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yieldtotemptation · 10 months ago

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CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ‘who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting. It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. So wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard, it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets. You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye; she’s still watching you. Enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.”

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat snaps open the buttons of her shirt. Casually revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants. “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good.

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you somehow manage to choke out.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you hostage. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s all she wants from you, all she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

Wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

#kpop smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut #male reader

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electricgg · 1 month ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 8: Sometimes, I wish Someone Out There Will Find Me

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 (Here!) / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 /

Detention was actually the worst that could happen.

Being in detention is a form of punishment where a student is required to stay after school, during lunchtime, or recess period to complete extra work or assignments. Sometimes, even doing cleaning work around the classroom under the supervision of a teacher.

She would have preferred doing the cleaning over this.

Mr. Munroe decided the best form of detention for running around the halls and causing a ruckus (she found it stupid that it was against the rules to run in the halls. How was she supposed to know that? She had never gone to school before) was for the three of them to sit in silence in his classroom until extracurricular club activities were over.

Thankfully, Bobby didn’t have official practice that afternoon; his only plans were to practice with her in the field by themselves. But the detention would go to his track record, which wasn’t a good thing.

Goldilocks, now named Warren Worthington III (what a posh name-), almost gave a hissy fit over the punishment because he had practice with the debate team. Mr. Munroe quickly stopped his complaining under the threat of extending his detention.

And now, all three of them sat at different desks. The silence was interrupted every few moments by the loud snores of Mr. Munroe, who slept in his chair with his legs over the desk and arms crossed.

They had already tried a few times to sneak off, thinking the teacher was a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t notice it.

They got proven wrong.

Six times.

And that was enough humiliation for the rest of the day.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned from her desk at the front right corner, just in front of the teacher’s desk. He had sat her there after making the mistake of putting her near the door on her second escape attempt.

Her feet shuffled against the floor, making the sole of her shoes squeak from the friction as her fingers refused to remain still. Cracking knuckles, tapping, tracing shapes, rattling the desk, amongst other things.

It was hell. She needed to move-

“Stop. Moving.” Warren hissed, three desks behind her. Sitting on the second line of desks, while Bobby sat on the third line, on the second desk.

She glared at him over her shoulder, mouthing ‘make me’, her right knee bouncing and accidentally hitting underneath the desk.

A sharp snore from Mr. Munroe’s desk was warning enough to keep them quiet for a few minutes.

“Can’t believe you dragged me into this-”

The girl groaned, throwing her head back. “Do you only complain?!”

Warren huffed, nose scrunched in offense, with his arms crossed. “I wouldn’t complain if I weren’t here because of you-”

“I already said I was sorry!” She turned half of her body in Warren’s direction, catching Bobby’s attention from his improvised desk drawing session.

The blonde boy gave her a harsh glare, jaw twitching, and eyebrows furrowed. He had been like this for the past hour and a half. Chiding and arguing to the air, and getting on her nerves. It had been by a pure miracle that Mr. Munroe hadn’t gotten up from his nap and done something about the wailing boy.

Or maybe he was tuning them out, not caring as long as they didn’t get in a physical fight.

Either way, Warren had made it his personal goal to make guilt eat her alive.

She already felt bad enough for getting Bobby into trouble, even after he had told her it was all alright. Said he preferred this over playing catch by himself in the field, which only made her feel even worse.

And she had also apologized to Warren as well, knowing he was also dragged into this without fault (then again, he was the one who gave away their position to Richard by yelling in the halls-), but that only seemed to aggravate his attitude towards her.

Whatever he was angry about was more than just the detention.

The only positive outcome of this whole situation was the fact that Richard got a chew out from none other than the grumpy teacher who got all of them in here in the first place. Bobby had to pinch her so she would stop snickering under her breath and at least pretend not to look so smug at Richard getting his ass handed to him by a man shorter than him.

All because he wasn’t an official guardian and was getting onto the school grounds without proper permission.

The universe worked in mysterious ways, truly.

“What’s your goal here, man?” Bobby drawled out, genuinely curious. Warren scoffed, disbelief in his face as he put his attention on the other boy. “She has already said sorry. There’s nothing else she can do.”

“What she can do is take responsibility and admit she can’t keep her word when it comes to deals.” He claimed, which made her sputter in offense.

“What deal are you even talking about?-”

“So now you have amnesia out of the sudden?” He probed with sarcasm. “What else? Hit your head and forgot how to answer texts as well?”

The dead silence for a few moments made both boys look directly at her, expecting another quick quip from her. Instead, they got a squittish, almost stressed expression on her face. Eyes wide and unblinking. Lips inward and posture shirking on her seat.

“...Oh, you’re fucking joking-”

She interrupted Warren, “For the record, I did hit my head, and lost my phone, and everything is a bit muddled-”

“Oh my fucking God-” Warren groaned out, hands going down his paleing face.

“But, I got a new phone out of it! So, it’s not that bad-”

“Actually,” Bobby was the one to interrupt this time. “It is bad. And the bar is in hell if you think getting a new phone is the best outcome of this whole situation.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Warren snapped out of his internal crisis to give her a pointed look. “I have the feeling that you did mean it-”

“Same here.”

“Oh, fuck both of you-”

A loud ringtone made them shut up and turn towards the now-waking teacher. He grumbled under his breath, taking his legs off the table, and rummaging through his bag to pick up his phone. With a narrowed glare at the call ID, he got up from his chair with a grunt and walked towards the door.

Not before addressing the teens, who followed his every move.

“I’m right in the hall, so no daring escapes, Wayne.” pointing at her with his finger as he stepped out and closed the door. The girl waited a bit before mocking him with exaggerated facial expressions.

Bobby chuckled while Warren shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching before thinning out.

That was enough for her to get up and sit in the chair at the desk right in front of a puzzled Warren. Bobby didn’t hesitate and sat on the desk beside the blonde, giving him a grin and a shrug in response to his wide stare.

“Alright, let’s clear up some things.” She assented. “Because I would rather not talk about how messy things are at home, and I would prefer not to have any issues with anyone at the only place where I can stay away from them.”

Warren’s gaze shifted to something she couldn’t place. Mostly, because saying that it softened wouldn’t be accurate enough for someone like Warren, who has been showing annoyance and anger from the very first impression.

With a short nod, that shift in his eyes was gone, intrigue now written in them.

“Fine, but we still got a deal.”

Bobby frowned, nose twitching as he leaned forward on his seat. “What is this whole deal thing? Can’t be that serious… Unless it’s about money-”

Warren cut him off with a deadpan tone. “It’s not money. We both have plenty of that, even if Wayne here doesn’t dress like so.”

“Rude.” She muttered with a pout. But Warren continued.

“Our deal was an agreement.” He clarified. “Wayne here, needed a companion for her musical piece at the school’s recital. She needed someone to play the violin while she played the piano. We've been practicing for weeks nonstop until last week.”

And last week, the real Wayne died from drowning, and someone else took hold of her body.

‘Fuck my luck, seriously.’

“And now,” Warren sighed. “Not only am I finding out the true reason why you didn’t answer my texts, but that you have also done a complete one-eighty in personality.”

“I haven’t changed that much,” she frowned. She was pretty sure she and Wayne weren’t that different.

Both boys gave her dumbfounded looks, especially Warren, who for the first time laughed in a mockless manner.

“Actively avoiding your so beloved older brother and preferring school over spending time with your family? Yes, you have changed that much.” Warren chuckled under his breath. “And that’s without mentioning your attitude and charming manners.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just insult my wonderful manners.”

“But he’s right,” Bobby butted in, shaking his head. “Not the insult thing, of course. But you have changed. I had never seen you be so…”

Warren took it from there. “So outgoing. So loud. So chatty.”

While Bobby argued about why he was making it sound like it was a bad thing, the young girl began to delve into her own thoughts. Was she really that outspoken? She hadn’t thought about it. After all, she was pretty much relying on what information Wayne could give her. And all of that was surrounding the family. On how she can’t trust them. How much hurt they have caused. How lonely and painful it had been for Wayne to live in that house.

Nothing much about who she was.

Who she truly was.

Her likes. Her dislikes. Her quirks. Anything that made her her own person.

It was a sad realization. But it also made her feel relieved. Relieved that she was different from her, that someone had noticed. That she didn’t have expectations, at least from these two, of how she should act or pretend.

And not saying she wasn’t doing that with the Waynes. But most of her behavior was influenced by what Wayne had shown her. Always on guard and needing to be defensive over anything and everything because it’s what Wayne needed from her. What she deserved because she was no longer able to speak for herself.

And she would do it ten times over. But that didn’t stop it from being tiring and so so lonely.

“Hey, you alright?” Bobby’s cold hand softly shook her shoulder, making her lift her gaze towards the now concerned boys.

Before she could say anything, the feeling of wetness going down her left cheek made her go still. She quickly wiped it away, rubbing the side of her nose while clearing her throat. Trying to disimulate.

“I’m fine. Must be the dust in the room.” She said roughly, knee bouncing.

Warren began to prattle, an awkward and anxious expression as his ears reddened. “I didn’t mean to- I mean, I didn’t expect to make you cry. Don’t listen to shit of what I said- I didn’t-”

It was funny to see how much of a mess he became over some tears, it made her chuckle. Which quickly put a stop to Warren’s yammering and gained a deep relived sigh from Bobby.

“It’s fine, just realized something.” She clarified, making sure her face was dry with the sleeve of her uniform.

The boys exchanged glances, deciding to leave it there for now. If she wanted to say it or talk about it, it would be better if she made the first step.

And she was glad for that.

“You said it was a deal,” her tone mild, changing the subject quickly to avoid any deep talks or emotions. “ What’s your side of it? That’s why you agreed to it, right?”

Now it was Warren’s turn to look like a deer in headlights once again. He cleared his throat, avoiding looking at Bobby, who was looking quite eager to hear his part of the deal. Part of Warren wanted to kick his chair so he would fall off and stop staring at him, but he held it back.

“Yeah. I helped you out with your recital, and then you would help me out with being my plus one to my father’s gala.”

As Bobby choked on his spit and Warren tackled him with a red face while screaming, she stared at an empty corner with a blank expression.

Suddenly, exorcising a spirit wasn’t sounding so bad.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“I’m not joking, Barb! A man like that couldn’t possibly be a teacher!”

The woman held back her laugh, nodding with a hum as she scrolled down her phone. Both of them were sitting inside Dick’s car. He switched his sports car to another simple model when he decided to bring Barbara to the academy as emotional support for when it was time to pick up his sister from detention.

A detention he found completely unjustified.

Barba thought he was being melodramatic, but Dick was standing tall on his perception and couldn’t be moved from it.

He swore those boys were the ones to be blamed.

It made sense! His defenseless little sister had no way of standing against those brats. They were taller. Bigger. Malicious teenagers, looking to take advantage of her timid, empathetic, and good nature.

That was why she was acting like that: defensive, prickly, and distant. It was an act of avoidance so she wouldn’t bother the family. Distanced herself from them, from him, just so she could shoulder such a heavy burden by herself.

His sweet, poor sister, how alone did she think she was to turn to such a thing?

How could he even handle the fact that he had been ignoring the signs for so long? She had tried to reach out multiple times. A simple hello. Asking about his day. Texting him invitations to recitals.

It was like getting dumped in a tub of ice-cold water the moment he scrolled down their Messenger chat.

‘Hope everything is alright at work. Remember to take some time to rest!’ ‘Hey, Alfred told me you were dropping by. Do you think we can go to the movies together?’ ‘Heard you got a recognition at work today, congrats!’ ‘I've got a recital by the end of the month. I hope you can come for just a little bit.'

A bullet to the head would have hurt less than the realization of how bad he fucked up.

Not a single reply. Not a single one from his side of the chat room.

But that didn’t matter now. He had messed it up, but he’s still got time to make it right! Because his sister was a good person. She was filled with pure goodness, and she would understand that he was trying to fix it. That he was there for her now, and that everything would be alright. Everything would go back to the way it was, and it would be even better, because he won’t leave.

He wouldn’t leave. Not again.

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

Gotham Police Department: 10 years ago

Dick had been taken away from his dinner quite rudely. Both Alfred and Bruce were acting out of sorts with the sudden call from Gordon.

He wasn’t really listening to it, mostly focused on not dying from starvation. Until Bruce had marched out of the kitchen towards the garage, and Alfred took away his plate of food and told him to get in the car as soon as possible.

The two of them didn’t answer any of his questions on the ride to the police station.

But Dick took notice of the faint tremble in Bruce’s left hand. Even when they stepped inside the busy building.

Gordon had been sitting on a bench outside his small office. A small lump was covered by his thick police coat right beside him, their small barefoot legs not able to reach the floor. The policeman was talking quietly to the unresponsive child, whose face was half hidden by the coat and only showing their dark, wide eyes.

As they got closer, Gordon gave them a quick glance and patted the child’s head before standing up and greeting them.

Dick’s attention remained on the kid, tuning out the adult’s conversation as he approched them and sat carefully besides them.

The child was a girl, judging by long lashes and wet curls on her head. Her gaze remained on the floor, staying as still and as quiet as possible. He even had trouble hearing her breathing, thinking about how she could even do it if her mouth was covered by the neck of the coat and nose twitching every once in a while.

“-it was the neighbors who called us. The girl was standing under the rain, screaming for help.” “-have any wounds? Is she sick?” “-a few scratches. But I’m mostly concerned about the mother-”

Bits of conversation filtered through Dick’s ears, looking over his shoulder at the three man before deciding it wouldn’t do the girl any good to listen to them.

“Hey, I’m Dick.” He greeted quietly, smiling down a her.

The girl gave him a glance from the corner of her eye. It took a bit before a small voice muttered what he guessed was her name.

He kneeled on one knee so he was able to look her eye to eye. She was drenched in rainwater, noticing small goosebumps on her legs. The only source of warmth she had was the giant coat around her, and she didn’t seem anywhere near to let go of it.

A frown came up to his face when he looked at her feet. They were raw red, with a few cuts, and with some dirt around it.

“Well, that is not good. You’ll catch a cold like this.” He said with a grin.

She only stared at him, head tilting to the side and nose scrunching.

He began to take off his jacket, using the sleeves to dry her legs. He ignored her flinching, muttering soft apologies, and asking her questions to keep her distracted.

“-never knew! She never told me about it!” “How is Lady Bianca? Has she been internalized?” “-haven’t heard much, but she is under sedatives.” “-she always took her pills. Wait, does he know about this?” “-still in Arkham for now. Nothing has gotten out yet.”

Dick then took off his shoes and socks, slipping the socks in the tiny feet with a laugh when they slipped down. Obviously too big on her.

That got him a small giggle from her, twirling her ankles and making the slip down more.

“Dick” Bruce’s exhausted tone made both of them look up.

The man gave the girl a quick glance before addressing the teenage boy. Crouching down with a grunt before speaking lowly.

“Stay with her for now. I have to talk to Gordon about some papers, and then we can all go home.”

Dick looked at the girl and then back at bruce, nodding with a smile.

“Sure, I won’t leave her alone.”

╰───────────✧──────────────╮

“Huh, is that the teacher?” Barbara’s voice brought him out of his daze. He also noticed how his fingers ached.

His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. Dick quickly let go of it and rubbed his fingers, turning his attention towards Barbara’s field of vision as his mouth curled into a disdained grimace.

Right. The teacher.

From the very first impression, Dick could tell the man was rough around the edges. Broad and burly build, accompanied by a brutal presence and dark old eyes. His voice was deep, almost sounding similar to Bruce if it weren’t for the growly edge it had while he was reprimanding the boys and his sister.

Of course, like any responsible older brother, he butted in and tried to talk with him so she could get out of trouble.

Then, he got his own type of reprimand for trespassing onto the school grounds without being a legal guardian. To Dick Grayson, Logan Munroe was a man that shouldn’t be around children if he was going to punish someone that innocent and obviously coerced into this scheme.

At the moment, Munroe stood by the front entrance of the school with a pouting Wayne at his side. She had caught sight of the car, to which Dick waved from inside with a sweet smile.

To which she grimaced and turned her back towards the vehicle.

“Wow,” Barbara laughed. “She is not very happy to see you.”

“She is just upset about the detention,” Dick muttered before honking the horn of his car.

But she only crossed her arms and didn’t look back.

Logan frowned at the display in front of him. He certainly wasn’t expecting this on his first day of class. Much less in such a pretentious academy like this one. It was simple work. Pretend to be a teacher, gather intel around the city, and detect possible awakening mutants nearby.

He had hit the jackpot with having three mutants in his class.

Three possible victims for whatever messed-up scheme was going on around Gotham.

At first, he wasn’t sure if the kids were even aware of their powers. He needed to encounter them separately from the other students so their smells wouldn’t mix and confuse his theory. And if it was by divine intervention (which he would never call it so), all three of them ran into him and lay at his feet.

Quite literally.

So what if he pulled out of his ass some made up rule about running the halls? He wasn’t supposed to be smoking inside the halls anyway, and the kids had ruined a perfectly good cigar.

He was petty, so what? He got what he needed, which leads to the current situation.

The Wayne girl was odd.

Not a bad odd, but a familiar odd.

The fidgeting, the impulsive attitude, the out-of-context comments, and the way she needs to move constantly. Hell, that pout and posture she had right now was like having a walking deja-vu.

All that she needed was some white hair and running shoes, and she would look just like Pietro-

HOOOOONNNNKKKKKK

Which led to the honking annoyance at the front gate.

“Ain’t that your brother, kid?” He nodded towards the car, where a red-haired woman began to hit the guy over the head and yell at him.

She huffed and turned her nose. “Nope. I’m walking home by myself, actually.”

Logan hummed, scratching his jaw before crossing his arms. “You’re a long way from your home, bub.”

The girl muttered under her breath and kicked some imaginary dust off the floor, silently cursing while avoiding looking at Logan and the shaking car with the couple arguing in the background. It was almost non-existent murmuring to her, but to Logan, it was loud and clear.

‘That isn’t my home.’

The man grunted out a heavy sigh, already picturing what was going on here. He nodded to the side, signaling her to come closer so she would pay attention. She dragged her feet slowly, her posture slouching with a glare at him.

‘Yeah, I’m gonna need some DNA tests from Hank after this.’

“Alright, kid, let’s make a deal.” He offered, which got her attention. “You get in that car and go to your house-”

“That’s a shitty deal-”

“Language, kid.” He snarled before clearing his throat. “You go to your house, and I’ll see if I can get you in the track and field team by the end of the week.”

She suddenly perked up, a wide grin breaking on her face. Logan felt pleased at that reaction.

“Since you seem so fond of running around and staying horrible hours away from your house, I would prefer if you wouldn’t crack your head open by running in the hall-”

His breath was knocked out of him by the sudden tackle of the beaming and squealing girl. Logan only patted her shoulder awkwardly while looking to the side with a groan.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” She bursted with a jump as she stepped away from him, quickly taking off towards the car while waving widely at him with the biggest and almost manical grin as she continued to thank him until she climbed in the backseat of the car.

As the car drove off, Logan just waved slowly with a smirk once he noticed how the young man glared at him from the rearview mirror.

That would be the least of his problems. He needed to make some calls.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in his daughter’s room.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had set foot in this side of the manor.

Her bedroom was colorful compared to the rest of the halls and rooms in this dusty old mansion. With paintings and crystals hanging from the ceiling and stained glass windows. A messy desk and unmade sheets in the bed.

So much life in a tiny room in the corner of a dark and gray mansion.

His fingers traced the wooden carvings of the wardrobe, as his eyes swept around for anything out of place that could give him a clue.

Letters. He was looking for letters.

Bruce kept all his correspondence and documents about Wayne Enterprises and personal things in his office. Anything else was in the batcomputer or in the cave document archive.

The letters Bruce was looking for were supposed to be under lock and key, hidden in a secret compartment on his desk cabinet. It could only be open with a key that he always kept with him. Nobody knew about this compartment. Not even Alfred.

The letters were meant for one person. He had never opened them.

He preferred to sweep them under the rug. It was for the better.

Better for her.

She didn’t have to know he had been reaching out.

The farther away he was, the better.

Bruce had allowed the letters to come in for the first few years. Two letters each month, along with a present on her birthday. He had deemed it harmless. Respecting Bianca’s wishes to keep a good relationship with her brother, just so their daughter could have an uncle.

A criminal uncle, but still an uncle.

That was until that man dared to claim custody over her. Showing up with Bianca’s testament and signature in the middle of a patrol night.

It said that as soon as he was deemed sane by his psychiatrist, and continued to go to therapy, Bianca’s daughter would be passed to be under his tutelage.

It had been a dirty tactic, but Bruce managed to keep him locked up and hide the testament. Along with the letters that kept coming twice a month.

Why didn’t he destroy them? Probably because there was still a sentimental part of him that prevented him from doing so.

Now, he regretted keeping them instead of burning them.

Someone had sneaked into his office. Someone had found the compartment. Someone broke into it. Someone took the cards from-

“What are you doing in my room?”

Bruce hadn’t heard the door creak open, so he was caught off guard by his daughter’s sudden appearance.

She stood by the edge of the door, her school uniform wrinkled and hanging a bit off her body. As if it were a size too big for her. Her braid was almost gone, the hair tie loose over her shoulder. The school bag was hanging on her hand, letting go slowly until it reached the floor, and she walked deeper into the room.

She was frowning, eyebrows twisted in annoyance, and shoulders tense.

He wasn’t wanted here.

“Heard you got into trouble at school,” He replied, his hands slipping away from the wooden wardrobe. “Mind telling me what happened?”

“You can ask Richard about it. He was there.” she countered with a shrug. Sitting down on the edge of the bed and staring directly into his eyes.

His hand twitched at the dark color of her eyes. Still unfamiliar with how to handle the pressure in his lungs whenever they clashed with his own.

“I’m asking you.”

“And I got homework to do, so go ask him.”

Bruce said her name in a warning tone, “If you are mad at me, you must talk about it. That’s how it works.”

His daughter aimlessly looked around, gesturing with her hands. “Oh, I am not mad. Not at all. Just a bit busy to talk to you right now.”

She got up and began to shove a startled Bruce out of her room by pushing his back towards the door. Taking advantage of catching him off guard, so he wasn’t putting all of his weight on his feet.

Before he knew it, she had slammed the door behind him and locked it.

Just as he was about to knock on the door and maybe force it open, his phone vibrated with an incoming message. Muttering as he harshly took the phone out, Bruce cursed to himself as a message from none other than Clark asking him to come to the watchtower for an urgent meeting.

Bruce stomped away with a snarl, his steps echoing on the hall farther and farther away.

Meanwhile, she let out a sigh of relief as she slumped down against the door with her legs stretched on the floor. Her head was banging softly against the wood with her eyes closed.

“A warning would have been nice, you know?” She offered to the room.

The lamp on her nightstand flickered on, making her open her eyes as Wayne began to communicate.

“... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-”

SORRY.

She shook her head with a tired smile. “Is fine. But we gotta talk. Like real talk.”

Getting up from the floor with a groan, she suddenly regretted slamming down on the floor like that as she sat down on the bed once again. Taking one of the pillows and hugging it to her lap, biting her lip as she waited for a sign from Wayne.

The sudden shift in weight on her right side was answer enough.

“So, I met Warren today,” the lights in the room turned off.

“C’mon,” she groaned with a laugh. “A heads up would have been great, but I handled it very well. I think…”

The light bulb of the lamp began to dim up, which gave her some relief that Wayne was still there and willing to listen.

“He told me about the recital. And I want to know if you wanted me to do it.”

Wayne was a ghost, and ghosts have unfinished business if they still remain on the mortal plane. That’s what she had gathered from those restless nights in the library with Wayne as company.

If Wayne’s unfinished business was tied to the recital, then she would have to do it-

“-. --- .-.-.- / -.. --- -. .----. - / -.. --- / .. - .-.-.-”

NO. DON'T DO IT.

That answer made her frown. “Are you sure? Warren told me you practiced for weeks.”

The lamp trembled as its light flickered. “.. - / -.. .. . ... / .-- .. - .... / -- . .-.-.- / - .... . / ... --- ..- -. -.. / -.. .. . ... / .-- .. - .... / -- . .-.-.-”

IT DIES WITH ME. THE SOUND DIES WITH ME.

Wayne’s presence was felt against her back. She returned the gesture by leaning back with a sigh. Her head tilted back to look at the strings of crystals hanging off the roof.

“As long as it is what you want, I’ll respect it.”

Wet clumps of hair draped over her shoulder, the sound of a shrilling breath invading her ears. A faint whisper brought some comfort despite all the wrongness surrounding her.

“Thank you…”

“All good, as long as you are alright with letting me alter the deal.” She chuckled, playfully shoving with her shoulder at Wayne’s suddenly solid back. “If I am going to a gala, at least let me gain something that benefits me.”

Wayne’s laugh was more like nails on a chalkboard. The lights flickering and books rattling on the bookshelves. Crystals tingling and ringing. Even the bedsheets fluttered and hovered around the edges.

The scene felt somewhat familiar to her. Things floating around and moving from side to side by an unseen force.

It wrapped her in a thick blanket of blissful, homely feelings.

Their laughs echoed down the halls, making the lights of different rooms in the manor flicker or cut off. A few of the members of the family were startled by the sudden failures in the electricity. Somewhere in the house, Dick was cursing and yelling for falling on the bathtub while looking for the light switch.

“Oh, that’s right!” She suddenly straightened up, turning around to look at the now still room and empty spot behind her. “Did you find anything that could lead us to what Rio wants? Any clues?”

Wayne stayed quiet for a few moments until a wave of wind made her hair tie fly off, which gained a complaint from the girl. Then, the lights answered once again.

“-. --- .-.-.- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / .... . .-.. .--. .-.-.-”

NO. WE NEED HELP.

The girl sighed roughly at that, picking up the tie and twisting her hair up. “And who could probably help us with this? Anyone in your mind?”

Wayne’s reply almost made her choke on air.

“-- --- -- .-.-.- / .-- . / -. . . -.. / -- --- -- .-.-.-”

MOM. WE NEED MOM.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Eastview, New Jersey - 10:45 PM

“It’s weird,” Billy mentioned out loud. “I can feel her, but I can’t pinpoint it in any direction.”

He sat cross-legged on the floor, slouching over scattered maps and scribbled notebooks. His room was a mess. One of his walls had a pinboard with a map of the states. Multiple pins with a red string wrapped around them, creating a bizarre web of red all over the board.

Billy huffed, throwing away his pen to the other side of the room. His shoulders tensed as he glared down at the mess of papers.

As if intimidating them would be enough to give him answers.

“Perhaps,” Agatha drawled with a flare as she hovered in her transparent form over the boy and his mess. “We could hit the road for once and for all. Getting fresh air does wonders to the young mind, y’know?”

Billy glared up at her. “We can’t leave.”

His expression flattered as he looked at the framed family picture of the Kaplans on his desk. It was from the bar mitzva. Both the parents and he.

Well, it was actually William Kaplan in the picture.

Not Billy Maximoff.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “Not until I have her location. That way, I will know where to start looking.”

Agatha bemoaned in protest, floating around the room until she lay over on Billy’s bed with a dramatic pose. Hand over her forehead while complaining.

“Who knew being a ghost would bore me to death? You Maximoffs only take the fun out of the afterlife!” Billy just rolled his eyes at her scene, looking back down at his organized mess.

That’s until his eye caught sight of a small closed book, almost hidden beneath his bed.

His spell book.

Billy flicked his fingers, the book flying directly into his hands. Agatha made a questioning sound, flying to look over Billy’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages quickly with an intense stare.

“Anything caught your attention, Billy-Boo?” She snickered once her mind started to piece together what his apprentice was planning on doing.

“Just a thought,” he muttered, getting up from the floor and walking towards the board on the wall. His gaze wandered around the scattered pins, murmuring under his breath while gripping the spellbook rather tightly.

“If something or someone is blocking her physical location,” He turned around, moving the mess on the floor with a snap of his fingers. Then, threw his book towards the bed and waved his hand so a marker landed in his fingers.

The boy began to draw on the floor, as Agatha hovered rather smugly at his side.

“Then this perfect time to put those beautiful mind powers of yours to good use, am I right?”

Billy hummed. “Not quite. I’m still on training wheels for trying anything that drastic.”

“However, The Dreaming is an uncharted field. And that could work.”

Agatha cackled loudly at that.

Maximoffs. So entertaining.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

Author's note: Hello, everyone! It's been a CRAZY week for me. Finlly finished my semester , thank GOD. Got to work on a play after such a stressful semester, pulled a muscle while slipping on fake blood after spining on a stripper pole (Im fine, just a bit tense on the back). And also, finally got enough time to work on my short film script befor starting the summer semester (bc I like to torture myself, obv.) Hope you all like this chapter, remember that I love to answer and read comments and asks. Let me know what are your thoughts and theories of what is to come! Also, added the translations to morse code in the fic too! Lots of love and tight hugs, GG✨

Tag List:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken

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luv4arinn · 4 months ago

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Bayverse!Donnie headcanons bc his my bbg

Okay, lol, I really needed to let all of this out and just vomit all the ideas I’ve been hoarding about this man. I love him. I’ve adored him ever since the 2012 series, and that made me realize—I definitely have a thing for nerds. And glasses. Dear god.

I hope you guys like this!! Do you think I should do the same for the other brothers? Or maybe for the other characters? (I wouldn’t mind taking the risk and making headcanons like this for Rocksteady, hehe.)

Alright, bye!!

warnings: sfw & nsfw ( but not so explicit?) :p

- He’s a genius with confidence… until he isn’t.

Donnie is incredibly self-assured when it comes to his intellect and skills. He knows his worth and never doubts his ability to solve problems. Jumping out of a plane without a parachute? Easy. Hacking government security systems? A piece of cake. But confessing his feelings to you? That’s a whole different challenge.

This is where his anxious side kicks in. His brain, used to solving any equation, completely short-circuits when it comes to emotions. What if he misinterprets your signals? What if he ruins the friendship? What if you like someone else? Sure, he can design an exoskeleton in less than 24 hours, but love is a field where variables don’t always make sense.

If you think you can hide something from him, think again. Donnie notices everything. From the slight shift in your expression when you’re tired to the pattern of songs you repeat when you’re feeling down. (And no, he absolutely did not hack your Spotify, ahem—)

- That’s why, when you start falling for him, he already knows. In fact, he probably figured it out before you did.

He won’t tell you right away. Inside his head, there’s a storm of chaotic thoughts, organizing themselves into an ultra-detailed data table with every relevant piece of information. Give him a few days, and once his mind has fully processed everything, he’ll come back to you as a renewed Donnie—determined, confident, and ready to make you his.

- Donnie doesn’t just plan things; he breaks them down into a thousand strategies of action. His trash bin is living proof of the number of ideas he discards and reworks over and over.

Gifts? He’s not the type to grab something generic at the last minute. His gifts are so deeply personalized that they’ll make you feel like he knows you better than you know yourself.

Example: If you ever casually mentioned that you’d love to learn to play an instrument, he’ll build one for you—customized with enhancements. If you said you love the stars, he’ll create an interactive star map with the exact alignment of the sky on the day you were born.

Your birthdays, anniversaries, and any special dates are planned years in advance. It doesn’t matter if you’re not officially together yet—he already has ideas saved for when you are.

- Romance in his brain is an equation far too complex.

Donnie isn’t clumsy because he lacks intelligence; it’s because his brain moves too fast. His emotions and logic are in constant conflict, creating an ongoing battle between Confident Donnie and Nervous Donnie.

You’ll see him go from saying something with complete confidence to, “Uh, well… what I meant to say is… no, wait, forget it—” and then getting frustrated with himself because that definitely wasn’t what he had in mind.

But when he manages to organize his thoughts, he’s one of the most direct people you’ll ever meet. Once he crosses the mental line of “I’m doing this,” there’s no turning back.

- Gifts

He doesn’t believe in generic presents. Everything he gives you has a specific purpose. A bracelet that’s actually a disguised tracker (“For safety. Just for safety.”), or a stuffed animal that can record voice messages.

One day, you wake up and find a new app on your phone with your name on it. You open it, and it’s a virtual assistant designed specifically for you, complete with personalized reminders for the little things Donnie knows you always forget.

- Once he has you, you are his priority.

Once Donnie accepts his feelings and takes the step to be with you, he becomes the most devoted boyfriend.

He’s not excessively clingy or jealous like Raph, but his love is obvious in the time and effort he invests in you.

No matter how many projects he’s juggling, if you truly need his attention, he’ll give it to you without hesitation.

- Donnie needs physical contact, but his intellectual pride won’t let him admit it outright. Instead, he prefers to justify it with overly precise scientific explanations.

“Well, you see… my body temperature tends to drop faster than that of the average human, so it’s biologically beneficial for me to share contact with an external heat source.”

Translation: “Hug me. Now.”

If you confront him with something like, “Why don’t you just say you want cuddles?” he’ll turn bright red and start stammering, scrambling for excuses.

Don’t listen. Just climb onto him.

- Donnie can plan everything, but he cannot predict your spontaneous displays of affection.

If you surprise him with a kiss, his brain completely shuts down for 3-5 seconds before he can process it.

Unexpected gestures—hugging him from behind while he’s working, cupping his face in your hands, or kissing his cheek out of nowhere—leave him frozen, recalculating.

Sometimes, his first reflex is to adjust his glasses, only to realize that they have nothing to do with the fact that his vision just blurred from sheer shock.

NSFW

- He’s patient… but only to a point. Donnie will never pressure you. He’ll wait as long as you need, always making sure you feel safe and comfortable.

However… he’s already undressed you with his eyes a million times.

His mind is a machine of ideas and theories, and when it comes to you, he has imagined everything. Everything.

He tells himself he can be rational and controlled… but if you take too long, his thoughts will become a little more persistent.

- He’s not innocent. Don’t even think it for a second.

He may seem shy or awkward about relationships, but when it comes to this, his mind is a laboratory of hypotheses he’s dying to test.

He has analyzed you with surgical precision. He knows exactly how you blush, how you react to certain touches, which words make you tremble.

Do not underestimate him. He has read, he has researched, he has learned.

But nothing compares to the real thing. With you.

When he finally has you in his hands, his brain short-circuits.

No matter how many times he imagined this moment, nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers.

His jaw clenches, he exhales sharply, and his pupils dilate as if he’s just been electrocuted.

His entire expression changes—from his usual nervousness to something darker, more intense, starving.

- He becomes obsessive about memorizing every single reaction of yours.

He’s analytical. He will learn what you love and make sure to do it better every single time.

Eye contact and sounds. His drug.

Look at him. Don’t look away. Don’t ignore him.

If you dare to hold his gaze while he’s above you, he will completely lose himself in you.

Your voice, your moans, your gasps—they ruin him.

He needs you vocal. He needs to know he’s doing a good job.

If you get shy and try to cover your mouth, he will ask (or demand) that you don’t.

Kinky? Oh, absolutely.

Donnie lives to experiment. It’s in his nature.

Positions? All of them. But his favorites are the ones where you are on top of him.

He loves being dominated.

After spending his entire life controlling every aspect of his world, it’s a relief for his mind to surrender completely to you.

“Set the pace, beautiful. I’m in your hands.”

Toys? Oh, yes.

You can be sure he has researched every single thing about them.

But he won’t settle for the ones that already exist. No.

He will build his own. Upgraded. With precisely calibrated speeds and optimized materials.

“This one has five vibration levels, but if we increase the frequency by 15%, we could—”

May God help you if you walk into his lab at the wrong time.

May God help his brothers if they ever find out.

Dedicated and obsessed with you.

Donnie doesn’t do anything halfway. If he gives himself to you, it’s completely.

No matter how much time passes, he will always give his all to make you feel incredible.

He’s not a casual lover.

He is yours. And you are his.

“You are my greatest discovery.”

#tmntbayverse #bayverse tmnt #bayverse donnie #donnie x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #fluff #tmnt headcanons #reader #tmnt x reader

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armandyke · 19 days ago

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Remember then that it was love: The relationship between Amadeo and Marius in Blood and Gold, and how it conflicts with Armand’s version of events

Now that I’ve read both books I want to look at all the discrepancies between Armand’s original account of his relationship with Marius in The Vampire Armand compared to what Marius tells us in Blood and Gold.

I’m leaving all criticisms of Anne Rice’s possible sloppy writing at the door because we could just go around in circles with that. It’s possible that all of these discrepancies are just results of Anne misremembering what she wrote originally, not hiring editors, etc. but we’re not doing that today. I’m going to be taking everything within these books as intentional and exploring what it says about Marius as a character that he would change/erase/contradict different things.

(Note: there is literally a 10K word essay below)

Blood and Gold isn’t framed as being Marius’ response to The Vampire Armand, at least not in the way that The Vampire Lestat was Lestat’s response to Interview with the Vampire. He’s not being argumentative, or making a point of contradicting Armand, but considering this book follows on from The Vampire Armand in the series, it does feel like this is his attempt at setting the record straight, and putting out his own version of events.

Within the context of the book, Marius is explaining all of these events to Thorne, a new character who has spent hundreds of years asleep and only recently awoken. He is vaguely aware of the events of Queen of the Damned through to Memnoch the Devil, which he picked up on while he was asleep, but beyond that he doesn’t know the rest of the characters. More specifically, he hasn’t read Armand’s book, and I think that context is important to remember as I go through this. Marius is speaking to somebody with no prior knowledge of who Armand is, or of the story he told. Essentially, he has the opportunity to deliver his account of events to a completely unbiased, blank slate. This could also explain why he isn’t argumentative in the way that Lestat was in his first book.

I’m going to try and break this down into sections rather than going through the book chronologically, because otherwise I’m gonna end up repeating the same points over and over. So take my hand and let’s go on a journey into the mind of Marius de Romanus.

(Also, I’ll be referencing page numbers when I include quotes from the books, more for the sake of helping me keep track of the timelines in both books than anything else since I’ll be going backwards and forwards a bit. These numbers are based on the pdf versions that I have which you can download here and here)

Violence

For me the most notable difference between The Vampire Armand and Blood and Gold is the lack of violence in Marius’ account of events. It’s gonna be hard to draw direct comparisons between the two books for this because I’m pointing out an absence of something, so this is mostly going to be me pointing to quotes from Armand’s book and yelling “But Marius never mentioned any of that!!”

I will, however, start by taking a moment to point out these lines, which I read and literally laughed at.

“Now, I am by nature not given to physical combat, but in a rage I pushed him off me with such force that he was thrown across the floor and back against the wall. ‘How dare you?’ I asked fiercely. I struggled to keep my voice low so as not to alarm the mortals in the banquet room. ‘I ought to kill you. What peace of mind it would give me to know you were dead. I could cut you into pieces that no sorcerer could reassemble. Damn you.’ I was trembling with this uncharacteristic and humiliating rage. (Blood and Gold, pg. 134)

I could go into detail about how many times, in this book alone, Marius becomes angry (27), furious (12), or filled with rage (9), but that’s neither here nor there.

From the combined information in The Vampire Armand and Blood and Gold, we still don’t know a huge amount about Marius’ relationship with the other boys in the palazzo. Within his book, he never mentions anything about using any kind of violence with the boys, nor does he ever mention that the teachers he hires for the boys also use corporal punishment. You could argue that this was common practice in those days, so it wouldn’t have even occurred to him to mention, but this is just the first in a long list of cover ups, so it feels relevant to mention. We know for a fact that physical abuse was common within the palazzo, and Marius was not opposed to punishing the boys himself.

“He whipped Riccardo for it. I was full of shame. Riccardo took it like a soldier without cries or comment, standing still at a large fireplace in the library, his back turned to receive the blows on his legs. Afterwards, he knelt and kissed the Master’s ring. I vowed I’d never get drunk again.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 57)

This is the only time we get an explicit description of Marius physically punishing other boys in the palazzo, but I think Riccardo’s ability to take his punishment silently makes it clear that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

Then, of course, there’s the violence towards Amadeo himself. In Blood and Gold Marius only ever describes one instance of him physically hitting Amadeo.

“‘I cautioned you on this, did I not?’ I said furiously. ‘And now you weep like a child?’ In a rage, I slapped him. And in shock he fell back away from me, but his tears flowed all the more.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 361)

Interestingly even in this one account, he mentions Amadeo being shocked by the physical assault, when in Armand’s account of events we get lines like this:

“He approached me and I shrank back, actually afraid. But by the time he struck me, hard across the face, he’d recovered himself, and it was just the usual brain-jarring blow.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 226)

It’s also interesting that this is the one and only time Marius admits to hitting Amadeo, considering the rest of the context of the conversation. This is a moment shortly after Amadeo’s turning, and after being reunited with Bianca for the first time. Amadeo wants to be able to give the blood to Bianca, and Marius is arguing against him.

“‘Master, why can we not make her one of us! Why can we not share the Blood with her?’ I took him roughly by the shoulders. He didn’t fear my hands. He didn’t care.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 361)

It could easily be said that this is an argument where Marius seems, from a completely objective perspective, to be right. Amadeo, still a child and also newly turned, is quickly hurtling towards the idea of turning everybody he loves into a vampire so that he can be with them for eternity. It’s an unrealistic and dangerous idea which Marius then puts a stop to, and by doing so he’s also saving Bianca from being turned. Is that why he’s comfortable admitting to using physical force here? Because it’s a situation where it can be more easily justified? Let’s look at some of the violence Armand details in his book, and which Marius never mentions.

Obviously the most glaring omission in Blood and Gold is the whipping scene. Marius actually uses a whip on Amadeo twice in The Vampire Armand and I’ll get into the second moment in a little bit, but it’s the first scene where we get the most vivid account of the violence he used.

“I felt the nudge of his knee in the small of my back and then down came the switch across my thighs. Of course I wasn’t wearing anything but the thin stockings that fashion decreed, so I might as well have been naked. I cried out in pain and then shut my mouth tight. When the next few blows came, walloping my legs, I swallowed all the noise, furious to hear myself make a careless impossible groan. Again and again, he brought the switch down, whipping my thighs and then my lower legs as well. Enraged, I struggled to get up, pushing vainly on the covers with the heels of my hands. I couldn’t move. I was pinioned by his knee, and he whacked away without the slightest deterrent.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 88)

This is just a small snippet. It’s one of the most drawn out, brutal scenes in the book (five pages total in my pdf). Now let me show you Marius’ summary of events.

“I sent him off to the best brothels to learn the pleasures of women, and the pleasures of boys. He hated me for it, and yet he enjoyed it, and he came home to me eager for the Blood Kiss and nothing else.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 322)

I’m gonna be coming back to this scene again later when I talk about the sexual aspect of their relationship. But for now I’m focusing purely on the physical violence, or, more specifically, the complete lack of it in Marius’ account.

I think it’s important to note at this point, for people who haven’t read the book, that Marius hasn’t been shying away from detailing other acts of violence in here. He gets into physical altercations with Mael, attacks and kills Eudoxia, and kills multiple unnamed vampires. Even when it comes to his relationship with Pandora, he talks a lot more openly about acting aggressively and forcefully with her.

“‘Stop it, Pandora. It isn’t necessary that I give her up. We are not mortals! We can live together.’ I took her by the arms. I shook her. Her hair did come loose and then violently and cruelly I pulled at it, and I buried my face in her hair.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 513/514)

So what’s the difference? Why can he be open about his aggression towards Pandora and the other vampires, but not towards Amadeo. I have a lot of thoughts about this, and I’m gonna go a bit more in depth on the differences specifically between his accounts of his dynamics with Pandora and Bianca compared to Amadeo, but perhaps it comes down to the simple fact that Pandora was a centuries old vampire, and Amadeo was a child. A human child. Perhaps it comes down to the simple fact that Marius knew there was no way to spin this moment without painting himself as a monster.

Moving on to the second time he whips Amadeo, this is when we get one of the more glaring discrepancies. In this case we don’t just have Marius omitting something, we see him actively contradicting Armand’s account of events.

Interesting to note that in this second moment Amadeo is a vampire, though still a child and quite newly turned. This is another scene that’s quite drawn out in The Vampire Armand so I’m gonna break it down by showing the initial assault first, because I think it’s important to emphasise just how violent Marius was in Armand’s version, and then I can explain some of the context of the scene and get into the contradictions.

“I turned away from him. I figured he was being dramatic and that he would go away. The switch came crashing down again and this time there followed a volley of blows. I felt the blows in a way I’d never felt them when mortal. I was stronger, more resistant to them, but for a split second each blow broke through my preternatural guard and caused an exquisite explosion of pain.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 211)

This scene comes shortly after Marius takes Amadeo to Kyiv to see his home and his family again. Pretty understandably (to me at least) Amadeo goes into a bit of a slump after they return to Venice, coming to terms with all of the memories he's finally recovered, as well as the fact that he will never be the person from those memories again. He’s seventeen and coming to terms with the fact that the family he’d forgotten loved him, that they still do love him, and that he’s now had to say goodbye to them forever.

And Marius does seem to understand this. To some extent at least he seems to acknowledge the conflict going on in Amadeo’s head and appreciates why he's become withdrawn. Now let's compare the two scenes.

“‘You’ve had enough time to grieve and to weep,’ he said, ‘and to reevaluate all you’ve been given. Now it’s back to work. Go to the desk and prepare to write. Or I’ll whip you some more.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 211)

“When would he finally pick up the brushes and paint? I didn’t know, but such a question didn’t matter anymore. He was mine and mine forever. He could do what he pleased.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 375)

“He smacked me across the face. I was dizzy. As my eyes cleared, I looked into his. ‘I want your attention again. I want you to come out of your meditation. Go to your desk and write for me a summary of what your journey in Russia meant to you, and what you see now here that you could not see before. Make it concise, use your finest similes and metaphors and write it cleanly and quickly for me.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 211)

“I tried to forget my jealousy or ignore it. After all, what was to be done about it? Should I remind him of his journey and torment him with questions? I could not do such a thing.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 375)

I don't think you really need me to point out the glaring difference between the two. From Marius’ perspective he was understanding and patient with him, waiting for him to return to his activities in his own time. From Armand’s account Marius physically beat him and continued to threaten him with more violence unless he complied and went back to work.

Again we have to remember that Blood and Gold followed after The Vampire Armand. And you have to question what effect Armand’s account had on the story Marius then went on to tell. He claims he understood Amadeo’s feelings and struggles at the time, but did he? Or is he able to understand them now in hindsight, having read Armand’s version?

Sex and Romance

Much like the physical violence, this is another case of omission rather than direct contradiction, so it’s harder to draw direct comparisons between the two books. A pretty significant aspect of The Vampire Armand is the sexual relationship between Amadeo and Marius, but in Blood and Gold this is almost completely erased. The only time Marius mentions any kind of sexual act with Amadeo is in the initial bathtub scene, which remains mostly unchanged between the two versions.

“Taking Amadeo into the bath, I cleansed him myself and covered him with kisses. I drew from him an easy intimacy which he had denied all those who had tormented him, so dazzled and confused was he by my simple kindnesses, and the words I whispered in his tender ears. I brought him quickly to know the pleasures which he had never allowed himself before. He was dazed and silent; but his prayers for deliverance were no more.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 308/309)

“I groaned for all of this. I sank against him in the warm water, and his lips went down my chest to my belly. He sucked tenderly at the skin as if he were sucking up the salt and the heat from it, and even his forehead nudging my shoulder filled me with warm and thrilling sensations. I put my arm around him, and when he found the sin itself, I felt it go off as if an arrow had been shot from it, and it were a crossbow; I felt it go, this arrow, this thrust, and I cried out.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 41)

Throughout the rest of The Vampire Armand we get multiple more accounts of sexual acts Marius performed on him, and I’m not gonna sit here and quote all of them because I don’t think it will add anything to my argument. Instead, let’s look at how Marius describes things, or, more accurately, the way he doesn’t. This next quote is one of the only hints at any other physical relationship between the two of them following the bath scene.

“Yet in the late evenings, when the lessons had ceased and the little boys had been put to bed, and the older boys were finishing tasks in my studio, I couldn’t stop myself from taking Amadeo into my bedroom study, and there I visited on him my carnal kisses, my sweet and bloodless kisses, my kisses of need, and he gave himself to me without reserve.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 315)

This is probably the closest he gets to hinting at his desire for Amadeo, but it’s certainly nothing close to the levels we see in The Vampire Armand. It’s also the last reference we get to the sexual side of their relationship, and it’s soon followed up with this line.

“Here in Venice for Marius de Romanus, there was none. But Amadeo had his suspicions, not as to the kisses that were fast becoming all too chaste for him, but as to the man of seeming marble, who never supped at his own table, nor took a drop of wine from a goblet, or ever appeared beneath his own roof during the light of day.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 316)

This quote references another, much longer scene in The Vampire Armand, in which Amadeo confronts Marius about the nature of their relationship. Specifically about the fact that Marius performs sexual acts for him while not wanting anything in return.

“‘Well, now,’ I said. ‘There’s a great mystery here and you know it. It’s time you told me.’ ‘What?’ he asked obligingly enough. ‘Why do you never… Why do you never feel anything! Why do you handle me as if I were a poppet? Why do you never…?’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 66)

And this is one of those moments where I think it’s important to remember the context of the book. As readers, we know that “kisses that were fast becoming all too chaste for him” is referring to Amadeo wanting more from a relationship that is already sexual. But Marius isn’t speaking to us, he’s speaking to somebody with no prior knowledge of Armand or his book.

From an outside perspective, with none of the additional context, couldn’t “fast becoming all too chaste for him” easily be interpreted to mean there was no sexual relationship at all?

And again, just like with the violence, this isn’t a topic that Marius avoids altogether in his book. He gets quite explicit during a scene with Bianca.

“And as my fingers tightened and caressed her, as his kisses grew more fervent, she grew bloodred with her cresting passion and fell softly against Amadeo’s arm. I withdrew, kissing her forehead as though she were chaste again.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 359)

I’m also including that follow up line, just to emphasise the previous point that Marius absolutely means “non-sexual” when he refers to his relationship with Amadeo as “chaste”.

So, once again, you have to wonder what the difference is. Why is he comfortable sharing explicit details of a sexual act with Bianca, but not Amadeo? Is it, again, down to the simple fact that Amadeo was a child? Or does it go deeper?

When Marius comes upon Amadeo, he takes him home and we get the bath scene, the one and only time he references anything sexual happening between them. It’s after this that he then has the idea to groom Amadeo into the “ideal” vampire companion.

“This was a foundling who could be educated for the Blood! This was a child utterly lost to life who could be reclaimed specifically for the Blood.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 309)

Which then leads us to this thought.

“My mind went back swiftly to Eudoxia and how she had spoken of the perfect age for the Blood to be received. I remembered Zenobia and her quick wits and knowing eyes. I remembered my own long ago reflection on the promise of a virgin, that one could make of a virgin what one wished without price.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 309/310)

Earlier in the book Marius met Zenobia, a fledgling of Eudoxia’s who explained some of her background to him. She tells him that she believed Eudoxia chose her as an ideal companion because of her youth and her virginity (interestingly, she was also a slave, though Marius never reflects upon this additional similarity).

Of course, this completely contradicts what he finds in Amadeo, a child sex slave. Marius is well aware of the abuse Amadeo has suffered, he knows he’s not a virgin, but he still has these thoughts all the same. My personal interpretation is that Marius is referring to Amadeo’s amnesia. The fact that, having pulled Amadeo from the brothel and given him a home, he has essentially been “reborn”, making him a virginal figure in that sense rather than specifically referring to his sexual history. But I still don’t think it's insignificant that Marius makes this observation and then goes on to erase all the subsequent sexual interactions they had, retroactively purifying him in a sense.

This is slightly contradicted by the fact that Marius does admit to sending Amadeo to multiple brothels. It seems that Marius is only concerned with removing himself from the equation, rather than completely erasing Amadeo’s sexuality.

Another very significant omission from Blood and Gold, which also slots into the topic of their sexual relationship, is the blood drinking. In The Vampire Armand, Marius begins drinking Amadeo’s blood after he confronts him about his lack of sexuality. He then continues to do this throughout their relationship all the way through to Amadeo’s turning. In Marius’ account, however, he never mentions this.

We can see how intertwined the blood drinking is with their sexual relationship here.

“‘Amadeo,’ he said, his lips on my throat as they’d come and gone a thousand times, only this time there came a sting, sharp, swift and gone. A thread stitched into my heart and was jerked all of a sudden. I had become the thing between my legs, and was nothing but that. His mouth nestled against me, and again that thread snapped and again.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 67)

This is the first instance of Marius drinking Amadeo’s blood, and it then continues to happen in each subsequent sexual encounter we see.

I think it’s important to consider the use of blood drinking as an allegory for sexual assault throughout the book series, especially in The Vampire Armand. Amadeo, still a child, feels Marius drinking from him, but doesn’t fully understand what is being done. It’s not until much later when he sees Marius drink from somebody else that he fully understands what was happening.

“Astonished and enthralled, I watched as my master closed his smooth eyes, his golden eyelashes seeming silvery in the dimness, and I heard the low wet sound, barely audible but horribly suggestive of the flow of something, and that something had to be the man’s blood.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 96)

It’s easy to draw parallels between the blood drinking and CSA. Amadeo was a child, being sexually assaulted, and still too innocent to understand what was being done to him. So I think it’s significant that, as well as erasing the explicit sexual acts, Marius also never admits to drinking Amadeo’s blood.

The reason for Marius omitting this from his account to Thorne could, again, be because on some level he recognises that the things he did to Amadeo were wrong. But I think it may also relate to Marius’ constant insistence that vampires only drink from “the evil doer”.

“‘I understand it,’ she answered too quickly. ‘So Amadeo told me all that you’d taught him. Only the Evil Doer. Never the innocent, I know.’” “Blood and Gold, pg. 421)

This is one of the most steadfast rules Marius follows, and one he impresses on every other vampire he meets. In fact one of the main reasons for Marius viewing Armand as “lost” to them after joining the Children of Darkness is that he witnesses him drinking from innocents.

“‘Well, he’s no child now, Bianca. He may be as beautiful as when I made him through the Blood, but he is a patriarch in the dust. And all of Paris, the wondrous city of Paris, surrounds him. I watched him move through the city streets alone. There was no one there to restrict him. He might have sought the Evil Doer as we do. But he did not. He drank deep of innocent blood, not once but twice.’ ‘Ah, I see. This is what has so embittered you.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 490)

But surely he considered Amadeo to be innocent. Certainly not evil at least. Well, there’s an argument that could be made about Marius always viewing Amadeo as inherently barbaric, purely due to his nationality, but I’m not gonna get into all that here. No, I think that Marius is aware of Amadeo’s innocence. I think that he couldn’t resist drinking from him, and he redacts that part of his story because he knows it goes against everything he’s ever preached.

I think the most important thing to consider on this topic is, if Amadeo truly enthusiastically consented to all the sexual activities happening in The Vampire Armand, why did Marius erase it?

Personality/Dialogue

Getting now into something that we can compare more directly, I wanna look at Amadeo as a character and how starkly different he is in Blood and Gold compared to The Vampire Armand. To an extent there were always going to be differences, because we’re comparing how a character perceived themself vs how they are perceived by others, but the differences here are so severe that I think it speaks volumes about how Marius viewed Amadeo in general.

To put it as bluntly as possible, Amadeo is barely a character in Blood and Gold. He doesn’t contribute to discussions, or to the narrative as a whole. In essence, he’s Marius’ sexy lamp. It becomes very apparent very quickly how differently Amadeo is going to be portrayed, even from their very first conversation.

“My Master looked at me and in a tongue I knew, I knew perfectly, he said that I was his only child, and he would come again that night, and by such a time as that I would have seen a new world. ‘A new world!’ I cried out. ‘No, don’t leave me, Master. I don’t want the whole world. I want you!’ ‘Amadeo,’ he said in this private tongue of confidence, leaning over the bed, his hair dry now and beautifully brushed, his hands softened with powder. ‘You have me forever. Let the boys feed you, dress you. You belong to me, to Marius De Romanus, now.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 41)

“‘Master,’ he said softly in the Russian tongue. I felt the tiny hairs rise all over my body. I wanted so to touch him once more with my cold fingers but I did not dare. I knelt beside the bed and leant over and I kissed his cheek warmly. ‘Amadeo,’ I said to him so that he might know his new name. And then using the very Russian tongue he knew, but did not know, I told him that he was mine now, that I was his Master just as he had said. I gave him to know that all things were resolved in me. He must never worry, he would never fear again.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 312)

Throughout the entirety of Blood and Gold, Amadeo’s dialogue is very limited. He rarely speaks unless spoken to, rarely argues back, and, for the most part, seems only to parrot the things Marius has already told him. This massively contradicts Armand’s account of himself in The Vampire Armand. Obviously, we can’t rule out the possibility that Armand was also exaggerating his personality in his version of events. Considering the brutal punishments Marius inflicted on him, I think it would be understandable for Armand to exaggerate how often he misbehaved and argued back in some attempt to make sense of why he was treated that way.

Another thing to take into account is that from Marius’ account, we get a much better idea of the severity of Amadeo’s amnesia and the way it affected him. It seems that Amadeo was frequently dissociating whenever Marius attempted to force him to remember his past. Perhaps the dissociation means that Armand simply doesn’t recall a lot of these moments in Venice, whereas Marius had a more objective view at that time. Still, I don’t think that accounts for such a drastic difference in behaviour.

Consider the last quote from Blood and Gold, which is the first dialogue exchanged between Marius and Amadeo. It will be over twenty pages before they have another full conversation (arguably their first actual conversation of the book so far). And between those two exchanges Amadeo has only one line of dialogue.

“‘Do you know her, Master?’ he asked me soberly, surprising Riccardo, who said nothing.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 317)

For over twenty pages Marius describes the development of his relationship with Amadeo, and the progress of his education, and in that entire time Amadeo will speak five words.

I’ve talked before about the issues with Anne Rice’s dialogue, how when the characters speak their voices are all very one note and practically indistinguishable from each other. Despite that, however, there were multiple points while reading Blood and Gold that it seemed noticeable that Amadeo’s dialogue wasn’t his own. The example that most stood out to me was the conversation between Marius and Amadeo after Marius has revealed his nature and killed in front of him several times. It’s one of the few conversations that is directly repeated in both books, but there are still notable differences. Sorry in advance for the long ass quotes but I want to try and show the full conversations here.

“‘If I drink such as that, Master, the blood of the wicked and those whom I overpower, will I become like you?’ He shook his head. Many a man has drunk another’s blood, Amadeo,’ he said in a low but calm voice. His reason had come back to him, his manners, his seeming soul. ‘Would you be with me, and be my pupil and my love?’ ‘Yes, Master, always and forever, or for so long as nature gives to you and me.’ ‘Oh, it isn’t fanciful the words I spoke. We are immortal. And only one enemy can destroy us - it’s the fire that burns in that torch there, or in the rising sun. Sweet to think on it, that when we are at last weary of all this world there is the rising sun.’

‘I am yours, Master.’ I hugged him close and tried to vanquish him with kisses. He endured them, and even smiled, but he didn’t move. But when I broke off, and made a fist of my right hand as if to hit him, which I could never have done, to my amazement he began to yield. He turned and took me in his powerful and ever careful embrace. ‘Amadeo, I can’t go on without you,’ he said. His voice was desperate and small. ‘I meant to show you evil, not sport. I meant to show you the wicked price of my immortality. And that I did. But in so doing, I saw it myself, and my eyes are dazzled and I am hurt and tired.’ He laid his head against my head, and held tight to me. ‘Do what you will to me, Sir,’ I said. ‘Make me suffer and long for it, if that’s what you want. I am your fool. I am yours.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 120/121)

“‘Master,’ he asked, ‘if I drink the blood of those who are evil, will I become like you?’ We stood before the closed doors of San Marco. The wind came mercilessly off the sea. I drew my cloak about him all the more tightly, and he rested his head against my chest. ‘No, child,’ I said, ‘there’s infinitely more magic in it than that.’ ‘Master,’ he said, as I held him close to me, ‘long years ago, or so they seem to me, in some far-away place, where I lived before I came to you, I was what they called a Fool for God. I don’t remember it clearly and never will as both of us well know. But a Fool for God was a man who gave himself over to God completely and did not care what happened, whether it was mockery, or starvation, or endless laughter, or dreadful cold. That much I remember, that I was a Fool for God in those times.’ ‘But you painted pictures, Amadeo, you painted beautiful ikons-’ ‘But listen to me, Master,’ he said firmly, forcing me to silence, ‘whatever I did, I was a Fool for God, and now I would be a Fool for you.’ He paused, snuggling close to me as the wind grew stronger. The mists moved in over the stones. There came noises from the ships.’ I started to speak but he reached to stop me. How obdurate and strong he seemed, how seductive, how completely mine. ‘Master,’ he went on. ‘Do it when you will. You have my secrecy. You have my patience. Do it when and how you will.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 342/343)

I wanna start by talking about the difference in Marius’ involvement in the conversation. In the version Marius tells, he is very passive, listening while Amadeo, apparently unprompted, speaks deprecatingly about his past religion before going on to devote himself to Marius. In Armand’s version, Marius asks him directly to state his devotion to him, asking “Would you be with me?”

Then there’s the fixation, in Marius’ account, on Amadeo being a “fool for God”. This is something Amadeo does also mention in The Vampire Armand, though it’s spoken in an earlier conversation in Armand’s version.

“‘Don’t think me cold, Sir,’ I said. ‘Don’t think me tired and used to things brutal and cruel. I am only the fool, Sir, the fool for God. We don’t question, if memory serves me right. We laugh and we accept and we turn all life into joy.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg 100)

The change in context is important here too. In The Vampire Armand, Amadeo refers to himself as a “fool for God” as a way to explain why he wasn’t horrified or disgusted by the revelation of Marius being a vampire. To him this phrase means that, through his religion, he was able to accept negative or even horrifying events, and to find joy and meaning in them. It doesn’t seem, at least in Armand’s eyes, that this was necessarily a negative thing. He’s simply explaining that his religion taught him how to cope with frightening things.

Conversely, the Amadeo in Blood and Gold uses the term “fool for God” as something derogatory, and this is what I mean when I say his dialogue in this book doesn’t seem like his own. We know from his interactions with Pandora, Mael, and numerous other characters that Marius has a very negative opinion of religion and worship (despite the fact that he himself frequently performs religious rituals and prays to Those Who Must Be Kept, he refuses to acknowledge this as a form of worship). The changes in wording between the two books are subtle, but we can see clearly how Marius’ own views are being spliced in. “We accept” becomes “did not care”.

Despite all of this, it’s then interesting to note that in Blood and Gold, we then see Amadeo effectively proclaim Marius as his new god. While Amadeo does refer to himself both as “a fool for God” and “your fool” within The Vampire Armand, these are in two separate conversations, and it doesn’t appear as though Amadeo was referencing the previous conversation when he says this. But in the version Marius presents, Amadeo explicitly states “I was a fool for God, and now I would be a fool for you.”

It gives the impression, to me at least, that for all Marius’ disdain for the idea of worship and religious idols, he wants to present himself as someone to be worshipped by Amadeo. Or, at least, he wants to present the idea that this is what Amadeo believed.

The final thing I want to look at before I move on from this conversation is the tone of Amadeo’s final line in each version.

“‘Do what you will to me, Sir,’ I said. ‘Make me suffer and long for it, if that’s what you want. I am your fool. I am yours.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 121)

“‘Master,’ he went on. ‘Do it when you will. You have my secrecy. You have my patience. Do it when and how you will.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 343)

And again this is what I mean when I say Amadeo’s dialogue doesn’t seem to be entirely his own in Blood and Gold. There’s a flatness to the things he says a lot of the time, a lack of any kind of emotion. To me it gives the impression that Marius was very uninvested in Amadeo as a person. Unlike his retelling of his relationship with Pandora or Bianca, or even any of the other characters, in which he describes their passion and emotional responses with much more depth, this section of his story has an almost clinical feel to it. It’s as if he sees it as simply a series of plot points he has to get through in order to tell this part of the story, rather than a relationship he recalls with any fondness.

There’s also the subtle difference in language again. “Do what you will to me” becomes “Do it when you will.” “Make me suffer” becomes “You have my patience.” Armand’s version gives much more of a sense of his passion and longing, while Marius’ version presents Amadeo as flatly obedient.

Returning to the idea that Amadeo’s dialogue in Blood and Gold tends to reflect Marius’ own views, rather than being an honest representation of the things Amadeo said, I want to look at this quote again.

Much later in the timeline of events in Blood and Gold, we get this quote from Amadeo after he has become a vampire, explaining why he believes Marius chose him for the blood.

“‘There’s a bitter cold in me,’ he said, ‘a cold which comes from a distant land. And nothing ever really makes it warm. Even the Blood did not make it warm. You knew of this cold. You tried a thousand times to melt it, and transform it into something more brilliant, but you never succeeded. And then on the night that I came near to death - no, was, in fact, dying - you counted upon that cold to give me the stamina for the Blood.’ I nodded. I looked away, but he put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Look at me, please, sir,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that so?’ His face was serene.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 363)

It’s quite a shift in belief, as far as Amadeo is concerned. In The Vampire Armand, Amadeo doesn’t want to be seen as cold and unfeeling, in fact he actively argues against it when Marius tries to imply that this is the case. But in Blood and Gold, it is Amadeo who refers to himself in this way. And again this raises the question of how much of Amadeo’s dialogue in Blood and Gold is true, and how much is simply a reflection of Marius’ existing opinions and biases. By giving this dialogue to Amadeo, Marius is effectively shifting the blame away from himself. Marius wasn’t making unfair judgements or assumptions about Amadeo, because it was Amadeo himself who first said these things.

As I said earlier, a large amount of Amadeo’s dialogue from The Vampire Armand is cut out from Blood and Gold, but now let’s look at an example where the inverse happens. We’re still at roughly the same point in time (because this is one of only a few occasions in Blood and Gold where Marius actually details any conversations occurring between him and Amadeo). These quotes are from slightly earlier than the conversation we were just looking at, and take place immediately after Amadeo witnesses Marius killing somebody for the first time.

“I was speechless. Fear, loathing, these things had no part in it. I was simply amazed. If I thought, I thought it was wondrous. In a sudden fit of seeming anger, my Master hurled the man’s body to his left and ot into the water where it fell with a dull splashing and bubbling sound.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 97)

“‘Have you no tears for the man, Amadeo?’ I asked. ‘Have you no questions as to the disposition of his soul? Without Sacred Rites, he died. He died only for me.’ ‘No, Master,’ he answered, and then a smile played on his lips as though it were a flame which had sprung from mine. ‘It’s marvelous what I saw, Master. What do I care for his body or his soul?’ I was too angry to respond. There had been no lesson in it! He was too young, the night too dark, the man too wretched, and all that I had foreseen had come to nought.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 338)

In this case, Marius actually inserts some dialogue where in The Vampire Armand we had none, and this decision raises a particularly interesting question. Does Marius conflate Amadeo’s inner thoughts with his spoken dialogue? It’s a pretty terrifying prospect, that Marius could at any point lash out angrily in response to Amadeo’s thoughts in the same way he would to something he speaks out loud. Who hasn’t had negative, mean spirited thoughts pop into their head at some point or another? Especially as a teenager.

Overall, there are several factors that might explain why Marius chose to change so much in terms of Amadeo’s personality and behaviour. It’s interesting to note as well that Amadeo’s aggression and violent outbursts are also cut from Blood and Gold, so it isn’t necessarily that Marius is attempting to paint a picture in which he was always the good guy trying to keep Amadeo under control.

Being completely honest, I think it boils down to Marius just not caring about Amadeo. I think he loved him, but he loved him purely as an object and as a project to see through to completion. His relationship with Amadeo is barely even portrayed as romantic, in comparison to his relationships with Pandora and Bianca. From the moment Marius found him, he viewed Amadeo as something he could shape into the “ideal” vampire, and so his personality and identity outside of Marius was just… never important to him.

Timeline

Now we’re really cooking with gas, let's get into the timeline conflicts. There are two that I’m gonna talk about here which I noticed, though there might also be others as well.

The first one I want to look at is something I didn’t pick up on until my second read through while writing this essay/thesis/ramble, and though it’s not necessarily a complete conflict in terms of the timeline, it is very odd. Unfortunately it means we have to return to my beloved enemy, the whipping scene.

While the whipping scene is completely absent from Blood and Gold, there is an event which follows on from that scene which is present in both books, and this is the conversation in which Marius first reveals the subject of Those Who Must Be Kept to Amadeo.

“‘Child. I go to see Those Who Must Be Kept. I have no choice in this.’ For a moment I said nothing. I tried to understand the denotation of the words he’d spoken. His voice had dropped, and he had said the words halfheartedly. ‘What is that, Master?’ I asked.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 92)

“‘That I cannot do,’ I answered. And out of my mouth there came words I thought I’d never speak. ‘I go to Those Who Must Be Kept,’ I said as if I couldn’t hold the secret within me. ‘To see if they are at peace. I do as I have always done.’ What a look of wonder came over his face. ‘Those Who Must Be Kept,’ he whispered. He said it like a prayer.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 333)

So, without the whipping scene, you might be wondering what precedes the same conversation in Blood and Gold. Well, according to Marius, this is also the day that Mael visits the palazzo.

“Amadeo saw him. Again, for several fatal moments, Amadeo saw him. And I knew that something deep inside Amadeo recognized Mael for the creature that he was. But like so many things in the mind of Amadeo, it wasn’t conscious, and the boys left me with quick kisses, off to sing their songs to Bianca, and be flattered by everyone there. I was impatient with Mael that he had come out of the bedchamber, but I didn’t say it. ‘So would you make a blood drinker of that one,’ he said, pointing to the door through which the boys had left us. He smiled.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 330)

This is something I only noticed when reading the two books side by side and spotting the repeated conversation about Those Who Must Be Kept, but yes, according to Marius’ account of events, the night that he whipped Amadeo bloody was apparently also the same night that Mael was staying in the building.

In The Vampire Armand, Armand makes no mention of Mael’s visit. However we have evidence from as early as Queen of the Damned that this visit did happen.

“‘And so you would make that one?’ Mael had asked with simple directness. ‘When it’s time,’ Marius had said dismissively, ‘when it’s time.’” (Queen of the Damned, pg. 282)

So, what does this mean? The way I see it there are two possibilities: Either these events did take place on the same day, or they didn’t.

If these events did take place on the same day, it would be completely understandable that Armand wouldn’t mention Mael’s visit, considering everything else that happened to him on that one night. Honestly, I think it would be believable that even in the moment Amadeo completely forgot about the strange blonde man he’d seen loitering around the palazzo after then being whipped to the point that he had to dissociate to try and cope with the amount of pain. I think it would certainly be very weird if the two things did happen on the same night, but it’s possible.

However, the whole point of this essay is to explore what the reasons might be for Marius excluding or changing certain things, so let’s consider that. Let’s consider the possibility that these events didn’t occur at the same time.

Armand didn’t mention Mael’s visit in his version of events, which essentially gives Marius free reign with the timeline, so why choose specifically this day to claim that Mael was there? Well, for starters, Marius has given himself a witness. Suddenly this is no longer just Armand’s word against Marius, it’s now become Armand’s word against Marius and Mael. With very minimal effort, Marius has managed to throw Armand’s entire account of events into question. Why didn’t he mention Mael? Does Armand even remember Mael? How can we trust any of the things he said if he can’t remember?

Considering all of this, I also want to point out this line at the end of their conversation in Marius’ account.

“I bent to kiss Amadeo, and the heat of his body inflamed me. ‘Master, give me the Blood,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Master, tell me what you are.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 334)

This is the closest we get to Marius’ account of the whipping scene, and he reduces it down to almost a single line, in which Amadeo asks for it.

Following directly on from this scene, we get to the biggest contradiction between the two books. In this case, it isn’t just the timelines aligning strangely, we actually get a completely different ordering of events.

In The Vampire Armand, after the whipping scene and the conversation about Those Who Must Be Kept, Marius then decides to reveal his vampire nature to Amadeo. He kills several times in front of him, and then leaves to visit Those Who Must Be Kept. While Marius is away, Lord Harlech attacks the palazzo and fatally wounds Amadeo, who is then tended to by Bianca for several days until Marius returns and gives him the blood. I think the most important thing to emphasise is that in Armand’s account, Marius wasn’t at the palazzo, or even in Venice, when Amadeo was attacked.

“‘The Master will know,’ said Riccardo. He looked drawn and miserable, and his lips quivered. His eyes were flooded with tears. Oh, ominous sign, certainly. ‘The Master will know somehow. He knows all things. The Master will break his journey and come home.’ ‘Wash his face,’ said Bianca calmly. ‘Wash his face and be quiet.’ How brave she was.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 132)

However, in Blood and Gold, we get a completely different order of events. Following the conversation about Those Who Must Be Kept, Marius then leaves to visit them and ask permission to reveal his nature to Amadeo. When he returns, he kills several times in front of him, and it is only the following day that Lord Harlech attacks, while Marius is at home in Venice sleeping nearby the palazzo.

“No one had to tell me, as I rushed down the stairs from the roof, that a drunken violent English lord had come rampaging into my house in search of Amadeo for whom he harbored a forbidden passion, which had been somewhat fed by Amadeo’s dalliance on random nights when I had been away.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 345)

It’s easily the most noticeable change in the book, considering in The Vampire Armand we get an entire chapter dedicated to Amadeo fighting off the poison and fever until Marius finally returns home, but in Blood and Gold this is completely rewritten. Why? I think the most obvious answer is that Marius was well aware of the danger Amadeo was in when he left him. He knew the risks, abandoned Amadeo anyway, and it backfired, essentially resulting in Amadeo’s death. So, in his version, he tried to absolve himself of any responsibility by claiming he had been there the whole time.

Or, maybe, it’s not about Amadeo at all. Maybe it’s about Those Who Must Be Kept. In Blood and Gold, Marius went to them specifically to request permission to reveal his nature to Amadeo, while in The Vampire Armand he did this before consulting them. Perhaps even now Marius is still ruled by his devotion to them, and he couldn’t bring himself to admit to acting without permission.

Armand’s Turning

While the timeline is up for debate, what we know for certain is that after Amadeo was poisoned, Marius made him a vampire. The process is described in both books but, again, there are differences between the two versions. The change in the timeline already significantly impacts things. In The Vampire Armand we don’t have a good idea of how long Amadeo is suffering before Marius finally returns, but it’s drawn out across two chapters which seems to indicate it was at least a day if not more, whereas in Blood and Gold Marius was there to immediately ease his suffering. The overall impression in The Vampire Armand is that Armand’s turning was a frightening, painful experience, while Marius gives the impression of a very controlled environment.

“‘Come to me, Amadeo.’ ‘I’m too weak, Master, I’m fainting, I’m dying in this glorious light.’ I took one step after another, though it seemed impossible. I placed one foot before the other, drawing ever closer to him. I stumbled. ‘On your hands and knees, then, come. Come to me.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 158)

“‘Come to me,’ I said. I held out my arms. He took the first steps, unsure of himself, so full of my blood that surely the light itself must have amazed him, but his eyes were moving over the multitudes of figures painted on the wall. Then he looked directly at me.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 351)

Obviously, it makes sense that from Marius’ perspective this scene would be less emotionally charged, since he’s viewing it from an outside perspective while Amadeo is living through it, but the difference in tone is pretty significant. In Armand’s version, he remembers having to literally crawl on his hands and knees to get the rest of the blood from Marius and complete the transformation. He’s barely strong enough to move, but Marius forces him to fight to stay alive.

Meanwhile in Blood and Gold, we get no real impression of how much Amadeo was struggling. He doesn’t mention forcing him to crawl to him, only that he was “unsure of himself”.

“I lay on the floor. He stood above me, and his hands were open to me. ‘Get up, Amadeo. Come, come up, into my arms. Take it.’ I cried. I sobbed. My tears were red, and my hand was stained with red. ‘Help me, Master.’ ‘I do help you. Come, seek it out for yourself.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 159)

“‘Come, Amadeo, come and take it from me,’ I said, my eyes full of tears. ‘You are the victor. Take what I have to give.’ He was in my arms instantly, and I held him warmly, whispering close to his ear. ‘Don’t be afraid, child, not even for a moment. You’ll die now to live forever, as I take your blood and give it back to you. I won’t let you slip away.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 351)

In The Vampire Armand, Amadeo is on the floor, crying and begging for help while Marius barks orders at him and refuses to do anything to ease his suffering, but in Blood and Gold we get a completely different picture. Marius describes himself as overcome with emotion, as holding Amadeo “warmly”, whispering words of comfort to him.

It’s possible that Armand’s turning was an incredibly traumatic experience, and that’s why he remembers it in such a negative light. But then, if Marius was as caring and gentle with him as he claims, would it have been a traumatic experience at all? If Marius held him through it and comforted him the way he described, why does Armand remember crying and dragging himself across the floor, fighting to stay alive?

There’s another small detail I want to point out before I move on completely. It’s not part of the turning per say, but it is part of that overall scene and I wasn’t sure it really fit into the other sections.

Before turning him, in both books, Marius bathes him and heals all his wounds, preparing him for immortality. It’s pretty much the same from both accounts but there is one tiny detail that I clocked immediately when reading Blood and Gold for the first time.

“I stripped off his thick and soiled velvet clothes. And then into the warm water I placed him, and there with the blood from my mouth I sealed all the cuts in the flesh made by Lord Harlech. I shaved off for all time any beard that he might have.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 350)

Why did reading that send of Kill Bill sirens in my head? Because in the same scene in The Vampire Armand we get this instead.

“He broke up handfuls of water to bathe me. He bathed first my face and then all of me. His hard satiny fingertips moved over my face. ‘Not a vagrant hair yet of your beard, and yet you have the nether endowments of a man, and now must rise above the pleasures you have so loved.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 145)

It’s such a throwaway line but really hammers home the difference between the stories Armand and Marius are trying to present. With a few words Marius is able to present Amadeo as slightly older, slightly more mature. It still wouldn’t make Marius’ actions okay, but it might at least come across as a little less shocking if Amadeo was at least past puberty.

Pandora, Bianca, and Accountability

For this final part I’m gonna be looking less at comparisons between the two books, and more at some of the other parts of Blood and Gold which highlight the difference in the way Marius talks about Amadeo compared to his other relationships.

First I want to point out a discrepancy between the books and more of a discrepancy within Blood and Gold itself because I think it works to illustrate the levels of dishonesty in Marius’ entire account of his time with Amadeo. As part of his description of the moments following Amadeo being turned, Marius says this.

“And as he drank from me, I gave him my lessons, my secrets. I told him of the gifts that might one night come to him. I told him of my long ago love for Pandora. I told him of Zenobia, of Avicus, of Mael. I told him all but the final secret. That I kept from him.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 353)

Already this contradicts Armand’s account, because he doesn’t mention any of these characters or their stories when explaining the things Marius told him. But Marius then goes on to contradict himself later in the book when telling these things to Bianca.

“I told her of the Druid grove again, and how I had been the god there and fled those who would have entrapped me, and I saw her eyes grow wide. I told her of Avicus and Zenobia, of our hunting in the city of Constantinople. I told her of how I cut Zenobia’s beautiful black hair. And telling her these tales, I felt calmed and less sad and broken and able to do what I must do. Never in all my time with Amadeo had I told such stories. Never with Pandora had it been so simple. But with this creature it seemed only natural to talk and to find consolation in it.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 431/432)

So we know Marius is lying, at least about some aspects. Lying to such an extent that not only is he contradicting Armand, he’s now contradicting himself in places.

And the thing is, there are many occasions within Blood and Gold where Marius lies, always for selfish reasons, but what’s interesting is Marius’ willingness to admit to this.

“My soul was wondrously soothed by this event. I am only confessing now what it meant to me. For having lied to Bianca I lived with an unbearable guilt, and now, having given her this gift of the Mother’s blood I felt a huge measure of relief from it.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 496)

In general, Marius goes into far more depth about his relationships with Bianca and Pandora than he ever does with Amadeo. In fact, without the context of the previous books, it would be easy to miss the fact that his relationship with Amadeo was romantic at all. And while Amadeo has his character stripped back to almost the bare bones within Blood and Gold, the same doesn’t happen for Bianca or Pandora. We see the passion of their relationships, and, while it could be argued that Marius is still leaving out a substantial amount of violence that is only implied by the women' s reactions to him, he certainly doesn’t cut it out completely.

We see incredibly heated arguments between Marius and Bianca throughout their relationship.

“I glared at her. A madness took hold of me. I rose to my feet I looked about the shrine furiously. ‘Gather up all you possess,’ I said suddenly. ‘I’m casting you out of here!’ She sat still as she had been before, gazing up at me in cold defiance.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 466)

From the minute Marius is reunited with Pandora we see how violent and possessive he becomes.

“Quickly I crossed the dance floor and bowed before her. I lifted her cold white hand, and led her out and into the dance, and would take no resistance from her. ‘No, you’re mine, you’re mind, do you hear?’ I whispered. ‘Don’t pull away from me.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 509)

The point being, Marius absolutely doesn’t attempt to paint his relationships with Bianca and Pandora as perfect, and his complete erasure of any violence or anger is something he does specifically with Amadeo.

I think Marius definitely views Amadeo separately to the way he views Bianca and Pandora. The difference specifically between Amadeo and Pandora is easy enough to notice. After losing her, Marius spends almost the entirety of Blood and Gold trying to find Pandora, while he gives up on Amadeo almost immediately. Both Pandora and Bianca are treated as characters with agency, while Amadeo is spoken of as a piece of property.

“I had little strength myself to comfort her, but I knew that she needed what little strength I had. It was hitting me again like so many violent blows that my world was dashed, that my house was ruined, that Amadeo was stolen from me.” [...] “But that was gone. All was gone. Amadeo was gone. My paintings were gone.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 424)

As I said before, a lot of the editing and omitting of Amadeo’s story could be down to the fact that he was a child (a human child) and couldn’t defend or fight for himself in the way that Bianca and Pandora could, but I don’t think we can ignore the way race and nationality plays into this either.

Both Bianca and Pandora are Italian born, the same as Marius, while Amadeo came from Ukraine (Marius continues to refer to this as being in Russia in the present day, which, since I’m writing this essay from a totally Watsonian perspective, means he’s also an idiot).

Marius has a lot of incredibly racist and xenophobic prejudices in general, specifically his outright hatred of “The East”, and it’s clear the negative views he has of Amadeo’s home country.

“The following night I told him the story of his native city. Kiev had once been magnificent, its cathedral built to rival Hagia Sophia in Constantinople from which its Christianity had come. Greek Christianity had shaped its beliefs and its art. And both had flourished beautifully there in a wondrous place. But centuries ago, the Mongols had sacked this grand city, massacred its population, destroying forever its power, leaving behind some accidental survivals, among them monks who kept to themselves. What remained of Kiev? A miserable place along the banks of the Dnieper River where the cathedral still stood, and the monks still existed in the famous Monastery of the Caves.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 366/367)

“Always before this journey to Russia I had thought the split in Amadeo’s mind was between the rich and varied art of Venice and the strict and stylized art of old Russia.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 374)

Considering that, let’s also look at the difference in the way he describes them.

This quote, from just after his most explosive row with Bianca:

“I went back to her. She was standing as I had left her, her face as solemn as before, her brilliant oval eyes fixed on me.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 467)

This quote, from his argument with Pandora:

“‘You dream,’ she said and the first coldness came into her face and into her voice. It was in her brown eyes, a coldness that comes from sorrow.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 510)

And then this quote, which isn’t from any argument or disagreement, just Marius describing Amadeo now that he can’t read his mind:

“Now I must read his facial expressions, his gestures, the depth of his secretive and faintly cruel brown eyes.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 354)

Even at their “worst” moments, Bianca and Pandora are described with far more grace than Amadeo gets during a totally neutral moment. Bianca is solemn, Pandora is cold yet sorrowful, but Amadeo is cruel. I definitely think that Amadeo’s race plays a part in Marius’ disregard for him compared to Bianca and Pandora, and likely also contributed to how quickly he gave up on Amadeo after he was taken by the Children of Darkness.

Conclusion

We did it. Let’s hold hands. To wrap things up, I wanna say again that the fact of the matter is, a lot of this could be down to the author rather than the character. Maybe Anne Rice didn’t want to rewrite every detail from The Vampire Armand from Marius’ perspective. Maybe she forgot things, maybe she got the timelines muddled.

The fact is, regardless of the reasons why, this is the story we ended up with. And to me at least, this story appears to be one of an abuser attempting to discredit the words of his victim. Marius uses every trick in the book to discredit what Armand wrote: omitting information, contradicting him, even bringing in other people to back up his version of the story, while still admitting to some of his less “severe” mistreatment of Bianca and Pandora in order to paint himself as a man who is able to reflect and take accountability for his actions. Yet, at the same time, this book also gives the impression that, above all else, Amadeo was never that important to him. Perhaps this is just another way to distance himself from Armand.

And I can’t help but consider the in-universe implications of this. As it is, Armand still isn’t at a point where he recognises the things that happened to him as abuse. We get an inkling every now and then that he might be beginning to realise that Marius wasn’t purely the good and merciful saviour he believed him to be. Sometimes he does fear him, especially after losing Benji and Sybelle to him too. But I wonder how much reading this book could set him back again; how much all the contradictions would muddle the memories he already struggles to make sense of. And I wonder if, to an extent, that was Marius’ plan all along.

All of this to say that after all of this I can’t help but come back to what, to me, is one of the most sinister quotes from the entire series.

“‘And when you think back on this time, when in half-sleep at night you remember me as your eyes close on your pillow, these moments of ours will seem corrupt and most strange. They’ll seem like sorcery and the antics of the mad, and this warm place might become the lost chamber of dark secrets and this might bring you pain.’ ‘I won’t go.’ ‘Remember then that it was love,’ he said.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 69)

#the vampire armand #blood and gold #marius de romanus #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #well.. there you go 😭#my essay #with the quotes included this has a higher word count than my actual dissertation #marius de fuckface #interview with the vampire #river reads tvc

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shiyorin · 1 month ago

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Author's note: Come from my private au, has so many settings I am never said before but I think it is funny, must post.

Tumblr formatting sucks so I had to change it like this.

EXPOSED: 133 SPICY SECRETS THE IMPERIUM DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW — WHAT THE PRIMARCHS REALLY DO AFTER DARK!

From kink collections to bedroom blunders - the juiciest, weirdest, and most heretical habits of the Emperor’s golden boys. You won’t believe #26… and #90? Absolutely illegal in 7 systems!

The Lion maintains absolute discipline even during climax, barely changes expression.

Has a secret passionate side that only emerges with you.

Silent hunter in the streets, vocal beast in the sheets.

Despite his serious demeanor, he makes cat noises when he comes. Not sexy growls, literal "meow" sounds.

Has never discussed his intimate life with anyone, total compartmentalization.

Possesses surprisingly detailed knowledge of ancient Terran tantric practices.

Watch you like prey before making a move, intense predatory stare.

Has a ritual of knightly "service" that leaves you breathless.

Fulgrim has tried literally every sexual practice in Imperial records.

Can delay his climax indefinitely through perfect muscular control.

His perfectionism extends to sexual performance, practices techniques alone.

Has a mirror positioned above his bed, claiming it's "for technique refinement."

Keeps a detailed journal rating every sexual encounter on multiple criteria.

Always smells like different exotic perfumes depending on his mood.

Perturabo pproaches pleasure like an engineering problem to be solved with precision.

Records biometric data during encounters to analyze optimal techniques.

His jealousy issues manifest as possessiveness in relationship.

He has body image issues despite being built like a Greek god. When you started calling his stretch marks "triumph lines" and his response was to short-circuit emotionally.

Surprisingly responsive to praise during intimate moments.

Despite his gruff exterior, he cries during his refractory period. Every time.

Has trust issues that translate to control dynamics in bed.

Jaghatai's speed isn't just for the battlefield, it can vibrate certain body parts.

Never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.

Has a thing for outdoor sex.

Braids his hair specially for intimate occasions, pulls it out after.

Makes a distinctive sound during climax that's become legendary.

Knows pleasure techniques from dozens of different cultures.

Sometimes recites war poems during particularly intense moments.

Leman's heightened sense of smell means he can detect arousal from across a room.

Growls during climax, not metaphorically, actually growls.

Has fucked in every environment imaginable, including in blizzards.

Gets rough during full moons without even realizing it.

His beard provides unexpected sensations that drive you wild.

His dirty talk is surprisingly poetic, often in ancient Fenrisian dialects.

Has a thing for biting, leaves marks that last for weeks.

Dorn approaches sex with the same directness as everything else, tells you exactly what he wants.

Has incredible endurance, can maintain the same position for hours without tiring.

He speaks exclusively in literal terms during sex. "I am now going to insert my penis into your vagina" is his idea of dirty talk. When you asked him to talk dirty, he told you about soil composition and drainage issues. Somehow, still hot.

He has never once lied, which made "how was it for you?" a terrifying question until you learned to be more specific.

Never exaggerates or falsifies his reactions, 100% authentic responses.

Has an unexpected thing for bondage, loves testing the strength of different restraints.

Always keeps his word on promised pleasures, reliability is his hallmark.

If you want to peg him, he will provide a detailed structural analysis of your technique, complete with suggestions for improved angle of entry.

Konrad can see your deepest desires through his precognitive abilities.

Only has sex in complete darkness, says the shadows "speak to him" then.

Has a thing for fear, gets aroused when you are slightly afraid.

Never makes a sound during sex, total silence except for breathing.

Sometimes whispers your future to you during climax, usually disturbing stuff.

He's a little spoon who needs to be the big spoon until he falls asleep, then immediately reverts to little.

He keeps a "justice journal" where he ranks everyone's crimes and appropriate punishments. Apparently, your crime is "excessive smugness" and your punishment is "thorough pleasure correction."

Sanguinius's wings are erogenous zones, extremely sensitive to touch.

His beauty isn't just physical, emits a pheromone that intensifies attraction.

Blood rushes to his wings during arousal, making them flush visibly.

His enhanced hearing means he can detect the slightest changes in heartbeat and breathing.

You can feel a euphoric blood rush in his presence, possibly psychic.

Has a tragic fear of hurting you, requires absolute trust.

He looks like an angel but fucks like a demon. The dichotomy is disorienting.

He apologizes after dirty talk. "You're a filthy cockslut-I'm sorry, that was disrespectful.”

Despite Ferrus's gruff exterior, whispers surprisingly tender things during intimate moments.

Temperature of his hands can be adjusted for different sensations.

Always checks in verbally throughout, consent is non-negotiable.

Can go for multiple rounds with zero recovery time.

Has a thing for hands, loves both giving and receiving hand pleasure.

Contrary to expectations, Angron is extremely controlled in bed, afraid of hurting you.

His rage translates to intense passion when properly channeled.

The Butcher's Nails make his pleasure/pain responses unpredictable.

Requires specialized reinforced beds, has broken dozens.

Gets emotional after particularly intense sessions, sometimes even cries.

Prefers if you aren’t intimidated by his size or reputation.

His heart rate during sex would kill a normal human.

Guilliman approaches sex with tactical precision, maps erogenous zones like campaign targets.

Keeps a detailed spreadsheet analyzing performance and your satisfaction.

Actually wrote a private codex on sexual techniques, 500 pages, fully illustrated.

Always showers immediately before and after.

Has a thing for authority figure, ironic given his own position.

Surprisingly imaginative once he trusts you enough to relax.

Asks for performance reviews afterward, genuinely wants to improve.

Despite his appearance, Mortarion is unexpectedly gentle and attentive.

Has a breathing kink, loves controlled breath play.

His body temperature runs cold, creating interesting sensations for you.

Surprisingly flexible.

Has never been naked in front of anyone, always keeps something on.

His scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially along his back.

Silent during sex except for carefully controlled breathing.

Prefers total darkness, claims it "equalizes the experience."

Magnus can psychically enhance your pleasure, making you feel everything he feels.

His eye glows brighter during arousal.

Can maintain an erection for days through psychic control.

Know exactly what you want before you do, mind reading has its benefits.

Has invented several positions that would be physically impossible without telekinesis.

Sometimes accidentally projects his orgasms psychically, causing everyone nearby to feel it.

His extensive library includes the galaxy's largest collection of erotic literature.

Has had sex while simultaneously reading a book.

Horus has a thing for power dynamics, he loves when you challenge his authority before ultimately submitting to him.

His stamina is legendary, often going for hours without breaks.

Gets incredibly turned on when called "Warmaster" in bed.

Has a secret collection of handcuffs from every world he's conquered.

That scar on his body? Extremely sensitive to touch, instant arousal trigger.

Secretly recorded himself with you, keeps the videos in a hidden vault.

Has a thing for doing it in war rooms, especially on strategic tables.

Lorgar treats sex like a religious experience, complete with rituals and chanting.

Has written erotic poetry that would make experienced courtesans blush.

Takes his time, foreplay can last hours as he "worships" every inch.

His voice alone can bring you to the edge, has studied sonic stimulation.

Maintains eye contact throughout, intensely spiritual connection.

Has a thing for confession scenarios, wants to hear your darkest desires.

Always burns special incense that heightens sensitivity.

Has sacred words tattooed in places only you discover.

Vulkan's body temperature runs extremely hot, like making love to a furnace.

Gives the best post-sex cuddles in the Imperium, like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

Has a surprising affinity for sensual massage, can work out knots you didn't know you had.

Laughs during sex, finds joy in physical connection.

Always focuses on your pleasure before his own.

His heartbeat is audible and hypnotic during intimate moments.

Corax can literally turn into shadows during particularly intense moments.

Has a thing for heights, loves balconies, rooftops, and flying vehicles.

So quiet during sex you sometimes forget he's there until he touches you.

Can see perfectly in darkness, knows exactly where to touch.

Sometimes sprouts shadow-wings during climax, startling the unprepared.

His voice drops to hypnotic registers during dirty talk.

Enjoys watching from the shadows before joining in.

You're never sure which twin you're actually with, sometimes they switch mid-session.

Can perfectly mimic the sexual techniques of anyone they've observed.

Keep a network of informants reporting on the sexual preferences of your.

Have developed secret pleasure points unknown to standard anatomy.

Sometimes speak in unison during threesomes, eerily synchronized.

Have been known to disguise themselves as servants to spy on people's sexual habits.

One likes to be on top, one likes to be on bottom, but they never specify which is which.

The Emperor's psychic presence intensifies pleasure to godlike levels.

Can appear differently to different, manifests as your ideal lover.

Time seems to stretch in his presence, moments of pleasure can feel like eternities.

His golden aura becomes blinding during moments of passion.

The Primarchs' various quirks are genetic echoes of the Emperor's own preferences, each inherited different aspects.

*******

You stared at the crumpled list in your hands, blinking rapidly as you processed what you were reading. The paper had been slipped under your door sometime during the night, the handwriting alternating between several different styles as if multiple people had contributed to it.

"What the fuck," you whispered, scanning the detailed, disturbingly detailed, descriptions of the Primarchs' supposed sexual habits.

This had to be retaliation for your artwork. Ever since you'd been caught sketching that sexual piece featuring Horus and Sanguinius in a rather compromising position, things had escalated into a bizarre war of increasingly sexual content between you and the Emperor's sons.

Your data-slate pinged with an incoming message. Seventeen new commission requests from seventeen different encrypted sources, all requesting artwork based on items from the list. Each offering payment that would make an Imperial Governor blush.

"Oh, it's fucking on," You cracking your knuckles as you reached for your stylus.

********

The first anatomical "reference session" was scheduled for that afternoon. Magnus had requested a private meeting in the Librarium after hours, claiming he needed to discuss "important tactical matters" with the remembrance.

When you arrived, you found the crimson Primarch sitting rigidly at a massive wooden table, surrounded by ancient tomes and scrolls that definitely weren't tactical in nature.

"I received your list," you said without preamble, dropping the crumpled paper onto the table between them.

"What list?" Magnus asked, his single eye widening with what appeared to be genuine confusion.

"The 133 sexual facts about you and your brothers," you clarified, watching his face carefully. "Rather detailed information about your... preferences."

Magnus's crimson skin darkened further as he snatched up the paper and scanned it rapidly. "This is...I didn't-" he sputtered, then paused, his eye narrowing. "Number Eighty-eight is accurate, though."

"Which one was-" you started to ask before catching yourself. "Not the point. Did you and your brothers create this as some kind of joke? Retaliation for my artwork?"

"I assure you, I had nothing to do with this," Magnus said, still reading the list with increasing distress. "Though I suspect Fulgrim or perhaps the twins..." His voice trailed off as he reached the section about himself. "That's... uncomfortably specific."

"So these are accurate?" you couldn't help asking, professional curiosity getting the better of you.

"I neither confirm nor deny," Magnus replied automatically, though his continued deepening complexion suggested otherwise.

"Right," you nodded, retrieving the list and tucking it away. "Well, regardless of its origin, I've received seventeen commission requests based on it. Including yours about psychic pleasure enhancement."

Magnus choked on nothing. "I didn't-"

"The request came from '[email protected],'" you interrupted dryly. "Very subtle."

"That could be anyone," Magnus protested weakly.

"It was written in Prosperine hieroglyphics," you countered. "With annotations in a language that doesn't technically exist yet."

Magnus slumped in defeat. "Fine. I may have sent a... hypothetical inquiry."

"About whether I could accurately depict psychic pleasure transference in artistic form," you completed. "For which you'd need to demonstrate the technique. For accuracy."

"Precisely," Magnus nodded, scholarly demeanor returning. "It's a complex psychic phenomenon that requires direct observation to properly capture."

"Uh-huh," you said skeptically. "And this has nothing to do with item ninety-one on the list about you accidentally broadcasting your orgasms psychically?"

Magnus's eye darted away. "A preposterous exaggeration."

"So that didn't happen during the Ullanor campaign? Because I heard an entire regiment of Imperial Army suddenly collapsed in ecstasy during your private meditation time."

"A coincidence," Magnus insisted. "Mass hysteria."

"Right," you grinned. "So about this commission..."

********

The next morning found you in the training cages, ostensibly observing combat techniques for "assassinorum purposes" but actually gathering reference material for the flood of commissions that had arrived overnight.

Jaghatai and Leman were sparring, stripped to the waist, their compression leggings leaving little to the imagination as they grappled and threw each other around the cage. A small crowd had gathered to watch the Primarchs train, but you had managed to secure a front-row position with your sketchbook.

"Enjoying the view?" Torgaddon asked, sliding up beside you.

"Research," you replied without looking up from your rapid sketching. "Anatomical references for commission work."

"Uh-huh," Torgaddon nodded skeptically. "And the fact that you're focusing on their glutes and crotches is purely professional."

"The gluteal muscles are key to understanding proper movement dynamics," you explained with mock seriousness. "Also, item twenty-three indicates Jaghatai 'never stays in one position for long, constant motion and rhythm.' I need to capture that accurately."

"You actually believe that list?" Torgaddon asked incredulously.

"I'm verifying it empirically," you corrected. "Scientific method and all that."

Just then, Jaghatai executed a particularly impressive takedown that left Leman pinned beneath him, both Primarchs breathing heavily and glistening with sweat. They held the position a beat too long, eyes darting to where you sat sketching, before Leman growled something and they separated.

"They're showing off for you," Torgaddon observed.

"Of course they are," you agreed, adding detailing to your sketch. "And I'm getting excellent reference material because of it. Win-win."

"This is going to end badly," Torgaddon predicted.

"This is going to end profitably," you corrected. "I've made more money in the past week than in my last three assassination missions combined."

"Speaking of which," Torgaddon lowered your voice, "there's a rumor that the Emperor himself has commissioned you for something."

Your stylus paused momentarily. "Where did you hear that?"

"So it's true!" Torgaddon’s eyes widened.

"Neither confirm nor deny," you muttered, returning to your sketching. "Client confidentiality."

"By the Throne," Torgaddon breathed. "What did he ask for?"

"If, and I stress if, such a commission existed," you said carefully, "it would be for a classical portrait. Nothing more."

"Classical as in...?"

"Classical as in Ancient Terran style. Renaissance era."

"Nude?" Torgaddon pressed.

"Artistically draped," you corrected primly.

"The Emperor wants you to draw him like one of your Terran girls," Torgaddon marveled. "The actual Emperor of Mankind."

"This conversation isn't happening," you insisted, focusing intently on your sketching as Ferrus Manus entered the training cage, also stripped to the waist, his metal arms gleaming under the lights.

"Your pupils just dilated," Torgaddon noted.

"Lighting change," you dismissed, though your increased sketching speed suggested otherwise.

"Right," Torgaddon drawled. "Well, while you're conducting your 'research,' you might want to know that father is looking for you. Something about providing 'detailed references' for his triple-self commission."

"Already scheduled," you replied without looking up. "After the war council. He's bringing reference materials."

"What kind of reference materials could father possibly-" Torgaddon started to ask, then shook his head. "Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Wise decision," you agreed, flipping to a new page as Ferrus began demonstrating a series of strikes that showcased his impressive torso musculature. "Very wise indeed."

********

The Emperor's private gallery was unlike anything you had ever seen, a vast chamber filled with artwork spanning human history, from primitive cave paintings to hololithic masterpieces that seemed to shift and move as you walked past them.

And here you were, presenting your completed commission to the Master of Mankind himself.

"The brushwork is exquisite," the Emperor commented, examining the large canvas you had delivered. "You've captured the classical style perfectly."

"Thank you," you replied, trying to maintain your professional demeanor despite standing before the most powerful being in the galaxy, discussing what was essentially an erotic portrait.

"The musculature is anatomically precise," he continued, "yet idealized in the classical tradition. Your understanding of chiaroscuro is impressive."

"I studied the ancient masters extensively," you explained, which was true, you'd spent three days in the Imperial archives researching Renaissance techniques for this commission.

"And the draped fabric creates just the right balance between revelation and mystery," the Emperor noted, his golden eyes studying the painting with the intensity of a sun. "Excellent work."

The painting depicted the Emperor in a classical pose reminiscent of ancient Terran deity portrayals, strategically draped fabric preserving modesty while suggesting the perfection beneath. It was tasteful yet undeniably sensual, exactly what he had requested.

"I'm pleased it meets your expectations," you said, feeling oddly nervous despite your training.

"More than meets them," the Emperor assured you. "I shall add it to my private collection immediately." He gestured to a section of the gallery that appeared to be accessible only through a psychically locked doorway. "Your compensation has been transferred to your accounts, with a substantial bonus."

"You're too generous," you began, but the Emperor raised a hand.

"I reward excellence appropriately," he stated simply. "And I understand you've been providing similar services to my sons."

You froze, unsure how to respond. "I-"

"No need for concern," the Emperor assured you, his perfect lips curving into a slight smile. "Creative expression takes many forms. And frankly, they've been more focused on their duties since your commissions began. Less... tension among them."

"I'm... glad to hear that," you managed, processing the fact that the Emperor of Mankind was essentially approving your pornographic side business.

"I would, however, suggest discretion regarding the list that has been circulating," the Emperor added, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "Some of those items hit rather close to home."

"You've seen the list?" you blurted before you could stop yourself.

"I see everything eventually," the Emperor replied enigmatically. "Though I suspect Malcador had a hand in its creation. He always did have a peculiar sense of humor."

Before you could process this revelation, the Emperor gestured toward the exit. "I look forward to seeing your future work, Remembrance. Perhaps we might discuss another commission at a later date."

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you bowed slightly and turned to leave. As you reached the doorway, the Emperor's voice stopped you.

"Oh, also? Item One-hundred-and-thirty-two is entirely accurate."

Your mind raced to recall the item in question, something about his golden aura becoming blinding during passion. By the time you turned back to respond, the Emperor had vanished, leaving you alone in the gallery with the distinct impression you'd just been teased by the Master of Mankind himself.

"What even is my life right now?" You muttered, making your way back to your quarters where seventeen more commissions awaited your attention.

#shiyorin's writer #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #romantic stuff in 40k #wh40crack #lol

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amiya-shirou · 10 days ago

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I love how despite the Seaborn having a very minor role during Exodus from the Pale Sea their presence is still embedded so deeply in every facet of the story. I don't just mean how they're the reason the Pale Sea exists or how one of them appears in the event, but also the way they affect the themes of the story, which applies the Human Individuality vs Seaborn Collective conflict we've already explored in the Abyssal Hunter events to a tale where every part is played by humans.

There's something in the way Anastasio stands against any and all desires, almost word for word quoting Arturia as something that should be fought against at all costs. The way Arturia in turn thought of the Seaborn as boring because they lacked that desire. The way the citizens in this story are so scared of desire, how they fell so deeply on the Inquisition's teachings to survive and try to forget the horror they lived through that even now that much of the danger has passed and the conditions are better they still dare not fill their bellies even if there's food, they dare not buy something that might look fun from the caravans, they dare not wish for anything for themselves, almost every ounce of individuality they once had completely destroyed to the point that when Silver tried lifting the bans and letting them live a better life they couldn't accept it and wanted the prohibitions to come back, readily switching side to Anastasio to get back that familiar sense of comfort and stability the rules gave them even if they had long exhausted their material purpose. The very Inquisition that's so hellbent on eradicating the Seaborn from the land while making speeches about the superiority of human civilization ended up turning the people they swore to protect in something that's not so different from them, or even fully ready to join We Many as seen in other events with the way the Church of the Deep is able to pray on the discontent of the Iberians.

But as Deepcolor once noted in her operator record, it's impossible to completely eradicate your humanity, just like the Priest she talks to couldn't fully become Seaborn due to his curiosity or she couldn't become one because of her artistic passion, and in fact if you look at the conditions of both the citizens and Anastasio, they're all just guided by fear. After all the Seaborn have no concept of guilt or sinning, they're just driven by the instinct to keep the collective going and any of them would readily sacrifice itself for the others and they're shown wanting to free their kin even as they're actively being killed by them - meanwhile Silver trying to help the city by reforming the pirates and making some compromises so that everyone could live better is met by Anastasio with disdain, because his teachings don't allow for real forgiveness except for the one given by death, no matter if "the collective" has to live a life of misery because of it. He values peace of mind above the physical well being of the people in a way that's the farthest you could ever get from We Many, but the way he gets it is by violently eradicating the core difference between us and them. He seeks the embrace of death, deeply mythologizing it like a human would, while being driven by an incredibly powerful directive to live on like a Seaborn would, straight up coming back from the death three times. He's a walking contradiction, and when the event ends with him literally being shown as a mix of both, everything falls into pieces. It's a tale about how self-destructive repressing your wishes and individuality and trying to force everyone to adhere to a single doctrine - trying to live as a seaborn while being human - is.

And of course the final touch is how well all this works as a premise for Arknights to make a story about pirates, because of course even if they're not actual good guys and in fact very violent and did plenty of bad things on screen, they'll forever be a great stand-in for the concept of seeking freedom and following what your heart desires (and in fact the whole plot revolved around the Corazonix, one side wishing for what it promised, the other believing it only brings corruption). Juana and her crew are the other extreme to the Inquisition in the city, people solely guided by their desires to the point they become destructive, and while we had to fight both sides during the event, the final resolution is about accepting them as shown with Thorns's very simple wish that guides him to victory against Anastasio - he just wants to see the ocean. The story ends with the beginning of a straightforward pirate story with Isidro and his fun band of misfits going on an adventure, re-contextualized in a setting where the Profound Silence had long since suffocated any notion of dreaming about the future, any notion of the sea as something you want to admire and explore rather than a place of horror and death as it's always been presented in Arknights up until now.

It's neat.

#I don't care if this is the first iberian event with no major Seaborn presence it's not going to stop me from writing my usual Seaborn essay #obligatory addendum: I do think the Seaborn can and are getting better and coexistence with them is the goal #and there are things both sides can take from each other in a way that's ultimately positive #but not in the purely instinct form they're in right now. they need to evolve like my beloved Endspeaker did. lets blurry the barrier first #arknights #exodus from the pale sea #yelling at clouds

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girlgenius1111 · 1 year ago

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You Come Back With Gravity

alexia and r have an argument. r misunderstands, and when alexia leaves to calm down, she thinks she's going for good. angst + fluff :)

-----

Alexia was big on communication, and she didn't like to fight. Neither did you, although your track record in past relationships may argue otherwise. That was more on your former partners, though, than it was on you. Not fighting was new for you. Alexia never yelled, and she insisted that the two of you talk about any issues that were going on calmly, and like adults. A voice had never been raised between the two of you, arguments never escalating to full blown shouting matches, mostly because of Alexia's insistence that they didn't.

Something about this argument, though, felt different. Alexia had proposed a few weeks ago, and, after having a bit too much to drink, you'd brought up something that had been nagging at the back of your mind for a while. Alexia had brushed it aside that night, and again and again since, until you practically forced her to talk about it. Normally, when you presented Alexia with an issue you had, she was quick to try to fix it. Your teammates often joked about the complete 180 Alexia did when she was around you, melting and agreeing to anything you asked of her. You were the same way for her, but it was more surprising that their normally very willful captain so easily did as you said.

If Alexia wouldn't budge on an issue, she normally had a reason, and you didn't require her to explain herself to you. This was different, though. You needed an explanation, before your mind continued to take off in the worst directions.

"Alexia, do you not see that this is important to me?"

"I do, amor, but there is no room for discussion. We are not going public with our relationship. It has stayed low key for this long, and I intend to keep it that way." Alexia was quickly losing her patience with you, and you could tell. Still, you persisted.

'You won't even give me a reason, Ale! Is this what our relationship is going to be like for the rest of our lives? You make a decision that affects both of us, and I just have to live with it?" Your voice was slightly raised and you could tell Alexia was upset. You were pacing around the room, and she was sitting, completely still, on the couch. Alexia was never still. A part of her was always moving.

"I am not changing my mind on this, mi amor." Alexia told you calmly, although her jaw clenched tight when she finished speaking.

"Okay, well that's it. You don't care what I think. Whatever you say goes, is that it?" You were using anger to hide how terrified you were. There was really only one reason that you could think of to explain Alexia's complete refusal to be transparent about your relationship.

"You know that it is not."

"This is absurd, Ale, we can't even have a conversation without you-"

"¡Basta! Stop yelling, I do not want to talk anymore about this," Alexia shouted finally, rising to her feet.

"I am yelling because you are not listening to me,"

"You are not listening to me. No more of this, we can discuss it when we are both calmer."

"I don't want to push this aside again, I would like to resolve it now." You tried to calm yourself down slightly despite your words, drawing in a few deep breaths as you waited for your fiancée to respond.

"It is resolved. There is no discussion to be had. There is no other option; we are not going public. No."

You let out a humorless laugh, and Alexia's eyebrows shot up. She did not like to be laughed at.

"You aren't being fair, Alexia. I deserve an explanation for why you are so very ashamed of me, to the point you don't want anyone to know we are together."

Alexia rolled her eyes, not taking your statement seriously. She thought you were just being dramatic, there was no way you really believed that. You did believe it, though and Alexia's complete dismissal in the face of your admitted vulnerability made you furious.

"Jesus, Alexia. Fine. You get your way. As usual. Captain Alexia always gets what she wants." You yelled, throwing yourself down on the couch dramatically and burying your head in your hands. You didn't want to cry while you were fighting with her, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You knew you weren't being fair, or particularly nice but Alexia had hurt your feelings and she didn't even seem to understand why.

It was dead silent for a full minute before Alexia let out a long, drawn out exhale, and spoke.

"You are being mean. I am going to go to Alba's."

Her words were stiff, clearly communicating how upset she was with you, and you whipped your head up to look at her, watching as she headed towards the door, grabbing her keys. She put her airpods in, but you didn't see her do so.

"Ale? Are you coming back?" You called, voice full of insecurity.

Alexia couldn't hear you, not with her music playing as loud as it was, and she walked out the door without acknowledging that you'd spoken.

You were frozen. This was what you always did; take a small fight and push it so far that the other person finally saw that you weren't worth the trouble. It hadn't happened with Alexia yet because you'd never fought with her. It wasn't enough that she didn't want anyone to know the two of you were together, you had to push her until she didn't want to be with you, period.

You were an over-thinker to your core, and you were convinced, absolutely, that you had just destroyed the most important relationship that you'd ever had. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, the suffocating weight of thinking that the woman you loved was not coming back taking over.

You weren't sure why you were surprised. People left, people always left. Why would this be any different? Alexia was the best person you'd ever known, and she deserved far better than what you could give her, even when you were at your best. Of course Alexia didn't want anyone to know that she was with you. Of course she didn't want you. You had only yourself to blame.

-----

While you sat alone in your apartment, spiraling, Alexia was driving not to her sisters, but to the beach. She needed some peace and quiet to think, which she surely would not find at Alba's.

She just needed to cool down. You were upset, she was upset, and continuing on like you had been would only lead you both to say things you didn't mean. She'd take an hour, calm down, and head home. Alexia had no idea that you had asked her a question before she'd left, had no idea that you were sitting at home, convinced she was done with you.

The longer she was gone, though, the more guilty she felt. She remembered the look on your face when you'd spoken:

"I deserve an explanation for why you are so very ashamed of me, to the point you don't want anyone to know we are together."

She thought you were just trying to make a point at the time, but as she got space from the fight, and from her own anger, she felt less sure about that judgment. You'd looked distraught when you said it. It would explain why you were so very upset with her reluctance to go public, why you were so very upset with her.

Alexia had watched many relationships fall apart once they hit the public eye; some of her own, and some of them, her friend's. She didn't want that. As long as you two kept this to yourselves, allowing your loved ones and teammates to know and no one else, the media couldn't destroy it. That was Alexia's biggest fear; losing you, and having no control over it.

Of course, you were sat at home, practically catatonic, at the thought that you had lost Alexia.

-----

Alexia didn't even make it an hour like she planned. She was parking in the driveway 44 minutes after she'd left, flowers next to her in the front seat, as she tried to figure out if she'd given you enough space to think. She determined that she had, mostly because she couldn't stand leaving things like this any longer, and she fixed her hair in the mirror, tucking the shorter pieces behind her ears in the way she knew you liked, before grabbing the flowers.

When she had left, it was still light out. It was dark, now, and Alexia was surprised when she opened the door and there was not a light on in the house. She panicked slightly, wondering if you'd left, before spotting your silhouette on the couch. Exactly where you'd been when she left. It looked like you hadn't moved, even an inch. The blonde slipped her shoes off, walking cautiously closer to you, flipping on the light.

You didn't make a move, giving her no indication that you knew she was there with you. Alexia could tell you were trembling, and every breath you drew in came with a small, pained whimper. Alexia was more than concerned, now. She dropped the flowers on the table, before crouching down in front of you.

"Mi amor?" She said softly, weary to touch you, not wanting to startle you.

"Hey, amor?" She spoke slightly louder this time. Still, you didn't even twitch. Tentatively, she reached her hand out, letting her hand wrap around your wrist. She was going to try to pull your hand away from your face, but you beat her to it, jumping a foot in the air at her touch, and scrambling backwards.

"It is me, amor, it is just me," Alexia reassured, throwing her hands up in the air, and not moving any closer.

"Ale?" You gasped, as if you couldn't believe that she was here in front of you. You were half convinced you were hallucinating. It felt like 2 minutes had passed, but also like it had been hours since she left.

"It is just me," Alexia repeated, taking a seat on the very edge of the couch. You were still shaking, and Alexia longed to bring you into her arms.

"What are you doing here?" You asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You came back. Why?"

"Why... why would I not come back? This is our home. Ours. Did you not want me here?" Alexia asked insecurely, entirely confused at your reaction. Your eyes were watery, and you bit your lip, shaking your head at her.

"No, I want you here, I... I asked if you were coming back. And you left without answering."

"Qué?" Alexia asked, looking genuinely confused. Alexia couldn't lie to you, and if she'd ignored something you'd said, she'd admit to it.

"Before you walked out the door, I asked if you were coming back." You explained further, although you were already relaxing slightly. Ale was here, she came back.

A look of realization dawned over your girlfriend's face. "I had my headphones in, amor, I did not hear you."

Now that Alexia could see where your mind had started to go, it wasn't hard to piece the rest of it together. It made sense, suddenly, why you were so upset. You'd thought Alexia had left you.

It was only seconds after that revelation that Alexia was reaching across the couch and pulling you into her arms; one wrapped tightly around your back, the other hand lacing through your hair and pushing your face into her neck. You clung tightly to her, melting into her touch.

"I would never leave you. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever. I wanted to calm down, so we could have a conversation. I should have thought that through, bebé, I am so sorry."

You shook your head against her. "I shouldn't have overreacted, it was just that you were so upset, and we never fight. You're so good, Ale, it's like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always waiting for you to realize that you can do better. I thought you had, I thought that's why you didn't want anyone to know about us."

Alexia shut her eyes tightly. You'd meant what you'd said earlier, then, and she'd completely dismissed it. She guided you away from her, just a bit, cradling your face in her hands. She brushed your hair back out of your face, pursing her lips as she tried to figure out what to say.

"It was not an overreaction. You thought I ignored you, you thought I was leaving. I know how nervous these things make you, mi amor, I should have been clearer."

"Amor, do you think that I want to keep our relationship private because I am ashamed of you?" When Alexia said the words, it felt ridiculous. You knew it was irrational to feel the way you felt, but at the same time… your fear was all encompassing. You tried to lean away from her, preserve some of your dignity even as more tears slid down your face, but Alexia wouldn't let you. "Hey, no. Tell me, por favor.”

“You’re you Ale. And I’m just me. I would understand if you didn’t want people to know you were with me, you should be with someone better, prettier,-”

“Stop.” Alexia said, shaking her head frantically. She looked physically pained at your words. “Stop. You are not allowed to talk about yourself like that. You are mí niña, mí niña perfecta. I am proud that you are mine, everyday. You are the best, you are the prettiest. You are all I need, te prometo que.” The blondes eyes were wide with a desperate need for you to believe her. You wanted to.

“Then why, Ale? Why don’t you want people to know you’re with me?” You chewed on your bottom lip when Alexia didn’t answer right away, and her thumb reached over to lightly tap it. You released your lip, tightening your grip on your girlfriend, only growing more terrified for her answer as time passed.

“You are so perfect.” Alexia started, giving you a stern look when you shook your head on instinct. “It’s so easy with you. So easy to love you, so easy to be with you. The media complicates everything, the fans. They would say horrible things to you and about you. As long as no one knows, I can keep you safe. I can keep you mine. Just mine.”

“Alexia, I’m not worried about that.” You assured her.

“You should be, mi amor, I am worried about it.” Alexia emphasized, and you only really realized the stress this worry was causing her at that moment. “It would not be the first time the media has ruined a relationship, and I do not think I could survive it if I lost you.” The blonde’s voice cracked at the end of her sentence, and suddenly, she wasn’t holding you anymore, you were holding her. Cradling her face in your hands as you insistently tried to get her watery, hazel eyes to meet yours.

“Even if the media goes crazy, even if people say mean stuff. I’ll still want you, Ale. It won’t be fun but it’s worth it. If it’s for you? It’s worth it, it’ll always be worth it.”

Alexia let out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a sigh of relief, burying her face in your neck. Her tears were wet against your skin, her breaths ragged and frantic. “Te amo,” she murmured. “You make me so happy, amor. If you are not worried about the media, then I will try not to be. If you want people to know, then we tell. Whatever you want, whatever you need. As long as you know that I love you, that you are perfect, that you are mine, forever. Para siempre.”

Now you were crying, and she was still crying, as she gave you a very wet kiss, and it was entirely more emotional than either of you would have liked, but there was nothing to be done. The perfect relationship, you supposed, was one where you each thought the other to be perfect. Even if you didn’t see yourself that way, Alexia would always be there to convince you of your perfection, as you would for her.

-----

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso one shot #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader

1K notes · View notes

rubyuji · 5 months ago

Text

She got the Ruby ๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖

“No way. I never knew how much I needed this kind of chaos until you showed up.” ᝰ.ᐟ

Genre: Slowburn, Fluff

AU: University AU

Pairing: Music Major!Woozi x Afab!Reader

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Jihoon had never been one for romance or dating—no one had ever truly caught his eye. But everything changed when he saw you bathed in the glow of red light at Soonyoung’s party, your ruby lips captivating him and making his heart race like never before. Why could you, a stranger, leave him so utterly spellbound?

Note: User rubyuji finally publishing a fic about her bias?! LMAO to be completely honest, this fic had been in my google docs for so long that I'm surprised it made it out despite the writer's block. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it! Don't forget to like + reblog as form of support!

W.C: 8.3k

Dating was never an option for someone in Jihoon’s league. His packed schedule aside, he barely left the house most of the time. Whenever his friends—emphasis on tried—attempted to introduce him to someone, the feedback was always the same: he was either too busy or seemed completely uninterested.

It wasn’t entirely his fault, though. Jihoon had never quite found his footing in the dating world. Either the idea simply hadn’t appealed to him, or the person his friends introduced was too different for him to find common ground.

“Oh, come on! We’ve introduced you to, like, six people already, and you didn’t like any of them! You’re hopeless, Jihoon,” Soonyoung whined, dramatically flopping onto the couch beside his friend.

Jihoon barely spared him a glance, rolling his eyes as his fingers continued to move across the keyboard.

Soonyoung was a great friend—Jihoon couldn’t deny that. Even if he didn’t always show it, he cared about the guy a lot. But sometimes, Soonyoung could be a handful. His intentions were always good, sure, but Jihoon wasn’t ready to dive into the complicated world of relationships or love. Not now, not when all he could focus on was graduating, as if his entire life depended on it.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but being in a relationship is the least of my worries right now,” Jihoon sighed, closing his laptop with a faint click.

As if on cue, his other friend, Wonwoo, emerged from Jihoon’s room, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed after a long nap.

“You barely leave the house and hole up here like a damn hermit. You should take some time to relax once in a while, you know?” he quipped, leaning against the doorframe.

Jihoon rubbed his temples, his brows knitting together in mild frustration. He knew his friends meant well, but their constant prodding was starting to feel like a broken record.

Soonyoung suddenly gasped, drawing curious looks from the other two men. “How about this? We’re heading to my frat tonight—I’ve got a party planned. Maybe Jihoon could find someone to mingle with. It wouldn’t hurt, right? And if you end up hating it or don’t meet anyone, you can leave. No pressure.”

Jihoon’s mouth fell open like a fish out of water at Soonyoung’s suggestion.

He didn’t mind parties per se, but Soonyoung’s events were... something else. Case in point: Soonyoung had once woken up on the frat’s lawn after one of his infamous ragers and called Jihoon to help clean up the trashed house. But that was a story for another day.

Still, Jihoon found himself considering the idea. He hadn’t left his apartment in nearly a week, and after working nonstop, a change of scenery might not be the worst thing in the world.

Jihoon wasn’t a prude—far from it. He simply preferred to conserve his energy and steer clear of activities that drained him too much.

It was just part of his nature, and honestly, one of the reasons he couldn’t see himself dating someone too outgoing or high-energy. Still, this party might be an opportunity to step outside his usual bubble and meet someone new—someone who wasn’t just a direct connection to his friends.

“I’ll go this once, I guess. But if it’s a bust, I’m leaving immediately, like we agreed,” Jihoon sighed, his tone resigned.

From the kitchen, he heard the unmistakable sound of Wonwoo spitting out his water in shock, while Soonyoung erupted into cheers, dancing around the room like he’d just won the lottery.

Jihoon rolled his eyes but knew he couldn’t show up looking like a mess. If he was going to meet someone, he might as well make himself look presentable.

On the other hand, you weren’t exactly a fan of the party scene either. So why were you at Junhui’s frat, holding a red Solo cup, half-listening to Mingyu and Seokmin discuss some new workout Mingyu had discovered?

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Mingyu huffed, snapping you out of your daze with an exasperated look.

You smirked, taking a sip from your cup. “Mingyu, you’re the biggest gym rat I know—besides Chan and Seungcheol. And Seok, don’t think you’re safe either. I’m not even surprised you found another workout to torture us with next week at the gym.”

Mingyu groaned dramatically while Seokmin burst out laughing at your comment. Shaking your head, you got up from your spot on the couch.

“Alright, I’m gonna go look for Saerom,” you announced, giving them a playful wave before weaving through the party crowd.

“If you see Minghao, let him know I’m looking for him,” Mingyu called after you. You gave a casual two-finger salute in response before heading to the kitchen, relishing the sudden drop in noise and the smaller crowd.

Saerom was leaning against the counter, deep in conversation with Jihyo. When they spotted you, both waved you over.

“Hey, have you guys seen Minghao anywhere?” you asked as you joined them.

Jihyo shrugged, and Saerom shook her head. “Mingyu’s looking for him, right? Well, no sign of him yet,” Saerom replied.

“Figures,” you chuckled. “Also, can you believe the party’s host is MIA? Imagine Soonyoung being late to one of his own ragers for once. That’s wild.”

Saerom laughed as she refilled your cup, the three of you slipping easily back into lighthearted conversation.

Before your friends can give out another remark, you guys hear Soonyoung’s boisterous laughter coming from the living room. “Looks like I spoke too soon?” You pout in faux disappointment.

“Hey, isn’t that Lee Jihoon? Isn’t he in your class, Rom?” Jihyo pointed out, her finger directed toward the familiar face standing beside Seungcheol. Your brows raised in surprise.

As far as you know, Jihoon, along with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu, lived off-campus. So seeing him here was unusual—he was practically an anomaly in these parties, appearing only on rare occasions.

“That’s crazy, he’s actually at a party right now,” Saerom giggled. “We should go over to Soonyoung and see what’s up.”

You found yourself following your friends without much thought, a sudden interest in Jihoon sparking inside you.

He looks insanely good in that black button-up, and those forearms— The thought immediately made you snap back to reality, shaking your head slightly as you tried to regain focus.

“Y/N! Saerom, Jihyo! Looks like you made it too,” Soonyoung laughed, his voice bright as he spotted the three of you. Your friends rolled their eyes playfully, clearly used to Soonyoung’s usual antics.

“Yeah, we know she’s your favorite,” Jihyo teased, raising an eyebrow. “But seriously, how did you manage to convince THE Lee Jihoon to come to one of your wild frat parties?”

Soonyoung shrugged casually, glancing over at Jihoon, who was deep in conversation with Wonwoo and Junhui across the room.

“I don’t know. We talked about the party a while ago when we were at his place. I mentioned it, and he’s been holed up in his apartment all week, so I thought maybe he could use a break,” Soonyoung explained, reaching for a random Solo cup Jeonghan handed him, the latter seamlessly inserting himself into the conversation.

“We also kinda wanted him to meet someone, but... that’s out of the question for now.” Soonyoung almost sighed as he said this, clearly not expecting much.

Your friends laughed at his comment, their attention drifting back to the conversation, leaving you free to let your gaze wander. It landed on Jihoon, just as it had moments ago.

You couldn’t deny it—Jihoon was undeniably attractive, and he was definitely your type. But you had no idea how to approach him, especially since you’d barely exchanged a word with the guy.

“Interested in Jihoon, huh? Can’t blame you. Soonyoung, Cheol, and practically everyone else has been on his case about getting a girlfriend—or at least starting to date someone,” Chan suddenly appeared beside you, causing you to jump in surprise. You hit his shoulder playfully, and he chuckled.

“I’ve barely spoken to him,” you sighed dramatically. “The only other time I’ve seen him was at Mingyu’s birthday, and the most we exchanged was him passing me a plate and me saying ‘thank you.’ I highly doubt he remembers that, considering he barely even looked at me.”

Chan laughed again, but this time he grabbed your arm and started pulling you toward the dance floor as the music grew louder and the crowd tipsier.

“Fine, take a moment to think about it. But for now, let’s dance! Give it your all—you didn’t take all of Soonyoung’s and my classes for nothing, right?” Chan yelled over the music, his grin wide.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Chan spun you into a playful dance battle, challenging you to keep up. Just then, the lights suddenly flickered off, and Junhui’s makeshift spotlights sprang to life, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors.

While you and Chan lost yourselves to the beat, Jihoon made his way over to where Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Minghao were lounging, the latter two likely too lazy to join the chaos on the dance floor. He plopped down onto the beanbag next to Jeonghan, who glanced at him with mild curiosity.

“I didn’t expect to see you here. What made you change your mind?” Jeonghan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jihoon shrugged casually, taking a sip from his Solo cup filled with Coke Zero. He wasn’t much of a drinker, so he had opted out of anything stronger.

“Soonyoung and Seungcheol insisted I needed to get out of the apartment and let loose a bit. I’d been holed up there all week, just going back and forth between home, university, and the gym, so I figured I’d give it a shot,” Jihoon explained, his gaze drifting to the dance floor.

His eyes found Mingyu in the middle of the dance circle before flitting over to you.

As you danced alongside Chan, Jihoon’s eyes lingered on you, captivated by your movements. Seokmin and Seungkwan were in the middle of their own dance battle nearby, but Jihoon couldn’t tear his focus away from you.

You looked... familiar. He was sure you had been at Mingyu’s birthday party, and he had seen you with Soonyoung around campus, but he never really paid much attention until now.

It was almost as if everything slowed down for Jihoon at that moment. He took in every detail—how you looked so effortlessly good while dancing, how the red light seemed to make you glow. Red was his favorite color, and seeing the hue reflected in the lipstick on your lips only made things worse as he tried to hide how drawn to you he felt.

“Dude, why are you so thirsty?” Soonyoung’s voice snapped Jihoon out of his daze, and he immediately felt heat rush to his face. Wonwoo laughed, clearly noticing Jihoon’s flushed ears, while Minghao tried to suppress a smile.

Jihoon was finally making progress in his love life, and his friends couldn’t be more proud of him for stepping out of his shell.

“Finally, someone’s caught your attention,” Soonyoung teased, his grin widening. “Do you want me to bring Y/N over?”

Soonyoung’s plan was falling into place perfectly. The fact that Jihoon was showing interest in you—of all people—was just ideal.

You were everything Jihoon needed. Well, almost. You weren’t big on the party scene and preferred staying in, though you did go out more often than him if invited by the right people (the ‘right people’ being Mingyu).

You had a personality that could easily draw people in, and on top of that, you were the full package: pretty, smart, and kind. But being as perfect as you were also meant that you had no shortage of admirers.

“You know, Y/N’s great. She’s practically Seungcheol’s other half,” Jeonghan said, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

Everyone around them was practically buzzing with excitement, seeing Jihoon finally step out of his comfort zone. Honestly, Jihoon felt a strange surge of courage; for once, he was ready to take a risk.

“I mean, if she’s that amazing, why not? But how do I even approach her?” Jihoon asked, glancing over again. This time, he saw you dancing with Mingyu, your smile outshining every light in the room.

“Y/N’s laid-back. She can talk to anyone if you just let her be herself,” Wonwoo chimed in. “She’s a bit of a yapper, but in the best way possible—everyone feels comfortable around her.”

Jihoon didn’t get a chance to respond because, just then, you and Mingyu started making your way toward their group, which set off an eruption of teasing from all sides.

You waved at the guys before gently ushering Mingyu off to have fun with the others, then settled on the couch beside Wonwoo. It just so happened to be the seat directly across from Jihoon.

“Y/N! You’re not really into the party scene. What made you come?” Soonyoung called out loudly. You shot him a questioning glance and laughed.

He knew you enjoyed a party every now and then, but then your eyes caught sight of Jihoon sitting next to him, and suddenly, you understood.

“You know I enjoy the occasional party, Soonyoung. Today’s no different—I just wanted to let loose a bit,” you replied, leaning forward on the couch to grab an empty red cup from the table. You filled it with whatever concoction was in the bowl nearby.

“Is this spiked, by the way? Don’t wanna end up drugged or anything,” you joked, raising an eyebrow. Wonwoo shook his head to signal that it was safe and that you trusted his judgment.

“Oh, and Y/N,” Jeonghan chimed in, “Jihoon here actually wanted to talk to you. Why don’t you two take a moment?”

A smile tugged at your lips as you realized this was your chance. Chan’s words echoed in your mind—a lot of people sought after you, but no one had ever really stood out—until now.

Jihoon caught your attention in a way that felt different, and with a little liquid courage in your system, you felt ready to take that first step. You were grateful for the alcohol, knowing that without it, you might’ve been a complete mess by now.

“Well, we’ll leave you two alone then,” Jeonghan smirked, causing you to flush. You noticed Jihoon looked just as flustered as your friends began to leave the room one by one.

An awkward silence settled between you, and you decided to make the first move, choosing to go with the flow.

After all, what did you have to lose—other than your dignity if Jihoon didn’t respond?

“I take it you’re not the most sociable type? Or a huge partygoer?” you chuckled awkwardly.

Jihoon chuckled too, nodding as he noticed your flustered demeanor. Just moments ago, you had seemed so confident, but now seeing you shy around him gave him a strange sense of comfort.

He wasn’t used to many women approaching him, especially since he had no experience in the dating scene. Soonyoung and Seungcheol had quite literally thrown him into the deep end.

Jihoon scratched the back of his neck nervously, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the awkward silence.

"I guess you could say that," he said, his voice soft but a bit unsure.

"I’m more of a quiet type, not really into the whole party scene. But Soonyoung and Seungcheol… they’ve been pushing me to get out more. I’m not used to this kind of thing."

He gave you a small, sheepish smile, as if trying to lighten the moment. There was a warmth in his expression, a vulnerability that surprised you. It made you feel like you weren’t the only one navigating uncharted waters.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your own nervousness easing a little. "I get it. I’m not really a party person either," you replied with a chuckle.

"I like the idea of letting loose, but it always seems a bit overwhelming. I’m more of the 'quiet drink in the corner' type myself."

Jihoon laughed softly at that, the tension between you both melting away just a little bit more. It was strange, but in that moment, you both seemed to find common ground in your shared discomfort.

There was something about the way Jihoon looked at you now, something less guarded, as if he was starting to feel more comfortable.

"Yeah, I get what you mean," he said, his tone a little more relaxed.

"I’d rather be at home, with my laptop and music. At least there, I don’t have to deal with—" He paused for a moment, glancing around the chaotic party. "All this."

You laughed, nodding in agreement. "Exactly. There’s something peaceful about just being at home, away from all the noise. But hey, at least we’re both getting out, right?"

"True," Jihoon said with a smile that made your heart flutter. "I guess we’re both stepping out of our comfort zones."

You looked around for a moment, the buzz of the party now seeming a little more tolerable. "I wouldn’t say I’m exactly ‘stepping out’—more like ‘dragged out’," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jihoon chuckled at that, and you noticed how his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than usual.

The playful banter seemed to ease the nerves you were both feeling. It was refreshing to talk to someone who understood that sometimes, a quiet escape was more appealing than all the loud distractions in the world.

As if to prove his point, Jihoon glanced toward the dance floor, where his friends were causing even more chaos, and let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"I swear, they get louder every time. I feel like I might go deaf just by being around them."

You laughed at that, and before you knew it, you were both talking more comfortably, sharing little details about yourselves. You were beginning to realize that maybe, just maybe, this night wasn’t as bad as you had originally thought.

"By the way," Jihoon said after a beat, suddenly looking a little hesitant again.

"I hope I’m not being too forward, but… if you’re not busy later, maybe we could grab a drink or something? I mean, I know this place is kind of… well, loud, but it could be nice to talk more, you know?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the offer, and you tried to hide your surprise with a smile. "Yeah," you replied, a little more confidently than you felt. "I’d like that."

The moment hung between you two, and for the first time that night, the noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of quiet connection.

The next day, you found yourself sitting with Mingyu and Seungkwan at a quiet café, the bright morning sun filtering through the windows.

You had been eager to tell Mingyu about your interaction with Jihoon the night before, especially after how much your friends had teased you about it.

Seungkwan, ever the curious one, was also there, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow, clearly interested in hearing what had happened.

"So," Mingyu started, leaning forward with a grin.

"How was last night? Did you end up talking to Jihoon like you said you would?" He shot you a knowing look, clearly trying not to make it too obvious that he was playing matchmaker in his own way.

You chuckled, feeling a bit sheepish at the memory.

"Yeah, we actually did talk. I mean, it wasn’t anything super exciting or dramatic, but we had a decent conversation. He's... surprisingly easy to talk to, you know?"

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I thought Jihoon was like the silent, brooding type. What did you guys even talk about?"

You shrugged, a smile playing at your lips as you recalled the night.

"We mostly talked about how neither of us are really into the party scene. We ended up bonding over how much we’d rather stay home than deal with all the noise. It was actually kind of nice, just... quiet, you know?" You caught Mingyu’s knowing smirk and rolled your eyes.

"Stop it. I’m just saying we connected a little more than I expected."

Mingyu and Seungkwan exchanged a glance, and Seungkwan raised his cup in a mock toast. "Well, looks like you’re in the clear then. It’s not every day someone gets Jihoon out of his shell."

"Right?" You laughed, trying not to let your excitement show too much. "I didn’t expect it either. But I guess he’s not as intimidating as I thought."

Just as Seungkwan was about to say something else, your phone buzzed on the table. You grabbed it, expecting a random message, but when you saw the name on the screen, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Jihoon.

Hey, it’s Jihoon. I got your number from Cheol. Would you be free to hang out after your classes are done today?

You couldn’t help but smile as you read the message. Your friends were watching you closely, no doubt noticing the shift in your demeanor.

"You okay there, Y/n?" Mingyu asked, a teasing grin on his face. "Something got you smiling like that?"

You bit your lip, quickly typing out a reply, trying not to let your excitement show too much. Sure, I’d like that. I finish class around 4. How about then?

As you hit send, you glanced up at your friends. Seungkwan was grinning widely, clearly having caught onto what was happening. "Well, well, well," he said, his voice dripping with mischief. "Looks like someone’s got a date on their hands."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

"We’re just hanging out," you said, trying to play it cool. "But yeah, I guess we’ll see how it goes."

Mingyu raised his cup again, his grin widening. "You know, I always knew Jihoon had it in him. I’m just glad someone finally got him to make a move. Let’s see where this goes."

You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy at the thought. Jihoon had actually asked you to hang out. After everything that had happened last night, this felt like the beginning of something new—and you were more than curious to see where it would lead.

The afternoon passed in a blur, and as soon as your last class ended, you hurriedly made your way back to your apartment to get ready for your date with Jihoon. You were a bit nervous but also excited—this was a new experience for both of you, and the idea of spending time together in a more intimate setting had you feeling hopeful.

As you walked into your apartment, you were greeted by the sound of music blaring from the living room. Yerin, your roommate, was lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

“Whoa, slow down there!” Yerin called out with a teasing grin as she looked up from her phone. “A date tonight? Are you rushing to see him or something?” She raised an eyebrow and put down her phone, clearly enjoying the playful jab.

You froze for a second, a flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not rushing! I just... want to look good, okay?” You quickly grabbed your clothes for the evening from your closet, trying to brush off Yerin’s teasing.

Yerin sat up on the couch and leaned forward with a sly smile.

“Uh-huh, sure. You know, I was starting to wonder if Jihoon was actually real or if he was just a figment of your imagination. But now it looks like you’re actually getting ready for him.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Shut up, Yerin. I’m just trying to make sure everything goes well tonight.”

Yerin laughed, crossing her arms. “I’ll be here, waiting to hear all the details when you get back! I’m expecting the full scoop.”

You quickly finished getting ready, making sure to choose a stylish but comfortable outfit. You knew Jihoon wasn’t exactly the flashy type, so you opted for something that felt both casual and a little special.

Once you were done, you grabbed your bag and walked out of your room. As you stepped out into the living room, Yerin was still lounging on the couch, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“I’m serious, I want the full report later,” she called as you made your way to the door. “Have fun, and don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way back!”

You chuckled, throwing her a playful wave before stepping out the door.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Jihoon was already waiting for you outside. He looked a little nervous but also endearingly handsome, standing there in a smart button-up and dark jeans. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and his expression softened into a smile.

“Hey,” Jihoon greeted, stepping forward. “I hope this place is okay. I figured it might be more... private for our first time hanging out like this.”

You smiled back, feeling a surge of affection for how thoughtful he was. “It looks perfect. Very cozy, just what I needed after a long day.” You gently bumped your shoulder against his as you greeted him.

Jihoon seemed to hesitate for a moment, then reached into his bag and pulled out a small bouquet of red roses. Your heart skipped a beat as he offered them to you, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“I... I thought these might brighten your day.”

You were momentarily taken aback by the gesture. Jihoon wasn’t the most outwardly romantic person, but the red roses made it clear how much he was putting himself into this. “Jihoon, these are beautiful. Thank you,” you said, your voice softer than usual.

“Of course,” Jihoon mumbled, his ears tinged with pink. “I wanted to make tonight a little special.”

You took the flowers, your heartwarming at the gesture. "You definitely did."

Jihoon led you into the restaurant, a sleek, modern spot known for its great ambiance and exquisite food. As you stepped inside, the dim lighting, soft music, and cozy atmosphere made it feel like the perfect setting for a first date. You quickly spotted the table he had reserved, a secluded spot with a view of the rest of the restaurant.

You sat down, and for a moment, there was a brief, awkward silence.

"So," you started, trying to ease the tension, "you’ve clearly got some taste. This place is nice."

Jihoon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I actually googled a few places... and picked one that looked like it wouldn't make me look too much like a rookie. Not that I’m exactly experienced in this stuff," he admitted with a sheepish smile.

You couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. "Don’t worry, Jihoon. I’m definitely not an expert either. We’re both figuring this out, right?"

Jihoon nodded, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and nervousness.

"Yeah, we’re in this together."

The waiter approached, and after a brief moment of looking over the menu, you and Jihoon placed your orders. As the waiter left, Jihoon met your gaze again, his expression softening.

"So," he said, leaning in a little, his tone quieter now, "what’s been keeping you busy lately? Besides... school, obviously."

You laughed softly, feeling more comfortable now that the initial awkwardness had passed. "Honestly? Between classes and spending time with friends, I’ve just been trying to make some time for myself. It’s been a lot of balancing everything, you know?"

Jihoon nodded, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding.

"Yeah, I get that. I’ve been stuck in my routine lately, just going to class, the gym, and back home. It feels like the same thing every day, so I figured... maybe it was time to break out of that a little."

You smiled, a soft laugh escaping you. "Well, you definitely made the right decision tonight. It’s nice to step out of the routine every once in a while."

Jihoon smiled back, his gaze lingering on you longer than usual. "Yeah. And I’m glad it’s with you."

The words hung in the air between you, but instead of making things feel heavy, they only added to the warmth between you both. Just then, the waiter arrived with your drinks, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as the evening progressed.

As the weeks passed, Jihoon and you began to fall into a comfortable routine.

After each of your classes, you’d find yourself grabbing a quick bite to eat at the diner near campus, or sometimes just walking home together, talking about everything from random observations to deeper conversations about life.

It had started off a bit awkward, but now, it felt effortless, like you had both found something meaningful in the mundane moments.

Jihoon was starting to appreciate the routine. It wasn’t something that had ever appealed to him before—he’d always been the kind to keep to himself, going through the motions of class, gym, and home without seeking much beyond that. But with you, he found himself looking forward to these little moments.

He loved hearing about your day, even the small things you thought were unimportant. Your laughter became a highlight of his afternoon, and as silly as it might’ve sounded, he loved walking beside you, his hand brushing against yours as you talked.

One particular day, after a long class, Jihoon met you outside the building, your usual spot. His eyes softened when he saw you, and despite the crowds, he only had eyes for you. You were wearing a loose sweater and jeans, your hair tucked into a messy bun, looking effortlessly cute.

“Hey, ready to go?” Jihoon asked, offering you a small smile. You nodded, pulling your bag over your shoulder.

“Yeah, just finished my last lecture. Let’s get food, I’m starving.”

“Same here,” Jihoon replied, glancing down at his phone. “How about that diner? I’m craving their fries today.”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder as the two of you started walking. “You and your fries. But sure, that works for me.”

The walk to the diner was filled with comfortable conversation, the two of you easily slipping into familiar banter.

As you entered the diner, you found your usual booth by the window and sat down, already chatting about how your day had gone. Jihoon, for the first time in a while, felt completely at ease.

Then as you two dug into your food, Jihoon noticed something he hadn’t before—how he found himself looking forward to this part of his day.

He was actually looking forward to seeing you, to sharing these moments. And it wasn’t just about the food or the walk anymore; it was about spending time with you.

Later that week, Soonyoung, who had been hanging out with Jihoon more recently, couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in his friend’s behavior.

Jihoon, who used to brush off talks about relationships or showing any kind of emotion, had been smiling more, his mood noticeably lighter. Soonyoung wasn’t exactly one to shy away from calling things as they were, and it didn’t take long for him to notice what was happening.

“Okay, what’s going on with you?” Soonyoung asked one day, leaning against the doorframe of Jihoon’s room, a teasing smile on his face.

Jihoon, who had been lounging on his bed with his laptop open, looked up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re different,” Soonyoung said, crossing his arms. “You’re actually smiling. You’re not as... grumpy anymore. Did you get a new pet or something?”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no new pet. Just... you know. Life’s good.”

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk forming. “Uh-huh. So, it’s ‘life’s good,’ huh? Is this about Y/n?”

Jihoon froze for a second, his eyes widening. He wasn’t exactly trying to keep things a secret, but Soonyoung was quick to catch on. “What?” Jihoon tried to brush it off, but it was no use.

“I knew it,” Soonyoung said, grinning. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Jihoon let out a frustrated sigh, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been hanging out a lot lately. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Oh, please,” Soonyoung laughed, throwing himself onto Jihoon’s bed.

“I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re crushing on someone. You’ve been acting differently, Jihoon. You actually care about your schedule now. You used to skip meals like it was nothing, but now I see you going to class early, and I even saw you texting Y/n before your last lecture yesterday.”

Jihoon felt his cheeks heat up. “Okay, okay, you got me. But it’s not a big deal.”

Soonyoung sat up, his grin never fading. “You’re so obvious, man. You’re just making it worse by trying to act like it’s nothing. Just admit it: you like her.”

Jihoon sighed but couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face.

“Fine, I like her. Happy now?”

Soonyoung let out a dramatic gasp. “I knew it! Jihoon’s got a crush! You two are so cute. But seriously, don’t mess it up.”

Jihoon ran a hand through his hair, the smile still on his face. “I’m trying not to. It’s just... I’ve never really done this before, you know?”

Soonyoung patted Jihoon’s back. “It’s all good. Just take it easy. You’re doing fine. Just keep being yourself.”

As the conversation ended, Jihoon found himself thinking about how much he had changed over the past few weeks.

He wasn’t just going through the motions anymore; he was actually living, enjoying these moments with you. And he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—there was something more to explore between the two of you.

It was a Friday night, and you were at your apartment with Yerin and Jennie, sprawled across your couch with snacks, blankets, and plenty of gossip.

The three of you had been best friends for what felt like forever, and sleepovers were a tradition. You’d all gathered to catch up, share some laughs, and spill some tea—this time, about your not-so-secret crush.

Yerin was curled up with her phone, scrolling through TikTok, while Jennie, ever the gossip queen, was snuggled under a blanket beside you, eagerly waiting for you to spill the details.

“So,” Jennie said, raising an eyebrow and giving you a mischievous smile. “How’s Jihoon? Been seeing each other a lot lately?”

You paused for a moment, unsure if you were ready to admit just how much you liked him yet. But you knew your best friends well, and there was no point in holding back.

They’d seen you go through a million crushes, and they weren’t about to let you keep this one under wraps for long.

“I mean…” you began, glancing at Yerin for support, “It’s been nice, really nice. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately—like, almost every day after class.”

Jennie’s eyes immediately widened. “Wait, what? Every day? Are you telling me that you two have become, like, regulars at that diner near campus?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you chuckled. “We get dinner there after classes, talk about anything and everything. It’s kind of become our thing.”

Yerin, who had been half-paying attention, looked up from her phone at the mention of Jihoon. “Wait a second, hold on. I thought Jihoon was this… grumpy, antisocial guy. You know, the one who never really goes out?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” you said with a small laugh. “But honestly? I think he’s just been waiting for the right person. And I guess… maybe I’m that person.”

Jennie grinned widely, her eyes practically sparkling with excitement. “Oh my god, I knew it! I saw the way you two were around each other last time, and I was like, ‘Something’s going on here.’ You two just click.”

Yerin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, how does he feel about you? You’ve been spending all this time with him. Have you two… talked about anything serious yet?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the fluttering in your chest as you thought about Jihoon.

“We haven’t really defined anything yet. I think we’re both just taking things slow. But honestly, I feel like there’s a connection there, something real.”

Yerin smiled knowingly, setting her phone down. “I can tell you like him, Y/n. And I’m glad he’s making you happy. Just make sure to take it slow and enjoy the ride. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

Jennie, ever the romantic, added, “Yeah, but also, when are you two going to make it official? I’m dying to hear how this all goes down.”

You laughed, brushing your hair out of your face. “I don’t know if we’re at that point yet. We’re still just figuring things out.”

“Right, right,” Jennie teased. “But I know how you are, Y/n. You’re gonna make him fall for you, and it’s going to be cute. You two are a total power couple in the making.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you appreciated their support. “I’m just trying to enjoy these moments with him right now. But… I don’t know. I think I’m starting to like him more than I expected.”

Yerin leaned back, resting her head on the pillow, clearly satisfied with the conversation.

“You’re allowed to like him, Y/n. Honestly, I think Jihoon’s a good match for you. He’s different from the guys you usually go for. He seems like he genuinely cares.”

Jennie gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m already calling dibs on being your maid of honor whenever you two get married.”

Yerin snorted, throwing a pillow at Jennie. “Are you trying to jinx it already? Slow down, lovebird.”

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest as your best friends teased you. It felt good to talk about Jihoon, to let someone else in on what you were feeling. It was different from all the other crushes you’d had, and you knew that it was only the beginning of something special.

But for now, you were content to take it one step at a time, with your friends by your side and Jihoon slowly making his way into your heart.

After a long and stressful week of finals, you were finally free. The relief that flooded over you was immense, and the anticipation of meeting Jihoon made it even sweeter.

You had both been texting throughout the week, but with finals consuming all of your time, you hadn't been able to meet up. Tonight, though, was different.

Jihoon had messaged you earlier, asking if you wanted to meet up once you were done with everything. You could already feel the excitement building in your chest.

As you walked out of the library, the crisp night air greeted you, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. Jihoon’s message appeared on the screen:

Jihoon: "Hey, I was thinking we could grab dinner. You deserve a break after finals. I’ll meet you at that place we like near campus, yeah?"

You smiled at the message and quickly typed back:

You: "Sounds perfect. I’ll be there in 15 minutes."

You quickly made your way to the restaurant, the weight of finals lifting off your shoulders with each step.

When you arrived, you spotted Jihoon waiting for you outside, his usual shy smile lighting up his face as soon as he saw you. He looked great, as always, but there was something about him tonight—something more confident, like he had been looking forward to this just as much as you had.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice already filled with warmth.

“Hey, Y/n. How was the last exam?” Jihoon asked, his voice a little more relaxed than usual, but still filled with genuine interest.

“It was tough, but I’m just happy it’s over. I could finally breathe,” you said with a smile.

Jihoon chuckled softly, pushing open the door to the restaurant and letting you go in first. The place was cozy, with dim lighting and soft jazz music playing in the background.

You’d been here a few times before, and it always felt like the perfect spot to relax and enjoy good food.

“So, what’s the plan now that finals are done?” Jihoon asked as you both sat down. He’d already taken the liberty of ordering a drink for you, something you’d mentioned you liked in passing weeks ago. It was a small gesture, but one that made your heart flutter.

“Honestly, I just want to take it easy and catch up with you,” you said, your voice gentle. “I’ve missed this.”

Jihoon smiled, and you could tell he felt the same. “Same here. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

After you both ordered your meals, the conversation flowed effortlessly. It was easy with Jihoon, like you didn’t have to worry about the awkward pauses or overthinking what you said. It just felt natural.

You talked about how your finals had gone, the stress, and everything in between. Jihoon, despite his quiet nature, opened up more than usual, and you could tell the weight of the past week had lifted from his shoulders as well.

As the evening went on, Jihoon casually leaned back in his chair and seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as if gathering his thoughts. You didn’t mind the pause, enjoying the quiet comfort of just being in each other’s company.

“I know we’ve been through a lot recently with exams and everything, but… I’ve been thinking about something,” Jihoon began, his voice soft.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

Jihoon took a deep breath, and you could see the hint of nervousness in his expression. “I’ve really enjoyed these past few weeks with you, Y/n. More than I expected, honestly. I know we’re both busy, but I want to see you more. Not just as a friend… but as something more.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creep up your neck. “Jihoon…”

He smiled shyly. “I’m not good with words, but… I really like you. A lot. I want to be with you. Would you be my girlfriend?”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the realization hitting you hard. You had felt the same way, but hearing him say it out loud made everything feel more real.

A smile spread across your face as you reached out, taking his hand across the table. “Yes, Jihoon. I’d love to.”

The relief on his face was instant, and you could see the happiness in his eyes. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

And in that moment, with the lights of the restaurant casting a soft glow around you, everything felt right. It was the perfect end to a stressful week—and the beginning of something even more beautiful.

After dinner, Jihoon suggested that you both head to his place. He had mentioned before that he had a small studio where he worked on his music, and tonight, it seemed like the perfect time to finally show you what he’d been working on.

“You know, I was thinking of taking you to my studio,” Jihoon said as you walked side by side toward his apartment building. “I’ve been working on something… and I think it’s time I share it with you.”

You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Something? What is it?”

Jihoon just smiled, his gaze a little more secretive. “You’ll see.”

Once you arrived at his place, Jihoon led you up to the small studio in the corner of the building. The space was cozy, but you could immediately tell it was filled with character.

There were posters of old-school musicians on the walls, a few vintage records stacked neatly in one corner, and the warm light from a desk lamp illuminated a red guitar leaning against a chair.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jihoon said, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll just grab my guitar.”

You sat down, looking around the room, the quiet hum of anticipation settling in your chest. Jihoon moved around the room, picking up the guitar and tuning it for a moment before sitting down beside you.

His fingers brushed the strings, testing them one last time, before he looked at you, his expression soft and sincere.

“I wrote this song a while ago,” Jihoon began, his voice low, almost as if he were gathering courage. “And honestly, I didn’t know if I would ever share it with anyone. But when I started to really think about it, I realized… you’re the inspiration for it. I wanted to play it for you.”

You watched him, your heart already fluttering. “Jihoon…”

With a soft breath, he started playing, the chords flowing from the guitar as if they had been meant for this moment. The melody was gentle at first, and as he sang the lyrics, his voice blended effortlessly with the soothing tune.

It was clear that every word was carefully chosen, every note filled with emotion. And as the song progressed, you could feel the weight of his words hitting deep.

The lyrics were simple but beautiful, each line a reflection of how Jihoon saw you—his "ruby"—his muse, his heart’s desire.

As the last note faded, Jihoon set the guitar down beside him and looked at you, his eyes slightly unsure. “I… I know it’s a lot, but I wanted you to hear it. Because you’re the one who inspired it.”

You were silent for a moment, taking in everything—the song, his vulnerability, and the realization that Jihoon had really opened up to you in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. It took you a second to gather your thoughts, but when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, filled with sincerity.

“That was beautiful, Jihoon,” you whispered, your heart swelling. “I can’t believe you wrote that for me.”

Jihoon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he looked a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know how to tell you. But now, I guess there’s no hiding it anymore.”

You smiled, reaching out to touch his hand. “I’m really glad you did.”

There was a brief silence, but this time it was comfortable, filled with the weight of the connection you shared. Jihoon looked at you, his eyes full of warmth and something deeper. It was clear to you now—he had fallen for you, and he had done it in the most beautiful way possible.

After a few beats, Jihoon spoke again, his voice quiet but steady.

“You know,” he began, his tone playful but filled with sincerity, “you really have a way of turning my entire routine upside down.”

You raised an eyebrow, still feeling the warmth of the music and his words. “Oh really? What do you mean by that?”

Jihoon chuckled softly, the sound low and comfortable.

“I mean, my life was pretty predictable before you came around. Gym, classes, music, rinse and repeat. But now, it’s like—” he trailed off for a second, gathering his thoughts, “—I actually look forward to getting out of bed in the morning, you know? To seeing you.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you couldn’t resist teasing him. “Oh, so I’m just some distraction now, huh? Are you telling me I’ve become the highlight of your boring routine?”

Jihoon’s eyes softened, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping just a little. “If that makes me sound like I’m complaining, then yes. You’re the perfect distraction. The best one I never knew I needed.”

You let out a small laugh, not able to hide how happy that made you feel. “I don’t know if I should feel flattered or worried.”

“You should definitely feel flattered,” Jihoon teased, tapping the back of his hand against your knee. “But seriously, I’m really glad you’re in my life now. It’s like... you’ve made everything a little more exciting.”

You met his gaze, the playful air between you both still hanging, but something deeper flickered in his eyes now—something genuine, something real.

“Well, I’m glad I’m not just some distraction then,” you said, shifting slightly to face him fully. “And here I thought you were going to tell me I was ruining your carefully planned life.”

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head. “No way. I never knew how much I needed this kind of chaos until you showed up.”

There was a brief pause, and then Jihoon leaned in a little closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, it’s nice having someone who actually doesn’t mind the mess I call my life.”

“Well, good thing I’m here then,” you replied with a wink. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jihoon smiled, a mix of playfulness and tenderness in his expression. “Good. Because I kind of like this version of my life now. With you in it.”

With that, he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and as he did, you both shared a quiet moment, the atmosphere charged with the kind of ease that came only with truly being yourselves around each other.

The hum of his guitar, still resting by his side, seemed to match the rhythm of the moment. And as Jihoon leaned back into his seat, he added with a cheeky grin, “Also, just so you know… if you ever need a song to get stuck in your head, you’ve got the perfect one now.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Yeah, I think that’s gonna be stuck in my head for a while. Especially when it’s your fault.”

Jihoon’s grin widened. “You’re welcome,” he teased.

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