#there's layers here. if you know you know

[nanivinsmoke]

∞ dirty old man

old!manlogan x fem!reader

summary ∞ what happens when you catch your boyfriend sniffing your panties

tags: panty sniffing, arousal, sub logan, dom reader, logan’s a little old and perverted, age gap (reader’s in their 20s), riding, creampie, dirty talking, squirting, face sitting, logan’s so horny he’s cumming a lot, etc..

note: need a muse. lowkey hate this

kicking off your shoes and putting your keys on the island, you called out for your boyfriend, hoping he was here to give you some loving after your long day. you glanced at the couch and noticed his suit jacket resting on the edge, which let you know he was home.

with an eyebrow raised, you pulled off your jacket and made your way deeper inside of your house, checking to see where he was at. and when you finally reached your bedroom, you thought he would be there—napping—only for your bed to be empty. but, as turned on your heels to look elsewhere, you could see that your closet light was on and the door was slightly closed.

“baby, you didn’t hear me—oh.” the old man froze. his tired hazel eyes wide open, while he still held the lacey fabric up to his nose, looking like a deer in headlights.

“oh, so this is why you didn’t hear me call you. too busy sniffing my panties. hm?” you smirked, inching toward him, slowly peeling off your bottom layer. logan had nothing to say. he was caught right in the act. he couldn’t lie or play it off, you had caught him. he was just going to wait and see what you had in store for him.

“does my smell get you off? wanna smell these one’s too?” you tugged on the band of your thong, eyes trailing down to his bulge sitting behind his pants. your mouth watered at the sight and you quickly pulled your tiny piece of fabric down, before tossing it to him and getting down on your knees.

he watched with low eyes as you palmed and kissed his boner, making him twitch in his pants, before unbuttoning them and pulling them down, making his fat cock spring to life. you kissed and licked his precum coated tip, jerking him off and earning a groan from him; before you stopped.

“don’t stop on my account. show me how my worn panties arouse you so much,” he grunted and rolled his eyes, before putting thong up to his nose and sniffing your arousal. he let out a deep groan, eyes rolling back in his head while he felt your lips wrap around his cock.

the smell of you on your panties along with the scent of your arousal growing had him losing his mind. he gripped the back of your head and pushed you further down onto his shaft, making you deep throat him. the sound of you slightly gagging had his tip jerking in your mouth and ropes of cum pooling inside.

you swallowed and he shivered when you pulled away, eyes soft and sexy as you looked up at him. “you must’ve been so backed up for you to cum early like that. hope you got some more stored in there for me~”

he would’ve came again right there in his spot just from how sexy your voice sounded to him. he watched you kiss the head of his cock once more before stuffing him back into his pants. with an eyebrow raise, he grunted in annoyance. he was far from done. he had hoped to cum a couple of more times, especially inside of you.

standing up to reach his height, you kissed his lips, his own immediately moving in sync with yours. the kiss held so much passion, so much desire and so much lust. he needed you so bad and his strong sense of smell didn’t help, when he could smell how much you wanted him.

“don’t worry, ‘m far from done~” you kissed him once more before guiding him down to the floor. quickly grabbing a pillow from the bedroom, you placed it underneath his head, before hovering over him. slowly, you squatted down onto his face, connecting your unbelievably wet pussy with his lips.

logan didn’t waste any time. he lapped up your juices like it would be his last time, slurping up every last bit of your essence. he ate and devoured your pussy like his life depended on it, sending you into a moaning frenzy. a warm hand reached up and under your shirt, pinching one of your perky nipples; teasing it.

you rolled your hips against his face, loving the pleasure he was creating for you. it was so good. it was exactly what you wanted after a hard day at work. sitting on your boyfriend’s face was the perfect remedy to fix a stressful day.

the more he licked and slurped, the closer your orgasm came and soon the ball in your stomach caved and exploded; causing you to cream all over his face.

“fuckkkk baby. don’t stop.”

the growl he let out, vibrated against your cunt, making you squeal and squirm, gushing some more; before you moved from his face. you leaned down and kissed him, licking off every bit of yourself, before you sat on his clothed chest. reaching back, you palmed his erection in his pants—eyes wide when you felt something sticky seeping through.

“don’t waste it baby. next time, put it in me.” you hummed and pulled him out of his pants, swiping his cum up and placing into your mouth, relishing the taste on your tongue. you could barely wait, grinding against his torso before you moved a little and slowly sat down on his length.

hissing, he stretched your gummy walls open, making a temporary room inside of you; almost you to the brim. “fuck—might not last doll,” logan warned and you smiled. grabbing your panties, you stuffed it into the older man’s mouth, adding to his arousal.

you shifted your hips, making his tip press against your cervix, walls clenching down hard around him and making him cum a little bit inside of you. “w-want you to keep cumming inside of me. please baby, wan you to fuck a baby deep inside of me.”

hearing you speak with such vulgarity, made his dick swell even more. his animalistic urges started to unravel more and more while you started to bounce up and down on him, causing him to finally break. logan gripped your hips and slammed you down hard onto his cock, stuffing your sopping wet cunt completely.

the noises you let out while he proceeded to fuck you dumb on his cock, was like music to his ears. the squelching of your pussy, along with the sound of skin slapping each time your ass met his thighs, made you gush and whine out. he was fucking you so good. this old man knew exactly what your pussy needed and that was his fat stupid dick, stretching you out and painting your walls white.

he was close and so were you. clinging to his cock, desperate for his load to pour inside of you, wanting to feel warm with his cum.

his groaning was muffled by your panties, but you knew he was warning you. warning you that he was gonna cum. “fill me up, please. please daddy. fuck, gonna make me squ—”.

a clear stream of liquid shot out of you and splashed against his lower half, along with his buttoned up shirt. your orgasm was so intense that you came even more as he came inside of you, pushing his load deep into your tummy.

the grip on your hips was tight while he rode out his orgasm, his thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. until, he fully emptied himself and pulled out of you, the remnants of his orgasm pooling out of you.

pulling your panties out of his mouth, your lips became reacquainted with one another, shared desires flowing through the both of you. and when you pulled away, you swore you heard a whimper leave his lips.

“i love it when you miss me, old man.”

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech

You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel who’s oddly good at solving your problems.

Series Masterlist

You’re about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and you’re in no mood to be here.

You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, who’s practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite author—the world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.

In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, you’d understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.

After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.

Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.

Suddenly, you spot a stray bird above—a pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.

In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.

In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.

And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someone’s Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.

You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.

A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of… burning tyranny?

Oh, dear God. You’ve been isekai’d.

Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.

Your mind reels back to the summary you’d read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with “dreamy eyes” who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.

That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.

And now—you are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids… and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.

You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see… her. The heroine.

She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasn’t yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies… absolutely nothing.

She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.

Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy who’ll soon be scheming against you. He’s probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off “soulful yet traitorous” in the same expression.

The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, “Your consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."

You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.

And, technically, aren’t you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.

"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him… I’m thinking about military reforms."

The heroine’s eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"

"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, that’s for sure.

Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if you’ve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty… but what about your consort?"

You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? It’s as if she’s constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl who’s going to take you down?

But you’re already devising a plan. You’ll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, you’ll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himself…

Well, when he finally arrives for his “audience,” you’ll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, you’ll have to endure the heroine’s dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric she’s convinced you need.

As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. “Tell me,” you say, feigning curiosity. “What would you do if the palace were to… burn down?”

Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. “Um… cry?”

Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when you’re mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.

By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.

In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. You’re the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.

And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girl’s whimpering romance?

Well, that’s not happening. You’ve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that you’re here, you’re rewriting that ridiculous fate.

You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, you’re screaming.

The entire reason you’ve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, there’s no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.

You can practically taste the freedom already—so you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:

"Esteemed consorts,” you say, hands clasped. “Thank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.”

You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated… something.

She looks like she’s five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.

Maybe they’re just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom you’ve just given them.

But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throat—Floyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.

See, Floyd was not a character that should’ve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if you’re being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.

And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.

He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.

You steel yourself. “Yes, Floyd?”

“Can I stay?” he says, looking entirely too happy. “These other guys are boring, but you’re kinda fun to watch.” He stares at you like you’re some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. “Besides,” he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, “who’s gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?”

God help you.

Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. “My Empress,” he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. “My heart is bound to you, like—like the tides to the moon. Like—”

In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. You’ve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.

Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. “Nice speech, buddy,” he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. “But I think she liked mine better.” He leans in to whisper, loudly, “Besides, I bet you don’t even know her favorite food.”

The consort’s face scrunches. “Do you?”

“Nope!” Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. “But I’m gonna figure it out.”

The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the harem—Lord Something-or-Other—steps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if he’s about to propose.

“My Empress,” he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. “Without you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands of—”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Floyd groans. “Do you guys hear yourselves?”

“Can you not mock me while I pour my heart out?” Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.

“Sure I can. I’m multi-talented,” Floyd replies with a grin that’s somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.

Now everyone’s in a frenzy. Every last one of these men—your so-called “consorts”—are lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would “gladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.”

As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort she’s apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, “Oh, how romantic…”

And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. “Y’know, if you let ‘em keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?”

You feel a headache coming on. “Floyd, please, I’m begging you—”

“What?” he asks, grinning wider. “I thought this was fun. C’mon, Empress,” he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t let any of these guys stage a rebellion.” He smirks at the traitor consort. “Unless you feel like rebelling, huh?”

The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. “Unlike some of us,” he says, glaring at Floyd, “my devotion is genuine.”

“And boring,” Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, Floyd. You can stay,” you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. You’re immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.

“Awesome! And you know what? Since everyone’s so devoted, why don’t we all stay? Make it a real party.” Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.

Now you’re stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine who’s still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isn’t interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.

You’re making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the… experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.

Mostly, you’ve chosen him because, unhinged or not, he’s at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, there’s a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.

But before you can even make it to his side palace, you’re intercepted.

“My Empress…” It’s the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like he’s about to burst into tears. He’s clutching his chest dramatically, as if he’s seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.

“Do you not love me anymore?” he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. “Why do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve graced my chambers?” He’s practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.

You stand there, blinking. “Uh… dude. I… what? ”

He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. “I thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to you…”

You’re trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.

“Yoo-hoo~!” Floyd’s voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like he’s just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shrimpy!” he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.

Floyd’s grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like he’s something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.

“Oi,” Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. “What’re you doin’, crybaby? Gettin’ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesn’t seem real respectful, y’know?”

The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. “I—I was just…” he stammers, trying to find an escape route.

“You were just what?” Floyd grins, but there’s absolutely nothing friendly about it now. “You got somethin’ you wanna say to her? ‘Cause I could help you say it better, y’know.” He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consort’s soul nearly leaves his body.

And you? You’re exhausted. Normally, you’re pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? You’re too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.

“Look, I— I didn’t mean anything by it,” the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floyd’s unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. “I’ll… I’ll just go…”

And before you know it, he’s stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floyd’s glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.

Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. “He didn’t even say bye. Rude, huh?” Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy! Let’s go. You’re finally here!”

And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, you’re half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.

“There we go! See? Ain’t this way better than dealin’ with crybabies?” He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.

You give him a look. “Do you actually scare all of them off on purpose?”

Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. “Only the boring ones.” He taps his temple like he’s sharing some brilliant secret. “Can’t have anyone else thinkin’ they’re more special than me, right?”

Honestly, you’re too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for “getting rid of the competition.” At least, you think to yourself, you’ve successfully survived another day of being Empress.

The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of “who’s the cutest?” You watch, sipping your wine like it’s medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and — at least in one unfortunate case — attempt a juggling act.

A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if it’s possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.

Just when you think the evening can’t get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.

Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man who’s been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if he’s about to faint.

Floyd’s “gentle” suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors d’oeuvres.

Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like he’s claiming territory.

Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.

Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if she’s sharing a forbidden secret, “Your Majesty! You’ve broken their hearts!”

You stare at her, bewildered. “How? By letting Floyd sit down?”

Heroine nods, lip quivering. “They think you’ve… chosen! That’s the King Consort’s seat!”

“What? ” You glance at Floyd, who’s now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least.

“Yes!” Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. “It’s the sacred chair of royal favoritism!” She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. “And here I thought you were a romantic.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I just wanted a quiet dinner!”

One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, “But why, Your Majesty? We loved you!” It’s clear he’s already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.

Then Floyd — who’s been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone who’s just discovered he’s won the jackpot — clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. “Hey, little miss servant girl,” he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. “Maybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join ‘em in the Royal Seat Shuffle?”

Heroine squeaks, as if he’s just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.

In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. “Thank you all for coming,” you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. “This has been… lovely. But we’re done for tonight.”

The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins — the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next — they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.

As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. “So, looks like Shrimpy’s all mine tonight.”

You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. “Well, seems you chased everyone else off.”

“Don’t be like that,” he purrs, clearly pleased. “You know, you’re different now. Last time, you’d have been practically begging those guys to come back.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

He leans in, gaze softening. “Nah. You’ve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpy’s got a spine.”

You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. “To the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.”

The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empress’s Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.

Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort — Mr. ‘I-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-can’t-resist-my-cheekbones’ — is dominating the competition. He’s wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.

This calls for drastic action.

You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more “creative” fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as “Minister Horror Story Hour.”

“Shrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun I’ve had since I got here,” he says, hands on his hips.

You clear your throat. “Actually, Floyd, I need you to… win this competition.”

He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “What, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, I’ll fish out an octopus to do it for me.”

You take a deep breath. “If you do this, I’ll grant you any wish you want. Plus… an extra reward.”

Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “Any wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.”

You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. “You in or not?”

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. “Fine. But I’m not painting. I’ve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?”

When Floyd finally unveils his “masterpiece,” the room falls silent. Somehow, he’s cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palace’s prize garden.

The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a “battle spoon” against some sea monster (you’re guessing it’s supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).

“Ta-da!” Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. “The Empress: Rock ‘n’ Roll Edition. I call it, ‘Shrimpy, Queen of the Waves.’”

Despite yourself, you’re mildly… no, very swoony. Somehow, it’s both absurd and… kind of amazing. Floyd’s grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. “Like it, Shrimpy? Don’t worry, I can make one for the garden too.”

But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if you’re the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, “No, I only want the Empress to comfort me.”

You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, “Please, mercy, mercy…”

Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Sorry, bud. Shrimpy’s already spoken for tonight. You’ll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.”

The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd — and you’re pretty sure Heroine’s sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but that’s a future problem. For now, you’ve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.

It’s another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesn’t move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.

“Hey,” you say gently, “what’s on your mind?”

She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s nothing, really…” Then, in a small voice, “It’s just… I never got to study like this.”

Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studying—her dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.

She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.

Understanding sinks in. It’s not love she feels for him at all. It’s desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.

She’s convinced herself he’s her only way out, though it’s clear as day that he doesn’t deserve her loyalty. The man’s barely got two brain cells, but he’s got freedom—and for her, he must have looked like her only way out.

The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder she’s been swooning over that guy. She’s not “in love”—she’s just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.

“Well, that won’t do,” you say firmly. “How about this? I’ll teach you myself. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll get you the education you deserve.”

Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.

Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. She’s throwing herself into her education with such energy, it’s like she’s forgotten the traitor consort entirely.

And you’re thrilled—partly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.

Soon, Heroine’s loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. You’re so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdom’s other daughters deserve the same chance.

In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.

Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like he’s just heard the world’s juiciest gossip.

“You look smug,” you say, arching an eyebrow.

“Nah, just… pleased,” he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. “Look at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. “Oh, stop it,” you mutter, though you don’t pull away.

He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “Nah. You’re doing great, Empress. I’m proud of you.”

You’re speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you can’t help but feel a little…smitten.

You’re reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks like…a suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, and—oh, yes—face glitter.

He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, “Behold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!”

You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroine’s expression—somewhere between horror and volcanic rage.

With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like she’s about to deliver an exorcism. “You…” she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. “You miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!”

He’s stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. “W-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!”

“Yeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,” she snaps. “I actually know my worth now, and it’s definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation you’ve got going on.” She points to his glittering sash. “What, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. “Y-you were always there for me…”

“That was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!” She’s in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. “Please, the Empress has standards, and you’re down there with questionable cabbage soup.”

He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, you’re honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.

With a smirk, you lean forward and say, “Well, since you’re dressed for the occasion, why don’t you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?”

He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.

The second he’s out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like she’s just won the greatest battle of her life, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent she’s become.

Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. You’re mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, “Hey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Don’t forget now!”

Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. “Fine, Floyd. What do you actually want?”

He grins, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. “Make me king consort.”

You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, “No chance,” but then…you pause. Because—why not? He’s loyal, he’s your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.

You’d get to tell everyone you’d found the “love of your life” and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.

“Alright, Floyd,” you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. “You’re king consort.”

For a solid five seconds, he’s frozen, blinking like he’s not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.

Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. “SHRIMPY, I’M KING CONSORT! WOOOO!”

Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t think I forgot—I still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

You’d expected to feel dread, but instead…you’re kind of excited? Because it turns out, when there’s no glittered consort in sight, Floyd’s brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.

You’re slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.

The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if he’s narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just… knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.

“And, Your Majesty, don’t you agree that such… frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?” he sputters.

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldn’t do worse.

Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworth’s scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,” Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.

The minister stammers, blinking like he’s never been interrupted in his life. “Well, actually, I was explaining to Her Majesty—”

Floyd raises a hand. “I’ll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldn’t want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?”

The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about ��the sanctity of scarves” and how they “never liked those shellfish folk anyway.”

When you’re finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. “Come on, Shrimpy, I’ve got a surprise.”

He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didn’t even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.

In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks… questionable. There’s food you don’t recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.

“I brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,” Floyd announces, looking way too proud. “I even cooked some of this myself.”

You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the “unique” items, you immediately realize your error. It’s a taste explosion, and not in a good way; you’re fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floyd’s already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.

“Oh, that’s rich, look at your face!” He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.

But then you try the food he actually cooked, and it’s… it’s really good. Your eyes widen. “Floyd, you didn’t tell me you could cook!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Guess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.”

As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floyd’s teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, you’re pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize you’re completely relaxed. You’re even… happy.

Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. “Hey, Shrimpy,” he says slowly, “bet I can take you down.”

“Bring it, fish-boy,” you fire back, grabbing a pillow.

A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard you’re almost crying.

In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.

You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. “I think I’m in love with you, Floyd,” you whisper.

He grins, looking almost smug. “Knew you’d come around eventually, Shrimpy. You’re a smart one.”

You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know you’ve got him—and for now, that’s more than enough.

Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, “Countryside? Nah, Shrimpy, we’re going under the sea,” you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?

Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floyd’s brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. “So, my brother’s finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,” he says with a glint in his eye that suggests he’s got a bet running on how long you’ll last.

But you’ve barely survived Jade’s interrogation when Azul, Coral Sea’s resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.

“Welcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,” he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdom’s fishing industry.

“So that’s how it is here,” you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azul’s hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azul’s. “Alright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. You’re mine this week.”

Before you can blink, he’s thrown you over his shoulder like you’re a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.

By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression you’ve only seen on annoyed cats. He’s holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.

“Floyd,” you say slowly, “is something wrong?”

He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. “Hey, I can’t read your mind, Floyd. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. “What was that?”

“You’re my Shrimpy,” he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. “And the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.”

It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. “So that’s it, huh?” A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. “You silly eel,” you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “As if anyone could match me like you do?”

That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. “See, Shrimpy, that’s why you’re the only one for me!” he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.

He kisses you again, and you’re so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.

But it doesn’t matter—he’s too busy swearing up and down that he’s not letting anyone else get a “single fin” on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.

The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delight—and, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.

You’ve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less they’ll try to “reason” you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselves—or they can talk to Floyd.

As you lean in to place the crown on Floyd’s head, he’s giving you a smirk so bright you swear it’s practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts “fairytale ending” and “scandalized gasp from the old guard.” The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.

Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the room’s mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like they’re watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.

Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own… unique way.

You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These “prizes” will be going back to their respective nations, and it’s about time. “Ambassadors,” you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, “I believe you’ll be taking back your… prizes. Enjoy.”

The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.

Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministers—many of whom look like they’d rather have run off with the consorts.

These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide now’s the time to deal with them, too.

Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, “Ministers, thank you for your service. But I’m sure you’ll understand when I say…” You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, “You’re dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.”

Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, “But—Your Majesty—this is—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re free to go! You wouldn’t want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?”

It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. “Welcome,” you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"

Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, “This is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

You feel a swell of pride. This is what you’ve wanted to see—a competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as you’re soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.

“You’re done now, yeah?” he asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Uh, yes?” You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.

“Floyd!” you half-laugh, half-scold. “You could at least let me walk out on my own!”

“Nah,” he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like you’re a sack of potatoes. “You’re mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, it’s tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t,” you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as you’re carried off.

As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. “Any more old men to fire? ‘Cause I’m having a great time.”

You shake your head, smiling. After all, you’re the Empress—who’s going to stop you now?

Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whom—much to the old ministers' horror—are brilliant young women now leading the realm.

Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.

And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.

You’re already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests you’re planning—challenges you’ll design alongside your newly assembled council.

After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like he’s conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.

“So, Shrimpy,” he drawls, smirking. “Fix the whole empire yet?”

“Almost,” you laugh. “At least I’ve retired the Scarf Parliament. That’s enough for today.”

You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.

Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you can’t help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[superhoeva]

Hi! New here. 🍻✨ For bouncer!Logan, I feel like we need some kinda roofie moment—whether us or we spot someone else being roofied and Logan loses his composure—I just feel like it’s begging for life.

tw: drugging/roofie mention, violence, injury (mentioned), smut, oral (m receiving), bodily fluids (mentioned), almost darkish!logan. mdni.

oh man, if someone were to try and fuck with you or anyone else around bouncer!logan, it's game over. lights out.

he's there before you even touch the drink. it all happens too fast. there's a flash of fitted black tee and bulging biceps, logan growling for the bartender to watch the front while he drags the creep to the back office.

the ride home after is quiet. silent, actually, other than the revving of his engine. you don't say anything about how clenched his jaw is or how hard his hands grip the steering wheel. you don't even ask about the guy... the rough bruising of logan's knuckles tells you what happened well enough.

not much is said until you've got him leaning against your bathroom counter, cleaning his knuckles with gauze and rubbing alcohol. his gaze doesn't even try to move off your face. watching you and your features, trying to stop the angry fire from burning his belly.

"never had anyone beat someone up for me..." you mumble, peeking at logan who's still looking at you.

"too cute for me to believe somethin' like that," logan grumbles back, the thumb of his unoccupied hand reaching to caress your chin. his mouth quirks when a huffing laugh blows from your nose. "i mean that. pretty enough to make a man crazy."

you're perfect. logan was sure of it before and certain of it with the way you slurp and lap at the head of his cock. you had him caged against the counter and jeans unzipped before he could think to stop you.

he thinks he's going to break into a million pieces when you glance up at him, eyes wide and chin sticky with a messy layer of spit. the sounds you make his insides tremble. you're gagging and coughing around him and refuse to pull away. logan's unable to stare down at you for more than a few seconds before his head is throwing back, a thick groan leaving his parted mouth.

his hands–bruises shining across the back–manage to find your cheeks, helping slide his cock even deeper with a desperate rut of his hips.

logan wonders if you know he'd do a lot more than beat someone up for you... a lot worse if it means keeping his pretty thing safe...

more bouncer!logan | send in bouncer!logan ideas

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[vlovann]

Okay

S O

I choose the Black mambas.

Here’s why:

Gorillas don’t give a fuck what the terrain is. They see you, you look even remotely threatening (like trigger THEIR uncanny valley), they’re charging. Full speed. They’re already out of their natural habitat and tweaking the fuck out.

AND THEY CAN JUMP CLEAR OVER ANYTHING YOU THINK IS “BETWEEN” YOU. With ANYTHING you can find to barricade at the mall (almost exclusively cardboard boxes and a PLETHORA of such) THEY CAN AND WILL BREAK THROUGH.

Here’s a fun fact about snakes:

they’re all just lil guys.

More importantly, they’re all just lil guys that have a weak spot where they can’t getcha called: right behind their skull. You immobilize that, you can yeet the snek outside.

Combine that with a fun fact about clothing retailers:

They come with snake poles.

You ever work at a clothing store? You ever ask someone at hot topic to get something down from the International Space Station and they come back wielding

ONEUH THESE BIBEES?

Now look at this:

Eh?

ehhHH?

Are you picking up what I’m putting down?

MORE fun facts:

• You have about 30-40 clothing stores and about 2-3 sport gear stores to choose from to layer up to avoid bites.

• Sneks are smol and in this scenario there are only 5. You could probably go the whole time without seeing one if you know where to hang out.

• Department stores that have elevators or escalators? Sneks don’t even know ABCs. They can’t operate that machinery. Go hang out on the top floor of a Macy’s or Dillard’s or something and play dress up. You should be fine.

• PRIMATES CAN LEARN ABCs O~O The have brain cells. They can probably figure it out.

PLOT HOLES:

• If it’s an abandoned mall, you’re screwed. No clothes, no hooks, nothing. Although, with my previous 3rd statement, you could potentially still survive THE SNAKES.

• This scenario does not disclose if there is somebody strategically placing the snakes or perhaps even playing an enchanted flute to tell them where you are at all times from the surveillance room

[mapis-putellas]

𝑴𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒄𝒍𝒆

Pairing: Aitana Bonmati x reader

Words: 1800+

Warnings: none

Summary: Aitana is visiting you in your little hometown in England when it snows.

Waking up with Aitana curled into your side, her small frame clinging onto you for warmth, was a blissful experience. Even though it was winter and the house was a bit chilly, her presence radiated a warmth you’d grown so fond of. You carefully stretched, trying not to disturb her, but the movement must have shifted something, and she let out a sleepy murmur, nuzzling further into your neck.

With a content sigh, you turned your head slightly to glance out the window. And then your eyes widened in shock and excitement. The entire world outside was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, glistening under the early morning light. It was a rare sight in your hometown, and you couldn’t remember the last time it had snowed this heavily. You were practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of experiencing this with Aitana

“Oh my God, baby, it snowed!” you whispered excitedly, gently nudging her

She grumbled, burying her face deeper against your neck. “No… too cold,” she muttered in her thickly accented English, her voice still thick with sleep.

You chuckled, petting her hair gently. “Come on, cariño, you have to see it! It’s beautiful! Look outside!”

She let out a reluctant sigh and cracked one eye open, barely lifting her head off of you to glance toward the window. Her brows knitted in confusion, and she scrunched up her nose in a way that made your heart melt. “What… what is this? So… white,” she mumbled, blinking as if the sight was somehow offensive

You couldn’t contain your laughter, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s snow, Aitana! Proper snow! Isn’t it beautiful?”

She turned her face back into your shoulder, whining softly. “No, no, is not beautiful. Is cold. Why you do this?” she muttered accusingly, as if you’d conjured the snowfall yourself just to annoy her.

“Why I…?” You laughed harder, amused by her sleepy indignation. “Baby, I didn’t do this. It’s just… you know, weather. Winter. It’s normal.”

She huffed, still refusing to budge from her warm spot against you. “But… is too much,” she grumbled, half-asleep, pressing her face into the crook of your neck. “I did not bring clothes for this.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I’ve got plenty,” you said, shifting to sit up. “Come on, let’s get you dressed. We’re going outside!”

Her eyes flew open in horror as she looked at you like you’d suggested some sort of extreme, unreasonable activity. “Outside? No, no, no. You are crazy,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “You go, I stay here, warm.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” you teased, gently tugging at her arm. “You’re going to experience a proper snowy morning with me, and you’re going to love it.”

Her lips pursed in a pout, her wide, sleepy eyes fixed on you with a look of sheer betrayal. “Cariño… por favor. Too cold,” she whined, pulling the covers up to her chin.

But you were determined. You tugged her up, guiding her to sit and peppering her face with kisses until she finally gave in, albeit reluctantly.

She sighed, already softening. "You... you have to carry me if I... become frozen."

You grinned, knowing you'd won her over. "Deal. I'll carry you back if you turn into a little icicle."

With a resigned groan, Aitana rolled out of bed, still muttering about how freezing it was. You rummaged through your wardrobe, finding the thickest clothes you could for her. She ended up wearing an oversized hoodie of yours, a scarf, gloves, and one of your heavy winter coats on top of everything. By the time you'd finished bundling her up, she looked adorably puffed up, like a small marshmallow.

"You look so cute," you said, unable to hide your amusement, dressed similarly yourself.

She scowled at you, crossing her arms. "I look... I look ridiculous."

"No, you look perfect. Now, come on!" You took her gloved hand and led her outside, where the cold air hit immediately. Aitana shivered, instinctively pressing closer to you.

"It's... muy frío," she said, her accent even thicker as she tried to convey her discomfort. "Too much frío."

You laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "You'll get used to it. Now, let's build a snowman!"

She looked at you as if you'd suggested something utterly absurd. "Snow...man?"

"Yes, a snowman! Haven't you ever built one before?"

Aitana shook her head, her eyes wide with confusion and fascination. "No... in Spain, we... no snow. Not like this."

"Then this is the perfect time to learn!" you said, dropping to your knees and starting to gather snow into a pile.

Aitana watched you, still hesitant. "This is... how you do it?"

"Sort of. Here, come help me roll this into a big ball."

After a few more moments of convincing, she reluctantly knelt beside you, shivering a little as she put her hands in the snow. You showed her how to pack it together, and she quickly got the hang of it, rolling a snowball along the ground until it grew bigger and bigger.

"Like this?" she asked, looking at you for reassurance.

"Yes! Exactly. You're a natural," you said, beaming at her.

She smiled, looking proud of herself as she continued rolling the snowball. Despite the cold, she seemed to be enjoying it, glancing up at you every so often with a small grin on her face.

Once you had the base of the snowman built, you guided her through making the middle section and finally the head, placing them on top of each other. When the snowman was assembled, you found some small stones and a stick to make a face and arms.

"Look, tana! You made your first snowman!" you said, clapping your hands in delight.

She stared at it, a little laugh escaping her. "He is... muy feo."

You laughed, nudging her playfully. "He's not ugly! He's unique. Just like you."

Aitana rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. She turned to you, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and held her gloved hands out toward you. "I... am frozen now. You carry me back, sí?"

"Oh no, we're not done yet! We still have to make snow angels!"

She looked at you like you'd completely lost your mind. "What is... snow angel?"

"Lie down in the snow and move your arms and legs. Like this," you said, lying down beside her and demonstrating. "Come on, it's fun!"

Aitana hesitated, glancing down at the snow-covered ground, clearly debating if it was worth it. With a small sigh, she finally lay down beside you, copying your movements as you showed her how to make the angel shape.

After a few seconds, she stopped, laughing. "This is... ridiculous," she said, but her laughter betrayed her enjoyment.

"Ridiculous, but fun!" you replied, grinning over at her.

She looked up at the sky, her smile softening as she watched the little snowflakes drifting down. "It is... bonita."

You reached over, taking her gloved hand in yours. "Yeah, it really is."

After a few moments of quiet, you sat up, brushing the snow off your clothes. "Alright, one last thing before we go inside."

She groaned. "There is... more?"

"Just one more thing, I promise. A snowball fight!"

Before she could protest, you scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it at her, hitting her gently on the shoulder. Her eyes went wide, and she looked at you with a mix of shock and indignation

"Did you... just throw snow at me?" she asked, as if the very idea was absurd.

"Yup!" you replied, grinning mischievously. "It's called a snowball fight. Come on, hit me back!"

Aitana narrowed her eyes, a playful glint appearing in her gaze as she scooped up some snow and tossed it at you, missing completely. You laughed, dodging her attempt and quickly gathering more snow to toss back at her.

Soon, the two of you were engaged in a full-on snowball fight, laughter echoing through the quiet neighborhood as you chased each other around, pelting each other with snow. Aitana's laughter was infectious, her Spanish curses mixing with her giggles whenever you managed to hit her with a well-aimed snowball.

Finally, breathless and covered in snow, you both collapsed onto the ground, lying side by side as you caught your breath.

"You... are very... loca," Aitana said between breaths, her voice filled with fondness.

"You're the one who went along with it," you replied, grinning up at the sky.

She turned to you, her eyes softening. "Only... only because it is you."

Your heart melted at her words, and you reached over, brushing a stray snowflake from her hair. "You're the best, you know that?"

She smiled, her cheeks pink. "I think... you are the best."

The two of you lay there in comfortable silence for a while, the world around you quiet and still, as if you were the only two people in the world. Eventually, the cold began to creep in, and you shivered, sitting up.

"Alright, let's get you inside before you really do turn into an icicle," you said, offering her a hand.

She took it gratefully, standing up and brushing the snow off her coat. "I think... I am already... frozen."

"Well, lucky for you, I know just how to warm you up," you said, winking at her, scooping her up into your arms with the intention of carrying her back just like you promised.

Back inside, you quickly made some hot chocolate, handing her a steaming mug as she sat down on the couch, wrapping a blanket around herself. She took a sip, letting out a contented sigh.

"This... this is good," she said, her eyes closing in bliss.

You smiled, sitting beside her and snuggling under the blanket with her. She leaned her head on your shoulder, her small frame pressed against yours as she warmed up. You wrap your arm around her shoulders and press your lips against the top of her head.

After a few moments, she looked up at you, a playful glint in her eyes. "Next time... maybe we go to a warm place, sí?"

You laughed, nodding. "Deal. Next holiday, somewhere sunny. But you have to admit, this was fun, right?”

She let out a soft chuckle, nodding. "Sí. You... you make it fun."

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad you think so."

As the two of you sat there, cozy and warm, watching the snow continue to fall outside, you felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. It didn't matter where you were, as long as you were with Aitana.

**

Tags:

@marysfics @ceesimz @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[jamesthedigidestined]

Here’s some for men too! Unfortunately some are more unisex than male-focused, but its still useful:

Hats

Shirts

Pants

Shoes

Additionally, know what you need in clothes. While men are less likely to fall for “fast fashion” trends, we are still likely to feel the effects (and we have a habit of buying cheap meme shirts that wear out too fast). I can mostly talk about this from a work perspective, but it goes for everyone buying clothes. Specifically though:

Spend a little extra and buy clothes that will last. Thrift stores, as mentioned, are a great way to get good clothes for cheap, but beware Goodwill price gouging, it isn’t always cheaper. Ideally look for local thrift stores.

Importance of price in clothes, I would say is like this:

Shoes

Pants

Jackets/Coats

Shirts

My reasoning being that shoes, and to a lesser degree pants, are constantly exposed to the elements to protect *you* from said elements, so having a good pair of tennis shoes and jeans will help a lot. Jackets and coats are similar, but are seasonal and potentially regional. Shirts (outside of a work environment) are the least protective element of clothes, and thinner shirts will last most people fine enough.

However while inside of a work environment buy natural fabrics (ideally 100% cotton) if you’re doing ANYTHING with flames. Cotton is very heat resistant, and when it does burn it actually burns, while synthetics melt *to* your skin. Ever hear of clothes fusing with people during fires? That’s why.

However, synthetics break down less than cotton, so typically blends/synthetics are better for longevity (assuming they feel nice to you, personally I’m not a fan of full synthetic).

When you spend a good bit of money on shoes, go find your local cobbler. Finding the right fitting shoes, ones that support your feet well, is worth its weight in gold, and a cobbler will help make that purchase worth it. When the soles wear down call up a cobbler to fix them, doubly so for expensive work boots. Consider insoles if you feel feet pain with your current shoes, even cheapo insoles help a lot.

And while this is an entire topic in itself, common knowledge dictates that for shirts, pants, etc it’s best to wash & dry in cooler temperatures and slower speeds, particularly for the dryer. The tumbling motion puts a lot of stress on fabric and hang-drying/low tumbling speed can help reduce both electricity bill and wear on your clothes. Always heat sterilize your underwear and socks though, they’re cheaper sacrificial layers after all. And as a man, I’m sure I don’t need to tell women how to wash their underwear. However, for fellow men out there, please talk with the women of the house and read some sources like this or this before doing anything with their delicates, otherwise you will die a (justifiably) slow and horrible death.

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[french-fried-fics]

Lucanis is a violently swinging pendulum of awkward and literal rizz god. How is he so bad but the coffee date cute af, and that scene in the pantry soooo goooood!?!?!

How does his confession never involve actually saying anything or physical intimacy of any kind and just him making a dessert (before you come for me, yes, I know most of his conversations are layered with romantic subtext), then later says he loves you with his whole chest?

Why does he consistently fumble when talking about romance or giving advice when with companions, but will pull mad suave lines on Rook?

This man has no idea why you like him but will turn around and say the cutest shit and demand to snuggle.

Sir... SIR...SIIIIIRRRRR!!!!!!

Listen here, babygirl. I WILL marry you. Don't try me.

[fioredeciliego]

No.1 Part Anthem - Winter x Fem!Reader

be warned, there is smut 13k words

Under the dim lights, Minjeong leaned over her guitar, running her fingers along the strings as she checked the sound for the third time. The low murmur of anticipation filled the bar as people drifted in, and she found herself absently watching the door.

This was another Wednesday night gig at The Velvet Den, a small but popular spot for indie bands in the city. It had a cozy stage with a few beaten-up stools and a dark red velvet backdrop, lending the place its grunge charm. Minjeong knew this bar well—she’d played here with Velvet Starlight almost every week for the past year. Though it was a solid routine, recently, it was starting to feel… flat.

Jimin glanced over with a knowing smirk, a hint of mischief in her eyes as she adjusted her bass strap. “Minjeong,” she started, clearly trying to hide a grin, “don’t tell me you haven’t written anything new yet.”

Minjeong scoffed, brushing her bangs back and giving her an exaggerated eye-roll. “Please, I barely have time for sleep these days. Let alone a muse.”

Yizhuo, who was busy restringing her guitar nearby, chimed in, leaning into the banter. “Or maybe you just haven’t found the right muse yet,” she teased, winking. “Someone to finally get past all those rumors.”

Aeri, ever the instigator, joined in, leaning over her drum kit with a laugh. “C’mon, Minjeong, you can’t pretend you don’t have options. Half the people who come here are just here for you.”

Minjeong waved them off, chuckling. “You’re all ridiculous. Seriously, life’s too boring right now. I wouldn’t even know what to write about.”

They laughed, sharing a look that made Minjeong groan inside. The girls knew her reputation wasn’t true, but they still loved to tease her for it. There was no denying that some fans tried to get close, even if her reserved demeanor was often mistaken for allure. Still, she wasn’t as wild as everyone assumed; if anything, her nights usually ended with late-night jam sessions or scrolling through music playlists until she fell asleep.

Soon, the doors opened, and people began filling in, leaning against the bar and claiming tables close to the stage. The pre-show atmosphere was settling in, a mix of dim lighting and murmured conversations. Minjeong checked her guitar one last time, letting herself sink into the warm familiarity of these moments before a show.

When it was finally time to start, they kicked off with a high-energy track, letting the beat and rhythm wash over the crowd. The girls were in their element, losing themselves in the synergy of their instruments and the hazy lights that moved with the music. Minjeong felt herself slipping into that comforting state where her fingers moved on their own, her focus narrowed to the music.

But as they transitioned to one of their slower songs, a haunting melody that filled the space with a quiet intensity, Minjeong’s gaze drifted past the crowd, scanning the bar.

And that’s when she saw you.

Sitting casually at the bar, framed by the warm glow of the dim lights, was a girl who seemed like she belonged there—yet somehow stood out entirely. She was leaning against the counter, her posture relaxed as she listened to her friends, one hand holding a drink with easy confidence. The soft, smudged eyeliner, dark lipstick, and tousled hair were a perfect combination of bold and effortless. She wore a leather jacket over a white top that hugged her frame, a couple of necklaces layered over her collarbone, glinting with every small movement. She wore a short black denim skirt, paired with boots that looked well-traveled, like they’d been to more places than most people had.

There was something magnetic about her, a calm self-assurance that felt out of reach, and Minjeong felt herself falter for the briefest moment. Her fingers stumbled over a chord, the soft slip almost imperceptible. She recovered quickly, her eyes darting back to her guitar as she forced herself to focus on the melody, even as her heart raced.

But the pull was impossible to ignore. Her gaze kept finding its way back to the girl at the bar. She’d occasionally laugh at something her friends said, her smile both warm and sharp, as if she knew the effect it had. She looked up, glancing around the room, and her gaze landed on Minjeong just for a heartbeat.

Minjeong’s breath caught, her fingers pressing down a bit too hard on the strings, making the note come out harsher than she intended. She softened her touch, mentally cursing herself. She’d performed a thousand times, yet somehow, this girl had her more flustered than she cared to admit.

As the song reached its crescendo, Minjeong chanced another glance, hoping the lights were dim enough to hide the fact that she was, for once, absolutely captivated. And when the girl lifted her drink to her lips, casting a side glance toward the stage, there was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, as if she too had noticed Minjeong’s lingering gaze.

The song came to an end, and the crowd erupted in applause. Minjeong barely registered it, feeling the adrenaline buzzing beneath her skin as they transitioned into their next song. But all she could think about was the girl at the bar—the one who had managed, in a single night, to make her life feel a little less ordinary.

--

Y/N had spent the day carefully cultivating a cocoon of quiet. Her tiny studio apartment was the perfect sanctuary—dim lights, a mountain of blankets, and a carefully curated lineup of comfort movies waiting for her. She’d kicked off her shoes, nestled herself into her coziest pajamas, and piled a ridiculous amount of snacks around her. A perfect night in, with no disruptions.

That was, until her phone buzzed insistently. She ignored it at first, but a second notification appeared, then a third, each accompanied by an enthusiastic vibration. She sighed, glancing at her phone to find her friends, Yunjin and Minji, launching an all-out text attack.

“Come on, you need to get out of that little cave of yours!”

“It’s a crime against girlhood to stay in every weekend, you know.”

Y/N stared at her phone, torn between the pull of her warm, safe cocoon and the lure of a night out that Yunjin and Minji clearly weren’t going to let her skip. She gave in with a groan, quickly typing back a begrudging “Fine, but I’m wearing the first thing I find,” before rolling off the couch and reluctantly swapping her pajamas for a skirt and a simple white tee. She pulled on a leather jacket for good measure and checked herself in the mirror, feeling more or less presentable.

Yunjin and Minji were waiting outside, beaming as if she’d just returned from the dead.

“Told you she’d come out eventually,” Yunjin teased, linking her arm through Y/N’s. Minji flashed a grin, grabbing her other arm as they pulled her into the lively city streets.

They arrived at The Velvet Den, a tucked-away bar with an eclectic crowd and a charmingly rugged vibe. The bar had old-school posters plastered on the walls, low lights casting an amber glow over everything, and the faint, comforting smell of old leather and wood. Y/N had to admit it was the kind of place she might like if she were in the right mood.

As they entered, the beat of a slow, steady song hit her. The music wasn’t just background noise here—it filled every corner, creating an atmosphere that felt almost alive. She glanced at the stage, and her eyes caught on a four-piece band, each member lost in the music. Yunjin led them over to the bar, where they ordered drinks and began shouting a conversation over the music, laughing as they tried to catch up with each other’s words.

But as Y/N settled in, she started to feel something strange—an odd sense of awareness, a prickling on the back of her neck, like she was being watched. The feeling was familiar yet unusual, pulling her from her chat with Minji as she turned, almost instinctively, toward the stage.

And there she was. The lead guitarist, her attention fixed on Y/N with a look that was intense and focused, like she was trying to see through the dim lights and smoke of the bar. She had a quiet but striking beauty—dark eyes under long lashes, loose hair falling just over her shoulders, and a posture that spoke of ease and confidence. She held the guitar like an extension of herself, her fingers moving over the strings in a way that made it seem almost effortless. She was magnetic, the kind of person who could draw attention without even trying, but somehow, her gaze felt direct, almost… searching.

Y/N’s heart stuttered, caught in that gaze like a moth to a flame. They locked eyes for what felt like an eternity before Y/N remembered herself and quickly looked away, hiding her blush behind her drink.

“Hello?” Yunjin waved a hand in front of Y/N’s face, a mischievous grin spreading as she realized what had caught her attention. “Y/N, don’t look now, but I think you’ve got an admirer.”

Minji leaned in, a smirk playing on her lips. “Looks like the guitarist has a thing for quiet girls. Guess you’re exactly her type.”

Y/N laughed, trying to brush off the remark, though her cheeks felt warm. “Please, I’m sure she’s just scanning the crowd. It’s part of the whole mysterious rocker look.”

But her friends exchanged knowing looks, ignoring her attempt at nonchalance. “Uh-huh,” Yunjin said, smirking over the rim of her drink. “Pretty sure she was just looking at you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t shake the thought. The guitarist’s gaze had felt so direct, like she’d been picked out from the rest of the crowd on purpose. And even now, as she tried to brush it off, a flicker of curiosity was tugging at her. Who was this girl on stage, with her brooding look and intense presence? Y/N’s fingers drummed lightly on her glass as she tried to refocus on her friends’ conversation, but her gaze kept drifting back.

When she allowed herself another glance, her heart skipped again. The guitarist was still looking at her, her expression caught between a smile and a look of quiet intrigue, as if Y/N had pulled her attention just as much as she’d pulled Y/N’s.

This time, Y/N let herself look a little longer, taking in the way the guitarist moved with the music. Her focus seemed to sharpen whenever her eyes met Y/N’s, each glance filled with a subtle intensity that made it impossible to look away. It was the kind of stare that felt like it meant something, like an unspoken invitation that Y/N couldn’t quite decipher.

The music continued to flow, filling the space between them, and Y/N tried to keep up with the banter from her friends, though her mind kept wandering back to the girl on stage. The way her fingers slid along the guitar, her shoulders relaxed yet focused, the look in her eyes that seemed to promise more than just a passing glance—it was all a little intoxicating, like a faint, buzzing thrill she didn’t want to resist.

--

As the last chord of their closing song faded into the noise of the crowd’s applause, Minjeong felt a strange, urgent energy humming through her. She’d barely made it through the set with her usual focus—she’d messed up twice, fingers slipping on familiar notes, distracted by the image of a girl sitting near the bar with that easy, unbothered confidence.

When the band left the stage, she was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wanted—needed—to see her again, and every second that ticked by felt like forever. But before she could make her escape, the girls intercepted her backstage, each of them wearing expressions that were a mixture of curiosity and barely restrained laughter.

“Minjeong, what was up with those slip-ups tonight?” Jimin was the first to call her out, arms crossed, a playful eyebrow raised. “I thought we were supposed to be the pros around here.”

Minjeong groaned, torn between the thrill of getting out there to find that girl and the embarrassment of being caught so obviously off her game. “I know, I know,” she replied, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s just—” She hesitated, feeling a bit ridiculous for what she was about to say. But, well, if anyone would understand, it’d be her bandmates.

Aeri looked her up and down, catching on to her hesitation. “Ooooh, did our Minjeong get distracted?” she teased, her voice light, but her smirk was sharper than ever.

Minjeong sighed, trying not to look as flushed as she felt. “I don’t know what to tell you guys. I think… I think I just met the love of my life.”

The room went silent for a second before it erupted into laughter. Yizhuo laughed so hard she almost fell backward, catching herself on Jimin’s shoulder. Minjeong bit her lip, feeling her cheeks heat up even more as the girls practically doubled over, throwing playful jabs her way.

“Love of your life, huh?” Jimin said, trying to catch her breath as she wiped away a stray tear from laughing. “Wow, you’re really going for the hopeless romantic vibe tonight, aren’t you?”

“Wait, wait,” Yizhuo gasped, grinning as she leaned in. “Tell us more. Who’s the lucky girl who stole the heart of the Kim Minjeong?”

“Not that it’s exactly hard to win your heart,” Aeri teased. “But this time sounds serious.”

Minjeong tried to laugh along, but she couldn’t shake the urgency pulling her toward the bar. “Look, I’d love to stay and let you guys roast me, but if I don’t go find her right now, I might actually lose my mind,” she said, a touch of impatience in her tone as she moved toward the door. “Let me go, and I’ll tell you everything later, promise.”

Jimin chuckled, finally letting her go with a pat on the back. “Alright, Romeo, go find your Juliet. Just don’t come crying to us if it’s another ‘tragic romance’ story.”

Minjeong flashed them a quick grin and slipped out of the room, her heart racing. As soon as she entered the main area of the bar, a small group of people noticed her, and almost immediately, she was surrounded. It happened a lot after shows, and usually, she didn’t mind. She’d smile, chat a bit, and enjoy the rush of attention. But tonight was different. Her mind was too busy, too focused on finding that one girl.

“Hey, Minjeong!” someone called, leaning a little too close, hand brushing her shoulder. Another girl wrapped her arm around her for a picture, and a few others were trying to get her attention, voices overlapping, laughter loud and bright.

She tried to be polite, flashing quick smiles, offering a few distracted words, but she couldn’t stay still. She gently brushed off the hands reaching for her, politely excusing herself as she scanned the bar, her eyes searching. She had no idea if the girl would even still be there, but the thought of missing her felt oddly unbearable.

Finally, she made it to the bar stools where she’d last seen her, only to feel her heart sink. There were two familiar faces there, but not the one she’d been hoping for. It was the girl’s friends, the ones who’d been laughing and chatting with her all night.

Yunjin, noticing her approach, raised an eyebrow and shot her a knowing look, her lips twitching into a sly grin. “Looking for someone?” she asked, her tone dripping with amusement.

Minjeong froze for a split second, wondering if she should play it off or admit it, but she quickly decided there was no point in pretending. “Yeah, actually… I am,” she replied, trying to keep her voice casual, but her expression betrayed her eagerness. “Is she—uh, is your friend still here?”

Yunjin and Minji exchanged a glance before they burst into quiet laughter, clearly enjoying the moment a little too much. “She went outside to get some fresh air,” Minji said with a grin, nodding toward the bar’s exit. “Maybe she’s waiting for someone to come talk to her.”

Minjeong’s eyes widened, and she nodded gratefully. “Thanks,” she murmured, barely able to contain her excitement as she turned and practically bolted toward the door.

Stepping outside, she was immediately greeted by the crisp, cool air of the night. She slowed down, catching her breath, and looked around—and there she was. The girl she’d been searching for, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away, bathed in the soft, silvery light of the moon. She seemed lost in thought, her face illuminated by a gentle glow that made her look almost ethereal. Her dark hair caught the light, cascading over her shoulders, and her leather jacket looked even more striking in the dim night, lending her an air of effortless cool that took Minjeong’s breath away.

Minjeong stood frozen, just taking her in, feeling like an idiot for the way her heart raced. She had no idea what to say or how to start a conversation without stumbling over her words, but she couldn’t look away.

And then, as if sensing her gaze, the girl turned her head, her eyes meeting Minjeong’s in that same intense way they had during the performance. Time seemed to slow as they stared at each other, the distance between them feeling both unbearably close and impossibly far.

The girl’s lips curved into a small smile, one eyebrow raised in curiosity as if to say, Well, are you just going to stand there? Minjeong felt a rush of embarrassment and excitement crash over her, but she couldn’t help the goofy grin that tugged at her own lips.

She wanted to say something smooth, something charming, but the words were stuck somewhere between her mind and her mouth. So instead, she took a small, tentative step forward, feeling both exhilarated and terrified. The girl’s smile softened, her gaze warm and steady, and Minjeong felt like she was caught in some kind of spell, the world fading away until it was just the two of them under the stars.

Finally, she managed to find her voice, though it came out a little softer than she’d intended. “Hey,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

--

As the final applause died down and the band disappeared backstage, Y/N could still feel the lingering thrum of the music vibrating through her. She knew she probably looked distracted, but she couldn’t shake the feeling—the energy—of those glances Minjeong had thrown her way throughout the performance. It was as if every time Minjeong looked her way, Y/N could feel the intensity, the pull of it, right down to her bones.

“Hey,” Yunjin nudged her, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smile. “You’re not thinking about anyone specific, are you?”

“Yeah,” Minji chimed in, flashing her a mischievous look. “Maybe someone with a guitar and a pretty face?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, waving them off with a huff. “I’m just going outside for a bit of air. Don’t wait up.” She shot them a playful glare before slipping through the crowd, ignoring their quiet laughter behind her.

Outside, the cool night air washed over her, calming the flurry of emotions she hadn’t expected to feel tonight. Leaning back against the wall, she took a deep breath, staring up at the stars and letting her thoughts wander back to Minjeong. There’d been something magnetic about the way she played, fingers gliding over the guitar, eyes finding Y/N in the crowd like she was the only one there. Y/N had felt those glances linger, like they’d been sharing some unspoken secret all night.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed the soft sound of footsteps approaching. It was that feeling again—eyes on her, that strange, invisible pull. She turned her head, and there she was. Minjeong stood just a few feet away, looking at her with wide, slightly nervous eyes, a shy smile tugging at her lips. The moonlight softened her features, casting a gentle glow over her flushed cheeks and messy hair, and Y/N felt her breath catch.

Unable to hide her amusement, Y/N raised an eyebrow, giving her a teasing look as if to say, Well, are you just going to stand there?

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard, before taking a small, hesitant step forward, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. “H-Hey,” she managed, her voice soft and a little shaky. She looked almost… bashful, her gaze darting between Y/N’s eyes and the ground.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in her chest growing at seeing Minjeong so adorably flustered. She’d expected a cool, confident rockstar, but this shy, slightly awkward girl was even more intriguing.

“H-Hey,” Minjeong repeated, laughing nervously as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Um, I don’t usually… do this, but I saw you, and…” She trailed off, cheeks turning even redder. “I just wanted to, you know, say hi.”

Y/N chuckled softly, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall. “Just ‘hi,’ huh? I got the impression you had a lot more to say when you were looking at me from the stage.”

Minjeong’s mouth opened, then closed, clearly at a loss for words. She laughed, embarrassed, as her eyes dropped to the ground. “Was it… that obvious?” she murmured, sneaking a glance up at her, looking both mortified and amused.

“Just a little.” Y/N’s teasing smile softened, her tone gentler now. “But I didn’t mind it. I mean, maybe I was looking back once or twice, too.”

Minjeong’s eyes brightened, and she bit her lip, that shy smile coming back as she looked at Y/N with a mix of relief and excitement. “Really?” she asked, voice filled with a kind of innocent disbelief that only made her more endearing.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I came out here to clear my head, actually. Because of you.”

Minjeong’s breath hitched, and she looked away for a moment, visibly gathering her courage. She took another small step forward, her eyes now steady on Y/N’s, and for a moment, the shy, uncertain expression melted away, replaced by something more confident, more daring.

“I’m really glad I came out here,” Minjeong said softly, her voice carrying an unexpected sincerity. “I was, uh… kind of hoping I might see you again. And, um, maybe… ask you something.”

“Oh?” Y/N felt her heart beat faster, her eyes never leaving Minjeong’s.

Minjeong took a breath, looking almost like she was bracing herself for a big moment. “I was wondering… if I could know your name. I didn’t get a chance to ask while I was… you know, staring at you.”

Y/N chuckled, feeling herself blush despite her best efforts. “Y/N,” she replied, letting the name settle between them like a promise. “It’s Y/N.”

Minjeong’s smile widened, and she repeated it softly, as if committing it to memory. “Y/N,” she murmured, her voice filled with something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, the quiet of the night wrapping around them. Minjeong took another step closer, her gaze still warm and intent, a hint of mischief sparking in her eyes now. “You know, I don’t usually get this nervous,” she admitted with a small, sheepish laugh, “but… I guess you’re kind of intimidating.”

Y/N chuckled, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Intimidating? Me? I think that’s a first.”

Minjeong laughed, nodding as she looked at the ground, then back up at Y/N. “Yeah, well, you’ve got this… this thing. This presence.” She rubbed the back of her neck, then let her hand drop, finding her confidence again. “And… you’re really beautiful,” she added softly, the words almost a whisper, but filled with a sincerity that made Y/N’s heart flutter.

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know what to say. She felt the warmth spreading in her chest, and all the teasing words she might have said disappeared, replaced by something softer, something real.

“Well,” she said finally, her voice softening, “you’re not too bad yourself, Minjeong.”

The way Minjeong’s face lit up made Y/N’s smile grow. It was like she was seeing every side of her all at once—the confident performer, the nervous girl, and something more vulnerable underneath it all. It was that mix that made Y/N want to keep talking, keep learning about her.

“So,” Minjeong ventured, shifting from foot to foot, but her gaze steady now, “would you… maybe want to grab a drink sometime? Or… I don’t know, talk about all the things I was too nervous to say on stage?”

Y/N grinned, crossing her arms with an amused look. “Are you sure you can handle talking to me without losing your cool?”

Minjeong laughed, the sound soft and a little self-deprecating. “I can try. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a murmur, “something tells me you’re worth the effort.”

Y/N’s smile softened, and for a moment, she just looked at her, taking in the way Minjeong’s gaze never wavered, even if her cheeks were still a little pink. “Alright,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

Minjeong’s face broke into the happiest, most relieved smile Y/N had ever seen.

--

Back inside, Minjeong and Y/N quickly found their way to Yunjin and Minji, who were laughing and chatting at the bar. Minjeong felt a little thrill when Y/N introduced her, and even more so when her own bandmates strolled out from backstage, the entire group merging into one.

Jimin leaned in with a smirk. “So, this is the girl who made our rockstar here forget her own chords?”

Minjeong flushed, shooting her bandmates a look that only made them laugh harder. But before she could sputter out a response, Yunjin piped up with a bright grin, “Why don’t we all head somewhere quieter? I know a bar nearby with a good vibe, and we can actually talk.”

The group agreed, and soon they were all spilling out onto the street, laughter echoing around them as they made their way down the road. Minjeong hung back with Y/N, a warm, comfortable silence falling between them before they started talking. It felt natural, easy, even as Minjeong's heart still raced from the kiss that lingered on her mind.

As they all headed down the street toward the quieter bar, Minjeong and Y/N fell into step just behind the group, comfortable in the hum of the night. Minjeong glanced over, her curiosity getting the best of her. “So… judging by your style, I’d guess you’re a fan of rock, too?”

Y/N grinned, nudging her shoulder playfully. “Is it that obvious? Yeah, guilty. I got into it pretty young. There’s just something about the raw energy, you know?”

“Totally,” Minjeong agreed, her excitement matching Y/N’s. “That’s why I wanted to start a band. The noise, the chaos—it’s addictive. Arctic Monkeys got me into it, actually,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “I was obsessed.”

“Are you serious?” Y/N’s eyes widened. “I’m a huge Arctic Monkeys fan! ‘AM’ was like… a soundtrack for my teenage rebellion,” she joked.

Minjeong’s eyes lit up. “Same! ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ is practically burned into my brain at this point. It’s why I even started learning guitar. I wanted to play riffs like that.”

Y/N laughed, her gaze softening. “I knew you had good taste.” She shook her head, looking away for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. “There’s something about the way they capture that… I don’t know, that midnight, gritty feeling. It’s like you’re walking down an empty street with secrets.”

“Exactly!” Minjeong said, her face lighting up. “That’s what I love. It’s like they make you feel a whole mood, even without the lyrics. Just the sound.”

They continued talking about favorite songs and concert memories, swapping stories about late nights spent lost in the music. It felt easy, natural—like they were old friends reconnecting, not two people who’d just met. Their steps slowed, and soon they were trailing behind the others, wrapped in their own little world of laughter and shared nostalgia.

By the time they reached the bar, Minjeong felt more at ease than she had in ages. They ordered a round of drinks, everyone chatting animatedly in little clusters. Minjeong’s bandmates were quick to strike up conversations with Y/N’s friends, which left the two of them with the kind of stolen glances and low laughter that felt almost private in a room full of people.

Jimin, however, was still on a mission to tease her mercilessly. “So, Minjeong, think you’ll be writing a new song anytime soon?” she asked, her tone innocent but her grin anything but.

“Maybe a ballad,” Aeri added with a wink. “Or a love song for that ‘special someone.’”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, the teasing never-ending. “Maybe a metal anthem about having nosey friends,” she muttered, just loud enough to get a laugh from everyone.

Seeing her getting flustered, Y/N’s amused gaze softened. With a grin, Minjeong leaned close, asking, “Wanna get out of here? The dance floor’s calling.”

Y/N’s smile was immediate, and with a soft, “Lead the way, rockstar,” she took Minjeong’s hand. They wove through the crowd toward the dance floor, leaving the teasing glances of their friends behind.

They made their way to the dance floor, where the lights were dimmer, casting everyone in shades of deep red and blue. The music was slower, more sensual than the previous bar’s high-energy beats. As they started to move, Minjeong felt her nerves fall away, replaced by a growing confidence as she focused on Y/N, the rest of the room fading into the background.

They danced, letting the music guide them as they moved closer, their bodies almost touching. Minjeong felt her heart race as she gathered the courage to place her hands on Y/N’s hips, gently pulling her closer. Y/N didn’t resist; instead, she leaned into Minjeong, letting her hands rest on Minjeong’s shoulders, eyes glinting with amusement and something else Minjeong couldn’t quite place but wanted to drown in.

Feeling bolder, Minjeong spun Y/N around gently, her hands guiding her to dance even closer. Y/N tilted her head back to look at her, lips parted as she gazed up at Minjeong with an expression that sent a thrill through her. Time seemed to slow, the music fading into a heartbeat-like thrum in her ears.

They stood like that, breath mingling, eyes locked. Y/N’s gaze flicked down to Minjeong’s lips and back up, her own lips curving in the slightest hint of a smile, a silent invitation.

Not wanting to waste another second, Minjeong leaned down, closing the distance between them. Their lips met, soft at first, hesitant, and then deeper as the world around them disappeared completely. Y/N’s hands slid from Minjeong’s shoulders to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as she pulled her closer. 

Minjeong felt another surge of confidence go through her, so she deepened the kiss. The heat rose in her cheeks as her tongue touched the other girl’s, quick and electric and delicious, then firmer, more determined, more curious about the heat that lay within, seeking to chase down that elusive liquid lightning that reached through both of them. They both pulled away for air with a small pop. 

When they pulled back, Minjeong was breathless, a dazed smile spreading across her face. Y/N looked up at her with a similar expression, their foreheads resting together as they caught their breath.

“Well,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible over the music, “that was… unexpected.”

Minjeong chuckled, her hands still resting on Y/N’s waist, reluctant to let go. “Good unexpected?” she asked, her voice soft.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile, and she nodded, eyes glinting. “Very good.”

“How about we get out of here?” Minjeong’s voice dropped an octave. Y/N bit her lips and nodded.

--

Minjeong and Y/N found themselves leaving the bar with the excuse of “fresh air.” The street was quiet, the city lights casting a soft glow as they walked side by side, shoulders brushing with each step. They hardly spoke now; there was an unspoken understanding that grew with every step that led them further into the night.

When they arrived at Minjeong’s apartment, Y/N felt her pulse quicken. The two entered quietly, as if unwilling to disturb the intimate quiet between them. Minjeong led her inside, their fingers brushing lightly, and it felt like a silent invitation. Y/N followed, her eyes tracing the faint outline of Minjeong’s figure in the dim apartment light, each detail accentuated by the calm atmosphere.

In the small, cozy bedroom, they turned to face each other. Minjeong found herself reaching out, her hand gentle as it grazed Y/N’s cheek. There was no need for words; the look in Y/N’s eyes was enough, a mixture of anticipation and something deeper. Slowly, their lips met, softer and slower than before, savoring each lingering touch and deepening the kiss as the seconds passed. It felt like an unraveling—each kiss exploring, tentative, and then firmer.

Their hands began to roam with more confidence. Y/N felt Minjeong’s fingers drift down her back, pulling her closer, their bodies fitting perfectly together. The taller helped Y/N strip off her clothes, being gentle and savoring the moment, until she was only in her underwear. Minjeong looked at Y/N and her breath hitched.

“You look beautiful.” She murmured, making the shorter blush.

“I bet you’d look just as good if you had less clothes on.” Y/N teased. Minjeong stripped off as well in a hurry, almost stumbling as she shook off her pants, making Y/N laugh. Once they were both only in their garments, Minjeong pushed the other lightly onto the bed, before she got on top of her.

Minjeong looked at Y/N’s eyes, both had excitement displayed on them. Leaning down, she captured Y/N lips once again in a passionate kiss. Their tongues grazed against each other, Minjeong’s hand caressing the other’s waist and hips, while Y/N was tangling her hands in her hair. 

Minjeong pulled away, earning a whine from Y/N. She let out a soft chuckle, while her hand went up to Y/N bra on her back. She looked at Y/N for confirmation, who only arched her back so that Minjeong could unfasten it. Minjeong struggled a bit, but managed to do it, tossing it to the side, she dipped her head, taking one of Y/N nipples into her mouth, while her hand groped her other boob, her fingers pinching and twisting her nipple. Y/N let out a loud moan, arching her back in appreciation. Her hands went to Minjeong’s back, unfastening the other’s bra, tossing it next to hers in the floor. Her nails left red, angry marks on Minjeong’s well defined back.

“Fuck.” Minjeong muttered, switching to the other breast.

“God, Minjeong. So good.” Y/N panted. Minjeong started to kiss downwards, leaving opened mouth kisses on Y/N stomach. Looking up, she asked for permission with her eyes. Y/N nodded her head.

Using her teeth, she took a hold of Y/N panties and slithered them down her legs. She went up again and kissed the shorter. This kiss was more sloppy, desperate, hands touching whatever part of skin they could reach. Y/N used her hands to slip off Minjeong’s final piece of underwear. The taller suddenly pulled up. Her lips were a bit swollen, and her pupils were dilated.

“Give me a second.” She pecked Y/N lips and stood up. Y/N looked at her leaving figure confused, but waited patiently. While Minjeong was away, she decided to look around the bedroom. 

The walls were painted a muted shade of deep blue, making the room feel calm and peaceful, with a few framed black-and-white photographs of bands, abstract art, and scenic landscapes hanging in casual arrangement. There were no flashy decorations, but the minimalistic vibe allowed her personality to shine through in the details. A large window stretched along one side of the room, its sheer curtains slightly drawn, letting in the soft glow of the city lights that filtered through the night. The view was modest but serene.

Minjeong came back, she had a 7 inch black strapon fasted around her hips. Y/N breath hitched.

Holy fuck

Minjeong went on top of Y/N again.

“This is ok with you, right?” Minjeong asked, her hand caressing Y/N’s cheek. Y/N nodded, unable to let out any words.

Grabbing the base of the strap, Minjeong rubbed the tip on the slit a few times, using the wetness as a natural lube, she then pushed inside, inch by inch. Y/N gasped as she reached out to hold Minjeong, her nails once again scratching the taller’s back. She let out a pornographic moan, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. “Shit.” Minjeong groaned, feeling the blunt part of the strap hit against her clit. “You’re so tight, even with how wet you are.”

Y/N nodded, shutting her eyes, which were watery from the pleasure. “Just for you.”

Minjeong started thrusting slowly, wanting Y/N to get used to it. But once the shorter told her to speed up, she did. Her thrust were fast, but she got to a pace where she could hit Y/N spongy spot each time. The moans from the shorter were driving her crazy, she had found her new favorite sound. The room was filled with sounds of skin slapping against each other, Y/N’s moans and Minjeong’s groans of pleasure. The bed was creaking, the post hitting against the wall every time the taller thrusted forward. It smelled of sweat, sex, and perfume; and it was almost mouthwatering for the both of them.

Minjeong grabbed Y/N softly by the neck. “Look at me.” She panted.

The shorter opened her eyes, making eye contact with the other. “I’m coming.” She whined, her hands reaching out to grab Minjeong’s forearms, which were quite strong for her pretty petite form.

“Wait.” The taller groaned. “I want you to come with me.” Y/N nodded, struggling to keep her eyes open. “I’m so close, almost there baby.”

Y/N moaned, she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on. Minjeong was fucking her so good, she felt on cloud 9. “Minjeong. Minjeong, please let me come.” She begged. Drops of sweat were dripping down her.

“Come. Come with me, baby.” The nickname was enough for Y/N to release. She screamed Minjeong’s name, seeing black for a few seconds. Minjeong was just behind her, groaning as she came too. She didn’t stop thrusting, wanting both of them to ride out their orgasm. “Stop. Too sensitive.” Y/N whimpered, making the taller stall her thrust.

Slowly, she pulled out, making both of them moan. Minjeong at the sight of a string of Y/N’s cum connected to the strap, and the shorter one because of the feeling. Minjeong reached down her two middle fingers, rubbing Y/N’s slit and gathering her cum, Y/N shuddered because of overstimulation.

Looking at the shorter in her eyes, Minjeong wrapped her lips around the fingers full of Y/N’s slick, moaning at the taste. Y/N whined at the sight, another shot of cum came out of her, making Minjeong let out a small chuckle. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against Y/N. “How do you feel?”

“Like I went to heaven.” Y/N murmured, a small smile playing on her lips. She cranked her neck up a bit, capturing Minjeong’s lips with her own.The kiss was short, but sweet. 

“Give me a second.” Minjeong pulled away and stood up. She walked to the bathroom, only to come out a few minutes later with a warm towel, the strap long gone. She wiped Y/N’s slick with the towel. “There.” She kissed her thighs. “All better.”

“Thanks.” Y/N yawned, feeling the adrenaline go down. With a kiss on the forehead, Minjeong draped the sheets over Y/N’s body and went to put the towel with the dirty clothes. Once she came back, a glass of water in hands for Y/N, she saw the shorter asleep, soft breath coming out in a  rhythmic pattern.

With a smile, Minjeong put the glass on top of the bedside table, and laid down next to Y/N, hugging her in a spooning position. “Good night.” She whispered, kissing her head.

--

Minjeong’s eyes opened slowly, taking in the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. A small weight on her chest made her look down, and she felt a warm sense of contentment as she saw Y/N still peacefully asleep on top of her, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The memories of the night before played softly in her mind, and Minjeong couldn’t help but smile, feeling the flutter of excitement as she replayed each moment.

As quietly as she could, she slipped out of bed, glancing back one last time to make sure Y/N was still asleep. Her gaze softened as she took in the calm, almost dreamlike scene, the sheets tangled gently around Y/N’s figure. Minjeong tiptoed to the door, an idea forming. She’d make breakfast—a small thank-you for the unforgettable night. It was a romantic idea, though she was slightly aware of her less-than-stellar kitchen skills. Still, how hard could eggs and toast be?

In the kitchen, Minjeong looked around for ingredients, picking up a carton of eggs, bread, and a small handful of strawberries she found in the fridge. She fumbled with the egg carton, trying to crack one egg carefully, but her inexperience showed as half the yolk splattered onto the counter. With a sigh, she attempted to salvage the rest, pouring the little that remained into a bowl and giving it an optimistic whisk.

“Alright, toast… easy,” she muttered, sliding a couple of slices into the toaster. But in her focus on the eggs, she quickly forgot about the toast, not noticing until the faint scent of burning bread hit her nose. “Oh no!” she whispered, pulling it out a second too late. She sighed, shaking her head, but before she could attempt another slice, she felt two warm arms wrap around her waist.

“Good morning,” Y/N mumbled sleepily into her shoulder, her face pressed against Minjeong’s back. “What’s going on in here?”

Startled, the taller yelped, the spatula slipping from her hand as she accidentally touched the edge of the hot pan. A small hiss escaped her lips as she recoiled, cradling her finger.

Y/N’s groggy concern immediately turned to worry. “Oh, Minjeong! Are you okay?” She turned her gently, reaching for her hand and inspecting the small burn with a soft frown. Y/N’s fingertips were gentle as they grazed the spot, her eyes filled with care.

Minjeong chuckled, feeling a little sheepish. “I’m fine. I just… well, I thought I’d make you breakfast.” She gestured to the burnt toast and slightly undercooked eggs. “Clearly, it’s going… fantastically.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her smile warm as she grabbed a washcloth, running it under cool water before gently pressing it to Minjeong’s fingers. “I appreciate the effort, but maybe I should take over before you accidentally set my kitchen on fire.”

Minjeong laughed, feeling a rush of warmth as Y/N continued to dab her hand with the cloth. “Good idea. My cooking skills are... a work in progress.”

Once the small burn was tended to, they moved back to the stove. Y/N gave Minjeong a playful nudge. “Here, watch and learn, rockstar,” she teased, sliding a fresh piece of bread into the toaster and cracking a couple of eggs into a bowl. She whisked them with a practiced ease that made Minjeong feel both impressed and slightly jealous.

Minjeong leaned against the counter, watching as Y/N took over with a calm confidence, every movement precise and efficient. They made small talk, Y/N occasionally handing her tasks she was certain Minjeong could manage, like slicing strawberries or sprinkling a pinch of salt over the eggs.

“So,” Y/N said, flipping a piece of toast with a grin, “do you have a favorite animal? Something I should know about you?”

Minjeong smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Dogs, definitely. They’re loyal, energetic, and you know, they just… get me. Plus, they’re adorable.”

“Ah, dogs are cute, but…” Y/N said, pausing for dramatic effect, “capybaras are obviously superior. They’re the most laid-back animals, super friendly. They get along with literally everyone. Have you seen a capybara with an enemy? Because I haven’t.”

Minjeong laughed, crossing her arms in playful defiance. “Okay, they’re cute, but come on—dogs have the whole ‘man’s best friend’ thing going on. They’ll stick by you through anything. And capybaras… can they fetch? Can they protect you from anything scarier than a blade of grass?”

Y/N laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe they can’t fetch, but they’ve got a whole ‘zen’ vibe going on. They’re the ultimate chill friend. Imagine just lounging around with a capybara, no stress, just good vibes.”

Minjeong put on a thoughtful expression, clearly playing along. “Hmm, I don’t know… I still think dogs win. They have that cute tail-wagging thing going for them, you know?”

Y/N shook her head, grinning. “Capybaras have their own charm. And they’re practically zen masters. How can you compete with that level of calm?”

“Fine,” Minjeong said with a smirk, “I’ll concede they’re cool. But dogs will always be number one in my heart.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing as she placed their finished breakfast on the table. “You’re biased, but I’ll let it slide this time.”

They sat down together, the lighthearted conversation flowing as they shared bites of eggs and strawberries, laughing between sips of coffee. The breakfast wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect in its simplicity—an unhurried morning in each other’s company, surrounded by the warm, cozy quiet of Y/N’s apartment. They debated everything from favorite movies to worst concert experiences, sharing stories that filled the space with easy laughter and growing familiarity.

After a while, Minjeong glanced up, her gaze lingering on Y/N. “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes filled with warmth. “For, you know, helping me avoid another cooking disaster.”

Y/N grinned, reaching across the table to give Minjeong’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, rockstar. And for the record, I think you make a pretty great breakfast companion.”

They sat there, their hands resting together on the table, the laughter slowly fading into a comfortable silence as they simply enjoyed the moment.

--

As the week unfolded, Y/N found herself spending more time with Minjeong than she had anticipated. It was as if they’d fallen into an unspoken rhythm: stolen moments after work, late-night drives, casual dinners where laughter spilled over plates of food, and quiet, cozy mornings. They were comfortable together, moving with an ease that made Y/N feel like they’d known each other for longer than just a few weeks.

So when Minjeong had invited her to another one of the band’s shows that weekend, Y/N had felt both excitement and a small pang of uncertainty. They hadn’t talked about what they were, or even if there was a “what” to define. Minjeong was still this untouchable, slightly mysterious rockstar to Y/N, someone who lived in a world she didn’t quite understand yet. But when she was with Minjeong, all that fell away, and she felt like she was simply with… Minjeong. Her Minjeong.

Now, it was Saturday night, and Y/N was back in her studio apartment, prepping with her friends Yunjin and Minji. The small space was alive with laughter and conversation as the girls sat cross-legged on Y/N’s bed, surrounded by a scattered pile of clothes, shoes, and beauty products.

“So,” Yunjin said with a knowing look, pausing as she put on her earrings, “are you ready to see your ‘mystery girlfriend’ perform again tonight?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed as she rolled her eyes. “You guys are too much. And I don’t even know if she’s my girlfriend…”

Minji tilted her head, giving her a skeptical look. “Y/N, please. You’ve practically been joined at the hip all week. If that’s not girlfriend material, I don’t know what is.”

Y/N looked down, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her anxiety. “I just… I don’t know. I mean, we haven’t had any kind of talk about it, you know? We’re acting like a couple, but she hasn’t really said what she wants, and I don’t want to push it if it’s not… that serious.”

Yunjin shook her head, putting a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Look, I don’t know Minjeong like you do, but from everything you’ve told us… She’s definitely into you. And, girl, if anyone’s lucky to be with someone, it’s her with you. But you’ll never really know until you ask, right?”

Minji nodded, leaning back against Y/N’s headboard. “Yeah, Y/N. You’re not asking for too much if you want a little clarity. It’s only fair. And look, you’re already putting yourself out there by going to her show tonight. Just enjoy it, and if you’re still feeling unsure, talk to her after.”

Y/N looked between her friends, feeling a wave of gratitude. “Thanks, guys. You’re right… I guess I just have to ask when the time’s right.”

“And in the meantime,” Yunjin said, a mischievous glint in her eye as she rummaged through Y/N’s wardrobe, “we’re going to make sure you look so good that Minjeong won’t be able to look anywhere else.”

With a shared laugh, they dove into picking out an outfit, discarding options with a mix of critiques and approving nods. After trying on a few combinations, they finally settled on a black mini dress that hugged Y/N’s curves in all the right ways. She paired it with a cropped leather jacket and heeled ankle boots that gave her just enough height and an extra edge. Yunjin added the finishing touches with smoky eye makeup, making her dark eyes stand out, while Minji worked on her hair, giving it loose, tousled waves that framed her face.

“Perfect,” Yunjin declared, admiring their handiwork with a satisfied smile. “There’s no way Minjeong’s eyes are straying from you tonight.”

Y/N felt a flush rise in her cheeks as she looked in the mirror. The outfit and makeup were a little bolder than her usual look, but she loved it. There was a quiet confidence that seemed to settle over her, like she could step into this role with all the daring it demanded. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

As they left the apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a rush of nerves mixed with excitement. They chatted and laughed as they made their way to the bar, their voices blending into the soft sounds of the city around them. When they finally arrived, they joined the steady stream of people entering the venue, Y/N’s anticipation growing with each step.

The bar was packed with people milling about, drinks in hand as they waited for the show to start. Y/N’s eyes immediately scanned the stage, where she spotted Minjeong and her bandmates tuning their instruments and chatting among themselves. Minjeong looked effortlessly cool, her dark hair falling over her eyes as she focused on her guitar, fingers moving deftly over the strings. Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, her lips curling into a small smile as she watched.

“Oh, she’s definitely noticed you,” Yunjin whispered, nudging Y/N with a grin as Minjeong’s eyes finally found her in the crowd. The look that passed between them was soft but charged, as if there was an unspoken understanding, a secret language they’d begun to share.

Minjeong’s gaze lingered, her lips curving into a barely-there smile before she turned back to her guitar, finishing up her pre-show preparations. Y/N felt a flutter of excitement, her friends giggling beside her as they settled into a spot near the stage.

As the lights dimmed and the band took their places, Y/N felt the pulse of anticipation building around her. The music started with a slow, captivating rhythm, the opening notes vibrating through the room, and Y/N felt her entire body respond to the sound. The crowd cheered, and Y/N joined in, her eyes locked on Minjeong as she played, her focus on the music but with occasional glances in Y/N’s direction.

--

The band finished their set to roaring applause, and Y/N clapped along with everyone else, though her heart was beating with a different kind of anticipation. The question that had been lingering all week—the one that haunted her whenever she was alone—was finally too heavy to ignore. Tonight, she was going to find out exactly what Minjeong wanted, no matter the answer.

As the crowd began to disperse and people headed to the bar, Y/N turned to her friends, her hands fidgeting slightly. “I think I’m going to go backstage, you know, to talk to her.”

Yunjin and Minji exchanged knowing glances before giving her reassuring smiles.

“Go for it,” Yunjin said, squeezing her arm. “We’ll be right here if you need us. You got this.”

Y/N nodded, taking a deep breath as she maneuvered her way through the crowded room toward the backstage area. Her heart was pounding with each step, the noise from the bar fading into a soft hum as she neared the back of the venue. Finally, she slipped behind the door marked “Staff Only,” her resolve growing with every stride. This was it. She was going to get the answers she needed.

But as she turned the corner, her steps slowed. Her heart sank at the sight before her: Minjeong was leaning against the wall, laughing softly with another girl. Y/N couldn’t remember ever seeing her before, but she was gorgeous, her long hair falling in waves over her shoulders, and she had an easy, confident way of standing close to Minjeong that sent a strange chill through Y/N.

The girl’s hand was on Minjeong’s arm, her touch lingering a little too long, her body angled in a way that felt… intimate. Minjeong wasn’t exactly pulling away, either, and Y/N felt a painful twist in her chest. She clenched her fists, taking a deep breath as she willed herself to stay calm.

She was just about to step forward, determined to break up whatever was happening, when the girl leaned in and kissed Minjeong. It was brief, but enough—a soft, easy brush of lips that somehow felt like a punch to Y/N’s gut. Her chest tightened, her breaths shallow as the betrayal hit her full force. She hadn’t realized she was gripping her purse so tightly until her knuckles turned white.

A small gasp escaped her before she could stop it, and in that instant, Minjeong broke the kiss, her eyes flickering up. Her gaze locked with Y/N’s, her face shifting from surprise to something that looked a lot like panic.

The realization of what she’d seen—the kiss, the closeness���felt like it echoed through every part of Y/N. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t stand there, her heart breaking right in front of Minjeong, watching that guilt and regret take over her face.

Before Minjeong could say anything, Y/N turned on her heel, forcing herself to move, each step heavier than the last. She pushed past the door and back into the crowded bar, the lights blurring slightly as she blinked against the sting of tears. She caught sight of Yunjin and Minji by the bar, their smiles fading the moment they saw her face.

"Y/N, hey, what happened?" Minji’s voice was gentle, her hand reaching out to steady Y/N.

The words caught in her throat, and she forced out a bitter, trembling laugh. "Nothing, just… Minjeong kissing another girl," she managed, the words tasting sour. Her voice wavered, and she couldn’t bear the pitying look on her friends’ faces. She didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to relive that moment any more than she already was.

Her heart was racing as she pushed through the crowded bar toward the exit, desperate to be anywhere else. The cool air hit her face, grounding her slightly as she stepped onto the street. The sounds of the city buzzed around her, but it felt muffled, distant. All she could focus on was the ache in her chest, the betrayal that left her feeling hollow.

A cab slowed to a stop, and she climbed in, pulling the door shut behind her as though she could shut out everything she’d just seen. She was about to give the driver her address, but a familiar voice broke through the noise, catching her attention.

"Y/N!" Minjeong’s voice was urgent, laced with desperation, and it made Y/N’s heart ache even more. She turned her head, barely able to see Minjeong through the fogged-up window, but there she was, pushing through the crowd, her expression frantic, her eyes wide.

“Please, Y/N, just… let me explain,” Minjeong’s voice cracked, her hand pressed against the glass, her eyes searching for a sign that Y/N would stay.

Y/N swallowed, fighting the urge to listen, to believe whatever Minjeong would say. Part of her wanted to throw open the door, to demand answers, to let Minjeong explain everything away. But a stronger part of her, the part that felt the sting of betrayal and the bitterness of uncertainty, couldn’t bring herself to stay. She needed space, needed to figure out if any of this had been real at all.

“Please, drive,” she whispered to the cab driver, her voice barely audible.

As the car began to pull away, she looked back one last time, her eyes meeting Minjeong’s through the glass. The raw pain in Minjeong’s expression made Y/N’s heart twist painfully, but she forced herself to look away, gripping her purse tightly as the city lights blurred into streaks around her.

The ride home felt longer than usual, filled with too many thoughts, too many questions she didn’t want to ask. She rested her head against the cool window, letting the city pass by as she tried to hold herself together.

When she finally reached her apartment, she walked in on autopilot, her mind replaying the kiss, the look on Minjeong’s face, the panic in her voice. She sank onto her bed, staring at the ceiling, numbness washing over her. The memory of Minjeong’s laughter, the way her hand had fit perfectly in Y/N’s own, now felt painfully out of reach.

A part of her couldn’t believe it—that Minjeong, the girl who’d looked at her with such warmth, had let someone else kiss her. All those moments, all those glances, had they meant nothing?

She wanted to believe there was more to it, that maybe there was some explanation that could make it all make sense. But the image of Minjeong with that girl was seared into her mind, an unwelcome reminder that maybe she’d been naive to think she could have something real with someone who lived a life so different from her own.

--

Minjeong’s mind was racing as she followed her bandmates backstage, her excitement barely contained. She couldn’t wait to see Y/N’s face, to celebrate after another successful show and maybe—if she was lucky—steal a few more minutes alone with her. She smiled to herself, already anticipating Y/N’s laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when they talked about music.

As she was about to slip away to find her, a familiar voice called her name, and she turned to see Yeji, an old friend from way back. They’d always kept in touch, catching up whenever they crossed paths in the same city. Minjeong smiled, and they started talking, catching up on everything and reminiscing about old times. Minjeong tried to keep the conversation brief—her heart was practically pulling her toward Y/N—but Yeji was relentless, asking questions, laughing, holding her back just a bit longer.

Suddenly, without any warning, Yeji leaned in, her hands resting lightly on Minjeong’s shoulders as she pressed her lips softly against Minjeong’s. Minjeong froze, too stunned to move, her mind blank for a few seconds. The warmth and weight of Yeji’s lips jolted her, and she felt her pulse quicken—not out of excitement, but panic. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to give Yeji the wrong impression. She was about to pull back when a sharp, familiar sound—a gasp—pierced through her daze.

Her gaze shifted, and she saw her: Y/N standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, her face stricken, and in that single moment, Minjeong’s heart plummeted.

“Y/N—” she choked out, pushing Yeji away and taking a shaky step toward her, but Y/N was already turning, her face unreadable as she disappeared through the door.

She tried to follow, but Yeji caught her arm, her grip firm. “Minjeong, wait,” Yeji said softly, her expression shifting to something almost pleading. “I’ve had a crush on you for ages. I didn’t know you’d met someone.”

Minjeong took a breath, a pang of guilt and frustration flaring within her. This was the last thing she wanted. “Yeji, I’m sorry… I didn’t know. But I can’t… I don’t feel that way about you. I’m really sorry.” She gently pulled her arm free, her thoughts racing back to Y/N.

Ignoring Yeji’s disappointed look, she darted out, her heart pounding as she scanned the crowd for any sign of Y/N. Her chest tightened as she finally spotted her outside, getting into a cab. She ran, nearly tripping in her rush to reach her.

“Y/N!” she called out, the desperation in her voice startling even herself. She reached the cab just as Y/N closed the door, her eyes filled with pain, her cheeks streaked with tears. Minjeong pressed her hand to the window, her voice cracking as she begged, “Please, Y/N, just let me explain.”

But before she could say another word, the cab pulled away, and she watched helplessly as it disappeared down the street. She stood there, feeling a cold weight settle over her as the reality of what had just happened hit her. She’d lost her chance to explain, to tell Y/N that she hadn’t wanted that kiss, that it had meant nothing.

She stood there, feeling the emptiness stretch, gnawing at her heart, until she heard voices approaching—her bandmates and Y/N’s friends. Yunjin’s sharp gaze fell on her first, her voice laced with anger.

“Minjeong, what the hell were you thinking?” she snapped, her frustration clear.

“Did you seriously kiss someone else?” Minji’s voice was incredulous, laced with anger.

Minjeong shook her head quickly, her voice urgent. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t kiss her. She just… she kissed me, and I was in shock, and Y/N saw right before I could stop it.” She ran a hand through her hair, her frustration clear. “I tried to go after her, but Yeji held me back. I swear, I didn’t want it. I just… I just want to explain that to Y/N.”

Her bandmates and Y/N’s friends exchanged looks, the anger slowly fading from their expressions.

Minji sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, if that’s true, then you need to tell her. She’s probably at her apartment now. You need to fix this, Minjeong, because she looked heartbroken.”

Minjeong nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I know. And I’ll fix it. I’ll make her understand.”

Without another word, her bandmates gestured for her to follow them to their car. They drove in tense silence, the weight of what she had to do pressing down on her, each second feeling heavier than the last. Her mind raced with thoughts of Y/N—was she still upset? Did she still care? Minjeong’s chest tightened with guilt, and she couldn’t stop replaying the image of Y/N’s tear-streaked face in the taxi.

The drive seemed to stretch on forever, but eventually, they reached Y/N’s building. The bandmates offered a few reassuring words as they stopped outside, and Minjeong gave them a tight smile. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll be okay.”

“Good luck,” Jimin added. “And remember, just be honest.”

Minjeong nodded, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the car. The sound of the door shutting behind her felt final, but she couldn’t back down now. She had to fix this, whatever it took.

She made her way up to Y/N’s floor, each step heavy with the weight of what had happened. When she reached Y/N’s door, she hesitated for just a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

After what felt like an eternity, the door slowly opened, and there she was—Y/N, her eyes red and puffy, her face a mixture of anger, pain, and confusion. Minjeong’s heart shattered at the sight. Y/N looked… so distant, like a part of her had already started pulling away. Minjeong’s throat tightened, and she could barely whisper, “Hey.”

The word came out almost like a question, the same way it had the first time they’d met.

--

Minjeong lingered uncertainly in the entryway of Y/N’s apartment, every nerve ending buzzing with tension. She was here—finally here—but now that she was, she wasn’t sure where to begin. Y/N’s gaze was unreadable as she opened the door wider, the redness around her eyes still visible, stepping aside to let her in. Minjeong offered a tentative, grateful smile and slipped inside, her heart pounding, her hands slightly trembling as she followed Y/N to the couch. They sat down, a slight distance between them, and the silence that stretched between them was almost unbearable.

Minutes ticked by, the weight of the unspoken words growing heavier with each second. Minjeong swallowed, trying to summon the words she’d rehearsed on the drive here, but everything seemed to vanish. She could only manage short glances at Y/N, who sat beside her with her arms crossed, her expression still guarded.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice quiet and tense. “If you have nothing to say, Minjeong, maybe you should go.”

The words hit Minjeong hard, spurring her out of her frozen state. She couldn’t leave it like this; she couldn’t lose Y/N. “Wait, Y/N—please, it’s not like that.” She took a shaky breath, steeling herself. “Please, let me explain what happened.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but she didn’t get up to leave either, and that was enough for Minjeong to press on. She took a deep breath, letting her words flow in a careful, deliberate way. She explained every detail—who Yeji was, how she had shown up backstage after the show, how they’d been talking and catching up, and how Yeji had leaned in to kiss her, leaving her frozen in shock until she’d heard Y/N’s gasp.

“I was so confused, and then I saw you there, watching, and everything hit me at once.” Minjeong’s voice cracked slightly, and she looked down, her fingers fidgeting nervously. “I should have pushed her away sooner. I should have known better. I… I’m so sorry, Y/N. You don’t know how badly I wish I’d done something different. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

For a long, silent moment, Minjeong could only stare down at her hands. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, waiting for Y/N’s response, but the longer the silence stretched, the more she worried she’d ruined everything. She was ready to give up and leave, then she heard a soft sniffle.

She looked up, her breath hitching at the sight of tears welling up in Y/N’s eyes. Guilt stabbed her all over again, and she scrambled for words, her hands reaching out as if they could erase the hurt she’d caused. “Oh god, Y/N… I’m so stupid for coming here. I shouldn’t have—”

“Minjeong,” Y/N interrupted, her hand reaching to cover Minjeong’s restless fingers. Her voice was soft, though still a little shaky. “It’s fine. I should apologize as well… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run off like that without letting you explain.”

Minjeong shook her head, trying to keep herself from tearing up. “No, Y/N, it’s… it’s my fault. I don’t blame you for leaving. I should’ve—”

“No,” Y/N said more firmly, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I mean it. I’m the one who didn’t communicate. I was so scared. We had such an amazing week and I had never felt more alive, but I didn’t know where the thing we had going on stood. I kept thinking if we were dating, or perhaps we were friends with benefits, maybe I saw just a fling. It’s just, I kept imagining things, that maybe I was the only one feeling like this.” 

Hearing this, Minjeong’s heart squeezed painfully. She looked into Y/N’s eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and she finally felt a surge of courage. “Y/N… no. I admit, I didn’t know where we stood either,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But what I do is that you were never going to be a fling, or friends with benefits. I know exactly what I want us to be. I want… I want to be with you. For real. No misunderstandings. No more second-guessing.”

For a moment, they only stared at each other, a world of unspoken feelings hanging between them. Minjeong’s heart thudded as she searched Y/N’s face, praying she hadn’t completely blown her chance. Every nerve in her body was on edge, waiting for Y/N’s response.

Finally, she blurted out, breaking the silence with a surge of nervous boldness, “Do you… do you want to go on an actual date with me? Like, an official one. No ambiguity. Just us, out on a real date.”

A laugh bubbled out of Y/N’s lips, soft and warm, melting away the last traces of tension. Minjeong’s heart leaped at the sound, her nerves easing as Y/N leaned in close, her eyes softening as she brushed a gentle kiss across Minjeong’s lips. The kiss was passionate, you could tell they put their emotions into it.

“Of course, Rockstar,” Y/N whispered against her lips, her voice playful but full of warmth. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

They stayed close for a moment, their foreheads pressed together, smiling softly. Y/N felt a wave of relief, joy, and contentment washing over her. She finally felt steady, knowing exactly where she stood—and that they both wanted the same thing.

As they pulled back slightly, Y/N’s smile turned into a smirk. “Now, about that date… Better be the best one I’ve ever had.”

Minjeong grinned, her fingers lacing through Y/N’s as she lifted her palm up to the mouth, pressing her lips against it softly. “Don’t worry. You can count on it.”

--

The anticipation was electric as Y/N and her friends, first in line, waited outside the small, buzzing venue where Minjeong’s band was playing that night. Minjeong had been hinting at a “surprise” for days, and now Y/N could barely contain her excitement—or her nerves. It had been months since they’d started dating, each moment with Minjeong a blend of excitement and sweetness, wrapped up in laughter and stolen kisses. Tonight, though, felt different. There was something in the way Minjeong had looked at her earlier, a glint of mystery that sent Y/N’s mind spinning with curiosity.

Inside, the dim lights and pulsing bass amplified the thrill as Y/N’s group found a spot close to the stage. The energy in the bar was buzzing, everyone hyped up for another of the band’s electrifying performances. But Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off Minjeong, who was tuning her guitar, fingers moving with an effortless grace Y/N had grown to love. Even from a distance, she could see Minjeong’s usual confidence mixed with a touch of nerves—unusual for her rockstar girlfriend, and it only heightened the suspense.

The band launched into their set, and Y/N was mesmerized. Minjeong was magnetic, every note and strum pulling Y/N closer. Minjeong’s voice filled the bar, warm and rich, pouring emotion into each song. Y/N knew this band so well by now—the rhythms and riffs, the way Minjeong’s bandmates complemented her, each song a testament to how well they all fit together. Her friends were cheering, caught up in the music, but Y/N could only focus on Minjeong, who kept sneaking glances her way, eyes flickering with something unsaid.

As the band neared the end of their set, Minjeong glanced back at her bandmates, who each nodded with knowing smiles. She took a deep breath, stepping up to the microphone. Her voice was a little shaky, but her gaze was steady, locked on Y/N.

“So, uh, before we finish tonight… I wanted to share something special with you all,” she began, and there was a hush as the crowd quieted, leaning in to listen. “A few months ago I had no inspiration. I couldn’t write anything, and then I met my muse. Writing this song was like drinking water, or breathing air. That easy. This is for someone who means everything to me. She’s my inspiration… my best friend… the person who makes everything else just fade away.” Minjeong’s cheeks pinked a little under the lights, and Y/N felt her own face warm, her heart pounding.

“I wrote this song for the love of my life. It’s called No.1 Party Anthem.”

As the first chords filled the room, Minjeong’s voice softened, pouring out with a tenderness that caught Y/N off guard. The lyrics felt like a confession, each line weighted with meaning that reached out to her across the crowd. Y/N’s heart swelled with each word, and as the song progressed, Minjeong’s gaze never wavered—she sang to Y/N and Y/N alone, the entire bar falling away until it felt like just the two of them in a quiet, intimate moment.

Y/N’s friends glanced over with smiles, nudging each other knowingly as they watched her try to hold back tears. The raw honesty in Minjeong’s voice filled the room, carrying emotions that had only deepened over the months. Each word told a story, and Y/N could see herself reflected in the lyrics—the late-night laughter, the whispered confessions, the stolen moments that had come to mean everything.

The look of love, the rush of blood

The, 'She's-with-me's, the Gallic shrug

Y/N felt it then: the dizzying sensation of being seen and adored so purely. Her pulse quickened, and she could almost feel the warmth of Minjeong’s hands even from this distance. It was like the world had faded to black and white, the two of them in their own silent film, yet vibrant with color and meaning only they could see.

The shutterbugs, the Camera Plus The black and white and the color dodge

It was a feeling she hadn’t known before, the security of having Minjeong’s affections worn so openly in her words, in her melody, in every single note. Y/N knew then what her friends had always teased her about—that Minjeong would have eyes for no one else, that she belonged here, in this moment, by Minjeong’s side.

The good time girls, the cubicles

The house of fun

As the bridge filled the room, Minjeong’s voice grew stronger, emboldened, and Y/N couldn’t stop the rush of emotions. The energy was intense, so raw and unfiltered, like being caught up in a whirlwind that spun just for the two of them. It was exhilarating, dizzying, grounding—and yet, she felt like she could float away at any moment, lifted up by Minjeong’s words and the crowd’s rapt attention.

The weight of their love, the certainty of it, settled over her. Everything was crystallizing; all their shared laughter, late nights, and whispered secrets between songs. Minjeong wasn’t just singing for a crowd—she was singing for Y/N, for their memories, for their future.

The number one

Party anthem

The song was reaching its end, and Minjeong’s eyes softened as she held the final note, her expression open and vulnerable. Y/N’s heart felt like it was on fire. She hadn’t realized it until now, but this was exactly what she had needed: this quiet, beautiful assurance of how much she meant to Minjeong.

As the song faded, the room erupted in applause, but Minjeong’s gaze stayed locked on her, a private smile on her lips. Y/N could feel her own smile breaking free as tears blurred her vision, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. It was as if Minjeong had taken her heart and woven it into the song, showing Y/N that every note was a promise, every word a reassurance of what they had.

As the applause subsided, Minjeong slipped off the stage, making her way through the crowd toward Y/N. Her friends cheered her on as she moved closer, and Y/N’s heart raced as she finally stood face-to-face with Minjeong, who looked at her with a nervous, hopeful smile.

“Hey, rockstar,” Y/N whispered, unable to contain her grin.

Minjeong chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… what did you think?” she asked, a little shyly, her gaze unwavering.

Y/N’s voice was thick with emotion. “That was… perfect. I loved it.”

Minjeong’s eyes softened, and without a word, she pulled Y/N into her arms, holding her close. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other, while the rest of the world buzzed around them. It was a quiet moment in the middle of the chaos, a moment just for them.

Y/N looked up, meeting Minjeong’s eyes. “I guess that makes me your No.1?”

Minjeong laughed, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “You always were.” 

a/n: this is in my top 3 song from AM, so i thought it deserved a fanfic.

[ephie-om]

Simeon trudges along the soft carpet to answer Purgatory Hall's door. He vaguely remembers someone was supposed to visit, but in his mind's haze he can't seem to recall who. Between the endless explosions from Solomon's room and late nights comforting Luke after a long day, the angel was exhausted.

The front door creaks open to reveal your smiling face. Your smile quickly drops as you take in Simeon's state. He realizes how he must look. Disheveled clothes, oily skin, probably several stains on his robes. He's fairly sure he should be ashamed, but he's too tired. "I apologize, I'm not exactly... put together." He flashes you a quick smile, hoping to dispel your worries.

You tsk at him and gently push past him into the house. An alarm goes off in his mind, a bit too late, that he should be a gracious host and invite you in. But since it's you, he supposes, there's not much point in telling you to make yourself at home. He watches you drop your bag on the floor and shove it out of the way with your foot. You're looking at him, he realizes. Expectantly. "Um... I'm sorry. What?" Your lips twist (in what? Worry? Disappointment? Has he done something wrong?) and you let out a breath.

"I said, I know your roommates have been getting to you." He nods quickly, eager to show he's listening this time. "So I took the liberty of finding them excuses to not be here tonight. They're safe and in good company, but that leaves you here. Alone, with no distractions." You grin at him, almost evilly. "Which means you don't have any excuse to refuse my help."

You make quick work of boiling water for tea and running a bath. Simeon, having been sternly commanded to not help in any way, is perched awkwardly on a stool in the kitchen. He watches you rush back and forth between rooms, making sure neither the kettle nor the tub can overflow. It's almost amusing, watching you run about like this all for him. Yes, he thinks, it's amusing, and endearing, but if he thinks too long about that he might really say something he shouldn't.

You push a mug full of hot tea towards him from across the counter and stare him down until he drinks. It's warm, the warmest, sweetest thing he's tasted for weeks. He didn't even think he liked this blend. There must be something about your fingers making it that dripped pure nectar into it. He sips slowly, letting his tongue wrap around every drop. He wouldn't dare waste a bit of the liquid gold you'd given him. The silence stretches over the kitchen like a warm blanket and he closes his eyes as he drinks. Your footsteps fade as you go to check the bathroom and he finds himself missing the sound of your breathing.

He drains his mug and heaves himself to his feet. You meet him midway to the bathroom and place a warm hand on his shoulder, guiding him down the hall. Only his angel sensibilities stop him from stripping down as soon as he sees the tub. He sees a thick layer of tiny bubbles floating over the water's surface, and a gentle floral scent rises up to greet him. He swears he could kiss you here and now.

You face him, hand on his arm, and he finds every detail of your lips as you speak. "I don't mean for this to be awkward or anything, but I've been tired like this before and I know how hard simple things can be. So I wanted to tell you if you need any help with this, I'll be right here." You turn to walk out, but he catches hold of your hand.

"Please. It's..." He trails off, embarrassed. "My hair. I don't even know how long it's been since I've washed it." You nod and respectfully face the wall as he disrobes. The noise that leaves his mouth as he lowers himself into the water would be sinful anywhere else. He feels the tension is his back loosen as the warm ripples lap against his skin. When did he get so tired? When had moving a single muscle become such a chore?

You settle on the edge of the tub and gently tilt his head back. He hears you rummage around for his shampoo and finally smells that familiar teakwood scent that drifts down from your fingers. You work his hair into a lather, so slowly he thinks you must be trying to put him to sleep. He doesn't even want to look at what color the bubbles must be coming off his hair, so he shuts his eyes and leans back into your hands. You chuckle softly and rinse his head ever so carefully, making sure to shield his eyes. He hears a generous amount of conditioner plop into your palm and you indulge him in what's practically a scalp massage, going over his head with your fingertips again and again.

You gasp softly and your fingers stop. Simeon's eyes snap open in fear, imagining what horrors you could've found in his hair. "I'm so sorry, I knew it was dirty, I shouldn't have-"

"You're glowing."

"Sorry?"

"Simeon, you're glowing."

His arm sloshes up from the depths of the tub as he checks for himself, and sure enough, an ochre glow emanates from under his skin. "Ah. That must be a quirk specific to angels. It's entirely subconscious, because it only happens in times of utmost happiness." You smile wide, fascinated as he explains.

"So that means..." You trail off expectantly.

He blushes and settles back under the water, an excuse to tear himself away from that blinding smile. "It means you make me happy." he says simply. You're silent for a moment as you work and he wonders if that was too much. Your fingers caress the hinge of his jaw and tilt his head back again, and he opens his eyes just in time to be met with your lips pressed to his forehead. It only lasts for a brief moment, but he thinks he could live like this for eternity.

Neither of you say anything as Simeon finally stands and dries off. Neither of you need to. Your hand wraps around his arm and he finds himself not caring the least but about where you're taking him. The two of you end up on the living room couch as you painstakingly detangle his hair while a late-night reality show plays softly in the background. The manners that the Celestial Realm has taught him over centuries remind him he ought to say thank you. He takes a breath, opens his mouth and shuts it again, silently. The silence is comfortable. In a world where everyone talks and no one ever listens, silence is trust. And right now he trusts you more than anything else in the three realms.

[bronwynhillside]

I get to have children thanks to ivf being developed in 1978. It would be impossible otherwise. Plus my government, Australia, helps me pay for it by medicare

So many diseases are prevented by vaccination. I know people who remember the deaths from aids, tetanus, polio, diphtheria, Whooping cough...my mum remembers kids vanishing from school because they died or were badly injured from disease, especially polio

It's so strange to me, a kid born in the 80s, that modern people are not scared of aids. It was such a terror and so much death in my childhood and teens.

Rewilding projects worldwide, bringing back the vanished animals and landscapes - wolves in Yellowstone, beavers in England. My old employer breeds and supports Aussie animals.and plants

Women's liberation by birth control, better wages, subsidised child care, outlawing marital rape, allowing divorce, mortgages and bank accounts.

The ozone layer is slowly healing. You can still burn in under 10 minutes here in Western Australia but it's better than it was.

Green technology- wow. And cars that don't stink of lead petrol. Better standards for products eg no more asbestos or lead in paint

Has anything actually gotten better, for all the work you talk about doing? Or is it just treading water in misery forever?

Anon, ten years ago gay people couldn't get married in large parts of the US. AIDS was an almost certain death sentence when I was in high school. I was looking at job boards the other day and found a part time gas station job that had health insurance as a benefit, which NEVER would have happened 15 years ago. When I was a kid, hitting your child was extremely normalized in the US and my parents were the weird ones for not doing it. There is a vaccine for chicken pox. I didn't meet anyone who had transitioned until my 20s because it was so uncommon to transition in the aughts, and now there are some states that protect your right to have gender affirming care provided by your health insurance. It's not all states, but it's better than the number of states that had it in 2010, which was zero. THERE ARE TENANTS UNIONS NOW. WE HAVE A VACCINE AGAINST CERVICAL CANCER.

And all of that has been the work of a lot of individuals and organizations and research teams and activists.

[shyshyshyz]

Fading Embers

Summary: As the tension between Piltover and Zaun rises, Jinx finds herself caught between vengeance and something unfamiliar—love. Her connection with you is one of the only things grounding her, yet the walls she’s built make it nearly impossible for her to trust. But with threats around every corner, Jinx finds herself facing the ultimate choice: to push you away or let you in.

W: Violence, angst, references to trauma, swearing, mild fluff in dark setting.

a/n: requests are open btw!! 💗

The murky Zaunite streets were heavy with smoke and sparks, painting the sky a faint shade of orange. You tightened the scarf around your neck, hoping the layers could protect you from the smog—and perhaps even from the emotions rolling inside you. In this world of grime and rust, you were trying to find someone who both intrigued and terrified you.

Jinx.

Even thinking her name stirred something raw within you. She was untamed chaos—a wildfire you were too close to, yet could never step away from. And despite the destruction she left behind, there was something beautiful, even vulnerable, in the ruins of her soul.

Your footsteps echoed as you turned into an alley, the air feeling thicker here, as if every building bore witness to her past. Finally, you spotted her leaning against a wall, her two-toned hair flowing freely, electric blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. The shadows carved her features into sharp relief, making her look more like a vengeful spirit than a human.

“Why are you here?” she asked, voice low, as if the question itself could shatter the fragile silence between you.

“I… I thought you could use some company,” you replied, pulse quickening under her intense gaze. She looked at you like she was deciding whether to trust you or cast you aside, like everyone else had in her life.

“Company, huh?” she muttered, a sly smirk forming. But even her smirk carried a hint of pain. “You know, that’s a dangerous game in Zaun.”

“I’m not afraid of danger,” you replied, crossing your arms. “Not if it means being here with you.”

Jinx scoffed, but you noticed the flicker of surprise in her eyes. Vulnerability was something she hid beneath bravado and chaos, yet, around you, it occasionally peeked through. She took a step forward, the distance between you shrinking as she tilted her head.

“You’ve got a death wish, don’t you?” she whispered, her gaze softening, just for a moment.

“Maybe,” you whispered back, “if it means understanding you. The real you.”

Her laughter echoed down the alley, harsh and unsteady, as if the notion itself was a joke. Yet, there was something genuine there—a slight crack in her mask.

But the laughter faded fast, her face hardening again as she turned away, her fingers twitching restlessly. “There’s no real me,” she said, barely a murmur. “Just a ghost, someone who doesn’t know who she is anymore.”

You reached out, hesitating before your hand brushed against her shoulder. “You’re more than that, Jinx. More than a ghost. There’s light in you, even if you can’t see it yet.”

She flinched under your touch, her body tensing. She was like a live wire, on edge, every muscle ready to fight or flee. But she didn’t pull away. “You don’t get it,” she whispered, almost to herself. “People around me… they get hurt.”

Your heart clenched, hearing the regret in her voice. “Then let me choose. I’m not here because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be.”

Jinx turned to face you, her expression unreadable. Her blue eyes, flickering with unspoken feelings, met yours with a weight that felt like it could crush you. But then, unexpectedly, her hand found yours, a rare gesture of trust. Her fingers were cold and unsteady, yet the contact felt more intimate than anything she could say.

In the silence, you could feel her pulse—fast, erratic, like her mind was running a hundred miles a minute, but her hand didn’t let go.

“Guess you really are a fool,” she said, her voice softened, almost gentle.

“Then we’re both fools,” you replied, squeezing her hand.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Jinx’s shoulders relaxed, if only by a fraction. In that fleeting moment, amid the grime and darkness of Zaun, you saw the spark of something fragile yet defiant, something that wanted to be saved but didn’t know how.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Welcome Back.

From the moment those tall iron gates— elegant and ebony—swing open and you pass through them, a dizzying nostalgia floods into you. Here is the line that divided the rest of the world from the campus guard behind its barrier. The air is thick with magic, tasting sweet as you sip it.

This feeling, you think, head buzzing from the thrill, can be matched by nothing else.

You’re in a crowd, allowing yourself to be swept up by it and carried along its current. Men in casual wear, men in formal suits, men in outlandish and odd attire. All of you, set on the same path down Main Street.

Seven statues stand erect, monuments to seven great historical figures.

The Queen of Hearts, her rounded proportions blossoming from a patch of roses. She holds up part of her skirt with one hand and a heart-topped wand in the other. Her peaceful expression betrays the sternness with which she commands.

The King of Beasts, perched upon a rock that slants up. The lion has persisted and finally scaled the peak. He now looks skyward, his cunning visage locked to and even grander future.

The Sea Witch, tentacles curling amid carved waves. She casually leans back, unfurling a contract in one hand. Sign, and she will bless you with her benevolence.

The Sorcerer of the Sands, appearing in a cloud of sand. He stands, thin and wiry, with his serpent scepter and a hand on his hip. His face is contemplative, mindfully considering visitors.

The Beautiful Queen, svelte and lovely as she steps forth from the smoke, A poisoned apple is suspended from her fingers. She is as tempting as she is tenacious.

The Lord of the Underworld, grinning amid broiling flames. His hands are both lifted, a ball of fire conjured on one fingertip. Playful as he is, the man is diligent in his work.

The Thorn Witch, her horns and tattered robes right at home in the briar. She is poised and elegant, fingers curled at her chest. Truly noble in every way.

You lower your head to them in deference as you pass.

The crowd funnels into a doorway, then into a dimly lit room. It’s circular in design, with several windows, the curtains drawn over them, and floating coffins ringing the outskirts. With the day banished, the only source of light were the apocalyptic green flames emitting from high sconces.

An elaborate crystal chandelier and many pearl lines hang over their heads. They shift in and out of the void, sometimes catching and shining in the glow of the flames.

In the center is a large mirror upon an elevated platform. The frame, an intricate braid. Its surface, dull and dark—as if coated in a layer of coal dust.

This, too, you remember vividly.

But not the small figure standing become the mirror.

They are fitted in a mourning gown of blacks and deep blues. Feathers adorn their chest, scattered iridescent fragments woven into their skirt. A long wispy veil obscures their face—but you swear you can hear an eerie, faint giggle come from behind the gathered fabric.

They lift their hands, beckoning you to draw nearer. You are compelled to obey, your feet drifting.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” they announce cheerily.

Your scalp tingles. And they sound so close too. Like a childhood lullaby, a musical box wound up.

“Welcome back to our Night Raven College. It is a pleasure to see you again. How nostalgic.”

Rose gold comes to mind, and you're unsure of why that is. It comes with a familiar feeling--of rediscovering a lost part of yourself, of rose-tinted glasses slipping on and clouding one's vision, of the wonderfulness of meeting an old friend. The color of dawn beckoning a new day.

Who is…?

They reach for their veil and carefully raise it.

Your heart leaps. Deja vu.

A demure smile. Honey-colored eyes staring straight into your soul. Wonder and curiosity radiating off of her.

You suddenly know who it is.

“We’ve missed you, dear alumni.”

[ohno-the-sun]

Oh uh forgot to ask in the previous ask (the one with the digital piece of candy and scurrying and stuff)

How do you draw art so good

Like

Is there a method you use or is that just the style you've gotten over time?

you've activated my trap card

I'm just gonna preface that this tutorial is from someone who was not professionally trained and didn't have a lot of free time for art, so a lot of the tips I have is short cuts I use to get the best results quickly

If you genuinely want to get better at art then please look at references and practice that is always the best

However if you are like me and only really do art for fun but want to go faster then these are for you pfppt

Overall I'd say my style is influenced by speedpaints I would watch when I was younger, I like analyzing how people do things and what makes something look "good" to me

I always recommend watching them because they will often have techniques you've never seen before or do things a certain way that you can try out yourself

I consume good art, it feeds me

but seriously it can be super helpful when developing your own methodology, or just generally trying something new

Usually it starts with me pulling some references from artists I really admire and sort of sketching out how they do the things I like

For example 8um8le has like super good anatomy and poses so I focused on trying to replicate how they do that

venemous-qwille is super good at color and pulling focus so that's what I focused on in my study of them

In general I'd say my process is sketch -> silhouette -> color -> shading -> render

I really don't like doing lineart lol

I'd say for the sketch the most important part is using references and just kind of fudging it until it looks correct anatomically/physically

General rule of thumb is spend time on areas of interest, and keep non important areas light (like the stitching on his pants)

I don't do lineart because I think its unnecessary for most paintings I do

I naturally tend to put more time and focus on areas of interest (like hands and feet) and if you use a brush with opacity for the sketch, those areas are naturally going to be darker in the final sketch

Of course this is gonna be different for everyone but it's what works for me

Sometimes I do a really really sketchy layer underneath my sketch/lineart, just so I know where everything is going

Use thumbnails! They are great to help figure out the general layout of things and what pose I wanna do

Next is what I call the "silhouette" layer

This is super important for me cause it helps me refine the figure and make sure the pose/anatomy looks correct, also depending on what color I choose for the silhouette helps guide what colors I'm going to use on top

This piece is a good example of how it works. The silhouette shows me how the figure interacts with the background, how the pose looks and if its any good

The silhouette layer doesn't have to be super clean, as long as it follows the sketch decently well and shows where the figure is then its fine

I also sometimes make the silhouette layer multiple colors to help guide shading and vibe

Next is the coloring layer. I usually make this a clipping layer on top of the silhouette layer, or I change the silhouette layer to alpha lock, either way it saves me time on coloring everything in

Sometimes I am super rough with the coloring too, using like an airbrush or my fav watercolor brush just to generically block in color where I want it

Works out cause most objects have like a bounce light to them from surrounding objects, so this is sort of a cheat I use to get that effect without all the work lol

Also don't be afraid to have the lower silhouette layer shining through, having multiple colors sort of subtly shining through the piece helps lots

Next is the shading layer, this is usually another clipping layer, usually set to "multiply"

The colors I pick here is usually within this range, any color works, just depends on the piece and vibes.

Since this piece is set in a sunset forest I choose a more desaturated orange for the shading layer

I know there's a whole thing about multiply layer being a crutch (and it kind of it) but it is a useful tool when you just want some darker values across the piece but don't want to go through the process of color picking every single darker shade

Also in my opinion it looks better than picking a darker color and setting it to a lower opacity, idk I just think the color has more "depth"

Next is the hardest to explain, sort of the vibes layer

Usually its just a layer of more concentrated color on top of the normal color and I fudge with the settings and values until I get a result I like

Next is the longest step, is the "extra" or the render stage.

Usually I add a background before this step so that if I need to merge the figure better with the background I can

If I render with a white background but he's supposed to be in a dark forest, its going to mess with the lighting severely

Also this is when I add more "vibe" layers on top to get the figure to match the background better

Backgrounds in general I recommend checking out @/derekdomnicdsouza on instagram he's got lots of great tutorials for breaking down backgrounds simply

I'd say general rule for the rendering layer is to focus on the areas of interest and spend less time on areas you don't care about

I even blur stuff out on the edges I don't want people to see, partially to save time on fixing mistakes in areas I dont care about (oop), but mainly to help draw the eye to the areas I do want people to focus on

Theoretically parts of the background should like mesh with the characters, parrallel lines are a no no unless they are directing a viewer to look somewhere, things that are perpendicular help bring things together

tbh I'm still not the best at layout and probably need more practice, but overall this is what I like doing

Overall this is what my layer set up ends up being

Sort of a sandwich with the lineart/sketch as the "meat" lol

Color and basic shading below the sketch, clean-up and rendering on top

I like this method cause it's super flexible if I ever want to try something different or try to replicate someone's style

I can make each step less or more messy depending on the end result and can add a lineart layer if need be. Also if there's a part that is straight up not working or needs to be removed its super easy to do cause I can just paint over it on the "extras" layer, color picking from the surrounding area to get the same vibe

Generally rule of thumb for my style is: get the initial layout of colors, form and shading to look good, then the rendering should be smooth sailing

Really the best advice I can give to get better at art is to enjoy what you're doing and become very very obsessed with drawing a silly little guy

You'll eventually get very good at drawing them pfptpf

[frehyun]

Mistletoe

non-idol!Felix x gn!Reader

warnings: none!

genre: fluff

word count: around 700

author's note: it's november but the first christmas markets are gonna go up at the end of the month in my country and it's already affecting me. hope you enjoy this, it's just a quick silly one! <3

masterlist

divider by @firefly-graphics

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way the lights reflected off his eyes, making them sparkle and glitter in the dark. His freckles like little galaxies dancing around on his cheeks, painted a cute soft red by the cold. Surrounded by countless flickering lights and beautiful decorations, your focus was always drawn to the prettiest thing around you: your boyfriend Felix.

His smile was infectious as he sipped on his hot chocolate, yapping away about something where you realised you tapped out of the conversation a while ago, mesmerised by how beautiful he looked even while doing the mundanest things like sitting at the corner of a Christmas market with you.

“-and I already have an idea of what to get Seungmin for Christmas.”

“It can’t be worse than whatever Minho has planned to torment everyone with, so I think you’re safe. You’re a great gift giver, Lixie” – you told him, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious you didn’t catch half of his sentence.

You leaned more into his side, trying your best to initiate some form of physical contact. With you and Felix both bundled up in several layers, both sporting thick gloves and fitting beanies, it was as good as impossible to get any skinship while you were out and about, so this would have to do.

“You think they have a mistletoe somewhere around here?” – he suddenly quips, looking around the plaza.

“Are you that eager to kiss me in public?” – you giggle and take his gloved hand awkwardly into yours, intertwining your fingers to the best of your ability.

“So what if I am?” – he playfully pouts in return and squeezes your hand.

You bumped your shoulder into his and moved to get up from the little bench the two of you were situated on.

Realising that you were going to indulge his request, Felix beamed up at you, smiling that bright teethy smile of his that almost triggered your cuteness aggression into overdrive.

Hand in hand the two of you wandered around the plaza before finally spotting a stand that had a mistletoe hanging from a wooden beam. With a hop in your step, Felix and you skipped towards the little wooden hut full of giggles, excitement bubbling up in your chests.

It was silly to get this excited over a simple mistletoe kiss but with Felix by your side, even the smallest things seemed to spark unbridled joy in your heart, which was thumping happily in anticipation.

As you stood on either side of the mistletoe, grinning from ear to ear, his arms found their way around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His soft lips found yours in an instant, kissing you like it was the last kiss he was going to get in a while.

Little fireworks exploded in your chest as they always do when you get to kiss your sunshine and you smile against his lips before the two of you parted, your forehead leaned against his.

“People are staring” – you giggled and poked his side, which in turn made him giggle and twist his body away from your attack.

“They’re just jealous.”

“Jealous of me, maybe.”

“Hey! Do you want me to start listing all the things I love about you again?”

“And have me cry in the middle of a Christmas market?”

“You know I’ll do it. So! First thing-“

“Alright! I get it! You can stop!” – you hastily placed your hand over his mouth before he could make you cry of happiness and love for real, laughing over his competitiveness at who loves the other more.

It was getting awkward with all the people looking in your direction, so you decided to call it a day and trudge home.

Soft, joyful days like these were always a blessing with Felix and made you wonder what you did in your previous life to deserve him. He could always manage to make you laugh, smiling brighter than all the Christmas lights combined.

You were sure that as long as you had him, you never needed another Christmas present again if it meant you could spend your days with him.

[northopalshore]

I have a question in terms of synastry. I’ve noticed that couples who shared a deep love with one another or hailed as one of their true loves have Venus/Pluto synastry? Can that be true in your opinion?

To some degree, yes. More than that though, I think it's the effects that Pluto & Venus bring that are doing the magic.

The logic behind Pluto-Venus in synastry;

Why do I love you so much I can't breathe?

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Since pluto is anything but shallow, it is raw depth, transformative energy, obsessive magnetism, hate, devotion & all of that intense scorpio energy focused onto that one aspect.

Venus here is influenced by Libra or just pure love of love/ romance, romantic idealism. When combined it just makes for a deep love/attachment to eachother.

Still, whether it's something that will last or not is dependent on the individuals as well as other aspects in their chart.

Whatever the outcome may be, know that it's not flighty. It will bring out the worst & pettiest parts of our souls if things turn sour i.e you love them so much you become obsessed & toxic around one another. If all goes well, it's a deep transformative love. One where both parties are able to sense & touch every layer of.

In a romantic relationship, there is no other person that will affect you as deeply as this person. From the sex & the love to the sense of belonging & devotion.

Often you'll find that people who assume to have a twin flame connection with their person have strong pluto-venus aspects. Especially when it comes to conjunctions.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Hope this helps ♡

[1x20]

hello and welcome to my tutorial on how to create gifs like this one! full explanation under the cut, but if you wanted to take a little peek at the gifset attached to this tutorial, here ya go!

for the purposes of this tutorial i am assuming you know

how to make a gif

what vhs footage looks like

STEP ONE: MAKING YOUR GIF

choose your footage and plug it into your desired software of choice! i use photoshop for this so i can only attest to the efficacy of these methods in that context

as for shot selection, you could feasibly choose anything. however, i prefer shots without too much movement in them - makes it look more like a home video.

because of the heavy amount of colors and filters, i'd recommend a gif somewhere around the 40-50 frames! but of course you can play around.

oh i also set the frame delay to 0.08 seconds. this is slower than most gifmakers tend to set theirs, but it makes it run buttery smooth imo.

STEP TWO: MAKING THE COLORING

here's where we get vhs specific. if you're unfamiliar with vhs footage, i recommend clicking through this youtube playlist! if you're not interested in the coloring, skip to step three (smart object fuckery + filters)

now while making a set i tend to choose some primary colors for my gifs. in the gifset i linked above, i chose to work with blue and orange-y yellow. in some of the other gifs i'll be using as examples (from an unfinished set) i chose green and yellow.

to create the above coloring i generally use these steps:

1) curves

i'm a maniac so i use the same curves layer to initially edit the luminosity AND colors of my gifs. the purpose of this layer is to edit brightness/contrast like i normally would and already start the process of changing the colors a little bit. this is my curves layer for the blue house gif:

to make the gif go from the left image to the right image:

as you can see i used the brightening curves to make the footage a whole lot lighter. i also increased the reds to get rid of the cyan tint a lot of blue footage has, slightly increased the blues, and once again decreased the greens to get rid of any cyan. this does make the blue hue a bit more purple, which is a nice bonus!

as for the gif of the boy, that one's a little harder to show a before and after for, but i'lls how the curves for good measure:

the original shot was already quite bright so i only edited the brightness a litttle bit. because i knew i wanted the gif to be green and yellow, i increased the greens, decreased the reds (except in the shadows), and decreased the blues (to get yellow)

2) channel mixer

now the channel mixer layer takes a little getting used to so i recommend experimenting. ALWAYS USE THIS LAYER ON THE COLOR BLENDING MODE for a more even result.

i use channel mixers to sort of... unify the colors a bit more. for the house gif, for example, i increased the blue channel to +110% blue, but decreased the blue in the red (-12%) to retain the yellow in the window.

if you want me to explain this more in depth, send an ask! it'll be kinda longwinded though

before / after of the boy gif with curves/channel mixer.

3) levels

this is where it starts looking more vhs-y! vhs footage has light shadows and dark highlights.

first, set your levels layer to luminosity blending mode to retain your beautiful colors.

then, crunch the hell out of your gif to make it very... mid.

this may feel a little wrong at first but i prommy it'll look okay at the end. a before/after for the boy:

now that's starting to look familiar right?

4) color fill/gradient map

because i want to unify my colors/make sure my gif is saturated, i usually add either a color fill or gradient map layer. in the case of the house, i chose to go with a dark blue color fill:

because the coloring of the boy gif was a little more complex, i decided to go with a brown to green gradient map.

this will make the shadows yellow, and the highlights green.

BOTH THESE LAYERS ARE SET TO OVERLAY. i usually fiddle with the opacity of them until i like it, but it's anywhere from 7% - 17% depending on what i feel like that day

5) curves (again)

this layer is probably useless but i do it anyway to make myself feel better. this is just a regular curse layer to up the brightness a tiiiiny bit and amke sure everything's clear. also it helps counteract the darkness your overlay color will add in.

6) color balance

this is my most subtle layer so i won't be able to show before and after but i fiddle with the color distribution a little until i'm satisfied. set this layer to color blending 'cause that's what you wanna affect!

i decided i wanted the house gif shadows to be a little more purple, for example, so i added in red (+3), magenta (-1) and blue (+1). etc etc. do what feels good!

STEP THREE: SMART OBJECT FUCKERY AND FILTERS

OKAY that was a lot. sorry or you're welcome. but good news: now's the fun part. convert your animation to a timeline, then select both your coloring and gif layers, right click, and select convert to smart object.

now that your gif's a smart object, i usually crop it. i tend make vhs aes gifs a 4:3 ratio (so 540 x 405 px) because that's what vhs footage was usually recorded as! crop your gif, resize, and then we can continue.

1) color bleeding

vhs footage usually bleeds its colors - this manifests as a short of... weird subtle halo around any object. the way to recreate this in photoshop is to duplicate your smart object.

set your copied smart object to color blending. now move it to the side a couple of pixels (i usually do around 5px, but you do you!)

as you can see, the tree and chimney (and everything else but less prominently) have a yellow shadow to them. this is exactly what we want!

2) filters

now's the time to add your filters and make it look like shit (but on purpose!) first, select both smart objects and convert to smart object again. this will ensure the filters apply to all layers evenly.

i use the following filters:

unsharp mask (amt 35%, radius 4px) - this will subtly add some sharpening but only on the edges of objects

add noise (amt 7.5%, distr. uniform, not monochromatic) - this will add the signature vhs grain.

box blur (2px) - i edit this to be 75% opacity with the little arrows to the right, just to make sure you can still make SOMETHING out when you're looking at the gif. MAKE SURE THIS FILTER IS ON TOP OF YOUR NOISE FILTER. tumblr will kill your gif otherwise

4) ONE LAST THING

usually at this point i'm not happy with either the saturation or levels. (usually the levels). so on top of your smart object, add another saturation or levels layer and fuck around!

in the case of the house gif, i thought it was too bright still so i set my output levels to 13 and 216. for the boy, i thought the shadows were too dark, so i set my shadow output to 11.

BEFORE & AFTER:

aaaand that's it! thanks for reading! if you have any questions, feel free to come to my askbox, i'm always happy to explain my process. happy giffing 🥰