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seiwas · 8 months ago

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the blade bleeds longer than the wound takes to heal | simon riley

wc: 2.2k

summary: progress is non-linear. simon is learning just that.

contains: any warnings that apply to cod, blood, mentions of serious injuries, recovery and healing, kind of non-linear, simon-centric with a splash of romance, hurt/comfort

a/n: first time writing simon and he's a tough one!! but i'm really happy with how this turned out! + a very belated birthday gift for @vierisqe! forgive the jumble of american + british english in this one (i've reread this so many times that it's mushed together in my head and i can't tell the difference anymore djhfbjas) i hope i wrote him well!!

Simon picks up a knife in the dead of the night.

At 2:00 a.m., the wind whistles outside your window, a wayward branch being thrown aimlessly against glass. The branches drag roughly against the delicate surface, scratching and banging in the gust of a predicted storm.

Simon wakes up, eyes shooting open as his fingers instinctively reach for the small blade slotted underneath your mattress, sandwiched between soft cushion and the wooden panels of your bedframe. He keeps it there—

“For monster hunting. Sneaky fuckers only appear when lights’re out.”

—in case anything happens, he doesn’t say.

(But you know old habits die hard, and Simon sleeps better with a weapon only layers away from his skin.)

You’re curled up on his chest, hanging tightly onto his bicep as your breaths lull in the steady beats of slumber. His eyes blend dark blue against the backdrop of the night, and the only light casting itself into your bedroom diffuses from the streetlamp a few flats down.

“We should keep a night light,” you’ve told him a few times before—if only to avoid small accidents, like tripping over folded carpets or bumping into the sharp edges of your dresser.

“No ghosts here but me, love.” is all Simon replies.

(You take his cheekiness and keep it close to your chest, sporadic as it is, snorting as you let go of the topic.)

He sees better in the dark—better than most, he’d like to think.

His gaze flits to the window, watching intently as the branches move haphazardly; the sound hits the glass like bullet cases clinking against marble flooring. The same white marble bloodied deep red—

An inhale tickles his side, a phantom sharpness despite his ribcage being fully healed. There is no puncture, no gaping wound like that day 8 months ago—only scar tissue formed thickly along the outline of the knife that pierced through him.

He breathes out, slow and steady, taking one last look at the window, before moving over to the door, checking for shadows and any suspicious movement. Then, his gaze rests on you—your hair splayed across his shoulder as you sleep soundly.

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Everything is okay.

Some days, he can breathe just fine.

Spring blossoms through the flowers in your garden, white chrysanthemums that give Simon the worst spring allergies but he insists you keep. Despite the morning sniffles, when pollen seems to dust his dawning breath, he finds breathing easier on these days than most.

You do your best to snip away at the blossoming buds, preparing to bundle them far away from the burly man they weaken.

But Simon stands beside you with a watering pot, tilting the spout to drizzle life onto the blooms he knows are your pride and joy.

He owes it to them, he supposes, for keeping you company months at a time.

It’s at the fizzling end of summer when Simon returns to you.

Captain Price had contacted you weeks prior to inform you of the incident—just three things Simon requested be divulged:

One, that he had incurred a stab wound to be monitored for a few weeks, most likely in military facilities.

Two, that he’ll be discharged soon after.

And three, that you stay put and be calm; that you not worry.

(Your hands shake throughout the entire call, your knees giving way as you fall to the bunched up carpet of your bedroom floor.

To you, Simon is untouchable.

To you, Simon is impenetrable.

He never divulges any more than he has to, but you’ve always known he was good at his job. The silent yet commanding confidence he carries can only be born from years of expertise, his senses sharpened and tuned to the slightest sign of danger.

Over the years, without fail, Simon has always come back to you in one piece.

So when he walks into your flat with staggered breaths, smelling of antiseptic and sterile sheets, your heart aches.)

You give him a look, eyes glassy with your hands clenched on your sides as if avoiding to touch, should he be fragile; he holds that stare for a few seconds too long until he decides to fuck it, pulling you closer to his chest.

Fuck doctors’ orders that his stitches haven’t fully healed. Fuck doctors’ orders that he should ‘minimise thoracic pressure’.

Fuck doctors’ orders that he should watch his breathing, keeping it slow and steady only.

“Quit all ‘o that,” he clears his throat, hiding a wheeze from the impact, “Didn’t get me killed, ‘n it won’t. S’no grave to cry over.”

You can’t help it though, he knows, your fingers clutching tighter onto the ends of his jacket as you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The pain muddles together in his chest, soaked by the tears seeping through the fabric of his t-shirt.

There are many things Simon doesn’t tell you, many more that he won’t—

His body holds a litany of injuries, scars built upon scars; some lie on the surface of his skin, others residing deeper than any knife can sink into.

—last month, he nearly died.

A miscalculated raid had led him straight into a trap, isolating him from the rest of the 141. He was concussed and sedated, senses dulled by the chemicals injected into his bloodstream. It happened too fast—a blade, inconspicuously small but sharp, piercing through his ribcage; the hits that followed dealt greater damage.

Price found Simon lying in a pool of his own blood, deep red against the white brinks of death.

Three broken ribs—two that stabbed through his lungs along with the knife, and one that managed to puncture his heart. Doctors warned that breathing during recovery would be difficult, but he hardly finds it to be the most challenging part.

The paranoia is worse.

He’s been more fidgety since, constantly wary; uneasy. Worse compared to usual.

Every professional he’s spoken to has told him that progress is non-linear—

“So, give yourself some time. Some days can be easy and difficult the next, but the day after that might be—”

To that he says, fucking ‘ell.

You cut yourself while trimming your chrysanthemums.

It’s a small nick on your thumb, but that finger always bleeds more than the others do; blood red drips onto a few white petals—a striking contrast.

Simon finds you that way.

He moves on autopilot, rushing in to grab the first-aid kit you keep in one of your kitchen cabinets. On the surface, he is calm, face set straight and hardly rattled by the accident. This is the only good he sees in the snail-pace of his recovery—his jagged breaths conceal the real reason his hands tremble slightly holding yours.

A small cut shouldn’t need bandaging. A small cut shouldn’t need gauze and waterproof plaster. Simon shouldn’t insist on taking over, especially when the pollen clogs his nose.

But your white chrysanthemums should not be red.

He tells himself he’ll get you a pair of those cut-resistant gardening gloves.

Those petals should not be red.

The knife isn’t the problem, it’s what surrounds it.

Simon hasn’t been the same since his return, and you’ve begun to notice.

For a big and hefty man, he prefers keeping himself away from as much fuss as he can. Weekend markets with him have always been pleasant; he carries all the produce and you stop at food stalls to feed him bites of whatever catches your eye.

Not this time.

This time, Simon glues himself behind you, your back pressed against his chest as he navigates you both through crowds. He zeroes in on every single person brushing against you, searching for anything sharp.

When you wait by a food stall, he scans the area; his focus shifts from a family of four settling their toddler on a stroller, then to a man older but not nearly as large as he, bringing in sacks of flour inside a bakery. Off in a corner is a teenager, swallowed by the thick fabric of a hoodie similar to his own; Simon observes him a little longer, drawing suspicions about the movement concealed inside the kid’s pocket.

(You notice it when you ask whether he prefers peaches or mangoes for the crepe’s filling, only to be met with no reply.)

Then, a faint trail of smoke wafts out of the boy’s nose—it’s just a vape.

Simon turns away.

By brunch, which you always somehow seem to drag him into, you settle into your seat and ask the server for a butter knife.

(Simon stays silent most times, with the occasional dry retort or witty quip directed at any silly thing he notices, but he’s been completely quiet this entire day. The slightest bit of tension pinches the skin between his brows as his eyes dart from one person to the next—like roaring waves rushing to catch the shore.)

It happens all too quickly, how he pins the server’s wrist down onto your table when you’re handed the butter knife.

Everybody in the restaurant pauses to look at you two.

The shock on your face mirrors the server’s.

Simon lets go immediately, mumbling his apologies as his hands dig inside the pocket of his hoodie. You turn to the server sheepishly, standing up to follow him to the cashier.

(You know Simon well enough that he hates all the attention, so you quickly settle everything with the manager, explaining as best as you can that it wasn’t intentional. The server is kind enough to let it go, his wrist red but otherwise uninjured from Simon’s grip; you still give him a tip, for the shock and trouble.)

The whole trip home is tense. Simon can’t look you in the eyes, and even when you both walk into your flat, he heads straight for the kitchen, preparing to clean and wash the vegetables.

He rolls up his sleeves and opens the tap, rinsing carrots and potatoes, along with some of the lettuce you managed to pick up for half off.

(Something stabs at your heart seeing him curl into himself even more, but Simon will talk when he wants to—never before or after.

So, you walk towards him instead, wrapping your arms around his waist as you rest your cheek against his back.)

He stops moving, and the water continues running.

(You can hear his heartbeat, feel each slow breath he’s taking.)

Simon doesn’t tell you of the sleepless nights, of the terrors that plague his waking mind more than nightmares do. He doesn’t tell you that he sees you in his spot that very same day, on that same marble floor—your own pool of red against the very same white that your chrysanthemums bloom into.

“I’m okay,” you whisper against his back, landing kisses on each of his shoulder blades. The fabric of his hoodie is soft and thick, but he feels you through it.

“You always do a good job of keeping me safe.”

Your words layer on him like tactical gear, arms tightening around his abdomen akin to the belt that holds his ammo.

“Let me take care of you now,” you close your eyes, voice a little shaky, pleading, “okay?”

Simon holds his breath.

Your chrysanthemums sit in a vase by your kitchen sink, water droplets catching onto the petals and leaves.

Simon sneezes every time he washes his hands, but he’s the one who put it there—

“S’called exposure therapy, love.”

(And who are you to argue with a man on a mission?)

—along with the cut-resistant gloves he stores in a drawer near your kitchen tools.

From the corner of his eye, he watches you drag your chef’s knife to fillet a chicken breast. He keeps his gaze locked on your every movement, fingers twitching as if they itch to reach for you. Pain tingles at the side of his chest, a faded remnant of how it felt when the wound was still fresh.

You fillet the breast successfully, and he releases a breath.

Simon has keen sight and he uses it to his advantage—sniping, scoping, watching. He notices the sharp edge of the open cupboard door over your head and reflexively lays his palm over it, cushioning the impact when you hastily move to the side.

If you notice, you don’t show him any signs.

Tonight’s menu is honey glazed soy chicken, a recipe you’ve been wanting to test out. He’d offered to help but you insisted that he sit back and relax; and of course, in typical Simon- fashion, he only partially heeds your advice.

He sits back and relaxes all right, but on the barstool by the kitchen island, ready to spring into action whenever you need him.

And he sees it all—that near-mishap by the cupboard, how dangerously close your fingers are from your chef’s knife; your cut-resistant gloves are ready-to-use in the drawer next to your garden tools. He still keeps that small blade between your mattress and bedframe.

Old habits die hard, the aftereffects of near-death moreso, but Simon is a man on a mission, and when he watches you hiss away from the brief ‘pop!’ of oil splattering from your pan, he stays right where he is, convincing himself he can leave you to handle it.

You’re okay.

This is progress.

It’s a start.

a/n: this turned out a lot more serious than i intended, but i enjoyed picking simon to see how he would act in a period of adjustment back to regular life, especially after something potentially traumatic. i find simon an incredibly difficult character to write because he carries so much with him and i could go on about this, but the tldr is: i think he's become desensitised to a lot of things, which is why i don't think he's afraid of wounds or knives no matter how much he's been hurt by them. i don't imagine him being afraid of dying either, because it's what they do—it comes with the job. i do think though, that his close call with death here shifts his fear to the idea of loss, particularly, losing you. and as a protector, he finds himself responsible for that.

thank you notes: to @soumies my gawd!! for helping me with dialogue and proofreading, practically beta reading this entire thing!! you are the heart of this fic 🥺 simon would not be simon in this without you!! love u love u love u!!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon x reader #call of duty x reader #shotorus.writes #cod #ghost

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sepublic · 2 months ago

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The Rapture, the Day of Unity, and Happily Ever After

I wouldn’t be surprised if the upper echelons of the coven regime weren’t concerned with being sustainable, because they were privy before the public was to the Day of Unity, which was itself essentially one big rapture where everyone goes to a perfect utopia! They don’t have to worry about the world they’ve left behind, they just need to last long enough to make it to this endpoint, like Belos talking about how he only needs to ‘live long enough to see this through’.

So it must’ve been quite a shock, realizing that’s not it; There’s nothing for all their hard work. They have to go back to their lives as normal, but knowing it’s eternal in the sense of worrying about living life until it naturally ends for them, and making society run ahead of them for the next to pick up. Now people have to do their jobs in creating an actual functioning society instead of loftily dreaming of a fantasy, which is of course topical to the show’s themes about being beholden to the world and people around you as you make dreams practical.

I can see a comparison between the apathy that came from the Day of Unity and how a lot of rich, powerful folk —especially the ones running fossil fuel companies— don’t care about destroying the Earth and its environment, because they’ll be dead before it gets bad enough that the devastation reaches them in their cushy little suites. On the Day of Unity, Emira’s frustrations over her mother only caring about money feel in a similar vein, it all hearkens back to the same problem with these CEOs where their personal, material enjoyment is the only priority.

And this makes me think of the rapture comparison too; It comes from the Evangelicals, who are the descendants of the Puritans. I can see the writers playing with how Marx called religion the opiate of the masses; The idea that Christianity was often exploited by the upper class against the lower class to justify their suffering. The idea was that if you were poor, you didn’t need to worry about improving your material world because as long as you remained pious and faithful, you’d eventually inherit a heavenly afterlife.

Thus, working-class Christians were made complacent, believing their mortal suffering was just temporary and even a test for their ascension. Whether you think they actually got a heavenly afterlife is an entirely separate real-life theological discussion, but the point was that it was an excuse by those in power to avoid being held accountable in making the living world actually tolerable for everyone else, and everyone else would not hold them to that standard because they thought it didn’t matter anyway.

So I can see the Day of Unity functioning exactly like that, in fact I’m pretty sure it just did onscreen because we see wild witches such as the Demon Hunters accept the coven bindings because for whatever losses they suffer, eventually the Titan will make it all worth it right? And this framing of the Titan as an abstract God who will take you to an abstract universe is interesting; We know tangibly that other worlds exist of course, but in the context of the show, the utopia bit is a lie.

And if we apply it to real life, much how the show calls out IRL witch hunters (and its fictional one, because TOH’s fictional witches warranted nothing for their existence) as insincere… I do remember a college lecture in things like Animism or cosmocentric belief systems; They saw the ‘spirits’ as not existing on a separate plane, but our own. There was no afterlife or heaven, it was all in this world, people live on when they die and break down and are consumed by other beings, that sort of thing.

The practices of wild magic and the worship of the Titan seem to follow in a similar vein to these and Animism; The Titan is sacred and her body has its own life reborn as the environment, but she’s also undeniably dead, as pointed out by a Deadwardian witch. Eda stresses learning from the natural environment around you for magic, their ‘god’ is a mortal being and also their tangible world. The magic comes via glyphs in nature, as well as the magic in everything that witches get their own magic from. There IS something resembling an afterlife in-universe but we never get to see it, the beliefs of wild magic seem to be at odds with Belos’ Christian colonialism, and again its promise of a rapture and a separate, abstract God and utopia.

Point is; There is no universe after this, or at least that’s not how wild witches treat it. The focus is on the here and now and making this world last, and making it last for the future generations that will take your place. And this defiance of a rapture in favor of life always going on makes me think of how Dana hates the term Happily Ever After, for the implications of everything just being over and that’s it. That’s the end. All the problems are solved now, there is no story left to tell.

I can’t say this was intentional on a conscious level or otherwise, but I do have to draw a connection between this and how TOH’s ending was in response to this critique; Life keeps going on, the protagonists have to keep fixing the Boiling Isles, and then keep it going even if it IS fixed. They just undid coven bindings and King found his first glyph. The Archivists are still out there. The protagonists don’t get an eternal unambiguous happy ending where there’s nothing left to do, they don’t get a ‘heavenly afterlife’ as one could call it, and that’s good!

From a meta standpoint, you can see how it encourages fans to write more stories, to be inspired to keep it going, and it’s another way Dana made the shortening work in the show’s favor. Dana said back in 2020 that she encourages fans to build off of things, as she did as a kid with her own shows, she also wanted it to be that deep growing up! So both in-universe and IRL, TOH isn’t meant to be over, there is no absolute ending because fandom lives on.

Hell, Dana even professed interest in a prequel following Eda’s childhood; She’s since become pessimistic about the possibility, more than likely on account of her cutting ties with Disney and executives’ disinterest. But the point still stands; Life keeps going, IRL. The lives of the characters keep going, in-universe and IRL through fandom.

I also wonder if you could discuss Lumity under this lens; I’m making exceptions for queer romances, especially in children’s media, because they often have to deal with censorship pushing them to the last minute. But when it comes to romance in general, romance involving the main character largely consists of Will They/Won’t They, with the climax having the romance achieved. But because of the Thrill of the Chase, a lot of writers don’t want to explore how characters actually navigate a relationship, hence why it’s drawn out and saved for the ending; The romance has been nearly tied up as a Happily Ever After, there’s no more story to tell. So when they get a continuation, they’ll often undo progress.

Lumity avoids this; Lumity has them get together at the halfway point of the series, and then actually explores their dynamic as a couple together, without creating misunderstandings or breakups or anything. We see how they work as a couple, how they get to enjoy each other as a couple. So them getting together isn’t the ending climax, it’s just another stage in their continuing dynamic. There is no Happily Ever After; There’s problems for them to face together that do sometimes strain their relationship, but they still work on it together; Dana was adamant on showing these things instead of settling for them asking each other out and letting the rest be an implication.

And I think that’s so much more healthy to show kids than just idealizing the Thrill of the Chase and its climax, without appreciating the mundanity of just being together. Because kids grow into adults and don’t really expect or care to pursue a romance past that point, and I wonder if this is part of the culture behind cheating, of still reaching for something unattainable because media doesn’t normalize already having things when it comes to romance. Nor does it care for tackling things together as a couple most of the time.

Dana was raised Catholic, which is separate from Puritanism, but she did have to deal with Evangelicals growing up, as they raged about innocuous things like Pokemon; And Pokemon was her Good Witch Azura, a last gift from her father before he died in a car crash. It’s something Dana still enjoys and she’s done crossover art for it and TOH.

So I can see the coincidence/connection in Dana critiquing Evangelicals’ rapture ideology and how the end of everything is used to placate people instead of worrying about what needs to be eternally maintained, and like. Her feeling similarly with stories and even romances where it ends definitively and perfectly. Because fandom keeps going and she’s a part of it too.

The world keeps going, there is no endpoint to history IRL or in the show; People have to adjust going back to the banality of continuing to live and worry about running society in the long-term, rather than expecting it to not matter because they were going to be raptured anyway. And you know what, this could be good, it means it lasts forever as we see Luz and co. embrace it, happy to enjoy their lives, actually getting to be in a relationship; But life is fragile as we see with the Titan, so we gotta work to keep it going, so that even when we get our definitive end, the people after get their time.

#The Owl House #Dana Terrace #Lumity #Meta

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nolongeronlyhereforthewhispangle · 3 months ago

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Here we are, folks. After 5 years, Madness Combat 12 is finally out. Now, let’s deconstruct it.

Spoilers for MadCom 12 below (duh)

The opening. Now, there are some things I would like to highlight.

ONE: Nevada is labelled as “The Occurant”. This will be important later.

TWO: The text on the side.

“THE PLACE THAT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE” “THE INFINITE ENTROPY AT ALL BORDERS TAX THE HIGHER POWERS THAT GOVERN IT”

Entropy means “lack of order or predictability”. The sheer amount of chaos is literally tearing reality apart.

I just like this shot. The depth in it, vast, but empty. Eerily beautiful.

“TRACKER DATA ACTIVE” “HANK.” “DISSONANT;” “0.01%”

On Doc’s computer. Why is 2BDamned doing this? We’ll find out soon enough. It should be noted that the “Dissonance Triggers” almost look like X, Y, and Z coordinates.

“HANK’S CHARTER HAS BEEN REVOKED” “Fix Nevada.” “DO NOT WAIVER”

A charter is defined as “a written grant by a country's legislative or��sovereign power, by which a body such as a company, college, or city is founded and its rights and privileges defined.”

Perhaps the “charter” here is Hank’s soul? His being? We don’t know for sure.

Waiver means “refrain from applying or enforcing”.

The Auditor, in this scene, is basically saying “Hank is not active, and I need to make sure it stays that way.”

This graffiti probably means nothing, but I think it might be describing Sanford. So far, he has not died once in the entire series.

Agony. The text to the right mentions the Auditor, “recovery”, and “suppliment”. I have no idea what this could mean, maybe our red-and-black boy is trying to copy what 2BD does, but in the opposite direction?

Auditor, but without the fiery parts.

Mind fuckery. Note that he tries a “CONVERT”, as well as doing multipe return commands. It also points out, again, how Sanford is NOT DEAD, NOR HAS HE DIED BEFORE.

No hope for those trapped, I suppose.

This looks like the tree from MadCom 1. Nice callback.

I’ll let this speak for itself (refer back to TRACKER DATA ACTIVE).

The text says:

“KILL THEM”

And this is where we see Sanford lose his eyes, although he can still apparently see somehow.

A better look at Sanford overall. He still has that iconic lip, but he is missing parts of his body and his eyes to a mysterious black spot that also functions like a hole in some cases.

This is one of the defining moments of the episode (to me, at least). Sanford, seemingly overtaken by rage, randomly gains the strength to tear a half-MAG agent’s head off their body.

This might be just there for the cool factor, or maybe some other power acted on Sanford in that moment. With the info we have, we can’t really tell.

Here we see an anchor, like the one used on Dedmos in the Dedmos mini-series.

“Employic”, according to my research, is not a word in the English language.

Substrata is “an underlying layer or substance, in particular a layer of rock or soil beneath the surface of the ground.”

This purgatory is apparently underground, which would make sense given that we only see passages to it connected to walls or floors.

The Auditor looking shocked as he is trapped in a capsule of rock. With context clues, we could make a conclusion that this is the same type of “purgatory rock” that now makes up Deimos’s lower jaw.

Hank is connected to a machine.

Sanford has somehow been resurrected, even though he still HAS NOT BEEN KILLED.

The Auditor specifically calls out 2BD. He’s onto Doc’s shit.

Another picture of the tablet screen, shortly after Deimos drops it. We can be certain that “AUD” is referring to the Auditor.

Love wins. What else can I really mention if even Krinkels said it himself.

Deimos was “compensated”. Surprised anything still even has value around Nevada anymore. Maybe bullets do, actually.

Sanford has to return as soon as possible for a “deathless resurrection evaluation”. Wonder what that would even look like.

Hank’s icon, showing up for quite a short period of time before the screen fills with “ERROR” messages. He looks distressed.

Whatever could “OCCURANT LINES ARE CONVERGING” mean?

Well, we know that Nevada was labelled as “The Occurant” earlier.

(You might not be able to read this text in this screenshot with Tumblr image compression, I don’t know.)

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Finally, I have some info that isn’t necessarily what happened in the animation, but could help with understanding it. As this is already getting long enough, I’ll leave it with a short blurb.

The definition of the title word.

The description of the episode on the Newgrounds site.

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Even without looking at it in-depth, Madness Combat: Contravention was a masterpiece of animation. It was fluid, the characters were expressive, and the visuals were stunning. Big props to Krinkels, Cheshyre, Cturix (did the sound effects), and Tarkade (made the backgrounds) for creating the most entertaining 8 minutes of my life.

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Thoughts? Theories? Something I missed? Share it in the reblogs! After all, what is this fandom without the community we’ve formed!

#madness combat #madcom #madness combat 12 #mc12 #NLOHFTW talks

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milquetoast27 · 10 months ago

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The Emotional Reticence of Holmes and Watson

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, two shy Victorian men, maneuver their vulnerable feelings of affection for one another in an expertly flawed and human manner crafted by Arthur Conan Doyle. First and foremost, I am examining their use of "my dear Watson" (91 times in the canon) and "my dear Holmes" (14 times).

The first time Holmes ever uses "my dear Watson" in the canon, it's actually in a rather sarcastic tone.

"What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more. "My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be instructive to compare results." (SIGN)

Note: for The Great Game, this absolutely isn't the first time Holmes has used this phrase, but from the narrative perspective, it is absolutely the first time Conan Doyle put this phrase to paper, which is more relevant to this examination.

Holmes uses this phrase with a touch of exasperation, which even in itself holds some love within it as he encourages his friend to utilise his own beloved methods. And even in this first instance, while Holmes's tone indicates some displeasure, the personal address ensures that it isn't a genuine blow. But the intimacy of "my dear" is quite daunting, isn't it? so Holmes utilises the veil of sarcasm to break the barrier, in the spirit of "look, I've said it now. Now I may go and say it as much as I want."

Oh, and he does. The frequency of 'my dear Watson' slowly builds through the canon and peaks through FINA, HOUN and EMPT. It isn't surprising, considering they hold some of the most critical points in their relationship.

• "My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action." (HOUN) • "Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfied with your company if you will tolerate mine." (HOUN) • "Then these are your instructions, and I beg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter." (FINA) • "My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected." (EMPT)

It is evident, that it is after this barrier is broken in SIGN, that Holmes feels comfortable to use this address in such a sincere manner. In fact, it is apparent that it is in particularly emotional circumstances that Holmes is more likely to call for Watson through any means at all.

So, how about Watson?

His use of "my dear Holmes" is almost exclusively out of shock or surprise whenever his 'Johnson' claims anything particularly outré. Again, while Watson is in disbelief, and most probably doubtful of Holmes's claims, the personal address softens this blow to say that no real harm is done between them.

• "My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much." (SCAN) • "My dear Holmes!" "Oh, yes, I did." (SPEC)

The first real instance of Watson using this phrase sincerely is in FINA.

"You are afraid of something?" I asked. "Well, I am." "Of what?" "Of air-guns." "My dear Holmes, what do you mean?"

Holmes is acting more than out of the ordinary to put Watson in some kind of concern and this question comes no doubt more from worry than simple surprise. He even asks again, "but what does it all mean?" which highlights his wish to be by Holmes's side, even in danger.

The first and only instance of a good-hearted affectionate address comes to Holmes in HOUN. However, interestingly, it is only through the written word, in Watson's letters to Holmes from Dartmoor.

• Congratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell me that I have not disappointed you as an agent. • Such are the adventures of last night, and you must acknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in the matter of a report.

Watson's method of breaking the barrier is to send it remotely through his pen, which is, after all, much less daunting than saying it directly. It is absolutely worth noting that Watson has also used this language when specifically wishing for praise - it shows us that he feels the closest to Holmes when he is able to follow his own methods.

Conan Doyle shows us the ways insecurities and pressures can collaborate with our most earnest and deepest affections. Holmes and Watson aren't perfect beings, but navigate through their web of reticence and inner desires to find an unspoken but profound dialogue between them.

#acd sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #acd canon #Sherlockian scholarship #fucking hell I love them so much I will die for them #I'm so normal about the ACD canon fr fr #personal essay

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myheadhurtscutely · 1 year ago

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Star Stationary - Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader - Chp. 1

C ` Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary ` It's your first day working as a receptionist at Star Stationary company, and your quickly forming relationships with your new coworkers. but one in particular has caught your eye.

!Warnings! CUTE AND FLUFFY, but be warned. Angst to come.

wc ` 3.6k

notes ! this is closely based on characters, Jim and Pam, from a tv show, The Office. f/s - favorite soda.

Ding! The elevator finally chimed, indicating your arrival at your new employer. 'Finally!' You thought to yourself, arms crowded with your personal belongings, readily available to decorate your new desk. You were the only person who applied for the boring office job as a receptionist. It was average pay, at a failing company so you figured, it would be okay just for a while. Much to your dismay, as the elevator doors slid open, it revealed the cheap cafe a couple floors below the office. A young man stood outside of the double doors. Tall, dirty blonde, glasses, and absolutely beautiful. If your arms weren't shaking earlier, they definitely were now, along with your knees.

He shyly scooted into the elevator, as if it was full, leaving about an inch or two of space between the both of you. The elevator ride was near silent. Small shuffles and the faint drumming of whatever song was blaring in his headphones was the only white noise to accompany the deafening silence. You peered over at him a couple times through your peripherals, and at some point, you swore you saw him take a glance.

The elevator was coming to a stop, the poor old thing jerked as it completed its job, causing you to stumble out of your carefully modified stance made to accommodate the weight in your arms, and drop several nicknacks and papers. How embarrassing. Thankfully, the blonde boy dropped to his knee to retrieve your items, as you profusely apologize for causing a mess. The elevator doors pry open with a screech revealing the carpeted floors and yellow tinted cream walls of the office space. He picks up one last decoration from your collection and holds it up in front of his blue eyes, inspecting with a slight smirk.

"You like Star Wars?" He cocked his eyebrow, meeting your eyes, as the both of you step out of the elevator before it closes. The office was lit with a white light, flickering ever so slightly overhead. Fake potted plants stood at entrances. Desk cluttered on top and around each nook and cranny.

"Um," You hesitate. Was it stupid to be into that kind of thing nowadays? "Yeah. It's one of my favorites." you say hurriedly. He dangles the Yoda charm a moment longer before placing it in an empty coffee mug you were holding onto for dear life with your pinky.

"Me too." He flashes a quick smile and asks if you need help, which you decline. He carries on, walking to a door near the backside of the space. You set your stuff down with a thud on your new desk. A bigger than usual semi-circle, right near the entrance, with accompanying desk to the right of it. You pull out your pens, highlighters, notepads, stickers, everything you brought to personalize your space. Taking your time, even color coding the order of your pens, you wait. What was there to do? What was your task. The phone rang. You look around in a panic, what do you say? Almost as if Heaven had sent an angel your way, the blonde guy from earlier returns with a mug in hand. A star wars logo branded the front of it. Cute.

He sees your distress and you nod towards him. He makes his way over to you, leaning over your shoulder to grab the telephone. "Hello. Thank you for calling Star Stationary Company, my name is Anakin. How can I help you today?" He said candidly. Anakin. His name repeated itself in your head, burrowing its way into your memory, as if it was meant to stay for good. He banters with the customer, one he's clearly familiar with. He grabs your purple pen from your perfectly aligned rainbow stash. You watch him scribble numbers and notes down in chicken scratch on his hand, finishing, and popping the pen in his pocket.

You took notice of this but said nothing, as you were too stunned with him grabbing onto the back of your chair as he spoke on the line.

"Mhm, alright. Yeah. Yes, thank you," His lips curl into a smile as he lets out a chuckle, "Have a great day, alright. Bye now." The phone cord relaxes as he places it back down in its spot with a click. He backs up a little to be able to make eye contact without standing directly above you. "Sorry, I figured you might need some help, you looked distressed. Not in a bad way. Not in a good way either. I'm sorry that sounds weird.." God he's cute. His nose scrunches and his feet shuffle nervously.

"No, no, you're alright," you laugh, "I needed help. I just wasn't really sure what to say you know? Thank you, a lot, though.." Small chuckles and silence followed the both of you momentarily.

"What's your name?" His curiosity overtook him. You offer your name back softly, to satisfy his curiousness. He smiles. Satisfied. "Well, as much as I like wasting company time, I have to get back to work." He lets out a small laugh to his own joke. You smile as he heads back to his desk.

You turn back to face the computer sitting in front of you. Whilst scrolling endlessly and directing calls to the correct department, you see out of the corner of your eye the desk arrangement closest to you. Lo and behold, sitting almost parallel to you, at the second closest desk, was Anakin. Something fluttered in your stomach, nerves or butterflies, you had no idea, but it was stupid anyway. This was your first day on the job, and you'll be dammed if you become one of 'those' girls. Plus, you knew absolutely nothing about him. Except for the fact that he has the most piercing blue eyes, a deeper dimple on the right side, and he has your purple pen in his pocket.

After about three hours of boring calls, and occasional glances to your left to see the blue-eyed boy 'hard at work' it was time for lunch. You got up and you swore felt his head sit up and turn on a swivel, his eyes tracing you to the break room. You've got to be delusional. A girl from the customer service department met you at a small table for five in a corner of the room. She was a talker but sweet for the most part, but her words became white noise after he walked in. His blue collared shirt was slightly ruffled, like his hair. He walked to the vending machine, catching the glance you threw him, and quickly returning it. A smirk plastered itself across his face as he looked toward the ground. His quarters made pinging noises as they hit the bottom. one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. A candy was just a dollar.

"Hey, the vending machine gave me an extra one I guess, want it?" He had walked over to you and the girl, holding out the snickers bar in your direction.

Your eyes looked him up and down subconsciously, "Yeah, thank you. They're my favorite actually." The girl who's named you learned was Kristen, smiled at you, as if to suggest something.

"Oh really?" Anakin noted.

"Yeah, funny coincidence huh?"

"How so?"

"Cause you got my favorite candy?"

"Lucky guess?" He shrugged his shoulders, already walking out the door.

"Wait... but you said-" His words registered in your head. He was getting it for himself? What did he mean 'lucky guess?' Best not to read into it. He was already out the door anyway.

"So... You and Anakin hm?" Kristen remarked.

"What? OH! God no. No, he's just a friendly guy. Just friends." You took a sip of your water to prevent yourself from word vomiting, looking off to the side.

"Mhm... well anyway, keep me posted" She winks as she gets up from the plastic chair, sliding it back underneath the table to walk away.

You sat there for a moment. Was there something? Were you not crazy?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────

After your lunch break, you found yourself back at your desk, answering calls, faxing documents, boring office activities. With your back turned, and facing the copy machine nearby, you felt a small sensation on your back. You ignored it, chopping it up to just a cold breeze, but it happened again. You turn around to face whatever it could be, and you see Anakin quickly put his hands down at his desk, dropping a small roll of wadded paper, like a kid who got caught eating candy. You continue to stare at him, waiting to meet his eyes. He looks up from his desk finally and meets your gaze. you smile. His hand quickly slaps over his own laugh, stifling it from sound and view. You lift of your hands with the copies in the and shrug at him. "What?" you mouth silently, smiling.

He just shook his head in response, throwing his smile back down to the desk.

You just shrug it off and carry your papers back to your desk. The phone chimes, you pick it up quickly and repeat what you were taught earlier today, "Hello! Thank you for calling Star Stationary Company, my name is y/n! How can I help you today?" You said in a much more enthusiastic tone than Anakin's. You continue to banter and chat with the costumer, as they ask about deals and prices, but soon your focus is derailed, as a little piece of paper hits the side of your head and falls slowly on to your desk. You pause a second, then whip your head to the culprit's direction. He just sassily waves slightly and smiles.

You finish the call and ponder for a moment. You open the email tab on the old desktop computer and type in Anakin, clicking on his email address. You type, biting your lip in thought. 'Are you having fun with your balls?' Was it too far? Nah. He seemed like he enjoyed joking around. You wait a moment and look over to him. His glasses reflected your message as his nose pushed them up by scrunching due to his smile.

'Ping! Your own screen lights up with a blue notification. Unread email from Anakin Skywalker. What did this little blue-eyed prick have to say? 'What can I say, love me some balls. Wby?' No way he just fucking asked that. You look over at him, mouth agape as a breathless laugh escapes. He just grins in response and shrugs. You look back at the screen, then to your keyboard, and back to your screen.

'Mr. Skywalker, I keep my ball preferences to myself. thank you very much.' Did that sound to serious? hopefully not. You keep an eye out for him, waiting on him to see the message.

'Ping!' You've got to find out how to turn that stupid noise off. Oh well. You can do that later, as you had an email to read from a handsome blonde man a couple feet over. 'I'm so sorry ma'am, how stupid of me to bring up such an intimate question so soon, I barley even know your name.' You watched his stupid little grin as he typed that whole thing out, as you were reading it. A sudden presence by your desk startles you as you turn to face it. Anakin stood in front of you, arms crossed and leaning onto your semi-circle counter in front of you.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, I just wanted to come over here to discuss your ball preferences privately." You snort at his joke as he leans his head down and lets out a small breathy laugh before rising back up. "I don't get what's so funny ma'am, I'm just trying to get to know a co-worker?" He laughed in between words, as your laugh fueled his own.

"I've told you; my preferences are reserved to friends only!" The both of you whisper chat among the ringing of phones, chatter of people, and rustling of paper around the office.

"Well then, we'll start off small. Favorite color?"

You hesitate. Anakin makes a buzzer noise and taps the counter. "Ooo times up, gotta be faster Snickers."

"What'd you just call me?" You pause and cock your head to the side.

"Oh, I'm sorry, not a fan of nicknames? I just though cause it's your favorite candy-"

"No, no, no! It's fine! It's cute, I just um- I was confused." You trip all over your words, voice cracking as you stare into his baby blue eyes hidden behind his frames. "Continue!"

"huh? Oh! yeah, okay... favorite soda?"

"Oh come on these are elementary Anakin... f/s! For sure. Final answer!"

"I thought you were better than that." Anakin shakes his head in mocking disapproval. You laugh questioning what his defiance was for. "Thats like the worst one-" The phone at his desk rings. He waves his hand at you in an apologetic manner and makes his way back over to his desk. You sat there for a while after, bored and sad your banter had ended. He was funny. Dorky, and sassy but funny. While you waited for your phone to ring or email to do its annoying pinging noise, you doodled. It's just silly little dogs here and there or like an eyeball or flower, but occasionally you produce a nice sketch. Not like a frame worthy thing, but accurate ones of people, things, places, etc.

Your lined notepad laid out on your desk, littered with sketches of the fake flowers and side profiles of your co-workers as they worked. Nothing too big. Suddenly, a small thud makes rings in your ears, and you look up to see the source in front of you. It was Anakin of course. He placed your favorite soda right in front of you. A small blush spread across your face and body. He was a friendly guy. You kept having to remind yourself of that. "Okay. Now that we're friends, do you like 'em small?"

You pause and stare at him for a second before allowing yourself to chuckle at his poor joke. "Anakin!" You gasp smacking his hand off of your desk.

He laughs and drags his hands up in the air in defeat, backing away slightly. "Cmon! I bought you a soda Y/n!"

"That doesn't mean were 'ball preference' kind of friends. Not yet." you turn to the side and stack your papers neatly as you speak.

Anakin dramatically puts his head on your desk and pounds his fist lightly beside him. "What must a man do!"

"Oh quit your crying... don't you have a job to be doing?" You pause and turn to him questioningly.

"Oh like what? Entertain my receptionist?" For some reason, his use of possessive pronouns sent waves over your body.

"Anakin..." Your voice remained unwavering, hiding the effect his words had on you.

"Alright alright. By the way," He pauses before making his way back to his desk, "my favorite soda is Crush if you ever feel like being nice. Hint hint, wink wink" Did he just 'Hint hint, wink wink' you? Outloud? He was so fucking stupid. You loved it though. Itmade the day more enjoyable and go by faster.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────

You've worked there for about two weeks now, both you and Anakin have gotten closer, always sitting together at company things. Choosing each other as partners when HR does 'informational' games. It was subtle but people noticed. Kristen became one of your friends in the office, she could be snippy, but you don't blame her, she worked in customer service. She would make silly comments about the both of you. Sometimes you fed into it, and other times, completely shut it down. (You enjoyed it either way.)

Today was a big night for the office. It was the Halloween Party. You had no idea what you'd be going as, as it had to be appropriate and recognizable. Kristen was already doing a matching couples costumes with the whole customer service department, so that left her out. You had asked Anakin to match with you earlier yesterday, and he agreed thank god, yet tonight, you were sitting alone in a chair outside the conference room where all the food and music was. Since it was so last minute, your costumes were basic. You sat slumped down with your cat ears on your head, with a little painted nose on with black paint and whiskers. Your black turtleneck was bringing you the slightest bit of comfort. Anakin hadn't come yet, and the party ended soon. You had felt disappointed but felt a kind of sense of regret. You guys weren't close. He didn't have an obligation to be here, and it was pathetic of you to pout in the corner, waiting on blonde man to show up in his mouse outfit, that you had barley known for half a month.

Streamers were starting to droop from the ceiling as you look up from your crossed arms. The sound of the front door opening didn't faze you anymore. You quit looking up in hopes it was him, after about the twelfth time. Soon though, to your surprise, standing in front of you was a dripping wet Anakin with coat in hand. "I'm so sorry, I was sprinting all around town looking for face paint for the nose. T-then it rained," He was clearly out of breath, "and I lost track of time." You shook your head at him after a moment. "I'm so sorry I really am..."

You stand up, and pat his arm, rubbing it comfortingly. "Anakin, it's no big deal. I'm not gonna lie I was a little upset but you could've just texted me?" You hold up your phone. "We have face paint here."

Anakin takes a deep sigh, burying his face in his hands, dragging them down slowly. "Are you serious. No way I was that stupid."

"I don't expect anything less Mr. Skywalker." You shrug your shoulders playfully.

"You could at least try to be nice Snickers. I know it's not your strong suit." He quips.

You stare at him for a moment, crossing your arms. "Want your face painted or not?"

Anakin sticks his finger up, signaling you to hang on as he rummages through his wet bag. He pulls out a cheap pair of pink and grey ears, you can tell were hot glued last night. "Ready!" He holds them up near his face and smiles.

There were only a couple people left, excluding you and Anakin, since the party ended in 25 minutes, but you'd be dammed if you weren't gonna make the most of it. You had him sit in your rolley office chair at your desk, with all the paints splayed out on it. You lean in to dab some more pink on his nose. Each time you'd go in to put it on, both of you would start laughing. You didn't know if it was nervousness or what, but you were a giggling, sweating mess.

"Y'know I'm never gonna be able to finish if you don't stop laughing at me." You pull your hands back away from his face and he looks downward trying to contain his laughter.

"Sorry, sorry, work your magic," He straightens up and makes a more serious face, closing his eyes. "Cmon." He beckons you. You move closer, pulling out the black face paint crayon, slowly tracing whiskers onto his face. Did mice have whiskers? You had no idea; all you could focus on was how lucky you were that his eyes were closed because now, he couldn't see how flushed you were. His skin was soft, his eyelashes long and fan like, but god his cheeks. They were so perfect; a rose shade dusted his pale points. Almost as if they were mocking your own blush.

Anakin slowly opened his eyes, and for a moment it was like the whole world stood still. The both of you just looked into each others eyes for a moment, both admiring faces and features. If the saying 'eyes are the window to the soul' was true, he had left his unlocked for you. More was said in that few seconds glance, than you had ever heard in your entire life.

'HONKKKKKKKKKKKK'

What the fuck was that? You jump startled by the noise. Anakin puts a friendly hand on your wrist to calm you back down. "Sorry, that's probably my ride." You said nothing, still processing whatever 'moment' the both of you just shared. "Um, see you next week." Anakin waved and headed towards the door.

"Wait! I- um, I'm heading out to my car anyway, can I walk you out?" Your hands fiddled anxiously.

"Well, I don't see why not?" He grins at you, motioning for you to join him.

The elevator ride was quiet again. The pattering rain made a melody with the soft shuffling of feet. You watched Anakin from the reflection of the metal walls of the elevator. His image was blurred but nonetheless, you could still see his presence, and that was enough.

'Ding!'

The two of you stepped out of the elevator and out of the lobby's glass doors. Rain began to smear the both of yours face paint. "See you next week Snickers." Anakin nodded to you and headed to a black sedan parked Infront of the building. You waved to him solemnly as he opened the passenger side door. You saw a glance of the driver.

Your heart stopped beating.

A beautiful brunette girl sat in the driver's seat. Her curled hair laid tossed on her elegant shoulders. Her lips were pink and plump, and her eyes were nothing short of model worthy. Anakin leaned over and planted a kiss to her temple.

fuck.

You stood in the rain watching them take off onto the empty street.

Notes ` Im sorry this took so long to get out, and I apologize if it's not up to code. But im genuinely having so much fun writing this and I really appreciate all of the support! FOUR MORE CHPATERS TO GO WOOOO! I hope you liked it :)

tags ` @darthgloris , @queenie-official , @bby-imasociopath , @mxltifxnd0m , @jayrami3 , @robertsmithclone , @brainscabs

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #star wars x reader #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin x you

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p0orbaby · 2 years ago

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Fairground

summary: no one wants to run into their ex at the fair

warnings: jealous Nat, very brief mention of throw up, not proofread hehe

a/n: based off a request I can’t find the ask for

word count: 1.3k

“Nat, when we get there can we get ice cream?”

“You’re still hungry after breakfast? I thought you’d be full from all those waffles we made this morning” Natasha responded as she looked at you through the rearview mirror. A smirk on her face as she watched you buzz in your car seat from all the sugar.

“I was, but not now. So I have room for ice cream”

“Well what does mommy say? Can squish have ice cream when we touch down?”

Wanda turned in her seat to look at you as she spoke. She preached politeness so she had to practice it too. “Only if we promise to not eat it so fast we’re sick on the first ride we go on. I’m not having a repeat of last time”

This piqued Natasha’s interest, “What happened last time”

“Missy here swore she was hungry enough for funnel cake, then proceeded to throw up on the teacups after scarfing it down in record time. The operator had to stop the ride and everything”

“Now that doesn’t sound like much fun. Are you sure you’ll be able to keep it down this time?

“I’m sure. Can I get two scoops?”

Wanda sat back in her chair and softly chuckled to herself. She was glad an extra set of clothes found their way into the day bag this time.

They made it to the fair just before lunch time. Normally this would be a problem regarding crowds and large lines for attractions, but when Tony Stark was involved, money solved everything. And money had hired out the whole fair for the Avengers and Co.

“Right” Wanda started as she knelt down so she was eye level with you. Your excited eyes darted around her face as she spoke. “What are the rules?”

“Don’t talk to strangers”

“What else?”

“Please and thank yous?”

“Yep, manners are a big one. What’s the most important rule of them all?”

“Always stay by your side. Or Nats. And no running off”

“Spot on” she congratulated you with a kiss on the cheek and a tickle of your ribs. She’d never get tired of your laugh.

Natasha held her hand out for you to hold, leading you through the entrance of the fair towards the welcoming gazebo Tony had requested be set up. A communal space equipped with air conditioning to tame the heat, lockers and whatever other luxury his credit card happened to pay for.

Everyone and their mother within the company had been invited. Well everyone on payroll and an extended invitation to their immediate family, there wasn’t a shortage of friendly faces.

“Clint, hey!” Wanda called with a wave of a hand over to him and his family. It seemed to do the trick as he smiled and jogged over.

“You guys made it just on time. We’re about to head over to the big wheel before it gets too hot to be sat in a tin box in the sky. What do you say?”

“Do you wanna go with Uncle Clint?” Wanda asked.

“What about ice cream?”

The concerned look on your face was evident of the dilemma you found yourself in. If you went in the ferris wheel, you might miss out on your treat.

“Why don’t you go on the ride with Nat and everyone else, and mommy will go get you some ice cream so it’s ready for you when you get off, how about that?”

The reach for Natasha’s hand and the toothy smile you presented was enough of an answer.

Wanda was hot.

She could literally feel the sweat beading on the back of her neck.

There was no respite of shade in the line for ice cream. She hoped and prayed the sunscreen she applied earlier was doing its job.

She’d make sure she got some waters’ too.

Just as she was about to move forwards in line, a hand gently placed itself on her clammy shoulder, grabbing her attention away from the vendor.

“Fancy seeing you here” the voice said. And by its lilt, Wanda knew exactly who it was without even needing to turn around.

“Olivia, hey. How’re you?”

“I’m good, thank you. You look well. Where’s Squish? Don’t tell me she’s ditched you for the teacups again”

Wanda winced slightly at the nickname. It was one Natasha had started to use for you herself. And she didn’t have the heart to tell her about its past use.

“She’s good, yeah. She’s dragged Nat on the ferris wheel with the Barton’s. I’m on icecream duty” she said as she gestured towards the line she had to leave to have this conversation.

“Ah yeah, I heard about you and Natasha. Gossip even travels to the depths of the lower levels of Stark Tower”

The tone Olivia used was laced with judgment. Gossip. As if her relationship with Natasha couldn’t be anything but playground talk.

“Well, you know what they say about interpersonal relationships-“

“Libby!”

Your excited scream and frantic feet came barrelling towards the woman’s legs. Her arms coming out to buffer your impact into her.

“Hello sweet girl” She exclaimed, bending down to hug you. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“And I’ve lost two teeth, look!”

You opened your mouth wide, revealing gaps in your teeth where two used to be housed.

“That’s so cool! Did the tooth fairy come?”

“Yep! I got ten whole dollars!”

Olivia looked up at the sudden shadow that blankets her crouching form. Finding Natasha standing over her, arm possessively wrapped around Wanda’s waist.

Standing she said, “Miss Romanoff, it’s a pleasure to meet you” hand coming out to shake Natasha’s.

Natasha awkwardly ignored the gesture. Instead reaching out to you, tucking your small body between her and your mothers.

“I’m sorry, do I know-“

“Olivia, I work down in payroll” she announced. “Me and Wanda used to be together”

The tension was palpable. It was if you could reach out and touch it.

“Right, well it was nice meeting you” Natasha said, before turning to Wanda. “Squish wants to go on the teacups. Want me to take her or do you and Libby want to buddy up?”

Wanda winced again knowing full well Olivia had heard the whole interaction as she retreated into the distance.

“Cmon Nat. I didn’t know she was going to be here”

“You didn’t know a Stark employee was going to be at a company organised day out?” Natasha's eyebrow quirked. Arms folding defensively in front of her.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. She came up to me! I was in the line for ice cream and she ambushed me”

“Can I have ice cream now?” you asked, looking up innocently at the two women.

“In a second, sweetie. Natasha, you seriously can’t say you didn’t know about her. You know everything about everyone”

“Just because I knew of her doesn’t mean I liked seeing her act like that around you. Around Y/N. All friendly and close”

It wasn’t until Wanda saw how pouty Natasha was that it dawned on her.

“You’re jealous,” it was more of a statement than a question.

“No I’m not. I just didn’t like her. She gave off weird vibes”

“You do know there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

All Natasha did was look down at you and shrug. Trying to avoid eye contact with her girlfriend. “If it’s any consolation, Y/N never wanted Olivia to go in the ferris wheel with her”

Natasha hoisted you up on her hip when you started pulling at the edge of her shirt. Nosing your sun cream scented skin trying to calm herself down.

“What else?” Natasha asked after a moment.

“Hm?”

“What else do I do better than her?”

Wanda snorted, “I think if I listed them all we’d be here long after the fair closes”

“I’m willing to wait. Oh look, and we’ve got a food truck right next to us. How convenient”

“Ice cream?” You asked again. Getting impatient.

“The child has spoken. A vanilla cone with a side of complements please!”

Good job Wanda had compliments to spare.

#wanda maximoff #squishverse #mom!wanda #wanda maximoff x child!reader #wandanat #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x child!reader #wanda maximoff fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #fluff

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storm-angel989 · 8 months ago

Text

Eres jodidamente estúpida, niñita?

MAJOR SHOUT OUT TO absolut3lyn0t for ALL the help with editing and for teaching me Spanish! I can't WAIT to use the things I've learned in the Outside The Office series!

Enjoy!!

I strutted across the stage with the confidence instilled in me by three of hell's most powerful overlords. My hair on point, my smile perfected, my outfit, killer. And my VoxTech watch that served as a location tracker? Sitting in my locker at school alongside my phone. As far as my family knew, I was staying late for volleyball tryouts.

Walking through my highschool hallways, it was impossible to miss the plethora of help wanted posters plastered all over the walls. The job description was simple, requiring nothing more than excellent customer service skills and a large, bolded eighteen plus only need apply. The pay started five dollars above minimum wage, with the promise of hefty cash tips.

The money was really what caught my attention. After listening to my father bitch about last month’s credit card bill, I decided it was time I started working, without the hovering of my father, my Uncle Valentino or my Aunt Velvette. I needed money that wasn’t connected to them in any way, shape or form- dollars I could spend how I pleased, and without their input. Unfortunately for me, my father owned VoxTech, the biggest company in all of hell. Even as his daughter, I couldn’t be sure where its tendrils spread. Whatever job I chose, I needed to fly under the radar.

School first, you have more than you need and access to anything you could possibly want. Is what my father had told me when I first asked if I could start working. You have no reason to get an afterschool job. Focus on being sixteen, kiddo.

And I knew damn well if my location popped up in some new place consistently, I would be discovered and forced to quit on the spot. So as soon as I made the decision to apply, I made it a point to tell my family I was trying out for the volleyball team.

Glad to see you decided to leave behind that silly job idea, my father had said over sips of his morning coffee. Believe me, someday you’ll wish you didn’t have to work so much.

As if.

I walked into the address listed on the flyer, noting the shift in scenery as I made my way deeper downtown. Open interviews, they called it, two pm to ten pm. I had already filled out the application on the bottom of one of them, if you could even call it that. Three easy to answer questions.

Age? I filled in eighteen.

Availability? After School hours.

Size? I scribbled down the number.

I followed the directions to the address on the flyer and handed my application to the demon at the door. The place itself looked a little run down, done up in red, black and gold. But it certainly gave the appearance of being a high end facility- especially with the long stage and the pole at the center.

I was quickly ushered inside and seated across from a shark demon in a red fedora. He looked me up and down and just like that, I was handed a uniform of red and hired me on the spot for the shift that started ten minutes ago.

“With your body, I mean, your smile, you’ll make an excellent addition to our team,” he praised.

“What exactly is my job title?” I asked as he led me to the dressing room.

“Waitress,” he responded easily. “But really, you’ll do a little bit of everything. And don’t worry, we’ll provide everything you need.”

The first few days were simple. The manager assigned me a false name the first day, and I quickly learned that while I was working, that’s the only name that was called. Honestly, it was the most difficult part. The rest was relatively simple.

Every two hours the girls were required to meet behind the stage, walk across and out down to the pole, take a swing around with a smile as an announcer introduced us by name. It was nice, honestly, to be valued like that. The rest of the responsibilities were easy. Dress up, smile, flirt, take drink orders and find a reason to bend over. To say I didn’t enjoy it would be a lie. The money was good but the attention? Even better.

The fourth day, however, the manager pulled me aside at the start of my shift.

“Hey, reader. The big boss is coming in. Check out his new hires. I’m putting you with him. Be extra nice. He’s known for leaving hefty tips and promoting on the spot. Trust me, you’re gonna want to keep him happy.” And with that, he pushed me towards the stage.

After introductions, I put on my biggest smile, adjusted my dress so that it revealed just a little bit more and walked confidently over to the VIP booth. Time to impress the boss.

“Hi boys, how are we doing tonight?” I purred as sultry as I could. “My name is Reader’s False Name and I’ll take care of anything that you desire.” I leaned forward onto the table. “And I do mean anything…” I reached out and set my hand on the red jacket of the man I assumed was the boss. “What can I get you tonight, sir?”

He looked up at me and instantly, his expression turned to anger. Cold fear shot through me as I recognized the all too familiar features.

“U-uncle Valentino? Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered as I took a step back.

“The better question is what are you doing here, niñita?” He growled as he stood up. He pulled his coat off and yanked it around my shoulders, effectively covering my entire body. He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me towards the back towards the dressing rooms. The door slammed shut behind us.

I tried to wriggle away, “I work here! I got an afterschool job after Dad got on my case last month.”

I didn’t think his expression could twist into deeper disgust.

“I changed your diapers! You can’t be working in my clubs!” He snarled.

I crossed my arms. “Uncle Val, I’m sixteen!”

“Eres jodidamente estúpida?” He took a deep breath. “That’s half the issue! Who even checked your age una perra ciega?! What fuckwit hired you?” He paused and pulled out his phone. “You know what? It doesn’t fucking matter. You’re fired. Whoever hired you is fired, hell I might shut this entire fucking club down. Oh, and it goes without saying that you’re fucking grounded!”

I looked at him incredulously. “You’re grounding me for getting an afterschool job?”

“No, reader, I’m grounding you for taking an afterschool job at a strip club! Oh, and for leaving your watch at school. We make you wear that for your own safety, muñeca! You could have been killed, or raped or worse!”

He grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me towards the front door. I caught my father’s name on his phone screen and my heart sank even deeper. Fuck.

“You’re going home with me right now, bebita. And keep my jacket on, I don’t want to see your tits ever again.” He practically spat as he shoved me into his awaiting limo.

I sat next to him for the duration of the ride, my arms crossed as I listened to the phone call between him and my Dad. From what it sounded like, I was about to meet my maker.

“Phone. Now.” He demanded as he outstretched his hand. “Or did you leave that at school too?”

At least he sounded a bit more calm. Maybe I wouldn’t be in as much trouble as I thought.

“It’s in my locker,” I mumbled. “Along with my homework. So if we could stop on our way home…”

“Delay the inevitable all you want, your father is pissed. And so am I.”

“Yeah, I got that,” I mumbled as we stopped in front of the school. “I’ll go in and…”

He snorted in amusement. “Like hell you will. I’ll go inside and get it for you. What’s your locker number and combination?” He leaned forward, “it’s in your best interest to tell me, niñita.”

He was probably right. I sank back as I watched him walk into the front office of the school as if he owned the place. Come to think of it, there was probably a high chance that one of the three did have some sort of control over the school. I leaned my head against the window as I waited. I would never be allowed to grow up, hell, after this Dad might not even let me leave the V tower.

Valentino stalked out of the school moments later, my pink backpack slung over his shoulder, and one of the flyers in his hand. The other hand held his phone and I winced at the furious slurry of English and Spanish came flying out of his mouth. Several curses later, he ended the call and turned to me.

“Any of your other amicico’s get involved in this? Fess up now, or I promise I will make sure that you lose every privilege you have.”

“Not that I know of,” I mumbled quietly as I pulled his jacket tighter around myself. “And I would tell you if I did.”

“I would hope so, cariño,” he grumbled as the limo stopped. “Word of advice? I would go straight to your room and change. The less of you your father sees, the better.”

We rode in silence in the elevator and as we stepped off, I came face to face with the furious faces of my father, Vox, and my Aunt Velvette. Uncle Valentino walked towards them and wordlessly pointed to my room. I tried to scurry away as quickly as I could.

“Change, wipe that clown makeup off your face and get your ass to the living room,” I heard my father shout.

I thought the makeup was pretty, I said to myself sarcastically as I stood in my bathroom shower, scrubbing it off. Without the makeup remover the restaurant, or should I call it a club, provided, taking it off took ten times longer. I pulled on my leggins and a sweatshirt and braided back my now wet hair, hopeful that by removing any trace of the club I would somehow lighten the punishment that was sure to come. I slowly made my way out to the living room.

“Come sit, little princessa,” Valentino gestured. “Join us.”

I kept my eyes down as I made my way across the living room and sank into my usual seat on the couch.

“Look at us, reader,” my fathers authoritative voice filled the air. “And start talking. The floor is yours.”

A few heartbeats of silence while I tried to gather my thoughts.

“You know, staying quiet won’t help your case,” Velvette interjected. “Come on, talk to us. Honestly, I think it’s pretty funny.”

“There is nothing funny about seeing my little princessa half naked, tits out, in my own fucking club,” Valentino shot back. He mumbled something in Spanish that sounded vaguely insulting.

“And let’s not forget the danger you put yourself in,” Vox added. “You left your phone and tracker in your locker at school. You’re lucky I don’t have the doctor put a chip in your arm.”

“I didn’t know it was a strip club, okay?” I said in exasperation. “I just wanted to make my own money! I got mad when Dad went through the credit card bill last month and I just, I just wanted privacy and to buy what I want without being questioned! And I’m willing to work to earn it, but Dad wouldn’t let me.”

“Reader. You’re sixteen. You need to focus on schoolwork, grades and being a teenager- you’ll have plenty of time later in life to…” my father began.

“Vox, her request isn’t unreasonable,” Velvette cut him off. She looked thoughtful. “Nor is your idea about the chip in her arm.”

All three of us stared at her in disbelief for completely different reasons.

“I am not letting Dad put a chip in my arm-” I began.

“She is not going out to work,” my Dad shouted at the same time.

“Eres jodidamente estúpida?” Valentino added. “The fuck, Velvette?”

A grin slowly crept across her face. “Well then, it seems we have a few bargaining chips on the table, don’t we?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” I said.

“Yeah, neither do I,” my father added.

“Well the way I see it, we have a few options and plenty of room for compromise,” she said with a glance at Valentino. “On one hand, reader could concede and let Vox put a chip in her arm in exchange for being allowed to get a job. Or she could come work for one of us, and have the money deposited in a private account. Or a third option, Vox if you’re so hell bent on her focusing on school, and she wants privacy so damn bad, let her open her own account in her own name and deposit money into it each week. This way she gets the privacy she wants, and you get her staying focused on her studies.”

“I’m not letting you put a tracker in my arm, so that options out,” I replied.

“And I don’t want you working at all- not for me, not for Velvette, and certainly not for Valentino,” Vox added.

A look of understanding broke across Valentino’s face and he grinned widely. He leaned back, “then I suppose the third option is the only one that fits, hm amicito?” He took a sip, “I do have to ask though princessa. How exactly did you plan on cashing your paychecks without your own account?”

I felt myself turn red. “I…wasn’t planning on cashing them and just using my tips.”

“I can’t decide if that’s clever or stupid,” Vox muttered. “But fine. We’ll go open your own bank account tomorrow and I promise to keep my eyes off of it. But you need to promise to keep focused on your studies, got it?”

“Deal!” I said excitedly.

“Also, I think you owe your Uncle Val an apology more so than any of us. I haven’t seen him that scarred since, well, I’ve never seen him that upset.” Vox added.

“Sorry, Uncle Val,” I muttered.

He looked pained, “you’re growing up, mi amore. But this isn’t the place for you to be, ever again. I fear what would have happened to you if I hadn’t chosen to come in tonight.” He stood up and planted a kiss on my forehead.

“Your jackets in my room, Uncle Val. I promise I’ll give it back,” I muttered as embarrassment flushed through my face. “I guess it was kinda sketchy.”

“Common sense, niñita. I cannot wrap my mind around why you didn’t turn around as soon as you stepped into that neighborhood.” He turned to walk towards the kitchen. “Discussion for tomorrow night, I suppose.”

I frowned, “what’s tomorrow night?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear? Your papi, Aunt Velvette and I came up with a brilliant consequence, if I do say so myself.”

Dread knotted in my stomach. Uncle Valentino was well known to be the most…creative in his punishments.

“I signed you up for volleyball, mi amore. After all, isn’t that what you wanted to do?” He gave me a wicked grin. “And I’ll be the one…ensuring you arrive in a timely manner for the next eight weeks. And don’t worry, your papito already brought you all the equipment you’ll need.”

I groaned. This had the potential to be not only incredibly embarrassing in terms of my abilities, but also I somehow doubted he would sit there quietly. The image of him sitting on the bleachers, screaming into the phone, cursing in Spanish and English made me want to die right then and there. “Uncle Val, I hate sports. And I hate team sports even more.”

“Then maybe next time you’ll think before becoming a stripper, hm conejito?”He patted the top of my head and sashayed towards the kitchen.

He couldn’t be that angry if he was using my childhood nickname. I leaned back on the couch and tucked my knees up.

“You’re lucky that's your only consequence,” my father grumbled as he scrolled through his phone. “That chip idea isn’t off the table, you know.”

“We’ll get your bank account set up after your grounding is done,” Velvette reassured me. “In the meantime, what do you all want to do for dinner?”

Thank god Velvette was the master at changing the subject.

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aramblingjay · 2 months ago

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The weave of your hands (part 6/6)

Tags: Aragorn/Legolas, friends to lovers, canon era, braiding Words: 16.6K (finished)

“Forgive me. But I will not allow myself to deceive you.” Aragorn reached out, meaning to take Legolas’s hand, his arm, something, just to feel as though his very life was not crumbling before his eyes, but Legolas stepped back. It hurt worse than if Legolas had taken a knife and driven it straight between his ribs. “I did not wish for you to find out like this, on the eve of battle. But—” Legolas’s eyes closed. He seemed at war with himself. “I have heard the gulls.” Or: 5 times aragorn does legolas’s braids + 1 time it’s the other way around

previous parts

+I. Minas Tirith

The thought first came to him on the fields of Pelennor, a fleeting idea conceived in one breath and dismissed in the next in favor of more immediate priorities. Legolas looked radiant as he dismantled the Mûmakil, bow aloft, hair billowing elegantly in the wind—the first traces of what if drifted into his mind at that exact moment, then slipped away with the next Orc to come into view.

He did not think of it again until hours later, busy in the Houses of Healing tending to his people. For those who were physically wounded, he helped apply bandages and salves. For some, his mere presence seemed to give them strength and spirit, little though he felt he had done to deserve such an honor. For Éowyn, there was nothing to be done but wait, for hardly anything was known about the effects of a Nazgûl upon the body. He lingered at her bedside each time he made his rounds, wiping the sweat from her brow, praying to every Valar he could name that breath return to her body. She, who had saved them, deserved most of all to live.

Éomer remained faithfully at his sister’s side throughout the day, holding her hand, speaking to her in quiet undertones in hopes his voice might reach her. Once, Aragorn glanced from a few beds down to see Éomer running his hand so carefully through the strands of her hair, so gently, that even if Aragorn had not known them to be brother and sister, Éomer’s affection would have been impossible to miss. Éomer did it again and again, brushing out the golden strands until they lay on the pillow like a crown around her head, and the gesture tugged at Aragorn’s heart in a way that nearly hurt.

Legolas had never touched his hair, and Aragorn had a fair idea why. What if—would Legolas—

He did not even complete the thought before someone groaned in pain a few beds down and he was called away.

The thought came again as he saw a couple embrace in relief upon finding each other alive; again as a woman wept uncontrollably beside a body covered with a white sheet; again as Pippin brought Merry into the tent to be checked, shaking with equal parts relief and terror. There was no more profound place to experience love than in the aftermath of war—love in all its beauty and horror, the sweet and the bitter.

Aragorn did not sleep that night. Even if he had been afforded the time, he did not think he could have with the echoes of men’s cries in his ears and the knowledge of how many had died to keep Minas Tirith from falling. He was kept company by the single, constant thought that had finally taken full shape in his mind, that of what the future would look like for him and Legolas.

Éowyn woke sometime after moonrise, a victory in itself, but there were scores of men who needed tending, and few hands were as skilled as his. It was not a boast; few in Minas Tirith would have even heard of the Lord Elrond, never mind had the opportunity to learn the healing arts under his tutelage.

There was enough work to be done, therefore, that he did not see Legolas until the following morning, when Mithrandir summoned them all to the throne room to decide what would come next.

Even as their eyes met across the room, he could tell that Legolas did not look his usual self. He appeared diminished somehow, pale and wilted like a plant starved of light. Dread seized Aragorn like the talons of a Nazgûl beast. It occurred to him then, as sudden and terrifying as a lightning strike, that victory against Sauron himself would feel no different from failure if something had happened to Legolas.

But in front of all these eyes, what could he do? Aragorn bade his tongue and focused instead on the problem at hand.

To assault the Black Gate in the hopes of lending Frodo time was a crazy, foolish plan, and one likely to leave no survivors, but he could not see another path froward. When Legolas spoke in that unwaveringly direct manner of his—a diversion—and put Aragorn’s idea into simple words, not a man protested further. They had come this far; with the fate of Middle Earth at stake, they had no choice but to see it through.

After the plan was agreed, Mithrandir and the others slowly began to leave. There were preparations to be made, men to be rallied, goodbyes to be said.

Aragorn lingered, making his way to Legolas.

As a rule, they did not lie to each other. To his knowledge, they never had.

But not lying was not always the same as telling the whole truth, and of obscuring the entirety of a situation, keeping private thoughts and emotions that would have great bearing on the other, they had each been guilty exactly once. Their secret had been the same secret, and its eventual revelation in the bowels of Helm’s Deep had brought forth the greatest joy of his life.

In this instance, there was no such luxury to wait and allow the truth to unfold. If all went to plan, and certainly if all did not, they were not promised a single minute past the following dawn.

Four words. A simple, monumental request. There was no more time left, so he would ask, come what may.

Aragorn came to a stop. Up close, it was even more obvious that Legolas was suffering, dark shadows under his eyes and within them, his usually indomitable spirit shrunken as if under some great weight. “Are you hurt?”

Legolas lifted a shoulder, deflecting. “I do not wish to lie to you, meleth nîn.” Aragorn’s heart skipped a beat at the new endearment, then dropped at the raw vulnerability of the words. Even Legolas’s voice was thin, weak. “Please, do not ask me to lie to you.”

“Very well.” He trusted that if Legolas were gravely injured from the battle, or otherwise in imminent danger, he would not make such a request. Perhaps it was only natural that the weight of the last several weeks had taken a visible toll on Legolas; he had been strong for so long, but even Elves had a breaking point. Though he disliked letting this go, he resolved to revisit the topic at a later moment.

Legolas stared expectantly at him, clearly having realized he had more to say. Aragorn stared back. His tongue felt as though it had been twisted into loops more complex than the ones in Legolas’s hair, and the words he needed stilled on his lips.

“Estel?” Legolas prompted. “Are you well?”

It was the preposterousness of such a question, when Legolas so clearly looked the worse of them both, that spurred him onward. In his heart of hearts, he knew that Legolas would never ridicule him, whether he embraced or rejected Aragorn’s request. He knew, too, that Legolas loved him, and did so with strength enough to stand at his side on the morrow in face of certain death.

Still, his heart was pounding so loud he was certain it could be heard throughout all of Gondor. Aragorn took a deep breath. Four words. “Will you braid me?”

Legolas’s eyes widened. It took a long time for him to speak, and when he did, the words were careful. “You have braided me many times. Do you know what it would mean for me to braid you in turn?”

Aragorn did not know for certain, but he had an inkling. The same inkling that had followed him doggedly since the battle and all through the night, that had taken hold of his heart and refused to let go.

“I can see in your eyes that you know,” Legolas said, reading him perfectly as ever. Then, quieter, “Say it, so I may not have to.”

As Legolas spoke, Aragorn found that he did know, with greater certainty than he could have imagined just a moment ago. “It would mean we were wed.”

After another long pause, Legolas nodded, looking miserable in a way Aragorn had never seen. “Forgive me,” he whispered. His voice broke. “Estel, forgive me.”

A cold, sinking feeling spread through Aragorn’s bones. What had he done? “Legolas—”

Legolas held up a hand to forestall him, and just as well, for Aragorn had not the faintest idea what he could say to fix this.

“Forgive me. But I will not allow myself to deceive you.”

Aragorn reached out, meaning to take Legolas’s hand, his arm, something, just to feel as though his very life was not crumbling before his eyes, but Legolas stepped back. It hurt worse than if Legolas had taken a knife and driven it straight between his ribs.

“I did not wish for you to find out like this, on the eve of battle. But—” Legolas’s eyes closed. He seemed at war with himself. “I have heard the gulls.”

The world itself came to a halt.

“Oh, Legolas.” Aragorn surged forward and took Legolas’s hands in his own, desperate to have him close, desperate to hold him. This time, Legolas did not pull way. “Oh, Legolas, by the Valar. How—when?”

Legolas did not open his eyes. “At Pelargir, when we seized the corsair ship. As soon as I saw the shore, I could feel the song of the sea in my heart.”

The way Legolas looked, haggard and frail, suddenly made sense. Aragorn had heard many tales of Elvish sea-longing over the years, usually told in hushed tones by the friend of a friend of a friend of someone who had purportedly experienced it. It was said to be a force of unimaginable might, powerful enough to pull even the most legendary of Elves back across the sea to Valinor. If Legolas had been fighting such a pull for days—

Aragorn could feel his heart splintering into pieces even as he asked the question, but he could not stomach the thought of Legolas in pain for his sake. “Are you—are you sailing?”

He could hardly bear to hear the answer.

Legolas squeezed his hands hard enough to hurt, as though he too needed something to hold on to. “No. No. I will not leave you to stand alone against Sauron.” Aragorn’s traitorous heart calmed just a fraction—he had nearly been preparing himself to have to put Legolas on a ship before supper. “The sea calls to me, yes, but its pull is not so strong yet.”

Aragorn heard what was not being said. “You believe the pull will grow.”

Legolas nodded. Still his eyes were closed, but a tear leaked from the corner and carved a path down his cheek. Aragorn longed to brush it away, for he so hated to see Legolas cry, but he did not wish to let go.

“I do not know how long I can give you. Perhaps years, perhaps only days. So you must forgive me, Estel, for I dearly wish to braid you and wed you in the way of my people, but I cannot.”

“I thank you for telling me.” Legolas made to pull away, but Aragorn did not let go. Where in the past he had been blind to Legolas’s inner thinking, this time, he felt certain he understood what was happening. “But if you think this changes my desires, you would be wrong.”

“How could it not?” Legolas asked.

“Has the sea-longing replaced what you feel in your heart? Or do you still—do you still love me?” And though he was sure, almost entirely sure, that he knew what the answer would be, still his voice wavered.

Legolas’s response was immediate, and forceful. “You are my Elven mate, Estel. I love you, just as I will to the end of my days in Valinor.”

Aragorn released a breath. Somehow, it felt both fitting and jarring that they were having this conversation in the throne room of Minas Tirith, before the very seat he would be expected to ascend if all went to plan. “Then that is all I need.”

“Only in children’s stories is love always enough. I implore you to set that aside and think rationally. We may not have long. Even in the little time we have, I may continue to grow ill. That is no life for a King, Aragorn.”

Where he had thus far in the conversation been Estel, the switch to Aragorn felt pointed, landing exactly where Legolas had likely hoped it would. What Legolas described certainly was no life for a King, or the husband of a King. But with Legolas, he had never been Aragorn, heir to the throne of Gondor—only ever Estel, a young boy alone in a large world, desperate to belong.

“We may not live past sundown tomorrow, meleth nîn.” Aragorn was pleased when Legolas melted a little at the endearment despite the situation, the lines of his face softening. “The forces of Mordor may destroy us long before the sea parts us. It matters not to me. Whether we enjoy this happiness together for a day or for a lifetime, it will be worth it.”

“Elves mate for life,” Legolas pressed. “If I—if the sea calls to me, our customs would prevent you from ever wedding another.”

“I do not want another. And I do not want forever. I want only you.” Aragorn cupped Legolas’s face and stroked the rise of his cheek, demanding that he hear these words. “Legolas, open your eyes.” Legolas did not. “Lassë,” he whispered, a plea and a prayer. “Open your eyes.”

Legolas opened his eyes. They were filled with tears, and a pain so deep it cut Aragorn to the bone.

“I want only you,” he repeated. “So I ask you again—Legolas, son of Thranduil, will you braid me?”

“For us to be wed, you would wear my style,” Legolas said. “Is that—is that what you wish?” Is that what you wish still, he was asking, as though he thought that Aragorn could ever want something else.

“Yes, I wish that.” Aragorn’s voice did not shake. He had never been so certain of anything.

The ensuring seconds might have been the longest of his life. Every heartbeat thudded in his ears.

Finally, finally, Legolas smiled. The pain in his eyes did not dissipate, but nestled alongside it now was an equal part of joy. “Then I shall braid you by my hand, as you have braided me by yours. Let the weave of our hands tell of our love, and let us be wed.”

The happiness that burst forth in his chest could barely be contained. Unable to help himself, Aragorn leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Legolas’s lips. “Let us be wed,” he echoed, giddy with the prospect of it.

Aragorn remembered his promise to himself in the gardens of Imladris, that he would endeavor to savor the moments of peace and happiness that otherwise too easily slipped through his fingers. Each moment with Legolas was even more precious now that there remained no guarantee how many more would be coming, and if their fleeting time together would have to sustain him for a lifetime, he was determined to commit every single detail to memory.

Indeed, he did not think it would ever be possible to forget the way Legolas reached forward, never once looking away from Aragorn’s face, and deftly fashioned a braid at each temple. His fingers brushed lightly against Aragorn’s skin as he worked; each point of contact left Aragorn tingling from head to toe. With each twist of the braid, Aragorn felt as though his very fëa was changing, shifting and growing to make space for another. The feeling of the moment was indescribable—headier than the strongest strongwine, warmer than the blazing heat of a fire, gentler than the lightest caress.

“It is done,” Legolas said, in a voice that sounded as though it came from the very earth, and so it was. Bound together forever—Aragorn could not imagine a better fate.

And so it was that the Estel who had long lived inside him, searching for a home and a family of his own, knew peace.

And so it was that when Aragorn rode upon the Black Gale to battle Sauron for the very soul of Middle Earth, it was with Legolas at his side, Legolas’s braids at his temples, and Legolas’s fëa in his heart.

#lotr #lord of the rings #aralas #aragorn x legolas #*writing #*fic #*twoyh #IT'S FINALLY DONE!!!

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neptunescore · 8 months ago

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Literally started this blog just to say how hypocritical F1 – both the people working in it, and the sport itself – is becoming. The main 3 things I want to address is: no.1 women in motorsport, no2 the ongoing genocide in palestine and no3 F1's disallowance of anything political, yet enabling the absolute political shitshow that was the 2024 miami gp.

Numéro 1: I just think its absolute bullshit that the FIA genuinely created a whole ‘Women in Motorsport Commission’, assigned SIX STRONG ambassadors to it, and THEN proceeded (come 2023) to launch a wholeass unfair investigation onto one of them, based on the MOST groundless claims?? Like wtf?? (Talking abt Susie Wolff here). Also, the whole Cristian Horner situation really showed just how much they care about women working under them, bc tell me why the possible victim in his situation was the one getting SUSPENDED, while this possible filth of a man is still parading shamelessly around the paddock?? Like??? AND SOME OF THE DRIVERS COMMENTS ON THE SIRUATION?? pissed me off so much u dont even understand. Anyway, my last point on this convo is how women should ALSO be taken accountable of their actions, and not just glossed over because they’re ‘women’, over here im specifically talking abt Bianca Bustamante and her liked tweet which calls lance stroll autistic… girl :| and her apology was so atrocious as well. T-T

Numéro 2: The fact that not ONE driver (excluding Lewis Hamilton — that man is so much more than a driver) has spoken up/ posted about the situation pisses me off SO much bc?? THOUSANDS of people are dying, and with the platform you have, the fans you have, you could have such a positive effect! This is ESPECIALLY targeted on the drivers so I FULLY KNOW have control of their accounts (Charles Leclerec, Esteban Ocon, Lando Norris [GOD DO I HAVE ALOT TO SAY ABT HIM], Pierre Gasly, etc) bc tell me why drivers are fully capable of uploading a post 2 years ago stating how the WHOLE of F1 stands with Ukraine (which i do applaud them for) but cant say SHIT abt the same situation occuring in Gaza, but SO much worse?? Lando can genuinely go f himself, bc as much as i used to adore him there’s no way he did NOT know abt the atrocities happening in Palestine, no way he did not know abt the company boycott when he decided to fully display that Starbucks logo on his little reel. And IF (literally a 0.0000001% chance, bc by then a 1000 articles were already written on it and the WHOLE world was aware) he genuinely didn’t know, then that is just ignorant as fuck. Icel. Anyway, literally all drivers should be held accountable, no matter if they’re ur favs or not; I like Carlos a lot but that doesn’t mean i dont get the ick every time i think abt the fact he’s stayed completely silent on the matter. OH MY GOD, DONT get me started on lance stroll and his confirmed (yes, i DO fact check) Zionist girlfriend, like?? Ew.

Can i also just say, that if any of u are gonna msg me saying ‘oH bUt NeP, thE FIA BanNeD AnY anD aLl PoliTiCaL StAtEmEnTS’ Shut up. If you guys could just READ the rest of the statement, you'd know that this rule only applies to when the drivers are ACTIVELY in the paddock. The FIA has literally included the fact that driver can do WHATEVER the want, stand up for WHOEVER they want in their personal lives – which brings me to my next point,

Numéro 3: The FIA bans any and all political statements in the paddock, (without their written consent) YET INVITES TRUMP (a man who has been charged with EIGHTY EIGHT criminal offenses) to the race, is the most disgusting and hypocritical thing ive seen in all my years of watching F1. And don't even get me started on all the shit lando said abt him, like bro?? What are you saying?? Why are you saying these things?? I get u cant speak bad abt him, but that does NOT mean u need to praise him to the sun and back. T-T

That's my rant! Additional reminder abt ppl bringing up how '*retired driver (insert name)* would NOT stand for this, and would post and talk ALL abt palestine if they were still racing,' this is a reminder that those drivers are still alive and well, with WORKING platforms and can STILL do all those things now if thry CHOOSE to :]

-Nep○~

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nqctar · 8 months ago

Text

floppy eared surprise

이찬영 / anton lee ★

pairings: cg! anton lee x f!little reader. genre: sfw age regression, tooth rotting fluff. synopsis: cg!anton comes back from his incheon trip bearing a floppy eared gift. warnings: nonsexual usage of 'daddy.' no major warnings apply.

the moment anton walked through the front door, you were attached to his hip. he’d been gone for an entire week and it would be an understatement to say you only missed him.

even though the two of you facetimed each night and you babbled on and on about the things you did while little, it was still nothing compared to physically being with him. you wrapped your arms around anton and held on tight as if he were about to disappear into thin air.

“i’m not going anywhere, baby. don’t worry.” he mumbles into your hair before kissing the top of your head. you smile and nuzzle your head against him. “just making sure!”

“guess what, bunny?” you pull your head away from anton’s chest and look up, beaming at him. “what is it, daddy?”

“i got you something.” he pulls away from you to go through one of his bags and stops once he seemingly finds it. anton turns to you, a small smile creeping onto his face.

he holds the item behind his back carefully so that you can’t see it, and turns to the side when you try and look around him to take a peek at whatever it is. “close your eyes first. it’s a surprise.” his voice is soft, and you feel like there’s a hint of shyness in his tone.

you close your eyes and wait, still beaming happily. anton carefully guides your hands up and then places something in them. it’s big enough to fit in both of your palms, yet it isn’t heavy. actually, it’s incredibly soft.

you feel around it, smoothing out its fur and playing with the floppiness of its ears. you giggle, almost certain that you know what it is.

“okay, open your eyes babygirl.” your eyes flutter open and a small gasp escapes you. in your hands is the cutest bunny plush you’ve ever seen. the fur is a snowy color and there’s a blue gingham pattern on the inside of its ears.

it boasts a permanent small smile and even has rosy cheeks, presenting itself as the perfect companion. to you, it’s absolutely perfect.

anton mistakes your silence as dissatisfaction and begins trying to explain why he picked it up in the first place.

“i wasn’t too sure if you’d like it, but i thought it looked so cute. and he was just sitting in the window all alone, i had to rescue him for you.” anton rambles on, speaking fast and slightly louder than normal. he fidgets with the strings on his hoodie and then pulls them tight, now covering his face with the hood.

“and he was so excited to meet you, too! he told me himself, y’know.” “plus, i always call you bunny…” he stammers, now sounding completely muffled by his hoodie.

you look up at him with teary eyes, blush forming on your face that matched your new stuffie.

“daddy, he’s perfect!” you wrap your arms around anton and pull him into a tight hug. “this is the bestest gift i’ve ever gotten.”

anton lets out a sigh of relief and then smiles down at you. “i’m so glad you like him, pretty.” he says softly, running a hand through your hair.

“be sure to give him lots of cuddles, okay? especially when daddy isn’t home. your bunny is gonna make sure he keeps you company if i’m gone.”

despite not wanting anton to go away again, the bunny stuffie tucked in your arm looked hopeful. “i will, daddy! i’ll make sure to give him lotsa kisses and cuddles, don’t worry!” he runs a hand through your hair once more and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. "you're so cute,"

he smiles at you, gorgeous as ever. your heart begins to race and instinctively you cover your face with your new stuffie out of shyness.

anton notices and hides his giggles behind a fake cough. "let's go nap, hm?" he says, stretching a hand out for you to hold.

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sophieinwonderland · 1 month ago

Note

Yes the word grooming has been blown out of its original meaning. However Grooming isn’t limited to antiqueer propaganda though, the definition of grooming is literally “the behaviour or action used to establish an emotional connection with a vulnerable person so they can abuse and/or manipulate them into doing things”

What your suggesting to do with these vulnerable groups is literally the definition of grooming.

To add to that you keep comparing these “marketing” tactics to branches of Christianity that verge on being called a cult. You’re painting it as though every branch of Christianity does the same thing when it doesn’t and it just so happens that those branches are so F’ed up.

The “marketing” of some of these you mention involve purposefully isolating its members to create a them vs us dynamic and that sort of thing doesn’t help anyone, look at the syscourse community as exhibit A.

Marketing a religion or movement in of itself is not bad, however the way you want to go about it is doing exactly what you preach to be against. No religion is good or bad it’s the people that are involved in it that make it so.

Part of your problem is that you're focusing on using a very broad interpretation of a definition of a word that has very specific connotations. Even if you can find broad definitions like this, that doesn't change the word's history.

Connotations of words can be just as important as literal definitions. For example...

I'm curious where you got your specific definition of grooming as well. I can't find that particular arrangement of words on Google. Here's the Webster's definition.

There are two forms here, one that is neutral and one that is negative.

The neutral "grooming" isn't an issue. People groom someone for a position in a company. They groom candidates. They groom successors. These are fine. But obviously, this isn't how grooming is being used here.

For the second form, this is clearly negative. And while you could make the argument that because it says "especially" for nonconsensual sexual activity, it could technically be applied outside of that, the connotation is still there and is the reason it's be used.

The reason queer people and systems are being accused of "grooming" people to be queer and to become systems is because of the connotations with sexual predators and child molesters.

Also, I find it curious that this language is almost never aimed at these branches of Christianity that use these tactics to convert and indoctrinate children. If me, a queer tulpa, suggesting that we use the same exact tactics of proselytizing religions to spread tulpamancy is "grooming" then surely all proselytizing religions that spread this way are grooming people as well!

And yet, this use of "grooming" is almost exclusively targeted at queer people and systems.

For the record, I'm not against all forms of Christianity. There are plenty of liberal churches that I would be happy to see on our side. Especially since God Himself is a plural God. If I have one problem with these churches, it's their passivity. That they don't do enough to spread their values and fight for inclusion, because the right-wing churches will spread theirs at every turn.

I would like to see stronger allyship to marginalized communities from those churches.

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audhd-author · 1 year ago

Text

Charity Ball

Yet again, you and Tony have been invited to attend another event. However, he intends to make this one less boring, surprising you with a gift before the pair of you leave.

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2125 words

NSFW (18+)

Public play, sex toys, praise kink, orgasm control, edging, dirty talk, remote controlled vibrator, multiple orgasms.

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You always enjoy the tedious hours spent with the hair and makeup artist teams before events with Tony. The makeup itself, you could take it or leave it really but the company is always nice. "Alright girl, finishing touches and you're all good to go." Alicia grins, applying your mascara with years of experience. "And may I just say, damn girl. You're looking beautiful!" Ryan laughs, undoing the clips holding your hair up, your ivory locks draping over your shoulders in luscious waves.

"I can't thank you guys enough." You grin, admiring yourself in the mirror as Alicia lightly sprays the setting spray over your face. "Anytime for you, future Mrs Stark. That ring be looking ex-pen-sive!" Ryan says, excitedly glancing at the engagement ring hugging your finger. You chuckle, looking down at your hand, serene happiness filling your veins with warmth. "I suppose it is a bit but you know Tony."

"Am I not allowed to spoil the love of my life?" Your fiance's deep voice sounds from the doorway as you grin, looking over at him. "I never said that." You laugh as Alicia gives you a warm squeeze on the shoulder, Ryan leaning in for a hug. "We'll leave you two lovebirds to it. Honey, you're looking stunning." He says before walking out of the room, Alicia follows close behind as she calls back over her shoulder. "Have a good night you two!"

"I believe Ryan bet me to say it but you do indeed look stunning, darling." Tony smiles, strolling over to you with his hands in his suit pocket. "Why thank you, you don't look half bad yourself." You smirk, placing your hands on his chest as his hands pull your body flush to his. If anything, he looked a lot better than just half bad, not that you were going to say it openly. His black suit hugged each curve of his muscles, accompanied by his signature red tie.

"I do try sometimes, you know." He laughs before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "I've left a gift for you on the nightstand and a dress in the closet. I suggest opening the gift and putting it on before you put the dress on." Raising an eyebrow, you look up at him, confused, extracting a chuckle from him. "Just go. I'll wait for you in the foyer. Happy's bringing the S7 round for us." He says, pulling away from you as you walk into the bedroom.

A black box tied with a delicate silver ribbon lay on the nightstand, undoing the ribbon, a gasp escapes you as you see its contents. Your core burns in anticipation as your eyes land on a hot rod red vibrator, no doubt one of his own creations. "Tony, you cheeky little minx." You chuckle under your breath, grabbing the sleek toy from its packaging.

Walking around the bed, you walk into your closet, seeing the new addition hanging amongst your other expensive ball gowns. A slit up the thigh, the red satin sparkled with jewels embedded in the upper half, a cut just above the padded cups of the breasts. Sliding the toy into your matching lingerie, your own little gift for Tony, you let your dressing gown fall to the ground as you pull the dress from the hanger. Pulling it on, it accentuates every curve of your body. To say you look divine is an understatement. Quickly slipping your feet into your heels, you fasten the clip of your diamond pendant necklace, yet another gift from your fiance from the night of your engagement. Taking a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, you proceed to exit the room, walking down the stairs to the foyer.

Tony knew the dress would look stunning on you but as he turned towards the sound of your heels clicking on the marble stairs, he struggled to maintain his breath. "Wow." Is the only word that he can manage to say as you walk up to him. His hands grab your hips, pulling your body close to him as your arms wrap over his shoulders. "I wasn't prepared for how gorgeous you look in that dress." He admits, his eyes devouring your body as he looks you up and down.

"I must admit, the gift is a very nice addition." You tease, giving him a cheeky wink as his pupils dilate at your words. "You're going to be the death of me, woman." He mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you grin. "Uh guys, I'd hate to break up the party but you do have an event to attend." Happy chimes in awkwardly, holding the Saleen's keys up to Tony. Looking over at Happy, Tony grabs the keys, giving him a singular nod.

"Right, cheers." He says before turning his attention back to you, offering out his arm. "Shall we?" You grin, wrapping your arms around his. "We shall." You reply, letting him lead you out to the passenger's side of the car as he opens the door for you. Getting in the car, he shuts the door behind you before walking around to the driver's seat. His hand immediately finds home on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning the key in the ignition.

You and Tony both would have rather stayed home than attended the charity ball but seeing as the Avengers were all attending, it would've seemed unprofessional to not show up. Pulling onto the open road, Tony hums along to the music playing through the speakers as he fiddles with a few settings on his watch. "Eyes on the road, darling." You remind him as he narrowly avoids a car that had stupidly decided to pull out in front of you. "I will in a second, I just need to… there." He says, pressing a final button on his watch. A startled moan falls off your lips as the toy begins to vibrate inside you, the second part of it gently massaging your clit. A smirk pulls at Tony's lips as your hands grip the edge of the seat.

"Tony…" You breathe, the toy rubbing against the sensitive spot inside you. "As much as I love to hear you moaning my name, try to keep the noise to a minimum while at the event, my love." He grins, the both of you knowing that he's not going to make it as simple as that.

_____

The minute Tony pulls through the gates of the event's grounds, it seems as if all cameras are on the two of you. White flashes surround you as he pulls up to a stop next to the red carpet leading down the middle of the barricades stopping the paparazzi. Getting out of the car, he chucks his keys to the valet as he walks over to your door, offering you his hand as he helps you out of the car. You gratefully accept his hand, using him to help steady your quivering legs as the toy continues its ministrations. Reporters immediately call out to both you and Tony, attempting to bombard you with questions as bodyguards quickly usher the pair of you inside.

Tony's hand slides possessively around your waist, pulling you close to him as you try to control your breathing. Your nails clench into his hip as pleasure courses through your veins. A smirk pulling across his face, Tony lets a singular chuckle escape him as he leads the two of you over to where the other Avengers had gathered at a table in the corner. "Tony, Y/N," Bruce says, smiling warmly at the two of you as you take a seat next to Natasha. "Hey." You flash what you hope is a smile at them as Tony walks over to the bar. "So, how's everything with you guys?" You manage to ask through the pleasure emitting from between your thighs. Your hands tighten their grip on your thighs as you glance over at Tony. Did he just turn it up? The smirk on his face, as he watches your thighs clench together, tells you your answer.

Trying to ignore the ministrations of the vibrator over your sensitive bud, you look, maybe too intensely, at Wanda as she replies. "Yeah it's been alright, but I hear congratulations are in order. Tony was nervous for weeks before he proposed." Ah shit, you were trying to keep the attention away from yourself. Forcing a smile on your face, you nod. "Thank you. It was all incredible, he made everything so utterly perfect. I'm a lucky woman." You grin, feeling Tony's hand on your shoulder as he places a champagne glass on the table in front of you. Taking a seat beside you, his hand covers yours over your thigh, entangling his fingers with yours as you thank him for the drink.

Taking a sip, you attempt to swallow the moan sitting in your throat, your core tightening as an orgasm approaches. Your hand squeezes tight around Tony's as your thighs shake beneath the table, the back of your hand coming up to cover your mouth as a wave of pure bliss crashes over your body. His hand gives yours an affirming squeeze before he adjusts the settings on his watch, the vibrations stopping as you breathe a silent sigh of relief. The toy still stretches your walls, your core tingling with the lack of vibration as the conversation moves on.

_____

The speeches were long and tedious as always but this time for an entirely different reason. Tony focused his boredom on playing with what seemed to be his new favourite toy for the two of you. You can feel your slick coating your legs as he continues to adjust the settings, letting your body come close to the sweet release you so crave, then turning the vibrator off, edging you over and over again. Your clit throbs from over-stimulation as you choke back silent sobs of desperation into your hand, trying to focus your eyes on the stage. “Thank you all again for attending, we hope you all have a great night. The dance floor is open to all, as well as an open bar. Enjoy!” The host concludes the introductory speech as guests stand up to refill their now-empty glasses at the bar.

The music begins playing through the speakers and a soft smile pulls at your lips as you recognise it. “Is this?” You begin to ask, looking at Tony who already has his hand extended. “Our song.” Taking his hand, you force your quivering legs to stand, grateful when his arm slinks around your lower back to help you. The two of you walk over to the dance floor, turning to each other as he places a gentle kiss on your hand before intertwining your fingers. Your other hand rests on his shoulder as his hand moves to your lower back, pulling your body flush with his as you sway to Crowded House’s, ‘Don’t Dream, It’s Over.’ “Hold on, one sec.” He murmurs, pulling his hand away from your back to adjust the settings on his watch, your knees nearly buckling as the vibrations dance over your sensitive bud. Your head drops into his shoulder, muffling the moan you’ve wanted to release for nearly two hours now.

“Can I cum this time or are you going to edge me again?” You ask, your words coming out in a shaky breath. A satisfied chuckle escapes Tony as he rests his head on yours. “Sorry about that, I got bored.” You can’t help the laugh falling off your lips at his response. “Really? I couldn’t tell.” His grip pulls your body impossibly closer to him as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “Careful darling, I’m feeling generous at the moment but with an attitude like that, it might disappear rather quickly.” A shiver runs down your spine at his words, his lips brushing over your earlobe as he does. Leaning further into his chest, another shaky moan escapes you, your orgasm quickly approaching yet again. If it wasn’t for Tony’s hand on your back, holding you up, your legs would’ve given out. He can feel your body twitching in anticipation as your breath hitches in your chest. “Cum for me, love.” He murmurs, gently nibbling your earlobe as you let yourself go. Pure bliss crashes over your body, euphoria filling your veins as your body shudders with delight against him. “That’s my girl.” You can barely hear his affirmations through your light-headedness, fully relying on him to keep you upright as your body pulsates with divine pleasure.

“When we get home, I’m not going to stop until the only word you can scream is my name.”

--------------------------------------------

A/N:

Tried writing something a lil bit different from my typical smut, I hope you guys like it!

Let me know if you want a Pt 2 regarding when you and Tony get home. 🤭😏

#tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #tony stark #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #marvel #audhdauthor

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monarcascension · 1 year ago

Text

the less they know | j.w

summary : You were always the kind of person to stay focused. You were determined to prove yourself in this new job and never let anything deter you from your path, that was … until you met Jung Wooyoung.

pairings: wooyoung x blk!femreader

tags: light fluff , angst, SMUT WARNING, foreplay, unprotected sex, vulgar language, creampie, MINORS DNI ♡

word count: 7.2K

Since you were a little girl, you were always interested in the fashion scene. Your grandmother would frequently watch fashion shows, whether on television or in person. Even designing clothes of her own. In fact, she was the one who taught you how to use a needle and thread in the first place.Thanks to her, your addiction to the art grew over the years, which led you to the heart of Seoul, South Korea for the Summer International Fashion Seminar. A home for artists, like yourself, who wished to put their works in the public eye. All of your accomplishments in your youth, made you the first Black woman and fashion creator to have ever made it to the Korean Division. Whether your luck went any further after this point, the feature itself was impressive.You worked your ass off every day to prove to everybody and to yourself, that you deserved everything you earned.

That was only the good part of it though.

Your nervousness was starting to overcome you little by little. This was your sixth interview this year with a company in South Korea and you were sure that it could possibly be your last if this didn’t go well. You had a dream of designing that you wanted to follow, and your parents sent you off on that quest in support of your journey, but for months you had nothing to show for it but half truths. Your mother would call and ask how work was going at your new job, and you would lie and say “Great!” almost half heartedly every time. You weren’t necessarily lying that you were working, which you had been — creating new pieces for yourself as well as filling your sketchbook with new designs for the future. Despite your lengthy background, despite your qualifications nothing ever worked out.

So, this company was your final hope or you would be leaving Korea for good.

Your leg shook violently in the chair as you stared forward at the empty seat behind the Director’s desk. Scanning over the structure, pictures of family and other knick knacks lined the wooden surface, making it known that it was clearly a space that was lived in and lively, which was not customary of most offices.

The other company buildings you visited were grand and uniform in design and color, but this one — still holding on to extravagance— had murals, pictures of staff, and plaques commemorating important figures. From what you could tell this was almost like a familial space, everyone had a bond with one another here. It was sweet to see, but it only made you realize just how alone you had been in Korea all this time.

You were pulled from your thoughts just as you heard the doorknob to the office click. You immediately stood to your feet as a woman stepped through the door, seemingly shocked by your presence. You greeted her with a polite bow and she returned the gesture.

“I apologize if I kept you waiting. I had to make some rounds throughout the department and lost track of time. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Director Yoo.” She said kindly, stepping around you to get to her seat. “Please, please sit.”

You retook your spot in the chair and re-adjusted so that you presented yourself well. You were perfectly dressed for the occasion, wearing a hand-crafted black plaid blazer that fit well against your frame; matching with a skirt and a nude turtle neck. It was formal, but also fashionable and eye-catching as well.

“Director Yoo. I appreciate you choosing to discuss this opportunity with me. I was happy to hear back from you.” You started, sweetly smiling at the woman.

“I must say, I was quite shocked to hear that you chose to apply here. What made you choose us?” She asked bluntly.

“Well, I have been in Korea for some time now and being in a foreign country you tend to do a lot of research on the things that are around you. Your company landed on my radar. So, the more I found out about you and the groups you have here it was an obvious choice.” You tried to explain with as much happiness as you could muster, hoping that it would hide your fear.

“I see..” Director Yoo spoke flatly. “I hope you don’t take this wrongly, but we.. don’t usually tend to higher foreign residents.”

You flet a cold shiver run across your body. Swallowing your saliva, and clearing your throat, you righted yourself to speak again. “Of course..”

“I’m well aware of the work that you have done. You’re extremely talented, however, it is only your Nationality that is an obstacle.”

“Director, if I may?”

She motioned for you to go on and leaned back in her chair, the leather stretching against the pressure.

“I’ve been into fashion my entire life. It’s who I am. And it’s everything that I have ever wanted to do. I applied at your company because I know that I’m good at what I do. Really good. I’m more than qualified. I understand that you take care of yours at home, and I respect that, but if you give me a chance, You’ll see that I’m trying to do the same. And I will work diligently to prove that hiring me erases all other obstacles for you in the future.”

Director Yoo stared at you as you spoke, intently taking in every word you said to her. It felt like your life was being analyzed in a weird way, and it made you nervous. As if you were being graded somehow without her ever seeing your work.

Suddenly, she sat up in her chair and rolled closer to her desk, clasping her hands together before letting out a soft sigh.

“We run a tight ship here. We work for the artists, and it's my job that I have the best of the best working on my team. They’re idols so their image is everything. Their image is our image. And we have to take care of that diligently or else we’ll be out of a job. Everything we do has to be quick and efficient. When I ask for you, you’re there. No If’s, Ands, or Buts. No distractions. Can you handle that?”

This woman was intense. That soft and sweet demeanor you thought she possessed was then replaced with business motive. She didn’t play around when it came to work, but you expected no less from the Head of the Fashion Department. You nodded your head quickly, accepting her challenge without fear.

“I’ll do more than my best.”

Standing from her seat, she walked to the other side of the desk where you sat and extended her hand. “Then welcome to the KQ family.”

You suddenly felt lighter as she said those words to you. Your shoulders affixing themselves to the light and feathery feeling now bestowed upon you. The opportunity to break down crying in front of her presented itself to you many times as you bowed to her with gratitude, but you maintained what resilience you had left. “I won’t let you down ma’am.”

“Good. We’ll finish the rest of the paperwork later. I would show you around myself, but we’re trying to finish prep for their comeback and we need all the hands we can get-“

“I can help!” You chimed.

The Director appeared confused at your eagerness and looked as if she was ready to shoot down your proposal, which made you feel guilty for speaking up in the first place, but she smiled and pulled open the door to the office.

“Let’s put you to work then.”

Following the Director through the KQ building, the two of you spoke in length about the expectations for this comeback as well as their concept. You didn’t know that much about Idol schedules, but from what you were being told, you definitely had your work cut out for you, and it excited you nonetheless. Taking the elevator up to the third floor, you were introduced to the calm chaos of the Art Department.

Racks of concealed clothing were parked outside in the halls or being loaded up by other employees, followed by them writing something on the labels in Korean. Some of them bowed at the presence of the Director, and looked confused at you but still greeted you warmly anyway before running past you to their next destination.

“We’re usually a little more organized than this, but it’s a little hectic today since we only have three weeks before the music shows. We were down a stylist so we are missing the finished pieces for one of their music show appearances. That is of the utmost importance and where you come in.” Director Yoo motioned you into one of the empty work spaces.

When you stepped inside it appeared like a dressing room combined with a waiting room with a vanity and a long body mirror, a couch and two side seats accompanied with a wall-mounted television and coffee table. In the corner was a rack of strewn about clothing and a desk with a large sewing machine and measurement map.

You took in the comfortable feel of the room , making note of everything at your disposal.

“Since it’s your first day, I won’t overwhelm you, but I want you to get used to things. The stylist left all of the equipment so use what you need. You’ll be working with Wooyoung today— he should be here in a moment. So take care of them. Any questions?”

“No- well, yes. One. I have complete creative control??”

“Anyone else's opinions would just slow you down in the moment. Just show us what you got and we’ll go from there. Good luck. No distractions!” The Director swiftly exited the room just as soon as she entered, leaving you standing in the center of the room with no idea where to begin.

It felt like you had been thrown in the heat of battle without a weapon, but if you didn’t find something quick, you were sure to be killed.

You placed your belongings on the couch, all except your sketchpad. Knowing what ATEEZ’s concept was, you tried to brainstorm something fast. From the research you had done on the group, you were privy to their style already, which gave you something to go off of. Since you of all people had the knowledge of what was hip, your pen started moving across the pad without hesitation.

“Excuse me?”

In the middle of you sketching, you heard a soft voice from the direction of the entrance. You quickly shot your head up from your paper and turned around to see—as unprofessional as it was to say— the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. You knew you shouldn’t stare, but it was almost impossible as he gazed upon you. His skin was a gorgeous light honey color. His jawline was chiseled to an inhuman perfection, accompanying his sharp nose and plump lips. He looked like trouble incarnate with long dark hair, but his brown eyes were so kind, you felt like they would suck you in within a matter of minutes if he stared at you any longer.

Shaking yourself free from your trance, softly patting your cheek as a nonverbal “pull yourself together”. You gave him a soft smile before bowing to him.

“I.. Hi. Hello. Sorry about that. I might have zoned out a little bit.” You chuckled nervously.

To your surprise, he laughed softly as he entered the room. “I noticed. You were staring at me for a while and didn’t speak. I thought I broke you for a second.”

That’s because you did.

But you didn’t say that out loud. “And you must be Wooyoung.”

“Gosh, what gave it away?” A sarcastic tone lining his words as he pulled his hair back behind his ears.

“The Director told me a loooooot about you.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “Waah. I don’t know if that’s a hidden compliment or an insult.”

“A compliment.” The two of you laughed for a moment.

“If I would have known I would be working with you, I would have prepared some compliments of my own.”

You grinned. “Well there’s still time for that.”

“You’re very pretty- I mean your outfit is. Pretty.” He stammered over his words, but tried to save himself and you laughed.

“Thank you. I made it myself. Which is exactly, what I’m going to do for you as your new stylist, so why don’t we get started?”

Throughout the rest of your session together, the conversation would flow as easy as it ever had with anybody else. While you dressed him like your personal doll, making him try on outfit after outfit in order to see your vision, he would hammer you with questions. Spilling jokes that would send you into laughing fits that had no return. It was non-stop. You don’t think you ever had this much conversation with someone since you came to Korea, but it felt nice. Being around him felt nice. Oddly, it was as if you were friends for a while instead of people who just met. It was so easy to talk to him, considering that he was an idol as well as a stranger to you. You would have thought he was snobbish in every way possible, but he just felt like a friend.

You had taken all of Wooyoung’s measurements and dimensions and finished up a good enough sketch that gave you an idea of how you wanted to style him, and he sat there with you and explained what kind of vibe he wanted to go for. You took all that information and drew it within minutes. It was complex, but doable. Portions of the design would have to be hand stitched, but that didn’t stop you.

“Alright, done!” You exclaimed proudly, flipping the sketchpad around to show him. “What do you think?”

Wooyoung kept his eyes on you the entire time, his fist resting on his cheek as he smiled. “Beautiful..”

You looked to him happily at the sound of his words and were met with those bright brown eyes flushing over every portion of your face. You thought he was referring to the drawing, but he was staring at you. Did he mishear you perhaps?

Your heartbeat was starting to pick up rapidly to the point you could hear it in your ears. You just met him mere hours ago, how was it that he managed to get you flustered so easily?

Laughing lightly to yourself with the hopes of trying to play it off as a joke, you set the sketch pad down and started gathering your belongings. “ I see why the girls love you, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Why’s that?”

“You're a flirt.”

“Here and there.” Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, working the corner of his lips up into a sly smirk while his head tilted slightly upwards. “But..I only flirt with the people I want.”

You believed that you had choked on air at that moment with your lungs seemingly collapsing in on themselves. From what you had learned about him since your conversation began, was that he was very up front with how he feels. He was one of the blunt ones in the group, but there was nothing that could have prepared you for that. A part of you wanted to believe that he was messing around, however the look in his eye was saying otherwise. He was staring at you like you were the only meal on the menu– his glare alone was a danger to you and you desperately needed to separate yourself from it.

Maybe all idols were like this with the new girls or the women that worked with them . Him flirting with you didn’t mean anything and even if it did, it didn't matter. He was an Idol and you were an employee with everything to lose. It wasn't like you could give into his advances anyway, if the two of you were even caught stealing sideways glances at one another, or touching each other in any way that was not becoming of an idol and staff relationship, it would be a disaster waiting to happen.

After months of agony you had finally managed to secure the job that you had been looking for to jumpstart your career, and nothing could get in the way of that. And a workplace affair was not on your bucket list of plans for your future.

“Boy, you play too much.” You played off Wooyoung’s statement once again, pushing the thoughts of his flirtatious notions to the back of your head.

No matter how unnervingly attractive he was. There could be no distractions. Not one. Not even him.

“Hey you two. We’re wrapping up for the day. Everything good here?” The Director’s voice came crashing into the room from the doorway, and you felt your heart lighten.

Saved by the bell. Thank god.

“Yeah! All done.” Quickly scrambling to your feet, you tossed your bag over your shoulder and fixed yourself accordingly. “I’m putting the pieces together tomorrow.”

“Perfect. You’re a lifesaver. Wooyoung. Hongjoong and your manager are looking for you, it's best you start heading out too.”

“Thank you, Director.” Wooyoung said, nodding his head in acknowledgment of the woman’s position and authority just before she walked away, leaving the two of you alone again.

You took the opportunity to try and weasel between the awkwardness brewing in the air, but you felt a light tug on your arm pulling you back. Your eyes landed upon Wooyoung who had your hand clasped in his. As strong as his physique was, the hold he had on you was gentle. The way the pad of his thumb brushed across your smooth brown skin sent goosebumps up your arm.

“W-Wooyoung?” You stammered, searching his face for some kind of reasoning behind his sudden actions. “What is it?”

And like he had just stepped out of a romantic movie from the 90’s, he brought the back of your hand up to his lips and softly planted a kiss in the center. The gesture set your entire body on fire. All of the gears in your brain halted for a moment, scraping roughly against the other as none of what you were experiencing made a single lick of sense. Not that you had the energy or time to make sense of it in the first place, but all you knew was that this shouldn’t happen. Right?

Wooyoung flickered his soulful gaze upon you once more. “Have a good night. I liked spending time with you today.”

Not knowing what else to say to him, you mustered up a smile through your obvious confusion and relative anxiety and bowed to him politely before pulling your hand out of his.

“Goodnight, Wooyoung.”

╚ ╝

When you arrived at your apartment, you collapsed in your bed almost instantly after finishing your nightly routine—plopping face down into your linens. The emotional weight of the day had completely tired you out, and you wanted nothing more but to sleep now. Letting out a thunderous, muffled groan into your bed sheets, you flipped your position to stare up at the ceiling.

Out of everything you had experienced today, only one thing— one person— was on your mind.

Jung Wooyoung.

And not the one thing that mattered which was keeping your job.

He kissed your hand. He flirted with you.

How could he be so careless to do something like that in public?

But he was so sweet. Gentle. Kind. Even staring up at the tall ceiling above you, you could perfectly trace out his smile with your eyes. The tender look he gave you when he called you “beautiful”. The spot on the back of your hand still tickled with the kiss he left behind, and you ran your fingers across it softly. His laugh made you weak in the knees and you could listen to it every day if you could. It made you laugh even thinking about it.

The words he said to you before you parted ways played on loop in the back of your head. You pondered for a moment if he was actually serious about them, but wiped the thought from your mind entirely.

You did not have the luxury for fantasies and what ifs. You had a job to do. The lives the two of you led were too different, continuing like this with one another would be dangerous. He was an idol. You only worked with him and nothing more. You could not allow yourself to be distracted by him any longer.

You had to come into work tomorrow focused.

And you did just that.

The next day, you came to KQ Entertainment a bit later than the other staff members at the request of the Director. You were more dressed down than yesterday now that you felt a little more comfortable. You wore a long sleeve, green, textured halter top with blue washed jeans that hugged against your waist, with green, suede sneakers you had made yourself. Your thick, kinky hair pulled into an up-do with wild strands falling across your forehead. Your makeup was done lightly, mostly highlighting your key features like your eyes, cheeks, and lips.

You greeted some of your co-workers as you passed them by in the hall towards your new office space. Flicking on the light in the still and empty space, you threw down your bag and immediately positioned yourself at the back of the room where you rummaged through the leftover clothing. Pulling a few pieces from the rack you folded them over your arm and turned towards the desk where you noticed something there that had not been there before.

Laying the clothes down on the table to get a better look, there had been a small rectangular box filled with the delicacies of Korean culture that you had grown to know over the half a year that you had been here, companioned with a beverage and a note that was written in the language left on top of it. Pulling the paper off, you put your months of studying to work and read the note.

You look even prettier with a smile on your face

so i hope this brings you one today, while i'm away

- Woo Young

So much for no distractions. You had just managed to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and insisted that you would not think about him again, just for him to go and do something like this.

You wanted to be angry , however you couldn’t help but smile.

“Ahh… Jung Wooyoung. You will be the death of me.” You ran your finger over the note and your heart fluttered.

You had never had anyone show you such kindness before. Regardless of his intentions, the gesture was sweet and you were grateful. Knowing that he was on schedule today saddened you a bit, but you had work to finish and now was the time to do it. Setting the lunch box he had gifted you to the side, you set your desk up with all of the equipment you needed and got to work.

Music played at a medium volume from the television across the room, giving you some kind of sound to work with as you attempted to create Wooyoung a dynamic look for his stage using the information you gathered from him yesterday. The sewing machine whirred as you raced against time, feeding it with a bright color that you imprinted onto the dark gray shirt you had found, which had taken a few hours at least to replicate it front and back.

Once it looked as good as you wanted it to, you cut the sleeves off of it, dipping down into the sides of the shirt so that the holes could give him some mobility while he was dancing. You would clean everything else up later, but your vision was coming to fruition. You continued on like this well into the late evening, and soon realized after almost pricking your finger with a needle, that you had not eaten a thing. Completely forgetting the meal that Wooyoung had left you hours before. You stood and admired your work, wiping the sweat off of your brow and nodded feeling accomplished with what you had gotten done.

Grabbing the box from the side table, you stepped out of the room and walked down the hall towards the break room that had a kitchen inside of it. There were a few lingering employees there, but it was mainly empty, not that it mattered to you. You stepped over to the microwave and heated your lunch before returning back to your work room, and to your surprise you found someone else there waiting for you.

You stopped in your tracks and peeked to the side to get a better look at them, but he did you the favor of turning around to greet you.

“Wooyoung? When did you-“

“I just popped in. Schedule ran a little longer than usual, but I wanted to check in on you. Something told me, you would try to work into the night if no one stopped you.” Wooyoung explained, looking you up and down from head to toe. “I see I was right.”

You snickered to yourself, walking back over towards your desk where you had been working. “Well, I have a job to do, fortunately enough for you. Somebody has to keep up with your image.”

“Sometimes work can wait. Look at you, you’re just now eating something and it’s almost eight o’clock.” He sounded as if he was almost scolding you, but more out of concern than anything.

You took the chopsticks apart that came with the meal, pulling open the plastic covering as your nose was hit with the most delicious aroma. “At least I’m eating now right?”

Wooyoung cursed under his breath and shook his head, “You’re really stubborn, you know that?”

You took a few bites of your food before setting the box to the side begrudgingly with a sharp sigh.

And for some reason, you snapped suddenly. “We only met yesterday and all of a sudden you think you know me?”

Wooyoung seemed taken aback by the tone in your voice, but for some reason you could not hide your growing frustration. “Well, I’d like to. But you won’t let me.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Why?” He asked sternly, furrowing his brows at you.

You laughed in disbelief . “Are you seriously asking right now? You’re an idol, Wooyoung. I work for you. I shouldn’t have even let you know as much as I have told you anyway..”

“If I cared about any of that shit, I wouldn’t have come here at all. I wouldn’t have asked you a single thing about your life. I meant what I said to you yesterday-“

“Jesus Christ..” You stood to your feet, completely thrown at his lack of understanding of your current predicament. “You don’t get it.”

“What??”

“This is so unserious. I am not having this conversation with you, Wooyoung! I have work to do.”

“Does anything else ever matter to you other than work?” Wooyoung retorted, standing to his feet now.

You quickly moved over towards the door and shut it. “Look, I don’t know what image of me that you have carved in your mind in the last twenty four hours, but you do not know me. I don’t know you outside of work alone. I can’t even believe that half of what you said yesterday was the truth or how many times you have said it to every other girl that works here with you.”

Wooyoung stepped closer to you, an uncontrolled fire burning deep inside of his gaze. You felt like you were shrinking in his presence alone the closer he got to you. Your eyes darted across his face, terrified of what his rebuttal to you would be.

“Ever since I saw you yesterday, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you for a second. I asked you every question under the sun just because I liked the way you spoke to me. I told you the dumbest jokes just to hear you laugh because your smile made me smile.”

“Wooyoung-“ You tried to stop him, but he continued speaking and moving towards you.

“I wanted you the moment you looked back at me. When you left me last night, all I did was think about you. Today, I couldn’t think straight without seeing your face. You have been the only thing on my mind from the moment we met. Time means nothing to me.”

Wooyoung was towering over you now. Your back was pressed against the curtains on the door’s window leaving almost no room between you and him. You hung onto every word he spoke like it was his last. They were tied together so beautifully that it was almost hard to refute them. You wanted to believe them, but none of his words changed your reality: the two of you couldn’t be together. You swallowed thickly, licking over your lips to soothe the dryness lingering there.

“This can’t happen, Wooyoung. We could lose everything if someone found out that the mere possibility of us existed. One scandal could ruin your career. My career.”

You were almost pleading with him at this point, you had worked so hard for this life only to have it threatened by the possibility of a prohibited moment of weakness. However, you could not deny that you did feel something for him, though it did not yet have a name. Maybe it was because you were lonely all this time and just needed someone to make you feel good, or maybe you were just desperate for attention but were lying to yourself to make you feel better. You weren’t sure.

But you felt something, you just couldn’t say the words.

“So they won’t know. They won’t have to.” His voice had lowered into a sweet whisper now that caressed your ears like a tender melody. Wooyoung pulled his tongue over his lips, flicking his gaze between your dark brown pools and your glossed pair. He placed a finger underneath your chin and tilted your head up to face him. “But if you tell me, right now, that you feel nothing for me…I’ll walk away.”

“I..” You desperately wanted to say the words. In fact you were trying to force them to come out, but your tongue could not forge the sentence in time. Your eyes, instead, we’re carving out the line in his lips and how much softer they looked up close.

You felt like your heart was going to pound out of your chest. The pressure of the moment building and building so fast that you couldn’t keep up.

Just say it.

“Nobody would know, right?” You exasperated.

Wooyoung nodded his head. “No one.”

As soon as he gave you the confirmation you needed, you pulled him in closer by the nape of his neck. Your lips crashing hungrily against the others like you had been waiting for this moment your entire lives. Your hand brushed through his dark tresses, gripping onto them as the kiss intensified. Your bodies pressed firmly against the other with no promise of letting go. You could taste his cool breath swirling in your mouth as his tongue pressed between your parted lips and claimed entry.

His strong hands found purchase on the back of your thighs after sliding over every curve in your frame. He pulled you up in the air, you instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he moved you over to a new— more comfortable location. To where, you had no idea nor did it matter to you where he chose. In the matter of seconds, you found yourself placed on a high platform of some sorts, completely stable against it and him. The cool surface he had you against being a dead giveaway that he had you against the vanity with him trapped right between your legs. The next thing you know you were tearing off his clothes. Removing the distressed denim jacket he had on and tossing it to the side, along with the dark graphic tee he donned as well. Each article of clothing hitting the ground with a thud somewhere. With his upper attire now removed, you could fully admire the true beauty of his skin tone — the way it shined in the light and melded beautifully against your own as you caressed his shoulders and chest. Meanwhile, Wooyoung started going for the buttons on your jeans, undoing the fastenings prior to tugging them off of your waist and letting them fall onto the floor, kicking them off to the side in one push.

Hands falling down the ripples of his abs and down to his dark colored sweats, you hooked your fingers inside of them and started to pull them downwards and Wooyoung assisted you, leaving him in only his briefs that showed the massiveness of his growing bulge.

“I want you..” You moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss to speak, which Wooyoung took as an opportunity to dress your skin with his lips. Canvassing your cheeks and your neck with ticklish, pillowy love notes that made you smile.

“Tell me what you want baby hmm?” He cooed sensually, pulling back for a moment to look at you, taking note of your desperate and needy tone with a devilish grin. His hands ran up your thick thighs, feeling the warmth growing between them. His fingers lightly brushed against your lips, pressing into the fabric with his middle finger just to feel how wet you were. “You want to feel me like this?”

You groaned in response to his touch, biting down on your plump bottom lip as you watched him explore you. Wooyoung was enthused by your reaction, but even more so at the slickness he felt in your panties alone. You hastily nodded in response to his question.

“Fuck, you’re already dripping and I barely touched you yet.” Wooyoung brought the tips of his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them, which turned you on even more.

He kept his eyes on you the entire time he tasted you, taking those same two fingers and dipping them back into your crevasse, pulling your panties to the side while using his other free hand to hook one of your legs around him while the other remained spread, giving him a clear view of your pussy. Using the pads of his fingers he circled your clit, soaking the duo with your juices as you moaned out for him, slowly writhing in place.

You threw your head back from the sheer ecstasy and cried out at the ceiling above. “Ooh shit-“

“Look at me.” He commanded, bringing your focus back to him once more. “I want to see how pretty you look when you cum on my fingers.”

Wooyoung planted a soft kiss against your cheek just as he inserted his two digits inside of you, pushing past your slick walls and beginning to pump his wrist inside of you, picking up that speed and translating all the power into his forearm and then his entire arm. The room was filled with the harmonious sounds of your juices squelching against his hand and your pretty moans that were music to his ears.

“That’s it baby. Let it out..” Wooyoung coached into your ear, holding you tight while he watched his middle and ring finger appear and disappear inside of you repeatedly, fully coated in your liquids. “That shit feels good doesn’t it?”

“It feels so fucking good..” You cried out to him with a shaky voice. “Please don’t stop..”

The intensity of him pushing into you was almost too much for you to bear, but it just felt too good to have him pull back now. You wrapped your arm around where his wrist and forearm met and gripped onto him tightly, your toes curling at the sensation running through your body. You were teetering at the edge now— your eyes rolling steeply to the back of your head, your vision growing more hazy by the second. Wooyoung kissed the side of your head, your jawline, your neck rhythmically fulfilling your every desire.

You were growing closer to your end, every moan increasing in pitch and frequency. If there were anybody passersby outside the door, you were sure that they could hear you, but you almost didn’t care. It felt too good to hold back.

“Your moans are so pretty. I can’t wait to hear how good you sound when I fuck you…” Wooyoung growled into your ear.

You inched your hand up towards Wooyoung’s neck, cupping it just around his jaw and turning him towards you. “I want to feel you inside me. I can’t take it anymore..”

You searched his face for a moment. His eyes were glossed and practically sparkling with a deep, unsatiated lust. He had a need for touch— a thirst for it. A soul that required physical connection. That was a quality you both shared. Now that you experienced him, you couldn’t get enough and wanted more. If you didn’t have him now, you felt like you could explode. Wooyoung recognized this and pulled his fingers out of you, soothing your throbbing mound with the palm of his hand; giving you some time to breathe. He stepped back and removed his last article of clothing. His briefs hit the ground with a dull thud as his girth jolted from the seams, pointing stiffly towards you. Your mouth started watering at the sight. His dick was just as pretty as the rest of his body and the size fit him perfectly.

Inching towards you, the man pulled you off the surface of the vanity by your waist and eagerly flipped you around to face the mirror. With your frame slightly bent over the counter you saw him snake himself into the cusp of your neck, moving the thick strands of your hair out of the way so that he could see your face. “I want you to watch yourself.. don’t look away.”

You couldn’t believe that you were doing this. Tucked away in a dressing room with an idol. With him. At your own place of work. As much as you wanted some semblance of shame to come, it just never did. As all you could think about in this moment was him taking you and equally how bad you wanted him. You were reminded how good this moment truly felt when he planted a kiss on the exposed part of your shoulder and slowly eased his way inside of your slickness. Your mouth fell agape as did his; your tight walls gripping around the curve of his inches the more he pushed inside of you. His length fit you perfectly, as you completely gloved his inches.

“Fuck..” he whined. “You feel so good.”

With him so close, you could smell the freshness of his cologne. It was strong and commanding, but also hypnotic in many ways. His breath capes your neck, making your hairs stick up on end. His deep, guttural groans as he started stroking inside of your moist cavity only triggered your own moans. And still you did as he instructed you to and watched him fuck you so lovingly. The vanity rocked underneath your weight, causing you to slightly shift off balance and grip onto the table so it did not move. Wooyoung started to pick up his pace, the force of him hitting you from behind, sending your ass colliding against his pelvis in thick waves. He pulled back, catching the force head on as he reached forward and grabbed a handful of your coils and pulled your head back just a bit to where you can still see yourself in the mirror.

“Mmm, you’re such a pretty fucking whore for me.” Wooyoung chuckled lowly. “Look at how good you take that shit.”

The sensation was overwhelming your senses. Your walls pulsated across his thick member, releasing and gripping him constantly. Still reeling from when he was fingering you just a few minutes prior, you could still feel yourself coming closer and closer to your inevitable demise. The pressure in your abdomen was building like a dam about to burst. Even with the stamina that you two had, you could feel that he was close along with yourself. His breath was beginning to hitch and grow more rapid than before. You could feel his dick twitching inside of you as well even with the strength of his pumps.

You dared to stare at him amidst the euphoria you were experiencing out of curiosity as well as purely being enamored with the beauty of the man before you. You watched the way his chest rose and fell from his heavy breathing followed by the intensity of his orgasms. Sweat beads across his skin, giving way to the light that shines overhead. It was more pleasurable for you to know that he was enjoying himself as much, if not more, than you were.

Your lips curled upwards, licking across your own as Wooyoung sang your praises for taking him so well. Especially since it wasn’t just coming from anyone. Despite the circumstances of how you may have gotten here, you knew that he felt that this was more than just sex. You weren’t just engaging in a little hit it and quit it, no, it meant more. The purest form of connection that any person could ever experience, especially, when it stemmed from deep yearning – hoping that each other would wake up to the truth. There was no turning back from this moment forward.

“Fuck, I’m about to cum!” You exclaimed in a huff, urging him on as his thrust kept pumping into your tight walls, and his grin grew wider as he felt your coming climax brewing.

“That’s right, be a good girl and cum for me.” He coaxed. You felt like you were on cloud nine as you coated his dick with your juices. He leaned down into you, pressing your stomach against the table, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gripped your neck so roughly that you could see the veins in his arms poking from beneath his sandy skin.

Your moans were broken and incomplete, forming into a ball of nonsense tumbling from your mouth. You put the last bit of your energy into giving him everything you had, bucking your hips against his length.

“Cum in me baby..I want all of you. You primed softly. You didn’t know what came over you just then as you had never uttered those words to anyone before, but you just couldn’t control yourself in the moment and neither could he.

Sending his hips forward in powerful bursts of passion, Wooyoung growled hellishly into your ear the closer he got to his own end. The fullness of his climax painting your insides like his own personal canvas. You came with, riding out the last of your cum, before you dropped to the table, digging your nails into the wood and scratching against it from the final feeling of release. All your pent up frustrations over the last few months flowing down your thighs and onto his inches.

A light laugh escaped his lips, sighing as he closed his eyes and hovered over your weakened and fragile body.

“Do you think they’ll know?” He asked playfully.

You let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

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