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#there's so much i refuse to like because of them
chuluoyi · 2 days
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。.*。☆゚ 🕰️ 03.12 a.m
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tw: pregnancy. just a little something based on ask~ gojo annoys you on daily basis, so now you return the favor and he can't refuse it bc you're his baby mama😋
a part of gojo's love entries
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“satoru— your baby is hungry,” you pouted, poking his cheek repeatedly. “sa-to-ru!!”
it was 3 in the morning, and ideally, you would have been sleeping... only that suddenly you were awoken by rumbles from your growing belly.
yet your husband was still sound asleep without any care in the world, prompting you to poke him until you succeeded in making him hear you out.
satoru begrudgingly cracked his eyes open, still having his face tucked under the blanket and yawning. “ngh, sweets… what is it?”
his sleepy voice was thick, low and raspy. usually you’d swoon and leave a hickey or two on his neck but not now, as the overwhelming hunger made you almost curl.
“baby is craving mochi,” you said, eyes shining up to him ever so innocently. “get it for me, satoruuu.”
“oh?” if he wasn’t awake before, now he was after hearing your nagging tone drawling his name. he faced you and drew you closer. “what do you want again, hmm?”
“ice cream mochi!!”
“oooh that.” satoru scratched his head at the memory of him eating the last of it yesterday. “but we ran out of them, sweetheart… wait till morning, yeah? i’ll go to market to get some.”
“but...”
“can’t baby wait a few more hours, hmm?”
“no! want it— now!”
satoru blinked at your insistence. you looked positively adorable while sulking at him too.
“why mochi all of sudden, huh?” he decided to humor you. “you used to say they taste bland.”
“that’s because of your sperm infecting me,” you sullenly accused. “and don’t pretend you haven’t been feeding me mochi for weeks. baby likes it more than i thought.”
“hey! don’t bash my sperm! they did no wrong and completed the deed splendidly!”
“you’re just a one-time donor, don’t be smug.”
he whined and you huffed, before suddenly your stomach grumbled loudly and you curled up. “mmhm.”
“hey… what’s wrong?” satoru quickly sat up and placed his hand on your baby bump. “really hungry? wait, i’ll get you something to nibble on first.”
he rummaged through his work uniform and found several bite-sized chocolate bars he brought around, and unwrapped the foil. “here.”
you immediately devoured the treat to sate your hunger, but still, your baby longed for more—
“mochi…” you mumbled despondently, your expression turning heartbroken. and one second later satoru realized how much he wanted to squeeze your cheeks, and relented.
“okay, okay, sweets~” he gave your head several comforting pats, making you look up. “i’ll go and get the mochi, yeah? you stay put and wait for me, 'kay?”
“yay.” a little smile bloomed in your face and satoru chuckled, finding you so unbearably endearing.
and so, for you, he ventured out to the closest 24-hour convenience store, picking up some ice cream mochi along with other treats to replenish your stock, before teleporting back home.
he was expecting that you'd still be all sulky while waiting for him, but instead, he found you peacefully asleep, hogging his pillow.
each breath that caused your chest to rise and fall made you appear all the more vulnerable and soft in his eyes.
you looked so irrevocably precious to him. his sweet little wife... in that moment, satoru felt like he was the luckiest man alive, getting to have you as his.
“you naughty girl.” he let out an amused laugh before reclaiming his spot next to you. the hold you had over him— you made him go through the cold night air, and now you were monopolizing his pillow and he had to resume sleeping without one at all.
and yet all he could feel was love. for you and your baby, as he pulled you close to his chest.
“both of you sure love teaming up against me, huh?”
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mortalityplays · 2 days
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Unprintable: Artists Against Authority
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I am absolutely beside myself with excitement to announce the launch of Unprintable.
Unprintable is an online free shop, where original artwork and arts resources are released into the public domain.
Everything listed here is free to use, copy and remix any way you like. You can print off hi-res artwork to decorate your apartment, or to use in your own projects. You can use the writing in your own zines, anthologies or performances. You can put it on a t-shirt. You can read it on the radio. You can paint it on a truck. It's up to you, entirely and forever.
The collection will be updated continuously, on an unfixed schedule, with contributions from a wide range of named and anonymous artists and activists. You can read the FAQ for a full rundown of what Unprintable is and why it exists, but these are the really important parts:
Can I download/print/use the work listed here? Yes. Can I use it for [X]? You can do whatever you want with it forever. But what if I want to [Y]? You can do whatever you want with it forever. Why do this? A few reasons: 1. We want a space to just share things, no strings attached. We recognise that copyright is an irrational system that was designed to protect the profit interests of publishing middlemen and IP hoarders. In fact, copyright is often weaponised against the creators it pretends to protect. As long as it exists, we are unlikely to win any other form of protection for our work, and we are profoundly limited from engaging in the kind of communal artistic and storytelling practices that were the norm around the world for thousands of years. 2. Radical art is often unprintable. Profit motives make people cautious. A lot of print-on-demand or local print shop services will refuse artwork with controversial, sensitive or political content. This is very frustrating when these themes are the focus of so much of our work (and indeed our lives). Rather than waste any more breath trying to explain why a trans artist might want to print the word ‘faggot’, we can give our work away for free. Got a printer? It’s yours. 3. It feels good. Sharing is joyful. It’s the reason we love making things in the first place. We don’t write poems because we look forward to filleting them for consumption, or layer colours so that we can sell a canvas by the ounce. We have only ever wanted to be able to support ourselves so that we can make, but that relationship is deeply dysfunctional under capitalism. We made these things, and we want you to have them. It doesn’t need to be complicated.
I'll write up some more posts introducing the launch collection soon. In the meantime...be free, enjoy, explore, have fun!
https://free.mortalityplays.com
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inkskinned · 23 hours
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you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.
bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.
this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?
so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."
you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.
you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.
but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.
quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.
you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.
you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?
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hor3nee · 2 days
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• Fatherhood •
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What kind of dads are the JJK men ?
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CW/TW: GN! Reader, Mentions of crappy parenting, BREIF mention of pregnancy in Geto's, (Lmk if I should add anything else!)
Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji x Reader
AN: Almost cried writing this the baby fever is going HARD rn dude. Headcanons !
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• Gojo •
Menace of a father, but in the good way! Gojo spends his years raising his kids as if he's their best friend, truly and genuinely treats his kids as equals and in a sweet way, allows his children to have complete trust in him. Because Gojo is quite childish himself, he loves playing with his kids, making a fool of himself, and indulging with them.
Has a bit of a bad side to this though, his lack of traditional discipline or making himself the 'adult' in the situation leads the kids to both be very spoiled and not really ever listen to him.
"Sweetheart, darling, my perfect angel, can you please go to bed?? pretty please! Help your old man here, please??"
"Nuh uh!" And with that bout of defiance, he's back to running up to you, like HE'S the child, begging for your help. Because it seems you're the only one who can get the kids in line, and you do.
Plays pranks and teases the hell out of his kids as they get older, always in a loving way of course, but nonetheless loves getting them flustered over his stupidity. Type of dad to do dumbass dances in the middle of a Walmart to embarrass his kids.
• Geto •
Geto is optimum of what it means to be a gentle parent. Cannot, for the life of him, bring it in himself to yell at his kids. He's so soft-spoken, never so much as raising his voice against his children. Geto has children who respond to his voice alone, because it's so lulling, he's familiarized them with it and made them feel safe with it.
Doesn't mean he can't discipline them, of course he can, and he does so extremely gracefully. Whenever you're on your last straw with the kids, fighting the urge to start scolding them and yell, he steps in, smoothly taking over and the kids instantly listen to him.
"We're your parents, honey, c'mon that's not very nice to say, is it? They carried you for 9 months you know. Say sorry." Like magic the kids shut up and come over to you apologizing while Geto stands back, calmly having fixed the situation with ease.
With everything Geto does, has done, experienced etc, he can sometimes feel conflicted. Geto knows what he is capable of, and what he has done, he's extremely self-aware even if he justifies it, and he can struggle to balance the weight of all of it while also remaining a dutiful father.
Despite it, he does wonders keeping it separate from what his children have to see or experience, teaches them respect and kindness and hopes they hold true to it.
• Nanami •
Not a single man on this list fathers as hard as Nanami fathers. He's built for it like no other. Nanami treats fatherhood with his all, he puts his all into it and makes damn certain he does right by it. Stern when necessary, sweet when needed, provides for his kids and refuses to miss any important milestone of theirs.
Nanami is a calm man but the second work starts piling potentially making him miss his kids school play or something he's arguing with his supervisors and ready to throw hands.
He keeps the drawings his kids make on his desk, alongside a photo of you and your kids. Literally just stares at it while working smiling, unable to wait till he's home with the kids. They are his pride and joy genuinely.
No matter how over-worked Nanami may be though, when he comes home you are basically on vacation. Insists you rest and he takes over literally everything involving the kids.
"Darling, darling no, I got this covered. You take rest. You know I love spending time with my kids." He says with an earnest smile, both kids in his beefy arms just dangling around and playing with their father. He's definitely exhausted from work, but that never stops him.
• Sukuna •
The King of the Curses, as cruel and terrifying as he is, taking pleasure in all sorts of sickness and treating love as pointless, legitimately likes his kid.
He doesn't care about fatherhood, or the responsibilities that being a parent entails, but it's nice having a mini version of himself around. That he likes. An extension of himself and you, it's nice to have around he doesn't mind it. He may act aloof about it, not outwardly showing affection like hugs or kisses, but he clearly enjoys it.
He gets a massive ego trip when his kids cause chaos and disturbances. Points at them laughing with his belly "See that? That's mine."
Sukuna never minces his words though, and his kids have to get used to his bluntness. Again, he doesn't care for the concept of 'parenting', and will in their face call the kid some extreme insults and weak and they have to learn to take it.
On the flip side, Sukuna also never minces his praise, and Sukuna has an abundance to give his kids. Every accomplishment or show of strength that they show he'll let them know he's proud. A good ol' fashioned fatherly slap to their shoulder while he praises them.
He treasures his children, and even if he doesn't put much effort into parenting them, you taking over most of it, he's definitely a present figure in their lives.
• Toji •
Went to get milk, hasn't been seen since.
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les4elliewilliams · 3 days
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With all my heart.
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¡! daily click・palestine masterpost・do not buy any game from naughty dog, neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks. ¡!
cw/wc: 10.9k (ik wtf) not proofread ; smut, fingering both r/e!receiving, oral (r!receiving), swearing, fluff, reader has a heart condition. jackson ellie x fem reader (💘)
a/n: I'm not really sure how I feel about this, lol (especially the smut part). I tried to do a lot of research about this type of heart issue to make it as accurate as possible, so if it's not, I'm sorry, I tried. ib one of those romantic movies where one of the characters is sick and has some rare condition (except that no one dies.)
also can we start romanticizing unconditional love and healthy relationships?
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You knew you had won the lottery the moment you accidentally bumped into her in the hospital.
Your life has been full of challenges right from the beginning. You were born with a condition that affected your heartbeats, making it difficult for your heart to function normally. So you had to rely on a pacemaker to regulate your heartbeat. This condition has significantly impacted your life, making it hard for you to engage in activities that require physical exertion.
Long QT Syndrome, or LQTS, is a rare genetic condition that can mess up your heart's electrical system. It can cause your heartbeats to go wild, making you faint, have seizures, or even go into sudden cardiac arrest. To keep yourself safe, you needed to take your meds, live a certain way, and have a pacemaker — which you had implanted.
Living a normal life had always been tough for you, and it wasn't only the syndrome's physical symptoms that held you back, but also your parents' protectiveness. They worried a lot about your health, maybe a bit too much, leaving you with very little freedom to do anything. Even simple things like going to a party or hanging out with friends like a regular teenager seemed like a luxury you could never have. Although you understood that your parents were only trying to protect you, their overprotectiveness always made you feel suffocated and cut off from the world. You always felt like an alien who had just been dropped off on Earth; you knew nothing about anything. You've always had to rely on the stories and experiences of people around you, like your friends, to help you figure things out and feel like you had lived a little.
You have been homeschooled ever since you were a little kid. You didn't have many opportunities to participate in social activities and make friends. However, you did manage to meet two people who have remained your only friends to this day. You met them in the park when you were a kid, and to your luck, they stuck around. You often wonder if they stayed with you out of pity or because they genuinely liked spending time with you, but you were glad regardless; it was good to have someone to hang out with.
The memory of the day you met Ellie is still as vivid in your mind as it was when it happened. You had just finished your routine checkup at the hospital and were feeling a bit peckish. You made your way to the vending machine to grab a snack, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over you. You hoped a quick snack would help, but fate seemed to have other plans in store for you that day. As you selected your snack, you watched in frustration as it got stuck in the vending machine. You tried everything you could to retrieve it, but it refused to budge. Just as you were about to give up, she appeared.
"Can I hel-" she started, but you were already turning around to leave, and just as you turned around to leave, you accidentally collided with her, causing your chest to hit hers. The impact triggered your pacemaker, causing it to beep loudly and incessantly. "Shit — I'm so sorry" she said as she gently grabbed your arm to steady you. "Oh my god, I'm sorry" you said simultaneously. The sound reverberated through the hospital walls, and your face heated up with embarrassment. You had never experienced anything like this before, not even when you bumped into walls at home.
The auburnette looked at you puzzled and asked, "Why're you beeping? Are you okay?" Worried green eyes scanning you, she was clearly taken aback by the unexpected beeping sound and she couldn't understand where it was coming from. You couldn't help but feel drawn to her despite the awkward introduction, she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.
Little did you know that this chance encounter would lead to a series of life-changing events.
You remember sitting in the seating area of the hospital, munching on a snack that she had generously gotten for you, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this girl's kindness. She was so funny and kind, cracking dumb puns every now and then. You admired how perfect and flawless she looked and to this day, she still tells you how mesmerized she was by you when she saw you for the first time. You both chatted away about everything and nothing, you noticed that she had a backpack with her. Being the curious person you are, you couldn't resist the urge to ask her what she was studying. She seemed delighted by your interest and started talking passionately about her field of study — art. The more she talked, the more intrigued you were. When your conversation came to an end, she mustered up the courage to ask for your number, a clear indication that she wanted to see you again; it took you by surprise but you happily obliged. Something about you captivated her attention, although you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
You never thought that you would have the chance to become friends with her, let alone her best friend. But somehow, again, fate had other plans for you. Your friendship with her started slowly but surely. She always asked you to hang out, and you couldn't help but say yes. She was so fun to be around, and it was impossible not to enjoy her company. She would come to your place and take you on small adventures, always promising to show you something new and exciting. This was especially important to you, as you had shared that your teenage years were quite dull and you didn't venture out of your house much. She always respected your limits, knowing that you had to be cautious with your heart condition. When she started staying at your place, you were surprised at how well she fit in with your family and friends. Your parents loved her and your friends thought she was great too. She was always taking care of you without being overbearing or suffocating. Her kindness and thoughtfulness made you feel valued and appreciated, and you couldn't help but fall for her. How could you not after all? She was perfect.
You shared every aspect of your life with her, and she reciprocated. You both had a shared love for reading, although she preferred a completely different genre from yours. She forced you to read her favorite Savage Starlight comics, and even though they weren't your cup of tea, you still enjoyed spending time with her while reading them, mostly because of how cute she sounded when she read every line out loud, effortlessly switching tones to match the different characters' voices and even adding sound effects to accentuate the narrative. She would often stay the night at your place and binge-read them with you. She loved to talk about her passions for space, dinosaurs, science, and art. She even showed you her drawings and journal, claiming she had never shown them to anyone. She even made a few drawings for you; it was adorable and impressive how she managed to capture every little detail of your face and put it on a piece of paper, she was a talented one. And, of course, you did the same with her — sharing your favorite comics/books with her, even convincing her to watch movies that she always claimed she hated. After watching them with you, she realized they weren't so bad after all. Not that she actually paid attention to the movie, her eyes solely focused on you.
Soon enough she was introducing you to her closest friends. She was convinced that you would love them, and she was totally right. One of her friends, Dina, was so much fun to be around, always full of energy and cracking jokes, she had a smile that could light up the whole room. Jesse, Dina's boyfriend, was just as funny as her, but he was a bit more serious and responsible than the rest of them. He always looked out for Dina and Ellie, but they never listened to him, which resulted in some pretty hilarious situations. The group had a really cool dynamic, and you loved how they made you feel welcome right from the start.
Your first kiss was a moment you could never forget, etched deeply into your memory. You both were deeply in love with each other, and it was evident in the way you looked at each other. Your glances filled with unspoken feelings and palpable tension that drove you crazy, hoping that you weren't the only one feeling that way. And then the moment finally arrived. You remember it was a hot summer day, and the air in your room was stifling despite the fan pointed at your face. You had a few strands of hair that fell loose out of your messy low ponytail, and they moved with the breeze from the fan. You were both on your bed; she was sitting criss-crossed before you, music playing in the background. She was drawing you in her journal, claiming that she needed more practice, which, after years, she revealed was just an excuse to draw you and spend more time with you; you were her favorite muse and she was just a loser who couldn't help but simp for you. Her cheeks were slightly pink due to the heat (or at least you thought), and her green concentrated eyes flickered back and forth from your face to her journal. When she started drawing your lips you unconsciously licked them, causing her eyes to dart up to look at you in the eyes.
She let out a soft sigh and mumbled under her breath, "m' almost done." A faint blush crept up her cheeks, though you couldn't quite explain why. Intrigued, you leaned over to get a glimpse of her work and asked, "Yeah? can I see?" She straightened up, holding the journal close to her chest, and replied with a slight huff, "Don't move, c'mon, stay still." You raised an eyebrow in amusement and retorted, "What? I'm not even moving." She didn't respond and instead furrowed her brows, focusing intently on her piece of art. The room fell silent, except for the sound of her pencil scratching against the paper.
The silence between you and her was palpable but not uncomfortable, yet you still decided to break it with a joke. "Knock knock," you said, a small smile forming on your face. Her eyes, which had been focused on her journal, darted up to meet yours once again. A playful smile appeared on her lips as she asked, "Who's there?" in a slightly sarcastic tone, giving you an eye roll. "Kiss," you replied, wiggling your brows. "Kiss who?" she played along, her eyes still fixed on you. "Me," you smiled awkwardly.
You knew it was a terrible joke, a very corny one, but you couldn't help it. After all, you didn't have much experience in these kinds of things — the universe only knew how long it took you to muster up the courage to make a silly little joke like that one. She chuckled dryly. "God, that's really bad," she commented, and you laughed along. "I know," you lowered your head and shook it slowly before looking up at her again. Both of you were smiling at each other, the tension between you growing. "So?" you quipped, trying to sound confident. "Do you want to?" you asked, your heart beating fast. "Oh shit, you were serious?" She suddenly sounded nervous, placing her somehow worn-out journal on her thighs as she looked at you in disbelief. You could tell she was surprised, and maybe a little flustered. "I'm sosorry — I didn't mean to make it awkward. Forget it. It's just I really like you a lot, but if you don't—" you started to say, trying to diffuse the tension, but her soft lips cut off your nervous rambling before you could finish your sentence. You felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body as you kissed her back, your hands reaching up to cup her face. It was a moment you would never forget.
After your first kiss, you and Ellie went on a few dates together. It was during one of these dates that she took you to the park and asked you to be her girlfriend. The setting was perfect — you were having a lovely picnic date, the weather was just right, and a gentle breeze was blowing, caressing your skin and making it erupt in goosebumps as you sat close to the pond next to Ellie, throwing frozen peas to the ducks, their quacking filling the air with lively energy. The water was still and calm, the sun was shining, and the greenery around you was lush and vibrant. You felt a sense of warmth and happiness.
The auburnette sat beside you, leaning back as you fed the ducks in the pond. She wore a tender smile on her face, watching you with a gentle gaze. "I thought they only ever ate bread," she commented, breaking the peaceful silence between the two of you. You turned to her, your eyebrows raised in surprise. "If all they eat is bread, how will they survive in the wild without people tossing them bread all the time?" You replied with a hint of sarcasm. She scoffed and playfully nudged you. "Alright, smartass," she said, you nudged her back, both of you giggling like children. "I'm surprised a know-it-all nerd like you didn't know that," you teased her. "Nerd, huh? you actually like this nerd" she retorted teasingly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she pointed at herself. "Do I, now?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at her. You couldn't take back your words after all, you did like her and you made sure to tell her, let's say... pretty often.
"Oh yeah, you do," she chuckled, nodding her head playfully. The two of you fell back into a comfortable silence, watching the ducks swim around in the pond. Suddenly, she turned to you, her expression serious. "Listen, I was thinking...you know how we're going out on dates and all," she started, her voice hesitant. Your head snapped to look at her; your heart was beating like crazy, not that it usually wasn't due to your syndrome, but it felt crazier than usual. You felt your palms start to sweat, and you grew more nervous by the second. "Yeah?" you prompted her, waiting for her to continue. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...we already act like a couple, so...will you be my girlfriend?" she finally gathered the courage to ask, her eyes locked on yours.
She seemed a bit tense, although you couldn't understand why. After all, you had told her multiple times before how much you liked her, and the two of you had been acting like a couple for quite some time now. You gave her a cheeky smile "Of course I want to," you said confidently, jumping right into her lap, feeling a sudden burst of excitement as you wrapped your arms around her.
Your love was pure and genuine, and it was evident from the little things you did for each other. She would leave little notes around your room or in your bag whenever you left for a second. These notes would remind you of her love for you, and you would return the gesture by hiding notes in her notebooks or in her journal. She would find them the next day during her classes, and it would brighten up her day.
"you look so pretty"
"are you a keyboard? cause you're just my type ;)"
"i love your freckles and i love you"
"hope you're having a good day :) ps. no more pickup lines im begging D:"
Your love was spontaneous and full of small handmade gifts, full of drawings from her part and origami from yours. Once in a while she'd even write and play songs for you, which had you smiling like an idiot cause how romantic was that?
She was always too caring, and she would make sure that you were feeling okay despite your heart disorder. She would accompany you to your doctor appointments and never leave your side, even though you would tell her she didn't need to be there. Unlike your parents who had always been overprotective, she was always looking out for you without being too much. Since you were the "sick" one between the two of you, she always had trouble accepting help from you, especially when she felt sick or was on her period. But you always insisted on taking care of her, making her chicken soup whenever she had a horrible cold, and ensuring that she took painkillers for her period cramps. You always made sure that she had enough pads and her favorite snacks or helped her through one of her panic attacks. Soon, she got used to it and would always be a whining mess when she was sick, hoping you would cuddle with her or baby her. She loved it more than she liked to admit.
On your anniversaries, you would surprise each other with flowers. The first time you had ever gotten her flowers (which was on your first date), she accepted them with teary eyes, saying that none of her ex-girlfriends had ever gotten her flowers or treated her like a woman; you loved the idea of being her first in something — you didn't get to be her first kiss or her first time in...that, but at least you were the first girlfriend who treated her right.
Your first time together was so special and intimate, it made you feel truly alive. The way she was so gentle and caring towards you left an indelible imprint on your heart. Her touch was like a soft breeze on a calm summer day, sending shivers down your spine, and being with her made you feel like you were safe from the rest of the world. You remember how her tender gaze made you feel like the most special and beautiful girl in the world, making your insecurities fade away. The way she held you close, with a warmth that engulfed you, made you feel comfortable in your own skin. It was your first time ever, and you confided in her about not having much experience. She reassured you that she would teach you, show you the way, and make you feel good, and good Lord, if she kept that promise.
It was a warm and peaceful afternoon, the sun was shining brightly outside, casting a warm glow into the room. You and your girlfriend were both lounging on her comfortable bed, enjoying each other's company in silence. While she was intently watching an action movie, you were lost in the pages of a captivating book. Your attentive eyes scanned each line and paragraph, immersing yourself in the story and oblivious to your surroundings. Unbeknownst to you, Ellie was growing increasingly impatient, huffing and puffing in an attempt to get your attention. Her huffs were airy at first, but as time went on, they became more forceful and pronounced, hoping to grab your attention and draw you away from your book.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to her, you turned your head gently towards her, lowering your book ever so slightly "What's wrong, Els?" you asked, concerned. "Put it down, I wanna cuddle." she responded, snatching the book out of your hand and placing it on her nightstand. You couldn't help but smile at her neediness, finding it adorable. "Fine," you sighed playfully, "Needy," you added under your breath, rolling your eyes at her. But she caught your comment, "What? Did you say somethin'?" You couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction as she pulled you on top of her and wrapped her arms around you. "Oh, nothing," you innocently replied.
"Comfy? Anything hurts?" she asked in a gentle tone as she rubbed your back in a slow and soothing motion, and you instantly relaxed under her touch. You took a deep breath, the tension in your muscles slowly fading away. "I'm okay, — m'comfy" you reassured her, feeling grateful for her care and existence in general. You hugged her tightly, burying your head in her chest. You could feel the warmth radiating from her, and the steady beats of her heart were a comforting sound.
You both cuddled up in silence, movie still playing softly in the background. As she kept rubbing your back, you gently scratched her arm something that usually relaxed her. After a little while, you felt compelled to express your feelings and whispered, "I love you." Even though you couldn't see her face, you could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, "Love you more, babe." You remained comfortably nestled in her chest, head buried in her grey hoodie. When you finally lifted your head from her chest, you gazed into her beautiful green eyes, already looking at you with so much affection that made your heart skip a beat. "You mean the world to me." you confessed, her eyes softened even more, and her heart swelled with love for you. She was the perfect girlfriend, always so loving and respectful, and you couldn't ask for anyone better. Finally, she leaned in and kissed you slowly and tenderly, a soft kiss that soon turned into something passionate and full of desire. She rolled on top, pinning you down with her weight, her hands roaming all over your body. She squeezed your waist, your hands cupping her freckled face to keep her close. She sighed quietly into the kiss, her fingers tugging at your tank top, and you knew what that meant — she wanted it off. And to confirm your thoughts, it was Ellie herself. She pulled away, lips slightly swollen and pink. Despite her best efforts, it was pretty evident that she was struggling to control her breathing as she panted uncontrollably, both because of the intense making out and her arousal growing by the second. Her face was flushed; she looked at you to gauge your reaction to her silent request, to which you responded with a little nod. "I'm ready," you uttered timidly, feeling your cheeks getting warmer. "Are you sure? We don't nee-" you cut her words off, repeating yourself, "I'm ready," this time sounding a bit more firm and confident of your choice. She mimicked the slight nod you gave her a few seconds ago, loose strands of auburn hair falling out of her little bun framing her face, her eyes never leaving yours.
She leaned in once again, giving you a peck on your moist lips before kissing your jawline and down to your neck. "Can i touch you?" she asked between damp kisses she left on your neck, "I don't know, can you?" she chuckled and began to suck purple marks on your soft skin as she slipped her hand underneath your tank top, brushing against your bare stomach before reaching her target — your tits. She cupped one of your tits, feeling the fabric of your bra. Your breath hitched, your cheeks were flushed and you were grateful she was too focused on your neck to notice "Can I take it off?" she questioned between cute smooches sounds, "Yeah," you breathed out, looking back into her eyes.
When she did, you were left in nothing but your bra, the visible scar near your shoulder making you feel uncomfortable, same with the implanted pacemaker under your skin, it was visible and you hoped it didn't gross her out. You couldn't help but look away from her, suddenly feeling ashamed for something you had no control over; it was something so small yet so significant for you.
You felt her index and middle finger gently pressing under your jawline to turn your head towards her and make you look into her eyes once again. Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper, as she spoke to you in such a tender tone. "Hey," she started softly, sensing your insecurity. "You're beautiful, alright?" Hearing those words from her sent chills all over your body, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. She continued, "We'll go slow. If something feels wrong, you let me know, okay?" Her words were reassuring, and you could feel her gentle touch on your face, holding it firmly so that you couldn't look away. You nodded in response to her words, suddenly feeling shy in front of your girlfriend.
After less than a few minutes, both of your clothes were off, thrown carelessly somewhere in the room. She still had her sport bra on and her underwear while you only had your underwear on. She trailed down, kissing all over your bare chest and breasts, and your scar, the one you were insecure about "smooch smooch..so pretty, smooch beautiful, my pretty girl" she kept murmuring under her breath causing goosebumps to rise all over your body, your nipples stood erect and hard, begging for some attention. She chuckled when she felt your sensible nub harden under her palm, "Didn't mean to make the ladies feel neglected" she joked, her voice was husky. She looked up at you with a cocky grin, and you felt your cheeks heat up even more; you chuckled awkwardly and rolled your eyes at her attempt to tease you about something you couldn't control. "Why are you always like this?" you rhetorically asked with a playful smirk, she shrugged and gave you a lopsided smile as she began to kiss your chest and attack your nipples with her mouth. "mmphh" you let out; a pathetic attempt to swallow a small moan when she sucked on one of your nipples and pinched the other. You bit down on your lip, and you could feel her smile at the small sound that came from you as she continued to work on your tits.
She trailed her hand down your abdomen, her fingers dancing around the waistband of your underwear teasingly. You couldn't deny the arousal building in your panties and at the pit of your stomach, you could feel the uncomfortable stickiness forming in your undies. So fucking wet. Leaving moist kisses all the way down to your belly button, then she stopped. She looked up at you, cheeks flushed just like yours and her eyes looking for a sign of your consent. She wanted to make sure you were completely comfortable with the way she was exploring your body, feeling it, and touching it. "I'm ready, Ellie. I promise" you repeated, your voice was soft and still timid.
"If you want me to stop, just tell me to, okay?" she told you once again and she didn't resume what she was doing until you gave her a light nod. She spread your legs, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the darker spot of your panties, you were so fucking wet. She hissed something under her breath that you couldn't quite catch. Seeing how wet she made you only served to boost her ego (as if she wasn't cocky already, the last thing this girl needed was a boost of her ego). "God, you're so wet," she couldn't help but voice her thoughts. "Thanks, Einstein, I haven't noticed," you responded with a hint of sarcasm, perhaps hoping to divert attention away from your embarrassment. She chuckled and an amused smile appeared on her dotted face, her brows jolting up. "Don't you give me the attitude" Before you could say anything back, her digits gently pressed on your still-clothed pussy, making your hips jerk away and a little moan escape your lips. Your face was on fire as you registered the lewd sound that accidentally left your lips. "That's what you get," A broad grin of pride spread across her face, and a fleeting pout that she found endearing appeared on your face "Oh, what? You mad at me, now?" she continued to taunt you, you let out a deep sigh and turned your gaze away.
"Shut up — god, why are you so annoying even in moments like this?" You covered your eyes with the sweaty palm of your hand as you spoke, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You could hear her giggle at your shyness, and it was evident that she enjoyed teasing you and playing with your emotions.
"C'mon pretty, m'just messin' with you." but she couldn't stop snickering to herself, finding your reactions quite funny. "Look at me," she commanded in a gentle tone, and you complied; you moved your hand away from your face and looked down at her, who was positioned between your spread thighs. "Want me to stop?" she questioned again, making you huff in response "Ellie. If you ask me that one more time, i swear—"
"Jesus, just making sure, no need to be so feisty about it" her fingers hooked under the waistband of your pink panties, tugging it down and freeing your dripping cunt. "Do I seriously make you this wet?" she was in disbelief, watching the string of precum that connected your pussy to your damp panties she had just pulled down.
"No, I was secretly thinking of Megan Fox, imagining her on top doing naughty things to me," you sarcastically retorted. She gasped dramatically, acting offended. Such a drama queen she was. "I consider that cheating." She played along, keeping that fake offended demeanor on. You laughed softly at her silly expression. "Okay, then, you caught me. Mentally cheating on you right now," you joked.
"I see how it is" You laughed again, and she scoffed, but she wasn't actually pissed at you.
She began kissing your inner thigh, the ache between your thighs becoming almost unbearable. "Els..." you had this whiny hint in your voice, growing visibly impatient, "Hm?" she hummed back, switching to your other thigh, going near your pussy but never actually touching you where you wanted her to. You moved your hips close to her face, but she moved away. "What do you want?" she asked teasingly, playing dumb. Fuck, you hated her guts for doing that. "You know what i want" she clicked her tongue under the roof of her mouth "Don't think I do" you sighed, frustration slowly creeping up inside you "Please?" your voice was delicate, almost as if you were begging her to let you try her fries or asking her to buy you something. She smirked, seeing you all horny and desperate yet still struggling with your words, too shy to tell her what you wanted directly. "Please what?" she encouraged you, that obnoxious cocky grin never leaving her face; she was making fun of you at this point. But you stayed quiet. "Can't read your mind princess, you gotta use your words."
"Touch me?...please?" your voice above a whisper but she heard you, you could tell she did from the satisfied expression casting over her features. "Sorry? Louder. Couldn't hear you" that cunt. You knew she did hear you and that she just wanted to hear it again so, you tried your best to push your shyness aside and please her. "Touch me, Ell-" But she was growing way too impatient, pressing her thumb on your clit, you let out a strangled moan and your hips jerked away at the sudden contact, but she pulled you closer again. Between the two of you, the more impatient one was probably her. Poor baby couldn't even let you say it twice, she was already torturing your aching nub, drawing small circles on it.
"Feeling good?" she questioned, her eyes studying your every reaction to her touch. She knew you felt good but still needed to hear it from you. "Yeah," you breathed out, your breathing becoming more elaborated. "Remember to breathe from your nose, baby. Don't want your heart to go crazy over a little excitement — if it gets too much, tell me." she thoughtfully said. "I'll be fine" you reassured her, grabbing her other hand to squeeze it.
In no time, her lips were on your clit, gently sucking on it. She moaned on it, almost as she she was the one getting head. She could feel her pussy starting to ache, the fabric of her undies sticking to her pussy, but she couldn't help it. The way you sounded, your cute expressions and your pretty pussy were just too much to bare for her. "So fucking beautiful," she mumbled, pulling away from your pussy for a second. She slid a finger inside you and you arched your back, pushing your hips to her face to seek for more contact "This okay, yeah?" her voice was rasp. You whined in response "Ooooh look at her, think she loves me" it took quite a few to understand that she was talking to your pussy instead "God, w-why are you so…" you tried to hide the turmoil in your voice but you interrupted your own words with a slutty moan that left your throat as soon as she pushed her finger deeper into you.
"Fuuuck" you grunted, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull and the grip on her hand tightening. "So responsive," she chuckled. "Ellie, shut..up," you whined, moving your hips slowly to meet her thrusts. "Can't even talk without moaning, so nasty." she snickered, acting like she was totally unaffected by your pretty moans. She was fucking soaked, humping into absolutely nothing, not that you could notice it, too focused on the way she was making you feel. The gushing sounds riverbed throughout Ellie's bedroom, and she absolutely fucking loved it. She loved seeing you like this, whimpering and writhing under her touch, so ethereal, your body was pure art to her.
"M-more" you stuttered, panting a bit, your chest raising and falling quickly "More, huh?" she echoed mockingly, sliding another finger into your little honey jar, wetness dripping down to her knuckles from how wet you were. "Gahh-uhhd" you let out incoherent words, she groaned, feeling your walls clenching around her fingers and feeling her own clenching around absolutely nothing. "Like this, yes?" she questioned in a breathy voice, her brain suddenly struggling to make out sentences that made sense, too mushy to say shit and all because of you. If you only knew how long she waited to see you like this — touch you like this. "Uh-aahh" you trapped little whimpers inside your mouth, biting hard on your bottom lip again. "Nah-uh let me hear you," she immediately scolded you, shaking her head in disapproval, but you didn't listen.
Her face lowered to your pussy, lips attaching to your throbbing clit, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, switching between circling it and sucking it gently. Your mouth hung open, arching your back and bucking your hips against her face as you let out obscene moans. She moaned against your core, a mixture of her own spit and your juices covering her chin. "Taste hmmsoo good" Your other hand reached down to move pieces of her hair out of her face. "Ellie, I-i think I'm gonna-" you trailed off, not that she needed you to tell her, she could feel you squeezing her digits as she kept hitting that soft spot inside you. "Gonna cum, baby? wanna cum for me, beautiful?" she cooed.
"God..I love you so fucking much," she hissed under her breath; you moaned loudly in return, riding her fingers "Babe, m'gonna cum" you squealed, high-pitched moans reverbing throughout her apartment. "i'm here, princess" she cooed, squeezing your hand that she had been holding this entire time, so clingy. She wanted to ensure you knew she was there for you, not only to please you. That little feeling that had been building up in your stomach snapped like a rubber band, milking her fingers as she let you ride your orgasm. Curses falling from both of your lips, your muscles spasming and squeezing her fingers — god if she loved the way your body was reacting to her.
"I know, i know, I'm here baby" she whispered sweetly when a few whiny whimpers left your mouth. When you came down from your high, she withdrew her fingers and sucked them clean, her eyes locked with yours as she did so "You're so nasty" you giggled, feeling yourself blush again "You're the one who came all over my fingers" she teased you, crawling up to kiss your lips. Your tongues tangled together and you could taste yourself on her tongue. You place your hands on her waist, pulling her body closer to yours.
"You must be tired, angel." She reluctantly pulled away, an inch away from your lips as she spoke. "Want me to leave you all wet and needy?" you inquired in disbelief, lifting your brows up at her reluctance. Her eyes silently begging you to touch her, but she still preferred to put your health over her needs. That's how caring and loving she was. "I'm just saying you don't need to push yourself if you feel tired," she repeated.
"Oh, Ellie…" you sighed, pulling her underwear down and taking her by surprise. She seemed to be internally struggling to find the right thing to say, but you preceded her, "Think I can't handle a little fun?" you purred, growing bolder in your actions. You cupped her cunt, feeling all her sweet juices cover your hand; she was so fucking soaked, it was almost unbelievable. "Only if you're sure," she answered, her breath hitching in her throat as she gulped thickly, already trying hard to suppress her cute little moans. "I'm sure you want this," you teased her, the corner of your lips curling up in a smile, almost as if to make fun of her; it was your turn now.
"I do, you know I do," she replied. It was so entertaining to watch her keep her breathing steady. You ran your index and middle finger through her glistening folds and began to tease her puffy clit, rubbing it slowly, almost painfully. "Fuck" she grunted, humping the palm of your hand, desperate to find relief; you hummed back. "Am I doing okay?" you asked innocently; despite your inexperience, you could tell she loved it, and you high-fived yourself for the little mental notes you took while she was touching you just a moment ago. She grabbed your wrist, guiding your fingers to her entrance. "Finger me," she commanded with a raspy voice.
She let out a small gasp when you thrusted into her slowly. "Like this?" you could feel her walls clenching around your inexperienced fingers, "Uh-huh," she bobbed her head, positioning your hand just how she wanted it, guiding you as she rode your fingers. "Fuck, you're so messy — so wet for me," you muttered under your breath, pulling her closer to you; she was supporting her weight on her wobbly knees as she your fingers, burying her head into the crook of your neck. Your other hand rested on her hips, holding her in place and not allowing her to move as you kept slamming her fingers into her. The pleasure sounds she let out right into your ear only served to make you wetter and hornier than you already were — if that was even possible. It was almost like your inexperience melted away, with the sole intent of pleasing her. Immaculate sounds left her throat as she chased her orgasm on your fingers, and you couldn't help but groan pitifully after her. Your pussy already yearning for her again, struggling to hold onto the last shreds of sanity. "Just like that." Her voice was weak and breathy, it was fucking music to your ears, making you feel all types of things inside your tummy, butterflies perhaps? She couldn't even speak properly, struggling to suppress her slutty whimpers. Muttering filthy curses under her breath as you picked up the pace, hitting that spongy spot over and over; you could feel her whole body tremble and squirm in your hands. What made it better was knowing that you were causing it.
"You feel so good, El," you whispered in her ear, kissing all the cute little freckles spattered on her bare shoulder and collarbone "'m gonna cum" she gasped, her whimpers becoming more frequent and louder. Who knew she'd become a whiny mess when close to her orgasm, but for some reason, you found it adorable — like her life depended entirely on your fingers, cute wispy brows furrowed together in concentration. "Gonna cum on my fingers, pretty?" you purred. "Please…" she sounded so fucking needy it was almost ridiculous, but you slowed down instead, earning a groan from her part "Nonono, don't stop, pleaseplease," Her words were rushed, sounding like a kid who had just lost the most precious possession. "What is it that you said? Words, right? — you gonna be a good girl and ask or you just gonna cum like that?" for some reason, the idea of playing with her in such a vulnerable state turned you on. You wanted to see how far you could push her. She let out a shaky breath. "Can't believe you're doing this." She slowly shook her head in disbelief. Your digits pressed on the spot that almost made her squirt, and she squirmed. "Words." You spoke with a firmer tone, but you still had a playful, teasing smirk on your lips. "Swear to fucking god— next time, I won't go so easy on you," uttering a threatening remark followed by an imperceptible scoff. "I never asked you to go easy on me." Your pace slowed down even more, and she frowned at you.
"Can I cum? on your fingers? please." her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her eyes were wide and glossy, her pupils dilated with desperation. "Such a goood girl El, such a good girl…cum for me" but all she could do was crash her lips against yours, leaving you no choice but swallow all her little noises. Her thighs trembled with each thrust, her legs parting slightly to allow better access as your fingers kept thrusting in and out of her wetness harder and faster, causing her to moan into your mouth.
When she came down from her high she collapsed against you, your bodies glistening with sweat, still breathing unevenly. The first thing she said when her breathing went back to normal was "I think I'm gonna marry you," before dissolving into a fit of giggles. You couldn't help but chuckle along with her. "I'm flattered. I guess you liked it then?" you responded, wrapping your arms around her. She snuggled into your chest, a contented smile on her face. "If I liked it?" she repeated, incredulous. You laughed softly, "Well, did you?"
"You were lying when you said it was your first time, weren't you?" she asked teasingly, furrowing her eyebrows at you and looking at you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "I take that as a compliment," you smirked, not giving her a straight answer, her eyes carefully studied your features, analyzing every crease and contour, searching for any sign of deception "No, seriously. Were you a virgin?" she asked again, still in disbelief "I guess you'll never know," you said, teasing her further. "Come on. I'm your girlfriend. I'm supposed to know," she said, acting dramatic and waving her hands in the air. "Are you?" you asked teasingly, and she gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you? Am I not your girlfriend?" she asked, pretending to be hurt. You couldn't help but giggle. "I meant...are you supposed to know?" you teased her curiosity. "Pffttt whatever," she said, pretending to be offended and scooting away from you. You continued laughing at her antics. "Babe, where are you going?" you asked, still chuckling as you reached for her tattooed forearm and pulled her back towards you. "Girlfriends tell each other everything," she pouted playfully. "Right. Let's watch Jurassic Park and cuddle," you suggested, grabbing the remote to put the movie on.
You shared a bond that was unbreakable, and every experience you had together only brought you closer as if there was an invisible red string that seemed to connect the two of you, always pulling you closer and closer with each passing day. Your love for each other was like a never-ending flame that grew brighter with time. She never really stopped surprising you with little thoughtful gifts, and she even drew sketches of you when you weren't looking, and you both looked forward to creating new adventures together. She was always this huge simp for you, your number one supporter and fan.
After completing university, she asked you to move into her small but cozy apartment, which was basically a reflection of her personality. The walls were adorned with paintings she had made, stacks of comic books on her shelves, action figures, and her favorite movies and games collection. It was a delightful mishmash of all the things she loved. And slowly, your belongings started to mix in with hers. Her lonely toothbrush now had a companion, and her sneakers left by the door had an extra pair of shoes right next to them — your shoes. The dirty laundry was now a mix of colorful pink clothes and pastel colors, while hers were mostly grey or dark clothes. The wall hooks had more jackets hanging on them, and cute little stuffed animals were carefully placed on her your bed. The shelves filled with cute little plants that you both lovingly cared for, filling the empty gaps between an action figure and another. Living with her was a dream come true; you couldn't have been happier. You both had created a space that was uniquely yours, filled with love and a familiar warmth, it felt like family.
And before you knew it a new member joined your little family — a golden retriever. You had always dreamt of having a dog, but your parents never allowed you to have one when you were a kid. You had been talking about how much you loved the idea of having a furball running around your little apartment, ever since, Ellie had been secretly planning to surprise you with a cute little puppy. She had subtly asked you what kind of dog you would like, and she started doing her research. She had never owned a dog before, so she wanted to learn as much as possible about what puppies needed. Puppies required more than just toys and cuddles, after all they needed proper nutrition, and she was confused about what kind of food to get for the puppy. She went to the grocery store and found a wide variety of puppy food with different flavors and vitamins. After careful consideration, she picked out what she thought was the best one for the puppy. One day, she told you that she was staying out late for work; in reality, the poor baby had to drive for an hour to get the exact puppy she had seen on social media (Facebook, to be exact, Joel had helped her with that). The puppy was a beautiful golden retriever with a shiny coat and an adorable face. The drive back home with the puppy was mostly quiet, except for her talking to the honey-furred baby that sat there in the passenger seat in silence, looking at her lovingly.
The puppy's big, brown eyes had already stolen her heart, and she found herself speaking in a silly, high-pitched voice "I just know she's gonna love you," she cooed, her words directed at the adorable pup. "You're such a good girl, aren't ya?" she continued, praising the puppy for every little thing she did, even breathing. "You better not be stealing her from me too much, though, or else…" she trailed off, her voice filled with mock threats. But her playful words quickly turned to more affectionate ones as she gazed into the puppy's sweet eyes. "Gosh, you're so fuckin' cute," she whispered, her fingers gently caressing the puppy's soft fur while the other remained on the steering wheel "Wonder what your name will be," she hummed, tapping her fingers lightly on the wheel. She began to sing a song she had just made up on the spot, directed at the little furball who was wiggling her tail in excitement. "My cute little shrimp," she sang, her voice filled with love and affection, but when the puppy let out a little whine at her singing, she couldn't help but laugh at herself. "What? Am I that much of a bad singer?" she joked, her voice filled with self-deprecating humor. "Oof, tough crowd," she added, chuckling at her own joke "Just wait till I show you my guitar skills, you little shit."
When she finally made it to your apartment, she had to carry the little shrimp all the way up to the stairs cause the puppy was too scared to climb them and the elevator was currently broken. She had to take small steps to make sure she wouldn't trip over her own feet or something like that. "So heavy," she muttered under her breath before putting the pup down, her arms aching. She unlocked the door and you immediately called out your name. "You home, baby?" she heard from the kitchen, where she assumed you were washing the dishes because she could hear the sound of clinking plates. She responded, "Could you come here real quick? need your help with something." She left the dog outside on the doorstep, behind the wall and out of your sight.
You shouted from the kitchen, "Give me a second," before approaching her. She handed you a plastic bag filled with dog toys and bowls. You looked at her in confusion since you didn't own a pet. "What's this for?" you asked, puzzled. She didn't reply but simply moved to the side and clicked her tongue multiple times. The fur ball appeared and ran to you wiggling her tail. You slapped your hand on your mouth in disbelief, and your eyes widened in surprise, soon welling up with tears.
You got on your knees and held the pup close to you, hugging the fur ball tightly. "Oh my fucking god, iloveyouiloveyou," you kept rambling between cute sniffles, and she couldn't help but laugh at your reaction. "Surprise, babe," she said with a small smile, kneeling down to pet the puppy in your arms. The puppy was small and soft, with big brown eyes and tiny paws. You couldn't believe how adorable she was.
"I love you so fucking much. She is so fucking cute. I can't believe it. I'm a mother now," you said, tears of joy running down your cheeks. She chuckled at your words, happy to see you so happy. "Yep, we're parents now," she played along, scratching the dog behind her ear. "What're we naming her?" she asked then, wiping the tears off your face with her thumb.
"Maple?" you sniffled hard, "Maple, I like Maple." You looked down at the little pup in your arms, and she looked up at you with innocent eyes.
Ever since the beginning, it was clear that Maple was more than just a pet; she was a member of your family. She was such a beautiful and intelligent dog, whenever you or Ellie came home, Maple would be the first to greet you with a wagging tail and excited barks that would fill the room with her infectious energy. She would jump up, her paws dancing in the air, and nuzzle her wet nose against your hand begging for cuddles and kisses. But Maple's abilities went beyond just being a dog. She had an incredible intuition that seemed almost human-like, and had a sixth sense when it came to reading emotions. She always seemed to sense whenever your heart was going a little too crazy and would nudge you with her nose to make you sit down. But your heartbeat wasn't the only thing she could sense; whenever Ellie was about to have a panic attack she could feel it, and if she was having one and you weren't by her side, she would come get you.
You remembered the first time this happened. It was a dark and stormy night, and you and Ellie had just gone to bed. You were sound asleep when Maple jumped up on the bed and began licking your face frantically. You thought she needed to go outside, so you groaned, "Babe, think Maple needs to-" You started, your voice still thick with sleep, but when your hand landed on the empty mattress instead of your girlfriend's shoulder, you instantly woke up.
Following Maple to the bathroom, you found Ellie sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her freckled face, and her breathing uneven. You knelt down in front of her and spoke to her softly, using a soothing tone to calm her down. You knew better than just to touch her; she seemed too absent and lost in her own nightmare to welcome such an invasion. "El, hey…I'm here, honey." As your gentle cooing reached her ears, she seemed to awaken from a trance, her terrified eyes locked with yours, fear etched across her beautiful features. "Hi baby, it's okay." you tried to calm her down, "i'm here, okay?" she was trembling with fear, and your heart sank. You gently placed your hand on her knee and tried to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. With a soft and soothing voice, you said, "You're safe now...let's take a deep breath together, alright?" You could see the tears streaming down her face as she tried her best to mimic your deep breaths. You kept encouraging her to take deep breaths in and out, and she slowly began to calm down. Maple sat in the corner of the bathroom, watching over Ellie with a concerned expression. When Ellie finally calmed down, you sat down next to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm here for you," you felt her body relax and her breathing steady. She leaned into your touch, and you could feel the tension in her body slowly dissipating. You were her anchor, her everything. You could feel her heartbeat slowing down as she rested her head on your chest, listening to the rhythm of your breathing. You kissed the top of her head tenderly, and she closed her eyes, taking in your scent. Suddenly, she rasped out, "I love you," her voice sounded weak, you knew she was exhausted "I love you more — Feeling better?" You ran your fingers through her messy hair, and she gave you a small nod in response. The golden furball walked to Ellie's other side and laid down, placing her head on her thigh. Ellie smiled weakly and petted her gently "My two favorite girls," you joked with a soft tone, trying to lighten the mood. An airy scoff left her nose as all three of you sat there, cuddling each other.
Maple was an essential part of your family. She was always there, no matter where you went. Sundays were extra special because Ellie would be at home all day. You would spend those days soaking up all her attention and going to the beach with her and Maple, your cute little meatball. There was nothing better than lounging under the warm afternoon sun, and Ellie bringing a big umbrella to shield you from the heat. While you played with Maple, she would often strum her guitar or sketch the two of you, looking at you with heart eyes as she captured the moment on paper. The sound of your laughter would fill the air, as you threw the frisbee to Maple and enjoyed the perfect beach day with Ellie by your side. You were all she ever wanted and she was all you ever wished for.
That's why she felt the need to take your relationship to the next level.
"Baaaabe" you shouted from the living room while browsing through the countless titles on Netflix. "Yeah?" Your girlfriend responded from the kitchen, her voice echoing through the cozy apartment as she paced around, probably making you something to drink. "What do you wanna watch?" your eyes casted across the big TV screen, the multiple titles illuminate your face, making it difficult to choose just one. You heard a sigh from the other side of the couch and looked over to see your beloved dog, Maple, ready to nap after a long day of work. poor dog.
"Uhhh…dunno, a horror movie?" she suggested, sounding unsure. "Wow, thanks for the help, Ellie. Always so useful," You retorted in a fake annoyed tone "Do you remember that new movie with Jennifer Lawrence I told you I wanted to watch?" she asked after a few moments of pondering, emerging from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in her hands. You raised an eyebrow at her and asked, "So, you wanna watch it for her, huh?" She laughed at your words and rolled her eyes. "C'mon, you told me to pick something, and I did," she explained handing you one of the mugs. "Careful, it's hot." You'd never seen this mug before, Ellie was obsessed with collecting new ones, so you didn't really pay attention to it. "Okay, fine, Jennifer Lawrence, it is," you said as you selected the movie she suggested. "Hi, baby," you heard her say in a high-pitched voice, and when you looked at her, you realized she was talking to the dog. "Hi baby? really? I'm literally right here." She giggled at your response and scooted closer to you, kissing your cheek. "Hi baby," she repeated her words, but this time in a sultry tone "Better."
You took another sip of your drink, but you could feel her gaze lingering on you. When you turned to look at her, she quickly averted her eyes and pretended to be interested in the TV. "What?" you asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "What?" she echoed back, acting like she hadn't been staring at you for the last 15 minutes. "No, you what" you repeated, her eyes darting from the mug in your hands to you. "You done with that yet?" she questioned, seeming almost too impatient. "Huh?" she cleared her throat, eyes wandering nervously around the living room for a few seconds before returning them to you again. "Are you done with your latte? Want me to make you more?" she rephrased it, trying to sound less nervous. You looked down at your mug for a second "Not yet"
Her eyes remained glued on you, eagerly awaiting for something, a reaction perhaps, you couldn't tell, she was just acting weird as hell. "Done?" she asked for the third time in a row, after every five seconds, but to her, it felt like an eternity. "Ellie, I swear—" You let out an exasperated sigh "What?" she replied, her voice laced with innocence. "No, seriously. You tryna poison me or something?" you joked,and she simply scoffed at your words and rolled her eyes at you. "Just drink it fast, god," she demanded, her impatience showing. As you take the last sip, your eyes caught a glimpse of a few letters printed on the bottom of the mug.
Your heart skipped a beat as you read the words
Will you marry me?
You felt tears welling up in your eyes, and before you could even process what was happening, you jumped into her lap, crying in her arms. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, and you could feel her heart beating in sync with yours. "Yesyesyesyes" you had whispered between sobs, your voice choked with emotion. Her eyes lit up with joy and she pulled away, revealing a small diamond ring in her hand. You looked at her in awe, realizing that that was the moment you had been waiting for your entire life. The woman of your dreams had asked you to spend the rest of your life with her, and you couldn't have been happier.
"I love you so much," you sobbed, tears streaming down your face as you watched her hands sliding the ring on your finger. She chuckled through her own tears and replied, "I think I love you even more." You sniffled and cupped her face, saying, "I love you with all my heart."
Ellie being Ellie, couldn't help but make a joke about that. She looked at you with a playful smirk on her face; she wiggled her eyebrows up and down and said, "All your heart, huh?"
With a grin, you replied, "It's beating like crazy for you." Then she asked if you wanted to hear a joke from her pun book, but you knew it was a rhetorical question. You prepared yourself for the inevitable dumb joke she was about to tell. "Ellie, I thought we talked about this." You fake scolded her, but she couldn't hold back her smile as she started her joke, almost as if she was about to make the funniest joke ever but everyone who knew Ellie knew that her jokes were...questionable. "Are you pulmonary embolism?" she proceeded, barely containing her laughter.
"Oh no," you frowned, rubbing your forehead. She then delivered the punchline with a wide smile, all proud of herself "Because you take my breath away." You looked at her with a deadpan expression and let out a sigh. You shook your head, and said "Can't believe I'm marrying you," trying to hide the smile that was starting to form on your lips. Ellie looked at you with a cocky grin "Right? I'm great like that — Talented, charming, great jokes...what else could you possibly want?" Rolling your eyes, you responded, "fancy package, lucky me"
After your laughter had subsided, you gazed into her captivating green eyes with a smile filled with affection. You were so deeply in love that it felt almost painful. You could hardly believe how fortunate you were to have found each other. The thought of spending the rest of your lives together filled you with joy and excitement. Both of you leaned in simultaneously, eager to feel the warmth of each other's lips in a tender and passionate kiss.
She was the person who made your life complete. You felt like you had been waiting for her all your life; your life always felt so dull and empty and you never understood why or what it was missing, until you met her. She was your soulmate, your best friend, and the love of your life. You couldn't imagine spending a single day without her by your side. She was the one who made everything better, who made you laugh with her stupid and corny puns when you wanted to cry, who held your hand when you needed comfort. You knew that you could face anything as long as she was with you. You were grateful for every moment you spent together and looked forward to spending the rest of your life with her.
On your wedding day, the weather was perfect, with clear skies and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of flowers from the nearby garden. It felt like a dream come true, and you couldn't believe the day had finally arrived. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation as you prepared to marry the love of your life. Sure, you were exhausted at the end of the day, but it was all worth it.
As you walked down the aisle, you saw everyone you loved and cared for, all gathered in one place to celebrate your special day. Ellie's closest friends, Dina and Jesse, Joel, your parents, and all your friends were there, beaming with joy and happiness. You were wearing a beautiful white dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, and Ellie couldn't help but cry when she saw you. Her dad rubbed her back, trying to calm the poor baby down, but the tears kept streaming down her face. You were a vision, and she couldn't believe how lucky she was to have you. Ellie was equally breathtaking in her suit, looking sharp and elegant, you couldn't take your eyes off her, she was so fucking fine. You exchanged vows, and it took her a while to finish reading hers, as she was choked up with sobs and emotions. You tried to comfort her by holding her trembling hands, but she was just a wreck.
When the time came for you to kiss your bride, the celebrant said, "You may now kiss your bride." Ellie looked at you with teary eyes, and you both giggled as you leaned in for a kiss, both of you smiling against each other's lips. That moment marked the beginning of your journey together as a married couple, but what mattered most was that you were both committed to being there for each other no matter what.
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msafterhours · 18 hours
Text
Saccharine | Act One
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]
Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)
media darling.
an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.
an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.
absolutely spotless.
nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—
What a load of shit.
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They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.
You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.
As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.
Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.
Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.
It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.
The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.
You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.
Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.
After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.
You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.
The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.
All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”
And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.
And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.
Yet.
The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.
Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.
If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.
The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.
You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.
The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.
One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.
You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.
Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.
Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.
Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.
Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.
Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.
One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.
Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.
A moment passes.
Another.
The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.
That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.
You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.
The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.
Might as well toss them a pacifier.
You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.
And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.
You don’t.
There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.
What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.
Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.
Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.
But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.
Yet.
It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.
Then the world shuts down.
Thus, it’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.
In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.
Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.
Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.
Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.
You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.
As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.
A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.
You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.
You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.
For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.
Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.
A forgettable account name? ✔
Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔
A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔
Oh, and of course the message itself:
ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Check.
Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …
No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.
So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.
You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:
TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing
You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.
ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection
You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.
Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.
It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.
In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.
Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.
In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.
But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.
So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.
A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.
And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.
They yearn. They burn.
A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.
A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.
It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.
You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.
The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …
ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.
Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?
The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.
“(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”
You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:
“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”
Okay, maybe a little petty.
You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.
ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life
And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.
The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.
Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 
The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.
The reflection staring back has aged forty.
Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.
In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”
“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”
“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”
“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.
Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that—especially by seeing her live and in-person.
It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.
Fuck, where’s seat 239?
Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.
Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.
She’s next.
You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.
ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same
The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.
You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.
Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?
You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.
It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.
It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.
All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.
You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.
It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.
ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures
And that’s all she has to say.
… that’s it? Really?
You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?
You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.
It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.
And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.
But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.
You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.
You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.
A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.
You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.
TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do
Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:
ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve
It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.
Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.
This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 
This time, you aim for the heart.
"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)
The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.
ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?
Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.
TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better
You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.
ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)
Another pause.
ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed
This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.
Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.
You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.
It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?
So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.
ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me
… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?
TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?
It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.
TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?
As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!
You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.
TurnThePage: You too
You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.
It’s deafening.
You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?
The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.
You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.
The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.
SBS Gayo Daejun is next.
It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.
You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.
Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.
TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where
For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.
A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.
She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.
As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.
Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.
Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”
She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”
You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.
You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”
“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”
“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”
She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”
“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”
“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”
As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.
“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”
“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”
“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”
"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 
“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.
“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”
“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.
“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”
“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.
With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.
You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.
The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”
“Fuck off you—fuck!”
Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.
“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.
Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.
In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...
"Fuck."
The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?
Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.
“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.
“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.
“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.
“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.
“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”
A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.
Only one way to find out.
Continued in Act Two …
(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)
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Hi could you do Alastor x Vox's sister that's staying at the hotel. Vox didn't know they were in hell and they are not a tech demon like him if this makes any sense.
Vox only realized it was his sister because unlike her brother who's good with tech she opposite like the best equivalent comparison I can think of is someone who's so bad at cooking that they could burn water.
Sorry for the long request you dont have to do it if you don't want to
look at how well you took care of me
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Pairing: Alastor & fem! reader (queer-platonic), Vox & sister! reader
Description: Vox comes to the realization that he may have made a mistake... he can only hope it's not too late.
Warnings: The battle in episode 8, violence, murder, injuries, alcohol, Alastor as a warning in itself, Rosie being Rosie,
Author note: Hi hi! Thanks so much for the request!!! I don't write romantic relationships for Alastor, but I loved this idea so I hope a QPR is okay! The title is from "Whispers of Your Brother's Blood" btw. This was tons of fun to write and it kinda got away from me but hopefully it's okay.
Lemme know if y'all want a part 2 with a reunion!
Meeting Alastor was likely the best thing that happened in your entire life, including your time on Earth and in hell.
You weren't stupid. You knew how Alastor treated people, hell, how he used to treat you, and yet, somewhere along the way he showed you more kindness than anyone else.
You met through Rosie, which was likely the best way to come face-to-face with the radio demon.
Rosie found you when you first arrived in hell, and despite very obviously considering eating you, she saw potential of some sort. Perhaps it was your steady gaze or the way you gripped the broken glass in your bloody hand like a knife, but she took you in and showed you life in hell, even if you didn't share her... dietary choices.
When Alastor came for their weekly gossip session meeting, she introduced you two. At first, he seemed to disregard you. You didn't mind.
You did your best work behind the scenes anyhow.
Alastor mentioned a man from the Weapons District who had been speaking badly of Rosie, laughing that he was practically volunteering to be a guest on his broadcast. You could hear the static in his voice from your spot in an armchair across the room. He wasn't joking.
Which meant you had to act first.
Later that night, you bid farewell to Rosie with a smile, claiming you had errands to run, which to be fair, wasn't entirely untrue.
The man was easy to find thanks to Alastor's description. He reeked of cheap booze and tobacco, already drunk in the bar you tracked him to.
Sliding up to him with promises of "a good time" and more booze, he stumbled out of the bar after you, straight into the back alley.
He was dead within 10 minutes. A mugging gone wrong, they'd say.
How tragic.
During the next meeting between Alastor and Rosie, Alastor invited you to sit with them, much to Rosie's delight. And if his smile seemed a bit too knowing and he made a few jokes about drunks in dark alleys? Well, that could stay between the two of you.
And that's where it started.
Every visit, regardless of what you were doing, Alastor would ask if you'd like to join them. You three would chat over tea, sharing gossip and talking shit. You couldn't tell if he genuinely enjoyed your company or if he just found you entertaining, though you suspected those two things weren't too different with Alastor.
And when someone was a bit too careless with their opinion about Alastor in the bar you frequented one night? The radio demon didn't need to make an appearance, you would destroy that scum yourself-
The next day, Alastor paid you a visit personally.
In the parlour, he expressed an interest in your... skillset, laughing about how you worked in the darkness.
He offered you a deal for your soul.
Whatever care he had developed for you likely saved your life when you refused.
"Partners or nothing," you had offered. When his grin sharpened, you knew he was intrigued.
He was the flashy showman, broadcasting the screams of overlords and inspiring fear across all of hell.
And you?
You were the shadow on the wall, charming those who would be too stubborn or too afraid to usually talk, convincing them to give away the information you needed to build your empire further.
Those who knew of your existence understood the consequences of speaking out. The radio demon didn't take well to those who threatened you.
In a dangerously comforting way, it all felt far too close to your life on earth. Sure, you weren't killing nearly as much back then, but flirting for information, gathering secrets and destroying those who opposed you or those close to you?
Yeah, that was familiar.
Your brother would be proud, you thought.
Or maybe he'd be just as unappreciative as he was in life.
Half a decade at Alastor's side, the two of you taking the phrase "partners in crime" very literally.
As a show of trust, he once allowed you to help with a broadcast, as long as you promised to keep quiet. Admittedly, he quickly discovered your... less-than-ideal skills with technology, but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.
You relied on one another. You leaned on him and he would lean back.
And then he disappeared.
No goodbye, no warning at all, not even a body.
Just... gone.
After five years, you moved into an apartment in Cannibal Town, further isolating yourself. Finding work wasn't difficult, but you refused to use your skills for just anyone, and there were few people you trusted more than Rosie.
You arrived late one night, two years into working with Rosie. Setting the keys down on the counter, the dull buzz of static spread through the room.
Alastor was holding you before you even hit the ground, legs giving out in relief.
And yes, he wasn't the most physically affectionate demon, but for you?
For you, he could make an exception.
The hotel could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he had apologies to make and a partner to comfort.
The next day, after Alastor pitched his ideal to the princess of hell, he brought in Niffty, Husk and you as help, and if everyone thought you were a soul under his command, well, it was easier that way.
However much you didn't want to admit it, you grew to care for everyone. Losing at cards with Husk, cooking lessons with Angel, sparing with Vaggie, watching musicals with Charlie, crafts with Niffty, failing at inventing with Sir Pentious...
And doing absolutely everything with Alastor. After his reappearance, you were reluctant to let him out of your sight, and the radio demon was all too willing to keep you close, even if Husk seemed concerned over it.
Which was probably why when Alastor tried to get you to leave during the night before the battle, you refused.
You could tell his desperation to keep you safe drive you out of the hotel by the static in his voice, his subtle requests turning to false threats and finally a plea that neither of you would admit to leaving his mouth.
"I'm a lot of terrible things, Alastor, but I am not disloyal. I will stand tomorrow with you and everyone else. You're not leaving me again."
And for the first time that you've met him, he lets it go. No further bargaining or attempts to trap you, just a sigh and "Whatever you want, my dear," with a tighter smile than usual.
The next day, everything goes to shit.
Alastor and Adam are fighting, with Alastor firmly kicking his ass.
Then Sir General Pentious yells to unjam a cannon near you, and while pushing random buttons and gesturing angrily, you scream, "I don't know how to use this shit!"
You don't see the VoxTech drone nearby recording everything for the Vee's future entertainment.
With your back turned, you cry out at the feeling of a spear slicing across your back.
The pain of the blow sends you stumbling forward into the side of the cannon, causing it to finally go off, turning the angel behind you into pieces.
The force behind the machine sent you crashing into the wall of the hotel next to Angel, who turned to you in shock.
At the sound of your pain, Alastor's focus breaks for only a second.
It's enough for Adam to gain the upper hand, breaking his staff in two and sending him to the ground.
As he fades into the shadows, he focuses on your energy signature and pulls you into the darkness alongside him.
Across hell, at the top of V Tower, Vox swore wildly at the screen.
What a fucking coward!
Alastor running away to die off camera had to be the biggest disappointment in his entire afterlife.
Scratch that, second biggest disappointment. Still a pretty big bummer though.
Saving the other views of the battle for later inspection, he and the other Vee's watched as Lucifer slammed Adam into the dirt in delight.
It was 3 hours after the extermination was cancelled that he found the footage of you and the cannon. Of you hitting the wall and disappearing, but you're not dead, you can't be dead oh please not again-
How long have you been in hell? He assumed that you had been killed permanently before he arrived in hell after you, or maybe you'd even been sent to heaven, despite your sins. If anyone deserved to be forgiven, it was you.
But no, no no- You'd been here, the whole time, in that stupid hotel with fucking Alastor-
Vox's fans speed up in an attempt to keep his whole system from crashing.
Your appearance had changed, sure, but he would recognize the sight of you cussing our technology anywhere.
He would recognize his little sister anywhere, even in death.
This was all his fault.
You and Vox grew up close. Always the two of you, there could be no one else, the sheltering of your parents ensured that.
Over time, Vox's mastery of technology grew, and so did his influence. When he needed someone he could trust to keep things clean and running in the background, you were the obvious choice.
He took you for granted, Vox knew that now. You had argued about something stupid before a job one night, he couldn't even remember what he said, only that he went too far. When you left to go speak to do some "clean up", he resolved to properly apologize for once. And to say thank you. He wouldn't forget this time.
But you never came back.
You were found shot dead in an alleyway by a couple of employees from a nearby bar later that night.
Did Vox send you on a job that was too much for you? Were you distracted from the argument?
Either way, it was his fault you were dead. His fault the one person he loved, his baby sister, lay in a casket.
It didn't take long for him to get put into the ground himself.
Arriving in hell felt like a second chance. He would find you and everything would be alright again.
And yet, you were nowhere to be seen.
The drones around the hotel (or what was left of it) circled, scanning for a sign that you were there. That his ignorance hadn't killed you for a second time.
On the screens, the clean-up of the rubble continued.
Vox twitched.
Vox hadn't prayed since he was a child in the front pews of the neighbourhood church. Back when purity was still an option and repentance was unnecessary.
Now, he didn't know who he was pleading to. Does God listen when demons pray?
Please. Please, let her live. Let Alastor have saved her. Let me make this right.
Please.
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luxaofhesperides · 20 hours
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Final hour Ghostlights request! Soulmate AU where when your soul mate dies your soul mark expands. Duke was really heartbroken at first but now his soul mark makes it really difficult to keep his secret identity hidden because he is covered in a map of the cosmos. He has to use his shadow powers almost constantly to keep all the stars hidden! And and maybe they light up like actual stars when he uses his light powers.
He meets Danny at orientation or something at GU and they brush against each other and he just lights up like a supernova, all his stars literally blazing and he's just like "YOU!" Both excited and also OH MY GOD YOU ASSHOLE.
....I rambled a bit here I'm so sorry.
The thing about soulmates is that you don’t really know who they are until they die. And even then, most people never know who their soulmate was, only that they outlived them.
Duke became one of those people when he was thirteen. 
He didn’t even notice until he went to change and saw the watercolor swirl of nebula spill out from over his heart. 
One moment, he was tired and angry, ready to sneak out of his latest foster home to search for his parents and do all the things adults have failed to do. The next, he’s collapsed on his knees, shaking, unable to breathe as he tries to rip his soulmark off of his skin. He couldn’t think past the shock and horror of realizing that his soulmate is dead and Duke didn’t even know until that moment. 
They’ll never get to meet. 
Duke had never felt so alone before. 
He spent the next few days in shock, his mind a mess of static, unable to focus. He hid away in his room, buried under the covers, and his foster parents were understanding when he whispered my soulmate’s dead. They called him out of school and brought him food and water throughout the day, gentle encouraging him to eat something every few hours. 
But disaster waits for no one, and Batman was gone, so Duke pulled himself out of his misery and hit the streets again. 
So his soulmate’s dead. So his parents are gone. So Gotham’s falling apart.
No one’s doing anything about it, so it’s up to Duke to start fixing things. It’s not like he had much to lose.
Soulmates become a bit of a taboo topic to him, after that. He speaks of them to no one, avoids all conversation about them, refuses to stay when people talk about soulmarks. He tries not to look at his soulmark at all.
And then he takes a hit to the chest and patches himself up with shaking hands. For the first time in months he looks at his soulmark again and…
Did it… grow? 
Duke prods it gently, letting out a hiss when his bruised ribs protest at the movement. He remembers the mark being right over his heart. 
But looking at it now, it branches out, swirls of galaxy and constellations reaching out along his ribcage. 
Panicked, Duke grabs for his computer and looks up soulmark growth and webmd soulmark abnormalities.
Neither give him any answers, though WebMD helpfully suggests skin cancer. 
“I’m gonna ignore this,” Duke decides, and pulls on a shirt and goes to sleep. The less he thinks about his dead soulmate, the better. 
Time passes and Duke goes from being a Robin to being the Signal, a legitimate vigilante working with Batman. It’s nice to see Gotham start to settle, things falling into place. For once, nothing is awful; Duke’s found his parents and doctors are looking for a cure for long-term exposure to Joker Gas, Batman’s taking care of Gotham with a number of other Bats, Duke is getting used to his powers and slowly making a good name for himself out on the streets. 
He keeps his focus on protecting people and getting stronger, helping solve cases with the other Bats. No one mentions soulmates, so he keeps his ever expanding soulmark a secret. 
The only problem is that it keeps growing and Duke is concerned that it’ll move to a place he can’t easily hide under his clothes. 
And he does need to hide them. The more his soulmark has grown, the more obvious it is, especially when he uses his powers and the stars on his skin light up like the Fourth of July. He knows it’s abnormal, but it’s also his soulmark and he doesn’t want anyone, least of all Bruce, poking around trying to study it. 
The grief still lingers when he looks at it, but Duke has long since grown used to it. If anything, these days he’s quietly annoyed by how far the galaxies on his skin spread out, forcing him to take tank tops and shorts out of his wardrobe. 
There’s also the tentative hope that maybe his soulmate is immortal and keeps coming back to life after they die. And they must also have terrible luck, because they just keep on dying.
Case in point: his soulmark flares and spills out onto his shoulder and wraps around his bicep. It’s not the first time he’s seen it move, but it still startles him.
“Are you serious,” Duke mutters to himself, pulling at his sleeve to adjust it and hopefully hide his soulmark. The starts are bright against his skin, and while sometimes he likes to trace them with his finger, now is not one of those times.
As pretty as it is, his soulmark is also very obvious and will cause people to realize his identity if they ever catch a glimpse of it while he’s out as Signal. 
He sighs. There’s no choice but to live out the rest of his life in hoodies and sweatshirts. 
As if to spite him, his soulmark grows once more. 
Did his soulmate just die twice in the span of five minutes? That’s concerning. 
He wishes he could meet them just so he can shake some sense into them. Maybe tell them to stop dying since it’s stressing him out so much. Maybe stick by their side to make sure they never have to die again. He’s honestly not sure what he’d do if he ever meets his soulmate, but he has to do something. This has gotten out of hand.
At least seeing his soulmark grow doesn’t hurt as much as it did a few years ago. 
Lazily, he pulls at the light around him to hide the new portions of the soulmark on his arm from sight. It takes some focus, but he can hold it up long enough for him to grab a snack from the kitchen and retreat up to his room without being questioned by anyone. He could probably even keep this shirt on for the college orientation he needs to attend later in the day if the light works well enough to keep his secrets hidden. 
He’s expecting Alfred in the kitchen when he arrives, but is greeted by Dick clapping a hand on his shoulder, right where his soulmark has claimed space. Duke falters and works to keep the light from fracturing as he returns Dick’s grin. 
“Hey man,” he says, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out until Friday.”
“And miss a chance to hang out with you? No way. Besides, I wanted to give you a ride to your orientation.”
“You don’t have to,” Duke starts, only for Dick to cut him off.
“I’m going to,” he says, as if it’s a threat. “It’s been too long since we get to spend time together without a mask on. Are you really going to deprive me of this?”
Duke shakes off Dick’s hand from his shoulder, walking towards the pantry to find a small snack. “I guess not. It’s going to be pretty boring for you, though. I’m just going to listen to people talk about what college is like for a few hours.”
“We could always just walk around campus afterwards. I haven’t seen it since it was rebuilt after the last time Freeze attacked it.”
“Sure, that sounds fun. Thanks for offering to drive me.” Duke pulls out a box of Poptarts hidden behind stacks of pasta boxes and pulls out a pack for himself. He opens it and isn’t at all surprised when Dick steals one right out of his hands. 
“Meet me out front in an hour then.” 
And with that, Dick leaves, his stolen Poptart in hand, and Duke is left to shake his head and shove the Poptart box back into its hiding place. He heads off to eat his own snack, making sure no one is in the hallway as he lets go of his hold on the light. Already he can feel a migraine building with the immense focus he had to use to make sure nothing looked out of place.
At least Dick didn’t notice anything was off. If he can fool Dick, he can fool anyone.
Still, just to be safe, Duke changes into something with longer sleeves before he leaves and hops into the car with Dick. 
The drive goes quickly to the tunes of ABBA, both of them singing along as they head for the GCU campus. Parking is a bit tricky, but they manage to find a spot a street away and walk towards the student union, where tables are laid out for incoming freshmen to sign in and grab a folder filled with papers meant to help them. 
He waves to Dick and heads in once he gets his folder, and grabs a seat in the auditorium that’s close to a fire exit. 
It takes another twenty minutes for the presentations to start. The lights dim and Duke panics for a brief moment before drawing the shadows over himself lightly to hide the soft glow of the star etched onto his skin. 
They start with introductions, bringing in advisors, professors, and student ambassadors. Most of it is basic information that Duke already knows, so he zones out and plays with some shadows at his feet, where no one can see the way he twists shadows together like some dark magic form of finger knitting.
For the next hour, Duke halfheartedly listens to people talk about preparing for classes and keeping on top of schoolwork and learning how to ask for help. He’s saved enough college students that he knows the gist of things, and the orientation really doesn’t give him anything helpful. 
He probably could have skipped, but he wanted a normal college experience. 
He should have known that normal means boring as hell.
As soon as the presentation ends, an advisor encourages everyone to follow the schedule tucked into their folder to give them a half day modeled after a typical student’s schedule. Of course, all the classes are nonsense just to fill up their time, made to help freshmen coming into the college by covering topics such as how to write an email and an introduction to majors and minors.
Duke already declared himself as a Human Services major, his first step into becoming a social worker like his mom was. 
Also he totally knows how to write an email, what are these advisors on about? Do they really think people his age can’t write emails? 
Yeah, he’s ditching. The main presentation is really the only part that matters in the orientation. He’s not walking out on anything he needs.
Duke files out after the rest of the crowd, carefully letting the shadows slip off of him once he’s outside again. Instead of finding the first ‘class’ he’s supposed to go to in the Modern Languages building, he wanders off to find a quiet place he can sit down and wait until Dick finds him. 
Tucked away towards the back half of the campus is a small nook full of trees, bushes, and benches. Judging by the amount of cigarette butts left in the single trash can there, it’s a popular smoking spot. 
No one’s there, so the air is clean and free of smoke, so Duke heads in, hoping to sit down.
Someone else apparently has the same idea. He hops down from one of the concrete planters that’s keeping a bush contained and nearly falls on Duke.
They both shout in surprise, then Duke is moving without thinking, reaching out to steady the startled looking guy who accidentally jumped down in front of him. 
Duke only has time to take note of how blue his eyes are before his hands wrap around the guy’s wrist and Duke feels his soulmark flare with warmth.
In the shade of the trees, the glow of each star on his skin is obvious. It’s visible even through the fabric of his shirt. His soulmark, at this point in his life, stretches across his chest, his ribs, his back, and now his shoulders and upper arms. All the stars in that watercolor galaxy are shining brightly as if the night sky has been draped across his body.
Soulmarks only react like that for one reason.
“You!” Duke shouts at his soulmate, both elated to see that he’s alive and annoyed that he made Duke’s soulmark so large. “Stop dying! Do you have any idea how much stress you’ve caused me?!”
“Oh my god,” the guy says faintly, eyes fixed on Duke’s chest where his soulmark originally rested, shining brighter and bigger than any other star, as if he’s tucked a sun into his heart. “Oh my god,” he says again, with more feeling.
“I’m so happy you’re alive, but please stop dying. It’s bad for my health.”
“I think I need to sit down?”
He does look very pale and faint. Duke tightens his grip on his soulmate’s arms and guides him to a bench, gently sitting him down.
“You’re not about to die, right?” Duke asks. “I don’t think my heart could take it if meeting me killed you somehow.”
“No, no,” his soulmate manages to say, “I’m not going to die. Um. Wow. I didn’t know my soulmark would do that? Sorry.”
“Well, it’s not like you had any way of knowing. It’s all good, man. Just please stop dying.”
His soulmate winces. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be possible. Sorry. Again.”
What does that mean, though? What does it all mean?
“Can I maybe get an explanation as to why you have to die again.”
“Mmmmm no. We just met and it’s kinda personal so. No.”
“Dude.”
Duke’s soulmate shrugs helplessly. “It really is personal! I know your my soulmate and all, so I’ll probably tell you one day, but right now I don’t even know your name.”
Oh shit. He’s right. Introductions completely slipped his mind, too busy reeling over the fact that his soulmate is here and alive. Which, honestly, would be enough to throw anyone off balance.
“Shoot,” Duke says. “Sorry. You just really caught me off guard. Hi, I’m Duke, I promise I’m more put together than that.”
“Hi Duke, I’m Danny, and I’ve apparently been traumatizing you for the past few years by making you think I keep dying.”
“Well. At least we’re thrown head first into the crazy. Best way to know if we’re be a good match.”
“You sure you can handle this? You seemed pretty frazzled a second ago.”
Duke flusters and lightly whacks Danny’s shoulder. “That’s normal! Anyone would do the same when meeting their soulmate for the first time!”
“Fair enough,” Danny laughs. “This is a totally weird request and you can absolutely say no, but… can I see?” He presses a hand against one of the glowing stars beneath this collar bone, looking up at Duke with wide, hopeful blue eyes, and Duke finds it so cute that he’s willing to do anything Danny wants. 
“Here,” he says as an answer, pulling the collar of his shirt down a bit to reveal the nebula spilling onto his shoulder. 
“Oh,” Danny breathes, tracing a light finger against it. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m guessing you like space?”
“Love it. I wanted to be an astronaut, but uh…. It’s never going to happen. Health problems, you know?”
“Well, I know it’s not the same, but I hope the stars you put on my body will be a good enough replacement.”
Danny cheeks turn red and he turns away, flustered. “Don’t smooth talk me right now, I’m not ready for it,” he mutters, bringing up a hand to try to hide his expression. 
“Sorry, sorry,” Duke laughs, “I’ll try to keep the flirting down to a minimum. It’s just really great to finally meet you. And I’ve been wondering, what’s your soulmark look like?”
“Oh, well…” Danny fiddles with the long sleeve of his shirt. “I had a pretty bad accident years ago that kinda affected how my soulmark looks. So if it looks weird, that’s why, okay?” He takes a deep breath, then pushes up his sleeve, holding his wrist out to Duke. 
The first thing Duke notices is the soft yellow glow, Signal yellow to be precise, running down his arm as if sunlight fills his veins. Then he sees Danny’s soulmark, a sun with rays that wrap around his wrist. And running through his soulmark are Lichtenberg scars, glowing yellow as if stealing the color from his soulmark. 
“Guess we both got super obvious soulmarks, huh? At least we kinda match, that way.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Danny agrees. 
“Man, what a day.” 
Danny looks more relaxed with him now. It’s much better than the startled, tense version of him that first sat down on the bench. Duke hopes he chooses to stay with him; he doesn’t admit this often, willingly, or to other people, but he’s a romantic at heart and has always wanted to live a happy life with his soulmate. It’s still far off in the future, but he hopes Danny feels the same way.
“So, are you ditching the orientation classes to?” Danny asks.
“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going. I mean, a class on how to send emails? They can’t be serious.”
“I know, right?! I saw that and thought I was being pranked. I mean, we’re going into college. We better know how to send an email by now.”
“Since we’re both free for now, wanna grab lunch with me? It can be our first date, if you want.”
“I’d love to! And you can show me around Gotham a bit. I’m coming here for college, but I haven’t really seen the city yet. It’d be nice to explore it with someone who knows where things are.”
“Are you free for the rest of the day? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind showing you around, if you want.”
Danny smiles, radiant. “I am. I’m in your hands for the rest of the day.”
“Cool,” Duke says, trying not to think too much on that wording. It’s very suggestive, very flirtatious, and he’s looking forward to getting to know Danny more so he can start properly flirting. “Lemme just let my brother know to not wait up for me.”
He pulls out his phone and sends Dick a text that just reads: met my soulmate. going on a date now. i’ll see u back at the manor!
Then he puts his phone on silent and tucks it back into his pocket. He’ll tell Dick all about this later; for now, all his attention is on Danny. 
Soulmates get priority, even stressful ones that give him the largest soulmark he’s ever seen. 
And right now, he’s on a mission to find the best lunch spot to take his soulmate to for their first date. Everything else can come later; for now, he’s going to enjoy the time he gets to spend with Danny.
He hopes they’ve got a future together as bright as the stars in his soulmark. 
Despite it all, Duke is sure they’re going to be alright.
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erwinsvow · 2 days
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“yeah, you want that one?” rafe asks you, while you browse through the dresses on the rack. the one you’ve picked out to show him is yellow gingham, with skinny straps and a bow on the neckline. you hold the dress to your chest, looking down to see where it’ll end on you. “i’ll get it for you.”
“hm…” you consider the idea for a moment, holding the dress out again to get a better look. “i don’t know. it’s pretty short.”
“since when is that a bad thing?” rafe moves his arm against the rack, manhandling the hanger from your hand and holding it against you himself. “think it’s perfect.” you laugh at your boyfriend’s antics.
“there has to be a reason to wear it, rafe. i don’t have any right now.”
“we’ll go to dinner. there’s your reason.”
“i have other dresses,” you decide finally, putting it back between the others.
“c’mon, just let me get it for you.” he follows you while you walk away and wander towards the jewelry section of the store. you look down at sparkling silver and shimmery gold, while rafe joins you and leans against the glass counter. “you want jewelry instead? that’s fine.”
“no, i’m just looking,” you insist again. “it’s called window shopping. ever heard of it? 
there’s pretty things in the case, a silver bracelet with little blue stones that particularly catches your eye since blue is your new favorite color, but you don’t really want anything, and you really don’t want rafe to buy it for you.
“no. just pick somethin’ out. my treat.” you glance up at rafe.
“for what? i haven’t done anything.” he laughs to himself, not necessarily at you, more because of you.
“i don’t need a reason.” he makes you flush, so you walk away again, this time to the shoes. you hold a pair of brown sandals in your hand, flipping them over to see the size.
“you already treated me, remember? you paid for lunch.” rafe grabs the shoes out of your hands too.
“that’s a meal, not a treat. want these?” he looks down at you, not even sparing a glance to the price tag. “c’mon.” you grab his wrist as fast as you can.
“no! no. i have some just like these. it’ll be a waste, i’ll never wear them.”
“are you bein’ serious or are you just sayin’ that?” damn it. you are just saying it, since you don’t want rafe spending his money on you. you lie to cover your tracks.
“serious. i’d never lie to you.”
you wrestle the shoes out of his hand, settling them back on the shelf. 
“fine. c’mon, we can go somewhere else.” you finally let him buy you an ice cream cone just so he’ll stop offering.
you try to explain to rafe that the reason you want to walk around is to look around and spend time with him, not to really buy things, but he’s hard to convince. 
rafe thinks you need to stop being so worried about what everyone will think. you’re still bad at it, trying to ignore that part of you that murmurs in your ear that people will judge you for all these nice, new things rafe wants to buy you. you think people will say you’re dating him for the money, but worse than that, you think people will say bad things about rafe, about his choice in dating you, if you ever make him buy you more than dinner or ice cream.
your hesitancy gets the best of you, and even though you’ve always had some nice things, being pampered by rafe feels inherently wrong, like you should at least make sure he knows he doesn’t need to buy you anything. lost in your own thoughts, you’ve rejected his offers countless times, and the only new, expensive thing he’s gotten you since you started dating is the R necklace you wear everyday. 
you think you’re good at hiding it, but you’re not. rafe sees right through you, and he knows what he’s going to do about it. 
later that week, rafe drops you off at home in the morning after you slept over. you still think he hates driving in the cut—as much as he denies it—but he refuses to let you bike back and forth to tannyhill. 
“i’ll pick you up for dinner.” he says, leaning across you to open the passenger side door. you flush like you always do, partly because he’s not asking, he’s telling.
you nod, and then wave bye from the window. he waits until you get inside to drive away, which makes you want to go scream into your pillow. you head into your room to do just that, but you’re greeted instead by bags and boxes littered across your bed.
you know what they are, even before you walk over on your wobbly knees and set aside the tissue paper, looking down with watery eyes all the things you had been admiring in the store the other day with rafe. you sit down next to them—the yellow dress, the pretty sandals, the glittery bracelet—and dial rafe’s number on your phone. you exhale shaky breaths while the line rings, but can’t hold back tears any longer when he answers.
“you didn’t have to do this,” you say quietly into the phone, biting your cheek. you try to blink away the new tears.
“do what?” you laugh, so rafe laughs too. 
“i…i feel bad when you buy me things.”
“i know. y’should stop that.”
“or you can stop first.”
“i’m never gonna stop.” you suck in a breath, heart thudding and feeling deliriously in love. “gonna come get you later. wear the new stuff, okay?”
“okay. i will.”
“that’s my girl.” you fall back and let your head hit the pillow.
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abbyromanoff · 1 day
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can i request little reader and mommy wanda, and they go to a park and little misbehaves and acts like a brat and gets a punishment for being a brat (this is the longest red light ever)
…HATE ME?
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PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader
WORD COUNT: 1065
WARNINGS: angst, little reader, mommy!Wanda, silent treatments, Wanda feels down because of R, R also feels down bc of Wanda, not spell checked tbh, think that’s abt it :)
NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!
Your lip jittered as you whimpered, your pleads going silenced to the older woman. She sat on the couch with a book in her hands, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she flipped each page without digesting it entirely, but you didn’t need to know that.
“Mommy, ‘m sorry!” You felt tears pooling at your eyes and huddled your stuffie closer to your chest before rushing upstairs to your room. You closed the door behind you and removed every blanket and pillow from her side of the bed before placing your stuffed animals in the now unoccupied area. It was a rule of hers to not have toys on the bed, and if you did, it was only one or two that you slept with alongside her. Other than that, they were saved for play time only.
You huffed angrily and closed your eyes, intending on falling asleep until that came to a short fail. You couldn’t stop recalling the previous activities that led to this moment that had guilt gnawing at your heart.
“Baby, not today, okay? It’s too chilly for ice cream right now, and you’re already freezing!” She exclaimed her words with a rub to your arms that filled with goosebumps from the chilled wind. You glared at her after your pleading eyes did not work the way you wished, and she exaggerated a pout in return.
“That’s not fair! I wan’ ice cream!” Your hands balled into fists and your nostrils flared, your angered expression making Wanda audibly aww.
“My little cutie! Why don’t we just head home, lay down, watch a movie.” She dragged out, hoping it would bring back your excitement and tempt you into giving up.
“No, I don’ wanna go home until I have ice cream!” She sighed, annoyed that her suggestion did not work and you were still upset.
“Look, I said no ice cream, alright? Just be a good girl and listen to mommy, yeah?” She knew you always fell for the title, but there was something so strong about this truck that was now leaving that had it blanking your mind.
“No fair! I hate you, mommy!” You saw her facial expressions shift as her eyes widened with slight red behind them. You felt the hand that had been holding your wrist tighten, and her head titled to the side menacingly.
“You want to repeat that word for me?” You had come to realize your mistake and cowered down, gulping as you struggled to form a coherent sentence or thought.
“I…I didn’ mean it-“
“You didn’t mean it? So you didn’t mean to say you oh so proudly just how much you hate me? You said it, didn’t you? Fucking shit,” She mumbled the curses under her breath. “And here I thought I had trained my little girl well.”
“No, you did, mommy! I swear, you did! I didn’t mean to say it, I really, really didn’t.” She shook her head disapprovingly, guiding you to the car quickly as you struggled to follow behind her.
“Hurts, mommy.” You mumbled in hopes she’d listen, but that came to a quick end when you were pushed into the backseat.
“I’m sorry, mommy, I really didn’t mean it.” She ignored you the rest of the ride, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel and slightly filling the tense silence. You knew you were done for when you got home.
You heard the door close behind the woman as you refused to turn and look at her, knowing deep down it was all you wished for. You squeezed your eyes even tighter and pretended to be asleep, although Wanda knew you weren’t. She walked to the closet and sorted through a selection of clothes aimlessly.
“Mommy?” You eventually gave in, and Wanda did not turn to look in your direction.
“Please stop ignoring me! It’s hurtin’ my feelings,” You chewed your lip and rubbed your legs together for the warmth she did not supply.
“Oh, it hurts your feelings?” She asked, and that was the first time she had spoken in what felt like years. You sat up now, bringing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them.
“Mhm.”
“Because it really hurt mommy’s feelings when you said you hated her, but that doesn’t matter?” You looked down in shame and she hummed, now stepping out of the small room and walking closer to your proximity.
“Now, I know you were upset that you weren’t getting what you wanted, but that gives you absolutely no right to be mean and say such horrible things to mommy.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” You spoke lowly, your voice full of shame. She crossed her arms over her chest and placed a knee on the bed that was filled with your toys, but she didn’t seem to notice or care at the moment.
“I know you are, but that doesn’t change what you did.” You shook your head in agreement with her words.
“I- I was upset and I really wanted ice cream but I was really, really mean to mommy and I didn’t mean to, and ‘m really, really, really sorry.” She didn’t respond and you worried she didn’t forgive you. You were about to plead her once more before she stood and began walking to your side of the bed where you sat so anguished. She then placed herself in front of you and put her hands on your knees before leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead.
“I know you are, baby.”
“You forgive me?”
“Not exactly, but I’m not mad at you anymore.” A smile began to grow on your face and she pinched your cheeks at the sight.
“Does that mean you won’ ignore me now?”
“I won’t ignore you anymore, my love.”
“And does that mean we can have ice crea-“
“Woah, woah, woah, I think we’re getting a bit too far now.” You giggled and she followed before scooting your stuffies to the side and making space for her own body to fit. She pulled you in closer and placed a kiss on your lips this time, sighing into it as she wrapped her arm around your body. She knew you could never hate her, and she knew she could never hate moments like this even if it meant she had to live out what led to it.
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mystellenia · 1 day
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giving ellie a hoodie full of kisses ୨ৎ
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summary: you paint a hoodie with kisses for ellie, and the gesture flusters her.
content: nothing much, just ellie being shy
notes: answer to this req!! i'm trying a new format of posts. sometimes i see people do not quite hcs but also not quite a normal, paragraph-formatted fic. its like this in between of bullet points????? idk let me know if yall like it
(wc 0.6 k)
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after spending an hour on painting your lips and pressing them to the cloth of the hoodie you'd gotten for ellie, you sat back and examined your work
you had to admit: the hoodie looked beautiful. but! you did not!!!! your lips were stained red from the paint, your back hurt from hunching over to kiss the hoodie, and you'd probably ingested about an ounce of red40!!! (i know red 40 is in food but let me be silly)
after washing the paint that had gotten on your skin off in the sink, you ironed the sweatshirt to seal the paint in (don't ask me how that works bc idk i just saw it on tiktok like 10 mins ago)
and now we wait for ellie to come home!!
when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them. one day she's gonna take a step and they're gonna turn into a cloud of dust i swear
anyway you're sitting on the couch with your phone in your lap, the painted sweatshirt folded into a square with the kisses hidden inside. she walks towards you and gives you a lil kissy kiss on the forehead like hiiii
you get all smiley because you're excited for her to see the sweatshirt and she gets all suspish.... like what's so funny....
sooooooo.... you tell her you made her something and unfold the hoodie and hold it up to your body so she can see the full thing. and she would soooo get all beet red, like, "...you made this for me?"
and you're like "yes of course do you like it queen" then she gets over the like flusteredness (????(actually i revoke my ???? bc i just made that a word)) and gets so happi like yayyy!!!!
then she looks all confused at your lips and is like "is that why your lips look so severely chapped and red?"
and you get mad so you take away kiss privileges so she does the only reasonable thing which is putting you in a headlock to force kiss you
would definitely immediately put it on and go look in the mirror at her with it on. she'll start geeking and thank you and all that jazz
she would wear that shit 24/7. sleeping working showering shitting ANYWHERE best believe she has that hoodie on. and you tell her its been like 2 weeks of her wearing it nonstop so she needs to wash it but she refuses bc she doesn't want the kisses to start fading. u wash it anyway bc its dirty and she cold shoulders you for about 30 mins before she sees some dumb reel she just has to show you (me fr).
i feel like she's a hot sleeper--like she gets too hot at night to wear the hoodie but she still wants it so she'll just hold it as a baby blanket of sorts and Whatnot.
wait very unrelated but does anyone have a baby blanket that they've had for so long its like basically just threads thats so funny
but overall she loves it. she likes to kiss the kiss prints you made on the sweatshirt bc it's "like kissing you."
there was one time she couldn't find it for like 2 days (because you'd washed it since she never does) and she tried to act all nonchalant and unaffected like she wasn't about to start tweaking and like twitching
then you gave it to her all calm because it was literally just in the wash and she was like "what😨😨😨 where did you find it😨😨😨" and you just tell her it was in the wash and shes like "oh that makes sense"
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pls im so sorry. before i say anything i would like to formally apologize to the anon who submitted the ask for this bc this is so shit. you ask me for a product and this is how i repay you!! shame on me. please dilly dally on over to my asks and ask me something else so i can actually, i don't know, do a good job!! this ask was cute tho u ate with that
@picklesarenice69
i hate this i hate this i hate this! wow i hate this format so much this is the first and last time i will be doing this!!! i’m only posting this bc its been like a week since i last posted and the citizens will soon revolt, which the city's defenses cannot afford!! we're about to run out of wheat like times are getting tough. maybe i should just try just headcanons 🤔
can you tell i was fighting demons to not make this my normal vocab and format. like just look at this sentence and how it progresses: "when she finally comes in, she throws her keys on the table near the door and toes her dusty, disintegrating, been-to-bethlehem-and-back converse, bc have you seen them." the way that sentence progresses is just the silly demons taking over and also my coping mechanism for grimacing at how much i hate this format
like i just couldnt take myself seriously. "yes of course do you like it queen" HELLO??? WHY DID I TYPE THAT but i will not be fixing and/or deleting it bc its making me giggle
dont get me wrong some of you ladies chew it up but i am made for unreasonably long and time consuming fics!!! i’m getting heated too bc not only is this so short and quick to do but it also takes less focus and brain power and ofc i had to make things hard for myself and hate it!!! i’m soooooooooooo silly
edit: wait i would like to clarify that i just hate this because perhaps i’m not used to it. if you guys like this maybe i'll do more bc i follow the clout always 💯
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dc-comics-lover · 3 days
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More random hcs please, they are amazing
Thank you !! There you go ✨ (part 1)
More random things I like to hc :
- When she's training, Diana listens to binaural beats claiming that it gives her the opportunity to train and meditate simultaneously. "It's an incredible time saving.", she'd say. Bruce would roll his eyes.
- Oliver and Hal would beg Batman to install a confessional in the Watchtower, like in reality shows. Because he obviously refuses, they'd stand in front of any security camera and use them as one, rambling on and on about the other members.
- Dick is a total extrovert. When he has some time to recharge in between day work and night vigilantism, he lets off steam in nightclubs. He took Tim (who-recharges-when-alone™) once : he hated it.
- Most of the time Dinah would show up at meetings with sunglasses to look "mysteriously cool". Actually, she can't sleep at night.
- Booster would definitely refer to himself in the third person.
- Clark being Bruce's personal masseur is one of their rituals. Whenever his super senses notice a specific tenseness in Batman's body, Clark would end up joining him in the batcave and giving him a massage session. Bruce would just accept it without a word.
- When he's not the one leading the meeting, Batman is usually snacking on a bag of nuts.
- Alfred has a workshop in the manor where he makes pottery. He makes bat-shaped objects that everyone in the Batfam loves. He made mugs, plates, jars, etc.
- Booster would use Skeets as a soundboard to accompany his every actions and illustrate his jokes. Shayera lost her temper once and broke Skeets in half. No worries, Victor helped repair him, although it was still a traumatizing experience for Booster.
- Hal has a collection of Top Gun goodies. At some point, Bruce brought him the original G-1 jacket from Tom Cruise for his birthday.
- Batman is absolutely excellent at everything he puts his mind to, except the absolute purge that is the game Sekiro. It started when Tim was raging while playing the game. Bruce passed behind him and let out a fatherly "You should learn how to control your emotions better, Tim.". Cue Tim challenging him to play. Then, there remained Batman cursing at a screen, desperately replaying a boss fight for the nth time.
- Booster and Ted have this promise that if neither one of them gets married at a certain age, they'd marry each other. Although, Ted is still looking for love, Booster is satisfied with the idea he'd end up marrying Ted.
- Oliver's neck is very often covered in hickeys.
- Constantine and Alfred are actually good buddies. They facetime a lot when Alfred is busy in the kitchen and John has some free time. That's how John knows so much about Bruce.
- The batfam plays a game where they make up elaborate life stories for strangers they encounter in public. Using their detective skills, they later discover the real stories and the winner is the one whose made-up backstory comes closest to the truth.
- Sometimes, Victor and Clark play football together. They both loved it in the past and they both lost the opportunity to commit and progress in the field. It's just the two of them, but it still helps heal their inner teen.
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😇✨ Sugar Daddy Lucifer Morningstar X Gender Neutral Sugar Baby Reader ✨😇
SUMMARY: you're the king of Hell’s favorite influencer and he wants to make it very clear how much he appreciates you and loves your content, thus starting a transactional relationship between the two of you that slowly turns into something more.
WARNING: light stalker stuff going on for a little bit lol ┐( ̄ヮ ̄)┌ also some sugar baby catching feelings for sugar daddy nonsense
(also- i'm using the terms "sugar daddy" and "sugar baby" pretty loosely, and there are no sexual transactions in this story)
NOTE: I keep going back and forth between saying “livestream” and “video,” so just assume that in the story y/n mainly does livestreams and uploads them as videos later.
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•You started out as a humble influencer in Hell.
•What you didn't know is that you happened to be the favorite influencer of THE king of Hell Lucifer himself.
•I personally headcanon that when this man finds something he likes, he REALLY obsesses over it.
•I can imagine him laying in bed with a cozy blanket and a snack, kicking his knees while watching your latest upload.
•Not gonna lie Luci got kinda stalker-ish in order to find you and know you in person.
•He is the king after all, so therefore he has ways to find and keep track of his people.
•It started as him sending you money anonymously as a way to give his appreciation to his favorite content creator.
•You'd sometimes get small donations here and there from different people, but you definitely noticed the big donations you'd consistently get. Even though they were all anonymous, you assumed they were all from the same person because it was usually always an absurd amount of money to donate to an influencer.
•While livestreaming one day you mentioned that you wanted to find out who this anonymous donor was and somehow do something special to thank them.
•Lucifer NEVER misses one of your livestreams and felt extra fanboyish thinking about his fav influencer doing something special specifically for him.
•He knew he couldn't just message you and say “I'm your anonymous donor” because he didn't have a public account. If he were to message with his anonymous account saying that he's the king of Hell you'd obviously think he was lying.
•HERE is where his stalker era starts. 💀
•Luci comes up with this convoluted plan that actually somehow ends up working exactly the way he wanted.
•He happens to “find” you at a place he knew is your favorite café just outside of Cannibal Town.
•He pretends to just be casually walking by (well, as “casual” as the king of Hell can be)
”Oh hey! I've seen a few of your videos, I like your content!”
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•You're absolutely baffled that the man in front of you praising your content is Lucifer himself.
•Lucifer invites himself to sit down with you, and how could you possibly refuse.
(He knows using his status to get what he wants is a lil problematic, but he easily pushes any guilt aside cuz he gets to be in your presence. He honestly wonders why he hadn't done this sooner.)
•He uses this opportunity to ask you a bunch of questions he's always wanted to ask, as if this were his personal Q&A with you. You happily answer his questions and even ask your own, eager to get to know Lucifer.
•Eventually he asks the main question that'll set his plan into place.
“Have you ever done any collabs?”
Of course he already knows the answer is no.
•”I've never asked anyone to collaborate with me, I'm a little insecure and automatically think they'll say no.”
•”I'm shocked! I'd personally love to be in one of your videos!” He boasts.
•Even though you've been talking for a while now, your brain still hasn't been fully able to compute that you're not only talking to Lucifer Morningstar, he says he enjoys your content, AND he just said he'd like to be in one of your videos.
•”Wha- I'm sure you've got so much more important things to do!”
•”I've got spare time!”
•When he realized he was probably starting to sound desperate, he backed it up a bit;
“I'm not trying to invite myself into one of your videos, but what I am saying is that IF I were one of those people you were to ask then I'd definitely accept your offer!” He twiddled his fingers nervously under the table, his smile never faltering.
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•”oH I mean I do want to ask you- I am asking you!” You become just as nervous as Lucifer, fumbling over your words a bit.
•Before you can say anything else he raises from his seat and extends his hand out in agreement. “Sounds good to me!” You quickly stand to take his hand and shake it.
•The two of you calm down a bit and start discussing times and dates, even though Lucifer knows he's just going to accept whatever day you suggest and cancel any plans that he might already have for that day.
•Lucifer's little plot went perfectly.
•The day came when Luci got to feature in a video with his fav influencer.
•The video blew up super quickly, you gained a whole new wave of fame.
•Not only was he in the video with you, but he also got to spend the whole day with you.
•Somewhere along the way he kind of forgot that he was with his fav influencer and started to feel more like he was just hanging with a friend…which, honestly, he hasn't really had a friend in a long time.
•Also- you had noticed that during the stream with Lucifer you didn't get any donations from your special anonymous donor who never missed any of your previous streams.
•THIS MOMENT is where Lucifer knows he could potentially ruin everything with you, but he wants to be honest.
•He tells you that he's the anonymous donor, and that he can prove it with receipts. He admits that he didn't just casually watch your content like he said previously, and that he's actually a super huge fan. He doesn't go into detail about the stalker-ish extent he went to find you though.
•You take a second to process everything.
•I think if it were any other man you'd probably be a bit weirded out. It's definitely mainly because he's the king of Hell, but also he's just so charming that it's kinda hard for you not to be flattered.
•Now the king of Hell is in your phone contacts and you've got a viral video of the two of you together that shows literally everyone that you know him, it all feels so surreal.
•You still get donations from him on your streams, they still say they're anonymous but you know it's him.
•Lucifer calls you ALL THE TIME, usually to talk about absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.
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•Suddenly he started showing up at your door with random gifts. Usually things that you mention very briefly on social media.
•Like one day you posted a pic on your story of a cute pair of shoes that you'd like to have, and the next day he's on your doorstep with a shoebox in hand.
•This escalated to him taking you out to dinners quite frequently, and he'd always go out of his way to reserve a special private area or even book out the whole restaurant.
•Then he started inviting you to visit him. Movie nights at his place, or he wants to show you something new he made.
•Eventually it turned into you staying the night at his place sometimes. You'd fall asleep during movie night and he didn't wanna wake you, or your home is just so far away and he didn't wanna let you go home in the dark.
•THEN it became you staying at his place for multiple days in a row, and sometimes it felt like you practically lived with him.
•You’d always ask Lucifer what you could do to repay him for all of the stuff he does for you, and he just replies that your company is enough to satisfy him and when you aren't around he still gets to watch your new videos.
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•After getting to know the king of Hell over the span of almost a full year, you've come to realize that he was a pretty lonely man before you met him.
•He almost never talks to his own wife, whom you aren't even sure is his wife anymore. He rarely talks to his daughter, and is terrified of not being a good enough dad to her. Most of his time is spent home alone if he isn't tending to somekind of personal royal business.
•You knew Lucifer meant it when he told you that your company is enough to repay him.
•Somewhere down the line, you've started catching yourself contemplating your feelings for him.
•Don't get me wrong, he's always made you swoon and get flustered. It's really hard not to when a handsome man is literally handing you everything you want on a golden platter.
•There are much more raw moments you have with him, when you're just sitting on the couch together and you start to think about your possible future together.
•You usually end up getting slapped with reality when you remember who it is you're looking at. The king of Hell.
•Being in a relationship with a man of such status could never be in the cards for you. You're aware that you're basically just his sugar baby and that's probably all you'll ever be.
•You were definitely fine with the transactional relationship between the two of you, in fact you enjoyed it.
•Now, with these feelings constantly creeping up on you it made everything so much more complicated, and it made it hard for you to be around him knowing you'll never be anything more to him than a sugar baby.
•Lucifer is a sweet man, but you know there's another side of him that's a powerful king. His wife was an equally powerful queen. You're not enough for him, he just wants someone to keep him company.
•What you don't know is that while you're sitting there on the couch next to him having an inner depressive episode, he's got a box in his pocket that he's waiting for the perfect moment to whip out.
•In the box is a flashy custom engagement ring that he wants everyone to be able to see from a mile away.
•That man wants to make you officially his and he has been trying his hardest to make that VERY clear.
•You're just kinda insecure and don't think high enough of yourself. ಥ⌣ಥ
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zoroslost · 2 days
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I can’t stop thinking about Lawlu being in a relationship where no one can figure out what the relationship is and everyone has a different opinion
Like Jimbe joining the crew and having to figure out what’s going on with them but not wanting to seem nosy so he goes to everyone else to ask them.
He goes to Zoro first, who only stops his exercise for a moment to tell him that he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. And Chopper, trying to be cool like Zoro, saying the same thing even though he really wants to know because actually has no idea what their relationship is.
Then Nami and Ussop who are gossiping in the crows nest join the conversation by Nami just saying “oh they've definitely explored each others bodies.” And Ussop disagreeing because Law is just so creepy.
Then Franky popping up and crying about how they’re just such good bros and their friendship is so SUPER. Brook 100% agrees with Nami and the two of them start speculating.
When Sanji eventually joins the conversation he adds that he thinks that they are still pining and haven’t gotten together yet. He's trying to seem nonchalant but internally is very envious over their mutual feelings and thinks its very romantic.
Meanwhile Robin, who is the only person who actually knows what’s going on (and cares because Zoro actually does know he just doesn’t give a shit), refuses to answer because the disagreements are much more entertaining.
Bonus: Law and Luffy also don’t know what’s going on
Luffy thinks they’re married but that Law just isn’t interested in romantic or sexual stuff and that’s fine with him because he isn’t particularly either.
Law thinks his feelings toward Luffy are unrequited and teleports away anytime someone suggests that he might have feelings so he’ll never figure out that most people think otherwise.
(The Heart Pirates just want their captain to admit that he enjoys spending time with Luffy so they can stop having to come up with excuses to run into the Strawhats and just plan meet ups like normal people)
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AITA for refusing to use Facebook Messenger?
For most of my life I havent really been into using social media. I've never really liked the culture around it and when I was a teenager it contributed to my depression. As I got older I realized I didn't have to use it and  phazed it out if my life except for the rare Facebook post of pictures from a event I went to like a concert. Thats more for me than anyone else so I don't lose the photos.  My family has for some reason always been obsessed with Facebook. There's always a Facebook group for our family events and parties and everyone else mainly messages each other through Facebook Messenger. Once in high school my mom told me that if I didn't check Facebook once every three days I would be grounded (I was a super good kid that never got in trouble so this was a shocking threat). I've made it very clear to my family that I will not be using Facebook Messenger and that if they want to communicate with me they can text me (all of my family has perfectly functioning newish phones so there's no reason texting isn't a option). Thankfully for day to day chatting they respect this. However when it comes to any kind of family planning or event announcement those conversation are souly discussed on Facebook. I have been left out of conversations around holidays, fun group chats, and invitations to events because I don't know there's a Facebook group about them. I've always told them I will get on my computer and respond if I'm told there's a group happening but I usually find out months later when I happen to get on Facebook on my computer. I once almost missed a invitation to my own birthday party my mother was organizing because it was a event posted on Facebook. I've gotten into several arguments with my mother over this, her not understanding why I won't just download Facebook Messenger and me not understanding why it would be so much harder to have these conversations over text. At this point I want to feel right that my families obsession with Facebook is over the top and it's my right to avoid a social media platform I don't want to communicate through but I can't help but wonder if it's unreasonable of me to not just give in.
What are these acronyms?
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I adore Izzy and Stede's interactions in s2e3, because they're so consistently proving to Izzy that he does not know Stede like he thought he did.
Going into s2, even as Izzy begins to realize that he fucked up by threatening Ed until Ed went so hard back into the Blackbeard persona, Izzy has two big assumptions.
he knows Ed better than anyone else
Stede Bonnet is his rival
And in s2e3 Stede is just consistently responding to those with "??? wtf is your problem?"
Izzy telling Ed that he knows him better than anyone else was already laughable. At this point in his arc, he's still talking about Ed like some crazed animal with erratic, unpredictable behavior. He does not talk about or treat Ed like a person with feelings. But when he starts in trying to tell Stede about how Ed was a "wild dog" (that line still makes my lip curl, jesus) and makes Ed out to be wildly cruel by saying deserting him "was better than he would've done for us" despite how Ed literally did just that in the s1 finale, Stede consistently meets him by thinking of Ed's feelings, not taking the bait, and feeling awful for how much his actions hurt Ed. He thinks of Ed as a person and refuses to conform to the language Izzy uses.
Izzy, in s1 and at the start of s2, sees Stede as a sort of romantic rival at the same time as he clearly considers Ed and Stede's love for each other as a whim, a passing crush. Neither Ed nor Stede think of Izzy in romantic terms, this is abundantly clear, and Izzy (world's most repressed man) doesn't have a fucking clue what love looks like. Izzy spends so much of this episode trying to get a rise out of Stede, pretending he was the one who slashed up the painting, challenging Stede to yell at him after Stede sees what he thinks is Ed's dead body. And Stede doesn't give him fucking anything. He's just constantly kinda fed up with Izzy. His mental energy is elsewhere - he doesn't even look at Izzy when Izzy tries to thank him near the end of the episode.
Absolutely fascinating to think about where Izzy's mind must have been this episode. He learned he was expendable to Ed in s2e1, here he's learning that he doesn't take up literally any space at all in Stede's brain, either. Stede constantly proves him wrong by making thoughtful, empathetic guesses about Ed's mental state, and when he brings up the "doggy heaven" reference, something he wouldn't have known about had Ed not told him, it confirms that he was a confidante for Ed, something Izzy never was. Izzy never understood either of them, and this episode is him getting to realize that.
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