#I want them to be a bit mysterious in how they work or how the world works because my memory and attention span are dog shit

[no-144444]

abu dhabi- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

a/n: thank you all very much for your patience, this series means a lot to me and I've had a lot of personal stuff going on, so I felt bad for leaving you guys hanging for a bit. Thank you all so much for reading this series and I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I love writing it!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

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Abu Dhabi. World Drivers Champion. World Constructors Champions.

Holy shit. 

All those years of hard work, of giving up being a child, of giving up having friends or family. You’d done it. You were a winner. 

You jumped out of the car and ran straight to Oscar, jumping in his arms. He caught you (of course) and cheered with you. 

“You fucking did it!” he smiled, pulling your helmet off. “You did it!” 

Every emotion flooded through you, but one in particular stood out; gratefulness. 

You were grateful for Oscar, for how he treated you, for who he was. He was there for you through everything, he helped you whenever he could, and while yes, you had a rough start, in the end you couldn’t imagine F1 without Oscar in it. 

“Thank you, Osc, for everything,” you smiled, hugging him close. 

“Anytime. Whenever. Always,” he nodded. 

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He was drunk as fuck, but he was still watching you as you chatted with various team members. 

“You’re fucked, aren’t you?” Lando chuckled, joining his side. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I’m drunk, yes.”

“No. You’re fucked for her,” Lando pointed twoards you. Perfect, unreachable, you. 

“Yes,” he nodded, frowning. “I’m fucked for her.”

“It’s pretty clear.”

“I know it is,” Oscar scoffed. “Thanks for Baku, by the way.”

Lando sighed. “Look, I’ve said a lot of shit this season that I didn’t mean, and I’m sorry I was a dick to the two of you. It wasn’t right and I do feel bad about it. So, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but that doesn’t solve the fact that she’s being this mysterious weirdo and acting really into me and then really not,” Oscar whined. 

“She’s a very broken person-”

“You think?” Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly giving me much hope right now.”

Lando laughed at his drunk state. “Just talk to her,” he offered. “She listens to you no matter what.”

Oscar stared at him, then nodded. “Good idea!” he announced (a little too loud as it drew the attention of a few people around the two of them), and looked at you. But you weren’t there. Oscar frowned again. 

“You’ll find her before the end of the night, I’m sure you will,” Lando clapped a hand on his shoulder and passed him a bottle of water to sober him up. “Good luck.”

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Oscar had decided to go find you, he wanted to talk. On the way there, he’d acquired about three more drinks and pissed off a small group of other McLaren employees by spilling one of his three drinks and apologised profusely (albeit rather mumbly), and that’s when you came in with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle smile that brushed it all over. 

“Are you alright?” you asked him, taking him to a corner to look him over. 

“Y/n?” he questioned, his vision blurry. “Is that you?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, it’s me buddy, you alright?” 

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Osc, come on, we get you to bed?” you offered, pulling one of his arms over your shoulder and helping him walk. 

“Bed sounds good,” he nodded, allowing you to walk him to his room. 

Drunk Oscar was what you assumed three year olds acted like. He pressed every button in the lift, ding-dong ditched people in the hallway, and stripped (almost) naked the second he got in the door of his room. After a few minutes of being in his room, he decided it was a good time to puke his guts out in the toilet, and you, being the good samaritan you are, decided to stay with him. 

“Feeling any better?” you asked, putting a cold cloth on his head as he lay in bed. You sat beside him, holding his hand. 

He shook his head, his eyes closed and a grimace on his lips. “Shit.” 

You chuckled lightly. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He opened his eyes and stared into yours, his hand resting over your hand. And time (as it always did when he was looking at you like that) stopped. The world melted away, and it didn’t matter that it was 2 in the morning, or that he’d just vomited, or that all of this was a lot more confusing than either of you had anticipated. You two just got to be with each other, and that was enough for the both of you. 

“Why don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice small and raw. He spoke to you with all the care in the world, but you could see he was hurting. You were hurting him. 

Fuck. Why couldn’t any of this be easy? Why couldn’t you just… talk to him? Confess to him? Be normal? The boy you love was sitting there in front of you telling you he loved you and you just… froze for a moment. You took a deep breath.  “Osc, of course I love you,” you whispered. “But you shouldn’t love me. I wouldn’t be any good for you.”

“I don’t care-”

“You’d end up hating me-”

“I could never hate you,” he shook his head, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. “I could never hate you.”

And you believed him. That was the scary part. You believed him when he told you he loved you. You believed him when he said he cares. You believed him when he said you look beautiful. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t hate you. “You should,” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes. 

“I couldn’t,” he whispered back, a soft smile on his face. He wiped away a tear that fell. “I don’t want you to be scared of how you feel.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” your voice broke. “I’m not an easy person to love.”

“I disagree,” he chuckled, wiping every tear away. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” 

And you couldn’t take it anymore. You curled up beside him and sobbed. You didn’t know how long you’d done it for, but you woke up beside him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your head giving you something to ground yourself to. You remembered every moment of last night, every word he said, and everything you said. 

You just hoped he wouldn’t. 

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When Oscar woke up, he knew there was something he had asked you last night, but he couldn’t remember what. After his conversation with Lando, there was nothing else he really remembered, apart from the fact that you had brought him up to his room, and he pieced together that he’d probably asked you to stay (being the pathetic hopeless romantic he is), and that’s why you were in his bed. 

A few seconds after waking up, the hangover hit, and fuck it was bad. His entire body ached. 

“I’m never drinking again,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. 

You chuckled beside him. “Remember anything?” 

He sighed, turning to meet your eyes. “Nope.”

As much as that destroyed you, you knew it was for the better. Oscar was better off without you, that, you knew for sure. But, you also couldn't put aside the confession he'd made last night. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” It played in your head over and over again, like a mantra that made every negative thought in your head silent for a few seconds. Oscar was good at that, making you question yourself. Either way, you were glad he hadn't remembered. It was for the better, right?

There was a split second where he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in your eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it was there, replaced with a smile. “Well, let’s go back to Monaco.”

He groaned just thinking about facing the day, but the fact that he woke up next to you meant it was better than any day he’d ever had. 

He definitely needed to know what he asked you last night. And you definitely needed him to not find out. 

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[jaeyunnz]

"Work Break Seduction."

ni-ki + f¡reader — ♡ 18+

WARNINGS — dom!ni-ki, sub¡reader, dirty talk, making out, cussing, rough sex, riki eats out reader, unprotected sex (stay safe dont do it.) pet names.

both characters are of age. (20+) not proofread, sorry if theres any errors. this is quite long but worth the read i promise!

Reader recently went into a new college and grew a school crush on Riki. Though he plays hard to get, your able to break his nonchalant demeanour.

Note : Riki was mostly requested, so enjoy. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Your parents recently moved to a different town, which meant transferring to a new college. It wasn’t as bad as you expected, though you didn’t really know anyone there—but that was fine. At least your childhood friend, Jess, was with you.

A few weeks passed, and you found yourself constantly drawn to a boy—Riki. Girls flocked to him, yet he always brushed them off or rejected their advances. No one seemed to know much about him. He was distant, only ever seen around small groups. But that only made him more intriguing. The mystery surrounding him pulled you in, making you want to learn more about him.

The problem? He avoided everyone—including you. The only times you ever spoke were during school projects, and even then, the conversations were brief or short talk.

This morning, once again, you found yourself paired with Riki. It didn’t bother you as much, but you could tell he wasn’t thrilled about the idea. “Alright, your partners have been chosen. Get to work, project’s due in two days,” the teacher announced. You scanned the room for Riki, and then your eyes landed on him. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture casual and almost lazy. You knew you had to make the first move and approach him, or he’d likely ignore you the entire time.

You hated that you always had to be the one to approach him—it made you feel almost desperate. Yet, here you were, getting up and walking toward him. He watched as you pulled out your chair and sat down beside him. “Hi,” you said, glancing at him for a brief moment. He responded with a small nod, his usual way of acknowledging you.

You settle into the seat, trying to ignore the awkwardness that always seemed to hang between you two. The silence stretched for a moment, neither of you making any effort to start the project. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at his phone, clearly disinterested. Then, you let out a soft sigh, wishing he’d at least pretend to care. Finally deciding to break the silence. “So, uh… how do you want to split this up?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He shrugs without looking up. “You can do whatever,” he mutters. You bite back a small frustration. Damn, you knew he wasn’t one for much conversation, but it always felt like pulling teeth to get him to participate. Yet, there was something about his indifference that kept you intrigued, even if it was maddening. “I guess I’ll start with the research,” you say, hoping for a bit more input. He doesn’t respond, but you take that as your cue to begin.

The next hour passes in relative silence, except for the occasional rustling of papers and the tapping of his phone. You focus on your work, trying not to pay attention to how he barely acknowledges your presence. Though you’re starting to get irritated by how you’re doing all the work while he’s just sitting there—eyes glued to his phone, doing nothing at all, you can’t bring yourself to get truly mad. Not when he looks this… handsome.

Should you try to start another conversation, hoping he might actually respond? You really wanted to get to know him better, maybe even get him to show a little interest in you, too. Fuck it, might as well, you really like him. "Prom is coming soon, you going out with anyone?" Thats the first thing that came to mind, it was a bit personal, but your curious. Maybe you can shoot your shot?

He finally lifts his head up from his phone, placing it on the desk and locks eyecontact with you. "Nah. Not interested in that typa stuff." For the first time, he actually seemed engaged, and it left you a little thrown off balance. "Why not?" You say, he gives you a shrug. "Why are you asking anyway?" He raises an eyebrow, your slightly taken by surprise when he asks, trying to make yourself sound less interested. "I'm just trying to conversate with you, I mean your quiet as fuck."

He lets out a deep, small chuckle that sounds rich, causing you to snap your eyes at him. Shit, he's really talking to you? "Yeah, well you could've asked me anything," he taps the desk with his fingertips, "But that was apparently the first thing that came to mind?" He rests his arm over the head of the chair, scanning your body for a moment which causes a small faint redness appear on your cheeks. "A bit bold of you, I'll give you credit for that."

You slightly roll your eyes, "How was that bold? I simply asked if you had a prom date or not." He finally sits up straight in his seat, running his hand through his short black hair which catches your attention. "Really?" He chuckles a bit, looking around the classroom.

You raise your eyebrow in slight confusion before he meets your gaze again, "C'mon now. You don't think i've noticed you staring at me?" Your eyes widen, he leans in closer and suddenly your heart starts to pound unbelievably fast. "Every single time we have a class together, I see you." his cold fingertips trails up your thigh, "Your into me? Aren't you? I mean thats why you asked me such a question." Your body freezes, shivers running down your spine.

How the fuck did he know?

"Thats not..." unable to finish your sentence with his hand making contact with your thigh. "Not true?" He says, his hands creeping down to pull your chair closer to him, the both of your knees brushing against eachother. His eyes dart down to your lips, a teasing smirk appearing on his face. Before you can say anything, the bell rings, interrupting the intense moment.

"We can uhm... finish this project later?" He leans back against his chair, acting totally careless about what just happened between you two. "Meet me at lunch." Is all he says before leaving the room. You know your face is beet red, but you dont even wanna see how you look right now. So then you start putting away the paper work into your bag, packing your stuff as he leaves the room, not looking back at you once. For a moment you just stand in the now empty class with a blank mind, trying to process everything that happened.

At lunch, you find yourself sitting at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria, just as he asked. Your heart races a little, unsure of what to expect. You glance around, half-expecting him to bail, but then you spot him walking toward you, looking as casual as ever.

"Hey," Riki says, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes briefly meet yours before he looks down at the table. "Hi," you reply, trying to sound casual even though your nerves are on edge. There’s a moment of silence between you two, the kind that always seemed to stretch on forever. You want to fill it with something, but words feel like they’re just out of reach.

Finally, he speaks again. "So, what’s your deal?" You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” He shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before looking away again. "Like, why are you always tryna talk to me. You barely know me." His bluntness takes you by surprise, but somehow it doesn’t feel as cold as you thought it would. It’s almost… honest.

You take a deep breath. "I don’t know. You’re just different, you know? It’s hard to ignore." He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "I'll take that as a compliment I guess."

"I mean yeah, like you’re this whole mystery. I just want to figure you out." For a second, he looks like he’s about to say something, but instead, he leans back in his seat, his gaze lingering on you a little longer. You feel like he’s reading you, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s trying to figure you out too. Then, without warning, he leans forward, closing the space between you. His hand brushes against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"Well," he says, voice low, "maybe you’ll find out soon." Before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. It’s sudden, soft at first, but the intensity quickly builds, and everything else fades away. The warmth of his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, and for a moment, everything feels completely different, like this is where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls away, you’re left dazed, trying to catch your breath. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a hint of something—something you can’t quite place. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a little rough. You nod, still in shock, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah. I think I’m more than okay." You bite your lower lip slightly, blushing profusely.

You both sit there for a moment, the air thick with tension and a thousand unspoken words. Your heart is still racing, but now, it's not from nerves. It's from the overwhelming feeling that something has shifted between you two. He doesn't move away, instead, his eyes search yours, almost like he's waiting for something.

Your mind is swirling, but your body seems to take over, leaning in closer, lips barely brushing against his. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his presence pulling you in with a force you can't resist. Without thinking, you kiss him again— this time deeper, more urgent. His hand finds its way to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing the skin as he pulls you in, his other hand sliding to your waist. Your heart hammers in your chest as he kisses you back with a hunger you didn't expect.

It's nothing like the first kiss-this one is raw, a mix of desire and need. You feel his fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch almost desperate, and it sends a rush of heat through you. Your hands instinctively find his shirt, tugging him closer, as if you can't get enough of him.

His lips move with yours, more demanding now, and you match his intensity, breathless and wanting more. You can't explain it, but everything about him feels right-how he holds you, how his lips mold against yours, like this was always meant to happen. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat building between you two. The kiss deepens, and everything else disappears-there's only him, only this moment.

When Riki pulls away, both of you are panting, eyes locked, faces inches apart. "You sure about this?" he asks, his voice husky. You nod, trusting your voice.

You're sure. You want this. You want him.

Without saying another word, he tilts his head toward a washroom near by the cafeteria. Afterall you both can't do anything with people around, so that was the only option. You get up, your heart beating even faster as he follows behind you. He pushes you into one of the stalls, locking it behind you.

He slowly turns around, pushing your back against the wall and his lips are on yours again, and this time, it feels like the beginning of something that neither of you can pull away from. The kiss continues, deepening with each passing second. His hands move, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can't get enough of you either. The way he holds you makes everything else fade into the background-the noise of the cafeteria, the people walking by the washroom, it all feels distant and irrelevant.

You feel his breath against your lips, a slight tremor in his touch as his fingers trace the curve of your back. Your own hands slide into his hair, fingers threading through the strands as you pull him in even closer, wanting more of him. You can taste the faint trace of mint on his breath, and it only makes you crave him more.

Riki slowly pulls away from the kiss, the both of you breathless. Finally his hand slides down your thigh, inching under your skirt. "Can I?" He grunts out as you nod at him almost instantly. "Starting to think you've wanted this for a while now," he chuckles, slipping his hands underneath your skirt and groping your ass, a small moan escaping your lips. "S-shut up will you?" He smirks, his lips trail down, leaving wet kisses down your neck. 

You press your lips tightly together, glaring at him playfully. You can't help but feel a surge of need. It's like you're both fighting the same battle, giving in to something that's been building up for weeks. Suddenly you find your hand guiding his further up your skirt.

Riki doesn't hesitate, immediately shoving your hand aside and tearing your panties apart with his hands. He gets down on his knees and buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking at your dripping folds without warning like a starved man. Your eyes roll back to the back of your head, looking down at him in slight surprise. "Fuck, you're so wet." He growls against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs.

He groans as he feels your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your delicious moans spurring him on. He alternates between long, teasing licks and quick flicks against your clit, savoring your sweet taste. His hands squeeze your ass, pulling you harder against his face. "F...fuck ah mmph.." Your back arches against the wall, clawing at it slightly as you try to keep quiet, not wanting anyone to hear.

He hooks his arms around your legs and throws them over his shoulders, opening you up even wider. He laps his tongue greedily around your clit, determined to make you come on his face before he allows himself to enter you. "Mmh." He groans against your pussy, your body shaking slightly from the vibration. "A-ah Riki..." The stall gets filled up with slurping sounds along with your quiet desperate moans.

He slightly pulls back, looking up at you with half closed eyes. Your breathing heavily, sweat dripping down your forehead. "Riki or daddy?" He licks his lower lip slightly, smirking a bit as he sees your widened eyes. "I..I am not calling you that weirdo." He tilts his head back, "Hey hey, it was just a suggestion."

"I'll think... about it." You whisper embarrassed, turning a light shade of red when he lets out a quiet chuckle. "Thats my good girl." Your legs slightly tremble at the name, butterflies forming in your stomach before he spreads your legs wider, feasting on your pussy like it's his last meal. He growls against your cunt when you reach down to grip his hair. Your about to reach your climax and he knows it.

"I-I'm gonna-" you whine out, the sound echoes around the empty washroom. Riki snaps his mouth against your clit, sucking hard. "Come on my face, baby." His tongue laps up your juices, going fast and hard against your sensitive nub. "Give it to me." His words are more than enough for you to reach your high, finding yourself cumming all over his face, your thighs shaking violently while you try your hardest not to scream from the pleasure.

He feels your body convulse with your climax. He spreads your legs wider, pushing them back almost painfully, allowing him deeper access. His tongue goes wild, licking and sucking every last bit of your juice. He growls softly against your pussy before pulling back, licking your release off his lips. You suck in a moan, looking down at him.

Riki's cock is aching against his jeans, begging to be free. "P-please." He hears your soft beg. He unbuckles his belt slowly, eyes darkening. "Do you want my dick?" His voice is deep, seeing you slowly nod your head. He pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, freeing his throbbing cock. He strokes himself slowly, letting you admire his impressive size. A droplet of precum pearls at the tip as he grunts. You stare intently, gulping at his length, "You're..."

He steps forward, turning you around and lifting your ass up, rubbing the head against your sensitive entrance. "Yeah? Think you can take it?" His voice is thick with desire as he pushes the tip just slightly inside you, a loud gasp escaping your mouth. "So far for being quiet." Riki says teasingly as you glare up at him playfully, swallowing hard. "I-I'm trying my hardest," He chuckles while pushing in slightly more, filling you with just the tip. "Am I too big?" He grunts, your hands going up to grip his shoulders tightly.

"I-I can take it.." you whimper out. "You sure?" He feeds you another inch, making you wince slightly. He watches your face closely. "Tsk, you're only halfway there." He pulls back slightly then pushes in another inch, hitting a new spot inside you which causes your mouth to open wide. "You really can take my whole dick? Don't wanna hurt you." His voice drops lower.

You just nod, desperation taking over you. "Good girl." He praises darkly, then grips your hips tightly and slams his hips forward, impaling you completely on his massive length. For a second, your vision gets blurry, the pleasure overwhelming. "Fuck!" He roars as he bottoms out inside you, gripping on your hips tightly. You let out a loud straining moan before hearing someone walk into the washroom.

The both of you freeze, and Riki doesn't move inside you just yet. Your slightly panicking but he doesn't seem to care because he begins to grind his hips slowly, letting you feel every inch of him. Your mouth opens wide, but he quickly covers it with his hand, leaning down and whispers against your ear, "That pussy just swallowed every inch of my cock like such a good girl." His hands grip your thighs roughly, pulling you open wider. You swallow hard, whimpering against his palm. "Shh, don't wanna get caught do you?"

Finally that person seems to leave — and Riki's hand leaves your mouth. His thick shaft drags in and out of your tight, soaked pussy at a brutal pace. Each thrust makes you wince and whimper, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. He pounds into you relentlessly, the sound of his skin slapping against your ass filling the room. "F-fuck ah.. Riki-" You roll your eyes back, your mind becoming blank.

He can feel your gentle scratches against his back as he pounds into you, his hands tightening on your thighs. "Fuck, baby. This what you wanted? My dick destroying your insides?" You nod, opening your mouth to speak but words come out as moans instead. He pulls your hips further up to get deeper inside you. He leans forward, his mouth finding yours in a harsh, bruising kiss as he continues to rut into you.

He groans loudly into the kiss as he feels your pussy clench tightly around his throbbing shaft before breaking the kiss, panting heavily. "Shit, you're squeezing me so fucking tight." He adjusts his angle, deliberately targeting your G-spot with every powerful thrust.

Your trying to grip on the walls, but your fingers slip. "G-gonna cum..." His eyes darken with lust at your words, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. "Cum for me, baby. Milk my dick with that tight cunt." He reaches down and circles his thumb over your clit, applying pressure in time with his thrusts.

And with that, He feels your release bathe his length, making him groan loudly. Your pussy pulses around him tightly, almost painfully. He pumps into you erratically, losing his rhythm. He lowers his head and watches as your fluids coat his shaft, making it glide easily in and out of your body.

He pants heavily, finally unleashing his pent up load deep inside of your wet cunt. Your back arches against him as he does so, the both of you letting out loud moans from the feeling. Then he pulls out slowly, his cock glistening with your juices. "Fuck." He holds your waist and you tremble, putting your whole body weight on him since your struggling to stand.

The bathroom stall feels too small now, the air thick with the weight of what just happened. You’re both still breathing heavily, and there’s a quiet, almost uncomfortable stillness between you.

He leans back against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to process everything. You do the same, your mind racing a little. It’s strange how quickly things shifted, how in the span of just a few minutes, everything between you changed. You glance over at him. He’s still looking at you, his eyes soft, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re both just sitting there in the aftermath, unsure of what to say next.

"So… that happened," you murmur, trying to break the silence. He lets out a small laugh, but it’s low, more to himself than anything. “Yeah. Guess it did.” His voice sounds different now, less guarded, but there’s still that underlying tension. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or nervous. A mix of both. "I didn’t expect it to happen like this, especially here." He looks around the cramped stall, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Neither did I. But… it’s not the worst place, I guess."

You roll your eyes, half-smiling. “So… what now?” you ask, the question hanging in the air between you. He pauses, clearly thinking it over. Finally, he looks at you, his gaze steady. "I don’t know. But I don’t want it to be a one-time thing." You can’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through you. "Neither do I."

💘: thank you so much for all your support on my storiesss!! i didnt expect anyone to like them, so thank youu!!!🥹💕💕 ill get to the rest of the requests soon, im currently busy w school so itll take some time, thanks for your patience🫶

[devotedfem]

«Charlie Y/n and the chocolate factory»

Synopsis: You were broke and lost, but a golden ticket changed your life. You won a trip to Seokjin's candy factory with other 4 contestants. But the tall charming man hid very dark secrets inside his company.

K. Seokjin x f. Reader

5.3K words.

Genre: Charlie and the chocolate factory au | yander-ish.

Tags: inspired by Charlie and the chocolate factory by Tim burton, obsessive behavior, mystery, weird and whimsy Seokjin (just like Wonka from the movie), murder, character death (not reader or Seokjin), hints of cannibalism (nothing explicit), weird things happening in the factory, plot with porn, extremely dubious consent, reader doesn't want Seokjin's attention, captivity, smut, very bad ending for reader, good ending for Seokjin, a tiny bit of angst, so much mystery.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

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It was freezing out there, you sighed blowing cold air, rubbing your palms to ease the ugly cold that was getting into your bones. 

The little old house of your grandpa came into view, you rush into it, dying to sit in front of the hearth.

“Grandpa I’m home!” You say kicking your boots away, removing your big scarf and coat.

The temperature of the house wasn’t too different from outside, but at least your sweet grandpa was sitting comfortably in front of the fire, wrapped in many fluffy blankets. Your heart ache at the sight, you didn’t have enough money to install a heater. Your parents died when you were 12, and your grandpa took care of you since then, but he couldn’t do it anymore because of his illness, leaving him unemployed, so since you were 16 you had to work many jobs to support yourself and your grandparent. He was with you at your worst, so you will stay with him at his worst too. You own him a lot.

“Hi there,” you said softly, sitting beside him on the couch.

“Oh! My sweet pea! I didn’t hear ya’ coming, how was work, my child?” He said putting on his cute glasses with his clumsy hands, his eyes looked even more bigger now.

You smiled softly at him.

“ ‘Was pretty good as always. Tell me what did you do today? Read another good book?” You asked trying to divert the conversation, you didn’t want to talk about your shitty job.

It worked, because your grandpa smiled big and sweet, with stars shinning in his eyes.

“Even better, I listened to the radio, and guess what?” He asked like an excited toddler, you couldn’t help the endear smile from breaking on your face.

“What?”

“Seokjin gave a speech on the radio after being gone for 10 years! He will reopen his chocolate factory, but that’s not the best part!”

You frowned a little, that man closed his factory before your parents died. Your grandpa always told you that he met him once, but at this point you don’t know if you should trust your grandpa’s clarity and blurred memory.

“What would be his reason to appear again out of nowhere,” you said more to yourself, wondering about the mysterious man’s intention.

Your grandpa just shrugged at your words.

“Who knows… he has this mysterious and whimsy aura that surrounds him,” he said with admiration in his eyes, making you smile. “Anyway, as I was saying, the best part it’s that he hid five golden tickets inside five candy bars, they may be anywhere, in any shop. The point is, that those lucky five will visit Seokjin’s factory, and one of them will receive a special prize!”

You hummed at his words, imagining finding a golden ticket to give it to your grandpa, fulfilling his dream of visiting Seokjin’s factory, his literally idol.

But the corner of your lips curled down at your thoughts, you shouldn’t fantasize about that stuff, you’re not that lucky, and the probability of finding it is very low. You have to be realistic, you don’t even buy candy.

But… watching your dear grandpa’s eyes shining with hope at the thought of finding a golden ticket squeeze your heart.

You’d do anything in the world to make him happy, that’s why you’re walking towards the shop in the middle of the night, freezing your ass and ready to spend your last 5$ dollars.

The nearest store was full of people, as you expected. There was a queue of 30 people inside, all of them were buying candy bars, some even had shopping carts full of candys to the top. You were impressed, you didn’t know Seokjin’s factory was so adored.

You grabbed only one candy bar because you couldn’t afford to buy more. You felt a pang of sadness when you compared yourself to the others, your chances of getting the golden ticket were very low, and you knew that fact when you chose to test your luck, but the pill was still hard to swallow.

You paid the candy bar, and watched the snow outside of the store, so you stayed there two minutes more, using the heater of the store to warm your body.

But then, curiosity won over you, so you started to open the candy wrapper. You just needed to know, you’ll wrapped the candy again later.

And then your world stopped.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out with your hands trembling, blinking hard to make sure that it wasn’t your mind playing tricks.

It just can’t be true, the possibility, the chances were ridiculously low, but there it was.

A golden ticket. A fucking golden ticket.

“Oh my god you got it! She got it! Please resell it to me! I’ll give you anything, I can give you 3.000$ dollars right now!” A desperate woman grabbed one of your shoulders, with wide eyes fixated on the ticket in your hands.

You inhaled sharp at her words. Your heart beat went wild.

You needed the money, desperately. 3.000$ dollars would help you and your grandpa a lot. You can even raise the price taking advantage of the woman desperation.

But you just couldn’t. This was your grandparent dream, and you know deep down that this big opportunity it’s way more valuable than a few thousands of dollars, so you kept the candy bar and the ticket in your pocket and walked out of the store, almost running and looking back to make sure that no one was following you. You knew that you were extremely lucky by having the ticket, so you won’t take any risk on losing it.

“I got it!” You screamed at the top of your lungs when you got into your home, waking up your grandpa.

That night his eyes shined brighter than the fucking stars, you two were so lucky.

You just hope that everything keeps going this well. You really do.

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There was 6 of you standing in front of Seokjin’s factory, you were the only one who brought company. Your grandpa was as excited as a child eating a candy bar.

The other “participants” were a little bit intimidating, there was a young boy with bunny eyes and bulky body, he looked like a biker. Then there was this one who looked too posh and rich to be here, and right next to him was a blonde and cute boy chewing a gun. And the last man was pale and short, he seemed pretty quiet.

You were the only woman, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You didn’t have any money, any talent or a prestigious name, so you felt a little bit insecure standing there, like a fish out of water.

Big heavy metal doors suddenly open making you startle, revealing a set of mechanical and robotic puppets resembling people, performing a musical. It looked very creepy, and all of you looked at each other with frowns.

“Seokjin! The amazing chocolatier!” They sang in unison with their uncanny faces.

But then the robots malfunction, sparkling and running down of battery.

“What the fuck,” you whispered to yourself.

“He was way more dramatic back then. This looks a little bit sluggish for him.” Said your grandpa.

Your attention was brought back to the entrance when a man came out of it.

He was very tall, with wide shoulders, wearing a long red coat and a black hat hiding his gaze. He then took off his hat to smile at you all. Your breath stopped at the sight, he was gorgeous and he looked pretty young too. He seemed to be in his late thirties, you expected him to be older to be honest.

His dark eyes inspected all of you, until his gaze fell upon you, watching you for a long couple of seconds. Recognition flashed his face when he saw your grandparent at your side.

You couldn’t believe that your grandpa really met this guy.

“Hello there, my golden winners.” He said with a smirk on his face.

“Who’s this freak?” Asked the posh guy with a grimace.

“He’s Seokjin!” Said your grandpa excited. All of the other participants turned their attention towards the both of you, like they just had realized that you two exist at all.

“I thought you’d be older, no offense, this factory it’s pretty old.” You speak up for the first time since you entered the factory.

Seokjin’s dark eyes were on you immediately, watching you slowly from head to toe, and smiling to himself.

“I promise you, that my factory isn’t that old little one, neither I am.” He winked at you before returning his attention to the others.

“All right! let’s move on, shall we?” Cheered Seokjin putting his hat on and turning around to walk into the factory.

The others were quick to follow his steps, almost as if they were competing with each other for whoever’s gets to Seokjin’s side faster. You rolled your eyes at them, they acted like toddlers, you wonder how good the final prize must be to have these grown ass men behaving like kids fighting for candy.

“Mr. Seokjin, I should say my father is a big fan of yours. He owns the gas company of the town by the way. He even said to me that he would love to make business with you one day,” uttered the posh and fancy-looking boy with his chin up and chest out. He seemed to be the type of rich kid who thinks he can buy the world with daddy’s money.

Seokjin hummed at his words without slowing down his quick walk, almost as if he didn’t care at all by the boy words.

“Gas and chocolate have nothing in common, the kids don’t eat gas and the cars don’t fuel on chocolate.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his silly response, making everyone else chuckle along with you. The guy blinked taken aback by Seokjin’s response, not expecting him to reject his proposal so dumbly.

Seokjin looked back at you over his shoulder, giving you an enigmatic smirk with his hat hidden his dark gaze. You felt shivers at his attention, but it was gone when he returned to look straight ahead.

“Hey dude, don’t take that creep seriously, I mean he treat us like kids. He’s so weird,” muttered lowly the blonde boy chewing a gun beside the rich one.

The posh guy crossed his arms with a frown, with his steady eyes sending daggers to Seokjin’s back.

“You’re right. He’s literally broke and he dares to reject my proposal,” spat him with disgust, looking to the other boy head to toe, giving him a smile that looked all too fake, “I’m Taehyung, you are…?”

“Jimin,” smiled the blondie blowing his bubblegum.

“Let’s be friends then.”

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Your eyes were widened and your mouth parted, your grandpa expression wasn’t better. Seokjin brought you to his chocolate room, a huge place with literally a river and a waterfall of melted chocolate, there was a vibrant green grass on your feet, everything looked so colorful and bright that it has all of you entrance, well except for the raven-haired boy with cat eyes, he seemed disgusted.

“Now now, don’t drool over the sight my dear participants. I know this place looks otherworldly, but I need you all to be careful.” He warned standing tall and clasping his arms behind his body.

“This looks pretty unsanitary,” the cat-eye boy sneered with disgust, pursing his lips at the sight of the river.

“Oh, you must be Yoongi. The little devil that hacked my system to win the ticket, don’t worry though, I hold no grudge, boy.” Sneered Seokjin back, you can imagine the mirth in his hidden gaze.

“I’m 29, not a fucking boy. And I’m not “little” anything, your system was just shitty,” said Yoongi with his jaw clenched.

Seokjin’s smirk only widened.

“Forgive me Yoongi, your height confused me a little, it was a little mishap perhaps, I hope you forgive me a little, little Yoongi.”

You bit your tongue to not laugh at Seokjin’s childish and dumb remark. He did hit a nerve though, by the way Yoongi widened his eyes in disbelief with his fists clenched, his cat-eyes were narrowed, and if looks can kill Seokjin would be buried 9 feet underground.

“He’s so cringe, oh my god,” mumbled the biker boy, walking away to get near the river of chocolate, with everyone else following him.

“I think this place is beautiful,” you said to Seokjin, watching your surrounds with awe, standing right next to him.

You felt his piercing gaze fixated on you.

“It is indeed, and besides its beauty, everything here it’s eatable.” He said the last word lowly, making you shiver at his odd change of tone.

“Everything? Even the grass?” You asked impressed.

He chuckled, looking down at you with half of his face hidden by the hat.

“Even the grass, even you.”

You blinked and frowned at his words, he must be joking, right?

“Right… I think you’re funny, sometimes…” you mumbled averting your gaze towards your happy grandpa eating a candy apple.

Seokjin hummed, saying nothing for a long minute.

“Be careful pretty girl, everything inside my factory belongs to me. Everything here I can eat.” Those words horrified you, making you freeze in your place. You watched Seokjin walking away towards the river and the biker boy who was devouring the chocolate with his bare hands.

You watched in slow motion how the boy slipped from the edge falling right into the river of chocolate, and you saw how Seokjin did nothing to help the boy from falling, almost as if he was expecting it to happen.

“He fell into the river! Someone help him!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, alerting the others. You ran to the edge of the river, realizing with dread that the boy was nowhere to be seen. The melted chocolate was motionless, as if he never fell into it.

Everyone rushed to the edge, calling for the boy and sinking their arms into the melt chocolate to grab him but there was no body on the surface.

You felt your pulse quickening with alarm. Your hands trembled and sweat; you couldn’t believe what had just happened. A boy drowned in front of you, probably dead at this point, and you did nothing to save him. Seokjin did nothing help him.

“You didn’t help him!” You shouted at Seokjin, making everyone else went silent. Watching you two with surprise, your grandpa frowned with concern.

Seokjin arched a brow, looking down at you with dark eyes, and then his lips curled in a spiteful half-smile.

“You didn’t help him either, in fact you just stand over there watching him fall. I told him to be careful, I couldn’t risk myself to help him because it would’ve been useless, this river is dangerous. My employees will call the police. Follow me.”

He simply said turning around and pointing forward for the others to follow him, and for your horror they just walked away as if nothing happened, as if there wasn’t a corpse swinging into the depths of the river.

You stand there in shock, your eyes widened and your fists clenched with fury and frustration. You were speechless, and you regret not talking back to Seokjin, not telling the others that you were further than him and that’s why you didn’t react quickly enough to help the boy. But the words were dead on your tongue, it was pointless to argue with Seokjin. The boy was dead anyway, and no one cares.

“I didn’t know he was this cruel, it’s like he got ice in his veins. He wasn’t like that back then, maybe we should go home my sweet pea. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Your grandpa was staring at you with worry written on his face.

You smiled at him, trying not to show your bitterness and fear.

“Don’t worry about me grandpa, let’s stick together and be careful. I want proves to charge him to the police, I know he’s hidden something,” you muttered the last words to yourself.

“All right then, but if it gets too dangerous, we go, okay?”

“Okay,” you promised softly.

You won’t let that freak go unpunished.

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Seokjin made you climb on a boat on the chocolate river, and you felt sick to your stomach when you think about the boy’s corpse in the bottom of the river. It was just so cruel, but you stayed quiet, watching your surrounds to catch anything suspicious, you’re absorbing any kind of information to give it to the police.

The boat sails off towards a tunnel in full speed.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Said the posh guy whose name was Taehyung, looking around with scared eyes.

“If I am honest with you, I have no idea where this boat will lead us,” said calmly Seokjin, sitting with his legs crossed. You wanted to murder him.

“What!?” Screamed the blondie, almost spatting his gum. He was trying to win a Guinness record of the person who chews a gum longer.

“I’m joking, I’m not that crazy. Jeez.” Seokjin muttered, explaining a couple of rooms that were in the tunnel.

This place was literally otherworldly, you didn’t know a factory can hide all this dreamy and extravagant rooms. Seokjin can be a psycho and a weirdo, but he was pretty artsy and creative for building a place like this.

You were in entrance by all the wonders you saw, until you stopped in front of a room with machines, it seems that here is where the candys are made. He was explaining all the whimsy ways he creates candy, until he stopped in front of a big gum machine.

“There is something new I created, an everlasting gum, for the kids who had little money to buy candy. Isn’t it wonderful?” Seokjin’s voice was full of pride, standing tall in front of his machine.

“I feel like I’m in a fairy tale, nothing here feels real.” You say to no one.

“I second that,” said the cat-eyed boy.

The machine let out a violet gum, and the blondie’s eyes shine at the sight.

“I need to taste it, you can charge me the candy later.” Said the blonde whose name was Jimin, chewing the new gum without spiting the other he had.

Seokjin’s lips curled down with annoyance.

“I didn’t say you can chew that, is still a work in progress. I don’t know about its side effects.”

That was a warning, and you knew all to well what would happen next.

Jimin’s face turned blue, literally blue. He started to cough violently, your grandpa gave him strong pats on his back, but it was useless.

You watch with relieve when Yoongi stands behind Jimin placing both of his hands on Jimin’s belly, pulling inward and upward to force air out of Jimin’s lungs. And the blonde did spat the gums, but he fainted anyway. Everyone gasped with worry, and for everyone’s horror the boy’s pulse was absent.

Did he really die? Just like that?

“My employees will call the ambulance, he will be fine. Let’s move on.”

Your lips were parted in shock at his response, you watched freeze from your spot how strangers came out of nowhere to take Jimin’s body away.

Yoongi and you stared at each other with fear.

Something was off. It wasn’t a coincidence what happened, it was a trap for Jimin, maybe the gum was poisoned? But he did warn Jimin about it… But he also did it too late though, he should’ve said something before.

There was a strong tension in the air around all of you. The silence was unbearable, and no one dared to break it.

You stared at Seokjin all the time, watching his every expression, analyzing his words and where he keeps his attention at. But you found nothing odd, yet.

You weren’t surprise when he brought you all to a room full of squirrels getting nuts off its shells. The others were distracted by the sight, especially Taehyung who said that squirrels were his favorite animal.

But your eyes were fixated on Seokjin’s back, something feels off again.

“I’ll have holes in my back by your stares, pretty girl. Though I’m not complaining, I kind of like your intense eyes on me.” Seokjin sneered turning around to face you. His gaze was as intense as yours.

“Really? It’s a shame that I’m only staring at you with disgust, but you must be used to people looking at you like the freak you are.” The words were vomited without your consent, you didn’t mean to blurt all of that. It wasn’t a smart move to insult him when you are in his factory, under his rules.

Seokjin didn’t say anything back, standing tall in front of you, not moving and not talking, making you uncomfortable by his heavy gaze. You did notice a sour expression flashing his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

He then, step slowly towards you, inches from your body. You felt him leaning his upper body closer to you, feeling his hot breath at the side of your head.

“I know you’re a smart girl, so I will warn you once; don’t ever insult me in my factory. If you know what I’m capable of, you wouldn’t stand here so brave offending me.” He whispered near you ear, making you shiver. He spoke those words lowly but firmly.

You blinked, leaning your head back to look at him. He met your gaze, with his eyes falling to your lips.

Is that desire what you see?

Does he think you’re dumb?

“What would you do to me? Drown me in chocolate?” You asked in a whisper, making Seokjin grin like a wolf.

“Perhaps I would, but your body won’t sink in the river but in my cock, opened sweetly for me. I told you everything here belongs to me, and if I say so, you won’t step a foot outside of this factory.”

Seokjin smile was predatory, and his words felt somehow possessive.

What were you all doing here? Does he eat people?

“Because you’ll kill me? And then eat me like Jungkook and Jimin?” You spat with anger.

Seokjin grabbed your waist to pull you closer to him, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes.

“Don’t tempt me, I would love to eat you. But not kill you, what use can have a rotten candy? The others were simply compost for my experiments, but you are my prize.” He said the last words near your lips, with his hot breath brushing your mouth.

You flinched away from him with disgust and fear. He was crazier than you think. You should’ve run away with your grandpa when he told you to do so, but you knew that Seokjin wouldn’t let you go that easy, all of you were dammed the moment you step a foot inside the factory.

Now you have to think how get the fuck away from here.

A scream from Taehyung pulled you away from your thoughts, you witnessed with horror how the squirrels throw him inside a deep hole in the room, with his screams echoing while he was falling. Until there was a crash noise, and then just deep silence.

Yoongi and your grandpa looked back at Seokjin with horror written on their faces.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine.”

Everyone know it wasn’t the truth.

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The four of you were inside of an elevator made of glass going to god knows where. The silence was present again, lingering heavily, until Yoongi broke it with a deep frown.

“Why are there so many floors? That’s impossible.”

Seokjin snorted at him, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I think your little smart-ass didn’t expect this elevator to go sideways.” Seokjin remarked pressing a button, and as he said, the elevator went sideway to a cold room.

The room was huge and snow covered, your teeth chattered by the cold. You hugged yourself to feel a little bit of warmth, you looked at your grandpa with worry.

“Let me guess, here’s where you make ice-cream.” Said bitterly Yoongi. His nose was turning red.

“Touché.” Replied Seokjin with a grin.

You hate him.

“Why are we here? We’ll die of cold.” You said blowing cold air. You took off your sweater to put it on your grandpa, he needed it more than you.

“Don’t worry, there’s a door leading to another room. Follow me.” Said Seokjin walking away.

You walked through many rooms, each one weirder than the other. Those rooms have no purpose but to be weird and extravagant.

“Why are we fucking walking when we could use the elevator.” Groaned Yoongi with annoyance.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered to yourself, feeling exhausted.

“Don’t be so grumpy, we’re closer to the end of the contest.”

Seokjin’s words made you shiver, you didn’t want to find out how will be the end or the final prize.

You stopped in front of door, when Seokjin opened it, you entered an empty lab with a television in the middle of the white room.

He made you wear lab coats, and told you to stand in front of the tv.

The screen showed a candy bar in a cave. You frowned, feeling lost of why were you there.

“Little boy, why don’t you grab the candy bar,” ordered Seokjin without taking his eyes off the screen.

Yoongi cursed under his breath, grabbing Seokjin’s coat with his fists. Yoongi might be two heads shorter than Seokjin, but he looked intimidating with those piercing cat eyes.

“Listen here you fucking candy freak, you better stop calling me short or I’ll go and call the police on you, and your weird murderous business. You choose.”

You inhaled sharp when you notice Seokjin’s gaze darkening. Yoongi was so stupid for that, you all were in danger, and he knew damn well.

“Yoongi stop,” you said, trying to save him from earning Seokjin’s wrath.

Your words knocked some sense into his head, because he let go of Seokjin’s coat as if it burned his hands, regret flashed his face. You can’t anger the psycho that has all of you trapped here.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” said Yoongi between teeth.

“It’s all right, no grudges, remember?” Said light-heartly Seokjin, but you knew better than to fall for his nice façade.

“Why are we in front of a tv?” Asked your grandpa, turning Seokjin’s attention back to the tv. You smiled sweetly at him.

“Well, I need one of you to grab the candy bar from the tv screen. Yoongi, would you do us the favor?”

Yoongi laughed, then sobered up when he realized that Seokjin was being serious.

“Uhm, okay I guess,” he said, expecting to crash his hand against the screen, but to your surprise his hand passed through the screen, actually grabbing and pulling the candy bar out of the tv.

All of you were shocked, not believing what just happened.

“Eat it, it’s yummy I promise,” smiled Seokjin, and Yoongi did as he said.

He finished eating, licking the wrapper.

“It was good.”

“Now, return the wrapper into the tv,” ordered Seokjin.

And again, Yoongi did as he said, except this time when he touched the screen he got electrocuted, with his eye balls turning white and his body stiffing by the electric shocks.

You screamed with horror at the top of your lungs, crying and begging Seokjin to stop whatever was happening.

And Seokjin did stop it, by simply turning the tv off.

You watched with tears Yoongi’s body falling to the floor, motionless, lifeless. You couldn’t believe you witnessed that atrocity.

“You’re a monster,” said your grandpa grabbing his chest.

You widened your eyes with worry.

“He needs to get out of here! It’s too much stress for him,” you said with a trembling and desperate voice, making Seokjin hum.

“All right, but in one condition; he can go only if you stay.”

Your grandpa shake his head, not willing to leave you here alone.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes for a second, you’ll find a way to escape. Your priority now is your grandpa’s health.

“Fine. But I need to see him out of here safe and sound, I don’t trust you.”

“Deal,” grinned Seokjin, like the wolf he was.

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You watched with a heavy heart how Seokjin’s employees took your grandpa away from you, hearing him screaming your name, telling them with sobs “return me to my child! She can’t be alone with that monster”, but no one listened to him. You were standing next to Seokjin in the entrance, watching your grandpa’s body disappear out of the factory, away from you.

At least he was safe.

You though for a second about running away, maybe if you do it fast enough they won’t catch you. But Seokjin read your mind, pulling you inside the factory and locking the big doors with a set of keys, one you noticed in great detail.

But locking you inside didn’t mean you won’t try to run, and so you did. He followed you behind and you run as fast as possible, reaching the room with the chocolate river. You stand on the edge of the river, watching the boat lingering closer to you. You extended your arm to grab the border of the boat, but you slipped, falling straight into the river.

“Watch out!” Were the words you heard from Seokjin before sinking into the chocolate.

The world turned silent, and you feel yourself drowning in a dense immobilizing substance, making it impossible for you to move or swing to the surface.

That’s it, that’s how’ll you die, drowning in fucking chocolate. The most stupid fucking way of dying, but at least you won’t see Seokjin again.

And suddenly, you were on the surface, inhaling lungful’s of air. Seokjin pulled you out of the depths, carrying you to the edge.

You two were soaked in chocolate, lying on the “shore” of the river.

“I’ll chain you, for being so stupid. You have zero survival instincts.” He barked, breathing heavily.

You didn’t expect him to save you, that grossed you out.

You tried to get up but Seokjin didn’t let you, carrying you in his arms in bridal style. You were too weak and tired to protest.

He took you into a hidden room, locking again the door behind him. The way he locks every door makes you feel claustrophobic and trapped.

You shriek when he dropped you on a table, chaining your wrists and ankles to it. You struggle against the chains, but it was impossible to free yourself from them.

Seokjin stared down at you with hunger in his eyes, watching slowly your body sprawled on the table.

He took a knife, and you closed your eyes expecting him to kill you, but he did not. Cutting your clothes instead, tearing your clothes away and leaving you bare for him. Your cheeks heated and your heart beat went wild, you felt angry, exposed and afraid. It was too much.

Seokjin’s lips attached itself to the exposed skin of your belly, making you flinch but bearing it, because you have no choice. He kissed the skin, tasting the chocolate, licking and kissing the skin until your breasts, his tongue circled slowly around your nipples, and then they travel up to your neck.

He lapped your neck slowly, like a thirsty but restrain dog. His hot breath was labored against your neck, and his lips and tongue taste you like a sweet candy.

You can read the +18 continuation on Patreon.

And your eyes sting with tears, because you were enjoying it.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg @acherry04 @lizziekitty @catlove83 @itlover8000

[fun-k-board]

Happy New Year!! 🎉

If it's alright, could I request Loki Headcanons about a Shy Lover or Secret Admirer? I imagine something like that wouldn't stay secret for long, knowing Loki, but I love the idea of the Lover in question being flustered beyond belief at being found out 💕

MARVEL RIVALS - LOKI LAUFEYSON With a Shy Secret Admirer Headcanons!

Note(s): I'm sorry this came out a bit late, college stressed me out so bad my body and mind did a factory reset. I'll be trying to finish the rest of my requests weekly.

"Oh?" Loki's eyes are light, something unusual for the trickster. Almost eager, they flick between you and the paper that's held loosely in his hand, the usual hint of amusement in his upturned lips. "You wrote these? Well, I can't say I'm not flattered, but you are aware I've been courting you for quite some time, yes?"

You and Loki would most likely know each other prior to you becoming his secret admirer, after all, he is a bit of a flirt and you're most likely one of many that he's charmed over the years. But, for him to accept your proposal, which is how I intend to write this as to avoid angst, he would need to reciprocate your feelings. In short, he'd probably be actively courting you while you do this.

It'd mostly be insignificant things, not killing you, maybe paying you a compliment every now and then, and maybe, just maybe, if he's feeling generous he'll find it in his heart to give you a gift. Typically it's jewellery, something that reflects him, gold with green jewels are his favourite. Necklaces are a no brainer, they're so easy to spot, and it's so easy to tell who it's from, too (You'll be lucky if he doesn't engrave his name on the damn thing).

Of course, he loves to tease you. It's so fun to see you squirm and try to hide away, even if he can't see the effect of the blood rushing there, he likes to hold a hand to your face every now and then to see if it's hot. One of his favourites is to whisper plans of mischief, and maybe try and get you to tag along in his next prank or attempt to steal the throne, it depends on his mood, really.

Infuriatingly, however, you don't seem to pick up on his obvious flirtations. He immediately decides that's an issue on your part, but he'll indulge you and give an extra flirty, witty remark every now and then. Wait- you're still not- oh you frustrate him endlessly! He's got half a mind to smite you, you know!

The thing is, Loki enjoys a good mystery and a thrilling hunt, but what he wants most of all is to be adored, worshiped, have thousands at his feet begging and pleading just for him to spare them a glance. So, when he starts getting little trinkets wrapped in bows, with papers written full of heartfelt devotion... Well, how can a God refuse such wonderful praise?

It's around that time of annoyance and pining, his stubbornness refusing to allow him to confess first, you must make the first move as it's obviously you who is obsessed with him, that he actually begins to receive your gifts. In such random places too, sometimes even tucked in the pocket of his clothes! Not that he doesn't admire the bravery to do such a thing.

At first he doesn't really look deep into it, he's content to find the very obviously placed gifts and doesn't care much for where they're found. As long as he's getting the attention he rightfully deserves, he doesn't care who it's from. Why should he need to know who loves him when he's being loved either way?

But, when he does want to find out this secret admirer's identity, perhaps in a ploy to make you jealous and confess, it's when he realises that it's you. The handwriting, the way of speaking, grammar, punctuation, and the nail in the coffin is when he catches you placing a note in his quarters while invisible.

This works out brilliantly.

Not only does it confirm in Loki's mind that you're utterly infatuated and obsessed with him, but it makes him believe that you were secretly aware of his courting all along. That you, given your shy nature, had done this to play into his trickster personality. He can't say he isn't impressed by your wits! (Someone please get him a reality check...)

Naturally, Loki plans something sweet yet embarrassing for his your confession, and despite his want for love and attention, he supposes that he'll make it a private affair. After all, he does want you to admit your love for him and giving you a panic attack would probably only drive you away.

The gardens are certainly beautiful this time of day, not bright enough to burn your eyes but not dark enough so you can't see, it's perfect. Not to mention quiet. Many people prefer to admire the gardens after their meals, either in the morning or in the night, but strangely never the evening, which leaves you by yourself. It's peaceful.

Yet the peace, as usual, is interrupted by a certain prince.

You turn around when you hear your name being called, your brows shooting upwards when you realise it's Loki. What could he need? Is he planning another prank? No matter, either way you're clearly involved. So, you wave a friendly hand and hope that you can ignore the sickly butterflies in your stomach that flutter harder when the sound of his shoes click closer and closer towards you.

"I want to speak with you." Loki hums, coming to a halt only a meter away from you.

You ask what he wants to speak with you about and he searches in his pocket for a moment until he finds a small piece of paper, holding it out in his palm almost like an offering. It looks familiar. Hesitant, you feel your fingers pinch a corner and take it for yourself, dread setting in your stomach as you realise. He figured it out.

When you look up sharply to explain, his face is inches from yours. The action causes your cheeks to get unbelievably hot, and even if the blood rushing to your face isn't visible, Loki knows you, he knows your tells. "I admire your worship, darling." He whispers, eyes narrowing as a sly grin grows on his lips. "But I would prefer it to be in person."

[copper-16]

Reminds Me That There's A Room To Grow

Alexia had lost her childhood love at the last moment. Or did she?

{a/n: Hello everyone! Fair warning: I make a lot of changes about the “world” in the fics I write. Alexia grew up in Madrid in this and started out at Atlético Madrid (don’t worry she’s still the world’s biggest culer, trust), and the timing, clubs, etc are often somewhat fudged because I am lazy. If you come on here and start correcting me I’m just going to block you because this is a STORY, it’s not supposed to be accurate to real life because it isn’t real life. This starts in March of 2021, but there are a series of flashbacks. Reader is a few months younger than Alexia in this.

This story can either be: just the 1 part with an ambiguous ending if everyone is satisfied with that, 3 parts with a more solid ending, or 10 parts with a longer story structure (and I like the ending better personally but to each their own). Curious as to everyone’s thoughts are, and it’ll probably dictate how much I end up writing! I hope y’all enjoy the read! Title is from Drops of Jupiter and Spotify link can be found here!}

Dahlias. 

Resilient. 

Warm-hearted. 

Protective. 

Optimistic. 

Mysterious. 

Grounded. 

Alexia thought of the intricate flowers often. She even went so far as to plant some in a garden box on the balcony of her apartment, just so that in the warmer months she could go out and trace the petals gently under her fingertips. A reminder of everything wonderful she had been fortunate enough to have in her life, held in her grasp for just a little bit longer out in the warm air. 

She admitted it was a long time ago, but even if she tried to move on she simply couldn’t. 

—

Alexia is grateful she opted to wear pants for the event, if for no other reason than the fact that she has somewhere to put her hands. The event was on the smaller side, not quite intimate but still not overwhelming either. It’s March now in Barcelona, with warmer weather and sunshine, even if the event for this evening is held indoors. 

It was for Spotify, bringing together ambassadors of the brand from around Spain to interact and connect with the team. Naturally, Barcelona has sent Alexia and Robert along with a few of the staff members to represent Barcelona. The midfielder has spent the better part of the event making small talk, trying to be polite and sociable. These events are inherently exhausting for her, but she still understands the importance of them, even if there isn’t quite enough football talk for her liking. 

As grateful as the blonde is for the visibility of the team and women’s football, there are still moments when she has to force herself to remain appreciative. She sometimes misses the days of kicking the football around in the dirt, where the heaviness of expectations never plagued her. She misses cozy nights on the couch laughing until her stomach hurts or having someone pull her from her work, insisting that she take a break. 

The footballer struggles to remember the last time she took a break. Her life is full steam ahead, all of the time. It was rewarding and exhausting all at the same time. Even when she has a day off or a moment of peace, it never quite felt like hers. 

Everyone expects something of her. 

Everyone wants a part of her. 

But nobody wants her in her entirety. Nobody has in a long time. 

When the midfielder finally breaks away from the delegate of Barcelona members under the guise of going to the bathroom, she takes the time to just explore. The event space is lovely and spacious, with high ceilings and a gorgeous conference room 

She is aiming to head toward the restroom, but she wanders aimlessly. The brunette ends up in a hallway with a gorgeous light fixture, and she finds herself looking up at it in vague awe. She catches movement in her peripheral vision, and when she glances down, her breath catches in her throat. 

It can’t be? 

Could it be? 

After all of this time? 

Your head is turned up toward the light fixture as well, your face partially obscured by the angle of your neck tilting upward to admire the beauty of it. The dress you’re wearing is a deep emerald green, a crushed velvet material with a high cut neckline. There are draped sleeves that barely hit your mid bicep, and the cut of the gown is long enough that it hides that you’re wearing loafers over more socially appropriate heels. 

You’ve always claimed that a woman who spent her life stuffing her feet into uncomfortable shoes simply wasn’t doing life right. 

The ceilings are tall, and the hallway is nearly empty, but Alexia is pretty sure that there is a lack of oxygen in the air. 

And then you turn your head down from the lights above you, making direct eye contact with you.

Her heart stops for just a moment, unable to comprehend the reality of the moment. 

But the footballer realizes at that exact moment that it’s really you. 

—

When Alexia is six, her immediate family moves from the Mollet del Valles to Salamanca for her fathers job. Besides her Mami, Papi, and Alba, the rest of her family stays behind in Barcelona, a fact that Alexia both hates and struggles to understand. 

Concepts of a job and moving are a little far out of her realm, but she tries her best to calm Alba when she cries quietly out of homesickness. Alexia is strong and refuses to cause trouble, so she takes the move with a silent despair as she is abruptly pulled from everything she has grown to know and placed in a new environment. 

Her Mami explains to the two girls that they will return to Barcelona in the summer for a few weeks to visit family, and that they can still go to Barcelona games here in Madrid. The little brunette girl struggles to contain the disgust her face twitches with at the thought of Real Madrid, and Eli forces herself to hold in a gentle laugh. 

In Alexia’s second week of living in Madrid, she meets you. 

Your family lives in an apartment down the street, with your Mama and Papi alongside your two younger brothers. There’s an area between your house and Alexia’s for children which could technically be classified as a park because of the pathetic patch of grass inside a ring of concrete. It doesn’t matter for Alexia, who brings a basketball outside to play in the space after growing bored one afternoon. 

You were already out there, sitting in the small grass patch and playing with the flowers, gentle in the way only a young child could be. That precarious edge where you could crush the petals at any moment, but for whatever reason don’t. 

The brunette perks up, her steps quickening at the sight of you. She has yet to make a single friend here considering that school has not yet started, and now would be the perfect time. 

“Hola,” she introduces herself apprehensively, soft spoken but not exactly shy. You look up at her, surprise melting into a small smile that seems to spread through the rest of your body. 

“Hola,” you repeat, and Alexia sets the basketball down before sitting beside you. 

“I’m Alexia, I live over there. I just moved here,” she explains as she points toward her own apartment complex. You nod in recognition, turning to the opposite side of the street to point out your own home. 

“Nice to meet you Alexia,” you state resolutely, but your focus is still on the flowers underneath your hands, the  caléndulas. 

“Are you a big fan of la flores?” She questions, and you nod, tucking some hair behind one ear as you look over at Alexia. 

“Flori loves la flores,” the brunette declares, giving you a nickname that will stay with you as she pulls you up to go play basketball with her. 

—

When Alexia is seven she joins the Atlético Madrid academy, playing alongside boys her age. She also learns that you hate football with a burning passion. 

After that day in the street, the two of you have become fast friends. One could not be found without the other, wandering around the streets playing imaginary games or dancing together. You could even be coaxed into a game of basketball or handball sometimes if you were in a good mood, but never football. 

It’s strange to Alexia, because football comes so naturally to her. It is a part of her family, but it is not a part of your family. While you are light on your feet, graceful in dancing, other sports are not your cup of tea. 

You’re smaller than Alexia is, smaller than the average girl your age, and it shows when you’re trying to play games with everyone. You never complain about it, weathering the storm of fouls and near fatal injuries from competitors twice your size without so much as a spot of negativity. 

But Alexia knows that it is not your favorite, and she only asks you to play sometime. 

“Come on Flori, please? I need to practice before tomorrow?” Alexia begs, and though you threw her some sass, you quickly agreed when you saw the look in her eye. 

The desperate look on her face was enough to convince you that she really did need help. 

While you weren’t terribly skilled at football, you weren’t horrible at it either. You agreed to help Alexia because she is your absolute best friend in the whole entire world, and when she looks at you with that face, you know she really means it. 

It is all worth it when she comes home the next day, dropping her bag at home and sprinting over to your apartment. She barges past your Mama at the door to run to your room, jumping on your bed and telling you every detail of the day with excruciating detail. 

You want to listen to every single minute, filled with warmth from the clear excitement on her face. You’re happy that she is happy, and you know that football brings her peace in the same way dancing does for you.  

Which is why when Eli asks Alexia to stop playing football at school as a result of her joining a team outside of school, you are the one who covers for her. You easily vouch that she was pushed on the playground rather than scraping her knees playing football. 

The look her Mami gives you lets you know she doesn’t believe you, but she lets it slide regardless, much to your relief. 

—

When Alexia is eight, she learns of how fiercely protective you are. 

It had only been a small thing, a disagreement on the football pitch behind the school you all attended. She was playing with some of the other girls, the few ones her age who still wanted to play football. The ones who didn’t mind getting their knees muddied and running until their lungs gave out. 

Not that it mattered how much they tried, because Alexia always beat them anyways. 

You had chosen not to participate, electing to teach Alba how to weave daisy chains and making sure that your little brothers weren’t getting into trouble while they played together. You had just moved Alba’s hand gently to show her how to twist the stem of the plant correctly when you heard the ruckus. 

You lift your head, taking in the scene in front of you with a renewed urgency when you notice that Alexia was on the ground. One of the other girls is practically standing on top of her, she was so close to the brunette. The girl, Isabella, is practically pink in the face with her anger, yelling about some foul or dirty move on Alexia’s part. 

You didn’t care though, standing up in a flash and stomping your way across the football pitch to the two girls. 

Alexia is by no means a shy person, but she usually leaned toward being more reserved. She has a deep sense of justice though, and has always pressed for everything to be fair, even when it was not to her advantage. 

When she played games with Alba, the brunette would hold her dominant hand behind her back or close her eyes to even the playing field. And while she never let Alba win without reason, she was never overly cruel in her celebrations either. Especially not as one would expect a bigger sister to be. 

She did not have a chance to get a word in edgewise today, not when you stuff your body between the two girls and press your finger into Isabella’s chest, all but shoving her back. 

You tilted your head up in defiance, a positively ferocious look on your face. 

“Hey! There is no need to yell,” you argue ardently, your face twisted in complete and utter vexation at Isabella’s tone toward your best friend. 

Isabella just stares down at you for a moment, probably more shocked to see you there than bothered by the words you just said to her. You were smaller than her and Alexia, and it is rare to see you get angry or irate like this. 

“Right…sorry Alexia,” Isabella says after a moment, offering a sheepish smile before she turns away, walking off of the field over to a few of her other friends. 

You let out a small sigh as your body language settles into something more relaxed and calm. When you look back at Alexia behind you, you find her looking up at you with a tilted head and a look of confusion on her face. 

“What?” You question carefully, back to the serene best friend that the Catalan had come to know over the last two years. There is concern pooling in your eyes as she stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. 

“Nothing I…” she pauses for a moment before she shakes her head, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she lets out a chuckle. “Thank you Flori.” 

You smile up at her broadly before you turn and make your way back to your younger siblings, sitting down and going right back to teaching Alba how to make a daisy chain as though nothing ever happened. 

—

When Alexia is nine, the two of you dance together. 

You are both signed up for folk dance classes by your respective mothers, who have become powerless in trying to keep the two of you apart. The pair of you might as well be attached to one another, as if you need the other in your orbit to continue on with life. 

It’s not that you both don’t have other friends, because you do. But the connection between the two of you is strong, not understood by anyone else. 

Dancing with Alexia is different. She makes you laugh in ways you cannot quite understand, and despite being only nine years old, there is a gracefulness to her movements that the other girls do not possess. There’s an ease to your steps when you are partnered with her, almost as though you two can anticipate the movements of the other without speaking about it. 

Perhaps football has helped her dance abilities, you wonder silently, but even that might be a stretch. 

You aren’t sure it matters though, not when she looks at you with that wide smile that she only ever seems to give you. 

—

When Alexia is ten, she finds you on her walk home from football practice. Her Mami had just started letting her walk home alone, alongside another boy from her team who lived in the area. It wasn’t a far walk by any means, but it gave the brunette a feeling of huge independence that only a ten year old could possess. 

She has just turned the corner to head down her street when she hears loud, loathsome voices. 

“Flori, really? That’s a stupid nickname, just like you are a stupid friend. She only hangs out with you because it is an easy option, not because she likes you.” 

Alexia doesn’t even have time to consciously think before she sees red and surges forward, finding you cowering just slightly under the intense gaze of two older boys. They are in the year above you and Alexia in school, but they always hated the brunette because she was better at football than they were. 

It seemed that their response to this embarrassment was to take out their anger on you. 

Alexia could tell you were trying to show minimal fear, but you were a good head smaller than the boys who towered over you. Luckily for you Alexia wasn’t about to let them get away with it, and she came around the corner yelling in anger. 

The boys weren’t expecting her, and they certainly weren’t expecting the vehemently angry words that flew out of her mouth. 

You watched the exchange with a strange sense of detachment. 

Were you a stupid friend for Alexia? She was getting better at football now, getting noticed by people and places much bigger than the little neighborhood you guys lived in. She could be popular, have any friend she wanted. No longer was she beholden to you in any way. 

When Alexia grabs your arm gently, you look up to find that the boys are nowhere to be found anymore. It is just your best friend with you, her eyes scanning over every feature on your face with a furrowed brow. 

You let out a tight breath as you realize that you two were alone, sinking down to sit on the curb. Alexia joins you, taking your hand and holding it tightly in her own. 

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, and you don’t answer her for a long moment. 

“Do you think that I am a stupid friend? Do you wish you had more popular friends?” You counter, not really answering her question. You don’t want to burden your friend with your own emotions, sticking to the facts of the case rather than the maelstrom of unease swirling in your stomach. The brunette all but flinches at the question, shaking her head fiercely. You turned to inspect her face gently, to see that there were no signs of lying in the set of her jaw or the twitch of her eyebrow. 

“Why would you think that?” She prods softly, her voice only loud enough for you to just hear it. Alexia can tell that this is about more than just what the boys said. The crinkle in your brow gave away the depth of your worries, especially to the footballer. 

“I am not like you Alexia. I don’t like sports, or getting dirty, or playing with the boys. I am not talented like you, I will never be the star people think you will be. I hear them whispering about you, certain that you will be great,” you insist, reticent to a fate that you have seemingly already aligned for yourself. 

But then Alexia moves, crouching down in front of you instead of remaining beside you. 

“I don’t care about any of that if you aren’t my best friend,” she confesses with a sharp intonation, and she means every word of it wholeheartedly. 

She never thinks of herself as doing anything with football, because there is no path for a woman like her to play professionally like the men do. Even if there was, she has no clue if it is something she would want for her future. 

She loves football dearly. 

But she also loves you, and she tells you as much. 

“I will always need you in my life, no matter what. Now that you are here, you are stuck with me and I refuse to give that up. You are my best friend, and I don’t care what I do in life or who I become, you will always be my best friend Flori.” 

And despite everything that told you that you probably shouldn’t, you believe her with everything in you. 

—

When Alexia is eleven, she moves in with her aunt and uncle in Barcelona for the year to train at La Masia. 

You miss her terribly, even though life moves on. Your schedule every week is filled with friends and dance and time spent outside, but it’s never quite the same with Alexia. When you receive a little flip phone, your heart leaps at the thought of being able to talk to her even when she is far away. 

The two of you call every day, and patiently you listen to her describe every bit of frustration and excitement about football. It’s a huge opportunity to play in La Masia but there remain huge obstacles, and the program for the girls is unorganized and frustrating at best. 

You listen patiently, and Alexia is reminded all over again of how her life wouldn’t be the same without you. 

Gratitude and a strange swirling feeling twist in her belly, but it fills her with a warmth all over regardless. 

—

When Alexia is twelve, she returns to Madrid. The La Masia program for the girls has fallen apart, and she comes back to Atlético Madrid. 

She comes back home to you. 

You are unsure of when her smile started to make your stomach flutter, or when the brush of her hand against yours made your heart jump. And honestly, you don’t care. It is the most natural thing in the world to you. 

When she holds your hand for the first time and glances over at you shyly, you simply knew that your heart belonged to her, and somehow hers belonged to you too. 

—

When Alexia is thirteen, you ask her to be your girlfriend. 

Perhaps it's silly and juvenile and you two are the only ones who believe in the seriousness of it. 

She is caught by surprise at you asking, and suddenly the footballer finds herself throwing out her elaborate plan she had come up with to ask you in the following weeks. 

Alexia says yes to you, unequivocally and with a soundness she has never felt before. 

The first brush of your lips against hers lasts for a few seconds, but it’s exhilarating in an entirely new way.  

It’s perfect, as is the way her arms wrap securely around you.

—

When Alexia is fourteen, the two of you begin to experiment a little more for the first time. 

It’s awkward and bumbling sometimes, but there's a layer of comfort and ease above it all. Her lips on yours and the feel of her body next to you keeping you grounded and comfortable, ready to stop at any moment. 

When she pulls away, you find yourself giggling at the tickling sensation of her eyelashes against your skin. You bury your head into her chest, holding tightly to her as you feel a laugh rumble in her chest. . 

Even as she gets better at football and you grow into your own intelligence, it’s still the two of you together, taking life at your own pace. 

—

When Alexia is fifteen, she begins to struggle in school. 

You are the first person she talks to because she knows that you will meet her without judgement. You have always been a good student, and don’t mind spending the time patiently tutoring her. Topics that she should probably understand but do not are broken down into easily digestible ways, and for the first time in weeks her arithmetic work begins to make sense. 

She is able to continue playing without any problems, and her marks improve rapidly with her focus and your dedication. 

“Thank you Flori,” she sings as she walks out of the first session, and you can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. 

The footballer beams at you when you declare that your payment is a kiss for every correct answer. 

She pays her pension and then some without an ounce of complaint. 

—

When Alexia is sixteen, she makes her first team debut for Atlético Madrid. It’s a proud day for the whole family, and you sit squished between her father and Alba as you watch her race onto the pitch. 

There’s a sharp determination on her face, and though she only plays ten minutes you can tell she is going to be good. You can’t say you’re surprised, and when she turns toward her family and you and beams as the game ends, you know that you wouldn’t be anywhere else other than here. 

—

When Alexia is seventeen, she reminds you of what you mean to her. 

Atlético games are never terribly well attended with how little importance is placed on women’s football. But there is still a steady crowd, and it is beginning to grow more and more. 

Alongside that growth come some…interesting characters. 

You’re a regular in the stands, alternating between reading your book, watching the game, and doing homework. It’s rare for you to miss a match, though you have missed a goal or two when your nose is shoved in a book. Luckily, Eli, Jaume, or Alba will nudge you if Alexia is doing something important. If they aren’t there, then one of the other players' family members will, a fact that you’re extremely grateful for. 

Your commitment is unwavering, but your interest in any sort of PDA or anything is limited. Alexia is much the same, a characteristic you’ve always been grateful for. 

But then a group of girls from your school start to show up at games. There’s four of them, always sitting in the front row of the stands, no matter what. They cheer Alexia on as though she is their best friend, despite the fact that she told you herself she doesn’t really know them. When the footballer comes toward the stands after games, they rush to greet her. They fawn over her easily, throwing their arms around her for hugs and pressing chaste kisses to her cheek. 

You always find yourself standing awkwardly in the background, wishing to talk to your girlfriend but unable to stop staring at the scene in front of you. 

At first, it’s more funny than anything. You and Alexia’s family joke about her fan club and delight in the way her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. 

But they never stopped coming to games. And by the time you figure out that they aren’t going to stop, you realize that perhaps you need to take a step back. Those girls are popular, sweet, they love football and seem to understand everything. You are intelligent and well liked, but nowhere near as popular or well versed in the game Alexia lives and breathes by. Trying to follow along to each whistle or hand signal is impossible for you, and your interest in learning comes and goes like an ocean tide. 

“I don’t think I can come on Saturday, I have a calculus project I need to work on,” is what you tell Alexia one weekend. But the brunette didn’t buy it for a single second, raising her eyebrows suspiciously. 

“You always just do it at the games – I’ve seen you in the stands with a glue stick before you were so determined to be there,” she points out, calling your bluff easily.

“Well…this is important Ale. It’s our final year of school, I need the marks to get into university,” you defend weakly, but it’s a lost cause. Your grades are extremely good, and you’ll have your pick of schools. One calculus project will not make or break that opportunity by a long shot. 

“Is this about those girls from school?” Alexia questions softly, her voice careful. You glance over at her and sigh after a moment, knowing that there's really no use in lying. The brunette could read you like the back of her hand. 

You don’t even need to voice your concern for Alexia to know exactly what you’re thinking, and she moves to sit down next to you on the edge of her bed. 

“I promise you with everything in me that I do not care about those girls. I don’t care if you are certain that they are nicer or popular or more pretty than you are. You are perfect to me, and I don’t care about them at all. I only care about you, and I only want you. You are my peace and my life, not them,” the footballer insists, and you look over at her with a quiet resignation. 

“Even if they understand football better than me?” You ask, your voice impossibly small. Alexia smiles sadly, reaching out to gently cradle your face in her hands. 

“When I look at the stands, it’s you I search for. It’s you who makes my heart skip a beat when I realize that you’re there. It’s you who fills my stomach with butterflies and sets the wind into my sail. How could I even notice them when I have you, Flori?” 

At the next game, Alexia politely smiles at the girls but moves straight past them to charge up the stands, still in her kit and boots. She gently lifts your calculus project off your lap so that she can press a resounding kiss to your lips, smiling into it when you gasp into her mouth with surprise. 

—

When Alexia is eighteen, two things happen. 

Everything somehow falls together, and falls apart all at the same time. 

The first is that her father dies. 

It's not unexpected, though the reality is still jarring. It feels like she is free falling, unable to find a moment of stability or rest. 

She finds herself in her old bedroom in her Uncle’s house in Barcelona, avoiding the mass of people downstairs paying their respects. While the sympathy of others is heartfelt and sincere, it’s heavy. 

She already feels heavy. Any more of it and she might break into a million pieces, that she is sure of. So she escapes up stairs for a moment, leaving Alba with a cousin and her Mami with an old friend. 

A knock at the door pulls her from her thoughts, and she looks over to see that you have poked your head into the room. 

“Ale?” You inquire gently, the question unspoken between the two of you. Four years of dating and endless years of friendship have left you with an innate ability to know when the brunette needs space, and that doesn’t feel like where she is right now. 

You’re nothing if not respectful though, aware that as much as you sympathize, you really might not have the answer here. Nothing this big had ever happened in your relationship before, or in either of your lives before. There was no book or manual to prepare on how to deal with a grief so complete and overwhelming as this.  

Alexia loved her father deeply, and no amount of time to anticipate or process her thoughts of his illness actually prepared her from the shock of him being gone. 

You had loved Jaume too, how he passed out love like it was free to give, how he laughed without inhibition, how he welcomed you into the Putellas family with ease. But it wasn’t the same, and you were aware. You knew that you felt only a slice of what your girlfriend did, and even just this amount of grief was unbearable. 

You didn’t know how the footballer was even standing. 

Alexia’s eye’s silently pleaded with you to come in, so you did. You moved across the room before laying down on the bed next to her until the two of you were laying parallel, staring up at the ceiling together. You’re exhausted as well with all the stress and worry, but your first thought is always her. 

It always has been. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you for a long stretch of time. 

What is there to say? 

Your heart aches for her, and for her loss, for her family. Alexia screws her eyes shut, trying to regulate her own breathing. Everything about her feels erratic and out of control.

The footballer turns to her side, tucking herself into your body. She clutches to your arm tightly, forcing herself to copy your steady, dependable breathing. 

As much as she needs her Mami and Alba in this time, she has to work to be strong for them. She was the person they looked to, the decision maker, the leader. They need her, and she would kill herself before she neglected that need. 

But you are her strength, you always have been. You are the one who protects her, whose only thought is her. You have always been constant and steadfast for her through anything, a pillar of strength. She relies on you, and it scares the hell out of her. 

And yet you’re right there, and you seem to take it with a practiced ease that makes Alexia want to sob with gratitude. 

Loss engulfs her and brings her back, your steady hand in hers the entire time. There is rarely a moment when she needs you and you are not there for her, always attuned to her moods and thoughts. 

But then a huge curveball is thrown in Alexia’s way. 

Two weeks after her father passes away, Barcelona calls her. They are creating a women’s team, and though it is not professionalized, it is a team. 

Alexia accepts the request on the spot, not even stopping to consider the consequences. 

It doesn’t matter, the answer would still be yes. Her Mami and Alba are thrilled, quickly deciding that they all should move back to Barcelona together. It was time, and as much as they had built a community here in Madrid, Barcelona would always be home for them. 

Alexia goes to you that night and asks you to move with her. She explains her plan vividly, how you can go to school, she will play football, and you both can get part time jobs. You’ll get a little apartment together, actually start the beginning of your lives together. 

There was never a world in which you were not together, not with how happy you both were together. It was a no-brainer, an easy solution to a problem that had never existed. Life for her didn’t exist without you in it. 

Alexia would move first, and you would follow her in two months once you had received your university acceptance letter. It was a fool proof plan in the Catalans mind. 

At least, it had been a fool proof plan. 

The night before Alexia was scheduled to leave, you arrived at her door. The surprise and excitement on her face quickly gave way to intense concern when she saw the trepidation on your face. 

“Can I come in?” You asked gingerly, stepping inside as the Catalan made way for you to come into her house. 

“Yes, of course you can,” she replied, following you into her kitchen and taking a seat across from you at the table. For several moments there is silence as you seem to work up the courage to finally choke out the words you need to say. 

“I…I can’t come to Madrid with you Alexia,” you finally stated, your hands folded neatly in your lap

“What?” Alexia isn’t sure she heard you correctly, because certainly you couldn’t be saying what she thought you had said. 

“I have to stay here with my Mama, to help her with the boys and the house and everything. I’ll get a job for a year before going to school, I think,” you explained slowly. 

“I…okay. Are you sure Flori?” You nodded with clear reservation, but the brunette continued forward regardless. 

“Well then…we can call. And take the train to one another when possible, and then maybe when the boys are older you can come to – what is it?” Alexia’s voice grinded to a halt when she finally seemed to notice your despondent expression

“I cannot come Alexia, and I don’t know when I will be able to. I will be very busy, and I am sure you will be as well, so perhaps it’s for the best if–” You were cut off, unsurprisingly. 

“If what?” Alexia challenged, her anger flaring. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, and you see right through her. But still you do not yield, your expression entirely unreadable to the midfielder. 

It only makes her more and more mad that she cannot tell what is going on. 

“Are you just going to give all of this up? I don’t even know what life is like without you, and what – now it gets a little hard and you call it quits? Did you ever even care about me? Did you ever even love me, or has this whole time just been a huge li–”  Alexia yelled from across the table, her hands slamming down to splay on the wood in front of her. 

“Enough!” You yelled, standing suddenly. Alexia seemed surprised at your outburst, but there was nothing other than a quiet resignation across your expression. There was no anger or outrage or fury on your face, but rather a strange form of acceptance mixed with defeat. 

When you spoke again, it was with softness and finality as the footballer looked up at you. 

“I love you Alexia. And I am very excited about this new journey you are going on, even if it is not with me.” 

You walked over to her side of the table before bending down to press a kiss to her temple.  You slipped out the door in a flash. Alexia was so completely thrown off that she didn’t have an answer or a response, she didn’t even have time to stop you. 

She had never sobbed so hard in her entire life than she did at the dining room table that night. Grief had become her shadow, but this was an entirely new kind of grief. It poured over her, consuming her, and she for once found herself completely lost in it. 

When she arrives in Barcelona, it is with red rimmed eyes and a renewed resolve to make something of herself. 

If it meant losing you, it had to be important. 

—

Alexia left Madrid when she was eighteen. 

Barcelona Femeni wasn’t even a professional team, and she was a nobody who had come into the system with promise and drive but nothing to her name. 

Throughout the past nine years, so much had happened to her both personally and professionally. Barcelona was not the same team at all, having been professionalized a few years after she arrived. They were taken somewhat seriously now, with titles and dominance in the domestic league. Though the Champions League eluded them, Alexia knew it was coming. 

She was in the prime of her career, playing better football than she had ever expected herself. The brunette was achieving everything that she had wanted, and she remained hungry and focused toward the future. It was never enough for her, and she always thought she could be doing better. 

There were times though…when she stopped and wondered. 

Was it worth it? 

She wanted so badly to say yes instantly. Football was her passion, her purpose, it had always been her goal to be the best she could be. It had driven every decision she had made in her entire life, and she wanted so desperately to believe in it wholeheartedly. 

But there had always been a flicker of doubt. She held it closely to her heart, never sharing it with anyone, not even Alba or Eli. She did not want to seem weak or doubtful of her decision.

Her apartment was empty, devoid of practically any women, and that had been her choice. Even after all of these years, she couldn’t bring herself to commit to anyone long term. 

The brunette wanted to be angry at you for staying behind, but she couldn’t bring herself to really mean it. She loved you far too much, and the ache of missing you only seemed to strengthen as the years bled on. She had other women, she really tried, but never did she feel the same connection that she had with you. 

Alexia had admittedly tried to look for you, when her initial hurt had bled away in an embarrassingly short amount of time. But you were a ghost. 

The footballer wasn’t surprised, considering that you had never been a big social media person. She found some of your relatives online but their accounts were mostly private and rarely were you photographed. When she returned to Madrid for games, your family was gone from the home you had been raised in, and she wasn’t shameless enough to start banging on neighbors doors to find out more. 

Your phone number had seemingly changed by the time she worked up the nerve to call you, and eventually it just seemed wrong. You never reached out to her, at least not that Alexia was aware of. 

She had simply been forced to accept the fact that she had lost you, for reasons she still did not comprehend or understand. All it took was one singular month to lose both her father and her…to lose you, and that thought gnawed away at a piece of her soul relentlessly. 

But suddenly here you were. 

Nine years later, and here you stood right in front of her. 

“Hello Alexia,” you stated, your face a veil of carefully constructed neutrality, even if your heart beat was erratic beneath your dress. The sound of your voice seemed to bring Alexia back from wherever in her mind she had been. 

“Hi…hi there,” the brunette stuttered, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. She couldn’t quite get herself to believe that you were standing in front of her. . 

“I know it’s been awhile but it’s…it's good to see you. Congratulations on your team's success these last few years,” you commented gently, a true smile on your lips. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much. You…you follow the team?” Alexia inquired, her eyebrow furrowing in confusion. You had always been so apathetic to football, she never could have imagined you sitting in front of the television watching games. 

“Ever since you moved to Barcelona,” you confirmed with a nod of the head. Alexia felt her perplexity only ballon in size. 

If you still cared, why did you let her leave in the first place? Why did you give up so easily? 

A silence lapped over the two of you, but it was filled with so many unsaid words, so much tension that had never existed before. 

Alexia and you both looked the same, and yet somehow completely different. You could tell how much the footballer had grown into herself given the ease at which she stood, her hands tucked in her pants pockets loosely. There was an air of elegance and power to her, hazel eyes piercing into you with purpose. 

She looked at you as though she never wanted to look away again, and selfishly, you felt hope in your heart that perhaps…

“Are you with anyone?” You asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the forwardness. It could be interpreted as for the event specifically, but the potential broader implication suffocated you despite the fact that you were the one to ask the question. 

“No, I am not with anyone Flor–” Alexia cut herself off, seemingly realizing her mistake. 

It didn’t feel like much of a mistake to you, and you longed to hear the word come out of her mouth, just once more. If this was the end for the two of you, you would have sold anything you owned to hear her say it just once more. 

You nodded slowly, before replying that you were here alone as well. 

“Perhaps…perhaps we could go on a walk?” Alexia suggested, and you allowed her to set the pace of whatever you guys did together. After all, it had been you that had left in the first place, a fact that you would never forget. 

You nodded in affirmation, explaining that you needed to grab your clutch before you could meet her at the door. 

It was divine timing as well, considering that your boss had just let you off for the evening and you were planning to go home soon anyways. This was a more welcome surprise than whatever you had been planning in your mind. 

—

There was a wave of relief that rushed through Alexia when you appeared in the door frame a few minutes later, almost as though she was positive you were not going to arrive. But there you were, a light jacket thrown over your dress and a small purse in your hand. 

You both walked out of the event space together, silence lapping between the two of you as you continued forward. Alexia was struggling to organize her thoughts in any sort of productive way. She was so caught off guard by everything. 

She thought she would never see you again. 

“How long are you in Barcelona? Just for the weekend?” She questioned, her voice soft. You shook your head, your posture straight and somewhat tense. 

“No actually, I live here now. I moved a few years back,” you replied, voice unwavering. 

Alexia couldn’t help the stab of hurt that ran through her heart at that piece of information. She had always wondered deep down what she had done to cause all of this, why you had let her go. At first the distance was the only thing in Alexia’s mind to explain the break up, but now she knew you had been here for years. She didn’t understand it, even after nine years. Every piece of logical information told her that you had loved her, and yet here you were. 

Was any of this even salvageable? 

Did she want it to be? 

“Oh…I see,” her voice was flat, but in a way that oozed grief rather than true apathy. 

“I come to your games sometimes, once I moved out here,” you admitted, thinking of all the times you had sat up in the stands watching her play. The brunette glanced at you in clear shock, and you shrugged, unable to conjure an appropriate answer to explain yourself further. 

Things were…things had been so complicated. By the time all of it had cleared and the world made sense to you again, she was gone. You knew you had lost your opportunity to be with her, to be a part of her life. 

As much as it haunted you, it was the reality of your life. You never could have changed what happened, but that didn’t mean it cut you just as deep as it did Alexia. 

But perhaps there was hope for the two of you, here and now. Maybe it would be messy and complicated and painful, but it would be real. There was so much left unsaid between the two of you, and whether the two of you could face it headfirst or not would make or break the whole situation. 

“Where did we go wrong? How did all of this fall apart?” 

The question was sudden, a shock but not a surprise. 

You took a deep breath, stopping and looking back at Alexia. The Catalan had stopped walking when she had spoken, as though she was unable to move forward even an inch. Her hands were balled into fists, and everything about her body language communicated her discomfort. 

“Did I do something to make you stop loving me? Where did I mess up?” She questioned, nearly begged. 

Was her career worth losing this, losing you? 

Had she lost you? 

“Alexia, you did nothing wrong. You were perfect, you are perfect,” you promised, summoning every last bit of strength to imbue into your words. You walked back to her, reaching out carefully to place the backs of your fingers to her cheek, just barely touching the warm skin there. She closed her eyes at the feeling as tears burned in your eyes. 

“I lost you,” she whispered, both startled and settled that you still smelled the same, your perfume unchanged after all these years.

“I know, I know. But I’m right here now, I’m right here,” you vowed, still unsure and desperate of what to say. 

“I know that this is fucked up, and complicated, and it’s been years. I might as well be a stranger to you, but I need you to trust me when I say that nothing that happened was your fault. I made the decisions I did because it was what I had to do, but don’t for a minute think it didn’t kill me inside. Don’t you dare think I didn’t spend the last decade of my life missing you,” implored, almost as if trying to force her to understand the depth of your love, even after all this time. You turned your hand to cradle her cheek gently, your thumb stroking across the skin there as you spoke again. Your voice was barely audible, crackling with emotion. 

“Maybe this is crazy for me to say, but I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. And if I never see you after this, I want you to know how much I loved you. How much I still love you. ”

She reached her hand up to grasp at your wrist, holding your hand in place against her cheek. 

“Please don’t leave,” she murmured, and you nodded insistently. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here Ale.” 

The look of relief on her face at hearing you call her that was palpable. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stood there, lost in one another. It could have been a minute or a year, and you didn’t care. You would have stood there forever, content to ignore the rest of the world if Alexia remained this close to you. 

But eventually the telltale signs of rain began to stir, drops of water falling onto your jacket and in your hair. You pulled back, taking Alexia’s hand and squeezing it before you reached for your clutch. Opening the bag, you pulled out a business card and a pen, writing your personal number on the back of the card. 

“The number on this is my office, but the back is my cell. If you still want to…if you decide you want to talk more, call me,” you insisted lightly, placing the card in her hand. 

“I promise I’ll pick up,” you soothed after a moment, your words gentle. 

Alexia stared down at the card, at your loopy handwriting, for far too long. It reminded her of being fifteen, watching you write equations on the wall for tutoring. It was jarring, and it stirred up emotions she didn’t realize she had buried. 

When she looked up again you were gone, and yet not a single ounce of her felt alone as she stood on the sidewalk. 

She had a new possibility. The chance to return to who she was in her youth and understand the past. Or the option to continue forward in her career, focusing solely on football and her dedication to the sport while leaving the past behind. 

She had no idea what she would do, but at least for once she had the choice to decide.

[poppitron360]

@cometmoons so for some reason tumblr has glitched and isn’t letting me respond to the ask you sent me so I’m just gonna do it like this.

OK OK OK OK OK OK SO-

There is SO MUCH to talk about with Wouldn’t You Like. I feel like it’s hard to describe on a written post so I took the liberty of downloading a music notation app and transcribing the bits I wanted to talk about (This took me aaaages. But it was a really fun process and taught me a lot.)

Be warned this is a LONG post.

Firstly, here’s my overall take on the narrative of this song:

Odysseus is one of the smartest heroes of Greek Myth. He’s a mentee of Athena. He’s tactical. Yes, he is a fighter, but he’s for the most part a strategist and he uses diplomacy and cunning and his words to defeat his foes. Big Slytherin energy. Up until this point, that’s all he’s ever used. Eurylochus has doubted and challenged this approach, and has now come to him, saying that Circe is too powerful to defeat and that they should just run away. Odysseus “Pride is my fatal flaw” of Ithaca is insisting on fighting Circe, but is realising that he might not be able to talk his way out of it.

Hermes has now shown up like “hey ✨dAhLiNg✨how about you try something different? DRUGS!”, offering him a taste of something he’s never had before… power.

This, in my opinion, is a big step in Odysseus’ fall from man into monster, and Jay uses music in so many different ways to convey that, so let’s start with a break down of the song one section at a time:

Intro:

For most of the song, you’ve got the Lyre/Harp playing- Hemes’ signature instrument, which is significant to him because according to myth he invented the Lyre. This is the first thing we hear in the song, immediately setting up the things you need to identify his character.

Harps and Lyres are typically used in film and videogame music to give a mystical, magical atmosphere. I love how Jay blends modern (1980s) Synthpop with more classical, eclectic instruments that don’t normally fit the style. I’m assuming for budgeting reasons he’s using a VST or some kind of sample pack and not a real harp (session musicians are EXPENSIVE), but still- you hardly ever hear a harp in this kind of music but it WORKS.

The introduction played by the harp also lays out something that is shown throughout the whole song:

AEOLIAN MODE!!!!

Modes are hard to explain bc I barely understand them myself (I said music theory was my special interest, not that I was any good at it) but according to the Wikepedia article I’m reading about them right now, they were used a lot in ANCIENT GREECE. The Aeolian mode specifically was used a lot back then. The word “Aeolian” comes from… you guessed it- the Islands of Aeolus!!!

Aeolus, being the God of the wind- Aeolian mode is this mystical, free-flowing mode that simulates the feeling of wind.

You know when you hear a high wind through a telegraph pole you get this whistling sound? That’s basically a rudimentary, naturally occurring Aeolian Harp. There’s a whole Physics lecture about sound frequencies and microtones and shit in here that I am not yet qualified to give but this kind of stuff FASCINATES me about music.

I found this 60sec short that explains Aeolian mode really well from a channel I really like: https://youtu.be/bJ6TRQ3k45Q?si=sksSz4xyf_96uMrp It’ll give a much more concise explanation than I could, but basically all you need to know is that the melodies are in this special scale.

Aeolian mode is the natural minor scale. It’s often used to feel spooky and mystical- perfect for a song like Wouldn’t You Like where this magical character is singing about a magical plant. It’s not the standard G minor scale, but something a little more twisted and not really something we’re used to hearing, giving it a mysterious quality.

This is established immediately by the harpline, and sets the entire tone of the song. We then hear his trademark giggle, and so in the first 3 seconds we know everything we need to know about who Hermes is and what he’s like.

Speaking of the giggle- I briefly mentioned Panning in my post about Scylla, and while I can’t discern any use of it just by listening, but I imagine Jay’s probably used a subtle amount of it to give the sense of Hermes flying overhead.

Panning is a thing done in audio production where you can choose how much of the sound is heard on the left or the right.

Verse 1 (“I must say”… etc.):

It’s very gentle at this point, the orchestration and vocalisation is calm and lilted. It’s very beautiful, although the minor tonality gives it a slightly uneasy feel. (Often the minor key is described as sounding “sad”, but that’s not always the case. This is a great example).

The harp melody is repetitive, giving a sense of persistence, this adds to the sense of unease. It also has elements of hip-hop, as a gentle beat comes in as the chorus starts.

Chorus 1:

Now the harp cuts out and you’ve got that synth bass-line coming in- the repetitive, insistent beats and this “four-on-the-floor” drum pattern where the bass drum (which sits on the floor) kicks on every beat (in a four-beat bar). This feeling of it almost pounding in your head on every thump.

The instrumentation is very stark, you’ve just got the vocalist, the bass, and the bass drum. This technique is used by Taylor Swift in both the songs “Look What You Made Me Do” and “Vigilante Shit”- this really makes you listen to the lyrics as there’s nothing distracting you. As this is the first time we’re hearing these words, it draws you into what he’s saying.

On the line “Wouldn’t you like to have some of the magic?”, the Lyre comes in, playing this repetitive line that goes up and down and up and down. It’s a repetitive, almost hypnotic sound.

Verse 2 (“She can turn you to an animal”… etc.):

This is when this bluesy piano comes in.

The piano is used a lot in different points of Epic- it’s an essential part of any musical orchestra pit or just a song in general, and crucial in every composers instrumentation arsenal (and was also the first instrument I ever learned to play and my first real taste of music, so it’s not like I’m biased or anything)- but it’s mostly associated with Athena as it’s her signature instrument. It’s a stretch, but my interpretation is that Hermes is trying to appeal to something familiar to Odysseus. So far the only God he’s interacted with at length is Athena, who taught him this idea of being strategic and tactical. Hermes is acknowledging that this is Odysseus’ main way of fighting, while also showing him that there could be something more to it.

The piano plays these low-octave chords in this syncopated rhythm, which adds a layer of intensity that you didn’t have in verse one. This continues into the second chorus.

Chorus 2:

The orchestration is much more intense, pulling the audience (and Odysseus) in.

I’m gonna talk a lot about the musical “language” that Jorge has established for the universe- bits of music theory he’s tied in with themes that don’t necessarily have the same connotations anywhere else, because I think it’s genius.

Jay has said that the mythical beings (Gods, monsters, Odysseus when he kills the suitors) are all able to summon non-diagetic backing vocalists to back them up. Interestingly, Hermes doesn’t use this the first time round, speaking to Ody on his level, and is now rising up and displaying the power he’s tempting him with.

This is when we first hear the backing vocalists. There’s now a group of voices, so there’s more people urging you to taste the flower. Musically speaking, the harmony moving in the same rhythm with the same words as the soloist creates a sense of movement, congruent with Ody’s temptation.

Here is where we get to how this harmony works. This is the section that will actually answer your question.

First of all, I also struggle with overstimulation so I totally get what you’re talking about. There’s a right way and a wrong way to do backing vocals, and I know from experience that writing harmonies as complex as this takes skill and practice.

I think that’s why music is so special to me. The sensory calm certain sounds and songs give me, the good kind of stimulation and the bad kind. It has always made me so curious as to why and how the choices made in music can impact a person psychologically, make the listener feel immersed in a story, inflict specific emotions.

This is what fascinates me about music theory. Yes, it should overwhelm you. Yes, it should sound wrong. But it doesn’t. It WORKS. And what’s so interesting to me is why.

Jorge describes it as “crunchy and punchy” which is honestly perfect.

He is of course, referring to dissonance.

I have been studying music most of my life, and pretty much every music teacher I’ve ever had describes dissonance as just “sounding smushy”. It’s actually “a lack of harmony among musical notes”, usually two notes next to each other played at the same time.

But why does this sound “crunchy” and not “smushy”?

The Melody remains modal, as it has done the entire song. This is our grounding, our “Home”, but the harmony does something different. It’s moving down and up, flowing like wind, like the sea. And it’s doing this chromatically- using notes from the G minor key instead of the Aeolian mode- which creates clashes. Also known as dissonance. Also known as “smushy”.

And this is where we break out the good ol’ notation! I transcribed this myself by ear, so it might not be perfect. I can sight read tablature but not sheet music, so if this is wildly off then I’m sorry. I find it easier to explain music through annotations, but in order to make this screenreader accessible, I’m just gonna cite the lyrics and explain it in the text underneath.

In this section, “Wouldn’t you like to have some of the magic? Wouldn’t you like your outcome preferred?” The melody pretty much remains on C this whole time, only changing at the end of each two-bar phrase. This gives a forceful, repetitive, driving feeling. Hermes is being very persistent here.

For the first two-bar phrase- “Wouldn’t you like to have some of the magic”- both harmonies are the same. They then split at “Wouldn’t you like your outcome preferred?”

“Wouldn’t you”- The harmony starts on G, which is the root of G minor (the key that we are in). This is diatonic (using the notes from the key)- so it sounds nice, not “smushy”.

“Like to”- We then go down to F sharp, which is dissonant to the Aeolian mode, even though it’s the major 7th of G minor. This is why it sounds “smushy”

“Have some of the”- And here is where the “crunchiness” kicks in. It’s resolving down to the flattened 7th, which is F natural. The flattened 7th is the modal note.

“Magic”- The first two-bar phrase ends in E natural, which is dissonant to the mode. The melody also ends in D, which provides a lot of dissonance with the E as they are right next to each other, which can create clashes.

“Wouldn’t you”- This is where the two harmonies split. Harmony 1 goes back to G, which is the root of the mode. Harmony 2 goes down to E flat, which is also consonant (not dissonant).

“Like your”- Harmony 2 goes down to D, which is dissonant with the note in the melody (C) because they are next to each other. Harmony 1 goes to F sharp, which is dissonant to the Aeolian mode, as said before.

“Outcome”- Harmony 1 resolves to an F, and Harmony 2 goes back to an E flat.

“Preferred”- The last two notes “smush” as F natural (Harmony 1) and E natural (Harmony 2) are a semitone apart, then both harmonies join at E natural, which clashes with the D in the melody.

So the pattern goes from “nice” to “smush” to “nice” to “smush” to “nice” to “smush” to “nice” to “even more smush” and then when the next part of the harmony starts “deep in the night” you resolve back to the G, which is the tonic note.

Why does the dissonance work in this song?

It’s passing. Going down by step and resolving to a modal note. Passing notes that resolve don’t have that smushyness. They crunch.

Dissonance is a funny thing. Often musicians stay away from it because it sounds muddy and awkward and not great, but it can at times sound quite sweet, and with skill and knowledge you can learn how to use it effectively.

It also works here because it fits with the aesthetic and Hermes’ character. We’re already in this spooky, mysterious mode. We’re in a minor key. And Jay is using all these other musical techniques to give a slightly uneasy, hypnotic feel. The dissonance feels strange- not the sweet, diatonic harmonies we’re used to hearing. This is what makes this song stand out, and what makes Hermes such an intriguing and appealing character.

There’s this “up and down” melodic pattern that occurs throughout the song in several places. While Harmony 2 is doing that, Harmony 1 is just going down, repeatedly. I find it interesting that Odysseus isn’t rising to this power, but falling to it. It hints at Hermes’ trickster nature. These musical motifs (harmony, the harpline, the synthline, etc.) go up and down and up and down and up and down like gentle waves. We’re on the ocean. It’s lulling, compelling, hypnotic. “Come hither” whispering in the ear. It’s creepy, to be honest, and shows a darker side of the song that I will talk about later.

Bridge (“Here in the root of this flower”…etc):

Jorge has talked about how this is one of his favourite bits to sing, and musically that makes perfect sense.

Firstly, you’ve gotta hand it to Troy Doherty’s amazing performance. Hermes is so expressive even without seeing him.

Quick note about vocal techniques- YOU CAN HEAR SMILES. The act of smiling changes the shape of your mouth and thus changes the quality of your voice. You can HEAR Troy break out into a smile on the line “Though it’s only for a moment, ‘til you’ve beaten your opponent”. This is also my theory as to why the line “Penelope Whyyyy, you know I’m too shyy” is so stuck in everyone’s mind. Try singing it without smiling and then try singing it while smiling. Do you think it would’ve been that catchy if Jay wasn’t such a cutie pie?

Smiling is contagious, even if you’re only subconsciously noticing it. Hearing a smile gives you that little hit of dopamine.

When we hit the bridge, the piano, bass, and backing vocals cut out. Again, it’s just drums, harp, and lead vocals. This signifies a new section of music and also does the same trick as before- drawing you into the vocalist- but this time making you focus on the melody instead of the lyrics.

This whole bit is solely in Aeolian mode. The downward motion of the bridge increases the intensity of the song, dragging you into his words, falling into the power of the root. It’s sort of a callback to the downward motion to the second harmony line.

The constant quaver rhythm of this rising and falling conjunct “stepwise” melody gives a spiralling feeling, leading downwards. The rhythm is almost conversational, which fits with a mode like Aeolian that flows like the wind. It’s also why it’s so catchy and fun to sing. I love how Jorge composes in this uncommon scale in this particular pattern to reflect this idea.

There’s also one particular detail about the rhythm of this riff that compositionally shows something even deeper:

THIS IS IN TRIPLETS.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT TRIPLETS SYMBOLISE IN EPIC???

RUTHLESSNESS.

Ruthlessness is usually a theme reserved for Poseidon, Act 1 Athena, and Act 2 Odysseus. You wouldn’t expect a “friendly” God like Hermes to be using it. But he is. He’s being persistent, constant. He is trying every trick in his bag to persuade Ody to take the flower.

Jay is VERY deliberate about his arrangements and his composition, so this is not a coincidence. He has established this “language” of musical voices, rhythmical voices, and motivic voices to symbolise all his characters and themes. It’s fascinating to me that he made this choice for Hermes. Ever so subtly hinting that the God might not be as benevolent as he seems.

Chorus 3:

The instrumentation of this new chorus is pretty similar to Chorus 2, except…

These DRUMS.

I asked my dad about these while I was staying with my parents over the Xmas holidays, and it resulted in a 5-minuite-long infodump about a specific type of drum used in 80s pop music (yeah I totally definitely don’t see the family resemblance at all /sarcasm). Any Brit in the audience might recognise this drum sound as sounding almost identical the intro to a show called East Enders (which I never watched, but was aware of) and idk if that was Jay’s intention, but the drums apparently have a long and complicated history, which I will give you the abbreviated version. (If this is too much information you can skip the next paragraph if you so wish, I realise this can be overwhelming)

Bass drum called the Simmons’ drum- electronic drum pad- famous for being hexagonal- they were radical in that they gave an electronic palette to modern dummers- they weren’t well-built and the very earliest ones were made from the same composite materials as police riot gear- caused repetitive strain injury that became known by session drummers as “Simmon’s wrist” because it was a bit like using your drumsticks on concrete (What’s that? You don’t think music is as intense as sport? Musicians get injured just as much as footballers do)- the sound is one of the most distinctive sounds in 80s music and entirely synthetic, generated through synthesis so some poor technician had to sit and programme a synthesiser to sound like a tom-tom- in the 90s and early 00s it was seen as cheap and over-the-top but is now looked on with a sense of love and nostalgia.

This is, of course, a sample of the Simmon’s drum as I doubt Jorge owns a real one.

So what does that do for Hermes? It grounds the song it its 80s retro aesthetic, creating Hermes’ unique stylistic voice. Jorge has described how he got the idea for Hermes’ sound when he saw a retro, multi-coloured lamp that made him think of 80s music. Each character in Epic has their own soundscape, and this very particular drum sound adds to it.

It also adds intensity to this final chorus. These loud, heavy drum sounds give that adrenaline rush that the previous verses and choruses have been building to, when Odysseus finally takes the flower.

Then we get Odysseus singing the “oOOOooOoOOhHHHhs” as he eats the holy moly, then the chorus ends, and we get a repeat of the harpline from the intro as he thanks Hermes for the help.

My conclusion:

Odysseus has made a Faustian pact with Hermes, the trickster god. While Hermes’s words are friendly with no ill-intent, the composition and orchestration lean more towards this idea of “making a deal with the devil”. Gods know the game, and how it’s played. You, mere mortal, do not. When they entreat mortals to do their bidding will offer riches, money, fame, success, magic, power, but very rarely are their motives sound.

This is Odysseus’ first taste of the magic that separates gods and monsters from mortals. He is able to fight Circe as an equal, and this new development teaches him that he doesn’t always have to be strategic and diplomatic, but ruthless and relentless as well.

I know that the fandom see Troy Doherty’s performance of Hermes as “omg babygirl so slayyyy!!!” But there’s actually a deeper level to what he’s doing here. He’s a trickster God, tempting and teasing Odysseus down a path of magic and power- giving him the first taste of something that will later drive him into becoming the Monster. Hermes is almost seducing him to the dark side, using rhetorical questions, waving the Holy Moly in front of his face and saying “Come on. You know you want it. Wouldn’t you like a taste of the power? Wouldn’t you like to be victorious for once?” In his lyrics describing a “taste” of the power being something almost like a temptation. Odysseus is breaking from his norm- using magic and might instead of logic, diplomacy and reasoning. While he’s doing it to save his men, this is a major step in his descent into monsterhood, and it’s fascinating how Jay does this not only lyrically, but musically as well, using what’s called “word painting” (music and words working together) to create the sense of hypnotism and manipulation.

Hermes is being:

Ruthless (triplets),

Ceaseless (repetition),

Persuasive (rhetorical questions),

And hypnotic (lilting, lulling melody).

He’s drawing you in, forcing you to listen to him (stark instrumentation focusing on the vocals, then increasing the instrumentation as the intensity progressively increases, culminating in this big, expressive final chorus with this pwerful drum sound)

Overall Jorge uses all these techniques to show Hermes manipulating Odysseus into taking the flower. By subconsciously making you feel the temptation that Ody- the Narrator- is feeling through music and orchestration.

So anyway, those are my thoughts on “Wouldn’t you like”. I didn’t even have time to talk about “Dangerous”- perhaps I’ll make a separate post about that but no promises. Thank you so much for reading if you made it to the end!

[dearlyd3parted]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 | 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

🕸️syp: Mark Lee is many things; A 2nd year college student, A stressed Stark Industries intern, Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman, and also your childhood friend. He's also a secret fifth thing, a loser hopeless romantic who's been in love with you for years. Due to his inexperience, it takes him two failed attempts at a confession until the third is finally a charm. 🕸️mark lee x fem!reader - (127 centered) biggest idiots in love u will ever read 🕸️feat: a bit of nct dream, xiaojun from wayv, and yunjin from lsrfm cause mother 🕸️word count: total 26.2k 🕸️warnings: some profanity (mark is very stressed ok), descriptions of injuries (blood, cuts, bruises), light angst, mostly just misunderstandings and such, brief mention of smoking, eventual smut 🕸️authors note: ok i genuinely had so much fun writing this one i love mark so much and i live to push the spidermark agenda. i don't follow any exact mcu plot. just inspired more heavily by tom holland cinmenatic universe! also he has glasses in this fic, i know canonically spiderman has perfect vision but idc i have a nerd agenda to push ;p i've only proofread once, so pls bear with any typos. to my current followers who were waiting on me to post, i spent a lot of time on this one so that is why content is delayed, but i hope it makes up for it! im doing more piwon next! i really like this one and hope u do too. pls reblog and like and follow for more ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ 🕸️chapter index: chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 tags🏷:

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷: 𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 - wc: 8.3k

Mark Lee has always been sure of his identity.

It seems that since birth he has had a very firm grasp on himself, what his personality is like, what he wanted in his future, what he wanted in the very moment. Mark has never been a mystery to him.

When he was in the 6th grade, he knew he was a buzzing personality. He knew he was a jokester, always smiling, always laughing, even when the moment didn't call for it. He knew that he loved to talk about anything, really. He could spend hours talking an unsuspecting classmate's ear off about his favorite subjects (math and english, never science), the video game he just played, or some cool new thing one of his favorite superheroes did.

However, because of his...as one would put it in kind terms, passion for life and anything that excited him slightly, he had a hard time making friends. Sure, he had some, the same handful of guys who had been perpetually stuck with each other since elementary school, but making new ones was the problem.

It was at that point that Mark realized he is also a people pleaser from time to time. Especially at 12 years old when everyone is dying to fit in. So, in order to get some of his peers to find him...not annoying, he tried to mimic their personalities.

Mark amped up the snarky-ness and the sassiness, changed his look to what could best replicate what was popular at the time, and started talking about Tony Stark maybe 30% less (That really was the best he could do).

And surprisingly....it worked. For a bit there, he was thinking he might slowly climb his way up from whimsical nerd to just some dude. God, he wanted to be just some dude so badly.

Then one day he saw you.

You sat alone on the end of a lunch table, a pizza lunchable in front of you as you clicked away on your DSI, seemingly playing...Pokémon? Of course, adorned with a Star Wars backpack sat right next to you. He shuddered a bit at the sight, but not negatively. He just really wished that was him instead of what he was currently doing, trailing behind the kids who play basketball after school with an immense 'cool kid' vibe to them.

Mark took immediate note at how they snickered at you, the word nerd being thrown around being most obviously about you. As he gripped onto his tray, a sly smile masking an internal panic on his face, he figured it was a perfect time to prove himself as he followed his pack leaders.

Mark cleared his throat as he approached you, ready to strike. "Nice backpack, Young Jedi." He snickered, his voice as condescending as he could make it out to be when addressing a really cool backpack.

You paused your game with a swiftness, swiveling around to look at him, not an ounce of offense on your face. Without a beat, your deadbeat expression bounced back.

"Nice bowl cut, loser.”

Needless to say, Mark didn’t make the cut for just some dude. He would be staying a talkative and giggly nerd for a while, he was sure of that fact about himself. He knew that was him. It was okay, though, because he didn’t want friends who he couldn't be himself around. After that whole facade, he knew he wasn’t the nonchalant cool guy he tried to resonate with.

He also knew that after a thorough and heavy apology his friend Taeyong had made him give you, he had just met someone who he resonated with a lot more.

He knew he was your new friend.

(To which you only agreed because of his Captain America themed backpack. Besides, your jab at his bowl cut that truly was awful made it even.)

A year later, he was certain that you were his best friend. Maybe it was a bit selfish that he had so many best friends, you including his flock of seven other boys who had just become stuck to each other.

But…there was something different about you. Like you were his ultra best friend, if thats a thing. After the initial awkwardness of your first meeting, the friendship only soared. Helping each other with homework, rewatching ‘Star Wars: Revenge of The Sith’ for the 30th time, fangirling over Tony Stark and the avengers. He never thought he would meet a girl that understood him so well, and in turn who he understood, too.

Until the 7th grade, he couldn’t quite place what it was that was so different. You were integrated into his group of friends, he didn’t treat you any differently and you didn’t with him. Yet, for some reason, he was happier when you were around, and even happier when it was only the two of you.

His heart was a mixture of things every time he made a joke and you laughed because of him. It had also dawned on him that even if you and him had your many similarities, you were still more reserved and cautious when it came to other people. Despite that, you seemed comfortable around him, enough to confide in him and share whatever you wanted to.

So, when you confided in him tearfully that the boy you had wanted to attend the spring formal with was going with another girl, as your best friend he decided to step in and take you himself to cheer you up.

Seeing you a bit happier at the outcome of that night, wearing a navy blue dress he remembers oh so vividly as the colorful lights seemed to be illuminating your smile, his heart sank to his stomach. That was when it had hit him what had been so different about you.

Mark knew that he liked you. He liked you terribly.

He knew he liked you as he danced with you, his hands tenaciously at your shoulders as you thanked him with a smile for not letting you come alone. He knew he liked ever since you started to feel ‘different’ in the best way possible, and he knew he would keep liking you for a long, long time.

And that is exactly what he did.

Middle school passed by in a flash, and he never liked you any less. In fact it was impossible to not like you more. You, who was always on his side through all his phases, who brought an extra sandwich from home to share with him at lunch, who gifted him the missing star wars comic in his collection for his birthday, who defended him against all the snickers and teases of the rest of the friend group, who was the cutest girl he would ever be blessed to see, who joined the academic decathlon in highschool so he wouldn’t be alone. How could he not crush on you harder?

Just because he liked you so much, didn’t mean that he rushed to act on it. Quite honestly, when he first realized all these feelings were heavy to hold and the only way to let go of them was to confess, he had a nervous breakdown. What would he even say? What would you say? How would he even explain this to you? You were always so headstrong and focused, would a measly schoolboy crush even appeal to you? Was this the end of the world?

Once he calmed down, however, he realized that there was no rush to explain the feelings he himself couldn’t even muster to say aloud. All that mattered is that you were in his life, and he was in yours. And he was pretty damn content with that. Maybe in the future, if he still felt so much and he had gotten much more confident, he’ll be able to tell you. At the moment, 15-year-old and sophomore in highschool Mark had no rush at all.

And then, he was bit by a spider.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal spider. Because god forbid anything ever be normal in Mark’s life. One morning, he woke up with body muscle his lanky limbs did not have when he went to sleep and a strength that broke his desk bunk bed in half. If it wasn’t obvious something was off, his glasses stuck on his hand for the better part of an hour sure confirmed it.

Yup, Mark knew it. He had turned into some sort of a Spiderman.

At least, that’s what he called it. It’s what he decided to go by when a very confused passerby asked him who he was as Mark saved his bike from a thief. A quick sew of some blue and red fabric with a poorly stitched on symbol, and he was putting these powers to test.

He had a good run making a name for himself on Youtube under this ‘Spiderman’ pseudonym. It was a blissful first few months, figuring out the basics of his powers, slamming into the wall maybe only a handful of times, fighting neighborhood crime in a heroic way that he used to only be able to gawk at the avengers doing.

However, ignorance is bliss. Mark couldn’t possibly be ignorant to the way that he was making enemies who didn’t like the interference with their crimes all over queens, and fast. He especially couldn’t ignore it when a particular petty group of criminals had hit rookie Spiderman with everything they had, and the bliss ended as he limped away his first gruesome fight he had managed to win with his life.

As he dragged his way across the city, whimpering and crying as the universe decided to make his first terrible day on the job even worse with rain, he was aware of how roughed up he was, he needed help.

He couldn’t just go to his Aunt and tell her her 15 year old nephew had been putting his life in danger for the last few months. He couldn’t go to the hospital and risk exposing the identity he tried so hard to protect. He certainly couldn’t let his rowdy friends know by showing up to Taeyong’s apartment.

So he found himself barely making it up to your fire escape, knocking with the last bit of strength he had to get your attention from your Calculus homework to his figure in the window. He was limp and a mess of “i’m sorry”’s and “i don’t know where to go”’s as you pulled him in, speechless at the sight in front of you.

You didn’t get angry, you weren’t annoyed, you didn’t ask him a million questions. You only bandaged his wounds, and offered open arms as he cried and cried until he couldn’t anymore.

As Spiderman Mark gripped your hoodie, his tears staining it with salt, he knew he felt safe. God, he always did with you.

He knew that he loved you. Because honestly, wasn’t it impossible not to?

The revelation that he was in love with you didn’t come with much shock, if he asked 6th grade Mark if he knew this day would come, the answer would without any doubt be a yes.

It did come at a turning point in his life, however. He met Tony Stark, got suited up with Stark Industry gear that made every nerd crevice in his mind vibrate, fought with the avengers, nearly joined the avengers, accidentally revealed himself to his aunt, and then his other 7 friends, fought against avenger-level-threat villains, and quickly rose as one of the most famous heroes around.

Throughout everything, he never loved you any less. And even through his trials and tribulations as he settled in this neighborhood Spiderman identity, you never strayed from being his best friend. He didn’t need anything else to feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Except, maybe an answer to the dying question he wanted to know for years and years. Was he just your best friend? Or has he always been something more? On the few times you’ve told him something along the lines of, ‘I will never care about anyone like I do about you, Mark’, (And no, he actually didn’t memorize that one word for word) Did it also mean what he has always meant, or was he just dear to you in the friendliest way possible?

Although Mark was older, 18 years old and graduating from highschool, he still had that same mindset he had as an angsty new teenager. His feelings for you only weighed more and more in tons and tons over the years, especially since he was able to name it as love. Yet, he found it hard to explain why he still hadn’t felt any rush to act on them.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, even if anyone who would hear his logic might think it was. As he watched you say goodbye to peers and friends at graduation from a distance, happiest as ever in your cap and gown as you were set to attend MIT with him in the fall, he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He dreamt of it some nights, actually. He hadn’t known you his whole life, but for some reason, it felt like you were always there. When he had that stupid bowl cut, when he tried out for the soccer team and made a fool of himself, when he got his first B on an english paper, when he got bit by that spider and bit off more than he could chew, when he was applying for college and decided to major in computer science and engineering, you were there.

As you pranced back to him as you finished saying your farewells, he couldn’t help but think it would always be this way. You had him, and he had you. The night you both graduated, you both sat on a rooftop, staring at queens under you as you shared a pizza. Naturally, it felt like you would always be there. You were just natural.

Despite that, It had been nearly seven years since he first met you. Nearly seven years since he told himself he would confess when the time was right, when he was more confident and hopefully a little bigger.

He was definitely taller, and involuntarily grew some muscle. Luckily, his hair hadn’t seen the after effects of a bowl cut in years. His voice didn’t squeak when he talked to you or any girl for that matter, and he liked to think he was 10% less of a nerd. At least, enough to be charming when it counted.

So as you both left highschool for your first year at NYU, he decided he checked a sufficient amount of boxes to go for it. However, it was clearly going to be harder said than done. Just seeing you the night after he made up his mind that the time has finally come, his forehead was slick with nervous sweat and somehow he walked right into a pole. Your questioning about why his ‘Mark tingle’ hadn’t worked–which is what you had named his 6th spider-sense–didn’t help not one bit.

Truth is, it was terrifying. He didn’t know why. He had fought against intergalactic villains and catched runaway trains with his bare hands. Yet a simple ‘I’m madly in love with you’ was too much for him to handle.

Mark composed himself, running it through his mind during every late night patrol. He was going to do it, and soon. First, he had to get over the initial fear. After that, love sparks would fly.

Soon turned into weeks later, then months, and then an entire year. Before Mark could blink, it was the 2nd year of university and the ‘initial’ fear seemed to be a perpetual one.

In his defense, the first year of college was very busy. The both of you were buried in the books, biochemical and computer science engineering not being easy majors, and of course trying to maintain extracurriculars. Mark with his Stark Industries internship, that both was still a pseudonym for Spiderman duties, and this time around an actual internship he had begged Mr. Stark for. You, with the school's Debate team and interning wherever it counted and wherever paid.

Mark would be a liar if he said there was absolutely no time, though. A plus to the both of you being the unassuming and socially awkward nerds all throughout the years meant that you didn’t peak in highschool. University could be a time to blossom, be more social, enjoy the journey a little more, maybe attend a party or two.

Watching you in this beaming light as you entered a new chapter of your life, an enigma shining more than ever, it only intimidated Mark even more. Which is why his after-graduation-confession plans had stretched out a whole year later.

Mark never felt like he was losing you, though. Losing his mind? Most definitely, but not you. You were closer than ever, Mark was content.

Telling himself that he had you on his side through everything, and he would continue to have just that is what helped him sleep at night. He would stop being a coward eventually, and just like the movies, the sun would shine a halo around you, his eyes would meet yours, and he could finally confess. Time, there was lots of it, right?

Wrong. Again, it seemed like Mark’s reality was always perpetually shifting or going the opposite direction that he was aiming for.

Today, he found himself standing outside of one of the many NYU buildings, waiting for your cell biology class to be done with. It had become a habit to him to make sure you got back to your apartment safely after classes that ran into the evening, claiming that as the resident neighborhood spiderman, it was his duty to escort you. Even though in reality, you were capable of getting around just fine, and this was just another excuse for Mark to spend even more time with you.

He was wiping down his glasses when he heard the door open and you walked out, tired out from a full day of classes. He wasted no time putting on his glasses back on, making sure he caught every bit of you. Mark always thought you looked best like this, hair down and tousled in comfy clothes, today a cardigan and some baggy jeans, the night making your features even softer.

You smiled despite your weariness, waving at him, and Mark smiled right back. “Hi, Mark.” you said, walking up to him as you clutched onto your bag.

Mark reached for it, slinging it over his shoulders, the heaviness of textbooks and all your other supplies being nothing to him. “Y/n! How was your day?” He asked enthusiastically.

You stared at him with those eyes you get, sighing as you looked down. “It was alright…I got assigned two group projects, though. I mean, two, seriously? In the first month of school?” You complained and talked with your hands like you always did when you were angry, as you both started walking, Mark listening to every word.

Mark inhaled sharply, making a face at the thought. “Yikes. Two on the same day is some luck. My operating systems professor said we would have a group project soon as well, but at least we get to choose our partners.”

You pouted up at him, finding your situation unfair. “We can’t even have that luxury. I don’t know any of the people I was assigned with.” You complained with a frustrated sigh.

Mark sympathized with you, knowing how unfortunate that must be, but when you looked so expressive and adorable as you complained, it was hard for his heart to stay still in its cage. “That really does sound like it sucks. I hope they aren’t rude or some slackers.”

You shook your head looking off at the city in front of you, when all Mark could do was look at you. “I don’t think they will be too bad. The group project for cell bio, I got this one guy…Xiaojun, I think, for a partner. He seems like he’ll be a big help.”

Mark’s head tilted, his glasses tilting in the process. “Mm, really? How so?”

You looked at Mark with a pursed smile, shrugging at the recollection. “He’s very receptive, first to offer to help with research. Gave me his number so I could call him ‘if anything’, so I gave him mine as well. He’s nice, a little too nice maybe, but nice.”

Mark felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat, he hadn’t heard of you and any other guy in ages. He didn’t want to. As he took in what you had said, recognizing the name of a pretty well-known school heartthrob, exchanging numbers with him, and even the whispered fact of him being too nice, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Surely it couldn’t be that this Xiaojun was…taking an interest in you?

Mark had to make sure as he forced down the lump that prevented him from speaking. “Ah…so sounds like…he’s flirting with you.”

You both came to a stop at an intersection. You pondered your words as Mark stared at you, reading your every visible thought. “It seems like it. He’s a nice guy but I'm not interested if that is the case…because…” You said, your words trailing off as you looked at Mark with a distant look in your eye and shrugged after a moment. “I guess, I don’t have a reason to not be interested. Should at least hear the guy out, I suppose.”

Mark’s heart sank to the floor in record speeds. And he’s jumped off of buildings. As the light turned from the orange hand to the walking man, he stalled a few seconds, shaking off this new dread as he jogged a little to match your pace. “H-hear him out? So you…you like him?”

You giggled a bit, shaking your head with a smile. “I didn’t say that. I just met the guy. All I’m saying is I’ve always said no, no, no, and no. Maybe it’s time to move…Uh, I mean, to stop saying no so quickly.”

All Mark could process in that sentence is that there were others that you had to say no to. As he looked down at the sidewalk he was strolling on, his world view seemed to crack a bit. He had always known how amazing you were. Your eyes an ocean he wanted to sail. Your hair framing you in the most flattering way. Your sarcasm and humor that brightens his day. Your drive. Your kindness. Your intelligence. Your generosity. Should he keep going? He could, he could spend days listing everything that was right in you. It had just never dawned on him that other hormonal and sappy guys like him could do the same and act on it. Worse, that you could entertain it.

“As in…look for someone?” Mark asked, his voice sounding pathetic beyond his control.

You sighed, staring off at the distance, not wanting to look at him. “I don’t know…it’s just…something I've been thinking about. It feels like I'm overdue to try my hand at this whole love thing…”

Overdue. Overdue. Is that really how you felt? Mark supposes you have both gone your whole lives without dating someone. At this point in your lives, that can be considered a while. Mark had never felt like he was lacking in that category, love, because he had so much of it for you. You didn’t know that, though, and now you felt overdue.

Mark’s palms were sweaty as he gripped the straps of both of your bags. “There’s…no rush, though, right...?” He questioned, trying to preach his own stupid, stupid anthem.

You nodded, a bit solemnly if he had to add, looking up at him with a strange mix of a smile and pout. “You’re right. No rush.”

Mark sighed a breath of relief. A relief that didn’t last long as you spoke up again. “But there’s also no reason to push it away anymore.”

Mark had so many questions, such as why were you set on ‘pushing it away’ until now, where the hell did this Xiaojun come from, how it can be possible that a certainty he awoke with this morning can crumble a mere few hours later, and how he could possible be so stupid, stupid, stupid, cowardly, and naive?

Mark inhaled a sharp breath, trying to stabilize himself. He wanted to freak out, he wanted so badly to bring the both of you to a halt and grab your hands, begging for you to not even think about this. However, that would also be stupid, and if he showed that he was anything short of understanding during this conversation, you would never share anything like this with him again. Then, he would be completely in the dark about your apparently beginning love life.

“If…that’s what you want.”

Stupid. Idiot. Buffon.

There it was again, that forced smile that Mark was too busy internally panicking to notice himself. “He hasn’t even said anything that confirms the suspicion. But…I’ll see. I’ll figure out what it is that I want.”

Mark nodded, trying to play it cool as his fingernails dug into his palm. He didn’t even notice that you had arrived at the train station, standing in front of the train that took you home.

You looked up at him, smiling softly as you reached up to flick hair out of his face. It didn’t help the melting pot that was his current emotions. “You texted early that you wanted to get an early patrol. You should go get ready. I’ll be okay from here.”

Mark normally would have shaken his head no immediately, insisting that he take you all the way to your front door. Today however, he felt as if the longer he spent around you, the closer he was to losing it. “You sure? I really don’t mind-” is all he managed to say as you cut him off.

“Positive. I can join you on comms later tonight. Gotta get some homework done first.” You said, looking back as the train started to pull into a stop. “You go get ready. And eat something or you’ll be off your game. Last time you went out hungry you nearly crashed in an office window.”

Mark chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking to himself that of course only you could make him laugh and make him want to yell in such a short span. “Aye-aye captain, I’ll do that. You better go before the train leaves.”

You nodded, taking back your bag from him and waving. “I’ll come to yours tomorrow. We have o-chem in the morning. We can swing there?”

Mark smiled, as best as he could by this point, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll swing there. Text me when you’re home.”

You shot a thumbs up as the train doors opened and you rushed to get in. “I will, bye Mark! Careful!”

His heart warmed, you had always told him to be careful, no matter the hundreds and hundreds of times he must have gone out now. It wasn’t enough to make him unball his fists though. “Bye, Y/n.” He said back, missing its added sense of joy.

He watched as you walked in, taking a seat and looking back at him once. He didn’t even have the guts to stand there and watch you leave, looking back twice before he was sprinting up the subway stairs and running down the street.

The slight chill in the night felt even colder as he ran, wind blowing smack in his face, but he kept running until he found an alleyway, running deep into it until he was out of sight, away from any pedestrian eyes. The cuff Mr. Stark had given him came in handy at times like these, when all he wanted to do was be suited up as soon as he could, His heart wouldn’t stop racing as the press of a button had him in his full spider-suit. He tightened his backpack onto himself, and he was off, shooting himself up in the air, and running across a ledge before throwing himself off.

He didn’t even react as he reached closer to the ground than normal, shooting a web to divert his fall just in time. Even when he was swinging way too fast, weaving through buildings and poles and cars. All he could think about you and your words. When he woke up in the morning, he thought he had time, lots of it. Now as dusk falls over and the cars underneath him couldn’t be as loud as his thoughts, he finds out he doesn’t. Or perhaps he did, and now it had run out on him.

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

“So, the last thing I said was, ‘I’ll figure out what it is that I want,’ and then we got to the train station.” You finished explaining to your roommate, Yunjin, as she sat on the opposite side of the couch.

You had only met Yunjin last year, but she already felt like one of your best friends you had ever made because of how easy it was to tell her all of your problems. Of course, you already had one of those, Mark Lee, who had been wreaking havoc in your life since you had first caused him to become the laughingstock of the popular kids back in 6th grade. But you couldn’t tell him absolutely all of your problems. Especially the biggest one, that you had always had a strange sense of infatuation for him that you expected to go away, yet here you were.

If you had to pinpoint when it began, you would say when he knocked on your window sophomore year of high school, bloodied and in the famous original spiderman costume. Mark had always been loveable, long before he got bit by that spider. It was what you liked most about him, his ability to always see the positive, to always somehow wear a smile and a laugh. In someone like that, it takes the utmost trust for them to allow the most vulnerable parts of themselves to be seen.

So, it wasn’t the suit that made you realize what you had felt. Even if you had been a major Spiderman fan and the revelation was only a little life changing, that was the last thing on your mind. He was hurt, he was scared, and he needed someone, and his first thought was you.

You thought it was a fluke, feeling so much for someone so unexpected. Surely, it was bound to go away. Yet, it didn’t. The feeling was nagging and adamant, just like Mark, and refused to let go.

After some time, you came to terms with the fact that nothing about it was unexpected at all. Since you met Mark, you spent every waking moment with him. Going to your first hero convention, building the Lego death star you got for your birthday, the school trip to Venice, middle school dances, high school dances, all of it was Mark, Mark, Mark, Mark. Every memory, the good and bad, that held a special place in your heart had Mark. How was he not to become special as well?

You thought about coming straight out with it, hoping to get closure or acceptance or anything that would help maim the feeling of overflowing love. However, Mark wasn’t just Mark anymore, he was Spiderman. While the latter didn’t matter much to you, it had become a part of who he was. With his great powers, came great responsibility. Not just that, but it seemed like him almost dying every other weekend had become his new reality. While it was stressful watching Mark go through all of that, even as you became his girl-in-the-chair of sorts to help him on patrols, you couldn’t imagine how stressful it was for Mark for himself. It felt unfair to throw a confession on top of everything he already had to deal with.

So, you decided if anything were to happen between you two, Mark would have to initiate it.

While you may have kept it better under wraps, Mark always wore his emotions on his sleeves. It would take an outstanding idiot to not notice the way he acted around you. The way his ears go pink before his cheeks do, the way on occasion he’ll forget to respond as he stares in a trance, or he’ll fumble with whatever object he has in his hand. Mark had always had those awkward, loser-ish tendencies, but it was undeniable at how they seemed to be at their worst whenever you were around.

He had to have at least entertained the idea. So, therefore it was just a waiting game. When Spiderman was ready to take that leap, so were you.

You waited, and waited, waited, and waited, and waited some more. Suddenly, the second year of university came, and you were still waiting.

Honestly, it had brought you down that no moves were made as you graduated high school. Needless to say, that the fact he was still radio silent when entering university only made you more discouraged and had you wondering if your premonition was wrong after all.

Your new roommate turned friend, however, was quick to catch onto your gloominess, and almost immediately connected the dots that it was about Mark.

Since you caught her up on everything she needed to know, while of course keeping Mark’s secret locked away, she had become a trusted person to confide in. As opposed to your clear inexperience, Yunjin had more experience on her love life resume, and was always at bay with advice.

Her recent advice being something that she believed would speed up the process, to display your availability, and to flaunt that you were planning on using it. In whatever form that may be.

So, when Xiaojun exchanged numbers with you, (and in your defense, was indeed being a little too friendly) it was the perfect opportunity to test the theory.

That is how you found yourself here, playing the conversation back and forth amongst each other to try and decipher if it worked.

Yunjin groaned, hand coming down to smack the pillow in her lap. “‘I’ll figure out what it is that I want.’ You guys are impossible. It is crystal clear what you both want.” She said with a shake of her head. “Is that really all he said? ‘If that’s what you want?’ How did he…I don’t know, was he panicky or shaky or anything?”

You thought about it with a sigh, shrugging. “I mean, I guess he was a little. At the stop walk he…almost forgot to move? But he had just come from that Stark internship, he’s always like that after it. Like a deer in headlights.”

Yunjin sighed as well, biting her bottom lip in thought. “Okay, this is good. This is a good start. We’ll just have to ramp up the Xiaojun thing and eventually, he’ll be forced to crack.”

You smiled, a little bittersweetly, your hands clenched together. “I hope it plays out like that…otherwise all this for nothing.”

Yunjin could read you like a book, a superpower of hers Mark didn’t always have, ironically. “Not for nothing. You know, you could always say something.”

You looked up at her with a knowing look, shaking your head with a sigh. “You know I can’t. He’s got too much to deal with, he’s literally sp…super busy. With school and the stark internship. I just can’t.”

Yunjin nodded as she stood up, taking the memo not to pry any further. “Alright, I hope this works then, for the sake of you both.” She said as she grabbed your face in her hands jokingly. “Seriously. I’m sick of looking at it.”

You swatted her hand away, chuckling. You hoped it worked too. With your whole being.

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

Mark landed on the roof of his apartment that night exhausted from a full day of work followed by an evening patrol. Crime was quiet lately, with his biggest cases today being a measly shoplifter and a cat stuck in a tree. The type of quiet that came before a storm. Mark had too much on his mind to think about that, however. All of which involves you.

He deactivated his suit and found himself back in regular clothes, waltzing his way down the rooftop access stairs, all the way to his apartment on the 6th floor. 

He came in fidgety and anything but calm, seemingly too pumped with adrenaline and emotion to be as tired as he usually is after days like this.

Mark had the opportunity to be roommates with two of his friends, Johnny and Doyoung. Luckily for him and unluckily for his friend, Johnny was sitting on the couch, a gaming controller in his hands as he looked up to see the ball of nervousness make its way into the once mellow apartment. “Hey, Mark.” Johnny greeted, not talking his eyes off the TV. “You wanna play overwatch? Doyoung’s out for the night.”

Mark could barely register the question, his backpack slamming on the kitchen table as he plopped down on the couch next to Johnny. “What? No, no. I’m good, don’t wanna play. I have to talk to you, though.”

Johnny sighed, not taking his eyes off the screen. If his hands weren’t so busy, he’d probably grab his head too. The subject was painfully obvious. “What’s up?”

Mark sat back, looking at the ceiling. “Y/n. I messed up. So bad, dude.”

Johnny nodded, trying to feign surprise. “I see. How is she by the way? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Mark ran his hand through his hair, shooting the back of Johnny’s head a look at the inappropriate question during his time of stress. “She’s fine, dude. She told me something today.” Mark said, taking a deep breath to begin his rant. “You know, I told you…I’m confessing soon. Or I’m planning to. When I work up to it. I thought…shit. I’m so stupid. I thought she’d wait for me. She doesn’t even know, but I thought she’d wait. Apparently, there’s this dumb guy she has a group project with. Xiaojun, that’s his name. He’s flirting with her, I’m assuming. They exchanged numbers and everything.”

Johnny listened with his eyes a little narrowed, nodding in understanding. “Ah. I know that guy. He’s pretty cool.”

The look on Mark’s face couldn’t be described as anything less than offended. “He is arguably not. I mean…I know people must try to hit on her and stuff, but she was like…all cryptic. Saying things like ‘maybe it’s time to not say no so quickly’ and ‘I’m overdue at this love thing.’ She says she doesn’t like him but…she’s…she’s looking to date right? It’s gotta mean that.”

Johnny raised his eyebrows, fighting the urge to keep playing his game or turn and start shaking Mark by his shoulders. “Listen, Mark. Y/n’s a nice girl, full package, great person, gorgeous as well, and a single college student. Dating is kinda what you do. Especially with someone like Xiaojun.”

Mark’s world couldn’t crumble any faster. If only Doyoung was there instead, he at least would have broken the news a little nicer. “Oh, God. Shit. What…what do I do? She’s gonna start...dating.” He muttered with his hands on his face, glasses pushing up to his head.

Johnny stifled a groan. “Mark, you do what you should’ve done years ago. You just tell her, man.”

Mark didn’t like that answer. Of course, it was the only one that made sense, but he was hoping that someone would have some sort of miracle solution. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“Shouldn’t it be though?” Johnny retorted. “I mean, you’ve known this girl nearly half of your life. She cares about you a lot. You see it, I see it, we all see it. A confession isn’t going to break a bond like this, it can’t. You’ve got to know by now that what you’ve got is stronger than that.”

In the eyes of Mark, what Johnny said went against what every imagined worst-case scenario told him, even if logically it had made sense. You weren’t the type of person to cause a grand thing or make Mark feel bad about something so small. That was inherently the problem, however. Nothing about this was small. Small is the last word he would use to describe how he feels about you. You wouldn’t consider small something that could fill every ocean on earth's surface and then some. “How do I even tell her? I can’t just say ‘I’m in love with you.’” Mark argued, his voice sounding more and more pathetic.

Johnny used a brief moment to shoot a look at Mark, his eyes going back to the TV as he finally put his controller down and completely discarded the match he was in, leaning on his knees. “At this point, that’s exactly what you say. Your problem is that you’re trying to make it too grand, too perfect. Y/n has never been the type to be a stickler for that. It doesn’t matter how you do it, it won’t affect the outcome. If the feelings are there, which if you ask me, I think they are, then they’re there. Plain and simple.” 

Mark felt a lot of things, but at that moment defeat was most prominent. He had been imagining for years how he would confess to you. In one fantasy he would buy a billboard in Times Square and take you to see it, or perhaps he would learn the guitar and write you a song. He could make his own advent calendar, buy you a present everyday each specifically curated to your wants, and on the final day, a beautiful piece of jewelry. You deserved nothing short of perfect, but now he had to ask himself if that was really what you would want, or if he’s trying to pull every string he can for it to work in his favor. 

“So, what do I do…?” Mark said quietly, running his hand through dark hair.

“I just told you. Just tell her. Write her a poem, take her to dinner, or just straight up come out with it. Just tell her, as soon as you can, before it’s too late.” Johnny said, a supportive hand patting Mark’s back. “No more waiting. You’ve run out of time. I’ve told you this before, but I promise you it’ll turn out fine.”

It had been a wild afternoon filled with many unwanted revelations and a nasty swirl of emotions, but the quick conversation had brought Mark to the eye of the storm. He was backed into a corner, with only one way out, and that realization had finally dawned on him. “You’re…you’re right. I have to…as soon as I can.” 

Johnny ruffled Mark’s hair, reaching for his controller. “That’s the spirit. You wanna play Overwatch now?” 

Mark shot up and grabbed his bag from the table. “Nah, I’ll pass. I’m beat. I’ll probably just go to sleep, honestly.”

Johnny nodded as he returned his focus back to the TV. “Night, then. Don’t stare at your ceiling all night.”

Mark scoffed as he called from the hallway. “Wasn’t gonna do that. And goodnight!”

1.

He didn’t stare at his ceiling, but he did stare at his desk and lined paper almost all night. Johnny’s first idea of writing a poem was thrown out there randomly, but Mark didn’t think it was half bad. It was a short read on your end, and easy to get the point across without Mark having to do much talking. So, he wrote away, trying various different styles. From haikus to Shakespearean sonnets, to a ballad, each one frustrating him more and more. He even tried to make his usually sloppy writing neater than usual with cursive.

In his last attempt, he decided to ditch all rules of quatrains, lines, and rhyme schemes and instead write whatever he was feeling in a free verse poem. Finally, he felt the poem was right. Enough to say what he needed yet not including the words he needed to tell you himself. With a sigh, he laid out the poem neatly on his desk, ridding all evidence of his struggle the past hour by clearing off all pens and discarding all crumbled up sheets of paper in a trash can.

Mark found himself staring at it over with pride. Was it cheesy? Yeah. Was Mark a hopeless romantic? Certainly. That is just who Mark is, he knows that. After all these years spent with him, surely you know that too by now.

He was drained by this point, his eye lids that have felt stretched open the past few hours feeling too heavy for him to fight against them. Finally, he flopped on his bed, being able to close his eyes and drift to sleep, with plans to give you the poem laid on his desk the next time he saw you. 

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

Mark didn’t process that he would be seeing you much sooner than he expected. Soon being the next morning that you had set to head to class together. How could he when he was so out of it? He hadn’t felt as physically and emotionally tired as he did yesterday in a while, which consequently probably caused him to sleep through his alarm the next morning. 

So, he slept like a boulder, missing all of your incoming calls and texts saying that you were headed to him, blissfully unaware of the poem laid out on his desk.

Mark still slept like a baby as you arrived at his apartment, and of course Doyoung had let you in without hesitation. It was completely out of his control as you made your way to his room on a mission to wake him up. Mark stirred awake, slowly and whiny, as you shook his shoulder, your voice quiet yet enough to wake him up gently. “Mark…you overslept. Get up now, so we won’t be late.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his eyes as you stepped away from him, your job complete. In Mark’s freshly awoken state, he didn’t see what the problem was as you browsed around his room while he gained consciousness, eventually pulling his desk chair out to sit at. Sitting down, your curious eyes landed on the only thing that was laid out, his poem. Well, your poem.

He sat up, his hands still attacking his eyes, trying to rub the sleep away, and you were already well into reading it. Your face was a scramble of feelings that only grew in perplexion as you read every last word, and even getting the chance to read it twice before Mark realized. After a particularly effective yawn and stretch, his eyes landed on you with your eyes set on the paper. Only then did Mark shoot up on his feet, his limbs stumbling as he decided if he should play it cool or snatch the paper from your hands, his only thought being, “please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it, please tell me she didn’t read it.”

At Mark’s not very subtle reaction, you put the paper down, looking up at Mark from the chair. “That’s…” Is all you managed to say, not being able to choose between the words intense, beautiful, star striking, devoted, or out of place in Mark’s room. So instead, you stayed speechless for a moment, another feeling the poem invoked as you studied his every move. “Did you write that…? For who? Your writing looks different-”

In a split second, Mark was torn between answering your question with a “yes” and several “you, you, you, you, it’s all about you, only about you," ’s which is what he should have done, or lying his head off. 

The image in his mind of you sat in front of him, seeking answers to your questions, looking at Mark like you were searching for something, it seemed to move in slow motion. This was the plan, was it not? He would hand you the poem, and then he would just admit it was about you. You were more than smart enough to piece together what that implied. 

As he cut you off, he hoped that was what came out, a mere couple of words that would be all he needed to say in the moment. However, when has anything ever gone his way?

“I didn’t write it!”

Mark said a little too desperately, wishing he could exit this sack of meat and bones and punch it across the face. “Not my writing. Too neat. I uh…I found it…on my desk! In my coding class! Must be some kind of secret admirer, I think.” He exclaimed, watching as your face went from something that he couldn’t tell was hope to neutrality, drinking in his lie as fast as he had come up with it.

“Oh…well, that’s…wow. They must really like you,” you pondered as your eyes grazed over the paper.

Somehow, the poem that he had poured his heart into for you, had turned into the sign of affection that a made up secret admirer had written for Mark. If you weren’t right in front of him, he’d fall to his knees, grabbing his head in his hands as his first confession attempt results in a failure down the drain. “Yeah…I guess so…”

Turns out, confessing right away was going to be much harder than he imagined.

.   　˚ ✭　 * ✦　. ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚　.　✦　˚ .˚　 ✭　.

chap. 2

chap. 3

[wintercinnamoon]

Hello?.... Buck, is that you?

Bucky×Femreader

Word count:

Warnings:

Note: Please do not steal, copy or plagiarize any part of my work! ♡.

๑⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙I hope you like it!♡˙⁠๑

๑ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡๑.

You went to visit your parents for a few days because you used to spend the last days of October with them, but today they went out and you stayed in the attic reading some books and lying in the custom spot you set up in the attic

James was bored and missed you, they both told each other this all the time via text messages and even in longs calls. But James had an idea, he just finished watching "Scream" and decided to try to tease you, so he called the landline, luckily you had the phone nearby in case your parents called, so you answer.

"Hello?" You said but no one answered, so you spoke again

"yes?" There was only breathing on the other end so you hung up, but as soon as you hung up the phone rang again, and you answered again.

"Helloooo"

"Hello" A deep, masculine voice came from the other end, from the voice you could tell it was Bucky pretending a more deeper and serious voice.

"Hi sweetie, is that you bucky?" You said smiling and playing with the tip of a lock of your hair

"who are you? " Bucky replied, acting mysterious.

"mmm i don't know, who are you?" You responded, now somewhat confused as you continued to play with your hair.

"who's asking?" He replied, still acting mysterious.

"huh?..... what number are you trying to reach?" You said frowning slightly

"What number is this?" He replied and I just frowned in confusion.

"...I think you dialed the wrong number, it's okay, take it easy" You hung up, and thought that was kind of weird. You put the phone aside and went back to your book for the phone to ring again, and you answered it but before you could say anything, that deep and serious voice, but something hot spoke.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?" He said and just to annoy you he added "why'd you hang up so soon?"

You frowned slightly and smiled. "James, is that you? "

"....And what makes you think it's me? Hmm?" He said still maintaining his character

You stay in silence for a sec and than laugh "You just gave yourself away, honey"

"Damnit" He groans, dropping the act, then sighs, but he's smiling "So... you knew it was me from the start.... how?"

"Mmm no one would call me pretending to be ghostface with such a sexy voice knowing that I'm home alone hmm" You smile

He chuckles "Good point... But you didn't seem spooked or anything. You seemed unbothered" He pouts dramatically "Come on, I was trying to be scary, y'know"

You chuckles as well and smile "You might have scared me a little and sounded creepy, but you gave yourself away, honey.... But, you were sexy and scary huh"

He sighs and smile "Y'know, you're really mean for not going along with it. That was the scariest ghostface I've ever done. And the sexiest."

"And the sexiest, damn right" You say

He chuckles "That's just not fair. I was being all ominous and creepy, and there I was thinking you might be impressed, but no... instead you're attracted to my ghostface voice."

You smile "Well, the girls in the first movie also thought that ghostface had a sexy voice..... Can you blame me?, besides yours is better"

He grins, blushing "...You really thought it was sexy?"

"Yes. Definitely."

He smiles "Damn, why didn't you say so sooner, huh? Maybe you should've been a lil more scared, and a lil more into it... just for my ego's sake...."

You laughs slightly "Sorryy"

He sighs happily, a smirk slowly returning to his face "You're evil, you know that?" He pauses for a moment "...Hey. Do me a favor."

"Yes, and yes? What is it honey?" You say something curious

"I'm gonna call you again, okay? And this time, I want you to act a bit more scared... a little more into the whole ghostface thing. Can you do that for me?" He says it almost begging you and with a pout.

"It will be a pleasure, baby" You say smiling

He hangs up, cutting off the call. He smiles to himself, excited to try it again, and he calls again. He tries as hard as possible to get back into character, to sound like the same creepy ghostface as before

You pick the landline "hello?"

He tries to make the voice sound garbled and static again, he pauses, remaining silent for a few seconds to try and spook you

"Yeah? Is there someone there? " You said pretending confusion

He makes a garbled laugh, before finally speaking "I don know, who's asking?"

You pretend to think and then you answer "who am I going to respond?"

He grins "Who do you think you're going to respond to?"

"I don't know"

He laughs "Well, why don't you guess? Who could it possibly be?"

"Mmmm maybe is my boyfriend or maybe is some serial killer ripper" You pretend to think, and smile as you wrap a tip of your hair around your finger

He laughs "Damn, what if it's both?" The garbled voice is still there, and he's loving this

"Mmmm if it's my boyfriend pretending to be a serial killer ripper he has to know that he's very hot....." You say smiling, you're definitely loving this too

He grins, the smile evident even through the garbled voice "...And what if he is? What if he's pretending to be one? Hm?"

"So I'm gonna tell you that you're hot mmm and if you come into my house I'll kidnap you for myself "You say with great confidence and seriousness, taking the matter very seriously and smiling.

He pauses, grinning "But what if he's not just pretending? What if he's not your boyfriend? What if he's the real deal, huh?"

"Mmm then I'll call my boyfriend and my boyfriend will destroy that murderer who is acting smart with his girlfriend huh" You say smiling but pretending to be serious

He laughs again "Damn, the confidence you have in that man is something else. He's gotta be some tough guy, huh?" You instantly respond to him "Damn right, he is"

He stops, almost tempted to break character for a moment but he restrains himself, he's enjoying this too much "Yeah? He's big, huh? Strong, intimidating?" You again respond instantly "as hell"

He grins, almost speaking out of character "Damn... I can't tell if your trust in him is terrifying or sexy..."

"Or both" You say smiling

"But you know... What if I'm hiding in your closet looking at you, what would you do? Because your boyfriend isn't around..." He says in a dark manner, trying to sound creepy.

You look at the closet in the other corner of the attic and stand up as you walk towards it. "Well, I don't think a murderer would be very comfortable in there."

"Are you sure, doll?" He says with the same voice and attitude, and with a smile

You opened the closet and it only had the usual things "yeah"

"What if i'm looking at your windows from the street in the background?.... Leaning against the tree on the left.... What would you do, doll?"

You walk over to the window and start looking for him and you smile when you find him staring at the windows like a stalker, with his motorcycle leaning against a tree, and you smile "Well.... He's a very sexy killer.... I'd open the door for him, what do you say?

He smiles and catches the attic window where you were watching him and laughs. "Hurry up, doll"

๑ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ♡ ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡๑.

❥Thanks for reading, have a nice day! ♡

[folkdances]

things i read this january ❄️ it was an interesting, eventful month, and a very philosophical one (for me, at least)! i've been reading on the bus, on the metro, while walking to class, and i'm pleased with myself for it, and it's done me good! i wanted to write this preface in such a way that would lend it some sense of grandeur, but as i sit here typing, i don't think that's really necessary. things are as they are. some of these are for class and some of them i read on my own…!

articles, essays, and papers

preface to lyrical ballads, william wordsworth

preface and conclusion to the renaissance studies in art and poetry, walter pater

poetry and plays*

we are seven, william wordsworth

mac flecknoe, john dryden

a satyr upon reason and mankind, john wilt

the country wife, william wycherley - found this one shockingly funny and was deeply upset by this fact. there’s something about a character named pinchwife getting cuckolded that has been making people laugh for centuries, and the latest of those people is me.

myself and pangur, anon., trans. paul muldoon

the blackbird by belfast lough, frank o'connor

the vikings, james carney

the scribe in the woods, máire macneill - he’s just like me for realll

the sea, james carney

storm at sea, frank o'connor

to an old psalm-book, james carney

books

private rites, julia armfield - I REALLY ADORED THIS ONE. 5-stars will be returning to it. absolutely phenomenal vaguely apocalyptic horror story set in a drowning world and following three estranged sisters in the wake of their cruel father’s death.

file under: 13 suspicious incidents, lemony snicket - really really charming! i’ve been wanting to reread atwq and realized i never read this addendum to the series when i was a kid :-)

annihilation, jeff vandermeer - shockingly i tried reading this one, like, three times before this month (the last time was two years ago(?)) and i could never properly get into it. this time around i tore through it and absolutely loved it…! sci-fi story about a biologist and her team as they explore the mysterious area x on the behalf of a secretive government agency.

song of solomon, toni morrison - i’d been putting off reading this one for a while, not out of disinterest but because it is such a weighty book and i wanted to wait for a good time. i read it over the course of a week. it’s wonderfully written, compulsively readable, profound and inquisitive and odyssic. absolutely loved it. unravels the family history of the dead family, honing in the youngest sun, milkman dead.

waiting for the barbarians, j.m. coetzee - had to read this one for class and i’m a bit conflicted about it. ultimately i think it works as a very concise and clear analogy, but i found it a bit ‘white guilt’ about the whole affair.

open water, caleb azumah nelson - unfortunately did not enjoy this one very much :-( heard a lot of good things about it and it just wasn’t for me in the end. a love story between two young black british artists.

martyr!, kaveh akbar - was looking forward to this one and really enjoyed it! i feel like it could have gone deeper but for what it was, i liked it. it was very poetic and i loved how it was structured. follows a suicidal iranian-american poet as he strives to write about martyrdom and plumbs his own family history in an effort to understand it.

* i tried finding links to all of these but i got lazy lol. you could probably find them quite easily snooping around the internet :-)

[serendark]

Misc. ideas and thoughts about Journals 1 & 2, as inspired by Forduary this year

I have too much going on to participate, but I really like the Forduary prompts this year!

Journal 3 has some things that help with inventing both Journals 1 and 2, I think.

Isn't it weird that gnomes and various other creatures are in Journal 3 instead of Journal 1, when it just feels like Ford would have met them 6 years ago when he first arrived to Gravity Falls? Like, did it really take six years before he wrote about or saw gnomes? Who knows, maybe! However you want to imagine it. I think Journal 3 itself can be used for examples of Journal 1, or you can work backwards from Journal 3 to invent more of what the landscape was like for Ford when he arrived here and was first getting his footing. Journal 3 has various bits looking back at his earlier years, like about his house being built iirc and Steve, so I think there is likely overlap with Journal 1 (and 2) already.

Journal 1 sounds fun as a novice Ford being awestruck by so many things for the first time, and trying as many experiments as he can, and having all kinds of inexperienced clumsy missteps. He traced this town as a big home of anomalies and now he is actually here, and beginning his dream on his own, fresh out of college! And there's all the locals to meet for the first time. Was it overwhelming in the best way possible that everywhere he looked there was just more and more and it felt impossible to possibly study it all? Were his first years really social while he tried interviewing everyone, before falling into his eventual status as a recluse who doesn't really connect with them, before he realized how lonely he was, or maybe he pushed through all of his negative feelings because there was so much that was exciting to focus on instead? Were there more weird holidays like Summerween that don't exist in 2012? Or, even, did Ford witness the very first year of Summerween? What are some local mysteries and ghost stories? Did he meet more of the parents of individuals we know about in 2012?

Were Ford's first notes a mess that he had to go back and reorganize later? Did he have to figure out ways of being better able to draw anomalies when life drawing isn't always an option? What's up with the camera and photos and all those other weird objects in his house in that one flashback scene in ATOTS? How much did Ford have to study and catalogue and take samples of local plants and water before he started noticing weird connections and magical influences? How did he figure out what equipment, tools, machinery, and anomaly specific magic detectors or whatnot that he needed? What was the iterative process like? Did he have a bunch of failed drawings, machines, and samples at the start? Did he hear about the underground weirdness black market and spend a lot of time trying to track it down before realizing how hopeless the endeavor seemed to be? One failure of many he would remember moving forward in his time here, but also exciting fuel to keep learning! Gravity Falls has so much to offer, far too much to stop learning just because of some unanswered mysteries.

I don't recall if Hirsch has ever spoken on the content of Journal 1 but I really think it has a lot of potential as a prompt if you're a little creative! Yeah it isn't super guided but I don't think it's boring at all!

And then Journal 2 is especially extremely super hype imo!! That's the one when he was really throwing himself into researching and learning about spells and magics, including spells he would even carry with him in Journal 3 as useful protective tools on excursions if I'm remembering that correctly. There's so much here that must be related to forest creatures, not to mention the artifacts. Did he catch wind of the Hand Witch or other potential similar individuals? The Love God? Were there more witches and creatures during the 80's than we see in Gravity Falls in 2012? Like how zombie uprisings were a regular monthly occurrence, mentioned in Journal 3, when that clearly chilled out and settled by the time of the show, not to mention the blood rain.

Wizard Ford! Warlock Ford! Ford, the DD&MD dork! Did he learn defensive enchantments? Was he really into useful utility spells instead, like one that keeps himself dry in rain? Or refills his quill ink? What offense might he have liked, or even felt uncomfortable with? Did he practice writing and learning sigils and runes and fae language? Did he sew any into his clothes, or wear any in temporary tattoos or skin paint? Were there things in the library or museum he was able to translate?

Were there other events like that carnival in Journal 3, or weird black magic holidays before such things were wiped from the townsfolks' memories? Was there more visible magic on average back then, and magic interacting with people and vice versa? How did Ford compare his experiences and studies with his beloved stories of fiction, historical reading, myths, and folklore? Did Ford make or find magic rings, pens, wands, hats, clocks? What are some really dumb and silly spells? Did he research how different phases of the moon, weeks in the month, days in the week, or certain hours in a day, or even the weather, influenced any of the rituals or how to acquire materials and items? Did some spells or rituals demand him to sit in pose for 12 hours before activating, and which spells or rituals were more instant or immediate? How about astrology?

This also overlaps with the period of time where Ford knew Bill for like 2 years before the portal was ever proposed, and before Ford had felt himself stuck at a dead end. Ford was still eagerly exploring and researching and practicing like normal, surely with some doubts and difficulties, but I think he was still starry-eyed, too. What was Bill like? How much did Bill help? How much of the stuff in Journal 2 came about from Bill helping Ford with leads, giving him breadcrumbs about things Ford wouldn't have known on his own? What questions did Bill answer, and did Bill tell Ford about any spells outright? Did Bill and Ford hang out working on translating runes together? Did Bill give Ford spells and sigils and all to solve himself like a mentally stimulating puzzle? Is this the period of time where Bill was the most like a practical helpful teacher and friend, and a stronger bridge between Ford and the local weird? Did Ford investigate different ideas about geometry and its relation to religion/spirituality/history/myth?

What potion recipes and ingredients could Ford have found and made and jotted down in Journal 2? The steps and materials needed for rituals? What about notes to be taken on the anomalous and magical properties of random materials and how those interact with mundane technology and science, like hen's teeth, fairy wing dust, certain mushrooms that only grow around fairy circles, silk from weird spiders? Or even how more familiar earthly materials interact with these, like mercury, blood, salt, gold, silver, onyx, honeycomb? What are some local legends and myths? Did Ford use any variety of magical ingredients, ritual, or spell for experiments specifically in his mindscape while he was asleep? Or maybe meditating in a fairy circle?

What offerings did Ford need to learn how to prepare for different creatures, spells, or rituals? Did he have to learn how to bake certain desserts as acceptable offerings? Did he have to make candles and parchment out of custom materials? Did he have to wear clothes of only very certain materials and dyes? If he got on the bad side of very dangerous creatures, or got himself cursed, how did he negotiate with them or figure out how to solve it? Does some magic only work on humans and not the beings of the forest? What experiences did Ford have regarding dreams and the mindscape? What experiments did Ford try? What technology and engineering did he attempt to etch with runes or control magics with? Did he have to lean more into his artistic skills and make sculptures, weave cloth, knit tapestries?

I don't remember if Hirsch has said anything about the contents of Journal 2 either outside of what we see in the show, and it's been a while since I've read Journal 3 to particularly remember what nods it may have had to Ford's pre-Journal 3 experiences. But there's so much potential! It's SO interesting!

I just completely don't relate at all to people who find these prompts boring just because two of the books basically don't exist. And if you don't like what Hirsch has said about them, then don't use or follow what he said? People always want more creativity about Ford's portal adventures and Stan's first acclimation to the weirdness of Gravity Falls after Ford disappeared, yet people are shutting down at the creative opportunity of these prompts.

There's so many different angles you can approach this stuff from, and I think that's a big part of what makes it fun to think about, personally! It is pretty hard to invent where there is nothing or not much guidance, but I think it is truly worth the attempt! There's nothing wrong with looking up secondary prompts if you need them, whether they're past Forduary/Stanuary/Fiddtober/Maybel/Dipcember/Dipril ones or from events like Funguary/Witchtober/Inktober/Mermay! I do really like how Stanuary has a bingo of additional prompts, and I think such a thing would be cool for Forduary too. I notice some previous years did have various extra prompt ideas.

I'm excited to see what people make, especially for Journal 2! Good luck everyone!! :D

[sysig]

Still a thief at heart, stealing kisses (Patreon)

[jrueships]

Paul George on Stephen A. Smith’s Kawhi Leonard jab: “I didn’t like that moment… Kawhi wants to play… We exhausted a lot out of Kawhi this season. So at some point your body breaks you down… I didn’t appreciate that moment. I know I laughed because the situation was lighthearted, but deep down it was like you gotta let that go, Stephen A.”

Paul George, knight in shining armor

[kaurwreck]

fav chuuya trivia: he’s a lightweight and a wine collector. combine it with the fact that poisons a weakness for him, ability wise, and too much alcohol is in fact poison. he chooses that often.

bonus: combine that with the fact that dazai’s coming of age came with going to a bar, and i don’t know what that means

anon cause shy

Untitled I. My dear, even though you treat me kindly, I'm stubborn. After we parted last night, I went drinking and berated some weakling. This morning, Waking up, I remember your kindness And sadly reflect on my vile behavior. And now, I, a total fraud, will here confess that, without shame, Stripped of all dignity, and therefore lacking honesty— I was urged on by my own illusions, raving mad. [...] III. In this world we sadly live in like this, your heart— Don't let it grow stubborn my dear Because I hope for intimacy with you Your heart— don't let it grow stubborn my dear.

[Excerpted from Poems of the Goat, written by Chuuya Nakahara, translated by Ry Beville]

[keeps-ache]

the urge to talk my head off vs. the calm of quiet vs. the Thoughts

[redflannelsheets]

.

[thatrandombystander]

*slamming fists on table and howling in anguish*

I want to play ttrpg with friends again 😭