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niningtori · 20 days

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for the hope of it all | part one

part two

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: you've been in love with beomgyu since the first time you saw him, but he sees you as nothing more than a good friend and faithful wingwoman. when he asks you to help him catch another girl, who just so happens to be one of your closest friends, things get complicated.

genre: ANGST, melodrama, romance, smut (mdni)

warnings: super rushed to meet a deadline, not proofread, smut (mdni), beomgyu is a fucking asshole, manipulative!gyu, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (vaginal), dirty talk, praise, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 7.2k

notes: whew... i couldn't just post a fic based on a song called AUGUST after august ends (even tho there's only a few minutes left where i am idccc) anyway this isn't the best thing in the world but i still ask that u all don't be mean to me <3 feedback is appreciated n loved as well :)

beomgyu really likes her — like, really— and who can blame him? you certainly can’t. chaewon is a lovely, lovely girl, so it should come as no surprise when beomgyu asks you to, in his words, help him bag her. you’re not one with a particularly strong character at the best of times, so when he practically begs you to convince one of your closest friends that he’s actually not the heartbreaking manwhore he definitely is, you can’t find it in yourself to say no.

it doesn't help that he has enough charisma to charm even the most indifferent target he sets his eyes on, it doesn't help that he's so handsome it makes everyone either want him or want to be him, and it most certainly doesn't help that you've been in love with the boy for the entire time that you've known him. him asking absolutely anything of you would result in you relenting, so when he asks for something as seemingly inconsequential as setting him up with a mutual friend, accepting it is a matter of course. does it hurt your heart to see him pining after someone else when you basically consider him as your soulmate? of course. but his happiness means more to you than your own. if she makes him happy, then so be it.

that's what you tell yourself, at least.

beomgyu doesn’t know that you love him — he can’t possibly know — or else he’d treat you differently, right? you don’t want that. you don’t want anything to change, at least not in the disastrous way you anticipate confessing your love to him would go, so you’ve kept your feelings close to your chest to keep him from suspecting anything. you think you’ve gotten pretty good at concealing your feelings. for example, you laugh when he tells you about his sexual escapades, and you don’t hesitate to give him advice on how to woo the girls who are wary of his lasciviousness. you only want to show him the good parts of you, carefully tucking any ugly seeds of jealousy or sadness away from his prying eyes.

the thing is, though, beomgyu is not stupid; and to your never-ending misery, you are not the greatest actress. he can see the crestfallen look on your face for the split second before you can contort your features into a smile. he can hear the tremble in your voice as you force out a laugh. with his godforsaken intuition, he can sense the hesitation in your movement when you playfully push him aside as he over-dramatically recounts his latest raunchy fuck.

all of this has no discernible consequence, though. if anything, your feelings have been his faithful friend and ally when it comes to conspiring with you to land whatever girl piques his interest at the moment. you may not be a prospective partner, but you are a great wingwoman, he’ll give you that much. and that’s exactly what he needs when dealing with chaewon, who has proven to be a particularly tough nut to crack. he doesn’t usually go for people he would consider friends, if only because he doesn’t like dealing with the messy aftermath, but her refusal to look his way is just too entertaining. he has no earthly idea why this cat and mouse game intrigues him the way it does, but he’s hooked like none other, especially because her reasons for pulling away when she’s definitely as attracted to him as he is to her are unclear. maybe she just doesn’t want to seem easy? whatever it is, he likes it. he likes her.

“so what's the plan?” soobin asks.

“what do you mean?” you blink as you turn towards him, effectively taken out of your daze. you've been staring at a new instagram picture of beomgyu for at least ten minutes now. there's not much going on in it — it's just a candid taehyun took of him — but you can't stop the yearning you feel in your heart as you wish you had been the one to take it, instead.

“i mean, what's your big plan to ‘help’ him this time?” there’s a trace of resentment in his tone as he puts air quotes around “help”. you know he thinks you're just wasting your time on a boy who will never feel the same way you do, but what can you do? you still love him.

“i’m… i’m just going to talk him up to chae, no big deal,” you say rather unconvincingly, because it is a big deal. it’s the biggest deal in the world to you.

“and what are you gonna say? ‘hey, i know you know beomgyu is garbage, but deep down, he’s actually not garbage even though, even deeper down, he really is?’” his words are sarcastic and, for lack of a better term, downright hateful.

“he’s not garbage, binnie,” you chastise. “he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him.”

“sweet? sweet how, exactly?” he sneers. you just sigh and shake your head. beomgyu is a frequent point of contention in your friendship with soobin, but you don’t know how to overcome it. mostly, arguments surrounding him devolve into conversations like the one you’re having right now.

“he puts on a tough act, but he’s not really like that on the inside,” you insist. “you just don’t know him like i do.”

“and thank god for that,” he snorts, and you frown. you can tell he feels guilty by the way his expression immediately softens.

“hey, i’m sorry,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i just don’t like to see you hurting.”

“i’m not hurting,” you lie. “i’m totally fine. it’s just… i just want to see him happy.” you actually do mean that last part. beomgyu, though seemingly carefree, is actually a lot more insecure and sensitive than one might think. you know this because he’s shown you that side of him many, many times, which must mean that he trusts you like no one else. you are honored to be the one he feels comfortable with, and even if it never amounts to anything more than that, you’re thankful you get to see how he really is.

“and you think being with a new girl every week will make him happy?” he softly asks, no edge to his voice, but his words hurt even more than they did before.

“it's different this time, binnie. i'm serious. i've never seen him like this before. i think he really likes her.” and the words almost kill you to say, but you mean them, anyway.

“okay,” he relents. “just do what you want to do. i’ll be there for you no matter what.”

“thank you,” you reply with a small smile, before putting your nose back into your phone and staring at beomgyu’s pictures again. you don’t catch it, but soobin sighs as he watches you.

you’ve been trying really, really hard. usually, all you have to do is talk about good points about beomgyu, and women fall for it hook, line, and sinker. chaewon is not most women, though, and she makes that abundantly clear with the polite smiles and airy laughs she gives you when you try to bring up beomgyu.

you don't get it. if you had beomgyu’s attention, you’d never let it go, so it makes no sense to you how someone could have it without taking the opportunity to seize it. if it were you, you’d seize it. if it were you, you'd tell him you’ve loved him since the first time you saw him. if it were you — well, it doesn't really matter, does it? because it isn't you. still, you can’t help but dream.

the sentiment that it will never be you becomes clearer and clearer as you watch beomgyu try to initiate conversation with chaewon at his very own house party you are currently attending. you watch from the sidelines as they sit uncomfortably close together, legs flush against one another, as beomgyu wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in to whisper in her ear. you like to think you’re content with him being with her even if it means you’ll be without him, but it’s difficult to feel that way when you actually see it playing out before you. your heart feels like stone weighing heavily in your chest as she giggles at whatever he says, and you think that things might start looking up for him before her smile suddenly melts into a little frown.

without warning, she pries his arm off of her and gives him a perfunctory smile before standing up and smoothing out her skirt. then, she grabs her drink from the coffee table and he's left alone. his previously delighted expression is now filled with irritation and disappointment. you're still staring at him, just trying to get a read on the situation as you're left reeling, and before you know it, he's looking up at you. you're a little embarrassed at being caught, but you realize you can play your intrigue off as objectively analyzing the situation in order to help him better. surely he’ll fall for that, right? every time you say something similar, he buys it with no further questions.

he makes eye contact with you then nods towards his room as a silent plea to talk to him in private. if someone were to ask you how you’re able to deduce all of that from one look alone, you’d probably say it’s because you know beomgyu like the back of your hand — and maybe you do, but it’s like a subconsciously trained reaction more than anything. just as you know what beomgyu will do next, he knows you’ll understand his seemingly innocuous gestures.

you head up the stairs and beomgyu shuts his bedroom door behind you. you prepare to launch into your readymade explanation as to why you were rubbernecking earlier, but he speaks before you can say anything at all.

“why isn’t it working?” he huffs. “did you talk to her like i asked you to?”

“yes, of course i did!” you eagerly insist. you would never lie to beomgyu — well, not about this, at least. your secret feelings are another story.

“then why does she keep rejecting me?” he huffs. you wish you could answer him. truly, you do. you scramble for the right words, but you sincerely can't wrap your head around her logic, or lack thereof.

he’s still waiting for an answer, though, so you think back to the recent conversations you’ve had with soobin, and you realize there’s only one plausible conclusion.

“she just doesn’t know you enough, beoms. if she knew how you really are and how much you like her, she wouldn't act this way; but honestly, she probably thinks you’re just messing with her,” you explain, and you hope beyond hope that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. you don’t want to hurt his feelings by suggesting that his (newly) former playboy ways could be ruining his chances with her.

beomgyu’s feelings, of course, are not hurt. in fact, he just feels more annoyed than anything else. it’s really fucking irritating how he can’t seem to get a read on her or her intentions. she likes him, he can definitely tell, so what’s the problem with him having a messy past? it’s clear that it doesn’t bother you. well, it does, but in a different way. you’d forgive his previous transgressions in a heartbeat if it meant that he’d look your way, so why can’t she be the same? but then, he supposes that comparing someone as lovesick as you are to a normal girl is a bit unfair.

but why are you so lovesick? it’s obvious that he’s handsome and funny, so falling for him is only natural, but your devotion is on another level. not only that, but you’re devoted in spite of the fact that he clearly wants nothing to do with you. in all honesty, it’s almost like you love him even more when you see him chasing after somebody else... then suddenly, the solution is clear. he has to make her think he doesn’t want her; and the easiest way to do that is to pretend he’s interested in someone else. in the same vein, who better else to pretend with than one of chaewon’s closest friends? you’re absolutely perfect for the job.

beomgyu’s demeanor goes from irritated to self-satisfied, and it puzzles you to no end. maybe he figured out a way to show his true feelings for her? but then why is he looking at you with such intensity? he’s never looked at you this way in the many years that you’ve known him. wait, did he realize something? please, god, don’t let that be the case. you really don’t think you can —

and your train of thought is stopped when beomgyu strides over to you and locks the door behind you. you look up at him with confusion in your eyes before you finally register what that intense gaze of his really is: predatory.

suddenly, his lips are on yours and you’re holding back a squeal. your eyes widen as he cups his big hands around your cheeks and pulls you in even closer. he tastes like alcohol, which is to be expected, but there's a certain uniqueness to his taste that you can't really put into words; and you’re able to taste it even more as his tongue enters your mouth. you groan at the action, and surprisingly, he does, too.

you always assumed kissing beomgyu would make you feel like everything was finally right in the world, and it does — it really, sincerely does — but there’s also a certain spark you were not anticipating. something a lot more fiery, and it shoots straight to your core as your tongues tangle together lasciviously. beomgyu seems to know this, and he smirks into the kiss before trailing his warm mouth down your neck. you gasp at the sensation, which just makes him laugh.

his hands have traveled from your cheeks to your chest, one staying there to grab at your tits while the other one carelessly finds its way up your skirt.

“so wet,” he whispers in awe when he rubs his fingers against your soaked panties. “is this all because of me?” you feel your cheeks warm and you’re stammering out your next words.

“w-well, i —”

“is this all because of me?” he repeats, and you give him a feeble nod before covering your face in shame.

“cute,” he snickers, and your previously warm cheeks are now scorching to the touch.

he moves your panties to the side and rubs against your sensitive clit, which sends pulsations through your entire body, but that’s nothing in comparison to how you feel when he presses a finger into your dripping hole.

“you’re so tight,” he whispers, lust clearly written all over his face at the prospect of being in your pussy relatively soon; but he wants to enjoy this, he wants to enjoy the way your face screws up as he presses his finger so deep, he’s hitting places previously untouched. he slowly pulls it out, grazing your most sensitive spot with ease before adding another digit in, making you almost groan from the stretch. you bite your lip to avoid making such a sound, but beomgyu pays your attempted discretion no mind as he starts to hammer his fingers into you at a brutal pace.

it doesn’t take long for you to come undone around his skilled fingers, and once you’re done pulsating around him, he takes them out for a taste.

“so good,” he remarks, and though your breathing is heavy and your eyes are hazy, you still have it in you to feel embarrassed. he takes your smaller hand in his and leads you to his messy bed, carelessly sweeping every loose item — a t-shirt here, an old cd there — off of it in one go. he lays you down and hungrily licks his lips once he strips you down until you’re fully unclothed.

you’re feeling extremely small in this moment. you know beomgyu has had his pick of the litter when it comes to women, so you can’t help but wonder how you fare in comparison to the literal bombshells he’s been known to take home. mostly, though, you wonder how you compare to chaewon, as awful as that sounds. if you really think about it, there’s no comparison to be made, really. she’s her, and you’re you. what else is there to say, honestly? still, you’re comforted by the thought that you are the one underneath him right now, not her, and he does not seem disappointed in the slightest if the tent in his jeans means anything at all.

before you can think too much about it, he’s practically tearing his shirt off and you can’t help but stare. his torso is lean and a little paler than the rest of him, probably due to the lack of sun. objectively speaking, he’s no greek god or anything similar, but to you, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. if he notices your awed reaction, he doesn’t say anything or really care, because he is simply too busy studying how perfect you seem to look under his dimmed lights. again, he is delighted at the prospect of being inside of you very soon.

he unzips his jeans and slides them, along with his boxers, off of his slim thighs and you can finally see him completely. his cock is a red so deep it’s nearly purple, with evidence of his lust leaking out of its flared tip. you’ve heard a lot about beomgyu’s physique from stories, his and his hookups’ alike, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. you’re not a virgin or anything, but you’re still unsure of how you’re meant to fit him inside of you. and you have no idea how you’re supposed to approach the subject.

beomgyu does not seem to understand your internal battle, though, because he wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance. before he pushes in, though, he drags his cock along your soaking wet seam just to coat himself in your slick. when he feels he can’t take any more of his own teasing, he begins to push in.

“j-jesus christ!” he exclaims as he tries to push his tip through your entrance. “are you a virgin or some shit?”

“nngh — n-no! i-i’m not. i’ve — mmh — i’ve had boyfriends before,” you say as best as you can while dealing with the feeling of him literally fucking you open. you’re worried he’s not enjoying himself in light of his outburst and his decidedly strained expression.

“god, s-so tight,” he drawls. “feels so goddamn good.” he draws his hips back before pushing in again, further this time, and his words of praise seem to comfort you somehow, because he’s able to sheathe himself completely in you.

he groans when he feels your gummy walls wildly contracting around him — unsure of what to do with the pleasurable intrusion and working tirelessly to simultaneously push him out and pull him in. you, on the other hand, feel nothing but full. you’re so full you ache, so after a few moments of adjusting, your watery eyes are filled with an insatiable sense of pleading.

“you okay?” he asks, actually somewhat sweetly.

“y-yes — ah — i just feel w-weird,” you say. “feel so — fuck — full.” your seemingly innocent words drive him to the brink of insanity, so with reddened eyes, he grabs your hips so hard, you know he’ll leave marks in his wake, and without warning he begins drilling into you.

his thrusts are not calculated or intentional in any sense — they’re rough and fast and show his desperation. why he’s so desperate, he has no idea. beomgyu is sleazy even on a good day, so women come a dime a dozen, but he feels an unquenchable need he feels will only be satisfied if he continues to fuck you like a man gone mad. so he does.

your breasts bounce with every thrust and while he wants to grab one, his thirst only makes him want to go even deeper in you, so he employs his hands to manhandling you into a mating press. the new position has him going even deeper, and you can feel him hitting your cervix with each nasty snap of his hips. tears at the sheer feeling of being overwhelmed spring in your eyes and you have to clamp your hand over your lips to keep from crying out.

“let me hear you,” he pleads while gently moving your hand from your mouth and not-so-gently fucking you like a breeding whore, and he’s not sure if he’s saying it because he wants to make sure chaewon hears or just because he desperately wants to hear you for himself.

“fuck!” you exclaim, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. “s-so big!”

“oh, sweetheart,” he rambles, “who were you fucking before? they didn’t deserve this tight little pussy. they didn’t fuck you like you deserve to be fucked — like a good little whore.”

“‘m n-not a whore,” you tearily insist, somehow convinced that he means his words. you’re not completely inexperienced, but you’re not a whore, right?

but your innocence only makes him wanna ruin you more, claim you completely.

“you’re taking cock so well, but you wanna tell me you’re not a whore?” he snickers meanly, and you feel so delirious, you find yourself agreeing with what he says.

the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin and the sharp knocking of the headboard fill the room, and the heat you feel building up inside of you has you seeing stars. beomgyu pulls you in for a sloppy, wet kiss as he finally lets one of your legs down in order to snake his hand against your clit, which he languidly rolls in the midst of his pistoning in and out of you.

“are you gonna come for me?” he asks as his lips part from yours. “are you gonna come all over my cock?”

“y-yes, please,” you sob. “wanna come!”

“then do it, baby. let go for me,” and with the way he’s rolling your clit while fucking into you, you can’t help but comply.

he hisses when he feels you contracting around him, tightening up even more than before and pulling him in impossibly deeper. that’s all it takes, really, before he comes undone himself and sprays his thick, hot load into your spasming pussy.

he collapses on top of you, and both of you take a few moments just to catch your breath before he pulls out of you with a wince. he’s absolutely enthralled by the way the mix of both of you two’s cum leaks out of you as soon as he does so. he’s almost tempted to swirl it back in and plug you up, but his rational side stops him before he can do anything he’ll regret.

“are you on the pill?” he asks, and you nod.

“good, go ahead and get a plan b, too. just in case,” he says with a quick kiss to your forehead, and you nod with a delirious smile even in spite of his pedantic words. you’re just so happy you got to sleep with him, be closer to him.

“oh, i almost forgot to actually tell you,” he laughs. “i think fucking you will make chaewon jealous. i think we put on a pretty good show tonight, don’t you?”

and your heart and your hope and your dignity shatter like nothing else.

“y-yeah,” you try to reply with a laugh, but it sounds more forced than anything else you’ve ever heard in your life. “it was a really good show.”

“you slept with him?!” soobin asks, and he seems beyond frustrated. if you had the guts to look him in his eyes, though, you’d notice just how much hurt is in them.

“y-yeah…” you mumble, face downcast.

“why? why would you do that? you’re just going to be even more hurt!” he exclaims, and you shrink into yourself even more, not out of fear, but out of pure shame.

“i don’t know! it all just happened so fast, a-and i, i don’t know, i just couldn’t stop myself,” is all you manage to say. soobin groans at your words.

“you do realize that getting over him is going to be even harder for you now, right?” he asks, and you finally look up at him for a second before looking back down and nodding, and it’s almost like you’re a child who got caught doing something they knew was wrong.

“i know, and i’m sorry,” you mutter, still struggling to make eye contact, but soobin catches your timidity and his gaze is softened as he pulls your face up to look at him.

“you don’t have to apologize to me,” he sighs. “i’m just worried about you, you know?”

“i know, i know. but i’m still really sorry.” and you don’t have to elaborate on why that is because you both know that he’ll be the one helping you pick up the pieces when this situation inevitably breaks your heart even more than it’s already broken, if that’s even possible.

“it’s alright,” he says, pulling you in for a hug that’s so warm and kind you almost burst into tears. “you’ll be alright. i’m here.”

this is a bad idea. soobin would yell at you if you told him what you’re up to, but you don’t want to think about that right now. all you want to think about is how much better you’ll feel after you get your secret feelings off of your chest. up until now, the fear of rejection has made you too afraid to tell beomgyu how you really feel, but things can’t get much worse than they are at present, can they? it’s only been a few days since your hookup with beomgyu, but your love is eating you alive and you doubt that you’ll be able to hold it in for much longer.

things will probably go badly, and he’ll probably be completely blindsided, but the thought of continuing to lie to beomgyu’s face hurts more than anything else ever could. even more than the pain you feel every day that he unconsciously hurts your feelings. maybe this will ruin your friendship, but you love beomgyu, and he loves you, even if it’s not in the way that you want. all you can do is hope that your friendship is strong enough to overcome this.

with that mindset, you find yourself at his doorstep on this particularly cool summer night. you know he’s home because you can hear the faint sounds of whatever movie he’s watching emanating from his door. before you can lose your nerve, you begin to rapidly knock. before long, you hear the shuffling of feet nearing you, and you almost bolt then and there, but he’s quick to open the door when he realizes it’s just you.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, agitation apparent. oh god, were you interrupting something? what if he was working? what if he was sleeping? you should've texted before just showing up unannounced.

“i-i’m sorry, are you busy?” you ask sheepishly.

“... no,” he says after a slight pause, and he opens the door to let you in. you sit yourself on his couch, posture ramrod straight due to how fucking uncomfortable you are, and you try to steady your breathing as you fiddle with your fingers.

“is this about chaewon?” he asks, breaking the silence, and your heart aches at the trace of hope in his words.

“n-no, nothing like that. i just —”

“is there any update on that?” he cuts in before you can even get your words out.

“oh, um, not really,” you reply before remembering that something has happened, but you’ve been so out of it, it genuinely didn't occur to you to tell him. “wait, actually, she mentioned that you seem different lately, but she, uh, she’s still… well, to be honest, she’s —”

“what? she’s still what?” and there’s no patience for your rambling to be seen.

“she’s still not interested in dating you,” you mumble, unable to look him in the eyes when you say it. he’s completely silent after your words, and when you do finally gather enough guts to actually look at him, you really, really wish you had just kept your face down. because he’s pissed.

“are you fucking with me? she really said that?” he asks, and you nod.

“why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” and you feel so disoriented at the way things are unfolding that you can barely croak out a reply.

“i-i forgot.”

“you forgot? jesus christ, if it’s not about her, then why are you here?” he seems angrier than you’ve ever seen him, but his words get you to finally remember what you’re here for.

“i just… i needed to talk to you,” you say pleadingly, looking into his eyes as you try your hardest to give yourself the strength to be honest with him.

“about?”

it takes all of the courage in your poor little heart to choke out your next words.

“beomgyu, you know, for the longest time, i’ve —”

“i know,” he impatiently snaps. you’re unsure of what he’s referencing, but you do know he has no idea about the feelings you’ve kept hidden for so long.

“no. no, you don’t know, actually,” you argue, brave face on, but voice shakier than a leaf. “i just need to tell you that i —”

“that you love me? i know, that’s what i just fucking said,” he sighs irritatedly. “why else would you help me? ‘cause you love me so much, right?” he knows it’s wrong to take his frustration out on you, but you’re so pathetic, you make it too damn easy. you’re the perfect outlet for him to unleash all of his anger.

“you… you knew? this entire time?” you ask incredulously. you feel like you’re suffocating in the face of his callousness and disgust, and the room feels smaller than it did before.

“i mean, yeah. it was kind of obvious,” he muses. your cheeks feel so hot you’re sure you’re on the brink of immolation. it was obvious? if it was obvious, then why did he keep you around in the first place? because you’re useful when it comes to helping him get his dick wet?

“so… so why did you…” you trail off, still finding it inconceivable that the beomgyu you know and love could possibly know about your feelings; and not only are they unreciprocated by him, which you could understand and respect, but they’re nothing more than a fucking joke and means to an end. the end in question being burying himself into other women.

“why did i act like i didn’t know? because i don't feel the same way,” he answers, and you already knew it and knew it well, but that doesn't make it any more digestible to hear.

“y-yeah, but you — how could you still sleep with me? how could you do that to me?” you ask, lips wobbling and voice cracking. you can't believe this. you won't believe this. you have to be misunderstanding something somewhere. there's just no way this is it.

“because it was easy,” he says with a shrug, and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

because it was easy.

easy. what a funny word. you don’t think you even fully comprehend what it means in this context, actually. easy, easy, easy, but what part of this has been easy for you? every day, it’s like you’re killing yourself by trying to twist into what he wants you to be. a friend, a confidant, and now, even a lover. but lover is being too generous, isn't it? because he does not love you, not even as a friend, and this discovery becomes clearer and clearer as you think back to every time he’s shown you just how little he cares.

soobin’s litany of warnings come back to haunt you with a vengeance.

he’s just using you.

he’s garbage.

he’s just gonna hurt you.

and though you know soobin will take no pleasure in being correct, you can't help but dread the “i told you so” you know he will never be mean enough to say, but will inevitably think.

“i thought we were friends,” you say incredulously, dread and anxiety pooling in the deepest recesses of your heart. “i thought you cared about me”

and he doesn’t shrug or anything because he doesn’t really need to, but he might as well seeing as how it clearly makes no difference to him. and this is finally how you come to understand that beomgyu is just as bad as everyone says. maybe even a little worse. and he will continue to act like a sociopath for as long as you let him.

“i-i love you, i really do. but no fucking way. i won’t sit here and let you treat me like shit,” you declare, tears flowing down your cheeks so quickly and steadily you’d probably be unable to wipe them away even if you tried. luckily or unluckily, you don’t even have the strength to find out.

“you’re going to regret this,” you whisper, and it’s said with such certainty that for a moment, he almost believes you. almost, but not quite.

either way, you’re booking it out of his door before he can even reply.

this is everything beomgyu ever could’ve asked for. chaewon is sitting next to him on his bed, eyes dark with lust as she unceremoniously grabs the end of her top and tugs it off. she's beautiful, no doubt about that, but he feels more and more like something is incredibly wrong.

she leans in to press her lips onto his, but he flinches, scooting almost imperceptibly further away from her on the bed. she falters for a moment before sighing and crawling on all fours to situate herself between his legs. she begins to unzip his pants and tug on his waistband before he frantically stops her.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, voice shaking.

“blowing you, what does it look like i’m doing?” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “i just wish i had known you wouldn’t be into kissing or, like, actual foreplay, but whatever.” she continues her movement to pull his pants down before he stops her again.

“what’s wrong?” she asks curiously, before finally realizing that he is, to what would normally be his eternal shame, completely soft. her mouth drops in shock, and in another universe, beomgyu has enough energy to care. but not in this one. in this one, his eyes are teary as he feels an implacable sense of dread he can’t seem to shake off.

“oh god,” she says with conviction, pulling herself back up and running one hand through her hair. “i knew this would happen.”

beomgyu, on his part, looks somewhat out of it, but her words bring him back to earth.

“knew what would happen?” he asks tentatively, sniffling for reasons unknown to him while he tries not to let his tears run over his waterlines.

“i knew you’d act like this because of her,” she says begrudgingly.

his eyebrows furrow for a second, not because he doesn’t already know who she’s talking about, but because he doesn’t understand the correlation between you and the situation he presently finds himself in.

“think about it,” she says slowly, condescendingly. “who do you trust, like, actually? and i’m not just talking about with getting girls, but with everything.” beomgyu is silent as he tries to comprehend what she's saying, but he’s nothing if not slow on the uptake in regards to human emotion.

“oh, beomgyu, come the fuck on,” she sighs in frustration. “i mean, when you were stressed about that presentation for your job, who did you call? yunjin told me all about it. she said you spent hours reciting a 15 minute presentation to the girl you supposedly don’t give a fuck about.” ah. he remembers that night, actually, and he remembers it well. he called you in a panic, so you brought over some dinner because you knew he was stressed, but he was so wound up that you didn’t leave and even insisted that he practice with you in order to give him feedback. he spent the whole night repeating the same speech over and over again, but you sat patiently and encouragingly as he repeated the boring, inconsequential drivel to you. you never complained, not even once, and you didn’t ask him for any compensation in the form of him doing something — anything — similar for you, either. even if you had, he realizes, he wouldn't have given any to you, anyway.

“that’s…”

“and that’s not even all of it. who’s the first one you look for when you walk into a room? and when something good happens, who do you tell first? not anybody else, and i know for a fact that it’s not me, never will be,” she says bitterly. every new point slashes at his heart and ego.

and suddenly, things start making sense, albeit in the worst possible way. beomgyu loves you. his trust and dependence on you all make an awful sort of sense, but in a way, it’s relieving to finally be able to put a name to this feeling. his eyes still feel hot, but not so much because something feels wrong, but because things finally feel right for the first time in forever. he loves you, has loved you, and will continue to love you.

her words resonate with him so deeply, she can read it all over his face. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he finally understands, but he’s still missing an important fact. the most important fact, even.

“yeah, i guess you finally get it now. you have feelings for her. and the worst thing is: you treat her like shit.” his eyes widen and the tears that were just threatening to escape are completely let loose. how could he only come to this realization after he already effectively stomped on your heart and your pure intentions? after you’ve made it clear that you don’t want anything to do with him anymore? and he has nobody but himself to blame, really; he practically shoved you away over and over and over again.

“i-i didn’t mean to —”

“sure, of course you didn’t,” she says with a sarcastic smile. “whatever makes you feel better for fucking over the girl who’s been in love with you for years.”

beomgyu may not know much about the inner workings of interpersonal relationships, but he does know he needs to see you, and he’s smart enough to understand that he needs to apologize.

but beomgyu has never apologized for anything in his life — not unless you count the times his mother made him grit them out as a child when he would objectively do something wrong, but this is another matter entirely. nobody will be holding his hand as he does it, and he’s not even really sure where to start. but he knows he has to try.

surely there’s a better place to try than at the bar where he currently finds himself, but then, there’s no time like the present. not to mention that he has a sneaking suspicion that you're avoiding all of your mutual friends’ get-togethers for the sole purpose of avoiding him. if the blocking of all of his socials wasn’t enough, the blocking of his phone number certainly was.

it’s not necessarily fate’s fault that he finds himself here, either. he heard from a friend (chaewon) that you’d be here tonight. he sees you from across the bar looking lively and chatty, and he prays that the good mood you seem to be in will help soften the upcoming conversation with him. to his luck, you step out of the bar to take a call, so he slides from his seat with an open beer bottle in tow, and follows you outside.

your back is turned, and he doesn’t quite hear what you’re talking about over the phone, but he does catch a giggle and a name, soobin’s, and it makes his heart ache. when you hang up, you turn to head back into the bar, but you’re met with his figure.

“h-hey,” he says, and he wants to smack himself for the casual greeting he still managed to fuck up.

your eyes widen for a moment before they go blank, and you’re pushing past him without a response.

“i need to talk to you,” he says, voice trembling as he grabs the back of your elbow, which you snatch out of his grip like his touch is poison.

“about?” you ask curtly, barely even deigning to turn your head to look at him. you have never been so hostile towards anyone, let alone him, and it's making him spiral.

“i’m sorry. i’m just really, really sorry,” he desperately apologizes. you’re silent for a few moments as you turn to completely face him with your arms crossed, and he’s trying his damndest to read your expression, but he can’t quite make it out.

“okay… and?” is all you say in response, and he fumbles over his words at your nonchalance.

“a-and, um, i —”

“you know what?” you cut in with an impatient sigh and a wave of your hand. “i don’t care anymore. you’ve said enough.”

“but i —”

“i don’t care, beomgyu.” and his name is said in such disgust that it sounds to him like it’s a chore for you to spit out. you’re about to turn and reenter the bar when his next words come tumbling out.

“i think — i know — i love you,” he says urgently, and your previously unreadable gaze turns into one of pure, sheer amusement. you’re so amused, you laugh, even.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you say between giggles.

“i-i didn’t realize it before, but i talked to chaewon, and she even said that i’ve probably always felt that way about you. i know i didn’t show it, but i really do love —”

“okay, just stop. stop it right there, beomgyu. i’m only going to say it just this once, so listen carefully, okay?” you ask, and he fervently nods.

“okay. you don't know the first thing about love.” and he goes to interrupt you, but you don’t let him. “loving somebody means you put their feelings above your own. what the hell would you know about that?”

“i’m… i know i was wrong, b-but i —”

“beomgyu,” you say exasperatedly. “i’m so glad you’re finally reaching enlightenment, and i’m so happy i was cannon fodder for you to use to get there. but i just really, really don’t care anymore, okay? do what you want with whoever you want, but don’t bother me about it anymore, alright?” and he’s so stunned he can’t even form words, but you just shake your head and prepare to leave again. unconsciously, he goes to grab you again, which you consequently dodge, and he thinks this is the most rejected he’s ever felt before realizing it’s not over yet. it’s only truly over when you grab his bottle from him and splash its contents across his face before throwing the bottle back into his arms and leaving for good.

notes pt. 2: yeah... idk when part two will be out but stay tuned! also, if you all want a soobin ending let me know and i might... MIGHT do it ;_;

permanent taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @midwinterblizzard @everythingvirgoes @sooberryworld @20-cms @inkigayocamman @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1 @shymexican @milkandoranges @that1sadgrl @archoive @paegesoobin @buttercreamerie @ifwtxt @softesyoongi @serenityism00 @fairfootedflekk @kyanmeai

series taglist: @denleave1088 @calssunflower @wildernessuntothemselves @pluslandminun @enhasrii

join one of my taglists here!

#niningtori #for the hope of it all #beomgyu smut #beomgyu angst #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #txt smut #txt angst #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin angst #nini's hard hours #txt fic #beomgyu fic

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bulgingforbucky · 2 months

Text

Tied to the Inexplicable

NSFW

Warning: Physical Hurt, Degrading, Death Threats, No Aftercare, He's Mean, He might be psychotic

Summary: You chose the Jedi over Qimir and he will make sure you stay loyal to him by punishing you.

I kinda hurted my own feelings with this one :)

Your feet are running in the forest as you pant trying to get away from the brutal murders your master is committing. As you're running you look behind you seeing no one there stopping to catch your breath. You start walking in the dark part of the woods before he appears in front of you looking at you as his dark hair dangles in his face. You let out a scream falling backward at his appearance, his face scrunched in anger as he stares you down.

You scramble to your feet hearing his saber turning on as you turn your back running in the opposite direction. He flips his lightsaber as you run further away from him making him more anger. "You can't run from me!" He yells at the top of his lungs before he raises his other hand using the force to stop you. You try to fight against his hold moving your body but mentally you know that you can't. His footsteps are heavy as he steps on leaves breaking them with every step he takes.

Your back is to him and you can feel his negative emotions as he gets closer with his heavy breathing as his lightsaber hums. Once he gets near you can't see him, you can't even turn your head as you think about what he's doing you hear a hum on your right side along with a red light on the side of your face. Tears immediately start to fill your eyes, "Qimir wait I'm sorry-" you try to say before the saber touches your arm burning you as you scream in pain.

That was a warning.

Sniffles come from you as sharp breaths are taken. It takes all the force for him to not slice you to pieces, to make you suffer in ways you wouldn't even imagine, but at the same time, you are weak, of course, if something sounds good to you you'll jump on board. That's still no excuse for the fact he took you in when no one wanted to, taught you things, made you feel things, and this is how you repay him.

He hears your cries as he huffs turning you around so you can face him as his eyes meet your teary ones as he glares at you. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now along with the Jedi you wanted to be with so badly." Your bottom lip trembles in terror as you try to speak, "Because I regret it, I really do master and I learned my lesson to not choose anyone but you." You breathlessly plead making him softly scoff.

"I don't believe you learned your lesson because if you actually listen to me when I teach you, you wouldn't be in this position. Would you?" He slightly mocks you while you try to get your point across. "No... I do listen-" Qimir shakes his head huffing, "Right, since you listen so much you should be an astonishing expecting apprentice standing by my side right, and not betraying your master praying on his downfall." His tone sounds sarcastic, but you try to go with it anyway.

'No! I never prayed on your downfall!" You say shocked but Qimir isn't having it. "What did you expect to happen when you sided with the ones who want to kill me?! I could have died and that would've been your burden to bear in that already weak mind of yours."

"Your mind is so weak and fragile that it doesn't take much for you to give up and break down. That's why I've been training you, pushing you hard to the point you've built a wall in your head, to the point not even a crack would appear. I'm starting to think you're a waste of time, just another dead end in my plan, a spot on a canvas." He talks down at you making you frown in shame.

"You doubt me."

He's right if I was loyal to and trusted him fully, I wouldn't have doubted him. Doubt led me to choose the enemies, them persuading me, planting their seed knowing I would turn against my master. I was a chess piece, on the Jedi's side and on my master's but at least I'll have free will to choose which one I'll fight for.

"Master I've realized my mistake, please forgive me. I'll work harder to earn your trust and work beside you again. My mentality will strengthen, so the rivals won't use me as a pawn against you." You plead to him, his shoulder drop slightly from them being tense and you take this as a good sign as you hear a heavy sigh from the man.

"I just wanted someone for myself, someone to train to make them the best. You are such a disappointment, I had a feeling this wouldn't work out." Qimir says lifting his lightsaber as your eyes widen.

"Master I'm sorry please forgive me. Please I know I don't deserve to be forgiven." You beg feeling humiliation and regret making Qimir nod in agreement. "You're right, you don't deserve to be forgiven, you deserve to die." Qimir says before he focuses the force on your head squeezing making you cry out.

"Qimir please have mercy! I'm so sorry! I'll do anything please Master! I'll serve you I swear I'll never betray you again please!" You beg and beg until you feel relief on your skull as you fall to the ground whimpering in pain from the pressure that was put on your head.

"Get up." Qimir demands as your body is now weak struggling to stand on your two feet, knees wobbling while you gain your balance as your slightly blurred vision and feeling out of place like your soul was separated from your body is starting to disappear. Qimir turns off the saber which makes you feel a little bit of hope.

Standing up you slightly bow your head to make yourself "smaller" than him, considering he's your master he's already above you. Hearing him grunt makes you look up at him, "Get on your knees." He demands as you give him a questioning look making him narrow his eyes. "Did I stutter?" He asks in his deep voice as you make your way onto your knees before him. You look up at him waiting for his directions before you feel his hand on your jaw. "Just do what you normally do, instead your life is on the line." He threatens in a sweet tone.

"Does that comprehend through your weak skull?" His finger taps in the middle of your forehead. You nod your head, "Yes I understand." You nod wanting to do anything that will help you redeem yourself. "Pull down my pants." He instructs before you hook your fingers in his waistband pulling his pants down to his thighs as his hard, thick, swollen cock with a bead of precum on the tip bounces in your face. You hesitate slightly as you avoid eye contact with his cock as you never pleasured him in this state.

Your hand makes contact with his cock softly before he protests, "Don't act all shy now, if you want me to accept you this is the only way, if not..." He says before he flips the lightsaber pushing it against your forehead. "I can turn this on and you'll have a hole in the middle of your head as the edges of it burn to a crisp as your body hits the ground, considering I killed everyone no one will be here meaning you will rot here like you're nothing, you wouldn't want that would you?" Qimir threatens as you shake your head and tremble feeling the heat from the saber on your skin. "Then suck my cock like you normally do."

Your hands shake before you stroke his cock, you can hear the slick on your hand as moves back and forth, he's so thick you have to use two hands. You can feel him looking down at you before you move your head closer opening your mouth as you take him in. The tolerable salty taste clouds your taste buds as you hum around his cock.

Your warm tongue swirls around his tip before you suck on it. His length twitches in your mouth before you tug on his balls pulling a moan from him. His hand is placed on the back of your head pushing you more on his cock resulting in you gagging. Oh does God know you hate your head being pushed down? You place your hands on his thighs trying to keep yourself still.

"If I find out you're trying to use teeth I'll cut your head off before it can happen." He threatens while a whimper comes from you pulling off. "I would never do that-" you say offended before he cuts you off. "At this point, I don't know what you'll do." Qimir says bluntly looking down at you glaring at him. "Don't push my head down and you won't have anything to worry about." You say expressing your problem.

"Just suck my dick." He says bluntly making your head spin in anger but you lean forward putting his length back in your mouth anyway. You start to bob your head on him gagging softly. Qimir moves his hips as soft moans come from him. "Your mouth is so warm on my cock, keep sucking you're doing good." He praises which gives you confidence sucking harder making him gasp.

He nods in encouragement as he grabs your head holding it. His thighs shake slightly under your grip as you focus on what makes him feel better. You stroke the rest of the length that's not in your mouth as your other hand tugs on his balls making his hips jerk from the action.

"I bet you're wet from sucking on my cock hm?" He observes your legs squeezing together. You just look up at him as you continue to nurse on his cock before he pulls you off. "Answer me." He demands to which you nod. "That's not an answer." He says before he grips your hair making you wince. "Yes, master." You answer in a low-toned voice but he still isn't satisfied with your answer.

"Yes master what?" He edges onto your sentence, in which you reply with his help. "Yes, master I'm wet." Qimir tugs on your hair hard as that's still not what he was looking for. "Correct it." He says with a huff as you sigh, "I'm wet from sucking your cock master." You say hoping that this is what he wanted, which it is as he approves with a nod.

Are you serious? All I did was add a few words to the sentence and now you're happy with it? He better let me go, but my chances seem small considering he still hasn't put the saber that he is gripping tightly hoping I make a mistake.

Qimir can sense your anger and frustration as he lets out a small laugh. "You're not in the right predicament to be feeling so angry, just do what you're told and you'll be fine yeah?" He guides your mouth back on his cock. "There you go, just suck it and make me cum." You almost immediately start putting your mouth to work. His tip hits the back of your throat every now and then as you gag slightly.

You pull off sucking on his sensitive tip making Qimir suck in a breath. Flatting your tongue you lick his slit that's leaking precum into your mouth as you slightly want more of it. Desperately you start to suck slightly harder tugging on his full sensitive balls. Qimir holds the back of your head supporting you through your sexual actions.

Before you know it you hear a groan before a warm liquid fills your mouth gasping in surprise around his cock. "Shh swallow it, c'mon do it." Qimir eggs on as you feel him grip your hair, listening to your master swallowing as instructed. He pulls himself from your mouth as he hums in approval before he runs his thumb on your jaw.

You look up at him hoping he can forgive you for what you've done, but he doesn't say anything about the matter. You watch him as he puts himself away turning away from you. "Follow me." Qimir instructed before he started to walk off. Immediately you get up off your aching knees following your master hoping for the best outcome as you two walk deeper into the forest in silence.

#qimir #qimir smut #qimir star wars #qimir the acolyte #manny jacinto #manny jacinto smut #the acolyte #tw death threats #star wars smut #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker smut #dom qimir #star wars

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absolutebl · 2 months

Text

This Week in BL - I hand out a couple of high scores & have qualms about pairs

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top. I didn't get many screen shots this week, so welcome to a WALL OF TEXT. Duh duh duh dum.

July 2024 Week 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

We Are Cute (Weds iQIYI) ep 16 fin - TanFang are ridiculous but I have grown to truly love them. ChainPun at the end made me hoot with laughter everyone was a meme of FINALLY. In fact, I loved all the pairs, this was a great ensemble piece.

I was left mildly wondering if Arm will ever lead a BL.

All in all?

I really enjoyed this show. It was slow to find its stride (I didn’t get into it until ep 7) but I’m very glad I gave it a chance. It’s a soft ensemble piece with multiple couples and very little plot, but I didn’t care because it’s not trying to be anything more substantial. Essentially this was a series of vignettes covering one year of uni for a queer friendship group finding love, new friends, and laughter. It’s not being harsh with us or it’s characters the way some offerings of this ilk have been (side eyes Friend Zone and Only Friends) nor did it tumble into Gen Y chaos. In fact, this reminded me more than anything of a refined and elevated Love Sick - just with older characters and occurring within a genre that has matured too. It has that close queer friendship group meets earnest gentleness that made me adore Love Sick so much. In other words, this was Thai BL at its finest, finding it roots again 10 years on, but also stretching upwards and showing us what it could do with that original seed. So? I loved it. Did it blow my mind? No. But it left me smiling and made me belly laugh quite a bit. 9/10

Technically it should probably get an 8/10 - too much singing, but I’m bubbling over with nostalgia rn.

Wandee Goodday (Sat YT) ep 12 fin - I struggled to watch that fight. But that’s because it was so well done for a BL. Lots of speeches this ep. (I said too cheesy right before Dee did.)

I like Drake & Title as a new ship. Hope it sails. Also some decent ace rep.

On a totally different note: Good use of frosting. But… you know I’m gonna say it… NO SINGING.

Final thoughts:

What a FUN show. A charming quintessentially modern Thai BL about a doctor and a boxer who start as a one night stand and then fall in love. Great rep for everything from Muay Thai, to safe sex, to FUN sex, to ace, to bisexuality, to smiley kisses, to the first legal gay wedding in a Thai BL. It’s a delight and I enjoyed (almost) every single moment of it.

An easy 9/10.

I do hope we get more GreatInn.

The Rebound (Weds Gaga) eps 7-8 of 12 - So Ryu’s ma is evil? And Frank is giving me serious second lead syndrome. Also he’s been working out a lot. I noticed my dude, thank you. I don't think we've ever gotten this kind of focus on a side dish before. The show is in dangerous territory, since he's so good he's taking attention away from the leads. Also, I think Zen is completely aware of what is going on with this love triangle, he just doesn’t want to put up with their nonsense. I even like the cute side crumbs.

On a complete aside: why are crime lords in BL always in bathtubs? Asking for… the other genres. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if The Godfather entirely took place in bathtubs? A Real Man has a large… tub.

And we end with mass murder? WOW! Chaotically played my dearest pulp!

Century of Love (Weds Gaga) eps 3-4 of 10 - These boys are playing complicated roles with lots of layers to them. Daou is doing a great job. We can see the old man inside this kid. Offroad... I’m not convinced, he’s chewing the scenery a bit. I actually think he has the more layered and complicated part to play. So I'm giving him a chance to subtly show that cheerful façade fracturing with delicacy. But I worry we may be back in JamFilm territory where one partner can’t quite keep up with the other's skillz.

All of this is to say, this is still a better acted piece than I was expecting. (Although the surrounding cast and special effects are doing our leads no particular favors.)

It’s hugely enjoyable but uneven (with those occasional injections of slapstick humor) I’m not entirely sure the production knows what it wants to be. I wish it had the courage of its convictions to lean into the “I feel you linger in the air” aesthetic. Now that I know Thailand can go there, I’m a bit annoyed when a show like this, which should, doesn’t. Which is not to say I’m not enjoying it. I am. A lot. Just that I should probably lower my expectations. Daou, however, is so damn good, he keeps getting my hopes up.

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 3 of 8 - Oh no we have a lonely poor little rich boy. Catnip character for @heretherebedork. Meanwhile, I’m liking the layers of the main romance, with everybody having hidden agendas and such. Nice tension. Of course I love the eroticism around smells. One of my favorite tropes. But I’m not sure I buy the relationship chemistry between the leads when this much lying is going on.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 7 of 12 - I am growing to love Fourth's version of this character. He’s so frantic and confused, but in a completely different way from the JBL. It’s a bit more whiny and a bit less cartoonish. But it resonates with me more. He's less of a meme tho. The photo moment! I literally squealed, "Gah!!! They are so cute!"

Linguistic moment. Did you hear in the cupcake section that Half went to rao/ter? Very sweet. (The boys use rao/nai.)

Also, yay for the twist on the school counselor character! Best thing ever. I would like the entire story of Nop & Sin GMMTV, please and thank you. Also… NO SINGING.

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 6 of 12 - I’m continuing to enjoy this a lot. It’s a fun cast. A touch twee for me, and I’m really hoping they amp up something other than the romance soon, but I don't mind ending my week with these two.

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - I'm enjoying this show so much, just not as a BL (yet). It’s honest to the internship experience of overwhelm (such as I recall, it's been A WHILE). I’m not sure how much BL I’m getting from it thus far. I mean our leads shared a long glance or two but that’s about it. It’s very slow burn. But I don’t mind that since I’m liking the surrounding stuff. Can't stand the girlfriend intern character tho. I hope she get redeemed. Or killed.

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 6 of 10 - Halfway through I had already finished my drink out of sheer boredom. Trash watch here.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 9 of 12 - Frankly I’m finding this relatively dull right now. Lovely kisses tho. Best and Seng are great together, consummate BL pros, not a pair I had on my bingo card.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - I like how much we can see K’s intense liking and emotional need for this loud broken kid. And how easy it is for him to admit to that truth. Because what he’s going through is so much worse than admitting to having feelings. The acting is fantastic. Sometimes I forget how great Japan can be. And then they decide to remind me. Oh, it’s SO GOOD.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - Another one I’m finding boring. Just japan’s version. The vintage yaoi “old dude creep trope” I see. It’s been a while.

It's airing but...

Meet You at the Blossom - it's your funeral (or, more likely, one of the main characters'). You can argue but... statistics. You know my feelings on this matter. MY BLOG, remember?

GIF by mypotatokun

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. Devastated this hasn't had international distribution. I demand you tell me the moment you find it!

The Last Time (Thai Fri YT) - Got bumped to Aug 2. Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

July Releases Still To Come

7/24 I Saw You in My Dream (Thai Weds Gaga) - Dee Hup is behind this one so I have high hopes. Younger boy chronically teased his whole life by the older boy next door suddenly starts having horrific prophetic dreams about his bully and must save him.

7/26 4 Minutes (Thai Netflix or iQIYI?) - Great, a rich boy studying business at uni, suddenly gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future.

7/29 Battle of the Writers (Thai ????) - trailer here, TutorYim return, and while I adore them, I really hope this is better than Middleman's Love. Won't be hard. However: the premise? Ugh. Something something authors fighting - save me. Why don't writers understand that nothing is more boring than writers?

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

No time this week, I'm having computer issues.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember.

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najia-cooks · 6 months

Text

[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at time point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

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hannie-dul-set · 1 year

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who in enhypen would agree to platonically kiss you.

because i feel like i have to do this for every group i write, so expect me to word vomit a tubatu version soon after this one.

seventeen ver. / 127 ver. / dream ver.

heeseung: honestly you thought he'd agree without a second thought, but a smirk suddenly plays on his lips and he pulls out the "what if i don't want to? what are you gonna do?" and you'd rather die than have him bask in your mortification, so you turn around. run away. try to run away, but the bitch suddenly pulls you into his lap and oh. you can feel his breath on your lips. his grip is firm on your waist. you're actually about to fucking kiss him BUT— "ah. sorry. i changed my mind." | rating: 0/10 but maybe if u change ur tune from platonic to romantic, then he'd agree.

jay: "can i think about it first?" jay isn't one to jump into hasty decisions, especially one that can permanently change the trajectory of your ten year long friendship for better or for worse just so you can make some hairless bitch jealous. he thinks about it. he's thinking. he's thinking very hard about it, until one day he finally says okay "okay" "? okay what?" "let's make out" "??? jay i asked u that favor five months ago what do u—" | rating: 5/10 delayed but u got him?? to kiss u??? but??? now u have a new problem because park jongseong, what are we?

jake: he knows you kissed him at the party last night to get ur cheating ex off ur ass. he knows that and he was totally, 100% completely fine with it. he can totally pretend like nothing happened. absolutely. just doing a friend a favor. a buddy. a pal. a good 'ol mate. that is until exactly one month passes by and he suddenly says "oh damn haha happy kissmonthsary babe u have any more exes to drive away hahaha just asking haha." | rating: 8/10 you're sure a kissmonthsary doesn't exist, but how can u deny him when he's twiddling his fingers like a schoolgirl with a first crush.

sunghoon: flustered flustered flustered "i'm sorry? haha i mean ofc u want to kiss me who wouldn't hahhahaha anw ur joking right—" you aren't. sunghoon starts sweating and he's nervous and about to piss himself because if he says no, you're gonna think he's a LOSER (you already know he's a loser) a big fucking LOSER (sunghoon, you are a loser). | rating: 3/10 on the first try because the moment your lips touched he turned into stone. he may be a loser but he's a prideful loser so expect his score to increase with each try at his insistence.

sunoo: "hey sunoo, i need ur help. can i ki—" cue his aggressive side eye. cue the absolute look of disgust on his face at the mere insinuation that you want to kiss him without strings attached. how dare you. | rating: 1/10 because you did get to kiss him in the end. you did. but before that you had to ask permission from his parents (heeseung and jake), you had to meet his actual parents, you had to exchange vows at the altar, and— wait this isn't exactly platonic anymore isn't it?

jungwon: jokes on u jungwon orchestrated the whole thing that'll lead you to asking him. he gave you a lipstick as birthday present and he's like "sorry haha i'm not sure if it's a good one the saleslady said it doesn't smudge but idk." there it goes. seed planted. all that's left is for you to ask him if he....wants to help u test it out.....yanno.....as friends. and before you know it the red tint is now smudged between your lips and his, smiling victoriously into your mouth because yes. his plan worked. | rating: 10/10 because you suddenly have a dozen new lip products and "hey. should we test if these also smudge or not?"

ni-ki: "oh sure. go ahead." he agrees to it SO easily that you suspicious, eyes narrowed, but you set it aside for now and lean closer to his face but WOOSH. he's swerved away. "riki stay still, what are u—" WHOOSH. he's five steps away. you see the look on his face. the shit eating grin saying, if you wanna kiss me, come and get it and oh it's on, nishimura. | rating: 2/10 because you end up chasing him all over the parking lot and jake asked if he can join your game of tag.

#happy kissmonthsary #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen reactions #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #heeseung x reader #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #niki x reader #im too lazy to add tags this is enough ig

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lokideservesahug · 2 months

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Let's Get Down To Business

Part of the 𝓕1 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓼𝔂 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader (Mulan AU)

Warnings:Reader has hair that she ties up but eventually cuts (but no explicit length). No Max yet :( (but he will be in the next part ofc!!). Praying and so many mentions of honour.

Notes: I'm so sorry this took so long but I actually enjoyed writing this (despite being in a writing study for so long). Oh and I hope you enjoy another animal naked reference in this one, tell me if you got it😉

Summary: Your entire life you qerr brought up being told of the importance of honour for bothe you and your family all in preparation for the day you finally meet 'The Matchmaker.' Qell what happens when that day comes and it continues to get progressively worse and worse?

Wordcount: 4.2K

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

You can't remember a time before you were made to study. From being taught how to read and write when you were a child to now, being taught to be a lady. There were always strict regulations being enforced on you so you could learn. You take a deep breath. "Graceful, polite." You repeat from the scroll in front of you ad you make neat work, copying the words onto your arm. You continue this process for another few words before your tranquility is broken bu the distant call of a Cockerell.

You bolt up. Oh no...you're going to be late. You scramble out of bed, running around to try and find your dog. "Little brother?" Your shouts only elicit a small huff from the dog on the floor but the noise us enough to make you look down. You bend down and speak in a sickening, high pitch. "Aww there you Are! Aww who's the smartest little doggy in the whole world? Is it you? Yes it is!" You grab a familiar contraption, a light cloth bag, tied to a string with a bone on the end of the stick, left to dangle. "Can you help me with my chores?" You tie the contraption to your dog as you ask the clearly rhetorical question. He begins to run around, crazed and you gently push open the door to outside to give him some direction. He bolts off and you chuckle to yourself as you hear his barks as he runs of and spreads grain and seeds all over your garden.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Your father tries his hardest to kneel in the temple outside. He uses his crutch to lower himself onto his knees, looks above and begins to pray. "Honourable ancestors, please help Y/N to impress the Matchmaker." Little brother runs to the worship gazebo and spreads seeds all over the tile floor. In just a moment, your father is surrounded by a flock of chickens all trying to savour the food. Your father lets out a sigh of despair as he closes of his prayer "Please, she needs it."

You approach the gazebo, tray of tea in hand. A soft whimpering makes you halt in your tracks and you take the bone of the end of the stick and feed it to the desperate dog as he gives you a small bark of thanks. You stand back up and down to your father. "Father, I brought yo-" Your lack of looking up meant that you couldn't anticipate your father being just ahead of you as you began to walk. Meaning that you drop the tray in shock. Your father, somehow manages to catch the handle if the teapot with his walking stick, but the mugs were not as lucky. You look up sheepishly at the sound of shattering pottery. "I'll go and get a spare..." He cuts across you, concern written across his features. "Y/N, you should be preparing already. We are counting and you to uphold-" You chorus your father's familiar words "The family honour. Yes, I know. Don't worry, you know I won't let you down." You hide your ink covered ark as you give your father a confident, reassuring nod. You quickly pivot, calling a gentle "Wish me luck!" as you run down the stairs. Your father shakes his head, brows knitted in worry as he speaks to the dog, "I'm going to go and pray some more."

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You are met by your grandmother, her friends, your mother and your mother's half hidden dissaproving stare. You can already feel the berating on the tip of her tongue. "I'm sorry." You shyly chime before she has a chance to speak. She just shakes her head as she goes to get something for your "makeover".

Your grandmother's friend (a short, kind woman that you have known for as long as you can remember) pulls on your arm and is very succinct on where she wants you to stand and what she wants do in the mean time. She flutters around you, softly chastising your looks, messy hair and slight imperfections. After you are undressed, she all but pushes you into the bathtub behind you and your body is instantly overcome with great shivers.

You manage to grit out through chattering teeth, an unamused "It's freezing." Your mother almost smirks and responds simply with "It would have been warm if you were here on time." Touché. Your grandmother's friend is very smiley and lovely but boy can she be strong when washing your hair. She pulls tighter than the past few minutes and you hold in a wince, knowing it would only cause more harm than good. After she has finished pulling your hair in every direction, she moves away to go, and you suppose get the "company" ready, and your mother lifts your arm. "Y/N. What is this?" You avoid her eyes and the sight of your ink-covered arm as you pull your arm to your body. "Uhm notes?" You nearly slap yourself at your clearly uncertain tone. Your mother just raises an eyebrow "For?" "Incase I forget!" Your mother just scoffs and turns away but you try and remind yourself that this is already the start of you "bringing honour to [them] all."

You're out of the bath and having your hair styled in a blur that is so fast that you don't even get time to think on what's happening around you. There are two even older women then before, both very polite this time, pulling on your hair and twisting it in every way hair can be twisted to the pivot that you think they're even finding ways to deny the laws of physics just to style hair. They finally decide on a hairstyle and a subtle accessory and only moments after, you are shooed out of the door to the next stage of your transformation.

You pass two men in a very involved chess match. You look at the old man, clearly pondering his next move on the smug man opposite him. You move the older man's Knight and walk off (just missing his jovial laugh and his opponent's slack jawed expression). Your mother leads you to a room where she finally has more involvement. Her and another woman? (Seriosly how many women do you need, it really must take a village then) begin to tie all sorts of fabrics around you, leaving you adorned in an interesting combination (that you can't quite see yet as they refuse to let you move even to glance down).

You walk out of the courtyard yet again, finally feeling slightly more prepared to meet the Matchmaker. You pass along two fairly young children. A boy and a girl. The boy runs laps around the girl who is calmly sat on the floor. Well until he snatches the small doll in her hands. The small terror runs off, giggling, leaving the girl visibly upset. The boy happily skips past you and you lean down and grab the doll from his greedy claws. You freeze and pass the doll to the girl who just gives you a toothy grin (minus a few baby teeth) before nuzzling her head into the doll.

You glance to your side to see your mother, only to spot her still with her back to you but a large distance away. You break out in to a quick jog and manage to end up just behind her, giving an unconvincing smile by the time she turns to look at you. You sit the most still as you have ever been as one of your mother's friends applies a soft sheen of lipstick to your lips, finishing off the intricate makeup look now on your face. Your mother stands a few feet away, face contorted to show fear for today's upcoming events. You turn away, not selling her fear to manifest into more fear of your own and instead glance at the focused look of your makeup artist, adding the final few touches to the look. She holds a mirror up to your eyeline yet you grimace at how professional you look. Out of sheer habit, you grab a small strand of hair from the front of your face, pull it out of the updo and twirl it slightly. There, you feel much more comfortable now that you don't look too perfect.

You focus in the path ahead of you and fail to notice your mother running towards you, carrying a parasol.

Your mother unwraps a gorgeous hairclip, gently sliding it into your hair. You bow your head to make it easier for her. She softly whispers and pats your cheek slightly. "There. Now you're all ready." You smile at her, trying to fight of the nerves as you do so. As you walk away from your mother (who wipes a tear subtly as you leave) and your grandma (who also feels the need to try and hand a cricket to you which you decline). You let out a soft prayer as you walk, you hope today will go well and you bring the honour and respect that your family so desperately needs and deserves.

You knew you forgot something! What a great start to the day!

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You scramble to the line up and so all thoughts of grace, decorum and proper pracise leave your mind. So when the Matchmaker calls your name and you respond with a loud "Present!" You fail to realise that the matchmakers response would be a grumpy mumble of "Speaking without permission." as she turns her back. Your face nearly drops into your hands from embarrassment. Once you finally get inside, the Matchmaker instantly makes you spin and she mumbles to herself. Something about how you are not quite the right shape.

You watch with bated breath, trying to make out the matchmaker's mumbles. So you easily notice the small cricket that jumps onto another shoulder. Gosh you knew you shouldn't have let your grandma give it to you. It's just as much trouble as she is. You quickly try and grab the cricket so it doesn't start to create more conflict; your reputation is already on a line that's getting thinner and more delicate as time progresses. The Matchmaker sharply turns to you, leaving you with nothing left to do (you must admit that this is one of the lowest points of your life so far) but to swallow the cricket. "Recite the final admonition." You hum in acknowledgement and try to hide the crirping cricket in your mouth. "Well." It's now or never, you spin the cricket out and break out into the soliloquy.

You try and Recite the words to the best of your memory but feel it falter at the final sentence. You glance down at your left arm, speak what it says and the quickly correct yourself due to the smudged writing's misleading appearance. The Matchmaker grabs your left arm, leading you further into the room. She bends down and grabs a kettle from where it was boiling. "Now, pour the tea." She gestures in an inviting way even when her tone is far from it. Your gaze however is only focused on the ink covered hand of hers. Your eyes widen in horror "To please your future in laws, you must demonstrate dignity and respect." She scratches her face and spreads ink all around her mouth. Still in your mindless, shock induced, trance you miss the teacup entirely and end up pouring a decent amount of tea onto the table. You shake your head and quickly correct yourself and focus on pouring the tea into the cup, not willing to have another mark against your name.

Suddenly, something emerges from the tea and your grandmother's cricket floats to the top, clearly enjoying itself in the warm beverage. You softly whisper as the woman takes the mug "Pardon me..." She shoots you a glare. "And silent!" She lets her face hover over the mug, soaking in the hot fumes. "Could I just-" You lean over the table in an attempt to grab the mug. The Matchmaker gives you an odd look and the two of you commence in a brief tug of war like situation before the tea ends up going flying, all over her front.

Unsurprisingly, she wails in pain but most of your attention is focused on the cricket who jumps down the front of the Matchmaker's dress. You gasp in horror. The older woman reels back in shock and ends up knocking over the container of hot coals used to heat the kettle. The cricket continues to scurry around under her clothes, tickling the Matchmaker which leads her to fall backwards into the steaming coals with a pained wail. You try and grab a nearby flat scroll to try and act as a fan but it only ends up making the glowing patch on her behind flare up into large flames. The Matchmaker continues to scream and run around the room like a headless chicken as you only stand there helpless.

Outside, your grandmother turns to your mother with a smile. "I think it's going well. Don't you?" Without warning, the Matchmaker bursts through the doors to outside and begins to shout to anyone and everyone to "Put it out!!!" In a last ditch attempt to save the Matchmaker, you pour the now (slightly colder) tea all over her. Well it puts on the fire but it also smudges her makeup and makes everyone freeze and look at just how disheveled she is. You wordlessly pass the teapot back to her, bow and scurry away, refusing to make eye contact with her.

The Matchmaker shakes her head and realises that you can't get away that easily. Just as you reach your mother, she stalks after you to shout in your face. "You are an utter disgrace. You may look like a bride but you will never. Ever. Bring your family honour." You just hand your head in shame and slowly make your way back to the house. Your grandmother and mother comfort you and lead you home before the mumbling of townspeople around you can develop.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Over the years, you have found that one of the most theraputic things to do when times get tough, is visit your horse. Sassy walks behind you, quieter than usual, clearly sensing your sombre mood. You walk through the courtyard and spot your father in your peripheral vision. He smiles at you and you duck your head, refusing to meet his eyes and speed up your pace just a small bit; yet you fail to notice your father's concerned and upset face at your dismissal of him.

Sassy already knows where to go when you enter the other stable, she happily starts to lap water up from the pale and you are left, staring at your own reflection. You almost cringe at your painted face. You look like a delicate doll, waiting to be a bride but you feel like anything but that. You draw your attention away from your reflection and begin to remove your jewellery. You stare outside at your father and when your mother and grandmother walk up to him, clearly informing him of earlier events, you feel the oit in your stomach turn into an endless chasmic abyss.

You turn away as your parents have a moment, both lowering their head in sorrow. You walk outside of the stable, feeling constricted in the dark walls. You walk over the dainty bridge in your garden, and head to the prayer gazebo. Your hand gently skims over the water. Unsurprisingly, your sleeve is left damp but all you fucus on is the tranquility of the pond despite it being disturbed. You look at the polished stones and once again are forced to come to terms with your current looks. Maybe if you pray you will feel some relief. I mean it always works for your father? You bend down yet even then, you are placed face to face with your own face staring back at you in the shiny tiles.

You grab your now wet sleeve and rub it over your face, trying to scrub away your makeup and the expectations placed upon you. You do it a few more times and end up getting majority of the art off of your features. You pull yourself back up, not in the right state of mind to pray but you catch sight of your hair. You remove the hair clip (that is miraculously keeping your updo together) out and let your hair fall down.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Despite not clearing your thoughts, a small walk leads you to be sat at the foot of the large cherry blossom tree in the corner of your garden. You fiddle with the intricate hairclip, clasped in your hands. Your father clears his throat and gives you a small smile. For the second time today, you turn away and refuse to meet his eyes out of sheer embarrassment. He sits down on the bench next to you and lets a pregnant pause sit for a short while.

"Wow. How gorgeous the blossoms are this year." You don't respond. "But look. This one is late." Curiosity piqued, you turn your head slightly and follow the direction if your father's finger. At the end of it's 'path' is a small, unblossomed cherry flower. "And I bet, when it blooms, it will be the most beautiful of them all." As he said the last part of the sentence, he takes the clip from your hands and slides it into your hair once again. You finally meet your father's eyes and the two of you share a silent, meaningful moment filled with smiles and love.

Suddenly, the distant banging of drums cuts across your tranquil moment and your father straightens up. He pushes himself up using a crutch and you are left extremely worried. "What? What's wrong?" Your father gives you no response and walks to the front gates. Your mother, who is already there spots you and gently shoos you back. "Y/N. Stay inside." Your grandmother coughs behind you and gestures offhandedly with her thumb. You jog towards where it is pointing and you start to scale the wall that you had used so many times to stargaze in your youth.

You sit on a faux ledge part of the top of the wall (created by the meeting of the top wall tiles and a stable wall) and listen in. A clearly important looking man on a horse, surrounded by other, tougher looking men on horses stand in the middle ground of land between the and your neighbour's houses. "Citizens, I bring a proclamation from the imperial city. The huns have invaded our country." His words instantly cause people to gasp and even young mothers to scoop up their small children out of fear. The man continues. "One man from every family must serve in the army. For the good and honour of our country." He begins to read of the names of neighbouring families, in alphabetical order. One man steps forward and volunteers volunteers fight in place of his clearly old and frail father which makes you feel a pang of sadness. When he reads out "The Y/L/N" family you mutter a small "No..." You watch as your father hands his walking stick into the shocked arms of your mother and begins to hobble to the man on the horse.

You jump down and run towards your father, shouting "You cant go!" Your father turns at your intrusion. And groans your name as you run up to him. You look up into the yes of the advisor. "Please sir, my father has already fought bravely in the past. He is far too-" He cuts across you with a loud boom. "Silence." He turns towards your father. "It would do you some good to teach your daughter some manners and to hold her tongue in a man's presence." Your father continues to hold eye contact with the royal advisor but adresses you. "Y/N, you dishonour me." You look away. Oh not again. The second time today? You must be on a streak of dishonour. You father takes the instruction envelope and hobbles back to your front gates as you are left feeling hopeless.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Later in the evening, you sneak around to peer into your father's spare room after hearing a small commotion come from here not long ago. Inside, is your father opening a cabinet that you have never in your life seen open. His army crate. You were told as a child to avoid it at all cots due to the danger of it and its contents and now you can see why. Your father pulls a giant blade (probably a sword) out and you also catch a glance of his old army uniform. Your father holds the sword up to the light and begins to swing it, clearly in an attempt to practise his swordsmanship by swiping the air. And you must admit that it's an impressive show.

Until he feels a sharp pain shoot up his arm, causing him to drop the sword. You nearly nearly to his aid but then remember that you are strictly spying on him and would be in so much trouble if you were caught (and goodness knows you don't need that today). He staggers towards a wall and pulls himself up making you shuffle away from the doorway slightly, feeling as panicked as he looks.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Despite how action-packed the day had been, everyone at dinner was surprisingly silent, making for a tense atmosphere. You must have been left alone with your thoughts slightly too long though because when your parents discuss your father's enlistment in hushed whispers, you slam your bowl on the table. "You shouldn't have to go. It's not fair." Your voice breaks at the end of the sentence and you stare at your father in desperation and sorrow. You ignore your mother's quiet cry of your name. "There are plenty of young men. Healthy men that are fit and willing to fight for our country."

Your dad just shakes his head. "It is an honour to fight for this country and to protect my family." The emphasis for his fourth word nearly makes you stop and think. But the key word is 'nearly'. You shake your head. "So you're willing to die just for honour." Now your father finally stands. "I will die for what is right." "But if-" "I know my place. Clearly you need to learn yours." You stare at your father, bottom lip quivering, and flee.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You sit in the garden, letting the rain and darkness envelope you. You watch the sihlouettes of your parents fade as they turn off the lights, clearly deeming it the right time to sleep and then suddenly a plan begins to devise itself in your head. You begin a determined walk to the gazebo and begin to pray. Then you rush out of the gazebo, determined to not waste anymore time. You walk into the spare bedroom and take a deep breath on an attempt to rush your stressed, quick beating heart.

You raise both hands and open the double doors to your father's army supplies. You raise the sword and unsheath it slightly. Wow it's much heavier than you anticipated. You stare at your reflection and the depth of your actions finally sinks in. Your father's words earlier ring in your brain. You too will "die for what is right." As long as it means keeping your father out of danger. You raise the sword and grab a handfull of your hair... Well today must be a day of transformations. You take a giant chop to your hair and you and do an even looking one on the other side (because even with your plan, you still wanted to retain some dignity). You manage to style your hair in a way the is closest to other men's that you have seen in town and move on to the next stage of your plan.

You pull down your father's old uniform and mutter a quiet thanks in your head that it was from when your father was younger and much closer to your size. You put it on, doing up every fastening, tightening every part you could and you look at yourself in the reflection of the sword. You sneak out of the house into the stables, startling your favourite companion. Sassy goes to buck at you due to your unfamiliar appearance but you gently shush her and the ever clever girl, quickly clocks on to the predicament. You ready her up by equipping your saddle and saddle bags (but not before grabbing some extra horse food for the journey).

You take one more glance behind you as you walk out of the courtyard. Yet despite the abysmal weather, your path has never looked so clear. You get up onto Sassy and ride to the camp, letter clutched in hand. You hope this works.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Across the garden, one of your families prayer stones lights up and at the same moment, your grandmother wakes up. She bolts upright and gasps. "Y/N is gone!" She stalks through the house whilst feeling around for a candle to light. Your parents wake with shocked, disbelieving mumbles. "What?" Your father turns to his side but his attention is caught by something. On his bedside table is something that wasn't there when he went to sleep. Your hairclip.

He shakes his head and grabs his walking stick. "It can't be." Even in his half asleep state, he manages to reach the spare room extremely quickly. He opens his old crate and is left speechless.

Your family runs out into the night. "Y/N?" Your father somehow looks likely as he runs towards the gate until he slips in q puddle. He lands face first in the puddle but your mother quickly pulls him up. "You must go after her. Otherwise she will be killed!" Your mother stands up but your father grips her hand. "If I reveal her, she is as good as dead." Your parents stare off unto the distance, silent prayers playing like broken records in their mind. Leaving them to not notice where your grandmother walks off to. She seeks shelter in the gazebo and looks up to the sky, helpless mumbles tumbling pass her lips. "Ancestors, hear my prayer and help to protect Y/N. Please"

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #ldah's writing #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #f1fau

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enhaheeseung · 9 months

Text

At your service l. Heeseung

Pairing: live in maid heeseung x rich fem reader

Warning: age gap, smut, fluff, angst, dirty talk.

Note: I’m getting back to this story so something’s might not line up but overall I thinks it’s still pretty accurate

Masterlist

WC 2,676

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

heeseung decided to skip school and just spend the entire day with you planting the flowers that he had gifted the night prior.

He also woke up hours before you and realized that he felt something else in his heart other than guilt as he analyzed your peaceful sleeping figure. His heart skipped a beat when he looked over at your side of the bed and saw you sleeping soundly next to him. He felt like he could just stay like that forever. Having you next to him, spending the entire day with you, cooking with you, laughing with you, talking with you. Reading with you.

Something that he hated till he met you.

You have been on his mind all day, every day, since the day he laid his eyes on you. Sure, the pay was insane, but your beauty was even more insane.

And since the first day he got hired, everything has just been.

you you you

He Definitely owed Jay an apology after his little outburst in the grocery store. But he was just scared and confused about his feelings for you. His past girlfriends warped his image of women and relationships. Ever since he got his heart broken, he decided that if he couldn't find love, then no one could, so he played with girls by leading them on and ditching them later. However, you were the first one of those girls he actually had sex with, and he's pretty certain that after you, there would be no one else.

"Can I help now?" you asked for the third time after he ignored you the first two times.

"Nope, you just sit there and look pretty," heeseung said as he dug up the dirt to plant more of the seeds.

"But you said you wanted to plant them together," you pouted.

"yeah, planting them, not digging up the dirt!" he said in a high-pitched voice. “You’re too beautiful to get any dirt on you,” he winked, and even though it was cheesy, he still made you flustered.

You smile, sitting back and watching him dig a few more holes in the garden before grabbing the sunflower seeds.

"Now you can help." he handed you a packet once he was finished with the dirty part.

"how long till they bloom?" you squatted down and sprinkled them onto the ground, the little seeds falling into his neatly dug hole.

"umm, about three months, but we should see the blooms in a couple of weeks," he answered with his chin resting on his knee and a pout on his lips as he concentrated.

"Good, 'cause I'm impatient," you say, smoothing the dirt over the seeds.

"so, how is your book coming along?" he emptied the last packet while making small talk with you.

"it's… coming. I'm still stuck on the ending," you sighed.

"aww, I'm sure you'll figure it out soon." he dusted the dirt off his hands and helped you up off the ground. "So shall we water them now?"

You agreed, and he went to the back, grabbing the hose to water the freshly planted sunflowers.

"hee, where- don't," you spotted him walking towards you with the hose, a mischievous smile on his face, "don't! hee, I'm serious!" Your pleas fell on deaf ears, and seconds later, you screamed as the cold water drenched your body.

A hearty laugh erupted from his chest as he spayed you with more water, enjoying the sounds of your playful screams.

You ran towards him, trying to get the hose, but his grip was much stronger than yours, and he looked down at you, smiling evilly.

"Aww, poor little baby," he teased right when he was about to spray you again. You started to tickle his sides. His grip instantly loosened on the hose, and you were quick to snatch it away from him.

His eyes widened in shock, knowing that you were going to get pay back. "Y/n, wait!" he said while chuckling still. You aimed the hose at him, and his laughter soon died down, turning into nervous chuckles as he stared at you. "y/n! Wait!" he shrilled as you sprayed the water on him, and now it was your turn to laugh at him.

He tried to put his hands up and block the water, but it was no use. The stream was splashing everywhere. He soon charged over to you, fighting to get the hose from your hands, but you had a solid grip.

"y/n, stop!" he giggled while you both struggled for the hose. Eventually, through your battle of tug of war, the hose had turned upright, causing the water to fall on top of both your heads and from afar, it looked like a scene straight out of a movie.

Loud gasps came from both of you as the cold water ran down your shivering bodies.

"oops," you said and peeked up at him.

It took but a moment to notice just how close you had gotten to one another, and he was the first one to make a move.

He looked into your eyes, and you stared back. He wore a small smile on the corner of his lips as he gently took the hose from your hand, letting it fall on the grass and creating a puddle around yours and his feet.

He placed his hands around your waist, his cold, wet skin sticking to yours.

"I told you to stop," he grins before closing the distance between the two of you.

As soon as your lips collided with his, you couldn’t help but moan softly into the kiss cause his lips felt so perfect against yours.

You kissed for a few moments before you felt his erection poking against you, and he sighed onto your lips, his body yearning for more of you. "Should we take this to the pool?"

"yes, please," he picked you up in his arms with ease, walking to the front door and opening it with you still hugged around him.

He walked upstairs while you focused all your kisses on his neck, waiting for him to take you to your guy's destination.

"if you keep doing that, I might just have to fuck you on the stairs." He warns.

"I'm not stopping you." You bit his neck softly, placing wet kisses on the light pink marks that were starting to form on his skin.

He groaned, feeling himself grow harder by the second.

Once he reached the spot, he carefully set you down at the edge of the pool, removing his clothes, while you did the same before getting into the pool with him.

"I just can't seem to keep my hands off of you," it had only been a few seconds, but you were already wrapped up in his arms again, and you felt the same way you wanted to be glued to him at all times.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, locking your eyes with him. Those eight letters were just on the tip of your tongue, but before you could say them, he was wrapping your legs around his waist.

"ready?" he asked you with his tip, slightly brushing your entrance.

You nodded your head, and he wasted no time before slowly pushing his dick in you.

"ah fuck" he hissed, mouth hung wide open, your walls already clenching down on him from the intrusion. He wasn’t even two inches in, and it felt so good he was so desperate and needy for you.

He thrust in you inch by inch, the head of his cock brushing against your walls and opening you up so perfectly.

After being with him multiple times, you'd never get used to his size and how he was always able to make you feel so good and so full.

"so warm and wet, this is all for me, right? Tell me I'm the only one who can make you this wet." he licked a long stripe up your chest, his palms kneading your plush backside as he thrusts into you.

"Only you can make me wet. Only your cock can make me feel like this," you held him tighter for support as he fucked his cock into you faster and deeper.

"and this pussy is all mine. No one can have you but me." He says, letting his emotions get the best of him.

"no one but you, hee." He pressed his lips to yours. It wasn't even barely a kiss, just his lips resting on yours. But he just wanted you to be as close to him as possible.

"Yeah, only mine,” he smiled, feeling content now that the words came from your own mouth. “hold on to me tight" he used all of his strength to fuck you, his thigh muscles burning from all the energy he used to hold you up.

"hee!' you squeak, feeling him hit your spot with each stroke, your head lulled back from the intense feeling of your climax quickly approaching.

"look at me darling, I want you to look at me." he held you up higher, your thighs resting on his forearm as the water continued to splash from the fast jerking of his hips. "that's it."

You maintained eye contact with him as your expressions mirrored each other's lips, parted, hooded eyes, and a mix of loud, desperate moans.

He backed you up to the edge of the pool to gain more leverage to massage your clit with his fingers.

"close?" he asked, feeling you tighten on him every few seconds.

"so close," you mewl.

"me too, precious, me t-too." He whimpers.

"yes! Yes! fuck me, oh hee." you cried in ecstasy when he hit your sweet spot repeatedly

He gave you his absolute all, his fingers still rubbing on your clit, and the pace of his strokes never once faltering, not even when you came, and your walls clamped down on him impossibly tight.

A helpless moan of his name bounced off the walls as he brought you to your intense climax.

"fuck yes," He said in a drawn-out moan. "squeeze my cock, just like that," he grunted, giving your cunt a few more thrusts before he pulled out. His cock throbbed in desperate need of attention to reach his high.

You took notice of this and quickly grabbed his cock, guiding it between your legs and rubbing it through your folds, massaging his cock with your slick and swollen pussy lips.

His legs trembled as he emptied himself straight into the pool just a few seconds after you. “So good,” he pants out and brushes his lips against yours.

Choked moans left his lips as he reached his end. You caressed his sensitive length gently until he was completely satisfied. Once collecting himself a bit, he pinned you to the pool's edge, trapping you in his arms.

You grabbed his face, pulling him in for a long, passionate kiss.

You both pulled away, looking at each other with adoration in your eyes.

"We should come in here more often." He says while smiling, loving every last second of what had just taken place.

"Should we?" You ask, and he nods his head, kissing you once more.

He led you to a much less steep part of the pool, laying your back against his chest while he rested his chin on your shoulder and held you tightly in his muscular arms.

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, sighing in contentment when he placed gentle kisses on your neck.

"I could just stay here like this all day," he confessed.

"We don't have to move anytime soon." You placed your hand in his.

"good," you kissed the back of his hand, silence filling the air as you both enjoyed each other in the relaxing pool.

Later that night, you both showered and sat together on the couch watching TV, his hands preoccupied with your hair.

"I wanna take you out tomorrow," he talked over the TV.

Was he asking you on a date? You didn't want to assume things, but it sounded like a date.

You hadn't gone on a date in years, and you weren't sure if you were ready for that yet.

"I don't know. It's been so long since I've gone out with someone." You played with your thumbs nervously.

You didn't want to call it a date in case that wasn't what he had in mind. That would be so awkward.

"it'll be fun, trust me. You're always cooped up in here all by yourself." He says, not knowing just how rude it sounded to you.

"cooped up?" you took offense to his sudden choice of words. It’s the same type of thing all your “friends” would always say to you whenever they thought you needed to get out and live a little. The only reason they wanted you to hang out was to use you for money.

Before he could answer, you got up from his lap and went to the bedroom so you wouldn’t have to face him.

"y/n, I’m sorry. You know I didn't mean anything by it," he said softly and reached for your hand.

"Okay," you got up and went to your room to go to sleep cause you were in a bad mood, and it wasn’t entirely his fault, but still, you just needed a minute.

He quickly followed after you, sensing your off behavior.

"You're not even going to say goodnight to me?” he said while standing in your doorway when he got no response. He closed the door behind him, making his way to your bed and sitting down.

"hee, not now. I just want to sleep." You say, obviously annoyed you knew Heeseung wasn’t like your friends, but it still felt like shit hearing him say the same thing about you that they did.

While you stayed silent, he got into bed, cuddling up to you as close as possible.

"Darling, please don't be mad at me. It hasn’t even been five minutes yet, and I can't stand it," he whispered and cradled your small frame in his arms.

"I'm not mad," you told a white lie, not mad, just frustrated.

"then please don't ignore me. I know what I said came across as insensitive, but what I meant was I want to take you somewhere you can dress fancy, I want to spoil you, I want to show you a good time, I want to feed you, and at the end of the night, I want to bring you home and fuck you." He whispers in your ear.

You felt shivers run down your spine when he whispered the last words straight into your ear, and you couldn’t stay mad at him. He knew just what to say to make you feel better. He acknowledged his faults, and now he was making them right, and that’s all you ever wanted in a relationship of any kind.

You turned around and faced him. "I'm sorry for getting mad," you pouted and realized you kinda went a bit over the top for no reason.

“Don’t be. Just know I'd never say anything hurtful to you intentionally, and I promise I’ll be careful with my words, okay baby?."

He kissed your forehead, and a small smile graced your lips.

“Sorry, my precious.” Once again, you were seconds from saying those words, but it still felt way too soon, so you suppressed it for now.

“I forgive you,” you whisper shyly.

"Thank you, darling. Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?" He asked.

"you can always sleep with me, hee, you don't have to ask." You tell him truthfully.

"Okay, good, now get some rest. Darling, 'cause tomorrow we're going to do it all." he turned off the night lamp before you even had time to protest, not to say you would anyway.

"goodnight, hee," you pecked his cheek.

“Goodnight, darling.” It looks like you were both in for quite the day tomorrow.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night ♥️

#enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung angst #enhypen hyung line #heeseung enhypen

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inkskinned · 2 years

Text

i. there's this phrase: bloom where you are planted.

ii. something i should maybe talk to my therapist about is that all of my daydreams involve me helping people. when i picture meeting celebrities, i'm usually just suggesting therapy to them. there's just not a lot left for me to get out of this world, i feel like - like with this time left i might as well use it for kindness.

iii. according to the gardening map, i was raised in Zone 6 of plant hardiness. i think that's kind of funny. i am good with plants, and keep too-many of them. i learned young about the colors of hydrangeas - how you cant tell the pH of the soil by it.

iv. they tore down both of the schools i attended as a kid. most of the forests we walked in have been turned into apartment complexes. there's nothing really left of the places i've been.

v. tumbleweeds are liminal things - they are carcasses that carry their seeds along with them. a plant that evolved to move. we have so much to learn about nature, and the way that happenstance creates miracles. can you imagine the beauty of that? i think so often about how the roots of a tree often take up the same shape and circumference of its branches. i think so much about carnivorous plants; those that eat with no stomach. about where plants store their "knowledge."

vi. i'm not going to write about who i was or what i did to myself before i left. only three things, which will make sense if you are the type of person i buried in that ditch. the first is that i ended up getting tattoos to cover it. the second is that setting boundaries still makes me uneasy. and the third is that i am constantly shocked at the fact i have actually made it to the place where i'm happy.

vii. there's this ongoing joke amongst those of us who keep plants: you don't really get a say in whether or not the plant wants to be dead. i'm excellent at orchids, but i kill every ivy i've ever met. i have been rotating one particular rescue plant around my apartment, trying to figure out what exactly is the right amount of sun for it. the truth is that sometimes things will never survive being kept.

viii. i used to daydream about joining the circus. about an alien abduction. i used to picture meeting celebrities and whispering please fucking get me out of this. did you know the quote originally came from a bishop? when i googled it, google told me the meaning is don't take what you have for granted. make the most of what you are given.

ix. sometimes i think about my 17 year old self. it's been happening a lot lately. i keep watching her through my memories, how she clawed herself raw, scratching at the walls. we got out, is the thing. i know we thought about staying. but oh, fuck dude: we could have never bloomed if we'd stayed planted.

#is this anything?#warm up #plants #fussy orchids that hate all environments: we love u miss raquel #''hardy'' ivy that has like 12 ''u can't kill this one!!!'' notes attached to it:#i hate u and i am GOING to die now #is this bc i saw this quote on the back of a car? yeah

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itspronouncedtessa · 1 year

Text

The "English or continental" debate is problematic and ultimately detrimental to the community.

Every time I see one of these "are you one or the other" posts, polls, tweets (Xcreets?), blogs, vlogs, whatevers, I get so annoyed. Undies fully twisted.

So indulge me and let's get into this.

First things first:

This is not an attack on pickers or throwers specifically. Any knitting style is valid. If the end result is even, non-twisted stitches that you enjoyed putting together, you're doing it right.

That said, I have 3 major gripes with the concept of "English vs continental" knitting:

1. The terminology. The terms "English" and "continental" were coined during WWII, as continental is actually German and the English were (rightly, at the time) uncomfortable doing anything the German way, or admitting that that way could be more efficient.

As we're about 80 years removed from the war, it might be time to accept that neither is objectively better and that German isn't a dirty word. We can, and should, use English and German, or throwing and picking respectively.

2. It's exclusionary to new knitters. The whole picking vs throwing discussion has made it so that new knitters don't know there are other options. If you're new to knitting, you get the impression that these are the only two options and if you can't do either, you can't knit.

Not to mention that the overwhelming majority of patterns and instructional videos are written or made exclusively for English or German methods. Which means if you want or need to use a different style, you need the additional step and skill of translating the pattern to fit your method. This requires a certain level of understanding of the underlying techniques that new knitters don't have. (Which is why I prefer charts, but that's a whole different rant.)

3. It's exclusionary to experienced knitters who don't pick or throw. The term continental for specifically German knitting dismisses all the other non-German European styles.

An incomplete list:

Eastern, or Russian, where you purl clockwise instead of counterclockwise, mounting the stitch backwards and knitting through the back loop on the right side. Creates the same stitch, but can be so much smoother to execute. Also very useful if you're doing rows of YO, ssk, as it eliminates the need to reorient the stitches before knitting them together.

Norwegian, where you purl without the need to bring the yarn fully forward. This is hard to describe in words, so I highly recommend googling for a video on Norwegian purls. It's a game changer for rib or seed stitch.

Portuguese, where you tension the yarn at the front of the work, looping it over your neck or through a pin. My personal preferred main method. Super helpful for those of us who lack finger strength to comfortably tension at the back. Makes purling a breeze.

Irish or lever knitting. Done with straight needles and (mostly) one-handed. Extremely helpful for people with disabilities. Also one of the fastest methods. You should check out videos on this, the speed is magical.

Flicking (not exactly regional), which is right handed but instead of throwing, you move the right needle to grab the yarn. Also difficult to explain, so check out some videos on this, too. Its a very quick method with minimal wrist movement. If you have the finger strength for tensioning it's worth practicing this, as it's so quick.

All of these are valid techniques, most of them are from continental Europe, none of them are included in the question "English or continental?".

And all of the above doesn't even get into the non-western, non-English, non-European styles there must be around the world, that I can't find through Google, because the English speaking world only uses the above mentioned methods.

Also, knitters that use other methods than picking or throwing are wildly underrepresented in the community, giving the knitting scene a culturally very white, western European image. Knitting could be a far more inclusive hobby if we'd embrace all styles.

In short, we need to change the question to "tell me about your technique" and learn from each other. Combining multiple methods (I use 3 or 4 interchangeably, depending on the pattern) can increase efficiency and enjoyment. And if you're struggling in any way, there might be a technique out there that better suits your needs. Asking about English vs continental isn't going to provide that information.

So tell me about your technique, especially if you use or know of any knitting methods that aren't western or European, I would LOVE to hear about that. Let's share and celebrate all the ways we knit.

#knitting #English or continental #rant #Knitting techniques

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thecrystalquill · 8 months

Text

A/N: Welcome to Chapter Thirteen! Thank you for waiting; I wanted to do it before Christmas, but you know how busy December is. Also find me on AO3: The_Crystal_Quill !

Also I'm so glad to finally give Rahim some appreciation <3

Please don't forget to leave a like!!!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Introduction Your First Year Letter

Chapter Thirteen ~ One Step Closer

Dear (Y/N),

It’s about time that you wrote me a letter that I didn’t have to share, and I don’t appreciate you keeping secrets from me, but I do enjoy having secrets to keep. I won’t tell anyone; I highly doubt they would be of any help anyway.

First of all, stop looking in the damned library, the answers to your Message aren’t in a book. I suggest you figure out where to go. This Spirit, whoever they are, obviously has something for you to find. They must have been to Hogwarts, or there would have been no point in Contacting you now. It must be there.

I would like to be involved in this, obviously you’re getting nowhere on your own, the only obstacle in my way is the fact that Hogwarts is so far. you should stay at Hogwarts to do some investigating. I will help.

I’ll start to set the seed in Mother and Father’s heads about what it would be like to see your school, I know there is a village near Hogwarts, find out the name for me. Then you can write home and tell them that you want to spend the holidays at Hogwarts – I’ll convince them to travel to see you there, it should be easy to get them to believe it was their idea.

In the mean time, you just look for some clues. I’m sure you can find something to do until I get there.

~ Wednesday

Emotionless, mildly condescending, and straight to the point, just like her sister. It was clear to (Y/N) that Wednesday was rather excited about this enigma; it had only taken a couple of days for her to reply, and she’d obviously put a plan together rather quickly in her eager state.

She really must be bored without (Y/N) there. It was a nice thought, in a way.

(Y/N) didn’t really want to spend the winter holidays at Hogwarts; she’d actually been rather looking forward to sleeping in her own bed and decorating the family tree, standing for another annual portrait and bickering while Lurch painted their every expression, and not to mention the flaming Christmas Pudding that only Grandmama knew how to make. But it seemed that some things were more important – (Y/N) was starting to despise this Spirit for interrupting her life; she was supposed to have a very normal year of magic and studying.

There were no practical lessons so close to the holidays, and most of her classes consisted of reviewing the work they had completed during their first term before it came to an end. For the last thirty-six minutes, she had been writing an essay about Rowena Ravenclaw and her life before and after the creation of Hogwarts, while Professor Binns lectured about how next term they would be looking into the other schools of magic around the world. It was a shame, (Y/N) thought, that Binns had a talent for making a subject so interesting sound so incredibly boring. It seemed the most exciting thing to ever happen to him was his death, and even then his retelling of the event was as dull and lifeless as the corpse which he left behind.

“…Now, Beaubatons, the French academy, that is – you may read it and think it is pronounced ‘beau’ as in ‘beautiful’, but is actually pronounced ‘boar’ like the wild pig, now that I think on it, it’s much like Hogwarts being named from the mole of a hog – anyhow, Beaubatons is in the Pyrenees, and takes students predominantly from, France and Spain, so I suppose they must also have language classes there too. Actually, quite a lot of them seem to speak a few languages, very talented students, they are, so I suppose they must offer language classes. So anyway, as I was saying, Beaubatons school is cloaked under a spell, much like the one that hides the Hogwarts grounds from muggles, but where here they simply get dazed and confused and return themselves away from the area, them being in the Pyrenees means a lot of muggles tend to get themselves lost off the edge of rocks and cliffs and the like, and as unfortunate as that is, it means that the whole area is highly advised against, as far as the muggles are concerned, so in the end it turns out to be not so bad. Sure, there’s a few injuries and the odd death every now and then, but it does a fine job at keeping the muggles away. So, as I was saying…” Sweet Hades take my soul to the depths of Styx already, (Y/N) thought. If he carried on any longer she may just pull her ears off, and her peers seemed to suffer similarly. Listening to Binns’ unique way of speaking was somehow the verbal equivalent of watching paint dry; his tone was slow and monotonous as if he were bored of it himself, and he drawled through each sentence like a snail, droning on and on, digression after digression, to the point where it’s hard to even hear what exactly he’s talking about over the constant sound. And don’t even get started on what it was like to get trapped in a conversation with him – there was no escaping the relentless torture of word after word for what felt like hours, and there was no helping his victims chained in place by the requirement to be polite to your elders.

Sharing her desk was Saoirse, of course, but (Y/N) had noticed she’d fallen asleep some time ago – Binns had quite the power for doing that. Now would be the perfect time for some earphones, yet another con to muggle technology not working at Hogwarts; she’d once wanted to ask why that was, but she dreaded how long the answer would take.

‘Rowena Ravenclaw then decided that her house would be one for students who valued wisdom and knowledge above all else, and created an environment which would nurture their minds and mould her students into some of the brightest witches and wizards at Hogwarts.’ (Y/N) wrote, hoping to finish her essay before the class ended so she wouldn’t have it for homework. Only ten minutes left until the bell would sound and release them from their torture.

When there was only four minutes left, (Y/N) nudged Saoirse with her elbow, waking her almost immediately; they had learned that it was best to leave as soon as the bell rang, rather than risk being caught up in a conversation with the professor, it was a mad-dash to leave.

As she rolled up her essay and put her quill away, (Y/N) thought about what she was going to write in her letter home. Wednesday must have already set the seed of seeing Hogwarts, as she’d put it, so now she needed to request that she stay. Only, she was finding it a little tricky to think up a reason for the strange request; in almost every letter (Y/N) had mentioned how she couldn’t wait to return home, what could possibly make her want to stay?

She needed a lie, and a good one at that.

When the bell finally dismissed them, the girls grabbed their bags and cloaks and exited the classroom. As December had rolled around, the snow was starting to fall each night, leaving a light layer on the grounds, and the hallways were becoming even more chilled than before. It was the perfect amount of cold for (Y/N); her breath fogged slightly in front of her, and she could wear comfortable layers, and feel like she was taking a lovely trip through the morgue.

The hallways gradually warmed up as they got closer to the Great Hall, their ever-burning fires seemed to heat the whole room, and the toasty warmth was trapped between the walls. Magic, probably, stopped the heat from escaping through the brickwork.

At the Slytherin table, (Y/N) sat and thought of what to write in her letter while Saoirse started a conversation about her latest obsession: vampires. “Wait, you really didn’t know they were real?” (Y/N) asked as she fiddled with the golden goblet in front of her. She sometimes forgot that Saoirse was raised by very ordinary muggles.

“I thought they were just a myth, like an old folk-tale, y’know?” Answered Saoirse with a wave of her arm, she gestured often when she spoke, (Y/N) noticed. “Like Dracula.”

“Dracula was real too.” She replied, amused at the way Saoirse dropped her hands on the table and gawked.

“What?” She said, moving her hair out of her face to pay proper attention to her friend. “Explain, now.”

Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) succumbed to the distraction. “Count Dracula was from Romania, he came to Whitby by ferry, and he lived and died there. The story got a bit exaggerated through time, but he was very real. In fact, you can learn all about him in my town.” She was ready to leave it there as she saw her other roommates enter the room and look for them, but she thought one last piece of information would be worth sharing. “Local legend says he’s buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the town, but he’s actually buried in the Addams Cemetery next to my Great-Great-Uncle Wolfgang Addams.”

“WHAT?”

Dear Mother and Father,

I have so been looking forward to returning home for the holidays, as you know. But there has been an unfortunate incident involving a friend of mine and a carnivorous plant in one of the herbology greenhouses. She is having to spend the holidays in the hospital wing and can’t go home. I know you have been excited for me to be back home, but I may have already agreed to stay here so my friend wouldn’t be alone. Is that alright? I feel terrible about it all, but I’ve heard Christmas at Hogwarts is something to be awed. Perhaps you could send my gifts here? Or we can save them for the next holidays? It’s such a shame you can’t come here.

I have been practising my sword skills in the Forbidden Forest, luckily the cold weather means that few people are outside to see me. Sadly, I haven’t seen any terrible creatures in the forest, no ghouls or monsters, but there’s still time.

My lessons have been going well; my potions are near perfect, herbology has been coming naturally to me, and I only fell off of my broom once. Though, Transformation is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated.

The Hogwarts Express leaves from Hogsmeade Station early on Saturday morning next week, and I’ve agreed to accompany Saoirse as she boards. I look forward to hearing back from you.

~ (Y/N)

It wasn’t a perfect lie, but it would do. (Y/N) was attaching the letter to Mortis’ long leg as he finished up the steak and kidney pie she brought him, hoping he wouldn’t get too cold during his long flight. She’d already sent a note to Wednesday, informing her of the name of the nearest town and any updates on her mystery. With luck, she could easily convince them to stay in Hogsmeade – it would be a shame to not see them all for the winter – perhaps (Y/N) could sneak Wednesday into school.

“Go on then, Mortis.” She said to the great bird, giving his strong back a pat. “Fly back home as quickly as you can, I’ll see you soon.” (Y/N) took a step back, and watched as the vulture gave her a farewell nod and spread out his massive wings, diving from the tall tower and catching the wind to take him south. She watched until the giant creature turned into a brown-ish blur and disappeared into the white horizon, hoping it didn’t snow on his journey.

The trail back to the castle was long and peaceful; dark fir and pine tree tops were dusted in white and the snow on the ground had set a foot deep already, crunching beneath her shiny black boots with each step. For a while, that was the only sound she heard, until she neared the castle grounds and saw that there were students dotted around – some were settled around the courtyard some were walking through the fields to the iced-over lake, and two identical red-heads were throwing snowballs either at their friends or at unfortunate bystanders.

(Y/N) tugged on her leather gloves and tightened the emerald scarf around her neck, feeling a chill breeze redirect her way. She was pondering returning to the library to once more search for a useful book in the Divination section; she had all but given up on that idea, there was no way she could search through so many on her own, but she’d hate to admit that Wednesday was right.

She was just ascending the salted stone steps that lead into the castle, when she felt a soft pat on her head, and cold water melting into her hair and run down her neck. (Y/N) froze, and the whole courtyard seemed to freeze with her. A curse was muttered from behind her, and she turned to face the culprit. Maybe a dozen people were in the open area, all staring wide-eyed between the black-clad Addams heir and the group of damp third-year boys at the centre of it all. Three of the boys took a step back, pointing at their red-head friends accusingly, who watched warily for her reaction. (Y/N) said nothing, waiting for them to go first.

They straightened themselves out, faces pale from the cold and shock, noses red, gloves wet, both covered in snow. They looked to each other briefly, seemingly deciding what to do. “It was him!” The one of the left exclaimed, pointing to his brother.

The second twin gasped and put his hands up in surrender, shooting his brother a horrified expression of betrayal. “It was an accident, I swear!” He defended, giving her what he hoped was a sincerely apologetic look, crossing his heart with his forefinger. “I was aiming for Lee!”

A boy on the right threw his hands up, mirroring the look of innocence his accuser displayed. “Don’t drag me into this, you’re just a crappy shot.”

“Oi!”

“Well you’re the one who hit her!”

It was clear a petty argument was about to break out, so (Y/N) turned to face them fully from the third step and crossed her arms, successfully regaining their focus. They expected her to yell, to scream, to throw insults and curses. But she didn’t – she already had their attention; she didn’t have to cause a scene to get what she wanted.

All eyes were on them as the boys looked between themselves and her nervously; the longer she stood silent, the more anxious they became, wondering what she might do. Nothing in her face or body language gave away any indication of what she was thinking. Lee elbowed the twin nearest to him, seeming to snap him into some sort of action. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise.” The guilty red-head said, pulling his knitted hat over his ears as he gave her another genuine expression.

There was a pause of complete silence, all lesser-noises absorbed by the blanketed snow, as everyone watched. Then, with only a single, small nod, (Y/N) turned and continued on her way, leaving them to their business.

Sometimes (Y/N) forgot about the reputation she’d somehow accumulated since her arrival, after all, she did very little to build it. Somehow, in simply being herself, people had made her (and her family) to be some sort of fantastical being of dark and mysterious origin. Saoirse often made her feel so normal, that she often forgot that, in the eyes of everyone else, she wasn’t. So it wasn’t too drastic of her to assume something as simple as a rogue snowball may have been thrown on purpose, she thought. But an apology was all she needed, and the boy was polite enough to give a sincere one. So perhaps not everyone outside of her inner circle was all that bad, even if they thought some truth was behind the rumours about her.

It was half-past eleven on a Saturday morning, exactly one week before the Winter holidays, which meant that the library would be full of people finishing up assignments and catching up on reading. As she entered the quiet hall, she was unsurprised to see most people wearing Ravenclaw jumpers. Making her way towards the back, (Y/N) passed a table piled high with books; curiously, she peered around a stack to see Hermione in a discussion with her two Gryffindor friends. “This is taking forever, I don’t know where else to look.”

“I know I’ve read his name somewhere.” Harry said, flicking through a copy of Great Wizards Of The Twentieth Century, before Ron nudged him in the arm and nodded to their observer. “Oh, um… hi…” He said, drawing back slightly, as if unsure of what to say. It was then that (Y/N) noticed how Harry didn’t seem to ever say her name – perhaps, (Y/N) considered, he simply hadn’t decided on if he should call her by her first name or her last.

“That’s quite a lot of books,” (Y/N) commented, busying herself with undoing her coat.

“Yeah well, we’ve been doing quite a lot of reading.” Said Ron with a slight edge of defence. (Y/N) couldn’t understand why, it seemed to her a silly thing to defend.

Normally, (Y/N) would have resigned the attempt at conversation. But given that these were Hermione’s friends, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to show a little effort – she thought it was very grown-up of her. “Anything interesting?”

The answers from each of them varied, but Hermione simply huffed at them and turned to her. “(Y/N), do you know anything about Nicolas Flamel?” She asked, ignoring Ron’s noise of protest.

(Y/N) hummed as she removed her scarf and hung it on her arm. “Can’t say I’ve heard of him. Why?”

“No reason.” Said Ron, closing his book and moving it aside, interrupting Hermione before she shared too much.

Hermione only sent him a glare and ignored his frown of disapproval. “We’ve looked everywhere but we just can’t seem to find anything on him. The only place we haven’t checked is the Restricted Section.”

“The Restricted Section?” (Y/N) repeated, wondering why a library would hide books rather than share them. “What’s in there?”

“Mostly books on restricted topics, advanced dark magic and the likes.” The intelligent girl explained, turning to look to the back of the library. “Unfortunately, you can’t go in without a consent form, and that’s never going to happen.”

“Well, can’t you just ask the librarian? Surely she’ll know something about this Flamel.” (Y/N) offered, though she was clearly intrigued.

Harry shook his head. “No way, she’ll tell on us for sure.” He said, but the moment he did his eyes widened and Ron made another frustrated groan.

(Y/N) raised a brow and felt her curiosity grow. “So it’s a secret, this Flamel stuff?” She guessed, and it seemed she hit the nail right on the head.

“Look, you can’t tell anyone.” Ron stressed, moving the stack of books from between them so she could see all of him properly. “It’s very important that no one finds out about any of it.”

(Y/N) nodded, she wasn’t one for spreading secrets. “Of course.” Seeing then that she had nothing more to offer, and not long before lunch, (Y/N) stepped away from the table to take her leave. “I’ll let you to it then, I’ll see you here in the week, Hermione.” She said, then gave a nod to the group and made her way to the Divination section.

She thought that went relatively well; at least this time they actually talked with her.

With her coat and scarf placed safely on a desk chair, (Y/N) chose a shelf to scour, and began her ascent up the ladders to have a look at the M’s. Perhaps today was a good day to go through Meteoromancy: Secrets in Storms. She did love the sweet lull of thunder.

The Great Hall was decorated beyond (Y/N)’s expectations; snow dusted trees standing twenty feet tall at the front of the room, snowflakes falling from the ceiling only to fade away halfway down, colourful ribbons and garlands hung on the walls, and everything smelt of cinnamon and pine.

It was all very light and bright and colourful… it only made her miss the smooth blacks and blood reds of their tree at home.

At the Slytherin table, (Y/N) sat picking at a bowl of fruit as everyone discussed the holidays; Saoirse was looking forward to returning to her home most of all, telling Millicent all about her dog and how much she’d missed him. (Y/N) wished she was going back to Whitby – the beachside town was so charming in the winter; there were rarely any tourists, the wind was icy cold from the sea breeze, and the famed abbey looked so beautifully haunted covered in snow and salt-ice. The Addams Manor would be decorated with silky blacks, silvers, reds, white, and plum; the tree decorated with skulls and spiderwebs, piles of gifts wrapped in black paper; and the games they would play would bring a smile even to Wednesday’s face (especially when they played autopsy).

There were exclamations of excitement and dozens of owls came flying down from the highest windows carrying letters and packages to their owners, dropping them in their laps. Saoirse, Millicent, and Bridgit tore open their letters eagerly, as (Y/N) waited for Mortis to deliver a letter from her parents.

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Bridgit after a gulp of pumpkin juice, standing with a letter in hand, “this one’s addressed to me and my brother, I need to catch him before he goes to class.” She explained with a huff, turning to find him at the Gryffindor table.

Saoirse leaned across the table to stab her fork into an untouched sausage on Bridgit’s plate, then put her own letter safely in her bag. “What about yours?” She asked Millicent. “That from your parents?”

Millicent nodded, fiddling with the page in her hand. “Yeah, just how they’re looking forward to me going back and all that. Not very long, though.”

A moment later there was a scuffle of wings from the high window as a few owls rushed out of the way, making room for Mortis to fold his enormous wings to fit through, then reopen them again to glide down. He had the usual black envelope in his talons, dropping it for his young mistress to open, and bending his head low for a pat. “Good morning, Mortis.” She greeted him as she dragged an unused knife under the fold of the envelope to reveal the off-white paper inside. “Go get something to eat.” She said, watching him waddle over to a plate of bacon; his walk might have been cute, if it weren’t for the sharp talons that tapped the table with each heavy footfall that showed his weight. With all of the long-distance flights and buffet of foods, he really was getting bigger by the month.

(Y/N) unfolded the pages to read her mother’s swirling black handwriting.

Dear (Y/N),

We understand your desire to stay at Hogwarts with your friend. If you had something to do with the injury, it shows good character that you would agree to make up for it, & for that we are very proud of you. Pugsley would very much like to know more about the injury and how it came about, & if there were any limbs lost or infected wounds. Well, you will be able to tell him yourself. After we received your letter, Wednesday subtly pointed out how Hogsmeade is a popular visit this time of year, & how it isn’t too far from your school – she will deny it to her dying breath, but I believe she misses you more than she’ll admit. But nonetheless, we agree. We have made reservations at the Hog’s Head, & will be arriving on Sunday 22nd and staying until January 5th. As for you, you may stay with us or at Hogwarts with your friend, we can make arrangements for whatever you decide. I’ve included a note for the deputy headmistress in the envelope, if you would please give it to her.

We are all so looking forward to seeing you, Darling. It has been far too long already.

Missing you,

Mother

(Y/N) let out a small sigh; Wednesday might not have been as subtle as she’d said, but her intentions worked out anyway – and her family believed the lie she’d crafted, so all was well.

She folded the letter back into the envelope and took out the page written for McGonnagal, curious to be sure that she hadn’t written anything about the lie, but was relieved to read only about last-minute plans to Hogsmeade. (Y/N) would be glad to deliver it at the end of her Transfiguration class.

A tap on the arm brought (Y/N) back up from the page, seeing Saoirse collect her bag and grab a biscuit. “C’mon, we’ve got Potions.” She said, and (Y/N) noticed she had Millicent’s letter in hand.

“Why do you have that?” She asked as they made their way out of the Hall.

“She left it on the table, I’ll give it to her in class.”

The Dungeons were icy at this time of year, which was no surprise really – actually, what was a surprise was that they let students live down there in the damp and the cold. Their breaths fogged up in the air as they descended the steps and turned down the classroom’s corridor, seeing most students already at their desks, still wearing their robes and gloves. Saoirse gave a quick indication towards Millicent, nodding to (Y/N) as she returned the letter.

Snape entered the classroom with a swish of a cloak, glaring at those left standing around. “Be seated.” He demanded with upturned lips, watching as everyone shuffled to the nearest table. Truly, that man shouldn’t be working with children.

(Y/N) saw a spare seat in the centre-left of the room, where Rahim was sitting alone, and decided to occupy it (seeing as Saoirse had panicked and immediately sat with Millicent). She gave him a nod in greeting, receiving a shy smile in return as she unloaded her textbook, notes, and parchment onto her side of the desk.

“Today we will review the Forgetfulness Potion.” Snape drawled, and if it weren’t for the fact that so many of them were scared of him, many students would be lulled back to sleep by his monotonous voice. “This includes ingredients, directions, effects, cures, and history. Find the page in your textbooks, and I want an essay of at least two feet before the end of class, or you will be finishing an extra foot for homework.” There were a few groans from the back of the room, which he ignored completely. “You’ll do well to pay attention – you will be tested on it at the start of your next term, and it will be included in your final exam at the end of the year, along with the many other potions and ingredients that we cover.”

For a long while, there was near-silence in the room, only the scratching of quills and the low mumbles and whispers of discussions. And as (Y/N) was writing about the effects of the potion (which she was already having a hard time remembering), she felt a cramp in her hand and decided to take a short break.

Rahim was writing quickly, copying a list from his textbook rather efficiently, until he noticed the bored look on his friend’s face as she studied a satisfying lower-case ‘b’ on his paper. “Um… you alright?”

Nodding, (Y/N) continued to rub her hand as she glanced in the direction of their professor, seeing he was busy marking papers with vague disappointment. “Yes, just… in need of a break.” She answered truthfully.

Rahim nodded and straightened himself out, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Yeah, me too. But at least there’s not long before the holidays.”

(Y/N) hummed, deciding against mentioning how she was staying back. “Yeah, you can finally spend some time away from the library.” She teased, as if she wasn’t in there far more than him.

Humming a laugh, the boy gave her another shy smile, half-hidden by his dark hair. He seemed to be considering something, opening and then closing his mouth hesitantly.

(Y/N) realised that she couldn’t recall ever having a conversation with Rahim alone; they were always accompanied by Saoirse or Hermione. Perhaps that was why he was hesitating – or maybe it just made him all the more shy. “What is it?”

Rahim scrunched his brows slightly, before opting to say what was on his mind. “Well, uh… I was just wonderin’… about them books you’re always reading from the library…” He finally said, fidgeting with his quill and smudging his fingers with the first ink-stains of the day. “They’re just a bit… um… odd… I guess.”

She could tell he was trying very hard not to offend her, which she found very endearing, and was pleased that he was putting such effort into his phrasing. She thought perhaps that he could be trusted with the vague truth; after all, he didn’t have anyone to tell secrets too, other than Saoirse maybe. But (Y/N) was too tired to think up clever lies – it was a skill she’d have to work on. “I received a Message from a spirit, and I’m trying to figure out what to do.” She strategically answered.

To her surprise, Rahim didn’t seem all too shocked by this. Given his quiet nature, she’d expected a bit more of… a reaction. But instead, he seemed to be thinking over her answer seriously. “Spirit? Like a ghost?”

She waved a hand in a ‘sort of’ gesture. “Kind of… but a more dead ghost than a… living... ghost?” She cringed — not so elegantly put.

Rahim thought nothing of the peculiar answer, going along with it in understanding. “Well… where’ve you been lookin’?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Well, just about everything really. Auramancy, Occulomancy, Tarot, runes… so far I haven’t found anything helpful.”

“And Necromancy wasn’t any help?”

She stopped. For the first time in a while, her brain seemed to stutter and freeze. Necromancy.

Necromancy.

Oh how the hell did she not think of Necromancy?

“Oh… I am such an idiot.” She muttered, massaging her forehead in frustration. It was so obvious now, she seriously questioned where her head had been all this time. “Rahim, it’s extremely rare that I’ll ever say this again, but I owe you one.” (Y/N) said, earning another shy smile from the boy.

She had one last shelf to check in the library.

Thank you for reading! Pleeeease like/comment/reblog to support!

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70 notes · View notes

vettelsdarling · 1 year

Note

can you please write a love triangle story between carlos sainz and charles leclerc? you could decide who she ends up with at the end

When I saw your eyes

➪This is a great prompt, I love a good love triangle!

➪This is my take on it, hope you enjoy!

Just a few things to note:

This is set in the 2022 season.

You’re 23 and the daughter of Christian and Beverly, so your biological sister is Olivia.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Horner!Fem!Reader (x Charles Leclerc)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of mature themes, daddy issues, angst

Word Count: 5.2k+

Backstory

You were a professional motorbike racer. You'd won three world championships in the sport and were racing for Red Bull. Your father, Christian was the team principal for the Red Bull Formula One team, so it only made sense for you to drive for them. After having competed so many times, you decided to announce your break. You took to Instagram to make a public statement about it. Many fans were supportive and not many were against your well-being and the fact that you were in need of some time away.

Your father had asked you several times to come visit him and Geri. You didn't really like Geri all that much. She was one of the main reasons your father and your mother split. Your mother had been pregnant and gave birth to your only real sister whilst your father decided to try and make it with the spice girl. You resented Geri for ruining what could have been a perfect family. Yet, since you didn't have anything to do, you decided to crash with them for a week.

“So Dad, what's going on in the Formula One world?” You asked as everyone was sitting at the table, eating a hearty breakfast.

“Oh, you know, just this and that. We're in the lead, so it's smooth sailing for now.” You were happy to hear that your father didn't have much to stress about. You remembered the times he told you he'd stay up all night to make calls for his drivers and mechanics. It could get tiring.

“Daddy, I think she should go watch the next race,” said Olivia with a smile. She had syrup on her lips from the waffle she was eating.

“That's not a bad idea, what do you think? Wouldn't it be something you'd like? You used to love attending the races in the garage with me when you were younger.” You were not that little girl anymore. Christian had a hard time understanding that fact and acknowledging it.

“Dad… You know I don't really have an interest in cars anymore.” You leaned back in your chair and took a bite out of a poppy seed bagel that you had spread a generous amount of cream cheese on.

“Of course, I know that. I just figured maybe you'd enjoy it. You know the struggle of G-force like these drivers,” he chuckled.

“Not like them. Definitely not. I don't experience much G-force. The highest is probably at 1.4. I don't think I've gone beyond that.”

“Either way, I think you should join me next weekend, yeah? It'll be fun.” You shrugged and checked your calendar to see if it was free. When you opened it, you saw that you'd made a note for the Isle of Man. It was extremely dangerous, but you sought the thrill. You were so used to the domestic side of racing, you wanted something that'd make your heart jump out of your chest. Under no circumstances could you admit it to your father though. He’d freak out. The Isle of Man was basically a Darwin award in itself.

“Um, I don't have time next week, actually.” Your father gave you a disappointed look for some reason.

“It's Monaco, it's a really big event. Several celebrities will attend.” Was it more important than your racing? You had to weigh your options first.

“I have an important event to attend. I can't go. You can take Olivia.” Before Christian could get a word in, you'd already left for your room. Even with all the love and respect you held for him, conversing was hard. That's why you decided to stay with your mother. When you moved out, you'd only ever invite her over. You didn't mind the occasional check-in from Christian, but it was tiring to talk face-to-face.

A week passed by quickly and you were on the Isle of Man with your motorbike. You knew just how dangerous it was, but you needed the chase. Your father was in Monaco, without a single clue as to what you were getting yourself into.

Without a second thought, you focused on yourself. It was time. The practice race began and you sped off. Your bike was the fastest, which wasn't much of a surprise. The island was beautiful. You loved it.

Days passed and the real race was approaching fast. You were beyond excited. The practice sessions had gone smoother than expected and you could only imagine the same for the actual thing. So when the day finally came, you gave it your all. The race started and your speed was dangerously unreal. It was clear to you how so many people had lost their lives in the previous races.

The race lasted a whole week and you ended up winning. It was everywhere in the news. Christian got a message from Geri about it. She'd sent him a link to a news article. He only saw it after the race was over, as he had to focus on watching the two Red Bulls on the grid.

When he saw the article he was fuming. He called you several times but nothing happened. You didn't pick up. It was for the sole reason of not wanting to listen to his lecture. However, after he didn't stop— you had to pick up.

“Hello? What the hell were you thinking?! Putting your life on the line like that! Are you insane?!” He spat. People started noticing.

“Dad, I'm alive. Besides, I won the race. Are you not proud of me?” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Isle of Man… It's a death wish. Why would you— I just… I don't get it.”

“I was so tired of not having that thrill I used to have… You must know. Surely you must. Look, I'll come to the next race. Let me know when and where. We can talk more then, okay? For now, I really have to go.” You quickly hung up before he was able to say anything else.

A lot of time passed and you decided to wait until the race after Montreal, as it was at Silverstone. You didn't have to travel far for that. When you parked your motorbike, you noticed a sleek Ferrari pulling up next to you. On your other side, a Volkswagen Golf pulled up. Your helmet was stuck for some reason, so to not look like a fool trying to take it off, you decided to keep it on.

“Hey, you! You know you can't park here, right?” You didn't pull up the shade. You didn't want the man to see you. He moved closer to you with his car keys dangling from his finger. The other man came up behind him. They were both wearing Ferrari shirts. They were definitely racing for Ferrari.

“Yeah, I can.” You put a hand on your hip and tapped your shoe to the asphalt.

“It's reserved for staff and drivers. Fans have to find parking elsewhere,” the other man spoke. He had a thick Spanish accent.

“Fan? I didn't come here because I actually wanted to.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My father.” Curt reply. You didn't want to carry on with the conversation, so you started walking away.

“That doesn't make sense.” The one with the heavy accent grabbed your shoulder.

“It does if you know who Christian Horner is.” With that, you started walking again. You assumed they were dumbfounded because they didn't follow you even though they were supposed to walk in the same direction.

When you got to the paddock, many people looked at you weirdly. You were wearing a helmet and a Red Bull race suit. You didn't have any other Red Bull clothes to represent them, so you chose whatever you had… Which was your race suit.

“There you are! What's with the getup?” Asked your father before opening the shade to your helmet.

“I didn't have anything else. My helmet is stuck by the way. You wouldn't mind helping me, would you?” He easily got it off and handed it back to you. You flung your hair to the side to avoid it being static.

“Now I think I deserve an explanation.” The two of you were standing in front of the Red Bull garage, which was right next to the Ferrari garage.

“I won. That's your explanation, okay?” You turned around to go find Max. You hadn't met him yet, but you'd heard great things about him.

“No, that's not good enough. You better explain right now.” He started raising his voice. This caught the attention of two sets of eyes from the next garage over.

“I have 3 world championships under my belt. It started boring me and I just wanted something different for a change. Is that really so bad?” You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes.

“Yes, it is! It's the fucking Isle of Man!” He yelled. You were sure some of the mechanics were looking your way.

“Leave me alone, alright? I'm 23, I'm not a child. I can make my own rational decisions. I wouldn't have done it if I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it! Not only did I survive, I won! Besides, you're not in any actual position to take the role of a concerned father. You know that,” You returned the favour by yelling louder. Christian clenched his jaw and threw his arms up in the air. He left you alone to go cool off.

“Isle of Man? That's cool,” a voice snuck up behind you. It was the two guys from earlier. You weren't sure what to say. You knew your conversation had been loud, but you didn't actually expect anyone to be invested in it.

“Yeah? Thanks.”

“I'm Charles, and that's Carlos.” You examined their features. They weren't too bad-looking. You told them your name and shook both hands.

“So why didn't you choose to race in Formula One?” Carlos asked. The question wasn't hard at all. You'd always been a big fan of motorbikes.

“I was always into motorbikes. When I was a little girl, it was my dream to win a world championship in the MotoGP. My dream became a reality. Three times.” You said it as if becoming a three-time world champion wasn't a big thing.

“Three world titles… That's a great accomplishment, you know?” Charles smiled. You only looked at him briefly before turning your attention to your nails.

“I didn't know Christian had a daughter who raced,” Carlos chimed in.

“Well, he does. Aren't the two of you supposed to be getting ready? Leave me be, and go.” You were only stern because you were beyond uncomfortable and you'd just snapped at your father. The two Ferrari drivers left for their garage and you returned to Red Bull’s. Your father seemed to have calmed down a bit, likely due to the level-headed mindset he'd need for the race.

It wasn't long before the race started and people began whispering here and there whilst watching their screens intensely. You could hear the fans screaming outside as well. Certainly more overwhelming than your turf in motorsport. You'd already gotten a headache. There was still some time left for you to think about what to tell your father. Well, how to go about saying things.

When the race finally ended, a certain doom hit you. Everything had been said and done. The interviews were over and the celebrations had been held. A driver from Mercedes had generously offered to throw a small party, which you'd been extended an invite to. You'd graciously accepted it.

All you had to do first was talk to your father.

“Dad, it's not like I went in completely blind. I've studied it many times. More times than you know.” Geri was next to him, rubbing his forearm to try and calm his nerves.

“You realize seasoned racers have tried and failed before, right? Do you know what I mean by failed? Do you?!” He wasn't listening. He never was.

“Yes, but I didn't die! Fuck’s sake, I'm alive! I won! Maybe if you would've been more invested in my life, you would've seen the world champion in me earlier. It's okay though… You chose to throw me and mum away.” You chose to leave with those words, finishing strong but also not letting yourself get too carried away. It was your father after all…

You hurried out to your bike, hooking up your GPS to it. The Mercedes driver, Hamilton, had given you the address of the club and it wasn't too far away. You secured your helmet and jumped on, speeding off toward your destination.

The party was already lively. The first thing you did was take a seat by the bar. You wanted to get absolutely wasted and didn't plan on waking up with a clear head the following morning.

“Can I start a tab?” The bartender nodded, as he cleaned a tall glass.

“I'll just have a dry martini. Keep them coming.” Before he could ask for ID, you laid it out in front of him. It was your driver's license. All licenses were famous for looking like a prison sentence, but you'd come out surprisingly great in your photo.

“What are you doing all alone?” Someone took a seat right next to you. A gesture you'd normally find bothersome, but you didn't mind a little banter. Especially because you recognized the voice by its distinct accent and octave.

“I'm indulging in life’s luxuries,” you said with a sarcastic undertone. If a dry martini was considered a luxury, you could've died with no regrets years ago.

“Funny,” a voice came up behind you and took a seat on the other side of you. You were sandwiched between two Ferrari drivers. One had just won the Silverstone race. Congratulations were in order. You weren't a complete asshole.

“I guess I should say congrats on winning. I hear Silverstone is a big thing in Formula 1,” you said and popped an olive into your mouth. It oozed gin. Carlos wore a wide grin on his face. A grin you couldn't help but label attractive.

“Thank you. You look nice, by the way.” Carlos managed to smoothly wedge in that compliment. A faint chuckle snuck its way past your lips.

“What’s with the laughing? You’re gorgeous; Carlos is right.” You turned to look straight into the eyes of the famed heartthrob; Charles Leclerc. A smirk was plastered on his face. You couldn’t focus with the two guys smooth-talking you. The amount of attention that was put into you was unreal. Sure, you got a lot of that stuff whenever you raced, but it was nothing like this.

“I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for,” you said and finished your drink. The bartender immediately fixed you another one.

“I think you should come to more races whenever you can,” Carlos amused the idea and slung an arm around you.

“We’ll see,” you replied and downed yet another drink.

Present

“—And she’s done it again! She’s once again, champion of the world!” The crowd went wild. Many were in favour of you, as you were the only woman in the lineup. You were a four-time world champion. You could only hope Charles or Carlos had won the last race. You wouldn’t know until you were done, as it happened at the same time.

“How do you feel about your victory here today?” An interviewer quickly rushed up and asked. You’d done enough PR training to give a satisfactory answer,

“I mean, I feel amazing! The team, we pushed for it, and we got it, you know? I just want to thank my father and my wonderful team for this opportunity.” The interviewer thanked you and let you move on with your celebration.

You tried to get to your hotel as fast as possible so that you could see who’d won.

It took a while, but once you’d kicked your shoes off and sat at the kitchen island, you pulled up your Instagram to check out the standings.

“Damn… looks like Red Bull didn’t just win the MotoGP…” you sighed. Max had taken the championship yet again. You were proud of him, as a fellow Red Bull driver, but your heart ached for your Ferrari friends. At that moment, you decided to call Charles. Carlos rarely picked up his phone, and you knew Charles always would.

“Hey, I saw Max won… again,” you prefaced.

“Yeah, I know. It sucks, but what can you do? What a nice way to start a phone conversation!” You could tell he tried to seem upbeat and sarcastic after the loss, but it wasn’t sticking very well to the wall.

“Look, how about you and Carlos come visit me back in Brighton? I could show you around…” You suggested. There was some hesitation before you heard a voice in the background. It sounded like the phone was put down for a moment and you heard two people conversing. You assumed it was an engineer or something.

“I just talked to Carlos, he said he was free. We can talk more about it later.” He ended the call abruptly after, leaving you to get home and start planning.

Upon walking through your front door, you looked around your flat. Articles of clothing were strung around everywhere. It had been some time since you actually spent time at your own place. Your lifestyle was pretty much dependent on hotels and room service.

After spending some time cleaning, you noticed you'd gotten a text from Carlos. He asked if he and Charles were good to show up in two weeks' time. You replied with a simple ‘yeah’. You plopped yourself down on your leather sofa and started into the ceiling. You had a weird feeling in your chest. You couldn't quite put words on it. Texting and talking to Carlos made your heart pound faster. You'd known him for a while, and had felt things for him before, but never had you ever felt like your heart was being squeezed like a freshly pressed orange. You let your mind wander, and couldn't help but wonder if you had some repressed feelings for him. Carlos? No way. He's just a friend… Right? No matter how much you tried to rationalize your feelings, they didn't make sense. The more you thought about it, the faster your heart danced and generated butterflies swarming around in your stomach. You knew he'd been on your mind before, but never did those thoughts come on as strong as they were now. You'd always been able to make yourself busy, but now you couldn't. You were left to soak in it.

You decided to go out with one of your closest friends, Mia. There was nothing some drinking and dancing couldn't fix. Forgetting about the two drivers was all you needed for the night, even if it meant you'd puke your guts out the next morning.

“Are you kidding? A little crush? That's nothing. I don't even get why you're so worked up about that,” chuckled Mia and took a sip of her margarita.

“Fuck off, Mia, you've slept with half of Brighton at this point,” you rolled your eyes. She sighed and ordered you another drink.

“You should hook up with someone. We should definitely find you a good fuck.” She pulled out her phone to check what time it was, realizing the night was more than young. You had plenty of time to find the perfect guy to take home.

“I'm not you, I think I'll pass.” You could only imagine how awkward the sex would be. Being drunk would only make it harder to keep from screaming someone else's—

“Shut up. Two o'clock. Those two brunettes with those expensive watches. Ow, that's a steal for sure.” You didn't even bother looking their way. You chugged the rest of your drink and asked for another. The bartender was having a hard time deciding whether or not you were too wasted, but ultimately just gave you another round.

“Okay fine, you don't have to sleep with them… But you have to see them. They're everything I look for in a guy. Seriously.” You picked up your heavy head and turned in the direction she mentioned. What… The… Fuck? You were too far gone. Way too drunk, right? You were hallucinating. You saw the two people you were trying to keep out of your mind. They were standing in a corner, both holding a champagne flute.

“I swear I've had way too much to drink, Mia.” You shook your head and groaned, leaning into her neck.

“Hey, don't slouch. I'll just take you home, ‘kay? Jesus, and your dress. Tell me why you wore a long sleeve, please? You're sweating like a 30P hooker.” She helped you down from the barstool and the two of you started making your way to the exit.

Until you were stopped by none other than Carlos and Charles. Ugh. Your brain was mush and you didn't have the energy to think straight either.

“Woah, Horner. Is that you? What a coincidence,” Said Carlos.

“Not really. This bar is kind of exclusive— Um… You know her?” Mia held you tightly behind her.

“Oh, yeah we do. Do you need us to help?” Mia glanced at your wiped-out face and tried to ignore her inner monologue telling her to go back in and find someone to rock her world.

“Ummm… I'll tell you her address and door code, could you guys get her home safe?” She felt incredibly gutted, handing you over to the two handsome strangers. However, since they knew your last name— she figured they really did know you.

“Sure, we can do that. Have a great night,” Charles smiled and helped get you slumped over his shoulder instead of Mia’s. Your friend fixed her ponytail and kissed your forehead before heading back to the bar.

There you were. Left with the two Ferrari drivers, having to pull over a cab. You were far too wasted to realize what was going on, but you noticed the two men sitting on either side of you. Your heart felt fuzzy all over again, knowing Carlos was right next to you. It was the same feeling you'd desperately tried to escape a couple of hours ago.

“Why me… Why does the world hate me like this,” you slurred some of the words together, but you were coherent enough to understand.

“You should probably wait until we're home to go on a rant…” Charles suggested. You groaned and let your head fall onto his lap. You quickly dozed off from there…

What you didn't know was that Charles and Carlos had been feuding for a while. Even costing some wins in their races. They'd both been completely and irreversibly head over heels for you. They still were. It wasn't like their friendship was lost, but there was a slight tension whenever they were alone.

You'd been completely oblivious to it, but it started after you began attending more of their races. Carlos had made it a habit to stalk your Instagram page and Charles kept himself updated as well. The two of them tried to do whatever they could to impress you, but seeing as you never picked up on the cues; their attempts at flattery died down. You were always too consumed with work and family issues to ever notice how they were chasing you for your attention. It only got worse after the two of them realized they both liked you. It didn't matter though, because you still saw everything as friendly gestures. You'd never been in a real relationship. The only sort of intimacy you'd experienced was from overly flirtatious men who tried to get in your pants at parties or when you went drinking with friends.

After a few months went by of aimlessly trying to win you over, Carlos tried to get over you. He did whatever he could to ignore your texts and phone calls. Charles never seemed to back down though. He kept making himself look better than Carlos. It was around the same time you started feeling funny whenever you were around the Spaniard. You buried the feeling, convincing yourself that it was nothing. It was easy. You scheduled meetings and interviews on weekends you didn't race and occupied yourself with training during the week.

Being a child of divorce had always been hard on you. You were a commitment-phobe. Your view on romance was skewed and you could only blame your father. You held a special place in your heart for him, but the way he treated your mother after she'd given birth to your sister was unforgivable. Your mother had been such a big part of his life, and he was able to cast her aside for a new woman. That's why casual hookups were your jam. No commitments and no broken hearts. It was a win-win.

Carlos knew about your problems. You'd talked about it briefly, but he listened to every little detail you shared. He knew how hard it had hit you. That was another reason he used to justify ignoring you. Back then, you only took it as him being busy, which made him feel less guilty for doing it, though he still felt like an asshole.

“Mate, I think we should let her decide for herself. We shouldn't keep fighting like this. I mean how did we go from giving each other a helping hand on the grid— to threatening each other?” Charles whispered somewhat aggressively.

“I don't know, Charles. You're the one who suggested we fly out here immediately after we finished our race. Why wouldn't I fight for her?” Carlos shot back.

“Maybe because there's a chance she likes me and not you?” The whispering started getting louder, but you were out cold. They didn't really have anything to worry about.

“Let's just wait for her to wake up, okay? I don't want to argue with you right now. We'll wake her.” Carlos was definitely the more civil of the two, but he did have an aggressive edge when he needed to.

The morning came too soon, and you woke up with no memory of the night before. Your head felt like it was being crushed by a tank. You generally felt like you'd just been hit by a freight train. The sun made matters worse, blinding you and increasing the headache you already felt enough of. You decided to drag yourself to your kitchen to make yourself a hangover cure. It consisted of two raw eggs. You hated everything about it, but it had worked wonders in the past.

“Good morning.” You almost choked on your eggs as a voice came from behind you. Upon turning around, you were met with the gentle face of Carlos. He looked as if he had just got out of bed as well.

“Shit, don't scare me like that. What are you doing here? What's going on? How are you even here right now?” You felt like your line of questioning was leaning on the calmer side, but it was to keep the contents of your stomach down.

“We came here yesterday, actually. We were at the same bar as you. You were really drunk, so we took you home. Your friend gave us the address.” You couldn't help but groan. This caused Charles to make an appearance as well.

“Great…” you managed to hear Carlos mumble.

“Morning Horner,” Charles added a wink to his greeting. Which, in their own little world, meant that he'd one-upped Carlos.

“I'm sorry, I really can't make sense of this right now… Could you guys give me some time to process what's going on?” You sighed and went to your bedroom which connected to your closet. You pulled out whatever you could find and threw it on— returning to the kitchen where the two Ferrari drivers were sitting by the island.

“Okay, explain.” You sat across from them.

“I'm sure Charles would like to explain,” Carlos took a jab at the Monégasque.

“Well, we figured we'd just fly in directly after the race… So we did,” Charles started.

“I think we should cut to the chase. Both of us are… Um… Interested in you.” You liked the straightforward answer but weren't quite sure what Carlos meant by it.

“Ever since I met you, mon chéri, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Carlos apparently feels the same way. I just… I really like you.” It took a few seconds to sink in before you were able to give a proper response.

“Wait… What? You…” You pointed at Charles,

“—And you?! both?!” You finished off by pointing at Carlos and then at both.

“Charles… Can you leave me and Carlos for a moment?” You asked and were immediately met with a look of shock from Charles. His face melted into something more melancholic shortly after, but he went off to another room.

There you were. There Carlos was. His morning hair and sweet face. Your nausea was replaced by a tingling feeling. You felt it travel down your spine and to all your nerve endings. The amount of blood pumping through your veins was alarming. You could feel it in your throat. Was the room getting hotter?

“So… Charles said you have feelings for me,” you started. Your eyes met his, as he tried to think of what to say. He couldn't be sure whether or not you felt the same way, but a strike of confidence was added when you asked Charles to leave.

“I do. It has been a long time since I felt this way about anyone. You know the day I first saw you? I couldn't believe it when I saw your eyes after you got the helmet off. It looked like my whole life was reflected in them. You're beautiful. More than that. I can't even find the right words. I know Charles is more charming and open—” You cut him off. You couldn't help it. You had to.

“I love Charles. I love him, but not in the way I think he wants me to. He's sweet and you're right; he's charming, but you're you. As much as it pains me to hurt him, his feelings for me are one-sided, Carlos. I've liked you for a while now. I was just too blinded by work and not wanting to commit. I feel like an idiot around you…” Finally getting those words off your chest put you at ease. Even more so was the fact that Carlos shared the feelings.

“I would love to take you out sometime… If you know any good spots here.”

“Maybe we should settle things with Charles first, but I would love to.” You chuckled and pulled his face in for a kiss on the cheek.

“Can I kiss you? Like actually kiss—” You were starting to enjoy cutting him off, and the perfect way to do it this time was exactly what he wanted; a sweet kiss.

“Wow, I'm lucky.” He whispered.

“That you are,” you smiled and pulled him in for another, knowing you'd have to break the news to Charles somehow.

(Maybe to be continued...)

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

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idyllcy · 28 days

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from one admirer to another : mid-autumn festival?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as scrambled eggs // leon as christmas

Christmas. You whore.

If you really want to keep your identity a secret, I suggest you zip that mouth of yours and stop telling me exactly what my best friend told me first thing when she came back. I can't put two and two together because all she told me was it was the guy I made out with on New Year's and my DUMBASS FORGOT WHO HE IS.

You're using the lingo right (as always) I'm probably around your age too, so don't worry too much about it.

Ugh, Ada supermodel... I should be happy but that only ever means weird male fans and girl fans that would dox me if I ever was down to earth about Ada as a person. I love her, but I also like the little circle of fans local to us right now. Since she's supermodel status now, she's probably going to be in Raccoon less and less. You know how the modeling life is.

Please don't stalk ANYONE. You don't need to stalk me down. If you know who I am, then surely you'll meet me eventually. Considering your language, we've probably already met before. Considering also the fact that you told me not to run off when you asked me for your number... I have a general idea of who you are as well. I still like writing letters to you, so I'd appreciate it if you just pursued me outside of the letters if you're really that desperate. I find dating face-to-face much better than through letters anyway. Though, you are going to have to be fairly obvious. All of my friends claim I'm dumb in the head when it comes to my own romantic life. I only ever notice people dating when it's others.

I don't appreciate that threat of yours. I'm sure I'll see you eventually, but probably not anytime soon. I don't even have shoots until later in the month, so even if you do see me, it'll be after you send me a letter back.

Favorite flower? Columbines, bellflowers, anemones, you know, the usual. Thinking about getting me flowers? I care much more for meaning than whether or not they're my favorite flowers. Though, if you were to ship flowers to my apartment, my roommate would probably hunt you down with her rifle, so I suggest not doing that.

I forgot a gift last time, but I appreciate the pressed four-leaf clover you went out and hunted nonetheless. I'm mailing you two mooncakes my roommate and I made (moreso me, but shh). Hope you like it. It doesn't have egg yolk in it. It's one lotus seed paste filling and one red bean. Lmk if you like it, since there's a high chance I'll have some leftover anyway.

God, this letter's long I'm in your walls :) scrambled eggs

"Welcome back." You look up at Ada from the couch, and she sighs.

"I hate this new life."

"No you don't."

"No I don't." She mumbles. "I love it."

"Is your manager considering having you move to a big city?"

"New York." Ada mumbles. "Most of my shoots are in the big city now, and they're arguing about how I can't keep living in Raccoon City. What happens if I leave you?"

"I leave the agency." You hum. "That easy."

"Easier said than done."

"My contract expires in a bit." You hand her the plate of mooncakes on the side table, and she sighs, biting into one. "I can choose to not renew my contract."

"It expires at the end of the year."

"They've started discussions with me already. I don't really want to keep modeling. The diet control and freakiness about how much I weigh isn't good for me. You know that too."

"You'll probably have to stop writing to your penpal then."

"They know who I am now anyway, so it doesn't matter. They'll probably find me in the next three months."

"You have that kind of confidence?"

"Yes. Ada. My penpal will chase me, and you can go chase your dreams. You deserve to." You toss your laptop to the side, wrapping your arms around her neck. "I'm happy I got to be in your life for so long. I'll only continue to stay, so have peace and keep going."

She wraps her arms around you, light frown on her face as she sighs. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too. Also, the last chapter of my fic comes out today anyway, so it seems like a good time for you to start flying."

Ada rolls her eyes, pulling back to bonk your head.

"Boo."

"Boo you too." You roll your eyes. "You couldn't have racked up so many followers so quickly had it not been for my amazing writing skills, obviously."

"You're insane."

"And you're friends with me."

She only scoffs.

prev letter : masterlist : next post

#☾.oata #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #are you ready for reader's stories afterwards to finally start featuring Leon? Me too.

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besideprimroseshade · 2 months

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ᴳᵒᵈ ⁱˢʰ ᵀʷˢᵗ ˣ ⁱᵐᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ CH: 2

CH: 1

"I'm getting excited on the contrary"

TW: Suggestive comments

Y/N's current alias:

Ell Clocke

Alias No. 161

Date: 1300

"Why would you pick that book out of all? I mean, it's nothing more than some fanatic's fantasy. Nothing worth contemplating about". He sighs and you shoot back Will you shut up for a few minutes? I'm trying to read, you know, do something actually productive. Instead of listening to whatever crap that comes outta your mouth. Idle chatter should I say?" He huffs "Ugh! This is why you dropped out of school, my professors would be sorely disappointed in such a lackluster person like yourself". You remember what page you're on and set your book to the side "Good thing I don't suck up to professors then, unlike someone here. People actually enjoy my presence, dunno if you've noticed, but everyone here would kill you if it were legal". He blanches and mutters something "Y-you're wrong, such a notion is inconceivable. The people adore me, a brain such as mine surely deserves respect!" you shrug "Tell that to the townspeople, everyone here fucking hates you, and the fact that you with your great brain can't see that your holier-than-thou attitude is the reason why you don't have anyone who would actually care if you died is something..."

"Wait... are you revealing to me that you wouldn't care if I died?" he freezes, a sort of realization washing over him.

"Wow, the great mind finally realized. What did you expect? Me to cry when you die? The guy who said that I'll be nothing 'cause I got B's and not A+'s? The guy who every day told me that my dreams weren't anything, that mom and dad just had me to compare my dullness to your brightness? You should've been a comedian instead of a scholar, 'cause that's too fucking funny". Your words cut like the sharpest of ice, frigid and unforgiving.

"I... I was joking! Of course you couldn't take a joke, you're too sensitive..." comes the attempt to shake away the guilt.

"At least I can feel things…” you quip back. He takes a furious sip of his tea and coughs it out “W-what curious concoction is this? This is surely not my tea!”. Your eyes move to the snow white Persian cat in the corner of the parlor, lazing on her pillow. Cotton, your mother’s most prized pet, a spoiled cat given as a gift from your father. “Oh, Cotton peed in the cup, it must’ve slipped my mind to inform you…”

The memory fades as you fade back to your tea, the faces swirling like the milk in the tea. “That damned dipshit” you utter before grabbing a broom and flinging open your front door. Your porch was decently decorated, with starch white paint on the walls and the beams supporting up the thing. Thankfully the paint did not contain lead, or maybe it did, that might’ve explained why the townspeople avoided you like you were crazy. A few plants in pots stood in neat rows by the front window, delicate little flowers grown from a variety of seeds. But now was not the time to admire your handiwork. Angrily sweeping your front porch and ignoring the clouds of dust that plague your vision. Your brother never did get his dream… You learned that for all of his labor, he was only remembered as a pretentious wannabe who tried so hard to make it big in the world of knowledge that he ended up only becoming famous for his attempts. A local legend of your town. After centuries of him being dead, you were still petty. Continuing your furious sweep you barely notice the child staring at you from behind one of the poles. Only stopping your sweep to take a few breaths, “What do you want kid?” You turn to meet their gaze. A tiny lanky thing, who probably didn’t even reach your hip, with striking eyes the same shade as the blazing garnet ring your least favorite aunt always showed off. Thick dark hair that reminded you of ink, silky and black, cut short above their shoulders. Their outfit prim, with a neat white shirt dark brown pants. Their ears confirmed that they were a fairy, small and pointed. “You appear to be angered with something” they observe with a voice so quiet it seemed hardly a whisper. They stand there, hiding, unsure of whether to approach the curiously angry stranger, or run off back into the forest. “Just blowing off some steam” you reassure them before leaning your broom against the wall. “I’m not gonna hurt you, ‘sides, you’d probably be more of a threat to me than vice versa” you admit, watching as their grip on the pole lightens, a few creaks from the wood reverberating off the porch’s roof. “So uh… what brings you to my place? Pure curiosity? Or did I anger a fae?” You continue, waiting for any sort of reaction. “I hast stumbled upon your abode by chance, tis an interesting place. Any sane human would place their home as far as possible from a fairy. But your abode is right in the middle of our territory. I can feel the magic everywhere” they respond at last.

“I’m not like most humans…” you say, half joking half seriously. “I can feel that, there is something heavy around you. Many feelings are wound up inside you, like a boiling pot of stew, ready to bubble over and burn at any second” comes their swift response. “Thanks for the reading… but I don’t have anything to give ya’ unless you’re hungry for some leftover bread and cheese from this mornings meal” you admit. They shake their head, “No thank you, my lady said to never trust strangers. There is no shortage of people willing to take advantage of you”. You nod slowly “Your lady is right, tis better to be safe then found dead in a ditch I suppose”. “Shall I call you something?” “Fae never give out their names” “That’s right, you’ve got good instincts too” “Are you going to give me your name?” “Nah”

That was the beginning of your encounters with that little faerie. He never did give you his name, but simply told you that it was similar to a flower. You ended up telling him your name though, so that he would stop calling you the ‘abnormal human’. He wasn’t wrong though, normal humans weren’t immortal. Normal humans didn’t challenge gods in hopes of death. Normal humans didn’t use their fathers invitation to a school and assumed his identity. You learned more about your little visitor. He was a servant of nocturnal fae’s princess. A little bat fae at the very bottom of the fae hierarchy, raised in luxury. Trained to serve his lady’s every whim. What a dreary existence… you thought.

In exchange for tidbits about his life you gave him some from yours. How you challenged a god and got immortality in return. “You are an idiot” he thought aloud as he took a spoon from one of your cabinets and grabbed a dish labeled for him. “What is this?” He inquired suspiciously “A treat, leftovers from a friend’s party” you reply. The little fae sniffed it curiously before digging in. “Pear…” he said at last before finishing the dessert in a few seconds. “Someone’s hungry” you grab a few cherries from a basket full of farmer’s market goods. "That is none of your concern" he comments. "Damn, you're quick to anger" you slightly tease.

That was the last time you saw him that small, he never did grow much taller. But there was something different about him, not just that he was visibly different. But he seemed different, bore a different air about him, something sickening, but you could never put a finger on it. It was unsettling, the curious gleam in his scarlet eyes faded away in favor of a hateful sheen. His slit pupils constantly in a state of fury. How he shook off your concern with a glare, was this how your parents felt with you? His hair was now welcome to dyed streaks of red, a unique choice for sure.

You dabbed one of his more severe wounds with a cotton ball. "Humans can never keep their hands to themselves" you mutter as you rub a salve on his injured arm. Tone akin to a chiding parent's as you clean and bandage his arm. "Tut tut, I told you not to play with those mean boys and their toys", the boys in question being men and the toys being weapons. "You're not my parent dumbass" to which you shake your head teasingly "I know, but seeing you grow up to be such a strong fighter has certainly had some sort of parental affect on me". He side-eyes you "That's so fucking sweet it's annoying...". Playfully wacking the top of his head you smile "Language little one..."

"Fuck you" he mutters irritated.

"No one will sadly..." you respond with a sigh.

"I hate you"

"Such is the fate of every parent, I suppose. Whatever happened to that sweet little faerie I encountered? Now there's just this crass thing in his place"

•✧• Centuries later •✧•

Current Alias

Hanakoto Y/N

Orientation went smoothly, you personally didn't care which dorm you were placed in, so long as you'd be left alone for the most part. You rolled your shoulders back as you stepped up to meet the gaze of the Dark Mirror. For some reason the Ceremonial Robes felt heavier upon your arms. As if they were weighing you down... pulling you away from your fate. Feeling the hundreds of eyes staring at you with a variety of emotions. The weight of their gaze not helping.

You stared at the Mirror as it boomed the familiar words to you that it had to many students before you.

"The shape of thy soul is..."

"Tenacious... therefore you are fit for Pomefiore"

As you walk down the steps to the crowd of Pomefiore students, you hear a scoff. Turning to face the student you're face to face with some pretty blonde student with tacky violet ends and amethysts for eyes. "Is there a problem?" you scoff back. He glares at you before turning back to see what new students would be joining him. Grumbling about "potatoes". You take an empty spot between a couple of fellow first years. "The fuck is his problem?" you mutter glaring daggers at the back of his head.

Vil Schoenheit could feel holes being bored into the back of his head, probably from that insolent potato that he just bothered to stare at. What was their problem?

The dinner at your new dorm was luxurious, it felt like the dinners that fae had described to you, while the Queen of Briarland was entertaining nobles. There were plates piled high with delicacies, food that you had only read about, it was absolutely delicious, but that damned student from earlier kept shooting you glares. As if everything you did earned his ire. Like he was personally offended by your existence... You were from a family of farmers but damn, his attitude towards you was worse than those falsely compassionately officals that pretended to take pity on the plight of farmers. The same people that made it possible for them to stuff their faces with rich sauces and soups, those addicting desserts and prized drinks.

Not to mention that blonde with the bob who sat next to him kept smiling and complimenting him, lathering on the praise for him until it creeped you out. You could've mistaken him for your brother, always showering famous scholars that he encountered with so much praise you thought that he was in love with them. Those crusty old men who sat pondering alongside other crusty men who agreed with their every word. This guy was more of a devout worshipper than fellow student. What made him so good that someone would treat him like a god, or perhaps, what made him so rich? So worthy of being praised, so worthy of being devoted to? How curious...

You were currently writing down your record of the first week of school, the classes, the teachers, the many students from all walks of life. Finishing each sentence with a flourish. You set your journal down. You learned that the blonde with violet eyes was some model named Vil Schoenheit. And the blonde with the bob was Rook Hunt. Two insignificant people that you'd probably forget in a couple of centuries... or well, that's what you assumed at first...

Resting your back against the wall you inhale quietly, your mind taking you back to the memories of a bygone era, a bygone you. "Whatever became of that faerie?" you mutter standing up from your spot. Stretching your arms you toss the journal into your bag. You hadn't heard much about him after he left, you never learned his name after all, it was hard to look for someone when you didn't know a basic fact about them. Did he die in the war? Did he have a family? Those questions would continue to go unanswered most likely. You missed him, that nocturnal fae that you watched grow up, the fae brought up by royalty, a mere peasant by hierarchy's standards. But status didn't matter to you, and he appreciated that.

That was then however, this is now. Seeing the students rush to classes, take their time chatting with friends, and teachers exchanging lesson plans. The similar sights of your school back when you were mortal. You sat by yourself at lunch time, occupying yourself by listening in on the busy chitter. Sitting silently as you picked at the your meal for today, pondering at the pangs in your chest that struck as you reminisced about a time no longer. Idly poking at the lukewarm pile of mashed potatoes with your fork, taking small bites of the tender steak. Too caught up in your memories to savor the flavors of the meat.

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Author's Thoughts

Scarlet-eyed fae - 'A good kid. Deserved better in life'

Vil Schoenheit - 'Nothing worth mentioning, dunno why he's famous'

Rook Hunt - 'desperate, fucking desperate'

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

A/N: thank you guys for being so patient!! have a wonderful day/afternoon/night :>

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #god-ish #robbedofeggsaladwriting #my fic writing #my writing

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banapsha · 6 months

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The Art of Plot Twists: A God-Tier Guide

Hey there, sunshine(s) and moonlight(s)! Do you want to rock your readers' worlds with mind-boggling plot twists? Well, lucky for you, I recently met a mind reader in my basement and they told me you want to know this. Buckle up, because we're about to begin a journey into the abyss. Kidding! We are going to the Kingdom of Twistano-Turnano; narratives that'll leave jaws on the floor and minds on some walls. Strap in, grab your favorite snacks and let's get this party started. (I believe that one was too much, right? Coz’ who’s got time for any parties? Or am I the only one missing out?)

What Makes a Good Plot Twist?

Let's kick things off with the basics. A plot twist isn't just about throwing in a random curveball– oh no, it's about shaking up the very fabric of your story. A meaningful plot twist should be a seismic shift in the audience's perception, whether it's through an unexpected event, a shocking revelation, or a philosophical awakening. We're talking external, internal, and philosophical shifts that make the audiences question everything they thought they knew. It's about changing your audience's reality.

The Three Types of Shifts: External, Internal, and Philosophical

The external shift– think unexpected deaths, hidden treasures, and jaw-dropping identity reveals. These twists are all about rearranging plot elements in ways that leave readers gasping for air.

The internal shift– this one's all about messing with your audience's emotions. One minute they're feeling all warm and fuzzy, and the next, BAM! You hit 'em with an event that leaves them shaken to the core. Just make sure to keep things clear, or you'll have a bunch of confused readers scratching their heads.

The philosophical shift– the granddaddy of all plot twists. This one's all about making your audience question their beliefs and perceptions. You take 'em from thinking they've got it all figured out to realize that maybe, just maybe, they've been wrong all along.

To really knock your readers' socks off, you gotta apply all three shifts. That's right, no half-measures here. Using just one or missing one entirely is just going to confuse the shit out of your audiences. Trust me, you don't wanna do that.

What makes a plot twist good?

Shock Value: First things first, a good plot twist needs to pack a punch. We're talking about leaving your readers reeling, jaws on the floor, and minds blown. If it doesn't make 'em gasp, it ain't worth it. The key is to not settle for the first twist that comes to mind. Dig deep, get creative, and find a way to really knock your readers' socks off.

Believability: Sure, we love a good surprise, but it's gotta make sense, ya know? You can't just say that the human we have been following around is a dog disguised as a pizza! Nope, we ain't gone believe that boy. Keep it real. Actually, the real(er) the better. Foreshadowing is your best friend. Drop hints, plant seeds, and lay the groundwork for your twist early on. That way, when it finally hits, it'll feel like a natural progression of the story. (Maybe show me a barking human to make me go along with the pizza dog twist.)

Impact on Characters AND Plot: A truly great plot twist doesn't just shake things up for the sake of it. It needs to have real consequences, affecting not only the characters but the entire storyline. Don't just focus on the shock factor – think about how your twist will affect your characters and your plot. Will it send them spiraling into chaos? Will it force them to confront their deepest fears? Make it count.

Variety in Tropes: Cliched tropes are good but if you can manage to twist it up, that's even better. Try to give us something we've never seen before. Surprise us, delight us, and keep us guessing 'til the very end. But don't be afraid to break the mold. Sure, some tropes are tried and true, but the best twists are the ones that defy expectations. Surprise your readers, challenge their assumptions, and leave 'em begging for more.

Timing: Timing is literally everything. You need to build up to the right moment for that twist like a mastermind supervillain. Keep your readers on their toes. Drop breadcrumbs along the way, build up the tension, ratchet up the suspense, and then hit 'em with that (do-do do-do) twist right when they least expect it. You gotta know exactly when to drop that grenade. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait.

Plot Twist Techniques:

Breadcrumbs: The classic "how did I not see this coming" twist. Make 'em scratch their heads and wonder, "How did I miss that?" Lay the groundwork for your twist by dropping subtle hints and clues throughout your story. It's all about planting those breadcrumbs and watching your readers play Sherlock Holmes.

Misdirection: The good ol' red herring. Lead your readers down one path, only to yank the rug out from under them at the last minute. Get 'em emotionally invested in a particular outcome, then flip the script and watch 'em squirm. Mix this with the breadcrumbs and you have a beautiful pie.

The False Win: Picture this – your characters are riding high, victory is in sight, and then BAM! You hit 'em with the ultimate plot twist: it's not over yet. Give 'em a false sense of comfort, then snatch it away like a cruel twist of fate.

The Unprovoked: Ever seen a plot twist that leaves you scratching your head and wondering, "Where did that come from?" That's the unprovoked twist. It happens out of nowhere, catching everyone off guard and leaving 'em reeling. It's unexpected, it's unpredictable, and it's oh-so deliciously twisty.

Types of Twists: The classics

Identity Reveal: Remember the "I am your father" moment? Yes. There's nothing quite like the shock of discovering that a character's true identity isn't what it seems. Whether it's a long-lost twin or a secret agent in disguise, identity reveals never fail to leave readers gasping for air. Mix it up to make it newer and you have an even tastier sandwich.

Motive Reveal: Ever wondered why that one seemingly innocent character was acting so shady? Well, it's time for a motive reveal – the moment when all becomes clear and the true intentions behind a character's actions are laid bare. It's like peeling back layers of an onion, only way more dramatic. (Plot twist: This entire post has been written so you will buy my book, The Sinner and The Scarred from Amazon! It is available in both Paperback and Ebook formats but if you have Kindle Unlimited you can read it for FREE!)

Background Reveal: Behind every great character is a great backstory. Well, these backstories can also be great plot twists. (What? The hero's love interest is the villain's child. WHAT? The hero's love interest is the villain! WHAT? THE HERO IS DATING BOTH THE VILLAIN AND THEIR CHILD!!) From dark secrets to hidden traumas, background reveals add depth and complexity to your story.

Character Deaths: Sometimes, the only way to shake things up is by "killing your darlings." Actually, whether it's a beloved hero sacrificing themselves for the greater good or a villain meeting their untimely demise, character deaths are guaranteed to leave readers in shock and awe. Especially when done right. (Set the mood for a fun wedding. Then kill someone at the wedding. Kill the bride. Or the groom. Kill 'em both. Have them kill each other!)

Destruction of Setting or Important Elements: Say goodbye to the status quo, because we're about to shake things up with a little destruction. Whether it's a beloved setting crumbling to the ground or a crucial element of the story being obliterated, destruction twists add a sense of urgency and chaos to your narrative. (Burn your hero's house down. Extra points if their family was still inside. Minus points if their dog was in there, though.)

Timeline Shift: A timeline shift can turn your story on its head, sending characters hurtling through time and space or revealing shocking truths about the past, present, and future. (It will be a weird way to find out you’re adopted, you know?)

Surprising Events in General: Sometimes, you just gotta throw caution to the wind and hit your readers with something completely unexpected. From random acts of kindness to bizarre coincidences, surprising events add an element of unpredictability to your story that'll keep readers guessing until the very end.

Special Ability Reveal: The moment when a character discovers they've got powers beyond their wildest dreams, things start getting out of hand. Whether it's flying, telekinesis, or the ability to talk to animals, special ability reveals add a touch of magic and wonder to your story.

Do remember when it comes to plot twists, the sky's the limit. But placement is key. Whether it's smack dab in the middle of your story or right at the climax, the timing of your twist can make or break its impact.

Now, let's touch on what NOT to do. Forced twists? No, thank you. Unbelievable plot developments? Hard pass. And let's not even get started on the dreaded plot armor– nothing kills the vibe faster than a last-minute rescue by bad writing. (Leave a comment if you’d like to learn more about what NOT to do!)

In conclusion, mastering the art of plot twists is no easy feat. It takes careful planning (AKA outlining of the story), strategic execution, and a whole lot of creativity. So go forth, soldiers, and twist those plots until they're unrecognizable. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility – don't abuse those twists, and always respect your readers' intelligence.

Now, go forth and twist to your heart's content. Happy writing! 🌀✨

#creative writing #writers #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #authors of tumblr #author #bookblr #f

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