#songs with no heart or deeper meaning or passion

[jamminvroomvroom]

something in the orange.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando can’t always have what he wants. and neither can you.

i’m so back! missed u xoxo i kinda hate this with a passion but i had to force myself to write something bc i was getting the writers jitters lmao. pls tell me what you think and what you want next! hugs

inspired by: something in the orange by zach bryan (ouch)

songs to set the mood: call out my name by the weeknd, all of evermore actually, leave the door open by the silk sonic

warnings: 18+!! minors, BEGONE!! smut, angst, wee bits of fluff, language, alcohol mentions, inappropriate workplace relationship (reader is an engineer @ mcl), slight age gap (r is older), mutual pining, mutual denial (kinda), unprotected sex (L bozo)

3.2k words

the first time it happens doesn’t really count.

you’re drunk and lando’s worse. tensions boil over at some after party, neither of you can bare it, and he’s shoving his key card into the slot of his door while he sloppily kisses your neck. you cannot take

any responsibility for your actions that night and disregard it as a write off.

explaining away the morning after, when you fuck him again, sober and begging, is a different story.

oh, well.

it happens again. and again, and again, and again.

different cities set the mood and the danger turns you on. you trade your mclaren administrated work shirt for lingerie, and your inhibitions for good sex.

he’s younger, just a couple of years between you, but he doesn’t show it. he makes you forget it, every single time he rearranges your spread limbs on a mattress. he makes you forget his age, and the fact that careers will be over as soon as another soul finds out what you get up to when the chequered flag falls.

lando makes it easy. a flick of the wrist and a curl of the tongue makes you sob, and he smirks into the crease of your thighs every time. and when it’s over, and you’re both spent under linen sheets, you can’t even regret it. not when he makes you laugh until you cry and keeps you warm as you drift off to sleep on the rare occasions that you let yourself stay.

it can’t continue. it can’t, you tell him and yourself. every morning after is punctuated with promises that this is the end. and every time, you manage without each other until the next race weekend, when he looks at you in that knowing way that makes your thighs clench.

-

lando can’t think straight.

he never can when he slides between your thighs. it feels like home.

you’re somewhere in the middle east, he can’t actually remember where right now, not when he pushes deeper and you clamp down around his cock, so hard that he chokes out a shaky breath.

“how do you feel even better every time?” lando groans, grinding into you nice and slow.

you slur out a moan in response, tipping your head back even further as you do. it gives him the perfect opportunity to burrow into your neck, kiss over your collarbone, rock into you harder.

everything is warm, slick. this whole situation, it’s a well oiled machine now. lando sends a text and you turn up five minutes later. he ushers you into the room and then, clothes leave a trail from the door to the foot of the bed. what was once a place holder, a way to get some after a shitty race, had become something to look forward to, something that made his heart race. the anticipation, the danger of you made him weaker than he ever had been.

at first, he hated the hold you had on him. it didn’t mean that he could end this, though, not when he couldn’t help but stare at you in the garage. not when he was transfixed by the glimpse he’d get of your collarbone under your work blouse, or the stray hairs that fell over your face when you were concentrating on the data screens.

“lando, i need- i need…” you gasp, trailing off as you arch even further into his sweat glistening body.

lando smirks, sliding a hand down your

body, pinching your nipple on the way. he already knows what you need. he finds your clit, teasing over it a couple of times.

you lock eyes, warning him to give you what you want. he just grins, licks his lips and continues faint glides over the bud. it sends shockwaves over your body, and you convulse underneath him. you writhe, and writhe, and whimper and keen as your orgasm washes over you. his eyes snap shut, barrelling into you as the pleasure hits.

then, there’s silence.

he lays on top of you while you both return to planet earth, no sound but pants of breath and a soft hum from you when he finally pulls out. you smile softly when you rise from the bed, swinging your shaky legs over the side to stand.

“you staying?” lando breathes. he’s laying on his front, arms flexed as they cross beneath his head.

“not tonight, lando.” you tilt your head apologetically, voice soft and sweet. he frowns. you ignore it, and search for you underwear.

“come on, stay.” he sounds desperate to his own ears, cringing at the way the words come across, but your filter it out. you’ve become an expert at navigating - and more often than not, ignoring - the emotional strings that he tugs on. the ones that attach to your cold, cold heart.

“can’t. you’re gonna have the team here bright and early. ‘m not risking jon seeing me here when he comes to wake you up.” you explain, jumping into your jeans as you tug them up your legs.

“he won’t care.” lando argues, childlike in his negotiating.

“i care.” you scold. you hear the soft thud of his head hitting the pillows. you know you’ve won this round.

lando’s quiet for a while after that, letting you dress yourself. as you’re searching for the bag that you can’t remember if you brought or not, he springs from the bed, making a beeline for the door. you think he’s being gentlemanly, but quickly realise you’re being foolish. the fucker is blocking your exit.

“lando.” you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms, unimpressed.

“i know, i know, i’m gonna let you go. i just…” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, pondering his next words.

“you just…” you usher him along.

“i’ll let you go if you promise to have dinner with me over the summer.” he smirks.

“are you… have you lost the plot?” your eyes almost bulge out of your head.

he tried this, sometimes, tried to get you to go on a date, or get you to do something alone that didn’t involve engineering or a surface that you could fuck on. you’d naively thought he was past this.

“can we just try?” he gives you a look somewhere between i want you so bad and the infamous lando norris puppy dog eyes. lava heats your cheeks and your belly, and the butterflies come out of hibernation. you couldn’t deny, you wanted to try. but, at what cost?

“text me.” you murmur, gesturing for him to move.

“so, that’s a yes?” lando questions.

“text me, and i’ll think about it.”

he decides that he’s gotten the best possible answer out of you, and finally let’s you make your great escape.

you almost collapse on jelly-like knees the second the door shuts behind you. standing your ground with him was getting too difficult, too tiresome. the boy was hard fucking work, and he always got what he wanted.

you’d often daydreamed about him taking you out, getting dressed up nice to sip wine and eat too expensive food, and eventually getting undressed. you realised, however, that those kinds of thoughts were to be banished, after you got caught up in fantasies during a race and almost had the pit crew put mediums on during a bout of rain.

wanting him was dangerous. it could be career ending, reputation destroying, heartbreaking.

one date wouldn’t hurt, just to satisfy his appetite. he’d probably get bored eventually. you wouldn’t let it get further than one meal, one last night with him, and then it would stop.

one more time. just one.

-

you’re waiting on your sofa for the text that tells you he’s arrived.

your hair is curled, messy. just how he likes it. you’re wearing something short and black. your high heel taps against the floor as you bounce your leg nervously.

he’d texted, just like you’d told him to, and then a date was set. just one dinner, one time only. you were gonna tell him that, too.

it’s a bit of fun, you think. dinner and shag. companionship. it was lonely on the road, and sometimes each other was all you could have. it made sense, you figured, that he had honed in on you. you’d done the same to him.

just when you think he’s late, there’s a knock on your door. you were an expecting an “i’m here” text, not the full package. after all, this date was just a formality, right?

you try not to shake as you make your way to the door. lando looks so good that you almost cave and say, “sure, let’s give this a go, eh?”. he’s wearing a shirt that fits painfully well, clinging nicely to a delectable frame. the buttons he’s left undone provide a gorgeous window to his collarbone and the necklaces that hang from his thick neck.

“you look beautiful.” he compliments, rakes his eyes over your body.

“don’t look so bad yourself.” you try to tease but it comes out flustered. you ignore the way his eyes light up.

“you ready?” he asks, you nod.

your heart flutters when he effortlessly takes your hand in his.

-

the restaurant is in the middle of nowhere, and you’re the only two people dining. maybe it’s because of the ‘closed’ sign that gets placed on the door when you arrive. so, he’s gone all out, you think. you’re shocked at how hard he’s tried to keep this private. maybe this isn’t the formality you think it is, maybe this isn’t his way of feeling better about meaningless sex. maybe it wasn’t as meaningless as you pretended it was.

he had you belly laughing within minutes, laying the charm on thick. wine and conversation flowed effortlessly and you were quickly regretting saying yes to this. you were in danger.

in a moment of silence, you catch his eye from across the table.

“you know, this is a one time thing, right?” you almost whisper. you almost kick yourself, why would you say that now? it doesn’t even phase him.

“that’s what you think.” he grins, devilish and stunning.

“i mean it.” you smirk.

“sure you do, honey.” he says, it sounds a lot like ‘game on’.

-

you stir, eyes slowly fluttering open. orange light washes over you, dancing in the pair of eyes you find staring back at you.

the eyes watching you sleep belong to the same person whose strong arms are wrapped around you, nice and secure.

you croak out a good morning, and he grins at how hoarse you sound. it was all his fault for making you whimper and scream, begging and crying for a release.

the date had gone really well.

“coffee?” lando offers.

“just the one, need to get home.” you bring things back to reality.

two coffees and four orgasms later, you head home.

-

the blurry pictures of you and him leaving the restaurant make you ill.

no one can quite tell it’s you, not yet anyway. twitter is ablaze.

faceless accounts call the blurry woman in the pictures the cruelest of names. you cry for hours, and then you stop for a bit, cry some more. rinse, repeat.

you pull on a jacket, scramble for your car keys. this time, you’ll mean what you say.

-

there’s a knock on the door.

when he opens it, you shuffle inside like you always do, coat hangs on the hook with a scarf to match. silence lingers until you reach the kitchen. the kettle hisses. you didn’t even know that he knew how to use one.

“this has to stop.” you say. emotionless. inside, agony sinks into every emotional cut and scrape. you don’t let him notice.

“i know.” he agrees. he’s seen the pictures, too. “okay.”

the kettle is forgotten, two mugs abandoned; he carries you to bed.

one last time.

-

two fingers loosen you up for him, drawing you steadily over the edge. he doesn’t stop there, no. he slows right down, letting you ride out your high, but only for a second. he speeds up once again, grinding his fingers into you at godspeed, and you feel your eyes dampen with tears.

your entire body glistens with sweat and your release, the overstimulation making your toes curl and your back arch. you wonder if the tears streaming down your face are just a result of the way his fingers are curling so deliciously against your walls, so good that it hurts, or if it’s because you know this will be the last time he gets his hands all over you.

“lando,” you cry, grasping at nothing. he’s got you naked in the middle of his bed, and he’s still fully clothed, kneeling between your spread thighs like a man on a mission.

his motivation is to make you stay, to make you regret the fact that once this is over, you’re choosing not to come back. his need for you, that raging desire that fuels your every encounter, it has only increased tenfold since the night of your date. but lando isn’t stupid, he knows that after those photos were published the brakes were on this… thing. this was his only chance to convince you to keep this going, but he was fighting a losing battle.

“what do you want, honey? you want me?” lando grunts, speeding up even more. you didn’t think that what he was doing was humanly possible, but the stars you saw and the way your body was practically levitating off the bed said otherwise.

“only gonna have me one last time? is that really what you want, baby?” he continues to run his mouth, crooning over you. you call out his name, begging. begging for another release, begging that you could stay here forever. with him.

and then you see white and god, and you convulse until you’re collapsing into the mattress. your vision is blurry from the tears and the haze and the unwavering emotional torment.

you grab at him, languidly pulling him in. it takes all the strength you have left to secure him, your feet shoving his jeans down his hips while your hands rip his t-shirt off. you’re keening, too sensitive and too needy. you’re agonising over his touch, you need him to sink so deeply into you, so that you can feel him when it’s over and you’re far away from what almost feels like home.

his breath shakes and his eyes gloss over when he pushes into you.

“let me stay like this, just for a minute.” he chokes out. you nod rapidly, your eyes squeezing shut. he kisses into the crook of your neck, panting and mumbling sweet, painful words over and over.

your hands run over golden planes of warmth and muscle, memorising every dip and crease of him. he slowly rolls his hips and your belly clenches, veins set alight. one of his hands scoop up up your wrist, and the motion creates a deep grind unlike anything you’ve ever felt. your wrists are pinned above your head and lando hovers over you so that he stays level, continuing that slow grind, hips hitting yours hard and slow.

he draws a low whine from the back of your throat, one that makes his hips stutter and your pussy clamp down on him as a pleasurable result. you can feel fingerprints forming around the tender skin of your wrists and you want him to dig in harder, slip into your veins and become a permanent part of you.

lando’s eyes are greyer than you’ve ever seen them, boring into your own. you don’t think you ever break eye contact, staring deep into his soul as he stretches every possible part of you. he doesn’t want this to end, you can’t pretend that you do, either.

he changes his angle slightly, long strokes replacing the short drags, but he keeps hitting deep. something possesses you to lean in, as much as you can given his hold on you, and you capture his lips in a kiss that takes him aback for a second. he melts into it, though, and then you’re chest to chest. tongues meet, and moans meld, your legs snake around him like vines.

“need you to come for me, honey. one last time, yeah? need you to feel good for me, baby.” lando mumbles into your mouth, wet and hushed. it’s overwhelming, and everything goes blank. all you are aware of is the burst of pleasure, his hold on your limp wrists, and two grey green eyes that are begging you to stay.

-

you get dressed quickly, whisper goodbye, and disappear out the door. something stops you, and you need clarity, for him more than for yourself.

you peek round the door, finding his unwavering gaze. your forehead creases, awkward anguish. the way you’re looking at him, deep and sympathetic, it makes you ache. this may well have to be the last time you look at him this intently. it stings.

“it’s better this way, you know?” you murmur.

lando nods, begrudgingly, yet obediently in defeat.

and then, once more, you’re gone and the latch on the door clicks somewhere far away in his apartment. he sinks into the bed, drowning in bed sheets and agony. his head thuds against the pillow and he stares out the window. the orange sunset makes his eyes burn. there’s something about the colour that makes him nauseous now that you’re gone.

-

a few days later, you’re in a meeting that you can’t focus on. he’s sat opposite you, not that you spare him a glance. it’s too painful.

you’ve been here for hours, your body becoming one with the office chair that you’re sinking deeper and deeper into.

yes, the car needs to be faster. yes, your heart hurts. yes, we need to up the strategy game.

you zone out, for the umpteenth time, losing yourself in the dark orange sky. it’s getting late. you crave sleep in your lonely bed. while you stare at the swirls and hues of warmth, you shiver.

lando, on the other hand, hasn’t heard a word said since he sat down. not when his eyes instantly find bruised wrists on the other side of the table. they match the bruises on his heart, the ones that you’d left behind when you’d grabbed it, stolen it from its solitude cage.

he watches you watch the sunset, and then the meeting is dismissed and everyone rushes home for dinner.

“who was that you took for dinner, then, noz?” one of the mechanics jeers at lando as you’re leaving the boardroom. those damned fucking photos would never let you sleep well again.

you’re a couple of steps ahead of them, ears perked up. you’re nauseous.

“no one you know.” lando laughs uncomfortably, waving it off. he sounds exhausted.

you fight with the revolving door and rush to your car. you scream as soon as the door slams and you’re in the drivers seat. you thrash against the steering wheel, and then you scream again.

when you compose yourself, and pull out of your parking space, you notice lando’s range rover ahead of you. when you get to the end of the drive, he will turn left, towards london, and you will turn right.

the devil on your shoulder murders the angel in cold blood, silencing the only voice of reason you had left.

when you reach the junction, you turn left, too.

-

yikes. anyways lmao

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane

removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[baekhyunsbestie]

୨୧⸝⸝˙˳⑅˙⋆ home (one shot!)⋆˙⑅˙˳⸜⸜୨୧

pic ‘ㅅ’ song ‘ㅅ’ song

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 pairing: soloist!baekhyun x reader 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 content: 18+/MDNI. smut af omg, baekhyun's a lil yandere and pussy-whipped (i mean ofc i cant imagine him any other way), a REAL EATER iykwim, established relationship 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 wc: 4.4k 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 a/n: i linked two songs that inspired me to write this!! but omg baekhyun is so 🫦 in this lol can #confirm firsthand that this is how he lays down the pipe ok (not rly but i don't think its so far fetched)

ଘ(ᵕ˵ ૩ᵕ)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟmasterlist <3

you check your phone and pout when you see your boyfriend still hasn’t replied to your message about his dinner plans for the evening.

after two grueling weeks, it’s finally baekhyun’s day off. the last few hours of radio silence from him are probably because he’s lost in his game. you understand—he deserves this downtime. after an exhausting summer of touring and prepping for a comeback, he’s earned the right to unwind however he pleases. even though you’d prefer he take a break from the screen, everyone recharges differently, and gaming is his escape.

despite your understanding, you can’t resist teasing him a little. you’re bored and craving some attention.

unlocking your phone, you send him a playful text. “wow, it’s actually insane how your fingers were working just fine last night when they were inside me, and now they can’t text me back?”

baekhyun’s love for his games is well-known, but his affection for you runs even deeper. he thrives on your playful teasing and the way you make him work for your attention. it’s a challenge he finds irresistible.

seconds after sending the message, he’s already read it. it’s no surprise when his call comes through.

the moment you answer, baekhyun’s voice bursts through the speaker, filled with urgency. “aaahhh, i’m so sorry, baby! i totally lost track of time and didn’t realize you asked about dinner. please, give me another hour! the guys and i are on a winning streak right now, and i can’t just leave them hanging—chanyeol will literally kill me.”

you can picture his adorable pout and those pleading brown eyes. the image of him, guilt-ridden yet endearing, makes you soften.

after arriving back in town late last night, despite being exhausted, he went straight to you. the fatigue from the long flight was no match for the pull he felt toward you. the need to see you, to be with you, was stronger than any weariness. it was well past midnight when he quietly slipped into your room, his footsteps light as he approached your bed. you were fast asleep, oblivious to his presence.

he knelt by the edge of the bed, his gaze taking in the serene sight of you. with a gentle touch, he brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face, wanting nothing to obstruct his view. the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains bathed your features in an ethereal glow. even in sleep, you were breathtaking.

his eyes traced every detail—the beauty marks on your skin, the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyelashes rested against your skin, and the slight pout of your lips that made his heart ache. your relaxed eyebrows seemed too perfect, too serene. he marveled at you, struggling to believe that someone as beautiful as you could be his.

moments like these made him fall deeper in love, leaving him in awe of the depth of his feelings. it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from showering your face with tender kisses.

he imagined how your lips would feel against his, the moment becoming even more passionate as his longing grew. his mind wandered to how your hands would pull him closer, and the heat between you would intensify with each touch.

just then, you shifted slightly in your sleep, a soft moan escaping your lips, bringing him back to reality. he wanted to freshen up from his flight before joining you in bed, where he could show you just how much he missed you and how important you are to him. he was eager to remind you of the boundless passion he had for you.

as these thoughts replay in your mind, guilt starts to gnaw at you. maybe you should let him enjoy his game a little longer. “actually,” you say, your words tumbling out, “kyungsoo messaged me a bit ago about grabbing some food and drinks. i haven’t caught up with him in a while, so maybe i could do that? i can come over to your place in a couple of hours when you’re free?”

you’re about to suggest an alternative when the sound of the game being paused reaches your ears, followed by some shuffling. before you can finish your thought, baekhyun cuts you off, his voice determined and a bit breathless. “nah, fuck that—i’m coming over right now to remind that pretty little head of yours just how good my fingers and my mouth really are.”

he knows kyungsoo’s no threat—they’ve met, and they actually get along quite well. but the idea of you spending time with another man still sparks a flash of jealousy deep within him. it’s an irrational feeling, one he can’t quite shake, even though he trusts you completely.

you’re slightly annoyed by how his jealousy makes you feel. you’ve never been the jealous type; in fact, you’ve always found the emotion quite exhausting and unnecessary in relationships. but hearing baekhyun like this, with that possessive edge to his voice—it does something to you. it makes you feel empowered, desired, and, if you’re honest, a little bit turned on. there’s something primal about the way he can’t stand the thought of losing you that stirs something deep inside, something you hadn’t realized was there.

you never expected to react this way, but the idea of baekhyun being just a little bit jealous, wanting you all to himself, awakens a thrill you can’t ignore. it’s a side of him that rarely comes out, and it only makes you want him more.

"i’ll be at yours in 10," he continues, his tone dripping with seductive authority. "i’ll take you out to your favorite spot after i make you cum a few times. does that sound good?'

oh, he’s fucking insane. ‘a few times’? you’re still sore from all the ways he took you last night. all day you've been feeling like you’re still dripping with the remnants of what seems like gallons of cum he left inside you. there’s no way he has anything left in him.

“what kind of boyfriend do you think i am?” he replies, a smile evident in his voice. “i’ve been away from my gorgeous girl for far too long. the least i can do is make sure you’re completely satisfied before we head out for dinner.”

before you can call his bluff, you scoff loudly. "yeah, yeah. put your money where your mouth is, baek."

his low chuckle sends a flush of heat to your cheeks and neck. you gulp when he says, "umm, actually, i’d rather have my mouth on something else... and now that i’m thinking about it, i am feeling kind of hungry. but probably not in the same way you are."

you’re left speechless, stunned by how quickly the playful banter turned into something so intensely sexual.

you hear a car door slam and the sound of an engine revving in the background. "wait, are you already on the way?" you glance at your phone, realizing you’ve only been on the call for two minutes.

"didn’t you just tell me to put my money where my mouth is? i’ll be seeing you soon, princess."

as much as baekhyun wanted to keep playing his game, he craved you a hundred times more. he could never get enough of you. after being in a relationship with him for a couple of years, you might have thought the sex would lose its excitement, and become less invigorating, even boring. that’s how it was in every previous relationship you’d been in.

but comparing your current love life to past experiences was a mistake. how could anyone ever measure up to him? no one has ever made love to you with the same passion or intensity as baekhyun. he stirs emotions in you that you’ve never felt before. the electric connection and the gravitational pull between you are unlike anything you’ve ever experienced until now.

baekhyun is known for his responsible nature. he’s always maintained a clean image, carefully balancing his public persona with his personal life. he has a strong sense of control, particularly when it comes to his indulgences. whether it's alcohol, late-night parties, or anything that could potentially tarnish his reputation, baekhyun manages his habits with precision. his friends and fans admire him for his discipline and his ability to remain grounded despite his celebrity status.

but with you, the usual rules don't seem to apply. you’re like a potent, irresistible drug, an intoxicating force that disrupts his usual self-control. unlike his measured approach to life, which he meticulously curates to maintain his ‘good boy’ image, your presence unleashes a side of him that craves indulgence beyond his typical boundaries.

when he’s with you, the usual moderation goes out the window. the way he desires you, the way he needs you, is all-consuming. you’ve become his ultimate temptation, a source of overwhelming pleasure that he can't resist. it’s as if you’ve unlocked a part of him that he usually keeps tightly secured—his craving for you surpasses any control he normally exerts over himself. he can't help but think that this may be unhealthy but at the same time, he can give two fucks about health when you and your body are on the table.

this desire for you is so intense that it feels like a high he can’t replicate with anything else. your touch, your voice, your scent—they’re all addictive to him. where he can easily set limits in other areas of his life, with you, he finds himself willing to push past those limits, to experience the pleasure and intensity of your connection more deeply.

just hearing your voice on the phone alone had made his dick twitch with anticipation, a physical response to the sultry promise in your tone. already, his mind was consumed by visions of the ways he’ll claim you tonight, the thought of his face buried between your thighs dancing vividly behind his closed eyelids. he could almost hear the honeyed moans that would spill from your lips, each one calling his name in desperate pleasure—music that makes him want to crank up the volume and lose himself in the symphony of your need.

the idea of you writhing beneath him, his mouth working relentlessly to make you cum repeatedly, ignites a deep hunger in him. he’s intoxicated by the thought of your taste, the way your pleasure would flood his senses, making him feel as though he’s already savoring the sweetness of it. the image of you bent over the sheets, your ass bouncing rhythmically against his pelvis as he takes you from behind, sends a jolt of raw desire through him. he’s pushed to the edge, the anticipation fueling his drive, making him eager to press the gas harder and faster, to make every moment of your pleasure as intense as the last.

he wonders if you’re already wet for him, if you’re lying there in anticipation, sprawled out on your bed. he imagines you touching yourself, your fingers gliding over your sensitive skin with the kind of urgency that drives him wild. the thought of you, alone and aroused, sends a jolt of excitement through him, igniting his imagination. he pictures the sheets beneath you, soaked and tangled, their disheveled state reminiscent of those intimate facetime calls after his shows, when you were so eager for his touch.

his heartbeat pounds against his ribcage, a steady thrum of anticipation that makes it hard to focus on anything else. his breathing grows heavy, each breath coming faster as he thinks about how you’ll be waiting for him. the image of you, lost in pleasure, is intoxicating, and he can’t help but grind his teeth, trying to suppress the growing need. his hand moves restlessly over the bulge in his sweatpants, seeking some form of relief that remains just out of reach.

glancing at the gps, he sees that there are only three minutes left before he arrives. the thought drives him to the brink of madness, knowing that just a few more moments and he’ll be able to indulge in the vivid fantasies that have been consuming him.

three more minutes.

two.

one.

within thirty seconds of parking, he’s at your front door, quickly entering the code and slipping inside. he kicks off his shoes with haste, his eyes darting around the living room and kitchen in search of you. his gaze zeroes in on your bedroom door, slightly ajar.

that’s when he hears you.

in three swift strides, he’s at your bedroom door, and in two more, he stands at the edge of your bed.

just moments ago, he was imagining this very scene on his drive over, marveling at the power of his thoughts. a smile curves on his lips as he wonders if he’s somehow manifested this moment.

his eyes lock onto your hands: your right hand nestled between your legs, your left gently caressing one of your breasts. he could lose himself in this intimate display for hours.

to baekhyun, the sight before him is pure art. you are the masterpiece, and he’s eager to explore every detail. his mouth parts slightly as he observes your fingers moving inside you, the raw, vivid imagery stirring something deep within him.

he knows that the pace you’ve set isn’t enough. you need his touch, his mouth. yet, judging by the flush spreading across his neck and ears, his ragged breathing, and the throbbing need straining against his sweatpants, it’s clear he’s the one who’s desperately craving release.

baekhyun steps closer to the edge of your bed, closing the distance between you. kneeling between your trembling legs, he dips his head, just inches away from your dripping core.

the sight of you is driving him to the brink.

"may i?" he murmurs before trailing soft, wet kisses along the inside of your right thigh, gradually moving toward your core. "i’m sorry for keeping you waiting, princess," he adds, his gaze filled with intense desire.

his eyes flutter shut as he plants another kiss right above your pubic bone. "i’ll spend these next few days showing you just how sorry I am."

the sight of him like this is driving you wild. looking down at him with your lips slightly parted, you nod, unable to hold out any longer.

you see the wicked smirk on his face as he positions his mouth above your throbbing clit, lightly brushing it with his bottom lip. the contact makes your body jolt and a soft whine escape your lips. his smile is devilish, and you know you’re in for a wild ride. "baby, i need you to use your words," he commands, his voice low and demanding.

"baekhyun, please, i can’t wait any longer. please, please, please. i need you," you cry out, your voice filled with desperation.

his cock twitches at your plea, clearly aroused by your desperation. "your wish is my command, princess," he responds, his own need evident in his tone.

baekhyun’s smile deepens, a blend of satisfaction and eager anticipation glinting in his eyes. he knows, with absolute certainty, that you’re wholly surrendered to him—mind, body, and soul. he draws nearer to your throbbing clit, his breath warm and electrifying against your sensitive skin. his tongue teases with a slow, deliberate stroke along your folds, each lick sending a shiver through you and making you gasp, arching your back in a reflexive, desperate response.

his tongue works slowly and deliberately, savoring every taste and texture. each stroke sends jolts of pleasure through your body, causing you to squirm and grip the sheets. he alternates between light, teasing touches and firmer, more insistent strokes, keeping you on the edge of anticipation.

his hands glide up your thighs, fingers gently pressing into your skin as if to anchor you in place. the sensation of his touch, combined with the delicious rhythm of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure crashing over you. you moan and writhe, your breathing coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

baekhyun’s pace quickens as he senses your mounting need. he latches onto your clit with his lips, sucking and flicking with just the right amount of pressure. his tongue dances in intricate patterns, making your body tense and shiver with every flick. the way his fingers are curled so deliciously inside you, driving you absolutely insane.

when you’re on the brink of breaking, he pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. he catches his breath, his face flushed with desire, and whispers, "i want to hear you come for me, princess."

the combination of his words and his relentless touch sends you over the edge. you cry out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure ripple through you. your moans are a mix of relief and ecstasy, filling the room with the sound of your release.

baekhyun doesn’t stop; he continues to work you through your climax, his touch becoming more fervent as he revels in the way you respond to him. as your breathing starts to slow and your body relaxes, he finally lifts his head, his lips glistening with the evidence of his efforts.

he looks up at you with a satisfied smile, his eyes still burning with the heat of his desire. "did you enjoy that, princess?" he asks, his voice husky and full of passion.

you nod, your voice barely a whisper as you catch your breath. "yes, so so much."

he rises to his full height, his gaze never leaving yours as he undresses quickly, his need evident in the way he moves. he positions himself above you, his body pressing against yours as he prepares to take you again. with every inch of his touch, he shows you just how much he missed you and how deeply he wants you.

"we’re not done yet," he warns, a mixture of anticipation and dominance in his voice. the promise makes you both nervous for the soreness that might come but excited and hungry for him all the same.

as he enters you, you both find a rhythm that’s both urgent and deeply intimate. the room is alive with the sounds of your pleasure, each moan and gasp underscoring the intense connection you share.

baekhyun’s grip on your hips tightens as his breath becomes ragged with desire. "god, baby, you feel so fucking wet and tight around me," he rasps, his voice rough and strained. his thrusts start to grow erratic and uneven, betraying his approaching climax. despite his own mounting pleasure, he’s determined not to come before you; he’s willing to do anything to keep you on the edge.

"how do you fit me so perfectly?" he murmurs, his voice breathless as he continues to drive into you. "it’s like this pussy was made just for my dick." each word is punctuated by a deep, forceful thrust, his breath coming in heavy, labored bursts as he loses himself in the rhythm of your bodies entwined.

"right there, baek, please, i’m almost there. don’t stop, keep going," you plead, your voice trembling with need. to him, your words are like a symphony, each plea a melody that drives him further. he hits all the right spots, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, making you feel like you’re about to lose your mind.

“this pussy is mine, do you hear me?” baekhyun growls, his voice thick with desire as he bites down softly on that sensitive spot on your neck, his movements unrelenting and intense.

you nod frantically, your body teetering on the edge of climax. “yes, baek, i’m all yours.”

“say it again,” he demands, his voice low and primal.

“i’m yours. all yours. i’ll always be yours,” you whisper, breathless and needy, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and adoration for his possessive nature.

baekhyun groans deeply at your words, his mouth moving to capture the moans spilling from your lips. “that’s my princess,” his tone a commanding whisper. “now be a good girl and look me in the eyes when you cum for me.”

his raw, lewd words blend with the sound of your bodies colliding and the way the tip of his cock rubs against that sweet spot just right. the combination is overwhelming, and as you lock eyes with him, savoring the way his possessiveness makes you feel so entirely claimed, everything fades into a blinding white as you reach your climax.

he’s fucking you through your high, his voice a steady stream of praise and encouragement, telling you how perfectly you’re taking him. as he watches you unravel, he can’t ignore the thought of how unhealthy his obsession with you has become. each time he sees you like this, he feels himself sinking deeper into the addiction. but at this moment, he’s completely indifferent to the consequences. all that matters is the overwhelming, consuming need to possess you, to hear you scream his name as if it's the only salvation you crave.

he’s on the verge of losing control, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate as he nears his climax. when he finally hits his peak, he spills into you with such intensity, his cum painting your inner walls in thick, hot streams. the mingling of his release with your own sends shockwaves of raw, unadulterated pleasure through both of you. The visual of him filling you, his essence merging with your own, only amplifies the overwhelming ecstasy, each shuddering pulse of his release driving you both further into a haze so fucking intoxicating.

breathless and spent, baekhyun collapses beside you onto the disheveled bed, the sheets a tangled mess around you both. your bodies glisten with sweat, slick and intertwined, hair plastered to your necks and foreheads. he turns to you, his expression a mix of adoration and raw desire. as he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, you gasp, feeling the heat of his breath mingling with yours, your bodies still trembling from the aftershocks of your intense connection. the kiss is deep and so filled with love and passion, pulling you into a whirlwind of sensation that makes you lose your breath all over again.

"i love you so much, baby," he murmurs against your lips, his voice laden with emotion. he brushes the tip of his nose with yours before speaking again. "i can't even comprehend how much i love you. i never thought loving someone with so much intensity was even possible."

you sigh into his kiss, your voice soft but heartfelt. "i love you, too, baek," you both pull apart, looking at each other with hearts in your eyes.

he gazes at you with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the primal intensity of your earlier moments. his loving look makes you feel both cherished and slightly self-conscious, your cheeks flushing with a mix of shyness and warmth. "what is it?" you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

"move in with me," he says, his voice gentle and vulnerable. i want us to share a home and build a life together. no more ‘my place or your place’ bullshit—i want to come home every day and find you there, waiting for me."

his words resonate deeply within you, swelling your heart with love and a rush of excitement. after a moment’s contemplation, overwhelmed by emotion, you nod, your voice steady and filled with promise. “okay, let’s do it. let’s live together.”

baekhyun’s grin stretches from ear to ear as he pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive warmth. he presses soft, grateful kisses to the top of your head. "thank you. thank you. thank you," he repeats between each tender kiss, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

you giggle at his affection, savoring the tender moment. "but i get to choose the furniture," you tell him with a playful yet serious glint in your eye. as you look up, you interrupt his affectionate assault with a teasing smile causing him to pout. "and i want a room for all my books—a cozy reading area, like a sanctuary."

baekhyun’s eyes soften with adoration as he gazes at you, his love evident in every line of his face. "you can have everything you want, babe," he murmurs tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot between your eyes. "just as long as i get to drown in between your thighs every night."

his lewd comment sends a flush of heat through your core, intensifying the sensation as you suddenly feel his hardness pressing against you.

you flash him a mischievous smirk, unable to hide the effect his words are having on you. "already?" you tease, feeling the firm press of him against your core intensify, digging deeper with each breathless movement.

"i can’t help it," he breathes into your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he nibbles gently just above your collarbone. his hands reposition themselves, guiding his body over yours, readying himself for another round. "it’s like my dick is constantly hard for you."

just like baekhyun, your desire for him is insatiable—you’re always wanting him, always ready. that’s why you barely flinch at the sensitivity gnawing at your senses when the tip of his throbbing dick presses against your heated core. the anticipation only heightens your need, making every nerve in your body come alive.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close until your faces are mere inches apart. with a playful glint in your eyes, you tease, "our neighbors are going to hate us, aren’t they?"

baekhyun’s grin is wicked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "yes, they will," he agrees, his voice low and full of promise. before you can respond, he captures your lips in a fiery kiss, his urgency and desire palpable. the kiss is fierce and consuming, stealing your breath away as he deepens it, each movement charged with the intensity of his need.

"this is home,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice warm and soothing. his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him as your bodies meld together in a passionate embrace. “you are my home.”

every kiss, every touch, shows how electric and real your connection is. it’s like the world outside doesn’t even matter—it's just you two, totally lost in this moment.

"you are my home," you repeat back to him.

ଘ(ᵕ˵ ૩ᵕ)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟmasterlist <3

[artist-issues]

Yeah, again, you can tell that the creators of Wish wanted certain moments to be impactful and to hit as hard as any other animated Disney movie’s moments did. But they didn’t. Because there was no convincing build-up for the moments to peak on.

You can tell which moments they are.

When Asha and the King sing “At All Costs” - If you listen to the song on its own, and you have no context (which is to say, you make up the context on your own) it is moving. Because it’s a pretty-enough song with vaguely passionate lyrics, once you assign meaning to them. But the movie doesn’t build up why this song should be an impactful declaration for either Asha or Magnifico. We already knew that Magnifico made it his job to “protect” the wishes (which are the subject of the song.) Asha, on the other hand, has only just been introduced to us, and we know she “cares too much,” so we already knew she’d protect people’s wishes. The song isn’t giving us a deeper understanding of them, or a more interesting angle to look at their motivations.

But, that’s not really the problem. The problem is that the wishes are the subject of the song. And that whole concept, of wishes being tangible objects that hold the most important and beautiful part of people’s hearts, but when they’re tangible, they remove that part from the person, is bad. It’s not good to try and build a story of stolen-treasures on.

Because that’s how they’re treated. Like treasures that the king is hoarding, after manipulating the people of Rosas into giving them up. And you know what? That’s a terrible thing to sing a protective love song to.

Just think about it this way: the story is about a King who takes everyone’s favorite keepsakes (family jewels, ornaments, old photos) and promises to protect them, but in actuality…for some reason…the moment they hand the keepsakes over, they forget whatever made the keepsake important to them. And then the King and a young woman sing a heartfelt song to the photographs and old brooches about how they will love and protect the photographs and old brooches.

Do you see why this song is pretty but not impactful in the story? They shouldn’t be singing to the wishes. Even Magnifico. They should be singing to the people. The movie plays it as if that is what they’re doing—singing a heartfelt promise of protection to a person, or a people. But that’s not what they’re doing, and do you know why?

Because the people have forgotten their wishes.

By definition, the actual human beings in Rosas cannot care (believably) about the bubbles in King Magnifico’s tower. They can only vaguely care about the chance of being happier than they are now, someday, if the wish they don’t even remember is granted. And what a terrible lesson, never mind plot point.

Anyway.

I digress. The point is, for a personally-worded, vow-of-protection-song to hit the audience meaningfully, it needed to matter to the person receiving the vow. But there is no person receiving the vow. Because of the narrative and lazy concept, only Asha and Magnifico care this much about the wishes. Because the people who made them have forgotten them. (More on this when I talk about Asha’s mom.)

When Sabino’s wish is not granted - This is supposed to be like a “Tiana’s restaurant gets taken away from her when she’s outbid” moment. The character is crushed when the thing they wanted and really believed they would finally get is taken away.

Doesn’t work in Wish, though. Because of a few things, but the main two are:

The audience has no reason to believe this means so much to Sabino because he hasn’t been shown really longing for his wish to come true.

This movie avoids any vulnerable emotion in facial expressions.

When Tiana loses her chance to have her wish come true, it is also unfair—she was already promised the property, but the brokers accepted a larger offer anyway, and it’s implied to be because of racism. Similarly, everyone acts like Sabino is entitled to (“promised”) having his wish come true because he’s so old and it’s his birthday. Plus we, the audience, know that Magnifico isn’t rejecting his wish for good reasons, and that Sabino’s wish is unselfish. So it’s meant to feel unfair and sad when he doesn’t get it, but it’s not. Not like it felt with Tiana.

Not only does the lazy concept of wishes and forgetting them once they’re tangible hamstring all of this—but the fact that Sabino has had nothing but a handful of sparse lines (ones like “we don’t know for sure that I’ll get my wish granted”) to convince us that he really cares about this hamstrings it, too.

When Tiana loses her restaurant property, it’s only about 24 minutes into The Princess and the Frog, and we have already had:

1 - A song about how hard she’s worked for it. 2 - An opening scene where her relationship with her father connects the restaurant to a deeper, more personal meaning for her.

3 - Several scenes where she is shown doing drastic things to get enough money for it; her drawer full of tip money; the two jobs she works with only a minute’s sleep in between; her friends asking her to come dancing but reiterating the fact that she often loses time for fun and their good feeling toward her because “all she does is work.”

4 - We are also shown that people don’t believe she’ll get it. The cook at her job mocks her for her wish, which makes it all the more important to the audience that she gets it—to prove the jerks wrong.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the restaurant is directly tied to Tiana’s character flaw AND her strengths, at the same time, so that it’s killing two birds with one stone—we’re shown who Tiana is, and we’re convinced to empathize with her when something sad happens to her.

Sabino has zero of those things going for him. No character details or set pieces to hint to us that he wants the wish to be granted so badly—no speeches about what it means to him—no memories tied to how he began to wish for this thing—because there can’t be. Because he’s spent 82 years not wishing. Because he’s lived the majority of his life totally forgetting what he wanted. You couldn’t logically show any evidence that he wanted it that much, then, could you?

So Sabino can’t be shown caring too much about not getting his wish. Therefore the audience doesn’t care either. We’re shown a glimpse of his sad face, and Asha’s sad face, and then told, “now feel sad!” But the work wasn’t put in to make it happen.

They cut their legs out from under themselves.

Now you could say, “well it wasn’t really about Sabino’s disappointment, it was about Asha’s disappointment.”

Yeah, but that doesn’t really hold up either. I’ll explain how in the next moment-that-should’ve-made-us-feel-something failure:

When Asha’s family doesn’t believe her - This scene is very clearly supposed to be like the one where Mulan has an argument with her family about her father going to war, and knowing her place, and he yells at her and she runs out distraught.

You definitely feel for Mulan and care about how she’s feeling in this scene—you might even cringe at the part where her dad yells at her. Part of that is because the scene is so well-done—there’s the buildup of tension as the camera cuts between each family member quietly drinking their tea, refusing to talk about the day’s devastating events. Then Mulan bursts out by slamming her teacup down and starting the yelling, herself, in outrage. Her dad stays quiet and steady like he has the whole movie up till now, so then when he stands up and shouts at her, about the exact thing she has been so upset over since the Matchmaker’s, the audience really feels the impact.

You don’t feel the same way about Asha, and it’s not just because her family argument scene wasn’t done as well—it’s also not just because, as you can see above, the movie keeps tiptoeing away from emotional vulnerability in the way the characters look.

It’s mostly because there’s been no impactful buildup to this scene. Again.

When Mulan has an argument with her father, you know what it means to her to have him yell at her about doing what’s right in her own place—you’ve had the whole first few scenes of the movie to convince you of it.

Mulan is upset because she wants to find her place and she loves her father very much. But she does not, ever, say the words “I love my father so much.” She doesn’t even outright say things like that before the argument. She doesn’t say to the Matchmaker, “Won’t you please give me another chance? My father has been praying about this for weeks, and I can’t bear to disappoint him. My father is a great man; he fought for the Emperor and was wounded in the wars; for his sake, can’t you help me?”

Asha does. Asha says to King Magnifico (but really, to us, the audience) “My grandfather’s wish! It’s beautiful.” And “Your Highness, couldn’t you grant his wish?” And to her friends, and to her mother, and to her grandfather himself—over and over she just reminds us with flat, “okay-we-get-it” dialogue and exposition of what she wants.

Whereas Mulan shows us. She convinces us. She runs up to her father, in the very first scene, and we’re shown that even though she has trouble remembering what she’s supposed to say to the matchmaker—even though she has trouble remembering what time it is and getting her other chores done—with this one part of her life, her father, she can remember exactly what the doctor said about how much tea he needs to drink. And she is prepared for her own clumsiness to make sure he gets it.

And even after she doesn’t get what she wants, and is shown to be so ashamed she can’t even look at him (because that’s how much she loves him and cares what he thinks) the only thing that makes her feel better is when he carefully compares her to a late-blooming flower and basically promises that he believes in her, anyway. We know how much Mulan cares about her father because we’ve been convinced by the way the movie artfully and carefully shows it.

We also know that she cares about knowing her place, specifically because of her family’s wishes for her. So all of this combines to prove to us that having her father shout at her about knowing his place and why he’s going to die willingly is a devastating thing for her. Enough for her to run out of the house sobbing and cling to a pillar as if she can’t hold herself up.

But when Asha runs out of the house (barely sobbing, just kind of breathing fast, because there’s no vulnerability in this movie) and stumbles up to a tree in the same way, we don’t really believe something so devastating has happened to her.

Everything happened too fast. She just kept saying she cares about Sabino’s wish coming true, and that she loves him. When he explodes at her (and really out-of-nowhere asks if she wants to “break his heart”) it’s the first time he’s shown any kind of intense emotion, either toward her, or about his wish.

There is no build-up. So it just feels awkward, and kind of like a high school production where one of the kids hasn’t even been trying to act, but in one scene, he suddenly starts yelling because that’s what his character is supposed to do. And it’s just cringe because you haven’t seen that level of energy, happy or sad, good or bad, at all up until now.

And that’s a problem because it leads right into Asha’s “This Wish” song, which is supposed to be like her “Mulan riding off to war” moment. But it’s not set up well by the emotions tied to the family argument, or the emotions tied to the conflict with the King, so you don’t really care.

Moving on to the next emotional-moment failure:

When King Magnifico threatens Queen Amaya - I don’t have much to say about this one; I think you’re getting the point. When there’s nothing but bland words and one-liners spoken to convince us that the characters are thinking and feeling how they’re thinking and feeling, moments like this one just feel boring and forced. And try-hard.

Like, the lighting? The music? Fine. Good. When he points his new magic wand at her threateningly, and clearly appears ready to betray her? All that stuff is fine. It just hasn't been built up to, so it doesn’t hit.

It’s like, “that’s it?” He just says one line about, “Are you betraying me?” And she pours forth a bunch of lines like “no I’ve always believed in you and in Rosas.” And then he’s basically like “okay, I’m convinced, moving on” which of course is him already knowing that she’s betrayed him and already having a plan to trap Asha…but still. From Queen Amaya’s point of view, there’s nothing emotional here.

We’re supposed to believe they’re madly in love and that she trusts him wholeheartedly, so that when he falls to dark magic and she chooses to side with Asha it’s this big moment. But it happens so fast.

There’s no moment where Queen Amaya grieves her husband. There’s no real sense of loss, or even of impactful betrayal. The voice actress delivers every line like she’s trying and failing to feel what the character feels as she reads the lines to a 5 year-old who needs every concept spoon-fed to them.

And King Magnifico drops her like a bag of dirt instantly. No sense of loss from him, either. He’s not even condescending to her, like, for example, Mayor Lionheart was to Dawn Bellwhether in Zootopia. Or like Jafar was to Iago. All of those things would’ve made their quick severing of bonds to each other make more sense.

But we’re not shown that Queen Amaya has sensed any darkness building in her husband over the years, and is just now realizing that this is the last straw and maybe he was never the man she thought he was. She treats him like she adores him (blandly) for the whole first half of the movie. No hint of doubt. Even when he goes for the forbidden book the first time, she easily convinced him not to and then wandered away like “well, took care of that.”

When Asha’s mother loses her wish - The biggest problem with this moment is still lack of buildup, and that is because the tangible-wish forgetfulness thing is stupid as we’ve established. We don’t believe she feels grief, even when she says she does, because we don’t know this woman at all. We don’t know what she wants, or how badly she wants it—we certainly don’t feel that she’s been missing her wish.

But the other offenses are worth mentioning. When Asha’s mother’s wish is broken by Magnifico, she just…gasps. And her father-in-law says her name, and Asha yells something typical like “no!” She looks a little weak in the knees, like maybe she can’t walk for a second, so the 100 year-old man supports her.

But the cameras spend no time on how this is affecting her. The shots of the family escape in the immediate aftermath of this world-shattering thing don’t let us see Asha’s mother’s face. Not that her facial expression is that devastated, anyway. It’s just “typical sadness” expression. There’s a shot where they’re going from the house to the stolen horses and if I remember correctly, Asha’s mother has her back to the camera the whole time; I was looking at her because I was like “something devastating just happened; this is the most interesting part of the scene.” But there was nothing to see.

They could’ve had her visually turn grey. They could’ve had her go mute, stare off into space, suddenly become scarily unreachable. They could’ve had her weeping uncontrollably. They could’ve just had her go catatonic—after all, we’re supposed to believe that even the chance of having “the most beautiful part of her” returned to her heart was just destroyed. Wouldn’t that logically make a person…cold? Calloused? Unfeeling? Uncaring? But no. She’s as just keen to express concern for Asha and apologize for being wrong about Magnifico and urge Asha to keep believing in herself, passionately, as she would’ve been before. No big deal, just lost the most beautiful part of myself forever.

Doesn’t help that we never knew what the mom’s wish even was, so even we can’t miss it.

So when she gets her wish back at the end, and she’s like, “come home.” It’s just…cringey.

When Asha convinces the crowd to wish for Magnifico’s defeat - The idea of the movie is that “the power of the stars is in you because we all came from stardust, so keep wishing and working toward it even when it’s hard.” So this moment is supposed to be impactful.

But it isn’t. Because that kind of thing isn’t impactful. They literally sing a song, glow, and Magnifico is defeated. Even if we were supposed to believe Star was dead, and this is bringing him back like Tinkerbell coming back to life, it’s still not impactful. Because one, it happens way too fast. And no character really emotes about it, like Peter did when he thought Tink was dead.

Two, that hasn’t been the point of the whole movie; the main character never had trouble believing that she was powerful enough to enact change. She barely doubted her own wish. If they wanted us to be excited that she could win based on the stardust in her heart, and in the kingdom’s hearts, alone, then they should’ve given us several scenes where it’s like “Asha is relying too much on Star’s power.”

But no, doubt and disbelief and reliance were never character flaws of hers for this moment to overcome. She doesn’t really have any character flaws, let’s be honest.

Even if you want to say “well sure, Asha didn’t doubt her own power, but the kingdom did! Otherwise, why would it’s citizens have put so much reliance on King Magnifico?” Okay, that’s nice, but 1) that is never solidly or impactfully alluded to in the story, beyond jokes about how handsome they think the king is and the literal plot point of trusting him with their wishes. And 2) having a whole kingdom of background characters believe something false and then get their minds changed in a split second is not nearly as impactful as having the main character’s mind changed first—and then she passes that knowledge on to them.

Like Judy Hopps learning to try to understand Nick, then encouraging all of Zootopia to try and understand each other. Like literally any good story where a whole kingdom needs to realize something.

Also it is never a good idea to defeat your villain just by singing about how you want to defeat your villain. Nobody should have to tell Disney that. They wrote the book on this.

But this movie was made by a company that no longer knows itself.

I could say more, like about the moment where Asha supposedly is at her lowest, or the part where Star “leaves,” or when her friends work together, or the “Knowing What I Know Now” song, but it’s all the same problems.

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

On Yuuri's "top-secret" love life

I took the time to look deeper into the information YOI gives us about Yuuri's history with love and what it means for the story of YOI.

Let's start from the scene in which Viktor introduces the two Yuris to their new short programmes:

It struck me as curious that a 23-year-old has never thought about love. The average person has their first crushes in puberty, enforcing a first examination of the subject of love to some extent.

YOI portrays Yuuri as being evasive when feeling pushed or embarrassed, but when Viktor asks him whether he ever thought about love, all we get from him is this utterly clueless expression. In this context, his interpretation of Agape is very interesting:

Yuuri is projecting his own experiences with love into his interpretation of On Love: Agape and Eros. This becomes even clearer when he comments Eros with nothing but "It's a totally different song". I've discussed this in more detail here, for this discussion let it be suffice it to say that his answers reflect where he is currently at in his journey of exploring love.

Japanese language uses different words for different kinds of love. The general all-encompassing concept of love is 愛 ("ai"), the romantic/passionate love is 恋 ("koi"). These terms very roughly approximate the Greek concepts of agape and eros as they are utilised in YOI. However, YOI doesn't draw the distinction between 愛 and 恋 , but discusses love as 愛 ("ai") that entails other forms of love, including even eros せいてきな愛 ("sexual love").

Until the moment Viktor introduces both Yuris to their new short programmes, Yuuri has never wasted a thought on love. Which means:

Until the end of episode 2, Yuuri has never had romantic feelings for another person.

Why can we be so sure of that?

Even a first crush enforces an examination of love; the result of that is often very naive and immature but becomes more complex and nuanced with experience. The romantic feelings that come with a romantic crush are impossible to miss since they take over one's heart and soul like wildfire. Even if one's feelings aren't reciprocated or one decides to not act upon them, an examination of the subject "love" inevitably happens driven by heartbreak or the sentiment that it's better not to pursue this person and wanting them to be happy.

Therefore, if Yuuri had experienced such feelings before episode 2/3, he would know. And we would know, too, because it would impact his views on love, how he tackles his season's theme, and how he goes about his relationship with Viktor. Since love is a central theme in YOI, a past love, whether it had been happy, tragic, or unreciprocated, must be addressed in a way that does it justice because it would affect the entire course of Yuuri's character journey. It would require an exploration of past Yuuri either being happy with a past lover, or heartbroken because the relationship ended or because the feelings were one-sided. And this would alter his approach to his season's theme and help him figure out his feelings for Viktor because he would already be familiar with it. However, YOI does nothing like that. Instead, it introduces us to the extent of Yuuri's obsession with Viktor in a lengthy flashback, which is the start of a long-term parasocial relationship that is very gay-coded but too abstract to qualify as a romantic crush (see also here). The only flashback into one's love life in the entire anime is, of all things, about Georgi as a contrasting juxtaposition to viktuuri.

For the story of YOI to work in the way it does, Yuuri never having had romantic feelings is crucial.

Yuuri shows all the sings of a monotropic mind. Since he discovered Viktor at the onset of puberty, his entire existence revolved around Viktor as the anime shows us in abundance. For his endeavour to meet Viktor as an equal on the ice with the GPF being the disastrous culmination of his efforts, he even went to a training facility abroad. Such a strong focus doesn't particularlry motivate people to forming deeper connections and let's not forget that Yuuri is an introvert. He is more interested in skating (to pursue Viktor) than spending time with his friends, not that he's great at forming relationships in the first place because Yuuri is also super awkward.

Sometimes, friendship, admiration and aesthetic attraction (aka finding someone pretty, cute etc.) are being misconstrued as romantic feelings due to allonormative/amatonormative paradigms. While it's true that starting from a young age, Yuuri idolises people who inspire him (憧れの人 = "someone to look up to/admire", in the subs translated as "idol"), Yuuri's in both cases very gay-coded admiration holds no romantic or sexual connotation, except for the parasocial romanticism in his lifelong quest to emulate Viktor and become his equal (not that the parasocial is the aspect here).

The press conference at the end of episode 5 comprises Yuuri's journey of exploring love and provides a deeper insight in his views on love.

Since the subs are low-key confusing, I'm not quoting them, but you can check this translation done by a Japanese fan that explains all the nuances the official translation misses. The part I want to point out in particular is this one:

My love. It’s not [general] love or romantic love that is easy to understand, but my bond with Victor, and the lukewarm way I feel about my family and my local community.

Note that this is the only time the anime uses 恋 ("koi"), probably because he's speaking to a Japanese audience.

This is the part where his friends feel offended. It showcases how Yuuri feels about the other people in his life, confirming what we could already guess: that none of these people ever reached a level at which he would develop intimate feelings for them and let them into his heart in one or the other way. All the people who supported him, first in Hasetsu and later in Detroit. Let that sink in. That's why before Vikor became he coach, he always felt that he was always fighting alone. (I don't blame Yuuri for his poor wording because it would only downplay his mental struggles and their ramifications.)

Yuuri talks about the concept of love as a whole, showcasing that he has come a long way from episode 2 and now has reached a stage where he has a mature and nuanced idea of it. He reveals that he grasps romantic love (恋) and general love (愛) easily, which is another huge progress compared to his absolute cluelessness in episode 2 and another hint that he hasn't yet experienced a situation that prompted an examination of the subject prior to it.

At the same time, Yuuri draws a clear distinction between his feelings for his family and friends and his feelings for Viktor, which aren't lukewarm at all.

A more accurate translation of this line is: "The first person I want to tie myself to and never let go is Viktor". Here, the fan translation explicitly points out that the phrasing is a reference to the scene in episode 2 when Viktor learns from the Nishigoris about Yuuri's struggles to form friendships and to be more interested in skating than in spending time with his friends. (Having written all this, I wonder how much he considered his friends as friends in the first place because philia is also a form of love that is implicitly included in "ai".)

After months of getting to know Viktor intimately, Yuuri has fallen in love with Viktor at last. This feeling is bigger than any emotion he has experienced before because it's greater than 恋 and 愛 and because of that:

This feeling doesn't have a name, but I decided to dare to call it "love".

Although Yuuri is awkward and anxious, there is one quality that stands out above all: his ambition to pursue a goal he is committed to. For half his life this has been Viktor, first as an abstract concept and as an ideal to strive for, later as a romantic interest. If he wants something, he makes sure to get it and he's unstoppable in his pursuit even when he hits rock bottom his desire to skate on the same ice as Viktor again right before Viktor showed up proves. If Yuuri had had romantic feelings for someone else, he would have pursued this person or ruled out the idea because Viktor was more important, which would have impacted his views on love either way.

Or in other words:

Viktor is Yuuri's first love.

Yuuri's love life is not as secret as YOI claims it is. His refusal to discuss it when Viktor pried for information, suggests embarrassment about the fact that at the age of 23, he is totally inexperienced in this regard while other people already have children or had a couple of partners. He's definitely not embarrassed to show the world how much he loves Viktor.

I will discuss the gay-coding of how Yuuri idolises people that inspire him in another post because this seems to be one of the lesser known facts.

Disclaimer: This analysis is based on what is supported by canon. Of course you are free to headcanon Yuuri as having had crushes before Viktor, but keep in mind that this would alter the plot of YOI to some extent.

[qiupachups]

miles.g / wiles

.｡.+*☆ headcannons 👾💭

contents: general hcs, mention of his father’s death, i call 42-miles ‘wiles’, me sorta bullying him

a/n: after a lot of procrastination and harassment gentle encouragement from @vhstown i’m finally posting my hcs. :3c (they’ve been sitting here since july)

Despite his tough guy exterior and criminal career, he's actually a massive nerd geek. Like: gundham, comics, posters all over his room.

Until you bring up those interests, he won't mention them. But once you start a conversation about them, he can tell you all the lore front to back or tell you where and when each collectible is from. Just listening to Wiles and nodding along will make his day.

Accepting help from others is not an option. Ever. He's an overly D.I.Y guy since his father's death and it's staying that way.

... unless you're very close to him. Wiles will begrudgingly accept your help and then be adamant on repaying you. No matter how trivial it was, he'll show his gratitude through service.

Wiles has great memory and knows all the lyrics to his favourite songs. Go through his playlist and pick something at random- he'll recite them flawlessly!

A good memory also helps with remembering those flashes of songs playing on your lock screen. Just a split second glance? He's adding it to his playlist, maybe listening to it as he works on his latest gear.

Would be a straight A student if he were there half the time. The only thing keeping his total grades down is attendance, where he’s often absent.

However, if he’s in a group project with you, Wiles will put more effort into it. Getting a ‘C’ or GPA point lower is fine if it means keeping Brooklyn safer. What’s not fine is him being the reason for your lower marks.

Unlike his counterpart from 1610, Wiles’ art is more realistic. He tries to capture the subjects’ essence quickly and minimally, so colours are an afterthought.

Accuracy was his pride in art until it came to you. He’d be so nervous in getting your smile right, scribbling failed attempts over and over again. Wiles even resorted to a pencil sketch.

Following the passing of Jefferson, Wiles has gotten much closer to Rio. That’s a no brainer; he was fourteen— a kid. And Jefferson never got to see his son in that overpriced Visions uniform.

Wiles makes an effort to speak more Spanish. He lets his mamí braid his hair even if it hurts like hell. Those stupid telenovelas aren’t that bad on the second watch.

Once upon a time, Wiles used to be a choir boy (keyword: used). He’d love singing hymns and doing nativities before he could read; all for his mamí and dad to see.

However, the christmas after Jefferson’s passing felt… empty. Wiles quickly lost his passion for choir and now just attends mass with Rio at most.

After years of experience being a choir boy, Wiles has the voice of an angel. Not that you’d know, of course— he intends to take that to the grave. But there’s also a deeper, darker secret… he can’t rap to save his life.

An extremely personal and harrowing Musically comment told him so. Following that attack, twelve year old Wiles abandoned his account with only a black profile picture left behind.

Like any other middle schooler, Wiles had a hype beast phase (he denies it). When Aaron got a Hype shirt for Wiles’ 12th birthday, words couldn’t describe how he almost knocked Aaron down with a hug.

The shirt’s first stain had Wiles distraught and furiously searching ‘remove paint on shirt hacks’ on Youtube. His heart would probably stop if he misplaced a gift from you.

Wiles isn’t the best cook, but he can definitely make himself a good meal. With Rio working night shifts and Uncle Aaron doing… jobs, he has to be self-sufficient.

A secret lil’ side project: he’s trying and failing to replicate Jefferson’s mac ‘n cheese. It wasn’t the best, but it was his. Something’s always off when Wiles makes it and he’s not quite sure what.

Sure, cooking isn’t that hard, but baking is like wizardry to Wiles. AP Chemistry and it’s endless calculations felt way easier than making pan de agua with his mamí.

But, mamí didn’t raise no quitter! On a particularly busy birthday, Wiles pulled together a modest little cake for Rio. She burst into tears seeing the shaky ‘!Feliz Cumple!’ written in too-sweet icing.

Calling Earth-42 a wreck is a massive understatement. Shit’s like Gotham, only very real and very deadly. Just breathing in that damn city air makes Wiles’ skin crawl.

Luckily, he’s got an outlet: boxing. A fun hobby he picked up from Uncle Aaron became his release. Wiles might never be in the ring, but Brooklyn’s more than enough.

a/n #2: what the fuck. this was supposed to be short and silly and fun. exsqueeze me how did this… erm. disjointed mess.

[grapejuicestyless]

The Grudge

Harry Styles x fem!reader

The second part to You’re The Winner.

ANGST

Summery: based off of the song The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo!!

Some nights I still wake up wet from my own cold sweat and salty tears. I rework the script I’ve perfected until my pen runs dry and the pages are crinkled. I scribble out each word and fix it until the cut is so deep it cuts more than just through the page, but to the reader.

I was never someone who believed in doing things so they were merely good enough. No, I always thought things through until they were at their very best points. Each sentence rephrased to make the viewer understand the concept of the conversation but to catch the deeper meanings and let it make more and more sense with each rewatch.

Now I lay awake, terrified of never being enough. Is my success nothing more than a false ego I have in my head? Do these awards that sit on my shelf hold any value if nobody could recognize them? If earning these doesn’t elevate me do they even count as a prestigious award?

I never had these issues, I displayed everything proudly. Aware of how lucky I was to be able to accept these awards so graciously. Body draped in the finest pearls and hair styles to perfection. I was excited to tell the stories when people would ask. Tell them about what I was working on, encourage them to follow their hearts. My insecurities were always just that, small thoughts littered in my head meant to make me doubt my self worth. Now they felt like more.

More than just metaphorical daggers stabbing into my body and mind. I wake up in distress from more than my own voices but his. I still hear Harry’s voice after all these months. It’s the sound of the insults I throw at myself, at everything I’ve done. It’s his voice I hear every time I think I am not enough. And what he had to say about my passions and how I execute them still lingers like a scar. I hold onto every detail of what he thought of me like my life depends on it and I break myself over and over again by finding deeper meanings in his playground insults.

The trust that he betrayed, confusion that still lingers. He took everything I loved, my confidence and my pride and crushed it in between his fingers. He could run circles around me with all his money and resources. He knows it too, be both knew it. I just never believed he would use it as a way to take stabs at me.

I still stay awake fantasizing about his little fucking sorry. How he was in tears when I finally pulled away. The shocked look on his face. I feel tough in the privacy of my room. Able to beat him up in my head and make him feel guilty but never to his face. I try to understand why he would do this all to me. I make up situations to lessen the blow. The fact it was unsolicited and simply something he chose to do for fun. Still, I can not let it go that easily. Not until every ounce of doubt is scrubbed from my mind and the voices in my head no longer belong to him.

……………………………………..…………………………………………

Sitting at the Oscar’s I find my place beside Greta Gerwig and Emma Stone. I feel out of place. I’m friends with them, I know them and their secrets. They’ve led me through the obstacles and the difficulties that come with trying to get into film making. They have been nothing but kind and reassuring over how great they think I am yet I can not push down the feeling that when the cameras flash to us I will be labeled the place holder to make the crowd look more full. No matter how lavish my gown is, no matter how nice my hair is I will never shine like the women who sit beside me. I will never stand out and make my name be known and it is something I can not come to terms with.

To rub salt in the wound I sit there and compare each category I am placed in to everyone else. I read out the nominees on the pamphlet they hand out like we are watching a youth theatre production of a marvelous broadway play. I barely make the cut for best assistant director. I read the names beside mine and I try not to get myself worked up.

I am not Greta Gerwig, I am no Christopher Nolan. I am Y/n Y/l/n. I am a woman who dreams bigger than she can possibly ever achieve. And I try not to get in over my head, but I always do. I strive to be the best and still I get trampled over.

I read the names over and over, flipping through the pages. I read the names under each category. Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift, Adele…I think about if I should’ve taken up music. I can’t sing very well but I have so much to write about. I have so many feelings and so many things to argue that I simply can not relay through film. Not at my level anyway. Joe releasing it must be to put a pen to paper and just write whatever you feel because the darkest emotions write the best songs.

It’s the sickest joke the way the names continue to go down the line. The eleven letter name in bold italics with an invisible circle around it and arrows pointed to make sure I see it. Harry Styles is up for best original song. Not only that, but I’d heard it too. Stayed up with him while we wrote it. He was so sure it wasn’t good enough and I sat there supporting him.

I stayed awake comforting him while he cried over his million dollar piano. Tears ruining the ivory and the clear shine. How idiotic I was to have been so kind to someone who so easily tore me down like I was nothing more than a pawn to remind him of his greatness. I knew the song was beautiful. His name was golden among the others competing for such an important award. One that would recognize his talent and secure his name in Hollywood. A lump formed in my throat. If I didn’t believe him then, I did now. I wasn’t some prophecy. I didn’t have a title to my name to prove. I was someone who got lucky once. My work was nothing compared to his.

………………………………………………………………………………….

They called the nominees for each category, listing off the winners one by one. We grew closer and closer to the major categories that would have the TMZ headlines buzzing by the morning. When it was my turn to be called, I couldn’t help but feel jitters and anxiety pass through my veins.

I’d heard about everyone else. All of their movies staples in my Friday movie night routines I had continued even without Harry there to occupy a portion of the couch. I laughed, I cried, I thought deeply about each movie. I couldn’t help but feel nervous that I was up against people so much stronger than I was.

My picture on the screen showcased my much more recognizable friends shaking my shoulders. We were unprofessional and excited to see how I could be recognized. They made me feel that even if I didn’t win, it was well worth it because the academy, as rigged as we all secretly knew it was, had chosen me of all people to list along with a handful of others. It was an honor for me to be here, beside my best friends and my hero’s.

The name that rang through the microphone didn’t match mine. It wasn’t even close, yet I felt fine. The hands slipped from my shoulders to clap along with the crowd. My photo minimized to showcase the woman who had rightfully won over me. Still, my shoulders were heavy and my heart sunk. How nice it could’ve been to go home with that. Be able to hold it up to the sky and thank my brothers and sisters for helping me get there.

Greta and Emma tried to make me feel better. Nothing hurt worse than working up an excitement only to have it ripped away from you. It worked, for a minute. How blissfully unaware I was that the categories grew closer and closer to the one that involved the one man I couldn’t bare to think about now. I barely registered the way they prepared the stage to announce his category until the talking turned to whispers and the softest sniffles echoed.

He looked handsome on the big screen. His hair was darker than I remember it being, I assumed he dyed it for tonight. His shoulders were broad in his suit and his face was cleanly shaven. If his eyes could speak they would be a jumble of words that expresses different emotions. He bit his lip and toyed with his rings. I caught him picking the skin by his thumb. I wanted to yell at him to stop, it was a bad habit we tried so hard to break. But he wasn’t mine anymore. I no longer existed as a best friend to him, someone else could place their hand over his and silently relay their own thoughts to him.

The sour feeling in my heart curtailed like milk when his picture took up the entire screen. The way he stood and hugged the people around him. He was surrounded by friends and family alike that supported him in ways I used to. If it were a few years ago, that would’ve been me beside him. His plus one to an event I was already attending simply because he was everything to me.

Watching him accept that award was the final straw. How he walked up to the stage in no rush, fixing his coat on the way and running a hand through his hair. He had a lazy smirk on his face that would make anyone weak in the knees. He looked confident and yet so grateful for everything happening to me. I felt confused by his attitude. How cocky he was in private, he was so good at masking the real Harry when it came to keeping a good public image. It was some kind of pathological lier type of bullshit that made my throat close and heart pound.

In his speech he thanked his mom and his dad. He thanked his sister and his friends. His ex-Bandmates and his producers. A full list of names, he went on and on and yet my name never came up. He thanked people who didn’t even know him on the crinkled piece of paper shaking in his hands. They didn’t know his favorite color, how he preferred his eggs. He didn’t like celery but he loved peas. Mushed, soggy, fresh. He would spoon them onto his plate like a mad man. They didn’t know he slept with his socks on because he felt scared something might try to grab at him at the end of the bed even now. He was childish in a mature way. Fears he carried form childhood that he couldn’t shake, they didn’t know that and yet they got the credit I deserved. I couldn’t do it then.

I could sit there and pretend to be tough, but I wanted to scream. I could sit there and say I was fine to everyone, be my professional self but I couldn’t act like it was okay anymore. To tear me down, to rewrite your past to fit the people who chose you based off fame and not on who you are, to get rid of what we once cherished was too far. I could put aside his harsh words for the sake of the night but his blatant disregard for my feelings after he’d cried over my leaving said enough.

When he left the stage I made my exit, mumbling something short of having to use the bathroom. My dress was short enough to not have to gather it between my fingers. I could walk quickly down the aisle and look at my feet on the way. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, even though they didn’t know me I felt that the look on my face would reveal it all.

The door opened harshly but had stoppers on it to silence any amount of force pushed on it. It made any angry outburst look accidental. The only indication that the door had been opened was the sliver of light the slipped through the opening of the main lobby and the dimly lighted theatre that held the greatest minds of film alike.

My feet hit the expensive carpet hard, heals digging into each design I wondered if my aggression would permanently dent the fabric, ruin the art in it.

It was colder outside of the room that I sat idly in, more free. The only people out here at this time were the few paparazzi permitted and stray employees cleaning up for the night. Flashes took my vision and I could see the headlines now.

How I would be bashed for simply showing my emotions. How they would paint me as a bitter sore loser who couldn’t even keep it together and act fine. I couldn’t blame them really. How would the world even know of how their favorite pop star had taken a hold of my heart and ruined any perception of love I had for him in a few short months.

The air outside was chilling. My skin was bare and in a way, in my artistic side of my mind I could pretend it was the literal way the world was showing how I felt. Tiny stabbing wounds across my arms creating goosebumps running up and down each exposed part of my body.

My car wasn’t there. I was out so early without warning, I became stranded not only mentally but physically. I didn’t care then. If I had to walk the streets of Los Angeles in high heals and an expensive gown. If I got mugged of all my belongings on my way home I didn’t care. I couldn’t be near anyone anymore. I couldn’t hold it together and I certainly wouldn’t fall apart for everyone to see.

Footsteps slapped against the pavement so quickly, I didn’t process the splashing of puddles or the heavy breathing approaching me. With my luck, I would already become a victim to a robbery before even turning the corner.

The hand on my arm came next. It wasn’t rough but it was firm enough to catch my attention. More than that, it was so familiar, so warm.

I felt the roughness of fingertips brushing under my bicep and the contrasting softness of his palm resting on top. His rings were warmed from his skin already, smooth against my body. I knew who the hand belonged to immediately. It was one I had held, toyed with and admired for years. One attached to a body that I adored, looked up to like a hero.

Turning, his eyes met mine. They were a darker green. I couldn’t see if from how far I was before, but he looked more tired, more sad. His eyes were dark not from anger or all the drinks I had hoped he was downing so he would forget about me, but because something was bothering him. Something heavy. He carried a lot of regret and sadness in his eyes that were once so free and careless. He seemed more calculated in his choice of words, more precise than his usual mess of sentences that came straight from his mind to his mouth.

“You didn’t have to chase after me.” I broke the silence, he was still catching his breath. He shook his head, looking down to gather himself. His pants were wet at the bottom from the pavement and his hair was falling in front of his face. I wanted to reach out and brush it back, but it wasn’t my place. I didn’t have a place in his life anymore.

“I wanted to.” He confessed, searching my face. In my head I’d like to think my expression was stone cold. One that was heartless, expressionless. I didn’t care in my head, but in my heart I did. I felt my lip quiver, I felt my eyebrows furrow. I was an open book for Harry to read.

“Why? So you could fix things? Fix us?” I escalated things quickly. I didn’t want to play his mind games. He was brilliant, people didn’t give him enough credit for it. If I allowed him to sit here and apologize while I was already feeling vulnerable, it wouldn’t matter how sincere it was. I would accept it and cave and by the morning I would hate myself for letting my heart take over my brain.

“No, don’t do that. Y/n, you were the one who walked out on me. I tried to get you to stay, and I regret not trying harder and if I could go back I would’ve begged on my knees but that doesn’t change the fact that you still left. I care about you, Y/n. You’re my best friend.” His voice was sharp, desperate. It felt so real, everything he was saying. I trusted him completely. I understood what he was feeling. Some nights I wish I had stayed. I had just put up with it. It was all the talk of my undying love that I held for Harry. A friendship that may have turned into a small crush in my head without me realizing. My undying love, now, I hold it like a grudge. The reason that forgiving and forgetting is so hard.

“Do you think I deserved it all? Harry tell me, please. Is that what you really think of me? As someone who deserved to be built up just so you could watch me fall? Is that what I was for you?” I begged him to understand what I meant. What I endured was verbally abusive, toxic, venomous. It killed me to know that my best friend thought so low of me. So poorly of the girl he swore to protect with all his heart.

“You know I never meant to.” He tried to defend himself, his hand loosened on my skin, falling down to hold my hand. His fingers intertwining in mine felt like tiny flames bursting out across my hand. It was so soft yet so hard, my body started to shake from more than just the cold.

“You are so selfish.” I shook my head, breathing in to look at the same bewildered face that looked back at me all those weeks ago. I remembered all the arguments I had won in my head against him. In the shower, in the car, in the mirror before bed. I remember all the things I didn’t say that I wish I had, all the ways I could’ve made him hurt like I had. It would’ve made me the smaller person.

The fact he looked lost about where I was coming from made it so much more difficult to not spill my guts to him there on the sidewalk. He made it so hard to not want to rip him apart with his oblivion and gaslighting tendencies. I doubt he even though about all the damage that he did.

“I just-I can’t wrap my head around how anybody could do the things you did so easily? You have everything and you still want more! You must be insecure, you must be so unhappy! I know it more than anything, I’ve lived it. Harry, hurt people, hurt people. We both drew blood but man, those cuts were never equal!” I didn’t touch him but to both of us it felt like I had slapped him in the face. Acknowledging his actions and mine that led us here made it so much more real, the end was so much more destined for our story. I tried to be tough, I tried to be mean, but still standing there after pouring out my heart and feelings I couldn’t help but crumble. A single cry tumbled from my lip. I shook my head and looked to the sky. Harry made no movement.

It was pathetic to be so torn after so much time apart. He should’ve held no weight in my heart, but he always would. He was the most important opinion in my life, even when he wasn’t present. When reworking scripts and giving direction, in the back of my head it became a constant question of if Harry thought it was enough. If it was good enough.

“You could’ve at least given me credit, you know I deserved that much.” My hand ripped from his viciously. It burned the way we separated so quickly. His eyes were stuttering over mine, his mouth tried to move, hand digging through his pocket.

I no longer had time for him, not then not ever. He could pick me apart, rip my heart out and stitch it back together, point daggers at my deepest hurts but he would no longer get these reactions out of me.

My escape was the same as the last. Quick and panicked. My feet hit the pavement harder than before and my arms swung with so much force, I was pushing myself forward with each step. Farther and farther, I couldn’t find the courage to look back like before. I couldn’t stand to think about him crying again. My hatred for his actions could never compare to the love I would always hold for Harry. If he didn’t deserve me, that would be okay. But I could not live with myself knowing I made him cry again. Not even after what he did.

………………………………………………………………………………….

“You could’ve at least given me credit, you know I deserved that much.” Her hand ripped from mine so quickly that it almost burnt my skin. It was like a fresh wound opening to feel her leaving not only mentally again, but physically. How her touch would never be in mine again. How she no longer belonged to me, I no longer belonged to her.

Her words set in after a hesitating moment. She meant my speech. God, how could I have been so stupid? To not realize how hurt she must’ve been to be erased so easily from the narrative. Like the nights spent together and the laughter and tears meant nothing. The piano ruined and her shirt soaked by my tears. The shirt that was really mine. I wondered if she still had it after all this time. It always did look better on her than me. I would give her everything if I could.

I dug through my pockets quickly to find it, the crinkled piece of paper with all the names on it. All the words I wanted to say but knew I would stumble over in my own nerves if I were to win. My hands were shaking so bad, I couldn’t grasp it in time. She was gone.

Something about this time told me that she wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t stop. Not even the most guttural cry could make her look back. I had hurt her over and over again. Still, I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was until the word held no meaning and sounded odd coming from my lips. Like it was no longer real. She owed me none of her time.

So I stood there by myself, in the light rain that fell over Los Angeles, wet and alone. My paper was wrinkled in my hands, creased and bent messily. I looked down at the handwriting that didn’t really look like mine. How even in my excitement to be nominated, the loss of Y/n was so heavy it was hard to do anything. The pen was too heavy. I couldn’t do anything I once loved without her support. I looked down at all the names. My mother, my sister. They weren’t even first on the list. The first name I had written down, Y/n Y/l/n. My best friend.

I hadn’t read it out because I thought she wouldn’t want me to. I didn’t want to take away from an important night for her. Steal the spotlight from her award I was certain she would win by placing her name onto mine.

I was so sure she would win. She would be happy and we could reconnect. I had watched the movie, I watched all of her movies. She was the best of us. Always a talented writer, always having a new idea to jot down. Her napkins were sketch pads and her notes app was a dictionary of her favorite books and inspirations for shots. I know nobody with a mind like hers, one as creative and brilliant. I’m not sure why I tore her down all those days. Made her feel worthless when she was one of the best things in my life.

Even after all of this, she was and would always be everything to me. I could try and try and try to forget her and erase her from my life but she would always carry a piece of me around with her. I would always have hints of her in my home, in my wardrobe. She was everywhere without even being there.

She was my best friend.

[geotjwrs]

hey, um, may a request jenna x male!r base on the song "You're losing me" by Taylor Swift.

love your writings!

my heart won't stop anymore

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; angsty

Y/N sat in the dimly lit living room, the shadows from the streetlights outside casting an eerie glow on the walls. The room, once filled with warmth and love, now felt cold and distant. Photos of happier times decorated the shelves – memories of vacations, holidays, and spontaneous adventures. He stared at a particular picture, one where Jenna was laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy as Y/N held her close.

The door clicked open, and Jenna walked in, her heels echoing in the silence. She barely glanced at Y/N, her attention immediately focused on her phone. She tossed her bag onto the chair and headed straight for the kitchen.

"Jenna, we need to talk," Y/N said, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Jenna sighed, her eyes never leaving her phone. "Can it wait? I'm exhausted and I have an early call time tomorrow."

Y/N stood up, his frustration boiling over. "No, it can't wait. We've been putting this off for too long."

She finally looked up, her expression one of annoyance rather than concern. "Fine. What is it?"

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands. "Do you even care about us anymore? About what we have?"

Jenna rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defensively. "Of course I do, Y/N. But I'm in the middle of a huge project. This is my career we're talking about."

"And what about our relationship? Does that mean nothing to you?" His voice cracked, betraying the depth of his pain.

She shrugged, her indifference cutting deeper than any harsh words. "I told you from the beginning that my career comes first. You knew what you were signing up for."

Y/N felt a lump form in his throat, his vision blurring with unshed tears. "I didn't sign up to be an afterthought, Jenna. I feel like I'm losing you, and you don't even care."

Jenna's eyes softened for a brief moment, but it was quickly replaced by her usual stoic expression. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I can't slow down now. This is my dream, Y/N. Can't you understand that?"

He looked at her, searching for any sign of the woman he had fallen in love with. But all he saw was someone who had become a stranger, consumed by ambition. "Maybe we need to take a break," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jenna's reaction was almost mechanical. "If that's what you want, then maybe it's for the best."

The finality of her words was like a dagger to his heart. Y/N turned away, unable to bear the sight of her cold, detached demeanor. "I guess this is it then," he said, his voice breaking.

"Goodbye, Y/N," she replied, her tone flat and unfeeling.

With a heavy heart, Y/N walked out of the apartment, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence. He stumbled down the stairs, his vision blurred by tears. As he stepped into the cool night air, he felt a crushing weight settle over him. The woman he loved was gone, replaced by someone who barely acknowledged his existence.

Hours later, Y/N found himself wandering the empty streets, the city lights casting long shadows that mirrored the emptiness he felt inside. He tried to recall the moments that had led them here, to this breaking point. The late-night phone calls that went unanswered, the dates that were postponed or canceled, the laughter that had gradually faded into silence.

Their love had once been a burning flame, bright and all-consuming. But now, it felt like the last embers were flickering out, smothered by the relentless pursuit of ambition. Jenna had always been passionate about her career, and Y/N had admired that about her. But somewhere along the way, he had become an afterthought, a footnote in the story of her success.

He ended up at the park where they had their first date. It was a place filled with memories – the bench where they had shared their first kiss, the tree where they had carved their initials, the path they had walked hand in hand, dreaming of a future together. Y/N sat down on the bench, the cool night air doing little to numb the ache in his heart.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through old photos of them. Each picture was a reminder of what they had once had – the smiles, the adventures, the quiet moments of intimacy. But now, those memories felt like ghosts haunting him, reminding him of what he had lost.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke through his reverie.

Y/N looked up to see his best friend, Emma Myers, standing there, concern etched on her face. "I figured I'd find you here," Emma said, sitting down beside him. "What's going on, man?"

Y/N took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. "It's over, Emma. Jenna and I...we're done."

Emma nodded, her expression somber. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how much she meant to you."

Y/N felt a tear slip down his cheek, hastily wiping it away. "I don't know what happened. One moment, we were happy, and the next...she's just gone. It's like I don't matter anymore."

Emma placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You do matter, Y/N. Sometimes, people change, and their priorities shift. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong."

Y/N shook his head, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I just feel so...lost. I thought we had something real, something worth fighting for. But she didn't even care."

Emma sighed, looking out at the park. "It's hard, man. Love can be beautiful, but it can also be painful. Maybe it's time to focus on yourself, figure out what makes you happy."

Y/N nodded, though the words felt hollow. "I don't even know where to start."

Emma gave him a small, encouraging smile. "One step at a time. You've got friends who care about you, who will be there for you. And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll find someone who will appreciate you for who you are."

Y/N knew Emma was right, but the thought of moving on felt impossible. The pain was too fresh, too raw. "Thanks, Emma," he said quietly. "I just need some time."

"Take all the time you need," Emma replied, standing up. "I'll be here for you, whenever you're ready."

As Emma walked away, Y/N sat there, letting the tears flow freely. The park was silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the joy he once felt here with Jenna. But all he could feel now was a hollow emptiness.

Days turned into weeks, and the weight of the breakup lingered over Y/N like a dark cloud. He went through the motions of daily life, but everything felt numb, colorless. Friends tried to cheer him up, but their efforts only highlighted the void left by Jenna's absence.

One evening, as he sat alone in his apartment, Y/N's phone buzzed with a message from Jenna. His heart skipped a beat, a flicker of hope igniting within him. Maybe she had realized her mistake. Maybe she wanted to make things right.

But as he opened the message, his heart sank.

"Hey Y/N, I hope you're doing well. I just wanted to let you know that I've been cast in a new film. It's a huge opportunity for me, and I'll be traveling a lot. I hope you understand. Take care."

Y/N stared at the screen, the words blurring as tears filled his eyes. There was no apology, no hint of regret. Just a cold, matter-of-fact announcement of her success. He realized then that Jenna had moved on, her dreams taking precedence over everything else, including him.

He threw his phone aside, burying his face in his hands. The pain was suffocating, a relentless ache that refused to fade. He had given his heart to Jenna, and in return, she had given him nothing but indifference.

Months passed, and slowly, Y/N began to rebuild his life. He threw himself into his work, finding solace in the routine. He reconnected with old friends, started new hobbies, anything to fill the void Jenna had left. But despite his best efforts, the memories of her lingered, haunting him in quiet moments.

One day, while walking through the park, he saw a couple sitting on the bench where he and Jenna had once shared so many moments. They were laughing, their faces lit up with love and joy. A pang of longing hit Y/N, but he forced himself to look away. He couldn't dwell on the past anymore.

As he walked further, he saw a familiar figure standing by the tree where they had carved their initials. It was Jenna. She looked up and their eyes met, a flicker of recognition and something else – regret? – crossing her face.

"Y/N," she said, her voice softer than he remembered.

"Jenna," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"It's a public park," he replied, the bitterness slipping through despite his efforts to stay composed.

She nodded, looking down. "I know I hurt you, Y/N. And I'm sorry. I was so focused on my career that I forgot what was really important."

Y/N felt a mix of emotions – anger, sadness, a lingering love that refused to die. "It doesn't matter anymore, Jenna. You made your choice."

"I did," she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. "And I regret it every day."

He wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto the hope that they could somehow find their way back to each other. But the wounds were too deep, the pain too fresh.

"I need to move on, Jenna," he said quietly. "And so do you."

She nodded, wiping away a tear. "I understand. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I appreciate that. Take care, Jenna."

"You too, Y/N," she whispered, watching as he walked away.

As he left the park, Y/N felt a sense of closure. The pain was still there, but it was no longer an open wound. It was a scar, a reminder of a love that had once burned bright but had been extinguished by ambition and indifference.

He knew it would take time to heal completely, but for the first time in months, he felt a glimmer of hope. He would find his way, one step at a time, and one day, he would open his heart to love again.

[ciphykiss]

< incubus (iii)

blade x f!reader; nsfw, mdni (pls) somnophilia, slightly graphic violence

Love escapes Blade the same way dreams do, lost to hellscape, a curse, and raining swords; each one a reminder of his betrayal, her curse, and him, vengeance immortalized; it is the only thing he is allowed to feel, tastes as bittersweet as liquor once shared by brothers under moonlit nights, the reflections of crescent halos carved into bleeding rivers of a world long destroyed…

He hangs about the other stellaron hunters as a poltergeist; though Kafka trusts him (with her life, he’d presume, but also less), and the young one pesters him to pursue her games, Blade finds himself incapable of forging the bonds that haunt his sleep; the sword of a friend, the back of another, the scabbard of his master, and all the wild blood his brethren shared when they raced through the skies of Cangcheng before it befell calamity to the world-devourer, Rahu;

Why did you do it, he wants to ask, daydreams of asking; he is almost-afraid (he no longer fears, not really), facing eyes of seaglass in mourning.

For love, he who had once held his soul will reply; for love, time and time again… 

—all for a promise.

The promise of his own death, as destiny’s slave had foretold—there is nothing else of want, nothing else of need. There is nothing else he desires as man would, nothing more than a wound to fester and rid him of his misery—fin.

Or so he thought.

He tells himself it is but a fleeting twinge; not quite longing, nothing more than a tug of his fate-strings, toying with him once more.

But he is from a time before starskiffs and the banishment of desire; he can recall the legends of his great-grandmother, besotted with a man destined to live a fraction of her own, the birth of her bloodline done through the dreaming; and though he has never quite experienced it himself, he is well-acquainted with both the stories and instinct of passion, enough to know the dangers—how it drives men and women alike to madness, the brink of insanity, and back to adoration once more. He doesn’t understand it, not really, until the day he meets you.

It is all very banal, he thinks, because he doesn’t even have to look at you to know you are his. He feels it in the air—the hurried, impatient clack of your heels, sweetness of your words (even when you assail him with your questionnaire, as grating as nails on a chalkboard, he’s more annoyed at the fact that he doesn’t want you to stop talking) and the scent—

He doesn’t consider himself particularly Foxian, not after generations of outmixing had thinned the blood of the old. To his knowledge, his predecessors had only passed down their knack for artismanship; apparently, desire was part of that package, because the moment your fingers brushed over the side of his face, he could smell the aftermath of your frustration and solo-pursuit of pleasure, a lingering fragrance no amount of hand-washing could cover up. He knew he had to have you then, one way or another—something had shifted inside of him, like the maw of a wild beast being lured by first blood. Yes, he would have you—if not in the waking world, then in the dreaming, and if not your flesh, then in spirit. You’d made him realize a starvation that he hadn’t known existed; neither love nor affection, more carnal than a means to an end.

He knows this is not love; love is lost to time and his curse, gnawing away at the cadaver of his heart. Yet, he can’t help but bury his nose into the phantom of your flesh, teeth grazing your nape as he opens his mouth to devour—

Your legs curl around him in a vice that eclipses both wedding bands and vows, fingers awry in his hair; he has to bite back a sigh when you yank, sinking deeper into the skin of your collarbone to mask it. Both your strangulated hiss and whimpers have his blood rushing to his head, as distant a song as sirens ashore; he feels as though he’s in a haze, lost in a tangle of hair, threaded fingers, and not-quite flesh, and how long had it been since he’d laid in the embrace of arms—

They could not compare. A body would no longer do; it had to be you. Youyouyou, and only you.

So when you cease your pouting and opt to gather around his neck for a kiss with strands of his hair slipping past your face, he doesn’t refute—how can he, when he feels how you would’ve been his whole had he met you those long years before his demise, how he would’ve chased you to the moon just to crown you in jade and silverwing (would’ve could’ve should’ve), but now all that’s left of him is hollow and bone, and you? You’d just have to make do with a corpse.

He tells himself he’s had his fill, then finds himself chasing your sulking mouth the next night. You ask questions, you throw your fits; you demand answers, bite his lips, draw blood, and everything else under the moon. He tells himself he only needs you for your body, your kiss, but finds himself indulging you, time and time again; your more vapid queries, hazy, slow-blinking eyes, and oh, he’ll give you the illusion of domestication, letting you braid his hair, pulling you up by your waist when he wanted to taste, your lashes fluttering low at the spontaneity of his wanting.

But he won’t let you think (even for a moment) that he is something he isn’t—never whispers of sweet nothings, never a kiss to quell your nightmares (he is your nightmare), only the cold press of his mouth over your pulse, bruising teeth, and kisses that sought to devour, not guise as tenderness.

He doesn’t hope it is enough; it doesn’t matter. You have him (what is left of him), and it will have to be enough, because neither can he change, nor can he let you go.

ꨄ︎

You don’t fail to consider your demonic rendezvous could be the result of a faulty product, so you discard your fantasia for a new one; and so you sit, splayed on your bed (in proper nightwear this time), keeping vigil at your nightstand. The incense burns through the holographic figure of Lan; your room fills with the scent of ambrosial-root and alien flora, the former previously shunned amongst the commonfolk of the Luofu until Tingyun had parrotted the benefits of the immortal root as a soft drug for anxiety and insomnia; you’d made a note to chide Whistling Flames’ production quality the next time you met up with her for lunch if this dream… panned out…

The drop to your dream world is unceremonious; perhaps it’s the result of your previous night, but you find yourself with more heightened awareness than ever before (you wonder if this is what those medicus loonies refer to when they boast of “lucid dreams”). A world bathed in fog-mist and the herbal decay left by smoking pipes, your head resting on silk sheets, feathered pillows, with kiln sake cups identical to the ones bartered at Tingyun’s merchant guild resting an arm’s length away.

You sit upright, scanning your surroundings; no sight of cracked skies, rain, or the pungent blooming of spider lilies.

“...hi?” Your voice echoes through your dreamscape. You feel stupid.

Perhaps it had been a fluke; maybe Tingyun had been right. You begin to doubt yourself, gnawing on your lower lip, before a metaphorical lightbulb beams in the recess of your mind;

“...the fisherman would marry, and the Foxian, enraged and heartbroken...”

“Of all men,” he hisses into your ear, the bite of a wolf from a dark fairytale, “him?”

A fifty-fifty shot, you decide; he’d failed to kill you the last time he’d seen you riding Jingyuan’s face, allowing enough bravery for you to conjure up an imitation of the general.

It’s harder now that you’re not, well, as needy as you were when you’d first met; you envision the hair cascading over his shoulder, long and curling, a single, aureate eye, hands, calloused from battle and gripping the hilt of his war-spear,

“Enough.”

Your stomach drops. So it hadn’t been a fluke, and you were being haunted by the spirit of some deceased Foxian posing as an intergalactic war criminal you’d just so happened to think was bangable. That, or—

“So you really are stalking me,” you accuse, turning to your side. You observe him from where he stands, towering over you with his hands crossed over his chest; he looks more irked than truly jealous, maybe because you’re not half naked and in the process of climbing to a dream-climax; you rest your cheek on your palm, propped by an elbow, and sink a jade-collared foot into the water at the edge of the bed. He stares (or so you assume; it’s hard to tell by the blindfold), unamused when you flick at him, the droplets dematerializing into the fabric of his trousers. “What? Not joining me today?”

For a long while, he says nothing—in silent contemplation, while you pretend to pick at your nails in mimicry of indifference. Please don’t look at me, please just walk away, please let this be just a real—dream—you hear the ripples indicating his footsteps, crowns of spider-lilies rebirthed in his strides until he rests on the edge of the bed, black hair pooling into the silk.

You suck in a deep breath, gazing up at the now storm-cracked skyscape. You hadn't exacted the details of your so-called “plan” this far, half-expecting the circumstances of last night to have been explained by a crumpled club receipt or markered-star hidden away in some crevice of your body. You sit upright, swallowing the pounding of your heart, and brace yourself for a change of course;

He makes no movement of protest when he feels you crawl over to him, throwing the weight of your arms over his shoulders. Not even a compression, you sulk, feeling unyielding, lean muscle. Experimentally, you rest your chin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, breath fanning over his bone-like pallor; you draw circles into the water with your feet, brushing against the flower stamens, willing the thrum of your heart to quiet.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you observe, voice muffled against the fabric of his coat; he smells the same, smoke and rain, the perfume of his hair an aquatic floral that has you near-salivating and Aeons did you wish you’d meet a man of his allure in the Luofu (without the homicidal package). “Need another projection of the general to get you going?”

It’s meant to be in jest, but also to test his limits; your eyes flicker up just in time to see his jaw flex. The spindles of a lily curl around your ankle and bite, causing you to squeak and fold your legs into the bed. Okay, maybe too far. You can’t help but glare at him (not like he can see it), rubbing the now crimson splotch. Bastard.

“Not cute,” you comment, tugging at the tassels of his collar. He makes no effort to stop you, even as your hands roam his hips, pausing right below the navel, and then working up to his chest, the other tangling in the fabric holding together his garment; it doesn’t take you long to to unassemble his shirt, mouth working down his nape, uncaring of the roadblock of his bandages.

Your fingers arch at his collarbone, having spidered to a two-fingered tilt; he feels you smile, tapping a nail over his skin.

“Aren’t you being too good today?” You wonder, eyeing the faded scars scattered along his torso like a belt of heliobi; you wonder if they belong to the demon-spirit or the space criminal himself, and could he possibly be the real Blade?

Only one way to find out; and you’re determined.

“Not entertained?” You hook your legs on either side of him, then, sliding down to rest on his thighs; you feel him at large, breath momentarily catching in your throat—eyes on the prize, stay focused—before you rest on the blindfold separating the wonders of his eyes from yours. He feels incomplete, unreal; he is, but not like this. You refuse to have him like this.

“Let me see you,” you whisper, and before the weight of your words can sink in, you reach out to yank the knot fastened behind his head.

What you see has your blood turning to ice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing pin-straight, and both your hands flying to your mouth to quell the scream that threatens to perforate the dreaming; because there, where his eyes should be are inky, sightless orbs, no sign of pupil nor sclera; twin voids, like staring into the end of the world. His thighs shift, and you nearly choke out a sob.

“What do you see?” He murmurs. “Is it all you dreamed of?”

There is something sickening in his voice, encapsulating darker hues still; you squeeze your eyes shut, urging your heart to recover from its whiplash. When you open them, you stare at his mouth instead. It’s prettier, despite its velvet cruelty.

“What are you?”

He doesn’t answer, not for a long while; a stray wind blisters your cheek, enshrouding you with dark hair and the scent of him once more. You don’t remember a hand caging your hip, nor the one that had wound around your ankle, only now when he toys with the jade ornament that dangles off it; his grip doesn’t slacken, however, as if afraid you’d take off running at any given chance (he’s not wrong).

“The eyes are incomplete,” his answers are as vague as the real one, and you’re beginning to wonder just how accurate a Foxian’s charades can be. “They only see as far as they know; the rest is filled by imagination.” He smiles, then, wretched and alarmingly beautiful; “Did you see something monstrous?”

“You act as though that pleases you,” you rasp. At that, your dream demon leans in, smile taking a sharper turn as he forces eye-level contact. You have half a mind to scream, cry; conjure up a physical wall, render yourself blind. Anything to not have to glimpse into that void once more.

“Make no mistake; I am a monster.” His breath ghosts over your mouth like claws from inside a coffin. “That is what I am, what I always will be; do not dare dream otherwise. There is no prince waiting for you under this beast, no declarations of love and adoration; I am not like the ones they paint in stories. Do not expect a shelter from your nightmares; in time, you may find they and I become one in the same.”

And though staring into his eyes is akin to being swallowed by the void-whales that drift across the stars only in search of things to devour, you do; you ignore the fear that gropes your stomach, has your hands clammy with cold sweat.

“My little nightmare,” you simper, praying you come off more coy than deathly afraid, “you overestimate yourself. Did you truly think I’d deluded myself with such grandiose? That I’d expect you to fill the void of a real man, buy me a picket-fence complex, and take some revoltingly cute children to late-night starskiff drives on the weekends?” You tug at a strand of his hair, twirling it around your finger; it slips, pliant as silk, and you drop your hand in search of something more entertaining.

His fingers turn bruising; your hand dips past his navel, tugging the loop of his belt free. Absently, you trace the silver of his armor-like garter. “Don’t forget your purpose—here, you are nothing but my dream-concubine, pretty as you may be. You exist to starve me of my fantasies so that you may bring me pleasure yourself, do you not? Fighting words, for one with a goal so…”

Your hands are frigid compared to the heat of his length, giving it a shallow, experimental tug. You hear him affected for the first time, breathing ragged in your ear, and you think he might as well break your hipbone with how tightly he grips it. It is an oddly rewarding sting; you stave off the pain with a giggle, lips brushing over the shell of his ear.

“...endearing,” you finish, teeth catching the flesh of his lobe. You’re only slightly out of practice; gone are the days of experimenting with more than a sloppy, quick fuck in some alleyway of the red-light district, but having a man—spirit, whatever the hell this thing was—of such indomitability crack under your ministrations served the necessary power-high to follow through with your teasing.

You remind yourself it’s all for a greater plan; the plan that suddenly looks as hazy as your fourth shot of tequila on a holiday cruise as you fall into whispering filthy nothings into his ear.

“You poor thing,” you gloat, boring your eyes fearlessly into his; they are half-lidded now, much more tolerable to look at. He presses a thumb warningly down on your pelvis when you arch, knees planted on either side of his hips to support your weight. You grin. “Relax.”

Confidently, you brush his hair out of his eyes—sweat clings to his forehead, jaw worked so tight you know his teeth are gritted. Your hand trails off the side of his face, adoring; “How long has it been since you’ve been cared for? Months? Years? Decades? Why do you deprive yourself?”

He is much too prideful to relent, this you know; because you are not all cruel, you smile, allowing him reprieve in the comfort of your neck. Your dream demon stills at the gesture, muscles growing taut even as he allows you to move him as you please. You laugh, patting the back of his head.

Because he is wholly unused to affection, you kiss the side of his cheek, his hair, base of the throat, and everywhere else when he likely fractures both your pelvic bone and wrist in response to the pace you set. Surprisingly, the wrist he grips is not the one that tugs at his cock, but the one that soothes him by sifting through his roots, as if he is more cautious of adoration than he is lust; you curve your thumb over the tip, and you know he’s close, abdomen constricting, all but cutting off your hand’s blood supply;

Focus. Now’s your chance.

It’s only under the guise of utter sweetness that you manage to pry his fingers from your wrist, lacing your hand with his and releasing him from your other at the same time. He snarls, hips bucking forward at the loss, sounding more animal than man; you use your now-free hand to capture his jaw, the other still tightly wound, and plant a searing, punishing kiss.

It’s humiliating. Would have been pathetic, even, had he not lasted so long and after such a lengthy period of abstinence; and had you been a tad more sadistic. You feel him shudder, the warmth of your mouth and hand-holding too much.

You bite down on his lip. Hard.

It’s difficult, teetering the border between a kiss and mauling his lips off; a plight that has to be overcome, however, as you scrape over the wound and taste blood in your mouth. It’s done. You separate from his person with a gasp, scanning the small, but fresh (and most importantly: noticeable) graze; it would undoubtedly redden and scar, just as your welts had.

Now, all that’s left to do is waltz into your daily session with the space criminal and examine him for a matching wound. Then, you can be sure—

“You.”

…okay, you definitely hadn’t thought this far.

“…we can talk this through,” you laugh nervously, raising both hands in surrender. “Let’s—talk, yeah? Like civil people. Iwaswrongpleasedon’thurtme—”

You squeak when your jaw is tucked into his vice-like grip; you shut your eyes, screeching a mantra of wake up wake up WAKE UP—

“You have some nerve.” He chuckles darkly (yes, chuckles; you’re reciting your final wishes at this point, coupled with a few bastardized prayers to Lan, because Aeons, this had to be the last thing you heard), arm crushing you against him; he feels the same as before, relentless, unyielding, rendering you completely at his mercy.

“What did you expect,” you protest, because if you’re going to die, you might as well go out with the last word; “—when you left me so callously last time,” you finish, chin jutted in defiance.

The world above you begins to splinter; you see the fabric of your blackout curtains, spy the string of polaroids dangling from your ceiling. A wave of relief washes over you; you smile, beguiling, and roll over so you’re no longer pinned under him.

“Well, this has been lovely, but it’s getting late—early—and would‘ya look at the ti—!”

He grips your ankle, tugs; your world blurs from the sudden movement, and you drown in the scent of rain and woodsmoke once more.

His mouth brushes over yours, cold, soft—an almost-kiss. You find yourself with an insatiable yearning for those lips once more—the taste of iron and something sweeter.

Your eyes remain half-lidded in want for only half a second; the next, you find yourself letting out a noise torn between a moan and a hiss, feeling the pads of his fingers circling pressure around your clit. Your thighs clamp on instinct, shocked at the surge of pleasure; you can only stare, horrified, into dark hair and the lightly-scarred pallor of his neck.

“What’re you—”

The words die on your lips as easily as the bloom of a strangulated whine; the rare power-trip over your dreamvader had left you rather malleable, and it didn’t take long for him to deem you prepped enough to split in half. The drag of his fingers is haunting; a slow-burning candle, a lull, bandaged thumb working on your nerves while he curls two more inside.

“Entertained?” He breathes, teeth grazing over the shell of your ear the same way you had; but he bites where you had kissed, devours instead of adoring. Your dreamscape spins; you hear the phantom of your own voice in an echo chamber. “Not entertained?”

In response, you can only grip the back of his hair.

“Not quite.” You bite down into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Entertained,” he rasps, and your world is collapsing; vibrations of bent, gleaming white and silver-blue; the surface below you pools, turns to void-stars. You move only with the rise of his chest, the ripple of his throaty voice; your hips move sluggishly against his thigh, knee parting you open, as if you’re in a trance. He sets a brutal pace, dragging your hips up to meet his, and the friction between your clothed heat and his is enough to have you drawing red down his back, pushed to a state of delirium you didn’t think was possible with mere grinding.

Your response is a cacophony of undulated whimpers; you keen, eyes wet and red, every nerve lit on fire, and the very backdrop of your dream world burns behind your eyes;

You search for his lips like a prisoner starved; the stars fall out of his mouth, and you catch them, outpouring into the constellated belt of a dipper.

Entertained? You feel him mouth against the flesh under your breast, voice drowned by the bell of your morning alarm and the purr of early-morning starskiffs making a beeline for breakfast courts. You’re all but a ragdoll now, held up by a single arm. You twist your neck to glare down at him, eyes itching for the waking world.

“Whore,” You accuse, a half-slur; you blink rapidly, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbone, and swear you feel him smile against your rib.

When you come to, you have ten missed calls from Jingyuan, a barrage of worried messages from Tingyun, and a notice from the Luofu’s government hospital on behalf of the reigning High Elder, Bailu.

ꨄ︎

He hears you before he sees you; Blade doesn’t have a chance to look up before you have your hand at his neck, near-strangling; a pressure that likely would’ve had the average man nearly knocked out. Your breath comes out in harsh, sobbing huffs, and you smell salty, as if you’d been crying; that, and of something sterile—rubbing alcohol?

“What did you do?” The break in your voice tells him everything he needs to know. When he doesn’t answer right away, you tighten your hold, and he finds himself both smiling and unable to breathe. “You fucking bastard, tell me what you did to him.”

“Whom?” 

You let out a shrill, and he laughs, feeling your nails mark over the old scars along his throat, vessels restricting under the abuse; you land a rather solid one across his cheek, enough to have him snap to the left, though unfortunately not enough to break posture. Rather amateur in combat, were you?

“Did you kill him?” You’re screeching now, voice hollowed-out and black with rage, and a small inkling in him whispers that maybe, just maybe he’d taken it too far—but he remembers what Kafka had relayed to him, the script foretold by destiny’s slave, and his own promise, and cannot find it in himself to care. “Did you fucking kill him, you—”

Your words fail you; there’s nothing horrible enough to scream. You want to beat him bloody and tear his hair out from his scalp and kill him, twice as cruel as he had been to Danyin, but—

You fall to your knees, hands flying to your mouth.

“That’s… no, that can’t—that’s not—”

Jingyuan’s hand on your shoulder is a painful tether to reality, and you can only watch as the High Elder rubs her hands over your coworker’s molting form in desperation. The poor Vidyadhara girl looks exhausted, sweat clinging to her forehead as she tries to reanimate a body long gone.

“We found him bleeding outside his post,” Jingyuan says gravely, but you can’t hear him anymore; can’t hear anything, can’t see anything, wishing you could unsee everything. “He had… strangest look on his face… as if he’d seen a ghost… so much blood…”

You spy your own wristwatch coming undone from his now-waxy arms. It clatters to the floor; you stare at it blankly.

“I’m counting on you, friend!”

If only you hadn’t. If only you’d shut your mouth. If only you had. If only—ifonly, Aeons; would he still have been alive?

“[Name]!” Jingyuan shakes you; you wonder how long he’d been doing that, and turn to stare up at him, bewildered. This had to have been a dream, some terrible nightmare. Things like this didn’t happen on the Luofu. It was an era of peace. Things like that didn’t happen to you. Not people you knew. “...Tingyun is heading over as we speak; I do not know what has transpired, but I assure you, [Name], I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this, and no harm will come to you, this I swear—”

You want to laugh and cry and tear open the very fabric of reality at the same time. You? How could you possibly have been worried about yourself when you had all but caused someone to die? When you were the reason that—

“...was not something Diviner Fu foresaw. I’ll be taking you off this case, [Name], for time being, and you will be compen—”

“No.”

“...I don’t believe you’re in the right headspace—”

“No,” you repeat, and you’re already standing up, legs moving before your brain can process your destination; Jingyuan makes a motion to grab your arm to stop you, but whatever face you’re wearing has him frozen in his tracks. “I’ll see to it I see this job through. All the way. On behalf of him.”

“Did you like your gift,” he wonders, and suddenly, he is nothing short of hideous—a beast in human skin, scum, something that existed to die; you gnaw down on your bottom lip and taste iron, anything to quell the traitorous tear that dampened his blindfold and ran past his own cheek. “Had you truly let down your guard so prematurely?”

“You monster,” you whisper, finally. “How could you take someone’s life so—so—”

“Life,” he murmurs, “is only made precious through death. A lesson not all learn early, a paradise unreachable for me… ah,” he chuckles, words catching in his throat when you try your damndest to suffocate the piece of shit in front of you.

“Do you think yourself nature?” You grit, voice a clamor; “Do you think yourself above life? What gives you the right to rob another of theirs—are you even human?”

“On the contrary,” he sighs, “I give them a gift of the highest honor—the gift of death. It is all predestined, those I kill; a slave to destiny is what I’ve become. I can only yearn for the day he returns my favor—the day I may walk over the blood I’ve spilt to welcome the end which I’ve sought for… all this time…”

You feel like vomiting. You’d never understood them, neither the woes of the soon-to-be marastruck or the elders, who viewed life as more a chore than something to be cherished; something to squash under their soles. They called it the curse of the abundance, but they had become the true curse—an enemy of life itself. 

“One day,” you promise, “you will fear death. One day, you will find something—someone—worth living for, and even your cruel, unbeating heart will take form, mimicking that of a real one. And I pray—I will make sure of it—you die that day, the day you fear death. Until then, I hope you wander. I hope you roam every corner of the galaxy, pushed to the brink of death and reviving once more; I hope you are always unsettled. I hope you never find peace.”

You hear the general’s men burst through the door a second later, ripping you away from the creature. He sits there, in silence and contemplation, and you’re unable to rip your eyes from his form;

His last words are amused, a murmur; the shade of summer trees.

“How odd of you to curse me with what is already reality.”

ꨄ︎

When he dreams, your hands are at his throat once more; you might be crying again, he can’t tell; your tears are corporeal, and he still can’t see you. He comes to the stifling realization that some part of him—a part that should be impassive—does not wish to see you in such a state, your sniffling drawing his ire.

“Change,” you spit, imagining your hands to pop that godforsaken throat open like it should have in the waking world, “stop looking like that. Change. Now.”

He makes no effort to move, as if your ministrations do not bother him in the slightest—just like in the real world. You let out a snarl.

“I warned you,” he says, as you begin beating down on his chest with the ferocity of a dozen wolves, “in time, you would find that your nightmares and I become one in the same.”

“I don’t care,” you howl, fists going raw in their onslaught; “Stop looking like that—that thing. It’s revolting.” 

He doesn’t respond; you wail and howl until your throat runs dry and the skin of your palms ache, seemingly, an eternity; you collapse on his chest, and he feels it turn wet with your tears. You’re shaking from exhaustion, anger, something more—too much.

And despite it all, through your rage, you reach an epiphany—a welcome one; for whatever demon may haunt you, it isn’t him. Isn’t Blade. You’d seen him at your altercation, lips unmarred and sporting not a single bruise he would’ve gained in your dream world; and despite the healing prowess of Xianzhou Natives, not a single one sported regenerative abilities to that degree.

You raise your face to meet his, and cup his cheeks—slowly, softly, unlike your prior treatment. It’s a shocking change, one that has him reeling from the whiplash.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, a hoarse, scratchy apology. “I’ve been taking my rage out on you, but you—you are not him. You don’t deserve it, not really. I—I don’t know your circumstances, or why you’re here… but I don’t think you would have chosen this face. Not if you could’ve helped it.”

He says nothing. He should tell you the truth—observe as something shatters inside you once more, and have you reeling from the impact. He should break you cleanly.

But he doesn’t.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you say, sounding dead. “Just—make me forget. Please. I don’t want to think of anything anymore.”

He finds you completely pliant when he shifts your form on his chest, lacking your usual bite—you say nothing when he moves you under him, hand cradling the back of your head so he can tilt you for a kiss.

Your lips don’t move against his, merely open—you shudder, curling your legs inward instead of at his waist, and he finds himself despising it. You. Him. Everything in between.

You’re crying again. He finds himself unable to do anything other than mouth away your tears, even as you whisper for more, beg, even; an excuse to kiss you once more, again and again, repeatedly; catches them right over your mouth, sweeps that can almost be considered gentle, despite that being the last thing you want (need).

“Fool,” he murmurs, blanketing you in darkness; of hair, fabric, and his hands. You close your eyes, lulled into an even deeper sleep—a dream within a dream.

Before you doze off, you wonder if this is his own way of showing kindness—an effort made so you would not be forced to bear the torment of seeing his face once more.

taglist: @aliceu, @hypernovaxx

a/n: this was so painful to finish mostly bc I had to adult and do actual life things >.> lmk if anyone wants to be added to the taglist! (provided ur not a minor!!) ill probably edit this a lot bc god knows i did not proofread

[deezbin]

•𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆•

!idol!Han taesan!×!normal gf!

Warnings: kissing

Synopsis: Y/n visits Han Taesan's studio for the first time

Wc: 10k

As Y/n stepped into the sleek, modern studio, she felt like she was entering a creative wonderland. The gleaming instruments and plush furnishings seemed to radiate a warm, inviting energy that made her feel right at home. Han Taesan, the charming lead singer of boynextdoor, greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Welcome to my sanctuary, Y/n," he said, offering her a tour. "I'm so glad you're here. I've been wanting to show you around for ages!"

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she followed Taesan through the studio, taking in the various instruments and equipment. He showed her his favorite guitar, a beautiful acoustic with intricate carvings on the neck. As he strummed a few chords, the melody seemed to dance in the air, filling Y/n with a sense of wonder.

"Wow, this is amazing," she breathed. "You're so talented, Taesan. I can't believe I get to see you in your element like this!"

Taesan chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, Y/n. I'm just passionate about music. It's my everything. And I'm glad you're here to share it with me!"

As they explored the studio, Taesan showed her his favorite songs, the ones that held special meaning to him. Y/n listened, entranced by his stories and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about music. She couldn't help but feel a connection to this talented idol, and she found herself falling deeper in love with him by the minute.

Finally, they reached the vocal booth, a cozy space with a microphone and a comfortable chair. Taesan gestured for her to sit, and as she did, he pulled her close, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Want to hear a secret?" he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

Y/n nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. Taesan began to hum a soft melody, his voice vibrating against her skin. She felt like she was melting into his embrace, the music wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

As they swayed to the music, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony, Y/n realized she was falling deeper in love with this talented, charming idol. Taesan's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with a hint of mischief.

"Want to create some music together?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

Y/n's cheeks flushed, but she nodded, her heart racing with excitement. Taesan grinned, his eyes sparkling with joy. Together, they began to create a beautiful melody, their voices blending in perfect harmony.

As they sang, their creative energies merged, their love song echoing through the studio. The music seemed to take on a life of its own, filling the space with a sweet, tender energy.

Finally, they finished, their voices fading into silence. Taesan turned to her, his eyes shining with adoration.

"That was amazing," he whispered, his breath caressing her skin.

Y/n smiled, her heart full of joy. "You're amazing," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Taesan's face drew closer, his lips inches from hers. Y/n's heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. And then, in a soft, gentle motion, TaeSan's lips brushed against hers.

The kiss was like a whispered promise, a sweet vow of love and devotion. Y/n felt like she was melting into his embrace, their hearts beating as one.

As they pulled back, gasping for air, Taesan's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with love and adoration.

"I've been wanting to do that for so long," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

Y/n smiled, her heart full of joy. "I've been wanting you to," she replied, her voice barely audible.

And with that, they sealed their love with another kiss, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

As they sat together in the vocal booth, wrapped in each other's arms, Y/n knew that she had found her soulmate in Han Taesan. And as they gazed into each other's eyes, their love song echoing through the studio, she knew that their love would last a lifetime.

"Let's make some more music together," Taesan whispered, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/n nodded, her heart racing with anticipation. "I'd love to," she replied, her voice barely audible.

And with that, they began to create again, their love song filling the studio with a sweet, tender energy. As they sang, their hearts beat as one, their love growing stronger with every passing moment.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the studio, Taesan turned to her with a smile.

"I'm so glad you're here, Y/n," he whispered

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

3. Still Down

If I put all my faith to you, will you be faithful? Hold me down baby I know that ain't easy to do

“Hi! I’m here a little early…wearing sparkly pants.” Maryse Monet’s message reads like pre-emptive admin before a blind date but, in reality, it’s not necessary: the 25-year-old singer/actress is instantly recognizable and not just to me. As I arrive a young woman approaches her and asks for a selfie. “Your music changed my life.”

Maryse immediately pulled the young woman in a tight embrace and thanked her, making sure the fan knew how much she appreciated it.

We had originally had a reservation booked at a fancy restaurant in New York City. Maryse’ suggested we meet at this charming deli shop out of the state of NY, much to our bewilderment. It was only upon our arrival that we discovered the reason behind her unconventional choice – she had recently made Kentucky her new home.

“New York will always hold a special place in my heart,” she confided. “But now, my heart is in Kentucky. It’s a welcome change of pace.” While not explicitly mentioned, it was evident that her relationship with her rapper Jack Harlow played a significant role in her decision to make the move.

In the wake of her recent Grammy wins, we begin to discuss the impact of her success on her upcoming sophomore album and whether the accolades added pressure to her creative process.

“Winning two Grammys for my debut album was truly surreal and humbling,” Maryse began, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and determination. “While there’s certainly an added level of expectation with each release, I see it more as an opportunity than pressure.”

Maryse went on to explain how the recognition reaffirmed her artistic vision and gave her the courage to push the boundaries even further with her new album. Rather than feeling constrained by expectations, Monet embraced the challenge as a chance to elevate her craft and connect with her audience on a deeper level.

“As an artist, I’m always evolving and exploring new avenues of expression,” she continued, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “The Grammys serve as a reminder of the impact music can have, and I’m excited to channel that energy into my sophomore album.”

When I asked her how the sophomore album is going, Maryse's eyes began to sparkle as she leaned forward like she was about to tell me a secret. “I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into the writing, exploring new themes and melodies that reflect where I am in life right now.”

“With my debut, I was in this whirlwind romance, and every lyric seemed to overflow with joy and passion,” she recounted with a wistful smile.

While on tour last year it was revealed that she and Jack Harlow had broken up after being together for almost a year.

“This time around I found myself navigating the painful aftermath of a breakup,” she confided, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “What was meant to be a continuation of love songs transformed into a raw exploration of heartbreak.”

She went on to describe how the experience of love and heartbreak had shaped her songwriting. “This album feels like a deeply personal journey,” she explained, her expression thoughtful yet resolute. “This next album will be the breakup album everyone thought they were getting with the first one.”

And what does Jack Harlow think of having break up songs about him?

With a playful grin, Maryse quipped, “Oh, you mean my muse? He’s been incredibly supportive throughout this whole journey.” Chuckling, she added, “He’ll be fine with the heartbreak songs. He knows it’s all part of the process.”

When Maryse isn’t working on music, she’s reading scripts. Fresh off her role as Belle in the live-action adaptation of Beauty and the Beast, she’s now set to appear in the remake of The Color Purple. “Acting is a new challenge for me, but it’s incredibly rewarding,” she said.

Leaving the deli, I felt a profound sense of respect for Maryse Monet. She’s a testament to resilience and creativity, navigating the complexities of love, heartbreak, and success with grace. Her journey from New York to Kentucky, from singer to actor, and from heartbreak to healing is one that inspires and captivates. As she continues to evolve, one thing is certain: the world hasn’t seen the best of Maryse yet.

****

LIFEOFMONET

liked by milaj, dojacat, urbanwyatt, easymoneysniper,jackharlow, torikelly, and 587,567 others

lifeofmonet: Never thought I would be on the cover of vogue 🥺 this means EVERYTHING TO ME I am so grateful and excited for this next chapter…..LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!!

view all 6,789 comments

mariahthescienctist: So beautiful!

user: ICONIC

user: we finally getting a break up album!!!!

user: how can someone be so beautiful

saweetie: Yessss💜

user: the confirmation that she’s back with Jack and moved in with him 🥹🥹🥹🥹

urbanwyatt: welcome to Kentucky 😅

user: Jack has a big storm coming

jackharlow: so proud of you 😍

As Maryse walked into the house, she felt a wave of exhaustion run through her. Today at the studio was emotionally taxing and she was happy to finally be home. She kicked her shoes off and placed them on the shoe rack, and let out a sigh of relief.

In the living room, Jack was lounging on the couch flipping through a magazine. As Maryse walked closer she noticed it was the latest issue of Vogue, featuring her on the cover. Jack looked up, a broad smile spreading across his face as their eyes met.

“Hey there, superstar!” He greeted, setting the magazine aside and standing up to hug her. “How was the studio?”

“Tiring, but good,” Maryse replied, melting into his embrace. “What about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty relaxed,” he said, holding her at arm’s length and looking her over. “I spent some time reading this.” Jack gestured to the magazine. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

She blushed, feeling a mix of pride and shyness. “You read the whole thing?”

“Every word,” he confirmed, his eyes twinkling with admiration. “It’s a great article. You come across so genuine and talented. They captured you perfectly.”

Maryse laughed softly, shaking her head. “I don’t know about that, but it was a fun interview. And it was kind of nice, meeting at Morris Deli and then walking around the Highlands. Felt more personal.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious. “I loved what you said about New York and Kentucky. ‘New York always has a special place in my heart, but now my heart is in Kentucky.’ That hit home.”

“Well, it’s true,” she replied softly, reaching out to take his hand. “This place, this life we’re starting to build here… it’s special.”

Jack pulled her close again, kissing her forehead. He grinned playfully, “Oh, you really love me, huh?” he teased.

Maryse laughed, feeling her cheeks warm. “Well, you’re pretty special,” she replied, matching his playful tone. “I guess you could say you’re worth the move.”

He chuckled, pulling her even closer. “Worth leaving the big city for small-town life? That’s saying something.”

She nodded, looking up at him with affection. “Yeah, it is. But honestly, being with you feels like home no matter where we are.”

Jack’s expression softened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I feel the same way,” he said quietly. “I was just messing with you. I know how much you’ve given up to be here, and it means the world to me.”

She smiled, her heart full. “It’s not giving up anything when it means being with you. Besides, Kentucky has its charm. I’ve discovered a lot of things I love here.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, really? Like what?”

Maryse pretended to think for a moment, tapping her chin. “Well, despite all the white people… everyone is friendly, the scenery is beautiful, and there’s this amazing guy I get to come home to every day.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re too much.”

She leaned in, planting a quick kiss on his lips. “And you love it.”

Jack sighed contentedly, pulling her into his lap. “Yeah, I do. More than anything.”

As they continued cuddling on the couch, Maryse couldn’t help but think about how hectic the coming year was going to be. Her schedule was packed with studio sessions, promotional events for the Color Purple.

The excitement of her career’s momentum was tempered by the nagging worry that their busy lives might pull them apart again. She didn’t want a repeat of last year, when their packed schedules had created a wedge between them.

She took a deep breath and snuggled closer to Jack feeling the warmth of his body against hers. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice tinged with hesitation. “Can we talk about something?”

Jack looked down at her, concern etched on his face. “Of course, what’s on your mind?”

She bit her lip, gathering her thoughts, and he gently pulled her lips away with his thumb, stopping her. “Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Talk to me, M.”

Maryse sighed, trying to organize her thoughts. “This year is going to be really busy for me. Probably even busier than last year. And while I’m excited about everything, I’m also worried. You know how things got between us when we were both so busy.”

He nodded “Yeah, I remember. It was tough.”

“I don’t want that to happen again,” she continued, Maryse’s voice barely above a whisper. “I know this year is supposed to be your reset year, and I don’t want to mess that up for you. I just… I don’t want us to drift apart.”

Jack pulled her closer, his grip tightening protectively. “Hey, we’re not going to let that happen again. We’ve learned a lot from last year. We’ll make time for each other, no matter what.”

She sighed, feeling a bit more reassured but still worried. “I know, but it’s hard. We both have so much going on. I just don’t want us to become strangers living in the same house.”

He lifted her chin, making her look into his eyes. “Listen to me. You’re the most important thing in my life. We’ll figure it out. If it means rearranging my schedule to be with you, I’ll do it. This reset year isn’t just about my career; it’s about us too. And I’m not going to lose you again.”

Maryse smiled, feeling a tear escape and roll down her cheek. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Jack wiped the tear away with his thumb and kissed her gently. “We’re a team, remember? We’ll face this together.”

Maryse nodded and was quiet before a thought popped in her mind. “Maybe we should go on vacation before it gets too busy.”

He grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. “That sounds perfect. I haven’t been on a real vacation in years. Any place in mind?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “Somewhere quiet and relaxing. Maybe a beach? We could use some sun and sand.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jack agreed. “A chance to unwind and just be with each other.”

She nodded, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought. “Yeah, just us, away from everything. We need that.”

Jack kissed her forehead, a look of determination in his eyes. “Let’s make it happen. I’ll handle all the planning. You just pack your bags.”

“Just so you know,” Jack said, a playful smirk on his face, “I’m probably gonna burn in the sun while you get a nice tan.”

Maryse laughed, playfully nudging him. “I’ll make sure to bring plenty of sunscreen for you, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’m serious though. I turn into a lobster if I’m out in the sun too long.”

She grinned, loving the banter. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you in the shade then. Or maybe we can alternate between sunbathing and hiding under an umbrella.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, pulling her closer. “As long as I get to spend time with you, I don’t care where we are or what we do.”

She smiled, feeling a wave of warmth and love. “Same here. I just want us to have some time to relax and enjoy each other’s company.”

He kissed her gently, his eyes filled with affection. “It’s a date then. We’ll escape to the beach and have the best time ever.”

She nodded, her heart full. “I can’t wait. It’ll be perfect.”

“I’m thinking we hit up a nude beach,” Jack teased, not being able to hide the mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Maryse couldn’t help but gasp and playfully hit his arm. “You’re unbelievable!”

Jack laughed, enjoying her reaction he leaned in, stealing a quick kiss. “What? It could be fun! Totally freeing, you know?” He pecked her lips again, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

She shook her head, giggling. “I don’t think so. The only person who gets to see me like that is you.”

“You damn right!,” he said, still chuckling before he kissed her again, softer this time. “But you have to admit, it would’ve made for an interesting vacation story.” Another kiss.

“Sure,” Maryse replied, rolling her eyes with a smile as he kissed her again. “Maybe in an alternate universe.”

He laughed and continued to steal kisses between words. “Alright, no nude beaches,” he said, punctuating each word with a quick peck. “But seriously, anywhere with you is perfect.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love. “Just us, no phones, no work.”

“Deal,” he said, kissing her forehead, finally giving her lips a break. “It’s going to be amazing.”

Jack then smiled, pulling her closer. “Alright, no more yapping. Let’s go cuddle.”

He stood up and offered his hand, helping her off the couch. She took it with a tired smile, leaning into him as they walked to the bedroom, hand in hand.

Once they were under the covers, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. The warmth of his body against hers was comforting, a feeling she had missed during their time apart. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Goodnight, M.” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. His voice was soft, filled with affection and relief that they were together again.

Maryse snuggled deeper into his embrace, feeling safe and content. “Goodnight, Jack. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied softly.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in their cozy little bubble. The tension and worries of the day melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

Maryse laid still for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then, unable to resist, she gently poked him in the side.

“Are you asleep?” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Jack groaned softly, opening one eye. “Well, I was,” he teased, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, I’m just so glad we’re together again,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as sleep began to overtake her.

“Me too,” Jack whispered back, watching her as her breathing evened out and she drifted off to sleep. He stayed awake a little longer, his mind drifting over the events of the past year and the journey that had brought them back to each other, but none of that mattered anymore as Maryse was finally back snuggled underneath him.

He kissed the top of her head, a smile playing on his lips as he closed his eyes. The familiar rhythm of her breathing, the way she fit perfectly against him—it was all he needed to feel at peace. For the first time in months, he felt truly at home.

As sleep began to claim him, he held onto the thought of how lucky he was to have her back in his arms. No matter how busy their lives might get, this was what mattered most: the love they shared and the promise to face everything together.

And with that comforting thought, he finally drifted off to sleep, happier than he’d been in a long time.

*****

AN: little filler chapter! next chapter is when the real fun begins and they go on vacation :) let me know your thoughtsssss

Tag List:

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @toocriticalharlow @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @jaydaaasworld @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @w1ldthoughts @jackiehollanderr @katiaw2 @halfmoondaze @babybardi2 @daphnescorner @angelluv444

[maiochiruhanabiraaa]

GOODBYE ROAD (Pablo Gavi.)

"Goodbye Road" by iKON is a song that reflects on the bittersweet feelings of letting go of a past relationship. The lyrics describe the emotions of longing, regret, and sadness that come with saying goodbye to someone you cared deeply about. The road symbolizes the journey of moving on and accepting the end of the relationship. The song suggests that while parting ways is painful, it may also lead to personal growth and the possibility of finding happiness again in the future.

“Goodbye, if only I knew we'd say goodbye, I wouldn't have loved you this much,” whispered Y/N softly, her voice tinged with regret as she stood before Gavi, the man who had captured her heart so completely.

Their love had been a whirlwind of passion and laughter, but now, faced with the inevitability of parting ways, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if she had given too much of herself. Gavi gazed at her with a mixture of sadness and understanding, his own heart heavy with the impending farewell.

She couldn't help but reflect on the state of her relationship with Gavi, once filled with passion and tenderness, now reduced to a numbness that felt suffocating.

“Because our feelings for each other have become numb,” she acknowledged with a heavy heart, feeling the weight of their emotional distance like a chasm between them. The words they exchanged no longer held the power to stir emotions, as they seemed to navigate their days in a detached rhythm.

“Even emotionally hurting each other doesn't seem to phase us,” Y/N realized sadly, remembering the times when their words had cut deeper than they intended. Their love, once a vibrant flame, had flickered out, leaving behind only the remnants of sentiment that neither knew how to ignite.

“Whatever you do, we've become so nonchalant to each other," she murmured quietly, the resignation in her voice betraying the ache of realizing that familiarity had bred indifference. As Y/N gazed at Gavi, she wondered if they could find a way to rekindle what they once had or if their paths were destined to diverge, leaving their love as a distant memory of what could have been.

Their relationship, once a sanctuary of love and security, now lay in ruins, fractured by doubts and uncertainties that had seeped in unnoticed.

They couldn't shake the feeling of heartache and betrayal that had slowly seeped into their relationship. “Your interest became an obsession,” Y/N admitted quietly, recalling the times when Gavi’s once loving gaze had turned into scrutinizing suspicion. The trust they had painstakingly built together over years had now crumbled like sand slipping through their fingers.

“You were suspicious day and night,” Y/N acknowledged with a heavy heart, the memories of arguments and accusations weighing heavily on their mind. The insecurity and doubt had eroded the foundation of their love, leaving behind shards of broken promises and unspoken regrets. “You'll probably find someone new after we break up,” Y/N whispered sadly, a bitter realization settling in.

Gavi stood there, gazing at Y/N with a heart heavy with regret and longing. The words echoed painfully in his mind as he struggled to make sense of the unraveling of their once beautiful relationship. “I didn't mean to date you just to cry together,” he thought, feeling the sting of tears threatening to surface despite his efforts to hold them back.

They had started out full of hope and promise, sharing dreams and laughter, not foreseeing the tears that would eventually come. “I didn't mean to create memories to be left with pain,” Gavi acknowledged silently, his heart aching with the weight of their fading connection.

Each cherished moment now felt like a distant echo, slipping away into the abyss of forgotten promises. He wished he could rewind time, rewrite their story, and erase the pain that now overshadowed their shared memories. As he looked into Y/N's eyes, Gavi knew that despite the tears and the hurt, a part of him would always cherish the love they once had, even as they faced the inevitable goodbye.

He couldn't shake the feeling of disbelief and sorrow that had settled in his heart.

”I've once again become strangers with someone so easily,” he thought, grappling with the sudden distance that had grown between him and Y/N.

They had been so close, sharing dreams and building a future together, only to find themselves drifting apart like ships in the night.

“I didn't just love you to break up with you,” Gavi admitted softly, his voice filled with regret and longing. He had believed their love was meant to withstand any storm, but now he was faced with the reality of their unraveling bond.

“Getting used to,” he mused sadly, recognizing the painful process of accepting their new reality. Gavi wondered if they could ever find their way back to each other or if their love was destined to remain a bittersweet memory.

“Goodbye,” Y/N whispered softly.

“As we part towards the rough path,” Y/N reflected, feeling the weight of uncertainty and heartache settle upon them. They had shared moments of joy and struggle, but now their paths diverged, leading them towards separate futures.

“After you leave me, I hope you only walk on the path with flowers,” Y/N murmured with a faint smile, wishing Gavi nothing but happiness and serenity in the journey ahead.

Despite the pain of separation, there was a glimmer of hope that each step they took apart would lead them closer to finding peace and fulfillment, even if it meant walking separate paths from now on.

Gavi stood at the crossroads of their relationship, “Be careful as we part our separate lonely ways,” he thought, his heart heavy with the weight of impending separation from Y/N. Their love had once been a beacon of happiness, but now it flickered dimly amidst the shadows of doubt and sorrow.

“Forget all the memories of me as you go,” Gavi whispered to himself, his voice tinged with resignation and a hint of lingering affection. He knew that letting go of their shared moments would be painful, yet necessary for both of their healing.

“Please don't be hurt like the times you were with me,” Gavi whispered softly, his voice tinged with regret. He had never wanted to see her in pain, yet he knew that their time together had left scars that might linger. As he spoke those words, he wished he could undo the moments that had caused her sorrow, wishing instead for her happiness and peace. Gavi’s heart ached with the weight of their shared memories, now etched with the melancholy of their parting. He hoped she would find solace and healing, far from the hurt they had both endured.

Despite the ache in his heart, he knew that parting ways was the only way forward, each step leading them further from what they once were and towards a future where memories of their time together would gradually fade into the distance.

They had shared moments of undeniable happiness, but life's unpredictable turns had led them here, standing on the precipice of goodbye. They felt lost and each step echoing with the pain of letting go.

[candycorncrave]

So. Let's talk about Penacony and birds.

-Spoilers for the 2.1 quest (and possibly some of 2.2 if my theories and findings are correct)

Hey all! I'm not too good at starting these essay type things, so we're just gonna dive right in. Disclaimer, these are all just theories complied from random (not very in depth) research I did, and my own thoughts, so take it all with a grain of salt. I just wanted to put this out here for funsies!

With that out of the way, let's dive in!

From very early on into the Penacony quests, there was something that just kept nagging at me. Robin's name, (mixed with the fact that shes a singer.) The family's crest being a Nightingale. Aventurine's design very clearly representing a peacock. Ratio's owls.

There were just too many bird references for this all to be a coincidence, so I decided to do some research on bird symbolism and meaning.

And here are some very interesting things I found!

Now a lot of this is quite clear cut, so I won't go into alot of explanation, but I do find the "rebirth" part quite interesting, especially since it is hinted during the 2.1 quest that she came back from "death".

Let's start with Robin, since she's one of the more obvious ones: "Above all, the robin red-breast is a symbol of spring song and good fortune. Additionally, it also symbolises passion, a new beginning, and re-birth. Therefore, if the bird flies into your life you will be blessed with happiness and joy. Subsequently, most of the symbolism of robins is centred on their spiritual meaning which is believed to be a symbol of divine sacrifice." In native American culture, Robins also have strong ties with family and "heart centered connections."

Next up are Owls: Now this one is also pretty obvious. Dr Ratio's design has very heavy Greek inspiration, and owls in Greek mythology are very clearly tied with Athena, knowledge, and wisdom.

The thing I found interesting about this was all over Sunday's mansion, there are owls decorating a lot of the furniture. Could this have been foreshadowing for his "betrayal" and assisting Sunday? I'm not sure. In my opinion, that seems like quite a length to go to mislead players- especially since it's such a niche detail that most people probably won't think twice about. Maybe it will have more meaning in 2.2. Guess we'll wait and see!

3rd, Another obvious one, Black Swan: They symbolize the opposite of what the white swan does, naturally, so death, danger, destruction, suffering, chaos, mystery, etc.

Even more than that though, "The black swan theory of events is a metaphor that describes an event that comes as a surprise, has a major effect, and is often inappropriately rationalized after the fact with the benefit of hindsight."

Another one I don't feel the need to dig that deep into. It all pretty much checks out with what we've seen of her character and the events of the story so far. Black Swan is a scary lady....

4th, Let's talk about Peacocks: Now we all know peacocks are commonly associated with general wealth, pride, and flamboyance. I thought that was all there really was to it being such a big contributor to Aventurine's design. But I decided to dig a little deeper and. Oh boy.

Peacocks can also symbolize both death, and life. Now at face value this is quite contrasting, but when you apply it to Adventurine's character- it makes quite a lot of sense. A single coin flip between life and death that keeps landing face up, and yet, it's a gamble he never hesitates to make. Moreso, peacocks can symbolize the freedom and liberation of the soul. (OUCH)

And Let's finish off the doozy. Nightingales: The symbol of the family and the bird constantly following Sunday around and watching everything the entire quest without a sound.

"Nightingales are symbolic of beauty, melody, creativity, purity, and the expression of oneself freely. They are also symbolic of darkness, mysticism, spiritual awakening, and renewal."

Now I found that the latter is often meant when you see a nightingale in your dreams. It is also mentioned if they do not speak back to you in a dream you will soon be betrayed.

,,,, How intriguing.

Also intriguing, Bloodhounds are very well known to be hunting dogs, and birds are prey for dogs.

And speaking of prey,,, are fish not considered birds' prey? And Sparkle, who we see fish around every time she shows up, was the "victim" in Black Swan's quest.

Anyways. I could be grasping at straws with that last part, but I do feel there is alot of stuff going on here with animal symbolism, especially more to dig into with Gallagher and Sparkle. It's all very intriguing

If you read all this here's a cookie! 🍪 Thanks for your time :) I hope you enjoyed the ramblings of a madman. Please feel free to add anything or comment your thoughts! I'd love to discuss

[ju-berry]

FANFICTION Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Melissa Schemmenti never imagined that a simple vacation away from Abbott Elementary would take her to one of the most vibrant and enchanting places in the world: Rio de Janeiro. She needed a break, and a distant friend had mentioned that Brazil was perfect for relaxing. Between the sunny days and the sound of the ocean, she had something different in mind than what — or who — she ended up finding.

It was on a warm, sultry night, after a long day at the beach, that Melissa wandered into a bar in Lapa, drawn by the sound of a local band playing soft, captivating music, something she couldn’t quite identify yet. The language was different, but the melody and rhythm were universal. She sat at the bar, her eyes fixed on the band.

“First time hearing MPB?” a soft voice asked beside her. She turned, her eyes meeting yours.

You were a Carioca, with an easy smile and a contagious energy. Your hair was loose, catching the breeze, and your relaxed posture showed someone who felt at home in the moment.

“MPB?” Melissa asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to get used to the musical cadence of the Portuguese language.

“Brazilian Popular Music,” you explained, your smile widening. “These songs are part of the soul here.”

Melissa smiled, intrigued. “There’s something about this sound… It reminds me of the old songs I grew up listening to, but with a different twist.”

You nodded, leaning in a little closer. “That’s the magic of Brazil. Every beat tells a story. Want me to introduce you to some of the best?”

Melissa was never one to shy away from new experiences — it was the Schemmenti spirit. “Why not? Go ahead.”

You ordered another round of drinks, and within minutes, the band started playing a song you knew was a classic. “That’s Rita Lee,” you said reverently. “She’s one of Brazil’s greatest voices. A rebel, passionate, a true force of nature.”

Melissa let the sound wash over her, the beats and lyrics blending into the warm night air. She watched you, the way you spoke about each song, each singer as if they were old friends. There was something about how you connected with the music that stirred something deep inside her.

“You really love this, don’t you?” Melissa commented, smiling softly at the scene.

“Absolutely,” you admitted. “Music here is like oxygen. We grow up with it, it’s part of who we are. It’s hard not to fall in love with it… and with this place.”

Melissa smiled back, but she knew it wasn’t just the music or the place that was grabbing her attention. It was you — your passion, your enthusiasm, your authenticity.

The days that followed were a blur of beaches, laughter, and nights full of music. Each day, you introduced Melissa to something new — Gal Costa, Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil — and each song seemed to dig deeper into her soul. But between the waves of sound, she felt something growing. A connection, something she hadn’t expected to find here, thousands of miles away from home.

On one of the last nights of her trip, you found yourselves on Ipanema beach, the soft sound of the waves mixing with the distant strumming of a street musician playing “Ovelha Negra.”

“I’m going to miss this,” Melissa said, her voice soft, almost lost in the wind. “All of it.”

You smiled, but there was a touch of melancholy. “You can always come back. Rio will be here, and so will the music.”

She looked at you, and in that moment, everything became clear. “It’s not just Rio I’ll miss…”

Your eyebrows raised, your heart racing as you absorbed the meaning of her words. Melissa, always direct, had let her guard down completely. And without hesitation, you leaned in, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that was soft and full of promise.

The music in the background continued, the slow, steady rhythm like the beat of two hearts that, for a brief moment, had found each other under the Rio de Janeiro sky.

[vinnieswife]

Forbidden love

Sukuna Ryomen x reader

words: 961

warnings: main characters death.

In the depths of a lush and enchanting forest, bathed in dappled sunlight, two figures moved silently among the ancient trees. You, a noble woman with flowing hair, and Sukuna, a rugged and mysterious criminal with a hidden gold heart, found solace in the solitude of the forest.

Your love, forbidden by the laws of class, had led you to this hidden refuge where you could exchange affection away from prying eyes. Hand in hand, you ventured deeper into the forest, your hearts filled with a mixture of fear and longing.

The air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers, and the melody of bird songs followed your every step. Beams of sunlight illuminated the path ahead, creating a whimsical atmosphere. As you walked, your whispered conversations floated softly on the breeze. "come on just say please and i'll give it to you" you said running with his necklace, he easily caught you "you know i never beg love", you laughed at his response giving the necklace back.

"Y/n, my love," Sukuna whispered, his voice filled with tender longing. "Though our love may be forbidden, my heart beats only for you. Every moment we spend together is worth the risk."

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you tightly squeezed Sukuna's hand. "I too would defy the world for the sake of our love," you confessed. "But the consequences could be terrible, Sukuna. We must be cautious."

You reached a clearing where a small brook trickled through moss-covered stones. The sound of running water provided a soothing backdrop for your stolen moments. Sukuna released your hand and stepped closer, his gaze filled with an intensity that stirred his soul.

"My dear," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "Let us forget the restrictions of the world, if only for a moment. Allow me to hold you and let us share a stolen kiss."

Your heart raced with anticipation and the allure of forbidden love. Sukuna closed the distance between you, your breath mingling as your lips finally met in a passionate embrace. Time stood still as your bodies intertwined, and the world faded away, leaving only the love that bound you together.

You pulled apart, your foreheads resting gently against each other's. Your eyes brimmed with tears, a mixture of joy and sadness. "This... feels like a dream," you confessed, your voice trembling.

Sukuna held you tightly in his arms, providing a sense of security amidst the uncertainty. "Even if it is just a dream, it is our dream," he whispered.

The air is charged with anticipation as the rustling of leaves and the song of birds become the backdrop of an unlikely encounter. Your hands are intertwined, souls entangled in a love that society deems unacceptable.

Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps grows louder, accompanied by the clinking of armor. Your eyes widen in fear as you watch the city guards approach, led by your stern and inflexible father. Panic tinges Sukuna's eyes, but they remain steadfast, refusing to let their love extinguish.

"Y/n! What does this mean? How can you be involved with this bastard?" your father says venomously.

You tremble, tears filling your eyes, as Sukuna takes a step forward, their voice firm but laden with regret.

"Sir, I know my past is stained, but I love your daughter with every fiber of my being. I have changed. Please." You can't believe what you're hearing. "Please," you've never heard that word come out of their mouth before.

Your father continues his speech. "A criminal? Do you think you can corrupt our daughter? Our family deserves better. You are betrothed to the prince."

The guards, fueled by your parents' anger, approach, surrounding you both with unwavering authority. Your heart beats forcefully in your chest. "I can't choose who I love. Marrying the prince will be torture. He is arrogant and narcissistic. Our social status may improve, but I will have a life of misery. I'd rather have a mediocre life with the one I love than live in a palace gilded with gold with someone I don't want."

Your father turns a deaf ear to your plea. "Seize him! He will pay for his crimes, and my daughter will learn her place."

As the guards advance to arrest Sukuna, you cling to him. Your hand finds his, and just a look is enough to know his next move. You both quickly start running, as fast as your legs allow, the guards closing in on you, with no escape.

Soldiers' shouts echo in the background, increasing your nervousness. Sukuna gently but firmly holds your face. "Listen to me. I don't care what may happen after this. I want you to know that I love you more than anything and anyone. I promise I will search for you in a thousand and one lives." Tears fall from your eyes, knowing that your love is coming to an end. The guards are behind you, all armed with bows and spears, as one of them draws the bowstring, aiming with ruthless intent. The arrow's hiss cuts through the air, and time seems to slow down as it hurtles towards its target.

Seeing the arrow being released, Sukuna turns his body completely in an attempt to protect you, but sadly, he couldn't. Looking down, you see the arrow piercing through Sukuna's chest and yours. Your gazes connect, knowing that this is the end. Time seems to freeze as your lips meet in a final kiss.

The ancient forest bears witness to your tragic fate, its towering trees mourning the loss of a love deemed forbidden. Your spirits will always be entwined, finding solace in the knowledge that your love, though extinguished in this world, will live on for eternity.

[manari-archives]

Already Over | MS47

We been talkin' for hours 'bout how we shouldn't talk for hours on end Kissing after a conversation 'bout how we'd probably be better off as friends

pairing: Mick Schumacher x Reader

warnings: alludes to a sexual relationship

word count: 1.4k

note: again this isn't based on the entire song, just a couple of lines mentioned. Not to happy with the way the confessions turned out. also english isn't my first language so any corrections feel free to let me know and any feedback is welcome :)

masterlist

You and Mick found yourselves in the intimate sanctuary of Mick's bedroom. The room exuded a comforting warmth with a faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. You gravitated towards this space, seeking solace and a connection that ran deeper than the boundaries of friendship.

The evening had begun innocently enough, with Mick inviting you over for a casual chat. your words were like brushstrokes, slowly painting each other's souls. Each sentence carried weight and meaning, your voices growing softer and more intimate as time progressed. you spoke of dreams and aspirations, of past heartaches and the lingering wounds you carried. The vulnerability you shared at that moment laid the foundation for what would unfold next.

In the depths of their conversation, Mick's gaze locked with yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away. The silence enveloped them, filled only by the anticipation hanging in the air. Your hearts beat in synchrony, each beat resonating with unspoken questions. It was a single moment, a shared glance that spoke volumes. In that instant, the weight of their connection became undeniable. Time seemed to stand still as they leaned closer, their breaths mingling. The energy crackled between you, electrifying the air with a sense of both hesitation and longing.

Without uttering a word, your lips met in a gentle, tender kiss. It was a kiss that carried the weight of your unspoken desires and the culmination of a connection you had both yearned for. In that embrace, the lines blurred between friendship and something more profound.

As you kissed, your bodies gravitated toward one another, seeking solace and closeness. The bed became a canvas for their emotions unspoken of, a space where you could explore the depth of your feelings in the purest form. It was a moment of surrender, a leap of faith into the unknown.

your bodies entwined, and they discovered a shared language that went beyond words. Each touch conveyed a world of emotions, igniting a fire within them that burned brighter with every passing moment. In that sacred space, you found solace, passion, and a love that defied all expectations.

Time became irrelevant as you revelled in the blissful intimacy, the world outside ceasing to exist. your bodies moved in harmony, guided by an instinctive understanding of each other's desires. The room echoed with their whispers, your voices mingling in a symphony of pleasure and affection.

And as you lay together, your bodies spent, you found solace in each other's arms. your hearts beat in unison, and the room filled with the echo of your breaths. Slowly, silence filled the room, the two not knowing how to navigate through unasked questions, unknown emotions, and unspoken truths.

"We really need to stop doing this," you said with a mix of longing and sadness as your fingers gently traced patterns on Mick's chest.

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes filled with affection and yearning. "You're right, Schatz. Yet, we keep finding ourselves back in this same situation."

your connection was undeniable, evident in the way Mick always searched for your face in a crowd and the way they effortlessly understood each other. Conversations between the two were magnetic, filled with laughter, vulnerability, and profound intimacy. But beneath the surface, a constant tug-of-war battled between the two of you.

You sighed, your gaze shifting from Mick's eyes to his lips. "Maybe we'd be better off as friends, Mick. It's just... it's complicated."

Mick's heart skipped a beat at your words. He had wondered the same thought countless times, but the sheer thought of losing you from his life filled him with a deep ache. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice laced with yearning.

But before Mick could continue, he found himself overcome by a surge of emotion. Without hesitation, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips against yours, a delicate and tender action that spoke volumes of the unspoken desires between the two.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but as the initial shock faded, the two of you smiled into the kiss, a silent acknowledgement of the depth of your desires. To Mick's surprise, you responded with equal intensity, your lips meeting in a moment of perfect harmony. You melted into each other's embrace, feeling the warmth and electricity surge between them. It was a kiss that spoke volumes in a language only you understood. It was a shared understanding that your hearts had found solace and peace in each other, and they were no longer able to deny what had blossomed between them.

As you slowly pulled away, your eyes met, sparkling with love and hope. Mick softly spoke with a smile, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm sorry I couldn't help myself."

You reached out, gently caressing Mick's cheek, a radiant smile present. "Don't apologize. That was everything I could have ever wanted."

In that instant, you knew that their love was meant to be explored and not left in the dark, that love that had found itself entwining their souls in ways they could not ignore.

Mick felt his heart swell with newfound courage as he gazed into your eyes. The depth of his feelings terrified him, but he knew it was time to share the truth that had been burning within him for years now. "Schatz," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, "I'm in love with you, and honestly, I have been for years now."

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening in astonishment. You had sensed the depth of their connection, but hearing Mick's confession brought a wave of overwhelming emotions crashing over you.

Tears glazed Mick's eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with sincerity. "Every conversation, every shared laugh, every stolen glance has only intensified my feelings for you. You are the one who fills my thoughts, the one who makes my heart skip a beat. I've tried to fight it, to deny it, but the truth is undeniable. I am deeply in love with you."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Mick's heartfelt words hung in the air, their weight enveloping both of you. In that vulnerable moment, everything felt stripped away, leaving only the raw truth of your connection.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening in surprise. The world seemed to stand still as you locked eyes, the weight of Mick's confession hanging in the air. Slowly, a shy smile tugged on your lips, mirroring the joys that danced in your eyes.

"Mick," you whispered, your voice filled with tenderness and a touch of vulnerability, "I'm in love with you too."

The weight of your confessions lifted, replaced by a profound sense of relief and an overwhelming surge of love. Your connection deepened, your souls intertwining with a newfound intensity. The walls that had separated you as friends crumbled away, leaving behind the raw, unfiltered truth of your shared love.

In the silence that followed, you allowed your emotions to settle, savouring the beauty of your newfound relationship. Mick reached out, his fingers delicately brushing against your cheek as if to reassure himself that this was not a dream but a tangible reality.

Your smile blossomed, your eyes shining with a mixture of affection and trust. "Mick," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering certainty, "You've always held a special place in my heart."

You lay side by side in Mick's bed, your fingers gently intertwined as you basked in the warmth of your connection. Time seemed to stretch as you savoured the moment, your hearts singing in harmony.

Mick's fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, his touch a testament to the tenderness and adoration he felt for you. With every caress, your bond deepened, and a sense of belonging washed over you.

You nestled closer, resting your head on Mick's chest, your heartbeats merging into a rhythmic melody. In the comfort of your embrace, you found solace and a haven where vulnerability was celebrated. You knew you could be your truest selves in each other's presence, without fear of judgment or rejection.

The air around you seemed to shimmer with electric revelations. At that moment, all seeds of doubt and uncertainty melted away, replaced by the overwhelming certainty that the two of you were meant to be together. As you embraced each other and as you lay in each other's arms, hearts beating in perfect synchrony, you smiled, knowing that your love story would forever be etched in the tapestry of your lives. It was as if all the pieces of your lives had fallen into place.

In the warmth of Mick's bed, you had discovered a love that would transcend your wildest dreams, a love that would intertwine your souls in ways you had yet to imagine. It was a love that would weather storms, celebrate victories, and forge an unbreakable bond.

[moonselune]

Aye yo I have another request if you're up to the challenge 😎

I made a post a while ago with a request/prompt to use Angel of Small Death by Hozier in a Minthara x Tav fic but it got next to no notes sooo

The song reminds me of her a lot and it's kind of hot 😅🥵 so I was thinking maybe Bard!Tav could perform it and things get spicy afterwards (this is just a suggestion tho, do w/ it what you will)

Thank you for all of your writing and I hope your summer is going well 😊

Okay this is a bit short but I hope you like it !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara x Bard!reader | Sing for me

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You sat by the fire, your fingers deftly plucking the strings of your lute. The camp was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the night and the crackling of the fire. Minthara was seated across from you, her intense gaze never leaving your form. The night air was cool, but there was an undeniable heat in the way she looked at you, a smoldering intensity that made your pulse quicken.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play a tune that had been running through your mind all evening. The melody was haunting, a mix of longing and dark allure. You started to sing, your voice low and rich, carrying the lyrics of a song you had crafted, when admiring her.

Your eyes locked with Minthara's as you sang.

"Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, I Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet"

Minthara's lips curled into a knowing smirk, her eyes darkening with interest. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the sharp lines and the fierce beauty that had captivated you from the start. Your voice grew huskier, the words carrying an unmistakable heat. Minthara's gaze grew more intense, her body leaning slightly forward as if drawn to you by an invisible force.

"With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene With her straw-blonde hair, her arms hard and lean She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene"

You saw the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the subtle tightening of her grip on her dagger's hilt. You could feel the energy between you both, electric and charged. The song had woven a spell around the two of you, each word a thread that pulled you closer together.

When you finished the last note, the camp was silent except for the crackle of the fire. You held Minthara's gaze, your breathing shallow, your heart pounding in your chest. She stood, her movements fluid and predatory, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides.

"You sing of dangerous things, bard," she said, her voice a low purr, her breath warm against your skin as she leaned in close. "Do you know what happens to those who play with fire?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine as you met her gaze, the heat between you almost unbearable. "I think I'm about to find out," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Minthara's eyes flashed with dark amusement before she closed the remaining distance, her lips crashing against yours with a fierce hunger. The kiss was intense, filled with the same dark passion you had sung about. Her hands roamed over your body, claiming you with an urgency that left you breathless.

You surrendered to her completely, your lute forgotten as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer. Her lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then to your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses that made you gasp.

She pushed you down onto the bedroll, her body pressing against yours. The night around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a world of heat and desire. Her touch was demanding, her kisses insistent, each one pulling you deeper into the dark, intoxicating spell she had woven over you.

"How I cannot wait to hear you sing for me again," she whispered against your skin, her voice sending shivers through your body.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I love our sexy drow lady so much - have I already told you guys that? I don't think so.. Hope you enjoyed it ! - Seluney xox