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verstappenverse · 19 days ago

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Home Was Always Here

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You were too young then, but years later co-parenting your daughter together in the public eye might finally bring you home to each other. (Requested)

4.5k words / Masterlist

You never meant to raise a child in the spotlight. Definitely not at seventeen, and certainly not with Max Verstappen, Formula 1’s youngest rising star at the time. Barely eighteen himself when you sat on the bathroom floor with shaking hands and two pink lines staring back at you.

You hadn’t even been together that long. You hadn’t planned a life. You hadn’t had a chance to figure out who you were yet. But suddenly you were expected to grow up fast, faster than either of you knew how.

What followed was a blur. A whirlwind of press conferences and pacifiers, grid walks and midnight feedings. Red Bull contracts signed on no sleep. Max learning to shave the same year he learned how to swaddle a newborn. The world met your daughter through grainy airport photos, Max pushing a stroller in one hand and wheeling a carry-on in the other, with you by his side, makeup-free and hollow-eyed, a quiet kind of desperation clinging to both of you. Still kids yourselves, trying to raise one.

The headlines didn’t help. Neither did the noise. Every parenting choice you made got picked apart by strangers on the internet. You were either too young or too careless, too in love or too naive. None of them knew what it was like, how hard you held onto each other at first, how tight Max gripped your hand in the hospital, how he blinked back tears when he first held her.

You tried. God, you tried.

But it’s hard to stay together when you're growing up in different countries, with entire continents and careers pulling you in opposite directions. He had a world championship to chase. You had a newborn to raise. Max chose F1, not out of malice, but necessity, and you chose to protect your daughter from the chaos the best way you knew how.

Quietly. From the sidelines.

Somehow heartbreak became part of the routine. A thousand small choices that led you here. Separate, but never fully apart. Not with her between you.

Never with her.

Now almost a decade later, chaos is a permanent houseguest.

Max never stopped being Max. He’s a world champion now. A household name. The kind of icon whose face is printed on t-shirts, cereal boxes, and wall-sized banners at every European airport. And your daughter, Sofia, is eight years old and growing up fast.

She’s got his eyes, the same sharp blue that narrow when she’s focused and sparkle when she’s proud of herself. She’s got your fire, your timing, your habit of crossing her arms when she’s annoyed. She walks through the paddock like she owns it, chatting with engineers, stealing snacks from catering, slipping into garages like she was born there. She waves at the cameras without hesitation, poses with Lando's sunglasses on and Charles’s cap turned backwards, and calls them “Uncle” with the casualness of someone who doesn’t understand how famous her family really is.

Everyone on the grid loves her

Which is both sweet and fucking terrifying.

Because there's no hiding anymore. Not from the cameras. Not from the journalists who track her growth the way they track Max’s stats. Not from the fans who’ve practically watched her life unfold in real-time. And not from the people in the paddock who’ve started to notice the way you and Max still look at each other when you think no one’s watching.

There’s no space left to pretend. No more safe distance.

Especially not now.

Not when she’s old enough to ask questions. Not when Max lingers a little longer after pickups. Not when the line between co-parents and something more starts blurring again, and every smile feels a little heavier than it should.

Not when your daughter keeps looking at the two of you like she’s waiting for something to finally happen.

You and Max haven’t been together in six nearly seven years, yet somehow it’s never really felt like a clean break. Not with Sofia between you. Not with the way you’ve navigated life side by side, always tethered by something deeper than romance, responsibility, love, history. Her.

You’ve co-parented better than most. No court battles. No ugly headlines. Quiet, careful coordination and a shared, unspoken promise, she comes first. Always.

Sofia has never known a day where one of you didn’t show up. Never felt the sting of absence, never had to pick between you. Birthday parties, school recitals, first bike rides, dentist appointments, you did everything you possibly could manage together. Even when you weren’t together.

You moved to Monaco to make things easier. For her, yes, but maybe for Max too. You told yourself it was about logistics, about support systems and shared routines. But deep down, part of you just didn’t want her growing up with only half the picture.

You stood below the podium when Max won his first championship as a father. Camera lenses flashed, confetti fell, and as he lifted the trophy and pointed to the area where Sofia stood clapping beside you in oversized earmuffs, the world saw a proud dad.

Only you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a second. Like some part of him still remembered what it meant to win with you in the crowd.

Since then, there have been countless little moments.

Fingers brushing when passing her water bottle. Hands grazing as you both reach for the same backpack strap. Silences that stretch too long when you’re alone at school pick-up, both watching her from opposite ends of the sidewalk. Conversations that start about your daughter but end with too much softness, too many what-ifs sitting in the space between your words.

And now every time he hands you her lunchbox or smooths her hair behind her ear, you feel it, that familiar knock in your chest.

It starts at Zandvoort.

The weekend is muddy, chaotic, and wet. The sky can’t decide if it wants to drizzle or pour, and everything smells like damp asphalt and tension. Sofia is bundled up beside you in her oversized Verstappen-orange raincoat, rubber boots splashing through every puddle like it’s a personal mission. She’s grinning, carefree, holding your hand and dragging you toward the paddock entrance with the kind of joy only a child can carry through the rain.

Max is late.

You check your phone again. No message. No call. You try not to spiral, try not to wonder if it’s traffic, or if it’s her. The girl. The one from the blurry photos online in those low-rent gossip pages, the soft-launch story post on her Instagram that could be his arm, and sly comments under tagged pictures. You haven’t asked. You haven’t had the nerve.

Because asking would mean admitting you care. And you’re not sure you’re allowed to.

You tuck your phone away just as Harry, one of the Red Bull engineers you’ve chatted with a handful of times this season walks up. He’s charming in that easy, carefree way. Nice enough. Funny enough. The kind of guy who brings you coffee when he sees you in the hospitality tent and knows how to make Sofia laugh by pulling silly faces behind the pit wall.

He grins when he sees her. That same crooked half-smile he always wears.

“You need backup out here?” he jokes, already crouching beside Sofia.

You open your mouth to protest, but she giggles and splashes him before you can stop her. Water hits his jeans. He laughs. You do too, despite yourself.

It’s harmless. He’s harmless.

And then Max arrives.

Hood up, team jacket soaked, shoulders tense, jaw tight, he clocks the two of you instantly. He stops a few steps away and just stares. He doesn’t say hello.

He looks at you.

Then Harry.

Then back at you again.

No words, but the tension curls between your ribs like smoke. Your hands fall to your sides. Harry pretends not to notice.

In that three-second silence everything shifts.

The air thickens. Your smile falters. Your hand slips from Sofia’s as she notices her dad and races toward him with a loud, “Daddy!”

Max finally moves. Bends down and scoops her up with practiced ease, burying his face in her rain-wet hair for a moment.

When he stands back up, his eyes are back on you. There’s a question in them, or maybe a warning, you can’t tell which.

Harry clears his throat. “Well. She’s got a hell of a kick,” he says with a grin, nodding at his soaked pant leg.

You force a polite laugh. “Yeah, she’s a menace.”

Max doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak to Harry at all.

“She was asking for you,” you say, just to say something, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

Max nods once. “Yeah. Sorry. Got held up.”

You nod too, and that’s it.

You don’t ask if the girl is here. If she’s in the motorhome waiting. If Sofia’s going to meet her today.

Because you don’t know if you have the right.

Because for all the years you’ve spent raising a daughter together, showing up side-by-side, holding her through every scraped knee and test result and birthday candle… you still don’t know where you stand.

And that uncertainty? It burns more than you’ll ever admit.

That night, Max texts you.

I don’t like him around her.

You stare at your phone in bed, lips parting, blinking twice before replying.

Harry? Why?

Just don’t.

You exhale through your nose, dragging the duvet up to your chin like it might shield you from the heat rising in your chest. You type three different responses and delete each one.

Too defensive. Too cold. Too revealing.

You settle on something neutral. Careful.

She’s around the crew all the time. You like Harry don’t you? What’s this about?

You watch the screen for a while, waiting for the three little dots to appear. They don’t.

Eventually, you put your phone down. Try to sleep. Fail miserably.

He doesn’t respond. Not until the next morning, when he sends a photo of Sofia eating waffles and smiling up at him from across a hotel breakfast table.

Your heart clenches.

She’s in his hoodie. One of the old ones. The ones you used to sleep in when she was still an infant curled up in your arms.

She asked if we could all live together again.

You stare at the message so long your eyes burn.

It hits harder on weekends like this. The quiet ones with no race and no travel. A rare, shared weekend in Monaco, Sofia bouncing between your apartment and Max’s like it’s all one big home she doesn’t realise is technically split in two.

You’ve just dropped her off at his place. She’s old enough now to want to pack her own bag, though she still asks you to double-check that she remembered her toothbrush. You did, and she did, and now you’re standing in Max’s hallway holding a half-eaten granola bar she insisted she didn’t want anymore.

He takes it from you without a word, tosses it in the bin.

You’re still in the doorway, jacket slung over your arm, not really sure why you haven’t left yet.

“Drink?” he asks casually.

You hesitate. Then nod.

You follow him into the kitchen, watching as he moves around like this is normal. Like you still belong here in the quiet moments, not just the race-day chaos.

He hands you a glass and your fingers brush. You both ignore it.

Sofia’s music plays softly from her bedroom here, some upbeat pop song you don’t recognise but can picture her dancing to. You smile. Max catches it.

“She’s been asking again,” he says after a beat. “About why we don’t live together.”

Your heart sinks, warmth fading.

You nod slowly. “She asked me last week if people can get married twice to the same person. I think she thought we were secretly divorced.”

Max huffs a laugh, but it’s more breath than sound.

“She’s getting older,” you say. “It’s not like when she was little. She notices things now.”

He nods, jaw tense. “Yeah.”

You sip your drink to give your hands something to do. “It used to be easier,” you admit, your voice quieter now. “When we were too tired to feel anything else. When she was up every three hours and all we cared about was keeping her fed and breathing and not breaking her.”

Max smiles at that, tired and nostalgic. “We were zombies.”

“Mm.” You nod. “Now we have time to feel things again… and I don’t always know where to put them.”

It hangs in the air between you, heavy, and awkward, and true.

“She asked me if I’d be happier if you were around more,” he says after a while. “She said I get smiley when you’re here.”

Your heart skips a beat.

You laugh, but it’s a small, nervous sound. “She’s very observant.”

“She’s you.”

You look up at that. And he’s already looking at you.

He clears his throat. “I was thinking of taking her to the karting track this weekend. You know, just to see if she—”

“Wants to try?” You smile. “She’s going to love it. She’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Max grins. “Yeah?”

“She’s nervous though. She wants you to be proud of her.”

He softens. “She doesn’t have to do anything for that.”

You nod, trying not to get swallowed by the look on his face. The one that reminds you what he was like when he was yours. What he’s still like now, when he forgets he’s supposed to keep a distance.

You force a breath. Look down at your drink.

“She asked if I still loved you,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Max stills. Slowly puts his own drink down.

“What did you say?”

You hesitate.

“I said I love you both. That we’re a team.”

It’s the truth. Just not the whole truth.

Max swallows hard. “She’s too smart for that answer.”

You meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

Sofia’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Can I wear your old helmet dad?”

Max blinks. Looks toward the hallway.

You both let out a breath at the same time.

“Yeah, baby,” he calls. “Be right there.”

You move toward the door, because the moment’s already fading, and staying would only make it worse.

“Thanks for the drink,” you say.

He nods, stepping aside to let you pass.

You leave, but his voice follows you softly.

“Hey—”

You pause in the doorway. Look back.

There’s a question in his eyes, something half-formed on his lips. He opens his mouth—

But then he just smiles. Small. Sad.

“Tell her she can bring the pink hoodie next time,” he says. “I know she ‘forgot’ it on purpose.”

Your lips twitch.

“Yeah,” you say, the smile tugging at your mouth before you can stop it. “She’s been leaving things behind lately.”

Max nods, eyes flicking to yours.

Then the door closes and you leave, again, with your heart too full of things you still don’t know how to say.

You tell yourself it was just nostalgia. Zandvoort always does that, rains down memories with every drop, stirs up old feelings in the static between thunderstorms and pit stops. You convince yourself it’ll pass. That it was just the weather. Just the setting. Just Max being Max.

But then Monza happens.

You’re in the paddock, headset on, eyes locked on the screen as Max flies through Sector 2 with clinical precision.

Sofia stands next to you, bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands gripping the barrier. She’s wearing her little Verstappen cap, slightly crooked, and her cheeks are painted with two messy Dutch flags. Every time the crowd erupts, she flinches forward and you instinctively reach out to steady her, your hand wrapping protectively around her arm.

“Is Daddy winning?” she shouts over the noise, practically vibrating with excitement.

You glance at the delta on the screen and smile. “He’s flying.”

Max crosses the line with a dominant lead. You clap. You cheer. Sofia shrieks with joy, bouncing so high her hat nearly flies off.

You barely hear the anthem over the roar, but you know it by heart. You’ve heard it more times than you can count. You watch as Max steps onto the top step of the podium, champagne bottle in one hand, trophy in the other.

And then he looks out at the crowd.

Eyes scanning thousands of faces and somehow he finds you.

You.

The moment holds. Just long enough for your heart to trip.

Because it’s not the look of a man acknowledging the mother of his child. Not the polite gratitude of a co-parent in the crowd. It’s not professional. It’s not routine.

It’s something else.

It’s softness. It’s gravity. It’s a quiet ache buried beneath pride.

It’s want.

When he lifts the trophy high, chin tilted slightly your way, it feels personal. Like something unspoken. Like a line he’s too afraid to cross but too drawn to ignore.

Your fingers tighten on the railing. The haze of the crowd and the flares curls around you and for a moment, despite the chaos, you forget how to breathe.

Later you’re all at the afterparty.

Nothing extravagant, a casual gathering on the rooftop lounge of the team hotel, a mix of mechanics, engineers, a few drivers, and the people who’ve quietly kept the weekend running behind the scenes. It’s low-lit, the music mellow, with fairy lights strung overhead and the scent of champagne lingering in the air.

You’re tucked into the corner of a cushioned bench with a glass of wine watching Max move through the space like he always does, confident, collected, comfortable. Every so often someone stops him to offer congratulations. He smiles, claps backs, exchanges a few laughs. It should be mundane.

But she’s here.

The girl.

You’d only recently confirmed she wasn’t his girlfriend, at least not officially. Someone on the comms team had mentioned it in passing. “Nothing serious,” they’d said. “Just a friend… apparently.”

But the way she’s looking at him?

It’s not friendly.

She’s tall. Stunning, in that effortless way. The kind of woman who turns heads when she walks into a room without meaning to. She’s laughing at something Max says, leaning in just a little too closely, fingers grazing his forearm like she’s staking a claim.

And Max?

He laughs politely. Responds. But he’s not looking at her.

His eyes flick to you. Again. And again.

Every few minutes, like he’s checking you’re still there.

And every time, it’s like your skin prickles beneath your dress. Like the air gets thinner and your wine gets warmer and your resolve slips further through your fingers.

You try to ignore it. Try to sip your wine and nod along to a mechanic’s story beside you, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. To her.

To the way his jaw tensed when she touched him. To the way his gaze lingered on your bare knees when you crossed your legs. To the heat that simmers just beneath the surface of everything, unsaid and impossible.

Someone sits beside you. You glance over and it’s GP. His expression is soft, patient, as always. A little amused, too.

“You okay?” he asks gently, tilting his drink toward you in quiet solidarity.

You nod, too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

GP follows your line of sight straight to Max. Then back to you.

He sips his beer once before saying, carefully, “Still in love with him?”

You freeze, the words hitting you like cold water.

“What?”

He shrugs, not unkindly. “Sorry if that was too direct. I’ve known you both since you were kids. It’s kind of obvious.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Swallow.

You can’t say yes… but you can’t say no either.

So you say nothing.

GP chuckles under his breath. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it.”

You look up sharply at that.

“He’s not an idiot,” you say, almost defensively. “I think he’s… he’s scared.”

The words leave your mouth before you realise how much truth they carry, because he is. You know that. You know the way he loves, recklessly, protectively, all or nothing. And you know what’s at stake.

But the thing that takes your breath away is realising so are you.

Scared of losing what you’ve worked so hard to preserve. Of breaking the fragile peace you've built for Sofia. Of stepping over a line you can’t come back from.

But more than anything, you’re scared of never knowing, of never saying it out loud. Of watching someone else stand next to him someday and wondering what might have been if you'd only been brave enough to try.

Baku is different.

You’re staying in the same hotel.

You should be asleep, but your mind won’t rest. You’re pacing emotional circles around yourself, heart tight, questions louder than the silence of your hotel room.

Your phone buzzes just after midnight.

You up?

You reply before you can second-guess.

Yeah. You?

A minute later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

You open it slowly.

He’s standing there in sweatpants and a hoodie, socks on the hallway carpet, his hair messy, like he’s been lying awake too long. There’s something raw in his expression. Something he’s not hiding anymore.

Your heart stumbles against your ribs.

“She asleep?” he asks softly, glancing past you, even though he already knows the answer.

You nod. “Out cold.”

He steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. But he doesn’t move to sit. He just stands there in the middle of your space, hands stuffed in his pockets, like if he lets them out, the truth might spill all over the floor.

He looks at you like he’s been holding something in for years.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says, voice low but steady.

Your stomach twists. “Do what?”

He gestures vaguely, frustrated, tired, exposed.

“This. Us. Pretending I’m okay seeing you with someone else. Standing next to you and acting like I don’t feel it every time you laugh at someone else’s joke. Watching Sofia grow up and knowing I never gave us the chance to be more than this.”

He pauses. Breathes hard through his nose.

“I keep trying to be okay with it. With being just the co-parent. Just the friend. But I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.”

He looks down, like he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“That I still—” He stops himself.

You take a step closer. “Say it,” you whisper, barely more than a breath.

He swallows hard, lifts his gaze, and finally lets it out.

“That I still love you.”

The words fall between you like a confession and a surrender all at once.

“That I never stopped.”

You don’t even realise you’re crying until he moves toward you, thumb brushing beneath your eye with the gentleness only he’s ever managed. Your chin trembles under his touch.

“We were kids,” he says. “We didn’t know how to hold onto each other and raise a child and survive the world watching us.”

You nod, tears falling freely now.

“I didn’t mean to let you go,” he continues, voice cracking. “I just… didn’t know how to stay without hurting you more.”

You let the words in. Let them wash through the years of silence, of near-misses, of what-ifs.

“I love you too,” you admit, voice trembling. “I thought you didn’t want it. I thought maybe you’d moved on.”

“I never did,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know how to say it, and I didn’t want to mess up what we have.”

You give a small, tearful laugh. “We’re already messy.”

He smiles at that. A real one, crooked and full of memory.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But we’re a pretty great mess.”

There’s a silence then, heavy and fragile and filled with everything you were never brave enough to speak.

And then you kiss him. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand anything. That doesn’t ask for forgiveness or explanation. It just is. Steady. Familiar. Home.

His hands find your waist, like muscle memory. Your fingers curl into his hoodie, anchoring yourself to the only thing that’s ever truly felt safe. In that moment it all falls away, the years of longing, the fear, the distance.

You’ve always belonged to each other.

You wake to sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains, casting soft stripes of gold across the carpet and the coffee table littered with empty glasses and a crumpled blanket. Your neck is slightly sore from how you’ve slept curled into Max on the couch, his arm still around your waist, your legs tangled like they never forgot how to fit together.

You stir first, quietly, unsure of whether to move.

Max doesn’t open his eyes, but his grip tightens for a moment. Just enough to say don’t go yet.

And then, from the hallway, bare feet on the carpet. A small gasp. Then stillness.

You both look up at the same time.

Sofia stands there in her pajamas, clutching her stuffed bunny to her chest, one brow slightly raised in that very adult way she inherited from you. Her hair’s messy, cheeks still warm with sleep, but her eyes are sharp. Too sharp for her age.

She looks between the two of you your curled bodies, the hoodie you’re wearing that she knows is her dad’s, the blanket pooled around your knees.

She blinks once.

Then again.

And tilts her head. “Are you guys… boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your heart skips.

Max shifts beside you, slow and careful. You glance at him, and he glances at you, both of you holding the moment in your hands like it might break if you breathe wrong.

Nervous. Soft. Honest.

Max sits up a little straighter, patting the couch beside him. “Come here for a sec?”

Sofia walks over, climbs into the space between you like she’s done a hundred time. Her eyes flick to the way Max’s hand rests on your knee. She notices. She always notices. She’s a very perceptive eight year old.

He pulls her into his arms and looks down at her, so careful.

“Only if you’re okay with it,” he says.

Sofia stares at him. Then at you.

Then breaks into a grin so wide it knocks the breath from your chest.

“Finally,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I thought you guys were gonna be weird forever.”

You laugh, caught somewhere between a sob and a sigh, burying your face in your hands as Max chuckles under his breath.

“I mean,” she continues, shrugging, “you already do everything together. You just don’t kiss.”

Max raises his eyebrows, and you can’t help but laugh harder, warmth spreading through your chest like sunrise.

“And you’re really okay with it?” you ask, wiping your cheeks.

Sofia nods. “Yeah. I like it when we’re all together. That’s my favourite.”

She says it so simply. So easily.

Like love was never that complicated to begin with.

You were always endgame.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

Even when the world watched your lives play out through blurry headlines, rumours, and YouTube compilations. Even when the paddock whispered and your hands stopped reaching for each other out loud.

Even when it hurt.

Now you’re not pretending. Not holding your breath. Not keeping your heart behind your teeth.

You’re together. For real.

For her. For each other.

For good.

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hoshifighting · 11 months ago

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Arranged Marriage — Hoshi x Reader

— Synopsis: In contrast to the tired old plots of arranged marriages where the couple can't stand each other, you and Soonyoung are childhood friends. It's not just like marrying a friend—no, no, actually, it is marrying a friend, no-frills and simple. — WC: 10k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, fingering, oral (m. receiving), penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, choking, one single slap on the ass, hair pulling, aftercare, whipped!hoshi, hoshi teases reader until she almost cries for dick, mentions of alcohol, mentions of body fluids (cum, sweat), DIRTY TALK—prob the nastiest dirty talk i've written.

You knew this day would come.

Growing up in a world where luxury, money, stock exchange, and business were the pillars of existence, arranged marriages were just another part of the cycle. Two patrimonies merging into one for the benefit of both families—it was a tradition as old as time.

Some couples embraced the spotlight, showcasing their unity to the world. Others barely tolerated each other, living in separate homes to maintain a fake image. There were also those whose mutual disdain led to chaos both in their personal lives and in the family businesses.

When you saw Soonyoung in your home, dressed in a suit that clearly wasn’t his style, you felt a hurricane of emotions. His usual vibrant, carefree energy seemed stifled under the weight of the tailored fabric. You greeted him and his family alongside your parents, both of you a shy mess, but something in his eyes told you things might not be as bad as you feared.

“Hey,” Soonyoung murmured as you both found a moment away from the adults’ formal discussions. “This suit is killing me.”

You laughed softly, feeling a sense of relief. “You look... different.”

“Yeah, definitely not my usual style, you know me” he grinned, loosening his tie. “But I guess we’re both out of our comfort zones today.”

You nodded, memories flooding back of the two of you playing outside when kids, during business congresses, your parents inside discussing mergers and acquisitions while you and Soonyoung chased each other around the gardens. “Do you remember those days?”

“Of course,” he said, eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “We had our own little world, didn’t we?”

“We did,” you replied. “And now, here we are.”

“So, how do you feel about this?” he asked, shy, looking at your expensive dress, clearly set for tonight. “About us... getting married?”

“I’ve been preparing for it my whole life, I guess,” you said honestly. “But with you... it feels different. Less intimidating."

“I feel the same,” Soonyoung admitted. “I mean, if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can make this work. Find a balance between our lifes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “We can create something new, something that’s ours.”

You looked at him, seeing not just the boy you grew up with, but a partner. Someone who understood the complexities of your world and was willing to navigate them with you.

You looked around your house, taking in the scene. Soonyoung’s family mingled with yours, coworkers from your parents’ firms exchanged polite conversation, and your and Soonyoung’s nephews were playing circles around the couch.

The weight of the day pressed on your shoulders, a burden that didn’t match the elegance of the dress you were wearing for the marriage proposal.

Soonyoung’s eyes met yours, noticing your tense posture. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, sulking, and he recognized the same expression you had when you were eight.

He leaned in, whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but I brought a bottle of tequila. It’s in my trunk. Would you like some to relax?”

You stared at him in silence before nodding with an exasperated look, feeling like it was exactly what you needed.

“Did you bring a shot cup?” you asked, following him outside.

He stopped, bottle in hand, and you both laughed. Taking the bottle from him, you leaned against his car, opened the cap, and poured a generous shot—maybe a little more—straight into your mouth. Soonyoung watched, his mouth wide open in surprise. You handed the bottle back to him.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked, taking a swig himself, looking comically exaggerated as he did. “I’m the one who has to kneel and propose today. My heart feels like it’s about to explode.”

You both laughed like teenagers getting away with something forbidden, hiding behind his car.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you broke it. “Do you have the ring here?”

He looked at you and nodded.

“Can I see it?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as if he had a rare Pokémon card.

“Is that right?” he teased.

You made doe eyes and asked, “Pretty please?”

He smiled, pulling a small black box from his pocket and opening it for you.

The diamond ring sparkled in your eyes, its brilliance captivating. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured.

Soonyoung nodded, grinning. “My sister helped me choose it. I originally wanted a diamond shaped like a cat, but she said that wasn’t appropriate.”

You laughed, the image of a cat-shaped diamond making you smile. “It’s beautiful, but a kitten-shaped ring sounds adorable. I would’ve loved that too.”

His grin widened, a small, proud smile lighting up his face as you both admired the ring.

Your moment was interrupted by Soonyoung’s mom's voice, echoing from the house. “Oh my god, are you already proposing?”

Soonyoung choked on his own saliva, his eyes wide with panic. The best thing to do now? Say no and face his mother’s scolding for showing the ring prematurely, or actually propose right then and there?

Before he could think it through, he found himself on one knee on the sidewalk, his heart pounding. You quickly hid the tequila bottle behind your back.

“Soonyoung, what are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“I... I’m improvising,” he replied, clearing his throat. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

The spontaneity of it all, made you laugh and cry at the same time, you needed to pretend you were actually emotional. “Yes, Soonyoung. Yes, I will.”

You barely noticed the sudden crowd that had gathered around you, they'd appeared out of nowhere, all eyes on the two of you. Soonyoung’s hand trembled slightly as he slid the ring onto your finger, the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of his touch.

You smiled nervously at him, teeth gritted. “Hug me,” you whispered urgently, your eyes darting to the tequila bottle that was precariously wedged behind your back. “Please, put the tequila bottle inside your car. It's practically shoved inside my ass.”

Soonyoung blinked, processing your words before a grin spread across his face. He pulled you into a tight hug, the kind that felt both reassuring and grounding. As he embraced you, he expertly reached behind you, his fingers brushing against the bottle.

You could feel his body shaking slightly with suppressed laughter.

“Hang on,” he whispered back.

He managed to grab the bottle and discreetly slid it out from behind you. Still holding you close, he took a step back towards the car, opening the door with one hand and slipping the bottle inside. The whole maneuver was so smooth that you doubted anyone noticed the clandestine operation.

That moment eased the tension of the night, but the tequila hadn’t taken effect yet, and you knew you had to keep an eye on Soonyoung. His alcohol tolerance was notoriously low, and you didn’t want him to embarrass himself—or worse, get into trouble.

As the night wound down and Soonyoung’s dad started to lead him to the car, Soonyoung sulked, trying to resist. “I want to talk a bit more to my bride,” he protested, his voice slightly slurred. His words elicited good-natured laughter from both families, who were enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

You walked over to him, giving him a warm hug and patting his head affectionately. “It’s time to go home, Soonyoung,” you said gently.

He looked at you with wide, earnest eyes, the warmth in his gaze reminding you of why you felt less nervous than you should. Soonyoung had always been warm-hearted, and maybe that’s why you felt a sense of calm amidst the chaos.

As you pulled back from the hug, Soonyoung’s hand lingered in yours for a moment longer. “Promise you’ll call me tomorrow?” he asked, his tone earnest despite his tipsiness.

“Promise,” you replied, smiling as you squeezed his hand.

With one last affectionate look, Soonyoung allowed his dad to guide him into the car. You watched as the vehicle pulled away. Your parents approached, their expressions a blend of amusement and expectation.

“Well, that was quite a night,” your mom said, her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Yes, it was,” you agreed, glancing at your dad, who nodded in approval.

“You two make a good pair,” your dad said, his tone warm. “I’m glad to see you both getting along so well.”

Your parents were now expectant, believing you and Soonyoung were truly becoming a couple. And in a way, you were—just not in the conventional sense they imagined.

The next day, even though it was a promise to a drunk boy, you called Soonyoung in the morning. Like any typical business wedding, the preparations started swiftly, aiming to have the wedding happen as soon as possible. Today, you were going to choose the food and drinks for the event.

When Soonyoung arrived, he was all tidied up, but his face was clearly tired. You laughed a bit, “You look…”

He completed for you, “Fucked?”

You chuckled, “I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Long night,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes. “But I’m here.”

“Good, because we have a lot to decide,” you replied, glancing at the event agent who was discussing the dessert options.

As you both looked at the event agent, who insisted on adding superfluous things to the sweets—like a layer of gold—you exchanged amused glances. The agent was enthusiastically explaining the virtues of gold-leaf-covered desserts.

“Gold? For us to... poop?” Soonyoung murmured incredulously.

You stifled a laugh and leaned closer to him. “Can’t it be something more tasty?”

The agent looked slightly taken aback. “Gold leaf is quite a statement piece.”

Soonyoung nodded, trying to be polite. “But we were thinking of something simpler.”

“How about churros?” you suggest.

The agent blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Churros? For a wedding?”

“Why not?” you said with a grin. “They’re delicious, and everyone loves them.”

“But they don’t exactly scream luxury,” the agent protested.

“They scream fun,” Soonyoung countered. “And isn’t that what weddings are supposed to be?”

The agent sighed, making a note. “Alright, churros it is. Anything else?”

“Maybe some street-style tacos?” he added, enjoying the agent’s bewildered expression.

“Tacos?” the agent repeated, as if the word was foreign.

“Yeah, why not?” Soonyoung agreed. “Let’s keep it simple and tasty.”

The agent finally nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Honestly, days flew by with Soonyoung by your side. Planning every little detail of the wedding together brought both fun and challenges, especially when your tastes didn’t always align. It was a bit complicated at first, like when you two were choosing the destination for your honeymoon.

Soonyoung wanted an adventure-packed trip to the Amazon rainforest, while you preferred a relaxing beach resort in the Maldives. The negotiations were intense, but you eventually settled on a compromise.

Choosing Soonyoung’s suit also proved to be a task. He insisted on wearing a tie with a tiger print, a nod to his childhood love for tigers. You were surprised that his fascination with the big cats had persisted, but you drew the line at a tiger tie. “Absolutely not,” you told him firmly, trying to imagine the looks you’d get. “A tiger tie is a no from me, and I think a lot of people would agree.”

“Fine,” he conceded with a sigh, but you could tell he was already thinking about how to sneak a little tiger motif into his outfit.

When it came to choosing your dress, you were accompanied by your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister.

Soonyoung, the only man in the group, tagged along as well. The other brides at the boutique initially assumed he was either your brother or your stylist.

Their jaws nearly dropped when they overheard he was actually the groom.

One of the brides, adjusting her veil in front of a mirror, turned to you, wide-eyed. “Wait, he’s your husband-to-be?”

“Yes, he is,” you confirmed with a smile, watching Soonyoung fuss over a lace detail on one of the dresses.

Another bride laughed softly. “Lucky you! He’s so involved.”

“He’s been amazing,” you said. “Except for his obsession with tiger prints.”

Soonyoung, overhearing, grinned and walked over. “What can I say? Tigers are cool.”

“Soonyoung, you’re a unique groom,” his sister teased, shaking her head.

As you tried on dresses, Soonyoung offered his opinions with surprising thoughtfulness, balancing out his more quirky suggestions. He was genuinely invested in making sure you felt beautiful and confident in your choice.

You’d tried on everything: the biggest gowns, the tightest silhouettes, dresses with endless layers of skirts, and others that hugged your hips so closely it felt like they were molded to your skin.

There were corsets that took your breath away—literally—and fabrics that shimmered under the boutique lights.

But this time, when you left the dressing room, you were wearing a veil.

Soonyoung’s eyes didn’t lie for a second. He liked this one very much. The women around you—your mom, Soonyoung’s mom, and his sister—fussed over the dress, adjusting it here and there, offering compliments. But Soonyoung was speechless.

If Soonyoung were to be completely honest, up until this moment, he had always seen you as his friend, the girl he was going to marry because of an arrangement. You were the same girl who used to run around the events, eluding the security guards with your mischievous giggles.

But now, you were different. You were a woman. His woman. And you looked stunning.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The transformation was breathtaking. You stood there, looking radiant in your wedding dress, and for the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. You weren’t just a friend anymore; you were about to become his partner, his wife.

He was so lost in the moment that he didn’t realize he was gawking until you and the women turned to him, waiting for his response. He blinked, snapping back to reality, and managed to find his voice.

“You look...” he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Your cheeks flushed at his earnest compliment. “You really think so?”

Soonyoung nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away. “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

His sister grinned, nudging him playfully. “Told you she’d find the perfect dress.”

Your mom wiped away a tear, “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

Soonyoung’s mom stepped forward, adjusting a tiny detail on the veil. “This is the one. It’s perfect.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a sense of certainty wash over you. “Yes, this is the one,” you said, smiling at the reflection and then at the people around you who made this moment even more special.

[...]

The days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind of activity. Every day brought something new to choose, and your creativity was running dry. You were worn out, and Soonyoung knew it. Today had been particularly exhausting.

As the realtor showed you yet another option for apartments in the Metropole, you responded with short answers, your enthusiasm long gone after visiting sixteen places that day alone.

“So, what do you think?” the realtor asked.

Soonyoung noticed your hesitation. “Can I talk with my wife for a sec?” he asked.

The realtor nodded and walked off, giving you space.

“Y/N-nie... are you okay?” Soonyoung asked softly, looking at you through his lashes.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I’m so tired,” you confessed.

He took a step closer, his voice softening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You breathed out heavily. “My family is putting a lot of pressure on me, and I’m working relentlessly at the company. I can’t wait for us to get married…”

Soonyoung’s heart sank a little. “You want to get married just to get free from it?”

“No, it’s not just that. It’s everything. The wedding preparations, the constant decisions, the endless work... I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand. “We don’t have to rush this, you know. We can take our time.”

“But everyone’s expecting so much from us,” you replied, feeling the weight of expectations.

“Let them expect,” he said firmly. “And I want this to be as much about you as it is about us.”

“I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” you admitted.

“You won’t,” Soonyoung assured you. “You’ve already done so much. It’s okay to take a step back and breathe.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. “Alright. Let’s look at this apartment one more time.”

Soonyoung nodded, giving you an encouraging smile. “And if it’s not the one, we’ll keep looking until we find the perfect place for us.”

You laughed softly, the tension easing. “You always know how to make things better.”

“Just doing my job as your soon-to-be husband,” he said playfully.

Soonyoung was doing an incredible job.

From what you’d heard from friends who had gone through the same situation, they didn’t have partners like Soonyoung. You felt proud of him.

He was your rock, making sure you took a breath when you were overwhelmed by the slightest things. He even insisted you didn't move a finger during brunch, making you so relaxed that you found the apartment you’d been searching for on the very same day.

The drive home was quiet, the car enveloped in a peaceful silence that allowed you a moment to rest. You laid your head back as he drove, appreciating the tranquility. Once you arrived, you stayed seated for a bit, soaking in the comfort of the quiet.

Soonyoung looked at you, waiting patiently. When you finally looked up, he gave you a gentle smile. “Ready to go in?”

You nodded, feeling a bit more refreshed. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He stepped out of the car and came around to your side, opening the door for you. “Take your time,” he said softly.

You appreciated his patience as you slowly got out of the car. “Thank you, Soonyoung.”

He smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked towards the house. “I’m just doing what any good partner would do.”

You leaned into him, feeling grateful for his support. “I don’t think everyone is as lucky as I am.”

He chuckled softly. “Well, I’m pretty lucky too, you know.”

As you entered the house, you felt a sense of relief. The apartment search was over, and you had found the perfect place. More importantly, you had Soonyoung by your side, making every step of this journey easier.

“So, what’s next on our list?” he asked, guiding you to the living room.

You sank into the couch, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. “I think a nap is next on my list.”

He laughed, sitting beside you. “That sounds like a perfect plan.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders. “Wake me up in an hour?”

[...]

The days flew by in a blur with the whirlwind of wedding preparations. It felt like only moments ago you were choosing flowers, tasting cakes, and finalizing guest lists.

Now, as you stood at the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet in front of Soonyoung, the reality of the moment hit you with full force.

The weight of the dress and the pressure of looking perfect made your hands sweat like never before. You felt like a porcelain doll, perfectly polished and poised.

Soonyoung stood there, his eyes fixed on you with pride. He couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. Here you were, a perfect woman by his side, and even better, an old friend he'd known for years.

The familiarity of your presence brought him comfort. Despite the fact that you hadn’t really dated, the idea of having someone as pretty and cool as you with him every day made him feel at ease about the whole situation.

As you walked down the aisle, your eyes met his, and a small, reassuring smile played on his lips. He looked stunning in his suit, and the way he stood tall, waiting for you, made your heart flutter.

You could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes, mirroring your own, but there was also a calmness there, a silent promise that everything would be alright.

When you finally reached him, he extended his hand towards you. He leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “You look amazing.”

You blushed, your nerves momentarily forgotten. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

The vows were sincere, filled with heartfelt words that spoke more to your shared friendship than any romantic notion. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle as you remembered all the crazy things you’d done together as kids.

Your minds flashed to the time you stole sweets from an event or when you both jumped into a water fountain during an important dinner with company directors.

As the officiant declared you husband and wife, all of these memories became a sweet reverie. You leaned in and whispered with a playful glint in your eye, “Are you going to kiss my lips or my cheek?”

Soonyoung blushed, clearly caught off guard by the question. A kiss on the cheek was typical in such moments since most arranged couples didn’t share a romantic bond. He stammered for a moment, his face flushing a deep shade of pink.

“Well… uh… I suppose the cheek would be safe,” he mumbled, eyes darting nervously.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, leaning closer. “But where’s the fun in that, Soonyoung?”

He looked at you, his eyes widening slightly. The playful challenge in your gaze gave him the courage he needed. With a deep breath, he moved in, his hand gently cupping your face.

“I think I’ll go for the lips,” he whispered back, his voice steadying.

The crowd held its breath as Soonyoung leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a simple kiss, not passionate, but filled with the warmth of years of friendship and the promise of a shared future. The applause that followed was thunderous, but all you could focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours.

As you pulled away, you both wore matching grins. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you teased,

He laughed, shaking his head. “Not bad at all. Actually, it was kind of nice.”

You linked arms, turning to face the crowd together. Your parents looked relieved and proud, while your friends were cheering loudly, clearly entertained by the spectacle. Soonyoung’s eyes met yours again, and there was a newfound spark there, full of possibilities.

As you both shared champagne with your parents, Soonyoung playfully asked, "No tequila tonight?" You were about to respond when his mom's voice cut in, "Tequila?"

Soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his mouth twisted into a frown as he tried to suppress his laughter. You quickly improvised, "Huh, h-he meant... tacos! We had tacos with tequila last time, remember?" You forced a smile, hoping it sounded convincing enough. His mom seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding along.

After mingling with guests—aka talking with people from work about the next meeting—you finally found a moment to escape the spotlight. You and Soonyoung crouched behind the kitchen, hiding from the crowd. The chefs chuckled at the sight of the newlyweds sneaking bites of food, but they made sure to hand you the best eats, knowing how overwhelming the day could be.

Soonyoung grinned, playfully nudging you. "We're so used to doing this at parties that we're practically pros now."

You nodded in agreement, a mischievous smile on your face. "Even though it's our own wedding party," you said, shaking your head in disbelief.

He chuckled, looking at the gold ring on your finger with a sense of wonder. "Our wedding... I still can't believe it. Oh my god, we're grown adults now."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out to pat his head mockingly. "We've been grown adults for... kind of a long time already," you teased, a playful glint in your eye.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then leaned in closer, his voice softening. "Yeah, but it feels different now. Like, we're really starting something new."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. It was true. The reality of your situation was sinking in, but in a way, it felt comforting. You had each other, and that made everything seem a little less daunting. As you sat there, hidden away from the chaos of the celebration, it struck you how much you appreciated this moment—just the two of you, stealing away for a breather.

“Shall we follow tradition?” Soonyoung asks, a playful glint in his eyes. You frown, confused, as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of tequila.

“Should tequila be kept in the fridge?” you ask, laughing at the sight.

“I hope so,” he replies, pouring the liquid into a cup. “This one is expensive.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking the cup from him. “The cheapest has the same effect,” you say, waiting for him to pour his own.

He chuckles, raising his glass. “But today’s a special day. We deserve the good stuff.”

You laugh it off, crossing your arms before taking the shot together. The familiar burn makes you both scrunch up your faces.

The wedding party was truly one of a kind. You and Soonyoung were a bit too excited, turning the waltz space into a wild dance floor.

At first, your parents were too embarrassed to join, especially at the sight of Soonyoung twerking on you. But soon, even the directors and business partners were on the dance floor, dancing and drinking extravagantly.

[...]

The next morning, you and Soonyoung were woken up by the buzzing of your phones.

Your makeup was smudged and stamped on the pillow, and you were still in your wedding dress. You scratched your scalp, feeling the bobby pins still tangled in your hair.

Soonyoung was no better; his shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button, his tie was loosened around his neck, and his hair looked like a bird's nest. He scratched his forehead groggily. Despite sharing the same bed, you both seemed unbothered by it.

You grabbed your phone and saw the company group chat flooded with messages:

“Wow, last night was incredible! Congrats to the newlyweds!”

“I can't believe we all danced that much! My feet are killing me. :')”

“Best wedding party ever! So happy for you guys!”

“My head is pounding, but it was totally worth it. ^^ Cheers to you both!”

“I’m still recovering from all that dancing. What a party!”

“Never thought I’d see the CEO breakdancing. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ”

You couldn't help but smile at the messages, as Soonyoung peeked over your shoulder, a sleepy grin spreading across his face.

“My head hurts,” Soonyoung complains, rubbing his temples.

You adjust the corset of your dress, feeling the tightness around your ribs. "My ribs are squeezed," you grumble, wincing as you try to get comfortable. "I can't believe I slept in this."

He yawns, glancing down at your leg. "You even kept the garter on," he points out, noticing the delicate band still around your thigh.

You crack your neck, feeling the weight of the long night. "Your sister gave it to me, so I put it on," you explain, lifting the voluminous skirt to reveal the bridal garter.

His eyes widen comically. "My sister?! Is there something I don't know?"

You frown at him, a bit confused. "You don’t know about the tradition?"

Soonyoung looks a bit lost, scratching his head. "I mean, it’s my first time getting married."

You sigh, laying back down. "Traditionally, the groom is supposed to take it off when... taking the virginity," you explain, watching his face turn a shade of pink.

His eyes dart around nervously, processing the information. "So... my sister thought I was... a virgin?"

You shrug, teasing, "Probably. Are you?"

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Definitely not. And you?"

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. "Nope. Sorry to disappoint."

He chuckles, finally relaxing. "Good to know. Not that it matters, but... it's funny to think about how everyone just assumes stuff."

“Are you going to take it off?” you tease, stretching your leg up and wiggling your foot playfully. Your eyes glint mischievously as you watch Soonyoung’s reaction.

He scoffs, but a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “What, you mean right now?” His eyes flicker to your thigh, then quickly back up to your face, trying to gauge if you’re serious or just messing with him.

You arch an eyebrow, maintaining your playful expression. “Why not? It’s tradition, right? Don’t you want to fulfill your husbandly duties?” You stretch your leg out further, making the garter more visible.

Soonyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but there’s a sparkle of joy in his eyes. He reaches out hesitantly, his fingers brushing lightly against your thigh. The touch sends a shiver to your skin, and you can’t help but giggle.

“What’s the matter?” you prod, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

He rolls his eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Not at all,”

You bute your lip as his fingers graze the lacy fabric of the garter. His touch is feather-light, almost ticklish, and you squirm a bit under his hand.

Soonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction. “You’re squirming,” he notes, his voice low and teasing. “Does that mean you’re nervous?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Me? Nervous? Please,” you retort, trying to sound confident despite the rapid beating of your heart. “I’m just surprised you’re taking so long. I thought you’d be an expert at this.”

He chuckles, sliding his hand a bit higher up your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. “Oh, I am,” he replies smoothly. “Just savoring the moment.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” you murmur, your voice softening slightly. “We wouldn’t want to miss out on any other wedding traditions.”

Soonyoung grins, his fingers hooking under the garter. “Right, can’t forget those,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of naughtiness.

He gently tugs on the garter, slowly sliding it down your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.

As he finally slips the garter off, he holds it up triumphantly, a goofy grin on his face. “There, tradition fulfilled,” he declares, waving the garter like a trophy.

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Congratulations,” you say, clapping mockingly. “You’ve successfully removed a piece of elastic lace. Truly, a remarkable achievement.”

He bows dramatically, playing along. “Thank you, thank you,” he says, flashing you a cheeky smile. “It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.”

You can’t help but laugh, the light-hearted banter making the moment feel even more special. Soonyoung’s hand lingers on your leg for a moment longer before he finally lets go.

As Soonyoung gets up, stretching his arms with a yawn, he announces, "I'm going to take a bath." He heads towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You sit up, still feeling the effects of last night's festivities, and shout after him, “Ya! Ladies first!”

From behind the closed door, you hear Soonyoung's laughter echo in the bathroom. “Sorry, didn’t hear you over the sound of me already starting the water!” he calls back, his voice filled with playful defiance.

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. It’s these little moments that make everything feel so natural and easy with him. After a few minutes, you hear the sound of running water stop, and Soonyoung emerges from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“All yours,” he says, grinning. “I left some hot water for you, too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, grabbing your toiletries and heading into the bathroom. The warm water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of makeup and the night's events. After a quick shower, you step out feeling slightly more human, though the hangover still lingers.

As you both finish getting ready, the thought of breakfast crosses your mind. However, just the idea of food makes your stomach churn. The hotel's breakfast spread is typically lavish, but today, the thought of greasy bacon and pastries is anything but appetizing.

Soonyoung, dressed in a casual outfit, catches your expression as you look at the food options. “Yeah, not feeling it either,” he says, rubbing his temple. “Let's skip it.”

You nod in agreement, both of you opting for just a coffee to stave off the worst of the hangover. With minimal conversation, you gather your belongings, checking out of the hotel and heading straight to the airport.

But one thing you definitely didn’t expect was Soonyoung falling asleep on your shoulder within the first thirty minutes of the flight. His head rested heavily against you, and his hand, seemingly by accident, was placed on your thigh.

As he softly snored, you couldn’t help but chuckle at how comfortable he looked. Anyone passing by would probably think you two were an old married couple, so naturally attuned to each other.

His head's weight pressed down on your shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence. Every now and then, you felt him subconsciously moisturizing his lips, a small, almost imperceptible movement that somehow made the moment even more cute.

You glanced at the small TV screen in front of you, trying to focus on the movie playing. It was a romance novel adaptation, the kind with sweeping gestures and grand declarations of love.

Normally, you might have rolled your eyes at the cliché, but with Soonyoung sleeping peacefully beside you, it felt oddly fitting.

As the plane cruised through the sky, you found yourself getting lost in the storyline, occasionally glancing at Soonyoung. His breathing was steady, a gentle rhythm that added to the soothing hum of the plane.

You shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable without disturbing him, but his hand tightened instinctively on your thigh, holding you in place. It was a small, protective gesture that made your heart flutter.

What you loved the most was when Soonyoung finally woke up, blinking sleepily and then immediately apologizing. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, his face flushed with embarrassment. You chuckled, assuring him it was okay, that he had every right to rest. He seemed genuinely mortified, even offering, “You can sleep on my shoulder too, I promise.”

You smiled at his earnestness, brushing it off with a light, “Maybe on the way back, then,” as the announcement came that you were about to land.

Once you arrived, Soonyoung was quick to grab the suitcases from the taxi, his efficiency a comfort as you made your way to the hotel's check-in counter.

The concierge’s eyes seemed to linger on you a little too long, his gaze sliding over your sundress and perhaps admiring more than just the attire.

As you waited for the receptionist, the concierge leaned casually on the counter, offering a friendly, yet slightly flirtatious, smile.

“First time here, ma’am?” he asked, his tone smooth and inviting.

“Well, yes...” you replied, keeping your voice polite but detached. You could feel the weight of his attention and tried to subtly stretch your hand, making sure the gold ring on your finger was clearly visible.

The concierge didn’t seem to get the hint, or perhaps he chose to ignore it. “You’re in for a treat. We’ve got some wonderful spots for—”

Before he could continue, you felt Soonyoung's presence behind you, a comforting warmth at your back. His body pressed lightly against yours, a subtle yet possessive gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. His hand slipped around your waist, resting just below your belly, the touch gentle but unmistakably protective.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Everything alright?” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity and a subtle edge.

You could almost feel the shift in the air. The concierge straightened up, his expression flickering between surprise and a polite smile. “Oh, just making sure your stay is perfect,” he said, his tone now more professional, eyes darting between you and Soonyoung.

“Thank you,” Soonyoung replied, his voice steady. His hand didn’t move from its spot on your belly, and the slight squeeze he gave was enough to send a clear message. You leaned back into him, feeling a rush of warmth at his silent claim.

The receptionist finally returned with your room keys, handing them over with a bright, “Welcome to our hotel! We hope you enjoy your stay.” With the keys in hand, you and Soonyoung made your way to the elevator.

As the doors closed, sealing you both from the world outside, you turned to Soonyoung with a smirk. “Looks like someone’s a little possessive.”

He grinned back, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just making sure everyone knows you’re taken.”

You tease him back with a playful smirk. “Well, it’s just a business marriage. You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that,” you say, your tone light and slightly mocking.

Soonyoung scoffs, turning his gaze to the side with a dramatic sigh. “You’re such an idiot,” he mocks, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“An idiot, hm?” you counter, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Well, I’m an idiot you agreed to marry, so I guess that makes you twice the fool.”

He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Sharp tongue of yours, huh?”

You nod, feigning innocence. “What can I say? I’ve had years of practice.”

Soonyoung leans in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, it’s a shame. I was really looking forward to giving you something special once we got to our hotel room.”

Your curiosity piques immediately. “Something special? Like what?”

He grins, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, just something that’ll make you remember tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to gauge his meaning. “Something that’ll make me remember tonight, huh? Care to elaborate?”

Soonyoung chuckles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, I think you already know what I’m talking about.”

You narrow your eyes, playfully challenging him. “Do I? Because you’re being awfully vague.”

He leans back, enjoying the game. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

The teasing glint in his eyes only fuels your curiosity further. You know exactly what he’s implying, but you play along, eager to hear him say it outright.

“So,” you press, “what is it? Can you give me a hint?”

Soonyoung’s grin widens, clearly relishing the moment. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll make you very excited. And not just because of the hotel’s decor.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “Alright, alright. I get it. You’re being all mysterious.”

You sulk, trailing behind Soonyoung as he walks down the hallway toward your room. “Tell me, pleeeease,” you plead.

Soonyoung glances back at you with a mischievous smile. “Nope, not telling,” he says, his grin widening as he enjoys your insistence.

When you reach the door, Soonyoung unlocks it and pushes it open, gesturing for you to enter. You walk in, your eyes scanning the room briefly, but your focus quickly returns to Soonyoung. He places the suitcases by the door and then hops onto the bed, sprawling out with a relaxed sigh.

You stay standing by the door, your arms crossed over your chest, giving him a sulky, upset look.

“So,” Soonyoung says with a defiant glare, “am I forgetting something?”

You pout, trying to look as curious and frustrated as possible. “You’ve got me curious,” you admit, your eyes wide.

He laughs, brushing his hand through his hair with a playful sigh. “You’re almost throwing a tantrum over this?”

Soonyoung slides his hand down his abdomen slowly, getting lower and lower, until he's wrapping his fingers around his cock through his white shorts. The outline is clear, thick, and perfectly defined against the fabric.

He gives it a little shake, a sly smile playing on his lips as he watches your reaction.

You stare at him in shock, your knees almost giving way as you take in the sight. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out as you struggle to process what you're seeing.

Soonyoung’s smile widens, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckles softly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Well, I figured it was time to give you a little hint,” he says, his hand still resting casually on his bulge. “So, do you think you’re ready to find out what else I have in store for tonight?”

You stammer, unable to look away from the outline of his cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. “Do we have to wait until nightfall?”

Soonyoung licks his lips, his gaze never leaving you. “Oh,” he drawls, “but you have to walk properly tonight, so we can go to the restaurant.”

Your eyes darken, a fire igniting within you. “You think I can’t handle all of this inside?”

He raises an eyebrows. “You shouldn’t,” he says, his voice dripping with devilishness. “It’s just a business wedding, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Just a business wedding, huh? You really want to test me?”

Soonyoung chuckles, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “That’s right. Let’s see if you can keep your composure while we enjoy a nice dinner.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Challenge accepted,”

You’ve never been so turned on by someone’s mere presence before. The entire city tour was a cruel game of torture, all at Soonyoung’s hands.

In the taxi, his hand had wandered to your nude thigh, brushing against your skin like a feather. The way his fingers lightly caressed your inner leg made your heart race and your breath catch.

At the restaurant, the casual caresses continued. His leg pressed against yours under the table, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The warmth of his skin against yours, the way he would occasionally let his knee slide up your thigh—each movement was like an electric current surging through you, leaving you squirming in your seat.

Walking through the jewelry fair was an exercise in restraint. As you admired the sparkling displays, Soonyoung’s hands kept drifting to the exposed skin of your back. His touch was light, almost playful, but each graze against your bare skin made you shiver with need.

You could barely focus on the dazzling jewels in front of you; your mind was consumed with the need for him.

By the time you were back in the elevator, you felt like you were on the edge of losing control. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp and hungry, as you pressed yourself against the wall.

You turned your face away, but you couldn’t hide the truth from him. Your nipples, straining against your dress, betrayed your arousal. Your legs, pressed tightly together, were a clear sign of your desperation. Even your unsteady breaths gave you away.

When you finally arrived at the hotel room, you barely made it inside before your desperation took over.

You throw him against the wall, hands planted firmly on his chest. The sound reverberates through the room, probably making the neighbors wonder what the hell is going on. His usually small eyes are wide, staring at you flaggerblasted.

Your breath mingles with his as you lean in, letting your lips barely graze his. Your voice comes out breathy, almost desperate, “Please. Stop teasing me.”

For a moment, he's stunned, caught off guard by the whininess in your voice and the look on your face—like you might break if he doesn't give you what you need right now.

It's a twisted scenario, considering you're his childhood friend turned wife is standing before him with an expression that borders on agony—an agony only he can alleviate.

For a moment, he looks like he might laugh, but he knows he's on the verge of losing all sense of control, but a part of him relishes the idea.

“Say it again,” he murmurs. He knows he's playing with fire, but he can't resist the thrill. His lips barely brush against yours, teasing, taunting.

“Soonyoung, I'm going to fucking cry if you don't—”

“Hold it,” he commands,you shudder, your breath hitching as he lifts your dress. And you comply, bunching the fabric in your fists to keep it out of the way.

His hand slides down the front of your panties, and your head falls back.

Soonyoung leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re so fucking impatient,” he growls.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, finding you wet and wanting, throbbing everytime he rubs his fat fingers on you. “You’ve never even tasted my cock, and you’re already obsessed, huh?” He presses his thumb against your clit, making you gasp. “You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimper, your hips bucking against his hand. You can barely think straight. “Please, Soonyoung,” you beg again, your voice cracking.

He chuckles darkly, clearly relishing your desperation. “You want my cock so bad, don't you?” His fingers slide inside you, curling just right, and you cry out. “You want me to fuck you senseless? Make you scream my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. The words spill out of you, unfiltered and raw. “I want you to ruin me.”

“You’ve never had anyone fill you up like I will,” he says. “I’m gonna stretch you out so good, baby. You’ll be begging for more, even when you can’t take it.”

The dirty talk, the sheer vulgarity of his words, makes you even wetter. You feel like you're on the verge of losing control, and it's rousing.

Soonyoung's fingers pump in and out of you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. His thumb rubs relentless circles on your clit, and you can feel the tension building, winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re gonna cum on my fingers first,” he whispers. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk straight for days. Is that what you want, baby? To be fucked so good, you can’t even think about anything else?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you pant, your voice high and desperate. You can feel the orgasm building, Soonyoung's touch is all-consuming, driving you wild with every stroke.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs.“So eager to please. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

Here and there, Soonyoung is driving you insane with his body affixed to the wall, one strong arm holding your leg up. His wrist swiveling to match his fingers as they explore your weeping cunt and his repetitive rubbing of the areas that cause you to roll your eyes.

You cry out, gasping as you roll your hips onto his fingers, the orgasm making you forget what would be appropriate at the time. Soonyoung's fingers work you through it, drawing out every last drop of you.

As you come down from the high, you realize you're still clinging to him, fingers deep on his muscular shoulders, your breaths coming in hiccups. Soonyoung pulls his fingers out of you, and you feel a pang of loss.

Your legs feel like jelly, and you can barely stand. Soonyoung catches you, pulling you close.

Soonyoung's eyes rake over you, his smirk widening as he takes in the sight of your trembling legs. “You're trembling,” he chuckle. His gaze drops to the slick mess between your thighs, and he bites his lip, clearly reveling in the sight. “Better than this... you're literally dripping,” appreciating.

He lets your leg down, holding you firmly as he guides you back onto the bed. The plush mattress sinks under your weight.

“God forgive me,” he continues, “but if our mothers weren't in that dressing room that day, I would've fucked you right there in the store. With that princess veil of yours... I would've pinned you against the mirror and made you scream my name.”

Your mouth falls open. The image of him taking you into that bridal shop, surrounded by white lace and satin, hitting you like a punch to the gut.

You're not sure what shocks you more: his bold declaration or the way your body reacts to it, growing wetter with every word.

He smirks at your reaction.

“What's the matter, princess? Cat got your tongue?" He teases. His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. “Or are you just too turned on to speak?"

He's right; you're completely at his mercy, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

He strips off his shirt, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso, then shucks off his shorts. His erection strains against the fabric of his boxers, and he groans, closing his eyes and tilting his head back as he palms himself.

“I could've fucked you on that altar,” he visualize. "In front of all those guests. Just to show everyone that no matter how arranged this marriage was, you're mine. No one else's.”

He opens his eyes, locking onto yours. “I would've spread you open right there, had you screaming my name, showing them all who you belong to."

His dirty words, the way he claims you with every syllable, makes your head spin.

Soonyoung's hand moves over his bulge, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don't even know how much I've wanted you,” he hisses. “How much I want to fuck you senseless, make you mine in every way.”

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. “And tonight, I'm going to do just that. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget about everyone else. Just me, and this cock inside you, filling you up until you can't think straight.”

You squirm, your body responding to his filthy promises. You can't tear your eyes away from him, your mind racing with the possibilities of what the night holds.

Soonyoung's fingers brush against the hem of your dress, and you shudder at the contact. “Take it off,” he orders, his voice rough. “I want you naked, spread out on this bed, ready for me.” His eyes bore into yours, and you know he's not just asking—he's demanding.

You slip your dress over your head, tossing it aside as you finally catch sight of Soonyoung completely naked. His hand moves over his erection, the cockhead glistening with precum. The sight makes you lick your lips.

“Can you—” he starts to ask, but you cut him off, not needing him to finish.

“Yes!” you nearly moan. His eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips as you drop to your knees in front of him.

You take a moment to appreciate the sight before you. His cock is thick and veined, the head an angry red, glossy with precum. You can almost taste it just from looking.

Tentatively, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the tip, tasting the salty precum on your tongue. It's musky and slightly bitter, but it makes you want to choke on this cock. You swirl your tongue around the head, savoring the taste and the way his breath hitches above you.

Soonyoung's hand tangles in your hair, guiding you closer. “Yes, baby,” he groans, his voice thick with need. “Just like that.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper into your mouth, your lips stretching around his girth. The texture of his cock is smooth yet rigid, the veins pulsating against your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, creating a tight seal as you bob your head, taking more of him with each movement.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily, and you hear a strangled moan escape his lips. “Shit, that feels so good,” he pants, his grip on your hair tightening. You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes meeting his. The sight of him looking down at you, his face twisted in pleasure, spurs you on.

You slide your hand up his thigh, wrapping it around the base of his cock to stroke what you can't fit in your mouth. Your other hand cups his balls, gently massaging them as you continue to suck him.

You hum around his length, sending vibrations through him. He shudders, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. “You're so fucking good at this,” he praises, his voice breathless. “So eager, so perfect.”

You moan around his cock at the praise. You take him deeper, pushing your limits as you feel him hit the back of your throat. You gag slightly but push through, wanting to please him, wanting to show him how much you want this.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his hips bucking forward again. “You're going to make me cum if you keep doing that.”His voice is strained, you don't know if he's warning you or if he's desperate.

You don't let up, doubling your efforts. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head every time you pull back. Your hand continues to pump the base of his cock, matching the rhythm of your mouth. You can feel him throbbing, his cock pulsing with need.

Soonyoung's moans grow louder, more desperate. His breaths come in uneven pants, his body tense with the need for release. “Fuck, Y/N, I'm so close,” he warns, his voice breaking.

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you take him even deeper. You want to see him come undone, to watch him lose control because of you. You feel his cock twitch in your mouth, and with one last swirl of your tongue, he lets out a choked moan.

He comes hard, his hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. The taste of his release floods your senses, warm and salty. You swallow every drop, savoring the way he trembles above you. His hand in your hair tightens, holding you in place as he rides out his orgasm.

His hand gently strokes your hair after, a contrast to the rough grip from moments before. You pull back, licking your lips and savoring the last taste of him.

He lifts you up effortlessly, his lips crashing into yours. He doesn't care that his cock was just in your mouth seconds ago or that his cum lingers on your tongue. The taste of himself on your lips makes him moan, the sound vibrating between you.

After a moment, he pulls back, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight but firm enough to make you feel his presence. His eyes bore into yours, as he licks his sensitive lips.

“You were sucking me so good,” he rasps, “that I almost said ‘I love you’.”

A laugh bursts out of you, hearty and genuine, and he watches you with a smirk.

“I swear,” he continues, his tone playful. “if I'd known marrying you would come with benefits like this, I would've done it way sooner.” “I feel like I owe you something after that blowjob,” he says, his voice dropping into a deeper, more sultry tone.

You bite your lip, a dirty thought flashing through your mind, and Soonyoung picks up on it immediately. Soonyoung's gaze narrows, reading the filth in your expression

“What is it? What do you want?” he asks excitedly.

“Can you fuck me… doggy style?” you ask.

“Yes, I can,” The corners of his mouth twitch, barely holding back a grin.

You look up, pretending to be lost in thought, then say, “Can you fuck me in missionary?”

He nods again, biting his lip, his grip on your throat tightening just a little.

“Can you fuck me inside… the shower?”

He presses you tightly against him, his hand gripping your waist possessively, but your gaze still eating him whole.

“I can fuck you upside down, sideways, any way you want, baby,” he answers, his voice steady and confident. “Just say the word, and I'll make it happen.”

You moan in response. Too early to say that you're already dumb for his cock?

“Get on all fours and lift that pretty ass for me.”

As you crawl up the bed, you make sure to put on a show. You arch your back, lifting your ass higher, giving Soonyoung the view he wants. You wiggle it a little, teasing him.

The motion makes your pussy lips part slightly, already slick and ready for him. You can feel his eyes on you, burning with thirst. Without warning, his hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp. You let out a yelp. You know that mark will be there tomorrow, like a postmark, like a stamp, like a reminder of this moment, and the thought makes you even wetter.

He moves behind you, the bed dipping under his weight. You feel his hands on your hips, gripping you firmly as he positions himself. You can't help but push back against him, seeking more contact.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters, running his hands over the curves of your ass, squeezing the flesh and kneading it roughly. He spreads you open, taking in the sight of your wetness. “Look at how ready you are for me. You're dripping, baby.”

You moan, pushing back against him, desperate for more. “Please, Soonyoung, I need you.”

“Fuck, you sound so desperate,” he taunts, positioning himself behind you. His cock slides against your folds, teasing you, making you whimper. “Beg for it. Beg for my cock.”

“Please, Soonyoung, fuck me,” you whine. “I need your cock inside me, please. I can’t wait any longer.”

He doesn't tease, doesn't make you wait any longer. He thrusts in with one hard, deep stroke, filling you completely. The sudden intrusion makes you cry out, a slight discomfort as your walls stretch around him. But it makes your toes curl.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, gripping your hips as he starts to move. “So fucking tight and wet for me. You feel that? That’s my cock stretching your pussy.”

You moan loudly, the pleasure building with each thrust. “Yes, Soonyoung, I feel it. It feels so good. Fuck me harder.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. The sudden burst of pleasure makes you gasp, your body jolting.

He pulls back slowly, only to slam back in, setting a rough, punishing rhythm, making you roll your eyes back.

He's so deep, hitting spots you didn't even know existed. Each thrust makes you see stars, and you can't help but moan loudly, not caring if the entire hotel hears you. The stretch, the fullness, it's all so overwhelming, so fucking good.

“Come on,” he urges, voice a low growl. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you squeeze this cock.”

It's all too much. The feel of his cock, his fingers on your clit, the dirty words spilling from his lips—it all sends you over the edge. The second orgasm of the night making you feel already exhausted. Your voice hoarse, as you feel yourself sloppier between your legs.

There's no mercy in his movements; he's fucking you through your high, pushing you beyond your limits. Each time he hits your cervix, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain ripples through you, making your arms tremble uncontrollably.

You try to hold yourself up, but your strength falters. With a soft cry, your arms give out, and your chest falls against the bed. Soonyoung lets out a low chuckle, a smug grin spreading across his face as he watches you crumble beneath him. Even with your body slack, you're impossibly tight around him, your pussy squeezing him like a vice.

Soonyoung’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continues to pound into you from behind. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, stretching you, making your walls clench involuntarily around him.

He leans over you, his breath hot against your ear, and you can hear the pride in his voice as he coos, “Aww, look at you. So fucking helpless, so fucking wrecked. You can’t even hold yourself up, can you?”

You can barely muster a response, a breathy whimper escaping your lips as you feel the tears start to stream down your cheeks. It’s an almost incredulous feeling, the tears mixing with the sweat on your face.

You’ve never been fucked like this before, never been pushed to the brink and then beyond, your body betraying you as it trembles under his control. It’s a raw, visceral experience that leaves you gasping for air, your mind a hazy blur of feel.

Soonyoung notices the tears, and his smirk grows wider. “Look at you, crying for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Is it too much, baby? Too fucking good? Love being fucked so hard you can’t even think straight?”

His hand moves from your hip to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your back even more. The angle shifts, and he hits that perfect spot inside you, making you moan loudly, your voice cracking with the intensity of it all.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips snapping forward with even more force. “God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let me go.” He punctuates his words with deep, hard thrusts that leave you reeling, each one sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“So pretty when you cry,” he continues, his tone almost taunting. “I could do this all day, just watch you fall apart on my cock” His words are filthy, degrading, but they ignite something inside you, a desperate need for more.

The way he speaks to you, the way he claims you with each word and each thrust, is addictive.

You can’t hold back your sobs. “Please,” you manage to choke out, not even sure what you’re begging for anymore.

More, less, anything—just something to ease the dizzying sensation coursing through you.

He laughs softly, a dark, knowing sound that makes your skin prickle. “Please what, baby? You want me to stop? You want me to fuck you harder?”

He pulls out almost completely, the emptiness leaving you gasping, and then slams back in with a force that makes your whole body jolt.

“You’re so fucking greedy. Can’t get enough, can you? You want this cock to ruin you, want me to fuck you so good you’ll feel it for days.”

All you can do is moan and sob, your body shuddering with each thrust as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, it’s dirty, raw, and utterly nasty.

“Gonna make you cum again,” he murmurs, his voice a dark promise.

And as you feel the tension building inside you again, that familiar coil of pleasure tightening in your belly—you know he’s right.

He lays you gently on the bed, your back sinking into the mattress. Your face, flushed and glistening with sweat, looks completely wrecked, completely exhausted. Soonyoung feels a brief flicker of pity, but it quickly dissipates as you babble out your dirty words, barely coherent but dripping with need. “Please... Soonyoung... more, need you so bad... fuck…”

He smirks, spreading your wobbly legs apart, exposing the slick, swollen mess between them. “You can barely form a sentence, and yet you still want more.”

He slides his cock back inside you, stretching you open once more.

Soonyoung's thumb finds your clit again, and he begins to work it in slow, light-touch circles. The sensation is maddening, a delicious contrast to the deep, methodical thrusts of his cock.

He watches your face intently, drinking in every expression, every gasp and whimper."That's it, baby," he coos. “Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

You can barely keep your eyes open, your body overly sensitive from the previous orgasms, but he doesn't let up.

His other hand moves to your chest, fondling your breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple before sliding up to wrap around your throat. This time, the grip is firm, real, and you can feel the delicious pressure as he chokes you just enough to make your head spin.

He leans in closer, his eyes never leaving your face.

You cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his body, pulling him closer as if you could merge with him, become one. The scent of sweat and skin mingling in the air—it all consumes you.

Your body is trembling, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, a white-hot band of pressure that threatens to snap. Soonyoung's moans are louder now, but they seem distant, like they're coming from underwater, muffled by the roaring in your ears.

His pace quickens, and you feel yourself losing control, your mind slipping away from the physical world. The room, the bed, even Soonyoung—all of it fades into the background.

There's only the blinding, all-encompassing pleasure that fills every nerve, every cell in your body. It's like being pulled under a wave, the sensation crashing over you with a force that's almost violent.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, and you can feel the muscles in your abdomen clenching, the buildup to your orgasm reaching its peak.

And then, it hits. The climax rips through you, a white-hot explosion that leaves you gasping, the world narrowing down to the blinding sensation of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Your back arches off the bed, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your vision goes white. The intensity is mind-numbing, erasing everything else from your mind except the overwhelming euphoria that pulses through you.

Your body shakes with the force of it, your legs quivering, toes curling as the pleasure radiates outward from your core. You can feel the slickness between your thighs, the way your walls flutter and squeeze around Soonyoung, pulling him deeper inside you.

Soonyoung's name falls from your lips in a choked sob, your voice hoarse and trembling.

You slowly come back to reality, feeling the weight of Soonyoung's body on top of you, his cum warm and sticky between your bellies.

Soonyoung pants loudly, trying to catch his breath. He lifts his head slightly to look at you, concern flickering in his eyes despite the satisfied smile on his lips. “You okay, wifey?” he asks.

You manage a weak smile, still feeling the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. “I’m okay, hubby,”

His smile widens, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “You were amazing.”

You chuckle softly, the sound a bit strained. “You weren’t too bad yourself,” you tease, your hand coming up to rest on his back, feeling the muscles still taut from effort.

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against your own. “Glad I could satisfy my wife on our first night together,”

“Think we should clean up?” Soonyoung asks after a while.

“Probably,” you agree, though neither of you makes a move to get up just yet. You’re too content, too wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence.

Eventually, with a reluctant sigh, Soonyoung shifts, carefully pulling away from you. The cool air hits your skin, making you shiver slightly. He helps you sit up, his hands gentle and supportive as you both make your way to the bathroom.

The weight of the wedding ring on your finger feels heavier now, more symbolic than ever. It’s not just a piece of jewelry; it’s a constant reminder of the commitment you’ve made and the life you’re building together.

Soonyoung, despite his own exhaustion, is kneeling beside the tub, gently washing you. His focused expression as he works to make sure you’re clean and comfortable. The sight of him, so dedicated and caring, makes your heart swell.

You feel a pang of guilt as you see the tiredness etched on his face, a reminder of how much he’s given for you, both physically and emotionally. Your legs, still trembling from the aftermath of the passion, had given up on you, leaving you reliant on him. The thought of him taking care of you, even in his weariness, makes you feel both grateful and a bit ashamed.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “You don’t have to do this. I can manage on my own.”

Soonyoung looks up at you, his eyes softening as he smiles. “I want to,” he says quietly. “You took care of me earlier, and now it’s my turn to take care of you. Besides, it’s kind of nice, being able to do this for you.”

You look him in the eye and sense the truth in his words. His warm, comforting smile belies the weariness that is evident in the lines on his face.

[...]

As you and Soonyoung lie together in bed, the room is quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional sigh from either of you. The memories of what just happened still lingers in the air, making both of you feel a bit shy and stunned.

As Soonyoung lays his head on your chest, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. He sighs contentedly, his fingers lightly tracing patterns around your breast.

“So,” he begins, his voice tinged with both surprise and a hint of playfulness, “when I hinted at what I wanted, I honestly didn’t think you'd go for it. I was kind of... hoping, but also preparing for a rejection.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers running through his hair. “Oh really? And why not?”

“Well, for one, you’re ridiculously hot. I didn’t think you’d be that into it right off the bat.”

You giggle, feeling a rush of confidence. “Oh, come on. Why wouldn’t I? You’re hot, and let’s be honest, you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Damn, so you think I’m hot, huh? And here I was thinking I’d have to put in a little more effort.” He rises to look at you, but you make him lay again, your cheeks flushed.

“I can’t believe we managed to go from ‘I do’ to ‘Let’s fuck’ in just a few days. We really don’t waste any time, do we?” You say, grinning.

“Yeah, I guess I underestimated how much I’d resist you, but I knew I was in trouble from the moment we got married… I thought I’d be a strong soldier, holding out a bit longer.”

He hums thinking.

“I’m surprised I managed to hold out for as long as I did.” he finishes.

You raise an eyebrow, a naughty smile playing on your lips. "Well, I guess you’re not as disciplined as you thought. Seems like you fell for me quicker than you’d like to admit.”

Soonyoung’s eyes sparkle. “You’ve got me completely hooked.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, your hand resting on his cheek. “Poor soldier. Captured by the enemy and all. What will you do now?”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a tender kiss. "I guess I’ll just have to surrender to you completely.”

“Even the strongest can fall. And let’s be real, I’m pretty good at making sure my soldiers surrender.” You shrugged, smirking.

He bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, you really know how to make a guy feel like a total pushover.”

“I plan on keeping you hooked, you know—well, at least until the next time we have a ‘conversation’ like tonight."

“Well, if this is what marriage looks like, I think I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

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flux1563 · 2 months ago

Text

Between two worlds ft. Gaeul

Words : 9k

Tags : multiple orgasm, squirting, public sex, creampie

In the bustling heart of Seoul, where neon lights painted the night in vivid hues, there was a young woman named Gaeul. Known to millions as the ethereal center of a chart-topping K-pop group, she had the kind of white skin and skinny frame that seemed to float on the pages of glossy magazines. Her eyes, a deep brown, held a spark that could electrify an entire stadium. With a height of 164 cm, she cut a delicate figure, her every move a study in precision and poise.

Gaeul stepped out of the luxurious van that had brought her to the club, the paparazzi's flashes leaving afterimages like a trail of shooting stars in her vision. The air had the promise of music and mischief, a stark contrast to the meticulously crafted image she presented to the world. The club's bassline thrummed through her, setting her nerves alight with an energy she hadn't felt in months. A rare night out, away from the suffocating embrace of her manager's schedule, she craved the anonymity of the pulsating crowd.

Inside, the club was a cavern of shadows and strobing lights, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the sweat of freedom. Gaeul felt a rush of exhilaration as she slipped into the throng, her heart racing in time with the music. The press of bodies, the smiles and whispers of recognition that danced around her, it was all a thrilling masquerade.

Her eyes fell upon you, Y/N, a stranger amidst the sea of faces. You were tall, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a waist that made her heart flutter. There was something about your confident stride, the way you moved with the music, that spoke of a soul unshackled by the constraints of the world outside these walls. You noticed her watching, and for a moment, your gazes locked, the music fading to a distant hum as the world narrowed to just the two of you.

Gaeul felt an unexplainable pull, a gravitational force drawing her to you. She approached, her heart a wild drumline in her chest. You didn't flinch at her celebrity, instead, you offered a genuine smile that made her feel like she was more than just the sum of her parts. Together, you began to dance, your movements complementing each other's as if you'd been partners for a lifetime. The air around you crackled with an undeniable chemistry.

The dance floor became a stage, the spotlight of the DJ's attention shifting to the magnetic pair. Your hands found hers, and the electricity grew stronger, a dance of fingers and palms that spoke a language more intimate than words. As the music reached a crescendo, the tension between you was palpable, a silent symphony of attraction that could no longer be contained.

Her heart racing, Gaeul leaned in, and you met her halfway. Your lips met in a kiss that was fiery yet tender, a secret shared in the chaos of the dance floor. It was a moment out of time, a silent promise that the night had only just begun. When you finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, she whispered in your ear, "Would you come to my apartment?" The question hung in the air, laden with anticipation and desire. Without a moment's hesitation, you nodded, your eyes reflecting the excitement that danced in hers.

You followed her out of the club, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warm embrace of the club's interior. Gaeul led the way to a sleek, black sedan parked at the curb, the engine purring quietly. The driver opened the door for her, and she slid in, beckoning for you to join her. The car's interior was a cocoon of luxury, the leather seats enveloping you both as you sped through the neon-lit streets of Seoul. The city passed by in a blur, a vibrant tapestry of life outside the window that seemed so far removed from the intimate bubble you now shared.

The sedan pulled up to a towering building, its glass façade gleaming under the moonlight. Gaeul's apartment was high above the city, a penthouse that offered a breathtaking panorama of the urban sprawl. The elevator ride was a silent countdown to an unknown future, the air thick with the promise of what lay beyond the doors. As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, Gaeul took your hand, her touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Her apartment was a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the chaos of her public life. The walls were adorned with art that spoke of quiet contemplation, and the floor was a cool marble that seemed to whisper secrets underfoot. The living room was bathed in soft, muted lighting, casting an intimate glow over the plush sofas and the grand piano that sat in the corner, a silent sentinel of her other passion. Gaeul slipped off her heels, the sound echoing through the space, and you followed suit, feeling the comfort of the plush carpet beneath your feet.

Without a word, you took her hand, leading her to the couch. The tension between you had grown into something palpable, a living entity that demanded release. You leaned in, your eyes never leaving hers, and kissed her again, deeper this time, your tongues exploring the uncharted territory of each other's mouths. Her hands found their way to your shoulders, then slid down to the hem of your shirt, her fingertips tracing the lines of your abdomen as she pushed the fabric upward.

Gaeul's skin was warm and soft, and as you touched her, she shivered with pleasure. Your kisses grew more urgent, your hands working in tandem to strip away the layers that separated you. Her dress fell to the floor, revealing the lacy lingerie beneath, a stark contrast to the armor she wore on stage. She broke the kiss only to whisper a breathy "yes," her eyes never leaving yours, a silent invitation to continue.

With trembling fingers, you unclipped her bra, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric. Her breasts were small but perfect, the nipples peaked with desire. You took one in your mouth, teasing it with your tongue as she gasped and arched her back. Her hands found the button of your pants, and with a flick of her wrist, the zipper was undone. You stepped out of them, leaving only your boxers as a barrier to the warmth of her touch.

The air was heavy with the scent of desire, a heady mix of perfume and pheromones that seemed to amplify every sensation. Your heart was racing, the blood pounding in your ears as you slid her panties down her legs, revealing the apex of her thighs. She was bare and beautiful, and you couldn't help but marvel at the sight before you. Gaeul reached for you, her hand wrapping around your hardness, her touch sending shockwaves through your body.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink as she caught you staring. "Don't look at me like that," she murmured, but the way she said it was more of a challenge than a reprimand. Her eyes held a playful glint, and you could see the excitement dancing in their depths. You met her gaze, unable to resist the allure of her unblemished skin and the way her body responded to your touch. She was a vision, and you were the lucky one who got to behold her.

With a smirk, you leaned in and whispered, "I think your fans will envy me," your voice low and teasing. The laugh that bubbled from her was genuine, a sound that didn't often reach the ears of the outside world. It was a rare glimpse into the person she was when the lights and cameras weren't watching. She playfully swatted at your chest, but her hand lingered, her thumb tracing circles over your heart.

You took the cue and gently pulled her closer, your hand sliding around to unbutton your shirt. As the fabric parted, revealing your bare chest and abs, Gaeul's eyes widened in surprise. But it was the sight of your boxers, straining against your arousal, that truly left her speechless. With a sense of the dramatic flair that was part of your own nature, you slid the boxers down, freeing your erection. It stood proudly, the size of it making even Gaeul gasp. Her eyes were glued to the thick length of you, her pupils dilating as she took in the full view.

Her hand reached out tentatively, her fingertips brushing against your skin. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves through your body. She wrapped her hand around you, her grip firm yet gentle, and began to stroke. It was a heady experience, having this goddess of K-pop, adored by millions, worship your body in the quiet sanctity of her penthouse.

With a hunger that could no longer be contained, you guided her to the plush carpet. The coolness of the floor sent a thrill up her spine as you laid her down, her legs spreading to accommodate your weight. Your kisses grew more fervent as they trailed down her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, until finally, your mouth found her center. Gaeul's hips bucked in response, her body arching like a bow drawn taut.

Her grip on your hair tightened as she whispered, "Yeah, keep going, I'm gonna cum." Her voice was a sweet symphony of pleasure, the words echoing in your mind like a siren's call. You lapped at her eagerly, your tongue exploring her folds with a mastery that surprised even you. Her breaths grew ragged, her body trembling beneath you as the tension built to a crescendo.

And then she screamed. A primal, uninhibited "Ahhhh" that filled the room, her legs shaking so hard it was as if she was in the throes of a seizure. Her back arched off the floor, her body a sculpture of ecstasy as she reached her peak. The sound was a declaration of your power over her, a testament to the intimate connection you two shared in this stolen moment.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she met your gaze, a soft smile playing on her lips. "That was..." she began, but the words trailed off as she struggled to find the right ones. You kissed her thigh, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction. You had given her something she hadn't experienced before, something real and raw and utterly human.

After catching her breath, Gaeul pushed herself up onto her knees, her eyes never leaving yours. Your cock stood tall and proud before her, a symbol of your desire for her. She reached out tentatively, her hand cupping you with a reverence that made you ache.

"Is this your first time with a cock this big?" you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

Gaeul nodded, her cheeks still flushed from her orgasm. "Yes," she murmured, her eyes wide and earnest. "In all the glamour of this industry, the men are often... less than adequate." Her confession was a stark reminder of the hidden truths behind the glitzy façade of stardom.

With a gentle smirk, you leaned back, giving her more room to explore. "Don't worry," you assured her, your voice low and soothing. "I'll go slow." Her hand hovered over your erection, her thumb tracing the vein that pulsed along the shaft. Her curiosity was palpable, and you felt a thrill at the thought of being her guide in this new realm of pleasure.

You took her hand and brought it closer, wrapping her delicate fingers around your girth. "Start with your hand," you instructed, showing her how to pump gently. Gaeul's eyes were wide with fascination as she followed your lead, her grip tightening and loosening in time with your demonstration. The sight of her small hand trying to encircle your cock was more arousing than you could've ever imagined.

"Now, use your mouth," you said, your voice a gentle command. Gaeul leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. She kissed the tip, her soft lips a tantalizing promise of what was to come. You felt your cock twitch in anticipation as she took you into her mouth, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin. You guided her, showing her how to take more of you in without gagging, her eyes watering slightly as she adjusted to your size.

You praised her with murmurs of approval, encouraging her as she found her rhythm. Her cheeks hollowed with effort, and she took you deeper, her tongue swirling around the head in a dance that had you gritting your teeth to hold back. She was a fast learner, eager and attentive. Each stroke of her mouth sent bolts of pleasure shooting through your body, making your toes curl and your abs tighten.

Gaeul's eyes remained locked on yours as she bobbed up and down, her hand still working in tandem with her lips. You could see the concentration in her eyes, the determination to please you. It was a heady feeling, one that only served to amplify your desire. You reached down to caress her cheek, the silkiness of her skin a stark contrast to the rough stubble on your own.

Her eyes grew more focused, more intense, as she took you deeper still. The saliva from her mouth coated your length, making it slick and easier to glide in and out of her. You felt your control slipping, your hips beginning to thrust gently, urging her to take more of you in. Her moans of effort only served to turn you on further, the vibrations resonating through your cock and straight to your core.

"Glukk... glukk... glukk," she murmured, the wet sound of her mouth enveloping you. You watched in amazement as she took you in, her cheeks hollowed out, her throat working around you. Gaeul had never felt so alive, so in the moment. The power dynamics of their world had flipped, and she was in control, the one bringing pleasure to the person she had once thought untouchable.

"Ahh, so tight and warm, Gaeul," you moaned, the words sending a bolt of pleasure straight to her core. She redoubled her efforts, eager to hear more of those delicious sounds. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension in your body tightening like a coil ready to spring. Your hand found its way to the back of her head, guiding her, setting a rhythm that had your toes curling in the plush carpet.

Her eyes watered and she gagged a little, but she didn't stop. Instead, she took it as a challenge, pushing herself to take more of you in. The sounds of her efforts grew more urgent, a symphony of "glukk" and "gluk" as she worked her mouth along your length. You watched in amazement, feeling your climax near, the base of your cock swelling with each passing second.

And then it hit. "Ahh, I'm cumming," you warned, your voice strained with pleasure. But instead of slowing down, you thrust into her mouth harder, faster, your hand tightening in her hair. Gaeul took it all, her eyes never leaving yours, her own arousal spiking at the sight of your pleasure. Your cock pulsed, and she felt the hot, thick jets of cum hit the back of her throat. She swallowed instinctively, her eyes widening in surprise at the taste and the sensation of having you come in her mouth.

As the last tremors of your orgasm subsided, you pulled away, leaving Gaeul panting and gasping for air. Her lips were swollen and wet, a testament to her dedication. You watched as she licked her lips, savoring the taste of you. "Wow," she murmured, a hint of awe in her voice. "That was..."

You chuckled, running a thumb over her plump lower lip, catching a rogue droplet of cum. "A little too much?"

Gaeul's eyes twinkled with mischief. "No," she said, swiping her tongue across her lips. "It's perfect." She sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The power had shifted again, and now it was your turn to be the eager pupil. "Get on all fours," you told her, your voice firm but not unkind. Gaeul's heart raced at the command, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of being taken so primally. She obeyed, her skinny body moving with the grace of a gazelle as she got onto her hands and knees on the plush carpet.

Her ass was high in the air, the perfect handfuls of flesh that you hadn't been able to stop thinking about since the moment you saw her in the club. You knelt behind her, taking a moment to appreciate the view. Gaeul glanced back over her shoulder, a seductive smile playing on her lips. "Is this what you want?" she purred, the challenge in her tone unmistakable.

You didn't answer with words, instead, you lined yourself up with her slick, waiting entrance. With one firm thrust, you pushed into her, the sound of your hips slapping against her skin echoing through the penthouse. Gaeul's gasp was music to your ears, her "Ahhhh" a symphony of pleasure and surprise as you filled her completely. Her walls tightened around you, a velvet vise that had you groaning with the intensity of sensation.

"Already cumming? Such a needy slut," you murmured, your voice a mix of amusement and satisfaction. Gaeul's eyes flashed with a hint of defiance, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she pushed back into you, urging you to go deeper. Your rhythm grew faster, the sound of skin on skin punctuating the quiet of the night. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure through her body, making her feel alive in a way she hadn't in years.

"Yeah, fuck me like a dirty slut," she repeated, her voice a throaty growl that sent a shiver down your spine. The words were like a drug, spurring you on to claim her even more fiercely. You reached around to find her clit, rubbing it in circles as you pounded into her. Gaeul's moans grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room. Her body trembled with each thrust, her muscles tightening around you as she approached another orgasm.

Her nails dug into the carpet, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the exquisite feeling of you inside her. "Harder," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. You didn't hold back, slamming into her with all the force you had. The sound of your hips smacking against her ass filled the air, a rhythm that matched the pounding in your chest. You could feel her pussy getting tighter, her body preparing for another powerful release.

"Oh, fuck, yes," Gaeul moaned, her voice hoarse with passion. "Make it hurt so good."

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, and you picked up the pace, each thrust more powerful than the last. Your hands gripped her hips tightly, leaving bruises that would serve as reminders of this illicit night. Gaeul's body moved in sync with yours, her hips pushing back to meet your every advance. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the air, a cacophony of desire that drowned out the distant sounds of the city.

With a wicked grin, you raised your hand and brought it down sharply on her ass. The slap echoed through the room, and she yelped, "Ahh, it hurts!" But the way she pushed back into you, the way her pussy clenched around your cock, told you she didn't mean it. You smacked her again, the sound louder this time, leaving a red handprint on her pale skin. Her moan was a mix of pain and pleasure, a siren's song that only made you want to give her more.

Her breath grew ragged, and she began to chant, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum again." Her words were a sweet incantation, a spell that had you utterly captivated. Without a second thought, you reached for your phone, the glow of the screen briefly illuminating your face. You started to record, capturing every second of her impending release.

But then, she looked back at you, her eyes wide with a sudden panic. "Don't record it," Gaeul said.

You paused, your hand hovering over your phone, a smirk playing on your lips. "Don't lie, Gaeul. Your pussy gets tighter when I record it," you said, your voice a low purr of challenge. She bit her lip, the internal struggle clear on her face. The thrill of the forbidden, the knowledge that this moment could be captured and watched again, was too tempting.

Her eyes searched yours, and you knew she was weighing the risks. The walls of her penthouse were thick, the chances of anyone hearing them minimal. But the thought of being caught, the possibility of the video leaking, was a thrill she hadn't experienced in a long time. Gaeul's breath hitched as she nodded, a silent permission for you to continue. You tapped the record button again, the red light a beacon of their shared desire.

With renewed vigor, you slammed into her, each stroke a declaration of your dominance. Your hand fell in a steady rhythm, the slap of your palm against her skin echoing through the room. Her cries grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that matched the beat of your hips. Each smack was met with a whine and a thrust, her body begging for more as you painted a picture of passion on the canvas of her skin. The red handprint grew darker with each hit, a brand of your claim on her perfect ass.

"Fuck, Gaeul, I'm gonna cum," you growled, the words a declaration of war on your last shred of control. She looked back at you, her eyes glazed with desire, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and the sting of your hand.

"Just cum inside me," she breathed, her voice a desperate plea that sent a shiver down your spine. "Fill me up." It was a demand that was as much a declaration of trust as it was a bid for dominance.

With a roar of pleasure, you did as she asked, releasing a torrent of cum deep within her, marking her as yours. Gaeul's body convulsed around you, her own orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She collapsed onto the floor, her legs trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

You pulled out of her, the sight of her gaping pussy, slick with your seed, making you groan. You couldn't help but capture it, the phone's camera zooming in on the intimate view. Her body was a canvas of pleasure, sweat glistening on her skin, the red handprint on her ass a stark contrast to her porcelain complexion. You moved to film her face, the camera capturing her flushed cheeks, her eyes glazed with satisfaction, her swollen lips parted in a soft moan.

Gaeul looked up at you, her eyes hooded with passion. "Show me," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper. You handed her the phone, and she took it with shaking hands, her eyes devouring the footage. The sight of herself being fucked so thoroughly, her body's reactions laid bare, was intoxicating. She watched as you recorded her, the video a testament to the raw, primal connection you shared.

The video played on a loop, the sounds of your lovemaking a siren's call that drew you both back in. Each groan and sigh, each smack of your hand against her flesh, was a reminder of the power and vulnerability you had shared. The red handprint on her ass was a trophy, a symbol of your passion, and she traced it with a fingertip, the slight sting sending a fresh jolt of arousal through her.

The room was filled with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady aroma that seemed to cling to the air. You sat beside her, your legs tangled together, watching the footage unfold. Gaeul's hand drifted between her legs, her fingers finding her sensitive clit. The sight of her touching herself, her body still trembling from your touch, was too much to bear. Your cock grew hard again, eager to claim her once more.

Without a word, you leaned over and took the phone from her, setting it aside. "Let me show you how much of a slut you are," you murmured, your voice thick with desire. You pushed her onto her back and spread her legs wide, the camera capturing the moment with a cold, unflinching eye. Her pussy was open and inviting, your cum leaking out of her and down her thighs. You dipped a finger in, watching as her eyes rolled back in her head.

You brought your hand to her mouth, the scent of sex strong on your skin. "Taste yourself," you ordered, and she obeyed, sucking your finger with a hunger that surprised even you. Gaeul's tongue swirled around your digit, tasting her own juices mixed with yours. The sight was too much, and you found yourself growing harder still, your need for her insatiable.

You leaned down, your cock nudging against her entrance. She was so wet, so open, that it took no effort to slide back in. Her legs wrapped around you, her heels digging into your back as you began to move again, the rhythm slower, more deliberate. The camera rolled, capturing every intimate moment, every gasp and moan, every bead of sweat that rolled down her body.

The world outside the penthouse walls had ceased to exist. In this moment, there was only you and Gaeul, your bodies joined in a dance of passion and power. And as you watched the footage, you knew that this was only the beginning. The night was still young, and there was so much more to explore, so much more to conquer. The story of your forbidden union was being written in sweat and sighs, in the stark red of her ass and the glint of the camera lens.

You moved from position to position, each one more intimate, more erotic than the last. Gaeul's lithe body was a canvas for your desires, her moans the brushstrokes that painted the picture of your pleasure. You recorded every moment, every twitch and spasm, every gasp and cry. Her legs wrapped around you in a vice-like grip, her heels digging into your back as you claimed her in every way possible. You watched the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the two of you a tableau of lust that could never be forgotten.

When you were both spent, you led her to the bathroom, the marble countertop cold against her skin as you sat her down. The room was bathed in a soft, candlelit glow, the steam from the running tub a gentle caress against your skin. You filled the tub with water scented with jasmine and lavender, the fragrance a gentle reprieve from the raw scent of sex that hung in the air.

With a lazy grin, you grabbed the phone from the floor, the wetness from the pool of your combined juices smearing across the screen. You sat cross-legged in the tub, the water lapping against your skin as you began to scroll through the footage. Gaeul leaned against you, her head on your shoulder, her eyes glued to the screen.

"See, baby?" you said, your voice smug as you played back the moments of her body shuddering under your touch. "You're a fucking goddess."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "It's just... I've never felt this way before," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. "It's so raw, so... real."

You chuckled and kissed her temple. "And that's what makes it hot," you said, your hand idly stroking her thigh. "You should think about it, though. An OnlyFans account. You'd make a fortune."

Her eyes snapped to yours, a spark of excitement in them. "Really?" she breathed. "You think so?"

You nodded, your cock stirring again at the thought of her sharing her beauty with the world. "Just blur your face," you said, your voice a low rumble. "Let them see the body that drives them wild every time you're on stage."

The idea grew in her mind like a seed planted in fertile ground. Anonymity had always been a struggle in her line of work, but this... this could be her escape. A way to claim power over her sexuality and share her passion without the constraints of her public image.

The water grew cold around you, but neither of you noticed as you continued to watch the steamy scenes play out. Gaeul's hand trailed down to her pussy, her fingers idly toying with her clit as the video played. You felt your own arousal stirring once again, your cock thickening against her back.

With a growl, you turned her to face you, the water sloshing around you both. "Again?" she whispered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Always," you replied, your eyes dark with lust.

The night went on like a never-ending symphony of pleasure, each position a new note to be played. You recorded it all, the camera capturing every inch of her body as you explored each other with an intensity that left you both breathless. The walls of the penthouse echoed with your moans, the sound of slapping flesh a testament to your unbridled passion.

In the days that followed, Gaeul found herself in a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. The idea of creating an OnlyFans account, a secret garden where she could share her sexuality without the prying eyes of her fans and management, was intoxicating. She chose the name 'like kim gaeul' as a clever nod to her stage persona, a way to keep her identity hidden while still giving a nod to her public image.

The first content she uploaded was a still from that fateful night, a shot of her bent over in doggystyle, your hand raised in mid-air, poised to deliver a firm spank. The caption read, "Imagine Kim Gaeul getting spanked in this position." The photo was tasteful yet tantalizing, a teaser that had subscribers clamoring for more. The power of anonymity was intoxicating, allowing her to express herself without the fear of judgment or repercussion.

The comments section exploded with excitement, the words "Wow, she's like Gaeul," "Gaeul is such a slut in this," and "I can't believe she's doing this" repeated over and over. Each message sent a thrill through her, the knowledge that she was giving them something they hadn't expected, something that made them question everything they knew about their favorite idol. It was a heady feeling, one that had her body buzzing with anticipation.

Her subscribers grew by the hundreds, and with each new member, Gaeul felt a little more powerful. The thrill of being someone else, of being the slut they all dreamed of, was like a drug. She found herself eagerly checking her inbox, eager to see the reactions to her latest posts. The thought of her fans getting off to her content was a constant source of arousal, her pussy always wet and ready.

One particularly daring fan wrote, "I bet if Gaeul saw this, she'd want to be my slut too." The message was a spark that set her imagination ablaze. What would happen if the real Gaeul found out about her secret life? Would she be repulsed or intrigued? The risk was exhilarating, a thrill she hadn't felt since her early days in the industry. She decided to lean into the fantasy, posting a video with the caption, "What if Gaeul was really this naughty?" Her heart raced as she hit send, the anticipation of their reactions a delicious torment.

The feedback was overwhelming, a deluge of comments praising her beauty, her brazenness, her willingness to be their fantasy. It was like a drug, each message feeding the fire in her belly, making her want more. The line between Gaeul the idol and Gaeul the slut grew thinner, until she could almost believe it herself. Her mind raced with ideas for new content, each more daring than the last. The persona she had created was a siren's call, drawing her further into a world where she was in complete control of her own desires and the desires of others.

In the dim light of her penthouse, surrounded by the trappings of her celebrity life, Gaeul felt a sense of freedom she hadn't experienced in years. The mask she had worn for so long had been shattered, revealing the woman beneath, and she liked what she saw. The feedback from her subscribers was a balm to her soul, a validation of her sexuality that she had been craving for so long.

And so, she continued to upload, each video and photo more explicit than the last. She lost herself in the role, becoming the slut they all wanted her to be, the goddess of their darkest dreams. The comments grew bolder, more demanding, and she reveled in it. The thought of her fans jerking off to her was a thrill that never waned, a reminder of the power she held in her slender fingers.

The more she posted, the more she realized that she was not just playing a role; she was rediscovering herself. The shy, insecure girl who had been molded into a star was giving way to a woman who knew what she wanted and was unafraid to take it. Her OnlyFans was a declaration of independence, a middle finger to the industry that had tried to control her every move.

But amidst the pleasure, there was always the fear. The fear of being found out, the fear of losing everything she had worked so hard for. Yet, she couldn't deny the thrill it brought her. Each time she posted, she felt like she was playing with fire, and she liked the burn.

As the weeks turned into months, Gaeul's account grew in popularity. Her subscribers were devoted, showering her with praise and money.

One evening, she found herself staring at a blank screen, her mind racing. The thrill of the new had worn off, and she was desperate for something that would set her apart from the sea of other creators. Inspiration struck her like a bolt of lightning. "Y/n," she whispered into the phone, her voice a seductive purr. "I need content for my OnlyFans. Let's do something wild... like public sex."

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The excitement of the potential risk and the thrill of the forbidden had your blood racing. "Are you sure?" you asked, playing it cool despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"Yes," she said, the determination in her voice unmistakable. "We're going to do it. And it's going to be amazing."

The adrenaline was palpable as you picked her up in your sleek black sports car, the engine purring beneath you like a living beast. The city lights reflected off the windows, creating a dazzling array of color that bled into the dark leather of the seats.

As Gaeul stepped inside, you watched with anticipation as she slipped off her top and unclipped her bra, the fabric sliding off her shoulders like a lover's caress. She was a vision in the soft glow of the car's interior lights, her small breasts bouncing gently as she complied with your command. The oversized jacket was thrown over her shoulders, swamping her slender frame, a stark contrast to the tight dress she had worn to the club. She slid the vibrator into her wetness, the sound of it buzzing to life a symphony of excitement in the confined space.

"Now what is the plan?" Gaeul asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Let's go to the mall," you suggested, the excitement building in your voice. "We'll make a vlog in there."

Her eyes widened, a mix of surprise and arousal. "Really?" she whispered, her voice shaky with excitement. "That's so risky."

You chuckled, reaching over to stroke her thigh. "Isn't that part of the fun?" You pressed a button on the vibrator's controller, and she gasped as it buzzed to life against her clit. She nodded, her breath hitching as you began to drive, navigating the streets of Seoul with one hand while the other played with the intensity of the vibrations.

The drive to the mall was a delicious mix of anticipation and pleasure. With every stop light, you increased the power, watching her squirm in her seat. Her eyes darted around, searching for any signs of recognition, but the streets were mostly empty, the only witnesses the occasional neon signs flickering to life in the night.

"You're going to make me cum before we even get there," she murmured, her voice tight with need. Her hand rested on your thigh, her nails digging in as the vibrations grew more intense.

"That's the plan," you said, your eyes never leaving the road. You had to admit, the thrill of it all was making it harder to focus on driving, but you weren't about to let that ruin the moment. You took a deep breath and concentrated on the task at hand, both literally and figuratively.

When you finally pulled into the mall's parking lot, you killed the engine and turned to her. "Ready?"

Gaeul nodded, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she took the mini camera from the center console. She attached it to your button shirt, making sure it was angled down to capture everything. The anticipation was like a living thing in the car, pulsing with every heartbeat.

You stepped out of the car, her hand in yours, the vibrator still nestled between her legs. The mall's bright lights washed over you both as you walked towards the entrance, her hips swaying slightly with each step. The thrill of what you were about to do made your heart race. Gaeul's hand was in your pocket, the vibrator's controller hidden from view as she expertly manipulated the settings, keeping her on the edge of ecstasy.

The mall was bustling with life, shoppers milling about with bags in hand, the sound of laughter and music filling the air. Despite the chaos, Gaeul's eyes never left yours. She leaned into you, her breath hot against your ear. "Keep going," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper. The vibrator's intensity grew, and she stifled a moan, her knees threatening to buckle.

You led her through the crowded corridors, her hand tightening around yours as you passed by a group of teenagers, their heads swiveling to catch a glimpse of the famous idol. They had no idea what she was hiding beneath the oversized jacket, her pussy singing a silent symphony of pleasure with every step she took. You felt a rush of power, knowing that you had her right where you wanted her.

The camera captured everything, the secret life of a kpop star laid bare for the eyes of her devoted fans. She was both Gaeul the idol and 'like kim gaeul' the slut, and the dichotomy was intoxicating. You stopped in front of a lingerie store, the mannequins in the window dressed in lacy garments that made you think of her.

With a grin, you whispered, "Pick something out. Something that makes you feel like a slut." She blushed but didn't hesitate, her hand moving to the controller to reduce the intensity just enough to regain control. She stepped away, the vibrator still humming against her clit, as she scanned the racks of underwear.

You watched as she chose a black lace set, her eyes never leaving yours. The vibrator was a constant reminder of what was to come, a silent promise of pleasure that had her moving with a sensual grace that drew the attention of those around her. As she stepped into the changing room, you couldn't resist the urge to join her, the camera rolling as you closed the door behind you.

The small space was filled with the scent of new fabric and arousal as you both shed your clothes. She stepped into the lingerie, her body a canvas of desire. You took the camera and captured every moment, her skin glowing in the fluorescent light.

The vibrator was forgotten for a moment as you kissed, your hands roaming over her body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip. But soon enough, the need for more took over, and she slipped the panties to the side, exposing herself to the cool air. You took the controller and cranked it up, watching as her body responded, her eyes rolling back in pleasure.

The mall outside was oblivious to the erotic scene unfolding in the cramped changing room, the camera capturing every gasp and shiver. The sound of fabric rustling and the low murmur of shoppers' conversations were a stark contrast to the symphony of moans that filled the space.

As the vibrator brought her to the brink, you whispered, "Do it, baby. Cum for them." And with a scream that was muffled by your hand, she did, her body convulsing as the orgasm crashed over her. The camera kept rolling, capturing the moment of pure, unadulterated bliss that she had never allowed herself to feel before.

You both stepped out of the changing room, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with the aftermath of her climax. The vibrator was tucked away, the secret of her pleasure safely hidden. The thrill of what had just transpired had her moving with an extra sway in her hips, a silent announcement to the world of what she had just done.

You led her through the mall, the vibrator's buzz a constant reminder of your shared power play. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that threatened to escape, her eyes darting around nervously. Each time you stopped to browse or chat with fans, she had to fight the urge to lean into you, to beg for more.

The feeling of the vibrator against her clit as you walked through the crowded mall was a delicious form of torture. Each step was a battle between maintaining her composure and succumbing to the pleasure that threatened to consume her. Her breath grew shallower, her eyes glassy with need as the minutes ticked by. The shoppers around her had no idea that their favorite idol was being brought to the edge of ecstasy right beside them.

You couldn't resist the urge to push her further. You whispered in her ear, "Keep walking, baby. Just a little longer." Each word was a challenge, a promise of more to come. The vibrator remained nestled between her legs, the humming a constant presence that had her legs trembling.

Gaeul managed to keep it together, though just barely. The feeling of you in control, of her body responding so viscerally to your commands, was a heady mix of fear and desire. She walked with you, her hand in yours, her body a live wire of pleasure.

Her steps grew more erratic as the vibrator continued to pulse against her, and you could see the struggle in her eyes. The mall's lights played across her flushed skin, casting shadows that only served to highlight her arousal. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, her eyes darting around as if searching for an escape from the relentless wave of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her.

As you stepped out into the cool night air, Gaeul's grip on your hand tightened, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. "I can't... I can't take it anymore," she whimpered, her voice strained with need.

"Just hold it," you murmured into her ear, your voice a seductive rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "200 meters to the left is our car. Think about the rush when we finally get there."

Her eyes widened with a mix of terror and excitement, but she nodded. The vibrator was a persistent reminder of the thrill you were both chasing. You continued your leisurely stroll through the parking lot, Gaeul's hand in yours, the camera capturing every step she took.

As you approached the halfway point, Gaeul's resolve crumbled. With a gasp, she pulled away, her jacket and panties pooling at her ankles. The cold concrete met her bare skin, sending goosebumps racing across her body. She didn't care about the stares or the whispers, all she could focus on was the pulsing need between her legs. The vibrator slipped out of her and she stepped away from you, her hands moving to her clit.

"Oh fuck," she moaned, her legs shaking as the first spurt of pleasure shot through her. The vibrator lay forgotten on the ground as she squirted, her juices painting an abstract pattern on the pavement. The sight of her, standing there in the open, unabashedly claiming her sexuality was more than you could handle. Your cock throbbed in your pants, begging for release.

With a primal growl, you swooped her up into your arms, carrying her like a bride across the threshold. She wrapped her legs around your waist, her naked body pressed against yours, her pussy still quivering from the aftershocks of her orgasm. The cool night air kissed her skin, sending shivers down her spine that only served to heighten her arousal.

When you reached the car, you set her down gently, the anticipation thick between you. Her eyes locked onto the prize, the thick, throbbing cock that had brought her so much pleasure already that night. Without a word, she knelt before you, her hands trembling as she gripped your shaft firmly.

The cool air of the parking lot caressed her bare skin as she took you in her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours. The feel of her warm, wet mouth around you was almost too much to bear, but you held back, enjoying the show of power she had become so adept at giving. The vibrations from her pussy had made her desperate for release, and now she was eager to return the favor.

Her mouth worked you with the skill of a pro, her tongue dancing around the head, teasing the slit before taking you deep. You could feel her eagerness, her hunger for your pleasure a mirror to your own. The camera captured it all, the look of pure need on her face, the way her eyes watered as she took you deeper.

Her hands moved to your ass, her nails digging in as she worked you faster, her own orgasm still a fresh memory. You watched as she swallowed around you, her cheeks hollowing with each bob of her head. The sight was too much, and with a roar, you came, spilling your seed down her throat. She took it all, her eyes never leaving yours, a silent declaration of victory in her gaze.

You helped her to her feet, her legs wobbly from the intense climax. She leaned into you, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Behind the car, hidden from view, you didn't hold back as you kissed her deeply, tasting yourself on her lips. The adrenaline from the public display had you both on edge, your bodies craving more.

Without a word, you turned her around and bent her over the trunk, her ass in the air. The vibrator was forgotten, replaced by the need for the real thing. You lined up with her wet entrance, her moan muffled by your hand as you slammed into her. She was tight, a perfect fit around you, her pussy clenching as you began to pound into her.

The sound of your skin slapping against hers echoed through the quiet parking lot, a rhythm that grew louder with each thrust. Gaeul's eyes rolled back in pleasure, her body moving with yours in a dance that was both fierce and beautiful. The fear of being caught only added to the excitement, each grunt and gasp a silent chant of "fuck yes" that seemed to resonate through the night.

Her moans grew louder, her body begging for release. You knew she was close, could feel it in the way her pussy gripped you like a vise. With one hand, you reached around, finding her clit and pinching it hard. She came with a scream that you muffled with your hand, her body shaking violently as the orgasm ripped through her. You followed suit, your own climax a hot wave that left you weak in the knees.

You both stood there for a moment, panting, the cold metal of the car cool against your skin. The thrill of the moment had etched itself into your bones, a memory that would fuel your fantasies for weeks to come. The camera had captured it all, a testament to your wild night of rebellion and desire.

With a final, lingering kiss, you pulled away and helped her into the car. The drive to her penthouse was filled with a mix of excitement and exhaustion. You watched her in the rearview mirror, her eyes heavy with satisfaction, the glow of the city lights reflecting off her sweat-slicked skin. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her transformation, from a shy idol to a sexual goddess claiming what she wanted without fear.

When you finally pulled up to her building, she took one last look at you before exiting the car, the oversized jacket still hanging loosely around her. She leaned in through the window, her eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and mischief. "Thank you for an amazing night," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

You watched her retreating figure as she sashayed towards the elevator, her hips still swaying with the aftermath of the intense public encounter. The thrill of it all was like a drug, leaving you craving more. As the elevator doors closed, you couldn't help but wonder what the next chapter in this secret life would hold.

Once back in her penthouse, Gaeul wasted no time in editing the video you had just shot. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her laptop open before her, her eyes glued to the screen. The sight of herself on the screen, her face contorted with pleasure, had her panties growing damp again. She felt a twinge of guilt for enjoying the objectification, but it was quickly drowned out by the rush of power and excitement it brought her.

Her nimble fingers flew across the keyboard, snipping and arranging the footage with a finesse that belied her inexperience. Each edit brought her closer to the climax she had experienced in the mall, her body responding to the visual cues she had so meticulously captured. She watched her own face, the desperation in her eyes as she came in the changing room, and her breath caught in her throat.

The video was a masterpiece of desire and rebellion, a testament to the woman she had become. Each frame was a declaration of her sexual prowess, a stark contrast to the innocent girl-next-door image her fans adored. Her heart raced as she added a seductive soundtrack, the bass thumping through her chest like a heartbeat.

Her hand slipped between her legs, her pussy already wet and aching for release. She watched herself take your cock in her mouth, her own mouth watering at the sight. The vibrator she had used earlier was forgotten in the bedroom, but she didn't need it now. Her mind was the best toy she had, replaying the sensations of the night as she touched herself.

Her strokes grew faster as she watched herself get fucked against the car, her orgasm building like a crescendo. The video was almost done, and she knew it would be a hit on her OnlyFans. The thought of her fans jerking off to her most intimate moments had her on edge, her clit swollen and begging for attention.

As she reached the climax of her editing, her own climax hit her like a wave, crashing over her body and leaving her trembling. She stared at the screen, her chest heaving, the video now a perfect representation of the raw, unbridled lust that had taken her over.

With a satisfied smile, she hit 'publish', sending the video into the abyss of the internet. The anticipation was almost as sweet as the act itself. She knew the response would be intense, the comments and messages flooding in like a storm of validation.

For a moment, she just sat there, basking in the glow of her own rebellious spirit. The line between Gaeul the idol and 'like kim gaeul' had blurred, but in that blur, she had found a sense of freedom she had never known before. She took a deep breath and leaned back, her body sated and her mind racing with ideas for the next wild adventure.

As the video spread through the depths of the internet like wildfire, the comments section grew more and more frenzied. Fans speculated, their imaginations running wild. Some posted gifs of her shocked expressions from music videos, others wrote feverishly about their newfound love for her 'naughty' side. The anonymity of the platform allowed them to express their darkest desires, and she reveled in every word.

One comment caught her eye, though. It was from an account with a profile picture that was eerily similar to one of her backup dancers. 'If real gaeul watching this...' it read, followed by a series of emojis that could only be interpreted as shock and arousal. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if it was him, if he knew her secret. But she pushed the thought aside. Tonight was about her, about the power she held in the palm of her hand, quite literally.

The next day, the buzz had reached a fever pitch. Her video had become the talk of the town, the whispers of "Did you see?" echoing through the hallways of the entertainment company she worked for. She walked with her head held high, her secret identity like a secret weapon she could unleash at any moment. The thrill of potentially being recognized, of the world knowing what she had done, was a potent aphrodisiac.

The fear of being caught was a thrill she hadn't anticipated. Each time she saw a group of people huddled around a phone, her heart raced. But she was careful, always one step ahead. The persona of 'like kim gaeul' was a double-edged sword, one that could both elevate and destroy her career. But for now, she reveled in the power it gave her.

Her interactions with fans grew more intense, their gazes lingering just a moment too long. They knew something had changed about her, could feel the electricity in the air when she walked by. The whispers grew louder, the glances more knowing. And she loved it. She was no longer just a pretty face on a poster, she was a force to be reckoned with.

But amidst the chaos, she found a strange comfort in the arms of Y/N. He was her rock, her confidant in this new world of secret lust and public adoration. The bond between them had grown stronger with each shared secret, each intimate moment captured for their private pleasure.

Their relationship had evolved beyond the physical, into something deeper, more profound. They had become co-conspirators in a game of desire played out for the world to see, yet only they knew the rules. The thought of him watching the video, his eyes dark with need, had her squirming in her seat.

Gaeul knew she had to tread carefully. The line between her two worlds was precariously thin, and one wrong move could shatter the illusion. But she was addicted to the rush, the thrill of the unknown. And as she scrolled through the endless stream of comments, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, of accomplishment. She had done what no other idol dared, and she had done it with style.

The story of 'like kim gaeul' was just beginning, and she was ready to write the next chapter. Whether it was in the safety of her penthouse or in the shadowed corners of the city, she was going to claim what was hers. Her heart pounded in her chest as she thought of the possibilities, the thrills and dangers that awaited her. But she knew she wasn't alone. With Y/N by her side, she could conquer the world. Or at least, the internet.

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #ive smut #gaeul smut #kim gaeul #gg smut

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jjjjisun · 2 months ago

Note

Haerin getting facefucked and taking a load on her face/tits

Haerin, The Cat Slut

Haerin X Male Reader | 2515 words

Tags: gangbang, facefucking

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Haerin paced the length of her cramped studio apartment, her breaths echoing in the silent room. The dim glow of the streetlight poured in through the window, casting long shadows that danced with her movements. She was down to her last few thousand won, her group's legal battle draining her faster than she could replenish them, as if she had other means to get money. Her heart ached at the thought of disappointing her fans and being another K-pop idol labeled as a failure.

She paused by the window, her reflection staring back at her. Wide doe eyes, upturned nose, and full lips - the cat-like features that had once landed her in the spotlight now seemed like a cruel joke. She knew what she had to do. Desperation clawed at her, but she pushed the fear aside, steeling herself for the only option.

Mr. Jae's office was bathed in the warm glow of sunset, the expansive view of Seoul reduced to a canvas of oranges and reds. He looked up from his desk as she entered, his eyes lingering on her lean form. He was a formidable figure, his age etched in the lines around his eyes, but his gaze was sharp, appraising.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Jae?" Haerin asked, her voice steady despite the butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "I hear your group is in trouble, Haerin. Money trouble."

She bit her lip, nodding. "Yes, sir. We're facing some... legal issues."

He smirked, standing up and rounding his desk. "Issues that can be solved with money."

She took a deep breath, and her decision was made. "I have something to offer you, Mr. Jae. Something that might... interest you."

He raised an eyebrow, stopping in front of her. His scent enveloped her, a heady mix of expensive cologne and power. "Oh? What could you possibly have to offer me, Haerin?"

She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze. "Myself."

---

Mr. Jae's eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face before quickly schooling his expression. He reached out, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "You're offering to be my mistress?"

Haerin swallowed hard, the question making the reality of her situation sink in. "Yes," she whispered.

He chuckled, low and dangerous. "You're bold, I'll give you that." His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her against him. "But I'm not interested in just fucking you, Haerin. I want to own you."

Her breath hitched as his hand moved to her ass, squeezing hard. He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear. "I want to fuck that sweet little mouth of yours. I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock."

A shudder ran through her, his words painting vivid images in her mind.

"Well?" he asked, nipping at her earlobe. "Can you handle that, Haerin?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely audible.

He grinned, his tongue flicking out to lick her neck. "Good. Then I think we have a deal."

---

The terms were hashed out quickly, and a contract was drawn up and signed before the night was through. Mr. Jae's servants brought her a change of clothes, and she followed them to a luxurious apartment, her mind racing. She was awake, she told herself. This was her choice.

But as Mr. Jae led her to his bedroom, she couldn't shake off the nerves. He was a powerful, strange man who had just bought her like property. And now, she was expected to serve him, to give herself over to his will.

He undressed her slowly, his fingers trailing over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. She stood still, letting him explore her body, her heart pounding in her chest. When she was naked, he导 her to the bed, pushing her down until she was sprawled on her back.

He loomed over her, his eyes dark with lust. "Spread your legs, Haerin," he commanded, his voice rough.

She complied, her breath hitching as he looked his fill. He crawled onto the bed, settling between her thighs. His hands roamed her body, pinching her nipples, caressing her breasts, until she was writhing beneath him.

"Please," she gasped, her body aching for release.

He chuckled, his fingers trailing down her stomach, stopping just short of her pussy. "Please, what, Haerin?"

"Please touch me," she whispered, her cheeks flushing red.

He obliged, his fingers strumming her clit, slipping inside her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She moaned, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking more friction. He took advantage, his mouth descending on her, his tongue flicking out to lick her, to taste her.

She cried out, her orgasm hitting her hard, her body convulsing as he continued to lick her, drawing out her climax until she was a panting, quivering mess. When she finally came down, she found him watching her, his eyes filled with a hungry, possessive gleam.

"Good," he said, his voice hoarse. "That's just the beginning, Haerin. With me, you'll learn to come on command. You'll learn to crave my touch. You'll learn to obey."

She nodded, her body already humming with anticipation. She had made her choice. Now, she just had to learn to live with it.

Saturday was an oppressive cloud hanging over Haerin all week. She counted down the hours and minutes until she was to belong to Mr. Jae again. Yet, as she stood before his penthouse door, her heart pounding like a timid rabbit, she knew there was no turning back. She had made her choice.

Mr. Jae answered the door himself, his gaze sweeping over her, lingering on the black dress that hugged her curves. His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. "Right on time, Haerin. I like punctuality."

She followed him inside, her heels clicking against the marble floor. The penthouse was a symphony of luxury, but she barely noticed, focusing solely on the man leading her to the dining room. A table set for two dominated the space, the scent of expensive food wafting through the air.

They ate silently, Mr. Jae watching her every move, every mouthful. She could feel his predatory gaze, anticipating the moment they would move from the pretense of a meal to the real purpose of her visit.

When her last bite was taken, he pushed his chair back and stood. "Finished?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly dry. He held out his hand, his palm facing up. "Come, Haerin. Let's begin."

She placed her hand in his and let him tug her to her feet. His grip was firm and unyielding as he led her to the bedroom. A king-sized bed dominated the space, and the sheets were pristine and inviting—or they would have been, had she not known what was to come.

He turned to face her, his eyes dark with desire. "I've been looking forward to this all week, Haerin. I hope you have too."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I'm ready."

A cruel smile graced his lips. "Good. Let's see how ready you are." He pushed her down onto the bed, his hands going to his belt, his pants falling to the floor. His cock sprang out, thick and hard, an intimidating eight inches.

Her eyes widened, her heart hammering in her chest. "Mr. Jae—"

"Shh," he hushed, climbing onto the bed, his knees straddling her shoulders. "You said you were ready. Prove it."

She opened her mouth, an automatic response, but he wasn't gentle. He thrust in, his cock hitting the back of her throat, making her gag. He didn't pull back, instead withdrawing just enough for her to catch her breath before thrusting in again.

Tears stung her eyes as he face-fucked her, his cock sliding in and out, choking her again and again. She could feel the saliva dripping down her chin, her face a mess of tears and drool. He took her mercilessly, ruthlessly, not caring if she choked, if she gasped for breath.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into her mouth. "You're my little cat slut, aren't you, Haerin? Your only purpose is to make me come."

She wanted to deny it, to tell him she was more than just a piece of ass, but all she could do was gag, her body writhing beneath him as he used her mouth, her throat, taking what he wanted. And still, he didn't stop.

For an hour, he fucked her face, his cock a relentless intruder, his groans filling the room. She thought she would suffocate, thought she would die on his cock, but still, he didn't stop. And then, finally, when she felt she couldn't take anymore, he pulled out, his cock aimed at her face.

"Here it comes, cat slut," he growled, his voice strained. "I'm going to mark you as mine."

Warmspurts of cum hit her, landing on her cheeks, her nose, her tits. She gasped, her body convulsing with a backward orgasm, her climax catching her by surprise. He grunted, milking his cock until the last drop fell on her skin.

"There," he panted, looking down at her ravaged face with a satisfied smirk. "That's the price of pleasure, Haerin. And you're just getting started."

She lay there, cum-covered and used, her body aching, her throat sore. But as she looked up at him, she realized she wasn't just a transaction to him. He wanted her, desired her, perhaps even more than he wanted to control her.

-----

Haerin arrived at Mr. Jae's penthouse, her heart pounding steadily against her ribs. She knew what awaited her, yet the usual dread was replaced with a strange anticipation. The day before, Mr. Jae had sent a message, a simple arrangement for a special service, sending ripples of excitement and trepidation through her. She had never done anything like this, but the promise of increased payment had sealed her decision.

The door opened to Mr. Jinwoo, her former manager. His eyes rake over her in a way that makes her skin crawl. Behind him stand four of her former bodyguards, their gazes equally predatory. She stepped inside, her head held high, refusing to show the unease coiling in her stomach.

Mr. Jae was already there, his smile cold and calculating. "Ah, Haerin, punctual as always. Today, we have some guests. They're eager to... catch up with you." He gestured to the men behind him, their grins predatory.

She swallowed hard, but her voice was steady. "I'm ready."

Mr. Jae's grin widened, and he snapped his fingers. "Good. Let's begin."

They led her to the bedroom, her feet moving on autopilot. She was stripped, her clothes discarded, until she stood naked before them. Mr. Jae pushed her down onto the bed, her back against the mattress, her legs dangling over the side.

"Spread your legs, Haerin," he ordered, and she complied, her thighs shaking. He stood between them, his cock already hard, ready. "Today, you're going to be our little slut. You're going to take everything we give you, right?"

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."

Mr. Jae's grin was feral as he fisted his cock, slapping it against her lips. "Then open up, cat slut. It's time for your face-fucking."

She opened her mouth, and he slipped inside, his groans filling the room as he thrust in and out, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm. She gagged, her tears flowing freely as he fucked her mouth, his cock hitting the back of her throat again and again.

"This is what you are, Haerin," he grunted, his voice rough. "A slut for cock. My slut."

Behind him, she could see Mr. Jinwoo. He unzipped his pants, his cock springing out, thick and veiny. He climbed onto the bed, his body pressing against her hip as he lined his cock up with her pussy.

"Look at you, taking two cocks like a good little whore," he sneered, guiding his cock into her pussy. She gasped, the sensation of being filled in two places overwhelming as he started to move, his hips slapping against her thighs.

She could feel a third body behind her, the click of a lube cap filling the room. Fingers worked into her ass, scissoring, stretching her. Then, a cock, thick and unyielding, pushing inside, filling her. She moaned, the sensation of being stretched to the limit, of being filled, almost too much to bear.

Two more bodies joined, one on each side of her, their cocks in her hands. They pumped their hips, using her hands, fucking them relentlessly as they groaned and grunted.

In the background, she could hear the muffled sounds of porn, the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin. She looked over, her eyes widening as she saw one of the bodyguards, his cock in his hand, his phone filming the scene, its light blinding in the dimly lit room.

"For hours, we're going to use you, Haerin," Mr. Jae growled, his hips moving faster, his cock pistoning in and out of her mouth. "We're going to fill you with our cum. And then, we're going to share this video with your little group members. They can see how you've become our little cum-dumpster."

She whimpered, the thought of the other members seeing her like this, of their disgust, their judgment, pushing her closer to the edge. She could feel her orgasm building, the intense pleasure of being used, of being filled, impossible to ignore.

"Fuck, she's going to come," Mr. Jinwoo grunted, his cock slamming into her pussy, picking up the pace. "She's fucking loving this."

She did. The shame, the degradation, the intense pleasure, all mixed, pushing her over the edge. She screamed around Mr. Jae's cock, her body convulsing as she came, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm.

Mr. Jae came next, his cock throbbing in her mouth, his cum filling her, spilling out the sides of her mouth. He pulled out, his cum dripping down her chin, and she automatically licked her lips, tasting him, savoring him.

One by one, the others came, filling her pussy, her ass, her hands with their cum. They pulled out, their cocks glistening, and she could feel the semen dripping from her, coating her, marking her.

She was a mess, a cum-covered slut, used, filled, and claimed. And as they all stood there, catching their breath, their laughter filled the room.

Hours later, the room was filled with moans, grunts, slapping skin, and her screams muffled by the gag. It was a symphony of lust, a ballet of debauchery. They used and filled in all her holes.

"That's our little kitty kang," Mr. Jae chuckled, his hand gentle on her face. "Always coming back for more."

She smiled, exhausted and sated. As she looked at the video being sent to her group members, she knew this was just the beginning. This was her new reality, her new life. And despite the shame and degradation, she couldn't wait for more.

#newjeans smut #haerin smut #gg smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #newjeans #haerin #smut #kpop #newjeans haerin #girl group smut

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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title: rafe's personal playboy bunny

warnings: 18+, smut

background: before moving to obx with your best friend, you were featured in a small playboy spread. when rafe found out about your past gig, he decided he needed to take some photos of his own.

the first purchase was a camera. top of the line, mirrorless, sleek in his hands like it belonged there. he spent too long in the store testing lenses, zooming in and out, asking questions he already knew the answers to. but it wasn’t just about the camera—it was about the setup, the lighting, the fucking vision he had in his head of you spread out and glistening under a spotlight, looking like something out of a magazine, but better. raw. real.

then came the tripods, the softboxes, the LED panels. he wanted precision, control over every shadow and highlight. you weren’t just a girl in front of his camera. you were a masterpiece he was going to create, frame by fucking frame. he tested angles in his room before even bringing you into it, adjusting the height, the placement, imagining the way the light would kiss your skin, the way the shadows would carve out every perfect line of you.

by the time he called you in, the room was transformed. not just a bedroom anymore, but a set. the walls lined with blackout curtains, the bed pushed to the center like a stage, soft sheets rumpled just enough to look inviting. and then, there was the table—laid out with more than just camera equipment. a collection of toys, sleek and glistening under the studio lights, each one carefully chosen. he wanted to see you use them, wanted to capture everything.

“strip,” he said, adjusting the focus, not even looking at you yet. the camera clicked as you peeled away your clothes, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight through you. his voice was low, measured, but you could hear the edge to it, the hunger buried beneath control. “slow. take your time.”

he guided you, not with touch, but with words. told you where to sit, how to arch, where to let your hands wander. the camera clicked with every motion, freezing you in time, making you immortal in pixels. and then, his voice dipped lower, dark amusement curling around each word. “pick one.”

your eyes flicked to the table. so many choices. some familiar, some new. you hesitated, and he caught it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he zoomed in, the lens capturing every little flicker of anticipation across your face. “don’t be shy now. you posed for strangers before, didn’t you? this is just for me.”

heat coiled in your stomach as you reached out, fingers grazing over the cool surface of a toy before wrapping around it. the moment you held it up, the camera clicked again, a satisfied hum escaping him. “good girl,” he murmured, stepping closer, adjusting the angle. “now show me how you use it.”

his voice guided you, steady, unwavering, the authority in it making your breath hitch. “start slow,” he instructed, eyes never leaving the viewfinder. “press it to your skin first. tease yourself.”

you obeyed, trailing it over your thighs, over the soft dip of your stomach, your lips parting when you felt the first shiver of pleasure. the camera clicked. “yeah, just like that. drag it lower.”

his breath was audible, heavy through the silence, the sound of the camera shutter filling the space between you. “spread your legs wider. let me see everything.”

your pulse pounded as you followed his orders, your fingers trembling slightly as you brought the toy exactly where he wanted it. the moment it pressed against you, a sharp inhale echoed from behind the lens. “fuck, that’s beautiful. turn it on.”

the vibration jolted through you, and the camera caught the exact second your mouth fell open, your eyes fluttering shut. “keep them open,” he reminded you. “look right at me. let me see what it does to you.”

his commands were precise. “circle it. slower. now press it in—yeah, just like that, princess.” the camera clicked with every change in your expression, capturing the way your brows knitted, the way your lips trembled. “use your other hand,” he murmured. “play with your tits. make it pretty for me.”

heat coiled tight in your stomach as you did exactly as he said, teasing and touching as he dictated, the pleasure intensifying with each passing second. the room was nothing but the sounds of the toy, your own soft gasps, and the rhythmic snap of the shutter as he immortalized every filthy moment.

“push it deeper,” he ordered, voice thick. “fuck yourself on it.”

you whimpered at the words, legs shaking as you moved the toy in and out, every motion perfectly timed to his direction. “yeah, just like that,” he praised, the camera still clicking. “God, you’re gorgeous honey.”

he didn’t stop until he had everything he wanted. until you were spent, trembling, and completely undone beneath the heat of his lens, captured forever in a way only he would ever see.

tags: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl

#rafey ᘚ #littlelamyposts༄࿔#dividers from plum98 #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader

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sirfrogsworth · 22 days ago

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In this scene, they are in the middle of the woods under a canopy of trees. They show the sky and there is no moon.

The light has absolutely no motivation.

Motivated lighting is a philosophy where all of the light sources on screen have a logical source. The light from a smartphone on someone's face. A lamp next to the couch. Sterile overhead office lights.

Often filmmakers will still use their own custom light sources, but they will simulate these things to give the impression the light has motivation.

Compare this to when all they really had were bright spotlights and insensitive film. An indoor scene just couldn't have this warm and cozy feel. And the light was just blasted in from everywhere.

Black and white helped a lot. You could still get dramatic effect despite things needing to be overlit. Or you could play with contrast ratios and shadow.

All the stuff you need to see was very bright and exposed well onto film and all the stuff you didn't was very dark.

But there was no graduation in between. It was hard to be subtle.

And when television and movies went color, this black and white contrast advantage was lost.

You can see EVERYTHING. And look at those sharp shadows. Everyone is just being blasted in the face with lights.

This sitcom lighting persisted long past when it was necessary. It became part of the sitcom language.

I think M*A*S*H was one of the first shows to subvert the overlit sitcom aesthetic. They began to play with lighting that had more motivation.

But aesthetic standards are hard to kill. And despite the heavy influence of M*A*S*H, sitcoms persisted all the way into the Friends era.

Her lamp isn't even on. Everything is just lit by God.

I don't think you will see a living room or kitchen scene lit like this very much from here on out.

People are getting used to lighting making more logical sense.

With the advent of LED lighting that can be any size, shape, and brightness, as well as cameras that can interpret very dark images, modern shows can now use bright and dark as narrative tools.

I think Severance does this well, and still keeps everything properly motivated.

But this newfound flexibility has created new problems. If you can film dark things, how dark is too dark? And how do you make sure the audience can see all of the important visual information?

The two worst examples of unmotivated lighting are always space helmets and cars.

It's a conceit. You gotta see the faces so these things are usually forgiven.

But the biggest debate in the realm of unmotivated lighting is night scenes. People have lots of opinions on how best to use light in the dark.

This is because following a motivated lighting philosophy can be especially tricky. Particularly if your setting is a secluded area without any artificial light sources.

Many cinematographers will try to give some sense of moonlight. But moonlight is very hard to replicate, so the effect usually ends up looking pretty fake.

This scene during a blackout in Die Hard 4 looks like they took the brightest light they had, mounted it as high as possible and said, "Fuck it, that's moon-ish."

If the DP is hardcore into motivated lighting, they just make the screen really really dark, like the Long Night battle in Game of Thrones.

The really really dark option bugs a lot of people.

Froggie Tangent about Dark Scenes:

I originally thought people needed to adjust their display settings. But then I realized not everyone watches content in a darkened room like a vampire. But if you find a show or movie is too dark, turning off any room lights will help a lot. Watching it in HDR will also help. And watching it on an OLED will help even more.

Scenes this dark are mostly a fad. DPs are experimenting with the possibilities of new technology. But sometimes they forget not everyone has that technology yet. And they forget some people watch stuff on their phones in a room full of sunlight.

Eventually the fad will fade, we will all adopt better screens, and the darkness will land somehwere between "I can't see shit" and "it would never be that bright in real life."

[End of tangent]

In the olden days, since film wasn't sensitive enough to do scenes in the dark, almost everything needed to have unmotivated lighting just to make sure their film wasn't a grainy mess. And as a culture, we sort of got used to that style. They'd mess with the contrast ratios to give the feeling of night, but if you think about where the light is coming from too hard, it won't make any sense. They took a Broadway theater approach to lighting and so a lot of movies felt like they were on a soundstage.

The 1961 West Side Story is a good example.

They've got a spot light hitting them, but not the building behind them. I guess that could be an overhead street light. But street lights are meant to flood the area like an ever expanding donut of light. A spotlight is like a directly projected cone of light. It is perfectly pointed at the side of their face and not coming from above.

She has some magical purple light coming from... somewhere.

And then they are in an area under a bridge, far away from any lights, but they've got soft fill light with a bright rim coming from the right.

Speilberg's version has much more motivated light.

This one is a bit of a cheat, some very bright source off in the distance. But it feels more plausible to the brain and gives a better sense of darkness. It feels like some kind of industrial lighting. Or a security light at a junkyard.

Here he straight up shows you where the light is coming from. And his preference for anamorphic lenses.

And here he uses bright train lights to create silhouettes. This is clever because it allows everything to be very dark but everyone is still legible in the scene.

I'm torn. Because I study light. And so I am very aware of how shows and movies are lighting things. And unmotivated lighting sticks out in my brain. Like when I watch someone miming playing the guitar. Or using a camera improperly. When you know too much about something, inaccurate onscreen depictions just drive you nuts.

There are some techniques being experimented with to make night scenes more legible while maintaining lighting realism. I think the most promising is the infrared day-for-night process used in Nope.

But maybe it doesn't need to be solved. Maybe DPs should just light the night even if it doesn't always make sense. Maybe general audiences just do not care and I am a big nerd who should be ignored.

#long post #lighting

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currently-dating-everything · 12 days ago

Note

it's amazing that you started making headcanons!

Can you make hcs about romantic relationships with Chance?

A/N: Chance self shippers I know you're out there I'm shining a spotlight into an unruly sea

Character: Chance

Relationship: Romantic

TTRPGs are his love language, we all know this. You play G&G? He's all over it. He wants to hear ALL your opinions and all the crazy stories and hijinks you've gotten up to, all your character lore, what your favorite aspect of the game is, every single thought you've ever had about it- he could listen to you talk for hours and still want to know more, and that extends past talking about G&G.

Don't play at all? Know nothing about it? Great! He gets to explain it to you! You will regret this.

He'll try to make all his exposition easy to understand, but sometimes he gets caught up in the fixation and gets himself going on really hard to follow rants about the differences between sandbox and railroad campaigns, and the intricacies of his favorite classes (he loves playing a spellcaster, but has a soft spot for tank/fighter classes as well), and before you know it he's going a mile a minute talking your ear off, but it's always really sweet seeing him get so excited about the things he loves.

Speaking of love and tangents, he talks about you the exact same way. Every single object in the office knows everything there is to know about you because he's so easy to get going at the drop of your name. He loves talking about how smart and kind you are, how creative and funny, how much fun he has being with you and how cool you are. Lux has invested in earplugs because of this.

He's the type to wear accessories of yours if you have any. A scrunchie/hair tie/bracelet around his wrist with his various charms and dice, a necklace of yours tucked beneath his shirt, any sort of pin or clip that he can put on his collar- or even on his DM screen. He likes having a little piece of you with him throughout the day, even when you're around.

Sad to say there's no special privilege dating the dungeon master on this one. He's sweet as can be when you guys aren't playing, and even when you are he's still very considerate and attentive, but his cocky/mischievous side comes out a lot more. He's plotting to kill your character so sweetly. He wants to make your life so hard (lovingly).

Chance, at the end of a two hour long session: Wow! Wasn't that fun? You, who had your character dropped to 0 HP three times after your favorite NPC betrayed you:

Making G&G character sheets is a date activity, I stand by this. If you're not into it, he's happy to move on to other things, but there's something special about how much he lights up getting to do all the small calculations and slow sculpting that goes into building a character, and he can do it in his sleep, so he has no problem following you to other topics of conversation while he fills his sheets out. His fingers will probably be smudged with pencil led by the time you guys are done too, which is equally adorable.

It may not show all the time, but you've got him wrapped around your finger. He's such a "Yes, babe? What do you need?" kinda guy. He'll basically do anything for your attention and affection, and he's not embarrassed by it in the slightest (though he does blush super easily and very frequently because of it). There's so much he'd do with the promise of even a small kiss waiting for him, it's so bad.

He's quite physically affectionate, but struggles with knowing what you want/what's okay, and doesn't always have the courage to ask. He'll spend five minutes trying to find a subtle way to hold your hand or put an arm around you when you're not paying attention, then nearly jump out of his skin when you turn to address him. He gets better at it the longer you're together though, and appreciates you telling him upfront what's cool with you. He's also less nervous about being affectionate when he's really in the zone, or going on one of his tirades. It's a lot of grabbing you by the shoulders, squeezing your arms, looking at you with those big beautiful eyes while he talks about his homebrew ideas or the latest G&G news.

He blushes whenever you guys are playing and he has to hand something to you. "Oh...uh- you can borrow some of my dice if you need more!" Loser. Cast fireball on him and he'll get flustered handing you all those D6's.

Connected to the above, PLEASE show up him and kick his ass in-game, he finds it so ridiculously attractive. Defeat his big bad of the campaign and do a cocky one-liner and he'll drop whatever he's holding and lose the ability to speak. You'll never see his face as red as it gets when you do something cool in G&G.

#date everything #date everything x reader #date everything chance #love this guy. the dice twenty #can you tell I'm equally as obsessed with TTRPG as him. does it show

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thestudentempanada · 3 months ago

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Following WOL led take over of the Brooklyn Museum, protestors proudly share a photo of Deborah Kass’s OY/YO statue, which they vandalized.

Deborah Kass is a queer Jewish woman, and this statue is meant to remind us of the connection between Jewish, Black, Latino, and immigrant communities, as well as pay tribute to the influence of these minority groups on American society as a whole.

From the Brooklyn Museum’s description of the artwork:

“Yo,” a familiar greeting, and “oy,” an exclamation of frustration, are both baked into Brooklyn’s shared vocabulary thanks to the influence of local Black, Italian American, and Jewish communities.

Since its inclusion in Something to Say, an exhibition that spotlighted the Museum’s role as a shared space for civic dialogue, OY/YO has held a prominent position on the front plaza.

#jumblr #wol #Brooklyn museum #Brooklyn #Deborah Kass #within our lifetime

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prael · 1 year ago

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REPLACED

Newjeans Minji x male reader smut

Quickfire challenge 1. Thank you @midnightdancingsol

The prompt: "You know why this happened, @capslocked – yes, you."

Masterlist word count: 3,911 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It's all a matter of perspective. From one side of the room, the world is calm.

And the other? Well, that's Minji.

“Want to know the one thing worse than outright rejection?”

Minji has barely walked in the door and she is already shouting off in riddles. She's standing in the doorway, her hair wet from the rain and a little bit tangled just above her shoulders. The water on her overshirt is so deeply sodden into the fabric that it weighs on her. It sticks to her skin that's so clearly visible underneath the LED spotlight above her and her face is twisted in this way of pure irritation that you've rarely seen. It's almost comical.

Or it would be if she wasn't throwing her bag on the floor with an almighty thud and a little yelp from the floorboards below.

“Minji?” is all you say in some hushed tone as you sit on the armchair by the window, hot drink in one hand and your phone in the other as the world passes by in the distance, drowned in downpour.

You look up to watch Minji as she shouts, "How about getting a part, only for it to be taken away? Being promised the world and then having it rug-pulled so you fall flat on your fucking face?!"

Now, Minji never swears in anger. And never means never (again, in anger, specifically). So, it's pretty much a sign of the end of the world when she does. She's kicking off her shoes now, throwing them in the direction of the door and they clatter on the floor like the battering of a drum.

"I—uh."

"You—uh," she mocks, taking a step forward.

"Woah. Minji. What happened?" You ask, setting down the phone on the sill of the window. Minji's stomping her way toward you. Her eyes are wide and filled with something you haven't quite seen before.

"This complete—"there are some sounds from her mouth but they don’t quite resemble words"—shit for a fuck brain!" See, Minji never swears like this, so she's so bad at it that it's laughable.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, it's a great idea; an amazing concept. I'll write you a fantastic character and it will be romantic and hot and everyone will love it," Minji rants in some sarcastic tone while peeling her shirt off her skin and piling it onto the hardwood floor. She stands in only her sports bra with her arms raised and her voice in high pitch, mocking. "Except, you're not good enough. Oh, no. I have to give the part to this other girl. She's prettier and nicer and just better than you!"

"Ouch." You say, watching as she flops onto the couch opposite. The coffee table in between you is a lousy line of defence. Her socks have little splatters of rainwater on them and not too far above that, her skirt sits just above the knee.

"Oh, shut up," she replies.

"Minji." You throw her a look that says 'Stop taking it out on me', which she understands, but it only gets her to fold her arms dramatically with a little huff and a puff from her mouth, followed by a pout. Then you ask her, "What part even was this? TV?"

"Not exactly."

"An ad? Video game? Movie?"

"Fanfiction."

Fanfiction.

"What?" You blink, to which Minji sighs and rolls her eyes, head tilted to the ground.

"Fanfiction."

"A fanfiction?" you question again. It’s not like you misheard, it’s just an utterly strange thing for her to be so pent up on.

"Don't say it like that." She snaps, leaning back into the chair and crossing her legs so one of her little rain-splattered socks is suspended in the air, and she twists and turns her foot impatiently.

"Just trying to figure out why you're so annoyed about fanfiction."

"Because the guy's a complete moron."

"Probably," you say, drawing your mug of coffee close to your lips. You blow on the surface and Minji is silent. You wait, the steam is coming off the top and through it, you watch her as she thinks as her eyebrows furrow together. Minji shifts in her seat again, the annoyance making her chronically uncomfortable.

"He replaced me!" She shouts, slamming her hands into the arms of the chair and then Minji stands. She takes a few steps and then stops and turns to face you, her eyebrows furrowed and her arms folded, her legs are slightly apart and she's tapping her foot.

"Does he think I'm not pretty enough? Not funny enough? Not sexy enough? Does he think that I wouldn't be good enough at what he wants me to do, hm? So he doesn't want to write me sucking a dick? Well, screw him. Fucking Capslocked."

You're not sure what's going on here, so you're just sitting back and watching her, coffee nestled in your hand and feet propped on the table. She's standing still, waiting for you to say something, anything, and when you don't, she begins to pace.

"Why would he change his mind and just decide that someone else is better than me? What, does he not like my body? Do you not like my body?"

"Your body is fantastic." You say, taking another sip of the coffee.

"Yeah, and don't you forget it." She snaps, stopping again and placing her hands on her hips, either side of that exposed waistline.

"The fuck kind of name is 'Capslocked' anyway?" You mutter, mostly to yourself. Minji doesn't reply, but you see her take a step closer to you.

"And," Minji begins and then pauses, you look up at her and she's just staring. Her cheeks are flushed and her breathing is a little laboured, her chest rising and falling with each breath. There's a pause. Her tongue runs over her lips and you can see her thinking—gears grinding inside her head.

"And?" you ask.

"Shut up," she hisses, kicking your leg so your feet fall from the coffee table and you almost spill the drink down yourself. She places her hands on your knees, bending over to you.

"Minji, my drink—"

"Shh." her hair falls across her face, a black silk drape half-covering the expression beneath. There's an anger under there, something she's trying to push back down, but it's not quite working. Her nails dig into your thighs as she pushes them apart, and the steam rises again above the surface of the liquid in your cup. Minji is too busy running her hand along your crotch.

"What're you—"

"Replaced me," she repeats to herself, a little huff leaving her as she slips down onto her knees. "Fucking replaced me."

"Minji, I'm sure he—"

"I don't care. Shut up. I'm not talking to you." Her hands are shaking, whether from frustration or some other confused feeling that burns under her skin. Probably a mix of many feelings. They're fumbling at the button of your jeans and she's tugging down the zip, her teeth bared. You're watching, and it's as if she is possessed.

Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears, the heat is rising and Minji is pushing her hair out of her face.

"I'm gonna do this so well."

"You always do."

"I said stop talking. So. Stop. Talking," she sounds out each word with authority, her eyes wide and angry. Minji is pushing down the fabric and reaching into the opening in your underwear. She wraps her fingers around you, the cool touch of her skin making you jerk.

"Minji, my drink." Your hand trembles slightly as you try not to spill it. Minji doesn't listen. She pulls you free. A low hum leaves her throat as she licks her lips and leans forward. Her warm breath is ghosting over you, her eyes are closed and there's a little smirk on her lips. Your cock is only halfway to hard and her hand is wantingly trying to coax you into arousal.

It doesn't take much. It never does with Minji.

"Fuck," you groan, the sound of your voice making her look up.

"Don't," she replies, a warning in her eyes. Minji's hand is moving up and down and it's not with that same gentle caress she usually has.

"God, Minji."

"Quiet." She stops, her lips are pouted and her eyes are locked onto you. Her hand is around you, the pressure is gentle, but it's enough to hold you. You're frozen there a moment, her eyes are staring right through you and you're not entirely sure what's going to happen. "Don't say a word, and don’t spill your drink,” she tells you, her free hand rubbing your thigh.

"Minji—"

"Don't." She whispers, her tongue licking over the surface of her lip. Her mouth opens, and she's leaning in. The warmth of her breath is making the muscles of your abdomen twitch and your head spin. Her tongue is the first thing that touches you. She's holding you still, and the head of your cock is resting on her bottom lip, and the feeling of the smooth surface makes you want to thrust forward, but Minji's hand holds you firm.

You bite your lip as Minji's tongue swirls around the tip. It's light and soft and sends electricity through your nerves. You groan ever so slightly and she looks up at you, her eyes narrowed. Your knuckles whiten as you grip the mug, her hair tickling the inside of your thigh as she lowers her head.

Her tongue runs along the underside and pastes your cock with a wetness. The hand around you moves down, and she takes you in. Her mouth is heaven, and her lips the closing gates. You let out a deep sigh, your chest heaving, and Minji's free hand slides up the inside of your shirt, her nails grazing your skin.

Her mouth moves, her lips tightening, and the movement is slow. It's torturous and the sensation of her tongue swirling around the underside of your cock sends you spiralling. Minji knows this, and she's looking up at you. You want to touch her; you want to tangle your fingers into her hair; you want to grab her and pull her against you.

But her eyes speak many words left unspoken. They command your stillness, your silence, and your complete submission.

Minji is working her mouth over you, and her hand is stroking you, up and down and up and down. She's bobbing her head and humming slightly. The melody is almost hypnotic but sounds as if being played by force rather than elegance.

Her scratches are harder than ever and it feels like fire across your chest. Your toes are curling and your head is thrown back. The heat from the mug permeates into your skin as you grip it tighter.

"Ah, Minji." You moan. Minji stops, looking up at you. There's a drop of spit on her lip, and her face is flushed. You're not sure what to do. She's glaring, and she's holding you. Your heart is beating like the hammer of a drum and just above it, her nails grip, threatening to pierce through flesh.

"I said quiet." Words laced with venom. She digs somehow deeper into your chest as she pushes herself to her feet. "Now, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until I scream and you're going to stay quiet."

You're not quite sure what's happening. This is a Minji you have seldom seen before, but it's all happening so fast. She's pulling up her skirt, sliding down her panties, and she's kicking them off so the fabric lands somewhere to the side. She's stepping forward and her knees are touching the armrests. Closer and closer she comes with her eyes fixed on you.

Your mouth is dry, and her fingers are on your jaw. Her eyes bore holes in your own and she's lowering herself. In a moment of weakness, you throw a glance at your hand, still holding the half-full cup. There's an angry sound from Minji and she snarls, "Focus on me."

Minji swipes her arm at the cup, sending it flying. You watch the arc of the cup and the contents spill across the floor. She's not waiting, she's not looking. There’s not an ounce of concern within her for something so trivial.

You feel the soft wetness of her sex on your tip, she's rubbing herself on the head, the moisture spreading along the underside and Minji's face is screwed up in pleasure and her legs are shaking. She's panting and moaning and she's trying to slide down.

"Minji, are you—"

She thrusts her hand over your mouth with a growl and wild eyes. Her nails are biting into your cheek. "Not. Another. Word."

Minji's other hand is on your shoulder; using it for balance as she tries to move herself. She's lowering herself down and the head of your cock slips into her.

She's so warm. So unbelievably wet. Minji gasps and her back arches and her breasts heave beneath her slightly see-through sports top as she breathes. Her nails dig deeper into your flesh, her lips are parted and her head is thrown back, leaving her throat exposed—a pale expanse of milky perfection.

"Oh, God," she moans, the sound reverberating around the room as she slowly sinks and the walls of her cunt are tight on you. So tight. She trembles as she speaks. "You can't replace this."

Her skirt is around her waist, the material covering the sight of where your bodies meet. But you can feel it; you can feel every little movement she makes.

"I'm so wet."

So fucking wet.

"You're so hard."

Hard. So hard.

"How could anyone replace this?"

How? How could you possibly replace this?

Her cries are shrill, and the heat of her is all around you. It's the only thing you can focus on—her. You try to answer, but your words never make it past the hand on your mouth. She's panting, and her hair is wild, her eyes wide and her mouth open. And she's just riding until she can't no more. Until her muscles grow weak and until her cum leaks between her legs.

"This is what they want, isn't it? They want to fuck me. Riding them. On my knees. They want me bent over the table, or against the wall, or—or—fuck!" Her words are sharp and punctuated with gasps and moans. "Want me to cum—" she trails off into something close to a scream, her body convulsing. Her back is arched and her hips are pressed down onto yours.

She's grinding into you, and you can feel her clench around your cock. Your head is swimming, and your hips are jerking. You can't breathe. Her fingers are loosening their hold on your mouth, but you dare not speak. You're not even sure if you can.

Minji's hand is moving, sliding down your cheek, around your jaw and then gripping on your neck. She admires the red claw marks on your cheek.

"That's right," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "They want to fuck me, don't they? They all read and write those filthy little stories and keep dreaming of the impossible. But that fucker won’t write it for them."

You can only sit and take in the way that she is glowing with the sweat, the light catching her skin and highlighting the contours of her face and her collarbone. Her small top clings to her sticky chest and leaves so very little to the imagination. Through it you see the smooth curve of her breasts, the stiffness of her nipples and below it the ridges of her toned abdomen that flexes with her slowing grind.

She's climbing off you now and pulling you up from your seat. Her arms are around your neck and her eyes are on yours. You're staring into the depth of her eyes, the black pupils large and the irises a warm, golden honey.

"You're not going to replace me, are you?"

"Never."

"Good."

She leans back a little and pulls your shirt up until it's around your neck. She pulls it to your mouth, feeding the fabric into it before tying some sort of makeshift knot behind your head. "Now. Not another word." Minji pulls off her own top, peeling it away from her sweat-soaked skin.

You watch as she takes a few steps back; her cotton-hugged feet on the ground, her skirt falling back over those long legs and her hands on the hem of the fabric. She's smiling at you, a wide and wicked grin. You watch her and she's watching you. She's pulling it up now and her hands are underneath it. She turns to the window. "Now you're going to pin me against this window and do me, aren't you? Nod if you are."

You nod.

Minji giggles, throwing a look over her shoulder. "I'm the best, aren't I?"

Minji doesn't wait for you to nod again. She turns away and looks out the window—the city is alive. The rain is falling; the lights are flickering and cars are passing by far below. Minji is leaning her forehead against the glass, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly agape. Her hair is wild and messy and the light is illuminating her.

You're stepping towards her, one hand on her back, the other sliding over the curve of her ass. You can see her reflection, the smile on her lips. Her hands are on the glass, palms flat, and you're sliding a hand between her legs and over her wet, sensitive skin.

She's shivering and letting out little gasps as your fingers dance along the flesh and your fingertips tease her folds. She's whimpering, and the sound makes your cock twitch.

"Fuck me," Minji whispers, her nails scratching the window. You can't deny a woman so insatiable.

You adjust your jaw; it's so uncomfortably pinned open and you're unable to say a word. You can't tell her just how nice that ass is and how the view inside the window makes a mockery of the one outside. You can't tell her how her hair is so beautiful, or how her eyes are the prettiest you've ever seen. You can't tell her anything.

But you can tell her in another way—through touch. The thought sends a chill down your spine and your teeth sink into the material of the shirt. Minji's whining and you're slipping your fingers between her lips. She's hot, and the heat is dripping from her. It's on your fingers and it's soaking into your palm.

Minji is moving her hips, trying to find purchase on your fingers, the tip of one brushing her clit. She gasps and throws her head back. You're sliding a finger inside her, the movement easy and Minji is bucking her hips, her body trying to pull you further and deeper.

"Fuck me like I'm the only woman in the world. Like you'll die if you don't fuck me. Like there's no one else in the world who can make you feel like I do."

You're pushing her against the window, the foggy condensation from her breath and the heat of her body mar the surface. Minji is laughing—the hot and breathy kind of laugh—as you press her into the glass.

"That's it. Come on. Fuck me now,” she orders and just like that, you're doing it. She's moaning and her back arches. You're inside her and the tightness is enough to make you come undone. You're pressing her harder and harder against the window.

"That's it. Oh, yes. Harder. That's what they all want."

You're slamming into her, and she's taking it. You're not holding back. Minji is moaning and her fingers are curling, nails raking. Her voice is echoing in the room and the sound makes your skin prickle.

"They all want me like this. Bent over and begging. Oh, fuck yes."

"They can't have you." You growl through the shirt, your teeth tearing into the fabric.

"No." Minji screams, "They can't have me. They can't touch me. He can't touch me. Won't even write about me. If only he could see me now. I bet he would change his mind. Wouldn't you?"

You fuck her until the muscles in the back of your legs stiffen. You fuck her until she's screaming. You fuck her until the glass is a mess of fingerprints, sweat, and spit. Until the golden skin of her back glows with moisture.

You fuck her until your vision starts to fade and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears that it’s unbearable. You fuck her until you can't anymore.

And she's still going, her screams echoing and her body writhing against yours, and it's all too much. You need to release, and it needs to be inside Minji.

You're coming undone and your hips jerk and stutter and Minji's body is convulsing. Your cum is spilling into her, and she's cumming again and she's screaming, the sound so shrill that it hurts. You're groaning and she's shaking, the walls of her cunt clenching and drawing your orgasm out until you can't think and you can't breathe and everything is both too much and not enough.

Leaning forward so her back is flush with your chest, and she is truly pinned. Your breathing is hard, and hers is heavy and the two of you stay there for a while, frozen in ecstasy. The room absorbs the sound of your combined pants, the rain and the distant hum of the city.

Minji is the first to move, twisting herself free from the weight of your body against her. Your cock slides out. The feeling of the cool air and the absence of her body sends a shiver through you. You stumble, the shirt falling from your mouth and your vision is blurry.

Minji is laughing and you're looking at her as she is plucking away the strands of hair which stick to her face. And when she finishes, Minji steps forward and slaps you. "I told you not to make a mess."

"Minji, you made the mess."

"Shut up."

"But I—"

She grabs you by the neck and kisses you. Her lips are hot and the kiss is hungry and messy. Her tongue is in your mouth and her hands are all over you. The kiss is hard and deep and it's leaving you breathless.

She's pulling you to the ground, her legs wrapping around you and your hand is on her thigh. The heat of her core is against you and her nails are digging into your back. She's biting your lip, and she's pushing you over onto your back.

She's straddling you. Her hands are on your chest, her palms pressing down.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" you pant. Minji's looking at you with a disregard for your words.

Your cock is so tender under her rough motions, and there’s no stopping your whimper. Minji is smiling, and the sight is so sweet. "Are you complaining?"

"No," you manage to say, as a shiver runs down your spine as she lowers herself and brushes her lips against your ear.

Her tongue is running over your earlobe and she's nibbling at the sensitive flesh. Her hands are on your shoulders and her legs are squeezing your waist. "Good boy. We're not done. Not even close."

#minji smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #m reader #newjeans smut #kpop fanfiction #minji x reader #smut

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atipro-blog · 2 months ago

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turtletoria · 10 months ago

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This is Rawan, who has been tirelessly fundraising for the evacuation of all 11 of her family members from the devastating genocide. A couple weeks back, we were able to raise the funds to help her sister, Israa, evacuate!! Now, we need to help Rawan over the finish line so that she may be able to reach safety too!

We are so so close to the goal; she is currently at $47,290/$50,000!!! That's less than $3k away!!

I've donated $5 -- if you can, please match my donation! A little adds up to a lot!

🌟 This campaign has been spotlighted by a Palestinian-led collective that amplifies Gazan voices - follow them @/palestineasdiqa on IG!! Also, you can follow Rawan for updates @/rawan_basem8 on IG!!

[template for the secondary graphic made by the amazing @starelegy_ (on IG) ]

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #artists on tumblr #fundraiser

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 6 months ago

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Actual Ultimate Classpecting Guide

For real this time.

Buckle up, this is a really long one. For everything that's posited, I can provide textual evidence; that being said, I'm not going to be including the textual evidence within the essay itself, because it's already long enough as-is. As such, please feel free to ask for clarification or sources on any assertion, and I'll do my best to provide.

Before we begin, there's some things to discuss about how we're going to be approaching classpect in the following essay. In numbered list form for our short attention spans:

1. There is a concept Hussie talks about multiple times in his book commentary, "personality alchemy" - the idea that there are these "platonic ideals" of certain characters, which can be mixed and matched with others, in order to create new characters. The examples he gives are of how Eridan was a proto-Caliborn, how Kanaya has shades of Jade, how Nepeta was a proto-Calliope, and how Sollux and Eridan have shades of Dave in them. Classpecting is fundamentally a form of this personality alchemy:

2. Class describes the character's arc and emotional hurdles, while Aspect describes the character's base personality traits by which this arc is experienced.

3. For example, all three Seers struggle with hubris: Rose's need to be the smartest person in the room led to her being manipulated by Doc Scratch, Terezi's obsession with meting justice led to her engineering a situation where the only option was to kill Vriska, and Kankri's desire to be seen as a spiritual leader amongst his friends led to him furthering their divisions and harming them.

Then, when their pride is shattered, they cope by inflicting willful self-blindness: Rose turns to drinking herself stupid (the opposite of Light's sway over knowledge), Terezi gets down with the clown (the opposite of meting out Mind's justice, as it's a Gamzee W), Kankri goes celibate (Blood L) despite his clear romantic feelings for certain teammates.

4. As for Aspect: note how all three Life players share the personality traits of optimism, stubbornness, and obstinacy. All three Breath players share an immaturity and naïvety, and are quite frankly irresistible to people for some reason. All three Light players share a need for the spotlight and a tendency toward long-windedness and persnicketiness. So on and so forth.

What's interesting is, if you start analyzing characters that share Classes and Aspects, these specific types of similarity crop up over and over - all our Knights struggle with insecurities and facades, both our Bards have a crisis of faith. All three Breath players have an aspect of immaturity and childishness to their characters, and all three Light players are deeply concerned with appearing intelligent and feeling important.

5. As a result, this guide is NOT intended for classpecting real life people, because we are complicated, we contain multitudes, and we don't have arcs. This is primarily an analysis of what Class and Aspect mean in Homestuck based on textual evidence, because I genuinely believe that you can basically figure it out if you read carefully.

6. Duality, and the idea of "equal and opposite," are major themes within Homestuck - Prospit and Derse, Skaia (described as a crucible of birth and creativity) and the Furthest Ring (the literal afterlife). Which classes are involved in an Active/Passive split, and opposing Aspects, are the same way. This is the primary method I used to determine the Active/Passive pairings and opposing Aspects. After all, as Callie describes, both Thieves and Rogues are classes "who steal" - so, too, do I try to unify Classes by a common theme, even if they diverge wildly in how that theme is expressed (as Thieves and Rogues do). In the same way as the opposite of "up" is not "apple," but "down", because "up" and "down" are both fundamentally concerned with relative vertical position, so too can be defined concepts like Breath and Blood, Hope and Rage, Light and Void - as well as the reasoning behind Class pairings like Heir and Page, Maid and Knight, and Seer and Mage.

7. Descriptions for both Class and Aspect are left deliberately vague and up to interpretation within the comic itself, and this is by design: the actual manifestations of an Aspect can vary wildly given the Class, and even individual person, that it's tied to. Calliope even makes note of the fact that, under the right circumstances, someone can manifest effects that appear to be the opposite of their aspect. She's also careful to couch her language in "may" and "can" - because these concepts are intentionally somewhat nebulous and malleable. As such, while this guide certainly lays down what can be gleaned and inferred from the text, do note that Homestuck runs on a soft magic system, and as such, nothing stated is firm, 100%, must-always-be-this-way - just an overview of what we've seen.

8. There is often great overlap between Aspects, Classes, and Classpects - which Calliope herself notes. Heart and Blood are one of the most salient, as they both have a fixation on relationships, and Calliope mentions that under the right circumstances, a Classpect may even be able to manifest what appears to be the opposite of their Aspect. Again, Homestuck operates on a soft magic system, so this is a feature, not a bug.

ASPECT

There's a little less to say about Aspect, not because it's less complicated, but because "base personality traits" are much more nebulous compared to Class's sway over character arc. Still, Aspect represents the fundamental way a character is, and thus, color every interaction that character has. There's a reason Ultimate Selfhood is sought through Aspect, not Class - Aspect is the core of the character's being, what makes that person that person.

That all being said, Class has major sway over how an Aspect manifests, and certain classes can even invert the Aspect and even the character's role in the party. As such, these descriptions must be parsed carefully in relation to Class. Moreover, due to the soft magic system, there is at times overlap between unrelated Aspects, which can also be exacerbated by Class - Heart and Blood being the most obvious in this regard. Still, overall, you'll find the Aspects to be fairly distinct from one another.

Please also note that every Aspect can deal with its literal counterpart by default - Light players can wield lasers, Breath players can wield the breeze, et cetera. Because this kind of goes without saying, and because the non-literal stuff is more interesting to discuss, I'm not really going to go into too much detail about the literal qualities.

Finally, something interesting to note is that nearly every Aspect follows its own Hero's Journey cycle - full actualization for each one usually means reaching around to its opposite Aspect, and taking lessons from them - for example, Breath players need to learn maturity and responsibility, while Blood players need to learn relaxation and whimsy. Thus, an Aspect at its worst manifests in two ways - either a toxic overabundance of the Aspect's worst traits, or such a dearth of the aspect that it begins to resemble its opposite. Only by reaching into the opposite, however, can the player be tempered and reach full maturity - can they become more of who they are.

SPACE / TIME

Space and Time are both concerned with physical reality, goals, and the way one approaches them.

Space is associated with "the big picture" - with recycling, reproduction, and the interconnectivity of all things. The aspect also presides over the enjoyment of the journey over the destination - Space players serve as reminders that the present moment is as important as the end goal. Space is often a more passive Aspect, being the stage upon which the story is set. They're the hosts of the party, and the one who marks the ending.

Its players reflect these tendencies, often being feminine, with penchants for life-giving acts such as gardening. Their personalities tend towards frivolity and silliness, finding it difficult to stay on-topic or bring full gravitas to serious situations. Perhaps a better word would be "distractable;" when the aspect is so concerned with all things in connection with each other, it's easy to lose track of details, and it's easy to enjoy things simply as they come. Space players tend to be kind, patient, and forgiving, which is a strength as much as it is a flaw; it's easy for malicious actors to take advantage of this compassion, or for the Space player to find themselves in a poor situation by being overly permissive. They can easily be painted over by stronger personalities, and tend to struggle with romantic relationships, as they attract many with their kind and giving natures, and few are naturally so considerate of the Space player in turn.

"Passive" is a good word to use; at a toxic overabundance of their Aspect, Space players are trampled underfoot. They become enablers, servants to dark forces, or so lost in their own worlds that they neglect the one they live in. With their Aspect "inverted," a Space player becomes a demon of poor prioritization. Distracting not just themselves from their true purpose, but others, too, the Space player will wreak havoc by overemphasizing unimportant topics and ignoring important tasks. This superficially resembles Time, in that the Space player will become fanatically dedicated to their task, but note that the poor prioritization is still Space-esque at its core.

Still, within this nadir is a valuable lesson: the strength of self-assertion, and the determination to see a goal through. These will allow the Space player to weed their garden, separating good from bad, allowing it to flourish like never before.

Time, in contrast, is associated with "the little things" - with details, minutiae, and processes. Time presides over the struggle toward something greater, the endurance of hardship with an eye on the prize - the destination over the journey. Time players are the ones keeping track of the tasklist, marking off each item as it reaches completion; they are the tireless workers keeping the whole engine running.

Time players, thus, are ones whose lives are marked by struggle. They are highly goal-oriented; in contrast to how Space players can easily move from goal to goal, task to task, Time players feel bound to see things through to the end, finding satisfaction only when they've achieved their desired result - and only until they come across the next goal in their journey. A Time player isn't happy without a goal to work towards, a craft to polish, a prize to win - but this driven nature can easily be its own downfall, as it leaves little room for the player to admit to their own shortcomings, or ask for help from others. Moreover, their focus on minutiae can leave them blinded to the bigger picture, and it's easy for a time player to fall to despair, able to do nothing more but spin their wheels. They're prone to directionless anguish, frustration, and resentment towards the seeming futility of their actions, becoming destructive and defiant even when it doesn't serve them to do so.

At a toxic overabundance of their Aspect, Time players become explosively destructive. The ultimate "goal" of all things is death, with which Time is associated, and accordingly, Time players have a penchant for aligning themselves with futility and entropy, struggling so hard that their thrashing leaves a trail of annihilation in their wake. With their Aspect "inverted," Time players detach entirely - they can become so fed up with struggle that they simply opt to lay their weapons down and let the end take them. It's very easy for them to come to the conclusions that either everything matters, or nothing matters. This superficially resembles Space and its big picture thinking, but note that its framework of struggle, and whether or not a goal needs to be pursued, makes it a Time concern.

But the inherent meaninglessness of existence is, in itself, an important realization to make - that whether or not anything "matters" in the grand scheme, things can still be worth doing, worth caring about, and worth investing in. This realization allows the Time player to attack their goals with renewed vigor and greater clarity, which in turn means that the party becomes an efficient, well-oiled machine.

BREATH / BLOOD

Breath and Blood are both concerned with directionality, interpersonal relationships, and autonomy.

Breath is the Aspect governing freedom, liberty, and independence; it is a force that breaks shackles, clears out social norms, and refutes "the rules," whatever those rules may be. Breath players can't be tied down, whether by physical bonds, societal rules, or even the ineffable forces of the narrative itself. They are leaders of example, pioneers, and trailblazers, opening new paths for their teammates to follow.

Breath players are goofy and gullible, often with hearts full of childlike whimsy, naivety, and even immaturity. They are friendly and well-meaning, fond of simpler things, and easily swayed by others. They approach the world with a sincere and innocent good-naturedness, like a baby animal before it learns to be fearful of danger. Something about this sincerity seems to make Breath players irresistible to others, and they often find themselves the subject of romantic attraction. However, in this childishness is also the great pitfall of many Breath players - their natures are naturally conflict-averse, and egotistical the way a child can be, failing to see beyond themselves. They can be incredibly callous when not considering the consequences of their actions, or the viewpoints of others.

At their worst, Breath players are irresponsible and callous. They'll shirk the consequences of their actions, blaming anybody but themselves, or simply choose not to care who they hurt in order to get what they want. They may even choose to stop making choices for themselves, leading to the "inversion" of their Aspect - a voluntary loss of freedom and independence, derived from an Breath-like aversion to responsibility, which superficially resembles the bondage of Blood.

But if they are able to overcome these tendencies, a Breath player will learn what true responsibility looks like - responsibility for themselves, their choices, and the effect they have on others. Armed with this, a Breath player's ability to break bonds can be focused into a clear force for good, clearing away all obstacles and harmful societal standards, leading the charge into something new and beautiful.

Blood, in sharp contrast, is the aspect that governs bondage, contracts, and interdependence. It is a force that binds. Under Blood's sway are not only romantic entanglements, but familial, friendly, and societal ones as well. This aspect sees overlap with Heart, but the division is this: Heart concerns itself with feelings, and Blood concerns itself with compatibility. Blood players are diplomats, forces that remind us all that we are more similar than we are different, and that that similarity should bring us together when we are on the verge of pulling apart.

Blood players, reflective of their Aspect's association with bonds, tend to be neurotic and obsessive. They have a tendency to over-examine and overthink, constantly fretting over the infinite and infinitesimal variables that influence the shape of society and interpersonal relationships. However, this judgmental nature stems from a deep well of idealism and empathy; Blood players can't help but care about others and wish for the best for them. In a way, this makes them one of the most mature members of the team, being concerned with its overall well-being. Unfortunately, their prowess does not extend inwards, and their assessment of themselves is usually direly incorrect - all the worse because Blood players always feel responsible for those around them. Blood, being the Aspect concerned with interdependence, is the weakest one when all alone.

Thus, it's easy for the Blood player to wind up controlling - desperate to make sure everyone is moving according to their vision, they'll become iron-fisted dictators, with a "my way or the highway" approach to social interactions. It's easy for them to wind up pariahs of their own making, becoming so critical of others, or so adamant about enforcing their own will, that they inadvertantly sever their ties - something that superficially resembles Breath's independence, but is truly a result of Blood's neuroticism.

But with that space and separation can come great clarity. Blood players must learn to relax their grip, and allow people room to breathe - including themselves. Once able to grasp that sometimes bonds must be forged with a soft touch, Blood players' natural empathy shines through, allowing them to build something so much kinder and greater than the sum of its parts.

LIGHT / VOID

Light and Void are both concerned with knowledge, ontology, and "narrative relevance".

Light (as well as its counterpart) are perhaps best understood through the lens of "narrative" - this idea that, of all things that do and don't exist, and all events that do and don't happen, only the ones put to page are "relevant". Thus, Light is associated with knowledge and luck - that is to say, it's associated with the knowable, the objective, and the concrete, and the ability to determine "important" events. Light players have read the book they're participating in, and able to serve as luminary guides from one plot point to another, lighting the lampposts for others to follow.

Light players, naturally, are erudite and educated, possessing keen intellects and cunning minds. They are fond of knowledge itself, of markers of status and prestige - whether that's wealth, the adulation of the masses, or a massive library. They harbor a desire to be important, to be seen, to be acknowledged, and are happiest when they are looked up to. Conversely, they deal poorly with being looked down upon. Their confidence transmutes easily into hubris, and they struggle with having that pride challenged. As such, they tend to be volatile and unpredictable, quick to retaliate against those who threaten their egos, or obsequious to those whose acknowledgement they desire.

Their desire for the limelight can quickly spell disaster - they can become incredibly cruel, harsh, and egotistical in their pursuit of narrative significance. They forget, in their obsession, that they, too, are fallible and flawed, and the inevitable reminder can come very harshly. Light players struggle with moderation, and as such, when they feel shame, they'll often take drastic measures to cope with it - deliberately darkening their own influence or intellects, removing themselves from the "story" entirely - something which superficially resembles Void's penchant for the background, but which is firmly rooted in Light's obsessive need for drama.

But in experimenting with narrative insignificance, Light players can reach an epiphany - in their absence, others may shine, and that can be a wonderful thing. Light players, then, can learn to shine not just for their own sakes, but for the sake of others, allowing them to weave a story even more brilliant than any that can be weaved alone.

Void, in contrast, is the blank spaces between the words. That which is secret, subjective, unknowable - these are Void's domain. It's associated with taboos and hidden things, sexuality and pleasure. It's also associated with the empty canvas - the blank space before creation, and the oblivion to which creation is eventually destined for. Thus, it stands for infinite possibility, though the collapse of those possibilities into a reality removes that reality from Void's domain.

Thus are Void players ever cosigned to the background, though this generally suits them fine. Void players are very self-possessed. Where Light players tend to exaggerate and complicate, Void players are honest and simple, preferring straightforward solutions. They don't tend to think very hard, instead letting intuition and emotion guide them to where they want to be - which makes them one of the more stable personalities on a team. However, this simplistic, feelings-driven approach often leads to pleasure-seeking behavior, poor impulse control, and overindulgence in vice, and from there, to irrelevance, with which Void is so closely interlinked.

Void players are especially prone to vice, and at their worst, will become so drunk on pleasurable activities that they pursue them to the active detriment of the party's goals or the Void player's self-improvement - making them the ultimate irrelevant character. They can also very easily drag others into their mélange, with a forcefulness that resembles Light's illuminating guidance, but which is ultimately rooted in Void's pursuit of personal pleasure.

But there's a lesson to be learned in Light's domain: how to bring themselves into relevance and greatness. A Void player, once they learn to pursue not just personal pleasure, but a greater satisfaction for the collective whole, can drag the Void behind them, kicking and screaming, to where it'll be of use.

MIND / HEART

Mind and Heart are concerned with what it means to be a sentient being, with identity, and with why we do what we do.

Mind is the Aspect associated with logic, rationality, karma, ethics, and justice. To a Mind player, they "are" because they "think". They are keenly aware of the consequences of every action, and well-versed in cognition and behavior, such to the point of manipulating others with ease. Deeply concerned with the "effect" of cause-and-effect, Mind players are always cognizant of debts and credits, where justice is owed and where it has been over-meted, and their subtle machinations culminate, like well-placed dominoes, in grand and explosive finales.

Mind players are schemers - it's in their nature. They have a tendency to view the world as a puzzle or game, with themselves and the people around them as pieces on a board, and set as their standard rules the laws of ethics and karma - owed debts and overhanging credit - guilty and innocent. Mind players are wickedly cunning, and have an high success rate with every scheme they commit themselves to, but the grand downfall of all these tendencies is that they tend to lack in a sense of identity, and have a poor grasp on their own emotions or desires. While they may know how to provoke a desired reaction, they don't know how to change someone's mind. They often find themselves grappling very painfully with their own selfhood, with feelings of emptiness, inadequacy, or uncertainty.

Thus, a Mind player at the worst zenith of their Aspect is heartless and cruel. Leaving no space for empathy or even personal feelings in their plans, the Mind player will plot for an ending as heartless as they are. But a Mind player is never truly without emotion, and ignoring their own feelings causes them to manifest in terrible ways - Mind players have a tendency to seek toxic, codependent relationships, hoping to find external validation, subjecting themselves to the wishes of others, which can appear like Heart's fixation on feelings and desire.

But in recognizing their own need for emotional validation, and the importance of their own feelings, a Mind player can realize that there's an entire dimension to the game they've been playing that they've been ignorant of. When a Mind player learns to temper their schemes with empathy, compassion, and kindness, how much more success they'll see - and how much happier that grand finale will be!

Heart, then, is associated with feelings, motivations, intuition, the soul, and the self. To a Heart player, they "are" because they "feel" like they are - and they're keenly aware of the multitudes that are contained within themselves. Deeply concerned with the "cause" of cause-and-effect, they're drawn to desires, those of themselves and of others, especially where strong feelings are concerned. Heart players are gifted with an intuitive understanding of those around them, both their good and bad qualities, and are tasked with the grand task of bringing out the best.

It stands to reason, then, that Heart players have a firm grasp on who they are and what they want. For the same reasons, it's difficult for a Heart player to truly hate or condemn another person, because they are so adept at understanding them. However, this understanding comes with a price - because the Heart player is so aware of themselves, they can't escape their own worst traits - nobody self-loathes as accurately as a Heart player can. Nor can they ever truly be untruthful with another, making them poor manipulators. Capable of presenting a different facet of themselves as the situation calls for it, certainly, but just as it's impossible to lie to a Heart player, who always knows how someone really feels, it's impossible for a Heart player to lie to themselves.

With this sincerity comes vulnerability. Heart players wear theirs on their sleeves, and at their worst, this can make them demanding, needy, and sensitive - so eager to connect with others emotionally that they'll cramp themselves to fit others' desires. But they can't ever keep this up for long; Heart players have a tendency to withdraw from others after being hurt too often, finding it easier to be alone and silent about their feelings than to deal with the pain of rejection. They may even work to manipulate others, preying on their emotions and desires to force them to act in their worst interests. This superficially resembles Mind's cold logic, but unlike Mind's cool rationality, Heart's aloofness is a mask, an attempt to avoid pain by pulling away.

But this isn't purely a negative, because a Heart player can learn a healthier form of detachment, and separate out healthy and helpful desires from harmful and detrimental ones. Given this clarity, the Heart player becomes the team's emotional core, able to raise up each teammate's best qualities, while helping them deal with their worst, enabling everyone to be the best possible version of themselves - which the Heart player knew them to be all along.

LIFE / DOOM

Life and Doom are concerned with outlook, with journeys, and with trials and tribulations.

Life is an aspect concerned with healing, growing, and improving. It is associated with beginnings, optimism, and positive emotions. The very essence of Life lies in its healing abilities, in this idea of overcoming the odds and triumphing over hardship and difficulty. Life is action, movement, and motion, and its players can scarcely hold still. Life will find a way - and Life players harbor the same immutable belief; they are the most stubborn weeds in the garden, the cockroach that survives the apocalypse, and the beating heart that refuses to stop.

Life players tend to be optimistic and confident. They are self-assured individuals, with a stubborn belief that good things are on their way, and any hardship they face is not only temporary, but something that can be overcome. They can find the silver lining in any cloud, and enjoy themselves under any circumstance. They love to nurture, to care for others, though this love has a tendency to be one-sided. Indeed, Life's stubborn nature is its players' greatest pitfall; their persistence easily becomes obstinacy, and their confidence can become condescension. Their self-assured nature easily becomes egotism, and they can have great difficulty grappling with those who don't share their views - even coming to oppose those who bring emotional pain and suffering that can't be easily fixed.

It's very easy for a Life player to decide another person isn't worth their attention, and opt to leave them behind - after all, Life has to move forward, no matter what it tramples in the process. At their worst, they're stubborn to the point of not listening to anyone but themselves, confidence becoming blockheadedness. This focus on forward progress without looking back can even cause Life players to become harmful to others, so focused they are on their own growth that they don't notice that they're choking everyone else out. This may resemble Doom's death in its worst case - arresting everything else, eventually blocking even their own path with unruly, out-of-control fecundity.

Thus, a Life player needs to learn to more gracefully accept Doom's influence - to pause, slow down, and consider viewpoints that are negative, unpleasant, or difficult. A Life player, endowed with moderation, will be able to cultivate a bountiful garden, rather than an unruly jungle - a place for all to flourish and live in plenty, never wanting for anything.

Doom, then, is the aspect concerned with death, with rest, and with endings. Doom is associated with suffering and with negative emotions, with peace, with sleep, and with dreams. Doom players have a natural penchant for prophecy, and are often dual dreamers, able to take advantage of both Skaia's oracular clouds and the Horrorterrors' voices over Derse. All things must eventually come to an end, and not all times will be good; in these troubling times, Doom players shine, as they are the guides who call the murk home, and know best how to navigate rough waters, course-correcting until the storm passes.

Doom players tend to be deeply pessimistic. They experience, to a much more magnified degree than others, negative feelings and impulses, and it's difficult for them to see the world without seeing its flaws, first and foremost. They are not healers, but commiserators, those who understand greatest that sometimes there's no way to deal with tragedy but to simply sit with it and wait for it to pass. The counterpoint to Life's insistence on breathless positivity, Doom is a reminder that pain, grief, sadness, shame, and guilt are not unnecessary things - in fact, excising them can lead to terrible consequences. Doom players are the universe's martyrs, often taking it upon themselves to course-correct, to sacrifice themselves in order to give others a chance to continue on, to avert a terrible fate.

Unfortunately, this tendency also brings with it a tendency for Doom players to wallow in misfortune, or worse, to take themselves out of the picture, giving up entirely on seeing a better ending. As if energized by their own sense of futility, a Doom player at the "inverse" of their aspect may seem to echo a Life player's focus on forward progress and motion, actively spurring their team on towards an untimely demise.

A Doom player must learn to harness this sense of progress for good, rather than harm. A Doom player, once able to grasp the joy of life even in the greatest depths of despair, will be able to fill even the darkest hours with peace, meaning, and hope.

HOPE / RAGE

Hope and Rage are concerned with permission, and are the lens by which we define reality.

Hope is described by Hussie in the book commentary as being "framed as the most powerful aspect" because it is, literally, an aspect that defines reality. Its specific ability is lies in reducing the "fakeness attribute" of something, thus making it "real". Hope is associated with convictions, with idealism, with faith, order, holiness, and, of course, with magic - which Hope turns real. Hope is permission itself - a reality-breaking ability to look at the world and decree that it must be another way, a way in which the Hope player believes it ought to be.

Thus, Hope players tend to be hard-headed zealots, with no self-awareness whatsoever. Their inclination towards powerful beliefs makes them very difficult to dissuade from a path they've set their minds to, and their specific suite of abilities makes them terrifyingly likely to make their vision come true. Hope players are usually not particularly cunning, nor particularly intelligent, nor even particularly empathetic. Given the Aspect's focus on conviction and faith, it's usually very difficult for Hope players to notice anything occurring beyond their own minds and feelings. Thus are Hope players hopeless optimists, hopeless romantics, and hopeless in general - often great sources of embarrassment to their teams, as their naked sincerity is painful to witness. However, their ability to define reality does not leave them when their beliefs are faulty (which they often are, given Hope players are not particularly introspective, either), which is what makes a Hope player so dangerous.

A Hope player can easily be set on the wrong path - as convicted as they are, and as difficult to shake from that conviction as they can be, Hope players can easily march down a path of destruction, if not persuaded with a deft touch and gentle guidance. In the event that their faith is broken, Hope players easily become despondent and lost, floundering and wishy-washy, which superficially resembles Rage's self-consciousness, but is truly just a lack of direction.

But Rage has a powerful lesson to teach Hope players - that of questioning themselves, interrogating their own beliefs. Once their convictions have gone through rigorous scrutiny, revised into the best, brightest versions of themselves they can be, a Hope player is a worker of miracles - speaking into existence a beautiful future on faith alone, proclaiming that how they see the world is how the world shall be.

Rage, then, is the power of denial. If Hope reduces the "fakness" of a thing, then Rage reduces its "realness". Rage, too, is a means of defining reality, in this case taking a torch to the aspects of reality that it rejects. In more passive Classes, this works in subtler ways, stoking others towards destructive fury. Rage is associated with anarchy, chaos, revolution, destruction, anger, and nihilism. A Rage player will not suffer a world that does not satisfy them, breaking it to pieces, such that something new can take its place.

Therefore, Rage players are prone to harboring anger and resentment, discontentment with the status quo, and faith only in that what currently exists must somehow be dismantled. However, unlike Hope players, who can't help but be pathetically sincere, Rage players are incredibly self-conscious, and often try to mask and hide their embitterment and anger. This, ironically, leads to further ostracization, as others can tell they're being inauthentic. This only further compounds their sense of alienation, and drives them further into smoldering resentment. This makes Rage players sound volatile and dangerous, and they are - but the same fury that moves them is the fury that ignites revolts and tears down oppressive regimes, a necessary and vital well of energy and momentum. It takes careful handling to ensure that the team's Rage player can channel this energy towards righteous causes, rather than marking all as a target for their destructive ire.

In the worst-case scenario, the Rage player turns that rage out indiscriminately, deciding that there is nothing worth fighting for - only unpleasant things to be brought to ruin. This is Rage at its toxic overabundance. Conversely, a Rage player can retreat so harshly into their mask that they allow others to dictate their beliefs, taking them to heart - an action motivated by Rage's destruction (this time, turned inwards) that superficially resembles Hope's convictions and faith.

The true path for a Rage player is a healthy balance - to allow themselves some of Hope's sincerity, and by doing so, to become more sincere and true. This will let them release the pressure of their mounting ire, such that it can be converted into productive, rather than destructive, energy - the heralds of a revolution, razing away the faulty, corrupt old systems such that something better and new can take their place.

CLASS

As previously stated, Class governs a character's character arc - the character's starting circumstances, whether their conflict is primarily internal or external, and what major aspect of their Aspect becomes a hurdle for them to overcome.

In the same way an Aspect's sways tie into the character's base personality, the character's Class abilities tie into the kinds of struggles they face, and have great influence on how their Aspects manifest.

That being said, a character - and their Class - are always subject to their Aspect, as their Aspect is tied fundamentally into who they are. Thus, it can be said that a Light player will always have an affinity for knowledge and provide Seer-esque guidance even when not in a Seer role, a Doom player will always have prophetic abilities even with a non-prophetic class (note that Mituna, an Heir, still had prophetic visions, despite those generally being the realm of Mages and Seers), and a Life player will always have a penchant for healing, even paired with a destructive Class like Prince or Thief (the Condesce, after all, could still extend life; a Prince of Life would likely manifest not as one who causes plants to wither and die (this would actually suit a Prince of Doom), but one who destroys in the way of nature overtaking an abandoned shack, or a forest breaking down a body).

This means that when a character's Classpect inverts their Aspect, it doesn't mean that they suddenly become a hero of the opposing Aspect - rather, it means that, at their very worst - at the nadirs of their character arcs - they will lean so much into their Aspect's worst traits that it will superficially appear as the opposite, when all it really is is an absence of themselves. Dave, a Time player, usually so attentive to detail (despite his disaffected facade, he's always paying rapt attention to Karkat's rants, and noticing all the clues pointing to his destiny of defeating LE), at his lowest emotional point (arguing with Grimbark Jade after sobbing about his lost childhood whimsy), states that he doesn't think Lord English is that big a deal, and never even did anything directly bad to him or his friends - when he was literally directly haunted by LE via Cal his entire childhood. Similarly, Rose drinks herself stupid in order to cope with her mother's death.

Note how, superficially, this almost appears to be an invocation of Space's "big picture thinking," its passivity and permissibility, or how Rose's case appears to be Void's tendency to indulge in vices and pleasure - but they're not. Time's worst traits superficially resemble Space, Light's resemble Void, and vice versa - Grimbark Jade is the Condesce's taskmaster, and Porrim at her worst was as much of a nag as Kankri, trying to do a Time player's managerial job. Horuss and Equius at their worst won't shut up and won't stop talking over their partners. So on and so forth.

Finally, Calliope tells us a couple things about Active/Passive pairings. The first is that Calliope introduces the idea of paired classes with the idea that both Rogues and Thieves "steal" (and later, that both Princes and Bards "destroy"). This presents the idea that both classes can be roughly summed up with the idea that every pairing can be summed up with a common theme.

The second is her description of what makes a Class Active versus Passive - that Active Classes move their Aspect to benefit themselves, whereas Passive Classes allow their Aspect to be moved in order for others to benefit. In a way, they're like active and passive voice in grammar (to tie in with the way Classes and Aspects are so tied to ideas of narrative and character arc) - an Active Class performs their Aspect, and a Passive Class allows the Aspect to be performed "by others" (the famous piece of advice regarding telling the two apart being that a sentence written in passive voice can have "by zombies" tacked to the end of it - eg, John is attacked "by zombies", as compared to active voice - John attacks).

Thus, the Class pairings, along with their basic themes, are as follows:

KNIGHT - / MAID +

"One who controls."

Knights and Maids are paired together through two key factors: the first is that they both hold leadership or managerial roles; the second is that both classes carry the connotation of serving a Lord. Fittingly, they are both struggle with the control of malicious forces - Knights with prophecies indicating their role as heroes, Maids with direct usurpation by malicious forces.

PAGE - / HEIR +

"One who inherits."

Pages and Heirs are paired together because they both fundamentally deal with the great inheritances placed before them. Pages can come into incredible, limitless power - but they must struggle and work hard for it; Heirs begin the game in societal comfort and wealth, and must learn to defect from their decadence.

THIEF - / ROGUE +

"One who steals."

Thieves and Rogues are highly adaptable, as Thieves are capable of fantastic on-the-fly adaptation, whereas Rogues have an infinite toolbox at their disposal. They are both provocateurs, shakers of the status quo, though the Thief does so for personal gain, while the Rogue does so to right injustice.

MAGE - / SEER +

"One who guides."

Mages and Seers are tied together by the gift of prophecy and future sight. Seers are privy to the endless branching paths that the future may take, while Mages are gifted with the ability to outright determine a future that will certainly happen, appearing to be prophecy.

WITCH - / SYLPH +

"One who changes."

Witches and Sylphs are individuals blessed with great magic, but poor judgement. Sylphs heal and nurture, but are drawn to those with strong desires, and enable them to cause great harm; Witches, meanwhile, possess strong emotions, which they often use as moral guidance, for better or worse.

PRINCE - / BARD +

"One who destroys."

Princes and Bards are representatives of society - the one who determines its course, and the one who recounts its passing. Princes suffer from a toxic overabundance of Aspect, and are prone to spectacular meltdowns, whereas Bards are always poised for a crisis of faith. Both are responsible for catastrophic failures - but also breathless victories.

INDIVIDUAL CLASSES

KNIGHT

"One who controls [Aspect] or controls using [Aspect]."

Knights are frontline warriors, rallying points behind which the party falls into line. Although they are often leaders, just as often, they are logistical planners, strategists, or simply the team's beating heart. They are almost always thrust into positions of narrative significance, often carrying grand destinies or even outright heroic prophecies on their shoulders. The are the party's rallying force, its center, and a guiding light - the one to lead the charge, behind which the party will follow.

The primary character struggle a Knight will have is with crippling insecurity. Knights are prone to self-loathing and imposter syndrome, and will often adopt a façade in direct opposition to their aspect (ie, their fundamental personality) in order to cope with their feelings of inadequacy. Thus, their relationship with their aspect becomes love/hate - though they're naturally drawn to their aspect, and even naturally skilled at utilizing it, they have a tendency to become their own worst enemy, as their insecurities make them push their façades, and their façades distance them from their aspect.

"Controlling their Aspect" means that the Knight has easy access to their Aspect, wielding it like a tool or weapon - for good or for ill; "controlling using their Aspect" is what grants Knights their leadership abilities, able to dictate how others ought to act in accordance with the Knight's Aspect - whether their understanding of their Aspect is high or low, whether their advice is good or bad.

Therefore, at their worst, a Knight will fall prey to their insecurities, retreating into their facades, rejecting their Aspect, which will allow disharmony or misuse of it to proliferate throughout the team. They may even wind up deliberately twisting their Aspect's presence within the team so that they never have to be confronted by it; these distortions ripple outwards and eventually culminate in major catastrophes, all on account of the Knight's negligence.

But at their best, a Knight is a shining beacon and guiding light; when they come to terms with themselves, and allow themselves to be comfortable in their own skin - when they no longer allow themselves to be ruled by their insecurities and anxieties - they ensure that their aspect is harmonious wherever it appears throughout their party, and can wield it expertly as a weapon, as if it were their own flesh and blood.

MAID

"One who allows control through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be controlled."

Unlike Knights, which take positions of frontline prominence, a Maid is a managerial presence in the backlines, though no less crucial for the smooth functioning of a party. Just as the invisible hands of the hired help keep a household running, the Maid will be called upon to provide vital services to keep the game stable, even if those services are more noticeable by their absence than their presence. Maids are often the party's unsung heroes or even shadow leaders, tugging at invisible strings, fingers on the pulse.

A Maid's primary character struggle will be that of escaping oppression. Maids tend to start the game in positions of subjugation or subservience, especially to malicious forces, and their abilities often end up being exploited to serve their masters' ends. Therefore, one may even have the impression that a Maid is ruled by their aspect, held prisoner and slave - at least until they're able turn the tables.

"Allowing their Aspect to be controlled" means that Maids are capable of directly dispensing their aspect unto others - a Maid of Time can dispense time unto foes, pausing them in their tracks; a Maid of Life can grant so much life that they can revive the dead. Their boons are great and direct, straightforward in a similar manner to Knights. "Allowing control through their Aspect" grants them their uncanny managerial abilities, as their aspect dictates the realm in which nothing occurs without the Maid's knowledge or permission, a realm made available to whomever the Maid's allegiance lies with.

Thus, at their worst, the Maid becomes a saboteur. Exploited by malign forces, their abilities to allow control over others through their aspect, or control of their aspect, makes them perfect vehicles by which their aspect can be hijacked or usurped, and made to turn against the party, and they often find themselves placed into these positions through no fault of their own. It takes the party banding together to shake off the forces that would keep a Maid in bondage.

However, at their best, Maids ensure that the party can never go too far off the rails. There is a place for everything, and everything will be in its place; a Maid is a supply line, a safe haven, and a promise that everything will be neat and tidy when the party returns from war. When the Maid belongs to themselves, their homestead becomes a fortress, and nothing occurs under the Maid's watchful eye without their express permission.

PAGE

"One who works to inherit [Aspect] or inherits [Aspect] for themselves."

Pages are a class defined by promise. As the name suggests, a Page begins weak, but has the great potential to develop into one of the most powerful players in the game. The exact nature of a Page's powers are vague, not because they are insignificant, but because they are so great that it's difficult to encompass them all. At the apex of their arcs, Pages are capable of miraculous feats, overpowering even Lords and Muses - if only they could reach that point and stay there.

A Page begins the game weakest of all, reflective of their long journey of growth. Where most classes only fall into deficit of their Aspect at their lowest emotional points, Pages begin their arcs in deficit - exhibiting character traits opposite to those their Aspect normally encompasses. Moreso than any other class, a Page must learn to grow into their Aspect. Weak-willed, naive, and easily hurt, Pages require careful nurturing if they're to come into their own.

"Working to inherit their Aspect" describes the endless journey of growth the Page must undertake - one with many missteps, backslides, and setbacks along the way. Still, they "inherit their aspect," meaning that their full potential, when realized, is overwhelmingly great - practically becoming their Aspect in humanoid form, capable of utilizing it to its glorious full potential.

However, their nature defeats them, and even if they can attain this state, the Page usually can't stay there for long. At their very worst, the Page's deficit of their Aspect's better qualities can turn the Page into a gravitic well of misfortune - an albatross about the party's neck, the centerpoint, if not inciting incident, of a massive disaster, as their team is sucked in by the Page's natural weakness.

But this is only true as it contrasts to a Page at their best - having grappled and won with the greatest of all weakness, a Page is poised to come into the greatest of all strength. Shown kindness, compassion, and support, a Page at full power reflects a party at their best. A Page at full strength is breathtaking to behold, an unstoppable force of nature, their Aspect made manifest.

HEIR

"One whom [Aspect] grants inheritance or inherits [Aspect] for others."

Heirs, in contrast to Pages, start the game strong. They usually belong to the upper echelons of their respective societies, a position of great wealth, leisure, and comfort, and are set to be inheritors of even greater wealth. Similarly, their Aspect comes to them as if of its own will - it is powerful, but difficult for the Heir to control, reflecting the wealth and status they've enjoyed as birthright.

An Heir's main challenge is that of examining their privilege, and learning where they wish to spread the gift they've been given. Because of their positions of sheltered comfort, Heirs are not particularly world-wise, and often harbor massive blind spots to the suffering of others and the ills of society. As such, they tend to be fairly aimless, given great power but no strong motivations, and have a tendency to simply indulge in their Aspect without contributing great help or hindrance to their team at all.

The Heir's Aspect is practically an independent entity. Being one whom "their Aspect grants them inheritance" refers to how the Heir starts powerful, able to summon their Aspect to perform great, miraculous acts. However, it is highly intuitive and difficult to control. The Heir's challenge lies not in attaining great power, but in attaining control over, and the ability to direct, their existing abilities. Once they do, they can "inherit their Aspect for others" - Heirs become a conduit through which their party can experience their Aspect, making it a usable pool of wealth for them all to draw from. However, because of their comfortable positions, many Heirs end up dallying, finding no pressing need to do so.

But this dallying hides a ticking clock. An Heir's inheritance will come to them, one way or another, and if they aren't ready to receive the great responsibilities that come with such great power, then the power will eventually consume them. An Heir with no clear direction will eventually become lost to their Aspect, entirely removing both from play. Like how wealthy inheritors simply become part of the status quo, so, too, does an Heir disappear into their Aspect, fixing it in place.

Thus, Heirs must learn where they have been blind, where they have been foolish, and what it means to be underprivileged. Then, once they turn their energies towards addressing those injustices - to taking responsibility for building a better future - when their wealth comes to them, they'll be able to distribute it where it's needed most. An Heir, fully-realized, brings their Aspect to heel, and makes it a resource available to their entire team, as if welcoming them all into the family.

THIEF

"One who steals [Aspect] or steals using [Aspect]."

Thieves are, as the name suggests, greedy - much of their arc revolves around a desire to amass wealth, though what's considered "wealth" varies based on the Thief and especially their Aspect. They tend to be callous people by nature, capable of ignoring or trampling over the feelings of others in order to take what they want, in the hopes of filling an emotional void the Thief may not even be fully aware of.

The Thief's playstyle is one of careful resource management. Reflecting a natural tendency to take "wealth" from others, Thieves are unable to use their Aspect without first "stealing" it - a subtractive act which leaves the victim bereft of the Aspect, weakening them in the process. Because of the finicky nature of these abilities, it takes great cunning to be a Thief, and the Class both demands and requires the player to be adaptable, flexible, and quick on their feet, able to effect complicated schemes and engineer the perfect situations for their powers to have the greatest effect. Thieves aren't necessarily strong, but they have a very high victory ratio, because they're experts at turning a situation to their own advantage.

"Stealing their Aspect" refers to the fundamental way in which the Thief class is played, this resource management game; "stealing using their Aspect" reflects how the Thief often becomes a malignant force within the party, viewing their own teammates as caches of wealth to plunder. Thieves are naturally prone to hurting others for their own purposes, craving drama and attention, and being of such callous dispositions that they're able to perform extreme acts of cruelty given the right motivations.

Thieves often become a target of ire within the party, disruptive forces whose quest for personal wealth and fulfillment comes at the cost of those around them. At their worst, they can bring so much heat down upon their own shoulders that the party feels the need to treat them like an enemy, which is disastrous for party harmony. Moreover, it's disastrous for the Thieves themselves, as Thieves seek wealth to compensate for some emotional emptiness, and making enemies of their friends only serves to deepen their ennui.

Thus, a Thief must be taught that true happiness and fulfillment doesn't come from the struggle for wealth, but from the building of something better with those they care about. A Thief, thus turned to heroic purposes, becomes the party's pinch hitter - an adaptable spy, an unpredictable maverick, an element of surprise - and above all, a reliable ally, capable of turning any tide in the party's favor.

ROGUE

"One who steals from [Aspect] or steals [Aspect] for others."

Rogues, on the other hand, call to mind such figures as Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to distribute to the poor. Rogues are at their best when they're agents of a well-planned heist, as they possess an unlimited toolbox - their own Aspect - to play with. Their Aspect is a treasure trove, just waiting for the Rogue to plunder it and share its riches - if only the Rogue can figure out how.

Rogues are forces of revolution. They naturally carry a rebellious spirit, one which bristles at injustice, takes a stand against authority, and questions the status quo. Their ideas are unfocused, however; they know they must rebel, but usually don't start with a clear idea of against who or what. They know that their society is injust, but they don't know how to address that injustice. They know there are villains, and may even know these villains' identity, but they don't know how best to defy them. In a similar way, they're often lost as to how to utilize their Aspect beyond its most basic applications, and usually require external assistance in order to bring out its full potential.

Rogues' true potential lies in "stealing from their Aspect" - an additive act, rather than a subtractive one, as a Thief's stealing is. Rogues are capable of removing their own Aspect's sway over another entity, allowing it to exhibit the characteristics of the opposite Aspect; a Rogue of Void can create things out of nothing, a Rogue of Heart can tease out behaviors and actions. They can also "steal their Aspect for others," allowing them access to their own Aspect's suite of abilities as well. This allows the Rogue incomparable flexibility, their abilities - like their dispositions - rebellious and subversive.

But their rebellious spirit, coupled with their lack of understanding as to who their real enemies are, is dangerous when left unchecked. Rogues often suffer from a failure to start, giving up on trying to understand the deeper implications of their abilities, and of the society they can't seem to find contentment in - but they can also suffer from a worse fate: rebellion without a cause. Rogues' free spirits can lead to them bucking the status quo in ways that actively harm others, performing acts of taboo or poor taste just because that rebellious energy needs to be put to use somewhere. These can have disastrous knock-on consequences, as some things are taboo for good reason.

Thus, Rogues need to be guided - to make connections with others, and come to a greater understanding of the world at large. Once they know their target, and what needs to be done, the Rogue makes sure there are no obstacles along the way - no safe is uncrackable, no prison inescapable, and no problem unsolvable, so long as the Rogue is there to work their magic.

MAGE

"One who guides [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for themselves."

Mages are prophets, of the "always correct" variety - or so it seems. In actuality, Mages don't "predict" the future, they "choose" it - in a setting where the future is mutable, the Mage's ability is to speak into existence a future they desire, to tip the scales of causality and collapse possibilities into a single definite course. Their Aspect is the lens through which their "prophecy" occurs, a realm in which they command the fabric of reality itself.

As if to karmically balance this incredible power, Mages are afflicted by deep and terrible sadness. They start the game miserable, having been subjected to the greatest injustices their Aspect can offer, tormented by guilt, shame, and self-loathing. Their worldview has been shadowed with a lens of suffering and anguish, and so, too, is their view of the future. Mages usually begin the game having already set several prophecies into motion, and these early prophecies are usually obstacles that the party must overcome.

Mages "guide their Aspect" - this refers to the way their prophecies, that is, their chosen futures, always come true. Their visions may be limited to the sway of their Aspect, but it remains a powerful ability nonetheless. "Guiding their Aspect for themselves," then, outlines the Class's Active nature - the futures the Mage picks must be ones the Mage believes will come to pass.

Unfortunately, Mages have a tendency to pick ugly futures. This isn't out of malice or anger; this is because Mages start the game sad, and without intervention, grow sadder. They're prone to spirals of negativity, self-loathing, and depression, and as their outlook dims, so, too, do their forecasts. Mages suffer, but even suffering can grow familiar - can even appear comfortable or desirable, if the Mage suffers long enough. It's easy for them to grow so accustomed to misery that misery is the only outcome they can see - spelling doom for the rest of the party, one prediction at a time.

But a Mage whose party shows them kindness and forgiveness, compassion and empathy, can pull them out of their misery. How beautiful, then, the future appears! A Mage who believes in a brighter future is a force to be reckoned with. When a Mage can bring themselves to say, "and everyone lived happily ever after," you had better believe they did.

SEER

"One who who is guided by [Aspect] or guides [Aspect] for others."

Seers, meanwhile, are the true future-sighted, able to see the myriad paths the future could take. Like Mages, their Aspect serves as the lens by which their vision is colored; the Seer can sense, with fine accuracy, which paths are closest to the sway of their aspect, and which paths will take them further away. As if gifted with a guide to the game, their intuition is tied directly to the mechanics of SBURB, and they serve as the party's guides, a role indispensable in a game with so many moving parts.

Seers will struggle with blindness, first by hubris and ego, and then by self-harm. Seers begin the game quite full of themselves, proud of their prowess in their Aspect - usually arrogantly so. When this pride is inevitably shattered, Seers have a tendency to deal with their feelings of shame and guilt with willful, self-induced blindness - as if flipping a switch, they become ashamed of the pride they once placed in their Aspect, and seek to place as much distance between it and themselves as possible. There's comfort in ignorance, even if it renders the Seer useless.

Seers are "guided by their Aspect" - able to sense its presence, they gravitate toward it, and towards futures with it in abundance. And, in the same way, they "guide their Aspect for others," lighting the way for others down the path of greatest reward. Seers truly love their Aspect, no matter how much they may misplace their faith in it, and seeking it out is a great joy for them.

This is why a Seer at their worst is so tragic. By inducing intentional blindness within themselves, they are functionally deadening the strongest part of their soul. No matter the temporary relief this brings to the sharp, jagged pain of shame, it invariably deepens the Seer's suffering, as they deny themselves not only their own joy, but their ability to help others - another act which inherently delights them.

Thus, a Seer needs to be made to deal with their shattered ego head-on, to accept their own shortcomings, to become at ease with the idea that they don't have all the answers. Once their vision becomes clear, and their view becomes honest, the party nevermore has to fear becoming lost or straying from the path - the Seer will see to that.

WITCH

"One who changes [Aspect] or changes [Aspect] in others."

Witches are the winds of change, tweaking reality all around them until it suits their desires. A Witch is presence that commands both fear and respect, and their Aspect bows down before them, reduced to a mere minion in the Witch's presence, ready to attend to all their needs. In a way, the Witch's powers are straightforward - they can manipulate their Aspect as they desire, changing its qualities as they see fit. "How they see fit," then, is where the issue lies.

Witches are usually of "outsider" status, never truly being part of the society from which the rest of the party descends. Free from the same rules and common sense that govern the others on their team, Witches instead operate on a value system heavily reliant on their own emotions. What a Witch deems to be correct, to be true, or to be righteous, are often based not in any objective measure, but in subjective, emotional bias - and they're emotional creatures, indeed. Prone to fits of great anger, Witches can be benevolent one second and malicious the next, and their abilities let them imprint, to a greater degree than any other Class, their desires onto the world that comes after them.

Witches "change their Aspect," as in, the crux of their abilities lies in manipulating the qualities of their Aspect in their surroundings - extending, shortening, magnifying, shrinking, growing, removing… so on and so forth. It's a fearsome power. They also "change their Aspect for themselves" - their Aspect is hapless but to obey their desires; Witches change the world to suit themselves, and their feelings of how things "should" be often become how things "are" in short order.

Thus, a Witch who has been swayed toward evil entities and nefarious ends is a truly dangerous opponent - and it is unfortunately easy for this to happen. Witches' social isolation means they tend to trust their emotions, and a force that flatters these emotions can easily win a Witch's trust. By the same token, those that fail to flatter the Witch are often considered enemies, even if they're benevolent forces. A Witch's morality can thus become warped and topsy-turvy, which has grave consequences for the world that the Witch then shapes.

Therefore, a Witch's struggle lies in learning to see beyond their own emotions, to take in the opinions and assistance of others even when it seems superficially unpleasant, to move beyond the childlike rejection of that which is uncomfortable. Once able to see a more nuanced form of right and wrong, once able to tell evil from good, Witches can build even utopia.

SYLPH

"One who allows [Aspect] to change others or changes [Aspect] for others."

Sylphs are nurturers and healers; they bring to mind fey folk whose very footsteps cause plants to grow. Wherever they go, whatever they touch, all becomes suffused with the Sylph's Aspect, which flourishes under their careful cultivation. Sylphs adore their Aspect, and their Aspect adores them; Sylphs generally feel at peace with themselves, surrounding themselves with what they like.

A Sylph's main challenge - or rather, the main challenge that Sylphs wind up posing the rest of the party - is that Sylphs are enablers. They're attracted to those with strong wills and extreme dispositions, amused by the havoc they wreak and pleased by their attention. Sylphs love to pick out favorites and lavish them with care and attention, excusing any wrongdoing on their behalf and shielding them from consequences. At the same time, those who don't strike the Sylph's capricious fancy find themselves discarded in the Sylph's mind, shut out from the boons the Sylph can provide.

A Sylph is "one who allows their Aspect to change others" - this almost always manifests as healing, as it's an additive ability (that is to say, the Sylph can grant more of their Aspect to someone). "Changing their Aspect for others," on the other hand, explains this enabling nature of theirs - the Sylph will intervene to make the world into a playground for their favored individuals, even to the point of turning other, less "interesting" teammates into playthings for the Sylph's beloved.

Thus, while the Sylph themself isn't particularly prone to wild mood swings and acts of malice, their influence can still cause disaster by allowing unscrupulous individuals to flourish - even encouraging their worst tendencies. A Sylph's touch is subtle, but that subtlety only lends it an insidious quality, as the Sylph quietly works against the good of the many for the cruel, selfish pleasures of the few. At their very worst, the Sylph can deem themselves their only favorite, and render everyone else a minor character in their one-man show.

Thus, Sylphs must be challenged. They must be made to reckon with the fact that favorable treatment is not necessarily kindness, and that bias can easily become harm. When a Sylph is able to grasp the difference between bias and doing good, and tune their approach toward that greater good, uncolored by bias and personal preference, then there is no place safer, kinder, and more conducive to growth than the Sylph's embrace.

PRINCE

"One who destroys [Aspect] or destroys using [Aspect]."

Princes are the most anxious, psychologically anguished members of a party. They suffer from a toxic overabundance of their Aspect - its traits are taken to an extreme, and not only the Prince, but those around them, are made to suffer for it. Princes are naturally set on a path of self-destruction, the culmination of their uncontrolled accumulation of their Aspect, and their meltdowns are spectacular, taking their Aspect - and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the same room - with them.

A Prince's challenge, therefore, is as simple to understand as it is difficult to overcome. The Prince needs to learn how to calm down, relax, and find inner peace. Princes are terribly prone to circular thinking and downward spirals. Their natural inclination is to feel anxious and responsible, like they carry the weight of the world, and this causes them to act out in extreme and aggressive ways. Eventually, others pull away, put off by the Prince's intensity. This only deepens the Prince's malaise, and Princes are - pushed by this hovering sense of urgency and catastrophe - willing to employ drastic, desperate measures to enforce compliance with their wills. They wake on their moons early, reflective of their driven natures. They're determined to a frightful degree, and no sacrifice is too great, no work too dirty, if it means achieving what they see as the greater good.

Princes "destroy their Aspect" in this way - by presenting their Aspect at its worst, they make others take distance, ruining it for everyone else. Their hard wills, intense emotions, and unshakeable drive to do what (they feel) needs to be done - at any cost - is their source of power. Thus, Princes "destroy using their Aspect" - their toxic overabundance of Aspect lets them channel it into a pure, annihilatory force; what they lack in the delicate utility of the other classes, they make up for in raw, ruinous power. Princes can easily deal the greatest damage in a combat scenario, their ability to destroy overriding nearly everything that would stand against it.

Thus is the problem with Princes. They're ticking time-bombs of anxiety and frustration; when they finally go off, they carve a path of destruction, before ultimately self-destructing, leaving no trace of their Aspect behind. Not only that, but it's very difficult to defuse the bomb early; Princes have finicky, aggressive, and complicated personalities, and tend to react poorly to straightforward attempts to calm them down and reason with them. They often appear to be their own worst enemies, marching inexorably toward their own destruction.

But Princes not only can be saved, but must be saved. They must be saved because kindness and compassion must exist for their own sake, and a Prince rescued from their own worst tendencies is living proof of the truth of that sentiment. A Prince, given the peace they need to reorient their priorities, will not rest until they see a brighter future realized. They will be the first to rise, and the last man standing, banishing - as if by royal decree - all obstacles, all enemies, all misfortune, and all ills.

BARD

"One who invites destruction through [Aspect] or allows [Aspect] to be destroyed."

Bards are the wild cards of a party, responsible for both improbable victories and catastrophic defeats - sometimes both in a single session. The methods by which a Bard works are a mystery to even the Bard themselves, which make it easy for the party to dismiss their powers - and, by extension, the Bard themselves. After all, who would expect there to be consequences for something so ridiculous as a Bard?

Bards are usually targets of abject ridicule by their teams. They can't help it - they're religious types, or at least types that hold great, lofty, ridiculous beliefs near and dear to their hearts. A Bard's primary struggle invariably winds up being a crisis of faith. Bards begin the game with a positive, "correct" faith in their Aspect; however, something will inevitably occur that shakes the Bard's faith in this viewpoint to its core. In this state, Bards are incredibly fragile, and it's very easy for them to succumb to whispers of cruelty and destruction, for their beliefs to warp, and for the Bard to come to serve the worst aspects of the society they represent.

A Bard "invites destruction through their Aspect" - their powers are subtle, but have catastrophic effects. Bards are instinctively drawn towards causing the first flap of a butterfly's wing, which cascades into a grand, impossible karmic backlash. They "allow their Aspect to be destroyed" by being the conduits for the forces of their faith - whatever faith they hold - to wreak unimaginable consequences across the game.

Thus, a Bard must not be allowed to fall into darkness. The cost is too great. They must be treated with kindness, patience, and sincerity, and given a chance to re-establish their faith in a better, brighter future. If this can be done, then at the party's direst moment - in their darkest hour - they will find that kindness paid back a thousandfold, as an innocuous act by the Bard that no one remembers balloons into a miracle.

#homestuck #homestuck analysis #classpect #classpecting #classpects #homestuck classpect #this essay is 10k words long #you may be wondering why i didn't split it up into smaller essays and the answer is pretty simple #so many of these ideas are interconnected and interrelated that it's not actually useful to hear about JUST Hope or JUST Maids or JUST Heir #like even aside from the equal-and-opposite splits #(which is how some of the less thoroughly explored classes and aspects need to be understood)#there's things like how pages actually start in deficit of their aspect personality-wise #jake has few convictions and is wishy-washy - tavros lacks freedom and independence - horuss lacks simplicity and emptiness #this isn't something you would “get” if you didnt know about the way aspect is tied to personality #it's fascinating because if you compare characters that share the same class similar things keep jumping out #but yeah again i have textual evidence to support every claim so please feel free to ask #i just couldn't justify doubling or even tripling the length of the essay to include things like #'ever notice how karkat - the BONDS and FRIENDSHIP knight - has a big Leader Who Dont Need No Friendship persona #and how dave - the Details and Minutiae knight - has a disaffected coolkid who doesn't give a shit about anything persona #and how latula - the Justice and Cunning knight - has a loud dumb obnoxious gamegrl nice-to-everyone persona #which she even admits is a persona she uses to hide how smart she is out of the apparent anxiety that people won't like her otherwise #i know people will object to the heir thing because 'mituna was oppressed on beforus' but let me clarify here #heirs are set to inherit comfortable lifestyles and wealth *by the standards of their society*#john is literally the heir of crockercorp and equius is blueblood nobility #but if you really think about it those aren't necessarily happy outcomes either #john would've had to become a stuffy businessman like Dad (and an evil capitalist lol)#and equius is also Still Oppressed and would've had to become a murderer cop #but it's still a position of wealth and comfort *for their society* - mituna would've been culled (like sollux)#but that would've meant being pampered and provided for #which is a great deal by the standards of his society regardless of how good or bad (bad) it actually is in practice

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kryllia · 6 months ago

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Strings of Obsession

Yanndere guitarist x reader

art from pinterest

The spotlight bathed the stage in a warm glow, illuminating the band as they launched into their opening number. My eyes were drawn to the lead guitarist, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with effortless grace. He was a whirlwind of energy, his grin infectious as he poured his heart into every note. When his eyes met mine across the crowd, he faltered—just for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before his smile grew sharper, almost predatory.

His name was Eli. After the set, he approached me with a mix of boyish enthusiasm and something darker. “Did you like it? Did you have a favorite part?” he asked, his golden eyes locking onto mine like a hunter cornering prey. There was a magnetic pull to him, and I felt myself nodding along, unable to look away.

Over the next few months, Eli wove himself into my life with deliberate precision. He invited me to every gig, insisting I sit front and center. He’d send me voice memos of riffs he wrote “just for me” and pouted if I took too long to reply to his texts. It was flattering… but it was intense.

One evening, after a performance that left the room thrumming with energy, Eli dragged me to their cramped rehearsal space. The air was thick with the smell of old amps and cigarette smoke, and I perched on a sagging couch as they played. Every time Eli nailed a solo, he’d glance at me, his lips curling into a self-satisfied smirk.

“Did you hear that? All for you,” he whispered, his voice dripping with unspoken meaning.

His bandmates – Liam on bass and Noah on drums – teased him relentlessly. “Dude, you’re gonna write her a whole album,” Liam snorted, strumming his bass absentmindedly.

Eli didn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes glinted as he looked at me. “Maybe I already have.”

"Oh good maybe it will be new hit dude. Maybe I can add some my own love songs." Noah thinks about new album and watching you.

Later that night, as he walked me home, his arm draped possessively around my shoulders, a group of guys passed us on the sidewalk. One of them lingered a moment too long, his gaze sliding over me appreciatively. Eli’s grip tightened, his knuckles brushing against my arm in a silent warning.

“You’re cold,” he said abruptly, slipping his jacket over my shoulders. His voice was low, almost tender, “You look better in this than I do,” he murmured, but his eyes stayed locked on the group until they disappeared around the corner.

From then on, Eli’s possessiveness deepened. If someone at a gig so much as smiled at me, he’d appear at my side, his arm around my waist, announcing himself as “her boyfriend” in a tone that left no room for debate. He’d kiss my temple, murmur how much I meant to him, and shoot venomous glares at anyone who dared linger.

One night, after a particularly packed show, Liam offered me a ride home while Eli packed his gear. As I started to follow Liam out, Eli appeared in my path, his expression dark.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low and taut.

“Liam offered me a ride,” I said, confused by his sudden tension.

“I’ll take you home,” he said flatly. His hand clamped around mine with a strength that made my heart stutter. Liam raised his eyebrows but didn’t protest, leaving me alone with Eli’s smoldering presence.

The walk was tense, Eli unusually quiet. When we reached my doorstep, he turned to me, his expression raw with emotion. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” His voice was low, trembling. “Promise me you’ll always stay with me.”

The words didn’t feel like a plea—they felt like a threat.

Days later, Eli invited me to his apartment. It was cluttered but cozy, an intimate window into his chaotic world. But when he led me into his bedroom, my breath caught. The walls weren’t just covered in posters of bands—they were covered in pictures of me.

Photos I didn’t remember posing for. Photos from angles I couldn’t have noticed. Some were printed from my social media, but others… others were taken when I wasn’t looking.

“I wanted to keep you close,” he said, his voice soft but laced with something unyielding. He stepped closer, cupping my face with calloused hands. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Say you’re mine.”

I stammered something, my mind racing for an escape. His grip tightened—not painful, but firm enough to send a shiver down my spine.

Over the following weeks, Eli became omnipresent. He’d appear at places I hadn’t told him I’d be. His texts came in waves—affectionate, frantic, demanding. His gifts became lavish: jewelry, custom-written songs, a notebook filled with sketches of me.

Then came the darker moments. His frustration when I spent time with others. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he saw me with Liam.

The breaking point came one night at a café. Liam and I were discussing a project when Eli walked in. His presence was like a shadow overtaking the room. He slid into a chair uninvited, his gaze fixed on Liam with quiet menace.

Liam left quickly, leaving me alone with Eli’s simmering anger. “Why him?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“We were just working—”

“You could’ve asked me to help,” he interrupted, leaning closer. His hand found mine, his grip vice-like. “I don’t like sharing you.”

When I tried to pull away, his fingers tightened. “Eli, you’re hurting me,” I whispered.

His face crumpled in remorse, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t fade. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, brushing his lips against my knuckles. “I just… I love you so much. Too much, maybe.”

That night, I received a text from him: “You’re mine. I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

The next morning, I woke to find my apartment filled with roses. Hundreds of them. My phone buzzed with another message: “You deserve the world. And I’ll give it to you—even if it kills me.”

A knock sounded at the door. My heart raced as I approached, but I knew who it would be.

Eli stood there, a bouquet in one hand and a knife in the other. His smile was heartbreakingly tender, his eyes glowing with devotion.

“Let’s make it official,” he said, stepping inside.

#yandere #yandere male #yandere blog #yandere boy #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere Guitarist #Yan!Guitarist #Yan!Guitarist x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere x reader

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navybrat817 · 1 year ago

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Hold You Tight: Part 3

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 2 | Series Masterlist | Part 4

Chapter Summary: The date is just beginning, but you're not sure if you can keep it together.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.8k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, stalking, coercion, threats (not against reader), creepy and unhinged behavior, possessiveness, manipulation, mental and emotional whiplash, reader is trying to stay calm, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies enjoy and thank you again for the feedback so far! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You took a deep breath and another, but it didn’t stop your heart from picking up in your chest. It was a feat that your legs didn’t give out. Your throat felt rough and raw, except you hadn’t screamed. You hadn’t made a sound. Not until Bucky moved toward you, pulling a whimper from you.

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” he said, cupping your face with a smile. You wanted to believe there was a warmth behind it or that he had a voice in his head telling him that this wasn’t right. That none of this was right. “Don’t you like them?”

“The flowers. The guy who bought them…” you swallowed, wondering exactly who he was and how he was associated with Bucky. Did Bucky know him well or was he a stranger? Did he bribe him into going into his shop?

“Oh, he’s fine,” Bucky assured you, which didn’t make you feel any better. “Loved the tulips you helped pick out for him. I know his girl will be very happy to get them, too.”

The citrus and woodsy combination of Bucky’s cologne filled your nostrils as you took another deep breath. You expected to stumble back when he suddenly crouched down, but you didn’t budge an inch. Once again, you were frozen in fear. Why couldn’t you move? You told yourself he wouldn’t hurt you. Why bother dragging you all the way to his place for that when he could’ve done so in your home?

Or, apparently, your place of work.

“Why don’t we have some of that wine after I show you around?” He asked, retrieving the clutch you dropped.

“Do you really expect me to just sit and have a drink with you?”

“Not just a drink,” he said, slowly standing and reminding you just how large he was. “Dinner. Dessert.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” You asked.

He nodded over your shoulders. “There’s one right behind you.”

You turned and went into the bathroom, careful not to lock the door behind you as much as you wanted to. He may have broken down the door if you tried. You gripped the sink as you struggled to take your next breath, blood rushing in your ears as you looked at your reflection. A voice in the back of your mind whispered to stay calm when tears threatened to spill over for the second time that evening.

Could you though? Could you play along and get through this night without having some sort of breakdown? You had to try.

Your attention was pulled away by the soft knock on the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Would you care if I wasn't?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

The door opened a heartbeat later, but you didn't dare meet his gaze in the mirror as he approached. Not even as he pressed himself against your back, your body trapped between his and the sink. It was suffocating. He brought a hand up to lift your chin, forcing your eyes to lock with his. The light above the mirror put a spotlight on the intensity of his gaze as his lips brushed your ear.

“I care more than you think,” he whispered, turning you to face him. His fingers traced the column of your neck before he let go. “In time, I know you’ll see that.”

You fought the urge to laugh as he led you back into the entryway. If he cared, he would’ve gone about this whole thing differently. You focused your attention instead on the penthouse, taking in more of the decor as he showed you around. As immaculate as the place looked, it lacked a personal touch. Where were the photos? Trinkets?

“What do you think?”

“It’s a beautiful place,” you answered. And it was beautiful, but it didn't feel like a home or lived in like your place.

“A bit spacious for just me,” he said, glancing at you. Was it his roundabout way of stating again how he expected you to move in?

“Yeah, it’s a lot for one person, but it’s still nice.”

He nodded in agreement. “The couch is comfortable if you ever want to take a nap,” he said, an almost knowing look in his eyes as you stopped at the living room. Jesus, did he know you slept on your couch last night? “Though I’d prefer you sleep in our bed.”

“Our” bed. Not subtle at all. “I know you said this would be my place one day, too, but maybe we should get well past the first date before we talk about sharing a bed,” you said, sarcastically adding, “I hog the blankets, so I hope you're prepared for that.”

He chuckled and you wished you didn't like the pleasant sound. “You can have as many blankets as you want. And I had every intention of showing you the master bedroom tonight, but I think I’ll wait.”

“Really?” You asked, hoping you didn't sound too eager to avoid seeing it. Was there a catch?

“Really,” he said, pulling you close by the hips. Through his clothes, you felt how firm he was. There was strength there you couldn't match. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. And when I take you to bed, I’m going to ruin you. That's a promise.”

A shuddering breath left your lungs as he leaned in, his lips skimming yours.

“But I’m not the monster you think I am, which is why I’m going to wait,” he whispered.

It was a relief that Bucky wasn't going to take you to bed. Not tonight, at least. At the same time, what exactly was he waiting for? He made it clear that he wanted you and wasn't going to let go. What game was he playing?

Thinking about it was enough to drive you mad.

“And you won't hurt me?” You questioned. You had to hear him say it.

“I’d never hurt you,” he promised, pulling away at the two knocks on the front door.

He wouldn't hurt you, but what about other people?

“Chef’s here, boss,” the guard’s voice rang out.

“Perfect timing,” Bucky smiled.

He kept a hand on you as he guided you to the kitchen, the guard and who you assumed to be the chef entering seconds later. “Mr. Barnes, so good to see you.”

“You as well,” Bucky replied, his demeanor professional and somewhat colder.

Your eyes went back to the guard as Bucky chatted with the chef. He seemed to avoid your gaze, keeping his eye instead on the two men speaking. Did he know the circumstances that brought you here? Would he care if he did?

“You’re sure this is what you’d like, Mr. Barnes? This is a relatively simple meal,” the chef scoffed, making a show of gesturing to the ingredients. It dawned on you as you looked at them that he was going to prepare one of your favorite meals. Your stomach dropped, but you kept quiet. Of course, Bucky knew.

And of course, it wasn't sophisticated.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as if he sensed your embarrassment. The guard didn't look impressed by the chef’s comment either. “It’s her favorite. Are you insulting my girl’s taste?” he spoke, making you shiver from the ice in his tone.

“No, Mr. Barnes. Of course not! I meant no disrespect.” The chef shook his head, meeting your gaze with a shaky smile. “To be simple is to be great.”

“That’s right. Simplicity is also to be respected,” Bucky said, pointing a gloved finger at him. “And with your reputation, it better be the best meal she has ever had. I’d hate to see what happens if she doesn’t like it.”

“It’s fine,” you whispered. It was better to focus on easing the situation instead of yet another reminder that he knew another intimate detail about you. That and you felt bad as the man behind the counter began to sweat. “I’m sure the meal will be delicious. Thank you for taking the time to come here and prepare it.”

The tension dissipated as Bucky softly smiled at you, a crisis averted for the time being. “We’re going to enjoy our wine on the balcony while he prepares our meal,” he told the guard. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Will do.”

Bucky took you away from the kitchen before the chef could speak another word to you. Fresh air might help you breathe easier. He opened the glass door, the night breeze making you shiver as you stepped outside. The view of the city stretched on and the moon and stars lit up the sky. It was breathtaking.

You jumped when Bucky put his jacket around your shoulders. The romantic gesture felt like a claim. “I hope his comment didn't upset you. If it did-”

“It’s fine. Really,” you assured him, glancing at the two-seater table as he pulled out a chair for you. Two glasses were set out as well, along with what you knew to be an expensive bottle of wine. “This is gorgeous.”

“It is,” he agreed, your cheeks flaming when you saw him looking at you instead of the view.

“Do you spend a lot of time out here?” You asked.

He popped the cork on the bottle and poured each of you a small amount. You almost thanked him for that. You had to keep your wits about you.

“Not as much as I’d like to,” he said, nodding to a small sofa in the corner as he took a seat. “But I do like to read out here.”

“You read in your free time?” You asked, biting back a moan when you sipped the wine.

His eyes lit up and just as quickly darkened when you licked your lips. “I do. Reading has always been a hobby of mine. I even have first editions of some of my favorite books.”

“That’s really nice,” you smiled. For a moment it felt like the two of you were having a normal conversation.

That good feeling went away when he took out a velvet box.

“Can’t forget about the surprise,” he smiled before he handed it over. It looked too long to be a ring box, thankfully, but it wouldn't have surprised you if there was an engagement ring inside. Which was likely why your hand shook as you opened it.

The diamond pendant was stunning enough to make you gasp. Five stones each a different shape, they sparkled under the moonlight. The kind of necklace you could only dream of having.

“Bucky, I’m sorry.” You shut the box and slid it back across the table toward him. “I can’t accept this.”

His gaze flickered to the box before he looked at you again. You wanted to believe he looked concerned, but he hadn’t exactly taken any of your feelings into consideration so far. “Why not? We can pick out another together if you’d rather have something else.”

“I can’t accept it because it’s too much,” you said. Accepting the gift would make the situation more real.

He chuckled after a moment. “No, it isn't. Nothing would ever be too much for me to give to you.”

You reached across to tap the top of the box. “Bucky, this is the kind of gift that you give to your wife or fiancé or girlfriend. Hell, maybe a mistress or a sugar baby. I’m none of those things.” Something flickered in his gaze and that should’ve been your warning to stop, but you kept going anyway. “I’m not your girl.”

He took your hand before you could pull it away, his jaw clenched. “You’re right about one thing. You’re not my mistress or a sugar baby,” he agreed. “You could never be those things because you are the only one I see.”

But why? It didn’t make any sense to you. “But-”

“Girlfriend, fiancé, wife,” he ticked off with the fingers of his free hand. “We'll get to all those phases of our relationship, so you might as well accept this gift now or you'll be accepting much more than this later.”

You swallowed, but didn’t attempt to pull away. His grip didn’t hurt and you didn’t know exactly what he was implying, but you didn’t want to find out tonight. Not when he promised he wouldn’t drag you off to his room. “Thank you for the wonderful gift.”

He smiled and took the box as he stood. You didn't protest as he moved to put the necklace around your neck nor did you flinch when his fingers moved along on your skin. When he sat back down, he sighed and lovingly looked you over. “It's beautiful. Just like I knew it would be on you."

You touched it after a moment, the feel of his fingertips still lingering. “I didn't expect something so nice for a first date.”

“This is only the beginning.” He tilted his head and let his eyes watch you trace the delicate gems. “You deserve so much more.”

“Is this some elaborate joke?” You scoffed a bit. He sounded so sure of himself, that he believed you deserved the world. But why? “You do realize that I'm just a florist. And I don't say that to belittle my career because I love what I do, but I'm nothing special.”

Sadness took over his eyes. “Why would you say that?”

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have with the stranger who broke into your home. You didn’t want to have any sort of conversation tonight. “Because I don't own the flower shop I work at. I'm not rich. Hell, I lived with a roommate until last year just to save up and afford my own place. You should know since you researched me,” you said without a trace of bitterness. “I’m not a party girl. I don't turn heads wherever I go. I just want to work with my flowers, go home, and live a simple little life.”

His eyes followed the motion of you biting your lip again before he shook his head. “You think being rich and owning a business are the things it takes to make someone special?”

“No, I don't think that.”

“Then what does?”

You looked around the balcony with a sigh before meeting his gaze again. “Who a person is makes them special.”

“Yet everything you stated has nothing to do with who you are. So I’ll ask again, why would you say you're nothing special?”

You didn't know how to respond. You thought he would’ve just dropped the conversation, so you looked into your lap with a shake of your head. If you were special, wouldn’t you have found someone by now the way Addision and your other friends had? You didn’t want to pour out your insecurities, even if he seemed to hold an invisible knife and was ready to cut them open. “I don't know. I just know I’m not.”

He hummed a little. “So, would someone who is nothing special make homemade meals for her neighbor because she recently had a baby and probably wouldn't have time to cook for herself?”

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly hurt yourself. “How-”

“And not only are you in Addison's wedding party, you offered to have her flowers done so she could have more money for her honeymoon. You're telling me that being caring and thoughtful doesn’t make a person special?”

Goosebumps raised on your skin, realizing just how thorough he was in his research of you. “How do you know all of that about me?” Tears sprang to your eyes and you blinked them back. “I didn't tell anyone about my neighbor or the flowers.”

He cracked a small smile. “That's one of the things that makes you special. You don't do those things expecting anything in return and you sure as hell don't do it to brag. You do them because you care.” He took a second to lean back in his seat, his eyes still on you. “When I see something I want, I give it my all. And I'm not afraid to use my resources. I told you, I like to be thorough.”

You giggled. A hysterical sort of giggle. One that scared you because you had never laughed like that. “I don't know if I can do this,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I shouldn't be here. I should be getting a restraining order.”

Bucky didn't look offended in the slightest. “You could try. Do you think it’ll stop me?”

What little resolve you had left snapped. “Oh, my god. Do you hear yourself? I mean, really hear yourself?!” You snapped, tempted to throw the remainder of your wine on him when he didn’t react. “You know what a first date is, right? It’s two people trying to get to know each other and to see if there’s a mutual connection. You didn’t give me a chance to form a connection with you because you decided it for me after you stalked me.”

His brows pinched like you hurt his feelings. “Doll-”

“You know ‘everything’ about me, but what do I know about you, huh?” You continued, your anxiety bubbling over. “I know that you own a club and that you break into homes and scare the shit out of people. Oh, and that you read. And you apparently have the world at your fingertips since you can send people into my place of work and find out details about me that most aren’t privy to. You could probably use those resources of yours for good or to help others, but you used them to dig into my life when I didn't ask you to!”

“Some people do research before a first date,” he pointed out, not raising his voice.

“Not a full background check! I’m not an employee of yours and I’m not a toy for you to play with!” You huffed as you sat back, suddenly exhausted. How was he unphased? “You really think you have a say in my future? Are you that much of a control freak that you think you can control me?”

The silence stretched on as Bucky considered you and your body trembled as he idly sipped his wine. You weren’t the type to snap and you suddenly felt the urge to apologize for your outburst, which wasn’t fair. He put you in this situation, so why did you want to make it better?

Because you didn’t know what he would do.

“I’m not trying to control you,” he stated, handing you a handkerchief.

“It feels like you are and that isn’t fair,” you said, dabbing at your eyes. Life wasn’t exactly fair though, was it? “And for the record, the only reason I’m not tossing this wine on you is because it’s delicious and it would be a waste.”

His nose scrunched as he laughed. “I wish you could’ve met my mom. She would’ve loved you,” he said so softly you almost missed it, the change in topic jarring to say the least. What happened to her? “I’ve tried traditional dating. It doesn’t and hasn’t worked for me so far. The last woman I dated? She tried to rob me, if you can believe that.”

You sighed, still a bit worn out from your rant. “I can,” you said. There were greedy people in the world and he seemed to have more than enough to provide others with a comfortable life. It wasn’t right that someone tried to take what he earned.

It also wasn’t right what he was doing to you.

“In my line of work, everyone wants something from me. Money, power, favors. It’s hard to trust people,” he said, his gaze surprisingly soft as he took your hand again. “But not you.”

“Because that’s not the kind of person I am,” you guessed.

You were in many ways the opposite of him. While you weren’t poor, you certainly weren’t rich or powerful and didn’t want to use people for your gain. Perhaps that was why he wanted you so badly. You were someone who didn’t want anything from him. Someone like you was easy for him to control since you didn’t run in that kind of circle, even if he said he wasn’t trying to.

Maybe you should have put up a fight instead of making yourself an easy target.

Wait, why were you blaming yourself?

“I know it isn’t,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. “So, maybe I’m a control freak and maybe my approach is a bit extreme, but I don't want to control you. I like who you are, doll. You’re loyal and caring and real. The kind of person I want and need.”

You took a sip of wine so you didn't have to respond. He needed you, so he said, but did you need him? And why did his praise warm your insides? You didn't want it to feel nice.

“And maybe I like that you aren’t the kind of person who has a hidden agenda and that you aren’t a party girl. Even you snapping at me. I love that fire. I want more of it. Burn me with it if you want,” he continued, sweeping his gaze over you once again. “Fuck, I can’t take my eyes off you. And I can't stop thinking about you.”

The look in his eyes put you on edge. “But we-”

“You’re good for me and you may not believe I’m good for you, but I am. We’re right for each other,” he said. The fierce determination in his gaze almost had you believing it. “And aren’t you tired of being lonely? I know I am.”

Loneliness could eat away at a person. Drive them to do desperate things. It didn't excuse his actions.

“Lonely or not, you can't force us to be together,” you said.

“I’m not forcing us to be together. You chose to be here tonight.”

“You know why I came here,” you argued. He had to know you did this because of his threat. “And I’ll behave or do whatever I need to do for the rest of the night, but I can't promise anything beyond that.”

Instead of anger like you expected, he smiled. Like a wolf flashing his teeth before sinking into its prey. “That’s okay because I have a promise for you,” he began, the flame dancing in his eyes. “You’ll be out of your apartment before the end of the month.”

The balcony door opening covered up the wheeze you let out, but didn't hide the despair written all over your face. He couldn't be serious. “Dinner’s ready,” the guard stated.

Bucky didn't spare him a glance as he stood and kept your hand in his, your appetite gone as his smile widened. “C’mon, doll. Better not let it get cold.”

Ooh. Will he really have you out of your place that soon? How awkward will that meal be? And who do we think this guard is? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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