#and the discovery is NOT unwanted

[sas-soulwriter]

Creative misfortunes for characters

Identity Crisis: Have your character lose their memory, forcing them to rediscover their true self and past.

Betrayal by a Loved One: A close friend or family member betrays the character's trust, leading to emotional turmoil and inner conflict.

Physical Transformation: Give your character a physical ailment or transformation that they must come to terms with, such as sudden blindness, a debilitating illness, or turning into a different species.

Unrequited Love: Make your character fall deeply in love with someone who doesn't reciprocate their feelings, causing heartache and a quest for self-discovery.

Financial Ruin: Strip your character of their wealth and privilege, forcing them to adapt to a life of poverty and face the harsh realities of the world.

False Accusation: Have your character falsely accused of a crime they didn't commit, leading to a desperate quest to clear their name.

Natural Disaster: Place your character in the path of a devastating natural disaster, such as a hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami, and force them to survive and rebuild.

Loss of a Sense: Take away one of your character's senses (e.g., sight, hearing, taste) and explore how they adapt and cope with this profound change.

Forced Isolation: Trap your character in a remote location, like a deserted island, and make them confront their inner demons while struggling to survive.

Haunted Past: Reveal a dark secret from your character's past that comes back to haunt them, threatening their relationships and well-being.

Time Travel Consequences: Send your character back in time, but make them inadvertently change a crucial event in history, leading to unintended consequences in the present.

Psychological Breakdown: Push your character to the brink of a mental breakdown, exploring the complexities of their psyche and their journey towards recovery.

Unwanted Prophecy: Have your character be the subject of a prophecy they want no part of, as it places them in grave danger or disrupts their life.

Loss of a Loved One: Kill off a beloved character or make your protagonist witness the death of someone close to them, igniting a quest for revenge or justice.

Incurable Curse or Disease: Curse your character with an incurable ailment or supernatural curse, and follow their journey to find a cure or accept their fate.

Sudden Disappearance: Make a character disappear mysteriously, leaving the others to search for them and uncover the truth.

Betrayal of Morals: Force your character into a situation where they must compromise their ethical values for a greater cause, leading to moral dilemmas and internal conflict.

Loss of a Precious Object: Have your character lose a cherished possession or artifact that holds sentimental or magical significance, setting them on a quest to recover it.

Political Intrigue: Place your character in a position of power or influence, then subject them to political intrigue, manipulation, and power struggles.

Existential Crisis: Make your character question the meaning of life, their purpose, and their place in the universe, leading to a philosophical journey of self-discovery.

Remember that misfortunes should serve a purpose in your story, driving character growth, plot development, and thematic exploration.

#writing #writing advice #writers block #just writer things #creative writing #fanfiction writing #writing motivation #writeblr #original writing #writing reference #writing tips #writers on tumblr #writing resources #writing tip #writing encouragement #writblr #writing community #writers #world building #point of view #editing #character creation #dialogue #mine. #words

[aweina]

୨୧. honest eyes — mortal kombat one. kameos : raiden. johnny cage + kenshi takahashi & liu kang

when you stare at their hands for too long.

raiden was confused at first. he was not dreaming, right? he knew his small crush on you could make him overthink certain interactions, but the more he quietly observed you, he realized that your mindless staring was in fact, reality. coming into terms with this realization was hard for raiden, dissecting every possible outcome as to why your unreadable gaze seemed so glued to him. ignoring this dilemma sounds more unnerving, offering him temporary peace, and so he did. but only then the limelight that you unintentionally showered over him the past few days left him flustered and somewhat clumsy. it only began to worsen when he caught your intense gaze on his quivering hands, the warm tea swishing around the small ceramic cup. silence fell between the two of you, with raiden watching your eyes drag over the fine details of his hands — rough from working in the fields yet gentle with anything he touched. “what’s so particular about my hands that you seem to like so much?” it took a bit of courage to ask, but he was pleased to see you gaze away nervously, sputter something incoherent, just like he would with you. maybe his crush wasn’t actually one-sided all along.

johnny never seemed to notice your blatant staring, or so you thought. under the foggy lenses and his humorous exterior, his was incredibly sharp when it came to observing his surroundings — particularly you drooling over the sight of his hands. after making such a huge discovery, he has been absolutely insufferable and loud. the flirty little comments you’ve received became much bolder, he was more expressive with his hands — pointing things directly by your face and “casually” articulating them around every time he talked. he would even exaggeratedly stretch out his limbs as his ring gleaming under a nonexistent light — the wolf whistle was the cherry on top. despite all his teasing gestures, you still gazed hungrily over the callouses and subtle veins that swelled over his skin. with his strong fingers dancing along your knee, you try to keep his movement still, tracing over his hands carefully once he complied. “take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he snickers at his own joke, but this was his idea after all. next time, he’ll make sure to get a few angles saved in his camera roll.

kenshi has always been particularly tense when it came to unwanted attention. that’s why he instantly felt your lingering gaze — like he had a sixth sense. but confusion dawned upon him. what were you staring at? he learned to be cautious about his appearance, hiding his troubling past under long sleeve shirts and keeping a calm demeanor to not scare off others. yet you constantly assured him that his former affiliation with the yakuza didn’t bother you. it’s when he’s eating idly in the dinning hall of the academy, kenshi felt your unwavering eyes on him again. this time he followed the tilt of your head, noticing a blush on your blank features, and finally stopping at his rough tattooed hands. he’s heard of this before, a hand fetish? kenshi smirks knowingly, placing his utensils on the table as he raises a hand over your hard gaze. “if you wanted to look, you should’ve just asked.” he teases with a smile, lowering his hand to let let your fingertips ghost over his inked skin — something that he would never let anyone else do.

liu kang did not need his divine intuition to notice your unwavering eyes — it was quite obvious and rather amusing. when he crafted this new timeline, he never suspected that you would ever see him in a certain light. although he usually wears hand wraps on a daily basis, there are rare occasions when he would rather continue his routine without a tight fit pressing fine lines onto his skin. with your curious presence sifting through the halls of the fire temple, liu kang feels it’s only natural to shred off the one thing that taunts your prying gaze. your subtle reactions to his rare exposure never failed to make him smile. now, you sit alongside the fire god in a daze — mesmerized by the veins and small cuts that decorated his hands. liu kang gently held your smaller hand, applying a soothing balm over your healing cut. his glowing eyes flicker to your lingering stare, openly gawking at his hands and periodically, dragging along his inked muscles. that’s when he suddenly broke out laughing, breaking you out of a trance. “your gaze never seems to falter, huh?” he keeps a firm grip on your hand when you try to flee away, basking in your flustered eyes.

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

#.୨୧ ina writes #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x reader #raiden x reader #johnny cage x reader #kenshi x reader #liu kang x reader

[resistanceisfeudal]

I'm catching up with season 4 of Discovery (currently on episode 9: Rubicon), and I think that I like it's take on "antagonist with understandable motivations" for a couple of reasons:

The dilemma the federation is faced with is genuinely a difficult situation. Michael's argument is morally righteous but also possibly naively optimistic. Meanwhile Book is gunning for something for something intuitive but also potentially incredibly dangerous. Everyone is terrified and varying degrees of traumatised and are faced with a stupidly difficult choice. I like that it's complicated and gnarly and not obvious

The crew itself is torn between options. Just because the course of action is decided doesn't mean it's over or that people aren't conflicted. Also how michael and book aren't suddenly enemies over it - the affection is still palpable despite the pain of the rift between them. It feels realistic

Crucially, team peacemaking and team "choose violence" are not the Liberal establishment and lefty activists respectively (like they so often are in these stories). Instead, team "blow shit up" is spearheaded by an asshole tech bro leveraging other people's pain to get them to back his plan.

To me this makes it a much more meaningful story about choosing peace because it's not about chastising people for fighting back against oppression, but about wars and people who start them.

Watch this all get made redundant by whatever happens next lol. Idk I just thought it was neat

#tonic's unwanted star trek opinions #star trek: discovery

[maximilfisms]

draw me like i'm one of your french girls | thérèse raquin x fem!reader

Summary: Thérèse, trapped in her unwanted marriage to Camille, seeks comfort in Y/N, the talented artist who painted her husband's portrait, in the form of an illicit rendezvous. Or a glimpse on one of those nights where Y/N would sneak into Madame Raquin's shop, fulfill Thérèse's needs, and disappear like ghosts in the air.

Word count: 2k+

Tags: 18+, smut, fingering, cheating, semi-public sex? idk, but they almost got caught, bottom!thérèse, top!reader, what's proofreading?, MDNI!

this is my first fic, and i honestly don't even know what i am doing rip

The moonlight shone its faint light to the labyrinthine streets of Paris, where gaslights cast flickering shadows upon the cobblestone alleys, and the whispers of clandestine affairs lingered like the fragrance of aged wine. Thérèse found solace in the hidden corners of a city draped in secrets. The narrow passages, cloaked in the heavy scent of impending rain, and the hushed murmur of distant voices all served as the backdrop for her forbidden love. It was within this maze of dimly lit alleyways, where the echoes of the footsteps of busy Parisians harmonized with the nocturnal symphony of the city, that she navigated the complexities of their entangled destinies.

The bedroom, perched on the second floor of her aunt, Madame Raquin's shop, became their clandestine haven—a sanctuary veiled in heavy drapes, the creaking sighs of weathered floorboards, and the gaslights flickered outside, transforming her marital bedroom into a cocoon where the artistry of their passion unfolded. The ambient glow painted an intimate tapestry upon the walls, revealing the shared vulnerability of two souls seeking refuge in the shadows.

The air itself seemed to hold the whispers of lovers from eras past, a blend of the city's musky perfume and the intoxicating aroma of forbidden desire. Thérèse, adorned in the trappings of societal expectations, stood before her woman with a yearning that mirrored the palpable tension of the quiet night. Y/N, the painter with fingers that could evoke emotion from pigments, gazed at Thérèse as if deciphering the poetry etched upon her soul. The dim light filtered through the bedroom's heavy drapes, casting Thérèse's silhouette in a dance of shadows that accentuated the soft curves of her vulnerability, and Y/N, a connoisseur of emotion, observed with an artist's discerning eye—a voyeur capturing the essence of clandestine passion in each subtle movement.

"Draw me like I'm one of your French girls," Thérèse whispered, her voice a soft plea that echoed in the dimly lit room, where their secret unfolded against the backdrop of Paris's clandestine allure.

Y/N, attuned to the nuances of their surroundings, nodded in silent agreement despite the subtle yet genuine smile that graced her lips. The room, a haven shrouded in the mysteries of the night, bore witness to the illicit dance of two souls—a dance painted with the strokes of desire, vulnerability, and the unspoken language of their love.

Y/N's hands moved with purpose, much like the strokes of a brush in a canvas that became an intimate exploration of Thérèse's essence. Her slender fingers brushed Thérèse's shoulders, sliding off the brunette's dress off of it, watching as the fabric fell onto her feet. Y/N's eyes glimmered with sheer affection for the woman, her point finger tracing Thérèse's prominent collarbones, down to her sternum, where the valley's of her breasts lay, waiting to be worshiped.

“You truly are a work of art, mon amour,” The artist whispered as she leaned in to place chaste kisses on her soft neck, and Y/N's hands palmed the supple flesh of Thérèse's breasts, touch as tender as the stroke of an artist's brush. Each caress of the canvas mirrored the unspoken language that flowed between them—the language of love that dared not speak its name in the harsh light of day.

Yet, the threat of discovery loomed above them like a guillotine, sharp and unforgiving. Camille, Thérèse's unsuspecting husband, engaged in games just outside, unaware of the symphony of passion that played out on the shop's second floor, on their marital bed.

"We must be cautious," Thérèse whispered, her eyes darting towards the creaking floorboards below. "Madame Raquin and Camille must not suspect."

Y/N, whose heart beat in rhythm with Thérèse's, nodded solemnly. "Our love is a secret garden, Thérèse, one that flourishes in the shadows but withers in the harsh light of judgment.” She spoke as her hands went to cradle Thérèse's cheeks. “I promise to be careful.”

The bedroom, once a marital sanctuary for Thérèse and Camille, transformed into the backdrop of an illicit affair. The fear of discovery heightened the intensity of their connection, turning stolen kisses into acts of rebellion against a world that sought to confine them.

Outside, the city's heartbeat continued, oblivious to the symphony of emotions that echoed within the four walls of the bedroom. Thérèse, her heart torn between duty and desire, reached out to Y/N, their fingers entwining in a silent vow that defied the constraints of their reality.

With the air thick of passion, tender affections, and fear, all that had happened went on like a blur. Both women couldn't remember who leaned in first to trap their lips into a fiery but loving embrace, and yet, the flickering candlelight cast an ethereal glow upon their entangled bodies, the shadows playing upon the tapestry of their clandestine love. Y/N dared to speak, to try and use the last of her reason, to attempt at stopping herself despite knowing that she had gone far too deep, but, Thérèse, overcome by the weight of societal expectations, pressed a trembling finger to Y/N's lips, silencing the unspoken fears that lingered between them.

No words were needed as the artist took the initiative and resumed their kiss, her lips brushing against Thérèse's as the bedroom became a cocoon, shielding them from the judgmental eyes of society. The intimacy between them, though a spark in the vast darkness, burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

Y/N carefully lay the woman beneath her to the plush bed, hands exploring Thérèse's skin like a caveman threading a path in the unfamiliar wilderness. The tips of her fingertips toyed with Thérèse's hardened nipples, eliciting held back whimpers from the woman laying beneath her.

“Y/N…” Thérèse whispered, but she only gave her woman a smile in response, taking the other nipple to her mouth, and sucking on it like a newborn starved. Thérèse closed her eyes shut, body overwhelmed by the sensations of Y/N's worship, only for those brown orbs to flutter open along with her mouth as two fingers eased their way to her core.

A sly smile tugged in the corners of Y/N's pink lips, gazing up at Thérèse whose pupils were blown wide, and mouth covered with one hand, containing the noises that ought to escape her with each thrust of the artist's long and slender fingers in her tight pussy.

Thérèse's labored breathing, accompanied with the wet sloshing sounds created by her dripping entrance and Y/N's fingers, were the only sounds heard in the stillness of the night. That was before a sudden creaking of the weathered floorboards interrupted the women's intimate bubble, sending shivers down Thérèse's spine. Her eyes widened, but Y/N did not pull back even as her breath was caught in the suspense of the moment. Instead, her fingers only went faster, opting to guide the writhing woman below her to the pinnacle of her high, and the contracting of Thérèse's pussy against her fingers only served as an indication that she was on the right track.

Thérèse struggled to finish the sentence as she held back her moans in between, "Our world would crumble." Y/N hummed in approval as she leaned in to Thérèse's clit, using her tongue to stimulate the woman's bundle of nerves that only made it harder for the latter to control her sounds, more so as she came all over Y/N's face and fingers, legs trembling as the artist's fingers slowed down its thrusts, prolonging the release.

"Quiet, amour," Y/N whispered breathily, a twinge of worry in their voice amidst the obvious arousal. "If Madame Raquin or Camille were to hear—"

The bedroom, though once a haven for marital vows, now bore witness to a love that dared to defy the norms of its time. Thérèse and Y/N, in the quiet moments between heartbeats, exchanged vows that resonated with the soulful ache of a love that existed in the shadows. The night wore on, and with each passing moment, the threat of exposure intensified. Thérèse, torn between the intoxication of love and the fear of societal retribution, felt the weight of their clandestine affair like a stone pressing against her chest. The gaslights outside continued to flicker, casting a gentle glow upon the tangled sheets that bore witness to the stolen moments of Thérèse and Y/N's clandestine affair. The night, though silent, echoed with the lingering whispers of a love that dared to exist in the shadows of the city.

In the quiet aftermath of their shared passion, the room held the remnants of their intimate communion. Thérèse, her senses heightened by the mingling scents of jasmine and musk, traced her fingers along Y/N's bare chest—the contours of a lover and confidante. The air, once heavy with fear, now carried the sweet echo of their shared pleasure. Y/N, eyes filled with a tenderness that mirrored Thérèse's, brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face.

"You don't know what you do to me, Thérèse," Y/N murmured, their voice a soothing melody that hung in the air. "I hear your voice in my dreams, feel the ghosts of your touch on my body, and crave you like I haven't satiated myself in years."

Thérèse, still lost in the aftermath of their intimacy, met Y/N's gaze with a mixture of gratitude and longing. The world outside, with its judgmental eyes and societal expectations, felt distant—a mere whisper in the night.

"Promise me, Y/N," Thérèse pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper. "Promise me that our love will endure, that it will be a persevering flame against the winds of adversity."

Y/N, caressing Thérèse's cheek with a touch that bordered on reverence, responded, "I don't have to promise anything, Thérèse. Like the stars above, I know our hearts will shine even in the darkest nights."

The bedroom, once charged with the tension of secrecy, now cradled the two lovers in a post-coital embrace. Their entangled limbs spoke of a passion that transcended societal norms, a love that flourished in the clandestine corners of their shared existence.

In the silence that followed, Y/N traced circles on Thérèse's skin, each touch a reassurance of their shared vulnerability. The room, steeped in the essence of their intimacy, held the echoes of their whispered promises and the delicate symphony of their love. The shadows, once a cloak for their secret desires, now danced upon the walls like witnesses to a tale written in the language of tender glances and lingering touches.

Thérèse, her senses attuned to the lingering traces of their passion, gazed into Y/N's eyes as if searching for the permanence of their connection. Y/N, the artist who knew how to breathe life into moments, held Thérèse with a gaze that mirrored the profound depth of their shared intimacy.

As the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of soft pink, Thérèse and Y/N lay intertwined, bodies and souls entwined in a tapestry of shared vulnerability. The air, now tinged with the promise of a new day, carried the remnants of their intimacy—a scent that lingered like a secret between them.

"Promise me you'll come when I call again," Thérèse pleaded, her gaze locking with Y/N's in a silent pact. "When I need you the most, when I feel my cage even more… promise me you'll come running.”

Y/N, brushing a stray strand of hair from Thérèse's face, nodded with a smile etched on her face. "I'll be here before you know it."

As the sun rose, casting its golden rays upon the city of Paris, Thérèse and Y/N knew that the world awaited their departure from the intimate cocoon they had woven together. With a final, lingering kiss, Thérèse and Y/N parted ways, slipping into the daylight as if reentering a world that demanded conformity. The bedroom, now silent and empty, held the memories of their stolen moments—a gallery of passion that defied the limitations of societal norms.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x female reader #thérèse raquin #therese raquin #wanda maximoff x female reader #smut #in secret #wlw

[pedgito]

Request idea for Eddie and reader where one day she gets him a few new things like band tees a new pair of jeans a pair of sweat pants and maybe a pack of socks, and Eddie is so confused like why did you do this? I can’t really give you anything in return and she’s just like I was just thinking of you, I love you. And he’s never really had a thoughtful gesture like that.

author’s note: crying at the thought of this, i hope this does your request justice, i was too invested in the storyline of this lol.

cw: 18+ (to be safe) mentions of sex/roleplaying, sad eddie headcanons, reader being the best partner, eddie doesn’t know how to accept gifts, established relationship, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 1.7k

Eddie wasn’t used to new things. Everything he owned was either hand-me downs or well-loved from a secondhand store—or stolen, because yeah, he’d never had the easiest life. He lived in a mess, compiling almost too much stuff at a certain point, too afraid to part with anything because every piece had some type of meaning to him and he was scared to lose things. Everything always left him, people included, and it was a constant fear that he lived with.

When he meets you, he latches on immediately. But, you start to recognize the patterns early, his obsessive nature with collecting and always taking what was offered to him without question, even if he didn’t really need it, even if didn’t really want it. Eddie had always been raised to appreciate everything, even the most mundane.

Wayne bought him his first guitar, used and always slightly out tune, but it was his first love. So, when he wanted more and couldn’t scrounge up the money, he improvised. He’s never been proud of his habits, even if he didn’t steal anymore—it was a reminder of where he came from, the obvious missing piece in his life that reminded him how unwanted he was. His father left him alone, his mother having been taken much too soon. Wayne was there to mend the broken state of that boy, but he was never well and truly fixed.

His jacket is the one thing he has that’s semi-new. He’d collected the pieces over time, a true creation of his own. There wasn’t a single thing like it in the world, that’s why it was considered new—even if it was falling apart at the seams and constantly having to be sewn back up.

He hates when you clean up his room, afraid he might lose something important—but the whole idea was that you wanted to make sure everything was organized, to relieve the panic he always felt when he couldn’t find something.

When he finally relents, it’s a mountain of discoveries that lead you to the final decision. Eddie needed something new, something untouched and untainted, all his own.

Holes in his socks, his boxers—rips in old shirts that clearly didn’t fit him anymore, jeans marked up in sharpie and shoes that were barely hanging on, worn down to the sole. Despite the obsessive amount of graphic shirts he owned, he always cycled through the same eight or nine, one for each of his favorite bands and a couple Hellfire shirts. His jeans were all black, accompanied with the same rips, though in unique places for each pair. He didn’t own a suit, nothing of the sort—not even a fancy jacket or nice dress shirt.

He always complained about wanting to dress up for you but feeling like it wasn’t worth it, knowing he’d ultimately look like a fool. It wasn’t true, Eddie just didn’t have the money to manage treating himself to something nice. Wayne worked long hours but the pay was horrible, only managing enough to pay bills and put food on the table—and Eddie’s dealing business wasn’t exactly booming, especially when half of his profits went back to Rick.

Luckily you were slightly better off, having never fallen on hardships as hard as Eddie. You didn’t have to work, didn’t have to worry, and Eddie envied you greatly. But, he always noted how you were different from the others at school—the ones who had money, showed it off. You were humble, you kept to yourself, and you never tried to shove it in Eddie’s face.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that you wanted so desperately to treat Eddie, even if he ended up hating you for it. Because if there was anyone he’d refuse to receive gifts from, it was you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t putting up with it this time.

Eddie comes home late on a Friday night, fresh off the adrenaline of his performance at The Hideout, practically bouncing with the lingering energy. He pounces onto you immediately, hands slipping up under your thighs to lift you up, a surprised squeal leaving your mouth.

“Eddie, put me down,” You beg through a weak laugh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, feet hitting the floor soon after, “thank you.”

He smiles slightly, eyes darkening with excitement—you knew what he wanted, what he needed, but you needed to get out your surprise first and let him decide then. He doesn’t even notice how spotless the trailer is until he’s peeking into the fridge, the normal, mucky smell now gone.

“Don’t tell me Wayne started sleeping with that one lady again,” Eddie says offhandedly, because you knew just as much about that situation as he did, having lived through the chaos, “last thing we need is her stealing from my stash again, even if she does clean the place spotless.”

“Wayne would never,” You assure him, “not after that shit we gave him for it.”

Wayne was lonely—but it wasn’t lost on him that he had Eddie, and you by association. He’d retired from the dating life soon after a few bad run-ins, settling for nights in with both of you and home-cooked meals when Eddie was busy with his own stuff and you couldn’t keep your hands and feet out of the kitchen.

“It was me,” You shrug, “I got bored and this place reeked.”

“Yeah—and now it smells like a fuckin’ lemon cake.” Eddie grimaces slightly, nose scrunching up in minor disgust.

Your eyes narrow a little, threateningly as you approach him.

“I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it.” Eddie recovers, “fuckin’ love lemons, you know?”

“Uh huh,” You answer mockingly, draping your arms over his neck and forcing him to look at you, eyes gliding over your expression curiously, “—I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Eddie perks up at that, “Please tell me it involves sex.”

His fingers are crossed from where they rest at your waist, wishing and hoping.

“Not quite,” You tell him with a short laugh, “it’s not off the table, though.”

And Eddie doesn’t have any idea what it could be if not that, letting you drag him by his hand to his room, forcing his eyes closed as you cross the threshold.

You reach for the stack of clothes and new pair of shoes and place them into his waiting hands, his face turning up in confusion as he feels it out with his thumbs.

“Role playing, babe—“ Eddie smiles widely, “you really shouldn’t have.”

“No, it’s—“

But, Eddie continues on.

“I know I mentioned something about an elf princess and a knight but we need to, like, plan that out—I had a script planned and everything—“

“Eddie, it’s not clothes for role playing.” You tell him monotone, patting his cheek lightly until his eyes flutter open, glancing down at the clothes briefly before it clicks with him, eyes turning up to you wide and bereft.

“Hey, no—“ Eddie says immediately, voice soft, “I told you no gifts, I don't need them.”

“Shut it, Munson.” You warn lovingly, pushing the clothes back toward his chest that he extends to you, “You don’t get to treat me to things without at least getting something in return.”

“Eating in the parking lot of Benny’s is pretty lame, you know.”

You smile fondly, thinking of all the small, practical dinners you’d have after a long day at school—finding it best to unwind over a burger, feet propped up over Eddie’s lap, the wrapper of his burger resting over the top of your shins and sometimes he’d drop a topping on purpose just to find a reason to touch you. It never failed to make you laugh, watching his tongue swipe against your skin to wipe it clean.

“It’s not,” You tell him honestly, “it’s what I love about you.”

Eddie huffs slightly at that, looking down at the clothes with a tinge of sadness.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Eddie insists, “I have plenty of clothes.”

“But nothing new,” You point out, “fresh off the rack, tags attached—I even got you a new pair of Reebok’s.”

Eddie can’t deny how crisp they look, so drastically different from the shoes on his own feet—a half size to small now and ripping at the seams.

“They are nice,” He smirks slightly, “I just—I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say thank you,” You tell him, “I know it’s implied.”

Eddie drops the clothes abruptly on the bed, opting to grab your face with his hands, touching as gently as ever.

“I love you.” The words hit just as strong each time, his eyes watering slightly but not quite reaching the point of tears.

“I know,” You smile, bottom lip pulled between your teeth briefly, “they can be your dress up clothes, yeah?”

Eddie snorts, pressing his mouth against your forehead—not kissing, only touching, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s just some socks and underwear—a couple shirts and a pair of jeans, too. I can’t stand the holes, Eddie. I can’t.” Eddie nods knowingly, though the laugh he gives you is full of amusement at your obvious annoyance with the matter.

“I hope you weren’t trying to turn this into an opportunity for really sappy sex,” Eddie says, arms squeezing around your waist to lift you again, “I can’t do slow tonight, sweetheart.”

You nod slowly, “I hate slow,” You didn’t—it was actually nice, the tenderness Eddie showed when he took his time; soft touches, longing looks that made your face heat in embarrassment, knowing how badly he affected you, but the dirty sex was just as good, if not better, “you know that.”

Eddie kisses you quickly, fully, his hands squeezing at your thighs as he bounces you slightly, adjusting his hold on you.

“I meant what I said about the roleplay, by the way.” Eddie interjects, “I’ve got this vision and—“

If you didn’t stop him now, it would never end—so you kiss him quick, deeply, tongue dipping into his mouth and igniting a fire in the low pit of your belly that has Eddie moaning into your mouth.

“Shutting up, got it.” Eddie nods, finally taking the hint.

He doesn’t complain when you buy him new clothes anymore, accepting them with a soft smile and shy acknowledgement of appreciation—because he deserves it and he deserves you.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #my writing

[magickkate]

A Beginner's Guide: Exploring the Basics of Witchcraft

Are you intrigued by the mystical world of witchcraft and eager to begin your magical journey? Whether you're drawn to the art of spellcasting, divination, or connecting with nature's energies, the basics of witchcraft provide a solid foundation for your exploration. Here's a beginner's guide to help you embark on this enchanting path:

1. Understanding Witchcraft:

Witchcraft is a spiritual practice that encompasses a diverse range of traditions, each with its own beliefs and practices. It is fundamentally about harnessing personal power, connecting with nature, and creating positive change.

2. Embracing Your Path:

Witchcraft is highly personal, and there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Explore different traditions, read books, and listen to your intuition to discover what resonates with you. Your journey is uniquely yours.

3. The Power of Intention:

At the heart of witchcraft is intention. Your thoughts and feelings shape the energy you put into the universe. Clarify your goals, visualize your desires, and set clear intentions for your magical work.

4. Working with Energy:

We believe in the existence of energy that flows through everything. Learn to sense and manipulate this energy through practices like grounding, centering, and visualization.

5. Tools of the Craft:

While not mandatory, many witches use tools such as candles, crystals, herbs, and tarot cards to amplify their intentions. Familiarize yourself with these tools and choose the ones that resonate with you. Intention is your most powerful tool.

6. Moon Phases and Timing:

The phases of the moon play a significant role in witchcraft. Learn about the energy associated with each phase (new moon for beginnings, full moon for culmination) and align your magical workings accordingly.

7. Spellcasting Basics:

Spellcasting involves directing energy toward a specific goal. Start with simple spells, focusing on your intentions. Remember, the more aligned your actions are with your intention, the more powerful the spell.

8. Meditation and Visualization:

Cultivate a regular meditation practice to quiet the mind and enhance your ability to visualize. Visualization is a potent tool in spellcasting and energy work. This is so important for overall focus and mental clarity.

9. Protection and Grounding:

Before delving into magical practices, establish protection and grounding techniques. This ensures you are anchored in the present and shielded from unwanted energies.

10. Building an Altar:

An altar serves as a sacred space for your magical work. Personalize it with items that hold significance for you—crystals, candles, symbols, and representations of the elements.

11. Respect for Nature:

Witches often have a deep connection with nature. Spend time outdoors, observe the changing seasons, and incorporate natural elements into your practice.

12. Research and Learning:

Knowledge is a cornerstone of witchcraft. Read books, join online communities, and attend local events to expand your understanding of different traditions, rituals, and practices.

13. Ethics and Responsibility:

Ethical considerations are crucial in witchcraft. Respect the free will of others and act with responsibility and integrity.

14. Journaling Your Journey:

Keep a magical journal to document your experiences, spells, and reflections. This becomes a valuable resource for tracking your progress and understanding patterns in your magical work.

15. Embrace Your Unique Path:

Witchcraft is an ever-evolving journey. Embrace your uniqueness, trust your intuition, and allow your path to unfold organically. There are no rigid rules—only the ones you choose to follow on your enchanted journey.

Remember, the essence of witchcraft lies in the exploration of the self, the connection with the natural world, and the pursuit of personal growth. May your journey into witchcraft be filled with wonder, discovery, and the magic of self-discovery. 🔮🌙✨

My messages are open for questions and ideas! Happy Witching!

#queue the magick #witchcraft #witch #witchblr #magickkate #kitchen witch #sigils #protection magic #witchcore

[gladiolidiaries]

Must Read Drarry fics

A compilation of the crème de la crème Drarry, all the fics that I always go back to when I want to immerse myself in the Harry Potter universe. In no particular order.

Azoth by zeitgeistic 88k

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Right Hand Red by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) 73k

Harry felt Malfoy's breath on his lips as they came together over the bottle, hands firmly planted on the floor as though they each needed their familiar soil, refusing to cross into enemy territory.  Except that Malfoy no longer felt like his enemy. Malfoy felt inevitable.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound 149k

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi 57k

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Mental by sara_holmes 186k

Harry has had quite enough of sharing his mind with someone else, thankyouverymuch. A miscast Legilimecy spell says otherwise.

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrims0n 180k

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes.

Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You) by yourdifferentoctober 93k

When Harry Potter, of all people, offers to help Draco erase his Dark Mark, he has no choice but to accept. He wants it gone. He wants to forget. He wants to reconstitute the past. Never mind that erasures leave real marks on bodies, real traces on the world in its becoming. This is not how he expected his eighth year to go.

Tell Me a Secret by alexmeg 86k

In which the bond is rooted in their emotions, everything goes even more wrong, and Harry is certain that he and Draco could never feel what the curse wants them to feel for each other. Until Harry does.

The Ordeal of Being Known by louisfake 146k

When Auror Potter is anonymously cursed with silence by being forced to hide his own voice inside his mind, there's unfortunately only one person in the country with the qualifications to fix it: Certified and Licensed Healer Legilimens, Draco Malfoy, specialist in Mind Curses and Afflictions. It's obviously a terrible idea, a disaster waiting to happen, but Draco's never been able to back down from a challenge... especially from Potter.

Freedom to be by Quicksilvermaid 169k

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre 122k

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

The Claiming of Grimmauld Place by bixgirl1 74k

When Grimmauld Place begins fighting against Harry’s ownership of it, he decides he needs help to train the historic home — but little does he expect that it’ll be Malfoy who’s most suitable for the challenge. However, as Malfoy and Harry get closer, Harry comes to understand that expectations aren’t always the best path by which to guide his heart — and in the process learns just what is needed to make a house a home.

Lumos by birdsofshore 41k

Harry never expected to spend eighth year listening to Draco Malfoy wanking.

9 ½ Days by magpie_fngrl 69k

After the events at the Manor, Harry and Draco find themselves stranded in the countryside with a broken wand and Death Eaters on their tail. This is the story of an uneasy truce, featuring faerie forests, seaside caves, Romani camps, kind old ladies, and a shared bed in an attic. Or how two boys fell in love in the midst of a bloody coup.

The Sleeping Beauty Curse by who_la_hoop 152k

When Draco Malfoy falls into a cursed sleep and can only be woken – at least, according to the Daily Prophet, that impeccable source of truth – by ‘true love’s kiss’, Harry Potter knows there’s no way on earth he’s the answer to this particular riddle. Is he . . . ?

The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray (Elle_Gray) 85k

Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn't. Harry hasn't decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he's responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don't worry, there's tea!

That Old Black Magic by bixgirl1 77k

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.

Tales from the Special Branch by Femme (femmequixotic) 257k

Three months after their brief encounter, Draco has almost forgotten about Potter--or so he tells himself. Then a Dark wizard shows up on the Auror radar and all hell breaks loose. Draco will have to choose between everything he holds dear--everything he's worked so hard for--and a few stolen moments of passion with a certain green-eyed Inspector, once his sworn enemy and now something rather different entirely. He'll make the right choice, won't he? Who is he kidding? He'll ruin everything, as per usual. Bad choices and the name Malfoy go hand in hand.

Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by fencer_x 522k

‘Kill Albus Dumbledore’ is less a challenging task and more a suicide mission, so when Draco Malfoy is presented with the option to either dispatch his Headmaster or suffer an excruciating and most ignominious death of his own, along with his parents, he reaches deep into his black little Slytherin heart and manages to scrape together enough courage to go with option C instead: Spend Sixth Year secretly studying Animagecraft in the hopes he’ll turn into something sufficiently imposing even the Dark Lord himself won’t be able to keep Draco under his thumb. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

#this post will interest maybe 3 anons but it was fun making it #drarry #harry x draco #hpdm #harry potter

[insidefernweh]

Well, hello.

A couple months ago one silly woman (me) decided that it’s time for creativity to take a hold of her and let something cool into this world.

And that’s how I decided to give birth to…a The Amazing Devil blanket. Or I might have dreamed it whilst being feverish. Who knows.

It’s been three months of stitching, embroidering, sewing, unmaking the mistakes, cursing, saying ‘waahheeey’ at the end of the complete step, cursing again and enjoying the hell out of the process of something being made into the realness. 

It is literally the embodiment of me. I love it and hate it equally. It has got my favourite quotes from the songs. Yes, that’s me — your favourite girl with maelstrom of lyrics instead of a brain. It also has got some of my blood somewhere along the stitches (did i do it on purpose to please the fae gods aka Joey and Madeleine? you’ll never know. hashtag blood magic.) I wanted to get it done for the Ruin Appreciation Week (though it contains lyrics from all albums) so that was me last week because it was very FAR from being done:

I’m posting the bigger picture + close ups of smaller details and songs’ lyrics. Please feel free to reach out if you want to see a better close up or just to pat me on the head.

I’m posting a video too. It’s silly so enjoey. (ha! see what I did here. that was a typing accident. it’s 1am now. forgive me my jokes.)

warning: the video include some probably offensive actions to the professional seamstresses. i’m only a humble ignorant person who decided to sew for the first time in her life. i do hope you’ll like it.

references used:

the central embroidery: TAD’s old picture from some posters back in the love run era + some sage and forget-me-nots

top right and left bottom corners: pictures of joey and madeleine

songs: secret worlds, the calling, inkpot gods, drinking song for the socially anxious, chords, farewell wanderlust, not yet/love run (reprise), that unwanted animal, battle cries, elsa’s song, wild blue yonder

UPD: A few of you have been asking about the quotes I used on my blanket/quilt and why I chose them so here I am:

If you ask me for my fire, just watch me burn — you know what, I recently started to interpret this line in a positive way? It was a recent thing I understood about myself. I always thought I was good at working/doing things well in the long run, when you have to do it patiently and for years but in my journey of self-discovery I realized that in reality I’m much better as a sprinter — someone who does an incredible job while being under the vast amount of pressure and when you need to do it in a restricted period of time; I will give all of myself to this project/work, every bit of passion I have, every bit of patience. So yeah. If you ask me for my fire — just watch me burn. But then I’ll hibernate for a month. 

Can’t you hear it howling? — OKAY HANDS DOWN PROBABLY MY FAVOURITE LYRICS/MELODY SECTION FROM THE WHOLE RUIN ALBUM. Even not the part that is sung by Madeleine, but the back voices Joey’s harmonies sing in the final chorus at 4:28 and till the end. OOOOH WHY SO GOOD.

If I don’t make it back from where i’ve gone just know I loved you all along — this is such a beautiful closing of the song. also such a tormenting thought. i love it.

Such endless blue — I’ve always been drawn to the dark blue colours, especially when I paint. I always run out of the blue watercolour because contrary to this song, it’s not endless :D I’m manifesting an abyss of blue watercolour for myself here lol

You say the words so often but I barely know the meaning — okay so Elsa’ Song is primarily pretty heartbreaking right? The more heartbreaking part being that it is sung as a lullaby. Who didn’t have that moment when the meaning of the words you’re saying slips through your fingers just because you said them too often? Who didn’t have that sad awakening moment of losing trust in a person just because they always promised something and never did it?

After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last — I’ve been thinking about tattooing this quote for quite a while now. It reminds me of my depressive state which very often returned to me in summer and every time it slowly creeped away, I felt the hunger for life in the early autumn.  Every time felt like an eternity. 

Is nought but fumble-falls and guns and tumbleweeds, love, run — my favourite quote from the superior use of the English language that is that section in Love Run. I am in love with it. All the phonetic twirls makes me shiver sometimes.

Well, hello my hollow Holofernes — ALLITERATION SUPREMACY!!  

I’ll sing silence and ask my glass of wine for guidance — i love to sit at home alone and stare into my glass. it doesn’t answer though. what about it. and again — to sing silence? OXYMORONS GIVE ME THEM

Go tell me how we fucked you up and oh my god, it’s so unfair — ah. the hardship of parenting/teaching. I was there, I remember it all too well. 

Let’s us waltz for the dead — the oxymoronic style of this line IS JUST A CHEF’S KISS. WALTZ? VERY SOPHISTICATED THING? FOR THE DEAD? NOT THAT PLEASANT TYPE OF A THING? mister batey let me boop you affectionately on the nose you are so clever.

#the amazing devil #joey batey #madeleine hyland #embroidery #ruinanniversary2022

[justcallmeanobsessor]

-A Deal With The Devil-

-Trigger Warnings: Dud-Con, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Mentions of Claws, oral sex

-Pairings: Demon! Male x gn Witch! reader

INTRO:

Only an orange glow of candle light lit up the sight in front of me. His yellow eyes stared up at me with hunger, claws digging into my thighs as his tongue dipped deeper into my depths. Reaching every spot it can, he left no crevice untouched as if he was claiming me for himself. This wasn't how I thought this would go. All I wanted was a simple contract to help me with my endeavors, instead I have this demonic creature on his knees, groaning at the taste of me.

Many would say my thirst for knowledge knows no bounds for what I am about to attempt but others would say I'm just plain stupid and maybe I am. It's not every day that you call on the forces of hell to help you with discovering the secrets of the universe and accomplish your life goals but I also guess for my kind it's just as natural as adopting a new cat. Though this cat is much larger and has a few tricks up its sleeves that most definitely shouldn't be taken lightly unless you want to be left with a few less limbs.

In a cottage, I knelt beside a pentagram that sat in the midst of a circle of dark red candles. A book of seances and spells sat in my hands. My courage to go on with the summons was starting to slowly fade as everything became a bit more real but the thoughts of what I'd gain from this pushed me to finally start the chanting.

After a while I had gotten to the end of the lengthy paragraphs written in old latin. Nothing happened. Not even a flicker of candle light. ‘Great, Well this was a waste of time’ I thought as I stood from my kneeling position moving to start cleaning up the mess I had made, no need to start an unwanted conspiracy by someone stumbling upon this sight. 

Just as I was about to smudge a line in the pentagram a strong light emitted from it painting the walls of the room in blood red. My wonder was short lived for just like it had started in only a few seconds it was gone even sooner.

My eyes took a couple of seconds to adjust again but once they did what stood before me left me in awe. A beautiful man was standing there and a scowl of what looked to be annoyance sat on his pale face. He narrowed his brightly glowing eyes at me examining my body and then moving to the room around us, glancing and inspecting every crevice yet not moving a foot from where he stood. ‘Why have I been summoned, Witch.’ he spat out the word ‘witch’ with absolute disgust, crossing his arms in the process. “I-i-i…..” I stammered trying to get the words out but failing miserably. “Well! Spit it out, I don't have all day!” His annoyance with this whole situation seemed to increase exponentially more with every passing second. “I-um I want to make a contract with you!” The end of my sentence came out rushed and more demanding than I had wanted. 

He crosses his arms and stands straighter, looming over me. “You, an insolent little witch, want to make a contract with me?” “Yes, I do.” I straighten my posture as well, looking up into his golden eyes. “I want you to help me with my discoveries, I want knowledge and nothing more.” I started to get a bit more confident but the sudden condescending laugh he let out diminished that quickly. “And what do you have that I would want in return for giving you this ‘knowledge’ that you desperately seek?” I froze, I had entirely forgotten that I needed to give something in exchange. How could I forget this?! 

Most witches would use a valuable object or artifact in return for the demon's help but I had yet to obtain anything of the sort. I didn't have anything that would be of value to a demon, all that I really owned was myself and the clothes on my back, everything else belonged to the coven. Wait. “Well, what do you have, little witch?” This may be the stupidest idea ever but this is my last and only chance. “I'll give you myself.” “What?” He looked down at me with shock and confusion. “My body and soul are yours if only you complete my requests and help me in my endeavors!” his shock turns into a smug grin mockingly. “Do you even know what you are proposing little witch?” “Yes-yes I do!” I'm unsure of what he means by that. I'm basically offering myself up as a puppet for his biddings. “I'm unsure if you know the extent of what you have offered me but I guess that's more fun.” confusion washes across my face. Damn demons and their games. “Well, do you agree?” He closes his eyes, holding his chin in between his clawed thumb and pointer finger in thought. “It seems with such a precious offer I have no other choice but to accept.” He purred, holding out his hand to seal the contract between us. I lift mine into his and as he holds my hand our difference in size becomes even more noticeable. He could break me in half with little to no effort. 

Our hands were wrapped in a golden light, scaring the skin below and ceiling the contract with it. I had moved to pull my hand from his, he had different plans. Pulling my smaller frame into his chest and bringing his mouth to my ear he spoke. “I think it's time to show you exactly what you have offered up.” I still was utterly confused as to what he was talking about but everything became more obvious to what he had been alluding to when his tongue licked up the side of my ear, his teeth nibbling on the tip causing a moan to ripple from throat. My hands came up to my mouth, horrified at the noise I had just made. The demon chuckled, prying my hands off my mouth. “Don't hide those pretty noises from me, little witch.” With those growled words a blush had made its way to my face and a fog of lust began to wash over my mind. 

He went back to his work, licking at the shell of my ear then moving downwards leaving kisses and bites in his path. As he got to the base of my neck he sucked hard enough to leave a deep bruise that would be noticeable to anyone who even glanced at it, in a way, he seemed to be marking me as his. 

He was slow with his actions but they were calculated and rough, making me shiver with pure pleasure. No matter how much one half of me wanted to refuse, I just couldn't bring myself to, not even as he removed my shirt and made his way down to my chest. Not even as his tongue circled around my nipple, sucking and nibbling at it while his hand tugged and twisted the other between his fingers. I had no knowledge of just how sensitive I was until this very moment, with both the work of his mouth and hands sending waves after waves of pleasure towards my nethers. My knees had begun to buckle underneath me but before I had the chance to be taken by the pleasure completely and fall to the ground below, he caught me in his arms leading me to lay on the wooden planks of the cottage as he finished stripping me of my clothing. 

He knelt between my legs spreading my thighs apart, groaning at the sight of my throbbing hole. He wasted no time in dipping his head down and liking at my entrance causing a moan to fall from my lips. He lifted his golden eyes to look at me, a smirk forming on his face as he plunged his tongue into my depths not moving his eyes away from me. 

My head whipped back as I held myself up on my elbows. His tongue licked over every inch of my insides not leaving anything untouched, claiming everything he could reach. Hitting every pleasurable spot inside me, taking all I am for his own and leaving me only wanting more so much more. “Please please!” He pulled his tongue out from my hole leaving me whining to be filled again. “Please what? Use your words little witch.” “Please, more.” I whined just wanting something inside me. “Hmm I don't think you deserve more just yet.” What was he talking about? He can't be serious, is he really playing games right now? “Fuck! I'll do anything Just do something!” I yelled out in frustration. “I don't like being ordered around, little witch.” He growled lowly as he pulled me up by my hair, shoving my face into his crotch. His hard cock resting against my cheek. “Suck.” He commanded. I didn't fight back, licking a line up to his head and then suckling on the tip. Swirling my tongue as he groaned, putting his hand on the back of my head and shoving me down his length till my nose hit his pelvis. 

As I was Gagging and struggling to breath he pulled back thrusting into my throat again. I breathed through my nose as he continued his relentless thrusts. My fingernails digging into his thighs leaving crescent indents. Tears pricked my eyes with the strength he was using, my lips starting to get sore. As his thrusts started to spasm he shoved his whole cock in my mouth when a thick warm liquid ran down my throat. “Swallow.” he demanded, then removed his length from my mouth. I did as he said, gulping down the salty liquid and opening my mouth to him to prove that I had. “Good, little witch, maybe next time I'll reward you.” Wait he isnt going to leave me like this is he? “What? but i-!” 

“You didn't actually think I'd give you something in return after how you spoke to me?” I went quiet, looking down in shame and frustration as he started to clean himself up. “Like I said you don't deserve it yet, little witch.” This smug ass fucker. The next thing I knew he was gone leaving me desperate and frustrated. This is not at all how I thought this would turn out.

#gn reader #dark smut #dark romance #oc x reader #demon oc #demon x reader #demon x gn reader #nb reader #x reader #paranormal #demon x witch #witch reader #smut #dub con #male x reader #male x gn reader #male demon #deal with the devil #oc #monster smut #monster writing #monster fanfic #monster fucker #divider by cafekitsune

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 13)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Two weeks had passed and you had almost moved on with your life which did not involve your family. 

Your mother had kicked you out of her own house following your tryst with Cillian. But as luck would have it, your cousin Lukas had offered you a place to stay after Emma's parents too would not allow you to remain at their family home for more than a week.

You had to find a job quickly to sustain yourself and fortunately, you managed to secure employment at a local bookstore. The hours were flexible, and they paid decently, making your living situation somewhat manageable under these circumstances.

School, however, had to give way to your new lifestyle and you chose to transfer to college in the evening in an attempt to finish your education.

As far as Cillian was concerned, you had not heard from him since that afternoon, leaving you in a state of limbo regarding your relationship status with him.

From the local papers, you since learned that he had finally left Danielle and was now publicly fighting for custody of his son Max who the columns claimed was not his actual son at all.

Yet none of this mattered as you sat there staring blankly into space, haunted by memories and regret. Overwhelmed by guilt and confusion, you tried to block out the past few months - how you became entangled in such a mess with no future, only moments spent locked away from the world. But, it wasn’t easy. It felt as though the entire universe conspired to punish you for daring to experience passion beyond societal norms, yet you continued searching deep inside yourself for answers that wouldn't come easily.

You were pregnant with Cillian's child and an abortion was not currently something you could afford emotionally nor financially, forcing you to confront your reality alone. For the first time in years, the choices you made seemed to echo hollowly in your ears as you attempted to navigate this complex web of deceit, betrayal, and self-discovery.

"Em, I do not know what to do," you admitted honestly, breaking down in tears as she visited you, just like she did every day after you finished work. 

Emma pulled you close, offering comfort as she held you tight.

"We're going to figure this out together," she assured you reassuringly, wiping away your tears. "But I honestly think that you need to tell Cillian," Emma added cautiously. "He has a right to know."

Her advice struck a chord in you, causing you to sit upright and nod thoughtfully.

"I asked him if he could meet, about a week ago, and he never got back to me, Em!" you said, feeling worthless and unwanted.

"He is going through a lot himself and he doesn't know about you carrying his child. Maybe you should try and give him a call again?" Emma interjected, attempting to mediate.

Despite Emma's suggestion, you remained hesitant, unsure whether reaching out to Cillian was the right decision. Nevertheless, you decided to pick up your phone and call him regardless of the consequences.

After a series of rings, someone else picked up on the other end – a stranger.

“Hello, can I speak to Cillian please?” you asked politely, trying hard to maintain composure amidst growing anxiety.

"Who am I speaking to?" replied the unfamiliar voice, curiosity evident in her tone.

”This is Y/N and I really need to speak with him,” you introduced yourself, taking a deep breath in preparation for what might follow. “Is Cillian available, please?” you begged and, just after you did, there was silence on the line for several seconds before the woman spoke up again.

"So, you are the homewrecker?" she snarled bitterly, anger radiating from her voice.

You flinched upon hearing those harsh words directed at you. You didn't expect the person answering Cillian's phone to actually know who you were, but then again, you did not know about the woman on the other line either.

"Listen, my brother isn't available. Don't call again. Please don't bother him anymore," came the venomous reply. Taken aback by the hostility, you couldn't understand why she reacted so aggressively when you hadn't even spoken poorly of Cillian. After a momentary pause, you found your voice.

"Actually, it's important we talk, whether you like it or not," you stated resolutely, ignoring the sharp edge in her voice. There was another brief silence followed by a mocking laughter that broke the air.

"Listen sweetheart, Cillian is going through legal proceedings against his wife, Danielle, because of you. He should not be speaking to you and if you call this phone again, I will provide you with a cease-and-desist letter on my brother's behalf. Any further contact will be considered as harassment, " she threatened ominously making you realise that the woman on the other end of the line was not only Cillian's sister, but also his solicitor, handling his custody case. 

You recalled having met her at the funeral a few weeks ago. Her name was Alison and she worked at one of the largest law firms in Dublin. 

As the conversation progressed, it became apparent that she despised you with an intensity that took you off guard. To make matters worse, she insisted you ceased communication with Cillian altogether. This was problematic considering she served as both Cillian's attorney and sister, putting her in a unique and potentially influential position.

You struggled to comprehend the full extent of your predicament until now. How were you supposed to inform Cillian about the child growing inside you without incurring the wrath of his sister?

It appeared impossible. Nonetheless, you had to reach out somehow, eventually, and hope for understanding from both sides despite their conflicted history.

As days turned into weeks, you grew increasingly anxious and restless, worrying constantly about how you were going to break the news to Cillian as the dire three-month mark drew nearer and you had yet another appointment with a local social worker to discuss your situation.

She offered you both, a community funded loan to carry out the procedure you needed or the option of putting you in touch with an adoption agency so that, further down the track, you could give up your child if you desired to do so.

Although it may seem cruel, it seemed practical and logical in light of your situation and, in the end, even Emma agreed with you on that front. The idea that you could choose whether or not to become a parent appealed to your desire for control over your destiny. However, this was easier said than done. Having a baby meant drastically altering your course forever, but you also knew that, not having the baby, might cause you regret. 

The choice loomed large, casting its shadow over your daily existence. You frequently found yourself pondering the gravity of your options while walking along the quiet streets surrounding your temporary residence late at night. You often stopped in your tracks, contemplating your fate as a result of your irresponsible actions.

Life seemed determined to play itself out according to the chaos you created. Every passing day brought you closer to facing the inevitable truth and this truth was now something you had to confront by yourself. Without the man who caused all this by your site. 

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[adventuringblind]

Drive With You Forever

Chapter 8.5: Play Rough

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader x Oscar Piastri

Chapter summary: four go two a bar, two end up covered in marks

Warnings: PinV, dom/sub, rough sex, marking, possessive behavior, sub space, hair pulling, titles (daddy, sir)

Notes: gotta have some self-discovery, ya know?

Masterlist

This was not how she thought their night would be ending. Just stopping in at the after-party and then coming back to the room for some well-deserved sleep.

There was no sleep happening in this hotel room tonight.

They had gone to the after party. She was wearing a dress in a pretty blue color that she felt confident in. It wasn't revealing. The insecure part of her brain told her that she would be an embarrassment if she showed off her skin and scars anymore than she already was.

They all looked good, in her honest opinion. The other three had her feeling all sorts of things with just their clothes.

The group had split into pairs. Her and Lando went up to the bar. Nothing strong for them, neither of them quite like the feeling of alcohol.

Charles and Max have a tendency to keep putting away the alcohol and the younger two end up dragging them back to bed. So they get the privilege of going first while the olders meet up with their mates.

"You look pretty tonight. Is there a special someone you're dressing for?" He winks comically bad. He knows the answer to his question. She'd done it for herself, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try and make her blush.

The reason they travel in pairs is because places like this have a tendency to lower people's filters. They up the creepy and stupid factor by too much on most occasions.

Her first experience at a club was horrendous. She was not prepared for the amount of close proximity encounters and men touching her waist.

She didn't know why she flinched so hard. Almost as if her body was on auto pilot for something she had no clue about.

Regardless, he touched her and tried to steal her away from Max. His mistake, really. The Dutch doesn't particularly like sharing with strangers.

Max is possessive. It's not in a bad way. He's just extremely protective. She'd confided in him and had shared her fears with him. If something made her scared or uncomfortable, then he had every intention of fixing the problem.

He'd punched him, and then they left.

Max had done something similar with Lando, though much less aggressive.

The Brit struggles to make himself heard at times. His natural instinct is to keep the peace if someone gets aggressive with him. Unless it's him being a brat on purpose to get Max to be rough with him.

Again, they'd decided to go out with some friends to a club. Lando had found himself alone at the bar waiting for a drink. His loneliness lasted seconds.

A woman, who she'd found beautiful herself, had approached him. She'd started the unwanted advances on him, and he could not get the idea through to her that he wasn't interested.

She'd continued, though. She went as far as to run her fingers along his patches of skin that his t-shirt didn't cover.

He wanted to scream at her to stop, but his voice kept getting caught in his throat.

She'd seen it escalate farther. The vision hitting her like a train. She'd tapped Max's should and simply said 'Lando' and 'help'.

Max was gone in an instant, putting himself between Lando and the obnoxious woman. Then, he proceeded to tell her off. He didn't care who was looking. If someone asked, he was defending a friend.

Charles and the female ended up making a trip to the store that night. Lando had so many hickies and a good few that needed to be covered.

After those couple incidents, they travel in pairs. It didn't matter who or where. They always have a buddy, as Lando likes to call it.

But even the buddy system can't always save them.

Despite the empty seats at the bar, a couple of similar age to them sit down on either side of the two. It felt oddly like a trap, and she was already uncomfortable. She catches how Lando drops his hand down to the side and she discreetly takes it.

Her and Lando had come up with a secret language a while back. It allows them to talk during conversations with other people or about Charles and Max when they are in the room.

She threw a few rapid taps into his palm. 'Unsafe'

'Copy. Leave?'

Before she can respond, the two are striking up an incredibly forward conversation.

"Are you two together?" Smirks the male.

For publicty reasons. "No, just friends."

"What a shame, you're both just too adorable." Purrs the woman next to her. "Maybe you want to come get some advice about bedroom performance? Or just to have some fun."

She feels sick. "I have a boyfriend." She settles for. A line Hana actually told her to use. The majority of unwanted advances can be stopped with just that line. Even if they keep talking, they are less likely to try anything.

"And it’s not the fine, young man?" The man on the other side of Lando starts messing with Lando's collar. His freeze response kicking in hard.

"No, but he'll be over here shortly." She tries to smile politely, so this doesn't escalate.

"But you're both so pretty. I really don't want to let this opportunity go to waste." The girl assumes that the woman now pawing at the hem of her dress and thighs is delusional.

Her response is much different from Lando. She has a tendency to fight if people start touching her. More aggressive than she likes, but its sort of deserved on their end.

She's shoving th woman away from her. Batting her hands away from her thighs. Yet the woman still persists, and she can see that they are using it as a distraction to put something in the drinks in front of them.

Max and Charles enter the bar area and see them struggling. Charles is quick to grab Max's shoulder to stop him from doing something rash.

Both of them stride over, and it looks oddly intimidating. She man and woman halt their actions as they approach.

"I don't think they like that very much." Charles crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm giving you a chance to get away." Seethes Max.

Then, the couple is scrambling to get away. Leaving the younger two in shock and distress.

She vaugly remembers something about 'Claiming them' being said on the ride back to the hotel.

Which is where they are now. Clothes scattered about. The sun is gone, and the only light is now a dim lamp.

"I feel like I've done something wrong." Admits the Brit. He's sitting on the bed in his boxers, waiting for anything to happen. His back is to her, and she's sitting in the exact same position on the opposite side of the bed.

"Nope, but that interaction had us wanting you both." Expresses Charles. "Might leave a few marks to show everyone that you're taken."

Charles winks at her and leaves her a blushy mess. Sometimes, she hates what they do to her. Yet she simultaneously loves it.

"You know Charles, I think we ought to remind them why it is they chose us and not people like them." He suggests.

Max basically manhandles Lando into where he wants him. Underneath and pleading with his eyes.

Max attacks his collar bone. She can her the Dutch doing his best to mark him. She can't see them since her back is turned, but she listens.

Charles eyes her up and down before doing the same. Though he is much more gentle. They are all gentle with her. Sometimes, she wishes they'd be rough with her also.

She looks away from Charles for a second and gazes over at the other two with jealousy.

"Words, amour."

"Can we- do like they're doing? I guess." She stutters out.

Charles grabs her chin and brings her gaze back to him. "You want me to be rough?"

She nods yes eagerly. The anticapation building up inside her is insane. She feels like she might spontaneously combust.

"Tell me if you don't like it and we'll stop, okay?"

"Okay."

Then Charles is doing the same to her. Tossing her limbs around to get her situated where he wants her. He trails kisses and marks a path down to the waistband of her underwear. He peels them off of her and tosses them aside.

"I think someone likes this." He winks. Once again, leaving her to blush.

He teases her with the tip of his finger. She almost whines at the feeling, but she can't as he decides to thrust his fingers inside her with an intense speed.

She looks next to her where Lando is getting more of the same treatment from Max. The Brits moans only grow from watching her and Charles.

"I think they like this, Charlie." Smirks Max. The cheeky Dutch is listening to some of his favorite sounds at the moment, and he never wants it to end.

She can hardly register what's happening. Charles has more than one finger in her, and she knows she's not going to last much longer.

Much to her dismay, he pulls out of her. She looks at him with curiosity as he starts stripping himself of his clothes.

Max turns his attention to the Monegasque and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss. He helps Charles out of his clothes and then discards his own. It's clumsy, but they could care less.

She takes a second to look at Lando. The bright red marks already blossoming around his skin. She can't help herself and reaches out to caress the biggest mark on his collarbone. She'd had a fascination with how a bruise can be pretty.

Lando throws her a smile. Her curiosity is one of his favorite things about her.

The older two finally turn their attention back to them. The look on endearingly as the female continues to study each mark. On the Brit.

"You wanna leave one?" Max asks her. She'd never left a mark on any of them. To scared she'd hurt them or do it wrong.

But seeing how Lando is enjoying it makes her want to. She nods her head yes, and the odd bit of excitement of doing something new comes back.

"Why don't you put it on the bottom of his neck. He likes it there." Max guides her, and she does as suggested.

As soon as she her lips hit the spot, Lando is a mess again. One of his hands finding the back of her head and strokes her hair.

She takes her time deliberately licking, sucking, and biting. She can feel Lando squirming and feeling the moans in his throat. It only intensifies when the older two find their way back to them. Their hands now roaming everywhere.

Max is the one that pulls her off. "See, isn't that a pretty mark?" She smiles at her work and the out of breath Lando.

Then Lando lands a kiss to her lips. It's sloppy and hungry, and she has no idea what to do next.

Max and Charles guide them. Her lips are still on Landos even as they are moved.

The fact that they've done this before and it still feels new every time makes a mess of her. Charles is taking her from behind. she and Lando are attempting to have contact, but it's difficult when he's also being taken by Max. It's rough, and it's hot, and she hasn't even finished and is still in a state of bliss.

Charles' grip on her hips and thighs is bruising, and his pace is once again relentless. She can't help but fall further into the mattress.

Charles doesn't let that slide and is pulling on her hair to bring her back up. It hurts a little, but she likes it and can stop the heavy moan that leaves her lips because of it.

"Look at Lando. Look at the mess you've helped make of him." He leans down and whispers into her skin.

She wants to think about it more. She wants to think about Lando's whines of pleasure and the sounds of Max and Charles' sloppy kisses above her.

But she can't because she's fuzzy in the head and on the verge of falling over the edge into complete bliss.

"Can I- please- need to."

Charles redirects his attention to her. His hand. Slips around the front, forcing her jaw upwards as Max mirrors the motion. She is now staring straight into Lando's eyes.

She might die here, she thinks.

"Beg for it. Need to hear how bad you want it Chéri." Charles punctuates with a deep guttural moan.

"Please, I want it so bad- please, Daddy Mm need it." The name does things to Charles, and she knows it.

The title of sorts came before Lando joined. It was originally Max's, and occasionally, it still is, but when they are both dominant like this, then Max is sir, and Charles is daddy because they have to differentiate somehow.

Regardless, she lets it slip and then Charles' hips stutter. She registers the permission she needs, and then she's gone. Lando is falling with her. She would love to see it, but her vision is going blurry as Charles gets her through the high.

It's all heavy panting for a moment. Then Lando is whining, and Max and Charles are whispering to each other.

She sometimes hates herself for getting so deep into the headspace that she can't think of anything else. And the not lack of touch is making her want to cry.

Until the familiar feeling of Max's rough hand is palming at her ass. He flips her with ease. Something she's yet to get used to. Then, he caresses her face gently. Lando is already moaning heavily once again, followed by the familiar moans of Charles.

"Gonna let sir take care of you, yeah?" And who is she to say no? She mumbles a slew of 'yes' and 'please', but it's not at all coherent.

"Want sir in me, please." She manages through small pants and whines. And Max is never one to waste time. She's already stretched, so he doesn't wait. He immediately sets an inhuman pace.

She finds her gaze drifting to other places only for it to be brought back to Max by force. "Eyes stay on me." Somehow, the eye contact only increases the pleasure.

It's like her mind has overridden itself. Wanting nothing more than to hear the praise she craves and is willing to do anything to get it.

"Don't need to ask."

The part of her mind that can't form coherent words becomes relieved. She's not sure she could ask if she wanted to.

Max's hands grip into her hip and thigh. Again, she can hear more than she sees. Lando has found his peek again, presumably, by the whiny scream he lets out. The next is Charles, who is shockingly not as vocal tonight. Yet the French swearing gives him away.

Her eyes are still firmly placed on Max. His eyes glazed over with nothing but lust. He presses his body further into hers. The skin on skin lighting every one of her nerves on fire.

Max grips onto her collar bone with his teeth. The suddenness of it causes her back to arch. Her vision goes fuzzy as she finds herself jumping off the ledge into a pool of bliss and pleasure.

It's beautiful. Her boys are beautiful. It's the only thought her mind can grab onto as Max slows.

He pulls out of her slowly, then crawls down the length of her body. Kissing every scar along the way. The feeling makes her ever more drowsy.

He takes the opportunity to bite and suck in a few different places. Leaving marks every Charles and Lando had yet to leave any. Her body was clearly marked.

"No falling asleep yet. We need to clean up and get liquids in us." Max pulls himself away from her, and she almost cries at no longer being able to feel anyone's skin on hers.

Charles splays his ringed fingers on her thigh. The new sensation makes her shiver.

The two are exchanging words and endearing looks. Charles and Max are cute like that.

"We're going to clean up and grab a few things. We'll be back in two minutes to help the two of you, okay?" She shakes her head yes, not completely understanding, but she heard him, which is the important part right now.

Charles replaces his hand with Lando's. Who ultimately just drags her body into his for more contact.

Something about post sex cuddles makes her feel fluttery. Specifically with Lando because usually he's just as out of it as her.

"Don't think I'll be walking tomorrow." He mumbles into her shoulder. "Did you like it rough? I'll beat 'em up if you didn't."

"It was... fun? I'm not sure how else to describe it." She forgets sometimes that Sex doesn't have to be serious. She can have fun and still feel good.

"Next, I'll teach you how to say 'make me'."

Max and Charles come out from wherever they and a loud 'absolutely not' can be heard from the two in unison.

~

Tags: @styles-sunflower @purplephantomwolf @boiohboii @reblog-princess-blog @jayda12 @faithm120601 @eugene-emt-roe @lpab @yaaadii @80sloverry @spongebeck3101 @eviethetheatrefreak @chanshintien @vellicora @hollie911 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @be-your-coffee-pot

#x reader #fanficion #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 #racing #f1 fanfic #angst #max verstappen #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris #charles leclerc x you #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren racing #redbull racing #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #f1 #formula racing #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic #lando norris f1 #scuderia ferrari #lando norris x y/n #max verstappen f1 #charles leclerc x max verstappen #ferrari #mclaren

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Fake Relationship Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Escapade by dolce_piccante / @haydolce {M, 146k}

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

2️⃣ And Then a Bit by @infinitelymint {E, 158k}

“We’d like to give the fans what they want.” Magee states, placing his hand on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “We want to give them Larry Stylinson.”

Or, take a parallel universe where Louis and Harry were never together, mix in a two year hiatus and an impending comeback, pour in a dash of lost fans, two tablespoons of strong friendship and a Modest! employee with a good idea. Add a squeeze of pretending to be a couple, lots of kisses and a tattoo or two. Stir. Serve: the mother of all publicity stunts.

(aka Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.)

3️⃣ California Sold by @isthatyoularry {M, 123k}

Notoriously closeted boyband member Harry Styles is famous on a global scale, meanwhile Louis, as his best friend, is back home in Manchester, living the typical life of a 24 year old. When Harry needs Louis with him in LA, a publicity stunt gone wrong changes their friendship forever.

A fake-relationship AU between two lifelong best friends.

4️⃣ Paint Me In A Million Dreams by green_feelings / @greenfeelings {M, 112k}

Harry's one of Hollywood's biggest actors, has made a name for himself in prestigious films and lives the life of a superstar. There's just one thing missing to make it picture-perfect, but the one Harry's in love with is completely out of reach for him. Enter Louis, one of Hollywood's biggest actors himself, who just came out of the closet and taps new genres in the industry. When Louis sacks the role Harry auditioned for in Scorsese's next big film, their irrational feud starts. Who could have guessed it would get even worse when for promo season, their teams decide to present them as a couple for publicity?

In short, Harry's in love with someone and doesn't care about dating anyone else, Louis never felt home in L.A., Liam writes love songs for someone he shouldn't write love songs to, and Niall makes everything better with good food.

5️⃣ Faking It by TheCellarDoor / @donotdialnine {M, 46k}

A uni AU in which Louis has been Harry’s best friend since he offered him cubed fruit on the playground, and they spend more time cuddling in their dorm beds than they do apart, but it’s not like that. Or is it?

Aka Harry pretends to date his best friend to escape unwanted attention from a too insistent classmate and hopes it won’t blow up in his face. Featuring embarrassing dildo accidents, awkward boners, longing, first times, late night conversations, emotional discoveries and Niall as the exasperated friend with bad advice.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 this charade (was never going to last) by @scrunchyharry {E, 68k}

On the surface, CitizenX, an international caritative nonprofit, looked like any other nonprofit, funding humanitarian missions worldwide and striving to make the world a better place, one donation at a time.

At least, that was what Harry thought, until he was hired as a computer specialist for a spinoff agency called carish, whose true purpose was to reveal CitizenX’s tangled web of lies.

As if the whole ‘industrial spy’ business was not stressful enough, Harry found himself in a hatred-at-first-sight relationship with one of his new coworkers, Louis, a man intent on detesting Harry.

When the worst happened and Harry and Louis found themselves thrown together in hiding, with only each other to rely on, Harry never could have predicted the turn their relationship would take.

Nor could he anticipate that it would all be taken away from him and he would have to decide how far he was willing to go to get Louis back.

💎 Love Is a Winning Game by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings {M, 47k}

Before their broken engagement, Harry had his head stuck so far in the clouds that he doesn’t even remember entering him and Louis for something as crazy as a couple's gameshow until a series of bad, post-breakup decisions puts Harry in the awkward position of needing the help of his ex-fiancé to try and fix the mess he has made.

💎 Wed’n Walk (Or, We Went to Amsterdam Together) by @hellolovers13 {E, 11k}

When Harry had first started planning his honeymoon to Amsterdam, he had not envisioned ending up there with his best friend.

Or getting fake-married to him for 24 hours.

💎 Every Line, Every Word, Everything by lsforever / @kingonafiftymetreroad {G, 10k}

“I just fucking came out of the closet to the whole world so I wouldn’t have to parade around fake relationships anymore and that’s what you’re trying to put on me again?!”

or, the AU where Harry's team suggests that he should have a fake boyfriend after he's just come out. Who would've thought it would be his best friend?

💎 Just To See That Smile by @homosociallyyours {NR, 6k}

It's Coming Out Week at university, and Harry's taken on a lot of responsibilities to make everything run smoothly. Finding his roommate's boyfriend attractive is making that a bit difficult, unfortunately. It might help if he realized that said boyfriend (Louis) is really just there to help said roommate (Liam) figure out if Liam's crush (Zayn) likes him back.

But that would make things too easy.

A fic where a hastily faked relationship and a lot of miscommunication almost ruins a perfectly good dance.

#ficrec #fakerelationship #homosociallyyours #lsforever #scrunchyharry #hellolovers13 #rearviewdreamer #thecellardoor #dolcepiccante #isthatyoularry #infinitelymint #greenfeelings

[chemicalreal]

The jedi: the flawed order that failed the chosen one

Anakin's descent into darkness in Episode 3 goes beyond his personal journey and sheds light on the similarities between Anakin and the Jedi as well as the Sith and the Jedi. Anakin's ability to intuit and foresee the future primarily manifests through his dreams, significantly influencing his subsequent actions. Similarly, the Jedi's perception and knowledge of future events set the stage for a series of plots that culminate in the climactic events of Revenge of the Sith.

Anakin's immediate regret over killing an unarmed Count Dooku and later on Mace Windu echoing the same words as Palpatine did in the beginning, justifying the murder of an unarmed enemy, highlights the skewed perception he forms of the jedi order, portraying them as power-hungry and selfish, akin to the Chancellor, as well as the biggest hypocrites when it comes to their code.

Although Anakin recognizes that Sidious is malevolent and acting out of self-interest, he ultimately places the Jedi and the Sith on the same ethical level and his personal motive of saving Padme becomes the decisive factor in his decisions, leading him down a path of darkness where he rationalizes his terrible deeds with this premise.

The Jedi's inherent distrust of Anakin from his first day stemmed from their perception that his remarkable affinity with the Force posed a potential threat to their established order. However, this initial judgment proved to be a significant mistake that will lead to their failure, especially considering their recent discovery of an active Sith presence recruiting individuals to their cause. Anakin's journey into darkness begins with a profound sense of rejection by the Jedi Order, stemming from their inability to see beyond their arbitrary requirements and fully embrace his capabilities.

Apart from Qui-Gon Jinn, who recognizes Anakin's potential, the rest of the Jedi show little faith in him, leaving him feeling isolated and unwanted. Even Obi-Wan's decision to mentor Anakin is more out of duty to his late master's final wish than a genuine connection or belief in Anakin's abilities. Both Obi-Wan and the Jedi Order fell into the same trap as Anakin did in Episode 3 regarding their perceptions of the future, ultimately fulfilling their own fears regarding him and his perceived role. Qui-Gon makes the right call in his belief that an uncertain future doesn't inherently spell doom but rather depends on the choices individuals make. This contrasts sharply with the Jedi Order's fear of the unknown, a poignant irony given their professed stoicism and obsessive rejection of human emotions.

This mindset causes them to overlook significant aspects of their new apprentice, assuming they could simply be disregarded – such as neglecting the natural bond between parent and child. They believed that by finally admitting Anakin into their ranks, they could simply train him similarly to the young children who didn't develop yet long term memory to remember their parents. However, they lacked the empathy and the compassion to address his concerns about his mother, and they never attempted to create conditions that would allow him to let go of that worry, such as freeing her and ensuring her well-being in a comfortable planet of the Republic. Despite Anakin's valuable contributions to the Jedi on Tatooine and the Naboo army in episode 1, freely offering his assistance without seeking anything in return, the only jedi who was aware they owed him a lot and showed genuine care for him and his mother died in the midst of it all.

The avoidable circumstances surrounding his mother's death result in an irreparable rift, leading Anakin to lose trust in the Jedi when faced with similar situation involving his wife and the need to divulge the true nature of their relationship.

Qui-Gon's advice to live in the present, attuned to the living Force, echoes throughout the original trilogy, notably paralleled by Yoda in Episode 5. The 20 years spent in contemplative exile prior to his meeting with Luke make Yoda acknowledge some of his own past mistakes during the Clone Wars and learn from them, proving that no matter the age, life will always provide new lessons to learn. Initially prone to projecting into the future, Yoda's prejudiced view of Anakin in Episode 1 results in a series of missteps that contribute to his own failures. In contrast, by Episode 5, Yoda adopts a similar attitude to Qui-Gon's, counseling Luke that the future remains uncertain and emphasizing the importance of self-belief, confidence and trust in the force, exemplified when he explains that Luke's inability to move his ship with the Force stems from a lack of belief in himself.

#star wars #star wars prequels #sw prequels #yoda #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #mace windu #darth sidious #palpatine #darth vader #jedi order #qui gon jinn #padme amidala #shmi skywalker #luke skywalker #revenge of the sith #the phantom menace #attack of the clones #empire strikes back

[canarydarity]

(Thought a little bit too hard about Romeo and Juliet ranchers...)

Keeping his head low and his tread light, Tango ducks from tree to tree under the cover of dark from the canopy, protecting him from the spotlight of the moon and therefore his discovery. Behind his back, leftover laughter from Skizz and Etho drifts further away; the volume of Skizz’s last protests, however, remains annoyingly the same as it continues to plague his mind, as does the memory of Etho’s agreement that Tango was—for lack of a better word—fucked. 

Louder than all of that, though, more insistent, more pressing, was the ghost of Jimmy’s lips against his. The sole force of it drove him on, his heart tripping in anticipation when around the trunk of a tree he’d glimpse the stone of the house of Solidarity, or through a break in the leaves he’d catch a glimpse of light from a brazier. 

Voices draw near just as the treeline breaks at last, and Tango ducks behind the nearest trunk as two servants meander by, following a worn path toward the back of the manor; his courage returns to him as they fade, and as if pulled by some rope falling taught or some string being coiled, Tango draws as close as he dares to the base of the stone without giving up the shade of the last tree. He kneels.

Now that he’s here, he must admit, his mind draws blank of any possible plan for continuing on. It’s not like he can wander the house of Solidarity unattended, making it clear in every way that he did not belong, and, on top of that, with one of Verona’s most recognizably unwanted faces. 

Idiot, Skizz had called him; blinded, his friend had laughed. Always the most cautious of them, Etho had recalled that even a masquerade hadn’t been enough to conceal his presence from Grian. 

And Tango hadn’t really until now heard a word. 

Movement in the far window, the unmistakable shifting of the curtains, drawn by an imaginary force—the manmade wind of someone passing through. After a moment, a more permanent form takes shape, and Tango finds himself wondering how he could have stayed still for so long, how the sun could possibly have risen while he had been unaware. 

But it of course is not the sun. He blinks and darkness is restored around him as his eyes adjust to the sight. 

Jimmy, framed in beiges and creams and white—the masonry, the curtains, his blouse—fair as any portrait, as any bolt of silk, as any fine jewel. The slightly damp flop of his hair, the color like spun gold; the curve of his shoulder, the tan glow of skin shimmering beneath the cotton—he’s breathtaking, breath-robbing, even at such distance away, and Tango wobbles enough in his stance that he places a hand on the ground for stability. 

How clear it is that this is a setting in which he doesn’t belong; how envious must be the moon for how dull it shines in comparison. Its colors—silver, the cool tones it usually accompanies—they were despicable in their wrongness. Tango thinks he’d be suited more enveloped by heat; in open fields of flowers, stranded in miles of wild wheat and tall grass, in places without trees, without shade, without reprieve. 

The masquerade, Tango thinks, was not to foster intrigue amongst the guests, but to shield them from such raw beauty, to protect them from its temptation. 

Jimmy’s chest bellows with what Tango imagines a sigh, and he continues on, momentarily disappearing from Tango’s view only to appear again in the following window, and then the one after. Tango follows, and they walk together along the length of the manor, albeit separated by its walls.

Bound, tethered, Tango’s heart tugs him along. 

A corner is turned, and instead of a further row of windows through which to watch, Tango finds a balcony jutting out of the stonework, grand and open to the air. He swallows as Jimmy steps out onto it; stares, enraptured, as Jimmy wanders over to the railing, balances his elbows on top of it, and then drops his head into his hands. 

Through the stillness of the moment comes an unmistakable and truly inspired groan, and Tango startles and glances around expecting to be caught by a rather resentful servant before realization alerts him to its source. 

Jimmy drops his hands and sighs again, and this time Tango can hear the puff of his breath as he exhales.

“Stupid,” he mutters, “so incredibly stupid. Why did I…” He shakes his head and decides better than finishing the thought, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if he can will the arrival of more to a complete halt with just enough concentration.

Tango is familiar with this method, and, he’s gotta say, it is not as successful as he’d like it to be. 

Jimmy’s lips move again, but too little sound comes out for any of it to be heard, and Tango finds himself wandering closer before he can arrive at any of the reasons why he absolutely should not—too distracted by the thought of those lips touching his mere hours before. 

Just as he’s braving closer ground, Jimmy’s voice rises to exclaim “Tango!” and Tango’s foot finds false purchase over a well-placed root and he slips, catching himself on the cool dewy grass. His head raises slowly, ready to be forever expelled from the grounds—or more likely stuffed and made to decorate Grian’s quarters—but Jimmy’s gaze remains safely away, off into the distance beyond. “Why did it have to be Tango?”

Tango does not dare move. 

Jimmy grabs the balcony railing with both hands and leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. When he opens them, he draws himself back in and lets his arms go slack. His brow furrows in thought, his nose forming a little scrunch by the action, like his tutor’s just posed him a particularly troubling set. “But…it’s not Tango that’s the problem, is it? It’s just his name…Tek.” 

Should he be listening to this? Tango doesn’t bother thinking about it, he already knows the answer; not that that stops him, or compels him to turn around and proceed the way he came—for how could he when he’s hearing the echo of his own musings? An utterance of reciprocation for the feelings to which he’s fallen victim? Shared dismay at the grandeur of their circumstance?

“Maybe…maybe if he weren’t Tango.” 

Even before Jimmy drops his head in defeat, Tango knows that line of thinking is for naught. Maybe if he wasn’t Jimmy, maybe if his cousin wasn’t Grian, maybe if his name wasn’t Solidarity and his very existence meant to be an offense. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine, or the moon didn’t beam, or resentment didn’t flow through the streets like blood spilled. Maybe did not stand the test of time nor outlast the memory of a grudge. 

“Perhaps, should I not call him Tango, but assign him some other name…”

If only Skizz was there to witness Tango blurt out, “You can call me anything you’d like.” Idiotic and blind would not have been the only adjectives he was assigned if he had. A few immediately come to Tango’s mind himself—stupid, insane, absolutely and completely screwed. 

He has no memory of deciding to speak, but the words have undeniably come out of his mouth, and there’s no hope of them not having been heard based on the way Jimmy rises to attention. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” Alert and understandably perhaps a little frightened, Jimmy's eyes scan the treeline in which Tango dwells.

Intelligently, Tango replies, “uhh.”

“Who are you?”

Tango flounders, his voice raising a dozen octaves, becoming high and stringent as he at once wheezes out, “God, why has that question become so complicated all of a sudden?”

Jimmy shuffles to the corner of the balcony, his waist pressed against the perpendicular juncture of stone as he leans over the railing to squint into the orchard. “Wait—Tango?” 

Tango is left with no other option than to abandon his haven of trees and shade and step into the torch light of the Solidarity’s garden, lest he’d rather Jimmy lean so far over the balcony that he falls. He catches the moment that Jimmy sees him—the softening of his features, fear being overtaken by the more welcome feeling of surprise, the nervous tightening of his jaw, the biting of his lip. 

If he thought revealing his presence would mean less of Jimmy’s precarious balancing act, then he thought wrong; Jimmy doubles over more, if possible, and Tango throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes is universally interpreted as stay put while some sort of alarmed squeaking comes out of his mouth. But Jimmy just fervently whispers, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?!” Tango whisper-shouts back. “You’re giving me a heart attack here, lean back wouldya?”

Jimmy thankfully returns his upper body to a standing position safely behind the balcony’s edge, but his voice gets no less intense, his words no less urgent. “They will kill you if they see you here, you know that right?” 

In return, Tango can only nod as if this realization has only just, for him, come to light. Of course, it hasn’t—Skizz and Etho had been trying to tell him since they left him outside the Solidarity’s walls, and by instinct alone he knew to hide if he suspected someone walking too close by, and yet. His frantic nodding does not cease as he says, “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it…to be quite honest.” 

“You hadn’t thought about it?!” Jimmy grabs at his hair, incredulous, and Tango is momentarily distracted for the amount of time it takes to imagine doing it himself and wonder at what it would feel like. “I can’t believe this.” 

Shaking his head, desperately trying to restore function, Tango delivers the only defense with which he’s come equipped. “I just—I had to see you!” 

Once more, Tango curses the moon for its inadequacy, for what must be its deliberate hindrance to the wonder of this scene. Because, though it’s too dark to really tell, firelight falling much to short, Tango swears that Jimmy begins to blush. 

Since he can’t completely be sure, he’ll have to make due with admiring this: the way Jimmy tucks his head down, closer to his shoulder, the shifting of his weight from one foot to another; how his eyes seemingly impossibly get a fraction of an inch bigger, wider. 

He doesn’t quite look back at Tango when he says, “You really mean that?”

Tango smiles, “I do, I swear it.”

Whatever modesty was held in his expression before disperses and Jimmys face holds room for little more than mirth when he turns back and demands, “On what?”

“On…” Tango draws his shoulders higher, his hands raising with them as if attached by puppeteers string. They suspend there momentarily, waiting to be released by the arrival of a coherent thought that unfortunately never comes. “I don’t know…” 

Tango bites the inside of his cheek. “What would you want me to swear on? Name it and it’s done.” He holds his hands up in pure complacency, a promise and an offer; take me, im yours.

Jimmy laughs at his near madness, and Tango swears that it moves like wind through the orchard, rippling across all the branches and leaves of all the trees; he sways on his feet to the music of it, doesn’t bother to curb the urge to smile harder at it—his face a perfect mosaic of every feeling he’s every felt. 

With a shake of his head, Jimmy admits, “I dont know either.” 

“Ah, an impasse.” 

Though his head doesn’t move, Jimmy’s eyes duck away again, seeking safer purchase as he instills the night sky with his reply. Tango doesn’t mind, for it’s easier then for him to continue to to watch. “Maybe just…say it again then. Instead.” 

“I came because I had to see you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyes dart back and then away again, needing to see Tango to truly be sure, but needing privacy to be able to comprehend. “Alright…” He glances back into the room behind him, whatever is beyond the curtains that are all Tango can see. “They’ll come looking for me soon, you really should go.” 

Playfully outraged, Tango sputters, “What! That’s it, I don’t get anything in return?” 

The dramatics earn Tango an eye roll, but Jimmy also begins bouncing a little in place—resevoired anxiety that lets Tango know he was serious about the chance that someone would soon seek him out. Whatever stolen time they had managed to accrue was fleeting and not a second more. 

Even so, Jimmy plays along. “And what am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, something!” 

“You’re very helpful, has anyone ever told you that?”

Tango laughs, “A fair hit.” He watches as Jimmy turns around again to assure their privacy once more, understands for both of their sakes the importance of not overstaying his welcome, and his hands tucked behind his back, comes up with, “alright, just tell me this: are you glad I came?” 

Jimmy turns back to him, and this time Tango is absolutely certain of the blush present on his cheeks by the way Jimmy raises a hand as if to feel his own temperature on instinct, or to hopelessly pat it away with the back of his hand. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s trying not to, and that’s all the answer Tango needs. 

Before Jimmy can, in his bashfulness, form a verbal reply, from inside a voice does indeed call “Jimmy?” 

Bliss turns to panic in an instant, and instead of earliers soft tone Jimmy near hisses when he says “Tango!” 

If he was smart, he would heed the warning and go, but Tango is still drunk on their proximity alone, on the events of the night—all of which were set in motion by the taking of a chance on an innocently shared kiss. He figures if this is where one chance has gotten him, then he can stand to risk another. 

“I mean, I’m perfectly content to wait, Jimmy.” Tango steps to the nearest tree and leans against it like he’s planning to stay for some time, tries not to laugh as Jimmy’s eyes practically bug out of his head. 

“You—” Jimmy’s head swivels back and forth, caught between the harmlessness in the tease and the actual realistic harm in its consequences if Tango legitimately followed through. Of course, he isn’t going to—the second Tango sees another silhouette in the window he’s out of there, blending back the way he’d come into the trees—but where was the fun in it if there wasn’t just a little bit of real life pressure? “You’re insane,” Jimmy berates, but before he turns and disappears behind his walls that are meant to keep out Tango and Tango specifically, he whispers, “Yes, I’m glad you came.” 

Jimmy’s already gone, but when Tango says, “That’s all I needed,” its more to himself than anything as he turns to go back the way he’d come. 

He did not imagine when the night began that he’d find himself betraying the one rule his family had ever demanded he follow, nor did he expect to feel little concern for himself in spite of this fact, but he did know he’d be helpless but to do it again had the situation started anew, because Tango doesn’t know what greater purpose he could have than to love this man. It wasn’t just the remembrance of a kiss that drove Tango to Jimmy’s window, but the sense that it was only the first, and where there was one would come more. Of this, Tango was certain: attending the masquerade, glimpsing Jimmy through the party-goers, risking following him through the crowd and delighting in that first, perfect kiss had set off more than the events of tonight, one singular night, but rather of whatever was in store for him—for them—all the rest of their lives.

(gonna put "can translate Shakespearean English into gamer speak" on my resume under special skills. [read on ao3 here])

#worm writes #so this is what i was doing. in that blissful period where i hadnt yet learned jimmy died btw. #this is where thinking jimmy is alive and well gets me #and now its just incrdibly funny that instead of mourning i was straihgt up like giggling to myself like haha rancher balcony scene !!! #like...oh my god #team rancher #team rancher fic #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #double life fic #romeo and juliet au #edit: #realized I should probably also tag this —> #trafficshipping #just in case

[bruh-changbin]

sin city

pairing: gambler!sunghoon x afab baritsa!reader

requested: no

genre: smut, angst and some fluff (minors dni!!!)

warnings: brief mention of female masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), lowkey exhibitionism and humiliation, spitting, mild face fucking, wax play, protected sex, use of a gag, alcohol consumption, use of drugs (coke + LSD, be safe and don't do drugs), gambling (obv), brief mention of blood, readers boss is kinda yucky and her parents suck

word count: 12.8K

a/n: well... second times the charm 😻 hopefully my tags work this time and again apologies for posting this then deleting it because tumblr was being dumb. i suck at proofreading so if there’s any mistakes let me know. still v nervous to be sharing this w all of you but as always let me know your thoughts, i hope you enjoy (and again, ignore any repeat/messed up paragraphs bc tumblr still has yet to fix that glitch)

this is a work of fiction and is not meant to accurately depict or portray the idols mentioned. photos not mine, credits to original owners (retrieved from pinterest)

fail is such an aggressive word. to fail at something is embarrassing, humiliating, shameful! the self-loathing and unwanted pity from others is what makes failure simply unbearable.

which is why you didn’t tell your parents that you were failing university. you simply told them it was a personal choice; you were dropping out.

at first they were confused, and thought you were planning on transferring to school elsewhere, or just taking a gap year to focus on something else. travel, self discovery, mental health, time with family. so you fed into that lie, and told them that come september you’d be out of their hair embarking on an adventure to further your development. it was hard - being dishonest to your parents, keeping up the facade - but you had no intention of telling them that you failed out of school. they would never be the wiser.

that was until you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open on your desk with your entire academic record on display. your mom was vacuuming, and decided to take a peek at the screen.

to say they were upset was an understatement. 

it took a few days for them to hold an actual conversation with you, choosing to spare you the occasional glance and incoherent mumbling to show their disapproval at your poor academic performance.

one night at dinner you blew up.

“i don’t know why you’re making this such a big deal! yes, i failed university. so what?! does that make me a bad person??”

you didn’t expect them to say much, but when they didn’t say anything while staring at their half-eaten dinner plants your heart sank. sure, your family had always valued academic excellence, but you didn’t think it was this serious.

the void of silence is filled with the scraping sound of your chair sliding against the linoleum floor, announcing your departure from the table.

when you get to your room you slam the door, cry, then fall asleep on the floor.

you’re woken up a few hours later by the sounds of your parents getting ready to go to bed. there are hushed whispers outside of your door, and you hear your dad ask if he should check on you. seconds later, the hallway light turns off and you hear the door to your parent’s room close.

your hips and shoulders start to ache as you lay on your hardwood floor, but you find no motivation to pick yourself up. since you hadn’t closed your blind, your room had turned a shade of deep blue, courtesy of the moon. pushing yourself up into a seated position, your eyes scan the contents of your room, and you can’t help but reminisce.

the stuffed bear you refused to sleep without when you were 8, the wilted corsage you wore to prom, the laptop you wrote all of your university assignments on before dropping out - ouch, too soon.

a gust of wind passes through your open window and flutters the string of polaroids you have tacked up to your wall. one is of your old family cat. one is of you after you graduated high school. your favourite one is of soojin in front of a twilight sky, a half-empty cooler in her hand.

you had met soojin in 10th grade bio, when both of you were partnerless on frog dissection day and had to team up. the entire 75 minute period consisted of you doing all the work while soojin squealed in disgust.

after that you were practically attached at the hip.

the night before you moved to university you and soojin snuck onto the roof of your high school using your janitors janky old ladder. you sat on foldable lawn chairs and drank and laughed and cried while talking about your place in the world.

“sometimes i wish i was a cat,” you confessed, and soojin laughed.

“a cat? why?”

“life would be so simple. i’d sleep all day and get head scratches and food.”

“that’s fair.”

a siren wailed somewhere in the distance. the traffic lights in the intersection across from your school changed. a late summer breeze ruffled your hair.

“i’m gonna move to las vegas.”

you turned to look at soojin, and she looked back at you.

“when?”

“i don’t know… sometime in the near future,” she took a sip of her drink before she continued, “i’ve never been set on going to post-secondary so i might as well.”

you nodded, “why vegas though?”

“it’s a part of my fantasy.”

“what’s your fantasy?”

she shifts in her chair so she’s facing you, an enthusiastic glint now present in her eyes. 

“i’m gonna move to vegas, spend some time working at some fancy upscale casino or bar or club or whatever. then, i’ll make a hot rich person fall in love with me, we’ll get married on the strip, and then i’ll never have to work a day in my life again!”

“i mean it sounds great,” you took a sip of your drink, “but aren’t most rich people in vegas like, middle aged men?”

“you got anything against dilfs?”

“touche.”

you weren’t surprised when a year or so later soojin told you she was making her fantasy become a reality - she had always been much more of a go-getter than you. 

that didn’t make saying goodbye any easier though. 

at the time you were still living away from home, so you couldn’t even give her a proper send-off. of course she facetimed you as soon as her plane landed, but you would’ve given anything to see her in person before she leaves for who knows how long.

and now, as you lie on the cold hardwood floor of your childhood bedroom, your eyes puffy and itchy from all of the tears you’ve shed, you devise a plan that will allow you to be with your best friend again.

“i’m moving out.”

your parents hardly bat an eye at your announcement.

“where are you going to go?” your dad questions, his eyes leaving his sudoku to look at you momentarily. the way he phrases his sentence makes it sound like he thinks you need your parents, that you have no one else to rely on.

“las vegas. to live with soojin.”

“vegas? but that city’s so… raunchy,” your mother has never been a fan of big cities, specifically ones known for dancing and gambling and drinking and flamboyance.

“well, that’s where i’m going and when i get there i’m gonna find an apartment and get a job. i don’t know when i’ll be back, my plane leaves in a couple of hours.”

there’s silence, an exchanged glance between the two of them, and then your dad mumbles “whatever makes you happy.”

assuming that this conversation is now over, you make your way upstairs to continue packing before your big move.

as much as you wanted to surprise soojin and show up unannounced, you're also somewhat relying on her to help you find a job and a place to stay - and she came through. it just so happened that the lucky cat - a popular upscale casino that soojin’s been working at for the past few years  - is looking for a couple more floor staff to help with the hectic summer season.

in addition to that, there are tons of apartment vacancies since all of the university of nevada students have gone home for the summer - soojin said you can crash at her place until you sign a lease.

your extremely last minute plan to move thousands of miles away from home has somehow worked entirely in your favour. fingers crossed for no last minute curve balls!

you opt to leave the majority of your belongings behind; you don’t have much in terms of keepsakes anyway. one of your suitcases is filled with clothes, the other with personal items, and your backpack with all of your important possessions.

when the time on your clock reads 3:00 pm, you call for a taxi and make your way downstairs. 

you give your parents stiff unnatural hugs before your taxi pulls up outside and you load all of your luggage into the trunk. your mom looks like she wants to say something but refrains. the cab driver pulls away, and you watch your childhood home along with your parents turn into mere specks in the distance.

airport security is a breeze - you just have to avoid all of the sloppy unorganised tourists who have no idea what they’re doing. by the time you board your flight it’s dusk, and you stare at the various shades of blues, pink and purples staining the sky as your plane streaks down the runway and lifts off.

for the majority of the flight you sleep, knowing that when you land you’ll go right to soojin’s place and she’ll likely want to give a grand tour of the strip. besides, who doesn’t want to explore on their first night in a new city?

the jolt of the plane touching the ground is what wakes you some time later. the view outside your window is dark, and the vegas airport slowly comes into sight as the airplane continues down the runway. you wait until the seatbelt sign is turned off before grabbing your carry-on bag and exiting the aircraft. 

after claiming the rest of your luggage at the baggage carousel, you make your way outside and inhale your first breath of vegas air. it’s warm outside, and somewhat humid, but it makes you feel alive. 

hailing a cab, you toss your belongings in the trunk and recite soojin’s apartment address from where you wrote it down in your phone to the driver. he puts the cab into drive, and you watch the harry reid airport get further and further away as you’re escorted into the city that you now call home.

through the window of the taxi you stare in awe at the dozens upon dozens of clubs, casino’s, bars and hotels lining the roads. every building and sign is lit up by thousands of lights in all colours of the rainbow, enticing visitors to enter and blow ungodly amounts of money in one night. the streets are teeming with eager party people dressed in sequins and suits who’s night’s are just beginning.

so this is how miley felt in party in the usa. she’s so real for that.

the drive isn’t long, just over 10 minutes, and your heart flips in your chest when your taxi comes to a halt outside of soojin’s apartment complex. you grab your belongings form the trunk before paying your driver and 

while in the elevator you feel yourself getting more and more nervous with each passing second. will soojin act differently? will she look different? do you look different? sure the two of you facetime every other day, but nothing compares to seeing someone in person.

you're forced out of your thoughts when the elevator stops, letting you know that you’ve arrived at your designated floor. you lug your bags down the hallway and with a shaky hand you knock on soojin’s door. inside you hear erratic footsteps before the door in front of you swings open.

“AHHHHHH YOU BITCH YOU’RE HERE!!!!”

before you can say anything in response, all of the air is sucked out of your lungs as soojin captures you in a bone crushing hug, causing you to scream in excitement (and slight discomfort).

the two of you do a semi-awkward jump hug in soojin’s doorway and rejoice after not having seen each other in years. while lugging your suitcase into soojin’s living room you do your best to catch up with each other. she raves about her job and you bitch about your parents while you get settled.

“i hope you slept well on the plane, because our night is just about to start!” soojin shouts before disappearing into her bedroom, “now change into something slutty!”

once you’ve fixed your hair and makeup and change into an outfit deemed ‘vegas-worthy’ by soojin, she grabs you by the arm and drags you out of her apartment. “time for soojin’s unofficial tour of the strip!”

the sidewalks are even busier than they were when you were driven through here not too long ago, and you find yourself just narrowly escaping head-on collisions with other tourists and locals.

“ooh let’s go in here!” soojin’s nails dig into the pulse point on your wrist and you rush to keep up with her, flashing your i.d and paying an entry fee before being let into a two-story club with flashing purple and green strobe lights.

a drag queen in a bright orange wig is turning it out on the small wooden stage, but soojin drags you into the nearest bathroom before you can watch any more of her performance. 

once the two of you are in a stall and the door is locked behind you, soojin whips out a small compact mirror and a baggie of powder from her purse. you hand her your i.d which she uses to make several thin white lines, and then digs through her purse to find a pre-rolled $1 bill - which she passes to you.

you try to ignore the slight sting in your nostril as you do your first line off of the small pocket mirror, and you pass the bill over to soojin. the walls and floor of the bathroom stall start to waver as the coke kicks in almost instantaneously, and you laugh because it looks like soojin’s eyeballs are melting out of their sockets. you do a few more lines before exiting the stall with soojin following behind you.

the two of you make your way onto the dance floor that’s sticky with spilled drinks and lose yourself to music by lady gaga, beyonce, rihanna, and britney. it feels like your limbs have turned to jelly and you can’t stop laughing and dancing with your best friend. at some point your nose starts bleeding which you only realise once it’s dripped down your lips and you can taste the metallic tang in your mouth.

you hop from bar to bar and club to club, and soojin tells you stories about each one of them. “this is the club where i lost my shoes, and this is the bar where i fell off a stool, and this is the club where…” it doesn’t stop.

once your coke-induced high starts to wane you turn to alcohol, sucking back one too many lemon drops than one should. at this point of the night your feet have several blisters and your hair is stuck to the nape of your neck with sweat, but you’re too intoxicated to care. it’s been so long since you’ve had fun, since you’ve felt so… carefree. it’s euphoric, to say the least.

when you and soojin finally decide to call it a night you step outside and take a deep inhale. compared to the hot and stuffy interior of clubs, even the polluted vegas air is a relief. in the east you see a tinge of yellow in the sky as the sun begins to welcome a new day, and you stumble your way back home.

it’s july, and you’ve officially been living in vegas for a month. the past few weeks have been hectic but fun, and you’d forgotten how much you missed being around soojin. you spent the first couple of days recovering from your night out by lounging on her couch, before deciding to get your shit together and meet with her boss at the lucky cat casino.

the interview was strangely simple, and entailed your soon-to-be boss scanning your resume before asking if you knew how to make any mixed drinks, to which you responded: “uh… i can make a vodka cran?”

you were hired on the spot (red flag, but whatever) and the next day soojin showed you the ropes. luckily it’s a relatively easy position, with a ton of other floor staff around to help you if you’re ever in a pinch.

after securing a job you sign a lease for a small studio apartment in a complex a couple minutes away from soojin’s; the rent isn’t ideal but it’s not horrible and with the leftover money you saved for uni as well as your cash flow from the casino you make it work. 

throughout the entirety of the month you’ve spoken to your parent’s once. your mom called out of the blue, perhaps in an attempt to rekindle your mother-daughter relationship, but it didn’t go very well.

“so how’s california?”

“what?”

“cali? aren’t you in los angeles?”

“no mom, i’m in las vegas… you know, nevada.”

“oh… right.”

you hung up shortly after, and didn’t plan on calling back anytime soon. sure, maybe you were being dramatic, but so were they. 

today you’re scheduled for your regular evening shift, but your boss asked you to come in early for a one on one meeting about your work performance. when you get there he’s leaning against a wall waiting for you, curling his finger in a ‘come hither’ motion to get you to to follow him into his office.

“so,” your boss starts, straddling a flimsy plastic chair so as to make it seem like this is a conversation between two friends and not a manager and his employee.

“you’ve officially been working here for a month, so we’re through your probation period,” he sighs deeply before continuing, “and your performance… has not been great.”

fuck fuck fuck!! this is it. you’re fired, done for! what are you going to do now? you can’t go home, will you be able to even find another job in vegas??

“y/n, i’m not firing you.”

oh. that’s good.

“you just need to be more appealing to customers to bring in more revenue.”

appealing? is he calling you unattractive? you furrow your brows in scepticism “okay… how should i do that?”

your boss takes a second, eyes you suspiciously, then asks: “do you want me to be blunt?”

you nod, so he continues.

“stop dressing like a prude. show some skin.”

“excuse me?”

“i hate to break it to you, but that’s what sells these days,” he grunts while getting up from his chair, a clear sign that this conversation is over.

“but-” 

“don’t take it personally y/n. just loosen up a bit, okay?”

and with that he leaves, the large steel door swinging shut behind him. with every second you spend sitting alone in the messy, humid office of your manager your self-confidence gets smaller and smaller, like a balloon, until it’s all shrivelled up; seemingly non-existent. you go through the entirety of your shift with your head hung low. 

it’s past midnight when you get back to your apartment that smells like paint and old chinese takeout. the advice - command? - that your boss gave to you bounces around in your brain like a ping pong ball.

you finger yourself in the shower before going to bed.

it’s an egg kind of morning.

some mornings are pancake or french toast or waffle mornings; when you’re feeling more lavish and want to indulge yourself. busy days are reserved for cereal or yogurt and granola, when you just need to fuel yourself and get out of the door.

egg days are in between days. you have enough time this morning to make a semi-decent breakfast, so you do. poached eggs - the kind where you put them on a piece of toast with some shredded cheese and then pop the yolks with the tip of your butterknife before watching the golden liquid pool on your plate.

you get half-way through the dish before you feel like puking, remembering why egg days aren’t common.

chucking the rest of your breakfast in the compost, you get ready for the day. the dry-erase calendar you have tacked onto the wall by your front door reminds you that you don’t have work until later this evening; so it’s settled.

today will be a day of reinvention. 

there’s much to be done, so you pull on your fanciest casual outfit and head out. 

the vegas strip is somewhat busy today - but then again when is it not. nighttime is when the city comes alive. clubs and casinos and theatre’s showcasing snuff films all open their doors for the mature population, providing them with enough alcohol to make their brains go fuzzy until they wake up having no clue what happened. 

daytime is when the streets are packed with tourists and their obnoxious children darting between the mandalay bay aquarium, the discovery museum and the hershey’s store. which is why you try not to leave your apartment before the families on vacation retire to their hotels for the night. but today, you make an exception.

the sun beats down on your aching shoulders the second you step out of your apartment, and you mentally slap yourself when you remember that you forgot to put on sunscreen. 

when you arrive at your first destination, an upscale salon that soojin recommended to you on your first night out, you bask in the AC before they call your name.

you splurge and get your eyebrows, legs and bikini line waxed. when your aesthetician is finished, you’re whisked away into a cushioned white chair in front of a white desk in a room with white walls and white floors. you get dark red acrylics, long enough to be sexy but not so long that they impact your ability to work. if your mom saw you right now she’d say you look like a hooker. once you’re finished at the salon, you head out to spend more money.

multiple shopping bags filled with skimpy thongs, lacy bras and sheer black pantyhose hang off of your arms as you make your way around the strip mall closest to your apartment. you vow to toss your old electric toothbrush before buying an actual vibrator, one that can give you much better orgasms. with each purchase your worry of your card being maxed out increases, so you decide to call it quits.

once your spa day has come to an end you head back to your shoebox apartment, picking up some tofu pad thai on the way. you binge watch peaky blinders while waiting until you need to leave for your shift, self-doubt coursing through your veins.

“you look different.”

spinning on your heel in the employees only room at work, you come face to face with soojin.

“good different or bad different?”

“good, definitely good. you look hot.”

“thanks,” your face heats up, “boss told me to loosen up to make more cash, so i’m glad it didn’t go unnoticed.”

she rolls her eyes, “it’s the unfortunate truth. here, this is my secret weapon.”

her hand slips into her mint green baguette purse, fishes around for a couple seconds, before pulling something out and placing it in your palm. it’s cold; metal.

“works like a charm~” she sing-songs before making her way back to the staff-only room to get ready for her shift.

in your palm you can feel something long and rectangular but with rounded edges; a tube of lipstick. chanel rouge allure #117 - or cuivre. red. sparkly. sexy.

in the employee’s only bathroom you stare at your reflection in the mirror before popping the top off of the tube of lipstick. it glides onto your lips  with ease, and you stare at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom. you look pretty. after ensuring that no lipstick made its way onto your teeth, you head out and start your shift.

the casino is decently busy tonight, so the first time you have a chance to talk to soojin again is when you both end up behind the bar at the same time.

“how are the tips tonight? i bet they’re just rolling in now that you look like a skank.”

you laugh while measuring out some white rum to add to a customer’s mojito, “i’m not complaining!”

soojin finishes straining her cosmopolitan before leaning into you, “do you want me to let you in on another one of my secrets?”

you nod. who doesn’t want tips on how to make more money?

“younger people always tip better. once someone’s above 40 it’s like a flip switches in their brain and they have some kind of entitlement that makes them less likely to tip. so, if a group of 20 or 30-something’s come in, snag ‘em.”

“i mean that makes sense,” you continue mixing drinks while you talk, “but practically every customer in here is a middle aged white man.”

“not everyone,” soojin says while pointing at a table to your left, where a frequent customer with a beer gut and a bald spot is sitting playing poker.

“... mr. creole? but he’s like 70..”

“what? no, not him!” soojin places a perfectly manicured finger on your jaw and slightly turns your head further to the left, your gaze landing on a baccarat table at the back of the room, “them.”

there, a group of 4 men in slacks and white dress shirts rolled up at the sleeves are huddled together while the dealer places chips and cards on the table. the one gambling is seated across from the dealer while the other 3 are huddled around him, clearing hyping him up to win big.

“you see the tallest one?” soojin practically whispers into your ear, “that’s heeseung. he doesn’t gamble too much, mostly he’s there for moral support.”

soojin’s right, he is tall. i mean they all are, but his body is like 70% leg. you watch as heeseung laughs at whatever one of his friends says before checking his watch, clearly not wanting to stay much longer. 

“the one on his left is jake, and the one beside him is jay. they gamble sometimes, usually black jack or the slot machines, but i think they mostly come for the drinks - and the girls.” 

jake and jay definitely seem the most excited to be there; they’re both leaning over their gambling friend’s shoulder whispering excitedly, undoubtedly telling him to go all in or whatever the proper term is - you still don’t know much about gambling.

“the guy in the middle is sunghoon,” your eyes fall upon the man in the centre of the group, “he’s like the best of the best.”

you watch as his ring clad fingers dart across the felted surface of the table, flipping cards and picking up chips as if it’s second nature to him. upon closer inspection you notice his features are quite leporine; sharp brows, poignant nose, nice white teeth that are revealed when he laughs at something his friend says.

“he plays anything and everything here,” soojin starts while staring at sunghoon like you are, “roulette, blackjack, three-card poker, but he’s the best at baccarat - specifically baccarat chemin de fer.”

your brain short circuits, “listen, i know jack shit about gambling, so none of that really means anything to me.”

soojin laughs at your bluntness, “basically he’s super rich and super lucky… and hot, but you don’t need to know anything about gambling to see that.”

sounds like your kind of man.

“how do you know so much about them?” 

“i’m their usual server,” soojin starts, and then a mischievous look appears in her eyes, “do you wanna help me?”

“what, like right now?”

“i mean, yea.” 

you stare at her blankly, “i don’t know i mean i’m still pretty new here and i don’t know what i’m doing and-”

“oh come on y/n you are a chronic overthinker, let’s go!” and with that she’s dragging you across the casino to where the 4 men are seated.  soojin begins conversing with the table and you stand behind her awkwardly, palms sweaty and knees about to buckle. it’s not everyday that you’re surrounded by a group of 4 tall, rich, attractive guys. while soojin interacts with her usual customers, you cower behind her like a scared child, waiting for her to loop you into the conversation.

“and this,” she grabs you by your elbow and pulls you forward, “is y/n, my best friend and coworker.” you wave awkwardly, and they all wave back.

it’s times like this when you’re reminded that soojin’s a natural at her job, whereas you on the other hand are not. she immediately begins to converse with her regulars, leaving you standing off to the side before you make awkward eye contact with sunghoon. you realise that now would be a good time to actually do your job.

“uh, is there anything i can get you to drink?”

“sure!” he smiles at you, and he really does have a nice smile, “can i get a m-” 

you know those cheesy movie scenes where the protagonist finally meets the love of their life and suddenly everything around them is tinted pink and moving in slo-mo? this feels exactly like that. you try to listen to what sunghoon is saying but all you can focus on is his icy blond hair, his perfect skin, his deep brown eyes (that you notice darting to your lips on more than one occasion - thank you soojin!)

you force yourself to tune back in to real time when you realise he’s stopped talking, and then mentally slap yourself because you just missed his entire order spare for the first letter being ‘m’.

too stubborn to say something, you just nod with a smile and head back towards the bar while racking your brain for every single cocktail starting with the letter m. a milk & honey seems too niche, a moscow mule too intense, and a mai tai too fruity. so you settle on a well-known ‘m’ cocktail: margarita. a classic! who doesn’t love margarita’s? (hopefully not sunghoon).

you get to business salting the rim of your glass and mixing the tequila and lime juice while making sure that this is the prettiest fucking margarita you’ve ever made. when you’re finished, you take a deep breath and head back over to the baccarat table where soojin is still talking to jay, jake and heeseung.

beside them, sunghoon is waiting patiently for his drink, and you place it in front of him on the velvet tabletop.

“oh, uh…” he stares at the drink you hand him with confusion. fuck, his ‘m’ cocktail wasn’t a margarita. 

panic begins to kick in, and you contemplate pulling the ‘i’m new here’ card, “sorry, is that not what you ordered?”

“no, it was a martini… you know, like james bond?”

of course it was a fucking martini you dipshit! literally the drink of choice for all men who like to fantasise that they’re a world famous spy.

sunghoon probably notices you panicking, “but it’s ok! i like margaritas too.”

“no, let me get you what you actually ordered!” 

“no really it’s fine-” sunghoon starts, but you’ve already began to weave through the other tables. when your out of view of any customers you actually slap yourself. you just embarrassed yourself in front of the hottest guy in the whole casino! great, your life is over. 

you try to ignoring the heat rushing to your face while straining sunghoon’s martini and then head back to that baccarat table for the third time in the past 5 minutes, apologising profusely while handing the man in question his actual order. he smiles before handing you a $20, which you slip into your work apron.

“should i give this back to you then?” he holds up the margarita you made, beads of condensation already rolling down the side of the glass.

“keep it, it’s on the house.” you smile, and leave the table for good.

“that’s it, i have to quit now.” you whine to soojin once you’re both behind the bar again.

“what happened? i thought it went well.” soojin questions while shaking a long island iced tea.

“i messed up his fucking order dude. i embarrassed myself!” you hide your head in your hands and huff in frustration.

“come on y/n that’s not the end of the world! and sunghoon’s a nice guy, i’m sure he understands that you were just so enthralled with his beauty you couldn’t focus on what he was saying.”

you sock her in the shoulder, and then cringe because that’s exactly what happened. and when your shift ends at the early hours of the morning, sunghoon is all you’re thinking about.

apparently you’d been on sunghoon’s mind too, because the second you get to work the next day soojin is excitedly dragging you back into the employees only room. there, a gorgeous bouquet made of peruvian lilies, delphinium, and baby’s breath is sitting on the table, a thick, off-white card tied to the stems. it reads:

y/n,

will you let me see you again? 

3600 S Las Vegas Blvd, 11:00 pm. 

i’ll have someone pick you up.

p.sh

“signed p.sh? who’s that?”

“that’s sunghoon you numbskull! he’s asking you out on a date!”

you bend down to smell the bouquet made for you, “it’s not a date soojin, he just wants to see me.”

“yea, and he clearly has romantic intentions, hence the flowers!” she dramatically motions to the bouquet, “in my books that qualifies as a date, but to each their own.”

throughout your shift your nerves are piqued; you try to chalk it up to the humidity or the fact that you accidentally spilled a rum and coke on a well-paying customer, but in the back of your brain you know it's because of sunghoon.

when the time comes for your shift to be over you rush to the bathroom to attempt to spruce yourself up after having worked for almost 8 hours. you finger-comb your hair and swipe on some deodorant before applying a fresh coat of the lipstick soojin gave you - since sunghoon kept staring at your lips last night surely he’d appreciate you wearing it again.

stepping out of the lucky cat, you try not to audibly gasp as the stunning white rolls royce ghost that’s waiting for you at the curb, hazards blinking. so sunghoon’s rich rich, got it. suddenly your attire feels extremely lacklustre. 

“y/n?” a bearded man with big hands calls out to you from the driver's seat.

“that’s me.” you slide into one of the smooth leather seats, close the door behind you, and hope that you’re not being driven to your doom.

“you’re late,” he jokes, “4 minutes to be exact.” 

sunghoon’s standing on the sidewalk right where his driver drops you off. he’s dressed similarly to how he was when you saw him last night, slacks and a button up even though it’s the middle of the summer.

“don’t blame me, blame your driver.”

he smirks and raises an eyebrow as if to say touche, and he sticks his elbow out for you to loop your arm through - so you do. the two of you walk in tandem and you scan your surroundings to try to figure out where sunghoon’s brought you. a vast pool of water catches your eye not too far away from you and something clicks in your brain - the bellagio, of course! only now the water’s at a standstill since the magnificent fountain only goes off every fifteen minutes.

“do you bring all of the girls you meet here?”

“what, to the bellagio? no way, only the real special ones.”

“what makes me so special then?”

“i don’t know, you seem… charismatic? and you’re funny, i like that.”

“funny because i messed up your drink order?”

“i mean, kinda! it just makes you seem more… human.” he shrugs while shoving his hands in his pockets. “don’t tell soojin i said that though.”

you laugh, and then bring a finger up to your lips in a shushing motion.

“so,” sunghoon stops walking so the two of you are standing on the sidewalk with a perfect view of the bellagio, “how long have you been in vegas?”

you do quick math in your head, “just over a month. i moved here after i… flunked university.”

“oh, that’s rough” he grimaces before smiling coyly, “your turn.”

“my turn? for what?”

“ask me a question.”

“okay, uhhh,” is asking where he gets all of his money from rude? possibly, so you ask him: “how do you gamble?”

sunghoon looks at you with confusion, before chuckling softly. that was definitely a dumb question. “what do you mean?”

“like the card games and stuff! i don’t get it.”

“but you work at a casino.”

“i make drinks at a casino, i don’t have anything to do with the games.”

he raises his hands in defence. “well, all of the card games are different, but my favourite is probably baccarat - black jack is fun too, though. anyways, the main goal of baccarat is to get as close to nine as possible. you start by betting chips on either the player or the banker, and then the dealer draws two cards for both of them. the cards are flipped over and whoever’s closer to nine wins, but you don’t want to go over a score of nine. you can also bet on a tie, a banker pair, and a player pair… are you following me?”

“nuh uh.”

he gives up trying to explain, “basically you throw some cards and chips on a table and win money.”

the two of you sit in silence for a moment, with sunghoon staring at the water in front of him - likely thinking of a question to ask you since he’s the one who started this little game.

“do you have any wishes?”

confusion evident on your face, your turn to look at him.

“because if you do, this would be the place to make one.” he gestures to the bellagio, 

it’s then that he reaches into his pocket and pulls out 2 silver coins - nickels. he keeps one for himself, then places the other in the palm of your hand. 

you watch as he turns to face the fountain, his side profile lit up by the warm glow from the white lights in the water. his eyes close and his brows furrow for just a moment, and then he tosses his coin into the fountain.

“what did you wish for?”

“if i tell you it won’t come true.” he stares at you, his eyes catching the glow from the lights of the nearby hotel. “your turn,” he repeats for the second time tonight.

you follow in his footsteps, closing your eyes while making a wish and tossing your coin into the fountain. when you open your eyes, you swear sunghoon’s closer to you than he was before.

before you can come up with a witty response, a dramatic whoosh! sounds and you look beside you to see that the water show has begun. an amazing display of lights and aquatics plays out before your eyes as the fountains erupt in synchronisation, creating a dazzling and unforgettable display.

“pretty.”

you’re about to agree, only until you realise that sunghoon’s focus is on you, not the fountain. his eyes are glossy and he smells of bergamot and sage, and you finally get to live in that rom-com moment when he leans in and presses his lips against yours. 

his lips are plump but slightly chapped, and you struggle to keep your balance with the way he’s leaning into you. after several moments he pulls away and you almost chase after his lips, that is until you hear the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from other spectators, reminding you that you are in fact in public and the people surrounding you probably don’t want to see you and sunghoon devouring each other. 

a sour expression makes its way onto sunghoons face, and he grabs your hand before nodding in the direction that you came from - a clear indication that he wants to get out of here.

the two of you find his car in idle on a semi-busy side street and you both slip into the back; initially you had planned on leaving the middle seat empty to separate the two of you, but sunghoon wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you beside him. you tell sunghoon’s chauffeur your address, and he nods before rolling up the partition to give the two of you some privacy and taking off down the busy road of the strip.

“you know you made my wish come true back there.”

“what, when i asked you to teach me the art of gambling?”

he bites his lower lip to abstain from laughing before teasingly pushing your shoulder, “you know what i mean.”

“was it when i did this?” in a bold move (for you), you grasp his jaw with your acrylic nails and kiss him with much more lust and passion than you did in front of the bellagio. his hand instantaneously moves up to cup the side of your face, and you manage to pull a quiet moan from him at the suddenness of your actions. 

his teeth nip at your bottom lip gently and your mouths move in tandem with each other, both of you acting as if the other is your only source of oxygen that you can’t pull away from. you slip your tongue past his teeth and lips and into his mouth, where you can slightly taste the spearmint gum he spit out before the two of you got back into his car. a desperate whine escapes your throat when he pulls away from you.

“open your mouth,” you comply, “good girl.”

in one swift motion he spits into your open mouth, and you feel his saliva glide down your tongue to the back of your throat. you close your mouth and swallow. sunghoon keeps his grip on your jaw, allowing his thumb to caress your cheek before swiping it across your bottom lip in a silent plea to let him in. you take his thumb in your mouth, his eyes trained on the way your puffy lips are wrapped around his digit. a string of saliva connects his thumb to your lips when he pulls his hand away, and in the dim lighting you catch a glimpse of your sparkly red lipstick smeared across his knuckle. 

when you stop at a red light his hand wraps around the back of your neck and he kisses you again; in your head you thank whatever higher power there is above that the car’s windows are tinted, so no curious outsider could peek in and see what the two of you are up to.

deciding to test the waters, you sneak your hand down his torso to the waistline of sunghoon’s pants, hesitating slightly before reaching out to palm his crotch through his clothes. the action causes his hips to jerk slightly, and he places his own clammy hand on top of yours to guide you as you massage his cock through his slacks. 

a metallic clink! reverberates off of the inside of the car as you unbuckle your seatbelt and somewhat sprawl your upper body across sunghoon’s lap; your hands gripping this thighs to stabilise yourself with your face only mere centimetres away from his clothed erection. noticing that you’re in a bit of an awkward position, sunghoon takes the initiative to unbutton his pants, inch them down just a little, and pull his cock out.

lengthwise he’s definitely above average, and his tip is flushed red and leaking beads of precum already. he sticks his palm out and you spit in it, watching like a hawk as he uses your saliva as lube to pump himself a few times before sitting back and letting you steal the show.

you playfully lick his tip, as if to taunt him that you could do more, but you don’t really feel like it. his thighs twitch underneath your hands, so you finally relent and wrap your lips around sunghoon’s cock, feeling him squirm in pleasure above you. 

with one hand he’s gripping the door handle, his hold so tight that his knuckles have turned a ghastly shade of white. with the other he’s gripping the back of your neck, clearly trying to refrain from shoving your head to the base of his dick - so you do it yourself, and take his entire length into your mouth.

the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t help but gag, and sunghoon hisses when you dig your nails into his pant clad thigh.

“keep it down,” he groans, “unless you want my chauffeur to hear you gagging on my cock.” 

an involuntary whine escapes you, and your hips shift in your seat. you can hear the smugness in his voice when he says: “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you continue to deepthroat him in the back of his car, trying not to gag or cough too loudly when the vehicle goes over a pothole or a bump in the road and his cock is shoved deeper than you’re expecting. each and every time his tip bumps the back of your throat you swallow around him, trying to suck back the mix of spit and precum that threatens to spill past your lips.

“fuck y/n,” a dull thud sounds as sunghoon lolls his head against the headrest behind him, “feels so fucking good.” the hand on the back of your neck starts to help guide your ministrations, and his hips start to buck up ever so lightly into your mouth.

you can tell sunghoon’s close to finishing by the way his moans get louder and more desperate, and you’re tempted to pull your mouth off of his cock and call him out for being a hypocrite for telling you to be quiet not too long ago. nevertheless, you persevere and continue to suck him off, allowing him to roll his hips up into your face.

at this point your hips and legs are cramping up and your jaw is aching from having been open for so long, so you let sunghoon take complete control and allow him to fuck your mouth until he cums, which is only a few moments later.

he finishes with a guttural groan before spilling his seed down your bruised throat; you try not to grimace at the taste before swallowing obediently. pulling yourself off of his cock, you use your thumb to wipe the spit and semen off of the corners of your mouth, and you sit back and watch sunghoon tuck himself back into his pants while trying to catch his breath.

the car shakes slightly as sunghoon’s driver accidentally bumps into the curb, and when you look outside the tinted car window you find that you’ve arrived at your apartment building. perfect timing.

being the gentleman that he is, sunghoon offers to walk you to your door - and who are you to say no. although you find a feeling of self-consciousness creeping up on you, what with your apartment being so drab in comparison to just about every aspect of sunghoon’s life. you try to push those negative thoughts away as you step out of the elevator and unlock your apartment door.

“i like it!” sunghoon preaches as he stands in your entryway, looking around as you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter. you give him a sarcastic side-eye. “i’m serious! it’s… cozy.”

you make your way over to where he’s standing, and he smirks as you press your chest against his, one of his arms snakes around your waist. your tummy flutters as he presses one, two, three chaste kisses to your pouted lips.

“goodnight, sunghoon.”

you move to close the door, but he suddenly objects and sticks his arm out to block your actions.

“wait! y/n i’d uh… i’d really like to see you again. maybe tomorrow night, i-if that’s ok with you of course?”

it’s in this moment that you can finally see this rich playboy facade start to crack. it prides you to see that the man whose dick you just sucked in the back of a car minutes ago has been reduced to a flustered stuttering mess because of you. cute. 

“i think i can make that work.”

“ok! that’s great, i’ll send someone to come pick you up maybe around, uhh 8:00 pm? is that ok?”

you nod, “it’s a date.”

his eyes widen at this, and before he has time to respond you close your front door.

ding dong!

what the fuck? who on earth is at your door this early in the morning? ugh, it’s probably the delivery guy. if you ignore him then he’ll just drop off your package and fuck off. 

ding dong ding dong ding dong!!!!

you sigh in frustration and pull yourself out of bed seeing as whoever’s at your door doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. opening your door just a crack, you see soojin standing there with a plastic bag in her hand.

“i brought waffles!” she announces before inviting herself into your apartment and sitting at the island in your kitchen. she opens up the plastic bag she brought and pulls out two take out containers of waffles, two drinks, and lots of syrup and butter. “come, sit. eat.”

grabbing cutlery from the drawer in your kitchen, you nonchalantly rub the sleep out of your eyes while making your way over to her, “why are you here so early?”

“dude, it’s noon,” she shoots you a judgemental glare, “and i’m here because i want to know all about your little date last night!” 

“i would hardly call it a date,” your mouth is stuffed with waffle so your words come out choked. you know that if you tell soojin what actually happened with sunghoon last night, she's going to make it a way bigger deal than it is. 

“you’re lying to me.”

“what? no i’m not.”

“yes you are y/n. i’ve known you for years and can instantly recognize the way you scrunch your nose and refuse to make eye contact when you’re lying to me.”

shit. she’s got you there.

“ok fine! he took me to the bellagio, we kissed and then,” you huff and roll your eyes, “isuckedhisdickinthebackofhiscar…”

“YOU WHAT??!! oh my god y/n this is crazy!! i can’t believe you’re getting it on with a hot rich guy!”

“we are not getting it on, he just likes me,” you stare at your waffles, “and he invited me to his place for dinner tonight.”

soojin chokes on her drink, “what the fuck!!?? why didn’t you tell me! we need to go pick out what you’re going to wear.” and with that she practically jumps up from where he’s sitting and heads into your bedroom. when you hear drawers being flung open and hangers clattering to the floor you decide to do damage control and head into your bedroom before soojin destroys it. 

some time later, the two of you settle on a basic black satin slip dress and knee high go-go boots.

“come on, let's do your makeup.” soojin excitedly starts to scan your vanity.

“dude it’s literally one in the afternoon, he’s not picking me up until eight.”

she looks defeated at first, but then turns to you with a smile, “cillian murphy movie marathon while we pass the time?”, and who are you to say no to that.

it’s around 6:30 pm when red lights finishes, and you decide you should start getting ready. in the shower you do the works - shaving, exfoliating, washing, scrubbing - and when you step out it feels like you have a whole new layer of squeaky clean skin. soojin pampers you and does your hair and makeup, opting for a subtle yet sexy look.

at 2 minutes to 8:00 pm, you slip on your boots and ask soojin to give you a once-over to make sure everything looks good (it does).

“i’ll be here mooching off of your crave subscription and raiding your fridge. now shoo!” your friend practically kicks you out of your own apartment. when you're halfway down the hallway to the elevator you hear soojin shout: “and if you don’t spend the night there getting railed i’m going to be very disappointed in you!”

the familiar rolls royce ghost is waiting for once again when you exit your apartment. sunghoon’s chauffeur, who you find out is named anthony, asks you what music you’d like to listen to on the drive. you ask for lay all your love on me by ABBA, and slouch in your seat as anthony takes off down the street that’s beginning to light up for the evening crowd.

upon your arrival at sunghoon’s place you see him waiting on the street for you. he’s dressed in a suit and tie, and although he looks phenomenal you’re practically dying to see him in some casual clothes.

“don’t give me shit about being late this time, park.” you taunt as you step out of his car, and anthony drives off. 

“i wasn’t going to! in fact, i told anthony to take his sweet time since he’d be carrying precious cargo.” he pecks your cheek, and you feel heat rush to your ears and the apples of your cheeks.

you step into an elevator that’s the size of your living room, with glass floors, gold buttons and a chandelier. sunghoon reaches a slender finger out and presses the button for the top floor, because of course he lives in a fucking penthouse.

when the golden doors slide open, you're met with a narrow entryway which sunghoon leads you down before opening his front door. “welcome to the park penthouse!” 

glamorous is an understatement when it comes to sunghoon’s living quarters. the ceilings are high and the floors are made of marble that’s so bright it kind of hurts your eyes to look at it directly. you’re not given much time to take it all in before sunghoon’s ushering you into what you can only assume is the living room. three leather couches make a semi-circle around a glass coffee table, all facing a large cobblestone fireplace and massive flatscreen tv. bookshelves stretch to the ceiling on either side of the fireplace, and in the far corner of the room you see a small silver safe, about the size of a microwave, embedded into the wall.

“i didn’t think rich people actually had safe’s in their walls,” you walk over to it, “i thought it was just a thing in movies.” sunghoon laughs at your statement before grasping the metal handle of the safe. he makes no effort to hide the pinpad, so you watch him type in the code and open the hefty metal door. the inside is quite literally something out of a spy movie; it’s filled bricks of cash stacked on top of eachother bound with elastic.

“woah,” you somewhat whisper, “how much is in there?”

sunghoon ponders your question, “couple hundred thousand. it’s my emergency stash. you know, in case i get into a really bad car accident, or - god forbid - lose a real big bet while gambling.”

just looking at the amount of cash is insane to you, and your brain hurts as you think of what you could spend all of that money on. luckily, sunghoon shuts the door, and you hear the lock click. “come on, i have more to show you.”

a long oak table is placed in the centre of the room, decorated with vases filled with flowers and gold candlesticks that hold tall dark red candles. only two spots at the table are set, each having a large silver platter at the centre with a fork and knife one either side. a crystal wine glass is also set to the right-hand side of both seats, filled half-way with dark red cabernet sauvignon.

“i didn’t know you could cook.” you turn to look at sunghoon, whose eyes widen. “oh, i didn’t make anything. i had jay come over to do it all - he’s a really good cook, you know.”

“i guess i’m about to find out.” you pull out one of the chairs at the dining table and sit down, a look of shame briefly flashing across sunghoon’s face as he realises that was his job. nevertheless, he shakes off his nerves and takes the seat across from you. the two of you simultaneously take the silver lid off 

“i was gonna do something fancier like steak,” he scratches the back of his neck, “but i didn’t know if you were a vegetarian… or something.” 

you assure him that it’s fine and that pasta is always your go-to, which seems to ease his nerves. it turns out that sunghoon was right and jay actually is a phenomenal chef; too bad he isn’t here for you to praise him in person. while you shovel pasta into your mouth sunghoon sips his wine and continues to act jittery. you decide it would be best to start up some playful banter since he seemed so comfortable doing that last night.

“i’m sorry, is it like, rude for me to ask where you get all of your money from?” you trace the stem of your wine glass with your finger before picking it up, “it’s just that you’re still fairly young, you know.”

he laughs with his mouth full, swallowing his food before responding, “well, my parents are both doctors who would send me money all the time when i first moved out,” he tentatively picks up his fork, “but then we grew apart so i used what i had from them to start gambling.” he goes to eat but then stops as he remembers something, “i also work at a law firm, but it doesn’t pay nearly as well as what i make from gambling at the lucky cat.”

you nod while dragging your fork through the sauce on your plate. a somewhat eerie silence settles over the two of you, and you’re tempted to say ‘your turn’ to get him to ask you a question like he did to you last night.

“hey, i just wanted to say thanks for last night.” his voice is quiet, and suddenly his half-eaten pasta is more interesting than you, his date, are. 

is he talking about…?

“uh, what part of last night are you thanking me for?” you think you know the answer, but you like seeing him squirm a little.

“come on y/n, don’t make me say it.” he groans and lets his fork clatter against his plate, causing you to laugh.

“i won’t! just teasing.” that same silence falls over the pair of you, but when you peer at sunghoon you can tell he wants to say something else.

“i’d uh,” he chuckles, “i’d like to return the favour, if that’s ok with you.”

oh. oh. 

you try to hide the way you shift in your seat and swallow the nervous lump in your throat; sunghoon’s gaze on you is unwavering.

“right now?”

his pupils seem to darken and dilate at your question - although both of you seem to be in agreeance that it wasn’t a question, and moreso a confirmation. the two of you seem to shove your dishes to the side at the same time, sending silverware clattering to the floor as you crawl across the table and mash your lips against sunghoon’s.

right off the bat this kiss is more desperate and lustful than all of the previous ones you’ve shared. you shift so your sitting with your thighs hanging off of the table, opening your legs briefly to let sunghoon step between them before wrapping them around his waist.

you kiss and bite at his wine-stained lips that taste so tart but so addictive. your hips are flush against his and you can feel that he’s already semi-hard through his pants - no wonder he was so flustered during dinner.

the cool air of sunghoon’s apartment chills you when he lifts your slip dress up and over your shoulders in one swift motion before tossing it to the floor. noticing the goosebumps erupt on your skin, sunghoon nudges your shoulder to get you to lay back against the table. he reaches to his left and grabs a candlestick.

“let me warm you up.”

you watch the muscles and tendons in his wrist flex as he tips the candle ever so slightly, allowing splotches of the dark red wax to drip onto your chest. the hot paraffin stings and burns but also makes you feel warm and excited and so good. sunghoon keeps the candle pointed at your body, making sure the open flame is a safe distance away from your skin. he moves his hand lower, and you jolt slightly when you feel the hot wax make contact with the sensitive skin between your tits.

warmth spreads across your skin as you feel sunghoon make a trail of wax down your stomach, to your belly button, and then stopping at the elastic waistband of your panties. as the wax dries it hardens, tightening your skin underneath it. the initial sting of the heat is gone, in its place a dull burning sensation that has your pulse quickening. 

your vision clouds when sunghoon touches you for the first time, using his middle and ring fingers to massage your cunt through your ruined underwear.

“fuck, you’re already so wet for me. i bet these panties were soaked before you even got here, huh?”

before you can say anything you feel a tug and your hips and hear the ripping of fabric; when you look down, you see sunghoon tossing your now torn thong to the floor. bummer, that was a cute one.

heat rushes to your face as you watch sunghoon scan your nearly naked figure, his eyes feasting on the vast expanse of your bare skin as if you’re the full-course meal he wants for dinner (sorry chef jay). 

he places his searing hot palms on your knees and pries your legs open to expose your dripping wet cunt. you keep your gaze fixed on the ceiling, too worried that if you glance at him while he’s staring at your pussy you’ll become too flustered. the undeniable swish of a jacket being removed can be heard, and when you spare a glance at sunghoon he’s rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt before diving in between your legs.

he doesn’t hesitate a second before diving into you, and you gasp and whine as you feel his tongue exploring your most private area. just the sound of him licking your pussy has your head spiralling, your nails scratching at the varnished countertop of sunghoon’s dining table before you move your hands to grasp at his hair.

your thighs start to burn as you open your legs as wide as you can, giving sunghoon the utmost access to your body. he uses his tongue to toy with your clit before he wraps his lips around it and sucks, shooting bolts of pleasure to every nerve in you.

when he slips his tongue into your hole you hiss and roll your hips into his face. sunghoon groans against you and continues to lick up your essence as if you’re a dripping popsicle on a hot summer day.

through pants and whines you manage to ask him: “do i taste good?”

“fuck, so good honey. the sweetest thing i’ve ever had.”

you scratch at his scalp and tangle your fingers in his hair as he greedily makes out with your sopping cunt, the wet sucking sounds echoing off of the walls of his vast dining room. he directs his focus back to your clit, causing your back to arch and your chest to heave; with every move you make you can feel the dried wax crack and pull at your skin. 

it feels like your skin is burning up as your orgasm approaches, the familiar inferno starting in the very pit of your stomach before spreading across your body like wildfire.

“fuck hoonie!” your cries only seem to spur sunghoon on, and you're so so so close to cumming - before the fire in between your legs is doused when he pulls away.

it feels like you’re the victim of some sick prank, waiting for the camera crew to jump out and scream ‘gotcha!’ while laughing at you lying on sunghoon’s dining table in desperation.

“w-what?” you catch sunghoon’s gaze as he fully stands up, his lips swollen and red and wet. he doesn’t respond, just grabs you by the waist before picking you up bridal style and carrying you further into his penthouse.

your first look at his bedroom is a blur since right after you enter sunghoon tosses you onto his bed. the sheets and pillowcases are navy silk, and it must be king-sized since it’s about triple the size of your twin bed at home.

for a moment you think he’s going to pick up where he left off and dive back into your cunt, but instead he captures your lips in a tender yet searing kiss. you don’t know how to feel about tasting yourself on his lips and tongue; it’s sensual and arousing, but also makes you feel bashful. 

you realise you’re only wearing your go-go boots and your bra - a weird combo, but soon both of them are discarded onto the floor of sunghoon’s bedroom.

the man in question towers above your now completely bare form as you lay sprawled out on the cool sheets of his bed. “you look,” he reaches a veiny hand up to loosen his tie, “so delicious right now.”

that does a number on you.

with little regard to benignity you pop the buttons on sunghoon’s dress shirt open one by one, and then try not to drool as he reveals his bare chest to you for the first time ever. his skin is smooth from his shoulders all the way down to his v-line, and you finally get to see that he has thick biceps (!!!!!).

in one hand he’s still gripping his tie, and you feel impossibly turned on as he crawls on top of you, the box frame creaking slightly under the weight from the two of you. sitting back on his knees, he gives you the same command as yesterday: “open your mouth.” and you do, again.

he places the taught fabric of his tie in your mouth, and you bite down. your face is shoved into the crook of his neck as he leans forward and ties the two ends in a tight knot at the back of your head, creating a gag. leaning back onto his knees once more, he takes a second to admire his masterpiece - you.

“is this,” he takes a second to regain his composure, “is this ok?”

you nod and try to say yes as best as you can, but it comes out as a warbled ‘mah’ due to the makeshift gag restricting your ability to speak as you normally do.

“good. just uh, tap my arm three times if you want me to stop, ok?” you make the same muffled noise in agreement, rubbing your thighs together for some much needed relief as his hands work to unbutton his pants and yank them, along with his boxers, to the floor.

in the dim lighting provided by the lamp on sunghoon’s bedside allows you to appreciate every dip and imperfection of his body, along with the way the veins in his forearms pop out as he reaches into his bedside table to grab a small foil packet.

using his teeth, sunghoon rips open the condom before sliding it onto himself and giving his length a few pumps. his eyes meet yours for a brief second as he positions himself on top of you, the tip of his cock nudging your clit ever so slightly and sending a jolt of pleasure through your veins. 

his cock easily slips into your already-sensitive cunt and you bite down on the tie in your mouth as you and sunghoon moan in tandem, the fabric already becoming wet with your saliva. he sinks his teeth into your neck and you can feel his pointed canines pinch your sensitive skin - maybe he’s a cullen. 

for a moment he just rests there, no doubt regaining his composure so he can fuck you into his mattress. lucky for him, you’re still sensitive after your last orgasm was ripped away from you, so it shouldn’t even take that much effort to make you cum. 

it feels like the world is moving in slow motion when sunghoon finally pulls his hips away from you, just enough so the tip of his cock is still inside your cunt, before pushing himself all the way back in. your hands explore the vast expanse of his toned back, feeling the muscles move and flex as he slowly picks up his pace.

soon his hips are thrusting into yours in a quick but deep motion, his movements so languid and precise your pussy is already slick and throbbing. your clit is begging for attention, and you almost cry when sunghoon eagles his hips just right so his pelvis rubs against it with each grind. the tie gag in your mouth rubs at the corners of your lips and you attempt to whine sunghoon’s name, tell him that you need more.

he throws his head back in ecstasy before burying his face in between your tits, licking at biting at the skin he marked with hot wax not too long ago. “your cunt is just milking my cock, sweetheart. so fucking tight.”

the cavity between your bodies becomes slick with sweat, and the sound of skin slapping against skin is much more prevalent when sunghoon picks up the pace of his thrusts once again. your legs are aching and you yelp as sunghoon grips the flesh of your thigh like it’s a slab of meat. his back is covered in long scratches courtesy of your acrylics and you’re sure your chest is littered with splotchy red marks from his teeth.

the fire deep inside of you is ignited once again, and you try your best to roll your hips upward in time with sunghoon’s movements as you chase your impending orgasm. sunghoon’s moans are equivalent to the pitch they were at when he was about to cum down your throat in the back of his car, only now they’re much louder and guttural without the fear of being caught in the act getting in the way.

when your orgasm finally starts to wash over you it feels like you're suspended in mid-air, waiting for someone to reel you in, to bring you back to reality. a feeling that can only be described as sweet, sweet relief floods your senses, leaving you a whimpering, twitching mess. sunghoon groans loudly on top of you and you feel him fill up the condom inside of you, his head hanging forward to rest in the crook of your neck once again. two hot sticky tears spill from your eyes, and you barely register the now soggy tie being removed from your mouth. 

your vision is blurry and your ears are ringing and when the warmth of sunghoon’s body disappears you want to cry out for him to come back. luckily he does, and you feel his presence beside you and you try to blink away your tears.

the ceiling slowly starts to come back into focus, and you can feel sunghoon leisurely picking off the dried up bits of blood red wax that are still stuck to your skin. 

you hear sunghoon ask you something, and you pull yourself out of your post-sex haze to listen to him. “hmm?”

“i said do you want to just… spend the night?”

you act as if you’re rolling the idea around in your head for a minute, but you already know the answer.

“i mean soojin told me she’ll be disappointed if i come home tonight, so i guess so.”

arm candy.

your new delta-kind nickname, courtesy of soojin. bestowed upon you when you and sunghoon walked into the lucky cat hand in hand so you could drop off your letter of resignation. soojin screamed so loud the whole strip probably heard her.

“you’re like his trophy wife.”

“we’re not even married?”

after spending the night at sunghoon’s penthouse you never really left. it became a gradual process of moving all of your stuff from your apartment into his, solidified by the termination of your lease - which the two of you celebrated by popping champagne and fucking on his balcony.

after some time the two of you fell into a sort of routine; he’d spend the day working at his law firm and you’d use his black amex card to go shopping - eventually he just made you a shareholder of his bank account. 

inspired by your newfound relationship with sunghoon, soojin worked up the courage to make a move on jay, who admitted that he had felt a connection since he first laid eyes on her (cute). the four of you spend nights out on the strip getting drunk and making bad decisions, acting like the city is your playground.

you wear skirts more and more and panties less and less, a decision that has led to you getting tongue-fucked by sunghoon in the bathroom of the lucky cat’s VIP longue on more than one occasion. he spoils you with jewellry from tiffany’s and vivienne westwood and with bags from coach and hermes; it’s likely that there isn’t a square foot in sunghoon’s penthouse where the two of you haven’t had sex.

you take tabs of acid off of his fingertips in the backs of limousines and town cars before hopping from club to club, allowing your brain to turn into a puddle of mush for a few hours to free you from your worries and woes (not that you have many).

sunghoon’s winning streak at the lucky cat keeps him rich to the point where he’s contemplating quitting his job at the law firm (he hasn’t yet, but it’s hot on his mind). you like to  watch him and his friends gamble, and you’ve even started to understand how the games work - except for pai gow poker, that one still confuses you. ever since you and soojin have started coming to the lucky cat as customers instead of barista’s, you get a barrage of dirty looks from your past coworkers.

“they’re just jealous,” sunghoon told you before checking his cards during a game of baccarat, “jealous that you’re living the american dream!”

and then he lost.

you had decided to spend the night at home to recover from drinking one too many mimosas at brunch, and sunghoon went out to the lucky cat with jay, soojin, jake and heeseung. the night started off normal at first, with jay and jake playing a couple rounds each on the slot machines before everyone gathered around to watch sunghoon play a round of craps. it was jake who told him to bet bigger than he ever has before - he’s always won, why would this game be any different?

“it’s bad y/n,” soojin tells you through the phone, “like hundreds of thousands of dollars kind of bad. it’s gonna take him a while to come back from this - both his ego and his bank account.”

when sunghoon got home you didn’t really know what to do. it felt as if there was a ghost hanging around your apartment; his eyes were glazed over and when you ask him if he’s okay and if he wants to talk he chooses to ignore you and locks himself in his office. 

you wait up for hours, fighting off sleep so you can be there for him when he comes out and wants to talk. at some point your nerves get the best of you and you head into his office, only for him to lash out at you like he never has before. sure, you and sunghoon and gotten into petty fight before, but the sheer look of anger in his eyes is enough to have you slamming the door shut with tears in your eyes.

you lay on your shared bed fully clothed, not sleeping a wink. it’s still nighttime, and your head is as busy as the strip is. staring at the fragments of yourself that you see scattered throughout sunghoon’s room, you begin to weigh your options. 

part of you expected sunghoon to remain undefeated forever, even though you know that’s not possible. but why did his first loss have to be so detrimental? and are you really prepared to live such an unpredictable lifestyle for god knows how long? pushing yourself off of your mattress, you grab a slip of paper and begin to write a note while trying to avoid smudging the ink with your tears.

hoonie, 

i love you, but it was never meant to be. 

what happens in vegas, stays in vegas. 

good bye.

y/n

it’s nearing 4:00 am when you quietly gather your belongings, take all of the cash from sunghoon’s emergency safe, and get in a taxi headed to the airport. sin city taglist: @deobitifull @n-wjns @starstruckluminarytale @smuchsmut @idkwiexist @sjakewrld @muffinminnie @jeondolly @kimmchijjajang @drunkjaked @lalalalawon

#anthony carried this fic tbh #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen blurbs #enhypen x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader