#backstage passes or nah

[supercantaloupe]

roommate asked me tonight if i could get her and her girlfriend "backstage tickets" to the concert on thursday to see one of the performers. Girl no?

[pixiefelixie]

・❥・(ot8 headcannons) THE GIRLFRIEND EFFECT

summary: in which skz start to abandon their old habits after getting a girlfriend, and their fellow members can only watch in stunned horror as love turns these men soft. the girlfriend effect is real. nobody is safe. cw: profanity, just endless fluff and crack, use of she/her pronouns, pls take the humor with a grain of salt <3

chan - the insomniac king was dethroned

bang chan does not sleep. everyone knows that. 

he goes to bed into the next day—3am, 4am, sometimes not at all—and wakes up looking like he’s been in an toxic relationship with his pillow. it’s a thing. a legend, even. the morning game among the members is always:

“what time do you think chan slept last night?” “earlier or later than 3am?”

so when he walks into morning dance practice looking… rested?

eyes clear. hoodie on straight. skin dewy. shoulders not hunched like a man carrying three unfinished tracks.

it’s suspicious.

no one’s said it yet, but the members are all thinking the same thing

seungmin narrows his eyes like he’s solving a mystery. then, slowly, he raises a finger and points directly at chan.

“what time,” he begins, voice ominous, “did you sleep last night?”

it’s the sacred question. normally used to roast him. normally answered with some sleep-deprived groan and a “i don’t know, man.” but this time, it comes out… almost reverent. because the idea of bang chan getting a full night’s sleep is no longer a joke—it’s truth.

chan blinks. like he didn’t expect anyone to ask.

“uh…” he rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “y/n was tired. we kinda crashed around midnight.”

midnight.

midnight.

you could hear a pin drop on the dance floor.

jeongin just stares. mouth slightly open. brain buffering.

“you slept... at midnight?” he echoes.

chan shrugs, trying to play it off but he can’t hide the way his lips twitch like he’s just a little too proud. “yeah, she knocked out so i didn’t want to wake her.”

“s-so you just… fell asleep? did she drug you or something?”

chan just laughs. “nah, i just like being next to her. it’s… easy to fall asleep.”

jeongin looks like he’s witnessing a crime scene. or maybe a miracle. it’s hard to tell.

“he’s broken,” he whispers, still staring. “she’s broken him.”

seungmin doesn’t even blink. he crosses his arms and says, deadpan, “no. she’s fixed him.”

and that day, for the first time in forever, chan doesn’t yawn once.

minho - “don’t touch my ass.”

minho is many things. dancer. cat dad. human embodiment of strange.

but above all. he’s a butt hunter.

he will grope, slap, poke, and outright ambush the butts of any member foolish enough to turn their back on him. it's not even weird anymore, it's tradition. a stray kids rite of passage.

so when several days go by with no butt activity? suspicion brews.

jisung is the first to notice. obviously. he passes minho in the hallway and flinches out of habit, or trauma, but nothing. not even a threatening twitch.

it’s unsettling. so unsettling, in fact, that jisung decides to take matters into his own hands.

literally.

the next day, backstage at inkigayo, jisung makes his move.

minho’s facing the mirror, fixing his hair. perfect. jisung creeps up behind him like he’s in a nature documentary.

and then—pat. a clean, respectful grab. 

he waits. silence.

minho blinks at his reflection, then turns around slowly. calmly.

then: “don’t touch my ass.”

jisung chokes. “what?”

minho just stares at him. blank. serious. 

“don’t touch my ass,” he repeats, tone calm but final—like he’s scolding a cat for scratching the couch again.

“are you mad at me? jisung sputters. 

that finally gets minho’s full attention. he sighs, and looks up at jisung like he’s explaining something very simple to a very dumb squirrel.

“no. i’m not mad at you,” he says, voice calm. “it’s not about you.”

jisung blinks, confused and still braced for impact. “then what is it?”

minho shrugs, like it’s obvious. “it’s y/n.”

there’s a pause as jisung tries to keep up.

minho sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “like… i wouldn’t love it if other people were grabbing my partner’s ass all the time, even as a joke, you know? and yeah, it’s always been just us messing around, but still. she’s my girlfriend. i wanna be consistent.”

jisung stares. “so… you’re retiring from ass play.”

minho gives him a flat look. “don’t call it that.”

jisung holds up both hands, backing off. “okay, okay. sorry. just—wow. that’s actually kind of sweet. and disturbingly mature.”

“you had a good run. but i’m taken now. full package. including the rear.”

jisung almost falls to his knees.

“she’s corrupted you.”

changbin - “i hope you lose your pump.”

changbin is reliable.

rain or shine, comeback or chaos, he goes to the gym.

it’s not a suggestion. it’s not a routine. it’s a spiritual contract with his biceps. if he skips a day, he complains that he can “feel himself shrinking.” if his members skip leg day, he offers to carry them—and their guilt.

so when he’s not at the gym by 10am, it’s weird. when he’s not at the gym by noon? alarming. and when he’s not at the gym at all?

something is deeply wrong.

minho’s the first to text:

you alive or did you get hit by car 

no reply.

by 2pm, some have migrated to the dorms to check on him in person. they knock. no answer. chan tries the handle—unlocked.

and there he is.

changbin. on the couch. blanket over his legs. one arm around you, the other lazily flipping through netflix. a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on his lap.

he looks up. blinks.

“oh, hey,” he mumbles, clearly still half-asleep. “didn’t hear you come in.”

silence.

you offer a small wave from behind the couch. “hi.”

minho squints. 

“where were you?” chan asks, tone sharp like an accusation.

changbin blinks. “sorry?”

“the gym,” minho says, gesturing wildly. 

changbin furrows his brows. “i don’t remember telling you i was going.”

“you never have to tell us,” chan cuts in, clearly distressed. “you always go. we stopped asking you ages ago.”

“you’re the one who made a whole speech about how ‘discipline is showing up even when you don’t feel like it.’” minho scoffs.

you shift under the blanket slightly, sitting up a bit straighter, and speaking up for the first time since the interrogation began.

“i called him over,” you say simply, voice soft but teasing. “sorry none of you have girls asking to spend time with you.”

minho scoffs. 

changbin chuckles beside you, hand up for a high-five. you slap it, grab another handful of popcorn, and lean back with a smile.

chan shakes his head, but his lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile. “can’t even be mad. you look happy.”

“you’ve changed,” minho says solemnly, but really, he’s proud. “i hope you lose your pump.”

changbin grins. “you’re just jealous.”

they probably are.

hyunjin - “she likes me when i'm low-effort.”

hyunjin doesn’t just get ready. he curates.

every outfit is a look. every look has a theme. necklaces. earrings. scarves. a gentle waft of expensive perfume that smells like whispered poetry.

so when he walks out of his room wearing—

sweatpants. a plain white t-shirt. no versace. no rings. no 12-step skincare glow. just lip balm.

his roommate, changbin, nearly drops his protein shake.

“hold still.” he steps in front of the door, arms spread like he’s blocking a crime scene. “are you really going out like that?”

hyunjin blinks. looks down at himself like he forgot what he put on. then shrugs. “yeah. brunch.”

“with who, your bed?”

“y/n.”

silence.

“you’re going out with your girlfriend, hyunjin.” he says slowly, 

hyunjin tilts his head. “she likes me just fine this way.”

changbin gestures wildly. “you’re wearing sweatpants.”

hyunjin shrugs again, utterly unbothered. “they're clean.”

“and the plain white tee?”

“she said i look cute when i’m low-effort.”

changbin groans like he’s being personally attacked. “do you know how hard i tried to look good the last time i saw a girl? i changed outfits four times and still ended up sweating through my shirt.”

hyunjin just smirks, grabbing his phone off the counter before opening the door. “maybe you should’ve tried less.” he adds casually, before stepping out. “bye.”

and all changbin can do is stand there, shaking his head, whispering.

“she’s changed him.” 

han - his ego took a sick day

jisung milks compliments. he churns them into butter. whips them into frosting. lives off the validation like it’s a multivitamin.

in interviews, when asked who's the funniest? “obviously me.”

best-looking? “me, but hyunjin’s close.”

most talented? “it’s me. i wrote this question.”

you’re at the jyp cafeteria, trays clinking, the hum of trainees and staff in the background as you sit shoulder to shoulder with jisung at a corner table, while hyunjin and felix are across from you.

jisung’s rambling about something—probably a dream, possibly a conspiracy—chopsticks waving as he talks through a mouthful of rice. that’s when you notice it.

a tiny scrap of seaweed. clinging to the edge of his lip.

you lean in just a bit, tapping the side of your own mouth. “right there.”

he pauses, tongue darting out instinctively to swipe the spot along with a flick of his eyes up at you like, did i get it?

and somehow… it’s stupidly attractive.

and it hits you—hard and fast and stupid:

“you’re so handsome,” you murmur.

hyunjin and felix immediately stop eating.

the air stills.

felix sets down his spoon with a slow, almost reverent motion.

hyunjin glances at felix. then at you. then at jisung. they both brace for it.

this is the moment where his ego explodes.

he’s about to say something cocky. something ridiculous like "thank you for the unnecessary comment—everyone already knows that."

but none of that happens.

instead?

jisung freezes.

his chopsticks stop mid-air. his lips part slightly, like the words never formed.

felix and hyunjin exchange a slow, stunned glance across the table, like they’re witnessing something rare and possibly mythical.

jisung clears his throat. forces a tiny smile. not his usual smug grin—something smaller. bashful.

you tilt your head, soft and sincere as you repeat. “you’re really handsome.”

he ducks his head slightly, mumbling, “stop,” but there’s no bite in it.

you grin.

that’s when hyunjin leans forward dramatically, hand cupping his mouth. “i didn’t know you were capable of being humble.”

jisung groans, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth just to avoid talking. “shut up.”

hyunjin smirks. “you’re blushing.”

“i am not.”

felix points. “then why are your ears the color of gochujang?”

jisung throws him a look, cheeks puffed full of rice like a chipmunk. he chews dramatically, swallows, and finally mutters—

“god forbid i get a little flustered when my girlfriend compliments me.”

hyunjin groans dramatically, flopping back in his chair. “she softened him. he’s fully simmered.”

felix sighs into his hands. “remember when he used to call himself ‘sex on legs’ and say we were lucky to know him?”

jisung shovels another spoonful of rice into his mouth. “still true,” he mumbles.

he then looks at you—blushing, with a small smile.

felix - "i’m keeping her on her toes.”

felix is a certified cuddle bug.

he initiates first, always. doesn’t matter the time, the place, or the number of witnesses. if you're standing still for more than five seconds? he’s already wrapped around you like a weighted blanket if it had freckles.

he hugs everyone. back hugs. side hugs. full-body collapse hugs. the man radiates affection like it’s photosynthesis—he needs it to live, and he makes sure everyone else gets a dose too.

but ever since he started dating you…you started playing this little game. felix has decided to become your greatest enemy.

you step into the recording studio with a bright smile, holding iced americanos.

only felix, chan, and jisung today. chan looks up from the mixing board, immediately grinning. “oh, legend. thank you.”

jisung’s in the booth, mid-bar, rapping like his life depends on it.

you walk over to felix, who’s perched on the couch, headphones around his neck, scribbling notes in a lyric sheet. you set the tray of drinks down on the little table beside him, lean down, and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

then, naturally, you slide your arms around him in a casual hug.

he doesn’t move.

no returning squeeze. no snuggle into your shoulder. no dramatic gasp and full koala-mode cling. just him—smiling, smug.

smiling, but not hugging back.

you pull back just enough to pout. “felix. not this again.”

chan glances up from his monitor, brows raised. “what are you doing?”

felix turns to him. “she always expects the hugs. i’m trying to keep her on her toes.”

you groan. “we live for the hugs, felix. there are rules.”

“i know.” he winks. “that’s why i break them.”

chan leans back in his chair, eyes wide like he’s seeing felix for the first time. “you’ve… developed self-control.”

you sigh dramatically, still half in his lap. “unfortunately.”

felix scoffs, poking your side. “don’t act like you’re some poor victim. you dodge me all the time!”

you narrow your eyes. “okay, fine. if you wanna play that game… how about neither of us do anything?”

felix leans back like he’s genuinely considering it. “alright. okay. deal.”

a beat passes. one whole second.

then—

he immediately lunges forward, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck. “too late.”

you squeal as he hugs you tight and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, smug and unrepentant.

“felix!” you gasp, laughing. “you lasted one second!”

he grins into your shoulder. “you looked too cute being all serious.”

chan shakes his head from across the room, muttering, “so much for self-control.”

felix shrugs, arms still locked around you. “self-control’s overrated.”

you could only change him so much.

seungmin - no one knows where the savage went

seungmin has the softest little voice. polite. gentle. that kind of light, effortless tone that sounds like it should be used to offer you tea or read bedtime stories. 

but then he opens his mouth and says something like,

“you look like someone who peaked in high school,” with the same tone you'd use to say, have a nice day.

and that’s the seungmin everyone knows—sharp-tongued, savage, and weirdly charming about it. naturally, everyone assumes he’d be the same with a partner. 

you’re sitting with felix and changbin in the practice room when seungmin walks in, sipping his iced tea. he plops down next to you and greets the group with his usual drawl.

as you start unwrapping a protein bar, he eyes it casually and goes, “is that your second one today?”

you nod with a muffled “mhm,” mid-bite.

across from you, changbin freezes—brows raised, lips already curling like he’s bracing for the roast. he’s heard this setup before. he knows seungmin’s usual follow-up. normally, it’s a deadpan jab about how someone eats like a vacuum, or a not-so-subtle fat joke about needing a second lunch just to function. he’s ready.

but instead?

seungmin leans his head slightly toward you, eyes soft. “you like those ones, right? i’ll grab you a couple more next time i’m at the store.”

you blink at him, surprised—but smile, warmth blooming in your chest. “really?”

he nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. then reaches over, gives your knee a light pat.

changbin looks offended. “okay, how come you never say stuff like that to me? i’m the one who put her on those protein bars.”

seungmin doesn’t even look up.

“because when you eat, it sounds like a construction site.”

felix loses it, nearly spilling his drink as he doubles over laughing.

changbin gapes, pointing at seungmin. “i chew normally!”

seungmin finally looks up, deadpan. “you breathe heavy before opening a snack.”

you’re gaping at seungmin, caught between shock and laughter. “seungmin.”

he finally cracks—a tiny, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turns toward you. he opens his mouth just slightly, so, huffing a laugh, you lift the protein bar and hold it up to his mouth.

seungmin bites down on the protein bar, eyes locked on yours—soft, a little smug, but mostly just… fond. like the insult he threw five seconds ago didn’t exist. like you’re the only thing in the room.

felix watches the entire thing unfold from the corner of the couch, straw halfway to his mouth, forgotten.

“somehow,” he mutters to changbin, stunned. “she’s tamed him.”

jeongin - "she's normal"

jeongin is the maknae 💜. and he loves being the maknae.

gets away with things. never has to go first. everyone looks out for him.

but the second one of his members tries to baby him? it’s war.

if hyunjin tries to feed him a spoonful—he glares like he’s been betrayed. if anyone calls him “innie baby”? he files for emotional damages.

he secretly loves the attention, obviously. but he’ll never admit it. not to their faces. not in this lifetime.

so when he walks off stage after the main performance, sweat-damp and glowing, and heads backstage for a breather before the encore, it’s a complete shock when jeongin lets you be touchy. lets you baby him. cause they’ve all tried and failed.

“you did so well, baby,” you say, all soft and proud, hands reaching up to fix the little flyaways at his temple.

even just the pet name “baby” hits the room like a mic drop.

hyunjin physically recoils. 

jeongin just looks at you—shy smile pulling at the corner of his lips—and quietly asks, “you think so?”

you nod immediately. “i know so. you looked amazing out there.”

he blushes, eyes dropping, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he leans in a little—like your presence is the calm after the storm.

you cup his cheeks briefly, thumbs brushing just under his eyes. “i’m so proud of you, innie.”

another pet name. another shockwave.

this time, hyunjin can’t help himself. he dramatically stumbles backward like he’s been shot. so of course hyunjin takes it as a challenge.

on his way past, he reaches out and ruffles jeongin’s hair exactly the way he knows jeongin hates—fingers scratchy, deliberately messing it up.

“great job, baby,” hyunjin mocks in a high-pitched voice, grinning.

jeongin flinches immediately.

you laugh, covering your mouth as you watch the chaos unfold.

but hyunjin’s already on a mission.

he swoops in again—arms outstretched for a dramatic hug, lips puckered exaggeratedly as he leans in with a loud, “come here, my innie baby—”

jeongin panics, pushing at his chest with both hands. “get off me!”

hyunjin stumbles back, hand on his heart like he’s been betrayed. “come on! what is this? what does she have that i don’t?”

jeongin doesn’t even hesitate.

“she’s normal,” he deadpans, fixing his hair.

hyunjin staggers like the words physically struck him, hand still pressed to his chest in mock pain.

but jeongin’s already turned back to you—his expression softening, that tiny amused smile curling at his lips. you smile back just as sweetly, eyes crinkling, and he swears his heart does a little somersault.

hyunjin stares, genuinely stunned now, voice low and almost reverent.

“i’m… envious,” he mutters. “you’ve surely done something to him.”

author's note: what if skz did something totally out of character and their members lost their minds over it? i love a man completely changing his personality for a woman. sue me. anyways, thank you for reading this. i really hope you enjoyed it! engagement is appreciated, and feel free to leave some feedback 🫶

[im-goin-mad]

i hate when i'm texting a man and he starts copying me like what are you? gay?

[lovhrin]

𓇻   ॱ˖ ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE AND THEIR GIRL GROUP GF

──ॱ˖ ❀ enhypen hyung line and girl group girlfriend. genre fluff. warning none just fluff and multiple different ggs | enhypen x fem!reader.

lee heeseung ( 이희승 )

you’re in aespa

ever since enhypen and aespa debuted you two were shipped together

and during that time you guys had barley interacted so he tried his best to avoid you at all costs to not make things worse

emphasize on tried

you were just too pretty

he honestly felt honoured to be shipped with you

and as much as he tried he couldn’t take his eyes off of you

it had gotten to the point where one day while passing him on the stage amongst other idols you muttered this to him

“not making those rumours any better, yeah?”

he was so flustered

but instead of jumping off the stage like he wanted to…

he found you backstage and said this

“what if I want the rumours to be true? private of course.” “is this you asking me on a date.” “yes.”

and the rest is history

──ॱ˖ ❀ your photobook “every time I see you smile that’s all me” - kali uchis all mine

park jongseong ( 박종성 )

you’re in meovv

jay has been dating you for a while like wayyy before you debuted

you come from a really wealthy family

you were basically an influencer before you became an idol

jay found you on his private insta account on day and was immediately drawn in by your internet personality

he found the way you held yourself really attractive

you were classy

you were just a little internet crush to him nothing more

that was until enhypen got invited to an event were coincidentally your family was also there

his heart sped up when he spotted you by the drinks with your face in your phone

you were obviously bored

and maybe he could make your evening better

and he sure did

he doesn’t even remember how it happened

all he remembers is having all sorts of conversations with you that had him thinking about how nice it would be if he could talk to you everyday

“you’re the first person to ever ask me things like this, yeah I would love to become an idol but I’m scared people will use my families wealth against me” “who cares what they think? I heard the black label is having auditions you should go, I’ll help you practice.”

and that was the starting to his long term relationship with you

──ॱ˖ ❀ your photobook “taking our dreams, turing them to things” - lana del ray groupie love

sim jaeyun ( 심재윤 )

you’re in katseye

when he first saw your introduction for dream academy he was practically hypnotized

you were so charismatic

and beautiful

he hated to admit it but after your introduction he kept tabs on the show

and voted for you every mission

was he even allowed to do that???

the first time he ever met you was a moment he would never forget

while he was freaking out internally you were freaking out outwardly

“omg sofia that’s jake, should we go up to him? nah that’s weird we should wait for him to come up to us, but why would he come up to us?”

he found your rambling so adorable

see you act like that calmed down his nerves and gave him a lot of confidence

but it immediately vanished once he was actually in front of you

sofia described it as watching two people stutter compliments to each other for five minutes

“I could… uh… um show you around the city if you’d like, you know all the cool um food places.” “yes! I mean… um… uh yeah.. cool..cool that would be cool.”

──ॱ˖ ❀ your photobook “I will still fall in love my clementine.” - grent perez clementine

park sunghoon ( 박성훈 )

you’re in le sserafim

to be honest sunghoon had been dating you for as long as he can remember

you guys were figure skating partners

you guys had been dating since you were little kids

well that’s what he likes to say

you both just had a crush on each other since you were little kids

he was a couple years older so you thought you never had a chance

and while you were going through years of having a crush on him

sunghoon had thought you guys already had come to the agreement that you were in some kind of relationship

it wasn’t until you were both a little older that you both slapped on the title of bf & gf

your love was real

and it showed all the time on the ice

you both were scouted

sunghoon was more easy to win over than you, you didn’t know if you wanted to leave figure skating just yet

but you also knew that if sunghoon left figure skating and left you behind you’d probably never skate again

you could never picture yourself skating without him

sunghoon practically begged you to leave with him

he needed you to do this with him

you hated him for always knowing how to pull you into things

the next thing you knew you were watching sunghoon debut on tv and about two years later he was watching you perform your first stage

“you were skating partners with le sserafims yn right? and now you’re both idols under the same company, it’s like you’re soul tied are you still close with her?” “I don’t think I could get rid of yn even if I tired.”

──ॱ˖ ❀ your photobook “tangled in love, stuck by you from the glue ” - beabadoobee glue song

[flwrstqr]

★ ENHYPEN WHEN YOU GET IN A DATING RUMOR WITH OTHER IDOL.

────𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬, when you get in a dating scandal and your boyfriend is not so happy about it

✶ INTRODUC𝓲NG ⦂ idol!enhypen ୨୧ idol!reader ｡｡ fluff, one shot, ⟡​ 11OO tw. skinship jealousy petnames && ARCHiVE ／ ૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა

` ( ´ ▽ ` ) ♡ : PLEASE REBLOG & GIVE FEEDBACK !

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

heeseung tries to play it cool when he sees fans shipping you with another male idol, but the small pout on his lips betrays him. “so, that’s the new thing now?” he teases as he scrolls through the hashtag, his thumb hovering over a particularly popular edit of you and the other idol. you giggle, leaning over to steal his phone, but he pulls you closer instead, wrapping an arm around your waist. “it’s kinda funny,” you say, cupping his face to make him look at you instead of the screen. “you’re the only one i’m actually with, you know that, right?” his lips twitch into a shy smile, his forehead resting against yours. “yeah, but do they know that?” he murmurs before pecking your lips, “besides, i’m way cuter than him, right, baby?”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘

jay spots the edits on his feed, his eyebrow quirking as he watches fans swoon over the idea of you and another male idol. “huh, interesting,” he mutters, pretending to be unfazed, though the way he clings to your side says otherwise. you notice and nudge him, grinning. “don’t tell me you’re jealous, baby.” he scoffs, pulling you closer by your waist. “jealous? me? nah, i just think they’ve got it all wrong,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. you chuckle, threading your fingers through his hair. “it’s cute, though, you getting all pouty like this.” he clicks his tongue. “i’m not pouty. just making sure they know you’re mine—i mean, not theirs.” he grins cheekily before kissing your temple. “besides, you and i are the real power couple, sweetheart.”

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

you’re scrolling through your phone backstage when jake plops down beside you, leaning his chin on your shoulder. “what’s got you so distracted, angel?” he asks casually, though his eyes quickly catch the screen showing a trending clip of you laughing with another male idol. his lips press into a firm line, and you suppress a giggle. “you’re pouting, jake,” you tease, nudging him lightly. “no, i’m just pursing my lips,” he retorts, though his gaze doesn’t leave the screen. you turn to face him fully, cupping his cheeks to tilt his head toward you. “you’re cute when you’re jealous, you know that?” his face softens as you press a quick kiss to his cheek, and he sighs, his arms wrapping loosely around your waist. “not jealous,” he mumbles, voice betraying his words. “just... reminding you who makes you smile the most.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

you catch sunghoon scrolling through his phone, his expression unreadable as he stumbles upon yet another edit of you and the male idol you’ve been getting shipped with lately. he glances at you, sprawled out on the couch beside him, completely unaware. "y/n," he starts, voice low and casual, "what's so great about him anyway? he doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor." you giggle at his words, but he’s already leaning closer, resting his head on your shoulder as he scrolls pass articles. "besides," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "i look way better standing next to you." your cheeks flush, and he smirks, planting a soft kiss on your temple. "they should be making edits of us instead," he quips, pulling you closer as if daring anyone to disagree.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎

sunoo’s lips pout slightly as he scrolls through his phone, the sight of your name alongside another male idol's trending yet again. “they don’t know you’re mine, sunshine,” he mutters, his voice soft but laced with a hint of envy. you glance at him from across the room, noticing the way he fiddles with the hem of his sweater. slipping beside him, you lean your head on his shoulder, your hand finding his. “you know they’re just fans having fun, right?” you tease, intertwining your fingers with his. his pout deepens, but his thumb brushes over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s okay. “still… it’s annoying,” he admits quietly, resting his head atop yours. you laugh softly, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. “

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍

jungwon tries to brush it off when your name gets linked with another male idol, but it eats away at him more than he'd like to admit. he watches the fancams, his jaw tightening every time fans comment about your “chemistry” with someone else. it’s not like he doesn’t trust you—he does, more than anyone—but the way people are just shipping you and this random male idol. you notice it when he gets quieter than usual, his playful teasing replaced with absentminded hums. "what’s going on in that head of yours, wonnie?" you ask, gently poking his cheek. he finally mumbles, "do you think they look better with you?" you cup his face, pulling him close until your foreheads touch. "you’re my favorite, always," you whispers with a sweet a kiss at the end. his arms snake around you tightly. "mine too," he murmurs, smiling shyly.

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈

riki laughs it off when fans start shipping you with another male idol, but you can tell he’s just masking his feelings. "oh, so that’s your type?" he teases, dramatically clutching his chest like he’s been betrayed. you roll your eyes, but he doesn’t let up, following you around. "should i dye my hair like his? maybe then i’ll have a chance," he jokes, his grin widening when you swat his arm. later, when it’s just the two of you, his teasing shifts to something softer. "you don’t actually think he’s cooler than me, right?" he asks, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. you smile, tugging him down by the hoodie strings so you’re eye-to-eye. "you’re irreplaceable, riki," you say, brushing your nose against his. he groans playfully, hiding his flushed cheeks in your shoulder. "ugh, you’re so cheesy, but i’ll take it since i love you."

[tokiiwonz]

three’s a crowd, four’s a party

content — sub!male reader, dom markminhyuck, group play, possessiveness, manhandling, face-fucking, fingering, spit, messy blowjob, choking (hand on jaw), praise & degradation, overstim, body worship-ish?, sharing, soft mean!mark, mean mean!jaemin, brat!haechan

ive really got nothing fancy to say about this picture. i feel soooo

jaemin lets out a low whistle from where he’s stretched out against the headboard, palm sliding lazy over his cock where it lays heavy on his stomach. his thumb swipes the leaking tip once, then circles it like he’s not even trying to be subtle.

“look at him,” he mutters. “already clenching around mark's fingers like he’s gonna cum. no one’s even fucked him yet.”

you don’t answer. can’t, really. not when mark's still got you spread open across the bed, fingers curling inside you nice and slow. he’s gentle, as always. taking his time, like he’s trying to memorize every twitch in your thighs, every breath you catch on.

you barely get a second to breathe before haechan flops beside you. he’s grinning already, hand settling warm on your thigh, fingers pressing in tight enough to bruise. his mouth hovers close like he’s about to say something sweet—but it’s never sweet with him.

“god, baby,” mark says. “you love getting passed around, huh?”

mark laughs softly under his breath, still curling his fingers inside you just right. “he’s soaked,” he murmurs. “feels like he’s already halfway gone.”

your legs twitch again, hips rolling down to chase mark's hand even though it’s already so deep. you’re whining without even realizing it, and that’s when jaemin shifts forward and grabs you by the jaw.

his hand’s just there, holding your face like he owns it. not squeezing—yet. just resting. then his cock slaps wet across your cheek and you flinch. your shoulders jerk up, breath stuttering out before you can stop it. there’s a split second where you don’t even look at him, too focused on the way it stings, the way your skin stung from the contact. but his hand moves fast. he grabs your face, thumb pressing into your jaw, not hard—yet, but it’s threatening, like he wants to bruise it. as if he’s daring you to pull away. 

jaemin drags your face toward him. he was far from being gentle, his cock still wet where it kissed your cheek. it’s still hard, heavier now somehow, and y’know he’s waiting for something—and you can feel his breath right against your lips, hot and mean.

he stares. not saying anything yet. just watching you flinch, shiver, and trying to keep still under his grip. “so noisy already,” he mutters. it was low enough to make you freeze. “you were whining backstage, remember that? what were you begging for?”

“nnh—didn’t say anything—” your voice breaks halfway through, head tipping back when mark hits that spot again and your whole body jumps.

“you didn’t have to,” haechan chimes in, still stroking your cock teasingly. “your legs were shaking before mark even touched you.”

mark presses a kiss to your thigh, fingers dragging out slow before easing back in deep. “you like that, sweetheart? like being spread open while they watch?”

you nod without even thinking. “mhm—”

“use your words.”

“i like it, mark hyung—m’so full—”

“you’ve taken two fingers,” jaemin cuts in, blank-faced. “don’t act like you’re split on cock already.”

“feels so big though,” you gasp, as mark pushes in a third. it burns a little—thick and all the way in—and you sob when he starts to curl them. “fuck—m’not used to this much—” :((

“nah,” haechan coos, still jerking your cock, treating it like the most precious thing he's ever held. “you want more, don’t you? bet if nana told you to open your mouth right now, you’d drool for it.”

“won’t be necessary,” jaemin huffs as his grip slides into your hair and tugs your head toward his leaking cock. “show me, baby. show me how pretty boys suck dick.”

your jaw drops without thinking. you’re already shaking, barely holding it together; still though, you let him slide in. he’s thick, mean about it, pushing all the way until your lips are flush to his base. you gag once, then breathe around it.

he stays there. makes you sit with it. one hand gripping your hair, the other bracing the back of your neck as he pushed himself deeper.

“breathe through it,” haechan murmurs, “you’ve done this before, baby. you got it.”

you moan around it, eyes tearing up. mark's still fucking you gently with his fingers, whispering something into your thigh, but you can’t hear him, not really. your cock jerks in haechan's hand and your hips twitch every time jaemin moves, just barely.

“fuck,” jaemin mutters. “you were made for this.”

“he loves crying,” mark says quietly, kissing the inside of your thighs. “don’t you, baby? love when we wreck you like this?”

you try to nod again, but you’re too full. cock in your throat, fingers inside you, precum dripping down your dick. your body’s not even yours anymore. it belongs to them and you’re just barely holding on :((

“bet your brain’s already leaking out your ears,” haechan grinned, whispering. “you want us to fuck it right out of you, huh? ruin our baby until he can’t even remember his name.”

jaemin pulls out just enough to let you breathe. you suck in air, loud and messy, lips slick with spit. “i’m—i’m already yours—”

“fuck he said it,” mark groans. well, that did something to him. his fingers are still deep. your hole’s clenching down like it knows something’s coming.

“say it again for me, baby,” jaemin breathes. “c’mon. say it.”

“yours. m’yours—please—”

jaemin kisses you. hard. wet. tongue pushing in like he owns the space, trying to taste the words you just said.

and then mark pulls his fingers out, just as haechan slides his in.

you gasp loud, back arching off the bed. it’s too much—haechan's slick and fast, fingers twisting in deeper than you were ready for.

“fuck—fuck, that’s—” you’re trembling. your whole body’s tight, stuffed full again. “c-can’t—”

“yes you can,” haechan growls at your throat, mouthing along your jaw while his fingers stretch you open. “you’re our fucktoy, right? our good little boy?”

jaemin's thumb presses your tongue flat again. “gonna make you cum so hard, you’ll see stars.”

your body’s jerking, hips stuttering into haechan's hand where he’s still stroking your cock. you’re leaking all over his fingers, your hole fluttering around him wanting—no. needing something deeper.

“m’gonna—gonna cum—” you choke out, right on the edge, can’t stop it—

“do it,” mark says, soft as ever, his eyes saying i love you. “go ahead, baby. let go.”

“we’ll fuck you for real after,” haechan grins, lips brushing your cheek. “gotta make you cum first so you’ll open up real nice.”

[rodentcarnival]

Can't help but sleep | Hanni Pham

summary: being an idol is hard with the early schedules and late nights and you can’t seem to help but fall asleep in the most random places, luckily an otter is always there to make sure you're comfortable. 

warnings: none!

tags: fluff, idol!hanni x 6thmember!reader

WC: 2.3k

you never meant to make it a habit, but at some point, sleep just started happening wherever it could.

on the floor during short breaks? sure.

in the van with your cheek smushed against the window? why not.

in the middle of a phoning live? okay, that was one time. (it was not one time)

but it’s not like you didn’t try. you really, really did. you’d tell yourself “i’ll sleep early tonight,” and then you’d fall into a rabbit hole of watching hanni fan cams. but really you were just supporting your fellow member nothing more. totally not because you had a crippling addiction to anything that involved her. it was always embarrassing whenever you’d fall asleep in public. 

what made it slightly less embarrassing was that, for some reason, a little otter was always there.

the first time you noticed it was at the airport. you had stayed up the night before packing and promptly passed out in the lounge area while waiting to board. your hoodie was covering majority of your head with some glasses and mask covering your face. you fell asleep within minutes of sitting down, your mouth half open under the mask letting out little snores. how elegant.

when you woke up, there was a blanket over your shoulders and a small snack resting on your lap. you blinked at the packaging while rubbing your eyes, then at the familiar handwriting on the sticky note stuck to it.

“wake up soon or i’m eating this for you - 🦦”

you smiled. you didn’t say anything about it at the time, but the snack tasted better than usual.

after that, it started becoming a bit… obvious. not to you at first. you were too busy falling asleep during breaks or in between takes. but the other girls noticed.

"unnie snores," hyein said once. 

"no she doesn’t," dani cut in. "it’s more like… soft breathing. like a sleepy puppy."

"it’s kind of cute," haerin added, patting your head as you stirred awake.

"what i think is cutest is the way hanni stares at her like she's watching her favourite movie," minji whispered behind her hand.

hanni threw a grape at her.

you blinked confused, still trying to process why you had a neck pillow now when you definitely hadn’t brought one.

the edits started not long after.

fans had somehow found clips of you sleeping during backstage vlogs or bts videos. some had soft music layered under them, others were captioned with things like “the nation’s baby” or “protect at all costs.”

but the ones that got the most attention were the ones where a certain otter was nearby.

there was a specific one that got nearly a million views overnight. it was a five second clip of you curled up on a couch, your hoodie drawn over your head, and hanni walking by, slowing down, then joining you on the couch, holding you close. 

y/nnni_forever: "i don't think she knows she's in love" ilovenjz: "nah she knows, she just thinks no one else does"

it was the first performance of “right now” and you didn’t get good sleep the night before, which led to you falling asleep on the chair with your phone replaying the same tiktok. 

dani held up the camera, smiling and chatting towards it happily on the other side of the room. “hi friends~ i’m going with my natural hair today.” 

dani points the camera towards hanni, prompting hanni to speak, “we are performing right now! the choreo uses a desk and sofa, bet you weren't expecting that.” 

dani leaves the camera with hanni as hanni starts showing off her camera roll. “look i organized it, this is an album of me with short hair, these are ones taken on a film camera, and these are when y/n falls asleep hahaha.” 

what fans seemed to notice was the abundant photos hanni took where her face would be super close to yours, making it a clip bunnies put in their edits. 

“you might be wondering where is y/n?” hanni picks up the camera quietly walking to you with a finger lifted to her lips indicating “shhhh”. 

the camera panned to you sprawled on the chair with your phone hanging by a thread of your hand. 

“another one to add to the collection, bunnies dont you think shes cute?” 

later that night, when you checked your own phone, you found airdropped photos from hanni. not the embarrassing ones. just the ones where she’d managed to catch you mid nap, soft lighting casting gentle shadows on your face. some even had her in the corner of the frame, blurry but smiling.

“these are just for you, don’t delete them or else you die - 🦦”

things kept piling up like that. quiet little things. thoughtful little things.

like how she always made sure your favourite snack was stocked in the dressing room.

or how she’d put a water bottle into your hands after a particularly exhausting performance.

or how whenever you leaned on her without realizing, she never moved.

you once asked her why she never woke you up when you slept on her shoulder.

"because you look peaceful," she said. then added with a grin, "and also because you drool and it’s funny."

you smacked her arm. she laughed.

you fell asleep during a solo phoning call once. it was late into the night but you just wanted to update the bunnies on what you’d been up too while trying your best to stay alert, nodding and smiling and occasionally answering the questions.

“yeah… and hanni and i *yawn* went to the… hold on i just need to close my eyes...” you said, you just needed to rest your eyes for a couple moments and you’d be back to 100%. just a few seconds… 

and then you knocked out.

njz#1fan: “HELP SHE FELL ASLEEP”  emominji: “ayo someone get hanni in here her gf’s fell asleep on live.”

when you woke up, hanni had your head in her lap while one hand was combing your hair and the other scrolling on her phone like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“good morning sunshine,” she said, not even looking up.

“did i…?”

“yep. fully knocked out in the middle of a sentence.”

you groaned. “i’m never gonna live this down.”

“don’t worry,” she said, ruffling your hair. “i told the fans you were just overwhelmed by their love.”

you stared at her.

“you’re welcome.”

one night, after a long concert, the dorm was unusually quiet. everyone had gone to bed except you and hanni. you were curled up in the corner of the couch, blinking sleepily at a drama that you had paused for twenty minutes as you were trying to regain your eyesight as it was blurring. 

"why are you fighting it?" she asked softly.

"what?"

"sleep. you're literally swaying.”

you rubbed your eyes. “i don’t wanna miss the ending.”

“you’ve seen this episode four times.”

“but you’re still awake, i don’t want you to be lonely…”

she came over, pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it over you. then, without hesitation, sat beside you and gently guided your head to her lap.

you blinked up at her. “again?”

“yes. now shut up and sleep.”

you giggled.

“you love this, don’t you?” you teased.

“maybe,” she shrugged, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“you’re not subtle, you know.”

“good,” she said. “then i don’t have to say it out loud.”

you looked up at her with tired eyes.

“…say it anyway.”

hanni’s fingers paused in your hair.

she smiled, soft and small.

“i love you.”

you fell asleep with that echo in your chest.

it started with poking and prodding at your face to keep you awake.

you weren’t sure when it became hanni’s go to tactic for keeping you awake, but at some point, it had evolved into a whole routine.

“you’re doing it again,” she whispered during a photoshoot, eyes glinting with amusement as she nudged your arm.

you blinked slowly, lips parted in the middle of a very poorly timed yawn.

“no i’m not,” you lied, swaying slightly in your seat.

hanni leaned in closer, smirking. “you’re literally moving like a drunk person.”

you made a face. “i’m awake.”

“sure you are,” she said, poking your cheek once. “totally alert.”

poke.

“super energized.”

poke.

“ready to model.”

poke poke.

“stop,” you whined, batting her hand away with the weakest slap known to mankind.

she just laughed, leaned in, and squished your cheeks together with both hands.

“look at this sleepy lil chipmunk,” she said in a voice that was definitely not meant for public consumption but the camera caught it.

you blinked up at her with puffed cheeks, lips squished into a pout. “thif is cruh ool.”

“you love it,” she said, ruffling your hair.

you didn’t respond. mostly because you her hands where just so comfortable you felt like sleeping right there. 

the fans noticed. of course they did.

a week later, there was a fan edit titled “HANNI VS Y/N’S SLEEPINESS” that racked up half a million views in two days.

it opened with the now infamous “chipmunk face” clip, set to titanic music. then it cut to various moments across videos. 

the first clip showed you, mid eyeliner when your eyes started drooping.

one of the stylists had been chatting softly with haerin nearby, and the makeup brush gently paused against your lid when your head tilted a little too far to the side. you didn’t stir, breathing slow and even.

a soft bop to the tip of your nose made your eyes flutter open.

hanni stood beside you grinning.

“you almost snored,” she whispered, then tapped your nose again for good measure. “wake up cutie.”

you blinked at her a little dazed, and then immediately began to pretend you were definitely awake the whole time.

[beep]

you were sitting next to hanni during a phoning live, both of you in matching couples pjs that you both swore was just what besties do, greeting fans and answering comments .

you were mid sentence when a yawn broke out. your mouth stretched wide, blinking slow, voice trailing off completely.

without missing a beat, hanni gasped and threw herself backwards, one hand clutching her chest.

“NOOOO SHE’S GOING UNDER WE’RE LOSING HER,” she shouted dramatically, causing the live chat to explode in chaos.

you tried to glare at her through half lidded eyes, but it was hard when you were also fighting to stay upright.

“this is betrayal,” you mumbled.

“bunnies she might not make it” hanni continued, waving her arms. “press 1 to send caffeine. press 2 to send cuddles.”

“press 3 and i’ll cuddle with hanni :) who am i kidding i’ll do it regardless if you guys type it.” you said, falling backwards into hanni's arms.

[beep] 

rehearsal was dragging. the lights were harsh, your body sore, knees weak, arms heavy, no vomit on your sweater, and the sofa prop was starting to look way too inviting.

you were standing behind it, trying your best not to give up on standing. maybe if you closed your eyes for just a second you could wish away the tired feeling. 

a very loud clap then happened next to your ear.

you practically jumped out of your skin shouting. 

hanni was there, eyes wide in fake innocence, palms still together from the clap.

“WAKE UP SOLDIER, RISE AND GRIND IT’S A NEW DAY,” she barked, grinning as the others burst into laughter behind her.

your soul had already left your body. you just stared into the distance, hands limp by your sides.

“my ghost will haunt you,” you muttered.

“as long as your ghost is as cute as you,” she replied.

the fans loved your dynamic with hanni. 

bunniesforever: “if i had my own otter waking me up each time, id also fall asleep all the time”  hatevegetables: “they’re literally dating idc” tomatofrog34: “if my future gf doesn’t wake me up like hanni i don’t want her”

you watched the video three times with blush dusting your cheeks, smiling at your phone in the middle of the night like a crazy person. 

you sat at your desk in your room, working on some lyrics for the new comeback song before deciding to call it a night. you turned off the lights, played some soothing white noise in the background and laid in bed. 

and you continued laying there, wide awake. for some reason it felt lonely, like there was something missing. 

then it hit you. 

getting up from your bed, you grabbing your pillow, hugging it close to your chest as you made your way out of your room and down the hall. stopping in front of a familiar door, you knocked lightly as shuffling could be heard from the inside before the door cracked open. 

“y/n? is everything okay?” hanni said, her voice laced with sleepiness. 

“i’m sorry for bothering you this late at night, i just was wondering if i could sleepover?” you said with a cheeky smile. even if hanni was annoyed at being waken up so late into the night, she could never pass up an opportunity to cuddle with you. 

she opened the door more and gestured for you to come inside before flopping onto her own bed, snuggling back under the covers. you close the door and get into bed right next to her. 

pulling her closer, you closed your eyes, resting your chin on her head. when you heard her breathing evening out you finally mustered the courage to speak. 

“goodnight hanni, i love you” you whispered, kissing her forehead. 

“i love you too y/n” hanni mumbled half asleep. 

a bright red colour consumed your face, even when you laid next to hanni. that night you couldn't sleep because you spent the whole time admiring her face. 

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

Synopsis: You work the circus — painted smile, broken jokes, the same old balloon dogs for kids who’ll forget you by sunset. Life drags in loops until she shows up: a runaway sleeping behind the generator, sharp-tongued and impossible to ignore.

Word Count: 8,129

Giselle X Male Reader

“…There we go!” you grin, sweat sticking to your clown makeup as you twist the final knot.

“Here’s your dog balloon, kiddo”

“Wow! Thank youuuu, clown guy!” the little girl squeals, eyes wide with joy.

“You’re very welcome! Enjoy the rest of the circus,” you say with a rehearsed cheer, waving her off before your smile fades the second she’s gone.

You sigh, lips still painted into a happy arc. Behind the makeup, you feel like static — loud, drained, hollow.

“Hey, Y/N. You’re on break,” someone mutters, a staff member passing by without so much as eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply flatly.

You walk the back path of the amusement park, dodging busted popcorn bags and loose bolts on the wooden planks. You buy a sandwich, sit alone in the backstage corner — half-lit, half-forgotten — where the scent of either elephant or lion shit clings to the air like punishment.

No one sits with you. No one ever does.

You take one bite.

“Hey, Y/N,” your boss says, head poking through the rusted door. “Break’s over. Get back to work.”

“What? I just sat down,” you protest, sandwich still cradled in your hands, barely touched.

“It’s either work or get out of here.”

You stare at him for a second, tired. Not angry. Just… done.

“Alright,” you say, voice low. You shove the sandwich into your bag and toss it into your locker.

Then under your breath, not loud enough for anyone to hear:

“This life’s getting fucking repetitive. I should’ve studied. Left this country already.”

You’re out front again.

The sun is blistering, your makeup is smudging, and for some cosmic reason, every kid only wants a dog balloon.

Another one walks up. Big eyes. Popsicle stain on his chin.

“Hey kid, wanna balloon that never dies?” you say with fake enthusiasm.

He squints at you. “Isn’t a balloon already dead?”

You blink.

“…But if you believe it’s alive, it will be,” you say, desperation creeping into your smile like a crack in glass.

“Eh. Nah. Weirdo,” the kid shrugs and turns away.

Something in your brain snaps. Just a little.

“Listen here, kid,” you call out, pointing your squeaky-gloved finger like a curse. “One day, you’re gonna realize life isn’t just games and snacks. One day, you’ll crawl for scraps just to survive. And guess what? Balloons don’t help.”

The kid stares.

You diThen he starts crying.

“Hey! Have some class!” the parents bark, rushing over. “You can’t speak to children like that!”

You don’t even blink.

“Fuck it, Fuck you.”

Gasps ripple. The mother covers the child’s ears.

You let the balloon float into the sky and walk off — slow, deliberate, like a man set on fire but too tired to run.

Not even an hour passes before your boss approaches, sunglasses still on, clipboard under his arm.

“Office. Now.”

You don’t argue. You expected this.

You follow him through the faded hallway — past the peeling posters and the rusted lockers — until you’re inside the cluttered manager’s office. He motions for you to sit.

“Look, Y/N…” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I can’t keep defending you.”

You stay quiet. Your clown makeup’s half gone. Sweat and shame do the rest.

“Badmouthing a kid? Swearing in front of the crowd? You’re not just some random worker — you’re part of the face of this park. I want to keep you, I really do, but you’re ruining the image.”

Still, you say nothing.

He leans forward, voice softening, like he’s doing you a favor.

“My brother’s got a packing company in Valenzuela. Maybe you could—”

A staff member interrupts, knocking halfway through the door.

“Uh—sir? There’s… a girl. Sleeping next to the generator behind Tent Three.”

Your boss groans. Looks at you.

“You wanna keep your job, right?”

You nod. Silently. Clown makeup smudged, uniform wrinkled.

“Then go handle it. Please.”

You don’t say much. Just:

“Alright.”

And you leave the office — unaware that behind the generator, your whole world is about to shift.

The sun’s already starting to bleed out of the sky when you get there — past the edge of Tent Three, behind the stacked crates and electrical cables, where the grass turns to gravel and the only sound is the low hum of the generator.

And there she is.

Curled up on the ground. Hoodie pulled over her head. Face hidden. A duffel bag under her arm like a makeshift pillow. She doesn’t flinch when you approach. Doesn’t even pretend she isn’t trespassing.

You clear your throat.

“Ma’am. You can’t stay here.”

No response. Just a long pause — then a low voice muffled by her sleeve:

“Do I look like I care?”

Not exactly what you expected.

“This is private property. If security finds you, they’ll call someone.”

She lifts her head slowly — and that’s the first time you see her face. Dirt-smudged cheek. Faint bruising under one eye. She’s young. But not helpless.

“Then why didn’t you call them?”

Her eyes narrow, like she’s testing you. Measuring.

“I’m not security. I’m a clown.”

She huffs, a half-scoff, half-laugh.

“Figures.”

You gesture to the generator.

“It’s not safe back here. You could get electrocuted. Or crushed if a crate tips.”

“So leave me alone before one of those things happens. Win-win.”

Her tone — bitter but exhausted — sounds familiar.

“What’s your name?”

She looks away.

“Giselle.”

It sounds made up. But you don’t push.

“Alright, Giselle. You can’t sleep here. You’ll get kicked out. Hard.”

”…So what now? You gonna throw me out yourself, clown boy?”

You glance over your shoulder. No one’s watching.

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got ten minutes before someone comes looking. And you look like you haven’t eaten in longer than that.”

She studies you for a second — like she doesn’t know if you’re a threat or a joke.

Then finally, she stands. Slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes.”

And you both walk off — not knowing that ten minutes is going to stretch into something far more complicated

You lead her to the far edge of the crew lot — behind the costume trailer, where no one looks unless they’re sneaking a cigarette or hiding from their shift. The wind smells like burnt oil, sawdust, and melted sugar.

She drops onto an overturned crate like she’s sat here before in some past life.

You sit across from her, back against the trailer wall. You reach into your coat pocket, pull out a bent cigarette, and light it with a practiced flick. The smoke curls around your clown makeup, half-smudged from the heat.

She watches you for a second.

You pull out your half-eaten sandwich — still wrapped in greasy paper, squashed and a little warm — and hand it to her without looking.

She hesitates.

“You sure?”

“Wasn’t gonna finish it anyway.”

She takes it. Peels back the wrapper like it might bite her. Then she eats — slow at first, then like she hasn’t in days.

You take a drag. The smoke sits in your lungs like a secret you’ve forgotten how to share.

“You always eat alone back here?”

“Better than with people I hate.”

She nods. Wipes her mouth with her sleeve.

“Same.”

For a while, there’s only the sound of the generator humming. The faint clatter of metal. Distant laughter from a ride still spinning even though nobody’s really enjoying it anymore.

“You’re not gonna ask why I’m here?”

You ash your cigarette onto the gravel beside your boot.

“You’re here. That’s enough for now.”

She glances at you again — brief, unreadable — then goes back to eating.

You take one last drag, flick the cigarette away, and let your head rest back against the metal trailer wall.

The sky is fading to purple now, and the circus lights are starting to buzz back on. But back here, in the shadows, it feels like you’ve both slipped out of time.

And for the first time today, no one’s pretending to smile

She finishes the last bite in silence. Wipes her hands on her jeans. Doesn’t thank you — not directly. Just stands up, pulling her hoodie over her head again.

You don’t stop her. You don’t ask where she’s going.

She slings the duffel bag over her shoulder.

“I’ll be out of your hair. Thanks for the food..”

You nod once. Like that’s all there is.

She walks off without looking back. Disappears behind the rows of trailers, swallowed up by the low light and laughter and the plastic shimmer of the midway.

You stay for a minute longer. Then push yourself up. Brush dust off your pants. And head back inside.

The office light’s still on.

Your boss doesn’t even look up from his clipboard.

“Handled?”

“Yeah.”

“She gone?”

“I got rid of her. Do I have my job back?”

He scribbles something, nods absently.

“Don’t make me regret it, Y/N.”

You don’t answer. Just walk out.

But all the way back to your locker, you keep thinking about how she didn’t look back.

And how that shouldn’t bother you.

But it does

You walk home in silence.

The city buzzes in the distance — neon signs flickering above convenience stores, taxi’s sputtering past, dogs barking at ghosts. The lights of the circus fade behind you, replaced by the pale yellow of broken street lamps.

You didn’t even notice someone on the street as you walked up — a child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing.

“Why’s the clown sad, Dad?”

The father didn’t answer. Just kept walking.

But the question sticks to you like humidity.

And you sit there, in silence, thinking:

You don’t know how to answer it either.

You reach your apartment — fourth floor, no elevator. Paint peeling from the walls like it’s trying to escape too.

Taped to your door is a note in permanent marker, your landlord’s familiar handwriting:

“RENT’S DUE. LAST CHANCE.”

You crumple it in your hand without reading it twice.

Inside, it’s worse. Dim, cramped, hot. No aircon. The fan ticks like a dying clock.

You check the fridge: a half-drunk bottle of water. One apple.

That’s it.

You don’t bother changing. Don’t wash up. You’re still in your costume. Clown makeup smudged, drying around your jaw, flaking in the corners of your eyes. You sit down at the edge of your mattress on the floor, staring at the wall.

You sit there, unmoving. The silence in the apartment isn’t peaceful — it’s loud, like it’s trying to fill in for the life that used to be here.

The fan ticks.

The fridge hums.

Nothing else breathes.

You take the apple from the counter. It’s soft. Almost bruised. You don’t eat it. Just roll it between your hands, staring at it like it might give you a reason to still be doing this.

And then — for no real reason — it comes back.

A memory.

Your family’s old kitchen. Warm lights. The smell of garlic and fried egg.

Your mother laughing at her own jokes, trying to teach your dad how to dance between the sink and stove.

Your little sister stealing the last piece of longganisa when no one’s looking.

You, sitting at the table — full, happy, whole.

“Y/N, do your clown impression!”

You puff your cheeks, fall dramatically onto the floor.

They laugh. Your mom claps.

You’re not wearing makeup then. But you’re smiling.

You blink.

The apple’s still in your hand.

The room is dark again.

No laughter. No food. Just peeling walls and silence.

You set the apple back on the table and lie down without a blanket. Still in costume. Still in makeup.

Somewhere outside, fireworks go off — cheap ones from the night carnival.

You don’t look.

You just close your eyes, wondering if maybe you were happiest back when you were pretending for fun — not survival.

The next morning, you wake up sore.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Don’t remember dreaming, either.

Just the fan spinning above you like a lazy planet, and the dried streaks of makeup still stuck to your face.

You wash up, barely. Throw your costume back on. Ride the jeep back to the edge of the lot where the tents rise like tired monsters. You clock in without a word. No one greets you. You don’t expect them to.

By noon, you’re back at the front of the crowd — red nose on, oversized shoes squeaking against the wooden platform, hands twisting balloon dogs for children who all ask for the same damn thing.

“Wow! How did you make that disappear, mister clown?”

“Magic,” you say, palming the coin that’s obviously hidden under your sleeve.

The kid squints.

“I saw that.”

“Then you’re very smart,” you reply with your painted-on grin. “Now go tell your parents before they forget you exist.”

You spin another balloon, hand it off, and wave goodbye like you care. You don’t.

Same tricks. Same forced laughter. Same sun stabbing you in the eyes.

By the time your break rolls around, you’re back in your usual spot — the dusty patch behind the costume trailer, half in shadow, half in boredom. You light a cigarette, the smoke curling into the dry air like a ghost you forgot to bury.

You unwrap a sandwich that tastes like regret. Again.

Somewhere nearby, two crew members are arguing loud enough for the whole lot to hear.

“You think I didn’t know? You were sleeping with him while we were still together!”

“We were on a break!”

“That was yesterday!”

You watch them out of the corner of your eye, completely uninterested.

You take a bite. Chew slowly. Flick your ash to the ground.

“Couldn’t be me,” you mutter.

And then you see her.

Just barely — from across the lot.

Sitting under the bleachers, hood up again. Same duffel bag beside her.

Like she never left.

She’s there.

You spot her under the bleachers, hoodie pulled low, head down, like she’s trying not to be noticed — or maybe just doesn’t care if she is. Same duffel bag. Same chipped nail polish on her fingers.

Like she never left.

You stare for half a second.

Then look away.

You’ve got enough shit on your plate. You’re behind on rent. You’ve got clown shoes that don’t even fit right. You’ve got three more hours of balloon dogs and fake magic and a boss that treats you like a cracked prop.

You finish your cigarette. Toss the butt into the gravel. Wipe the grease off your fingers and push yourself up.

Back to work.

The tent groans in the heat. Kids scream in delight over rigged games and melting snow cones. Someone nearly trips over a loose extension cord and blames you for it. A mom yells because her kid didn’t get a blue balloon. You apologize with a voice you don’t recognize anymore.

It’s late afternoon when you see her again.

You’re dragging a box of balloons back toward storage when a flash of motion catches your eye near the food tent. Quick hands. Hoodie. Duffel bag.

Giselle.

She moves like she’s done it before — snatching a half-eaten corndog, a wrapped sandwich off the edge of a table, stuffing them into her bag before anyone notices. Almost.

“HEY!” one of the vendors yells. “She stole from the cart! Someone stop her!”

Your boss turns to you, snapping his fingers.

“Y/N. Go. Now.”

You drop the box. Start walking. Not fast. Not loud.

You find her behind the ticket booth, crouched down, unwrapping a sandwich like she has all the time in the world.

She doesn’t look scared when she sees you. Just annoyed.

You stop a few feet away. Hands in your pockets.

“You know,” you say, voice flat, “you can ask me if you want food. But oh well.”

She shrugs. Takes a bite.

“Didn’t feel like asking.”

“Didn’t feel like chasing.”

She glances at you, chewing. You turn around and walk off before anyone else sees you together.

Back at the food tent, your boss looks at you expectantly.

“Well?”

You shrug.

“Didn’t catch her.”

He groans, mutters something about useless staff, and waves you off.

You go back to stacking balloons.

And from the corner of your eye, far across the lot, you see Giselle again — sitting on the curb, eating your boss’s sandwich like she owns the place.

You smirk once. Just barely.

Then go back to work.

The day starts wrong.

It’s in the heat. The way the sky presses down like a lid. The way the sun isn’t just hot — it’s angry. You’re sweating through your clown suit before the gates even open. Makeup already smudging near your eyes. The zipper on your left boot’s broken again. You tape it shut with a piece of duct tape someone left in the locker room.

By noon, you’re running on half a bottle of water and a hangover of exhaustion. The balloon lines don’t end — kids screaming for the same damn dog. One grabs your nose and nearly rips it off. You don’t react. You just hand him his balloon and mumble, “Enjoy the show.”

Then it happens.

Screaming — high, sharp, real.

You turn just as a crew member sprints across the lot, red-faced and wild-eyed.

“Where’s the lion!?”

Another staffer yells, “He’s gone! Cage’s empty!”

You blink. Balloon half-twisted in your hands.

You look past the crowd toward the animal pens.

Chaos.

The lion’s trainer is yelling into his walkie, voice cracking. A supervisor’s waving his arms like that’s going to make a 400-pound animal reappear. There’s shouting in at least three different languages. One of the acrobats climbs on top of a shipping crate just to get a better look.

Someone screams again. You watch a woman lift her toddler off the ground and run.

“EVERYONE STAY CALM!” your boss says into the PA, voice stretched thin. “It’s under control. Just a small mistake. Show will resume shortly.”

Small mistake.

Right.

You’re told to keep performing.

Like nothing happened.

So you go back to the front tent, balloon in hand, fake smile in place. Parents keep one eye on their kids, the other on the exits. The air is too still. Too sharp. Even the music sounds scared.

You bend a balloon into a limp-looking poodle.

A child looks up at you, nervous.

“Is the lion gonna eat me?”

You crouch down. “Only if you skip brushing your teeth. Lions hate bad breath.”

The mom doesn’t laugh.

You stand again. Keep twisting shapes. Keep juggling. Keep pretending.

Then you hear it.

Yelling — again. Different this time.

You glance left and see two women — one in heels, one in flip-flops — arguing in front of the snack booth. Loud. Vicious.

“You were eyeing my husband, you cheap bitch!”

“Your husband gave me his number, you psycho!”

Kids start crying. Popcorn flies. A soda can is thrown and hits the ground near your feet, fizzing violently. One of the vendors tries to separate them and gets shoved. A crowd forms. You hear your name being called through a walkie, but you don’t answer.

A security guard finally steps in, grabs one of the women by the elbow. She screams bloody murder. Someone shouts, “LET HER GO!” Another swing. A slap. And then it’s full chaos.

You back away. Slowly. Balloon poodle dangling in your hand like it just saw a murder.

The fight fizzles out only after three more staff arrive. One woman leaves with a bloody nose and no cotton candy. The other leaves screaming, dragging her kid by the arm. A clown — one of the newer ones, the smiley guy — tries to make a joke to lighten the mood.

No one laughs.

You stumble backstage during your break, hands trembling slightly.

You’re thinking about the lion. About the fight. About how this place is slowly turning into a warzone wrapped in neon lights. You don’t even want food — you just want to sit.

You open your locker.

And stop.

Empty.

Not just “oh someone borrowed my charger” empty — but gutted.

Your last clean shirt? Gone.

The leftover sandwich from yesterday? Gone.

But worst of all — the photo.

That worn, soft-edged picture you tucked behind the metal panel, hidden behind a note that used to smell like home. Your sister with her dorky smile. Your mom with her apron still on. You, maybe thirteen, trying to do a goofy face before dinner.

Gone.

You check again.

Check under the bench. Behind the door. On the floor.

Nothing.

Your hands start shaking. Not out of panic — but something deeper. Heavier.

You slam the locker shut.

Hard.

It echoes off the walls. A few crew members look up. One of them opens his mouth like he might ask what’s wrong.

He doesn’t.

No one does.

You walk outside. The sky’s a pale yellow-gray now. Storm clouds forming at the edge of the horizon. Still too hot to feel like real rain.

You light a cigarette. Lean against the metal side of the trailer, exhaling slow. Trying not to break down. Not in public. Not in makeup.

You keep thinking about the photo.

How you never made a copy.

How your sister used to say, “Keep that with you so you don’t forget who you are.”

And now?

You’re sitting in your usual spot behind the costume trailer. Your second cigarette burns low between your fingers. The clown makeup is half melted from sweat and time. You’ve stopped caring about cleaning it off. You don’t even bother hiding how wrecked you look anymore.

Your back aches. Your stomach growls. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.

You’re so far gone in your own head that you don’t hear her approach.

You only notice when a shadow drops near your foot — and a hand slides something across the ground toward you.

A photograph.

Your photograph.

You stare at it for a second. You don’t move.

Then Giselle crouches in front of you, like it’s nothing. Like she’s done this before.

She takes a bite of something — a candy bar, maybe — and looks at the picture while chewing.

“You have a cute sister.”

Your eyes flick up to her.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t pretend to be friendly. She just says it.

You grab the photo back. Not fast. Not grateful. Just… instinct.

You slide it into your chest pocket. No words.

She watches you. You don’t look at her directly.

“I also stole your sandwich.”

You shrug.

“Figures.”

“Tasted like cardboard.”

“Then we’re even.”

She leans back against the trailer wall beside you. She’s close enough to hear your breath, far enough that she could vanish again at any moment.

There’s a silence between you now — not uncomfortable. Not hostile. Just… there. Like two people watching the same fire burn from different windows.

You take a drag of your cigarette. She finishes the candy bar and wipes her hand on her jeans.

“You gonna tell your boss I broke in?”

You flick ash to the gravel.

“No point. He’d just ask why I had a sandwich in there instead of clocking out on time.”

She huffs a little, like it might’ve been a laugh.

Another pause.

“You look like shit, by the way.”

You exhale. “Takes one to know one.”

She picks at the thread on her sleeve.

You sit in silence again. No eye contact. No trust. But no distance now, either.

You didn’t ask for her to return the photo.

She didn’t ask for forgiveness.

And maybe that’s the closest either of you gets to something real.

It’s after hours.

Most of the crew’s gone home, or passed out behind trailers. The rides are off, tents zipped. Even the generator sounds quieter — like the whole circus is holding its breath.

You’re walking past the animal tents, cigarette lit, mind on nothing, when you see her.

Giselle.

Sitting cross-legged on the edge of a crate, hunched slightly, flicking something small through the bars of the lion’s cage.

Bread.

Old scraps. Like she found them in the trash behind the churro cart.

She tosses another piece in, slow and casual, like she’s feeding a pet that isn’t there.

You stop a few feet away. Say nothing.

She doesn’t look at you. Just asks:

“Where’s the lion?”

You take a drag. Exhale through your nose.

“Oh. Thing is…”

“They did catch it.”

“But I guess even a ton of tranquilizer’s overkill.”

She stops mid-throw.

The air is dead still. No wind. Just the metallic stink of cages and dirt.

She glances at you — only briefly — then looks back into the empty space behind the bars.

You keep talking, tone flat.

“I think it was sick anyway. They didn’t say it, but I heard one of the trainers arguing. Something about infection. Weight loss.”

Another drag.

“After they got it back, they put it down. Said it was too dangerous. Too unpredictable.”

Giselle leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Tosses the last bit of bread in — soft and quiet.

It lands without sound.

“All that strength. Still ended up in a hole.”

You nod.

“That’s life, huh?”

She doesn’t respond.

You both stare into the cage. Empty. Rusting. The straw bedding already trampled and cold. The chain they used to use still lying in the corner, snapped at the middle.

“I used to hate that lion,” you say.

“I’d walk past and it’d lunge at the bars. Just for fun. Scared the hell out of me the first week.”

Giselle tilts her head slightly.

“And now?”

You look at the cage like you might see yourself in it.

“Now I miss it.”

Silence again. Heavier now. Not grief. Not nostalgia.

Something worse.

Recognition.

You flick your cigarette into the dirt. Watch the ember die.

“Don’t suppose you’ll cry for it.”

“Not the crying type,” she mutters.

Then:

“But maybe it was just tired.”

You both sit there a while longer.

Not speaking.

Not moving.

Feeding ghosts.

The lion cage is behind you now.

The sky’s turning purple-blue, streaked with smog and stars you can’t name. The circus is sleeping — or pretending to. Only the humming generator and a distant squeaky wheel from the ferris ride still moving in the wind.

You’re sitting on a metal crate near the back fence, smoking the last of your cigarettes, legs stretched out in front of you.

She’s there again.

No hoodie this time. Just a T-shirt faded from too many washes and jeans with a hole in one knee. She’s sitting on the grass, arms wrapped around her legs like she doesn’t trust the ground.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Then she says it — softly, like she’s asking the air.

“Why do you stay?”

You blow smoke out slowly.

Let the silence roll out before answering.

“Because I’m scared I’ll leave and find out this was the best it ever gets.”

She hums like that answer doesn’t surprise her.

“That’s honest,” she says.

“Sad. But honest.”

She leans back, hands pressing into the grass behind her. Looks up at the sky like she’s expecting it to fall.

“Do you know where I’m from?”

You glance at her.

“You gonna tell me?”

“You gonna care?”

You take another drag.

“I might.”

She smiles — but it’s faint. Not coy. Not dramatic. Just… tired.

“Tokyo. But not the rich part. The part that looks like someone forgot to bulldoze it. My mom’s half-Filipino, moved there to marry a man who wasn’t worth her name. I grew up in a shoebox apartment with roaches and broken heaters. Left at seventeen.”

She shrugs.

“Didn’t want to become my mom. Didn’t know what else to become either.”

You nod. Quiet.

“She ever try to stop you?”

Giselle laughs. Bitter. Dry.

“She cried. But not for me. For the neighbors. ‘What will they think?’”

You grunt. “Sounds about right.”

She turns to look at you. This time, really look.

“What about you?”

You exhale through your nose.

Flick ash to the dirt.

“There’s no big story. I just… stopped trying one day. Didn’t leave. Didn’t stay. Just ended up here. The circus was hiring. I was broke. Now I wear clown shoes for minimum wage and get yelled at for not smiling enough.”

She tilts her head.

“And your family?”

You pause.

Then:

“Split. Quietly. One day I woke up and the apartment was just me and my mom. Then it was just me. Then it was just the noise.”

The silence stretches again.

She hugs her knees. Picks at the grass. You light another cigarette, but don’t offer her one. You don’t think she smokes.

Then she says:

“You know what scares me?”

You glance sideways.

She’s not looking at you. Just the fence. Just the dark.

“Not dying,” she says.

“Getting forgotten. Like I didn’t even dent the place I left.”

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

You know that fear.

You live with it every day.

The generator hums louder for a moment. The wind rustles some loose tarp. In the far distance, a firework goes off — leftover from someone else’s celebration.

Neither of you flinch.

You just sit there in the dark, two people no one’s looking for, sharing silence like it’s the only thing you still own.

You don’t expect her to still be there in the morning.

Most runaways run again. But when you round the corner of the back lot, past the rows of trash bins and the half-lit ticket booth…

There she is.

Sitting on a tilted bench, one leg tucked under her, unwrapping something from a crumpled brown paper bag like she’s done this a hundred times.

“You’re late.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know I was expected.”

She tosses something at you — low and underhanded.

A lukewarm bun wrapped in foil.

You catch it one-handed.

“What’s this?”

“Char siu bao. Vendor left his cart unattended. I took it as a sign from the universe.”

You peel the foil back. It smells better than anything you’ve had in a week.

“What’d the universe leave you?”

She bites into her bun, speaking with her mouth full.

“Pineapple bread. A little squished. Still good.”

You sit down beside her. Not close. Not far. Just there. The same way people sit next to each other on long bus rides — knowing the world doesn’t end in fireworks, just shared silence.

You eat. She eats.

A comfortable nothing stretches between you.

Then:

“You’ve got something on your face.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No, the other side.”

You wipe again.

She sighs, reaches over, and smudges your cheek with her thumb.

A slow, brief touch. Warm fingers. Dry skin.

You don’t flinch.

She doesn’t make a big deal of it.

She leans back.

“You ever wipe off that clown paint properly, or just let the tears do it?”

“I let the rain decide.”

She snorts. You swear it’s almost a laugh.

Later, as you walk side by side toward the big tent — her hoodie pulled low, your costume half-zipped — she speaks again.

“So… what’s today’s gig?”

“Balloon dogs. Face paint. Probably get screamed at by a mom who thinks glitter’s the devil.”

“Fun.”

“What about you? What’s your job today?”

She shrugs.

“Thinking about reorganizing the inside of my duffel bag. Maybe stealing a soda.”

You nod like that’s a serious task.

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

She bumps your elbow with hers.

Just once.

No words.

You both keep walking.

The crowd’s already forming when you tug the zipper of your clown suit up to your neck and smear the last streak of white across your cheek. You’ve been running this same set for months — balloon tricks, sleight of hand, fake flowers from your sleeve. It’s muscle memory now. Even your fake laugh is worn smooth from overuse.

You pull the curtain back slightly to peek at the audience.

Kids buzzing. Parents annoyed. Heat. Noise. Another routine day.

You don’t notice her at first.

But she’s there.

Giselle. Half-tucked behind a pillar of prop crates. Hoodie down. Arms folded. Hair messy. She’s not hiding — not really — just not supposed to be there.

And yet… she stays.

You don’t let your eyes linger.

You step out onto the stage.

Cue the music. Cue the fake cheer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Ever seen a dog made of air?”

You twist a balloon into something sort of dog-shaped. A kid laughs. One throws popcorn. You catch it mid-air and stuff it in your pocket.

You move through the set.

The card trick. The flower sleeve bit. The clumsy juggling you mess up on purpose because kids love when you look stupid.

The crowd laughs more than usual.

You don’t realize until halfway through that you’re smiling for real.

Out of the corner of your eye, behind the curtain edge — Giselle watching. Chin resting on her knee. Not mocking. Not bored.

Watching.

And for once, you don’t feel like a joke in paint.

You feel like someone.

After the show, you slip behind the curtain, peeling your gloves off, sweat sticking to your back.

She’s gone.

You think maybe you imagined her — until you find a half-eaten peach on one of the prop boxes.

Wrapped in a napkin with a note scrawled on it in blue ink:

“Not bad, clownboy.”

“Still wouldn’t pay for it tho.”

You smile.

You don’t even try to hide it.

It’s late again.

The tent’s quiet now, just the muffled thrum of a generator and some bored laughter from across the lot. You’re sitting on a crate, clown paint smeared and half-wiped, working your way through a can of expired pineapple juice you found in the vending machine trash bin.

Then she shows up again.

No announcement. Just presence. Like smoke.

She walks over, dragging her duffel bag behind her, drops it unceremoniously at your feet.

Then she stands up straight — clears her throat like she’s about to make a grand announcement — and holds up a bent balloon she clearly fished from the ground.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, voice flat but dramatic, “watch closely as I pull… absolutely nothing… out of my empty sleeve.”

She wiggles her arm with forced grace.

Nothing comes out.

You blink.

“What the hell was that.”

She smirks. “Art.”

Then she bows — badly. Almost falls. Straightens up again.

“Wait. Hold on—this part’s important.”

She reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out a crumpled napkin.

Unfolds it dramatically.

Inside? A half-melted lollipop and a broken pencil.

She holds them out like treasure.

“Taa-daa.”

You can’t help it.

You laugh.

Not a scoff. Not a snort. A real, short laugh that sounds strange coming out of your own mouth.

She grins like she’s won something.

“See? I could totally be a clown. I’ve got tragic energy and poor life decisions. I’m halfway there.”

“You’re missing the permanent damage.”

“Give me time.”

You shake your head. “That was the worst magic act I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, but it worked.”

“How?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“You laughed, didn’t you?”

You go quiet for a second. Look at her. Really look.

No one’s made you laugh like that in… you don’t know how long.

“Yeah,” you say, soft.

“I guess I did.”

The rain hits fast.

You’re mid-shift, dragging tired feet across the gravel near the back trailers, when the sky just gives up. No warning drizzle. No slow build. Just a full, open-throated downpour that drenches everything in seconds.

You run for cover — one of the old canvas tents, unused now, storage for busted props and costumes nobody fixes anymore. You duck inside, breathing hard, water dripping off your sleeves.

She’s already there.

Giselle.

Soaked. Hoodie clinging to her shoulders. Hair stuck to her forehead. Breathing quiet, but sharp.

You stare at her. She stares back. For once, neither of you says anything stupid.

Then she nods toward your face.

“Your makeup’s melting.”

You glance down — white paint dripping in milky streaks across your jaw and neck, smearing into the collar of your suit.

“Good,” you mutter.

“Saves me the trouble.”

You sit. She stays standing, pacing a little. Hands stuffed in her pockets.

The rain roars against the tent roof. Thunder somewhere distant.

The silence between you builds. Not comfortable, not unbearable — just charged.

Then she says it.

“You’re not fine.”

You don’t answer.

She says it again.

Softer. Sharper.

“You’re not fine, Y/N.”

You grit your teeth.

“Neither are you.”

She steps closer. Water pools around her boots.

“So? You gonna keep pretending, or what?”

You stand up.

You don’t even know why. Maybe the sound of her voice. Maybe the fact that you’ve had no one talk to you like this in years. Maybe it’s the way the rain feels like it’s pressing the whole tent down on your back.

You’re standing inches from her now.

Clown paint running down your face. Rain dripping from your chin.

She looks up at you.

Eyes hard. Tired. A little afraid, but not of you — of herself, maybe.

And you—

You kiss her.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

It’s a collision.

Teeth and breath and soaked cotton. It’s angry. It’s reckless. It’s everything you’ve both been holding in finally slamming into something that won’t look away.

She kisses you back just as hard.

Grabbing your jacket. Pushing you against the crate behind you. Mouth hot and sharp and alive.

You pull her closer. She doesn’t resist. Her fingers dig into your shirt. Yours tangle in the wet fabric of her hoodie.

And for a few messy, breathless seconds — there’s no circus. No clown. No runaway. No boss. No lion.

Just you.

And her.

And a thousand things neither of you knows how to say.

You break first. Breathing hard. Foreheads nearly touching.

She laughs — not because it’s funny, but because it’s so damn much.

“What the hell was that?”

You shake your head.

“I don’t know.”

You both stand there. Dripping. Shaking. Alive.

The rain keeps falling.

And for once, you don’t want to run.

The sun’s out like nothing happened.

Tents are dry. Kids are screaming again. Someone’s playing a broken calliope tune near the front gates.

But you?

You’re somewhere between blank and wrecked.

You sit at the usual bench during break — same spot, same half-warm sandwich, same view of cracked pavement.

And across from you, sitting like nothing happened, is Giselle.

Hood up. Legs crossed. Picking the sesame seeds off a stolen bun.

She hasn’t said a word.

Neither have you.

You both know.

You both feel it.

The memory of last night hangs between you like fog that hasn’t burned off yet. The kiss, the heat, the breathlessness — the way she held your shirt like she didn’t want to let go.

You clear your throat.

She doesn’t look up.

You try to speak.

“About—”

“Don’t.” Her voice is quiet.

Not cruel. Just… scared.

You stop.

Go back to chewing your sandwich.

She pulls her legs up on the bench, arms around her knees.

“I didn’t mean for it to be weird.”

You nod.

“It’s not weird.”

Even though it is.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We won’t.”

And that’s that.

Nothing fixed. Nothing broken — just filed away.

But the world doesn’t leave things buried.

It’s around 4PM when it happens.

You’re restocking the balloon cart when you hear your name shouted from the main tent.

“Y/N. OFFICE. NOW.”

Your stomach drops.

You don’t even ask why. You just walk.

The second you step into the back trailer, the door slams behind you. Your boss is already pacing, red in the face, holding a clipboard that doesn’t even matter.

He throws it on the table.

“A runaway?”

His voice is low. Dangerous.

“You’ve been helping a runaway?”

You freeze.

Say nothing.

He steps closer.

“You think I wouldn’t find out? That she could just hang around backstage every day and I wouldn’t notice?”

Still, you stay silent.

“You know what that is, Y/N?”

“It’s a liability. It’s trespassing. It’s a fucking lawsuit if she gets hurt.”

You open your mouth — only barely.

“She’s not hurting anyone.”

He laughs. Bitter.

“She’s not on payroll. She’s not on insurance. She doesn’t belong here.”

And then, a beat later:

“You don’t, either.”

That hits harder.

Silence.

Then:

“So this is how it’s gonna be,” he says.

“You get her out of here. Gone. Or you both are.”

You walk out of the trailer.

The circus sounds loud again.

You spot her in the distance — sitting on the steps near the lion cage, peeling an orange. Looking peaceful. Like she hasn’t just been made your impossible choice.

You light a cigarette with shaking hands.

And for the first time since you met her…

You don’t know what to do.

You find her by the lion cage again.

But this time, she’s standing.

Backpack already on. Hoodie zipped. Eyes sharp — too sharp.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says before you even speak.

You freeze.

“You heard him.”

She nods. Doesn’t flinch.

“Every word.”

Her voice is calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that hides shaking hands.

You feel heat rise in your chest. Not anger. Not yet. Just panic disguised as frustration.

“So what, you’re just gonna leave?”

She shrugs.

“Not like I was supposed to be here anyway.”

You step closer.

“That’s it?”

“After all this — after the food, the bun, the lion, the fucking kiss—you’re just walking off like none of it mattered?”

That hits her.

She looks away, jaw tightening.

“What did you expect me to do?” she snaps.

“Stay? Watch you lose your job over me?”

“Maybe I would’ve if you’d asked.”

She blinks.

“So I’m supposed to let you throw your whole life away just because we had one bad kiss in the rain?”

That stings.

“Bad?” you echo, voice cracking.

She doesn’t answer. Just folds her arms and looks like she regrets saying it.

You take a step back, hands in your hair.

“You think this is easy for me?”

“You think I’ve got something worth protecting? This job? This costume? I sleep in a roach box and eat half a sandwich a day, Giselle!”

She flinches — not from volume, but from truth.

“Then why stay?” she fires back.

“Why do you stay in a place that kills you every goddamn day?”

And there it is.

The heat breaks in your chest.

“Because the only thing that’s felt real in months—

—is you.”

Silence.

Her arms drop.

Your breathing is loud now. Both of you look at each other like strangers wearing familiar skin.

Then she says:

“I didn’t mean the kiss was bad.”

You swallow hard.

“I know.”

She steps forward — just a little. Barely enough to close the space.

“I just didn’t think it was allowed to feel like that.”

“Neither did I.”

She steps forward.

Grabs your shirt.

And kisses you like she’s trying to find her own heartbeat in your mouth

It’s still dark when you leave.

No fanfare. No final bow. Just you — duffel bag half-zipped, still wearing your faded clown shoes because screw it, let them remember who you were.

You walk past the animal tents, the rusting rides, the balloon cart where you used to kill time twisting air into fake joy.

You don’t look back.

But before you go — you stop by the trailer.

The boss’s office. That cheap little room where they yelled, where they threatened, where they said she was the problem.

You slip the envelope under the door, but not before taping a used balloon animal to the front. A sad-looking dog. One leg deflated.

Inside is the letter.

Handwritten. No edits. Just rage.

“To the boss,

Hope you’re happy, dumbass.

You got what you wanted. The freak’s gone. No more liability. No more runaway hiding in your tents. No more clown screwing up your illusion of a family-friendly fun-land.

But let’s not pretend you ever gave a shit.

You pretend this place is magic? It’s rotting. Just like your morals.

By the way, tell the gymnast I said hi. Or maybe tell your wife first. Up to you. I’m sure she’d love to know how many “late night rehearsals” you’ve been supervising.

Keep smiling for the cameras.

— Y/N”

You step outside.

No parade. No applause. Just the sun rising over rust-colored tents and your shadow getting longer behind you.

You don’t know where you’re going.

You just know you’re not coming back.

And somewhere — maybe across town, maybe still asleep in her stolen hoodie — Giselle will wake up and realize you’re gone.

The night swallows you.

The circus lights are long behind you now. Your boots crunch against gravel, and the bag slung over your shoulder feels heavier with every step — not from weight, but from everything you’ve left behind.

Clown shoes inside. Crumpled uniform. An old photo. Sandwich wrappers.

Your face paint’s still on — smeared by tears and rain and time. You didn’t bother to wipe it off. Maybe you wanted the city to see what the world did to you. Or maybe you didn’t want to forget just yet.

You turn down a side street.

Dim alley lights. The distant echo of a train.

And then you hear it — soft laughter. And coughing. And hunger.

You follow the sound.

A patch of concrete tucked behind a dumpster, half-covered by cardboard and tattered blankets. Five or six kids, maybe younger than ten. Some barefoot. One holding a plastic bottle of rainwater like it’s champagne.

They’re sitting in a circle, playing with broken bottle caps like they’re coins. The smallest one’s wearing a plastic bag as a cape.

You freeze.

They see you.

Clown makeup. Wild hair. A bag slung over your shoulder like a hobo magician.

They stare.

No screams. No fear. Just tired, cautious curiosity.

One of them stands — maybe the oldest — and says:

“Are you a real clown?”

You should say no. You should walk away.

But instead…

You set your bag down. Pull out one of the last good balloons you’ve got.

Twist. Twist. Fold. Squeak.

“You like giraffes?” you say.

The little girl in the back gasps.

You hand it to her with a flourish. She smiles so wide her missing teeth show.

Then you do another.

And another.

No music. No lights.

Just the soft snap of balloon rubber and the sound of real laughter.

You pretend to pull a coin from one kid’s ear. Let another tug endless ribbons from your sleeve. You trip on your own feet and let yourself fall, just hard enough to make them burst out laughing.

For a moment, you are the circus.

But not the broken one that chewed you up.

This is a better stage.

And this time… you mean every joke.

Later, as the kids huddle back under their shared blanket, you sit on the curb. Makeup streaked. Fingers sore. Breath fogging in the air.

One of the boys turns to you and says:

“You don’t smile like other clowns.”

You nod.

“That’s ‘cause I’m not like other clowns.”

He frowns.

“Why’s the clown sad?”

You look up at the sky.

Think of Giselle.

Think of everything you lost. Everything you gave. Everything you still have left.

“Because sometimes…” you say quietly,

“…the world laughs too hard, and forgets who it’s laughing at.”

The kids don’t get it.

They don’t have to.

They’ll remember the clown who showed up when no one else did.

A long road. City lights blur into soft halos. You walked alone, bag over your shoulder, clown makeup streaked like warpaint. No one claps. No one watches.

Just steps.

And silence.

And a future that hasn’t arrived yet.

“Some people… they enter your life like accidents. Broken glass on a sidewalk you weren’t supposed to be walking. Sharp. Sudden. Messy. And somehow, unforgettable.”

“Giselle was that.”

“The girl sleeping behind the generator. The thief with crumbs on her hoodie. The echo in my chest I thought I buried years ago.”

“She didn’t ask for my help. She didn’t want to be saved. She just wanted to be seen. And I saw her.”

“In a world where I was nothing but a painted smile… she looked at me like I was still someone worth knowing.”

You kept walking. Past a flickering streetlamp. Past a neon motel sign. Past a child holding a balloon shaped like a dog.

“I never got to say goodbye. But if you’re hearing this — know I didn’t leave because I stopped caring.”

“I left because I couldn’t lose you and myself at the same time.”

“But one day… when I’ve figured out how to stand tall without the paint… I’ll find you again.”

“I promise.”

“In whatever tent. Whatever city. Whatever version of you is still left after the world tries to beat it out of you…”

“I’ll be there.”

“And maybe that time, we won’t have to run.

“We’ll laugh, not the fake ones we put up, but the real ones we can’t

[jawllines]

So on a Tuesday, Y/N wakes up from a fitful rest and leaves Harry’s bed to find him in the kitchen. Leaf is cradled to his chest while he speaks to someone on the phone – a designer, she thinks, they’re talking about a pattern of something, but Y/N isn’t sure. She doesn’t get to know either because as soon as Harry sees that she’s awake, he smiles, then hovers his finger over the end button, “Mael, I’ll call you a little later, yeah?” He hangs up without a second thought, and Y/N’s eyes go wide. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she frowned and Harry waved his hand. 

“Nah, s’boring shit anyway. Chevron is a thing of the fucking past and it’s not coming back any time soon on my watch.” He turned on his stool, stretching out his legs and waving her forward, and when she got close enough, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, until she was standing between his thighs, “You take forever to get up. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were still a human.” 

or

Harry and Y/N like being around each other maybe too much

part 1

part 2

part 3

iv.

Y/N wondered how many vampires she’d seen in her lifetime. 

Unlike the stories and movies, they didn’t lurk in the night and meld into the shadows all of the time. Their skin was pale, but no more pale than someone living in the mountains with very little sun. Their eyes weren’t red, or golden brown, or pools of black – they were just normal irises, no different than humans, the color encrypted in their DNA from conception. They were gorgeous, sometimes eerily so, but not in a way that you could easily group them by their features. It was comparable to being backstage on a runway – the people surrounding you were models, you knew that, and they were all beautiful in their own way with their own unique features. The difference is that instead of only finding them pretty in passing, it’s mesmerizing, almost hard to fathom, alluring in an almost unignorable way. 

But Y/N can’t remember ever being out in public and seeing a vampire, even if she didn’t know what they were called at the time. Clearly she didn’t, if one was able to ask her on a date and she’d just presumed she’d lucked out with an attractive man who didn’t mind dating below his league. Otherwise, they were masters of camouflage, or Y/N was just less observant than she thought. 

Because right now, even to the untrained eye, Y/N is almost positive that she looks like a vampire. Or at least that something is off with her. It’s in the way her posture is almost too correct, ramrod straight like someone straightened out her back and put her in a brace to keep her unmoving. Her chest did not rise and fall with each breath – not because the need to use her lungs had not been completely eradicated yet, but for the fact she’s taking a ton of shallow breaths through her mouth to avoid smelling anything, or anyone.  The way she holds her fork looks weird to her – she hadn’t held a fork in so long it was an unfamiliar weight between her fingers. She gave terse replies to questions, and could barely hold a conversation longer than small talk. 

To anyone looking or interacting with her, they must think she’d grown up in a basement and just recently ventured out into the world. To Harry, who sits across from her with an amused look dancing across his features, he knew she was just attempting to reacclimate into society. 

They had been out before, but normally that was at night, or early during cloudy weekdays when most of the city population is stuck in their stuffy office buildings. When the amount of humans is sparse and Y/N could amble away if being around them became too much. She’d never been forced to sit among them for longer than a couple minutes at a time, maybe waiting in a long line, or patiently off to the side when a human woman was interested in the same earrings that she was. 

That had been her toeing the water; Harry held her hand at the edge of a dock while she dipped her feet into the pool of being a productive member of society again. She would have to return to work at some point, and she would need to be able to attend social events or see her family, or her friends back home without wanting to eat them. Harry was surrounded by humans all day nearly every day and he hasn’t lashed out and ended up in a tabloid for sinking his teeth into a designer. It was possible, though it would take time, and a lot of practice – at some point she would be able to integrate seamlessly back into the human world. 

At some point – right now, it was fucking hard. 

Harry took her out for lunch, at a small deli a couple blocks from his flat. It was a day when the sky was heavy with clouds and would be for the majority of the afternoon, so they were able to venture out with no fear that Y/N would get all rashy again. All of Y/N’s fear lay within being in closed quarters with humans and pretending that the scent of their blood doesn’t affect her in the slightest. Or that the leaves of the salad she was stuffing into her mouth tasted more than just bland, rubbery nothing to a palate now keen on something metallic and sweet. And in that fear, and her overexerting her effort trying to look normal, she thinks she’s making herself look uncanny, unapproachable, and too much like she doesn’t belong. Like someone clipped her out of a comic book and pasted her in The Very Hungry Caterpillar. 

“Relax your shoulders,” Harry spoke from across the table, having already eaten half his sandwich, tucking the straw of his soda at the corner of his lips and sipping, “It looks like I just brought you out of a boarding school.” 

“Shut up.” Y/N had been saying that a lot to him today because it was two simple words that didn’t require as much effort as trying not to eat someone. 

Harry smiled, all too relaxed for what Y/N would think are pretty serious circumstances but she guesses he’s been through this so often he isn’t worried about a thing. Harry never seemed worried when they did something new, always promising her that he would know if she was going to do something stupid, because he knows her. And if the need to subdue her were to arise, then he could do so easily, or so he tells her every time she’s stressed about it. 

“You had plenty to eat before we came,” he murmured, voice just a touch lower, his brows raising slightly, “Even if you take a small little breath through your nose, you won’t feel like you need to do anything.” 

It’s difficult to talk inconspicuously about it, in case someone nosy was listening into their conversation (because Y/N is fucking nosy, so she knows someone else is bound to match her), but Harry does it easily. Y/N did eat a considerable amount before they did this, from the baggies, and even a little treat from Harry just before they’d left the flat. She was full, blood-drunk, and hazy up to the point that they were about to walk inside the shop and she’d worked herself up. 

“Mind over matter,” Harry slid his leg to her and locked their ankles together – he was resting his chin and cheek in his palm, watching her carefully, drinking her in, “Just take a small little breath through your nose, hm? You’ll see it’s not as bad as you think.” 

Y/N blinks at him, gripping her fork a little too hard, and she feels the stainless steel give beneath her grip, “I – okay,” she nodded, slow, steady – the whole point of this excursion was to start working on being able to smell humans without wanting to desperately sink her teeth into them. Before she could start utilizing feeders, she needed to be completely in control of how her body responds and reacts to stimuli like this. At least that’s what Harry tells her, and she’s inclined to believe him since there isn’t anyone to bounce off of his ideas anymore. She isn’t sure if they’re still on the pathway he used for all the new vampires he mentored or if he’d toggled it based on their situation. She could message Christopher and Naomi about it but every time she messages them, her heart yearns and aches in her chest.

“You’ll stop me if anything happens?” She knows he will, but she feels better when he’s all cocky and sure of himself. One of them needed complete faith in the situation, and it usually was Harry. 

Harry, who had been treating her all soft and tender lately. His words could still be harsh and he rolls his eyes and rumples his lips at her when she says something he thinks is stupid, and he’s patient, but even that patience runs out relatively quickly – but every interaction has a much softer edge to it. With every harsh critique of her technique or skill, (“How many times are you going to listen to the neighbor’s conversation and not me outside, downstairs, when you’re on the balcony? It shouldn’t matter how many flights up you are, this is baby stuff we’re trying to accomplish now!”) there is a gentle caress of her skin. His fingers will dance along her wrist, and he’ll slide his fingers between the slots of hers, and squeeze, before murmuring, “Let’s try again.” 

They are much closer now – Y/N doesn’t know if they’re dating, or if vampires even date, but she knows that Harry treats her like they might be. Harry pushes his nose into her neck and breathes in deeply like she’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. He entertains her musings about code and work despite not having a clue what she’s talking about or saying. At the end of the night (early in the morning) when she is thinking about lying down, Harry offers his room to her, his bed. 

“You can always sleep in here,” he’d told her, “Even if I’m not here, yeah? Just don’t stain the sheets or anything, because to keep them this pristine even with a kitten has been hell.” 

Shit, he’s even referred to Leaf as their baby a couple of times, whereas previously he’s only called her his own. “What are you doing to my baby?” Is what he would say before when Leaf is playing with one of the many feathered string toys that Harry bought her and Y/N accidentally makes her jump right into the wall. Now it’s things like, “Our baby is so happy,” when she comes up to them on the sofa, purring and kneading at Y/N’s thighs before snuggling in her lap and falling asleep. 

Things with him were soft. This certainly felt like a relationship, sometimes, but Y/N knew better than to get ahead of herself. Last time she did that she ran away from her hometown and then got bitten by a fucking vampire, so it was better to just take things a step at a time. 

“What, you think I’m g’na let you eat someone and make me look bad?” He speaks low enough that only she could hear, helped by the loud chatter of voices around them, and stretches one arm across the table, looping his fingers around her forearm, and dragging the blunt tip of his nail along her skin, “Of course I’ll stop you, dummy.” 

Y/N shivers but feels safe; he’s got a leg wrapped around hers, and a hand on her. If she tried to move, he would stop her immediately. Harry doesn’t say aloud that that’s what he’s doing, but they both know it makes her feel better when he’s got his hands on her in some way. She’d told him as much in the past when she’d looped her arm in the gap between his and his body when they first went into the grocery store. 

“Hm, is this a ploy to make me touch you in public? You’re a filthy exhibitionist.” He’d teased her at the time, but now he keeps his hand on her when they’re out. An arm wrapped around her shoulder, a hand at the nape of her neck, his fingers looped around her wrist. 

She lets herself breathe in, just a little bit, a tiny inhale through her nose. The scents weren’t overwhelming like she’d thought – there’s plenty to sift through, it wasn’t just an onslaught of the blood pumping through the veins surrounding them. Fresh bread, the fabric softener on people’s clothes, the cleaner used to wipe down tables when they were emptied – she smelled all of that too. All a mix, like when she was a human, only she could smell and separate them just a note better than she could before. And the blood – she couldn’t smell blood before, but with a belly full, it wasn’t as hard. It still made her mouth water, and there was an itch beneath her skin that wanted to be plucked at, but nothing she couldn’t handle. 

Harry drags his nails back and forth on her forearm lazily, “See?” His relaxed posture stays, leaning on his palm, “You’re not a monster, are you, baby?” 

She swallowed thickly, shaking her head, “No, I’m not,” she cleared her throat a little, “We need to –  um – we need to get Leaf chicken treats, she likes those best.” Y/N wanted to practice being normal, talking about normal things, and thinking about something else than how she’s trying not to breathe in too deeply. She didn’t necessarily explain this to Harry beforehand but he doesn’t seem confused either, just goes along with it. 

“Really? I kind of thought she liked the shrimp ones better.” 

Y/N focuses more on Harry’s scent – he smells good. He always smells so good, that whenever she does sleep in his bed, she dips her nose into the blankets and stuffs her face into the pillows (obviously when he’s not there, she would never live that down).  If she could shove her nose in the base of his throat and not stuff her teeth into his neck then she would do it all of the time. Harry does it to her, unprovoked and unannounced, burrowing the cold tip of his nose against her carotid. She used to squirm, her ear meeting her shoulder as she pulled away from him, but now she’s gotten used to it – now, she almost expects it when he comes home from work, and if he doesn’t, she’s a little disappointed. 

It’s easy to forget why she’s at Harry’s in the first place if she’s just focusing on her and Harry’s dynamic. It’s also easy to forget that she would eventually face the music when she has to confront her feelings – Niall. There was a heavy weight on her shoulders like she wore a helmet of cast iron everywhere she went; sometimes she would forget about it, it’d been so long that it was easy to let it slip her mind, but then her shoulders would feel the pressure of it periodically. 

Like when you wear glasses for the first time. At first, it is all you can think about, how it rests on the bridge of your nose, the way the frames outline your field of view. But a couple of hours in they’re merely an extension of you, you forget they’re on your face until you reach up to rub your eye and something is in the way. 

The helmet was heavy, the look in Niall’s eyes as he told her, the cold feeling that had flushed through her veins when he’d admitted it. She wondered if it felt like his own helmet had been lifted, the weight of his guilt eased by the admission. Did he know he was going to transfer it to her? Take the helmet off and plop it onto her head? 

Her heart was torn in two. Y/N wanted to hate him for it, she really did – want to cuss him out, scratch him, and spit on him – how did vampires fight? Did they bite each other? Do they punch each other? Kick, slap? Was it still below the belt to kick him in the balls or was that an appropriate fighting tactic? Harry had never taught her how to fight – she thought maybe some sort of combat training would be important down the line, but vampires don’t usually do that. Movies and books make it seem like it was a constant battle, always something going on that they needed to defeat. Vampires typically coexist peacefully, is the thing, and their only true threat are hunters but it’s often better to avoid them or flee the situation than to fight, at least when you’re new. As long as she doesn’t act recklessly then she wouldn’t have to worry. 

And in the same breath that she hated him, she owed him her life. It was a new one – a flawed one, no more flawed than her old life, but still a new life. She would have to change how she lives, eats, exists, and it’s scary – it’s so scary! But she was alive. She was still walking around, she could still work toward goals she’d set for herself, and she could find a place for herself in this world instead of bleeding out in an alley, still feeling lost and alone. 

Would she have walked away from someone in need how she expected Niall to? If she’d stumbled upon the same scene, would she have been able to ignore it? She couldn’t even ignore a fucking kitten meowing! So it was hard – her feelings were difficult to work through and that was only worsened by her not seeing him. Playing house at Harry’s flat and ignoring what happened. 

“Where’d you go?” Harry pulls her out of her reverie, and she realizes she’d been digging her fingers into the croissant she was holding, her eyes dazed. He drags his fingers along her skin again, tenderly, gently, “Hmm? Where’d my girl go?” 

Y/N feels warm and bubbly and allows herself to revel in the giddiness that comes with Harry treating her like something special. If there was one single benefit from this whole mess, it would be Harry – experiencing this homely side of him. Whether it be the connection through their blood, or their time spent together, she felt at complete, and total ease in Harry’s presence. If she was starting to spiral, he pulled her out of it just as quickly. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, swallowing, ripping a piece of the flaky pastry and laying it on her tongue – it tasted like nothing, chalky and bland, “I. . .need to figure things out with Niall soon. I can’t keep burdening you.” 

“You’re no burden,” he answered without a second thought, “Not even a little bit, but I understand needing to sort things out for your peace of mind.” He reaches forward, thumbing at the apple of her cheek, and pinching playfully, “But you don’t need to leave just for that, hm? You’re no burden to me.” 

Y/N rests on the palm of his cheek, sighing, and the smell of all the other humans in the place pales in comparison to Harry, “Mm,” she nuzzles – it’s embarrassing, how easy she is for him, but he doesn’t tease her like he probably could, “I just. . .I think, how I’m seeing it, is I would have done the same.” She explained, “If I’d seen someone, I would have done the same, you know?” Her gaze flickered toward him, “Would you?” 

“I have,” he shrugged, “You know, it’s something that you never really know what you’ll do at the moment but when it’s presented in front of you – that’s when you’ll know. You act off instinct,” he squeezes her shoulder, slipping down to her bicep, “Just how you ran to go save Leaf with no concern of the sun. This isn’t me trying to sway you either,” he shook his head, “If you decided you fucking hated him and never wanted to see him again, I would endorse it. If you decide that you’ll forgive him, then I’ll accept that – whatever you want to do.” 

Y/N nodded, “Yeah,” she ripped another piece of croissant, “Yeah, okay.”

                                                                   .                          .                         .

Despite coming to terms with what she wanted to do, it still took her a week to gain the courage to see him. Harry doesn’t push the issue, merely enjoys his time with her and Leaf until she tells him she is ready. Honestly, there were a couple of times when Y/N wondered if she should just start ignoring it again and live life peacefully with Harry, or as peacefully as she could. But still, it weighed on her, like a Niall-shaped force that stretched himself over her and smothered her in her sleep. She had dreams of confronting him, some heartwarming and with a good outcome, some horrible that left her with tears bearding her eyes. 

She needed to do it. If she did, then she could better focus on whatever the hell is going on between her and Harry. And being a vampire. . .big, important things like that. 

So on a Tuesday, Y/N wakes up from a fitful rest and leaves Harry’s bed to find him in the kitchen. Leaf is cradled to his chest while he speaks to someone on the phone – a designer, she thinks, they’re talking about a pattern of something, but Y/N isn’t sure. She doesn’t get to know either because as soon as Harry sees that she’s awake, he smiles, then hovers his finger over the end button, “Mael, I’ll call you a little later, yeah?” He hangs up without a second thought, and Y/N’s eyes go wide. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she frowned and Harry waved his hand. 

“Nah, s’boring shit anyway. Chevron is a thing of the fucking past and it’s not coming back any time soon on my watch.” He turned on his stool, stretching out his legs and waving her forward, and when she got close enough, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, until she was standing between his thighs, “You take forever to get up. If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were still a human.” 

She laid her hands on his thighs, “I need to do it today,” she told him, and she didn’t have to be descriptive for Harry to know what she was talking about, “It’s gotta be today or I won’t.” 

His gaze softened, the pale skin of his face smoothed over into something contemplative and understanding. There’s a soft sound that pulls from his throat, and his legs squeeze around her as he nods, “Okay,” he answered easily, “Do you want to ambush him or should I give him a heads up?” 

“Will he run away if he knows I’m coming?” 

Harry pursed his lips in thought, “You know, Niall isn’t one to run away,” he started, “But he also isn’t one to admit when he’s in the wrong either, and he’s done that, so I reckon some of the things I knew about him fundamentally might be wrong. He may flee from guilt alone or he’ll respect you enough to want to hear what you have to say.” 

“Then you can let him know,” she took Leaf, scratching the soft, short furs beneath her chin, “If this is a friendship worth salvaging, then he’ll wait for me.” 

The drive, which typically felt like an hour-long adventure out to the secluded space in which Mitch’s house resided, felt far quicker than it ever had before. Y/N thought it was because this time, she actually wanted it to go by slowly so that she had the chance to collect her thoughts and plan out exactly what she was going to say, and how she was going to say it. She needed the full forty-ish minutes (accounting rush hour) to develop her script, but Harry must be pressing the gas pedal right down to the floorboards because they zip through the roads in record time. 

There’s a hazy, orange glow casting over the trees while the sun sank beyond the horizon, the other half of the sky blotching the inky black sky of a winter night. She wondered if there would be stars later on – there hadn’t been for the last couple of days because of clouds heavy with snow, that’s now freckling the earth and freezing up the soil. Y/N missed them – she feels like she hasn’t seen them in a while. 

They roll up in front of the house, and Y/N thinks all of three seconds go by before a pouting Naomi rips the passenger door open, “Shame on Harry for keeping you all to himself,” she whined, and she unbuckling Y/N before Y/N could even gather her bearings, pulling her out of the car and into her arms. Naomi looks a bit frail but she’s got the strength of someone who’s prepared for war, and she gives Y/N a bone-crushing hug. “I’ve missed you!” 

Y/N laughed lightly, squeezing her arms out from where they’d been trapped between their bodies so she could reciprocate the show of affection, “I missed you too,” she replied. 

“Oi,” he grumbled, “I wasn’t keeping her to myself, I gave her a haven in a rough time.” 

“You never let any of us come over besides Christopher!” 

Harry crossed his arms, after pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, “Why would I want you heathens in my flat? The lot of you would trash the place or steal from me.” 

“You’re just no good at sharing, you –” 

Their voices fade into the background as Y/N leaves them to bicker, a tiny quirk at her lips like the muscles in her face want to smile but are thinking better than to. It was nice, sort of, to be back; to smell all the familiar scents, like she was returning home. This felt more like home than her flat did now, just from the sheer amount of time she’d spent here. She walked the familiar map from the front door, to her room, and nearly made a pitstop to give herself more time but muscled through the desire to. Y/N took the four more steps she needed to before knocking on Niall’s door – she could smell him in there. 

“Come in.” His voice sounds stiff, and when she opens the door, the position he’s sitting in matches it. He must have heard her coming because he isn’t in the lax state he normally is – his legs are off the end of the mattress, feet firm on the floor. He sits straight, his face serious, stern. She’s so used to the nonchalant way he goes about that this is the most uncanny and makes her feel like an agent sent to question him, or a judge to sentence him. Y/N hated that, she doesn’t want it to be like that – she wants it to be normal between them. Or, normal-ish, at least. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her cat paw chair sitting at the foot of his bed. Niall followed her gaze and answered before she could even question it, “I – um – promise I wasn’t stealing that,” he replied, “I missed. . .you know – having it in here made me feel a little better. Which I know, I don’t deserve to feel good about what happened.” 

Y/N ignored him, closed the door behind her, and then plopped down in the chair, resting her back on the pink, plush toe beans, “Get on the floor,” she ordered, patting the empty spot in front of her with her foot, “Please stop sitting so straight, it’s freaking me out.” 

Niall is quick to crawl down on the floor in front of her, he relaxes his shoulders so they slump just a little, and he kicks his left leg out how he usually did when he was sprawled out on the floor of her room and they were talking. It brings some normalcy to the situation that Y/N desperately needs. She bites the inside of her bottom lip for a second before giving an unneeded clear of her throat (it was just a habit at this point, she wondered how long it would take for it to break). 

“I’m just gonna come right out with it because I don’t want to beat around the bush, and if I do, I’ll just talk myself in circles until I don’t make any sense,” she started, “At first I was so mad at you I could have slapped you and spit on you and called you names. I was pretty sure that I never wanted to see you again and that I would be fine if you were completely wiped from my life,” he grimaces at the description but does nothing to refute it, “But you couldn’t have been wiped from my life, if I wasn’t living to begin with, which – I know, it gets a little confusing and convoluted. This life I have now is. . .odd, and different, and I’m not human anymore, and maybe by all technicalities I’m not alive, but I feel like I am.” She runs her thumbnail along the inside of her other palm, following the lines in them she’s had since birth, “I feel the world around me, and I can love, and I can talk, and laugh, and work, and cry. I can do all the things that I did before and then some, so even if it is different. . .I’m still alive. And I wouldn’t be had it not been for you.” 

Niall is following along, motionless, soaking in every word, “I’m more upset that you kept it from me. It would have just been nice to know, right? What exactly had happened that night, it’d been plaguing my mind and you would ask every so often, and now I’m realizing it was less from a place of care and more you covering your tail.” She shrugged her shoulders when Niall’s face scrunched with shame, “But I can’t sit here and act like I would do something different. I don’t know what I would do, in a situation like that – I think, if I came across someone in my position, then I would have changed them too. I don’t really know how at this point, but I would have tried to figure it out. And I would have been scared, afterward, I don’t know if I would have told anyone either. But I thought we were close enough. . .at least a month in, I feel like you could have told me,” she sighed, “That’s what makes me angriest. I thought we were friends but you were just being nice to me because you felt bad.” 

“That’s not true.” It was the first time he’d uttered a word since she began, “You – maybe at the start, I was a little more protective of you because I felt bad, but the rest of it – I truly felt friendship with you. Not all of it was a lie,” he shook his head, “I wanted to tell you, I did, but it never seemed like an opportune time to. And the one chance I did get, I chickened out. But I get it, if – if you need to be angry, be angry, I honestly wish you would just slap me or hit me or something, so it felt like I was getting punished for it.” 

“I wanted to, believe me, but Harry was pretty convinced that you were punishing yourself enough for it. Listen, what I’m saying is,” she crawled off the cat paw, and took his hands in her own – they were smooth and ice cold – he probably hasn’t been eating well, “My feelings are very conflicted and confusing, and I don’t know if I forgive you entirely, but forgiveness isn’t out of the question. Do you get what I mean?” Niall hums his assent, “I know things can’t go back to the way they were entirely, but I’d like it if we could get somewhere close to it. And – and if you think about it, we’ll probably be around for decades, won’t we? I’m bound to get over it eventually.” 

Niall and Y/N don’t really hug – Naomi is the touchy-feely type, and Y/N can be when she wants to be, but Niall is much more reserved with his affections. So that’s why she is tentative and a little hesitant in embracing him, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck, but she’s pleasantly surprised to feel him hug her back tightly, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and his words vibrated through her throat, “I’m so sorry, thank you for even coming back to talk to me. I thought surely with Harry at your side, you would’ve hated my guts.” 

“You would be surprised by this, but Harry went to bat for you pretty hard,” she peeled back just a little bit, “I mean, he didn’t try to change my opinion but his of you never faltered.” 

Niall frowned, “Ugh, it’s so hard to keep up with hating him sometimes,” Y/N laughed, “Seriously, he’ll be the worst prick alive and then he does something unreasonably kind and it’s like. . .either be a dick, or be nice, I hate the mix-up.” He gently let his arms slip away from her but he remained close, “Speaking of, I’ve been eavesdropping on him and Mitch – they never hear me coming so I can always get away with knowing shite I shouldn’t – has he told you yet? About the whole blood thing?” 

Y/N shook her head, and part of her was worried that Niall would save it for Harry to tell her, but she forgot that Niall is Niall, and through and through, he loved causing trouble for Harry at any given notice, “After Mitch’s initial displeasure that he’d been keeping it from him, he said there was something called ‘fated pairs’ or something like that. Your bodies call out to each other on a molecular level, something that was – predetermined the day you were both born. There was a lot of vampiric folklore nonsense that he spouted off, but he seemed pretty convinced. I don’t know why it affects you both in the way that it would make you horny, but, yeah. He said that it would’ve been the same if you were human – even if you were both humans, actually. That it was like a soul bond.” 

It was a lot to take in; Y/N is relieved of one stress and then immediately another is placed on top of her. Was it stress though? She doesn’t feel stressed at the thought of them being bonded together by their souls – she doesn’t mind that – but she is stressed that maybe he minded that. Because as far as Harry was concerned, there was no rhyme or reason for their reaction to one another’s blood. Y/N hadn’t even known he’d spoken to Mitch about it, and so to find out he has and he didn’t even express the findings to her. . .worries her, a bit. Did he not like it? Was the thought of being tied to her horrible? But if it was then he wouldn’t have been so doting and cuddly these last few weeks, right? 

“You look stressed,” he noted, “I would be too if I was bonded to that fucker, so I understand.” 

Breathlessly, she laughs again, “He’s not so bad.” 

                                                                .                           .                        . 

Harry gets pretty clingy when Y/N goes back. 

Though he’d promised that she wasn’t a bother, she still felt guilty to be inhabiting his home when he was at work. She’d been hearing him postpone different trips too, a couple of days in Italy, a fashion show in France – things that he always went to before, and she had a feeling it was because he didn’t want to leave her alone. It was sweet, but it made her feel guilty, so she decided it was okay to go back for a little while and reacclimate to the house. 

It wasn’t so bad – going from Harry’s modern, high-tech flat to Mitch’s Victorian-style mansion was different but it isn’t horrible. Y/N liked being surrounded by people when Harry was at work or attending some smarmy event, instead of being alone. The only downside was there was a little Leaf-shaped hollow in her heart, but Harry describes shared custody and drops her off with Y/N when he knows he’s going to be out all day or if he does have to leave for one of those week-long trips. 

The others act like she never left. She goes to the movie nights and nobody mentions what happened. Christopher gives her a big, long hug when he sees that she’s returned, then promptly warms her two mugs of “the sweetest blood” as a welcome home present. Naomi comes to inhabit Y/N’s bed and talks about pop culture and how Samuel is fucking someone who isn’t Theodore so that had been a lot of drama while she was away. Delphine starts to visit her room for Leaf – apparently, she’d grown up with a lot of barn cats, so she was very fond of them, and they find their shared love for animals as a link to start speaking more comfortably with each other. And wherever Delphine was, Saskia was close behind. Her past with cats was checkered because she had an allergy to them before, but being a vampire meant eradicating all allergies, so she hesitantly gave Leaf a pet or two. 

Leaf, all tiny and soft, loves the extra attention. 

Niall still comes to her room but not without being invited first. Y/N thinks eventually this will change, but it seems like he doesn’t want to smother her with his presence, though Y/N wouldn’t find it smothering at all. He’s still hesitant, and she gets it – Y/N liked that he respected her enough to let her decide if she was in the right headspace to see him that day or not. 

The only person who takes it hard and acts like it is the worst thing in the world is Harry. He never goes three days without coming to see her, and when he isn’t with her, he’s messaging her and calling her, asking if she wants to FaceTime in between flights. When he does come, he poses a strict, “Nobody bothers us” rule where he threatens to move her dresser in front of the door to ward off “unwanted” intruders (though they could all probably move the dresser anyway, they’re very strong). He crawled into her bed and pulled her into his body, dragging the blankets over them, “You smell too much like the others,” he’d grumble, resting his chin on the top of her head, “Hate it.” 

“You’re silly,” she’d respond but soaked in the snuggling happily — it used to be something they merely indulged in while she was asleep; before, Harry would only ever kind of curl around her or pet her or hold her when she was all blood drunk and full, seconds from slumber. Now he’s much more open and willing to do it whenever – when they were watching the telly, when they were on the ground and Y/N was painting her nails (“I should sit behind you, yeah? You can sit between my legs, and when you’re done with one hand, I’ll blow on your fingers to dry them,”) if they were outside on the deck, practicing whatever Harry had come up with for the day.He crowds her space like he was made to. If Harry was there, they’re glued at the hip, and that was just normal now. 

Y/N wondered if he would ever bring up the whole bond thing, but he seemed content not to. Still, it didn’t seem to deter him from letting her snack on his blood, which she sure only furthers the whole thing. So maybe he wasn’t concerned with it – maybe he was just seeing where it went. Y/N isn’t sure, but she’s usually good at ignoring things. If the other party didn’t want to talk about it then she wouldn’t either, it was never in her nature to press for answers. 

. . .when she was a human, at least. Being a vampire hasn’t changed her at a fundamental level, she doesn’t believe, but it has given her a new outlook on life, and a different perspective on some things. It was better to ask and get an answer that she didn’t want rather than continue not knowing something for sure. If she’d lived by that rule in the past it would have probably saved her a lot of trouble. 

So Y/N asks him outright, Leaf curled in her lap in a tiny furry heap, and Harry with his arms curled around Y/N’s body protectively. Nobody else was in the den – they were either in their rooms or out and about (with a strict curfew now, because of the whole thing between her and Niall – Mitch blamed himself for giving them a little too much freedom being newly presented). Harry suggested they utilize the tv then, instead of trying to watch it on her laptop screen. Harry tells her they should be at his flat, but since he was supposed to go three hours away for a photoshoot tomorrow, he didn’t want to leave her alone (it turns out he’d been postponing more than she had initially thought so now he was playing catch up – something about Spring deadlines and all of that). 

The screen clears as the next episode of the show they’re watching loads up, and maybe it isn’t the best timing or the best place to do it, but she has to ask before she loses her nerve. 

“Are we a. . .fated pair? Is that what it’s called?” 

She feels Harry stiffen behind her, his hold around her arms tightening only slightly as he processes what she’d just inquired. There aren’t a lot of things that could stun Harry, as long as he’s been around he normally has a response to anything and everything within a couple of seconds – but he sits with this for a little longer. His fingers, where they’d rested on her waist, began to play with the fabric of her shirt, plucking at the hem and fiddling with the stitches. The tension in the air is palpable, but it isn’t a horrible tension. Not something she wanted to run away from, at least. 

“Niall,” Harry finally muttered, like he’d been spending half of the time he was silent, trying to figure out how Y/N would have heard that, “That fucker is too good at masking his presence.” 

“Harry –” 

“I know,” he exhales, and Y/N thinks it’s funny that he does things like this not because he’s releasing a breath, but to express how he’s feeling. He nudges the side of her head with his own and dips his nose into the curve of her throat, his favorite spot, “With you at my flat, and with how you’d been eating from me still, the – how I felt for you was becoming concerning and a little obsessive. Not in like an obsessive “I’m going to kill her so nobody else can have her” way, more like a “I want to be near her and I’m forgoing responsibilities to spend time with her” kind of way. I don’t do that, for people, I’m not. . .so giving with my time, which makes me sound like a dick, but it’s the truth. I have my time and they have theirs, even if it’s someone that I’m interested in,” he slides his fingers beneath her shirt’s fabric, his nails tracing circles into her skin, “But with you, I just. . .wanted to be around you. To be with you makes me feel calm; it soothes me like putting ice on a sprain. And for you to drink from my vein and our bodies react so intensely to it. . .well, it had to be something.” 

“I was glad to ignore it and just continue enjoying myself with you, but I was getting curious. And I knew you and Niall would make up soon, and you’re so concerned about being a burden all of the time, I knew you wouldn’t take me up on my offer to stay with me. This meant I was going to be coming around her, and being way more possessive and clingy than I ever have before and Mitch always knows what’s going on in the house. He would ask me about it eventually, so I just beat him to it.” He lifted his head, and his words were less muffled when he coaxes her to lean back against his chest more, “He went into the most intricate, convoluted discussion about molecules, and vampiric folklore, and I’ll be honest most of it went right over my fucking head, except for him saying that we were bound together by our souls. That whether we had met like this, or centuries ago in my village, while I was running from war, or had I just been some random UNI student sitting beside you in class – we would always have this kind of connection. It’s rare,” he squeezes her hips, “It’s a rare thing, a really rare thing, and it used to happen more often back in the 1600s but that doesn’t mean it never happens now.” 

Y/N cranes her neck to face him, “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her brows pinched toward the center, and Harry reached out, using his thumb to press at the crinkle in her skin and smooth it out. 

“I wanted to, but – I don’t know. I kind of wanted you to conclude for yourself, if you liked me or not. I didn’t want it to feel forced because you knew about this. Other than my blood making you a filthy, horny little thing, I don’t know exactly what your feelings are for me. And I know – you told me you feel whole after you drink from me, but again, outside of that – outside of the blood, I don’t know how you feel.” 

Y/N thinks, that if she’d eaten recently, blood would be roaring in her ears and her heart would be thudding something fierce in her chest. It was one thing to have Niall tell her on a whim, it was another thing for Harry to admit it to her, all shy, avoiding her gaze and pressing tight and close to her body. It was another thing to hear him feel insecure about not knowing how she felt about him.

Because for Y/N, she’d thought she’d been incredibly obvious. She wanted to be around him always, she recognized his scent out of everyone anywhere, she felt safe when his hands were on her in some way, or even when he was just nearby. Even when he was short with her, or grumpy, Y/N had felt endlessly at ease. After what happened at the club, he was the only person she wanted to be around. The way her heart lights up when he calls her sweet names, or when she sees him for the first time in a while. How her whole mind swam at the prospect of him rather hurting his hands than letting anyone else see her vulnerable when she’d been in the sun. No matter when he lost his patience, or when he seemed upset, or even when he swore up and down that he shouldn’t be a mentor  – he was supportive, tender, and made her head feel melty and her insides gossamer soft. 

“I have plenty of reason to like you, outside of some bond,” she finally replied, wiggling in his arms to face him again – Leaf got up, stumbled out of her lap, then stretched with a silent yawn, “And it wasn’t just after eating. Just being with you makes me feel. . .complete, just as I said before. I thought it was just the blood, but when you leave for work and we’re separated, there’s a – it’s noticeable, the gape I feel in your absence.” Y/N curled her fingers up in his shirt, “I mean, how I feel for you, surpasses how I ever felt for Daniel, my old friend. As dramatic as it is, I’d thought I would never be able to love again –” 

“Oh, you humans and your theatrics,” he murmured with a laugh and Y/N smiled shyly, looking away. 

“-- but the way I’ve felt about you lately, I just don’t think whatever puppy love crush I had on him scratches the surface. Sorry, I wasn’t clear about it. I’d been so focused on trying to figure out my place in this world again and how to live life like this, that I hadn’t given myself a chance to sit and sort through my emotions. But they’re there – they’re real and scary.” 

Harry kisses her – she wasn’t expecting it, but she’d completely turned around in his lap by then so at least the angle wasn’t horrible. His lips are soft, and without the preface of something lewd, it is saccharine and chaste. Y/N shivered, her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into him, practically molding herself into the shape of his body. It was good – Harry’s been treating her delicately for a while now, but this was different. Like he was kissing something important to him. Something that he wanted to handle with softhearted gloves. 

When they part, Harry kisses the corner of her mouth, then her right cheek, her temple, over her forehead, and down the other side of her face. They’re feather-light and ticklish but his arms cage her in so she couldn’t wiggle away, helpless but to giggle. Once he finishes, he hums low and their eyes meet. 

“I’ll be keeping you, so get used to this.” He admitted, and if he’d eaten recently, then his cheeks would have flushed pink the way they do anytime he’s sentimental.

Y/N nodded and hid herself in his chest. 

She didn’t mind that at all. 

                                                              .                        .                       .

Harry couldn’t wait to see her. 

He used to take great pleasure in his week to two-week-long trips out of the country for work, whether he was going to Dubai, Milan, Paris, or other places like it. Harry would gorge on international feeders and sex and all the adoration from people who question his otherworldly beauty and get lost in his sharp gaze. It was nice to be sought after, admired, to get his fill of all the blood he wanted. He thought it was a fair trade, for all those years ago, when he’d been scrawny and worthless to everyone. 

However, now? He just can’t wait to get home. Without the sex and the gorging, there actually wasn’t a whole lot to do in any of those spots that he hadn’t done thousands and thousands of times before. It was work, strictly work, and there was no sort of pleasure, apart from the gratification of seeing one of his looks trek down the runway. Besides that, there was only one person he wanted to sleep with now, one person he wanted to be adored by, and only one person he wished to get lost in his gaze. 

And she was thousands of kilometers away from him, probably coding some program that made no sense to his brain, in his sweatshirt that he made her promise to wear and those horrific (and endearingly cute) slippers shaped like cats that she picked up from the store in honor of Leaf (who liked to chew on them when Y/N wiggled her toes). Even on the plane ride back home, he wondered how he could make it quicker – if there was a way to travel even faster than a plane. He supposes he could run, his legs are quite fast, but if someone spotted him going a little too fast to be human, then that would be a whole other list of shit to deal with instead of just tucking himself into Y/N’s side. 

So as soon as he was finished up, the models had gone home, he’d given his statement for editorials, and he’d shared one glass of wine with a designer he really couldn’t be arsed to learn the name of (he’d drank with types like Chanel and Dior in the past, so the glitz and glamor of it now are easily lost on him) – Harry was on a plane and headed home. He used the in-flight wifi to watch a movie Y/N had suggested to him, but he was barely paying attention. How could he, when he was so excited to get home to her? 

It was crazy to think this was where their relationship had ended up. She used to be nothing but an obnoxious little thorn in his side and now all he wants to do is smother her with affection and give her his blood. Y/N was so important to him, it made his heart feel heavy and full for the first time in. . .well, he isn’t sure it’s ever felt this heavy and full before. The weight in his chest is unfamiliar, and at first, it had been unwelcomed, but he likes it now. It’s as if she’d curled her body around it and took residence there. She’s always with him, in that sense of it. 

The others had gotten used to it far quicker than he’d imagined they would. He expected more teasing as well, but they all like Y/N a lot, so he guesses to tease him is to tease her indirectly and they don’t want to. The most he gets is scolded that he isn’t good at sharing, and why should he be? Harry feels like he’d spent centuries waiting for her, now that he has her – doesn’t he deserve to be a little selfish? Especially after a week of not seeing her, Harry just wants her all to himself. That’s why he suggested that she come to his flat the first day he’s back, so they could be alone. 

So he’s more than happy, after the flight, after getting his shit from baggage claim and finding his car in the mass of other vehicles parked for overnight trips, and the 30-minute long drive from the airport to his flat – to see her just as he’d envisioned her. Only with a few additions; she wore the sweatshirt, and she had on these little shorts that were filthy (but she swore up and down she wore them because they were comfortable and not to taunt him with how little it would take before her bum was out), but tucked under her thigh was Leaf’s feather toy. Whenever Y/N was working, Leaf could go from sleeping peacefully at her side to the zoomies in all of three seconds, so this was her way of keeping her preoccupied – the stick was placed just precisely so that the feather and the string hung off the side of the couch for Leaf to jump and pull at. Y/N has pretty decent thigh muscles so she’s able to keep it in place without letting it move around too much. 

She has those horrible little booties on,  but she’s wrapped up in the throw blanket that Harry usually has wrapped around him – not for warmth, of course, but the way soft fibers feel against his skin is nice. He knows Y/N is not using it for that purpose because it touches nowhere that her skin shows, besides a little bit of her face. Y/N has it so close to her so that she can smell him, and Harry is just. . .so endeared by that he could scream. 

When he walked through the door, Y/N turned to face him with a big grin. She slid her computer out of her lap, and Leaf’s toy fell to the ground once she stood, carefully stepping over the kitten, and getting up on the other sofa so she could climb over it. She gets to him quicker this way, and her arms slink around his neck, and she holds him close, “Finally,” she murmured, “A week is too long.”

“You could always come with me.” He smiled into her hair, letting his eyes close – it was good to have her in his arms again, “I don’t think they’d mind a puppy backstage.” 

Y/N peeled away from him, flicking him in the center of his chest, “Shut up,” she threw at him, but it held no real spite, and her eyes were dripping in mirth, “Should I dress myself then show up?” 

“Oh, baby, please don’t – let me be the one to dress you.” 

It was nice, that back and forth, and had Harry not felt so keyed up then he probably would have started a load of laundry, showered, gotten in more comfortable clothes and they could have just hung out for the night. 

But Harry was keyed up – a week away from Y/N meant a week away from not only her beautiful brain, but her beautiful body as well, and he was missing the sounds she’d make when his fingers slid against her. How easy she was to rile up, the way she tasted on his tongue, how dripping wet she got from even just a little bit of Harry’s blood in her. It’s precisely why he’d eaten so much before leaving, and he’s sure she could tell he’d just eaten recently, with how warm his cheeks felt they must be rosy. And that flush on his pale skin is clear as day, especially how it slithers down his throat, and if he’s really worked up, it might splotch his chest. 

“When’s the last time you ate, Sweetheart?” He inquired – the icy little tip of her nose was enough to tell him it had been a while.

“Mm, I had some earlier, when I woke up,” she explained, “But I got distracted with work, so I haven’t since.” 

Normally, Harry might chide her for that, but he’s all too excited to offer his throat, “I have a treat for you then,” he placed his hands on her hips, walking her backward, “Get on the couch.” 

Where Y/N used to start on the side of his body and eventually make her way into his lap while she ate, she just crawled into his lap now to cut out the unnecessary jostling around. The weight of her in his lap is familiar, nice, and something he didn’t realize that he missed until he was away from her. She stretches her thighs on either side of him and scoots in very close; Harry is already half hard, and he isn’t sure if he’d been like this since he saw her, or on the plane when he’d even just thought about her. Whatever it was and whenever it was, he was definitely already getting hard just from the anticipation of her teeth in his neck. It felt like young adulthood all over again, when it wasn’t “mind over matter”, and Harry couldn’t help but get hard in three seconds from one thought. 

“I missed you,” she tells him, pressing her chest up against his, her nipples were already hard and Harry felt dizzy with the want burgeoning up from deep in his belly, “So much, and you were only gone for a week. It’s a little embarrassing.” 

“I miss you when I leave you alone for an hour,” he slides his hand on the nape of her neck and brings her closer, “Isn’t embarrassing. I’m flattered that you like me enough to miss me, even. Now take what you need, baby, I ate enough to fill you up.” 

The slide of her teeth into his skin never gets old, especially when it’s his throat. There’s a bite of pain, immediately soothed over by the euphoric feeling of it not only being a vampire bite, but a Y/N bite. The way she goes about it is still so tentative to start, and unsure, like she’s worried about hurting him – but the moment she tastes his blood on her tongue, all that vanishes. She moaned against his neck like she’d been starving for months and he’d finally come to save her, her fingers digging into his body wherever her hands lie. Harry can feel her inhibitions leave her, the way she gulps, drinks him down, and takes her fill how he wants her to. 

It’s always after a minute that Y/N’s body starts to move out of tandem with her. She hates that she starts rutting against him like an overexcited puppy, but that doesn’t stop the way her hips twitch and push closer to him while she’s eating. Harry’s hand slid from her neck, to meet his other at her hips, holding her still as she rolled her hips into him greedily. “Mm, it feels good, doesn’t it, baby? Especially after not having it for so long,” Harry shuddered, closing his eyes as he melted into the feeling, “I bet your pussy is already soaked.” 

Y/N whines, and he can only imagine how debauched the scene must look from an outsider's perspective. Her hands slip under his shirt, fingers tracing along his stomach and when the muscles in his abdomen tense up, his cock throbs to match. Harry’s fully hard now, and he thinks he’s already leaking, dripping into the inside of his trousers because he was always one to forgo underwear when it caused lines in his pants. Y/N lines herself up with him, tucking him into the folds because her pussy just swallows these shorts up, and rolls into him, “That’s it,” he whispered, “Such a good girl, you can have anything you want.”

The times she bites his throat aren’t always for pleasure. Harry still tries to prepare her for the first time she will meet with a feeder, so each time Y/N eats she gets better and better. She’s learned to stop when she’s full and to not overstuff herself just because it tastes good. She also has learned to read the queues of the other person, that she might have had too much – it’d be different for a human, but she can tell by the way Harry might start feeling even a degree less warm than he began as. 

He isn’t sure what coaxes her to stop today. She pulled away from his neck and lulled her tongue over the little puncture wounds in his skin, before moving so she faced him. Y/N made a pretty sight with her hazy eyes and her mouth stained red. Before he could spend too much time admiring her, she fixes her lips against his, slips her tongue into his mouth, and oh fuck. 

She’d kept some of his blood in her mouth, so it filled his own when she kissed him, and his eyes all but rolled up to the back of his head. Who had taught her something so filthy? His cock throbs so hard in his pants and he’s leaking so much precum he’s wondered if he’s cum already – he’s sure it’s sticky and webby beyond belief around the head of his cock, and Y/N isn’t helping the matter, she’s just making it worse. 

Harry takes her by the chin, parts her lips, and makes sure they stay open. Without having to instruct her, she presses the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip, waiting patiently – normally Harry places a couple of fingers on her tongue for her to suck and bite at, so he presumes that’s what she was expecting. But Harry couldn’t help himself, and if Y/N was going to be filthy, then he was going to be filthier, so he encased her tongue and her bottom lip with his mouth and suckled at it. When Y/N mewls, he takes more of her in, sucking the taste of him off her tongue while he pries at her little shorts. He was in no mood for her to get off his lap to wiggle them down, so he tore them, shredding the fabric. 

She makes a startled sound, mixed with a moan when Harry slips his tongue back into her mouth to kiss her properly again. Harry’s head spins when he backs away from her – they could kiss forever without needing to take a single breath (or they would be able to one day when Y/N really didn’t need to use her lungs anymore), but Harry wanted to look at her. Want to see her with lips bitten red and swollen, filled with blood that Harry kind of wants to knick with his tooth and drink from. He presses at her chest just a little so she stretches back, and he gathers the fabric at the bottom of her shirt in between his thumb and index finger, pressing it up her quivering belly. 

Her pussy is puffy and swollen and soaking wet, he would’ve thought she’d been touching herself before he’d come home. He can’t tell if he wants to bury his face or his cock into it more, but another hard throb suggests he’d better do the latter or he would cum hard in his pants. He uses his fingers to spread her open, showing off the engorged bud of her clit, chuckling brightly when it pulses beneath his attention. Harry is unsure what drives him to sink his fingers lower, get three of them wet then return to her clit to slap it, but he does, and the payoff is Y/N trying to close her legs around him with the most wanton of sounds. He does it again, a little harder, and Y/N’s hand comes to grab his wrist, “I’ll cum,” she whines like that was supposed to deter him, “I’ll cum if you keep going.” 

“Isn’t that the point?” He murmured, sliding his fingers through her juices and tucking them up inside of her, petting at her g-spot for a second before slipping them back out and licking her off his hand, “Want you to cum.” 

“I wanna cum with you in me,” she sounded like she was pleading with him, and Harry had always been a sucker for pretty girls begging, “Please?” 

Harry’s quick to work the button of his trousers open, pulling the zip and removing his cock from the oppressive confines of it. He’s harder than he’d even thought, but he was right to assume that he’d leaked so much precum it looked like he’d cum. The clear fluid oozes from the tip in a long, sticky line, filling up the dip of his hip bone. Y/N ogles him with awe-filled eyes, “Whoa,” she swallowed thickly, her fingers tracing up the underside from his balls to the tip, in a move he doesn’t think she means to be as teasing as it is, “You’re really hard.” 

“I know,” he bites down hard on his bottom lip as he throbs again, under her attention, in the coolness of the air. 

“Like, harder than I’ve ever seen you,” she states, and now her palm slides against his shaft, and she squeezes experimentally, looking between him and his cock, “And you’re so wet –” 

“Y/N,” he just barely holds back from whimpering, “No teasing, Darling, I need to fuck this into you or I’ll cum all over myself. You don’t want to waste it, do you?” He inquired, and Y/N shook her head, scooting closer, “Yeah, let me fill you up, Baby, want to watch it fucking drip out of you when we’re done.” 

She visibly shivered again, and Harry helped her lift and slide his cock inside of her. Y/N moans, her face pinches up from the pressure of him against her walls but she slips right on down like he belonged inside of her. Harry thinks Y/N likes the stretch – the burn of it, as long as it doesn’t border on too painful. She bottoms out, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she smushes their lips together. The kiss is brief before she nips at his plush bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth. While she does that, Harry presses his upper lip just above hers, his fingers digging into her thighs as she squeezes around him, accommodating his size. Her walls were velvety soft and smooth as they contract around him, the ridges and bumps something he’s set on memorizing. 

Her ministrations with her mouth go to his chin, she kisses then bites her way down his jaw, to his ear, laving her tongue over the little wounds that were no doubt closing and healing over by now. Harry offers her his hand when he realizes that she must want to bite something, and he’d made the right assumption when she fits his knuckles between her teeth and chews on him. Harry laughs as she starts to lift her hips, then drops back down onto him, “You’re so fucking cute,” he chuckled, “Should we get you a chew toy? A little bone for a puppy like you?” 

“Shut up,” her words are muffled around his fingers in her mouth but she’s riding him well. It feels so fucking good, Harry is holding onto every last bit of strength not to cum before her. A damning feat to accomplish when she finds the angle that hits that bundle of nerves inside of her just right – she clamps down on him, her eyes bead with tears as she fucks down onto him, and nibbles at his fingers. 

“Do you feel good, Baby? S’my cock stretching you out nice?” Y/N nodded, whining, “You can cum for me. Don’t you want that? Cum on me and I’ll fill this little pussy right up.” 

Harry shoves the sweatshirt up so it rests just above her bare tits, or at least enough that he can visualize them and then get one into his mouth. Her nipples are still hard, so pert and sensitive for him when he pulls them between his teeth and lulls his tongue in big circles around them. Harry alternates between sucking hard and flicking his tongue, and Y/N goes from chewing on his knuckles to holding them uselessly in her mouth and moaning around them. Harry feels her start to cum before she can even tell him through these breathy little whines. 

He isn’t ashamed to say he starts cumming before she could finish – he makes sure to work her through it still, fucking through the point of overstimulation, his thumb lulling on her clit when he raised his feet onto the coffee table and started to fuck into her. Harry fills her up, his orgasm splinters through him so intensely that he thinks his vision whites out for a second. He’s throbbing so hard inside of her, he knows she could feel it each time, and in response to each one, she mewls and sighs as she finally starts to come down from her own high. 

Harry untucks his face from her chest just as Y/N drops his fingers from her mouth. He’s still tucked inside of her but his cum slicks out from around where his cock is plugging her up, too much of it to even keep inside. The feeling is a little atrocious as it cools, but the thought of what it must look like almost has him stiffening up again. 

Y/N all but collapsed onto him, and Harry oofs! dramatically, before wrapping her up in his arms. Her arms moved to hug around his waist this time, and she murmured something on his shoulder that he couldn’t quite make out. She turns her head, so her cheek rests against his shoulder instead, “I said I really missed you,” she repeated, “I’m happy you’re back home.” 

A lot of responses run through Harry’s head, including, but not limited to I’m happy you’re here with me, I’m happy you’re in my life, I’m happy my cum is dripping out of you right now, I’m happy that our fates matched in this way, I’m happy that we have a kitten name Leaf, I’m happy our souls are bound together. 

Harry doesn’t though. He thinks them, and he smiles to himself when he replies with something that he’s pretty sure covers all of that. 

“I’m happy too.” 

[kodasmind]

Pre-WarGame Help

*A/N: HIHI it’s been a while so there might be mistakes, sorry about that. None the less I hope you guys enjoy🤎*

The WWE Universe was electric, the air thick with anticipation. WarGames was just around the corner, and tensions were running high. On one side stood Liv Morgan, Raquel Rodriguez, Nia Jax, Tiffany Stratton, and Candice LeRae—a team full of vicious intent. On the other was Bianca Belair, Naomi, Rhea Ripley, and Iyo Sky, still reeling from Jade Cargill’s mysterious backstage attack that had left their team one member short.

Rhea Ripley leaned against the wall backstage, phone pressed to her ear. Her tone was low but urgent as she spoke.

"Listen," Rhea said, her Australian accent cutting through the noise around her. "I know you left this place behind, but we need you. I need you. One last fight, for old times' sake."

The person on the other end hesitated before sighing. "Fine. One night, Rhea. That’s it."

Rhea smirked, a gleam of satisfaction in her eye. "That’s all I need."

---

The ring was set for the confrontation. Liv Morgan’s team stood tall, their confidence unshaken as they mocked Bianca, Naomi, Rhea, and Iyo.

"You’re outnumbered," Liv taunted, her voice dripping with condescension. "Again. It’s getting pathetic at this point."

Rhea stepped forward, her signature grin spreading across her face. "Outnumbered?" she scoffed. "Nah, we’re not."

As if on cue, the crowd erupted as you slid into the ring from behind Liv, moving with the stealth of a predator. You didn’t waste a second, delivering a swift blow to Liv’s back that sent her stumbling into the ropes.

The arena erupted into chaos. Liv barely had time to turn around before the rest of the ring descended into a full-blown brawl. Raquel charged at you, but you were ready, ducking her clothesline and spinning around to lock her into the *Black Widow*, your signature submission hold. The pain was immediate, and Raquel’s cries filled the arena as she struggled in vain to break free.

Meanwhile, Bianca and Naomi were trading blows with Nia and Tiffany, Iyo was diving off the top rope onto Candice, and Rhea was throwing Liv into the barricade outside the ring.

Raquel finally dropped to her knees under the pressure of your hold, but before she could tap out, Rhea’s voice cut through the chaos. "Alright, that’s enough!"

You released Raquel with a smirk, letting her crumple to the mat. The five of you—Bianca, Naomi, Iyo, Rhea, and you—stood tall in the center of the ring, the crowd roaring its approval.

Liv’s team scrambled to regroup outside the ring, nursing their wounds and glaring daggers at the five of you. Liv grabbed a mic, her voice shaking with anger. "This isn’t over!"

Rhea grabbed a mic of her own, her gaze locked on Liv. "Oh, it’s far from over. But come WarGames? You’re stepping into our territory now."

You exchanged a glance with Rhea, a silent understanding passing between you. You might’ve left WWE, but tonight proved one thing: you were back, and you were ready to fight.

The crowd chanted your name as the camera faded to black, setting the stage for an unforgettable WarGames showdown.

[marcelloshdz]

double duty

summary: when you're asked to host and perform on saturday night live, you and marcello hit it off quite well. marcello x female!singer host. requested by anonymous.

“i’m so excited to be here!” you cheered as you walked through the hallways of NBC studios. you were pulling double duty on saturday night live this week, and you were absolutely over the moon. you’d been a fan of the show for as long as you could remember, and this was quickly becoming a “pinch me” moment. you were walking with some of the producers and writers on the show, getting a little tour of the studios. the writers had already pitched you some amazing sketch ideas, and you couldn’t wait to work on them and see what ended up in the final show.

the week quickly became very busy, but you were also making sure to take the time to soak it all in and truly enjoy your time there. you were having so much fun working through the sketches and meeting and making friends with the cast. you were a huge fan of the current cast, and you couldn’t believe that you were getting to work with them.

it was wednesday afternoon, and everyone had just settled into their seats for the table read. as you made your way through the scripts, your cheeks were hurting from laughing. everyone had written such incredible sketches, and you couldn’t believe that you were getting to be part of them.

the first hour passed by, and you’d made your way to a sketch that you were in with marcello hernández, playing a couple. admittedly, you’d been a bit nervous about working with him, as you’d become a fan of his (and developed a bit of a crush) in the three years he’d been on the show. you sat at opposite ends of the table as you read through the script, stifling laughs and playing off of each other very well. you looked around the table as the cast was laughing through the sketch as you and marcello and the other cast members that were part of the sketch read through the script. once you reached the end, the two of you exchanged the briefest of glances, and he shot you a soft smile. you smiled back, feeling your face flush as you moved to the next sketch. 

the rest of the week flew by, and it was finally show day. you’d been hanging around the studio all day running through the scripts a few more times before rehearsals. you’d also been rehearsing your songs, settling on your set designs and costumes. you were performing your two most recent singles, ahead of your album release coming within the next couple of weeks. 

you finished rehearsal of your first song, ready to take a break as they ran through weekend update. as you left the stage, you ran into marcello. he shot you a wide smile as he continued walking up to you.

“hey!” you said with a smile.

“hi. i liked your song.” he said softly.

“thanks.” you said awkwardly, standing there in a brief silence before he spoke again.

“so, i just wanted to let you know that our sketch got moved. we’re gonna be the first one back after update, instead of going before. that’ll give you more time to get ready before your first performance.” he said. 

“get ready, calm my nerves, all the same.” you joked.

“nah, you’ll be great.” marcello reassured you. you smiled again, whispering a small thanks before you had to move to rehearsal for the next sketch. 

before you knew it, it was finally time for the show. you stood backstage watching the cold open before moving behind the famous door. your heart raced in your chest as the announcer read through the names of the cast members during the intro sequence, followed by your name as host and musical guest. 

“ladies and gentlemen, y/n!” rang through the speakers. you pushed through the door and down the stairs, taking your place at the edge of the stage. you smiled wide, waving at the audience and taking in all the cheers. 

“wow, wow, wow. thank you very much. my name is y/n, and i am so grateful to be here hosting saturday night live!” you began your monologue, hitting all the jokes in the right places, and getting amazing laughs from the audience.

you ran through the first few sketches, getting many words of affirmation backstage from the cast and crew between set changes and commercial breaks. before you knew it, it was time for your first performance. 

“ladies and gentlemen, y/n.” you’d brought a close friend of yours to new york with you for this week, and the producers were kind enough to let them introduce your first song. 

you made it through your first song without a hitch, taking in all the applause that erupted around you. you were then rushed backstage, and allowed to take some time to take a break during the commercials and while weekend update was on. you met up with marcello for another quick little run through of your sketch before it was time to go back on stage. 

the premise of the sketch was you bringing him over to meet your friends for the first time, and him making a weird first impression. basically, a different version of his now-famous “protective mom” sketches with pedro pascal. hearing him calling you his girlfriend gave you butterflies in your stomach. way more than you’d like, but you’d never admit that out loud.

heidi gardner, ego nwodim, and bowen yang were also in the sketch, playing your friends, and taking the sketch to new heights. the jokes were getting laugh after laugh from the audience. you and the other cast members were even having trouble keeping it together. 

once the sketch finally concluded, you took in as much of the applause that you could before being rushed off the stage to get back and change for your next performance. just as you were stepping out of your dressing room, marcello found you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“you killed it! thanks for doing the sketch with me.” he said excitedly.

“thanks for trusting me! i know you had a heavy hand in writing it, and i’m glad it was picked for my episode.” you pulled away from him, giving him a wide smile before being whisked off to your spot on the performance stage to get ready for your next song. 

they began counting down from the commercial break, and you took a couple deep breaths before they came back. 

“once again, y/n.” you heard marcello’s voice announce from the main stage. your heart fluttered in your chest at the way your name sounded in his voice.

you finished your second song, and the episode began to wrap up. once it was over, everyone gathered on the main stage for good nights. you said your thank yous to the cast and crew, thanking everyone who came in for cameo appearances, and wishing everyone a good night. 

later that night, marcello found you at the after party. you both already had a couple of drinks in you, and had loosened up after a stressful week.

“hello again.” you said, sitting up on the barstool and giving him your full attention. 

“hey. i just wanted to congratulate you on a successful week. when you were confirmed for host, i gotta admit, i was really excited.” he said. 

“oh yeah?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. he laughed and nodded. 

“ooooh yeah. i’ve been listening to your music for a while. my sister is a fan, and she’s played a lot of your songs for me a few times.”

“mmm, she’s smart.” you laughed. “i didn’t know you were gonna be introducing my second song. that was a nice surprise.” you said, marcello taking a step closer to you.

“i’m glad you thought so. i asked specifically if i could do it.” he said with a smirk.

“wow, aren’t i special?” you asked, reciprocating his smirk. you sat up further on your barstool as marcello continued to close the space between you.

“very.” he said softly, fingertips drumming along your thigh. “so, i never do this, but,” he took a deep breath, “would you maybe wanna hang out some time? outside of all of this.” he said.

“sure. i’d like that. i’ll be in new york for a few more days before heading back to LA, so we could get together before i leave.” you said, nodding excitedly. you exchanged numbers and made your plans.

“we’re heading into an off week, so i have all the time in the world.” he said with a smile. 

you and marcello spent the rest of the night together, talking and getting to know each other. it could’ve been mostly the alcohol, but you were so comfortable with him.  you enjoyed being around him, and you loved talking and laughing with him. 

at the end of the night, marcello walked you outside to your uber that was taking you back to your hotel. 

“thanks again for a great night, and a great week. i really enjoyed getting to work with you.” you said to him as you stood on the sidewalk. 

“and i you.” he said with a smile. just then. your uber pulled up and he opened the door for you to get in. “text me when you get to your hotel.”

“i will.” you said. before climbing into the car, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, his face immediately turning a bright crimson. “see you later.” 

you watched from the window as marcello stood on the sidewalk, smiling and waving as your uber drove off. you let out a sigh of content, still not believing that tonight was even real, and that you’d already made plans to see each other again.

you turned to your friend, who raised an eyebrow at you.

“what are you smiling like that for?” they asked.

“just over the moon about tonight.” you said, evading a direct answer.

your uber ride was quiet as you rode back to the hotel. once you were finally back in your room, you took your phone out and text marcello to let him know that you were back at your hotel. he immediately replied, telling you that he couldn’t wait to see you again, and he wished you a good night.

you wished him a good night as well and got ready for bed. you slept peacefully that night, excited that you were going to see marcello again in just a few days. 

[juceys]

yours drabble ft. jimmy uso

leki’s note guys. i am SO deep in the rabbit hole of jimmy edits on tiktok rn so… here we are. at freaking 12:32 in the morning. also peep the small sinners reference lol

tune into ride, ciara ft. ludacris. what you need, the weeknd.

being a successful and well-known actress had its perks.

getting invited to red carpet events, sitting front row during fashion week, the luxury of everything first class.

getting ringside tickets to wwe smackdown and a backstage pass.

it was no secret that you have a special place in your heart for the wwe. you grew up on it, thanks to being the only girl in a house of boys. so when your manager told you about the news, you were ecstatic.

so now, you’re sitting ringside watching the fight between the mft and jacob and jimmy unfold. truly a dream come true.

sure you were focused during the other matches and promos, but you think you’re even more focused on this one. and you think it has something to do with the man dressed in all black, a wife beater showing off his tatted arms, and hair braided neatly in two.

a certain, jimmy uso.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was the most attractive man you’ve ever laid your eyes on. and when his eyes met yours for a brief second, it felt like the world around you stopped. like time had froze, and it was only you two.

that was, until talla tonga dragged him out the ring, breaking the spell you were under. and the one he was under.

“Lord, please don’t let this just be a game of eye tag,” you mutter, more to yourself, as you continue to watch the match in front of you.

once smackdown ended, you immediately put your backstage pass to use, moving down the hallways like you owned them.

you mingled with wrestlers you met along the way, chatting some small talk and taking pictures that would definitely be posted on instagram later.

and it isn’t until you turn down a dimmer hallway when you find the man you’ve been looking for.

“hey lil mama,” a deep, raspy voice almost startles you.

“well if it isn’t big jim,” you smile, innocently. “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

he smirks, moving closer to you. “nah, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine.”

“you always hang around in dark corners or…” you say, looking around as if something were to pop out at any moment.

he laughs. your stomach turns. “nah. you always walk around lookin’ like this?”

“like what?”

“like you wanna get eaten.”

your stomach twists even more, feeling a sudden rush dampen your panties.

“oh? someones feeling bold considering they just met me.”

he shrugs, “you ain’t complaining tho.”

now it’s your turn to laugh. “careful uso, don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

he moves his hands to grip your waist, fingers toying with your waistband. “lemme take you out tonight. show you ‘round the city and shit.”

you pretend to think long and hard about your answer, much to jimmys dislike, a harsh squeeze on your waist snapping you back to reality.

“okay uso, ‘m all yours,” you say, a smirk playing on your lips.

“oh trust me, this ain’t gon’ be the last time you say that.”

you’d soon find out that jimmy’s a man of his word. or no, a man of his specific words. your “tour” around the city was short-lived, the drive only being from the arena to his hotel.

however, he kept his word on the other thing. matter of fact, he made sure it was the only thing escaping your lips besides his name all night — especially when he was thrusting deep in your tight walls, emptying himself inside you.

[onlygirlaliveinnyc]

so fix it [18+] ᝰ.ᐟ

pairing: 1996!noel gallagher x fem!reader genre: smut !!, soft!filth, soft!dom noel kinda ? word count: 1290 warnings: oral, face fucking, riding, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, minors dni ! summary: you see him again at maine road, ten years too late. he’s older now, harder to look at, harder to leave. but there’s history in the way he says your name like it’s still his. a/n: based of anon's request— i hope you enjoy!! + made this maine road noel bc... yeah #needthat,, also this photo set lorddddd my baby :{

the venue buzzed like it was alive—bracing for the storm of a sold-out oasis show at maine road. you could feel it in your chest, that humming energy, all nerves and adrenaline and something else you couldn’t quite name. nostalgia, maybe. or dread.

you’d known for weeks that they were coming. of course you had—everyone in manchester knew. oasis, home for a massive fuck-off gig, two nights in a row. it was all anyone could talk about

you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. not really. bands came and went through your life now—load-ins, soundchecks, backstage passes handed out like sweets. this was just another night. just another job.

except it wasn’t. because he’d be here.

noel.

you hadn’t seen him in—fuck, what, five years? seven? not since he’d gone off and become a bloody rockstar, all swagger and smirks and stories in nme. and maybe you’d kissed a few times when you were younger, given each other head between boyfriends and years of being each other’s soft place to land. maybe you’d thought, once or twice, that it could’ve been something. before it wasn’t.

and now here you were, laminated pass slung round your neck, clipboard in hand, standing just offstage while the crew ran final checks.

you weren’t expecting to see him. not really. the band had handlers now, managers and security and all the other things fame wrapped around people like armor. you figured you’d catch a glimpse from the wings. maybe that would be enough.

but then he walked in—guitar case in hand, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed—and you froze.

he didn’t see you at first. didn’t recognize you. just nodded a little as he passed, eyes scanning the room like he was already somewhere else.

your heart dropped.

but then—he stopped. turned back. did a double take.

“no fuckin’ way,” he said, voice rough with disbelief, murmuring your name under his breath. 

and that was it. just your name, low and stunned, like he didn’t quite believe it was real.

you smiled, soft and a little sad. “hey.”

he blinked, and you could see it—the flicker of recognition behind his eyes, like the years peeled away all at once. like he was a teen again, and so were you.

“fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, stepping closer. “it’s been—jesus. how long’s it been?”

“too long,” you said. “you look the same.”

he huffed a laugh. “liar. i look knackered.”

“you are knackered,” you teased, and something in his face softened.

for a moment, the noise of the venue faded. it was just you and him. noel and you. history between you like static.

he rubbed a hand over his face, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “didn’t think i’d see you after i left.”

you shrugged. “yeah, well. manchester’s small.”

he looked at you—really looked. and that was when it happened. the shift. the change—like he remembered everything.

you saw it in his eyes. the nights you’d spent on his bedroom floor with a record spinning between you. the cigarette burns on your jeans from sneaking out back of gigs. the way you’d curled into him once, shivering and stupid with need, and the way he’d held you like you were his whole world.

“you free after the show?” he asked, voice quieter now. hopeful.

you nodded, furrowing your brows. “yeah. but don’t you want to go to the after p—”

“nah,” he cut in, too fast. his eyes didn’t leave yours. “don’t care about all that.”

you blinked. “your own after party?”

he shrugged, half a smirk tugging at his mouth. “been to a hundred of ‘em. all the same—too loud, too many people talkin’ shite. rather just…” his voice trailed, but the weight of it hung between you. rather just be with you, it said, unspoken but clear.

you tried to play it off, to keep your voice even. “you’ve gone soft, gallagher.”

he tilted his head, grin sharp now. “maybe. or maybe i’ve just been waitin’ for a night like this.”

you didn’t have anything clever to say back. your throat felt too tight.

he leaned in, voice dropping lower. “say you’ll let me come ‘round. just for a bit.”

there was something in the way he was looking at you. something that felt like home.

so you nodded. “yeah. alright.”

and the smile he gave you then—quiet, crooked, real—nearly knocked the wind out of you.

—

your flat was small but warm, lived-in. cluttered in a way that made it feel like you—records stacked in messy piles, postcards taped to the fridge, a pair of beat-up boots kicked under the coat rack. noel took it all in like it was holy. like every detail reminded him of you at sixteen—laughing at some stupid inside joke, humming songs he didn’t know yet.

“still got your smiths poster,” he muttered, smiling faintly at the wall in the hallway.

“you used to take the piss outta me for it,” you reminded him, toeing your shoes off, but your breath caught when he stepped in closer, slow. 

that look in his eyes again—cocky, curious. hungry. and beneath all that, something warm and impossible to name.

“y’know,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek, “i used to think about this.”

“what?”

“bein’ here. with you. takin’ what we never got ‘round to.”

he kissed you before you could ask what that meant—low, filthy, soft only in pressure, not in intent. his hands gripped your waist like he meant to fuck you through the walls already.

you moaned into it, let him back you toward the bedroom, past stacks of records and a flickering candle.

and when he laid you out on the bed, it was with this quiet sort of awe, like you were something rare.

“still so fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, dragging his hands down your thighs, moving to undo the button on your jeans. “dunno how i never got my hands on you properly.”

“cocky prick,” you breathed, blushing.

“nah. just been waitin’ to ruin you since we were nineteen,” his hands slid down your hips, fingers rough and familiar, tugging your jeans and underwear down in one slow motion. he didn’t rush—just took his time, eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing.

you bit your lip as he pushed your knees apart and settled between them. his hands hooked under your thighs, tugging you closer to the edge of the bed, breath hot against your cunt.

“and i’m not leavin’ till i do,” he added, then dragged his tongue slow up your slit—wet and heavy and so fucking sure of himself it made your head spin.

“fuck—noel—”

“shh, let me eat my girl in peace,” he muttered against you. "used to dream about this.”

you gasped at my girl but didn’t get a chance to speak—his tongue was back on you, filthy and slow, while two fingers slid in with ease, curling just right.

“tight little cunt,” he groaned, like he was praising himself. “can feel you already.”

your hips bucked. he held you down with one hand, pushing your thighs apart wider, tongue relentless.

“you gonna come just from this?” he asked, confident but amused. “my pretty girl gonna let go all over my tongue?"

and god—you did. fast, shaking, crying out his name. you clenched hard around his fingers and he groaned like he’d just won a game he always knew he’d win.

“knew you’d be sweet,” he muttered against you, licking you up again. “like honey, fuck.”

he dragged his mouth up your thigh, tongue lazy, lips wet and warm. you were still trembling, your cunt slick and throbbing where he’d just made you come, but he wasn’t done. not even close.

he kissed your hip, then your stomach, slow like he had all the time in the world, before lifting his head and looking at you—properly looking at you.

“shit,” he murmured, settling between your legs like he’d lived there all his life. “you always fall apart like that, or am i special?”

“fuck off,” you whispered, flushed, still trembling.

“y’know,” he muttered, smirking as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “could’ve had me years ago if you’d just said the fuckin’ word.”

you scoffed, breathless. “i did. you were too busy shagging other girls and pretending i didn’t exist.”

he grinned, leaning over you like a shadow. “yeah, well. none of ‘em sounded like you do, did they?”

he leaned in close, lips brushing your jaw. “and you’re soaked for me. who’s the real problem here, yeah?”

your breath caught, lips parting, but he was already pressing down—crowding you, grinning like he had you exactly where he wanted.

“fuckin’ killin’ me,” he muttered, grinding against your thigh slow. “walked in like nothin’s changed, like you’re not drivin’ me fuckin’ mad.”

you blinked up at him, cocky now. “poor thing.”

he laughed—short, sharp—and kissed you again, harder this time. more teeth than tongue, all heat and hunger and tension that’d been coiled tight for over a decade. and as he ground against you, slow and filthy, you knew there was no coming back from this.

he pulled back just enough to breathe you in, hand sliding down your thigh to hook it over his waist.

“never fucked you before,” he said, almost like it pissed him off. “what a fuckin’ waste.”

you blinked up at him, flushed and wrecked and aching. “so fix it.”

he didn’t answer—just stood, eyes locked on yours, and shoved his jeans down in one rough motion. his boxers went next, cock already flushed and heavy, springing free. he watched you watch him, smirking just a little.

“knew you’d be like this,” he murmured, crawling back over you, hand sliding under your thigh to hold you open.

he sank into you slow at first—like he wanted to feel every inch of it. 

“christ,” he breathed, hips pressing flush to yours. 

you moaned, back arching, clinging to his shoulders. he didn’t move for a moment—just stayed buried deep, eyes locked on your face.

“look at me,” he whispered. “fuckin’ hell, baby. already squeezin’ me like that?”

he started to move, smooth and steady, dragging every inch out before pushing back in just as slow. his cock thick, leaking against your walls. the stretch was perfect—just enough to make your breath catch, to make your thighs tremble where they wrapped around his waist.

his hands were everywhere—one gripping your hip, rough and grounding, the other sliding under your thigh, holding you open like he owned it. his thumb brushed soft over your skin when he wasn’t squeezing, grounding you even as he fucked into you harder.

he leaned in close, mouth at your ear now. “been thinkin’ about this for years,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “gettin’ you like this. takin’ my fuckin’ time.”

you whined, hand fisting in the sheets. “noel—”

“uh uh,” he muttered, speeding up just a bit. “eyes stay on mine.”

you looked up at him, wrecked, your mouth open in a moan as he kept hitting that spot inside you—deep, sure, almost unfair.

“that’s it,” he panted, eyes dark and locked on yours. “there’s my girl. all needy for me. takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

he didn’t stop—not even when you clawed at his back, not even when you gasped his name over and over. his cock dragged against your walls perfectly, his tip leaking inside you, making it wetter, messier, filthier.

“you feel so good,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “feel made for me. fuckin’ made to take my cock.”

your moans started to break, louder now, desperate. your thighs trembled, your nails dug in.

“you’re gonna come for me, yeah? come on my cock, baby. i’ve got you.” he whispered, still rocking into you, slow but so full.

and fuck—you did. hard. full-body, shaking, eyes rolling back, clenching around him so tight he groaned low in your ear like he was unraveling.

he didn’t come yet. he held you through it, kissed your temple, praised you over and over. “so good to me. that’s my girl."

then—just when your legs went limp—he pulled out.

you blinked, dazed and slick and fucked-out beneath him. his cock was flushed, glistening, leaking against his stomach as he sat back on his heels.

“get up,” he said roughly, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking slow. “wanna see that pretty mouth on me.”

you sat up slowly, still catching your breath, and got on all fours in front of him. your mouth hovered over his cock, swollen and shining with how soaked he was from being inside you.

his fingers found your hair, guiding you down.

“that’s it, love,” he murmured. “don’t be shy.”

you opened your mouth, took him in, tongue curling around the head. he groaned low, hand tightening in your hair.

he started to thrust—slow at first, then deeper. mouth-fucking you like he owned it. you choked softly around him, tears gathering in your lashes, but you didn’t stop. didn’t want to.

you reached down between your legs, desperate to touch yourself—but his hand caught your wrist.

“nuh uh,” he rasped, hips still moving, voice like gravel. “you don’t get to touch. not unless i say.”

you whimpered, eyes glassy, throat full of him.

he groaned at the sight. “fuck—look at you. all mine like this.”

then he pulled out suddenly, breath ragged. cupped your face in both hands, kissed you like he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“ride me,” he whispered, voice rough and aching. “wanna see that fuckin’ face when i come inside you.”

you nodded, dizzy and soaked, letting him fall back against the pillows. you crawled into his lap, and he held your hips as you sank down onto him again.

you were soaked—his cock slid in with no resistance, just that perfect stretch that made your mouth fall open.

you started to move, hips rolling slow, and he let you—his hands guiding you, eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

“that’s it, baby,” he whispered. “show me how much you missed me.”

your hips moved slow at first, circling, grinding down until his cock hit deep. he groaned beneath you, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he couldn’t believe how good it felt.

“fuck,” he breathed. “look at you. making me feel so fucking good.”

you braced yourself on his chest, thighs already shaking. he kept one hand on your hip, guiding, grounding—his thumb brushing the soft skin there like he was touching something fragile. the other came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

“eyes on me,” he said, soft but firm. “wanna see you fall apart.”

you nodded, breath catching, trying to keep pace—but he felt too good, the stretch too much, the way he filled you too deep.

“go on,” he rasped, watching you ride him. “show me how much you want it. want me.”

his cock throbbed inside you—still slick, still hot, leaking against your walls. you clenched around him hard, and his fingers dug into your hips, just enough to sting.

“fuck—this fuckin’ cunt,” he muttered, looking down where you were joined. “grippin’ me like you never wanna let go.”

you whimpered, head dropping to his shoulder. “noel—can’t—gonna—”

“you can,” he murmured, hand trailing up your back, pulling you in closer. “want you to come while you’re on top of me, baby.”

he fucked up into you now—meeting your movements, matching your rhythm. the pressure was too much, too perfect. you buried your face in his neck, gasping, trembling all over.

his hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles.

“there,” he breathed, voice shaking. “that’s it, come on. give it to me, love.”

your body locked up, thighs squeezing tight around him, a moan breaking from your throat as you came hard. your second orgasm hit like a wave—sharp, overwhelming, wet.

he groaned, still moving, coaxing you through it. “so fuckin’ good to me. that’s my girl.”

you clenched around him as he came, and he lost it—hips jerking up, head falling back, a rough cry tearing from his throat as he spilled inside you, cock twitching deep.

his arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight as he came. your chest was pressed to his, the heat between you dizzying.

he didn’t pull out—not right away. just held you close, lips brushing your temple, hands smoothing up and down your back.

he cupped the back of your head, kissed your hair. “gonna keep you like this. not lettin’ you go again.”

“was yours already,” you mumbled against his skin, voice small.

he kissed you again—slow, open-mouthed, lazy like he was trying to memorize you. your hand brushed up into his hair, fingers tangling, and you stayed like that for a while, tangled and quiet, not saying what you both knew: that if you moved, if you got dressed, if you let time start again, it’d all fall apart.

—

you woke to sunlight creeping through the blinds, soft and golden. he was still there.

laying beside you, one arm under his head, the other thrown across your waist like he’d meant to keep you in place.

his eyes were already on you—half-lidded, sleepy, but watching.

“mornin’, gorgeous,” he rasped.

you smiled before you could help it, voice still rough. “hey.”

he tugged you closer, burying his face in your neck. “dunno how the fuck i’m supposed to let you go."

he kissed your collarbone, your shoulder, slow and sweet. “missed you, y’know. all this time. even when i didn’t know i was.”

you huffed, soft but disbelieving. “liar.”

his head lifted just enough to look at you, brows furrowing like you’d insulted him.

“oi,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. “not lyin’. never about that.”

“you were off shagging half of london,” you said, not bitter—just tired. honest. “you didn’t miss me.”

“i did,” he said, firm now, like he needed you to believe it. “i did. i just didn’t know what i was missin’ ‘til i saw you again.”

his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking just under your cheekbone. “was always you, love. even when i was too fuckin’ stupid to see it.”

your throat tightened. his voice was rough with sleep and truth, warm breath ghosting over your lips.

“swear it,” you whispered.

he leaned in, kissed you slow. “swear on every shit song i ever wrote.”

[krispykollection]

Peanut Butter

Part 1: Anjay

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

Gosh, I almost can't even believe how we got here. If you had asked me if I'd be standing backstage at a local bodybuilding show with a hulked out and glistening version of my best friend Anjay, I'd have for sure thought I were hallucinating off some bad lunch… Funny how close to truth that would end up to be.

It all started 3 days ago when an unannounced package appeared on our doorstep addressed to Anjay. Not only was he not expecting anything, the contents were even stranger. Pulling off the packing paper revealed contents not immediately familiar to two skinny young men like us.

To the left a shimmery pile of purple blueish fabric. Anjay held it up cautiously as it unfurled. The garment presented itself as a bikini, the sight of it filling both of us with an awkward embarrassment of being in possession of such an obscene object.

Anjay quickly dropped it on the table before turning his attention back to the box. I had to lean in closer to make out the next object of mystery. A brown bottle of… tanning oil? "What kind of crazed sex fetish shit is this, David?" Anjay turned to me and questioned.

I didn't know what to say, so I just looked back down at what's left. The remaining item, while on the one hand familiar, only served to confuse further. It was a container of plain old peanut butter. At least something normal, but what on earth did it have to do with any of this? As I picked it up to examine it closer a final item was revealed underneath, and with it an explanation.

"Ohhh" we remarked in unison with the kind of trailing off that makes it clear we're still skeptical. It was a pass for what appeared to be a local bodybuilding show and not just any kind of pass, one for a competitor. That well explained the first two items, not a bikini, but a pair of posers, and not just any tanning oil, the kind used to cake a fake shimmering bronze sheen onto huge muscle heads so they can show off their freakish masses onstage.

The peanut butter could be reasoned to be just a backstage snack for a lunk like the probable intended recipient, but that's where the last mystery comes into play. The name on the badge, it was Anjay's. Realizing the same, he flipped the top flap of the box back to check the address on the shipping label, sure enough it was ours. "Hmph…" he said defeatedly.

In an effort to put a quick and tidy end to the strange past few minutes we had found ourselves in, I offered up a solution. "I guess there must be some other Anjay Bajwa in the area, the show probably just got the wrong address."

Anjay tacitly agreed. I'm sure we both knew the obvious holes in that explanation, our town isn't all that big, and being solidly in the midwest of the united states, Anjay Bajwa was not exactly a common name.

"This guy probably wants this… stuff, right? Should we, uh, try to find him?" Anjay weakly questioned.

I conjured up the image of the intended recipient. Some roided out freak standing wider than a doorway with arms bigger than my head ready to crush someone like me in a single moment. A rush of fear ran down my spine. With a similar picture playing out in Anjay's head, we turned to face each other and in unison uttered "Nah…"

Anjay put the items back in the box and loosely closed the flaps. He tossed it in the corner of the room to hopefully forget about, at least for a awhile.

I wish I could say the strangeness ended there, in fact that was almost true, all the way up to this morning.

I woke up before Anjay. The apartment was bare so I decided to head out early, grab a coffee and a bite, and run some errands. When I got back in the late morning I could sense something was off even before I opened our front door.

Through the opening door I spotted not Anjay, but a nearly naked yoked out freak. I stood frozen for a moment. He was thankfully facing away from me admiring himself in the small mirror hanging on the wall. I spied something familiar, the colorful posers. That's when it hit me, this must be the other Anjay looking for his package. A rush of fear shot down my spine, what if he's pissed we had it? Just look at those fucking arms, that back, he could pulverize me without breaking a sweat.

I stood there long enough for the creature to take notice. As he turned to face me, my fear took it's place as a side dish, with a main course of bewilderment. It was Anjay, my Anjay, from neck up at least, or what's left of it. Finally I broke my silence exclaiming "What the hell, man?!"

"Dave! I'm soo glad you're home! Bro, drop that stuff but hold onto your keys, we gotta hurry!" I instinctively stepped out of the way as he came powering towards me. In another second he was out the door, a gust of wind cast from his wide torso the only remnant by the time I had spun around. He was halfway down the hallway by the time I made it out the door. I was astonished he could move so fast with how big his legs had gotten, they clashed with every step yet he was practically sprinting to the parking lot. Still he was clad in nothing but those posers, but passerby's opted to say nothing, either terrified by the sight in front of them or insanely aroused.

Thankfully I hadn't locked my car doors, otherwise Anjay might have ripped the door clear off the hinges. The shocks of my late model sub compact protested as he slammed his weight into my passenger seat. Jeez, how much does he, does Anjay weigh now? Following his lead, I quickly hopped into the car myself. As I got in though, I slammed into what felt like cement, but turned out to be Anjay's arm.

"Huh, sorry bro, not used to my new width." Did he always say bro so much?

"Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?" I ask. That's when he pulled out another familiar item, the badge, pointing at it and exclaiming "Remember this? The expo center!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" too much had happened, too much had changed, it's all I could blurt out. "Look at me Dave, I'm gonna clean up bro!" Okay, that's a bro every sentence. "C'mon, we're gonna be late!" I took a second to sit and process as he sat by anxiously… "Okay, fine we'll go, but you gotta tell me what the hell happened to you."

Anjay was more than happy to tell the story of his morning. He started before I could even shift into reverse.

"Bro! oh my god bro, you won't believe it! So I woke up and there was like nothing in the house, but then I remembered that peanut butter from the other day. I grabbed a big ol' spoonful and plopped my ass on the couch."

As he spoke I found it hard to pay attention to the road, he was so animated, only exaggerated by his newly huge muscles, they were bulging everywhere at the slightest movement.

"A few minutes later, I started feeling this fuzzy feeling, I didn't know what it was, but it felt good. Bro that's when I noticed something else, my body was moving under my clothes, I lifted up my shirt and I had abs, abs bro!"

He took the opportunity to point at his obvious abs, flexing as he did.

"Once I connected the dots I practically ran back to the tub and dug back in… and before I knew it I looked and it was half gone! I knew I had fucked up, so I ran to the bathroom to check out the damage."

"My clothes were pulling apart at the seams, huge fucking peaks ripping through the arms, pecs busting out the front." He flexed each muscle group as he called it out. "Fuckin' delts, abs, quads, lats, traps, my god bro, you have no idea how good it felt, how good I feel!"

I recognized some of those words as he said them, using his obvious context clues for the ones I didn't. I had no idea Anjay was so knowledgeable about muscle.

"I didn't want to completely freak you out." Mission decidedly not accomplished. "So I tried to find something to wear, but the only thing that would fit were those posers… when I slipped them on bro oh shit, they felt so good, I looked so good, but then something else happened. My mind started filling with all this new knowledge… muscle groups, workout routines, diets, supplements, cycles, poses! Before I knew it I was a champion bodybuilder, through and through!"

"Yeah, you can say that again…" I said acknowledging the physical embodiment of his statement. "I'm worried those posers might of sucked some knowledge out of you Anjay, since when do you use bro as a punctuation mark?"

"Haha, don't be silly bro, I've always talked like this… and call me AJ."

AJ? I sat there just wishing for my friend Anjay back, not this beefed up bro'd out version of him. Hesitantly I continued, "Ok… AJ, I just didn't know you were so into muscle?"

"I wasn't…" he paused "at least I think I wasn't, but I mean look at me bro, who wouldn't want this?" With that he raised both of his arms up to flex. As he did his lats? flared out and brushed my shoulder. "Shit, I didn't even know you could even have muscles there."

"Bro I got muscles everywhere and then some. Look at the class on my badge, super heavyweight… damn right! Fuck, I'm so pumped, I'm gonna crush it!"

Anjay… I mean AJ, had his bare foot on the ground before I had even come to a full stop upon arriving. Again I followed in tow. Unlike at the apartment, the sight of a muscleman clothed only in a shiny pair of posers was of shock to no one inside. It's what they're all here to see, what I was here to see I guess?

He led us straight backstage, scattered around were other men and their own companions all getting ready for their time onstage. Looking around I was shocked to realize that AJ was the biggest of any of them.

"Bro, take this," he handed me the bottle of tanning oil "you gotta help me tan up."

I was taken aback "I uhh… well I mean, I don't uhh." I looked around, elsewhere many men were doing the same, but I couldn't I mean, we're friends, but I.

"Fine," he grabbed the bottle back "I'll get started."

He dotted the bronze tan across his chest and started rubbing it in, following it up with his legs and arms. If you thought he looked insane before, with the shimmery coat of tan his new freakish form really popped. Halfway through, I heard his gut grumble, he turned back to grab something else, the peanut butter.

---

"Seriously Anjay you're eating more of that stuff? Look at yourself, do you really think you need more? You're practically bursting out of your skin already."

"I told you bro, call me AJ. Anjay sounds so… formal. As for this," he says as he gulps down a spoonful "I'm lickin' this baby clean…" "Now, I've done as much as I can, I need your help buddy, I can't reach my back." He contorts his arms up and over or behind and up showing just how far he is from reaching.

"I guess there's one downside to all those shiny new muscles," I quip.

"I wouldn't call it a downside, not when I have a bro like you…" with that he made a little pouty face unbecoming of his brutal form. I relent and swallow my awkwardness. "Hand me the bottle." His eyes light up.

I walk around AJ, and I mean around, and find myself staring at the contrasted light patch of his wide back. Man, I really wish I had gloves for this, I lament as I squirt a dollop into my palm. Distributing it between my hands I took a deep breath… here goes nothing.

I feel a jolt of electricity run though me as I make contact. Something's changed, something's flipped. I watch myself as I spread the bronze coating. The back in front of me is the same, but the interpretation has changed. It's not shocking, nor disgusting, it's a thing of beauty. I zoom out in my head, my god, the whole thing is, he is, AJ is. I feel my hands gliding over the many ridges of his back, turning perfection into more perfection. That's when I notice something else, the effects from the latest bite of peanut butter… he's growing. I can see his flesh expanding between my fingers, I can feel it press ever so slightly more against my hands. I've never felt so connected to AJ and I know he can feel it too. The world around us taking a backseat to our own shared reality.

I reapply and venture my hands further down south ensuring that his colossal glutes get the attention they deserve. I pull down his posers, ensuring every inch gets covered. Before I know it my fingers found themselves deep inside as I gently tease his hole. Electricity shoots through me again as I watch him squirm.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a figure coming in hot to our left. Fuck, we're busted, I think, followed up quickly by a different thought, wait, what the fuck am I doing?

The figure comes into focus, it's a frantic respectfully beefed up man in an official looking polo.

"There you are!" he yells out to us as I casually snap AJ's poser back into place. "You missed check-in, you better come with me right now if you don't wanna get DQ'd."

Not allowing for any protest he grabs AJ's hand to lead him away, muttering under his breath as he does, "These lunks, the big ones can't hold a thought in their head outside of their next rep…"

AJ grabs the peanut butter as he stumbles, then walks away. In between bites he shouts back "Grab a seat bro, I'll be lookin' for ya!"

With nowhere else to go I follow his instructions and find a seat in the amphitheater. In the relative calm I have a moment to process the events of the past few hours. Here I am, sitting at a bodybuilding competition waiting for my best friend to walk onstage and show off his insane muscles. I thought about how I feel about that, I have a vague recollection of being scared and confused, but now it seems clear. AJ's got muscles, he's a bodybuilder, of course we're at a bodybuilding competition. The only thing I feel now is anticipation.

I flash back to backstage as I sit and wait. I can't get the image out of my head. His muscles… so big, so hot, muscles are hot, AJ is hot, fuck! AJ is hot! I can't wait to see him again, to touch, I shiver. Almost on command the lights in the amphitheater lower to signal the start of the show.

Competitors start marching onstage, they all have nothing on AJ, I think, only confirming more as they continue to appear. The stage slowly fills as each hits their mark. Still no sign of AJ. I briefly worry something happened to him.

But then, the backlights of the stage are snubbed out by a hulking figure. It steps out under the stage lights. It's unlike any other man up onstage, it's hard to believe it's man at all. It's AJ.

A hush washes over the amphitheater. You couldn't just see, but you could feel his movements, you could hear him coming. The thuds of his footsteps, the stretch of his posers trying to hold back the mass he's become.

He hasn't even flexed a muscle yet but all eyes were on him. I had no idea a man could be so beautiful. He is absolutely bursting with muscle. Every limb, every surface stacked with veiny glistening meat. I find myself getting hard. I stroke my cock through my shorts and make note of many other men in the audience doing the same.

AJ is wearing a cocky smile confirming that he is aware of all our gazes. He coyly takes his place in the lineup, pretending that there's any possible way the show will go on as planned now that everyone has seen him.

To their credit, they did attempt to run though a few poses, but even those onstage found it hard to hold form when their attention was quickly snapping back to their muscled colleague. Noticing this, AJ steps forward to give everyone what they wanted, his juicy up body, up close and personal.

AJ goes through an entire routine like he's spent ages perfecting every pose. His front double bi threatens to encase his head in delt and bicep meat. His ab and thigh positively does. And those thighs, wide sweeping drops of muscle, transforming into carved marble columns as he stomps down.

He turns around to face the other competitors, winking at their astonished faces as he does. It's time to give everyone else the a view of what they've been seeing. His lat spread seems to just go wider and wider without any sign of stopping. And his glutes, my god, they're absolutely planetary.

Spinning back around, AJ playfully takes a customary bow indicating the end of the show. It was indeed the end of the show and he needn't move from that spot on center stage. Not wanting to keep the godlike figure waiting, officials rush out and crown him champion.

There's no lineup. Second, third, who cares, everyone else is a blur. He's first, second, and third both in size and perfection. Medals in hand, AJ turns and leaves the stage, leaving the crowd to reflect on what they just witnessed.

I find AJ backstage, swarmed by all types, attendees, officials, media, competitors, they all couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get close enough to him. He sees me and pushes his wide body through the crowd like it's nothing. He doesn't even skip a beat as he scoops me up and carries me out of the room.

I can tell I weigh nothing to him. I'm a warmup weight. Even without being terribly stressed, his muscles were putting on a show for me. I watch his biceps and pecs bulge to hold me, just taking in the sensation of being cradled by muscle. We lock eyes and smile knowingly.

AJ whisks us away into a side room away from the crowd and gently sets me down in front of him. The room is bare aside from us and the plastic taped on walls and floor for tan smearing muscle beasts like AJ. Not exactly what you'd call ambiance, but it didn't matter. We have all we need.

Without saying a word I step forward and place my hands on his chest. He flexes in approval. I feel a jolt run though me as I feel his pecs shift from beautiful pillows to striated boulders. I lean down and press my cheek against his cobblestone abs. I linger just feeling the motion of his gut contracting and expanding with every breath.

I bring my hands down to his posers and slip them down, his dick pleasingly flops out already semi-hard. As he comes to full mast I realize it's larger than I remember. It didn't grow as much as everything else, but it's still impressive. A stiff golden rod setting itself out from his dark bronzed quads.

I wrap my lips briefly around just the tip before taking it in deep with a skill like I had done this hundreds of times before. I'm in ecstasy as I feel AJ fill me so completely, as I hear him moan with pleasure while I hit all the right spots, as I watch his quads twitch up close and personal with every suck. His movements and breaths become sharply staccato as I take him to climax.

AJ grunts with gorilla-like intensity as he rockets three hot, huge, loads down my throat. I stand up and wipe my lips as AJ comes back down to earth. Once he does, he chooses to finally break the silence with, "It's your turn now, bro." His voice booms deeper than I remember, the statement hitting me like a ton of bricks. He turns around and fully drops his posers, struggling briefly against his quad meat as he does.

My already erect member twitches even harder at the sight of his uncovered ass. Even more so when he leans forward and his massive cheeks split. I hastily drop my pants and am practically pulled in like a vortex. I place my soft hands on AJ's granite glutes before inserting my cock into his waiting hole. I'm glad I went in so deep with the tan earlier, it serving as rudimentary lube.

As I begin to thrust, I watch the dancing mountainous landscape of AJ's back in front of me. His ass is magnificent, so firm and tight. Every few strokes he squeezes his mighty glutes ever so little sending pleasure rocketing through me and also reminding me that he could crush my dick to smithereens in a single flex if he wanted to, this only serving to rile me even more. Regardless, it's clear who is in control in this moment, he wants this just as bad as I do.

I collapse forward onto AJ's back as I cum. We both stay in this position for a few seconds while we catch our breath. Standing back up, we make ourselves as decent as we can. AJ pulling his skimpy poser back into place and me pulling my pants back up and trying and failing to wipe the stripes of bronzer now all over my skin and clothes.

I laugh as I look up at AJ. "What?" he asks.

"Sorry, I wore a spot out on your tan, haha."

AJ chuckles to himself as he turns to face me. "Oh shit bro, but look at you" I'm practically covered in splotches of bronzer. "Honestly, doesn't look to bad on ya, have you ever considered bodybuilding?" AJ heartily boasts. We both chuckle with the silly question serving to encapsulate the wild ride we both have been on.

"Something tells me there's a lot more of this to come, but first… this tank bro" AJ slaps his bloated muscle gut, "she's gonna need a lot more than peanut butter to fill 'er up."

With that we head back out together in search of what I assume is an ungodly amount of food to fill up my hulking best friend… boyfriend? possibly.

We're a total mess, anyone looking at us would have no trouble putting together what we just did. We hold our heads high regardless, because who gives a fuck, like you wouldn't if you could. But you can't, so might as well flaunt what's mine. Besides in reality no one is giving me a second glance next to him.

---

In that first stroll together as an item out in the world, AJ and David find themselves in a place of pure joy and contentment, ecstatic about their budding new reality and relationship. Little did they know what was coming next.

Waiting innocently on their doorstep… another package… Wonder who it's addressed to?

[peri-grine]

Been thinking about one of my favorite tropes lately (characters falling asleep together as a way to show that they feel safe with each other) and whoops my hand slipped, here's that with my two favorite losers, V Cyberpunk and Johnny Silverhand:

It's not something V noticed all at once. Instead, it was little moments, small puzzle pieces they connected into a picture over the couple of months following Johnny's and their safe return to the land of the living.

Johnny didn't sleep as an engram. Not really. He "slept" when V did, their shared brain and body shutting the both of them down for the night together. Even his dreams weren't wholly his own, but intertwined with V's, their memories tangling into incomprehensible flashes of cold steel, warm laughter, and blood.

V suspected that if Johnny had been able to rest independent of them while an engram, they would have noticed it much sooner:

He never fell asleep first.

Not when nightmares– his or V's, take your pick– woke them up in the middle of the night and they sought the solace of the other's embrace. Neither did he drift off before V on those quiet afternoons where they had nothing better to do but enjoy each other's company curled up on the couch.

The more V thought about it, the more it made sense. Johnny's difficult past was no secret, especially not to them. When was the last time he'd felt safe– really, truly safe– enough to let his guard down? To put his defenses away? It definitely hadn't been during his time in the military, the unforgiving streets of Night City, backstage, or during his stint with nomads.

2077 seemed more promising, but V wasn't expecting anything to happen soon. Little of what the two of them had been through could hardly be considered stable, secure, or comforting. And so it was that they were content to watch, wait, and offer Johnny what they could.

When it finally did happen, it did so quietly and with no fanfare, and V was perfectly alright with that.

A month or so had passed, filled with gigs, get-togethers with friends, and the sorts of trouble only an undead merc and their resurrected rockerboy input could get up to. Late one morning, V sat on the couch flicking through their holo, doing nothing in particular. Across from them, a holographic display was playing reruns of some sitcom V had only seen clips of on the net, providing background noise.

A door slid open and shut elsewhere in the apartment. V didn't have to turn and look to know who it was. Johnny stepped around the couch, hair still damp from the shower. He was careful to dodge Nibbles where he was batting around a toy mouse on the floor, then slumped down onto the couch beside V. As he did, a heavy sigh escaped him.

It... had not been a good night, for either of them. A series of close calls the past few days had caught up to them both, and the stress and resulting nightmares kept them up and restless. V had finally managed to catch a couple hours of rest closer to dawn, but as far as they could tell, Johnny had not been so lucky. They figured he'd do what he usually did and muscle through it until the next night.

"Got shit to do," he'd always say, as if he were incapable of stopping, of slowing down for even a day.

Johnny slouched against V, head falling onto their shoulder. V was glad they'd opted to wear a tank top today, or their sleeve would have gotten wet. They tilted their head against his, returning the affection.

"Anythin' interesting?" he asked, snaking his metal arm around V's waist from behind and sneaking his fingers up under their shirt, running his thumb over the exposed skin at V's hip.

V gently shook their head. "Nah. Just same shit as usual: fearmongerin', drama, and ads. Barely know why I bother anymore," they said lightly.

The only response V got was a quiet exhale through Johnny's nose, like the ghost of a laugh, though he didn't move away. Still watching what V was doing on their holo, they guessed. V was about to put their it away when it pinged, signalling an alert from a screamsheet they followed, one that detailed what chrome was about to hit the streets. They opened the notification, scrolling through the articles slowly, in case Johnny was reading along. He did that often enough.

V lost track of how long they spent reading, but it was long enough for Nibbles to completely lose interest in his toy, and jump up onto the couch. The sphynx cat, as he always did, crawled right over V and into Johnny's lap, nudging his 'ganic hand where it rested on his thigh. No response. Then, he did it again. And then a third time.

"Johnny, just pet the damn–"

And then it hit them.

He'd fallen asleep.

Now that V was paying attention, it was obvious. The slow, deep intakes of breath, the occasional twitch of metal fingers against their side, the way that Johnny– one of the most talkative people V knew– hadn't said anything about what they'd been reading on their holo. A warmth spread through V's chest, something sweet and soft and new. They set their holo down on the couch beside them, then carefully settled back into Johnny's half-embrace, turning their head just enough to press a light kiss to his hair. Nibbles apparently decided that V was now his best bet for scritches, because he padded back into their lap and curled up there, purring softly.

V knew they'd have to get up eventually, but for now they let themself enjoy this. They had everything they needed right here.

[sinnersweets]

DogDay x Reader part 6

<;-----part 5, part 7----->

“Alright class listen up!” Miss Delight called out. The children settled down and listened to what she had to say. “As you know, our fall festival is approaching which means that it’s time to start our yearly fall theater show! Normally each group would perform separately but this time my sisters and I have decided to combine everyone together! I’m proud to say that this year we will be doing; drum roll please!” Everybody's hands started tapping on the desk for the drumroll. Me and DogDay also joined in with the children. “Beauty and The Beast!”  

Some kids were ecstatic while others groaned in annoyance. I liked Beauty and The Beast. “Tryouts will start around 5 o’clock. Those who wish to be a part of it please come up to my desk to receive the tryout scripts. And to those who do not wish to be a part of the show will be assigned as the stage crew.” Most of the children got up and went over to Miss Delights desk while a few stayed in their seats. Damian got up to get a script. “Our script is usually handed to us right before auditions start.” DogDay whispered to me. “Huh? ‘Our script?’ We have to audition also?” DogDay smiled and nodded. “Gives us a chance to interact with the other kids.” I wasn’t expecting this. DogDay pulled me into him before saying, “I have full faith in you Angel, who knows you might get the lead!” “Haha....woopie.” 

--------------- 

The theater room was huge! From the outside it doesn’t look like this room even existed. Me and DogDay walked in together and this was the first time that I’ve seen all the Smiling Critters. “Hi DogDay!” “Hiya BB!” DogDay walked over to the group, and I followed behind him. “Oh? And who’s this?” The way Bobby Bearhug spoke sounded like she was not at all interested in knowing who I was but asked anyways. DogDay scooted me into him and held onto my shoulder. “This is my helper, Angel!” His tail wagged while talking about me. I smiled nervously at all the Smiling Critters; except for KickenChicken. I just rolled my eyes at him.  

Miss Delight came up to us and split the helpers and the Smiling Critters apart. I took a seat next to Sarah since she’s the only one I’ve really talked to. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk to anyone since she put in headphones. I looked over to the Smiling Critters and saw that Bobby was just chatting away with DogDay. In the shadows I spotted CatNap. I tilted my head in confusion; weren’t they all supposed to be friends? I got up from my seat and started walking towards him. My heart was beating faster, and my palms got sweaty.  

“Hey CatNap.” I said nervously. It took ten seconds before he finally spoke. “Friend.” So creepy. I cleared my throat to talk but he beat me too it. “Sorry.” Woah, he apologized. “Wanted to apologize sooner.... but was kept away.” Kept away? “Oh that’s okay. What do you mean you were kept away?” He just stared at me again. “Doctors.” I was gonna press on but a voice from behind me caught me off guard. “Oh Y/N! It’s almost time for you to go on!” I turned around and saw that it was Miss Delight. “O-okay, coming!” I turned back around, and CatNap vanished once again. 

--------------- 

Two hours passed and soon everyone in Playcare auditioned. Miss Delight and her sisters all went backstage to select the cast while everyone else sat in the seats waiting for the verdict. I spotted Damian and made my way over to him. “Hey kiddo.” “Hey Miss Y/N.” I took a seat next to him and smiled. “So do you think you’ll get a part?” He asked me. I chuckled before saying, “Nah. I mean I did do theater back in high school, but it’s been a while.” It would be interesting if I got casted. In high school, I never got the lead due to being a nervous wreck. “How about you?” Damian looked proud and sat up straight. “Oh yes, I’m hoping I get cast at the candle man. He’s my favorite.” “I’m hoping you’ll get the part.” I ruffled his hair and then got up and looked for DogDay.  

It wasn’t hard to spot him since he was the second tallest one here, CatNap being the first. As I started walking over to him he spotted me and waved me over to him. “Over here Angel!” I couldn’t help but smile sweetly at him. He held out his paw for my hand and once I took it he pulled me into a hug. “I missed you Angel.” “I always looked over to you and waved.” I laughed and returned the hug. “Yes, but I would’ve rather had you sit next to me Angel.” My cheeks felt warm. Thankfully, the theatre room wasn’t lit up well so he couldn’t see. “Oh DogDay~” We both turned and saw that it was Bobby calling out for DogDay. “Y/N shouldn’t you be with the other helpers and not over here with DogDay?” Okay rude. “She’s allowed to be over here with me, she’s my helper.” DogDay said. I could see Bobbys’ eye twitch before saying, “Oh of course! Anyways DogDay; do you think I got the lead?” I pulled away from DogDay so that he could face her. While he spoke he held onto my hand. “No doubt in my mind that you auditioned well BB, but I think Angel here did pretty good as well.”  

Another eye twitch from Bobby. “Well seeing how I always get the lead I’m fully confident.” The lights suddenly flashed on, and everyone's attention went to the stage. Miss Delight stood there with her sisters. “Okay everyone! We are about to announce our cast if you could quiet down and take your seats!” Everyone started to take their seats. I was about to sit next to DogDay when Bobby beat me to it. I then tried the other seat next to him, but then KickenChicken sat there. “Hey Angel.” He spoke out while grinning. I was gonna leave and sit somewhere else, but DogDay grabbed onto me and placed me on his lap. “You don’t mind sitting like this do you Angel?” “N-nope! Not at all haha...” I could feel Bobby glaring daggers at me. 

Miss Delight started calling names and Damian got cast as Lumière. He walked onto the stage and me and DogDay cheered him on like proud parents. She then called out the rest of the cast: Miss Delight would play Mrs. Pots, Chip would be played by Todd; a kid from my group, Babette was played by Miley; a girl from CraftyCorns group, Wardrobe was played by Emily who was KickenChickens helper, PickyPiggy would be The Enchantress and Bubba Bubbaphant would be Maurice. “And now for our final four!”  

“Lefou will be played by Hoppy Hopscotch!” “Woo yeah!” Hoppy jumped up and walked over to the stage. DogDay clapped for his friends. “Next up we have Gaston who will be played by... KickenChicken!” “Radical!” KickenChicken got up and made his way up onto the stage. “And now the role of The Beast will be played by- drum roll please!” The sound of everyone hitting their legs echoed through the room. “DogDay!” All eyes turned towards the back of the theater where DogDay was. “Really? Wow!” I got up and hugged DogDay excitedly. “Congrats DogDay!” “Thank you Angel!” “Congratulations DogDay~” Bobby said while removing one of DogDays paws off me. “You and I will be great together.” DogDay pulled his paw away and said, “They haven't announced who Belle would be played by so it might not be you BB.” He said that so cheerfully while making his way up to the stage that I almost laughed.  

I took a seat and Bobby glared at me before saying, “It’s pretty obvious that I’ll get the lead, I get it every time when we do it in our groups.” She sounded so cocky while she spoke. I didn’t say anything and just looked ahead at the stage. DogDay gave Damian a high five and also ruffled the top of his head. “Now ladies and gentlemen the moment you’ve all been waiting for; Belle will be played by-” “ME!” Bobby stood up proudly. “Miss Y/N!” Everyone in the audience gasped. I guess they all were expecting it to be Bobby. A spotlight shun down on me and I sunk into my seat. “Woo yay Angel!” “Way to go Miss Y/N!!” DogDay and Damian both cheered for me. I stood up and walked over to the stage with everyone else.  

As I made my way up the audience started to cheer for me; I even saw Sarah give me a thumbs up. I stood on the stage with everyone else and Miss Delight spoke out. “Those of you who did not audition or did not get cast will oversee the set and props! I look forward to this year's fall theater show!” All the remaining children and helpers stood up and applauded while Bobby glared even more daggers at me. “This role was made for you Angel, you’re already quite a beauty.” He then winked at me and stuck his tongue out. This time I’m sure he saw me blushing. Damian ran up to both of us and pulled us into a hug. It almost seemed like a kid hugging his parents; it was a sweet moment.  

A/N: Thank you for reading!!