#all-holy-places-closed-at-capital

[reallyromealone]

Title: oh hey a mate(s)

Chapter: one

Fandom: obey me

Pairing: demon brother's x male reader

Warnings: suggestive themes, readers got truama, internalized gender hatred, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of being a breeding tool, self hate, reader doesn't really understand sex, sexual themes, omegaverse, male reader, mentions of mpreg

🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️🕯️

"HE STOLE THEM FROM ME!" (sisters name) Screeched out in a rage as she threw things around "they were supposed to be MY mates! And he stole them! That whore stole them!" She was hyperventilating at this point as her body shook, feeling robbed of her alphas.

Of her life, the thing she wanted more than anything.

"I know sweety but maybe we can set you up wit--"" I don't want someone else! I want the princes!"

And she was going to get them.

She swore it.

'fuck you (name)'

Holy shit this place was big.

God he felt under dressed, especially beside these alphas who were dressed so fancy and perfect.

The floors were marble and two grand staircases winded on each side and paintings that had to be centuries old hung on the walls "we will have one commissioned for you soon enough... Maybe one with us all" Belphegor yawned as he wandered the halls "for now, let's get you settled in" he said and looked to a nervous looking Leviathan who nodded.

(Name) Was nervous as he walked beside the demon who seemed to want to be anywhere but here "I-im sorry if I wasn't who you were expecting... I'll try and not step on your toes" (name) whispered, anxiously fiddling with his fingers and looked down "i-i dont-- fuck... I'm really nervous and anxious and just I don't really talk to omegas often so I'm just--" the demon seemed panicked and (name) felt relief flood through his veins as he pumped out calming pharamones for the Alpha "hey... I get it, if it's any consolation... I'm not great with people either-- hell I think this is the first time I ever left my families property!" He laughed a bit but Leviathan was shocked at his words "you never been into the capital or even your home town?" He asked genuinely and (name) shook his head "nah, my parents didn't trust me going out there-- you know how troublesome an Omega can be"

What the fuck? That's all Leviathan could think as he looked at the Omega worried "I- you're not troublesome?" He whispered and (name) just smiled "I try not to be" (name) giggled a bit as they continued to (name)s apartment, the Omega expecting a quaint bedroom but...

"I think we went to the wrong room.... This is awfully big" (name) said softly to the envy demon who looked confused "you like your apartment?" Asmodeus popped out from nowhere and pulled (name) close with a flirty grin "we had the butlers being your things in, don't worry we didn't let them unpack... Pharamones and all that ~" he pulled (name) into the apartment and (name) felt overwhelmed by all this "there's a nesting room there~ if you need help don't hesitate to ask"

"A-are you sure?"

"Sure of what?"

"That this is for me?"

"You are to be our mate, I personally wanted you with me but Luci wanted you to have your own space... Something about acclimating" his words teasing and (name) chuckled but cut short when his stomach growled and the two demons looked curious "oh yeah! Humans need to eat for survival!"

(Name) Felt embarrassed as he silently cursed his stomach for exposing him like this as the demons looked at one another in a silent conversation.

They were definitely having a sibling meeting later.

(Name) Dissociated during the rest of the evening, eventually ending back in the rooms he was given, the size of his old house if not a bit bigger...

Everything was pristine as he took out his belongings, his prized possessions and small hobbies to occupy him.

A few heirlooms and books and his childhood stuffed toy 'this will go in my nest' he thought as he looked at the nesting room doors, two ornate doors in a rose gold shade, the apartment all light colors unlike the rest of the palace.

It was a strange contrast, almost like they didn't know what to expect so they just made what they thought humans liked. It was funny really, demons trying to understand what humans wanted or needed as he was doing the same, wondering what these demons wanted or liked.

Getting up he went to the nesting room and was overwhelmed by the nesting supplies he was given, piles and piles of blankets and pillows and soft things, his purring could probably be heard from outside the apartment as he snuggled into them, a sense of safety he wasn't quite used to washing over him.

He was excited to make a large nest, spending half the night making it perfect for him to rest in and just not think about the fact he was to be mated on his next heat to seven strangers that were also fucking royalty! Well there goes not thinking about it because here he was!

Also his sister! Holy shit she was mad! And like at his wedding she will be there! Fuuck!

(Name) Was just sitting there head in hands as he processed the fact that within 24 hours he was now engaged and now in the public eye!

(Name) Curled up closer into his blankets and let out a shutter of a sigh, he wondered if he would be able to do the things he enjoyed before... Would he be allowed to garden? Would he have to dress more Omegan? Or would he be able to wear clothes that were comfortable?!

He needed to walk, movement to process this.

Getting up he walked out of his apartment and into the hall, dark and grand, ceilings at least 15 feet tall and paintings lined, some he recognized as the siblings and some unfamiliar as he walked around curiously.

Somehow he made it to the kitchen "I hope they don't mind..." (Name) Whispered as he sliced an apple, careful and gentle as his stomach growled a bit.

"Can I have some?" A voice startled him out of his thoughts causing him to slice his finger "shit!" The voice said and (name) looked to see Beelzebub who in turn looked a bit startled as he took (name)s bleeding finger and put it in his mouth, the Omega looking thoroughly concerned as Beelzebub sucked on the blood "I feel like this is incredibly unsanitary" (name) whispered worried and beez released his finger "demons saliva can heal amongst other things, depends on the demon really"

"Oh " (name) said dumbly as he looked at his wet but healed finger "what else does your saliva do?" He asked curiously and Beelzebub smiled at the others cute and curious expression "ah, well besides healing my saliva can work as an aphrodisiac if ingested!" (Name) Looked concerned and Beelzebub laughed "don't worry, it only works if I were to like make out with you or eat your ass!"

And now (name) was flustered as the gluttony demon kept laughing at his embarrassment "so why are you up so late?" Beelzebub asked after calming down and sealing some apple slices and cutting up some more, handing (name) an orange "just... It's stupid"

"Oh please!" Beelzebub pushed and (name) sighed "I'm just... I'm having trouble processing this stuff, it's stressful and like-- I never left my property let alone this! My sister wanted to be with you guys and she's already insufferable, this is just worse! I'm just paranoid that you guys are going to realize that like this was a mistake and reject me and like the fear of being an Omega in general! Will I be able to do the things i enjoyed before? Will I be a breeding tool?!" He was hyperventilating now as Beelzebub panicked "hey hey, calm down! It will be alright and-- no we aren't making you a breeding Omega.... shhh" beez tried to calm him as footsteps quickly made their way to the kitchen.

"What is happening?" Lucifer and the others seemed startled as the smell of distress was heavy in the kitchen "he's worried we will strip him of his rights and make him carry our young" Beelzebub explained as he lifted (name) into his arms and set him on the counter "were demons but we aren't monsters" Satan said disgusted and Asmodeus smiled "we would never do that unless it's what you're into~" he teased the Omega as they crowded him "I know it's an incredibly hard adjustment but know we mean well, it's literally impossible for us to not fall for each other" it's true soulmates would eventually fall for one another due to the bond "and we are sharing one mate so that means you have seven people to love you" mammon said in a rare moment of genuine care "what do you mean?"

"Oh yeah, he knows basically nothing about secondary gender or soulmates" Levi said softly and the demons looked horrified "well I know what we are doing tomorrow" Satan said simply and (name) looked ashamed and couldn't meet their eyes, feeling stupid for his lack of knowledge.

"Well his town is backwards" Belphegor yawned and wandered off back to bed now that the problem was solved "goodnight...."

(Name) Was led back to his room by Beelzebub and Asmodeus and looked confused when they put sweaters in his arms "the smell of your alphas will calm you~" Asmodeus said simply and the two wished him a good night.

And for once?

He sleped peacefully.

(Name) Spent the next few days learning about soulmates and secondary genders, the two interlocking "when your heat comes, it will be dangerous for you to not mate with your soulmate" (name) read the book in his off time, the book explaining how the bonding is key to not cause rejection symptoms or a drop, he definitely didn't want that. Fuck how does he have sex? Fuck.

Time to go figure that out, he really felt behind on this shit.

(Name) Made home in the library as he looked for any books that would aid him "Hmm? Looking for sex books ~ didn't know our omega was like that" Asmodeus seemed to love just appearing out of thin air and scaring (name) who dropped the book "i-i it's not like that!"

"Hmmm? And what is it about? Oh you're so cute when your flustered!" He cooed and (name) huffed "I am trying to figure out like, how sex works and stuff... I wasn't exactly taught... Just put on suppressants so my family could avoid it" he just constantly felt ashamed with them, their faces of realization and pity as (name) tried not to cry "well, if you like I could teach you~ don't worry I won't touch you where you don't like" Asmodeus could get used to his omega so flustered as he got closer, his alpha giddy at his mate being untouched "the first thing one should know is their body after all~"

"I- uh... I'm not sure..."

Asmodeus let his lips barely touch (name)s as he caged him against a bookshelf and smiled, his tail flickering and (name) seemed a bit startled by it All as the demon gently kissed him "that was... Uh.." "your first kiss?"

"Yeah..."

"Did you like it?"

(Name) Could only nod as the lust avatar giggled sweetly at his adorable Omega "oh, you're going to fit in nicely here~!" He doted on (name) a bit "don't worry darling, we won't do anything your not ready for but if you're willing... To experiment a bit, I'm always a summon away" and with that he was gone, (name) left with nothing more than the smell of his pharamones, sweet Jasmine and warm vanilla.

It wasn't till after lunch that Lucifer brought him to the gardens, a small greenhouse and a garden plot stood "we had it cleaned up, you said you liked gardening" he said simply and looked down at (name) who looked like he was given the potion of youth "really? Thank you so much..." (Name) Was releasing the happiest pharamones and Lucifer kept composure but god damn did that boost his ego as an alpha, making his mate happy.

"Just clean yourself off after you finish" Lucifer said calmly and (name) beamed at this "of course!"

(Name) Puttered in the greenhouse and began planting things, thankfully it was early in the season so he had time to make a nursery for plants "oh, sor--" (name) immediately shut up as he saw Belphegor sleeping in a sun beam, cozy and calm. Looking around (name) found his cape that Satan had made for him and covered the demon with it "it's still chilly" he whispered and went back to work, unaware the demon was awake and watching intently at the Omega who was carrying heavy pots and sacks of soil around.

(Name) Kept quiet for the Alpha, he must be so exhausted to fall asleep in a greenhouse of places so it would be best to let him rest! Eventually (name) moved outside, it was less chilly but a slight chill but movement will keep him warm! Using twine he found in the greenhouse he sectioned spots of the garden plots for various things like carrots and garlic amongst others, they were still in the nursery but it's good to get things ready now, he reasoned with himself.

"Your Highness! It's quite cold!" A servant panicked as she saw (name) in nothing more than a shirt and pants and apron, dirt on his cheek "don't worry! I'm alright!" He reasoned but she was not having it and removed her cape "it's not good for an Omega to be cold like this!"

Before she could drape the cape on (name), he felt fur on his shoulders as Mammon smiled with a warning "don't worry, he's warm" his eyes telling the servant to leave and (name) looked confused "oh hello!" (Name) Smiled at the demon who felt annoyed at how sweet the other was, his bond making his heart beat fast "Luci wanted me to take you into town so get ready" he grumbled and (name) nodded, a simple smile on his face as he wandered to the palace "where's your cape anyways?! It's freezing for mortals!" He chastised and (name) chirped "Belphegor was sleeping and I wanted him to be cozy!" (Name) Couldn't explain why he felt so calm and comfortable with the princes but they made him feel safe, even if they were sometimes like angry chihuahuas.

"You're weird" mammon said with no bite as they walked to (name)s area.

The tailors and seamstresses worked tirelessly to put together some clothes for (name) and his new class, the maids commenting about how the seamstress always kept embroidered sleeves on hand as the brothers always tore clothes during training--- well save for Asmodeus and Belphegor who couldn't be fucked to do stuff like that.

(Name) Felt regal, a beautiful vest made of silk and embroidered with birds and roses and a linen powers shirt and nice pants and expensive boots "you look wonderful your Highness!" A maid commented, (name) growing fond of his personal maids who cheered him in, them all being mated and married betas.

(Name) Was curious as he looked around the city, never really interacting with so many people who looked at he two in awe, the guards keeping a fair distance as he looked at stalls "you seriously never been in a city?" Mammon said incredulously and (name) looked confused "no? It's not right for an Omega to be by himself around alphas, I would be a temptation" reiterating his parents words and Mammon was horrified at the omegas genuine belief that HE was the problem and not alphas who couldn't keep their hands to themselves "well we are unpacking that later"

He didn't even want to get into the family thing, remembering the chat he had with his brothers when (name) had his meltdown and the acceptance that their Omega came from a very problematic living situation but he seemed to be acclimating well.

Or at least he hoped.

Mammon was confused as (name) handed him a stuffed bunny "what is this?" He raised an eyebrow from behind his circular sunglasses "well we didn't get to actually court because of being soulmates so I got you all courting gifts" he chirped out innocently, remembering what he was taught by Lucifer and deciding to put it in action though he seemed to have gotten it backwards as it was supposed to be the Alpha who gave the courting gifts.

"I- uh... Thank you?"

(Name) Seemed pleased as they continued their walk through the cities market, a giant hub of the equally giant city as Mammon stared at the bunny that was made of fabric the same color as his eyes, a small detail that made him flustered.

He noticed (name) budgeting, a soft smile on his face "you know we have basically endless money, right?" Well mammon didn't, he was cut off and put on a strict budget but (name)? He still had his money privileges "that's your money, this is so much!" To (name) it was a lot of money as he did the budgeting of the house back with his family, this was ten times of what they made in a year! "I am fine with this"

Hell, how did they get the exact opposite of them?!

A nervous Omega who was innocent and naive and sweet as honey!

"Oh you are absolutely precious!" Asmodeus cooed at the stuffed rabbit that fit in his hands "I hadn't even thought of courting!" He said with exaggerated sadness and (name) watched the others alphas reactions, though it wasn't the fanciest courting gift, it was a genuinely thoughtful one.

"He was worried about spending the money, he literally budgeted it" mammon groaned and Lucifer snorted "you could do well to learn that" he said as (name) seemed reminded and handed him back the coin bag, the Omega barely dented it "I got a few things for my hobbies but I brought back the change!" He said sweety and Lucifer had cute aggression at that moment as (name) looked at him with so much pride "you know you could have spent all of this right?" He said a little slow, (name) nodding "but that would be rude, I'm spending all your money without care... I don't like that"

Seriously, how did they manage to be fated with the sweetest Omega?!

"He didn't even but himself actual things for himself! He bought things to make us things!" Mammon groaned out but they all knew he equally swooned at the fact their Omega was so sweet.

But also he didn't buy himself anything, Asmodeus has had to bring him to eat and Beelzebub would put food on it.

"Rural Omega culture is different than cities, they're treated more as a commodity" a maid explained to Asmodeus one night as she helped him get ready for bed, she herself being an alpha from the boonies "an inconvenience would be a better word though, everything your saying shows he was treated like how my love got treated, need to make them feel genuinely valued" she went to explain how omegas need regular scenting and assurance to keep mentally regulated and (name) probably never had that.

Which would explain why he seemed like he was constantly waiting for the next shoe to drop despite growing used to them.

Like it was all going to go away.

His dreams were often that, every night he dreamt of waking up in his old room as his sister lived the life she wanted and he was stuck in that musty bedroom where he would rot.

"Your dreams are noisy" Belphegor mumbled as he crawled into bed with (name) and held him close, pumping out pharamones as he thought smugly about the fact he's technically been in bed with (name) before the others. (Name) Snuggled in his chest and physically relaxed, chirping in his sleep as he clung helplessly to him and he was hooked.

He wanted this more and was already annoyed he would have to share with his brothers.

(Name) Let his mates to be plan the wedding though he and Beelzebub thought of food together, the demon horrified at how little foods he got to experience and made him try everything for the wedding and smiled at his happy face with good food "these are mirangue cookies! Like eating plaster that loves you!" He exolained and (name) basically melted at now delicious it was.

Beelzebub was more than happy to share food with him, his alpha wanting the Omega to be well fed to carry his pups after all.

They were all anxious for mating, their bond slowly making them VERY intense about (name) who after weeks, finally sat close to Satan as he read with him though (name) did struggle a bit "omegas being taught to read is laughable, I taught myself as much as I could" he explained and that's when Satan decided he would read for (name), the two spending an hour or two in the library reading together like how Lucifer spent his time teaching (name) new things when he wasn't busy or just dragging him along with things.

(Name) Was always well behaved, he thought of (name)s family and how they were... How did this come out of THAT.

But now, (name) had one worry...

Would he invite his family to his wedding?

#obey me x male reader #obey me x reader #demon brother's x reader #demon brothers #male reader #x male reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #obey me omegaverse #anime x male reader #anime x reader #Asmodeus x male reader #Lucifer x male reader #Beelzebub x male reader #Belphegor x male reader #Leviathan x male reader #mammon x male reader #satan x male reader #reader insert

[janeyseymour]

your personal and professional was soooooo good hear me out

pt 2 the date. reader takes their time and truly goes all out alt baddie for their date as per mel’s request. melissa realizes those weren’t the only piercings and tattoos reader was camouflaging. a top that accentuates her nipple piercing and a slitted skirt that shows leg tattoos for days mel doesn’t know how many more surprises she can take

ask and you shall receive. written half drunk, on the phone with my boyfriend, and inhaling a pad thai. not edited in the slightest and hoping it's good enough :)

Personal and Professional pt 2

Part 1

WC: ~1.75k

Melissa just had you pinned up against your desk, her mouth roughly on your own. It takes you a few minutes to even be able to function again, brain now all over the place as you try to process what just happened.

She told you to meet her at The Capital Grille at six… That’s a couple hours from now. And she doesn’t want you to wear the outfit you’re in now: your clean yellow blouse and sweater, your dress pants and flats. So you shake your head and practically sprint out to your car. If she wants the alt girl that you are, she’ll get it.

You spend the entire drive home planning what you’ll wear on this date. You know that The Capital Grille is a relatively fancy place to go out to eat, so you can’t roll up in the usual band t-shirt or tank top and your jeans.

But you know that have quite a few skirts that you wouldn’t wear to school, and you have more than enough tops to impress the woman.

When you get home, you immediately change out your clear stud for your nose ring, and your small hoops are exchanged for your bigger,  black hoops and put in your ear spike. Your blouse is switched out for a rather revealing, black top that accentuates the piercings on your chest. You swap out your slacks for the shortest black skirt that you own that has a nice slit up the side to show off the tattoos that make their way up your thighs and hips. The ballet flats that you chose to wear to school are off, and you instead lace up your heeled boots.

You glance in the mirror, and while you would usually change your eye makeup for something a bit more… daring, you decide to just touch up the light and minimal makeup that you had on for today. There should be at least some small aspect of you that the redhead can recognize. And besides, you think your makeup looks good today. So, you head for the bathroom and start heating up your curling iron. An hour later, your hair is curled into big bombshell curls, and you make sure the few front pieces frame your face.

You still have a bit of time before you have to meet her, so you head back into the living room, pull out some of your work, and grade some papers until it’s finally an appropriate time to start heading out to the restaurant.

You park your car, and text Melissa that you’re on your way.

I’m sitting in the back, she replies back. Do you want a drink?

Whatever you’re having, is your answer, and you continue walking towards the restaurant.

When you walk in though, she’s waiting by the door to escort you over to your table.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” you say suavely.

The redhead doesn’t answer right away. She’s too busy practically drooling over your appearance.

“Mel,” you chuckle.

She blinks a few times before she’s able to take her eyes away from your chest and the rest of your outfit. “Wow.”

“Like what you see?” you give her a little twirl.

“More than I think you realize.”

You roll your eyes playfully before looping your arm through hers. “You look beautiful.”

“You look… holy shit,” she whispers as she pulls you in close and kisses you with more passion than she had in the classroom.

You kiss her back, but you do pull away. Your cheeks are red and hot. Despite appearances, you still are the woman that you are at school, and you can’t help but feel quite flustered with the public display of affection.

She takes you into the back of the restaurant, where your table is. There’s a small bouquet of flowers waiting for you, along with two glasses of wine.

She pulls out your seat, and you gently kiss her cheek as she helps you situate yourself before she takes a seat across the table from you.

You smile softly as she practically drinks in the sight of you. Feeling just a bit flustered, you reach for the glass that she has waiting for you and wait for her to grab her own. The two of you silently toast to each other before you take a rather large gulp of wine.

“This place,” you say softly. “It’s… really nice.”

“I know I flirt with you rather crassly at school,” Melissa chuckles. “But you deserve the best, hun.”

You feel your cheeks heat up even more, and you can’t help the warm feeling that settles in your chest. “Thank you.”

You glance down at the table for a menu, but there isn’t one.

“Food is already on its way,” your coworker tells you. “I know what you like.”

She’s right. She had ordered you a nice filet minion, and she had ordered the same for herself. This food is to die for.

Conversation flows between the two of you easily, but you’ve noticed that the redhead has a hard time focusing on your eyes the way that she usually can at school.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask.

Her eyes flit from your chest to your eyes, cheeks flushed. Whether that’s from the wine or from her being caught staring at your tasteful piercings, you don’t know.

“I know I told you to come dressed as your little alt girl self, but…” she hums. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting… those piercings, or the flowery vines that travel up your legs.”

“You saw those?”

“Of course I did,”she whispers. “You look absolutely… stunning.”

You feel the way that her boot finds its way to your leg, and she runs it up your calf. You feel a shiver run up to your spine. But before you can really react, it’s gone, and she’s acting like nothing had ever happened.

The two of you are back to talking about your days and the things that your students had gotten up to today.

Before you know it, dessert is being brought out, along with two glasses of champagne. She moves from the seat across from you, and the teacher makes her way around the table and to your side. She takes up the seat next to you, daringly running a hand up your thigh. You can’t quite help the way that your body reacts. You nearly purr.

“You like that?” she whispers.

You nod, words caught in your throat. You don’t think you can answer without letting out a soft moan.

“No time for that now,” she says huskily. She dips the spoon into the tiramisu that had been brought to your table before bringing it up to your lips.

Deciding two can play at that game, you take the spoonful of dessert before letting out a moan. You lick the spoon clean as seductively as you can.

Melissa’s eyes go wide before she spoons another bite and taking it herself. The two of you finish off the dish in front of you, her hand on your thigh the entire time. She’s rubbing gentle circles on your skin with the pad of your thumb before tracing the tattooed vines up your leg as high as your skirt will allow.

“You cold, hun?” Melissa whispers into your ear.

You swallow harshly before shaking your head. Daringly, you take her hand and move it to your hipbone. She doesn’t know it, but that’s where the vines end- they’re attached to a beautiful flower that is engraved into your hip.

Her eyes linger where her hand has been placed before looking into your eyes. She pulls you in for a gentle kiss, one that conveys just how she feels for you: that this isn’t just some small fling but instead holds deep and passionate feelings for you. She gently squeezes your hip, and you whimper at that.

“Mel,” you mumble into her mouth.

She pulls away, and she can tell with the way that you’re looking at her that you feel the same as her. “Should we go to my place?”

You nod, and she grabs both of your bags before gesturing for you to stand.

“The bill,” you say softly, not moving from your place.

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“We can’t just dine and dash… especially at a restaurant like this,” you whisper.

She waves you off. “My cousin Anthony owns this jawn. It’s fine.” She offers you a hand, and you take it gently.

As the two of you exit, she waves to a few of the people, expressing her thanks to them. They all give her small smiles, a few of them raise their eyebrows as they look you over, and the two of you walk out hand in hand.

“Where’s your car, babe?” she asks you.

“In the garage on Samson,” you tell her, and she walks you over.

“Anthony let me park by their loading docks,” she grins as she opens the door to your driver’s seat.

“Let me drive you back over then,” you offer.

“If you insist,” she chuckles as she makes her way around and settles next to you. Your hand rests gently on her thigh as you pull out of your spot and exit the garage, only to turn back onto the street that you had dinner on. Her car is waiting for her, and she gives you a quick kiss before heading to her car.

“Follow me over?” she asks. You nod and wait for her to start leading the way.

As you pull in behind her in her driveway, you glance at yourself in the rear view mirror. You make sure that your hair looks nice, you wipe away some of the makeup that is under your eyes, and you grin when you see her standing at your door waiting.

You open the door, and her arm is immediately out and waiting for you to take it. She leads you up the walkway before she unlocks her door.

You barely have a foot in the door before she has you pinned up against it.

“You have any other surprises in store for me?” she asks huskily as her mouth finds your neck.

You hum, entirely distracting with the things that she’s doing to you. “That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?”

Her eyes turn dark and full of lust, and as she’s leading you up to her bedroom, you silently thank God that she found you in that grocery store the other day.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

[mikeysw1fey]

my friends sister

pairing: jenna ortega x female reader

warnings: none just fluff

a/n im so gay guys. holy fuck. and jenna is just soooo hot.

I’m not sure when I figured out Jenna wasn’t just my best friends sister. When she became more.

Aliyah didn’t know. I couldn’t do that to her. What kind of friend would I be if I told her I was inexplicably and irrevocably in love with her older sister?

So it has to end, I have to turn her back into just my best friend sisters. Yet, Jenna’s face continues to plague my mind like a bad dream. One that had zero sign of ending.

Running my hands down my face, skin stretching at the pressure I groan and launch myself face first atop my bed.

Why had I promised Aliyah I would stay at hers tonight? Jenna was of course going to be there. I mean she lives there. Fuck.

My phone buzzes under my stomach forcing me to turn over and squint at the messages on my lock screen.

Aliyah of course. Her texts continue to come in as she begs me to come over now with the simple excuse of ‘I’m bored’.

Rolling my eyes doesn’t stop the messages which leaves me with no choice as I respond with an all capitals FINE.

I arrive at Aliyahs house in a little less than ten minutes, texting her a quick ‘I’m here’ before walking towards the front door and knocking.

The door swings open before I can place my hand at my side revealing the one person I did not want to see today.

“Hey,” Jenna smiles as me, her pearl white teeth causing my cheeks to turn red. “Hi.” I remain outside, frozen, as she chuckles. “You can come inside you know .” She shakes her head and opens the door wider allowing me to walk in.

“Right, thanks.” I nod heading into the house I had been in a million times before. “I like your shoes.” Jenna’s voice is soft, glancing at the converse I had on my feet. I frown for a split second, I had worn these shoes to this house for the past four months. “Thanks, I like your… face.” I blurt out, internally slapping myself in the face. But before Jenna can reply Aliyah comes bounding down the stairs and tackles me in a hug basically saving me from extreme embarrassment.

“Dude, I have to show you this crazy ass movie, it’s gonna scare the shit out of you.” Aliyah tugs on my arm pulling me away from Jenna and up the stairs. I glance over my shoulder for a second, instantly blushing as Jenna’s eyes catch my own and her lips turn up in a small smile.

“Ok what movie?” I ask planting myself on Aliyahs bed as she moves her laptop from her desk to beside me. “Well it’s kinda basic but I wanted to watch it. Scream.” She laughs as I raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t Jenna in it?”

“Well yeah but only the fifth and sixth one so we don’t have to see her. Thank god!” She shrugs leaning back against the bed. “Oh yeah…Right, thank god.” I reply following her movements.

Hours pass, the light slowly dimming as we watch Scream 1 to 3 before I hear slight snoring from beside me. “Aliyah.” I whisper turning to see her passed out silhouette. I laugh silently before turning off the laptop and moving it to safety.

“I’ll be back, I’m going to the toilet.” I whisper to no one in particular seeing as Aliyah is sleeping. Creeping out into the dark hallway, I move towards the bathroom before letting out a shriek as a hand grips my shoulder.

Turning on the spot I shove the person into a wall, holding their shoulders tightly. “Hello to you too?” Jenna’s voice makes me cringe as I recognise her, a subtle frown on her face. “You shouldn’t scare people after they have just watched a horror movie.” I breathe placing a hand on my heart after I remove my hands from her shoulders.

Jenna chuckles moving closer to me. “My apologies.” She whispers ghosting her hand over my own. My breathing begins to speed up at the close proximity of our faces in the darkness.

Silence fills the air, the tension so thick I could almost see it. “So, you like my face?” Jenna smirks, her teeth almost glowing in the moonlight. “Oh, uh. That didn’t mean to sound as stalkerish as it did.” I sigh glancing at the floor only for Jenna’s finger to tilt my chin back up to look at her.

“Well for your information I like your face too.” She whispers glancing down at my lips as she does. Her breath tickles my mouth as she leans in closer, our lips basically touching. “Tell me if you don’t want this.” She whispers seriously. “I want this. I want this.” I reply before surging forward and connecting our lips.

Jenna moans against my mouth, her hand rushing to the back of my neck to pull me deeper into the kiss as my hand presses her waist flush against mine. “My room?” Jenna pants pulling away slightly. I bite my lip unsurely as I glance back to Aliyahs room.

“Your sister…” I trail off, Jenna’s hand moves to my cheek, thumb stroking my cheekbone gently. “My sister won’t know, it’s just for a few hours and she’s asleep right?” Jenna smiles.

“Oh, just a few hours?” I frown and Jenna stammers slightly, confidence faltering. “No I just meant like you would only be in my room for a few hours, this,” She gestures to the two of us. “Isn’t just a few hours.” I nod slowly before pressing my lips against hers softly. “Ok.”

Her hand intertwines with mine as she takes me towards her room. Jenna’s quick to close the door as we enter before pressing me down against the bed and crawling on top of me. “Kiss me.” She whispers and I nod not needing any further instructions as I pull her head down to my own connecting our lips.

Waking up the next morning, I groan as the light floods into Jenna’s bedroom. I mumble to myself before turning to the body wrapped around my own. Jenna. Shit. Realisation rushes through me. I never went back to Aliyahs room last night. “Jenna, Jenna wake up.” I gently shake the girl who groans and buries her face into my chest even further. I pause admiring her for a second before a cough from the door way attracts my attention.

“I fucking knew it.” Aliyah stands at the door with her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised, staring at the two of us. My eyes widen as I scramble out of bed effectively waking Jenna up who curses as she catches her sister at the door.

“I knew you two had a thing. Ooh this is so cute.” Aliyah squeals. I pause in my haste to come up with an excuse. “You what- so you aren’t like fuming?” I scoff wrapping my arms around my knees as I bring them to my chest. “Im a little pissed that you didn’t tell me that MY SISTER is the one you are in love with. And Im pissed that Jenna didn’t tell me that my best friend is the person she’s crushing on. But whatever. I think you guys are cute. But if you break her heart Jenna I’ll slaughter you.” Aliyah grins before clapping her hands together and leaving.

“That went better than expected.” I breathe, the anxiety crushing my chest finally disappearing. Jenna simply nods with a smile before moving over to me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

“So your in love with me hmm?”

#wlw post #lesbian #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #scream #aliyah ortega #ortega family #celebrity

[majorblinks]

in love like we were (red velvet seulgi)

(ft. the rest of red velvet) (smut, female reader, actress seulgi, actress you, cheating, choking, homewrecking, mommy kink, spanking, praise and degradation, semi-public sex, fluff, i support women's rights but more importantly i support women's wrongs, jk this is fiction do NOT cheat on your partners..., 24k words)

So, here’s the bottom line: you never meant for any of this to happen. Hand to God. Er - alright, whatever, maybe you shouldn’t be dragging God into any of this, considering-

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet.” 

-okay, you’re pretty much in the least holy position possible. 

The lighting in the bathroom’s dangerously dim, but if anyone were to walk in, there’d be no mistaking it: the scent of sex, the needy, desperate whines, the way Kang Seulgi’s got you on the counter with two fingers driving into your cunt, laughing as you drip down her wrist, embarrassingly soaked. The media would have a fucking field day. Your careers would be permanently ruined. And yet-

“Shut up,” you’re choking out. “Shut up, shut up, just fuck me-”

“Baby.” Seulgi tuts. Her fingers stall. “Ask nicely.” 

You know what she wants. And - unfortunately, humiliatingly - it happens to be the exact same thing you want. 

Your eyes squeeze shut. “Mommy-”

Beside you, her phone starts to ring. 

Seulgi stops cold with her fingers still buried in you at the sight of the name flashing across the screen. The picture, too: Seulgi, grinning widely, with her arms thrown around an unbelievably gorgeous dark-haired woman. Smile demure. Not a hair out of place. Looking like she’s straight off the movie sets she frequents, made-up and meticulously styled. 

“Oh, wow,” you say, strangled, breathless. Derisive, at the contact: capitalized, first and last. As detached and businesslike as she could possibly get. “Your contact name for her is just Bae Irene?” 

“That’s her name, isn’t it?” 

It quite literally isn’t, but you’ll let that one slide. “Unsentimental much?” 

“You think so?” A harsh thrust to your cunt. You buckle at the movement, gasping, clutching the lip of the bathroom counter. Seulgi’s smirk is murderously sharp, eyebrows twitching upwards. It’s a good thing one of you is finding this funny.

“Seulgi-” 

“Enlighten me then, sweetheart.” She leans in close. Timbre of her voice like gunfire, like she knows she’s about to deliver a fatal blow. “What was your contact name for her when you dated her?” 

And that’s something that should be digging up graves, unearthing corpses: there’s the coffin, there’s your past relationship haunting you, there’s the residual remorse like Catholic guilt. There’s the fact that she’s got a girl at home and you’re casting yourself as the other woman just by letting her touch you. There’s Seulgi’s other hand wrapping around your throat, just as her fingers curl deep inside your cunt - and every ghost in the room packs up and goes home. They know a foregone conclusion when they see one.

You can’t talk. You’re back to whining pathetically, pussy clenching around her fingers. “That’s what I thought,” husks Seulgi, maniacally victorious, and lets Irene’s call go to voicemail. 

“Mommy, mommy, mommy-”

Fine, God can get the fuck out of here. Yeah, Seulgi’s your ex-girlfriend’s current girlfriend, and now she’s making you cum harder than you ever have. The holy spirit’s just gonna have to make his peace with that. We all make mistakes. It’s so human. Seriously, come on: it’s not like you’ll make this one ever again. 

Well, probably. 

-

For context, a month and a half ago, you just had the worst breakup of your life. 

-

There’s no real need to recap the gory details, play back a previously-on to catch an audience up. Really, all you have to know is this:

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” 

It’s late September. Sky clear and cloudless through your windows. The day ironically gorgeous around you, like it’s taunting you. And Irene stands in your doorway with her hands balled into bloodless fists by her side, the expression on her face never wavering.

“It’s just not working,” she repeats, like that means anything. Like it’s rehearsed, inflection practiced and pristine. “And-” A breath, regulating. “I feel like it hasn’t been working for a while.” 

Here’s where you’re at: reeling through a shock to the system. It’s you, adrift in the center of the sea, fatally unmoored; you and no map and no way home, facing down the last two years of your life in the resolute line of Irene’s mouth. All your words shipwrecked; any fight you have left chained to stones and sinking. You, alone.

“For a while?” you get out, sounding very small. 

Irene’s lashes flutter fast, a miniscule crack in her composure. Then, like it takes a Herculean effort for her voice not to shake: “I’m sorry.” 

And just like that - cut to black, let the credits roll, force the audience out of their seats; pack up the rest of Irene’s clothes and let her take them, leave like she was never there. No warning, no explanation. Just like that, it’s over. 

-

The news’ll hit the press by the end of October. It’ll make the rounds throughout social media, pictures of you and her together, award-winning actresses, looking so happy and in love that you’ll feel like throwing up. There’ll be conspiracy theories, headlines claiming to know exactly where it went wrong; fans mourning melodramatically, hashtags and trending topics. Someone will talk about it and it’ll rip all the same wounds right open. It’ll break your heart on loop. It’ll be horrible. 

And in any other life, if you’d just left it alone after that, you would’ve gotten out of it all completely unscathed. 

See, it’s all about the narrative. You as the designated victim in your story; she broke up with you, and you’d be able to thrive off the sympathy from that forever. Themes of love and loss, healing and recovery, forgiveness and starting fresh. And one day - in some sort of neat little epilogue, wrapping up loose ends - you’d be able to meet up with Irene again and laugh about the old times, and you’d be so benevolent, accepting apologies; she’d take the blame, and smile, and wish you the best. Leave you as the heroine, with your perfect happy ending. Time healing all wounds, as they say - what a tale, what a message; critics would’ve praised the life lessons taught, call it coming-of-age, honest and raw and real. But instead-

Well, instead, you’ve got no other story to tell but this. You figure it’s as good a place to start as any. 

-

It’s a month and a half after Irene breaks up with you, but she somehow manages to send you into complete and utter insanity all over again. It’s a talent, but she’s always had a lot of those. Here’s how it really begins:

“I actually have a new lease on life,” you say, over the phone on a Friday, lazing on your couch. “I’m actually feeling so optimistic right now.”

The feeling’s warranted, you’re thinking. It’s a perfect, peaceful day. You’re in between projects; you don’t start filming again until January. It’s a much-needed break, and you’re taking full advantage of it. 

“That’s amazing,” says your best friend, sounding like she means it. “That’s so, so great. So - uh - if that’s the case, I do have some… news for you.” 

To her credit, she takes it upon herself to soften the blow, at first. Gives a comprehensive recap of the celebrity rumors going around lately, dances around it with the best of them. First there’s all that baseless (and biased, you’re pretty sure) gossip about Park Sooyoung’s fiancé being a cheater, there’s the usual scandal around Ahn Yujin, there’s that conspiracy theory about Im Nayeon and her secret boyfriend-

“That’s her shirt. ”

And there’s one very specific rumor about your ex-girlfriend and Kang fucking Seulgi. 

“Look, it’s…” Your best friend is peering down at your phone screen with the single worst poker face you’ve ever seen. Then again, she’s not the actress between the two of you. “It’s probably not even that serious. It’s, um. Yeah, it’s probably nothing.” A cautious peek out of the corner of her eye. “It might not even be Irene’s, right?” 

“Wendy.” 

Wendy draws back at your tone, then immediately pats your shoulder gingerly like you’re a particularly prickly feral animal. “Dude, I’m trying to be consoling here.” 

She’s doing a shit job at it, but even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. You’d be losing your mind either way. 

Because when Wendy first got you on the phone while she was on the way to your place, filling you in on the goings-on of your rich and famous peers - right, she told you, like an afterthought, people are saying there’s something between she-who-must-not-be-named and Kang Seulgi, but that’s ridiculous, that’s obviously not happening, isn’t that so funny - and you’d laughed along, too, disbelieving. It’s been a month and a half, you thought. Kang Seulgi’s not even Irene’s type. Earlier this year you’d seen one of Seulgi’s smash hit blockbuster flicks with Irene and the only thing Irene said about Seulgi’s performance was a semi-scathing critique about the way her face looked when she was crying. It’s nothing. It’s-

“It’s her shirt,” you say, again, floored. 

Wendy gusts out a tiny sigh, giving up the performance. “Yeah,” she says. “I know it is.” 

Now you’re both sitting on your couch, staring blankly at Kang Seulgi’s most recent Instagram post. Disheveled black hair. Delicate lines of her nose, her jaw, her mouth. Smoldering dark eyes, lips pulled up in a careless little grin. Tall black boots and heinously expensive jewelry, all caught in high definition. And to top it all off-

“I used to wear that shirt,” you say, viciously, glaring hard at the picture. 

“And it looked so much better on you,” says Wendy, lying badly. 

“Seungwan.”

“I said I’m trying. ” 

“Okay, and I appreciate it, but-” You accidentally swipe to the right; oh, wow, it’s a photo series, that’s fantastic. “Oh my God."

It’s a bloodbath, really. Every image is that same infuriatingly effortless brand of sex appeal that Seulgi’s clearly become accustomed to marketing; she could stick a serial number on it at this point, sell it in stores like she sells out theaters. Face strangely regal and refined, almost austere; smirk pushing it just off the edge, measuring up to sexy rather than stoic. Filthy bedroom eyes, curl of her mouth suggestive by default. It’s obviously a practiced expression. Probably an equally practiced pose, something crafted to deliberately accentuate the toned muscles in her thighs, lean pull of her calves-

“Are you-” starts Wendy, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“I’m really, really pissed off,” you clarify, like that explains why you’re staring so hard at Seulgi’s legs. “I seriously can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Right,” says Wendy, slowly. “Because for a second I thought you were eye-fucking photos of your ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend.”

“I would obviously never do that. That’s crazy.” A pause, and then it actually hits: “New what?”

Your voice hitching frantically high is enough to send Wendy on the immediate defense; no, she says, nothing’s actually confirmed, so you can chill out. One shirt - even if it is so obviously Irene’s, down to the tastefully frayed tear in the collar; bought distressed, of course, because Irene’s too classy to rip up her own clothes - doesn’t actually prove anything. They’re probably just fucking, crass as it sounds. 

“Yeah,” you say sarcastically, “because that makes it better.” 

Wendy simply arches an eyebrow, her almost elfin features - warm, long-lashed eyes, prettily pert nose; today she’s got drawn-on freckles that complete the illusion - arranged in mild confusion. “Well,” she says. “Doesn’t it?” 

“Does it?” you echo, a little grouchily, eyes still stuck resentfully on Seulgi’s face. 

Look, it’s not just that you’re losing, here - it’s that you’re losing because of her. 

“I mean, yeah,” says Wendy, like it’s indisputable. “Because would you rather Irene just be hooking up with Kang Seulgi for fun, or would you rather know that Irene fell for Kang Seulgi in a month and a half in some cheesy whirlwind romance where they discovered that they’re soulmates and now she’s totally over you?” 

There’s a pause. 

“Okay,” you say, disgruntled. “When you put it like that. ”

“I’m not putting it like anything,” Wendy replies, whimsically. “That’s the way things are, man.” 

“Ugh,” you respond, and bury your face in her shoulder. 

Because if it’s true, and that’s the way things are-

You’re backpedaling to a month and a half ago, abandoned in the doorway of your apartment; a tsunami with no warning signs, no signals or sirens. Irene’s winning, in a different way. She’s got Kang Seulgi as her girlfriend with her victorious smirk, her reputation, her awards and her fans and her fame. If they’re dating, Seulgi’s cast as the perfect counterpart, the brooding bad-girl love interest, and they’ll sail off into the sunset together, and you’ll die the anticlimactic off-screen death of the side character no one gives a fuck about. Probably from tuberculosis or something equally depressing. Alone. 

“This is so ass,” you say miserably, voice muffled by Wendy’s sweater. 

“Look at it this way,” replies Wendy, softer, smoothing a hand over your hair. “It’s been a month and a half. You dated Irene for two years. This-” she taps Kang Seulgi’s unreasonably pretty face with a manicured nail- “is definitely just a rebound. Meaningless.”  

You emerge, watch her face, watch her click your phone off, screen going blissfully dark. It’s easier to cope when the problem’s not staring at you from a screen, smiling like she’s at the top of the world looking down, forever above it all. “Really?” 

“They haven’t gone public with it, right?” Wendy reasons, defaulting to logic. “So it’s clearly not serious. I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

It’s hard to argue with her when she takes that tone. No, Wendy’s not an actress, but she spends her life up on a stage, performing in front of a crowd - she knows how to be convincing when the occasion calls for it. Yes, of course I adore my fans, of course I love all my songs, of course the idol life is perfect; of course your ex-girlfriend wouldn’t move on so fast, she loved you, she’s struggling too. 

“Okay,” you say, sucking in a deep breath, watching Wendy’s reassuring smile. You’ll buy into logic for one in your life. You’ll be like everyone else, and believe her, for now. “No, you’re right. You’re right.” 

And she must be. Because if she’s not, then-

-

“The shirt’s ugly as shit anyway,” says Wendy, loyally, leaning into last-ditch efforts. “Like, you were doing charity by even letting it touch your body.”

“Thanks,” you say. “You know what? You’re absolutely correct.” 

“It’s basic, too. Vintage, my ass. I could buy one that looks just like it off of Depop for ten bucks.” 

“I’m really digging all the hate in your heart for this t-shirt right now.” You shift your head towards her collarbone. “Except I did used to wear it, so I don’t know what you’re trying to say about my taste.” 

“A lapse in judgment,” Wendy proclaims. “You have great taste, historically.” 

It’s sweet of her to say. Of course, in, like, three days from now, you’re going to make her eat her words, but neither of you know that just yet. You’ll let it be true until then.

-

Wendy leaves a little later; she’s got an early flight tomorrow, some music show overseas. Call me if you need anything, she tells you, and you hug her goodbye, but you tell her you’ll be fine. Sure, you end up idly scrolling through some of Kang Seulgi’s recent posts, but that’s normal, that’s justifiable. Checking out your replacement, even if it is just a short-lived fling. Photo after photo of her draped in leather jackets and stretching in sports bras and glittering gowns on red carpets - fine, she’s so fucking hot, she’s perfect for a rebound. Womanizing reputation and all. It’s understandable. You wouldn’t be able to blame Irene for wanting her. Dating her, though-

But they’re not. You dispel that thought as quickly as it comes. Logic, you remind yourself. Like Wendy said: they haven’t gone public with it. Meaningless. Ridiculous. So, really, you have nothing to worry about. 

-

A day later, they go public with it.

-

“Okay, so I’m not a mind reader,” Wendy is saying frantically into the phone, like she thinks she’s talking you off a ledge. “I didn’t know. Dude, I didn’t know-”

You’re staring at SEULRENE trending on Twitter, under news article after news article touting that the two actresses announce they’re dating, that they finally made it official, that they’re so infatuated with each other, so happy -

“I’m gonna kill her,” you say, seriously.

“That’s such a horrible idea.” A pause. “Which one?” 

In the two years that you and Irene were dating, together you managed to curate a particularly rabid fanbase between the two of you, people who lamented that love was fake and didn’t exist after the report of your break-up was made public information. Posting selfies of them crying. Dramatic edits of you and Irene to sappy sad love songs. And now, in the wake of Irene dating someone new:

ooooh no bc this is actually very nasty and evil, someone Tweets. ok so based on the timeline my moot put together (thread linked below of insta stories & tweets for proof) it’s been literally a month & 14 days since they broke up… either irene moves on fast or imo she was prob fucking around with seulgi the whole time…

Somehow your fans are keeping better track of the details than you are, but maybe that’s not so surprising. They’re like the FBI, or something. It’s honestly impressive.

NO… someone else replies underneath. YOU THINK IRENE WAS CHEATING?

idk but the timing sure seems suspicious doesn’t it 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

“Was Irene cheating on me?” you choke out into the phone.

Another, longer pause. “Are you stalking your own stans on Twitter?” 

A guilty flick across your screen, swiping out of the app. “Of course not.”  

Wendy makes a noise like hissing air through her teeth, as if in physical pain. “You need to delete all social media off of your phone right now. For your own good, man, I’m serious. For your mental.” 

“I’m gonna hit Kang Seulgi with my car,” you say, fuming. “I’m gonna commit vehicular manslaughter.” 

“It’s not manslaughter if it’s premeditated. And you don’t even know how to drive.” 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

And it’s not like Irene’s done anything wrong, per se - it’s not even that. Sure, it’s a quick turnaround, but the two of you are broken up, and she’s allowed to do whatever she wants. No, it’s something else, something much more bitter and bruising-

Okay: it’s not lost on you that Kang Seulgi’s basically your exact opposite. 

She’s the country’s favorite bad girl, reputation larger than life and with this air of mystery, of carelessness, of unassailable cool. Starring in all these gritty action flicks or psychological thrillers or hard-hitting dramas, perpetually covered in blood and soaked in sweat, defined lines of muscle in her arms, along her stomach. Straight-faced and curt and sarcastic in interviews, when she chooses to give them. A revolving door of girls that’ve never been granted any official title - nothing exclusive, nothing serious - or, at least, not until Irene. You’re the antithesis, the sweet-faced girl next door, dressed up in schoolgirl skirts and playing high schoolers even at twenty-one. Innocence personified. Even dating a girl a decade older than you wasn’t enough to tarnish your image. 

So it’s so easy to imagine Seulgi with Irene, smiling that same heedless smile that’s plastered all over her Instagram - saying I know what you had before; I know it wasn’t enough. Let me show you everything you’re missing out on. Oh, she bored you to tears , didn’t she; come on, watch me bring you back to life. Serpent in Eden, fangs like the devil. Smiling because she knows she won. 

“When did this become a competition?” asks Wendy, after a beat. “I mean, I’m all for coming up with crazy delusional narratives in my free time, but - what, you think she did this on purpose?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” you insist, scrolling through her Instagram again. “It’s just - God. It’s like, out of everyone, why did it have to be Kang Seulgi?” 

A sigh. “No, I get it. You feel like they ended up having this instant connection, or whatever. Because it’s so fast. So it’s kind of like - you’re wondering what she has that you don’t, right?” 

Well, sort of. You know what she has that you don’t, on a surface level: she’s (marginally) more famous than you, hotter and more established, she’s got more awards, more money - she’s got visible abs and those toned thighs, hands threatening in every photograph; seduction down pat, like she’d been trained for it; this way of making everything she does seem so easy-

An extended stretch of silence. “So is it that they’re in a serious public relationship or is it really just the Kang Seulgi of it all?”

You’re swiping through a photo series of Seulgi on set for her most recent action film, her with a fake cut done up in SFX makeup stretching bloody across her collarbone, her nose glinting with a sheen of sweat. Gaze trained off into the distance, bruises underneath enticingly dark. Flex of her bicep in the sixth one as she closes her fist around a pistol. Half a smirk at the camera in the eighth, eyes saying it all: you want me and you can’t have me; you want me, but doesn’t everyone? 

“Can’t it be both?” you say, staring hard. 

“Well, it kind of seems like you think she’s really hot and you’re mad about that first and foremost.” 

“Um,” you say, and abruptly it’s like you’ve never acted in your life. “No. It’s, like, way deeper than that.” 

Wendy sounds like she’s holding back a laugh. “Okay,” she says, and lets it go. It’s the kind thing to do. 

-

“I think I understand it now,” she says, later. “She’s currently your mortal enemy because you think she’s better than you.”

“I can handle her being better than me,” you say. “She’s my mortal enemy because she’s better than me and my ex-girlfriend’s in love with her.”

“Who said anything about love?”

But along with the story, there’s a handful of paparazzi pictures posted in each article, plastered all over Twitter - Irene and Seulgi laughing as they pile into a car together, hands linked, smiles blindingly bright. Stunning even through blurry photographs, in every medium; the two of them spotting the cameras and not caring at all, treating them with great angles, perfect shots. So sure of themselves. Pictures and a thousand words, et cetera. It says everything it needs to.

“Seriously, though, do I really need a reason?” you add, after an hour of ranting. “She’s my ex’s new girlfriend. It’s been a month and a half. I’m allowed to want her dead.” 

“Totally,” says Wendy, supportively. “I’m sure there’s no other explanation for why you feel so strongly about her.”

“There really isn’t,” you say, and leave it at that. It’s practically the truth, anyway. 

-

Later that night, as you’re still stalking Seulgi on Instagram, you accidentally like a photo from February. It’s bad, but it could be worse. At least it’s not from last year. At least she’s clothed in it. 

(Mostly. It’s her sprawled over a motel bed in a ripped band tee and lacy panties and nothing else. But it’s also very clearly a photo from set - you recognize it from a movie of hers that you went to see with Wendy a few months back. R-rated, fully scandalous, entirely brilliant, sure to sweep the end-of-year awards ceremonies you have coming up. Seulgi played the drug-addicted fuck-crazy frontwoman to some rock band, had half a dozen topless scenes, thrown back on the sheets like a timeless sex symbol: makeup smudged, chest heaving, moans practically pornographic. Eyes heavy, hooded, meant to seduce. 

But this picture’s got none of that. Seulgi’s very clearly mid-laugh in it, for one, breaking character; someone had happened to snap a candid, catch her in a moment of gorgeous, wild imperfection. It’s one of the only photos on her Instagram that isn’t her face fixed in a practiced smolder, that doesn’t relegate her pretty mouth to a smirk. A rarity, where she’s not living up to her reputation. 

And you can’t stop staring at it. Wondering what it was that got her to crack. Strangely spellbound by that one expression, unable to pull your eyes away.)

So your finger slips, and you like it - whatever. But it’s probably fine: you doubt Seulgi even has her notifications turned on, and even if she does, she gets hundreds of thousands of those per day. She’ll never see it. 

Nobody needs to know, really. And even if they do, it’s not like it means anything. 

-

do you think this is heartless of irene though, you text Wendy. like i know i said i wasn’t mad at her but

irene? heartless? replies Wendy. generally yes. but in this context….. ummm…

???

i mean. sorry. but its KANG SEULGI

and? you say. And then, because it’s easier to lie to Wendy through your teeth when she can’t see the expression on your face: kang seulgi is like deeply mediocre as an actress. and otherwise. i don’t know what you’re talking about. 

It’s a mistruth of biblical proportions. Miraculously, Wendy doesn’t even call you on it.

whoa…. she says, instead. cant wait for these texts to get leaked so u get crucified on twitter for talking shit about THE kang seulgi

wendy why would these texts ever get leaked. 

idk….. for the right price…..

you leak these texts and i’m leaking your nudes. 

go ahead i look fucking great in all my nudes!!!!! tf!!!!

And that’s how you know it’s really over: Wendy can’t even blame Irene for going after Seulgi. Wendy, who’s always had a vague vendetta against Irene (her vibes are permanently fucked and can never be resuscitated, Wendy informed you once, while drunk, and has since never offered another explanation), backing down from an opportunity to insult her. It’s bad. It’s really bad.

KYSSSSS, you say. Then, immediately: okay i’m sorry i didn’t mean that i’m just emotional right now. 

we’re going to a party when i get back, texts Wendy. u need to get out of the house before u become so delusional that u have to be institutionalized.

fine, you say, unable to fight back. It’s starting to seem like she kind of has a point. 

-

(Looking back on it now, the actual first problem is this: 

Wendy’s right. You think Kang Seulgi is so, so hot. But the even worse thing is that you’ve thought this for ages: binge-watched every movie she’s ever been in, gone through dozens of interviews, drooled over red carpet photos. Since you started dating Irene. Since long before that. But it’s always been fine - distant and manageable, irrelevant and light-hearted - because you’ve never once acted on it, because you’ve never once met her. Nothing that’ll ever come to fruition at all, and for good reason. And it doesn’t matter now, because she’s dating your ex-girlfriend and so you want her dead. It’ll never be anything more than that. 

Or, at least, that’s what you think.) 

-

Two days later, and - well, there’s always a party. You’re all too rich and famous and repressed. It’s just how it’s always been. 

The typical scene’s already in full swing, when you get there: looming mansion, rooms gaping wide, the most well-known names in the country spilling out over the spotless tile flooring, laughing and drinking and enjoying some semblance of freedom. You’re all so used to smiling into a lens like surveillance is second nature - you’ll get reckless at times like these, when you know you can afford it. When you know there’s only a miniscule chance of getting caught. 

“Seriously,” you say, phone tucked close to your ear, talking loud over the music: “if I don’t find you in the next ten minutes, I’m leaving.” 

“But then how will you get laid without me?” Wendy says, on the other line. 

You roll your eyes, then shoot a wave at one of Wendy’s idol friends across the room, someone she probably knows from a music show or a collab stage or because they’re part of the same company. The idol industry’s a little different than yours; they’re constantly at the same events, frequenting the same venues. It’s easier to forge connections. “You mean because you’ll be my wingman or because you’ll take one for the team and fuck me yourself?” 

“It’s a toss-up,” says Wendy, who’s talking equally loudly, probably trapped in some opposite corner of this manor of a house. “I still haven’t seen if you look hot enough tonight. I have standards, bitch.” 

“Right,” you say, as you notice Park Sooyoung and her fiancé, isolated off to the right in what seems like a particularly intense conversation for a party. “You really know how to turn a girl on, Wendy. I’m, like, creaming my jeans.”

A horrified pause through the pounding music. “You’re wearing jeans?” 

“Obviously not. Weren’t you the one who said-”

“Yeah, yeah. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” 

Cliché, but you won’t knock it ‘til you try it. They’re tropes for a reason. So you’re looking for a very specific kind of attention tonight: short skirt and shoes with a heel and hair straightened to a shine. This Kang Seulgi thing is the last goddamn straw, giving you a mission, an objective: you need to get fucked, and soon. You don’t need to find the love of your life, or whatever. You just need to prove you’ve moved on.

“Shouldn’t be that hard,” says Wendy. “I’m sure there are plenty of social climbers at this party who want what you have and think they can fuck their way into a job or whatever.” 

“So you’re saying that they’d want me for my fame and not anything else?” She’s got a point, but you’re not about to tell her that; it’s enough to get a fuck, and that’s all you’re asking for. “Thanks. Really, that’s so helpful.” 

“Your fame and your ass,” replies Wendy, cheerfully. “What else do you need? Like, it clearly wouldn’t be for your personality-”

“Fuck off. I’m going out to the balcony,” you say, beelining towards the glass double doors; they’re recognizable enough, and you need the backup. “Come find me, okay?” 

“Okay, no, that’s too vague. There are like fifteen balconies in this place. How will I know-”

-

And everything that happens next occurs with horror-movie proportions: the fatal anticipation, the red flags flying. Any audience member’s screaming at the screen right now, warning you: don’t go through that doorway, don’t make that decision, turn on your heel and run. It’s a slasher and you’re heading right into the killer’s arms. It’ll ruin you for life. It’s so obvious-

(There’s a storm coming. There’s the crack of lightning, electricity at your ribs. The sky’s a second from splitting open. What are the odds, what’s the mathematic probability; you and the girl you’ve been obsessing over for the past three days - or earlier than that, if you’re counting just how many of her movies you’ve seen, put on repeat, lost your mind a million times over - in the same place, the same time. You’re distracted; you’ve forgotten to put your guard up. Again with all the fucking clichés.)

-but there’s hindsight, and all its clarity. You’re just not there yet. You’re too close to see it coming. 

-

There’s a woman smoking on the balcony. 

There’d be a sitcom laugh track here, if anyone were watching - how clueless can someone be, how comically stupid - because you don’t even realize it at first, much less recognize who it is. You’re pushing open the heavy double doors, still talking loudly to Wendy, trying to elaborate on statues that could serve as makeshift landmarks - and in the rush of the cool autumn wind, you finally spot her standing there. Cue raucous laughter. Take a breath for delighted applause. 

“Ah, sorry,” you say, automatically, coming to a stop. 

“Yeah, you should be,” says Wendy, still on the phone. 

The doors shut with an ominous sound behind you; bad omens, butterfly effects. Smoke curling around the woman’s hair, turning her silhouette spectral, ghostlike. Clad in a dress so short there’s no way her teeth aren’t chattering around her cigarette. You say, into the phone, “Not to you, idiot. I’m talking to-”

And then the woman turns, and you’re so shocked you accidentally hang up the call. Because it’s-

Well, everyone probably already knows by now. 

What they don’t know - what nobody could know, except you, in this one moment - is the overwhelmingly, tragically physical effect seeing her in person has on you. Lungs suddenly like they’re struggling for air. Pulse like the thrum of music still blaring inside, bass as a bloodline, melodies as chemical compositions. Somehow, entirely by accident, you’d built her up in your head to be this deity, this goddess, this fictitious impossibility: she’s otherworldly in her films, in photographs, spur-of-the-moment snaps taken by fans. Beautiful like something out of a Renaissance painting, striking and regal and ruminative. You’d never even imagined anything else. 

And it’s there, in bits and pieces, a glimpse of the myth in motion. Threat in the high hemline of her skirt. Lips startlingly red, blood and sin and more suggestive things. Collarbones like cliffs to throw yourself off of; glint in her eye like she’s armed and dangerous. Like she’s everything her movies paint her out to be. 

But then there’s everything else.

“Oh,” you say out loud, throat dry, and you’re paralyzed. 

Because she’s nothing like she is when you’ve seen her in print, awards shows and billboards - and in that moment, it all starts crumbling to the ground. 

She’s positively tiny in real life, that’s the first thing. Sporting platform boots and still a few inches shorter than you are; sleeves hitting below her elbows, veins visible in her arms, patterned under her skin. Lipstick bleeding just past the line of her mouth, smudged unevenly at her cupid’s bow. Hair a little wild in the wind, slipping undone and coarse over her shoulders. Eyeliner worn-in, mascara leaving faint, sooty shadows under both eyes. Tiny moles you’d seen photoshopped out in magazines; one just underneath her eyebrow, stark against fair skin; one of her knees is badly bruised, blooming a faint, sickly yellow-green. Posture slightly slumped as she turns to look at you, shoulders rounded, set of her lips a bit crooked, pulled up at a corner. 

“Hey,” Kang Seulgi says, voice gravelly, and that’s really when everything falls apart. 

Because she’s nothing like she is on billboards. Because she’s better.

-

Here’s how it happens, if you had to explain yourself: you meet and it’s already so far gone. You can’t help but blink dumbly, heart thrown into an avalanche, splitting your ribs; smoke everywhere, fires set ablaze. Off the key of reason, each bit of her just past perfect and heading straight to immeasurably, unquantifiably beautiful. Rough edges and nails unpolished, hands like an invitation. Lips puckering around her cigarette, hair somewhat blending into the night sky - and Seulgi looks right on back at you, staring openly, drinking you in. 

“Hi,” you say, breathlessly, because you forget that you’re supposed to hate her guts. 

“Hey,” says Seulgi again, and she’s still staring, eyes wide. It’s becoming incredibly apparent that there’s no need for introduction. She knows who you are.

(That’s the next problem. You know each other, even though you’ve never met. There’s no escaping it now.) 

The seconds tick by in spellbindingly slow motion. Like you’re waiting for the clock to strike midnight; waiting on an inevitability, a prewritten series of events, an entirely scripted array of scenes. Moon a deliberate director. Stars the screenwriters, setting marks, assigning meaning: put a pause here, pull back on the dialogue - the critics will get all the subtext. 

You’re frozen. You just can’t stop looking at her. 

“Sorry,” Seulgi says, suddenly. 

“Um,” you say back, because for one crazy moment, you think she’s talking about Irene. And for an even crazier moment you think of saying no, it’s fine, I forgive you - no, obviously I haven’t been obsessing about it since I heard the news; God, you’re so much more than gorgeous, I get it; fuck, I’d never blame anyone for going after you. Look at you. Look at you. 

But then Seulgi gestures with her cigarette between two fingers, and you realize she’s talking about the smoking. And she abruptly doesn’t sound sorry at all when she says, “You can go back inside, if you want. Not trying to offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities here.” 

Your mouth falls open. 

“Seriously,” Seulgi tacks on, at your silence. “I wouldn’t want to, you know.” Slow pan of your body, your hair to your heels. Something about the way she looks at you, then; severe quirk of her eyebrow, the amused sniff of air through her nose. “Get in your way.”

And, well-

“It’s a bad habit,” continues Seulgi, mouth at an exponentially sharper tilt, and takes another lazy drag. 

-it occurs to you that she’s kind of being a bitch. 

And that in itself is fucking mind-boggling. Because she’s the one dating your ex-girlfriend after a month and a half. Because if anyone should be getting nasty here, it should be you - you’d have the right to, you should be furious (and you are, you remind yourself, you’ve been furious at her this whole time, she’s your mortal enemy, seeing her in person doesn’t change that), you should follow through on your threat of running her over with a car, it’s so stupid that she’s the one trying to get a rise out of you right now-

“Disgusting habit, actually,” you say, barely giving her a chance to breathe. “But if you want to die from lung cancer, that’s totally your prerogative. I don’t care either way.” 

So, obviously, you make the split-second decision to be a bitch right back. It’s just the thing to do. 

A tiny, maddening smirk curls around Seulgi’s mouth. “That’s a little strong, kid,” she says. “You wouldn’t care if I died?” 

“Does it really matter to you what I care about?” You’ve got your arms folded over your chest; you can’t believe she just called you kid. Yeah, she’s got like ten years on you, but - Jesus Christ. “You don’t know me.” 

“You don’t like me,” says Seulgi, like she’s mildly delighted by it. 

“I just said I don’t know you, Seulgi.” 

The moment her name leaves your mouth you know it’s a mistake - but you can’t quite figure out why. Just that you’re both aware of something of a seismic shift, the whole house tipping sideways; moon slipping slightly out of orbit, constellations doubling back to take another glance. Both of you unsteady in your heels; Seulgi’s lips part, and she’s staring again. Expression oddly slack, as if struck. Smoke softening the line of her jaw. 

“Seulgi,” you say, again, trying to recover. 

You can’t come up with anything else. It’s as if you’ve never done improv, like you’ve never charmed your way through talk show interviews. There are tiny, glimmering studs lining Seulgi’s ears, a perfect match to the small pendant she’s got around her neck, glinting in the moonlight. Nestled right where her neckline dips scandalously low.

“My eyes are up here,” says Seulgi, apparently taking the opportunity to bring back the hostility full-force. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say, just as fast. “There’s barely anything worth looking at there.” 

There’s a pause. 

Okay - fine, it’s possible that was maybe going a little far. To be fair, you’ve never had a first conversation this tense, with anyone; you don’t know the regulations. It’s ridiculous that you’re acting like this. But it’s her - it’s something about her stupid smile and her smoking, her reckless beauty and her big reputation, that look in her eyes that says she gets whatever she wants, even if she has to take it. 

You glance upwards just to see that Seulgi actually almost looks like she’s about to burst out laughing. Lips twitching, irises strangely bright under silvery moonlight. Smile revealing her teeth.

But she doesn’t, though it looks like it takes some effort. “Wow,” she says, instead, and returns to condescending amusement as quickly as she’d left it. “That’s really mature.”

“You’re the one who stole my girlfriend and you wanna talk about maturity?” you spit. “That’s hilarious.” 

It’s not your best move. As if anyone could steal a grown woman, much less one like Irene - but Seulgi’s looking at you like that, and you have to land a blow, even if it’s irrational. Plus sometimes you’re susceptible to social media bullshit.

Seulgi’s still smiling. “I’ll have you know there was no overlap,” she says. “Very above board. But it’s cute that you buy into Twitter conspiracy theories. Spend a lot of time stalking your own stans?” 

“Okay,” you shoot back, “but how would you know that my stans are coming up with Twitter conspiracy theories in the first place?” 

There’s another long silence. 

“So you’re stalking my stans,” you conclude. “That’s way worse.” 

“Um,” says Seulgi, suddenly looking considerably less intimidating than she did two seconds ago. Then, “Well, you’re the one who liked one of my half-naked Instagram photos from February.”

“Okay,” you say, again, arms crossed over your chest. “But why do you know that?” 

“My stans are well-informed,” Seulgi explains, tapping her cigarette against her bottom lip. “They like to keep track of who likes my shit.” 

“All I’m getting from this is that you regularly monitor both my stans and your stans when they talk about me.” 

Seulgi stares at you, mouth opening a little; like she’s guilty, like she’s caught. “So,” she says. 

“Loser,” you say, probably proving her point about immaturity.

But it doesn’t even faze her; you blink once and she’s smiling again, for some godforsaken reason. She says, “You know what, I think we got off on the wrong foot.” Corner of her mouth curling further, putting her cigarette out on the railing. “I’m actually a big fan of you, to be honest.” 

“Ugh,” you say, cheeks flushing hot with frustration. It seems so obvious that she’s making fun of you; because she’s older and sexier and more famous, because there’s no way you were even on her radar before she started dating your ex. “You’re so - whatever. I’m leaving. Bye.”

You turn to go, fully intending to never speak to her again. Asshole, you’re thinking, she’s such a-

“No, no,” Seulgi’s saying, laughing, “hold on, we should-”

And it’s the littlest thing that does it, in the end: 

Seulgi’s fingers close around your wrist, and all she does is tug lightly. Barely any pressure at all. But she’s stepped forward to get her hand on you, and so she’s so close when she pulls you back to her; you stumble a bit in your heels, not expecting it, almost tumbling right into her. And - as if it’s an instinct - her other hand falls carefully to the small of your back, steadying you with her palm at your spine. Face so near to yours you can smell her perfume under all the smoke. Gazes locking; clink of chains, discarding keys, handcuffs latching tight. It’s instantaneous. 

There are fifty things you should probably say right now - don’t touch me, we’re strangers, we don’t know each other; are you this presumptuous with everyone you meet, do you try to provoke them, or is it something about me; please don’t say it’s me. But the truth is that the moment she gets her hands on you, it’s already pretty much doomed.

“Oh,” Seulgi breathes out, like a revelation.

She’s no longer laughing, so thrown even she can’t act it off. Eyes so dark, pupils scarily dilated. Wind flicking inky strands of hair across her face. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips; you shiver underneath her hand on your back, your wrist, pulse hammering underneath her thumb. Seulgi’s been messing with you since the second you met her, but even she doesn’t have the power to charge the atmosphere like this; electric current, preparing for the roll of thunder, bones thrumming restless and wired under your skin. Seismic shift, give it a sequel: any second the house’ll catch fire and disintegrate. 

“You should probably let go of me,” you warn, faintly, shivering, staring at her mouth and thinking fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Seulgi’s lashes flutter fast, blinking herself out of a trance. 

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s an undertone to it; she steps back, lets you go, visibly bites the inside of her cheek. Like she needs to snap herself out of it before it’s too late. “Right. Sorry, kid. I didn’t - I really am a fan, you know.”

“Are you,” you say, too enthralled to try and catch her in a lie. The air’s still so thick: it could splinter every surrounding window from the outside in, tear through glass like paper. You can’t comprehend the change - can’t understand why you can still feel her hands on you, white-hot and consuming. It’s too fast a tilt, throwing your head into vertigo; you’re still so full of misplaced expectation. Will she, won’t she. 

“I have been for a while,” says Seulgi, suddenly bashful. She won’t, you’re certain. She can’t; she’s out of your league and so gorgeous and she’s taken, she’s so unavailable, you just met, she’d never. “I think you’re…”

“You think I’m…” you mimic. 

Seulgi’s eyebrows raise, and her gaze drops. Surveying you again, your face, your hair, your body - measuring you up to your films, the fiction and the fantasy. And there’s this look in her eye; you can’t tell what she sees when she looks at you. Her hair’s filtering moonlight; she’s all surrealism, the temptation of imperfect things, the immeasurable beauty. Soft line of her neck. Sharp glint of her stare. And out of nowhere you already know it’s over, before she even opens her mouth. 

“Fucking incredible,” she murmurs, at a sensuous rasp, throaty insinuation curling around every syllable. 

(She will, then - it’s done and decided. She will.)

And it’s so idiotic, because you’re actresses, for God’s sake. You make a living off of faking feelings, playing parts. But there’s something about you and her and how high you are off the ground, on top of the world, larger than life and the city far beneath your heels; all it takes is a little bit of proximity. You’re both too used to having everything you’ve ever wanted right at your fingertips. All it takes is a touch. 

“You should go,” you say, quietly, hands aching to have her. 

Out of nowhere you’re too close together again. You’re not sure who stepped forward first, not sure who started it; not sure who’s fault this is going to be, when you play it all back. You can’t rationalize it in the least. Sometimes it’s just a feeling. 

“I don’t think I want to,” Seulgi murmurs back, just as inexplicably captivated as you are, too near to rein it in. “Do you really want me to?” 

“You have a girlfriend.” It’s not an answer. You’re drawn into her eyes as if by gravity; deep-space, brilliant astronomy. You can’t make yourself sound as guilty as you should. “Seulgi.”

There’s that problem with her name in your mouth again: like a death sentence, like a missile deployed, like a cocking gun. It’s a direct hit. You’ll never be able to take this one back. 

“Fuck,” Seulgi says, out loud, and then she kisses you. 

-

(Oh, there’s no way to explain it. It’s exactly the kind of thing that’d cause walk-outs in theaters, reviewers throwing up their hands in disbelief, baffled; the chemistry is there, sure, but where’s the logic, where’s the narrative sense, where’s the justification. That can’t be all it takes, that would make you and Seulgi both morons: five minutes of snarky conversation and sexual tension and you both cave, how does that work, who approved this fucking script-

Well, they’re just gonna have to get used to it. It’s a film where neither of the main characters have any common decency, so what did you really expect - and, truthfully, it only gets worse from here on out.) 

-

Right away it’s too intense, too sensual and filled with filthy intention. Countdown clocks, hourglasses dripping sand: you’re existing on completely stolen time and it shows. Her thigh finds her way between both of yours; your back hits the wall right next to the double doors. You’ve never had a first kiss so fucking sloppy - licking along your lip gloss, the seam of your mouth; teeth colliding, fingers digging into your hips; deliciously invasive, like she’s trying to devour you: motive shifting, nails working their way against your scalp, scraping until you whimper. You’re seconds from humping her thigh like an animal, making a mess to clean. And you’re suddenly so, so wet. 

“Are we really doing this?” Seulgi’s all smoke, old horrible habits; vices, addictions. “We - God-” 

“Depends,” you say, too turned on to be anything but a bitch. “If you wanna be a morally corrupt cheater who cheats on your girlfriend with someone you just met-”

“Are you gonna say that’s my prerogative again?” 

“Well.” You can’t believe she’s onto you so soon. “It is.” 

“You’re such a brat,” she says, with feeling, and then sees the look on your face. “Oh, wow. Of course you’re into that.” 

Apparently she’s onto a lot of things about you. “Who says I’m into that?”

It’s a bad point to call her bluff. In no time at all Seulgi’s got her thigh between your legs again, dislodges her hand from your hair and holds a fist to your shoulder; pressing you down, forcing friction. You can’t stop yourself - you’re rocking your hips, you’re soaking through your thong, trying not to whine - you can’t comprehend how you got here so fast, so wanton and desperate, how natural it feels for her to pin you against a wall and work whimpers out of your mouth - how much you want it-

(Fine, maybe the real truth is that the minute you saw her and her eyes and her hands and her short dress you wanted her so bad you forgot how to function, she got a little mean with you and it turned you on, she got too close to your face and you instantly thought of her fucking you senseless - fine. It’s been doomed from the very first second. Maybe you’re just as morally corrupt as she is. Maybe even more.) 

“Huh, I don’t know.” There’s no justifying it. Seulgi’s mouth held in a wicked smirk, gleam of teeth like the definition of the upper hand. Taking it without question; you’re into that, so she’ll be what you want. “Your cunt dripping all over my thigh right now?” 

“This is so fucked up,” you manage, needing to kiss her again, needing to be bent over and fucked on her fingers, needing more. Her own question thrown back in her face: “Are we really doing this?”

You’re finally gonna get your answer. It’s her, and it’s hopeless. Serpent in Eden. Fangs like the devil. Heedless smile, photographs and their infinite words: let me show you everything you’ve been missing out on; come on, baby, let me take you home; let me bring you back to life. 

“Yeah,” sighs Seulgi, and presses her lips to yours, one more time. “I think we are.” 

-

She pulls you inside by the hand, shoving past some of the most well-known names in the country. She’s careless about it, too. Like you’re incomprehensibly the only thing in the room she can see, fingers intertwined tight with yours, your nails and her bare knuckles, a near-perfect fit. She trips over someone’s foot and has to catch herself on a doorframe, and you laugh until she tells you to shut the fuck up, but she’s laughing too, and kind of looking like she wants to kiss you, right there in public. She doesn’t, because she can’t, and you know it. You let the moment go.

-

Seulgi doesn’t take you home. She’s got Irene there, probably; that’s the first reason. The second is that, truthfully, the two of you aren’t only stupid, you’re also impatient - if you have to wait any longer you’re gonna lose your minds.

“You know, I have this theory about you.” 

So that’s how you end up in some upstairs bathroom, your back flush against the sink, her hands up in your hair and her teeth over your throat, your nails leaving marks on her wrists, her thighs. Those fucking claws, Seulgi says, and grins at the scarlet-red scratches; like she likes you when you’re riled and needy, like there’s a sort of test you’ve passed. Tugs the neckline of your top down with rough fingers; kisses sloppy and open-mouthed down your neck, your collarbone, licks a line down your chest. And right as she’s hovering over a nipple, breath so hot you’re already whining, that’s when she says-

“What?” you say back. Too thrown off, too turned on; you’re blinking down at her swollen mouth, panting. It barely registers. “You have a what?” 

“Here’s how I see it.” It’s almost conversational. Seulgi flicks her tongue over your nipple, draws back just as quick. You whine without meaning to, spine curving, begging for more. “Girls like you,” she says. “You always have a type.”

There’s something dangerous about her tone, something sending you on high alert, alarms wailing, windows blown out or breaking in. Something about how she says girls like you, like she’s already got you all figured out - physical evidence to a heinous crime, already crafting her case. Motive and opportunity. Gleam in her eyes before she puts you away for life. 

“What?” you say, again, voice wavering.

Her hand trails down your stomach, searching for more skin. Tugs the hem of your skirt up. “I think you have a thing for it,” Seulgi says, and dips her chin, indicating herself. “Older women. All that entails. See, I don’t think someone like you accidentally starts dating someone like Irene.” Her hand stops at your inner thigh, won’t go near your cunt, won’t touch you where you need it. “You get off on that kind of age gap, right?” She doesn’t need you to answer for her to know it’s true. “You like feeling helpless. Like you need to be taken care of.” 

She leans forward; her lips hover over yours, unwilling to kiss you again. She’ll make you work for it. She says, “You like pretending that you’re just this naïve good girl, corrupted by some older woman who couldn’t keep her hands off you. Like you’re just such an angel, baby. They couldn’t resist.” Raises her hands to your hips and presses down. “I think it makes you so fucking wet. ”

You hold your breath. You can’t give yourself away this early, you’re thinking. You can’t be so predictable - it’s humiliating, it’s unbearable. “Seulgi-”

Unwilling to kiss you, or at least she’s trying to be - but you say her name, and that’s all it takes for her to break. 

There’s something about the way she kisses you, then, hoisting you up until you’re perched on the bathroom sink, tongue slipping across your bottom lip: like you should’ve known. Like the first second you saw her, it should’ve sent your nervous system haywire, veins knotting themselves and bloodstream freezing like ice. Like no matter what - talk about butterfly effects, talk about roads and pathways and predestination - the second you saw her, she was always going to see right through you. Like she was always going to tilt her head like this, pull back with her lashes a flicker against her cheekbone. Pull back and demand-

“Say it.”

You’re barely breathing. “Say what?” 

Seulgi lifts an eyebrow, amused by you playing dumb. And there’s a purpose to it - a monologue, an anticipation, a breaking point. Testing you against the pull of her blunt nails scraping your thighs, won’t touch you further until you give in. Excruciating, temptation incarnate.

“Say it,” she purrs, again. “I know you want to.” One hand on either thigh and parting them, slowly. “I’m not gonna fuck you until you say it.” 

And then she runs her knuckles against the drenched spot on your panties, right where your cunt’s soaked through - and the pressure’s not nearly enough. Pulls your thong to the side, your cunt glistening wet; every part of you throbbing with aching need. She’s watching your face with an intent, arrogant sort of certainty. She knows you’re about to give in.

“Sweetheart,” Seulgi says, sends your skin simmering hot with just a word. You can’t handle how shiny her hair is, still tangled from the autumn wind - can’t stand the way her irises glint in a dark room, like she’s so great she’s defying logic, like fame’s really made her something supernatural. Can’t stand that she’s unfathomably beautiful. Can’t stand that she’s not yours. 

So you give in. 

-

“Mommy, mommy, mommy-”

Somewhere in there - that’s when Irene calls. But it’s not a question, what’s more important right now: Seulgi lets you run your mouth and stays hooked on every word, taunting you, laughing as your cunt soaks her hand. Keeps fucking your pussy like there’s nothing in the world she’d rather be doing, and lets the call go to voicemail. 

-

Seulgi fucks you like she’s everything her reputation makes her out to be, and that’s the only way to put it: rough and brutal and intense, off the edge of violent. You’re thinking of the box office killer you saw her in a few weeks back - she played the love-interest-turned-villain, led the reveal with knuckles chapped and split, smile lined in blood - and it’s the risk, the ruthlessness: it’s like no one’s ever gotten what you need until her. Throat under her hand, saying filthy things about how wet you are, how fucked up, how pathetic and naughty, fingers around your neck and squeezing hard. You’re long past the threshold of embarrassment, recognizing humiliation - the only thing you’re thinking about is cumming around her fingers, her murmuring against your skin. You’ll let her say anything.

Which is probably a bad call, in retrospect, because the obscenity that comes out of her mouth-

“No,” she snaps, when you try to cover your mouth with your palm, stifling moans. Slips her hand from the base of your throat to your wrist and tugs. “Let me hear you moan for mommy, baby.”

You’re helpless to obey, and she laughs when you do - fully laughs, fingers curling in your cunt, the sloppy wet sounds loud enough to fill the bathroom, echo off the walls. “Mommy,” you’re whimpering, losing it, stare hooked on her red, irresistible mouth, “fuck, you-”

There’s a dark flush in her cheeks, up to her neck; you try and kiss her and Seulgi holds her mouth out of reach. Leans in and says, breath hitting your teeth, “Are you always this fucking desperate?” 

No, you can’t say, no, never. I swear it’s something about you. You. It’s you. 

Because it’s so mortifying, but it’s true: Seulgi’s eyes and her hands and the way she’s got you firmly in place, one hand between your legs, the other returning delicious pressure against the nape of your neck. Tone of her voice, musical with mirth. The way it’s like she’s got everything that’ll turn you on indexed and itemized - demeaning you, making you work for it, beg for it, in this bathroom where the party’s still carrying on outside, blissfully unaware - like, somehow, she already knows. 

Then, like you’d spoken it out loud: Seulgi grips the back of your neck hard. “Or is it just that you like fucking other people’s girlfriends?” 

See, you’re an actress, in your profession, in your habits. You’re so used to being in control. Pulling at your muscles like they’re on marionette strings, perfectly maneuvering your face, your body. You can lie your way out of anything, if you put your mind to it. You’re even better with the truth. 

But you can’t even shake your head, can’t get a protest out past your whines. Seulgi’s got a hold on you and your thighs clamping down around your wrist. “I think it turns you on,” she says, and as if to punctuate it, her hand leaves your neck and connects with your cheek, quick and hard. “Smug little slut. Acting all bratty, humping my leg - you wanted this, didn’t you? I bet right when you saw me you got so wet. Already thinking about calling me mommy. ” Lips ghosting over your jaw. “You’re so obvious.” 

“That’s not-”

Another slap, the crack of her hand mesmerizing, head-spinning. “Don’t lie to me,” Seulgi says, but it’s almost amused, one eyebrow raised, sharp pull of a smirk. “You think I can’t feel your pussy clenching around my fingers?”

And she just keeps going and going - it’s a revenge fantasy for you, huh, she says, seducing your ex’s girlfriend, whining like a bitch in heat until I finally give you what you need; irises like staring down the barrel of a gun, dark and explicitly dangerous. The world’s suddenly impossible to hold in your head, parameters blurring, inhibitions seeping out at the edges - you abruptly can’t comprehend anything but the tactile, the physical - fuck status, fuck scandal, fuck anything but her in front of you - saying you’re so soaked, baby, creaming all over mommy’s fingers like that. Saying cum for me. Saying now. 

You do, and then she doesn’t stop. It’s not like you expected anything less. 

-

“You’re lucky I think you’re so fucking cute,” she tells you, pain in all the right places. “Depraved as fuck, but cute.” 

-

Afterwards:

“God,” you mutter into the crook of Seulgi’s neck. She’s holding you upright on the counter, laughing a little, breath against your temple. Lips brushing your hairline, impossibly gentle. You’re so thoroughly fucked; you forget what the protocol for no-strings sex is, illicit affairs. You were in a relationship with the same girl for two years: you’ve never learned how to have meaningless sex. Well, it’s coming back to bite you now. “Seulgi.” 

She stops laughing, sucks in a sharp breath. “You’re fucked up,” she tells you. “Saying my name like that.”

“I’m not-” You’re grinning. “I’m just saying it. Like a normal person.” 

“Nothing about you is normal,” says Seulgi, with mild fondness, and lets one hand drop between your thighs. 

It’s meant only to tease, obviously; she drags two fingers through your drooling cunt, makes you whimper from overstimulation when she bumps your clit. You’re trying to blink yourself back to clarity - all you can see is her face, her smudged lipstick, mask slipping further. Mascara fading under her eyes. Sheen breaking through her foundation on her forehead. 

“You,” you say, captivated. “You’re so…” 

You just met her for the first time tonight. She just introduced her current infidelity into the fucking dirty talk, like a taboo straight out of some really questionable porn - and, yeah, she just made you cum like you never have before. She’s possibly insane. She’s sick in the head. She’s so, so stunning. 

“You have serious issues,” you say, instead. “And you probably need to seek professional help for them. Let me make you cum.” 

Seulgi fully laughs then, something clearly out of sheer surprise, and it’s lovely: nothing like the sexy, raspy, careless thing you’ve seen her do in movies, on talk shows. No, it’s this adorable, unselfconscious bout of giggles, like she’s close to letting out a snort. You’re struck, staring. Watching her eyes squeeze shut and her head tip back, cheeks flushed. Watching her, gorgeous. 

“Okay,” you say, too weirdly endeared to be frustrated by it. “You don’t want me to make you cum, then.”

Seulgi’s lips part, laughter dropping off. “It’s not that. It’s just - baby, you can’t even stand up right now. And you don’t have to.” Runs her tongue across her top teeth, like she’s been starved for years and she’s finally satiated. Lets her eyes fall half-lidded, and adds, lower, “Fucking your needy little pussy was enough for me right now.” 

Your mouth dries up.

But the idea’s already spreading feverishly hot; settles at the tips of your fingers, gives your hands a motive. There’s that low throb behind your navel, desire untameable, physical. You need to hear it, hear her moaning for you, feel her cunt clamp down around your fingers. You’ll fight dirty to get it, too. Alright, it’s more than returning the favor, it’s so selfish-

You slip down from the counter, heels meeting the tile with a click. Your body trapped between Seulgi’s and the sink. You, leaning in, noses bumping, and say, breathless: “Mommy, I wanna make you cum for me.” Further, mouth capturing hers, the barest amount and nothing more. “Please.” 

-but this started out selfish, so there’s no other way it could really end. 

“Jesus,” exhales Seulgi, ruined. Then she pauses. “Wait, you’re gonna finger me with those?” 

You stare, uncomprehending. 

Seulgi nods downwards. “What are you trying to do, slash my vulva?” 

Right. Your nails - almond-shaped, painted a glossy black; they’re not acrylics, but they’re uniformly long, regardless. “Um,” you say. “Fuck.” Then, “Well, I can probably improvise.” 

-

You both rummage around in the bathroom cabinets until you - remarkably - find both a nail clipper and a nail file. It’s one of those really nice ones, too, metal and practically indestructible. “God’s on our side,” says Seulgi, as she watches you clip your middle fingernail down, then your ring. 

“I seriously doubt it,” you say. “You’re gay and unfaithful. God definitely hates your guts.” 

Seulgi swirls the nail file in the air, wisely, like she’s communing with a higher power. “No,” she disagrees, and takes your hand gently, getting to work. “God totally gets me. She understands.” 

You lean back and let her, entertained against your will. “Understands what?”

“That I’m dumb.” Seulgi’s concentrating hard on sanding the uneven edges of your newly short nails; better safe than sorry. “And impulsive. And I make really self-destructive decisions. And you’re so adorable and so fuckable. And I really, really can’t help myself.”

“All valid reasons to cheat,” you say, dryly, even though this definitely isn’t something you should be joking about.

“That’s what I’m saying,” says Seulgi, equally as straight-faced, and presses her lips to the back of your hand. “All good, baby. You can make mommy cum now, or whatever it was you were begging to do.” 

“Asshole,” you mutter, jerking your hand back. It’s futile, meaningless; all you do is take a step closer to her, anyway, looping your arms around her neck. “Why would I make you cum if you’re just gonna be a bitch to me?” 

“Sweetheart.” She’s smiling now. “I think we’ve established that me being a bitch to you just makes you want to fuck me more.” 

Well, shit. You can’t really argue with that one. 

-

She’s the one on the counter this time, and you get two fingers inside her before she can run her mouth more - and Seulgi’s so responsive when she’s getting fucked, like she’s forgotten the role she’s playing, the arrogance and the degradation. Eyelids shuttering, head craning back, exposing the line of her throat. Kissing you like she can’t hold back from it, tongue trailing your teeth. Her voice drawls sweet and sultry, calling you good girl, oh, you’re so good for me, sweetheart, fucking mommy so good. I know, you wanna eat me out so bad, but you can’t ruin your makeup, I get it. Priorities, whatever. I respect your vanity. 

“What?” you say, caught on a strange, sudden laugh, still pumping at her cunt, drawing sordidly wet sounds; cracking jokes at your expense while she’s on the verge of cumming all over your hand, that’s a new one. “Uh - fuck you?” 

“Right,” Seulgi pants, gripping your wrist, bearing down on your fingers. “Exactly.” 

And that’s probably the first red flag - the second, third, fourth; fine, you’re collecting them like the bruises you’ll have tomorrow, on your throat and wrists and thighs - because there’s a camaraderie there that shouldn’t be. You don’t even know her, and you’re trusting her enough to make you cum, make you laugh. It’s a warning sign. You’ve blown past those. Perfect, she’s repeating, anyway, pleasure stringing syllables together. You’re so perfect. So-

You hold her gaze when it’s over, suck your cum-soaked fingers into your mouth, enjoying the way Seulgi’s expression cracks open candidly, staring without shame. Not all your nails were cut short; your left hand’s scrawled scarlet marks into her thigh. Maybe they’ll fade fast - maybe they won’t. To be fair, that’s not exactly your problem. 

Seulgi breathes out harshly, looking somewhat tortured. “Baby.” 

Talk about red flags, you’re thinking, and release your fingers from your lips with a wet little pop. Maybe you’ll leave a few of your own, too. 

-

For all intents and purposes, this aftermath should be devastating. Apocalyptic, the end of the world. There should be some huge, tearful declaration of regret, of remorse, repenting to some higher power. Maybe you’d slap her. Maybe you’d blame her. Maybe she’d turn into a crying mess, lamenting betrayal, crying how will she ever come back from this, it’s the biggest mistake of her life-

“So,” says Seulgi, suddenly. “You wanna get out of here or something?”

You turn and look at her in the mirror, sentiment like whiplash. “Excuse me?” 

She’s already watching you, mouth quirked at a corner, caught - and then she doesn’t stop staring. Observing you openly, like she’s got a complete and total claim to you, canvassing every part of your body. Penetrative and unrelenting. 

“Like, go home with you?” you ask, stepping forward. 

You skid a little bit in your heels; Seulgi steadies you at an elbow. “Yeah,” she says.

“No,” you say, staring at her mouth, her pretty white teeth. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You have a girlfriend. You have Irene. Why would I…” 

But you’re standing here in this bathroom, freshly fucked and nothing close to classy; there are probably dark smears of lipstick covering your mouth, your collarbone. Hair beyond saving. Why would you, you’re thinking - but then again, you already have. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you say, out loud. 

“So much,” Seulgi says, “but I’m definitely into it.” 

And now she’s more than smiling - positively beaming, with teeth and all, lighting up her whole face - like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. And she’s gorgeous. Something vaguely poetic about her face, features purposely and masterfully articulated; she’s so striking you can’t ever picture her being a normal girl, going to college classes and working part-time jobs. Maybe she fell into fame by accident; maybe it dragged her in, parasitic and poisonous. Either way, she’s here.

You step closer; you can’t help it, like magnetism, like gravity, like all everlasting clichés, applying even in the worst contexts. “Shut up,” you’re saying, and it’s only then that you realize you’re accidentally mid-laugh. “I’m not going home with you, Seulgi. And you’re definitely going to hell.” 

Seulgi’s hand finds your waist too easily, slipping into place. Eyes glittering in the half-light; you’d call it seeing stars, but that’s all of her. Space sweeping wide with the fall of her hair, curve of her mouth like a sliver of the moon. Guiding you right into a storm just to make you beg for more. 

“Alright,” she says, perfectly content. “But I’m pretty sure you’re gonna end up in hell, too, kid. We’re in the same boat here.”

Kid, she says, making you smaller. You should hate it and you can’t bring yourself to. 

“Promise?” you say, and hold out your pinky. 

It doesn’t mean anything. Her word’s been rendered null and void since she moment she touched you; there’s no commitment she makes that you should trust. But you’re fuck-addled and delirious and enchanted by the look on her face, the way her irises are so dark almost match her pupils: midnight, shadow, sin. You’ve known her for an hour, tops. She’s so beautiful you want her to do everything to you, but you won’t let her. There’s still a line, hypothetically. 

“Promise,” Seulgi says, without a hint of irony, and wraps your pinky around yours. It’s so funny, it’s hilarious. You laugh until you fall right back into her arms.

-

It’s over. Well, in theory. 

Mostly, it’s the worst mistake you’ve ever made, and you’re not going to repeat it. So you don’t get Seulgi’s number. You don’t say something coy about doing this again sometime, about seeing her soon, about how she should maybe dump her girlfriend and get with you instead - there’d be no point. Because it’ll never, ever happen again. 

“Totally,” agrees Seulgi, and presses you up against the bathroom door just to kiss the life out of you. Forehead bumping yours clumsily, breathing against your teeth. “Never again. I’m right there with you.” 

“Seulgi.” 

“Jesus,” she says, laughing right into your mouth. “You’re cute.” 

There’s nothing choreographed about it, nothing sorted through by intimacy coordinators, directors critiquing your chemistry. She’s got your jaw gently between her fingers, all smoke and sweet perfume. Kisses you once, lightly. 

“I’ll see you later,” she says, like another promise. 

You try and scowl, can’t quite pull it off. “The fuck you will.” 

“Fine,” Seulgi says, eyes curved in her smile, thumb to your bottom lip, skimming lightly. “Fine. We’ll never see each other again.” 

-

Never again, you’re repeating as you leave, reminding yourself, clutching the stairwell. Going home alone, swearing you regret it. Never, ever again. 

-

omg ok i’m so sorry please don’t be mad, you text Wendy, right after calling your driver. i know we didn’t meet up but i don’t feel well and i think i have to head home :(

ok no worries take care of ur mental!!!!! says Wendy. also i ran into park sooyoung and she and her fuckass bf just had a fight or something so now we’re going to ditch the party and go get food.. wish me luck <3

her fuckass fiancé, you correct. they’re getting married next month. 

Then: the bite of the wind, the hit of hypocrisy. Pots and kettles. Purpling edges of bruises spilling out from the neckline of your shirt, you can probably still smell Seulgi’s smoke in your hair - fuck, alright, okay. 

You follow up, quickly: so if you’re going to homewreck their relationship you better do it before the wedding!!!! it’s just easier legally. 

She doesn’t answer for a beat. You squint, re-reading it; okay, it’s sort of extreme. ummm i’m joking LOL, you text again, chewing on your lip. homewrecking is very bad!

right right right right, says Wendy, who has never taken any severe moral stance on homewrecking and isn’t about to start now. okay i love u pls call ur therapist and get better soon!!!!!

The thing about calling your therapist: that’s probably something you should do, yeah. Get better soon - not fucking likely. 

-

And here’s the worst thing:

None of it breaks. You go home, you wait, you bide your time waiting for the other shoe to drop; there’s gotta be people who saw, who are trying to turn a profit off of selling secrets, who are good and honest and won’t tolerate something awful like cheating - but there’s nothing. No articles insinuating guilt, no trending Twitter hashtags, no headlines or anonymous sources or incriminating photographs. You’re not stupid enough to think you’re gonna get away with this, but it kind of feels like you’re gonna get away with this.

“Fuck,” you say, out loud, as you’re scrolling through Netflix and landing on one of Seulgi’s new action films, an automatic preview starting to play. She’s gorgeous, she’s villainous; the rasp of her voice alone sends your spine aching. “Fuck.” 

So you’ve decided that you’re never going to make this horrible mistake again; one and done, one strike and it’s out of your system - that’s the smart choice to land on, in the moment. But then none of it gets out. And it plants the dangerous little thought in your head: if nobody knows about it, you begin to wonder, if it’s this easy to keep this terribly illicit affair a secret - well, it kind of makes you think that-

-

You watch the movie. It can’t hurt, at this point. You’ve already committed graver sins than that.

-

“Okay, seriously, what is the matter with you?” 

So, it’s all you can fucking think about. Not that it’s even a surprise. 

In the shower, while you’re on the phone talking to your agent, thumbing through a script for a new project. Images in your mind on repeat, abject filth: Seulgi with her mouth on yours, Seulgi pinching your nipple between two fingers, Seulgi with your thighs clamping around her wrist and making you whimper mommy, mommy, mommy; stain of her lipstick on your neck, sweat shimmering over her delicate collarbones, how she’d looked at you after a little bit in awe, and laughed. Not meanly, not condescending. Just like the situation amazed her, to be there with you. 

You’re hopeless, floating through the next few days in a fog. Brain skipping through the same details, uncannily appreciative of cinematography: black hair mussed by the wind, blue-green veins pale in her wrists. Rasp of her voice, breath hot against your ear, against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your cunt dripping down her hand as she curls her fingers; her dark eyes like the night in the dimmer light, like they’re sewn up with stars-

“Are you dissociating right now?” says Wendy, eyeing you like she’s seconds from getting your psychiatrist on the phone. “Alright, wait - name five things you can see, four things you can touch-”

-and Wendy, obviously, is not going to leave you alone about it. 

“That’s for anxiety,” you say, staring at your nails. You’d clipped them all short after the party; it’s less incriminating that way. “And I’m fine.” 

Wendy snorts. “Now I know you’re full of shit. When are you ever fine?” 

It’s two days later. You, horrifically enough, have an awards show to attend in the evening; in about fifteen minutes you’re about to have an entire team swarming your apartment, makeup artists armed to the teeth, hairstylists wielding heat protectant and flat-irons. Before that, though - okay, you’ve never been good at hiding things from Wendy. 

“So,” you say, as the two of you are lounging across your bed. It’s hard to know how to put something like this gracefully without lines to memorize, cues to follow. “Remember that party the other day-”

“Obviously.” 

You’re stalling. “I know I said I went home because I felt sick. But, um…” 

Wendy throws you an aghast look. “But you lied?” She hits you in the thigh with her phone. “Figures. Fucking actresses. You’re all just pathological liars who learned how to profit off of it.” She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “Ugh.” 

She’s got you pegged early, but she always seems to. “What about Park Sooyoung?” 

“Park Sooyoung’s an angel,” says Wendy, immediately. “She’s an exception.” 

You’d probably be able to chat around the topic for hours, if you’d felt the need - but you’re dying to talk about it, a little bit. Nothing’s like I thought it was, you want to say. I swear the sun’s put itself out, I swear I saw the devil in the flesh; she was so much more than I thought she would be. “At the party,” you say, instead, bracing for impact, “I kind of - okay, when I was on the phone with you, and I hung up - it was because I ran into Kang Seulgi.” 

Wendy gasps. Rolls over on her side, auburn hair splayed over your sheets, eyes comically wide. “And you didn’t end up in prison for murder?” 

Oh, no; you just did something a lot worse. “We did have an… altercation.” 

The implication alone jolts Wendy upright. “You fought her? Like, physically?” Mouth open, jaw hanging off its hinges. “Without me?” 

“Uh.” You guiltily divert your gaze out the window. “Not exactly.” 

“Not exactly?” Wendy tugs at the sleeve of your shirt, forcing you to face her. “What does that mean? There was just mild bitch-slapping or something?” 

You pause. It’s not the time, but it’s there anyway, the way you make a wet dream a memory: Seulgi with her palm pressed tight to your throat, Seulgi with her hand smacking across your face. Seulgi with her gaze dark and attentive, the path of her fingers slick across your thighs, always pushing for more, more-

“Um,” you say. “I mean, there was slapping involved.” 

And all hell breaks loose.

-

It’s actually almost impressive, the way Wendy hears slapping and instantly connects the dots. Even more impressive, the way she loses her shit on the spot, goes one to ten - punching your shoulder repeatedly, voice reaching a fever pitch, shrieking oh my God, you evil homewrecking whore, what the hell, I knew you wanted to fuck her but I never thought you’d actually pull it off-

“What are you talking about?” you say, thrown entirely. 

“Come on.” Wendy’s got one of your pillows in her fist and is now attempting to clobber you with it; she’s tinier than you and more uncoordinated than her ultra-successful idol career would insinuate - it’s an easy dodge. “Every time you see a picture of Kang Seulgi you start salivating, and you have no morals when you’re horny. You think I don’t remember how many times you saw that movie where she was topless for fifty percent of it-”

“I watched that for the plot. It was my favorite movie of this year for the plot.” 

“Jesus,” Wendy says, appalled at how transparent you are. “You call yourself an actress?” 

But here’s probably the more fucked up thing - Wendy doesn’t really care. It’s not the kind of thing she’ll unfriend you over, or leak to the press, or tell Irene; her morals are just as compromised as yours are, here. And in the end, all she does is laugh so hard it brings tears to her eyes, says you’re setting an example for queer homewreckers everywhere. Says you have to teach me all your tricks - I wanna be where you are. It’s nasty of her, probably, but Wendy’s always on your side. She’s also in love with a girl who’s getting married in a month. She’s got her own motives. 

“I wasn’t even trying to do anything,” you say, defeated. “We just met and right away it was so-”

You don’t even have the words for it. How do you sum up a mortal sin in a sentence, verbalize an impossible chemistry - there’s no rationale that makes it okay. You say, lamely, “I just wanted her.”

“And you always get what you want,” Wendy interprets, because it’s true. Even if it’s awful and wrong, goes unsaid. Even if you’re willingly ruining someone else’s relationship; even if it’s selfish and horrible and you’re going to hell for it. 

“Yeah,” you agree, sighing. “I mean, most of the time.” 

And it’s ludicrous. You’re reworking your own code of ethics because you saw Seulgi through the blur of a smokescreen, because you’re addicted to the look in her eye, because you’re realizing she’s way less cool and collected and mysterious than she pretends to be. Fucks you like she wants you dead then lets you make her cum with a gentle hand stroking through your hair, all praise and open pleasure. There’s no excuse for it. 

“This is going to be a total trainwreck,” says Wendy, with very malicious glee; it’s a film that’s bombed in the box office, all the critics hate the conclusion - the characters should’ve got what was coming to them and they didn’t, they say, what the fuck kind of message is that. “But I can’t wait to see how this ends.” 

-

“Besides,” you say, “It doesn’t matter. It’s completely a one-time thing. It’s never happening again.”

Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that, you’re telling yourself. Maybe if you repeat it enough, it’ll come true. 

-

So, if you wanna know about the second time it happens:

-

It’s later that same night, because irony loves to make a fool of you, laughing at you from behind a camera, thumbing over a script, lines she already knows are coming. Awards shows, it’s how they go; all the major players are there. Well, except for Irene, who’s overseas as an ambassador for some high-end fashion brand; you see people talking about it on Twitter, disappointed that she and Seulgi won’t make their power couple debut on the red carpet. Either way, she’s not coming. It’s already completely fucked off of that fact alone.

im putting 100 bucks on kang seulgi taking u home tonight, texts Wendy, beforehand, as you’re getting your makeup done. all the pieces are in place…

please get a grip on reality seungwan i am NEVER talking to her again, you say, and leave it at that. 

Look, you know Seulgi’s gonna be there. Embarrassingly, just the thought of it sends your stomach into knots, your brain into overdrive. You’re used to keeping your composure even under the most stressful of situations - nature of fame, it’s just how it works - but the anticipation of seeing Seulgi again is so -

lmfao ok, says Wendy. as if u can keep ur hormones in check….. whore!!!!! 💀💀💀

i will get my bodyguard to beat you to a pulp, you say. 

alright thats it. im reporting u for making threats to my life. 

you can’t report me on twitter for something i said over text lol…

bitch i meant report u to the AUTHORITIES. 

You swear you have a spine, a backbone. You swear you’re gonna show up and stun on the carpet, maybe take home an award or two; realistically, you’re not even gonna run into Seulgi at all. You’ve made it this far - you stepped onto the scene at eighteen and so it’s been three years of frequenting the same ceremonies as Kang Seulgi, and you’d never met at any one of those, never so much as interacted. Maybe you’ll get out of this alive. But there’s still that fucking feeling, the whole way to the venue - like there’s fingerprints as evidence on your body, like everyone might be able to see through your dress to all the places she left a mark on you-

(You get there and she’s gorgeous. She’s there and she looks like a goddess, dressed in blue, submerged in it, sweeping you along. Same boat, you remember her saying; if we go down we go down together. Sink to the bottom of the sea and let the ocean swallow us whole. You force her voice out of your mind; it’d be better to pretend she doesn’t exist. It’s also impossible.)

You’re not nominated for any of the same awards. You sit in entirely different sections. But you’re so aware of the fact that she’s in the room that it’s driving you a little crazy; you have to make this concerted effort to keep your eyes off of her, keep from staring, blushing, making any missteps or wrong moves. You’re back under spotlights, scrutiny. You don’t let your eyes trace her body in her dress, and she doesn’t look at you at all. 

At first, it actually seems like you’re going to make it. 

-

(Same boat; same room and opposite sides. Same old fucking mistakes.) 

-

It all goes to shit when you steal away to the bathroom halfway through the show, and - because behind the curtain, someone’s controlling the setting, the scenes, getting you exactly right where you’re supposed to be - Seulgi’s already in there when you step in. It’s a trope. It’s formulaic. It’s real life reduced to rom-com clichés, except there’s nothing funny about a moment like this. 

It’s done. You stop dead in your tracks, door shutting soft behind you. “Hi.” 

And you’ve been so good all night, you have - keeping your smile contained and your eyes from straying - but it’s different when she’s in front of you, like seeing a deity in the flesh, like someone that you should drop to your knees and worship. Dress a glittering navy, floor-length and cap-sleeved, tapering in at her waist. Hair in tastefully tamed waves, begging you to run your fingers through it. There’s something about the stark black of her hair, the starlike sapphire beadwork gleaming on her dress, her fair skin, her pink lips - she looks almost ethereally ghostlike, a spirit out of a story, so gorgeous she leaves everyone she touches haunted. Skin silk-soft. Makeup immaculate. Nothing like how she looked when you saw her last, already half-undone, autumn wind throwing her into gorgeous disarray. She’s living up to her reputation, curated perfection. And she’s flawless. 

Seulgi’s staring at you with that same wide-eyed look she had the first time you two met. She says, sounding somewhat strangled, mesmerized: “Oh.”

It’s then that you realize she’s playing some dumb mobile game on her phone. 

“Uh,” you say.

Seulgi immediately abandons her phone on the counter. “Sorry,” she says, and it’s like you’re getting deja vu.

“Are you ditching an awards show to play games on your phone?” you say, stepping closer. You can’t help yourself. Seulgi straightens as you do, like an automatic reaction to your presence, spine curving to face you. You try not to read into it. 

“I got bored,” she says, blinking. Her eyes are stunningly made-up, sending them otherworldly striking; liner sliding into sharp points at the corner of each eye, false lashes individually glued and arranged purposely. That’s the thing about awards shows: you’re all selling a product, acting even more than you do on set. 

“You really are a loser,” you say, somehow delighted by it.

“I know,” she says, leaning against the counter, and now she’s smiling. “Hey, kid.” 

And it’s as if you’ve both forgotten how to act at all.

Because it’s the same as it was before; like a reprise, like a relapse. You get too close together and you feel it, that impossible tug, the way the moon controls the tides, the way celebrities control their own images; Seulgi rests her elbow on the counter and you watch the flex of her bicep, the splay of her fingers, nails manicured but enticingly short. Remembering how it felt to have those fingers fucking your cunt, wrapped around your throat. Realizing that not an inch of her belongs to you, and that you don’t have a backbone, and that you want her anyway. She’s parting her lips, inhaling deep. She knows. 

Nothing helps. You’re halfway to dry drowning; shutting off airways, breathing rendered impossible. Water won’t reach your lungs, but it’ll still be the thing to kill you.

“I don’t think we should be alone together,” you say, softly, the first to call it as it is. 

“Alright.” Seulgi folds her arms over her chest. You’re struck by the way the straps of her dress pull over her collarbone, her slender shoulders; tailored to perfection, and she’s too beautiful to be real. “Then go pee. I’ll leave.” 

“I didn’t have to pee,” you say. “I just - nerves, you know. I needed some air.” You wave vaguely around the bathroom. “Or alone time, I guess.”

“You did,” says Seulgi, getting implications. She tilts her head. “But you’ve been to so many of these, no?” You’re moving even closer without realizing it, pulled out to sea. “And just this show is making you nervous?” 

You’re supposed to be cutting off conversation at the source, quitting your vices cold turkey. “Yeah,” you say instead, throwing her a dirty look. “I wonder why that is.” 

“It’s a mystery,” Seulgi agrees. 

“Jesus.” Her attitude’s so cavalier, her eyes so fucking intense; you couldn’t wrench yourself away even if you wanted to. It’s intoxicating. It’s irresistible. “You and I had sex a day after you went public with your relationship with Irene. Can you at least pretend to feel remorseful about it?”

Seulgi cocks an eyebrow. Her arms unfold; her mouth flicks at a corner. I do too much pretending in my day-to-day, the expression says; I don’t let my life imitate my art. I’m with you. Why fake like I want to be anywhere else? 

“You’re an actress,” you add, like anyone needs a reminder. 

“So are you,” she returns. “I don’t see you feeling very remorseful about any of this either.” 

“I do,” you say, itching to step forward, to fall into her arms, to make her laugh, to beg her to fuck your brains out. “I regret it. It was a mistake. I really fucking regret it.” 

“No, you don’t.” Seulgi’s fingers graze your wrist, wrap around your hand. Pulling you closer like it’s something she’s allowed to do. Calling your bluff, again, like she’s seen too much of you to be fooled by all your usual tricks - and there’s tension brimming where there shouldn’t be. Like you’re back on the balcony, inhaling smoke; like it’s all about to go up in flames. 

“Well,” you say, unsteadily. “I will.” 

But, first-

-

You shouldn’t fuck her. There are a million reasons why you shouldn’t fuck her. Every regular watcher is threatening to cancel their streaming subscription - the self-sabotaging, the mess; God, the screenwriters must hate you, constantly making you make the shittiest decisions, ruining your character; where’s the resolution, where’s the redemption arc. But-

“You’ll be a good girl for mommy, right? Be quiet while I fuck your little cunt?"

But you’re fucking her. There’s no way around it. 

You’re pressed against the bathroom counter and she’s pushing your dress up your thighs; you’re clutching handfuls of your full skirt, hitching it up to give her access. She trails a hand upwards, takes your panties and pulls them to the side. “Sweetheart,” Seulgi says, intention cut into her mouth, carnal and wicked, “I asked you a question.” 

You’re nodding wildly, lip tucked tightly between your teeth. You’ll be quiet, you’re trying to communicate with your eyes alone, you will, you’ll behave-

She thumbs your clit, dips to feel how soaked you are, pulls back with the pads of her fingers wet and glistening. Eyes snapping to yours. Pitch leaving no room for discussion. “Words, please.” 

“Yes, mommy,” you whimper, and Seulgi grins. 

“You’re so much less bratty this time around,” she muses, sinks one finger in your dripping pussy, leaves you gasping for air. “All you needed was to get your pussy fucked right, huh? That’s all you needed to learn your lesson?” 

She really starts fucking you, then, like she’s addicted to the moans you’re letting out of your mouth; works in two fingers, then three - it’s not as brutal as the first time, but just as all-consuming, life-wrecking, devastating, the sounds as she finger-fucks you just as slick and nasty. Cunt clenching around her fingers, wet down your thighs, hips rocking; she goes for your jugular, pressure against both sides of your neck; claustrophobic, erotic, breath shuddering low and trapped in your throat. Grinding when she rubs her palm over your clit, aching for more. Begging to cum in a low rasp. You’re not learning any lessons in this room: that’s a fucking given. 

Seulgi’s more in control than you are, but barely; her eyes are tied to your lips, to the wet raw heat of your pussy, dripping down her hand. I’d love to fuck that face, she says like a threat, ride that pretty mouth, cum on your tongue - but I really can’t ruin your makeup tonight. (Privately, you think she’s already ruined a lot more than that.)

“Next time,” she promises, eyes sly and undertone murderous, and you cum right around her fingers. 

(There are a million reasons why you shouldn’t, but you do anyway.)

-

You’re right, in the end. You’re absolutely gonna regret this. 

-

Afterwards, take two:

Any second it’ll hit, you’re telling yourself. Reality, all-consuming guilt, the weight of what you’ve just done - again. Your conscience is gonna make you start sobbing, push you to a confession, push Seulgi away and scream at her. Any minute now, you’ll-

“You’re definitely gonna win it,” Seulgi’s saying, about your nomination for your most recent drama, the award you’re up for. “You were unreal. I swear every time I see you cry on-screen, I really feel it. It’s so…” She shakes her head, overcome. “Powerful, I guess. Sorry. That sounds lame.” 

“No, it doesn’t,” you say back, smiling. “Thanks. And - you’re gonna win yours too.” She’s nominated for your favorite film of hers, the one where she played the rock star, wore too much eyeliner, created a character that broke your heart. “That movie’s my favorite one of this past year, just for the record. I’ve seen it like a million times. I love it to death.” 

“You would,” says Seulgi, arching an eyebrow, but there’s something soft around the edges of her grin. “I’m topless for so much of it.” 

“Not because of that.” You pause, allow: “But it was a perk.”

“I’m sure.”

“No, seriously.” You turn fully; Seulgi’s leaning a little into your side, already, and doesn’t flinch when you bump her shoulder, fingers at the crook of her elbow. She chances a glance at you, smooths a hand over your hair. “It was your voice.” 

Seulgi lets out a little laugh. Brushes under your eye with a careful thumb, flicking away a flake of mascara. “What?” 

See, she’s a rock star in this movie you love, like you said; it’s all made up of concert performances and sold-out stadium tours that look so real, fake talk show performances, studio audiences. Strumming at a guitar in the quiet moments. Singing aloud to herself, her band, her love interest. Rich and honeyed, gliding over every note, thick and raspy at all the right times. “Your voice,” you say. “I mean - it’s amazing. You would’ve made a killing as an idol, you have to know that. The soundtrack to that movie - it was all I listened to for months. You’re absolutely gonna fuck my Spotify Wrapped.” 

Seulgi’s mouth opens a little. Her fingers pause at your temple, the bobby pins holding your hair back. 

“So I guess you could say I’m a fan, too,” you say, suddenly shy. “I have been for a while.” 

You were right, before: no one should’ve allowed you two to be alone together. It opens the door for this, for opportunity, for mortal fuck-ups; Seulgi’s manicured fingers drop to your neckline, the walls threaten to tear themselves down, the sinks ache to switch on and flood the room. Current rushing in, taking you both away - where are the lifeboats now, the escape routes - you’re swept off your feet in the waves. Seulgi tangles a hand in your necklace like she wants to snap it off and she’s tempering her instincts. Anyone could walk in and catch you. They don’t. 

“You,” she says, sighing. Not like she’s giving up, but like she’s giving in. “I can’t get enough of you.” 

“You’re gonna have to,” you say, hot and helpless under her touch. “You have a girlfriend. And this is all really fucked up.”

You keep saying this like it means anything, like it’ll trigger a fight or flight response, send Seulgi running. “I know,” she says instead, stays exactly where she is, blunt nails grazing your collarbone. Fastened to you as if with thread, incapable of tearing herself free. “You think I don’t know that?” 

“I don’t know what you think,” you point out, searching her expression. “I don’t know anything about you. Except that you’re a fan of me and you love being called mommy and every time you get your hands on me you try to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

“See?” says Seulgi. “You know all the important things.” 

There’s nothing funny about this - her cheating on her girlfriend, her girlfriend being your ex - but there’s this expression on her face, corner of her mouth turned up, studying you freely. Dark eyes reading nothing but beguiled amusement. Tapping two fingers against her bottom lip like she might still be able to taste your cunt off of them. 

“We’re strangers,” you say, so enthralled by her. “Complete strangers.” 

(That’s the problem with fame, you think of saying. It doesn’t feel like it. I’ve seen hours of your interviews, all of your movies. I was lying: I know so much, I know more than I should. You feel like you knew me before we met; I see the way you look at me, the way you touch me. Like you’ve imagined it happening a million times before.)

“I know,” Seulgi says, smiling. 

There’s a kind of odd acceptance to it, in that one single sentence. You can’t look away from her, and it’s mutual - Seulgi pulls your chin down with her thumb, and kisses you. 

It’s almost tender, sweetly gentle, like she has every right to do so. You’re smiling, for some reason, grinning against her lips. She must know it, because the next thing she does is sink her teeth into the corner of your mouth, enough to sting but not enough to break skin - and a whine traps itself in your throat. You kiss her and you can feel it, really feel it: this uncontainable scope of fame, between the two of you. Supernovas in this sort of world, side by side like meteors on a crash course, like heat death, like that same self-fulfilling prophecy. 

Give it one more minute and you’ll call it off, you’re thinking, winding your arms around her neck. Any minute now. 

-

You’re actually about to leave at the same time, but there’s the telltale sound of some music performance going on, some idol group; it’s better to sneak back into the show on a break, an intermission to situate. That’s what you tell yourself. In reality, it’s probably something about the allure of stolen moments - Seulgi leans against the counter, opens her phone, starts playing the same dumb mobile game she was engrossed in when you first walked in; you crook your head over your shoulder, watch her do it - and nothing about it makes sense. It’s all beyond logic. For some reason, she’s talking freely, randomly, now asking your opinion on festive outfits for pets; for some reason, you’re indulging her. It’s almost normal. It’s fucking asinine. 

“This is crazy, you know,” you say, unprovoked, as she loses the same game for the fifth time.  

“This is crazy,” Seulgi agrees, somehow correctly attributing it to your situation and not her lack of gaming skill. “There’s something about you,” she says, chin in her hand, gazing at your reflection. It’s exhilarating, the way she stares without trying to hide it; the way she doesn’t even attempt to play it cool. “Like I want to crack your head open and pick your brain.” 

“You are so psychotic,” you say, loving it. “You can’t just say you have a crush on me?” 

“I’m twenty-eight,” she says, a little petulantly, pout offsetting the sentiment. 

“Not too old to have a crush,” you say. “Not too old to have an ongoing affair.” 

There you go again: acknowledging the weight of what you’re doing like it’ll snap you out of it, force your moral compass back into alignment. Seulgi huffs a little through her nose, absentmindedly drops her lips to the side of your head. Leaves with the line of her lipstick still intact, somehow. Starts talking again, about what she usually does on Christmas, seeing if she can order some miniature Santa hats for her cats, new colorful lights to put around her house; you’re watching her phone and humming a little in agreement, drawn in. Rasp of her voice something like the North star, guiding you to unfamiliar territory. She keeps making you laugh. You both know exactly what you’re doing and you’re doing it anyway. 

“Congratulations,” Seulgi says, as you’re about to leave, holding the door open for you. “On your award.” 

“I didn’t win anything yet,” you tell her, bemused. 

“But you’re going to,” she says, laughing, leaving no room for debate. Squeezes your hand as you pass, like she’s saying, I mean it. I’m lying through my teeth to everyone else but you. It’d be no use. It’s you.

You roll your eyes, and let her have it. You’ve let her have so much already. 

-

She’s right. You win the award. You step up to the podium, thank your manager and your company and your fans. From the tables of actors, Seulgi wolf-whistles - honest-to-God, loud and disruptive; probably just to make you laugh, and it works. You can’t stop grinning. You’ll see the pictures later, plastered across social media: smile more genuine than any movie you’ve ever been in, any performance you’ve ever put on. Wow, some of your fans will say, already crafting theories; I haven’t seen her look this happy in a while; I wonder what it is, I wonder if she’ll tell us. It’s dramatic of them, you think. You don’t read into that, either. 

You could DM Seulgi, private message her on Twitter, get her number from an acquaintance, contact her in fifteen different ways. You don’t. It’s for the best, really. 

-

ok you’re right i need to go to jail, you text Wendy, after. i need to be arrested and put in jail…. i am a danger to myself and others. 

YOU WENT HOME WITH HER???? is the immediate response. I CALLED IT PAY UP BITCH

no we fucked in the bathroom 😭😭😭😭

in PUBLIC???? oh my god. And then: u are so lucky u got famous right after u graduated high school because u would never have made it into college. DUMB FUCK

ok that’s going a little far. 

U ARE UR EX’S GF’S MISTRESS UR THE ONE WHO TOOK IT TOO FAR FIRST, says Wendy, and then sends a string of incomprehensible emojis. u could have fucked ANYONE else. ANYONE. U ARE THE ONE WHO MADE THIS HAPPEN!!!!!

Alright, it’s certainly aggressive. But she’s not really wrong, either. 

-

You post a series of photos on your Instagram of your dress, of the night, thanking the designer and your fans, saying you’re so grateful for the award, the opportunity. You look just like you always have; clean-cut and pristine, good-girl shine completely intact, like you’ve never made a single mistake in your life. Seulgi doesn’t like it, doesn’t comment. You let it be. 

-

lolll at her and seulgi both being at that event at the same time, one of your fans says on Twitter, about you. come on there have to be SOME pap pics of them getting into a knock down drag out NASTY fight in the street like

no catfight sry, someone else responds, and links a video: this is the only interaction we got between them? but it’s kind of…. idk

The video’s a fifteen second clip of the event itself; you and Seulgi aren’t seated at the same table, but it’s close enough for you to both be in the same shot. And it’s barely anything at all; the announcer says something and Seulgi looks over her shoulder at you, twitches an eyebrow upwards. You meet her eyes immediately, nose scrunching, the subtle dig of your front teeth into your lip. She smiles, just barely; your lashes flutter fast, and you look away. 

It’s the tiniest thing. Could read as anything from hostile to cordial to a complete accident to what it truly was, at the time: like you’re both high schoolers commiserating over a lame teacher, an annoying classmate, sharing a private joke between the two of you. Much too comfortable to be strangers. It’s your second time meeting; you’ve both seen too much of each other - on-screen, uncovered skin - to be anything but overly familiar. 

is anyone else seeing the enemies to lovers vision, someone says. like the chemistry…. OH

??????, someone replies. IT'S A 15 SECOND CLIP AND SEULGI’S STILL DATING IRENE.

okay but look at the material like they’d be hot together i’m sorry

As if that’s all it takes to make it okay, you’re thinking, scrolling through it, entertained when you shouldn’t be. The two of you being hot together, erasing all your sins. Ah, well. Maybe in a perfect world. 

-

You watch the movie you’d been talking with Seulgi about that night - your favorite one, the rock star role and the topless scenes and her stunning voice. It bowls you over like it always does, brings tears to your eyes at the ending; it’s just that kind of film, angsty and gorgeous and devastating, Seulgi’s performance somewhat earth-shattering every time. All the right nuance, leaning into the subtleties. She’s brilliant; every line brutal and beautiful in equal measures, every turn of her head a revelatory, religious experience. The very first time you watched it was alone, a few months back, clicking through various streaming services - you like everything Seulgi’s been in, so it was a no-brainer - and two hours later you were sobbing into your hands, rethinking your whole life and every personal career choice you’ve ever made. Putting it as five stars into your secret Letterboxd account and adding a review that says i'm pregnant and the baby daddy is kang seulgi’s performance in this movie and leaving it there, self-explanatory. It said enough, you thought.

Honestly, it’s possible you should’ve seen this whole affair coming. 

-

“So, what’s the deal?” asks Wendy, when you see her in person the next day. “Are you still pretending like this is just a - what, a two-time thing, now? That you came to your senses and it’ll really never happen again this time?” 

“Um,” you say. 

(The fact of the matter is this: there’s a new ache in you, something only she can ease. You try fucking yourself - with your fingers, with toys - and it’s nowhere near as satisfying. Even with you picturing her voice murmuring low in your ear: so pretty, baby, taking mommy’s fingers like that. Cum for me. Cum. So you touch yourself and it’s effective in the barest sense, and nothing more. Like Seulgi broke you the second she got her hands on you and now she’s the only one that can get you back. You’re needy all the time, distracted and wet; longing for her voice, her mouth, the hungry glint in her eyes when she looks at you. Longing for something you know you shouldn’t want, and it only makes you want it more.)

“It’s gonna happen again,” you admit, and Wendy bursts out laughing. At least you’re being honest with someone. 

-

Later that night - because you hate to make sound decisions, because common sense has thoroughly escaped you, because you can’t make mistakes without making them habits, too; because there’s the sharp edge of a horror sting, Hitchcockian, and every murderous whodunit needs a plot device and a dumbass final girl - Wendy says that the two of you should go to a party. Another one of her idol friends’ places, she says. Plus, the last party you went to worked out really well for the both of you, so. 

“Is Seulgi gonna be there?” you ask, sussing out motives. “Is that why you’re doing this?” 

“How should I know?” says Wendy, innocently, but you figure everyone probably already does. 

-

(Because - yep, you’re gonna be the person who fucks your ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend three times in one week. God’s just gonna have to deal with that in his own way.)

-

So you return to the scene of the very first crime, in spirit: another party, another packed mansion. Another short skirt and sheer tights and an opportunity to fuck your whole life up. Well, at least Wendy’s by your side for this one - it makes a difference, having her for support. 

“Wait,” you realize belatedly, when you get inside. “This is Park Sooyoung’s house.” 

“Oh, is it?” says Wendy, arm linked in yours and searching the crowd. “That’s so funny.” 

“Good God.” It’s not hard to pick Sooyoung out; she’s at her own kitchen counter, black hair spilling over her shoulders, her fiancé with an arm around her waist and a drink in his hand. She also spots Wendy the second she enters the vicinity, breaks into a smile that echoes something like relief, all teeth and tired eyes - wedding planning must be taking its toll. “So we’re at this party for you, then.” 

Wendy smiles back at Sooyoung, the same way she does in every broadcasted performance; grin glittering, irresistibly earnest charm. The line of Sooyoung’s mouth softens, goes tender. “I figured if you’re gonna homewreck a perfectly good relationship just so you can fuck the girl of your dreams, I should get to do the same.” 

It’s one way to land a blow. “The girl of my-” you choke out, stop, have to take it back. “Okay, Seulgi is not-”

“Uh,” says Wendy, raising an eyebrow at something over your shoulder. “Turn around.” 

You stop cold. You’ve seen a movie just like this before - you know a spoken cue when you hear one. “No.” 

“What do you mean, no?” 

“We just got here. She can’t already be here. It’s too soon.”

Wendy bites her bottom lip into her mouth, agitated and amused in equal measures; you’re too wired to place the source of it, waves already crashing against the hull, the threat of salt and sea and drowning. You’re putting off the inevitable. If you turned around right now, it’d all play in slow motion, your gazes meeting in a crowded room, right out of one of your dramas - she’d stare at you like she always does, those fucking eyes, craving and unreal and unrelenting, and-

“Anything else,” you say, frantically. It’s too early in the night; you’re too fucking sober. “We can even go talk to Park Sooyoung. Come on, girl of your dreams-” 

Wendy’s focus flicks behind you again. “Alright,” she agrees, too easily. “Let’s go.” 

It’s then that you should probably figure out what’s going on here, but you don’t. 

It’s always been easy to talk to Sooyoung, for you - the two of you first met on the first big project you’d ever filmed, where she’d played your older sister - and tonight she’s just as lovely, effervescent and flawlessly gorgeous, always indulgent in conversation. It helps that Wendy’s there; they go back even farther, though it’s a story you’ve heard a million times. Sooyoung has a specific smile she saves just for Wendy, a way she laughs when Wendy cracks a joke - that’s a whole narrative on its own, prologue to finale. 

“The wedding’s so soon, though,” you’re saying emphatically, propping your hip against Sooyoung’s counter, preoccupying yourself with staring at her engagement ring so you don’t let your eyes wander anywhere else. “Are you stressed?” 

Sooyoung hums, adjusts her long hair over her shoulder. She, for some unknown reason, has her fingers hooked in the sleeve of Wendy’s top, fingers absentmindedly brushing her wrist. Her soon-to-be husband’s suddenly nowhere to be seen. “Not really,” she says, though the minute crease in her forehead says otherwise. “I mean, I have a wedding planner that I’m paying a small fortune to, so. Basically the only thing I have to do on the day is show up and look pretty.” 

“Oh, no,” says Wendy, grinning, sensing an opening. “How are you ever gonna make that happen?” 

Sooyoung shoots Wendy a sideways look. “I know,” she says, mouth at a playful tilt. “Getting me to look good? Ugh.”

“Hey, if you believe in miracles…”  

You fight back an eye-roll. For as long as you’ve known them, they’ve always been like this; the banter, the back-and-forth, irrationally entertained by each other from the jump. It’s beyond you how Park Sooyoung’s ever convinced herself that she likes anyone more than she likes Wendy - why spend the rest of your life with anyone else but your favorite person - but she’s made her own decisions. It’s not like you’d have any room to judge, at this point. Speaking of which-

“-is everything okay there?” Sooyoung’s saying, when you start listening again. “I bet it’s at least a little awkward, right?” 

“It’s very fucking awkward,” says Wendy. It becomes immediately apparent that they’re talking about you, either sensing that you’ve tuned out or so wrapped up in each other that they’ve forgotten you’re standing there entirely. “But - you know. She’s working through it in her own way. Certainly making some drastic choices.” 

“But not good ones,” Sooyoung interprets, tone indicating she thinks it’s a joke. 

“Absolutely not,” confirms Wendy, deadly serious.

A sigh from Sooyoung. “Is it fine that all three of them are here, then? I guess - I never know how to go about these things, I don’t know, like, what’s fair game, whose side to take-”

“Wait,” you say, cutting in. “All three of us?” 

Wendy grimaces, tossing another glance right over your shoulder, scoping out how bad the situation is. There’s a bomb she’s been managing to delay in increments, a hastily built dam holding back a rush of water - and, now, that break in the floodgates. It’s over. It’s been over for ages. 

“Well, yeah,” says Sooyoung. “You, and Seulgi, and-”

-

Needless to say, you’re about to prove Wendy completely right, yet again - the only choices you ever make are fucking awful, but you’ve gone way too far to go back now. 

-

Look, at least it’s nothing like the movies. 

It’s the farthest thing from slow motion: you turn around and it’s like everything hits in that same split second, no soundtrack to soften the blow - a sucker punch, a car crash - no perfect pacing, leisurely pan of a camera lens. It’s you and your ex-girlfriend and the girl you’ve been fucking; the roof seems to sink low, walls pulling in tight, doors locking you all in. Debris and smoking wreckage. There’s no way to romanticize that. 

“Um,” says Sooyoung, already turning to go. “You know what, I’m gonna…” 

It’s a relatively graceful exit for a moment like this. Wendy, whether out of some loyalty or some sick desire to see how this trainwreck plays out - alright, it’s probably both - stays right by your side. Like you said: backup. There are some things you don’t have the sanity to face alone. Such as-

“Hello,” says Irene, with a hesitant little smile. 

It’s very nearly devastating - that's the thing. It comes so close. 

There’s her categorically perfect face, beautiful like she’s getting put in front of a panel and scored on it, tens across the board - poise of a pageant queen, composure like the movie star she is - exactly like you’d always remember her, since two years ago when you first started dating, since nearly three when you’d met for the first time. And despite her haughty, aloof image, there’s still that visible soft spot she has for you: in the gentle tug of her lips, chin tilted barely upwards, color of her eyes warm and familiar. It’s enough to pull you back in. It’s enough to dredge up memories like floodlands, something that’ll consume you entirely. 

“Hi,” you say, speechless for all the wrong reasons. 

(And here’s the thing: you should be thinking of all that. You spent two years loving her, kissing the curve of her smile, wrapped up in her arms; her date to every movie premiere, your face all over her social media. You’d been a brand together, a phenomenon, a love story to admire and aspire to - a perfect slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, soft and simple and romantic; you hadn’t fallen in love, like the poets say: you’d slipped into it quietly, like being tucked into bed at night. And that was better. That was the way it should’ve been.)

You should be a mess, right now. You should be racked with guilt - she loved you, how could you do this to her, what about your morals, your dignity - honestly, and it comes so close to being devastating, you swear, the first time you’ve seen Irene since the breakup, in front of you and smiling like that, it’s almost enough to bring you to ruin-

“Hi,” says Seulgi, next to her, voice short and somewhat shot. “Nice to meet you.” 

-but it’s nothing compared to the way you want to get absolutely fucked to death by Kang Seulgi right now. 

“Oh, that’s right,” says Irene, cordially, and your history hightails it out of the room. It’s a party; she’ll keep it friendly, light. You clearly aren’t making this a whole thing, so she won’t either. “You haven’t met Seulgi before, have you?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” you say, playing along. It’s the role of a lifetime: acting like you’re someone who didn’t cum all over Seulgi’s fingers just yesterday. “Nice to meet you, Seulgi.” 

It’s a bad move, saying her name - but then again, it always is. 

You just can’t help it. You’re too overcome by the sight of her. It’s like she’s never looked so close to you, so dangerous; top with too many buttons undone, deep cut down her chest, divide of her collarbone, skin unmarred and inviting, hair loose and wild. Suddenly it’s like you feel everywhere she’s ever touched you, marked by notes and chalk outlines, body a crime scene; here’s the evidence, here’s the guilty verdict, open-and-shut. And Seulgi’s looking right back at you, too, lips parted, flushing through her foundation, eyes heavy with liner and blatant desire. Bites on the inside of her lower lip, visible and rough; scans your entire body, top to toe, throat constricting as she swallows. She’s wearing the tiniest plaid miniskirt, like she’s making a mockery of a school uniform, fulfilling someone’s very specific fantasy. And she’s so, so fucking hot. 

“Yeah, cool,” says Seulgi, staring like she wants to bend you over the nearest flat surface and rail you in front of everyone, and not making much of an effort to act at all. Then, abruptly: “I need a cigarette.”

She turns on her heel and bolts for the back door.

“Wow,” says Wendy, next to you, watching Seulgi as she makes her escape. “She seems… nice.”

Irene’s silent, watching your expression, face impassive. 

“No, I get it,” you say, working your tone into something sympathetic; keep the layers, the feigned bitterness, the judgment. “I’m her girlfriend’s ex. Of course she’d feel a little awkward around me.” You smile reassuringly at Irene. “It’s okay. I’m sure she’s great.” 

The corner of Irene’s mouth turns up, grateful. Close press of her lips, and doesn’t speak. 

“It’s good to see you,” you say, getting the gist anyway. 

Because Irene’s as she always is, at the end of the day; assuming she doesn’t need words to communicate, counting on the people around her to read her mind, do the heavy lifting for her. There are worse character flaws for a person to have, you reason. It’s at least a damn good thing she never learned to do the same for you. 

(Oh, the things she’d see, if she could get into your head. Brimming with the uncontrollable urge to either burst out laughing on the spot at Seulgi’s unsubtle exit or run after her and kiss Seulgi senseless, watch her smoke and let her make you smile, lean into her body and say you’re so cute, do whatever you want with me; I’ll be yours for tonight, if that’s what you need. We’ve made so many mistakes, you and me. Let’s make some more.) 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Irene says, finally. She won’t pull you in for a reconciliatory hug, won’t lay a finger on you; she knows all her boundaries. She’s probably the only one in this room who does. “I’m glad to see that you’re doing well.” 

“Thanks,” you say, because if only she knew. 

-

Speaking of worse character flaws.

-

“Get your shit together,” you say, out of the corner of your mouth, when you run into Seulgi on the back patio. “I thought you were an actress.”

“It’s a crime that I’m not fucking you right now,” Seulgi says around her cigarette, lighter flicking fast. A beat, and it catches. “I’m gonna lose my mind.” 

There’s that same pretty pink blush high in her cheeks. It could be the cold but it isn’t. “Your girlfriend’s here,” you say, like she’s unaware, like that’ll make her take it back, like you don’t wish you were on your knees and eating her out just as much as she does. “We are horrible fucking people, Seulgi.”

There’s really no use - it’s a formality, completely performative. Seulgi’s got her gaze stuck on your tight top, your legs wrapped in sheer black tights, your boots, your blunt nails. Stare hooded, expression suggesting unspeakable things. 

“Alright, kid,” she agrees. Alright, she’s saying; I’ll be anything, as long as I can have you. “I think I can be okay with that.” 

-

It’s a long, torturous night. 

Not that you thought it’d be any different. Irene’s as much of a presence as she always is, despite how physically small she is - it’d be hard to find a room she couldn’t command with a snap of her fingers, a click of her stilettos - but it’s unbearable when she’s with Seulgi, the two of them attracting stares and attention simply by virtue of being together, stunning separately and surreal on each others’ arms. It’s manageable, at first; your jealousy’s so misplaced and so you start drinking a little yourself, laughing loud with Wendy, ignoring it. It’s fine. 

But it starts unraveling completely probably about two hours in. 

“I can’t take this anymore,” you say, watching Seulgi prop her elbows atop Sooyoung’s kitchen island, hair winding its way past her shoulders, looking like how light runs from night skies, seeps its way from shadowy corners. Can’t stand the way she leans in and whispers something to Irene, and Irene’s reactions are as muted as they always are, when she’s not on camera; a quick quirk of her mouth, and nothing more. Seulgi’s eyes slide to you every other minute. She looks bored. She looks vicious. “I need to be admitted to the psych ward.” 

“So I’ve been saying,” says Wendy. “For years.” 

Seulgi’s laughing, now, but in that closed-off, false way she does in talk show interviews. Playing with Irene’s fingers, their heads bent together. She darts another look towards you again. Put your money where your mouth is, you want to tell her; you want me so bad, then have me. Give it all up for me. 

“I wanna test a theory,” you say, to Wendy, because it’s all about the scientific method, and you know Seulgi won’t give anything up for you at all, unless pushed to the brink. It’s just the way things are. 

Wendy tilts her head. “Is it Kang Seulgi-related?” 

“Uh.” You’re too obvious. 

She rolls her eyes, rephrases. “Is it gonna get you laid?”

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s too late for shame, but it’d be tactless to say well, that’s gonna happen regardless. Even if it’s true. 

“Fine.” Wendy sighs, sends a baleful look over to where Park Sooyoung’s smiling softly by the back door, wrapped up in her fiancé’s arms. “At least one of us should be getting fucked tonight.” 

-

You’ve acted in enough dramas to know how to manufacture chemistry with anyone, but it’s a little extra effective with Wendy; the two of you aren’t scared to touch each other, giggle together like you’re in on a dirty, private joke, ignore that there’s anyone else in the room. You’re codependent, and she’s gorgeous, crop top revealing her toned stomach, plenty of places to trace with your fingertips. It’s easy to put on a show. And it’s not at all a subtle one; Wendy’s got an arm around your waist in turn, murmuring something in your ear, lips brushing your jaw when she pulls back. Transforming every touch into something intimate, suggestive. 

“I really don’t think you need to be doing all this,” says Wendy, as you wind a lock of her hair around your finger, flutter your eyelashes like she’s flirting. “Seulgi’s already cheated on Irene with you twice. Doesn’t that already prove enough?” 

“No,” you say, stare purposely focused on her mouth. It’s pettier than that, anyway. See me with someone else, you’re thinking; see how you like it. It’s a thought that’d be understandable if you were trying to stick it to Irene right now, instead of a girl you’ve met (and fucked) twice, but- “Is she looking?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Wendy’s grinning, unable to work her lips into a sultry kind of pout; it’s something she’d be able to do on stage, but it’s different when she’s back here on earth with the rest of you. “And I think she’s gonna wring my fucking neck.” 

You throw a glance over your shoulder. Seulgi’s still over in the kitchen, jaw flat and eyes trained on you without a cover, no façade in sight. She’s getting that look on her face - the one that says she’s gonna fucking strangle you for this - and the way her fingers flex outwards instead of curling to fists - saying if I do, you’re gonna beg for more. It’s working. Of course it’s working. Seulgi’s fingers are trembling a little bit, restless; desperate for a vice, you or her nicotine. What’s worse, really. 

“How far are you willing to go for this?” you ask, hand falling to cup Wendy’s cheek. 

“As far as you want.” Wendy’s always game, and she’s spent a few too many nights alone. She’s got her own points to prove. 

“Great,” you say, smiling. “Kiss me.” 

“So romantic,” says Wendy, but she does it anyway. 

-

It’s not like you haven’t done it before, but it’s different under the influence - under alcohol, under Seulgi’s stare burning a hole in your back, under the cover of darkness like you’ve never shone under spotlights - and it works. 

“Oh, man,” says Wendy, pulling back, sliding a hand through your hair; your lip gloss glimmers on her bottom lip. “We’re fucked up. And I think I need to stop before Seulgi actually puts out a hit on me.” 

“She shouldn’t care,” you say, innocuous, tracing Wendy’s sides with your fingertips. “She has a girlfriend. Why should she give a fuck who I’m making out with?” 

“We’re not making out,” says Wendy. She’s got glittering eyeshadow on the inner corners of both eyes, sparkling in low light. You think of city streets and skylines, her face on billboards, her voice on the radio, how her fans would froth at the mouths if they could see her like this. “I kissed you once.” 

“We’re not making out yet,” you correct her. 

“Well, in that case,” says Wendy, and pulls you back in. 

(By the back door, Park Sooyoung’s watching the both of you, lips pressed together in a thin line, blinking fast as if unable to reconcile what she’s seeing. Unsure of what she really wants, never knowing how to get it. Feelings are funny like that.)

-

It’s only a matter of time, but it always is. 

come outside, the text from a number you don’t recognize reads. i’m taking you home. 

seems like a bad idea to hitch a ride home with a stranger, you respond right away, knowing even with the anonymity, fingertips trembling like your entire body aches to scream her name. Wendy’s got an arm around your waist, the two of you tucked in a corner and talking to one of her friends; she reads the texts over your shoulder and laughs out loud. You add, i’m famous or whatever. there are a lot of people who want to hurt me. 

yeah, is the only response, like a threat in itself. you’re right. they do. 

-

You don’t know what Seulgi tells Irene to get away with this, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“Oh, wow,” you say, as you make it down the driveway just to see her already standing by the front gate. She’s got her phone in her hand and a sleek black car idling on the curb. “What a coincidence. You know, I just got this text from this person who’s clearly stalking me, wanted to take me home with them - so crazy, seriously, fans these days-”

“Get in the fucking car,” Seulgi snaps, voice deadly low; closes her fingers around your wrist and tugs.

She doesn’t leave you any room to argue, but it’s not like you would, regardless - you wouldn’t leave even if she’d let you. 

So you’re piling into the backseat of the car, and the second the door shuts, windows tinted, she curls her fingers in your hair and kisses you. Desperately, like she’s been wanting to the moment she saw you, right when you walked in a room; possessive and sloppy, the taste of her mouth, the bite of alcohol - oh, she’s drunk, she can’t curb a single impulse like this. Knuckles bone-white and every breath like a gasp; you’re losing your mind already, inhibitions like a foreign language, something you could never really get a grasp on. She sighs right on your tongue, sharing air like a necessity. The car starts moving. Nothing registers but her. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” says Seulgi roughly, fingers tangled in the flimsy strap of your top. “I don’t give you attention for one night and you start throwing yourself at anyone desperate enough to fucking touch you-”

“Are you jealous?” you taunt, asking for it. “Even though you were there with your girlfriend?” 

Her gaze locks on yours. Pupils drowning her irises. Staring at the flick of her tongue against her teeth. Other hand on your thigh, underneath your skirt. 

And then she wraps one hand in the fabric of your tights and tears. 

All the air vacates your lungs, a head-rush if there ever was one - and now she’s got complete access to everything she wants, your thong, the way she can probably see how you’re soaking through it. You get out shakily, like it’s what matters: “Those were expensive.” 

“Darling,” says Seulgi, smugly arrogant, “I’m pretty sure I can afford to buy you new ones.” 

Her ego shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is. You’re squirming in place, begging to be touched; you’d let her fuck you right here in the back of this car with her driver stone-faced at the wheel, let heat fog up the windows, let it be a sex scene straight out of some filthy erotic art film, you squealing and cumming all over the leather seats - but you’ve been bad, Seulgi murmurs against your ear, and so you can wait. She’s thumbing your cunt through your panties, agonizingly slow, forcing you to grind down against her fingers. Anything for friction, for pressure, for her hands right where you want them-

“You make me kind of insane,” she mumbles against your mouth, a break in the character, revelation of the truth. Pulls back with her lips swollen and red. “God. I just wanna do super fucked up things to you, all the time.” 

“Then do them,” you breathe out, and Seulgi smiles widely, teeth glinting like they’re coated in venom. 

You don’t fuck in the car, but it’s close. Her driver doesn’t say a thing. That’s something you’ve all come to know, early on in this world: money can buy anything, especially silence. It’s the only way you’ll ever make it out of this alive. 

-

Finally, she takes you home. 

-

Your first thought is that it’s fucking unbelievable.

You’re so used to McMansions and penthouse apartments, sterile and unwelcoming - but Seulgi’s place is artsy and cluttered like she’s an ancient, eccentric billionaire instead of a twentysomething movie star. Strange intricate sculptures and colorful throw pillows. Paintings covering the walls that seem vaguely obscene. Sprawling plush rugs, overgrown plants situated at almost every corner in glazed terracotta pots, vines weaving their way towards the floor, over windowsills. A few very elaborate-looking cat trees, dangling with lilac fabric flowers and strung up with tiny plush bees. The view’s stunning. It’s not the only thing. 

“Whoa,” you say, forgetting you’re supposed to be begging for forgiveness, or something. “The feng shui of this house is, like, nuts.”

“Thanks,” says Seulgi, mildly endeared and holding your hand, like she’s accidentally forgotten the same thing. 

But it doesn’t last long - she drops to her knees right there in the entryway and works your boots off of you, one leg at a time - her heels are undoubtedly thousands of dollars, but she discards them like they’re nothing, lets them clatter across the floor. You don’t even make it to the bedroom before she’s got your skirt rucked up around your waist and she’s pulling at your ruined tights; off, she’s saying, standing, mouthing at your neck, I need them off - and you’re too needy and pliant underneath her, too ready and desperate to be ruined. “Mommy,” you’re saying, making your eyes big, tapping into every trick of the trade, “mommy, I’m so wet-” 

And there’s the sharp sound of her hand colliding hard with your cheek. 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” drawls Seulgi, tone slipping low and deadly, and drags you up the stairs. 

You don’t have time to catalog the rest of the feng shui - you would if you could - because the second you hit her bedroom Seulgi’s tugging at the rest of your clothes, lifting your shirt overhead, unclasping your bra; you’re pawing at her in a similarly insatiable way, hands unbuttoning her blouse, yanking at that goddamned schoolgirl skirt, entranced by the look on her face: lips bitten, cheeks flushed, painstakingly pretty. Like you might be ruining you as much as you’re ruining her. I’m so sorry, you’re blubbering, as her nails scrape at you, mommy, I know I was bad-

“And you know what happens to bad girls, right?” 

Yes, you’re thinking, staring up at her with watery eyes - oh, yeah, you know how this ends. 

Stomach-first on Seulgi’s lap, for one. Soaked and trembling on top of her, drenched through your thong. Gasping because you can’t quite catch your breath. That’s how it goes with sex, with her, like you can never get your fucking bearings, like you never know when she’s gonna strike-

“Here’s the thing about you,” you hear Seulgi say, one hand stroking gently through your hair, voice suddenly soothing. “You’re never gonna learn how to behave unless I teach you, huh?”

-and that’s right when the flat of her palm comes down on your ass. 

Tears spring to your eyes immediately. “Fuck-”

“Oh, baby girl.” Her hand’s back in your hair. Click of her tongue against teeth. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” 

Another one, the loud crack of her hand. You flinch violently, wriggling in her lap - she gives a tiny laugh, loving it, yanking a little on your hair. She says, in a rasp: “And you’re so wet, aren’t you?”

It’s barely a question. You’re leaking through your thong, dripping onto her thighs. She’ll probably make you lick it up later, make you face it, take it. You can’t hide forever, she’ll say. I see what all of this does to you. 

Seulgi leans down, rubbing her hand up your spine, fist clutching at your hair. “You can’t be acting like a whore in public like that, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “It’s unflattering.” 

You can’t speak, squirming and humiliated, embarrassing whines tearing their way out of your mouth, out of your control. You’re shuddering, you’re pathetic, seconds from coming apart at the seams; her fingertips skate back down, circle your ass, threatening to hit. She’ll hurt you and you’ll like it, she knows. You already do. 

“In private - I mean, do whatever you want.” Another hit, then another - you’re crying now, dizzy and light-headed - you’ve never been more wet in your fucking life. “That’s how you got so far in this industry, isn’t it? You just let everybody take a turn with this slutty fucking cunt. That’s how you get all your jobs, right?” Seulgi’s palm rubs the length of your cunt, harsh and rough; the apartment’s crumbling, foundation tearing itself up - she hits you again - leave as many bruises as you want, you think of saying, give me something that’ll haunt me when you leave, please - “I mean, I already know you like fucking people with experience.”

And it’s a vile thing to say, it’s so sick, and so not true. You’re a superstar, you should have your own level of ego, should fight allegations like those - but the truth is the only star left in the room is above you, laughing as your pussy leaks all over her thighs. She adjusts your body in her lap like you’re made for her to manhandle, turns you until she can see your face, the tear tracks on your cheeks. 

Your eyes on her, never snapping away. Do whatever you want to me, you’re saying, I’ll take it. 

“Like a good girl,” Seulgi interprets.

“Yeah,” you say, hoarse and already gone. “Like a good girl.” 

(If you’re gonna make all the wrong choices, you might as well make it worth your while.)

-

Seulgi makes you cum first - and then second, and then third - with her hand forcing you down by your hipbone, lips at your navel and trailing downwards, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking. It’s somehow filthier fucking her in her own bed, no public bathrooms or images to keep clean: she makes you cum and cum until she emerges with her chin glistening and a feral smirk on her face, pleased with her handiwork, the half-moon crescents of her nails against your thighs, the way you can’t stop whining. 

“Oh, baby,” she sighs after, at the look on your face, spaced out and wrecked. “Did mommy work you too hard?” Rubs a wet hand along your ribs, uncaring of the way she smears your own cum along your skin. “I thought you said you could take it.” 

“I can,” you say, vehement, trembling all over. Prop yourself up on your elbows, breathless, and say: “I can give it pretty good, too, mommy.” Lean forward, capture her mouth against yours, tasting your own cunt. “If you’ll let me.” 

Clutches the headboard and sits on your face, hips rocking against your mouth, your tongue lapping greedily at her cunt, dripping cum all over your jaw - she cums once and you push her to the bed, work your fingers in the tight wet heat of her pussy, say mommy, I just wanna make you feel good. Thumb circling her hard little clit, fingers curling inside her, punching out full-hearted moans from her slick mouth. You’re supposed to be a pillow princess, probably, that’s absolutely your archetype - begging for a girl’s fingers or mouth, getting fucked into oblivion and calling it there - but you’ve always been greedier than you should be, needing to take and own and touch and fuck. And Seulgi’s so fucking sensitive. 

“That’s my girl,” Seulgi’s saying, one hand wound in your hair, syrupy-sweet; she won’t raise her voice anymore when it’s like this, when you’ve been good, when you’re seconds from making her cum again. She knows when you deserve the praise. “God, fuck-”

You push her to orgasm over and over until she hits her own limit, shoves you to the bed and says, Jesus, I can’t, I can’t. Ends it by taking your wrist and dragging your fingers into her mouth, tongue laving over her own cum, stringing sticky over your hand. Looks right at you the whole time, perched on your thigh, breathtaking. She’s smaller than you, but you never feel it. Like without trying, she could bring the whole world to her feet and make them beg for salvation - like without effort, she owns you. 

“I’d ask you who taught you to eat pussy like that,” Seulgi tells you, voice gravelly from moaning, “but I think I probably already know the answer.” 

It leaves you giggling, nose against her neck, consumed by her. It’s a fucked up thing to joke about, but it’s just one more thing to add to the list. 

-

(It’s hysterical, because she’s the one who should be begging for salvation - no one needs to repent more than she does. Oh, well. She’s about to spend all night on her knees, worshipping; if she’s right and God gets her, then it’s possible God can let this one slide, just this once.) 

-

Afterwards - ah, you know what they say. Third time’s the fucking charm. 

-

You don’t really mean to stay the night, but it happens anyway. Maybe you’re learning to pick your battles. You’ve made it this far giving into every stupid impulse - you know what you want, so why fight it, really. 

Seulgi’s something of a miracle to witness, first thing in the morning: gorgeous and completely dead to the world, streaks of eyeliner smeared across her closed eyes, foundation shiny and worn, whatever was left of her lipstick staining her pillowcase. Everyone’s favorite movie star, so utterly human. She’ll probably break out from falling asleep in her makeup. You probably will, too. 

“Seulgi.” 

You stretch, disentangle yourself from her; you’re sore in all the most satisfying ways, ass a stinging mess. Seulgi shifts in lieu of a response, hums, clearly a light sleeper. A smile flickers at her mouth. 

“Seulgi,” you say again, brattier, and bury your face in her hair. 

It does the trick: her name, your tone. “Kid,” Seulgi says, curving to make space for you, voice hoarse from sleep, like she’s retaliating. Then, with a laugh, eyes blinking open: “I can’t believe you stayed.” 

You pull back just to cock your head at her, assessing intention. She reaches out a hand under the sheets and grazes your bare thigh. Like she’s trying to see if she’s sleepwalking, lucid dreaming - her subconscious knows what she wants; it’ll cater to her. Sometimes she touches you like she’s not convinced you’re real. Sometimes you think you do the same for her. 

“Did you want me to leave?” you ask, grinning, somehow already knowing the answer. 

“No,” Seulgi says, anyway. Smile sleepy and stunning, a glimpse of the sun in the room with you. “Stay as long as you want.” 

It’s a blatant lie, but a heart-stoppingly sweet one. Actresses, you think, disparagingly, and lean in to kiss her mouth. “Bullshit,” you say, calling her on it. 

But she’s giggling in that way she only does when it’s real, and so you slip back between the sheets, letting her arm fall comfortably over your waist. Let the other actors carry on without you; let the plot shift around you as it goes, improvisational; let it leave you be. Oh, you don’t deserve this kind of reprieve, not by a long shot. Somehow, it’s still what you’ve got.

(Because the truth is that the moment she takes you home, it’s already over. It’s one thing to keep an affair like this confined to public bathrooms and dark corners - it’s another to hold its hand, wrap it up in her bed, let it sneak into the sheets and spend the night. Look, you’ve seen all the movies: there’s no feel-good film that lets people like you and her win. But the tape’s still rolling: there are still people listening in, sound technicians with boom mics, directors monitoring your work. We’ve set you free, let you play it by ear, they’re saying - impress me, come on, show me something good. Give me an answer that’ll satisfy an audience. You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?)

Stay, Seulgi says, like she’s even got a right to ask. Stay, she says, so you do. 

-

Fine. The truth can wait for another day, after all. You’ll just have to let it haunt you until then. 

-

obligatory author does not condone cheating and homewrecking disclaimer here. also this is another case of me intending this to be a one-shot and then it got too long..... okay the part 2 will come eventually i SWEAR!!!! if you made it here thanks for reading 24k words of fuckery and brainrot ily <3

#kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #idol x reader #idol x female reader #reader insert #female reader #seulgi smut #red velvet smut

[ilovejuicymw2men]

- SUMMARY; graves has came back from deployment. he's touch starved. enjoy you whores :3

- CONTENT; 18+ only, fem!reader, unprotected sex, graves saying "that's it." around 50 times, strong language, creampie? ( i'm too scared to look up what a creampie is so i'm just going with it )

i ain't doing a word count cause who got time for allat!!

i dont use capital letters cause it looks neat.. let me live

you were putting some leftover salad in the fridge from earlier, going over to the sink to wash your hands. you hear a familiar voice behind you. "miss me darlin'?" graves sneaks his hand around your waist. resting his chin against your shoulder.

"phil? i didn't think you would be home for another month i haven't made you a proper meal yet-" your interrupted by his hand clasped over your mouth. "shh." he says, "m' not hungry anyway. for food atleast." he says, planting a small kiss on your cheek.

you turn around, looking at his battered up face, "shit, are you okay?" you mutter, your hand automatically raising to cup the fresh cut running from his ear to his cheek. overlapping his previous scar. "im fine princess." he says grabbing your wrist and putting it onto the counter. before leaning foreword and kissing you.

you let out a little breathless whimper as he grasps your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. he doesn't break the kiss, he moves to your neck. sucking on sensitive parts of your skin as you grasp the back of his head.

he picks you up effortlessly, hurdling you over his shoulder and up the stairs. into your bedroom which you had just cleaned. he gently placed you down onto your back on the bed. he admires you from the end of it, before shutting the door and clambering on top of you.

he begins to tug on your shirt, "hands up." he says in a commanding tone, you do as your told. lifting up your arms as he glides the soft fabric over them. and onto the floor. "holy fuck." he says examining your breasts. he could cum alone at the sight of you, defenceless. infront of him.

he removes his own shirt, and belt.. and pants. until he was left in his boxers. he slips a finger under the rim of your underwear. a shiver runs down your spine at the feeling. he slowly removes them. not looking up. "god your so beautiful." he mutters to himself as he lowers himself down to the end of the bed.

he spits on his hand before coating your already wet cunt with his own saliva. "so wet for me aren't you?" he smirks to himself before lowering his head. his nose under your clit and stubble tickling your thighs.

"f-fuck phil." is all you could say as he begins to run his tongue up and down your folds. slowly, teasingly. "please.." you whine, arching your back a bit. "please what sweetheart." he says looking up with a sly look.

"faster." that was clearly enough for him. he speeds up, entering one of his fingers into your tight cunt. you mewled as he pins your thighs down. his tongue working magic on you.

your hands move down to grasp his hair, "i-i'm close." you mutter followed by another pathetic whimper. "shit!" you hiss, he adds another finger, than another. "oh god i'm gonna-" without any warning you release onto his fingers. "good girl." he says quietly. removing his fingers and sucking them clean.

he stands up, grabbing your stomach and flipping you over into a doggy position. he removes his boxers. his hard cock springing out of his pants. you hadn't fucked in 4 months. you knew it was gonna feel bigger than usual.

you faceplant a pillow at a low effort to cover up your moans, even tho it never works. he lines himself up at your entrance. before ramming himself into you. you let out a loud squeal of pain and pleasure into the pillow. gripping onto the bedsheets.

"your so- fucking tight." graves says, before pulling fully out. and slamming right back in. you let out another pathetic whimper as your face contorts. he starts at a fast pace, pulling out and then ramming back into you.

graves was letting out little noises, which he does very little. you push yourself further onto him. his tip kissing your cervix lightly. "a-ah shit." you let out a loud moan as he picks up the pace. repositioning himself so he's slamming right into your g-spot.

your vision was going hazy, you were close and so was he. "fuck baby just like that, that's it- your doing such a good fucking job." he would utter in between thrusts. his words made the knot in your stomach tighten even further.

"i'm gonna cum." you say, your words muffled into the pillow. he speeds up again. the room filled with groans and whimpers coming from you and graves. "don't cum yet." he says, it sounded more like a plead than a command but you comply. your face getting hotter by the minute.

"i don't think i can hold it-" you state, a whimper escaping your lips whenever you tried to speak. "i can't hold, i'm gonna cum- please baby.." you blabber on, your brain filled with nothing but pleasure.

"cum, cum on my cock baby. that's it, m' coming-" you do as your told, releasing all over his length. his orgasm chasing not far behind yours. the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him throws him over the edge.

he lets out a loud groan before burying himself as deep as he can inside of you, painting your walls white as you let out a breathless whimper.

"you did so good princess." he says before leaning foreword and kissing your forehead. "i'm gon' run you a bath, stay here. kay?" before you could obliege he had left to the bathroom. you tangle yourself in the sheets as you try and process what the fuck just happened.

help i lowkey started cringing in the middle of this but i had to persevere and pretend like i was in poe ai or some shit. but yeah that's my first smut!! :p

#smut #cod x reader #phillip graves #graves x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #ilovejuicymw2men

[ladylooch]

Strictly Pleasure - [Timo Meier]

A/N: So color me stunned when I went to the roster of Team Switzerland in 2019 and did not in fact see Timo on it……. Because the Sharks were in the playoffs…. LMAO But you know my entire AU timeline is built on 2019 so we go with it. As promised, the full fic for our unanimous poll winners 🥹

As a warning, I literally was clawing my fingernails into the bench seat editing this morning. Holy fuck. Apparently I was feeling extra smutty this weekend.....

Word Count: 4.3k

The coolness of my white wine glass chills my palm while I bring the liquid to my lips. I take a sip, lips curling up in appreciation of both the wine and the stunning sunset before my eyes. I sit on the patio of a cafe in Bratislava, Slovakia awaiting the arrival of my little brother. I am the only member of my family who has been able to make it over to Slovakia in time to see him compete for our country at the IIHF World Championships. His previous international experience has been at the U18 level, but this year he is competing in the big leagues. We are so proud of him and I feel honored to have the flexibility to see him live his dream this week.

Crowds from various countries line the streets of the capital city, surrounding Ondrej Nepela Arena. Various teams are represented- the three crowns of Sweden, the lion of Finland and one man with the red and white of my home country. I smile at the familiar crest on his chest. He wanders down the sidewalk with sunglasses on, hair perfectly styled in a swoop to the left. Mirrored aviators hide his upward gaze to the awning that spells out the restaurant. He flips his sunglasses up, looking down at his phone, then at the name of the restaurant again. Once confirming, he puts his phone back in his pocket, then stalls his footsteps at the podium explaining the menu options for tonight.

“Go Swiss!” I cheer in my native language at him. He looks up from where he had been studying the menu, nodding in my direction. 

“You from?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“I assumed so. You have the accent.” 

“You… kind of do?” He chuckles, questioning. His head tilts to the side slightly, thick eyebrows pulling lower over his eyes. “Where are you from?”

“Close to Bern.”

“Ah… that southern dialect can be troublesome.”

“Maybe you just haven’t heard it enough. Should get out of the big city.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Zurich. Clearly.”

“St. Gallen.”

“Same difference.” 

“Okay.” He chuckles, shifting as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “This place any good?”

“Wine is good.” I cheers my glass in the air at him. “But other than that, I don’t know. My brother picked the place.”

“Yeah, I am meeting someone here too.” 

“Would you like to wait with me? I can buy you a drink.” For some reason, he laughs. 

“Buy me a drink?” He nods. “Sure, if your boyfriend won’t mind?”

“No boyfriend. I’m sure your girlfriend will not be much longer though?”

“No girlfriend. If I did, sitting next to a beautiful Swiss woman would likely get me into big trouble.” He murmurs, reaching for the back of the empty chair across from me. As he pulls it out, my brother comes hustling up next to us.

“Oh great! You did get my text about Timo joining us. I’m glad you found each other.” We both pause, connecting the pieces of who we are to each other. I would not have pegged him as a hockey player. He presents so different from the others I have interacted with over my brother’s playing career. “Timo, this is my older sister Emma.”

“Nice to meet you.” He murmurs as he shakes my hand. Our hands fit perfectly together in a polite shake. His fingers drag along every inch of my palm as he pulls his hand back, creating an electric jolt up my arm.

“Yeah…” I trail off, answering my brother. I gulp down a sip of wine. “He was easy to spot.” Nico grins as I stand, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “Hi.” I haven’t seen Nico for a few weeks. He came home to Switzerland after his season ended, but was running off with all his friends with his new found freedom.

“I am glad you could make it. Mama and Papa are coming tomorrow?”

“Yes, it was the earliest they could get here. I was able to get on a flight from my conference in Berlin.” 

“Good. More time together.” I laugh, glancing at Timo who studies the menu across from me.

“Seemed you liked the way the last few weeks were.” I murmur. “Your big sister always coming in last.”

“I’m sorry.” Nico sighs regretfully.

“It’s okay. As per usual, your time is pulled in every single direction.” 

“Yes, but you’re important to me. I’ll do better.”

“Good! You can start by buying me dinner. You make the big bucks now!” 

“Yeah, you can buy mine too. You make 1st overall money. I’m slumming it down at 9.” Timo and I share a look, chuckling together at Nico’s red, embarrassed cheeks.

“With a flick of a pen, you instantly made more money than your sister has her entire career. You can buy my dinner.” I pile on.

“Stop.” Nico shakes his head with a shy smile. “I will buy you dinner because I love you and that’s it.” I shake my head, looking over at Timo.

“Nico always has to be so sweet to make me feel bad for teasing him.”

“You need to get meaner Nico.” Timo laughs. “Your sister is more intimidating than you.” I scoff at him, then smirk.

“Certified man eater.” I confirm. “You better be careful.” He sucks his cheeks in for a moment, scanning his eyes along my body. Then he shakes his head.

“I like a challenge.” He winks. I pause, recognizing his interest, sliding my gaze over to my little brother who seems to be contemplating between two entrees. I lick a drop of wine off my lips after taking a sip. Timo’s blue eyes stay there, then fall back down to the menu in front of me.

The rest of dinner, these small, wordless interactions happen. He brushes my hand while handing me back my filled water glass. We steal looks at each other whenever Nico isn’t looking. Most of the conversation is driven by us towards each other. Nico seems content to listen, happy to see us getting along so well after inviting a stranger to sibling bonding. I am thankful he did. Timo and I are vibing, conversing and joking like we have known each other for years, not less than two hours. 

Nico pays the bill, making a huge show of treating us with his black Amex. 

“Flaunting your wealth is tacky Nico.” I scold. He scoffs at me, waving me up out of my seat. I toss my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a forced hug. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you, buddy! Thank you!” Timo says too, coming in to the other side so Nico is sandwiched between us. I giggle hard, tilting my head back towards the dark sky while doing so. Timo’s hands grip my sides as we squeeze Nico harder. I fold my fingers over his arms too, feeling the soft material of his sweatshirt. When I open my eyes all I can see is Timo. His beautiful blue eyes sparkling with joy. His big smile and scrunched nose indicating how much fun he is having with us.

“I could use another drink.” I hear myself say to him directly. He nods immediately, releasing from our packed hug.

“We have a bar in our hotel. Are you staying there too?” Timo asks casually.

“Oh! Yes! Let’s go.” I exclaim. “Neeks?”

“Maybe. I’m tired, but I’ll see how I feel when we get there.” 

“Okay.” I shrug. No offense to Nico, but I wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t come.

“How are we feeling about the game tomorrow?” I ask the boys as we walk the cobblestone walk way. 

“Good. We’ll get it done.” Timo says confidently. Nico echos that though a yawn.

His yawning continues through our first round of drinks until he is almost falling asleep sitting up in his chair where we sit at a space in the bar, backing up to the lobby.

“Nico, just go to bed.” I chuckle.

“Yeah I am going to head there.” Nico sighs after a yawn. He looks over at me. “You too?” I bite my lip, shaking my head. 

“I’m not tired. I stay up late for a living.” Nico shrugs his shoulders. “Goodnight.” He stands up.

“Goodnight baby brother.” I tease him as he heads across the lobby to the elevators. “Sleepy good!” I take a sip of my wine, then settle my brown eyes on Timo who still watches with those interested eyes. “Are you tired?” I wonder.

“No.” He says then takes a sip of his drink. “A lot more interesting things are happening down here than in mine and Fiala’s room.” A shiver runs from the base of my neck down my spine pulling my chest tight with flattery. 

“You like to stay up late?”

“Mhm.” He answers around another sip of his drink. He licks at his top teeth afterwards, bringing my eyes back to his lips. “Kinda have to in this job. What do you do?”

“I own an event planning business.” 

“Oh fancy, Ms. Entrepreneur.” 

“I went to college and everything.”

“Impressive. Maybe I should hire you to run my charity golf tournament.”

“I could do that. But it depends.”

“On?”

“What happens between us tonight.” A slow and sexual grin rolls across his lips. He likes my boldness. My heart fluters excitedly in my chest. I love this part, getting gorgeous and powerful men to give into what has been brewing between us. “I have a strict line between business and pleasure. I’m sure you can understand that in your line of work.” Timo nods, looking lost in a previous mistake. 

“That is fair.” He tilts his head. A few teammates walk through the lobby, shouting a hello at Timo. He gives a brief wave, then focuses back on me.

“Any chance I could convince you to go somewhere private to discuss further your personal and professional qualifications?” There is nothing professional about his request.

“Where would you suggest?”

“Maybe your room?” I pretend to contemplate, leaning back in my chair while studying him with scrutiny. 

“What would we do there?” I ask him, dragging out the vowels in my words. I slowly run my tongue along my lips, gathering his attention there.

“You can tease me some more with that mouth.” 

Forward. Bold. Going in for the kill, just like I hoped. 

“Our drinks?” He pulls his wallet out, tossing cash onto the table. He stuffs his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and stands. He holds his hand out for me. I stare at the warm, welcoming skin of his palm. I know what taking that hand means. I know this is dangerous territory, but Timo is a temporary teammate of my brother. It’s not like he is in New Jersey with him full time.

I slide my fingers gently into his hand, then clasp it as he lifts me into a standing position. He weaves our fingers together, palms cupping each other as we walk silently to the elevator. He pulls me in behind him, then turns expectantly at me.

“Four.” I tell him. He presses the button and the doors close. 

“You do this often?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Plenty.” His eyes drag ravenously from my face down my body. He nods in surprised appreciation. “I won’t tell you I love you after, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He chuckles. 

“You look harder to get than that. What are the rules?” He asks as he turns towards me. His hand drops mine, so he can pull my hips flush with his. My eyes flutter at what I feel. Big. Hard. Ready. 

“Wrap it up. Don’t you dare finish before me. No butt stuff. And…” I insist, stepping closer. “Nico never knows.” My foot goes between his, rubbing my thigh against his zipper. He exhales a little heavier, hinting at the desire building in his body. The elevator doors open and we step out. I lead the way, sliding the key through and pushing the door open. I walk in first again. He shuts the door behind us then crosses the slim space between us. He whips me around by my wrist, crowding my space immediately. My heartbeat skyrockets in dangerous and needy passion.

“Anything else?” He asks, sliding a hand to the side of my neck. He holds it tight, thumb stroking my cheek. His blue eyes are fierce, ready for whatever waits for us on the other side of my answer. 

“What are yours?”

“I don’t want anything serious. You understand that?” He strokes my cheek as he says it as if to soften the blow. He’s clearly had this conversation before with other women. He’ll figure out I’m not like them soon enough.

“Completely.”

“Are you on the pill?” 

“Yes.” I laugh. “Are we going to fuck now or keep playing 20 questions?” I slide my hand down to the button on his pants. He laughs too, pausing as he bites his bottom lip. 

“What are your thoughts on cuddling?”

“Hell no.”

“My kinda girl.” He whispers then closes the gap between our faces.

His lips on mine create an explosion that rocks me to my core. I exhale into his mouth in a moan. He runs his hand through my hair then down my body. It wraps around my waist and he lifts, practically tossing me up onto the hotel desk. The lamp shade rattles against the wall. His hands come to my shirt, lifting. Our lips part for a moment, then reconnect with tongues. Wetness pools in my panties, almost soaking them through. 

One of his hands comes up to my breast, squeezing it, then finding my nipple and thumbing it over my bra. I sigh happily into his mouth, then fist his shirt in my hand. His shirt joins mine on the floor, then I reach for the button on his pants. It snaps apart easily. I jerk his zipper down until it’s completely open. His cock is hot and seeping in his underwear. I pull back from his mouth, looking down as he unclasps my bra. The straps slack along my arms. He pulls them the rest of the way off, then takes me in. 

“Beautiful.” He mumbles, tugging my hips so I slide closer to him on the desk top. “So, so beautiful.” He repeats against the warm skin of my chest. His lips kiss down vertically, until he gets to a tight nipple. He makes eye contact with me as he sucks it into his mouth. His tongue strokes upwards too, making my jaw unhinge for a moment. “You had so much to say earlier, now you’re quiet? Gonna have to change that.” He whispers, then sucks my nipple deep into his mouth, working it over, sending darts of pleasure to my clit. It aches to be touched, missing out on his skilled mouth and fingers. 

“Oh.” I pant. He smirks into my breast.

My fingers find the waistband of his underwear, tugging it back from his skin so his cock rises to rest on his belly. His red tip is oozing down the edge of his head. I bite my lip, then my head knocks back into the lamp as his tongue strokes my other nipple into submission.

Fuck, this is incredible. He knows exactly what he is doing. When to push, when to pull away, how to tease and reward. He will be worth any future punishment. My hands shove at the waistbands of his bottom layers until they work down his strong hips. He steps out of them, grabbing a condom in his jean pocket, then kicks them off to the side. I lean back on one palm grinning. He lets me take him in, every delicious curve and edge of his muscular body made perfect from hockey and hard work. His big hands cup my breasts, rolling his thumbs over the stiff peaks in unison. 

“Oh that feels sooo good.” I moan appreciatively. I run my free hand through my hair. He watches my face, playing with me more until I am embarrassingly close to coming without him even being inside of me. “I need you to fill me up.”I demand breathlessly. He bites his lip.

“You’re so fucking sexy. You can tell me what to do all night, Emma.” 

“Just call me Em.” I laugh. “Emma is so formal.” 

“Whatever you want, babe.” 

He unbuttons my jeans, then pulls them off my legs. He admires my black, lace panties, seeing the creamy wetness pooling there just for him, then he works them off my body so we are both naked. He picks me up, setting me to the very edge of the desk, then he hands me the condom. I rip the package open with my teeth, gripping the tip, before easing it down his shaft. His eyes close and he sways slightly forward at my hands on him.

He crowds my space, our breath combining together, still smelling like the minimal alcohol we had tonight. One hand goes to my left hip, then the other goes to grip his shaft. He rolls his head through my folds, collecting my soaking juices before he nestles his head at my entrance. Together, we watch him disappear between my swollen lips. He lets out a shaky exhale. He grabs my wrists, putting them on his shoulders, then he lifts me slightly up off the desk, beginning to pump into my pussy. 

Tingling explosions burst out down my body. Gooseflesh covers my arms and legs as I take each hard thrust with enthusiastic greed. I kiss along his jaw, grinning at the way I jerk in his arms with each pump. He isn’t handling me like a fragile doll, he is fucking me just like I knew he would. Hard, fast, deep, showing he was built with power and strength for a reason.

“Fuck, Em, your pussy is so good.” He growls into my neck. The sound of skin slapping together increases, becoming disgustingly obvious in the room as he rocks hard into me. “So wet and tight.” He hisses through gritted teeth. My nose bumps into his jaw as I moan on his throat. He turns his face, capturing my lips then fucking up harder and faster into me. My whole body goes tight and rigid, then I fall into my orgasm. Timo fucks me through it, not wavering in his thrusts at all until I collapse onto his chest in surrender. He slows then, kissing my neck as he takes me to the bed. He lays me down, then work himself out of me. I look down at the condom, wondering if we are done.

“Your turn. Show me what you got, Hischier.” I laugh loudly. He sits down on the bed, then falls backwards. He takes my hand in one of his, fingers folding together, helping me maneuver to straddle his lap. I work my hair to one side, then reach behind me to grab his cock in my hand. He hums, then sighs happily as I swallow him whole in one press of my hips. Timo’s eyes literally roll back into his head as I start to move. His hands come behind his head fingers lacing together on the pillow below.

“That’s right. Just lay there princess.” I smirk, throwing my hips back on his cock. 

“Funny… gorgeous… talented… where has Nico been hiding you?”

“Practically under your nose.”

“Ah, that’s why I didn’t see it. It’s a little big.” I giggle, then set my hands on his shoulders, rolling my hips.

“Ooo. You know how to fuck.” He praises me. “So good….” He bites his lip, exhaling heavily. “Little more, gorgeous.” He encourages. I comply and he groans. “Mmmm.” His hands snap away from the back of his head. He grips my hips, feeling the roll of them on him. Then two fingers find my clit. I shutter. His other hand comes to my breast, pinching my nipple. “Fuck me until you cum.”  He whispers. I moan shakily, then keep bucking my hips down into him. When he senses I am about to release, he works his hips up in little thrusts to help me over the edge.

“Oh!” I cry out, pinching my other nipple.

He gently eases me down, pulling his feet up closer to his butt so his thighs create support for my back. I slump into them. I pant, looking at him on the pillow as he smirks. 

“Shit.” I hiss as he forces his cock up deep into me, lifting my weight with his hips like it’s nothing. 

“Doggy?” He asks, wiggling his large eyebrows. I nod eagerly.

I’ve never come so hard or had so much fun with a one night stand before. Usually, it’s awkward, bumping into each other and trying to find the right tempo. Not with Timo. It truly feels like we were made for each other. Gone is the insecure way I try to move my body so my partner can see the best angles. Usually, I stay away from doggy. But I am desperate to feel the hard slapping of his balls against my clit. 

We both stand. Timo kisses me, tongues flirting within my mouth. Our lips are puffy and red by the time we pull apart. He twists my hips, working his cock between my legs as I bend over in front of him. He lines his latex covered head with my entrance, then pulls me back on his dick. We both groan loudly this time, appreciating the stretch and arousal of each other. 

“Gonna be dreaming about this pussy tonight.” He groans, starting to buck his hips again. The delicious slapping has me deliriously groping the bed sheets. His thick cock crams into me thrust after thrust, feeling like he is rearranging my internal organs. A big hand comes to the back of my neck, forcing me down. I groan loudly, shrieking an inhale at how good this angle feels. 

“Please.” I hear myself beg.

“Please what, baby?”

“Please make me cum. Please. More. Um! That! Yeah!” I yelp out as his hips snap harder into me. My ass shakes with his powerful thrusts. I turn my face into the comforter, then scream hard into it as a powerful orgasm grips my core and turns me inside out. 

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum. Feels so fucking good when you cum.” I shake against his thighs as he finishes in the condom. His hand releases from the back of my neck. He grips the edge of the condom then works his way out of me. Wordlessly, he heads to the bathroom, striping himself and cleaning off. I collapse forward into the bed sheets, curling into the fetal position while my heavy breathing continues. Timo brings a towel back with him, tossing it to me. Afterwards, I throw it onto the floor while he lays back next to me in bed. 

“Good job.” I murmur, holding my hand up. He slaps it firmly, then sighs happily.

“That was amazing.” He turns to look at me when he says it. I nod, meeting his gaze. “Any chance you’re available for more of that this summer?”

“No strings?”

“No strings.” He agrees. 

“Then yeah. I’m available.” He chuckles. 

“We make a good team, tho. Damn.” He rubs a hand over his head. He turns his wrist, looking at the time on his expensive, silver watch. “I gotta go. It’s almost curfew.”

“Yeah, I want to go to sleep.” I admit, stretching out, pushing at his thigh under the covers to move him off the bed. He dramatically rolls off like I kicked him full on. I giggle as he rests his chin on the bed from the floor. His blue eyes soak me up. His hand comes up, poking at my left cheek.

“Your dimples are cute.”

“Thank you.” I murmur. 

“How long are you here?”

“Wanna see me again already?” He laughs.

“Yeah. Sex that great is rare. I want you again tomorrow.” Butterflies erupt in my stomach. I roll my bottom lip in my mouth, watching him pull his clothes back on. His last article is the Team Switzerland sweatshirt he zips up to the middle of his chest.

“Okay.” I agree. He smiles gently, then walks towards me. 

He kneels one knee on the bed, hovering over the body he wrecked tonight. He kisses me quick, then pulls away. He smells seductive and sultry, like his expensive cologne and me. 

“Sweet dreams.” He whispers.

“Goodnight.” I respond. He walks out of the room, closing the door softly during his exit.

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling above me. The butterflies in my stomach expand up into my chest until it feels crammed full. I put my hand over my face, watching back the reel of the night against my black eyelids, ending with the mutual agreement of more. 

More this weekend. More even this off-season too. More, more, more because it will be months before I will have had my fill of him.

I’m not sure how we will make it all work. Sneaking around once is one thing, but doing it continuously is another.

I guess this planner is going to have to figure it out. 

Because It’s going to be a long, hot summer with Timo Meier.

More Timo and Emma can be found here.

#tm: loving & leaving #Timo Meier x oc #timo meier smut #Timo Meier imagine #hockey fan fiction #nhl fan fiction

[the-whispers-of-death]

While it is gender-neutral, Reader has shoulder-length hair to symbolize that their kingdom is in a time of peace. Reader also is described as wearing clothes that flow beneath them as they dance, could be a dress or ceremonial robes up to you. Just wanted to write Knight!Price watching you dance and gushing internally over how breathtaking you look. Added some more lore to this AU. Part One, Part Two

**

It was a holy day for all of Orithia, it being the day your people celebrated your God of Life, Wixia, creating the kingdom. It was why the capital city was named Wixia, after the god, because he created the city first before creating the rest of the kingdom. Thus, your ancestors celebrated the day with a festival, The Festival of Creation, with Wixia being the city with the best festival in all of Orithia.

John was watching you dance with your subjects in the city square, all in a circle as hired musicians played various instruments and sang, songs of old hymns to the god Wixia filling the air. Everyone was having immense fun, but he could only look at you.

Your clothes were flowing beneath you as you danced and twirled, bright purple colors in your clothes, which represented that you were the Sovereign, were accentuated as the ends swirled as they flowed. Your smile was bright and your shoulder-length hair was braided in a style native to the Orithian culture. Even though your dance was energetic and lacking any true beat, you looked...ethereal.

He knew it made you uncomfortable when your other subjects tried to say you were like a deity that became mortal to grace the people of Orithia with your divine presence, but he couldn't help thinking of you as a deity. Every second he was near you felt like a blessing. He felt like he should be kissing your feet and erecting altars all over the kingdom so everyone could worship you.

John laughed heartily as he heard you whoop in exhilaration and he clapped on beat with the music, joining everyone who wasn't dancing in adding a layer of sound to the music by clapping along to the songs.

The atmosphere surrounding the festival felt electric as you and several others danced together, barefoot against the cobblestones of the city square to dance the best. The stars and moon in the night sky were your audience as you all twirled around, often linking arms together to spin each other around. No one paid attention to how hot it was, especially with the only light being from the huge fire in the middle of the city square.

"Sir John, come join us," you called out to him, smiling up at him as you continued to dance. You beckoned him to come into the circle where everyone was dancing.

He felt like he couldn't say no to you and he didn't really want to. Your joy was infectious and he wanted to be one of those whom you linked arms with as you danced.

John joined the circle of dancing, getting closer to you. His ceremonial cape that was held in place by his armor flowed behind him as he danced and twirled.

With you starting to sing along to the song currently being played, everyone else followed suit, their voices only adding to the atmosphere. The lyrics were praising Wixia, thanking Him for blessing the people of Orithia with his benevolence.

But John found himself silently praising you when your arm linked with his and you spun the both you around in a circle. The skin-to-skin contact made his heart skip a beat, his eyes dropping down to yours to hold eye-contact.

In that moment, time seemed to slow. All he could focus on was that he was dancing with you, the twirling around bring you two closer.

He was entranced by your striking eyes, enamored with your bright smile, only able to hear your beautiful voice singing along with the musicians. You two were so close he could smell the perfume/cologne you had put on and it was losing its scent since you were sweating due to dancing, but he could still smell it and he could feel your flowing clothes brush against his flowing cape.

When you eventually unlinked your arm from his and twirled away, it was like you took the bright light that had made the world bright with you, even though everything was technically the same. But as you danced with others, it took everything in him to keep dancing and not to be standing in place among the others, frozen at the absence of your presence beside him.

Since John was the head of the Royal Guard and unmarried, several people wanted to try and woo him as he danced alone. He linked arms with them and twirled around with them, but his eyes were still on you. It was easy for the unassuming eye to just chalk it up to him making sure you were safe, but if anyone looked closer they would see the love-stricken look in his eyes.

No one could turn him away from you, not even the nobles in your court. His eyes—and his heart—were on you.

But it didn't stop the over consuming guilt that came with loving you, like he was doing a grave betrayal to you by being in love with you when he should be focused on protecting you. You trusted him with your life and here he was, wanting to be more than a knight to you.

How selfish of him.

With those thoughts, John finally tore his eyes away from you. He focused on dancing, enjoying the joy around him.

He didn't look at you unless it was to ensure you were still safe every so often, missing your glances at him as you made your way back to where he was dancing so you could dance with him again.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

#john price #captain john price #captain price #price cod #john price fanfiction #price fanfiction #john price x gender neutral reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x gender neutral reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain price x gender neutral reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #price x gender neutral reader #price x reader #price x you #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #knight!price #tried to have as much imagery as possible #:)

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #16 – The Saint of Bright Doors by Vajra Chandrasekera

I grabbed this on a recommendation I now forget the specifics of, but which I am incredibly glad I listened to. Not a perfect book, but a beautiful one. It really does immerse you in a capital-w Weird setting in a way I haven’t gotten to enjoy in a while, and might the best in years at really weaving it in with a sense of the mundane and the bathetic. Pacing and character development and plot are a little all over the place, but still a great read.

The story follows Fetter, the only child of the Perfect and Kind, anointed messiah of the Path Above. His mother tears his shadow off of him at birth, and forever after he must choose to remain tethered to the earth and not float away into infinity. He is raised from birth as a tool to take vengeance on his father by committing each of his five unforgivable sins – culminating, of course, in holy patricide. His childhood is spent in indoctrination and murders – and oh, he’s also the only one he knows who can see the monstrous devils who share the world with humanity.

So anyway, all that gives him a lot to talk about in therapy.

The actual book follows Fetters’ life as an aimless young adult in the city of Luriat, with its layers of impenetrable government and byzantine system of castes and races inherited from successive colonizers, its regular pogroms and plagues, and its tendency for any doors left closed and unwatched for too long to instantaneously become permanently shut portals to Somewhere. Over the course of the book, he is dragged into a revolutionary conspiracy, learns his father is coming to the city, learns deep metaphysical secrets, is a pretty terrible boyfriend, becomes a suicide bomber, and learns to fly.

To start with the negative, the pacing of the plot is...okay, maybe not bad, but it’s really not trying for the things I’d expect it to. A whole act of the narrative is spent meandering through an absurd purgatory of refugee/prison/quarantine camps Fetter has been consigned to. Lovely writing, thematically important, does eat up a lot of page count which then leads to rest of the book being things happening very quickly one after the other with very little in the way of buildup or reflection. Time is enjoyably spent just detailing the experience of Fetter’s day to day life, but much of the supporting cast feel more like plot (or thematic) devices than characters. The book ends with the protagonist loudly reciting the big lesson he’s learned from the events of the book. So yeah, less than perfect book. Still, I found all the sins very easy to forgive.

As mentioned, this was the first fantasy book I’ve read in a while that felt properly fantastical, like it was created from first principles rather than being the latest in a hoary old lineage stretching back generations. Which might be complete bullshit, I don’t know – not like I’ve read a great deal of other South Asian fantasy to compare it to – but it worked for me. A big part of which is how very modern it is. This is a secondary world with prophets and plague-bearing anti-gods, forgotten timelines whose ghosts leak into the world, and a whole plethora of almost- and not-quite- messiahs. And also one with cellphones and UN-administered refugee camps, labyrinthine bureaucratic politics and scandals over inappropriate allocation of imported medical devices. It all feels like a reflection of the present and its own concerns rather than the thousandth-generation pastiche much of the genre does, I suppose – which is something I really did appreciate.

The world of the book – or, at least, the little slice of it the story is concerned with. There’s clearly grander and stranger things happening off in the distance – is one intensely concerned with caste and class, race and religion and breeding. Luriat is weighed down with the architecture and high culture of successive waves of colonialism, and its elites organize and govern the population according to a syncretic mix of all of their ideological castoffs. Politics – and in particular the use of plague and quarantine on one hand and sectarian pogroms on the other to control the populace – is pretty key to the whole book. It’s also just about entirely beyond Fetter. Not that he’s dumb, just that he’s apolitical, in the sense of treating government like an inexorable and inevitable fact of life to be worked with/around or avoided, not something you can understand or change. Which makes for fun reading as there’s clearly a whole Les Mis thing happening like 0.5 degrees to the left of the book’s plot.

Anyway, I’m still sad Pipra didn’t get more screentime, and the whole ending feels almost comically rushed, but absolutely a worthwhile read.

#book review #the saint of bright doors #vajra chandrasekera #sff

[extinctspino]

Secret admirer

Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Wednesday x Gorgon!GNreader

Wordcount:

Warnings:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She held the soaked hat between her delicate fingers and placed it somewhere it could dry up a bit.

She had been getting flowers every single night for 2 weeks without a fail. It was about time she found out who kept delivering her specifically these flowers. 

She considered burning them at first but decided against it. This said person must have a good reason to be dropping them off at the balcony. 

She tried to wait for this mysterious person to appear, but just like elves they never show themselves when you’re watching.

Now that she has some sort of lead she can easily find out about who you are. She inspected the hat closely and discovered 2 things.

One, you were definitely part of the gardening club. On the back in big capital letters is read ‘GARDENING CLUB’. That was obvious.

Two, there’s a high chance you were a Gorgon. Gorgons typically wear hats like that to cover their statue-making snakes. 

This was like a little game for her. It’s as if you were testing her.

Did you finally want to reveal yourself by dropping your hat on purpose? A possibility.

Or were you just not careful enough and dropped your hat by mistake. Another possibility.

Whichever one it was, she was going to find out by paying a little visit to the said club. She laid down in her usual sleeping position - which made her look like she was laying in a coffin - and drifted off to nightmare land.

The next morning she skipped breakfast and immediately went to the gardening area. She had an amazing night, dreaming about torturing the people that deserved it most. 

You on the other hand... You were stoned the most of it. After a couple of hours spent being a literal statue, the stone started to crack. You were finally freed from your temporary self inflicted-prison.

You couldn’t sleep after that. You needed some movement to loosen your muscles a little. Being stoned for so long felt suffocating for you.

You went to your favorite place in school and walked around, watering the plants that needed to be watered, fed the carnivore plants some worms, and made sure everything was how it was supposed to be.

After finishing all your daily tasks you started wondering through all the different kinds of flowers. You were trying to pick out a new flower to drop by tonight. “Hmm, this one’s cool, but just not it.” 

You often talked to yourself. It became a habit after you started your whole flower franchise. 

“That one is perfect.”

“HOLY FLOWER.” Even the snakes on your head hissed at the sudden voice jump scaring you. 

You snapped your neck toward the voice and almost flinched when you saw who it was. “Wha- what are you doing here?” You asked her with wide eyes, she wasn’t supposed to be this close to you!

“Am I not allowed to be here? I was simply helping you pick out a flower for me.” You backed away from her, “Uhh, I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“So this doesn’t belong to you then?” You wished one of the meat-eating plants would just swallow you whole right this moment. 

In her hand was your one and only club member hat. You gulped audibly before reaching out your hand to take it from her.

“I thought you didn’t know what I was talking about? I can’t just let you steal this person’s lost hat.” Her blank face and murderous voice might as well just kill you because you were certainly going to die of embarrassment soon.

“Okay okay! You caught me. There’s a 99.99% chance that that’s my hat.” 

“No, no. Uhm I mean, 100%. Yes 100% sure that’s my hat that you’re holding there... in your hands.”

You were just incoherently blabbering about the stupid hat that literally no one cares about.

Wednesday couldn’t help but feel a little pinch in her heart when she saw you so flustered, so... cute. She deleted that thought from her mind the moment she even thought of that. 

But what she wasn’t able to delete was the feeling that was created by you and only you.

#wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday the series #wednesday netflix #wednesday show #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams netflix #wednesday addams series #wednesday addams show #wednesday imagine #wednesday addams imagine

[lotti-lyric]

are we about to kiss right now; katsuki bakugou and y/n

best friends to lovers

warning; swearing, kissing, flirting humor, bakugou being mean, lots of capitals

gn!reader x chaotic!bakugou katsuki

charlotte’s interlude 💗: hi guys!! bakugou is my comfort character and so i hope i wrote him alright! this came to mind randomly while i was helping a client with makeup and i full gasped while doing her highlighter 🧍🏼‍♀️ anyways, have an amazing day and as always, please reach out!! i’m super new and i’d love friends on here!! i’m taking requests and matchups!! enjoy!! 🎶

SO LIKE YALL ARE ALREADY SUPER CLOSE RIGHT

HE’S LET HIS WALLS DOWN LONG AGO SO NOW YOU’RE JUST LEFT WITH THIS ABSOLUTELY CHAOTIC ASSHOLE OF A MAN

he actually lets you get away with insulting him and you guys have friendly banter

it’s just how y’all work

“Katsuki, can I play tic-tac-toe on your big ass forehead??”

“I’d still win, shut the fuck up”

despite this, yall have really great communication

then one day, you’re both joking around and you go

“Are we about to kiss right now 🤪”

AND HIS HEART SAID HOLY FUCK

y/n you can’t just do that he wasn’t ready 😩

he didn’t notice how god damn attractive you were until you flirted. the way you bit your lip… fuck how could he not notice before??

he had it bad for you. real fuckin bad.

HE JUST KINDA STARES AT YOU A BIT ANALYZING UR FEATURES AND EXPRESSION BEFORE GOING

“Tch…”

and IGNORING IT COMPLETELY

he honestly loves the connection he has with you and he’s so afraid to lose it because he misunderstood some joke

little did he know, that was actual fucking flirting from y/n. as good as your communication was, it’s hard to flirt seriously when all you both do is joke around with each other

nothing seriously changes between you both except you keep slipping casual flirting humor like that

he’s seriously so conflicted. on one hand, you’re the one he trusts, his right hand and he doesn’t want to lose that. on the other, he just keeps looking into your eyes and hoping for more. yearning for more, wanting more

finally,

“What the fuck are we?”

“Huh?”

“Who am I?”

“You’re Katsuki??”

“No I-… fuck, y/n just-..”

he places a hand on your cheek, daring to lean closer

you can feel the static electricity buzzing between your lips when he slowly smirks and whispers,

“Are we about to kiss right now?”

he waits for your nod and a real, genuine smile forms on his face

the kiss is passionate, hungry, you can tell this has been held back for a long while

there certainly was electricity

#bakugou headcanons #bakugou fluff #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo hcs #bnha hcs #bnha x self insert #bnha x reader #headcanons #boku no hero academia

[fastfoward]

epilogue, first draft

Over a thousand years ago a great demon was unleashed upon the world. Unimaginably cruel and just as powerful, it ravaged the land and killed untold amounts of people simply for fun. Luckily for the world, there was a small band of warriors who managed to take on the demon and eventually bring it down. Then, they tried to learn where this demon came from and they learned it was placed there by the gods themselves. The demon had grown so powerful the gods did not know what to do with it and unleashed it upon humanity, knowing that a strong band of heroes would arise.

The band of warriors did not take this information as well as the gods had hoped. They judged the action of the gods unfair and unwise. That it was unfair for humanity to fix the gods’ mistakes. They argued and argued, and soon the argument became physical. The small troup of warriors took on the gods in battle. They won.

The battle was brutal and destructive. The planet itself shook and cracked open and split into three pieces. As a last act the gods defied logic and made it so the world would remain as such even if it was split into pieces, each third remaining close, but not touching, one another. The band of warriors then disbanded, each heading down their own paths.

The Free Kingdom of Corralina

Life remained somehow relatively unchanged in one third of the world. The land was governed by independent citystates, though all bent the knee to the Wandering King, one of the godslayers. The land was ravaged by wild and terrible monsters, travel was difficult and technological progress recessed. However, people survived and learned how to fight back. Cities fortified and developed new techniques to hunt down the wild monsters. Magic was rediscovered. Soon, monsters stopped being a threat and instead became a resource. Monster parts were used to develop stronger weapons and more powerful spells. The Free Kingdom of Corralina became renowned for its powerful warrior-mages, keeping would-be invaders from the other thirds at bay.

When one reaches maturity in the The Free Kingdom, or when one becomes accepted as a citizen, they receive a small silver goat horn. Whenever someone is in trouble and confronted with dangers they cannot handle, they may blow this horn; if the Wandering King hears it, he will rush to the rescue with his eternal bride of iron, and obliterate whatever danger is there. In exchange, all the King will ask is to pay up any unpaid due taxes.

The Corporate Real-Estate Holdings of ActionDeath

Life changed considerably in one third of the world. The industry capital of the old world grew immeasurably up until it covered the entirety of all available landmass, ruled by two of the godslayers. They combined their assets, technology and enchantments to twist the very meaning of life and death, forever altering what it even meant to be human. No gold is exchanged in the land of ActionDeath, the only payment the Corpo-Government will exchange for goods and services is mortality. The lifespan of beings can be removed, added and exchanged through proprietary processes and rules all legal exchanges. A land where one lives to die. A land where one must die to live. Oddly enough, when asked people will report they preferred things this way, preferred this to how life was in the olden days. They answer this sincerely. 

Technology has advanced at an accelerated rate in this land. Both cybertronics and biohacking have become common aspects of daily life. Progress in health technology has skyrocketed and some of the lucky few live in impossibly luxurious comfort; but even the lower classes of society have access to all the food and entertainment they need to subsist. As long as the engine of progress are still running, life will continue in one shape or another.

The Holy Bassin for The New World’s Goddess

Life became… confusing, in one third of the world. The death of the old gods left a spiritual vacuum to be filled, and while many pretenders emerged they all either imploded or eradicated one another. All except for one curious pair, a brother and sister duo, two of the godslayers. The sister was an odd one but could perform indescribable miracles. She would effortlessly create pure energy which could be used to power homes and vehicles. She would affect the weather to help farms and nature be at their best, and she would, in some way, transform the minds of those who fit ill in this society. She communicates strictly through metaphors though luckily her brother always stays at her side, ready to translate her wisdom to the common folk.

The old gods were declared devils, and She to be the one true god, having banished them to hell. For the spiritually inclined, the Holy Bassin is a living paradise. In this land of plenty, technology and scientific progress has stagnated. The Arts, however, have flourished. It is common for people of this land to go on a pilgrimage and explore the other two third, but rarely are they ready for such trips, and rarely do they come back alive. 

Be mindful. Happiness is mandatory. Happiness will be enforced.

—

As for me? I dunno. I never fit in well with the other godslayers. I had a bit of a temper, I’ll admit, and my relationship with most was never really positive. In fact it was downright adversarial sometimes. But all that is in the past now. I’ve been wandering across the world, I have a bit of a route I like to follow. Turns out monster parts, techno gadgets and pure raw energy are incredibly useful and praised outside their homelands. I don’t ask for much in return, just some place to sleep, and a chance to listen to the people. I’ve spent my youth with the godslayers and I think… I think I forgot what it was to be… them. A person. All the experiences of being a human. It’s been over a thousand years now, honestly I’ve completely lost track, and honestly? I don’t think I’ve completely caught up with those experiences. 

#don't worry about anything

[ordinorultor-if]

Some World Details/Names

Marave is the continent on which the game takes place.

Palshaam is the holy land of the Avinite Faiths, and a strategic area. It is located at the eastern edge of the Nostran Sea, and serves as the main gateway to Levane, also known as the Orient.

The Avinite Faiths are the dominant religions of Marave, Yafran, and Palshaam. They take their name from the holy figure Avinus.

The eldest branch of the faith is the Yudai. They are dominant in only a small area, in the south of Palshaam, the Kingdom of Gherush.

The middle branch of the faith is the Houdai. They are dominant in Marave, and headed by the Hierophant.

The youngest branch of the faith is the Salmai. They are dominant in Yafran and most of Palshaam.

The Nostran Sea is a large body of water, separating southern Marave from northern Yafran and providing all the benefits one would expect. To the west of the Sea, past the Sunset Gate (a large strait separating the Maravian region known as the Hiber peninsula from the Yafranite region known as Temurkut), is the Promeantic Ocean, the western edge of the known world.

The Reman Empire was the predecessor of most kingdoms around the Nostran Sea. It fell more than five centuries ago, and despite attempts no one has yet reunited the empire.

The Pious Reman Empire is the Hierophant-endorsed successor state, encompassing Alemagne in the north, Beheimat in the east, Oenotry in the south, and Gundiny in the west.

Ribaur is the country to which you swear fealty.

Pritani is an island north of Marave and just across a channel from Ribaur.

Sayland is the southern Pritannian kingdom, ruled by a former Ribaurian noble.

Iremia was an ancient empire in southwest Marave, highly advanced in magic compared to the modern kingdoms. Thousands of years ago, the Iremi were closely associated with the dragon priests of the east, but they went to war and destroyed each other.

Amykheimr was the capital city and greatest achievement of Iremia.

Skadesi is a large peninsula to the north of mainland Marave, and to the east of Sayland. For many decades, the inhabitants terrorized the coast as far south as Temurkut, but the after the populace converted to Houdai the raids stopped. Today, both the Kingdom of Sayland (including the formerly Ribaurian Duchy of Ostromandy) and the island of Siciny are ruled by the descendants of these raiders.

Ostroway is the westernmost Skadesite kingdom. The Ostrowegian king made a bid for the throne of Sayland a generation ago, but failed.

#ordinor ultor if #interactive fiction #worldbuilding

[authurials]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ... 1/2

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you had worked too hard to lose aemond to the pathetic whispers of a pious court

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 . two​

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 . @holy-minseok​

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations, referenced sexual situations, referenced violence/mild gore, language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . took me awhile to get this out because i’ve been struggling with a chest infection but i’ve finally recovered enough to get back to writing; this isn’t the best thing i’ve written in my opinion, but i think it’s a good start to getting back into the swing of things--remember to like, comment and reblog if you enjoy reading! do not repost/claim as your own please

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 burned in your ears as you made your way down the halls of court, head held high and hands folded together primly in front of you. Although ladened with the regalia of the Seven, you did not allow the stone walls that surrounded you to intimidate you into submission. You were the eldest daughter of a king, who though a monarch of a smaller and lesser known kingdom than Westeros raised you to be cunning and prideful–to never accept less than what you deserved; and you deserved better than what the cunts of King’s Landing and possibly beyond were saying about you. You were a princess, wife to the king of Westeros’ second eldest son, and you would not bend or break to the ugly rumors being levied against you.

Even if there was truth to their whispers, you thought, smiling tugging tightly at your lips; flanked on either side by knights of the Kingsguard, you obediently allowed yourself to be escorted to the small council who no doubt wanted to discuss the validity of the  ‘concerning’ words being spoken about your name. Even before your carefully crafted facade had begun to slip in the eyes of those at court you had begun to put into place your defense, plotting it carefully so that you might have a better chance at salvaging all your hard work. And hard work it had been, you thought irritably as you recalled the first time you had made the acquaintance of Aemond Targaryen.

Right from the start you had intended him for your husband, having found him to be a suitable and advantageous match that would bring future notoriety to your house and grow your father’s influence. When your father was invited to attend King Viserys in court in hopes of creating a bond between the two kingdoms, you knew that this was your chance to put your plan into action. From your first meeting though, when the second born prince had gazed at you with barely a hint of interest in his one pearlescent blue eye, you knew you had your work cut out for you. He proved to be a pious boy you observed within your first few days in the capital; watching as he attended services in the sept with his mother, and how he dutifully carried out grace before each feast could commence between the two families.

Your attempts at seduction would not work, that much you knew for sure; if anything, any sign of loose morals would only have served to draw the prince’s ire and disgust. He had not wanted a whore for a companion, but someone who concerningly resembled his mother in her piety and devotion–so that is what you gave him. Luckily, pretending to be chaste was not an unknown concept for you; high morality was a character trait you had pulled upon quite frequently in the past, using it to titillate many of the men and even women you had welcomed into your bed over the years. There was something alluring about the debauchery of innocence, and to be the one to take it you had found was a prize not many were willing to pass up–except for Aemond, you came to find out.

You had been tending to the homeless and downtrodden of Flea Bottom when the pair of you engaged in your first conversation, one that was not forced by the close proximity of your families’ shared suppers or the everyday required pleasantries. Though the lesser work of caring for those who could not care for themselves in part disgusted you, you did not let it show that day as Aemond forwent his responsibility of finding his drunkard brother in exchange for escorting you through the lower rungs of King’s Landing. It would become the first of many ‘coincidental’ encounters with the prince in which you were able to show off how unconcerned you were with the finer things of royal life, and instead wished to dedicate your time to those less fortunate; not only that, but how interested you were in familiarizing yourself with the Faith of the Seven, as your own kingdom had no such dedicated religion. And the prince was all too happy to be your tutor, though he always made it a point of the pair of you having a chaperone–lest your virtue be called into question.

The questioning had not begun until recently, many moons after the consummation of yours and Aemond’s marriage; it had been the prince’s first time, that you were certain of. You recalled the way he had clung to you as he reached his completion, hips stuttering into yours as he panted and eventually held himself there inside of you–allowing his seed to take. Though you had found your own pleasure in the act it paled in comparison to some of your other lovers, one of which had taken up within the Keep as part of your family’s holding of servants. Ultimately, this servant–a man you had bedded many times over the years–would be your downfall. He had been the one to let your affairs slip from drunken lips, cockily expressing how he had managed to bed the prince’s wife, whose lips were not only made for the hymns of the Seven but also to service a cock. You had managed to take his tongue before your incarceration into your bed chambers, ordered by the Queen Mother while she sorted everything out.

And what a shame it was, you recalled spitefully, it was a very good tongue after all.

You stopped outside the double doors to the council room, the guard posted outside entering beforehand to ensure the council was ready to receive you. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders, determined to hold your head high and meet their eyes–you would give them no reason to doubt your words. From within you could hear the guard announcing your presence, and the proceeding muffled voice of who you gauged to be your good mother, Queen Alicent. The guard returned, this time holding the door open as the knight on your left side gently prodded you to move forward. Resisting the urge to spew venom at him for treating you in such a manner unbefitting your station, you stepped forward into the room to face the people that were your judge and jury.

As expected, Alicent sat in the middle of the congregation, flanked on either side of the table by the men of her husband’s small council–including the Hand and Alicent’s father, Otto Hightower. The man had never liked you or your family, and the feeling was mutual; he was as much of a snake as you, and it took one’s own kin to see through the facade both sides had been crafting for their own benefit for years. You saw each other as threats, and this proved true as their judgment of you began and Otto stood in opposition of showing you mercy. All the while your husband stood quietly in the corner, head bowed and hands folded behind his back; his lack of eye contact with you made it clear that you would stand alone today, that it would be up to you alone to clear your name and salvage what you could of this mess.

“You stand here today accused of impropriety unbefitting of your station,” Alicent spoke, clearing her throat; you made note of how uncomfortable she looked to be there, to have to be the one hosting the proceedings against her son’s wife–perhaps you could use this to your advantage. “What say you, good daughter?”

“I say….” You put on your best face, hands gripping each other nervously as you bowed your head as if in prayer. “I say that these accusations have wounded me deeply, and I cannot fathom as to why anyone would speak such horrid things about me into existence.”

“Exactly,” Otto hummed, “what reason would anyone have to create such a story if there was no validity to it, my lady?”

“That is a fair point,” another man of council interjected, nodding; you lifted your head to gaze at him coolly before bowing your head once more. “This volume of rumors cannot be ignored. Not to mention your quick dispatching of the first man who spoke out against you-”

“His vile words are the reason I stand before you!” You found yourself spitting out, lifting your head; you could feel the fire burning in your eyes, quickly squashing it as you blinked and took another deep breath to calm yourself. “Apologies, I find the reminder of that disgusting man too much to bear. It is he who disparaged my good name, bringing into question my purity when I have always been and will continue to be….loyal to my husband, Prince Aemond.”

You once more found yourself glancing over at Aemond, hoping he would’ve been looking up and your eyes would lock, allowing you to soften his doubts about you; mayhaps then he would speak out in your favor, squashing the awful questioning of his family and the council. Alas, your hopes were the only thing squashed when all you saw was the tightening of his jaw as he continued to look down at your feet.

“Your words prove pretty as always, my lady,” Otto continued, a smirk discernible beneath his beard, “but they will do nothing to repair the damage that these accusations have caused. You have brought shame upon the Targaryen name, and have left us with no choice but to-”

“Who are you to judge me?” You interrupted him, finding that fire within growing once more; you had always prided yourself on maintaining your coolness in situations such as this, but Lord Hightower’s cockyness was proving too much for you today. Truly, who was he to judge you? You were not blind to his own transgressions against the crown–the way he puppeteered his own family for his own personal gain. “Who are any of you to judge me?”

You looked at each small council member in turn, daring them to meet your eye but none other than Otto were brave enough to do so; Alicent herself could only muster up a look of pity as your gaze fell on her, it was only a brief stare but you saw it plain as day. Your good queen mother pitied you, being the only one in the room who understood the precarious position of a woman in court–how delicate a balance it was, how one false step could lead to a downfall.

“The only judgment I see fit to pass upon me is that of the Seven,” you spat out. “They are the ones who see me as I truly am, my soul having been bared to them since my good mother and husband were so kind to teach me their ways–is that not right, my husband?”

Finally, Aemond had no choice but look upon you, his one eye scaling up your figure, watching the way your hands now gripped at the skirts of your dress and how your chest lifted with each breath you took; you willed him to see the woman he had fallen in love with, the one you had made him worship like he did at your false altar. Yet, there was nothing there but the pain of betrayal, the tight set of his jaw as he looked away from you and towards his grandfather, to whom he gave a stiff nod. It was then that you knew you had lost him, that there was nothing more that you could say or do to repair the damage your own hubris had created; the game you had so eloquently played over the past several moons was over, and there was no victor but that of Otto Hightower as he passed down your sentence–

An annulment, that was the only course of action anyone on the small council saw fit to take; it would leave Aemond open to a more suitable match Otto claimed as you still stood there in that room, finally stunned to silence, no ally in your room unless the sympathetic glance of the queen counted for anything. You would be sent back to your father’s kingdom in shame, where the grasp of the court’s whispers had surely already reached, leaving you with little other prospects in terms of another marriage other than a low ranking lord or even worse a merchant with no titles. It was truly a fate unbefitting of your natural born status as princess, a fitting punishment in the eyes of the men of the council.

You said nothing as they passed down your sentence, simply standing with your head held high and hands now folded behind your back. There was no need to pretend anymore….

So you simply smiled and began to laugh.

Your laughter stopped Otto in his tracks as he made plans to write to your father, and instructed his daughter to ensure the servants began packing up your belongings that day. They all looked at you in confused silence, even Aemond who had a frown on his lips as he looked upon you.

“Is something funny? Or have you simply finally gone mad?” Otto asked, standing from his seat at the council’s table.

“Oh, I am surely mad,” you laugh, shoulders shaking, “but not as much as you are about to be, lord hand.”

“What nonsense do you speak of, whore?” A council member spat out.

You noticed Aemond instinctively lay a hand on the pommel of his sword ready to defend you, and in that moment you did feel something akin to affection for your husband; maybe there was a chance of saving this union yet, but first you had to deal with the council of idiots before you.

“Did you really think I would just allow you to take away everything I worked so hard for?” You hummed, walking towards the table they all rested behind. The guards on either side of the table stepped forward, hands on their own swords much like Aemond but you paid them no mind, simply stopping so that you were eye to eye with the Hand. “Then we have gravely underestimated each other, Lord Hightower.”

“What position do you believe you have to stand on, girl?” Otto smirked. “You are nothing more than what your cunt allows, and it appears that even its luck has run out; even my grandson wishes to be rid of your poisonous wiles.”

“Father-” Alicent began, looking pale and faint.

“Even if he has no love for me,” you tilted your head, a pleasant smile on your lips, “I’m sure he would not allow for the mother of his child to be sent away.”

The silence that proceeded settled warmly in your stomach, satisfaction clear on your face as you looked from Otto to his grandson, whose hand had fallen from his sword to hang limply at his side in shock. For many moons the pair of you had been trying for a child, for Aemond Targaryen wanted nothing more than to be a father and you wanted nothing more than to solidify his loyalty to you. It had been a precarious thing to accomplish, ensuring his seed was the one to take root and not one of your lover’s, but you were certain that the child you carried was of no stock but that of the Targaryens.

“How do we know you are simply not spreading more falsities?” A member of the council expressed what everyone else must be thinking. “Or that the child is even Aemond’s?”

“Do you really wish to take that risk?” You pout, lips curving into a smirk. “Especially when I have already told the good news to his grace, the king.”

Easy to manipulate in his current state, King Viserys adored you as his good daughter, believing you a fitting match for Aemond. You had spent many a day by his bedside, lending him your ear as he spoke fondly of past memories, or your voice as you read to him from his favorite books. He was the first you told when you found out you were with child, and at the prospect of another grandchild the good side of his face had lit up with such happiness; it was then that you knew that if Aemond’s loyalty could not be secured then his father’s fondness would have to do. You were all but untouchable as long as you remained in the king’s good graces, and you knew from his eldest daughter and the whispers that followed her that Viserys was not the kind to let rumors sway him.

“You scheming cunt-” Otto grounded out, making it as if he were going to lean over the table and grab you.

“That is quite enough, father,” Alicent finally spoke, raising her hand to silence any further objections. “It appears as if our hands our tied–”

She looked up at you, and the pride was clear in her eyes as she continued.

“We have no choice but to allow her to stay here, at least until the babe is born; we will know for sure if the child is my son’s.”

“You can’t possibly think to allow her to stay here, daughter-”

“As your queen,” Alicent bit out, “this is what I have decided. I will hear no more of annulment or sending my good daughter away until the patronage of the baby is confirmed. Am I understood?”

She looked around at the men, and you noted the uncomfortable way in which each man shifted under her gaze–leaving no room for questions; each of them nodded stiffly before being dismissed, even Otto was given no choice but to take his leave, eyes holding a promise that this wasn’t over as he gave you one last look before he left. Your satisfaction was short lived however as you found yourself alone with your good mother and husband, both of whom had their eyes on you. It appeared you still had your work cut out for you getting back into their good graces, but it was no worry–

You had many moons ahead of you to prove yourself once again worthy of them and their false gods.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 : #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen one shot

[shion-yu]

Saint Valentine's Day

Snzblr Valentine for @onetrickponi featuring their OCs Tíbor and Hazel! I really hope you enjoy this and it’s in character - I’m so sorry if it’s off (I know Tíb is super grumpy here and does Tíbor drink/sleep?? Idk but he does today) or too similar to your Christmas wav, it was supposed to be a drawing but it just wasn’t working out. If I ever get happy with the drawing I’ll letcha know tho ;) Thank you so much for organizing this @sneezydarliing!

Hazel thinks Valentine's Day should be a safe holiday. All the "Saint" in the Saint Valentine part has been long since replaced with the glamours of capitalism, so she doesn't expect it'll be as rough on Tíbor as Christmas was. She's hopeful, really hopeful as she does her hair into a twisted braid and ties it at the end. It's when she emerges from the bedroom that she hears it.

“Hiit-chooo! He’unggh-CHOO!... Ehhnngch... Hnngh-SHIEW!”

Yikes. Definitely Tíbor, and definitely the same brand of breathless sneezing that he displayed around the Christmas holidays. Hazel opens the study door to find him huddled in the dark with a soaked handkerchief to his nose. The curtains are closed, but the daylight is enough that she can still see him well. He's hunched at the top of the couch with a blanket around his shoulders and he looks goddamn awful. 

“Hhi-TSHEW! Snnk. Guh. Don't you know how to knock?" Tíbor squints at her, a dirty expression on his face. 

"It's my place, freeloader," she says, crossing her arms and smirking. "Valentine's Day isn't even religious anymore. I thought Jesus would spare you this time."

"The origins of the day are still religious," Tíbor snaps back, shooting her a glare. "Don't you have somewhere to be that's not watching me sn... Snee... SnUHT’DSHhhuih!"

"Ouch,” Hazel comments.

Tíbor groans and rubs his nose which already looks raw and red. The onslaught of sneezes makes him cough roughly; Hazel can tell he's already sneezed himself half hoarse. 

"Tíb, maybe getting out of this room will help," Hazel suggests. "It's so... Cave like in here. Some fresh air might do you good."

Tíbor snorts rudely, and wetly. "Unless we're going to a Bible burning, I'll pass. I'm not exactly in the mood for other people." His nose scrunches up, his eyes squinting, and Hazel knows he's about to start again. He keeps taking shaky, sharp gasps like he's about to, but then nothing happens.

"It's better to let it out," she points out.

"Like it's my choice," Tíbor snaps. "Fuck you - HeHh’UuSHHHuh! Atchhhh...Heitt’CHIUU!"

"There you go,” Hazel says approving at the tremendous sneeze that Tíbor finally manages to release. “Doesn't that feel better?"

"Fuck you," Tíbor repeats solemnly. His eyes look swollen and Hazel feels just a touch of sympathy for him.

"You need to come up with some new comebacks," Hazel says. "Fuck you is getting really lame." She bounds off to the bathroom, where she can still hear Tíbor sneezing tremendously in the other room, poor guy. She finds a box of tissues under the sink and brings it to Tíbor, who's blowing his nose into his soaked handkerchief. "Toss that," she says distastefully. "It's not doing you any good at this point." She hands him the box of tissues, which Tíbor quickly utilizes.

“Nngxxxth! Nngu’zzetCh! Hizzz’shhiu! Ett’NGXTIU!”

"Holy shit," Hazel says. "Ah, sorry. Just shit. Plain, non-holy shit." She giggles a little despite Tíbor's look of disgust. 

"I'm glad this is funny to you," he snaps. "No really. I'm so, so... Glad... Ht'kshht!"

"Alright, that's enough," she sighs, sitting on the edge of the couch and handing him a tissue. "I'm sure you're miserable, so just relax. Do you need anything? Besides this day to be over."

Tíbor blows his nose and then coughs a few times into the tissue. He doesn't have quite the same presence to him when he's like this, Hazel thinks to herself. "Dunno,” he groans.

"Tea?" 

"...If you think it'd help."

"Tea always helps," Hazel said confidently, although she wasn't so sure how demon biology worked. Then again, tea was about comfort more than anything for humans anyways, so it should work the same. She stood to go make him some in the kitchen. "Wait here."

"Not going anywhere," Tíbor replies sarcastically. Indeed, she knows he doesn't move because she can hear him sneezing from the bedroom the entire time she brews them each a cup of black tea. When she returns Tíbor looks exhausted. "This is your fault," he accused her. "I wouldn't have to be here still if you just made up your mind."

"Fine. I wish you'd stop sneezing before your brains drip out of your nostrils, assuming you actually have a brain. That good enough?" 

"No." 

"Didn't think so. Drink up."

Tíbor manages about half the cup before he shoves it hastily in Hazel's direction. "Hazel, I'm gonna-" She barely grabs the cup away from him before he starts sneezing again.

“Hhh-hekgxt! KeTCHhhsu! ETCHhhhiu! Ha-ETCSCHEW!!"

"Gesundheit," Hazel says. 

"Thought you said tea would help," Tíbor whined, sniffling into yet another tissue. He's going through them like hot cakes.

"So finish yours," Hazel says, handing the cup back to him. "It's tea though, it's not a sedative." 

"That would be fucking amazing," Tíbor mutters. He finished the cup anyways. His eyes are drooping tiredly. 

Hazel takes the empty mug away from him and places it on the bedside table. "Have you rested at all?"

"Not really," Tíbor says. "Haven't been able to stop - nn'gshhu!! - sneezing."

"Thanks for the demonstration," Hazel smirks. "Why don't you get some sleep?" 

Tíbor yawns. "You sure that tea wasn't a sedative?" He asks, lying down on the couch. "Made me kinda sleepy." 

"It's just comforting like that," Hazel informs him. 

She stands up, ready to start her own day that doesn't involve babysitting a sneezing demon. She walks to the door, two empty mugs in hand, and is nearly gone when she hears a very small, "Thanks," from under the covers.

Hazel bites her lip and smiles. "No problem. Sleep well, Tíb."

#24snzvalentines #snzblr #snz fic #other people's ocs #snz ocs #oc: Tíbor #oc: Hazel #snz #sickfic #snez

[danses-with-dogmeat]

F is for -- Fawkes

I'm so glad he won this poll, honestly. Writing for Fawkes just gives me life <3

Also, holy crap, I gasped when I drew this line for him from the dialogue prompts. It's perfect.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this bit of sweetness as much as I loved writing it! 😊

Literally was so excited for this one, that it was the first of the 2k celebration prompts that I started

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: Fawkes x F!Lone

Dialogue: “I never knew that I could feel this loved."

Word: Forever

Rating: SFW

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1k

Fawkes grinned as he ducked through the threshold of the front door, nodding approvingly at the smooth way the hinges yielded so easily as he closed the door behind him. 

So many improvements to make still, and yet… This dwelling is more of a home than any place I’ve found myself in prior. 

Or any Lone has lived in. 

That thought comforted him as he moved towards the kitchen, a mouthwatering smell drifting to his marred nose he rounded the corner. At the same time, gentle music sounded from the radio sitting on the counter, lulling him further into this sense of domestic bliss. He sighed as his eyes caught Lone’s form, as she floated from the fridge to the stove, and, not for the first time in the months since the Enclave were wiped out and Project Purity was finally completed, he found himself wondering if he were dreaming. 

After all they had gone through, the trials, the violence, the loss… He wondered if it would ever be possible for the pair to move on, for his Lone, his love… to be happy. As with most situations though, Lone defied all that Fawkes believed was possible. She went beyond his hopes and dreams for her, conquered everything the cruel wasteland threw at her, cared for him so wholly, even as he continued being unable to fathom such things, and now…here they were. 

Existing peacefully; cooking, gardening, reading, dancing, living, in a way the supermutant had never imagined anyone could, so close to the horrors permeating the Capital Wasteland. The way anyone could here, now. Maybe before the bombs and the vaults, the raiding and the wars, the existence of what he’s become, and what Lone has always, not overlooked, but embraced more gracefully than he, himself ever could. 

It was something that Fawkes had no words for.

The gratitude he felt. The affection he held for her was more sacred than anything else he could imagine in his long life, and yet still, it paled in comparison to her own, if she could love him, the way he was now. 

Lone was humming along to the tunes drifting through the air as Fawkes quietly approached from behind, her body jolting only slightly as he lightly placed his hands at her hips and laid a kiss to her head. 

“Anyone else would’ve hit you with their spoon if you snuck up on them like that.” She said with narrow eyes turned to him, and a chuckle rumbled through his chest. 

“That is why I risked it, you see. For even the wrath of your wooden spoon could not deter my show of affection for you.” Fawkes lowered his head in time for his eyes to catch the smile that spread her lips as he spoke. 

“That so, huh?” She continued stirring the vegetables in the pan before her, even as Fawkes nuzzled further into her soft hair. 

He just couldn’t help but be close to her. 

Ever since that fateful day at the Jefferson Memorial, when he’d nearly lost her, he relished Lone being beside him, within his reach. 

She giggled at the way his breath tickled her skin. 

“What’s all this for, love?” She turned around in his embrace, leaving the spoon in the pan as she faced him, and wrapping her own arms around his broader waist. “Really, it’s just dinner, you don't have to act like I'm making miracles in here…” 

Fawkes shook his head as he looked down at her, raising one hand to gently move a stray hair from her face. 

“Do you know the date, Lone?” 

Her brows furrowed at that as she looked blankly towards his chest, as though the answer could be found there. 

“Six months ago, today, we decided to move forward in our relationship.” 

“Only six months?” Her eyes widened, and he felt her body stiffen in his embrace. “It feels like it’s been so much longer than that… all that’s happened…” 

“I know.” He said softly, as he stroked his thumb over her cheek. 

“I’m sorry, I just… How could I have forgotten? Are you sure?” 

Lone looked worried now, and Fawkes felt a pang in his chest. 

“I am certain, yes, but… It’s as you said. So much has happened, so much that you’ve been through in such a short time. I would never blame you, I… I only realized myself when I was in the garden.” 

“Well, dammit. If I’d known, I would’ve planned something. Something to celebrate, you know?” 

“Being here with you now…” Fawkes tightened his embrace, folding her into his arms until she nearly vanished within his bulk, “It is celebration enough, my dear.” 

“I know, but…” She trailed off as she hugged him back, her face pressed firmly to his chest, arms wrapped about him so tightly, her fingers could almost reach each other behind him. “We’re together all the time, and as wonderful as that is, I don’t know… It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Lone.” Fawkes felt another ache in his chest as he pulled back, leaning down to look her earnestly in the eye as both hands released her waist in favor of caressing her face gently. “I assure you, it is more than enough. To be with you this way… I never knew I could feel this loved. I hardly knew what the word meant before you, and every day that I spend with you by my side quickly becomes my fondest memory.” 

Her hands moved to smooth over the backs of his as she grinned tearily, her cheeks squishing beneath the pressure of both their touches so endearingly, Fawkes couldn’t help but press forward to capture her sweet lips in a chaste kiss. 

Quickly, before he could properly pull away, her hands opted to bring his face closer to hers, before wrapping about the bulk of his shoulders, drawing him nearer as she prolonged the tender contact. 

Fawkes’s chest warmed now, at the feeling of her, and he knew that he was telling her the pure, and honest truth. 

This, right here. It was more than enough. 

#2k event #2k celebration #secret event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout 3 #fo3 #fallout 3 companions #fallout fawkes #fawkes fo3 #fawkes x lone

[nekoashiii]

More questions for teen reader au! (If thats ok)

1. Does reader have any special powers/abilities?

2. Will reader ever say how they got to teyvat(being isekai'd)?

3. How would reader rule over teyvat?

Love this au

You are more than welcomed to send me asks about any au, I enjoy writing about it!

Previous parts ──‌➤‌‌ 1, 2,

1- Explaining is a bit difficult but well, yes and no. Reader doesn't have vision like powers or they can't just levitate.

But that doesn't mean they are powerless, you see anything they talk to responds back to them, for example, they look at a mirror and the reflection waves at her, or she talks to a pen and the pen starts writing on something to respond back, what in the Disney shit

And no one is really safe from their powers, they whisper to themselves about how they wished today weather was stormy and boom, the sky will start to rumble at their will.

Same goes with this, zhongli and other are walking with reader in the palace (more like them following reader everywhere since this is the more realistic way au)

Reader decides that they are tired of this shit and runs to another corner of the manor with the acolytes chasing them, they do find reader but before they can get anywhere close, walls appear infront of you and separate the acolytes and reader. Teyvat only listen to the creator, you.

2- Tbh they can say whatever they want and their words hold the price of gold, diamonds, their words are precious. However, on this matter even if they do say how they got here or what a device is, no one really understands, they don't have the brain cells to understand what the absolute hell is a phone (unless you are talking to albedo or Dottore) Still they think you are a god in that world as well, a world full of gods. So it would be counted as something holy to explain to them how you descended. (You can bet your ass they will teach kids at school about this)

3-readers place in like.. a massive building, 100 times bigger than a normal castle you see in a Chinese drama.

It's like absolutely massive, even living in it for 3 months you still haven't explored some parts of it

Important business will be moved near your palace since that city is now the capital of teyvat.

Ayato, Pantalone, ningguang, etc.. they would move in. Yes move in. They managed to use Suger coated words and guilt trip you into letting them move in the palace so they would be close to you, and plus their business would boost like 0 to 100

But you don't stay in your palace all the time, you have other places to stay at for 1 month, inazuma, liyue, fontain, mondstad, Snezhnaya, etc..

And your clothing changes to the style of the country, exp: inazuma: kimonos with lavish hairpins, liyue: (I forgot what the name is but I added a picture)

As I like to add, the clothes you wear is genuinely not even fun anymore

I did some research and the weight of the crown you should wear is around..8-20 kg.

DO YOU KNOW HOW HEAVY THAT IS?? And the long dresses you can trip on 💀

Example if you are over 14:

Keep in mind that you change clothes when you visit other countries

Liyue: china,‌ ‌Inazuma: japan ,‌ Mondstadt: Germany,‌ ‌Snezhnaya:Russia

Take liyue clothing as an example for this

3- alot of people would not expect this but, you are not really free like those sagau fics you read. If we are talking realistic, you aren't allowed to even step a foot outside without an army of people trailing behind you

Keeping that in mind, your word is law, what you desire is law, you want students to have 6 months of break instead of 3? Say less.

So yes politic spins around you. It's a different case if reader is young. In that case the archons would take control with your premission until you are 13.

And if you are over 15, you should review the rules of each country and correct and add stuff if you like.

#sagau #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau yandere #x reader #yandere cult genshin #sagau fatui #yandere sagau #sagau zhongli #sagau inazuma #sagau mondstadt #sagau fatui harbingers