#and this post is already a little too personal
Text
— shooting stars! || park seonghwa
loosely inspired by the drama shitting stars!
Most people aren’t interested in the truth. They just casually gossip to entertain themselves. No one takes responsibility for the caused pain.
idol!seonghwa x prmanager!reader
genre: angst, fluff, smut
trigger warnings: vanilla sex, honestly there's not much just kissing, touching, and... lovemaking. really soft smut. it's embarrassing, jealousy, argument, emotional distress, career-related stress, and difficult decisions
words: 8.2 k
reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.
!minors do not interact!
— hi there! this is my longest story so far! i've been working on it like crazy for the past few days and here we finally are. so the smut... it's not really a smut but still? i tried oh god, i feel so embarrassed but yeah i just decided to go for it. it's again requested work but i actually changed some of it to fit into my idea... anyway thank you so much for requesting!
love, monika. ♡
if you enjoyed this post, i'd be so grateful for a little love – a like or comment would truly make my day!
The office in Mapo-gu, Seoul, felt stiflingly hot, despite having already downed three cups of iced coffee. With the air conditioning out of order and repairs not scheduled until two days later, you found yourself drowning in a sea of work. Who would have imagined that working at a medium-sized entertainment agency would entail such an overwhelming workload? You should have felt grateful for landing this job, considering the effort you had put into securing it, but at times, it felt overwhelmingly demanding. Being the head of the PR department at KQ Entertainment was certainly something to boast about, especially after ATEEZ's success. You joined the company a few years back when you were the sole member of the PR team. If you claimed you believed in the company's success from the beginning, you'd be lying. When you first entered, fear outweighed optimism regarding the future. Indeed, it was no small feat for eight teenage boys to shoulder the weight of an entire company, but ATEEZ rose to the challenge with unwavering determination and passion. Now, with two active bands under KQ's wings, you find yourself constantly occupied.
Managing the members of ATEEZ was undoubtedly a challenging task, and surprisingly, it wasn't due to any misbehavior on their part. Despite their young age and the temptations that come with fame, the ATEEZ members remained remarkably grounded and focused on their careers. You truly admired that. But when a band from such a small company starts gaining momentum, rumors are bound to circulate. Your main priority was to prevent those rumors from leaking. Which wasn't easy, as people can be cruel when they're envious. But still, to this day ATEEZ has not been involved in any major scandals, which made you proud.
In a small company like KQ, everybody knows each other. Initially, stepping into that environment, you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous around the members of ATEEZ. Their presence seemed to exude a magnetic energy that was both captivating and intimidating. As you interacted with them more and more, you realized that their aura was indeed something special. Each member brought their own unique charm and personality to the table. You and the members of ATEEZ grew slightly closer than others, due to your similar ages, but it was Seonghwa who stood out to you the most. His effortless humor, kindness, and genuine care for others made him a favorite. Right from the start, you felt drawn to him. However, you maintained a professional demeanor, knowing all too well the potential consequences of getting too close, especially considering his status as an idol. But at some point, company dinners and parties became regular occasions, where you celebrated each of ATEEZ’s success together. And as the alcohol in your system increased, your professionalism decreased. Your bond with Seonghwa deepened, you found yourself drawn to him more than ever before. Whether it was sharing drinks, engaging in playful games, or simply relishing heartfelt conversations over company dinner, you cherished every moment spent in his company. With each passing interaction, your admiration for him grew, and before you knew it, you were falling head over heels for him. Despite the looming fear of crossing a line you couldn't return from; you couldn't resist him. What started as a professional relationship evolved into something much deeper and more profound. The shy touches and lingering glances exchanged between you spoke volumes, conveying emotions that words alone couldn't express. In the midst of loud music and bustling crowds, you found yourselves leaning closer to each other, seeking solace in the warmth of each other's presence. His hand naturally gravitated to your waist whenever you stood side by side, a silent yet undeniable declaration of the connection you shared.
The day had been long and exhausting, and you were just about ready to call it quits when the sudden intrusion of your boss jolted you from your thoughts. Startled, you looked up to see him standing in the doorway, a look of excitement and urgency written across his face.
"Y/N! Have you heard?" he exclaimed; his voice filled with anticipation. You blinked in surprise, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as you leaned forward in your chair.
"Heard what?" you asked, curiosity piqued. Your boss couldn't contain his grin as he delivered the news.
"ATEEZ just sold out an entire US Tour!" The words hung in the air, sinking in slowly as you processed their significance. And then, without warning, a surge of elation washed over you, and before you knew it, you were on your feet, a joyful scream escaping your lips.
"What?" you exclaimed, unable to contain your excitement. Without a second thought, you rushed forward, enveloping your boss in a tight hug, overcome with happiness at the incredible news. It was a moment of pure exhilaration, a testament to the hard work and dedication of everyone involved in ATEEZ's journey. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment. The excitement in your boss's voice was contagious as he patted your back, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"We are celebrating tonight!" he declared with enthusiasm, his words echoing through the office. A surge of anticipation raced through you at the prospect of celebrating ATEEZ's incredible achievement.
"Absolutely!" you replied eagerly, already picturing the party ahead. With a playful wink, your boss continued,
"So go back to your place, doll up, and I'll see you here at 7 sharp!" You nodded enthusiastically, a smile stretching from ear to ear.
"You got it!" You exclaimed, already mentally planning your outfit for the evening. As you made your way out of the office, the excitement of the impending celebration filled you with renewed energy. With a spring in your step and a heart full of anticipation, you packed up your belongings and bid farewell to the office for the day. The thought of celebrating ATEEZ's success and the prospect of finally seeing Seonghwa filled you with an infectious excitement that bubbled within you. As you made your way through the bustling streets, the anticipation only grew stronger. The familiar sights and sounds of the city seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the promise of the evening ahead. Tonight was a night for celebration, a chance to toast to ATEEZ's success and revel in the joy of being surrounded by friends and colleagues. But above all else, it was a night to be reunited with Seonghwa, and you couldn't wait to see where the evening would take you. With a smile on your face and excitement in your heart, you pushed open the door to your apartment.
After a quick shower to freshen up and wash away the cares of the day, you set about styling your hair and applying my makeup with meticulous care. With the luxury of extra time on your hands, you paid attention to every detail to ensure that you looked and felt your best for the evening ahead. After finishing your make-up, you reached out for your phone resting on the nightstand, your heart skipping a beat as you saw Seonghwa's name flashing on the screen. A surge of excitement coursed through you as you answered the call, eager to hear his voice after what felt like an eternity apart.
"Hello?" You said, your voice tinged with anticipation as you brought the phone to your ear, butterflies dancing in your stomach.
"Hey, it's me," Seonghwa's voice came through the line, warm and familiar, sending a rush of warmth through you. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you replied,
"Hi, Seonghwa. I was just thinking about you." There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a soft chuckle.
"Funny, I was just thinking about you too," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "I will see you tonight, right?"
"Absolutely, I wouldn't miss it for anything," you replied without hesitation, "We definitely need to celebrate!"
"Honestly, the only thing that matters is that I will finally see you," Seonghwa's voice came through the phone, filled with warmth and affection. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you replied,
"Same here, Seonghwa. I've missed you." And as you exchanged a few more words of affection and excitement, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to be reunited once more. With a renewed sense of anticipation and joy, you ended the call, a sense of warmth and happiness lingering in your heart. Tonight was going to be a night to remember, and you couldn't wait to see Seonghwa's smiling face once more.
Choosing the perfect outfit for the evening was challenging. On one hand, you wanted to look your best – to make a memorable impression on Seonghwa after being apart for so long due to his overseas schedule. But on the other hand, you didn't want to appear overdressed or out of place at the party. After rummaging through your wardrobe for what felt like an eternity, you finally settled on something. Opting for a timeless and sophisticated look, you selected a classic black shirt for the evening's celebration. Deciding to add a touch of allure to the ensemble, you opted to leave the top few buttons of the shirt undone, revealing a hint of skin. It was a small gesture, but it added just the right amount of intrigue to the outfit. Paired with a simple black skirt that hit just in the middle of your tights, the combination was effortlessly sexy. The monochromatic palette created a sleek and cohesive look that was eye-catching. With a few carefully chosen accessories – a delicate, gold necklace, a pair of understated earrings, and a sleek clutch – you completed the outfit. As you admired your reflection in the mirror, a sense of excitement washed over you. Tonight was going to be a night to remember.
You entered the company building, the air was filled with electric energy, a tangible sense of excitement pulsating through the air. Everywhere you looked, you could see signs of preparation – colorful balloons swaying gently in the breeze, banners hanging from the walls, and a festive atmosphere that filled the space with warmth and joy. A smile spread across your lips as you took in the sight before you, feeling a surge of excitement building within you. It was clear that everyone had gone to great lengths to ensure that tonight's celebration would be a night to remember, a fitting tribute to ATEEZ's incredible achievement. With each step you took, the anticipation continued to build, fueled by the excitement of finally being reunited with Seonghwa and the rest of the ATEEZ members. After exchanging greetings with everyone and soaking in the festive atmosphere, you found yourself nestled in a cozy corner of the room, a drink in hand. As you scanned the bustling room, your heart skipped a beat with each familiar face that passed by, hoping to catch sight of Seonghwa among the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Y/N!" As you heard your name called from across the room, you turned your head in the direction of the sound. Through the sea of people, you spotted a familiar face.
"San!" You greeted him enthusiastically as he approached, a genuine smile spreading across your face at the sight of him. San was always such a warm and friendly presence, and you were genuinely glad that he had come over to you. "Congratulations!" you exclaimed as San pulled you in a warm hug. With a smile, you pulled back from the hug, meeting his gaze with genuine happiness in your eyes. "I'm so happy for you, San," you said sincerely, knowing that his success was well-deserved.
"It's truly incredible," San replied, a smile tugging at his lips as he raised his glass to clink it against yours. The sound of glass meeting glass echoed through the room, a toast to success. "It's moments like these that make all the hard work worth it," San said, you nodded with agreement. "Here's to many more successes and celebrations to come." with a smile, you took another sip of your drink, savoring the moment and feeling grateful for the opportunity to share it with a friend like San.
''Y/N! You look amazing!' You didn't notice when Hongjoong approached you,
"Thank you!" You replied, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. Before you could react, Hongjoong took your hand and spun you around gently, causing laughter to bubble up from within you. His eyes scanned you appreciatively, and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks under his gaze. It was a simple gesture, but it filled you with a sense of happiness.
"Am I interrupting something?" As the question hung in the air, you turned your gaze away from Hongjoong and met Seonghwa's eyes, feeling a rush of emotions wash over you. His presence seemed to fill the room, drawing you in with an intensity that was both exhilarating and unnerving. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes, a silent exchange passing between you both. In that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you standing there, caught in a moment.
"No, not at all," you replied, as you tore your gaze away from Seonghwa's, turning back to face San and Hongjoong. "We were just catching up." your mind remained fixed on Seonghwa, unable to shake the feeling of his presence lingering in the air.
"I was just telling her how amazing she looks tonight," As Hongjoong's words filled the air, a warm smile spread across your face at his kind gesture. It was a small reassurance amid the tension that lingered between Seonghwa and you,
"Thank you, Hongjoong," you replied with genuine gratitude, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to face Seonghwa once more. His eyes bore into yours, and you couldn't help but wonder what thoughts lay behind Seonghwa's gaze.
''We will leave you two alone and say hi to the rest of the team.'' San spoke, as he took Hongjoong by his arm, and pulled him behind.
"Of course," you replied, nodding in understanding as San and Hongjoong made their way towards the rest of the team. They disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension.
“I don’t like the way they look at you” Seonghwa's words hung in the air, breaking the silence with a weight that you couldn't ignore. His voice was soft, tinged with a hint of concern that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and curiosity at his sudden confession.
"What do you mean?" you asked. There was a depth to his words that hinted at something more, and you found yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to elaborate. Seonghwa sighed, his expression troubled as he struggled to find the right words.
"I mean... I just don't like the way they look at you," he confessed, his voice strained with emotion. His admission caught you off guard, and you were at a loss for how to respond. "It drives me crazy." As he downed his drink in one swift motion, you could see the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"Seonghwa, are you... jealous?" you asked tentatively, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes widened at your question, and for a moment, he was speechless.
"Jealous?" Seonghwa repeated, seemingly taken aback by your question. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to find the answer himself. After a moment of silence, he let out a soft chuckle, his gaze dropping to his hands. "Maybe I am," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The intensity of his confession made your heart flutter, and a blush crept up your cheeks. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair, a sign of his nervousness that you had come to recognize.
"I just... I care about you, you know?" He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an emotion that you hadn't seen before. It was a look of protectiveness, of possessiveness, but also of vulnerability. And in that moment, you realized that perhaps Seonghwa's feelings ran deeper than you had initially thought. Your moment was abruptly interrupted by someone calling his name from across the room. Your heart sank slightly, realizing that you wouldn't have the opportunity to delve deeper into the conversation. Seonghwa glanced at you apologetically, his expression filled with regret.
"I'll be right back," he promised, his voice tinged with disappointment. You nodded in understanding, offering him a reassuring smile despite the lingering questions in your mind.
"Take your time," you replied, watching as he made his way through the crowd, his figure disappearing into the throng of people. Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder about the true meaning behind Seonghwa's words. His confession had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions within you, and you longed for the chance to delve deeper into it. But for now, all you could do was wait, hoping for the opportunity to continue your conversation when the time was right.
As the night wore on, you found yourself swept up in a whirlwind of conversations and celebrations, the opportunity to continue the conversation with Seonghwa slipping further and further away with each passing moment. Seonghwa seemed to be caught up in the festivities as well, pulled in different directions by the demands of the evening. Despite your best efforts to find a moment alone with him, the bustling atmosphere of the party made it difficult to carve out the time for a private conversation. Seonghwa was constantly surrounded by friends and colleagues, and you found yourself pulled in different directions as well, engaging in lively discussions and catching up with the rest of the team.
The atmosphere in the company was quiet, with only the faint echoes of the recent party lingering in the air. As the party slowly wound down and the last of the guests trickled out of the door, you found yourself alone in the room, left to clean up the aftermath. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached, and you turned to find Seonghwa lingering in the doorway.
"Can I help you clean up?" he asked, his voice gentle and earnest. You nodded, appreciating his offer of help and the chance to speak with him once again.
"Of course, thank you, Seonghwa." You replied, welcoming his company. Together, you started to pick up the scattered cups and plates, the silence between you comfortable yet filled with anticipation. Seonghwa worked diligently, making quick work of the mess. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, admiring his focus. When he finished, he looked up and met your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.
"It's much easier with two people," he commented, breaking the silence. You agreed and thanked him again for his help. The room was now clean, but neither of you made a move to leave. Seonghwa finally broke the silence.
"About what I said earlier," he began, hesitating slightly. You nodded, indicating that you were listening. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he continued. "I meant what I said. I care about you... more than I probably should." His words echoed in the empty room; the atmosphere suddenly heavy. You looked at him, surprised by his confession but also relieved. His feelings mirrored your own, and you found yourself smiling at him.
"I care about you too, Seonghwa," you replied, his face lit up at your words, and for the first time that evening, you felt a sense of peace wash over you.
"Can I kiss you?" His words sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through you, and without hesitation, you reached out to gently cup his face in your hands.
"Yes," you whispered, Seonghwa’s eyes twinkled with happiness at your answer. You could feel your heart pound against your chest in anticipation. Seonghwa’s touch was gentle yet commanding as he pulled you closer by your waist, drawing you into his embrace with a magnetic force that was impossible to resist. As his touch sent shivers cascading down your spine, your body reacted instinctively, responding to the electrifying sensation with an intensity that took your breath away. Every nerve seemed to ignite with a fiery spark as his fingertips grazed your skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensation. Seonghwa's lips were warm and soft against yours, each gentle brush sending sparks of electricity dancing across your skin. The moment his lips met yours, everything around melted away. All you could feel was him; his lips on yours, his heartbeat echoing your own. The kiss was soft, tender, filled with all the emotions that had been building up between you. With each press of Seonghwa’s lips against yours, you felt yourself melting into his touch, losing yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his embrace. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, a steady rhythm echoing the urgency of the desire that coursed through you. With each caress, your senses were heightened, attuned to every nuance of his touch. It was as if a spark had been ignited within you, setting your entire being ablaze with a fierce longing that threatened to consume you whole.
"Seonghwa, we shouldn't," you whispered breathlessly against his lips as you pulled away, a pang of hesitation gnawing at your heart.
"Why not?" He murmured, his breath hitching as he stared at you with a look of surprise and confusion. His words resonated within you, forcing you to confront the fear that had been lingering at the back of your mind. You swallowed hard, your mind wrestling with the feelings that had been building up inside you.
"You're an idol, Seonghwa, and I... I work for your PR team," you started, your voice barely a whisper. You watched as the confusion in his eyes shifted to understanding, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. "The rules... the... the consequences," you stuttered, your heart pounding as you tried to put your fears into words. "We could get caught... I could lose my job... and it could ruin your career." For a moment, Seonghwa was silent, absorbing your words. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his feelings and the harsh reality of the world you both lived in. But then, he pulled you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.
"I understand," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest. "But I can't help how I feel about you. We'll figure this out... together." You tried to say something, to voice the concerns still swirling in your mind, but Seonghwa shook his head and placed a finger on your lips.
"Shhh... I've waited too long for this," he murmured, and before you could respond, he leaned in once again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss that left no room for argument. His touch was electrifying, his lips hungry and insistent against yours, and you found yourself returning his fervor with equal intensity. There was no gentleness, no tender caresses. Instead, your kiss was raw and unbridled, fueled by a primal hunger that threatened to consume you both. With each brush of your lips, the barriers that had once held you back crumbled, giving way to an overwhelming surge of desire. In the heat of the moment, there was no room for hesitation or doubt. All that mattered was the fiery connection that blazed between you, igniting a flame that burned brighter with each passing second. And as you lost yourselves in the intoxicating rush of passion, you knew that there was no turning back. As the world around you melted away, you found the courage to voice the words that had been on the tip of your tongue.
"Let's go to my place," you breathed out, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response. Seonghwa looked at you, a slight surprise in his eyes. Then a slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features into a look of pure happiness.
"I'd love to," he replied, his voice husky. You reached out, gently grasping Seonghwa's wrist and pulling him to follow you. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but there was a glimmer of excitement mirrored in their depths. With a sense of urgency, you swiftly took your purse. Every movement was propelled by a heady mix of anticipation and desire, your heart pounding in rhythm with the rapid pace of your thoughts. As you made your way to the back door, Seonghwa paused for a moment, reaching for his jacket, glasses, and a mask before stepping outside. You were struck by his thoughtfulness and attention to detail. In that simple gesture, you saw a glimpse of the considerate and caring person he was beneath the surface. With a soft smile, you followed, grabbing your own jacket and slipping on a mask before joining Seonghwa outside. The cool night air greeted you as you stepped onto the pavement, wrapping you in its embrace. Feeling the warmth of Seonghwa's hand intertwining with yours sent a jolt of electricity. With your fingers intertwined, you set off together, following the familiar way that would lead you to your apartment. You couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude as you made your way through the quiet streets, it was a relief to know that your apartment was only a short distance away from the company.
As soon as the door to your apartment closed behind you, Seonghwa pulled you hard into his chest, your bodies pressing on each other. His kisses became more urgent, his grip on you tighter as if he was afraid you would disappear. His lips found yours in a passionate kiss that left you breathless, his taste intoxicating, leaving you wanting more. In this moment, there was no room for remorse or second thoughts, only the overpowering need for each other. You were lost in him, in the overwhelming sensation of his touch, his taste, his scent. As the intensity of your shared passion escalated, Seonghwa moved to unbutton your shirt, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.
"Wait," you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark and filled with desire, but he stopped at your words, his hands coming to rest on your waist as he waited for you to continue. "I... I just want to make sure we're both on the same page," you said softly, voice trembling slightly with the weight of the moment. "I care about you, Seonghwa, more than I can put into words. But I want it to mean something, for both of us." As you spoke, you searched his expression for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but all you found was a profound sense of understanding and respect. In that moment, you were sure that Seonghwa shared your desire for something deeper, something more meaningful than just physical intimacy. His lips curved into a tender smile, and he reached up to gently cup your cheek in his hand.
"I understand," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want this to mean something too, Y/N. More than anything. I’m not leaving you." With those words, the last of your doubts melted away, leaving only a sense of trust and connection between you. His touch, careful and loving, trailed down your body, taking the time to appreciate every inch of you. Seonghwa’s fingers traced over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth and desire in their wake. He took his time, his hands exploring you as if he was memorizing every curve, every line of your body. Your hands found their way to his hair, tugging gently at the soft strands. He let out a soft groan, his hot breath fanning against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours again, stealing your breath away with the intensity of the kiss. His hands moved to the buttons of your shirt, unbuttoning it and tossing it aside. His gaze was full of admiration and desire as he looked at you, his eyes taking in your form.
"You're beautiful, Y/N," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with emotion. You blushed, a smile spreading across your lips at his words. Seonghwa leaned in, pressing kisses along your neck, collarbones, down to your chest. His hands finally moved to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His touch was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of pleasure through your body. Seonghwa was patient, taking his time to make you feel loved, and cherished. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, making you gasp with anticipation. You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair, guiding him closer to where you needed him. "So impatient," Seonghwa commented as he moved back up, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer. Craving the feel of his skin against yours, your hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it and pushing it off his shoulders. You took a moment to admire him, your gaze trailing over his muscular chest, and the defined abs. Seonghwa was beautiful, every inch of him perfect. You reached out, your fingers tracing over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. Seonghwa’s hands roamed your body, the touch igniting a fire within you. He moved lower once again, his lips trailing down your stomach, making you gasp with anticipation. His hands moved to your skirt, unzipping it and sliding it down your legs. Seonghwa’s lips found the skin on your thighs, his hands gently creasing them, each touch sending waves of desire coursing through you. His lips moved up your tight, his lips finding all your sensitive spots, making you arch your back and gasp out his name. You felt his breath dangerously close to your panties, which by now were soaked completely with your arousal.
"Seonghwa," you moaned, your voice thick with longing as you arched your back, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you. "Not here," you murmured, your voice trembling as looked down on him with a mixture of desire and urgency. "Bedroom... Let's go to the bedroom." Seonghwa, with a deep and magnetic gaze that held you captive, guided you gently towards the bedroom. He led you to the edge of the bed, his hands never leaving your body. Carefully, with an affectionate touch, he laid you down on the soft sheets. Seonghwa's gaze was intense but tender, as if he was committing every detail of you to memory. The look in his eyes held a fervor that was both thrilling and comforting. The last piece of your clothing was slowly discarded, your lace panties landing softly on the floor. His hands, now free to explore, traced a path of heat down your bare body, each touch igniting a spark of anticipation. He kissed you deeply, a promise of more to come, before his eyes met yours once more. Seonghwa's gaze was full of adoration and hunger, a testament to the intimate connection that was about to deepen. Slowly, Seonghwa began to undress himself, his movements unhurried and deliberate. As the last piece of his clothing dropped to the floor, he positioned himself atop you, his bare skin against yours sending tremors of desire coursing through your veins. His eyes continued to hold your gaze, their depths reflecting the shared anticipation of the intimate moment that was about to unfold.
"Is this alright?" Seonghwa whispered against your lips.
"Yes," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, "Yes, Seonghwa... I'm yours." Your affirmation seemed to ignite something within him. A slow, intoxicating smile spread across his face, his dark eyes twinkling with a mixture of love, desire, and a hint of possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine. His gaze never wavered from yours, maintaining eye contact as he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a searing, passionate kiss. One of his hands, tender and firm, cradled your face, his thumb gently brushing against your cheeks. With the other one he steadied himself between your legs, and you finally felt him entering you slowly and gently, his movements measured and full of care. The feeling was intoxicating, overwhelming in its intensity but filled with a tenderness that only Seonghwa could provide. As Seonghwa moved, you felt a surge of pleasure that left you gasping, your fingers trailing over his back, your nails gently digging into his skin. His name fell from your lips in a breathless whisper, the syllables intertwining with the soft moans and gasps that filled the room. Each thrust heightened the pleasure, building up tension that had you moaning his name louder. He responded to your every sound, his movements shifting and adapting to your responses. It was as if he was attuned to every part of you, each touch designed to elicit the maximum pleasure.
"Seonghwa," you moaned, as he continued to move, his rhythm steady and deliberate. He looked down at you, his gaze filled with love and desire, his expression mirroring the pleasure coursing through you. "I’m close" you whimpered as the pleasure started to overwhelm you.
"I know, baby," he responded, his voice low and soothing. His eyes never left yours, holding your gaze as the room around you both seemed to fade. Each of his movements were measured, calculated to draw the maximum response from you. He knew exactly what you needed, when you needed it, and he wasn't afraid to take his time in delivering it. Seonghwa was completely in tune with your body, knowing just how to touch you, how to move, to bring you to the edge. A gasp escaped your lips as his rhythm increased, the intensity building as he moved. His name was a whispered prayer on your lips, the only word you could manage as you clung to him. The world around you narrowed to the feeling of him, the sight of him, the sound of him, the scent of him.
"Let go baby," he murmured against your ear, his voice a soothing balm, grounding you in the moment. With a few more deep movements, he guided you both to the peak of your shared pleasure. The feeling was indescribable, a release of tension that left you both panting and gasping for breath. And through it all, Seonghwa was there with you, his gaze never leaving yours, his love and desire for you clear in his eyes. As the waves of pleasure subsided, Seonghwa collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. He held you close, his heart beating in time with yours as you both lay there in silence, the echoes of your shared climax still reverberating through your bodies. Seonghwa’s fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, a soothing gesture that eased the lingering tremors racking your body. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, the tenderness of the gesture making your heart flutter.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. His concern was palpable, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"More than okay," you assured him, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his sweaty forehead. His answering smile was warm and genuine, a sight that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.
"Good," he murmured, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. His breathing slowly became more regular, his body relaxing as he basked in the afterglow. You laid there, tangled in each other's arms, your heartbeats syncing in the quiet. There was no need for words now, the silence between you was comfortable and familiar. As you drifted off to sleep, his arms tightened around you.
You were suddenly awakened by the sound of Seonghwa's voice, harsh and irritated, a stark contrast to the gentle tone you had grown accustomed to. His distressed voice pierced the calm tranquility of the early morning as he was on the phone, pacing around the room with furrowed brows, clearly in frustration. As you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you noticed your phone blinking on the bedside table. Forty-three missed calls. A wave of chilly dread filled you as you unlocked your phone to see the flood of messages and notifications. The first one you clicked on made your heart drop. Pictures of you and Seonghwa, walking to your apartment, your hands intertwined, were plastered all over various media outlets. The headlines screamed about Seonghwa's secret relationship, a shocking revelation that seemed to have hit the fandom like a lightning bolt. The comments section was a whirlpool of emotions - shock, betrayal, and surprisingly, support. As you scrolled through the articles, you could barely register the words. This was your worst nightmare coming to life, the very reason you hesitated to start a relationship with Seonghwa in the first place. Seonghwa finished his call and turned to you, his face unnaturally pale.
"It's all over the news," he said, his voice barely a whisper. The room felt suffocating as a heavy silence descended upon it, both of you too stunned to utter a word. The reality of the situation was sinking in, unfolding a terrifying scenario that you both had dreaded. Your mind was racing, scrambling to make sense of the situation. All your worst fears were coming to life - the fear of getting caught, of losing your job, and of potentially damaging Seonghwa's career. This was the adverse consequence of your secret relationship, the one you had feared and tried to prevent from the very beginning. Yet, amidst the turmoil, you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. Your anger flared as you dialed your boss's number, your hands shaking as you held the phone to your ear. He picked up on the second ring, his voice tense,
"You need to do your job and stop this information from spreading," he demanded, his tone cold and unyielding. You felt your heart clench at his words, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as you fired back,
"How am I supposed to do that when I'm the one involved?" The line crackled with tension as you braced yourself for your boss's response, knowing that your conversation was about to take a heated turn.
"You're involved!?" His voice was sharp, laced with disbelief and a hint of anger. "How could you let this happen, Y/N? Do you have any idea what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into?" His words hit you like a slap in the face, and you felt a surge of anger rising within you.
"I didn't 'let' anything happen," you shot back, your own voice rising with frustration. "This isn't something I planned or wanted. And as for the mess, believe me, I'm well aware of it." There was a tense pause on the other end of the line, the silence filled with unspoken accusations and bitter recriminations. You could practically feel your boss's disappointment radiating through the phone, a heavy weight pressing down on you with each passing second.
"We need to contain this," he said finally, his tone clipped and businesslike. "Handle the damage control on our end, write a press release. Stay out of the public eye, keep your head down, and for god's sake, don't make things worse." You clenched your jaw, struggling to keep your emotions in check as you listened to his instructions.
"And what about Seonghwa?" you demanded, unable to suppress the edge of desperation in your voice. There was another pause, longer this time, as your boss considered his response.
"Seonghwa knew what he was getting into when he chose this life," he said finally, his voice oddly cold and unsympathetic. "He's a public figure, and he needs to accept the consequences of his actions. Just like you do." The words hung between you, a bitter reminder of the harsh reality you were both facing. As you hung up the phone, a sense of resignation settled over you, knowing that no matter how much you wanted to protect Seonghwa, there were forces at play far beyond your control. Seonghwa, who had been a silent witness to your conversation, finally broke his silence. His sobs filled the room, each one stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You turned to him, your eyes filled with regret and sorrow.
"I was supposed to be the one protecting you," you said, your voice choked with tears. You could see the pain in his eyes, reflecting your own as you confessed, "This was a mistake. I'm going to get fired, Seonghwa. There's no future for us." His face crumpled at your words, a look of utter devastation replacing his earlier confusion.
"No, Y/N, please..." he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. "I can't lose you." he retorted, his voice filled with a mixture of anger and despair. His words hit you like a punch to the gut. As the silence settled in the room, you felt a lump forming in your throat. The harsh reality of the situation was too overwhelming to comprehend. The words that had been exchanged between you two still echoed in your ears, haunting you. The room, once filled with love and warmth, now felt cold and distant. The air was heavy with unspoken words and suppressed emotions. Seonghwa, his eyes red and swollen from crying, looked at you. His usual cheerful demeanor was now replaced with a look of sadness and despair. He seemed like a completely different person. Seeing him like this broke your heart even more, the reality of the situation dawning on you.
"I... I need some time," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He got up from the bed, picked up his clothes from the floor and walked towards the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sat there, numb and silent, as you processed everything that had happened. You felt a sense of guilt wash over you, realizing that your actions had led to this mess. Picking up your phone, you answered the incoming call from one of the reporters.
"This is a delicate matter, and we are currently fact-checking all the information," you replied, maintaining a professional tone. "We will be releasing an official press statement soon regarding the matter. Thank you for your understanding."
For the next several minutes, you found yourself answering a seemingly endless stream of phone calls, bombarded with the same questions over and over again. "Who is this girl?" "Is it really Seonghwa?" "Is it official?" With each call, your heart ached a little more, the reality of the situation sinking in. You were the reason behind this mess, and with each question, the weight of your actions became increasingly clear. Seonghwa finally emerged from the bathroom, he was fully dressed, his hair neatly combed back, and his face, although still showing signs of distress, was more composed. He settled down next to you, the distance between you heavy with unspoken tension. You could feel his gaze burning into you, his eyes searching for answers in the depths of your own. But as he heard you denying what happened during countless phone calls, a flicker of hurt flashed across his features, overshadowing the mask of composure he had worn moments before.
"Y/N," he began, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and disappointment. "Why are you doing this? We can't keep pretending like nothing happened." His words cut through the silence like a knife, leaving you speechless in their wake. You could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, demanding honesty in the face of your denial. But as you met his eyes, you saw the pain reflected in their depths, and a pang of guilt surged through you. You had hurt him deeply with your words, and now, as you continued to deny the truth, you were only adding to his anguish. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you turned away, unable to meet Seonghwa’s gaze any longer. In that moment, you felt more alone than ever, trapped in a web of lies and deceit from which there seemed to be no escape.
Once the calls ended, with a heavy heart, you began to draft a press release denying the rumors. As you typed, your mind raced with thoughts of how to properly word your denial, how to ensure that it would put an end to the rampant speculation. Seonghwa, who had been observing silently, finally spoke up, his tone filled with discontent. "Why are you denying it?" he asked, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and frustration.
"Seonghwa, we have to," you tried explaining,
"No, we don't," he retorted, his voice steady and determined. "We don't have to lie. We don't have to hide."
"Seonghwa, we can't just admit to this. The backlash... it could ruin your career," you argued, your voice tinged with desperation.
"And what? We lie? We hide?" Seonghwa countered, his voice filled with frustration.
"We need to think about the consequences. The fans, the company... it's not just us we have to consider." you countered, trying to maintain your composure.
"I don't care about that," he said, his voice softening. "I care about you. I care about us. I don't want to lie about that."
"But this isn't just about us. There are other people involved. Our actions have consequences." you responded, your voice breaking slightly.
"I know that" he said, his tone resolute. "But isn't our relationship worth fighting for?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. As the weight of your situation bore down, you felt the sting of desperation clawing at your heart, driving you to speak words you knew would hurt Seonghwa deeply.
"What relationship are you even talking about, Seonghwa? We hadn't even had a 'what-are-we' talk, and everything is ruined," you spat out, your voice laced with bitterness and regret. "We kissed less than 24 hours ago, and now we're all over the news." The words spilled out of you like poison, each one laced with the bitter taste of reality. You could see the pain flicker across Seonghwa's face, his eyes clouding with hurt and confusion. But you couldn't stop yourself, couldn't hold back the flood of emotions threatening to consume you. "We need to protect you," you continued, your voice trembling with emotion. "There's no 'us' in this, Seonghwa. It's just you, and your career, and the future you've worked so hard for. I won't let you throw it all away for me." Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you turned away, unable to bear the weight of Seonghwa's gaze any longer. In that moment, you knew that you had hurt him deeply, but you couldn't bring yourself to regret those words. For better or worse, they were the truth, the raw, unfiltered truth that lay at the heart of your impossible situation.
"You don't get to decide that" Seonghwa replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. "You don't get to decide what I throw away or keep. It's my life, my career, my future. And you... you're a part of that, whether you like it or not." His words hung heavy in the air, an undeniable truth that weighed down on your heart. "We're in this together, and I'm not letting you walk away just because you're scared. So, let's face this together. Let's fight for 'us', for our future. Because, in my eyes, there's no 'me' without 'us'." You stared at him, your heart pounding. His words echoed in your mind, raw and powerful. The intensity in his gaze was almost too much to bear. Could you really fight for this? For him? Suddenly, the weight of your decision seemed more significant, more daunting.
"I... I don't know, Seonghwa," you stuttered, your voice barely a whisper. "I don't know if I can do this. If I can put you at risk like that."
But Seonghwa just shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "That's not for you to decide," he countered gently. "I'm ready to face whatever comes our way. And I want you by my side. So, will you fight with me?"
#ateez x reader#ateez angst#ateez fluff#ateez smut#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa x y/n#seonghwa smut#seonghwa angst#seonghwa fluff
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also on ao3 here!
special delivery
Pearl was fairly certain this was not in her job description.
She supposed she had agreed to do special deliveries and while she would not necessarily count this as one because there was a permit for these kinds of jobs – though she figured that since there was no transaction involved she wasn’t breaking the law and then technically this was not necessarily a job for the man with the mob permit – this was still something she would have called Scar for. If he was available that was. Which brings her to the next problem.
Scar was currently very small, very grey, and a little feathery. And also in her mailbag.
Pearl did know a little about the vex thing. Not a whole lot, it didn’t really come up all that often, but at least she knew enough to realize that the little creature she had spotted inside one of the chests of the explosive firework shop was Scar. She had noticed the chest wasn’t properly closed when she had been restocking her flower truck and she would hate it if rainwater ruined the fireworks that from what she’d heard could cost Cub more to make than he was selling them for, so she had decided to help the man out and close the chest. Only to find a very small Scar in it.
She had no idea what to do with a vex though. Especially with a vex that seemed very much to be sleeping and showing zero signs of planning on waking up any time soon. So she had carefully picked Scar up where he had been curled up in the middle of the fireworks and gently placed him in her bag, glad that she had already delivered all the mail that had been there earlier.
She was also, for once, glad that her donkey was as slow as it was. It made the journey to the one person she figured could probably help her with this issue a little more steady. Steady was what she needed right now – she didn’t trust herself to fly or even run with a literal person in her bag.
The journey took a while, and every now and then she looked into her bag to make sure everything was alright. Each time Scar seemed just as asleep as the last time and she briefly wondered if he was maybe unconscious and not just sleeping – but he seemed to be tossing and turning a little so she wasn’t too worried. Surely Cub would know what was up.
Pearl couldn’t say she was surprised she saw sculk when Cub’s area came into view. The extent of it was mildly terrifying though, especially as he resided quite close to her, but she paid it no mind. She had more important things to worry about, like finding Cub (and maybe hoping that he was not covered in sculk).
“Cub?” she called as she got off the donkey. She didn’t have a lead and there weren’t any fence posts nearby anyway – she would just have to hope the donkey wouldn’t wander off the pathway into the sculk. “You around here?”
She heard the sound of a firework going off and quickly a rather normal-looking (aside from all the dye stains) Cub landed before her.
“Hey hey,” Cub greeted her. “What’s up? Good to see you, Pearl.”
“I have a special delivery for you,” Pearl explained, putting on her slightly more professional mail lady voice.
“Hmm?” Cub hummed, obviously curious. “Intriguing. I don’t remember buying anything or signing up for anything.”
“Yeah, about that…” Pearl opened her bag and held it out enough for Cub to be able to look inside. He took a few steps forward to peek into the bag and then let out a little amused sound.
“I see, I see,” Cub nodded, reaching into the bag. Pearl winced a little as Cub picked up the sleeping vex by the scruff of his neck like one might hold a small kitten – she was certain Cub knew how to handle a vex miles better than she did but after spending the better part of the last hour being as careful as she could it did catch her off guard a little. Scar didn't seem to mind, still deep asleep. “Where did you find him?”
“He was sleeping amongst the fireworks in a chest at your shop,” Pearl said as she watched Cub cradle the vex in his arms – or rather his arm, he didn’t really need both of his arms to hold something so small. “I figured that might not have been the best place for him.”
“Makes sense, makes sense,” Cub nodded and Pearl had no idea what exactly about this was making sense to Cub, but she was glad something was. “Thank you for bringing him here, I’ll take care of him.”
Cub looked like he was about to turn around and leave to do whatever one did to care for a vex and Pearl couldn’t stop her curiosity.
“Cub? Can I ask a question before you go?”
The man paused. “Sure, of course,” he replied. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry which did ease Pearl’s nerves a little. “Shoot.”
"Why?” she asked and it came out a little less polite than she was hoping for. “I mean, is he like, alright? I’ve never seen that happen before. Had me a little worried there.”
Cub seemed to either not notice her tone or simply not care. “Just means he’s really tired. Like really really tired. Nothing too serious, I’ll talk to him about it.” Scar turned a little in Cub’s hold almost like he knew he was being talked about. “It happens sometimes, every now and then.”
“He’ll just be back to normal once he’s rested?” All of this was raising more questions than answering them, but she didn’t want to pry.
“Yep,” Cub confirmed. “He seems to like sleeping in chests, not the first time he’s been found in one. I’ve never tried to put him in a shulker box, do you think I could mail him?”
Pearl just stared at him. “Please do not try to mail Scar.”
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For the last 2 weeks I've been transfixed on a strain of lost media I've come to call "bad memory induced media", where the supposed media in question does not (or at least more than likely does not) exist, but there are swaths of people convinced that they have definitely seen it at some point. There is rarely anything more to go off of for the hunt than a vague summary outlined in a post on some forum, but the lack of specificity allows people to fill in the blanks with similar types of media that they've seen, giving them the impression that they've already experienced it. I've found that this is extremely common for alleged lost shock media in particular, which isn't surprising. I talked a little about this on my LOL SUPERMAN post, and I get the impression that a similar strain of logic applies on a smaller scale.
Anyway, 2 major cases I have been looking at for a while are Saki Sanobashi/Go For A Punch and Evil Farm Game. Saki Sanobashi in particular fascinates me because an urban legend like this should have crumbled to the wayside by like 2018 at the latest, since that's when anime more or less became demystified to normal people. The basic premise is that it is an 80s/90s horror anime about anywhere from 4-8 girls trapped in a bathroom. The girls talk about their lives, hopes, dreams and philosophies before slowly going insane and dying one by one. If you like horror stuff you probably are already getting the vague impression that it sounds familiar- which could be influenced by any swath of media artifacts from Saw to the Russian Sleep Experiment creepypasta to the Ikea SCP to ClockUp's Euphoria to snippets of Battle Royale to that one Grisaia no Kajitsu arc. OP insisted he found it fully subbed on the deep web (omegalul) and hasn't found a trace of it since, implying some kind of murky origin or legal status (the OVA is not pornographic btw). As you can probably tell, I think this is silly. Like, so much goes into anime production that it would be difficult to hide any traces of this thing's existence. Someone had to voice act those girls. Someone had to sit hunched over a desk and draw that settei. OVAs were such a new thing in the 80s and 90s that both sfw and nsfw series were advertised in magazines. The only way that this could be so lost that not even a MAL entry remains is if it had been a student/indie production or something made for a single comiket event...but even at that....you're telling me that someone still managed to rip this from a vhs and subtitle it? And then chose to upload it to the deep web instead of youtube? even the title sounds like something google translated but didnt format correctly ("Saki Sanobashi" being gibberish while "Saki-san no Bashi" translates to "Saki-san's Bridge").
And yet there are people who will say "I definitely saw this at some point" because they saw a reaction image similar to the alleged scene where the protagonist smashes someone's head into a mirror. "The neck scratching death sounds familiar...." because you watched a higurashi amv! And OP did too, and thought it was so creepy that he involved it in his fake story. It's almost grating how much you have to suspend your disbelief to embrace that something like this exists in the exact way that stories like this insist. While many people have accepted that the series is likely not real in the last 4 or so years, there still persists a cohort of people hunting for Saki Sanobashi, likely because they are kids who are now too old to believe in Squidward's Suicide.
Evil Farm Game gives me a chuckle because it goes like this: a redditor posts to r/tipofmytongue about an old flash game where you play as a farmer who kills his wife and then has to hide her body while going about his farm tasks. The setup is completely fine and actually kind of reminiscent of a few story driven flash games I played on newgrounds as a kid. Many people came forward insisting that they had played this as well, one person even producing a link to a file from their hard drive that they couldn't open, but strongly believed that the game was there. A subreddit was even created to support the search. The twist is that it was a misremembered joke from a vinesauce stream.
Everyone knows that memory is an extremely fallable thing; people can be coaxed into believing that they did or saw things that they didn't with the correct prompts. What gets me is that a lot of people on the hunt for "bad memory induced media" seem to largely be hyping themselves up. They want to believe there is something that exists against all reason no matter what. It's chuuni in nature. Do not get me wrong- the interest in finding a cool, mysterious, haunting piece of media isn't lost on me, but dog, the dopamine hit of finding a previously lost 1985 commercial for almonds in a box of vhs tapes you got from eBay is the same.
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exactly what he needs, pt. 2 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | pt 1 | pt3
— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader
— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)
— summary: you & nate hang out in your room (after he snoops through it right in front of you), then ask each other questions, & he dresses & does your hair before you head out to spend the evening together.
— tags: conversing, getting to know one another
— tw: sexualization, lying (nate manipulating the truth), dollification
— word count: 6.2k
— a/n: I edited this numerous times, but fucked myself over by writing part 1 in present-tense to begin with, which I'm not always great at. So, if I messed up the tenses anywhere, please ignore it. Going forward, I'll probably be publishing further installments in past-tense.
Next post will be reader & Nate going shopping & having dinner!
The next morning when you wake, it only takes a few minutes for you to remember that Nate will be there in a little less than an hour, and the nerves immediately set in.
Surely people will see you getting out of his truck. What will they think?
You shake your head. It doesn't matter. Not really, anyway. You don't much care what any one person of the student population thinks of you.
You know high school is just a blip—a very brief moment in time, where it seems like every little thing you experience can be the end of the world, but it's really all just the beginning.
People will think whatever they like. It's not your job to try and change their minds. Not that trying to do as much would work anyway.
Once you've quickly showered, dressed, pulled your hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of your way, and eaten breakfast, you don't even have time to wait by the door as Nate's truck pulls up. You quickly pull on a pair of boots and step outside, locking the door behind you.
When you look up, your stomach does a flip when you see Nate holding the passenger-side door open for you.
You walk over to him. "You don't have to get my door for me, you know."
He shrugs, taking your backpack from you, setting it in the backseat with his. "I want to."
You tell him thank you as you climb inside and he shuts the door behind you.
Once you're on the road, he's the first to break the silence. "You can listen to whatever you want on the radio."
In truth, it's a bit too early for music for you. "I'm ok."
"Did you eat already?"
You nod. "I had a bowl of cereal."
He gives a slight frown. Not a very healthy start to your day. Something full of sugar.
"Do you want me to pick you up something on the way?"
Your eyes go wide. "Oh, no, I'm fine. Thank you, though. It's nice of you to offer."
He decides tomorrow he's bringing you breakfast, and he won't be asking for permission beforehand.
You're both silent again for a moment and the truck slows as he pulls up to a red light. He briefly wonders if you know how to drive. If not, he'd be a more than willing teacher.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something personal. If you do, just tell me to fuck off and you don't have to answer."
You look at him. "Ok..."
The light turns green and the truck picks up speed again. "I noticed neither of your parents were home yesterday. Were they both at work?"
You grow quiet for a moment, a pregnant pause settling between the two of you as you look out the window at the passing houses.
"My dad was...is. He travels a lot for work, so he's not home much."
He nods, deeming it good news, at least for him. "And your mom?"
You're quiet for even longer this time. Then, "I've never met her."
Minus Lexi, you've already divulged more to him in that short sentence than you have to anyone else at East Highland.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He's not sure that he means it. He despises both of his parents and, if anything, in this moment, is envious of you, due to your lack of relationship with both of yours.
You shrug. "It's fine."
He wants more than just 'it's fine'. He wants to know more, as it's clear it's something which bothers you. He wants you to give him emotional vulnerability for just a moment. Something he can use in the future to work his way in closer to you.
"Do you know anything about her?"
You shake your head. "My dad refuses to talk about her. After a few fights when I was younger where I tried to get him to, I gave up. It's probably for the best. She made her choice, and I think me knowing anything about her would just make things...more difficult. My life, I mean."
Even if you still felt like you were chasing shadows sometimes.
He nods. If nothing else, it's one less person he'll have to go through to be with you. Two less, from the sound of things.
Finally, he turns into the school parking lot, taking his usual spot and he shuts the truck off.
"I'll get your door for you," he states before getting out.
You unbuckle yourself, not sure what to think of his insistence with the whole door thing. It just doesn't seem to be something men much concern themselves with anymore—getting a girl's door for her—at least not teenage boys, that is. But perhaps he's different. Maybe it's just the way he was raised.
Nate opens your door and grabs his backpack, sliding it over his shoulders, then grabbing yours as well.
You get out and go to take it from him, but he continues holding it.
"Turn around."
Your brows furrow for a moment, but do as he's asked. You quickly realize what he's doing and adjust your arms as he slides your bag onto your back. He's really going the extra mile to be a gentleman, you think.
Once the truck's doors are closed and he's locked the vehicle, he places his hand against the small of your back as you walk into school together.
You look perfectly calm on the outside, but on the inside, your anxiety levels are rising with each pair of eyes turning your and Nate's way.
When you spot Lexi, the look on her face is nothing short of bewildered. Next to her sits Cassie, who's fuming.
You're torn away from looking in their direction by Nate coming to stand in front of you. "See you in third period."
You nod and give him a small smile, going to sit with Lexi, despite Cassie giving you that same glare from yesterday. A worse one, really.
"What the hell was that?" Lexi asks, her tone full of concern as you sit down beside her, setting your bag on the table.
"Nothing. He just drove me to school, that's all."
"And home," Cassie says, voice full of malice.
Lexi looks from her sister, then back to you. "The two of you are not hooking up."
You flush. "No. He just gave me a ride, that's all."
"Ok, but why would he do that? The two of you never talk. You're not even friends."
You do your best to ignore Cassie's unsettling stare.
"I'm just—" You immediately shut your mouth. You should've thought further ahead, should've thought about what excuse you would give people when they inevitably ask why the two of you are hanging out all of a sudden.
Nate asked you to keep it a secret and you aren't about to betray his confidence. If you do, you're sure he'll fail and never bother asking for help again.
"Just what?" Lexi prods.
"We're just hanging out. It's not a big deal. I promise."
Suddenly, Cassie stands, angrily grabbing her bag, jerking it off the table and storming away.
Lexi rolls her eyes. "Just ignore her. I don't know why she's still hung up on him, anyway. He treated her like crap." She shifts in her seat, facing fully toward you now. "What I can believe even less, however, is the fact you're giving him the time of day. He's an asshole. He was abusive toward Maddy and wanted to keep screwing Cassie so long as she kept it a secret. He uses people, Y/N."
Abusive? You knew he and Maddy had argued quite a bit, but nothing that severe.
"What do you mean by abusive?"
She shrugs. "I don't know much, since she and Cassie obviously aren't friends anymore. But I know a good portion of it, at least, was emotional. Maybe verbal, too. Then again, I don't think she was any better." Lexi glances behind you, and you don't dare turn around, now worried the subject of your conversation is who she's looking at. "She gives as good as she gets."
Once the school day is over and you go to drop off your books at your locker, you find Nate leaning up against it.
He smiles when he sees you and you give him a shy smile in return.
You put your things away, then look to Nate.
In truth, what Lexi told you had gotten to you a bit. You try to tell yourself that it's all nothing more than hearsay, and you're only tutoring—not dating him—so whatever had occurred between he and Maddy and Cassie is none of your concern.
"You ready?"
You nod, and, just like this morning, he places his hand firmly against your back.
Once you're in his truck, you notice Maddy staring at you today, just a few cars away. She and Kat are both looking in your direction, Maddy clearly getting worked up and Kat obviously trying to calm her down, and your eyes widen when she begins heading in Nate's direction.
Before she can reach him, however, he gets in the truck and pulls out of the lot, leaving her standing there, staring after the two of you.
You're glad whatever was about to happen has just been avoided.
Over the next week, you and Nate go to your house every day after school to study. You gradually get to know more about one another, like you learning he has a brother—which you'd somehow managed to forget over the years—and he tells you how passionate he is about personal fitness, something to which you don't much relate.
It'd been abundantly clear since day one that he dislikes his father. But that dislike—even if he talks about him very little—clearly, somewhere along the way, became loathing. It's all in the tone he uses, the language he uses when he's brought up.
But the thing that always seems to calm him—make him happier—is talking about you.
He asks you every question in the book: favorite food, color, flower, song, type of music, art, what you want to be when you graduate, the kind of house you want to live in. The list is endless.
And then the day came when he asked to see your room, with you standing awkwardly in the doorway as he surveys every inch.
He starts with your bed, your fluffy white comforter with small pink flowers printed across it, and your plethora of pillows. And then he notices the small brown teddy bear leaned back against said pillows. He briefly picks it up, smirking to himself, then looking at you.
“Do you sleep with this?”
Your face goes blood-red. “Y-yes.”
He studies it for a moment longer, making a mental note to one day buy you one himself, wanting you to sleep with one that’s come from him instead.
In truth, while you think about you sleeping with a stuffed animal as embarrassing—at least for another person to now know about—it’s a major fucking turn-on for him. You’re that innocent that you still sleep with a teddy.
He sets it back down, throwing a “that’s very sweet” your way before moving on to your bookshelves.
Not that he’s read or heard of the grand majority of the novels you have, he can tell by the titles and covers alone that they’re all either romance or fantasy. He supposes he understands that: you trying to escape through stories. Stories where you can go somewhere else, be someone else. Have a new family, new friends.
And then he thinks it incredibly sad—just how lonely you are.
It’s not like he isn’t already aware of it, because he is—has became more and more so as the last week has gone on. Everyday he’s come to your house it’s been empty. But to see your shelves crammed full of books—your one attempt at escaping into a better life—he vows in that moment to start working faster at bringing the two of you together into a relationship.
You need him.
You like stories about princesses trapped in towers and white knights coming to save them? Then that’s exactly what he’ll be for you. He’ll rescue you from the lonely hell you’re living in and give himself to you fully. He’ll dedicate all of his time that he can to you. And he plans to spoil you fucking rotten.
He looks over the various trinkets you have set on—and on top of—those shame shelves. Porcelain figurines of unicorns and cats, a small jeweled crown, some candles and a few faux plants.
He turns back to you. “Which one is your favorite?”
You shift nervously from one foot to the other. “The Lord of the Rings, actually. I…I really like Éowyn and Faramir’s story.”
He nods.
He’s never watched the movies, and has obviously never read the book, so he makes a mental note to at least do some reading on the characters you’ve mentioned to understand you better.
He then looks over your entertainment center and the small collection of DVDs you have alphabetically organized in one of the cubbies. Beauty and the Beast, Ever After, Stardust, The Last Unicorn, The Princess Bride, among a few others.
He then steps over to your closet and pulls the doors open without even asking your permission first.
You don’t much react to him doing so, supposing that everything in there you’ve worn to school at some point anyway.
He’s met with skirts and sweaters and dress blouses. Another thing he’s going to have to change—your wardrobe. It isn’t exactly “frumpy”, but it isn’t feminine enough for his taste, either. He wants your clothes to reflect who you truly are. Sun and baby doll dresses, and tennis skirts with the right pretty tops will suit you far better. Sandals and delicate flats. Your hair curled and actually down for once, perhaps with a bow in it. And he’ll buy you a few nice pieces of expensive jewelry as well. Maybe take you on a shopping trip to Tiffany one day.
He closes the doors in front of him.
What he really wants is to go through not just your bedside table, but also the top drawers of your dresser. He's curious if you've ventured into the territory of lingerie and sex-toys yet. And if so, what your preferences are.
He doesn't like to imagine you using more than a vibrator on your clit to get yourself to orgasm. As for lingerie, he doubts that you own any, but he often pictures you in lacy panties and pastel teddy nightgowns.
He adds such things to his mental shopping list of things to one day buy you.
Speaking of orgasms, however, he'd come thinking of you nearly every night for the past week.
He imagined you on his bed, naked, your pussy soaked for him, your legs spread wide as he teased you until you were begging for him to put himself inside of you.
He imagined all the things he'd teach you in bed, sure that you're inexperienced.
And only after you promised him that you're his—belonged to him and wanted no one and nothing else but him—did he finally join your two bodies together.
Finally, he sits on the edge of your bed. He then glances to the chair which hangs from the ceiling in the back left corner of your room, directly facing where he now sits.
You walk over, sitting in it.
He then lays back on your bed, feet still planted firmly on the floor, arms folded behind his head—God, he’s so tall.
“Do you not get lonely here?” He asks, turning his head to look at you.
You lift one of your socked-feet onto the chair, wrapping your arms around your bent knee. You shrug.
He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”
Your brows furrow. “Do what?”
“Act like you being left alone all the time doesn’t matter. It matters; you matter.”
You remain quiet. Then, “I’m used to it. I like being alone.”
He refuses to believe that, knows it’s bullshit.
You’d only spent a week together, and only a little over an hour every day at that, but it’d not taken but a couple of days for you to—at times—talk his ear off. At one point, it’d nearly gotten on his last nerve, until his stomach dropped and heart broke when he realized why: how fucking long had it been since you’d had someone—anyone—to really talk to? Someone who bothered to truly listen? How long had you stayed silent, withdrawing further and further into yourself, until you’d built up an entire fantasy world within your mind and soul, which became your new reality?
And so he promised to himself—and mentally to you—that he’d never, even if it were true—tell you he doesn’t care what you have to say. He won’t be just one more person to hurt and let you down. Just like he knows you won’t be as much to him.
You’re good for him. He could tell as much from the first day he spoke to you.
He stares at you for a moment, making you squirm. “I don’t believe that.”
“Ok.” You don’t particularly feel like arguing. He can believe whatever he wishes.
He frowns. He dislikes that you don’t seem to much care what his opinion of you is. He supposes it’s a strange dichotomy. Going from Cassie who, it was all she cared about, to you, who clearly can’t care less.
“You’re really telling me that talking to barely anyone at school, except occasionally Lexi, and being alone in this house all the time doesn’t ever get to you?”
You shrug. “It’s just what I’m used to.”
In all the talking to him you’d done over the past week, all of it had been surface-level. About history or the new book you were reading, or something you’d read in a news article. None of it was actually truly about you.
If his plan to get in deeper with you—to know you like no other person on the planet does—is going to work, then you need to give him more.
“What if it wasn’t?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs, looking up to the ceiling. “What if we started hanging out more often than just when we study after school? We could text or something, too.”
You appreciate his being concerned for you, you think it really kind of him. Even if makes you the least bit uncomfortable. You tell yourself it’s simply because it’s something you’re not used to: someone showing genuine concern for you.
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
He looks at you again. “You wouldn’t be. I like spending time with you.”
You’re not sure how to respond, so you just say thanks.
“I feel like for the last week I’ve done nothing but ask you questions about yourself. Is there anything you want to know about me?”
He’ll never admit it, but your lack of interest in him hurts his feelings. It makes him feel like you aren’t nearly as attracted to him as he is to you.
“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
He smirks. So that’s why. Always so fucking considerate; his sweet girl.
“You won’t.”
You think for a moment. The things you really want to ask him about are too personal this early on (even if you’d told yourself such things were none of your business, you can’t help wanting answers). Like why he despises his dad so much, and what happened with him and Maddy and Cassie. And what happened at that New Year’s party which landed him in the hospital?
You start smaller. “What made you want to play football?”
He considers giving you some bullshit answer—which will seem a plausible enough explanation—and giving you the actual truth. Finally, he decides on both. “It gives me something to do, for one. A reason to push myself harder. It gives me something to focus on. And football is a contact sport. So when I’m pissed off, I finally have something to take it out on.”
“Like when you’re angry with your dad?”
He grows silent.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
He shakes his head. “It’s ok. It’s not like I’ve exactly been subtle about my dislike of him.”
He doesn’t elaborate further than that.
“So…what’s your favorite color?”
He laughs. “I don’t know. Black, I guess.”
Somehow it seems fitting for him.
He looks at you, able to read you. “But that’s not the kind of question you want to be asking, is it?”
“I don’t want to overstep boundaries.”
He leans up on one elbow. “Then how about we make it fair? You ask me one actually personal question, and then I ask you one. And we both have to answer. No matter what. As soon as one of us refuses to, I head home.”
You think about it for a moment, worried about the sorts of things he may ask, but you have an out. “Deal.”
He smiles. “Alright, ladies first.”
“Will you tell me what happened during New Year’s?”
He sits up fully then. “Fezco smashed a bottle over my head, then beat me within an inch of my life. He got the upper hand immediately by doing what he did with the liquor bottle. He almost fucking killed me, all for a worthless druggy.”
Your brows furrow. “Who?”
“Rue went to him with some made-up story about me harassing her and some friend of hers online. When in reality I want nothing to do with her. So then he threatened to kill me and finally fucking tried to.”
“Why would she do something like that?” It feels like he isn’t giving you the whole story. He’s laid out the edges of a puzzle, but is withholding the middle.
He shrugs. “She’s a drug addict, how should I know?”
Before you can reply, can think of a polite way to say: so what’s the real story here, he takes his turn.
“How come we were never friends?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’ve known each other since we were five-years-old. We grew up together, have known each other for over a decade now. And only in the last week have we really finally talked, or spent any amount of time together.”
You lean back in your seat. “Well, just because you grow up with someone doesn’t mean that fact has to serve as some prerequisite to becoming best friends or something. Sometimes people, even from a young age, just don’t click. You were always running around on the playground, playing sports with others. I was always sitting off to the side and reading or coloring or playing with toys. I guess you were just more outgoing than me.”
“You know what they say: opposites attract.”
You tell yourself he’s just referring to friendship.
He lays back again. “Well, it may’ve only taken eleven years, but we’re friends now. I just… I just wonder what things might’ve been like had it happened sooner.” He sighs, then, “Your turn again.”
To an extent, you wonder that, too. Mostly just what it would’ve been like to have a best friend for that long.
“What happened between you, Maddy, and Cassie?”
“Not going to give me an easy one, huh?”
You let out a small laugh.
“Me and Maddy had been together since sophomore year. I guess we just grew comfortable with one another, even if we weren’t always happy. Even if it wasn’t always healthy. It didn’t start out toxic. We were happy at first. For awhile. A long while. But she just…it was like she wasn’t pleased unless we were fighting and then making up.
“It was just a constant cycle of her beating me down, then trying to build me back up again through sex. She just…she made me feel like shit about myself. As both her boyfriend and a man. It was like it wasn’t bad enough: the shit I dealt with at home with my dad. She just had to become one more problem in my life that I was forced to deal with.
“I’d hoped that if I loved her hard enough, if I gave her enough, she’d love me back the way I wanted to be loved. The way I loved her. Turns out I was just a fucking idiot.”
Tears sting your eyes. You feel so sorry for him. To be so young and to have already known an emotionally abusive relationship was heartbreaking. It was one reason why you refused to date at such a young age. You were all too young to understand yourselves, nevermind another person. Not in the context of loving and taking care of them, at least. You all were barely even fully-formed people yet.
So that was what Lexi had been referring to before. Just like everything, there were always two sides.
“And Cassie?” You ask, softly.
A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Just a giant fucking mistake. We first hooked up a couple weeks after Maddy and I had broken up…again. It happened on New Year’s Eve. I just…maybe I was trying to get even for what Maddy had done to me at the beginning of the school year—fucking a guy in the pool at McKay’s house—right in front of everyone.
"And then we hung out more, and at first I thought she was different. Maybe better for me. Until she started blowing up my phone with hundreds of calls and texts, screaming one night in my room about how crazy she was, how she’d never let me be with anyone else. How she was better for me than all the rest.”
Your brows raise. That unhinged? Cassie had always seemed so sweet and demure to you. But you’d also hardly ever been around her outside of school.
And dating—being in relationships—seemed to sometimes bring out the worst in people. Facets they themselves didn’t even know they had.
“I’m sorry, Nate. I never knew Cassie was so…” You trail off, until he fills in the rest for you.
“Psychotic?”
You laugh. “I wasn’t going to say it like that, but…” You shift legs, wrapping your arms around your other one now. “Your turn.”
He remains lying back, wanting this question to come off as something he’s casually asking. Whereas, in reality, he’ll be holding onto every word of your answer.
“Have you ever dated before?”
You feel like you suddenly want to use your out, but refrain. It’s a simple enough question, with a simple answer. “No.”
He looks over at you. “Never?”
You shake your head. “Nu-uh.”
His brows raise. He’d never known you to have a boyfriend before, but until recently he’d not exactly kept tabs on you.
It surprises him.
“Have you never kissed anyone or had sex?” He prays the answer to both is no. Also hopes you don’t cut his questioning you short.
You’re quiet for a moment, the two of you just staring at one another. Until, finally, you decide to answer. “No. And I’m not ashamed to say it. Not having done either of those things is a choice, just like having done them is as well.”
He sits up, hunching over to try and hide the erection he can feel forming.
No one has ever been inside of you—not in your mouth, not in your pussy, and not in your ass. Another pair of lips have never even touched your own, another tongue has never tasted you. Another pair of eyes has never explored your lovely naked body.
He wants to know what you do, then, to satiate yourself when the mood strikes. Do you rub at your clit until you come? Do you finger yourself—he wonders if your hymen is still intact? Do you bunch a pillow up between your legs, humping it until you've finished and the case is soaked? Or do you take and rub your teddy against your wet, needy pussy until you’re sore and can’t take it anymore?
God he wants to know what you fucking taste like. Wants to feel your fingers in his hair as he goes down on you. Needs to know what your perfect pussy feels like around his cock.
But he knows it’s too soon for any of that. For you, at least.
“That’s not something to be ashamed of. Not nowadays. You should be proud of yourself for having held out this long. I admire it.”
You shrug. “It’s not that hard to do.”
He smirks. “That’s because you’ve never done it before. Once you’ve been with someone in that way…giving up that kind of intimacy is difficult.”
You think any kind of intimacy must be hard to let go of after having it. Whether it’s emotional, intellectual, physical…sexual. Maybe it’s one more reason you keep most people at arm’s-length. If you never let anyone in, then you’ll never have to worry about losing them.
You clear your throat. “My turn.”
He lays back again.
“Can I ask about your dad?”
He flexes his jaw. “What about him?”
“Why do you hate him so much?”
There’s a long pause and then he finally sits up. “I guess it’s time for me to go.”
You plant both of your feet on the floor, now sitting on the edge of your swing-chair. “You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I was just curious. Since he always seems so…perfect, you hating him, I guess, is just a source of confusion for me. Then again, maybe that perfection is the source of it: your hate. I don’t know.”
“That’s part of it. But not all.” And that’s all the answer he’s willing to give you.
Letting onto his hate for his father in the first place was a mistake. But that loathing sometimes seeped out. And he feels like he can be honest with you. He trusts you. So, sometimes he lets go a little. That lid he keeps so tightly screwed slips loose sometimes in your presence.
He stands and you fill with guilt.
You’d gone too far. You’d known better—that asking about his father would end up being a mistake—but you’d brought him up anyway. And now you’d ruined the day.
“You really don’t have to leave. We can talk about something else?”
He pretends to consider that for a moment. When in reality, he’s all too-pleased that you’re so eager for him to stay.
Then, he steps over to you, standing in front of your seat, towering over you as you look up at him. He briefly thinks that this would be a perfect position for the both of you to be in as you take him into your mouth.
Then, he kneels down. One week was all it had taken for you to bring him to his knees.
He reaches up, grabbing either of the ropes the chair hangs from from on either side of you. “It’s Friday.”
You smile nervously. “That’s very observant of you.”
He smiles, letting out a small chuckle. “I just mean that it’s only four o’ clock; still early. We could go do something together.”
He begins to lightly swing you, just barely.
“Like what?” You ask quietly.
He shrugs. “Whatever you want. I could take you to dinner, take you shopping. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, even if you just want to drive around.”
You don’t know how to respond to his offer. “You don’t have anywhere else you need to be?”
“Not at all.” He wants so desperately to touch you, but he sees you like a newborn fawn, easily frightened; skittish. So he refrains. For now at least.
You glance to the set of glass doors beside the two of you which lead into your backyard. At the sun still high in the sky and tree branches blowing lightly in the wind. And then you look back to Nate, seeing no good reason to waste such a beautiful day cooped up inside.
“Okay.”
He smiles. “Good.” He stands, offering you his hand.
You take it, doing the same. “I’ll just be a minute, I need to change again. Don’t really want to go out in sweats.”
He nods, going to leave, then stops by your closet. He pulls the doors open and you watch as he pulls out a light-pink sundress, then turns back to you, holding it out in your direction.
“You don’t have to wear it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it on you at school before. Just thought it might look nice.”
You gently take the dress from him.
He speaks before you can tell him no. “I’ll be waiting in the living room. Take your time.”
Once the door has shut behind him, you look down at the dress in your hands, then at the things you usually wear—the clothes you feel most comfortable in—beckoning you from your closet.
While you dress, Nate leans back on the couch, hoping you wear what he’s picked out for you. In truth, he wants to dress every inch of you. He wants to do your hair, your makeup—even if you never wear any. He wants to pick out a cute matching pair of lingerie for you—so only he knows what’s under your clothes—your shoes, your jewelry, even your perfume.
He isn’t sure why it means so much to him—perhaps it’s just another thing he feels the need to have control over. He wants you to look nice. He knows you’re capable of matching his ideal picture of what he wants you to be in his head.
When you finally emerge from your bedroom fifteen minutes later—you’d spent half of that time sitting on your bed considering putting the dress away—he’s left speechless.
You’d put on the dress, along with a cute pair of sandals, your toes already painted a pleasant shade of pink, which just so happens to match the item you’re now wearing. And between your breasts hangs a necklace.
You stand in the entryway awkwardly, one of your hands clutching your other arm. “I feel ridiculous,” you whisper, your face red.
He stands, coming to position himself in front of you. “You look beautiful.”
You’re surprised by his response. Wearing something which shows off so much of your body makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
You’d considered putting on a cardigan to cover your arms, but it’s almost ninety-degrees outside. So you decided against it.
He reaches around to the base of your ponytail, his thumb, index and middle finger gripping your hairband. “May I?” He asks, looking down at you.
You feel dumbstruck by the sensation of the base of your hair in his grip, so you just nod.
He gently pulls the band free, your hair falling over your shoulders and down your back, coming to rest just above your ass.
He’s never seen hair as long as yours before. Why the hell do you keep it up all the time?
He flexes his hand, the holder now firmly around his wrist and he reaches up with both of his hands, running his fingers through your soft hair, massaging your scalp as he styles it.
You just stare up at him, his face the picture of concentration as his fingers work against your head, through your long strands of hair. Your eyelids droop just a bit out of the feeling of relaxation that comes over you, goosebumps rising on your arms.
Nate takes note of that, as well as the quiet whimper in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against the base of your neck for just a moment. He likes that you like the way he’s touching you. He wants to know what other places his fingers and hands could explore that would get him similar results.
Finally, once he deems your hair presentable to his personal satisfaction, half of it falling down your back, the other half split evenly over both of your shoulders, he slips one hand into his pocket, the other coming to rest under your chin, making you look up at him again.
He feels blood rush to his cock at the flushed, lax look on your face as your hooded eyes stare up into his own.
“Why don’t you wear your hair down more often? It looks very pretty like this.”
“It gets in my way,” you state, your voice now having a dreamy quality to it.
He really likes you like this. All soft and submissive and dressed how he likes. He wants you wrapped around his finger sooner rather than later. Completely his in every single fucking way imaginable.
Today will be one step closer to getting that future.
He deems what you’ve said a good enough answer, but he knows you’ll have to get used to it. Your hair being down suits you far better than it being up.
He steps away, walking over to the door, holding it open for you.
Once you’ve locked it behind you, he holds open the passenger side door of his truck for you, same as always, shutting it firmly once you’re inside.
#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader)#nate jacobs x y/n#nate jacobs x you#nate jacobs x reader#nate jacobs imagine#euphoria x reader
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Yesterday everyone was posting their feelings on TBB. I'm glad I waited, because there's a lot swirling around. Cut for negativity again.
I was introduced to The Bad Batch in August 2022 and fell instantly in love. The characters, the story, the complex family dynamics, they all spoke to me. I wasn't even a Star Wars fan but I went through and devoured The Clone Wars, Rebels, The Mandalorian, all of it. I threw myself into this world and adored every second of it. I must have rewatched season one over five times before season two even came out.
When season two premiered I loved it. Every Tuesday night I stayed up until the episode drop and devoured it immediately. I looked ahead at the schedule and took days off work for the double episodes, for the big Crosshair episodes - he was my favorite early on and season two only made that grow. But season two also really brought Tech into my radar even more. I had always liked him, but here he was shining. The Crossing really solidified it, as an autistic person. I'd never heard someone describe the difference in processing so succinctly before, so clearly, and it spoke to me like very little had. Here was a character that was like me. Here was a character that I needed when I was an undiagnosed child, someone that would have made me feel like I had at least some way of describing my differences.
Then, well. He died. It was an affecting scene, but it felt out of nowhere, it felt unfinished. Tech didn't even get the climax of the episode. He just fell into the clouds, the Batch grieved for a few minutes, and then the plot steamrolled right along.
I didn't believe it, not after the mad scientist presented his goggles and claimed not to salvage anything else. It seemed like such an obvious fake out. The longer I sat with it the less satisfying it felt. It felt so brushed over, so pointless, all for a mission that they accomplished nothing on. Then came the social media circus. Again and again his fall was shoved in our faces on Twitter, demanding we stream it. TikToks were made that were so out of touch they felt like parodies, the wound ripped open again and again, and I thought surely there had to be a purpose to it.
So I waited for season 3 as interviews were done that seemed to almost intentionally avoid calling him dead. As tweets were made promising we'd be so fulfilled if we could only see who was onscreen in the mid-season! (A tweet that immediately garnered dozens of people hoping it referred to Tech, all without a single comment to try and quell the speculation.) It felt already like we were being toyed with, but I thought it had to be for a reason or a purpose. More weirdly vague discussions went up about his Sacrifice, his Fall, his Anything But Death, even as everyone insists that it was so meaningful, the way he died on a mission that accomplished nothing. Jokes were made around Valentines Day.
He Fell For You, get it?
The first official use of killed went up on the databank right after the trailer, on Hunter's page of all places. The first time the interviews used dead was the Friday before the premier. It all felt too late, theories had already grown for months by that point.
Season 3 finally came and I waited up for every episode drop just like I did for season 2, hoping for him to come back or at least for him to be properly grieved, since we had barely a couple of minutes in Plan 99 before it was swept away for the next plot point. Surely Tech's impact deserved an episode of focus, if he were really gone.
The previously on plays his last words twice. But then we skip months into the future. We don't see Crosshair find out the news - even though Tech died on a mission to retrieve him. We don't watch Omega grieve. She barely seems to notice she's missing a brother. We got a brief allusion in episode two. It took three episodes to even mention his name in passing. Five episodes in everyone got their chance to look sad about him, but only for a few seconds and only when his skills were relevant. Compared to the gorgeous callback to Mayday in the same episode, it felt shallow. He had to have been more important than this didn't he?
Episodes 6 & 7 felt like maybe there was a reason. We see a new masked assassin that gets extra focus, who got put through a series of Tech-adjacent situations, whose beef with Crosshair was just a little too personal, who survived longer than all the rest but stayed masked. Rex talks about losing brothers, but Hunter says nothing about the brother they lost. I hoped it all meant something, that this was the reason that he felt so much like he was thrown away, so that he could come back in.
More one off mentions that only really come up when it's about how useful Tech would have been. More poking at the wound that still felt open and raw because we'd never gotten any closure. The closest we get is a single scene in episode eleven, so late in the season and so brief that I thought that couldn't possibly be it.
CX-2 comes back, and he talks like Tech. He's still not unmasked. I really need him to be something because otherwise what was it all for?
The most emotion comes in Juggernaut, from Phee. Its a highlight because it actually feels like it was about him, like he mattered as a person. It's episode twelve and we finally talk about him like a person. We never saw her get the news either.
Episodes thirteen and fourteen pass without any mentions at all. We're running out of time. Episode 15 hits and we get one raw one from Crosshair that Clone Force 99 died with Tech. It's the first time they directly say he's dead in so many words. It's the season finale. CX-2 is a nobody it turns out, and he dies faceless. Everyone gets a happy ending and after over a year of wondering if we'd ever get closure, it turns out Tech's just dead. But look how happy everyone else is!
Everyone gets to grow old. Except the autistic one of course. He's just dead and it hardly feels like it mattered at all. Did you know Wrecker and Hunter don't use his name once in season three? Omega and Echo mention him once each. Crosshair twice, only once with any emotion behind it. Phee tops the charts at three mentions, two by name and one by nickname. We see his goggles four times. I kept count.
There was never a bigger plan, this was just all he was worth. We spent two seasons on Crosshair's absence. We spent a whole episode dealing with it when Echo decided to go with Rex. Tech dies though and all his life amounted to was a handful of mentions when his skills would have been useful, some shots of his broken goggles, and endless cooing out of the text over how meaningful his sacrifice was. Too meaningful to take back, of course, even as Ventress is brought back from her own sacrifice.
I had really, really thought that this time autistic life would be worth more than autistic death. That a character that felt so carefully handled couldn't have just been thrown away for shock value, barely to even be mentioned again, his memory used to string us along to keep us watching. If you added up every mention and shot through season 3 it might actually clock in at less time than was spent on Mayday's send off.
I'm an adult. I'll survive, though the sting of seeing yet another character like me used as a stepping stone for everyone else's happy ending will take a while to fade. But I think about the child I used to be who needed a character like Tech. And I think about how it would have felt to actually get that only to watch him die a handful of episodes later as a side note to his family's story, barely even mentioned again. How badly it would have hurt, how deep it would have scarred.
I'm not that child anymore. But there are a lot of autistic kids out there that are the same as I used to be, and they're learning for the first time that people like us don't get happy endings. Instead they die so that everyone around them can rise up, and they might even get mentioned a few times. But don't worry. Everyone will tell you how meaningful and special it is and how delusional you were to ever hope for anything else.
The Bad Batch still means a lot to me. I think it always will. I love the characters. I love the family, and all the potential they had. But the sting of not belonging in this happy ending is there, and it's deep. It's been a long time since I trusted a show. It'll be a long time before I risk trusting another. And I hope that the autistic kids trying to learn how to close their hearts off behind new walls are doing okay.
#the bad batch#the bad batch spoilers#tbb spoilers#could not sleep so I'm in my feels instead#it did help to type it out#I'm not going anywhere fandom wise but I have to admit I'm hurt
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Hello dearest kitty, I'm here begging on my knees for some fluff
Okay okay I'll stop, but it was a funny start especially after your least post, but I really love your writing and I would love to see you write some sub villain X dom hero fluff, about self care and maybe a little bit on self harm cuz I have exams and this is my comfort trope.
But regardless if you write it or not I want you to know that I really appreciate all your work and I it makes such a huge difference in my life, you're one of the people I can look at and be happy 😁💖
tw mention of self-harm
“This is…nice.” The villain frowned and hugged their own legs, almost as if they had never been in a bathtub before. Still tired, they leaned against the tiles of the bathroom wall. All the hero could focus on were their lashes when they closed their eyes.
Admittedly, the hero hadn’t considered this to be the result. They hadn’t expected to end up in bed with their nemesis. It would have been easier if this was part of a mission, they reckoned. But fate was much crueler.
Now feelings were involved. Complicated, difficult feelings. Sometimes they didn’t know if they should blame themselves or the villain. After all, the villain was devoted and passionate. They were tactical and brilliant.
And they were also pretty. Ridiculously pretty.
The hero swallowed.
Why was this happening to them out of all people?
“I don’t think anyone has ever made that kind of effort for me,” the villain said. They smiled and the hero’s heart dropped.
“You mean letting in some water?”
“Well, yeah…and the breakfast. The soft kisses. The massages, you know?” The villain looked at the hero again. “No one has ever done that for me.”
For the hero’s taste, they were too far away from each other. Even though the bathtub wasn’t the biggest, the hero didn’t want to sit on opposite ends. They worried their bottom lip between their teeth.
“Can you come closer?” they asked and the villain nodded, obeying quickly.
The hero let out a shaky breath they didn’t even know they were holding once the villain sat down on their hips. At this point, it was like a drug. The hero craved this affection and these hands on their skin.
It wasn’t just pleasure, it was something more vile. Something that could bleed and die, something that could destroy the hero within seconds.
A few hours ago, they hadn’t realised it. Not really. But now that they knew they weren’t just attracted to the villain, they needed to control themselves.
“You know you deserve it, right?” they asked. The villain didn’t meet their eyes, though. “You deserve nice things.”
“Is this a separating-work-and-personal-life-thing? Because we both know I’ve done despicable things in the past.” The villain looked ashamed. They let their thumb run along the hero’s biceps, almost as if they could distract themselves that way.
“No. I like you the way you are. Even the parts you deem ugly.” The hero touched the scars the villain had tried to hide yesterday gently. They couldn’t stop looking at their nemesis. At their perfect face, their perfect body. The hero wasn’t sure why their melancholy was taking over the now.
Yesterday, they’d been laughing and kissing. They’d never had that much fun in quite a while. But now, responsibility weighed heavy on their shoulders again and they couldn’t bear the feeling of saying goodbye in a few hours.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Have I ever been dishonest with you?” the hero asked. Brilliance wasn’t a gift. It was the result of hard work and the hero could appreciate and respect that the villain had been working just as much as they had. Both were the same in that aspect, destroying themselves because that seemed to be logical: working until you had results. No failing, no mistakes. 100%. All the time.
The villain smiled softly. Maybe even sadly.
“When you told me you love me yesterday?” they asked quietly but the hero already shook their head.
“No, that wasn’t a lie.” Their finger traced one of the villain’s scars. Somehow, the bathwater was getting hotter and hotter. The hero closed their eyes as they tried to calm down. “You’re lovely.”
It was only natural, wasn’t it? To be attracted to someone who challenged, yet matched them in so many ways? God, the hero was really at the end of their rope.
“Hm. You know, under all these layers—” the villain touched their chest “—of calculated and raw reason—” they drew a heart with their finger into the hero’s skin “—there’s a very gentle soul inside you.”
“Is that criticism or a compliment?” the hero asked. Again, looking at the villain made their stomach turn. In a good way. Kind of.
Their nemesis smiled.
“Just an observation,” the villain said. They leaned forward and kissed the hero’s cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me. I kinda suck at it.”
The hero’s hand was still on the villain’s scars.
“You just need a little bit of help, that’s all. Everyone does.” The villain was still so close. If the hero moved their head a little, they’d be kissing.
Hell, why was their heart beating so fast?
“Do you think I could be better?” the villain asked. “Do you think I could change?”
“Change is inevitable,” the hero explained. “But I…I got you.”
They held onto the villain a little tighter this time and honestly, they knew why their heart ached when they brought them home.
#I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins spotlight on me and I’m ready to break#writing snippet#hero x villain snippet#hero x villain prompt#heroes and villains#hero#villain#heroxvillain#hero x villain#request#an answer for an ask#tw: sh#suggestive#fluff#obsessed hero
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A Fun Little Announcement!
So, today is my ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of writing fics! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
So, I've come up with a little project for myself.
I am writing a marauders microfic about one TTPD quote each day. (I mean...I may take a break some days. If I do, I'll just skip the day or catch up the next day. But you get the idea). The fic may be about one person, a platonic pairing, a romantic pairing, a poly group, a friendship group, a familial relationship, or something else. The only rule I have given myself is that I am using the quote as inspiration! If you want to write with me, use the quote that corresponds with the date to write something. You can even write for a different fandom! Whatever you want! Use the tag #TTPDmicrofic and tag me (@my-castles-crumbling) if you want! I'd love to see what you create!
Just so you know...This is NOT an official microfic account or anything like that. I've already taken on one of those, lol. I won't be promising to reblog everything people write, because it could become too much. I just wanted to open it up in case people want to write with me. I find that it's fun to build community and motivating! Also, it's cool to see what people create. You don't have to make a commitment at all, you can post on ao3, you can just read, whatever. No rules! I'm just inviting you to write if you want to.
Here is my list of quotes:
#marauders#harry potter#marauders era#fanfic#marauders fandom#harry potter marauders#the marauders#the marauders era#marauder era#marauders fanfiction#marauders fic#the marauders fandom#jegulus#dead gay wizards#wolfstar#jily#dorlene#rosekiller#pandalily#jegulily#prongsfoot#platonic prongsfoot#jegulus microfic#wolfstar microfic#jily microfic#marauders fanfic#moonwater#taylorswift#taylurking#taylor swift
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I was seeing videos of these specific heart-shaped "slip chains" which are basically bdsm leashes that can be lowkey disguised as necklaces and I started having ideas about "oh what if yandere Valentino put one of these on you and you didn't even know he has you wearing a leash" AND IN THE FUCKING COMMENTS OF THE VIDEO--
So yeah, could you imagine him slipping the loose chain around you while you're serving him drinks or invited for a fun time with him and other people and he's essentially getting off on you being clueless and unknowingly wearing something so kinky (that he has all kinds of ideas and fantasies about using). At first you think it's just a necklace, a cute gift, you aren't even aware of what it means and are just feeling happy and thinking it's so cute, and then, at some point in the night, he gets mad or possessive and just, tugs the lead and you're suddenly painfully horribly aware he's got you on a lead 😳 like. In Public In Front Of Other People, too.
I feel like yandere Valentino would have a full custom kit of toys and tools he WANTS to use on you before he's so much as even FLIRTED WITH YOU. Imagine actually going to fuck this man and he already has things planned, fantasies to try out, and, it turns out he's been thinking about sleeping with you, uh, a lot more in depth and often than you're comfortable with
I'm just. Sitting here. Imagining being mid fuck and little comments just start slipping out of his mouth,
"Hang on, I wanted to try this position with you--" wait how long have you been thinking of us having sex?
"You're a lot quieter than I was hoping you would be, but this is hot too" bitch what do you MEAN 'hoping'???
You fuck him ONCE and the next time he's trying to get you to let him hit, he has a SUSPICIOUS amount of lingerie that is perfectly in your size and bondage gear that's perfectly sized for your wrists and ankles and maybe shit is even PERSONALLY MONOGRAMED, like forget bullshit like "Baby" or "Pet" or something vague, it'll be YOUR NAME or a nickname he uses ONLY for you, so, he obviously had it MADE to be used on you specifically
Idk I'm just. I promise I'm normal and am not constantly thinking about what kinds of accessories and toys this man would have personally custom made because he just loves spoiling himself and playing with his money with reckless abandon 👀 I promise I'm not like, imagining Valentino having entire closets and rooms dedicated to YOU specifically. Gosh. Just imagine the gun case he has in episode four, except when he opens THIS one, the doors are covered with humiliating, exposing photos of you and all his crops and toys are displayed and loaded into drawers 💀 honestly just the hypothetical scenario of, you have never even kissed this man and you're in his tower and, you snoop a little while he's making you wait, and you find this cabinet absolutely COATED with photos of you, and there are also collars and other things with your name on them
also finally just 👀 the overall design of this chain means if he has it pulled taut enough, you literally can't pull it off by yourself, cant give yourself enough slack to unwind it, so you're just forced to sit there with your face feeling like it's on fire while he's actively holding the other end of your lead, constantly reminding the both of you that you're his new favorite little plaything and using the public humiliation to get you to behave. Honestly I think being forced into a one-sided dom/sub kinda relationship with him specifically is a brand new kind of Hell in of itself, but that's a post for another time
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A Simpler Life [Part 2]
word count: 1621 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.
pairing: post-time skip Kita x chubby!Reader
genre: fluff, slice of life, mutual pining
warnings: spoilers
synopsis: In pursuit of a calmer, simpler life you flee the city to move to the countryside - only to fall in love with your neighbor.
[part 1]
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Kita‘s steps quickened when your house came into view, his eyes searching the veggie patch for your straw hat but nothing. His shoulders drooped but he was glad to see the tomatoes doing well.
Maybe he should just knock and ask if you could spend dinner again together but he decided against it. You were probably busy or had better things to do. A light went on in your house and through the window he saw you lean over a small table with a mirror, applying some lipstick. From the little he could make out you wore a pretty black dress that hugged your curves so beautifully, his thoughts were temporarily disconnected. He had to swallow. You were going out. Looking down at his own dirty work clothes and touching the sweaty towel around his neck he let out a deep breath. Just as well. And feeling like he was being intrusive with his stares he continued his way home. As he walked along the dusty road, he remembered a seemingly endless discussion the twins had with Suna back in school that he was close enough to overhear. They talked about leagues and how Suna clearly was not in the same one as a girl he fancied. Back then Kita didn‘t quite understand what they meant since their volleyball team was amongst the best. How much more successful was that girl‘s team that Suna shouldn‘t even talk to her? But now it started to make sense. Rounding the bend, he entered his courtyard and spotted his dog on the porch, eagerly sniffing a familiar looking bundle.
But he had dropped it off this morning, he was sure. With a frown he walked over and picked it up. A note was tucked underneath the knot. “Seems like I made too much again - oops! Could you take this off my hands, neighbor? Y/n“
The bundle smelled heavenly and feeling the disappointment subsiding ever so slightly, he carried it inside.
The next couple of days were the same. He would walk by your house, maybe catch a glimpse of you through a window, sometimes he could talk to you for a few minutes when you were in the garden but unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to outright ask for your company and since you didn’t bring it up either he concluded that first time had just been a slip of your tongue.
But every evening without fail he came back to a new bundle of goodness, still warm, waiting for him on his porch under the watchful eyes and nose of his dog.
A new note accompanied each delivery and they already formed a small stack in his dresser drawer.
Every morning he would then drop off the cleaned box and bundle by your door, the same words as his first message written neatly on a sheet of simple, pretty paper.
“I tried a new dish with a recipe from one of the grandmothers in town. I hope you like it! - Also a quick question to a professional: I think my strawberries are dying. Their leaves are all crunchy and no matter how much I water them they seem to wilt. Thoughts? - Y/n”
He got up even earlier the next morning than usual and headed to his smaller greenhouse that kept some fruit and veggies he liked to have growing year round for his own personal use. After swiftly filling a basket with strawberries, he made his way to your home to drop them and the bundle off alongside a detailed note on what could be done about your plants before he headed to work.
“Kita-saaan!“
The young man stood up, looking around to see who called for him.
His stomach flipped when he saw your lovely figure standing on the road at the side of his field, waving. Today was another scorching hot day. You wore a light summer dress and your straw hat that he found so endearingly bewitching. He returned your wave and held his breath when he saw you pushing your bicycle along the trampled little dirt path between the neighboring field, obviously not bothered by dirtying your sandals a little. He waded out of the rice paddy to meet you.
“I ought to be mad at you.“, you said as a way of greeting him and he stopped short. Then you reached into the basket of your bicycle and took out a small bag.
“Those strawberries must be worth a fortune and there were so many of them, I can hardly finish those by myself.“
He relaxed and began to breathe again. You had cut some of the strawberries into bite-sized pieces while others topped freshly baked pastries. Lastly, you took out a glass bottle of milk, dyed slightly pink by the strawberry puree gathered at the bottom. “Do you think you have time for a little break?“
The pastries were, of course, delicious. He didn‘t expect anything else from whatever you prepared at this point. But as you two ate in the shade of a tree his mind was trying to figure out how to ask you about the other night. About you in that dress.
“Are you alright?“
He looked up from his cup of milk and met your eyes.
“What have ya been up to this week?“
“Hmm, nothing much.“, you said, spearing one of his strawberries on a skewer and pushing it between your lips. He could watch you enjoy his produce for hours, would happily spend the rest of his life feeding you just to see that blissful look in your eyes.
“I went to a friend’s birthday in the city. Let me tell you, even though I haven‘t been here long, I already missed the peace and quiet as soon as I got out of the taxi. It was the right decision to move. I‘m… so much happier here.“
He was pretty sure he had never been this relieved in his whole life. Looking at his cup of milk again he tried to hide a smile. “I‘m glad to hear that.“, he said.
Comfortable silence stretched between you like a cat in a sunbeam.
“I was wondering…“, you said eventually, “if you‘d like to come over for dinner again. Of course, if you‘d rather have the evening to yourself th-“
“Yes.“, he interrupted, then cleared his throat and continued, “That sounds great. I‘ll bring by the materials for that planter and set it up for ya.“
He was rewarded with another of your dazzlingly bright smiles.
The wheelbarrow gently wobbled over the many rocks and divots on the dirt road leading to your house. In it wooden planks as well as extra soil were stacked expertly and six little sugar snap pea starters were swaying back and forth on top.
When he arrived you were already waiting in your front yard, dressed for work, saluting when he halted. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts again.
“Alright, where do we start?“
“This‘ll only take 10 minutes.“, he waved you off.
“But if I help it might only take 9. Or… 30, depending on how much I slow you down.“
Kita laughed.
“Okay, but ya‘ll need gloves. The wood could splinter.“
“Oh. I don‘t have any.“
He reached into his back pocket and took out his pair, holding it out to you.
“What about you, though?“
“I‘ll be careful.“
It really didn‘t take long to connect the four pre-cut pieces with each other. Kita drove the long nails efficiently into the wood while you held the planks, trying not to get too distracted by the muscles in his shoulders and forearms. How could someone be this kind and generous? And handsome! And single!? Were the women in this town blind? But then again you did bring down the age average quite significantly…
“Y/n-san?“
His voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He held his hand out to you. For a confused moment you didn‘t know what to do and just took it. And Kita… he blushed.
“I asked for the other nail, please.“
“Oh my gosh, yes. Sorry. Uhm, here.“ You hastily pulled your hand away, your face burning bright red, and handed him the next nail.
Soon you were filling up the space with the soil he brought and planted the little starters. Using bamboo sticks and twine a makeshift trellis was quickly added and you stood up to admire your handiwork. You grinned and took off his gloves, holding up your hand for a high five.
When he raised his right you squinted and took it in yours.
“You did get a splinter!“, you scolded, “Man…! Come on.“
And you dragged him inside.
Kita thought he might explode at any second if you kept touching him. After carefully washing his hand and holding it under a steady stream of lukewarm water you pulled him over to your couch and asked him to keep his hand under the light of a small lamp on the side table. Rubbing down a pair of tweezers with some sake from your pantry you knelt in front of him, bringing his hand so close to your face he could feel your warm breath tickle his skin. It was quite maddening. Never had he felt such a strong desire for action. His whole body was tense like a taut bowstring. He held his breath while you worked, soft careful fingers rubbing and squeezing his calloused hand. He didn’t even notice the sting when you disinfected the spot after. But his skin burned when you applied a bandaid, gently smoothing out the corners.
“All done.”, you announced and got up to put the supplies away. He let out his breath, flexing his hand.
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art: coloring done by @keiko-chan
[part 3]
#kita x chubby reader#haikyuu x chubby reader#kita shinsuke x chubby reader#chubby reader#haikyuu fluff#kita shinsuke x y/n#kita shinsuke x you#kita shinsuke x reader#haikyuu kita#kita shinsuke#kita fluff#hq kita#kita x reader
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Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 6)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous
Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader
Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)
Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Language. Mentions of sex.
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N: Hello there! We're back in Morpheus' POV for this chapter. I've really enjoyed exploring the softer side of Morpheus with the aftercare but still keeping that foreboding undertones. Hope you like it too. Let me know what you think! All my love, Saskia xx
Sandman Masterlist
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Morpheus can see he has pushed your body to breaking point.
The only movements you are able to make are those that are involuntary. The intake of breath, sharp and shallow. The blink of eyelids, slow and drowsy. And the aftershocks feathering along the walls that still hug his softening cock.
The rapture of his own high vibrates in every cell, the humanoid form he takes being the epicentre, with waves of it expanding out across the expanse of the Dreaming, bathing it all in euphoria. He smiles faintly - anyone asleep during your union would have been privy to it in some aspect. Flashes of noises and sensations perhaps, or images of you entangled with him.
With a tender gaze, he looks at your exhausted form. He takes time to notice the details that others might have overlooked. The gradient of the dip of your navel. The vellus hair gracing your skin. The delicate lines on your face brought on by years of smiles. Every inch of you is perfection, the starshine streaming down enhancing your already incandescent air. Soulmate or not, you are the most remarkable person he has met.
There is no denying that you are to be his muse. Now that he has introduced you to his world he can resume work on creating new dreams, and your temperament and features are inspiring him already. His dreamers will be spoiled once the concepts are given life and sent forth into the Dreaming.
He is pulled away from observing your body by the sudden overflowing of silent tears. In the glow of the room, as they track down your cheeks, their lustre is like pearls washed up on a lonely seashore.
He's searching your expression for an indication to the source before they get close to wetting the sheets, cupping your face instinctually as feverous fear infects him. Is pain afflicting you?
His initial assessment gleans that they are falling despite there being no tangible signs of pain or sorrow, anger nor disgust. Further investigation is required.
He drops his register to the mellowest he can manage, whispering your name first, next asking, "Are you alright?"
You dip your chin in a solitary nod. A truthful nod.
You then take a deep breath, voice hoarse as you speak, "I just -"
Words fail you and you look down at your chest in lieu of finding the desired descriptors, hoping that he would catch on.
Your soul.
You make a little high-pitched sound in the back of your throat as he places a palm over its housing. Still very sensitive. With good reason.
Those last layers of defences that had been protecting you from the intensity of the soul bond had been steadfast in their resistance. Of course, they were never going to prevail over him, being the Endless that he is, yet the challenge could not be denied.
And now the conquest was over. He had you exactly where he wanted; physical form in the Dreaming, the Fates' prophecy fulfilled, soul tie complete.
He zeros in on your soul, using his aptitude for the metaphysical to see it in its actual form. The ball of light, two centimetres in diameter, that not too long ago was shattered, now criss-crossed with threads of rich blue, reminiscent of Kintsugi pottery. A mark of the small amount of his power - power that he'd quite literally fucked into you, that was slowly spreading out from your soul through your body, altering as it went. Only time would tell as to what enhancements it would bring if any.
His own soul was cleaved open at the end too, now infused with your essence; twines of seafoam green that he can feel rebalancing the constitution left so weary and depleted by his imprisonment.
It also appears that your mortality has been removed in the process; you are as eternal as he is now. He's against broaching this with you presently, feeling it would be misguided to do so. At this point in time you deserve the most diligent and gentle aftercare. It was your first time; you had trusted him with your wellbeing and that meant the moments after as well.
He will make his touches and movements so very delicate from here, continuing to keep his focus on your facial expressions and body language as much as possible.
Beginning with how he rises out of the position he had held over your body, giving him the ability to ease your crossed ankles out of the firm grip around his waist. Reluctantly, he withdraws himself from the warmth of your core, more trembles breaking free from the fluidity of the movement.
It makes you whimper loudly, the unintended stimulation and the way he guides your legs down to the mattress, as the recognition of how locked up your thigh and calf muscles are bark in your nerve endings.
"Would you allow me to clean you?" He asks, gesturing to the fluids that are now leaking from your cunt.
You seem surprised yet you agree nonetheless.
He conjures a bowl of water and a linen cloth, setting the former to the side of your right hip. The display has you propping yourself up on your forearms, fascinated by the shaping of form that comes so naturally to him. He moistens the fabric, pitter patters emanating erratically as he squeezes out the excess.
"I will stop if it is too much." A promise made while holding eye contact before beginning a gentle yet meticulous cleanse, re-dunking the cloth when needed.
Aside from a couple of flinches early on when he brushes over your clit, you cope with the touches very well, and Morpheus shows he acknowledges this in the murmured praises he looses with the completion of each swipe.
A stumble in your breathing has him stopping immediately though, drawing his attention to your startled face, eyes wide as you take in the pinkish tinge of colour in the water.
"Shit. I'm so sorry. I can finish taking care of it," your voice is warbled as you try and fail to close your trembling legs.
He puts a steady hand on your knee. "You have no reason to apologise."
A little dimple forms between your eyebrows, lips pulled thin by a grimace; evidently you are unconvinced.
"I want to take care of your needs. Please let me," he says with gentle candidness.
You blow out an unsteady breath as you struggle to look at him, attention darting all around the room, actively choosing to go anywhere but towards him.
These hallmarks of humiliation, vulnerability, they unreservedly rile him. Who had made you feel like this was unacceptable? No doubt your world's societal norms. Though Morpheus has seen improvements in them in recent years, there are lingering, foolish ideals on what was decorous when it came to the human body.
He relays his thoughts on the matter, "It is a natural occurrence, as natural as any other bleeding from broken skin. There is nothing to be ashamed of, Y/N."
He lets the reassurance settle in as he rubs his free hand up and down the outside of your left thigh.
"You know I speak the truth," he adds when you still remain silent.
Eventually you let your head slump back. "You're right."
His chest swells with pride at his successful reframing. "May I continue?"
You make a noise of affirmation.
Once he is done, the bowl and cloth de-materialise along with the patches of fluid that had been glistening on the sheets.
He leaves the space between your splayed legs, pausing as he kneels next you. You look like a ragdoll that has been dropped from a great height, limbs askew and head limp. He wishes to scoop you into his arms and re-arrange you, cocooning your beautiful body in the most luxurious fabrics his mind can create. So he does just that.
With a hand flat between your shoulder blades and another under your knees, he moves you to lay further up the bed, fashioning a sumptuous silk sheet to settle over you, a twin of the one tucked over the mattress. A knitted cashmere throw weighs down the sheet to seal in warmth. The last step is a plump pillow; he cradles your head carefully as he positions it.
"Thank you," you say shyly as he puts his head on an identical pillow, laying on his side so he can watch you.
"You are most welcome, my soulmate."
A beat. "Is there something I can do for you, Morpheus?"
He feels a thrill go through him, lust rising once more. Hearing his name on your lips is everything. Undoubtedly it always will be. He's instantly grappling with the urge to fuck you again and it is by sheer force of will he just manages to leash his lust.
"All I require is proximity to you," his words sounding much more gallant than he feels.
With visible effort, you roll onto your side, intent on providing him with delightful closeness despite the aches. Face to face, he decides now is time for a debrief.
"Is there anything you wish to discuss about the acts we performed together?"
You fiddle with your fingers, tentatively asking, "Did I do okay?"
The question is so endearing, it makes his chest tighten.
"Yes. You were, are perfection."
He catches the bashful glance your throw towards him and he draws even closer.
You had done so very well, taking everything in your stride since he found you in the waking world. Gone through a myriad of emotions, dealt with intense, sometimes painful physical reactions. And the sex... Well.
He runs a hand from your temple to jaw a few times to distract from the ever-mounting desires, thankfully taking the edge off with the affections.
"It is true. You are so trusting, communicative, generous. Receptive."
You huff out a noise of amusement. "How do you know that I wouldn't respond like that to everyone?"
Possessive jealousy drives a dagger into his heart, stiffening every part of his being, hackles rising as the sickening idea of anyone else touching you takes form in his expert imagination. Your question had been teasing - obvious from the impish quality in your eyes yet he cannot stop the rage that flares at the idea.
He extinguishes his temper, pushing it into the usual spot deep within, speaking with a level and authoritative cadence.
"You were not meant to be touched by anyone but me."
He holds your gaze resolutely, fascinated by how your pupils dilate from the covetous statement, fingers digging into the softness of your behind to add further weight to his claim.
"You derive pleasure from hearing me say that."
"Yes," you confirm, a telling half-smile appearing. "Though it would appear I am not the only one."
You nudge against the growing erection hidden by the sheets with your knuckles. The simple touch is a catalyst, his restraint almost breaking, eyes shifting to match the backdrop of the night sky above you both.
"Not right now," you assert.
His answering glare makes you raise your eyebrows. But you do not back down.
"Very well. I will keep myself contained. For the time being."
You press a sweet, quick kiss to his cheek. "I appreciate you enduring such hardship."
You laugh a little at the end of the teasing sentence. It is an effervescent sound, one that makes him feel so alive. When was the last time he truly felt like that?
He would do anything to keep you laughing like that, make you happy.
Inspired by that sentiment, he drapes an arm over your body and pulls you closer. You sigh in contentment, smiling warmly at him.
A crescent moon rises to accompany the stars in the ceiling sky. The slip of light it reflects is as peace-giving as your skin against his. Quiet descends.
Finally - after the frenzied events of the past couple of hours, the delirium that had ensnared the both of you in body and mind, spurring him to reveal the truth to you and initiate the binding of your souls - finally everything stills.
And in this stillness, after a considerable number of minutes, Morpheus begins to register the results of the soul bond between you; a direct line broadcasting your every emotion to him even though you are awake.
They are not particularly stable right now, kaleidoscopic in how quickly they evolve from one to the next. He is accustomed to knowing humanity's emotions, exposed to every facet of them for millennia yet this is different. With the dreamers there is a certain level of detachment. Being his soulmate, the impartiality is gone.
He is peering around the curtain.
And the emotions you are feeling are about him, directly influenced by him.
Exhilaration, fondness, trepidation, pensiveness.
His eyelids flutter at the intimacy, mouth dropping open with a shaky sigh.
"What is it?" You ask immediately as worry enters the mix. How adorable that your reflex was concern for him.
"Our soul bond is strengthening. I can feel your emotions."
You blink, stimulated by the notion first, then disappointed. "I can't feel anything coming from you."
"Give it time," he reassures.
"How much time?"
A little smile quirks his lips from your charming impatience.
"A few hours. Perhaps more."
Curiosity dances in your eyes as well as your mind; you study him closely, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. "What's it like?"
"It is quite diverting."
In fact, it is the sort of thing that has potential to consume his every thought. He will have to be cautious of how much time he is dialled into the bond. As long as he makes the rules now then he will be okay. No over-use. No over-reliance.
A brush of fingers across the back of his hand, the inside of his wrist. "Tell me what you're feeling, Morpheus," you whisper.
He pulls himself from the compelling information flowing from you and takes a reading of his own internal state.
It's tempting to lay it all on the table. To tell you of the powerful emotional reactions happening. But he won't. The emotions must be compressed into something more regulated. He chooses the words carefully:
"I am wholly contented."
Joy and relief swirl from you and you kiss him. The softness of your lips help soothe the fierce feelings and when you part, Morpheus is fully reigned in.
He notes that your eyes are drifting now, glassy with oncoming sleep.
He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone.
"It is okay if you want to fall asleep," he murmurs. "My only request is that you permit me to hold you, so I may monitor how things progress."
There is much acclimation to be made. The scalding heat that had been rampant under his own skin has only just dropped to a simmer, let alone all the things to come. He must not leave your side until your body has adjusted to the energy within you.
"I wouldn't say no to sleep," you say with a lethargic smile.
He eases you into a nearer proximity. An arm slung across your middle. Legs tangling together. You nuzzle against the skin of his neck, inhaling deeply as if his scent could knock you right out.
"Good night, soulmate."
He kisses the top of your head, replying with the same.
You place a palm over his soul. "Thank you, Morpheus. For answering all my questions and being so patient with me."
"It is the least I can do, Y/N."
Morpheus keeps still as you sink into subconsciousness. Not a hard feat for him; he mastered that art long ago. Crossing the threshold into sleep is smooth for you, exhaustion efficiently picking the lock.
Morpheus keeps still as you sink into subconsciousness. Not a hard feat for him; he mastered that art long ago. Crossing the threshold into sleep is smooth for you, exhaustion efficiently picking the lock.
As soon as you are fully under he peers at you, cheeks already rosy from the warmth of the sheets and his body, lips parted. You appear serene on the surface - he decides to lean into that link one last time for tonight.
Yes. There it is. Evidence that you feel safe and happy. He has done his job well. Now to maintain this level of performance. For your sake as well as his own.
Your presence is the first rain after a drought. A lighthouse on a treacherous stormy night. You are an antidote to a poison that he hadn't realised he was choking on. You are healing him, just as he knew you would.
And there are measures that must be taken to keep it that way.
-------------------------------------
Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines
"Controlling my feelings for too long. Forcing our darkest souls to unfold. Pushing us into self destruction. They make me, make me dream your dreams."
#the sandman#sandman#the sandman netflix#the sandman 2022#morpheus#morpheus x reader#morpheus/dream#morpheus/dream x reader#lord morpheus#dream#dream x reader#dream of the endless#dream of the endless x reader#dream smut#sandman smut#dream of the endless smut#dark morpheus#dark!morpheus#the endless#the dreaming#soulmates#angst#smut#tom sturridge#the sandman imagine#the sandman fic#the sandman fanfiction#fanfic#saskia writes sandman#Spotify
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soft launch → social media post
so high school au (emma grace x gabe perreault)
i like starting off the au’s with the soft launch of each other because it introduces everyone in a fun way + everyone’s dynamics with one another (i picture emma having a private instagram at first)
again keep requesting for this au, 700 celly, or will smith au!! :)
au masterlist
gabeperreault44 first semester rewind ⏪ ⚡️
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ryan.leno_4 looking fresh as always gp
| gabeperreault44 back at ya leno
aram_minnetian best semester so far 😈
| gabeperreault44 putting it in the books
user1 hold on who's the girl in the 3rd pic??
user2 DOES HE HAVE A GF??!!!
jacob_fowler24 so fresh gabo
| gabeperreault44 best compliment coming from you
cuttergauthier_ wait i'm also confused who is the girl??
| user3 CUT KNOWS WHATS UP!
user4 if he has a gf i stg😭😭 we've already lost will to samy hughes
user5 guys maybe they're just friends???? let's be chill and be nice no matter what!!
user6 not seeing her tagged or in the comments yet..
_willsmith2 honored to have made the cut!
| gabeperreault44 i'd always include you!
drewf2 sooooo hot gp 🥵
| gabeperreault44 i try i really try
user7 its the way neither of his friends have commented on the girl except cut they def all know 😭😭
_willvote mhmm great semester
| gabeperreault44 so great
eamonpowell_ im also confused who is that girl?? hello??
| user7 PLSSS eamon is so funny lmao
jp_perreault44 great season so far gp!
| gabeperreault44 thanks j
liliane_perreault so adorable aww i miss u gabo
| gabeperreault44 miss u too lil
emmagcooper hey i'm really glad you included your halloween costume in this
| gabeperreault44 thanks i took your advice :)
emmagcooper some of my favorite things from first semester <3
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abbyhiggins I LOVE YOU EMMA MWAH MWAH
| emmagcooper I LOVE YOU ABBY!!!
tylercooper damn where's my feature???
| emmagcooper we have no pics
| tylercooper what do u mean yes we do??
ryan.leno_4 you're soft launching like no one on here knows who it is 🤨
| emmagcooper leave me alone ryan some people don't
drewf2 live love boston college!
| emmagcooper so true drew!!
baileyg11 aww so pretty em!!
| emmagcooper i miss u bailey :(
elliewilliams DO U HAVE A BF??
| emmagcooper 🤷♀️
jacob_fowler24 this is a funny little post
| emmagcooper is that a compliment?
aram_minnetian how did u take the 1st pic?
| emmagcooper like magic
_willvote wow i wonder who that person in the 4th pic is
| emmagcooper hmm i wonder
_willsmith2 my man made the gram!
| emmagcooper woot woot!
gabeperreault44 what a great semester :)
| emmagcooper i agree :))
#so high school au#emma grace x gabe perreault#gabe perreault#gabe perreault imagine#gabe perreault x oc#gabe perreault social media#gabe perreault fluff#gabe perreault hockey#boston college#boston college eagles#boston college hockey#bc hockey#bc eagles#bc girls#boston college imagine#ice hockey#new york rangers#emma grace cooper
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I know you like to be welcoming to everyone, but it’s okay to not ship your OCs with everyone else’s. I can’t imagine how overwhelmed you get trying to make everyone happy. And I also can’t imagine how many people are struggling for your attention when you make a new character and the only interest they have in it is shipping. It sort of breaks my heart to see you make a new oc and the only people who seem to care about it are people trying to make a ship.
I see you’re getting burned out more often and taking a lot of breaks… but your blog should be a fun place, not something you avoid because you’re stressed by it. Maybe limiting requests or only keeping OC ships to good friends would help you relax. You don’t have to take my advice if this makes you happy. I’m just a bit worried about you. Especially since you seem tired all the time and recently made a post saying you were worried about people being upset with you if your characters already had ships and you didn’t want to add any more.
I would also like to say that some people like the shipping because they just want free art of their OC and less because they actually want to bond with you. Many people do not realize they are being like this.
Your real friends will not be bothered by you putting up boundaries. The only people that will be upset are selfish, too young to understand, or people who didn’t consider your feelings at all.
Just take care of yourself, Shy. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping. And of if I have this totally wrong, just say so.
You're right, I recognize that I've been doing this lately...
It's a fact, I'm very afraid of making others upset, I really want to please everyone. I've actually been feeling a little overwhelmed lately, but I don't know how to deal with it.
I love making ships with my OCs with the OCs of my moots, I really really like this interaction, I was just getting worried about the situation where more than one person wants to make ships with a single OC, I'm afraid of causing confusion with that.
I'll get better with this, I swear, I even want to tell you that I've been trying to be more like you, you know? "Post what you want" I've been trying to do this more often and it's making me happy🥹
I have several plans for the future with my OCs and I'm optimistic about that, even if I'm still a bit clumsy at communicating, and I'm pretty sure that everything I wrote here must be a little confusing because it really took me by surprise, I really value your attention and words so much and after I read everything (including what you said in the other posts too), I started crying, in a good way❤️
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(sending hugs)
what are your thoughts about aithusa? personally i love her way to much, but she rarely comes up in fandom discourse
HEY :D
Thoughts about AIthusa, huh?
I have many of those. Thoughts, I mean. In my brain. They like to swim around and create a whole mess of things sometimes.
I think the reason why Aithusa doesn't come up in fandom discourse often is because there isn't very much to say.
Aithusa was born, then color coded as a sign for the golden future of Camelot and was then abandoned by Merlin. Tortured by a crazy guy. Then raised by Morgana and used to create the sword that later killed Arthur. Whenever they come up in fandom discouse, it's mostly about Merlin doing his job as Dragon Lord right or wrong.
But you wanted my thoughts, so I'm gonna allow my head to spin weird shit around the ungendered Dragon. (That is why I will use they/them pronouns for Aithusa.)
When it comes to Aithusa's name, not the canon translation, I mean what it literally means, it's hard to find, since they used old English for the language of magic, and I think Greek for the language of the Dragon Lords (which doesn't necessarily have to apply to the Dragon names) and I haven't seen anyone make a post about it. All I get from Google translate is "Hey you" in Gaelic and that's a bit useless. Or well, this:
The automatic language recognition in Google would let me interpret Aithusa as a gift to the world. Or Arthur, depending on your shipping interests.
Or, you know, if I could make up the Old English maybe pseudo-parts of the word (the writers were very lazy in BBC Merlin, they are literally quoting Beowulf when Merlin magics the blue ball in the poisoned chalice.). Something fitting I found in my old English dictionary is
agan, meaning to possess, and to own, and thus (spelled with a thorn which my keyboard doesn't have) meaning as follows. So, in my absolutely amateurish and interpretational, and way too far reaching ways, I would say Aithusa could mean: A(gan) thus (a): To own the future.
(Again, you asked for my thoughts, this is not canon and probably pointless, I just needed to go down this route first.)
In the fandom wiki, we find THESE informations on Aithusa.
So, things we do know are very few
Aithusa is a baby
Aithusa was tortured and is therefore crippled
Aithusa cannot talk
Aithusa probably has Stockholm Syndrom because of Morgana
But you know, I think it's very interesting to know that Aithusa is the Light of the Sun, the literal sign for a Golden Future and that very sign can be hurt by a mere human. Not only does this mean that humans can kill Dragons (the Dragon lore doesn't make any sense, I swear to god) but it's also meant to be symbolism.
Merlin, just like Arthur, is shown to be his own doom through Aithusa. They are hidden, tortured, kept from living their truth, abandoned by everyone who should be leading and protecting them.
With Aithusa being born it means that at that point, Merlin had already fulfilled his destiny. At this point in time, the golden age is already there and it should have been a sign for Merlin to speak up about his magic. He never did, that's why Aithusa remains mute.
And just like magic itself, when harmed or in danger, Aithusa can easily be used for evil.
Apart from the symbolism and their part in Arthur's death, Aithusa doesn't contribute much to the story, I think. Yes, they console Morgana and they are like the continuation of the Dragon lineage, but that's ultimately pointless. Aithusa will be, inevitably, be the last Dragon. Which is honestly really cruel, but again, parallel to Merlin himself. That's where Aithusa's arc ends, unfortuntaley.
Personally, knowing all that, I find Aithusa hard to use as the character they are in canon. With what little defines their character, you have to ultimately change everything about them to use them in fun fics and comics and stuff. That's why they end up as a little dog creature so often.
Don't get me wrong, I love Aithusa. But I love FANON Aithusa, just like I prefer fanon Sir Leon over canon Sir Leon.
Because fanon Aithusa is like a domesticated chicken that Merlin keeps in his rooms or fights custody over with Morgana while Arthur is either oblivious, supportive, or being gaslit.
But maybe I am overlooking a lot of things. So, if any of you like to disagree or add anything to my points, feel free to engage ^^
#bbc merlin#merlin#Aithusa#faq#ask#answer#merlin meta#sorry if this wasn't what you expected#I never know what to do with Aithusa
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i saw this post today where this person was talking abt fandom racism and was pointing out some real issues within my fandom and favorite ship that I too had noticed… but then kept bringing it back to the lack of one particular other ship they liked, when it's like, no that's not the problem, and that ship is unpopular because those characters have zero romantic or sexual chemistry and barely any scenes together. (it was really funny that someone had reblogged this to take their 'lack of seeing this one character in a sexual way in fic miiight be racist' complaint to be like 'i think you're right! we should have more fic about [a long list of different ships involving that character with people they have ACTUAL chemistry with].' it was really funny. ofc op totally missed the point they were making there.) anyway i just feel like way too many useful conversations about this stuff are ruined by people making it about shipping or other really subjective fandom preferences. i get that this is because something like 'number of fics X ship or character has on ao3' is an objective measure, and something like 'level of orientalism in how a lot of people are writing this desi character' is not, but i wish people would realize it tends to alienate more people that it converts. and ime, it's often the people who maybe would most benefit from hearing those criticisms (e.g. are writing unintentionally racist stuff in their works, and are someone who would want to know about that and how to do it differently) who tune it out the second you make it into insulting their shipping preferences.
i mean, there WAS some real racism in the star wars sequels fandom, including among the fanfic/shipping side. not just the shitty dudes harassing kelly marie tran. we saw the really bizarre 'predator' language people directed at john boyega just for making some joke posts on instagram about disliking reylo and its shippers. it was the very classic racist thing where people see something as automatically more threatening when a black man does it. ....but how many people had already tuned all that out because the people most outspoken about the racism in the fandom kept reducing it to 'if you ship reylo over finnrey, or kylux over finnpoe, you're a racist'? it's like a boy who cried wolf thing. if you've shown that you can't uncouple serious discussions and concerns from just being pissy that your otp is not more popular, people are going to see you as someone who can't be taken seriously and then ignore you when you do have a real complaint. it's like how i'm sure that some of stitch's essays are thoughtful and important, but i have no desire to read stuff by someone who is infamous for harassing people just for what they ship. i don't feel like i can take any of that person's judgments about fandoms i'm not in, for instance, seriously.
that's not to say fandom preferences in shipping can't ever be influenced by racism (or other 'isms') but is it ever really *that* specifically that is the problem, or the broader pattern it is part of? and i feel like 'maybe fandom is a little too focused on het and slash ships between two young skinny conventionally attractive white people' is a message more people are open to than 'your specific white M/M or F/M otp is racist'
anyway it reminds me of the stuff i've seen sometimes in academic fandom studies about how you can't really honestly study a fandom where you're deeply mired in its discourse - you need to focus your work on fandoms that you're familiar with but not in that way. and i think that maybe also applies to some of these discussions about fandom racism and misogyny. maybe you're just going to have better takes on something when you're not deeply invested in other unrelated arguments about it, like about which ship is the most popular. like i could not care less about star wars shipping and have zero take in reylo vs. finnrey, so that's why i feel like i could trust my perception that the way a small minority of reylos were posting about john boyega's instagram posts was racist. it didn't matter if he was genuinely being a jerk to them or about their ship. he obviously wasn't a 'predator' and it was pretty telling language for a group of largely white people to use about a black man making fun of their ship on a different social media site.
--
The laying pipe thing was blown so out of proportion, yes. Call it sexist, sure, but it wasn't fucking predatory.
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One Hell of a Butler Pt. 6
Husband and Wife
(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)
A/N: Guys, sorry for not posting anything in like 2 weeks. School highkey sucks. Have this to make up for it. Sorry for rushed ending, I'm tired but if I don't finish it as soon as possible, I won't be posting anything for another 2 weeks.
Series Masterlist
Content Warning: None really, rushed ending (I'm tired af), references to Pt.2, but not that relevant. This is also long af, 4.7k words
This scene is becoming far too familiar than you’d like it to be.
An icy nailed finger trails up your bare spine, the blackened hand grazing against the vast, open back your dress allowed, leaving your shoulder blades and a little under exposed. The other hand is draped around your midsection, pushing you against her front as firmly, the lack of her body heat practically numbing against your skin. Yet, hot air cascades against the shell of your ear, a sultry whisper in your air as her lips near your earlobe.
“You look beautiful, my dear wife,” Arlecchino sighs out, humming in approval as her red-crossed eyes practically devour your form, the hold around your body slightly tightening it. It invokes more shudders, making you let out the softest of groans.
“So, so beautiful,” she murmurs against your skin, her wet mouth ghosting against your nape. Her hand traces the dip of your shoulderblades before guiding her fingers to your side, her hand grasping one of your hips. “Red is a fetching color on you. Wear it more often for me, won’t you, my Lady?”
You’re fully aware she’s only partial to the color because it resembles her pupils. She likes to associate herself with this particular hue. Narcissus himself, wasn’t she?
One of your hands is placed over the one on your hip, wrenching it away from your person before it could creep lower. You click your tongue in ire. By this point, you’re more than aware of her persistent and irritating suggestions, always pushing the boundary between master and servant. Regardless of how many times you reprimand her, she’s undeterred–a trait you almost admire if it didn’t often hinder you. Still, you can’t deny the way your skin always tingles underneath her fingertips, or the way her amative words stirs something deep within you. With every protest and physical pushback, a prickling feeling at the back of your mind shoots through you, something you can attest to allegorize to the figurative biting of your tongue.
There’s the common rationality that crossing the line will cause inevitable consequences that neither of you will be capable of facing, and yet you let her teeter the line. Toying with it, as if it’s not there, or a better analogy: that it’s nothing more than one of those games she enjoys playing with you. Is it because of your own lack of will or because you indulge in this far more than you should? You find contempt with the acknowledgement that you favor the way she dallies you.
You knew that this ploy would excite the demon, give more latitude to her already desirous advances and increase her antics, but it was necessary for what you were trying to achieve. Masking as a wedded piar was the only way of concealing your identity while ensuring that Arlecchino remained by your side at all times but you wished there was a simpler guise. Regrettably, a charity event didn’t allow many guises, not with the scheme you plotted. Arlecchino, would undoubtedly, use every and any courting attempts under the guise of your ‘husband,’ throughout the entirety of the night. You only hope you could curb her behavior enough to not result in the right into becoming a blunder.
“Arlecchino, are you so oblivious as to not be able to hold tongue?” You ask, your frigid words and sharp tongue coating your internal thoughts with a mask of coldness.
“Why, are you offering to slit it?” She offers, and you forget; that’s precisely something you’d enjoy. Always the cheeky demon that she is. From the mirror, you can see that almost infatuated expression on her face: lips curled into a cutting smirk, eyes narrowed on the image of you in the mirror, and red-crossed pupils glowering. “I’m merely commenting on your appearance, can you fault me when I have such a lovely wife before me?”
Her words ring through your ears, sounding just like they had numerous times before. How long will it be until she stops repeating those praises, you wonder; how long will it be until they seem credible? You finally gaze up into the mirror, and there’s no objection to her statement. It’s a stunning, remarkably well-tailored scarlet dress, long and flowy with a high slit running from your thigh. It pairs well with the crimson suit that adorns the demon’s form exquisitely. The two of you do appear as an attractive pair, you admit begrudgingly to yourself. You gaze at the mirror for a moment longer before prying yourself away from the demon’s hold, stepping away from her with your back towards her. There’s the small inkling inside you that she pouts much like a scolded puppy.
“Don’t make me keep you on a tight leash,” you snap, once again swatting Arlecchino’s hand that tries to creep up onto your waist. “Behave yourself appropriately.”
A chuckle erupts from behind you. “If I behaved myself, then our image of doting husband and wife will shatter, no? Besides, a leash may not be very… dignified, would it? It’d be quite the presentation, indeed.”
It slips from your memory at times: how demons, or Arlecchino particularly, have no shame.
With a scoff and a shake of your head, you reply. “Is that what you want to appear as? A dog I leash around?”
Again, another noise of amusement comes from the demon, but she replies with neither a confirmation or objection. Kinky bastard.
“The only thing we need are finishing touches, is that right? Accessories if you will.”
You nod, making your way towards the door of your bedroom. “Your gloves and your contacts. You have them, yes?”
“Yes, but I was referring to something else.” Before you can question it, there’s a grasp on your wrist andd then you’re spun around to face her. With the slyness of a fox, she slips a ring on your ring finger prior to your awareness, and a sparkling gemstone greets your vision. You nearly sputter at the sudden action, jerking your hand away from her hold as you extend out your hand in front of you to view it. A brilliant ruby, no, red diamond glimmers before you, encased by a sleek, intricate, gold and silver design–irrefutably based off of her usual palette she prefers to don. You collect your composure, masking it with a monotone hum.
“I don’t recall purchasing this for tonight.” You look at her, scanning her expression: the amused gleam in her black pits and the hardly discreet smile across her lips.
“I acquired it myself. There should be no issue with it, I presume? I thought it would… assure our disguise.” She raises up her hand, wearing a similar jewerly.
You note that she uses ‘acquired’ over ‘purchased.’ What means have she gone through to obtain this? You don’t have even an inkling of an idea. You don’t care enough to inquire further on how she obtained a ring containing the rarest type of diamond discovered by humans yet. However, it is difficult to argue that it doesn’t achieve the job of solidifying the illusion the two of you aare trying to uphold.
“We have everything, we need, is that correct?”
“That’s correct, my Lady.”
“Then let’s go. Come along, Arlecchino, no point in dallying is there, my dear ‘husband?’”
Unbeknownst to you, your words lit a spark within your butler, an inferno that will remain undying until the next morning. Thrill hums underneath her blackened skin, and the warmth and levity of adoration grips her dead, devoid, demonic heart.
—
Upon arrival at the venue of the charity event, a grand mansion, it bares much resemblance to the ball that you and Arlecchino went to for information gathering–your first failure, regrettably, on no one’s fault but yours. You had banked on your source of information to be accurate, and what a fool you made of yourself then. Though this time, you had a different objective in mind, this one more promising for success.
Hosted by Magnate Tartuffe, a philanthropist and so-called ‘Savior of the Poor,’ you have no doubt the charity event is just a convention for his more… shift business partners. The perfect den to gather evidence of this scum’s lies, and a good place to see who else is involved with his web of deceit. You pose as one of the guests invited to such an event…how lucky for you that you just come across her invitation first instead of her.
Rich people do love their ballrooms, don’t they?
You observe the dancefloor and the pleasant couples. Unsurprisingly, some of who you recognize: politicians, entrepreneurs, philanthropists; this place reeks of two-faced snakes. Arlecchino’s prickling gaze bores into you, and you have no doubt that your ‘husband’ wants nothing more than to ‘blend in’ among the dancing pairs with you. Sure enough, after a few minutes of wandering through the swarms of people, there is a tug on your dress and you redirect your attention from the various sea of invitees to your butler.
“We look quite conspicuous wandering about, don’t we? Why don’t we indulge ourselves for a little bit, my love?” Arlecchino says to you from behind, her gloved hand finding yours, intertwining your fingers. She pivots you to face her again, a mischievous glint in her obsidian abysses. Through her gloves, her coldness bleeds through the silk fabric. Her fingers run over your ring with careful deliberation.
Love. It’s a word that you think seldom comes from a demon’s lips. And yet, you find yourself entertaining the notion of her repeating that single syllable in that distinct lilt. Foolish, you chide yourself, but perhaps there is some truth to her previous statement. Still, now is not the time for dawdling, you reason.
“Now? You know better that this event gives little leeway to do as we please.” You refute, but you’re swept in her embrace, drew against her with a precise disregard of your words as she often does. She peers down on you, that damnable, infuriating smirk across her features as she practically undresses you with her gluttonous glare alone. You repress the reflex to shudder.
“Is that so? Not even one dance, darling?”
“No.” You attempt to wring your hand from hers, but then her fingers fixedly but gently wrap around your wrist. She guides your hand to her chest as if she’s safeguarding it from you.
Through gritted teeth, you enouciate her name, like scolding a disobedient pet. “Arlecchino.”
“What wife doesn’t have time to dance with her husband?” Arlecchino replies back, her voice raising in volume, a faux disbelief present in her voice, her expression imitating likewise as well–widened eyes, raised eyebrows, and a pity-garnering frown. It’s far from the first time she’s done this, act as if she had any human emotions beyond lust, but there’s yet been a time you fell for it, even when she does look like a kicked puppy.
“This wife.”
Your butler leans down until her lips brushes against your ear, a lazy, alluring drawl graces your ears. Her other hand seizes your chin, turning it away from her direction and steering it towards the few bystanders watching the two of you’s interaction. You could feckly hear their snobbish remarks, the way their eyes usher away from yours and they lean towards the other, a hand covering their mouths. “Careful. We have an audience. We wouldn’t want to draw attention to us, would we?”
Her and her diabolical tricks.
“Fine,” you submit begrugingly, seething anger barely contained in your voice. An amused and smug titter spews from the demon, and it takes a considerable amount of restraint to not deck her across her face; she’d relish in it anyways.
“Do you mind if I take the lead, my love?” She asks you in a sickeningly, sweet tone like a doting partner would. Your stomach churns, but you can’t discern if it’s in an discomforting way or not, but you could physically feel some of your ire dissipate, humbly tamed by a simple pet name. You detest the wonder if your will was always this frail. What was it this time that broke through your stubborn front of vexation? You’ve been kidnapped, beatened, tortured before, but this was where you fell? Unfathomable. My love, she repeats again, and it rings through your ears, almost deafening every other sound that surrounds you, rendering you powerless.
Arlecchino places your free hand on top of her shoulder while hers position itself on your side. The hand that is still clasped with yours extends outwards, assuming the waltz position. Abruptly, you’re acutely aware of how clammy your hands are underneath your gloves and you utterly despise the quickening of your heartbeat that drums throughout your entire body; still, you couldn’t muster the courage to look away from the reassuring smile–free of its previous pomposity and ridicule–she sends you. For the briefest period of time, you think that instead of a demon, in place of it is an angel from how ethereal she appears. But you quickly shake your head ridding of that thought as soon as it came.
Stupid racing of your heart, making you see things that aren’t there.
She moves slow at first, as if to examine where your experience lies, gradually increasing her pace with each minute. It’s awkward at first, but once she finds a suitable speed, the two of you smoothly glide over the floor. You match her every step with poise and fluidity, and when it’s clear you’ve accustomed to her rhythm, she raises her left arm while dropping your right, twirling you around. In this moment, everything else disappears, the only thing that is of relevance to you is her, your bodies in sync as your eyes lock. With each sway, you wonder if your heartrates are also synchronized–in this breath of time, does her heart races for you like yours does? The unwavering gaze of hers resides on you, and you can’t do no more but reciprocate her attention. You dubiously think that in her eyes, there’s a fondness to them, and oh, how it melts you. How it eases your soul and lightens your steps. How you carefully regard every feature, admiring the lack of blemishes over her skin and the softness of her facial traits; but maybe those observations were made from your own bias.
There’s a silence between the two of you that you find solace in–almost anyone would call it intimate. Outside of you and Arlecchino, the world would think of the two of you as husband and wife truly, and it’s like you’re the only one that knows the truth. You bite your lip harshly, dragging back your imaginative consciousness back to reality. When trying to enact revenge, foolishness and naivety have no place here; your goal is the only thing that dictates your life now.
That’s right. You have no time or need to fool around with a demon, no matter how charming she is.
“I wasn’t aware you knew how to dance.” You make small talk, if only to break the growing intimacy between servant and master, attempting to dismiss the way your nerves singe from the warmth she exudes and how loud that beating organ in your chest thumps.
“Yes, serving a multiple of masters over hundreds of years has allowed me to cultivate an innumerable amount of skills and experience–dancing included. of course,” Arlecchino replies as she spins you, following a dip immediately afterwards. As you’re lowered until a feet or two above the floor with only her arms supporting your weight, she leans her head further down, inches away from your face, her breath skimming against your nose. The sudden action has you breathless, heaving for the air she effortlessly stole from your lungs. Her eyes lock with yours for a short while, her expression slack as if she’s in awe, before her lips curl into a smile.
“You should be underneath me more often,” she has the audacity to comment in that husky, amorous voice, both a stinging annoyance and blossoming fluster bubble inside you. Before you can berate her, ‘your husband’ raises you until both of your feet are flat on the ground and she resumes the standard waltz stance, the two of you sashaying across the floor.
Nonchalantly, she resumes her answer previously, as if to overlook her brash remark; you know it’s only to further fluster and tease you, that fucking demon. “Waltz is, admittedly, one of my favorite types of dancing. The intimacy it creates between the partners is thrilling. I’ve had much experience with it.”
And suddenly that placid campfire stoking in your chest ignites into an inferno, like being possessed by something sinister; the previous levity that coats your person is stripped away, replaced with a heavy and overbearing covering that makes you too aware of her speech and her expression, keen in deciphering her thoughts behind that front. She’s… reminiscing? There should be no logical reason it acutely agitates you, but that faraway look–it infuriates you. It’s a sensation that was similar to what brought on about that abrupt and inexplicable fit of irrationality during the ball, when you marked Arlecchino’s neck. You’ve opted to not ruminate over that occurrence after the event but as you feel the the same beast’s claws grip your form, it’s with a grim realization that you discover unsightly jealousy.
It spews out before you can stop it. “And how many people have you danced with like this?”
Arlecchino’s smile freezes in time, her eyes flicking over your slight scowl, brows lifting bemusedly. Then, her lips curl further upwards marginally. “Quite a few has come before you, my Lady.”
Is she purposely trying to aggravate you?
Deciding to avoid another incident like at the ball, you bite your tongue in an attempt to repress anymore thoughtless utterances; you refuse to let her win in this little game she’s trying to play. Fanning the flames inside you won’t mean that you’ll combust. You bitterly question what you thought would come from a demon. Expectedly, nothing genuine. Becoming lost in your thoughts, your eyes wander away from her face, absentmindedly observing the gazes of other observers, watching the two of you sway. You’re broken out of your trance when your butler’s voice cuts through your thoughts.
“Something more interesting than ‘your husband?’”
You recover from the shock quickly, glancing back at her. “And if there was?”
“Then I would be saddened. Perhaps I haven’t captured your attention enough?”
You choose not to respond, unsure of what to say and what it would lead to. The song in the background comes to a close, and she ends the dance with one more dip. Once the song ends, you immediately wrench out your hands from her grasp.
“Satisfied yet? You got your dance,” you sigh, inwardly disgusted with how uncomfortable your gloves feel now with all of the sweat built up. Settling your palm onyour chest, you can feel the faint thumping underneath, still pumping rapidly. Through deep breaths, you try to calm it, turning away from Arlecchino.
“Very. You were an excellent partner,” your ‘husband’ says from behind.
Some part of you asks how many times she’s said that before.
You huff. “Great, now can we do what we came here for?”
“As you wish, my lovely wife.”
Stupid demon husband.
—
Sneaking around the venue has yet garner much success. Currently, you’re searching for the location of Tartuffe’s meeting with his other associates, but no luck. His goons are watching over the hallways; a clear signifier that he doesn’t want others to be probing about where they shouldn’t be.
“Arlecchino,” you whisper once you’ve found yourself in a secluded hallway, making sure that no one is around. The demon appears.
“Have you found them yet?”
“No, I’ve yet to find them. Even with my hearing, it appears that they’re not here.”
“How good is your hearing?”
“They’re quite sensitive, I can hear so much as a whisper through walls.”
“How thick can those walls be?”
“It’s dependent on the material. Though these types of walls should not prove to be difficult for me.”
“Hm… it’s less likely that they would move to another place altogether, there’d be no reason to all come here if that was the case. So there’s a high chance they’re still here… Arlecchino, on the blueprints was there any stairwells?”
The demon closes her eyes momentarily, attempting to recall. “Yes, it would be on the opposite side of the building. Though, when I was exploring that section, there was no apparent stairwell.”
“That may be where they are. We should–”
Before you can continue, you hear a thudding reverberate through the hallway, the sound growing louder with each second passing by. If you’re spotted here, it’s likely you’ll be expelled out of the event for trespassing and looking around. Your heart pounds rapidly as you try to conceive the notion of another failure towards your goal; no, you cannot let it end here. The footsteps approach closer. Your hands scramble for the doorknob behind you, twisting it to see if it’ll allow you inside and serve as a covert. However, it doesn’t budge, no matter how many times you try.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse underneath your breath when you realize the door is expectedly locked. Is there any way you for the two of you not to get caught. Arlecchino may be a demon, she has teleportation powers, but those powers mean nothing to you when she can’t transport you. You could order her to disappear and allow yourself to be thrown out; she’ll probably be able to find out how to let you back in, but again, that carries risk and you may not have enough time for that, especially when the distance makes coordination difficult for that type of plan and you don’t know how long that meeting will last if it’s started half an hour ago, wait, the footsteps are just about there, rounding the corner, think hard, faster, think, think, thinking fucking dumbass–
A firm, chilling hand places itself on your shoulder, whipping you around before pressing you harshly against the wooden door, making you groan from the immediate impact. Arlecchino’s body towers over you, her pupils gleaming so radiantly that they’re visible through the contact lenses that she’s wearing; her expression is still and emotionless, only adding to the chilling emanation from her. One of her arms is placed beside your hand, and she leans forward against the door. Her other hand hooks underneath your chin, and tilt your face up, viewing her face. The only information that your mind could process at this instance is just how little distance there is between the two of you, and that is enough to send your pulse soaring. The panic of your impending exposure futiley against the thoughts that suddenly revolve around your butler, your husband, who draw nearer. You should push her away and demand what she’s doing, but her speed surpasses that of human capabilities, far too swift for you to even occupy that consideration, and you give up the fruitless struggle in the next moment.
“Forgive me, my Lady,” she whispers huskily, just a hairsbreadth away from your own and she descends upon you.
Arlecchino’s cold lips find yours, prying away your oxygen effortlessly with each claim of your mouth. Reality melts away at her touch–she overwhelms all of your senses, you’re mindless except for the flavor and texture of her–as she presses against you even more. She tastes chilling and metallic, like steel; yet soft and welcoming as a pillow; you can’t imagine anything more from your demon, and it certainly doesn’t prevent you from leaning further. She’s nothing and exactly like how you would think she’d be like, and it absolutely thrills you. Heart palpitating, every nerve hums underneath each inch of skin, and oh, how absurdly hot you feel despite her cold lips. Closing your eyes, your hands raise up to her face, cupping both sides and tugging her impossibly closer. A soft grunt escapes from her and her fingers below your chin leave in favor of lagging down below, over your dress before it finds the thigh-high slit and slides underneath.
“Arlecchino,” you gasp out as her gloved fingers trail up your bare thigh, and she quickly swallows the whisper of her name. Continuing up, they travel innerwards, and your body involuntarily bucks in her direction. You’re filled with only the incessant need for her, more of her touch, more of her taste, more of her everything; you bite her lip, requesting–no, demanding–for entrance, and like the obedient servant she is, she allows entry. Just as she has claimed your lips, you decide replicate it back, exploring every crevice of her mouth with your tongue. You’re further fueled by the throaty moan she emanates, the pit of your stomach fluttering.
“Say my name again,” she begs out in the sweetest, most yearning voice that’s ever graced your ears, and with that kind of plea, who are you to deny her?
“Arlecchino,” you whisper out, and then again, and again, like a chant. You pull the slightest bit away just to catch your breath, before leaning back in, but that is when Arlecchino leans away, backing away fully from your lips to your dismay. Her touch on your leg leaves.The sudden break snaps you out of your lust-filled daze, and you look at her like a betrayed lover. Noticing that her eyes are directed somewhere else, you follow them.
Two men stand by the side of you, evidently discomfortable if the way they’re refusing to make eye contact signifies anything. You rack your head around for a second, before remembering they’re among the security personnel. Still recovering from the intimate engagement you just had with your butler, you heave for breath, attempting to say something to them, but Arlecchino does so first.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me and my wife about?” Your ‘husband’ gruffs, frigid fury coating her words.
One of the men cleared his throat before replying awkwardly with, “Um, we’re sorry to have… interrupted you, but guests are not supposed to be in these parts.”
Arlecchino lets out a faux scoff, and her hand reache for mine, clasping it tight. “Fine. Then let us be on our way back,” she states, turning away from them and wordlessly walking away, leading you along with her. Once the two of you are out of the two men’s sight, you stop her in her tracks.
“Was that necessary?” You inquire, a bit of indignation in your tone. Because how could she just do that without your permission, without your order? The two of you have just breached a line you promised yourself you wouldn’t cross, and here you were, like a fucking liar. This shouldn’t have happened.
“We needed a way that would make us not look conspicuous, didn’t we? I thought if we… played up to our roles, they would think that we were just… having a rendezvous.”
You sigh. It worked as Arlecchino has intended at least. Yet, you can’t help but question if that was all to why she did it.
Your lips still tingle, her taste still lingers.
“Fine, I won’t reprimand you for that. But know if you do something like that again, there will be consequences,” you warn her harshly. “Now, let’s go, we still have to proceed with our plan.”
—
That night was successful, thankfully. You had managed to get all the evidence you needed, and formulate a list of who exactly is working with that damn philanthropist. After you arrived home, you immediately sent Arlecchino out, changed, and retired to bed. But as you lay underneath the covers, you couldn’t help but wish that it was her arms wrapped around you instead of these blankets. And yet you never call for her. It is the same reason why you never mentioned about the kiss to her again.
Ah, you want to taste her again. Drink her in once more, discover more sounds of her.
Your fingers fiddle with the ring that Arlecchino slipped onto your finger earlier that night. It fits your finger just right.
Husband and wife? What a funny thought.
That night, when your eyelids are finally too heavy for you to lift, you dream of eyes with crosses as pupils and blackened hands, chilly to the touch.
A/N: First canonical kiss. Whoooooo. Only took these bitches 12.4k words for them to kiss. Anyways, I'm going to pass the fuck out now.
#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino x you#arlecchino#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact fanfics#genshin fics#genshin x reader#genshin arlecchino#genshin impact arlecchino#edgeray.writes
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(Warning: There are mentions of sexism in this post because I refuse to not acknowledge the time these people were living in and what that entails for men and women.)
The saddest thing about the Arthur and Mary romance is that it didn't happen because they were plagued by the same problem- family in 1800s America and what that entailed for men and women.
In Arthur's case, it was more obvious. He felt he had a debt to the gang, a debt he could never pay back- to Dutch and Hosea, his father figures who saved him, to the men he saw as brothers in arms, to the women he had to take care of and loved, and he could never for once think for a moment that he could also be kind to himself. Arthur Morgan, a strong man, a provider, a protector, someone that people NEEDED. Never once did people in the game ask Arthur what HE wants. It's always about their needs, and Arthur, being who he is, a selfless person to selfish people, would slave away to the ends of the Earth, to hell and back, just to be that pillar that they see him as, for Arthur Morgan is a man who had the world on his shoulders and couldn't, not even once, think about giving that responsibility to another man. He never could. His family consumed him to where his truest self, his most authentic self came only in the thin pages of a leather journal and the voice of lead. His family consumed him and the love he had for Mary, this want to have for once, something truly to himself, was inconceivable. How could he leave them? How? He couldn't. No matter how much he may want to, he just can't.
For Mary? Her family consumed her long ago, as soon as she was born, for she committed the cardinal sin of being born a woman in the 1800s. Whatever ambitions she had, they were impossible. The world made her horribly dependent from the moment she was born. Her prospects was being a lady, knowing department, and securing a marriage for the sake of her family and herself, otherwise, more likely than not, she will be thrusted into poverty or shame or both. And then she met Arthur and he showed her a world beyond the gilded age and she was happy because this love she had for him was her own and her experiences were ones that she wanted, not that her family wanted. She was happy with him, so terribly happy, but her dependence on her family crushed her- socially, economically, culturally. So when her family forced her to marry Mr. Linton, she agreed and forsaked her own love because how could she abandon her family? Her elopement would shame them and make her a disgrace to her sex.
They were both trapped by their families for different reasons but in the end, they decide to put themselves first and it was already too late.
When Mary called for Arthur, it wasn't for him and if it was, she masked it up by asking him for help with her family, the family that she forsaked everything for because how could she not? And Arthur helped. By God, he helped. Not necessarily because he wants to, but that's what love has done to him. It made him the one work stallion out of many who will one day be put down by sheer exhaustion of the weight on its back and the reward of very little. And Arthur would leave and go back to the gang, because how could he leave them?
But after years of abuse, loss of personhood, and the struggles of being a woman in 1800s America, Mary decides to be selfish. She saw how her father saw her as truly less than nothing when he decided to sell a broach that belonged to her beloved mother and then to be passed on to her. All that suffering she went through meant nothing because her father has shamed the family she tried so hard to keep happy and her brother was off to college and was no longer held on by the shackles of the wayward patriarch, Mr. Gillis. She decides to be selfish and asks Arthur to run away with her, so she can finally make do on that proposal long ago to be together, married and happy.
But Arthur then makes the same decision she made all those years ago when he proposed to her. He chooses his family. They need him, but maybe now it's finally over? He can pay his debt to them, have them live happy and free, and then chase his own happiness, his own treasure in the image of a wonderful and beautiful creature by the name of Mary Linton- and maybe in the future, Mary Morgan. After over 20 years- maybe he can be selfish.
But when he realized that these people that he dedicated his life to were draining him of life and hopes and dreams and gave him nothing in return but more troubles, it was too late.
He couldn't let go of these people who ruined him and Mary realized this. Her final letter was a heartfelt goodbye because as she finally broke free of those binds that tied her, Arthur didn't or couldn't. He made the same mistake as she did all those years ago and she couldn't handle such heartbreak anymore, for their souls were slaves to them who didn't deserve it.
And when Arthur finally did break free of those soulful chains, of those people who he loved so deeply, it was too late. Sickness turned a strong man to a husk and as he choked on his blood, he could only get solace from the fact that he tried. He tried to be his authentic self, he tried to be his own man with his own actions, he tried to be good, he tried to change, he tried, and his reward?
Choking and gasping on his blood due to actions in the past he never wanted to do but did anyways because the people he loved asked him to and he just couldn't say no.
Both Mary and Arthur loved each other. Fully and deeply but as their souls were entwined, their bodies and minds were held in bondage by a man's duty to protect and provide and a woman's duty of deportment and honor to families who ruined them. Both of them expect the other to forsake their family for them, but neither of them could do that at the correct time together.
All that remains of that love, true and pure, is Mary's ring on another woman's finger through her wish that Arthur could give the ring to another couple who weren't trapped in the same duty that they were, and that if they were, they had the strength to be selfish.
What a sad, sad story of two poor souls, Arthur Morgan and Mary Linton.
#arthur morgan#mary linton#red dead redemption 2#rdr2#character analysis#story analysis#they make me so sad#they truly did love eachother#but it was never destined to happen due to the duties they had from both their sex#and their “duties” to their families#when they finally decided to be selfish and for once put themselves first instead of their family#it was already too late#😭😞
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