cooper) word count: 3.7k

The First Time She Met Him…

The sun was way too bright for someone who'd been up since 7 a.m. on a media tour. Y/N Cooper tugged her cap lower over her sunglasses as she slipped into the chaos of the paddock. Her dad was in Monaco for some actor-y event, and she’d somehow gotten talked into attending a Grand Prix. Alone. With zero idea what Formula One actually was besides “hot guys in fast cars.”

She wasn’t expecting the loud engines, the way the air buzzed with electricity, the sea of orange-clad fans holding up weird signs like “MCLANDO 4EVER” and “MARRY ME, NORRIS 😘.”

She definitely wasn’t expecting him.

Lando Norris — sweaty, grinning, race suit tied around his waist, curls an actual crime against humanity — nearly crashed into her while jogging toward the garage.

“Oh, sorry—! Didn’t see you there.”

She looked up, caught the breathless smile, blinked like a confused deer, and blurted, “You look like you’ve just finished running from the law.”

He laughed. Actually I laughed. “I mean… kinda. These engineers are scarier than Interpol.”

She had no clue what that meant, but his voice was warm and his eyes sparkled and—okay, damn it, she was interested.

“You’re American, huh?” he asked, tugging at the towel slung over his shoulder.

“You’re British, right?” she shot back. “We can both identify accents. Yay us.”

“Feisty. I like it.”

She tilted her head, clearly amused. “I’m not flirting with you. Just so we’re clear.”

“Shame,” he replied with a grin, “because I totally am.”

Weeks Later…

He DM’d her that same night.

| didn’t get your name. not very gentlemanly of me.

She couldn’t believe the text he just sent.

| you’re literally dming me and you didn’t catch my name?real smooth dude.🙄

Even with Lando’s rocky start, they started texting. Just casually. Memes turned into late-night calls. Her face lit up on his screen more often than not. It didn’t take long before she was sneaking into races just to see him. No paddock passes. No press. Just her in the background, always in a hoodie two sizes too big and a smirk that drove him insane.

It happened in Silverstone.

Not on the podium. Not in front of the fans. But in a back hallway behind the garage, just after he’d come P3. His race suit was zipped up to his waist, curls damp, energy buzzing through him like a live wire. She was waiting, leaned against a wall, arms crossed like she hadn’t been holding her breath the entire final lap.

He reached her in three strides and pulled her into a hug before she could even say hi.

“You were amazing,” she murmured into his shoulder.

“You came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Even if I’m still figuring out what different color flags mean.”

He chuckled, pulled back, looked at her like he was thinking too hard. She raised a brow. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he started.

“Dangerous.”

“I want to call you my girlfriend.”

She blinked.

He panicked.

“I mean—not just call you that. I want you to be that. Like—would you be okay with that? With me? And the whole circus that comes with it? Because I don’t want this to be some casual, stupid thing. Not with you.”

Y/N stared at him. Long enough for him to shift uncomfortably and almost take it back.

But then she smiled. Soft, real, Hollywood-girl-in-love kind of smile.

“Lando Norris, are you asking me to go official behind the McLaren garage in a sweaty race suit?”

He flushed. “Yes?”

She pulled him in by the collar and kissed him.

“Good. Because I was getting very tired of calling you my ‘friend’ when my dad asks who I’m texting at 3 a.m.”

Cut to the present day…

Lando had known this day was coming — like a slow-approaching DRS zone you couldn’t avoid even if you slammed the brakes. Ever since Bradley Cooper had found out his daughter was dating someone, the clock had been ticking. Not loudly, not in an aggressive "I’m gonna kill him" kind of way — no, Bradley was too smooth for that. It was subtler. An arched brow when Y/N laughed at her phone. A pointed, “Is that him?” whenever Lando’s name popped up on the screen. The kind of tone that said I’m not mad. I just have questions. And maybe a shotgun.

Lando had been given a temporary grace period, courtesy of the relentless F1 calendar. Races, press, simulator work — all valid, all real, all conveniently spread out across continents that made meeting your girlfriend’s Oscar-nominated father logistically... complicated. But now, with the season over and the last trophy handed out, Lando had run out of places to hide.

“You’ll be fine,” Y/N had said, curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled with his like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He’s chill. I swear. Just don’t say anything bad about the Eagles, and you’ll survive.”

Lando had blinked at her. “The band?”

She laughed so hard she almost fell off the couch. “The football team, Norris. Philadelphia Eagles. You slander them, you die.”

So, here they were, getting ready for potentially the most important dinner of Lando’s life.

The bathroom mirror reflected Y/N’s focus as she adjusted her dress for the fifth time, a leopard print that hugged her figure in all the right ways, falling just below the knee. She was so casually stunning that it was borderline unfair. Her hair was in soft waves, effortless like she didn’t care that every strand seemed to fall exactly how it should. It wasn’t even the dress that had Lando’s blood rushing; it was the way she moved — the little twirl of her fingers as she checked her lipstick in the mirror, the way her eyes fluttered as she brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

Lando, who was just in the other room pulling on his jacket, couldn’t help but watch. He knew he was being a little obvious, but honestly, at this point, he was beyond trying to hide it. He was looking at her like she was some kind of magic. Like the universe decided to throw all its best creations into one person, and she was standing there in front of him.

She turned, catching him staring, and gave him a playful raise of her eyebrow.

"What?" she asked, her voice low, teasing.

He blinked rapidly like he’d been caught in some forbidden act. "Nothing, just... you look..." He paused. Couldn’t quite get the words out. "Incredible."

Her lips curled into a smile. “You think so?”

His eyes darted down to her lips before snapping back up to her eyes. “I think... I think I’m gonna have a hard time leaving this room.”

Her smile faltered for a second, a flash of mischief dancing behind her gaze. “Oh? How come?”

He stepped closer, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile himself. “Because this,” he gestured to her, his hand hovering like it wanted to reach out but was fighting the urge, “is pretty much everything I’ve ever wanted in front of me.”

Y/N’s breath hitched just a little. Lando, the world-famous race car driver, was standing in front of her, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered, and... God, did it make her heart skip.

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his hand brushing against her waist, and suddenly the air felt thick, like a storm was brewing but neither of them was willing to acknowledge it.

“Baby... we’re gonna be late,” she murmured, her voice thick with something else.

But it was too late.

He kissed her. Just one simple, gentle kiss that felt like an electric jolt to the chest. No more words, no more hesitation — just a soft brush of lips that made everything else feel unimportant. But it didn’t stop there. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, his lips pressing a little harder against hers, and God, he couldn’t stop himself. The tension, that irresistible, magnetic pull between them was too much.

Y/N didn’t try to pull away either. In fact, she melted into him, her fingers trailing up his chest as she deepened the kiss, a slight hum of pleasure escaping her throat. It was just a kiss, just one... but it felt like so much more.

Her hand slid up to his neck, her nails lightly grazing the skin beneath his shirt, sending a shiver down his spine. He gripped her tighter, his lips moving against hers with urgency, the sound of their kissing soft in the otherwise quiet room. They weren’t thinking about the dinner, or Gigi Hadid waiting, or Bradley Cooper being possibly the most intimidating man to meet — all they cared about was the magnetic connection they couldn’t pull away from.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavy, faces flushed, eyes wide.

"Okay," she said between breaths, “I guess we really can’t be late now, can we?”

Lando let out a breathy laugh. “That was your fault,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Me? You’re the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me!” she shot back with a grin.

Y/N stood at the bathroom mirror again, now less goddess and more hot mess — her lipstick was thoroughly smudged, her gloss gone rogue, and her once-perfect curls? One side was doing some tragic post-make-out limp thing. She gasped when she caught sight of herself.

“Lando Norris, look what you did to me!”

From behind her, he leaned in, arms circling her waist, chin resting on her shoulder like he hadn’t just spent the last five minutes being an absolute menace to society. His smile was shameless.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, lips brushing her neck.

She slapped his hand away with a huff, trying to stay focused as she reached for her makeup bag. “No. No. I’m not showing up to dinner with Gigi Hadid looking like I just rolled out of your bed.”

“I mean... we could just go back to bed,” he offered, nuzzling into her neck again, the audacity of this man. “Reschedule. Rain check. I’ll email Gigi. Or DM. Something professional.”

Y/N groaned, dabbing at her mouth with a makeup wipe. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

He grinned. “So are you. Devastatingly.”

She tried to reapply her lipstick with trembling fingers, his hands now casually wandering — purely innocent, totally coincidental contact, obviously. She looked at him through the mirror.

“You touch my hips one more time and I swear we’re going to be fashionably late in a way that involves me fake texting my dad ‘Sorry, food poisoning.’”

He looked unbothered. “He’d probably understand. We can tell him it was shellfish. Or my fault.”

“It is your fault!”

“Exactly. And wouldn’t it be tragic,” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear, “if you ruined that beautiful dress... in bed?”

She froze mid-mascara.

“Lando Norris, we’re meeting my father in twenty minutes!”

He leaned in, smirking, voice low and cocky, “I can work fast.”

She groaned again, turning around and pushing him back toward the bedroom door, palm on his chest. “Out. Out. Out. I need ten uninterrupted minutes to de-sexify myself.”

“Impossible,” he said with a wink, holding his hands up in surrender but walking backward out of the bathroom like he was being dragged away by security. “You can’t turn off that kind of hot.”

She shut the door in his face. “Go iron your shirt, menace.”

They were a little late, but they didn’t care. Lando kissed her one more time, just a quick peck, before taking her hand, leading her to the door. Because no matter how much time they lost to their tension, they knew they’d never regret that stolen moment.

Lando was driving, hands suspiciously steady on the wheel considering the absolute chaos they’d just escaped from. Y/N sat beside him, legs crossed tightly, trying not to spiral. Her lipstick had been fixed, her hair re-curled in record time, and she’d even managed to touch up her highlighter like a pro. But her neck still had that faint heat to it, and every time she glanced in the mirror, she swore she could see kiss aftermath energy radiating off her.

And Lando? This man was way too smug for someone about to meet Bradley freaking Cooper.

“You good?” he asked, not looking at her, but with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You nearly made us an hour late,” she hissed, smoothing down her dress for the third time. “I have setting powder in my cleavage right now, Lando.”

He chuckled, soft and low. “Worth it.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, cheeks still warm.

As they turned into the long, absurdly elegant driveway of the Cooper residence — and yes, it had an actual gate code, she entered it like she’d done it a thousand times before — the nerves really hit her. Gigi’s car was already parked outside. There were lights on inside. People were home.

Lando, suddenly a little less cocky, sat up straighter. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at her.

“Okay. Just to confirm — no trash talk about the Eagles. Anything else I should avoid?”

Y/N turned to him, deadpan. “No, just keep talking good about them. And for the love of God, don’t flirt with Gigi accidentally, because she’s genetically engineered to be ethereal and you have no self-control.”

He looked mildly offended. “I have some self-control.”

She arched a brow. “You tried to seduce me with my own lipstick fifteen minutes ago.”

He grinned again, looking out the window. “Okay, fair.”

The car stopped.

Silence.

They sat there for a beat too long. Y/N let out a breath. “Ready?”

Lando nodded, but his voice was soft. “I just really want him to like me.”

And suddenly she wasn’t teasing anymore. She reached over, squeezing his hand.

“He’ll like you,” she said, voice gentler. “Because I love you.”

Their eyes met. He gave a tiny smile — the real kind, the one that didn’t try to be cool or cocky. “Okay. Let’s go meet the legend.”

They stepped out of the car, the night air cool against their skin. Y/N fixed the collar of his shirt like a mom at a school recital and whispered one last thing as they reached the door.

“If he asks why we were late…”

“Traffic,” Lando nodded seriously.

“Heavy traffic.”

“Like, six-car-pileup levels.”

The door swung open to reveal Bradley Cooper in the most Bradley Cooper fit possible — soft grey henley, navy joggers, barefoot, holding a wine glass like he was both the host and the afterparty. Behind him, Gigi Hadid padded into view in what could only be described as a cloud disguised as a cashmere matching set. Her hair was in a bun, she looked like a Pinterest board, and somehow she glowed. Disrespectful.

“You two are late,” Bradley said, raising an eyebrow and a glass in greeting. “Traffic?”

Lando, trying to be on his best behavior, nodded with all the sincerity of a man absolutely not thinking about making out in the hallway mirror ten minutes ago. “Yes, sir. Bad traffic. All the way through Beverly Hills.”

“Brutal,” Bradley said, already turning and walking back into the house like he was just commenting on the weather. “We started without you. Hope you don’t mind.”

Gigi waved. “Hey Y/N. Hey Lando. I opened the merlot. Your dad’s on glass number two, so you’re probably safe for the next hour.”

Y/N laughed, shooting Lando a see? told you so look as they stepped into the house. Lando was taking it all in — the modern decor, the subtle Oscar shelf in the corner (casual), the vintage guitars on the wall. It was the kind of house that said “I’ve made it,” but also “I surf sometimes.”

Bradley gestured to the living room. “Make yourselves at home. Food’s on the way. I ordered from that Chinese place you like, Y/N. I figured I’d play nice.”

Y/N grinned, flopping onto the couch like she owned the place. Lando sat next to her, just a little too upright.

“So, Lando,” Bradley said, sitting opposite them and crossing one ankle over his knee. “You any good at darts?”

Lando blinked. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I’m decent—"

“Great. Loser does the dishes.”

Y/N cackled as Gigi passed Lando a glass of wine and patted his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. He’s just messing with you. Also, he’s really bad at darts.”

Lando finally exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and leaned back into the couch, letting his fingers brush against Y/N’s. Okay. He could do this. It wasn’t a formal dinner. No speeches, no glares. Just darts, good Chinese food, and the coolest dad in America casually evaluating if his daughter’s boyfriend was worthy.

“So,” Bradley said, sipping his wine with a smirk, “tell me, Lando. Do you follow the Eagles?”

The conversation flows smoothly. But, turns out Lando’s really bad at hand eye coordination.

Dinner had arrived in sleek, eco-friendly takeout containers, all artfully arranged like a lifestyle blog photo.

As it turns out, Lando’s nerves were wildly overestimated. His deep-rooted, soul-consuming panic about disappointing Bradley Cooper evaporated somewhere between his even worse skills than himself and the dad jokes that he was cracking.

Y/N was already stealing bites from Lando’s plate like it was her birthright, and Bradley was elbow-deep in Kung Pao chicken, cracking one-liners like he was hosting Hot Ones.

But it was Gigi — ethereal, barefoot, sipping her wine like a goddess — who really set the tone.

“So, Lando,” she began, propping her chin on her hand, “Y/N tells me, you have a brother and two sisters, right? Does your family still live in the UK?”

Lando blinked, slightly stunned by the fact that Gigi Hadid knew about him. “Yeah! Yeah, they’re back in the UK. We moved around a bit when I was a kid, but—uh, yeah.”

Gigi smiled. “I watched Drive to Survive. You’re quite funny.”

Lando flushed slightly, a small grin spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

Bradley glanced at Gigi with a smirk. “She did her homework. She’s been prepping for this dinner like it’s a Vogue cover story.”

“I just don’t want him to feel like he’s being grilled,” Gigi shrugged, passing Lando the bottle of wine like they were old friends. “F1’s intense enough.”

Y/N beamed. She squeezed Lando’s knee under the table, and his hand instinctively found hers, giving it a gentle squeeze back. His shoulders had dropped a full inch since they walked through the door. The tension in his jaw? Gone. The panicked thoughts of “what if he hates me” and “what if I accidentally say Verstappen instead of Eagles” were now replaced with “I think Bradley Cooper just laughed at my joke” and “Gigi Hadid thinks I’m cool.”

By the time dessert — a chocolate cake that had zero business being that good — rolled around, Lando was chatting away about life on the paddock, what team meetings were like, and the chaotic energy of being on the road nine months out of the year.

Bradley was listening. Gigi was sipping. Y/N was glowing.

“You know,” Bradley said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “I get it now.”

Lando raised a brow, fork still mid-air. “Get what?”

“Why she likes you,” Bradley said, totally casual, like he was commenting on the weather. “Takes someone pretty grounded to survive that world and still be this… decent.”

And just like that, Lando’s brain short-circuited.

Y/N smiled into her water glass, pretending she wasn’t melting from how soft Lando looked at that moment.

“Also helps that you didn’t talk crap about the Eagles,” Bradley added with a wink.

The dinner plates were stacked, the wine glasses gathered, and soft jazz floated through the living room as Y/N and Gigi slipped into the kitchen with practiced ease. It was a quiet sort of comfort — the kind that came from shared girlhood and a few glasses of very good red.

Gigi hummed as she rinsed a plate, tossing a grin Y/N’s way.

“So… he’s kind of perfect.”

Y/N snorted, leaning against the counter with a sponge in one hand and a dopey smile on her face. “He’s really not. He leaves socks everywhere and eats spring rolls at 1 a.m. like it’s a religion.”

“Okay, but still,” Gigi said, nudging her hip. “You hit the jackpot. He’s sweet, respectful, clearly obsessed with you — and did you see the way he handled your dad?”

Y/N let out a laugh. “Handled is a strong word. He nearly combusted when Dad brought up the Eagles.”

Gigi smiled, more fond than amused. “He’s a good one, Y/N. If Lea and Khai ever get to meet him… oh, those girls would adore him.”

That stopped Y/N in her tracks — not in a dramatic way, just enough to let it sink in. She had seen it before: Lando crouching down to sign little race flags, letting tiny fans try on his cap, giving his niece piggyback rides around the garden. And now she was picturing it again — this time with her baby sister giggling on his shoulders, and Khai braiding daisies into his curls while he pretended he was being held hostage.

She blinked back the soft rush of warmth.

“They’d love him,” she said, quieter this time. “And honestly… if you ever need a babysitter, you know who to call. Lando’s a total natural.”

Gigi raised a brow. “Not you?”

Y/N laughed, handing her the last plate. “Me too. But you’ve seen that man’s face — if he asked a toddler to do a backflip, they’d try.”

Gigi giggled, flicking water at her. “So true. He’s got the Disney prince effect.”

Out in the living room, Bradley’s voice rang out.

“Norris! You can’t leave until I win one round, man. I don’t care if it takes all night!”

Lando’s laugh followed, warm and boyish and entirely at home.

Y/N and Gigi shared a look. No words. Just one of those girl-to-girl, I-see-you kind of glances.And in that moment, with the sink full of bubbles and their hearts full of something even warmer, Y/N realized… maybe she had hit the jackpot after all.

guys reqs are always open!! please feel free to drop one for your favorite driver. always happy to write♥♥

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plasmara · 22 days ago

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ok but seriously. dr s3 was not a season it was a fic generator in disguise. LIKE THEY GAVE US SOOOO MUCH. and now I’m drowning in fic ideas with zero ability to commit to just one so here’s a brain dump (but jay edition because i wrote them all out and accidentally hit one thousand million words):

so. the obvious one is jaya. Duhhhhh. just jaya in general. jaya angst. They r so tragic now and i want it all. the absolute disaster of it. i want every version

give me nya trying to flirt her way back in like “hey, remember me? your girlfriend? the love of your life? jay. jay. JAY.” and jay’s like “okay first of all i barely remember ur name.” he’s being stubborn about not catching feelings, and she’s being even worse about refusing to take the hint coz if she can’t win him back with love she is Absolutely going to do it with sheer persistence and mild emotional terrorism

and kai keeps trying to give her advice but fumbling bad bitches is a genetic trait and they’re both diseased

OKAY AND JAY. IN GENERAL. OBVIOUSLY

i need his pov through the whole season. the fallout after what happened w ras and how he was well and truly Abandoned with a capital a HE HAD NO ONE . him trying to piece himself together without his memories. and how he rediscovers like the little things that made him HIM. the inventing. the way he starts tinkering with stuff without even thinking. the terrible jokes and the way he needs to lighten the mood even when everything’s falling apart. HOW HE MAKES A NAME FOR HIMSELF and is just really his own person. i loveeeeeee how they didn’t just brush it off like yea he’s doing his own thing now whateverrrr. like they went into specifics (ish) and i feel like it rlly added to his personality

AND THEN him trying to trust this group of strangers who keep looking at him like he MATTERS. like they KNOW him. and he’s just like “ok cool cool cool i don’t Know any of u but sure.”

he keeps saying he’s fine when he’s literally NOT. cracking jokes like it’s instinct but they don’t land right. he laughs and then immediately wants to curl into a corner and disappear. BUT HE CANT CONFIDENIN ANY OF THEKNBECAUSE HE DOESNT KNOWNTHEM!!!!!! side note he clearly knows a LOT (based off how he knew about arin’s parents instantly) BUT HE DIDNT VOLUNTEER THAT INFO UNTIL RIGHT AT THE END AND HE KEPT IT ALL TO HIMSELF FOR SO LONG. HE DOESJT TALK ANYMORE!!!!! HES NOT USED TO TALKING WITH ANYONE ABOUT ANYTHINGN AND HES PROBABLY GOT SONMUCH REPRESSED AND KEPT LOCKED UP AND AGHHHHHH!!!! omg someone take this boy to therapy

AND THEN GIVE ME A WHOLSE SEPARATE FIC ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH TOUCH NOW. because this kid was THE most touchy out of the team. he was always throwing himself at people BUT .now. Now he flinches whenever anyone moves too quickly towards him and they all have to keep reminding themselves of it. FUCK!!!!!!

and specifically cole because let’s be honest bruise’s love language is physical touch and it’s killing cole not to be able to be near him. AND ACTUALLY BECAUSE COLE ISNSO TOUCHY jay avoids him the most and it’s like. That’s ur best friend………. WHAT R U DOING. and everyone thought just FINDING jay would be the hardest part but actually this is and they don’t know what to do

okay and. Well. plasma. Like sorry u all knew this was coming. i have to live up to the plasmara name after all its in the contract. and i Love them but I don’t want to write angst for them in this context I just think it would be so funny to have kai hardcore crushing on his sister’s ex fiancée and even funnier to have jay somehow like him back. Like he just takes whatever kai tells him at face value and thinks yup.. this is the one i Trust. just hears kai say “yeah you were totally into me” ONE TIME as a joke or in a moment of panic and he fully believes it cos he’s got the memory of a damp sponge. Like. “oh. yeah. that checks out. i must have been with you. makes sense. ur hot” And after kai finishes freaking out he decides yup THIS IS MY CHANCE!! nya u had him for years. It’s MY turn now

and he is now committed to the bit with his whole chest. takes every opportunity to “remind” jay how deeply in love he was.

“you used to call me hot stuff.”

“no i didn’t.”

“you don’t remember, jay.”

And worst part is it works because jay is just like… “well he seems to have a good balance between nice and pathetically obsessed and my standards are a mystery to me so sure???”

#worst part is no one can tell if kai’s serious or joking #and then they find them making out in the bathroom and kai’s like i was just kidding i swear!!!!!#jay’s totally betrayed like “what . you said we were in love???”#and kai’s like “YEAH BUT I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D BELIEVE ME???”#plasmashipping #ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago dragons rising spoilers #OK WRITING A JAY FIC AS I TYPE THIS #and it’s nothing to do with any of these ideas #ish #lol #the plasma one WILL be written at some point tho soon Trust

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aeniiverse · 14 days ago

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HELLO?

Synopsis — Y/N, a bubbly and optimistic new student, finds herself captivated by the enigmatic Ningning, a girl known for her aloofness and tough exterior. Initially, Ningning helps Y/N navigate the school, but what begins as a reluctant friendship soon evolves into something deeper. Despite Ningning’s attempts to maintain her distance, Y/N’s infectious warmth and constant presence begin to break down her walls, leading to subtle, soft moments of care and protection.

contains — fluff, angst, grumpy (Ningning) x sunshine (y/n), sunshine x sunshine protector in the end, bit of possessive Ning (but in a good and non-toxic way), y/n has an obsession with juice boxes, oc’s (jisung), mention of ive’s Yujin, ending is written in third person pov, avoiding and pulling away at some point, y/n is just a ray of sunshine

WORD COUNT — 14.5k

A/N — okay so was listening to a laufey song and that’s when I came up with this idea, the title is based of the song hello by clairo which in a way relates to the story esp the “are you into me? Like I’m into you part” ye idk if you get it 😝

You were not lost. You were just… directionally adventurous.

That’s what you told yourself, confidently sipping from a juice box and squinting at the crumpled school map that someone had handed you at orientation printed in grayscale, covered in tiny fonts, and currently held upside down. Which, okay, fine. You were lost. But it was the first day! You were a freshman! Lost freshmen were a natural part of the academic ecosystem!

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like anyone around here agreed.

“Excuse me—hi? Sorry, quick question—oh. Okay.” You watched the back of someone’s head disappear down the hallway. That was the third person to speed-walk away from you like you were asking for their social security number instead of directions to the science wing.

Honestly, what was with this school? Was everyone trained to avoid eye contact like it was a full-contact sport?

You turned a corner and immediately hit a dead end. Great. Wonderful. Maybe you’d graduate here, like, in the hallway. You’d just set up camp next to the water fountain and host office hours for other lost souls.

You took a long, dramatic sip of your juice box.

Then you saw her.

Leaning against a windowsill at the end of the corridor, earbuds in, one leg bent and pressed to the glass, was a girl who looked like she belonged on the cover of a moody indie album. Dark jacket, headphones oversized enough to block out both sound and social interaction. Her expression was blank no, blank was too neutral. She looked done. With what? Life. School. Probably people like you.

Someone else might have taken that as a sign to back off.

You were not someone else.

“Hi!” you chirped, striding toward her with zero hesitation. “You look like you know stuff. Can you help me not die here?”

The reaction was instant.

Every single person in the hallway either stopped moving or pretended they weren’t definitely listening. A group of upperclassmen at the lockers froze mid-laugh. Even the guy who had been swiping through his phone paused with his thumb in the air.

Because Ningning had looked up.

She slowly tugged out one earbud. Her gaze swept over you from head to toe the juice box, the backward map, the wildly optimistic grin plastered on your face.

Then she blinked. And for a full, dragging beat, you thought she might just stand up and walk away.

But instead…

“You’re holding the map upside down.”

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t polite. But it was a response.

You gasped like she’d handed you a Nobel Prize. “Oh my god, that makes so much sense! I thought this hallway was a portal or something.”

“…A portal.”

“To, like, another dimension. A science lab purgatory. I don’t know. I panicked.”

She stared at you.

You beamed back, unfazed.

For a second, you thought you saw something twitch at the corner of her lips. A shadow of a smile. Maybe.

“This is Building C,” she said, tugging her other earbud out. “You’re supposed to be in Building A if you’re looking for Chem.”

You gasped again. “You know where Chem is? You’re my hero.”

“I didn’t say I was taking you there.”

“You didn’t not say it, either,” you pointed out helpfully. “Which means there’s a chance.”

Another long, slow blink. This girl had perfected the art of judgmental silence.

You took another sip of your juice. “Anyway, I’m Y/N. Freshman. Chronic over-sharer. Kind of dying a little. What’s your name?”

More silence. She looked like she was debating whether to entertain this or yeet herself out the window.

“…Ningning.”

You nearly dropped your juice. “Wait the Ningning? The one who everyone says never talks to people? The one who supposedly made a senior cry last year just by looking at him?”

“That was an exaggeration.”

“Which part? That it was a senior or that you made him cry?”

Ningning didn’t answer. But her eyes flicked sideways like she was trying not to smile.

“Okay, okay, no more questions. I can feel your tolerance dropping by the second. But can I just say one last thing?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You have really great hair. Like, intimidatingly great.”

At that, she actually laughed, quiet and quick, like it escaped before she could stop it. She looked vaguely horrified after, like the sound had betrayed her.

You blinked. “Was that… did you just—?”

“No,” she said instantly, face deadpan again.

“Liar,” you grinned.

Ningning sighed. Then grudgingly, like she was fighting every instinct in her body she pushed off the windowsill.

“I’ll walk you to Chem,” she said.

You lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?! You’re my new favorite person.”

“I’m not doing this every day.”

“Sure, sure. You say that now. But wait till I win you over with friendship bracelets and spontaneous karaoke.”

She gave you a look. “Absolutely not.”

“Too late,” you sing-songed as you followed her down the hallway. “You smiled. You’re stuck with me now.”

And just like that, the hallway still half-frozen in collective shock watched Ningning, the untouchable, walk away with the loudest, weirdest freshman clinging to her side like she’d done it a thousand times before.

She didn’t say a word the rest of the way.

But she also didn’t put her earbuds back in.

Homeroom had never felt so dramatic.

Maybe it was because the classroom was unusually quiet, or maybe it was because everyone seemed to be watching your every move like they expected you to spontaneously combust. You weren’t sure why the simple act of sitting down next to someone had suddenly become a spectator sport. You hadn’t even done anything yet. All you’d done was walk in, check the seating chart, and make your way toward the desk at the back corner the one with the best view of the windows and the worst reputation in the entire room.

Because that was her seat.

And today, the new kid you had been assigned to sit beside her.

You heard the whispers before you even got there.

“No one talks to her.”

“She made a TA cry last semester.”

“She hasn’t had a desk partner since middle school.”

“She probably requested it that way.”

You, of course, just waved and dropped into the seat like it wasn’t allegedly cursed. Your backpack thudded onto the floor, your pencil case zipped open with way too much enthusiasm, and your juice box (yes, another one) landed on the desk with a cheery slap.

“Morning!” you beamed at Ningning, who sat perfectly still with her chin propped on one hand, eyes flicking to you like you were a particularly loud and sparkly fly.

She didn’t say anything.

“You have really pretty hair,” you tried again, unbothered by the wall of silence. “Like, scary pretty. I’d pay actual money to get those waves. Is it natural? Wait, don’t answer. That’s probably weird. Sorry, I tend to overshare. It’s a thing.”

Still nothing.

You unwrapped your pencil and kept talking anyway. “I have a cat named Waffles. He has one functioning brain cell and absolutely no survival instincts. Last week, he tried to eat a sock. A whole sock.”

A beat of silence.

Then very faint, almost invisible the corner of Ningning’s mouth twitched.

You saw it. You definitely saw it.

“I put a bowtie on him for his birthday,” you added casually, fighting a grin. “It was red. He hated it. Tried to fight it. Lost.”

Another twitch. This one lasted a little longer.

You were winning. You had no idea what the prize was, but you were absolutely winning.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the class president whispering something to a friend, both of them wide-eyed and frozen like they were watching someone juggle flaming knives.

You turned slightly and whispered, “Are they always like this?”

Ningning finally moved. She turned just enough to glance at the rest of the class, then looked back at you and said, flatly, “They’re waiting to see if you survive first period.”

You blinked. “Huh. That’s kinda flattering. It’s like being the main character of a horror movie. Do I get theme music?”

“No,” she said.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Bummer.”

The class finally turned their attention back to the teacher when attendance started, but the atmosphere stayed tense, like everyone expected you to spontaneously burst into tears or catch fire from sitting too close to her. Ningning didn’t say anything else, but you noticed the way her pen kept tapping against her notebook in a steady rhythm. You wondered if she always did that, or if it was a new thing.

It didn’t bother you. You liked noise.

What did bother you, weirdly enough, was the way her desk looked… empty. Like it had never really been used.

There were no little stickers on the corner. No scuffs from someone resting their elbows there all year. No tiny doodles or pen scratches. Just perfect, untouched wood.

Your desk already had your initials carved into the bottom right corner. You’d done it with a mechanical pencil while zoning out.

When the teacher passed out forms, you scooted a little closer to look at Ningning’s paper, pretending you couldn’t find your own. “Oh no, am I illiterate and lost? Double threat.”

She didn’t say anything, but her hand slid your form toward you without looking.

You smiled. “You’re really nice under all that scary energy, you know?”

Ningning gave you a blank look, but her ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

You didn’t say anything about it. You just sipped your juice and started filling in your name.

The rest of homeroom passed in a weirdly calm blur. Maybe it was because the other students gave up waiting for drama, or maybe it was because Ningning didn’t actually seem as terrifying when she wasn’t ignoring you. She didn’t talk much, okay, at all but every time you said something, she listened. She didn’t zone out or roll her eyes. She just… watched. Like she was trying to figure you out.

Like she didn’t mind the noise.

The bell rang, and students started packing up. You leaned back with a stretch. “Whew. Survived homeroom. Zero fatalities. Unless you count my GPA. Which I do.”

Ningning stood up, swinging her bag over her shoulder. She didn’t look at you when she said, “You talk a lot.”

“Yup,” you agreed brightly. “But I’m fun.”

She paused. Then, so quiet you almost missed it, she muttered, “You’re not annoying.”

You stared at her. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“It is now.”

And for a moment, just a split second, Ningning smiled. Real and small and crooked. The kind of smile that looked like it didn’t know how to exist yet.

Your chest ached a little. Just a little.

Because Ningning looked like someone who was used to silence. Like someone who’d made a home out of being alone. Like someone whose desk had been empty for a long time not just physically, but quietly, deeply empty in a way no one had noticed.

But she’d let you sit there. Let you talk. Let you stay.

So you would.

You smiled back and threw your arm around your bag. “So. What’s next? Do you have the schedule? Or are we just wandering until a teacher adopts us?”

Ningning blinked at you, then reached into her pocket and handed you a folded paper. You opened it and gasped. “You’re an organizational goddess. I should’ve known.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t take the schedule back.

You were still talking when you walked out of the classroom, voice trailing off into a story about Waffles attempting to scale your fridge for a single slice of cheese. Ningning didn’t reply, but she didn’t leave either.

And if everyone else in the hallway looked stunned to see you still alive and practically glued to her side well, that was their problem.

You were just getting started.

Ningning had helped you exactly one time.

It hadn’t even been dramatic. No life-or-death scenario, no “princess carried out of danger” moment. You’d just gotten lost, pointed your juice box at her like a compass, and asked for directions like she wasn’t the most unapproachable person in a ten-mile radius. She told you which hallway to go down. That should’ve been the end of it.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Because to you, that wasn’t just directions. That was a bond. That was friendship forged in the flames of social anxiety and bad map design. That was fate handing you a grumpy, scary, beautiful tour guide with the energy of a storm cloud and the aura of a final boss. And you, being exactly the kind of person who thought “boundaries” was just a suggestion, latched onto her like a barnacle made of sunshine and poor impulse control.

So now every morning, without fail, you showed up to school like you had a legally binding contract with the universe to be as loud and cheerful as possible, headed straight toward Ningning’s locker like you were on autopilot.

“Good morning!” you chirped one Thursday, popping up beside her like a caffeinated Pokémon. “I brought you a juice box! It’s apple. I wasn’t sure if you liked grape, and orange felt too acidic for a Thursday, you know?”

Ningning didn’t even look at you. She finished unlocking her locker with a slow turn of the dial and pulled her books out with precision that made it seem like she was trying very hard not to throw one at your head.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll drink both,” you added thoughtfully, holding up the boxes. “But not at the same time. That would be weird. Unless that’s like, a power move?”

Still no response.

You leaned closer. “You’re thinking about it, though. I can tell.”

One of Ningning’s friends, a tall girl with sharp eyeliner and a scarier stare paused mid-conversation to watch the two of you. She elbowed the guy next to her, who looked up and openly gawked. It was like you’d tamed a dragon with a Lunchables.

Ningning gave them a look that could wither plants. “Don’t,” she said flatly.

They both immediately turned away, but you caught the way they were grinning.

“I like your friends,” you said, not-so-quietly. “They look like they know how to hide a body. That’s so fun.”

This time, Ningning did glance at you. Brief. Disbelieving. Like she couldn’t understand how someone with no sense of fear had made it this far in life.

You smiled wider and tapped the juice box against her arm until she took it. “See? Besties.”

She blinked down at the apple juice in her hand like it personally offended her, then quietly tucked it into the front pocket of her bag.

You beamed. “Victory.”

She didn’t say anything else as the two of you started walking down the hallway together but you noticed her slowing her pace just enough so you wouldn’t have to jog to keep up.

The thing was, you weren’t stupid. People thought you were, because you talked a lot and wore bright colors and made friends with everyone in under five minutes. But you noticed things. Like how Ningning always kept one earbud out when you were around, even if the music was still playing. Or how she never outright told you to leave her alone, even though everyone insisted she didn’t tolerate clingy people. Or how her friends had stopped looking concerned and started looking amused whenever you appeared at her side.

You weren’t breaking her down. That would imply she was a wall. Ningning was more like… a fortress. Intact. Imposing. And you were just the idiot sunshine who kept knocking at the gate every day with a smile and a snack.

You didn’t mind. It was a good kind of challenge.

“You know,” you said as you reached your classroom, still walking with her even though her own class was on the other side of the building, “this is technically stalking.”

Ningning stared. “You’re admitting that?”

“Yup,” you grinned. “But like, friendly stalking. With juice. That makes it fine.”

“I’m reporting you,” she muttered.

You nodded seriously. “You want me to pose for the mugshot now, or later?”

That earned you a very quiet huff. Not quite a laugh. But not not a laugh.

You counted it as another win.

By lunchtime, you were bouncing your leg under the table and texting her even though you were two tables away.

you: i hope you drank the juice.

you: or at least looked at it fondly.

you: did you name it.

you: don’t lie. i feel like you did.

Across the cafeteria, Ningning didn’t respond. But she looked up once, met your eyes, and raised one unimpressed eyebrow.

You sent her five heart emojis and went back to your sandwich.

Her friends, once again, looked like they were watching the end of an era. One of them muttered something you couldn’t hear, and Ningning actually smacked her with a napkin.

You would’ve given anything to be closer just to hear what they were saying.

But you had time. You were in this for the long game. You didn’t mind that she didn’t talk much or that she rarely smiled. What mattered was that she let you talk. That she showed up. That when you hovered beside her desk in homeroom and offered to trade snacks, she didn’t tell you to go away.

You liked to think that meant something.

After school, you spotted her waiting by the front gate with her headphones in, bag slung over one shoulder, half in shadow like she belonged in a magazine spread.

You ran up to her, a little out of breath. “Hey. Want to walk home together?”

She didn’t answer right away. But she didn’t walk off either.

You pointed to your drink. “I have another juice box.”

Pause. Then: “What flavor?”

Your heart did a little dance.

“Peach.”

Ningning took it from you without another word and started walking. You grinned and followed.

Behind you, somewhere on school grounds, someone whispered, “No way. She actually tamed her.”

You didn’t turn around. Just skipped a little to catch up.

Besties, obviously.

You didn’t realize you’d become a campus-wide mystery until someone tried to interview you in the girl’s bathroom.

You were washing your hands, humming the theme song to your cat’s favorite cartoon (because of course Waffles had taste), when a third-year with half her hair dyed blue stepped up beside you and casually asked, “So… are you and Ningning dating?”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Or like, just talking?” she added. “Talking-talking. You know.”

You stared at her like she’d asked if you were secretly a tax evader. “We talk, yeah. I mean, I talk. She… tolerates.”

The girl gave you a skeptical once-over, clearly unconvinced. “You brought her a juice box yesterday.”

“I had two! And she looked dehydrated!”

The door swung open before she could press further, you took the escape route immediately, hands still slightly damp, nearly tripping over your own shoelaces as you scrambled back into the hallway.

It wasn’t the first time someone had said something weird. But it was the first time someone had said it to your face. Mostly it was just whispers, quiet, almost reverent.

You thought it was all exaggerated.

Sure, Ningning had a reputation. The kind that echoed in the halls, whispered in homeroom, and showed up in very dramatic posts on the school’s anonymous confession board. People said she never smiled, never spoke unless she had to, and could kill a rumor with one glare.

And yeah, maybe she did have that look. half bored, half annoyed, with eyeliner that could cut glass and the fashion sense of someone who knew exactly how hot she was but didn’t care.

But she wasn’t scary. Not to you. She was quiet, sure. She had this calm, still energy like a lake you weren’t sure was shallow or hiding a sea monster. But if you talked long enough, she answered. If you followed her, she didn’t walk away. If you gave her juice, she drank it.

You liked to think that meant something.

Still, the stares kept coming.

In homeroom, you plopped into the seat beside her like always, digging through your bag for a pen you swore you packed.

“You know,” you said, still rummaging, “I think my backpack eats stationery. There’s probably a whole civilization of lost pens and hair ties living in here.”

Ningning didn’t say anything. Just nudged a spare pen toward your side of the desk with a single, precise motion.

You beamed at her. “See, this is why you’re my favorite.”

From across the room, someone dropped their pencil. Hard. As if the sheer sound of you speaking to Ningning broke their hand-eye coordination.

You didn’t notice. Or pretended not to.

At lunch, it got worse.

You’d started sitting with her weeks ago at first just tagging along, then earning an eye-roll of acceptance. Now it was a thing. You sat beside her. Her friends tolerated you. And sometimes, when you brought a good snack, they even smiled.

You were halfway through an animated story about how Waffles had figured out how to open the treat drawer (“She’s so smart. She’s gonna evolve thumbs and replace me soon.”), when you leaned over and poked Ningning’s arm. Just a light tap. Nothing special.

She turned toward you, raising a brow. “What?”

“You’re not listening,” you accused.

“I am.”

“What did I say?”

“That your cat is probably smarter than you.”

You gasped. “You were listening! That’s so rude. And correct.”

From the next table over, a girl actually whispered, “Oh my god.” Like she’d just witnessed a miracle.

You looked around and finally noticed the eyes. The subtle tilts of heads. The sideways glances full of shock and awe. And Ningning, totally unbothered, quietly stabbing at her salad with her fork like she wasn’t the most talked-about person in school.

“Am I in a documentary?” you whispered. “Do I look okay? Should I pose?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ningning muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Barely.

You saw it.

So did everyone else.

Someone gasped. Audibly.

The table behind you fell into dead silence. One guy actually dropped his chopsticks.

You leaned in, wide-eyed. “Did you just almost smile?”

“No.”

“You did. Ningning. That’s a crime. That’s—wait, no, don’t hide your face. Let me see. I’m filing a report. I’m telling the press.”

She elbowed you lightly, and you grinned so hard your face hurt.

Later that day, in the hallway after gym, you overheard it again.

“Is that her? The one who sits with Ningning?”

“Yeah. She called her pretty once and didn’t die.”

You nearly walked into a locker.

A group of students near the stairwell were whispering with the intensity of people discussing a forbidden artifact. When you passed, they all hushed. One of them even gave you a subtle nod, like you were part of a secret club.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

You stopped by the vending machine, still processing, and jumped when Ningning appeared beside you like a fashionable ghost.

“Hey!” you smiled, instinctively offering your unopened drink. “I got two again.”

She took it wordlessly and leaned against the wall while you stared at the machine like it had betrayed you (which, to be fair, it had your chips got stuck halfway down).

You sighed. “Why does everyone think we’re dating?”

Ningning glanced at you. “They do?”

“Yup. Full-on love story levels. It’s wild.”

She didn’t reply right away. Just watched you tilt your head at the vending machine and mutter about physics and snack injustice.

Then she said, “It’s probably the juice.”

You looked at her. “What?”

“Or the way you follow me everywhere.”

You blinked. “But I do that to like, three other people too.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t bring them drinks.”

You tilted your head. “Wait. Are you saying I’m special?”

She stared. Unblinking.

You grinned. “You like me.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

She exhaled through her nose. Turned to leave.

You followed, of course.

And behind you, someone whispered, “Okay, maybe they are dating.”

You didn’t even bother correcting them.

It started with the seat.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. A lucky fluke. You walked into homeroom a little later than usual, blame Waffles, who had decided your sock drawer was the perfect place to throw up a hairball and by the time you got there, half the class was already seated. You scanned the room, expecting to have to wedge yourself between strangers or, worse, sit alone.

But there it was.

The seat next to Ningning. Empty.

Not a bag on it. Not a textbook. Not even someone hovering nearby like they were thinking about claiming it.

You hesitated for half a second because you were pretty sure someone else had been eyeing that spot earlier in the week but then Ningning glanced up from her phone and gave the tiniest, subtlest head tilt.

Permission.

You plopped down beside her like you hadn’t just won the student council lottery. “Thanks for saving it,” you said, half teasing.

“I didn’t,” she replied flatly.

“Right. Of course. It just happens to be available every day. Reserved by fate.”

She didn’t answer. Just unlocked her phone again.

But the next day, the same thing happened. And the day after that. And the next. Every time you walked in on time, late, sleep-deprived, it was there. Your spot. Next to her.

You started calling it “home base.” She started pretending not to hear you.

The notes came later.

You weren’t exactly bad at math. You just… processed it like an abstract painting. Vaguely. Emotionally. With a lot of guessing and spiraling into existential dread.

So when your teacher started speed-running logarithmic functions like he was trying to win a prize, you froze halfway through copying an equation and whispered, “Okay, what the hell is happening?”

Ningning didn’t say anything.

Just reached into her folder, tore out a page, neat handwriting, highlighted formulas, even a tiny doodle of a cat in the margin and slid it over to you without a word.

You stared. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“It’s not,” she muttered.

“It is. I’m framing this. I’m putting it in a shrine. I’m naming my firstborn after you.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late. Baby Ningning’s gonna be so proud.”

Despite herself, her mouth twitched. A twitch that almost became a smile. And the back of the class went quiet again, like witnessing any emotion from her triggered an auto-silence reflex.

You leaned closer. “You know, for someone with a scary reputation, you’re dangerously soft.”

“I will take that paper back.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t. Because you love me.”

She turned, expression blank. “Shut up and solve the problem.”

“You so love me.”

She sighed, long and suffering. “I really don’t.”

You poked her arm. “Liar.”

She didn’t respond.

But when the bell rang and you gathered your things in a flurry of paper and sparkly pens, she tucked her notes back into your binder before you could forget them.

The third time it happened, you weren’t even there.

You were in the library when it started. returning a late book (with your sincerest apologies and a donut for the librarian) and humming some stupid jingle under your breath, oblivious as always.

Across the courtyard, back in homeroom, some kid thought it’d be funny to make a comment.

Nothing mean, really. Just stupid. The kind of joke people think is harmless, even though it sticks like gum on your shoe. He’d glanced at your desk, laughed under his breath, and said, “Ningning must have the patience of a saint. I’d go deaf if I sat next to her every day.”

A few kids chuckled.

Ningning didn’t.

She didn’t even look up at first. Just kept scrolling on her phone. Then, slowly, she locked the screen and turned her head, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“Try saying that again when she’s here,” she said, voice calm.

The room fell silent.

The guy blinked, startled. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I—uh—was just joking.”

She stared.

It wasn’t the kind of glare that screamed or snarled or threatened. It was worse. It was silent. Cutting. The kind that made people suddenly rethink their life choices.

The boy stammered something that resembled an apology and promptly shut up. Someone behind him whispered “Damn,” under their breath.

When you came back fifteen minutes later, chattering about how the librarian had accepted your peace-offering donut but made you promise to actually return things on time, Ningning didn’t mention it.

But a few of her friends glanced at each other as you sat down, smacked your head gently against your desk, and sighed about overdue fees like they were a moral failure.

Ningning slid one of your glitter pens back across the table to you.

You hadn’t even noticed it had fallen.

Little things.

That’s how she did it.

She never said it outright. Never admitted anything. But she was always there. Quiet. Consistent. Soft in the ways she thought you wouldn’t notice.

She saved you a seat, even if she denied it. Gave you her notes without asking why. Carried an extra hair tie after you complained about forgetting yours during gym. Learned your favorite vending machine snack and never said a word when she started grabbing two.

And you the sunshine that you were never stopped showing up.

Because some part of you knew. Underneath the glares and the sighs and the deadpan comebacks, she cared.

And maybe she wasn’t ready to say it yet.

But that was okay.

Because you were fluent in soft grump care. And you had all the time in the world.

It was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

The sky had been clear when you left for school. Not a single suspicious cloud. Birds were chirping. You were whistling. Life was good.

And then fifth period ended, and apparently, the weather decided to throw hands.

The downpour hit like a sucker punch, sheets of rain hammering the courtyard, the sidewalk, the tiny sad trees lining the school’s front gate. You watched it all from the lobby doors, backpack slung over your shoulder, holding your half-collapsed, questionably sturdy umbrella like it might magically fix itself if you just stared hard enough.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

You nudged it open with a painful squeak, only for the left side to snap backward like a dying bat wing. Awesome. Fantastic. Peak freshman energy.

Around you, other students huddled under real umbrellas or dashed to waiting cars. You stood there, juice box still in your pocket from lunch, weighing your options like a soldier before battle.

Option one: brave it with your sad excuse for an umbrella and look like a wet cryptid.

Option two: perish.

You were seriously leaning toward option three when a shadow fell over you.

You turned.

And there she was.

Ningning, standing at your side, an umbrella tilted casually over her shoulder, rain sliding harmlessly down the black fabric. She wore the same deadpan expression she always did, but there was a flicker barely there in her eyes.

Without a word, she shoved her hoodie into your chest.

You caught it awkwardly, blinking. “Wait—what—?”

“You’re gonna catch a cold,” she said, voice flat.

You looked down at the hoodie. It was soft. Slightly oversized. Smelled like clean laundry and something faintly like vanilla.

You looked back up at her, beaming. “You do like me!”

“I don’t.”

“You dooo~” you sing-songed, hugging the hoodie to your chest like a trophy. “You’re giving me your actual clothes. That’s best friend behavior. That’s soulmate behavior.”

Ningning rolled her eyes, but she moved closer so the umbrella covered you both anyway.

You slipped the hoodie over your head, laughing when the sleeves swallowed your hands. “I’m keeping this forever, by the way. This is mine now.”

“Return it tomorrow.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She huffed under her breath a tiny, almost imperceptible sound that you decided to translate as affection.

You grinned up at her. “You’re like a stray cat that keeps pretending it doesn’t want pets, but keeps showing up on my porch anyway.”

“Stop talking.”

“I won’t.”

The two of you started walking, your shoes splashing through shallow puddles, rain pattering on the umbrella above you like a quiet drumbeat. Ningning didn’t say much, she never did but she didn’t pull away when you bumped shoulders accidentally-on-purpose.

And when you turned your face up to her again, soaking in her rare company like sunshine, she finally gave in. A sigh. The faintest tug at the corner of her lips.

A smile.

Tiny. Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.

But real.

You almost tripped over your own feet.

“Worth it,” you whispered under your breath, tucking your hands deeper into the too-long hoodie sleeves, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

Ningning glanced sideways at you.

She didn’t say it.

But you were pretty sure she was thinking it too.

Worth it.

It happened on a Thursday.

The rain from earlier in the week was long gone, leaving the air sticky and heavy, the pavement still damp in some places. You and Ningning had ended up sitting under the big oak tree at the edge of the field. half because you were waiting for a club meeting to start, half because Ningning never seemed to mind when you followed her around like a dedicated golden retriever.

You were doodling aimlessly in your notebook, trying to draw Waffles in increasingly ridiculous outfits, while Ningning scrolled through her phone beside you, pretending not to watch over your shoulder.

And you, like the sunshine oblivious hurricane you were, started talking without really thinking.

“Y’know, I used to sit by myself a lot at my old school,” you said casually, punctuating the sentence by sketching a tiny cowboy hat onto Waffles' head. “At lunch, at assemblies, whatever. It wasn’t, like, tragic or anything. People just kinda… forgot I existed sometimes.”

You laughed, light and unbothered, like you were telling a mildly embarrassing story about tripping onstage during a school play.

“They didn’t mean to, I guess. I’m pretty easy to forget if I’m not being loud. And when I am being loud, it’s just, like—annoying? So either way, it was easier for everyone if I just kept myself company.”

You laughed again, shrugging it off like you always did. Like it was fine. Like it was ancient history and it didn’t still ache sometimes, in small quiet ways you didn’t like to admit.

Ningning was silent.

Not her usual comfortable quiet, either. Not the kind where she was just content to let you ramble while she listened with half an ear.

This was different.

You glanced sideways at her.

She was staring straight ahead, phone forgotten in her lap, hands still.

For a second, you wondered if you’d messed up. If you’d made it awkward. If you should backpedal, crack a stupid joke, move on.

But before you could say anything, she spoke.

“They were stupid.”

The words came out low. Certain.

You blinked.

Ningning didn’t look at you. Just kept her gaze fixed on the soccer goals in the distance, the metal frames catching the late afternoon light.

“They were stupid,” she said again, voice steady but something else threading underneath it. “Anyone who made you feel like you didn’t matter. Anyone who looked at you and didn’t see—” she stopped, mouth tightening, like she wasn’t used to dragging feelings into the open air, “—everything you are.”

Your breath caught.

She finally turned her head, just enough that you could see her eyes. Serious. Unflinching. A little bit fierce in a way that made your heart clench.

“You’re not annoying,” she added, softer. “You’re... loud sometimes. And stubborn. And you talk too much.”

You snorted, wiping at your nose with your sleeve. “Wow. Compliments galore.”

“But you’re unforgettable,” she said, ignoring your crack completely. “And anyone who didn’t get that was an idiot.”

You didn’t know what to say.

The words stuck in your throat, tangled up with something warm and painful at the same time.

Because you realized, suddenly, that Ningning your silent, scowly, reluctant partner in crime wasn’t just saying it to be nice. She wasn’t saying it because she felt bad for you, or because she thought it was what you wanted to hear.

She meant it.

Every clipped, awkward, vulnerable word.

You laughed, too loud and a little watery. “You’re gonna make me cry, dude.”

“Don’t,” she said immediately, stiffening like the idea of dealing with tears was more terrifying than death.

You wiped your eyes anyway, grinning. “No promises.”

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above your heads. Someone whistled off in the distance, probably a soccer player wrapping up practice. Life kept moving around you.

But under the oak tree, it felt like the world had gone a little quieter. A little softer.

You scooted closer, knocking your shoulder lightly against hers.

Ningning didn’t move away.

You smiled at her, wide and blinding, because that’s what you did what you’d always done and because for once, you didn’t feel like you had to hide any piece of yourself.

“Thanks, grumpy cat.”

She rolled her eyes.

But a second later, when she thought you weren’t looking, she smiled too.

Small. Crooked. Real.

And maybe just maybe you weren’t as easy to forget as you used to believe.

It started with a new transfer student.

A week into the new semester, the classroom door swung open mid-morning, and in walked a boy with a bright grin, messy hair, and a charm level dangerously close to yours. Mr. Kwon, your homeroom teacher, introduced him as Jisung, transfer from another city, loves soccer, hates math, yadda yadda.

You were, of course, the first to wave enthusiastically, practically bouncing in your seat as you whispered, “New kid energy! Solidarity!” loud enough that half the class heard. Including Ningning, who gave you a look from across the room like you had personally offended her peace treaty with humanity.

Jisung ended up sitting two seats away from you. Which meant within three minutes, you were already chatting like you’d been childhood friends separated at birth.

You told him about the cafeteria’s tragic spaghetti days. He told you about getting lost in the gym for forty minutes during his tour. You bonded over mutual juice box obsessions.

It was harmless.

At least, you thought it was harmless.

The first time you noticed anything weird was lunch.

You and Jisung were heading toward your usual table when you almost dropped your tray. Ningning already sitting at the table, which she never did before you came along, looked up the second she saw you with someone new.

There was something sharp in her gaze. Something that made you falter mid-step.

She didn’t say anything. Just shoved an empty seat out with her foot, the scrape of metal on tile loud in the silence between you.

“Oh, uh—this is Jisung!” you chirped, awkwardly filling the air. “He’s cool. He got lost in the gym for forty minutes, so obviously he’s one of us now.”

Jisung gave a bright, clueless wave.

Ningning stared at him. Unblinking.

Poor guy looked like he aged five years under her gaze.

You rushed to sit down between them, laughing nervously. "Haha, so anyway, spaghetti today, right? Amazing. Life-changing. Michelin star."

Ningning said nothing. Just kept eating her rice like it personally wronged her.

You chalked it up to her being in a mood.

Until it kept happening.

Every time Jisung showed up next to you at lunch, after class, even during study hall, Ningning suddenly materialized too. Like clockwork. Like some grumpy guardian angel.

She never interrupted. Never said a word, really.

But she was there.

Hovering just close enough that you couldn’t forget it.

One afternoon, while you were trying to teach Jisung how to make those weird origami ninja stars (“Trust the process!” you kept saying as his kept collapsing into sad paper blobs), Ningning leaned back against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed, watching.

And scowling.

And watching.

And scowling.

And every now and then, when you laughed a little too loud at Jisung’s dramatic paper-folding failures, her jaw would tighten just slightly.

It didn’t take long for her friends to catch on.

You found out the hard way when you heard a loud cough-cough “jealousy” (cough) from across the hallway.

Giselle was nearly falling off the bench she was sitting on, stifling laughter. Winter openly pointed at Ningning, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like “go get your girl”.

Karina, calm as ever, just sipped her iced coffee and raised one eyebrow, the universal signal for (we know everything, and we are judging you in the most loving way possible.)

Ningning, for her part, responded with a glare so icy it could’ve frozen the sun.

You, being your usual oblivious self, just waved at them all happily.

“Hi, guys!”

Karina choked on her drink.

Giselle had to walk away, giggling under her breath.

Winter looked like she might start filming the scene for posterity.

Meanwhile, Ningning stood stiffly at your side, the tips of her ears just barely pink.

You tugged on her sleeve without thinking, grinning up at her. “You okay? You look kinda warm? Want my juice box? It’s grape today.”

Ningning stared at you.

For a second, you thought she might actually say something sassy. Maybe tell you off. Maybe tease you.

Instead, she reached out and took the juice box without a word.

You blinked.

Giselle, thirty feet away, made an audible squeal sound.

Winter’s hands slapped over her mouth like she couldn’t believe what she just witnessed.

And Karina just nodded solemnly, like she was presiding over a historic event.

You had no idea what any of it meant.

But Ningning cracked the tiniest smirk around the straw as she sipped your grape juice.

And for some reason, your heart did the stupidest little flip.

It was just another normal afternoon.

Or it should’ve been, anyway.

You were out in the courtyard again, sitting cross-legged on the grass with your backpack flopped open beside you, laughing way too hard at something Jisung said. He was holding your phone dramatically like he’d just discovered the funniest meme on earth, and you were practically rolling, snorting so loudly that a nearby group of seniors turned around.

From across the field, Ningning watched.

Or more accurately, glared.

She sat perched on one of the low stone walls, arms crossed tight over her chest, foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the rock. Her brows were drawn together, mouth twisted in a flat line. The late sun lit up her hair like a halo, but there was nothing remotely angelic about the look she was sending in your direction.

Winter plopped down next to her, sipping her milk tea without a care in the world.

“Wow,” Winter said, after a few long seconds of heavy silence. “You know you’re glaring like you’re planning a murder, right?”

Ningning didn’t answer.

Instead, she narrowed her eyes further as Jisung nudged you with his shoulder and you laughed again, bright, sunny, a sound that made half the courtyard turn to look.

Winter raised an eyebrow. “Seriously. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already.”

Still no answer.

Just more death-staring.

Winter leaned closer, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “You could just admit it, y'know.”

Ningning’s hands tightened where they rested on her arms. Her jaw clenched. Something uncoiled in her chest. hot and sharp and way too big to keep swallowing down anymore.

And before she could stop herself, before she could even think about stopping herself, she snapped:

“She’s mine—!”

The words rang out louder than she intended, cutting through the lazy hum of the courtyard.

Winter choked on her drink.

Ningning froze, realizing exactly what just came out of her mouth.

“I mean—” she sputtered immediately, face flushing faster than a struck match, “not mine mine. Just—! She’s—! I—! Shut up!”

Winter was wheezing now, half from surprise, half from unholy glee.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, clutching her side like she was physically in pain from holding in her laughter. “You actually said it. Out loud. In public. I’m never letting you live this down.”

Ningning practically leapt off the wall, hands fisted at her sides, burning with mortification. “I hate you,” she hissed under her breath.

“No you don’t,” Winter grinned, slapping her on the back as she passed.

Ningning muttered something incoherent and stormed across the courtyard, away from the scene of the crime, away from the warmth bubbling in her throat that she didn’t know how to deal with.

She didn’t even check if you heard.

She couldn’t.

If she looked back and saw you staring, saw you smiling at her the way you always did, open and blinding and so much. she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Not yet.

Not when she hadn’t figured out how to say it properly. How to tell you that somehow, without her even noticing it happen, you had become her favorite noise in a world that used to feel way too silent.

That you had made a home for yourself right inside her ribs, careless and fearless and so stupidly bright.

She wasn’t ready for you to know all that.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

Maybe sooner than she thought.

It started out subtle.

You weren’t exactly the best at reading normal social cues, half the time you thought someone glaring at you meant they needed a hug but even you could tell something was weird.

Ningning was around more. Like, a lot more. You’d turn a corner and she’d be there, leaning against a locker. You’d walk into class and find her already sitting at your desk, idly flipping through your doodle-filled notebook. You’d get to lunch and she’d be saving a seat for you, one foot braced against the chair so no one else dared take it.

But she was… different.

Quieter.

Tighter.

Before, Ningning’s grumpiness had a sort of dry, almost playful edge when it came to you. Now? It felt heavier. Like there was something sitting on her chest she wasn’t saying.

And the looks God, the looks.

They were sharper. Longer. Like she was trying to figure out a puzzle where the pieces kept changing. Like maybe you were the puzzle, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to throw it across the room or frame it on the wall.

At first you brushed it off.

Maybe she was just tired. Midterms were coming up. You’d seen people lose their minds over physics homework for less.

But then it kept happening.

One afternoon, you were sitting under the old oak tree near the field, sketching random nonsense in your notebook. Jisung plopped down beside you, waving a bag of gummy bears like a peace offering, and you accepted them with a grin.

Mid-laugh, you glanced up and there she was.

Ningning.

Across the courtyard, leaning against the fence, watching.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes sharp enough to slice through the breeze.

You gave her a big wave, cheerfully flapping your arms.

She didn’t wave back.

Just stared.

For the first time in a long time, something in your chest twinged, not painful, exactly, but confusing in a way that made you want to wrap yourself in ten layers of hoodies and hide.

You turned back to Jisung, still smiling, but it felt wobbly now. Like a table with one leg too short.

It all came to a head two days later.

You were leaving history class, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, juice box in your hand (today's flavor: tropical punch), when Ningning fell into step beside you.

You blinked at her. She didn’t usually walk you to your next class unless she had something to say. But today, she just… walked. Silent. Brooding.

You glanced sideways at her. She looked like she was thinking about fifty things at once and none of them were nice.

After three minutes of heavy silence, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You skidded to a dramatic stop in the middle of the hallway, causing a freshman to nearly crash into you.

Ningning halted too, blinking down at you with a flicker of surprise.

You poked her lightly in the arm with your straw. “Okay. Real talk.”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You took a deep breath, puffing your cheeks out before exhaling in a rush. “Did I do something wrong? You’re looking at me like I ate your cat.”

For a second, Ningning just stared at you.

Something flickered across her face. something almost like guilt, but faster, slipperier, gone before you could really catch it.

You shifted your juice box from one hand to the other, trying to smile even though your stomach twisted a little.

“If I, like, stepped on your vibe or whatever, you can just tell me,” you said, voice a little too chipper around the edges. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll even buy you, like, three grape juice boxes. That’s friendship inflation, you know.”

Still, no answer.

Ningning’s gaze dropped to the floor.

And then she just... shrugged.

Shrugged like you hadn’t just offered her the sun.

Shrugged like none of it mattered.

The shrug hurt more than if she’d shoved you away.

Before you could say anything else, she muttered something under her breath, too soft to catch and turned, walking off down the hall like she was late for something.

Leaving you standing there.

Juice box limp in your hand.

Heart sinking just a little too low.

You stared after her, biting your lip.

For a second, a tiny, reckless second you wanted to chase after her. Grab her hand. Demand she tell you what was wrong because you could feel it pressing between you, thick and heavy and real.

But you didn’t.

You stood there for a beat longer, feeling stupid and heavy in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.

Then you shook yourself like a wet dog, slapped a too-bright smile back on your face, and marched toward your next class.

Maybe Ningning was just having a bad day.

Maybe you were reading too much into things.

Maybe you should just give her space.

Even if it stung.

You jammed your straw into your juice box and took an angry sip.

Tropical punch had never tasted so sour.

It was a slow unraveling.

Not the kind you noticed all at once. Not like a slap to the face or a door slammed in anger.

It was softer.

Quieter.

The kind of unraveling that you only realized was happening when you looked down one day and found the thread wrapped around your fingers, frayed and half-gone, without even knowing you'd been pulling it.

It started small.

Ningning stopped waiting for you after class.

Stopped looking up when you bounced into the room, waving your latest juice box or ridiculous meme at her like a trophy.

She still showed up sometimes, still sat in the same lunch spot, still walked down the same hallways but there was a new kind of distance now. A carefulness.

Like you were something she was trying not to touch.

At first you told yourself it was fine.

Maybe she was just busy. Maybe she was stressed. Maybe her cat had a dentist appointment. You could come up with a million reasons if you tried hard enough.

But it kept happening.

One morning, you rushed into homeroom ten minutes late, hair a mess, socks mismatched, clutching two coffees from the convenience store because you knew she’d forgotten breakfast again.

You slammed the cup down on her desk with a big, stupid grin. "Fuel for the grumpiest grump," you chirped.

Ningning barely glanced at it.

Barely glanced at you.

Just muttered a quiet, distracted thanks and went back to scribbling in her notebook.

Something in your chest dipped, low and heavy.

You stood there for a second, holding your own coffee with both hands, feeling like you’d just been left hanging in the middle of a high five.

And because it was you, because smiling was what you were good at, you just beamed wider, letting your voice stay bright.

“No worries!” you said, popping the straw into your coffee with a too-loud stab. “I know I’m a lot. Like... a lot a lot. Probably not what you signed up for when you answered that first question, huh?"

You laughed, short and airy.

She didn��t laugh back.

Didn’t even look at you.

And God, if that didn’t sting worse than anything else.

You sank into your seat beside her, pressing your coffee cup against your cheek like it could cool the heat rising under your skin.

Tried to focus on the blackboard. Tried not to hear the way your own heartbeat sounded too loud in your ears. Tried not to think about the way Ningning was sitting just a few inches away but felt like she was miles and miles out of reach.

Maybe you were too much.

Maybe you always had been.

People liked you at first, sunshine was easy to love when it wasn’t burning too close but eventually they drifted away. Got tired. Got annoyed. Left you blinking in the middle of an empty hallway, wondering what you’d done wrong.

You were used to it.

You’d learned how to patch over it with jokes and glitter pens and loud, messy smiles that made it hard for anyone to notice the cracks underneath.

You weren’t going to make Ningning feel guilty for that.

Not when she'd been the first person here to make you feel like you weren't shouting into a void.

Not when you still liked her way too much for your own good.

The bell rang, sharp and sudden, and you jumped a little.

Ningning was already packing up.

You watched her zip her bag and stand, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands like she didn’t want to touch anything bare.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Just walked out, shoulders hunched tighter than usual.

You stared after her, chewing your lip.

And then, like an idiot, you smiled again.

Waved at her retreating back even though she couldn’t see it.

“It’s okay,” you whispered to yourself, voice light, joking, the way it always was when things started to ache too much. “You probably just need space. I get it. I’m a lot sometimes. Loud and messy and—” you paused, squeezing your eyes shut for a second, “—and it’s okay."

You tucked your coffee cup under your arm, grabbed your backpack, and headed for your next class with your usual spring in your step.

If anyone noticed that your bounce was a little slower that day, no one said anything.

And that was fine.

Really.

You were used to walking on your own when people got tired of the sunshine.

You could do it again.

You just… kind of wished you didn’t have to.

It wasn’t even supposed to happen like that.

Ningning had convinced herself she was doing the right thing, giving you space, making sure she didn’t drag you down into the mess of her own fears. She thought if she pulled back first, it wouldn’t hurt so much when you got bored. When you realized she wasn’t worth the trouble.

But the thing about sunshine was, it didn’t just go away quietly.

It dimmed.

It flickered.

And Ningning noticed.

It was in the way you didn’t rush to her side in the mornings anymore. You still smiled, still waved, but sometimes it took you a second longer, like you were checking first to see if you were welcome.

It was in the way you sat with your hands folded too neatly on your desk, fidgeting with your pen instead of nudging her arm and whispering about how your cat Waffles tried to eat a shoelace again.

It was in the way you caught yourself before reaching for her, pulling back at the last second with a small, polite laugh that made her chest hurt more than she knew how to explain.

Ningning knew she’d messed up.

She just didn’t know how badly until Yujin cornered her after lunch.

It wasn’t even a dramatic thing. No shouting, no slammed lockers. Yujin just leaned against the wall by the courtyard door, arms crossed, watching her with that calm, steady look that said she wasn’t here to play around.

"You think I don’t see it?” Yujin said, voice low. “You think none of us notice how she looks at you like you hung the damn stars?”

Ningning didn’t answer.

Didn’t meet her eyes.

Yujin pushed off the wall, stepping closer. Not threatening, just there, solid and impossible to ignore.

“If you’re going to make her sad,” she said, quiet but cutting, “you don’t get to keep her.”

The words landed sharp in Ningning’s gut.

She didn’t say anything for a long second.

Couldn’t.

Because she knew it was true.

You deserved better than someone who pushed you away because they were too scared to hold on.

Someone who let their own stupid fears take up more space than you.

Someone who was too much of a coward to just tell you the truth: that you mattered. That you were the brightest thing that had ever crashed into her world and she didn’t know how to live without you now.

“You’re hurting her,” Yujin added, a little softer. “And you don’t even see it, do you?”

Ningning opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

Because the truth was, she had seen it.

Had seen the tiny cracks in your smile, the way your eyes flickered down when she didn’t answer right away, the way you clutched your books a little too tightly sometimes, like you needed something to hold on to.

And she hated it.

Hated that she had done that to you.

Yujin sighed, like she was tired of being the voice of reason. "If you don't want her," she said, shrugging one shoulder, "someone else will."

The idea twisted something ugly in Ningning’s chest.

Because the thought of you turning that bright, blinding smile toward someone else, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to catch it, someone who wouldn’t freeze up at the weight of being wanted made her feel like she couldn’t breathe.

And for the first time, Ningning realized:

It wasn’t about protecting herself anymore.

It wasn’t about being safe.

It was about losing you.

And that was something she couldn't live with.

Not now.

Not ever.

She stood there long after Yujin walked away, the courtyard empty around her, the cold spring air biting at her skin. Thinking about the way you used to beam at her without hesitation. About the way you had looked today, smiling still, always smiling, but not reaching anymore.

She’d done that.

And if she didn’t fix it soon, she was going to lose the only person who had ever made her feel like she was more than just the grumpy girl everyone was scared of.

She didn’t know exactly how to fix it yet.

But she knew one thing:

She had to try.

Because you deserved someone who wasn’t afraid to stay.

And she wanted to be that person.

For you.

It started with the empty desk.

At first, Ningning told herself not to overthink it. Maybe you were running late. Maybe you had a dentist appointment. Maybe you just... weren’t feeling it today. It wasn’t like you owed her your presence every second of every day.

Except,

Except you always said good morning.

You always found her, somehow, even if you were half-asleep or juggling three juice boxes and a backpack that looked like it might swallow you whole.

You always showed up.

And today... nothing.

The clock ticked louder than usual. The seat beside her stayed stubbornly empty. Her hand kept twitching toward her phone under the desk.

By lunchtime, Ningning had abandoned all dignity.

“Have you seen Y/N?” she asked one of her classmates some guy who always sat two rows behind them and barely knew her.

He blinked at her like she’d grown two heads.

“No?” he squeaked. “Did she quit the school?”

Ningning almost bit his head off on the spot.

By the end of lunch, she’d asked at least five people and gotten zero answers, and her friends were starting to stare at her like she’d finally lost it.

Then Yujin, who was way too smug for someone who hadn't even helped, leaned in and said, “Her best friend’s by the vending machines.”

Ningning didn’t even hesitate.

She found the girl easily enough, leaning against the wall, sipping a soda, scrolling on her phone. Y/N’s friend, the sunshine-protector who always hovered nearby, watching with wary eyes.

Ningning didn’t bother with small talk.

"Where is she?"

The girl looked up, eyebrows raised. “Who’s asking?”

Ningning scowled. “Me.”

There was a long moment where Y/N’s friend just stared at her. Weighing. Judging. Probably remembering every time Ningning had made you look a little sad, a little confused.

Then, finally, she said, “She’s sick. Stayed home.”

Relief hit Ningning so hard her knees almost gave out.

Sick. Not gone. Not transferred away without saying goodbye. Just sick.

“She’s fine,” the friend added, clearly reading her panic. “Texted me this morning. Just a cold.”

Ningning should’ve left it at that.

She didn’t.

"Where does she live?"

The words were out before she could stop them.

The friend tilted her head, suspicious. “Why?”

Ningning hesitated. Felt the weight of every unspoken thing she hadn’t said to you pressing down on her.

"I just..." She scratched the back of her neck, cheeks burning. "I wanna make sure she’s okay."

Something flickered in the girl’s eyes. Approval, maybe. Or resignation.

“She likes strawberry milk,” was all she said before rattling off an address.

Ningning barely heard her over the thundering of her own heart.

Standing in front of your house half an hour later After school, clutching a bag from the corner store like a complete idiot, Ningning almost turned around five times.

This was stupid.

You probably didn’t even want to see her.

You probably had real friends, better friends, who didn’t ignore you for a week and then show up on your doorstep with strawberry milk and panic in their chest.

Still.

She rang the doorbell.

A second later, the door swung open and there you were, wrapped in a giant hoodie, hair a mess, nose red from blowing it too much. You looked like a fever dream.

Literally.

For a second, you just blinked at her.

Then you said, voice scratchy and small, “Ningning?”

Her throat closed up.

She shoved the bag at you, cheeks burning. “You’re sick. I brought stuff.”

You stared at the bag, then at her.

Then, softly, “You didn’t have to.”

Ningning wanted to say, ”I know.”

Wanted to say, ”I wanted to.”

Wanted to say, ”I miss you.”

Instead, she mumbled, “It’s not a big deal.”

Liar.

You smiled a little, the tired kind of smile, but still real. Still you.

And Ningning’s chest ached.

Behind her words, in the back of her mind, she could still hear Yujin’s voice: ”If you’re going to make her sad, you don’t get to keep her.”

She almost said it then.

Almost blurted out everything she was too scared to name.

But when you tilted your head, coughing into your sleeve and looking so small and sleepy and trusting, the fear won.

Again.

Ningning shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and said, “Get better soon. School’s boring without you.”

You laughed, even though it turned into a wheeze halfway through.

And Ningning the coward that she was just stood there for another second, burning the image of you into her mind, before mumbling some excuse about homework and walking away before she could do something reckless like kiss you.

Maybe someday she’d be brave enough to tell you the truth.

But for now...

She hoped the strawberry milk said enough.

There was a change. Small at first. Almost unnoticeable if you weren't looking for it.

But Ningning was looking.

It wasn’t that you stopped smiling, you still did, that bright, open grin she secretly looked for the second she walked into a room. You still bounced a little when you talked, still waved too enthusiastically when you spotted her across the quad. Still found reasons to be close, like the universe naturally spun you toward her orbit.

But there was a softness now. A hesitation.

When you laughed, it wasn’t quite as loud.

When you poked her arm to get her attention, it lingered just a second less.

When you talked, sometimes you would glance at her like you were searching for signs, permission, maybe to keep going.

Ningning hated it. Hated it because she knew she was the reason.

Ever since she'd shown up at your door like a walking panic attack, she hadn't known what to do with herself. Hadn’t said what she should’ve said. Hadn’t given you the words you so clearly deserved.

And now you were… retreating.

Still here, but holding yourself tighter.

She couldn’t stand it.

That’s why, one afternoon, when you sat beside her on the low wall outside school, knees tucked up, hands fiddling with the straw in your juice box, Ningning finally cracked.

"You mad at me?" she blurted out.

You blinked at her, startled. “What?”

She shifted uncomfortably, shoving her hands deep into her hoodie pockets. “You're... different.”

You looked down at your drink, straw bobbing uselessly in the carton. Your voice, when it came, was soft enough that she had to lean in to catch it.

“No. I’m not mad.”

A pause.

"I’m just scared you'll disappear if I say the wrong thing."

The words hit her like a gut punch.

You, you, the one who filled every silence with sunshine and easy laughter you were scared. Of her.

Ningning went still.

For a second, she didn’t know what to say. Every instinct screamed at her to fix it, to do something, anything to wipe that sadness from your voice.

But she remembered something you said once, on a day when you were teasing her about her stubbornness. “Sometimes people just need you to stay, dummy."

So she stayed.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t let the fear in her own chest take over.

Instead, Ningning leaned back slightly on her palms, gaze fixed somewhere over your head at the slowly darkening sky, and said in the quietest, most serious voice you’d ever heard from her:

"I’m not going anywhere."

You looked up at her then. Really looked.

And Ningning, for once, didn’t look away.

No sarcasm. No teasing deflection. Just the truth, raw and clumsy between them.

Your mouth wobbled, like you were trying not to cry or laugh or maybe both. Then, slowly, you leaned your shoulder against hers.

Not saying anything.

Not asking anything.

Just believing her.

Ningning felt something in her chest click into place like maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t already ruined everything.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to be the person you already thought she was.

It was one of those evenings when the world felt just a little softer. The sky had started bleeding into shades of gold and pink, and the lazy breeze carried the distant sounds of laughter from students still hanging around after school events.

Ningning and you had found yourselves tucked away on the bleachers near the back of the soccer field, your backpacks tossed carelessly at your feet, half-eaten snacks between you.

It was easy like this. Comfortable. Like there was no rush to be anywhere else.

You were sitting cross-legged, absently twirling the straw of your juice box, gaze flickering up toward the clouds with a distracted sort of wonder Ningning always secretly liked watching. She was leaning back on her palms, head tilted, pretending not to be waiting for you to say something because you always said something. It was just a matter of time.

But today you were quiet longer than usual. And for once, she found herself fidgeting first, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

Finally, you broke the silence.

"Hey…"

Your voice was light but nervous around the edges. Ningning immediately sat up a little straighter, wary.

"You know how you’re always saying I talk too much?" you asked, lips quirking in a soft smile.

Ningning snorted, the familiar reaction automatic. "Because you do."

Your grin grew, but it was gentler this time, almost fragile. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and looked at her properly, and Ningning's chest tightened at how serious your eyes were, even though your mouth kept smiling like you were trying to make it easier for both of you.

"Then let me get this one last thing out before I explode, okay?" you said, almost sheepish.

She didn’t say anything. Just stared. Frozen in place.

You inhaled slowly, like you were pulling courage from the air itself, and then you said it. Gently. No fanfare. No dramatic buildup. Just the truth, small and seismic all at once.

"I like you. A lot. And I don’t expect you to say it back. I just wanted you to know."

There. It was out.

You looked down immediately, fiddling with your juice box, pretending like you weren’t desperately wishing the ground would swallow you whole. You didn’t even seem to expect an answer, you were ready to leave it hanging in the air, heavy and awkward if it needed to be.

Ningning, on the other hand, was malfunctioning.

She blinked at you. Once. Twice. Brain scrambling to catch up to the words that had just shattered whatever safe little bubble she thought she was living in.

She should say something. Anything.

But instead, her mouth refused to work, and her face betrayed her completely because she could feel the heat rushing up her neck, painting her cheeks in a furious, undeniable blush.

You peeked at her, saw it, and your lips twitched into the tiniest, bravest smile.

"It's okay," you said quickly, saving her from herself. "You don’t have to say anything."

And true to who you were, you didn’t push. You didn’t beg for an answer. You just sat there, picking at the edge of your shoe with a quiet kind of acceptance that made Ningning’s chest ache.

Because you were always like that.

Always giving more than you took.

Always making it easy for her to stay closed off if she needed to.

Ningning didn't say anything that day. She couldn't. Every instinct screamed at her to run or hide or pretend she hadn’t heard. And that terrified her more than anything else because for the first time, it wasn’t annoyance or obligation that kept her sitting beside you. It was the pure, aching need to be close to you.

The walk home was filled with comfortable nonsense chatter from you, mercifully moving on like nothing happened, giving Ningning the space she didn’t know she needed.

But that night, she barely slept. Tossed and turned, kicking herself for freezing up, for letting you pour your heart out and giving you nothing back.

The next day, she found you sitting under the same oak tree you always gravitated to during lunch, headphones in, sketching something in a notebook with that same determined little furrow between your brows.

Ningning stomped toward you before she could talk herself out of it.

You looked up, eyes brightening instinctively at the sight of her, even though there was a flicker of nervousness there too. Like you were bracing for the worst.

Ningning sat down beside you with a huff, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Then, grumbling under her breath, cheeks already burning again, she muttered: "You’re annoying."

You blinked, caught between laughter and confusion. Before you could open your mouth, she continued, glaring fiercely at the grass like it personally offended her:

"And I think I like you too. So don’t say it to anyone else, okay?"

You froze. Stared at her.

And then your grin broke out, huge and blinding and real, and Ningning had to look away before she embarrassed herself even more.

You bumped your shoulder against hers, laughing under your breath, and Ningning’s heart did something ugly and messy and beautiful all at once.

If she didn’t die from how ridiculously happy you looked, she might actually survive this after all.

From the outside, nothing looked official.

There were no grand declarations, no cutesy nicknames or couple selfies flooding the school group chats. Ningning and you simply… were.

But anyone who paid even a little attention could tell something had shifted.

Ningning, the same girl who once inspired urban legends about her death glare alone, now casually waited by your classroom door every day, pretending she just happened to be passing by. Her earbuds would be in, hood up, expression blank but the second you appeared, all bright smiles and stumbling steps, she'd straighten up, her gaze softening in a way that would’ve made the school population collectively faint if they hadn’t already become weirdly desensitized to it.

She didn’t even try to hide the way she leaned closer when you talked, close enough for your elbows to brush, close enough for your laugh to hit her full force. She didn’t explain why she sometimes pulled you into quieter hallways after class, using the flimsiest excuses ("Too noisy," "Don’t want to deal with people") just to have a moment alone where she could listen to you babble about your day without interruption.

And God help anyone who so much as looked at you for too long.

One afternoon, you were chatting animatedly with a kid from your biology lab, a friendly sort, maybe a little too friendly and Ningning materialized out of nowhere. She said nothing. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression dark enough to send the poor guy stammering out a goodbye before he'd even finished his sentence.

You watched him retreat with wide eyes, then turned to her, half-laughing. "Was that necessary?"

Ningning just shrugged, the faintest smirk pulling at her lips.

It wasn’t until the third time she intercepted someone talking to you (even if it was just someone asking for a pencil) that you finally asked, voice full of tentative hope and unbearable affection:

"So are we… like… girlfriend-girlfriends, or…?"

Ningning, without missing a beat, muttered, "Shut up," and walked ahead of you, leaving you scrambling to catch up with a stupidly wide grin stretching across your face.

Later that day, tucked into the back corner of the cafeteria with her closest friends, one of them nudged Ningning in the side when they caught her staring at you across the room, your head bent over your tray as you enthusiastically told a story to another friend.

"Are you finally going to admit you’re obsessed with her?" they teased, knowing full well the consequences of poking the dragon.

Ningning rolled her eyes but didn’t even bother denying it this time. "...we are," she mumbled, barely audible but entirely certain.

Her friends just grinned like a bunch of proud parents.

It wasn’t long before the rest of Ningning’s tiny, fiercely loyal circle started showing their approval too. In their own weird, slightly terrifying ways.

One of them Winter, who you’d always found a little intimidating despite her sweet face caught you by your locker one afternoon. She leaned against the metal, arms folded casually, and said without preamble:

"You’re good for her." You blinked, mid-stuffing your bag with books. "Um. Thanks?"

Winter smirked. "You’re the only one she listens to, you know."

Heat rushed up your neck, and you laughed awkwardly, shoving a notebook deeper into your backpack just to have something to do. "Honestly, I thought she barely tolerated me when we first met."

Winter’s smirk softened into something almost fond. "She let you sit next to her. That was already love."

You stood there for a moment after she walked away, heart thudding stupidly loud in your chest.

Because maybe you hadn’t tamed the infamous Ningning. Maybe you’d just seen her, the real her before anyone else had been brave enough to try. And maybe, just maybe, she was letting you stay because you were the first person who didn’t expect her to be anything she wasn’t.

You zipped up your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder with a little more lightness in your step, feeling stupidly giddy as you spotted Ningning waiting by the front doors, her hoodie slouched over her frame, her gaze immediately finding yours across the crowd.

Not official. Not loud.

But so real you could feel it in your bones.

You didn’t call it a date.

Obviously.

Because Ningning would combust on the spot if you even hinted at the word.

So, naturally, when you met up outside the little downtown bookstore-café hybrid on a cloudy Saturday afternoon, you greeted her with a mischievous grin and chirped, "Ready for our super casual, not-a-date, gal pal hangout?" loud enough for three strangers nearby to hear.

Ningning gave you a look that could’ve soured milk, tugging her hoodie lower over her head as if it could shield her from the embarrassment radiating off your sunshine soul. Still, she didn’t leave.

Instead, she wordlessly pushed open the door for you, the little bell above the frame jingling softly, and followed you inside like it was the most natural thing in the world. (You didn’t miss the way she subtly moved so she stood between you and the rest of the street before doing so either. Classic grump moves.)

Inside, the air smelled like old pages and cinnamon coffee, and you immediately spun around, practically bouncing in place.

"This is perfect," you gushed, beaming at her. "We can get books and snacks. Best non-date ever!"

Ningning rolled her eyes, but you caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth the almost-smile she always tried to bury around you.

You wove your way through the shelves, pulling her along by the sleeve when she lagged behind. She didn’t complain, not once, even when you spent fifteen whole minutes agonizing over which ridiculous romance novel to buy. (She ended up grabbing the one you hesitated on the longest and tossing it onto the counter without a word while you gaped at her.)

"You didn’t have to buy that," you mumbled, clutching the book like it was a trophy.

"Shut up," she said, already tapping her card against the reader before you could stop her.

You tried, half-heartedly, to insist on paying for your coffee and snack afterward too, but she leveled you with such an unimpressed stare that you caved immediately.

"Fine, fine," you sighed dramatically, sipping your overpriced latte. "You’re the sugar mommy in this very platonic gal pal outing."

The café was tiny, barely five tables squeezed between bookshelves and old couches, but Ningning found a seat tucked in the corner and motioned for you to join her with a tilt of her head. She sprawled back casually, one arm draped over the back of the couch and you, being you, immediately leaned your head against her shoulder with a pleased little sigh.

You felt her stiffen for a second.

Just for a second.

And then she relaxed.

Didn’t move away.

Didn’t even pretend to be bothered.

Outside the window, the sky threatened rain. Inside, tucked in the crook of Ningning’s arm, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to feel the way her fingers lightly tapped against your shoulder in distracted patterns, you couldn’t help smiling to yourself.

When you glanced up at her because you couldn’t help it, you never could, she was already looking at you.

Like you were something delicate she wasn’t sure how to touch but didn’t want to stop trying.

A couple of people passed by the window, throwing curious glances inside. Ningning’s eyes narrowed immediately, and you watched in barely concealed amusement as she shifted, angling herself so she was more in the way, blocking you from view like some kind of disgruntled bodyguard.

"My hero," you whispered teasingly.

"Shut up," she muttered, but her hand brushed against yours under the table, pinky finger barely hooking around yours in a move so casual, so tiny, it might’ve been an accident.

You knew it wasn’t.

You leaned a little closer, your voice soft and ridiculously fond.

"You like me."

Ningning snorted, gaze flickering away.

"You’re delusional."

You just grinned, utterly content to sit there for as long as she’d let you, head on her shoulder, pinkies tangled, pretending it was just a gal pal hangout even though your heart was screaming otherwise.

If this wasn’t a date, you didn’t want to know what was.

It was the last assembly of the year. The kind where everything felt heavy with finality, where the air buzzed with the mixed emotions of relief, excitement, and a little bit of sadness. The seniors were preparing to leave, the underclassmen were already mentally checked out for summer, and Y/N stood there in the middle of it all, wide-eyed and buzzing with her usual, unmistakable energy.

Her excitement was palpable, like it always was. She had her bright, sunny smile on, bouncing between conversations with a few of her friends as they all tried to make the most of the last event of the year. But she couldn’t help feeling like something was different today. Maybe it was the way the room felt more alive than it ever had before, or maybe it was the strange warmth that had been radiating between her and Ningning these past few weeks something unspoken, yet undeniably there.

The last few days had been an odd mixture of soft moments and quiet confessions. No labels yet nothing official but it was clear to everyone who had been watching that something had shifted between them. Ningning, the girl who used to glare at everyone and push people away, now let Y/N walk into her space without hesitation, sat with her at lunch, and shared moments that made the world feel a little less overwhelming. It had always been her, really, but now it felt more real than ever.

The teasing started casually enough, a light jab from one of Y/N’s classmates who, for whatever reason, thought it’d be funny to poke fun at how much time she spent with Ningning. They were joking about how attached Y/N was to her “grumpy friend” when the mood suddenly shifted.

Ningning, who had been sitting off to the side with her arms crossed, listening to the banter with her usual deadpan expression, shot up from her seat with the sharpness of a blade. Everyone around them froze in a collective gasp as she stepped forward, her posture stiff and unyielding, her gaze burning through the group of students like they had crossed a line.

It was so sudden that even Y/N flinched slightly, her heart jumping in her chest at the sudden surge of protective energy emanating from her usually reserved friend.

“You want to say that again?” Ningning’s voice was low, cool, and without a hint of humor.

The teasing student, who had been more than willing to poke fun at Y/N just moments ago, looked like they regretted their words instantly. The room seemed to hold its breath, every student watching in stunned silence. Even the teachers exchanged a glance as if unsure whether to intervene or just let this unfold.

Ningning’s eyes never wavered from the student’s face, her gaze hard as steel, as she crossed her arms with an air of finality. The air in the room felt thicker now, charged with something that was unmistakably protective fierce and loyal, but undeniably soft in its own way.

The student cleared their throat awkwardly. “I was just joking, I didn’t mean—”

“You heard me,” Ningning cut them off, her voice quiet but firm. “She’s mine. You want to say that again?”

It was the kind of moment that made everyone’s heart skip, because it wasn’t just a declaration, it was an undeniable truth, one that had no need for explanation. It was protective. It was possessive, but not in a toxic way. It was simple and raw, like Ningning was quietly, without a second thought, claiming the one person she hadn’t known she needed so badly.

Y/N stood frozen, caught between a mix of shock and elation, and then, before anyone else could say anything, she heard her own voice cut through the stillness, her words a little breathless with disbelief and delight.

“That was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she said, her heart soaring as she looked up at Ningning, eyes wide with something that resembled awe.

Ningning blinked, looking flustered for just a moment. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and her usual tough exterior cracked for the briefest of seconds.

“…Shut up,” she muttered, trying to hide her smile behind a mask of irritation.

But Y/N knew better. She saw it, the faint, soft curve of Ningning’s lips that she couldn’t hide, no matter how hard she tried.

Y/N grinned, a wide, impossibly happy grin that lit up her whole face. Her hands practically itched to reach out and pull Ningning into a hug, but she held herself back, unsure if that would make Ningning explode. Instead, she just stood there, basking in the small but powerful shift that had just taken place.

The room slowly exhaled, the tension dissipating, but there was something else now, something more lingering and beautiful. The whole school seemed to have witnessed the small but undeniable shift in the dynamic between the two of them, Ningning, who had once kept everyone at arm’s length, had just made it clear she wasn’t letting anyone else get close to her sunshine.

It wasn’t a dramatic confession or some big, showy gesture. It was simple. Quiet. But that was enough.

Ningning stood there for a beat longer, clearly trying to hide the softness that had melted into her features. She finally gave a sharp nod and turned away, her back still rigid but her steps slower than before.

Y/N’s heart raced, and she couldn’t help but take a step toward her, smiling like she was the luckiest person in the world.

As the assembly continued around them, with the same buzzing energy and undercurrent of chatter, Y/N felt it, the undeniable shift. She didn’t need grand gestures or overly complicated words. She just needed this. Ningning. The girl who had been her protector in the most subtle, beautiful ways.

She watched as Ningning glanced back at her one last time before walking off, her eyes softening just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment between them.

And for the first time, Y/N knew without a doubt: This was the beginning of something that didn’t need to be said out loud. It was already theirs.

#dividers by vesearartistry #aespa x reader #aespa fluff #aespa x fem reader #aespa fanfic #aespa x you #aespa ningning #aespa ning yizhuo #ningning x reader #ningning x you #ningning fluff #ning yizhuo #ning yizhuo x reader

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rottingparts · 2 years ago

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Cool okay! May I request some general romantic head cannons for Bay! Optimus, Ironhide and Ratchet ? Thank you so much ! :)

(SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! My internet is fucked, but only on my computer, so i'm struggling atm.)

OF COURSE!! My favorites.... I mean I totally love them all equally :) I wrote them with a Human!Reader (that's all i write but i just wanted to calrify)!

Optimus Prime:

My love... probably the most normal of them honestly

Isn't like super duper outwardly romantic when others are around. He isn't too fond of PDA. BUT he still shows affection in lowkey ways.

Like, he will gently nudge you if you seem anxious or off in general, to get your attention and when you let him know you're ok he gives you a slight nod and continues on with his conversation.

It's really no secret, because him crouching down and his giant hand descending from his side and nudging you is not very subtle.

He is way more protective over you than any other human. Will not let anything harm you. And if something does, nothing will get in his way to help/save you.

LOVES (when it's just the two of you) for you to gently hold his face in your tiny (compared to him) hands! Double points if you gently bonk your forehead against his.

If you are not feeling it, having a bad day, what have you, he will take you for a ride to calm down. his voice is so soothing! Sometimes he'll even talk to you until you fall asleep if that is what you need.

You two became an 'item' mostly because you had made offhanded comment to Cade about Optimus being attractive in a way and Cade shut that shit down immediately but Optimus heard. It was too late, Cade has to deal with this now...

Literally so sweet! Will kill for you!

Ironhide:

Oh my... definitely the least normal (in an endearing way).

Doesn't mind/completely understand PDA honestly. Like, you wanna grab him and nuzzle his face? Please do. He will be forever grateful.

He definitely wants to show you off, he is so proud of you!! He also needs everyone to know you are taken :)

Like he will do little things to make sure the others know he is with you, like bringing you towards him when someone gets a little too close.

Wants you close to him at all times, so he knows you're safe.

If anyone threatens you in any capacity (even if its sarcasm from a close friend) his arm is around you, guarding you, while he points a gun at the one threatening you. It takes a minute to calm him down.

If you are like visibly upset/anxious/not having it, he is very vocal about pulling you out of the situation. Has zero problems taking you away in the middle of a conversation.

Will literally go into alt mode and just... drive away with you. Your friends don't like that too much.

Ironhide definitely was weird about his feelings at first. Him liking a human? No thank you. Definitely tried to push the feelings away, until getting tired and telling you how he felt.

When you lit up and said you felt the same? Oh he was over the moon!

Very protective and secretly very sweet! Will also kill for you!

Ratchet:

My sweet cinnamon bun....

Will literally die for your hugs!! Please just wrap your arms around his neck when he bends down and hug him so tight!

Doesn't mind PDA (in a sense of like hugging and being sweet) but does get very flustered!!

Call him any pet name (honey, dear, etc.) and he will combust. If he could blush, he definitely would. Really wanna make him weak in the knees? Call him 'My love.'

Ratchet would worry about you constantly honestly. Waaay more than anyone else.

I mean, you're just a human! You're squishy and small. There is a lot to worry about!

He realized he liked you because he was so worried for you, then he grew even more worried!

He accidently confessed his feelings for you when rambling about how worried he had been for you, and when you go wide eyed he is retracting everything and ready to run away.

When you reassure him and tell him you like him too? He is even more likely to combust.

Is always wanting to check in on you, and learns very quickly what upsets you and what soothes you. he is very attentive.

So fucking sweet and will die for you!!

#transformers bayverse #bayverse transformers #ironhide #optimus prime #transformers #ratchet #transformers headcanon #optimus prime x reader #ironhide x reader #ratchet x reader

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p0rk-guts · 8 months ago

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He's finally done I think. WOAW! Radio demon time!!!

Okay time for comparison + breakdown rant ^ - ^ another SUPER long one I had a lot to say about this silly guy

ALRIGHT. So. Atp all that can be said has been said about Alastor but I'll gloss over it anyhow. Grossly historically inaccurate hair and clothing. Invisible deer theming. One of the main reasons he's got one of the most clowned on designs in the show is bc he's a pretty good representation of the worst it has to offer. He's absurdly red and has the waspiest waist in town. Also gotta zero in on the coat for a second bc I find it incredibly stupid that he went to that tailor bc of his coat being ripped and then left the shop with the exact same torn coat on oh goddd that felt like a complete joke who wrote this

Also his "redesign" was pointless. He stayed pretty much entirely the same except his colors got pinker and grosser and now he has this?? White trim on his lapels??? Even less 1930's accurate and it only serves to hurt the pallate in my eyes. It's the only spot of white on his entire design, it doesn't appear anywhere else so it throws it all off. And it's so bright. Is it supposed to be a focal point?? His tits????

Anyways onto my guy who I love so very deeply. I'm pretty sure sepia film was outdated by the 1930s but I gave him a palette inspired by it to emphasize how dated and stuck in old ways he is. Added blood red accents bc. Well. Cannibal murderer. Also bc I redid the sin colors so red is wrath and it seems like a fitting sin to pair him with.

After looking into 1930's men's fashion a tiny bit (thanks anon, this video was helpful!) and gave him a double breasted coat but wider and pointier so he looks a little less like just some normal guy and really emphasize how prideful and egotistical he is. "Ooo look at me I'm super big and imposing and powerfulll". I think it's a fun character trait of his. Definitely keeping it.

I liked him wearing gloves bc I feel like he wouldn't like getting his hands directly dirty and would always be covered when committing his murders. Maybe he's a germaphobe even. "I can excuse murder but I draw the line at dried blood on my skin". Also the gloves being white would contrast really well with blood so. Love that

I gave him a long tie to free him from the Vivziepop bow tie uniform and a fedora to add to the 1930's vibe and serve as something that can occasionally obscure his face in shadow. His glasses are also opaque and I imagine his eyes would rarely be shown if ever to make him seem more inhuman and off-putting, disconnecting him from personhood a bit. Wanted to add to that with his smiling mouth never opening and just being a static grin that can only occasionally widen or lessen, his voice cracking out of his "speaker" with fuzzy radio static. Seen multiple ppl use that idea and it always eats

I love Alastor's silly theatric nature (primarily in the pilot) and I'd probably keep it, but I'd add a layer of uncanny-ness to him where when he's not putting on his silly jovial facade, he gives off an unnerving vibe. Trying to appear approachable and charming and pleasant to lure people in before he's revealed to be less than human. Loveee thattt

I love Alastor being a deer. Predator becoming prey (animal) + "prey animal" lulling people into a false sense of security before striking. Love it. We should be CAPITALIZING ON IT❗So I gave him deer like legs, visible deer hooves, and more readable deer ears + the ham radio tower antenna antlers (sorry 4 calling them horns 💀)

Tried to make it a little more obvious that he's a mixed man of color by giving him dark wavy hair and the faintest hint of lip definition Viv uses in her style. I think it works. He's still not dark skinned tho

LASTLY the mic. Also not an original idea as I've seen tons of others turn it into a carbon mic but turned into a pentagram shape and I love the idea a lotttt so I joined the crew.

AND THAT DOES IT!!!! hope u like him as much as I do hehe. Just 1 supplemental doodle this time sorry :/ showing off how his face is probably obscured most of the time. He's. So hard to draw. I'm just bad at men but I'm tryinggggg guys

Alsoooo I've already finished the drawings for Niffty, Angel, and Husk! Once I've finished their breakdowns I'll add em right to the queue, and then I'll make a post with all of the main 6 together :3

#my art #digital art #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor redesign #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel rewrite

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months ago

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Sympathy for the Devil ~ 23

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! An unlikely flirtation turns into a dark obsession... Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw/involuntary captivity. -> all chapters

Twenty-Three.

Now that you've fallen into the new lifestyle of a kept woman, Donaka usually rises before you do. He works out or trains or swims, or sometimes he's already gone to the office by the time you stumble out of bed.

In your defense, he keeps you up late.

One morning, you wake to find an old photograph on your night stand, resting on the Tai Chi book you've been making your way through.

It looks like it's from the 80s, a young man seated on a tattered couch in a studded leather jacket, a teenage girl beside him. They look similar, pretty, with fine features and dark eyes. The boy has a dusting of a moustache on his upper lip.

It takes you an embarrassing amount of seconds to realize it’s Donaka. He must be in his early twenties, glowering at the camera, and yet…somehow he’s a little awkward too. His hair is long, past his chin, and so fluffy you would have died to touch it had you been there. Beneath the young man’s unapproachable facade, even through the photo, you sense a melancholy in this boy that squeezes your heart.

It’s creased down the middle between the two subjects, as though it's been folded for years.

You wonder if the younger girl is his sister.

You'd asked him what he looked like when he was younger, that day in the restaurant. You never actually expected him to deliver.

You clutch the image to your chest, thinking about the journey that young man had undergone to get to that moment, and what he must have done to get to where he is now. You don't know the details of that in between, but you want to. Someday, you hope he'll trust you enough to tell you.

Donaka took your old journal, but you have a new one tucked into the drawer. You haven't actually managed to write anything in it yet. Something about absolutely knowing he will read whatever you write has stymied your creativity. But it feels like a safe place to store this new treasure, and you tuck it gingerly between the acid free pages.

You hope he hasn't left yet, and you get out of bed to look for him, pulling on your long robe as you go out the door. You slip out onto the terrace, the sub-tropical morning like magic before the heat of the day sets in. Quietly you pad barefoot on the stone, and you pause at a distance to admire the object of your search.

To say he swims like a fucking merman is putting it lightly, crossing the infinity pool with powerful strokes, back and forth. You seat yourself silently on one of the deck chairs, watching him make his laps.

He erupts over the edge of the pool, his gaze immediately zeroing in on you. “Spying on me, bunny?”

You smile in answer. “You're not the only one who likes to watch.”

“Is that so?”

“The view from here is a solid ten.”

He smirks, because he knows he's beautiful, damn him. He crooks a finger at you. “Come here.”

“I don't have on my suit.”

“That's a problem why?”

“It’s too cold.”

“Don’t make me come get you.” He says it with a gleeful menace that suggests he would relish the chase.

Knowing you are doomed, you shrug out of your robe, and slowly pull your nightie over your head. You have long since numbed yourself to going about the house naked when Donaka demands it. All the staff have probably gotten an eyeful at some point, for which you are sorry. The heated look he pays you more than makes up for your embarrassment, going straight to your clit, and you narrow your eyes playfully, annoyed by your own desire, but totally resigned by now. You walk to the edge, stopping just out of reach with a hand on your hip.

“Closer.”

“Make me,” you taunt, diving over his head into the water.

You're an ok swimmer. You won't be winning Olympic gold anytime soon, but you can usually manage not to drown.

All that goes out the window when Donaka Mark is after you.

You barely make it mid-pool before he's got you in his clutches, his strong arm around your waist, and you almost drown yourself because you are laughing.

“Breathe, bunny,” he scolds you, hoisting you out of the water and patting your back too hard, punishing you a little for defying him.

You cling to his solid form like a limpet, coughing and laughing. He presses you back against the infinity edge of the pool, the water sluicing over. All too pleased with yourself, you smile at him, blinking the water out of your eyes.

“Someone’s up early.”

“Hmm.” You kiss him, running your fingers through his wet hair. You think back on that photograph, remembering those luxuriously dark curls that framed his face.

“You should grow your hair out,” you tease, spiking the hair at his temples.

He lifts an eyebrow to this, smirking at you.

“Ah, you liked your little gift?”

You nod, biting your lip. “You were so pretty.”

“Were? Thank you, ingrate.”

“Well. You're devastatingly handsome now. If it's any consolation…” you begrudgingly admit.

An approving grumble emanates from deep in his chest, and he presses you into the side of the pool a little harder with a kiss, his hold on you migrating down to cup your bare ass.

“Who…is the girl?”

“Jealous?”

“I think it's your sister.”

“Clever little rabbit.”

“Where was that taken? Toronto?”

“New York. We moved there for one of my mother’s numerous boyfriends.”

“Oh. Does…she still live there?”

He shakes his head, but offers you no more, pinning you with that dark gaze.

“What…was your life like, when that photo was taken?”

“Chaotic.”

“How so?”

He growls at your litany of questions, grazing your shoulder with his teeth. “Were you in a motorcycle gang?” you tease him, thinking of that bitchin’ jacket.

“Not exactly,” he deadpans. You pause, wondering if he means he was in a gang, period. “Would you believe me if I told you I was an angry young man?”

Nooooo, not at all.

You bite back your sarcasm, hoping for more. “I might.” You run your nails through the short hair at the back of his head, but he doesn’t elaborate, the silence stretching between you. You think that maybe he wants to tell you about his past. He wouldn’t have given you that photograph otherwise. But maybe, he doesn’t know how.

So you hold him closer, kissing his neck and enjoying the warmth of his bare skin pressed to yours in the glittering blue water.

“Don’t pity me,” he grouses, like he can feel what you're thinking.

“I’m not,” you assure him. “I’m fascinated by you.”

“Hmm. Nosey girl,” he growls into your hair.

“Like you can throw stones.”

This earns you a grumble of laughter from deep in his chest. “Most of what I know about you, you put out there for anyone to find, if they knew where to look.” You’re pretty sure he also hacked your email, but you suppose that’s mostly true.

“Ok. So why did you look?”

“I was curious about you.” It’s the understatement of the century. He doesn’t admit to you that he uses his knowledge like power. You suppose he doesn’t have to.

“Well. I’m curious about you.” You try to draw this parallel for him, hoping he’ll return the favor.

It earns you a grumble and another long silence, this imposing man holding you just this side of too hard in the serenity of the early morning with the water lapping around you. You rest your head on his broad shoulder, savoring the quiet with him, feeling his pulse through the fever-heat of his bare skin pressed to yours. Even if he doesn’t want to talk anymore…this is enough.

At the moment you come to accept the finality of the silence between you, he begins to speak. “We were dirt poor, and constantly moving from house to apartment to house, depending who my mother was fucking at the time. She had a steady stream of boyfriends, but no one who wanted to be a father to us. I hated being home, if you could call wherever we were crashing at the time that, so I was always out on the street, getting into trouble. Big trouble. I think I left for Macau…a week after that photo was taken.”

You can’t help but think that it makes sense in a way, that enduring such a childhood with no stability made a man who relishes absolute control over everything.

“You were so young.”

“In face only. How old were you, when you left the country on your own for the first time?”

“Nineteen.”

“We’re not so different then.”

You’d left to see the world, and maybe to look for something to fill the hole that we all have inside–not to avoid prosecution for a crime–but maybe it was similar in the end.

“Why did you have to leave?” you dare ask, insufferably curious.

“One of mom’s boyfriends thought that my little sister came with the package. I had to correct him of that notion.”

Your eyebrows raise high, a sick feeling in your belly. It’s possible you know more than you’d like about that scenario from your own mother’s selfish choices. You’re not sure if he’s implying he killed this man, or simply beat him, but you find…you don’t care.

“Your sister’s lucky she had you.”

“Maybe. My mother disowned me though. She said I was just like my father.”

“Oh, Donaka. That’s not fair. What did you do then?”

“I went to go find him.”

“How?”

“I had my ways.”

“Oh come on.” You nip at the bulging muscle of his shoulder, winning a growl that curls your toes under the water.

“Macau is a place where you can gamble on anything in the back room. I found out he’d finally become a wealthy man running an underground, high stakes fighting ring.”

“This is starting to sound like the plot of a JCVD movie.” In your perhaps misguided way, you try to cheer him by cracking jokes.

“JCVD? I don’t even merit your beloved Jackie Chan?”

You giggle. “Ok. Jet Li, maybe. Do you remember Romeo Must Die? I think it changed my brain chemistry as a teenager.”

He snorts at that. Afraid that you’ve derailed his story, you prompt, “So…you got into the fighting ring?” You’ve seen him training, and he is scary. You imagine a younger version of him in the octagon could have drawn a hell of a crowd.

He grunts in acknowledgement, distracted by kissing a line down your neck, his long fingers inching towards your center, and you hitch in your speech as you ask, “Did he…know who you were?”

“Not at first.” There’s no emotion in those three words, but you sense a sea of fury beneath them, deep deep down.

“What…happened?”

“I won enough fights to get his attention. He was so impressed he offered me a place in his organization. Then, I destroyed him.”

You go still in his arms as this sinks in. You can’t shake that he means that he killed his father, and maybe many others too. But after what Donaka told you his father did when he was just a child…practically a baby…maybe you don’t blame him. Maybe you understand his need for revenge all too well. “Are…you worried the 14k might come after you someday for that?”

“They split themselves into smaller factions of operation to limit liability, if someone gets caught. Anyone who ever knew anything about my involvement is gone. Except for you, now.”

Gooseflesh erupts down your arms as you realize there is a responsibility as well as a threat folded into this information you so badly wanted to possess. Not that you would ever be able to prove anything to anyone, but the power of a stray word can turn into a big wave, in the right circumstances. He is both trusting you–and binding you even further to him.

“Then what?” you ask, realizing with a new finality just how deeply you’re in now. You can’t say you were still actively thinking about going home lately, but something about this new revelation succeeds in pushing you off center somehow.

“I came to Hong Kong with the nest egg I’d earned. I had inside experience with how the Triads worked. I used it to offer wealthy businessmen protection from them. And as you can see…that’s gone well for me.”

You draw back to look at him, studying his handsome features. You’d sensed from the very beginning that he was a man who was quite capable of terrible things. But then, sometimes that’s what it takes in this hard world, and it’s hard to feel sorry for the boyfriend who made a pass at an underage girl, or his father, a man who wanted to hurt his own children, then abandoned them. Are your morals so flexible, or do you just know you’re no one to judge amidst the life you’ve lived in comparison?

You should be horrified, but you're not.

You shouldn't want him, but oh, you still do.

“That would make a hell of a Jackie Chan movie,” you tell him with a small smile, lightening the mood just enough to win you that sardonic smirk you’ve come to hold so dear.

“Finally, the recognition I deserve,” he scoffs, fixing you with that gimlet stare that should scare the piss out of you, but instead…fills you with something effervescent and light.

You do need your head examined.

“So you like martial arts movies,” he muses, paying you a contemplative look that makes you nervous somehow. “Have you ever watched a real fight?”

You know, because he’s told you, that that’s where he goes on the evenings when he doesn’t return until the wee hours of the morning. You realize he must have a particular appreciation for the sport, after having participated in such things himself.

“I’ve been to a few peewee tae kwon do tournaments in my day,” you tease. “I’ve even got the little gold plastic trophy to prove it.”

This makes him throw back his head with wicked laughter, amused, as ever, by your cheek. No one else in the world would dare, he thinks to himself. He knows that part of your bravery comes from the fact that you still don’t understand, even after his confession to you, what kind of monster has you in his arms. And part of it…part of it is just you, and he is never going to let you go.

“Pee wee tae kwon do. Aren’t you adorable.”

“So I hear.”

“How did I not know that about you?”

“It was a dark time, before every move we made was immortalized on the internet…”

He huffs with reluctant laughter. “I see. So you’re initiated. Does that mean you’d like to see a real fight with me?” There is a sudden hunger in his gaze, his lips parted with the eagerness of a tiger tasting the wind. You can’t help but notice that he is rock hard between your legs, his cock pressing insistently against you as his gaze bores into yours.

Perhaps you whetted his appetite, accepting his confession of his past sins so easily, but he finds he wants to share this with you.

But you, oblivious to the sudden firestorm erupted in his heart, backpedal at the sudden bloodlust in his eyes. “Do people get really hurt?”

“The fights I attend are a test of true warriors, not a suburban blackbelt league.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling uneasy, partly at the thought of the bloodsport, and partly for the hungry way he’s suddenly looking at you. “Can I think about it?”

You know you’ve disappointed him, for the way his expression immediately closes off from you. “Nevermind, bunny. I don’t think you’d like it.” Maybe he was tempted by the chance to be accepted completely by you for everything that he is, horns, claws, and all…what a foolish notion. He knows better than to expose that underbelly to anyone who is not blooded. What was he thinking?

Perhaps it’s not only teenage boys, who forget to reason with their real brains when a beautiful woman is around.

You find you’re disappointed to have the chance to go with him to these mysterious nocturnal outings snatched completely from the table. You stick out your lip, sensing you’ve let him down.

“Maybe…let me watch some more tournaments with you first. I do like that.”

“Hmm.” His interest sharpens again; you feel it like the weight of a blade upon your skin. “Do you miss doing martial arts?”

You shrug. “I was very young.”

“Are you liking your book on Tai Chi?”

“It’s interesting.”

“Alright, bunny. We’ll see then.”

Before you can answer his mouth is slanted over yours, and with a pull at the fabric of his shorts he has buried himself inside you. He fucks you against the side of the pool, your nipples in his mouth as he bends you back over the edge.

You feel like you might fall off the side of the world, with him thrusting inside you, your body tumbling off into the void, right behind your sanity. As he fills you with hot ropes of his seed, your greedy cunt milking his cock through your own ecstasy, you know that you’re utterly lost to this man–you’re just lucid enough to recognize it, but much too far gone to care.

all chapters

#donaka mark #donaka mark x reader #donaka mark x you #donaka mark x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #dark romance #plz be warned #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #yandere fic #yandere donaka mark

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shima-draws · 1 year ago

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Okay so a few things about the ending to the DLC. Spoilers below obviously

-Really REALLY disappointed they didn’t go with the whole toxic possession arc thing with Kieran and the new mythical (Pecharunt?) TO BE FAIR that was more of a fan theory than anything but it was one that made a lot of sense and had a lot of evidence to back it up. I guess I got too attached to the idea and was inevitably let down when the game didn’t go in that direction. Still it would have made more sense to give that extra edge as to why Kieran’s treating everyone so awfully,, and having him finally break free of that control during the final fight VS Terapagos would have been SO sick. Either that or before we even get to Terapagos Carmine calls Kieran out and that’s when he finally fucking explodes and rages and vents about his inferiority complex—and THAT is what summons Pecharunt, those negative feelings that it probably feeds off of or smth idk. Then we’d get a split second of Kieran finally being back in control and begging for help. And then Carmine realizing her brother has been under the influence of this Pokemon the entire time and. Okay I’m getting off track into AU territory now lmao sorry moving on

-Switching back to the Terapagos fight, I really enjoyed it! It wasn’t too long of a fight to be drawn out, but it was just long enough that it didn’t feel anticlimactic (also the MUSIC? STELLAR. Pun intended). ALSO ARGHFHH the five stages of grief Kieran goes through in that fight to finally accepting that he’s been going about this the wrong way and has been an awful friend and the way the LIGHT COMES BACK INTO HIS EYES I ALMOST CRIED. This is 10000x more emotional and powerful if you choose to bring Ogerpon with you and fight with her bc that really just. Hammers in the fact that despite all the bad blood and bitterness, Kieran still chooses to fight alongside you and the Pokemon he coveted so much…AND he even processes things enough to fully let go of all his hatred and anger and allows you to catch Terapagos because he KNOWS you’ll take good care of it and after all this time he still trusts you even though he’d probably hate to admit it. #GOOD WRITING

-Something really scary I realized. Kieran brought a Master Ball with him to catch Terapagos. 1. Where did homie even get that. 2. The fact that he was READY and didn’t even give Terapagos a chance to react, that he was essentially catching it against its will (which probably led to its power going out of control), that he was enforcing his own twisted desires and beliefs onto it and not considering its feelings (sound familiar? Looks at Ogerpon). BOY. 3. We’ve only ever seen ONE other person use Master Balls in SV. The AI Professor. I don’t know if this is significant in any way but if the Pecharunt theory WAS true that would make them so so similar and that’s eerie to me. Two characters controlled by something greater than them that they can’t fight…can you imagine how INSANE the dynamics would be listen to me

-Another thing I was kinda disappointed about was Briar? I guess I was just picking up on the vibes that she was actually a villain and would try to steal Terapagos from the player, but I probably gave Nintendo too much credit on that one lol. I do like that she’s not inherently evil, she’s just too absorbed and obsessed with her research to really pay attention to what’s going on around her. BUT. They should have pushed that WAY further. Either commit and do the full villain arc where she snatches Terapagos from Kieran right after he catches it to use it for her own purposes, or pressure him into Terastallizing it so much that it makes him uncomfortable. I want to see Lusamine levels of unhinged obsession. What she had was just a little bit too excited about Area Zero, not a full blown unhealthy and dangerous thing that puts everyone around her in danger.

-Following up on that. Drayton. I kept expecting him to also go villain arc IDK LOL I guess I want everyone to be gay do crime in this DLC 😂 But I seriously kept thinking he was just using the player to knock Kieran off his throne so he could take it right back from us. But no he actually genuinely cared about Kieran and kept pressuring us to beat the Elite Four so WE could knock some sense into him since Drayton wasn’t strong enough to do it himself. Which is a very sweet sentiment, I think :’) But am I the only one who was like bro calm down right after the fight where he was getting up in Kieran’s face and calling him ex-champion…..either he’s way too honest and doesn’t realize he was being cruel OR he was doing it on purpose to be a silly goober (but everyone else was like DUDE. LOW blow.)

-I still have questions. HELLO. HELLO. The notes in Area Zero mentioned the professor meeting a child with a white(?) book? Is that the Scarlet/Violet book? We still don’t know how the whole time travel paradox happened and why Heath talked about meeting Paradox Pokemon DECADES before the professor even brought them to Area Zero through the time machine? What is with the weird ass crystal tree sitting in the middle of a lake in the depths? Is there any significance to the Crystal Pool in Kitakami being connected to terastallizing and Area Zero? I’M JUST. AGHHH. I’m fairly certain we’re getting more content, maybe an epilogue to the DLCs but I’m going CRAZY I NEED TO KNOW NOWWW

-Also isn’t Area Zero like. Top secret hush hush. Why did Geeta let Briar publish a whole ass book about the HIDDEN SECRET of Area Zero that was miles under a closed off SECRET lab. I thought they were denying Briar access to Area Zero for YEARS, probably because they didn’t want her blabbing to the public. Idk. Maybe my memory is fuzzy on that one. Just feels very contradictory fhhdd

-The small little subtleties of Kieran regaining his regular personality as we went down….I ADORED that. His little smiles and him unable to contain his childish excitement and Carmine smiling at him with a knowing look bc after all this time her brother is FINALLY acting more like himself. And Kieran trying to brush it off like “wh-whatever” like he’s some sort of edgy teenager pretending he doesn’t care. GAHHHH it was so cute I wanted to cry 😭

ALL IN ALL it didn’t QUITE meet my expectations but it was still really good, especially considering this was all DLC content. Nothing will ever EVER top the main story of SV but the entirety of TTM and TID came pretty darn close. Kieran my sweet baby boy my blorbo I’m so glad you got your redemption arc and that you finally came to terms with your perception of strength and how it affects others. Baller DLC Nintendo do it again 👏

#Pokemon #Pokemon Scarlet and Violet #Pokemon SV #The Indigo Disk #Indigo Disk spoilers #Pokemon SV DLC #Pokemon Kieran #Kieran #Pokemon Briar #Pokemon Drayton #The Indigo Disk spoilers #Pecharunt #Long post #Shima speaks #Well there is always fanfiction. LOL

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thou-babbling-brook · 10 months ago

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Maria Thorpe Character Analysis

Well, I simply can’t disappoint the people – aka, the five of you that will read this, lmfao. I’m so serious about this that I’m actually drafting this on a Google doc before I post this rather than just typing random thoughts on my phone. This is going to be a HUGE ramble that probably won’t make a ton of sense, but I hope it’s entertaining regardless.

Maria Thorpe – a character that Ubisoft probably spent MAYBE thirty minutes thinking about, but that I have not stopped thinking about for like, five years. What a gal. So glad I was not in this fandom in 2012 to witness how HEINOUS people were about her for simply being a woman “in the way” of a M|M relationship. I hope by the end of this ramble, you, too, will see her for the baddie she truly is.

In this essay, I will delve into Maria’s character to explore why she is so fascinating to me, the implications of her story, and why Ubisoft can actually catch these hands for dumbing her down in AC Revelations. (I'm putting a cut here because it's so fucking long I'm sorry gang)

First off, to understand Maria Thorpe as a character, you have to understand her background. I’m not going to copy and paste her Wiki or anything, but I am going to outline her life (stated and implied) before we meet her.

For those that don’t know, Maria was born an English noblewoman in 1161 – four years before Altaïr was born (okay cougar). Because she was a tomboy and defied many of the social norms for women in the 12th century, she was ostracized by both her parents and her peers. She mentions in The Secret Crusade that her parents tried to force her to conform, which culminated in her first marriage at the age of 18 to Lord Peter Hallaton. She mentions that he was a decent husband, but he didn’t exactly appreciate her more boisterous nature. After all, in 12th century England (especially among nobility), women were to be seen, not heard. She also failed his expectations as a chatelaine and a wife, as she bore him no children. The Bishop of Leicester granted them an annulment to avoid embarrassment to both Peter and Maria’s family. When she returned, she was “persona non grata” to her family and the whole of Leicestershire, especially when her father had already spent her dowry. With no other options, Maria ran away to join the Third Crusade, where she eventually met Robert de Salbé.

You may notice that we don’t actually know a lot about Maria and her life before AC1, which is probably intentional. To me, though, that’s what makes her backstory fascinating – the implications of her environment and what we can reasonably deduce she went through based on historical context. I think anyone who’s taken a seventh-grade social studies class could tell you women had, like, zero rights in 12th-century England – even more so, noblewomen. Maria was raised to be a glorified broodmare – say nothing, have children (two boys and a girl, as she jokes), and run her husband’s household. Clearly, she was the exact opposite of all of these things. Something interesting about Maria’s first marriage is the fact that while it was an annulment, she specifically mentions in The Secret Crusade it was an annulment to save her family further embarrassment – which implies that the marriage was consummated, but all parties wanted it done with. I don’t think I need to elaborate on how common and horrific an experience like that could be, but I think it fuels Maria’s relationship later on with motherhood, especially since she mentions that she was completely uninterested in childrearing and birth (this is a key point I’ll touch on later).

So what? Why does her background matter? It matters because of how historical and cultural context tie in to help form who she is by the time she leaves for the Third Crusade – a desperate, twenty-two-year-old woman, divorced, ostracized from the only family and society she has ever known, having no other choice than to ditch England and head for the Holy Land unless she wants to become a nun. For many men and women alike in the 12th century, this was their only opportunity to become something more than what they were born as, whether it be a serf, a blacksmith, or a noblewoman. Many who left for the Third Crusade left to “take back the Holy Land,” but also to escape or improve their current standings. To me, Maria falls in the second category, and it is this desperation to escape her life that forms her most notable (and later, tragic) characteristic: her undying loyalty.

As a side note, it is also interesting to me that Maria chose to be a soldier rather than a nurse. This is more so my characterization of her, but I think that’s because a) she’s too damn proud and loud to be a nurse, and b) because if she was a nurse, she would more than likely live and be treated the same way she was at home. Truly, if she wants to escape the patriarchy, the only way a woman like Maria could at the time was to join it by blending in. Girly get some therapy.

We’re now at AC1 in the timeline. Hooray! We don’t know when exactly Maria joined the Templars or when she first met Robert, but we can probably assume it was not long after she joined the crusade. As we know from AC1, AC Bloodlines, and The Secret Crusade, Maria disguised herself as a man (more than likely a young boy since she’s got a voice that would fit right into Alvin and the Chipmunks) and was able to keep up the rouse long enough to rise in the ranks and show promise to people like Robert. For Maria, when Robert finds out she is a woman and yet elevates her further, it is the first time in her life that someone has appreciated her for her masculine qualities. It is why she develops an intense loyalty for Robert to the point of being willing to be his decoy, despite the fact she fully anticipated dying. For Maria, it would be her ideal end – fighting to the death for a cause she truly believed in. Not even really a cause, as we figure out later, but more so for a man she truly believed in – Robert. It would not be through the pain and subjugation of childbirth like most women of her standing, but a brutal fight like any other man.

And yet – she doesn’t. When Altaïr meets her, he’s undergone a whole development arc, whereas Maria (at this point 30, which is SO funny to imagine her fistfighting this 26-year-old frat boy) is at the start of hers. And it starts with Altaïr sparing her – the worst possible fate that could become her at this point in her life. Think about it: the only person who has given her an OUNCE of respect has asked her to essentially die for him by acting as his decoy. As Maria mentions in AC Bloodlines, by this point, she is also a step away from becoming a knight – and at this point, she’s also known as a woman among the Templars. And yet, she believes they have become her family, and she is willing to die for their cause and for Robert. When Altaïr spares her and kills Robert, he’s sentencing her to the life she ran away from and feared – being nothing more than a woman who is looked down upon with condescending snarls and disgust for who she is.

This is why when we meet Maria in AC Bloodlines, she is rightfully PISSED. We literally see her realize that any ounce of respect and power she had is completely gone because Altaïr spared her. She is so pissed, in fact, that she tries to kill Altaïr again. This is even funnier when you remember how much of a BITCH it was to fight her in AC1, but I digress. Altaïr has destroyed everything she has built in her life for the last eight years. He has taken her home, her mentors, her family, and her honor. And bro doesn’t have a clue in the fucking world.

It’s at this point that I’ll also analyze more about Maria’s relationship with the Templars. At first glance, yes, she was a Templar and believed in their cause. Really, though, it goes far deeper than that. It’s not necessarily that Maria believes in their cause – otherwise, it would’ve taken a lot more for Altaïr to sway her to the Assassins – but that she believes in the people. Again, from Maria’s perspective, the Templars (especially Robert) were the ONLY people in her entire life to treat her with dignity, and she is willing to die for them. She is willing to throw her honor to the ground and beg for forgiveness in front of Bouchard because, without the Templars, she is nothing. She is back to square one as a silly little girl trying to run from a life that would only subjugate her. It’s that recurring characteristic of undying loyalty to those who have given her the life she has always wanted.

And for Maria, it is immediately spat back in her face.

When Bouchard takes over in AC Bloodlines, he is a strict Templar Grandmaster. No consorting with women, periodt. And he flaunts this over Maria, taunting her. He is tearing the last ounce of respect she’d ever received and throwing it away. Every sacrifice she made for the Templars for the last eight years meant nothing, and it is crushing to her. She continues to be pissed off at Altaïr, who mentions that she’s more pissed at the Templars than at him. Once again, she is nothing more than a woman – an imprisoned one at that.

This is where one of my favorite Maria scenes (not that there’s many) comes into play. When she and Altaïr are sitting on the ship to Cyprus or wherever it doesn’t matter, Altaïr does something that no person has done for her before: he treats her with unconditional respect. As funny as his autistic ramble about Empedocles and philosophy is, there are so many assumptions that go into Altaïr’s conversation that I think help sway Maria to his side. When he talks to Maria, he speaks to her as an equal. He talks to her about philosophy because of course she would know about philosophy in his mind – to him, she is a soldier and a person first, and a woman second (shut the fuck about The Secret Crusade and him thinking about her as a lioness shut up shut up I low key hate it even though it’s funny). He is the first person in her life to speak to her as an equal and with respect with no strings attached. In fact, when Maria taunts him for leaving her cuffed even as he talks about free will, he lets her go. She may not like him at this point, but after this scene, you can certainly see that she respects him in how she speaks to him. BONUS: she’s not trying to outright kill him anymore! Hooray!

You can see the impact Altaïr and his conversation had on Maria when she confronts Shahar in her courtesan fit. There’s so many layers to Maria willingly dressing in such an exposing, vulnerable, and feminine way (keep in mind this bitch is Catholic, I know her guilt was going crazy), but what I’m going to focus on is her conversation with Shahar. When he speaks to her, he is gross and all but catcalling her, calling her a “little fox” and using a sultry tone. Maria is having NONE of it, and one can only assume this is a tone she has dealt with a thousand times over. This is also where we see the gears turning in Maria’s head. I’ve seen people criticize Maria for how quickly she flip-flopped, but I think that’s overlooking the reason that she WAS a Templar – they were the only people who provided her a home when she had none. If you’re desperate for anyone to treat you with an iota of respect, you’d do whatever they ask. After she talks to Altaïr though, and especially after realizing Robert was simply manipulating her, she is questioning the Templars’ ideologies and realizing this is not what she wants. It low key is like Alicent in House of the Dragons right now – she’s shocked that fighting against women fucked herself over. Maria is similar in that sense – she thought that by being what the Templars wanted and fighting for what they believed, it wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. But it did. She’s a woman before she’s a Templar, and the ideology of the Templars would see her subjugated just as she was before. It isn’t until after Altaïr’s spiel about free will and the challenges it brings that she realizes she has other options.

And that’s ultimately what brings Maria to the side of the Assassins – realizing her errors in thinking and wanting a way to redeem herself. The Assassins are her second chance, which is ironic given how many stories after hers would follow this same format of second chances. But it isn’t just the ideology change, either. It’s Altaïr. No, she does not have undying loyalty by the end of AC Bloodlines, but he’s certainly earned her trust and respect. He’s treated her like any other person without ever holding power or loyalty over her head. He does not manipulate her or exploit her – he respects her, and he earnestly tells her of the creed’s ideologies not to lure her in, but because he genuinely believes in the idea of dispelling the illusions of the world and wants to share it with her, whether she becomes an Assassin or not. That is what turns Maria into an Assassin at the end of the day: his respect for her and his understanding of the creed. And despite their issues, Maria chooses to follow him to the ends of the earth.

Now we’re at a really funny part of Maria’s story: we know basically NOTHING about what happens in between AC Bloodlines and AC Reflections. We know that sometime after traveling to Masyaf, Maria and Altaïr became a couple. We know they married in 1195 and gave birth to Darim the same year. Two years later, they would traumatize Desmond Miles by fucking on top of a castle, which is so fucking funny and only supports my characterization of Maria as a gremlin, because who the fuck else would make their husband climb up a giant ass tower for sex? We know she officially became an Assassin and would beg Altaïr to stop looking into the Apple. We know she would join Altaïr and Darim to Mongolia to kill Genghis Khan. And that is all we know for an approximately 30-YEAR PERIOD.

While there’s a lot I could talk about in that gap, like Maria’s relationship with other Assassins, I’m going to focus on her relationship with motherhood. As we established earlier, Maria had ZERO interest in being a mother or giving birth. This is a personal headcanon but I do not care because it’s MY analysis and I can do as I please, but I feel like she would’ve dreaded childbirth, especially given how English nobility acted about it (e.g., how people treated it like a scandal or disease) and how it was the leading cause of death for women until the 20th century. Yet, despite this, she had not one, but TWO children. She was like one away from the goal, and even then Sef had two daughters so really she fulfilled it. But why? What changed that she would be willing to do the very thing she left England to avoid?

I think it goes back to the reason she was disinterested in it in the first place. Like Maria says in The Secret Crusade, she didn’t want to just be a mother or a wife. Her ideal husband would treat her like any other man, taking her hunting or whatever else bullshit medieval stuff they’d do instead of scrolling through TikTok. She never said she didn’t want to be a mother. I think her hesitance stems from the fact that she didn’t want to SOLELY be defined as a mother or a wife. With Altaïr, however, that fear is pretty much gone. Since the moment she met him, Altaïr has always treated her with respect and admired the things she was once shamed for. Her strength is valuable as an Assassin. Her bluntness keeps him in check. Her ideas are admired rather than ridiculed. To Altaïr, Maria is not just a woman or even just an Assassin. She’s a person with her own experiences and ideas and fears and strengths and dreams. He loves her for every aspect of herself that was once frowned upon.

I remember a while ago seeing a Tumblr post from ye olden days (like 2012) talking about how because menstrual cycles were extremely irregular back in the day due to medieval diets and exercise, Maria would have to purposefully chill out to regulate her cycle to become pregnant. What that implies is that she trusted Altaïr so much that she was willing to settle down and have children because she knew it would not influence how he treated or loved her. Personally, I think this is true of Darim, but that Sef was an accident because it’s funnier that way, but regardless, the point still stands. Maria getting pregnant and becoming a mother is the opposite of what she thought she would ever want, but because she loved and trusted Altaïr so much, she was willing to have a family with him because she knew it would not come to define her. I think that is unbelievably sweet.

We also don’t really see Maria interact with her children very often, which I think is a fucking shame. When she does interact with Darim (we never see her with Sef, though we do see her reaction to his death), Maria is always supportive and encouraging. Again, this is more my headcanon territory but I really don’t care because I can do what I fucking please, but Maria low key feels like a boy mom to me, but not in the weird Freud way, lmfao. Like we established earlier, Maria’s key trait is her loyalty. I think this loyalty would be extended to her children. We know she’s loyal to Altaïr (it ends up killing her), but I feel like it would go insane with her children. When she learns of Sef’s death in The Secret Crusade, this woman breaks down in tears instantly. WHERE THE FUCK WAS THE MOTHERLY RAGE WITH ABBAS, UBISOFT. WHERE WAS IT. Anyways.

Masyaf is a pretty cutthroat environment to raise a child, especially when you consider that Abbas is apparently lurking in the background scheming during Altaïr’s reign. Something I wish we learned more about (and something I just find fascinating in general) is the political environment of Masyaf. Altaïr implemented a lot of changes to the Brotherhood that faced backlash, one of the key ones being allowing women in the order again (ahem, Maria). I know Maria said she was uninterested in the politics of running a house, but I do think she’d kind of have to play her hand in politics in Masyaf, kind of how Altaïr realizes he’s not exempt from politics since he’s literally shaping them. If Maria wants her kids to be safe, especially as sons of the Master of the Assassins, she’s gotta play her cards well. This is why I think it does make sense for Maria to calm down after having children to be more similar to the Maria we see in AC Reflections and AC Revelations. She can’t just fight everyone like she did when she was relying solely on herself. Now, she has people relying on her, and I think it makes sense for her character to chill out more (though without losing her spunk) to ensure her family is safe.

For those that have ever watched Magnificent Century, basically think about how Hurrem went from fighting everyone to playing her cards wisely so her kids wouldn’t die or do stupid shit. That’s how I feel like Maria would be.

Something else that’s interesting about Maria to me is her relationship with Altaïr. Duh, you’re probably saying, but hear me out. We know that while she and Altaïr were inseparable during their marriage, there was one thing that strained it: the Apple. It makes sense why Maria would be so pissed off at it. She’s seen Altaïr control men’s minds with it. She’s seen how it takes him away for days at a time with its secrets, to the point she is begging him to throw it away. Back to the point about loyalty to her family, whereas Altaïr seeks knowledge, Maria just wants her family protected and safe because she loves them – including her dumbass husband. It’s ironic that the very thing she fought about with Altaïr is the thing that killed her.

So we’re finally at AC Revelations, and I am truly shocked that you’re still here. Kudos to you. At that final confrontation scene with Abbas, that loyalty for those she loves comes to a head. When Altaïr whips out the Apple, Maria begs and pleads him to stop, because she knows if he uses the Apple to control someone, he will only be proving Abbas’s point, which will only fuck them over. In The Secret Crusade, we also have Malik’s head on top of this scene to make it worse. Maria’s position is again one of desperation. Her son is dead, one of her best friends is now just a head, and her husband is about to go sicko mode. She is screwed and she knows it. What she doesn’t know is that she’s about to be stabbed by Swami (I’m going with the revelations version shut up) in a last ditch effort to stop Altaïr from using the Apple. Altaïr doesn’t listen to Maria, and it kills her. He kills her.

… SO I HAVE THOUGHTS.

I think Maria dying from the Apple makes sense, I do. That’s not my problem. My problem is how AC Revelations basically dumbed her down to this motherly, homely figure which is the like, ANTITHESIS of what Maria is. Where was the feminine rage??? You’re telling me this woman would not be about to SLAUGHTER someone after learning that Sef died?? You’re telling me she would just pull an AltaïR thiS iSn’T yOu???????? Are you so fucking for real right now??? It pisses me off because it nukes her character. While yes, it makes sense for her to be a much calmer woman and 67 compared to 30, this is still Maria. Don’t act like she and Altaïr don’t have fucking anger issues and be so fucking for real.

Here’s my ideal scenario for what should’ve gone down. I think once they pulled Malik’s head out, there should’ve been all-out chaos rather than this bullshit “We killed everyone loyal to Altaïr before he arrived.” Maria should’ve been right there with them with a sword out. Altaïr, in a desperate attempt to calm everyone down, would take out the Apple and try to control everyone. If you’ve seen the long ass discussion about how Revelations fucked up Altaïr’s character arc, this also helps remedy that because Altaïr is pulling out because of his arrogance in believing he can control the Apple. News flash: he can’t. Maria, while fighting for Altaïr, would somehow be killed either by the Apple or like similar to how Swami accidentally killed her. Something along those lines where it is Altaïr’s fault. That’s how she should’ve gone out, not some weird pick me bullshit.

Anyways. RIP Maria Thorpe you would’ve loved Crusader Kings 3.

I definitely missed some points about her character but this is already 7 pages long on Google docs so I am NOT writing anymore. God bless.

TLDR she's a baddie and I need her so so so bad

#assassin’s creed #maria thorpe #altaïr ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #ac1 #character analysis #babblingbrook babbles #I should have been doing literally anything else than this #ITS SO LONG IM SO SORRY #like five of u are gonna read this but #the five of you that do will be thrilled #i put my whole kathrussy into this #this took me days guys DAYS #I gotta wrap this up bc I have stuff to do but please enjoy and im so sorry in advance lmfao

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years ago

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“IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME, AND SEEING THE SHAPE OF YOUR NAME STILL SPELLS OUT PAIN.”

summary: two years after walking away from eddie munson, the memory of him continues to haunt you.

warnings: strong language, angst, alcohol consumption, minors dni

wc: 5.1k+

a/n: this will make a whole lot more sense if you've already read the one shot that this entire series is based upon! and thank you to @fracturedarkness and @munson-blurbs for beta-reading <3

☆ prev chapter | masterlist | next chapter ☆

It had taken nearly two hours, and even as the aerial platform is finally lowered from scaling the side of the building, there are still remnants of the graffiti paint scattered across the crumbling brick.

You’d watched the workers scrub at the rusted shades for ages, ignoring the new emails beginning to pile up in your inbox on the screen, only to be left completely dissatisfied. You hadn’t really thought the graffiti was ugly so to speak – it was just there. It was blatant and something that demanded to be seen, a stain on that stretch of wall that made up your desk’s entire viewpoint each and every day. And it wasn’t ugly, but it wasn’t pretty.

You’d even been a little excited when you saw the cleaning crew. A little hopeful.

But the hope had been wasted, as it always was, as you watch the crew give up the battle and the paint win the war. Go figure. Another day and another stain that can’t be erased.

“You know, I’ve heard of dreadfully boring people watching paint dry, but never seen someone look so enticed by paint being removed.”

You look up quickly from where your dead stare had zeroed in, a chipping splash of vibrant scarlet that hardly stood out against tired and faded red-turned-pink bricks, to face your coworker.

“Ha-ha,” you deadpan, spinning your office chair so your entire body now faced her, “Have you ever considered a career change, Romina? Maybe you’re better off a comedian rather than an event planner.”

Romina, your coworker, only smiles brightly at the monotone joke. She holds a mug of coffee in her hand as she rests her hip against the edge of your desk, lips pursed as she takes a slow sip from her steaming cup. The sharp, bitter scent of the coffee wafts across the space before she lowers the mug right onto your desk – completely disregarding the coaster available.

Sure to leave behind a stain; a ring of light brown on your pristine desk. You can’t help but cringe.

“Apparently they sent out an email about that new secretive project,” Romina continues on without addressing your sarcasm, “Said whoever’s got the account has been notified.”

“Awesome.”

“I didn’t get an email.”

“I’m sorry?”

Romina sighs, realizing you weren’t going to take the bait. “Have you received an email?”

You shrug in a silent succession of, probably not.

Your pessimism keeps your hand from reaching out and wiggling your mouse as an attempt to wake your desktop computer back up. You highly doubt you were the one to be elected for this new project that had the entire office buzzing. You’d only been working here for a little over a year, hardly earning any attention with the small weddings and local business grand openings you had taken on during that time.

And that was fine.

You were fine flying under the radar for the time being. It’s not that you weren’t good at your job — you were excellent at it, even — but whatever this top secret project was was the farthest thing from your expertise.

You didn’t do secretive projects. You did simple. You did small. The exact opposite of what you’d heard about this elusive opportunity.

“Have you even checked?” Romina presses, leaning down and tapping your space bar herself, making the screen come to life before you could protest, “C’mon, babe! Aren’t you at least a little bit curious?”

Another honest shrug. “Truthfully? Not at all.”

She makes no move to grab her coffee cup as she pushes herself off your desk, standing over the screen now with intent and focus. All you can really think about is that damn faded ring that’s going to be left behind.

You really wish she would have used the coaster.

The login screen stops her in her mission, making her take a step back and wave you forward, pointing excitedly at your keyboard, “You know, I heard it might have something to do with a very popular band. One rumored to be dropping an album soon. Possibly the album release party. Doesn’t that sound dreamy?”

Your stomach drops.

Romina is all wistful sighs and dreamy eyes as she says it, still pushing that keyboard closer to you as she looks out the window you had been before her arrival. It’s clear she’s looking right past that stained wall. She probably doesn’t even notice the evidence of graffiti that was left behind. The marks are lost on her eyes; but she hadn’t spent hours waiting for it to all be cleaned away, to be fair. No, it’s clear the only thing on her mind is this popular band.

And you know which band it is. It’s not just the prospect of a larger project that has kept you out of this rumor mill — it’s the prospect of the client.

Everyone knew you didn’t care for the band. Or at least, you said you didn’t care for the band.

Nearly a year ago, several coworkers had invited you to a sold out show. They had an extra ticket, and had so kindly extended it to you. A flag of friendship billowing in the wind, outstretched to you in such a welcoming manner. And you’d shot them down — you’d lied, and you’d said you had plans before you’d spent the entire night throwing your own personal pity party.

“I don’t think I’d be the first choice for an album release party, Ro,” you murmur as you finally tug your chair in closer to your desk. You ignore the knots forming in your stomach, that heavy weight that presses into your chest. There was no way you’d be assigned the project. You’d simply log in, show Romina, and then maybe she’d leave you alone, “I usually just take on weddings. That’s my forte. Not arranging open bars and booking rooftops for some shitty band.”

Romina scoffs, “Some shitty band? I know you don’t like them, but Corroded Coffin is not just some shitty band.”

Corroded Coffin. The weight makes your ribs creak, makes your lungs ache.

You swear she’ll notice the way you freeze in your typing. The mere mention of them, of him, curls around your body and easily triggers your fight or flight response.

Well, fight or flight or freeze. A new option, a new and drifting cold, has made itself clear as ice keeps your knuckles from continuing to type in your password.

It’s funny. You used to fight for them, then you’d flown as far away from him as your pathetic diner wages could get you. Clearly, only moving across a city you once thought to be so vast wasn’t far enough. You could move across oceans, and something in your gut tells you his ghost would only be a few steps behind.

“You know, I still don’t get your issue with them, by the way. Are you just not big on rock music?” she asks, and you can imagine his offense and correction that it was metal, not just rock, “I get it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I don’t know. Just seems a little personal, the way you avoid them like the plague.”

It is personal.

Your vendetta is so, so very personal when it comes to Corroded Coffin.

When it comes to Eddie Munson.

His name echoing in your mind finally has your fingertips slamming keys again, suddenly eager to bring up your email and prove Romina wrong. To get her as far from your desk as possible and end this conversation before you can spiral.

“I’ve never been a fan of that type of music,” you lie through your teeth. You had been. You had been their goddamn number one fan once upon a time.

Your work email can’t load fast enough when she continues on, “I’d argue they have at least one song for everyone. You just gotta give them a chance.”

No, the voice in your head screams. I do not need to give them a chance. I gave him a chance, and he blew it.

“I’m sure there is,” you grit out, those knots in your stomach wound so tightly they might just snap, “But not for me.”

Never for me.

They don’t know. No one in your life now knew about your past, about your ex, about the truth between you and Corroded Coffin.

They didn’t know that you’d been their first fan, standing in that stuffy garage at the Emerson’s residency through the scalding Hawkins’ summers. They didn’t know how you’d spent every Tuesday and Thursday night occupying a stool at the Hideout that had all but your name engraved into it. They didn’t know the way you’d packed up your entire life, the way you’d only moved to this cursed concrete jungle to see all of their wildest dreams come true. They were unaware that Corroded Coffin had nearly turned down the tour that triggered their breakout for you. All because their leading rockstar hadn’t wanted to leave you behind.

Funny how life works out.

Romina is unaware of your discomfort as she leans down over your shoulder to peer at the list of new emails you’d received this morning, “Oh, oh! That one! Click that one!”

Her long, blood-red stiletto nail taps at the screen excitedly, pointing out an email from your boss with an eye catching subject line.

Meeting at Noon — New Project Assignment.

“Holy shit!” Ro exclaims, getting ahead of herself before you’ve even clicked on the email. You can’t click on it. You’re petrified. “Oh, holy shit! You definitely got the project! Are you fucking kidding me?”

For a moment, you’re silent, staring at the screen in buzzing shock. It rings in your ears and it blurs the edges of your vision, the weight of the possibility finally causing the first snap within your chest.

No. No, no, no.

You don’t want this project. Not the rumored client, and certainly not the attention that it has attracted from all your peers. No.

“We don’t even know if it’s going to be what everyone says it will be,” you choke out, white knuckling your mouse. Romina can’t see your face — she can’t see the year of practiced indifference crumbling so easily, “It- It probably won’t be Corroded Coffin, Ro. It can’t be. They wouldn’t assign me something so huge. Th-They probably just have another wedding for me. Maybe another bakery opening up in town — I think I heard about one on Third Street-“

Ro’s hands come down on your shoulders, giving what should be a reassuring squeeze, but it only smothers you during your breathless rant.

“Babe,” she emphasizes, “This is a good thing.”

It’s not. It’s really, really not.

But you don’t know if the project is what everyone has been murmuring about. You don’t know for sure that the email has anything to do with it. The contents of what your boss had written to you have little to no specifics; nothing more than a request to come to her office at noon to properly discuss the details of this assignment. So you convince yourself it’ll be fine, that it really is just about that bakery opening up on third street. You convince yourself to shake away any thoughts of chestnut curls and honey brown eyes. You convince yourself to untense your shoulders and smile up at your coworker, faking enough enthusiasm to satiate her until she’s walking away from your desk giddily, taking her coffee cup with her.

Your eyes avert to the expected coffee mark that had formed a perfect ring on your stark white desk.

Stained. What a pesky thing to become.

—

“I’m not going out tonight,” you repeat yourself for the millionth time over the line, pinching the phone between your shoulder and ear as you opened your fridge to dig around for whatever leftovers you might be able to salvage into a dinner for the night, “I don’t feel well.”

“But we need to hear about the new project!” Ro’s chirp comes over the line. You can hear the buzzing of a bar in the background. Glasses clinking, strangers chatting. Hell, you could probably pinpoint the song playing lowly if you focused hard enough.

You weren’t focusing on the call, though. It was the last thing you wanted to offer up your dwindling attention to, desperate to get off the line and resume your very exciting night of cold pasta with a side of whatever sitcom was running old episodes on the television.

The phone nearly slips from your half assed attempt to keep it against your cheek as you sigh, “It went fine. I already told you guys it did. Nothing exciting, okay? It was the bakery on Third that’s opening up, just like I thought it would be.”

A lie.

The meeting went anything but fine. Your boss, Lydia, has just been plain secretive. And normally, that wouldn’t bother you, but it meant your worst fears were coming true.

The bakery on third wouldn’t have needed such secrecy, and they sure as Hell wouldn’t have insisted on you signing an NDA prior to even meeting and discussing the event you’d be planning.

“It’s all just precautions,” Lydia had insisted as she slid that damn paperwork over to you, “Just to protect the client. They’re a bigger name than we’re used to dealing with. If you sign, we’ll have a proper meeting with them tomorrow and dig into all the nitty gritty.”

“You phrase it like I have a choice,” you had muttered before picking up the pen.

You knew you didn’t. And Lydia’s smile had confirmed it.

Romina continues on with more convincing, but you’ve stopped listening. There’s not a single thing she could really say now that your mind was made up — you were staying in tonight.

“Ro,” you finally snatch the phone back up into your hand, straightening out as you pick out a random tupperware that you think holds chicken parm from that fancy lunch date you’d gone on over the weekend, “I’m not coming out. I’m sorry.”

Complete silence on her end. You worry for a moment that you had been too harsh.

“Okay,” she finally gives up.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” the word continues to echo back and forth between you two, “That’s fine. I’ll just have to bother you about it tomorrow. At work. Where you can’t use bullshit excuses to escape me.”

You consider snapping back about how you absolutely still could, until you consider the fact that you have a real excuse, “Good luck with that. I have a very real meeting with… with a client.”

You don’t even know the name of the client, technically. You can only guess.

You still hope you’re wrong.

“Right,” she laughs over the line, “See you tomorrow, babe.”

“See you tomorrow,” you repeat back, staring at your now closed fridge before you’re relieved by the sound of a dial tone, signaling that she’s finally hung up.

What you should do now is plate the leftovers, arrange yourself on your sofa, and numb your mind with The Office reruns. What you should do is leave well enough alone and continue in your delusion.

You don’t.

It starts innocently; you do transfer the cold chicken parm onto a plate and you do curl up on your sofa before flicking on the television. You do set the channel to the reruns. You do – and you swear you do it all with the best intentions.

But then your mind wanders.

As you stare straight ahead at the television, you’re not processing a single image that flashes across the screen. Your thoughts are a bit preoccupied with different images, movies and snippets from a point in your life that now feels like a lifetime ago. Conspicuous dimples making an appearance from across the room at a joke you had made, unkempt curls flying recklessly in the driver’s seat beside you on late night drives with the windows down, wild eyes shining like sunlight through a whiskey bottle as he catches your gaze from a stage much smaller than what he must be used to now.

Everything from before. Before the not-fight, before the fame, before the move. Images of when Eddie had been yours and only yours, not yet a precious gem to have to share with the world.

“Are you busy tonight?”

Your locker had been slammed shut by a hand that didn’t belong to you, knuckles adorned with familiar rings and distinct callouses along the fingertips.

“Hello to you, too, Eddie,” you smiled as you clutched one of the unnecessarily heavy textbooks to your chest, turning to face the boy who stood impatiently at your side. He was all jitters, rocking on his heels and nearly incapable of standing still as his body buzzed with excitement.

It rolled off him in waves, contagious as he leaned into you, “Yes, yes. Hello, sweetheart. How was your day?” you opened your mouth to answer him, but Eddie comically steamrolled right on, hands waving erratically, “Good? Good! Excellent! Now, are you busy tonight?”

“I was planning to study for O’Donnel’s test-“

“So you don’t have plans!” he exclaimed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as one of the annoying warning bells chimed. He may have been in an interruptive mood, but he knew you hated being late to class — less about being anal about punctuality, and more about the stares you’d practically burn under from the attention of other students when you’d barge in on the teacher mid-sentence, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. In that case, I have fantastic news!”

You allowed him to guide you amongst the bustling student bodies, only gaining a few stares from fellow peers, “You do, do you?”

He nodded before he reached out and snatched that heavy textbook out of your arms, “Here, let me carry that for you, darling.”

“Darling?” your nose scrunched, “Oh, no. You’re trying to sweeten me up. What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

Liar. The crack in his voice would have given him away if his hyperactive energy hadn’t already done so.

“Oh, really? Then what’s your fantastic news, rockstar?”

His grin that broke at your nickname for him could have destroyed the Earth you walked on just as easily as it could have mended it. Something groundbreaking, something to churn the dirt and raise the dead. Something made of pure sunshine and static happiness. But the only thing that cracked was your chest as it tried to contain the residual joy it felt for him in that moment.

“Well…” he trailed off, leaving just enough room for a suspenseful pause that could have suffocated the room without that damn grin on his face, “Let’s just say you’re looking at the frontman of the Hideout’s newest Thursday night entertainment.”

You took a moment to catch on, Eddie keeping you pressed closely to his side as the two of you stopped outside of your next class.

“Thursday nights?” you questioned, brain working overtime to piece together what he’d just said, “Wait, I thought you guys only played Tuesda-“

When you had processed what he had meant, all that animated elation that had been consuming him became shared. Every jitter in his bones became your own, your own lips speedily spreading into a proud smile to challenge his own.

“Oh, holy shit,” you gasped, “You guys got the gig.”

One more bounce of his heels, curls quivering with the movement as his arms fell from you and the two of you faced one another.

“We got the gig.”

“You got the gig!”

People had been staring more obviously at the sudden rise in volume from you, but you hadn’t cared. Because in that moment, all you focused on was the eager boy in front of you, and the way your broken chest mended from the same grin that had burst it wide open, only for it to swell with inexplicable pride.

“We got the fuckin’ gig!” he shouted right back, laughter slipping from between his lips that started to echo your own.

You were the one bouncing then, hands instinctively reaching out to press on his shoulders in gentle slapping motions, unable to contain or conventionally express this pounding excitement.

“You got the fuckin’ gig!” you were just parroting each other now, but you were just as delirious as he was as that final bell signaling you were late rang out. That certain embarrassment you were sure to have to face had become a distant memory.

Eddie had wanted this for a while. He’d been bugging the owner of the bar on the edge of town about Corroded Coffin earning a second night of residency for months, only taking the repeated rejections as encouragement to ramp up his convincing charm. You’d seriously doubted it would work, but had never voiced the concern aloud to Eddie. You’d always figured that the worst that could have happened would be another no, fuck off, kid. But the best that could have happened had been this — he would be told yes and secure his band two weekly performances at the Hideout rather than just the single one they played before.

You didn’t know it then, but it was the first step down the path that would lead to inevitable heartbreak.

“I haven’t even told the guys yet,” Eddie admitted once the two of you calmed down to the best of your abilities, “I… Uh, I wanted to tell them after school today. Was wondering if you might, I don’t know, maybe- do you wanna be there when I do?”

And that made sense. Eddie inviting you made sense when you attended every single band practice in Gareth’s garage as religiously as he did. When you knew every word to their whole three original songs even better than him at times.

He wanted you there. You were important to him, to the band, and he wanted you there.

“I- Is that even a question?” you stared at him in disbelief, “Of course I wanna be there, you fuckin’ idiot. I can’t believe you told me before you told them, honestly.”

His demeanor softened, the ghost of his exuberance still stubbornly lingering. But your eyes were on him, glowing with such high regard that it was impossible to not let it creep beneath his skin and trigger a blush across the bridge of his nose. All that love, all that pride. So genuine it could have made him cry.

“Of course I told you first,” he whispered in a finally empty hallway, “You’re always the first person I tell any good news to, sweetheart.”

When had you stopped being the first person he shared his forthcomings with?

Probably the day you had decided to leave him, leave the entire life you two had built together, under the guise of best intentions.

The TV continues to play as you stare at the wall, mind and heart alike locked up with nostalgia. The plate of leftovers has long since been sat down on the coffee table.

You hadn’t let yourself reminisce like this since the very first night you had spent in your apartment. That first night, you’d allowed yourself to wallow. You had sat on this very same sofa, the entire apartment pitch black as you weren’t brave enough to turn on a single light and face yourself, and told yourself that any and all tears or regrets had to be purged that night. A funeral for all that you had lost, a single night to mourn all that you had left behind.

Clearly, one night was never enough to let go of years of memories – of love.

You don’t shut off the TV as you impulsively grab your phone, not thinking the action through before you do the one thing you had forbidden yourself from over the last few years; you’re going to Google search Eddie Munson. You’d created the rule as a make-believe step in the right direction. You told yourself if you didn’t google him, if you didn’t track down his every move after you’d left behind the damage done, then you could move on easier.

From the first headline, you realize that it might have never been about moving on.

FINAL NAIL IN THE COFFIN? HAS EDDIE MUNSON, LEAD SINGER OF CORRODED COFFIN, FINALLY GONE TOO FAR?

EDDIE MUNSON — ARRESTED AGAIN?

HOTEL COMES FORWARD ABOUT DAMAGES DONE BY ROWDY ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON

HOW TO BURY A CAREER: A DETAILED TIMELINE OF CORRODED COFFIN’S EDDIE MUNSON’S DOWNFALL

“EDDIE MUNSON GAVE ME A CONCUSSION” - VICTIMS OF THE ROCKSTAR’S CLUB TANTRUM COME FORWARD.

Each headline sends your head reeling, eyes widening impossibly without even clicking on the stories.

The boy you had known wouldn’t have done half of the things these accusations stated. Violence, trashing hotel rooms, public temper tantrums taken too far — it doesn’t feel as though you’re reading about someone you once knew, someone you once loved. The man in these paparazzi photos is a stranger, completely unrecognizable with his red eyes and middle fingers held high.

A particular photo catches your attention. He’s standing outside what you assume is a club, in handcuffs. His hands are locked behind his back, an officer not far behind and his face bathed in glows of blue and red lights flashing from a car half blocking the camera’s view of him, and he’s grinning with dead eyes squinted to the sky. It almost looks as if he’s midlaugh — as if the entire scene was funny to him.

The one time he’d nearly been caught while pedaling drugs for Reefer Rick back home in Hawkins when you’d still known him, he had nearly burst into tears. Had panicked as he scrambled to shove everything, even just the weed, into every possible hiding place within his van. He hadn’t laughed in the officer’s face; he had been petrified, face transforming to that of a terrified little boy as you had told him to calm down and play it cool.

You should stop scrolling. But you can’t.

Another photo, one that makes your chest echo with another hollow pang. It was clearly taken without him realizing it, the quality atrocious as the camera had attempted to focus in on him through a balcony sliding door of what must be a hotel. But despite the terrible blur, you can clearly pick out the details that were meant to be exposed.

A speckle of white coating the ring of his nostril. Made even more obvious by that midday sun shining in on him.

It was clearly the middle of the afternoon, and Eddie had clearly been caught snorting cocaine.

It’s a bit much. You haven’t even scrolled far enough to catch sight of all the pap photos of him with different women, or the photos of him clearly inebriated at major events that had been meant to celebrate him and the band’s success. You lock your phone, you set it down on the table with the screen facing down. You hardly recognize him.

The reality is you had never googled Eddie for the same reason most won’t look at the corpse of loved one’s at open casket funerals – you wanted to remember him when things had been good. You had wanted to convince yourself that you still knew him, some version of him, and that he hadn’t become a total stranger.

But, really, you’d known the moment you had walked out of that once shared apartment that you had lost the privilege of knowing him. Of loving him. The moment he had stopped telling you that he loved you, you had known something between the two of you had died. Losing Eddie hadn’t been a sudden thing — it had been a long, painful, torturous process. When all that love and all that promise had died, it hadn’t gone down without a fight. He had smothered it, but you had provided the extinguisher. You had pushed him to chase after his dreams, and you should have never been surprised when he did exactly that.

You should have never been surprised that one day, the space you’d claimed residency in in Eddie’s heart would become nothing more than an annoying prick to him. A thorn in his side, sharp and threatening all that he had worked so hard to achieve.

So you’d left. You’d left, told yourself it was for the best, and exited with more love for the memory of a man than the tangible person on the other end of that terribly lonely dial tone – on the rare occasions he did call.

You didn’t know him. It’s a truth you should have long since swallowed, but hadn’t. Not yet. Not in the last two years.

Your appetite is gone as you stand from the couch and grab the leftovers, only pausing on your way to the kitchen to scrape the waste off into the trash can. What a waste. As you put away the plate into the sink, not bothering to wash or even rinse away the crumbs, you immediately grab one of your few wine glasses and set it on the counter. Drinking wasn’t the wisest idea, but your body has begun to move on autopilot. And it seems convinced that feeling the buzz from alcohol would be better than the feeling of nothing at all.

You didn’t know him anymore. And the space you’d still let him occupy in your memories, whether you’d wanted to admit it or not, was now hollow.

You turn your back on the glass, still numb and still reeling as you open the fridge and pull out a half empty bottle of merlot, cork half peeking out the top of the bottle. You can see that stained bottom half, almost half hidden in a weak attempt to preserve the wine inside. Maroon. Deep, deep maroon bleeds up and feathers at the edges of that cork as you pull it out fairly aggressively, carelessly tossing it onto the white countertop and not watching it bounce as you pour yourself a drink.

In your hollow staring off into the distance, you don’t realize you’ve missed the glass in your pouring until the chilled liquid splashes at your knuckles – until it’s too late. You panic, grabbing at paper towels and rinsing off your hand in the same breath, but it’s clear that it’s a useless battle in cleaning up the mess you’ve made.

The damage is already done. As you soak up the wine and swipe away, a pink-tinged blotch is still left behind.

Stained. What a pesky thing to become.

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#maroon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst #lowkey terrified to post this oh god #oh well #ghost's stories

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