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okiedokrie · 1 month

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High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Hephestus, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

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superblysubpar · 2 months

Text

Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again.

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good.

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation.

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you.

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks.

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower.

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake.

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love.

But this one, this one takes the cake every time.

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay.

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down.

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you.

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat.

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does.

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road.

He’s always amazed when you do that.

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately.

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you.

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you.

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it.

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos.

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently.

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep.

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow.

The next day though, something inside of you snapped.

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway.

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right.

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!”

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention.

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer.

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass.

He didn’t.

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple.

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table.

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers.

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.”

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop.

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other.

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door.

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick.

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again.

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.”

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep.

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed.

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck.

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited.

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep.

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate.

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious.

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now.

All week? Why hadn’t you told him?

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer.

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink.

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour.

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house.

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar.

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything?

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up.

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you.

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled.

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened?

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months.

Maybe it had been.

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours.

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t.

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently.

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose.

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that.

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined.

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same.

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it.

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day.

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do.

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit.

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her.

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you.

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later.

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him.

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway.

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could.

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler.

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school.

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised.

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you.

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler.

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities.

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned.

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation.

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed.

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word.

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?”

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human.

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next.

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle.

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door.

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face.

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you.

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting.

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word.

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old.

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards.

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently.

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you.

“You don’t, huh?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks.

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at.

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again.

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right.

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all.

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer.

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed.

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you.

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise.

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged.

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did.

“Oh my god!”

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling.

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards.

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it.

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke.

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly.

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her.

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie.

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets.

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned.

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt.

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console.

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you.

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders.

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”.

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time.

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed.

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced.

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again.

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level.

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face.

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed.

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again.

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

#eddie munson #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #superbly subpars writing #cw alcohol #cw injury #cw blood #easy like sunday morning universe #easy like sunday morning AU

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pyeonghongrie · 9 months

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High Infidelity

Summary: The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Artist!Aged-Up!Hongjoong x Writer!Aged-Up!Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-Idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person Too Late

Word Count: 3247

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, afab!reader

Rating: 18+

A/N: I'll be using the name "Haru" for Y/N's Husband because my friends don't want me to write a different ATEEZ member getting cheated on, so my friend @/stardragongalaxy volunteered as tribute 😂

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each individual pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your Husband returned to working as if he didn't just cause you a grave inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides towards your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes were left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? he has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making yourself more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to at least calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following, he's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you but bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was definitely the correct move.

Kim Hongjoong is a passionate man, you can see the dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others are sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, others are more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Hongjoong's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece,

Simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throws of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you needed.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'9", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has peculiar split-dyed hair, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I'm Hongjoong, by the way, Kim Hongjoong. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Hongjoong. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, " Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your own work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you never looked at a man like this in your life, you were absolutely down bad for his teeth.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "although, I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit, going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands was warming your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you, he talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in it’s purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic, then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely in romantics, I assume.” He said calmly, a small giggle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea, your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely�� my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this, Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Hongjoong, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of him that you noticed fairly early on, you can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes, he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks later in the day.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

Hongjoong giggles at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a dick! Your work is amazing, If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, give you inspiration.” tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu Joongie bug~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side, you’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Joongie bug? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work, we can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Hongjoong’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment, everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues made the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Joongie, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He gleefully talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say, you have a feeling that you needed to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table, It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Hongjoong Interrupts you,

Hongjoong interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Hongjoong looks at you, It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wants you, but he never acts in any way that is appropriate, he never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception, the swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

This, being half-naked on Hongjoong’s bed, who, need I remind you, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck, You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off of the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Hongjoong gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before, it fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Hongjoong.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close, You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Hongjoong’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Hongjoong pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke, at that moment, Hongjoong was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over, like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried.

Out of breath, he grabs a hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him, he reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it, he cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of our hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze, Hongjoong notices this and giggles, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp left you as you started to grind harder against Hongjoong.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his hip desperately grinding up against you for more friction, soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this,

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever, taking one of your hands and placing a kiss to your palm.

He lifts his hips up only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying it off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you leaned down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two, you took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Hongjoong hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Hongjoong, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips p to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking down on the thick girth, you throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans out, he’s definitely not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go, I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately, you’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Hongjoong abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin, You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin, your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Hongjoong isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too, he’s too close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Hongjoong I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time, you swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you really mean that?�� You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word, Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger his his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Hongjoong.

In the end, he didn't have to know about your High Infidelity.

Tags: @kwanisms, @yoonguurt, @lemonhongjoong, @shinestarhwaa, @stardragongalaxy, @wooyoungmybelovedhusband, @anyamaris, @dimpledsatan, @haosweater, @starlitmark, @seongwin, @midnxght-sky, @nebulousbookshelf, @piratequeen-queenofgames, @northerngalxy, @yourfatherlucifer, @twisted-tales-of-all, @seumiley, @hwasangelbaby

Network Tags: @cultofdionysusnet, @kflixnet

Strikethrough: Couldn't tag

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mspandorasart · 5 months

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Thoughts about Undertale Yellow

Greetings, I just returned from binging through Undertale Yellow, True Pacifist Route specifically, and am seeking a place to let out some thoughts (and steam). It's the first time I'm doing this type of "review" on my blog, but since my thoughts on it are quite strong, I thought, "hey, why the heck not"? Spoilers for the game and its ending ahead, fellas. Buckle up.

First off, let me begin by stating that, for the most part, I had a blast playing through it. The music is amazing, the boss themes real bangers, the environmental ones great as well. My favorite track was the OST that played in the Dunes: a really catchy western vibe with Flowey's theme in it as well, an earworm that filled me with Determination while running through the sandy fields. Then we have a beautiful pixel art style, gorgeous sceneries, great gameplay with challenging and fun boss fights (side note: although I couldn't fully appreciate Ceroba's fight since it had a couple pretty much unavoidable attacks. Or is it just skill issue on my part? Anyway, that part annoyed me more than it should have. Moving on, lmao.)

Furthermore, the game also has charming characters! They are the ones that kept me going and really ignited my interest. Not gonna lie, it took me until the town in the Dunes to become really invested in the game. Martlet is charming and cute, sure, but North Star and his gang, no, that guy specifically sold it for me. Charismatic, funny, very expressive sprites (well, all facial sprites are quite colorful, but it took me until North Star to appreciate/notice just how many there are for each character) and an interesting internal conflict with wanting to entertain others so they forget about the pain of being stuck underground, but at the same time being so absorbed in his persona that he temporarily acts like a douche towards his pals and forgets who he truly is. He also features my favorite joke in the game when he proudly proposes to the salesman that "he wants to buy a gun for the child". Freaking hilarious, love him, huehehue.

Story-wise, I was pleasantly surprised and taken aback by the dark twists of Ceroba and her husband Chujin. And I appreciated how the flashbacks got intigrated within her final boss fight. I don't know about you, but my biggest motivation to play RPGs are not just the gameplay, it's mainly the characters and the story. If the gameplay is amazing but the characters/plot boring, then I lose interest quickly. To me, the real rewards of a tough battle are story progression and seeing just what the characters will do next. Therefore, I greatly enjoyed the breaks between Ceroba's phases in which we saw parts of her backstory. They even made me cry!

...Although, to be honest, I don't exactly understand why we had that insight into her mind in the first place. Why did we survive so many hits to the point of 0.00001 HP? Where's that coming from all of a sudden? Why did time stop at some point like Za Warudo? Maybe that random plot armor (that happened the first time and never again) is explained in another route, but anyway, moving on-

This review-style blog entry only exists because of the True Pacifist ending. I'll be blunt, I hate it. Why?

So it ends with Clover sacrificing their soul for the monsters so they can eventually break free. Which is fine on its own. Clover is for the most part a blank slate of a character, only driven by their desire to seek the lost humans, that's basically it. Maybe it would have made a bit more sense for Clover to see an actual physical proof of their demise before they give up on them completely, but eh. I'm also wondering whether they are really okay with potentially another, possibly innocent human falling down sometime in the future only to get killed by the monsters. But oh well.

(You know, now that I think about it, I actually am a bit salty about Clover's decision to sacrifice themselves, lmao. Would've been kinda cool if it was up to the player, have another ending split.)

Anyways, the issue I'm having is how our cast of supporting characters, Martlet, North Star aka Starlo and Ceroba react to Clover's decision. They are shocked first, but... agree surprisingly quickly?? What?? Excuse me, the entire hassle we went through to get to this point was to stop Ceroba from taking Clover's soul. Now with Clover volunteering to sacrifice themselves, the gang is cool with it??

Of course they don't agree immediately, but are easily swayed within a few arguments back and forth. Man, what friends you are, guys. The reason I'm having this pet peeve in the first place is because we as the human, who has known these guys for just a day, did a lot for them, alright? They all tried to kill us at one point, but we took the beating, the hard battles, forgave them and were there for them during their internal conflicts. We were a pretty decent friend, if I may say so.

Especially with Ceroba! We did a lot to change her mind and path of self-destruction! Yet our so-called friends don't put in the same amount of effort when it comes to convincing us otherwise- or heck, use force if you must- get Clover away from there, lmao. Wouldn't it have been an interesting act of redemption on Ceroba's part, by the way, if she tried to stop us? Being touched by our mercy and refusal to give up on her, she does the same for us?

I suppose the reason I am so baffled by all this is because of Clover being a blank slate, the player character really felt like me, like I was going through the journey and not like I was controlling another character. It felt like my decision to spare them all, to talk to them and wanting to get to know them better. So the group of characters I have really grown to like giving up on me within about a minute of back-and-forth just felt... wow. Thanks, guys.

If I compare it to Undertale's True Pacifist in which every important supporting character gathers up after the confrontation with Asgore, all agreeing with the decision of me, the player, staying in the Underground with them, then oh boy, it really stings. Just would've been a cool, wholesome sign of friendship if Martlet, Starlo and Ceroba decided that "nah, even for the surface, we won't give up on Clover". By the way, in this game, we don't even really get to see why the monsters want to return to the surface so badly. They keep saying they want to, but what are the reasons exactly? More freedom, I suppose. Yet by expanding the Underground with the Dunes, the Mines, the Factory, and some of Snowdin, the Ruins and New Home, their habitat seemed so much larger than in the OG game- What I wanna say is, their desperation should've been shown way more instead of told, so the player can understand the monsters' aspiration better.

The thing is, it's a shockingly easy issue to fix if you really want "the canon ending" with Clover ending up dead and their soul taken: have Clover still have their moment of doubt and realization, remembering what the monsters told them throughout their journey. Then they go to Asgore with their gang, hoping to convince him. It doesn't work out, so Asgore starts a fight. During the battle, Clover realizes it's useless to fight back, it's better to have their soul taken for the monsters, so they allow Asgore to kill them. Their friends are not powerful enough to stop him. There ya have it.

Siiiiigh. Is it just me, being annoyed by that ending? As a whole, the finale felt a little... rushed? Was New Home always meant to be so empty? Is it to build up atmosphere? Yet there were two silly NPCs in the first screen of New Home, making me assume that maybe, there was another plan originally? (If it has been stated in a devlog or any other comment by the creators, then I apologize, I haven't read those fully.)

Anyways, if I didn't care about the game, this rant wouldn't even exist in the first place. I was really invested in the game until the ending just left me... kinda sad, not gonna lie. It will take me a while to process it all.

If you got this far, then thanks for reading. Am I the only one feeling this miffed about the ending? I might go back and edit this post if I find out there are things to be corrected. Buuuut as of now, happy holidays!

#undertale #undertale yellow #undertale yellow spoilers #undertale fangame

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notbecauseofvictories · 7 months

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Halloween Week of Horror (Games)

It’s that most horrible time of year, and I’ve decided to explore the spooky world of text-based games. My list of games is cribbed from this post and this post.

Just a couple today, since tomorrow and Halloween I’m going to focus on some of the bigger names on my list!

GAMEIFY HORROR // DAY 1 // DAY 2 // DAY 3 // DAY 4 // DAY 5

DAY 6, mary's hare, god is in the radio, if on a winter's night four travelers

mary’s hare

Mary’s Hare is short interactive horror story about a woman and a rabbit, based on the story of Mary Toft.

I have to admit, I love the story of Mary Toft. One of history's strange parables about scientific certainty, hoaxes, people, and the human knowledge-making project. Just recently I was reading about how incredibly painful Mary Toft's deception would have been, and reevaluates whether Mary was pushed or driven by those around her.

This game, though, this took the little parable to its blood-streaked ending, much more than reality ever did. I loved the creeping sense of horror (Mary wasting away; the missing husband!) and then the visceral, haunting ending. I have to admit I like it when these horror poems are brief, stark and almost poetic—it makes me think of Emily Carroll, and terror that is also poetry.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 5/10, mostly for medical horror (pregnancy, blood, etc.)

OVERALL GRADE: A-

god is in the radio

you are death, one of 22 members of the major arcana, a cult dedicated to some far-off god. the night is halloween, and you watch in scorn as the unknowing dance among devils and dress to indulge in sin. the high priestess receives a message from the all-mighty himself: the arcana must gather in an abandoned house and find his song on an old radio receiver.

I think one of the most surprising parts of this game is that it was all written in a few hours; something so well-realized seems like it should have taken longer. Dreamlike and strange, not entirely explained, but still a neat little story—neat as in “cool,” not as in tidy. (Especially given that picking “HOPE” means you die as a bloody sacrifice in the name of your nameless god...)

Still, the storytelling is lovely, and I loved the growing awareness that you’re missing pieces of what came from before (e.g., the brief mention of your brother; the injuries that you know have an explanation but that no one recalls.) I'm still thinking about one of the endings, where you break out, run---only to realize it’s just a regular Halloween night.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 5/10 for gore, but otherwise it's just spooky

OVERALL GRADE: B-

if on a winter's night, four travelers

a narrative-driven point-and-click adventure with horror elements that explores the stories of four characters in a masked ball taking place aboard a train in the late 1920s.

Quite haunting and lovely, which is especially impressive given the limited scope of its graphics. Yet for a pixelated world, it managed to be intensely gripping---the sun-drenched hotel room, the gloomy mansion that is suddenly revived in a dream, the cramped rooms near the surgical theater, and even the shadowy train car you find yourself in. Not to mention that the images presented are shifting, flexible, from the transformation of the beautiful home (beautiful and sunny, to grey and increasingly destroyed) to the hidden underside of the world (haunted by monsters, drowned, bloody).

Special credit to the third plotline you explore---I am still dizzyingly weak for European magic, and that underside of the world is so hauntingly painted.

As a last note, I loved that it took haunted people and gave them---well, not exactly a soft place to land, but perhaps softer than they might have had otherwise. It was a gentle note to end on.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 3/10, and then mostly for death, decay, and grief; nothing jumps out at you

OVERALL GRADE: A

#gameify horror #the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind

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megs-98 · 5 months

Text

10 characters

big thanks to @justporo and @tavdraws for the tag! :)

rules: pick 10 characters from 10 fandoms and tag 10 people

not gonna lie, these descriptions will probably be pretty short but just know i love all of these characters with my whole chest

1: gonna follow the lead and put astarion first because this pixelated man as truly changed my life for the better. he got me back into gaming, back on tumblr, and introduced me to the most incredible people i've ever met

2: bob belcher- i am him, he is me, we are one. bob's burgers is my go to comfort show and i just love bob so much. he's such a loving husband, father, and friend. so unproblematic, ugh i just love him

3: trevor belmont- this man had me hooked, he's so funny, stubborn, and skilled. i don't know much about castlevania other than what i've seen in the show and i loved him the minute i saw him

4: padme amidala- i absolutely loved natalie portman's portyal of padme. the prequel series really left a mark on my childhood and i still love watching them. she's just such a badass character, her and anakin should have been at the club

5: pike trickfoot- while i love the whole vox machina crew, i have loved watching pike's journey throughout the show (i really need to watch the campaign too) but this show and character deepened my interest in dnd and is just so fun to watch

6: dean winchester- i mean, what more can i say.. this man still has a grip on me after i first saw him for the first time when i was in middle school. seeing his complexities, his love for sammie, cas, and bobby is so heartwarming. just give this man a hug please

7: billy butcher- out of all the morally grey characters i love, butcher is in the top 3 for sure. the boys is such an incredible show and i love the antihero/vigilantly take that eric kripke took and expanded on. butcher has been through so much, is still going through so much, and i just love watching as his character evolves

8: inuyasha- this is the first anime i ever watched, back when you hoped to god all the episodes with subtitles could be found on youtube or else you had to scour the internet looking for a website that would actually worked. his bond with kagome, the sassiness, just everything about him kept me watching the show

9: coraline jones- i have loved this movie from the first time i watched it, i desperately need to read the book. it's just such a fun watch and coraline is such a strong, independent girl who stands up for herself and what's right. easily one of my favorite movies

10: dennis rafkin- 13 ghosts was one of my favorite movies growing up. mans is so stressed the whole time trying to help arthur and his family get out of that damn house, i love him (really any matthew lillard character)

i'm tagging @sighmurderbot @thatfreshi @vicsplinters @rosyangel95 @starbuds-and-rosedust @kentuckynm @bloodlessbhaalbabe @smaranshakthi @novarunestone @minibabymel (apologies if you've been tagged already or have already done this :) ) no pressure to participate, only if you want too! <3

#astarion #bobs burgers #trevor belmont #padme amidala #pike trickfoot #dean winchester #billy butcher #inuyasha #coraline #dennis rafkin

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roppongi-division · 4 months

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Mireya's Thoughts on Otaku Corps

Keiko Yumi

"Ah, so this is Aika's wayward daughter that she's told me so much about. Looking at her now, I can see how she and Aika are so similar. She's literally the spitting image of her mother. ...It's for that reason that I'm so upset and disappointed in her. Aika's told me all about the problems that she and her have. And while I won't deny that Aika does share some of the blame, you're not entirely guiltless in this either, child."

"Aika has told me that she's tried to talk to you numerous times in the past, either to apologize or to make up for her shortcomings. But what do you do instead? You simply brush her off and refuse to even give her the time of day because you feel she can never be forgiven or redeemed. And to make matters worse, you even went so far as to join Chuohku, all to get away from the woman who gave birth to you."

"I understand you may feel like your mother has committed some unforgivable sin or crime. But in the big picture child, she's done nothing of the sort. Like I stated, she does share some of the blame, but so do you. I know I'm not entirely the best person to speak about relationships with mothers. After all, my relationship with my own is terrible. But the difference between mine and yours, is that at least your mother is allowing you to live out your life the way you want, and isn't forcing her beliefs or opinions on you."

"So forgive me for saying this, but you seriously need to get over being angry, because you have no reason, whatsoever, to be. Your mother did the best she could with the best resources she had available. And for you to despise her and not even try to communicate with her because of that is inexcusable. I hope and pray you realize that before it's too late."

Criss Hiromi

"Zakari's told me about this young child. Apparently, she's a... 'paranormal investigator'? I take it that means she goes diving into abandoned ruins and places searching for ghosts? He's even shown me some of her videos on YouTube. ...While I don't fault her enthusiasm or her love for exploration, I sincerely hope she's taking care of herself. Take it from me, most people don't appreciate you going into places that are 'abandoned'. Why? Because they prefer it to stay that way, less someone comes poking around."

Nikki Yoshie

"Kai and Zakari know more about this young girl than me. All I know about her is that she's apparently one of the most popular and talented video game players in the world. I sadly have no interest in them, but I know Zakari does."

Otaku Corps

"Like my husband mentioned, this is the second Akihabara team, after Pixel Syndicate. I forget which team came first, but both represent Akihabara rather well. I know that sooner or later, the two of them will have a battle to see who will be the team to represent their city. ...But as it stands right now, my vote goes to Pixel Syndicate. Nothing against these young women, but... I have a deep lack of respect for Keiko and her ways. Unless she agrees to make peace with Aika, then I want nothing to do with her and her team. I'm sorry to her teammates, but my vote goes to Pixel Syndicate."

#hypmic #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis microphone #mireya quinlan #private party #roppongi division #akihabara division #otaku corps #keiko yumi #criss hiromi #nikki yoshie

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lu-lus-duckies · 1 month

Note

As Leonid Parfenov said, “Good afternoon, dear friends." In short, good time of the day. While I was studying Mayakovsky's poems, several more questions came to my mind.

Who is your favorite poet? Author? What languages do you know? How many? Are you planning to study any others? Favorite book/movie/show? Why are you on Tumblr? What are searching for? PC or console? If console, which one? Apple or Android? If Apple, then which one, and if Android, then which one? Apples or pears? In general, fruits, vegetables or berries?

Haha, no, I am not Russian spy. Or am I???

But seriously, I just like making friends online, and I made you, a mysterious stranger, whoever is managing this blog, basically my friend, because you reply to me, I reply to you, and that's all I need

ha, nice try russian spy. I know what you are

my favorite poet is rustaveli which is a georgian poet. surprisingly I don't read much poetry. he's just got vefxistyaosani

I can speak only 2 fluently, my native language goergian and english, though at this point I know more english than my own. I can say maybe a few sentences in german and spanish and I can read a lot more alphabets than I can speak. I can read russian but I don't know what the words mean

I am not planing on studying anything. I hate reading, it's one of the reasons why I chose arts

favorite book? don't have one, I hate reading. favorite movie? don't have one since i've seen like 3 in total. favorite show? whatever cartoon I've watched most recently. right now that is hazbin hotel and ramshackle

I made this account on a whim to post some ideas I had and maybe get back to making art for fun. long story short, daddy nunalastor welcomed me in their arms and now I have 20+ husbands and a really bad obsession with daddy nunalastor to the point where I might start questioning my own sexuality

I'm searching for your location, mr russian spy

pc. I don't have consoles. I have a really old pc that I'm surprised is still alive somehow

android, I like being able to customize and I really don't like apple's marketing tactics. I could go into full detail about why I hate apple so much but I can see the appeal of apple products ngl

I have a samsung A52 cuz I'm broke but my favorite android phone of all time is samsung s21 ultra. i absolutely love the design. google pixels seem nice too

apples. I hate pears

good question. I'm a picky eater so I can't answer this question. probably vegetables

#btw dw #I'm just messing around <3 I can stop accusing you of bein a russian spy tho if you feel uncomfy #lulu is feral #lulu lore #lulu asks

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suratan-zir · 1 year

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Sharon Wirth household

Single Romance sims one after another.

Sharon has three bolts with Elizabeth Aspir. She doesn't care if it's wrong, she wants to be more than just good friends, even if it makes her a homewrecker.

In the morning, Sharon returned home after clubbing to witness this scene. I swear, in this neighborhood only Circe and Loki Beakers are stealing everyone's newspapers. Maybe they need it for a secret science project or something, or maybe they're the biggest assholes around.

A couple of days later, Sharon and Elizabeth ran into each other in the coffee shop. And the seduction continued.

Finally, they're more than just friends. The best friends!

Marital infidelity aside, Chloe and Gotthart Curious were also at the coffee shop and they had a quality family time. This the first time I see Chloe autonomously giving her son any attention.

Later that evening, Sharon asked Elizabeth Aspir on a proper first date. Then she suddenly rolled this want.

I decided to lock it in only if it stays for a while, but it almost immediately changed to something usual, like to woohoo with 3 sims.

The date went well.

And then I made a mistake. Sharon wanted to throw a party. She invited all her friends. I thought it would be fun to buy a hacked "alcoholic" beer to make party a little crazier. What I didn't think about was that most of Sharon's friends were pregnant… I don't have any mods for miscarriage, so it's technically completely safe. It just looks super weird, lol.

Yeah...I have nothing to add to this.

Sharon had a little too much beer.

Ajay Loner stayed true to his last name and spent the party sitting alone in the kitchen, drinking juice. ...or whatever these three pixels are. I really need to install some default replacements for those fugly maxis cans.

Later that night, Elizabeth brought a gift for the nice date. This is the only reason why I love Romance sims. They don't even have to try, they get expensive gifts and promotions for "good reputation." My Romance sims usually don't learn any skills throughout their lives, yet almost always succeed.

The gift was just in time. Sharon had about 200 simoleons to her name.

Sharon went to the Strangetown community swimming pool, and there she was, another victim of Lucy Mole's clown beauty salon.

Terrifying.

There was Amy, another Sharon's love interest. They got so carried away that didn't even notice when poor Sophia Jocque was struck by lightning.

Amy was also grateful for the amazing date. With this money, Sharon will be able to properly furnish her living room.

And that's it.

From time to time, Sharon rolls wants to marry both Amy and Elizabeth, despite having Romance/Popularity aspirations. Strange. I want her and Elizabeth to be together, but Elizabeth has a great relationship with her husband, so idk…

#ts2 #ts2 gameplay #the sims 2 gameplay #the sims 2 #strangederata valley #desiderata valley #sharon wirth

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pix3lplays · 4 months

Text

RANDOMLY was reminded that Triangle Strategy was a thing-

Um I guess spoilers for Triangle Strategy, even though the game came out a few years ago-just in case you’ve never heard of it and want to try it out I WOULD recommend if you like strategy games! Think Fire Emblem.

Also I never do reviews so don’t really consider this a Review so much as me just. Talking about the game lol

Did I only beat two of the stories? Yeah. Did I stop because I was too intimidated to collect and level up all the characters to the max for the golden route? Also yes (let me point out that that’s not necessary to complete the golden route, that’s just how I play lol). But did I have a great time despite the game’s flaws?? Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes

The characters are really interesting and there are some REALLY great designs oh my gosh!! And the story!! I really liked it hehe, the whole game revolves around MAKING choices and each choice does feel like it has consequences but it also feels meaningful! Very dark and serious most of the time actually, and I never did actually get a full happy ending, though the golden route ending was happy as far as I know haha, I just haven’t gotten it for myself.

So yeah I LOVED this game I definitely went through a Triangle Strategy phase haha…

And uh…as a fanfic writer I uh. Yeah.

It was funny because I wrote Roland x reader and…yeah Roland he’s great he’s conventionally attractive he’d be a good partner…and he had lots of angst potential.

But I also wrote fics for the side characters like Flanagan Grutte (GREAT design btw) and Corentin Jennar…two characters who have only comically sized crumbs of content, but I was OBSESSED with them.

And of course the silver foxes Benedict Pascal and Maxwell Trier…yeah very great lots of angst potential. Benedict with his attachment to Destra…Maxwell with the whole Dead Wife thing. Yes, perfect.

And uh. Yeah I KNOW it’s bad but I definitely have more than just a few pages of Gustadolph Aesfrost fanfiction…yes yes yes he’s done a number of horrible terrible things and he’d be a terrible husband and the fanfiction definitely reflected that lolol I was rereading it like…wow Pixel can you please choose a man who would treat reader properly?? No?? O-okay um…

But yeah Triangle Strategy wooo I need to complete that game-

(And uhhh if anyone’s interested in my triangle strategy fanfiction just name a character and I’ll post something~criminal how little Triangle Strategy fanfictions there are…I mean there are a FEW but-)

#triangle strategy #Triangle Strategy x reader

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okiedokrie · 2 months

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High Infidelity (TEASER)

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 882 for this teaser (estimated 8-10k final fic)

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, tipsy sex (not drunk), minghao smokes, smut warnings in actual fic

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daesukiii!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

FULL FIC HERE

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, your soon ex-husband angrily slamming the door shut, but you can't feel but be relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? he has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making yourself more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throws of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

Taglist: None yet! Send an ask, reply, or reblog to be added!

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cinamun · 1 year

Note

So, I was inspired by your most recent ask to ask my own question that will most likely stir the pot and shake it up some but I’m one of those “let’s dive into the mind of a serial killer” people. Will we ever get a backstory for Bishop? Or at least learn more about him and what shaped him into what he is today. There has to be a story there and I’m sure it’s a tragic one or just wild at the very least. Not trying to excuse his actions in any way but I feel like everyone keeps asking “why why why” in regards to Mercy but to my knowledge no one has asked “why why why” for Bishop. It’s easy to write him off since he’s the villain but I myself love a villain origin story. I absolutely love all the rawness you put in your stories and people that are hating on you for it don’t realize you could go sooo much deeper into the chaos than you have so far. I literally was giving my husband a full rundown of the story because I was audibly gasping at your scenes. You’re an amazing story teller. And not just with this story, I love literally everything you’ve created. Yes, they’re little pixel people but I’m so attached to them and every time I read about them I feel like I’m in their world with them

(P.s. when infants drops, provided they’re not broken to hell, I’d LOVE a separate teen pregnancy story if you feel up for it! Kind of like how you did a specified story for the greenwoods testing out the pack ☺️)

Oh we LOVE a good villian, right?! We do, we hate it, but we do LOL. So Bishop is a crossover situation. He was an evil, EVIL sim from the Blackburn Family from the well known saga Let it Burn who, we thought, met an untimely death. Somehow, he reappeared in an entirely different universe, found yet another victim, and here we are. I'll let the good sis @therichantsim dive into any backstory because, well, she created him. But I like to do my research, and to my knowledge he was born this way (lady gaga voice). Some folks are just bad seeds. But maybe there's more? Who knows....

And what better way to start BHM than to have this Black girl over here blushing? LMFAO THANK YOU! This is my hobby and I love that y'all love it. And it gets dark, and its happy and its joyful and its evil. So when the good sis was like "I have an evil sim...." I was like SAY NO MORE FAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM again, here we are lol.

Say hello to your husband for me! And right, they're pixels and I really need to stop referring to them as people but my brain is stuck now since I've been playing this game forever lmfao

Speaking of infants, I'm actually GLAD we have until March because I am plotting RIGHT NOW on how we gon' do this because oh, we are PLAYING THAT NEW PACK baby! But when the infants drop, I haven't figured out how or if that will play into the story. What I do know is, you better stay tuned!

#story stuff #love you!

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dearfuturehusbandblog · 9 months

Text

Triggers and Transparency

Or the Fall Out Boy title: I Have A Hater, So I Must Be Doing Something Right...

Dear Future Husband,

I reuploaded my last post because someone decided to comment publicly calling me out for "making a chillul Hashem" by posting it publicly, instead of messaging me privately and having a conversation about her feelings on the matter. And then she blocked me so her comments on that post are now hidden to me, but not to others who come across it and can see and respond to them. Fun.

And that is just super petty and manipulative, so I decided to hide those comments from the world too by hiding the post and just reuploading the whole thing.

But I also want to discuss this situation, because I think it's important to respond to what she had to say.

Let me start with this: Nobody has to like me or agree with me. I don't demand or expect that from my readers.

In fact, I don't demand or expect readers in general.

This is my tiny pixel of the internet where I can say what I want/need to say. For the most part I’m venting and yelling into a void anyway.

I've had this account for years. My first post was in 2016 and for the first few years, I didn't even have any followers, not that I really care whether or not I have followers, because that's not why I created this space for myself anyway.

If people choose to interact with what I have to say, that's awesome.

If they get something out of it, that's awesome.

If I get something out of it, that's awesome.

But I write lengthy things.

Sagas. Epics. Novels.

I write dark things.

I write a lot, but I don't share everything.

And what I share is my thoughts and experiences based on my experiences and thoughts.

That's not for everyone. And it isn't meant to be for everyone.

I'd assume most people click the "expand" button, see how long my posts are and nope right outta' there anyway. It's shocking to me if anyone actually cares enough to read what I have to say. Even more so if they choose to respond.

Do I love it when they do? Sure.

We all have that ego, and I'm sure we all post publicly in hopes people interact, as much as we do it for ourselves. If I truly wanted to keep these things private, I'd write in a journal (which I also do on occasion and a lot of that does not get shared), but most of my posts are somewhat of a cry for help (some more obvious than others) and if anyone sees my beacon and responds, it makes me feel less alone. And considering I've been super lonely most of my life, it's nice to share something I experienced and have someone out there say "hey, I get it, and you're not alone."

Now, I’ve been on tumblr in general for like 15 years and I have multiple accounts that I use for different purposes - different fandoms, different thoughts I want to share with different audiences, etc, and I created multiple accounts because when you comment on stuff it’s always associated with your main blog and that’s just wrong for the different ways I interact with different people about different things. Like, I don't want fandom stuff coming back to my religious blog or my food blog coming back to my music blog, etc. But I don’t come on tumblr as often as I used to back in the day, so while these accounts are still active, I don’t use them all that much.

So when I saw that after a small back and forth with this other person on my last post that their comments were suddenly “hidden, blocked, or removed,” I figured that meant for everyone and that she’d deleted them, so I in turn deleted my responses to her, feeling they wouldn’t make sense for someone to come across and just see mine.

But then I tried to send her a private message to discuss the matter and her blog somehow just magically “disappeared”… oooooh, so mysterious. Which made me realize, “oh, you dumbbell, she blocked you, which is why you can’t view the comments anymore.” And then I wondered if it was for sure just me who couldn’t see them or if it was everyone, so I logged into another account and lo and behold! The comments were visible! To everyone! So my deleting my own comments solved nothing and just made it look like I deleted my responses because she called me out, which was not the case. (I’m a fan of context and wouldn’t be that petty.)

So I used one of my other accounts to send her a message and told her I was open to an actual conversation about why that post of everything I’ve ever posted triggered her and she responded and then blocked me again so I couldn’t reply.

I anticipated that.

But in her response she made more accusations and basically called me an idiot (so nice, I know). So I used another account to send a follow up message to respond to one of her accusations and to basically say 'this has been fun, have a nice life.' To which she responded “I’m not even reading this.” And then blocked me again.

Also as anticipated, though I didn't follow up again after that.

But here’s the thing: she was accusing me of being condescending.

(I never claimed I wasn't... lol)

But her biggest issue seemed to be more that I was condescending while “targeting” irreligious Jews with my #tags, essentially inciting their responses and mocking them to their webfaces.

Except, no.

I also asked her why she felt the need to respond solely to this post out of all my other posts and she replied that she had responded to my posts before, and that I only couldn’t see them because she’d blocked me.

Except, no.

Using another account that she did not block I was able to check all the comments on all my posts (after having checked my notes before she blocked me on this account) and she has responded to exactly ZERO of my other posts. So, now we’re in gaslighting territory. Fun.

But I'd like to break down what she had to say and respond for my own edification and also for anyone who happened across those comments while they were live and should have context. Also in several years the whole "argument" will be confusing and I use posts like this for my own context.

So let's start at the beginning:

XXXXXXXX said: I’m frum and the amount of condescension dripping from every word of this post made even me deeply uncomfortable. I’m really not sure how you can claim you were respectful when you literally recorded the ceremony just so you could more accurately make fun of it later. Yikes yikes yikes.

Condescension dripping from every word. Mkay.

I believe she's referring there to the part about my cousin's irreligious wedding, despite me starting that post with how odd or confusing a lot of modern wedding tradition is to me in the religious Jewish sphere and how I'd like to do things when it's my turn.

I also didn't record it so I could mock it later, I recorded it because it was baffling to me while I was experiencing it, and I process things differently from most people, especially when I'm in a moment of heightened stress (which, being around family is for me) and wanted to remember things later and figure out what exactly went on. I do this all the time with other events and conversations too.

The fact that the recording came in handy when I was writing things out for my own processing was a bonus, honestly. I wish wish wish wish wish I'd recorded a lot of things in my life that I didn't. This was just one I wish I'd started earlier in the preceedings. The officiant said some really lovely things about my grandparents and I would have loved to have the recording for that too. I'm not super duper close with my cousins and don't know if I'll ever see the wedding video or if all of that will even be included in the video (since most people go cinematic these days and cut a lot of stuff or overlay music) and it would be nice to have that for posterity.

Just because I didn't outline it in my post doesn't mean there weren't other reasons for recording the event. Also, it's not like they said no recordings or anything before the ceremony. If they had, I would have respected that.

And being respectful to their faces and making "nice" in person is the Kiddush Hashem I was referring to in the original post. Being the religious relatives has always been exceptionally weird for us in so many ways.

Hell, a relative who exclusively reads the NYT believed that we were anti-vaxxers spreading covid to everyone and refused to show up at an event we were invited to, despite never having a conversation with us about it or even asking.

There are always assumptions made about us and how we live our lives and how we won't be part of things and aren't accepting of anyone and aren't courteous or respectful of things that aren't religious. And yes, in my anonymous post on a website none of my relatives frequent, I did express views that could be considered not respectful. But you know what I did in person? I smiled, I said hello, I gave hugs and handshakes, I made it clear that we're open and friendly and kind people, and that family is important to us.

Some say that's hypocritical, but when it comes to Shalom, you do whatever you can to ease interpersonal relationships, regardless of how you actually feel on the matter. If they aren't in a place to hear your opinions, you don't shove them in their faces.

And why would I close the door to the possibility of them doing kiruv in the future? If all they see is that their religious relatives are awful, they'd never want to do teshuva. By not expressing everything I'm feeling in person, it leaves them with positive feelings towards us "weirdos" and that leaves the door open to potential spiritual growth on their parts in the future. The positive feelings they continue to have towards people who believe in the Torah IS the Kiddush Hashem.

XXXXXXXX said: And then recording it all in writing and davka putting it in a tag on a website where the vast majority of people who will see it are not frum and likely don’t even personally know a frum person in many cases? There’s a chillul Hashem here, but it wasn’t the wedding.

Take a look at every post in my blog, babe. They're all tagged the same. They've always been tagged the same, going back to my very first post in 2016.

I started it that way because if I ever decided to deviate in a post, I wanted to be able to reference my own posts with relevant hashtags. At the time, I didn't know where things would go (if anywhere) with this blog and wanted that option. And again, in the beginning it was intended to reach an audience of possibly likeminded people who could commiserate with me. At this point, I hardly even think about the hashtags. Hell, one of them is #i am the shidduch crisis. I'm fairly certain I'm the only one who uses that one...

Saying that I davka went out of my way to post something offensive in a place where it would incite anger is just absurd. And if that post is offensive simply by existing in the Jewish zeitgeist, then so is every other thing I've posted and tagged the same way, considering the majority of my life experiences and writings are heavily negative, yet this was the ONLY post of mine she's ever responded to. And most of my posts have maybe two likes and zero comments, so most of the jumblr world couldn't care less either, apparently.

I unfortunately did not take screenshots of my responses to her in the comments, so I don't recall exactly what I said... but it was something along those same lines.

I think we also need to have a conversation about what a chillul Hashem actually is.

Desecration of God's name.

Or using God's name in vain.

You know... kiiiiind of like an incongruous priestly benediction or a bracha levatalah. Or nine of them. (Or 100 of them if you consider that most of the attendants also said the blessings using Hashem's name inappropriately...)

XXXXXXXX said: Wow. You have a very, very close-minded view of the world. Also, not sure if you understand how this website works. When you tag something jumblr, you aren’t just sharing it with 2 followers, you’re sharing it with everyone who follows that tag. By tagging it that way, you are ACTIVELY spreading it to a wider audience. Yeah, it’s your life and you can record it however you want, but you don’t get to pretend that putting something into the public sphere as an Orthodox Jew doesn’t impact how people view Orthodox Jews.

So now my tiny pixel of the internet is responsible for how the whole world views Orthodox Jews. Mkay.

Yes, words have power.

Yes, what I say and put out into the world matters.

Yes, I look to commiserate with people who get it.

But no, I'm not responsible for what people choose to read or ignore.

And again, I hardly even think about the hashtags when I apply them. It's just kind of rote at this point and, again, despite me using the exact same hashtags since 2016, my audience is still basically two people.

The hashtag jumblr has hundreds, if not thousands of posts on it. And people post things there that are offensive to me, but that doesn't mean they're offensive to everyone. If they can post their thoughts, I can post mine too. You can't please everyone.

All of these posts are like greeting cards on a rack at the grocery store. Using a hashtag is like giving it a category like "Birthday" or "Uncle's Retirement." You don't have to read all of them. Literally nobody is forcing you to. If you see one you don't like, put it back and move on with your life.

And again, my posts are usually so insanely long that most people don't have the time or attention span to read them. (Hell, I rarely do when I'm looking back over my own writings for things.) And so, these posts are not for them. They're essentially a diary of my experiences, and everyone experiences things differently. That's totally fine. I don't know why you have to get all up in arms about that just because I see the world differently than you.

It's also kiiiiind of hypocritical to tell me that I have to see the world the same way as you and in the same breath tell me that my relatives don't have to see the world the same way I do.

I did mention in one of my responses how interesting it was that she chose THIS out of aaaaaaaalllllll my 40 posts here on tumblr as the only one to respond to, despite my using the same hashtags since post #1. And that's when this one came:

XXXXXXXX said: And ftr I have replied to other posts of yours before…I’m sorry you don’t recall, but I don’t have to reply to every post you ever write to earn the ability to protest when you put something reprehensible out into, again, the public sphere consisting mostly of Jews who do not have much direct experience with Orthodoxy and whose negative views of that brand of Judaism you are actively reinforcing.

But no, honey, no you haven't. You know how I know? Cuz I checked. You've literally never commented on a single post of mine ever before.

You know what you HAVE responded to?

ONE comment that I made on one of YOUR posts.

That's it.

Ze hu.

Also, you don't have to reply to every post I ever write to "earn" the ability to protest when I write something you disagree with, but some kind of prior relationship would be helpful instead of literally coming out of left field with hostility.

I mean, I followed her, but she never followed me. I didn't even know I was anywhere on her radar.

It's also interesting to me that I'm actively reinforcing negative views of Orthodoxy by being confused by the inconsistencies of people who claim Judaism matters to them, yet have such a lack of respect for what Torah and being Jewish actually means.

Why does being Jewish even matter if you're not going to do anything that shows even one ounce of respect for anything of the tradition of Judaism? We're more than bagels and smear, my dear.

If they wanted to have a secular service, I wouldn't have cared!

If they just wanted a party for family and friends and to exchange vows despite being legally married already, I wouldn't have cared!

Ok, I would have cared a little. It would have been sad, but I wouldn't have written a whole post about it.

And it's baffling to me that someone of Torah values wants me to just ignore the fact that my irreligious family is basically laughing off the whole religious thing as a meme and not something of deep significance for our people.

Intermarriage, especially when it comes to the offspring who THINK they are Jewish but ARE NOT has ramifications***. It literally would have been better if she'd never attempted a conversion at all. Because at least then there'd be honesty, and their kids would know they're not Jewish. This entire thing is built on sheker.

My aunt was literally laughing at the fact that they'd have to remind the non-Jewish relatives to not add crab to a crab cake for a bris. Like, whatttt!?

Just as an aside, these are the same relatives who, when LittleBean was barely a year old and LilSis took her out of her onesie and put her in a bib so she could eat without making a mess at a family event, started making strip club sounds, whooping, and pretending to fling dollar bills. AT AN 11 MONTH OLD.

So, I'm sorry you're offended by my take on the situation. As I said, my content is not for everyone. It's not meant to be and most people won't even read it, so I couldn't really care less.

But all of this was also coming from someone who posts condescending, negative stuff ALL. THE. TIME.

I guess the only difference is that she... doesn't use the hashtag jumblr? Cuz it's not like any of her content isn't public and can't be found by irreligious Jews on tumblr and associated with Orthodoxy or anything... *insert confused shrug gif here*

I could post examples, but I'm trying to be respectful of her block and not cause further machlokes. (Lawd, give me strength...)

Regardless, my message to her from my second account was basically combatting the claim that she had responded to posts of mine in the past ("the lie detector determined THAT was a lie").

I mentioned that it seemed like due to that fact alone that something I wrote was a trigger for her and I was willing to have an actual conversation about why she was triggered. (Mostly for my own edification. My intention with my posts isn't to trigger people and although I'm not responsible for their mental health, if there's something I can do to improve the way I express things I'm open to hearing about it, whether or not I choose to implement it later.)

And I said that if she wasn't interested we could chock it all up to a difference of view and opinion and move on with our lives.

I also mentioned that I bear no ill will towards my relatives who mock the Torah, nor do I bear ill will towards her for her responses towards me and my post.

I started with "Hiya" and ended with "K'siva v'chasima tova." I all-capsed some words to emphasise my points, but think it was otherwise a respectful message.

But she instead hit back with: You can't see my previous comments on your posts *because I've blocked you.* Bizarre that you recognized that was the reason for replies to one post disappearing but didn't make the connection to the rest. Regardless, I don't think you're actually open to having an actual conversation about this topic if your only interpretation of a non-Orthodox rendition of a Jewish wedding is one of "mocking."

No "hi," no "clearly we're both defensive of our positions" or anything, just straight in with a thinly veiled "you're an idiot."

Because it's not like I'm smart enough to use a second account where her comments ARE visible to check and see if she's commented on any of my other posts or anything... Nope, I'm just a moron. Mkay.

Also, I have more than one interpretation of non-Orthodox renditions of Jewish weddings. It literally depends on the context. If they'd been respectful, I would have too. But hon, you weren't there. Soooo.... yeah, my interpretation was the same as my non-denomination GayUncle and his lapsed CatholicHusband's interpretation - it was a sham. Seems there was a consensus among at least a few of us about that, and we don't have remotely the same values or world views at all.

Hell, I once went to a Bucharian wedding for two baalei teshuva who don't have frum families that was vastly different from anything I'd ever experienced before and even THAT made more sense to me that the disjointed mess I experienced this past Sunday.

She then said: These people were not raised with your knowledge base or experiences. They are just getting through life the best they can, and the fact that they ACTUALLY BOTHERED TO HAVE A JEWISH WEDDING instead of doing something completely disconnected from Judaism or letting the legal wedding be the beginning and end of it should show you that they...actually do care. The jump from "these people aren't doing things how I would do them" to "these people hate and mock Judaism" is an absurdly and depressingly cynical one and I just don't think there's a productive conversation to be had if that's how you think about these things.

They "actually do care" about... what?

If they "actually do care" they'd do things properly. And by properly I mean traditionally. And by traditionally I mean the way that even my non-denominational GayUncle and his lapsed CatholicHusband recognize as correct.

They are not "just getting through life the best they can." They're doing things "uniquely."

I mean, you wanna talk privilege... that's it right there, babe.

But I'm open to a "change my mind" segment. Just because I view things in an "absurdly and depressingly cynical" way doesn't mean that with a conversation I couldn't be swayed to see things her way.

Unfortunately, she chose anger and hostility and to block me instead.

Like, babe, you don't know my life.

You've clearly never cared enough to chime in before, so I guess what I've written previously wasn't so offensive as to incite a response from you in the past. But ok.

There was no "hey, this sounds incredibly negative, are you sure this is content you want to put out into the world?"

Or "I don't know if you're aware, but this is directed at a large audience who probably don't see things the same way and you may want to change how you phrase things."

Or "just so you know, these kinds of views may not be well received by the people who use these hashtags, so you may want to change or remove them."

It was just "you're an awful person for the way you see things."

Which means you don't know my lived experiences or what has caused me to have this outlook on life.

You know what's a great way to learn those things? By having an actual conversation. *shocked pikachu face*

But no, she's way happier dismissing me entirely.

And you know what, that's fine. Because again, this content is not for everyone and it's clearly not for her. For everything else, there's Mastercard.

So, if you read this far, then maybe this is the content for you. If so, welcome! I'd love to have you here. Just be warned, a lot of it is dark and often cynical.

Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions on what I have to say. Or don't. Ghosts are also welcome!

And if you've read this far and decided this greeting card isn't for you, just stick it back on the rack and move along. That's really ok too.

-LivelyHeart

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***I wanted to add this into the post, but it didn't really match with the flow. There was a story that came out of Israel like a year or so ago about a family of missionaries posing as Jews. And based on what I read and heard, it seems that the way they were able to infiltrate the frum community was by receiving a gett.

I don't recall all the details exactly, but I think the husband had been married previously or something and he was able to acquire a gett for a marriage that didn't have a kesuba, but he was then able to use that gett as proof of being a religious Jew that then allowed him to not only make aliyah, but also end up in a position as a community rav and mohel. So, this non-Jewish, Christian missionary with a frum-looking wife and children with peyos was giving brissim to frum boys.

So when I say these kinds of things have ramifications, I'm being 10000% serious.

WifeLizzy IS NOT JEWISH. But she thinks she is. Which means their children will believe they're Jewish too. This is no joke. Who even knows what kind of ripples that will have on future generations?

Literally, Moshiach now.

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