#also what exactly did you want to achieve here

[jedibongrip]

Fucking groomers obikin shippers kys

do u need a hug? it seems like maybe u need a hug and some sleepy time tea if this is what you're getting worked up about

[3hks]

Writing Character CHANGE

Character development is absolutely CRUCIAL to a story, but having spent more time thinking about this topic, I came to the realization that I misunderstood a lot of points other people have made when teaching how to write character development.

There are a lot of factors that play into character development, but in this post, I'll cover some overall, but the main thing concerns any change to your character! (Which is also a huge part in development, really.)

So with this post, I'll be teaching you MY personal tips regarding this subject!

*The Basics*

Before we really get into the developmental stage, there are some things you want to establish, in which I'll explain later!

A couple of flaws.

How your character views themselves at first.

Your character's morals/ideals and how they think.

These things may vary, but you want your readers to be able to at least roughly predict how your character will act during specific events!

*Change*

Character development is just about how your character changes throughout the story. I like to say that there are several different ways one may change, (we'll get into that later on) but your character should NOT stay the same as the same person during the exposition and during the resolution!

"During character development, your character should grow."

This is a common piece of advice; your character needs to grow. And while I've assumed for the longest time that I understood what it meant, it never truly clicked.

While they will use words such as grow, what they really mean is that your character should mature. By the end of your story, your character may not always end up as a better person. When I say mature, I mean that they have reflected back on their life and have understood the consequences that came with their actions (if any) or how they could've done things differently.

Your character will not always end up as a better, fixed person, but they should understand their world and themselves better.

*Negative/Passive Change*

Alright then, so how does a character develop if they don't necessarily change for the better? Well, I'll get into that!

No matter what, your character should have learned a lesson through their experience. Even if they haven't exactly improved as a person, there should be a moral they can learn from what they have gone through.

If not, then did they really grow?

Additionally, how did their qualities negatively impact themselves? If they are bad traits, then it needs to be clear. And the best way to achieve this is by demonstrating how it hurts your character! However, it is rather uncommon for a character to undergo little to no change after a story!

*Positive Change*

Let's circle back to the basics, real quick. Remember how I said that before any development takes place, your character should be anything but perfect? That same thing applies to after the change.

Do NOT create a flawless character by the end of your story. Instead, focus on one or two flaws that get fixed as the story continues. These don't have to be huge, life-changing imperfections, but they can be minor ones that still shape their life in one way or another.

"Fixing" too many shortcomings can make your character seem, well, out of character, producing a character development that's more forced. The same thing applies if you're attempting to FULLY alter a fault that's just too big. The change will be too noticeable.

What am I talking about? Here's an example!

Imagine a character who's incredibly closed off to other people, wanting to ensure that he never gets too close to others.

That's a pretty sizable flaw, no? By the end of your story, you do not want to completely change because you need to preserve character, but you can change it a bit. Does he have a few friends now? Does he understand that there are some people worth trusting?

He may still be closed off to majority of people, but at least it's not everyone, and that's a realistic change.

*Different Changes*

As I continue to read more stories and watch more shows, I have realized that character development is not always about fixing flaws or personality, but it can extend far past that line.

So listen up, because I feel like no one really talks about this.

Your character can change their IDEALS, MORALS, and how they VIEW THEMSELVES.

Hear that? If your character has strong morals, they will hardly stay the same as they reach the end. Remember the requirements I mentioned at the beginning?

See how it connects now? There is SO much more to character development than changing a few imperfections. Like I said in the start, your character needs to grow and mature. Things like new morals or ideals assist with that!

*SUMMARY*

In order to start character development, you need a couple of flaws, an idea of how your character looks at themselves, and their morals. This is because those are the main parts of you character that may change through time.

Growth = Maturing (gaining a better sense of who they are and the world they live in.)

NOT ALL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IS POSITIVE!

For negative or passive change, make sure to clarify how their imperfections affected or hurt them and have some sort of moral that follows.

YOUR CHARACTER SHOULD NOT BE PERFECT!

They should not be perfect in the beginning, and not perfect in the end! Do not 'fix' too many traits because you want to preserve character.

I think that's all! It's quite the post for something so simple, eh? But hey, character development is absolutely PIVOTAL to a story so I hope I at least explained the 'change' part of that well!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[impactrueno]

let's talk about shoes (stick with me here for a sec)

beetleboots beetleboots beetleboots.

what's up with the three of them wearing combat boots? they go well with each of their character designs so it's not like they look out of place with the rest of their outfits, but knowing this is tim burton and colleen atwood, these things are not mere coincidence.

(spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice below)

a common complaint i've seen people mention about Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is that "there's too many villains," but today i'm here to talk about why each of them matter in the narrative tim wanted to present here. yes the boots are related we'll get to that in a minute

delores, rory and jeremy all have one thing in common: the use of romantic betrayal in order to achieve their own selfish goals, destroying their victims in the process.

this, in turn, makes beetlejuice, lydia and astrid have another thing in common: they were the victims of these romantic betrayals.

you may think "okay but why is that necessary?"

this sequel made the interesting choice of nudging beetlejuice out of the villain role. he's now just a weird ally/deuteragonist...or perhaps even...a protagonist? but that's not enough! why should we as an audience care about him or sympathize with him?

that's where delores comes in. delores is less of a character and more of a plot device. her purpose (besides serving cunt) is to give beetlejuice backstory and be to beetlejuice what beetlejuice was to lydia, only worse. i talked a bit more about it in this post. thanks to her, we now learn that beetlejuice was a victim. not just that, she's also the looming threat beetlejuice needs to justify his marriage to lydia (he seems to be under the impression that this would help him escape delores more easily, but personally i'm not so sure, i think she's more powerful than that.) her return in combination with lydia's return to winter river is what sets his plan in motion.

rory is a pretty self-explanatory villain so i don't think we have to go into that. he wasn't out to kill lydia...but he's a golddigger, so i don't doubt he would've set something up to lead her into having a fatal accident and claim insurance benefits.

jeremy's role in the plot was to make astrid realize that she was wrong about the supernatural, as well as put her in danger in the afterlife, which is the drive lydia needs to turn to beetlejuice for help.

the role of an antagonist is to oppose or be an obstacle to the protagonist's goal. these three are the three obstacles beetlejuice needs to overcome in order to marry lydia.

first, he needs to save astrid as part of the deal with lydia. so he gets rid of jeremy to give astrid her life back. he knows exactly what it's like to be romanced into a death trap. you can tell this was satisfying for him. later, fucker.

then, he needs her fiancé rory out of the picture if he intends to marry lydia. since he knows this guy is a total piece of shit and is lying to her to lead her into the same trap he himself fell into with delores, he simply gives lydia the tools she needs to kick his ass herself. teamwork!

third comes delores. he just needs to survive delores, basically. he tries to pair her off with rory to try and kill two birds with one stone, but the stone that ends up killing them both is the sandworm that astrid summoned, which beetlejuice then guided straight to them. teamwork once again! (beetlejuice and astrid got rid of each other's problems, that's kind of cool)

these three things being taken care of means that beetlejuice can finally marry lydia.............

............except he doesn't. why? because he helped lydia. by bringing her into the afterlife to look for her daughter, he violated code 699. and he did it immediately after signing that contract. hoist by his own petard, this dumbass.

sorry i got sidetracked again. we were talking about boots, right? right right.

beetlejuice, lydia and astrid all walked in each other's shoes.

everything in this movie comes in threes. names, villains, victims, obstacles and pairs of combat boots.

[evilminji]

Dani should Kidnap The Clones.

It's basicly protective custody. Preemptive child services, if you will. NONE of these fuckers out here makin adorable clone baby just cause they want kids!

*kicks down the door to your shady lab* Knock Knock! ITS THE POLICE! *Walker's Shock troopers swarm the place as Dani secures the kids*

Look me in the eyes. You KNOW he'd love an excuse to enforce The Rules on people technically outside his jurisdiction. It's for The Children(tm)! Why, he simply had no CHOICE!

Meanwhile? Dani is shoving all these mal-adjusted Murder Clones into her Lair? Which is? Basicly a Door style Lair she hid inside Danny's Lair for safe keeping. It's shoved behind a vending machine just outside the observatory. And the inside? Goes on for DAYS.

Like national parks and every beautiful beach she ever came across. She smashed together the BEST sights and places she's found in her travels, like a collection. Always adding more. New waterfalls, new noodle shops, new fields of wine grapes. It's... beautiful. Snapshots of every wonderous little thing about Earth, stitched together.

They can't hurt anyone. Can't achieve their "objectives". Are just treated like actual individuals and the children they truely are. Are surrounded by other Clones. So it's NORMAL here. Just? All of it.

But also?

Dani and Dan? Teaming up to make History's Scariest Adoption Agency(TM). Dan runs it. Dan wants to know why EXACTLY you want a kid. Explain yourself to Dan. What are your references? Qualifications. He's doing a home visit to inspect the premises. He BETTER not find any suspicious Labs.

And? It just? Appears out of nowhere. It's powered by Zone Bullshit. One second you're thinking "oh woe is me D:> I will never have a child to fill my lovely home, because of all my Superhero Secrets and also because government bureaucracy!" And the next?

.....wasn't that an out of business taco bell? "Zone Adoptions"?

"....Free Clone Baby?"

Okay that is HIGHLY suspicious and as a hero you are basicly legally obligated to investigate. But now it's bigger on the inside? Fancy waiting room? You are being interrogated? Wait, no, you're supposed to be the one doing the-?

Somehow? You leave with your Clone Son from another Dimension. And a pamphlet. You're scheduled for a home visit in three days. You... you never told them where you live.

Somehow that doesn't seem like it will slow them down.

Did the Fae just Suprise Baby you with a clone baby? Can they DO that? W... what's happening? What days is this? Who ARE YOU PEOPLE?! HUH!?!?

Just? Imagine. IMAGINE. I was gonna say Bruce... but?

Damian.

He finds himself... pondering What Could Have Been. Had his Clones not wanted him dead. Wondering if he could have saved them. If, perhaps, he had found them as infants. Raised them. Could he have given them a good life? Been a good father?

He gets emotional. Fatherly. He's about 14.

Dan's been around Ghosts too long to remember how humans age or how age relates to development. This one TALKS like An Adult. Must be one. Probably just short.

And Damian? Never backs down. The second Dan starts challenging him? His character is flawless and his morals divine. He has never done anything wrong, ever, in his LIFE. Fuck you. And on TOP of that? He not only will be the SINGLE GREATEST FATHER TO EVER FATHER, his home is the most loving and beloved ON THE PLANET!

In entirety of EARTH'S history, no less!

....what are they arguing about?

*is handed a baby and kicked out of Dan's adoption agency*

See you in a few days!

(o.o ) *happy gurgling from the baby* *Damian.exe has stopped working*

Smash cut, after Damian speed runs his stages of grief at his own Dumbass Life Choices, to his rocking back up at the Manor like? Congratulations, Father. I have brought you your first grandson! Do Not ask how I obtained him. It was likely dubiously legal but I will not be returning him. We have bonded.

And just? Annihilating the collective Bats on one go. You did what? You have What?! That is a baby! WHY IS THERE A BABY?! How is there a baby!? WHOS BABY!? *sirens going off and everyone panicking*

Will Damian be allowed to KEEP the Baby? Ha! Hell no. Bruce will. Damian is a child. But it will be a Needlessly Dramatic Bat Cold War Of Dramatic Drama to pry that small cherubic baby from his grip long enough for Bruce to fill out the paperwork.

Child thieving bastard that he is. How dare he. That is Damian's SON! D:<

*happy oblivious baby noises as Alfred feeds him in the background, while the Bats do their Dramatic Custody War*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

[bet-on-me-13]

Bruce Wayne was never Batman.

So! The night that Bruce Wayne's parents got shot, he developed an Unbreakable Resolve. He needed to get rid of the Crime that had taken his Parents away from him, no matter what.

But that night, he also developed a deep-seated fear of Death. He was face to face with his own Demise and instead of dying himself he saw his Parents die instead. He was Terrified of ending up like them.

But he still needed to stop Crime. He couldn't just let criminals go unpunished, and while he was still using his wealth to try and prevent it before it began, he knew there needed to be something to stop crime After it had been committed. And the Cops were useless on that Front.

He eventually found a solution while looking through his Parents Family Heirlooms.

Ancient Books dating back to the founding of Gotham and even before then, telling of a Creature from another world who his Ancestors had helped in the Past. A Being of Fear and Shadow, who owed a debt to the Wayne Family. He needed that Being. A Monster of Shadows and Fear was exactly the answer to scaring criminals away from committing crimes and punishing those who did.

But he needed to find the Being from another world first.

So he left home, traveling across the Globe training with the best Magicians and Demonologists in the world in search of the Monster who owed his Family a Debt. His travels took him far, from the streets of LA where he met a man named Zatara, to the Snowy Mountains of Nanda Parbat where he learned of the Lazarus Pits and the Demon's that came out of them.

While studying the Lazarus Pits, he was trained by the organization who guarded them. They despised Weakness, and while their leader was in awe of his Intelect he was less impressed by his body's conditioning. If he was to study the Lazarus Pits, he would first have to earn the Right in Combat.

He eventually managed to pass their Tests and eventually left them, having handed over a Copy of his research as the price for being allowed to Study the Pits.

Years later, he finally returned to Gotham, fully equipped to Summon the Being that owed him a Debt.

Bruce drew up the Summoning Circle as perfectly as he possibly could, he had one shot at it.

A drop of his blood and a splash of Lazarus Water later, and the Circle began to glow an ominous Green. Slowing, a shifting shadow began to emerge from the Circle, at first only a mass of writhing darkness before their form Solidified.

The Books he had found on the Spirit said that it would take the form of the Summoners Greatest Fear, which just so happened to be Bats for Bruce. The Form that the Spirit chose reflected that, with large Dark Wings falling over their form as if they were a Cape, and horns looking like the Ears of a Bat. From the Darkness, two glowing eyes appeared.

"Spirit, hear me. My name if Bruce Wayne, and I am calling in the Debt owed to my Family centuries ago. My City is plagued with crime and malice, rotting from its Core. My efforts to prevent Crime from the side of the Light have been in vain, Crime persists despite my efforts. In order for my vision to be fulfilled, the Criminals of this City must have their hearts pierced by Fear. Fear of Retribution. Fear of Consequences. Fear of Vengeance."

Thoughout bis Speech, the Shadowed Figure stayed silent.

"That is why I have called you here. I want you to stalk these streets, punish the criminals of this City and strike fear into their hearts from the shadows, so that they know to stay in the light. I don't want you to Kill them, never kill them. Let them live with that fear in their Hearts until their final days."

After he finished his speech, the Figure finally spoke.

"Your Quest is an Honorable one. You seek the betterment of your people's, and are unafraid to resort to drastic measures to achieve that goal. It reminds me of my Liege's resolve." It Spoke, it's voice low and rumbling. "Very Well. From this day forth, I shall protect your City from the Darkness in its own Heart. I shall be your Dark Knight."

...

Had this idea out of nowhere and needed to write it down. In this AU, Bruce still wants to protect his City from crime, but is understandably traumatized from seeing the Deaths of his Parents. He has a deep-seated fear of Dying, so he chooses to forgo fighting crime himself.

Instead, he finds out about a Spirit that his Ancestors helped long ago, and decides that the most logical next step out be to Summon a Demon to protect his City. Instead of training his Body for a decade to become Batman, he trains his Mind and Studies as much about Magic and Demon's as Possible.

He still knows how to fight because he trained with the League. He approached them with an offer to study the Lazarus Pits and give them his findings, and they accepted. But Ra's didn't want a weakling on his Base so he also required Bruce to train his body. He saw his potential for combat, and was so disappointed that Bruce had chosen a different path. He could have been Great!

Bruce still has a thing with Talia that produces Damian, he is still a point of interest from Ra's since he is insanely smart and has huge potential, and he knows how to fight pretty well. Albeit not as well as in Canon.

Bruce becomes the Benefactor/Guy in the Chair for Fright Knight (who is the one he summoned if you couldn't tell), who looks like a "Bat Man" because of Bruce's fear of Bats. Fright Knight agreed to this because 1.) He had a debt to pay, 2.) Bruce reminded him of Danny, and 3.) He respected Bruce's ballsyness to Summon a demon and command it to protect people.

Bruce still adopts his Kids, but there are some changes.

Dick is adamant about fighting Crime, and eventually Bruce is forced to let him go on patrol with Fright Knight, who has started going by Batman. Thankfully Frighty managed to give him some blessings so he had minor powers and would be safer.

Jason is mostly the same, and he is so excited that Robin actually IS Magical. When he dies, Fright Knight, who had gotten attached to their Family, goes into the Zone to search for him. He is unsuccessful unfortunately.

Tim is kind of funny. He figured out that Dick was Robin, and Jason was the 2nd Robi , but assumed that Bruce was Batman. When he approached Bruce about becoming Robin so he would stop going down his violent Cycle, Bruce Redirected him to talk to Fright Knight, who was not taking his failure to find Jason well.

Damien grew up knowing that his Father was a Genius, and the Master of the Batman, which gave him a bit of an Ego. At first he thought of Fright Knight as a Servant, and tried to command him like he did with Alfred. Frighty corrected him quickly enough.

Any more ideas for this AU? I have so many, but I think I need to stop for now.

[corroded-hellfire]

Hail to the Princess - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Summary: Halloween is here and all of the Munson children are excited. Putting a little makeup on your husband gets you excited as well.

Note: Happy Halloween!

Warnings: pregnant!reader

Words: 3.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Autumn was always the best season in Indiana. There’s a chill in the air, but there’s no bitter cold. The leaves turn beautiful colors and float down gently to meet the earth. All the spiced scents and soft clothes make it such a cozy time. Not to mention…Halloween.

The spooky holiday was always a favorite in the Munson household. You can still remember the very first Halloween after you met Eddie and the boys. You dressed up as a fairy, Ryan as Scooby Doo, Luke as a pirate, and Eddie decided to be boring and not don a costume. He also wasn’t planning on wearing one tonight when he takes Luke and Eliza out. 

Usually, both of you liked to go out with the kids—it was always fun to see them so excited and to check out the costumes of other trick-or-treaters darting from house to house. But this year, the end of your first trimester has you exhausted. This pregnancy seems to be making you even more tired than the first one did. Some days you barely have the energy to keep up with your rambunctious four-year-old when she gets home from school. 

This year, Ryan is going to a Halloween party at one of his friend’s houses. Eddie was a little nervous when he first heard the news, but you calmed him down by reminding him that Ryan is a good kid. It’s not that Eddie doesn’t trust Ryan, though–it’s that he doesn’t trust the other kids. But he has to let his son be a teenager.

Luke’s best friend has the flu, so instead of Sean joining your kids to go around your neighborhood, it’s just going to be the brother and sister duo. Plus Eddie, of course. 

Since you don’t get to go out and see Eliza and Luke in action (or Ryan, for that matter) this time around, you all decided that you will help them with any hair or makeup that needs to be done as part of their costumes. 

The moment she steps foot in the house after school, Eliza wants to start getting ready. After a quick shared snack of cut up grapes and pretzels, the transformation begins.

The first step for Eliza is to take a bath and wash her hair. Your headstrong daughter told you that she wanted straight hair because she doesn’t want her crown to snag in her curls. You can’t blame her honestly—you remember the tiara debacle from her second birthday. 

But to achieve your little girl’s request, you have to use a blow dryer to give her a proper blow out. You had no clue how to do this, so thank God for YouTube. You must’ve watched every tutorial you could find—which was not a lot, honestly—on blow drying a child’s spiral curls. 

Surprisingly, Eliza is calm and patient while you do your best to remember advice from the videos. The four-year-old sits in a chair parked in front of your vanity as you buzz around behind her. The plethora of clips you have prepared to section off the hair lay in front of Eliza, practically begging for her to pick them up and play with them. And being four, that’s exactly what she does.

“Okay, here we go,” you say once you have every section of hair parted like you want. “Ready?”

Eliza gives you a thumbs up in the mirror, a neon green hair clip on the tip of her finger. 

Drying the first few chunks of hair makes you feel a bit uncoordinated and wish you had a few more hands to help out, but once you get into the groove, you find the blowing out pretty easy. It also makes Eliza’s hair soft and silky, the strands running through your fingers like a cool breeze. 

“It feels so pretty!” Eliza exclaims once you’ve finished her entire head. She laughs as she runs her fingers through her straightened hair. Neither of you have seen it this way before. Of course she looks absolutely beautiful, but you do miss her curls. 

Eliza hops down from the chair and looks up at you, batting her unfairly long eyelashes. 

“Now makeup?” she asks, voice syrupy sweet.

You let out a bark of laughter as you put your hair dryer away.

“Do you want your father to divorce me?” you joke. 

“It’s Halloween!” Eliza argues.

“I know, I know,” you say. You’re too tired to argue with her and if Eddie wants to argue later, he can say whatever he wants to your sleeping body. 

“Just a little?” Eliza holds her thumb and forefinger half an inch away from one another. 

“Just a little,” you acquiesce. 

You pat the seat in front of your vanity and Eliza climbs back up. She continues to admire her straight locks as you dig out your makeup bag. 

“Okay,” you say as you rifle through it. A pale blush catches your eye and you scoop that out along with a coral lipstick. You’re not going to put any eye makeup on her though—you need to save your eyeliner for Luke, anyway. You hold up the two items you plucked out and show them to Eliza. “Good?”

She stretches her neck to give them the best inspection she possibly can. What she’s trying to determine, you have no idea. Eventually though, she must find it.

“Good,” she affirms with a nod of her head. 

Dusting the blush on the tops of her round cheeks makes you smile. You’re having fun with this. Sure, you and girlfriends would have fun getting all dolled up when you were younger, but that doesn’t hold a candle to being able to do that with your daughter now. 

“My goodness,” you say, mostly to yourself, as you finish applying the blush. “Next thing I know you’ll be going to prom.”

Eliza giggles at this.

“Mooooom! That’s Ryan!”

You smile and nod your head in concession. Ryan will be going to his junior prom this year. 

“Alright,” you say to Eliza. “Put your lips like this.” You open your mouth, showing your daughter how to position herself best for you to apply lipstick. “This will probably come off when we have dinner, but we can reapply.”

Once you’re finished and capping the small golden tube of lipstick, Eliza examines herself in the mirror. Not just her straightened hair now, but her doe brown eyes study her face as well. An adorable, dimpled grin grows on her face, and it makes your heart swell. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Eliza Marie Munson?” 

You pick her up from the chair and hold her on your hip. She’s getting too old for this—plus, you probably shouldn’t be doing this since you’re pregnant—but you want to hold your baby girl. 

“I don’t mean just right now. Always so beautiful,” you say. “Your smile, your eyes, your hair. Your adorable little nose that I just wanna bite.” You teasingly scrape your front teeth over the tip of her nose. She giggles and pulls her face away. 

“I’m pretty like Mama,” Eliza says. 

Even if you didn’t have pregnancy hormones coursing through your body, her words would have caused the same effect. Warm tears flood your eyes, and it takes maximum effort to keep them from spilling. 

“Maybe I’m pretty like Eliza,” you say once you’re able to speak.

The little girl shakes her head, straight hair swaying like a sleek silk sheet in the wind.

“You were first!” she says.  

“You’re such a smarty.”

“I know!”

Eliza is practically vibrating in excitement when you pull her Halloween costume out of the closet. She gasps with joy when her eyes land on the pink Sleeping Beauty dress. You slip the polyester over her head and she’s quick to pull her soft, straight hair out of the way. As soon as you have the back zipped up, the little girl starts galloping around her room.

“I’m a princess, I’m a princess!”

“We’ll save the crown for later, okay, Your Majesty?” you say as you close her closet.

“Kay!”

Eliza’s galloping turns to skipping as she goes through her bedroom door and down the hallway. There’s a smile on your face as you follow her out—walking slowly in your case, though. 

“Mama? Can we watch Sleeping Beauty?” she asks once you’re in the living room with her.

“Sure thing, sweet pea.”

You pop in the DVD, then plop down on the couch, your body thankful for the rest after you’ve been so active the last hour or so with Eliza. 

You’re expecting your daughter to climb up on the couch with you, but instead, she starts marching in circles between the coffee table and the television. Her costume goes schwick, schwick, schwick with every step she takes; the polyester rubbing up against itself and her short legs. 

The movie opens upon the kingdom celebrating the birth of the new princess, and Eliza begins to sing along, her step never faltering. 

Hail to the Princess Aurora

All of her subjects adore her

Hail to the King, hail to the Queen

Hail to the Princess Aurora

Health to the Princess

Wealth to the Princess

Long live the Princess Aurora

As the narrator comes back to speak, Eliza comes over and settles herself next to you on the worn couch. She sits on her knees, facing you. It’s silent for a minute—unusual for this household. Then, the small girl leans forward and rests one hand on your swollen belly.

“Mommy?” she asks.

“Yes, my love?” You tuck a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

“Ryan named me, right?”

“Well, he was the first one who suggested the name. Daddy and I are the ones who decided on it,” you explain.

She nods her head in understanding, the piece of hair you put behind her ear falling forward again with the motion. 

“Can I sugges…uh, uhjest, zuh…”

“Suggest?” you offer kindly.

“Yeah, that. Can I suh-gest a name?” she asks.

“Go ahead, sweet pea.”

Eliza leans in closer to your belly. She rubs her small hand from side to side; it almost looks like she’s a waitress trying to wipe down a table. 

“If the baby’s a girl, I think you should name her Aurora,” she declares. 

You watch as Eliza stares at your bump, like if she looks hard enough, she’ll see the baby growing beneath your layers of skin and muscles. It brings a smile to your face, how much she already cares about her little sibling. 

“I think that’s a beautiful name.” And you do, you’re not just patronizing her.

“Yeah?” Eliza’s head tilts up and she looks at you with wide eyes. Eyes so much like her father’s that it sometimes takes your breath away. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a nod. “I’ll bring it up to Daddy.” 

A proud smile grows on your daughter’s coral-painted lips. She gives one last loving pat to your belly before situating herself so she’s sitting next to you, hip to hip.

“We’re not going to know if the baby is a boy or girl until they’re born, though,” you explain before the four-year-old gets caught up in the movie again. “I have the doctors soon and they’re going to let us see a picture of the baby. But Daddy and I decided we want to be surprised.” 

“Did you know me?” Eliza asks, her head tilting to the side like an inquisitive puppy. 

“Yep! They told us you’re a girl and Daddy and I were so happy.”

A thoughtful hum emanates from the small girl as she turns her attention back to the movie. A minute later, she lifts your arm so she can snuggle into your side. You happily wrap your arm around her and enjoy the cuddles. 

When it’s time for dinner, Eliza does not want to change out of her princess costume. So, in order to keep it stain-free through the meal, you wrap her up in her fluffy pink bathrobe. She finds this hilarious and waddles to the dinner table like a pink Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. 

The moment her bottom lands in her chair, Eddie is looking at the little girl with a raised eyebrow. His gaze then shifts to you. When he pointedly looks back at Eliza, then you, you realize it’s about the makeup. But you’re going to make him say it out loud.

“What?” you ask, spearing a green bean with your fork.

“I didn’t know we had Tammy Faye coming to dinner tonight,” he says. 

You roll your eyes as all three of your kids chime in with, “Who?”

“Eliza is a princess, Eddie. She deserves the royal treatment,” you say. 

“Uh huh,” he hums before taking a sip of his water.

“What time is Chase’s mom picking you up tonight, Ryan?” you ask.

Your eldest wipes his mouth off with an already messy napkin before responding.

“Like, eight, I think.”

“Make sure his mom takes pictures of you all!” you add.

“Whatchu gonna be?” Eliza asks, twirling a green bean around on her fork.

“Me and my friends are going as The Beatles,” he tells her.

“You’re gonna be bugs?” Eliza’s eyes practically pop out of her tiny skull. 

“No,” Ryan says with a chuckle. “The Beatles are a band.”

“Yeah, you like that one song they sing,” Luke chimes in. “Desmond takes a trolley to the jeweller's store. Buys a twenty-carat golden ring. Takes it back to Molly waiting at the door and as he gives it to her, she begins to sing!”

Eliza’s eyes light up.

“Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah! La-la, how their life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, brah. La-la, how their life goes on!”

She wiggles in her seat as she sings, using her fork as an impromptu microphone. 

“Which Beatle are you?” Luke asks.

“George,” Ryan replies.

“Aw, is that because everyone always forgets about you, too?” Luke jokes, a smirk on his face.

Ryan shoves Luke, which only makes the younger brother laugh harder.

After dinner and once you’ve reapplied Eliza’s lipstick, the little girl sits on the edge of the bathtub and watches you do Luke’s makeup. You’re no makeup artist, but you know more than the teenage boy does, so he puts his trust in you to make him look like an authentic zombie.

It mostly consists of making his face look as sickly pale as possible and contrasting that with dark eyes. You’re pretty sure you’ve put so much eyeliner on your son that it will take him all night to scrub off. Or, knowing Luke, he’ll just leave it and try to sneak out of the house like that in the morning. Somehow, you don’t think his school would appreciate that. 

“Do you have any green stuff?” Luke asks as you cap the eyeliner.

“Green stuff? What do you mean? Like, eyeshadow?”

“Yeah! I wanna look kind of moldy.” His eager grin makes you chuckle as you rifle through your makeup bag.  

“Eww!” Eliza wrinkles up her nose.

“Well, sorry, Your Highness.” Luke says as you pull out a palette of eyeshadow containing a forest green shade. “We zombies can’t be as clean and fancy as you princesses!”

Your four-year-old stands up and smooths out the ruffles of her skirt with an air of someone five times her age. 

“Try,” is all the little girl says before walking out of the bathroom. 

You and Luke look at one another before bursting into laughter.

“How do I look?” Luke slides into the room on his socked feet with his arms held out at his sides. He’s changed into a pair of jeans that incidentally are ripped almost all the way down the left side after he tore them trying to hop over a fence. Luckily, it was only a few weeks ago, so Luke knew he could keep them for this very night. On top he’s wearing an old grease and oil-stained white t-shirt that Eddie will throw on under his coveralls for work, and an old blue and green flannel of Wayne’s that he took a pair of scissors to, so it looks ripped and ragged. 

“Wait, where’s your costume?” Ryan asks sarcastically, adjusting the black skinny tie he’s wearing. “I thought you were going to put on makeup?”

“Ha ha,” Luke deadpans while Eliza’s brow furrows.

“He does got makeup on,” she says.

“Ryan was just trying to be mean and say Luke looks like this all the time,” Eddie leans down to her on the couch to explain.

“Oh. Mean, Ryan!”

“Well, you look lovely, Your Majesty,” Ryan replies, bowing down before her.

The flattery clearly works with his little sister as she smiles proudly and kicks her feet excitedly. 

You stroll into the room just as there’s a knock on the front door.

“That’s probably Chase,” Ryan says before heading in that direction.

“Looks good, Luke,” Eddie tells his younger son. 

“I have a good makeup artist,” he replies. 

“What about Daddy?” Eliza pipes up.

“What do you mean, sweet pea?” he asks her. 

“You don’t got a costume or makeup.”

“I don’t need any,” Eddie tells her with a shake of his head.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “I kinda agree with her.”

Your husband cocks an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

“Mhmm,” you hum. “Luke, can you go grab the eyeliner from my makeup bag?”

The zombie salutes you before heading back down the hall.

As you start to slowly walk towards the couch, Eddie looks at you with an unamused expression. 

“Do I really need makeup, babe?” His voice is as flat as his interest.

“I guess you don’t need it,” you say, shrugging one shoulder. When you come to stand in front of him, you place one knee on each side of Eddie’s hips, straddling his lap. “I think you’d look really good in some eyeliner, though.” Your hands slip up into his hair, where you give a gentle tug. “Since I don’t get to go trick-or-treating, maybe that could be my treat tonight?”

Eddie’s look of disinterest quickly morphs into excitement. 

“Whatever my princess wants,” Eddie croons.

“Uh, Daddy!” Eliza complains from the cushion next to you. “I am the princess!”

“Right,” Eddie says, turning his head to look at her. “Silly me. I forgot I have two princesses tonight.”

Ryan pops back into the room, his friend Chase right on his heels, when he sees you sitting in his dad’s lap with your hands in his hair. He automatically skids to a stop and begins to turn around.

“Nope,” he says, pushing his friend back towards the front door. “Don’t wanna be here for whatever this is. I’ll be back later!”

“Be careful,” you shout after him, while Eddie calls out, “Have fun!”

Luke returns with your eyeliner, and you happily accept it from him. Eliza stands up on the couch cushion and leans against your shoulder as you take the cap off the black pencil.

“I wanna watch,” the little princess says. 

“You can be my supervisor,” you say as you adjust yourself in Eddie’s lap. “Look up,” you tell him.

Eddie lifts his chin to look at the ceiling, but you guide his head back down where it was. 

“With just your eyeballs, please,” you clarify.

Following your instructions, Eddie’s eyes look skyward as you gently pull down on the lower lid of his left eye. Your hand is steady as you run the pencil back and forth against his waterline. 

It’s a good thing two of your kids are in the room because, just having a little bit of eyeliner on, you’re already eager to jump your husband’s bones. 

“It’s a crime you don’t wear this more,” you murmur as you move your concentration to his upper eyelid.

“Well, maybe after tonight I will,” Eddie answers in a velvety tone.

“Dad, why would you—ugh, gross.” 

Eddie smirks as Luke catches on to what the two of you are alluding to. You let out a soft chuckle as you move to his other eye.

“Why don’t you have Luke put your crown on you?” You suggest to Eliza.

“Yes!” 

She quickly hops off the couch and runs over to Luke, grabs his hand, and attempts to drag him down the hallway with her. 

Eddie rests his hands on your hips as you finish up, rubbing his thumbs against the material of your sweatpants. 

“Want me to be your rockstar tonight?” Eddie asks.

“And I will be your groupie,” you say as you pop the cap back on the pencil. Arousal kicks up in you as you take in the sight of your already-sexy husband in eyeliner. “Your groupie who will let you do whatever you want to her,” you purr.

“Happy Halloween, indeed,” Eddie says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“You done?” Eliza asks as she bursts back into the room, her plastic golden crown perched on top of her head. “Good! Let’s go, Daddy!”

“But Mommy’s on my lap,” Eddie says.

“Mamaaaaa,” Eliza whines. “Get up!”

“Excuse me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Please,” she adds softly.

“Yeah. Please,” Luke adds as he follows his little sister back in the room.

Both you and Eddie chuckle as you slide off his lap. You press a kiss to his lips.

“Alright, you guys,” you say to all three of them, “be safe and have a good time.”

“We will!” Eliza assures you.

She picks up her pink pumpkin bucket from the coffee table and hands her older brother his blue one.

“Let’s go!”

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as the little girl marches towards the front door in her pink princess dress.

“I guess we’re going,” Luke says as he follows after her. 

Eddie presses one last kiss to your lips.

“Maybe I’ll be wearing something different when you get home,” you tease. “Something…lacier, perhaps.”

Eddie groans and drops his head back.

“I’m about to make these kids get their candy in record time,” he says.

You giggle and shove him towards the front door.

“Alright, Mr. Rockstar. Go have fun.”

“Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too.”

Once the door closes behind the three of them, you let out a deep sigh and grab a handful of candy from the bowl that’s prepared for the trick-or-treaters. 

“How about it?” you ask your baby, looking down at your stomach. “We deserve some candy too, right? Right.”

The small batch of fun-sized candy bars fall into your lap as you plop down on the couch and grab the remote.

“Ooh, Beetlejuice,” you say as you come upon a channel playing the movie. “You’re in for a treat, kiddo. This is a good one.”

[astraystayyh]

An eye for an eye.

assassin!hyunjin x journalist!yn. slow burn. suggestive and angsty at times. she/her pronouns. 7.4k.

it is perhaps the most decisive night of your life. what are the odds that at the same time and place, it happens to be hyunjin’s too?

warnings: mention of alcohol, guns, bruises and injuries. brief talks of grief.

a.n: this is prompted by how hot villain hyunjin looks in the ate era 😭 it was supposed to be a drabble and i didn’t plan on it to be this long.. but i hope you’ll enjoy reading tehee it’s different from anything i’ve ever written so please feedback would be so appreciated,, muah muah 😘❣️

A ruby red lipstick. 

Your first childhood dream was to become a journalist, but not the complacent, obedient kind. You wanted to shed light on uncovered events, dig into the raw truth with your claws, and hold it up for the entire world to witness. You craved justice. You never believed in letting things flow their way, like a current that morphs into a torrent, destroying everything in its path.

No, you were a dam, forcing the water to change its trajectory. After all, you have always believed that all it took for change to happen was a trigger, a single flicker that would in turn burst into flames.

You wished to be it.

It was hard to grow into this specific kind of journalist, though. Not because you lacked drive, passion, or discipline. Especially not because you weren’t curious enough, brave enough. You were Seoul Press’s youngest and brightest reporter, after all.

But in a highly competitive field, you still needed your big story, your breakthrough which would put you on the radar of esteemed awards that all journalists venerate. Though you deemed it much easier to obtain a Pulitzer than to squelch your heart’s quest for truth, justice, and most importantly, in an unpredictable curb that life threw at you— revenge.

Your second childhood dream was to put on ruby red lipstick. Your thirteen-year-old self deemed it the ultimate show of power and confidence, each time you saw your aunt wearing one to her most important meetings. You dreamed of the day you could put it on as well, on your way to uncover the truth. 

And tonight, as you applied your ruby lipstick precisely, gliding the vibrant color across your lips, you felt nerves tighten like thorny vines in your stomach, puncturing your tender skin and leaving you a bloodied mess from within. 

Tonight, in your black gown and your ruby lipstick, in San Heo’s mansion, your country’s most prominent presidential candidate, and the man who ruined your life, it seemed like you were about to achieve both dreams at once.

… 

The clock hand points nine on Hyunjin’s Tank Louis Cartier watch. He throws a fleeting glance at the Victorian watch, before eyeing the people mingling at San Heo’s party. 

He knows all of the guests, memorized their faces and their habits. He knows the school where they drop off their kids and what bar they frequent every Sunday. He memorized their mannerisms and antics, knows what set them off and what did not.

This is the fruit of two years of work, after all.

He knows exactly why everyone is here, tonight particularly. Three politicians’ families and friends gathered as a show of power, to prove that they weren’t afraid of whoever’s been forcing politicians to come clean about their crimes for the past three months.

In the least glamorous manner, at that too, to put it delicately—ten bloodied tapes sent to the country’s most prominent media channels, where ministers and heads of multinationals are bound by ropes to a chair, recalling their most heinous crimes: money laundering and embezzlement for most, theft and murder for some.

The latter is Jung Cho’s case, San’s most successful competitor for the presidency, who has also mysteriously vanished from the police’s grasp since the release of his tape. No one can get a hold of poor Jung Cho anymore. 

Hyunjin smirks lightly to himself. His knuckles seem to have healed well since he last dislocated Jung Cho’s jaw. Well, that was before he shot him through the roof of his mouth.

The golden cuffs of Hyunjin’s Versace blazer reflect the light of the dangling crystal chandeliers, and he runs a weary hand through his black locks. He never chose to gel them back; he wasn’t one for structure, preferring the feeling of his silky strands brushing against his fingers. 

His eyes catch those of San’s across the room, who tips his glass of whiskey towards Hyunjin—a job well done, he reads in San’s stare. Hyunjin raises his red wine back, before settling it across the table once more.

It is a boring half an hour that awaits Hyunjin.

That is until he sees you.

You weren’t here two minutes ago, Hyunjin is sure of this. And, judging by the way you are leisurely sipping your sparkling water, your eyes gliding across the room in search of someone in particular, you had just stepped foot into the party.

Fashionably late, if he were to add.

But that is none of Hyunjin’s concern. What intrigues him the most is that your face isn’t familiar to him. That isn’t normal.

You weren’t supposed to be here, then.

Who are you?

As if hearing his question, your gaze locks onto his. He cocks an eyebrow at you; you mirror the gesture like clockwork.

Thus ensues an intense game of eye contact. You don’t break away from his gaze until two minutes later, a light scoff escaping your lips that he can discern even from afar. You then turn to look at San, your eyes morphing into something fiercer, more determined— a sniper finally locking eyes on its target.

Hyunjin feels a slight headache growing at the base of his temple. He downs his drink, before taking long strides towards you.

It’s official, you’re going to be his nuisance for the night.

27 minutes.

“Care to dance?” Hyunjin inquires as he materializes before you, a hand extended towards your body.

“Pardon?”

“A dance? To the lovely music we are hearing right now?” 

“I know what you mean,” you roll your eyes, leaning your body against the chair right next to you. Hyunjin’s eyes glaze over your legs peeking through the high slit of your dress. Had it been another setting, the sight of your black sheer tights would have made this night turn much differently.

Your voice dispels his thoughts like morning fog. “I mean why are you asking me?”

“Because I’m bored.”

“How flattering,” you grin sarcastically and Hyunjin feels the smallest urge to return your smile, although he knows it isn’t genuine.

“I know. Shall we?”

Your gaze flees to San once again, seemingly debating something in your head before finally sighing.

In the few seconds of scrutiny you consecrate to his boss, Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on your bright red lipstick, and the way you tuck your lip slightly into your mouth as you ponder.

A beautiful nuisance, he corrects himself.

“Fine,” You place your manicured hand in his in response.

“What’s your name?” he asks, as he settles one hand atop your waist. The fabric of your black dress is too thin, he can feel the heat emanating from your body seeping through his palm.

Focus. You need to discover who she is.

“Julia,” your hand settles atop his shoulder, while the other entwines with his. “And you?”

“Sam. What are you doing here?” he quickly inquires.

You shake your head slightly, gliding your hand from the base of his neck to the end of his shoulder.

“Isn’t it my turn to ask you a question?”

Hyunjin tilts his head curiously at you, before smirking slightly— “Yes ma’am.”

“What do you work for?”

“I’m Mr. Heo’s political adviser.”

“You’re quite young, though,” you note.

“I know.”

“And I don’t see you by his side a lot.”

“I work in the background, mostly. I don’t do well with the cameras.” He spins you around, picking up speed as the orchestra picks up the violin. “How do you know Mr. Heo?”

“I’m Kang’s niece, you know, Mr. Heo’s economic adviser? Uncle Kang is ill, and my father is out of the country so both of them chose not to come.”

Hyunjin’s memory faintly brushes off Kang’s single niece, completing her architectural studies in Paris’ Sorbonne. 

“C’est beau à Paris?” Is it beautiful in Paris?

You don’t even blink— “Même magnifique, tu devrais visiter.” Marvelous even, you should visit. 

Checks out.

“I’ll hold you on to that offer,” he says, before spinning you around, your chest settling across his back. Hyunjin ignores how his heart skips a singular beat at your proximity.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, his lips tantalizingly close to the shell of your ear. He watches as your chest rises once before your airy voice floods his ear.

“Networking, though you didn’t quite allow me to speak to anyone but you,” you tease slightly.

“I fail to see what an architect has to do with politicians,” he muses, as he sways you gently from left to right.

“I want to oversee the building of Jamsil Sports Complex.”

“So you’re using your father for work connections?” he taunts and you swivel around, placing both your hands on his shoulders before interlinking your fingers behind his neck, caging him within the notes of your perfume.

“Is it a crime?” your voice is airy, too airy, everything you say sounds rehearsed, you don’t seem intimidated by him, by this setting, as opposed to how a newly graduated student, one who grew up away from her father’s world should.

“Depends on your definition,” he counters.

“Do you regard it as such?”

Hyunjin’s gaze flickers all over yours. He senses something urgent in your gaze, as if you are pushing for more, beyond what this simple question entails.

When he remains quiet for a tad too long, you let your hands drop by your body, taking a step away from him.

“I need to go,” you say. He grabs your wrist instantly. “Where to?”

“Bathroom.” And with that, you quickly turn around and walk away, leaving behind notes of your floral perfume and ghosts of your ruby lips.

Hyunjin steals a glance at his clock. 09:13 p.m.

He drags a hand across his forehead wearily. He won’t let you ruin this night.

17 minutes. 

You are washing your hands obsessively in the bathroom, lost in thought as you gaze at your reflection, all blurry from your unfocused eyes. You only turn off the water once your skin starts to sting from the force of your touch. 

The orange-scented soap doesn’t seem to get rid of the stench of blood. 

A week ago. 

“I don't understand your obsession with Mr. Heo,” Christopher Bang calmly removed his glasses, placing them next to the shiny placate reading ‘Editor in Chief of Seoul Press’.

“He is corrupt.”

“As all politicians are,” he spoke matter of factly, and it angered you how unfazed he seemed before your, you admit, far-fetched request. 

“You don’t understand, sir. He’s different.”

“Did he do something to you?” Chris asked, leaning back against his chair. You felt exposed all of a sudden, like a flower left bare without its stem. 

“Would my answer change anything?” You inquired tentatively. 

“It would explain many things, yes actually,” he got up from his chair, before sitting on the one right across from you. “You are a talented journalist, Yn.”

“Thank you—“

“But you are utilizing the company’s resources to conduct your personal investigation on San Heo.” 

He knew. 

“You’ve been working on his case from the day you joined our media. Which was exactly 389 days ago. I know that you’ve managed to uncover quite some dirt, one that would make an explosive case if you get more information. That’s why I turned a blind eye to everything you did because I trust your skills and integrity.” 

You remained silent.

“But now, you’re asking me to completely disregard my deontology by finding a way for you to break into Mr. Heo’s mansion. That is a crime.”

“Not break in. I want an invite to his party, it is the first time he organized one in his home, probably the last time, it is my only chance to—”

“Details,” he waves a hand disinterestedly in the air, cutting you off. “Your intentions aren’t to mingle with politicians, it is to dig in his office and find something of substance. While I admire the lengths of what you want to go through, I must stop you here.” He leveled his eyes with yours. “This can land you in jail, he is the most important man in our country right now.”

“What if I tell you he did something to me, that he ruined my life? Would you help me then?” your voice was hoarse, tears pricked your eyes as you tried your best not to avert your gaze. You hated displays of weakness, despised them even more in professional settings. 

“What did he do?” 

You bristled at the question, ugly memories flashing before your eyes like a blinding light, your body begging you to flee away from this question and the heavy response it entailed.

Still, you spoke. 

Christopher remained silent as you recalled what happened on your doomsday, the night in which your world ceased to spin, and simultaneously, the reason why you joined his company, to begin with. When your sniffles subsided a few minutes later, he gently handed you a napkin, a silent invitation to wipe away the tears that had escaped.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his weary face before finally speaking. 

“I’ll give you the invite tomorrow. Say that you are Kang’s niece, her name is Julia. She went to Paris for architectural studies, and that you are back for a vacation. Kang is ill these days, he won’t attend the party, and his brother is out of the country, no one will question you.”

“How do you know this?” 

“Because I know them,” he toyed with his lower lip lightly before a tiny smile drew upon it. “An eye for an eye, right? I’m Kang’s cousin. I changed my last name because I didn’t wish to deal with them anymore.” 

“So Bhang isn’t your real last name?”

“No.” He ran his thumb across his lower lip, seemingly debating adding something. “San’s office is on the far end of the third floor.” 

You heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

13 minutes. 

It was one thing to stare at photographs of San seared behind your reddened eyelids or to stand at the far end of his press conferences. It was another to step foot into his mansion, to stand amidst powerful people who are capable of ruining your life had they known of your motives. 

But you didn’t have time to dwell on your personal feelings. Fear, nerves, all of those feeble emotions pale before the chance you have today. So, you nod at your reflection in the mirror, count to three in your head, and finally head out of the bathroom. 

“Five minutes, were you crying?” Sam’s bored voice startles you as soon as you set foot outside. He’s leaning on the wall across from the door, hands deep into the pockets of his suit.

Not again. 

“I know that I’m very pretty but don’t you have better things to do than to follow me?” you ask, pausing right in front of him. 

“I’m not following you, I just happen to be particularly fond of the architecture of this corridor,” he jokes and you ignore his words, walking past him with a renowned determination. He pushes himself off the wall, only to grasp your wrist once again, spinning you around until you’re facing him. 

He chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side. His icy blue contacts pierce through your skin like a puncture needle.  “You know, I’m curious, Julia. You seemed very eager to get away from me.”

You take a step forward, closing the distance between you two. “Have you considered that I found your company utterly boring?”

“You wound me,” he places a hand on his heart, any trace of humor absent from his voice. His grip tightens on your wrist for a millisecond. A warning. “I need you to leave.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

“And why should I listen to you?” you challenge and his eyes darken further. 

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then let me go,” you mutter, slipping your hand away from his grasp. 

“Julia,” he says sternly, pulling you back till your back is against the wall, his hands rooted on either side of your body. 

It is a dimly lit hallway, and the sound of the orchestra barely reaches you. Your worry intermingles with a new kind of nerves, all orchestrated by his proximity, and the way his gaze brushes against your body like a skilled painter. 

“I’m not joking, leave.” His voice is much softer when he adds, “It’s for your own good. What will happen later doesn’t concern you.”

He knows something that you don’t know, something that, from his tone, none of the guests are aware of. You see something human in his eyes, in the slight crease doting his eyebrows. He seems genuinely worried for the innocent civilian he thinks you are. 

Your eyes turn to look at his hand near your head, only to notice his faintly bruised knuckles, shades of purple and green doting a delicate porcelain skin. They have healed well, then. 

Should you unearth the memory from two weeks ago— pleas for mercy, a deafening gunshot, and an excruciating silence afterward, the quiet after the murder that you remember most? 

Then, another scene rings in your head like bells of an ancient church— a bruised hand brushing against your own in an art gallery from two days ago, raven locks, and familiar, melancholy-tinted eyes. 

Could it be? 

Your voice turns sweet, tender, “should I trust you for the night?” your thumb brushes against the skin underneath his eye, wiping away the concealer you knew you spotted.

There it is, the eye mole you thought he covered. 

It clicks in your mind in an instant, pieces of a puzzle falling into place, there are still a few missing but you manage to grasp the bigger picture.

If he’s not letting you go then he could be of good use. 

What other choice do you have but to gamble with a killer? 

Your sharp nails drag across the nape of his neck, before settling right beneath his jaw. You mimic a gun, his eyes narrow in response.

“Is this how you killed Jung Cho, Hyunjin?” 

You feel a cold barrel instantly press against your stomach. “Police officer?” he asks. 

“No.”

“Journalist ?”

“Yes,” you slowly mutter.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t wish to tell you.” The gun only presses further onto your skin. You feel a cold bead of sweat roll down your exposed spine. 

Breathe. 

“It’s Yn.”

“What do you know?”

“It’d be easier for me to talk if you removed the gun,” you smile lightly and Hyunjin only leans further, a distance as thin as a blade between you both.

“Speak.”

“You killed the only candidate that stood a chance in front of San. You drove him to the empty deposit near Inwangsan Mountain, tortured him for three days, filmed his confessions, and then sent them to many media outlets. Ours included. I know it because I followed you.” 

“Why did you follow me?” he questions. Your eyes flee to the end of the corridor where an impossible staircase sits. You are wasting your time. 

“Because I am investigating San. And through following him I ended up getting to know you. You are different from everyone he meets. Very secretive. So I figured it’d be worth a shot following you too,” you explain as calmly as you can. You’re sure the barrel of the gun will leave a bruise on your skin. 

“And why didn’t you write a piece about me? Everyone is dying to know who I am.”

“I have, I just haven’t released it. If I don’t come back home in an hour my head chef will post the video of you murdering Mr. Cho on every SNS. The public loves you for what you’re doing. But the politicians will come together to kill you. They have a price on your head. You are threatening everything they ever built.” 

Hyunjin drags his gun up your stomach slowly, trails it across your collarbones before it settles on your jaw. 

“I could kill you too, right now.” His tone is cold, evil. Very different from the man who asked you to dance. You know that I can.” 

“My death would only sign yours.”

Hyunjin’s forehead rests on the wall right next to your head. You can hear him inhale deeply, hear the gears turning in his head. “Fuck, you are driving me crazy.”

He drops the gun and takes a step back. “Why didn’t you expose me?”

“You are not the one that matters to me.” 

“What do you want from me then?” 

“Three minutes. Open San’s office, and then I’ll go. No one will ever know of your identity.” 

He remains silent. 

“Hyunjin, please.” 

“Fuck, fine. But whatever happens next you’ll have to trust me, okay?” his hands settle on your shoulder, his eyes leveling with yours, “if you’re not leaving then you’ll have to trust me enough, for tonight.” 

8 minutes. 

“After you,” Hyunjin bows slightly as he opens the door to Heo’s office. You step in first, and he steals a quick glance behind him—no one’s here, for now.

“That saved me the hassle of breaking the door.”

“You know how to do that?” he asks, slightly impressed.

“One of my hobbies,” you shrug before walking directly to the desk. Hyunjin leans against the wall, watching as you lift your dress slightly, revealing a small packet tucked into your garter. The sight drives Hyunjin a little crazy, and he closes his eyes for a second.

He really, really wishes he hadn’t met you here tonight.

You take out a listening device, tapping the bottom of the desk until you find a suitable spot, and then you stick it in place.

“Another one of your hobbies?” he smirks.

You giggle. “Mm, aren’t I the most fun?”

“You are,” his eyes drag across your figure, and he notices a slight falter in your posture, “the most beautiful too.”

You blink, and he’s suddenly in front of you, trapping you between the auburn desk and his toned body. You don’t seem intimidated, placing a palm on his chest as you tilt your head to the side. 

“Aren’t you curious why I’m going after San?”

“No, he angers a lot of people.” His thumb caresses your cheek, a touch so soft in contrast to his next words. “A lot of people fantasize about his death.”

“Are you one of them?” you question, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Right now, all I’m fantasizing about is you.” His voice is husky, and he finds it comes out much easier when he actually likes the person he’s attempting to seduce. 

It takes you a few seconds to speak again. “Is that so?”

“Mm, let’s dance.”

“Didn’t we dance downstairs?”

“That was Sam and Julia dancing,” he says as he entwines his fingers with yours. “You see, Hyunjin is a different kind of dancer.” His hand presses against your back, snaking against your bare skin. “Can I pull you closer?” he asks, and you simply nod, eyes fleeting widely all over his face. 

His chest presses to yours, so close he’s sure your hearts are syncing with one another, his inhales alternating with your exhales. 

“Yn,” he whispers your name, as you look up at him through the curve of your eyelashes.  

“Yes, Hyunjin?” His name sounds soft as it stumbles from your ruby lips, innocent from all the blood that drenches his soul.

“I like the way you say my name.” He glances at his watch above your head. 9:57.

“Hyunjin,” you repeat, as your hand drags up his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair and gently dragging it backward, exposing his enticing neck to you. “You are always looking at your watch, what are you waiting for?”

He chuckles faintly, grabbing both your hands and spinning you around till his chin rests on the small of your shoulder. “You’re perceptive,” he mutters, as his fingers drag down your bare arms. “But so am I,” he says coldly as he grabs both your hands, bringing them behind your back. “Look, your hands are shaking just from my proximity. I don’t think you have it in you to film me killing Jung Cho. I don’t think you have it in you to watch me torture someone for three days.”

Click. Cold metal wraps around your wrist in an instant, handcuffing you to the leg of the table before which you’re standing. 

“I think you lied to me, Yn. I don’t like being lied to.”

“What are you doing?” you ask disoriented, panic spilling from your being like an overflowing cup.

Hyunjin pays you no mind, taking out his phone and dialing a number. “Boss, we have a problem. I caught a journalist trying to get into your room,” he taps his chin slowly as he looks at you. “No, no need for security. Just come alone. Don’t alarm the guests.”

2 minutes

“Are you serious?” you ask as soon as he hangs up, a prominent lump in your throat. “You told me to trust you.”

“Did I say I was worth that trust?” he pouts, seemingly mocking the vulnerable ordeal you found yourself in. 

A loud chuckle escapes your lips, your head thrown back as if before a hilarious spectacle of sorts. Hyunjin frowns, crossing his arms in front of his chest as your giggles slowly quiet down. 

“You’re a peculiar person, aren’t you Hyunjin? You need to hide your identity but you crave normalcy still, so you open your art gallery. You go to crazy lengths to cover your moles and wear contacts because you wish for people to look at you with admiration in their eyes, kindness. But you don’t deserve it.” There is a fire lit in your eyes, flames latching into his black suit and burning his already scarred skin. “You’ll always be as evil as them.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t respond for a while, his eyes simply softening at your words.

“I know,” he whispers. 

“Who’s this?” San’s voice booms loudly as he sets foot into the office. Hyunjin’s eyes break apart from your figure to look at San, bowing slightly to greet him. 

“Julia, she infiltrated the party,” Hyunjin explains, stealthily locking the door behind San. “She’s been investigating you for quite some time now. And… She knows about the murders.”

“Mm, she’s clever. Should we hire her?” San jokes and Hyunjin smiles politely, dragging his eyes over your face. You simply roll your eyes, seemingly more bored than scared. 

Cute. 

“Anyways,” Heo stares at you for a fleeting second before tapping Hyunjin’s shoulder. “She looks easy to kill. Just get rid of her. But don’t stain my carpet though, it's expensive.”

“Sure thing,” Hyunjin nods, taking out his gun and pointing it at your temple. He steals a final look at his watch— 9:30 p.m. he reads. 

Time’s up. 

“You didn’t think I’d let you go?” Hyunjin mocks, cocking his head at you. In a split second, a bullet ricochets loudly, but not at you. It grazes San’s ear, making him pause near the door, his back towards you both. 

“Right boss?” Hyunjin’s tone is slightly whiny, annoying is the best way to describe it. You can hear police sirens blare loudly outside, see the red and blue hues reflect off the window. Loud shouts erupt downstairs, Hyunjin leisurely reloads his gun, one hand deep into his pocket, San’s posture slightly falters, his fingers digging into the skin of his palm. 

“Do you hear that Heo? Your mansion is surrounded. All your filthy dirt is exposed. The police officers are arresting everyone downstairs right now. And they’re coming for you. The man of the hour.” Hyunjin makes a show of curtsying deeply. You stifle a giggle at his theatrics.

“You dare turn your back on me?” San yells, pivoting around to face Hyunjin’s barrel, the latter simply yawns as if it’s a regular Saturday activity for him. 

“Oh, don’t get emotional on me,” Hyunjin pouts, before his eyes narrow down coldly. “Now kneel. Let’s end this without staining your carpet.”

You see San slowly lowering himself to the ground, Hyunjin’s gaze sets on you for a millisecond, his pupils dilated in apology, in concern, you don’t know, you don't get to decipher his look because San is taking out his gun from his back pocket, aiming it at Hyunjin. “Watch out”— is all you manage to shout, and hyunjin ducks in an instant, propelled by the sound of your voice to the ground.

He could have died, he could have died because he looked at you. 

It all happens so fast, Hyunjin diving into San to take away his gun, both their weapons flinging into the air, San punching Hyunjin’s mouth and the latter retaliating by flinging his fist up against his nose. You’re struggling with your restraints, trying to reach out for the lone gun that fell to your right. 

A bit more, tune out the sirens, tune out the punches, slowly, only a few centimeters left, your wrist is on fire but that is the least of your concern, almost, there, you grab it.

You fire the gun.

It’s quiet once again, for the first time in two years, it is quiet in your head.

It’s over. 

You close your eyes, tilting your head back into the desk. The sound of your mother’s laughter floods your ears, her airy giggles as she brushes your hair and tucks you into her chest, her being a vision of beauty underneath the sun’s caress. 

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin kneels before you, wiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks with his bruised knuckles. He is worried, even behind those icy blue contacts, you can still grasp his worry.

You nod, swallowing the sob that is lodged within your throat. Hyunjin is quick to unlock your handcuffs, entwining your fingers with his as he pulls you off the ground. 

You slightly push him aside, your eyes set on San’s bleeding figure. He’s still alive, rugged breaths escaping his chest, his palm pressed to the bullet that punctuated his stomach. 

“I want him dead,” you mutter, grabbing Hyunjin’s forearm to support yourself, “but I want him to rot in prison too.” 

“He will, for all his crimes. I have it all documented. The police have it too,” his palm rubs soothingly against your back, you lean further into his touch.

“He’s a monster.” 

“I know. They all are. That’s why I killed them,” he simply says, before guiding you back to a couch on the right of the office. He shrugs off his suit, draping it over your trembling shoulders. 

“Give me a minute.”

You watch as he grabs the gun you fired off of the ground, before taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wipes your fingerprints, making sure to leave his all over the gun. He then walks to the table, taking away your listening device and crushing it to the ground.

He’s calm and collected as he rearranges the scene to his liking, it looks like he has done this a million times before, as if this is the element in which he thrives— a sunflower turning to face the sun, at long last. 

He kneels before your freezing figure one last time, tilting your chin to the side so you’d look at him.

“I fired the gun. You had no idea any of this would happen, you’re just an ambitious journalist who wanted an insider scoop.” He senses you’re somewhere far, pulled by the ropes of memories that had long haunted your dreams. His warm palm presses to your cold cheek, your eyes are glossy as they rest on him. 

“You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who used you as a scapegoat to bring San up here, just like I agreed with the police. Alright? You did nothing.You know nothing.” 

“Alright.”

Hours pass in a cold blur, the weight of time lost on you as three police officers take turns questioning you. You repeat the lines Hyunjin taught you, your voice flat, devoid of emotion. Even as you step out of the police station, with Hyunjin's hand resting gently on your back, you feel nothing. A slight tremor runs through you when he mentions that San survived and will be transferred to prison once he's healed.

You don’t know why you’re disappointed you didn’t become a killer.

You don’t know anything, don’t feel anything as Hyunjin drives you home. You don’t question how he knows your address or the code to your elevator. It’s only when you unlock your door and he starts to pull away that reality snaps back.

Without thinking, you grab his wrist, suddenly aware of the loneliness that awaits you inside, an uninvited guest preying on your vulnerable heart.

“Would you like some tea?” you ask, your voice tinged with hopelessness, knowing just how silly you sound. Why would he stay? He has so many loose ends to thread after his finishing blow, you know he’s part of something far larger than you. 

As if mocking your question, his phone buzzes for the tenth time in the span of five minutes.

But then, to your surprise, he turns it off.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I’d like some tea.”

As you bring the water to a boil, Hyunjin rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, casually wandering around your apartment as if it’s not his first time setting foot in here. He’s always at ease— with a gun pointed at him or while looking at the souvenir magnets on your fridge. 

His calmness helps instill some peace in your heart too. 

“I like your apartment,” he says, accepting the cup of chamomile you hand him. “It’s cozy, feels like a home.”

“Thank you,” you whisper as you sink into the couch, your head hung low. So much has happened in just half an hour, too much for you to fully comprehend and process.

“Let me see,” he says a few sips later, as he gently removes the cup from your clutch, before sliding his thumb across your right wrist. The bruises have already begun to form, the red marks from the handcuffs clear evidence of your struggle to reach the gun.

“I’m sorry I involved you in this,” he murmurs, frowning as he avoids your gaze, staring intently at your wrist as if he could will the blue hues away. “I didn’t plan for you to be at the party.”

“I involved myself,” you chuckle softly. You’re not one for physical touch, but you don’t feel the usual urge to pull away from his grasp. His hands are warm, the roughness of his fingertips a stark contrast to the softness of your skin.

“You’re a stubborn journalist,” he says with a small smile, finally meeting your gaze. you suddenly yearn to look into the rich brown of his eyes once more. Was its shade as deep as you remember?

“And you’re an excellent painter,” you retort, eliciting a surprised laugh from him. The sound is unexpectedly endearing, and you’re caught in a whirlwind of contradictions. Is this really the same man you saw taking a life? The same man now holding your wrist as if it were made of porcelain?

“Right, you figured out my identity. What gave me away?” he asks, still smiling.

“I heard about this new gallery where the artist’s only clue to his identity was the name signed on his paintings. So, I decided to see for myself. While everyone else was captivated by the artwork, I noticed you, standing in the corner, observing the reactions of everyone around. You smiled when someone smiled, and your grin grew wider with each compliment. That’s when I started to suspect that the artist was you, all along.”

“I remember it now. I bumped into you as you were leaving,” he says, and you nod.

“What stood out to me were your sad eyes. That’s what I remember most. Well, besides your bruised knuckles.”

“And that’s how you connected the dots.”

“Yes, and your eye mole, too. Even though you tried to conceal it with makeup, it still showed.”

“Very perceptive,” he says with a grin.

“Thank you.”

“Aren’t you worried I’ll expose your identity?” you ask, as his hand gently slides into yours, his fingers resting lightly on top of yours. A simple, innocent touch, yet it stirs something unknown in the pits of your stomach. 

“I trusted you when you said I’m not the one who matters to you.”

“Why would you trust me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I miss putting my faith in someone, even if they end up failing me. Isn’t that the most human trait of all?”

How could an assassin create such heartfelt paintings, overflowing with emotions too hard to explain with words, let alone colors? Perhaps because this isn’t the life he always wanted.

“Did you choose this?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from the interrogation, or the near brush with death, or perhaps the relief that this chapter is finally closing for both of you. But something compels you to keep talking, to ask, to hold on to Hyunjin just a little longer.

“Being a killer, you mean?” His voice carries a tenderness that seems at odds with the weight of his words. He’s a walking contradiction, balancing two identities within himself—Hyunjin and Sam. One feels heavier on his bones than the other. 

“I grew up in this world,” he continues. “My parents run a large network of assassins—or vigilantes, depending on how you see it. Some people hire us, and sometimes we act on our own when we see injustice or corruption festering for too long. We conduct thorough background checks. We only kill those who truly deserve it. We always make sure of that.”

“An eye for an eye.”

He nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I always feel good in the midst of a case. One less evil in the world. But after, there’s just this emptiness. Now what? I always wonder. So I try to fill the void with painting.”

“Now what…” you repeat, your voice trembling as a lump forms in your throat. “Now what? What should I do now?” Tears well up and spill over suddenly, streaming down your face in an unstoppable torrent. “San is behind bars, but my mom isn’t coming back. So what now? What was all of this for if I can’t get her back?”

You find yourself burying your head in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you, holding you close as if he could contain your sadness, preventing it from seeping from your soul and reaching your mother, wherever she may be.

You haven’t allowed anyone to hold you like this in two years, denying yourself any comfort until you could bring your mother’s killer to justice. It was a promise you made to yourself after San drunkenly ran her over and fled the scene, leaving you alone to hug her cold body in that sterile hospital room.

“It drove me crazy,” you sob, your words broken and incoherent. “He bribed everyone—the doctors, the paramedics, the stores nearby. Everyone acted like my mom didn’t d-die because of h-him,” you hiccup, and Hyunjin only holds you tighter, closer, enough to stitch your wounds with time, only if he remains this close to you. If he wishes to, if you allow him to.

“But now he’s behind bars, and I still don’t have my mom. What do I do now that I can’t bury myself in revenge? Hyunjin, what should I do when I miss her so much and I can’t see her?”

Five hours later.

“The article is perfect, no corrections needed,” Chris says, removing his glasses and looking at you with approval. “Excellent work, Yn.” 

“Thank you,” you nod, feeling a mix of relief, but mostly exhaustion. “I stayed up all night working on it.” 

“Goid, it’s only 6 a.m. so we know that no other media outlet has touched this yet. Our article will be the one to shape public opinion. This is a big win for us. It’s a thorough investigation, and I’m confident you’ll get the recognition you deserve,” he writes something down onto his notebook before looking at you once more. “Take a few days off—you’ve earned it. I’ll reach out if anything urgent comes up.”

“Thank you, sir.” You bow slightly before turning to leave the suffocating office. Or maybe it’s your own mind that’s suffocating you. You don’t have time to dwell on the question before Chris speaks again. 

“Oh, Yn?” Chris calls out just as your hand touches the doorknob. “One last thing, did you ever figure out who was behind all those tapes?”

Your grip on the doorknob tightens imperceptibly. “No sir, no clue.” 

One month later. 

It’s a few minutes before the art gallery closes when you walk in. Hyunjin spots you before you see him, your distinctive walk etched in his memory as vividly as if it were only yesterday that he had seen it.

He approaches quietly, stopping behind you as you gaze at the newest addition to his collection.

“Is this us?” you ask, not turning around. Hyunjin’s eyes follow yours to the abstract painting of a couple waltzing in a ballroom, their hands intertwined just like yours were, four Saturdays ago.

“Yes,” he replies softly.

“It seems I left an everlasting impression on you,” you tease, he can hear the smile in your voice without seeing it. 

“You did. You looked beautiful.”

“So did you.”

“I’m glad you came,” he says sincerely. “I missed you.”

“But we only spent a day together,” you giggle quietly, and Hyunjin wishes he could capture your laugh and tuck it away in the veins of his heart.

“Didn’t that day feel like a year, though?” he muses, resting his chin gently on your shoulder. You lean back into him, closing the space between you.

“It did,” you admit before nervously clearing your throat. “Are you free right now? We could grab a drink, if you’d like?”

“Chamomile tea?” he chuckles, and your laughter vibrates through his being.

“No, something stronger this time.”

He hums, hesitating as he despises the words that would stumble out of his mouth. “I have some things to handle tonight. Urgent matters.”

“Ah,” your voice dips slightly, the disappointment clear in your tone. “Well, it’s okay. I’ll see you another time, then,” you say, finally turning to face him. 

He really missed you. 

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Okay.”

“Congratulations on your award, by the way,” he says, watching your expression soften, a delicate smile forming on your lips.

“You saw it?”

“I did. I read your piece, too. I’m sure your mom would be proud of you.”

Tears of gratitude well up in your eyes, and you squeeze Hyunjin’s hand tightly as you whisper, “Thank you. Really. Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s words linger in your soul, echoing through your mind for the rest of your day, his voice the only sound that seems to fill the silence within you. That is until three loud knocks resonate through your apartment, just minutes before midnight. 

You open the door to find Hyunjin standing there, a fresh bruise marring his jaw, his knuckles freshly scraped and bloodied.

“Let me guess, you had nowhere else to go?” you joke, trying to regain your composure at the sight of him once more.

“No,” he replies, his tone earnest, “I wanted to come to you.”

Your smile falters at the sincerity in his voice. You can’t quite place what it is about Hyunjin that pulls you toward him, how amidst everything that’s happened in the past month, the most vivid memory is how he held you gently as you cried and cried.

“I forgot something,” he says, pulling a tube of cooling cream from his back pocket and offering it to you. “I meant to give this to you for your bruised wrists.”

He’s a month late, you both know your wrists have long since healed.

“I… yeah,” he sighs before your silence, turning to leave, a light blush tinting his cheeks. But before he can, you drop the tube and grab his hand, spinning him back around.

“I forgot something too,” you say quickly before pressing your lips against his.

You don’t fully understand what draws you to Hyunjin, but you know his lips taste as sweet as cherry chapstick, that his hand around your waist feels like water flowing gently over your skin, warm and encompassing. That his brown eyes remind you of sunlight dancing on autumn leaves, that no one has touched your soul as deeply as he has.

You know you wish to make him feel as human as he makes you.

[outsideratheart]

Shoot Your Shot (Alexia Putellas x Olympic Gymnast!reader)

A/N: I know it’s been a while but I am hoping to get back to writing again. Here’s a little Alexia Olympics fic. I hope you guys like it.

The night had been a blur but in the best possible way. Alexia had dreamt about representing Spain in the Olympics for years and to win a gold was always the goal. It was a goal she and the team achieved after beating Brazil in the final. 

She had truly let loose and celebrated what this achievement meant to her, her team and the people of Spain. 

Here’s the thing about Alexia, when she was drunk she became very very confident. So much so that in her intoxicated state she did something she has wanted for do for a while, she shamelessly slid into your DMs. 

It’s how she found herself standing in the Olympic village with her hands as clammy as can be the following day. 

“Ale, what’s wrong?” Irene asked her club team mate. 

The woman in question could only shake her head. Her thoughts were running 100 miles an hour and she couldn’t help but think it was a mistake. Had drunken Alexia stitched currently Alexia up?

“Haven’t you heard?” Jenni playfully nudged her former club captain “Alexia here got drunk and messaged Y/N Y/L/N. That’s why she is so nervous, she is meeting up with her this afternoon” 

Irene couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She knew Alexia was an admirer of you, everyone did. The Catalonian watched every single one of your events and if she couldn’t watch them live then she would watch them as soon as she got into the locker room. 

“You did?” Irene asked in disbelief. 

Alexia could couldn’t speak. She could only nod her head as a form of response. 

She thinks back to the night before. She had been celebrating for hours and drank bottle after bottle of the finest wine France had to offer. 

Hola guapa 

That is what Alexia messaged you on Instagram. The reason why you even responded is lost on her but she did make a mental reminder to ask you about it. 

“So?” Jenni asks Ale. 

“So?” Alexia had a dumfound look on her face. 

“What are you going to say to her? We all know that drunk Alexia is confident but sober Alexia is not, she is quiet and doesn’t make the first move” the forward knew her friend too well. She knew exactly what Alexia is like and once hearing about her quest, she made it her mission to help her. 

“I don’t know Jenni. I couldn’t stop talking last night but now, now I have no idea what to say” Alexia began pacing back and forth. 

The nerves were surfacing and they made Alexia feel sick. Not only did she think you were beautiful, you were also the most decorated gymnastic in history. That itself came with a level of intimidation that Alexia was dreading. 

She knew her friends were trying to help but they were only making her feel worse. She needed to escape but that didn’t happen. No, instead of peace she found herself being hit several times by her team mates. 

“There she is!” Jenni slapped Alexia extra hard. She herself was excited at the thought of meeting you. 

“Leave. Now. Please” Alexia whisper shouted. 

“No. Let’s go see her” Jenni had already started walking towards you. 

“You can hide behind me if you get scared” Irene teased her friend. It was rare to see Alexia this nervous so she made a point to enjoy it. 

You were talking to some other athletes when the three Spaniards approached you. You know it was rude but Alexia was the only one you paid attention to. You didn’t think it possible but she was even more stunning in person. 

“Alexia!” You were excited and it came through in your tone. 

You all but ran towards her. Did you look eager? Yes but you didn’t care. 

“Y/N, it’s so nice to finally meet you” Alexia did something out of character. She pulled you into her arms. 

This earned looks from both of her friends who upon seeing the midfielders action realised that maybe Alexia’s feelings were more serious that then thought. 

“So we are going to leave you two to explore and are going to meet up with the rest of the team” Irene nudged Jenni in the opposite direction of where you and Alexia were heading. 

Jenni teased that she would only leave if you two took a photo together. It was something you happily agreed to if it meant getting some one on one time with the Barcelona player. 

You and Alexia agreed on walking to one of the coffee shops located in the village, the one that had become a favourite of yours. Alexia kept stealing glances at you only she wasn’t being as subtle as she thought because after each time she looked at you, you felt a fire set a light in you.  

“Do I make you nervous?” You tried to lighten the mood by teasing a little. 

“Yes. Very much” Alexia was scared to admit this. Besides, she knew you knew otherwise you wouldn’t be asking her. 

“You weren’t nervous last night” you playfully nudged her causing her cheeks to flush red within an instant. 

“I’m sorry for that. I celebrated a little too hard” 

“Why are you apologising? Congratulations again” 

“I must have said some embarrassing things. It’s why I don’t drink and text” 

“Hmmm, you did tell me that but then you told me that if you didn’t use your liquid courage to talk to me then it would have been a waste” you couldn’t help but giggle as you recalled Alexia’s honest words. 

“I said that?” 

“Yes. Haven’t you read the messages this morning?” You ask knowing that you had read the messages numerous times since you woke up. 

This did nothing for the way Alexia felt. Should she have read them? Did she say something that needs re-reading? 

“I haven’t. Did I say something bad?” Alexia asked scared of the answer.  

“You didn’t. You talked about football and asked about gymnastics. We talked about how much we have been watching each other throughout the tournament. Oh! As requested” you reached into your pocket and got the pin Alexia asked for. You briefly looked at it. It wasn’t the normal Team USA pin, no it was your personal one. The one you reserved for friends and the athletes you respected the most. 

Alexia looked lost. Her gaze went from the pin, to you and the back to the pin. She learnt from social media that the Olympians traded pins but she had no idea why you were giving her one or what you meant by she requested it. 

In that moment you realised that maybe Alexia had drank a little more than you originally thought. 

“You don’t remember asking for this, do you?” 

The way Alexia innocently pointed to herself was adorable. 

“Yes, you” you poked her playfully in her chest “Last night we talked about what we wanted in life and you said to take me on a date and a pin” 

“This isn’t the USA one” Alexia closely inspected the pin you had placed in her hand. She then holds it up so you could see the pin as if you hadn’t seen it before. 

“No, it is not. I get asked to swap pins all the time and 90% of people get the USA pins, this pin” you reach into your pocket and show Alexia the pin in question “only friends and athletes I admire and respect get that one” you point to the one you gave Alexia. 

The Spaniard’s cheeks flush red as she rubs her finger over your name that was within a gold heart. 

“Gold?” She raises her eyebrows. The whole world expected you to get gold this Olympics, multiple at that. Clearly by the pin you expected this of yourself too. 

You don’t agree nor do you disagree. Instead your response comes in the form of a shrug of the shoulders. 

“I don’t have a pin for you” Alexia admitted.

“That’s ok. They don’t have to be swapped. I’ll happily give you it Alexia”

Alexia stood there in awe of you. She recognised your beauty through the screen but she soon learnt standing in front of you that it didn’t do you justice. 

You stood there is the same awe. Alexia was a sight to behold. You had watched every game of hers you could. Maybe you should have been cheering for the USA but you were raised a Barcelona fan so from the very beginning you wanted certain Spanish players to succeed. She was known as La Reina and now more than ever you understand why. She was a queen. Her eyes radiated under the French sun and you could spend hours getting lost in them. 

“Shall we?” Alexia held out her arm and you linked through them. The act wasn’t an intimate as hand holding but it was very sweet. 

“We shall” you wondered if the smile on your face was as big as it felt. 

For the next hour, you and Alexia walked around the Olympic village trying all of the different food stalls. When you see it, you pull her over to the chocolate muffin stand.

“You have to try this” you peel back the wrapper and hold it out to her. She eyes it up suspiciously as if she is thinking about whether or not to try it. 

“Alexia, I -“

“Ale” she cuts you off. 

“Ale?” You ask with furrowed brows. 

“My friends call me Ale” 

“Is that what you want us to be? Friends?” You know you are pushing a little bit but this was a date. You were trying to find out if Alexia asks her friends out on dates. 

She bashfully shakes her head which causes you to nod yours. This ends with both of you having shy smiles on your faces. 

“Try it. It will be one of the best muffins you taste in your life” it was a bold statement but you stood by it. You had eaten a couple of these during the last two weeks and you had a huge sweet tooth so you felt qualified to rank the sweet treat. 

When Alexia takes a bite her eyes widen, heR head tips back and you know she agrees with you. The grin that spread across her face when she looks at you is adorable. 

“That’s so good” 

She then takes another bite before taking it out of your hands and holding it out for you to have a bite. 

Time seems to run away from you because the couple of hours that you had planned to spend together pass by and before you know it the sun is setting in the sky. 

You wanted to squeeze every second out of the night but you remember Alexia telling you that the team was flying back to Spain the following morning. 

“I’m this way” you point in the direction for where you were staying. 

“I’m that way” Alexia does the same and of course her hotel is in the opposite direction “come with me” she tilts her head on the same direction. 

“Is that a question or?” You joke with her. She could have been asking or telling you, you didn’t mind. 

“Well you gave me this” she holds up your pin “you swap them, no?” 

You nod your head with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. Alexia said she didn’t have a pin. Did she mean that she didn’t have one with her. 

“So come with me and get your gift” Alexia, for the first time that day, sounded truly confident. 

She lead you down the streets of Paris. Like last night the two of you began talking but in person it got a lot more personal. You talked about the hurdles you both had to overcome in order to compete at the Paris Olympics and to do so at the highest level. 

Soon enough Alexia is grabbing your hand and pulling you into one of the 5 star hotels located in the heart of the city. You expected her to drop your hand when you enter the reception area only she doesn’t. The act fills your stomach with butterflies. 

When you enter the elevator and Alexia scans her room key you realise that she must be taking you to her room. 

She opens the door and heads straight for her luggage. 

“I was too nervous to re-read our messages. I thought I might have said something embarrassing. If I had remembered that I asked for your pin them I would have brought you this” 

She held up a red Spain jersey, her jersey. 

“Is this-“ 

“From the gold medal match? Yes. It’s the shirt I wore during the first half” 

“Alexia, I cannot accept this. It should be framed or given to your mother, not to a stranger” you immediately give her the shirt back. 

“I want to give it to you. Today has been one of the best days I’ve had a long while” you give her a look and she knows exactly what you’re thinking “one of the best days off the pitch” 

She holds it out for you to take. At first you don’t, you can’t. Alexia doesn’t budge and you honestly think she will hold out that shirt for hours if that’s how long it took for you to accept it. 

In the end you do grab the shirt but you also grab her hand and pull her close to you. You lean in and kiss her softly on her lips. Just as you are about to pull back, Alexia pulls you in for another kiss. 

“Now you’ve had everything you wanted” you say with a smirk of your face. 

“I don’t understand” the Spanish says. 

“Last night you told me you wanted three things. The first two you told me straight away and the third you told me just before we said goodnight” 

Still, Alexia was at a loss. You told her what she said she wanted and it was only two things. She is about to ask you what the third one was but then she sees you running your index finger over your lips and it clicks. 

“I told you I wanted to kiss you?” Alexia couldn’t believe what she had confessed to you. She would have felt embarrassed to admit just after spending the day with you, never mind last night when you were practically strangers. 

You nod your head. 

“What if I told you I wanted to kiss you again?” Alexia asks only this time she owns her question. 

“I’d tell you to come over here and get what you want” 

You didn’t need to tell Alexia twice. She strutted over to you with the most confidence you have seen her with that day. She cupped your face and pulled you in. The kiss was a little bit deeper that the first kiss. You slowly push Alexia back until her knees buckle against the foot of the bed. 

She doesn’t make an effort to push you off her. If anything she encourages the passion and you are happy to oblige. Both you and Alexia fought for dominance but ultimately you don’t get to find out how would come our victorious. 

The sound of a keycard been swiped has you both frozen in place but still neither of you make any effort to move. It’s as if the person of the other side of the door won’t see the two of you if you are still.  

“ALEXIA!” 

It seems the the woman who you are still straddling recognises the voice before you do. 

“Por dios” Alexia, whose hands are resting dangerously low on your back, taps you signalling for the two of you to get up. 

When you turn around you see Jenni standing in the door only she is joined by a different player than she was with this morning. 

“Nice to see you again Jenni. Nice to meet you….” 

“Misa” the keeper introduces herself “you’re Y/N Y/L/N?” 

The Madrid keeper also admired you only she was bold enough to tell her team mates she has a crush on you. Knowing this information is enough to wake the green eyed monster within Alexia. 

“Yes, she is. Sorry about those two. I did text them asking for them to message me when they were on their way back” Alexia apologises for the interruption. 

“We did! Look” Jenni shows Alexia the 5 text messages she sent her and then shows that she even tried to called her twice 

“Let them off Ale. We were pre-occupied” the smirk that tugs on your lips in enough to heat up Alexia’s cheeks. 

The four of you stand in the hotel room waiting for someone else to speak first. In the end a text from your manager makes you be the one to break the short silence. 

“I need to go” 

“No” Alexia whispers. 

“It’s late and you have a flight to catch in the morning” you move closer to her “thank you for an amazing day Alexia and thank you for this” you hold up her jersey. 

“When can I see you again?” The two of you lived in different countries and had very gruelling schedules but Alexia wanted to know that today wouldn’t be the last time she saw you. 

“You’re in America in the next couple of weeks. I’ll see if I can make it to one of the games so keep an eye out in the crowd” you kiss her softly on the lips. 

“Will you be wearing my jersey?” 

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see” 

[bitch-for-bo]

"How Do Ya Like Me Now?" Tsundere Cowboy! Sukuna x chubby reader

All-size, friendly but written w a plus-size woman in mind.

Guys please humor me and listen to the song “How do you like me now” by Toby Keith b4 u read this because that’s the song that started my fever dreams about Tsundere Cowboy! Sukuna that bullied you in school cuz he was so in love with you until you left for college. But now ur back in town for a stupid reunion, and you’re different and he’s EVEN MORE different. He knows EXACTLY what he wants now ;)

this is a loooooooooong one.... enjoy if you dare ;)'

MINORS DNI!!!!! true form Sukuna but make him a sexy cowboy

It didn’t start here. Under the low lights, inside of a seedy, smoke-filled bar where he caught you trying to drown yourself in tequila and limes. No, it never starts in a place like that. It started years ago, back when you knew where your life was going, when you knew what you wanted and nothing would stop you from getting it. And nothing DID stop you from achieving your dreams. Here you were, not only a major success in your desired field but also voted the most successful superlative for your stupid high-school reunion. 

THAT is where it all started. High school. And no not in the lame “the one who got away” way, it was in the whole “the one who tortured you half to death until you finally escaped to college” way. 

See, you were always the perfect one, the valedictorian small-town, big-dreams sweetheart, and he was just the aloof, destined-blue-collar-worker-to-be boy with a mysterious vendetta to make your life absolute hell. 

And he was successful to a fault. You remembered the countless times that he spray painted your number on the football field, writing “call for a good time ;)” under it with the singular goal of directing disgusting calls towards your voicemail to the point you changed your number more than once to avoid harassment. 

To be fair, that was the worst of it, the majority only being psychological torture within the walls of the school. Stealing your homework answers, spreading rumors of either your lack of OR surplus of sexual encounters (all of which were completely fabricated and designed to drive good guys away from you and bad ones towards), and just your general bully activities. 

And while things never got physical, sometimes you wish they would’ve. At least then you would’ve been able to provide some kind of evidence to the authorities. At least then they’d take you seriously, instead of shrugging you off, unconcerned because it didn’t impact your performance in school. 

And of course it didn’t help that to everyone else, he was a perfect gem. It seemed like he was a gentleman to everyone BUT you.

And it wasn’t like you COULDN’T see the appeal back then, he was tall, strong, and good looking by all means. But the only thing you were focused on was school. Being raised by the parents you had was all the motivation you needed to push yourself, achieve, and get the hell outta dodge as soon as graduation ended. 

So THAT’S where it began. And for all intents and purposes that's where YOU thought it ended. What you didn’t know was that he had MUCH different plans. 

See while you hadn’t thought of Sukuna at all in the last 10 years, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. Especially since every Friday night he’d sit at the bar and listen to your old man rant about you and your life choices, moving away from him and your mother, pursuing your passions, cutting them out of your life almost completely. 

He couldn’t say he blamed you for doing so, he knew the kind of violent man your father was, seeing as he had the same Friday night plans as Sukuna for the last 15 years of your life. It seemed like they both were ashamed at how they treated you.

He was of course ashamed of how he’d treated you during the hormonal days of his youth. All of the torture he put you through, all because he didn’t know how to properly handle his feelings towards you. 

And of course that was no proper excuse for how he treated you, especially considering that he was perfectly cordial to everyone else back then. But back then, he genuinely had no other way of getting your attention. Or at least that’s what he told himself back then, every time he caught you crying behind the bathrooms at the football games, your phone ringing with what he could only imagine were disgusting calls from disgusting men. 

So that’s why, when he heard that you were actually going to attend the 10-year reunion of your high school class he knew he wouldn’t let his second chance go. 

He’d had a lot of time to think about how he’d apologize to you. But unfortunately, the second he saw you step into the poorly decorated high school gym, his well-intentioned plan of genuinely apologizing was immediately overshadowed by all of his feelings towards you that he’d repressed over the years. 

And suddenly he was back to his old self, thinking of any way to embarrass you as you walked around, conversing with people you hadn’t seen for the last decade. 

He couldn’t identify the feeling that crawled up his body as he watched you. You were so much more gorgeous than he could’ve ever imagined. Was it jealousy? No… it couldn’t be. 

Why would he be jealous of the people talking to you? Why would he want to see your eyes crease as you laughed at their jokes? He could make you laugh harder, he knew he could. 

It couldn’t be jealousy…. If it were jealousy he would’ve simply interjected himself into your conversation and whisked you away to the corner of the room, to have you all for himself.

But he didn’t. Instead, he picked up a beer from one of the many ice-filled coolers lining one of the gym walls and sauntered off to make his OWN conversations with his OWN people. Obviously not giving you a singular second thought. 

And while Sukuna was on one side of the gym, working very hard on not giving you a second thought, you were on the other side, actually not giving Sukuna a second thought. 

You hadn’t seen your former bully yet, and you were better for it. It was actually one of the things that almost made you skip out on the reunion tonight, but you’d thankfully been convinced by a former classmate who told you that you’d been voted most successful. 

Seeing as your classmates took their time to acknowledge your success, the least you could do was show up and hold some light conversation for an hour or so. 

So you made your way to the reunion, and honestly… you’d been having a great time. Talking about your career and accomplishments with your former classmates, and listening to them talk about theirs in return was actually great. 

Sometimes in your field, it was easy to forget the outside world, you were so busy all of the time that you rarely got to just relax and have fun chatting with people with different jobs than you, living lives differently from yours. It was amazing, you felt recharged.

You were smiling, laughing at a story told by one of the football players in your class, not missing the way his eyes kept darting downwards to linger on your chest. Not missing the subtle way he angled his body closer to yours, his tongue wetting his lips each time you laughed. 

You were on a high. You felt unstoppable. But of course…. All good things end. 

You were just by the coolers, getting the two of you a second round of drinks when you felt someone step a little too close to you. 

“Good to see you're still getting along so well with the football team.” 

You froze at the snarky, drawling voice of Sukuna who stood behind you, letting himself drink in the sight of your ass, looking quite grabbable as you were bent down over the coolers. His fingers itched to reach out and grasp your hips, feel the softness squish between them, instead they tightened their grip on his beer. What was this… his 5th? 6th? Who knows. 

You straightened your spine, becoming aware of the position you were in, realizing just how vulnerable it made you. 

“You’re drunk Sukuna.” you bite out, turning on your heel to face him, trying to hide your shock as you realized he’d grown even taller after high school, your eyes a bit below his chin, leaving you eye-to-neck with him. You quickly sidestepped him, doing anything to put a respectable amount of space between the two of you. 

Your quick avoidance coupled with your accusation made him scoff, Sukuna wasn’t a small man, standing at 6’4”ish 270 pounds give or take, it took more than half a dozen beers to get him any further than buzzed, especially considering that drinking had been in his weekly Friday night plans for the last 15 years. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to leave. He stepped into your way, effectively cutting you off, making it your turn to scoff. 

“If I say I’m trashed will you walk me home?” he asked teasingly, his wolfish grin reminding you just how timeless his charm really was. If you were a woman of any weaker resolve you would’ve played along. 

But this was Sukuna. 

And as much as you’d love to play catch up and subject yourself to guaranteed ridicule, you had a different good-looking man waiting for your attention, and for another drink. Was he as good-looking as the tanned cowboy in front of you who had not only gotten taller but definitely hotter with age? Who cares? The important part was that the man waiting for you didn’t nearly single-handedly ostracize you from your peers whilst shredding your good reputation with teachers and parents alike when you were just a child. 

And that’s what it was at the end of the day. Sukuna could grin down at you all he wanted, his reddish brown eyes burning holes in your face, looking for any exploitable weakness he could find. But at the end of the day, you were a strong, confident woman now. Not the poor young girl you used to be. You didn’t have to put up with his shit anymore- no you refused to put up with his shit.

“Hmm…I dunno…” you said, giving him a tight-lipped smile, hoping an aloof tone would force him to leave you be. “Hell is a pretty long walk.” 

That must’ve taken Sukuna by surprise, or at least enough surprise that it allowed you to slip past him. It wasn’t until you were a couple steps away did he respond with a deep laugh, one that came from his, and went straight to your core. 

“Everything ok?” your slightly less hot prospect asked upon your return, you only nodded, hoping that the warmth you felt on your face hurriedly left as you handed him his refill.

“Just pe-” 

“Hey. I wasn’t done talking to you.” Sukuna appeared again behind you. 

Your smile fell again as you watched the two men greet each other. 

As mentioned earlier, Sukuna was always good friends with seemingly everyone but you. That’s what made him so dangerous in high school, no matter who you told of his abuse you were never believed. And who would believe you whenever the boy you were accusing had such a dazzling smile and an equally agreeable disposition? 

Sukuna watched you out of the corner of his eye as you zoned out, uninterested in the conversation between him and your one-night boy toy. You were shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable with his presence. 

It was obvious to him, unfortunately not to your conversation partner though, seeing as he continued to talk Sukuna���s ear off, asking about how things were on the ranch, how his business was going, how much he charged per cow, all while you shuffled your gaze from your feet to your drink to the wall then back to your feet. 

A small part of Sukuna took a sick satisfaction in bothering you like this, bothering you in a way that if you acted out, accused him of instigating, or even spoke slightly ill of him, people would no doubt see you as the one in the wrong. 

But his sickly favorite thing… truly the best way to put a smile on his face… was to embarrass you. That’s why he effortlessly steered the conversation back to you, specifically back to the fact you’d been talking to the same person for the last hour, specifically that it was a man you’d been talking to. 

All it took was one little quip, one little “so I see you’re back for part two with the whole football team?” to freeze you like a deer caught in headlights. 

You remembered that rumor, undoubtedly started by Sukuna, the rumor that you’d offered yourself to the high school football team in their locker room, the rumor that they (emphasis on they) had accepted your advances, and that’s why you had bruises trailing up your spine when you reached for a book on the top shelf, making your shirt ride up. And bruises on your knees when you wore your gym shorts. And bruises on your elbows when you rested your head on your hands during class. 

And with that one little comment, it was like you’d been sucked back in time, especially when your potential one-night-of-fun laughed along with Sukuna, doing nothing to admit that the rumor was fake and he knew it.  

Sukuna snickered, watching your eyes widen and your mouth drop open in surprise at the cruel reminder of perhaps his most regretted rumor ever. But while on the outside he laughed as your eyebrows knitted together and your cheeks darkened with humiliation, he kicked himself on the inside. 

This wasn’t how he was supposed to get your attention tonight. What the fuck was wrong with him bringing up all of his past mistakes? Yeah he wanted to watch you squirm under his gaze, but not like this, not by bringing up all of the ways he used to torture you.

And it’s not like anyone at the reunion would put him in his place, he’d spend years building the reputation of the handsome, harmless, good-ole-boy ranch hand. 

And you knew that too. No one would be on your side if you spoke up. You couldn’t even blame them. This was the first time you’d talked to ANY of them in the last decade, unlike Sukuna who’d stuck around the small town, building allyships with nearly everyone. 

Without a word, you turned and left. Leaving your ruined prospect stumbling over himself saying it was “just a joke” as you calmly threw your drink away and began to exit the building. As you walked through the door, you looked back once more, catching Sukuna’s eye. 

You hoped he could see the disappointment on your face, the hurt, and embarrassment that you thought you would’ve been able to escape by now. 

And for a second, you were convinced that he regretted the comment, but then again, the look on his face was just too fleeting for you to decipher its meaning before you walked to your car, not looking back again. 

That’s how you found yourself at the run-down bar that your father frequented. Thankfully he wasn’t here tonight, but that still didn’t ease the tension in your shoulders. But you’d decided that the need to get shit-faced off cheap tequila far outweighed your fear that your father would suddenly walk into the place. 

The bartender asked what was wrong when he watched you down two shots, back to back, but he quickly lost interest when you just grumbled profanities under your breath all of which were aimed at Sukuna. 

Fuck you hated him. You hated the way he made you feel like you were still that bullied little girl from high school, crying in the bathroom after hearing a rumor about you fucking the math teacher for an A in the hallways. 

You hated the way everyone else just worshiped the ground he walked on, just because he had a nice smile and a banging body. 

and fuck it really wasn’t fair how hot he was. 

Once you were 3 shots deep you could feel most of your anger dissipating, and while the other patrons in the bar were thankful to be rid of your gloomy aura weighing the place down, you were fighting the good fight against the horny demons that had begun reminding you just how much Sukuna towered over you earlier that night. 

You knew he was a ranch hand, and obviously, ranch hands have to be physically fit… but goddamn was he on another level. He looked like he could flip and fix a truck just to lift you in and fuck you in it. 

He looked like he could ride a bull, wrestle it, and hog-tie it down before taking you to bed and doing damn near the same thing to you. Thick fingers gripping your thighs as he forced you to ride him, hissing at you through his teeth to roll your hips against him, letting your clit grind against what you could only imagine was an unruly bush. You imagined him flipping you over, trapping your hands behind your back as he pounded into you, forcing your face into his pillow, forcing you to feel, smell, and even taste his scent all around you. 

Your head snapped up from its drunken position on the counter, sheepishly glancing around to make sure no one saw you, convinced that if they so much as looked at you, they would see your dirty thoughts about their town’s golden boy. 

Sukuna watched you wave down the bartender from his position at the door. He wanted to act like he didn’t know you’d be here. He wanted to pretend that he didn’t drive around town for the last twenty minutes looking for your little car with your fancy out-of-state plates because that would be an insane thing to do. 

But that's what he’d done, that's what you’d driven him to do. 

His eyes followed you like a hawk as he stalked towards you, watching with the focus of a predator on prey as you took your shot, licking the salt off your hand, throwing back the shot, and biting into the lime. His eyes zeroed in on your lips wrapped around the lime wedge, your nose scrunching at the combination of burning liquor and sour lime.

Your eyes were screwed shut, trying to drive the thoughts of the cowboy out of your head, so you didn’t notice Sukuna’s presence til he opened his big fat mouth and spoke to the bartender, ordering a shot for himself. 

“Kinda girlie ordering a shot isn’t it?” you scoffed, your eyes still shut as you let your head fall back into your arms that were slung across the counter. You didn’t have anything left in you to deal with the abrasive man next to you. In fact, you were afraid if you looked at him now he’d be able to see just how much you wanted him. 

His body, to be clear. You only wanted his body. There was a reason you’d spent time chatting up that old football player before the whole fiasco happened, you were looking for a little fun as a reward for showing up to that god-forsaken reunion in the first place. 

But alas, just as he did in high school, Sukuna drove your potential plaything away from you, leaving you hot, bothered, and as of now, a bit more than buzzed.

Sukuna just grinned at you, taking your acknowledgment as an invitation to move closer. He turned away from the counter, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bar, turning his head to watch you amusedly. 

You tried your best to ignore him, but you couldn’t deny the warmth radiating off of him, not to mention the spicy scent of his cologne.

You bit your lip, trying to stop your imagination from getting away from you again. 

“You think I’m girlie, Doll?” he asked, the rumble of his voice making your stomach twist.

“well its a girlie fucking drink.” you mumbled, not even lifting your head to glare at him. 

“Tell you what Doll,” Sukuna drawled, leaning down to talk in your ear, pressing his lips to the outer shell of your ear, “say the word, and I’ll take you home and prove that I’m not.” 

And despite the way you felt your heartbeat against the seat of your barstool, you kept your composure and offered him another unimpressed scoff, grateful his lips weren’t against your neck to feel the blood rushing to your face. 

“God you’re a prick” you growled, pushing your head back up, turning to look at him, wondering if, in your drunken state, you were convincing him that you were “bored” with his banter. 

In reality, you were ashamed to admit you wanted more. You could feel the fire burning in your tummy and you were too intoxicated to listen to the voice in your head telling you that it was a bad idea to do this with your present company. 

“You’re beautiful, Doll,” Sukuna whispered, his eyes fixated on your lips, swollen from the way you’d been chewing on them all night trying to repress your dirty thoughts. 

It was pathetic, but this was the only time Sukuna felt he could be honest with you. He felt like he could finally tell you how he felt but only because of the security of knowing the booze had created a rose-colored veil over his words in your memory. 

He wished he could be this sincere with you when you were sober. But when you were sober, all you did was stare into his soul, your eyes piercing him, weighing him down with guilt. 

“Shut the fuck up.” You spat at him. You didn’t know where the fuck that came from but you weren’t interested in finding out. If this went anywhere tonight two things had to be true. 

It had to be a good old no-strings-attached hate-fuck.

You had to be at least 1 shot drunker to have the courage to do it. 

The bartender set Sukuna’s shot down in front of him as you angrily avoided eye contact with him, pissed that he’d even dare to say some shit like that after what he pulled at the reunion. 

“I hate you.” you threw that one in for good measure, reveling in the way it made the corners of Sukuna’s mouth turn down. 

He knew you had every reason to hate him, if he were you he’d feel a lot more than hate towards someone like him. And yet still, the way that you said it, like there was no room for debate, like it was fact, not opinion, that got to him. 

“Yeah I know,” he mumbled, taking his shot before fully turning towards you. “But I need you to listen to what I have to say.” 

This was it. He was going to come clean. Apologize for everything he’d done, ask for your forgiveness, beg for it if that’s what he had to do. 

You rolled your eyes, but you kept your mouth closed, intrigued at the very least at what he had to say for himself.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. It wasn’t right.”

You stared at him. 

He stared at you. 

“That’s it?” 

“Huh?”

You stood from your seat, now standing face to neck with Sukuna. 

“You're pathetic.” you bit out, gathering your purse and calling to close out your tab. The apology was not only disappointing but also disgustingly sobering. An hour ago you wanted to ride him til he cried, now all you wanted to do was get the fuck out of town as quickly as possible. 

All of it would be better once you went back to your life, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you tried to blink back tears. You tried waving down the bartender again, but he was busy serving other patrons. 

The stuffy, humid air of the bar was suddenly unbearable as fury settled in your chest.

Sukuna grabbed your wrist. 

“Fuck- Doll just wait a second.” His fingers gripped your arm, pulling you back towards him. 

You stopped yourself from colliding with his chest, pressing balled-up fists to his chest as you looked up. 

“please…” the word came from him almost like a whimper, his fingers searching for a way to keep you from leaving, one hand stilling your hip as the other tangled in your belt loops, ensuring you couldn’t just run away from him. 

And while you definitely couldn’t have escaped him physically, the pleading tone of his voice was enough to widen your eyes and stop you from even trying. 

His eyes darted away from yours when you looked up at him, anger and hurt and disgust swimming in your eyes, making his stomach turn and his jaw ache. 

He didn’t know what to look at, his eyes shooting from your lips to the crowd to your fists on his chest, back to your lips set in a hard line, no sign of wobble detected. He could tell you were over it. He was running out of time, he had to find some way to keep you here. To keep you with him. 

You rolled your eyes, did he really expect you to take him seriously when he couldn’t even meet your gaze. Once again, pathetic.

“I’m….I’m…” What was happening to him? He got it out fine the first time, it was a bit of a quick and sloppy apology he admits, but he still did it. So why was he struggling now? 

You could tell with the way he fidgeted, his face turning beet red, that he was trying to say sorry but the sad bastard couldn’t even do that right. You wondered if he’d ever had to apologize to anyone seeing as he’d been Mr. Prince Charming since birth. If you were being honest, that idea made you really happy. The idea that you were the only person that could fluster him like this, make him uncomfortable with just a stare. 

“Are you trying to say you’re sorry?” You scoff, making the Sukuna’s blush spread to his ears.

He was seriously losing this fight, and that was all he could think about. He wished he could just put you in his mind and let you see all of the thoughts that been plaguing him for the last 15 years of his life, the bitterness and jealousy and insecurity that lead him to bully you, he wished he could explain that teasing you was his awful way of showing you that he was obsessed with you. And he knew that wasn’t an excuse and he didn’t want to make it seem like it was, he just wanted to explain himself so that you’d know that he regretted it every single day of his life, and how he wanted more than anything in the universe to spend the rest of his life making it up to you. He wanted to grovel, to keep you locked away until you caved in and let him stand by your side for the rest of your days. He wanted to be able to buy you flowers to put on your kitchen counter in your dream home that he’d build for you. He wanted to cook you dinner every night, grinning as you ate it with a smile, even if he’d tried a new recipe that didn’t turn out the best. He wanted to do the dishes with you when it was dark outside, bumping shoulders as you washed and he dried, or he washed and you dried. He wanted to take you out dancing every Friday, show your old man that you escaped the life he tried to trap you in, that you’d found someone to worship the ground you walked on, that loved and respected you in a way he could never imagine. 

All of these thoughts swarmed his brain and yet all he could do was stand there and sputter like an idiot, watching you lose faith that he could actually spit it out by the second. He knew if he didn’t hurry up and get his shit together you’d walk away, and you wouldn’t ever come back this time.   

“It’s not that easy ya know?” he grumbled, removing his hat to run a hand through his hair nervously. 

And while you knew you probably shouldn’t have, you let your eyes linger on his bicep as he raised his beaten cowboy hat, the contours of the muscles highlighted under the lowlights of the bar. 

Thankfully Sukuna didn’t see your moment of weakness, because if he had you doubt he would’ve winced as hard as he did when you delivered your next line of, 

“The fuck it is. You made my life unlivable for four years and now it’s ‘not that easy’ to stop choking on your big fat tongue and apologize properly? Bullshit” You rolled your eyes but, much to Sukuna’s surprise, made no move to walk away from him, allowing him to continue to tether himself to your side, his fingers instinctively tightening in your belt loops. 

“What do you want me to do, I said I’m sorry,” he grumbled, avoiding your eyes once again. 

“Well it wasn’t good enough” you growled, surprised that you were somehow still standing, even with the way his eyes bore into you before flickering down to your lips, making you incredibly self-aware, fighting the urge to run away, to kick and scream, to fight, to do anything but stand in the confines of his gaze. 

Sukuna was quiet for what felt like forever for the both of you. He searched for the words to say, and in the ever so emotionally constipated fashion, came up dry each time. Why was this so hard for him? He knew exactly what he wanted to say to you, god he wished he could just touch your foreheads together and transfer it all so you’d finally know how he felt. 

And while Sukuna, lost in thought, might not have noticed the way he was inching closer to you, you definitely did. 

And don’t think you were spared of any inner turmoil, because while Sukuna was standing like a dope, fighting the good fight against his own thoughts and emotions, you had your own battle to engage in. Your voice of reason was screaming at you to run, to slap him and storm off, to not let him have the satisfaction of forgiveness but the damned horny monster was making its way to the surface, scratching and clawing its way to the top so it could convince you to stay. 

‘Why waste the chance for a taste?’ it whispered in your mind, reminding you that this was your last night in town and Sukuna was undoubtedly the hottest possible man you could spend it with. You didn’t have to forgive him, use him, abuse him, leave him. Be gone forever, make him regret treating you that way, less than human. Treat him the same way, like he was just a tool at your disposal.

You were ashamed to admit how appealing that choice was. But could anyone blame you? You’d suffered at his hands for far longer, what would one night be in the grand scheme of things? If anything it’d give you some closure. Give you the power of knowing that you came out of this feud on top. 

But of course, as earlier stated, you’d need to be at least one shot deeper. 

Sukuna’s eyes found yours again when you cleared your throat, somehow looking down your nose at him despite the fact he still stood at 6’4” which was quite a bit taller than you. 

“I need a shot.” 

He continued staring, obviously confused at the near 180 of the conversation, that was until you cleared your throat, giving him ONE last chance to move his ass out of the way and lead you back to the bar, and that’s what he did, watching as you flagged down another shot for yourself, telling the bartender to put it on his tab. 

“So…” you drawled, feigning boredom as you let yourself drink him in properly for the first time that night, taking your time as you dragged up and down his body, only flicking up to his face at the very end. 

You almost smiled at the blush painting his cheeks, it was cute. You could tell he was nervous, squirming at the way you looked at him unabashedly. 

Don’t get him wrong, Sukuna was ecstatic you were checking him out, in fact, he was hoping it could keep you distracted until he could come up with a half-intelligent sentence to say. 

But his luck seemed to be running dry that night. 

“If I were you I’d hurry up before my shot comes and I get bored.” 

This time you let yourself grin at the way he started fumbling with himself, spitting out a couple of pathetic ‘umm… ya see’s before squeezing his eyes shut, taking a deep breath to regain himself. 

When he opened his eyes, you were a bit surprised by the heat behind them, by the sincerity of what came out of his mouth next. 

“I understand why you don’t wanna hear me out Doll, I don’t need you to forgive me right now, but I need you to know that I’m sorry. And I need you to know that I regret the way I’ve treated you, and I’ll always regret it” 

If Sukuna was a confident man at that moment (which he uncharacteristically wasn’t) he would’ve smirked or maybe even commented on the way that your eyes widened, softening slightly at his more soft-spoken apology. But all he could do was look down at the scratched bar counter while his stomach twisted in knots, waiting for the green light from you to continue his groveling. 

You were shocked, to say the least, the sincerity in his voice was enough to make you believe that this wasn’t some twisted way of embarrassing you. 

And in the quiet of it all, the bartender slid your shot towards you, lime resting over the top. You thanked them, pulling the salt shaker you’d formerly abandoned back towards you as you stared at Sukuna’s side profile under your lashes. You wished he was brave enough to look back up at you. But then again, did you? Did you really want him seeing you this way? Softened by his sincerity? You could only assume that apologizing wasn’t in his usual routine, especially not with how poorly he’d done it the first two times. But something about that last time, something about the way he couldn’t look you in the face now, made you feel like it was the real deal. That he might actually regret what he’d done to you. 

Did that mean you forgave him? 

Fuck no. 

“Look at me.” 

Sukuna looked up like a lost puppy, brows knitting together as soon as he saw that glint in your eyes, a glint he could only assume used to occupy his eyes when he teased you. He found himself leaning closer, holding his breath as you saddled up closer to his side, your fingers gracefully plucking the lime off of the top of your shot glass. 

“Open.” 

You watched his eyes widen in panic, glancing around the room to see if any had heard your request. You followed his gaze, watching him realize that the bar was damn near packed (which wasn’t hard considering its small capacity), and that he’d unconsciously lead you to one of the darker areas of the bar. No one would notice if he did it. And honestly, he didn’t know if he would care even if they did. 

And yet, that small, stupid, stubborn, prideful part of him still had to put up a fight. He rolled his eyes, trying to be nonchalant about it when he mumbled out “come on Do-” 

But you were done taking shit tonight. You knew what you wanted by the end of the night and Sukuna could either follow your rules or go fuck himself. 

“I said open.” You cut him off, smiling sweetly as your hand slowly grasped his jaw, giving him plenty of time to pull away, your sweet smile turning mischievous as he made no move to get away. 

You pushed his cheeks together, making him groan as his lips puckered, face red as he watched you bring the lime up to his lips, grip loosening enough to let him open up. 

You slipped the slice between his lips, telling him to hold it in his teeth by the rind for you as you prepared your salt, all the while batting your lashes at him, trying to work him up as much as possible. 

And fuck was it working. Sukuna could feel his jeans getting tighter with every breath he took, your hand that held his jaw now resting surprisingly tenderly under his ear, your nails lightly scratching circles at the side of his nape. You had him pour the salt over the back of your hand by your thumb, which he gladly did, filling a little patch for you as he tried to focus on anything but rubbing himself against you. 

He could…. you were close enough, so close. 

You brought your hand up to your mouth. You licked the salt off. You downed your tequila, discarding the shot glass on the counter beside you. And then brought your now free hand back up to Sukuna’s jaw, bringing him forward before biting into the lime between his lips, making him groan deep in his throat, his hands desperately coming up to brace your hips as he felt your lips brushing against his. 

You could feel him jerk against your hip, the stiff outline of him pressed between the two of you as he practically curled himself around your body, his hands wrapping their way to your lower back, pulling you towards him further, bringing your chests together. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, his breath jagged as he tried to maintain a slipping composure. 

You could almost laugh at how pathetic it was. And yet, all you felt was fire licking its way up your core, the power you held over him was amazing and unlike anything you’d felt before and all you knew was that you needed more.

You leaned away, discarding the lime into your shot glass before turning back to Sukuna. 

“Good boy.” you mocked, firmly patting his cheek and letting him dig his face deeper into your neck. You giggled, almost sadistically. You could feel how hot his face was against your skin and it was thrilling, to say the least. 

“So…” you turn your head, whispering against his ear, “you gonna take me home?” 

It was like he was short-circuiting, Sukuna couldn’t bring himself to remove his face from your neck, the warmth of your skin too inviting. And even if he could, he wouldn't want to, he couldn’t go back to the way he was before, callous and unwilling to bend to your will. It felt like you’d flipped a switch in his brain that he never knew existed. Now that he was here, in the warmth of your presence, feeling your pulse beneath his lips, he felt free, he felt free to admit his cowardice to you, to beg you for forgiveness, to grovel and whine beneath you until you felt he’d been punished sufficiently. Of course, wasn’t this punishment enough? Holding him in the small corner of the bar, making him grapple with the unsavory reality that soon he’d have to let you go, the reality that the two of you couldn’t stay like that. 

And in his overthinking daze, he couldn’t form a proper response, leaning back with confusion painted over his face, 

“Wait, what do you mean? Why?” his reply was quick and mumbled, as if he genuinely couldn’t fathom why you’d said that, his eyes were flitting over your face, almost frantic.

You just laughed and took a page out of his book, hooking your fingers through his belt loops, tugging him closer as you looked back up at him. 

“You wanna apologize don’t you?” 

And that’s how the two of you ended up how you were, Sukuna lying helplessly underneath you as you ground your hips against his, pulling pathetic little groans out of the man as he clutched onto your hips, not knowing if he wanted to stop you or go faster. 

“Fuck…please….” he gasped, his brows furrowed as sweat rolled down the side of his forehead. His shirt had been discarded somewhere in the room as were his jeans, leaving him in his black boxer briefs which were struggling to contain his raging hard-on, not to mention soaked with both his and your arousals. 

You giggled from your spot above him, digging your nails further into his thick chest muscles, pulling a little, poorly stifled moan out of him as you flicked his nipples, pulling the pretty pink buds while your still-clothed cunt dragged across him. 

“Come on….” you teased, “you want me to reward you? You haven’t apologized yet.” you leaned down, biting his neck, stilling your hips much to his dismay. You grinned against his pulse, feeling it jump every time your canines dragged up and down the skin there. 

“You really think you deserve pussy? After all the shit you’ve pulled over the years?” you bit out, crawling off of him and sitting beside him, leaning against the headboard as he lay there, whiplashed by your constant hot then cold attitude. 

And while Sukuna might be pathetic, might be undeserving, might be a no-good piece of shit, he wasn’t dumb. He knew what you wanted, and he was more than happy to give it to you.

You hummed, watching him eagerly roll over, slotting his shoulders between your legs, resting your thighs on each side of his face, nearly cumming at the feeling of the fat of your thighs against his skin. 

“Please…” he begged, his eyes hooded and his mouth hung open. He looked like a fucking dog, panting, his mouth dragging across your inner thighs as he looked at you expectantly, waiting for the go-ahead to feast on you. 

“Fuck.” you mumbled, feeling your restraint slip, feeling the need to make him suffer, weaken. And it was all because of the way he was looking up at you, looking at you like he needed your permission to breathe. And subconsciously, you found yourself thinking that this wouldn’t be an awful thing to come home to each day. A nice, strong man made weak by you and only you. 

“please… lemme taste you” Sukuna whimpered, pressing open-mouthed kisses closer and closer to his desired destination, making your hips jolt with each contact. It was like he knew exactly what to do to make you putty in his hands, but you wouldn’t go down so easily… you couldn’t. 

You combed your fingers through his hair, smiling at the way he leaned towards your palm. 

“Fuck…” Sukuna groaned, pitching his head back against your hand as you pulled a little too hard at his hair, making his dick jump against the bed, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“listen doll….” you whispered to him, mocking him with the pet name that he’d been throwing at you all night, “...I want you to beg for it…”

He glanced back up at you, eyes wide as he opened his mouth, you imagined to protest, so you beat him to the punch, pulling his hair again and successfully shutting him up with another sharp groan. 

“Don’t you wanna apologize ‘Kuna?” you cooed, grinning as he shivered in response to your nails trailing through his surprisingly tame hair, nodding as he looked up at you through his lashes. You smiled, “....then beg.” 

You waited for another second, Sukuna didn’t move from his place below you, and for a second you began to doubt if he still wanted to be there. Had you misread the situation? No, you couldn’t have… so did you take it too far? Was he waayy turned off now? 

What you didn’t know was that the truth was quite the contrary. Sukuna was more so frozen from the fear that he wouldn't be enough for you, cuz shit with how close he already was, he wasn’t sure he’d last past eating you out, god the thought of feeling you on his tongue was almost enough to make him cum against the sheets before he could even start. 

You went to close your legs, rethinking all of your actions up till now, “hey, listen-” you started…

But before you could get another syllable out, Sukuna was pulling you back against him, gripping your outer thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he finally sunk his teeth into you. 

He keened at the sound of your sharp gasp, your hands tightening in his hair once more, pulling his face impossibly closer to your core as you felt his lips wrap around your clit. 

“Fuck- ‘Kuna….. fu- ….. wha-.... “ you couldn’t think straight, every thought, every plan that you’d had to make him suffer was getting cloudy with every curl of his tongue against you, you could feel your eyes rolling back into your head, you felt possessed. 

“Shhh….” Sukuna whispered, the veins in his forearms bulging as he fought to keep your hips against the bed and your legs spread for him. Now that you’d let him start he didn’t plan on stopping until one of you passed out from exhaustion, whether that would be you or him was up to the universe to decide, of course, he’d do his damndest to make sure it was you.

“Want you to use me….” he sighed, shivering at the feeling of your heels digging into his upper back, “want you to ride my face….. please….” 

You felt your back bowing off the bed, his tongue forcing its way into you, his nose bumping against your clit as you unconsciously ground against him. 

You were almost shocked at how close you already were, almost because who are you kidding, Sukuna was the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on, and the way that he was eating you out made you practically salivate at the thought of fucking him.

You couldn’t get over the way his back felt against your calves, the taut ropiness of the muscles, hardened by years of physical labor, fuck he felt so good against you, the way that his fingers wrapped around the backs of your thighs, gripping the tops of them as he kept your legs pried open, vulnerable to him and him alone. 

And yet Sukuna knew you controlled him, every thrust of his tongue inside you, every catch of his teeth against your clit he could feel himself falling deeper and deeper under your spell, falling more and more in love with the way you moaned for him, sighing his name while digging your nails into his shoulders, your acrylics biting his skin in a way that made him pathetically hump against the duvet beneath him. 

“Fuck….” he moaned, “you’re so fucking pretty doll…please-please pull my hair… please…. I wanna stretch you out…” 

“Yeah?” you asked, cupping his jaw surprisingly gently as he looked up at you, desperation on his face and a borderline scary hunger in his eyes. “how do you wanna stretch me out baby?” you cooed, dragging your hand across his face, taking his jaw in your hand once again, encouraging him to come closer. 

Which he did, of course, scrambling up to you, crawling to rest between your legs, the soft lighting of the room catching the way his chin was shining with your arousal. 

You found yourself looking away, the sight of Sukuna, so eager to please you, being too much. This wasn’t how it usually went. Usually, you found a guy, toyed around with him for a couple weeks, and then you both went on your merry ways. No guy had looked at you like Sukuna did, like you’d hung the moon and the stars. Was this really the same man that had made your life a living hell for the longest time? That’d made you move states away from everything you’d ever known? 

Sukuna frowned, watching your face tilt away from him, your eyes avoiding his as he felt your body stiffen beneath him.

“fuck…” he sighed, his forehead resting against yours as he watched a tear make its way down your cheek. 

“I hate you.” 

“I’m so sorry…” he breathed, closing his eyes, his chest heaving with adrenaline, all of the thoughts and guilt he’d been having for the 10 years pushing to the forefront of his brain. 

“I hate you…” you repeated it, not knowing what else to say, your fingers found his biceps somehow, trying to anchor yourself as more tears started to fall. It was the worst-timed catharsis ever. God! All you’d wanted to do was fuck this man, get your closure, and get on with your life. But the son of a bitch just never let you have your way. He was always fucking everything up. 

“I know Doll, god I'm so sorry…” 

Was Sukuna… crying? 

You opened your eyes to find the pink-haired man, eyes red and lined with tears, his jaw set hard as he looked anywhere but your face, the guilt eating him alive. You could tell he meant it this time. If he hadn’t meant it at the bar (which you were fairly certain he had) he did now. With the way that his tears kinda sparkled in the light, with the way that his chest pressed even closer to yours, you could tell. 

“...just kiss me please…” you whispered, your hands coming down to hold his, your fingers intertwining with his, where they sat against the sheets, gently untangling the grip he had on the linens. 

A broken sound came out of him as he surged forward, pressing his open mouth to yours heatedly. You moaned at the taste of you on his tongue as he forced it into your mouth, curling it around your own as he readjusted his body below you, your core, once again, pressed snuggly against his dick, still angrily trapped in his dampened boxers. 

You could feel him moving, humping you against the headboard as he kissed you, the slow, almost yearning way his hips dragged against yours a stark comparison to the desperation of his mouth. 

He raised his hands, wrapping around the back of your head, coaxing you further into the kiss, making your head fuzzy. 

But Sukuna couldn’t forget that you were steering this ship, so when he finally got the willpower, he broke away from you, his cock weeping furiously as he buried his face in your neck. 

“please…” if he was begging before, he was absolutely pleading now, “please… let me show you how sorry I am, lemme make it up to you please…” 

And ya know, lust does crazy things to a person, so instead of kicking him to the curb and deciding to never talk to him ever again, you just dropped your head back, exposing your neck to him as if it was a peace offering.

“Fuck...” he whined, his lips attaching to you before you could even rest your head against the headboard behind you, making your breath catch and your hips involuntarily jump towards his. “... thank you… fuck thank you…” his words were broken between as he licked and bit as much of your skin as he could find, thinking that if he left his mark on you, you wouldn’t throw him out at the end of the night, he thought that if other men saw it, he’d finally have the chance to make you his and only his. 

“Sukuna, shit- slow down- please..” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders making him groan against you but not stop his pathetic attempts to keep you. 

“can’t… too pretty…” 

you almost scoffed, but you were too afraid that all that would come out was something far more embarrassing than Sukuna’s unrivaled arousal. So you settled with squeezing your eyes shut, biting your lip to ensure you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning. 

You managed a “Don’t say that.” through gritted teeth, which just made Sukuna that much harder, especially when he managed to make you moan when his teeth dug into your neck.

Don’t think he didn’t notice how you were holding back, chewing on your lips instead of letting him hear you. That in itself was torture alone, and something that he was directing all of his energy towards correcting. 

You felt his fingers, moving down your body, traveling from the back of your head to your waist to your hips, grabbing every square inch of fat he could find, kneading it in a way that was beyond embarrassing, and yet it was driving you insane. 

His unabashed desire for you, undeterred by the extra weight around your midsection, was making your head spin. In fact, call you crazy but every time he felt you up, clutching at your curves, his dick jerked against you, telling you that he was definitely enjoying it just as much as you were. 

And the truth was that he was enjoying it MUCH more than you were. The only thought running through his head being ‘don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum’ 

He knew he needed to make you cum first, needed to prove his worth as a lover before he could finally sink himself into you, he knew the second he did he’d be lost. He wouldn’t be able to stop, even if you begged him. 

“Kuna…” you cooed, dragging his mouth back up to yours, taking his tongue in your mouth, trying to convince him to move on past kissing you. You needed more, and it looked like he was gonna make you ask for it. “want your fingers…” you watched his eyes widen before he nodded, his hand quickly dragging from your stomach to core, wasting no time before circling your clit, making you cry out against his shoulder, taking your turn at marking him as your teeth dug into the thick muscle. 

“Fuck doll….” he groaned, wasting no time in pushing the first finger into you, making your tummy clench at the way it curled up into your walls, somehow hitting that soft spot inside of you in the first 30 seconds. 

But you were still hell-bent on hiding how good you felt from Sukuna, he could tell with the way you only let out small ohs as he massaged the tip of his middle finger into your g-spot. 

Not that Sukuna wanted to seem cocky when he said it, but it wasn’t like he was inexperienced with the ladies. He knew he was making you feel good, he could feel it with every warm pulse of your pussy around his fingers.

“Shit…” he whispered into your ear. You felt his nose drag down the side of your jaw, trailing against the outline, down to your neck once again. You almost interjected, thinking that he was gonna stop fucking you open on his fingers just to tease you again by literring hickeys on your neck, but the words died in your throat as he continued downwards, passing your pulse up before landing on the top of your breast, digging his teeth into the fat enough to make you squirm against him. 

“Kuna stop…” 

He grinned at the whiney tone of your voice, he couldn’t help it though, if this was the only way to break you out of your vow of silence then so be it. 

“Shhh….” he switched from biting to running his tongue over your skin, moaning at the feeling of you arched against him when his tongue caught the edge of your nipple.

“Fuck baby, youre so fucking hot…” he mumbled, contining licking and biting, yet (much to your annoyance) avoiding sucking on your tit directly. 

“You’re sucking me in so good…. so pretty..” 

You could feel your orgasm building in the bottom of your stomach, especially with the way Sukuna's thumb kept drawing circles against your clit, alternating with the movement of now two of his fingers twisting and probing inside of you. 

“shi- d-don’t say that.. ple-” the words died in your throat as the edge of his tongue accidentally caught the edge of your areola, dangerously close to your nipple, pearled and begging for his full attention. 

“Don’t want me to call you pretty Doll?” he asked. 

No response. He couldn’t tell if you hadn’t heard him or simply refused to answer him, so he stilled his fingers, going to make sure you were ok.

“wha-?” you all but whined, your head shooting up to look at him from its lolled position against the pillows of Sukuna’s bed. 

“Need to you to pay attention to me, baby…please-” you could barely believe your eyes as you watched your childhood bully give you the most pathetic puppy dog eyes, resting his chin against your chest, panting as he laid his cheek against your skin, practically nuzzling his face into your tits. 

“...please…all I ever wanted was your attention, fuck why da’ think I said all that shit when I was a lil snot nose fucker?” 

With his words, you felt him start to move his hips against your thigh again, the wetness of his briefs making a sticky mess against your leg… so close to where you needed him, yet still too far for your liking.

And while you wished you could say that his behavior was anything but attractive, the way that you felt your cunt twitching, gaping with the loss of his fingers, made it very clear how you really felt. 

“fuuuck…” you groaned, grumbling your frustrations under your breath, bringing your hands up from their positions tangled in his sheets to tangle them back in his hair. 

“what was that doll?” Sukuna raised his head back up to look in your eyes, his half-lidded stare making you impossibly wetter. 

“..was so close….” you mumbled, refusing to show any kindness towards him, you were back on your warpath, your ruined orgasm obliterating any empathy you had for him, you were again here for one thing and one thing only. Dick. not for him to call you pretty or kiss you til your head spun, you were here for a good unattached fuck. 

And even though in the back of your mind, you feared that you’d failed that mission the minute Sukuna’s lips met yours, you could still pretend that there was only one thing he was good for. 

“huh?” Sukuna was a bit taken aback, expecting you to whine about, or at least acknowledge his confession that he’d dreamed of this practically since he hit puberty.  

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not yet at least. 

Sukuna whined at the abrupt sensation of you pulling his hair, making his eyes widen in surprise at your sudden aggression. He thought he had you right where he wanted you, he thought he’d warmed you up enough to stop acting so cold towards him, he genuinely thought the two of you were past just a one-night stand. 

But you were here to remind him that this wasn’t what he wished it was, it wasn’t loving and tender, this was him begging, this was him groveling for forgiveness. 

This was also a much-needed change of pace for you, seeing as you had started to lose your grip of control on the situation.

“Put your fingers back in me Kuna,” you said, your eyes flickering back down to his lips, watching him pant. You felt him nod against your grip, mumbling out a pitiful ‘fuck ‘m sorry’ before pushing his middle and ring fingers back up into you, all while maintaining eye contact. 

You stared at his face, fucked out as he took his turn glancing down at your lips, obviously desperate for another kiss, a desperation you happily ignored, guiding his face into the crook of your neck as you keened at the feeling of him scissoring you open, finding your g-spot again in no time. 

You whispered in his ear, making him whine with the way you gently bit it. 

“Want you to fuck me real nice n hard with your fingers Kuna…” You arched into him, making his head spin at the feeling of your naked body pressed to his chest, “ ‘n I want you to make me cum while you suck on my tits.. kay?” 

“Fuck….o-okay….” If you could believe it, Sukuna’s face turned an even deeper shade of pink, it was cute you thought, cute until, without another word he dove in, teeth first against the first nipple.

“Oh-fu-mm… good boy Kuna…. you like that?” you moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders 

“Mhmm… love it s’much” he panted, his tongue circling the bud before taking it back into his mouth. Sukuna swore he could’ve gone to heaven. If not from the taste of your skin against his tongue, then from the way your cunt kept sucking his fingers back in. 

“So fucking warm….” he worked his way to the other nipple, feeling his cock jump as he flicked it with his tongue, drawing another embarrassing moan out of your throat. “.....so soft….” 

You could feel yourself getting close again, the warmth growing in your core as Sukuna continued to pump his fingers into you, the tip of his middle finger prodding into your g-spot with each drag. 

“Fuck…. come on Kuna…. make me cum… please” 

And that’s all the encouragement he needed to abandon your breasts, bringing his free hand up to grip the nape of our neck before taking your lips against his, this time leaving you no room to reject him, pouring his soul into the kiss, panting as he forced his tongue against yours, overwhelming you with the sudden display of dominance. 

It was unexpected but not unwelcome as you felt yourself fall over the ledge, gasping against his mouth as his fingers brutally worked you through your high, his hard chest caging you in, leaving you nowhere to escape to as chills wracked through your bones, your vision damn near turning white. 

“Fuck please no…no more…too much” you begged when Sukuna finally gave you a chance to breathe, sinking his teeth into your neck, leaving (what he hoped) would be an everlasting hickey. 

It was only when your hands shifted from pulling Sukuna closer to pushing him away that he realized that he still hadn’t stopped fucking you on his fingers. 

“Shit…. sorry doll….” he mumbled, closing his eyes in ecstasy at the feeling of your warmth pulsing around his fingers, imagining how it’d feel if it were his dick being choked by your heat. “.....’m sorry…. just so pretty…” 

You gasped, feeling him remove his fingers from you, watching through your lashes as he brought them up to his lips, moaning as he sucked your orgasm off of them. 

“wanna taste?” he asked, grabbing your nape again, this time coaxing you into a kiss, just as deep but slightly less domineering, leaving you room to breathe as his tongue flicked into your mouth, his hips resuming a slow pace against you.

He hoped you could feel how badly he needed you, the sick stickiness of his crotch mixing with the slickness of your core, the fabric making you whimper and jump with each catch of your overstimulated clit. 

“Fuck.” Sukuna whispered against your neck, drawing back to look at you, fully intending to beg you to touch him, just touching him would suffice, fuck he felt like he would burst with just a drag of your finger against his cock. 

“Please…” you watched as he begged, his eyes red and…. were those tears? Had your childhood bully really fallen so far? Begging for your pussy as he humped your leg like a fucking puppy. “...please is it my turn?” 

You smiled sweetly at him, cupping his cheek, letting him nuzzle his face against your palm. 

“you wanna fuck me Kuna?” 

Sukuna swore you were an angel with the way your eyes sparkled as he nodded, his eyes desperately flickering down to your lips. 

“you need some pussy?” you almost giggled, watching his eyes widen, his eyes still transfixed on the way your lips moved, barely registering the words that came out of them. 

“no….” he whispered, “no… just yours… only yours, please..” 

You almost laughed, if only he didn’t look so pathetic… if only it wasn’t making you flood the sheets more than you already had. 

“yeah?” you asked, “you just want mine? How bad d’ya want it Kuna?” 

“S-so bad... fu… want you so bad…” his hips moved faster against you, making you worried he’d finish before you could get your fill. 

Not that that would stop the two of you from going again, not that it would stop you from riding him til he cried for real. 

“yeah?... “ you cooed, lightly slapping his cheek, grinning at the way it made him gasp, “...show me then…” 

And with that, it was like a switch flipped in him, or rather it was like a starved man had finally gotten permission to eat. He sat back on his heels, wasting no time in pulling his boxers down, tucking the waistband under his balls, too impatient to take them off completely. 

You wished you could say that you were surprised, but let's be honest, you knew that Sukuna was gonna be fucking strapped, even if he were to just be proportional to the rest of him he’d of been big. But this was just ridiculous, not only was he big… he was so pretty it had to be a crime.

The pink of the tip was almost shimmering with how wet it already was with his pre, if it wasn’t so heavy you bet it would’ve reached above his belly button, and the sight of the vein running up it was making your mouth water and your tummy flip. You could practically feel him inside of you already, fuck you could practically feel your next orgasm coming on. 

Without a word, you turned yourself onto your stomach before propping up onto your knees, making his head spin at the sight of you offering your plump ass to him, pressing yourself into such a pretty arch. 

It was tempting to fuck you like this, it really was… and if Sukuna was any weaker a man he’d of jumped at the chance to slam into you, to watch the fat of your ass ripple with each snap of his hips. 

But Sukuna knew how he wanted to take you, he wanted to remember this forever, the first time he fucked you had to be memorable. You had the rest of your lives to fuck like rabbits, but this time he wanted to see you come undone, he wanted to look into yor eyes as he got to sink into you. 

But you couldn’t see the gears in Sukuna’s head turning, all you knew was there were 2 fewer hands on your body than you wanted. 

“Hey wha- hey!” your eyes widened as Sukuna grabbed your hips, flipping your body back over to face him. 

“I wanna see your face..” he mumbled, leaning closer to you, his eyes flicking down to your lips., “please..” 

You almost rolled your eyes, if not out of pure disbelief at his honey dipped words then in a lame attempt to cover up the fact that such words were starting to get to you, starting to make you picture something more with Sukuna, something that’d last past the next several hours.

You opened your mouth to taunt him, but as soon as Sukuna saw those pretty little lips of yours part he nudged your entrance with his tip, biting his lip with a cocky grin when your complaints died on your tongue, melting into a breathy ‘fuck’, pressing your eyes closed at the feeling of his fat tip running across your clit. 

“fuck… please Kuna…” you brought his lips to yours, gasping at the feeling of him beginning to press into you, slowly stretching you out. “I need it in me…” 

And that was all it took to make Sukuna lose the small grip he had on himself completely, driving into you in one swift thrust, making your eyes cross and your toes curl. 

“Oh my god…” Sukuna moaned, his eyes closing in concentration, his whole attention focused on not coming completely undone the second he felt your warmth wrapped around his dick, the heat nearly choking him.

“Fuck…can I move? ple-fuck… please can I move?” 

You almost wanted to make Sukuna suffer by saying no if it meant he’d look at you like this forever, his cheeks flushed almost as pink as his hair, his pupils blown so wide you could barely even tell his eye color. He looked at you like a churchgoer in prayer, like you were his world… It was honestly a little scary how it made you feel, how much you liked it, how much you could see yourself getting used to it, waking up to it every morning, falling asleep to it every night. 

You brought your hand up to cup his jaw, smiling small at the way he turned his face towards your hand, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited expectantly for your answer, his breath catching at the feeling of your walls pulsing around him. 

“Make me cum ‘Kuna ....please” you whispered, guiding his mouth back to yours, swallowing the groan that ripped through him as his hips started moving without his permission, making you cry out with the brutal pace his body set. 

It felt like he was possessed, moving without any control over his body. He didn’t know how long he could keep himself contained with the way you were sucking him in. The feeling of your soft stomach and tits as he pressed his body as close as physically possible to you, only his hips moving to jackhammer his cock in and out of you, making your head spin with every catch of his pelvis against your clit and with every brush of his chest against yours, feeling his bounding heartbeat, threatening to burst out of his chest. 

It was fucking hot, the effect you had on him, the way he could only hide his face in your neck, whimpering out pathetic “thank yous” against your collarbone, too flustered to do anything else. 

Your arms had found their ways around his neck, your nails digging into his upper back, the bite of your nail making his cock jump inside of you. 

“Fuck Kuna….” you moaned, you felt him in your throat, his tip brushing against your cervix with each snap of his hips, your hips doing their best to meet his thrusts. “feels so good…” 

“Yeah?” he breathed, gritting his teeth, his quickly approaching end only driven closer by your praise. “I fucking love the way you feel around me doll, so fucking tight… fuckin’ perfect.”

The way his words came straight from his chest, the low tone, borderline growl making your walls tighten around him.

“Tell me how much you love it ‘Kuna…” your hands were on his lower back now, as if pushing him closer to you, letting him hit even deeper inside of you. 

“Shit….” Sukuna choked, “oh my god… oh my god I love it so much… love it…. love you-fuck I love you” 

And maybe if you were already fucked half to heaven you’d of noticed what he’d said… what he’d confessed to you, but you were so lost in your own lust all you could do was agree, blabbering in agreeance, your hips chasing his desperately, chasing the high that was starting to rise in your core. 

“Love your cock Kuna…. please..please go faster.” it was your turn to beg, and god was Sukuna NOT ready for such a thing, nearly fainting at the sight of your half-lidded gaze. 

Most men would give up, he’d been fucking you for a while now, supporting his upper body on his forearms as his hips pistoned into you, maybe if he’d a been any smaller of a man his muscles would burn with exertion, and they’d especially not be able to go faster. 

But not Sukuna, not the man who threw around 100 pound haybales, two at a time all day for weeks at a time, not the man who could drive 50 posts a day, putting up nearly a mile of fencing all alone. 

This was no sweat to Sukuna, if anything the burn in his thighs was a reward for the long insufferable days of work, which is why when his girl says faster, there's only one thing he can do. 

“oh my godddd yesyesyess-fuck thank you…” 

Sukuna grinned as you babbled out profanities, pressing your thighs to your chest, changing the angle of his hips to drill into you that much better, taking your lips in a bruising kiss, forcing you even deeper into a mean mating press. 

“Fuck doll, youre so fucking beatiful, gonna make me cum…” 

Your head was spinning, it felt like your heart was going to break out of your chest, the feeling of the fat tip of Sukuna’s cock pressing into your gspot with each jerk of his hips was making you lose your mind in the best way. 

How were you going to carry on with life after this? You weren't quite sure yet, knowing that you’d never have this much control over a man ever again was an unfortunate thought. The power you held over this man alone was enough to nearly push you over the edge, that familiar rubber band drawn so tight within you, so ready to snap… you just need one more little push. You wanted to watch Sukuna fall apart first, wanted to watch him lose his mind from the way you made him feel. 

“please…want you to come inside of me ‘Kuna…” 

Sukuna swore he saw god, “fuck…wai-what about you getting pregnant?” 

Sukuna asked, and he admitted that half of him hoped you were serious, he hoped that you were serious and that you weren’t on the pill. And while he was definitely just thinking with his dick, he couldn’t help but pray he’d knock you up first try. He knew it was barbaric and he was fairly certain you really didn't want that. But that didn’t stop him from fucking into you impossibly faster, making you cry out, digging you nails into his back, undoubtedly leaving angry red marks for him to admire tomorrow. 

You giggled, the sound quickly melting into a moan with the way Sukuna’s hips quickened. 

“Don’t worry… on the pill…” you managed to whimper out, getting sick satisfaction when Sukuna’s face dropped just the slightest bit before dropping down to your neck, biting and sucking a trail up to your jaw, whispering into your ear. 

“fuck… you sure?” 

Sukuna could feel himself on the edge, he was so fucking close, all he needed was to feel you come around him, feel you cream around his cock, paint his pelvis with your arousal. But before he could do anything else, before he could talk you over the edge, you tangled your fingers into his hair again and brought him against your chest, forcing his face against them, making his eyes roll back at the feeling of your fat tits smothering him. 

“Come for me ‘Kuna.” you whispered in his ear before tossing your head back at the feeling of his teeth sinking into one of your nipples, the actions pushing you both over the edge at the same time. 

“Fuuuckkkkk” you cried, white flashing behind your eyes, you body shaking, the only thing preventing your body from bowing off of the bed being Sukuna’s strong frame, pinning you down as he worked you through your high, forcing himself to fuck you through his own high, the hot overstimulation of your walls making him cry out against the skin of your breasts. 

The two of you rode out your highs until you were both left sweaty, out of breath, and twitching, your bodies tangled in Sukuna’s sheets. 

You finally gathered your breath, slowly regaining your composure, gaining consciousness at the feeling of Sukuna still slowly pressing kisses against your neck, already having come down from his high, choosing to happily bask in your presence for as long as he possibly could. 

“Hey…” you mumbled, a sudden rush of embarrassment dawning on you as the gravity of what you just did started to weigh on you.

Sukuna let out a small ‘hmm?’ still not stilling his lips against you, something inside of him thinking that as soon as he stopped all of this would be over and you’d walk out of his life forever. 

“Gotta pee.” you muttered, trying and failing to move your body under his, his solid muscle mass proving it pointless. 

“I’ll carry you.” 

It wasn’t even an offer, he just dragged himself up, gathering you in his arms like you were nothing, not even grunting at your weight as he proceeded to carry you into the bathroom attaches to his room, hesitantly setting you down on your feet in front of the mirror overlying the his and hers sinks in the bathroom, chuckling quietly at the way your legs shook, earning him a glare from you. 

God you were beautiful.

And Sukuna was gonna marry you. He was sure of it. 

“Thanks I guess.” you grumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself, avoiding his gaze now that both of you had regathered yourselves. 

“Come back to bed when you’re done.” 

You couldn’t tell if he was begging or telling, his voice just soft enough to make butterflies flutter through your chest. 

“I don’t-” 

His hand cupped the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his, locking with just as much passion as he’d had only moments ago, only making the butterflies worse. 

He drew away, “please…” his voice was still soft, and his eyes shone with a vulnerability you couldn’t say you’d ever seen. 

None of this changed what he’d done to you, and it never could. You didn’t know how you felt about Sukuna anymore. 

He made your life hell for so long…. you didn’t know if you could ever forgive him….. 

but it wouldn't kill you to stay the night….. maybe longer…

…who knows?

[kissedsuns]

chasing cars.

cw: angst, mentions of logan sargeant being dropped, established rel w/ oscar piastri & more

this wasn't how things were supposed to go—not for you, anyway.

your first win was meant to be sensational, a moment of pure euphoria. the kind where you leap out of your car, proud, standing on top of the cockpit with your fist raised high, showing the world and your team what you'd accomplished. it should've felt like you were on top of the world.

but it didn't. not for you, anyway.

a few nights before, you were cozied up in bed, lazily reaching for your phone on the bedside table. the screen lit up, and you squinted, shielding your eyes from the sudden glare. you opened instagram, expecting to see plenty of media about the upcoming race in monza—a track you'd been looking forward to racing at for awhile.

it was also a track your close friend, logan, was excited about. you and he practically grew up together, alongside oscar, who you shared an even closer bond with—so close that you found yourself sleeping in one of his baggy tees.

but that morning, your feed showed something you weren't exactly expected: an image on formula 1's instagram page, boldly announcing that logan sargeant would be dropped from williams midway through the season.

your jaw literally dropped as you stared at the post—a sad picture of logan at the center, remaining on your screen for what felt like an eternity.

you didn't know what to do. should you message him? call him? but then you wondered, why hadn't he called you?

logan told you everything, no matter how gross or disturbing. so why not this?

taking a deep breath, you decided to message him, sending a simple greeting before jumping straight into it, asking if he was okay and what was going on.

to which you received no response.

you felt sick to your stomach for the rest of the morning. and when you finally arrived at the paddock in monza later that week, it became increasingly harder to shake the discomfort.

logan hadn't spoken to you in days, and though it hurt, you understood. why would he want to talk to anyone after what happened?

he'd been axed halfway through the season, his dreams of becoming a successful formula 1 driver were pretty much over. meanwhile, here you were, thriving in a team that adored you.

mercedes was a great environment, and the support from your teammate, george russell, only made it better. but that heavy, guilty feeling gnawed at you. you felt so guilty you were almost choking on it.

as you navigated through the crowd of journalists, eager to get something out of you, you were determined to give them nothing. you had nothing to give, anyway.

you felt far too alone in the paddock, and despite george's reassuring pat on your shoulder when you arrived at the team hub, it wasn't enough.

you couldn't focus during the drivers' briefing or even pay attention to what toto was explaining to you and george—something about strategies, but you didn't hear a word.

despite achieving strong results in practice and securing p2 in qualifying, race day—a day you'd usually be excited for—was now something you just wanted to get through as quickly as possible.

a few comments were made when you arrived that day. your forced smile made it obvious that you weren't taking the news quite well.

it wasn't as if logan had died or couldn't visit the paddock to support you as a friend. but it had just become a habit to have him around.

the driver's parade usually had the two of you laughing at some of the fans in the crowd or chatting about what you did over the week. oscar, usually with lando on the other side of the truck, would eventually join you both, which you loved.

after the race, you'd often drag logan over to parc fermé, giving him a big hug and congratulating him on his effort, even if he wasn't thrilled with his performance. you'd always try to bring a smile to his face, seeing those eyes that once sparkled with pride.

but that sparkle was gone now.

as you reluctantly climbed onto the driver's truck, you stood with your back to the railing, leaning against it as you found yourself staring blankly into the crowds.

no chatter, no smiles—nothing. and everyone noticed.

a few drivers glanced your way with concern written all over their faces, which only made oscar rush over to you. "it's really hard seeing you like this," he began.

"i don't know what you're on about." you tried to brush him off.

"i know you," he said, doing something that managed to bring a tiny bit of comfort. "you don't have to pretend like you're holding up okay, because i know you're not."

oscar's words should've been enough to make you feel less isolated. that undeniable charm of his could usually turn your frown upside down. but with your best friend of seven years stripped from formula 1 and the potential of racing alongside him again gone, you couldn't find it in you to smile.

you avoided conversation for the rest of the day, your mind fixated on just getting through it so you could check your phone—hoping, maybe, logan had messaged you back. maybe even wished you good luck for the race.

settling into the seat of your car, helmet snug on your head, you waited for the race to start.

as the track cleared and the lights went out, your mind drifted back to the one thing that wouldn't leave your thoughts no matter how hard you tried to shove it away.

logan sargeant. best friend. dedicated racer. boy with a dream. hilarious. american. embarrassed. struggling. logan sargeant.

you slammed your foot on the pedal, pushing your car to its limits. the engine roared, tires screeched, and the sound of the crowd erupting in cheers as you passed max verstappen filled your ears.

but you didn't smile. you didn't even grin. you sobbed.

you sobbed because there was a boy back home in america who would never get to hear those cheers for him.

a tear slid down your cheek as you flew down the track, just wanting to see that checkered flag wave so you could go home. go home and bury your face in your pillow and cry even harder.

and that was it. the finale.

your race engineer nearly deafened you with his shouts about your win—your second career victory. but you didn't care.

"thanks, guys. great job. uh, the car was awesome! thanks so much. thanks," you tried to sound convincing as you waved to the fans in the grandstands.

at the parc fermé, where you would usually share a moment with logan, you stood alone, holding your helmet as your eyes scanned the area as if expecting to see your friend.

lando smiled and patted your back, while max gave you a firm handshake. it felt good, and you were proud of how much effort the team put in to ensure that this would happen, but in truth, you didn't care much for the trophy that awaited you.

oscar eventually came up to you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist in a hug. he congratulated you, planting a kiss on your cheek that brought a faint smile to your lips.

you could tell that, despite oscar's calm attitude, he felt terrible for logan too. he was just better at hiding it. his tight-lipped smile and sad eyes slightly gave it away, unfortunately.

your team pulled you into a tight hug, some toppling over others as they fought to congratulate you.

this wasn't how you were supposed to feel after winning your second race in your formula 1 career. this was supposed to be special. you should've been hugging oscar and giving logan a huge cheer.

when the post-race interviews commenced, you stood by your stand, a blank expression on your face as you stared at the floor, utterly bored.

you gave short answers to the reporter, hoping he'd hurry up and let you go. the way he grimaced at your tone and choice of words showed he knew you weren't feeling it, and he eventually took the hint.

you felt bad for letting your miserable attitude affect others. the drivers' room was no different, with lando and max talking about the race and making funny noises at the screen if there was a collision.

you sat there, staring at the first-place cap in your hands. bored. you were bored.

max and lando exchanged a look before glancing at you with softened expressions. they didn't know logan well; hardly anyone on the grid did. they couldn't understand the disappointment you felt knowing you would never be able to celebrate with your best mate ever again.

finally, the podium celebration—a time to get drenched in champagne and hear your national anthem play as you proudly stand on the top step with a wide smile, watching your team gaze up at you with admiration.

but when it was time to step on that podium, the crowd cheered, the anthem played, and you smiled. but there was no logan sargeant in the crowd, beaming up at you with his own fist raised, as if to say, "i'll be up there with you soon. just wait."

the champagne was popped, and before you could process it, lando tipped the rest of his bottle onto your head.

you cringed at the cold liquid streaming down your neck and seeping into your race suit. the taste of victory should've been sweet. it should've felt amazing.

but without your best friend, could it ever feel that way?

as you left the paddock, oscar's fingers intertwined with yours, trophy in the other hand, you pulled out your phone.

your breath hitched as you saw the notification—logan sargeant.

without a second thought, you opened the message.

the screen revealed just six words, and they were enough to shatter you entirely.

"i knew you could do it."

© kissedsuns

[cheriladycl01]

None of my Achievements are my Own - Lando Norris x Verstappen! Reader

Plot: Being the little sister of Max Verstappen, Ex Girlfriend of Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris current girlfriend nothing that you do, seems to reflect on you, it’s always one of the men in your life getting the credit.

Coming from a family with the last name Verstappen, made anything you did as a child not good enough.

You won a medal in your swimming class, Max had won 3.

You raised €600 euro selling baked cakes across your village for the local environment agency. Max had raised €2000 for his local karting track to get new tires around the edges for protection and have the track relayed.

They were silly little things but as a kid, you never felt appreciated by your family and it wasn’t just your dad, it seemed to be your mum too. Max and Victoria also never took notice of your feelings on the matter.

As you got older, being cast out and almost ignored by your family caused you to develop Anxiety and stayed in the house for most of your teen years.

You only really left when forced to go to Max’s races as he started progressing his way through the FIA feeder series to get to F1.

“Dad I really don’t want to be here today” you sighed rubbing your shoulder as you kept your headphones half on half off.

“It’s good for you to support your brother, especially as he’s becoming an accomplished young man. I can’t say the same for you” he frowns watching as Max passes you guys on track.

That race shortly ended. You saw Max getting a little heated just after the podium, and you ran over to your older brother to try calm him down.

If there was one thing you were good at it was calming his bad temper down. Not that you ever got the recognition.

“Max, Maxie what’s going on?” You ask running up to him, and seeing the guilty looking boy next to him.

“Next time maybe fucking look” Max seethes at the boy.

“Max calm down. What happened” you ask taking a hold of his arm, but he swats your hand off.

“He nearly made me loose that race from his careless driving” he points at the boy before storming of to your father, no doubt to have him critique the hell out of his race.

“I’m so sorry about him” you admit to the boy bashfully. He was still stood there looking rather awkward.

“It’s fine, he was right. You’re his sister right?” he sighs.

“Yeah- how’d you know?” You ask.

“You always seem to be here with Max and your dad. I don’t think he’d talk to you the way he does if you weren’t his family. I’m Charles by the way” the boy says and that was the start of something really beautiful.

You started dating Charles just as he was announced for F2 in 2016. But when that got into the media, of course it was because of Max that you’d managed to get into a relationship with a future F1 driver.

You thought finally having some independence from your brother would mean you could put a foot out in this world.

But once you left home to move in with Charles, it only seemed like as he progressed to Formula One in 2018, your further achievements were still not your own.

“Max, I’m leaving” you’d told you brother. You’d already had this conversation with your father who had refused at the idea at first, thinking it preposterous of you to leave.

“What do you mean?” He’d asked cocking his head to the side.

“I’m going to live with Charles, I think it’s going to be better for me” you said, looking down, and playing with your fingers.

“What do you mean, better for you” he asks with a frown on his face. Despite what the fans, or media stated Max loved you with his whole heart, and it was a huge heart he loved you with, he however was ignorant to your feelings on independence. But that was also partly your fault for hiding it so well.

“I just want to go do something for me, you know where it’s my name tied to it and I think somewhere new away from everything here is exactly what I need” you explained.

“Your name?” He asks with even more of a frown.

“None of my achievements are my own, or are acknowledged because I’m the sister of Max Verstappen but maybe I just want to be Y/N for a little bit? I want people to notice me for me, and what I’ve done in life. Not just because my last name is Verstappen” you smiled and hoped that day your new life with Charles would be different.

It wasn’t, If anything … it was worse.

You got into University to study engineering, but that was only because you were dating F1 driver Charles Leclerc otherwise you would have gotten into University the minute you turned 18 in 2017. Rather than delaying it till 2019 once Charles had a secure seat in Ferrari.

And when you became an advocate for APM Monaco, it was only because Charles was asked first.

Or once you got a job within McLaren in 2019 it was only because you had a brother driving for RedBull and a boyfriend driving for Ferrari. Not because of your ambition and hard work in your first year of University.

And when Charles proposed to you, you were quick to say yes.

You were ready to get rid of the dreadful Verstappen name, and Y/N Leclerc had a nice ring to it, and maybe once you just became Charles fiancé you’d have some independence.

But that fantasy was of course short lived.

“Charles baby?” You asked coming home from a day at university. You’d come home because a lecturer had failed to turn up so you thought you’d surprise your boyfriend with his favourite meal and some flowers.

You heard some movement in the bedroom making you go up and see a sight that broke your heart.

Your boyfriend of 4 years, fiancé for 1 year in bed with another woman. You couldn’t bare the sight.

“Y/N my love. I - what” he gasps as you’d entered the bedroom.

“H-how long?” You’d asked, it was your first question. We’re you not good enough?

“Ma Cherie, please forgive me I’m so so sorry” he begs getting on his knees and the other girl takes her leave.

And the worst thing of all, you were so hopelessly in love with him, that you nearly did forgive him with that look.

“Nothing I’ve ever done in my life, has ever been because of me. I’ve never got the credit for anything, so this one time… I’m taking the credit for breaking up with you. And you are going to tell everyone how you broke my heart … because I will not have you take this from me” you’d said to him with tears in your eyes, a sense of deja vu from you conversation three years prior with Max.

You broke up with him on the spot not wishing to ever see him again.

After some time of self reflecting and improvement you and Lando, who had joined McLaren at the same time as you and became your close friend decided it was time to be more than friends.

Lando had always kind of held a school boy crush on you since you both started in 2019, but he knew you were untouchable thanks to both your brother and your boyfriend at the time. Being the same age made you guys really close.

Once you’d broken up with Charles, he could see the change in you, there wasn’t that sparkle in your eyes, you always looked pretty vacant when he looked at you when you thought nobody was looking.

He’d watch the way your eyes lit up with fake happiness when someone approached you to talk.

You and Lando started dating at the end of the 2022 season. However when he said he wanted to keep it under wraps for a while you were so excited. It meant you had Landos love and affection but you were free to be you right?

WRONG

Whatever you’d did you were still seen as Max Verstappen’s Sister and the Ex Girlfriend of Charles Leclerc.

However as you and Lando grew as a couple you noticed he was one of the only to acknowledge your achievements even if the fans didn’t.

When you graduated from your masters in 2023 he was there with a bunch of flowers and watched as you walked across the stage being the loudest person cheering you on, well the only person really cheering you on. Your parents and brother didn’t manage to come.

When you started running a charity on the side to help creatures in the ocean stop ingesting so much plastic being thrown into the ocean. He was there at the press conference where you’d announced your invention and how it would help clear up the oceans.

All of the little side quests he did with you, he made sure to promote them as yours as yours alone and he was only tagging alone to watch and support.

Of course there were still haters, thought you were only a product of your birth name and who you’d dated and that’s why you’d been given all these opportunity’s and that you hadn’t worked hard for anything in your life.

Which was beyond false.

“Lando?” You asked one day, you both lying in bed after a stressful race weekend.

“Yes baby?” He asks looking away from his phone and his eyes fully trained on you showing he was paying full attention to you.

“I - I really love you and appreciate you, I just wanted to let you know” you say looking over at him, and he moves back in shock a little, trying not to show it.

“W-what? Where has this come from. I know you love me silly” he laughs looking over you to try determine if there was anything else going on.

“I know I know, I just - my whole life whatever I’ve done was never mine … not until I met you. And I just want you to know that I appreciate the fact that you see … well me” you breathe and as ge listens he looks like he could cry from the things you are saying to him.

He knew your relationship with your brother was strained at best, he saw that from the very start. And he knew you and Charles didn’t exactly end on a happy note but he didn’t realise just how much you’d been not only discredited for but out right stolen off.

“Baby - why did you never tell me” he asks pulling you into him and hugging you while toying with your hair gently.

“I guess I never felt like I had a voice until I met you, because nothing was my own. But I have that with you!” You smile tears brimming your own eyes with how much you love this man in front of you.

“Marry me” he whispers not looking at you, and you think you didn’t hear him correctly.

“What?”

“Marry me. I never want you to feel like that ever again, and I love you more than anything on this planet. I want to show you just how much of a voice you have for the rest of our lives” he offers and you can’t help but just stare at his eyes.

“Yes - Yes” you cry and cling to him like a koala.

You’d finally found your voice and your purpose and that was in Lando Norris.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[theminecraftbee]

Etho and Grian are back at base, hysterically laughing over their achievement. Cleo sits inside, staring, as the two of them talk about getting a wither and a warden to fight, and tries to figure out what she feels about it.

In some ways it's not their fault. Task made them do it and all that. Plus--

Well, it's not like she and Etho are losing hearts anytime soon. They've both done a damn good job keeping themselves from dying. A benefit, Cleo thinks, of deciding to team with Etho this time. Between the two of them, they'll largely only do chaos they can recover from. Maybe this is their game. Maybe this time, Cleo manages to stick with someone until the very end. It looks like it. It looks like...

Grian, of course, is the confounding factor.

She wasn't going to turn him away. He needed allies. They needed someone a bit better at actually doing damage than herself or Etho. It's mutually beneficial. And, besides, he's weirdly lovable, in an inherently kind of dangerous way. A little like loving a bobcat someone had accidentally raised as a pet cat until it got a bit too big and stinky and murdery for them. Like, yeah, he shouldn't be domesticated and he's not, really, in any sense of the word, but it's a bit sad to watch him try to survive on his own now, right?

Hah. Maybe that's what Scar managed to do to him. Would explain a lot, really.

Anyway, he's her bobcat now, which is the problem.

See the thing is: Cleo understands Etho. It's why finally deciding to be partners for once felt... right. They're similar flavors of people. Scared, mostly. Survivors, but not in the 'will stab anyone' way that like, Martyn is. Loyal, although Cleo has no delusions that Etho is as loyal as she. And scared. Has she already said that? Scared. It's important to the kinds of things she and Etho are. Like... mountain lions, maybe. Mountain lions that have been around just enough people to know how dangerous they are. Like that.

God, she's only doing cat metaphors. Bdubs really is turning them all into furries.

Anyway, the point is, Grian isn't scared.

And that... terrifies her.

That's scarier than anything else. Because, see, Cleo wants to survive. But more than that, she wants her partners to survive. And she and Etho, the two of them are doing well. Better than most people. They're green and they have so many hearts.

But Grian? Grian's yellow and not afraid and goading Etho into not being afraid too. It's not their fault, exactly, Cleo thinks. They both had hard tasks. They didn't have a choice, Cleo thinks.

But. But.

She doesn't know what to do, if Etho gets convinced the humans down the mountain aren't scary. She doesn't know what to do if he gets too close. She doesn't know what to do if he gets hurt.

Because she--she doesn't think she can learn to stop being scared, anymore.

But she also doesn't know how many times her heart can stand to lose someone.

Did you know--wild cats are social? They have a reputation for being loners, but mountain lions, they're social. They don't do well being alone. They don't actually hunt solely alone. That's the important bit here. They seem independent, sure, but actually...

Anyway. This is Bdubs's fault. For making her a furry, apparently.

She watches Grian and Etho scheme together and sits back and breathes and tells herself that Etho isn't going to stop being afraid anytime soon. That if push came to shove, he, at least, would retreat back, and that maybe the two of them could convince Grian to retreat too. Safe from hunters. Safe from red.

Maybe safe from hurting each other, too.

(She's not so sure about that part.)

[ceilidhtransing]

Having spent pretty much the entire year immersed in studying Nazi Germany, the Holocaust, and genocide more broadly, my heart is bursting with the need to stress how much you should take Project 2025 seriously. This is a long post but please stick with me.

Don't take this post as an attempt to concretely predict anything. We can't ever fully know the future and I think it's silly to say with total certainty “if Trump wins then America will become just like Nazi Germany” - not only because the future isn't written yet, but also because Germany under the Nazis was a very specific regime with its own quirks and peculiarities and I don't think that even a worst-case-scenario Trump regime would look exactly like Hitler's Germany. No two regimes ever look exactly alike: it would use the same colour palette as all far-right dictatorships but be constructed from a different medium, like what a watercolour is to an oil painting.

But just because Trump is a very different person from Hitler, and a worst-case-scenario Trump dictatorship would not literally be “Nazi Germany all over again”, that doesn't mean that what happened in Germany isn't instructive here. Forget the specifics of whether or not Trump as a dictator would organise a state identically to how the Nazis organised Germany or whatever; on a far broader and more relevant level, there is a distressing number of similarities. And too many people are falling into the same thought traps as they did then.

Please don't assume that Trump is “way too incompetent” to achieve what's in Project 2025 or Agenda 47. They said the same thing about Hitler. They said that there was no way this showman could govern effectively - holding big rallies and making speeches that get people riled up isn't the same as being good at running a functioning state and achieving what you want. The New York Times even wrote after he became Chancellor of Germany that this would only “let him expose to the German public his own futility”. And in many ways Hitler was pretty incompetent. But that didn't end up mattering. The greatest crime of the Nazi regime, the Holocaust, was masterminded mostly by a whole load of people besides Hitler, who were delegated the nitty-gritty task of actually orchestrating it. Hitler's personal incompetence didn't prevent war or genocide.

Please don't assume that Trump is “just a wacky nutcase” who “can't possibly be a real risk”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The mainstream media gave constant coverage to all the crazy extreme things Hitler said as if he was merely a bit of a joke and not a massive threat. The Nazis were quite happy with this. To quote Goebbels repeatedly in his diary, “The main thing is they're talking about us.”

Please don't assume that being in power will “moderate” Trump and that “of course he won't be able to do all the crazy stuff once he actually has to govern”. They said the same thing about Hitler. It was a common sentiment in the early 1930s that all the sensible politicians around him would force him to moderate his stances. Fritz von Papen, the last Chancellor of Weimar Germany, persuaded President Hindenburg to make Hitler the Chancellor by assuring him, “In a few months, we will have pushed [Hitler] so far into the corner that he will squeak.” It turns out that power doesn't “moderate” people who are openly talking about a dictatorship.

Please don't assume that there's any truth to the whole “Trump has nothing to do with Project 2025 and trying to link it to him is just liberal hysteria” line. They said the same thing about Hitler. People repeatedly asserted that Nazi street violence wasn't really representative of the party leadership; it wasn't representative of Hitler. He was even subpoenaed by a very brave lawyer in 1931 in a bid to prove that recent violence by Nazi stormtroopers was committed with the knowledge and encouragement of the party leadership, with part of the prosecution's argument hanging on a pamphlet by Goebbels that promised a violent overthrow of the state if the Nazis couldn't come to power legitimately. Surely no legal political party could be publishing that. In a successful attempt to escape criminal charges, Hitler repeatedly lied that the pamphlet was not official Nazi Party material and that he didn't know anything about it. No Trump didn't write it, no it isn't an official GOP manifesto, but the links between Project 2025 and Trump, the previous Trump administration, and Trump allies are extremely well documented. Just the other day, Project 2025 co-author Russell Vought was caught calling Trump's disavowals of the document “graduate-level politics” and saying, “what he's doing is just very, very conscious distancing himself from a brand ... he's in fact not even opposing himself to a particular policy.”

Please don't assume that “there's no way something like that could happen here; we're way too educated and advanced”. They said the same thing about Hitler. The Germany of the 1920s and 1930s was one of the most educated and most scientifically and industrially advanced nations in the world, and its cities were some of the most progressive in the world. People were stunned and horrified that it was in Germany of all places - Germany, land of music and art and science and literature! - that fascism took root. Germany's economic and social advancement didn't stop about 40% of its voters choosing the Nazis. It didn't stop them taking power.

Please don't assume that Project 2025 is “just a wishlist” and “not actually a serious plan”. They said the same thing about Hitler. As is hopefully very clear by now, plenty of people did not think that the Nazis were capable of, or would dare to try, putting into actual practice the horrific ideas about race that undergirded so much of their ideology. “I like Hitler; he talks sense economically and I think all this stuff about Jews is just bluff and bluster.” “Every party has a loony wing, right? You have to understand they're not serious when they talk about this stuff; they're just telling their base what they want to hear.” “God have you heard this crazy race science shit about head shapes and stuff? It's hilarious! I'm sure none of them at the top really believe that; there's no way they'd be that nuts.” When a group of people like this tells you what they believe and tells you what they want to do with power, believe them. No matter how ridiculous they seem, they're not joking.

In the words of Hans Litten, the lawyer who subpoenaed and cross-examined Hitler in that court case in 1931, “Don't listen to him; he's telling the truth.” Litten was arrested on the night of the Reichstag fire in 1933 and spent the rest of his life being tortured in concentration camps before dying in Dachau in 1938 at the age of 34.

A tyrannical dictatorship can often be seen coming a mile away. I don't want to imply for a second that what the Nazis did came as a surprise to everyone and couldn't possibly have been predicted. There were people who saw this coming in the 1920s and 1930s and tried to sound the alarm while they still had a chance. But they were too often in the minority, taking the threat seriously while others had convinced themselves that there was no need for concern because the Nazis wouldn't really do all the things they repeatedly talked about wanting to do. Everyone should have seen this coming, but too many people wanted to believe it couldn't be true.

Don't let this scare you. Let it energise you. Talk to the people in your life about Project 2025 and Agenda 47. Push back against people who assert that “they'd never actually do all that stuff” or “Trump didn't even write Project 2025” or “it's not a real plan, just a list of crazy shit to get the base riled up”. Have conversations with folks you know who are on the fence about voting or about who to vote for and who seem persuadable. Make sure you're registered to vote, and keep making sure, especially if you live in a red state where people keep mysteriously dropping off voter rolls.

Now, again, please don't read this as some confident prediction that Trump will be a Hitler figure. I want to stress that is a worst-case scenario. If a Trump presidency is what happens, I would much prefer the best-case scenario: that he spends four years fumbling around and not really accomplishing anything and then gives up power at the end without much of a fight. But it would also be a folly to be smugly overconfident that the worst-case scenario “won't” or “can't” happen. It could. It has happened before. There is no reason it couldn't happen again.

[pitchsidestories]

healing II Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1644

It’s a truth universally acknowledged, that two successful female players, must be in want of the biggest title in Europe, but also want to impress their girlfriend with this huge achievement.

Playing for pride and love on the biggest stage.  The stadium in Bilbao was full of supporters of both teams, although the Barca fans were outnumbering the Lyon fans by far.

Meanwhile the second half had started, and the game was getting more heated and intense, the final was slowly slipping away from the French players fingertips, while the team of your girlfriends was gaining momentum. You watched everything unfold in front of your eyes with Lucy Staniforth who has been a friend of Lucy and Ona for a long time at this point.

“Lucy, have you seen how Lyon knocked over their former teammate?”, you asked her. It enraged you how the Lyonnais players were treating Lucy Bronze on the pitch.

“I did!”, she added in a more calm and reassuring tone, but Lucy is tough.”

“Yes, you’re right, but this was still harsh from them.”, you nodded.

“I agree. But it’s the UWCL final.”, the Aston Villa midfielder reminded you and herself. There was so much to win and loose over 90 minutes plus added stoppage time. You could almost taste the anticipation and pressure radiating from both teams on your tongue. So did your friend next to you.

The match went on, but when suddenly Ona was on the ground and Lucy Staniforth told you earnestly:” Don’t look, y/n.”

Her saying that only caused you to glance at the horrific situation closer, turning pale at the sight of your girlfriend, whose face had started to bleed heavily:” What, why? Oh no, Ona!”

“I said don’t look. That’s a lot of blood.”, she observed quietly. The horror the fellow footballer felt was written in her face too.

“Does she need to get off?”, you questioned her worried.

“No, I don’t think so.”, the midfielder slowly shook her head.

“Ona wouldn’t want to anyway, not when it’s about her first Champions League title.”, you thought out loud.

“They’re checking her.”, Lucy Staniforth remarked.

“Ona’s tough too.”, you mumbled unable to look away from your girlfriend’s red face.

“You’re right, but it’s so much blood.”, the older woman swallowed hard.

“It’s. God, I wish I could somehow do something.”, you cried out helplessly.

“You can’t. Stay here.”, she replied rationally, holding you back with her hand on your upper arm, so you wouldn’t move.

“But-.”

“They covered it. She’s coming back on.”, the midfielder interrupted you. Looking back at the pitch it filled you both with relief, seeing Ona doing alright for now.

You watched on as Ona took the pitch again, a white band-aid on her cheek.

“This will hurt tomorrow.“, you cringed in sympathy for your girlfriend.

Lucy smiled, trying to loosen up the atmosphere: “I’m pretty sure it already hurts.“

“Yes but I guess the adrenaline will help her now.“, you shrugged.

“I’m sure.“, Lucy said, fully focused on the game again.

The game was tight and hard-fought. Exactly the kind of game a Champions League final deserved and you were sure you could appreciate it more if you were less worried about your girlfriends.

Only when Alexia came on and scored the 2:0 for Barcelona in stoppage time, you could feel yourself relax. That was it, the game was over. Another UWCL trophy for FC Barcelona.

With the final whistle, you flung your arms around Lucys neck while she pulled you in for a hug to celebrate.

Your gaze drifted towards the players on the grass again.

“Let’s go down there, shall we?“, you asked, trying to keep any impatience out of your voice.

Lucy smirked knowingly at you: “Yes, go to your girlfriends.“

When you entered the pitch, the players were still jumping around in exhilaration and you had to wonder where they got all that energy from after such a game. Your girlfriends stood off to the side.

Lucy was busy examining Onas injury when they caught sight of you.

“Y/n!“, they both called, waving you over.

You hugged your girlfriends with pride: “Hi. Congrats, champions.“

“Hi, babe.“ Lucy pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“How are you both? Oni, yours looked especially bad.“, you asked, eyeing both your girls cautiously.

Ona shrugged a little self-consciously: “I’m okay. I got her studs in my face. It looks worse than it actually is.“

“Promise?“

The smaller defender nodded: “Promise. It’s just a bit swollen right now.“

You had been able to tell since you arrived on the field. Her cheek was red and the swell almost reached her eye. It looked horribly painful.

“We’ll take care of that. Right, Luce?“

Your English girlfriend nodded, a big grin on her face: “Of course we’ll.“

Ona almost rolled her eyes at the two of you: “Loves, I can assure you I’m alright.“

“I’ll get you some ice later.“, Lucy said, completely ignoring Ona.

The Spanish defender let out a sigh: “It’s fine, really. All I want to do now is to celebrate this big win with you two.“

“Ona…“, you started.

Lucy looked at you, smirking at your girlfriend: “She’s so going to regret that tomorrow.“

“Oh, absolutely.“, you agreed, amused.

Ona groaned: “Don’t talk to me like I’m the child in this relationship!“

“We don’t.“, Lucy laughed, unimpressed by your girlfriends annoyance.

“We’re just making sure that you’re going to be alright.“, you sided with Lucy.

“You should better check on Lucy, she’s older.”, Ona only half joked, bumping the fist playfully against your lover’s upper arm.

“Oh, please, I’m good. Plus wait until you two turn thirty.”, the English woman warned you both grinning.

“That’ll take a while, Lucy.”, the younger defender reminded her.

“Very true, sorry Lucy.”, you quickly switched alliances to your other girlfriend.

“I’ll remind you in a few days.”, Lucy decided.

“That’s basically forever until that.”, you couldn’t resist teasing her. Even when it meant that she was throwing you on her broad shoulders, carrying you over the pitch.

“Hey, let me down.”, you protested giggling.

“No.”, the older player replied. The win had made her forget about her knee which always hurt and made her act recklessly.

You looked for the face of your injured girlfriend, crying out:”Oni, help.”

“Lucy, we don’t want any more injuries.”, Ona intervened.

“I’m careful.”, Lucy promised.

“Hopefully.”, the younger defender said, but she did look relieved once your feet touched the ground again.

After you both were inspecting her wound, the English woman announced:” We’ll take care of you now, Ona.”

“I’m okay, really.”, Ona attempted to wave off the concerns you were both having.

After the party where the team, friends and family let loose, celebrating the champions league win, as well as the nearing end of a long, successful, but also exhausting football season, you three reached the comfort of your hotel room.

“Here’s some ice, amor to help with the swelling.”, you told her in a soft voice before it could touch her skin she stopped you with a tortured smile.

“Too late. I look like this in all the photos.”

“Yes, but you will feel better with it on your skin.”, Lucy stated, knowing fully well from her own experiences with injuries that it was at least providing some kind of relief.

Despite Ona throwing her a doubtful look, she let you do your work:” Okay, fine.”

“And better?”, you asked her quietly.

“A lot.”, the Spanish player closed her eyes in relief. Giving you a perfect view of her long lashes and freckles who were scattered around like stars in the night sky while you were comforting her with the eyes in your hands.

 “That’s good.”, you nodded happily.

“Thanks, my girls.”, Ona mumbled gratefully.  

“You’re welcome.”, Lucy whispered, while squeezing the younger woman’s hand.

Watching your girlfriends’ interactions moved you and made you feel warm and proud inside.  Especially when you were thinking about what they achieved today with their team.

“You two really left it all on the pitch today.”, you remarked in awe.

“It helped to know that you were in the stands.”, the Spanish defender confessed as she pressed a thankful kiss to your temple.

“It did?”, you lifted an eyebrow.

Nodding, Lucy joined in: “I can confirm that.“

“But I did nothing…“, you interrupted, feeling stupid to get all the praise when your girlfriends where the ones fighting on the pitch.

Lucy carefully ran her thumb across your cheek, cradling your head in her hand: “You were there. That was enough.“

You could melt at the sound of her voice. “Thanks, girls. Tonight was really special.“

“Yeah, for us too. Trust us.“, Ona smiled softly.

“I do. But now it’s time for healing.“, you decided, nodding towards the bed.

Ona sighed: “But only for a bit.“

You knew how much your girls hated to sit still and relax. Especially when it involved injuries.

You were surprised that Lucy immediately moved towards the bed. She sat down and patted the mattress next to her: “Come on, girls. Let’s try to rest, tomorrow will be just as crazy.“

You crawled into bed next to her. Ona followed you and took the place in the middle.

Happily, you smiled at the two football players, still moved by the events of that evening: “Good night, my champion girlfriends.“

“Sleep well, our pretty WAG.“, Ona grinned back.

You let out an amused huff. You never imagined yourself as the girlfriend of a football player and yet here you were, in bed with two of the most amazing women on the night of the Champions League final.

As you listened to the slowed breathing of your girlfriends, you realized that you would not change a single thing. There was still some concern about Ona's wound, but in overall contentment you also fell asleep.

[dumpywrites]

Tears and Poetries - Kim Namjoon / RM

Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader 

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)

It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure. 

Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment. 

And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already. 

The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement. 

So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river. 

You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it.  Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold. 

Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching. 

“Hello? Are you alright there?”

The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light. 

Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction. 

“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating. 

The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.” 

You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like. 

“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.” 

He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you. 

There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you. 

The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing. 

“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”

“You’re a singer or something?”

The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”

“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look. 

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”

You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”

“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice. 

“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.” 

“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure. 

“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”

“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”

“Uh, sure…”

You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience. 

“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.” 

You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down. 

“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”

His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason. 

“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”

You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”

“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed. 

“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched. 

“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…” 

You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak. 

“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”

“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes. 

“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”

“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treat you like utter shit. It’s valid.” 

There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next. 

You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it. 

“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.” 

Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue. 

“I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.” 

“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you. 

“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”

He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue. 

“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!” 

Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you. 

The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants. 

“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…” 

“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way. 

“What’s your name?” 

You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again. 

“You first.” The guy gestured. 

You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager. 

“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile. 

“Now where did I hear that name—“

“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”

“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”

You both then exchanged phone numbers. 

“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled. 

“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.” 

“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle. 

“Wait!” 

You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment. 

“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth. 

And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too. 

He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”

You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”

You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night. 

The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it. 

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”

You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”

After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it. 

Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger. 

So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???

Thank you for reading! 🌙

a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3

Prompt request: HERE

[qiu-yan]

wei wuxian vs. pragmatism: what MDZS intends to say about righteousness

copy/pasting most of my rather bitchy reply into its own individual post because i think it deserves to stand on its own.

so i think we can all agree that MXTX intends for us to read MDZS and conclude that wei wuxian is ultimately a deeply heroic and righteous person. whether you as the reader agree with this assessment of wei wuxian's moral character is another question entirely, but at the very least it is fairly obvious to all of us that MXTX intends for us to read him as a good person.

so why does MXTX call wei wuxian a good person? what aspects of his character and which of his choices make him a good person? what moral framework and what definition of morality does MXTX employ in order to call wei wuxian a good person?

i posit that MXTX argues that wei wuxian is heroic precisely because he is not pragmatic - because he adheres to his moral ideals despite the consequences, and because he did not make moral sacrifices at critical junctures of his life. the first half of this post will argue that wei wuxian is not pragmatic. the second half of this post will argue that this is exactly why wei wuxian is heroic, and that the moral framework employed by MXTX is deeply idealistic instead.

so let's begin.

let's start by establishing two things.

first: what MXTX argues about morality through the narrative of MDZS and the reader's own beliefs about morality are two different things. me saying "MDZS argues that xyz is righteousness" and me saying "i think xyz is righteousness" are two different statements. the following analysis is concerned not with what i myself consider to be righteous, but rather what MXTX argues through MDZS is righteous.

second: wei wuxian is not pragmatic.

what does it mean to be pragmatic? unless we are speaking about the school of philosophy specifically (which i am not here), being pragmatic means being grounded in reality and focused on practical outcomes. it means being result-oriented and considering the consequences of your actions before you act; it means acting only after you have considered the potential consequences of all possible courses of action and have then decided which outcomes are acceptable. being pragmatic also means recognizing when achieving everything you want is impossible. and, in such situations, being pragmatic thus entails compromising to achieve a desired outcome, even if that means you don’t get everything they want. to put it in edgier terms, being pragmatic means being able to make moral sacrifices.

an idealistic person attempts the impossible. a pragmatic person recognizes when something truly is impossible.

wei wuxian is not pragmatic.

first, wei wuxian is not someone who carefully considers the consequences of his actions before he acts. in fact, he displays a startling lack of consideration for consequences. it repeatedly falls upon other characters to either try (and fail) to hold him back.

when wei wuxian punched jin zixuan for insulting first jiang yanli and then jiang cheng, did he consider that jiang fengmian and jin guangshan might then dissolve the betrothal, and that jiang yanli might have wanted to make a decision regarding that on her own? no. he just punched jin zixuan because he was mad that jin zixuan had insulted two people he loved.

when wen chao threatened mianmian, and lan wangji and jin zixuan stood up for mianmian, and then wei wuxian stood up for them by holding wen chao hostage in turn - did he consider that there might be consequences for humiliating and threatening the life of the son of a warmongering great sect leader who has already proven capable of attacking other sects? no. did he stop and think "alright, wen ruohan has already attacked the cloud recesses, which proves that he's willing to wage war against the other sects. threatening the son of a sect leader is an easy way to earn any sect leader's ire, and since i'm the first disciple of the jiang sect, this puts not just me but the entire jiang sect on wen ruohan's shitlist"? no. it would be one thing if wei wuxian weighed this possibility and then decided that rescuing an innocent girl and the people who defended her was more important was worth the risk - that would show that he considered the consequences and then made his choice. but the thought simply never entered his mind. he acted simply because he wanted to save mianmian, jin zixuan, and lan wangji from the wens; he did not think beyond that.

when wei wuxian busted the wen remnants out of the qiongqi pass labor camp, did he have a clear plan as to how he was going to weather the political fallout? did he have a plan more detailed than "live quietly in the burial mounds until everyone forgets about us"? no. when jiang cheng challenged him as to how he was going to survive the situation, he did not in fact offer anything more concrete than "we'll just wait for everyone else to forget about us." he blustered about being a once-in-a-generation genius who could accomplish the impossible, but he provided no actual plan as to how he was going to do it. this leads me to conclude that wei wuxian did not in fact have a long-term plan for handling the consequences when he went ham at the qiongqi pass camp - that, instead of weighing the consequences and then making his decision, he instead decided immediately that this was something he had to do, consequences be damned.

and then - on top of this - all of his following actions then point in the exact opposite direction of his stated plan of waiting for everyone to forget about them. because instead of doing anything to fade into the background, everything wei wuxian did instead just convinced the jianghu he was an intolerable threat.

and this was not a sustainable strategy.

one thing i really appreciate about MXTX is that she does not make the rest of the jianghu into one-dimensional villainous morons. it's quite easy for lazy writers who want a persecution plotline to have the rest of the story's society magically start hating on the protagonist for no good reason, to make every background character in the story's world a three-braincell moron. but MXTX is not that author. it speaks to MXTX's skill as an author that, from the perspective of the rest of the jianghu, fearing wei wuxian as a mortal threat was an entirely reasonable conclusion for them to come to.

first, the gentry's most recent direct interaction with wei wuxian during this time period is him threatening to kill all of them. when jin zixun doesn't give him the information he wants, wei wuxian straight up says: "if i want to kill everyone here, who can stop me? who dares stop me?" this is a threat! and - surprise - threatening to kill people naturally makes people think that you want to kill them! 

next, wei wuxian refined wen ning's dead body into the first sentient fierce corpse in history, and also the strongest fierce corpse in living memory - and then took wen ning with him on night-hunts. that's where the reputation of "the yiling patriarch and his ghost general" comes from. this very naturally made the rest of society fear him even more, because now the guy who has just recently threatened to kill you has demonstrated even more of the power to easily do so! the unparalleled power to do so, which no one else possesses and it would be very hard for anyone else to counter! add in the fact that wei wuxian's activities were also attracting prospective disciples - people gathering outside the burial mounds because they wanted to learn demonic cultivation - and naturally the public is even more frightened, because now it looks like the guy who threatened to kill all of you is also gathering the political force to do so!

the public is incorrect about wei wuxian's intentions, of course. but what does wei wuxian do to correct these misconceptions? to rehabilitate his public image, because now his public image has the life of not just himself but also all the wen remnants under his protection riding on it? to prove to the public that he isn't an active threat to their lives - that he does not seek to murder them all in their beds - that it is safe for them to allow him to live, and that they can in fact survive if they don't kill him?

nothing.

it would be one thing if the story mentioned how wei wuxian tried to correct the malicious rumors about himself and failed. but that is not what happened. what happened is that wei wuxian sat on his corpse mountain and let everyone else say what they wanted to say. and when he left his corpse mountain, it was to bring his one-of-a-kind unparalleled sentient fierce corpse with him on night-hunts, which of course just fanned the flames of the rumors instead. he doesn't even tell the prospective pupils camped on his front door to fuck off - he just sneaks in through the back door.

this is not pragmatic behavior. though you can argue that wei wuxian's strategy here was to become so powerful and so scary that no one would dare try to fight him, anyone with a brain can tell you that this is not a sustainable solution in the long-term. first, if you want to use threats to keep someone from attacking you, you also need to promise stability - you need to give people the reassurance that if they don't start shit with you, then you'll leave them alone too. if you drive the "threat" factor too high, as wei wuxian did, you instead end up convincing people that if they do nothing you'll kill them anyways - that they have no choice but to kill you if they want to survive.

second, if you want to use threats to keep someone from attacking you, you also need to prepare for the inevitability that, if someone does end up getting hurt, everyone will blame you first and no one will want to hear your side of the story. after all, if someone gets hurt, then the first suspect everyone looks towards will be the guy who's been consistently saying "i'm strong enough to hurt you! i'm strong enough to hurt you! don't start shit with me because i'm strong enough to end you!" for the past few months. this is basic common sense. and yes, the society of MDZS is unfair - wei wuxian deserved a proper trial and investigation after the death of jin zixuan. but the fact that society is unfair is something a pragmatic person would have recognized and planned for.

wei wuxian did not recognize and plan for this reality. even after he accidentally kills jin zixuan, wei wuxian still insists that if only the jianghu investigates jin zixun's hundred holes curse, they'll see that wei wuxian didn't cast the hundred holes curse, they'll see that there was more scheming going on, etc etc. wen qing has to directly spell out for him that, at this point, society no longer cares about the truth of the matter. it seems that wei wuxian was actually oddly idealistic about the true nature of his society all the way until the very end.

all of this leads me to conclude that, when wei wuxian busted the wen remnants out of the qiongqi pass labor camp, he did so without considering the consequences of his actions. he assumed that he could improvise and weasel his way out of this situation, as he's always done in the past with his typical genius - only this time, he was wrong.

wei wuxian acts without considering the consequences of his actions. he does not make a decision only after carefully deliberating over all of the potential outcomes - not at all. instead, he acts in the moment - not out of any rational consideration of potential outcomes, but rather because it is simply something he must do. this by definition makes him a deeply unpragmatic person.

to put it into more familiar terms, for wei wuxian, the righteousness of an action comes not from its consequences, but are rather inherent to the action itself. even if he were doomed to fail, he could not give up on the wen remnants.

second, at critical junctures, wei wuxian is unable to make moral sacrifices. to be pragmatic is to know when you have to sacrifice: to know when, in order to achieve the most inalienable of your goals, you have to give up on some of your other goals. this is something wei wuxian is consistently unable to do.

of course, when it comes to his own wellbeing, wei wuxian is all too willing to sacrifice. he'll carve out any number of his internal organs to save those he loves. but this honestly speaks less to wei wuxian's moral framework and more to his lack of self-worth from a troubled upbringing.

because, when it comes to any moral cause, wei wuxian is entirely unable to sacrifice anything, even if being unable to sacrifice entails more negative consequences. wei wuxian could not sacrifice mianmian, jin zixuan, and lan wangji to wen chao and his goons, so he took action and took wen chao hostage himself. to sit back and do nothing as wen chao threatened the lives of those three was simply unthinkable for him - even if it meant taking a course of action that put yunmeng jiang in danger.

wei wuxian's relationship with jiang cheng deteriorated because jiang cheng did not know about the golden core transfer: because jiang cheng did not know that wei wuxian could no longer cultivate, from jiang cheng's point of view, it looked like wei wuxian was just refusing to help out and fulfill his promises for kicks. wei wuxian could have made things a lot easier for himself and also any wen remnants he chose to rescue had he simply told jiang cheng the truth - but he knew that finding out the truth of the golden core transfer would make jiang cheng miserable, and [jiang cheng's happiness] was not something he was willing to sacrifice.

wei wuxian's single most prominent moral decision is his refusal to allow the wen remnants to be sacrificed. anyone with a shred of political sense had to know that rescuing the wen remnants and then protecting them would be near impossible - that it entails making an enemy of the jin, and due to the jins' power, the entire jianghu. wei wuxian himself knew this; he is no moron. wei wuxian also had no long-term plan, no allies, and significantly less power than the rest of the world believed. yet, despite this all, he acted anyways, because he could not let the wen remnants be sacrificed.

the wen remnants wei wuxian rescued from the qiongqi pass labor camp included both regular civilians and cultivators. perhaps wei wuxian could have negotiated a proper release for the non-cultivating civilians, such as granny wen and a-yuan, had he chosen to give up on the cultivators. but - the question of whether this would have worked or not aside - this was not a sacrifice wei wuxian would be willing to make.

nor could wei wuxian sacrifice the safety of yunmeng jiang. i am firmly of the belief that, had yunmeng jiang formally stood by wei wuxian's side after wei wuxian attacked the jin-run labor camp, lanling jin would have eventually declared war on yunmeng jiang, and yunmeng jiang's would inevitably be destroyed. both wei wuxian and jiang cheng understood this as well - which is why wei wuxian told jiang cheng to let him go.

(you can argue - successfully - that wei wuxian did in fact sacrifice [his obligations to yunmeng jiang and his promise to jiang cheng] by leaving yunmeng jiang to protect the wen remnants. this is true. but i think that - from wei wuxian's point of view - this was not much of a sacrifice, because due to wei wuxian lacking a golden core, he already viewed himself as mostly useless to yunmeng jiang. so him leaving - in his view - is not really that much of a loss for yunmeng jiang.)

wei wuxian promised wen qing that he would return wen ning's consciousness to his corpse. when wei wuxian made this promise, he had no idea if he could actually pull it off or not. but then he did - and, in the process, created the most dangerous weapon the jianghu had seen in living memory. wen ning specifically, or moreso wei wuxian's inability to control him, leads to so much of wei wuxian's eventual downfall: wei wuxian loses control of wen ning and accidentally kills jin zixuan; when wen ning goes to turn himself in at jinlintai, he ends up going berserk again and killing another 10-20 jin and lan cultivators, which leads to the nightless city pledge conference. frankly, wei wuxian could have avoided a lot of trouble - or at the very least, a lot of the public's fear - had he not raised wen ning from the dead. it's not like he'd be completely defenseless without wen ning, either. but wei wuxian promised wen qing he would resurrect wen ning - and he could not sacrifice his promise to wen qing because of what wen qing had already done for him.

a pragmatic person is able to make sacrifices, including moral ones. at the very least, a pragmatic person recognizes when sacrifice is inevitable, when all paths lead to something being lost. a pragmatic person, put in the trolley problem, would recognize that there were only two options and that both options involve sacrifice: either he must kill one person, or he must allow five people to die. there is no path forwards in which all six people live.

wei wuxian is unable to make moral sacrifices. he clings on to all of these moral causes, all of these promises and obligations, and it is precisely because he attempts to hold onto all of them that he ends up losing everything. to reuse the previous example, wei wuxian in the trolley problem tried to save all six people because he could not accept any of the sacrifices made inevitable by the trolley problem.

to put this all together - wei wuxian is not a pragmatic person. he makes decisions with his gut, not his head - he does not consider the consequences of his actions before he acts. nor is wei wuxian able to make sacrifices - even necessary ones in order to avoid greater tragedies.

but. none of this means that wei wuxian is not a deeply heroic person. rather, to do what you believe to be righteous and attempt to live up to your ideals despite the consequences is exactly what MXTX lauds as moral. and to be unable to make a moral sacrifice when everyone else in your society easily does so is in fact deeply heroic.

it is precisely because wei wuxian is not pragmatic that MXTX declares him a hero.

some people, including myself, favor a moral framework that centers pragmatism and reason as virtues. to us, the ideal moral character is someone who makes decisions based on reason and not emotion, who considers the potential consequences of every course of action before making a decision, and who then, based on these inferred future consequences, uses reason to deduce which of all of the possible outcomes is the most preferable.

but this does not in fact describe wei wuxian, nor is this how wei wuxian views ethics. and to be honest, i don't think this is how MXTX views ethics either.

in all three of her stories, MXTX repeatedly comes down harder on the characters who make pragmatic decisions, the characters who are willing to sacrifice. in fact, killing sunshot soldiers while acting as wen ruohan's spy, and then killing nie mingjue's men in order to ensure a chance at killing wen ruohan and saving nie mingjue, was the pragmatic thing for meng yao to do, because that was the least bloody path forwards towards a sunshot victory over qishan wen. in fact, cutting ties with wei wuxian after he attacked the jin-run qiongqi pass labor camp was the pragmatic thing for jiang cheng to do, because it was the only path forward that did not put yunmeng jiang, his first and foremost responsibility, in the line of fire. and yet (though the situation is less clear with jin guangyao), MDZS as a narrative criticizes both jin guangyao and jiang cheng for these decisions - because, to MDZS, righteousness does not lie in pragmatism.

(this is a statement i personally disagree with. but we are here to discuss what MDZS wants to say about pragmatism and righteousness, not what i want to say about pragmatism and righteousness.)

by contrast, the one single act for which deeply controversial jiang cheng is ultimately lauded for in the narrative is also his single least pragmatic, most emotional act. the one single act of jiang cheng's that MDZS does not criticize is when, after the fall of lotus pier, jiang cheng ran out from his hiding spot to distract the wen soldiers from seeing wei wuxian. from a filial, duty-based point of view, this was a deeply stupid and unpragmatic course of action: jiang cheng's first and foremost duty, as the sole surviving jiang and new sect leader jiang, was to survive, rebuild his sect, and avenge his parents. from a consequentialist point of view, this impulsive choice is also what led to the domino-fall of tragedy that followed, since jiang cheng then got captured and had his golden core melted, which then led to everything else. yet this stupid, unpragmatic, and impulsive decision is ultimately the one act MDZS considers to be jiang cheng's single most heroic.

the key as to what MDZS considers to be heroic, what it considers to be righteous, lies in the jiang family motto: 明知不可而为之, attempt the impossible. this line, taken from the analects of confucius, can be considered to be a deeply deontological ideal. i find this twitter thread (warning to my followers: does kind of dunk on JC) to be rather helpful in elucidating this line's meaning. 

to attempt the impossible, to try what shouldn't be tried. "ask yourself not whether you can do it, but whether you should...consider not the result but rather the journey - have a clear conscience regardless of outcome." in other words, what matters is less whether you succeeded or failed, or what sort of outcome your actions brought about - what matters is that you tried. what matters is that, in the face of overwhelming odds, you tried to do what you think is right. and even if you end up failing - even if everyone you sought to protect ended up dying - the fact that you tried still has moral weight.

this is why it was righteous of wei wuxian to save the wen remnants - even though the ultimate consequences of that decision were overall negative, even though everyone wei wuxian tried to protect died. in fact, if wei wuxian had died immediately - if he had been shot down by jin archers at the qiongqi pass labor camp the moment he came within their range - if he had died before any wen in the labor camp realized someone wanted to save him - he would still be a righteous person. because, for MDZS, what makes an action righteous is not its consequences. for MDZS, what makes a person righteous is not what impact their actions have on the world, but rather that they have the sort of moral character that leads them to never give up on their ideals.

wei wuxian does not consider the consequences of his actions before he acts. or, should i say - wei wuxian makes decisions despite their consequences, because despite the consequences there are simply some moral causes he simply cannot give up on. wei wuxian did not save the wen remnants because it was pragmatic to do so. it was in fact deeply unpragmatic to do so. no - wei wuxian saved the wen remnants without a concrete long-term plan, without having thought through anything beforehand, with the knowledge of how weak he was in reality - because he could not give up on the wen remnants, consequences be damned.

to have some moral causes you simply cannot give up on, no matter the consequences - to MXTX, is deeply heroic. in this sense, MXTX's moral philosophy is not pragmatic at all, because to be pragmatic is to be concerned with practical consequences. instead, both wei wuxian and MXTX herself are deeply idealistic, because what matters to them are ideals and principles that extend beyond consequence.

as the linked twitter thread notes, this is why MXTX waits until the very end of the book to reveal that wen yuan, now lan sizhui, lived. this is why wangxian only meet mianmian and her family at the end of the book. this is why all of the cumulative positive impacts of wei wuxian's resurrection -  jin ling forgiving wei wuxian, jin guangyao, and wen ning, for one - are kept to the end of the story: because MDZS needs to move away from the consequentialist argument. MDZS needs to establish that wei wuxian's righteousness is separate from the impact of his actions: that wei wuxian isn't righteous merely because his actions had a positive impact for which others can thank him, but rather because the actions he undertook were inherently righteous on their own. that even if none of these positive impacts existed - if wen yuan had also died, if mianmian hadn't made it - then wei wuxian's choices would still be moral.

this is also why MDZS ultimately comes down harder on characters like jiang cheng and jin guangyao, even though a more results-oriented moral framework would instead laud such characters. both jiang cheng and jin guangyao are deeply pragmatic characters: they put concrete results before abstract moral ideals, and they're willing to compromise on their ideals in order to achieve better results. i am a JC stan and a jiggy apologist because of these exact traits. but MDZS is a narrative that criticizes such pragmatism and instead holds up wei wuxian's idealism as a moral ideal - so, in order to advance its themes, the MDZS narrative ends up criticizing both jiang cheng and jin guangyao.

ultimately, this idealism - this criticism of pragmatism - lies at the heart of MDZS's themes. wei wuxian's righteousness is directly connected to the fact that he is not pragmatic. the fact that wei wuxian makes moral decisions despite the consequences, and that he is unable to sacrifice any moral cause - is all part of what makes him at once deeply unpragmatic and deeply heroic.

---

you see, the funny thing here is that i personally disagree with this theme. as i've said before, i'm a utilitarian. to me, the morality of an action does in fact arise from its consequences; to me, someone who compromises on their ideals to achieve better results is preferable to someone who adheres to all of their ideals and then loses everything. the character i consider to have had the greatest positive impact on this story's world is jin guangyao. the character i consider to have most dutifully fulfilled his obligations is jiang cheng.

therefore, i disagree with basically everything i wrote up there about "trying": i think that if you try to do the right thing, fail epically, and in the process of your failure get a bunch of other people killed as well, the fact that you failed this badly does in fact matter quite a bit. the bulk of my more haterish posts are born from this fundamental disagreement with what MDZS posits is righteousness.

however. as a reader i must recognize that [what i consider to be moral] and [what the author of this story considers to be moral] are two different things. my own moral philosophy may be heavily results-oriented, but MXTX's is much less so. therefore, regardless of what i think of wei wuxian, i conclude that MXTX ultimately intends for us to read wei wuxian as a heroic figure for the exact reasons i gave above - and that fact must then inform every analysis of MDZS i write.