#the effect this song has on me should be STUDIED

[kerosenee-kisses]

Friend You Can Keep | Zayne

summary: while preparing for final exams, you ask Zayne if you can study his anatomy lol

cw: 18+, mdni, college au, afab reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, lots of kissing, this is literally just self-indeulgent love-making

wc: 3.7k

a/n: I started playing lads a few weeks ago after a lot of resistance (I'm afraid of spending money on them!!) I started playing for Sylus but Zayne really came out of nowhere and assumed the role of my husband. I'm obsessed with him!!

In my mind, I wrote this with a five-ish year age gap between Zayne and reader (reader a freshman/sophmore in college, Zayne in the first years of med school). That isn't explicitly stated here so choose your own adventure. I'm also of the opinion that Zayne would make sweet, sweet love to you to the soundtrack of true yearner R&B. Just me?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Songs from your favorite R&B playlist emanate from your roommate’s speaker. You thought listening to the calm crooning from the nest of pillows and blankets that is your bed would help you study. But the music is more effective at lulling you to sleep, as are the sparkling fairy lights strung around the room’s perimeter. Maybe you should suck it up and turn the horrendous, overhead fluorescent lights on for this. Because the words in your textbook swim together the longer you try to focus on retaining them.  

You rub your eyes hard; flashes of color undulate in the darkness of your closed eyelids beneath the pressure of your fingertips. When you open them again, somehow, the words rearrange themselves even more chaotically. It’s like looking for a prophecy in a bowl of alphabet soup. 

“Is it possible I have late-stage dyslexia? Is that a thing?” you ask. 

Zayne chuckles from his place at your desk. “I believe that’s an indication that you need a short break. And right on time, too.” 

The timer on his phone goes off then, which he shuts off before it can complete one full blare of sound. He opens the desk drawer and takes out two candies. One for each of you.  

“A reward for our diligence,” he says as he deposits a sweet into your hand.  

“What? Where did these come from?” you ask as you unravel the foil wrapper. Candy didn’t survive in your dorm room long enough for you to have a stash to dip into for emergencies like today. 

You have two more finals to study for before you can officially begin a much-deserved winter break. Your roommate had been your study buddy up until her first and only final yesterday. She left for home immediately after she’d submitted her exam, having decided that the papers assigned could easily be completed from the comfort of her own home. And while you were so happy for her and not at all jealous, it meant you were short a study buddy.  

But Zayne, always dependable, offered to swing by and study with you when you’d met up for lunch earlier and bemoaned the fact that you would have to stay focused all by yourself. A herculean task if there ever was one.  

“I managed to hide them while you were fiddling with the speaker. Otherwise, I doubt they would have survived more than ten minutes had you seen them.” 

“Don’t be a hypocrite. Your sweet tooth can be just as bad,” you say. 

You observe Zayne as he delicately pops his candy into his mouth, pushes his glasses back up, and continues to study through your break. He has some biochem final to prepare for. While he had told you he felt more than prepared for it before your complaints about being abandoned, he’s sitting here reviewing alongside you all the same. Your heart warms at how thoughtful he is. Sure, he loves to help everyone, but he always goes out of his way for you. Does he go out of his way for anyone other than you? You're too curious.  

So curious, in fact, that you ask without thinking, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Or someone you’re kinda into?” 

Zayne blinks at you, slow and deliberate like a house cat, then shakes his head. Embarrassment and relief coalesce in your stomach. In an ideal world, you would shut the fuck up and go back to studying too. 

But like the glutton for punishment that you are, you sit up on your knees and keep talking. 

"Oh, ok. Good. Well, not good as in you should die alone but good in the sense that...well...You know what, can I ask you something without you freaking out? Like, you have to promise not to.” 

Zayne swivels in the desk chair. A gift from him to you actually. Ergonomic and expensive, he’d replaced the standard rocking chair that the room was originally furnished with since he was concerned about the health of your spine as your future primary care physician.  

Once he’s facing you completely, he says, “I would prefer not to promise something if I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to follow through. That would not be fair to you.” 

“You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry. You're always calm anyway so I have nothing to worry about. I think.” 

Zayne watches you expectantly as you reach for a plushie to hold. Your mouth feels dry now that his attention’s on you. You’re not sure why you feel so nervous, he normally goes along with your schemes. This won’t be so different, right?” 

“So, I was wondering if maybe you’d be...willing to have sex with me?” The words leave you in one breath. 

Zayne stares at you blankly. You might have successfully broken the most collected person you know.  

“Zayne? Did you hear me? I said would you–” 

“I heard you the first time,” he says. His expression hardly betrays anything, but color spreads across his face, up his ears. If he didn’t have a turtleneck on you imagine his neck would be just as pink. “I apologize. I’m a bit taken aback. I certainly didn’t expect that to be your question.” 

“It’s just feels like everyone my age has lost their virginity already. Obviously, I don’t need to have sex, but I’m intrigued, I guess.  And I don’t want to do it with just anyone. And you’re not just anyone so–” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I want to make absolute sure I’m understanding you correctly.” He clears his throat before asking, “You want me to take your virginity?” 

You hug the plushie for dear life. “Well, yeah. You would be my first.”  

Zayne takes a deep breath. You begin to worry about the state of his heart the longer you sit in silence. Because your own is pumping so hard you fear you’ll succumb to cardiac arrest if you’re lucky. Or maybe the earth will miraculously swallow you whole before that happens. You’ll even accept death by wanderer if it means escaping this conversation. 

“May I ask why you wish to lose your virginity to me?”  

Not a flat-out rejection. You can shelf the death wishes for now. 

“Since you’re basically a doctor you know all about anatomy; safe to assume you know how it goes. And you’re hot so...why not?” 

Zayne averts his gaze at your blunt assessment, and you can’t help but tease him a little.  

“I thought we were working on accepting compliments.” 

Zayne smiles faintly but still refuses to face you, “I have to say when it comes to accepting compliments, I’m not very good in front of you. But I suppose there’s a chance for you to teach me.” 

“First lesson starts now. All you have to do is say ‘thank you’ or something.” 

Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours again. He’s caught you in his gentle yet captivating green gaze. In it, you see acknowledgment of what your relationship to each other could be. A desire to explore a new dimension of intimacy, one that goes beyond childhood friendship. 

“I accept your compliment,” Zayne murmurs. His eyes drift to your slightly parted lips and you feel your skin prickle. 

“This will be an opportunity to learn each other’s bodies together,” he says, almost distracted. He plucks the plushie from your grasp and carefully places it on the back-killing rocking chair beside your desk. “I only hope I can measure up to your expectations." 

“Oh. Ok,” you manage to whisper. You didn’t think he would say no per say, but considering his immediate response you expected a little more resistance to the idea than this. And now you feel nervous, more than you had anticipated. This was your idea after all. 

You go to remove your pajama bottoms, a seemingly imperceptible shake in your hands. But of course, nothing gets past Zayne. He stops you with a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.  

“There’s no rush. This requires ample preparation. I would never want to hurt you,” he says, caresses the hinge of your knee. “Just, let me kiss you for a bit. Like this.” 

Zayne brings the chair up to the edge of your twin xl and gives you a sweet peck. He gives you a few more before he brushes his lips against yours. You follow his lead, revel in the plush feel of his mouth as he kisses you. He rubs his palms along your thighs, squeezing them every so often. His tender touches embolden you as much as they relax you. You hesitantly touch your tongue to his bottom lip and Zayne moans into your mouth. The vibrations of such a gentle yet erotic sound travel through your whole body. You cup his cheeks to pull him closer, and Zayne gladly follows. He rises to his feet and crowds you into the corner of the bed until you’re on your back. He kisses you so thoroughly that you can taste the lingering sweetness of candy on his tongue when he licks into your mouth.  

You slip one hand under his sweater, trace the ridges of his tight abdomen, no doubt the result of all those pull ups he does on the rare occasion you work out together. Zayne’s breath shudders against your mouth and you shiver in response. His receptiveness to your touch makes you desperate to feel even more of him. You grab the hem of his turtleneck and yank it upwards. He pulls away, reluctantly you think, grabs the shirt from between his shoulder blades and tugs it off. The action leaves his glasses askew and you remove them from his face with a giggle. 

“I hope they’re not messed up now,” you say as you carefully put the lenses on yourself. They blur your vision some, but you clearly see Zayne swallow thickly when you smile up at him.  

“I have an extra pair,” he says breathlessly before he removes them and goes right back to kiss you. More of his warmth seeps into you now that he removed his sweater. He presses his thundering chest against yours, and the delicious weight of him renders you pliant beneath him. You smooth your hands along the muscled plains of his back and moan. You can’t think straight in the face of such overwhelming affection. He hasn’t even touched you yet, really, and you already feel so ready for more.  

But for some reason, a pang of guilt lances through your gut. Did you pressure Zayne into this? Are you taking advantage of his goodness, his kindness? You said it yourself, he goes above and beyond for you in all things. You would never forgive yourself if you ever made him do something he didn’t want to.  

“Wait,” you say, and weakly push at his chest.  A gossamer thread of your saliva stretches between both your lips, and your thoughts empty out of your head for a moment. Zayne’s eyes are as unfocused as yours as he looks down at you, cushioned in your fluffy pillows. 

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” you ask quietly. 

Zayne takes hold of one of your wrists to drop a kiss to your palm that you feel in your clit. Does he want to kill you? 

“Why don’t you touch me and find out.” 

He most certainly does.  

You gasp when he guides your hand to his hardened length. The fact that you could do this to him with just a few kisses turns you on immensely, makes you feel powerful. You squeeze him gently and he groans. You flick the button of his pants free, but he stops your second attempt at undressing before you can even yank his zipper down. 

“Let me take what I desire first,” he says.  

Zayne carefully unbuttons your pajama top, until your chest is fully exposed to him. You sit up slightly to remove it, and no sooner is it off than Zayne starts to knead and kiss at your breasts. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and you arch into him, mewling at the spike of pleasure that zings through you. He licks and teases it into a stiffened peak while he pinches and rolls the other between his fingers.  

Once your nipples are wet and taut from his ministrations, Zayne trails deep kisses down the center of your spasming stomach. He grasps the waistband of your pants and tugs them down along with your underwear.  

While most guys would look at you with lust clouding their gaze, Zayne looks at your naked body like he loves it. It’s enough to make you feel sheepish.  

Zayne fits his broad shoulders beneath your slightly spread thighs and puts his mouth to your dripping core. You’re so stunned by the sight of his head between your legs that your brain goes fuzzy. Obviously, no one has kissed you here before. But you’d still be inclined to say that even if the opposite were true. Zayne full on makes out with your pussy. He licks and sucks at your clit with the sole purpose of making you cum hard. And your entire body sings with ecstasy.  

He eases his index finger inside of your wet heat and you whimper at the intrusion. He searches for that spongy patch inside of you that has your back surging upward. Zayne coaxes more of your arousal out of you with his tongue on your clit and his finger massaging the soft walls of your cunt. You feel strange, like you need release, but you’re almost terrified. Your thighs close around Zayne’s head and he groans into your sex. The sound vibrates through you until you’re a quivering mess. 

Zayne blindly reaches for one of your hands and squeezes. He licks and kisses you as you cum on his beautiful face with a loud cry of his name. He laps up as much of your essence as he can, and you twitch and whine all the while. 

Your back falls onto the mattress once you come down from your high, the first orgasm that someone else has ever given you. You lift yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. He kisses your thighs, your hip bones, back up along your stomach so earnestly. 

 Zayne settles himself over you again and now pumps two of his long, elegant fingers inside of you. They curl against your sweet spot with the skill and precision of a surgeon, and you moan his name. When his thumb swipes at your clit you cum for him again, still so sensitive from your last climax. He kisses you through it. The taste of yourself is a little strange, but you don’t hate it. You deepen the kiss as you cum around his fingers. You didn’t think you could cum again so quickly, but Zayne is nothing if not efficient.  

He removes his fingers from you so he can lay in between your twitching thighs. He rolls his clothed hips into your bare ones, and you meet his thrusts readily. The friction of his pants against your clit makes you feel delirious. Enough to remember what you had first asked of him.  

“Zayne,” you sigh as he moves to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “Do you have a condom?” 

He exhales against your ear; you just barely hold in a whimper. 

“No, unfortunately. I haven’t had a need for them before now…I suppose we’ll have to reschedule,” he says, but makes no move to pull away from you.  

“No! It’s ok!” You wince at your frantic tone. Way to go, Desperate. “I, um, grabbed a handful from the resource center before you came here. They’re in my bag.” 

While he had thoughtfully replenished your stash of candy, you had shoveled way too many condoms into your backpack only an hour after your lunch date with him. Now he’ll probably think you're some sex-crazed degenerate or something. How embarrassing. 

Regardless, you feel a teeny, tiny thrill at the knowledge that he doesn’t have any on him.  

Zayne nods, presses one lingering kiss to your lips and goes to retrieve a condom from your backpack. You feel even more embarrassed when he returns with one embossed with a heart and the words ‘wrap it before you tap it.’ He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that, however. Zayne removes his pants and his boxer briefs. His hard cock springs up against his abs and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Long and flushed and too pretty, you think. He settles back into bed, kneels in between your spread legs and tears the wrapper open.  

You watch, wide eyed, as he rolls the latex over the glistening head and down the length of his cock. He lines himself up with your stretched entrance and makes eye contact with you. Despite the heat pulsing through your veins, you shiver. This does not go unnoticed.  

“Anxious?” Zayne asks. He runs his fingers up and down your arm. Slow touches that soothe your frayed nerves. A reassurance, a reminder that he won’t let you feel anything you wouldn’t absolutely enjoy.   

“Only a little,” you admit, “but I trust you more than anyone, so I think I’m more excited than anything.” 

Zayne smiles down at you, small and sweet. You feel even more shy now.  

“You know we can stop at any time,” he says even though his cock is straining against the condom. “You need only tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

You place a hand on his smooth cheek and smile up at him. His breath leaves him on a shaky exhale.  

“I know that Zayne. Thank you. But I think I’m ready now.”  

There’s a slight discomfort. A foreign pressure, a pinch, that he lets you acclimate to. There’s so much tension in his body as a result. You can’t help but feel endeared by how considerate he is of you always. Especially now.  

He places his palm on your belly, and you jolt.  

“Try to relax your muscles,” he says. 

You slow your breaths, try to do as he says until the fullness of his cock feels less invasive, almost comforting. You focus on the intimacy of this moment, of your bodies connecting. Of him being the first person to ever give you pleasure of any kind.  

“Mmm, good, just like that,” he groans. Who knew a voice could get you so hot. And not just his voice, those green eyes of his. He stares down at you so intensely you feel like you’ll melt into a puddle. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask meekly.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says matter-of-factly.  

You hide your face behind your hands and whine for him to stop. Zayne laughs lowly and pulls your hands away. 

“You helped me accept a compliment earlier,” he says, kisses one wrist. “And even teased me for being nervous.” A kiss to the other. He rests them on the back of his neck and regards you with an almost mischievous smile. 

“Now it’s my turn to return the favor. Say ‘thank you’.” 

Your chest is heaving. You can’t believe how seductive he’s being. And so effortlessly, too. Where did this side of him come from?  

He lowers his face into your neck and all the air in the room vanishes when he kisses it.   

“Won’t you accept my compliment? Or should I continue to tell you how lovely I find you? Say that your beauty is beyond measure? That you are my greatest treasure.”  

Zayne lightly sucks on your pulse point. How does he expect you to speak? You can hardly function as is. 

“I’m not as patient as you think I am.” He nips at your neck, and you tense up.  

“Thank you!” you yelp. 

You feel his lips pull into a grin. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Or should I give you more compliments so you can practice?” 

“Y-you can move now!”  

Zayne kisses under your ear before he pulls his hips back and slowly grinds into you. His pelvis meets your sticky clit every time your bodies meet. He thrusts into you until your moans and sighs fill the humid air between you both. 

You experimentally squeeze around his cock as he pulls away from you and he moans in concert with you.  

“Did you want to see my like this?” he asks, voice hoarse as his cock pushes deeper into you. You arch up against him, your nipples grazing his chest. Zayne dips his head to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth again, sucking and biting at it affectionately. You wrap your legs around his trim waist and try to pull him even closer to you. He’s making you feel so good that you can hardly stand it. All you can focus on is Zayne. The way he fits so perfectly between your legs, the feel of his biceps under your hands. His crisp, clean scent sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You want even more of him.  

You bury your hands in his hair, thick silk between your fingers, and tug. Zayne pulls off your breast with a wet pop and kisses you. He plasters his chest to yours as he rolls his hips into you. Your walls tighten up around him and he grits out your name. He wraps his arms around your waist tight and fucks into you so deep that you swear you see stars. So bright that you clench your eyes shut as pleasure takes hold of your whole body. It’s an ecstasy like no other.  

“I love you, Zayne. I love you,” you babble mindlessly as you cum harder than before. 

Zayne moans and ruts into your body erratically, desperately, until he seizes up and cums with you. Maybe you’re too caught up in the romantic atmosphere you accidentally created– sultry love ballads and low lighting–but you almost wish he had painted your walls instead of the condom.  

He looks ethereal as pleasure contorts and relaxes his features, his muscles. Zayne takes your face between his hands and kisses you hungrily. Like he’ll never have another opportunity to. You’ll make damn sure that’s not the case.  

"I adore you,” he says before he steals another kiss and your breath along with it. You both grip and pull at the other as if you could get any closer. You want to nestle in the marrow of his bones, dwell in the cavern of his heart. 

“I want you to be mine. Only mine,” you whisper between kisses. 

“I have always been yours. Only ever yours.” 

[lesbicosmos]

i shouldn't be allowed to listen to this song at 11pm when im trying to get an early night for school tomorrow

i actually go insane over it

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. six

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 & 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 →

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: After months of blurred lines and staged headlines, the truth finally breaks through—there’s no pretending anymore. You’re with Ellie now, for real. Wrapped up in tour dates, secret kisses behind curtains, and a love that’s grown too wild to hide. The concert is electric, the afterparty dizzy with heat, and through it all, you and Ellie can’t keep your hands—or hearts—off each other. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 12,3k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: smut, fluff, top/possesive!ellie, sub! reader, strap-on sex (r!receiving), oral sex (r!receiving), chocking, slapping, hair pulling, pet names, modern au, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, multiple part series, MEN AND MINORS DNI likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to drug use. If you're sensitive to this topic, please read with caution or consider skipping. I aim to handle it with thoughtfulness and respect.

BREAKING: ELLIE WILLIAMS & Y/N MAKE HISTORY WITH THE FIRST QUEER KISS IN GRAMMY HISTORY!!! 🔥👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩🚨

(Full emotional damage, A-list reactions, meme chaos, and internet meltdowns below. Proceed with caution.)

LOS ANGELES, CA — We tuned in for the music. We stayed for the drama. But what we got? A history-making, earth-shattering, culture-resetting moment so powerful it will be analyzed in LGBTQ+ archives, dissected in media studies courses, and quite possibly investigated by NASA—because the sheer gravity of this event sent us all into another orbit.

The 67th Annual Grammy Awards didn’t just give us winners, electrifying performances, and overpriced celebrity reactions—it delivered a full-blown revolution. The first QUEER KISS IN GRAMMY HISTORY unfolded before our very eyes, and the world has simply not been the same since.

Let’s break it down—frame by frame, reaction by reaction—because let’s be real: we are NEVER recovering from this.

THE PERFORMANCE THAT LEFT THE INTERNET IN RUINS.

🎥 [Video link attached. Side effects may include: heart palpitations, spontaneous screaming, and an urgent need to be laid to rest IMMEDIATELY.]

Our favorite agents of chaos took the stage for their highly anticipated duet of She, and within 0.2 seconds, we were all in grave, irreversible danger.

We’re talking eye contact and fleeting touches so intense they should be classified as a controlled substance. So charged they are now banned in 47 countries and counting.

At the end of the song, no warning, no buildup, not even a dramatic orchestral swell, just pure, undiluted lesbian cinema. Ellie turned to Y/N, locked eyes with her, and then—

💥 KISSED HER LIKE THEY WERE ABOUT TO BE TORN APART BY THE FORCES OF FATE. 💥

The audience? Absolutely feral. The cameras? MALFUNCTIONED. They couldn’t even keep up. Jesse and Dina, still on stage? Looking like they just witnessed a divine event.

And the celebrities?? Pure CINEMA.

Beyoncé – Shaking her head, slow clapping like she just witnessed the most powerful love story of our time. Taylor Swift – Allegedly whispering oh my god on an endless loop. Billie Eilish – Straight-up dropping her drink, mouth frozen in pure, unfiltered gay panic. Lady Gaga – Visibly screaming “MOTHERS.” Harry Styles – Nodding like a proud gay uncle.

No thoughts. No survival.

Just two sapphics rewriting history on live television.

THE ACCEPTANCE SPEECH THAT DESTROYED HUMANITY.

📸 [Clip attached. Send thoughts, prayers, and therapy bills.]

Y/N didn’t just win the Grammys—she owned them. FOUR AWARDS. A clean sweep. And as if that weren’t enough, The Fireflies won SIX. GRAMMYS. SIX. Sold-out arenas, chart-topping records, and now? A total obliteration of the competition.

But nothing—and I mean NOTHING—could have prepared us for the Category 5 emotional devastation that was Williams’ words at The Fireflies Album of the Year speech.

She stepped up to the mic, hands shaking, took one deep breath, and turned to look at Y/N with that look. The one we’ve seen a thousand times, but never like this—not this raw, not this real.

And then she said, voice steady but somehow still knocking the air out of everyone in that room:

"There are people who change you. Who tear you apart and put you back together in ways you never saw coming. And even when they annoy the shit out of you, you know—deep down—you’d be lost without them. And you are that person for me."

💀💀💀 WE WERE ALL DUG INTO GRAVES. 💀💀💀

The pause. The pause that shaved years off our collective lifespans. The pause that stretched out like the universe itself was holding its breath.

And then—

"And I just wanted to say that… that I love you."

👀👀👀 EXCUSE ME?????????? 👀👀👀

The crowd erupted. Jesse and Dina screaming in the background. A-listers clutching their chests like they had just been stabbed through the heart. The camera panning to Y/N—eyes wide, lips parted, staring into the distance like those words had just rewired her entire brain chemistry.

THE AFTERMATH: INTERNET MELTDOWN OF THE CENTURY.

✅ Twitter: Unrecoverable. Users filing for emotional compensation and group therapy. ✅ TikTok: Gone. Servers overheated on impact. Fandom historians drafting deep dives as we speak. ✅ TMZ (literally us): sprinting through the streets like it’s the Olympics of gay panic. ✅ Rolling Stone: Already calling it "the most iconic queer moment in music history." And you know what? YES.

And let’s take a moment for THE CONSERVATIVES. Fox News? Fuming. Boomers on Facebook? Typing in all caps about the ‘downfall of society.’ Every homophobe within a 50-mile radius? Visibly sweating and shaking.

Lesbians winning. History being made. Society upgraded.

AND WE. LOVE. TO. SEE. IT.

🔗NEW TMZ UPDATE: THE HAND-HOLDING, JACKET STEALING, AND CAFÉ DATE THAT FINISHED US OFF 🔥🚨

📸 [MORE Paparazzi shots and attached. If you thought you were safe, you were DEAD WRONG.]

Just when we thought we had barely survived the Grammys' emotional onslaught, Ellie and Y/N said, "Nah, stay in your casket."

Because the morning-after pap shots just dropped, and the afterglow is BLINDING.

And let’s talk TIMELINE. Not only did they spend the night together, but the afterparty photos have surfaced—whispered conversations, lingering touches, and Ellie looking at Y/N like she personally strung up the stars.

But those photos? Just the warm-up. Because the morning after, they were spotted strolling into a café, looking slow, soft, and disgustingly in love. Not their usual teasing, no performance—this was different.

This was "We-just-rewrote-history-then-I-rocked-your-world-and-now-we're-getting-coffee-like-a-married-couple" kind of energy.

🎥 THE EVIDENCE:

• Ellie leaning in too close, whispering something that had Y/N turning BRIGHT red.

• Y/N sipping coffee, still looking wrecked, while Ellie shamelessly stole bites of her croissant.

• Ellie’s oversized jacket swallowing Y/N whole. Ellie sitting across from her, smirking like she just won a championship.

Even innocent bystanders were left SHOOK. One café worker we interviewed allegedly had to take a deep breath before serving them, muttering, “the energy they have is actually too much to handle.”

And those final paparazzi shots? Our favorite rockstar holding our favorite popstar’s hand even tighter as they walked back onto the street, smiling like they just lived through the softest, most cinematic rom-com of all time.

TMZ is now officially in FULL surveillance mode. Every glance, every touch, every silent confirmation of what we already KNOW is happening—we’re tracking it ALL.

But what do YOU think? Drop your most unhinged comments below! ⬇️🔥

────────────

❤️ 20.3M — 💬 698.7K

📌 TOP COMMENTS:

@: We need a full forensic analysis of Y/N’s post-Grammys glow because sis walked out of that hotel looking RENEWED, REVIVED, AND REBORN

@: Ellie was gripping that mic like a stress ball when she said “I love you” 😭 girly was SO STRESSED SHES SUCH A LIL CUTIE

@: the way they walked into that café like they weren’t publicly obliterating us 8 hours ago 😂 

@: incredible day to be gay, my folks. my skin has just cleared.

@: WHY IS NOBODY TALKING AB THE AFTERPARTY PHOTOS OMG MY PHONE IS GONNA COMBUST FROM HOW HOT THEY ARE😩😩😩😩

@: I don’t know if I wanna study this moment in an LGBTQ+ history class or frame it and hang it above my bed like a religious shrine

@: y/n wearing her jacket like a trophy while Ellie sat there looking like the cat that ate the canary??? WHEN IT'S GONNA BE MY TURN😭

@: so much stuff happened in only one day omg that’s it I’m booking therapy and a heart transplant for all of us

@: Ellie just confirmed that she can pull both Grammys and souls straight out of bodies in one night. MY ICON.

@: it’s so crazy how they went from sneaky links to BUILDING A LITERAL LEGACY IN A FEW MONTHS.

@: that afterglow was so blinding I had to turn my brightness down just to process those café pics in peace

@: Ellie looked at Y/N on that stage like she was about to risk it all, and then she DIDDDD

@: The way the cameraman ZOOMED IN SO FAST like even he knew this was about to be a HISTORICAL LESBIAN EVENT™

@: honestly, someone get these women a throne already because they’ve earned it👑

@: they look so IN LOVE MY POOR GAY HEART CANT HANDLE IT 😭😭😭

@: I just KNOW the hotel walls were whispering the AFTERMATH of that speech I fear for the structural integrity of that building

The world had shifted.

Tilted into something softer, more tangible than either of you had ever expected.

What once had been an act, a perfectly curated illusion of stolen glances and well-timed touches for the cameras, had unraveled into something neither of you could fake. Not even if you tried.

At first, it had been easy to pretend. To play the part, to let the world believe in the effortless chemistry between you—because wasn’t that what they wanted? A fantasy to buy into, a love story they could project their own desires onto. And yet, now, the line between performance and reality had blurred.

No, blurred isn’t the right word. That suggests hesitation, uncertainty.

And there was none of that anymore.

Three months had passed since the Grammys. Since that night, that breathless moment when it all came crashing down and the truth between you was undeniable. Since the weight of what you felt had finally shattered through the surface, too big, too consuming to be ignored.

And now, there was no hesitation. No careful distance or unspoken boundaries.

Now, there were real dates—ones without touches already planned or pre-approved locations for paparazzi to conveniently “stumble” upon. There were late-night drives through LA with the windows down and her hand gripping your thigh, not for show, but because she simply wanted to touch you.

There were nights—late, hazy, endless—where conversation poured like wine, deep and heady. You talked about everything: life, death, music, the past, the kind of love that makes you reckless. Words slurred by exhaustion or laughter or both, but still honest, still yours.

There were lazy mornings tangled in bed sheets, her sleepy murmurs against your shoulder, the warmth of her breath fanning over your skin as she whispered things that weren’t meant for anyone but you.

For the first time in years, she was truly living—and so were you.

And the world was still watching, unaware of that shift.

The Fireflies’ world tour had shattered expectations, selling out in record time, each venue packed with thousands of voices screaming her name before she even stepped on stage. Articles hailed it as the tour of the decade. Fans camped outside arenas for days just for the chance to be there, to witness them in real-time. Every performance was electric, every setlist a journey, every night another testament to the fact that they weren’t just musicians anymore—they were a phenomenon.

You hadn’t planned on joining the tour—not at first. Your schedules rarely aligned, and even when they did, there was always another interview, another appearance, another commitment pulling you in opposite directions.

But then, against all odds, there was an opening.

A few weeks of unclaimed time—no press circuits, no obligations, just freedom.

And when she asked you to come with her, voice soft, fingers brushing against your wrist like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to ask, you didn’t hesitate.

"Just a little longer?" she had murmured, hopeful and hesitant, eyes flickering up to yours in the dim glow of her hotel room. "I just... I want you here. Pretty please?"

And how could you have possibly said no?

It was supposed to be one show. Maybe two. A brief escape, a chance to be with her without the constant press of cameras and expectations.

But then one show turned into another. And another. And suddenly, a week had passed, then two, and you had fallen into a rhythm that felt impossible to leave behind.

Cities changed, hotel rooms blurred together, flights stretched on endlessly—but none of it mattered. Because every night, the lights dimmed, the crowd roared, and she was there, bathed in neon glow, fingers weaving magic into guitar strings. And every time she turned her head mid-song, her eyes searched for you, always, always finding yours.

Backstage, she found you first. Always.

Her hands were on you before the door even clicked shut, dragging you into dressing rooms littered with half-empty water bottles, the scent of weed and sweat still lingering in the air. Her lips ghosted over yours in stolen moments between encore and afterparty, between exhaustion and adrenaline.

"Mine," she would murmur against your lips, against your pulse, against the curve of your shoulder as she pressed impossibly close. “You’re all mine.”

And for the first time, she wasn’t saying it for anyone but you.

Now, The remnants of last night’s party still lingered in your bones—loud music, flashing lights, the lingering taste of tequila and Ellie’s lips on yours in the middle of a crowded club.

The Fireflies had played to a sold-out arena in Seattle, the kind of show that left the whole city buzzing, and the celebration that followed had been nothing short of legendary. Shots had been poured without pause, bodies had swayed in the dim glow of neon, and Ellie had kept you close the entire night.

And now, neither of you really knew what time it is. The heavy hotel curtains swallowed the daylight whole, and your phones were lost somewhere in the mess of sheets and discarded clothes. It could’ve been minutes, or hours, or forever.

The room still smelled like the food you’d ordered earlier—warm, salty, comforting. You couldn’t even remember what it was now. The half-finished plates were still sitting on the room service tray by the door, forgotten the second Ellie had pulled you back into bed.

“Mm.” She hummed against your shoulder, voice thick with sleep. “This is so nice.”

You let out a breathy laugh, fingers combing idly through her messy hair. “Yeah, it really is.”

"Kinda wish the concert wasn’t happening so I could stay in bed with you."

She propped herself up on one elbow, tracing the curve of your jaw with her knuckles before leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

“You should stay longer.”

You sighed, heart sinking a little. “Ellie…”

She groaned, dramatically flopping onto her back like you’d just told her the worst news imaginable. “Don’t ‘Ellie’ me. You can stay a few more days. A week, even. No one’s gonna miss you THAT much.”

You shot her a look. “If I stay longer, Rachel will actually lose her mind.”

As if on cue, your phone buzzed against the nightstand. You barely had to glance at the screen before groaning.

"Speak of the devil."

Ellie, ever the menace, snatched the phone from your hands before you could stop her. "Oh my God, let me answer it."

"Ellie, no—"

Too late. She swiped to answer and put it on speaker.

"Rachiee! Sweetheart! Light of my life! How are you?" Ellie crooned, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "We miss you sooo much!"

Rachel’s voice came through the receiver, flat and entirely unimpressed. "Put her on the phone before I destroy both of your careers."

Ellie grinned, completely unbothered. "Wow. Not even a hello? Ruuude."

She finally handed you the phone, stretching lazily like she had all the time in the world.

You sighed, bringing the phone closer to your lips as you slipped into your best fake sweet voice. “Heyyyy, Rach!”

“Finally,” Rachel huffed. “Please tell me you haven’t gone completely feral and run off with your little guitarist girlfriend permanently.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s been, like, two weeks.”

"Exactly! Two weeks! That’s forever in popstar time! Do you even remember what a red carpet looks like? What a concert is? Or have you fully transitioned into rockstar mode? Should I start booking tattoo and piercing appointments for you?"

Ellie, listening in, perked up and wiggled her eyebrows. "Ooh, now that’s an idea."

Rachel ignored her entirely. “When are you coming back? Be honest. I need to mentally prepare myself.”

You hesitated, glancing at Ellie, who was watching you with a small, hopeful smile. "I don’t know. A few more days? I still have some time before—"

"You said that last week," Rachel cut in. "I swear to God, if you ghost me again—"

"I wouldn’t ghost you," you protested. "I’d just… delay."

Rachel groaned, audibly restraining herself. "Okay, look. I’ll give you five more days. Five. That’s almost another week. Then I’m calling in reinforcements."

You narrowed your eyes. “What does that mean?”

"It means that if you’re not on a flight back by Sunday, I’m personally calling your publicist and scheduling you for back-to-back interviews until your vocal cords give out."

You gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

Ellie, who had been listening with great amusement, turned to you with a smirk. "Damn. Blackmail? That’s cold. Even for you, 'Chel."

Rachel sighed, clearly so done with both of you. "I’m hanging up now. Enjoy your little love tour. Don’t forget you have an actual career. Oh, and send kisses to Dina and Jesse! Bye-bye."

The call ended with a beep. You tossed your phone onto the bed with a groan, burying your face in a pillow. 

"Ughhh, she’s the worst."

“She’s the best,” Ellie corrected. “But also, screw her. Stay longer.”

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow. “You know I can’t. I’ve got promo, interviews, studio time—”

Ellie made an exaggerated gagging noise. “Ugh. Responsibility.”

“Yes, responsibility,” you teased, poking her side. “Not all of us get to run around the world playing shows and partying every night.”

Ellie scoffed. “Excuse you, we do very important work. Rock is a cultural movement.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Dina literally got so drunk two nights ago that she thought the hotel hallway was the stage and started doing an impromptu performance for the vending machine.”

Ellie snorted, fingers absentmindedly tracing lazy patterns on your bare back. “Okay, fair. But my point still stands.”

You sighed dramatically, dragging your fingers through her messy hair. “I wish I could stay forever, Els, but I can’t. Real life calls.”

Ellie made a low, disapproving noise and tightened her arms around you, pressing you flush against her. “Fine. But I’m gonna sulk about it.”

“You always sulk,” you pointed out, lips curving as you kissed her collarbone softly.

“Yeah, but now I have a reason.” Her voice dropped, husky and teasing, as she reached up and tilted your chin with two fingers. 

Her thumb dragged lazily over your lower lip, eyes flicking between your mouth and your gaze before she kissed you—slow, deep, like she was trying to rewrite your entire schedule with just her lips.

And honestly? It was almost working.

A soft, pleased sound slipped from your throat as she deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made warmth pool low in your stomach. Your hands smoothed over her shoulders, nails grazing her skin just to hear the way her breath hitched against your lips.

You grinned and, without breaking the kiss, shifted to straddle her waist, rolling her onto her back in one smooth movement. Ellie let out a small, surprised noise but didn’t hesitate to settle beneath you, her hands sliding down your back, lingering before gripping your ass in a way that made you shiver.

“You’re trying to distract me.” she murmured, voice low, teasing. But you could feel how her fingers flexed against you, betraying the nonchalance in her tone.

You hummed, dragging your lips along the sharp line of her jaw, letting your teeth scrape just enough to make her exhale sharply through her nose. Then you kissed down the column of her throat, warm and wet and slow, biting down lightly at the spot just beneath her pulse point.

"Is it working?" you whispered sultrily against her skin before rolling your hips down against hers—slow and completely on purpose.

A sharp inhale. A low groan. Ellie’s hands gripped your ass tighter, fingers flexing like she was debating whether to pull you closer or pin you in place.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered, voice rough, head tilting back slightly as your mouth dragged even lower. “If this is your idea of distraction, then—”

And then.

It happened.

The door. The godforsaken door.

It slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall, and before you could even process what was happening—

“WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FU—”

Ellie jolted so violently she nearly kneed you in the stomach, hands gripping your waist like she was about to physically take you down with her in some tragic last-ditch effort to escape. Unfortunately, gravity had other plans.

In her desperate attempt to react—poorly, at that—she twisted awkwardly, sending both of you toppling off the bed in a tangle of limbs, sheets, and very bad decision-making skills.

You hit the floor with a thud, sprawled half on top of Ellie, dazed and breathless.

Not your most dignified moment.

Jesse stood in the doorway, made a strangled choking noise, and immediately shielded his eyes like he had witnessed a murder. Dina was right behind him, one foot in the room before she sensed the absolute depravity she had just walked into—and immediately spun to face the wall like she was repenting for her sins.

“Oh my fucking GOD.” Dina gasped so dramatically she sounded like she was about to faint.

“ARE YOU BOTH SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!” Jesse practically howled, clutching his head like he had just suffered irreversible psychic damage. “DO YOU KNOW HOW TRAUMATIZING THIS IS FOR ME? I CAN NEVER UNSEE THIS. EVER.”

Ellie, still flat on her back beneath you, scrambled for the sheets like a soldier diving for cover, yanking them over both of you in a half-assed attempt at modesty. You, frozen in pure horror, tried to adjust the fabric but quickly realized Ellie had essentially burritoed you into it in her blind panic.

“Ellie, let GO!” you hissed, fumbling for a better grip.

“I AM covering you!” she shot back, hands tightening protectively around the fabric. “Mostly!”

Dina, still very much facing the wall like she was in a confessional booth, smacked Jesse’s arm violently. “I told you to knock! But noooo, you just had to be all bro-y about it—”

Meanwhile, you and Ellie were still locked in a silent but intense tug-of-war with the sheets

"I DIDN’T THINK I’D HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT NUDITY AT NOON ON A WEDNESDAY!" Jesse shrieked. "I THOUGHT WE WERE GETTING READY FOR SOUND CHECK."

Ellie, wild-eyed and defensive, shot back, “WELL, WE HAD OTHER PLANS, JESSE.”

“YEAH, NO SHIT.”

Jesse, still covering his face, took a cautious step backward. “I swear to God, if I ever—EVER—walk into something like this again, I’m deleting both of your numbers. I’ll pretend I never met you. I’ll move to another state.”

“You literally didn’t even see anything!” Ellie argued, still clutching the poor, wrinkled sheets against her chest like a scandalized Victorian widow.

“I SAW ENOUGH.” Jesse wheezed, voice cracking under the weight of his trauma.

Dina, still facing the wall, inhaled sharply through her nose. “Both of you. Clothes. Now.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, stubbornly holding onto the sheets. “You’re both still in the room.”

“BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T LET US LEAVE.”

“No one’s stopping you!” you pointed out, voice still slightly breathless from the absolute whirlwind of events.

Dina turned, grabbed Jesse by the sleeve like an annoyed babysitter, and yanked him toward the door. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“Gladly.”

With one last, suffering groan, Jesse practically launched himself out of the room. Dina followed, but not before pausing in the doorway to shoot you both one last, deeply exasperated glare—like she was seriously reconsidering all of her life choices up until this exact moment.

Then, just as the door was swinging shut behind them—

THUD.

A loud, resounding bang as Jesse, in his blind panic to escape, ran face-first into the hallway wall.

A muffled curse. A few seconds of silence. Then hurried footsteps as they both disappeared down the hall.

The room was finally, blessedly quiet.

Ellie exhaled slowly, running a hand down her face before turning to you with an infuriating smirk.

“So, uh…” She nudged your thigh under the sheets, eyes glinting with amusement. "Guess we should… actually get dressed before the show."

Backstage hums like it’s wired to a live wire—techs zigzagging across the floor, lights blinking, last-minute mic checks echoing off the walls. Someone’s blasting the opener’s tracklist through a crackling monitor, but it’s all background noise. Your eyes are locked on Ellie.

She’s perched on a flight case, guitar slung across her chest, head down as she tunes with the kind of focus that could bend time. Calm. Steady. Jesse lounges nearby, casually spinning a drumstick between his fingers while Dina's aggressively fiddling with his in-ear like it personally betrayed her.

When you walk in, all three of them look up like they just saw a ghost—and unfortunately, they have receipts.

“Well, well,” Jesse says, eyes narrowing. “Survivor number two has entered the building.”

Dina doesn’t even blink. “Jesus. I thought I was past it. But nope. Flashbacks."

“You barged in!” you protest, cheeks already on fire.

“You didn’t lock the door!” Jesse counters.

“We did!”

“It clicked. That’s not locked.”

“Also, we thought you were sleeping,” Dina adds. “We didn’t expect National Geographic: Homoerotic Edition.”

Ellie groans, dropping her pick and muttering, “Y'all are insufferable.”

You cover your face. “I hate you both of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Jesse says. “You love us. Just maybe not as much as you love straddling our frontwoman while the blinds are open.”

“Yep. Blinds OPEN. Some poor guy on the third floor probably thought HBO was filming a new season of Euphoria.”

Ellie laughs under her breath, shaking her head as you shuffle towards her, mortified. She meets you halfway, her fingers brushing yours for just a second—quiet, grounding.

“They’ll get bored eventually,” she murmurs.

“Will we?” Jesse calls.

“Absolutely not,” Dina answers instantly. “I’ve already started the group chat. Title: Naked & Afraid: Ellie and Y/N Edition. First meme drops at midnight.”

You groan. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” Ellie says, bumping her hip against yours. “You like it too much.”

Someone yells five minutes from down the hall, and just like that, the air shifts. The jokes fade into muscle memory.

Jesse rises, spinning his sticks once before tucking them into his waistband. Dina slings her bass over his shoulder, jaw tightening as she gets in the zone. Ellie adjusts her strap and rolls her shoulders back, her whole body going still in that focused, ready way she always does before a show.

You step in front of her, ignoring the flutter in your chest. There’s a stray curl falling over her forehead, and you push it back gently, letting your fingers linger. She leans into the touch like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered.

“Kill it out there, love” you whisper.

She gives you that and stupidly hot half-smile that does unspeakable things to your heart. “For you? Always.”

Then she turns—and walks straight into the flood of stage lights, swallowed by the roar of thousands screaming her name.

The concert unfolds in a blur of sound and color, but Ellie... Ellie is impossible to blur.

She commands the stage like she was born beneath those lights—like the spotlight is her natural habitat, and the rest of the world just orbits her. The crowd knows it. Feeds off it. They scream for her until their vocal chords give out, hands lifted like reaching for something divine, faces lit up with the kind of awe you don’t fake.

Gold and crimson lights pour down from above, painting her in fire as her voice cuts through the air—sharp, aching, alive.

You’ve seen her play before. From the front row, from the wings, from the back of dim green rooms watching through grainy monitors. But somehow, it always feels like the first time. Like something’s knocking the wind out of you and you can’t stop chasing the feeling.

Because watching Ellie on stage is like falling in love in real time. Over and over again. Like your heart’s being rewritten to the rhythm of her guitar.

Behind her, Jesse is all swagger and muscle memory, pounding rhythm into the floor with a grin like he knows he’s killing it. Dina moves with that quiet, lethal grace—cool, controlled, grounding them all like gravity in a black tank top and boots. They’re tight, messy, magnetic. They’ve done this a thousand times, but tonight, they’re alive in a different way. Lit up from the inside.

And Ellie—she’s the center of it all. The fuse. The flame.

And even with thousands of voices calling for her, she still finds you.

Over and over, her gaze drifts sideways—to the shadows where you stand. A glance. A smirk. A lyric delivered softer than the rest, like a note passed under the table. Like a secret. Like a dare.

Then, between songs, just as the crowd’s scream builds like thunder, she edges closer to your side of the stage. Not enough to draw attention—just enough that only you can see the mischief in her eyes. That familiar, infuriating, heart-shattering little grin.

She leans in slightly, eyes locked on yours, and mouths it like a sin:

“You’re the only one I’m singing to.”

And you feel it—low in your stomach, high in your throat, blooming warm across your chest. Like she’s kissing you without ever touching you. Like she’s pulling you under with a single look.

She holds your gaze a second longer—just long enough to ruin you—then turns back to the mic, her voice crashing into the next lyric like she never stopped.

But you’re still standing there, heart pounding like a kick drum, skin buzzing with everything unsaid.

And you'd fall for her a thousand more times just to feel this again.

The moment your car pulls up to the club, you feel it—that wild, charged buzz in the air. It’s the afterparty, pulsing with leftover adrenaline from the show, and the second you step out, it’s like a spotlight snaps on. The crowd turns, eyes finding you instantly, tracking you like heat-seeking missiles.

Seattle’s nightlife is alive around you, neon lights cutting through the misty darkness, reflecting off the slick pavement like broken glass. The city hums, thick with movement, sound, heat. The bass from inside the club thrums through the walls, a deep, pounding heartbeat that seeps into your skin. 

But it’s nothing compared to the frenzy waiting outside.

Jesse steps out first, rolling his shoulders before throwing an arm around Dina’s shoulders. The second they hit the pavement, the flashes start. A rapid-fire onslaught of white light, camera shutters clicking in sync with the shouts already building.

Ellie exhales sharply, jaw tight, fingers twitching at her side. She’s used to this—so are you—but that doesn’t mean you like it.

“Y/N! Over here!” ““Ellie, is it hard performing love songs with your girlfriend in the front row?” “Y/N did she sing every song just for you or what?” “Huge night for both of you—what’s next for music’s golden couple?”

Her hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight, grounding herself in you.

And then—

“Ellie! You cool with dating someone who buys their awards?”

The words slice through the chaos like a blade.

The crowd keeps moving, the cameras keep flashing, but to you, everything goes still.

Ellie falters mid-step.

It’s small—so small that no one else would notice—but you feel it. The way her grip tightens. The way her muscles go rigid beside you.

She turns her head slowly, a deliberate, calculated motion. The kind of slow that sets alarms ringing in your head. The kind that means whoever just spoke? They just fucked up.

Ellie’s voice is low, but somehow still cuts clean through the noise. “The fuck did you just say?”

The paparazzi doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t back down. If anything, his smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this. Like this is sport. He shifts his camera, leveling his gaze at you like you’re an exhibit on display.

“Just saying, must be nice, huh? All that talent in the world, and yet—" He tilts his head, voice dripping with false sympathy. "Guess it helps when the game’s already rigged in your favor.”

Your stomach knots, but you don’t flinch. You’ve been in this industry long enough to give him what he wants—too good at swallowing the burn and keeping a straight face through it.

Ellie, though?

Ellie doesn’t give a fuck about playing nice.

“You wanna say that again?” Her voice is louder now, razor-sharp, dangerous.

Jesse mutters, “Oh, fuck,” and shifts closer. Dina watches, eyes flicking between you and Ellie, lips pressed into a tight line.

But the guy isn’t done. He shrugs, feigning innocence. 

“No disrespect, I just call it like I see it. Cute little popstar, riding high on all those industry favors. And hey, gotta give her credit—" his smirk deepens, cruel and cutting, "—she knows how to sell it. Flash a little skin, make the right people happy, and suddenly, she’s the biggest thing in the world.”

That’s when Ellie moves.

One second, she’s beside you. The next, she’s lunging.

Jesse barely catches her in time, his hands locking around her shoulders, yanking her back as she strains against him.

"You motherfucker!—" Ellie’s voice is a snarl, raw, venomous.

The pap flinches, just slightly, but he covers it with another smirk. “Damn, protective, huh?” He raises his camera. “Let’s get a shot of this. ‘Ellie Williams Loses It Over Question About Y/N’s Career’—catchy, huh?”

Ellie lunges again, this time so violently that Jesse stumbles back.

“You better shut the fuck up before I smash that camera over your fucking head.”

You grab her arm, your voice urgent. “Ellie, he’s trying to get a rise out of you. Don't listen.”

But she doesn’t budge. Her chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths, shoulders squared, body thrumming with tension.

“Jesus, relax. No need to get your panties in a twist, sweetheart.”

His voice drips with mock sympathy as his gaze drags disgustingly slow down your body.

“I get it, though. She’s got the look, right? That pretty little face, those tight outfits—” He whistles, low and slow. “No wonder she’s everybody’s favorite.”

The he sneers, eyes flicking over you with open malice.

“What a shame. All that effort to make you every guy’s wet dream, and you’d rather be some dyke’s lapdog.”

And that’s the last fucking straw.

“ELLIE!” your voice rips out of you, but it’s too late.

Ellie doesn’t pause. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t think.

Her fist connects with his face so fast, so clean, it barely looks real—until the sound hits. A brutal crack that slices through the chaos like a lightning strike.

The pap stumbles back with a choked grunt, hands flying to his face just as blood gushes between his fingers. He screams something garbled—half words, all rage—but Ellie’s already stepping forward, eyes blazing.

Jesse lunges forward, shoving Ellie back as the guy staggers, his fury bleeding through his shock. “You crazy fucking bitch!”

“You talk like anyone gives a fuck what you think,” she growls, her voice low and ragged, somehow cutting clean through the shouting, the flashes, the chaos. “You’re just a fucking pussy with a camera and a hard-on for women way out of your league.”

Security’s shouting now. Dina’s beside you, tense, pulling at your arm. Jesse’s got both hands on Ellie, holding her back as she surges forward again.

“Go write your shitty headline,” she growls. “And make sure you put in big bold letters that a dyke broke your fucking nose for talking shit about her girl.”

The pap takes a staggering step back, visibly shaken now—rage giving way to fear.

Dina grips your arm tighter, pulling you. “We need to go. Now.”

More cameras are snapping, more voices yelling. Security starts moving in, the club’s bouncers stepping forward to break things up.

You reach out, grabbing Ellie’s hand. Her skin is hot, trembling. You squeeze. “Ellie,” you whisper, urgent, steady. “Come on. Let's go.”

For a second, she doesn’t move.

And then her eyes meet yours—something in her expression cracking, softening just enough—and she exhales like it’s the first breath she’s taken since she swung.

She nods, lets you pull her away.

Inside, the club is dark and loud, bass shaking the walls, lights slicing through bodies in flashes of color. It should feel overwhelming—but next to the chaos outside, it feels like sanctuary.

Ellie doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not for a second.

Dina exhales, shaking off the tension. “Jesus, Williams. You wanna take it down a notch?”

“Take it down a notch?” she huffs, still flexing her fingers like she’s trying to shake out the ghost of impact. “He’s lucky I didn’t fucking kill him.”

Your grip tightens around her hand, tugging her close as you move through the crowd. She’s still wound tight, shoulders stiff, adrenaline thrumming through her.

You lean in, voice low against her ear. "Ellie, what the hell was that?"

She snorts, but the tension in her jaw doesn’t ease. "What? He was a piece of shit."

"Yeah, he was. And that last thing? He fucking had it coming." You exhale, shaking your head. "But you punched a pap, Els. This is gonna be everywhere by morning.”

Ellie tilts her head, lips curling at the edges. "You think I care?"

You glance at her knuckles, still faintly red, and sigh. "I think you’re impossible."

Ellie grins, sharp, wicked. "Nah, if I was really trying, I’d be in cuffs right now." Then, after a beat, she smirks. "And not the fun kind."

Despite yourself, you huff a laugh.

Ellie watches you for a moment, something shifting in her expression. Then, quieter, she mutters, “You know all he said was bullshit, right?”

Your breath catches.

Because, of course, you know that. You’ve heard worse. You’ve been in this game long enough to have every insult thrown at you from every angle. 

But hearing Ellie say it—hearing the fire still lingering in her voice, the protectiveness laced beneath her irritation—makes something warm curl in your chest.

You nod. “I know.”

She watches you closely, eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for something—any flicker of doubt, any sign that the words got to you. And if she finds even a hint of it, you know she’ll march right back out there and finish what she started.

So you reach up, fingers grazing her jaw, tracing along the sharp line of it, your touch gentle enough to soften the tension still coiled in her muscles. 

“Still, you didn’t have to do all that.”

Ellie exhales sharply, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. “Are you serious right now?” Her voice is low, incredulous. “You think I was just gonna stand there and let that piece of shit talk about you like that?”

You sigh, dragging a hand through your hair. “No, but Ellie—now the headlines are gonna be all about this. Not about the concert, not about us. Just about you throwing a punch.”

Ellie scoffs, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, still crackling with leftover adrenaline. “Good. Let ‘em talk. Maybe next time they’ll think twice before running their fucking mouths.”

You groan, rubbing your temple. “You are actually insane.”

She shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Takes one to love one.”

You shoot her a look, but there’s no real bite behind it. Just exasperation… and something else. Something warmer. Deeper.

“Yeah. You’re lucky I love you.”

Her grin softens, just slightly. That fire in her eyes doesn’t go anywhere, but there’s something gentler flickering underneath now—something only you get to see. Her hands slide down to your waist, fingertips pressing into your sides just tight enough to make your breath catch.

Her voice dips to a low, dangerous murmur, her lips brushing your ear like a secret she only wants you to hear.

“No one gets to talk about you like that. Not to your face, and sure as hell not behind it. Not while i'm breathing.”

You swallow, the words sending a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You should probably be embarrassed by how instantly and shamelessly turned on that made you.

Instead, you blink up at her, pulse rabbiting. “Is that so?”

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there’s something in her expression—protective, defiant, maybe even a little wild.

“I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care what they write. You’re mine. That’s the only headline I give a shit about.”

Your stomach flips, heat curling deep and low. Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. “You got a problem with being this obsessed?”

She tilts her head, smirking. “Not if you don’t.”

You pretend to think, tapping a finger against your chin. “Mmm… no, actually, I think I love it.”

Ellie huffs a laugh, brushing her nose against yours, eyes bright with something fierce. “Good. Because if something like that happens again?” Her grip tightens, her voice dropping to a gravelly promise. “I won’t stop at just one punch.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You’re gonna get us both banned from every club in the country.”

Ellie grins wider, leans in like she’s about to kiss you, then whispers, “Worth it.”

And somehow, despite the chaos, the cameras, and the aching pull of everything else—you believe her.

The bass is still pulsing through the floor by the time you, Ellie, Dina, and Jesse regroup at the back of the club, far from the neon-lit drama near the entrance. Whatever happened with that asshole earlier is already fading into something distant, something half-laughed about under the thrum of low lighting and too many drinks.

You sink into the cracked leather booth, a drink in your hand that you definitely didn’t order, but Jesse shoved it toward you with a knowing smirk, so you drink it anyway. The ice clinks as you lean back, legs draped over Ellie’s lap. She doesn’t complain—just slides her hand over your thigh, casual, possessive, warm.

Dina’s laughing at something Jesse said, her curls wild under the strobe lights, eyes glassy from champagne and whatever she bummed off a stranger in the VIP section. “I swear to God, one of those paparazzi looked like he was about to cry when Ellie went full rage-mode.”

“His lens was shaking,” Jesse adds, holding his hands up like he’s gripping a camera. He mimics the tremble dramatically, then makes a wet, exaggerated sob. “She’s so scary.”

Ellie takes a slow drag from the blunt, eyes half-lidded, then exhales a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling, like she’s bored with the entire planet. “Good. Maybe next time they’ll think twice before running their mouths for clicks like the desperate little bitches they are.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. There’s a glow in her, something loose and dangerous, but it’s not sharp like it sometimes is—it’s smooth, easy, like a song settling into the perfect rhythm. Her thumb moves in slow, lazy circles against your thigh, almost absentminded, like you’re her anchor. Like she needs the contact.

She’s watching you again.

She does that a lot. You’d noticed it before, but lately, it’s been different. Less teasing, more intent.

Like she’s trying to hold on to something that might slip through her fingers if she blinks.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say, trying to keep your tone dry.

“Like what?” she murmurs, head tilting, that smirk already tugging at her mouth.

“Like you’re trying to decide if you want to kiss me or eat me alive.”

Ellie grins, leaning in, her breath warm against your skin. “Why choose?”

Jesse snorts beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulders, shaking you playfully. “Oh my God, you two are giving me PTSD about today’s incident. Can we please do something else before someone starts dry-humping on the furniture?”

You roll your eyes, a smile pulling at your lips, and reach for your drink. The last sip burns as you swallow it down, warmth spreading through your chest.

And that’s when you see it.

The small, discreet bag between Ellie’s fingers.

It’s quick. Effortless. No theatrics, no hesitation—just an easy flick of her wrist, tapping a neat, familiar line onto the back of her hand before lifting it to her nose. A sharp, practiced inhale. Blink, exhale. Done.

Dina follows suit, just as fluid. Jesse, already smirking, dips his pinky into the powder, rubbing it against his gums before tipping his head back with a satisfied hum.

It happens in seconds. Like breathing.

Ellie barely reacts, barely changes—just lets it settle into her system with an easy stretch of her neck, fingers drumming lazily on the table. Then she turns to you, smirking like nothing happened.

“You want some?”

You freeze for half a second.

It’s so casual. So normal. They’re not sneaking around, not whispering about it in some dimly lit back room. They’re doing it here, in the open, in a VIP booth where anyone with eyes could see.

And no one cares.

You glance between them, heartbeat ticking up. Jesse and Dina are already moving on, Jesse stretching like he just cracked his back, Dina stirring her drink. Ellie just watches you, waiting, tapping the blunt against the edge of the ashtray.

The whole thing is so… easy.

Your stomach tugs.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

Dina grins, bumping her knee against yours. “You sure? Might take the edge off.”

You scoff, shifting back against the booth. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

They laugh like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard all night, like you just made a joke.

Maybe, to them, you did.

Jesse raises a brow, looking you over. “Wait, hold on.” He squints. “You really don’t do anything?”

You frown. “I drink. I smoke."

“Barely.”

Ellie tilts her head, amusement tugging at her mouth. “Love.” She gestures vaguely between them, between Jesse rubbing his gums and Dina fixing her lip gloss. “You really never noticed?”

You blink. “Noticed?”

Ellie exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You never even thought about it?”

Jesse huffs. “Come on. Like we’re that subtle.”

Dina hums, sipping her drink. “I mean, think about it. Late nights, early flights, rehearsals, shows, interviews, afterparties—it’s a lot. You kinda have to even the playing field, y’know?”

Jesse gestures between the three of them. “It’s not even a thing. It’s just… part of it.”

Ellie shrugs, flicking ash from her blunt. “Part of the job.”

You stare at them.

You know this kind of thing happens. You’ve heard the stories, seen the headlines.

But it’s different when it’s right in front of you.

When it’s Ellie.

She’s watching you now, eyes a little sharper, movements a little looser. Reading you.

And you’re trying to read her back.

You let out a slow breath. “I just never... thought about it, I guess.”

Ellie leans forward, chin resting on her hand, smirking. “You’ve been in this industry for how long, and you never noticed?”

Jesse snorts, shaking his head. “Better question—how the hell have you never tried it?”

You blink. “I just… haven’t.”

Dina gives you a look like you just told her you’ve never had coffee before. “Not even once?”

Jesse whistles low, shaking his head. “That’s crazy.”

Ellie raises a brow. “Babe. Every celebrity does it.”

You roll your eyes. “Not every celebrity.”

Jesse holds up his hands, ticking off on his fingers. “Actors, musicians, models, producers—every single one.”

Dina leans in. “You’d be surprised. The clean-cut ones? The ones with all the brand deals and wholesome PR campaigns? Yeah. Especially them.”

Ellie smirks, exhaling smoke. “You think the people pulling sixteen-hour shoots and touring for months straight are just running on coffee and vibes?”

Dina swirls the ice in her glass. “Not saying you have to, but… if you’re really gonna be in this world, you should probably at least not be surprised about it.”

You exhale, pressing your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

They’re not pressuring you.

But they’re looking at you like you’re the weird one here. Like you’re missing something.

You let out a slow breath. “I guess I just figured…” You trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

Ellie tilts her head. “Figured what?”

You swallow. “That you guys didn’t—” You shake your head. “I don’t know. That you didn’t need to.”

Dina gives a soft, almost pitying smile. “It’s not about need.”

Jesse gestures vaguely. “It’s just what it is.”

Ellie watches you for a second longer, then reaches for your hand. Her fingers trace slow, lazy circles against your thigh.

"Look," she says, voice quieter now, just for you. "If this bothers you, I—"

"I didn’t say that." You squeeze her fingers before she can finish, grounding her right back. "I just… wanted to know."

Ellie tilts her head, searching your expression, reading you the way she always does. You can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out where you're going with this.

After a moment, she exhales through her nose and smirks, though there’s something softer underneath it. "Babe, it’s not a big deal. I promise."

You hesitate, glancing between her and the others. Jesse and Dina are talking between themselves now, already moving on like this is the most normal thing in the world. And maybe, to them, it is.

Ellie squeezes your hand, bringing you back to her. "It’s just casual. I mean, fuck, it’s not like we’re doing lines off the bathroom floor or some shit." She grins, trying to ease the moment, but there’s a carefulness to the way she’s looking at you.

You exhale through your nose, tilting your head. "So, what? You just do it… sometimes?"

Ellie shrugs, leaning back against the booth. "Yeah. When it fits. Long nights, afterparties, when there’s, like, a million things happening and I don’t wanna feel like a corpse the next morning."

You press your lips together. "And it never…" You trail off, not really sure how to finish that.

Ellie’s smile falters slightly, just for a second, before she shakes her head. "It never what?"

You hesitate, but then—fuck it. "...Gets out of hand?"

Ellie’s brows lift slightly, like she wasn’t expecting you to go there. Then she snorts, shaking her head. "Jesus, babe. No."

"You sure?"

Ellie leans in, eyes flicking between yours. "I swear." She taps her fingers against your thigh, deliberate, measured. "This isn’t some cautionary tale. I’m not about to spiral and throw my career away."

She smirks, but it’s small, almost like she’s testing to see if you’ll smile back. "I know what I’m doing."

You watch her for a second, taking in the way she holds herself—calm, easy, unbothered.

It’s not like she’s high out of her mind.

She’s still Ellie.

The same one you love.

But still…

"I just never thought you…" You shake your head. "I don’t know. Needed it."

Ellie tugs at your fingers. "I don’t need it. It’s not like that."

"But you do it."

Ellie lifts a brow, a teasing lilt creeping into her voice. "And you drink. Same shit, different form."

You roll your eyes. "Not the same."

Ellie shrugs, smirking. "Depends who you ask."

Before you can argue, Jesse leans in, elbows on the table, like he’s just caught the tail end of something interesting. "What, is she giving you the responsible popstar speech?"

Ellie grins, nudging your knee. "Trying to."

Dina hums, sipping her drink. "Classic. Like when someone tries to pretend they’re above caffeine until they pull their third all-nighter and suddenly they’re double-fisting espresso shots."

Jesse snickers. "Or like when someone says they’re not a smoker, but you catch them bumming cigarettes when they’re drunk."

Dina points at him. "Exactly."

Ellie turns back to you, smirk still in place. "It’s not some dramatic, life-ruining thing, love. It’s just a thing."

You hold her gaze, searching for something—some flicker of doubt, some hesitation.

There isn’t any.

She believes what she’s saying.

And maybe she’s right.

Maybe you’re just making this into something it isn’t.

Maybe it really is just part of the world you’re both in.

A part you never noticed before.

A part you’ll have to get used to.

You exhale, slow, measured, and give Ellie’s fingers one last squeeze before pulling back.

"Alright."

Ellie watches you for a second longer, then nods, satisfied. "Alright."

And just like that, it’s done. No tension, no fight. Just a question asked and an answer given. A conversation tucked away, filed under things that don’t need to be thought about too hard.

Just another unspoken rule of the world you’ve found yourself in—the world of flashing cameras and private booths, of long nights and endless afterparties, of things done in the quiet corners where no one is really looking. It’s not a scandal, not a secret, not something to sound the alarms over. It’s just a thing. A thing that happens, a thing that exists. A thing you tell yourself doesn’t change anything.

Because Ellie is still Ellie. And you are still you.

And yet—something lingers. A feeling you can’t quite shake, something threading itself between the words left unsaid. Like a song playing in the background, too quiet to fully catch, but impossible to ignore.

Because if it were really nothing, if it were really just a thing, then why does the room feel different now? Why does the space between you seem stretched just a little thinner, pulled a little tighter? Like a thread has been tugged loose, unraveling something neither of you are ready to acknowledge.

This world is big. Bigger than you ever imagined.

And maybe, just maybe, some things are easier to pretend not to see.

And for a second—just a second—you forget.

The flashing cameras. The too-loud whispers. The weight of something unsaid curling at the back of your mind, asking questions you don’t want to answer.

And the other thing—the thing that made your stomach flip earlier—

That?

You push it under the surface.

Bury it beneath the music, beneath the flashing lights, beneath the warmth of Ellie’s hands on your waist.

Because what’s the point in thinking about it?

They’re used to this. They’ve got it controlled. It’s not a big deal.

So you don’t think about it.

You don’t let it pull at the edges of your mind.

You just dance, you just drink, you just laugh, and you tell yourself that's enough.

The music pulses through your body, a bone-deep rhythm that makes it impossible to focus on anything except the moment. Or maybe that’s just the liquor. The shots Jesse kept handing you. The heat of the dance floor, the press of bodies, the slick feeling of how Ellie keeps you close, always touching: a hand ghosting your hip, her fingers brushing the nape of your neck, her mouth near your ear, murmuring things too filthy or too sweet to repeat.

There’s a hum in your veins—not quite sobriety, not quite drunk. Just a loose, liquid feeling, like you could float if you let yourself.

She spins you lazily at one point, grinning like a hopelessly in love idiot, and you crash back into her chest with a laugh, breathless and dizzy. You don’t even notice the phones pointed your way anymore.

Ellie’s mouth brushes against your ear. “You’re killing me in that dress,” she murmurs, voice just barely audible over the music.

You smirk, tilting your head back to expose your neck, teasing. “Good. I want it to be slow and dramatic. Maybe in the middle of one of your solos.”

Ellie laughs, warm and real, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of your jaw. You feel her smirk against your skin.

Nearby, Jesse and Dina reappear, looking equally buzzed and glowing under the club lights. Jesse immediately slings an arm over your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “Alright, pop princess, you’ve been hogging our frontwoman all night. Let’s make some bad decisions.”

Ellie scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, like the ones you made on stage tonight?”

Jesse places a dramatic hand over his chest. “I was in the moment.”

“You almost fell off the drum riser,” Dina deadpans, sipping her drink.

“Almost,” Jesse corrects, pointing at her.

Dina just grins and flicks his ear.

The four of you dissolve into laughter—the kind that bubbles out of you too fast, too loud, soaked in tequila and something looser, softer. The kind that only happens after too much truth has already slipped out between kisses and choruses.

And then it hits you.

You grab Dina’s hand. “Come with me.”

She stumbles a little as you yank her through the crowd, weaving past bodies lit in flickers of purple and gold, right up to the DJ booth.

The DJ is tall, lanky, with bright blue hair that glows under the LEDs and round sunglasses that haven’t left his face all night, despite being, very obviously, inside.

“You got a request?” he asks, smirking.

You lean against the booth, grin lazy. “Play something off Louder Than Fate.”

He turns his head to eye you with practiced disinterest—until he really sees you. He freezes. His fingers go still on the mixer, eyes narrowing slightly. Then his jaw drops.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

You tilt your head, amused.

He points like he’s just put something together. “You’re Y/N.”

“In the flesh,” you say, leaning into the booth, smug and a little buzzed.

“And you came with The Fireflies?” His gaze darts past you, searching the crowd until he locks onto Ellie, who’s standing with a drink in hand, shirt sticking to her back, lip caught between her teeth like she already knows you’re up to something. Neon halos her hair. She looks like trouble in the kind of way that writes its own songs.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. Then, quickly, “Yo, I need a picture.”

You laugh. “Sure. You play my songs.”

His grin is instant. “That’s how it is?”

“Celebrity tax.”

He groans dramatically, already queuing up a track. “Y’all are savages.”

He leans in, voice conspiratorial. “Think she’d let me grab a photo too?”

You glance back at Ellie. Smirk.

“Keep the setlist good, and we’ll think about it.”

The DJ groans like he’s being tortured. “Y’all celebrities are ruthless.”

But the grin never leaves his face as the opening riff of I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor (click to hear) slams through the speakers.

The reaction is nuclear.

The club erupts.

The energy flips like a switch—higher, wilder, like everyone in the room has been waiting all night for this exact song. Bodies surge toward the center, arms shoot up, and the lyrics are shouted before the first verse even hits.

Back in the crowd, Ellie’s head snaps up. She sees you at the booth and just grins, shaking her head like: You little shit.

Jesse lets out a roar, throwing both arms in the air like he’s in a mosh pit. Dina yanks you into a triumphant hug, both of you practically vibrating with joy, and then you’re sprinting back into the thick of it—into the chaos you caused.

“Wait!” the DJ calls after you. “Do I still get my picture?”

“Keep playing bangers and we’ll talk!” you shout, already disappearing into the storm of bodies.

The moment stretches, long and bright and loud.

You sprint back to the floor, twisting through the chaos until you find Ellie.

She’s already reaching for you.

Already pulling you in like gravity.

“Hijacking the DJ?” Ellie says as she pulls you into her chest, her voice low, a little slurred from the tequila, vibrating straight through your ribs.

You laugh, looping your arms around her neck, flushed and breathless from the rush of dancing and impulse and her. “Just wanted to hear something good.”

Ellie leans in, her breath hot against your ear, her words dipped in amusement. “You know I wrote this song about you, right?”

You blink, confused, and then let out a scoff of disbelief. “You did not.”

“I did. Swear on my favorite guitar.”

You pull back just enough to see her face. “You’re kidding.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. “Come on. Think about it. ‘Stop making the eyes at me and I’ll stop making the eyes at you’? You don’t remember the night we met?”

Your stomach does a slow, stunned flip.

“You were at the bar, trying so hard not to look at me. Kept turning away like I wouldn’t notice you watching. And I remember just... freezing. You looked unreal. Like—fuck.” She exhales a laugh. “You were the hottest girl I’d ever seen in my life.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“You were drinking some radioactive shit—bright green, probably illegal in five countries.”

“Tequila with lime,” you say automatically, almost dazed.

“Right. And before I knew it—”

“We were outside,” you finish for her, voice soft.

Ellie nods. “Heading to my hotel.”

Outside the bar. On the sidewalk. Where she’d stopped you halfway through a flirty, messy laugh and kissed you so hard it rewired something in your brain.

“You were freezing in that little red dress,” she says, her voice dipping a little, remembering. “Arms all tight across your chest, shoulders hunched like you were trying to hold yourself together.”

You blink. “Wait—that’s why you gave me your jacket? I thought you were trying to be cool.”

“I was trying to be cool. But I was also trying to keep you from turning into a popsicle before we got to the room.” Ellie nods, smug. “That line? ‘Your shoulders are frozen’? It’s not metaphor. It’s literally what I said while trying not to stare at your tits.”

You laugh, hiding your face against her shoulder. “That was so long ago.”

“And I still think about it,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now, fingers trailing lazily along your spine.

You glance up at her, heart thudding a little too hard against your ribs. “You didn’t even like me back then.”

Ellie gives you a look. One that’s sharp and tender and a little too honest.

“Didn’t I?”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out. Because you know better now. You know what was tucked into all those half-finished demos and unsent voice memos. You know what she never said out loud but always let slip in the bridge.

You remember the nights you’d crawl into each other’s hotel rooms, hearts too full, too afraid, too something—and the mornings after, where you both pretended it didn’t mean anything. Pretended it was casual. Temporary. Disposable. Fake.

And then you’d each go write another verse you’d never show the other.

“How many songs did you write about me?” you ask, softer now. Your voice is low, nearly drowned by the music and the crowd. “I only guessed For Your Love.”

Ellie smiles, slow and a little dangerous. “Half the album.”

You freeze.

“What?”

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. “R U Mine? was about you. Fell In love with a girl? So obviously about you. So was See You Soon. I wrote that after you ghosted me for a week and I convinced myself you didn’t feel the same. And I could go on and on”

You’re staring at her like she’s just confessed to a crime. “You never said anything.”

“You never asked.” She shrugs, but her voice is gentler now. “Besides, Jesse kept calling me pathetic. He made me write My Own Summer just to get it out of my system.”

“Did it work?”

Ellie snorts. “No. I literally started the song with "Hey you, big star".”

Before you can even think of something to say—something clever or biting or half-sarcastic like you used to—the beat drops out. The energy shifts.

The lights dim to a sultry haze of violet and gold. And then—

That synth. Your synth.

Smooth and slow, thick as honey, spilling through the room with the kind of deliberate seduction only a song that means something real can pull off.

You’re singing the lyrics under your breath before you can stop.

“I'm so into you... I can barely breathe…”

Into you.

The opening lines melt through the room like syrup, and the crowd responds instantly. Bodies turn. Sway. The mood shifts—less chaotic, more sensual. The lights dim down to a violet haze, and the bass settles into something you can feel in your ribs.

Ellie looks at you like she’s time-traveling. Like she’s hearing the lyrics for the first time and understanding what they meant all along. In the way someone does when they remember something visceral.

“And all I wanna do… is to fall in deep…”

She keeps watching you with that half-lidded stare—the one that used to drive you insane when you were pretending you didn’t want her. When she’d sit on your hotel bed, tuning her guitar in nothing but a sports bra and boxers, and ask you for feedback on a verse that was clearly about the way you moaned.

She leans in close, her mouth grazing the shell of your ear.

“You really let them play this one?”

You shake your head, voice tight. “I didn’t. DJ picked it. Guess he knew exactly what he was doing.”

Ellie scoffs softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Or maybe,” she murmurs, “you just get everything you want.”

Her hand slides down your spine, a warm line anchoring you to her in the middle of all the noise.

You take a breath. It doesn’t help.

You exhale. “You knew it was about you, right?”

She doesn’t even blink. “I knew before you finished writing it.”

“You wanna know the worst part?” you murmur, quieter now. “That wasn’t the first one.”

“I know.”

You blink at her. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Ellie’s fingers drag slowly up your bare arm, warm and deliberate.

“Shameless was the first one that tipped me off. Then Touch it. Don’t Blame Me wrecked me a little. But Southbound?” She gives you a pointed look. “That’s when I knew for sure. And that’s when I texted you.”

You groan instantly, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god. Please don’t bring up Southbound—”

She laughs, eyes gleaming. “You wrote a song about going southbound on someone, and then included that track—our track—like it accidentally fell into the folder during mixing.”

You peek through your fingers. “It fit the concept…”

“It absolutely did not. Your whole album is pop ballads and moody synths, and then suddenly we get this dark, throbbing, sex-drenched detour with breathy vocals and moaning layered under the chorus.”

“I edited it—”

“You didn’t,” she cuts in. “That pitch analysis on TikTok? Mortifying. You even left in the part where you gasped my name and laughed after.”

“I thought it sounded natural!”

“It sounded like porn, babe.”

You groan again, louder this time. “I hate everything.”

“No you don’t.” She moves in closer, her voice dropping, teasing. “You love that it went viral. You love that people know how you sound when you—”

“Ellie.”

She smirks. “—sing, obviously. What else would I mean?”

You glare at her through the haze of embarrassment, but your heart is thudding too hard for it to land. Because underneath the jokes, the heat, the teasing… you know what she’s saying. You know what she heard in those lyrics, in that bridge, in the vocal layering you obsessed over at 3am because it needed to feel exactly like her hands on your skin.

You wanted her to notice. You always did.

Ellie tilts her head, studying you like she’s still discovering you, even after all this time.

“You wrote about me,” she says quietly. “Again and again.”

You nod. “Every time I saw you, I wrote another verse.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment. Just brushes her thumb over the inside of your wrist, like she’s reading you in braille.

Then, softly: “God, we're pathetic”

“No,” you say. “We’re artists.”

She snorts. “That’s even worse.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “Yeah. But at least the music’s good.”

She pulls you closer, presses her forehead to yours. You close your eyes.

And then she kisses you.

Right there in the middle of the dance floor, while your song plays in the background like a confession you’ve already made. Her lips are soft, sure, and full of every verse you didn’t dare share until now. And when you finally pull back, she’s smiling in that slow, crooked way that means she’s already plotting something.

“I’m gonna write another one about you,” she says, breath warm against your cheek.

You smirk. “Make it the horny kind. Those go platinum.”

Ellie laughs, rough and gorgeous. “Fine. But the bridge is gonna be disgusting.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

Then she kisses you again—harder this time—and the lights flicker violet across her skin, and this time you don’t think about the people watching.

You just think about her hands on your waist, your voice in the speakers, and the sound of your own heartbeat finally, finally syncing with hers.

The night is a blur of neon lights and bad decisions, smeared like lipstick across the face of the city. It stretches out in front of you like a fever dream—loud, sweaty, glitter-soaked chaos that you somehow keep surviving. The four of you are well past tipsy, teetering on the edge of blackout like it’s a competitive sport, and you're definitely winning.

Ellie hasn’t let go of you all night. She’s glued to your side like she’s afraid someone’s going to walk off with you. Hands constantly touching—your hip, your thigh, the inside of your wrist. Brushing your collarbone like it’s a secret. And her eyes? Locked on you like she’s trying to memorize your face for later, just in case the tequila wipes everything else clean.

Jesse is conducting what he refers to as a "scientific study," stacking coasters on Dina’s head while she argues with the bartender about whether or not he looks like Pedro Pascal. It gets to six before she slaps them all off with a growl and tries to shove one directly into Jesse’s mouth.

“You’re so fucking ANNOYING,” she huffs, palm in his face, shoving him back into the booth.

Jesse just grins, pleased with himself. “You love me.”

“You’re on thin fucking ice.”

At some point, the club starts closing down around you. Lights go up, music down, and suddenly everything looks a lot more chaotic under full illumination. You're all blinking into the brightness like newborns.

And then—because you're either brave or just phenomenally stupid—someone suggests walking back to the hotel. Probably you.

So you do.

Jesse insists on leading the way like he's your drunk, wobbly tour guide. “To our left,” he slurs, gesturing at a dented trash can, “A beautiful relic of modern civilization. Observe its curves. Its majesty.”

“Shut up,” Dina wheezes, clutching your arm, nearly bent over in laughter. “My stomach hurts.”

Ellie snickers beside you, steady despite the way she keeps tugging you closer, like you’re the thing keeping her upright. “Jesse, if you fall into that thing, I’m leaving you there.”

“You’re such a bad friend,” Jesse grumbles, immediately tripping over the curb like it heard him talking shit.

You nearly faceplant too, but Ellie’s there before you even tilt forward, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you close with a smirk. “Careful, rockstar.”

You lean into her, cheek against her shoulder, grinning. “M’not a rockstar.”

She tilts her head like she’s genuinely thinking it over. “Right. Just the biggest popstar on the planet.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes—but you’re smiling like a fool.

By the time you crash through the hotel lobby doors, you’re a full-blown public safety hazard. Dina’s ping-ponging between furniture like a malfunctioning Roomba, pausing only to yell, “I’m fine!” every time she careens off a decorative pillar.

Jesse’s found a captive audience in the night desk clerk and is passionately explaining how, if he “just had the right mentor,” he could absolutely become a professional stuntman—like, today. He even does a high kick for emphasis, nearly pulling something in the process.

Meanwhile, Ellie has given up entirely on decorum. The you both step in the elevator, she pins you to the mirrored wall with all the subtlety of a horny teenager in a bad coming-of-age film. Her hands sliding under your dress with the kind of urgency that suggests she’s forgotten other people exist entirely.

“You,” she breathes, voice rough and drunk and worshipful, “are so fucking pretty.”

"And you," You let out a soft laugh, tipping your head back. “are so fucking drunk.”

Ellie grins, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You don’t even remember who kissed who—it’s just tequila and heat and breathless laughter, her lips tasting like whatever cocktail you last shared and her fingers curling into the fabric at your hips like she’ll die if she lets go.

Somewhere behind you, as the elevator doors start to close—

“DON’T FORGET TO HYDRATE AFTER ALL THE RAW, ANIMALISTIC SEX!” Jesse hollers, practically singing it like a PSA.

Dina nearly doubles over beside him, wheezing. “DESTROY HER, ELLIE! I WANNA HEAR THAT HEADBOARD FROM THE LOBBY!”

Ellie chokes on a laugh, flips them off with both hands this time, and buries her face in your neck. “I hate them,” she mutters, giggling uncontrollably. “I actually hate them.”

But her hands are sliding under your dress again.

“I think they’re rooting for us,” you breathe, grinning.

“Yeah, well…” she nips your jaw gently. “They’re not the ones about to get lucky.”

The elevator dings, and the two of you spill out into the hallway like a disaster in motion—tipsy, breathless, half-sober and wholly tangled. You’re giggling too hard to walk in a straight line, stumbling into the wall, then into Ellie, who nearly takes you both down with her.

“Key,” she mutters, smacking at the pockets of her leather jacket with the urgency of someone searching for buried treasure.

“You’re making this impossible,” she grumbles, squinting down at the card in her hand like it personally wronged her—because you’re behind her now, arms looped snug around her waist, lips brushing over the side of her neck in a slow tease.

“I believe in you,” you murmur solemnly, the kind of mock-serious declaration only achievable at this level of inebriation.

“That’s not helping!”

She finally gets the card to register on the third try—barely. The lock beeps with mercy, and Ellie stumbles into the room backwards, yanking you in with her by the lapels of your coat. You trip over each other’s feet in the dark, colliding into the bed in a clumsy sprawl of limbs and laughter.

You land in a heap—half on the mattress, half on each other—laughing so hard you can barely breathe, tangled up like it’s instinct, like the world has always ended this way: with Ellie’s arms around you, her face buried in your neck, and both of you drunk off more than just alcohol.

Ellie doesn’t bother sitting up—just pulls you down into her like gravity, lips already finding yours with a hunger that hits you like a wave. It’s messy and hot, teeth clashing, laughter spilling into breathless moans.

It tastes like tequila, your lip gloss and the kind of recklessness that only happens when you’re too far gone to pretend you’re not completely obsessed with each other.

The alcohol makes everything heavier—your limbs, your breath, the way her hands roam like they’ve been dying to for hours. She’s everywhere at once: sliding under your dress, up your back, into your hair.

“Fuck,” she mutters into your mouth, her voice low and rough. Her head tips back against the pillows, eyes flicking over you like she can’t believe you’re real. “Look at you.”

You laugh softly, pressing kisses to her neck, her jaw, the edge of her smile. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t,” she breathes, catching your face between her hands. “You’re drive me insane.”

You kiss her deeper this time—less playful, more desperate. You shift in her lap, your dress riding high on your thighs, and her hands slide up under the fabric like she owns you.

“Take this off,” she mutters, tugging clumsily at the hem.

“You first,” you whisper, tugging her shirt over her head. It sticks a little, and you both laugh trying to get it off, her hair a mess and her eyes glazed over with want. You reach for the zipper of your dress next, dragging it down slow, teasing.

Ellie groans when it slips off your shoulders, her gaze dark and locked on your chest like she’s never seen anything better. “Fuck me,” she says, almost reverent.

She pulls you close again and kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, her lips trailing fire in their wake. Then her mouth closes over your breast and you gasp, hips stuttering against her thigh, as she sucks—slow and filthy—teeth grazing just enough to make your breath hitch before her tongue soothes the mark.

But she doesn’t stop there.

Her mouth roams, leaving kiss after kiss, then deeper, darker sucks—her signature stamped into your skin. She bites, just hard enough to make you gasp, then kisses the spot better, her hands roaming freely over your body like she’s trying to memorize every inch. Hickeys bloom across your collarbones, your neck, the softest parts of your chest—every mark a reminder that she was there, that this happened.

One hand stays gripped tight on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, guiding you, holding you still like she doesn’t want to miss a second of watching you fall apart.

You curse under your breath, head falling back as her mouth drags lower again, her teeth grazing another spot just above your heart.

You gasp, clutching at her shoulders, her hair, anything you can reach. “Ellie—fuck, you’re gonna leave marks.”

“Good,” she growls against your skin. “Wanna see them tomorrow. Wanna know I did this.”

You grind down without meaning to, and she groans, mouth hot and possessive as it finds the other breast with the same hungry focus.

“You're so fucking hot,” she mumbles, lips brushing the edge of another bruise she just left. “I could do this all night.”

You're not even sure what you say in response—it's just a noise, half-whimper, half-laugh, your fingers threading through her hair, your body buzzing under every kiss, every bite, every mark she paints into your skin.

When she finally looks up at you again, her lips are wet, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blown wide with nothing but want. “C'mere,” she says, voice wrecked.

Ellie shifts lower on the bed, settling between your thighs like she’s been there a hundred times and never got tired of it. Her palms press against the inside of your legs, coaxing them open with slow, steady pressure. She looks up at you from under her lashes—flushed, breathless, reverent.

Her voice is soft but rough with heat. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

You can’t answer. Your throat’s too tight, your heart’s pounding too hard. All you can do is nod, your fingers curled in the sheets, already trembling with anticipation.

She kisses the inside of your thigh first. Then again, a little higher. And again. Her mouth trails up until she’s exhaling warm against you, her breath ghosting over where you’re aching for her most. You twitch, and she smiles.

“Relax,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s her voice, but you melt into the mattress, pliant and aching, thighs trembling with anticipation.

When she finally leans in, her breath is warm against your skin, and you shudder. Then her tongue flicks out, just barely, a teasing stroke that makes your hips twitch. She hums at the reaction, hands tightening on your thighs.

She starts slow. Long, deliberate licks that make your head spin. Her tongue traces every inch of you like she’s mapping it to memory—each movement unhurried, deliberate. It’s not just about getting you off. It’s about making you feel every second of it.

It's the kind of touch that says I know you. The kind of touch that makes you feel known.

And then she does something that makes your breath catch completely.

You feel her tongue shift—patterned, careful—and realize she’s spelling something.

E. A slow upward curve, then back down and across.

L. Two smooth strokes, top to bottom, then across.

You gasp, hips bucking slightly, but she doesn’t let up. Doesn’t even flinch.

L. Slower this time, as if she’s enjoying the way your thighs tense around her shoulders, the way your hands fist in the sheets.

I. A single confident stroke. Clean. Sharp. Precise.

E. Again. A bit sloppier now, a little rushed, like even she’s getting impatient.

“Jesus,” you breathe, fingers threading into her hair like you’re trying to anchor yourself. “Did you just spell your fucking name?”

She pulls back for half a second—just enough to flash you a crooked grin, lips glistening, eyes dark. “Damn right I did.”

You let out a breathless laugh, somewhere between disbelief and arousal. “You’re such a showoff.”

“Yeah. Gotta make sure you remember it.”

You grip the sheets tighter. “Like I'll ever forget.”

Ellie just smirks and dives back in—deeper now, hungrier. She wraps her arms around your thighs and locks you in place like she has no intention of letting you go until you’ve completely unraveled.

Her mouth works you open with maddening precision—tongue circling, flicking, pressing in slow waves. She licks into you like she’s starving, like there’s nothing else in the world worth tasting. And when her lips wrap around you and she sucks, slow and deep, you swear you see stars.

You moan her name, not caring how loud it is. She groans in response, the vibration shooting through your whole body, making your back arch off the bed. You’re panting now, thighs trembling around her, heartbeat wild in your chest.

She hums again, smug and wrecked and totally in control. You feel her shift. One hand leaves your thigh and slides down, slow and steady. Her fingers trail through the mess she’s already made of you, slick and hot and ready.

Then one finger slips inside—deep, confident, curling just right.

You cry out, back arching, your whole body jolting with the shock of it. She doesn’t let up—her mouth still moving against you, tongue stroking in time with the rhythm of her fingers. It’s like she’s everywhere at once—her mouth, her hands, the weight of her body pinning you in place.

“Ellie,” you gasp, and it sounds wrecked, wild. “Fuck—”

“I’ve got you,” she says again, but this time it’s lower, darker, like a promise. “Let go, baby. Let me.”

She pushes in deeper, adds a second finger, the stretch making your eyes roll back. Her tongue never stops, her mouth working you with maddening, perfect precision. She moves slow and steady, curling her fingers just right, dragging them over that spot that makes your whole body lock up.

You’re shaking now, gasping, barely tethered to the world.

“You feel so fucking good,” Ellie breathes against you, voice reverent, ruined. “So wet f'me.”

She starts moving faster—mouth and fingers in perfect rhythm—sucking, licking, curling inside you like she knows exactly what you need before you can even ask for it.

The pressure builds and builds and then suddenly crests—hot, explosive, overwhelming. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, tearing the air from your lungs. You cry out her name, fingers clawing at her shoulders, your whole body locked in ecstasy.

She doesn’t stop right away—keeps helping you through it, slow and soothing now, like she’s savoring the way you fall apart for her. Like she’s proud of it. When she finally pulls back, her mouth is slick, her chin glistening as she cleans her fingers with her mouth, expression dazed and hungry and smug as hell.

She crawls back up over you and kisses your neck, your collarbone, your jaw.

You’re wrecked—body humming, chest rising and falling like you’ve run a marathon—but she still climbs up the bed like a woman on a mission, pulling you close, cradling your face in her hands like you’re the most precious thing she’s ever touched.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, voice hoarse, your fingers tangled in her hair. “You’re...”

Ellie kisses you—deep and slow, tongue sliding against yours, letting you taste yourself on her mouth.

“I know,” she says smugly when she pulls back, brushing her thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m incredible.”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re so full of me.” She smirks, eyes gleaming with heat and mischief. “We’re both winning.”

You groan and drag her in for another kiss, already aching again and not even remotely ready for it to be over.

Ellie seems to feel the same way.

Because her hand’s already sliding back between your legs—gentler this time, just a soft, teasing brush of her fingers—and her voice drops to a whisper against your lips.

“Think you’ve got one more in you?”

You don’t even hesitate.

“For you?” You kiss her again, biting her lip just hard enough to make her growl. “Always.”

Ellie’s mouth is still hot on your skin when she pulls back, eyes burning as she looks down at you.

“Turn over,” she says, voice low and wrecked. Commanding.

You don’t hesitate. You roll onto your forearms and knees, heart pounding, skin flushed. The sheets are cool beneath you, but every inch of you feels overheated from the inside out.

You hear her moving behind you, the soft rustle of straps and leather and breath. When she runs a hand up your back—slow and firm—you arch instinctively, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

Ellie moves with purpose—hands rough as they roam over your ass, up your back, into your hair. Then her hands are back, gripping your waist so tight it borders on bruising.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you. “Fucking perfect like this.”

You try to turn your head to look at her, but her hand slides up and wraps around your throat—firm, commanding, never cruel. She doesn’t squeeze, just holds you there, grounding you, controlling the space between anticipation and impact.

Your breath catches, a broken little sound tearing from your throat.

"Fuck," she groans, and you feel her lean in, her mouth dragging hot and slow along the back of your neck. "You make me lose my mind."

She snaps her hips forward, and even though you were bracing for it, the stretch still punches a sound out of you—deep and surprised and wild. Her free hand spreads over your lower back, keeping you steady, keeping you hers.

“Atta girl,” she breathes, voice frayed and thick with want. “Take it.”

You do. You take every inch, the air knocked from your lungs with every sharp thrust. It’s rough, almost feral, but there’s something reverent behind it—like she’s worshiping you with every motion, even if her grip is bruising and her rhythm relentless.

Your hands claw at the sheets, legs trembling, moaning into the mattress with every snap of her hips.

Then her hand tightens at your throat, just slightly, and your world narrows to her body, her heat, her voice in your ear—low and filthy and full of awe.

“Been wanting you to be mine for so long,” she pants. “Thinking about it every time you smiled at me like I didn’t wreck you the night before. Every time you said it was fake.”

You whimper, the words hitting harder than anything else. Your whole body tenses, overwhelmed, your head falling forward.

Ellie leans down, lips dragging along your shoulder as she slows just enough to make you feel it. “But you’re mine now. You know that, right?”

You nod, the motion barely there, desperate and delirious. “Yes.”

She groans—guttural and raw—and slaps your ass hard enough to make you jolt.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you cry out, wrecked and breathless. “I’m yours, Ellie.”

And then she thrusts deeper, slower, like the words wrecked her a little, like she’s not just fucking you now—she’s feeling you. Claiming you, not just with her body but with every part of her that’s ever been yours.

Her grip on your throat tightens just a little—not enough to scare, just enough to make you feel it. Her hips drive into you harder now, the bed rocking with the force of it, every thrust a sharp reminder of how much you want her, how much you need her.

The rhythm grows more frantic—sharp, breathless, urgent. Each thrust sends the headboard thudding against the wall in time with your gasps, a steady, relentless beat that fills the room along with the wet sound of skin against skin and the guttural way Ellie moans your name.

Your hands grip the sheets, the mattress, anything you can reach, but nothing grounds you like her. Nothing anchors you the way she does when one hand slips into your hair, tangling tight, and yanks you back with just enough force to make your breath catch.

She pulls you upright, flush against her chest, her mouth hot and open at your shoulder, your neck. The strap presses deeper inside you at the new angle, and your entire body shudders.

“Look at me,” she pants, voice ragged, forehead pressed to your temple. Her grip stays firm in your hair, holding you steady as her other hand slides possessively up your stomach, over your ribs, to cup your breast. “I want you to know exactly who’s fucking you.”

You can barely breathe, barely speak—but you nod, gasping as your body rocks against hers, every thrust dragging a helpless sound from your throat.

The headboard bangs louder now, the whole bed creaking beneath the force of it. But neither of you care. Ellie’s everywhere—her scent, her voice, the heat of her skin against your back, the way she’s buried so deep inside you it feels like she’s burned into your bones.

And even in all the chaos, the sweat and the noise and the wild, reckless pleasure of it, there’s something underneath it all—something tender. The way her lips find your shoulder in between every gasp. The way her voice breaks when she says your name like it’s the only word she knows.

Like loving you is the most dangerous, beautiful thing she’s ever done.

You’re falling apart—moaning, gasping, trying to stay upright as pleasure surges hot and overwhelming through your veins. Ellie’s cursing behind you, rhythm breaking, voice rough and wrecked and beautiful.

When it happens—when the second orgasm crashes over you like a wave—you scream her name, body convulsing, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. And she keeps going through it, fucking you through every aftershock, like she can’t bear to let the moment go.

Eventually, you both collapse—your body limp and trembling, hers heavy against your back, breath ragged against your shoulder.

For a while, it’s just the sound of your breathing, tangled limbs, sweat-slick skin.

Then she turns your face gently to hers and kisses you—slow and deep and tender, like a promise. Like a confession.

“I love you,” she whispers, quiet and raw.

And you don't hesitate.

Not even a second.

“I love you too.”

Ellie is dead asleep beside you, her body heavy with exhaustion, arm still draped over your waist like she fell asleep mid-claim. Her breath is slow and steady against your shoulder, hair a tousled mess over the pillow, lips parted just slightly. She looks peaceful—blissfully unaware of the storm still quietly buzzing beneath your skin.

You lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, blankets tangled around your legs, your heart still not entirely calmed. The room smells like sex and sweat and her perfume, and for a while, that’s enough to keep you in the moment. But the silence starts to stretch. And somewhere between the warmth of her skin and the cooling air on yours, your mind slips.

You think of the club. The lights. The music. The drinks. The way she kissed you like you were everything she has ever wanted. The way her hand had slid into yours. The way her eyes had sparkled when she made you laugh.

And then—brief and sharp like a static jolt—you remember the booth. That little baggie. That casual, practiced motion. A snort. A wipe of her nose. The way she’d looked at you right after—like it was nothing.

Because to her, it was nothing.

You swallow hard and turn onto your side, facing away from her. The sheets feel too heavy suddenly, like they’re pressing into your chest. But you force your breath to slow, your eyes to close. You remind yourself that she’s here, asleep next to you. That tonight was good. That everything feels okay right now.

It’s not a big deal.

Just a moment. Just something that happened.

You tell yourself again, and again, and again, until the lie starts to sound almost true.

And eventually—maybe out of exhaustion, maybe out of denial—you let yourself drift off, wrapped in the illusion of safety, in the warmth of her body curled unconsciously into yours.

Because loving her feels so easy.

And forgetting?

Even easier.

← 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 → taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez @catrapplesauces @livvietalks @furtherrawayy @thatchosen1 @kanadadryer @littlerosiesthings @eriiwaiii2 @firefly-ace @redlightellie @elliepoems @sabrinathewitchh982 @shady-lemur @jubileexoxo @l0velylace @look-me @adoringanakin @daughterofthemoons-stuff @st4r-b3rries @liasxeatt @desiretolive @rios-st4rs @miajooz @hotpinkskitties

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[elikajinnie]

Hi!!! Can you do the enhypen promo 2 and 5 with jungwon?? Down bad bff and oblivious reader? Thank youu!💙

P: Bff!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor Angst, Confessions, you are oblivious, won is desperate, some jealousy.

Synopsis: Jungwon has always been content being your best friend—at least, that’s what he tells himself. In reality, he’s been hopelessly in love with you for years, too afraid to risk what you have. But with Valentine's Day around the corner and whispers of other guys planning to ask you out, he decides it’s now or never. Instead of a direct confession, he drops small hints that should make it obvious. Should. Because somehow, you remain utterly oblivious.

a/n: I was supposed to post this on Valentine’s Day… but surprise, surprise—I ended up working all day. So here’s a (very) late Valentine’s Day fic! Sorry for the delay! special thanks to @cafekitsune for the divider! <3

2. "You’re dangerous, you know that? Every time you smile, I forget how to breathe." 5. "You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?"

Jungwon had always loved being around friends—there was nothing he enjoyed more than having fun with the people he trusted and cared for. But as much as he liked it, there was one thing he loved beyond all else: being with his best friend.

Being with you.

You were everything he was grateful to have in his life. Smart, kind, and effortlessly fun. But also completely, hopelessly oblivious.

Oblivious to the way his gaze lingered a little too long when you laughed. Oblivious to the way his heart raced when you leaned against him, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Oblivious to the fact that, out of everyone in a crowded room, his world only seemed to orbit around you.

He wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the late-night study sessions when you fell asleep on his shoulder, or the way you always remembered the little things about him—his favorite drink, the songs he hummed absentmindedly, the way he tapped his fingers when he was nervous. Or maybe it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for him to realize.

And now, here he was, trapped in a cycle of wanting more but never daring to ruin what he already had. Because you—his best friend—were the one thing he could never risk losing.

So, he stayed quiet. Kept his feelings tucked away behind playful smiles and casual touches that meant everything to him but nothing to you.

Because if you never noticed, then maybe he’d never have to face the truth.

The truth that his heart ached in ways he couldn’t explain. That every moment with you felt like a dream he was terrified to wake up from. That he had memorized the way you spoke, the way you smiled, the way you existed so effortlessly in his world, completely unaware of how deeply he had fallen.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the truth had a way of creeping in. In the quiet moments when his name left your lips too softly, in the fleeting touches that sent sparks through his veins, in the nights he lay awake replaying every interaction, wondering if—just maybe—you felt it too.

But you didn’t, did you?

You still looked at him the same way you always had, like he was your best friend, your safe place, your person. But never anything more. And maybe that should’ve been enough.

Maybe it had to be.

Because the alternative? The risk of losing you altogether? That was a fate he wasn’t sure he could handle.

So he swallowed the words threatening to spill from his lips. He buried the longing deep within his chest. He convinced himself that being your best friend was enough.

Even if it meant breaking his own heart a little more each day.

But now, with Valentine’s Day coming up so soon, it had become a problem for him.

Jungwon had always been good at keeping his feelings in check, at pretending that being just friends was enough. But Valentine’s Day was different. It wasn’t just another day—it was a reminder. A reminder that he wasn’t the one you were looking at with hearts in your eyes. That someone else could sweep in, buy you flowers, and call you theirs while he sat on the sidelines, pretending it didn’t hurt.

And the worst part? You weren’t even thinking about him.

You had been talking about Valentine’s Day for days now—who might ask you out, what kind of date you’d like, what flowers you preferred. Every time you spoke about it, excitement lacing your voice, Jungwon could only smile and nod, pushing down the ugly twist of jealousy in his chest.

��Maybe I won’t get anything this year,” you had joked one afternoon, twirling a pen between your fingers. “Guess I should start preparing myself for a lonely Valentine’s Day.”

Jungwon had almost laughed at how absurd that sounded. You, alone? Impossible. If anything, there were probably a handful of people already planning to confess to you.

And yet, for a brief second, he let himself imagine what it would be like if you were his. If he could be the one to show up at your doorstep with flowers, the one you looked at like he was your whole world.

But that wasn’t reality.

Reality was him sitting here, dreading the day, wondering if this was the year you’d finally fall for someone.

And then it happened.

It started with a name. A name Jungwon hadn’t expected to hear from your lips in that way, with that softness, that quiet curiosity.

“So… do you think it’d be weird if I said yes?” you asked, tapping your fingers against your notebook as you glanced at him. “I mean, he’s really sweet, and I never really thought about it before, but… maybe I should give him a chance?”

Jungwon didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that you were considering saying yes to someone else, or the fact that you were asking him about it, like his opinion mattered, like he wasn’t the one who had been hopelessly, helplessly in love with you this whole time.

His heart sank. But his face? His face stayed the same, the perfect mask he had spent years perfecting.

“Yeah,” he forced out, offering you a lopsided smile. “I mean… if you think he’s sweet, then why not?”

You smiled, nudging his arm. “See? That’s why I asked you. You always give the best advice.”

And just like that, it was decided.

Jungwon should have been used to it by now—watching you get excited over someone else, watching as you completely missed the way he looked at you, the way his hands twitched at his sides, itching to reach for you but never daring to.

But he wasn’t used to it.

And this time, it hurt more than ever.

Because this time, he was starting to wonder if he’d lost his chance completely.

Jungwon didn’t do anything.

Not really.

But somehow, he was still the problem.

It started small—your new “almost” boyfriend growing stiff whenever Jungwon was around, the way his laughter faded whenever you leaned into Jungwon’s space like you always did. The subtle looks, the hesitation, the way he never really joined in on the jokes you and Jungwon shared so effortlessly.

Jungwon wasn’t blind. He could see the tension in the way the guy held himself whenever he was near. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes whenever you mentioned Jungwon’s name.

And it only got worse.

“You guys are close,” the guy had said one day, casual, but not really. “Like… really close.”

You had laughed, oblivious as always. “Well, yeah. Jungwon’s my best friend.”

And just like that, Jungwon had known.

It wouldn’t last.

Because no matter how much the guy liked you, he hated Jungwon more.

And Jungwon? He didn’t even have to try.

He just kept being himself. Kept being the person who knew you better than anyone else, who could read your moods with a glance, who you ran to first with every little thing. He didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to do anything.

The cracks in your almost-relationship formed all on their own.

Small disagreements. Awkward silences. The way the guy started pulling away, his insecurity gnawing at him until it consumed whatever chance he had with you.

And then, one day, it was over.

You barely looked upset when you told Jungwon. More confused than anything.

“I don’t get it,” you admitted, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat beside him. “He just… said he didn’t think it would work.”

Jungwon stayed quiet.

He could’ve told you the truth. Could’ve told you that the guy had been jealous, that it had always been doomed from the start because no one would ever be okay with how much you leaned on Jungwon.

But instead, he just shrugged.

“Guess he wasn’t the right one, then.”

And you nodded, sighing before resting your head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jungwon closed his eyes for a brief second, allowing himself to soak in the moment. Because even if he didn’t have you the way he wanted, at least, for now, he still had you.

And that was enough.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

But as the days passed, Jungwon started to realize something—maybe "enough" wasn’t really enough anymore.

Because even though you were still here, still laughing with him, still resting your head on his shoulder like you always had, something had changed. Not between you, but within him.

For so long, he had told himself that being your best friend was enough, that having you in his life in any way was better than risking losing you altogether. But now? Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Because watching someone else try to love you—watching them fall short because they weren’t him—had planted a dangerous thought in his mind.

What if he stopped holding back?

What if he stopped pretending?

What if he told you the truth?

The thought terrified him. Because if you didn’t feel the same way, if you laughed it off, if you looked at him like he was crazy, then everything he cherished between you could shatter in an instant.

But at the same time, wasn’t he already breaking a little more each day by staying silent?

The doubt clawed at him, restless and demanding. It lingered in the moments he caught himself staring at you for too long, in the way his heart skipped a beat every time you said his name, in the way jealousy twisted in his chest when someone else looked at you the way he wanted to.

And with Valentine’s Day nearing more and more, and you still feeling down after the whole situation with that guy, Jungwon felt conflicted.

Part of him wanted to use this as an opportunity—to finally say something, to be the one to make you smile again. But another part of him, the part that had spent so long holding back, told him it wasn’t the right time.

You were sad. Not heartbroken, not devastated, but still hurt. He could see it in the way you sighed more than usual, in the way your usual excitement about the upcoming holiday had faded into indifference.

“I don’t even know why I care so much,” you muttered one evening as the two of you sat on the bleachers, watching the empty field stretch out before you. “It’s not like we were even dating, not really. But still… it sucks, you know?”

Jungwon nodded, even though he didn’t fully understand. Not in the way you did, at least. Because to him, the pain wasn’t in almost having someone and losing them—it was in never having you at all.

“I just thought, maybe this year would be different,” you admitted, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “Maybe I’d actually get to experience one of those cute Valentine’s Days you see in movies.”

Jungwon swallowed. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, itching to reach for yours.

He could do it.

He could say it.

He could tell you that you weren’t alone, that someone had been looking at you that way all along. That if you let him, he’d make sure you never had to feel unwanted again.

But then you sighed and leaned against him, your head finding his shoulder in that familiar, comfortable way that told him you still saw him as your best friend.

Just your best friend.

So he did what he always did.

He stayed quiet.

And maybe that was his biggest mistake.

Because as Valentine’s Day crept closer, and as you started smiling again—started acting more like yourself—Jungwon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time.

And if he didn’t do something soon… someone else would.

So he planned to start small—show you, in quiet, genuine ways, that he liked you as more than a best friend.

But it was easier said than done.

Because you were oblivious as fuck.

Normally, Jungwon found that trait of yours adorable. The way you never seemed to pick up on people’s feelings, how you always assumed the best in every situation, how completely unaware you were of the effect you had on others.

But now? Now, it felt like torture.

Because how was he supposed to show you he loved you when he had such a hard time saying it?

He tried little things first. Thoughtful gestures, things he had always done but with more meaning behind them now. Walking you home even when it was out of his way, holding doors open for you even when his hands were full, remembering your coffee order down to the smallest detail and getting it for you before you could even ask.

But none of it clicked for you.

"You're such a good friend, Won," you'd say, smiling up at him like his heart wasn’t unraveling in his chest.

Friend.

Jungwon bit back a sigh, pushing down the frustration. He told himself to be patient.

So he tried again.

He started being more obvious—giving you his jacket when it was barely cold, brushing his fingers against yours just to see if you'd notice, complimenting you in a way that should’ve meant more than just friendship.

"You always know how to make me feel better," you had told him after one of his compliments, nudging him playfully. "What would I do without you?"

Jungwon had forced a smile, ignoring the way his heart twisted painfully.

Because none of it was working.

You still weren’t getting it.

And maybe… maybe you never would.

Because maybe, deep down, you had never even considered him as an option.

That thought scared him more than anything.

So with Valentine’s Day only days away, Jungwon realized something.

If he wanted you to know—if he wanted any chance at all—he couldn’t keep waiting for you to figure it out on your own.

He had to do something bigger. Something you couldn’t possibly ignore.

Something that would make you finally, finally see him.

So, he did something bigger.

With Valentine’s Day here, he made sure you wouldn’t come home too soon. He got some of your mutual friends to keep you company—texting them to stall you, make up excuses, anything to buy him enough time. And while they distracted you, he let himself into your house with the spare key you had given him long ago, “just in case of emergencies.”

And in his case, this was an emergency.

Because if he didn’t do this now, he might never have the courage again.

Carrying the bags inside, he wasted no time.

First, the decorations.

Red heart-shaped balloons filled your bedroom, some floating against the ceiling, others scattered on your bed. On the wall, carefully arranged, were balloons that spelled out "Be My Valentine?"—a question he never thought he'd be brave enough to ask.

Then, the gifts.

A teddy bear sat on your bed, soft and plush, with a box of your favorite chocolates nestled in its lap. Next to it, a bouquet of your favorite flowers—fresh, vibrant, just like you. And a basket filled with everything he knew you loved. Your favorite snacks, little trinkets, things you had casually mentioned wanting in passing—things he had remembered, even when you had forgotten you said them.

And finally, the finishing touch.

Rose petals, carefully placed, leading from your front door all the way to your bedroom. Alongside them, fake candles flickered softly, casting a warm, intimate glow around the space.

By the time he was done, his heart was pounding in his chest.

It was now or never.

So he took a deep breath, sat on the edge of your bed, and waited.

Waited for you to come home.

Waited to see if this would finally, finally make you see him the way he had always seen you.

And for the first time in his life, Jungwon was terrified.

When you finally got home, you were tired.

You had spent hours with your friends, confused as to why they were suddenly so insistent on keeping you out so late. They had dragged you to cafés, stores, even a last-minute movie, all while exchanging suspicious glances. But now, finally, you were home.

And the moment you stepped inside, you froze.

Rose petals.

They stretched out before you, leading down the hall, soft and delicate against the floor. And lining the path were small flickering lights—fake candles, glowing warmly in the dimness of your house.

Your heart skipped.

“What the—” you whispered, slowly stepping forward, following the trail.

Each step felt surreal, like you were stepping into something straight out of a romance movie. Your fingers brushed against your chest as you tried to steady your breathing.

By the time you reached your bedroom door, your heart was hammering.

And then you saw it.

Balloons—so many of them—floating and scattered all around your room.

And then, there was him.

Jungwon.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, looking nervous but determined.

The moment your eyes met, you felt your breath catch.

“Jungwon…” You blinked, glancing around. “Did you…?”

He swallowed, standing up slowly. “Yeah. It was me.”

Your gaze darted to the teddy bear on your bed, the chocolates, the bouquet, the basket of all the things you loved.

Your chest tightened.

“This is… I mean, you…” You trailed off, shaking your head in disbelief. “Why?”

Jungwon took a step closer, hands clenching at his sides. “Because I had to.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “Because if I didn’t, you’d never notice.”

Your brows furrowed. “Notice what?”

He let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, shaking his head. “See? That’s what I mean. You’re so—” He stopped himself, exhaling deeply. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jungwon took another step forward, closing the space between you. His eyes held something deeper now—something vulnerable.

“I love you.”

Silence.

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep going.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to show you, in every way I could, but you never noticed. So I figured… maybe this time, you would.”

Your mind was racing, heart pounding.

Jungwon? In love with you?

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You didn’t even know what to say.

And Jungwon—seeing your silence, your wide eyes, your stunned expression—felt his heart sink.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you really never had considered him that way. Maybe he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

So before you could say anything, before you could reject him and break him completely, he let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Say something. Please.”

You kept looking around the room, your mind struggling to process everything, every single detail Jungwon had put together, just for you.

Your chest felt tight, your throat dry. Your lips parted, but the only thing that came out was a shaky breath before you finally asked, “For how long?”

Jungwon took a deep breath, his eyes focused on you as if he were summoning all the courage he had kept buried for so long. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—maybe for you to stop him, or maybe for you to just… understand. But this was real now. There was no going back. “For so long,” he murmured. Then, like a dam breaking, the words just spilled out.

“I’ve been falling for you. Not just once, but over and over again.” He shifted, his hands twitching by his sides as if he didn’t know where to put them. “It wasn’t some instant, magical thing. It was a million little moments. Like the way you scrunch your nose when you’re confused or frustrated, like when you’re so focused and you don’t even realize how cute you look. Or how every time I’m with you, I feel like the world is just… better. The way you always give me the first sip of your drink without me asking. I never wanted to take it, but I always did, just because you were offering. You’re just…”

He shook his head, unable to fully explain, but his eyes locked onto yours. “And your laugh…” He laughed softly, almost to himself. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t even describe it. Every time you laugh, it’s like everything in my world falls into place. Like nothing else matters, just you and that sound. It’s like… nothing else could make me feel more alive than hearing you laugh.”

His voice faltered slightly, but he pressed on, his emotions pouring out faster now.

“And every time I’m around you,” Jungwon said, his eyes darting to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again, “my heart races. It feels like it’s beating so hard, like I can’t breathe. And I’ve tried to hide it, to play it cool, but I can’t. I can’t stop it. Every time you’re near me, it’s like everything else disappears, and all I can think about is you.”

You could see the longing in his eyes as he continued.

“I memorize everything about you,” he added, his voice trembling. “Your favorite food, the songs you hum under your breath when you’re in a good mood, the way you scrunch your eyes when you’re laughing so hard you can’t control it. I know all the little things because I’m always paying attention to you. Always.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours desperately, his words tumbling out even faster now.

“And when someone else shows interest in you… when they look at you the way I want to, it just… it suffocates me. I feel like I’m drowning, like you’re slipping away from me. But I’ve never told you. I’ve never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin this, ruin us—whatever we are. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”

Jungwon’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his voice softer, almost a whisper now.

“I love you,” he said, his heart on his sleeve. “I’ve loved you for so long. I didn’t know what to do with it, but I can’t keep it in anymore. Please… don’t turn away from me.”

Jungwon had done it. He had confessed.

He had done the very thing that had terrified him for years.

And now… you weren’t saying anything.

The silence stretched between you, unbearable and deafening. His breaths came out uneven, his chest rising and falling as he looked at you, waiting, begging for a response.

But you just stood there, staring at him—wide-eyed, shell-shocked, silent.

And that silence broke him.

Jungwon let out a shaky exhale before his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed onto his knees, his head hanging as his shoulders trembled. The weight of everything—the nerves, the fear, the exhaustion—finally crushed him.

Tears slid down his cheeks, slow and quiet.

This is it, he thought bitterly.

He had been so scared of confessing. But now, he realized, this was what he should have been scared of.

Not rejection. Not heartbreak.

But this.

This horrible, gut-wrenching silence.

This feeling of being completely exposed, completely vulnerable, waiting for the one person he loved the most to either take him in or turn him away.

He squeezed his eyes shut, already preparing for the worst—

And then suddenly, you were on your knees in front of him.

Jungwon barely had time to react before your hands cupped his tear-streaked cheeks, tilting his face up toward you.

And then—

You kissed him.

His breath caught, his entire body freezing in place. His mind couldn’t keep up, couldn’t process that this was actually happening.

You—his best friend, the person he had spent years hopelessly in love with—were kissing him.

But he was so stunned, so overwhelmed, that he didn’t even kiss you back.

The seconds stretched, and you hesitated. Slowly, you started to pull away, your hands loosening their hold on his face—

And that’s what finally snapped him out of it.

Before you could fully retreat, Jungwon grabbed you—one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist. And in a heartbeat, he slammed his lips against yours again.

This time, he kissed you back.

Desperately.

Fiercely.

Like he had been starving for this.

Like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment.

His fingers curled tighter around you, pulling you impossibly close as his lips moved against yours—messy, feverish, full of all the emotions he had buried for so long.

And for the first time in years, Jungwon wasn’t afraid anymore.

Because now, he knew.

He wasn’t losing you.

He had you.

And he wasn’t going to let you go.

As the kiss broke apart, both of you breathless, Jungwon’s hands still gently cupping your face, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh—a mix of disbelief and relief.

And then, you smiled at him.

That smile.

The one that made his heart race every time.

Jungwon stared at you for a moment, his chest tightening again, his breath hitching in his throat.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low, full of admiration. “Every time you smile, I forget how to breathe.”

Your smile only grew wider, and a warmth spread through him, almost overwhelming. He had never wanted something more than to see that smile, to feel the way it made his heart flutter and ache all at once.

You swallowed, your heart thundering in your chest. This felt like a dream, and yet, you knew it was real.

With a deep breath, you found the courage to speak, the weight of everything finally coming out in the words you’d been holding back for months.

“I love you too Jungwon,” you confessed, your voice shaking just slightly. “I’ve loved you for months now… but I didn’t want to tell you, in case… in case you didn’t feel the same.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, everything was still.

Then, Jungwon’s expression softened, his eyes bright with something you could only describe as pure relief and adoration. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his fingers still lightly resting on your face as he looked at you with such intensity.

His voice was barely above a whisper as he reached for your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your skin. “So, you… love me, too?”

You nodded, your eyes soft but filled with determination. “Yes. I always have.”

Jungwon’s heart swelled with relief and joy, the weight lifting from his chest. A soft smile spread across his face, and before he could think too much about it, the words tumbled out of him, filled with hope.

“Do you want to be my Valentine?” he asked, his voice low but full of sincerity.

“Yes,” you replied, without hesitation, your heart pounding as the world seemed to settle into place around you.

Jungwon took a deep breath, still holding your hand as his gaze locked with yours. He had taken the plunge before, but this moment felt different—bigger.

“Then,” he began, voice soft but steady, “do you also want to be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, your heart fluttering wildly as your chest filled with warmth. This was the moment, wasn’t it? The moment you had both been waiting for, yet too afraid to ask for.

Without hesitation, you nodded. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Jungwon couldn’t hide his smile, the relief flooding through him as he leaned in, his eyes soft but filled with adoration. And then, he whispered the words that had been on his mind for so long.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

You blinked, your heart pounding as you tried to process what he meant.

“You’ve got me falling for you harder than I ever thought possible.” And then he kissed you again—this time slow, gentle, full of everything that had been left unsaid for months.

Jungwon finally had you, finally knew you felt the same, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t have to wonder.

Because you were his.

And he was yours.

a/n: well this sucked ass... i havent been feeling romantical since boyfriend troubles.

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[txttletale]

NOT asking this as a gotcha, I'm 100% sincere, can you point to pieces of AI art that you feel are interesting uses of the medium? Because I'm not philosophically opposed to it, but at the same time I've never seen anything that wasn't naked bandwagon shilling by the same people who pushed NFTs

sure! i think a classic of the medium is secret horses

(i sadly don't know who made it, but i've seen it around and fallen in love). this is everything AI art should be, imo, taking advantage of the liminal dreamlike quality of the medium and using titling and framing to say something about the piece that wouldn't exist if it was presented on its own. secret horses...

my favourite band, everything everything, released an album last year that made use of AI generation, both for the album's art and for small portions of the lyrics (interestingly, they've refused to say which lyrics are AI written and which are human written, which adds another layer of intrigue to me -- the only lyric that they've confirmed is AI generated is the title of 'software greatman', which forms the haunting, powerful chorus of the song that gets deconstructed into electronic incoherence. other highlights include the album art, part burning skyscape, part incomprehensible machine. what is the machine? is it a camera? a monitor? a train? does it matter?

and finally from this album cycle i adore the hallucinogenic exuberance of their video for i want a love like this:

in terms of dedicated artists working primarily within the AI medium, i'm a huge fan of @reachartwork, a really innovative artist who keeps blowing me away with evocative and interesting pieces and pioneer in ethical and cooperative AI art techniques. i'm an especially big fan of their grotesque and uncomfortable 'tooth machine' series:

as well as their desolate, bleak, alien landscapes:

(hole in the sky / river lethe )

and their project, the @infiniteartmachine, a model that produces art based upon algorithmically generated prompots -- effectively a long-term art piece.

finally, i'm a very very big fan of @roborosewater-masters, a bot that makes AI-created magic the gathering cards. this might not parse as 'art' to some people, or be interesting to analyze as such, but to me, someone obsessed with games and game studies, i think that the mix of synctactically correct magic the gathering rules text and abrupt non sequitur makes for really striking and funny pieces that prompt me to think about what the limits of games and gaming are

these are just the artists and pieces i can name off the top of my head, but i hope that they're representative of what generative art has to offer when it's not being done by grifters chasing the lowest common denominator.

[tulipatheticee]

labyrinth

anthony bridgerton x fem! reader

synopsis; anthony bridgerton had swore off love, but after meeting miss y/n l/n, he couldn't keep himself away. after a talk with his mother he now has to navigate his feelings to courting the owner of his heart

word count; 2.0k

master list

a/n; this was meant to be a benedict fic but my friend (who picked the song tysm) had a brain wave that labyrinth is so anthony coded

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

It only hurts this much right now

Was what I was thinking the whole time

Breathe in, breathe through

Breathe deep, breathe out

Since the news that Viscount Lord Anthony Bridgerton was searching for a wife this social season had spread, he had all the ladies vying for his attention. He was very clear with himself that he most definitely did NOT want a love match. After witnessing the devastating effects of losing a loved one, he had completely sworn off it. He simply wanted a wife who would be a good viscountess, a good mother, and overall a proper, standard wife. But once he became acquainted with Miss Y/N, he was immediately enticed by her. The more he saw her, the more he spoke with her, the more he wanted her. She consumed his thoughts; he couldn't even sleep without thinking of her. She clouded his mind, his dreams, his vision. In an attempt to clear the cloud of her, he began to avoid her with all his might.

Anthony Bridgerton would NOT fall in love. But as he spent time away from her, he found himself missing her, her smile, her wit, her kind eyes, her humour, her. His resolve wavered with each passing day, the emptiness left by her absence growing unbearable. Every time he saw her across a crowded room, his heart ached with longing. The thought of another man capturing her attention, sharing moments that should have been his, filled him with a deep, unspoken dread. He realised, with a mix of frustration and inevitability, that denying his feelings was futile. She had become an integral part of his life, whether he admitted it or not.

I'll be getting over you my whole life

You know how scared I am of elevators

Never trust it if it rises fast

It can't last

The Bridgerton family estate was quiet in the early morning light, the stillness broken only by the distant sound of birdsong. Anthony sat alone in his study, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. His father's death had left a void in his life, one that he had tried to fill with duty and obligation. But lately, that void has been filled with thoughts of Y/N.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, her laughter lighting up the room as she danced with her friends. She had seemed so free, so unburdened by the worries that plagued him. He had been drawn to her from the start, but he had kept his distance, afraid of what he might feel.

"It only hurts this much right now," he had told himself, trying to convince his heart to stay guarded.

But the more he saw of Y/N, the harder it became to ignore his feelings. She was everything he had ever wanted, and everything he had sworn to avoid. He knew he couldn't keep running from his emotions forever.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Anthony looked up to see his mother, Violet, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning, Anthony," she said, her voice gentle.

"Good morning," he replied, trying to smile.

Violet walked into the room, her eyes filled with concern. "You've been so distant lately. Is something troubling you?"

Anthony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's nothing, Mother. Just the usual worries."

Violet sat down beside him, her expression softening. "Anthony, I've known you all your life. I can tell when something is truly bothering you. Please, talk to me."

Anthony hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He had always been the strong one, the one who held the family together. Admitting his feelings felt like a betrayal of that role.

"It's Miss L/N," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Violet's eyes widened in surprise. "Miss Y/N? What about her?"

"I... I think I'm falling for her," Anthony admitted, his heart pounding in his chest. "But I'm afraid. Afraid of what it might mean, of what it could lead to."

Violet's expression softened even further. "Oh, Anthony. Love is always a risk, but it's a risk worth taking. You can't spend your life running from it."

Anthony looked down, his hands trembling. "But what if it doesn't last? What if it only brings pain?"

"That's a chance we all take," Violet said gently. "But you'll never know if you don't let yourself feel. Miss L/N is a wonderful woman, and I can see how much she cares for you. Don't let fear keep you from something beautiful."

Anthony took a deep breath, the weight on his chest lifting just a little. "Thank you, Mama. I needed to hear that."

Violet smiled, her eyes filled with love. "Anytime, my dear. Now, go find Miss Y/N and tell her how you feel. You might be surprised at what happens."

Anthony nodded, feeling a newfound sense of determination. He stood up, ready to face his fears head-on.

Uh oh, I'm falling in love

Oh no, I'm falling in love again

Oh, I'm falling in love

The ball was in full swing, the grand hall filled with the laughter and chatter of London's elite. Y/N stood near the edge of the dance floor, her heart pounding as she watched Anthony Bridgerton move throughout the room. She tried to focus on her breathing, but it did little to calm the feeling inside her.

Anthony, was the epitome of charm and responsibility. His presence commanded attention, and Y/N couldn't help but be drawn to him. She sighed, feeling the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on her. How did she end up here, so lost in the labyrinth of her own mind?

For Anthony, the evening was a blur of polite conversation and obligatory dances. Since his becoming Viscount, the mantle of responsibility had weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had little time for silly pursuits, and even less patience for the entanglements of love. Yet, despite his best efforts, he found his gaze drawn to Miss Y/N L/N time and time again.

As if sensing his turmoil, Y/N glanced in his direction. Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Anthony took a deep breath and made his way toward her, weaving through the crowd with ease. His feet were moving against his mind's wishes, yet he still did not want to stop walking towards her.

"Miss L/N," he greeted, his voice warm and familiar. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Lord Bridgerton," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "You look quite handsome yourself."

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the ball fading into the background. Anthony struggled to find the right words, to express the feelings he had been denying for so long.

"Would you care to dance?" he finally asked, extending his hand.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in his. "I'd love to."

As they moved to the centre of the dance floor, Anthony felt a sense of calm wash over him. Holding Y/N in his arms, he realised just how much he had been fighting against his own heart. The music swirled around them, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to simply feel.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Y/N asked softly, her eyes searching his.

Anthony sighed, his grip on her waist tightening slightly. "I've been a fool, Miss L/N. I've been trying to protect myself from something I thought would only bring me pain."

"And what is that?" she pressed, her voice gentle but insistent.

"Love," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I've seen what it can do, how it can hurt. I thought I was better off without it."

Y/N's expression softened, and she reached up to touch his cheek. "Love can be painful, Lord Bridgerton. But it can also be the most beautiful thing in the world. You just have to be willing to take the risk."

Anthony stared into her eyes, feeling a sense of clarity he hadn't experienced in years. "I don't want to be afraid anymore, L/N. I don't want to spend my life running from something that could make me truly happy."

"Then don't," she whispered. "Take the leap. I'm right here with you."

At that moment, Anthony knew he had to let go of his fears. He had to embrace the love he felt for Y/N, no matter how terrifying it might be. As the music came to an end, he had to use all his willpower to not lean down and pressed a hungry kiss to her lips in front of all the ton, in the middle of a ballroom, sealing his promise to her and to himself. But he was a gentleman and would never do such (or even more) to a woman like Y/N, no, he would have to wait to do that, and what a task that was proving to be.

I thought the plane was going down

How'd you turn it right around

-----------------------

The Next Afternoon

-----------------------

It only feels this raw right now

Lost in the labyrinth of my mind

Break up, break free, break through, break down

You would break your back to make me break a smile

Anthony found Y/N in her garden, her favourite place to escape the hustle and bustle of the ton. She was sitting on a bench, her eyes closed as she listened to the sounds of nature. He had gone over to her family's estate with the intention of asking to officially court her, after a rather intimidating conversation with her father, he took a deep breath and walked over to her.

"Miss L/N," he said softly.

She turned around and smiled when she saw him. "Lord Bridgerton! What brings you out here?"

"I needed to talk to you," he said, his heart pounding. "About us."

Y/N's smile faded, her expression turning serious. "What about us?"

Anthony sat down beside her, his hands trembling. "I know I've been distant, and I know I've been distant from you. But I can't keep running from my feelings. I... I care about you, Miss L/N. More than I ever thought possible."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth opened to say something, but no words came out.

"I know it's sudden," he continued, his voice filled with emotion. "But I can't keep denying how I feel. I want to be with you, Miss L/N. I want to take that chance”

Y/N's eyes widened as she reached out and took his hand. "Oh, Anthony. I've been waiting for you to say that."

Anthony's heart swelled with emotion as he pulled her into his arms. "After last night at the ball I’ve been thinking a lot..and I'm willing to face whatever comes our way, as long as we're together. And I feel it is safe for me to say you can say the same thing."

Y/N smile went all the way to her eyes, her heart filled with joy. "I really can, Lord Bridgerton. And I'm ready to take that chance with you."

You know how much I hate that 

everybody just expects me to bounce back

Just like that

------------------

A Few Weeks Later

------------------

Uh oh, I'm falling in love

Oh no, I'm falling in love again

Oh, I'm falling in love

The sun was setting over Bridgerton House, casting a warm golden glow over the estate. Anthony and Y/N stood together on the terrace, watching as the last rays of light dipped below the horizon.

"I never thought I'd find someone like you," Anthony said softly, his arm wrapped around Y/N's waist. "Someone who makes me feel like this."

Y/N smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. "And I never thought I'd find someone who could make me feel so safe and loved."

Anthony's heart swelled with love as he kissed the top of her head. "I'm so glad we took that chance, Y/N. You mean everything to me."

"And you mean everything to me," Y/N replied, her voice filled with emotion.

As they stood together, watching the stars come out one by one, Anthony knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together. He had found his way out of the labyrinth of his mind, and into the arms of the woman he loved.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly at peace.

I thought the plane was going down

How'd you turn it right around

a/n pt2; i have mixed feelings about this one I DONT KNOWWW

[tinydefector]

Psst , The human affect last one where after MC post those spicy pic's, imagine the new of it on Swerve bar's DRAMA and Chaos 😂😂😂 I want to see the reactions

Who's servos- Human effects

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: taking about explicit photos, light smut, hand humping, Drunk robots.

I added a sprinkle of Dratchet in here because I love these old men. So enjoy the boys reactions to the Ambassador's photos.

Masterlist

Prev

Next

__________

Swerves Bar is overly loud as mechs argue amongst each other as they try to figure out what bot was shacked up with the Ambassador, everyone looking at the photos as they try and figure out who's servos they are. 

"I'm telling you, those are Rodimus' servos for sure!" someone slurred, slamming their drink. "Only he's got servos that colour!" 

“Ah no, Animus has the same coloured Servos!” 

“Don't look at me im on the Ethics committee, and whoever is involved in this clearing doesn't care about the ethical side of interspecies relations which we have no knowledge on!” Animus argued back the moment his name was mentioned 

“What if it's UltraMagnus who painted them so he doesn't get caught!” Aquabat chimed in trying to be part of the conversation. 

"As if!" another scoffed. "Ultra stick-up-the-tailpipe would never. My shanix are on Atomizer." Gears states into his drink. 

At the counter, Rodimus nursed his engex with a scowl. "Sure as Frag wasn't me,  i'd be boasting about that in person!, plus the servos don't have the detailing I have!" He argued back. 

Drift flashed a sly grin. "Oh I don't know, Roddy - they do raise an interesting point. You are the Mech they spend a lot of time with who's captain of the ship, and I believe you'd keep it a secret to spite everyone" the ex con was Overcharged himself, drifting from where Rodimus sat and where Ratchet was sulking over his own drink. 

"It has to be one of the senior staff," argued Hound. "They've got the most face time with the Ambassador." 

"Don't discount the scientists," Brainstorm countered. "Interspecies collaboration is crucial work." A collection of them look at Brainstorm for a kilk. 

Nautica scowled as she passed by. "We all know you have no tack Brainstorm."  

Tailgate tugged Rewind's arm anxiously. "Do you think we'll get in trouble for looking? I didn't mean to pry, honest!"

Rewind shook his head. "No, its publicly posted with consent, pretty sure if the Ambassador had issues with it High command would have dealt with it already " 

Beside them, Swerve studied the photos intently. "Maybe I should invite the ambassador for drinks. Get to chatting, see if we could get them to spill."

"No harassing them," Rodimus warned, stealing Swerve's datapad. "Now let it go, mechs. Their choices aren't anyone's business but their own." 

Skids appeared at Drift's side suddenly. "Can you believe it, Drift?, who do you think it is?" He waved a datapad at the speedster, proudly displaying an image. 

Swerve perchs up his field mischievous. "Any guesses on the lucky mech, Drift?, we're Taking bets" He states in singy song tone. 

“C’mon Tailgate, don’t be such a prude,” Skids nudged the minibot to look at the photos  as he ducked shyly behind his engex. “Ain’t you curious?” 

Swerve flashed a waggle. "C'mon Drift, place your chips! I got hot odds on Roddy, Crossblades, or maybe even that slippery therapist Rung." 

Hound elbowed in, visor blinding. "Do they show interface arrays? Wonder how alien bits compare!" 

Drifts optics focus in on the holos taking in the Ambassador and the servos, Drift felt his energon run cold as his optics focused unmistakably on the servos in the image. Oh, he knew those battle-worn appendages all too well - how many vorns had he felt their merciless precision upon his mesh, heard their owner growl his name through the throes of overload? 

But dear Primus, how had the Ambassador come to possess Ratchet's severed servos? A flash of memory surfaced - hadn't Ratchet left them in medical incase he ever had to use them again. after the massacre at Delphi. 

He snuck a surreptitious glance at Ratchet through the chaos, the grumpy Medic seemed to slouch more in his seat while spilling a bright green mixed high grade. A smirk spread Drift's lips. “ don't Bet Swerve” he states. Rising smoothly, making a beeline for Ratchet with the holo in hand.

Ratchet glances up when he sees Drift, had the CMO not been so drained and worried he might have smiled at Drift, but with everything that had happened with Traxies his systems were running full alert. "Well well, look who finally noticed me," Ratchet remarked dryly as Drift slid into the seat beside him, weariness pulling his field taut as ever-tightening screws. "And just what have you got there that's got your relays in a twist?"

Drift took a moment to slowly moving to straddle his conjunx lap, teasing whispering to him as he handed over the holo. "Funny thing - seems our dear Ambassador has found a new use for those old servos of yours, though how, I couldn't say..."  Ratchet whipped his gaze to the image, intake dropping open at the sight of all-too-familiar digits wrapped intimately around supple flesh. His fans stuttered violently. 

"The pit...how in Primus's name did they get a hold of my old servos?!" He rasped, snatching the holo to pore over with widening optics. Somewhere in the drunken din, Drift managed to slap a servo over Ratchet's mouth before he made a scene. 

Drift leaned close, vents puffing hot against an audial. "Well? Care to make a claim, or shall mystery have them all in a tizzy?" he purred silkily. Ratchet grimaces, field warming ever so slightly beneath its veneer of exhaustion. "None of their business," he grumbled, staring pointedly at Drift. 

Drift chuckled, glossa flicking coyly over his dermas. "Aw, don't be like that. You know you're enjoying the thought of having every optic in this bar on you, imagining all the sinful things you'd do” 

A rumbling growl escaped Ratchet's intake. "And you'd best mind your tone, or you'll find yourself in need of a medical. Again." But his field betrayed amusement Drift's optics glinted knowingly. "You say that like it's a chore, but we both recall how creative your medical procedures can be...especially with an eager patient beneath those adept servos." 

"You're like rust" Ratchet huffs but lets Drift continue, his mind does start to wonder about how soft the Ambassador looks. "Honestly, you're worse than the younglings sometimes, Drift." But his digits had already found their way to rest in the seams of Drift’s hips. 

The Ex con nuzzled closer still, voice playful even in his overcharged state. "How you wound me, doctor." His servo crept daringly across Ratchet's plating, tracing patterns. "Just imagine - that soft little frame. The sounds you could coax from those lips..."

A shiver worked its way through Ratchet's struts, betraying his fraying self-control. "You really are determined to get us both in more trouble than we can handle, aren't you?" But his engine revved eagerly all the same. Drift purred contentedly as deft medic's digits found all his sensitive nodes just right. "Mm, you say trouble but I know how you enjoy a challenge, doc." 

His field pulsed hot as his imagination, arousal spiking at thought of the Ambassador with them. "Just picture it - that lithe organic frame writhing between us, so curious and willing to learn." Drift continued to grind against Ratchet's servos. "You'll get us both in the brig, get back to my Hub you're overcharged" he huffs out. 

________ 

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[mrsmikaelsxn]

Pride and Pigeons

masterlist

pairing: harry potter x any gender reader

warnings: fluff, kissing

summary: a fluffy imagine of you and harry - requested by anon

a/n: you ask for harry fluff, you shall receive harry fluff :)

song: moon - siggerr

Sitting on the couch in the common room you glance at the fire as it crackles.

It was the holidays and most people were home. Harry told you he was staying, so you decided to join him. He gave up trying to convince you that you didn't have to stay for him awhile ago.

You look down at the book in your hands and then turn your head to look out the window, getting a wonderful view of the snow falling outside. Hogwarts was so beautiful when it was covered in snow.

Harry walks out of his room and heads down the stairs quietly. He spots you cuddled up under a blanket by the fire with your book and he smiles softly.

He heads over to you and plops down next to you on the couch, places a kiss on your cheek, and puts his head on your lap. You instinctively run one of your hands through his hair, "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning, love," he looks at your eyes scanning the pages. He watches how your facial expressions change ever so slightly as you get to certain points of the novel. "You are so pretty."

You feel your cheeks warm and you look at his grinning face. "Thank you." Flipping the page, you glance back at him, "For the record, I think you're also pretty."

"Why, thank you. What book is that?"

"Pride and Prejudice. One of my favorite classics," you beam.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Pride and Pigeons?"

You laugh and lightly wack his head with the book. "No you daft dimbo."

"I'm only joking!" Harry laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Mhm. Anyway, it's a beautiful book. You should read it some time, I can lend you one of my copies."

"One of your copies? How many do you have?"

You look up and think as you count to yourself. "Nine. I think."

"Nine?! Who needs nine copies of the same book?" Harry looks at you with bewilderment.

"There are just a bunch of different pretty versions," you shrug. "I'll give you one of my favorites, with annotations- which is very generous of me because I don't let people borrow my books."

"Except Hermione."

You nod, "Except Hermione." You look back down to the page and continue reading, but you feel Harry's eyes studying you. You look and meet his adoring gaze, "What?"

"Nothing. You're just so... perfect," he sighs dreamily.

You sigh with a smile and pick up your bookmark. You mark the page you're on and put the book down on the table.

Harry pulls himself up a bit and you reach him halfway down, placing your lips softly on his. You feel him smile against your lips and you run your hand through his hair and put the other on the back of his neck.

You pull away after a bit and he drops back down onto your lap and closes his eyes in bliss. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you m-"

You put your hand over his mouth, effectively shushing him. "Every time we do this we just go back and forth on who loves each other more."

"Yeah," he grins, "you're right."

"When am I not?"

He scoffs, "Would you like me to make a list?"

You gasp and put a hand on your chest, "Why are you calling it a list if nothing is going to be on it?"

"Ha ha, very funny." A moment goes by as you enjoy each other's presence in a comfortable silence. "Question," he says.

"Shoot."

"Did you want to go to hogsmeade with me tomorrow? We can get some butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks and wherever else you want."

"Can we get a pet?!"

"No."

"Oh, please, Harry!" you beg him with your best puppy dog eyes. You learned how to do them from the best, Sirius Black. Who better to learn puppy dog eyes from than a dog himself.

"No," he says but you can see he's starting to give in. As he looks at you pleading he has to do everything he can to hold himself from saying yes.

"Harry. Pretty please? With five cherries, whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate shavings, and caramel on top?"

"Treacle tarts on the side?"

"Treacle tarts on the side."

He looks at your pouting mouth and brings his lips to yours for a quick peck. "How can I say no to that?"

You jump up in excitement and accidentally knock Harry onto the floor. "Oh, Harry! I'm sorry!" You pull him up.

He rubs the back of his head, "Thanks."

"I'm going to get a kitten! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're most very welcome, darling. A kitten though?"

"Well, I would get a dog but I don't think Snape would be happy if I sent it to chew on his shoes- which I would totally do."

Harry laughs, "I would love to see that."

"Harry! Do you know what this means?!" you bite your lip with exhilaration.

"We're getting a kitten?"

You roll your eyes, "Obviously," you say in your best Snape impression. "It means we are going to be parents!"

"O-oh! Parents!" Harry stutters at the thought of being a parent with you. He would love nothing more than to have kids with you one day.

"I wonder if they sell clothes. If not then I'll make some. Hm, do you think that Molly will know how to knit clothing for a cat."

"Probably."

You walk to Harry and bring him into a tight hug. He rests his head on your shoulder and places a sweet kiss to your neck. "Thank you, Harry."

"If getting a kitten makes you smile at me like that, then I am more than happy to buy you one," he trails his finger up and down your back, enjoying every second of your warm embrace.

"That's very sweet... I think we should name it Harold Jr."

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 6

-> Part 1

-> Part 5

With Dvalin gone, you were left basically homeless. Not that it was much of an issue, not really. The forests had been very kind to you -- you could easily live the life of a hermit if you so wished, without having to worry about food, water, shelter or animal attacks.

But it would also be horribly lonely. No compassionate silence, no background noise and buzz of other people scurrying around and going about their day without minding you, no one to speak to if you ever felt the need to.

You liked being alone, but you were still human and humans were social animals.

Soooooo, you promptly asked Crepus about working in his Winery in exchange for accommodations, because 'one that asks, does not stray'... or something like that anyways. Your sister always made her life that much harder because she outright refused to ask for help even when hopelessly lost or overwhelmed, so there must be something to the saying at least.

"You don't have to work to earn your keep, (Name). I'd be more than happy to house you as my guest for however long you want!" is what Crepus 'Sunshine Personified' Ragnvindr responded with.

Crepus used Puppy Eyes, it was super effective!

You laid defeated, a puddle of cuteness overload once again wishing for sunglasses to protect yourself from the blinding smiles and imaginary wagging tails.

Crepus was horrible for your heart.

Still, you would go insane if left with nothing to do for days at a time, so you went to turn the Ragnvindr library upside down with Crepus' blessing, a bunch of notebooks, a bunch of pens and a delusion that you'd do any actual studying in there.

This was Teyvat, but this wasn't Genshin Impact -- a library wouldn't have interesting lore, it'd have dry history and even drier geography, accompanied by boring economics and even more boring politics (which was a damn shame too, politics were so interesting when written right).

You never quite had a head for those, prefering subjects with more practical applications that could be practiced instead of having to be beaten into your thick skull until you memorized it just long enough to write the exam.

Though for some ungodly reason you still remembered that onions were actually leaves. It was one of the very few things you remembered from school, actually.

Probably the trauma speaking.

Still, you did find some interesting books - a diary speaking of the Decarabian rule, for example.

Today, I don my very own Windblume.

I can only hope Lord Decarabian never learns of its' significance.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The winds are particularly harsh today.

I am afraid, but I smile and play my lyre as if nothing were happening at all, like I always do.

Sometimes, I forget if what I do is to reasure the people or to delude myself that everything is as it should be...

Then again, does it matter when the result remains the same?

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are growing restless.

Their yearning for freedom gave birth to a small wind spirit that seems fond of my playing. It is an adorable being, even if it has yet to communicate with us.

It remind me of a newborn puppy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The people are planning a rebellion.

I want to help, but how can I? I am no soldier, my strength lays with the pen and the lyre, not with the sword.

Ragnvindr told me there was no need for more warriors, that I was doing enough by keeping the morale up with my performances... I am hesistant to believe him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The little spirit has spoken for the first time today.

It said that it knew the song I was playing, despite it being a new piece I was in the midst of creating, and sang along to lyrics I had yet to write.

It was strange, but it made me happy nonetheless.

Perhaps I was strange too, for feeling that way.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ��� ° . ☆

You had a suspicion on who the author of the diary was by that point. Maybe Crepus would be open to giving this diary to Venti, instead of it gathering dust on the shelf?

Idly, you wondered how it had survived so long, but figured Ragnvindr and his descendants took good care of it.

I met Ragnvindr today.

Something compelled me to share my worries with him, even though I knew he had enough weight on his shoulders and I ought not to add more.

"If you cannot trust in yourself, then trust in me and my trust in you instead" he told me.

It helped.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Meetings regarding the rebellion are more and more frequent. Ragnvindr, alongside a man named Amos, have convinced the Gunnhildr clan to participate against all odds.

I can understand their hesitance. Should we fail to kill Lord Decarabian, their legacy would be no more.

I admire their bravery.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

The wind has long since realized change is imminent, even when Lord Decarabian himself has not - the little spirit said so.

King of Gales indeed, even the wind has rebelled against him.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

Ragnvindr speaks of a bad premonition.

In truth, my heart is uneasy as well, but how can I share those feelings with anyone but myself? It is not the time to bother others with my issues -- it is time to reassure everyone, to rouse their spirit and not to let fear take root even as they stand against a God. It is my duty as a bard and as a fellow rebel.

The Windblume feels particularly heavy as I write this.

I fear I will not live to see tomorrow's sunset, but I fear for my dearest friends and for Mondstadt even more.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

My little spirit friend is still without a name.

I know it does not bother them, they are the wind itself after all, but I would still like to give them a name others can remember them by.

A name that they can remember me by once I pass on, selfish as it is to bind an immortal to a memory.

But I am selfish, even if Ragnvindr may see me as a paragon of virtue. I am a human and to be human is to be flawed. I am not ashamed of it, even if I often feel guilty for it.

Perhaps it will be the very last thing I achieve in this life of mine.

It is hard to name them.

I've thought of many names up until now.

Caelus. Liberius. Aella. Calliope. Achill. Carmine. Hilarius. Hanne. Zephyrinus. Dieter. Sascha. Scilla. Paulus. Notus. Veronica. Agna. Vergil.

Those are just a few of the ones I discarded.

None fit.

I can only hope the right name reveals itself when it is time.

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

That was the last entry.

You closed the diary and carefully put it aside.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

It was not supposed to be mostly nameless bard POV via old diary.

It really wasn't.

Mans literally kidnapped the chapter entirely against my will while I was half asleep yesterday and attempting to write at nearly midnight and I was powerless to stop it, on god.

But hey, at least we got potential Venti bonding set up for the future?

I was planning for more fluff, but I also have no outline for this, so my chapters have a chance of getting kidnapped at any time.

✨BY THE WAY!!!!✨

The charm of spontaneous writing, I guess?

If you have something you want to happen - for example we're in the library right now, so maybe you want a book about a specific tidbit to appear - do let me know, maybe I'll write it in!

I had 2 tests and 1 retake yesterday and holy shit i got through all of them and tomorrow is last day of uni then it's ✨HOLIDAYS✨

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[elliesspacewalker]

i looovvee the song daddy issues by the neighborhood (definitely does not say anything abt me) do you think you could make headcannons inspired by the song?

where reader has never been taken care of but ellie come along and like heals her ig? 😏

Hell yeah

warnings: 18+, these are going to get dark, mentions of childhood trauma, abusive parents, panic attacks, mentions of murder, trans! Ellie.

- Ellie met you in her shared dorm with you and Dina, after you had a panic attack crying on the ground after you accidentally broke Dina's favourite cup.

"hey, hey, are you okay?" Ellie kneels down next to you, and caresses your hair gently as you sob and rant on about how you broke Dina's favourite cup, "it's okay- I promise, she doesn't care"

"are you sure?" sobs continue to leave your mouth as Ellie sits next to you leaning against the wall "I promise"

- Ellie who asked you about what you were thinking about, while you were both studying together.

"what are you thinking about, hon?" she questions, you shrug, trying to brush it off, "if I told you what I was thinking about you'd think I was insane" Ellie laughs "you couldn't say a single thing to me that would make me think you're insane"

"I killed someone" you joke and a choked out "what" leaves Ellie's lips "I'm fucking joking!" you say as soon as you realise she didn't think you were joking.

"I think I like you" and just like that, you and Ellie began dating—not only this, but this is when all your past trauma started taking effect on your relationship.

- Ellie who comforted you whenever you thought you did something wrong. she knew there was something deeper that you weren't telling her but never pushed you to say anything if you weren't ready-

- Ellie who sat and listened to you whenever you needed to rant, and in fact. it was the first time you ever opened up to Ellie.

"this is how my story begins and I don't ever wanna tell the story again" you cry as tears drip down your face "it's okay, you can cry- I'm here for you" you immediately find comfort in Ellie's lap.

"and my dad? fuck he was crazy, he was never present- he cheated on mom so many fucking times and i- he used to yell at me for leaving a light on, that's fucking insane am I right?" ranting on and on, Ellie didn't once turn her attention to something else. it was on you and only you.

- Ellie who pushed you out of your comfort zone to make more friends and learn that not all people are bad, she knew you had social anxiety due to growing up with your parents who never taught you how to communicate properly.

"I'd do whatever I can do to protect you, you know that right?" Ellie says as she places her hand on your thigh, as she drives to Jesse's place. you smile and nod, leaning on her shoulder as she drives.

- Ellie who watched you have a panic attack over eating the last brownie, that was in fact her brownie. "I don't care, it's not the end of the world babe, it's just a brownie" she chuckles, this doesn't calm you down once—ellie realises this and hugs you tight "it's okay"

"my dad left money in mom's hands but I always felt bad for eating the last food because maybe Mom doesn't have enough money and i-" Ellie pats your head in a comforting way, suddenly you realise there wasn't any reason to react to that.

- Ellie who was so happy to see you finally come out of your shell and actually enjoy life the way people should—she pushed you to finally get therapy, which helped a lot. she noticed you going out a lot more, not crying over every small inconvenience.

- Ellie who cuddled you so much that you actually wanted to push her off you sometimes "Ellie, I'm boiling" she grumbles, and you chuckle at her half asleep body, pulling a hair strain behind her ear as she snuggles into you more.

- Ellie who teared up when you told her that she saved your life, "are you crying?"

"what? me, ew get away!" she sniffles and hugs you, telling you how much she loves you.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Until I Found You

A/N: No real plot but smitten Aemond wouldn't get out of my head so enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

"My mother had a long talk with me- a…heart-to-heart if you would." Alicent's face fills his mind's eye. He can see her smile, her concern. "She tells me about your…qualities: your sense of responsibility, your kindness. She says you'd be a good match for me. We'd be a good match. We're a good match for the realm. You're a good match for me." His voice lowers a little. His eyes are locked onto yours, studying you. He tries to read you. You stare at him with your deep striking eyes, your face is soft and gentle. You tilt your head as if waiting for his response. You have such a gentle look in your eyes that can melt a man's heart and charm him. "I…I…" He has been rendered speechless 'Is my mother truly convinced that you would be such a good match?' He can't help but think "You seem so…so…" He fumbles. It feels like a lifetime when you pause as if waiting for him to respond, and the world seems to freeze.

And he feels like a young boy again, filled with such butterflies in his stomach out of nowhere in a way he's never felt before. You are far more than a pretty face. He had noticed when you are near that the air itself smells like lilac blossoms. You smiled at him, a smile that speaks of pure innocence, and of your true nature. As if you could read his mind, you spoke the words that would melt his heart. Your voice is soft and full of curiosity. "Yes, my prince?" A soft smile plays on your lips, and you tilt your head in what he thinks is the cutest way, waiting for him to say more. His stuttering and pauses make you want him even more, he seemed to be so charming and sweet. His breath catches in his throat. Your voice has an effect on him that he did not know possible. His hands tremble feeling something he's never felt before coming over him, every inch of your body is calling to him, your smell, your caress, your gentle touches, your innocent voice.

You are a vision from the gods themselves, and he cannot believe you are so close to him, your hand on his neck, your face so close to his, your eyes filling his vision. He can’t take his eyes off you. Every time he thinks it couldn’t get better, you did something that makes him think otherwise. He can imagine how good your lips would feel on his. He feels like there is so much he wants to do, your touch is like a song of beauty that moves through his body, and your voice is a melody for his ears. He feels a sudden rage overcome him. It fills him with a desire for only one thing, to keep you. Keep you as his and no one else’s. You are perfect and he will give up everything he has lived for just to have you. The thought of someone else touching you makes him sick. Someone else kissing you, it is intolerable. He will have you. His mind was no longer his own. The touch and smell of you were enough to send him into a trance, a dark thought had started to form in his head. 'You belong to me,' he thought. And help if anyone should claim otherwise. "I believe my mother is right, my sweet. We will indeed make a good, no a great match and shall wed." He is too caught up in his new thinking of you to notice any concern you may have at his words.

You look at him, with a hint of doubt in your eyes. You were unsure of how to respond to the ideal he's built up. You were unsure If he truly desired you, or just the idea of you. You hesitate as if trying to find words to express your feelings. Your breath catches short as your heart races and feel a nervous tinge of uncertainty of everyone accepting you. He senses the moment the fear enters your eyes. He wants to reassure you. He does truly. You are everything he has ever wanted. In his mind, his heart beats faster so that you might just hear it. You have suddenly become the center of his very existence. "My love, please do not misunderstand. I desire you. I cannot put it into words or actions as I desire to do quite yet. My dear, you are all I want in this world and more…" he senses your hesitation, and his heart is almost ripped from his chest. It is a strange sensation, but he cannot help but notice the beauty in your eyes when they are filled with such confusion and trepidation. It almost makes him want you more. He feels compelled to speak again. "My love, do not worry, your confusion is not lost on me. I know with all my heart that I shall love you always and forever, that you are my very life and I could not bear to live without you."

With a shy demeanor, you step away from him, backing away, seemingly overwhelmed by the passion that is sweeping through him. Although you can see a hint of longing and desire in his eyes, you lightly shake your head in disbelief. "Are you sure, my prince?" The sudden change in attitude is almost puzzling. Your eyes widened, as you felt a rush of unfamiliar emotions you were not really used to. You were hesitant to trust this, but there was something about him that was hard to resist. You tried to pull away, but he didn't let go as he came closer to you. You couldn't stop yourself from trembling and biting your lip as you watched him. Was that how you felt? There was so much emotion between you he thought. He can feel the rage building inside him. It is not easy when you say these things. He is not used to rejection from anything. And he couldn’t let this sit. So this was how you wanted to play? He smiled cruelly, and he would take what he wanted from you…

As months passed and once the word was given, Alicent planned the wedding to be an elaborate affair. With the nobility of the Realm gathered to witness your union, the ceremony was as grand. The ceremony was held in the large Sept of King's Landing, where you were united in the eyes of gods and men. Your family and friends were in attendance, along with many of the most important and notable members of the various houses and factions of the Realm. As you looked around the room, you felt a sense of pride and happiness, and you couldn't wait for your new life together to begin. You were dressed in royal attire, and looking as regal as ever in your white gown. You stood before Aemond with a look of woe on your face, the look in your eyes was distant like you were trying to hide from everyone. But you also seemed nervous, as if you couldn't stand all the prestige watching you so closely.

He was now your husband, as he had desired. You were his, and no one would ever take you from him. Now that you were his, he could do with you whatever he so desired. No one would ever steal you from him, or challenge his power over you. It was a thought that filled his head with a feeling of pure joy. And he could no longer remember how he ever lived without you at his side. You were his one and only his. His new life had just begun, and he could not wait to see what he might do to you. You smiled warmly, looking at Aemond with all your affection and devotion. It was strange, as if something had shifted within you. Something that was almost palpable. You were no longer afraid of his life and desires but rather embraced them with an open heart and a trusting nature. You had truly become one with him now. He could do with you whatever he pleased, and your feelings and needs were secondary to his own. This was truly love.

The feast that took place in the grand hall to celebrate your wedding was filled with merriment and laughter. It seemed a fitting way to ring in a union the likes of which the realm had not seen in many a year. The servants were seen bringing out an endless array of dishes and desserts to satisfy the appetites of the guests. In addition, there were ample amounts of the finest wines and drinks to toast your happy union. There was much to celebrate, and the guests kept at it throughout the night, long into the early morning hours. You both sat together, and you leaned up to him, you were his and he was yours. But he would no longer play a game of subtlety with you. This was his chance to fully exert his power over you. He leaned in close to you, whispering into your ear. It would be your first taste of what was to come. Now that you were his, he would finally begin to make you his own, he would show you who you were to belong to, and what he was to possess, the room is loud with the sounds of the party, but with this single whisper his voice breaks through the noise and makes your body tremble. He leans in close enough to kiss your cheek and whispers in the softest voice. ”My love, I’ve been wanting to say this to you for so long now, and now that I have you in my grasp, I can say it with all the certainty in the world. You… you are mine. Forever and always. All of you.”

That simple yet powerful statement was enough to make your whole world light up. Your heart skipped a beat as you heard those words, taking your breath away and sending delicious chills down your spine. You trembled, leaning closer to him so that your faces were only inches apart, your eyes fluttering with the passion and desire he filled your heart with. Your body responded instinctively to his touch, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms and his alone. You leaned closer to him, breathless and feeling pure excitement. You could feel the heat of his breath and the intensity of his words. They swept through you, causing heat to rise to your very core. Your lips parted as you took in a deep breath, and you felt your body respond in kind. It was as if you had been waiting your whole life for him to claim you as his own. He took your face with both hands, his lips almost touching yours, close enough to feel your breath, your warmth. He kept talking in this soft, quiet voice, wanting you to hear every word. With your body so close and responsive, it was taking all of his wits to resist taking you in front of everyone. The feeling of having you completely submit to him, this feeling of pure power and authority he had over you, was almost too much. And he wanted to see you break completely under it, and no one else would ever touch you, ever again.

The months had passed, and the feeling of excitement and euphoria had not left him. The marriage had been the best thing that had ever been decided for him. But it was not enough. You were more than a wife. You were his possession. He made sure to remind you of this. He would touch you in a manner he felt was necessary to remind you of his control. He would kiss, grope, and hold you wherever and whenever it suited him. It was his right, he was possessive of you. In public he is always close, his hands touch you in places and ways that are meant to remind everyone of where you belong. At times he would pull you close without explanation, just to get the feeling. Behind closed doors, it was even worse. His hands never left you, either around you or on your body. Your very presence was needed for him to feel whole, and he was addicted to the feeling. You were like his drug, and your body was his to use however he pleased. “You will never be with anyone else, only me.”

Your body stirred with such heat and passion that you felt as if you might faint. Your skin crawled with goosebumps as you imagined all the ways he would possess you, all the things you would let him do to you. You wanted to be his in every way possible. You wanted to feel only his touch, nothing else. You were addicted and craved his needs. You could not deny him anything, and you wouldn't even try. “Please… please don't stop…” You whisper in a breathy, excited tone, your body trembling with anticipation of the touch that you desperately crave. There was a pleading tone in your voice as you were begging him to continue. You can feel the heat coursing through your body, your skin was hot and glowing with desire. You need him, more than anything. Aemond smirked at your response, feeling the warmth of your body against his fingers and the softness of your breasts in his hands. He knew how much you loved being touched by him, and he couldn't resist teasing you just a bit before continuing the intimate moment together. "Oh, I won't stop now," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I plan on showing you exactly what kind of pleasure I can give you." He leaned down to kiss your neck, his fingers still gently massaging your breasts while one hand reached down to unbutton your dress, revealing more of your skin beneath it begging to be marked by him once more. "You're so beautiful when you're this eager for me," he whispered into your ear.

Your heart raced as you felt his lips against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. The sound of his voice sent chills down your spine, making your body tense up in anticipation of what he had planned for you. As he pushed your dress off slowly, revealing more of you to him, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins. "Show me how much you love me… how much you want me…"you whispered, your voice barely audible, "I want to see all of you… I want to be yours completely." As he continued to tease and touch you, your body began to throb with desire, yearning for more of his attention. With a final flourish, Aemond pulled off your dress entirely, leaving you standing naked before him. Your perfect curves were bared to his gaze, and he couldn't help but admire them for a moment before moving closer to press his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply as he took in your scent. His other hand moved to cup one of your hips firmly, pulling you closer to him while he looked over every inch of your body with hungry eyes. "There you are," he whispered, "Just as I like." His voice was low and rough, "So perfectly angelic." He ran his finger along the curve of your waist before trailing it down to tease the swell of your ass, giving it a light slap for emphasis.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and arousal at his intense gaze. You bit your lower lip nervously, feeling exposed and vulnerable but also incredibly turned on by the thought of him owning every part of you. "Yes… I am here for you… I am all yours…" you whispered, "Do whatever you want with me… I trust you completely." Your voice was barely audible, but you meant every word of those three simple sentences. As he slapped your ass, you let out a small moan of pleasure, unable to control yourself any longer. "Please… don't hold back anything from me." At the sight of you standing naked before him, Aemond's eyes widened in pure lust as he took in every inch of your exposed form. Your body seemed to radiate an intoxicating mixture of innocence and sensuality, drawing him in and making him feel almost powerless against his urges. He wanted nothing more than to claim every last inch of you as his own, marking you as his possession and showing everyone who dared to look that you belonged to him. "Please… please fuck me…" you whispered, your voice trembling with need, "I want to feel your cock inside of me… I want to be filled up by you."

Aemond's eyes darkened at your words, and he growled low in his throat as he finally dropped his pants, revealing his hardened erection to you. He reached out and grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you close to him until your back was pressed against the wall behind you. His hands roamed over your ass cheeks before he finally entered you with a grunt, pushing into your tight entrance forcefully. "Fuck me," he grunted, "I'm going to fill you up completely." His large hands gripped your hips tightly as he began to thrust into your depths, driving himself deeper into your wet heat with each stroke. Feeling his thick cock push into you forcefully, you let out a small cry of surprise mixed with pleasure. The sudden invasion caused a mix of pain and ecstasy to surge through your body, causing your muscles to clench around his length involuntarily. As he began to fuck you relentlessly, your mind went blank, consumed solely by the intense pleasure coursing through your body. "Ah yes… fuck me, fill me up… I'm yours… I belong to you…" you moaned, your voice becoming increasingly breathless as he claimed your body completely.

His hands gripped onto your hips tightly as he continued to pound into you, his large member driving deep into your wet folds with each powerful stroke. He could feel your tight walls clenching around him each time he pulled out and pushed back in, coating himself thoroughly in your slick essence as he claimed ownership over every inch of your body. "Yes, that's my girl," he growled, "So tight and perfect for me." His balls slapped against your ass cheeks with each thrust, leaving a trail of precum dripping down your sensitive flesh as he continued to dominate and control every aspect of this intimate moment between them. "I'm going to make you come undone for me," he promised. As he continued to drive into you with brutal force, your body responded instinctively, clenching around his cock and milking it for all its worth. The combination of pain and pleasure was nearly overwhelming, causing your mind to become hazy and your thoughts to blur together as you focused solely on the intense sensations coursing through your body. "Oh god... yes... fill me up... make me yours completely..." you cried out, your voice weakening as the waves of pleasure threatened to consume you entirely. "I belong to you... I am yours..." The thought of being completely devoted and owned by Aemond brought forth an intense rush of arousal within you, causing your juices to flow freely from your pussy as he relentlessly fucked you.

Aemond's harsh grunts echoed in the room as he continued to pound into you, his large cock stretching your tight walls to their limit. He could feel your walls clenching around him tighter with each thrust, coating him completely in your wetness as he drove himself deeper into your body. With each powerful stroke, he felt like he was branding himself into your very soul, leaving no doubt in either of your minds about the extent of his possession over you. "That's right, my little whore," he growled, "You belong to me completely." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, guiding him expertly as he continued to pump into you relentlessly. As he continued to pound into you mercilessly, your body became increasingly slick with your arousal, causing your walls to quiver and contract around his thick cock. The intensity of the pleasure was almost too much to bear, causing your mind to become clouded and your thoughts to drift aimlessly as you focused solely on submitting yourself fully to Alaric's dominance. "Yes… yes… I'm yours… I belong to you…" you whispered brokenly, "Please… please fill me up completely…" Your voice trailed off into a series of moans and gasps as he continued to fuck you with unbridled passion, driving himself even deeper into your waiting pussy.

Aemond's harsh breathing and heavy panting were the only sounds in the room except for the sound of skin slapping against skin as he continued to impale himself upon your wetness. He could feel his balls slapping against your ass cheeks with each powerful thrust, filling the room with the sound of his primal masculinity as he claimed complete ownership over every inch of your body. "Always so tight... so perfect for me," he growled, "I'm going to make you come undone for me... I'm going to fill you up so completely that there won't be any part of you left untouched by my cock." As he continued to fuck you with unrelenting force, your body began to shudder with anticipation, your mind becoming lost in a haze of pleasure and submission. The thought of being completely possessed by Aemond and belonging to him completely sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to clench tightly around his thick member as he showed no signs of slowing down. "Fill me up… fill me up completely…" you pleaded breathlessly, "Make me yours… make me yours forever…" Your voice trailed off into a chorus of moans and gasps as he continued to claim your body as his own, driving himself deeper into your slick depths with each powerful stroke. As he continued to fuck you relentlessly, your orgasm approached rapidly, causing your body to quake and shiver uncontrollably in anticipation of the intense climax building within you.

Aemond's grunts grew louder and more animalistic as he continued to pound into you without mercy, his large member pulsing inside your tight entrance with each powerful stroke. He could feel your walls clenching around him tighter and tighter with each passing second, coating him completely in your wetness as he showed no sign of stopping or slowing down. "Mine... all mine," he growled, "And I'll never let anyone take you away from me." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continued to drive himself deeper into your waiting pussy, pushing himself as far as he could go until finally. He could feel the approaching climax building within both of you and knew that soon he would release his load deep within your waiting pussy, marking you as his possession once again. "Yes... I'll fill you up completely... there will be no doubt in anyone's mind who owns this sweet little cunt," he growled, "And when I'm done, there won't be a single inch of you left unclaimed by me."

Aemond's pace increased leaving a trail of hot cum dripping down your ass as he claimed complete ownership over every inch of your body. The sight of his large member buried deep within your tight pussy was enough to make any man envious, and Aemond knew that he held the ultimate power over you now. "Fuck, I'm close," he groaned, "I'm going to fill you up with my seed." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, guiding him towards his climax as he prepared to release inside of you, marking you as his forever. As he neared his climax, Aemond's movements grew more frantic, his hips bucking wildly as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. The feeling of being surrounded by warmth and slickness was incredibly stimulating, causing his cock to twitch and throb with desire as he emptied his load deep within your awaiting womb. With a loud grunt, he released a torrent of hot cum into your tight entrance, filling you up completely and marking you as his possession for eternity. "There... there's my girl," he growled, "Now you're truly mine... completely mine." He brought you over to the bed, spent but satisfied, as he reveled in the knowledge that nothing could ever separate them from one another again.

As Aemond filled your tight pussy with his thick seed, you could feel the warmth and fullness enveloping your insides, causing your body to tremble in pleasure and submission. The thought of being completely marked and owned by him caused an intense surge of pleasure to course through your body, causing your orgasm to crescendo as you surrendered completely to his dominance. "Ahh… ahhh… I'm yours… I belong to you… Please don't let go of me… please stay inside of me…" you cried out. "I'll stay inside of you... I'll fill you up completely... I'll never leave you... I'll always be a part of you..." He leaned down and kissed you softly on the lips before speaking again. "You'll never be able to get rid of me now. I'm a part of you now." He rested back into the plush mattress and held you, letting his cock press against your womb as he took a moment to catch his breath after the intense fucking he had just given you. "And you'll never be able to forget who you belong to."

As you open your eyes, you gaze up at him with a look of complete satisfaction, your breath coming in quick, sharp intervals as you tried to catch your breath. Your body is still pulsating with arousal, the lingering effects of his touch still lingering on your skin. You smiled at Aemond weakly. You lay in his arms, completely exhausted but utterly content. His hands roam over your soft skin, caressing you, reminding you of the love and passion that you shared together. You felt secure and content with him, safe and content with the way he made you feel. As he stroked your flesh in just the right way, you closed your eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. he could almost hear your sighs and the sounds of ecstasy as you melted in his arms. The look of ecstasy on your face was what made him so happy. He was proud that he had achieved this, that he was the source of your pleasure and satisfaction. The way his hands caressed your body and the soft sound of your breaths almost put him into a trance as well. Your warm breath on him was a feeling he could never grow enough of. This was what was right for him: a woman all his to do with as he pleased.

He leans close and nuzzles his face into your neck. He whispers into your skin, his breath warm and comforting. "My dear, my love, I cannot believe that you are mine to possess. You are so responsive. You are so accepting. How I have been deprived for so long, I have no idea. I believe I would not have lived a full life had I not met you. Please, my dear, never forget this. Now and always, you belong to me. No one else will ever possess you. You are my princess, my queen. You are mine." Your breaths come in short, sharp gasps as you listen to his words. You feel like you were floating on air, basking in the warmth and safety he radiated just for you. The feeling of him nuzzling his face in your neck sends chills up your spine, making your body arch up against his almost instinctively. You leaned into him, your limbs soft and pliable. “You make me feel like a queen, my prince. You make me feel so adored and loved. I am yours, body and soul, now and always."

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Fortnight

Ominis x Reader

(angst! not a happy one! Sebastian x Reader if you squint)

WC: 1300

Summary: Reader has been in love with Ominis Gaunt since forever and it does not go well

Note: yes I did base this off the Taylor Swift song. she makes me feel things, ok? If you want the full effect listen to it while you read, I wrote this listening to it on repeat. unedited ok don't judge, I'm struggle bussing with the next chapter of my Draco x Hufflepuff fic

All my mornings are Mondays Stuck in an endless Febrary I took the miracle move-on drug, The effects were temporary

In your fifth year, you lay sprawled out on a picnic blanket in the fields next to Hogsmeade, looking up at the clouds. You described their shapes to Ominis, laying next to you.

You rolled onto your elbows and studied his face. Serene. Beautiful. "Have you ever been kissed?"

"Ha!" Ominis answered. "No."

You frowned. You knew what he meant. That he didn't like or trust anyone enough for them to get close enough to try. Including you. But you let his answer linger in the air, and didn’t press him on it. The clouds overhead shifted, and you continued to describe them.

And I love you, it’s ruining my life I love you, it’s ruining my life I touched you for only a fortnight

In your sixth year, you sat in the Great Hall, watching the ornamented garlands glitter in the firelight. Ominis always stayed at the school over Christmas. Ever since the incident with Sebastian’s uncle, he kept a stiff upper lip about his family, but you knew it wasn’t good.

"We could run away, you know."

He paused, fork hovering over his pudding. "Huh?"

"You and me. Sebastian could come too if he promises to behave. We'll pretend you're a bastard son of one of Hufflepuff's descendants instead."

"And when my family notices I'm gone? And the whole countryside is looking for a blind wizard matching my description?"

"Then we'll go far enough no one will even know who the Gaunts are, who Slytherin was."

"You dying for a summer home in the tundra? No, we wouldn't last a fortnight. This is just something I have to deal with."

For a fortnight there we were Forever Run into you sometimes Ask about the weather

In your seventh year, you stumbled into the Undercroft after a date with Gareth Weasley at the Three Broomsticks and let out a sob.

He had been a perfect gentleman, as much as you could expect Gareth to be, and funny. He made you laugh, he walked you back to your common room, he had left behind his collection of dungbombs at your behest. You could maybe learn to love him. The thought shattered your chest to pieces.

You bent over, clutching your chest, and tried to regain your composure.

From the darkness of the Undercroft, light footsteps approached.

“Not now, Sebastian.”

“Y/N?”

You stiffened. That wasn’t Sebastian. You wiped the tears from your eyes even though he couldn’t see them. “Ominis,” you said, voice shaking.

He could tell something was wrong; his brow furrowed. “What happened? You had a date tonight, didn’t you? Did Weasley pull something?”

“I’m fine, Gareth was,” you paused, “great. He’s great.”

You sighed and sat on the cold floor. Ominis sat with you and took your hand.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Do you really not know?” you asked softly.

You searched his face for something, some spark of recognition, maybe even confusion. He only sighed and shook his head.

“Y/N,” he said slowly.

He knew. He had to. All this time.

You pulled your hand away from him.

“You know I can’t,” he shook his head. “My family. That’s not in the cards for me.”

“I know. But-”

“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Heat burned your face, your gut roiled. You were going to be sick. Ominis stood, wand outstretched in the dim light. “You mean to much to me. You’re my best friend.”

“Right,” you said. “Friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I should go. Goodnight, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer, but watched as his form melted into the darkness, and listened for the whir of the gears.

Now you’re in my backyard Turned into good neighbors Your wife waters flowers I wanna kill her

A year after leaving Hogwarts, you packed up your London flat, radio blasting.

Someone knocked on the door.

You flicked your wand to silence the music and opened the door.

“Ominis,” you said with surprise. He pushed past you into your flat. “Please, do come in.”

He ignored your sarcastic tone. “Are you alright?” He stopped short, his foot stopped against a packed trunk. “You’re not leaving London, are you?”

“Yes, actually,” you shut the door. “I’ve accepted a teaching position at Beauxbaton’s.” He had the nerve to look disappointed. “So, what can I do for you, then?”

He paused. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. When you didn’t come, I was worried.”

Your fist clenched at your side, and you glanced nervously at your bedroom door. “I’m fine,” you lied. “How’s the wife?”

Ominis shifted, uncomfortable, as a blush crept into his cheeks. “She’s fine. Wanted to meet you, though.”

“I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

He crossed his arms. “What’s this about leaving, though? You weren’t going to tell me?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ominis, I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Have this conversation. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding,” you bit the bitter word out just as your chest clenched.

“So that’s why you’re mad at me.”

You took a deep breath. How could you possibly explain? The knowledge that it actually wasn’t his family, he just didn’t love you. And he hadn’t been brave enough to tell you that years ago. He’d waited until you were on the ground, crying, trying to confess, and then he’d lied. Then, he’d sent you an owl. The invitation had ended up torn, floating in the Thames.

“You said it wasn’t in the cards.”

“I was out-maneuvered.”

“So you had no choice, then.”

“More or less.”

You hummed, unconvinced.

He frowned. “What, you’re angry I didn’t pick you? I did this to protect you.”

You laughed, shocked. “How noble of you.”

“Don’t be a child.”

“Piss off,” you snapped. “You let me believe you might have, had things been different. What a lie, you really outdid yourself with that one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You ignored his question. “I could’ve loved you, quietly, a spinster if you’d remained a bachelor. But I can’t watch you be a married man. It’s destroying me.”

Hurt flickered across his face. “You’re my best friend.”

“No, I’m not. You’re married. Your wife should be your best friend.”

“She isn’t, though.”

“Then you should’ve thought of that sooner.”

He reached for you, “Y/N.”

You smacked his hand away. “Please, go.”

He took a stumbling step backwards toward the door. “I, um, hope your travels are safe. Goodbye, Y/N.”

He closed the door behind you, and you fell onto it like you were bracing a strong wind, or some magical creature trying to break it down.

You winced. “Sebastian?” you called.

Your bedroom door opened, and Sebastian came out, grimacing.

“How much of that did you hear?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Pretty much all of it. Thin walls, you know. That, erm, explains a lot though.”

Sleeping with Seb had been a recent development. It was purely casual, as you’d made explicitly clear your heart was spoken for, whether you liked it or not. He’d never asked questions, and when your limbs were tangled up, you could forget about Ominis. It never lasted long enough to make a difference, though.

“I’m sorry,” you said, eyes downcast. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

His lighthearted posture melted into concern. “Hey, hey, c’mere.” He folded you into his arms. Strong, soft, dependable arms. You cursed the day you’d fallen for the wrong Slytherin.

You sobbed into his shirt. “What’s - hic - wrong - hic - with me?”

He rubbed circles into your back. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong with you. It’s going to be okay.”

You nodded, and clung to him to keep from drowning, lost in a storm but with a lifeline.

[gaymaramada]

Rise! Boys with a S/O that vocally stims by singing:

Leonardo

He thinks it's adorable.

Likes to sit with you while you work/study because you always hum along to whatever music you're listening to.

Constantly tries to get different songs he likes stuck in your head so he can hear you sing them.

If you're humming a song he knows he'll start singing along with you.

It turns into a whole karaoke session.

“Oh my god, is that Britney?!”

Sometimes he’ll catch you singing the same lyric over and over again and he’ll tap your head:

“Should I call a handyman? I think my record player’s broken.”

Donatello

He has a similar vocal stim!! He often finds himself whistling when he’s focused on something.

He likes to have you with him in his lab — he enjoys the steady background noise and finds your voice soothing.

If the two of you are hanging out, you may end up trying to harmonize with one another.

(It’s unsuccessful, but it’s the thought that counts)

If you're humming for long periods of time, he'll have you take a break so as to not strain your voice:

"Y/N, you've been humming for the past half hour. How is your throat? Let me finish attaching this part and we can find something to do."

He helps to distract you with something so you can rest your voice, whether it be by the two of you grabbing some food or watching a movie.

Raphael

He loves the sound of your voice! He’s super impressed by how good you sound.

It took him a while to realize it was a stim, but when you kept looping the same song over and over one day, it began to click.

He’ll ask what song you're singing all the time.

He ends up staring at you with the most lovey-dovey smile on his face.

Sing him to sleep. Please.

He’s not above teasing you when you sing the same tune for a long time:

“Sweetheart, I love you, but Raph’s not sure he can handle another week of Mr. Bluesky.”

Michelangelo

He sings with you!!

He hums a lot while drawing/painting/etc. so he completely gets it.

Sometimes when you get really into the song, he’ll start to hype you up:

“Ooh! Sing it, baby!”

God forbid you get a sad or angsty song stuck in your head, though.

He will confront you.

“Good Afternoon! Welcome to Dr. Feelings’ seminar: The Mitski Effect. I’ve noticed you’ve been humming First Love / Late Spring a lot lately—”

Apart from that, he’s perfect company for when your voice just needs to come out.

[loredrinker]

The Inquisition Family Road Trip

Sera: Ugh, Creepy, stop! It’s been three days now! What is it this time? Sad bandits? A tree that misses its squirrel? 

Cole: It’s a song. The wind sings of what was lost, if you listen. 

Sera: See? This! Who listens to wind? It’s wind! It’s not saying anything! It’s just... whoosh! 

Cole: It speaks to who can hear, but it’s harder to hear when your heart is full of louder things. Too much noise, too much now, and it... 

Sera: Right, that's it. I’m pulling this horse over and we’re having a talk. With arrows. 

Cole: But...we’re already talking. And arrows don't talk. They sing. Softly, like whistles through the air, until they land.

Sera: Ugh, you’re impossible! How does anyone deal with you? 

Lavellan: Enough! We’re the ones dealing with both of you! Sera, quiet. Can you please go one hour without snapping at him? 

Solas: Indeed. Heeding the Inquisitor’s request would be most… desirable. 

Sera: It's him! And his creepy wind-talking! 

Lavellan: Sera, I'm going to stop these horses, tie you to a tree and let Solas give you a lecture. About anything he wants. 

Sera: You wouldn’t. 

Solas: I could start with a detailed discourse on the elemental theories behind wind patterns in the Fade. 

Lavellan: Or your thoughts on the historical inaccuracies in common Orlesian depictions of ancient elves. 

Solas: In addition to a full week’s study of elvhen grammar. 

Cole: I could help with that! The words feel soft, like roots in the earth, spreading and holding, even when no one sees. They hum when you say them right. We could talk about that. And practice the sounds! I like the sounds. 

Sera: Nooo! Not Creepy teaching me elfy-words!  

Lavellan: Solas has some wonderful theories about ancient elven architecture. 

Solas: The etchings alone could fill days of discussion. Though I would begin with the foundations—metaphorically and literally. 

Cole: The stones remember being shaped. They’d like to tell her. 

Lavellan: Or Solas, what about explaining the finer details of your restoration theories? 

Solas: Excellent suggestion! Beginning with the architectural significance of fenestration patterns. 

Sera: What even is fenestration? 

Cole: Windows. The way light moves through them, dances – windows into the soul. It’s beautiful when it shines. 

Sera: That’s it. I’m leaving. I’ll ride ahead. I’ll ride back. I’ll ride into a pack of wyvern. Just stop! 

Lavellan: If you’re planning to ditch us, Sera, I can always add in a reading list to keep you busy on your way. All of Solas’s favorite texts. 

Solas: A worthy punishment. I could start with an annotated copy of The Elven Pantheon for her convenience. 

Sera: Stop it, you! 

Lavellan: Well then, be quiet and leave Cole alone. Or the next stop is a mandatory lecture circle. 

Sera: Fine, I'll shut it. 

Solas: Well done, vhenan. You claimed Sera’s surrender with words alone. I admit, I was moments away from drawing my staff. 

Lavellan: As much as I appreciate your staff, Solas, I find a deft tongue far more...disarming when the moment calls for it. 

Solas: As you should. A well-honed tongue can often prove far more effective at rendering one speechless than any staff.

Sera: Gross! Just tie me up and lecture me already. I’ll take diagrams and elfy-words over listening to you two fenestrating each other. 

Cole: Tongues and staffs, both strong, filling in soft spaces – fighting but...not?  It feels like fire wanting to catch. Why does it make the air heavy? 

Solas: Best not to dwell on it, Cole. 

[wakacreations]

Infernal Addiction

The long term effects of Tav are currently being studied. So far things are not looking good for all participants (Zevlor, Rolan, Raphael, and Haarlep). If you or someone you know has been exposed to Tav, go and seek immediate help before it's too late.

Zevlor:

Can you be addicted to the sunlight When you’ve been living without  the dazzling shimmering beacon’s gaze  caressing lovely across old wounds. What stretching silhouettes follow behind Have yet to disappear as I make my way Towards their everlasting glow. How long will this comfort last?  Even if this will be just a sweet moment  till sleep waters my dry eyes,  I will treasure it no matter how brief  our time shall be. If this compulsion will consume me then let it be. For I am a fiend for the sun and here I will wait Ever devout for their presence to one day return.

Rolan:

I cannot possibly be addicted from Whatever slight wisecrack they utter From over my shoulder as I flip Through worn pages I have already memorized each flourish of these glyphs and its script. I am not addicted to hearing their voice through the chatter of passersby Or in the privacy of my study or during the quiet nights after the shop closes shut. I am not addicted to seeing their Smile in my day to day life. My eyes do not play tricks on me for  I to catch glimpses of their smile when  they are nowhere in my close proximity  if they are even there at all. I cannot possibly be addicted to such An idiot who's laugh turns into a fit of snorts  at the lowest brow of childish humor. I am not addicted to such a person But..  I will confess..  They are not the worst  person to be around..

Raphael:

I have had a hand in orchestrating and conducting  For mortals to move to my whims. I have grown tired of this old score if you will.  The same swells, phrases and leading hand following along as eager rodents come to dance to my melodic melody. Some pluck on their own vocal cords playing in time To the measure till their fingertips are whittled down to the marrow. My joyous symphony should it be but there is one position yet vacant. The instrument that compels others to listen as I do with a flourishing wave. The unyielding soloist that commands and leads a conductor  to watch their every fluid movement in fascination. The subtle nod of their head to signal a rapid crescendo,  the slow exhale as their chest deflates with each phrase in a quiet section of reprieve, and the rich emotions that alight their features through the flowing passage. I could watch this performance for eternity and maybe I shall.  What better fixation than to be swept, and made breathless  in this feverish madness as the sustained note comes to rest. You raise your bow and I my hand for us to begin once more. One last piece in my ninth symphony and gifted as a tribute to you, a requiem. I will always be watching in anticipation for your adrenaline filled tell. Elysium.

Haarlep:

I have consumed all temptations under one’s claws. I have sunken through to the lower planes, traversing Through dwellings to sample sweet ecstasy. Otherworldly and mortal decadence have rolled on my eager tongue then with a swallow being temporarily sated by the disorienting high. What sensation that last is not enough. There is always something more. I have yet to taste the divine but there they sneak around in my peripheries. The wafts of sunlight that lingers on their skin as they confidently stride around my domain gently humming along to the melody of their own humble naivety, curious eyes flickering about pursuing the shelves with a trailing hand caressing the tucked away spines while passing through. Their soft features remain pristine, unmarred by the presence of time and the quick bob of that delicate throat encasing the sweetest of songs to grace the ears. Blinding shimmering precious songbird encircling my vision, tantalizing little butterfly seeking nectar and I, ambrosia. With my own wild eyes, they stand before me with a voice like a rivaling siren's whispers coaxing the back of my mind to feel the rapid thumping of heady ecstasy coursing through our jittering limbs. Heads lolling back, succumbing to the rolling prickling heat over too sensitive flesh. Connecting and disconnecting our shared consciousness as we lay adrift as one. The horns have come, little dove. My beautiful addiction.

[lastthroes]

rly curious to hear your thoughts about Spica if you don't mind going into it more! I am also that book's biggest hater for a lot of reasons lmao but I feel like there's not a ton of discussion about it in the fandom... really feels like it came and went

i cannot say that i noticed, but i also cannot say that it surprises me that it is so 😅 it's a novel that just kinda... exists. as this spawns from that earlier post i will focus on the two chapters that are about sarina and goro, but i'd summarize my gripes with spica (at least from what i can remember) in:

1) the fact that it's a nothingburger: you are not really missing on if you don't read it. it mostly left me feeling cold. yes, you're shown exactly how goro and sarina met, how they got close through idol staning, sarina's death,… but there were already enough snippets of this in the manga. i don't think it reveals anything particularly interesting or gamebreaking. being honest, it's kinda boring

2) the shameless drama at certain points that makes it impossible to suspend your disbelief. for putting an example somehow goro, who is a doctor, doesn't notice when sarina's health is getting worse before the inevitable happens (and yes, i am aware that this is the same story that has akane disguising herself as ruby to arrest the person trying to kill her, then also praised aqua for coming up with his masterplan, despite the fact that he's a doctor and should know that forensics will be able to tell his stabbing wound was self-inflicted and the weapon lacked kamiki's fingerprints)

3) the (very convenient at times) inconsistencies and lack of connection to the manga that make it feel like an encapsulated, isolated and fanfic-y story. aqua|goro knew that ruby was sarina reincarnated from much longer than the other way around, and though i get that the point was that he didn't want to tell her and was focused on getting the revenge, this treatment of sarina that you see in the novel (and the way he spirals after her death) never truly bleeds out: sarina's last letter and ai's song cheers goro up and makes him stop drinking and focus on his studies in a way he was not before meeting her, but it's not like this relationship with sarina has a considerable lasting effect that ripples through the manga except… yeah, actually finishing his studies? and his fixation to idols that he got from her?? you do not even get that much relief from him thinking "ah, sarina got a second chance to live" (though this also ties into the previous post)

there are things i do like though, like goro's tsundere-ness about liking ai, and there's this moment he's singing and dancing to b-komachi's songs and gets reprimanded for being so loud; i also enjoyed the part where goro stalls because he doesn't know how to name and categorize his relationship with sarina, albeit short. of course anything that featured sarina and goro was something i was going to be interested in… but i cannot help but wish it were different, especially because it's already not that canon-compliant. granted, a lot of what i'm going to say can be applied to the manga too because the novel is supposed to fill in the gaps and also mostly expands from flashbacks, but i feel like it not only reproduces the same writing problems that the original story has: it also worsens them (which honestly makes me wonder how much non-involvement akasaka actually had)

(warning for long post and also cancer talk, i guess? i mean, with sarina...)

i actually find goro and sarina's fist meeting in the novel to be very… uninspiring? the writing style was jarring too, in a way that it's hard to imagine it coming from a twelve years old: somehow it feels like accentuating goro as someone who looks like an s more than an m (?), and then sarina offering him to become his girlfriend to convince him to let her go to the concert also feels like a bizarre writing choice. i'd say however that my main problem is that, much like the manga does with ruby through a good bunch of its story, the novel isn't interested in engaging with sarina as a full-fledged character beyond her connections and ultimate demise

cursory search confirms what's said in the novel, that the 5-years survival for sarina's cancer, anaplastic astrocytoma, is of 20%… but it also says that the typical median survival is of only two-three years, which means the timeline doesn't work. for a cancer that's known for its aggressiveness it's very unrealistic that sarina somehow was born with the cancer/developed it at a too young age then made it to twelve when she didn't even get a full resection, and yet she speaks about her life revolving around the hospital and having battled with her health for as long as she can remember. this is typical, though: authors love to name-drop cancer in media and then reveal themselves as completely clueless when not plainly offensive, and oshi no ko is not an exception to the rule. but i feel that, by actually focusing on pre-canon, the novel actually worsens this problem. short throwaway lines is much different from seeing something actually unfolding

picking up things by simple convenience is also how the story basically takes the easiest option: we don't see how sarina took the diagnosis, how her family did, or at what stage was she diagnosed. by claiming this impossible setting we are also shown nothing about sarina's life before (and outside of) the cancer, supposedly because it didn't exist. she gets no dreams/plans/goals in life, no education, no friends. we cannot even get a glimpse of how her personality changed after the illness. nothing of that matters because the story has decided, as unrealistic as that can be, that sarina's life starts and ends at the hospital almost as if she spawned there one day with her cancer already being terminal

and the novel really does not want to actually acknowledge the chosen setting for its story

during the childhood arc at the start of the manga, ruby is shown to be scared of dancing because she remembers her constant falls in her past life. but, after this, ruby's past life as sarina barely affects her beyond punctual moments such as her competition with akane to see which one will interpret ai. in the novel, and much like in said manga, sarina isn't particularly scared about suddenly falling sick/getting worse; any possible self-blame and "if only i had done x" rumination, bitterness about her body betraying her, or even resentment at people/the world that are common among people with her condition are glaringly absent

sarina's not yet in hospice care, but there are no hints at any particular scheduled treatment that she might be getting to justify her stay outside of (possibly?) radiotherapy with the small hat she uses to hide her head and being bound to a wheelchair (which is hard to tell if it comes from a degree of body paralysis or she's just weak). the partial resection surgery is mentioned to have happened two years before, which means this isn't her post-operatorium either. despite her brain being affected, sarina also shows no particular speech or visual impairments, either from the illness itself or the treatment. as she also shows no specific post-treatment symptoms, sarina's illness is basically treated as this nebulous obstacle that only becomes relevant whenever the script demands it: she can go in and out of a coma at will, and the cancer also shows its ugly head whenever she's about to see b-komachi both before and after meeting goro. her speech and memory does worsen at the end of her life, but it's also somehow something subtle enough that goro doesn't notice. and granted, you can make a point about sarina wanting to be like ai and "telling lies" and trying to hide how she's actually doing, as well as about goro being in denial, but it's impossible to suspend your disbelief when everything piles up

just as unrealistic and convenient is sarina's relationship with goro after bending the setting and the timeline to justify her isolation, disallowing anything that might eclipse said relationship. goro's impact on sarina is attributed to her never speaking that much with someone, that she doesn't get visitors and that she cannot share her hobbies with anyone (so not only she's not allowed to have had friends before, she's also not allowed any online friends over ai stanning whatsoever, nor can she be associated to a cancer support group, or association for that matter), that goro's (allegedly) the first person who gave a care/supported her. conveniently, sarina also never got a xmas gift from neither her parents nor the grandparents that have supposedly taken care of her all her life: it's all really so the protagonist can come sweep in, unashamedly so

and because this post is already too long, lastly, some of the gems after sarina's death that were what i meant in the tags with spica being "deeply unserious" that come to my mind:

1) after sarina's death, goro is drinking and the bartender mentions him to be on his 20th (!) drink that day, yet somehow he is just slightly buzzy

2) the armchair psychology diagnosis of aspd that goro does to some guy in the scene right after, after exchanging two lines with him. "ah yes, of course i know, i saw this in school once"

3) sarina's corpse being left at the hospital for three whole days. i'm leaving this one for last because i presume there are differences at play, but in my country you're supposed to have everything in order in 24h and this was an expected death. still, even if you take this out, it's kind of surprising (in a bad way) how much the novel glosses over the immediate aftermath of her death. sarina's body isn't even mentioned to be moved to the morgue. the novel really didn't care about setting up the hospital outside of "it's a very cute hospital because it's rural and the air is clean and whatever"