#AND THE EXPENSIVE TASTE INTERVIEW

[aeolianblues]

The constant fight between 'you shouldn't be home on a Saturday night, you're young today and you'll never be as young as you are any more' and 'I literally cannot afford to be out on two consecutive weekend days, this will actually kill me between the price of travel and gig tickets and drinks and literally just entry into anywhere. This sucks so much' is horrible

[harbingerofwhump]

Genuinely why are things like "what kind of animal/tree/etc. would you be" and "what's your favorite food" questions that people apparently actually get asked in job interviews?? Is this an interview or a buzzfeed quiz

[superbat-love]

Dick: And what would you do for him?

Contestant 1: I would die for Billion Wayne! I mean—Bruce Wayne!

Jason: Let’s go, you and me, in a real deathmatch. I’m itching for a proper send-off. Guys, remember to play ‘The Final Countdown’ at our funerals. None of that sad shit.

Contestant 1: No wait! Please don’t hurt me!

Jason: Weak! You, why should we consider you?

Contestant 2: I have a nice house, nice car, expensive taste, and I attract others to me like a magnet. You’ll find that I’m well-balanced in all aspects.

Tim: All except for your credit card balance. But I’m sure you already have more than enough admirers in the money-lending business chasing you. Next!

Contestant 3: I can defend Bruce from any kidnapper because I am indestructible!

Damian: The only indestructible thing about you is your ego, and unfortunately that’s also the only thing you’d ever be capable of defending. Next!

Contestant 4: Hi, I’m here for my interview with Mr Wayne. Is this the right room?

Dick: Depends. What are your special skills?

Contestant 4: T-There’s nothing special about me! I’m just an average guy with average skills and an average life! Umm, I can also make a pretty good pie?

Damian: What flavor? Weigh your next words carefully because Father is allergic to bullshit.

Contestant 4: Kansas-style apple pie. I learnt it from my Ma.

Dick: Great, Alfred would approve! What’s your name?

Contestant 4: Clark Kent.

Tim: Well, Clark Kent, you’ve just progressed to the next round of ‘All’s Fair In Love and War – Bruce Wayne Edition’. Congratulations!

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Can you do a Clark Kent, with a mate? Maybe she gets jealous of Lois but doesn’t know why; an to get over him she tries to go out with another guy but Clark is like no. Your mine.

.⋆｡Office Crushes｡⋆.

Alpha!Clark Kent x omega!plus size reader

Little bit of Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

Your best friend has an office crush that seems to be becoming something more, maybe you should get your own office romance but not because you’re jealous- obviously

Warnings: a/b/o, jealousy, mutual pining, idiots in love, little bit of angst, protective!clark, fluff

WC: 3.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It was quite common for any office to have its workers develop a sort of infatuation with each other. A confined space where you spend upwards of 40 hours a week with the same people, feelings are destined to arise, especially when it’s such a large mixture of alphas, betas and omegas. Hormones tend to go wild.

You were proud that you had never developed an office crush, knowing how disastrous it could be if the relationship ended, but you doubted your best friend could say the same. Clark had a big heart that he always wore on his sleeve and tended to attract a lot of romantic interest from practically everyone in the office. And apparently, Lois Lane was the lucky one who finally caught his eye.

A strange churning in your stomach began as you looked over the wall of your cubicle and spotted Clark leaning on the small kitchen counter, head thrown back in laughter as Lois chuckled over her now full cup of coffee. You know you should have seen it from a mile away- they were constantly paired up for articles, their chemistry was unmatched and they were by far the most attractive people in the office. You had even teased Clark on occasion for how often he met up with her after hours for some new lead, calling them dates.

Evidently, you were right. And for some reason, it was really bothering you. You felt physical disgust as Clark bent down to whisper something into the smaller omega’s ear and down right nausea as she placed a hand onto his broad chest to steady herself.

You swallowed down the bitter emotions and forced yourself to return to editing your article though a sour taste remained on your tongue. Maybe it was finally time to get your own office crush and the perfect opportunity had just landed in your inbox.

‘Bruce Wayne Interview- I trust you’ll get this done professionally’. You bit your lip at the offer, not only would an interview with Gotham’s golden boy boost your career, but whenever you had encountered the alpha before, he had always asked you out and you had always brushed him off. It was a win-win for you, and maybe it would stop the inexplicable rage you felt when you looked up and saw the goofy grin on Clark’s face as he sat back down at his desk.

Your nose wrinkled as you caught Lois’s scent clinging to him. Your fingers flew across the keyboard as you quickly sent a response back to your boss, accepting the offer. 

You just needed a distraction and then everything would go back to normal.

——————

The tension in the conference room at the top of Wayne Enterprise was so thick you swore you could cut it with a butter knife. You cleared your throat and tugged down your pencil skirt, over-aware of just how high it sat on your plump thighs as you reclined in one of the many expensive seats in the room. 

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to where your hands were curled into the material of the skirt and then back to your eyes but not before stopping very briefly at your lips. “Mr Wayne-“ You began again, glancing at your notepad. The small talk had gone well as did the customary chit chat about any new scandal he happened to have instigated and the photos of the both of you for the article.

“Bruce please, I think we’re far beyond that now.” He winked and you swore that his tone held a bit of a teasing purr. Your stomach flipped at the blatant attention from the alpha but it quickly dropped as yet another wave of thick, bitter scent filled the room making you cringe away from the other man standing to the side.

Through a series of several unfortunate events, your usual photographer had fallen ill and his stand-in got hired from right under the company and left so the only person that even had the slightest bit of talent with a camera in the office was forced to come with you today for shots of the billionaire. And in the worst stroke of luck, that person happened to be the very man that ‘inspired’ you to take the job in the first place.

Clark shifted on his feet and you barely repressed an eye roll. He had been very vocal in his disapproval of the whole thing given how often the mogul had put the moves on you but none of his arguments had done anything to deter you, instead they only fuelled the fire.

Bruce’s jaw clenched and you watched in fascination as the muscles beneath his skin moved, although they were not nearly as impressive as Clark’s (you would never admit that out loud). “Well Bruce,” He beamed at you, “Wayne Enterprises has just introduced a new product line that promises to ease the severe heats often experienced by omegas, my question for you is, what about this product is so different from all others on the market that promise the same things yet all others have failed?”

The alpha leaned back in his seat, his muscular thighs spreading slightly, instantly drawing your gaze to the thick bulge that was perfectly hugged by the material of his pants. Your eyes immediately flicked back up to him but given the smirk on his lips, Bruce knew exactly what he was doing. 

“I’m actually quite proud of my team for this, they’ve worked tirelessly on development for years and I believe that it really shows. While other products are usually prescribed by doctors in the forms of ointments and perfumes that mimic the scent of an alpha, which almost never work by the way, we have gone in a totally new direction. Instead, omegas can buy these pouches at any pharmacy and when heated, they give off the scent of a pup.” Bruce gestured to the small bags that were barely the size of your palm that sat on the table next to him. They gave the appearance of a miniature version of a microwavable heat pack but he was right, if you concentrated hard enough, you could smell the mixture of milk and flowers that all babies had.

“It is common knowledge that the presence of pups actually help to lessen the effects of a heat whereas the scent of an alpha is far more complex to manufacture and can actually make an omega’s heat worse if they don’t have any other-“ he paused then, his smirk growing as the room seemed to grow smaller, “-tools to help them through it.” You barely suppressed a squeak and quickly ducked your head as if you were checking your notes once more.

You gathered yourself for a moment then spoke again, missing the way that Clark was glaring at the other alpha over your shoulder. “And how affordable are these products?”

“Wayne Enterprises are donating 2 million to women’s shelters throughout Gotham and we plan to sell them for less than $10.” As if anticipating your next question, Bruce licked his lips and continued. “While it is not feasible to gain a profit from such a low price, I would rather give them away to the people that need it but I do have a board that I have to listen to… sometimes.” He winked at you.

Heat crawled up your neck and settled onto your full cheeks. You squeezed your thighs together though you weren’t quite sure if it was because you were attempting to feign arousal or keep him from looking up your skirt. You laid a hand onto your notebook, shutting off your recorder, as you leaned forwards and offered him your other one. “Thank you for being so open to this interview, you have been a hard man to pin down.”

You could feel the way Clark’s body seized as Bruce’s smirk grew and his eyes twinkled deviously. “If it’s by you miss Y/L/N, I would gladly be pinned down any time.” He shook your hand with a firm grip, letting the tips of his fingers brush against your wrist. “For an interview that is.”

He rose to his feet and politely helped you to yours, steadying you with a hand on your waist as you wobbled on your heels. Once he was sure that you were steady, he ducked down and grabbed one of the unopened boxes of Heat Helpers (quite the cheesy name in your opinion) and gave it to you, along with a small piece of cardstock. “Why don’t you take this, a thank you for a great conversation.”

You flipped over the piece of paper to reveal a phone number scrawled on in pen. You gave him a questioning look to which he chuckled. “My number, if you ever want to have a one-on-one with me, with or without the tape recorder.” 

You swallowed thickly and stuttered out some kind of polite response before Clark ushered you out of the room, muttering under his breath about being in a time crunch. You were barely able to catch one last, “Anytime miss Y/L/N” before the heavy door slammed shut and you were quite literally pushed into the awaiting elevator by your friend.

As soon as the doors were shut, you were on him. “What was that all about?” You crossed your arms over your chest and gave him a scrutinising look. Clark refused to make eye contact with you, instead he stared at the elevator doors like he was willing them to open.

“He was flirting with you.” You rolled your eyes and looked away from the tall alpha. “And you let him.”

“So what? He’s attractive and available, as am I. It was only natural.” Clark’s shoulders tensed, his grip on his camera tightening until his knuckles turned white. The confined space was now filled with a bitter scent that made your stomach drop and your omega howl in displeasure.

“Why are you so concerned about this, Clark?”

The elevator doors opened with a ping and he quickly walked out. “It’s nothing.” He said and you knew you weren’t going to get anything else out of him until he decided he was done throwing a tantrum.

——————

“So have you called him?” Lois was leaning against the bar next to you, her drink half empty but the flush on her cheeks told you that it wasn’t the first one of the night. 

“Called who?” She rolled her eyes like it was obvious.

“Bruce Wayne! He obviously wants you too, I saw the photos Clark took. He’s fucking—what’s the word— enamoured!” You scoff behind your tumbler of whiskey which you had been nursing since Perry gave it to you an hour ago. The whole office had gathered at the bar down the road for an end-of-workweek drink and against your better judgement, you had decided to join.

Clark had been convinced into joining a game of pool, leaving you without anyone to talk to but it’s not like he would anyway. For some stupid reason, the alpha had been giving you the silent treatment for days and it was really starting to piss you off. You regarded Lois with a look but she was far too tipsy to get it.

“He was just flirting, he does it with everybody.” You dismissed it but she scoffed.

“Then why did he ask Perry for your personal number?” Your head snapped up, your eyes wide. “Clark didn’t tell you?” Evidently, your wide open mouth and lack of a verbal response told her everything she needed to know. Suddenly, Lois was very sober, a serious expression on her face.

“We were in a meeting with Perry the day after the interview and Wayne just strolled in like he fucking owned the place. He said how great you were and that he was hoping to get your number for a follow-up interview sometime soon. Clark said he would handle it, I assumed that he would have talked to you.” Her gaze travelled over to said man. “Shit I guess he didn’t.”

You slammed back the rest of your drink and without any sort of conscious thought, stormed over to the group of men huddled around the pool table. “Where the fuck do you get off Kent?” You snarled. Immediately all of the men seemed to find their phones incredibly interesting.

“I’m sorry?” He asked in that way too polite way he did that really meant ‘what the fuck is the matter with you’ but you were having none of it.

“Why didn’t you tell me Bruce asked for my number?” 

“There’s a lot of Bruces in the world, you’ll have to be more specific.” He dismissed.

Anger flared in your gut. “You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about.” You snarled, making Clark stand up straight and meet your eyes. In the dim light of the bar, his expression was far darker than you had ever seen before as aggravation rolled off of his powerful body in waves. “You had no right to keep something like that from me!”

“I had every right! He was just going to use you and then never talk to you again! I was protecting you!” 

“I didn’t ask you to!” The bar went completely silent as Clark visibly flinched but you were far too upset to care. “You know what, I’m done.” You raised your hands in surrender as you turned and pushed through the stunned crowd, your anger slowly trickling away into sadness.

The night air was like a punch in the gut but it also eased the tenseness in your shoulders. Taking a deep breath, you willed yourself not to cry. It wasn’t like you were in love with Bruce, but even if you were, Clark’s blatant disapproval of him and his distrust in your decisions made you feel incredibly small. And it was breaking your heart.

He was your best friend, he was supposed to be supportive if not a little teasing about your choice in men. He was supposed to console you when things went wrong, not say ‘I told you so’. Why did he get to control your love life while you could only sit back and watch him fall in love with someone else?

Your feet carried you further and further from the bar as the urge to sob was quickly becoming overwhelming. “Y/N!” You turned in time to see Clark throw open the door, the light from inside spilling out onto the street as he endeavoured to chase you.

“Leave me alone!” You cried or at least tried to, but then suddenly, the air was knocked from your lungs and you were looking up at the stars.

The shrill screech of a speeding car came from somewhere on your left as bright headlights illuminated the mass of a man above you before the sound was in the distance and darkness folded over you both. His weight kept you pinned to the slightly damp grass and you had the vague thought that you must be in a park of some kind, even though just a second ago you were standing on a sidewalk- or was it the street?

“Are you okay?” That was Clark’s voice but he had been so far away from you. “Omega?” He sounded distressed and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why.

“Say something!” His huge hands were planted by your head and it was only when one of them cupped your cheek did you find your voice again.

“Clark?” His whole body sagged with relief and he let his forehead rest against yours.

“Thank god. I thought I didn’t get to you in time. The car came out of nowhere and you were so close.” You turned your head away from him, your eyes focusing on the bar… that was across the street… a block away. The glint of something in the grass catches your attention, Clark’s glasses. 

He looked so different without them and all your confused mind could think was just how blue his eyes were when they were unobscured by the glass. 

His button up shirt which was normally so perfectly done up was unbuttoned, exposing the tight material of something navy beneath. “What?” But you couldn’t get out anymore, not when he shifted his weight, exposing even more of what was covered by his shirt and you were stunned into silence.

The red ’S’ practically glowed as realisation dawned into you. His brows scrunched in confusion, following your gaze. “I- I can explain.” Your head spun as he yanked you to your feet, though his hands never left your skin like he needed the reassurance that you were still there.

“I was going to tell you but then I realised how much danger it would put you in and if you were hurt in any way because of me, I couldn’t even stand the thought. And then we had known each other for months and Lois said you would feel betrayed so I kept it a secret-“ You placed an open palm onto his chest, stopping him in his tracks. His mouth snapped shut with a click.

“Is this why you were acting so weird about Bruce? You thought he would hurt me because of you?” Your voice wobbled with emotions as your nails dug into his warm peck. 

Clark’s growl was shocking in its intensity. The vibrations shot up your arm as the ground shook beneath your feet with its power. “No, he would never even dare to fucking touch you. He knows who you belong to.” Your heart skipped a beat, this possessiveness was nothing you had ever seen from the soft-spoken reporter before. You knew that you should find it disgusting considering how he had been treating you but instead your veins filled with warmth.

“And who is it that I belong to? There’s no claiming mark on my neck.” His grip on your hips tightened which should have been a warning but the anger was quickly returning now that the foggy haze of danger had passed. “If I can remember correctly, you’ve been courting Lois, not me.”

“I’ve been asking her for advice on how to ask you out!” He said, exasperated. “I just couldn't find the perfect time to do it.”

“You’re an idiot.” You retorted before grabbing his black curls in a tight grip and yanking his mouth to yours. His body tensed but then quickly melted into you, groaning against your lips. 

Maybe you did have an office crush but it’s not like you’d actually admit it.

DC Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @slutfor-fictionalmen @km-ffluv

DC

@snedhdh @kobaltdragon @Blackhawkfanatic @8bookishworm8 @honkytonkbabe @qardasngan

[luna-thecreator]

Sweet Spot

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, college has been kicking my black ass, but im back with a juicy Roman fic!

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A bold ultimatum turns into an irresistible claim when you demand your place in Roman Reigns' Bloodline. What starts as a power struggle quickly turns into something far more intense as Roman asserts his dominance.

Tags: Oral, (female receiving), language, p in v, smut village, claiming, 18+, USE YOUR IMAGINATION BABE!!!

“The Tribal Chief will be back soon after his interview, Y/N. You really shouldn’t be in here—”  

Paul Heyman’s voice carried that usual mix of authority and nervousness, like he was trying to keep the peace but also lowkey freaking out. Classic Wiseman behavior. But before he could finish, you hit him with a cold, uninterested stare and cut him off.  

“I don’t care… Paul.” You dragged his name out like it tasted bitter on your tongue. Your arms crossed over your chest, your body language screaming defiance as you dropped into one of Roman’s ridiculously expensive leather chairs, making yourself comfortable. “I’m staying right here until I talk to Roman about the Bloodline.”  

Paul’s mouth opened, then shut like a fish out of water. He clearly wasn’t used to people shutting him down, especially not when it came to anything involving Roman. He adjusted his tie, the slight fidget a dead giveaway that he was scrambling for a way to handle you without setting off a nuclear-level argument.  

"Y/N," he started again, voice softer now, like he was trying to reason with a child throwing a tantrum. "I understand your frustration, but decisions like these take time. The Tribal Chief has a lot to consider—”  

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair like you owned the damn place. “Paul, don’t give me that ‘decisions take time’ speech. Roman’s been stringing me along for months. Either I’m in, or I’m out. No more waiting around while he plays mind games.”  

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he wanted to say something slick, something wise and calculated, but you were past the point of caring. Your patience had been worn down to nothing. You weren’t just some random outsider begging for a spot—you had proven yourself. You had bled for this. And yet, Roman still hadn’t made the call.  

Paul sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples like you were personally giving him a migraine. “This is not how things work. You don’t just demand to see Roman. You wait for him to summon you.”  

You rolled your eyes. “Summon me? Paul, be fucking for real right now. I’m not some peasant waiting on a royal decree. If Roman wants loyalty, he needs to show me I’m not wasting my damn time.”  

Paul exhaled sharply, clearly at a loss. He checked the time on his phone like that was gonna magically make Roman appear faster. “If you just wait—”  

“No,” you cut in. “I’m done waiting.”  

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Roman would be walking through that door. And when he did, you were gonna make damn sure he finally gave you an answer.

You adjusted the black dress draped over your body, subtly pulling at the slit running up your thigh. The fabric clung to your curves just right—not that you planned it for Roman, but if he noticed, well… that was his problem.  

Paul gave you one last lingering look, one that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, before he sighed and exited Roman’s private room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving you alone in the space that practically reeked of dominance and control.  

Minutes passed as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing. Like you weren’t anticipating the moment he walked through that door. And then—  

Click. Thud.  

Your head snapped up at the sound, and there he was.  

Roman Reigns.  

Dressed in a sleek black suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that somehow made him look even more powerful. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, commanding attention without a single word. And damn, did he look good. So good that heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it. For a split second, you almost forgot why you were here in the first place. Almost.  

His sharp eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before one eyebrow quirked up.  

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth, teasing, laced with amusement. “Who let you in here?”  

The way he said sweetheart sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your composure, tilting your chin up as he stepped closer. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair beside you, the fabric brushing against your arm like a silent reminder of his presence.  

You swallowed, clearing your throat before answering. “I—I let myself in.”  

He hummed at that, walking over to the small table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. The casual dominance, the way he moved, the sheer confidence—infuriating.  

“And where’s Paul?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.  

“He left.”  

That made him pause. His head turned slightly, eyebrow raising again.  

“He left?” Roman repeated, almost like he didn’t believe you. Paul never left before he was back. Ever.  

You crossed your arms, refusing to shrink under his gaze.  

“So, let me get this straight.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still locked on you. “You invite yourself in… and then run off my Wiseman?”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse flickering under his intense stare.  

“I wouldn’t say run off,” you muttered, shifting slightly.  

Roman smirked, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. He took a step closer, the air between you growing heavier with every movement.  

“Mm. That so?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerously amused.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or let that voice do dangerous things to you. Maybe both.

You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on. No more games. No more waiting.  

“I’m here to tell you that I’m not waiting anymore, Roman,” you said, voice firm despite the way his presence made your pulse spike. “It’s either I’m part of your Bloodline, or I’m not. I mean, it’s been months, and I—”  

You didn’t even get to finish.  

Roman lifted a hand, cutting you off without a word. The simple gesture was enough to shut you down, not because you wanted to stop talking, but because there was something about the way he did it—calm, effortless, like he already had control of the entire situation. Like you were only here because he allowed it.  

Then, before you could react, he moved.  

Two long strides, and he was right in front of you, towering over you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a noose. Clean, masculine, laced with expensive cologne and something undeniably him.  

His eyes flickered down to yours, dark and unreadable.  

“Up. Now.”  

A command. Not a request.  

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, pushing up from the chair without hesitation.  

You stood, arms crossing over your chest as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Even in heels, he made you feel small, like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to. The heat rolling off him, the authority dripping from every inch of his stance—it was infuriating.  

And yet, you still obeyed.

Roman moved around you with a slow, calculated pace, like a predator circling its prey. Every step was deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority. You felt his presence even when you couldn't see him, the energy in the room shifting with every move he made.  

Then, he stopped behind you.  

The heat of his body ghosted over your back, close enough that you could feel him but not close enough to touch. His fingers landed on your shoulder, featherlight but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“It’s risky,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the kind that made the air in your lungs thin. “And you’re too sweet.”  

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head immediately. “I’m not sweet,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended.  

Behind you, Roman chuckled, the sound deep and knowing, like he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to.  

“Sweet,” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder before pulling away. “But not fragile.”  

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.  

“I can handle it,” you said, turning your head slightly but not fully facing him.  

Roman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence press into you, let the moment settle in a way that made your pulse hammer against your ribs.  

Then, he leaned in just a fraction, voice nothing but a whisper against your ear.  

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

You inhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin. Roman didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stepped away, walking toward the locker in the corner of the room, leaving you standing there, your body still buzzing from his proximity.  

You turned slightly, watching as he opened the locker with ease, rummaging through it before pulling out a black T-shirt. Bold red letters stretched across the fabric.  

Bloodline.

Your breath hitched.  

Roman turned back to you, holding the shirt in one hand as he strode forward. The look in his eyes was unreadable—calm, unreadable, but undeniably intense.  

“This is yours,” he said simply, stopping just inches from you. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper laced within it. Something that made your stomach twist.  

He held the shirt out, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for it.  

“Was gonna give it to you next week,” he continued, eyes flickering over you like he was assessing you all over again. “But you’re so damn bold… so here.”  

Your fingers curled around the fabric, your heart pounding in your chest.  

You stared down at the shirt in your hands, the bold red Bloodline lettering staring right back at you like it was daring you to make a choice. The room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.  

Roman took a step back, arms folding across his broad chest as he watched you. He licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue over them making your stomach tighten.  

“How about you put it on right now?” he said, voice smooth, low, but laced with authority. Like he wasn’t really asking.  

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. He was testing you. Waiting.  

You exhaled slowly, then—without breaking eye contact—you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your black lace bra and matching panties. The air in the room shifted instantly.  

Roman’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, flickering over your body with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.  

You smirked slightly, then took your time slipping the Bloodline shirt over your head, letting it fall just below your thighs. The fabric was soft, the scent of him still lingering on it.  

Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.  

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the hem of the shirt as he looked down at you. “Fits you good, sweetheart.”  

You tilted your chin up, your own smirk growing. “I told you I belong here.”  

Roman chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he was moving. Roman was on you in an instant, his sheer presence crowding your space, making the air between you crackle with tension. 

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, his expression unreadable—but his intent? Crystal clear. 

“Rules,” he murmured, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, his fingers slow, deliberate.  

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster as you swallowed hard. “Rules?” you echoed, barely recognizing your own voice.  

Roman’s jaw clenched, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your face.  

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, rough, possessive. “Mine. Not Jey’s. Not Jimmy’s. Not Solo’s. Mine.”  

The way he said it, like it was law—like it was already written in stone—made your stomach tighten. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of the Bloodline shirt now hanging loosely on your frame.  

“You understand that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver down your spine.  

You licked your lips, your throat suddenly dry. But you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t.  

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.  

Roman smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was dark. Satisfied. Like he’d just won.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I’m gonna pull these down, taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you—hit that sweet spot over and over, just to remind you of exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His words were low, dangerous, and laced with an undeniable intensity.

The heat surged through you as he slowly slid your panties down, his touch deliberate and teasing. You gasped, breath hitching, "Roman—" you whimpered, unable to hide the desire creeping into your voice. His gaze never left yours, intense and unwavering, as he slid his middle finger between your folds, making your pulse race even faster.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, his fingers moving in a steady pace, the sound of your wetness filling the room, making the atmosphere thick with tension. "Oh god—" you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure coursed through you. Roman’s jaw tightened, his grip firm as he continued, his pace unrelenting, each movement deliberate, driving you closer to the edge.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" he groans in your ear, his pace quickening, pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You struggle to catch your breath, "Mhm... yes..." you whimper, your body betraying your words. 

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out, his grip shifting as he hooks his arms around your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up against the wall. He raises you so high that your pussy aligns directly with his face, and the shift leaves you breathless, heart pounding.

Roman’s breath was warm as he hovered just inches from where you needed him most, his lips so close that every exhale sent a new wave of desperation coursing through you. Then, without warning, he blew a slow, teasing stream of air against your wetness, the sensation making you jolt in his grip.  

"You’re dripping, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, with control, with possession. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and heavy with intent, waiting—watching—as your body reacted to his every move.  

The heat between your thighs throbbed, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, desperate for more. But Roman? He took his time, his hold firm, ensuring you had nowhere to run from the way he was about to ruin you.

That was the moment you lost all control—the second his tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe against your slick heat without warning. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall as a surge of pleasure shot through you like wildfire.  

“F-fuck—” you stuttered, your voice barely above a breath, but he didn’t give you a chance to gather yourself. His grip tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place, completely at his mercy.  

Then, he latched onto that sensitive bead, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, making your entire body jerk in response. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling around his head as you instinctively tried to press closer, needing more—needing everything.  

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse of pleasure straight through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Let me hear you.”  

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging helplessly as your legs threatened to give out—not that he’d let you fall. He had you trapped, exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and unrelenting dominance. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.  

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his hold, dropping his left hand, leaving you suspended with only one strong arm wrapped around your waist. The sheer power he possessed sent a shiver down your spine, reminding you just how effortlessly he controlled you.  

With his free hand, he worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper, his movements slow—calculated. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as his slacks slid down his legs, pooling at his ankles, followed by the drop of his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard, standing tall beneath you.  

Roman smirked at your reaction, his grip tightening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he rasped, amusement laced in his deep voice.  

You swallowed hard, unable to form words, but the need pooling between your thighs said enough.  

He didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his large hands gripping your thighs as he guided you down, letting gravity and desire take over. Your back slid down the wall, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensation of his warmth pressing against you.  

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment you felt him stretching you, inch by inch, your walls molding around his thick length. Roman groaned, his head falling forward as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip bruising as he held you still.  

“Fuck—” he growled through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You feel even better than I thought.”  

Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blended into something euphoric, leaving you breathless. “please—ooHH MY GOddd” you whimpered, voice breaking in agony.  

He lifted his head, his nose grazing yours, his lips ghosting over your parted ones. “What, baby?” he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whine. “This what you wanted?”  

You barely managed a nod, your body trembling in his grasp.  

He smirked, dark and wicked, his hands tightening around your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. “Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now.”  

His dark hair slipped free from the messy bun, cascading over his broad shoulders as sweat glistened on his golden skin, accentuating every defined muscle and intricate tattoo under the dim lighting. His pace was relentless now, each deep thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body, pressing you harder against the wall.  

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, holding you in place as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm.  

Roman’s head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenched, his breath heavy. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was deep, laced with raw dominance. His piercing eyes found yours again, dark and full of hunger. “Wanted to be part of my Bloodline so bad…” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out.  

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t stop him.  

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Then you’re mine now, sweetheart.” His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.  

Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “R-Roman—” you gasped, your voice breaking from the intensity.  

He chuckled, dark and amused, before pulling back just enough to meet your dazed, pleasure-drunk gaze. “From now on, every Friday night,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deep, making you whimper, “I’m gonna fuck you into my Bloodline.”  

A sharp cry left your lips as he picked up his pace again, pounding into you harder, making good on his promise.

With one last deep, punishing thrust, Roman buried himself to the hilt, his grip on your thighs tightening as a guttural groan ripped from his throat. Your body tensed, the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you in powerful, shuddering waves.  

“Oh my—Roman!” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release as his breath came out in ragged pants against your ear.  

“Fuck—” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours as he rode out both of your highs, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. His hands slowly loosened their bruising grip on your thighs, fingers grazing over your heated skin as he took deep, steadying breaths.  

Your chest heaved against his, bodies still tangled together as the aftermath of your passion settled in the air. The only sounds in the room were the mingling of your unsteady breaths, the cooling sweat on your skin making you shiver against him.  

Roman smirked, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice was thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too—something possessive.  

You swallowed, still dazed, nodding weakly. “Yeah…” you breathed out, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.  

He chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours as he finally—slowly—slid out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He kept a firm hold on your waist, ensuring you didn’t collapse the second your feet touched the ground.  

Your legs felt weak, unsteady, and Roman smirked knowingly. “That was cute,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice as he held you up.  

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile pulled at your lips. “Shut up,” you muttered breathlessly, swaying slightly as you leaned into his solid chest for balance.  

Roman reached for his discarded suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the fabric down your arms. His fingers lingered at your waist before he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up with a single finger.  

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes bore into yours, possessive and intense. “No backing out.”  

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. There was no denying it—you had just crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.  

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips. “Guess I’m in the Bloodline now, huh?”  

Roman chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.  

“Damn right, sweetheart.

[tsuutarr]

Tavern Owner Orc x New Hire Reader

I got to participate in the lovely Ozzgin's Secret Santa Event!! This one is for @tranquilo-antique-apothecary!!

Content is about 1K words of him being down bad for you <3

Sekkrad has always liked the bustling atmosphere of taverns, rich with rambunctious laughter and delicious food. After every win or loss, Sekkrad and his comrades would settle down at their favorite tavern, almost as if it were their second home. Maybe that was why he decided to open a quaint tavern after retiring from his warrior duties.

Despite his retirement, Sekkrad has always kept himself in shape. Working out has been engraved into his body, but beyond that, it’s also because his patrons can get quite rowdy at times. Plus, it’s helpful to be athletic when you’re working as much as he is. That said…

He really could use some help.

So, he puts up a flyer seeking an employee. As expected, there are some pretty good candidates. What’s unexpected, however, is you. You’re just so cute that Sekkrad literally stopped thinking when he first saw you walk through the tavern’s doors. He’s not even sure how he got through interviewing you, but somehow he did. And, just his luck, you’re a great candidate – exactly what he’s looking for! A good personality, a solid resume, and a cute face… so of course he hires you.

But on second thought – maybe it wasn’t his best idea. You look too adorable in the tavern’s uniform (that uniform does not usually look that good). And he practically blanks out every time you’re around him. You just look so soft and huggable. Plus that smile? It’s a killer. Thankfully, he somehow manages to guide you through your tasks and answer questions with a blank face (that he is desperately trying to control).

As he’s mulling about how he’s supposed to act around you, he notices you struggling to reach up to get a bottle of bourbon on one of the shelves. Without a second thought, he reaches over you, pressing his muscular body against your softer one.

“Here,” he grunts, voice low, as sirens whir in his head over how good your body feels against his. It’s like you fit perfectly against him.

“Thank you!” you respond, smile bright. Oh, Gods. You’re going to kill him.

He nods. “If y’need anything else, let me know.”

With that said, he moves to the storage in the back. He almost slams his head into the bag of flour, but reigns himself in after remembering how expensive flour is nowadays. Instead, he picks up some more syrup for his cocktails, willing himself to behave.

Despite the turmoil your presence brings to him, he manages to get through the day with relative ease. Hiring you really was the right choice – you’re an excellent worker. Smart, quick on the uptake, easy on the eyes – you’re just the perfect hire.

As he closes shop, wiping a wine glass clean, he watches as you wipe down the last table, a feeling of fondness spreading through his chest at how much of a hard worker you are. As you finish up, he prepares a sweet cocktail for you, before motioning you over.

“Good job,” he says, passing the cocktail to you.

“Thank you!”

He nods, motioning for you to sit. “Wait there.”

“Yessir,” you respond, saluting before you sit down. You watch as he disappears into the kitchen in the back, the sweet taste of your cocktail spreading over your tongue pleasantly.

It only takes him a few moments to come back with a plate of warm food. He places it in front of you.

“Eat up,” he murmurs, crossing his arms. “You were a great help today.”

Your cheeks heat up, making Sekkrad want to scream – you’re just so stinking adorable.

“I’m glad!” you beam, making his lips twitch up into a smile involuntarily. 

The way you eat his food also makes him feel warm and happy – it’s always a treat when someone enjoys his food.

“It was delicious!” you tell him once you’re done eating.

“Let me know what y’like to eat,” he says, looking pleased as you polish off his food. “I’ll make it for you next time.”

Eagerly, you tell him your favorite food, which he files away for later. He takes your empty dishes, which you try to protest, saying that you’ll clean up after yourself. He’s having none of it, though, and cleans up promptly as you finish off your cocktail.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers while wiping his hands off on his apron. “It’s late.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose.”

Sekkrad doesn’t want to seem pushy, not when he really doesn’t want you to hate him, but he’s more concerned for your safety than anything. “You wouldn’t be imposing,” he replies, trying to make his voice softer. “I just want t’make sure my new hire’s safe.”

“Well…” you look up at him and Sekkrad has to look behind you so that he won’t combust. “...I’d appreciate it, thank you! I’ll go get my things.”

“Yeah,” he responds, watching as you go to the back to get your things. When you reappear, he straightens his back, motioning to the door. “Ready?”

“Yessir!” you say, starting your journey back to your home.

Your walk back with him is quiet and peaceful as everyone else is asleep. That, and Sekkrad has never been much of a talker, but he’s especially nervous around you. He’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to talk to you, so he opts not to. Besides, you seem content to walk beside him quietly (and it’s just… nice to see how comfortable you look beside him). Despite his nervousness, he’s actually pretty content himself.

In fact, when you two arrive at your home, Sekkrad is almost disappointed. Still, he got you home safe and nothing was really amiss, so he can’t complain.

“Rest up,” he says, nodding at you. “I’ll see you at night.”

“I’ll be there dark and early,” you grin.

He can’t help but crack a smile at that. “Good.”

With a small laugh and a final wave, you enter your home. Sekkrad lingers until he’s fully sure you’re safe inside, before turning his heels to walk back to the tavern with light steps.

He really, really can’t wait to see you again.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Tough

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Singer!Reader

Summary: Jack Harlow and his girlfriend have a new song out together and while they are on the press tour he can't stop flirting with her in interviews.

Interviewer: "You two have such different styles—Jack, you're all about the bars and swagger, and [Y/N], your music is dreamy and poetic. What was it like blending those worlds in your collaboration?"

Jack: grinning "Man, it was like putting hot sauce on vanilla ice cream. You wouldn’t think it works, but then you taste it, and you’re like, ‘Oh, this is kinda fire.’"

Y/N: laughing "Did you just compare my music to vanilla ice cream?"

Jack: "In the best way possible. It’s classic, it’s smooth, and everyone loves it. Meanwhile, I come in with the kick—you know, keep things spicy."

Y/N: rolling her eyes playfully "So I’m just plain vanilla?"

Jack: leaning in with a smirk "Nah, you’re that fancy vanilla bean kind. The expensive kind they keep locked up at the grocery store."

Interviewer: laughing "So would you say the collab pushed you both creatively?"

Jack: nodding "Absolutely. She made me tap into a softer side, and I think I made her realize rap isn’t just about flexing—sometimes it’s about storytelling too. She’s already a lyrical genius, though, so really, I was just tryna keep up."

Y/N: grinning "You did alright."

Jack: "Alright? Baby, tell them the truth."

Y/N: pretending to think "Okay, okay. You did good. Solid B+."

Jack: laughing "See, this is what I deal with!"

Interviewer: "Jack, you’re always praising [Y/N]'s music. What is it about her artistry that you admire the most?"

Jack: grinning "Everything. The lyrics, the emotion, the way she can make you feel like you’re floating while simultaneously breaking your heart. She could literally sing the alphabet and make you rethink your entire life."

Y/N: laughing "That’s dramatic."

Jack: "Nah, for real. I’ll be in the studio like, ‘Damn, should I be crying right now?’ And she’s just sitting there, all calm, like, ‘Jack, it’s a song about a garden.’"

Y/N: smirking "You did get emotional over that one."

Jack: "Because you made a metaphor about love and decay, and I wasn’t ready!"

Interviewer: "So when it comes to making music together, who takes the lead?"

Jack: "She does. No hesitation."

Y/N: raising an eyebrow "That’s funny, because I distinctly remember you acting like a control freak over the second verse."

Jack: hands up in defense "First of all, I was simply suggesting a minor, tiny, insignificant tweak—"

Y/N: "You rewrote it completely."

Jack: grinning "For the art!"

Y/N: shaking her head "Yeah, and then I changed it back."

Jack: "And that’s why she’s the boss."

Interviewer: "Jack, do you ever give [Y/N] rap lessons?"

Jack: laughing "Man, y’all are acting like she needs ‘em. She could out-rap half the dudes in the game if she wanted to."

Y/N: playfully smug "He’s just saying that because I freestyle better than him in the car."

Jack: grinning "Whoa, let’s not spread misinformation."

Y/N: "You want me to drop a verse right now?"

Jack: leaning back dramatically "Nah, let’s keep it peaceful. I’m tryna make it out of this interview alive."

Interviewer: "Jack, what’s your favorite song by [Y/N]?"

Jack: without hesitation "All of them."

Y/N: laughing "That’s such a cop-out answer."

Jack: "Nah, I really mean it. But if I had to choose… I’d say the one that was clearly written about me."

Y/N: raising an eyebrow "Oh? And which one is that?"

Jack: grinning "Every single love song you’ve ever written."

Y/N: "Wow, so humble."

Jack: "Listen, I’m just stating facts. You don’t gotta admit it now, just let the music speak for itself."

[alexaloraetheris]

On the subject of being your own zookeeper, I've been trying it out and it WORKS. One of the obvious ways is to ask 'Have I watered/fed/medicated the beast?' and take care of those needs, and it's great, but another thing I haven't seen mentioned is the Stressors.

So, being a bio grad student, means I also know actual zoologists and zookeepers. And talking with one blew my third eye open. One of the questions the zookeeper always, ALWAYS needs to keep an eye on is 'What is stressing the beast out, and how can I remove it?'

In human terms, it's basically 'This thing is causing me a minor amount of stress, but stress is cumulative, so how many small stressors can I remove so the Big Stress doesn't drain so much of my energy?'

Say you're stressing about an exam/interview/visitors. There's ways to prepare for that, but before you get to that point you also need to look out for small stressors that add to the overall feeling of stress, and the goal is to reduce them FIRST.

Example: You have a big test and it's the day you need to take it. You are already baseline anxious about taking it, and the goal here is to stress as little as possible on the way to school.

You can't eat breakfast because you're late/nauseous? Keep small energy bars in your purse, snack on the way. Gives you a bit of sugar for your brain, doesn't take up time and always on hand. Haven't had time for coffee? Caffeine pills/espresso chocolates. It's cold/raining? Ditch your sneakers and wear rain boots and a warm coat, worry about fashion later. I even carry around a foldable cushion so I can sit while I wait for the bus without freeting my butt off. Haven't had time to brush your teeth? Gum, mints, breath fresheners. Nervous? Fidget toys. Worried about losing an umbrella? Get one of those plastic sleeves so you can put it in your purse even if it's wet. Too damn hot? Mini fan, or even a folding paper fan. Noise level grating on your nerves? Silicone earplugs, or noise-cancelling earbuds/headphones. (I have a big purse I carry all this stuff in so I don't forget, a blessing with ADHD)

Things like that. Small things to mitigate the microstressors so you arrive to your destinations with as little misery as possible.

Apply that to the rest of your life. You have to eat vegetables for your health but you hate them so damn much? Find a way to prepare them in a way that doesn't make you gag. I just throw a bag of frozen pre-chopped veggies in the pan and then throw in spices I like. If I can taste the vegetables in my veggie stir-fry, I haven't seasoned them enough.

Make little medicine bag, the size of your palm. I carry nasal degongestant spray, ibuprofen, eye drops, mini bug spray, a pad and a tampon, a few alcohol wipes and hand cream. Those tiny tester tubes of hand cream? A godsend. Adjust to your needs.

I hate washing dishes. Back hurts and my skin literally peels off my hands from the dryness. Get a bar stool and sit, wear WELL FITTED dish gloves. I got those that go all the way up my elbows in S size and now my kitchen doesn't look like a disaster.

Vacuuming is a pain? Handheld vacuum cleaner you can push around for 15 minutes every day. Expensive? Get a broom and a good dustpan. I emphasize GOOD because it does make a difference. Back hurts if you bend over? Get the dustpan with a long handle.

It's amazing how much difference it makes. Neutralize Murphy's law. A bunch of small stuff going wrong will absolutely tank your energy you need for the big stuff.

TL;DR Identify the things that cause you daily stress, find easy ways to neutralize them. Save your energy for the big stuff. There is nothing noble in suffering. Take care of your zoo animal.

And if you need it, ask for help. Zookeepers often work in pairs.

[tacobacoyeet]

oh, pudge! | patrick zweig x reader

a/n: this is for my lovers

warnings: SMUT 18+, cursing, not proofread, dad bod patrick!!

The smell of fresh coffee hit you before you opened your eyes. It wasn’t the fancy kind, not one of those expensive pods or pour-over situations—just the old drip machine Patrick insisted on keeping because, quote, “It makes it taste like real mornings.”

You smiled into the pillow as you heard the familiar clink of mugs and a muttered curse when he probably burned his hand again, refusing to make two trips. Like clockwork.

A minute later, the mattress dipped.

"You’re still in bed?" he asked, smug and scratchy-voiced. You cracked one eye open to see your husband—shirtless, sweatpants riding dangerously low, chest hair fully on display—balancing two mugs and grinning like he’d just won something.

"You retired, not me," you mumbled, taking your cup and scooting back so he could slide in beside you.

"Exactly," he said, stretching out with a groan and resting his coffee on the nightstand. "Which means I’ve got time to spend with my wife."

His hand landed on your hip. Warm. Familiar. He rubbed little circles into the thin cotton of your sleep shirt and leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, you’re hairy,” you muttered affectionately, brushing your hand across his stomach where a soft trail led down into those pants.

"Takes effort to maintain this much man," he deadpanned, nuzzling your neck. "You married a jungle."

"I married a man who used to shave for interviews."

"And now I don’t shave shit," he said proudly, grinding his belly against your back with zero shame. "Dad bod. Full glory. Premium husband content."

You giggled, trying to escape his tickling scruff, but he just pulled you tighter.

"Tell me you don’t love it," he murmured.

You sighed. "I really, really love it."

A pause passed between you. Cozy. Unhurried.

"Kids are at Art and Tashi’s till dinner," he said casually, fingers slipping beneath your waistband like it was nothing. "So I’m thinking…"

And just like that, his hand slid lower.

You made a soft, surprised noise in the back of your throat. Patrick smiled against your cheek like he’d planned it all morning.

“I swear,” you muttered, “you’re always horny when they’re out of the house.”

“Course I am,” he said, dragging his hand slowly between your thighs. "It’s quiet. You're warm. And I’ve got this perfect, lazy morning view of my wife in bed."

You rolled over to face him, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. Your fingers lingered on the soft swell of his stomach, brushing through the hair that trailed down like an arrow. You weren’t subtle about it—your eyes roamed everywhere. Chest. Arms. Thighs.

“You gonna keep staring, or…?”

“Let me look,” you said, voice hushed but greedy. “You don’t know what this does to me.”

Patrick’s eyes darkened with something playful. “You’re obsessed.”

“I am.”

“You like the belly?”

You nodded. "I love the belly. And the hair. And the way you look at me like you’re about to ruin my whole day."

His laugh was low and satisfied. “Guess I better live up to the reputation.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Open-mouthed. Lazy, but firm. Like he had all the time in the world. His hands were everywhere—palming your ass, squeezing your hip, sliding up your shirt to cup your breast. It wasn’t rushed. It was reverent.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, hair falling into his face, breath warm.

“C'mere,” he said, voice soft but full of intent. “Wanna take my time with you today.”

And you did—because when Patrick got like this? There was nothing else you’d rather do.

He coaxed your legs apart slowly, reverently, his hands gliding down your thighs like he was touching something sacred. His palms were rough, wide, fingers spreading you open like he was unwrapping a gift.

You felt his breath before his mouth—hot, focused, deliberate. He settled on his stomach between your legs, his thick torso pressing into the mattress, belly brushing your calves, thighs warm and solid beneath him.

When he kissed the inside of your thigh, his beard dragged across your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You shivered.

Then he licked a slow stripe up your center.

You gasped, hand flying to his hair, already trembling from the warmth of his mouth and the way his scruff scraped and burned deliciously against your skin. Your thighs tried to close around his head—he held them apart easily, big hands gripping the softness of your hips.

“Missed this,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “The way you taste. The way you fall apart for me.”

He didn’t stop. His tongue was unhurried, practiced. He lapped at you slowly, dragging his tongue through your folds, flicking it just right over your clit, then dipping lower again. He sucked and licked and pressed exactly where you needed him, every now and then pausing just to hear the sound you’d make when he started again.

Your back arched. Breasts peaked, nipples pointed with desire. One hand in his hair, the other grasping at your own thigh just to anchor yourself. You were soaked, hips rocking in shallow, needy movements.

His beard rubbed raw at your inner thighs, a perfect contrast to the warmth of his mouth. You’d be marked up. He'd be enamored by the sight.

And when he slid a thick finger inside you, curling just right, you shattered—loud and shaking, legs clamping around his shoulders as your whole body went tight.

He kept going until you were whining, legs twitching, hips jerking from oversensitivity. Even then, he kissed your thigh softly, dragged his stubbled cheek along your skin with a smile you could feel more than see.

“Still with me?” he rasped, kissing his way up your body.

You nodded, dazed. Your chest was rising fast, nipples still peaked from the air and leftover shockwaves. Your thighs were sticky with his spit and your slick, and you felt the unmistakable press of his soft belly as he crawled over you.

“More than.”

You lay there panting, limbs boneless, still trembling in the aftermath. Patrick hovered beside you, his arm heavy and warm where it draped across your waist, his nose nudging gently into your shoulder as you both caught your breath.

Your body buzzed, too sensitive for more, not quite ready—but you needed to do something. Needed to give something back. You shifted, turning toward him, and traced a slow path through the hair on his chest with your fingers.

He watched you without speaking, eyes dark, mouth slightly parted.

You kissed him first on the shoulder. Then the soft swell of his pec. Then the edge of his stomach, where the hair thickened. Your lips lingered there, trailing downward, your hands moving reverently over the warm curve of his belly, the softness that felt like home.

He let out a shaky exhale when you mouthed along the underside of it, nose pressed into him like you couldn’t get close enough. His thighs shifted beside you, thick and steady, just slightly tense beneath your hand.

You took your time. Tasting. Breathing him in. Letting your fingertips glide down to the crease where belly met hip, where his sweatpants had once rested.

His head tipped back. His hand found your hair—not to guide, just to hold. You felt him hardening again, slow and inevitable, pressed against your cheek.

When you finally looked up, his face was flushed, lashes low, brows drawn tight in quiet awe.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to. He kissed you instead—slow and heavy, tongue tasting your lips, your jaw, your cheek. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb stroking over the corner of your mouth.

He leaned back against the headboard, legs parted, cock flushed and thick against the curve of his belly. His hands rested on your thighs as you moved to straddle him, slow and deliberate, knees bracketing his hips.

You sank down onto him inch by inch, his cock stretching you open again—your body still sensitive, still pulsing from just a few moments ago. He groaned beneath you, head tipping back, fingers tightening on your thighs.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes fluttering. “Look at you.”

You rocked your hips slowly, bracing your hands on his chest, the soft hair there damp with sweat. Patrick kept one hand on your hip and let the other drift up to your breast, cupping it, thumbing lazily over your nipple. You gasped at the contact, too much and just right all at once.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped. “Always so good for me.”

You moved faster, chasing friction, chasing the fullness of him, the way he filled you like he was built for it. The way his thighs flexed beneath you, his hands gripping tighter, his stomach shifting under your palms as you rode him harder.

Patrick’s mouth parted, his head tipping forward now to watch where your bodies met. He looked wrecked. In awe. Worshipful.

When you leaned in to kiss him, your lips caught on his—slick, needy, breathless—and he groaned into your mouth.

“Come for me,” he said, voice wrecked. “Want to feel you fall apart.”

You did. You couldn’t stop it—your body clenched around him, stars behind your eyes as you cried out, clinging to his shoulders, collapsing against his chest.

Patrick followed with a moan that broke in the middle, hands clutching you to him as he spilled inside, thick and warm and full.

You stayed there, trembling, still joined, his arms wrapped around your back and his breath slowing against your neck.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

Then he whispered, “Waffles later. Nap first. I’m too old for this kind of cardio.”

You huffed a laugh into his skin. “You say that like you didn’t just go two rounds like a college kid.”

“Yeah, and now my knees hurt and I might not get up until dinner,” he groaned, dramatically flopping backward and dragging you with him.

You curled into his side, cheek on his chest, belly soft beneath your palm.

“We should probably shower,” you murmured.

“We should probably get the sheets in the wash before the kids come home and ask why the whole room smells like sex,” he added dryly.

You snorted. “They wouldn’t even notice.”

“Still. Let’s pretend we’re responsible adults.”

You smiled. “Just five more minutes.”

Patrick sighed dramatically, pulling the blanket up over both of you. “Ten. I’m old. I need recovery time.”

-----

tagging: @asheepinfrance @tashism @kimmyneutron @babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow

[svt-luna]

ʚིᵋ ⋆ MY ALCOHOL DIARY ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

[ENG SUB] Luna’s Drunken Truths?🌙 A New Side You’ve Never Seen Before ✨🍻 [Nothing Much Prepared]

synopsis: Luna is here! Luna joins Youngji for some laughs, deep talks, and a few fun surprises on this episode of My Alcohol Diary.

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ more interviews

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

Lee Youngji, in her typical lively fashion, was seen darting around her cozy apartment, her slippers barely keeping up with her hurried steps. The camera followed her movements closely as she rushed from one corner of the room to the other, adjusting chairs, straightening the table, and arranging food and drinks with a touch of anxious energy.

Plates of snacks, ranging from fried chicken to Korean side dishes, lined the table, all meticulously laid out. Bottles of soju, beer, and soda stood ready in perfect rows— except today, there was something a little extra on display.

Youngji glanced back at the neatly arranged bottles of red and white wine with a look that was half-pride, half-nervousness. “Ya, seriously, look at me. Expensive wine! Since when do I buy expensive wine?” She muttered to herself with a dramatic flair as her small crew, seated off at the front, watched her, biting back smiles.

“She looks like someone who drinks the good stuff, okay? She’s got that vibe. Like… luxury.” Her hand fluttered nervously over the bottles again, repositioning them for the third time.

One of the writers snickered, causing Youngji to spin around, her face an exaggerated mix of panic and excitement. “I’m not kidding! You all don’t understand. She’s… she’s intimidating! She hasn’t even arrived yet, and I’m already shaking. Hoshi warned me! He was here a few months ago, and I messaged him and asked him about her. You know what he said?” She paused dramatically, eyes wide, as though she were telling a ghost story.

The crew leaned in, intrigued by the suspense she was building.

“He told me,” she whispered, eyes darting to the camera as if someone might overhear her secret, “that she doesn’t drink beer because she doesn’t like the taste.”

This revelation was met with a burst of laughter from her crew. Youngji threw her hands up, pacing in front of the table. “Can you imagine?! I only had beer! What am I going to do? Should I just… drink by myself?” She exaggeratedly reached for one of the wine bottles and opened it, pouring herself a glass of white. She sipped, her brows furrowing slightly as she tasted the drink. "That's why I got this."

“I bought the expensive kind,” she said, swirling the glass. “You know why? Because she gives off that expensive vibe. Like… a black credit card kind of energy.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say, You know what I mean, before taking another sip.

“Ah, this is why I dressed up today! Look at me.” She gestured to her outfit— an unusually stylish ensemble compared to her usual casual attire. “I had to. I want her to like me! I mean, I usually just wear whatever I find first in my closet, but today? No way. I had to step it up.”

The staff erupted in laughter again, knowing full well that Youngji was half-joking but also genuinely nervous. She glanced at the camera again, then sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the couch, wine glass in hand. “I’m doomed. What if she doesn’t laugh at my jokes? What if she just stares at me with those intimidating eyes, and I crumble?” She covered her face with her hands for a moment, peeking out from between her fingers before groaning and sitting up.

“I swear, if she doesn’t like me, I’ll blame you guys,” she said, pointing accusingly at the staff. “You’re supposed to make me look good, and here I am looking like a nervous wreck.” She waved her arms dramatically, showcasing the haphazardly arranged table and the slightly cluttered apartment.

Her crew laughed again, and Youngji couldn’t help but laugh along with them. “Okay, okay, enough with the nerves. I’ve got this. Right?” She gave the camera a confident look, only to immediately second-guess herself. “No? You don’t think I’ve got this? Well, we’ll see.”

“No, I can do this,” she said, trying to hype herself up. “I just need to relax, right? Right. I mean, I’m Lee Youngji, damn it. I can make anyone laugh.”

The camera cut to a shot of her crew trying not to laugh too loudly as Youngji stared dramatically at her glass, muttering to herself once more, “Yeah… even Luna…”

With one last glance at the table, Youngji nodded to herself and turned back to the camera, her smile wide and her energy high.

“Alright, guys. Stay tuned. Because today… a princess is coming.”

Youngji, still buzzing with nervous energy, paced back and forth across the small living room as she adjusted the two large boxes of pizza on the table. She glanced at the red and white wine bottles once more, nodding to herself. "Okay, so we've got options," she muttered under her breath, pushing her hair back as she opened a drawer beneath the table.

With a swift motion, she pulled out a bottle of soju and— after a bit of rummaging— a bottle of gin.

"Just in case," she told herself as she placed them both down. She then turned to her crew, who had been quietly laughing at her antics from the sidelines. “I mean, what if she’s like, ‘Oh, I don't want to drink wine today,’ and then I look like a bad host? Can’t have that. So, variety!" She tapped the gin bottle with a grin. "This one’s a wildcard. I’ve never even had gin before.”

One of the writers laughed. “Are you gonna try it before she gets here?”

Youngji widened her eyes. "I mean… yeah, why not? Let’s see what we’re working with." She grabbed the gin bottle, twisting the cap open. The strong, herbal smell hit her instantly, making her reel back with an exaggerated grimace. “Woah! Okay! Wow, it smells like… it smells like it's gonna end me. This stuff smells dangerous.”

Her crew chuckled, egging her on as she poured a shot. With a deep breath, she threw back the shot, and her entire face contorted in an instant. She physically recoiled, her shoulders pulling in tight as she squeezed her eyes shut, barely suppressing a full-body shiver.

"Yeah, nope. That’s definitely strong," she gasped, blinking rapidly as she set the shot glass down on the table with more force than intended. “She’s definitely not going to like this. I mean, if she doesn’t like the taste of beer, this is gonna be a hard no.”

Just as she continued joking with the director about their drink options, the doorbell suddenly rang, cutting through the chatter.

Everyone froze.

There was a collective intake of breath from the crew as they turned toward the door, eyes wide.

Youngji’s eyes darted around the room before landing on the intercom on the wall. "Oh my god, she’s here! Guys, she's here!" she whispered, her hands flailing. In her excitement, she tripped over her own feet, catching herself on the back of the chair with a laugh. "Why am I like this?!"

Still panicking, she scrambled to the intercom, pressing the button to reveal a small screen showing a grainy video of Luna standing outside, waiting patiently at the door.

The camera zoomed in on Luna’s soft, bright features framed by her stylishly casual pink top, which showed off a glimpse of her effortless, chic vibe.

“Who is it?” Youngji asked, her voice playful, but she couldn’t hide the excitement.

“It’s Luna,” came the soft, melodic response from the other side, followed by a smile from the girl on screen. Luna’s face lit up with warmth as her voice echoed through the small apartment.

“Oh my god!” Youngji squealed before she dramatically slid down the wall in slow motion, as though the weight of meeting Luna in person had become too much to bear. Her crew burst into laughter, the room filling with their amusement as Youngji sat crumpled on the floor. “Why is she so pretty?! It’s not fair!” she wailed, covering her face with both hands.

Suddenly, as if struck by a lightning bolt of energy, Youngji shot to her feet and sprinted toward another room. “I need to put on perfume!” she yelled, disappearing into the hallway, her crew doubling over with laughter.

After a moment, Youngji reappeared, the perfume forgotten, trying to catch her breath. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself, and began to hum the chorus of “HOT” by SEVENTEEN as if to hype herself up. “Alright, let’s go!” she muttered, pacing back and forth again. “I’m fine… I can do this…”

She grabbed the gin bottle one more time, pouring another shot, and before she could second-guess herself, she downed it with a wince. “Nope. Still gross,” she whispered to no one in particular, her face scrunched up as she cringed once more. Shaking off the burn, she rushed toward the door.

“Who is it?” she asked again, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

There was a soft laugh from the other side. “It’s Luna. It’s me.”

Youngji, dramatic as ever, slid down the door this time, her body slowly crumpling to the floor in a display of exaggerated defeat as her crew lost it, their laughter echoing throughout the room.

After a moment, she finally gathered herself, stood up with a playful determination, and opened the door. "Hello!"

There, in the doorway, stood Luna, her radiant smile soft and welcoming. She was dressed in a pastel pink top, casually draped over a cropped white tube top, paired with light-washed jeans that hugged her figure effortlessly. Her hair fell in gentle waves, her expression relaxed yet excited as if she’d just stepped out of a fashion shoot without trying too hard.

Youngji blinked, her jaw dropping slightly as she took in the sight before her. “Oh, wow,” she whispered, not quite realizing she’d said it out loud.

As Youngji opened the door, her eyes quickly darted to the box Luna was holding, wrapped in simple, elegant paper with a delicate ribbon tied around it. Without a second thought, she reached out and gently fussed over the box.

“Oh, no, no, no— give that to me. You shouldn't be holding that!” Youngji exclaimed, reaching for the box, her tone full of concern. She took it from Luna’s hands, cradling it carefully, as if it were something fragile.

Luna chuckled softly, bowing slightly to the crew and waving at the camera with a warm, easy smile. "Hello, everyone!" she greeted, her voice lilting and sweet as she gave the camera a quick wave. She looked genuinely pleased to be there, her smile growing wider as the crew responded with a collective greeting.

While Luna faced the camera, Youngji couldn't help but admire her from the back. The way Luna carried herself was effortless yet graceful— her top hanging perfectly over her shoulders, the soft, pink fabric catching the light. Youngji's eyes traced the loose waves of Luna’s hair and how they cascaded down her back.

She sighed under her breath. "How is she this pretty, though?"

After Luna finished greeting the crew, she turned her attention back to Youngji, her smile never faltering. “Youngji, it’s so good to finally see you in person,” she exclaimed.

Youngji, caught off guard by her own admiring thoughts, blinked and smiled back. “I know, right? It feels like we’ve been trying to schedule this for forever! Come in, sit, sit!” she urged, motioning to the table. She gently placed the box she had taken from Luna on the table as Luna took a seat across from her.

Youngji’s curiosity piqued, she glanced at the box again and asked, "So, what's in here? Is it for me?" Her eyes sparkled with genuine excitement.

Luna nodded, her lips curling into a small smile. “Yes, it’s a gift. I wanted to bring something special since I’ve known I’d be coming on your show for a while now.”

With wide eyes, Youngji carefully opened the box, peeling back the ribbon and lifting the lid with anticipation. Inside, nestled carefully in soft tissue paper, was a stunningly beautiful set of plates, cups, spoons, and forks— each piece looked intricately designed, with delicate patterns running along the edges. The set had an unmistakable elegance, the kind that screamed of fine craftsmanship. The plates and cups shimmered subtly under the lights, the porcelain pristine and polished, accented by gold and silver trimming.

Youngji gasped loudly, her mouth falling open as she froze for a moment, simply staring. “No way!” she finally breathed out. “This is— this is beautiful!” She turned the box towards her crew, showing them the set, and instantly, the room erupted into murmurs of amazement.

One of the staff members leaned in to get a closer look, and their director let out a low whistle. "Wow, that looks expensive," one of them commented.

“It is!” Youngji exclaimed, her eyes still wide. “Luna, why would you give me something this pretty? I don’t deserve this!” She looked up at Luna, completely stunned.

Luna laughed softly, shaking her head. “I was in Paris for a schedule a few weeks ago, and I thought of you. I know you like hosting and cooking on your show, so I figured you might appreciate something like this. Plus, I love pretty cutlery and tableware myself,” she added with a grin, “so I thought you might enjoy it too.”

Youngji blinked, processing Luna’s words as she gently ran her fingers over the smooth surface of one of the plates. “Wait, so you’ve been planning this? You thought of me while you were in Paris?” She sounded both flattered and bewildered, her voice growing a little softer as she spoke.

Luna nodded earnestly. “Yes. I wanted to get you something meaningful, and I knew I’d be coming here, so I wanted it to be special.”

Suddenly, Youngji stood up from her chair, bowing deeply on the ground in a dramatic fashion. "Thank you so much. I feel so honored! I don’t think I’ve ever received something this thoughtful in my life!” She remained bent at the waist, her voice filled with gratitude.

Luna’s laughter filled the room, the sound light and full of warmth. “Youngji, you don’t have to bow like that!” she said between giggles, waving her hands. “It’s just a gift. I’m happy you like it.”

As Youngji straightened up, she grinned from ear to ear. “Like it? I love it! I’m never going to let anyone else touch these— ever. They’re going into a glass case!” She cradled the box as if it were a precious relic.

The room was filled with laughter as the two women continued to gush over the gift.

Youngji leaned back in her chair, her eyes glinting with playful curiosity. “Okay, okay, let’s start this thing right,” she said, clasping her hands together dramatically. “So, I heard from Hoshi…” she paused for effect, glancing at Luna as if to prepare her for the big reveal, “…that you don’t drink beer?”

Luna laughed, a little sheepish as she nodded. “Yeah, beer’s really not my thing. I don’t like the taste.”

With an exaggerated nod, Youngji clapped her hands together. “I knew it! That’s why,” she gestured toward the small bar set up next to them, “I prepared an assortment of drinks for you. I thought, you know, options! Since you’re not a beer girl.” She stood up, making a grand gesture as she presented the collection of spirits and mixers she had lined up.

Luna raised her eyebrows in surprise, genuinely impressed. “Wow, this is… a lot. You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I know, but you deserve it,” Youngji said with a wink. “So, let’s see what we’ve got here. There’s soju, white wine, red wine, even some gin.” She paused, her expression suddenly serious as she pointed at one of the bottles. “I tried the gin earlier, and, to be honest, I’m not sure you’re gonna like it.”

Luna, instead of shying away as Youngji had expected, tilted her head and smiled. “I think I’ll try the gin, actually.”

The room fell into a brief silence.

“Wait, really?” Youngji blinked in disbelief, holding the bottle like it might bite. “You’re sure? Gin’s pretty strong, you know…”

Luna nodded confidently, her calm demeanor unwavering. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s fine.”

Youngji eyed her suspiciously, but with a shrug, she began to pour two shots into small glasses. “Okay, okay,” she muttered, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As the gin splashed into the glasses, Luna leaned back casually in her chair. “The only alcohol I don’t drink is beer,” she deadpanned, her voice so even and serious that it took a second for the joke to register. “And rubbing alcohol,” she added after a beat.

The room burst into laughter, including Youngji, who was nearly doubling over as she placed the gin bottle back on the table. “Oh my God, Luna, please!” she cackled, her voice high-pitched with mock of amusement. “You’re a comedian!”

Luna grinned, taking the glass from Youngji’s hand and raising it. “Cheers?”

Youngji straightened up and mirrored her, though her expression was still one of doubt. “Cheers!” They clinked their glasses together before tilting their heads back and downing the shots.

What shocked everyone in the room wasn’t Youngji, who immediately cringed and shuddered as if she had just been electrocuted— her whole body recoiling from the harsh bite of the gin.

It was Luna, who didn’t even flinch. She set her glass back down on the table without as much as a twitch, her face a picture of calm serenity, as if she had just taken a sip of water rather than a strong gin.

Youngji, still recovering, blinked at her in awe. “What the—” she stammered, her voice almost a whisper. “You didn’t even move!”

The crew let out murmurs of admiration, their eyes wide as they continued to marvel at Luna’s steely composure.

Luna laughed softly, raising her shoulders in a playful shrug. “What can I say? I’m just built differently.”

Youngji stared at her for a moment longer, completely shocked, before shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re scary, Luna,” she finally declared, making the crew chuckle. “Like, seriously.”

Luna’s laughter filled the room again, light and warm. “Oh, come on, I’m not scary!”

Youngji raised her hands, gesturing dramatically toward Luna’s cool composure. “This is exactly what I mean! Who takes gin like that? Scary.”

Luna shook her head, still smiling. “You’re too much.”

Wiping away an imaginary tear, Youngji straightened up in her chair and cleared her throat. “Alright, alright,” she began, transitioning the conversation with a more serious tone, “I just have to get this out of the way— because it’s been on my mind for a while.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, curious but smiling. “Oh? What is it?”

Youngji leaned forward, eyes narrowing playfully. “You… intimidate me,” she confessed with a laugh, though there was a slight hint of truth in her tone. “Like, seriously. I don’t know why, but I was so nervous before meeting you!”

Luna’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyebrow lifting in amusement. “You’re not the first to say that,” she replied, her voice light and almost teasing. “I get that a lot, actually.”

Youngji’s eyes widened slightly as she sat back, looking genuinely surprised. “Really?”

Luna nodded, her expression softening. “Yeah. Ever since I was younger, people would always tell me I gave off that vibe,” she explained with a shrug. “Even during my trainee years, people thought I was kind of… scary, I guess.”

Youngji tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “But, like, you’re so chill. Did that ever bother you? People thinking you’re intimidating?”

For a moment, Luna hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table as she considered the question. Then, she shook her head. “It used to when I was younger. It kind of got to me because I thought, ‘Why do people think that about me? I’m not like that at all.’” She paused, her voice soft but steady. “But I realized, you know, people are gonna believe what they want to believe. And usually, once they get to know me, that impression changes.”

Youngji nodded thoughtfully, absorbing Luna’s words. “So it doesn’t offend you anymore?”

Luna shook her head again, more firmly this time. “No, not really. I mean, it’s a part of life, right? First impressions aren’t always accurate.” She chuckled softly before glancing toward the cameras where the director and staff were sitting, her eyes twinkling with humor. “I’m not a scary person, I promise,” she called out to them, making everyone laugh. “My face just looks like this! It’s my resting face.”

Youngji burst out laughing, nodding in agreement. “See, this is why you’re dangerous! The duality!”

Luna couldn’t help but join in, her laughter filling the room as Youngji playfully fanned herself, pretending to recover from the “shock” of Luna’s words.

Youngji clinked her glass lightly against Luna's before refilling both their glasses with gin, the clear liquid sloshing in the light. She squinted at Luna mischievously, a playful grin pulling at the corner of her lips.

“Alright, Luna-ssi,” she said, leaning forward a little, eyebrows raised in faux suspicion, “I wanna hear some things about your drinking habits. What’s the deal? You don’t like drinking beer, but... for some reason like gin. What’s your alcohol tolerance, hm?” Her words came out with that infectious energy she was known for, her curiosity a mix of casual but always playful.

Luna, who had been comfortably sitting, looked amused at the question. She let out a light laugh, glancing down at the gin-filled glass in front of her. “Well,” she began, her voice thoughtful, “I don’t really like drinking that much. I guess you could say I’m more of a social drinker. I mean... I drink when it’s for occasions like this—” she gestured around to Youngji and the cameras. “—but I don’t usually go out of my way for it.”

Youngji leaned in closer, her eyes wide with exaggerated disbelief. “Oh come on, you have to give me more than that! What about your tolerance? You seem like you could hold your own.”

Luna chuckled, shaking her head. “Actually, I do have a pretty high alcohol tolerance.” She paused, taking the glass and swirling the gin around as if she were contemplating it deeply. “But... I’m going to be honest, I think this gin is going to end me tonight.”

That comment got a chorus of laughter from the crew, and Youngji burst into giggles, almost spilling her own drink in the process. “That’s what I thought!” Youngji exclaimed, slapping her knee. “Gin is no joke! It’s like... it’s like a slap in the face.”

Luna grinned, raising the glass to her lips but pausing to add, “But don’t get me wrong— I’m not saying I can’t handle it. It’s just... you know… It’s strong.”

Youngji dramatically recoiled back into her chair, waving her hands. “No, no. You’re too calm about this. If you’ve got a high tolerance, I’m scared for my own life now.” Her voice dropped in mock fear, and she glanced towards the crew with an exaggerated wide-eyed expression.

Luna deadpanned, looking Youngji squarely in the eye. “Youngji-ah... you’re not normal.”

Youngji cackled so hard she nearly fell out of her chair, grabbing the edge of the table for support as she doubled over in laughter. Her laughter was infectious, and soon, everyone in the room was laughing along with her, the absurdity of the situation settling over them like a warm blanket.

Still recovering, Youngji wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. “I—” she began, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She held her hands up in surrender but was still chuckling. “I’ll tone it down.”

Luna just shook her head, smiling warmly. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied smoothly, her calm demeanor only adding to the comedic contrast of the situation. “I’m used to it. Besides, I work with thirteen guys. Crazy is... pretty much my normal.”

That comment earned another round of laughter from the crew, and even Youngji was back to cackling, clapping her hands. “Touché! Oh my God, you’ve definitely been through it.”

Luna gave a knowing nod, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “You have no idea.”

As the laughter died down, Youngji straightened herself in her chair, taking her glass of gin again. “Alright, alright,” she said, breathing deeply as if preparing for battle. “Here we go, another shot of gin— because I’m trying to be brave in front of Luna.”

Luna gave her a mock-serious nod like she was some kind of alcohol sensei. “Good luck,” she said solemnly, lifting her own glass. They clinked glasses once more and threw back their drinks, Youngji immediately cringing as the gin hit her throat.

“Aghhh!” Youngji exclaimed, shaking her head violently as the strong alcohol sent a wave of heat through her chest. “I’m... alive... but barely.”

Luna, on the other hand, took her shot like a pro, setting the glass down with a cool, calm expression. “Not bad,” she said casually.

Youngji stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “How are you so calm?! Do you not have taste buds or something? That was like drinking fire!”

Luna chuckled, but her expression remained almost too composed. “You just need practice,” she said, her voice light and teasing. The crew burst into laughter once again at her nonchalant attitude, while Youngji just pointed at Luna in mock accusation.

“You are terrifying. Absolutely terrifying,” Youngji declared, pretending to back away from her guest as if she were dangerous.

Luna finally let out a real laugh, shaking her head. “I promise, I’m not that scary,” she reassured her, though the grin on her face said otherwise.

“Well, Luna,” Youngji sighed, leaning back in her chair dramatically. “I think I’ve learned something today— never challenge Luna to a drinking contest.” She pointed at the camera as if issuing a public service announcement. “Don’t do it. You will lose.”

The two shared another laugh, the playful energy between them making the room feel alive.

Youngji leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling with the mischievous curiosity that made her such a great host. “So…” she started, a playful tone creeping into her voice as she transitioned to English, “I heard you’re from London.”

Luna raised her eyebrows and let out a small chuckle. “Oh, you heard?” she teased. She knew this topic would come up eventually— it always did.

“Yeah!” Youngji exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat as she grabbed her glass for another sip. “I’ve been dying to ask you about that. So, you grew up in Kensington, right?”

Luna smiled warmly, nodding. “Yeah, I was born and raised there.”

Youngji’s eyes widened as if she had just been handed some earth-shattering news. “Kensington! That sounds so fancy! Isn’t that where all the rich people live?” Her tone was exaggerated, causing Luna to burst out laughing.

“It’s not that fancy,” Luna tried to downplay it, still giggling. “But yeah, it’s a nice area.”

Youngji leaned in dramatically, narrowing her eyes. “So, do you have that proper British accent? Like the ones in movies? Can you say something like—” she thought for a second, then added in the most over-the-top British accent she could manage, “Would you like a cup of tea, madam?”

Luna doubled over laughing, holding up her hand. “No, no, no— oh my God, that accent!” she exclaimed, barely able to get the words out. “That’s like… a parody of what people think British people sound like!”

Youngji grinned, not backing down. “Oh, come on! You gotta give me something! Is your accent like that?”

Luna shook her head, still laughing. “My accent’s softer now,” she explained. “It used to be a lot deeper when I was younger. Very English. But I’ve lived abroad so long now, it’s kind of… faded. Plus, I’ve been in Korea for years, so it’s not as strong as it used to be.”

Youngji’s eyes lit up with intrigue. “Ooooh, so you were, like, super British when you were little?”

Luna nodded, a fond smile crossing her lips. “Yeah, I was very much the stereotypical British kid— mummy can I have some more cake,” she said in a perfect British accent, throwing her hand up in an exaggerated way that made Youngji cackle in delight. “My mom loved to bake, so I would say that a lot.”

“There it is!” Youngji pointed at her, laughing. “That’s the accent I wanted to hear! You sounded like you just walked out of a Harry Potter!”

Luna rolled her eyes playfully. “I mean, it’s still there… when I’m really tired, frustrated, or angry, it comes out more.”

Youngji leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Okay, I have to hear you speak when tired then.”

Luna smirked, raising her glass. “Maybe after a few more drinks. We’ll see.”

Youngji grinned at the challenge. “I’ll hold you to that!”

They both clinked their glasses, and the atmosphere between them relaxed and filled with a playful energy.

“So, what’s it like growing up there?” Youngji asked, refilling Luna’s glass. “It sounds so glamorous.”

Luna shrugged casually, swirling the gin in her glass. “I mean, it was… nice, but it wasn’t all that different from growing up anywhere else, I guess. Except maybe the weather— it’s London, mostly gloomy. It rains a lot.”

Youngji scrunched her nose in mock disgust. “Oh no, I’d hate that. I need sunshine to survive.”

Luna laughed. “Yeah, me too! Gloomy weather makes me feel like I’m sick but I do miss it sometimes.”

Youngji tapped her chin, her eyes narrowing again as if something had just dawned on her. “Wait, does that mean you drank tea all the time? Isn’t that, like, a thing in the UK?”

Luna deadpanned, her voice dropping to a flat, mock-serious tone. “Yes. Tea is basically our water.”

Youngji burst out laughing again, clutching her stomach. “I knew it! I knew it was real!”

Luna grinned, shaking her head. “No, but seriously—everyone drinks tea. It’s a big deal.”

“Did you ever go to those fancy tea parties?” Youngji asked, still giggling.

Luna snorted. “What do you think, we all sit around in gowns drinking tea out of gold cups? It’s not like that!”

Youngji threw her head back laughing. “I was imagining you in one of those big hats and everything!”

“Yeah, no,” Luna chuckled. “It was mostly just normal attire with a cup of tea.”

Youngji wiped away a tear from laughing so hard, shaking her head. “Oh my God, you’re destroying all my British fantasies.”

“Good,” Luna said, raising her glass again. “Someone needed to.”

The two of them burst into laughter once more, the conversation flowing seamlessly between playful banter and genuine curiosity. Every now and then, Luna’s British accent would slip out, only to send Youngji into another fit of giggles as she begged her to keep talking like that.

Youngji, still giggling from their last exchange about tea parties, reached for the bottle of gin and poured them both another shot. “Okay, one more,” she said with a playful grin, raising her glass. Luna winced but smiled, nodding in agreement. They clinked their glasses together, and with a quick breath, they downed the shots.

Luna’s face immediately scrunched up as the gin burned its way down her throat. “Oh my God,” she groaned, setting her glass down as if it had personally offended her. “I’m starting to feel it.”

Youngji, equally as dramatic, smacked her lips, shaking her head in mock disbelief. “How do people drink this for fun?!” she exclaimed, fanning her face.

Luna laughed, “I don’t know… we are doing it right now though.”

Youngji burst out laughing again, slumping back into her chair. “Girl— you’re right, girl!”

Still recovering from the shot, Youngji tapped her fingers on the table, curiosity creeping into her expression. “So,” she began, “I’ve always wondered… Why did you want to become an idol? And how was it adjusting to moving to Korea?”

Luna took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair as she smiled a little to herself. “Honestly, it shocked me as much as anyone else,” she started. “I was a ballerina back in London, you know.”

Youngji’s eyes lit up, and she pointed at Luna with exaggerated confidence. “I know! You were!”

Luna couldn’t help but chuckle at how proud Youngji sounded, but she continued her story. “Yeah, so I was pretty set on becoming a professional ballet dancer. That was my world. But… when I was about thirteen, something weird happened.”

Youngji leaned forward, intrigued. “Weird how?”

Luna’s eyes sparkled with the memory, her voice becoming more animated. “I was doing a ballet recital, right? Performing in front of a big crowd like I usually do. And I was always laser-focused when I performed ballet— always. But that night… for some reason, as I was dancing, this… this urge came over me.”

Youngji’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “An urge?”

“To sing,” Luna said, almost dramatically, her eyes wide with disbelief, even as she remembered it. “In the middle of my ballet routine, I had this sudden urge to just start singing. Like, right then and there on stage. I had never felt anything like that before.”

Youngji’s mouth fell open in shock. “What?! You wanted to just burst out into song during a ballet performance?”

Luna nodded, laughing softly at the absurdity of it. “Exactly. I remember thinking, ‘What is going on with me? I’m supposed to be focused on this performance, and all I can think about is singing.’ That’s when I knew something was shifting.”

Youngji stared at her, mouth still agape before finally pointing at Luna again. “You’re insane,” she said, but with the utmost affection. “In the best way, though.”

Luna grinned, shaking her head. “I guess so. That’s when I started thinking seriously about singing and performing on stage in a different way.”

Youngji was still processing Luna’s unexpected revelation, but then her expression shifted, curiosity spiking again. “So… how did your parents react to all of this? Were they, like, cool with you just dropping ballet?”

Luna leaned back, taking a moment to think. “Well, at first, they were pretty hesitant— my mom especially since she’s a retired ballerina and she trained me. Ballet had been my life for so long, and they had supported me all the way. So when I told them I wanted to move to Korea and become an idol…”

Youngji gasped dramatically, leaning in with a hand to her chest. “Wait, you told them that straight up?! You didn’t slowly plant the idea in their head?”

“Yeah,” Luna laughed. “I was dead serious. They were pretty surprised, but once they saw how committed I was, they agreed. It wasn’t easy, though.”

Youngji nodded, still hanging on every word. “So when did you move to Korea?”

“When I was about fourteen,” Luna replied. “I stayed with my aunt for a while before I started training.”

“Fourteen?!” Youngji exclaimed. “That’s so young! Was it hard adjusting?”

Luna nodded thoughtfully. “It was really tough at first. Being away from home, mastering Korean— I knew a little Korean before moving here but it wasn’t perfect, so naturally I had to study. I had to balance school and training… it was a lot.”

Youngji’s expression softened. “But you had your members, right?”

Luna smiled warmly. “Yeah, I’m really grateful for them. They helped me adjust, especially Jeonghannie oppa.”

Youngji perked up at the mention of Jeonghan’s name. “Jeonghan-ssi? Really? Why?”

Luna nodded. “He was my first real friend when I got here. He kind of looked out for me and took care of me, made sure I wasn’t too homesick.”

Youngji’s eyes softened, a rare moment of calm on her usually excitable face. “That’s sweet.”

Luna chuckled. “Yeah, he’s pretty sweet.”

Youngji, not missing a beat, clapped her hands together and leaned in again, her usual energy returning. “Okay, but wait— did he help you learn Korean, or did he just make fun of you the whole time?”

Luna burst out laughing at the thought. “A bit of both, honestly. He definitely teased me a lot.”

“Of course he did. Teenage boys are like that.” Youngji deadpanned, shaking her head knowingly.

The two of them dissolved into laughter once again, the conversation shifting back to their usual playful banter.

Youngji, still smiling after Luna’s sweet mention of Jeonghan, leaned forward and asked, curiosity lighting up her face. “Okay, so what’s it like having thirteen guys around you all the time? It must be insane, unnie!”

She grabbed another piece of food from the table and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she waited for Luna’s answer. Luna, mirroring Youngji’s actions, took a bite herself, pausing for a second to gather her thoughts.

“It’s… honestly, it’s the best,” Luna said with a soft smile. “I feel really blessed to have them. They’re like… my family.”

Youngji’s eyebrows shot up dramatically, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thirteen brothers? That’s, like, a sitcom waiting to happen!” she exclaimed, waving her chopsticks in the air.

Luna awkwardly laughed before nodding in agreement. “You could say that. But really, I’m so grateful that I met them.”

Youngji pointed her chopsticks at Luna, her eyes wide with exaggerated amazement. “Girl, you better be grateful! You’ve got a whole squad.”

Luna chuckled, leaning back in her seat as she reminisced. “I’m an only child, so growing up, I was used to being on my own. I loved it in a lot of ways, but… it was kind of lonely sometimes.”

Youngji raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Yeah, I bet. No siblings to steal your clothes or your food or fight over toys with?”

“Exactly!” Luna replied, laughing. “But it also meant I didn’t have that built-in friend growing up. I didn’t really have that many close friends in school either. I was… a little bit shy, I guess.”

Youngji gasped dramatically. “You? Shy?”

Luna nodded, her laughter more sheepish now. “Yeah, I was. I remember wishing I could have a lot of friends, people I could really trust, you know? And now… well, now I have thirteen best friends.”

Youngji’s jaw dropped again as if she had just heard the most unbelievable thing in the world. “Thirteen best friends… That’s so unfair,” she groaned, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand. “I’m so jealous.”

Luna smiled softly, her eyes shining as she continued, “Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without them. Sometimes I think about it, you know? In another universe, maybe I didn’t audition, or maybe I didn’t end up in the final lineup… but I still feel like, somehow, I would have found my way to them. Even if it was just as a fan.”

Youngji let out a dramatic wail, sliding off her chair onto the floor as if Luna’s words had physically overwhelmed her. “Noooo! Why are you so sweet?” she whined, lying face-down on the ground, her hands covering her head as if she couldn’t handle the emotions.

Luna burst out laughing, pointing at Youngji flopped on the floor like a starfish. “What are you doing?” she giggled, her laughter echoing through the room.

Youngji peeked up from the ground, her face scrunched up in mock agony. “You’re so lucky! I want thirteen best friends too! Why don’t I have that?!”

Luna, still laughing, shook her head. “Well, you can start with me. I’ll be your first best friend.”

Youngji’s eyes widened like a child who had just been told they could have unlimited candy. “Really?!” she squealed, and then suddenly, she started wiggling on the ground, sliding up and down like a worm. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she chanted, her excitement bubbling over, making the camera crew in the room burst into laughter as well.

Luna was laughing so hard her stomach hurt, and between giggles, she pointed at Youngji. “Okay, stop! Get off the floor!” she said playfully, shaking her head in disbelief.

Youngji, still wiggling dramatically, finally let out a sigh of contentment and flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m jealous, but like, in the best way,” she declared with a dramatic wave of her hand. “You’re so lucky. Thirteen best friends… I’m still gonna say it’s unfair.”

Luna chuckled, combing her fingers through her hair. “Well, now you have me, so we’re off to a good start.”

Youngji sat up with a determined look in her eyes. “I’m starting my own best friend group. It’s gonna be epic.”

The crew continued to laugh as Youngji sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands on her hips as if she had just made the most important decision of her life.

As Youngji clambered back onto her seat, she dusted off her pants with exaggerated flair, earning a few chuckles from the crew. Settling into her chair, she reached for her drink, only for Luna to suddenly deadpan, “I must be getting tipsy… I don’t usually pour my feelings out like this.”

Her tone was so unexpectedly dry and serious that the entire room erupted in laughter. Even Youngji slapped the table, her shoulders shaking as she tried to catch her breath.

Luna blinked innocently, bringing her hand up to check her own cheeks for warmth. “Yeah, definitely getting warm…”

Youngji, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, snickered, “Oh no, if you’re getting tipsy, then I’m in serious trouble.” She leaned in closer, almost as if she was about to share a secret, “You know what this means? It’s time for a drinking game.”

Luna raised an eyebrow, watching curiously as Youngji turned towards the front of the set, where one of the crew members handed her something. Youngji grabbed it with a grin, bringing it back to the table like a prize she couldn’t wait to show off.

From behind her back, she revealed a toy: the Pop-Up Pirate game, except instead of the usual pirate figure in the barrel, it was a tiny Hello Kitty, and the entire barrel was painted pink with adorable little hearts.

Luna’s eyes lit up, a mixture of amusement and surprise flickering across her face. “That’s so cute!” she exclaimed, pointing at the Hello Kitty figure. Her attention was half on the game and half on the food still on her plate, absentmindedly eating as Youngji prepared the game.

Youngji was in her element now, the gin starting to take full effect as she chaotically began explaining the rules, her words coming out in a rapid, excited slur. “Okay, okay, here’s how it works. You stick the swords in the barrel—” she made a dramatic poking motion, “—and when Hello Kitty pops up? Boom, you gotta take a shot.”

Luna nodded slowly, processing the instructions as she chewed on her food, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Still mid-bite, she asked, “What does the winner get?”

There was a pause.

Everyone turned to look at her, including the crew, and they couldn’t hold back their laughter at how adorable she looked, her face stuffed with food, eyes wide with curiosity. “She’s so cute,” one of the staff whispered to another, and Youngji pointed at Luna, grinning like she’d found her new favorite thing.

“Bragging rights, obviously!” Youngji declared triumphantly, waving her hand as if that was the ultimate prize.

Luna simply nodded, her cheeks still full as she swallowed her bite. “Got it,” she said, her voice muffled but satisfied.

Youngji, still laughing under her breath, scooted some glasses out of the way, creating space in the middle of the table. With an overly dramatic flourish, she placed the pink barrel in the center, the little Hello Kitty bobbing slightly in its spot.

Youngji, with her trademark tipsy grin, raised her arms in the air like she was signaling a race. “Alright, let’s start!” she slurred excitedly.

Luna, still chewing quietly, gave a little “Ok” hand sign, her cheeks slightly puffed out with food, causing more chuckles from the crew.

Youngji wobbled a little in her chair before turning her attention to Luna, who was still chewing. “Since you’re the guest…” Youngji waved her hand dramatically toward the Hello Kitty barrel. “You go first!”

Luna, still in her quiet, focused state, swallowed her last bite and calmly reached over to the tiny pink sword resting on the table. She picked it up, inspecting it for a second before leaning in toward the barrel. She found an empty slot and gingerly inserted the sword into the opening.

The crew watched closely, but Hello Kitty remained safely inside.

“Ahhh, close one,” Youngji teased, her voice slurred as she pointed at Luna. “See? Beginner’s luck… but don’t worry, it won’t last.”

Luna simply smiled, staying quiet as she reached for another bite of food. It was now Youngji’s turn, and she stood up, suddenly all fired up. “Alright, alright. Watch this!” she boasted, picking up her mini sword with exaggerated importance. “I’m, like, really good at this game. Haven’t lost once.”

The crew exchanged knowing glances, stifling their laughter, but Youngji didn’t notice. She rambled on, standing over the pink barrel. “See, the key is to—” But before she could finish her sentence, she slid her sword into the slot, and with a loud pop, Hello Kitty flew out of the barrel.

The entire crew burst into laughter, clapping and pointing at Youngji’s misfortune as she stood there frozen in shock, mouth open in disbelief.

Luna, meanwhile, glanced up at Youngji with her big doe eyes, still chewing quietly, almost like she was mentally asking, What was that?

The silence was broken when the crew started chanting, “Shot! Shot! Shot!” Luna bopped her head lightly to the chant, finding the whole situation far too amusing.

Youngji snapped back to reality, letting out a playful groan as she reached for the bottle to pour herself a shot. “Alright, alright, I get it. I lost,” she mockingly declared, waving off the crowd with fake defeat as she poured the drink. “I’ll drink, I’ll drink…”

Luna, having swallowed her bite by now, deadpanned, “Wah, Youngji, you really have bad luck.”

The crew erupted into even louder laughter, and Youngji scoffed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe the shade being thrown at her. “Yah! It’s not that! I told you, you’re just too lucky!”

Luna, with her perfect comedic timing, tilted her head slightly and responded, “It could be both.”

Youngji had barely raised the shot glass to her lips when Luna’s words hit, causing her to almost spit out her drink as she laughed. The sight of Youngji trying to keep it together only made the crew laugh harder.

Luna chuckled at the chaos she’d just created, clearly entertained by how easily her words had thrown Youngji off balance.

Youngji, still giggling from her last defeat, slapped her hands on the table and leaned toward Luna, her words slightly slurring. “Alright, round two. We’re doing another one!” She pointed dramatically at the barrel, her drunken determination shining through.

Luna smirked and nodded calmly, her coolness an amusing contrast to Youngji’s energetic chaos. “Sure,” she said, her voice even. “Let’s do it.”

They reset the barrel, and Youngji, with exaggerated concentration, handed Luna another pink sword. “You first,” she slurred, pretending to be gracious.

Luna inserted her sword into the barrel with ease, Hello Kitty remained still.

Youngji shot her a suspicious look, leaning in toward the toy. “This time for sure,” she muttered under her breath as she selected her own sword. She raised it above her head like it was a lightsaber. “Watch and learn,” she bragged, but her hand wobbled as she inserted the sword— nothing happened.

Luna, still calm, chose her next sword without much fuss, slipping it in.

Again, nothing.

Youngji was clearly trying to psyche herself up. “You know,” she said, slurring slightly, “I have a theory. I think this Hello Kitty likes me. That’s why she’s staying in, she doesn’t want to leave me.” She poked at the toy’s head playfully.

Luna bit back a smile. “Maybe you’re too nice. You should try being more firm with her.”

Youngji shook her head, picking up another sword. “Oh, no, no, no. It’s all about finesse.” She placed her sword into the barrel, her fingers barely grazing the surface as she bragged, “See, I—” But her sentence was cut off by the sudden pop of the toy, and Hello Kitty flew out, shocking them both.

The crew erupted in laughter again as Youngji froze in disbelief, her hands raised in surrender. “Noooo!” she cried, her voice dramatically slurred as she pointed accusingly at the barrel. “I swear this game is rigged.”

Luna calmly looked at her, then tilted her head slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I don’t think Hello Kitty likes you that much,” she deadpanned.

The crew lost it, laughing even harder at Luna’s cool and dry delivery. Youngji’s jaw dropped, her hands flailing toward Luna as she exclaimed, “You— Luna… you’re too much.” She poured herself a shot as the crew continued to chant, “Shot! Shot! Shot!”

Luna sat back, watching the scene unfold, her smile subtle but growing as Youngji dramatically poured her drink. “You’re too lucky!” Youngji whined, shooting Luna a side-eye.

Luna leaned in slightly. “Or maybe,” she quipped, “you’re just that unlucky.”

Youngji snorted and almost choked on her drink. “It’s both,” she said between coughs, while Luna chuckled under her breath, clearly entertained.

Youngji, wiping her eyes from the laughter, looked at Luna with a sly grin. “Alright, alright, you won fair and square, but now… since you’re on a winning streak, you have to do something special for the viewers.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her tone dripping with mischief. “How about a little dance from SEVENTEEN’s new comeback song, ‘_WORLD’? Give the people what they want!”

Luna, mid-chuckle, raised an eyebrow in amusement, “You want me to dance now? Here?”

“Yes!” Youngji pointed at her dramatically, her words slurred with excitement. “You gotta show off for the audience. It’s what the fans want! Plus, you’re on a roll.”

Luna rolled her eyes playfully, “You just want to see me dance.”

Youngji waved her hands dismissively. “Noooo!” Then, leaning in, she added with a wink, “Okay, maybe a little. But you always look amazing, I swear!”

With a small laugh, Luna reached for her phone, scrolling quickly to find the song, and joked. “Fine, fine, but don’t blame me if this goes viral.”

As Luna pulled up the track, Youngji suddenly snatched an empty glass cup from the table. “Wait, wait, wait! Put your phone in here!” she exclaimed, slurring the words as she held the cup out.

Luna’s laughter bubbled up as she realized what Youngji was suggesting. “You want to make a makeshift speaker?”

“Exactly!” Youngji nodded vigorously. “Trust me, it’ll make it sound soooo much better.”

Giggling, Luna placed her phone in the glass, and the music immediately amplified, filling the room with the upbeat rhythm of ‘_WORLD.’ Youngji clapped her hands with delight. “See? I’m a genius!”

Luna shook her head in amusement, standing up from her seat. “Okay, genius. Let’s see if I can pull this off tipsy.”

With the song blasting from the cup-turned-speaker, Luna waddled over to the small open space next to the table. Her movements were playful and exaggerated as she shuffled, her hands spread slightly for balance, eliciting laughter from Youngji and the crew.

Youngji, eyes wide and cheeks flushed from the alcohol clapped loudly. “Luna! Luna!” she cheered, her slurred voice barely keeping up with the rhythm.

As the chorus hit, Luna’s body naturally found the beat. Though the space was small and her head was a bit light from the drinks, she danced with an effortless grace, keeping her movements lively but controlled. She twirled lightly, then shot smiles and winks toward the camera, her face lighting up with the same charisma she showed on stage during performances.

Youngji, her enthusiasm spilling over, hollered, “Oh! Yesss! That’s it! Kill it, girl!” Her hands flailed in the air as she danced along with the song, albeit off-key and with a few mumbled words spilling out of her mouth.

The crew joined in, cheering and clapping, egging Luna on. Luna made eye contact with one of the cameras and winked, her expression flipping into full performance mode as she hit the final moves of the snippet. Her smile never wavered, and her eyes gleamed with playful confidence as if she were on stage at a massive concert rather than in a cozy room with tipsy friends.

As the chorus ended, Luna slowed her movements, bowing with a flourish as the music continued softly in the background. The room erupted into applause, Youngji leading the charge with a loud, “Woooo!” She slumped back into her seat, still clapping like an overenthusiastic fan.

“You’re too good! Too good!” Youngji exclaimed between claps, her words slurring even more now. “I don’t know how you do it. If I were you, I’d have fallen on my face by now!”

Luna giggled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you, thank you,” she said dramatically, bowing again. “But that was just me joking around.”

Youngji threw her hands up in mock disbelief. “Joking around?! Girl, that was perfection. I’m so jealous right now. I have a list now— I need thirteen best friends and your talent.”

Luna shook her head, laughing softly as she made her way back to the table. “You can have the best friends part, but the dancing? That’s all hard work.”

“Hard work and a little magic,” Youngji slurred, pouring herself another drink. She raised the glass toward Luna, still basking in the afterglow of the impromptu performance.

The crew chuckled at the toast, and Luna, a bit bashful, held up her glass in return. “I’ll take that,” she said with a grin. “Thank you, Youngji.”

They clinked glasses, Youngji still humming the melody of ‘_WORLD’ under her breath, completely content as Luna sat back down, feeling a little more lighthearted and relaxed.

Youngji, still buzzing from Luna’s impromptu performance, leaned forward with a playful grin. Her words came out slurred but full of curiosity. “Okay, okay, I gotta know,” she said, waving her hand dramatically in the air. “How do you do those killer facial expressions? Like… when you perform, you’re so good at it! Do you… like… practice in front of the mirror or something?”

Luna, who was nibbling on her pizza, chuckled softly and shook her head. “It’s not something I practice on purpose, really. I think it’s a talent I didn’t know I had, but it actually comes from ballet.”

“You do facial expressions in ballet?” Youngji repeated, eyes wide in drunken fascination. “Like… swan stuff?”

Luna nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, exactly. Facial expressions are really important in ballet. You have to convey a lot of emotion with your face because there’s no speaking. I think I just got used to emphasizing that, and when I perform with SEVENTEEN, it’s kind of second nature.”

Youngji stared at her, processing the information through her tipsy haze. “So… when you’re dancing, all those expressions… it’s like, fun for you? Like you enjoy making those faces?”

Luna nodded. “Yeah, it’s actually really fun. I think it helps relay the message of the song better. It’s one thing to dance, but if your face tells the story too, it’s more impactful.”

Youngji nodded vigorously. “Totally. Totally. So, like… what’s your favorite kind of expression? Like, do you like the cute stuff, or…?”

Luna laughed, glancing at her hands for a moment before answering. “I’m actually not that good at cute expressions,” she admitted, her voice a little shy. “I prefer the sexy, more mature, and cool looks.”

Youngji gasped in mock outrage. “Not good at cute?! Are you kidding? You’re, like, naturally cute! You literally proved that earlier when you danced!”

Luna couldn’t help but laugh again, nodding her head as she humored Youngji. “Thank you, I guess,” she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

“No, seriously,” Youngji insisted, her eyes wide with sincerity. “I’m telling the truth! You’re cute and sexy— it’s unfair!” She slapped the table lightly, the alcohol clearly fueling her exaggerated emotions.

Luna shook her head, still chuckling. “Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

But Youngji wasn’t done. With a sudden burst of energy, she clapped her hands. “Show us again! Show us those cute facial expressions while you dance. Come on, just one more time!”

Luna rolled her eyes playfully, though she was clearly enjoying the teasing. “What song should I play, then?” she asked, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her playlist.

Youngji thought for a moment, her face scrunched up in concentration. Then, as if a lightbulb had gone off, she shot up from her seat, clapping her hands together. “Oh! ‘Pretty U’! ‘Pretty U’! You have to do that one!” she shouted, pointing at Luna with wild excitement.

Luna raised an eyebrow, but she couldn’t suppress the smile creeping up on her lips. “‘Pretty U’? Really?”

“Yes!” Youngji slurred, nearly tripping over her own enthusiasm. “It’s perfect!”

With a cool nod, Luna found the song, played it, and once again placed her phone in the glass cup. As the music started, she stood up and stretched slightly, her movements slow and exaggerated as she prepared herself. “I’m really not good at cute expressions, you know,” she murmured under her breath as she walked back to the small open space.

Youngji, already swaying to the melody, slurred in disagreement. “Lies! Lies, I tell you! You perform this song so well! You’re gonna be adorable!”

Before Luna could start, Youngji held up a hand. “Wait, wait! You need a shot for more confidence!” She grabbed the bottle and poured a generous shot, handing it to Luna with a wide grin.

Luna burst out laughing, but she took the shot, downed it, and nodded at Youngji. “Alright, fine. Let’s see how this goes.”

As the bright, bubbly chorus of ‘Pretty U’ began to play, Luna shifted her demeanor. Her expression softened, a bright smile breaking across her face as she danced along to the chorus, the usual choreography mixed with over-the-top cute facial expressions. She batted her eyelashes toward the camera, made exaggerated heart signs, and even puffed her cheeks as she twirled lightly in the tiny space.

Youngji and her crew erupted into cheers and laughter, clapping wildly as Luna continued to dance. “You’re so cute!” Youngji shouted, her voice cracking from the sheer enthusiasm. “Yes, Luna, yes!”

As the chorus ended, Luna spun around and faced Youngji, raising an eyebrow in mock challenge. “Happy now?”

Youngji, now standing on her seat, clapping like an excited seal, nodded furiously. “Bravo! Bravo!” she shouted, her hands slapping together in rapid succession. “You nailed it, girl! I knew it!”

Luna, unable to contain her amusement, doubled over in laughter at the sight of Youngji standing on her chair, her face red with intoxicated excitement. “This is… you’re too much,” Luna giggled, shaking her head as the crew continued to cheer her on.

Youngji, still clapping and bouncing slightly on her chair, repeated, “Bravo!” in a slurred voice, clearly having the time of her life as Luna continued to laugh at the ridiculous scene unfolding before her.

Youngji, still high from the energy of Luna’s previous performance, wasn’t ready to let her off the hook. “Okay, okay, but now,” she slurred, eyes gleaming with excitement, “you gotta do your smirking, flirty face. You know the one I’m talking about!” She attempted a seductive smirk herself but ended up giggling at her own drunken attempt.

Luna was still laughing from Youngji’s dramatic cheering, but she played along. “Am I here to perform for you?” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Should I play ‘HOT’ then? I feel like that’s the right vibe.”

Youngji’s reaction was immediate. She threw her hands up in the air, nearly tipping over on her chair. “Yes! ‘HOT’! Play it! That’s perfect!” she slurred with an exaggerated nod, her eyes wide with excitement.

With a cool, playful grin, Luna nodded and began scrolling through her playlist again, quickly finding the song. She placed her phone back into the makeshift glass speaker, the familiar intro of their song ‘HOT’ filling the room.

As the beat thumped through the small space, Luna shuffled back to the tiny open area, preparing herself. She glanced at Youngji, who was practically bouncing on top of her seat with anticipation. The chorus was nearing, and Luna’s demeanor shifted. Her playful expression turned more intense, eyes narrowing slightly as a slow, confident smirk spread across her lips.

Then, the chorus hit, and Luna moved effortlessly into the choreography of ‘HOT’, her body swaying with purpose. This time, instead of the playful cuteness, she exuded pure confidence, every movement sharp and deliberate. Her eyes locked with the camera, and there it was— that signature smirk that had fans going wild during SEVENTEEN’s performances. It was flirtatious and cool as if she knew exactly the effect she was having on anyone watching.

Youngji’s cheers grew louder. “Yes, Luna! That’s it! Work it! Girl crush, girl crush!” she yelled, practically shaking the chair as she stood on it, barely keeping her balance.

The crew joined in, clapping along and hyping Luna up as she danced, her expression never faltering from that seductive smirk.

Luna gave it her all, despite the limited space, the teasing expressions adding to the sultry energy of the song. Her hands moved in sync with the choreography, her movements fluid, and her eyes held that playful glint throughout the performance. It was as if she was commanding the entire room with just a look.

As the chorus came to a close, Luna slowed her movements, landing in a final pose with a flick of her hair and a wink at the camera, her smirk still intact. She let the last beat of the chorus fade out before straightening up, her cool expression breaking into a wide grin.

The room exploded in applause. Youngji, completely losing it, began clapping like a seal again, still standing on her chair, swaying dangerously. “Girl crush! You’re my girl crush!” she screamed, her voice cracking but filled with affection. “You’re so cool! How are you so cool? I’m in love!”

Luna, laughing at Youngji’s loud declaration, waved her hands in mock modesty. “Alright, alright, calm down!” she teased, unable to stop grinning at Youngji’s over-the-top reaction.

Youngji wasn’t having it though. She threw her hands up again, this time almost losing her balance. “No, seriously! You’re my girl crush! That was so hot!”

Luna could only laugh harder, holding her stomach as the crew joined in on the fun, clapping and cheering in agreement with Youngji. It was clear that the mood in the room was infectious, the playful energy carrying them through the rest of the night.

Luna slumped back into her seat, dramatically wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Okay, enough dancing,” she mock-panted, shooting Youngji a playful look. “I swear, one more move and I might black out.”

Youngji was still laughing and clapping like an overexcited fan, her voice slurring as she said, “Nooo, I can’t help it! I have a crush on you!” She repeated it, slurring the words, “I have a crush on Luna!” with the goofiest grin.

Luna giggled at her new friend’s antics before deadpanning, “Youngji… are you okay?” She raised an eyebrow, watching Youngji as she struggled to pour them another shot without spilling the soju. “You need to stop drinking,” Luna teased but held out her glass anyway, accepting the next round.

They clinked their glasses together with a loud clank, and both of them downed the shot. Youngji, eyes now heavy but still bright with mischief, turned to her and slurred, “Are you still okay, my crush?”

Luna tilted her head and took the shot with no reaction, her face entirely calm. “I’m almost there,” she said smoothly. “Tipsy, but still here.” She couldn’t help but laugh afterward, leaning forward slightly, “So, ‘my crush,’ huh? Is that what you’re calling me now?”

Youngji nodded furiously, her words tumbling out incoherently. “Yes, yes! My crush! You’re so cool, like— so cool.” Her eyes sparkled with admiration, the alcohol amplifying every bit of sincerity in her voice.

Luna chuckled, shaking her head at the adorable mess in front of her. “Okay, okay, your crush,” she played along, her tone light and teasing.

But Youngji wasn’t done. She wiped at her eyes dramatically, looking as serious as she could muster under her drunken haze. “I like people with duality, you know? People who can be both cute and sexy. Do you— do you have a celebrity crush?” She leaned in, her interest suddenly piqued.

Luna shook her head, still smiling. “Not really into real people like that. Honestly,” she answered, “most of my crushes have been on fictional characters from movies, shows, or books.” She laughed softly, remembering her own obsessions.

Youngji’s eyes widened, and then, as if she had just recalled something groundbreaking, she clapped her hands together loudly, nearly knocking her shot glass over. “Wait! I heard you have the biggest crush on Loki from Marvel!”

Luna couldn’t help but burst into laughter, clapping her hands in sync with Youngji’s excitement. She leaned back into her seat, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh my god, yes,” she admitted through giggles. “Loki is… well, who doesn’t have a crush on him?”

Youngji, clearly invested now, leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “Wait, wait, hold on,” she bombarded Luna, her words slightly slurred but enthusiastic. “What do you like about him? He’s handsome, sure, but he’s the bad guy, right? Is that your type?” Her voice rose playfully, her brows wiggling mischievously as if she’d uncovered something scandalous.

Luna chuckled, shaking her head at the accusation, her smile widening as the conversation shifted into familiar territory. “I mean I don’t have a specific type. Yeah, he’s handsome, and yeah, he’s the bad guy— kind of.” She began slowly, her voice steady but carrying more energy than it had earlier, an unmistakable sign that the alcohol was loosening her up more than she realized. “But that’s not why I like him.”

She straightened in her seat, her hands animated now as she started explaining, the words pouring out faster as she became more passionate about her topic. “It’s not just about him being a bad guy, you know? It’s his personality— he has this… this charm,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “He’s got this dry sense of humor that makes you laugh even when you don’t expect it. And the way he’s confident, but not in an obnoxious way. It’s more subtle like he knows he’s smart and capable, but he doesn’t need to prove it all the time.”

Youngji, who had been hanging onto every word, nodded in agreement, though clearly a little lost in the rapid-fire speech. “Hmm, that makes sense… but he still likes to cause trouble, right? Mischief? Isn’t that a big part of it?”

Luna grinned, leaning in a little as if sharing a secret. “Exactly! He’s mischievous,” she repeated with emphasis, her eyes glinting with something more. “But it’s not just for the sake of it— there’s always something deeper, something clever behind it. He’s always ten steps ahead, and that’s what makes him so interesting.” She paused for a beat, her mind briefly wandering, before she added with a softer, almost playful smile, “I guess I’ve always been drawn to that kind of personality… intelligent and calculated guys are very attractive to me.”

As Luna spoke, she unconsciously revealed more than she intended. Her words, though directed at Loki, seemed to resonate with something— or rather, someone— else entirely.

The qualities she was describing weren’t just about a fictional character; they mirrored those of her boyfriend, Jeonghan, with startling accuracy. He, too, had that sly, playful nature, that effortless confidence that both infuriated and charmed everyone around him.

Youngji, perhaps too tipsy to pick up on the underlying hints, nodded along, her chin resting on her hand as she gazed at Luna with fascination. “You’re really passionate about this,” she slurred, blinking slowly. “I get it, though. Mischievous guys… they keep things exciting, huh?”

Luna laughed softly, her cheeks slightly flushed from both the alcohol and the direction of the conversation. “Yeah, they do,” she admitted, a knowing glint in her eye. “It’s fun. You never quite know what’s coming, but it’s always worth it in the end.”

Youngji slapped her hand on the table suddenly, making Luna jump a little. “I knew it!” she declared, pointing at Luna dramatically. “You do have a type! Mischievous, funny, smart— Loki-type!” She was laughing now, clearly enjoying her discovery, even though she wasn’t aware of just how on-the-nose her comment really was.

Luna, unable to hold back her laughter, nodded in playful surrender. “Okay, maybe I do,” she said, her voice light, though there was a warmth behind it that hinted at something deeper— something personal.

Youngji, still clearly invested in Luna’s rant about Loki, tilted her head in thought, a playful glint in her eye. “Wait, so… do you like guys with long hair too? You know, since Loki’s rocking that,” she asked, her voice teasing as her words slurred slightly. She wiggled her fingers dramatically in the air, mimicking Loki’s flowing locks as if she’d stumbled onto another part of Luna’s type.

Luna, catching on to where Youngji was going with this, chuckled and shook her head, but there was a playful gleam in her eyes. “I don’t really have a preference when it comes to looks,” she replied thoughtfully, her words slower as if she was choosing them carefully, though the slight smile on her lips suggested otherwise. “Long hair, short hair— it doesn’t really matter to me.”

There was a brief pause as Luna took another bite of her food, but then she added, “But… if he can pull off both, then that’s even better.” She let out a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as if she were sharing a secret. “Though, I might be biased toward long hair. Just a little.”

Youngji’s eyes widened dramatically, and she shot up from her seat, clapping loudly as if she had just uncovered the greatest revelation. “Aha! I knew it!” she slurred, pointing at Luna as if she had caught her red-handed. “You say you don’t have a type, but you do! Mischievous, smart guys with long hair!” Her voice was loud and excited, the alcohol clearly making her voice louder than she intended.

Luna threw herself back in her chair, laughing uncontrollably at Youngji’s dramatic outburst. “What are you talking about?” she managed to say between fits of laughter, waving her hands as if to defend herself. “I never said that!”

But Youngji wasn’t having it.

“Ya! Luna you can’t fool me,” Youngji slurred then she turned toward the camera, still pointing at Luna with a wobbly finger. “You heard it here first, everyone!” she announced, her words slurring even more. “Luna likes mischievous, intelligent guys who can rock both short and long hair… but especially long!”

Luna, still cackling in the background, waved her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say that!” she protested, though her laughter betrayed her.

It was obvious to both of them and probably everyone watching, that she wasn’t exactly disagreeing with the assessment.

Youngji, proud of her deduction, grinned ear to ear and sat back down, clearly satisfied with herself. “I knew it,” she repeated, nodding sagely as if she had just solved a mystery.

Just as Youngji settled back, still grinning from her triumphant deduction, Luna’s phone dinged from its place in the glass, the sound echoing in the small room. The noise caught their attention immediately, both sets of eyes snapping toward the device as if fate itself had decided to weigh in on the conversation.

Luna’s phone screen lit up, casting a soft glow through the glass. Only she and Youngji could see the notification, and as Luna lifted her phone slightly to check, she froze for a second.

The screen displayed a single message— from Jeonghan. And there, beneath his name, was the very same Jeonghan’s face grinning lazily back at them, clear as day on her wallpaper.

Youngji’s tipsy eyes widened at the sight, and though her speech was still slurred from the alcohol, her voice carried a teasing lilt as she blurted, “See? I knew it.”

Luna burst into laughter, throwing herself against Youngji’s shoulder as if to beg her to stop from being too obvious, her whole body shaking with mirth. But the playful exchange only fueled Youngji more. She raised her hands in mock innocence, trying to cover for Luna in the most transparent way possible.

“I knew it!” Youngji repeated, but then quickly amended herself, glancing mischievously around the room. “I mean, come on, one of your members was bound to check in on you at some point, right?” She added a little wink, though her teasing tone couldn’t have been more blatant.

Luna, still caught in a fit of giggles, sat up a bit, trying to compose herself. She could only shake her head as she looked down at the message, her cheeks flushed both from laughter and the alcohol.

The moment was filled with shared glances and inside jokes, one of those times when words weren’t necessary to convey understanding. Even though Luna and Jeonghan’s relationship was a secret from the public, Youngji’s playful cover was enough to keep things lighthearted, avoiding too much attention while still teasing Luna about the not-so-hidden truth.

Youngji, still half-smirking, decided to play innocent as she leaned in closer, feigning curiosity. “So… who texted you?” she asked, dragging out the question as if she hadn’t seen the name flash across the screen just moments before.

Luna was still recovering from her laughing fit, her entire body shaking as she clutched her stomach with one hand, the other wiping away the tears that had pooled in her eyes. Every time she tried to speak, another wave of giggles overtook her, leaving her gasping for air. The crew watched on with amusement, chuckling softly as they witnessed Luna’s complete surrender to the hilarity of the situation.

Youngji, however, put on her best serious face, her brow furrowing in exaggerated concern. “Luna are you okay?” she asked, her tone mockingly stern. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes widening as she studied Luna’s uncontrollable laughter. “You won’t stop laughing… I think you need to go home.”

The crew erupted into laughter at Youngji’s deadpan delivery, but Luna, still giggling, managed to shake her head, clutching her tummy as if trying to rein herself in. “I don’t want to go home!” she protested, taking a deep breath to calm down.

After a brief pause, she finally managed to answer Youngji’s earlier question, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes. “It’s Jeonghannie oppa,” she said, her voice still a little breathless from laughing so hard.

Youngji raised an eyebrow, her playful expression returning. “He knows you’re here filming, right?” she teased, still pretending to be oblivious. Then, with a mischievous grin, she added, “Do you want to share with the class what he said, or not?”

Luna, now calmer, picked up her phone from the glass. She opened the message and quickly scanned it before reading aloud, her tone light and casual. “He said, ‘Call me when you’re done and on the way here.’” She locked her phone again and set it aside, still smiling.

Youngji, slurring slightly from the alcohol, leaned in with mock curiosity. “Where are you going after this?” she asked, her head tilting slightly as if trying to unravel some great mystery.

Luna chuckled at her exaggerated tone. “I have practice after this,” she explained, still amused by Youngji’s playful interrogation. The casual exchange, despite its lightheartedness, held the warmth of friendship, each teasing comment laced with genuine affection.

Youngji suddenly perked up, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “I have an idea!” she exclaimed, a little louder than she intended, which made Luna jump slightly in her seat. “Text Jeonghan-ssi. Let’s prank him.”

Luna, clearly enjoying where this was headed, giggled in anticipation, her fingers already moving toward her phone. “What should I say?” she asked, the excitement in her voice palpable as she unlocked her phone. The atmosphere felt lighter now, the earlier tension of the drinks and deeper conversation melting into a more playful vibe.

“Tell him,” Youngji leaned closer as if they were conspiring, “that you can’t do this anymore.”

Luna’s eyes widened before she broke into another fit of laughter, covering her mouth as if trying to stifle it. “He’s not going to fall for that,” she said, though her hands were already typing out the exact message Youngji had suggested:

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

As she pressed send, Luna glanced at Youngji and said with a smirk, “Hannie oppa is too sharp for this. He won’t be easily fooled, h–”

But her playful assurance was cut short when, mid-sentence, the familiar ringtone of her phone echoed in the room, cutting through the conversation like a hot knife.

The room went still for a moment.

The crew gasped, some even giggling at the sudden shift, while Youngji, now fully invested in the chaos she’d started, shot up in her seat. “Oh my god! Girl, answer the phone!” she gasped, her eyes wild with amusement, leaning even closer toward Luna.

Luna blinked at her phone in disbelief, the name ‘my angel boy🪽’ lighting up her screen, the ringtone growing louder in the otherwise silent space. She looked at Youngji with wide eyes, her voice now a whisper, “What should I say?”

There was a tiny hint of panic behind her words, her excitement starting to mix with nervous energy.

Youngji, half-slurring, was all for the drama. “Tell him…” she paused for effect, her words dripping with amusement, “…tell him you couldn’t do this anymore because I was asking you weird questions!”

Luna hesitated, biting her lip in mild panic. “Youngji… you’re really… crazy,” she muttered, but before she could back out, she quickly hit the answer button, her voice coming out steadier than she felt.

Luna placed her phone on speaker, her fingers trembling slightly from the mixture of excitement and nerves. Before she could even get a word out, Jeonghan’s deep, yet soft voice filled the room, echoing through the small space.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone gentle but with a hint of concern.

Luna, knowing Jeonghan so well after all these years, immediately understood the shift.

His voice was usually so bright and sing-song, always answering the phone with an upbeat tone that instantly lifted her spirits. But now, his seriousness threw her off, and she winced, shooting Youngji and the crew a pained look.

Youngji, though, was undeterred, grinning like the devil on her shoulder and silently urging her to keep going.

“O-oppa…” Luna started, trying her best to sound sad, though her voice trembled with the urge to burst into laughter.

Jeonghan hummed on the other end of the line, a soft noise that nudged her to continue.

“I just finished the interview,” she added, her tone still shaky.

Another hum from Jeonghan, quiet and calm.

“She was asking weird questions,” Luna said, attempting a sad sigh but immediately covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

There was a beat of silence from Jeonghan’s side.

The kind of silence that made everyone in the room freeze for a moment.

Luna could feel the intensity of it, like he was trying to process her words while keeping his composure.

Then, finally, his voice came through again, still soft but now with an underlying sharpness that made both Luna and Youngji cringe.

“What questions?” he asked, his voice careful, as though he was trying not to jump to conclusions too quickly, but the edge was unmistakable.

Youngji, who had been grinning from ear to ear, suddenly stood up from her seat, backing herself playfully against the wall as if trying to escape Jeonghan’s indirect scolding.

Luna, on the other hand, was struggling, tears forming in her eyes as she stretched her arm out, holding the phone away from her mouth in a desperate attempt to hold back her laughter.

“Jiyeon-ah,” Jeonghan’s voice came again, firmer this time. “What questions?”

Luna smiled through the fear knowing how rare Jeonghan called her by her real name, but she stopped herself just before answering, her acting skills being tested more than ever. She sighed dramatically, leaning into the role. “Just…”

Before she could even finish, Jeonghan’s voice cut her off, his words making Luna cringe hard.

“Do you want me to tell Seungcheol?” he asked, the mention of their leader’s name hitting like a warning shot.

Luna’s entire body tensed at that.

She knew Seungcheol, would absolutely flip if he thought Luna was upset about something serious.

Youngji, still up against the wall, shook her head frantically at Luna, playfully waving goodbye at the camera as if she was terrified of the situation she’d created. Luna gestured for her to come back, laughing even as she tried to keep up the charade.

“No!” Luna quickly blurted out, cringing at the thought of Seungcheol getting involved. “No, I’m on the way back anyway— I’ll talk to Coupsie.”

There was another long pause.

Luna could practically hear Jeonghan processing her words.

Then, finally, his voice echoed through the phone again, calmer, but still holding that careful tone.

“You’re on the way back?” he asked.

“Yes, I just finished,” Luna answered, keeping her voice steady, though she could feel the tension building.

Another pause.

“You finished the interview and you’re on your way back?” Jeonghan repeated as if summarizing everything she’d said.

Luna blinked, her smile twitching. “Yes, why?”

There was a longer silence this time.

Everyone in the room was holding their breath, waiting for his next words.

Then, in a tone that was now playfully amused, Jeonghan finally spoke again.

“Out of all the people you could prank, you decided to prank me?”

Luna burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking as the entire room seemed to release a collective gasp.

Youngji was staring at her in disbelief, her mouth slightly open as she looked around at the crew. “How did he find out?” she asked, more to herself than anyone else.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Luna giggled, covering her face with her hands as she tried to apologize. “Youngji made me do it!”

From the phone, Jeonghan simply went, “Ah.” His voice, now fully relaxed, was teasingly amused.

Youngji, still shocked, stuttered shyly, “J-Jeonghan-ssi, hello.”

“Oh, hello, Youngji-ssi,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, his voice as polite and soft as ever.

Luna, still laughing, finally asked the question on everyone’s mind. “How did you know I was joking?”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, then explained, “I didn’t know at first. But when you said you finished the interview, something felt off.” He paused, then continued, “You’re the type of person who would just end the interview yourself if you were uncomfortable or disrespected by the questions. You wouldn’t wait to finish.”

Luna smiled, understanding exactly what he meant.

She had always been one to speak her mind and walk away from anything she wasn’t comfortable with.

“And,” Jeonghan added, his voice even more teasing now, “I could hear you smiling while you spoke.”

Luna shook her head, chuckling again. “I told you he wouldn’t fall for it,” she said, turning to Youngji, who just sat there, still in disbelief at how quickly Jeonghan had caught on.

Youngji slumped back into her seat, still stunned, as Luna’s laughter echoed in the room.

Luna, her laughter finally dying down, looked at her phone and said, “Well, since you’re here, oppa, you should say hi to everyone!” She grinned, turning her phone slightly toward the camera, giving Jeonghan a moment to address the viewers.

On cue, Jeonghan’s deep but soothing voice echoed through the room again, still as smooth and soft as ever. “Hello, everyone,” he greeted, his tone polite but with a touch of playful charm. “I hope you’re all doing well. Please continue to take care of Luna while she’s with you today.”

The staff, who had been quietly watching the whole thing unfold, burst into a chorus of hellos and some gave friendly waves toward the phone as if Jeonghan could see them.

Before he could say anything more, Luna, clearly not wanting to give him another second of control over the conversation, interrupted him with a sudden outburst. “Han! It’s so much fun here with Youngji!” she began, her voice rising with excitement, “You should be here too!”

Jeonghan let out a low chuckle on the other end, but before he could respond, Youngji leaned into the frame with a wide grin. “He really should come next time! We’ll do a special episode— Luna and Jeonghan together!”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeonghan replied, his voice smooth but with a hint of amusement.

Luna straightened in her seat, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “No, really! You’d love it! Youngji keeps making me laugh, and we’ve been talking about everything— drinks, games, she even made me dance!” She started listing everything off with the same excitement, her voice taking on a childlike tone as she gushed. “And the crew here is so nice! We’ve been playing games, and Youngji asked me so many fun questions— she’s so funny!”

Jeonghan hummed softly in response, the sound was warm and full of affection. “Mm, that sounds like a lot of fun,” he cooed in his signature lazy drawl. “I’m glad you’re having a good time, Nana-ya.”

Luna, encouraged by his response, continued to ramble on, her words spilling out faster now. “And—and you should’ve seen when we started— Youngji made me drink gin and she gave me a lot of food, and we even—” She paused, catching herself, then giggled, clearly realizing she was talking a mile a minute.

Youngji, who had been watching with amusement, leaned toward the camera and whispered to the crew, “This is the most Luna’s spoken today.” The crew chuckled along, nodding in agreement.

Jeonghan, ever the doting boyfriend, was patient and gentle, humming softly every now and then to let her know he was listening. “Ah, really?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, affectionate tone he used with her. “Sounds like you’re having a blast, hmm?”

Luna, her face glowing with excitement, nodded eagerly, even though he couldn’t see her. “I am! I wish you were here! It’s so much fun! And Youngji said next time you can come, and maybe we’ll—”

Jeonghan let out a small, amused laugh, cutting her off gently, “You drank a lot, huh?”

Luna immediately pouted, shaking her head even though Jeonghan couldn’t see her expression. “No, I didn’t! I didn’t drink that much! Only a little…”

Jeonghan chuckled again, this time more indulgently, his tone almost teasing. “Mm, alright. You just spoke a thousand words in one breath, Nana-ya. I think you definitely drank more than a little.”

Luna gasped, mock offended, before laughing again, unable to keep up the act. Youngji and the crew, meanwhile, were in stitches, watching the entire exchange unfold like something out of a rom-com.

Youngji, still giggling, waved toward the camera again. “Jeonghan-ssi, I promise we didn’t force her to drink that much!”

“Oh, I believe you,” Jeonghan replied smoothly, his voice still light with humor. “But Jiyeonie’s not exactly the best at hiding when she’s had a few, is she?”

Luna pouted once more, slumping in her seat. “Oppa!” she whined softly, her tone almost playful as she drew out the syllables.

Jeonghan hummed again, his voice turning soft and doting once more. “It’s okay, I’m just teasing you,” he cooed, that familiar sing-song lilt back in his voice. “I’m glad you’re having fun, really.”

Luna smiled, her heart fluttering at the sound of his voice. No matter how often he teased her, she knew it was always out of love.

Youngji, catching her soft expression, leaned toward the camera with a knowing grin. “See? This is why I said you should prank him. Look how sweet he is.”

Luna nodded, biting her lip to keep from giggling again. She knew Jeonghan wouldn’t stay mad for long, especially when he could tell she was having a good time.

Luna smiled as the laughter in the room finally died down, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her phone. “Okay, Hannie, I’m gonna go now,” she said softly, her voice still carrying traces of the playful energy from moments before.

Jeonghan hummed on the other end, his tone gentle and affectionate. “Mm, okay. Take care, See you later, Jiyeonie.”

Luna’s heart swelled at the warmth in his voice. “You too, oppa. Practice well, okay?”

“I will. I’ll see you soon,” he replied, his voice a low murmur, almost like a promise.

With a soft smile, Luna nodded to herself. “Bye-bye.”

“Bye, Nana-ya.”

She ended the call, placing the phone gently on the table, but before she could even relax into her seat, her phone lit up again.

A notification popped up at the top of the screen— a text from Jeonghan: ‘Drink water and eat more.’

Luna chuckled, already feeling the warmth of his concern, but before she could even react, Youngji jumped up from her seat, immediately fussing over her. “Aigoo, see! You better listen to him!” she slurred, her movements exaggerated as she grabbed the nearby pitcher of water and began pouring it into Luna’s glass. “You need to eat more too!” she added, piling more food onto Luna’s plate, her eyes wide as if the message from Jeonghan had ignited some maternal instinct in her.

Luna giggled, watching Youngji in amusement as she responded to Jeonghan’s message with a quick, ‘Yes, I’ll eat. Don’t worry 🤍’

Then, she obediently picked up her fork and took a bite of the food, earning a satisfied nod from Youngji, who had taken on the role of Luna’s makeshift caretaker.

Youngji, a bit tipsy and swaying slightly, leaned closer, her words slightly slurred but full of sincerity. “You’re so lucky… He’s really worried about you, huh?”

Luna smiled as she chewed, swallowing before replying. “Well… it’s not just him. The members, especially Jeonghannie and Coupsie oppa, always make sure I’m okay when we’re drinking— especially today.”

Youngji raised a curious eyebrow at that, her tipsy brain trying to keep up with Luna’s words. “Why? What happened?”

Luna let out a soft laugh, realizing Youngji might not remember the story. “It’s because they don’t want another Hoshi incident.”

Youngji blinked, clearly confused. “Hoshi incident?”

Luna nodded, already knowing the moment she mentioned it, the memory would click. “You know, when Hoshi-oppa was here, he got really drunk, right? Well, that same day, we had practice. So, Hoshi showed up to the practice room completely wasted but was still trying to practice like it was nothing.”

Youngji’s mouth fell open in disbelief, and she let out a surprised laugh. “No way!”

Luna grinned, nodding. “Yep. And Jeonghannie oppa filmed the whole thing! There’s a video of drunk Hoshi oppa still trying to do the choreo.” Luna tilted her head and asked, “Did you see the video?”

Youngji’s eyes widened in sudden realization, and she nodded vigorously. “Ohhh! I remember now! I saw that video! Poor guy — I felt so bad but he looked cool, he can dance better drunk than I do sober!”

Luna laughed at Youngji’s dramatic retelling, but before she could say anything else, Youngji waved her hand in front of her, acting like a strict mother. “See, this is why you should go home now,” she said, her voice half-serious, half-teasing, as if she was trying to play both roles of the concerned friend and the playful show host.

Luna couldn’t help but laugh at her antics, the warmth of the moment filling her chest. The combination of Youngji’s tipsy fussing and Jeonghan’s constant concern made her feel wrapped in a bubble of affection— a place where she was cared for in every little way.

With a playful sigh, Luna shook her head. “I don’t want to leave. I’ll eat, I promise.”

“Go home, Luna,” Youngji groaned dramatically, her voice dripping with exaggerated exhaustion, making Luna giggle. The crew burst into laughter at the ongoing playful banter between the two of them, while Luna took another bite of food, ignoring the command.

Luna, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, pouted cutely. “But I don’t want to go!” she whined, her voice slurred slightly as she waved her chopsticks in the air. “I’m having so much fun!”

Youngji, not one to back down, leaned forward and pointed at Luna with mock sternness. “You still have dance practice, Jiyeon-ah! Your members will get mad at me if I let you drink more.”

Luna’s pout deepened as she huffed, rolling her eyes. “They won’t get mad. I’ll just… be a little late,” she slurred, her words drawing out lazily as she reached for more food.

Youngji smirked, shaking her head. “A little late? Girl, do you want me to get in trouble with SEVENTEEN?” She pointed a finger at herself before adding with a mock-terrified look, “That’s two out of fourteen members showing up drunk at their dance practice because of me. S.Coups-ssi might hunt me down.”

The crew burst into laughter again, and Luna, in her slightly tipsy state, let out a high-pitched giggle. “Coupsie oppa would never!” she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh, wouldn’t he?” Youngji teased, her face pulling into a playful grimace as she imitated Seungcheol’s authoritative tone. “I can already hear him— ‘Youngji-ssi, what did you do to Luna?!’”

Luna burst out laughing, swaying slightly as she covered her face with her hands. “Stop, stop!” she giggled, cheeks turning even redder. “He’s not like that… Well, not all the time.”

Youngji shook her head knowingly. “Yeah, right. He’s the leader for a reason. Do you really think he’s going to let this slide?” She crossed her arms, giving Luna a playful yet stern look.

Luna slumped in her seat, her pout returning. “I don’t want to go back,” she mumbled under her breath, acting like a child avoiding bedtime. “It’s too much fun here.”

Youngji let out a deep, exaggerated sigh, shaking her head as if defeated. “Aigoo, this girl,” she muttered. “Your members are going to come for me, I just know it.”

Luna giggled softly after finishing her last bite, wiping her lips with the napkin. She looked at Youngji with a small smile, almost sheepishly. “Alright, alright, I’ll go,” she said with a laugh, realizing that, if she didn’t leave soon, she’d be late for practice for sure.

One of the crew members approached Luna with a grin, holding out a marker and a blank piece of paper. “Luna, can you sign this for us? It’s for the wall— we have all of Youngji’s guests sign it.”

Luna beamed, taking the marker and paper eagerly. “Of course!” She placed the paper on the table, leaning over as she started writing her message. She spoke out loud as she scrawled her words in neat, bold handwriting. “Youngji, you’re the best… from your best friend Luna.”

Youngji, watching over her shoulder, cackled at the message. “Your best friend, huh? I’ve officially been promoted. I’ll take it!”

Luna chuckled, finishing her signature with a small flourish. She handed the paper to Youngji, who took it with a grin. “Aww, look at that!” Youngji teased, waving the paper for the camera. “Everyone, look! Luna thinks I’m the best.”

Luna laughed again, watching as Youngji stood up from her seat, making her way to the wall of signatures. She carefully stuck Luna’s paper up alongside the others, smoothing it out to make sure it was centered. “There you go, you’re officially a part of the wall now,” Youngji said, taking a step back to admire the wall.

“We should take a picture to commemorate this,” Youngji added, turning toward Luna with a playful grin.

Luna nodded, feeling a bit lighter from the drinks but still excited. “Yes, let’s do it.”

One of the staff members quickly grabbed a phone, and Luna and Youngji struck a pose, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Youngji held up a peace sign, while Luna tilted her head to rest against Youngji’s with a bright, tipsy smile. The camera clicked, capturing the moment, and the staff clapped in appreciation of the scene.

As they pulled away from the photo, Luna turned to Youngji with a soft smile. “I had so much fun today,” she said sincerely, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

Youngji grinned, her tone just as warm. “Me too. We should do this again sometime. Maybe next time, I’ll drink more and you can take care of me.”

Luna laughed, nodding. “Deal! I’m looking forward to it.”

With that, they shared a tight hug, Youngji squeezing Luna with a fond chuckle. Luna pulled back slightly, her expression playful as she planted a quick kiss on Youngji’s cheek. “Thank you for having me,” Luna said, bowing her head in gratitude.

Youngji deadpanned, touching her cheek dramatically. “You better go before I steal you from your members and keep you to myself,” she joked, making the staff and crew burst out laughing.

Luna laughed along, turning towards the door, waving and bowing at the crew. “Thank you, everyone! Bye-bye!” she called out, flashing a smile to the camera before making her way out.

The door closed behind her softly, leaving the room filled with the lingering energy of her presence.

In the last moments, the staff and Youngji exchanged looks, a warm laughter spreading around the room. “That was amazing,” Youngji mused, shaking her head with an affectionate smile.

The camera panned out, capturing the wall of signatures as it faded to black, Luna’s note standing proudly among the others, a lasting memory of her fun and lively presence.

comments…

@/lunababybae • 2 years ago ╰ their chemistry is perfect! I would love to see more of these two together 😂

@/rinarieee • 2 years ago ╰ Jiyeon came in so quiet and composed and then left a loud, giggling mess.

@/gyusshadow • 2 years ago ╰ I gotta hand it to Luna she can drink 🤭

@/moonbae17 • 2 years ago ╰ Youngji calling Luna her girl crush at 19:30 is an actual mood.

@/saythename • 2 years ago ╰ Luna’s deadpan humor is so fucking attractive for some reason 🫠

@/mad-lineeee • 2 years ago ╰ she’s a princess fr fr 💖

@/mrsbaebae • 2 years ago ╰ Luna is so sweet to gift Youngji that set and from Paris too 🤌💋

@/alyy1625 • 2 years ago ╰ Only Bae Jiyeon would not like the taste of beer but would down gin like that with a straight face

@/jeongnanana • 2 years ago ╰ Luna explaining that she just has resting bitch face and that she’s not actually scary is so funny to me cause same 🤣

@/gyuuuuudaily• 2 years ago. ╰ GOD I JUST LOVE HER BRITISH ACCENT SO MUCH 😫 ITS LIKE BUTTER.

@/sallluuuteee17 • 2 years ago ╰ 15:16 “Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without them. Sometimes I think about it, you know? In another universe, maybe I didn’t audition, or maybe I didn’t end up in the final lineup… but I still feel like, somehow, I would have found my way to them. Even if it was just as a fan.” Brb I’ll just dry my eyes 🥹

@/lulu-nana17• 2 years ago ╰ 16:30 Luna’s face when Youngji lost the game at the first try 😂

@/gyugyugyugyu_ • 2 years ago ╰ Luna saying she mostly has crushes on fictional characters is such a mood cause same

@/sebongrighthere • 2 years ago ╰ THANK YOU LEE YOUNGJI FOR ASKING LUNA TO DANCE HOT!! IT WAS INDEED HOT 🥵

@/user836837373863 • 2 years ago ╰ “But… if he can pull off both, then that’s even better.” WHO ARE YOU FOOLING, MISS THING?! WE KNOW DAMN WELL WHO YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!!

@/missbitchhhh • 2 years ago ╰ Jiyeon geeking out about Loki is adorable!!

@/shadowmyshadow• 2 years ago ╰ 20:55 is she even still talking about Loki at this point? Because I swear it’s sound like she’s talking about someone else entirely… iykyk 😝

@/angel7266 • 2 years ago ╰ “He’s got this dry sense of humor that makes you laugh even when you don’t expect it. And the way he’s confident, but not in an obnoxious way. It’s more subtle, like he knows he’s smart and capable, but he doesn’t need to prove it all the time.” ONLY ONE PERSON POPPED IN MY HEAD WHEN SHE SAID THIS AND HIS NAME RHYMES WITH BOON BEONGHAN 😊

@/hannnieeeee7251 • 2 years ago ╰ TELL ME I AM INSANE!? SHE WAS LITERALLY DESCRIBING JEONGHAN THE ENTIRE TIME SHE WAS TALKING ABOUT LOKI!? THE CHARM, THE WIT, THE HUMOR, THE BRAIN, THE MISCHIEVOUSNESS, THE LONG FUCKING HAIR?! EXCUSE ME?!

@/user763816262 • 2 years ago ╰ Jeonghan’s voice during that call 😫

@/ashonashonash_ • 2 years ago ╰ 25:55 Jiyeon got scared when Jeonghan sounded serious for a second.

@/jijijiyeonienie • 2 years ago ╰ Hannie clocking Luna’s prank so fast. He knows her from the inside out fr.

@/kpopfan17 • 2 years ago ╰ who would have thought i would get to see Luna gushing about Yoon Jeonghan *ahem* I mean Loki for a solid minute and a half 😉

@/belleeeee_ • 2 years ago ╰ Youngji knows something we don’t cause look at her reaction when Jeonghan texted 🤭

@/diamondlifeu • 1 year ago ╰ YOON JEONGHAN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 🥺

@/gyuminggooo • 1 year ago ╰ Hannie called Luna real quick… so quick that I had a fucking whiplash.

@/dailynanana • 1 year ago ╰ She texted him “I can’t do this anymore” I bet Jeonghan was scared shitless.

@/chuuuuchhuu17 • 1 year ago ╰ Jeonghan is so patient with Luna, the way he listened and waited for her to finish her rant was so endearing to see 🥹

@/lalunanova • 1 year ago ╰ “what are you talking about?” Daddy?! 🥵

@/17-carat • 3 weeks ago ╰ 26:22 Youngji backing up the second she heard Jeonghan’s serious voice and at the mention of Cheol 🤣

@/myg145 • 2 weeks ago ╰ Drunk dancing Hoshi really got these guys stressing for Luna’s turn in this show 😂

@/bjy_lover • 1 week ago ╰ I need a man like Yoon Jeonghan. He is the standard! Like, that entire conversation was so cute 🥺💖

[My Alcohol Diary 2.0 — The Aftermath]

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

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUEST AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl

[oracle-of-dream]

Climbing the Corporate Ladder

Summary: You've been struggling at the bottom of the food chain in your job for a while now. You need to get higher to get somewhere in life. You'd need some leverage on one of your superiors. With a friend's help, you'll get what you're looking for...

Notes: Male Reader, Business Enhypen, References to Vesselsoft (Enhypen lore), No smut for Ni-ki, Swearing, Dubious consent

Monday, July 5th, 8:45 AM

In the break room, you sat alone. The sound of the expensive coffee machine whirred in the background. It's been over a year since you started working at Vesselsoft Production Company. You've been a customer service intern since you started and every time you'd spoken to one of your superiors about a promotion they blew you off.

"Oh, we're not looking to promote anyone right now."

"Promotions might come soon, I'll watch for your file."

"I'm sure it'll come anytime soon. It's just gotta pass through the right channels. Be patient."

You'd heard it all at this point. It was fucking irritating.

You sighed into your mug of hot chocolate. The taste of rich coffee never settled on your tongue right. Sometimes you'd drink coffee to stay awake during meetings–but if you had to drink it you would put in so much milk and sugar it was basically chocolate ice cream.

Your silence was interrupted by the door opening; Ni-ki entered the room. He started a year before you did, convinced you to apply for the company, and even recommended you. You were in the customer service department before he was promoted to Engineer. He advanced quickly and became a Senior Engineer before his second year ended.

"Y/n, good morning," His morning voice vibrated in his throat. Ni-ki wasn't much of a morning person, but with his position, he didn't need to come in so early anymore.

"Oh, good morning, Ni-ki. What are you doing here so early?"

The tall man walked to the coffee machine and pressed a few buttons. "You didn't hear? There's supposed to be employee reviews in a few hours." The coffee machine hummed as it produced his drink. "This could be your chance to get promoted."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to get too excited. "I've gotten my hopes up too many times already. I'll never get promoted at this rate." You sank into your chair.

Ni-ki sat in a nearby chair. "Don't be like that. You just need to get management to notice you. And customer service has the most people in its department, so you need to do something big."

"How do I do something big in customer service?"

Ni-ki shrugged. "I don't know. Come up with some huge ideas to improve?"

You shook your head. "There's no time for that... Maybe a soft bribe–like buying them a cake?"

Ni-ki scoffed. "You'll never get away with that one. The board has some of the heads of the company, even if you manage to bribe one the others might not take it."

"Which departments?"

He took a sip of coffee while he thought. "Marketing, Facilities, International Development, and Programming. I think the CFO is also coming to town."

Your eyes bulged at the last one. "The fucking CFO is here!?"

You knew the CFO to be a pretty particular guy. Heeseung, the CFO, gave your interview personally when you joined the company. He exuded a presence that was like no other. It was clear he had a preference for pretty guys in his departments. Almost all the staff were at least decent-looking, but the department leads were all gorgeous. With Heeseung at the top, of course.

You slumped over, accepting your misery. "I'm fucking cooked, Ni-ki. There's no way I'll get the executives to promote me, much less notice me."

Ni-ki chuckled as he slapped you on the back. "Well, there's nothing more I can do." He chuckled a little harder.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

Between laughs, Ni-ki breathed out. "This sounds like the start of one of those sucky romance movies. You end up fucking one of your bosses, and then you have to cover it up."

You punched him for the lack of support. "I–" You stopped before you could scold him. "...Now hear me out."

Ni-ki stopped laughing. "Wait, I was joking. That's a horrible idea."

"If I get caught."

"Who would you even go for? None of those people even know you like that."

"Not true! The Customer Service department has weekly meetings with the Marketing department. I've met their manager a few times."

"Sunoo? And how will you sleep with him in a few hours."

You scrambled to think of something while swiping through your phone and clicked on a few promising links before stopping on one. "I can go to a pharmacy and get this!" You showed your phone to him.

"Sexual stimulants? You're going to drug an executive?"

"Don't say it like that! If I get him to take them and then make a pass at him, he won't be able to handle it. I'll just need to buy a bit of time."

"And, how will you do that?" Ni-ki's expression went from concern to curiosity. He wanted to see how crazy you were because no normal person would think of a plan like this.

"Well, it's baking outside right now. The meetings would be delayed if there's a small electrical error. Right?"

He shrugged.

"If I can get the air conditioning off, that should buy me more time. And, maybe make Sunoo even more willing to... listen to my offer."

"I feel like you know my next question."

"Right, right. How?" You scrolled through the company directory. "Him. This guy! Sunghoon," You pointed to a stoic-faced man with pale skin and sharp eyebrows. "He joined around the same time I did. We're kinda friends–and he's the associate director of facilities. He could mess with the system!"

Ni-ki sat there, astonished you could spin this.

"And I could charm him a bit. He seemed a little... into me when we first met."

"Into you? So you're gonna fuck Sunghoon and Sunoo for a promotion."

You nodded fervently. "It's super simple! And, you're gonna be my partner in crime."

Ni-ki put his hands up. "I am not having sex with you."

"No, idiot. You're gonna help me get to Sunghoon and Sunoo without getting caught. Please!" You grabbed his arm as you put on the biggest puppy dog eyes.

"You know what? Fine. I'll help. But, you have to help me."

"Done."

"You're gonna fuck one more person."

"Okay, hold on..."

"You already agreed."

"That was before–"

"Just listen." Ni-ki cut you off with a glare. "I need you to get a Senior Programmer off my back. His name is Jungwon, and he's also a part of the employee review team. So he's a part of your plan."

"My plan was to get one member of the board, not two."

"I don't care. Then just aim for Jungwon then or no help from me."

"How am I even going to get close to him?"

Ni-ki smiled. "I'll handle that. You just... start your plan with Sunghoon." You groaned as Ni-ki stood up. His smile was almost devilish as he started plotting. He left the break room with a wave. "Don't forget to run to the store and get your supplies." He winked as the door shut behind him.

Now you were stuck in motion. Ni-ki was already putting his plan in motion. You couldn't back out now. With the time before the office opened, you rushed to a nearby store to get all you needed. A small bottle of lube, condoms, sexual stimulants, and a few other materials just in case.

It's time to get to work...

[winterfleursblog]

If you’re up for it and have the time, could u write a minghao x yn where they’re keeping their relationship a secret which causes some angst between them but in the end they tell people and live happily ever after❤️❤️ non idol preferably

Hope it works out! Thank u

My muse | x.m.h

PAIRING. Xu Minghao x nonidol!reader GENRE. Angst (with a happy ending), hurt/comfort, established relationship WARNINGS. None really just Idol realities .ᐟ WORD COUNT. 8k (not proofread)

You've been nothing but at peace dating Minghao for the past year. Since the day you two met in the art exhibit of your favorite painter, the red string of fate always brought you together in coincidental meetings—the library, the cafe, or even just down the street. What began as stolen glances soon turned into eyes that looked at you with so much love—the kind of love that engulfs you in an embrace when your fire within starts to flicker. He always supported you in the things you do, found ways to help you grow together, and consistently reminded you of how important you were to him.

Except that he could only love you in secret.

It couldn't be avoided—he was a known idol, after all. It's a harsh industry where a dating scandal can put not just him, but even you under fire. Even so, he took the risk and entered a relationship with you.

Dating an idol was never easy. Aside from loving you, he also had to love his fans, just like that one time he came home from a fanmeet where him holding hands with a fan quickly went viral not even hours from the event.

"Y/n-ah, sorry about earlier. I promise it's all fanservice..."

Your boyfriend says as he sinks into your cuddles by the couch.

"No, don't worry, it's okay, it's okay, as long as you know who you're supposed to come home to~ hehe~"

Most of the time, situations like these ended in playful banter as you always wanted to lighten the mood. However, deep inside, it actually pulled some strings in your heart. Had circumstances been different, it wouldn't be a problem for you to hug him in the street, post couple pictures on insta, or at the very least, love him without hiding from the public eye.

Before you even realized it, a year has passed since you two started dating. For your anniversary, you decided to buy him a ring which was crafted with pure silver and adorned by his birthstone. The night you gave it to him, he couldn't believe his eyes—he swore to himself that he'd say yes if that was a proposal, but luckily, it wasn't, cause he wanted to be the one to propose instead of you.

From that day on, he never took the ring off. To him, it bore the same weight as an engagement ring, and in his mind, you two are engaged. In the same way, you also never took off the matching pair he bought you, which was considerably more expensive than his.

Months later, Minghao had a scheduled interview with a famous designer company for his remarkable style in his previous fashion shows. The interview went well for the first few minutes, with questions purely about his aesthetic preferences and the like. However, when a luster of light from his ring's sparkle caught the interviewer's eye, all attention was drawn into the ring.

"Minghao-ssi, that ring looks really nice, where did you get it from?"

Confronted with a sudden question, he internally panicked and thought of excuses to cover up the fact that the ring was given by his lover.

"Oh this?"

"... I just bought it overseas, I really liked the design."

With a sheepish smile, he cautiously thought of his next words.

"Wow, you've got really good taste. Romantics from all around the world usually come to that brand to buy engagement rings."

Denying his lover in front of the cameras made his heart ache and filled him with guilt, but he knew that it was for the best.

"Speaking of engagement, do you have plans of finding love in the near future?"

For the second time, he lied.

"I haven't found the right one for me, and I'll be waiting for love to come."

He shared a few giggles with the interviewer as they shifted the topic, with the latter even joking about introducing him meet his daughter. That light-hearted exchange later circulated around the media for Minghao's elegance and playfulness, leaving everyone smitten by your boyfriend — except for you who only turned off the laptop with a heavy heart.

Minghao had said beforehand that he'd come home late, and so you went straight home, just to compose yourself before going straight to sleep. Today has been a bad day—your worthless manager asked for major revisions on your proposal that he didn't even bother to read, your family abroad asking for help after your brother got into an accident, and that newly released interview you just watched. The last thing you wanna do is to confront Minghao over his words, and so you decided to head straight to sleep to avoid him.

Upon reaching home, you lay flat on the couch while dropping the bags to the side. For a few moments, you just stare at the ceiling—contemplating whether you're being reasonable or just upset at Minghao for the wrong reasons. Suddenly, you heard the keys to the main door getting unlocked. It was just 7pm, how could he be here? Knowing that you can't pretend to be asleep within a few seconds, you grab you bag and fix yourself before he opens the door, pretending to just be leaving.

"Honey, hello, I missed you"

Minghao said while smiling, walking up to you to give you a hug. Still conflicted, you just nod and stay still, refusing to return his hug. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek to make sure it wasn't just fatigue causing your cold demeanor, but as soon as he saw your blank face, he knew something was wrong.

"Y/n-ah, is there something wrong?"

"Nothing. I'll be going now"

You keep your back turned against him as you walk toward the door. As you reach the doorknob, he grabs your other hand.

"I've got night shift today."

That was a lie. There was no night shift that day. He beckons you to turn to face him, holding your shoulders and adjusting his position to get infront of you.

"Come on, talk to me. How are we fixing this if you keep shutting me out?"

Finally getting enough of this argument, your emotions spill out, with tears from both eyes threatening to fall.

"Is that ... all I'm worth?"

Seeing a tear fall from your left eye, his expression changes into that of panic and concern.

"Love—"

"So little that you'd ... deny my love...in front of everyone"

You weren't sure when you'd become such a crybaby, but at that moment, you just couldn't stop crying. Minghao, on the other hand, seemed to have picked up on what you were talking about — the interview from earlier where he claimed to have bought the ring by himself.

"We've talked about this, haven't we? I can't be caught in a datin—"

"Could I have atleast been a friend then?"

"I would have been happy being referred to...as a friend...than not even existing at all."

"But that could raise everyone's eyes as to where you stand in my life."

"Is it...a sin to be part of your life?"

With that last line, he was caught off guard, and all he could utter was a weak "I'm sorry" before you left the door.

Still crying, you head to the nearby park to clear your mind. The voices inside your head were having a chaotic meltdown, taking in what has just happened between you and your boyfriend, still thinking about your manager's harsh words from earlier, and worrying over your brother's state—too loud that you couldn't hear the thunders warning of an impending rain. Unbeknownst to you, a man has been following you since you left earlier.

Suddenly, with one final thunder, heavy rain started falling. You run to the nearest bench under a canopy, not minding how wet you are now. Home was too far to run to in the heavy rain.

From the distance, a familiar shadow emerged, but you were too lost in your thoughts to even notice it.

"Honey, please, I'm sorry."

Startled by the familiar voice, you look up to the man, who turns out to be Minghao.

"Why are you here?"

"You just did a night shift last week. It's impossible you're on one again this week"

He may be a very busy man, but he still has your schedule memorized. You just stare at him kneeling below you with your eyes slightly swollen from crying.

"Let's come inside before you catch a cold, hm?"

Minghao sat beside you for a while, waiting for the rain to calm down. While at it, he began holding your hand, rubbing circles on it to calm you down. He didn't talk just yet, afraid that it'll just make you more upset.

The sudden downpour didn't last long and it has stopped raining immediately. Your boyfriend took it as a sign to carry your bag and take your hand to walk you home. The walk back home was quite silent, not until his unspoken sentiments finally came out.

"You know, it's not that I'm scared of breaking my idol image. I'm just afraid that everyone goes after your identity... that's how the media acts, doesn't it?"

Looking at it, now, he's right. You suddenly feel a pang of pain in your chest as guilt drowns you. Maybe you just overreacted because of today's circumstances. Maybe you were actually being selfish.

"I'm sorry I over—"

However, before you could speak, he interrupted you.

"But that doesn't mean I can't protect you. Y/n-ah, give me another chance please?"

He comes in front of you and pleads, his despair and sadness showing through his eyes.

"I'll make it up to you. I'll be more open on showing the world how I love you. I know how bad it must've felt for you all this time we've been together, but I'm ready now, really."

There was nothing but sincerity in his words.

"No—but—it's okay that you don't reveal our relationship to the media yet—"

"Then I'll make it so obvious that anyone with eyes would know."

"... just so that .... they know ... that I already have a muse ..."

You couldn't stay mad at your boyfriend—not when he's professing his love ever so genuinely in front of you. He suddenly becomes breathless as your hands find their way to his cheeks, cupping them before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Uhh....let's get back home before it rains"

He'll never admit it to himself, but he still gets flustered when you kiss him, even after a year of being together. On the way back home, he asks you about your day, and upon knowing about everything that happened, he helps you sort it all out.

From that day on, people online have started speculating him of dating someone. After all, who wouldn't speculate a man who posts paintings of a girl so frequently, having the same face always, just in different backgrounds. The captions weren't any better too, as they were always pulled from chinese romance novels. He never directly admitted to have been dating someone, but also never denied it. It has gotten to the point where Carats began begging him to just reveal his girlfriend instead of acting like a disgustingly lovesick boy. However, he likes to keep it sentimental and private. Maybe one day he'll just surprise them with a wedding ring—but that's for another story.

Author's note: Hello! Thank you for the request! I'm sorry if it's ooc, it's my first time writing a minghao fic (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠) I'm sorry I couldn't put the "they tell everyone" part too because it was getting too long huuhuhuh 💔 Hope u like it!

[ghstyles]

For Worse or For Worse

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

WC: 6.1k

Masterlist

Preview and Summary

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

The morning sunlight sliced through the blinds like a vengeful blade, striking Harry's face with merciless precision. He winced, his consciousness reluctantly clawing its way back from oblivion. His neck screamed in protest as he shifted in the armchair, muscles stiff from spending the night in such an awkward position.

"Shit," he groaned, blinking against the light, his mouth dry and tasting faintly of stale whiskey.

The empty glass sat on the side table, a ring of condensation marking the expensive wood beneath it. Harry rubbed his face roughly, the light stubble on his jaw scraping against his palms. He checked his watch—8:17 AM. He'd managed maybe four hours of fitful sleep at best.

Memories of the previous night flooded back––Y/N on the stairs, the flash of something between them, the uncomfortable resurgence of a past he'd worked hard to forget. He stood, stretching his tall frame, his back popping in protest.

"Coffee," he mumbled to himself. "Need coffee."

Harry made his way to the kitchen, his movements slower than usual, aware that Y/N might already be up. The thought of facing her after last night's confrontation didn't appeal, but hiding in his own house appealed even less.

The kitchen was mercifully empty. He started the coffee machine, the expensive Italian model humming to life under his touch. As the rich aroma began to fill the space, he leaned against the counter, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A reminder that the real world existed beyond this strange domestic purgatory. Harry fished it out, squinting at the screen.

Two missed calls from his manager. A text reminding him about an interview scheduled for today. Another from his mother, which he promptly ignored. And a notification about a charity gala that evening. The one he was expected to attend with his "loving wife."

"Perfect," he muttered sarcastically, setting the phone down with more force than necessary.

The coffee machine beeped, and he poured himself a cup, black and strong. He took a sip, the bitter liquid scorching his throat, a fitting punishment for last night's indiscretions.

Harry glanced toward the ceiling, wondering if Y/N was awake yet, if she was avoiding coming downstairs because she knew he might be there. The thought irked him more than it should have.

He'd have to face her eventually. They had a public appearance tonight—another performance of marital bliss for the cameras. After last night, maintaining that facade would require more acting skill than he thought either of them possessed.

Taking his coffee, Harry moved to the kitchen island, pulling out his phone again to check his schedule. Better to focus on work than dwell on the complications of his personal life. If Y/N wanted to avoid him, so be it. It was probably for the best anyway.

Y/N makes her way down the stairs, her sleep shorts brushing against her thighs, the matching silk top hanging loosely over her frame, barely buttoned. Fingers rub the last traces of sleep from her eyes as she steps onto the landing—only to freeze halfway down.

Harry.

He’s standing there, an unexpected presence in the early morning stillness. Her pulse stutters, more out of surprise than anything else. He’s usually at the gym by now.

"Why are you here?" The words slip out sharper than intended, her sleep-addled brain not bothering to filter them.

Harry looked up at the sound of her voice, the coffee cup pausing halfway to his lips. His eyes tracked her descent down the stairs, taking in the silk pajama set that left little to the imagination. The barely buttoned top revealed more skin than he was prepared to deal with before 9 AM, especially with a hangover.

He forced his gaze back to her face, noting the sleep-softened edges of her usually sharp expression. Despite himself, he found the sight oddly disarming.

"Last I checked, I live here," he replied, his voice rough from sleep and last night's whiskey. "Reason enough to be in my own house, I'd think."

"Well, you look like shit"

He glares at her blatant insult

She narrowed her eyes, stepping off the last stair and into the kitchen. "You’re usually gone by now," she pointed out, crossing her arms.

"Fell asleep in the chair," he admitted after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Missed my alarm for the gym."

She snorted. "Shame. How will the world survive without its daily dose of Harry Styles lifting weights on Instagram?"

Harry shot her a look but chose to let the jab slide, watching as she poured headed to the fridge.

"There's coffee," he added, nodding toward the pot, his voice oddly neutral. "Made enough for two."

She arched a brow, "How generous."

His phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen but didn't pick it up. Instead, he sighed. "We have that charity gala tonight. The children’s hospital fundraiser. Car will be here at seven."

Y/N groaned, resting a hip against the counter. "Right. Another evening spent fake-smiling and convincing old men to donate money they’ll write off on their taxes anyway."

He smirked. "Look at you, finally understanding how high society works."

It was easier to focus on logistics, on the business aspect of their arrangement, than to address what had transpired between them. Still, his eyes betrayed him, dropping briefly to the exposed curve of her collarbone before he caught himself.

"You might want to..." he gestured vaguely toward her top, clearing his throat."Button up. Unless you're trying to give the housekeeping staff a show when they arrive."

The comment was meant to sound casual, perhaps even teasing, but came out more gruff than intended. Harry took another long sip of coffee, using the mug to hide whatever expression might be betraying him

Her eyes snap down, immediately turning around, "don't look" she scolds but there was a tint to her cheeks as she turned back, heading to the fridge. 

Harry's eyebrows rose slightly at her command not to look, but he dutifully averted his gaze, but not before catching the pink flush spreading across her cheeks. Something about her embarrassment struck him as oddly endearing, a crack in her usually composed demeanor.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered, focusing intently on his coffee cup as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

“I don’t drink coffee” she says suddenly

Harry looked up again, genuine surprise flickering across his features. Four months of marriage—fake as it was—and he hadn't known this basic fact about her. It was a stark reminder of how little they actually knew about each other, despite living under the same roof.

"You don't drink coffee?" he repeated, watching as she rummaged through the fridge. "What kind of monster doesn't drink coffee?"

"The kind that prefers not to rely on bean juice to function," she quipped

“Bean juice? That sounds disgusting” 

“Because it is” 

"Tea person, then? Or one of those green smoothie enthusiasts?" He gestured toward the high-end blender sitting unused on the counter. "Should I be worried you're going to start filling the fridge with wheatgrass shots and kombucha?"

“Those are also disgusting” she said absentmindedly as she scanned the fridge 

It occurred to Harry that this was perhaps the most normal conversation they'd had in... well, ever. No cutting remarks about their arrangement, no thinly veiled references to their past. Just mundane morning talk between two people sharing a space.

"There's orange juice," he offered after a moment, nodding toward the back of the fridge. 

She deliberately takes the mango juice, turning to pour herself a glass. It was a small act of defiance that almost made him smile. He caught himself, schooling his features back into neutrality.

His phone buzzed again insistently, breaking the strange moment of domesticity. Harry glanced at it with a frown.

"My manager," he explained unnecessarily. "Probably hounding me about tonight. Apparently, we need to look 'particularly devoted' for some potential sponsorship deal."

“Yay” she said dryly, “What am I wearing?"

Being small-town scum, as his mother so fondly put it, meant she didn't get a say in what she wore to public appearances. Her wardrobe was just another thing meticulously curated to fit the image of Harry Styles' perfect wife.

"Something gold, I think," he replied, setting his coffee mug down and retrieving his phone. "Amanda sent over options yesterday."

He scrolled through his messages, locating the one from his stylist. Harry turned the screen toward Y/N, showing her photos of three designer gowns.

"This one," he pointed to a stunning gold sequined gown with a plunging neckline and open back. "She said it would 'showcase our brand partnership' or some marketing nonsense like that."

Harry's tone was dismissive, but his eyes lingered on the image, mentally superimposing it over Y/N’s figure. The dress would undoubtedly look spectacular on her, a fact he acknowledged privately with some reluctance.

"Unless you have a preference for one of the others," he added, the offer surprising even himself.

She shook her head, reaching for a glass from the cupboard, deliberately ignoring the way his gaze flickered to the exposed strip of skin where her pajama top had ridden

"I suppose it doesn't really matter," she continued, turning toward the sink.”I'll do the gold”

It was a small concession, allowing her some choice in the matter when they both knew she'd ultimately wear whatever his team deemed best for their public image. The irony wasn't lost on him—dictating her wardrobe while claiming to offer freedom.

Harry set his phone down, studying her over the rim of his coffee cup. The morning light filtering through the kitchen windows caught in her hair, creating an effect that was almost ethereal.

"For what it's worth," he said after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically sincere, "my mother's opinion isn't the gospel truth. Never has been."

The statement hung in the air between them, loaded with implications neither seemed ready to address. Harry looked away first, uncomfortable with the momentary vulnerability.

She exhaled sharply, then turned, leaning against the counter with arms crossed. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who lets her dictate every part of his life" Her words weren’t laced with anger, just quiet, exhausted truth.

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

She let the silence stretch, then pushed off the counter with a sigh.

"I'll have the car take you to the fitting at two," he continued, reverting to practicalities. "Makeup and hair team will come here at four. Standard procedure."

He drained the last of his coffee, setting the empty mug in the sink.

"I've got an interview at eleven. Should be back by four as well." A pause, then: "Try not to miss me too much while I'm gone."

The sarcasm was familiar territory, a retreat to safer ground after the unexpected moment of honesty. But it lacked his usual edge, coming across more as habitual banter than genuine derision.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she took a slow sip of her juice. "Oh, no. How will I survive the agonizing hours without you?"

A small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of Harry's mouth before he could catch himself. Her dry humor, when not aimed at his most vulnerable points, was actually somewhat entertaining. He covered the slip with a theatrical sigh.

"The burden of being utterly irresistible," he lamented, placing a hand over his heart in mock sorrow. "It's a cross I bear daily."

His cross necklace gleamed in the morning light as if to emphasize the unintentional pun. 

Harry watched as she moved to the fridge, gathering ingredients, curiosity piqued despite his better judgment.

"Planning to cook something?" he asked, lingering in the kitchen longer than necessary. "I thought the whole point of having a chef was to avoid that particular chore."

Mrs. Henley, his private chef, only came in three times a week, leaving them to fend for themselves on off days. Harry's culinary skills extended to scrambled eggs and the occasional pasta dish. Nothing impressive for someone who claimed to enjoy cooking as a hobby.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, the tattoos on his forearms visible where he'd rolled up his sleeves. The domesticity of the moment struck him as surreal. Standing in his kitchen, having something approaching a normal conversation with the woman he was supposed to loathe.

"I could eat," he admitted, surprising himself with the indirect request to join her meal. "If you're making enough for two."

Y/N stilled for a moment, placing whatever she had picked up back in the fridge, "Would you look at that. Suddenly I'm not hungry anymore." She picks her drink uo, "I'm going to shower" She says before walking past him 

Harry's expression hardened as she rebuffed him, the momentary warmth evaporating like morning dew under harsh sunlight. He watched her retreat, jaw clenching slightly at the deliberate rejection.

"Right," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

As she brushed past him, a faint trace of her scent—something floral and distinctly Y/N—registered in his awareness. Harry remained motionless until she disappeared up the stairs, then exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Stupid," he chided himself quietly, pushing away from the counter with more force than necessary.

What had he expected? That four months of mutual antagonism would dissolve over morning juice? That she'd suddenly want to play happy homemakers after last night's confrontation? The very idea was ridiculous.

Harry retrieved his phone, scrolling through the missed messages with renewed focus. Work was safer. Work made sense. Work didn't reject him or stir up complicated feelings that had no place in their transactional relationship.

He typed a quick response to his manager, confirming the interview details, then headed upstairs to a guest room—deliberately timing his ascent to ensure Y/N would be settled in his bathroom before he reached the top of the stairs.

Harry hadn’t hesitated when he insisted she stay in his room. On paper, it was a practical decision, after all, appearances had to be kept, and the staff or any unexpected visitors couldn’t be given a reason to doubt their marriage. But beneath that excuse lurked a more vindictive motive.

He liked knowing she didn’t have a space that was truly her own, that even in this grand estate, she had no real refuge from him. It was control, plain and simple. A way to remind her that despite her sharp tongue and endless defiance, she was still living in his house, under his conditions. And if the stiff set of her shoulders every night before slipping into bed beside him was any indication, the arrangement had its intended effect. Did he regret it? …Well, yes. 

Now forced to shower in a guest room to avoid her, Harry couldn't help but regret his little power trip. At the time, it had seemed like a clever way to assert control, to keep her close and under his watch. But now, the reality of sharing a room with her, of being unable to escape her presence, even in the sanctuary of his own space, felt suffocating. The tension between them was always there, thick and palpable, even when they were silent. He'd wanted to make her uncomfortable, to remind her that she was living in his world, but now, Harry questioned his decision with every sleepless night and awkward encounter. It had been petty, and now he was paying the price.

Harry stripped off yesterday's clothes, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. 

Whatever.

He'd shower in his lavish guest bathroom, dress in clothes that cost more than some people's monthly rent, and resume his role as Harry Styles, superstar. Not Harry Styles, the man just rejected for breakfast by his fake wife.

As the hot water pounded against his skin, washing away the remnants of whiskey and poor sleep, Harry found himself dwelling on Y/N reaction. Her immediate recoil at his suggestion of sharing a meal bothered him more than it should have.

He shut off the water with more force than necessary, wrapping a towel around his waist. Through the wall, he could faintly hear movement in his room. Hear the soft pad of footsteps, the opening and closing of drawers.

So close physically, yet miles apart in every way that mattered.

Harry dressed methodically, selecting a patterned shirt and black jeans, the familiar routine grounding him. By the time he was ready to leave, his public persona was firmly in place—confident, slightly aloof, untouchable.

He paused at the door, listening for any sign of Y/N in the hallway. Hearing nothing, he stepped out, adjusting his cross necklace as he headed for the stairs. Tonight they'd have to pretend to be madly in love. For now, he'd give her what she clearly wanted—distance.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

In the interview

The camera panned to Harry as he sat across from the host, flashing his signature smile. The interview had begun in a blur of bright lights and studio chatter, but now it was just the two of them, the air thick with expectations. He tried to shake off the nagging thoughts of the morning—of her, of them. The contrast between his public persona and the tension that lingered back at home was more jarring than he liked to admit.

"Harry Styles, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome back!" The host grinned, leaning forward, clearly relishing the moment. He offered the host—a bubbly blonde woman in her mid-thirties—his most charming smile, the one that had graced countless magazine covers and sent fans into frenzies across the globe. 

"Great to be back, Melissa," he replied smoothly, his British accent slightly more pronounced than usual

"Now, last time you were on, things were a little different. About four months ago, you broke millions of hearts when you tied the knot. Has the honeymoon phase passed yet, or are you still basking in that marital bliss?"

At the mention of his marriage, Harry's smile shifted, becoming something more intimate, as if he were sharing a private joke with the audience. It was a masterful performance, one he'd perfected over the past four months.

"Ah, the honeymoon phase," he chuckled, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "I'm not sure that ever really ends when you find the right person, does it?"

The studio audience responded with appreciative sighs and a smattering of applause. Harry leaned forward slightly, his green eyes twinkling with practiced sincerity.

“Aww, thats wonderful, Harry. Tell us more” She prompted 

"Y/N is..." he paused, as if searching for words adequate enough to describe his 'beloved' wife. "She's extraordinary, really. Keeps me grounded in a way nothing else in this industry can."

He twisted the platinum band on his finger, a gesture calculated to appear unconscious and endearing.

"Marriage has its challenges, of course," he continued, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his tone. Just enough to seem authentic without revealing anything truly personal. "Balancing work, touring schedules, her commitments... but coming home to her makes everything else fade away."

The lie rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, even as his mind flashed to that morning's rejected breakfast invitation and the tension that perpetually simmered between them.

"She's actually joining me tonight at the children's hospital gala," he added, knowing the publicist would appreciate the plug. "It's a cause close to both our hearts."

Harry crossed his long legs, his designer boots catching the studio lights.

"And between you and me," he leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a stage whisper that ensured every audience member strained to hear, "seeing her all dressed up for these events... well, let's just say the honeymoon phase gets a second wind."

The audience erupted in laughter and wolf whistles, exactly the reaction he'd anticipated. Harry sat back with a satisfied grin, the picture of a man deeply in love and not at all ashamed to show it.

Behind the smile, however, his mind was already calculating how many hours until he'd have to face Y/N again, how carefully they'd need to choreograph their affection for the cameras tonight, how exhausting the perpetual performance had become.

Melissa leaned forward, loving all the information she was getting, "Remind us again how you two me? How did someone like her manage to grab the attention of Harry Styles. Give us normal people some tips"

Harry laughed easily at the question, but for a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes.

"Now, now, Melissa," he chided playfully, wagging a finger. "Don't sell yourself short. And certainly don't sell Y/N short by implying she's just 'someone like her.' That's my wife you're talking about."

The audience cooed at his protective response, eating up the chivalrous display. Harry shifted slightly in his seat, adopting a more thoughtful expression.

"We actually met years ago," he began, weaving truth and fiction with expert precision. "Her family lived near my family's summer home. Two different worlds that happened to intersect."

This much was true, though he omitted his mother's disdain and the childish friendship that had formed despite it.

"But we really reconnected last year at a charity event," he continued, the fabricated part of their story flowing seamlessly. "She was helping coordinate it. She’s always been passionate about giving back. Didn't give a damn about who I was or how many records I'd sold."

Harry's smile turned rueful, a calculated expression that suggested genuine emotion.

"Actually walked right past me without a second glance. Bit of a blow to the ego, that."

The audience laughed appreciatively, and Harry played along, feigning wounded pride.

"So naturally, I had to know more about this woman who wasn't impressed by Harry Styles," he continued, his accent caressing the words. "Turns out she's brilliant, compassionate, and completely uninterested in the spotlight. Everything that's real in a world that often... isn't."

He paused, twisting his wedding band again—a gesture the cameras would surely catch.

"Tips for the 'normal people'?" he echoed Melissa's question, making air quotes with his fingers. 

"I'd say authenticity. That's what captured my attention. In an industry where everyone's trying to be someone else, someone who's genuinely themselves becomes the most magnetic person in the room."

The irony of preaching authenticity while perpetuating a massive lie wasn't lost on him, but Harry maintained his earnest expression, years of media training keeping any hint of discomfort from showing.

"And she makes me laugh," he added with a wistful smile, thinking of Y/N’s sarcastic How will I survive? from that morning. "Not many people can surprise me anymore, but she manages it daily."

It wasn't entirely a lie. She did surprise him—just not in the romantic way he was implying.

"So there you have it: be authentic, be passionate about something beyond someone's fame, and for God's sake, make them work for it a little," he concluded with a cheeky wink that sent the audience into fits of giggles.

"Well there you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen. Looks like I'll be signing up for comedy classes soon. Now before we go, can we be on the lookout for mini Styles any time soon?"

Harry's practiced composure faltered for a split second, the question catching him off guard despite its predictability. A dozen thoughts raced through his mind. The main one was how he forgot to check the script and approved questions. 

But his training kicked in quickly, his expression shifting to something playful yet thoughtfully reserved.

"Ah, straight for the big questions, aren't you?" he said with a laugh, adjusting his position in the chair. "You know, we're really just enjoying being married right now. Getting to know each other in this new context."

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture buying him time to craft the perfect response.

"Y/N's still young. Turning 24 later this year" he reminded the audience, carefully constructing an acceptable narrative. "She's got dreams and ambitions of her own that I want to see her pursue first. And with my touring schedule about to ramp up again..."

He let the implication hang, then continued with calculated vulnerability.

"When the time is right, though..." Harry's voice softened, his gaze momentarily distant as if imagining a future that existed only in press releases and publicity strategies. "I think she'd be an amazing mother. She's got this incredible way with people. She's patient, kind, but doesn't take any nonsense."

The audience sighed appreciatively, completely sold on his performance.

"For now, we're happy being a family of two," he concluded with a gentle smile, then added with perfect comedic timing: "Well, two and our absolutely mental cat that Y/N insisted we adopt."

The completely fabricated pet detail was a stroke of improvised genius. Quite perfect actually. Humanizing, relatable, and completely impossible to fact-check during the broadcast.

"She's got me wrapped around her finger with that one," he admitted with a rueful shake of his head. "Can't say no to those eyes."

Whether he meant the imaginary cat or his fake-devoted wife remained deliberately ambiguous, allowing the audience to project whatever romantic notion they preferred onto his statement.

As the audience cooed and the host beamed, Harry maintained his easy smile, but internally, he was already dreading how this particular exchange would play out when he returned home. 

Children—even hypothetical ones—had never factored into their arrangement, and he suspected Y/N wouldn't appreciate being put in this position, fictional cat or not.

The sleek black car glided through London traffic, Harry staring absently out the tinted window. The interview had gone well. Exactly as planned, perhaps even better. His team would be pleased. Yet something nagged at him, a strange discomfort that had nothing to do with the lies he's told.

It was the cat. The fictional cat he'd invented on the spot, a detail so random and yet so specific that it had surprised even him. As the cityscape blurred past, Harry's mind drifted backward in time, colors fading to the warm golden hues of childhood summers.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Summer | Fifteen years earlier

The summer air hung heavy with the scent of cut grass and wild blackberries. Ten-year-old Harry had escaped his mother's watchful eye, slipping away from their manicured summer estate to explore the woods that bordered the neighboring properties.

He'd found Y/N sitting cross-legged in a small clearing, a book open in her lap and an enormous orange tabby cat curled beside her. The cat was arguably the ugliest creature Harry had ever seen. With its one eye permanently squinted, fur patchy in places, and ears notched from old fights.

"What's wrong with it?" he'd asked bluntly, the tactlessness of childhood evident in his question.

Y/N had looked up, startled by his presence but not intimidated. Even then, at nine years old, she possessed a quiet confidence that fascinated him.

"Nothing's wrong with him," she'd replied defensively, stroking the cat's head. "He's just had a hard life. Dad says he's been through wars."

The cat had opened its good eye to regard Harry suspiciously, then promptly closed it again, seemingly unimpressed.

"What's his name?" Harry had asked, inching closer despite his mother's frequent warnings about ‘associating with the local children.’

Y/N had smiled then, a gap-toothed grin that transformed her entire face."Grumpus. Because he's always grumpy. But only on the outside."

She'd patted the ground beside her, an invitation Harry hadn't hesitated to accept. As he'd settled next to her, Grumpus had stretched one paw lazily across Y/N’s lap, extending it just far enough to rest against Harry's knee, a grudging acceptance.

"See?" Y/N had whispered conspiratorially. "He likes you."

Over that summer, and the ones that followed, Harry had spent countless afternoons in that clearing with Y/N and Grumpus. The cat had become a fixture in their secret friendship, a grumpy chaperone who tolerated Harry's presence with increasing degrees of affection.

When Grumpus died one winter, Y/N had written Harry a letter. The only communication they'd ever shared outside of summer. Just three lines in adolescent handwriting: "Grumpus went to heaven. Dad says he's not hurting anymore. I miss him."

Harry had kept that note hidden in his desk drawer, away from his mother's prying eyes. He'd never responded, afraid of her discovering their friendship, but he'd thought about Y/N and her beloved cat often that winter.

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·

Present day

The car hit a pothole, jolting Harry back to the present. He blinked, surprised by the clarity of the memory that had surfaced after all these years.

Grumpus. The cat he'd mentioned in the interview. The fictional pet that wasn't so fictional after all, but a ghost from their shared past. A past Y/N might not even remember, or worse, might remember all too clearly.

Harry pulled out his phone, typing a quick message to his assistant to stop by a pet shop on the way home. If he was going to fabricate a cat for their fake marriage, he might as well make it real. It would be easier than explaining why he'd invented one, especially one that echoed a childhood neither of them had acknowledged existed.

As London's elegant townhouses gave way to the exclusive neighborhood he called home, Harry rehearsed explanations in his mind, none of them satisfactory. How could he explain remembering something so insignificant from so long ago? How could he justify using that memory as a prop in their charade?

The car turned into his driveway, and Harry steeled himself for the confrontation that would surely follow. Some lies were easier to maintain than others. Some truths were harder to deny.

Harry spotted the familiar white van with tinted windows parked in the circular driveway—the mobile glam squad had already arrived. He checked his watch: 4:15 PM. Right on schedule.

The driver pulled up behind the van, and Harry took a moment to compose himself before exiting. His hand hovered over his phone, checking one last time that his assistant had understood his cryptic message about a pet store. The response was, a simple thumbs-up emoji, provided little reassurance.

"Thanks, Steve," he nodded to his driver as he stepped out of the car. "I'll text when we're ready to leave for the gala."

The front door opened before he reached it, revealing Micah, the head of his styling team. A slender man with electric blue hair and impeccable taste.

"There he is!" Micah exclaimed, ushering Harry inside with dramatic flair."We've been transforming your wife into absolute perfection, and now it's your turn, darling."

Harry glanced around the foyer. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs, final touches with Anya," Micah replied, already steering Harry toward the guest suite they'd converted into a styling space. "You'll see her when you're both ready. More impact that way for the photos."

It was standard procedure for high-profile events—separate preparations, then a "reveal" moment that would appear spontaneous but was actually carefully choreographed for maximum effect. Tonight, however, Harry found himself strangely impatient with the ritual.

"How much time do we have?" he asked, allowing himself to be guided into the chair before a portable lighting setup.

Micah consulted his watch. "Car's scheduled for 6:30. Plenty of time to make you devastating."

As the team descended upon him—one person addressing his hair, another laying out clothing options, a third preparing skincare products—Harry found his thoughts drifting upstairs to where Y/N was undergoing a similar transformation.

Had she even seen the interview? Would she mention the cat? The children question?

The sound of female laughter filtered down from upstairs. Y/N and the makeup artist sharing some private joke. The sound was so genuine, so unlike the careful politeness she usually maintained around the house, that Harry felt an unexpected pang of... something. Not quite jealousy, but exclusion perhaps.

"Heard your interview went well," Micah commented, applying some product to Harry's hair. "The studio audience was apparently eating out of your hand."

"Just did what I always do," Harry replied with practiced modesty.

"Mmm, and Sophie says the clips are already trending. Something about a cat?" Micah raised an eyebrow, making eye contact with Harry in the mirror."Didn't realize you two had a pet."

Harry maintained his composure, though he felt a flicker of unease. News traveled fast in their circle—too fast sometimes.

"Recent addition," he said smoothly. "Y/N's always wanted one. We just keep him in a room in situations like these because he likes to…jump all over the place. Knocking things down."

Micah didn't look entirely convinced but was professional enough not to press further. Instead, he directed Harry's attention to the suit options laid out on the bed. There were three nearly identical black tuxedos with subtle differences only fashion insiders would notice.

"The Tom Ford," Harry decided, pointing to the middle option. "With the gold cufflinks to match Y/N's dress."

As the team helped him dress, Harry's mind continued to race. The evening stretched before him. Hours of performing their loving couple routine, answering questions about their relationship, smiling for cameras. Usually, he viewed these events as necessary obligations, part of the business of being Harry Styles.

Tonight, however, felt different. The fictional cat, the memory of Grumpus, the question about children, all of it had knocked something loose inside him, a small avalanche of complications in what should have been a straightforward arrangement.

By the time he was fully dressed, hair styled to perfect dishevelment, face subtly enhanced to photograph flawlessly under any lighting, Harry had still not formulated a plan for addressing the interview with Y/N. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best to say nothing at all unless she brought it up first.

Micah stood back, assessing his work with a critical eye before nodding in satisfaction.

"Absolute perfection," he declared. "Now, let's see if your wife is ready for the big reveal."

The rhythmic click of heels against marble drew Harry's attention to the grand staircase. He turned, adjusting his cufflinks, a nervous habit disguised as a casual grooming gesture.

His breath caught involuntarily as Y/N descended, transformed by the styling team's artistry. Her hair cascaded in soft waves over one shoulder, the tones accentuated by the soft lighting of the foyer. The dress—a floor-length gold gown that shimmered with each movement—hugged her figure perfectly, the fabric catching the light like liquid metal. She possessed a natural beauty that needed little enhancement, but tonight, with her eyes dramatically lined and her lips painted a subtle rose, she looked absolutely ethereal.

Harry found himself momentarily speechless, aware of Micah and the team watching expectantly for his reaction. This was the moment, the performance of an adoring husband seeing his beloved wife in all her finery.

Yet something about her appearance had caught him genuinely off-guard. Perhaps it was the way the dress highlighted the elegant length of her neck, or how she carried herself with quiet confidence despite her youth. Or maybe it was the realization that in their four months of marriage, he'd never really looked at her—truly looked at her—without the filter of resentment coloring his perception.

Harry stepped forward as she reached the bottom of the stairs, his public persona sliding into place with practiced ease.

"You're breathtaking," he said, his voice low enough to seem intimate despite their audience.

He extended his hand to her, aware of the photographer discreetly capturing the moment from the corner of the room. These photos would be "leaked" to select media outlets—"exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpses" of their perfect marriage.

Harry's fingers brushed against hers, the contact sending an unexpected current up his arm. Her skin was soft, warm, and he found himself tightening his grip slightly, as if anchoring himself against some invisible tide.

For a brief moment, as their eyes met, the facade fell away. There was no pretense in his gaze, just genuine appreciation and perhaps a flicker of something more complex. It was a silent acknowledgment that despite everything, she truly did look stunning tonight.

Then the moment passed, and Harry's mask slipped back into place, though not quite as securely as before. He raised her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. A gesture calculated to please their audience while maintaining a respectable distance.

"Ready for our grand entrance, Mrs. Styles?" he asked, offering his arm with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Ready” she says, taking his arm with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

Around them, the styling team exchanged pleased glances, satisfied with the picture-perfect couple they'd created. None of them noticed the slight tension in Harry's shoulders or the careful way Y/N balanced her weight, as if preparing to step back at any moment.

The evening's performance had begun, and both players had taken their positions. Yet something had shifted subtly, a crack in the carefully constructed wall between them that neither had anticipated.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

A/N: At this rate, I'll be posting the whole thing by the end of the day, lol. What do we think? thoughts? questions? Feedback?

I’d love to know if there’s a specific part you liked (can you tell l like validation?)

Masterlist

Taglist: @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

[charliemwrites]

Ok I’m still thinking about the mafia boss/assistant thought from earlier this week. (Partially because I binged the “Mafia!141 au” by groguspicklejar)

Content: implied misconduct

You were the executive assistant for one of the 141’s business associates. Looking to leave for a while because your boss is obvs kind of an asshole. Like, mean to you when he’s in a bad mood, blames you for things you can’t control or plan for, has harassed you once or twice but “only because he was tipsy”. (You’re not fucking deaf, you’ve heard him make nasty comments 🙄)

Farah happens to be his next 141 enforcer check-in. You go above and beyond - apologizing that his meeting is running late as if it’s your fault, would she like anything at all? Water, tea, coffee? There are mini muffins as well!

She takes a shine you immediately, especially once she goes in for her meeting with your (soon to be former) boss. You hand him a little portfolio, obviously color-coded, with sticky notes and highlights. You even adjust the blinds behind his windows for the light about to bounce off the high rise across the street.

Before she leaves, she mentions that her boss would love an assistant like you, and if you have any recommendations…

She drops her number. You call by the end of the week.

Mr. Price meets you personally for the interview. He’s a big man, built. But somehow it’s complemented by the understated wealth he exudes. Expensive cologne, expensive cigars. A tailored suit and perfectly polished shoes. His watch alone costs half a year of your rent, but it’s fashionable, not gaudy. You hope that his taste isn’t the only nice thing about him.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how courteous he is. Shakes your hand (you’re surprised by the callouses, but dont let it show) firm and polite, without lingering. Flicks his gaze over you once, perfunctory, then focuses solely on your face for the rest of the interview.

You like him instantly, and it shows in the way you joke and gesture while answering his questions. Professional, of course, but relaxed and genuine, not the polished and bland veneer of a person your previous boss preferred.

And something about that must appeal to him as an employer because he concludes the interview asking when you can start.

You’re absolutely thrilled to tell him you can be in the next day. And he agrees.

Next

Masterlist

[ilguna]

☼ always and forever (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you’ve had your eyes set on this boy for as long as you can remember. it isn’t until you begin to slip through his fingers, does he realize he loves you more.

warnings; swearing, seemingly one sided love, kinda prostitution mention.

wc; 2.1k

--

To you, there is nothing more painful than having feelings for a boy and waiting years for him to like you back.

Finnick Odair has been your best friend since you were young teenagers. You met him the year after he won the Hunger Games, when the district forced him back into school for at least another two years. Usually, when someone wins the Games, they’re exempt from schooling, but since he was only fourteen, the mayor pushed for him to get two more years.

His parents approved of the idea, and against his will, he was placed back into a classroom with his peers. It was difficult for Finnick to go back to a normal environment after suffering in an arena for almost three weeks. Everyone could see this, which is why they tried to accommodate him and the newfound attitude he had.

The tough exterior was an act, it was pretty obvious to you. While you hadn’t been friends before he was reaped, you’d still been around him quite a lot. You shared the same classes and went to lunch around the same time. Finnick was the light of the room before, not the dampener he’d turned into.

You couldn’t blame him, you think you would’ve gone crazy if you were in his shoes. The way the people around him steered a wide path, and if they didn’t, it was like they were walking on eggshells every time they had a conversation with him. How did they expect him to return to normalcy if they didn’t treat him the same way they did before?

He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t been assigned project partners your sophomore year in your history class. The first couple of days you worked together, Finnick seemed distant, he wasn’t very interested in having conversations with you unless it was to swap information.

As the days went on, he realized you didn’t mind what happened to him. Or, at least, you didn’t hold it against him in some weird way. And while there were moments where you didn’t know what to say and were afraid to bring up the Games, it didn’t really affect him.

He didn’t mind, not when it came to you and your curiosity. You would talk to him about almost anything that came to mind. You got to know him. You found out he was learning to surf in his freetime, he said the waves allowed him to clear his head. He hated doing it in the morning, but liked the way it gave him a fresh start to the day.

He told you he likes it better in Victor’s Village than he does in his childhood home, and it had something to do with the space. Finnick could hide away in his room and even the loudest of his siblings wouldn’t be able to disturb him. He likes the quiet, especially after the Games.

He liked to talk about the Capitol, but only on his own accord. He told you what it was like to step foot on the train and how luxurious it was with the velvet and the large private bedrooms. The seven course meal with foods you could never imagine tasting in your wildest dreams. There were expensive fruits and vegetables and drinks and delicacies that he couldn’t put a name to, even if he tried.

Finnick said every strand of hair on his body was ripped off, besides what was on his head. You saw him dressed up at the Tribute Parade of course, and the preparation for it was straight out of his nightmares. He told you how odd it was to be around the other tributes, knowing what would happen in just a few days.

He didn’t give you details beyond that point. You already saw his score, and guessed he had to be fairly talented to get himself a nine. And the whole interview was televised, Finnick tried his best to be personable on stage. Caesar helped out a lot though, Finnick always gives him credit for boosting his popularity.

It got to the point where every time you stepped foot into the classroom, Finnick would sit up when he saw you. He enjoyed your company—looked forward to it, even. And when the end of the project came around, he told you he wanted to hang out with you outside of class. Whether that be at the docks or either of your houses.

You couldn’t say no, Finnick was fun to be around. By the time the two of you turned sixteen, you’d fully formed a friendship no one could come between. And for you, a one-sided love.

You were convinced his feelings about you would change over time and he would want you as more than just his friend. It’s becoming clear that time is never going to come, you have to move on from the situation, even though you’re far from ready to. 

You’ve liked him—loved him—for almost nine years now.

Part of this is your fault, you know it. You’ve had nearly a decade to tell him how you feel, but you didn’t know how to tell him after so long. Should you just come out and say it? Do you bring him somewhere private first? How do you approach such a sensitive subject?

You never knew if it was ever the right time to mention it, either. With everything that goes on in the Capitol with him, he always seems to shut down the idea of being in a relationship. You know why, he’s told you in explicit detail what they do to him. Which is why you thought it would be too selfish, too gross, to tell him you feel the same way about him as they do. 

So, you’ve kept quiet about your feelings, settling for sending him messages without words. You bake his favorite foods, you buy him clothes you think he’ll look good in, you take time to compliment him and include him in everything you do. Which are things you do, anyway, but you’ve taken it to another step in hopes it’ll catch his attention.

Well, it hasn’t. Your efforts these past few months have done nothing besides make you realize that you can’t do this forever with him. You’ve already spent a good number of years waiting. If he doesn’t want you, that’s fine, you won’t hold it against him, but you’re not going to sit around anymore.

Which is easier said than done. You do practically everything with Finnick, there’s not a moment in the day where you two are away from one another. You’ll sit at each other’s houses, you’ll run errands around the district, you’ll visit Mags and Annie, you’ll sit by the docks.

The only time you’re not with him is when you’re working, and that’s because he needs time to work, too. It’s usually the most miserable hours of your life, sitting in a clothing store with no customers. You’d find yourself doodling on a piece of paper, designing clothes you don’t have the talent to sew, yourself.

The past three weeks have felt more like a punishment for you than it is for him. If you’re not at home, reading and tidying up, then you’re working. You’ve picked up more hours in hopes you’ll stay distracted with busy hands. It’s not working, not that you truly believed it would.

You’ve volunteered for a number of community projects, mostly simple stuff. You follow an assistant of the mayor around town with a group of people while she tells you what needs to be done. You repair cracked walls, paint faded buildings, plant flowers and trees and bushes in places that look bare.

That part is nice, making the district look better. But as soon as the clock strikes six, you’re back to being alone. You have to find ways to keep yourself entertained that don't include your best friend. Who you’ve been trying to demote, also. 

You have a few childhood friends that you’ve reconnected with, they fill Finnick’s spot a lot better than you thought they would. They’re new and refreshing, which makes for unpredictable conversations and different experiences. They’ve pulled you so far out of your comfort zone, you don’t think you’ll ever go back. 

They make it easy to form new habits.

You stop at the entrance of your neighborhood, staring blankly at the gravel road ahead of you. You wish you were even half as rich as some of the people in District Four. The families on the better side are able to afford cars, making travel easier from home to work or even the train station. You’d give almost anything to not have to walk an hour in the heat everyday.

Still, you drag your feet home. It’s not that far down the road, you’re just tired of walking, is all. As soon as your house is in sight, it’s like your legs want to give up on you. 

You stick your key in the door, twisting the knob and using your bodyweight to push against the wood. It’s an old house, there’s a lot that needs to be updated. The floors have become uneven after all these years, which makes the door scrape against them whenever you come home or leave.

The good news is a groove is being worked into the wood, so it won’t be long before the door has its own perfect path to open and close. 

You step inside the house, reaching down to pull the shoes off your feet. There’s an uneasy feeling in your stomach, warning you to check out your surroundings. Your eyes flicker up, and land right on the man you’ve been avoiding these past couple weeks.

Finnick is standing in your hallway, wearing a white linen shirt you bought for him last summer. It was right around the time he was complaining about being cold on the beach in the mornings. He wanted something that wouldn’t be too heavy, so you bought him the shirt since it’s long-sleeved and thin.

Speaking of the beach, he must’ve just come from it, because his hair is stuck to his forehead and dripping. Where did he put his surfboard? Did you miss it on your way in?

“Hey, Finnick.” You murmur, pulling your other shoe off. You toss it in the corner behind the door. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

“I haven’t seen you in almost a week.” He says, tone on the verge of accusatory. 

A wave of guilt washes over you. You know, you’ve been blowing him off every time he’s tried to make plans with you. “I’ve been busy with work and friends.”

“Your schedule never used to look like this.”

“I needed a change of scenery.” You tell him.

Finnick nods, turning around to walk to your living room. You lift your bag, placing it on one of the hooks on the wall, following after him. As you get closer, you begin to see an array of colors. It isn’t until he steps out of the way, are you able to get a full view of what he’s laid out in your house.

Flowers, vases upon vases of them, covering almost every surface. In between them are gifts, chocolates and jewelry. Your face twists, lips parting as you look at Finnick. “What is all of this?”

“It’s an apology.”

“An apology for what?” You ask, fingers brushing over petals. “This is crazy.”

“For not seeing it sooner.” Finnick says. “I didn’t realize—” He shakes his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I didn’t know. I was so used to you being close to me that I didn’t know what I was missing until you were gone.”

“Finnick—”

“Mags had to tell me, she saw it before I did.” Finnick lifts his shoulders and then drops them. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t say anything?”

You press your lips together, shaking your head. “How could I when you told me you could never see yourself in a relationship?”

Finnick’s face falls. “I didn’t mean you.”

“You just said you didn’t know—”

“No—no I knew I had feelings for you. I didn’t realize the extent of it, not until you were gone and I was missing your voice, your touch, your presence.” He sighs. “All of it was gone at once and I was forced to live without it. And I can’t, I don’t want to.”

You shake your head. “So?”

Finnick motions to the flowers around him. “This is more than just an apology, it’s also a proposal.”

Your face scrunches up, “What?”

“Will you be my girlfriend, (Y/n)?” 

[gottencents]

Kiwi - Jennie Kim

love hangover masterlist. main masterlist

pairing. katseye!oc x jennie

synopsis. Jennie impulsively adopts a kitten, Kiwi, for herself and Tatum, only for them to realize they have absolutely no idea how to raise a cat—leading to a chaotic but adorable journey into pet parenthood.

Jennie had always loved animals. Dogs, cats—anything with paws, really. But she had never actually raised a cat before. So when she impulsively decided to adopt Kiwi after the Buzzfeed kitten interview, she figured, How hard could it be?

That was before she and Tatum found themselves standing in her living room, watching Kiwi explore his new home like he owned the place.

Tatum tilted their head. “So… what now?”

Jennie frowned. “I don’t know. What do cats do?”

Kiwi let out a tiny, unimpressed meow from where he sat on the coffee table, his green eyes blinking at them like they were the strange ones.

Tatum gasped. “Oh my god. We’re parents now.”

Jennie smacked their arm. “Stop being dramatic.”

“You literally called us his ‘moms’ five minutes ago.”

“That’s different!” Jennie crossed her arms, watching as Kiwi stretched his tiny paws. “I meant like… in a cute way. Not in a responsible way.”

Tatum chuckled, but then quickly sobered. “Okay, but for real, do we just… let him roam? Should we be watching him? What if he tries to eat something weird? What if he’s secretly a little criminal?”

Kiwi, as if sensing their concerns, hopped off the coffee table and casually knocked over a magazine on his way to the couch.

Jennie and Tatum gasped in unison.

“He’s so powerful,” Tatum whispered.

Jennie shook her head. “Okay, no, we need a plan. First—food. I bought some, but I don’t know if he likes wet or dry food yet.”

“Easy fix,” Tatum said, already heading to the kitchen. “We do a taste test.”

Jennie followed, watching as Tatum placed two bowls on the floor—one with dry food, the other with wet. Kiwi trotted over, sniffed both, and immediately went for the wet food.

Jennie nodded. “Noted. He’s a fancy boy.”

Tatum smirked. “Like mother, like son.”

Jennie ignored that. “Okay, next—litter box. I set it up in the bathroom. Do we have to, like… teach him how to use it?”

Tatum made a face. “Oh god. Do cats need potty training?”

They both stared at each other before pulling out their phones.

A minute of frantic Googling later—

“Oh,” Tatum said. “Turns out they just know.”

Jennie exhaled in relief. “Thank god.”

With the basics settled, they sat on the couch, watching as Kiwi explored. He batted at the rug, tested the sturdiness of the coffee table by jumping directly onto it, and then—without hesitation—leapt onto Jennie’s expensive decorative vase.

The vase wobbled.

Jennie’s eyes widened. “Kiwi, no!”

The vase crashed to the floor.

Jennie gasped. “KIWI!”

Kiwi, completely unbothered, looked down at the shattered remains, flicked his tail, and walked away like he had zero regrets.

Tatum, on the other hand, was dying of laughter. “I love him so much already.”

Jennie pinched the bridge of her nose. “We need to cat-proof this place.”

“Or,” Tatum said, lounging dramatically on the couch, “we just accept that we now live under Kiwi’s rule.”

Kiwi, as if on cue, jumped onto the couch and immediately made himself comfortable right on Tatum’s stomach.

Jennie’s heart melted at the sight. “Okay… maybe this won’t be that bad.”

Tatum grinned, scratching behind Kiwi’s ears. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

Jennie sighed, reaching out to stroke Kiwi’s fur. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured.

Kiwi purred in response, his little body vibrating as he settled between them.

And just like that, their chaotic first night as cat parents officially began.

taglist [OPEN] : @multiliker @goofymickeyr @yuyuy90 @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @somedaydream @yjiminswallet @inejghafawifesblog @jaythegirlkisser @xochitlisbest @1800hotnfunn @awkwardtoafault