Bookworm — spring/summer lover — writer — artist — cats — INFP — Madison Beer — owner of a black & white and black cat — Isabel LaRosa — sweet tooth — fantasy reader & writer — writing since 2020
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⤷ Sypnopsis :: When Nishimura Riki transfers to Havenmore High in the middle of the semester, no one suspects a thing. He's new, quiet, too good-looking to be entirely normal but at a high school, that's not enough to raise alarms.
Chihiro doesn't suspect anything either. Not at first. Then she starts noticing: the way he avoids the midday sun, how his eyes shift color under fluorescent light, that he never eats in the cafeteria. That he always seems to know where she is before she gets there.
Riki has spent years perfecting the art of passing as human. But Chihiro has the habit of looking too closely. And he has the habit of not being able to ignore her.
⤷ a/n :: chapters 01 - 08 already on Wattpad! @snowyvnotes. Inspired by TWILIGHT by Stephanie Meyer
⤷ warnings :: vampire!au, fem!oc,
⤷ Wc :: +1.2k
CHAPTERS :: 01 02 …
The thing about Havenmore High is that nothing interesting ever happens there.
Chihiro had decided this somewhere around sophomore year, when she realized that the most exciting thing to occur in the school's recent history was the vending machine on the third floor dispensing two bags of chips for the price of one. People had talked about it for a week. An entire week.
So when the classroom door opened in the middle of first period on a grey Tuesday in October, and the new kid walked in, she noticed. Not because he was particularly dramatic about it, he wasn't. He handed Mr. Yoon his transfer slip without a word, stood at the front of the room with the specific stillness of someone who had done this before and found it deeply uninteresting, and waited.
The class did what classes always do. They stared.
Chihiro stared too, but she liked to think she did it more carefully than everyone else.
He was tall. Dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead like he hadn't bothered to fix it this morning, or possibly ever. A face that was almost unreasonably symmetrical, which Chihiro noted the way she noted anything factual, with detachment. He was wearing a school uniform that looked the same as everyone else's and somehow didn't look the same at all, the way certain people can make a blank wall look intentional just by standing in front of it.
Nishimura Riki, Mr. Yoon announced to the class, mangling the pronunciation just enough. Transfer from Osaka. Let's make him feel welcome.
Nobody clapped. A few people nodded. Someone in the back whispered something Chihiro didn't catch.
Riki's eyes moved across the room in one slow, even sweep, not nervous, not curious, just methodical, like he was cataloguing exits, and then stopped.
On her.
Chihiro didn't look away. She rarely did.
He did, after exactly one second, the same way you'd look away from a lamp or a window or something that had no particular relevance to you. Then he walked to the empty seat in the third row, sat down, and took out a notebook.
Wonbin leaned over from the desk beside her.
"He looked at you weird," he said.
"He looked at the whole class."
"Yeah, but then he looked at you weird."
Chihiro turned back to her own notebook. "You're projecting."
"I'm observing," Wonbin said. "There's a difference. I observe things too, you know."
"You observe things and then assign them emotional significance they don't have."
"That's just called being a person, Chihiro."
She didn't answer. She was already writing.
October 14. New transfer student: Nishimura Riki. Osaka. Looked at the room like he was counting doors.
She paused. Added:
Didn't smile when Yoon made the welcome-to-Havenmore speech. Everyone smiles at that, even if it's fake.
It was a small thing. Most people wouldn't have filed it away. Chihiro filed everything away, though, it was less a choice than a compulsion, the same way some people crack their knuckles or chew their pens. She collected details. She always had. Her mother called it a gift. Her last boyfriend had called it unsettling. Wonbin called it the reason she was terrible at parties.
The morning moved on. Mr. Yoon resumed talking about The Great Gatsby with the particular resignation of a man who had taught the same book for fifteen years and stopped believing in the green light somewhere around year four. Chihiro took notes. Wonbin drew something in the margins of his textbook that may have been a dragon.
From two rows away and slightly to the left, she was aware of Riki the way you're aware of a window in winter, not looking directly at it, but conscious of the cold.
Which was strange, actually. She wrote that down too.
The room feels colder on his side. Check if the heating vent is broken.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
She saw him again at lunch.
This was not unusual, the school had exactly one cafeteria, and unless you ate in the library (Chihiro had a long and storied relationship with that particular option), you ended up there. What was unusual was that Riki was sitting alone at the far end of the room with a lunch tray in front of him that he wasn't touching.
Not hadn't gotten to yet. Not was waiting for something. Just, wasn't touching. The food sat there and he sat there, and he was looking at his phone with the focused blankness of someone who was using it as a prop rather than actually looking at it.
"He's not eating," Chihiro said.
Wonbin didn't look up from his own food. "Some people aren't hungry."
"He hasn't moved in ten minutes."
"Some people eat slowly."
"He hasn't touched it, Wonbin. The fork is in exactly the same position it was when he sat down."
Now Wonbin looked up. He studied Riki for a moment with the expression he used when he was deciding whether or not something was worth engaging with.
"Maybe he's not into whatever they're serving," he said finally.
"It's rice."
"Maybe he's not into rice."
"Nobody's not into rice."
Wonbin pointed his own fork at her. "You're doing the thing."
"I'm not doing the thing."
"You're absolutely doing the thing. You've got the notebook face."
Chihiro did not have a notebook face. She had a normal face. "I'm just making an observation."
"You're collecting data on the new kid after half a day." He lowered his fork. "Chihiro. He's probably just nervous. It's his first day."
She looked at Riki across the cafeteria. He didn't look nervous. He looked like someone who had sat in a hundred cafeterias and found all of them equally unremarkable. He looked, she thought, like someone who was very good at waiting.
"Sure," she said, and ate her rice.
But she kept the note.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
The last time she saw him that day was at the end of sixth period, in the hallway outside the science labs.
She was going one way. He was going the other. The hallway was crowded and loud with the particular chaos of end-of-day, everyone moving fast, bags hitting shoulders, someone's earbuds trailing on the floor. Normal Tuesday afternoon noise.
They passed each other.
It lasted less than two seconds.
But she was close enough to notice, and she was always noticing, that he didn't smell like cologne or laundry detergent or sweat the way everyone else did at the end of a school day. He smelled like cold air. Like the moment before it rains. Like standing outside at night when the temperature has finally dropped and the world has gone quiet.
Chihiro stopped walking.
She turned around. He was already gone, absorbed into the crowd, just the dark of his jacket disappearing around the corner.
She stood there for a second. Around her, the hallway moved.
Then she took out her notebook.
He smells like outside. Like cold. Not cologne. Not anything manufactured. Just-
She stopped. Crossed out the last line. Started again.
The heating vent in Room 204 is fine. It's not the vent.
馬丁 .ᐟ KIND PEOPLE 𓏊 in which you take care of a very drunk and goofy martin after a night out in Paris…
❛ 馬丁 𝑥 idol!reader ❜ 𓈒𓈒 based on a request by my lovely @whimsyteaparty !!!
⚠︎ fluff, crack, drunk martin, underage drinking ( in some countries), clumsy martin ( just overall cute ) james & juhoon cameo, shower, cursing.
𓏸 3,500 words ╱ 𝓶. list
There was no denying Martin was drunk.
Stupidly drunk even.
You turned around, eyes searching for him, you swore he’d been next to you seconds ago, but you found his tall figure leaning against a wall, gesturing to the one in front of him, and… talking, like the thing had suddenly come to life.
"Yo... why you being so quiet?” he mumbled, his voice a slurred mess of english and korean, and sometimes a little spanish for god knows what reason.
He swayed precariously to the left, all long limbs and loose coordination, as though gravity had become a mere suggestion. You watched him from a short distance away, standing awkwardly in the quiet corner of a narrow Parisian side street while the two of you waited for an Uber home. James had gone back to find Juhoon, promising he would be gone for no more than five minutes- a promise that had somehow stretched into twenty.
Then again, neither Juhoon nor Martin had been in any condition to make things easy.
It was their first real night drinking, and neither of them had shown the slightest restraint. Whatever self-control they had arrived with had long since dissolved at the bottom of countless glasses. Martin, in particular, had been impossible to miss. After only a few drinks, a rosy flush had settled across his cheeks, softening his features and giving him the endearing appearance of an overgrown puppy. His laughter had grown louder, his grin wider, and the sparkle in his eyes brighter with every round.
You could still picture him leaning across the bar, balancing most of his weight on his elbows as he flashed the bartender a ridiculously pleased smile.
“One more alcohol, please,” he’d asked.
The bartender had stared at him. You had stared at him. And Martin, fully aware of how absurd he sounded, had simply broken into an even bigger grin, looking far too proud of himself. By that point, embarrassment had become a foreign concept to him, left behind somewhere between his third and fourth drink.
Now in the street, Martin caught sight of you and his entire face lit up, a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his lips.
"y/n!" he chirped, stumbling toward you.
The walk toward you was less of a walk and more of a total mess. He stumbled over his own feet twice, corrected himself with exaggerated determination, then promptly abandoned any attempt at maintaining personal space the second he reached you. His body tipped forward until he was practically draped over you, forehead finding your shoulder as though it had been programmed to seek it out.
“Everything is spinning so f-fast…” he complained dramatically, words slurring together. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “Help a gay out-gay-no.” His brows furrowed in concentration. “Guy. Help a guy out.”
You bit down on your lower lip to keep from laughing. With Martin leaning on you like a particularly oversized golden retriever, you grabbed a fistful of his dress shirt to keep him upright.
“Whatever you say, dude,” you said, fighting a smile. “Just stay here. Don’t wander off.”
A dramatic gasp escaped him and his hand flew to his chest as if you’d personally stabbed him.
“Dude?” he repeated, sounding genuinely wounded. “After everything we’ve been through?”
“You know…” he began, lowering his voice into what he probably thought was a conspiratorial whisper. “how the walls have eyes here.”
The scent of expensive cologne lingered around him, buried beneath the unmistakable traces of far too many cocktails. Every thought that entered his head seemed to leave his mouth immediately afterward, completely bypassing whatever filter he normally possessed.
One second he was warning you about surveillance walls and the next he was staring suspiciously at a parked scooter.
Then, just as abruptly, he went quiet. Martin pulled back slightly, enough to look at you properly, the shift almost comical. His expression became intensely serious, as though he’d suddenly remembered something of life-altering importance. His grip tightened slightly around your sleeve, and his eyes -glassy from alcohol but still impossibly expressive- searched your face with unwavering focus.
He leaned closer, nose almost brushing yours and for a moment he simply stared, dumbfounded.
His brows knit together faintly. “There you are,” he murmured, relief slipping into his voice. “I was looking for you.”
“I’m right here though, you’re so jolly tonight.” You tucked the hair that stuck on his forehead back.
Martin bumped his nose against yours with a gentle boop, the sound leaving his lips as if he couldn’t help narrating his own actions. His glassy eyes blinked slowly as he tried to focus on your face, swaying slightly even while leaning on you.
“You’re so…” He trailed off, searching for the word like it had personally betrayed him by hiding somewhere in his drunk brain. “So… stupid pretty. Like, bro, how is that even fair?”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Stupid pretty?”
“Yeah. Stupid pretty,” he repeated, more confident this time. He pulled back just enough to gesture wildly with one long arm, nearly smacking himself in the face. “Like… you walk around looking like that and expect me to function? Actually criminal. I should call the police, the Eiffel Tower. Somebody.”
His forehead dropped back to your shoulder as he let out a dramatic sigh, warm breath tickling your neck. He made absolutely no sense but it was endearing in a way, like you were listening to his thoughts in real time.
“Every time I look at you my brain does that thing… you know when the screen freezes? That. Except instead of buffering it’s just heart emojis exploding everywhere. Boom. Boom. Boom.” He poked your shoulder with each ‘boom’ for emphasis. “You’re like… unfairly beautiful. Your eyes? c- criminal. Your smile? And don’t even get me started on your laugh. I heard it once tonight and almost proposed on the spot.”
You tried (and failed) to hold back a laugh. “You already proposed thirteen times, you drunk idiot.”
“Exactly.” Martin lifted his head again, eyes wide with intoxicated sincerity. “And I’d do it again right now. In this dirty Paris street. With the scooter watching us. I’d get on one knee -well, I’d try- but someone stole my - my legs… so you might have to hold me up while I do it—”
He was mid-rant, cupping your face with both big hands like you were something precious and delicate, when a familiar voice cut through the night.
“Yeah yeah, we get it. You guys are disgustingly in love. Now wrap it up and let’s go before Martin proposes to the damn scooter next.”
James stood at the end of the alley with a very sleepy, very drunk Juhoon tucked under his arm. Juhoon gave a lazy wave, his eyelids drooping.
Martin gasped, stumbling slightly. “James fuck you bro.”
“You were having a whole ass TED Talk,” James deadpanned. “Uber’s here. Let’s move.”
But Martin seemed to notice Juhoon perched on his hyung’s shoulder and squinted, “And who the hell is that? Is that a - … coat?”
Juhoon let out a small giggle, eyes still closed like he couldn’t fathom opening them for just a second. “This dude…. i swear, so fucking msjndj…”
The end of the sentence died between his lips, completely swallowed by a hopelessly slurred attempt at saying ‘mischievous’, or maybe ‘mean’, a word far too complicated for his alcohol-soaked brain to handle.
The four of you somehow piled into the Uber. Martin immediately claimed the middle back seat, dragging you in after him so you were squished against his side. Juhoon took the other window seat, already half-asleep and mumbling something about “too many lights.”
The second the car started moving, they came to life.
Martin kept trying to serenade you - needless to say it was bad - while playing with your fingers, he had his head on your shoulder, hitting all the notes - except for the right ones.
“You’re my favorite person in the whole… Paris… universe,” he slurred, pressing sloppy kisses to your knuckles between every other word.
From the other side, Juhoon suddenly perked up. “Wait… are we still in Paris?“
James, sitting in the front passenger seat, rubbed his temples. “Since we haven’t moved since we flew here three days ago, Juhoon. Keep up.”
There were so many things happening at once, you couldn’t keep up, not knowing where to look at. You buried your face in Martin’s shoulder, laughing so hard your stomach hurt, he wrapped both arms around you, pulling you halfway onto his lap despite the seatbelt situation, nuzzling into your hair.
“Laugh again,” he mumbled happily. “Best sound in the world. I’m gonna marry that sound one day.”
James sighed from the front, half-exasperated, half-fond. “You two are unbearable. Martin, stop trying to propose again, we’re five minutes from the hotel.”
Martin grinned against your temple, voice dropping into a sleepy, lovesick whisper only you could hear.
“Stupid pretty girl… I love you so much it’s embarrassing. Don’t tell the scooter.”
“Oh my fucking gosh, i can’t deal with this.” you giggled, covering your face with your hands in amusement. “The french definitely spiked his drink.”
•••
The Uber finally pulled up to the hotel, and James practically herded a half-conscious Juhoon out of the car like a tired single dad dealing with two toddlers.
“I’ve got this one,” James said, throwing a knowing look over his shoulder as he supported Juhoon. “You sure you can handle Martin?”
“Yeah, I got him,” you laughed, waving them off. “Go save Juhoon from face-planting in the hallway.”
James gave you a salute and disappeared into the elevator with a very sleepy Juhoon mumbling something about giraffes or coke?
Martin, still clinging to you like a very tall, very warm koala, grinned down at you with glassy, heart-shaped eyes.
“Finally alone,” he whispered dramatically, then immediately ruined the moment by tripping over his own foot on the perfectly flat lobby floor. You barely managed to keep him upright as you guided him to your shared room.
“You’re so stupid, just hang onto me you idiot.” you chuckled fondly, patting his back.
The second the hotel door clicked shut behind you, Martin let out a happy sigh and tried to spin you around - which went about as well as expected. He lost his balance, knocking into the small side table by the entrance. The half-full soda bottle you’d left there earlier tipped over and spilled straight down the front of his dress shirt.
“Shit-” he blinked down at the giant wet patch blooming across his chest. “I’m… leaking. Wait, no. The- the bottle leaked. Not me. Probably.”
You rolled your eyes, looking at him like he was just a big mess, “Oh my gosh Martin, are you serious right now?” it came out as more of a laugh than anything else. “You’re … ew… sticky and disgusting now.”
Martin opened his mouth and then closed it again, like he genuinely didn’t know what to say. “Ew?”
Your expression softened, you moved to take off his jacket, throwing it on the carpeted floor before leading him to the bathroom, “you’re not ew. Your clothes are.”
Inside the bathroom, chaos officially began, not that the past hour hadn’t been chaos…
He tried to step over the small threshold and immediately stubbed his toe on the doorframe. “OW— fucking fuck-shit” he hissed, hopping on one foot and nearly knocking over the towel rack. You lunged to steady him, which only made him grab onto you for balance, sending both of you stumbling sideways into the sink counter.
“Martin!”
“Sorry, sorry- my legs… they dead,” he apologized, his long arms were wrapped around your shoulders now, chin resting on your head again.
You finally got the shower running and turned back to him. “Clothes off, big guy.”
Martin tried to unbutton his shirt with all the coordination of a newborn, he got exactly two buttons done before giving up and trying to yank the whole thing over his head. The wet fabric got stuck around his shoulders and face, trapping him.
“Help—” came his muffled, panicked voice from inside the fabric prison.
Anyone on the outside would’ve thought he was being attacked by a wild animal the way he was scared. But you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe as you helped peel the soaked shirt off him. The second it was free, he shook his head like a wet dog, hair flopping everywhere, and beamed at you proudly.
“Done,” he declared, then immediately tried to step out of his pants without unbuttoning them first. He got one leg free and immediately lost balance, pinwheeling his arms. “Bro— what the fuck is hap- happening.”
You caught him around the waist again, both of you staggering backward until his back hit the glass shower door with a loud thud. The door rattled dangerously.
“Oh my god, you’re going to break the entire bathroom,” you wheezed, still laughing.
Martin looked down at you with glassy, lovesick eyes and a dopey smile. “You’re so pretty.”
“Shutup, idiot.” you kissed his chin, shaking your head disapprovingly. “Just focus on getting rid of these clothes and stop flirting.”
You finally got his pants off (and nearly lost your own balance when he tried to “help” by lifting his leg). The moment he stepped into the shower, his foot slipped on the wet tile and he yelped, grabbing onto the shower handle for dear life. Water sprayed everywhere as he flailed.
“Martin! What the-”
You kicked off your own shoes and stepped in with him fully clothed, figuring it was safer than letting him crack his skull open. Martin’s eyes lit up like you’d just given him the best gift ever.
“Yes! Shower date!” He immediately pulled you under the spray with him, soaking you both. Water cascaded down your bodies as he hugged you tightly, swaying unsteadily.
“Martin, i got clothes on you moron-,” you gasped, soaked. “Oh my-”
“And you’re stupid pretty,” he shot back, ignoring you and not making a move to let you go, voice slurred but full of awe. He kept trying to kiss your face while you attempted to wash him -landing sloppy kisses on your forehead, cheek, and ear while you scrubbed his chest. “Like… illegally pretty. I should report you to the Paris police. ‘Help, my girlfriend is too beautiful, I keep falling over.’”
He suddenly spun you around (very poorly), and you both nearly slipped again. You had to brace your hands on his chest while he wrapped his long arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Marry me in the shower,” he mumbled happily against your wet hair. “We’ll have the best wedding story. ‘Yeah, he proposed while naked and almost dying.’ Romantic asfuck.”
You turned back around and started washing his hair, fingers massaging his scalp. Martin practically melted, eyes fluttering closed as he hummed contentedly.
“Feels so good… your hands are magic. Angel hands. I love you so stupid much.” His voice got softer. “Like… if love was a drink, I’d be drunker than this or something.”
But Martin had never been good at staying still - especially not drunk. The second you squeezed shampoo into your palm, he tried to spin around dramatically and nearly slipped again. You had to press your whole body against his chest to steady him, both of you laughing as water poured over your heads.
“Okay, okay, hold still this time,” you said, reaching up.
Martin obediently lowered his head so you could reach his hair, but even then he kept swaying gently, humming some off-key version of one of Cortis’s ballads like a hyperactive kid. You lathered the shampoo between your hands and started working it into his scalp. The moment your fingers touched his hair, Martin let out the most pathetic, contented groan you’d ever heard.
You smiled, massaging his scalp in slow circles, letting your nails gently scratch in that way you knew he loved. Suds ran down his neck and broad shoulders as the warm water cascaded over both of you, Martin’s long arms wrapped loosely around your waist, holding you close so he could stay upright.
“You’re so tall,” you complained playfully, stretching up on your tiptoes. “I need a stool just to wash your hair properly.”
Martin cracked one eye open, still swaying. “I can fix that.” Without warning, he bent his knees and tried to lift you up, but his coordination was shot. He wobbled dangerously, and you both stumbled sideways, uour back hit the cool tile wall with a wet slap while Martin braced one hand beside your head to keep from crushing you.
“Shit- sorry.”he laughed, forehead dropping to rest against yours. “My legs are drunk.”
You couldn’t stop giggling as you pulled him back under the spray and resumed washing his hair, now with his face tucked into the crook of your neck. Your fingers kept working through his wet strands, massaging firmly from his roots to the ends; Martin practically melted, letting out happy little sighs and mumbled nonsense every few seconds.
“Feels so fucking good…” he slurred against your skin. “You’re too nice to me. I don’t deserve angel fingers. Stupid pretty girl with magic hands… I’m gonna tell the others you’re a witch. A hot witch. My hot witch.”
“What the fuck are you even talking about ?” you choked on your laughter, pausing. “Just stay put and stop saying bullshit.”
Thenhe tried to kiss you mid-rinse and ended up getting a mouthful of soapy water. He sputtered dramatically, coughing and laughing at the same time while you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.
“You’re a mess,” you teased, cupping his face to help rinse the last of the suds.
“I’m good looking,” he corrected proudly, then immediately tried to nuzzle into your hand like a giant cat. “Can you do the scratchy thing again? Please? I’ll propose again. I’ll propose ten times.”
“I swear if you don’t stop talking about proposing…” you snorted, “you’re 18 Tin.”
But you laughed and obliged, digging your fingers back into his hair for another round of scalp massage, cause the thought of him drunkenly proposing for the nth time was endearing. Martin’s eyes slipped shut again as he hummed happily, his tall frame leaning heavily into you.
“I love you,” he mumbled sleepily, voice thick with sincerity. “Like… stupid love you. Don’t leave me, okay? I’ll be the best husband. I’ll carry you everywhere so you don’t have to reach my hair.”
You pressed a soft kiss to his wet chest, still gently working the conditioner through his strands. “I’m not going anywhere, you big idiot.”
By the time you turned off the water and grabbed the big fluffy hotel towels, Martin was still swaying gently under the dripping shower head, eyes half-closed, looking ridiculously content and sleepy.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you dried off and into bed,” you said, wrapping a towel around his waist.
Martin blinked slowly, then gave you the dopiest grin. “Bed? With you? Best idea you’ve had all night.”
Drying him off was another adventure. He kept trying to “help” by rubbing the towel on his own head, which only made his hair stick up in every direction like a porcupine. When you tried to dry his back, he suddenly turned around and hugged you instead, trapping your arms and the towel between your bodies.
“You’re all wet too,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your damp hair. “We should just stay naked and cuddle. Eco-friendly. Saves towels and… turtles?”
“Nice try,” you laughed, finally managing to wrap a fresh towel around his shoulders. “Bedtime, giant.“
You took his hand and led him out of the bathroom, Martin’s long legs kept forgetting how to work in a straight line. He tripped over the same bath mat again on the way out, letting out a dramatic “Motherfu-!” before you caught him around the waist.
You guided him across the room, one arm securely around his bare torso. Halfway to the bed he suddenly stopped, looked down at you with wide glassy eyes, and cupped your face with both hands.
“Wait. Important question,” he said very seriously, still dripping slightly. “If i fall on the bed, will you fall with me? Because i only want to fall if you’re falling too.”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Yes, Martin. I’ll fall with you.”
“Good.” He nodded solemnly, then let you tug him the last few steps.
The moment you reached the edge of the king-sized bed, Martin dramatically flopped backward like a fallen tree. The momentum pulled you with him, and you landed on top of his chest with a surprised squeak. He let out a happy “Oof!” and immediately wrapped his long arms and legs around you like a koala, towel barely hanging on.
“Success,” he whispered proudly, pressing sloppy kisses to your forehead, cheeks, and nose. “Trapped you. You’re mine now. No escaping the big Martin.”
You giggled, brushing his messy damp hair out of his face. Martin stared up at you with pure adoration, his cheeks still flushed from the alcohol and the hot shower.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice soft and slurred. “Like… stupidly beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine. I must’ve done something really good in a past life. Or maybe I saved a whole village. Yeah. Definitely saved a village.”
He rolled you both so you were tucked against his side, his large hand gently rubbing your back under your damp shirt. Even half-asleep, he was still talking.
“Tomorrow… when I’m not spinning… I’m gonna tell you how much I love you properly. With flowers.”
You smiled, bumping his chest with your nose. “No you’re not. We have a heavy schedule tomorrow dumbass.”
“I will- find.. time”. he mumbled.
Martin pressed one last soft kiss to the top of your head, his breathing already slowing as exhaustion finally caught up with him.
“Love you, stupid pretty girl…” he mumbled one last time, already drifting off. “Don’t tell the scooter.”
You smiled, snuggling closer into his chest, listening to his heartbeat as the lights of Paris twinkled faintly through the window.
⤷ cw :: pet names, alcohol & drugs mentioned, no proofread
After being pushed around several times, you finally found Chris. He was sitting on an armchair with a joint in his hand. He looked around without really knowing what he was searching for, his gaze almost lost because of the smoke.
When he finally saw you, he gave a tiny smile and patted his lap.
“What you doin’ here, sweetheart?” You obeyed and sat on top of him. He licked his lips and took a drag from the joint “Ain’t you s’posed to be upstairs sleepin’?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I know I shouldn’t be here but…”
“you ain’t gotta say sorry, pretty girl.” He let his hand slide from your waist down to your hip. “Why ain’t you hit me up? This party’s lame as hell anyways.”
“I did, but you didn’t answer,” you murmured, a little embarrassed.
“You did?” He pulled his phone from his pocket, confused. It didn’t turn on. “Damn thing died.” He shoved it back and planted a kiss on your cheek. “My bad, princess.”
“Are you coming already?” Your tone was soft, almost pleading.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’.”
He put out the joint in the ashtray on the small table and stood up, lifting you into his arms. He carried you to the stairs, and as you both started going up, you couldn’t help but look at the crowd.
“Shouldn’t you tell them to leave? It’s your party and you’re leaving.”
Chris glanced at you from the corner of his eye and couldn’t help but smile. “Nah, I’ll kick ’em out later. I wanna piss of the neighbor” he said with a smirk “Old dude downstairs was bangin’ on the door the other day ’cause we were too damn loud. He’s a bitter asshole. You were knocked out already.”
He closed the bedroom door with his foot and placed you on the bed like you were a porcelain doll.
“I don’t like you comin’ to these trash-ass parties alone. Too many drunk losers and junkies who don’t know where to stick their dick.” He pulled his shirt off. “But… it kinda turned me on.”
He took off his pants too and got into bed beside you.
“Won’t they steal anything if you go to sleep now?” you asked, resting your head on his chest.
“Those idiots don’t even know where the hell they are. Matt’s watchin’ anyway. He’ll kick ’em out later.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Good night, pretty girl,” he whispered.
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Member of the group Stray Kids — twenty five years old — South Korea — dancer — rapper — drawing — dark hair & dark eyes — masterlist — next scene …
Sypnopsis 🎥 / You meet Hyunjin at a convenience store in the middle of the night, on your very first night in Korea. You have no idea who he is since you’re not familiar with K-pop, but he somehow seems to know you.
The wind was blowing softly in a cold breeze at the beginning of spring. You had seen the famous convenience stores in Korea on the internet, and that was the first thing you did when you arrived: look for one. You had already left your suitcase in the small apartment you had rented and, luckily, you found a convenience store on the same street as the apartment.
The little bell chimed when you walked in, and warmth wrapped around your body. It was a small store, there wasn’t even a cashier—just a boy, wearing a cap that hid his face, looking at some shelves. You walked through several aisles until you reached the same one as the boy. There were several onigiri with different fillings in one section, at least you assumed so, since you couldn’t read Korean. You looked at the pictures on the labels but still couldn’t figure out what they were. You finally decided to pull out your phone and take a picture of the letters to translate them, but it only left you more confused. Not wanting to take any risks, you grabbed one of each and tossed them into your basket.
You didn’t notice that the boy had been glancing at you from the corner of his eye and had barely smiled. When you reached his side, the ramen section, you also had to choose based on which one looked the nicest, so you grabbed a light-red one.
“That one’s very spicy.” You turned your head toward the boy, confused. He pointed at the ramen. “The one you picked—it’s one of the spiciest.”
“Oh,” you managed to say before putting it back.
“I recommend this one,” he said, picking up a box. “It’s cheese-flavored.”
“Thank you…” you murmured, accepting the box.
“You don’t speak Korean, do you?”
You shook your head. “Not at all, I’m a little lost.”
“I noticed,” he smiled.
“Good thing you were here, otherwise I would’ve burned my palate…” you laughed nervously. “My name is Rose, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Rose,” he said with a small bow. “I’m Hyun. If you want… I could show you around Seoul another day.”
“That would be great, I’d love that.”
He lowered his head, hiding his face under the cap. He pulled out his phone and offered it to you with the Instagram search open. “Could I have your Instagram?”
You nodded several times—you almost seemed excited.
“Yes, of course.” You typed the username of your fake account and handed the phone back.
The boy kept staring at the screen for several seconds until he finally pressed the follow button. The corner of his lip lifted slightly into a smile that could be considered mischievous.
“Well, Rose. If you need me to translate anything else, don’t hesitate to text me.” He bowed again. “Good night.” And with that, he walked away.
When you got to the apartment, you took out your phone to follow him back.
I think it’s absolutely disgusting what Trump is doing. Luckily I’m not from USA but that doesn’t mean people doesn’t have to speak up about other countries.
The fact that a kid got arrested for being “immigrant” it’s crazy. He was born in USA but just because their parents didn’t… Trump is going crazy, even involving kids. KIDS. And they don’t even know what’s going on.
The taglist of STOLEN HEARTS (gangmember!chris x rich!user) is gonna updated since it’s been almost a year since I posted the last scene and I don’t know if the people in there still wants to be tagged. I’ll put the old taglist under and please, if you’re in the taglist and do you want me to remove you let me know!! If you want to be added, also comment to add you
I’ll take this chance to say it AGAIN since I’ve been accused of copying @ceyanabbiolo. The theme isn’t mine! It’s hers. I already gave credit, but I’m giving it again. I also wanted to say that this won’t be the final theme; I’ve been using it for several days and I still can’t decide. I also have to say it’s normal for people to accuse me of copying since it’s very similar, or practically the same. But I gave credit and never claimed it was mine! I’ve also received DMs from literal fans of @ceyanabbiolo threatening me 😭😭 I’ve been following her for several months and I think she’s an amazing writer, I have nothing against her.
It’s not really my style to respond with so much text, but I just wanted to make it clear…
Anyways, what kind of theme could I use? I’m open to ideas!!
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⤷ Summary: you’re at a party and you see a girl flirtling with your best friend, so you want to claim him as yours, even though he’s not, but the things got out of hand. ⤷ cw: unprotected sex (do not), p in v, oral sex (m receiving), praises, semi public sex ⤷ a/n: it’s been soo long since I wrote smut, please be kind!!
Bathroom by Montell Fish
Anger rushed through your veins as your eyes stayed fixed on the girl who was flirting with Matt. She had a sly smile on her face, and her body was dangerously close to his. Matt didn’t seem to mind, he was smiling back at her. From time to time, he would lift his gaze and lock it with yours, only to lean even closer to the girl afterward.
The last straw was when she leaned in to whisper something in his ear. You stood up from your seat in the corner of the club and walked toward them. With a sharp movement, you grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her aside.
“Hey! What’s wrong with you?!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry to ruin your night, but he’s taken.”
She looked you up and down, then turned to Matt.
“Is that true?”
“And why do you care if it is? Get lost.”
You wrapped your arm around Matt’s and pulled him away before the girl could even respond.
“And what was that little scene about?” he asked softly.
“I don’t like people flirting with you.”
“Oh, really?” That familiar smile reappeared on his face. “Would you rather be the one doing it?”
Your cheeks flushed with a warm shade of red, and you turned your head away.
“That’s a yes,” he said confidently. He glanced around the club, then looked at you for a few seconds before taking your hand and guiding you toward the bathrooms. He opened the door to the men’s room, checked that it was empty, and locked it.
“What are you doing, Matt?”
When he finally turned to face you, he placed his hand on your waist and gently pushed you against the sink.
“Why don’t you show me just how jealous you were, hm? You said I’m taken. Prove it.”
His finger caught a strand of your hair, playing with it.
“What’s wrong? Lost your courage? You seemed pretty bold a moment ago.”
Your gaze couldn’t stay still, his eyes, then his lips, his nose, his jaw, and back to his eyes.
“Kiss me.”
He didn’t have to say it twice. Your arms flew around his neck, and you pressed your lips to his.
You could feel how much he wanted you by the way he moved against you, his breath growing warmer, his hands traveling with intention. Your fingers reached for his belt, pulling at it as his mouth hovered dangerously close to your skin.
“Are you really going to show me?” he murmured.
You didn’t even trust your own voice; your throat was tight, and you knew that if you tried to speak, only a desperate sound would come out.
He stopped you only to lift you onto the sink, sliding down your skirt—the same one that had been driving him crazy all night.
“Do you want to know why I let her flirt with me?”
His fingers traced slowly along the edge of your underwear.
You shook your head.
“Because I love the way you get when you’re jealous. It’s insanely hot.”
His touch grew more intentional, his breath brushing your ear as he whispered praises that made your whole body tense with anticipation. Your hips moved on their own, drawn toward him, urging him closer.
“Easy, sweetheart… patience,” he breathed.
Still keeping a hand over your eyes, he guided your movements, letting your instincts take over. You felt his breath near your lips, heard the soft, almost invisible sounds he made, felt his free hand exploring every inch of you.
“You’re so beautiful… so perfect,” he murmured. “Tell me we can do this again.”
You barely managed a nod.
“Use your words.”
“Y-yes…” you gasped.
“That’s my girl.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders as the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter.
“M-Matt—let me… let me see you…”
“Not tonight.”
Your body shuddered as the wave finally hit, pleasure spreading through you in uncontrollable pulses.
“You didn’t last at all,” he teased, though there was barely any complaint in his voice. “Next time I’m not letting you finish that fast.”
He stepped back, finally letting you see. You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the light, and there he was, buckling his pants again.
“You’re not going to…?”
“No,” he interrupted. “I want to enjoy it properly, not in a club bathroom.”
He finished fastening his belt and stood between your legs.
“When I finish for the first time, I want you in my bed. And then I want to hold you until you fall asleep in my arms.”
A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you feared he would tease you for it. But instead, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
“Get dressed. There are drunk guys waiting to pee,” he whispered.
⤷ cw: parties, talking with strangers, theft ⤷ a/n: should I make a Chris’s pov?
Masterlist here…
The air felt heavy, the music pounded in your ears, and your chest rose and fell with difficulty. It was too much.
“Can we leave now?” you asked as you clung to your fur jacket.
“But we just got here,” your friend protested.
You looked around—the place was packed with people drinking and dancing. The air was thick with smoke; you weren’t even sure if that was legal. It was clear you weren’t used to being in places like this.
Your eyes landed on a man sitting at the back of the room. It was the same guy from the other day. He was with a group of guys, talking. A cigarette occasionally rested between his lips. His gaze met yours. A shiver ran down your spine. His eyes stayed on you as a faint smile appeared on his face. You quickly looked away, feeling your cheeks burn.
“I think I’m gonna leave now,” you murmured almost an hour later, not sure if your friend even heard you. You decided to leave her dancing with other mutual friends and started walking toward the exit.
“Leaving so soon?” a male voice sounded behind you. Your body tensed—you recognized that voice. “That’s a shame.”
You turned around to see the same guy from the other day.
“Good night,” you smiled slightly, trying to sound polite, but your hands nervously played with the hem of your dress.
“What’s a girl like you doing here?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed. You simply shrugged.
“I came with some friends, but I’m heading out now.”
The guy frowned. “You’re leaving alone? That’s dangerous.”
“I’ll call a taxi,” you said, trying to sound indifferent.
“I’ll go you.”
“What?”
“I’m coming with you. I’m not letting a young, pretty girl walk these streets alone,” he said just as indifferently. The difference was, he actually meant it. “This neighborhood is dangerous—even getting into a taxi with a stranger isn’t safe.”
“You’re a stranger.”
The corner of his lips curved into a small smirk. He glanced away before looking back at you and licking his lips. “I can assure you, you’re safer with me than with anyone else.”
“Why? Are you one of those bad boys that everyone’s scared of?”
He let out a chuckle and placed his hand on your lower back, starting to guide you toward the exit.
The cold air hit your face, and you couldn’t suppress a shiver as you stepped outside.
“You never told me your name,” you said, turning to look at him.
The guy seemed to think for a few seconds, deciding whether to answer or not. “Christopher, but everyone calls me Chris.”
“Alright then, Chris, I’m y/n. Nice to meet you.”
Chris smiled again. “Are you always this formal?”
“Yeah, I guess. That’s how I was raised.”
He nodded and looked around. “Let me take you home.”
“What?”
Chris rolled his eyes and turned his gaze back to you. “I’ll take you on my bike.”
“In this dress?” you said. Chris looked you up and down.
“You look really pretty.”
You rolled your eyes but a soft blush crept to your cheeks. “You tell me how dangerous this neighborhood is, yet you offer to take me when you’re also a stranger.”
“Stop complaining so much.” He placed his hand on your lower back again and led you to the parking lot.
Despite the crowd inside the club, the parking lot was deserted. When you reached his motorcycle, he took off his jacket and handed it to you. “You’re gonna be cold like that.”
You looked at the leather jacket and then at him, skeptical. Finally, you accepted it and put it on. His cologne filled your senses—it smelled incredible. When you looked up, Chris was holding out a helmet for you.
“But my hair will get ruined…” you murmured.
“I assume you’ll go to bed when you get home—it’ll get ruined either way.” He placed the helmet on your head and adjusted it.
“If you take me anywhere other than my house, I’m warning you—I have pepper spray in my bag. And if you kidnap me, it won’t take long for people to find me. My father will have hundreds of people looking for me.”
Chris smirked. “Don’t worry, princess, I’m not gonna kidnap you.” He pulled down the helmet’s visor. He placed his hands on your hips and lifted you onto the bike before swinging his leg over and sitting in front of you.
“Hold on tight.”
You ignored him, gripping the back of the seat instead. But as soon as he started the bike and took off, your arms instinctively wrapped around his waist.
You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was smiling.
“You tell me where to turn.”
You didn’t dare lift your head.
“I live in Beverly Hills.”
“Rich girl, I see,” Chris murmured, though you didn’t hear him.
The ride was smoother than you expected. At red lights, you could feel Chris glancing over his shoulder at you, but he never said anything.
“What street do you live on?” he asked as you neared the area.
“Just drop me anywhere, I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“I’m not letting a stranger know where I live.”
Chris shook his head and started slowing down as he pulled into a parking lot.
“And here I thought you were just some naive little girl.”
You clenched your jaw but chose to ignore him. When he turned off the engine, you pulled your hands away from his waist. Chris got off the bike effortlessly, grabbed your hips, and helped you down.
“Thanks,” you said as you took off the helmet.
“It’s nothing.”
You started to take off his jacket, but he placed his hand over yours to stop you.
“Keep it. It’s yours now.”
Your expression softened, and you slowly moved your hand away from the zipper. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “Well… thanks.” You smiled. “I guess I owe you one.”
“Seeing you again will be enough.” He smiled back.
You nodded. “Good night.” You bid him farewell, giving him a slight nod.
You walked toward your house, unaware that Chris was watching, wanting to make sure you got home safely—and to see where you lived.
He parked his bike in a secluded spot with a good view of your house, watching as you stepped through the grand front yard. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bracelet—your bracelet. He stared at it with a faint smile.
⤷ cw: gunshots, lost girl ⤷ a/n: i hope yall enjoy it as much as i enjoy making it
Masterlist here…
You frowned as the GPS reset itself again, changing the route once more. Your jaw tightened, and you shoved your phone into your bag. The street was silent, empty except for a couple of homeless people sleeping on the ground. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had made dinner plans with your friend at a new restaurant in the area, but things had clearly gotten complicated.
The sound of something rustling inside a trash can pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to look at it, expecting a rat. And it was—but that didn’t stop you from taking a few steps back. You grimaced in disgust and turned away.
A gunshot echoed between the buildings. You flinched involuntarily and looked back—there was no one there. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Your steps quickened, desperate to get out of there.
You turned a corner and crashed into something solid. A small gasp escaped your lips as your body hit the ground.
Tears threatened to spill—you felt so frustrated, so scared.
You lifted your gaze, trying to see what you had collided with. A man stood in front of you, his eyes scanning you carefully.
“Excuse me, sir, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you stammered, stumbling as you tried to get back on your feet.
“Sir? Do I look that old to you?” His brow furrowed slightly.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured. Your eyes flickered past his shoulder before darting around the area.
“What are you doing here? You don’t look like you’re from around here.” His words were direct and dry, something you weren’t used to.
“I’m not, I just…”
“Got lost?” He finished the sentence for you. A rough chuckle left his lips. He glanced to the side and ran a hand over his mouth. “This is a bad place to get lost.”
You frowned in confusion. No one had ever spoken to you like this—with so little respect.
“Uhm, could you tell me where Holloway Drive is, please?”
The guy looked at you again, staying silent for a few seconds.
“Go straight, then take a right.”
You nodded and gave him a small smile.
“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head slightly. “Have a good night.” You said your goodbyes and continued walking in the direction he had given you.
The echo of your heels clicking against the asphalt faded as you walked away. He narrowed his eyes, watching you. Expensive dress, the lingering scent of perfume in the air, a straight posture despite the fear you had felt. You didn’t belong here, and it showed in every move you made.
You had wished him a “good night,” unaware that he wasn’t used to saying the same to anyone.
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GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who shouldn’t make sense together, but somehow, they do. He’s all sharp edges, cigarette smoke, and late-night adrenaline; she’s luxury, soft-spoken words, and carefully planned futures. But when they’re together, none of that matters—because in his arms, she feels free, and in her presence, he finally has something worth protecting.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who exist in two completely different worlds, yet find themselves tangled in each other’s lives. She should be scared of his lifestyle, and he should stay away from someone so out of place in his world. But when he looks at her with those dark, knowing eyes, and she whispers his name like it’s the safest thing she’s ever known, all logic disappears.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who argue over the smallest things—she doesn’t understand his reckless decisions, and he doesn’t get why she cares so much about appearances. But at the end of the day, he always pulls her into his arms, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he mumbles, ‘You’re too good for this, you know that?’ And she just smiles, because she wouldn’t trade him for anything.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who sit in his car at 2 AM, her expensive dress slightly wrinkled from the night, his fingers lazily playing with the hem. Smoke lingers in the air, the city lights reflecting in her wide eyes as she asks, ‘Do you ever think about leaving this life?’ He exhales slowly, flicking ash out the window before smirking, ‘Do you ever think about staying?’
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who shouldn’t even be in the same room, let alone in love. She was raised with rules, he was raised by the streets. But when she’s curled up in his bed, wearing his hoodie instead of designer brands, and he’s watching her like she’s the one thing in this world he can’t afford to lose—nothing else matters.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who live in contradiction. She buys the most expensive perfume, but loves the way his jacket smells of leather and cigarettes. He swears he doesn’t believe in fairy tales, but watches her like she’s straight out of one. She should walk away, he should let her go—but instead, they fall deeper, until neither of them remembers what life was like before each other.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who fit together in ways no one understands. He teaches her how to let go, how to stop worrying about what people think. She shows him what it’s like to be cared for, to have someone who sees more than his reputation. And when he pulls her onto his lap, pressing a kiss to her jaw, whispering, ‘You really trust me, huh?’ she just smiles, because she always has.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who weren’t supposed to fall in love. She was supposed to be another curious girl, and he was supposed to be another bad decision. But now, she’s tangled in his sheets, in his life, in his world—and he’s staring at her like she’s the only thing worth fighting for.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who never thought they’d be the type to settle down. He always said he wasn’t the relationship type, and she always thought she’d end up with someone just like her. But now, he’s waiting for her outside her family’s mansion on his motorcycle, and she’s running toward him, designer heels in one hand, a reckless grin on her lips.
GANGMEMBER!CHRIS & RICH!READER who don’t care about expectations. She was raised to be proper, polite, perfect—but with him, she’s messy, impulsive, real. And he was supposed to be heartless, untouchable—but when she rests her head on his chest, he softens in a way he never thought possible.
