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#REMEMBER YOU ARE JUST AS IMPORTANT AND I LOVE YOU TOO
irndad · 2 days
Note
Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-
Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹
Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.
my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k
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“Is Maeve okay?”
It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation. 
She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She’s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him. 
Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists. 
She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?
It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before. 
He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?
“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”
She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples. 
“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”
She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her. 
“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”
It’s only then she frowns. 
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”
“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance. 
“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her. 
“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”
“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“
“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”
“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”
A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration. 
She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished. 
Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her. 
Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her. 
And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper. 
“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”
Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed. 
Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him. 
“You’re important to me.” 
She has no idea how much. 
Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive. 
“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.
Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted. 
The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care. 
He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long. 
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ao3commentoftheday · 2 days
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I’m thinking about perfectionism again, specifically with respect to how it can skew your opinion of success and failure.
There’s this concept that comes up a lot when you read about issues like perfectionism: all-or-nothing thinking. It’s a trap that’s easy to fall into.
If you’re a fic writer falling into this trap, you might feel like you’re an absolute failure if your fic isn’t a 100% accurate depiction of the scene you see in your head with flawless grammar and zero typos. That is a, quite literally, impossible standard to meet and as a result of never meeting it, you probably feel one or more of the following:
lack of motivation
certainty that there’s no point in even trying
self-hatred or some other form of intense dissatisfaction with yourself and/or your skills
This is a completely logical way to feel in that mindset, by the way. Your standard for success is so high that you’re constantly a failure. If your standard for success is impossible to meet, then there is no point in trying. If there’s no point in trying, how could you possibly feel motivated?
In order to move away from those feelings, you need to move away from that all-or-nothing, black & white mindset.
One way to do this is by figuring out a new standard for success that actually can be achieved. For example, give yourself permission to have occasional typos in your stories. Gaiman’s Law states that an author will always find a typo the first time they open their published book. If even Neil himself has resigned himself to this fate, then hopefully you can too. If you managed to write your story then that’s a success and finding a typo after you’re done doesn’t turn that success into a failure.
Another thing that’s helped me is to think of every failure or mistake or dissatisfying result as a learning opportunity. If I’m not able to do something now, that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to do it at some point in the future. I just need to keep trying. Practice makes better. Practice also helps you figure out the things that are easy for you and the bits that are hard and where you might need some help - either from a fellow fan or from another kind of resource.
I think part of the reason why people can get so anxious about their fanworks is because we care so much about them. We love the characters. We love the world. We want to do them justice in our writing, and we want other fans to love our creations too.
It’s important to remember that all of us love imperfect things all the time. It’s not perfection that makes a thing lovable. It’s the heart that’s put into it.
There’s a lot of fear behind perfectionism. Fear of being caught doing something wrong. Fear of being shamed for a mistake. Fear that imperfection makes us unworthy or unlovable. Fear that a single flaw will ruin an entire work. Fear of failure.
If you want to be able to move through that fear, you need to be able to reduce it somehow. The most effective way that I’ve found is to stop writing with the goal of posting something online. Write for the sake of writing, without the pressure of showing it to someone else. That might help you to get out a first draft (or second or third) without that worry about being judged and found wanting.
If you’re not ready for positive self-talk or reframing the internal narrative (I get it. Been there.) then allowing yourself to be less than perfect in a place where no one else can see you might be a good first step.
And just because I think it’s important that you hear it from time to time: you are a wonderful, creative, amazing human being - mistakes included.
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starillusion13 · 2 days
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Stay with me
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request: "can you do a yungi x y/n one where they're in college together kinda like a childhood bsf to lovers but poly?"
Pairing: Yunho x reader x Mingi
Genre: Fluff, Friends to lovers, College Au
Warnings: they are caring bestfriends to you, mention of insult/body shaming in public by your family, reader feeling insecure, isolation, hints of skipping meals, childhood love and mention school bully and violence (just few words). Just a cute friendship to love.
W.C: 4.5k
Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Spread love not hate. My first Yungi fic😁.
Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
Now let's take a moment to appreciate my dear friend @dreamsoffanfics Thanks for helping me out and being my proofreader. A dear friend indeed <3.
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"She isn't coming again today..." Yunho said and sat beside his friend. The other glanced at him and looked over at your place beside him where you usually sit.
It's been weeks that you were skipping university classes without any proper reason, just texting them that you are not feeling well or you have some important stuff to do. But not clearly explaining anything — that even you are texting them the next day. They are sick and worried for you as it's normal for your childhood best-friends to be like this.
Whenever they ask you to go to your place, you quickly respond with a negative message that you have somewhere to go or someone to meet.
Nobody knows what's the actual matter with you.
"Do you think we should go over to her place and check on her?" Mingi asked while tapping the pen on the desk.
Yunho nodded before pulling out his phone to check for your message but nothing was there to his disappointment. "I am really worried about her. She has never been like this. I don't know why but after returning from her hometown, she is acting weird."
"Did her parents tell her anything again?" Mingi rested his elbow on the table and leaned to his side.
Yunho made an unsure expression to his question and dropped his shoulders. He shook his head when he remembered the last interaction with you when he met you at the convenience store.
…..
"Y/n, why don't you say no to your parents directly? I'm sure that they won't be denying it."
You sighed and turned towards him before picking up the nearest packet of chips in the basket,"And you think that? You are so wrong, Yuyu. They don't care about my opinions."
"But you can try explaining them. I'm sure they will understand." Yunho placed a milk package in the basket to which you glared at him and he sent you his puppy eyes, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"That's a baby milk product."
"But you are still a baby." He said and held back his laugh.
This was his common teasing with you in every place and anytime you are having any serious conversation with him and whatever, however and whenever you are with him. You would feel relying on him the most. The bestest friend indeed. There’s a continuous warmth radiating from him for which you feel loved and secured. His big frame whenever he engulfs you in a hug, there’s a silent promise to you — that no matter what he would be there for you.
…..
He sighed when he imagined your face – irritated but laughing with him for the last time that day. After that day, you went to your hometown as it was the end of exam season and you didn’t meet your family for a long time. Last break, you were sick and had so many pending projects for several events that you opted for staying back on campus and completing them before it was too late.
It was late afternoon when they both finally had their last class and packed up their bags to leave the university. Anyways, they were not actually planning to stay there though. Mingi texted you a lot of times during the classes but some you ignored and to some, you replied with one word or just some common usual replies.
They both checked the timing and went towards the parking lot. Yunho took out the keys from his jacket’s pocket and Mingi was quick to enter the passenger seat. Both of them were in a hurry. They were eager to meet you. Before starting the engine, Yunho sighed deeply. A look of worry was visible on his face.
“I hope she is fine.”
Mingi nodded and patted his shoulder, “I’m sure, she is.”
…….
“Yah! Min…did you just eat my snacks yesterday?” stomping your feet, you reached the living room and stood in front of said man and glared at him.
He was so into the video game that he didn’t see your anger but just waved his hand and tried to push you aside. You hit his hand and the controller fell from his hold and sulkily he looked at your face.
“I was about to win the game.” He whined and leaned back into the couch.
“And I am about to eat you if you don't give me my snacks back.”
“Which one?” He furrowed his brows and crunched up his nose. “I’m gonna tell Yunho to buy them for you on his way back home.”
“No. Why’ll he buy it? You ate them and it’s your responsibility to buy them. And you know very well which snacks I’m talking about.” You pulled him up and dragged him towards the door, he was whining on his way but you ignored him and gestured to him to hurry up. “Don’t give me faces.” You folded your hands.
“But that store is far away.”
“And you know how to drive.”
……
While driving to your place, they stopped by some places to buy flowers, chocolates, ice cream and your favorite foods. When Yunho took a box of chocolates, he smiled at the thought of your smiling and excited face after receiving it. He puffed his cheeks and grabbed some other things as well.
Similarly, Mingi was smiling all the way when he bought your favorite ice-cream. He knew how you would jump on your feet after seeing it. He couldn't content his own happiness while buying it.
Apart from all these, they still called you to check on you. Yeah, after ignoring a few calls, you finally decided to pick up. The line was silent at first but then they heard shuffle sounds from the other side, Yunho was quick to speak into the call.
“What are you doing, y/n?” His voice was soft yet demanding.
They heard your deep sigh before your voice, “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean by you don’t know?”
“If I was really doing something then I could have told you. I was just laying on my bed and …..thinking.”
Actually, that was the main thing, they wanted to know whether you were at your apartment or not. If they would have asked you directly, then you could have got the hint of them wanting to come over to your place and you would have quickly made up a reason to avoid them.
Why actually were you avoiding them in the first place?
“Okay, then keep laying down and think.”
Yunho glared at Mingi at his weird reply but the latter just blinked at the phone in his hold and at him. They heard your chuckle and a little smile appeared on their faces. Atleast, you laughed— maybe a little.
“Why did you call me? Where are you both?”
“We are–”
Yunho cut Mingi’s answer, “hanging out.”
“Oh…okay. Have fun!” you tried to sound more enthusiastic but they could feel the sadness.
They didn’t drag the conversation because they knew that in a few minutes, they would be at your place and then you couldn’t ignore them or their questions. And this time, they would be surely erasing all your worries and sadness.
.
.
.
Almost after fifteen minutes, you heard your doorbell ring. You groaned at the thought of someone coming to your place at this time and you glared at your bedroom door. You got up from the bed and yawned before stepping in front of the mirror. You made a disgusted face at your reflection and combed your hair with just your fingers.
The bell rang again and you scoffed before mumbling under your breath while making your way towards the main door.
“Let me see whether I look like a human or not or it won't be my fault if you get scared.”
You peeked through the peephole and you were surprised to see your bestfriends standing at your doorstep on the other side. You quickly opened the door and your round eyes were staring at them.
“You both? Here…now?” you asked but slowly moved aside to welcome them inside. Mingi gave you the flowers they bought for you and smiling, you took them. You noticed paper bags in their hand and after closing the door, you followed them to the kitchen when they placed the bags on the kitchen counter. You stood beside Mingi who gave you a bright smile and started taking out the items from the bag. Your eyes were recognizing each little thing was your favorite as if they bought things for a child who was whining for all their favorites.
He grabbed the ice-cream bucket and turned towards you, “This was the last box and I quickly bought it for you. I hope you won't be angry with me again if I ever eat your snacks.” he took the flowers from your hand and tugged them in the vase on the counter top.
“Mingi..” You groaned but quickly took the tub from his hand. You wasted no time and opened the lid. You watched Yunho place some things inside your refrigerator but he approached you with a red box in his hand. You furrowed your brows when he placed it in your free hand.
“Chocolates for my cutie.”
When you noticed the ribbon on top of the box, your eyes went wide, “Don't tell me you went to that store to buy this. This is so expensive.”
“But you are more expensive.” He said and raised a brow at you, challenging.
You laughed at his antics and shook your head, “You both are spoiling me too much.”
“Of course. We love to spoil you.” Mingi said with a smug look.
Your couch had a lot of clothes and books so you asked them to follow you to your bedroom. They both were quick to trail behind like lost puppies but they exchanged looks because they both were hesitant to ask you about the time after returning from your hometown.
Entering your bedroom, they found out that it looked like as if some disaster happened over there. You were never that messy and disorganized. You rolled your eyes at the mess but offered them the free space around the bed.
You scooted towards the headboard and they placed themselves close to you. You offered some chocolates to both of them and you scooped a spoon full of ice cream and put it in your mouth.
“This will always be my favorite.” You offered two separate spoons to them and extended your hand so that they could eat the ice cream. They took small bites.
“So why are you here suddenly? You didn’t even inform me before coming.”
“Because you wouldn’t have allowed us to come here like other days.” Mingi muttered and kept staring at you. Hearing those words from him, you avoided his eyes at any cost and looked down at your lap. You were guilty but also the reasons for which you were avoiding them were running across your mind.
You bit your lip and wanted to disappear from their gazes. But Yunho scooted closer to you. You felt his knees touching yours and his warm hands grabbed your chin to make you look at him.
“Look at me, Y/n. What’s the matter?”
You avoided his gaze but only to make eye contact with Mingi. You closed your eyes and cursed yourself for behaving like this. But no matter how you feel like running away from them, you still want to stay close. You want to hear their soothing voices talking to you. Spend time with them.
“Y/n…” Mingi pronounced your name softly.
You took a deep breath before looking at him and then to Yunho. Your eyes wandered around his face. A perfect, sweet, soft and confident person in front of you. Excellent in every aspect. Good looking, handsome and tall just like Mingi but who is more intimidating than him.
Yunho’s eyes wandered around your face, he was searching for your discomfort, your sadness and what was the reason you were ignoring him and his friend.
“Am I really not good?” You asked him in a hushed voice. Your shaky pupils and lips between your teeth was making him hesitant.
Why was he feeling that? Is he worried or angry? Angry with you? Because you ignored him all these last days?
“Who said that? You are the best.” Mingi rubbed your back and your body shivered under his touch. Yunho cupped your face in his palms and stared at you, urging you to speak more, “Tell us please. Why were you avoiding us?”
“I didn’t avoid you. I was thinking…”
“You think a lot. What were you even thinking?” His thumbs caressed your cheeks, slightly brushing your lips. Your tears were lining your eyes. You didn’t mind crying in front of them, you have cried before since middle school until now, you have cried to both of them but they never judged you.
But his heart was aching to see you like that, so vulnerable in his hold. You held his wrists tightly when he gave you a small smile.
“I’m feeling insecure lately. Don’t feel like doing anything.”
“Why?”
“This break, I went to a family function with my parents and all my other cousins were present there too.”
Both of them nodded and let you continue. You bit your lower lip and stuck it between your lips.
“They pointed out to me how I have gained weight and also I’m just an average student in my university unlike others there. They were all too pretty and all had boyfriends so they called me the ugly one. Maybe, I am really how they see me.”
“No Y/n, you are not. Don’t take those words to heart. Ignore them.”
“But I can’t, Mingi. Those words are hitting me as if I can still hear them telling me those things repeatedly. You know what's worse about this. My mom laughed with them, she was supporting their accusations.”
“I never liked your mom.”
You turned to Yunho when he said that and you raised your brows, “She didn’t like you either. She always thought that you were a bad influence on me. But she just let me be friends with you only because you are rich.” Then again you turned towards Mingi, “About you, she thought you were some sort of rebellious kid like a gangster because she always saw teachers complaining to your parents regarding your fights.”
“It’s your fault. You are the one who threatened me not to tell your mom that those students were disturbing you so when they didn't stop. I knew I had to beat them.” Mingi smiled after recalling those beautiful memories.
He added, “And that’s how we became friends. Remember?” You nodded while remembering those happy days. Yunho was holding your hands in his and Mingi patted your head, “We missed you these days. You were not talking with us.”
“I was searching for a boyfriend.”
“Really?” He asked you and hesitantly looked between Mingi and you, you felt him squeezing your hands. You nodded but sighed again, “Kidding. I was…isolating myself.”
“Why am I like this?” You asked with a whisper.
“But who would ever love to have an ugly girl like me as their girlfriend?”
“Like what sweetie?” Yunho questioned. ”And don’t even question yourself. You are perfect.”
You took a few seconds, collecting your thoughts. Yunho and Mingi wait patiently, Yunho running a soft hand through your hair and with his other one entangling his fingers with you. You inhaled softly and lifted your head up to make eye contact with both of them. Your mind was hazy with lots of thoughts.
“I feel so pathetic. I feel like I can’t ever do anything correctly. Why do I feel like this? I get overwhelmed by little work and this college stuff. I can’t handle the gossip about me and I feel like I fail at everything. It’s just… too much.” A tear slid down your cheeks and Yunho looked at you with eyes that held so many emotions.
He would do absolutely anything for you, if only it meant it would guarantee your happiness. Mingi was the same, he would again beat anyone for you. He would go to any extreme end just to ensure your well being and that you are smiling.
After all, Mingi first fell for you on the day when he first beat a boy who was making fun of you in front of the whole class. You were crying and he had enough, so he punched the guy across his cheek but the way you stared at him after that, even when he was getting scolded from the teacher, that's when he couldn’t help but smile at you and you gave your bright and wide smile.
That smile did something to him.
He fell in love with you. But you both were just kids.
So, you both became best friends.
Yunho was a transfer student who was a shy and quiet one in the beginning. And somehow they both were placed at the same bench, they quickly became friends. He joined the dance club after exactly one year of friendship with Mingi. Yunho was quick to become a social butterfly. He knew everyone around the school, mostly because of his dance club membership.
But there was this one thing. Even though he got compliments from others, he always wanted to hear your comments on his dance moves and if you ever said just a word like ‘good’, he would smile foolishly as if he achieved something. After every performance, he would search for you in the audience and could find you clapping excitedly at him with Mingi beside you.
You didn't know but whenever you were not around both of them their main topic was about you. They used to talk about you with admiration and love towards you. This was the main reason for them to become friends. And they followed you to the same university.
And they still think about you like that everyday.
“Oh Y/n, you’re not pathetic. Not at all. Everyone has different capabilities, and that’s completely fine. You have so many talents, so many amazing people around you who appreciate you. And you are so beautiful. You’re our girl aren’t you? The only one for us.” Yunho looked at you expectantly with an adoration in his eyes.
There was a look of worry on their faces similar to whenever you felt sick and he would rush to your place to take care of you and soon after Mingi comes with medicines and food.
You looked away, not meeting his eyes but Mingi caught your eyes and raised a brow. You quickly replied, “Yes, yes I am.”
His breath hitched when you said those words while staring at him. Both of their hearts felt warm but there was something more, they wanted to say. Something that they think of now is the right time. Maybe…there's also uncertainty in the air.
He beamed with delight. “That’s right baby, you’re our girl, and always will be.” Mingi added to his friend's words, ”We’re here to take care of you. I know things are hard, but I will do whatever I can to make it easier for you.” Your heart aches from the care you’re being shown. You love your bestfriends so much.
You hold so much love and respect for them that you’re not sure how to even contain it. You just feel like exploding with affection. When you again felt like crying on the thought, Mingi pushed a spoon full of ice cream in your mouth, “The ice cream is melting like you.”
“Mingi…” you whined with teary eyes. They both laughed at you when you snatched the tub from him and placed it on your lap.
“Y/n, can I ask you something? Please don’t hate me or him after this. But I really want to tell you this. Can I?” He asked.
“Of course, Yuyu. you can tell me anything.” Mingi wiped your tears and you smiled towards him before turning your whole attention on Yunho. Your eyes eagerly waited for him to say whatever he wanted and he glanced at Mingi who nodded and looked back at you. Yunho again held your hands, squeezed them a little and brought them to his lips. These sweet gestures were common to you from him but you felt so nervous this time. Your heart beat increased with every second.
Is he going to end your friendship after this? Are they tired of your dramatic breakdowns?
“Will you be our girl, Y/n?”
You blinked at him and looked at them confused, “Am I not already?”
Mingi chuckled, “Not that silly. Will you be our girl? Our girlfriend?......Please.” he whispered the last part.
For a moment, you thought that they were joking but when you found them staring at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.
“Are you joking?”
“No…”
You quickly turned around and hugged Mingi, “Please tell me. This is not a joke.”
“It’s not.”
“Then, am I dreaming?”
“No silly, you are not.”
You raised your head from his shoulder, he was still moving his hands up and down your back, “Yunho calls me sweetie and you call me silly. This is not fair.”
And here you go.
Mingi cupped your face in his hand and pressed a soft kiss in the middle of your forehead and smiled dearly at you, “You are my silly girl. My silly…only mine.”
Yunho rolled his eyes, “Don't gatekeeper her to yourself. We agreed to mutual this between us. I said ‘our’ specifically but you are saying only yours.”
You looked between both of them and licked your lips before muttering slowly, “Are you pitying me?”
“Y/n…” Yunho called your name with love and held your hands before shaking his head, “we all are different in our own ways. And you are perfect for us. We have seen the imperfect you…the real you. We have seen the ugly versions of you and also the pretty versions of you. But we loved the unfiltered version. The version which felt like you were mine. You are mine.”
“Why do I feel like you are calling me ugly but in a sweet way?”
“Maybe I am.”
“Yuyu…” You hit his arm and continued, “I will ask Mingi to beat you.”
He scoffed, “He can't because he is too weak.”
The latter laughed when you stuck out a tongue at his friend.
“But……isn’t it wrong for both of you to love me? What will others think?”
“I don’t care about others. Are you uncomfortable with this? Say it, Y/n. Are you?”
You shook your head when Mingi turned your face to him, “We want to hear you. Say it please.”
“No. I’m not. I’m happy……I like both of you.” You muttered under your breath.
“What? I can’t hear you. Did you hear something, Yunho?” Mingi creased his forehead and asked his friend who pulled you on his lap and leaned your back on his chest and held both of your hands in front and rocked you in his hold. “No, Mingi I didn’t hear anything.”
“Yeah. because I didn't say anything.”
They both started laughing loudly when they saw you shyly looking down and Yunho rested his chin on top of your head, “But I love my sweet girl the most.” he placed a kiss and softly confessed, “I love you, Y/n.”
You held his hand and played with his fingers. You felt him nuzzling into your hair when you closed your eyes and smiled, “I love you too, Yunho.”
Mingi scooted closer, sitting in front of you he cupped your face and you quickly looked at his face expectantly when he confessed, “I love my silly girl. I love you so much, Y/n.”
“And I hate my snacks thief. I love you toooooo, Mingi.”
He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead and nose, filled with overwhelming love and care.
“Now come on, Y/n. I know you aren’t eating properly these days. So let’s eat the food we bought for you earlier.”
“ I don’t want to eat. I’m not hungry.” You smiled brightly and looked at them with a fake pout.“But thank you for all the love and care. I’m so full with it.”
“Uh uh, don’t give me that look. You’re eating, and that’s the end of this conversation.” He said in a stern voice before standing up. You crawled away from him when Mingi caught you in his arms and stood up holding you bridal style and heading to the kitchen, trailing behind Yunho who was singing your favorite song.
Mingi placed you at the table, letting you watch the other one prepare plates. You were swinging your legs back and forth, already feeling so much better and humming the song with him. Mingi went back into the bedroom and came back with the ice cream tub to put into the fridge and sat next to you. He joked and sometimes said some nonsense to make you laugh and you giggled uncontrollably.
He could see the little you laughing with him in the classroom.
“You are finally mine, Y/n. The girl I adored and loved for all these years. The girl whose smile I love the most is smiling at me and sitting with me not as a friend but as my girlfriend.” He held your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“I’m so happy that my bestfriend is my boyfriend and you are the one who can only annoy me and steal my snacks. Oh wait! You have to buy me more snacks now or I am breaking up with you.” You faked a shocked expression.
“Not sorry to disturb you but she is our girlfriend. My best supporter. Here comes the food.” Yunho swirled on his feet and placed the food dramatically on the table, having the silliest look on his face.
You screeched with laughter. “Yunho, my jealous baby.” He sat across from you and pushed the plates towards you both.
“Oh? Now I’m your baby. Last time I checked it was you who bought baby milk products. ” He grabbed his fork and pointed at you with squinted eyes as if he’s in deep thought. You let out a scoff at his antics and he raises an eyebrow at you, “I didn't. You were annoying me.”
“Oh…okay..now let’s talk less and eat more..”
You excitedly nodded and dug into the food. Their eyes followed your actions and they shared looks between them with little smiles appearing on their faces. They nodded towards each other and started eating the food with you.
And they promised to themselves that no matter what the situation is, they will always stay by your side. They still kept the friendship letter from you which you gave them for the first time during Christmas and they would always fulfill your wish.
‘Stay with me……always.’
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[open!]
228 notes · View notes
auras-moonstone · 2 days
Note
hiii i rlly love ur writing so if u cld write this i’d actually pass out ‼️
u can pick urself if it’ll be jack, Ethan, hockey player Ethan or even smth else! But what im thinking abt is like where he breaks up with reader because hes convinced he lost his feelings towards her but later on realized he didnt?? Hope u have a good day 🙁
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ all you had to do was stay
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ᡣ𐭩 word count: 1.4K
ᡣ𐭩 pairing: hockey player!ethan landry x fem!reader
ᡣ𐭩 summary: convinced his feelings are gone, ethan breaks up with y/n. when he wins the championship, he realizes he made a mistake.
ᡣ𐭩 contents/warnings: heartbreak. angst. make-up. fluff.
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ethan truly thought his feelings for y/n had washed away. but it’s wasn’t until now, looking around the arena for her, having just won the hockey championship, that he realized that maybe he had rushed into conclusions and fucked everything up.
the team went to a bar to celebrate, and while his teammates drank and danced, ethan moped by the bar with a drink in his hand, replaying in his head, like a sad movie scene, the moment he ended things with y/n.
why had he been so stupid? he had set in his mind the idea that hockey should be above everything and anyone else, that it was the only thing that mattered. and not only he had managed to slowly tear the most important bond in his life, but he had also fooled himself into thinking the feelings weren’t there anymore.
“hey, man. i’m going home, tara’s waiting for me. talk to you later?” chad asked.
ethan forced a smile and nodded. “yeah, go. i’m leaving in a few, too.”
chad walked out of the bar, and ethan’s heart reached another level of heaviness. his best friend was going home to celebrate with his girlfriend, he had managed to maintain his relationship while having the exact same responsibilities than ethan. the difference? chad had never failed to find balance and see how important life outside hockey was. ethan hadn’t, and now that hockey was over for a while, he realized he had nothing left.
with an emptiness no amount of drinks could ever fill, he walked back to the dorms, where some people were still on cloud nine from the win. he was congratulated, patted in the back, yet he could not enjoy his win completely. not when the guiltiness and regret lingered heavily over him. was it too late to try get back on track the relationship he had drove off the road?
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the celebration was certainly overwhelming for y/n because everything reminded her of ethan and the way he had locked her out when she was letting him in. hell, she was ready to say the l-word when he pushed her aside. the way he had broken her heart was one she remembered all too well, every word, every expression, every little movement.
ethan hovered over her, standing as she sat on the couch. frown on his face, pained expression, as if the act of letting out the words physically hurt him. “i don’t think i- i’m not sure if i… still have feelings for you. i don’t know, i just, it’s not the same as it was a months ago. it’s as if something is missing.”
“did it cross your mind that maybe the problem is that you put hockey first?”
“y/n that’s my future. of course i’m going to put hockey first.”
“sorry, let me rephrase that. did it cross your mind that maybe the problem is that hockey is all you care about? because it’s always about that. you have stopped having time for me since you became captain. do you even remember the last time you stayed over? that we went on a date? that we spend time together without you worrying over the championship or some other fucking match?”
“y/n…” he sighed.
“well, i can remember. three months, that was the last time you acted like a boyfriend. something was indeed missing in this relationship. you.”
“hockey is everything to me, y/n/n.”
“yes, and that’s the fucking problem, ethan. your whole life can’t revolve sorely on a sport. but you clearly can’t see that, so this is useless.”
that was the last time she spoke to him, but not the last she had seen him. it was impossible not to do that, he was blackmore’s hockey star, he was fucking everywhere. she, on the other hand, managed to hide in the shadows, so she made sure she stayed hidden and not bump into him. until now.
she was leaving tara’s dorm when her eyes caught his wide frame. her feet became one with the floor, not allowing her to move. like magnet, his attention quickly fell on her.
“y/n” her name fell out of his mouth absentmindedly.
at the sound of his rough voice, she snapped out of her daze. her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say. and then his feet kept going until he was standing right before her. was it too much to ask to disappear?
“hi.” he said after a couple of seconds of silence.
“hi.” her soft voice warmed his heart, and he had to put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from bringing her into his arms. “um… congratulations. on the win.”
“thanks.” for the first time in the night, he truly felt like smiling.
“shouldn’t you be celebrating?” why was she still talking to him? her brain screamed ‘get out of here’ while her heart told her to stay.
“i wasn’t feeling it.” ethan shrugged.
y/n frowned. “you… weren’t feeling it? ethan, what are you talking about? you’ve worked so hard for this win.”
ethan let out a humourless laugh. “the funny thing is… it wasn’t until i lifted the cup that i realize that i wasn’t happy with the win.”
the girl blinked, trying to make sense of what he was saying. ethan landry, the boy who lived for hockey, was saying he wasn’t happy with winning a championship. what was wrong with the world? “i don’t understand.”
“what is succeeding if you don’t have anyone to celebrate it with? that trophy was a reminder of what i pushed away in order to get it. it made me feel miserable.”
“ethan…”
his sad gaze found hers. “what i’m trying to say is that i miss you, and that the win means nothing if you’re not with me. i looked around the stands, you weren’t there and it felt like a punch to the gut.”
she was certainly not ready to hear that. “let me remind you it was what you wanted, you ended it, ethan. you put hockey first, and it got us here.” maybe she was being a bit harsh, especially after he was pouring his heart out.
“i know. fuck. don’t i know it.” he was not going to cry. if y/n somehow managed to find it in her to forgive him, it was not going to be out of pity. but he wanted to sob so badly. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i was so fucking blind, and i hurt you.”
hurt was an understatement. ethan had absolutely broke her, and she had been trying to pick up the pieces of the mess he had made.
“i want to punch myself for everything i’ve done. for taking this long to realize i made a huge mistake. i don’t want for my life to revolve around hockey.”
y/n nodded. “that’s a good realization.”
“i don’t know what to say. there’s no justification for what i did, i was stupid and that’s the only truth. i… i want us back.” the anguish was written on his face. “i don’t know what to do to fix it.”
“all you had to do was stay… you had me in the palm of your hand. i would’ve done anything for you.”
“i know, you were too good for me. and i promise you i’ll work everyday to be the person you deserve, if you let me.” he put a strand of hair behind her ear. “i’m never making the same mistake again. i love you. you don’t have to decide now, take as long as you need. i’d wait forever.”
“you know it can’t be like before, right? you can’t keep this relationship in the lowest rank of your priorities.”
“i know, and i won’t. i love hockey, going professional is still my goal but now i know that my dream isn’t only hockey, is having you by my side while i play it.”
y/n slowly broke into a smile. “i would hate to see you succeed without me.” she grimaced as soon as the words clicked. “shit, that sounded so awful. i didn’t mean that i don’t want you to succeed unless you’re with me. that would be so bitchy, and i know you hurt me but i would neve-“
ethan couldn’t help himself, he cut her rambling with a soft kiss. “you’re the absolute cutest. i love it when you ramble.”
“it’s rude to interrupt someone, landry. you need to learn some manners.” she gave him a quick peck. “i guess i’m taking you back, or whatever.”
the hockey player smiled like a little kid and lifted her up on his arms. “i love you. did you know that?”
“i know it now. and i love you, too.” she wrapped her legs around his waist. “now, let’s go celebrate, captain.”
“fuck, yes. i have so many ideas.” the mischievous glint in his deep brown eyes made her stomach swirl.
“i’m down for anything if it’s with you.”
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circeyoru · 1 day
Text
Unwanted Soul _ Part 10 = Requested
[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]
Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9 — Part 10 (here)
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You’re sure it didn’t take a second after Alastor heard the introduction to immediately grab Kat with his many black tendrils that appeared under Kat’s feet. Her high-pitch screams made you cover your ears and and squeeze your eyes shut. At your discomfort, Alastor had a tendril wrapped around her mouth
You watched while Alastor had that raging murderous smile on his face while his eyes turned back. He threw Kat from building to building, never letting go and giving her a moment to recover. You timed a good 10 minutes before you placed a hand on Alastor’s arm to snap him out of his rage
It was considerate of him to not personally deal with her because you were still near and you two were out in the open so anything could happen. Normally, he would have torn her limb from limb and chomped down on her flesh like a piece of meat. Now this was a new method of torture
At your touch, Alastor’s head snapped to you. You pointed to a spot on the side of your head and told him Kat was marked by Vox’s servant symbol, meaning the contract she was mentioning had been one with Vox. Alastor’s grin widened even more and gave one final throw into the ground, creating a crater before releasing her from his hold
Kat gasped and groaned, trying to get up but fell back down. Slowly, she crawled her way out of the crater and ended up at your feet. You watched her with distain and pity. You honestly can’t understand why she’d take Vox’s deal, she was taken advantage of, possibility due to her having just arrived in Hell at the time and didn’t know the importance of a soul contract
“How dare you die…” Kat hissed, his hands clenched to fists. “You have no idea what I went through after that f**king stunt you pulled!”
“I’m assuming you meant you stealing My Darling’s work as your own?” Alastor glared sharply at Kat.
Kat laughed, “Hahahahaha! What kind of lies did you feed him?” She pointed a finger at you, “This f**ker let me! The b*tch was happy to write for me! I take the credit cause you don’t want the attention, remember?”
Your eyes narrowed. That’s what you told yourself all those time. You told yourself it was fine because you didn’t like all this publicity and attention. Yet the fact that you felt anger towards it meant you didn’t want to give your work to another. At least not when all this was given to someone like her
Honestly, how can she blame her later misfortune on your death? She was your best friend, shouldn’t she feel something about it? Anything? Even the slighty sadness before all this?
You gripped onto Alastor’s hand, feeling a headache and dizziness growing. You whispered that you wanted to go home
Alastor understood and with a final slap at the poor excuse of a friend across the face with his end of the cane, Alastor brought you two back to your shared room. Alastor asked if you needed anything but you merely said you needed some time alone
“If you require anything, Love. Just call me.”
“...”
Back at the crater, before Kat could recover from the blow or curse. She was swiftly pinned to the ground by the neck, a situation that was all too familiar. Sharp blade like needles stabbed into her hands and knees. Dread filled every fiber of her body as she tried to get out of the hold she’s under but her body was frozen in fear
Just like before
“Aww, The Dear Writer left so quickly… What a thoughtful bodyguard too. Nothing less will be fitting for the Dear.” The new figure cooed, their shoes applied more force on Kat’s neck, grinding her into the ground. “Don’t you agree, Faker?”
“How did you find me?” Kat shivered against the hold. “Ce— Ahhhhh!”
“Ah ah~ I think it’s only right that I have a new name down here, I’m Nemesis now.” The demon chuckled, “Not hard considering your new boss is quite infamous around the city. What with all the technology he sells, you appearing on TV was just an easy guess. Though my services aren’t required when you have this.”
Kat screamed when a sharp blade pierced into the place where Vox’s contract mark was implanted. 
Nemesis’ lips curved into a twisted smile as they continued to slowly torture the screaming female. “So where can I find the Dear Writer?”
“Hazbin… Hotel…”
“Many thanks.” Nemesis’ tail pulled out the blades without warning one by one, their ear flickering at the screams while they pulled out their phone. They grinned, pressing on something, “I think you were in the spotlight of fame a bit too long down here. Let’s return you to the nothing you are.”
Over the past few days, you’ve been working non-stop making all those TVs and speakers that you promised Vox. While doing so, you tried not using your pages and used your quill to write in the air like Lucifer suggested, it took some time since the mechanism was more complex than what you tried before. Though it offer as good exercise for you
Smoothly, you somehow managed to slowly not use your quill as well and changed to using your finger to scribble words in the air before flicking at it to summon your written object. That took way more energy that you can manage because the word required energy then the conjuration required even more energy
But you managed because you needed something to distract yourself from the recent train of events and emotional burn out
Alastor’s been trying to get you to pause in your work and relax. You ignore it all together and continued, even when Alastor pulled you away and into his arms, you were motionless and repeated told him to let go so you could work. All he could do was continue to provide you with meals and reminders to rest since you were practicing and needed energy to continue
At least that got you to pull away from work. The light in your eyes was soft and dimmed, but it was better than when you were first on the verge of breaking down like a broken doll
Like before, Charlie and the others asked about you from Alastor when he was cooking your meals. It was like the time when you first arrived in the hotel, that was when you were doing it of your own volitation with Alastor as your excuse. Now, it was because you were helping the hotel and got unwanted attention
When all of Vox’s devices were being ddelivered by Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk with a hypnotic resistance charm casted on them by you, you covered yourself in a blanket and drowned yourself in music
You were exhausted physically and mentally, you wanted to push yourself even more but you knew Alastor would be against it all the way and you don’t want to push him to do forceful thing just to make you see reason. You know Alastor would feel worse than you do because of his love and devotion towards you
At the thought of that, you feel even worse that you were treating Alastor do badly. Even worse, he’s seeing this pathetic side of you. What if he leaves you? What if he thinks you’re not worth it? What if—
A familiar rhythemic knocking on your door brought you out of your thoughts. Alastor’s muffle voice came through, “Beloved.” That nickname that melted your worries and comforted you, “I think there’s someone you should meet.”
You wondered who Alastor would just let into your room, even the hotel members didn’t get that luxury and that includes Niffty because Alastor handles the maintainance of your room all on his own. You trust Alastor, “Sure, come on in.”
The door opened and someone you’re unfamiliar with rushed in while Alastor stood guard at the door after closing it shut and locking it. “I’m Nemesis, I’m a big big fan of your work! Completely obsessed really! Oh my god! Or is it oh my Lucifer now? Anyways! It’s so good to finally meet you in the flesh! Well, not flesh flesh, but this afterlife is like another life, so~”
“Nemesis. As in like revenge? Enacting retribution?” You blinked at the name, it reminds you of Alastor’s since his meant tormentor, avenger, and persecutor. 
They got real close to your face as their smile spread, “Woah, truly the mind of a writer. You got my name reference.” They straightened up as they shrugged, “Other people, oops, demons only got that it’s Greek and hard to remember. Urgh, no class at all. They remember you by title too! Can you guess mine?”
Your eyebrow raised in confusion, you don’t know why this demon, Nemesis, was this causal with you. Though you figured that they had a talk with Alastor beforehand, that’s why Alastor even allowed them to be in here and talking with you. Even with close promixity
You observed Nemesis as they wanted. They were a snow leopard type of demon, with the fluffy ears on top of their head and tail behind them swishing like that of a cat’s. But you can’t tell whether it was just because it was their favourite animal, something they’re interested, or death related. Maybe something that they hate too, there was a sick irony in Hell
Your eyes traveled down to the row of white stielett-type weapons on their sides, they looked like giant dagger-sized needles but to you, they looked more like a pen. When Nemesis noticed your gaze, they took one from each side and started demonstrating to you how it was used like a performance
“The Dancing Needle.” Your lips moved and words came out before you knew it. At Nemesis’ frozen state and Alastor’s shocked face, you covered your mouth. “S—”
“How did you know?” Nemesis raved with shock, “You only observed too!”
You looked away, “It was nothing…”
Nemesis shook their head, “No way! It was amazing! If only I realized earlier…”
“Realized what?”
“That you’re the real author of that best selling novel that got so much attention.”
Nemesis went on to tell you. In the living world, they were Cecil and the editor for Karolina
During then, Cecil as an editor fell in love with the novels that Karolina had written. By some miracle, Cecil was given the chance to work as Karolina’s editor in the future and somewhat manager and caretaker since authors needed someone to ground them and since both were female, it was perfect
Over the years, Cecil noticed that Karolina was always attending public events and activities to boost popularity. It was normal, but to Cecil, it was weird that Karolina never actually sat down and written anything or researched for ideas. There was no burnout or ridiculous sleep schedules to follow and adapt to just to write a novel
Yet the requested writings were always provided and they were nearly to perfection, with minor grammar and some careless mis-spelling probably due to tiredness or being in the moment. It was an editor’s dream to work for someone like this. An author that’s famous and lively, and mostly punctual so nothing was forced or rushed to complete and do
But Cecil noticed the odd teachings and advices that Karolina would give to other people. There was nothing solid about it, it was all either the same old same old or just plain out weird to say. She had no accounts to retell, no personal examples to list. Yet she never asked Cecil for help
There was an interesting meeting that Karolina would always do. Whenever a deadline was near, Karolina would visit a friend of hers. Cecil thought it was for comfort and causal chatting at first, but every time she returns, there was more to tell on interviews and talk shows
To Cecil, it felt like someone was providing for Karolina
And Cecil was right. After the death of that friend, Karolina seemingly lost creativity and motivation. She lied on news channel that the novel was written for that friend to get through depression, she lied and painted herself as a caring and loving friend that wanted what’s best for that friend
Isn’t it odd that Karolina continues to sign contracts and appearances on screen regarding the novel? Some people requested for some detail clarification, but she denied them and said it was all secrets saved for her friend
Her friend this, her friend that. Everything was her friend, every excuse was her friend. So Cecil did some digging
Back when the first novel of the series was released, there was a buzz of a copycat that tried to steal Karolina’s work but failed. Cecil got her hands on that copy and read through it, the writing style was identicial to the later volumes that was published, the ideas that were cut off in this copy was in the later volumes
Cecil checked the statistics and comments, the first book had plotholes here and there, some even said it feels like things were missing here and there. But overall, it was still a good story. So there was a push to continue sequel to the first novel
Pages all dropped to the floor at the realization. That friend… That friend that Karolina was caring for… That friend had to be the real author of the books. It all made sense! Cecil searched online and found that that friend died, not by accident or sickness. No… Suicide…
An unfathomable rage and need for justice overtook Cecil and she was determined to see that Karolina suffers a slow and painful down. It was hard to pull it off, but somehow it was managed
Cecil pinned Karolina down with pens and cutters, then used daggers to stab all over her body without hitting any vitals. Cecil sliced words into her skin, ‘copycat’, ‘faker’, ‘liar’, ‘abuser’, and ‘murderer’. Then, Cecil decapitated Karolina’s head off of her body
Courtmeeting was given to Cecil where she used her chance to reveal it all. Who was the real author and who was the fake. Who was in the victim and who was the perpetator. Cecil announced that she is aware and admit that she done wrong, but if she could do it again, she would
The death sentence was passed down
Nemesis kneeled on their knees, looking up at you, tears flowing. “You suffered so much and no one knew or cared. Now they do, I’m included.” They held one of your hand, “So don’t knock yourself down, My Writer.”
Alastor took your other hand, placing a kiss on it, “We will deal with all your troubles so you can relax~ My Beloved.”
You can’t help but chuckled with a carefree closed-eye smile, “Oh you two…” But then your eyes snapped open and eyed the two, then focused on Nemesis. “Oh… There’s two of them now…”
Alastor and Nemesis eyed each other and smiled widely. “Whatever do you mean?”
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Note: And that's the end of this arc~ Okay okay, I heard you guys loud and clear. No end yet cause you guys are willing to wait and read more. I'm taking a break from this series for a while to do other ones. But what do you think of this one?
Circe Y. 
My Works: MASTERLIST
Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)
@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @nevermore-ramblings @justboredforreal @youroneandonlysimp @falsemain @scenteddelusion5 @anni1600 @readergirlstuff @salutations-demonsanddappers @mistpurpl3 @haruskrd @biadoll21 @speedycoffeedelight @wendds @paninibit @emperatris-rinaka @lucifers-silhouette @an-idyllic-novelist @cyannese-rose @type-ink @saccharine-nectarine
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lydiimae · 3 days
Text
The stars, the moon
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Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
18+ MDI!
Warnings: Talk of drinking, sexist old ideas about women, talk of sex, Anthony being a cutie shhh, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, body worship (f receiving), heavy praise, lovemaking more than hardcore sex oopsies
A.N: YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET TO ME ISTG T-T the love on my first two fics is so heartwarming. i'm so very glad you liked them both so much ^-^ Benny and Bridgerton as a whole are both so very important to me so i'm glad i did them both well. anyways my loves, this is an Anthony fic that i hope i can do as well as i did Ben. i was listening to Cosmic Love by Florence and The Machine and it gave me this idea! soooo here is an incredibly fluffy, (and smutty hehe) love filled Ant fic hehe<3 enjoy and thank you again <3 p.s that scene the gif is from sends my mind into a spiral CONSTANTLY my roman empire fr p.p.s I FINALLY GOT DIVIDERS, so now my fics will look a little cleaner i hope hehe >_<
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Growing up next to the Bridgertons had been fun and eventful, to say the very least. You were there through every trial and tribulation their family had gone through, and them with yours.
You and your three sisters had always gotten along with the seven siblings. Being the youngest and most... rambunctious of them you had gotten along with Eloise and Benedict the most. They had views of marriage and duty that were similar to yours, and when you were younger you and Benedict would spend hours making doodles on the walls of the gardens at your estate.
Your sisters, who were much more of the traditional women you would often find in the ton, tended to be more akin to the eldest Bridgerton brother and sister. Daphne and Anthony, however kind and loving they both were, were always too strict or, in Daphne's case, too proper for your liking.
You had always thought of Anthony as the moon. He thrived in darkness and was often gone before you even noticed he was there. You never knew why he left balls early, or why you spotted him with that opera singer in the deepest corners of gardens or tucked away in libraries.
Until you grew up, that is. The first time you snuck out of the confines of your room was when you were ten and eight, right after the first ball of your first social season. Benedict had insisted on you sneaking out the window of your bedroom so you could tag along with him to a party a fellow artist was throwing, and you, out of pure curiosity, obliged.
You got there and had your first everything while Benedict was painting, or so he claimed, in another room. You kissed the lord, whose name you cannot remember to this day, and then you went beyond that. Sex. It was wonderful, you decided, and from then on you had much more of it.
Anthony was perceptive, he noticed the change in your behavior and one night even decided to ask Benedict about it. Benedict being Benedict told him everything in his usual carefree manner, not thinking twice about it. Anthony reacted quite strangely however, he just... turned on his heel and walked into his study, locking himself in for hours.
He avoided you at all costs from then on. It was strange, but then again, he was the moon. The moon cannot be out forever.
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Anthony had always thought of you as the stars, a happy, mischievous young woman who thrived in the dark. You provided a light to every room you walked into that was too great for anyone to look away from. You were intricate, difficult to read and figure out, and yet you were also so intriguing that every man wanted to do just that.
You were also incredibly mischievous, he knew that from the moment you were born. Being eight years older, and a close family friend, Anthony was one of the first who got to meet you. You had always had that sparkle in your eye, like you were in on this grand plan that no one else was.
When you got older, it only got worse. You were constantly getting in trouble, whether that be drawing on your garden's brick walls with his brother or reading books about math or, fittingly, astronomy. Your father always described you as boyish, to which he would have to agree. You got into fencing when you were ten and two and immediately had a knack for it. When you were six and ten, you snuck off with Benedict and got taught how to hunt.
He was never attracted to your sisters as they were too... boring for his taste. They had interests in things like the latest fashion trends, or hairstyles, and he was sure that none of them had ever glanced at a book. It was quite comforting to know, that because of your foolish ways and thinking, he would never be attracted to you either. Or so he thought.
You were wearing a light blue dress when you entered your first ball, your arm tucked snugly with your father's. Your hair was pinned up more elegantly than he had ever seen it, a few of the still unruly, wavy strands fluttering in the breeze that your white fan made. Stunningly gorgeous in every way, and so ladylike. It was strange.
He had almost assured himself that he would never feel this way towards any woman like you, after all, his list of requirements for the next Viscountess was long and specific, to say the least. Yet there you were, walking towards his family, and he was very much sure he was attracted to you.
So when he noticed the jewelry you started using to hide the dark marks on your neck and the silly excuses you would use to leave balls early, it was worrying. He asked Benedict and his worst fears were made a reality, your innocence was gone. You were loose, in his mind. He could not, no would not, be attracted to a woman without her maidenhead. He refused.
The only way he could avoid that attraction was to avoid you at all costs, which is exactly what he did. He excused himself from every room you walked into, and every conversation. On the rare occasion that you somehow managed to worm yourself into a conversation with him, however, he gave short answers and cold glares.
His heart ached when he noticed your light dim after he left, but then again you were the stars. All stars have to burn out someday.
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You found his insistence on completely avoiding you to be quite tiresome, after all, you considered him to be like a brother. An annoying, headstrong, arrogant, prick of a brother but a brother nonetheless.
You look over your shoulder to where he is talking to a young debutante, wishing that he would at least glance over. You would never admit it to yourself, but after his company waned you missed it quite a lot. You could talk to Benedict or Eloise, sure, but there was something about annoying Anthony that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush.
"Miss L/N, are you listening?" The lord, who you were supposed to be listening to, asks. You quickly turn back to him and part your lips to make an excuse, but quickly think better of it. "No, my lord. I apologize, my mind seems to be running from me tonight." You mutter with a soft smile. He nods in turn before continuing to speak about his latest hunting trip, in which you have absolutely no interest.
You excuse yourself when he is done rambling and make your way toward the Viscount, wanting to finally know the real reason why he has made it his life's mission to avoid you. You wish, so desperately, to see the moon again.
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He sees you coming and his heart tightens, you look as beautiful as always. You are wearing dark blue, a gorgeous dress he thinks, and your hair is done up just how he likes it. You have on gold jewelry, which sparkles in the low candlelight with every step you take.
He should talk to you, he really should, and yet he cannot bring himself to. You are not the kind of woman he wishes to make the next Viscountess, not even close to checking off any of the boxes he has on his long list for what a woman should be.
So, instead, he settles for leading the young woman he is speaking with to the dance floor. He passes you without a word but falters momentarily when he catches a whiff of your perfume. Your scent, even.
You had always smelled, however strange it might sound, so comforting. Your family's colors were a light purple, the crest having two bunches of lavender flowers on it. You smelled the part, always having some semblance of lavender to you that wafted through the room whenever you entered. It wasn't strong, no, but it was just enough to get his heart racing. It wasn't just lavender that made it so intoxicating, there was something else there. Something that he could only describe as just... you. He smiles to himself at the many fond memories that come with it.
He catches the young woman looking at him in confusion and quickly puts on a straight face, continuing to walk her to the dance floor, but not before noticing the look of despondency on your face. His heart aches, but it must be done. He could not let himself fall for you, no matter how much he longed to see the brightness of the stars again.
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Your heart breaks when he walks past you with nothing but a faint semblance of a smile, and for whatever reason, you feel yourself tear up. You wonder if you had done something wrong, or said something in a passing conversation that had rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps even entertained a man he had trouble with. Whatever it was, you did not like the unfamiliar feeling his avoidance brought.
Something that you had always hidden from everyone, including yourself, was your feelings. You felt no need to be a woman who expressed love openly, nor a woman who got teary at the slightest inconvenience. It is why you liked the parties you went to, sex and alcohol were wonderful to drown out feelings that you would rather not feel. Something else you had always hidden or shoved down, was your feelings for Anthony.
He was gorgeous, that much was obvious, what with his grey eyes and his thick brown hair. The things that you didn't like, such as his ignorant views of women, or his want to always be the best, were often drowned out by the fact that the man was extremely loving and protective of those he cared about. Not only that, but he was like you in that he was truly sensitive when he did not try and shove it down. He made you want to sing his praises from every balcony in London, to profess your love in front of all of the ton so everyone could see that he was yours.
You realize you have been standing in the same spot for what has to be at least five minutes now, and that a tear that had escaped in your reminiscing has now made it down your cheek. You quickly walk out to a balcony and lean on the railing, and for once, you allow yourself to cry.
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He finds you after his dance with the incredibly boring debutante he decided to occupy himself with. He didn't want to find you, but his feet automatically found themselves to you. As if something deep inside him was naturally drawn to you and your stupid free-spirited nature.
He crowds around your back. "Is everything alright?" He whispers and is completely taken aback when he sees your face. You look up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. It was surprising to say the very least as he cannot remember the last time he saw you cry. "My God, Y/N, what happened?" He asks, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder.
"Why do you hate me?" You whisper back, and he is even more surprised than before. Hate? God he could never hate you, sure he avoided you, but he could never truly hate anything about you. No matter how much he tried.
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He was just standing there like he had not been avoiding you for the past two months. Like he had not ignored your every attempt to speak with him, like he had not completely shattered your soul. It made you so angry that you could not stop the foolish words slipping past your lips.
"It is as if I have committed a cardinal sin, as if I am some heathen you cannot stand to be around and not a woman you grew up with." You say, taking a deep breath as heartbreak shifts to anger. "It is not fair. I have wracked every corner of my memory trying to figure out what I have done wrong and still, I turn up with nothing. I..." You falter and turn to look up at the stars. "You are so distant. I find myself aching without you, Anthony. Like a piece of my soul has broken off with your disappearance and is with you for eternity." You whisper, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to him.
"I ask you again, why do you hate me? What have I done?" You plead, searching his eyes for any semblance of his old self. His eyes widen in response and he takes one of your hands. "I do not hate you. God Y/N, how could I ever hate you?" He breathes and your heart flutters at the look in his eyes. As if you are the only woman on earth. He has returned back to you. The moon has risen again.
"I... I have tried to hate you, yes, but every time you are near something in me longs to touch you in ways that would make any lady blush. I hate that you make me feel this way, so foolishly in love that I can barely form a coherent thought, that the Viscount I am becomes but a memory, but I could never hate you." He confesses, bringing his hands to your waist.
Your eyes water as he continues. "You are a loose woman, or so I so foolishly tried to make myself believe. I ignorantly put that label upon you so I could have a reason to not profess from every rooftop in London how much I adore you and I can never forgive myself for it." He whispers, wiping the tears that have somehow escaped your eyes without your knowledge. "I will never be able to profess how sorry I am, but I can hope that in time you can forgive me for how foolish I have been." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.
"How long?" Is all you can manage to croak out in return to his beautiful confession, resting your hands atop his shoulders as your eyes flutter shut. "Since I was a young man, darling. Far too long I have kept it from you." He whispers back as your heart flutters at the title he has given you. "I have loved you since I was a girl." You whisper back. "So I suppose we are both fools." You grin.
He chuckles at that, his hands rubbing small patterns into the small of your back. "Always the witty one, hm? You are truly as bright and as mischievous as the stars, my love." Your heart hammers in the stars, at the way he calls you his love but even more than that, he thinks you to be the stars. "You and I have similar minds, Ant. I always thought you were like the moon, so serious and so attuned to darkness. Yet, so beautiful." You confess, opening your eyes to look into his own. Your cheeks flush at the sight that lies before you.
He is grinning, as if you had just given him the world. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, to which you eagerly return as your eyes close and one of your gloved hands cups his cheeks. He pulls away after a moment. "The moon is nothing without the stars." He whispers, and you smile softly. "I shall ask your father for your hand come tomorrow if you let me." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your brow.
Your heart flutters and you cup his cheeks. "I would love nothing more than to marry you, Anthony Bridgerton." You whisper and he grins, pressing his lips to yours once more. This kiss is more intense than the first, more confident as he knows that you are now officially his. You wish for nothing more than to melt into him, become his both body and mind for the rest of your days. The thought sends shivers down your spine, making your core heat up at the thought of finally sharing your most intimate self with the man who has plagued your thoughts for years.
As if reading your mind he pulls back, but only just. "Might I invite you back to my bedroom, my star?" He whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to your neck. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling and nod eagerly. "Please do." You whisper back and he grins, straightening back up and grabbing your hand before pulling you out to where the carriages are. Not before muttering something to Benedict, who smirks playfully and winks at the two of you in return.
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One carriage ride full of open-mouthed kisses and love marks later and you are getting lifted out of the carriage and carried into the Bridgerton estate. You had so many fond memories here, you are elated that you would have the privilege of raising a family in the big estate. The thought of a family with Anthony makes your chest feel tight with emotion and you bury your face in the crook of his neck to calm yourself.
He notices the change of emotion as he carries you through the front door, ignoring the many questioning glances the both of you receive from the servants who still linger in the hallways, and kisses the top of your head. "What is it, darling?" He murmurs in your ear as he walks up the stairs, toward his bedroom.
"I am only being sensitive as I envision our future that I have for so long ached for." You whisper back, pressing a kiss to his neck to assure him that nothing is truly wrong. He groans a bit and smiles down at you as he ducks into his bedroom and places you on the bed. "It shall be a grand one. One filled with happiness and light, I assure you." He hums as he locks the door before climbing over you and peppering your face with kisses, which makes you giggle softly.
He moves his hands to your hair, taking out all of the intricately placed pins so he can see it in the state he loves the most, untamed and unruly, just like you. He runs his hands through your hair once he has it down, pressing kisses down your neck and to your collarbone which he bites. You whine softly at the feeling, but more so at the fact that you know he is going to leave marks. The thought of parading around a ball with his lovebites on your skin makes your cunt dampen and your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve the ache that settles in your core.
He feels the movements of your body below him and groans as your knee brushes against his clothed cock accidentally, making him harden further than he already has. He continues to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands move under you. He pulls you up to a sitting position and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the soft noises he draws from you as his hands move to your back to work on the buttons that hold your dress up.
His tongue slides into your mouth and he lets out a groan as he exposes your bare back, the choice you made to forgo any undergarments becoming the smartest one you made all day. He makes quick work of your dress, parting from your lips as he throws it across the room. "Christ." He growls when he sits back and gazes at your naked body.
Your nipples are peaked from both the cold air of the room and the arousal caused by the way he is gazing down at you. The look of pure desire in his eyes makes you flood down your thighs, which he picks up on instantly. He grins, almost a cocky grin, before removing his clothes from the upper half of his body.
He bends down when he is bare-chested and kisses from your collarbone, down to your right breast. He sucks on the soft skin just to the side of your hardened nipple, making your hips cant up and into his, a whine escaping your lips. He chuckles deeply and moves a hand to yours, so you can have something to hang onto, the other moving to hold your hip down.
He pulls up briefly and rests his chin on your chest, gazing up at you adoringly. "You are perfect, Y/N. Every mark, every blemish, every imperfection is so gorgeous. So perfect for me." He murmurs and you flush, squeezing his hand in yours as a silent thank you as you are unsure if you could even form a sentence now. "Mine." He murmurs with a soft smile before returning his attention to your breasts.
He takes your nipple into his mouth and you cry out at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud. You squeeze his hand and your back arches up into him, making him groan. He pushes you back down, all while his mouth sucks and swirls at your sensitive nipple, and rubs soothing circles on your hip with his thumb.
After a moment, he moves to your other breast, giving that one just as much attention. You whine as he bites down softly before pulling up and beginning to mark each of your breasts. He lets go of your hip and smears his hand down your thigh, gently parting your legs as he kisses down your stomach.
You gasp as he gives a kiss to your naval and look down just as he flashes a cheeky grin. He continues his trail of kisses right down to your patch of hair, your free hand grasping at the sheets while the other squeezes his. You cry out when he licks a stripe up your slit, his tongue pressing onto your swollen clit.
He takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it slowly, his hand moving back to your hips when you whine and try to grind against him. You roll your head back, pressing it into the pillow. You get a whiff of his scent and it sends a zing of pleasure to your abused clit just as he moves his mouth down to your swollen hole to drink from you like a man starved.
You moan into his pillow, taking the fabric into your mouth and sucking as pleasure ripples through your entire body. He moves his mouth back to your clit as he pushes one of his fingers into your body, groaning at how tight you are. You cry out, the sound still muffled by his pillow, at the feeling of his finger and the vibrations his noises send through your body.
He adds another finger and begins to curl them into your walls, hitting that spongey spot that makes you scream. Your toes curl as he pumps his fingers in and out of your body in tune with the swirling of his tongue against your clit. You finally take your face out of his pillow. "Close... Fuck please please please, Anthony." You babble as you begin to see stars. You come screaming his name, his fingers gripping your hip so hard you're sure you will be marked there too.
He cleans you up with his tongue before returning to your lips and giving you a swift, but sweet, kiss on your lips. He sits up and slowly rids himself of his trousers, his cock standing proud against his stomach. The sight makes you mewl and spread your legs even wider in anticipation of him filling you until his tip meets your womb.
He settles between your legs and takes both of your hands in his, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you, Y/N." He murmurs. "I love you, Anthony." You return, and his lips are on yours. He slowly pushes his cock into your body, groaning into your mouth as you moan into his. He bottoms out and lets you adjust, kissing down your neck to your shoulder.
You gently push your hips down as a signal that he can move, and he grins against your skin. He begins to slowly rock in and out of your body, groaning at the noises he draws from your cunt. "Faster, Ant. Please." You gust into his hair, squeezing his hands tight in your own.
He does not need to be told twice. He begins to slam into your body, making your toes curl as you scream out. He continues his brutal pace, the sound of body meeting body filling the bedroom. He presses his forehead to yours just as your eyes shut. "Look at me." He whispers, stalling for a moment. "I want to see how good I make you feel. I've waited far too long for you to hide, my love." He breathes, and you open your eyes.
He gives that stupid arrogant smirk before beginning to thrust into you just as hard as before as if he never stopped. Your mouth hangs ajar, your mind too focused on the feeling of his cock to even try and stop the moans that flow freely from your mouth.
He moves a hand down your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and circling to the rhythm of his thrusts. He growls when you clench around his length and moan his name. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck. "Come with me." He whispers, biting down on the skin.
The action sends you over the edge. You come for the second time, screaming his name and he follows soon after, painting your insides with his seed. He works you through your orgasm before pulling out and nuzzling your neck.
After a moment he climbs off of you and saunters to his bathroom, leaving you dazed on the bed. You turn your head and press your face into his pillow once more, letting his scent calm you down. He returns a moment later and laughs warmly at the sight. You blush at the noise and look up at him. "Funny that," He says, gesturing to his pillow as he cleans your thighs with the washcloth he brought out. "I did the same thing today." He grins.
"Mmm. When was that, hm? Did you sneak into my bedroom?" You tease and he grins, shaking his head as he places the washcloth on the bedside and crawls into bed. "No, though I am flattered you would think I would be so bold." He hums, pulling you under the covers with him and taking you into his arms.
You smile softly and bury your face into his neck, closing your eyes. "I did it when I walked past you at the ball. The young woman I was talking to thought I went mad. I had to stop and think of all of the fond memories I have of you." He murmurs as he rests his head atop yours, kissing it softly before closing his eyes as well.
You smile softly at the thought of him stopping mid-step just to think of you. It warms your soul. "I love you." You whisper, slowly nodding off to the sound of his heartbeat.
"And I love you, my star." He whispers before following you into a deep slumber.
The moon truly cannot thrive without the stars.
124 notes · View notes
jsprnt · 3 days
Text
Americano PT. 5 | Jude Bellingham x Reader
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What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?
A/N: pff, this was a long one, enjoy babes. A heads up in advance, I’ll be taking a break in the first week of April due to my exams 🫶
W/C: 4.558
part four
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"Come in here and bring your laundry hamper!"
"Just a second, dad!"
I jump out of bed, leaving my phone on the other end of it, and grab the pink hamper. I hold onto the handles tightly as I make my way out of my room.
I see him standing over the washing machine in the laundry room. I enter quickly, the both of us starting to sort out the dirty clothes and putting them in the machine accordingly.
"Did you finish packing?" My dad asks, glancing at me before grabbing the laundry detergent and fabric softener out of the cabinet above me.
"Yeah, just a couple basic things. It's like a 2-3 day trip."
He pours the blue liquid into the cap, checking the measurements before pouring it into the designated compartment. Doing the same thing with the fabric softener.
"Really? No fancy dress or anything?"
I look up from the washing machine, a sheepish smile forming on my face. I watch him shake his head in disbelief, a smile on his face as he turns the machine on.
"When I sent you abroad- I thought your aunt would raise you exactly like I would. But I forgot she probably raised you to love dressing up like her. You know, she used to terrorize me in my own room growing up, only because I had bigger windows and thus better lighting for when she did her makeup.." He shakes his head, chuckle leaving him as he reminisces.
I laugh at him, the smile on my face bigger now.
"I think packing something proper is very important. It worked out pretty well last Saturday when we went for dessert in Girona."
"Just stay safe when going out. It's a dangerous world, honey." He says, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I purse my lips at his words, remembering what had happened just a couple nights ago. He didn't know about the entire debacle, but since it was already dealt with, I didn't see a reason to bring it up.
"When are you getting up?"
"Not super early, like around eight? The match isn't until Tuesday, so no early flight."
"You know, it's almost twelve, right? Go to bed already, and don't go on your phone." He tuts, scolding me and pushing me towards my room.
"Alright, I'll go to bed."
"Goodnight, I love you." He says, kissing my forehead before he makes his way down the stairs.
"Love you too!" I shout as I watch him walk away while I stand in front of my bedroom door. The silence of the house surrounding me when I’m left alone.
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The team had finally wrapped up training for the day. We had arrived in Napels that morning, and they had trained hard until late in the afternoon.
This left us with some free time for the rest of the day, until we had to prepare for the match tomorrow.
"You've been doing your makeup for about 40 minutes now." I hear Luis complain, lying flat on his back on top of my bed.
"I could be meeting my future Italian husband out there! Come on, let me look cute for tonight."
I darken up my eye makeup, coloring my waterline with a black pencil to contrast my white dress.
I then drench my face in setting spray, fanning it dry with a random brochure, I found on the nightstand.
"Besides, you're wrinkling your clothes, stand up. I can't have you looking bummy! What if you find yourself a pretty lady?" I wink, struggling to hold back a laugh at the unimpressed expression he sends me.
I finally stand up from the chair, smoothing down my dress in front of the mirror, and adjust the slit a little.
"We can go now!"
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"Are you drinking?"
"No, not feeling it tonight." I mutter, eyeing the delicious-sounding food on the menu.
I look up, watching Luis flip through the menu.
"I'm going to order a pizza."
"Why pizza?" He asks, looking at me.
"We are practically in the birthplace of pizza. Are you judging me?" I ask, raising a brow at him.
"Just get it, I'm not judging you.." He raises his hands as if to surrender.
"You're so mean when you're hungry." He mumbles, closing his menu.
"Just appreciate the fact that I dragged you here. Look at how beautiful the view is.
I turn, admiring the view behind the glass panels of the restaurant. The Vesuvius mountain and the water are absolutely breathtaking, especially right now during sunset.
He sighs at me in agreement, looking around to find a waiter for us to finally order our food.
I watch him order for the both of us, getting distracted by the view, and turn towards him when the waiter leaves.
"If you get hammered, I'll leave you here.."
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"So, now you want to find an Italian girlfriend?" I ask Luis bewildered, watching him walk - no stumble in front of me.
The drinks he ordered were good, so good he felt inclined to ordered multiple of them. I didn't keep count, but he definitely had more than his limit, which made him the drunk mess he was right now.
"Of course, you're my best friend. We should each find a person to marry!" He slurs, walking towards the docks.
I sigh deeply, looking down at my heels, before jogging up to him, clutching onto his shirt tightly.
"You're going to fall into the water!" I shout, trying to hold him back from the edge, but he shouts in protest.
"It's fine, maybe one of these hot people will save me from drowning."
Oh my god
I look up to where he's pointing, seeing a group of people on an expensive-looking catamaran. I'm way too distracted to realize my grip on Luis has loosened, and watch him leave. I see him greet the partying people loudly. I close my eyes in embarrassment, wanting to jump into the water out of shame.
Who even parties on a random Monday evening?
I surprisingly hear someone shout something in what sounds like Italian. I turn my head, eyes searching as I turn my attention to the person.
My eyes meet the eyes of a tall, brown-eyed, beautifully sun-kissed man. His blue linen shirt halfway unbuttoned.
He looked like, and definitely is trouble.
I hear him say something again, and my eyes widen when they go back to Luis, who looks like he's having the time of his life with two girls.
"English?" I hear the beautiful stranger ask.
I nod, watching him walk towards the dock and then, interestingly enough, reach for my hand.
I would never leave Luis alone on this boat full of strangers. Therefore, I reluctantly grab the guy's hand as he pulls me onto the boat.
"Hi?" I greet, raising a brow. Quickly smoothing my dress down.
"Hello, and your name is?" He asks, eyes roaming up and down my body, definitely checking me out. The Aussie accent practically melting me on the spot, making it difficult for my jaw to stay closed.
He was the definition of trouble.
But I needed to get my mess of a friend off this damn boat and leave.
"y/n, yours?" I ask, pretending to be more interested than I am, sneakily glancing at Luis.
"I'm Chris. You're not from here, are you?"
Obviously not
"No, I'm actually from Valencia."
A white lie, he didn't have to know anything about me.
"Valencia, Spain? What are you and your friend doing here?"
"Visiting, for fun." I lie again, giving him a smile.
"Really? Having fun so far?" He smiles, his pearly white teeth blinding me.
"Yeah, a lot of fun." I reply, my brows raising in fake interest.
I watch him chuckle, his plump lips curling up. His arm going up to run a hand through his blonde locks.
"Care for a drink, then?"
As beautiful as this man was, I wasn't naive enough to accept a drink from him. Especially, since we were in a totally different country.
"I'm fine, actually. I'm leaving tomorrow, so I'm trying to not drink as much."
"Oh, you probably came to watch the Champions League game then?"
Got me, kind of.
I immediately pull a sour face, pretending to be disgusted.
"Of course not, I have better things to do than attend a Real Madrid match. If it wasn't for Valencia, I'd be for Barcelona anyway.."
That one physically hurt to say.
"Oh- don't get mad now." He teases, putting his hands up, his smile getting wider.
I had to leave hastily, at least before this man got me into his bed.
"You're fine. I'm just trying to get my friend and leave. You alright with that?"
"Let me get your number first. Don't think I'll forget you after tonight." He says, handing me his phone.
I was curving the man left and right, and he still wanted my number?
"I don't really give out my number. But I can give you my Instagram handle?"
"That's fine." He says, clicking on his Instagram.
I watch his screen, my eyes accidentally catching the number of girls on his explore page.
No way, this man was looking for something serious.
"Oh, I'll type it in. If that's alright?" I say, reaching for his phone. He nods, handing me the device.
I quickly type in my username, pressing follow.
To snoop a little further, I go back to the explore page, seeing more ass and boobs than I had prepared for. Pretending to be unfazed as I clear the Instagram tab and hand his phone back to him.
I mean, their bodies were amazing, but why the hell was he following them?
"That's it. Here you go. My phone is dead, so I'll talk to you later?" I say, fidgeting with my handbag. My social battery was dying even faster than normal tonight. 
I watch him nod, his eyes on me, as I immediately make my way to Luis, who's now sitting with a random girl.
"Hi, sorry to interrupt, but we have to leave."
I grab onto Luis' arm, using all my strength to get him up. Noticing the amount of shot glasses and empty beer bottles in front of them.
How the hell did he manage to do that so fast?
Idiot.
"Wait, do you want his Instagram?" I ask the girl. She hesitates before nodding looking at us confused.
"Okay, well, let me spell it for you."
I spell his username quickly, turning away.
"Yes, that's it. We're not a thing, by the way- he's my brother. Bye!"
Another lie, but maybe it would help him in the long run.
"Let's go, come on." I groan, dragging Luis back to the hotel.
It was doable until he started leaning his body on me, making me slump partially. My heels beginning to hurt my feet more than ever.
After a good ten minutes of struggling, we finally enter the elevator of the hotel, his body weight starts to pile on me. Arriving at our correct floor I drag him out, a huge sigh of relief leaving my lips as I recognize some of our Real Madrid players.
"Help." I mumble, watching some of them recognize the fact that I was half-suffocating.
I watch Antonio, Aurélien, and Jude, of all people, walk towards us, getting drunk and passed out Luis off of me.
"Thank you." I sigh, fixing myself, watching Antonio comically throw Luis onto one of the seats there.
"What happened to him?" I hear Brahim say as I try to catch my breath and I readjust my grip on my bag.
"Long story."
"Let's put him to bed first." Antonio says, making me nod. All of our eyes moving to a passed-out Luis.
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"So, he got into a random boat?" Federico asks, looking at me.
I nod, trying to hold back a laugh while I drink my water. The cardigan I had retrieved from my room keeping me warm as we sat in the sky lounge.
"I would've partied." I look up at Cama, shaking my head.
"They were strangers, come on! But- one guy did approach me." I say, sending him a smug look.
"So you had some fun!"
"Look, he was cute. He offered me a drink, but I refused."
"That's it? Come on..”
"Why are you all up in my business?" I joke, being half-serious, hearing some of them laugh.
I finish my cup of water, beginning to stand up from my seat.
"It's getting late, I'm going up to my room. Don’t make it late, you guys need to rest well!" I say, waving after they send me off with kind words.
I press the elevator button, crossing my arms as I wait for it to arrive. The doors open a few seconds later, and I step in. I raise my head in surprise when I see an arm hold the doors open. Surprise turns into irritation when I notice Jude step in.
"Why did you follow me?" I ask, playing with the clasp on my bag.
"You know, not everything is about you." He mutters, a fed-up expression on his face. I sigh, closing my eyes in impatience, as I lean against the elevator wall.
The elevator makes a noise, and I check the floor number, getting out, hearing him follow me.
I start rummaging through my handbag for my room-key. Finally, fishing it out as we walk up to our respective rooms.
I arrive at my door, hearing Jude walk up to his own, his room interestingly enough being across from mine.
I go to scan my card but freeze, realizing my door is open by a small sliver.
"Why is my door open?" I mumble to myself, trying to subdue my instant panic.
"What?" I hear, seeing Jude walk up to me from the corner of my eye. His eyes darting in between me and the door.
"You left it open, probably." He responds, not an ounce of concern in his voice.
"You think?"
"Yeah, since you're so good with doors-"
"Okay, stop right there." I mutter, pushing the door open further. I flick the light on, looking around cautiously.
I hear him scoff at my behavior, and I turn around to look at him.
"Can you check the room?" I ask, trying to sound as nice as possible.
"No." He deadpans, giving me a bored look.
I hold back a string of cuss words, stepping into the room as he stands at the doorway.
"Stay here at least, before I get murdered."
"Would be a sight." He mutters, voice laced with humor. Though, I found it difficult to see this situation as funny.
"You're not funny. Are you aware of that?" I ask, punching into the curtains to check if anyone's hiding behind them.
"Find anything, detective?"
"Shut up." I whisper, going to open the bathroom door, hesitating for a moment.
Adrenaline starts pumping through my veins. I try to take deep breaths to prepare for a fight.
"What if someone's actually here?" I whisper, my eyes wide, as I turn to look at Jude.
I watch his expression harden, his jaw tensing as he looks at me.
"What do you mean?!" I hear Jude whisper back. His voice is hushed and more low than usual.
I take off both of my heels, ready to bash the possible intruder’s head in with my heels.
"Call security." I whisper, preparing to fight. I watch him take out his phone, before he raises his head again. His expression darkens for a moment before it changes into something- else...
"What are you doing, idiot? Come here." He says, and I can almost make out a vein popping out of his forehead.
All of the sudden, he makes his way over to me, grabbing my wrist and dragging me out of my room. Shutting the heavy door behind me, his hands coming up to my shoulders.
"What is wrong with you? You don't even know if they're with a weapon or anything!" He shouts in a hushed voice, his Brum accent more prominent than ever.
I continue staring at him, my lips parting in realization.
Damn, I was such a shallow thinker in times of crisis.
My mind turns blank, not acknowledging Jude's presence anymore. I can only hear him sigh and mumble something as security from both the club and hotel arrive at my room.
"Could you take her somewhere else, sir?” I hear someone say, feeling my wrist being pulled abruptly by Jude.
I follow him blindly, but I try to look back at my room. Wanting to see if someone would actually appear out of my room.
"Don't look." I hear, looking in front of me again as I’m brought into the hotel room across from mine. Nicer and bigger, definitely his.
"Sit down." He orders, pulling my wrist again and making me sit on one of the cushioned chairs.
I oblige without protest, too dazed to react in a snarky way. The silence in the room feels like hours when only being about ten minutes. It is finally cut off as Jude's phone starts ringing loudly.
I hear him speak for a few minutes before he hangs up. I watch him walk towards me as he sits in the chair next to me.
"No one was there, they checked the cameras as well. You left the door open."
I cringe, realizing my own initial mistake. A shudder runs through me as he explains.
"Oh, great!" I mumble sarcastically, feeling embarrassed, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress. Only now realizing I was barefoot, my heels probably fell out of my grasp when he pulled me out of the room.
I get up when he finishes explaining, walking up to the door. Pulling my soft cardigan closer to soothe myself.
"Where are you going?" I hear Jude ask. I turn and look back at him.
"Back to my room." I say, suddenly feeling the day's exhaustion take effect. My vision becoming blurry as I feel an ache make its way to my head.
This day alone probably took five years off my lifespan.
I hear him sigh as he walks up to me. Feeling him put his hand on my right shoulder.
"What?" I ask, looking him up and down. Trying to shrug his hand off of my shoulder.
I watch his jaw tense again, his grip on my shoulder getting tighter, though, not getting to the point of hurting.
I open my mouth to speak again, as he doesn't bother to answer my question. Unfortunately, I’m stopped by a sharp pain shooting through my head.
I groan in pain, placing my hands on my temples as I squeeze my eyes shut.
"What's wrong?" I hear him whisper, his other hand making its way to my left shoulder.
"I'm fine..." I dismiss, taking his hands off my shoulders. I reach for the door handle, pulling it down and stepping out of the room.
I tap my card against the sensor hurriedly and open my door, turning to see his door across the hallway already shut.
"Doesn't even care to watch me go inside." I mutter, ridding myself of my clothes and taking a much-needed shower. Trying to wash off all my stress and embarrassment.
When I'm done, I make a beeline to my bed, closing my eyes and forcing myself to sleep. I shift and turn, groaning in frustration as I turn my pillow around for the nth time.
It's like my sleep was robbed of me within minutes. My thoughts keeping me up. I check the time, realizing it was almost two in the morning.
I begin getting fully paranoid, my stupid brain making up the craziest scenarios imaginable.
I bury my face deeper into my pillow, forcing my brain to shut up. Finally, managing to fall asleep, too tired to keep my anxious walls up.
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"You look like a truck ran you over."
"Shut up." I snarl replying to Jude. Trying to ignore him further as I continue eating my food, Luis sitting across from me at the breakfast buffet.
I had gotten maybe five hours of sleep. My three layers of concealer weren’t doing its job today. It had creased within minutes of application.
I roll my eyes as he sits at the table next to us, probably to annoy me further.
“Someone get this weirdo away from me..” I say loudly, closing my eyes in prayer.
I hear Jude scoff, following it up with a laugh.
"Were you born insufferable, or do you practice in the mirror before going to bed?" I ask, poking at my food.
I hear him chuckle again, which makes my blood boil even more. I glance at Luis, seeing a grin forming on his face.
"You too?"
I had told him everything that had happened last night, him feeling embarrassed but finding it hilarious at the same time.
He did promise he'd make it up to me.
"Don't forget how I dragged your ass from the dock to the hotel. I could've easily left you there."
I threaten, looking at Luis as I shove another spoonful of food in my mouth.
I see Jude open his mouth, but I stop him with a hand as my phone rings. My dad calling me right at the perfect moment.
"Oops, sorry, too busy for whatever you want to say."
I realize how immature I sound, but I digress. I get up and answer the call. Chatting to my dad about the past few days.
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I signal for Luis to stop filming, patting his back to commend him for his hard work after the final whistle is blown. A nice 3-2 putting us on top of the table.
"They played really well."
I hum, posting the last social media post and turning to him.
"Right, if they keep playing like this, we'll definitely end up at the top of table C for sure."
"We'll go far. That's without question."
We make our way inside, trying to rush to get inside on time.
"Hugo is saying to interview both Frederico and Jude." I mutter, rereading the text message.
"That's fine, let's just wait here until they're ready." He says, both of us waiting in front of the changing room as they pile inside. Tired expressions on all of their faces.
"By the way, have you seen this one guy that's working here? He's so cute for you." I hear Luis say, looking up at him confused.
"Which one?" I ask, fidgeting with the cable of the camera.
"I'll show you when I see him." He says, and I give him a look.
"He better be cute, since you're making me wait."
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"Alright, that's it." I announce, looking at Jude. Finally wrapping up his interview.
"Thank you." He mutters, with less attitude this time. Probably way too tired to have a petty fight with me. I wasn't disappointed with that, to be honest. I couldn't stand speaking to him anymore.
"See you on the bus, man." I hear Jude say, giving Luis a handshake as he begins walking away. My eyes follow him, piercing into his back.
"See, that's the guy I was talking about." I hear Luis say, my head snapping towards the direction he was looking at.
"Which one-" I begin, shamelessly looking at the guy.
"What? No, are you serious?" I ask, appalled by the person he’s shipping me with.
"Yeah, he's cute for you." He mutters, giving me a smirk.
"You might be hungover still. Let's just get into the bus, please."
We pack our equipment up, starting to walk towards the team buses. Successfully helping fellow staff with the multiple suitcases and bags and stepping up into the vehicle.
We greet the players we make eye contact with, the both of us walking along the occupied seats until we finally find two empty ones next to each other.
"I'm tired..." I mumble, leaning my back against the seat, closing my eyes as I get comfortable. Leaving my phone on my lap.
"I can see that." I hear Luis reply, and I open one of my eyes to give him an offended look.
"How sweet of you." I reply, trying to take a quick fifteen-minute nap. Running around for more than two hours with five hours of sleep was not for the weak.
I was part of the weak.
I hear the sound of a notification, surprised it could be heard through all of the chatter and banter of everyone in the bus.
"Was that your phone?" I ask, leaning my head against the window.
"No, it was yours." Luis answers.
"Can you read it for me? You know my password."
I feel my phone being removed from my lap, a second of silence from Luis before he starts laughing uncontrollably.
"What?" I ask, getting curious.
What could be that funny?
"It's a DM from a Chris on Instagram."
"Who the fuck is Chris?" I ask, finally opening my eyes to take my phone back. My eyes roaming around the screen, reading a short message with a 'view once’ photo.
"Thought you repped Valencia?"
I read the message out loud, looking back at Luis, confused. Then I look at the profile picture.
"Oh my god! It's the guys from the boat!" I shout, embarrassed when I realize I was being louder than necessary.
"The one you talked about?"
"Yeah- wait, what do you think the photo is?" I ask, starting to feel squirmy.
"A dick pic." I hear Luis whisper.
"Who got a dick pic?"
I hear someone ask, looking at the row behind me. Jude peeking his head in between our headrests.
"Not you, so mind your own business.." I reply, moving my phone out of his view and returning to my conversation with Luis. Ignoring the daggers he’s sending me with his piercing gaze.
"No way, gross. He looked desperate, but no way."
"Well, click on it."
"No, now I'm scared. Why would you even bring that up?"
"Just squint."
I huff, leaning back against the widow, squinting as I press on the photo.
"Oh-" I exclaim, taking a deep, relieved breath.
Thankfully, it’s not an explicit picture, but a photo of me at the stadium we were just at, prematch to be specific. From the angle, you could tell the photo was taken from the stands.
"Wait- what the fuck? He was there? Ew, why did he take a photo of me?” I say, showing Luis the screen.
I watch his mouth fall open. He reaches over, taking my phone from me and screenshots the photo.
"That's why he sent that message. You lied to him about yourself, right?"
"Of course I did!" I say, snatching the phone from his hand.
"What do I say?" I ask, looking at him with a questioning look.
"Do you even want to speak to him?"
"Well- I'm bored?" I give him a grin, his arm coming to push me.
“I can’t stop you, but you said he looked like trouble, so ignore him..." He advises, squeezing my arm.
I nod at his words, taking them in. I swipe to press the mute button on the chat, and turn my phone off.
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cameronspecial · 1 day
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Mistakes That Can Be Undone
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: N/A
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 1.4K
Summary: After finding an invitation that throws his whole world off balance, Rafe has a plan to get back the love of his life.
A/N: Inspired by "Something Blue" by Voilà.
Masterlist
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When Rafe finds the invitation, his world becomes submerged in water, already causing him to feel dizzy. ‘You are invited to join Y/N Y/L/N and Hudson Jones to celebrate their wedding’ makes him forget what he is getting from Topper’s room in the first place. Of course, Topper got an invitation. He isn’t only Rafe’s friend but hers. The black-and-white extravagance of the invitation is not her choice. He knows for a fact she has always dreamed of a smaller wedding. Just their immediate family and closest friends attend the most important day of their life. 
———
Her head rested on his stomach as she scrolled through Instagram. A particular post caused her thumb to hesitate to swipe up. She angled her phone toward him, “Remember, Mrs. Thompson? She got remarried.” His eyes darted toward her screen to see a picture of their third-grade teacher in a wedding dress. “You follow her on Instagram?” he questioned. She shrugged, “I follow her daughter. She was always nice to me.” “Yeah, I remember Monica. She was hot,” he thought out loud, which caused Y/N to hit him with the back of her hand. “Don’t worry. She can never be as beautiful as you. Have you ever thought of what you would want for your wedding?“ She said, “Small wedding, extravagant marriage.” He chuckled, looking down at her with a loving smile. “Aren’t those the same thing?” Her head shook, “No. A wedding, for me, is a party to celebrate the union. A marriage is a lifelong commitment.” His arm wrapped around his waist. “That made no sense, but I will do whatever you want,” he whispered with his lips pressed against her temple. 
———
“Dude, what’s taking you so long?” Topper’s voice pulls Rafe out of his memories. Rafe blinks back the tears and places the invitation back onto the desk. He and Y/N broke up five years ago, yet a small part of him always thought they would find their way back to her. She is the love of his life and all because of one small mistake he made, he never gets to be her lifelong love again. It feels like some mistakes aren’t meant to be fixed. He picks up the second PS5 controller from the dresser and leaves the room with a newfound emptiness. 
———
He knows he shouldn’t be here. It is definitely not his place to be sneaking around the church to look for her. Yet another thing that is wrong with this scene. Y/N loves the beach and it was one of the reasons why she decided to do her graduate degree in Australia. He catches a glimpse of white lace stepping into a room and the door closes after the bridesmaid and mothers of the couple leave the room. He overhears a bridesmaid saying that Y/N needed a moment to herself. His grin struggles to break through his stoic expression. 
The tap on the door causes her to spin toward the sound. She takes a deep breath, already struggling to keep her tears in check so she doesn’t ruin her makeup. “I-I really need a moment to myself, please,” she croaks out. She wants to groan when the person behind the door ignores her pleas and enters anyway. Even though it isn’t her preferred wedding look, she still looks beautiful in the vintage lace wedding dress. The long flowy sleeves make her look like a goddess. The lace reaches up to her collarbone and it is a little too high for his liking. Their eyes meet and he gives her a small smile, “I know you need a second; however, I don’t know if I’ll still have the courage to do this after one.” Her heart stops at not only the sight of him but also the scent of him. Even after all these years, the leathery smell of his cologne makes her feel at home. “What are you doing here?” she questions, fighting the urgent to step forward. He does it for them, “He is the something new, so I’m here to be your something old.” She giggles with a shake of her head. “I think that tradition was referencing objects, not humans,” she advises. “Seriously, though, what are you doing here, Rafe?” His hand falls to the back of his neck. “Do you really want to marry him?” he asks, eyes falling to his shoes. 
“Of… of course, why wouldn’t I? I love Hudson.”
“You don’t sound very sure about that, Honey. Do you think maybe you are getting cold feet?”
“You don’t get to ask me that, not when we haven’t spoken to each other in years.”
Her downcast eyes tell him he is right. He risks taking a step further, reaching out to rest his hand above her elbow. The warmth of his hand has her wanting to melt against it. “You aren’t upset about us not talking, not really. Ask me what you want to ask,” he whispers with his lips touching the shell of her ear. She leans back to look him in the eyes, “Why didn’t you want to leave with me? Why be here now when you were the one to end us because you didn’t want to move to Australia with me?” He brings his palm up to rest on her cheek and gives her a meek smile. Tears begin to well over the edge of his eyes as he thinks about how he is the reason why she is getting ready to walk down the aisle to someone else. “I was an idiot. I was young and thought I needed my father’s approval more than I needed love. And I am so so sorry that I made that decision, which hurt you, Honey. But I promise you if you give me another chance, then I won’t be stupid enough to let you go again,” he vows, his thumb kissing her cheekbone. A deep breath falls out of her mouth, “I can’t, I’m supposed to get married today.” Nails dig into his heart, slowly tearing it apart to leave him for dead until a glint coming from just below her collarbone catches his attention.
He grasps drops to the oval locket hanging on a chain from her neck. Engraved flowers surrounded both of their initials at the front and he props it open to see his favourite picture of them still safe inside. Since they broke up, he thought she would’ve gotten rid of the necklace he gave her on their first anniversary. The symbol that he is serious about their relationship and has left behind his player ways. His gaze burns a hole into his gift to her, “How can I take your words seriously when the symbol of my love is around your neck on the day you are meant to marry the supposed love of your life? Tell me something, Honey, does he know his skin is pressing against a gift from me while he makes love to you?” 
Her eyes widen at his realization and silence falls in the room. He can see her thoughts spin around in her brain. “Is it cold in here?” she whispered, causing Rafe’s head to tilt till a smile craved itself on her face. “I think I need to go warm up in your Benz.” She laces her fingers through his and picks up the bottom of her dress. They both dash out of the room, running in the direction of the car. He tries to be as quiet as possible, except her giggles make their location known. Staff members’ heads follow the couple’s movement as they run down the hallway. Once the breeze from the wind hits their face, he unlocks the door to his vintage blue Benz that he got because she loved how the colour matched his eyes. He jumps over the driver’s side door and leans over to open the passenger’s door for her. Her laughter causes his heart to flutter. As soon as she is safely buckled into her seat, he quickly pulls out of the parking spot. Rafe can’t stop himself from smirking after spotting who he assumes is Hudson, jogging out of the church with an exasperated and confused look on his face. Y/N yells over her shoulder, “I’m so sorry, Hudson. I’ll explain everything later.” 
They drive until the church is out of sight. He chances a glance at her whilst he stops at a red light. The massive grin on her face causes flowers to bloom in his heart. She looks at him and places her hand over the gear shift so he can lace his fingers with hers. He brings her knuckles to her lips. “I’m not growing old with him,” she states. He can’t help but beam himself, “Good because I’m the only one who gets to be your something old and new.”
Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura
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sugaldean · 8 hours
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What if.
What if Sandra Lynn has trouble expressing her feelings for Jawbone
What if one day she said "I love you" but was overwhelmed in the middle and just ended up saying "I wolf you"
And Jawbone, knowing perfectly how she works and how hard it can be for her said "I wolf you too"
And when they moved in Mordred Manor they laughed about Live Laugh Love signs and how the mantra was still pretty good when you're trying to heal. Remember those three things on your life that helps you everyday.
And Sandra Lynn thought about it, thought about Live Laugh Wolf. That it would be so important for her because it would be something meaningful in the way she express her feelings BUT would still pass as a joke if needed.
So she arrives, tell him she got a surprise for him and shows him this.
He laughs/cries because yeah it's perfect, it's funny but it's still so meaningfull.
Si he hangs it above their bed. Because it's cute, it's funny, it's communication. It's them.
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tiyoin · 2 days
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I see your anxious reader and raise you this. Depressed, anxious, ADHD, mild autistic reader. :)))) my life is a living hell! :))))))))) *shakes and stemming violently*
🫵 YOU
you get it.
i don’t have autism (i think, gotta get that checked, but it’s highly suspected that i have audhd -from my lovely therapist🫶) so i don’t want to misrepresent it or offend anyone. but you’re literally the strongest soldier out there. like im struggling with just the 3 and my life is already a hellscape.
but as someone with all of the top 3 let me tell you- they were HUGE influences on how twisted anxiety reader acts.
is reader going to have a special fixation? yes! but will it be on an object… possibly no, but IT’S GONNA BE ON PEOPLE.
they’ve already considered grim a ‘safe person cat’ and subconsciously think of him as an emotional support animal (like i did with my late dog) so you can expect more of grim and reader!!
Is reader gonna self destruct as soon as they feel like experienced ‘rejection?’ ABSOLUTELY, they’ll pull away at the slightest chance their vulnerability was seen as ‘too much’ or if the person got uncomfortable
and obviously by the title reader is socially anxious. but because of recent events i’ve found a deeper level of experiences with it and reader is about to hit a new plight of events!!
but imagining reader with the 4 horsemen of the mental illness (that’s what i call them cause everytime i got diagnosed w smthn i swore i heard the trumpets of death) their life would be sooo much harder. just because there’s so many contradictions between them.
reader needs a schedule to feel organized but they can’t keep to the schedule because all their dopamine went into creating said schedule. and they’re procrastinating.
reader wants to talk to someone but they just realized eye contact is too much for them. but they were taught to look at people when talking or it’s rude so they’re just 👁️👁️ staring
reader had a surge of energy, of dopamine and they were out-going, friendly, talkative- everything was going right, but then the next day they’re hit with a huge slump. ofc reader is in despair because see they can do better, be better!
and it frustrates them to no end.
reader at the monstro cringing at the food they were given. you bet it tastes amazing! but the side dish is looking at you weird, and it’s touching the main dish… no! it’s not a problem, not at all! but… there’s an uncomfortable feeling you’re experiencing, and you do everything in your power not to be rude.
ofc reader gets embarrassed by this. they’re acting like they’re 5!! but… the food is contaminated and you can’t eat it ‘pure’ anymore. and don’t get the reader started on the texture of the veggies, it makes them shudder. like it’s good! but there’s smthn about it.
reader who notices everything but forces themselves to have tunnel vision because everything is just too much.
i’m taking this one after myself, but when reader is nervous they have a sign. ofc rook was able to decipher it in a split second, but they’ll always scratch their nose or rub their hands together like they’re plotting smthn
yeah, plotting of to escape!
reader who wants to fit in soo badly, but no matter what they do they always feel like an odd ball. but when they hang out with the odd balls they still don’t fell, quite right. reader is gonna experience a constant limbo of ‘where do i belong? why can’t i fit in anywhere?’.
HAHAHAHA READER BEING ABLE TO REMEMBER THINGS TO THE SLIGHTEST DETAIL WHEN THEY WANT TO BUT ASK THEM TO REMEMBER SMTHN IMPORTANT N THEY GO BLANK
but don’t worry anon, our lovely twisted anxiety reader is gonna go through it 🙈
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oakay · 1 day
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i won’t go too deep into this because there’s no point focusing on negativity!!! but!!!! as valid as it is to have criticisms of season 2, i do think it’s important to remember that even though it is a plot/story based show, it is still a dnd show!!!! a lot of the plot is based on dice rolls and anthony especially has to work around that along with what the cast do which is not at all up to him. if he were to undermine what’s going on amongst the main characters to do what he felt was the “best writing choice,” it might as well have been a scripted series 😭 i feel like a lot of pressure surrounding s2 is based on writing choices that weren’t even choices if that makes sense! dnd is such an unpredictable storytelling format (which is part of the fun) which means it is expected for there to be unsatisfactory moments and that’s a big part of what i see people talking about! id understand a lot more if this was a fully scripted story but it isn’t and i think that’s very important to consider! this isn’t me saying you can’t be critical!!!! i just think it should be considered # peace and love 🌟
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"Katara Just Needed To Heal Zuko's Scar"
I understand why this argument is being made. After all, she offered to heal Zuko, and so she does. So why are the shippers trying to paint it as some romantic moment? It's a reasonable question. But I'm gonna try to answer it.
Zuko and Katara weren't in love in this scene for two reasons: Firstly, it's their first conversation, making any romantic development feel rushed and unnatural. Secondly, as fictional characters, they don't possess hidden feelings, unless the writers have confirmed otherwise.
So what argument is being made? The argument is that this moment is an example of ship baiting and could have served as romantic build up if the writers decided to go down that route, and I'll explain why.
1# Just because an action was necessary, doesn't mean it can't be seen as romantic
I know how this sounds, but hear me out. Let us take a look at another show, where you'd least expect to see a romantic connection, and the action was completely necessary. I want to discuss Rick and Morty's Beth x Beth.
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Beth is the last person who'd have tension with Beth, clearly it's disgusting. And she really did have to install that chip. But the thought did cross your mind, they did get together, and this scene was romantic build up, despite not being romantic in-universe.
Now that we've looked at the most extreme example ever, it's time to look at a classic: Aladdin. One of the most iconic moments in the movie is when Aladdin simply offers his hand to Jasmine so she'd get on the flying carpet, asking "Do you trust me"?
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Aladdin isn't asking if Jasmine trusts him because they're deeply bonded, he asks that because she's scared to get on the flying carpet. And he isn't reaching for her hand because he wants to hold her hand, he reaches because she'd needhelp getting on it. And yet, it's universally recognized as an incredibly romantic moment.
Very often writers use the mundane necessities like casual touch to set up romantic tension. This narrative approach allows for the gradual planting of the idea in the audience's mind, even in situations where intimacy may not be overtly present, adding nuance and depth to romantic storylines. And in fiction, it's everywhere.
2# The set up wasn't just necessity, it was an intimate moment
In this section I won't try to prove the gesture was romantic, I simply think it's crucial to understand the scene before analyzing it. Katara offering to heal Zuko's scar wasn't a necessity, the touch was the necessity after she already made the offer. This leaves us with a scene that begins with Katara thinking of Zuko as "the face of the enemy", and ends with Katara attempting to heal Zuko's scar.
The moment became intimate the second Katara brought up her mother, and Zuko, who doesn't normally share his emotions, make and effort to connect. Thus, they began to view the other differently, as someone similar to them.
Still, this is their first conversation. And Katara is under no obligation to be even somewhat nice to him. But she decides to use her spirit water on him, and if she had, Aang would have died. That's how important the spirit water is. Saying she "just needed to heal is scar" is quite reductant in my opinion. Choosing to heal him in and of itself is a radical and intimate decision.
Still, non of what I said so far is indicative of romantic build up. Nor is giving other examples from fiction of necessities being romantic indicative of this one being too. So, it's time to finally talk about the touch.
3# The action wasn't actually necessary, to the point where it makes very little sense
Let's remember how Katara did heal using the spirit water:
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She bends the water straight on Aang's back and starts bending it. I repeat: She bends the water straight on the injury.
So writers, please do tell me, if Katara wanted to heal Zuko's scar, where is the water?
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No water and no healing, becsuse it wouldn't look as intimate/shippy with water. Instead, what we got is two shots highlighting the pysical touch between them with soft violin sounds in the background.
In literature, what isn't in text isn't important and should be disregarded. Here, on paper Katara is healing Zuko's scar, but in practice there is no water and all of the focus is on the touching. Therefore, it's signaling the viewers that even though she just needs to cure him, it isn't important. With Katara's thumb on Zuko's lips, with a close up shot on the contact, the only thing that matters is, apparently, their pysical touch.
Additonally, they were interrupted before Katara could do actually anything anyway. In a universe where this scene wasn't ship teasing, Katara would take out the water, almost lay them on Zuko's scar, and then Aang and Iroh would break them out of the cave. Logically, Katara's hand shouldn't have gone anywhere near Zuko, and if it did, it should have looked incredibly unappealing.
But it didn't. In this already very intimate moment, the show puts all the focus on the pysicality of the healing, rather than the healing, and breaking its own logic to do so. Thus, they made it look a lot less like a simple necessity, but rather an act of pure intimacy, as often done in fiction when portraying romantic tension. And that's why this scene was ship baiting.
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creative-heart · 1 day
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"Where the world made sense" Kuku x (fem!) reader
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A/N: Hi lovelies!! Ok, so here goes another one, I think THE man Esteban Kukuriczka is the loveliest man ever! and I wanted to get in there with some angsty fluff for any and all who love this adorable dork. I really hope you enjoy it, it kinda came about with Shakira’s song “Antologia” for my spanish speaking girlies.
TW: Angst, fluff, may be a little mention to smut,just some kissing, social drinking and smoking, nothing too bad.
Word Count: 1.9k
Where Kuku and Y/N finally stop being stubborn and get back where they belong, to eachother
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Three years had gone by since Kuku left the apartment Y/N and him shared, three whole years, and the brunette still walked around in that old Rolling Stones t-shirt he had left behind when he packed his bags, she had never had the heart to reach out and give it back. Three years had gone by and it was the first time she was facing the chance of seeing him again, since the break up, Y/N had been adamant not to cross paths with him, even if it meant, making special plans for her cousin Matias’ birthday. This year though, it was different, he had begged her to come to his party, and she hadn’t had the heart to refuse him he was after all, the favorite of the bunch.
As Y/N got ready padding barefoot around the apartment trying to find the leather miniskirt she wanted to wear she kept circling back to the overbearing thought of Kuku being there, he would probably be, he was Mati’s best friend after all, she didn’t know if it was that chance of seeing him or what, but she kept changing outfits trying to look perfect as she took a glance at the time on the clock on her night stand- she was late, of course- “fuck fuck fuck” she muttered under her breath while she jumped around on one foot trying to put on her higheels and run out the door.
On her drive over, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying their whole relationship in her head, from that first awkward yet adorable hello at the wrap party for the movie, to the lazy fluttery kisses the brown haired sweetheart used to pepper her face with every morning, she remembered the first piece of furniture they bought for the apartment, and the first present she ever gifted him. It all felt so fresh, it all still stung too bad, maybe it wouldn’t have if something bad would have happened for them to break it off back then, maybe it would be easier if she could hate him, but of course she couldn’t, how could you hate the sweetest person alive?- what happened was that you weren’t important enough, he was never home, he always had better plans, remember?- she forced herself to be mad, she had felt so alone back then, and whenever she talked to him about it, kuku dismissed it as being nonsense. She sighed as she parked in front of her cousin’s place, she could hear the music roaring all the way from down on the street. She took a few minutes to compose herself, she knew she was going to cry if she went up immediately, so she got out of her red mini, rested against the closed door and light up a cigarette.
~~~~~
She fixed her staple bright red lipstick while she rode the elevator up to the loud apartment and took a deep breath before knocking on the door, she had her arms opened, half expecting the birthday boy  to come greet her and as soon as the door started to open she exclaimed “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SECOND BEST RECALT ON THIS EARTH!” and flung herself onto what she believed to be Matias’ arms only to be met by the perfume she knew oh so well, she wanted to stay in Esteban’s embrace forever, but she pulled away immediately brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking down so he couldn’t see her blushing.
“Oh shoot, Sorry Ku- Esteban” she corrected herself “I expected Mati to open the door, I didn’t mean to hu-” her sentence was cut short when he rested his warm soft hand on her forearm to calm her down and let her in.
“Nothing to apologize for babe” he said, the pet name coming as second nature to him when it came to Y/N he moved to the side so she could come in and took the chance to look her up and down -damn she looks absolutely breathtaking, she always had, how I ever got so lucky is the world’s greatest mystery- he wanted to kick himself for letting her go, for not fighting harder, he was still after all these years, undeniably, utterly and completely in love with the dark haired girl. Once she had made her way into the apartment, like she owned the place, commanding the scene as she did anywhere she went, he closed the door and went straight to the kitchen where his friend was.
Matias looked up at him from the snacks he was serving “what’s the matter with you, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost” he chuckled- I MIGHT AS WELL HAVE-  Esteban screamed internally and leaned over.
“you hadn’t told me Y/N would be here tonight, why didn’t you tell me?” The younger looked at his friend and laughed so loudly the whole building might have heard.
“Of course she was gonna be here, she’s my cousin, plus you guys broke up what…three years ago?” he quirked an eyebrow up at kuku “about time you saw each other again” he smirked and walked out giving him a wink. Matias very well knew they were both still stupidly in love with each other, and that the only reason they hadn’t gotten back together was because they were both too damn head strong to admit that they had made a mistake and that they missed eachother.
Esteban stood at the kitchen’s doorway, and there was Y/N as beautiful as ever talking to Malena and Pipe, wine glass in hand looking as beautiful as ever- no, she looks better than ever- and he could watch her all his damn life, seeing how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, that laugh that filled up any room, that came straight from her heart, head tilted back, free hand clutching over her stomach. And her hair, her long brown hair, perfectly done up with those waves that she would spend hours getting to be how she wanted them to, how he hated it when she sat on the floor, curling iron in hand, brow furrowed in concentration, he knew they would be late to wherever they had to go when he saw that, and yet, he would never change that sight. He quickly looked away when he felt her gaze fall on him, but he could see the soft sad smile painted on her lips, and he hated to be the reason for it to be there.
~~~~~
As the night went on Y/N still hadn’t mastered the courage to go up to kuku and talk to him again, she knew she couldn’t, she would cry, or throw herself in his arms, or both, and she wouldn’t let that happen, so instead, she grabbed her third…no, fourth glass of wine and stepped out to the balcony to have a smoke, she needed the fresh air, she could feel the booze getting to her head. she light it up and rested against the rail, closing her eyes and letting her head fall backwards a little bit, enjoying the chill air, she didn’t even realize when the balcony door opened and out came that head full of gorgeous brown hair.
“I see you still haven’t broken the habit” Kuku said softly a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips as he saw the girl jump a little bit “oh sorry, didn’t mean to startle you”.
Y/N opened her eyes, and looked at Esteban, god he was still every bit as handsome as she remembered him to be and smiled softly “Not an easy one to break” she cleared her throat -especially when you’re drunk, sad and want to have your lips on his not on the cigarette- she thought to herself.
“It’s nice seeing you again Y/N/N” he started off quietly, hands fidgeting on the balcony rail as he stood beside her facing the street “I must say I was surprised to see you here, thought you would keep avoiding me” she looked at him again and had to fight the urge to brush that stubborn strand of hair off his face, it would always get in his eyes.
“I thought about it for a bit, but I had promised Mati, and I couldn’t break that” she stated before she could filter out the truth she kept looking at him she could look at him all her life “you look good, how have you been?” Y/N said quietly and bit her  lip seeing him shrug.
“busy…okay I guess” he turned to look at her, eyes immediately drawn to her red lips, god what those did to his heart “Mati told me you finally got the job, you’re now officially a model, congrats, I knew you would get it”- so he asked about me- Y/N thought as she nodded and just leaned in pressing a soft kiss to his lips, probably wine induced, and he returned it softly at first, and a bit needier as it went on, he had missed that, but he pulled away, she was clearly drunk “no, babygirl, I think it’s time for you to go home, you’ve had a bit to drink, come on” he said taking the glass of wine.
“Don’t call me that” she whined, not because she didn’t like it, but because it made her want him to keep saying it. He chuckled and threw his hands up in defeat.
“Come on, I’ll take you home” he said, and with that they left Matia’s apartment.
~~~~~
When they got to Y/N’s apartment, Esteban helped her out of her car and walked her up the stairs to the apartment they used to share and bit his lip while getting the door opened, once they were inside, he turned around “okay, this is where I say good-” he was cut off by her lips crashing onto his once more, still soft, but with a longing that hadn’t been there before, his hands instinctively went to her waist and he pulled her closer not wanting to break the kiss he took her back to the couch, he still knew the place like the back of his hand. When Y/N went to take her top off he stopped her hands, it took all he had in him to do so, but he did, and she sighed and sat up. 
“You don’t want me” she frowned looking down feeling stupid “I should have known” and he sat down laughing which pulled a furious look from those gorgeous green eyes.
“Oh no, believe me, I do, I have dreamt of this moment for three years, I want you more than I ever have, but you’re drunk, and if I’m gonna have sex with you again, I want you to be in all your senses, plus we have lots to talk about still” he stroked her cheek lovingly, he had missed this, and she nodded softly leaning into his touch.
“stay the night?” she looked into his eyes playing with his free hand and he nodded.
She smiled softly and walked him to the bedroom they once shared, taking her clothes off and throwing on his shirt. He smiled seeing that and got in bed with her, pulling her into his arms, determined to not let her go ever again, she fitted in there like it was meant to be, his chest had ached for her head to lay on it once more, and here they were, once again where the world made sense, once again where nothing else mattered.
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A/N: OFC he wouldn’t want to go all the way if Y/N was drunk, that’s how much of a gentleman he is. Hope you enjoyed it!  Also, let me know ig you want me to tag you in my next ones.
@madame-fear
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msafterhours · 2 hours
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Saccharine | Act One
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]
Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)
media darling.
an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.
an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.
absolutely spotless.
nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—
What a load of shit.
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They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.
You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.
As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.
Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.
Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.
It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.
The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.
You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.
Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.
After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.
You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.
The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.
All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”
And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.
And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.
Yet.
The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.
Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.
If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.
The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.
You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.
The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.
One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.
You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.
Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.
Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.
Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.
Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.
Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.
One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.
Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.
A moment passes.
Another.
The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.
That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.
You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.
The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.
Might as well toss them a pacifier.
You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.
And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.
You don’t.
There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.
What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.
Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.
Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.
But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.
Yet.
It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.
Then the world shuts down.
Thus, it’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.
In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.
Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.
Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.
Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.
You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.
As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.
A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.
You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.
You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.
For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.
Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.
A forgettable account name? ✔
Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔
A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔
Oh, and of course the message itself:
ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Check.
Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …
No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.
So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.
You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:
TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing
You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.
ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection
You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.
Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.
It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.
In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.
Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.
In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.
But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.
So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.
A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.
And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.
They yearn. They burn.
A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.
A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.
It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.
You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.
The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …
ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.
Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?
The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.
“(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”
You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:
“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”
Okay, maybe a little petty.
You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.
ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life
And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.
The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.
Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 
The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.
The reflection staring back has aged forty.
Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.
In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”
“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”
“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”
“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.
Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that—especially by seeing her live and in-person.
It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.
Fuck, where’s seat 239?
Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.
Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.
She’s next.
You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.
ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same
The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.
You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.
Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?
You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.
It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.
It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.
All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.
You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.
It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.
ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures
And that’s all she has to say.
… that’s it? Really?
You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?
You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.
It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.
And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.
But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.
You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.
You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.
A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.
You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.
TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do
Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:
ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve
It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.
Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.
This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 
This time, you aim for the heart.
"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)
The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.
ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?
Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.
TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better
You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.
ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)
Another pause.
ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed
This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.
Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.
You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.
It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?
So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.
ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me
… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?
TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?
It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.
TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?
As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!
You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.
TurnThePage: You too
You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.
It’s deafening.
You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?
The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.
You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.
The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.
SBS Gayo Daejun is next.
It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.
You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.
Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.
TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where
For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.
A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.
She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.
As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.
Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.
Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”
She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”
You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.
You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”
“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”
“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”
She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”
“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”
“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”
As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.
“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”
“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”
“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”
"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 
“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.
“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”
“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.
“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”
“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.
With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.
You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.
The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”
“Fuck off you—fuck!”
Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.
“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.
Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.
In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...
"Fuck."
The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?
Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.
“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.
“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.
“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.
“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.
“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”
A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.
Only one way to find out.
Continued in Act Two …
(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)
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tsams-confessions · 3 days
Note
I was getting ready to pop off on here so hard with an essay but then I decided "No. This blog has too many negative takes."
So instead, slay kings and queens in this fandom creating all sorts of content with all sorts of headcanons. At the end of the day, it's important to remember that this is the internet, we can block things we don't like, and there is no obligation to interact with content. They're just characters and we love that for them, but it's not going to hurt us if someone has a headcanon for them that doesn't follow canon.
I hope everyone is having an awesome day who scrolls past this, remembers that it's all good fun - no one is getting hurt by someone having a different opinion than them online, and that they have a mighty whacking stick to bat away the haters with.
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(And if you are being a toxic little piece of crap that's breaking people's boundaries or leaving mean comments in this fandom you will quickly find yourself surrounded by other toxic and miserable people who will only make you more miserable. Violence begets more violence so let's all just be nice and have fun and block content we don't want to see.)
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snakeredbirdbatkatana · 24 hours
Text
Damian has been in the family for a while he has made his peace with Drake understood that no matter what he has a place but he still can't understand the dynamics. Maybe it isn't exactly the most intelligent choice to track down Todd and ask but he figured it was the best option.
Sitting on Todd's couch in the middle of crime alley eating a dish he can only vaguely remember his mother making he isn't exactly regretting it yet.
"So let me get this straight bat brat, you don't get how people work so you came to me?" Todd's confusion isn't exactly surprising but it is unhelpful to his plight.
"No I understand people, well when I have to I do not understand the bats." He at the moment can't bring himself to actually act with the dignity his mother expects of him another way Gotham had corrupted him.
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Jason can't say he expected to feed and be interrogated by the demon brat he just wanted to relax but this isn't exactly a surprise now that the kid has chilled out he was almost waiting for it.
"You want me to give you a cheat sheet to how our family actually works becusse you are now realizing that Talia didn't understand shit and it fucked you?"
He can't keep the pure joy out of his voice knowing that he is actually gonna get to knock the kid down a peg after today.
"Not in those words Todd but I understand you have a perspective that I may lack."
God demon looks pissed below the joy he understand that this is actually important and he needs to explain this well knowing this could make or break the already pretty fucked up kid.
"Alright listen and don't fucking interrupt me save your questions and bitchness for the end do I make myself clear."
Holding the kids eyes he sees the kid is actually paying attention as he nods maybe Dickie really did find out the secrets housebreaking who knows.
"Ok let's start with me and I'm gonna be sappy for ten seconds and if you ever repeat this I will shoot you and put you in another duffle bag ok, ok good. I'm your brother I love you would kill for you that whole bullshit. I'm also Dick's, and Tim's brother, on days I don't want to kill the old man I'm his son."
God he's gonna need a smoke after this bullshit fuck he sees the kid is nodding good he hasn't lost him.
"Now Dick is my older brother he's not yours you can lie to yourself all you fucking want but he's your dad teaching you how to be a real boy and all that shit."
He sees an embarrassed flush and the start of protests but he's not dealing with it that bullshit the kid can work on in his own time.
" You wanted it your gonna fucking hear it, now Tim-Tam the sleep deprived idiot is a bit more complicated."
He takes a breath trying to put into words what he wants to say.
"Why is Drake complicated wouldn't he be somewhat easy" the confusion isn't a good sign maybe it is better the kid came so he can restrain him if he has too.
"Tim is the best of us alright, he's someone I want to protect I love him truly even if he's an annoying little shit. Now listen Tim is a lot like you when it comes to Dick crossing the line between Dad and Brother. Tim will always side with Dick that's his Robin and Tim is Dick's. You can't be a jealous little shit here because I don't even fully understand them."
"Bruce isn't Tim"s dad at least on his end Dick is, Bruce loves Tim but no one can ever replace Dickie just like you which is honestly half the reason you hated the kid."
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Damian is now regretting this conversation he thought this would be simple once again he has somewhat lost his mind since coming to Gotham.
Yet he knows Todd's right that the way Grayson looks at Drake is the same look he gets and the same part of him who loves his animals and loves Richard feels guilty because he knew. He just didn't want to admit it.
"Why I don't understand why is Timothy so different to any of us even you, both of us tried to kill him yet he seems to matter so much"
frustration is leaking through but this is what he wanted to know why Drake is so important even to him why, what is so special about him.
Todd is hesitating but slowly steeling himself Damian cant help but to copy him knowing whatever comes out isn't gonna be easy it's gonna hurt but he asked didn't he.
"Tim was the first, the one to really unlock Dick not being well a dick he knows parts of all of us, secretswhatever, the shit that matters. Bruce, Dick, me even you, we don't run shit ok Wayne Entetprises, plans Tim does. Dick and Tim are the glue holding us together without them we would be fucked you know that."
"That's what's so special about him everything we do Tim has a part of he's genuinely irreplaceable and it bothers the fuck out of both of us."
Damian can't breathe he just runs words he never wanted admitted are stabbing through his mind he doesn't stop until somehow he ends up in his bed at the manor he just hides pushing it down the real reason he tried to kill his brother the fact that he almost broke the family he just hides he shouldn't have asked.
Maybe Richard was right being naive was a gift and now he can't go back.
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