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#even if there is some truth to what is being said
sansaorgana · 3 days
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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VIII)
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PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN
PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC
SUMMARY — Giedi Prime celebrates Feyd-Rautha's birthday and the hundredth kill in the arena. Meanwhile, na-baroness gets reminded by The Baron who pulls the strings and finds out unpleasant truth about the promise her aunt has given to the Bene Gesserit.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. I wasn't sure what titles Feyd's children would have but since his brother is a Count, I assumed his children would be C(o)unts and C(o)untesses. I mean, his eldest son would become na-baron but only after his father would become The Baron, I assume 🤔 Next chapter we go to Arrakis, babes!!! 🤭 Thank you for all your comments, reblogs and messages! 💕
WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death, syringes, mentions of planned and scientifical breeding, blood pact
WORD COUNT — 6,670
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
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THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VIII)
You were laying on an examination table and staring at the black ceiling above you while the medic was busy with noting down some things and injecting you with vitamins, minerals and proteins. It was the day of Feyd-Rautha’s hundredth kill and his birthday but you hadn’t spent much time with him the past few days since he was restraining himself physically before the fight.
You still shared one bed with him, though. He wasn’t avoiding you as much as he had been the last time.
“How do you feel, na-baroness?” The medic asked and you smirked at him.
“Like you care about it,” you pointed out. “We both know you only care about the child.”
“I care about what I am being told to care about, my Lady. I follow orders,” he explained. “I asked na-baron the other day whether I should do everything to keep you in the best state possible or focus strictly on the child, na-baroness. He wanted me to ensure you would be alright,” he added and you tried your best not to show how surprised you were.
“He really said that?” You only asked.
“Well…” the medic looked down and laughed nervously, “he said that you might still be useful later, my Lady. Forgive my words.”
“The words are not yours, therefore you do not have to apologise for them,” you assured him. “Anyway, if I ordered for you to be killed, who would make sure I am alright?” You teased with a smile and he sighed with relief.
“So, how do you feel, na-baroness?” He repeated the previous question.
“I feel… different,” you told him. “I have these cravings…”
“Cravings are perfectly normal during pregnancy, my Lady,” he nodded his head.
“Yes, I understand. But recently I want to eat the same food as my husband although I still find it quite disgusting but… I still crave it. Feyd says it’s the child being whimsy but he is no medic…”
“It will pass,” the medic looked up at you and assured you. “The cravings will pass, my lady, after the pregnancy. Your husband is right about the child.”
“Other than that, except for feeling a little emotional at times, I do not experience any side effects of pregnancy. I don’t even feel sick in the mornings,” you told him.
“Yes, because I am trying my best to make this process go as smoothly as possible for you, my Lady,” he smiled and noted something down again.
“But…” you furrowed your brows, remembering something that had been worrying you lately. He looked up at you. “You see, during the celebration, I talked to my previous maids, perhaps you remember them. And they are pregnant, too. One of them told me the Harkonnen pregnancies are different and she warned me.”
The medic sighed and leaned back in the chair as he hesitated for a while whether he should explain this whole situation to you or not.
“There is no such thing as Harkonnen pregnancy, my Lady. We are humans just like you are,” he reminded you. “It’s the centuries of living on this heavily polluted planet that made us look the way we do and mutated some of our DNA but we are not of different species.”
“I understand,” you nodded. “Forgive me, I did not want to insult your culture.”
“Na-baroness does not have to apologise,” he bowed his head down slightly. “You see, our women are not very fertile because of the atmosphere on this planet. That is why our… medicine… has progressed so much. We needed to find an artificial way of ensuring population growth. The Harkonnen women – even boosted with injections – usually weaken a lot during pregnancies. But their bodies do not change much. When it comes to off-world women…” He hesitated once again and you sat up, listening very carefully. “Let’s say, your body treats your son as a foreign element. He is half Harkonnen – with the best genetic material from his father, of course – but your… clean and healthy body treats him as something polluted and poisonous. And what happens, my Lady, when you spill a drop of poison into someone’s drink?” He asked you.
“Diffusion,” you gasped and he nodded. Your heart skipped a beat. “So, the child is poisoning me?” You swallowed thickly as you asked. You could feel all your limbs go weak at the thought.
“No, na-baroness, not with me around,” he chuckled and shook his head. “But your former maids do not have such medical innovations, I’m afraid.”
“Will they die then?” You asked.
“No, they will not die. And their bodies might go back to normal some time after the pregnancy, once the blood gets rid of all the… toxins,” he added. “Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you, my Lady. And it brings me no pleasure to admit how truly poisoned our people are. It feels humiliating in a way.”
“So I have nothing to worry about?” You stood up and watched him carefully. He was visibly hiding something from you.
“Na-baroness doesn’t have to worry about the child taking away her strength, no,” he only said.
“What should I worry about then?” You raised your eyebrow at him, demanding an answer. You could see him panicking a little. He was the Baron’s loyal servant but you were being pushy and he was aware of the power you had recently gained. He couldn’t just lie to you so easily nowadays.
“I think you have been thinking of it, too, my Lady, of that possibility,” he whispered and you furrowed your brows. “Your mother, she… She died in childbirth, did she not? And everyone keeps saying how much you look like her, my Lady.”
“My mother did not die because she was weak in flesh,” you explained to him although you became nervous when he mentioned that. “She died because she was weak in mind. She couldn’t bear to live with my father in a loveless union. It killed her that on the day I was born he was with his pregnant lover. She died of sadness,” you informed him and he widened his eyes a little at that. You were aware that your explanation was not exactly very medically accurate.
“I can only say that I will try my best for the same thing not happening to you, na-baroness,” he stood up as well and bowed down, making you feel stupid for your outburst. Of course he was right. Your mother had died because she had lost too much blood.
She had died because of you.
Because of a child with a man she hadn’t loved. Because of a child she probably hadn’t even wanted in the first place.
Your whole life you had been imagining your life with her. How much she would love and cherish you. But what if she would not? Now, more than ever, pregnant with Feyd-Rautha’s son, you understood what your mother had gone through. She had been forced to give birth to you and she had paid the biggest price for it.
“I… I should leave now and prepare for the event,” you told the medic and he nodded at you and watched you walk out of the room.
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You walked through the dark corridor being led by the guards. You had been there before, a few days after your wedding, being taken to Feyd-Rautha preparing for his fight, scared of his reaction to see you disobeying him with the choice of your dress. These past few months, lots of things had changed. You walked confidently now with your head held high and waited for the guard to open the big, black doors in front of you.
You walked inside the room and spotted your husband in the middle of it, surrounded by the servants putting black paint stripes on his bare chest. One of the male servants was presenting the knives on a black, velvet cushion.
They all turned around to see you approaching them and you purposefully took your time while walking gracefully in a dress that was supposed to be one of his birthday presents. It was a mix of black latex – one of your new favourite fabrics – and black silk. Delicacy and vulgarity mixed together, wrapped around your curves and revealing just enough to let the imagination run free but not enough to actually reveal anything that belonged to Feyd-Rautha only. Your hair was loose but you wore a beautiful black diadem that had been a gift from one of the lords, given to you during the celebration feast thrown in your honour.
“Well, well, well,” Feyd’s eyes squinted at the sight of you as you stood right in front of him. You hadn’t seen him at all this morning because he had woken up very early to prepare. “I was just about to check the blade,” he pointed at one of the knives on the cushion. You saw terror in the eyes of the servants standing behind him.
Feyd reached out for the knife and balanced it a little in his hand before facing you and opening his mouth to show off his long tongue and licking the tip of the blade. You nearly gasped at the vulgarity of this act that made you ache in your core after a few days of not being touched by him at all. In your head, you imagined him dropping to his knees and burying his face right between your legs. It was making you feel dizzy to think of that and the tension between you two seemed to be under voltage.
But when you spotted his wrist tilting a bit, you already knew what would happen now.
“Tsk, tsk,” you hissed at him and he froze, confusedly looking at you. “It’s time to grow up, don’t you think?” You asked, teasingly. “Only spoiled little boys discard their toys so easily.”
You liked his bloodthirst and found it more than useful but you didn’t like to watch innocent slaves being killed for fun. You knew that it was not the custom of all Harkonnens to do that. A common lord would not kill so easily mostly because it would cost him money to get another slave. But Feyd couldn’t care less about the material aspect of it.
“Also, I do not understand why you decide to restrain yourself from fucking me but you can’t restrain yourself from killing before the actual fight in the arena. It makes no sense to me,” you added. “You need to be as railed up as possible.”
After a short while he lowered his hand and put the knife back on the cushion as the servants behind him sighed with relief.
“It’s not balanced properly,” he told the male servant. “Bring me another one, you useless sack of meat,” he ordered and the nervous man bowed down before hurrying out of the room.
“Good boy,” you praised Feyd, proud of yourself.
It was one thing to make him kill for you but it was another to stop him from killing.
“You want to weaken me,” he drawled through the gritted teeth. He was already railed up to the maximum and it was delicious to see him in such a state.
“Me?” You asked, playfully. “Far from that,” you explained. “I want you to be a rabid dog today, do you understand me?” You took a step forward to grab his crotch as your face remained inches away from his. The servants behind him widened their eyes and you felt a shiver going down his starved body. “Today is very important, my pet,” you whispered. “Do not disappoint me,” your hand squeezed him and let go as fast as you felt him hardening under your palm.
Feyd smirked at you.
“Rabid dog,” he only nodded, “for my Baroness,” he added and you felt a wave of pleasure crawling all the way through your skin.
You leaned in to cup his cheeks and place a kiss upon his forehead.
“Accept my blessing,” you breathed out, “and happy birthday, my darling”.
You took a step back and smiled faintly at him before bowing down slightly –  pure act of mockery after showing your unquestionable dominance – and walking away to leave the room to let him continue his preparations.
“I will make you proud,” you heard his voice when the guards opened the doors in front of you. To that, you gave no answer as you left the chamber and placed both of your hands protectively on your abdomen.
The truth was, he had no idea how important that fight could be for the both of you. Baron Harkonnen hadn’t spoken to you a lot the past few days and you had no idea if he had decided to listen to your advice or not. For a while you wanted to warn Feyd about such a possibility but you knew that it would only take away satisfaction and pleasure from him. And it was his birthday. He deserved his gift.
That is, if The Baron had listened to you.
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After being announced, you waved at the Giedi Prime citizens gathered in the arena as they cheered loudly at the sight of you. You gave them a wide but dignified smile before sitting on the chair next to the Baron’s and taking your binoculars from his servant.
“You will be pleased,” Baron told you as he watched you from the corner of his eye and puffed on his pipe.
“There are a lot of ways to please me, my Lord. Care to specify?” You teased and you swore, one of his eyes twitched at that.
“He will be given three Atreides soldiers that we kept imprisoned after taking over Arrakis. You might even recognise them,” Baron explained.
“I doubt,” you winced. “I never paid attention to soldiers,” you explained. “Not as individuals, I mean.”
“Well, you better pay attention to one of them now because he is not drugged,” Baron informed you and your heart skipped a beat at the revelation.
It made you both excited and terrified. You couldn’t show any of this to the Baron so you just nodded your head at him.
“If my nephew dies today, it will be on you,” he chuckled.
“It has no significance to you, does it? Your next heir is already in the making,” you pointed out sternly and caressed your womb. You dropped your formalities with him nearly at all because you felt that you no longer had to address him as my Lord. Not only you had advanced in his eyes in the ladder of his enemies but you also held the title of Duchess Atreides.
Oh, you had just realised. You really were Duchess Atreides now. And you would watch your husband murdering your own soldiers. That was dark, you had to admit. Baron still had his spirit.
“If my nephew turns out to be so weak to be killed today by a mid Atreides soldier, I am sure his son will be no better,” Baron’s voice got serious again and it caused a chill to go down your spine.
Well, you were trapped. Feyd had to win, otherwise you and your son would die, too. How stupid you had been to think that the Baron wouldn’t twist the game for his own gain.
“We will have to find a way to plant a better seed in your cunning womb then, my Baroness,” his eyes sparkled at you and then he brought the binoculars to his face and watched the arena.
You turned your head around to hide the way your body gagged at his words. You’d rather him to kill you than find a way to implant his spawn inside your womb, even if it would not even require touching him.
You took a deep breath in and watched Feyd entering the arena through your binoculars as the crowd cheered. What had you done…? Had you outplayed yourself? Would it be your end?
Your shaking hand squeezed your womb as if you wanted to comfort your son although he was too small to be stressed about it.
It’s going to be alright, you kept thinking, pretending you were talking to your child. Your father’s going to win it, my little one, don’t you worry.
You were so lost in the thoughts of stress and anxiety that your senses got numbed for a while and you came back to reality only when the whole arena was filled with a loud cheer as Feyd’s first opponent was killed.
You sighed with relief as he had only two to go now. You focused on the man who was not drugged and you realised that you indeed recognised him. He was an excellent warrior and it made you feel uneasy.
You tried not to look at the Baron at all but you could feel his eyes on you. And not only his.
You looked up through your binoculars and saw that on the balcony in front of you, the Bene Gesserit sisters were sitting together. Not only the local one but lots of them – hiding in the shadows behind their veils. Watching you.
You wondered if one of them was your aunt. Probably.
“Don’t you just hate them?” You fought your disgust and fear as you spoke up.
“Hm?” Baron asked.
“The Bene Gesserit,” you explained. “Their schemes and plans, they interfere with yours a lot, don’t they? Don’t you hate how much power they hold even over you?”
“Well, what would you propose to do with them? I can’t just throw them out,” he laughed at you.
“Why not? If I was The Baroness, I’d limit their influence in the Harkonnen systems,” you told him and he brought the binoculars down as the crowd cheered when Feyd dealt with another drugged warrior.
“Then perhaps you are not ready to become her yet,” Baron squinted his eyes at you.
“Why is that?” You brought your binoculars down as well and dared to turn your head around to face him as if you were accepting a challenge.
“You cannot reject customs so old and so common throughout the galaxy if you want to be a respectable House and not an outsider. I thought you’d know that, it’s basic knowledge,” he explained.
“I thought The Harkonnens were richer than the Emperor himself and with an army much bigger than his. Houses of such influence don’t have to care about the rules. They make them. I thought you’d know that, it’s basic knowledge,” you drawled.
If Feyd would win this fight, you would remain untouchable. If he would die, your life would be hell anyway. You had nothing to lose. You could speak to The Baron however you wished. At least your anger was telling you this and it was very tempting to listen to it.
But The Baron only chuckled at you.
“I like your fierceness. It is obvious you hold lots of hatred towards the Bene Gesserit but you cannot let your personal judgement overshadow the real situation. They can be useful,” he told you.
“I guess they can be,” you shrugged your arms and brought the binoculars back to your face.
“If it wasn’t for them, your dead body would rot in the Arrakis’ desert now,” Baron reminded you and you swallowed thickly.
You had other things to worry about now. Feyd was left alone with the undrugged Atreides warrior and he was struggling to win that one. You clutched on the edge of your chair with one of your hands as you watched him being nearly killed over and over. He was fighting back excellently but his opponent was more equal to him and his skills than you’d like him to be. You could see on the people’s faces that they all held their breaths.
But none of their lives were in as much danger as yours in the case of your husband’s death.
Your anxiety turned your hands cold and formed a gulp in your throat that was making you feel nauseous as you watched Feyd getting rid of all his cheating devices that were supposed to make him safe. He was full of adrenaline and wanted to show off – to make you proud. But he had no idea how much it all could ruin your life in the process.
“What is he doing?” Even Baron’s servant was shocked.
“Showing his worth,” Baron chuckled.
You wanted to scream at The Baron to make it stop and it was physically hurting you that you had to restrain yourself from doing so. You couldn’t show weakness but not only were you worried about yourself and your child but you had also just realised you were worried about your husband’s life.
It was an odd discovery but when you thought that you’d never be able to hear him call you pet or have him fuck you, you would miss it dearly. If you’d never be able to cup his angry face and watch it relax at your sweet cooing, you would be very upset.
It was pure torture to watch him fight now and struggle with the Atreides soldier. There was no way the Baron didn’t see the way your legs and arms were shaking. But it probably brought him nothing but pleasure.
When Feyd definitely killed the brave opponent and was announced a winner as he screamed in victory and raised his blade, you still couldn’t believe that it was happening for real. You needed a moment to go back to reality and when the cheers of Giedi Prime citizens reached your ears, you stood up abruptly. The people cheered even louder now at the sight of you and you approached the railing to look down at your husband.
You were aware that all binoculars at the moment were pointed at you so you tried not to show a hint of fear and nothing but pride. In Feyd’s eyes you spotted a sparkle at the sight of your satisfaction with his performance.
You turned around and passed the chuckling Baron without the word to reach the elevator as your guard followed you without a word. You wanted to be with your husband now.
It seemed like forever until the elevator was finally down and you hurried out of it to run through the dark corridor to reach the doors to Feyd’s chamber. On your way you spotted the Harkonnen servants dragging dead bodies of his opponents but you didn’t even flinch.
“Stay outside,” you ordered the guard and he nodded before you pushed the doors open and entered the room.
Feyd was standing there shirtless and smirking proudly at himself as the medic was tending his fresh wounds with some sort of liquid. You approached them and the medic bowed down at you as he moved out of your way.
You cupped your husband’s face and brought it down to press his forehead to yours. He was a bit taken aback by the aggressiveness of your moves.
“You did it, Feyd. You did it,” you felt tears streaming down your face and he furrowed his brows at your reaction. He grabbed your wrists and pushed you away slightly.
“You knew,” he only said and clenched his jaw. “You knew about that man not being drugged, did you not?” His pupils darkened. “What game are you playing? Trying to get rid of me with my uncle, huh? You want to be his little Baroness instead?”
“My Lord…” The medic tried to interfere seeing the way your husband was twisting your wrists to cause you pain. But Feyd only gave him a deadly glare.
Sometimes rabid dogs would bite their owners, too. You weren’t scared of him, though. He was confused and jealous.
“My darling, not only I knew but it was also my idea,” you told him and he froze to take a better look at your face. You smiled at him. “And now everyone on Giedi Prime respects you for the warrior you are. I have seen you train many times before, I thought the way your uncle gives you drugged warriors is humiliating to you,” you explained softly. “I couldn’t tell you before because it would spoil your fun. Happy birthday, Feyd,” you added.
He softened in an instant and let go of your wrists only to grab them again and bring them to his lips and shower them with hungry and sloppy kisses that would later leave the red marks. His kisses were never soft or gentle, you suspected he wouldn’t know how to kiss like that.
“Leave us,” you whispered almost inaudibly to the medic and he bowed down before walking outside the room.
When Feyd finished soothing your wrists, he pulled you closer to him and you placed a kiss on his forehead.
“You made me proud,” you told him and picked up the bowl of liquid the medic had left behind as you began to tend your husband’s wounds yourself. He shivered when your fingertip touched him gently for the first time and you shushed him quietly. “When you killed your harpies, your uncle caught me in an empty room and told me that the other lords call you weak now. I told him to give you a real warrior so the lords stop their whispers. But my real agenda was to show the nobility of Giedi Prime that you are a worthy successor,” you shared the details of your plan with him.
“What do you mean he caught you in an empty room?” Feyd’s jaw clenched.
“That is not important now, my pet,” you shook your head with a chuckle. Your fingers worked delicately and slowly on his smooth skin. You doubted anyone had ever touched him this way before.
“One victory like this is not enough,” he pointed out.
“I know. But now it’s going to be easier. We still have to be patient, though,” you looked up to meet his gaze. “Here, it’s done,” you announced and put the bowl away.
“You should leave before I ravage you,” he looked you up and down with so much hunger in his eyes that you felt as if you were already naked in front of him.
“You think I don’t feel the same after all these days of not feeling you?” You laughed at him. “Do it,” you dared him and his eyes widened. “I trust you won’t hurt me despite your starvation,” you teased.
Some part of you really trusted him. Perhaps because he was the only person in the world you could trust amongst the Harkonnens and you desperately wanted an ally.
Your plan would only work out if you had Feyd by your side.
“Later,” he shook his head, surprising you with the level of his self-discipline. “I can wait a few more hours but I will not risk the safety of my heir,” he explained.
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The birthday celebrations started but Feyd was not very excited about them. He had been way more interested in the celebration thrown for you and your son than about his own. He seemed to be bored and all the gifts presented to him were making him nod his head without any enthusiasm whatsoever. Birthdays were not celebrated as officially as other holidays on Giedi Prime so you were able to roam freely around the room and talk to people while he was doing his own thing. However, you were growing tired and exhausted. It was evening already and all the stress you had experienced earlier wore you out. 
You felt Feyd’s hands on your shoulders and you turned around to face him with a smile.
“I’m bored here,” he told you.
“It’s your birthday, you should be celebrating,” you caressed his cheek.
“I’d rather celebrate with you upstairs,” he smirked and you nodded softly. “I’ll go talk to my uncle now as he wishes to see me and you go to the bedroom and wait there for me,” he ordered and you leaned in to peck his lips. 
“Don’t take too long, I have more gifts for you,” you told him and his eyes sparkled as he nodded his head and walked away to go to his uncle.
You excused yourself using your fragile state and you left the dining room to go upstairs. Once again you were not guarded but this time you decided not to wander around the yet unexplored rooms and go straight to yours.
When you were about to reach the staircase, you heard someone else’s footsteps behind you. They weren’t as heavy as the usual steps of the Harkonnen guards or lords but they still made your heart sink in your chest. You turned around and spotted the local Bene Gesserit woman standing a few steps behind you. You wanted to sigh with relief but you were not stupid to think that her presence meant you were safe. Quite the opposite.
“What do you want?” You asked her.
“To talk,” she approached you and took her veil off. You were surprised to see that she was a regular woman like you were. You had never been able to spot that from behind the veil covering her face.
“Talk about what?” You gritted your teeth and she reached her hand out towards your womb. You hissed at her and grabbed her wrist to stop her.
“I mean no harm,” she assured you and pressed her hand to your abdomen for a while. Then she hummed to herself and took the hand away. “Impressive. Your aunt barely managed to convince the sisters to allow this union because your genes were not as strong as they wanted Feyd-Rautha’s children to have. However, I see that the Harkonnen medicine is progressing greatly,” she pointed out. “They brought the best out of you.”
“I don’t like the way you speak of me,” you snapped. “You don’t address me properly and you dare to insinuate my genes are not good enough to bear my husband’s offspring.”
Bene Gesserit smirked at you. She didn’t seem to care about your little outburst at all.
“However, it’s a boy,” she continued. “I mean, of course it is. I didn’t expect the Harkonnens to want anything else,” she added. “Your next one shall be a girl.”
“Excuse me?” You took a step back and clenched your jaw. “What I have next is my business. Mine and my husband’s, that is,” you placed your hand on your womb protectively.
“If you don’t give Feyd-Rautha a daughter, my Lady,” she emphasised ironically and you raised an eyebrow at her, “then I will.”
You nearly gasped at her insolence. Rage filled your whole body hearing her words. She threatened to lay with your husband? While she was inside your home?
“If you bewitch my husband, I will have you killed. I do not care about any of you,” you threatened her back.
“Your aunt promised us that you would be easy to control. As we both know, that is not true but we can let that slip. However, we will not give up on the promised daughter,” she explained calmly.
“Wh-what?” You stuttered out.
“Your aunt promised us that your first born daughter will be trained to become Bene Gesserit,” the woman answered and you felt a stinging pain in your chest.
Your aunt… whom you had never even met in your life. Of whom you had had no idea for most of your life. Yet she seemed to be the mastermind behind it all because of your grandfather’s sick ambitions to put his granddaughter on the Harkonnen throne. And your father… He passively had allowed that all to happen as Lady Jessica had cheered. 
“Is she here?” You barked at her. “My aunt? I want to talk to her.”
“The other sisters have left already, I’m afraid, na-baroness,” the woman told you. 
“If I have a daughter one day, I will not give her away to you witches,” you pointed your finger at her.
“There will be no need. She will stay here and I will train her,” she explained. “The Harkonnen countess would not be treated like a regular sister. Of course such powerful members have their privileges.”
“I still don’t want you near any of my children,” you told her angrily. “And I want you to stay away from Feyd.”
“You’re scared,” she smirked as she approached you, “because you know my poison is more effective than yours. I could really bind him to me in a way that is not accessible to you. You don’t hate us for witchcraft. You hate us because you’re not one of us,” she dared to whisper to you.
“I prefer holding less power but not being a blind follower of any idea nor force but myself and my own desires,” you answered proudly and straightened yourself.
You will obey me.
The loud and overwhelming voice boomed inside your head. You knew that voice very well. You had been growing up with it around.
“I will obey you,” you nodded and turned around to walk away but after a while you managed to fight this staggering sensation numbing your brain. “I will not,” you said.
“What did you say?” Bene Gesserit asked, surprised. You turned around to face her once again.
“I will not,” you repeated.
“How did you do that?” Her eyes widened.
“Growing up around Lady Jessica… You think I didn’t learn how to disobey your cursed voice?” You asked her with contempt. She didn’t have to know how much it costed you each time to be able to do that. You wanted her to think it was easy.
“That is impossible,” the woman shook her head. “You could not learn that by yourself.”
“Yet I did,” you shrugged your arms. “And no offence, but Lady Jessica was more powerful Bene Gesserit than you are.”
“Yes, she was,” she nodded. “That is why she was able to teach you this.”
“Teach me this?” You raised your eyebrow.
“Of course. Do you think you were able to master this ancient ability to fight The Voice by yourself? She had to teach you this. I only wonder why,” she hummed to herself.
Now you wondered, too. Perhaps some part of her wanted to protect you from whatever would come in the future. Perhaps some part of her cared about you.
And you hated to be grateful to her for anything but now you were.
“I might give you a daughter next,” you told the woman in front of you. “Having a powerful Bene Gesserit as my daughter can be useful,” you remembered Baron’s words. “But if you try to pit her against me or send her away to procreate with some gross lord far away from here, that is when I will intervene and you will regret this, witch,” you warned her.
She nodded.
“And if you touch my husband…”
“With all respect, I’d rather not touch him if I don’t have to, so just give us a daughter next,” she chuckled nervously.
You smiled at her. At first you were surprised hearing her words but then you remembered that most people did not see Feyd the way you were seeing him now. To them he was scary, unhinged and temperamental and his presence was deeply unsettling.
You left her in the corridor and went upstairs to your bedroom. You regretted not seeing your aunt because there were lots of things you’d love to tell her.
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Feyd joined you in the bedroom not long after. You were dressed in a nightgown already and sitting on the chair pulled away from his desk.
“What took you so long?” You asked him when the doors closed behind him.
“He gave Arrakis to me,” your husband informed you and stood above you as your eyes sparkled.
“What? He did?”
“Apparently Rabban is humiliating himself over and over there and embarrassing our family,” Feyd gritted his teeth. “I will be named the new Governor soon.”
“Well, that’s a gift I cannot possibly beat,” you teased and beckoned him over as he fell to his knees to be able to face you.
Feyd put his hands on your thighs as he opened them with his long fingers and you chuckled softly at him.
“Such an eager pet, aren’t you?” You teased him and he looked up. “That gift has to wait. Give me a knife,” you asked him.
He was confused but he handed you a short blade he was always carrying with himself.
“It’s so pretty,” you took a better look at the dagger in awe. It was really an excellent piece of work.
“Keep it,” your husband breathed out.
“But it’s your birthday, not mine,” you caressed his cheek gently.
“You need a weapon, too. I want you to keep it, just in case. When I’m not around and my uncle catches you in an empty room… For example,” he insisted.
“I don’t even know how to use it.”
“It’s a knife,” Feyd snorted. “You just stab.”
“Well, I guess. You can teach me more when I’m not with child anymore,” you proposed.
“I can,” he nodded and leaned in to place a kiss on your womb.
“So you do know how to kiss like that,” you teased and he looked caught off guard.
“I did it like you always do it… Did I do something wrong?” He asked and you swore, you could call him adorable in a way. You couldn’t believe it was the same man who had been slaughtering his enemies in the arena earlier.
“Aw, I’m only teasing. Give me your hand,” you ordered and he raised his arm as you slit one of the lines on his exposed palm. He didn’t even wince, so used to the pain much greater than this one. And he didn’t question anything you were doing either. It was almost sad, the way he obeyed you.
You watched his blood spilling down his pale skin; so dark and thick – it was nearly black and of a slimy texture. Then you cut yourself the same way, trying not to hiss out of pain as your own blood spilled, looking much healthier than his poisoned one.
You put the blade away and held his bleeding hand with yours to squeeze it tight. Feyd looked deep into your eyes, understanding the meaning of this gesture.
“I am yours and you are mine,” you told him. “Forever from now on. Your blood is my blood, my blood is your blood. We are one,” you whispered. “You do not exist without me and I do not exist without you. Together we will build our empire,” you continued and he nodded with a very serious expression on his face. There was pure admiration in his eyes, though. “We will not allow him to come between us.”
“We will kill him,” Feyd added angrily and you nodded at him. He was so eager.
“And everyone else in our way,” you assured him. “I shall be your anchor.”
“I shall be your blade,” he promised and you leaned down to join your lips together and mix your saliva like you mixed your blood.
You let go of his hand and straightened yourself, breaking the kiss. Feyd however brought your palm to his mouth and began to lick your wound as he drank the blood that spilled. Like dogs would lick their owners’ wounds.
“If I had known he’d give you Arrakis, I’d come up with a better gift,” you joked. Feyd looked up at you with your hand still pressed to his mouth, now stained with your blood.
“Nothing he’s ever given me can match you, my Baroness,” he confessed.
You smiled at him lovingly. It was a sight no one else in the world could admire – Feyd-Rautha on his knees, obedient and in awe. You finally opened your thighs in front of his face to give him what he had been waiting for since this morning. Most likely the gift he had been anticipating the most.
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MASTERLIST
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miserycanary · 1 day
Text
DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩
pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader
synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife
tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff
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Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 
“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”
All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 
“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 
Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.
“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 
Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 
“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 
‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’
Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.
‘Definitely nuts!’
Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 
‘He’s too far gone’
“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your face on your chin. “I don’ know, princess.”
Meanwhile…
“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.
“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.
Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.
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꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔
dividers by @cafekitsune
Please reblog!!
check out my other works: ⚝!
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eleutherafairy · 1 day
Note
luke being so in love with the new media girl at the devs? she was the media girl from umich so she known him for awhile and they are friends and she always got him out of media, and then this season she got an offer to join the nj devils media team, and jack is like holy shit my baby brothers in love and maybe like finally asked her out after pinning after her for three years
THE "i love media" SOCIAL GIRL & THE "i hate media" HOCKEY BOY — luke hughes
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SUMMARY! in which luke is in love with the media girl who works for the devils  
INVOLVED! luke x reader 
WARNINGS! N/A
BEFORE YOU START! don’t know how the hughes act irl this is just an imagination!
extra! this is part 1 of a new series!!! lmk what you guys want to see :)
find my masterlist → here!
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You and Luke had known each other since your second year at UMich. You were a year older, double-majoring in social media marketing and statistics. You were lucky enough to work with the UMich hockey team as a social media manager where you basically spent your time as a babysitter– trying to get the attention of child-like boys to do silly tiktoks and answer questions. It was probably your favorite past-time and you wouldn’t change it for the world. 
You and Luke had met each other at some party during the summer, marking the beginning of the semester and Luke had approached you. You were in a random corner of the house and he made a joke about you looked like you had a fuck you sign on your forehead.
Sooner or later, you found out that he was on the hockey team and you guys quickly created a bond. You loved to pick on Luke whenever you had the chance, just because he would turn so flustered and red whenever you asked him a question– whether it was unserious or not.
A year or so passed and you graduated two semesters early while Luke went off to play for the Devils with his brother. You guys never stopped talking– relying on your phone calls and facetimes to keep your friendship going. You always looked forward to when Luke would call you randomly throughout the day and you would always answer, even if you were busy studying for midterms or exams. 
Now, Luke was on his way to pick you up from the airport. You hadn’t told him that you were actually moving here. All you told him was that you wanted to come visit and he paid for your ticket and invited you to stay in his apartment with him and Jack (you turned him down, he was really upset about it).
You stood impatiently at the pick-up area, waiting for Luke’s jeep to come round the corner. As you looked up from your phone, you saw Luke’s car swing around the corner and stop in front of you. You felt your excitement as he stepped out of his car and came running to give you a hug.
“Holy shit, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you in person,” Luke said, wrapping his arms around you.
“I know, Lukey,” you replied back. “I’m so sick of seeing your face through the screen.”
He held the two of you guys in an embrace until the car behind him started honking his horn. The two of you rushed to the car and Luke shoved all your suitcases in.
“Why did you bring so much luggage?” Luke asked, getting into the driver’s seat.
“I’m just a girl,” you said shrugging. “Plus, I just have a few things to do while I’m here,” you continued.
“What things?” 
“You know, just some media shoots and whatever,” you said absentmindedly. “I have a few opportunities in the New York area.”
“That’s big, y/n. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”
“I didn’t want to make it a big deal until it was actually set in cement,” you said, shrugging. 
You could feel the urge to just tell Luke the truth, but Jack had convinced you that this would be the biggest surprise ever. So, for now, you were going to keep it a surprise from him. 
Luke dropped begrudgingly dropped off at your apartment– he had spent the whole drive trying to convince you to stay with him and Jack instead. You almost caved, but you continued to tell the pleading boy that you were only a street down from his own apartment and that you would come later on in the day.
- - - 
It was currently four in the afternoon and you felt your nerves as you fiddled around with your camera settings. It was your first day working with the Devils and your first job out of college. You were called to come at five to photograph the guys during prior to their arrival to the arena. Chugging down the rest of your energy drink, you headed down to catch your Uber to the arena. You would be photographing their arrival. 
Luke had invited you to watch tonight’s game– he got you tickets and everything, and you had to decline, telling him that you made plans for tonight. 
Was he upset? Yes. Did he try to convince you with his puppy eyes to watch? Yes.
You called Jack right away after that conversation with Luke and he told you to just hold it in until tonight because apparently Jack has something to surprise him.
Arriving at the arena, you took your place at the entry way to the team room and you adjusted your camera settings, making sure that your camera was well suited for the lighting in the room. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket and you quickly went to look at it.
── ★
lukey boy: Heading to the arena rn… are you sure you can’t make it :( 
you: sorry lukey… i’ll be there for the next one, promise
lukey boy: You better be. Still down for dinner tonight?
you: ermm… we might have to raincheck
lukey boy: :////////
you: have a good game, lukey. will be watching!!!
── ★
You tossed your phone back into your pocket, getting ready for the arrival of the boys. The first wave of boys came in, smiling as they made time to introduce themselves to you.
“Y/n?” Nico asked, coming to shake your hand.
“That’s kind of freaky you know my name,” you said, shooting him a weird look.
“Luke doesn’t shut up about you,” Nico said, shrugging. “He also didn’t tell me that you would be working with us this season,” he continued, shooting me a look.
“He doesn’t know,” you said, nonchalantly. “Jack is the only one who knows.”
“Well, that’s exciting. Nice to finally meet you.”
You shot the man a smile as you continued to photograph the trickling players coming down the hall.
Soon enough, you saw Jack come through the doors and shot me a smile, grabbing me a good picture for all the Jack girlies. 
“He got caught up in an interview, but he should be coming in like two minutes,” Jack said, coming to give me a hug.
“Hey, Jacky,” you said, giving him a wide smile. 
“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Jack said, “I really though you finally being here would lessen Luke’s yapping, but somehow it has increased and I didn’t know that was possible.”
“What do you mean?” You asked, cocking your head.
“Nothing,” Jack said, coughing nervously.
Your eyes peered to the door that had just opened.
“Jack get the fuck out of my way,” you muttered, pointing the camera at the door.
You saw Luke coming down the hallway, his face glued to his phone.
Jack mumbled under his breath before calling Luke’s name.
Your camera caught Luke’s expression change from confusion to pure happiness as he spotted you and his face lit up.
“Y/n?” Luke asked, coming towards you with a wide smile.
“Hey, Lukey.”
“You’re telling me that your new media job is working with us?” Luke said, excitement engulfing his face.
“You’re stuck with me and my stupid questions for a bit longer, Luke,” you said, laughing.
“You’re gonna be watching?”
“Yeah,” you said, lifting your camera. “Taking cool pics like before, too.” 
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Luke said, giving you a quick hug before hitting his brother.
“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” He said to Jack.
Jack shrugged as he shot me a smile. “I told her not to tell you.”
“Wait does that mean, you’re moving here permanently?” Luke asked, his excitement now running rampant.
You gave him a nod before he literally started trembling with excitement.
“Okay calm down, Lukey,” you said, laughing. “You got a game to win.”
Luke smiled at you once more before making his way into the player’s room.
“He’s going to have a hell of a game,” Jack said to you.
“Hm??”
“He’s going to have a hell of a game because you’re here,” Jack said once more.
“He better or else I might take up the Islanders offer instead,” you said, jokingly.
“Shut up, y/n,” Jack said, lightly pushing you. “I’m so glad you’re here. Luke hasn’t shut up ever since he bought your ticket four months ago. He’s glad that his favorite girl is finally here to watch him.”
“Favorite girl is pushing it,” you told the older Hughes, giving him a look of confusion.
“You really don’t know, huh?” Jack asked.
“Spit it out, idiot,” You said, looking down at your phone to check the time. “Your time is running low.”
“You’re telling me, idiot. Michigan to Jersey, huh? Just know, he hasn’t shut up about you since that first night in Michigan,” Jack said shrugging as he walked off, giving you a smile.
That first night in Michigan.
Luke’s first night at the University of Michigan. The first time Luke met you.
You shrugged off the funny feeling you felt before uploading the pictures from your camera to your phone. Scrolling through the pictures, you picked around five guys to post on the Instagram. You posted the pictures and updated the story before scrolling through the comments.
── ★
njdevils: Boys on the move
comments:
fan1: everyone say thank you admin
njdevils: you’re welcome :)
fan2: Luke looks so excited to see the camera for once
fan3: the Luke girls are eating rn because why does Luke look soooo good
fan4: bro whoever is behind the camera… luke might be in love with u because HE IS CHEESING
fan5: media admin woman we love u 
── ★
You laughed as you read some of the comments of the post. Walking past the player’s room, you were stopped as you heard commotion behind you.
“Y/n.”
You turned around to see Luke coming out of the room with his tuxedo jacket already off. You shot him a confused look.
“Luke?”
“Am I not gonna get a good luck?”
“I already texted you good luck, dummy,” you said, crossing your hands over your chest.
“It’s not the same,” he said, giving you the famous Hughes pout.
“Good luck, Luke,” I’ll see you tomorrow.
“Tomorrow?” Luke asked, pouting once more. “We’re not getting dinner?”
“Luke you act like you aren’t going to come to my apartment tomorrow morning for breakfast. Uninvited by the way. I have things to do tonight. I’m just here until the first period so put on a show for me, okay.”
“Okay, but you’re literally my best friend,” Luke said, whining. “I haven’t seen you in person for almost six months and I’ve barely seen you even when you’re here. It’s not fair.”
“Clingy ass,” you muttered before waving at the boy. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“I can’t believe you’re not staying,” Luke said, pouting as you walked away.
“Luke,” you yelled exasperatedly. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweets.”
“Shut up.”
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WC: 1.9K
475 notes · View notes
lewisvinga · 9 hours
Text
both of them | charles leclerc x fem! reader x alexandra saint mleux
summary; fans think charles is cheating in alexandra after fans see his interactions with y/n, the truth shocks them even more
fc; sabrina carpenter
warnings; cursing i think
taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03
note; requested ! slowly but surely recovering from this cold, so expect some more posts soon ( hopefully 🤞 )
masterlist !
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
yourusername uploaded to their story !
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[caption 1; guess where i’m going 😁] [caption 2; forza ferrari sempre ❤️]
alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story !
alexandrasaintmleux make sure charles isn’t being such a worrier ! i miss u both sm:(
yourusername oh babe u know our cha, he worries about every little thing ! i think he might go crazy if i spend any second longer getting food 😬😬
yourusername n we miss u 2🙁
alexandrasaintmleux classic charles😅 idk how he survives races when neither of us are there 🤔
charles_leclerc replied to your story !
charles_leclerc WHERE ARE YOU
yourusername i swear alex can feel how nervous u are from here😭
yourusername IM OMW!!!!
charles_leclerc im not that nervous 🙄🙄
yourusername yeah sure lolllll😂😂
yourusername u just need a hug bae
charles_leclerc yeah true
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
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liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and others !
yourusername: slayrarri
tagged; scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc
scuderiaferrari: we’ll invite u everytime slay y/n 😁❤️
yourusername: oh yes please
username: MOTHER
username: THE HALTER TOPPP😍
username: no wonder charles kept staring at her bc AWOOGA
charles_leclerc: come back in 2 weeks, yeah? 😉
yourusername: only if u play nice 😁
username: what is going on in the house of commons…
username:,)-;@3:
username: charles 😭😭😭
username: whyd charles add a winking emoji like sir u have a gf 🤔🤔🤔
username: AND ALEX LIKED THIS?? like in front of u gf is embarrassing he has no shame 💀💀
username: it’s weirddddddd, like if that was my man i’d say it’s cheating but that’s just me
⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
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⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆⋆ ˚。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。⋆
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liked by yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux, and others !
charles_leclerc: my girls, both of them.
tagged; yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux
yourusername: CHAAAAAAA
alexandrasaintmleux: chaaaaaaa ( lowercase )
charles_leclerc: Y/NNNNN ALEXXXXX
yourusername: my sweet boy n my sweet girl, ilysm😢🫶
alexandrasaintmleux: love u, pretty girl, love u both💓
charles_leclerc: and I love u both the most
alexandrasaintmleux: y/n let him win this or else hem get pouty😕😕😕 yourusername
yourusername: fine i’ll let him win 🙄🙄🙄 alexandrasaintmleux
charles_leclerc: i don’t??? get??? pouty????
carlossainz55: this is you everytime 😾😾 and unfortunately i have to deal with it🙄
username: he said i want ‘em BOF
username: WHAHSOAJD
username: waittttt i like this 🤭🫣🫣
username: they’re all dating ???&2@;&😭😭
username: how’d charles pull both of ‘em holy shit they’re gorgeousss😭😭
maxverstappen1: a lot of stuttering and blushing i must say😕😕
username: MAX???? LMAOOO
username: not max exposing charles 😭😭😭
charles_leclerc: maxverstappen1 stop lying on my name
pierregasly: you still blush at the mention of their name wdym?? 🤔 charles_leclerc
lewishamilton: remember when he came up to us and asked for advice on how to approach them? 😂 pierregasly
charles_leclerc: ok that’s ENOUGH pierregasly lewishamilton
yourusername: no keep going boys pls 🙏maxverstappen1 pierregasly lewishamilton
alexandrasaintmleux: i’m liking this 😁
username: JWODKWKS WHATS GOING ONNN😭
username: poor charles he’s getting violated under his own post
username: THEYRE A THROUPLE???
username: YOOOOOO😨😨😨😨😨
username: wdym they’re all dating WDYMMMM
username: do u guys need a dog??? i can bark😖
username: KANKAKXKAKKD???!1@;&/&/
username: i audibly gasped whaaaa
username: the way they all slay so hard
368 notes · View notes
anadiasmount · 23 hours
Text
we’re pretending? - jude bellingham x reader.
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quick sum: no date to an upcoming wedding, you use your best friend as last resort. what happens when your best friend isn’t playing pretend anymore and you’re left conflicted with these unusual feelings…
wc: 4.6 k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist
psa 🗣️: i used my og ‘glory box’ fic to get some inspo while writing this fic ngl!! 😣 this was so fun to write not only by the trope but the DRAMAAAA!! like always, hope you enjoy! 🤍
“yes mom, i know. i picked my dress up yesterday, and my flight is booked as well,” you sighed and rolled your eyes knowing she wouldn’t be able to see you through the phone. she knew how important this wedding was but she kept putting the pressure on you. it was the last thing you needed especially after you told her you’d bring someone along.
that someone was now you’re ex-boyfriend. you had less than 48 hours to come up with an excuse or show up alone.
"are you still bringing your plus one?" she asked, the line going silent for a few seconds before she spoke up again. "y/n? are you there?" you should've just lied or said the truth, all you could think of was how happy and super excited she was when you told her you'd met someone and began dating.
"yes mom... we both will be there," you closed your eyes, disappointment in yourself filling the void in your head. you could hear her squeal in the background, telling a voice there with her about the good news. you chewed on your lip anxiously, wanting to cut the call or else you'd break down.
"listen mom, i have t-to go okay? ill call you tomorrow. try not to stress so much," you smiled weakly hearing an "i love you", ending the call after gifting your goodbye. there was no avoiding the mistake you had committed. you wanted to slap some common sense into yourself, because where the hell were you about to find someone?
you clearly remembered the day telling your mom you'd met someone at uni. she was over the moon and wanted to tell everyone but you dismissed the idea, not wanting to rush since you had recently met. you would call her and tell her about him, and she listened so attentively, just like in the movies.
you couldn't bring yourself to tell her when you and max had broken up. your whole life has always been surrounded by being told you needed to be more like your older sister, the pressure of being a golden child laid on you. for once you had something, but that had to get ruined as well.
the scolding, the perfect grades, friends, hell even family. you had to be so careful and live up to their expectations. you loved them, you did, but at times you just felt like moving away was the best idea. and you did just that, the first to move out to a new country, breaking records at uni, and even finding a suitable job.
your boss loved you, and coworkers admired you for the passion and dedication you carried. so why did it have to go all wrong with max? you had an image of him in your head that he was madly in love with you, though you'd later be proven wrong when you found out he was sleeping with his boss. finding them in the act on your 6th month anniversary.
you still can recall the feeling of being unable to breathe, their screams and his pleading going quiet as you could just stare into the room, not once being able to see his eyes. disgust, and rage, but mostly sadness, a heavy heart, and the lump in your throat. he hurt you terribly and you would forever resent that.
after the call, you sat quietly on the couch, hands in your hair as you thought about everything. looking around seeing your bags packed, the blue dress hanging by your room, pictures everywhere. you hated to admit but you were living in a hell, life messy and a disaster. your buzz ringed, seeing through the tiny camera your best friend jude in the frame.
you allowed him in, walking over to the large mirror and wiping away the dry tears, making yourself look more presentable. you looked worn out, eyes droopy and low, lips slightly chapped, and to make matters worse a zit on your chin. you exhaled a breath, keys jiggling as jude came in.
he set his training bag down, took his shoes off, and walked to you, giving you a small hug. "you look terrible," you gave him a warning look, "but lucky you, i brought us food," he spoke cheerfully, the mood inside you going from gloomy to content. "it's raining like crazy, i almost fell coming up. also i brought some packages and your mail," jude continued.
"thank you, i haven't had the time to go down and pick them up! i've been so busy packing and planning last-minute stuff," you groaned, going to the kitchen and washing your hands. "watch, in the next few minutes i'm going to get a call," you theorized. jude pulled out the food and served it into your plates as you grabbed a water for him and a soda for yourself.
"how was training?"
jude shrugged unimpressed, "same old. didn't really have to go in, but they needed me for a small campaign shoot, so i had no choice. also cama and tchou send their hello's."
you and jude spoke amongst yourself. just about each other's days and catching up from the last time you guys were together. you teased him about losing a bet with his little brother, jude whining about how he cheated. new music that came out, and a pop up store that opened lower in downtown.
"so what's got your head in a twist?" jude sipped on his last few ounces of water, leaning his head on his propped-up arm and hand. you awkwardly scratch the back of your neck, pick up the dirty dishes, and walk to the sink. "okay don't make fun of me-"
"you're basically asking me too... also no promises since you just made fun of me for losing against jobe," jude chuckled.
"jude."
"oh it's serious then... what did you do?" he saw the serious look on your face, a small worry constructing in his chest because he rarely saw you like this. you close your eyes, feeling the anxiety build in you once again, "i told my mom i was still bringing max..."
jude scoffed in denial, or trying to cope with the confusion, "y/n, you what?"
"i know! i know! i should've just confessed and coughed up the truth but i- i couldn't! she was so excited jude! i feel terrible for lying believe me i do, but after telling her about him and filling her with hope to break her heart, i just c-c-couldn't," you ramble, dishes clattering as you freaked out.
in your head it didn't seem as bad, but fully saying it out loud to jude, seemed even worse. jude grimaced, knowing you had messed up bad especially since the wedding was right around the corner. "i'm just embarrassed... i know they will start something and just talk down on me if i showed up alone."
jude knew how heavy-handed your family could be, often wanting to resent them because he cared for you so much. he saw how physically and mentally they could rain you even with the smallest sentence. they seemed so worried with their lives instead of the ones they should most value and care for.
jude gave you a concerned face, "what?" chuckling nervously when you gasped out, almost being able to see the lit-up light bulb on top of your head. "jude, I'm a genius!"
"well i beg to differ-"
"shut up," you pat your finger against your chin, a mischievous smile on your lip taunting jude's concern even more. "i don't know why i didn't think of this sooner! why don't you pretend to be my boyfriend? just for the wedding that's it!"
jude shook his head, hands coming up to back out of the idea. it was one thing you lying, but now asking you to play pretend was something totally different. "that's not a good idea y/n..." jude clenched his teeth forcing a smile. "oh cmon why not?"
"well, first of all, that's an even bigger lie to your mom. second, pretending would seem impossible. third, i don't want the first time meeting your parents to be a lie because of what happened," jude defended and stated his case.
"it's a huge favor but you'd save my life jude! one weekend and that's it! you have plenty of suits, you're also off this weekend, and they would never suspect a thing! please jude! i wouldn't be asking if i wasn't so desperate," you begged, seeing the hesitation in his eyes.
"it seems like a bad idea... you don't know what you're asking for y/n... were pretending to be a couple when were not! we have to make it believable even under the pressure of the wedding. a theatrical play, a stunt!" jude exclaimed standing up from his chair.
"jude please, please, please! it might feel weird but it's for the night only! after that, we go back to the good old y/n and jude," you followed him as he paced in your living room thinking of his answer. would it be back to normal even if he continued to feel the same for you? the unknown loving feeling he had for you?
the pretending would be hard when all he could hardly think of was you. how he felt recently and how nervous he got around you. he would do anything for you in a heartbeat, but this would break jude further than now. he couldn't fake pretend holding your hand, or kissing your cheek when he meant and wanted to do that with you currently.
as bad as the idea was, here he was hugging you as you cheerfully yelped when he agreed. time moved slowly for him, the sensation of regret and curiosity as what was yet to come from both of you. all he cared for was to make sure you were happy, and if faking being your boyfriend would help you, he was willing to do it, no matter the consequences.
as jude was fixing his hair, you finished setting your makeup with some powder and setting spray. nerves bubbling in you after the first test you encountered last night after your arrival. you let out a laugh at the tiny bed you had to share with jude. seeing his uneasy face even after he offered to sleep on the couch.
"we're running on schedule," you spoke, finishing clasping your jewelry around your hands and rings. jude came behind you, his shirt unbuttoned and abs in full view, as he finished zipping his pants. best friend or not, there was no denying how incredibly sexy jude was. the name should speak for itself, but with the looks and personality he had, it was too good to be true.
"need some help?" he asked seeing you nod slowly and looking down at your feet. he took the necklace, your skin on fire as his fingertips grazed your skin accidentally, almost jumping on the spot, goosebumps grazing your body. he clasped the necklace, grabbing the pendent and fixing it so it laid in the middle. "perfect," he cockliy smirked.
"thank you."
"are you almost ready?" he looked at you as he buttoned up his shirt, you almost stuttered but regained consciousness, "yes, just need to put my dress and shoes on," you turned back quickly furrowing your brows, wanting to slap yourself for allowing yourself to get carried away, or maybe at the uneasy desire in you when seeing jude.
you went to the bathroom, grabbing the lacy undergarments and the blue dress. the color was to die for, the perfect length even with your heels on, the opened back with the front just showing the perfect amount of cleavage, and the whole dress just accentuating your body even more.
you felt the need to throw some water in your face though you couldn't or else it would ruin your makeup. you settled with fanning yourself with your hand, the tense in your chest getting to you as it was becoming real now. you were just pretending with jude. nothing more right?
you looked in the huge light-up mirror, and suddenly the confidence you had dripped away as you thought of jude in the next room over. why did all of a sudden everything feel like it wasn't before? as in, things changed drastically since the night at your apartment? you've never felt this clumsy or as edgy around him.
when you woke up this morning, with jude on top of you laying peacefully, you couldn't help but feel overjoyed, as if it was a natural state and you've done it before. in your own world where the only thing that mattered was him and you. since then you were slightly freaked out, butterflies in your chest when he left or walk into the room.
jude double taked a look as you walked into the room again. the tiny room that felt like a joke to him after walking in hand to hand last night. his eyes roamed you, lips slightly separated as he admired your beauty, heart hammering in his chest. he watched as you grabbed your cheeks, immediately offering to help.
he leaned down, gently grabbing your foot and placing the white jeweled heel on you. your hands were clamped around the small bench cushions, jude looking up then and there to make sure they felt comfortable. once again, his touch felt like fire, playing with your head even more.
when he finished clasping the heel, he extended his hand helping you up. "you look absolutely gorgeous y/n... this dress was made for you," jude croaked, hearing you laugh shakily. "thank you jude. likewise," jude smiled at your reaction, "i mean as in you look super handsome with the suit, not a dress!" you explained.
"i think i got what you meant..." he joked, his eyes roaming uo and down again at you. "good. good. shall we head out?" you swallowed heavily, grabbing your purse, phone, and other stuff you needed for the night. you were in a rush, wanting to get some fresh air or you would explode in the room with jude inside. "lead the way y/n."
jude helped you in an out of the cab, his hand on your bare back as he guided you to the double doors leading into the reception. "how are you feeling? any nerves?" you spoke quietly to him, looking around as people were taking their seats or had their own conversations.
"some but not too many. like you said, it's just for today," he whispered along your ear, gently giving your shoulder a kiss as his hands went to your hips and walked you forward. your mom and aunt gasped, grabbing their dresses and walking towards you, almost sprinting. "here goes nothing," you say.
"oh my god! so you are real!" your mom yelped, making you give her a glare and eyes pleading not to make a scene. "i was starting to think my sweet y/n was lying to me about this boyfriend she had," you almost choked on your saliva, clearing your throat at her words. "i am y/n's mom, what is your name?"
"i'm jude. it's a pleasure to finally meet you ma'am," jude shook her hand and leaned down to kiss her cheeks in a greeting manner, the same with your aunt. jude's hand interlocked with yours, the happiness in your mother's eyes never leaving, almost tearing up at the sight of you with your "boyfriend."
"i can't believe it! it's a miracle, my daughter finally has her first boyfriend," she clapped her hands making you wretched at her choice of wording. you did everything to have her at least praise you once in life, and all it took was to have a boyfriend? you brushed away the glum feeling, jude kissing your hand, distracting you from the small burn in your eyes.
"oh my! look at them! they make such a beautiful pair," your aunt gleamed. "we do, don't we?" jude teased them, "took her a while to say yes to me, but i'm very fortunate to be here," jude resumed. "we're very pleased to have you here, anything you need don't hesitate to ask."
after saying hello to other family friends and cousins, you sat for the ceremony. jude wiped a small tear away after your old school friend finished her vows, slapping his shoulder when he made a small joke about your mascara running. "its not funny! the vows were so beautiful," you said.
"it's like we are watching me before you again," he said making you gasp. "jude what are talking about? you literally cried with me?" you recalled laughing, jude looking around scared if someone was hearing you. "please don't remind me... in my defense, i didn't see that ending at all."
after the ceremony, you and jude greeted other families, and most importantly congratulated the bride and groom. their faces ushered with happiness, overall content with how their day was turning out. you had to excuse yourself from jude at one point, your mom dragging you away for your help. jude was left behind with your dad.
"since she was little, she always hated getting thrown or dragged around," your father spoke, taking a sip of his whiskey. "seems like nothing had changed?" jude asked carefully with a playful smile. "oh not even close! it's my wife doing," he winked.
"jude right?"
"yes sir," jude nodded, presenting the dad talk coming up. "I'm gonna save the unnecessary talk and get straight to the point. it's so weird to see my baby girl all grown up, with the lusting and loving eyes she gives you. you love her very much and i can see that which is why i'm not worried about you hurting or losing her trust."
hell if jude didn't feel guilty before, he did now. he gripped the glass harder, nodding to your dad who looked upset. "she may have told you some stuff about us, but at the end of the day, she's my daughter and i love her the way she is... please just take good care of her for me... she been through enough as it is..."
"i only have good intentions and i promise you i won't ever break her heart," jude promised to your dad, but also himself. he would never be able to forgive himself if he ever did break your heart or make you lose the trust you had. max did it once and jude would never do it. even if it meant keeping away these long feelings for you.
when you returned you saw them laughing and chatting away, your heart full of emotions at them getting along. jude was so mature for his age, and it didn't come to a surprise when he got along with your dad so fast. his hand would naturally lay on your back or on your hip.
the next few hours were filled with more people dancing or chatting away. jude insisting you sat on his lap for a picture when the photographer passed, smiling wide, looking like a happy couple. it seemed so natural to you, being this close and intimate you were getting scared at how fast everything was being thrown at you.
"i had to see it for myself! y/n bagging a footballer? never saw that coming," your cousin approached you giving you a high as he dabbed up jude. "jude meet my cousin adrian, he's a huge fan of you, and just successfully signed with a small club," you introduced them to each other, with a huge grin on your face.
jude’s hand snuck around your waist, his thumb drawing shapes as his full attention was with your cousin who spoke about sports. you listened then and there, but your feet began to ache, switching your weight back and forth uncomfortably.
jude was quick to notice, leaving down to your level and asking if you were okay. “i’m fine i promise, these shoes are killing me that’s all,” you reassured with a smile, jude nodding before cutting the conversation after a few minutes. “i’m going to get her a chair and drinks for us,” you froze when he kissed your temple, “i’ll see you around later,” jude said his goodbyes dragging you along slowly.
like before, your chest beat faster, if he stared, smiled, even touched or got near you, you’d get nervous immediately. the familiar string of falling for someone filling the empty space left behind inside you. he was super good at pretending and it didn’t feel like that anymore.
it felt real. was he just pretending? or was he actually taking this fake relationship seriously and real?
all you could do was stare at his face, mostly his gorgeous brown eyes as he helped you get seated and served you some water, making sure you were fully okay. he sat next to you, his hand interlocking with his, and placing it on his lap as he paid attention to his surroundings. you become quiet, so into your head and questioning his every move now.
“jude?” you spoke softly, a confused smile on your face as he immediately turned to you with a soften gaze. you inhaled a breath, unable to look away from him, his ínstese state causing you to feel intimidated. “is everything okay?” he asked, leaning slightly over to you, pushing a small string of hair back. “is it supposed to feel like this?”
“what is?” jude shook his head not understanding.
“us? why am i getting the idea we’re no longer pretending…”
jude tore his gaze from yours, the panic growing more intense when he wouldn't reply back. "jude please... don't push me away. are we just pretending or has something changed?" you persisted, your hand gliding against his back to get his attention. jude debated, afraid of losing you right here and now, or having the possibility to maybe hear you feel the same way.
"come with me," jude demanded, helping your and dragging you to the dance floor where no one could really see you besides the other happy couples. his hands circled your waist, as yours went to his shoulders, unable to look away from him. "tell me i'm not the only one who feels it..."
"tell me what you feel y/n... what your head is begging to scream out..."
"i can't, i don't know jude. i'm afraid yet so confused? since we got here yesterday things feel different between us. it happened again when we had breakfast, when you put my necklace on, my heels! all of this is giving me mixed signals jude... i haven't felt this in so long.." you confess, a shaky breath escaping your lips when he pulls you closer and kisses your head.
"like now. i can't if you just did that out of pretending or because it came naturally to you. i've never had to worry about what you think till recently... it feels strange... yet ican't help but get hope that it means real," you rest your forehead on his shoulder blinking away the tears that slowly begin to let out.
jude could see how this was affecting you, holding your lower body with one hand and the other smoothing down your spine, feeling how you immediately let loose and relaxed by his praise and touch. jude could also feel the heavy weight beginning to feel heavier if he kept his true hidden feelings away. it was a sign, and there was no going back.
jude's hand cradled your chin, forcing you to look up at his, his brown eyes gazing over your teary face. he was truly amazed and so in love with you it made his head feel cloudy, almost dizzy, at how perfect and pure you were. his tummy fluttering at his gorgeous girl who was confused at how she felt... but in this moment jude knew you were in deep as well.
"tell me something, when you see me, does it make your heart race, like i'm the only person standing there?" you nod, "does your head tell you one thing but your gut tells you another when you see me?" you nod again, this time blowing the air out of jude's lungs. "my head tells me i shouldn't, but my gut tells me i waited so long that maybe it's now to late for us..."
"why would it be too late y/n...?" you shrug your shoulders. "because i don't you feel the same way i'm feeling." jude smiled weakly, his thumb brushing along your jaw, hearing your hum in delight, "how can you know when you haven't asked me?"
your eyes search his for any sign but you don't find any, "what are you feel in this moment jude?"
"that i'm the luckiest man to be here with you tonight," he says proudly, "that i don't think we've wasted any time, rather i feel we're barely getting started on this new branch of our lives... i can't pretend when i'm with you... because pretending to hide how i feel has been so hard, when all i want is you. all of you y/n..."
"i had to see you go through that idiot max, how he hurt you? when you were hurt i was even more devastated because i couldn't protect you. i'd do anything to make you happy or laugh because it's what i want to do. i want to be the only one who gets to do that. i promised your dad but myself also, ask me what the promise is..." jude insisted.
"what's your promise jude?"
"that i'd never break your heart or give you a reason to doubt me. that from this day forward, i completely will give you my all to care and relish our love once and for all. i'm tired of waiting and holding back of what should've existed and started when i first met you."
"jude-"
"i want to give you my all, to be devoted and in love with you forever. you have no idea what you make me feel, think! i wake up longing for you, at work, at my own home. you're the only girl i want and need in my life y/n," jude confessed, the weight finally lifted of his shoulders, now being able to feel like a free man.
you closed your eyes, breathing out a happy chuckle in relief. you sniffled, "you've ruined me jude, completely ruined me with your words, your confession! look at me, i'm worse than when we finished watching the vow!" you joked, hand nestling on the nape of his next, stroking his soft skin.
"you love me jude?"
"more than what you think."
"i need you to know i'm giving you my all as well. I've always sensed how different what we had was, and come to find out, i was just scared and felt the need to push away because you didn't feel the same way. what i feel for you never happened with who shall not be named..." jude chuckles, closing his eyes and swallowing a heavy gulp like you.
"i'm so hopelessly in love with you jude bellingham... so in love, i want to grow old with you, make every promise we said out loud come true. i knew i loved you as soon as we laid eyes, and you stumbled over your words," jude squinted his eyes, shaking his head embarrassed. "kiss me jude."
jude kissed you exactly how he dreamed. your lips soft and sweet as he imagined, even better. cradling your chin to tilt and pulling the kiss deeper. it felt so right, so amazing, so passionate. he was lost, his tongue entering your parted lips when you let out a small gasp and whimper. there was no more pretending, this was more real than ever.
"could get lost in how you taste. how you feel. i love you so much angel."
294 notes · View notes
msafterhours · 12 hours
Text
Saccharine | Act One
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]
Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)
media darling.
an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.
an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.
absolutely spotless.
nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—
What a load of shit.
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They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.
You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.
As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.
Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.
Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.
It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.
The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.
You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.
Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.
After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.
You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.
The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.
All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”
And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.
And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.
Yet.
The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.
Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.
If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.
The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.
You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.
The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.
One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.
You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.
Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.
Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.
Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.
Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.
Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.
One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.
Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.
A moment passes.
Another.
The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.
That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.
You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.
The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.
Might as well toss them a pacifier.
You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.
And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.
You don’t.
There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.
What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.
Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.
Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.
But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.
Yet.
It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.
Then the world shuts down.
Thus, it’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.
In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.
Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.
Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.
Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.
You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.
As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.
A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.
You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.
You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.
For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.
Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.
A forgettable account name? ✔
Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔
A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔
Oh, and of course the message itself:
ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Check.
Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …
No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.
So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.
You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:
TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing
You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.
ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection
You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.
Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.
It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.
In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.
Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.
In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.
But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.
So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.
A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.
And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.
They yearn. They burn.
A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.
A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.
It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.
You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.
The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …
ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.
Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?
The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.
“(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”
You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:
“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”
Okay, maybe a little petty.
You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.
ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life
And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.
The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.
Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 
The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.
The reflection staring back has aged forty.
Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.
In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”
“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”
“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”
“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.
Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that—especially by seeing her live and in-person.
It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.
Fuck, where’s seat 239?
Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.
Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.
She’s next.
You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.
ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same
The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.
You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.
Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?
You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.
It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.
It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.
All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.
You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.
It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.
ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures
And that’s all she has to say.
… that’s it? Really?
You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?
You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.
It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.
And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.
But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.
You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.
You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.
A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.
You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.
TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do
Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:
ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve
It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.
Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.
This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 
This time, you aim for the heart.
"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)
The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.
ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?
Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.
TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better
You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.
ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)
Another pause.
ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed
This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.
Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.
You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.
It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?
So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.
ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me
… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?
TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?
It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.
TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?
As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!
You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.
TurnThePage: You too
You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.
It’s deafening.
You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?
The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.
You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.
The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.
SBS Gayo Daejun is next.
It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.
You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.
Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.
TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where
For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.
A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.
She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.
As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.
Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.
Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”
She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”
You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.
You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”
“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”
“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”
She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”
“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”
“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”
As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.
“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”
“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”
“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”
"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 
“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.
“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”
“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.
“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”
“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.
With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.
You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.
The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”
“Fuck off you—fuck!”
Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.
“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.
Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.
In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...
"Fuck."
The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?
Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.
“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.
“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.
“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.
“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.
“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”
A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.
Only one way to find out.
Continued in Act Two …
(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)
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shima-draws · 2 days
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WOO HOO EZIO'S HERE 👏
As always more info about him under the cut <3
Name: Ezio
Age: 27
Hair color: White
Eye color: Red
Element: None
Ezio's a runaway who cast off his life as a noble and is now adventuring freely with Nahu and co.! He was never one for the stuffy upper class life he grew up in, and has been trying to outrun his legacy for ages. Nahu and the others don't even know he's from a high class society and when they do find out, needless to say they are shocked because Ezio was the LAST person they expected among all of them to have a fancy shmancy background.
It's not something he necessarily tries to keep secret; he just views it as something that's not part of him anymore. However he still does have ties to that world--there's a girl he grew up with and who is a close friend of his that he's actually engaged to. Neither of them want anything to do with the engagement, and said friend was more than encouraging when it came to Ezio cutting ties with his status and running off.
Ezio's extremely independent and self-sufficient! He knows very well how to handle himself in most aspects of life. He's also very stoic and quiet most of the time, preferring actions over words. When it comes to combat he's one of the strongest members of the team, being an expert at sword wielding and hand-to-hand. Considering he's a non-elemental that's pretty impressive.
He's also stupidly loyal and ridiculously self sacrificial (but like, most of the group are too so he's not special in that regard. LMAO) He's got a very unhealthy attachment to Nahu and probably needs to go to therapy. Ezio will put Nahu above everybody else, no matter what the situation, even if he has to betray other members of the group. He is the definition of Ride or Die. (He cares about them tho of course!! He loves them all very much, Nahu's just his top priority in all cases.) He's down BAD for Nahu and everybody knows it except for Nahu :)))) Main reasoning behind this stems from the fact that Nahu was probably the first person Ezio met that was actually genuine and not plastic and fake like all the people he grew up around. Nahu beat up some people hired to bring Ezio home and then smiled at him one (1) time and that was IT. He was done for. He will now die for Nahu and follow him to the ends of the earth. End of story
(This comes back to bite him in the ass later bc Nahu uhhh disappears for Reasons™ and Ezio spirals HARD. Cue him going off on his own and disregarding the rest of the squad bc he literally cannot fathom living without Nahu. Again. THERAPY)
Ezio's actually a shockingly good dancer, too (dance lessons growing up), but he adamantly refuses to dance with anybody who can't keep up with him. Which is basically most of the group. The only person who can is Ione, because of her idol background. Everyone is jealous of her for this. LOL
He's also fluent in multiple languages (again, noble background) including sign language, so he and Sage are the only ones capable of communicating with Ione for a while until they teach everyone else :"D
Due to his upbringing he's uhh. Emotionally constipated lol. It's definitely a learning curve for him trying to actually show his feelings and be truthful about them. This is something he generally struggles with but luckily he's got the best group of friends anybody could ask for who support him through everything. EVEN his simping 😂
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f1reladymai · 3 days
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Aang getting so, uncharacteristically angry when Appa was taken by the sandbenders wasn’t just because of his love for his sky bison. Of course, that was a big part of it. Appa is more than just a pet to him, he’s his best friend and soulmate, someone who’s been around since Aang was very young and is meant to be a “companion for life”.
But, Aang ran away on a random Tuesday, got caught in a storm and it changed the whole trajectory of his life. He ran away because he was upset his life was changing so rapidly, he suddenly had all this responsibility at 12 years old that he wasn’t ready for but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have gone back. We don’t know what would have happened; he could have needed a few days to cool off, he could have seen the start of the war and stepped up (from what we know of Aang, there’s no way he would have ignored it for his own needs), but that didn’t happen.
He got caught in the ice for 100 years and when he woke up he discovered that not only was everyone he knew and loved were dead, but brutally murdered in an act of power. That everyone from his teachers, friends (children, like him) and animals, were gone. Not only that but his whole culture; traditions, foods, clothing, music… everything important was eradicated and possibly most of the documentation of the culture, too. He’s suddenly handed this new responsibility on top of being the Avatar, trying to uphold this culture (as literally the last airbender alive) and grieve at the same time.
And Aang grieves very privately, in fact, does he even give himself a chance? He discovered the horrible truth and his immediate response it so go have some fun, maybe because he knows if he thinks too hard about it and gives into the pain, he’ll turn into something he’s not, he’ll forget what the monks taught him and he can’t let that happen.
So he tries to channel all his grief and anger into being the Avatar, even if he still has his reservations, and by his side is Appa. The only thing keeping him tethered to his life 100 years ago and his culture. He’s been with him through everything, and will continue to be, like I said “companion for life”.
And then he’s gone, he’s taken, and all of a sudden Aang cannot keep the crushing weight of his loss at bay anymore and he… snaps, he loses control. He gives into the avatar state because not only is everything he knew and loved gone, taken from him for nothing more than political gain, but now his soulmate that represented everything he lost is gone, too and he doesn’t know what happened to him. Is he dead? Is he scared? Is he fed? Who knows.
Aang losing Appa with the final straw and his grief, something he was ignoring and refusing to deal with, was brought to the forefront when he lost Appa, making it impossible to ignore and if it wasn’t for us friends trying to ground him and remind him of who he was, who knows what would have happened.
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dollypopup · 14 hours
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I think it's interesting to look at the 'Mr. Bridgerton' scene as a backdrop for the eventual mirror scene. Firstly, in the fact that I think we've kind of misinterpreted it.
So many people are of the mind that scene's purpose to 'drag' Colin, but really, that scene has 3 primary functions. The first is to inform Colin that Penelope is aware of what he said of her, thus opening the door to clearing the air between them and providing an avenue for which Colin can apologize. The second is to establish the ground that they are currently on: Penelope has given up on the dream of Colin Bridgerton, in particular the perfect prince that can do no wrong, and has made it clear to him. It also creates distance between them that they will bridge.
But the third, and to me the most wrapped up in the mirror and the inner workings of their relationship is that it reveals how Penelope feels about *herself*. It's not necessarily an echo of what the ton considers her as, after all, we have a lot of evidence indicating that, for all intents and purpose, people aren't *unkind* about her, but rather that they ignore her. Audience members recognize this as Penelope's own shyness being the cause, she is often sitting off on the sidelines or not really talking to much of anyone, in the books she's referred to as the 'one who doesn't speak', and her LW business takes her away from being a character in the action of the ton to a bystander, kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts that perpetuates itself. Pen felt unseen so she became LW to have some power, but then LW herself must remain unseen and Penelope continues to be by design of her own making.
No, I think what it really reveals is that Penelope has incredibly low personal self esteem. We as a fandom has lauded that scene as her dragging Colin, saying that he's cruel and calling him Mr. Bridgerton is absolutely meant to create distance between them, but I don't think she's dragging him.
Because the person she is *actually* dragging here. . .is herself. And it is a general theme in her life. In Whistledown. Aloud. Even with Marina, when she complimented her, she assumes that she's lying. When Edwina says she's wearing a pretty dress, Penelope puts herself down and doesn't believe her, even when the compliment is genuine. In truth, Portia is not seen as being particularly unkind to Penelope. At least, speaking as someone who's mum was *awful* about my size and weight and outfits, Portia is. . .overall rather mild. She's not KIND and loving, not by a long shot, but she's also not targeting Penelope only. She's plenty mean and critical to Prudence, too, even to the point where she foists her off to her own cousin as a pawn piece. Penelope has low self esteem because of a lot of reasons, she's bullied by Cressida (I think a lot of girls are, she was pretty mean even to Daphne in S1) and her family isn't very tender to her, and she's not being pursued at every turn, but part of it is also her own perpetuation.
Listen to what she says "Of course you would never court me" "I embarrass you" "I am the laughingstock of the the ton". She sees *herself* as an embarrassment. She puts *herself* down. Arguably, more so than the ton does. She's meaner to herself than anyone else is, aside from Cressida. And honestly? Looking at Colin's face there. . .he is HURT that she considers herself this way. That she's projecting that onto him. Yes, he's hurt that he hurt her, of course he is, he never wants to hurt her. And yes, he's ashamed that he said he wouldn't court her the way he did and that in doing so, he validated her fears that she is unloved and unwanted, but also because. . .she already feels that way about herself. She's felt that way for years. And it's painful to care about someone, to see them as wonderful, and realize. . .they don't feel the same about themselves at all. I don't think Colin is out here feeling so wounded over the fact that she called him cruel and won't refer to him by first name anymore, but that he's most hurt by what she says about herself.
Because he *doesn't* see her the way she accuses. She says she never expected him of all people to be so cruel, but he feels the same way. He never expected her to be so cruel to *herself*. He wants to go somewhere private, not because she is an embarrassment, but because he wants to have a private conversation with her. Maybe assure her. Maybe explain himself. Maybe hash it out. But god Luke Newton's acting. . .he is *aching* for her. And it feels like he's going to do those lessons not in atonement for what he said (thank god) but to genuinely help his friend who thinks badly of herself. To lift her up. It's not about him at all, not about earning forgiveness, but about elevating Penelope. And that's. . .fuck, I just find that's just so heart stoppingly beautiful.
You can see, in that scene, how much he cares about her. How deeply and genuinely he adores her as a person. And just how painful it is for him to know he has validated, whether on purpose or otherwise, how poorly she feels about herself. How low her self-confidence really is. She is giving him a glimpse into the cracks of her heart, and when he sees them, he wants to reach out with both hands and make it feel better. Make her feel better.
After she says 'even when I change my entire wardrobe', he looks so fucking crushed. So 'don't say that'. So 'you really believe that?'. So 'God, I hate that you think that way'.
Because regardless of it all, he does love her. It's not romantic yet. It's not sexual yet. But he genuinely, truly, from the bottom of his heart, thinks she's wonderful. That was evident even in the 'purpose' scene. Every time Penelope opens up and reveals a facet of herself, he likes it. He likes her barbs and her dreams, he likes talking to her. He likes her. And he feels awful that he hurt her. And he feels awful that she's hurting herself. He loves her. He wants her to love herself.
And that's where the mirror scene comes in. Because the mirror scene isn't about sex, not really. Not entirely, at least. The mirror scene is about *intimacy*. The mirror scene is about being seen. Not just her seeing him, or him seeing her, but for Penelope to see *herself*. In a way, through his eyes. Because hers are biased rather negatively toward herself, which is evidenced in the 'Goodnight Mr. Bridgerton' scene, and in so many little moments we've already gotten where she's literally looking down on herself, feeling down. She doesn't necessarily *like* what's in the mirror, but he does. Because he likes *her*. And he wants to show her that he does. Show her that he finds her beautiful and have her recognize that in herself.
The 'Goodnight Mr. Bridgerton' scene is about Penelope revealing how she sees herself. The mirror scene is about Colin showing her how *he* sees her. The Goodnight scene is about Penelope thinking she means nothing to him, that he thinks of her the way she thinks of herself, that this is how everyone thinks of her, and the mirror scene is a direct response to that: No, he doesn't. No, he doesn't think she's embarrassing. No, he doesn't think she's a laughingstock. No, he doesn't think she's unappealing. And he doesn't think she should, either.
And he's going to show her that. Not just tell her, but show her. The mirror scene is so often a focus on Penelope, so much of Polin is in Penelope's focus, but approaching it from Colin's perspective and his motivations is so fulfilling, too. It's a glimpse into them in conversation, and a demonstrate of how Colin loves her. How Colin loves in general, openly and earnestly and altruistically. How he encourages her to be braver and more confident in herself, bolstering her because he just likes her *that much*. How he finds the most fulfillment and satisfaction in caring aloud. The mirror scene is a demonstration of his heart in reflection.
When Luke Newton said the first word that came to mind with the word 'Mirror' was 'Exposed', he doesn't just mean physically. He means emotionally, too.
God this couple is so fucking good.
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yanderebottomworld · 2 days
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Romantic Kaveh x male archon reader headcanons?? - ☎️
Thank you, ☎️ for being my first requester! I love Kaveh so much (*squeezes squeezes him like stress ball*). You said headcanons my brain said "write a whole ass fic" and voila aka I obsessed over this day and night
Btw I didn't know what we (reader) was the archon of so I just went ahead and made them Kusanali's/Nahida's bigger dendro archon brother, so warning!!! SPOILERS for the Sumeru archon quest + Kaveh's sad ass backstory (which was revealed in a past event). Reader talks quite formally in this since they're an archon (re: immortal old man)
Enjoy the read, ☎️ Anon! (Goes to fist bump you to hide the fact that I am shaking) I really really hope you like it! And man tagging is HARd. Lowercase d bc it's not fun
Also readers comment/reblog if you like it please please please (offers you thousands of platonic cheek kisses in return + one hug where I awkwardly stick my butt out so I'm not too much in your personal space like Chris pine) thank you for taking a chance on my writing it feels so good to write again but like. Newly.
For new readers, 'Y/N' means "Your Name" for you to self insert yourself into the fic for greater immersion.
Disclaimer: Although this is not a sexual piece featuring smut, this work will feature sexual themes, and it does depict unhealthy codependence and thinking (bc yk, yandere) so if you choose to read, please be 18 and older. Take care! (*Shoots you with the "are you an adult?" Beam. Unsafe for minors- If you are a minor you instantly combust 💥. Adults feel nothing but a tickle 🤗).
[Romantic Yandere] Kaveh x Male Archon Reader: I'll Look Out for You
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Being an archon is... Well, it's a mixed bag of feelings. You constantly had to supervise your nation, and even when you believed you had paid sufficient attention to one issue, another would always crop up. Yes, it's often rare for one nation to have two archon siblings at its helm, and has even led to tragedy, but that won't happen to you and Nahida.
Even when her "Greater Lord" form disappeared, you knew that she was still here with you, because you could feel her existence still within Sumeru, a tiny sap of a thing, thrumming through your veins.
However, your mood did plummet for the period she disappeared, and this was reflected in Sumeru's population as well. See, while Kusanali had personally tended to the Tree of Irminsul and the knowledge of Sumerans, you on the other hand, was directly related to their fates, or rather, their luck. It was something that required great care and attention due to its need for balance. People typically had a base amount of luck in their lives, although there were definitely some whose fate naturally inclined towards better or worse luck. Since you were in charge of maintaining the balance, whenever you were in a poor mood, people's lives in Sumeru tended to... well, go wrong, for lack of a better term, some worse than others.
But! Kusanali is back now, an adorable little being going by "Nahida," who always has questions for you about this or that, as hungry for knowledge as she had been in the past. Imagine the headache you had received when you learned that she had essentially traded her gnosis up for "the truth"! But... that's over and done with, and she's growing more powerful by the day, so now you can divvy up a few tasks for her to handle with that bad-mannered anemo wielder she supervises (you're definitely not jealous of the Hat Guy).
With that settled, it was time for you to go ahead and mend things, focusing on the individuals you had accidentally made prone to poorer luck.
You visited them all in secret, disguising your identity and fixing their life by avoiding or fixing disasters and the process was going smoothly until you find Kaveh. And holy moly. You haven't seen a mortal walking around so prone to bad fate in centuries... And often, it wouldn't be too long before they met their end. You knew that you would have to constantly supervise him to make sure he wouldn't die or end up being scammed.
You care for all of your constituents, but Kaveh is a special case. He is genuinely kind and a good guy to a fault- he is unfortunately too gullible! Many a time you find yourself laughing at the situations he would nearly get himself in, only nearly due to your intervention, of course.
You decide you should go and check on Kaveh after a busy but fun afternoon full of Aranara visits, closing your eyes and honing your archonic senses to find him. Whenever an archon grants someone their vision, there is a tiny, tiny part of the archon's divinity that is implanted within it, making it easier for an archon to track and find their Vision bearer. Location pinpointed, you quickly teleport to him, looking above his head where it showed a darkening clover 🍀, indicating that bad luck was starting to form for Kaveh, who is currently walking through the Grand Bazaar.
Suddenly, a child in front of Kaveh drops a large round Sunsettia, and Kaveh steps on it, squashing it underneath his foot.
"Whoaaa!" Kaveh's voice warbles as he attempts to balance himself, but ends up slipping on the slick juice produced by the fruit, sending him flying forward, briefcase and all.
"Oh shoot," you mutter quickly, stress coursing through your veins.
"Sorry, sorry!" Kaveh crashes into a small merchant stall, but with a quick twitch of your fingers and good luck sent his way, the damage is much more minimal than it would seem to be. Looks like you had good timing.
"Nothing was damaged, but if you really feel bad for the trouble, you can check out my wares..." The well-to-do merchant waves a hand adorned with various gold rings and bracelets over the table's offerings.
"Well! Looking won't be too much trouble!" Kaveh announced, giving a cursory glance at the table when he stops, eyeing something. You move closer, making sure you're still invisible while you look.
"Oh! Do you like this, sir? You have a good eye, indeed!" A merchant boasts, holding up a clearly fake bracelet up to a clearly interested Kaveh.
"Yes... But how much is it?" Kaveh cautiously asks, eyes locked on the bracelet.
"Oh, for you? Only 20,000 Mora!" The merchant grins, a cunning smile that flashes gold-tipped canines. This guy's definitely a skilled conman.
"What!? That's too much!" Kaveh squawks, waving his hand and moving to visit another stall, but the merchant stops him.
"Oh, I understand that the asking price may seem high, but this is one piece from a collection specially made from Clearwater Jade, freshly imported from Chenyu Vale in Liyue! Such fine material and craftsmanship would go for at least four times the asking price normally!" The merchant continues, making Kaveh stop in his tracks. Seeing that he's getting through to Kaveh, the merchant decides to deliver the finishing blow.
"Please, sir! I have three hungry children at home, and if I don't sell something today, we won't be able to eat!" The merchant wails, putting his hands on his face in such a bad performance that you can't hold back a short laugh. You know this guy doesn't have any kids, he could just quickly tell that Kaveh has a bleeding heart, and the dark clover pops up above Kaveh's head again.
"Well..." Kaveh frowns, brows furrowing in obvious sympathy, and picks up the bracelet again. His hand reaches for his Mora pouch, and that's when you decide to intervene, wiggling your finger at the merchant, and suddenly the merchant's table crashes to the ground inexplicably so, sending all of the "premium" jewelry except the one in Kaveh's hand crashing to the ground, breaking on contact.
"No!" The merchant yells in horror.
"Wait!" Kaveh gasps, "This isn't Clearwater Jade!" and poor sweet Kaveh, the fact that this is all he realizes is enough to make you laugh.
"Of course it isn't, you idiot! Go away! You bring bad luck with you!" The merchant angrily shoos Kaveh from his stall. Without further interference from you, the darkening clover 🍀 disappears from Kaveh's head and instead one appears above the merchant's. Balance!
"But wait, your bracelet-" Kaveh tries to give it back but the merchant, clucking over his ruined jewelry, pays him no mind.
"Keep it! Take it with you!" The merchant yells and Kaveh, dumbfounded, walks away, bracelet in hand as you laugh and turn away, deciding that's enough of monitoring Kaveh for the day.
//
"Hmm?" Kaveh turns around, feeling like he hears laughter. Unbeknownst to you, your disguise slips just for a second and Kaveh spots your floating back, a flash of green and his eyes go wide.
"Hey!" He shouts out in reflex, but you're gone, quickly teleporting to your abode.
"Did I just see Greater Lord Y/N?" Kaveh asks himself, before shaking his head, and taking a deep breath.
"Must've imagined it," he mutters, resolving to go home and take a long deserved nap. The stress of his new commission must be getting to him, he resolves before heading home.
//
"Whew! That was a close one!" You breathe to yourself, resolving to be sneakier next time.
And you are! You continue to help Kaveh out in random moments over the next couple of weeks, making sure to stay invisible the entire time but Kaveh's being odd.
Sometimes, after you intervene, he will look right in your direction for a few seconds, and if you weren't certain you were invisible, you'd think he's staring straight at you, before he goes about his day.
//
Lately, things have been going... surprisingly well for Kaveh. It's odd, almost, and in ways that always seem coincidental.
Just the other day a pail of water was falling off a roof above him while he was walking underneath but he was pushed out of the way by a strong force right in the nick of time. And on a different day when he intended to donate a hefty chunk of Mora to a charity for needy children, Cyno and other Mahamatras suddenly interrupted and surrounded the charity spokesperson he was speaking with. They then outed the supposed spokesperson as an experienced conman who's been grifting innocent Sumerans, saving Kaveh from wasting his money.
He's been really lucky lately, and although he hasn't hallucinated seeing Greater Lord Y/N again ever since that day where he almost bought cheap knockoff jewelry from that shady merchant, he has noticed something. Sometimes, on the days when Kaveh avoids disaster, he notices that the air around him seems a little... blurrier, even?
And Kaveh definitely doesn't think that one of the two archons running Sumeru is spending their time following him around but... He recently visited the House of Daena, (on a whim, of course!) and found a biographic scroll labeled Divine Encounters, in which an ancient explorer recounted her encounters with the Sumeran archons. The explorer had claimed that moments before the archons had revealed themselves to her, the air around her had appeared blurry!
But. It all feels very much like whimsical thinking, so Kaveh tries to think of a more reasonable explanation. When he fails to find one, he decides to go the most rational (and annoying) person he knows, Alhaitham.
"I'm telling you, something is going on, Haitham," Kaveh insists to his roommate who was lounging on a daybed and reading a book. "And I keep feeling some sort of presence, it's like- no, it can't be. What do you think of what I told you so far?"
"Hmm," is all his counterpart thoughtfully offers, turning a page of his book.
"What!? Is 'hmm' all you have to say when I come to you with a crisis?" Kaveh huffs, and Alhaitham sighs loudly and places his book down.
"It seems like you've already reached a conclusion that you're hesitant to accept as the possible explanation, by which you're doing yourself a disservice," Alhaitham dryly responds, and Kaveh frowns.
"But the reason I think things have been going well for me- it just wouldn't make sense!" Kaveh explains in an exasperated manner.
"Well. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, Kaveh," Alhaitham drawls, and with that said, picks up his book and turns so that he is facing the other way, clearly done with the conversation. Always straight to the point but also such a drama king! Kaveh shakes his head in exasperation, but he's already considering Alhaitham's words.
Strictly speaking, it's not entirely impossible that Kaveh is being followed by an archon...
"But why would Greater Lord Y/N decide to focus on me?" Kaveh wonders aloud, putting his hands on his hips. He has to go back to the House of Daena; he has some studying to do. First- he has to find out where the Shrine for Greater Lord Y/N is located again, and second he needs to discover what the older archon likes. He's ashamed to admit it, but the last time he's offered an offering to either of the archons was in his early adolescence.
It isn't until Kaveh's already left that Alhaitham sits up straight in his chair, wide eyed, having actually processed what he just heard Kaveh say.
"Wait, what!? Greater Lord Y/N? Kaveh! What do you mean?" He uncharacteristically yells out, but Kaveh's already hurrying out the door.
//
"Oh!" A rush goes throughout your body when you're in the middle of purifying a Withering Spot that had oddly made a reappearance, and your body glows with a vibrant green light. You feel like someone's just plugged you in, overflowing with energy, and that can only mean one thing. Someone's just made an offering to you!
It's not a rare occurrence, but it's certainly not a common one! You and Nahida both have shrines, but yours is a bit farther to reach from the city, closer to the Desert Region where many people avoid travelling through due to the blistering heat. You had previously made an agreement with the Hydro Archon in which she agreed to bestow her vision upon Sumeran individuals based in the desert so their lives would be a bit easier.
Excited and fully intending to go and extend a blessing on the faithful constituent, you rush to your shrine and to your pleasant surprise, you see Kaveh of all people there, kneeling near freshly lit incense. Around him is a bouquets of Padisarahs, and a ring of Henna Berries and what looked to be a small figurine of yourself, fashioned from a beautiful material. A rush goes throughout you at the gesture, and you float closer to him, cloaked in invisibility, because it appears you've caught him in the middle of speaking.
"And uh, I'm sorry for taking so long to come and make an offering, Greater Lord Y/N, but I hope you enjoy what I've brought along with me," Kaveh awkwardly prays, and you can't help but feel endeared by him.
"I do," you say aloud, making yourself visible to him and Kaveh shrieks, falling backwards onto his butt.
"AAHH! Y-you," Kaveh stutters, pointing at you, and you smile warmly at him.
"I'm sorry, Kaveh, I didn't mean to scare you," you apologize, floating down until you're standing next to him, offering him a hand.
Kaveh gapes at your hand for a moment before he gently takes it and uses it to right himself. You pretend not to notice how he grips the hand that touches you tightly with his other hand, or the fact that his hands are shaking. People do tend to be a bit reverent when in the presence of an archon, which is fine.
"Greater Lord Y/N knows my name..." Kaveh says aloud in wonder, a slight flush on his cheeks and you cock your head at him.
"Of course. I know everyone borne of Sumeru," you reply matter-of-factly, and Kaveh wilts a bit. You hate the sight of that so you quickly add, "But you are a special case. Not only have you made beautiful works such as the Palace of Alcazarzaray, but you also truly live up to your moniker of 'Light of Kshahrewar'. Within you is a kind soul that appears to... radiate, no matter where you go," you tell him truthfully.
"Oh," Kaveh replies in a breathy voice, flush growing more intense, and then hides his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. You decide to elaborate. Maybe hearing this will be good for him.
"You try hard in everything you do, and you have not let the darkness of your misfortunes dim you. You're quite the individual, and I'm proud someone like you bears the vision my sister and I represent."
Kaveh remains silent this time, but this time he's taking in deep, shuddering breaths. You feel slight worry, because you did not intend to make him cry.
"Kaveh?" You ask, nearing him, unsure of what's the matter.
"Th- thank you for saying that," Kaveh replies, voice sounding a bit throaty, "I just. I just need a moment," so you nod and gently put a hand on his shoulder, patting it once before leaving it there. A little bit of comfort can go a long way. You think you feel him shiver under your hand, but you're uncertain seeing as how his shoulders were shaking previously.
"Of course. Take your time, I just wanted to come and see who was leaving me an offering," you softly reply, "It's been a while since I received gifts so thoughtful." You bend over and pick up the small statue he made of you, a smile forming naturally on your face.
"I'm glad you like it," Kaveh says bashfully, "I wanted to add something of my own to your offerings. Forgive its rough appearance, I only had wood at my disposal."
"Nonsense; it's perfect, and I will be taking it with me. Well done, Kaveh," you praise, and goosebumps rise on his arms, but you don't notice that.
"Thank you," he says shyly, before blurting out, "for the compliment! But also for everything else you've done for me, and I guess the rest of Sumeru..." He finishes awkwardly, and you laugh.
"It is my duty and pleasure," you say, locking eyes with him, "and now, I shall extend a small blessing of luck upon you in exchange for your sign of devotion today." No darkening clover 🍀 exists above his head, but you intend to reward him in the small way you can.
Warmth rushes over Kaveh, just for a second, and his eyes naturally slip close before he snaps them back open. You are already beginning to levitate, intention to leave clearly made.
"Before you go, forgive my impudence at the implications of this, but have you been..." Kaveh trails off, the last few words of his sentence sounding garbled.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" You ask, and Kaveh's face blanks in panic.
"Forgive me for being presumptuous!" Kaveh quickly falls to his knees and raises his hands, bowing his head, and you can't help but laugh, not unkindly.
"No, that's not it, I genuinely couldn't make out what you were saying," you explain, and Kaveh raises his head, mouth forming an "o".
"Well, I had asked if you..." Kaveh takes a deep breath, standing up but avoiding eye contact, "had been following me the past couple of weeks."
"Ah," you chuckle. So he did spot you! "Yes, I have!" You confirm, full of mirth, and Kaveh looks up at you, shocked. Feeling like this was a good place to end the conversation, you levitated up into the air.
"Safe travels, Kaveh! I'll be watching!" With a twitch of your finger, you order an extra bit of good luck his way, in addition to the blessing, just to be safe. And with that, you teleport away, feeling quite good about the encounter.
//
Kaveh returns home, feeling like a large burden has been lifted off of his shoulders.
So who does Kaveh really have in the end? Sure, his achievements have endured that people flock to him, but it's always on a level that feels very superficial. His relationships never last long, he and his friends never have time to meet, and the person he sees the most seems to care for him and resent him near simultaneously and it's. It's too much to bear.
Ever since the death of his father which he felt partially responsible for, Kaveh has tried his hardest to be someone worthwhile, do something amazing. It's part of why he decided to become an architect, because he wanted to create something people would enjoy and also something he would be remembered for. It's a redemption, of sorts.
His father had died partaking in an event he only participated in in order to impress Kaveh. Then his mother, who couldn't deal with her grief or the depressing situation, moved out of their house to start a new life, leaving him behind, alone. His family name is no longer tinged with tragedy, instead overshadowed by Kaveh's achievements but in the end... Kaveh's mother never returned to Sumeru. She barely even responds to his letters.
Bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people, right?
So Kaveh tries to be good.
He smiles, he doesn't hold grudges. He lives and lets live. He gives people chance after chance. He donates to charities and saves animals that are distressed and he gives away his lunch to the hungry and he'll listen to other people's stories. He always gives his commissioners 110% of his effort when crafting for them, even if he disagrees with their vision. He waves to people who refer to him as the "Light" and always gives time and advice to his juniors who look at him with stars in their eyes. He bears it with a smile when he finds out he's been tricked once again or learns that the funding for one of his proposed projects has once again fallen through.
And it pays off! Yes, he lost his house and swims in debt higher than his neck, but now he lives with a roommate? friend? person who obviously cares for him, even if they critique him and every situation he gets himself into. And no, he does not think of the possibility that underneath all of the threats of being kicked out, Alhaitham may one day choose to leave him behind as well. (Kaveh would never admit it but he would be devastated).
He barely manages to keep on going, especially when times are rough, but today? Today proves it is all worth it.
To be recognized, and by an archon like you, it's- euphoric. Elation runs through his veins, makes him giddy in the most senseless of ways. His heart beats fast in his chest, and even his body on a whole, feels ten times lighter than it had before.
The Sumeru Archons rarely make their presence known to anyone- in the past, they had only materialized in front of their most devout worshippers, or those who had made great achievements- heroes, explorers, warriors, like the Traveler! And now Kaveh, of all people, joins that group, met by-
You! Greater Lord Y/N! You, who had touched him, comforted him, praised him- who had seen through the barrier he puts up and had spoken words that had comforted his troubled soul- you are worthy of all the reverence Kaveh can give!
He's- he's shaking, overwhelmed by your magnitude. To have it confirmed that you really were stepping in and interfering with his life to make things easier for him- it, it feels so good. To know that he's under your protection. To know that he doesn't have to worry as much. To know that you care. And Kaveh knows he has people that care about him in his life, but it doesn't feel anything like this, nowhere close to having the attention of a God upon him.
Kaveh passes by Alhaitham in a daze, who gives him a once over and then takes off his headphones.
"Are you sick? You don't look well," Alhaitham says in a blunt manner, and normally Kaveh would feel some sort of way about Alhaitham's choice of wording, but no, not today.
"I just need to be alone right now," Kaveh answers, and Alhaitham stares at him in the Alhaitham way before nodding and putting his headphones back on.
Kaveh walks to his room, and immediately upon re-entering his room, he sees the book he had rented from the House of Daena all about you open on his bed. The page he had left it on had a picture that did not capture you and your features well, but is enough to make his heart race once more.
He instantly recounts details of your encounter with him, turning them over in his head, letting emotions flow over him.
Kaveh shivers again, and desperately tries to regain his composure. There's a burning heat in his chest, and he oddly feels as if he's about to cry at any moment or jump for joy. His stomach is doing its own thing with somersaults, and his hands won't stop trembling. He stumbles on shaky legs to sit on his bed, and decides to try and express what he's feeling, hoping you can feel how genuine he is.
"Greater Lord Y/N, thank you. Thank you," He stumbles through his words, "I- no, this humble servant thanks you for your kindness shown. I won't forget; I won't."
With that said, he gets up and goes to his desk, beginning to work on another figurine of you, similar to the one he had made as an offering, this one will be just for him... for reasons that don't have to be disclosed. He wants to have a version of you he can see and feel and touch, all to himself. When he's done crafting it, he looks around guiltily and hopes you're not watching when he gently kisses the figurine's head. Just by holding it, he feels a sense of excitement, and an idea starts to take hold.
He needs to get started.
//
Sometimes, when Kaveh is taking a break from his new project, he remembers meeting you in that shrine, the kind and patient way with which you had spoken to him, the smile you had given him and it just, does things to him. Things he'll never say aloud and things he'll never act on because at the end of the day he is a mere mortal and you are an Archon, but if you weren't?
He'd worship you everyday in the most intimate of ways. Never a day would go by without Kaveh showing you how much you mean to him. He would give you anything you wanted, even if it meant his ruin, but he knew you were too kind to ever lead him down that path. (But he definitely wanted you to ruin him. Or do whatever you wanted to him, really).
But that's not what's important now! He has to finish this project that would let you know how deeply he cares for you and increase Sumeru's awareness!
//
Over the next two weeks, every time you check Kaveh's location with the intention of helping him out, you find that he's at home, where fate typically does not have a chance to become worse. But on the third week, you finally see that he's out, near the Palace of Alcazarzaray, and you decide you'll pop in on him and have a look at his fate.
Suddenly, you feel a rush run through you this time, but it's much stronger than when a person gives offerings, it's- you squeeze your eyes shut, acknowledgement and gratitude from people, multiple people, and Celestia above, it feels good! You haven't felt this way in a while especially since there has been a festival in your honor for quite a while, so to feel it again and so randomly picks up your mood.
It doesn't appear to be coming from your shrine so you go and let the feeling guide you to wherever the source is, and when you do, you find that you're in the very center of Palace of Alcazarzaray, the large splendid fountain has had its multilayer spout replaced by a large, beautiful statue of you with a plaque that read, "In honor of Greater Lord Y/N, who watches over us".
To the side of it stands Kaveh, obviously the inventor, with a proud smile and bags under his eyes, and although a crowd of people stands there clapping, he seems to be expectant of someone or something, searching the crowd with his eyes.
While you don't like public appearance, you are indeed very pleased with his work and intend to reward him for it in a very public way. Ensuring that you are disguised, you point a finger at the statue, and vines and flora of all different kinds begin to crawl all over the statue in a sheer layer where Kaveh's work could still be seen underneath.
"What? What is happening?" A confused man asks.
"I've never seen transparent flowers!" A woman gasps.
"Amazing! Did you design this function?" A person asks Kaveh, who seems at a loss for words.
Deciding to make your presence a little more clear, lotuses (which signify luck) and padisarahs lift themselves from the ground and come up in the air, intertwining themselves, until they form a beautiful, elaborate flower crown that floats through the air and places itself on Kaveh's head, who still looks shocked. The crowd erupts into noise.
"Oh my Archons!" A person cries out before they outright faint.
"Look! The Lotuses! It must be Greater Lord Y/N! He must be pleased with Kaveh's work!"
"An archon is here!" The crowd drops to their knees, even more acknowledgement and wonder and gratitude is sent your way and you laugh and clap your hands, sprinkling good fate here and there onto them.
For all who are present, clovers drift down from the sky and people reach out to grab them. But for Kaveh, you point at his right wrist and there, a clover and lotus sigil is branded. For he is your favorite, and you genuinely do care for him.
"Thank you," you float over and speak into his ear and Kaveh squeaks, hand going up to his ear and you laugh at his endearing reaction.
"Of course, it was no trouble for me. It's worth it if it's for you," Kaveh says sweetly, and you don't have time to process how you feel about such a statement before someone shouts, "Let's honor Greater Lord Y/N tonight!"
Word quickly spreads and there's a large nation-wide celebration that night in your honor, and it is one of the best nights you had in centuries. Nahida even takes part in the festivities, although many do not know her real identity, while you choose to stay hidden.
You sneak food off plates while people don't look and take sips from people's glasses. The wine is sweet and pungent and it's strong and it's so, so good. You follow Kaveh around as he jovially interacts with people, and every now and then Kaveh will look up to where you're disguised and smile, and you smile back even though you know he can't see it.
Kaveh steps away from the hustle and bustle onto a quiet, deserted street.
"Uh, Greater Lord Y/N? Would you mind coming out for a bit?" Kaveh asks nervously, and you look around, before doing as he asks.
"Yes, Kaveh?" You ask, from behind him, and Kaveh jumps, accidentally bumping into you.
"Oh! Sweet archons, I didn't expect that to work or for you to be so close-" Kaveh rambles, but all you can focus on is that from this close, he smells like the sweet, spiced wine that's been mulled from henna berries. The same type that you and him have been drinking all night.
"I didn't mean to startle you. You asked for me to appear. May I know why?" You ask calmly, and Kaveh slowly blinks at you, before looking down bashfully.
"I want- I want," Kaveh wrings his hands, and you place one of your own on top of his.
"Tell me," you order gently, and Kaveh looks at you and nods. In the space of a second, there's a sort of charged energy between the two of you, and it feels good, hypnotic even.
"Can I kiss you?" Kaveh asks demurely, leaning into your space and he's looking at you so hopefully and wantonly that you automatically say, "You shall," before you even remember what a 'kiss' is.
Kaveh pushes himself closer, and you leave yourself open and patient, feeling his lips and nose brush against yours and the sensation of it is so small and compact, yet enough to make tiny sparks go over your body. And maybe things are going too fast and yes you've only spoken to him once but you know Kaveh.
Plus- it's been so, so long since you've felt this way.
There's a thousand reasons you shouldn't but you lean closer, and press your lips against his once more, hand going to his jaw as you decide to go for a "real" kiss this time, and Kaveh kisses you back just as deeply. It's wet and passionate and slick and a thousand emotions you've forgotten since your the beginning of your archonhood. It's good and you want more.
You don't notice Kaveh's hands digging tightly into your clothes and if you had Nahida's ability, you would've known that all Kaveh was thinking was, "Finally yours."
//
"Aaaand look, Haitham, he even branded me! That means I'm spesha- special!" Kaveh slurs as Alhaitham tiredly helps him into his room on socked feet.
"Yes, very good, Kaveh," Alhaitham dryly replies, taking off Kaveh's flower crown and placing it onto the table and Kaveh frowns.
"Don't be like that! This is a good thing for me, this means everything to me! We're together, you know," Kaveh fires back and Alhaitham rolls his eyes.
"Yes, yes, whatever you say. The bucket's near you bed in case you need it. Night," Alhaitham quickly dumps him on the bed and leaves the room, and Kaveh cuddles into his bedsheets.
The next morning, Kaveh's eyes snap open.
"Did I really- did we? No, that must've been a dream!" Kaveh can't wrap his mind around last night, it seems that he dreamed that you and him kissed! What a wild thing to think!
He goes to brush a hand through his hair and get it out of his face when his hand comes into contact with something soft, and velvety.
He pulls his hand back and in it, is a flower, different from the wreath on his bed, and on it is written, "See you soon, love. Safe travels, I'll be watching <3- Y/N."
Kaveh opens his mouth and screams.
-----
The End
Note: if you read this far, thanks, (because this turned out way longer than it was supposed to be) But ofc. I love Kaveh! If this was more sexual let's just say Kaveh would've left more than figurines at Y/N's shrine iykyk that's all!!
A few extra headcanons:
Kaveh definitely gets himself into troubling situations so you can come and save him from his fate. It reassures him that you really do care for him.
Every day you make a different flower bloom in Kaveh's hair. he has no problem showing it off to people. He needs everyone to know that he's your favorite, not them.
He still leaves offerings at your shrine on a regular basis, but he'd rather offer his body up instead...
Late into your relationship he'll try to convince you to: a) either try out mortality b) make him live forever- if these don't work, he'll *hypothetically* get to work with Mehrak on a device that could trap/hold an archon so be carefulllll, reader
He goes to sleep holding the figurines he's made of you
Reader is not weirded out by Kaveh. Considers him "really devoted" because archons must've had crazy fans before so
74 notes · View notes
redroses07 · 1 day
Text
Heartfirst // Johnnie Guilbert
Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader
Summary: Reader is best friends with Johnnie and is avoiding telling him her feelings, but it's Tara's 1mil celebration party and she seems to be having some newfound confidence.
WC: 2.3k
Warnings: Swearing, kissing, slightly suggestive, drinking, use of y/n (i tried to avoid i’m sorry)
A/N: Hey guys, this is my first time writing for Johnnie and tbh I'm really proud of it! It took me a few days to finish and I really hope you guys like it. As always requests are open if you wanna see more of this type of stuff. Love y'all sm!! ♡⋆˙
You were at your house getting ready for your roommate Tara's party. She was throwing a party to celebrate reaching 1 million on her Youtube channel, and almost everyone you knew was attending.
Reaching 1 million was an amazing milestone for her and you were so incredibly proud. You were also a content creator with a solid following, but nothing close to what she had accomplished.
You were finished with your hair and makeup and now just had to decide what to wear. You were torn between a silky black slip, or a sparkly gold mini dress.
"Tara come in here I can't decide what to wear!" You shouted down the hall.
Tara comes rushing out of her room, always prepared to give the best fashion advice. She was already dressed but her makeup was noticeably incomplete, only sporting her signature winged eyeliner on one eye.
"Okay, show me the options." Tara exclaimed, clearly filled with excitement.
You went into your closet and emerged holding the two dresses.
"I feel like the black fits better, but it's kinda basic."
Tara looks between the two and smirks.
"Well which one do you think Johnnie would like better?"
Your jaw fell open, clearly embarrassed by her words.
Johnnie was one of your best friends, and Tara's too. You two spent an awful lot of time together, especially recently since you had begun filming together much more frequently. You will admit, you two had chemistry, and your friends and fans alike picked up on it.
You couldn't deny the not so little crush you had on him, but no way you were ever gonna admit that. It took you forever to admit it to even Tara, you would be mortified if Johnnie ever found out. Although that didn't stop Tara from pressuring you almost every day to confess. It was according to her "obvious he felt the same", but you refused to take the risk and find out.
"What! I'm just being real." Tara said, eyeing your nervous expression.
You shook your head, giving her an annoyed glance.
"I say gold. We can be like opposites cause I'm wearing silver." Tara pointed to her dress.
You smiled, throwing the black dress to the side.
"See I can always count on you to make my decisions for me."
Tara laughed and sped out of the room to finish her makeup.
You proceeded to finish getting dressed, and while you did you thought about what Tara had said.
Maybe it was time for you to finally stop avoiding things and fess up, at least you would know the truth. The only drawback was losing your best friend. If Johnnie didn't feel the same then that would surely make your friendship awkward.
Curiosity was beginning to get the better of you, and maybe tonight would be the night you would find out the truth.
You could've said speak of the devil, because right at that moment Tara popped her head into your room to tell you that Jake and Johnnie had arrived.
"I hope you're ready, Jake said they brought a ton of stuff and need help carrying it all inside." Tara said with a sigh.
Her makeup was now complete, eyeliner perfectly symmetrical on both sides and glitter eye shadow completing the look.
"Yeah hold up I'm coming." You replied, jumping up from your seat and sliding your feet into your black platforms.
As you headed out the door and towards the car, you couldn't help but contain your excitement to see Johnnie. This recent rush of confidence has made you more eager and energetic than normal.
When you reached the car the first thing you saw was Jake piling boxes into his arms, and Johnnie very loudly complaining about how much shit he brought.
"What the hell...how much did you guys bring?" Tara asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Uhhhh, lots of food, and lots of alcohol," Jake began.
"Let's just say I'm gonna get fucked up tonight."
Tara rolled her eyes, and reached into the trunk to grab more boxes.
You rounded the corner and crept up behind Johnnie.
"Boo!" You said, causing him to jump and drop the box he was currently holding.
"Y/N!" Johnnie exclaimed the moment he saw you, completely forgetting about the box he had dropped.
"Johnnie, that could've been breakable." Jake huffed half jokingly.
Johnnie replied by flipping him off as he ran in to give you a hug. He wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he hadn't seen you in forever, when in reality it had only been about two days.
You breathed in the musky scent of his cologne as the hug lasted a bit longer than it should.
You broke apart and took a long look at your best friend. He was wearing a low cut black dress shirt that showed off several tattoos on his chest. He matched it with black jeans, a silver belt, and several chains hanging from his waist.
“You look pretty” Johnnie gave you a sheepish smile.
"Aww thank you!" Him complimenting you like this wasn't unusual for your friendship, but that didn't stop your heart from skipping every time.
Jake walked behind Johnnie slapping him on the back of the head as he did. "What the fuck Jake." Johnnie snapped, rubbing the back of his head.
"You know what." Jake responded without hesitation, giving Johnnie a telling look.
You wondered what Jake could possibly mean by that, maybe there was something Johnnie wasn't telling you. Although it wasn't unlike the two of them to share an inside joke that was impossible for you to understand.
"Let's get back to work." You laughed pointing at the trunk.
Johnnie nodded, pushed his bangs out his eyes, and brushed your shoulder lightly while reaching into the trunk.
You, Johnnie, Jake, and Tara spent the next hour or two setting up for the party, the sun slowly disappearing as you came closer to being complete.
Just as the night arrived, so did many of your guests. People began pouring in in small, or large, groups. Tara waited at the door, greeting everyone upon arrival like the amazing host she was.
Unfortunately, without Tara, you could be pretty awkward at parties. You and Johnnie had that in common, which is why you found yourself hanging out in the corner with him.
Obviously you didn't mind, you loved hanging out with him after all. The two of you spent the early hours of the night attached at the hip, ignoring the busy sections of the party, and sipping on your drinks while making small talk with your friends.
You were on the way to refill your cup with water, fearing that you had had one too many when a clearly tipsy Tara grabbed your arm.
"Y/N! I've been looking for you all over! I need to get a clip of you to add in my video before I forget."
You happily obliged, excited that you were finally got to spend some time with your best friend.
She led you into the living room, a camera following the two of you.
"Come on, dance with me!" Tara said excitedly, throwing her hands up in the air.
You giggled, and joined her moving to the beat of the music. Tara only needed a few shots of the two of you for her video but she spent much longer dancing with you.
You hadn't realized how much time had passed until, a few more drinks and many songs later, your feet began to ache.
"Hey Tara, keep on having fun, I'm gonna go find Johnnie and then relax for a bit." Tara gave you a hug, just in case she didn't see you again that night, and then ran off to join a few of her friends.
It took you a few minutes of aimlessly searching to find Johnnie. When you did find him, you saw he was talking to Sam and Colby while sitting on your couch that had been pushed to the back of the living room.
You plopped down next to Johnnie, carelessly resting your pounding head on his shoulder.
"Hey look at who's back." Johnnie announced, looking over at you.
You smiled, nuzzling your nose into his neck. It must be all the alcohol mixed with the excitement giving you this newfound confidence.
You sat there for a moment, letting Johnnie finish his conversation.
While you waited you thought over the same situation from earlier, and suddenly the drawbacks to confessing your feelings didn't seem so bad.
Whether Johnnie felt the same or not he would always love you regardless, whether that love be platonic or romantic.
Sam and Colby walked off, marking the end of the conversation. Johnnie turned to you, and you picked your head up from its position on his shoulder.
"I think it would be best if we both got out of here." Johnnie got up, reaching his hands out to help you up.
You took his hands and allowed him to lead the both of you away from the chaos.
You followed Johnnie down the hall until he entered your room and shut the door behind the two of you.
You took a deep breath, it was nice to be in a calm space and away from the loud party. Although you could still hear the base pumping it was easier to ignore.
"This is much better." Johnnie collapsed onto your bed.
"Hmm, my room is a real creative way to get some alone time with me." You smirked sarcastically.
Johnnie's mouth fell open, his face turning red.
"Okay dirty minded." He retorted, fidgeting with his hands.
"As if you aren't" You snapped back playfully, plopping onto your bed.
Johnnie shoved you playfully, causing you to fall back into your pillows.
The pair of you exploded into a fit of laughter. The concerning amount of mixed drinks you had both had made the ordeal much more hilarious than it really was.
After several moments a silence fell over the two of you. You were laid back on your bed, Johnnie's body only inches from yours.
You may have been slightly drunk, but you were sober enough to remember your feelings.
You turned to face Johnnie, finding yourself face to face with his icy blue eyes.
Johnnie smiled at you, that signature, warm smile of his that you loved. The sincere, loving smile that he seemed to only ever use with you.
Johnnie reached out and brushed your messy hair out of your face.
"There, now I can see all of your pretty face."
Your heart stopped, suddenly all your nerves had returned. You were scared, scared of losing this, and of losing him.
You weren't going to let this stop you though. You had spent too long avoiding this, and today you would finally confess.
"Hey Johnnie,"
"Mhm"
"I have something important to you about." Your voice was shaky, and you were convinced he noticed.
You could see his eyes fill with concern, maybe you should have used less ominous wording.
"I've been wanting to tell you this for a long time, and PROMISE ME you won't make fun of me."
"Are you serious? After how long we've known each other what could I possibly make fun of you for?"
You turned away shyly, he did have a point.
"Okay, well this is different."
"Well then I have to know, spill it." Johnnie said as he nudged your shoulder.
You blushed, avoiding eye contact in order to hide how flustered you were.
"I love you Johnnie, not like a best friend, like in love." You spat out, still refusing to make eye contact. God you sounded like a stupid high school kid.
"Hey..." Johnnie whispered.
He cupped your cheek and forced you to look him in the eye. Goosebumps formed on your skin where his skin met yours.
"I'm in love with you too, and I have been for a long time.
Your heart felt like it was going to stop, especially since he was now so close his nose was brushing against yours.
You closed your eyes before taking the leap and closing the gap between the two of you. His lips were softer than you expected, and you hoped he didn't notice how dry yours were.
Johnnie pulled you closer to him, and you re-situated yourself on top of him.
You leaned down to kiss him again, but he stopped you abruptly.
"Shit!"
You looked at him concerned, wondering if you had done something wrong.
"I owe Jake money now!"
You began to laugh as your face landed in your hands.
"You two had a bet...about me?"
Johnnie giggled nervously, still underneath you.
"I'll explain later." He said, his eyes staring intently at your lips.
He pulled you down into another kiss, this one much more passionate than the last. You felt his hands run down your sides, grabbing longingly at your hips. You pushed your tongue into the roof of his mouth, causing him to grip your hair.
You let out a soft moan, which was followed by Johnnie flipping you over so that he could be on top.
Your lips not breaking apart once during the swift motion.
You continued to kiss him, your hands tugging at his shirt in an attempt to bring him even closer.
He began kissing your neck softly, as he reached behind you to fiddle with the zipper on your dress.
Just as things were heating up you heard the door swing open followed by an extremely loud voice.
"You better pay the fuck up bitch!!" Jake shouted cause the both of you to nearly jump out of your skin.
The two of you scrambled to sit up, adjusting your clothes as you did.
"What the fuck Jake!" You shouted, re-zipping your dress.
"Oh don't you start with me missy,"
"Tara come here I was right, look at them!"
You groaned, letting your head fall into Johnnie's chest.
"There, there." Johnnie patted your head sarcastically.
"Well, I hope you're okay with the whole world knowing." You say grumpily.
"Are you kidding, the whole world better know that I'm in love with you!"
You smiled, and kissed Johnnie on the cheek. If only you had done this sooner.
83 notes · View notes
declareqenius · 1 day
Text
all the ashes in my wake
summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.
warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma
a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!
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The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.
Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.
Your eyes are closed now.
Wanda hates every second of it.
Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.
So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.
Right now, though, you are her priority.
The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.
"Wands-"
"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."
Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.
She almost leveled the entire block.
The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.
So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.
They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.
Tears form in Wanda's eyes.
"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.
"After she wakes up."
Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.
"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.
"Nat."
It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.
Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.
She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."
It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.
At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."
"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."
"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"
Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.
Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.
"I'm sorry I let this happen."
Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.
Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.
"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."
Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.
"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."
"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."
Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"
"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"
Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.
"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.
Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.
Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.
The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.
She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.
"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
"Me too, Natalia. Me too."
They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.
Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.
"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.
Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.
"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."
"Natasha."
Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.
"Please, Wanda."
Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.
"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."
Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.
"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.
"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.
Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.
"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.
Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."
She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.
Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.
"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."
113 notes · View notes
skz catching you reading fan fiction
pairing: idol ot8 x reader
wc: ~5.4k
warnings: lots of reader being embarrassed obv. pet names, hyunjin’s is a tiny bit angsty (sorry), a very brief joking mention of dying in seungmin’s
an: this is a repost from my recently deceased blog hyunjins-orange-slice. may she rest in peace. some of the fanfictions mentioned in this are mine and have been linked. others i just made up. 💕
masterlist
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⋆。‧˚chan˚‧。⋆
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“Come here. Across my lap, princess.” He ordered.
‘oh this is getting good’ you said quietly to yourself. you were in bed, cuddled up under the covers, the only light coming from the screen of your phone. your eyes flashed across the page quickly, needing to find out what happens next. it had clicked in your brain earlier today that there could quite possibly be fan fiction about your boyfriend floating around on the internet somewhere. you were aware of his fame. but that’s not why you’re with him, even though that’s how you met him. you had been together for a while now, and you cursed yourself for not thinking of this sooner. of course there’s fan fiction about him. and even though it makes you cringe in a way, you couldn’t stop yourself from immediately searching for it as soon as you got home. chan is still at the company, always working the long hours, so you were unsure when he would be home. but you assumed it would be late. so you allowed yourself to get lost in the world of stray kids tumblr. you had read a few already, but this one, this one was spicy. you could feel that familiar throb in between your legs.
“Honey..” He said in a surprised tone. “You’re so wet.” He ran his middle finger up your slit, playing in your wetness. He gently prodded your entrance. You moaned quietly against his thigh. “Only a couple more.” He said, then he spanked you again.
you squeezed your thighs together, briefly thinking of grabbing that buzzing friend from the top drawer of your nightstand. but before you could do so, the bedroom door opens. a tired chan enters, setting his bag down. you let out a gasp and clutch your phone against your chest as he looks up at you, suspicion on his face.
"whatcha doin, baby?" he asks.
"uh.. no-nothing." you stammer back. real smooth.
"why are you hiding your phone from me?" he looks a little concerned now as he sits on the bed next to you. he didn’t want to let himself think that you may be romantically talking to someone else. but he couldnt help it. you could read his feelings all over his face. and as embarrassing as it was, you couldnt bare for him to think you were cheating. it’s best that you just tell him the truth.
"i.. i might have been reading a story.. about you. written by a stay." you say, unable to look at him. you stared at the outlet on the wall across from the end of the bed.
he laughed. "fan fiction?!" he exclaimed, laughing even more. your face turned a bright red. "show me. let me see." he said, reaching for your phone.
you held it tighter to your chest. "no!" you argue, pulling away from him.
"cmon baby. let me seeeee." he whined, reaching for your phone again. you held it out of his reach, so he used his not so secret weapon. he started tickling your sides. you immediately screamed in pained laughter and folded your body in on itself and toward him, trying to detach his hands from your skin. he let go, grabbing the phone, and jumping off the bed. he ran to the corner of the room and you sat up on your knees on the bed. you didn’t move any closer, having realized your defeat.
"Good girl baby, suck daddy’s cock, choke on it, you can do it, take it all, that’s my girl…?" he read aloud. his sentence ending in a question, not having thought that the fan fiction you would be reading would be smut. the tips of his ears turned slightly pink, and you covered your face with your hands before he could look at you. "you’re reading a fan fiction called ‘his good girl, always’?" he asked, slightly stunned. but you could hear the amusement returning to his voice. "what does dom daddy chan mean?"
you groaned. "is this what you fantasize about, baby?" he asked but you couldn’t answer him. "look at me, honey."
you shook your head no, still covering your face with your hands. "i said look at me, princess. cmon, be a good girl." an involuntary whimper escaped your lips at that, and you slowly peeked at him over the tips of your fingers. a smirk was on his face, one dimple poking out, his eyes dark with lust. "let’s finish reading this, yeah?"
⋆。‧˚minho˚‧。⋆
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“hey min?” you called. an answering grunt came from the other room. “could you pass me my phone? soonie is sleeping on my lap.”
you were sure he heard you. you could hear him get up from his desk and walk to the nightstand to get your phone. but that had been a couple minutes ago. what was taking him so long?
"minho?" you called again. he slowly shuffled into the living room, your phone in his hand, his face pointed at the screen. there was a smirk on his face.
oh shit.
you remembered what you had been doing on your phone last. you were sure you fell asleep earlier with tumblr open to the story you were currently reading. you enjoyed reading fan fiction about your boyfriend, though you never wanted to admit that to him. you felt like you might not have a choice in the matter now. you had been caught. he stopped a few feet away from you, still scrolling, his eyes moving back and forth as he read. the smirk on his face only grew as he continued to skim the page.
"min, give me my phone please." you said quietly. he held a finger up, shushing you.
"My cock drunk little slut, takes my cock so good." he read from the screen. "is this what you’re always reading on your phone?" minho asked, finally looking up at you.
you buried your head in your hands, scaring the cat off you lap. "i didn’t know you liked to read fan fiction about me. you have the real me, you know?" he said. "why am i always calling the reader kitten? is that a thing that stay thinks i like?"
you groaned. you could feel him come closer, until he was standing right in front of you. he dropped your phone onto the couch next to you, you could feel it bounce on the cushion. "hello?" he asked. you still couldn’t look at him. your face burned with embarrassment. your whole body burned with embarrassment. he wrapped his hands gently around your wrists and tugged. you let him pull your hands away from your face. he let go of your wrists and then used his fingers to tilt your chin up, so you were facing him. he was grinning, and you couldn’t help but notice the veins running up and down his arms. his arms never failed to make you a mess for him. "is that what you want? for me to call you kitten?" you tried to look away from him, but his grip tightened on your chin. "ah ah." he scolded. "answer me."
"i- it’s- um.. it’s something that i’ve thought about.." you admit. his thumb moved to gently stroke your cheek.
"you should have just told me that." he says, sweetly. "you want me to manhandle you too, like in that story? want me to use toys and eat my cum from your pussy?" his thumb has made its way to your lips now. gently rubbing back and forth before pressing into your mouth. you wrapped your lips around the digit, running your tongue around it.
"mmhmm" you mumbled around his finger.
"i think that can be arranged.. kitten." he purred.
⋆。‧˚changbin˚‧。⋆
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you were sat in the corner of the room, butt on this hard ass wooden bench, swallowed by your boyfriends hoodie, face buried in your phone. changbin had begged for you to go to the gym with him today, and so you agreed. he’s so cute when he pouts and puffs his little cheeks out. but you had no intention of working out with him. you just said you would come. so he’s working out while you watch from the sidelines. and oh boy you could watch him work out for hours. he was currently doing the bench press? bench pressing? he was laying down on the bench thingy and pushing up on the bar thingy with the heavy thingies on the ends. chan was spotting him but changbin didn’t need it. he was all sweaty and yummy. so buff. were you drooling? see this is why you were looking so intently at your phone. if you watched him work out for too long, you got all soft and gooey and you didn’t want that. but looking at your phone wasn’t helping either. in fact, tumblr may be making your situation worse. but you couldn’t look away. not when there was a detailed fan fiction in front of you about your boyfriend. you were just reading it at first because it interested you. you know, for science. did they describe him correctly? did they get his size right? you were surprised to find out that the stories were actually pretty accurate. so then you kept reading. and now your 8 thousand words deep in a slow burn smut fic about him and you just so happened to get to the good part while you were in the gym with him. fuck. your body started getting hot. you stretched and removed your hoodie from your body. you kept scrolling, the content getting spicier and spicier. he was doing what with his tongue? holy shit why hasn’t he ever done that to you in real life?
"are you hot baby?" his voice pulled you from your fantasy land and startled a jump out of you.
"ah!" you exclaimed. you held your phone close to your chest, your cheeks burning up and flushing red. he was standing in front of you, sweaty. his black muscle shirt sticking to his body. he wiped the sweat from his face with a small white towel. your mouth filled with saliva at the sight of him. you forcibly swallowed before answering him. "uh.. yeah i got a little warm." you tell him.
"are you okay? you seem a little flustered." he sits down next to you on the bench. he chuckles to himself. "you know, you’re acting like you usually do when i’m teasing you."
your face and body were on fire. you looked down at the floor, at the wall, anywhere but at changbin. your silence must have been loud.
"baby?" he reaches for your arm. you flinch at the contact, not out of fear, but out of desire. you were in the gym and you were so embarrassed. you couldn’t have him touch you at all, not even on the arm. your phone clattered to the floor, having lost your grip when you flinched. you immediately reached for it, but changbin beat you to it. and of course, just your luck, he glances at the screen as he hands it back to you. "what’s this baby? what’re you reading?" he skims the page some more. "those are some naughty words.." he says, quieter this time. you try to take the phone from him but he moves it out of your reach, continuing to read. "this is about me?" he says a little too loud.
"bin, give me my phone back please." you say, reaching for it. he hands it over.
"sure baby. i didn’t know you liked to read fan fiction about me." he was smirking at you. clearly poking fun. "and it was dirty fan fiction too. baby. i didn’t know you were so naughty." he chuckles.
"binnie.. please don’t. i’m flustered enough as it is."
"was the story that good?" he asks, serious now.
you nod. "it’s pretty good, yeah. and we’re here in the gym and you’re all sweaty and muscly and i’m about to loose it, bin."
he outright laughs now. "okay baby. let’s get you home and you can tell me about your story." he stands and takes your hand, leading you out to the car.
⋆。‧˚hyunjin˚‧。⋆
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"You are so beautiful, baby.” He said, stroking your cheek. “Such a pretty girl, about to suck her daddys cock.” You could feel your panties getting wet. “Open.” He ordered.
you absentmindedly rubbed your thighs together, trying to get any friction you could, so absorbed in the story you currently had open. you were in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, your elbows on the countertop. you eyes were glued to the screen. you were in the kitchen to make some dinner. you were hungry and you knew hyunjin would be home soon and probably would want something to eat as well. but now your hunger for food was long forgotten as a hunger for something else took over your mind. you didn’t even hear hyunjin put his key in the lock and open the door. he kicked his shoes off and dropped his bag, but you had no idea. one hand was against your mouth, the other hand had a death grip on your phone, thumb scrolling away at the text. hyunjin approached from behind, a little entertained that you hadn’t noticed him, and curious about what has you so focused. he peeks over your shoulder to glance at your phone.
The image of him above you may as well have been holy. It was holy to you. He was a god, and you worshipped him as such. “Fuuuck, baby.” He moaned, breathlessly.
he slowly wrapped his arms around your waist, scaring the daylights out of you. you jumped, dropping your phone, it clatters noisily onto the counter.
"what are you reading, angel?" he asks softly against your neck. he places a small kiss there.
"nothing." you lie quickly.
"didn’t seem like nothing." he hummed against your skin. "seemed kinda dirty. can i see?" he reaches around you for your phone and you don’t stop him. you know that you will never win an argument against hwang hyunjin. his long fingers close around the device, and he stands straight as he brings it to his face to look. you straighten as well, but you don’t turn to face him. you don’t want to see the look on his face when he sees what you’ve been reading.
"are you reading smut about me?" he asks. when you don’t answer, out of embarrassment, he gently grabs your shoulder and turns you around. "is this fan fiction?" you slowly nod your head, not looking at him, trying to understand his tone. he sounded upset.
"are you unhappy with our relationship?" he asks. that startles you to attention. you look up at him, his eyes filled with sadness.
"what? no, jinnie. absolutely not."
"then why are you reading this, if not to get something that you crave?" he argues. "am i not fulfilling your needs?"
"no. you are. i just—"
"i don’t understand why you would need to read this, unless you’re unhappy with me." he cuts you off. "especially smut. if i’m not satisfying you sexually, then we need to talk about that."
"that’s not it." you tell him. "i started reading it while you were away on tour because i missed you so badly. and some of it is actually.. good. so now, when i miss you and want to picture different scenarios about you, i’ll read some. i promise it has nothing to do with our relationship. it’s just fun to read what stay writes about you. and that one i was reading just now.. is pretty hot.." your cheeks flush. "i was actually going to bring it up with you to see if maybe you wanted to try something like that.." you look down at your hands, twirling your fingers together.
"you promise? if there’s something wrong, i can’t fix it unless you tell me about it." he says, holding you by the shoulders.
"i promise."
he’s smiling down at you now. "well then i guess let’s see what you’ve been reading. i saw you rubbing your thighs together, it must have been good to get you all hot and bothered like that." he starts reading the screen again. his smile grew the more he read. "so.. the part that you like.. is it the face fucking? or the daddy/princess dynamics?" he asks, seriously. but you feel it straight in your core. your panties sticking to your skin.
"i kinda like all of it.." you say quietly.
he sets the phone back down on the counter and brings his hand up to stroke your cheek. you noticed he was still a little sweaty from practice, and that only made you wetter. he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your mouth, his lips so plump and soft. he pulls away only an inch or so and then says against your lips, "well then get on your knees, princess."
⋆。‧˚jisung‧。⋆
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"hey sungie, could you grab my phone?" you ask, just getting out of the shower, wrapping the towel around your torso and reaching for your comb.
"sure." he pauses whatever game he was playing and gets up to retrieve your phone from the bed for you. when he grabs it, he looks at the text filled screen. it only takes a moment for him to read the words.
‘that’s it baby, you like it when i ride your cock like this?’ ‘yes mommy.’
he felt his cock twitch in his pants, and his ears flame with heat at the same time. he drops the phone back on the bed and turns around and leaves the room immediately without saying anything to you.
"sungie?" you look after him, worriedly. you drop your comb and follow him into the living room. he’s pacing back and forth in front of the couch, biting on his thumb nail. "what’s wrong?" you ask. he doesn’t answer you. he just keeps pacing back and forth. you wonder what the heck has gotten into him. you return to your bedroom and grab your phone from where it was laying on the cover. you look at the screen. that fan fiction you had been reading was still open. oh no. was he freaked out that you were reading this? you’d never told him about it because you thought it might freak him out, and maybe you were right. you returned to the living room. han was sitting on the edge of the couch now, a blank stare on his face, his mind a million miles away.
"did you read what was on my phone?" you ask him.
he looks up at you, startled. "uh yeah, i did. i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to read it, it was just open and a couple words jumped out at me and i couldn’t help but read them but i promise i wasn’t trying to spy on you or anything it was an accident, i-" he was rambling.
"sungie, it’s okay." you cut him off. i don’t mind that you looked at it. i have nothing to hide. especially from you." you smile at him.
he looks back down at his hands, silent yet again.
"did you want to talk about it?" you asked. "do you have any questions?" you walked over and sat next to him on the couch. he leaned back, throwing his head over the back of the couch dramatically, his eyes shut. you noticed his hands were covering the tent in his pants. so he must have liked what he read you thought.
"it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it right now. i can go back to the bathroom and we can talk about it after you’ve had time to think." you move to stand from the couch but han grabs your wrist. you look at him, his eyes wide.
"you were reading fan fiction about me?" he asked quietly. you nodded at him. "and you like to read that stuff?"
"i do." you answer him. "is that okay with you?"
he nods slowly, still thinking pretty hard about something.
"what do you like about them?" he asks.
"i just like to imagine different scenarios about you. especially when you’re gone on tour and i miss you. but i must admit, i’m pretty partial to subby jisung." you tell him, smirking. you loved to tease him. his face flushed a bright pink at your words.
"what’s subby jisung like?"
"well," you start, placing your hand on his thigh. "subby jisung is very needy, and whiny. he just can’t help it, he wants the reader so bad."
he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to adjust his pants discreetly, but he fails.
"do you like the thought of that?" you tease. "did you like what you saw? the reader in that story was riding subby jisung as he begged. is that what’s got you hard?"
he shook his head no.
"then what was it?" you ask. he removes his hands from his front, fully exposing his erection to you, only hidden by his sweatpants. he makes grabby hands at you, and you smile. you stand up from the couch and drop your towel to the floor, fully naked in front of him. "what do you want, sungie? what did you read that you liked so much?"
"mommy.." he said quietly.
"what was that?" you say, teasing him some more. you loved it when he got like this. all soft and shy. you leaned down and grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, clinging tightly to his small waist. you tugged them down and off him completely, his cock standing at attention.
"mommy.." he said a little louder. "please.."
"please what?"
"ride me, mommy. please." he begged. and how could you say no to that?
⋆。‧˚felix‧。⋆
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you were both on the couch, facing each other, your legs tangled together. felix was playing a game on his switch and you were scrolling tumblr. it didn’t take long after you found the fic for you to start rubbing your thighs together. you “accidentally” brushed your foot against felix’s pants.
“hey angel, be careful where you’re kicking.” he giggles, never taking his eyes off the screen.
“sorry lixie.” you say softly, trying to hide the neediness in your voice. apparently you failed, because felix put his game down and looked up at you.
“what’s the matter, flower?”
you just shake your head no, still staring down at your phone.
“did you watch that maniac fan cam of me again? baby i know you like the ending fairy but im literally sitting right here. i couldn’t even perform because i was injured.”
that makes you smile a little. you do really love that performance. it’s his smile at the end. but no, you were wet from something else this time. “no, that’s not it.” you tell him.
“then what?”
you just shyly hold out your phone to him. he gently takes it from you and skims the words on the screen quickly. “oh. fan fiction? i’ve read this one actually. it’s pretty good but i wouldn’t say it’s my favorite one.”
you look at him, shocked. “you’ve read that one?”
“yeah i think changbin and i read this one together actually.” he laughs. “i try to stay away from the smut, because it’s a little weird to read that about yourself you know? but occasionally one will pop up and i’ll look it over.” he hands the phone back to you.
“pop up? pop up where?” you’re still shocked, mouth hanging open.
“on my tumblr.” he says matter of factly. “my favorite ones are the fake text ones. the unhinged ones where im sending funny memes.” he’s laughing again and you’re just looking at him. his beautiful face and you’re just in awe of him. of course this man would read his own fan fiction. he’s chronically online. “so.. are you going to tell me what you read that got you all bothered?”
“uh.. i just thought it was hot.. you know?” you say quietly, unable to meet his gaze.
“you like the thought of sucking me off while im playing games online? isn’t that what that one is about?”
you nod slowly.
“you just like the idea of sucking me off? or is it the thought of han or jeongin hearing you on the other side?”
you groan, grinding your hips into nothing. “lixie..” you whine.
“what, angel? i’m just trying to understand you.” he teases. he moves to climb on top of you, your back against the couch cushions, him hovering above you, caging your head with his arms. “do you want to talk about it some more?” he leans in closer. “or do you want to maybe act out your favorite fan fiction with me?” he places a gentle kiss on your lips and you’re lost. nothing exists but him.
⋆。‧˚seungmin˚‧。⋆
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what choices had you made in life to bring you to this point? alone, in bed, one hand in your pants and the other hand gripping your phone, tumblr open. your favorite seungmin fic filling the screen. you had started reading fan fiction about him, and you weren’t proud of it. you just wanted him so badly. and if you were going to fantasize about him, might as well have some help from the internet, right? maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better. you had known seungmin for a little while now. you have had a crush on him for just as long. it might even be more than a crush if you’re being honest with yourself. ever since you moved into the dorms, you’ve had some huge heart eyes for the guy. but he’s so intimidating. you were scared to ever talk to him. so here you were, hand down your pants, alone at the dorms, moaning his name.
“fuck. seungmin. yes.” you moan to yourself. maybe you were being a little too loud. but you didn’t care. no one was home, and it felt too good. your fingers making sloppy wet sounds as you pumped them in and out. the mental image of him above you had you right on the edge of release. when suddenly.. there’s a knock on the door.
shit.
what the fuck do you do in this situation? you yanked your hand out of your pants so fast, and pulled the blanket up over your head like there was someone actually in the room with you to hide from. you held your breath. trying to be as quiet as possible. after a minute or two, there it was again, the knocking.
“i know you’re in there.” he said. seungmin. you would know his voice anywhere. you’ve been obsessed with it for months now. “are you decent? i’m coming in.” he warns. and before you have time to panic about that, the door cracks open and seungmin sticks his beautiful head inside. he looks around and sees that your hiding under the covers. he walks in and sits on the edge of the bed.
“so.” he starts. “i think we should probably talk about that.” he pokes at what he thinks is your leg, but he can’t be sure. you’re just a pile of blankets. you pull the blanket down to reveal your face, bright red cheeks and watery eyes.
you look at him, but he’s not looking at you. he’s staring at your phone, which is laying on top of the covers, still on and open to tumblr.
“is that my name on the screen?” he asks, emotionless. you couldn’t tell if he was mad or disgusted or intrigued. he pointed at your phone with his index finger.
“i can explain.” you say.
“no need.” he looks into your eyes now. “you’re obviously reading fan fiction about me while you touch yourself. what else is there to explain?”
you seriously wanted to crawl into a hole and die. you prayed for the earth to swallow you up in that moment. where was the alien invasion when you needed it? “i— i guess you’re right..” you mumble. “there nothing else to explain.” you look up at the ceiling, tears pricking your eyes. “i’m sorry.” you tell him.
“don’t be sorry. i quite enjoyed hearing your moans from outside the door. what a thing to come home to.” he smiles his teasing smile at you and in that moment you’re glad that you’re in bed and not standing, because your legs turned to jello.
“i didn’t know my roomie was such a slut for me.” he says, reaching for the blanket. “my little slut.”
⋆。‧˚jeongin˚‧。⋆
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god, your boyfriend had beautiful hands. you had this thought every day, multiple times a day. but you could never say anything to him. you were way too shy for that. and wouldn’t that be weird? ‘hey, innie i think you’re hands are really sexy.’? you were embarrassed just thinking about it. so you kept it to yourself. suffered in silence, drooling over his hands. you had recently turned to tumblr to fulfill your jeongin hand needs. and that was working out fine for a little while. but now, sat on the couch next to him, it’s like his hands are sending out a signal. a loud blaring siren that says hey! here we are! look at us!
the way he’s holding his phone, the muscles flexing as he uses his thumb to scroll instagram. your mind was immediately filled with dirty thoughts. so against your better judgement, you opened tumblr and continued reading. was it dangerous to read this while sitting so close to him? sure. but you couldn’t just excuse yourself to the other room without him having questions. so it’s either this, or just openly stare at his hands until he notices. what you didn’t anticipate however, was him putting his hand on your bare thigh, slowly rubbing your leg up and down, lovingly. he was doing it absentmindedly, ghosting his fingertips across your skin as he scrolled. you were sure your panties and your pajama shorts were probably soaked through at this point.
you forced your eyes back to the screen, but it only made things worse. in the real world, he’s gently rubbing your leg. in tumblr world, he’s wrapping his hand around your throat and squeezing. you accidentally let out a whimper, squirming in your seat. his hand stilled on your leg as he looked up at you. you dropped your phone onto your lap, and covered your face, mortified.
he laughs at you. “you’re adorable. why’re you hiding?” he reaches to try to pry your hands from your face. his fingers wrapping around your wrist send a shiver through your body, straight to your core.
“are those my hands?” he asks, chuckling nervously. you peek in between your fingers and see that your phone was displaying a rather large close up of his hands. somehow, the story you were reading had scrolled all the way back up to the top. there was the title of the story, and a picture of his hands. well fuck.
“i— uh-.” you stammer.
he holds his hands out in front of his face, turning them over and examining them. “what’s so special about them?” he asks, not really expecting an answer. “you must really like them if you’re reading fan fiction about them.” he laughs. “but i’m right here. you have the real thing on the same couch as you. why read about it?” he asks.
your face is bright pink. “i was embarrassed..” you admit softly.
“embarrassed? how long have you been thinking about this?”
you kind of shrug as an answer, meaning it’s been a while. he reaches for your phone, and before you can stop him, he’s scrolling. “choking?” he looks up at you. “is that what you want, baby? for me to wrap my hands around your pretty little throat?” your eyes went wide and you swallowed hard. “aren’t you going to answer me?” he teases. “i bet my big hand would fit almost all the way around..” in one swift motion, he wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, forcing you onto your back, him kneeling in between your legs. he leans over you, his breath against your cheek, his hand slowly sliding up your chest, his index finger playing with the little dip at the base of your throat.
“i’ll put this hand here..” he says, wrapping it around your throat but applying no pressure. “and i’ll put this one here.” his other hand finds your soaked pajama shorts. “already prepped, baby.” he places a soft kiss against your lips before sliding his hand into your panties, his middle finger finding your hole. “let’s see how long you can last.”
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fiapartridge · 2 days
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he's a stranger! | mack + grace 🌷💌⭐️
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macklin x hughes!sister
summary: grace wants to bring macklin to the sacred lake house and her brother, jack is not having it.
fia's notes 💌: soooo much dialogue, like no mack in here SORRY this is like a siblings + trevor and cole imagine lol <3 enjoy!
not proofread
In the heart of Michigan’s summer magic, nestled among towering pines and tranquil waters of Lake Michigan, stood the sacred Hughes family lake house. Throughout the year, the Hughes siblings would be spread far apart in different stretches of the country, one of them not even residing in the country, but at this lake house and on this plot of land, none of that mattered. Because for two full months, the four of them were there together, and it was always better than the last.
“What do you mean you’re inviting him here?” Jack yelled from the living room as Grace rolled her eyes, stirring a pitcher of ice cold lemonade from the kitchen. She stood in a forest green triangle bikini top and jean shorts, fanning herself from the scorching hot summer heat that was seeping into the house.
“It means exactly that, Jack,” she shrugged, throwing the lemonade into the fridge and fetching a container of strawberries in return. “And you better not be mean to him!”
Jack scoffed, peeling himself off the couch, his bare chest exposed as he stumbled into the kitchen. “You haven’t even met the kid yet! What if he’s crazy? You’re just gonna invite some stranger into the house like it’s nothing?”
“He’s not a stranger, Jack. You’re being dramatic.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re being under-dramatic!”
Grace laughed, shaking her head as she cut the strawberries into halves. “Oh, wise words, Mr. Harvard.”
“Very funny. You know, these college dropout jokes are getting real old.”
“Can’t be a college dropout if you never went to college, Jack,” Luke butted in, stomping down the stairs as he opened the fridge and immediately grabbed the lemonade Grace had just made.
“Hey! I just made that!” Grace shouted, her small knife pointing in Luke’s direction.
With his hands up, Luke dropped the pitcher onto the counter. “Hey, no need for weapons!”
“Can you guys shut up?” Quinn complained, Trevor in tow, as they sat on the barstools at the kitchen island. “We can hear you guys fighting from the lake.”
“Oh, did someone make lemonade?” Trevor asked, ushering the pitcher towards his direction. “Grab me a cup, Grace?”
“You’re 23, grow the fuck up and get your own cup,” Grace scolded, her hands crossed over each other as Trevor stood up, a frown etched onto his face.
“Someone’s angry,” Trevor mumbled to Luke as he stretched for a cup at the top cabinet.
At that point, everyone was angry about something. Jack didn’t want Macklin to come, Grace wanted the complete opposite, Luke was deprived of the lemonade and was now watching Trevor sip it with ease, Quinn was tired of everyone’s bullshit, and Trevor got yelled at by the youngest Hughes, but truth-be-told, he was more scared of her than anyone else in the family—other than Ellen.
“Guys!’ Jack announced from his spot by the entryway of the kitchen. “Tell me I’m not crazy—”
“You’re crazy—”
“I haven’t even said anything yet, Luke,” Jack scolded as Luke shrugged his shoulders in response, diving into something on his phone. “Okay! Gracelynn here wants to bring a complete stranger to the lakehouse. That’s stupid, right?” he asked.
“Well, haven’t you done that, too? Like all of the girls you’ve brought here,” Cole added from the backdoor, fanning his red sunburn in search of the aloe vera that Grace restocks in the fridge every summer. 
“That doesn’t count.”
Grace scoffed, her back resting on the cool counter behind her. “Why not?”
“Because—”
“Because you’re a hypocrite! Macklin’s gonna come here and you guys are going to enjoy him—or at least pretend to.”
Luke stood up, his head pointing up from his phone. “We’re talking about Mack?”
“Yes?” Jack agreed confusingly, his brows furrowing at the younger boy.
“I thought this was some random dude! I’m on G’s side.”
“Oh, come on!” Jack groaned. “He is random!”
“Don’t act like you weren’t complimenting his puck protection like two weeks ago,” Luke scoffed, stealing a sip of lemonade from Trevor’s cup.
“Hah!” Grace jumped. “You like him! Admit it!”
“I don’t like him,” Jack huffed. “But... you can bring him if you want, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Grace asked, her hand cupping her right ear. “I don’t think I caught that.”
“You can bring him,” he groaned, defeated.
Putting down her knife, Grace jumped up and down before running towards Jack and throwing her arms around the boy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Mirroring her actions, he threw his arms around Grace. “He better not be a weirdo and murder us in our sleep.”
“He won’t! Well, I don’t think he will,” she smiled. “Also, you’re really sweaty.”
“Oh well, fuck you then.”
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Me again (the one who inquired about Claudia's death in the books).  And Louis and Lestat just forgave him after that?!?!?! I get that relationships work differently in the TVC, and they will likely stick closer to the books than the movie for Claudia's death, but do you think they will make her death less graphic than the books or make Armand less at fault because they risk making Armand too unlikeable or too irredeemable to the casual viewer? I'm brought back to the podcast where Levin said that Lestat was not involved in Paul's death because then he would be irredeemable to most viewers.
I had the suspicion that the show would make Santiago look like the villain, and it would be a sort of plot twist that Armand had a hand in her death the entire time, but after watching the Jones cut, I'm unsure of what direction they will take Armand. He does appear remorseful and exceptionally doting. It'll be very interesting to see how that all plays out but that would be a satisfying twist for television. As a fan of the horror genre, I kind of hope the show remains true to text, but then again, I worry the majority of people outside of fandom and book readers who don't know this is coming are going to be shocked.
I don’t think they are going to soften anything or make anything less graphic or lessen Armand’s role in anything. I also don’t think they give a shit about fan reactions. There will be shock. There will be outrage. It’ll make Rolin giddy with glee. It is what it is.
But to your point about Lestat killing Paul? Lestat didn’t kill Paul, so why would they even consider adding that? He wasn’t involved in Paul’s death in the show, because he didn’t kill Paul in the book. He also never beat the shit out of Louis or choked Claudia in the book, which is interestingly one of the events confirmed to be revisited in the show (an element I’ve vehemently disagreed with entirely).
As far as Armand goes, unlike Lestat, they are not making him do anything that he doesn’t canonically do, and I think the Devil’s Minion arc will serve as Armand’s redemption like what it did for book readers.
The thing is, we don’t actually know if Louis ever forgives him for Claudia. It’s never outright addressed in any of the books. It’s only ever said that Louis knew all along Armand was the one who killed her, yet he still stayed with Armand (granted to self-punish), but I think that’s gonna be another thing audiences find hard to swallow. Of course, Louis doesn’t know the true scope of her death (i.e. the horrific surgery) until Armand divulges it to David in The Vampire Armand, but I digress. He knew Armand was the mastermind behind the trial and that he could have prevented her death. You know how one of the S2 episode titles is the “I could not prevent it” quote from Armand? Yeah.
Lestat forgives Armand (for more than just Claudia), because that’s Lestat. He forgives a lot more than he should just like with Magnus or Amel or Rhoshamandes or even with the way he continued to care for and provide for his abusive father and brothers. Lestat has a very complex “who am I to judge?” headspace wrt people doing him wrong.
Anyways, you’re actually inadvertently touching on an incredibly hot topic of discourse that’s been happening for the last year, and it has left the fandom divided. Certain ones feel certain book canon things won’t happen due to certain show-only factors, and it’s just becoming more and more blatant that couldn’t be further from the truth. Now whether people agree with this concept or not is another can of worms entirely, but there it is. They are doing the books “pretty religiously” according to Mark Johnson at TCA.
So no. I don’t foresee anything being toned down or softened and like I said, that within itself will cause a nuclear bomb explosion amongst the fandom. I’ve said it before, but this material is not for everyone. The books are full of some of the most horrific, graphic, uncomfortable, icky, blasphemous, grotesque pieces of writing. It’s not up to the show to hold the audience’s hand, and that applies to all of us whether we love every single thing about the show or hate the show or are lukewarm about the show. I mean, S1 should prove they don’t have any qualms about serving up the vicious.
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penaltyykill · 1 day
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what if i never scratched another itch for the rest of my life? (part six) | john marino
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🔗 read all parts here
🎧 fic playlist
📓 3.2k words
📝 authors note: this was a wild one :) i love this story sm, writing it is so therapeutic for me after a long day, and everyone’s kind feedback has been so rewarding 🫶 also sry to my man holtzy getting caught in the crossfire on this one 🤭
⚠️ warnings: MDNI. 18+. smut, duh.
you waited a few minutes after john left your apartment to finally leave for work. you drove in silence to your office, so conveniently located above the devils practice rink. you sat at your desk and quietly answered a few emails there, before grabbing your laptop and heading downstairs.
you often sat in the cold metal stands of the practice rink with your computer or note pad, whether the boys were there or not. you liked the atmosphere and the creative inspiration it brought, the cold chill of the ice and the unmistakable smell that only ice rinks had.
but today, the team was indeed practicing, and by the time you walked in the majority of the athletes were already on the ice, running drills.
you spotted john out there, listening intently to his coach, looking stoic as he leaned on his stick against the boards. he looked so lost in thought, you wondered what he was thinking about, if he was even listening. he must have felt your stare because he turned his head and saw you, and smiled. you nodded back at him, your own little secret communication.
you felt a pang of hunger hit your stomach, all that coffee and no food was having an effect, and decided to go upstairs and grab some cereal from the communal office kitchen. as you lazily stepped off of the metal bleacher, the low heel of your boot got stuck between the two metal slats that made up the row of seats below you. you saw the floor coming at you quickly before the glimmer of a red jersey engulfed your entire vision. you grabbed onto someone’s arms to balance yourself and stop from falling.
you looked up at the taller figure, his light brown wavy hair more than peeking out of the sides of his white helmet.
“i got you,” alex holtz said grinning down at you.
he was still holding on to your arms firmly as you quickly dropped your own grasp on his own. his touch lingered a moment longer than necessary.
“thank you, but you can let go of me now, holtzy,” you said through a forced smile, embarrassed that he had caught you, and everyone on the ice seemed to have noticed.
he freed you from his hold and you immediately looked up to find john’s eyes on the rink. you saw him shooting daggers at alex, his gaze unbreaking from him as the younger man skated onto the ice. nate tapped john on his backside with his stick and laughed. you swear you saw john mouth, “shut up nate,” maybe with more expletives.
you walked out of the practice facility and up the stairs to your office, a mix of embarrassment, and something else stewing inside you. did nate know? does john talk about you? was it all so obvious?
***
come downstairs please
the text message from john read, a little after practice had ended.
i’m working, j
you sent back, and it was the truth. you had things to do to, social posts that needed to go up before that night’s game.
say you’re going on your lunch break
you looked at the clock, it was almost 12, so it was plausible. you were frustrated, more so with yourself, for being so under his spell, just when you thought you were finally taking some control.
coming.
you wrote back, throwing on your leather jacket and grabbing your laptop just in case you were gone longer than expected.
you saw him standing in the lobby of the practice rink as you came down the stairs. freshly showered, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie with his number on it, similar to the one you hadn’t returned to him just yet.
he looked around to make sure no one noticed the two of you, and said, “let’s go.”
he grabbed your forearm gently and led you out the doors, before you could protest. you followed him, of course you did, with no questions asked.
when you were finally in the parking lot, you asked him what was going on.
“bringing you home for a little bit,” he said nonchalantly to you.
“back to my apartment? why?” you asked him, confused.
“no, pretty girl, to mine,” he spoke, dangerously close to your ear before walking ahead and unlocking his black bmw that you were seeing for the first time.
it wasn’t flashy, but it certainly wasn’t modest. he opened the passenger side door for you and you sat down on the cold black leather interior. it smelled like him here, the scent enveloping you your senses as you closed your eyes briefly to breathe it in.
he got in and his hands gripped the wheel as he began to back out of his parking space. you couldn’t help but stare from the corner of your eye how his fingers look curled tightly around the steering wheel, how his sleeve was ever so slightly pushed up, and you could see a long vein trail out from it onto his wrist.
he didn’t notice, his eyes were on the road, but once he hit the familiar long stretch of highway, he reached his hand over and placed it gingerly on your thigh, lightly squeezing.
“everything okay?” you asked him. you genuinely weren’t sure where this afternoon was heading. his hand traveled up and down your thigh, tracing patterns on your tight black jeans, leaving you not being able to think about anything at all.
“more than okay,” he said, eyes still on the road.
he pulled into his upscale apartment’s garage, which was not too incredibly far from your own, you thought. you had probably driven past it dozens of times, not giving it a second thought.
you exited the car first and followed him into the marble coated lobby, where there was a doorman who greeted him with a smile and head nod. you suddenly felt a surge of insecurity. how many other girls had he led back to his place, how many had his doorman seen with him? did he think you were just another? you had no idea where these feelings were coming from, all of a sudden, you just wanted to be his, and his only.
maybe he sensed your tentative energy, because he pulled you close to him in the empty elevator up to his apartment, which was surely on one of the highest floors of this building.
he held you tightly from behind as he pressed kisses down your neck. you squirmed with pleasure under his touch, begging for the already fast elevator to move a little faster…
john led you across the doorstep of his apartment, you barely had a second to admire the lush surroundings before you were pinned against his entryway wall. john’s hands were firmly placed on both your forearms as he positioned your body between both of his legs and pushed you as close to the wall as you could go.
“baby,” he softly spoke in your ear, “what were you talking to holtz about before?”
you almost had whiplash from how you were taken aback not once but twice within the span of five seconds. the first being when he addressed you again as baby, it sent a surge of heat down your body as you wiggled beneath his grasp. the second, being confusion, why were we talking about his teammate right now. you noticed the familiar way john held your forearms was the same as how alex had caught you when you fell. you figured out his sick little game quite quickly after that realization.
“are you jealous, john marino?” you said back at him confidently.
he tightened his grip on your forearm, if it was just a tiny bit harder it would have hurt you.
“pretty baby, don’t be a brat, please tell me what you said to him.”
he had a knack for toeing the line between degradation and sweetness. the tension now between the two of you was something stronger than electricity. you chose your words carefully before speaking them.
“i was telling him to get his hands off of me,” you said through your long eyelashes up at him. he loosened his grip, only just.
“only i can touch you like this,” his voice was dark, raspy, almost a whisper, “okay?”
“is that right?” you quipped back, secretly relishing at the way he reacted when you said the opposite of what he wanted to hear.
your plan worked in your favor as he attached his mouth to your neck and sucked harshly, bruising your soft skin, leaving it purple when his lips left it.
you moaned directly in his ear and felt the bulge in his sweatpants straining against the cotton fabric. he briefly removed his hands from you as he slid off your jacket and dropped it to the floor unceremoniously.
“i need you to tell me something,” john said as he pulled your shirt up over your head and began harshly marking spots on your chest only he would be able to see, “why am i the only one who can touch you like this?”
the overstimulation you were feeling now was making your brain go fuzzy, you could hardly stand on your own. you calculated answers over and over in your head but it was all too much, the pressure of saying the right words left you speechless.
“mmm, johnny, tell me,” you pleaded, “tell me why, please.”
“because, baby,” and now he moved his mouth so it was just inches from your own, your gaze level with his as he angled his head down to meet your eyes, “you’re my girl.”
you swore your heart stopped beating as his mouth met yours and he ran his tongue along your bottom lip. you allowed it inside and you explored his now familiar lips, the delicious taste of him on your tongue.
he placed his hands behind your thighs and lifted you up. you wrapped your legs around his center as he carried you deeper into his large apartment. the floor to ceiling windows flooded the open space with afternoon sun as he placed you down atop his white marble kitchen countertop. you tugged on his curls as he continued to smash his lips into your own, his hands roaming all over your body, as if it was the last time he would ever touch you. you grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and pulled it over his head along with the t shirt he wore underneath, needing him closer, longing to feel his hot skin on your own.
his fingers toyed with your pants button as he picked you up by the waist and stood you back onto the floor, against the counter top in front of him.
he unzipped your pants and pushed them down your legs, and you stepped out of them.
“turn around,” he commanded, and this time you were oh so eager to hang on his every word, you didn’t disobey him.
he ran his long, thick fingers between your legs and felt your still clothed core dripping with want for him.
“my girl is so soaked for me, aren’t i so lucky?” he cooed into your hair.
your now marked up chest was covered only by your black bra, so out of place now that your tits were barely contained in it, spilling out of the lace almost completely. you were pressed against the cold countertop as you felt his hand move your panties to the side to dip into your soaking folds. you couldn’t help but let out soft noises as he made his way to your aching clit, thumbing the bud until you bucked your hips hard back into his groin.
john’s touch briefly left you as he slid his own pants and tight boxers down his legs. his hands returned to sit on your hips as you felt his hard length pushed up against your ass. it had been too long since you’d last had him inside of you, you felt your pussy contracting at the proximity of his cock, so close to filling your hole so deeply.
he let out a deep breath and slid into you harshly with no warning, eliciting a loud moan from you. he quickly picked up speed as he held your hips in what felt like a vice grip, while he thrusted so hard in and out of your pussy.
“feel so— fuck, so fucking tight,” john was breathless as he drilled your needy hole so hard with his cock, “all for me.”
“i need it harder, baby,” you begged him and he pushed into you now with such force you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, from the pure painful pleasure his cock was bringing you.
you practically screamed his name, followed by more loud pretty sounds that escaped your lips.
“good girl,” he praised you, “let my neighbors know how good i’m fucking you.”
john continued at an alarmingly fast pace, you weren’t sure how much longer your legs could stand, they had begun to shake as you felt yourself begin to come undone in his grasp.
he started to kiss down your neck, his wet mouth now so, so, sloppy as he continued to rail into you. he hovered over your ear and brushed your hair behind it.
“who’s the only one who can fuck you like this?” he growled into your ear.
“you, johnny,” you said between the deafening sounds of the skin to skin contact, “only you.”
“that’s my girl,” he whispered as he picked up his pace one final time, his hands now firmly on your hips as he fucked into you hard. the physical sensation mixed with the emotional weight of his words was too much all at once, your legs felt like they were collapsing under you as you came hard on his cock, coating it in your glistening juices.
john made devastatingly beautiful sounds as he watched his cock slide in and out of you, now so coated with your slick desire.
“fuck, baby, i’m gonna cum for you,” john could hardly get the final words out before you felt his hot sticky release fill up your insides as he pumped one final time in and out of you.
you both stayed there for a moment, him still inside of you, cock throbbing with the euphoric release of his orgasm. he pulled out of you slowly and grabbed a towel out of a nearby kitchen drawer and cleaned you up, then himself before putting back on his underwear.
he spun you around to face him and placed a tender kiss to your lips.
“i meant what i said before,” he spoke so softly, now placing his arms around your waist and pulling you closer.
you studied the way his forehead gently creased when he looked down at your smaller frame. he was so handsome now, not only in his physicality, but with the gentle way he held you, how he made you feel. so safe, so wanted.
“i know you did, johnny, i know,” you told him as he ran his hands through your now tangled hair.
“my pretty girl, so perfect for me,” he didn’t break eye contact with you as he spoke, and you felt yourself melt into him further, like an ice cream cone left outside on a hot august afternoon.
he held you like that for a number of minutes you didn’t dare count, so soft and warm in his arms you didn’t want him to ever let go, before he finally broke the peaceful silence between the two of you.
“lay down with me before the game?” he asked you, his eyes so big now, not so subtly begging you not to leave him.
“i have work to do, john,” you softly answered before offering a solution, “but, i left my laptop in your car, if you go grab it for me i can stay and work here while you rest.”
john took you up on it, quickly throwing his pants and sweatshirt on over his bare chest as he grabbed his car keys and told you he’d be right back.
you grabbed john’s abandoned shirt and threw it on. you heard his heavy apartment door close. you finally had a moment to take in his space, as you walked his living room clad in just your panties and his t shirt. it was quite obvious a man lived here alone, it wasn’t messy, just a bit incoherent. you couldn’t blame john, you were sure he didn’t have time to play interior designer when he was on the road for half of the year.
you walked the dark hardwood floors to his bookshelf, filled with books of all types, you were impressed. next to the rows of novels and non-fictions were a few framed photos. him smiling with his family, some childhood photos of him and his brother, his harvard accolades.
you felt a little closer to him then, standing in his vast living room among his things, taking it all in, when suddenly john reappeared in his own doorway, your laptop in hand.
“got it,” he held it in the air with one hand, and passed you to travel down another long hallway. you followed him into his dark bedroom.
the blackout shades were drawn closed, and his unmade bed sat in the middle of the room atop a dark colored rug. there were a few articles of clothing strewn across the floor, but other than that it felt homey, lived in, it felt like john.
he removed his sweatshirt and crawled into his bed under the covers, placing your laptop next to him and motioning to you to join him.
you settled in next to him, and got under his blanket, immediately feeling the heat of his body next to yours and feeling so warm and cozy next to him. it would take everything in you not to fall asleep like this.
you sadly opened your laptop and placed it on your lap, as john placed his head on your shoulder to watch what you were doing. it was nothing that exciting.
“you’re so talented,” he said sleepily.
“oh, shut up,” you playfully nudged him with your leg under the blanket.
he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and you felt his breathing get considerably slower and his heartbeat settle at a relaxed pace, as he drifted into his nap.
you got your work done quickly, wanting to savor the moment the two of you were sharing.
you closed your laptop and placed it as far away you could from yourself on john’s giant king size bed.
he lay still nestled up close to you, his bare chest now freckled with a few drops of sweat. you traced down his neck, his collarbone, his tattooed ribs. that had to have been painful, you thought you’d ask him about it when he woke up.
there were a lot of things you wanted to ask him, things you wanted to know more about him, but you remembered there was more than enough time for that later.
he groaned in his sleep and shifted in bed, moving his body to cradle yours now, and you turned away from him and tucked your body into his.
you thought he was sleeping, his rough voice startling you when he spoke, “my pretty girl.”
and maybe, you thought as you fully came to the realization that you were his and his alone, this is was heaven felt like.
🕊️
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