#give me musician drama

[loveisliquor]

open to : f/m/nb plot: yes everyone thinks we're dating and maybe I'm in love with you but this cannot be a thing... (forbidden/ no in*cest pls)

it's late in the studio-- they've both been working too long and dancing around the palpable tension in the room. it's a line she won't cross with them-- at least that's what she told herself two hours ago. "i think we've actually got it--" she shifts back from the mixing board, content with the music and frustrated with everything else. she feels them approach from behind and every hair on her body stands on end. "want to listen again?" their chemistry is electric-- it leaks into every song, every interaction and she's exhausted from pretending not to feel it. "or are we...good? oh--" she looks up and finds them next to her, close enough that they are almost touching. "uh--" this crush might just kill her.

[xcziel]

Hip-hop producer Sleep Deez introducing friend and colleague to Agust-D's second mixtape

their previous video was an introduction to RM's Right Person Wrong Place which is where i started watching and it's also a great vid

really enjoying seeing someone new finding out about the various facets of BTS members, and how educational the vids are music-wise. they are both dropping a lot of knowledge and appreciation for music production expertise

if you enjoy the rapline this pair of vids are super rewarding and validating

[kingofpopmj]

You Know, Love Is All We Need

Summary: The Jackson Family roll out in full force to take part in the recording of We Are The World. Michael feels helpless as his wife isn’t welcome by all his loved ones.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: FAMILY DRAMA, ARGUING AND CURSING

Requested: yes

*Michael’s POV*

“Babe, I’m serious.” She whined, throwing herself back onto the bed.

“Y/N, baby, you can’t just not go. You’re my wife. My whole family is going to be there. I’d like for you to be with me.” I grabbed her hands, pulling her up to face me. “You’re the best part of me. I can’t do it without you.”

“Michael, your family hates me.” Her voice was sad and she looked at me with pleading eyes.

“That’s not true.” She pursed her lips at me, crossing her arms and a hint of glossiness filling her eyes. “No, please don’t cry.”

“It’s always a fight. I’m exhausted.” Her head hung low and I couldn’t think of anything else to do but hold her.

“I’m sorry. My mother loves you and that’s the most important thing— she’s crazy about you. I know my dad is rough, but he doesn’t hate you. My brothers lose their minds over you, they love having you around. My sisters—”

“You know it isn’t them. They’re great. It’s Latoya. She always—”

“I know. I know.” I cut her off before she went any further. I didn’t want her to break down like the last time. “I’ve spoken to her about it. She’s not going to be an issue anymore. I promise.”

“She always attacks me.” She sounded defeated and all I could do was comfort her. “I can’t take much more of it. It feels like it’s getting worse, like when we all went to the studio together. I thought it would be a nice bonding moment, but…” She drifted off, burying her face deeper into my chest.

“Michael! You made it!” Latoya cheered, she jumped up from where she was sitting with my brothers.

“Hey!” It was then I fully walked into the room, holding Y/N’s hand as she followed right behind me.

“Oh, you brought her.” Latoya rolled her eyes in a huff, turning away from us without another word.

“My wife? Yes, I brought my wife.” I spat back, beyond irritated with my sister’s sudden attitude. “She’s a musician. She was invited.”

“Yeah, she’s even giving Michael some nice competition, ain’t that right sister?” Marlon hopped up, hugging us both. “It’s great to see you.”

“If it isn’t one of my favorite Jackson’s.” Y/N laughed, sharing her secret handshake with my brother.

“Well, the rest of us are excited.” Tito spoke up, pulling my wife into a hug, then patting me on the back. “Toya is just jealous. The only reason she’s here is because she’s related to us crazy handsome and extremely talented fellas.” He said it loud enough for her to hear, but all she did was cross her arms.

“T, that’s not nice.” My wife whispered, shaking her head like she was scolding a child.

“It’s the damn truth. If she focused on her career as much has she focused on having that stick up her butt, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Tito was blunt, the words were a bit harsh, but he’s right. “Y/N, you’re family and the way she— it don’t sit right with me. I want you to know we— you’re part of this family, you’re a special part and we…”

“We love you.” Jermaine sang, finishing the sentence his brother was becoming too emotional to finish.

“I love you guys too.”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory, kissing her forehead before speaking again. “I know and I’m sorry. We discussed it. She’s looking forward to seeing us so she can apologize in person.” My wife raised her eyebrow at me. “She’s just having trouble— I think having a new sister-in-law has been tough on her.”

“Okay. I guess if your whole family will be there it’ll be fun, but if something happens I’m leaving. I’m serious. I don’t want anymore problems.”

“We. If something happens we will leave. I’ll be your knight in shining armor. I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I know you won’t.”

*Y/N’s POV*

We arrived at The Jackson home right on time, everything was business as usual— just enjoying one anothers company. There was loud music and mountains of delicious food. We made our way around the party, greeting everyone and watching the kids running around the yard. It was fun. So far, tonight felt like it wouldn’t be so bad.

“How are you doing?” Michael whispered near my ear.

“Good, thank you for talking me into coming. I’m having fun.” I dragged my thumb across his bottom lip before stretching up to my tippy toes and kissing his lovely lips.

“Ew. Do you have to do that where we can all see you?” Of course. I didn’t need to look to know Latoya had arrived. “It’s disgusting. You can’t wait until your home to maul—”

“Shut up Latoya.” Michael rolled his eyes, pulling me deeper into his chest.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Michael simply stared her down— like he was daring her to say something else. By the way her mouth snapped shut, it was clear she wasn’t expecting that. They stared at each other a little longer before finally she walked off.

“I seriously don’t understand what’s up with her.” He muttered. “She’s really pissing me off.”

“I have no idea, but I rather not hang around to find out. Don’t let her get to you babe. Maybe we should—”

“You want to go already? We can.” He gave me a sweet smile of approval, showing me he had my back and understood.

“No! You can’t leave! Come on! We’re gonna play some games.” Janet cheered, running over to the cabinet and grabbing about a dozen glass bottles. “Well, you gonna stand there like two dimwits or are you gonna help me?”

“I think we could stay longer!” I giggled, skipping over to help my sister-in-law. “Come on dork get to stepping.” I tickled his side before running outside and onto the deck. Michael didn’t waste any time chasing after me, eventually tackling me in the grass.

“You’re being bad now?” He spoke breathlessly, struggling to get a grip on my wrists as I wiggled beneath him. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“What are you going to do? Spank me?” I whispered as low as possible, but I could tell by the way he froze on spot that he heard me loud and clear.

“Oh great they’re going to fornicate right in front of us now. Just what I want to see.” Latoya again, isn’t she lovely?

“I wish.” Michael mumbled, getting to his feet and helping me to mine. “To be continued…” he laughed.

“Most definitely. I mean if you’re up for it… we can slip away to the bathroom for a quick—” there was no way I’d actually do it under his parents roof, but I still enjoyed teasing him.

“Shhh. Don’t.” His hands pressed against my mouth and he silently begged me to stop teasing him. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Finally, she needs a muzzle.” Latoya yelled, then laughed way too loud at her own joke. Michael’s hands fell to his sides and he just stared at her as the area grew quiet. The tension between the siblings growing rapidly.

“Gosh, you know, I knew your voice was irritating, but your laugh makes me want to rip my ears off.” My husband scoffed, standing his ground again.

“Woah, Mike what’s got your undies in a twist? Trouble in paradise?” She questioned, sipping from her drink. “Marriage isn’t for everyone.” She sang, that comment got everyone’s attention. I knew Michael was going to lose it on her.

“No way! I forgot you’re an expert on marriage. Tell me how’s the husband? Oh wait, you don’t have one. Last time I checked no one is lining up to make you a wife.” Michael said confidently, his hand finding mine and happily guiding me away from her.

“Oh shit! Little brother is cold today!” Jackie clapped proudly. “Stone cold!”

“You got told!” Randy shouted, pointing his finger directly in Latoya’s face as she failed to push him away.

We were in the middle of a game of darts when Jermaine and Randy started yelling at the TV.

“Michael! Your wife is on the television looking lovely.” Randy winked, making finger guns with his hands.

“She always looks lovely you goon.” Michael said slinging his arm around my shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell us! We would’ve turned it on sooner! I love this show!” Rebbie jumped up, trying to find the button to turn up the volume.

“Ah! It’s Funny or Die! It’s so funny! Y/N! I can’t believe you were on.” Janet cheered. “Beth is hilarious.”

“I completely forgot it was going to be on today.” I said truthfully. “We don’t have to watch it.”

“The hell we don’t! We’re watching it!”

“Why are we acting like this is groundbreaking? She’s not helping achieve world peace.” Latoya snapped. “It doesn’t take a damn rocket scientist to sit on a couch and answer questions.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember anyone begging to ask you any questions, you fool.” Jackie cracked, waving her off.

“I’ve done interviews!” She snapped back.

“That no one watches, which is why it probably happened once— maybe. I doubt it” Randy laughed, throwing his head back. “Most likely in your dreams. That’s the only place you’re a big deal.”

“Shhh! I can’t hear it.” Janet shouted.

Welcome to tonight’s Funny or Die on Comedy Central with special guest Mrs. Y/N Jackson!

*Beth Littleford’s voice*

“So, Mrs. Jackson, you are married to one of the most influential artists of our lifetime— you’ve married into The Royal Family of entertainment. Why did you do that to yourself?”

“I’m not sure I understand that question.” A smile on my face as I stared at her waiting for an explanation.

“Well, that’s a lot of star power, I’d imagine a lot of diva behavior goes on behind the scenes. Who do you hate the most? If presented the opportunity, which Jackson would you to send off to an abandoned island?”

“There’s actually no diva behavior. They’re all very kind and down to earth. They’ve handled all of the fame with such grace, they’re amazing people. I’m very lucky. I love being a part of the family.”

“You’re a bad liar Mrs. Jackson. Okay, back to your husband. He’s incredibly handsome, you’re stunning— very beautiful. My question is, of the two of you, who spends more time looking in the mirror?” She was so good at keeping a straight face that it became more difficult for me to do the same.

“We—” I turned my head to take a breath and bite back the laughter trying to escape. “I don’t feel we spend much time doing that—”

“Mrs. Jackson, if we’re going to do this I’m going to need you to stop bullshitting me.” She said it in a professional voice and I immediately broke. “Okay, get it together, I’ll try this again, you and your husband are very successful musicians. What I’d like to know is, who’s better? Be honest. Your answer will stay between us.” She nodded towards me, snapping her finger in the air, signaling the camera to obnoxiously zoom in on my face.

“Oh, that’s easy. My husband of course. He is so out of my league. His talent is unbelievable, unfathomable, unreachable. He’s one of a kind. I’m a huge fan of his work. He’s incredible. He’s so— he’s everything. The music he creates, his process, his stage presence, everything— he takes my breath away.”

“That’s a lie.” Beth shot out, turning her back to me and looking into the camera. “I guess we will never know the truth. Y/N appears to be devoted to dodging the questions we all want answers to. There’s no other way to say it folks, she sucks.” She concluded with a shrug and I bursted out laughing behind her.

“At the end of the day I had to ask Y/N for one final encore.” Beth spoke as the screen cut to a clip of us walking through a garden, until cutting back to the interview room.

“In 1985, you participated in We Are The World, which brought together some of the top performers of our day..… and Latoya Jackson.” Immediately, I buried my face in my hands, desperately trying to hold in my laughter. “The thing everyone wants to know, what I need to ask you.” I shook my head, dropping my hands and smiling at her. “Bear with me.” I nodded, sitting up straight, awaiting her question. “What the hell was Dan Aykroyd doing there?”

“Beth—” I couldn’t finish my answer without giggling. “Beth.” I crossed my legs, attempting to compose myself once again. “That’s my sister-in-law you’re talking about.”

“Yes.” She answered simply.

“You know, The entire Jackson family is talented. It’s in their DNA, Latoya is unique—”

“Unique as in the talent skipped her?” She interrupted me, clicking her pen and scribbling down notes.

“That’s not— all the Jackson’s are very talented and Latoya is gifted in her own right.” I crossed my legs and gave her a tight lipped smile.

“You know, when you say that, I almost believe you.” Beth said with a straight face. That time the laughter escaped my mouth before I could stop it, I leaned forward into the vacant couch cushions beside me.

“You’re so bad.” I said breathlessly as I shook my head playfully.

“So, back to Dan Aykroyd, what the hell was he contributing?”

“Dan, I’m not sure. I think he was just there to be a part of the moment.”

The room filled with laughter as we watched the skit together. Jackie gave me a thumbs up, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Tito had knocked over his drink, pounding on the table in front of him. It felt good— like home. I truly loved this crazy family. Michael slipped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing the side of my head before resting his chin on my shoulder.

“For the record, you’re the one that’s out of my league.” He started. “You’re perfect.”

I hummed leaning back into his embrace as he swayed as back and forth. Our peace was cut short quickly by a loud screech.

“It’s not funny! This isn’t funny at all! Stop! Stop laughing!” Latoya shouted. She pointed her finger in my face. “How dare you! You made a joke of me!”

“Latoya, I didn’t make a joke of you.” My hold around Michael’s forearms tightened at the sudden outburst— which quickly had everyone’s attention.

“Do not yell at my wife.” Michael’s voice boomed, low and harsh— it was made me nervous. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. “I’m not playing with you Latoya.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are!” She’s in my face now. Great.

“Latoya, back off! This is ridiculous.” Michael held his hand out, pushing her away from me as he moved me to his side.

“I don’t give a shit! I’ll rip all the hair out of your damn head!” Her threat didn’t bother me, it wasn’t until she attempted to swing at me that I felt angry.

“I give a shit!” Michael reacted swiftly blocking her arm, pushing me behind him and shielding me. “You aren’t touching my wife!” Janet and Jermaine were on their feet now, holding their sister back. As much as I wanted to lash out I trusted my husband. It wouldn’t help for me to start screaming too, so I was more than happy to let him handle it.

“She’s been your wife for like a day.”

“It’s been two years!” Michael in between us, pushing her back again by her shoulders. “What the hell is your problem? Grow up!”

“My problem is that your wife is a fucking bitch!” She said loudly, it echoed through the house and everyone sat there quietly.

“Don’t fucking call her that!” Michael yelled, the air becoming thicker by the second. “If you think I’m—”

“That’s enough. The three of you come with me.” Katherine spoke, her tone was clear, she wasn’t asking.

Michael slid his hand across my lower back, resting it on my hip and pulling me closer to him. The walk was short and silent. Katherine opened the double doors leading to the library, pointing for us to enter. She slammed the door behind her once we all settled in.

“Now, I don’t know what the issue is and I don’t care. First off, you will not call anyone anything but their given name.” She pointed at her daughter. “And what in gods name has gotten into you making a scene like that in front of your young nephews, nieces and cousins?”

“Mom—” Latoya shot up from her seat with a wild energy.

“Did I say you could speak?” Katherine stopped her immediately, Latoya shrugged, sitting back down with a huff. “This has gone on long enough. I’ve tried to give you the space to figure it out yourselves, but it’s clear that isn’t happening. We aren’t leaving this room until we are all on the same page. Now, you may speak.”

“She’s rude and disrespectful. She laughed at me on national television.”

“No, she didn’t and I suggest you adjust your tone. I’m your mother. You need to speak to me with some respect.”

“Y/N—” Latoya shouted again.

“She spoke up for you and you know it. Which is more for you than I would’ve done if I were her. Latoya you’ve had it out for Y/N since Michael first brought her home to meet us.”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Latoya.” Michael cut in. When Latoya met her baby brother’s eyes she felt something tug at her heart and any lies she had prepared vanished.

“This is stupid.” She sat there pouting and all I could do was watch, because what the hell is wrong with her?

“Well, I have all day.” Katherine grinned. “This is your problem Latoya. The longer you take to spit it out the longer we will sit here.”

“You’ve always been rude to Y/N and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of fighting with you, but if you insist on continuing to act like this, then so be it. I can match your attitude because there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you or anyone else treat my wife like this.” Michael ranted, taking a deep breath. “She’s my wife. She makes me happy. She’s been nothing but respectful to you. She doesn’t deserve this. Latoya, we can only argue for so long until eventually our relationship becomes nonexistent— you’re my sister, but you’re crossing lines that are hurting our bond— things you’ve done, it’s beyond repair. And, honestly I’m slowly making my peace with that— not having any kind of relationship with you.”

“Little brother.” Latoya choked out, glossy eyes filled with pain. I felt awful. I never thought I’d hear Michael say anything like that.

“That’s how I feel. It bothered me so much because I didn’t understand why, but I’ve reached a point where I don’t care what your excuse is. I’m fed up. Mom, I’m sorry, but this isn’t fair to Y/N and I’m not going to make her sit through it any longer. I’m taking her home.” He rose to his feet, guiding me towards the door.

“Alright, baby boy. I understand.” I could tell she was disappointed in her daughter, but she looked at her son with such pride that it didn’t feel all that bad. “Go on. I love you, both of you. Come here honey.” She kissed my cheek and hugged me tightly. I loved her hugs. “I’m sorry about all of this. You’re a good girl.”

“Love you. It’s— no apologies necessary. See you soon mama.” Michael walked us out of the house quick like it was on fire. “Shouldn’t we say bye to everyone else?” He didn’t answer, not right away at least. He stopped walking halfway down the driveway, leaning forward and kissing me repeatedly.

“I’m sorry.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I’m so sorry.” Kiss. “You’re.” Kiss. “The.” Kiss. “Most.” Kiss. “Amazing.” Kiss. “Woman.” Kiss. “Ever.” Kiss. “I don’t know how I tricked you into marrying me.”

“You didn’t trick me. And, it’s not your fault. None of this is you’re fault.”

“It’s my insane sister.”

“Exactly, it’s not your fault. It’s her— hopefully it’ll get better at some point.”

“You really think so?”

“I’m hopeful. It has to work out eventually.”

“I pray that you’re right.”

“I usually am, but until then I have you. And, you make a super sexy bodyguard.”

“You think so? Maybe I’ll switch professions so I could guard this lovely body every second of every day.” His flirtatious smile, causing my chest to tingle.

“I love you.” Kiss. “Most.” Kiss. “Perfect.” Kiss. “Man.” Kiss. “Ever.”

*Michael’s POV*

The pain of last nights events felt insignificant, waking up next to my beautiful wife, everything seemed to melt away. This, right here was all that mattered. Bliss.

“You always watch me sleep?” I watched her mumble through a sleepy smile.

“You always fake sleep?”

“I like lying next to you. Your bed head is cute.”

“You sleeping naked is cute.” I rolled onto of her, pushing her body deeper into the mattress.

“Are you trying to keep me in bed all day?”

“Yes.” My hips sunk in between her legs as I heard her sweet moan. The door bell rang before I could remove the sheet that was wrapped around her. “They’ll go away.” The bell rang again.

“It doesn’t sound like they’re leaving.”

“Well, then, they can wait. I only need two hours with you.”

“Two hours!” She laughed, the bell sounding two more times. “What are you planning to do to me?”

“Everything. I’m going to—” the bell rang again interrupting me. “Whoever is out there is about to get run over.”

“Relax. Just go check. You’re so grumpy.” She waved me off to go answer the door. I threw on a shirt and found some pants to wear.

“I’m grumpy because some jerk is ringing my doorbell while I’m trying to get handsy with my wife. Who wakes up this early to cockblock?” I heard her giggle as I left the room and ran down the stairs.

The doorbell continued vibrating the walls even when I unlocked the door and yanked it open.

“What the…” I was at a loss. I didn’t thinking my sister showing up was a possibility at all— just like I didn’t expect seeing her face to make me so angry.

“Hi brother.”

“Latoya, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you— both of you. If that’s okay? I want to apologize.”

“That’s not a good idea. Really, I don’t have the energy to deal with you today and I’m not comfortable letting you anywhere near my wife.”

“Please. I— look I wrote a letter. I figured you guys probably wouldn’t want to see me. I just needed to try, you know?” She held out an envelope and a big bouquet of flowers. “I’m so sorry. Please take it. Or I can leave it on your doormat if you don’t want to look at it just yet. These are for Y/N.”

“Alright.” I let out a deep breath and accepted what she brought. I figured the longer I fight her the longer she’d stay and I really didn’t want that.

“I’m sorry I hurt you little brother and I’m sorry for acting that way towards Y/N… I had no reason— no right.” She stepped back as I remained silent. I wasn’t ready to talk to her, so every word out her mouth felt meaningless to me. “Well, I’ll be going now.” I watched blankly as she turned away from me.

“Who was it?” My wife inquired as she descended the stairs. “My favorite flowers! Babe, you didn’t have to do this.”

“Actually, I didn’t. It was… um…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Latoya. She was just here.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. She brought all this for us and wrote you a letter.”

“Where is she?” She took the envelope from my hands, her fingers gliding across my sister’s handwriting.

“I didn’t let her in. I kind of made her leave.”

“Michael!” She pushed past me, running out the door in her robe. She didn’t even care that she was barefoot. I watched from our doorstep as Y/N knocked on my sister’s car window— I had no doubt in my mind that she was inviting her inside. They walked in and Y/N asked her to wait in the living room for us.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see her. I thought I was protecting you.”

“I know and I appreciate it, but she’s still your sister. She’s trying to make amends the least we could do is hear her out. She came all this way, I don’t think she’d do that just to argue.”

“You’re too good.” This woman is full of surprises. I held her hand as we walked off to join my sister, sitting across from her.

“I was jealous.” Latoya said, fiddling with her acrylic nails as she thought of what to say next. “Y/N, it felt like everyone welcomed you so easily. You were considered family overnight, which is beautiful because you’re with Michael, but it made me scared. It’s not an excuse. It’s not a good one. It’s just— I’m trying to explain. It all happened so fast.” I sensed my wife tense up and I hoped this was going somewhere that wouldn’t end in tears. “I didn’t know Y/N very well, then I started seeing less and less of my baby brother. Instead of getting to know you, I blamed you for taking him from me, which obviously isn’t the case and my behavior led to neither of you feeling comfortable around me. It was difficult to accept that I was to blame. And, I don’t know, Michael it feels like you’ve always needed me and suddenly you didn’t anymore. You found someone that’s a great fit and you didn’t need to lean on your big sister anymore, which is great, but I guess it happened faster than I expected. It’s no secret that the Jackson men haven’t had the best luck in their marriages, but Michael is different. I was afraid of someone using him or hurting him. I think I convinced myself I was standing up for you by being a total ass to Y/N. I don’t know. I was so focused on protecting Michael that I didn’t even allow myself to get to know the new Mrs. Jackson and I should’ve. Y/N, I wish I had the relationship with you that my siblings have, but by the time I realized that I’d done too much damage. I didn’t deserve to know you and I knew that. I just really, completely screwed everything up. Baby brother, you and I were the closest and I didn’t realize that my protectiveness over you had transformed into something so ugly. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I could undo it all because you didn’t deserve it.” She sounded sincere, her hands intertwined in front of her chest as if she was begging for us to understand.

“That makes sense. It’s natural to feel protective as an older sibling. I love that Michael has so many people looking out for him.” Y/N spoke softly, leaning forward. “You’re a great sister and you thought— your actions were wrong, but I believe that it came from a good place. It just got a little lost in translation. I appreciate your apology and I’m hopeful that we can move on from this.”

“Really? Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’ve been a total bitch to you—”

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We can get through it.”

“I was so awful to you. I regret it. I regret all of it. I’d want nothing more than to make it up to you. Can I— is there a chance I could make up for this? It’d mean the world to me, but I understand if you don’t want that.”

“I’d love that.” I was in shock when my wife stood up, holding her arms out to hug my sister. It was gladly accepted. They hugged tight, crying into each other’s embrace.

“Thank you.” Latoya cried, it was a moment of healing for all of us and I was so grateful for it.

“Alright, quick hogging my wife.” I teased, when they broke apart I took Y/N’s place. “I’m happy you’re done being a pain in the ass.”

“I am. I promise.” We let go of each other with a new found sense of relief.

“Do you want to stay for a bit? I was going to make some brunch.” My wife offered. “You like crepes right?”

“Yes! I’d love to.” My sister responded and Y/N went off to the kitchen, leaving us alone.

“Thank you for hearing me out.” She seemed nervous again with my wife’s absence. “Thank you for the second chance. I won’t screw up again I promise.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s all her.” I nodded towards the direction my wife disappeared into. “She has this thing where she’s incapable of holding a grudge and family is very important to her. She’s been really patient waiting for you to come around.”

“She’s great. I mean it. I don’t know how she dealt with me being so… I can’t believe I behaved that way. She accepted my apology, but after everything I wouldn’t have blamed her if she never wanted to see me again.”

“It’s not in her nature to hold onto anger. She kept me from shaking some sense into you a few times too. I’m glad it didn’t come to that and you came around on your own. Or, as Tito would say, got the stick removed from up your butt.”

“He’s always saying the weirdest stuff.”

“I think I’m used to it because I feel like he makes great points. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s kind of a genius.” Our laughter echoed through the room and I slowly felt myself letting go of the anger. It would take time, but I knew things would get better and eventually it’d feel normal.

“I’m proud of you. I’m glad you found someone who takes such good care of you. She’s perfect for you. She’s a nice addition to our family.”

“She is.”

“So, little brother, how’d you lock her down? She’s so much cooler than you.” Her voice softened as she tried to lighten the mood.

“I have no idea.” I shrugged, talking lazy steps toward the kitchen as my sister followed from beside me. “She’s way out of my league.”

“I’m glad you said it.”

“Shut up. Your voice is still annoying.” I joked, she punched my arm softly, then joined my wife by the stove and tried to help the best she could.

[thepettymachine]

Wandering Souls Challenge for TS3

Heeey so I made another challenge. Might be the last one I ever make who knows. But I got inspired by the Postcard Legacy for TS4 and made something similar but not similar to it. It took a minute to make but I hope you enjoy

Wandering Souls Challenge is a 10 generation legacy challenge where you go through multiple jobs and careers with story elements involved. This is a challenge if you don't wanna do just one career all of your sims life and don't mind moving around + mild drama but not soul shattering.

Tag: "wandering souls challenge" or "@" me

Rules:

I didn't really make any but don't feel obligated to do everything as an objective. Somethings you probably aren't going to get to everything and that's okay. If you do everything congratulations, if you don't move on.

I have no designated way to play this (ex: what town do you recommend in playing with this), I'm giving the player what they want to do within the confines of this challenge. It's your sandbox not mine.

You do have some optional goals for extra fun if you choose to do so.

Have fun

Carry On Wayward Son

When you were young, you didn’t take anything as serious as your music. Your obsession with the chords became as necessary as breathing and you’ll do anything but sell your soul to the industry. But as you grew older and had a family, you wish for more structure with your music in hopes for it to reach the people that desperately need to hear it. So you find an indie record company and work with them because your artistic freedom is still the forefront of why you’re doing all of this. Plus feeding your family and paying the bills. 

Objectives:

Start by making money through collecting tips while working part time jobs

Half way through your YA years, you try a Singing career or being part of a band but it doesn’t work out

As an adult, you enter into the Music career for more structure and to reach a larger fanbase

Pick a branch between classical or rock

Your lover/(s) must be all creative types like you (artist, sculptor, architect, musician, street artist, etc)

You encourage your children to also pursue the arts

Master all 4 instruments (guitar, bass, piano, and drums)

Get at least 3 tattoos somewhere on your body

2. Jeffrey Jeffrey Simzos

If the Grinch and Scrooge had a love child, it would be you. You couldn’t really get behind your parent’s idealistic dreams about music and art, it felt unstable and unrealistic to you. You want wealth and power at your fingertips and anyone at your beck and call. Whether its through a wealthy spouse, your boss, the corporate ladder, or getting into politics, you will reach the top. For there is no redemption arc and no grace to be given for Greed has already devoured the remnants of your dead beating heart.

Objectives:

Have bake sales as a child and dislike any attempts at the arts

Join the Business career

Be enemies with all of your coworkers

Go from a small house/apartment to a big mansion/house

Be the owner of multiple businesses around town + an additional home

Marry a rich sim you definitely married for money

Have at least one child with the butler or maid you hired

You become more power hungry so you join Politics after reaching level 8 of Business career

Steal campaign funds 

Your kids must be the top of their class, no exceptions (straight A’s, no skipping school, be apart of a club) or they are sent to boarding school

You are not close with any of your children

Optional: woohoo your boss

3. Yes Chef

Because excellence was required of you as a child, you tend to have a strong work ethic and unrealistic expectations for yourself and others while despising what you had to endure in your upbringing. The one good thing out of it was discovering your love of cooking. Cooking was a way for you to escape your worries and as an adult you desire to be a chef, going against everything your parents raised you with. You started from the bottom and found your way all the way at the top as head chef. But something is missing and so you explore other cultures and find new excitement in  nectar making. You figure when you retire, you wanna spend the rest of your days being a nectar maker on a giant farm in the countryside.

Objectives:

Start at the diner for the first half of your career, then move over to the bistro for the second half

Bartend for bars at night for extra income

Read every recipe and learn all the fancy drinks

Master Cooking & Mixology

Marry your childhood friend or high school friend you haven’t seen in years

Cook your spouse and children their favorites meals at least once

At the top of your career, you get bored and visit travel other cultures for their cuisine (go to France, Egypt, and China to learn their food recipes)

Get inspired by nectar making 

When becoming an Elder, move to the countryside, retire as a chef, and become a self employed nectar farmer. 

4. Country Roads, Take Me Home

You’ve always found interest in nature as a kid and instead of wanting to be in the comfy suburbs or stargazing the city’s skylines.You even had a knack for bringing stray animals into your home but they always seemed to run away when you left for school (according to your parents). That’s why instead of working a typical 9-5, you fulfill your childhood dream of being on a farm and working with your bare hands. Building a life you always dreamed of yet will work hard to maintain. There’s no sleeping in for this dreamer.

Objectives:

As a child you were part of the scouts

Live on a farm or ranch

Work as a self employed gardener

Master the Fishing, Gardening, and/or Riding skill

Adopt 2 strays (horse, dog or cat)

Marry your helper on the farm or Marry a townie that loves the outdoors/animal lover trait

Wake up in the early hours of the day

Have a big family cause free child labor

Raise a horse from baby to elder 

Optional: Own a cow plant 

Optional: Win the highest horse competition (racing or jumping)

5. He was #1

You’ve always had an interest in the outdoors but sports was your passion and you’re very good at it. So good, you were being scouted by agents who hoped to take you to the pros and have your name chanted by the thousands. Your dream did come true but another did not. You’re a closeted hopeless romantic who always wished to find their soulmate and have a family, but being a professional athlete with a recognizable face has made it difficult for you to find true authentic love. What will it take for you to find love and will you have to choose between your two greatest loves or can they both coexist together for your sake.

Objectives:

Enjoy your outdoor activities (playing ball, going to the pool, camping, etc) once a week

Find love through online dating 

Go on 3 dates with a person before committing 

Host a big wedding party and bachelor/bachelorette party and if possible, ask your partners parents for their blessing

Master the Athletic skill

Become a stay at home parent when you reach level 6  of the sports career

After a sports injury that takes you out of the field. You find yourself recovering and unemployed and decide to take care of your children while deciding your next move. 

You realize you want to be a sports agent so you go back to college as an adult and get your physical education degree 

Reach level 10 of Jock social group. 

Join the Sports Agent career

Gain the Eternally Faithful Moodlet

6. You Blinded Me with Science:

Curiosity killed the cat or in your case it just made you curiouser. You couldn’t keep your hands still and always have to be tinkering with something. So much so that you lost your beloved job at the science lab because you kept goofing around with some scrap from the town’s junkyard during company hours. No worries, you just decided to go all in with being a self made inventor and creating gizmos and gadgets the world has never seen before. Except one day, you find a mysterious device you’ve never seen before and upon activating it, you end up in the future. There are alot more prettier machines than the ones you’ve been messing around with and you sorta take one home with you. Oh well what’s the worst that can happen. 

Objectives:

Start out in the Science career but get fired after reaching lvl 3 in inventing and join the Inventor self employed career 

You spend your weekends messing around in the town's junkyard and blowing stuff up for your experiments. The neighbors even catch you dumpster diving around town 

Marry someone just as eccentric and quirky as you (ex: eccentric, neurotic, insane, socially awkward, slob, etc)

Master the handiness and inventing skills

Create all inventions, including a simbot

Make some of your children through the Time Machine (past: child - YA/ future: elder, you can age down if you wish) 

All your children’s traits have to be randomized

Optional: Go into the future and obtain all the gadgets to bring them back home to the present 

Optional: You even bring back home a plumbot and learn how to take care of one

Optional: Leave the Inventor career and present and work in the Astronomy career in the future.

7. Who You Gonna Call?

This generation can be played in two different ways. The choice is up to you. (Also double heirs can be accepted for this gen)

Super Skeptic Route:

The question you’ve always asked yourself was “Are Ghosts Real?” You believed in the supernatural, the horror stories, and the abduction of Bella Goth and was hoping to find evidence in the graveyards. But alas you could never find your ghosts and your dreams were crushed. Now as an adult, you’ve become a skeptic and believe it all to be a charade and try to speak sense into the “sheep” around you to see the light. Until one day you do encounter a ghost and for the last time, you investigate into the question, “Are Ghosts Real?”.

Objectives:

Work in a graveyard in your teen years

Have the Supernatural Skeptic trait. 

You dabble in Alchemy but it never takes effect on you. 

Join the Con Artist branch of the Fortune Teller career

Encounter 3 ghosts to convince you that ghosts are real

Leave the Fortune Teller career to become a Ghost Hunter

You convince Ghosts to move on/ Set them free rather than have them experiment on by the science lab (avoid opportunities that say otherwise) 

Do all investigations (spirit invasion, paranormal investigation, poltergeist haunting, ghostly presence, angry ghost invasion)

Ultra Fan Route:

As a child, you always found yourself interested in what couldn’t be reasoned or argued against, the supernatural. You obsessed over horror stories, wandered into graveyards, deep subreddits of conspiracies behind Bella Goth’s abduction and studied too many ways to become one. You started to give up hope of ever becoming one. Until one day you befriend a fellow occult member of society and it changed your life forever.

Objectives:

Work in a graveyard in your teen years

Have the Supernatural Fan trait

Master the Alchemy skill

Start a side hustle of being an author writing primarily in the horror genre

Publish 15 horror books

Join the Mystic branch of the Fortune Teller career

Befriend a supernatural of your choice to be turned into

Get 1st place at Trivia night at the Vault of Antiquity

8. Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Being a doctor was something you always thought you wanted to be. It came with status, notoriety, respect, money, student loans, and it was something more stable than what your parents were able to give you. You worked hard and got into the Medical career where you met your spouse and lived in a beautiful home with your two kids and pet. It’s like everything worked out in the end. But your desire to see the world burn just keeps rearing its ugly head and you can no longer contain the person you thought you repressed for so long. It desires the status and respect you’ve obtained but also infamy, underlings, and power.

Objectives:

Have the Evil trait

As a teen, be a straight A student, work a part time job, and be best friends with your parents, enemies with your siblings (if applicable)

Choose to go to college on full scholarship or enter the Medical career immediately. 

Marry a fellow coworker whose as ambitious or hardworking as you

Live in a nice home with a white picket fence, 2 kids and a pet of your choice

Befriend some townies who work in the Criminal career

Donate to criminal organizations at least once a week

Leave your job in the Medical career in your adult years

Join the Criminal career

Choose the Evil branch of the Criminal career and reach the top

Optional: Divorce your spouse, find a new home, bring the kids (or don’t) and marry your criminal coworker.

9. Baywatch

You used to work in law enforcement until the red tape got to you and so you went to become a private investigator. Solving crimes and digging through trash got exhausting and difficult as you try to serve others yet the system kept letting you down. After having a midlife crisis, You’ve come to realize that helping people can be simple, enjoyable, and have a great ocean view. Being a lifeguard wasn’t in the career plan but saving lives from the depths of the oceans and looking good in red too. Not a bad career change.  

Objectives:

Join the law enforcement career

Become friends with/date your cop partner 

When reaching level 5 of the career, you leave your job to go into the Investigative career to get away from the red tape 

Continue being an investigator until your Adult years

Have a midlife crisis and complete all the wishes or go get therapy at the hospital

At the end of your crisis, you join the Lifeguard career

Find an island or befriend a mermaid  

Master the scuba diving skill and logic skills

10. Master of None

Oh the journey you have been on. From caring about the music to fighting robbers in people’s homes, you’ve been through it all. As you worked hard for what you wanted, You have reached this crossroad and wonder what it all means and what it meant before. Maybe discovering yourself is what the journey is all about or maybe it's the experiences that shape you that gives you your form. Regardless, you’ve been feeling torn about what to do now and with no destination, maybe you start to express who you truly are. Who knows. There is no rush in the process or a destination in sight, only the curiosity that keeps your soul wandering on the journey.  

Objectives:

Join at least 5 different careers you haven’t played in this challenge (Education, Magician, Firefighter, Stylist, etc)

Have 3 best friends you maintain until Elder

Start dabbling in painting or sculpting in your free time outside of work. 

Meet the love of your life 

Be apart of your community - take opportunities that involve helping your neighbors/fellow townies

Pamper yourself -  go to a place in town for some you time once a week

Learn a new skill once a week (you don’t have to master it) 

If applicable, befriend your grandchildren 

Optional: turn your hobby into your job 

Thank you for playing. Feedback is welcomed

[famwhy]

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited..."

"...for this moment?"

Diary of a Wimpy Kid

Yandere! Rodrick Heffley X F!Reader

Synopsis: Rodrick Heffley couldn't believe his own luck; you noticed him—you noticed him. This must've been fate, right? You must've loved him, there was no way you didn't. And if you loved him, then what he was doing was okay, right?—there was nothing wrong with it? Of course not, after all, you two were going to get married in the future, he was sure of it! All of this would just turn out to be a silly story you would tell your future kids about how you two first met. Yeah, that's all this was—one big, silly story.

Warnings: Mean!Reader, Depictions of toxic relationships, Stalking

"Dude, you're staring again."

Rodrick knew; he knew that he was staring again. But, how could he not? How could he not stare when the most drop-dead gorgeous girl in school was within just 10 feet of him?—when you were right there, before his very own eyes?

So close, and yet, so far.

"Dude!"

You stood by your locker—lips painted in that really pretty shade of cherry red to match with your striking eyeliner—basically demanding everyone's undivided attention; attention which you undoubtedly got.

Though, even if you—by some chance in this fucked up world—didn't receive that attention, Rodrick wouldn't hesitate to give it to you; Rodrick would give all of that attention times ten to you. Hell, if you so much as asked him for it, Rodrick would give you the world.

"Hey!"

He was melting—he knew he was—turning into putty at your very arms, even if they weren't anywhere near him. Regardless, his bones morphed into mush and his face went as red as the lipstick you adorned on that pretty mouth of yours he longed to get a taste of. 

He could gaze at you for days and never get enough.

What he couldn't gaze at for days, however, was what occurred next.

A pair of strong arms sprung out of nowhere, wrapping around your torso and lifting you into the air in a way that had molten lava coursing through the Heffley's veins, heating up his insides and igniting a fire within; a fire that ached to burn the male adorning a bright, varsity jacket beside you.

His eyes narrowed, teeth grinding over one another and skin losing all hints of previous colour, going as blank as an empty canvas sat aboard an abandoned easel at the sight before him.

That man—Lenwood Heath—oh how Rodrick loathed him; despised the very air he breathed; cursed the very home he inhabited. If the ground you strutted over was worshipped by the aspiring musician, then the ground that Lenwood trudged over was spat on by him.

Oh, how he could just picture it now, wrapping his hands around the neck of that pathetic, little—

"Heffley!"

Rodrick blinked, suddenly able to register the hand waving before his very eyes. "Huh?"

The blurry form in front of him quickly grew clear with a couple more blinks, revealing one of his best friends with a brow raised, lips pulled taut, and a pointed look on his face. "You fazed out staring at her again."

A longing sigh left the lips of the drummer. "Can you blame me, Chris? She's just so... so..."

"Hot?"

"Ethereal," Rodrick smiled, tunnel vision drowning out the dumb teen next to you in favour of only seeing you. "She'll love me one day, I know it."

"Dude—" Chris deadpanned, "—she doesn't even know you exist."

"Uh, yeah she does," responded the other musician, "Of course she knows I exist."

Chris' lips pulled up after that, and—even through his peripheral—Rodrick could see the smugness radiating off his friend's smirk. "Oh yeah? Prove it. Walk over there right now and say hi."

"What do you think this is? Some high school drama? I'm not doing that."

"Alright dude," came the voice of his friend again, taking on a bit of a defeated tone this time, "just tryna help you build up your confidence, that's all."

Rodrick's face scrunched up, now turning to fully face his friend and fellow band member. "My confidence is—"

A light 'ahem' cut through the air.

The Heffley whipped his head to the side—brows furrowing and lips parting in preparation for a sassy speech—when he saw just who exactly was clearing their throat at him.

His breath audibly hitched in his throat, wind getting stuck in his pipe—hindering his ability to respire as his vision flooded with that familiar pink he knew all too well. 

"Do you mind?" The question came out your pretty lips with an air of both boredom and your own bit of sass—both fists placed upon your hips as you stared at him pointedly.

Oh, you stared at him—you were staring at him.

Holy shit.

He didn't know what to do; what to say; what to think. His mind was a muddled-up mess with you sat in the middle of it all—in the eye of the storm, occupying your throne within his thoughts while the rest of his head went to shit.

But, the real you, the one stood before him right now, was quickly growing impatient. He could tell from the way you started tapping your foot against the ground in a quick rhythm—one of your cuter habits, he noticed; not that they weren't all cute.

A huff—escaping your lips; exasperated and very much fed-up. He was losing you. 

No, no, no, no, no.

His eyes widened, pupils shaking as his breath grew quicker and shorter and sharper. A tightness grew about his chest, contracting his lungs—folding them in on themselves—and tensing his muscles to the point they turned into multiple ropes that unfairly seized him by the throat.

He was panicking, and so—as any panicking person would do—said the first thing that popped into his head—

"Y/N."

—it was your name, of course. That was always at the forefront of his mind.

You scrunched up your nose in that super cute way that you do before speaking again—tone sounding a little... judgemental—"Do I know you?"

A harsh jab to his side and a pair of smug eyes burning a hole through his head followed after that sentence. Annoying.

With a quick glare directed straight at Chris, Rodrick rose his right arm to rub the left—as if to get rid of the lingering buzz of pain left in his friend's wake—before devoting his full attention back to you. "It's uh, Heffley—Rodrick Heffley?"

You narrowed your eyes, staring at him a little incredulously now—but he didn't mind, so long as you were staring at him and not past him, he didn't mind at all. Rodrick was on cloud nine anytime you gave him just an inch of attention, be it good or bad.

Everything about you was just so—

"Wait..." Rodrick blinked—today must've been his lucky day because you were gracious enough to greet him with lit up eyes once you broke through his thoughts. So pretty. "Heffley as in the same Heffley who destroyed Heather Hills' Sweet Sixteen?"

He grimaced a little at the memory, but nodded nonetheless. 

Your lips quirked up—by God, please place them on his—

"Y'know, I've been meaning to thank you for that..."

"Thank, uh—thank me?" Dear lord, he could feel his own heartbeat drumming against his ears.

"Yeah, thanks to you, I was able to take Hills' throne." A glint reflected off your beautiful eyes after you said that but Rodrick was too busy admiring your everything to decipher what it was. Was that a new pair of shoes? They suited you.

His eyes snapped back up to your face when a sudden warmth coated both of his shoulders, a familiar hand making its way into his peripheral. "Yup, that's my buddy." 

Your eyes briefly left the dark-haired male's form to flit over to his companion, and he found himself grinding his teeth against one another just as he had done before; the pink in his gaze quickly being replaced by a heated crimson.

But, as quick as the overwhelming urge to slam his own friend against the wall came—to rip his very skin off and watch as blood flowed straight out of him—it was gone—just in time for your eyes to return to the Heffley and send another explosion of those pretty, little insects to attack his insides and fill him with so much warmth, he found himself wishing to share it with you—

—God, please let him share it with you.

"Can you move now? I need to get to class." 

"Oh, uh, right." He damn-near stumbled over himself in order to make way for you, harshly shoving Chris to the side too—and if he could, he would've rolled out a red carpet for you as well. Your precious feet deserved more than the filthy school floor.

"Ack! Dude!"

Rodrick paid no mind to his friend's scowling form beside him—choosing, instead, to train his gaze onto your figure as it slowly grew smaller the further you walked away.

For a moment, as you brushed passed him, an overwhelming cherry scent flooded his nose, coursing through his innards to roll his eyes towards the back of his head and whisk him up into the air so that he could sit upon a cloud as high as the earth would allow; as high as you would allow.

But, of course, not higher than you—never higher than you. 

"She loves me—" Rodrick smiled; dopey and wide, "—I just know it."

"Whatever you say, dude."

'Whatever he says'? No, this was written in the stars. This was the epitome of fate; of destiny woven upon the finest of silks and stored in the most beautiful of halls—indestructible and unalterable.

This was love—true love.

And you knew it too—you must've. Why else would you have approached him the way you had? 

And it's because of your reciprocated feelings, that Rodrick felt perfectly fine with leaning forward in his seat next period—right up to the back of your neck—and taking another huge whiff that knocked him straight out of commission.

"The hell are you doing, Heffley?!" 

A voice snapped him out of his appreciation time—cruelly ripping him away from his blissful state of basking in your glory and forcing him to look over to his side.

Lenwood.

Rodrick rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat to kick his shoes atop his desk and rest his hands behind his head as he said, "Nothing."

The jock narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing as he parted his lips—gearing up for a threat, no doubt—when another voice cut through the air.

"Something the matter, Mr Heath?"

The jock quickly muttered out a denial before turning to face forward again.

Rodrick smirked.

"Mr Heffley, feet off the table please."

He rose his brows but said nothing, choosing to obey quietly—if only to have the opportunity to stay in the same room as you for just a little while longer.

Speaking of you, the commotion seemed to have caught your attention, because you spun around in your seat, eyes landing solely on his figure for the second time that day.

His breath hitched. It was definitely meant to be.

It stayed like that for a few moments, the two of you just staring at one another as the world dissipated into irrelevance around you. Your beautiful, E/C pools were enough for him to get lost in for hours—just as beguiling as the rest of you was. 

Alas, the moment couldn't last forever, and you shattered it with the tug of your lips downwards alongside the cute scrunch of your nose before spinning back around with the elegance of a ballroom dancer.

Ah, he could stare at you all day and never get enough.

He said that already, didn't he? Oh well, it deserved to be reiterated if the subject it was referring to was you.

Today had been a good day—one that he was sure would only end up getting better with the upcoming pep rally in a few periods time. An excuse to devote his entire attention to you without getting weird or judgemental looks? Yes please.

Though, to be entirely honest, he didn't care for those looks. He was too busy hoping, wishing, praying to be the one you woke up next to in the morning; the one whose embrace you cuddled into and found comfort within; the one who'd get to spend the rest of his life with you—

—God, please let him spend the rest of his life with you.

He couldn't help it—staring at you with the intensity he had during your cheer session once the pep rally did come around. 

Your lashes fluttered prettily as you peered up at the stands, hands covered by the balls you adorned and lips jutting out in that perfect pout that he just wanted to completely devour—

Ah, his throat was feeling a little dry. Just another effect you had on him.

Unfortunately, he had to part from the stands for a few moments to go grab himself a drink but, for you—his darling pretty girl—he made sure to rush back as soon as he possibly could.

Unfortunately, this speed of his meant that he wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, and not paying much attention to his surroundings could only lead to one thing: an incident.

The can in his hands slid straight out of his grasp, falling to the ground with a loud 'crash!' as liquid scattered the area, still bubbling and fizzing up even out of its container. A pair of white shoes seeped into brown at the end, and Rodrick found himself trailing the legs adorning them upwards, eyes falling upon a white skirt stained in the same brown that was slathered over the floor.

His gaze kept going upwards, only stopping when they met with an infuriated pair of dazzling eyes narrowed back at him; a familiar, infuriated pair of dazzling eyes.

"Ugh! What the fuck did you do, you freak?! You ruined my outfit! No wonder why Heather fucking hates you!"

No, no, no, no.

He was sorry, he was so sorry. Just don't hate him, please forgive him. God, he didn't know what he'd do with himself if you didn't forgive him.

He wanted to beg for your forgiveness—grovel on his knees and hold onto you like his fucking lifeline—but you were ushered into the toilet by those... friends of yours before he even had the chance, and he was left there, eyes wide as his whole body trembled.

Make it up to you. He had to make it up to you

But how could he when you were constantly surrounded by people who got in his way?—when you both were?

First Lenwood, then his own friend, and now, your friends.

Where could he get you completely and utterly alone?—when it could just be the two of you?

That was when it struck him, and his feet started moving before the cogs in his head even could.

He arrived before you—bathroom trips always took awhile when it came to you and your posse, so he didn't have to worry about you being faster than him.

Setting up wasn't too hard either, he knew where everything was and also learned enough from his dad about women to know how to woo one back into loving you.

All he had to do... was wait for you.

And wait he did. It felt like years had passed as he stood shrouded in darkness, each second as agonising and torturous as the last—if not, more so. But it was worth the wait—you were worth the wait—and soon, the sound of the door opening was accompanied by a loud yell.

"Mom! I'm home!"

Silence.

"Mom?!"

Again. Nothing.

"Fucking—of course."

His lips tugged down, heart practically being pulled on by the words that spilled from your mouth.

Yeah, sure it was convenient that your mom was never home, but he couldn't help the way he cursed the woman who gave birth to such an amazing being but didn't have the heart to properly stick around and bring her up.

But nevermind that, he could hear thuds growing closer to him.

A click. Then a flip. Then—

"What the actual fuck?!" 

Rodrick grinned, arms opening wide as his heart picked up in both pace and volume, drumming against his ears like he often would his set in band practice. "Welcome home, sweetheart!"

"Heffley?! What are you doing in my house?!"

Your eyes were wide, pupils shaking as your muscles lost their strength and your bag went tumbling down. Aw, you must've been happy to see him.

"I wanted to apologise," said he, "for earlier."

You blinked, still staring at him with that cute expression sewn onto your face.

For a few moments, nothing was said, and Rodrick found himself lowering his hands to awkwardly clear his throat.

Then, you spoke again, "Heffley, get... get out of my house."

"No."

"No..?"

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this moment?" As he spoke, he started slowly approaching you, and you started slowly backing away.

"Heffley..."

"No need for that anymore, babe." His smile grew wider and his cheeks grew hotter as the wall blocked you from moving any further—allowing the distance between the two of you to grow... shorter. "Just call me Rodrick, or honey, if you'd prefer."

"You're crazy..."

He could feel your breath now, right up against his skin. It was perfect, and only proved to send shivers down his spine. "It's okay, babe, no one's here now. It's just you and me. You can speak your mind without worrying about anyone else. Go on, tell me you love me."

Your features scrunched up at that, teeth grinding against one another as you spat, "I don't love you, psycho."

"Uh, yeah you do." He dismissed your words with a wave. "It's okay to admit you're in love."

"I'm not, you psycho. I barely know you."

Ah, you could be so cruel sometimes.

"Sure you do. You know me just like I know you—" another whiff, "—and how I know this is your favourite scent."

You were shaking much more violently now, body leaning up against the wall for support in a way that made him envy it—all this effort to get to where he was and your wall got more attention than he did? Absolutely not.

He looped an arm around the curve of your waist, basking in the way they fit together as perfectly as puzzle pieces, before pulling you into his chest and taking another deep inhale.

And just like that, you went limp in his arms.

Oh well, at least now he got to carry out his fantasy of being the one that got to wake up next to you.

Omg guys, I acc feel so bad for turning Rodrick into a creep in this, he's such a cutie in the movies.

[rxqueenotd]

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by 'Prima', was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima's life and the lives around her.

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warnings: arranged marriage, foul language, mentions of blood, bodily fluids, Ancient Rome as a warning in itself, bloodletting, p n v penetration, orgy-ish situation, animal sacrifice.

notes: literally posting this from a McDonalds parking lot on the way to a Christmas party. A quick thanks to my brotha @trashmouth-richie and @londonfog-chan for all the help. I owe you guys what’s left of my soul. Please like and share if you enjoy this series! Over 7000 words in this chapter alone.

IV

The delicate aroma of fresh bread and honey wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of blossoming flowers from the courtyard outside. Fine earthenware plates held an assortment of breakfast delicacies scattered across an oval table in the middle of the room: warm, crusty loaves of panis glistened with honey, bowls of ripe figs and olives, and delicate cheeses. A pitcher of cool, refreshing water sat alongside a flask of rich, dark wine—though it was early, you had indulged yourself. The gentle clinking of utensils and the soft rustle of linen filled the dining room as guests served themselves, enjoying the simple pleasures of the morning. A musician played softly in the corner, the gentle strumming of a lyre adding a serene layer to the room. You sighed happily as you sat alone at a table in the corner of the great room with the perfect view of the courtyard. For all the drama of the previous day, you revelled in being alone, relishing the magnificent frescoed walls that depicted scenes of mythological feasts and playful Bacchanalian revelries. The sunlight shone in delicately, warming the marble flooring in which you drug your barefoot across under the table.

“You must have said something to set him off. I could still smell your perfume when I walked into his chambers—he was that quick to summon me,” Caracalla said, plopping down in the chair across from you with an exaggerated huff. You sighed, placing your cutlery down, knowing fair well that any peace you had maintained over the course of the morning was over. His new golden incisor caught the light as he spoke. You had stepped out onto the balcony for just a moment when the physician had come to fix the cracked tooth the night before, a souvenir from Septimius’s fist meeting Caracalla’s lip.

“Just because you think we share a common enemy does not mean we are allies,” you shot back. Making it clear that your act of cleaning him up and reaching an agreement the previous night did not give him the right to intrude on your peaceful breakfast.

“He never even made it to Baiae,” he retorted, glancing at you dismissively. “He only got as far as Ostia. This was just a test to see how well I could manage on my own.”

His face was swollen, bruises bloomed in deep shades of purple and green around his nose and mouth, the latter catching dramatically on the light as he spoke.

“A test you failed spectacularly,” you replied, arching an eyebrow as you bit into a particularly sour grape.

“Did you let him turn you into a quivering mass of need?” he asked, a mocking giggle escaping his lips, “Did he entertain you with tales of his wild sons and his deceased wife?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head, “He did not reduce me to anything but confusion.” You let out an exasperated sigh. “I find that I am still confused.”

“If he truly cared for Rome,” he said, his tone dripping with jealousy and hurt as he turned to meet your gaze, “If he truly cared for me as his son, he would step down and stop fostering Geta’s hope that one day this empire may be ours together.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, bitterness lacing his voice.

“Surely you see that I am just your wife—no consul, no philosopher, just a woman.” you replied, feigning innocence as you took a sip of your wine, challenging him with your gaze.

“Ah, that’s a rare admission from you, wife.” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think it was him?”

You flicked your gaze toward Senator Blandus, a quick movement that Caracalla caught. Senator Blandus stood with a slight stoop, his height diminished, yet his presence was still imposing. His once broad shoulders sagged under the weight of years spent navigating the treacherous waters of Roman politics. The edges of his toga were slightly tattered, its white wool dulled with age, carelessly draped over his shoulder. The deep purple stripe that signified his senatorial rank had faded, hinting at a man who had seen better days. His gaunt face and sunken cheeks accentuated his unkempt style, with thin, wispy hair and a matching gray beard that was scraggly and untrimmed. His murky brown eyes held a suspicious gleam as they scanned the surrounding people, narrowing even more when they landed on you and Caracalla.

He set his wine cup down with a sigh, glancing around the room before looking back at you.

“I have already had him investigated. He spent the night at his mistress’s villa.”

“That leaves us with only a few suspects.” you countered, leaning in closer, rolling a plump grape between your fingers.

“Indeed,” he replied, shifting in his seat, “But my wager is on Macrinus.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms, challenging his assertion. “Do you honestly think he’s that ambitious? Surely it is some sort of breach of conduct to obtain my correspondence and report to your father regarding your every whim.”

“He has been whispering in Geta’s ear since the unfortunate passing of Plautianus.” He snickered, finishing off his wine and fixed his gaze on you, “Ambition spreads like a plague within these walls.”

He set down his wine cup again, looking around as courtiers, senators, and servants bustled about the lavish dining hall surrounding you both.

“Is this what you have been doing all morning?” he asked, a hint of accusation in his voice, “Leading your own investigation?”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” you replied sarcastically, “I am merely enjoying breakfast, unlike some people.”

“Like I said,” he said, standing and looking down at you with a challenging glare, “there is always a motive here.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Anxiety snaked tightly around you as you made your way to your quarters in search of solace. The night spent in Caracalla’s chambers had offered no restful sleep; instead, you found yourself waking unceremoniously on the chaise by his balcony, time and again, while he lay sprawled across his bed, a thin sheet barely covering his bare ass, snoring and mumbling like a drunken soldier. It had felt strange to seek refuge in his quarters, united by the turmoil brought about by his father’s hand.

It was easy to crawl in your bed and get lost amongst the silky sheets. Having not slept properly the night before, you allowed yourself to be pulled under, letting sleep claim you without a fight.

You woke suddenly, a weight pressing you down, your breath caught in surprise as your body refused to move. Above you, a pair of pale eyes—hazy and unrelenting, like the sky before a storm—fixed themselves on you. Their intensity felt heavier than the body that held them. It took a moment for your senses to settle, for your vision to clear, and when it did, you realized Caracalla’s body was tangled with yours—his legs draped over your left thigh, his hands planted on either side of your head as though framing you.

There was no telling how long he had been there, silently watching, and it was clear he had no intention of stopping then, even though you had caught him. You let your eyes roam over his face, taking in the rough texture of his pale skin, like polished, blighted marble under the soft glow of a torch. His pupils shifted, dark and wide, as they moved over you, drinking in every detail, the quiet between you charged with something unspoken.

“Will you have me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you gazed up at him. You knew all too well how Caracalla’s moods shifted like the tides—unpredictable and dangerous. The effort to stay steady, not to be swept away by his waves, weighed heavily on you.

He nodded, silent but certain, and tugged his tunic over his head, baring his silken chest to the flickering lamplight. You remained still, letting him take the lead, scared that even the slightest misstep might stir his infamous temper or send him retreating into the shadows. His hands moved with surprising care as he slipped your toga down your slender form, letting it fall away to the ground to reveal your body beneath.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You simply stared, locked in a gaze that spoke more than any words could, as the last barrier between your bodies was cast aside. The air between you was heavy, charged, and waiting.

You felt the heaviness of his cock against the soft skin of your thigh as he worked himself rhythmically, his closeness stirring a deep ache within you, a tension that spread like fire beneath your skin. The intimacy of the moment caught you unguarded, raw, and unspoken. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently to yours, his breath mingling with your own. Unable to resist, you caught his lower lip between your teeth, biting softly before his mouth overtook yours. He sighed into you, his resolve melting as he met your kiss. Your tongues tangled, slow at first, then urgent, as though the space between you had collapsed entirely.

You opened your legs for him, this time by your own will. Yet, as he moved to settle himself between them, his breath, warm and uneven against your neck, suddenly stilled. His movements ceased, and a heavy sigh escaped him, brushing against your skin.

“It is not—” he began, his voice taut with frustration, “I cannot—”

He propped himself up, looking down at you with a furrowed brow, his expression a storm of shame and anger. Unsure of what to say or do, you felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your cheeks as your gaze drifted downward to his softened cock.

“Is it me?” you asked quietly, half-ashamed.

He let out another sigh, his eyes closing as though in pain. “It is not for lack of desire, I swear it.”

“Is there something I can do?” you asked, sitting up, clutching the sheet to your chest, suddenly feeling the weight of self-consciousness.

“No.” His reply was short, and he rose abruptly, pulling his tunic over his head forcefully. He avoided your gaze as he reached for the wine on the bedside table, pouring himself a cup with trembling hands.

The crash startled you. He had flung the cup against the wall, the red wine streaking down like blood spilled from a gaping wound, pooling darkly on the marble floor.

“Get out,” he growled, his voice low but heavy with restrained fury.

“These are my chambers,” you reminded him, pulling the sheet tighter around you, trying to steady your voice.

“Get out, Prima.” His tone was colder now, his warning unmistakable.

Swallowing your pride, you hurriedly adjusted your toga, your hands fumbling to secure it in place. You retrieved your veil, crumpled between the pillows, and made your exit with hastened steps.

Outside, as you slipped your sandals back on, the crash of objects breaking echoed through the wooden door, followed by a muffled scream that sent a shiver down your spine. You clenched your fists, your breath steadying. Though you had lost this battle, somewhere deep within, hope remained—for the war was not yet over.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As you stepped inside the temple of Juno, you were immediately enveloped by a sense of tranquility. There had always been something about Juno that stirred you, but now, with your own marriage in turmoil, you felt a deeper connection to her. Her struggles with Jupiter mirrored your own in ways you had not fully grasped before. As the patron goddess of the empire, it felt right to ask for help as Augusta yourself. A child granted by Juno’s favor would surely be blessed, a gift of divine intervention. Marital help could wait, you told yourself. For now, you had one prayer, and it was for a child.

The air was cool and inviting, a welcome contrast to the warm sunlight outside. Delicate frescoes depicted scenes from Juno's mythology—her fierce protectiveness over women, her role in the great tales of heroism, and the beauty of marriage. Each brushstroke told a story, and you would have allowed yourself to be swept up by every tale if you had not been on a mission.

The temple was supported by regal, marble columns, their surfaces gleaming, reflecting the light from the stained glass windows onto their polished surfaces. The soaring ceiling was painted in rich hues of blue and gold, much like the sky at dawn, and you found yourself looking towards the heavens at its beauty.

As you moved deeper into the temple, you came upon the central altar, an imposing structure made of polished stone, carved with symbols of Juno—a peacock, representing beauty and pride, and a scepter, symbolizing power. The altar was adorned with offerings left by devoted worshippers: fresh flowers in vibrant colors, fruits from the harvest, and fragrant incense that filled the air with a sweet, calming aroma.

Juno’s statue stood front and center on the altar, surrounded by statues of different sizes, each capturing her essence in their own way. Some portrayed her as a regal figure in flowing robes, while others depicted her in a more maternal light, holding a child or surrounded by symbols of family.

“Your Excellency,” a priest approached, bowing his head in reverence, “it is an honor to stand in your divine presence.”

Upon his head sat a laurel crown, its fresh green leaves glistened with dew, a symbol of both honor and divine favor of the goddess herself. You remembered him from your wedding day- specifically how the laurel matched his deepset, green eyes.

Cassia presented to you a basket brimming with fragrant lilies, glistening white candles, a flask of the finest vintage wine, and a jar of the sweetest honey ever tasted. With a wave of your hand, you dismissed her to take her place outside the temple, accompanied by your assigned praetorians. You felt assured, having sent word ahead to the temple of your arrival, requesting both discretion and a sacred space in which to invoke the goddess.

“I trust that my offering has been prepared,” you remarked.

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Follow me.”

You trailed behind him to the rear of the temple, descending a flight of marble stairs into an atrium of sorts. The soft glow of white candles illuminated the room, their flickering flames dancing upon the golden statues that adorned the shelves embedded in the walls. At the center of the chamber lay a medium-sized tiled bathing pool, set into the floor.

As you approached, the distant bleating of a lamb reached your ears.

"We shall begin when you are prepared," the priest stated with a respectful nod. With a sense of dignity, you removed your robes, standing tall before the gaze of the goddess.

At that moment, another priest entered the chamber, leading a lamb, adorned in a flowing white robe accented with a rich purple trim at the hem, wearing the same radiant laurel crown you had seen earlier.

Both priests raised the lamb above your head, their voices intertwining as they recited ancient prayers to the goddess, carefully steadying the creature before making the first cut. You closed your eyes, centering your thoughts on the heavens. As the warm blood began to cascade over your face and down your neck and shoulders, you raised your voice proudly to the goddess, proclaiming your devotion and intent:

“We adore thee Goddess, we invoke you, Juno, for it is written that you will bless those who call upon you and sacrifice to you. I pray to you, Goddess Juno, and offer these gifts so that you may favor my house and household.”

As you stood there, your thoughts continued to drift back to Caracalla—the way he had faltered just hours before, leaving you feeling a mix of frustration and concern. It was hard not to dwell on the sacrifices you had made and would continue to make, all in the hopes of giving him an heir.

The weight of your marriage pressed down upon you, and you only felt relief when you stepped into the bathing pool, submerging yourself as the thick blood mingled with the warm water.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

As you knelt before the grand statue in the main hall, redressed and feeling lighter, you pressed a gentle kiss to the goddess’s feet. The lilies were arranged just right, symbols of your devotion, a reflection of what you desired and prayed the goddess could help you with.

You dipped the candle ends into the honey, feeling the sticky sweetness as you prepared to light them. The oil lamp glowed warmly as you ignited the first candle. One by one, the other candles caught fire, illuminating the space around you as you set them in the designated holder.

You poured the wine, its rich color glistening in the candlelight, and set the bottle down with care. As you whispered the prayer again, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Closing your eyes, you let the words sink deep, hoping that the goddess would hear your heart.

Suddenly, your moment of peace in the temple was broken by another presence. Before you could even open your eyes to see who it was, he spoke, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

“I cannot believe there is still a lamb left to sacrifice after your wedding. They must have sacrificed so many that the whole flock is nearly extinct.” Geta knelt beside you, a smirk on his face.

You quipped with a serious face, “Shall I offer you as the next sacrifice? Surely, one of your esteemed stature would grant me favor with the goddess.”

Geta laughed, the sound sharp and out of place in the quiet of the room. “Ironic, is it not? Not even a full cycle of Luna has passed, and you are already making offerings to save your fragile union.”

He seized your hand, running the edge of his nail beneath your own with deliberate care. A thin line of blood appeared, evidence of the sacrifice, vivid against your skin. He drew it to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted it, a sly smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think your husband knows how devout his wife truly is? So unwavering in her dedication?” Geta’s tone dripped with mockery, each word drawn out as though savoring the chance to provoke.

“Why are you here, Geta?” you asked, weariness lacing your words. His constant mockery was like salting an open wound, relentless and cruel.

He tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over your face with the precision of a blade. “Tell me,” he said, his voice like silky steel, “do you know what your husband does while you linger here in the temple, like a devout little dove?”

You sighed, your gaze fixed on the statue before you. “What, pray tell, is he doing now?”

You rose to your feet, giving him a silent nod to lead the way. The journey back to Palatine Hill drew curious glances as Geta’s guards merged with your own, their strides echoing in the narrow streets. You walked side by side, close enough to appear united yet distant enough that the silence between the two of you felt natural, you would offer him no word or glance to break the tension.

Rome pulsed with life around you. The aroma of fresh-baked bread mingled with the earthy scent of clay and smoke, a reminder of the city's crowded living spaces, where families lived stacked upon one another. Cassia, ever dutiful at your side, stole glances when she thought you would not notice. Her unease was palpable, and you made a mental note to instruct her in masking her emotions—though you could hardly claim to be a master yourself. Your jaw clenched tighter with every step, the pressure so fierce your teeth threatened to shatter.

As you approached the grand imperial palace, the atmosphere remained unchanged. You waved dismissively to Cassia while Geta signaled his soldiers to depart. Your own guard bowed in respect, and you returned the gesture with a simple wave of your hand.

Leaving the atrium, you trailed a few steps behind Geta as he strode down a lengthy corridor, ascending a flight of gilded steps that led to the private chambers of the palace. Upon reaching the threshold of his quarters, he paused and beckoned you inside with a wave from the doorway.

“This is a bad idea, and you are well aware of it,” you replied, shaking your head in disapproval, “You know Caracalla has requested that I do not converse with you under any circumstances.”

“You can either come with me or stand there like a fool,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Your choice.”

With a reluctant sigh, you stepped into his quarters, moving just enough for him to close the door behind you.

“What happens next?” you asked, trying to mask the unease in your voice.

He led you across the room to another door, swinging it open to reveal his impressive study—similar in grandeur to Caracalla’s. Just as you suspected, he slid aside a panel next to a bookcase, revealing a hidden passageway, the same one he had guided you through on your wedding night when Caracalla had been passed out. You navigated the narrow corridor, following Geta, a knot of anxiety tightening in your throat.

“I have had enough of these secret passages, of hidden motives and lies,” you admitted with a heavy sigh. “And I am emotionally drained from dealing with the fragile egos of you and your brother. I am sick from whiplash due to both of your ever changing moods. Have we not moved on from those childish days in Sicilia?”

Geta paused for a moment, the flickering torch light illuminating his features. “You speak as though we have tormented you day in and day out for years. I assure you, it was and will never be personal.”

“What is life if it is not personal, Geta?” you inquired sincerely.

“It is merely a game, Prima. We play the cards we are dealt.” He turned, his gaze thoughtfully assessing your expression. “Do not feign ignorance. You are indeed playing your hand, I have observed it myself.”

“Make sure you cover yourself up properly,” he said, glancing at the veil you wore, adjusting it to better hide your profile. “And take off that necklace.”

Feeling confused, you did as he asked, surprised when he took the necklace from you and placed it gently over the bridge of your nose, fastening it at the back of your head.

“To hide your face,” he explained.

“Hide my face from what?” you asked, but before he could reply, he slid the door open.

He stepped into the chamber, his silhouette suddenly illuminated by the flickering candlelight, a hazy cloud of incense swirling around him like a mist. With a graceful gesture, he extended his hand toward you, and before you could second-guess your instincts, you accepted it, allowing him to guide you from the dim corridor.

Before you, a scene of unabashed hedonism played out, where pleasure took precedence. Bodies entwined on every available surface; no lectus was spared from the terror of lovers lost in ecstasy. The air was thick with a chorus of moans and sighs, punctuated by the occasional sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh.

The chamber itself seemed to have once served as a sleeping quarters, now transformed into a sanctuary of indulgence. An elevated bed rested against the wall, draped in sheer curtains that obscured its occupants, their movements a hazy blur. In the area where you and Geta had entered, a grand table stood opposite, filled with exotic fruits and succulent roasted meats, inviting guests to partake in the feast while they watched the show. They swayed gently to the sultry melodies played by skilled musicians on lyres and flutes, the atmosphere alive and electric.

Geta guided you further into the chamber, his presence momentarily undetected as he settled into a high-backed chair that afforded him a prime view of the bed’s occupants. You lingered before him, your senses overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, when he suddenly drew you down to sit on his lap.

“Geta—” you protested, a hint of disapproval in your voice, “this is highly inappropriate.”

“Amidst all around us, you single this out as inappropriate?” he quipped, a playful smirk on his lips. “Sit still and enjoy the moment.”

His words hung in the air, a blend of mischief and allure, as the curtains on the bed began to sway, promising a view of its occupants lost in their own worlds.

There, amidst a tangle of hands and mouths, Caracalla lay sprawled in the center of the bed. His eyes were tightly shut, back arched away from the mattress as a woman stroked his cock with a dizzying rhythm—first lazily from root to tip, then with a fervor that blurred her hand around his delicate member. His toes curled, and his eyes rolled back as his seed spilled onto the woman’s fist, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

You tensed in Geta’s lap, torn between horror and fascination as the scene unfolded before you. Caracalla’s cock, spent yet firm against his thigh, filled you with a wave of shame as you recalled how flaccid he had been hovering over your own bare form earlier in the day.

Surrounded by three women, you watched as they descended upon him like vultures. The petite one mounted him, her cunt swallowing his spent cock in a single fluid motion. She rode him without pause, her gaze fixed on the other two girls who writhed at the head of the bed, their moans rising and falling in a symphony of pleasure as Caracalla’s fingers danced in and around their cunts, his ministrations causing them to lose all sense of reason as evident by their sounds.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to block out the pulsing sensation. Sensing your turmoil, Geta placed his hands on your hips, guiding you to press down and grind your damp cunt into the firm flesh of his thigh.

“No,” you breathed, inhaling shakily as you pushed his hands away.

A stunning woman approached the two of you, and you stood, excusing yourself from the scene. You watched as she led Geta away, his head turning back towards you, a fleeting look of longing crossing his features as you slipped away toward the panel, revealing the hidden corridor. It was only once you reached the solitude of your quarters that you finally allowed your mask to fall, the weight of the day finally sinking in.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

It took exactly a week to ready Cassia, building her confidence for the task ahead. Though you had been anxious at first, desperation had a way of gnawing straight to the bone. Once you accepted the reality of your situation, you knew it was time to act—to wound Caracalla as deeply as he had wounded you.

It was common knowledge that Septimius had generously gifted you part of his late wife’s collection: a set of ruby rings, the golden diadem he had placed upon your head on your wedding day, and a striking emerald necklace. Of all these treasures, the rubies had become your favorite, their deep crimson a perfect match for your heirloom wrist cuffs, which you chose for your daily attire.

Cassia took pride in her role, carefully preparing each piece as you dressed daily, her timing impeccable as she laid them out. She beamed whenever she knew she had chosen well, her satisfaction a quiet victory. Though she was still reserved, Cassia had begun to open up, sharing bits of her life before becoming a servant of the palace. She spoke of her family, her village, and, to your surprise, revealed that the two of you shared a name day.

“Perhaps this is the gods’ way of blessing our budding friendship,” you said with a smile, resting your hand gently on her forearm.

“Perhaps, your excellency,” she replied, her cheeks flushing with color.

“I must admit, I detest such formality,” you said, tilting your head with a playful grin. “You may call me Prima.”

“I could never,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It would be dishonorable.”

“I believe it falls to me to decide what is and is not a dishonor,” you reassured her, your tone soft but firm.

Over the next few days, you spoke candidly with Cassia, sharing glimpses of your life before becoming Augusta. You told stories of fleeting childhood encounters with the Imperator and his sons with personal anecdotes, revealing just enough to make her feel at ease.

As the seeds of friendship began to take root, you started to stitch together the threads of your larger scheme.

“Cassia,” you asked one morning as she fastened the clasps on your tunic, “have you ever been to the villa that houses the concubines?”

“I… have not,” she admitted, her hands pausing briefly before returning to their task. “Though I am close with one of the regular servants stationed there.”

You nodded, your expression neutral as you combed your hair before the looking glass, watching her reflection as she carefully selected a veil to complement your attire.

Two days later, as you strolled through the rose garden, Cassia presented a petite blonde girl to you.

“Your excellency, may I introduce Metella,” she said, her tone light yet tinged with nerves.

The girl, no older than Cassia, bowed low. You tilted your head, studying her with quiet curiosity.

“She works at the villa, your excellency,” Cassia added, offering context, doing your bidding without you having to ask her to.

“Yes, of course,” you replied with a measured nod. “A pleasure to meet you, Metella.”

“The pleasure is mine, your excellency,” Metella said softly, her faint smile barely reaching her eyes.

You spent a good portion of the afternoon in their company, walking the garden paths. Cassia and Metella trailed close behind, pausing whenever you stopped to smell a set of roses. At your direction, they clipped the blossoms you favored. As they worked, Metella spoke in hushed tones about the villa.

“Behind the palace,” she began, her voice just above a whisper as she clipped another rose, “up the gravel road that leads away from the stables, there is a villa. Three ladies live there now.”

You nodded, already certain of whom she spoke, but said nothing as the pieces of your plan continued to fall into place.

You stopped abruptly, spinning on your heel to face them. The speed of your movement caught Cassia and Metella off guard, and they nearly stumbled into you.

“If I asked a favor of you both, would you consider it?” you asked, your tone calm but carrying a weight that left no room for dismissal.

The girls exchanged a glance, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Cassia was the first to respond, her face lighting up with a genuine smile.

“Anything for you, your excellency,” she said, bowing low. You couldn’t help but smile softly at her devotion. Metella quickly followed suit, her bow a little less confident. It was in that moment you knew—the plan would succeed.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

It took two days to carefully craft every detail. You scrutinized the scheme in your mind, playing out every scenario until you felt confident enough for the plan to officially be carried out.

Late one night, under the cover of darkness, you met Cassia and Metella in the stables. The air was thick with tension as the girls paced nervously, their movements quick and uncertain. You had already arranged for the stable hands to be elsewhere, ensuring complete privacy.

“There will be panic,” you began, your voice low and deliberate, “and the servants’ quarters will be turned upside down in the search for these jewels. But if you listen carefully and follow my instructions exactly, no blame will fall on either of you.”

Both girls nodded, their wide eyes fixed on you as you reached beneath your cloak and produced a small satin bag.

“In the morning, Metella, place a piece of jewelry into each of their jewelry boxes after you have dressed them and they have left the villa,” you instructed. “Metella, once it is done, come straight to my quarters.”

Metella nodded, her trembling hands reaching for the bag. She tucked it into her satchel, her knuckles pale from holding the satchel so tightly.

“If, at any point, you feel frightened or unable to carry out the task, return the jewels to me immediately,” you said, your tone softening slightly. But then your expression hardened, and the faint moonlight caught the sharp edge of your gaze.

“And know this—if either of you breathes a word of this plan to another soul, I will see you crucified. Your entrails will hang from the city walls, and your families will be exiled to the furthest, most desolate rock beneath the sun.”

The chilling threat lingered in the air. Cassia and Metella glanced at each other nervously.

They turned back to you and nodded, their expressions solemn.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The morning of, you could not stop pacing your chambers, every detail of the plan playing on a loop in your mind. You woke early, bathing slowly, letting the warm water and scented oils calm your nerves. By the time you dressed and added the finishing touches, you felt more prepared—or at least looked the part.

Cassia appeared in your doorway, her hair slightly out of place and worry etched on her face.

“Your excellency, am I late?” she asked, her voice small.

“I am merely early,” you said, smoothing the folds of your tunic as you checked yourself in the looking glass. You barely had a moment to exhale before the door slammed open, and Metella rushed in.

“It is done,” she said, breathless and quiet.

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral even as your pulse quickened. “Good. Now, listen carefully. I need both of you to prepare an offering to Juno in my name. Once you have gathered what is needed, go to her temple and spend the day praying—ask her to grant me an heir. Do not return to the palace until dusk.”

They exchanged a glance but nodded quickly, bowing their heads.

“I will give you enough time to get ready before I speak with the Imperator,” you said firmly. “You are dismissed.”

The door shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening. You leaned against your dressing table, gripping its edge to steady yourself. For a moment, you let the mask drop, your fear bubbling to the surface. Taking a shaky breath, you whispered a prayer—not just to Juno, but for the strength to face what was coming. You could only hope the Imperator would not see right through you.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Prima, what a delightful surprise,” Septimius exclaimed as you approached the table on his sunlit terrace. He nodded, dismissing the praetorian who had guided you inside, returning him to his post.

“I hope I am not intruding,” you said, glancing down at the imperator’s feet, which rested in a basin filled with amber liquid.

“Ah, the trials of age, nothing more,” he reassured you, gesturing for you to take a seat across from him. He poured a cup of rich wine and offered it to you. You nodded in gratitude as his gaze searched your face.

“What troubles you?” he inquired, tilting his head slightly.

“What do you mean?” you replied, taking a sip from your cup, feigning innocence.

“There is a shadow of worry behind those lovely eyes,” he noted, crossing his hands on the table.

You sighed and set your cup down. “I am embarrassed, Imperator,” you began, watching as his brows knitted together, “something has occurred.”

“What has happened, Prima?” he asked, leaning in closer, his concern evident.

“The rubies you gifted me, the ones that belonged to your late wife—I fear they have gone missing.” You covered your face in shame as he reached out to grasp your wrist gently.

“When did this happen?” he pressed, his delicate grip urging you to speak.

“I noticed this morning,” you murmured, “I sent my two servants to the temple of Juno at dawn, instructing them to make offerings in my honor and not to return until dusk.” You paused, gathering your thoughts. “I dressed myself to meet with my father, to catch up on family matters, but when I went to retrieve the rubies from their resting place, they were gone.”

Septimius sighed, leaning back in his chair, stroking the gray stubble on his chin. “Have you confided in Caracalla?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“He is not pleased that I wear his mother’s jewelry,” you admitted. “He has threatened to take them from me and give them to his courtesans if I continue to wear them. He thinks me unworthy.”

Septimius’s eyes narrowed. “He still indulges with his courtesans?”

“Please, your excellency, do not say it was I who revealed this,” you implored, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, asking for his discretion.

“I have heard whispers that the three he favors have taken residence in the villa behind the stables.” You spoke softly, shame flooding your cheeks.

Septimius straightened, his jaw tightening as he regarded you. “Spend the day with your father, and allow me to address this matter,” he instructed, and you nodded solemnly. “Exercise the utmost discretion and speak of this to no one else.”

“Of course.” You rose, but he caught your hand before you could express your gratitude and leave his quarters.

“Everything shall be well in due time,” he promised, kissing your knuckles as he met your gaze.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Word spread like wildfire through the bustling halls of the palace, as the praetorians stormed the servants’ quarters, tearing through each room, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. It wasn’t long before you learned the news: the jewelry had been found in the possession of Antonia, Tullia, and Marcella, the ladies residing in the villa behind the stables.

As soon as the jewelry was found tucked away in each lady’s respective jewelry box, the villa was locked down tight, with guards stationed to ensure no one could slip in or out, all by the direct order of the Imperator. The three women were swiftly banished from the palace and exiled to the farthest reaches of the empire, their families shamed by their actions, forced to join them in their sentencing. It was truly a stroke of luck that they still had their heads on their shoulders, for the Imperator could have dealt them a harsher fate.

Your plan had worked like a charm, unfolding just as you had hoped. The pieces fell into place perfectly, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how it all turned out.

As night descended and you faced the weight of your choices, you let your emotions wrap around you like a heavy blanket—neither ashamed nor particularly proud, but feeling as though you had sunk lower than expected. Shaking off such thoughts, you turned to the polished bronze mirror on your dressing table, brushing aside the strands of hair that clung to your neck and wiping away the remnants of kohl from your eyes.

It was then that the echoes of an angry voice grew louder, approaching your quarters. You sprang to your feet, frozen in place, the sheer fabric of your gown pooling around your feet as your gaze fixed on the door.

When Caracalla burst in, you remained still.

“You!” he spat through clenched teeth, flinging a handful of precious ruby rings in your direction. “You deceitful, rancid wench!” He advanced, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

“You have made a fool of me!” He seized your shoulders, shaking you with fury.

“You’ve done that to yourself!” You pulled away, but he was quick to grasp you again, forcing you backward until your back hit the wall beside the door.

“I was merely reclaiming what is rightfully mine,” you declared, holding your head high, “what was taken from me.”

“What was taken from you,” he sneered, his arms pinning you in place as his hands braced against the wall on either side of your head. “Nothing here belongs to you.”

You struggled against his grip, but he pressed you closer to the wall with his own body.

“If we are to claim our rights, then I shall take what is mine.”

With a sudden motion, he hoisted you by the back of your thighs, slamming your back against the wall once more. You protested, pushing against his shoulders and striking at his solid flesh, but he merely laughed, relishing the moment as he held you against the wall, lifting your gown to expose your bare form.

“Deceitful wench,” he hissed through gritted teeth, yanking down the collar of your gown to reveal your neck and collarbones. You cried out as a sharp sting pierced the skin between your neck and shoulder, his incisors biting into your flesh. He pressed harder, a trickle of blood staining the sheer fabric of your gown.

You felt paralyzed, your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as he pulled back, wrestling with his toga, his hands trembling with rage.

He held you so tightly that it started to hurt, burying himself deep inside you, lifting you off the wall with every thrust. He devoured the tender flesh of your neck and chest, biting, kissing, and sucking, his teeth grazing your soft skin.

All you could do was hang on to him, clinging to him so fiercely that it was hard to tell where he ended and you began.

With a loud grunt, he spilled himself within you, letting his head drop between your shoulder and neck as he gasped for breath. When he pulled back to look at you, he searched your face just as you searched his. Both of you were left wondering what had just happened and why it stirred feelings in you that you had never felt before.

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Tag list:

@alwaysahiccupandastrid

@justnobodynothingmore

@miamariposita

@niungguang

dividers: @ghoulbloggerrr

[elikajinnie]

eyes don`t lie | lhs

P: Lee Heeseung X fem!reader

Synopsis: you wanted to give the new jazz club a visit..

Warnings: Suggestive content!

a/n: i felt very Shakespearean (??) during this. (Only ogs get the last scene)

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

Say you're mine Eyes don't lie

You tell me your secrets You keep your life between your lips You know you're my weakness

The sign above the jazz club flickers softly, casting a warm glow over the sidewalk as you stand in line. The soft hum of jazz music leaks through the door, a faint promise of what's waiting inside.

You glance at your phone, a habit you can't quite break, before glancing over at your friend, who’s busy touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror. Both of you look like you’ve stepped out of a classic film, your outfits carefully chosen for the occasion.

The sleek, black dress you’re wearing hugs your form just enough to give you confidence, paired with heels that make you just a touch taller. Your makeup is subtle but striking—bold enough for a night out, but not so heavy that it hides your natural glow. You can feel the liner tracing your eyes, the mascara giving your lashes a little extra drama.

Your friend nudges you lightly, bringing you back to the present. "There’s no way tonight won't be amazing."

"You're hyping it up," you tease, but there's no denying the excitement building in you. You can already imagine the dim lighting inside, the hazy atmosphere filled with low conversation and the tinkling of glasses. The rich, velvety sound of the piano drifting over the crowd, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

The line moves forward, and you're one step closer to the entrance. The bouncer, dressed in a sharp suit, glances at your IDs before letting you through with a nod. Inside, the club is everything you imagined and more. Soft, amber light illuminates the room, casting long shadows across the polished wood tables and leather seats. There’s a smoky haze that clings to the air, mingling with the scent of whiskey and old wood. The stage is dimly lit, a grand piano taking center stage.

You and your friend find a table close enough to the stage to feel like you're part of the show, but not so close that you’re drawing attention. You settle into the plush leather seats, the soft material molding beneath you as you scan the room. People are dressed to impress tonight—suits, cocktail dresses, sleek hairstyles.

The waiter brings you cocktails—delicate, sophisticated drinks with a bite that makes you feel alive as you sip them slowly, savoring the moment.

The band plays on, each note filling the room with warmth and soul. It’s like stepping into another world, one where time slows down and every moment stretches out, wrapped in the glow of the music. You lean back in your chair, letting the atmosphere sink into your skin.

Your friend takes a sip of her drink, a smoky golden concoction, and lets out a contented sigh, her eyes closing as she leans back into the leather of the booth. “Perfect,” she murmurs, the word barely audible over the swell of the piano, but you know exactly what she means. Everything tonight feels perfect—like the world outside the club has ceased to exist, and all that matters is the music, the ambiance, the warmth of the drink in your hand.

The band is in full swing now, each musician playing with a passion that speaks to years of honing their craft. The bass hums beneath it all, deep and steady, grounding the more delicate notes of the saxophone that cuts through the air like smoke. The drummer’s light touch is hypnotic, adding a gentle rhythm that feels like the pulse of the room itself. But it’s the pianist, who truly commands the space. His fingers glide effortlessly across the keys, as though the music is flowing directly through him, a natural extension of his being.

You lean back in your chair, feeling the leather soften beneath you as you let the music wash over you. Every note seems to seep into your skin, filling you with warmth and a kind of quiet contentment you hadn’t realized you were missing until now. The soft glow of the candlelight on your table flickers, casting faint shadows that dance across the glass of your drink. You take another slow sip, the bite of the alcohol mixing with the mellow jazz in a way that makes you feel utterly present—like this moment, this night, is all that matters.

Your friend nudges you gently, pulling you out of your reverie. She’s smiling, her eyes bright as she leans closer to whisper, “We needed this.”

You nod, unable to disagree. Life’s been hectic lately—too many late nights working, too much time spent worrying about things you couldn’t control. But here, in this dimly lit club with the music wrapping around you like a warm blanket, all those worries seem distant, insignificant. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you’re able to let go.

A few drinks in, the room starts feeling pleasantly hazy. The cocktail in your hand has melted into a smooth sweetness, and the music has become a familiar companion—its rhythm sinking into your bones, each note a gentle caress. You and your friend share a smile, your conversations dwindling as you let the ambiance take over. Then, unexpectedly, the band shifts, their playing slowing down to a softer, more subdued melody. You notice it first—the change in energy. The hum of conversation begins to taper off, replaced by a murmur of hushed whispers.

You sit up straighter, exchanging a curious glance with your friend. Confusion flickers across her face too, and you both scan the room, trying to understand what’s happening. The soft, amber glow that’s filled the room all evening starts to dim, and the stage lights begin to shift. A single spotlight flickers on, focusing on the center of the stage, where a lone microphone stand has appeared as if by magic.

The murmur in the club dies down entirely, replaced by a kind of breathless anticipation. Everyone seems to know what’s coming, except you. Your heart starts to race, your senses heightened as you feel the tension in the air. The band continues to play, their instruments quieting to allow space for something else, something you can almost feel, but can’t quite name.

And then, through the soft darkness, a figure steps onto the stage.

You feel your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening in quiet surprise. The man walking toward the microphone is striking in a way that almost doesn’t feel real. His suit is perfectly tailored, fitting him like it was made for him alone—crisp lines and smooth fabric that moves with every graceful step. But it’s his hair that stands out the most. It’s a deep, vibrant red that seems to glow under the stage lights, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He moves with an easy confidence, but there’s something almost magnetic about him, something that draws your gaze and refuses to let go.

You glance at your friend, but she’s just as transfixed as you are, her eyes locked on the stage as the man reaches the microphone. The lights shift again, narrowing to a focused beam that frames him in an ethereal glow, as if the entire world has fallen away, leaving only him.

For a brief moment, the room is completely still. The band holds the final note of their introduction, a soft hum that lingers in the air, creating a tension so thick you can feel it.

And then he opens his mouth, and the first note of his voice fills the club.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard before—smooth and angelic, yet rich with emotion, every word dripping with soul. The sound washes over you like a wave, wrapping around you and pulling you in. It’s haunting, beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing. You feel yourself gasp quietly, the sound barely leaving your lips as you try to process what you’re hearing. There’s a warmth to his voice, but also an aching vulnerability, like he’s pouring something deeply personal into every note, and you can’t look away.

The room, which had been filled with whispers and shifting movements just moments ago, has gone completely silent, every pair of eyes locked on him. It’s as if the entire club is holding its breath, hanging on to each note he sings, waiting for what will come next. You’re vaguely aware of your friend beside you, but even her presence feels distant now—your attention is fully consumed by the figure on stage.

The way he sings… it’s like he’s drawing something out of you, pulling at emotions you didn’t even know were there. His voice rises and falls, effortlessly weaving through the melody, and with every word, you feel more and more entranced. The red of his hair glints under the light, a vibrant contrast to the dark backdrop, and his expression is calm but intense, as though he’s lost in the music just as much as you are.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the song shifts into its final verse. His voice softens, barely a whisper now, and the band matches him, their instruments fading into the background. It’s intimate—like he’s singing just for you, and in this moment, nothing else matters. You don’t want it to end. You could listen to him forever.

But eventually, the final note rings out, echoing in the silence. The spell breaks, but you’re still under his sway, your heart racing and your skin tingling. You realize then that you haven’t moved for the entirety of his performance. It was like you were frozen, unable to do anything but listen, and now that it’s over, you almost feel a sense of loss.

Around you, the crowd erupts into soft applause, but it feels like a distant sound. All you can do is stare at the man on stage, still bathed in that soft light, wondering who he is—and how someone can have a voice that feels like it could reach right into your soul.

He bows lightly, his head dipping in a gesture of respect and gratitude, the soft spotlight casting a halo around him. The applause swells around you, but it’s a distant hum, muted by the beating of your heart in your ears. As he lifts his head again, his eyes sweep across the room, taking in the crowd with calm composure—until they land on yours.

Time seems to slow. His gaze locks with yours, you feel it instantly—a deep, almost magnetic pull, like an invisible thread connecting you to him. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you can’t help but gulp quietly, the sound swallowed by the silence that seems to surround this shared glance.

His eyes are intense, piercing in their focus, yet there’s something soft in them too—an unspoken question, or maybe recognition, as though he’s just as aware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The connection feels electric, a jolt running through your body, leaving your pulse racing and your skin tingling.

The eye contact lingers longer than it should, and in that span of heartbeats, you feel utterly exposed, as though he can see past your exterior and right into the depths of your thoughts. It’s overwhelming and thrilling all at once—like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into an endless expanse and knowing you could fall at any moment.

Eventually, he steps back from the microphone, offering the crowd another subtle bow. His presence lingers, even as he turns away, vanishing into the shadows backstage, the spotlight dimming as if it’s reluctant to let him go. You realize you’ve been holding your breath the entire time, and it escapes you in a soft rush, like a weight lifting from your chest.

Around you, the quiet spell that had enveloped the club breaks. The low hum of chatter resumes, glasses clink softly, and the familiar rhythm of classic jazz fills the space once more, the music lighter now, a backdrop to conversations that spring up again. It’s almost like nothing extraordinary just happened.

Your friend leans over, breaking the silence between you with a low chuckle. “That dude was something else, wasn’t he?”

You don’t trust your voice to respond. Your throat feels tight, your pulse still racing from the intensity of the performance, from that shared moment of eye contact that left you unsteady. You nod instead, lifting your glass to your lips and taking a slow sip. The cold, crisp liquid hits your tongue, soothing you, bringing you back down from the high you hadn’t even realized you were on. The ice clinks softly against the glass, grounding you as the coolness spreads through your chest, calming your racing heart.

Your friend is still watching you, one eyebrow raised in amusement, clearly waiting for some kind of response. But all you can do is stare at your drink.

“Yeah,” you finally murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “Something else.”

“I wonder who he is,” she muses, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You shrug slightly, but the same question has been circling your mind since he left the stage.

Who was he?

After another show ends and the band plays their final set, the crowd begins to disperse, though a few people linger, still caught in the afterglow of the evening. The night air feels cooler now, a stark contrast to the warm haze inside the club. You and your friend sit quietly for a moment, sipping the last of your drinks, before leaving.

Curiosity gets the best of you. You lean toward the bar, catching the bartender’s attention as he’s polishing a glass. “Who was that singer tonight?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your pulse quickens just mentioning him.

The bartender - Jay - glances up, offering a knowing smile. “Ah, that’d be Lee Heeseung,” he says, like the name is already becoming familiar around here. “We just hired him. Hell of a voice, huh?”

You nod, the name echoing in your mind. Lee Heeseung.

“He only sings once every other night,” Jay continues, placing the glass down and leaning in a bit as if sharing a secret. “Two times if he’s feeling like it, but mostly keeps to himself.”

Lee Heeseung. You repeat the name silently, letting it settle into your thoughts. It fits him, somehow—there’s something elegant about it, yet understated, much like the way he carried himself on stage. You roll the name over in your mind, each syllable striking a chord deep inside you. It’s as if now, knowing his name, he feels even more real.

You glance toward the darkened stage, where the spotlight had once illuminated him, now empty, the magic of the night beginning to fade. But his presence lingers in your mind.

Lee Heeseung.

It’s a name you won’t forget. A name that, much like his voice, sticks with you long after the night ends.

You take a final sip of your drink, the cold liquid steadying you once more. “Lee Heeseung,” you whisper under your breath, testing it on your lips. And somehow, you know that name is going to stay with you, just like the way he made you feel during his performance.

“I like it,” you murmur, almost to yourself. And it’s true. His name fits him perfectly.

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

You found yourself returning to the jazz club more often than you ever thought you would. Some nights you came with friends, the laughter and easy conversations a comfortable distraction. Other nights, you came alone, drawn to the warmth of the dim lights, the hum of the music, and—though you never admitted it aloud—him.

You didn’t understand why, but something in you craved the moments when Lee Heeseung stepped onto that stage. It wasn’t just his voice, though that was captivating enough to make anyone fall silent. It was him—the way he moved, the way his eyes would always seem to find yours in the crowd, locking you in place like he could see right through you. You’d tell yourself it was just a coincidence, that he wasn’t really looking at you, not in the way you wanted to believe. But every time, it caught your breath. Every single time.

It was maddening.

He never spoke to you, not once. After his sets, he’d disappear backstage, swallowed by the shadows as if he was part of the night itself. And yet, you kept coming back, like a moth drawn to the flame, wanting to see more of him, to know more about who he was. What did he do when he wasn’t performing? What kind of music did he listen to? What made him smile? What did he think about in those quiet moments before he took the stage? Your curiosity about him grew with each visit, gnawing at you, and you couldn’t explain why.

And what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that he felt the same pull. Ever since that first night, when his eyes met yours across the crowded room, something inside Heeseung had stirred. He had felt it deep in his chest, a subtle but undeniable tug, like an invisible string pulling him toward you. It was almost physical, a desire to move closer, to learn your name, to hear your voice. But every time, he resisted, clinging to his professionalism as he bowed lightly and disappeared behind the stage curtains. He told himself it was nothing, just another face in the crowd. But the truth was, you had done something to him.

You had caught him. Just as he had caught you.

And it was driving him insane.

Heeseung found himself scanning the crowd every night he performed, his heart skipping when he spotted you. No matter how many people filled the room, his eyes always found their way back to you. You had become his constant distraction, lingering in his thoughts long after he left the club. He didn’t even know your name, yet the desire to learn everything about you gnawed at him, growing stronger with every passing performance.

It wasn’t just curiosity—it was need. A deep, aching want.

He wanted to know you, to talk to you, to hear your voice outside of the quiet applause you offered after his songs. What did you think about when you listened to him sing? Did you feel the same pull that he did? He was desperate to find out. Every little detail you could give him, he would greedily soak up, wanting more and more.

But he held back. Always. Keeping his distance, even though it was killing him inside.

And so it went on, night after night. You, caught in his presence, unable to look away. Him, mesmerized by you, holding onto his professionalism by the thinnest of threads, but wanting nothing more than to be near you. It was an unspoken, maddening dance, both of you trapped in the same pull, yet neither making a move.

It was only a matter of time before one of you would break.

And so it went on, night after night.

You, seated in your usual spot, caught in the gravity of Heeseung’s presence. Each time the lights dimmed and his figure appeared on stage, your heart would race with anticipation. You’d try to steady your breath, convincing yourself that tonight would be no different, that you’d enjoy the music, maybe share some laughs with friends, and leave. But the moment his eyes met yours, all your resolve dissolved.

He always found you.

Even in a room full of people, it was like you were the only one he saw. The first time it happened, you thought it was just chance, but now, it was unmistakable. Heeseung’s gaze would sweep across the room, but when it landed on you, it lingered, locking you in place. And as the weeks passed, that eye contact grew more intense, more charged.

It wasn’t just his eyes that betrayed him. On the nights when he sang love songs—slow, romantic ballads that filled the room with heat—you noticed something else. His voice would deepen, become more sultry, almost like he was singing just for you. The lyrics would hang in the air, every word dripping with meaning, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. There was something unmistakable about the way his voice would dip into the lower register during certain phrases, how his lips would curve slightly when he sang about longing, about desire.

And every time, you felt the same pull, that magnetic draw you couldn’t explain.

One night, the tension between you reached a fever pitch. Heeseung was in the middle of a song—one of those slow, yearning ones, where the lyrics spoke of unspoken love and hidden desires. His eyes found yours as he sang the chorus, the words wrapping around you like velvet. His voice dropped, soft and husky, as he delivered the line, "I can’t breathe when you’re near, you’re everything I need."

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, like every word was meant for you and only you. His gaze didn’t waver—he was locked in, completely focused on you. You could see it in the way his fingers gripped the microphone, in the tension in his jaw, that he was holding himself back. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, as if he was silently asking you to break the silence between you, to cross that invisible line neither of you had dared to step over.

And yet, neither of you made a move.

Heeseung would sing, and you would listen, your heart pounding in your chest, caught in the rhythm of his voice, the weight of his gaze. Then, when the song ended, he’d retreat into the shadows, leaving you breathless and wanting.

But the pull between you grew stronger with each passing night. You could feel it in the way his performances shifted. The sultry edge in his voice wasn’t just an act anymore—it was personal. His songs became a reflection of what simmered beneath the surface between you two. Every time he sang a song about love, about yearning, it felt like a confession, a silent message that only you could understand.

One night, the tension became almost unbearable. The band started playing a slow, sensual tune, the kind that made the room feel warmer, more intimate. Heeseung’s eyes found yours almost immediately, and as he began to sing, his voice was lower, rougher, more emotional than you had ever heard it before.

"There’s something about the way you move, the way you look at me…"

Your heart skipped a beat. His voice was velvet and smoke, smooth but with an edge that made you shiver. He wasn’t just performing anymore—he was speaking directly to you, his gaze never leaving yours. The lyrics dripped with desire, each note resonating with something deep inside you. The words hit harder because you knew what was underneath them, what was brewing between the two of you. His fingers wrapped tightly around the microphone, his stance more rigid than usual, like he was barely holding himself together.

By the time he reached the final verse, the air was thick with tension. His voice dipped to a near whisper, the intimacy of the moment almost suffocating.

"I’ve been waiting for so long, for you to see me too…"

Your breath hitched, your hand tightening around your glass. Heeseung’s eyes burned into yours, and for the first time, you saw it—really saw it. The restraint, the struggle. He wanted to make a move, just as badly as you did. It was in the way his gaze darkened, the way his voice became more desperate, like he was pouring everything he felt into the song.

As the song came to an end, he lingered at the microphone for just a second longer, even as the last note faded and the soft hum of conversation filled the room again. And then, for the first time, he hesitated. He stood there, gripping the microphone stand, his knuckles white, as though he was fighting with himself. The crowd was waiting for him to leave the stage, but he didn’t move.

You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he would finally walk over to you, say something, break this unspoken tension that had been building for so long. But instead, he just stared down, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, like he was trying to steady himself. Then, with a barely noticeable shake of his head, he stepped back, his steps were purposeful, but there was a visible tension in his stride, like he was trying to escape something that was chasing him. You watched, transfixed, as he disappeared behind the curtain, his silhouette swallowed by the darkness.

The curtain fell, and the applause continued, but it felt distant now. The music resumed—a classic tune playing softly, almost as an afterthought. You were left sitting at your table, your glass nearly forgotten as you stared at the empty stage.

The moment passed, but it left you shaken. Your friend leaned over, murmuring something about how amazing the performance was, but you barely heard her. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you, the way his gaze had felt like a question, one that you didn’t yet know how to answer.

But what you didn’t know was that Heeseung had reached his breaking point. Backstage, he leaned against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t keep doing this—this dance of almosts and maybes. Every time he saw you, it became harder to hold himself back. He didn’t even know your name, but he wanted to. Needed to. Every glance, every shared moment across the crowded room only made him more certain that he had to know you. The thought of you consumed him, drove him mad, until he couldn’t think about anything else.

As he stood there, catching his breath, he made a decision. He wouldn’t walk away tonight. Not again. He needed to do something—anything—to break this cycle, to get closer to you.

Heeseung straightened himself up, his heart pounding in his chest. The decision had been made. He couldn’t keep doing this—dancing around the tension, pretending that the looks you shared were just fleeting moments. Not anymore. Tonight was different. The connection between you had grown too strong, too magnetic to ignore. He had to see you, had to break this maddening cycle of unspoken desire.

He took a deep breath and walked out from backstage, his eyes immediately scanning the room. The usual post-performance crowd lingered, patrons scattered in small groups, chatting, laughing, sipping their drinks. His gaze swept across the dimly lit space, searching, yearning.

And then, just as he was about to lose hope, he saw you.

You were making your way towards the back, disappearing into a hidden hallway beside the bar that led to the restrooms. Heeseung’s pulse quickened, and without a second thought, he followed.

A few patrons stopped him on his way, eager to congratulate him on his performance or exchange a few words. He smiled politely, though his focus was elsewhere. He shortened the conversations, nodding and offering quick thanks, but his mind was locked on you. The pull, the need to reach you, was too strong now. He couldn’t delay any longer.

As he neared the hallway, he slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he slipped into the shadows. The hallway was quieter here, away from the buzz of the bar. The dim lighting cast long, soft shadows along the walls, creating a more intimate, almost secretive atmosphere.

Heeseung stopped at the entrance of the hallway, his breath catching in his throat. He could hear the faint sound of running water from where you had stepped into the bathroom. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made everything sharper—the sound of his heartbeat, the way the air felt cooler back here, away from the crowd.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing. What was he going to say? How was he going to explain this—this overwhelming need to finally talk to you, to break the distance that had grown between you?

He leaned against the wall, trying to calm his nerves as he waited for you to reemerge. His breath was shaky, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making everything feel heightened—more real, more dangerous. This wasn’t just a passing attraction anymore. It was something deeper, something that had grown over time, night after night, with every glance exchanged between the two of you. The distance that had existed between you wasn’t something he could live with any longer.

His fingers drummed lightly against his leg, a nervous habit he hadn’t even noticed until now. Each tap was a reminder of the ticking seconds, each moment building his anticipation higher, tightening the knot in his stomach. He was caught between excitement and fear, unsure of how this would play out but certain that he couldn’t walk away again. Not tonight.

The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of music from the club fading into the background, leaving him in this private space, alone with his thoughts. He tried to calm the storm in his mind, rehearsing different ways to start the conversation. How are you? felt too casual. I can’t stop thinking about you felt too raw. The words swirled, none of them feeling quite right, but then again, what words could encapsulate what he had been feeling for weeks?

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, trying to slow his racing heart. He wanted to tell you everything—how every song he sang was a message to you, how every glance you exchanged lit something inside him he couldn’t extinguish. But would you understand?

When the door opened and you stepped out into the hallway, you hadn’t noticed him yet. You were adjusting your dress, fixing your hair—small, absent-minded gestures as you prepared to return to the bar. But the moment you looked up and saw him standing there, everything froze.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and the air between you felt instantly charged, thick with the same unspoken tension that had been simmering for weeks. Heeseung straightened up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Neither of you spoke at first. The hallway was silent, save for the distant hum of music from the club. He took a slow step toward you, his movements careful, almost tentative, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to close the space between you. But the look in his eyes was clear—he wasn’t backing down this time.

“I—” Heeseung hesitated, his voice catching in his throat, rough and uncertain as it broke the silence between you. It wasn’t the smooth, honeyed tone he used on stage, the one that captivated entire rooms with its easy grace. This was different—raw, vulnerable, as if the weight of his own feelings was too much for him to carry any longer. The sound of it hit you like a tremor, sending a ripple through the thick air between you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment to talk to you,” he said, his gaze flicking across your face, searching, almost pleading for a response. His voice was quiet, but there was a current of desperation beneath it, like he was on the verge of losing control. “I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sound of his words, at the way they carried so much more than just what he was saying. It was in the timbre of his voice—the slight tremor when he spoke, the roughness around the edges, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, but it was difficult to push past the knot in your throat. “What do you want to say?” The words came out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Heeseung’s eyes widenened as he heard your question, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was weighing his next words carefully.

He let out a soft, frustrated sigh, his hand running through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know how to explain this… whatever this is between us.” His voice dropped lower, almost a murmur now, but each word carried a weight that hit you square in the chest. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but intense, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling completely.

“Every time I see you, every time I sing—I can’t stop thinking about you.” His confession hung heavy in the air, thick with the tension that had been simmering just beneath the surface. His voice, though still soft, grew rougher, tinged with the frustration of having kept this inside for so long. He sounded like he was fighting against himself, against the feelings that had been building up night after night, threatening to spill over.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I couldn’t just let it go.”

The depth of his voice, the strain behind it—it made your pulse race even faster. It wasn’t just the words that got to you, it was the way he said them. The rawness of it all, the fact that he was laying his emotions bare in front of you, made everything feel impossibly real.

He was holding on by a thread, and his voice, so full of emotion, told you everything he couldn’t put into words.

He took another step closer, his presence commanding the space now, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible for you to look away. “I’ve tried to stay professional, tried to keep my distance, but I can’t do that anymore.”

You felt your throat tighten, the air between you charged with anticipation. “I feel it too,” you admitted quietly, the words leaving your lips before you could second-guess yourself. “I’ve felt it since the first night.”

Heeseung’s expression softened at your words, the tension in his features easing ever so slightly, a flicker of relief crossing his face. But his eyes—they never left yours, still burning with the intensity of everything he hadn’t said yet. He took another step closer, his breath mingling with yours in the confined space. His warmth seemed to radiate off of him, filling the small distance between you, and then it hit you—the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was woodsy, with a hint of spice, sharp yet smooth, and it made your senses reel. It clung to the air around him, wrapping around you, pulling you in even further.

As he stepped closer, you saw his nostrils flare slightly as the scent of your perfume reached him. His gaze darkened, the fragrance catching his attention, something warm and sweet that seemed to mix perfectly with the heady tension between you. It was like he was drinking in every detail, every part of you, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the floor as the weight of the moment overwhelmed you. But Heeseung wasn’t about to let that happen. Slowly, with a deliberate, almost tender movement, he reached out, his hand lifting to gently brush against your arm. The touch was light, tentative at first, but it sent a shockwave through you, your skin tingling where his fingers made contact. His touch lingered for a second before his hand moved upward, his fingers grazing your skin with a softness that felt both electrifying and grounding at the same time.

His hand found its way to your jaw, his fingers gently cupping your face, tilting it upward. You could feel the warmth of his palm against your skin, the gentle pressure as he guided your face up.

Your breath caught again as you met his eyes. The way he looked at you, so intense, so unwavering, made it clear that he wasn’t letting you go.

Heeseung’s thumb brushed lightly along your jawline, the touch so soft yet so deliberate, as if he was memorizing the curve of your face, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, every detail.

“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered, his voice low, rough with emotion, yet there was a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips. “But I need to.”

His words, the way he said them—it made your heart stutter in your chest. The quiet urgency in his voice, the way he was holding onto this moment like it was the only thing that mattered, sent a thrill through you. You smiled softly, your pulse quickening as you told him your name, the sound of it lingering in the air between you like a promise.

Heeseung repeated your name under his breath, his voice barely audible, as if testing how it felt on his lips. The way he said it made your skin tingle, a shiver running down your spine, his gaze still fixed on yours as he committed your name to memory, as if the sound of it alone had the power to pull him closer.

His breath, warm and steady, fanned across your skin, and you felt your heart race in response. His hand stayed on your jaw, the gentle pressure grounding you, but the heat of his presence was overwhelming, intoxicating.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your lips as his eyes searched your face, as if waiting for something, something only you could give him.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, rough with anticipation, he asked, “Please?”

Just that single word, but it was loaded with meaning. You didn’t need him to elaborate; you knew exactly what he was asking for, what he was begging for.

You didn’t need time to think. You simply whispered back, “Yes.”

And that was all it took. The moment the word left your lips, Heeseung closed the distance between you, his hand slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was deep, hungry, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been simmering between you for what felt like an eternity. It was intense, urgent, as if he had been waiting far too long for this moment to finally happen.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands instinctively reaching for him, one finding its way to his chest, the other curling around his shoulder, pulling him even closer. The heat between you was overwhelming, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own.

His lips were soft but firm, and the taste of him—mixed with the faint trace of the whiskey he’d been sipping earlier—was intoxicating. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like this was the moment he had been waiting for since that first night when your eyes had met across the room.

Your body responded to him naturally, as if it had been waiting for this too. You pressed yourself closer, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours, your heart racing as the kiss deepened. His other hand moved to your waist, gripping you gently, but with enough pressure to let you know he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. The feel of his fingers, warm and strong, sent a thrill through you, making you gasp softly against his mouth.

Heeseung took that small sound as encouragement, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further. The way he kissed you—it wasn’t just passion. There was something more, something that made it feel like this moment had been inevitable, like it had been building toward this from the very beginning.

Heeseung’s grip on you tightened as his kiss grew more insistent, more desperate, his hands roaming your waist like he couldn’t get enough. And then, without warning, he pushed you gently but firmly back toward the bathroom. His hands never left you as he maneuvered you into the dimly lit room, the door closing behind him with a soft click before he locked it.

Your heart raced, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the solid door behind you. The bathroom was small, intimate, and the air was thick with the tension that had been building for what felt like forever. Heeseung’s eyes, full of unspoken need, flickered with something primal as he looked at you, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Without another word, he pressed you gently against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, his hands sliding to your hips as he caged you in with his body. His lips found yours again, but this time there was no hesitation, no restraint. The kiss was rougher now, more urgent, as if he had finally let go of whatever had been holding him back all this time.

You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your body arching into him as you kissed him with just as much hunger. The heat between you was overwhelming, the tension finally snapping as he kissed his way down your jawline, his lips brushing across your skin, igniting a fire with every touch.

By the time his lips reached your neck, you were panting, your fingers gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as he kissed down the exposed skin of your throat. The dress you wore—classy, elegant, yet with an open neckline—left plenty of room for him to explore, and Heeseung took full advantage of it, his lips trailing along your collarbone, hot and soft against your skin.

His breath was ragged, his movements unrestrained as he kissed his way down your neck, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, the sensation of his mouth on your skin making your pulse race even faster.

Heeseung's breath was hot against your skin as he continued his descent, each open-mouthed kiss igniting a deeper fire inside you. His lips moved with a mixture of reverence and hunger, like he was savoring the feel of you, the taste of your skin beneath his lips. Your heart pounded in your chest, every nerve alight with anticipation and the intoxicating sensation of his mouth exploring your neck, your collarbone.

You gasped softly when his teeth grazed your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a sharp thrill racing through you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging lightly as his hands roamed your sides, his grip firm but careful, as if he was trying to hold himself back from giving in completely to the urgency that pulsed between you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, lingering there, and you felt the heat of his breath as he exhaled, his body pressed so close to yours that you could feel every rise and fall of his chest. The scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy, filled your senses, mixing with the heady smell of your own perfume, creating a cocktail of desire in the small, enclosed space.

“Heeseung…” His name slipped from your lips, breathless and soft, and he responded with a low, quiet groan that reverberated through your body, sending a shiver down your spine.

At the sound of his name on your lips, he lifted his head, his eyes dark with a mixture of need and admiration as he took in your flushed face, your slightly parted lips. He looked at you as if he couldn't believe you were real, as if he had been dreaming of this moment for too long and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to waste a second.

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was deeper, hungrier, as if he was trying to convey everything he had been holding back, all the feelings that had built up between you with each stolen glance, each electrifying moment of eye contact that had passed between you over the nights.

Your body responded instinctively, pressing closer to him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you against him, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric of your dress, teasing the curve of your hips. Your own hands were restless, wandering up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his suit. Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, his grip tightening around your waist, his body pressing you against the wall, as if the space between you was unbearable.

“I can’t stop,” he murmured again, the rawness in his voice pulling at something deep inside you.

You swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet, and the weight of your own words seemed to linger in the air. “I don’t want you to.” The second the words left your mouth, Heeseung’s restraint crumbled completely.

His eyes narrowed, pupils blown wide with desire, and his breath hitched as if the words had unlocked something inside him, as Heeseung surged forward, closing the distance between you with a kiss that was deep and slow, but laced with a fire that had been building for far too long.

His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost agonizing slowness, as if he wanted to savor every second, every sensation. The softness of his mouth was contrasted by the firm grip he kept on your waist, grounding you as his kiss deepened. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and you parted them for him, a quiet, involuntary sound escaping from the back of your throat as he kissed you with more intensity.

The kiss grew more fevered, more frantic, both of you losing yourselves in the moment, in the intensity of everything that had been building between you for so long. It was like a dam had broken, and now there was no stopping the flood of emotions, the raw, undeniable desire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body reacting instinctively to every touch, every kiss, as Heeseung pressed you harder against the wall, his body caging you in, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible. His lips trailed down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed a path to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh there, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with want. His words made your heart race, your pulse quickening as his lips continued their descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, tasting, teasing, worshiping.

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked gently at the base of your throat, marking you in a way that made your entire body hum with pleasure. Every kiss, every touch felt like it was setting you on fire, the heat between you so intense it was almost unbearable.

The sudden knock on the bathroom door jolted you both, tearing you from the intoxicating haze of your moment. The sound seemed almost foreign, harsh against the tender intimacy you had just shared.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?” The voice came through the door with a note of casual curiosity, but the urgency in it made your heart race.

You pulled back from Heeseung, your breath coming in quick, startled gasps. “It’s the bartender! What is he gonna think if he sees you with me?” Panic edged your voice, your mind scrambling for a way to salvage the situation.

Heeseung, looking dazed and disheveled, blinked at you with a lopsided grin, his face covered in lipstick marks, his suit jacket discarded on the floor, and his shirt half-unbuttoned. His hair was a wild mess, and his expression was a mix of confusion and bliss, like someone who had just been woken from a beautiful dream. “Eh… lucky me?” he offered, his voice soft and slightly slurred, as if he was still under the spell of your kiss.

You glanced at him, your eyes wide with a mix of concern and disbelief. His appearance was a far cry from the composed, suave performer you had seen on stage. The sight of him, so undone, only added to your growing sense of urgency. “Just—just…ugh!” You grumbled in frustration, trying to focus as you scrambled to tidy both of you up.

With swift movements, you attempted to fix your appearance—straightening your dress, wiping away smudged lipstick, and fixing your disheveled hair. You glanced at Heeseung, who was still leaning against the wall, looking like he was in a trance, his grin widening as he caught your frantic attempts. You shoved him gently, trying to help him re-button his shirt and smooth down his hair, though the results were far from perfect.

When you finally felt presentable enough, you unlocked the door with a deep breath. The moment you swung it open, you were met with Jay, the bartender, standing in the hallway with a look of utter shock on his face. His eyes widened as they took in the state of the bathroom and the two of you emerging from it.

“Sorry!” you blurted out, your voice high and rushed. Before Jay could react further, you slipped past him, grabbing Heeseung by the arm and pulling him along. Heeseung, still in a blissful daze, gave Jay a casual wink, a smirk playing on his lips as he followed you.

Jay stood frozen in the hallway, his mouth opening and closing in confusion as he watched you both make your hasty exit. The entire scene felt surreal, and as you led Heeseung down the dimly lit corridor, the adrenaline from the sudden interruption made your heart race even faster.

You walked quickly, trying to keep your composure, but the thrill of what had just happened left you breathless. Heeseung, now more alert, gave you a playful nudge. “Well, that was quite an exit, wasn’t it?” His voice was teasing, his smile wide and infectious.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you led him back towards the main area of the club. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your tone was affectionate.

The tension had finally snapped.

[harveybwabbit92]

Speedy ultra facts (Revised, with a few more facts):

4 out of the original 6 ultra brothers are actually related to each other.

Taro and Ace are brothers, Seven is their cousin.

Jack is married to one of Mother of Ultra's sisters making him Seven, Taro and Ace's uncle.

Seven has a sister and brother.

Seven was raised by his sister after his mother died.

Seven, Jack and Taro have children.

Seven is Zero's father.

Taro is Taiga's father

And Jack has an unnamed son.

(And I guess Ace counts too? since he's Ultraman Z's godfather.)

Taro and Ace are the sons of Father and Mother of Ultra.

Ace is adopted.

Mother and Father's real names are Ken and Marie.

Ultraman is a university professor.

Leo and Astra are twins and princes.

Zoffy is apparently the grandson of ultraman King.

Zoffy smokes (in the manga he does anyways)

An Ultra-baby appears in it's capsule for a few seconds at the end of Mega Monster Battle: Ultra Galaxy Legends in the crowd of ultras who have been unfrozen.

The baby parents are a red(or silver) father and a blue mother.

Jack is one of the few original ultra brother's who stays in regular contact with his human host.

Ultraman Mebius's favorite food is curry.

Zero has a childhood friend named Voice who is a musician.

Ultra's mouths can open and close considering they also need to eat and drink.

Father of Ultra is terrified of angering his wife.

Taro and Ace used to have a pet dog.

Apparently there are cats and dogs in the Land of Light, though they look very different from their Earth counterparts. (Cos Aliens)[though in the comics the pup looks like a normal dog, but in the show it looks like white puffball wit' spider legs.]

Mother of Ultra has at least two sisters, one of whom married jack and the other is Seven's mother.

80 is adopted (at least in the manga adaption he is.)

80's adoptive father's name is Ultraman Red and he's Father's best friend.

Color timers were surgically grafted onto an ultra's chest in early childhood. (Taro has his as a young child in Ultraman Story and Ultraman boy has one...but then there's Geed whose timer really was grafted onto him after birth...Ah, I'm not going down this rabbit hole.)

{(Okay, I went and reviewed the wiki and some other sources on this the Color timer thing has been sort of retconned, They changed the age for Color timers to teen or adult Ultras who have the choice if they want to have a color timer or not (there are lot civvy ultras who don't have a color timer), and that it's mainly for Ultras whose jobs require them to travel off planet or for Ultras who are active warriors in the IGDF. but for the earlier installments (like the original 60s lore) it was at birth.)}

The reason Ultraseven doesn't have a color timer is cos he wasn't meant to be a fighter. His original mission was to scout out and draw a map of the milky way galaxy.

The creator of Pokemon was inspired by Ultraseven, in fact the reason it's called Pokemon is because the name Capsule monsters was already copyrighted by Tsuburaya.

Most Ultras are born through gestation capsules.(However according some of the novels *they might be outdated and thus not considered canon anymore* There are a few that still make babies and give birth the ol'fashion way.)

Fuma, Gai and Jugglus are from the same planet O-50.

The inhabitants on O-50 Aren't born ultras their original forms, As much as it sucks are human-like in appearance, but they do have super abilities to sort of make up for it. The only true way to become an Ultra on O-50 is by being chosen by the Light ring or The voice of light to become one.

The Light Ring/Voice of light is this big blue halo that floats over the planet O-50 that sometimes gives people super powers... ([there's not a lot info on O-50 other then the few snippets from the R/B novel, Orb saga and Fuma's voice drama, so work with me here])

O-50's trial to become an Ultra requires one or more people who must climb to the very top of the planets highest and deadliest mountain: Crusader's peak. Now, they can do this completely on their own or be summoned personally by the Light ring. (According to Fuma a lot of people fail the trial because they either kill each other or die on the climb up.) Anyway when they reach the peak the Ring will pass judgement if they're worthy or not, if they're found worthy then it grants them the power they need to turn into an ultra....If not then, it'll electro yeet them off the mountain like it did with Jugglus.

Though not inhabitants of O-50 themselves, the original R/B/G siblings crashed landed there and got the power to transform into their ultra and Kaiju forms, from the Light ring while to fighting off a monster they'd accidentally woke up while fighting off a gang that had chased them off their home planet.

According to Fuma, Grigio is considered an idol on O-50.

Now on to U-40 Where the inhabitants are called Ultra-people who are all born human in appearance, they're just ultras but human size.

the ancient inhabitants of U-40 through unknown means created the Ultra mind. (It's a core of light that works similarly to the plasma spark.) which helped them achieve a higher state of spiritual evolution that transformed them into ultras.

Unlike their M-78 counter parts the U-40 ultras can't naturally grow into giants; except for this small group of eight warriors who have achieved the ability to grow giant, though much like the creation of the Ultra mind this isn't fully explained on how or why this can happened. (though in Titas's backstory it hints at that it might be connected to resolve and finding balance within one's self.).

Despite that the few inhabitants of U-40 that can turn giant prefer to stay small or in their human forms rather then their giant forms.

Unlike the land of light U-40 still has it's sun and thus has day and night cycles, though one of it's two moons was destroyed by the Heller Army (the bad guys of The⭐Ultraman anime.).

[.....Though, I think I heard somewhere that the Land o light Ultras use technology that's similar to switchable film windows or something to mimic a night-cycle (Well, indoors they do anyways.) but I could be misremembering.]

Titas is a dark giant.

Titas was born in the dark nebula to two soldiers in the Heller Army but his parents didn't want him to follow in their footsteps, so they sent him as an infant to U-40 where he could grow up safely and choose his own path.

Ultraman X possibly dated an alien space cat monster Mu who looks like a cross between a Beholder from DnD and a cat, she also had memory erasing farts.

X doesn't remember dating Mu...

Ultraman thought humans were too primitive to have develop the ability to fly, He was proven wrong moments later by getting hit in the face by a jet being flown by his host Shin Hayata.

Ultras aren't completely made of energy, they actually have skeletons and organs that are sort similar to a human's but also having a few extras that are very alien.

Ultras stop aging at around 10000 years and 1 ultra year is equivalent to 300 human years.

[melkintoyou]

Strawberry Sorbet

pairing: mark x reader

genre: plug!mark, we have graduated from stoner!mark to plug!mark thanks to @markonthemoon, honestly a lot of fluff, smut, weed mentions and use

word count: 3,704

Pulling your jacket over your head, you ran to Mark’s car in your fluffy slides. You slid into the already-adjusted passenger seat to your liking and leaned in to hug him. “Greetings” you grabbed the back of his neck, letting your nails lightly graze his skin as you held him in embrace.

“You good?” He licks his lips, before taking a sip of his juice for his cotton mouth.

“Yeah, how you doing?” You both smile, instinctively. Every time you guys are together, all you can both do is smile. The shy glances exchanged, the extra effort in casual banter just to see each other laugh. You both are crushing on each other hard but neither of you want to admit it.

You met Mark a couple months ago, at a party, through a mutual friend. There was an instant connection when he joined into your discussion, abruptly. He challenged your opinion, which is something you’re not used to. “Ouch! If guys who make music are fuckboys then maybe women who are into musicians are haters!” His delivery was playful which made you want to bicker with him.

“Yo? Who invited this guy?!” You said pointing at him as everyone broke into laughter. You both introduced yourselves and continued the discussion for a while. Soon, you both settled outside, smoking a joint and he showed you the games on his phone. Ever since that night, you guys have been hanging out socially and you’ve been picking up from Mark. It has been so nice to find a plug in your social circle. It makes you less anxious not having to call random numbers and not knowing what to expect.

So tonight was no different when you got in his car to pick up some weed. As always, he had rolled you a little something in his special pink paper, with magenta hearts on it. “Let’s go smoke this and then I’ll drop you home, yeah?” He smiled, coyly before putting the car into gear and pulling out of your street.

Mark drove for a bit before parking near a canal and he passed you his lighter. “Would you be so kind and do the honours?” He teased and opened his hands in his lap. Motioning you to bring your feet to his lap so he can rub them. You lit the joint and took your first pull. “So, how was your day?” He asked and listened intently, as always. He leaned back in his seat, resting his head. The way the moon lit the outlines of his features, made him look angelic. His eyes were focused on you as his hands rubbed your feet. You told him about work and university drama and he contributed with facial expressions and giggling with you.

“Girl.” You’d say in one tone.

“Girl.” He’d say in another.

You both passed the joint between you both and talked about your day. The conversation flowed from, life to movies to music and then you both fell in a comfortable silence. Looking at the bright, silver moon reflecting on the water whilst Mark continued to rub your feet. His touch was innocent and gentle. You felt his gaze slowly shift from the water to you and your face felt hot. You wanted to turn your face and catch his big beautiful eyes but you felt so shy. Not knowing what your feelings for him meant, made your heart beat faster.

“Hey” He whispered, “look at me.” Sincerity in his voice left chills down your back.

“I’m really glad I met you. You’re my guy, my dude.” He said and you chuckled, turning your face to look at him.

“I’m really glad I met you too... dude.” You stuck out your pinky finger and Mark already knew the cue. He took your finger into his pinky and transitioned into a handshake. A month ago, Mark started giving you a little extra in the bags and he made you pinky promise not to tell anyone or that it would ruin his “street cred.” So you both came up with a handshake shared between just the two of you. That’s how life had started to feel for the past couple weeks. An inside joke shared between two souls. Were you falling for him?

“Alright!” He propped as you retrieved your feet back into your slides. “Let’s get you home, bab- dUDE” Mark panicked and cleared his throat. You opened your mouth to speak but he turned the volume of the music up and started driving once again.

“See I woke up having a bad dayy.. And I gotta get the dollar any fast way..”

He sang along to Way Back Home by Cordae and you took it as a prompt to not mention his slip up. So you sang along with him. Rolling down the window, the breeze felt nice on your skin. The warm yellow street lights lit up the blue atmosphere and it made everything feel like a Van Gogh painting. You couldn’t figure out if you had always seen life from such a romantic lens or was it just recently starting to feel more pink and purple. You looked at Mark, once again, taking in his features. Eyes trailing from his messy black hair, to his glasses, his Adam’s apple and how much you wanted to place a kiss on it to see his reaction. Your stare landed at his lips and you felt your own mouth slightly part. You thought about how his lips would feel pressed against yours in urgency. How his mouth would taste, if he would use his tongue straight away or wait a little? Would the kiss be rushed or would he take his time? Your mind went in loops and you swallowed as you felt yourself salivate at the thought. Shit. Maybe, you do like him.

Before you knew it, you were pulled outside your house once again but not a single atom in your body wanted to leave Mark. He turned to you again, smiling and opened the dashboard. Pulling out a package, he handed it to you. “Here you are.. and there’s a lil something extra. just like always but shh.” He handed you an A5 sized package. It was bigger than the usual extra but you decided to not question it. “Ok so, this is Strawberry Sorbet. I think you’re gonna like it. It’s gonna help your cramps and give you tingly feelings.. you know the kind you get when you see me?” He wiggled his eyebrows, earning a smack on the arm from you. He chucked, before continuing. “Nah but forreal, it’s really smooth as well. It’s a hybrid and kinda has like uhh.. a sweet candy-like flavour.. and DUDE. It slows down time SO much, its crazy. But uhm.. yeah, I hope you enjoy it.” He scratched the back of his head, realising that he might be talking too much but he relaxed when his eyes met your eyes, which were only focused on him. What was in the air tonight?

“Ugh dude, thank you so much. You are the best. Please let me know when you get home.” You gave him another hug, this time a bit shy-er than the first one. You felt your cheeks feel hot as Mark put his arms around you and give you a slight squeeze.

“Please, the streets should be scared that I’m not home yet.” He joked which made you roll your eyes.

“I’m being serious, Mark. Text me, okay?” You get out the car and lean in through the passenger window.

“Yes boss.” He raised his eye brow and smiled, playfully flirting with you.

“Okay, good.” And with that, he drove off. ________________________________________________________________________________

Dropping your keys in the bowl near your entrance, you walked back into your much warmer apartment, compared to the outside. You made your way to your bedroom and plopped yourself on the bed.

Wondering why the package is so big, you carefully opened it with excitement. You saw that he had your usual baggie in there but also a piece of paper. Confused, you pulled out the paper first, disregarding the weed. You hand flew to your mouth and you gasped, looking at the paper. Mark had drew an illustration of you with his copic markers. You always knew Mark was this skater guy, who liked to tag places with this friends but you never knew that he drew like this. You felt your stomach in knots as heat rose from your core, up to your cheeks, covering your entire face.

This. Fucking. Guy.

You thought to yourself and smiled. Your eyes trailed further along the paper to find a couple lines at the bottom, comparing you to a summer’s day with Mark’s own twist on it. “Nerd” You whispered to yourself, giggling. You felt your phone buzz and you jumped to pick it up. ____________________________________________

Mark 10:05 pm

home. the streets are safe now.

Y/N 10:05 pm

*attached pic* excuse me? what is thissssss?

Mark 10:06 pm

Looool Idk what you talking about :)

Y/N 10:06 pm

you nerd. I never knew you drew so well.

Mark 10:06 pm

you like it? hahaha

Y/N 10:06 pm

I love it

Y/N 10:07 pm

the poem too? where have you been hiding all this talent?

Mark 10:09 pm

shhh.

Mark 10:09 pm

It make you smile?

Y/N 10:09 pm

Yes....

Mark 10:10 pm

good.

____________________________________________

Throwing your phone, on the bed you fell back into your pillows and squealed into your hands like a love struck teenager. Ok. You definitely have feelings for him.

That night, neither of you could sleep. Mark felt nervous about his bold move and you felt giddy about your feelings. After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a phone call.

“Sorry, who’s this?” You answer the phone jokingly.

“Ha Ha, very funny, asshole.” Mark dead panned, making you laugh. “Why you still up?” He asked softly.

“Dunno..”

“You can’t sleep either huh?” You could hear him smile through the phone and you bit your lip.

“So.. uhh.. you really like the drawing?”

“Dude, I love it. How do you know my face so well?” You exclaimed.

“Uhhmm.. I guess, I just know your face.. It’s a nice face.” Mark was being coy, yet again.

“Oh” You felt the shy spread from the phone and into you.

“I uh.. like your face.. I.. think uhm.. I.. like you” He mumbled, almost incoherently but you caught it. You both held your breath in anticipation of your reaction. You could feel your heart in your ears and your smile so wide, your cheeks started to hurt.

“You like me?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I guess, you’re okay too Mark.” You teased him playfully.

“Woooow” He acted fake hurt.

“Come say it to my face, if you not pussy.” You suddenly felt a wave of confidence take over you.

“Oh yeah? Bet. Be there in 15.” And before you could tell him you’re joking, he hung up the phone.

____________________________________________

Mark showed up at your door in exactly 15 minutes. You opened the door, staggering a little from being nervous. “Hi” You said with a smile.

“Hi” he walked in and you both stood there, in awkward silence. Not knowing what to say or how to stand, you both felt super nervous.

“You wanna uh.. go sit on the sofa?” You offered, walking over to the living room and Mark followed. You both sat comically far from each other, with body language stiff. Looking around the room, you tried to find something to make small talk about. As you opened your mouth to speak, so did Mark and you both cut each other off. The awkwardness was killing you. You both laughed a little.

“You go” You turn to finally face him.

“I was just gonna say um.. if you wanted to try the strain I got for you today.. but urm I mean.. we don’t have to.. only if you want to.. you know, whatever is cool with me” Mark rambled on as you nodded and got up to get the baggie.

Walking back in to the living room, he looked up at you. Eyeing you in your shorts and a baggy t- shirt. “And come sit next to me.” He patted his hand beside him and you sunk into the sofa.

Mark put his arm around you and used his other hand to lift up your chin to look at him. His eyes were soft yet intense. You had never seen this look in his face before and it made you feel dizzy.

“Hey you..” He smiled.

Mark wasted no time before taking your lips into his. All the air came out of your lungs and you melted into his touch. His lips were soft and tasted like strawberry candy. He moved his lips against yours, painfully slow before pulling back to look at you. “Hi” He pecked your lips and smiled. Leaning his head to the other side, he kissed you again, this time, a little harder. His hand moved from under your chin, to under your ear as he held your face and traced his tongue against your mouth. You opened your mouth some more, letting out a sigh into his mouth which went straight to his dick and he pushed his tongue in further, deepening the kiss. You both got lost in the kiss for a while there before pulling away and smiling at one another as if you’re already high. Even though, your lips were now disconnected. Your eyes stayed fixed on one another.

“You have really long lashes..” You said matter of factly, making Mark laugh.

“And you like me back” Nothing could stop you both from smiling like idiots at one another. It felt as if, nothing else mattered in this moment.

“I do.. I do...” You left another peck, not being able to get enough of him. Mark pulled his arm from over you to dig through his pocket. He pulled out the special pink papers and handed them to you to roll one.

____________________________________________

The room felt like it was slowly spinning into you, a vortex of your feelings towards mark floated around you and time came to a halt. Your heart grew ten sizes that night, beating outside of your being, covering the entire room. You wanted to absorb him into your heart. The only way to express this to him was to have him inside you. Thinking about it, you felt your underwear pool and you moaned into Mark’s mouth. He squeezed your thigh tighter as a response, which brought you back to this room. On this sofa. On his lap. Tongue in his mouth. It was only then you realised, how time became warped from when you started smoking and Mark pulled you in for another kiss. Everything had been a blur since then. All you could focus on was how in such a short amount of time, this boy had become so dear to you.

Mark’s hands went to your ass to give it a handful squeeze and he got up picking you up with him. He pecked your lips once again.

“Hi baby” he smiled, taking in your features in awe.

“You okay?”

“Hi” you cheesed back at him, pecking his nose in response. “Of course.”

Mark carried you over to the bed and laid you down gently. Moving your hair out of your face, he hovered over you.

“God, you’re so beautiful” his ran his index finger along the side of your cheek.

“From the day I met you dude, I knew I was gonna like you.” He kissed you all over your face, filling the space with your giggles.

“Gonna make you my girl.” His lips, once again, crashed down into yours and he settled between your legs. You could feel him on your thigh and it drove you crazy. Adding to your arousal, he slowly grinded into you. He held your waist, before slipping his hands inside your shirt and squeezed one of your breast, lighting pinching your nipples in between his fingers. You swore you could’ve came right then. He lifted your t-shirt up to admire your body further. His eyes hung low from the weed and his mouth slightly parted. He smiled.

“Dang! They are so beautiful. Nice to meet you.” He left kisses along your breast, making you giggle and feel more comfortable.

Mid-giggle, your breath got caught in your throat when Mark licked a stripe between your chest, taking your nipple in his mouth. The shock made you arch your back and run your fingers through his hair before grabbing it. You let out a moan and felt Mark smirk against your skin.

Working his way down to your body, he took your shorts off. Coming face to face with your absolutely dampened underwear, Mark’s light hearted expression changed.

“Your panties.. are ruined” His voice, barely a whisper.

You felt a shift in the atmosphere. The air became heavy and thick with lust. You felt yourself clench around nothing when Mark pressed his thumb into your heat to check if this was real life. His eyes a little wider, and breath heavier. Mark wasted no time as he used his index finger to slide your panties to the side.

“Oh hi” his voice cracked a little, indicating that he was trying very hard to keep things light- hearted but his head was also spinning from the lust. He needed you.

“Baby?” He looked up at you with a glint in his eyes.

“Yeah?” You asked, rubbing head lovingly.

“Can I eat it baby?”

All you could do was nod and Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He dove right in with his tongue, kissing your pussy all over. He settled on the clit, making you move your thighs on his shoulders.

Mark took that as a sign to grab you harder and he moved his face in a zig-zag motion in your pussy. With every moan, Mark moaned with you.

“Mm?”

“Does it feel good?”

He was absorbed in the act and it was now his turn to feel a vortex of his feelings slowly fade into him, from outside of him. The vibrations from his moan were only sending you over the edge and then he slipped his fingers inside you. You grabbed his hair again, letting him know he’s doing good. Mark was so focused, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open. He was studying your reactions to the different movements of his fingers. His eyes going from your face to your pussy and how it was sucking in his fingers. Mark felt entranced.

He was aching inside his sweats as he felt you cum on his tongue. Legs shaking around his head, hands grabbing at his hair for some sort of support. He took his other hand to find yours and interlocked his fingers with yours. Even though, you had came. Mark did not take a second to let you catch your breath as he carried on, making you cum twice more. He felt like he could’ve stayed in there forever. He was drunk of your taste and smell. Time was still warped for the both of you. It ceased to exist.

And when Mark was finally inside you. Both of you felt as though you have sunken into a cloud. With each thrust, you kept sinking, deeper and deeper. Going lower, and lower. The room was filled with your moans and the sound of how wet you were. You don’t think you legs ever stopped shaking from he first time, they had done that. “Oh my god, you feel so good.” Mark managed to get some words out, after a long time of scrunched up faces and moans. Mark felt like he was losing his mind. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw stars. You wrapped your legs around him and his movement staggered. “Wait.. wait.. you gonna make me cum like this.. turn over for me.” He placed a kiss on your cheek.

Now laying on your stomach, Mark slid into you once again. Immediately, realising that changing positions might have made things worse when he felt your ass cushion his thrusts, he fell onto your back and lightly bit your shoulder. Mark pounded into you with force, accepting his fate of climaxing very soon. His hand snaked onto your throat as he guided your head back so he could kiss you again. He lightly squeezed your throat as he pounded into you. Moans and curse words flew from both of your mouths and you felt him throb inside you. The movement, hitting your spot perfectly, made your legs shake once last time as you came around him and you swore Mark almost growled in your ear.

“Baby.. you’re pu..pushing me out.. ugh.. feels..s o.. good.” It wasn’t long before, he also came to his climax and pulled out, finishing all over your ass.

He collapsed on the side next to you as you both caught your breath and settled into giddy giggles again. “That felt like 10 years and 2 seconds, all at the same time.” You say, out of breath.

You were both so infatuated with one another. It was disgusting.

“Lemme get you a towel babe.” Mark groaned before getting up and walking over to the bathroom.

You admired his naked frame from the back. His muscly back and toned ass. He was sculpted by the gods and you just had this man moaning into your mouth. The thought of that made your core tingle again, confirming that this was only the first round of tonight.

“So.. Shakespeare, huh?” You called out to Mark from the bed, referring to his poem.

“Oh, he is the OG man.” You heard the water shut and he shouted back.

Walking back into the room in all his glory, now from the front. You admired him. “If you’re good, I’ll show you my stuff sometime.” He sank onto the bed and wiped your butt with the warm towel.

[avatar-anna]

would you ever write a curious gaze type of concept ? especially for young dad!h like maybe he’s seen with one of his babies and the fan is observing him from afar

Curious Gazes

Three separate instances where the Styles family is seen out in the wild.

Young dad!Harry x Young mom!Reader universe

The School Teacher

“Thank you so much for meeting with me today, Ms. Y/l/n. Will your husband be joining us today?” Mrs. Keating said.

“No, sorry, he's away for work.”

Y/n smiled at the middle-aged woman as she sat in the seat across from Mrs. Keating's desk. She was Simone’s kindergarten teacher. She hadn’t spoken to Y/n too much outside of the initial parent’s meeting at the beginning of the school year, and she didn't participate much in the school's extracurricular activities, and she often pulled Simone from school. But Simone was excelling doing well and on top of all her schoolwork, so Mrs. Keating didn't see any red flags. Y/n was young, very young, that much was clear, but she tried not to hold it against the girl.

However, Mrs. Keating eventually had to call Y/n in for a meeting after a couple recurring incidences the last few days. It was nothing major, but Mrs. Keating thought it would be wise to get ahead of it before the situation had the potential to escalate.

“That’s okay, dear. We can go ahead and get started.” Simone's mother motioned for Mrs. Keating to continue as she folded one leg over the other in her seat. The teacher eyed Y/n's sneakers curiously before saying, "It has come to my attention that Simone has been going around telling students that her father is a famous musician."

Mrs. Keating had overheard Simone telling her fellow students that her dad was Harry Styles, someone Mrs. Keating only knew because her niece was a big fan. She didn't know much about the celebrity, but she saw a magazine headline or the occasional photograph. There was no way Harry Styles was Simone's father or Y/n's husband.

"Right, um, I'll have a talk with her when I get home," Y/n said, sounding a little surprised.

Mrs. Keating smiled warmly at the girl. "Lovely. I just wanted you to be aware of the situation. Lying is frowned upon at this school."

"She's—My daughter isn't lying," Y/n said. "My husband is a musician. He’s—"

"It's okay if that's the story you want to give to Simone," Mrs. Keating said. Perhaps Y/n didn't know who Simone's father was and she just told her daughter offhandedly that her dad was a celebrity. "But it's started quite a few arguments in the classroom and on the playground."

Y/n mumbled some kind of reply, and Mrs. Keating found herself saying, "Sorry, what was that, dear?"

"I said, I will talk to Simone about being mindful of the things we say and how we say them," Y/n said, clearer this time.

"Wonderful. Have a good day, Y/n."

"It's Mrs.—Nevermind. Have a good day, Mrs. Keating.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

A few weeks after her meeting with Simone's teacher, everything seemed to be fine. She wasn't totally fond of Mrs. Keating's condescension, but there were no more incidences, and Harry and Y/n decided to wait to talk to the school's administration about everything. They wanted as little drama as possible.

And then it was Simone's turn for her class' "All About Me" presentation. She was supposed to make a poster that was, of course, all about her—favorite foods, favorite things to do at home, and of course, her family.

Y/n didn't think much of it, but that was mostly because Harry helped Simone with the project while he was on a brief break from touring. He and Simone had a lot of fun cutting out photographs with curvy patterned scissors, gluing on large bubbly letters that spelled out her name, and writing little paragraphs under each picture. And the glitter. Y/n knew she would be finding pink glitter around the house for years to come after this project.

Harry and Simone showed the finished project to Y/n, and she was thoroughly surprised by her husband's crafting skills. There were pictures of Simone in Holmes Chapel with Anne and Gemma, Simone's stuffed animals having a tea party (real china, because of course Uncle Louis thought Simone needed real china to have a proper tea party), Y/n and Simone at Disneyland with Mickey Mouse ears, and one of the whole family in the hospital when Collette was born. Harry was in a few pictures, obviously, but Y/n didn't think anyone in Simone's classmates would recognize him. It wasn't like there were pictures of him onstage or anything like that.

So she was surprised when a week after the project was turned in, Y/n was once again called into a meeting with her daughter's teacher.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"No husband again?" Mrs. Keating asked Y/n. Really, though, that didn't come as a surprise.

"Actually, he's just running a little late. He should be here in a few minutes."

"Well, I'd just like to speak to you about the project Simone turned in last week," the woman said. "I thought we had squashed this whole 'dad is a rockstar bit' at school, but she had a picture of Harry Styles on her poster."

"Yeah, well—"

"Yes, well," Mrs. Keating interrupted. "You see, it's not right to fill a child's head with delusions about who her father is, and honestly, I feel like a good mother wouldn't let her child get her hopes up in such a way."

It was one thing to let children to believe in Santa Claus, but for a mother to lie to her daughter about the identity of her father, especially such an outlandish lie, it was downright irresponsible in the teacher's book.

Y/n looked shocked, but Mrs. Keating didn't know why. Surely, the girl knew why she was called for another meeting today. The woman expected to have a calm, reasonable discussion about Simone, but Y/n took her by surprise and said, "You—You, know what? I'm not comfortable having this conversation with just you. I think I'd like to speak to the principal as well."

She looked affronted, Mrs. Keating thought, though she didn't know why. Nothing she said to the girl was unreasonable. It was clear Y/n needed some assistance on how she should raise her daughter. She was just trying to help the poor girl.

"Y/n, there's no need to get hostile, dear—"

"Hostile? You haven't seen anything yet. I swear to God—"

"Hey, sorry I'm late—Woah. Everything okay, darling?"

Mrs. Keating's eyes flitted to the door of her classroom, and her eyes widened in shock. That was...that was Harry Styles. In her classroom.

"No, we're leaving," Y/n said, stalking over to Harry and gripping his hand when she reached him.

Harry immediately rested a hand on Y/n's shoulder, his face filled with concern. They mumbled to each other for a few seconds, and all Mrs. Keating could do was flounder at the fact that Harry Styles had a daughter, and she was in her kindergarten class.

"Right," Mrs. Keating heard Harry say. "I think we'll continue this discussion another day."

Harry's voice was thick with emotion. Anger, Mrs. Keating realized. She scrambled to think of something to say that would smooth things over. "Mr. Styles, I'm so sorry about this, I—"

"I think it's my wife you owe an apology to, but as I said, we'll talk about it another day."

The pair left without another word, harry's arm slung around Y/n's shoulders.

The following week, Mrs. Keating was written up and was informed that Simone had transferred to a different school.

The Production Assistant

Amy didn't want to make an ass out of herself and assume anything, but she was pretty sure her boss was in love with her.

Well, Harry technically wasn't her boss, but she was a PA on the set of Don't Worry Darling, and he had a leading role, so he was basically her boss.

If Amy told anyone what she thought, they would all think she was crazy, which was why she didn't say anything. She just got this vibe from Harry. He always went out of his way to say hello to her and ask how she was doing, he gave her a kind smile whenever she passed by him, and he once brought her coffee, even though her job was to bring coffee to him!

She just had this gut feeling like there was this unspoken thing between them, but neither of them acted on it because there were so many prying eyes. It was honestly admirable how professional Harry was about the whole thing.

"Good morning Harry," Amy said as she knocked on his trailer door. "They're almost ready for you on set."

Harry stepped out of his trailer. He was in costume—a crisp suit and hair styled to perfection. He was just so dreamy, Amy thought, and when he smiled at her stomach erupted into butterflies. "Thanks, Amy. Always makin' sure I'm on time."

Amy blushed. "Just doing my job, Harry."

"Call me H. Most people do," he told her.

A nickname? Harry said "most people" called him H, but she knew that was probably him just saving face. He really did like her.

"Good luck!" Amy called to him as he walked onto the set of his 1950s-era home.

Harry gave her a thumbs-up and winked at her over his shoulder, which only solidified Amy's suspicions.

Harry Styles was definitely into her.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Amy was going to make her move today, she had to.

Between all the flirty smiles and jokes and that one time Harry called her "Ames," she couldn't take it anymore. She didn't care if they had to keep their relationship a secret, she just wanted them to address the elephant in the room.

Harry was in his trailer while production filmed a couple scenes that he wasn't in. He usually watched to give his friends moral support, but today he only left when he was called to set.

Amy approached his trailer, a coffee just the way he liked it in her hands. She was so excited, she didn’t hear two voices laughing until she opened the trailer door.

“Shove off, H!”

“Shove off? That’s rude.”

“You’re crushing me, you big baby!”

“That’s exactly what I am. You know how hard it is to get your attention these days? I’ve got a small army between me and you. And it’s just gonna get worse.”

“Well you’re the one who doesn’t know how to pull ou—Oh. Hello.”

Amy was frozen on the steps of Harry’s trailer, unsure of the sight in front of her. Harry was sitting on the sofa, but around his broad shoulders, she could see he was actually sitting on a young woman’s lap. Amy couldn’t see much, just half of a face and hair tied up into a ponytail, but alarm bells immediately rang in her head.

Having noticed his friend stopped talking, Harry craned his neck to look over at Amy. He grinned at her, but made no move to stand up from where he was perched on the young woman’s lap.

“Oh. Hey, Amy! Am I being called onto set? I thought my call time was at seven.”

All Amy could look at was the way the young woman’s hand rested so casually on Harry’s knee, like she didn’t have to think twice about touching him. It was so simple yet affectionate, exactly how Amy imagined being with Harry would be like.

Somehow, she managed to wrench her gaze away. “No. No, uh, I just thought I’d check in because you’re usually, um, usually on set with the rest of us.”

“I know. Sorry about that. I just got a surprise visit from Y/n here, and she’s just desperate for my attention.”

She could be a friend, Amy thought. Friends had friendly banter and were close like that. Amy decided to still hold out hope. All the signs were there that Harry liked her.

Said random girl pinched Harry’s arm, but he swatted her hand away. They giggled with each other and kept pushing each other around like school children, and Amy was suddenly filled with immense jealousy. Who was this girl? Didn’t she have any respect for the fact that someone else was in the trailer?

“Honestly, Amy, you can have him. He’s being a pain in the ass,” the woman, Y/n, said.

Harry immediately pouted at Y/n. “I’ll remember that,” he said, but Y/n merely rolled her eyes at him.

They began bickering again, and Amy took that as her cue to leave. As she walked back to set, Harry’s coffee still in her hands, she didn’t know what to think.

Before long, it was time for Harry to shoot his scenes, and Y/n was nowhere to be found. Harry was as friendly and good natured as ever, he even asked Amy to wish him luck before a first take!

She wanted to watch Harry film his scenes, but she was unfortunately called away to tend to other things. Amy ran around the lot, carrying messages and running things back and forth for whoever saw her walking by. It was exhausting at times, but it was a foot in the door, and that was what mattered.

Between errands, Amy found Harry at the craft services table, and without even thinking about it, she made a beeline for him.

“Hey, H,” she said, trying to sound like she ran into him by chance. “How’s the shoot going?”

“Good, I think. Thank you for asking,” he said, smiling at her. “How are you? Working hard or hardly working?”

Amy blushed and let out a laugh. He was so endearingly dorky, and he always made a point to ask how she was doing. He was just so thoughtful.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said.

“Good. Well, if no one told you today, I really appreciate your hard work. I’m sure this place would be in shambles if it wasn’t for you and everyone else working behind the scenes.”

Amy swore she was going to swoon any second now. Thankfully, she managed to keep it together. “O—Of course. I’m happy to help.”

“Can I trust you?” he asked her, his voice dropping so only Amy could hear him.

Gulping, she asked. “Of course.”

Harry stepped just a little bit closer, and Amy had to hold her breath as she waited for him to say what she’d been fantasizing about for weeks. “Do you mind going to my trailer and checking on Y/n?

Amy felt like the floor had been ripped out from under her feet. “Check? On—On Y/n?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes she doesn’t tell me how she’s really feeling, and I worry something’s bothering her.”

“Uh...Yes! Of—Of course,” she stuttered, willing thoughts back into her head.

Harry squeezed Amy’s shoulder affectionate. “Thank you, really. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

He was so endearing. His eyes, which were usually filled with something so warm and boyish and charming, so inherently Harry, but just then something flickered there, something softer.

But not for her, Amy realized. For Y/n.

With a couple more words shared with Harry, Amy set off for his trailer, mulling the last few weeks over in her head.

Could it all have been nothing? Did she really read into their interactions too much? Amy had never been in love before, but she was sure from that conversation with Harry that he was head over heels in love with Y/n. It sucked more than she wanted it to, though perhaps she should’ve known. Of course Harry would be in love with someone. Amy never stood a chance.

Knocking once on the trailer door, she popped her head in. Y/n was laying across the sofa, her arm draped over her eyes. When the door opened, though, she startled.

“Oh. Hey, Amy.”

She sounded kind but tired. “Hi. Harry wanted me to come by and ask if you need anything.”

She smiled, the kind of smile that said Y/n was familiar with this kind of treatment. “H is a bit of a mother hen, but I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Amy asked, stepping into the trailer. “If you need water, a glass of wine, whatever you need, I can get it for you.”

“No wine for me, but a water would be nice, now that I think about it.”

Y/n stood up from the couch, but wobbled a bit. Amy rushed over and rested a hand on the young woman’s elbow. “Should I get Harry? If you’re sick, there’s a medical tent nearby—

“I’m fine, I promise. I know the symptoms by now,” she said. Y/n looked at Amy, almost as if she was assessing her. “I’m pregnant.”

Amy wasn’t sure she could handle much more today. “You’re...”

“Yep.”

“Does Harry...?”

“Know? No, but I think he suspects. He knows me pretty well by now.”

Y/n let Amy help her sit back down on the sofa. “It probably isn’t my place to pry, but you...you don’t sound excited.”

“Oh, I am, I’m just exhausted,” Y/n explained, and the smile on her face made Amy believe that. “It’s just...the pandemic. I’m worried about having the baby in conditions like this, you know?”

Amy didn’t have much to say to that. What could she say? She was twenty, there was no way she could be of any help to Y/n’s current situation.

“Sorry, you barely even know me. I think spending most of my time with children under ten years old makes me miss adult companionship,” she said, then her eyes widened. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Amy understood the implication. She guessed from how unfazed Y/n seemed to be at being pregnant. She didn’t know how Y/n and Harry managed to keep so many secrets, though his little speech about trusting her earlier now made sense.

“You’re secret’s safe with me,” Amy promised, and meant it. “But I think you should see a doctor anyway.”

“You’re probably right, but I think I just need to sleep for a little. Thank you for checking in. Harry talks about you a lot. He was so nervous about jumping into acting, but you’ve been a friend to him when I couldn’t be here physically, so thank you.”

It was quite literally impossible to harbor any bitterness or ill will towards Y/n. She was so kind and genuine. Exactly the kind of person Harry Styles would have a baby with.

Smiling, Amy said, “Just doing my job.”

The Daycare Worker

The daycare Heather worked at was known to celebrities for its discretion. Everyone who worked there was hired with the most important rule being that they were not allowed to reveal the identities of the patrons or their children. No photos, which was a given at any daycare, no talking about who dropped children off, and definitely no selling stories. The daycare wanted to provide a place for celebrities to drop off their children without worrying about their children's photo appearing in a magazine or on social media.

Heather knew all of this and abided by all the rules. After working there for two years, she'd become desensitized to the people she worked for, and it wasn't like she saw them all that much anyways, it was the children she saw the most.

The only family she couldn't get her head around was Y/n's. As far as Heather knew, Y/n wasn't a celebrity, but she dropped off her kids, a mix of six, a couple days a week. Heather never asked, of course, but she assumed that whoever Y/n had her children with was the famous person. But her kids were cute, and very sweet and well-behaved, which could not be said for all the kids Heather took care of.

The next time Y/n dropped off her kids, Heather was at the check-in desk. She walked in with a baby carrier on her chest, little Natalia tucked in it as she pushed a stroller. Maeve ran ahead while Julian clung to the pair of jeans Y/n was wearing. He was often reluctant to leave his mom's side, but once he was playing with Maeve and the other children, he was happy as a clam.

"Good afternoon!" Heather chirped. "Dropping the four of them off?"

Y/n smiled at Heather, and she thought that while Y/n technically wasn't a celebrity, she was incredibly beautiful. "Good morning. Just the twins and Geneva today."

Heather helped get everyone checked in and let Maeve inside while Y/n got Geneva out of the stroller she was in. Julian made no move to go to the preschool room with his sister, but that was to be expected. Once Geneva and Maeve were settled in their proper rooms, Heather turned her focus on the little boy who was still clinging to his mother's leg.

"Your hair is getting so long, Julian!" she said, bending down to his level.

"I want it to look like Daddy's," he said, big green eyes looking back at her.

Y/n bent down to Julian then too. "Okay, JuJu. Mommy will be back in a little bit. I have to work and run a couple errands and then I'm gonna pick you up and we're gonna go see Daddy at work. How does that sound?"

Heather's ears perked at the mention of Julian's dad, who had yet to pick up from the daycare before, but she quickly focused back on Julian. "That sounds like a lot of fun!"

After a little more coaxing, Julian eventually let go of Y/n and joined Maeve in the daycare with only a little bit of sniffling. Y/n handed over the twins' lunch boxes and some snacks and diapers for GiGi. She left quickly, not wanting Julian to see her and start crying, thanking Heather over her shoulder on her way out.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Another day, another shift at the check-in desk.

Heather was currently manning the front on her own while holding Geneva in her arms. The room where the toddlers played was close to the desk, and sometimes Heather liked to lean over and pick up a baby just because it was always nice to cuddle a cute baby, and GiGi was definitely that.

As she held the toddler in her arms, Heather thought back on Y/n dropping off the kids earlier in the afternoon.

The mom had come in around the same time as she normally did, in the early afternoon once they were out of school, only the twins came in with pink and blue hair.

"Wow," Heather had said. "You guys look so cool! Who did your hair?"

"Daddy!" Maeve said, her cotton candy blue hair bouncing as she skipped over to show Heather her new hair.

"Yep. Dad died their hair. We're not very happy with Daddy right now," Y/n said through a smile.

Heather tried to hide her laugh, though the situation was a little funny. "I'm guessing the hair was a surprise?"

"Yep!" Y/n said, still smiling, probably so she didn't upset her kids. "After I explicitly told him to wait until the summer because they go to a private school, but did he listen? No." Seeming to realize she was ranting to a daycare employee, Y/n shook her head. "Sorry, that was unnecessary, but Dad is picking up today. He's on the approved pick-up list, so everything should be fine."

"Great! Have a good day!" Heather said, a little more excited than she normally was. It wasn't like she spent all of her time wondering who the kids' famous father was, but she also couldn't help but be curious.

A couple hours later, and Heather was holding Geneva while Maeve and Julian played with toy cars and Natalia slept soundly in the nap room. It was getting to be about that time when they went home, and Heather was slowly filling with anticipation.

"Do you want to go play, GiGi?" Heather asked, pinching the toddler's cheek. Geneva shook her head and tightened her little legs around Heather's waist. "Fine by me," she said, switching the toddler to her other arm.

Heather was happy to hold Geneva and play with her at the front of the daycare. She was, for all intents and purposes, a relatively easy baby. She was calm and babbling until she noticed someone come to the front desk. "Dada!"

"Hi, GiGi! Did you have fun today?"

Now, Heather didn't live under a rock, and perhaps it was embarrassing, but she didn't have to turn around to know who had come to pick up Geneva. She gave herself two seconds to get ahold of herself and turn around to face Harry Styles, the person who was quite literally her phone background.

"H—Hi. You must be here to pick up Geneva, Natalia, and the twins," Heather said, grateful that she sounded relatively normal. She had no intentions of freaking Harry out.

Harry's grin was wide as he took Geneva from Heather's arms. "I am. My wife said to be here at four thirty, so here I am."

Wife. Harry Styles had a wife. And children. Not just one baby, but multiple children, and the rest of the world was none the wiser. It was nearly impossible to wrap her head around—she wasn’t even going to think about the fact that Simone was almost ten years old and what that might mean—but she tried her best to save her freak out for after he and his kids left.

"Right. She said you'd be coming. I'll call for them."

Heather tried her best to ignore the way Harry freaking Styles was kissing Geneva's cheeks repeatedly and using a baby voice to talk to her, otherwise she would probably melt into a puddle in front of him, which was definitely against company policy. She called for the twins and collected a sleeping Natalia from the nap room, who fussed a little but eventually settled when she was in her father's arms.

"Daddy!"

Maeve and Julian ran up to Harry excitedly, whose grin only widened as they rushed over to him. "There are my little monkeys! How are you?"

"We colored a picture for you!" Maeve said.

"Yeah, so you can give it to Mommy and she won't be mad at you anymore," Julian added.

Harry laughed and marveled at the picture his kids handed to him, Natalia still sleeping soundly despite the commotion. "I would say don't worry about that, but I think this will do the trick."

In no time, Natalia was strapped into the baby carrier that Harry put on with ease and the twins were in their jackets. Heather thought seeing Harry Styles with a baby strapped to his chest and the twins hanging off his arms was about the cutest thing she would ever see.

With a kind smile, Harry thanked Heather and went over to where Geneva's stroller was so he could get her into it, and though she knew she shouldn't have, she strained her ears to hear what he said to the twins as he left the daycare.

"She's really mad at me?"

"She did that thing where she smiles even though she's not happy," Maeve told him.

"Worse than I thought," he said solemnly, though Heather was sure he was joking. Kind of. "Well, what do you think, monkeys? Flowers? Date night? Spa day?"

"I think just saying you're sorry will work," Julian said, looking at Harry with those big eyes of his, ones that he got from his father, Heather now realized.

Harry looked down at Julian with a start. "You know what, Jules? I think you might be the smartest man I know."

He hefted Julian onto his hip and kissed his cheek until Julian erupted into a fit of giggles. And as she saw Harry's eyes crinkle with joy, she realized that was the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

They eventually left, Harry saying something about stopping by the studio before heading home, which the twins cheered about. Once they were gone, Heather let out a huge breath, finally feeling like she could breathe normally again.

She didn't know the whole story. She didn't know how Harry and Y/n met or what it might have been like to keep such a monumental secret from the world. As far as the public knew, Harry had ended a public relationship, when in reality, it seems like he'd been in a private one for a very long time. And a happy one, at that.

For a moment, Heather's fingers itched for her phone so she could call her friend and tell her what happened today, but she couldn't. And she didn't want to, she realized. Not really. Harry's family was happy living in anonymity. Heather wasn't going to ruin that for them, and she realized just how much trust and faith he and Y/n must have put in this facility to have their children come here, and she was glad to be someone that (technically) Harry Styles trusted, and that was pretty fucking cool.

[vamphorica]

Mellodramattic fic recs? 👁👁

okay, thank you so much anon for giving me the opportunity to ramble about m2 fics, i am very, very passionate about them at the moment ♡ i do intend to create an extensive masterpost, so I'll give you my three absolute favourites to keep you busy in the meantime.

-> crush by etorphine (morphinejunkie on tumblr) rated explicit

i really don't mean this hyperbolically – this fic fundamentally changed my life. words will never be able to fully describe how i felt reading this absolute mammoth of a fic (203k words!) and the lasting impact it has had on me since then. quite simply, it is a masterpiece that so beautifully characterises matt and mello without denying the harsh realities of who they are and their circumstances. it details their lives within the confines of canon, exploring the moments of time between the two that ohba neglected, and it made me sob once i had finished, haha. not to mention that there is an audio drama of two chapters featuring the official English voice actors for Matt and Mello, which is also amazing.

umm... yeah. crush means a lot to me. please read it if you haven't already ♡

-> magnolia by threesmallcrows rated mature

unlike crush, which is very canon compliant, magnolia is an alternative universe fic that tackles an incredibly complex topic in the context of Mello as a famous musician and Matt as his casual fuckbuddy. Matt finds out more about Mello's childhood, and while i will warn that it does get intense, i personally thought it was written very sensitively, which can sometimes be difficult to find in angst fics. additionally, the way it is written is phenomenal, pure poetry. here is the summary, just for a taste of what you are getting yourself into:

gorgeous. highly recommend

-> deep cover by mizzmello rated explicit

i am a huge fan of mizz's art here on tumblr, and her fics are absolutely wonderful too! i reread this one a couple of nights ago for a oneshot i am rotating in my mind, and god, it is just a really fun fic that i feel portrays the boys extremely well. given how the other two are very heavy, deep cover certainly provides a nice respite by sending matt and mello to the club and documenting what they get up to. this will be a fic i always return to, if not just to read the final few paragraphs over, and over, again.

i do hope you give these recommendations a go! i feel as though all three have really informed how i characterise matt and mello, as well as inspiring me to write so much lately. we are really lucky to have such talented writers in this community and i think it is always imperative to appreciate them when the opportunity arises :)

[honeytama]

Please Please Please

Matt Dierkes x Musician!Fem!Reader

A/N: Sabrina Carpenter reference? Likely. I’m always writing Matt things when I should writing something else. Enjoy!

Summary: While at the Rock Sound Awards afterparty, you’re alerted that a frontman from another band is throwing a tantrum over your band’s win. You’re pissed, but level-headed knowing you shouldn’t do anything about it. One of your friends, not so much. You relieve him of the stress the best way you know how.

Content and Warnings: Reader is in a metalcore band, friends to lovers, smut 18+, bathroom sex/semi public, raw p n v, squirting, facial, aftercare

Word Count: 2.7k

“Y/N,” your bandmate sings in your ear as you dance with Courtney LaPlante on the Rock Sound Awards afterparty dance floor.

“What’s up?” You ask him while keeping hold of Courtney’s hip as she sways with you to Fergie.

“Our favorite band is pissed at us, again,” he sings again while shamelessly pointing his thumb over to the corner of the room.

“Our favorite band?” You whip your head around to the corner and spot them. They’re huddled together, as always, with the frontman looking angry and annoyed as all hell. “Oh. Them. What now?”

“They don’t like that we won Best Live Act for the second year in a row,” he starts dancing with the two of you. “Frontman is throwing a hissy fit as always and calling you out by name. He says your production ideas and things you came up with for us to do onstage are a joke.”

You let go of Courtney and they both can see you’re beginning to fume. “Well, if he wants to talk about me, then he might as well come say it to my face. I’m not here for drama! I’m here to have fun!” You yell over the music.

“Y/N,” your bandmate says your name in a tone that tells you you have to get ready for what he's about to say next.

“What?” You hiss.

“They’ve started a rumor that we only won because you’ve started to show more skin on stage,” your bandmate says, cautiously.

You let out a gasp and turn to give your rival frontman a harsh glare. You want so badly to give him the finger or to go storming over there to give them a piece of your mind. But you can’t. You have to remain professional for many reasons; most importantly, the cameras that float around are held by Rock Sound hires.

“What I do with my body is none of their fucking business!” You start to walk towards the restroom in the back of the venue, “I’m going to go take a breather.”

“Let me come with you,” Courtney urges while holding your forearm.

“It’s ok, babe,” you pat her to reassure her and she lets go. “I’ll be back later.”

Your feet take you as fast as you possibly can go in your chunky heels. It doesn’t help that your short, black strapless dress keeps riding down your chest.

“Hey, buddy, where are you going so fast?” Matt steps into your beeline towards the back hallways. “Congrats on your win, by the way. I knew you would get it,” he smiles wide down at you.

“Thank you, Matt—” you give him a sheepish smile back before noticing what he’s wearing. You don’t bother hiding your eyes looking him up and down. He’s wearing a tuxedo and dress shoes, still with a black cap on his hair, but he looks so good. “I haven’t seen you all night. I’m sorry.” You pull your friend into a hug.

“It’s okay?” He notices you aren’t completely there. Usually, you were ecstatic to see Matt, he’s probably your closest friend in the industry. He and Bad Omens put your band’s name out there; you had him to thank for this award. Coming to your side, you two walk together to the back hallway. It’s quieter. No cameras. There are no other bands. Just you and Matt. “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking, ugh!” You clench your hands in front of your eyes. You want to punch something so bad. “That fucking band I told you about! The one from last year! They started a rumor that the only reason we won tonight is because of my stage outfits,” you grunt out while pulling the lapels of Matt’s tux jacket.

Matt’s face twists from concerned to heated. “What? Like, slut shaming you? Are they being fucking real?”

Tears start to well up in your eyes out of anger and shame.

“How can they say shit like that when both their drummer and bassist play with their shirts off the entire show?” He barks.

“I know it’s fucking hypocritical. They’ll never realize that.” You rub his lapel soothingly. You’re glad he understands, but oh, God, what have you started?

“Maybe they need my fist in their jaws to realize it?” His eyebrows furrow and his eyes turn a shade darker. His lips purse like he’s holding himself back from saying something else.

“Matt, it’s okay,” you try to get through to him. “Just talking to you is helping me.”

“I’m gonna go do something about it.” Suddenly Matt is out of your grasp and you're jogging to catch him by the waist.

“Please, please, please,” you plead him while hugging him from behind. You use all your strength to tug him back with your hands pressed firmly on his pectorals and stomach. “Matty, please, you’ll embarrass me.” He halts in the middle of the hallway and it gives you enough time to wrap around to his front and press your hands into his chest, pushing him backward. “If you go out there and start something with him, then his band will know it was me that told you about the issue. I don’t need you to fight for me.”

His eyes peer into yours as you look up at him pleadingly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this yourself! Those fucking assholes deserve what’s coming to them.”

“Matt, no,” you urge him with a pout in your lip.

“If I don’t go out there and defend you, then I’ll be thinking about it all night,” he hisses. “You don’t get it, Y/N. I need to do this,” he grabs your hands from his chest planning to storm out into the party again.

You step into him one last time, hoping what you’ll say next will get him to stop, finally. “Then take it out on me.” The words sound like they’re blaring in your ears, but you know they came out as a whisper.

His feet unmoving now, he holds your wrists to your sides. “What was that?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

“You heard me,” you roll your eyes and clench your fists. Why did he have to be such a tease?

“I know,” he smiles. “Just say it, again.”

“Take your frustration out on me,” you gaze into his eyes. “We can go to the bathroom.” You nod behind him at the empty women’s restroom.

His dominant hand makes its way to the small of your back and leads you down the hall to the sleek door of the bathroom. You do your best to keep up with his eagerness while in your heels.

You both push into the pristine, pearlescent room lined with shiny counter-to-ceiling mirrors, white marble countertops, and quartz flooring. Your heels click against the tiles as you make your way to the sink counters. You watch as Matt removes his jacket and locks the restroom door behind him.

He comes to you, quickly, and presses your body into the counter. The square edge of it digs into the fat of your ass as he makes his first move on your exposed chest. With hunger, he kisses, sucks, and licks the skin between your breasts up to your neck. Your whines reverberate in the empty room and you hope everyone is too distracted at the party to hear you. Your hands find themselves behind Matt’s neck, interlacing your fingers in his hair to fully pull him in. You wanted him to mark you.

Matt moans at the feeling of his dick pressing into your clit as the dress has ridden up in the process of him feasting on your skin. He undoes his belt buckle and the sound of the jingle makes your thighs quiver. Matt pulls his dress shirt from his pants and rolls up the sleeves. The sight of his toned forearms and tattoos always turns you on. He zips down his slacks before commanding, “Turn around.” You do so and lift your dress over your ass for him to see you barely covered by your tiny thong. “I want you to see yourself in the mirror when you cum on my cock.” He hooks his index finger through your thong to pull it to the side.

You gulp as you watch him tug the front of his brief down and pull his half-hard dick out. Shamefully stealing glances at the imprint of dick as you two changed next to each other on a past tour, you still would have never guessed he would be that girthy. “Matt, please, go slow. You’re bigger than I expected,” you admit.

“I thought you wanted me to take my frustration out on you,” he shakily breathes out while rubbing his tip along your slick slit.

“Didn’t think I would actually be sore in the morning,” you taunt him. He forces a moan out of you when his hard tip finds your pulsating clit. He teases you with small circles and slaps your cunt with his cock, before going right back to soft circles again. You didn’t think his dick could get harder and bigger as he played with your pussy, but it does. Your breath hitches when you feel his tip tickling your entrance.

“You’re not going to snap back from this,” he taunts as he presses himself into you. “You’ll fit me like a glove,” he groans. Luckily, with the height from your heels, your pussy is at the most perfect height for him to enter you with ease.

Matt watches your face twist in the mirror as you adjust to his size. You try to grip onto anything: the marble countertop, the polished sink, the faucet hardware? But to no avail, you keep slipping. Your legs already feel like jelly. Luckily, Matt puts both of his strong hands on your hips and supports you. You notice from his hard grasp that he’s still pissed, and you ignore the pain to urge him, “Matt, fuck me.”

He grunts and pulls your hips fully into his dick, bottoming himself out.

You moan in unison.

“Fuck—“ “Baby,—“

Your chest rubs against the cold counter as he fucks into you mercilessly. Whenever you whine or moan on his cock, the noises bounce off the mirror and you sound like heaven to your own ears. Matt smiles down at the reflection in front of him that has drool coming down her lips and hands that are searching for something to grab onto. You leave fingerprints on the mirror in front of you during your search.

The squelching and wetness of your cunt is the worst. You believe that if anyone outside of the room could hear anything, it would be that. Matt revels in the sound of his hips meeting yours as he fucks you as no other man has before.

His dick hits every spot, too. Especially the soft, bumpy spot at the roof of your cunt. His mauve tip hits it so perfectly that it makes you squeak with every thrust. The pressure building up in your lower stomach is something you’ve never felt before. It’s scary and makes you want to push Matt away, but the punishingly delicious feeling forces you to fuck Matt back.

Matt watches in awe as you gain the energy to press your hips to meet his while he pumps into you. “So. Fucking. Hot,” he grunts as he slaps your ass with each word.

“Matty, I’m gonna cum—,” the broken words come out of your moaning mouth.

“Go ahead,” he reaches around your head to grip your chin, lifting you higher up the mirror to see you clearly.

“Matt—!” Something is different than usual. Heat builds up fast and you feel like you want to pee. Without thinking anymore, you relax and let go. Something sprays your lips and trickles down your leg as Matt continues to pump himself into your sopping pussy.

You two moan in tandem at the realization of your actions. He allows you to ride out your high as he slows his thrusts. “Did you just squirt?” Matt chuckles as he pulls out slowly. His fingertips trail down your soaked cunt and thighs; it makes you shutter.

“Yes? I’ve never done that before,” your heart feels like it’s racing itself as you face yourself in the mirror. His dark eyes meet yours as he grins deliciously; he makes you feel proud of yourself.

“Where do you want me to come?” He breathes out while stroking himself languidly.

“Anywhere,” you nod your head as if saying “yes” to any place he can think of.

“On your knees, then. Let me ruin your makeup some more,” he suggests.

You take one last look in the mirror and notice your makeup is fucked. Spots of your foundation on your chin and cheeks are gone from being pressed into the counter, your eyeliner and mascara have smudged, and your lip combo has gone to nothing. It’s mixed with your drool and now dried on your chin. Fuck it.

You take his hint by slowly turning and dropping to your knees before him. Usually, no man could ever convince you to kneel before him on a bathroom floor, but Matt just gave you the best dick of your life, so…

Whatever power you have, you let it go for him. The way his demeanor changes when he wants to defend you and show he cares for you is not only heartwarming, but it turns you on. So tonight, he can have whatever he wants.

You stick your tongue out below him and bat your eyelashes as he strokes himself. You act like you're thirsty for his cum, because you are. You want to know what he tastes like so bad. This works on him. He growls as he unloads his cum in sprays that hit your cheek, forehead, and on your open lips. It just misses your eager tongue.

Matt hums when you lick your lips to try him. The salty tang isn’t amazing, but what is is the satisfying look on his face. He’s so impressed by you, in so many ways.

“Ready to stand?” He asks as he tucks his dick away and hikes his pants up.

Your head is hazy and you look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Mhm,” you hum softly. You take his extended hand and slowly get up. Nearly slipping again, he catches you with an arm around your waist.

Once you're supported by the counter again, he lightly wets a paper towel with warm water to clean you up.

“Do you feel better?” You ask him as he carefully wipes his relief from your face.

“I do, thanks…” he kisses the cheek he’s not cleaning. “Do you feel better?” He reaches into your purse which you’ve thrown into the sink earlier and grabs two makeup wipes.

“So much better,” you respond while wiping away the sad remnants of your makeup. “Fuck them!”

“Fuck them!” He agrees with a smile.

“Either way, we should avoid them tonight. They don’t deserve our attention,” you tell Matt. “Will you come to dance with me to celebrate my win?”

“You know I don’t—,” he starts. You both start to walk towards the door.

“Please, please, please,” you beg him with your hands clenched together as he unlocks the door and ushers you out of the restroom.

“Fine, just one song,” he agrees with a huff and takes your hand in his.

The familiar tune of Sabrina Carpenter's ‘Espresso’ plays over the speakers in the main room and you hear excited screams.

“C’mon!” you yelp and scurry in your heels with Matt in tow to the dance floor.

[rinriya]

Riley "Ley" Robbins (MC in Infamous)

A singer is only as good as their band

Name: Riley "Ley" Robbins | Age: 26 | Gender: male (he/him)

Band Name: Mirror in The Creek

Genre: Rock [Grunge | Glam | Indie | Art | Hard]

Most Popular Song: A Million Eternities

Fandom: Crickets

Chat: MError

Height: Average | 5′7″ (170cm)

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Shoulder-length mullet, dyed white

Tattoos: Initials SD on wrist

Piercings: None

Facial Hair: Shaves off

Scars: None

About Riley: Lead vocalist. A necessary leader. And a pawn in someone else's game. Riley is an incorrigible dreamer for whom music is equal to air. He lives and breathes for performing, and he enjoys every moment. Glory? Money? Awards? Popularity? None of this matters to him. The only thing he wants is to share his music with whole world. He is ready to open his soul to his fans, giving them deep lyrics and fiery melodies. He is loyal to his friends and always puts them first. He dedicates himself to his work and is very strict with himself. Sometimes it even lead to self-torture in terms of tough rehearsals, strict diets and constantly low esteem of his capacities. For Ley, the group is a family he will forever remain devoted even if someone promise to open all doors for him and grant in wealth. He believes in people and is ready to find words of support even in a fierce competition.

Riley hates drama, he sincerely believes that a real musician speaks with their lyrics, and not through tabloid headlines. Is it a naïve view? Certainly. But he has always been like this: simple, kind, positive, sensitive, caring. Trying to find good in everything and never gives up. A peacemaker.

But who could have thought that a huge weight of responsibility suddenly will fall upon his shoulders. He must not only survive among the drama and protect his group, but also cope with the whirlpool of feelings and trying not to drown. It doesn't help that his ex-boyfriend is nearby; the most handsome man works as a group manager; a sweet drummer gives a feeling of devotion; the charming father of a faithful fan doesn't leave the thoughts; and even a man who crushing the entire world of music looks so ardently, but for some reason with sadness at the same time. Ley ended up in the center of not only a showbiz, but also a heartfelt drama.

But he will try. He will attempt. He will work hard and slowly figure everything out. He will do everything to remind everyone what musicians really live for. With his lyrics, voice, music, teamwork he will prove that love for creativity is an honest victory. For the sake of his group, for the sake of the fans and for the sake of justice.

He will remind of inspiration fire that barely smolder inside even in the most tired from the world of show business heart.

Infamous by ​​​@infamous-if

I love word plays so much — The Creek - Crickets / MError - Me & Error get it? Yes? Yes??? Ehm don't mind me, I just wanted to say that the vibes of MC's group in my walkthrough remind me of Måneskin.

Also I'll take this opportunity to ask you to look at Palaye Royale, Starset, Citizen Soldier, Three Days Grace, One Ok Rock, Jon Dretto etc.

                                                Spoilers and some stats (for now) ahead

[bearw-me]

"imagine meeting lute because she was your biggest f*cking fan"

WAIT cuz actually imagine. That would be so adorable 😭. Like, lute would probably be giddy everytime she remembers she's dating her literal favorite musician (and she'd hide the giddiness obviously lol)! Could I request that with a female reader?

yessss! lute just completely folding when she's staring at you <3

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧 — 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𐐒 includes : fan!lute x bandmember!fem!reader 𐐒 cw : fluff 𐐒 summary : lute sometimes just remembers she's dating her biggest celebrity crush and gets overwhelmed 𐐒 note : love this au + embarrassed lute

every time she remembers she's dating her literal celebrity crush her face gets flush with nerves

you still give her butterflies

yes, most often you are her girlfriend (her extremely good-looking girlfriend) who she's used to just hanging out with and throwing popcorn into your mouth

dumb stuff like that

then it just hits her like a wave sometimes when the light gets your hair just right

your a literal, fucking rockstar, and SHE'S DATING YOU

you'll often catch her looking away from you quickly, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible

red all the way up to her ears

she sometimes tries to hide it by lifting her wings over her face

ABSOLUTELY denies all allegations you throw at her

"You love me don't you"

"Shut up! I'm. . . just not feeling good. I'm fine now"

i still love the idea she has a picture of you at the first concert she ever went to, right on her lock screen.

as your girlfriend, i think she'd hate the attention your fame subsequently gives her

don't get me wrong, lute doesn't give a f*ck what anyone says or thinks. . . its just a bunch of needless drama she'd rather not stress about

imagine just laying on the couch with her, lute on top of you while you scroll through your phone, petting her hair while she thinks

"I'm dating her. my literal favorite musician."

when she gets overwhelmed like that, she just clings to you and buries her head into your chest until it tickles

trying to literally smother the feelings out

she still keeps mementos from your concerts in a box somewhere, filled with her and adam's tickets and some guitar picks you threw just to her

[laiqualaurelote]

Oooh! Charles/Edwin, musicians/band/orchestra AU for the ask game? :D

thank you for the prompt! (from this AU ask game - it turned out more a Crystal POV but I think the fandom could use more of that)

“Edwin,” says Crystal, “if you take the fucking theorbo onstage I will kill you myself.”

Edwin folds his arms mutinously around the theorbo, which when stood upright on the ground is nearly as tall as he is. “But we need it for the sound!”

“You literally have a billion other instruments! Play those instead.”

“I do not literally have a billion instruments,” says Edwin. “I literally have three. Are we to have lugged the theorbo all the way to the club for nothing?”

“You did not lug the theorbo here,” Crystal points out. “Charles lugged the theorbo here, because he carries all your shit for you.”

“‘Course I do,” says Charles brightly. “Don’t bother me one bit.”

“Charles, you had to push his harpsichord all the way across Hoxton!”

“And the people of Hoxton loved it,” says Charles nostalgically.

Crystal sighs. “Either that theorbo is going onstage or I am, because there isn’t enough space on there for both of us. Literally.”

“I could stand on an amp,” ventures Niko, “and then there would be more room?”

“Niko, honey, you’re not standing on an amp.”

The door bangs open and Jenny sticks her head into the dressing room. “Why are you guys not ready?”

“Crystal and Edwin haven’t decided if we’re bringing out the theorbo yet,” says Niko. “Also, I’m still doing Edwin’s nails, and he can’t play until they’ve dried.”

Jenny throws her hands up in despair. “Why does Edwin have to have his nails done?”

“I think lilac really is his colour,” murmurs Niko, crouched over Edwin’s left ring finger. “Don’t you agree?”

Edwin, who is sitting primly on a flight case in the three-piece suit he insists on wearing to every show, gives Jenny a regal nod of assent.

“For fuck’s sake,” mutters Jenny. “I should never have agreed to manage you idiots. I could have had all my Friday nights in bed with a crime drama.” She inhales. “Anyway, we have a problem. David’s here. He’s in the front row.”

The world narrows. Crystal hates how just the sound of his name can do that to her, for all that it’s been months since she got out from under his thumb. “How’d he know—”

“I did put it all over Instagram,” says Niko anxiously. “Crystal, do you want to cancel, or—”

“No,” hisses Crystal. “No. I can do this. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Crystal,” says Edwin, “with all due respect, you are not fine. You are shaking.”

Crystal puts her head in her hands. “It’ll pass.”

She feels Niko’s arms go around her. Overhead, she hears Charles say: “Maybe I should just go out there now and knock his lights out.”

“Or I could stab him,” offers Jenny. “I’ve got the boning knife in the van.”

“We are not knifing my ex right before a show!” yells Crystal.

“Thomas could sort it out,” suggests Edwin. “It is his club, after all. I shall go speak with him.”

“Like hell you will,” Charles protests. “That arsehole won’t lift a finger to help.”

“He will if it’s me asking,” says Edwin. “Now come on. Do you want to play tonight or not?”

*

Edwin Payne is the last person you’d expect to start a rock band. Piano virtuoso, played his debut concerto at the age of eight, won the Liszt at twelve and BBC Young Musician at thirteen. Had it all lined up: scholarship to the Royal College of Music, orchestras queuing round the block to fling gigs at him. Then: unspecified breakdown. Vanished from public view for three years. As a former child pop star herself, Crystal gets it. Okay, so maybe whatever happened with Edwin wasn’t as extreme as drunk-driving your way into a fender-bender so dire that even your platinum award-winning parents couldn’t buy enough spin to keep you out of the tabloids. Anyhoo. The past is the past. Crystal’s living for the present now. 

Of course, she was aware of none of this when she auditioned. As far as she knew, this band had one cute guy and one dickhead snob who clearly didn’t think any decent music had been composed since the 19th century, and who dismissed her CV with a snide “We’re not exactly looking for Hannah Montana here” — whereupon Crystal looked him dead in the eye and sang, pitch-perfect, the first verse of Caro Mio Ben. Edwin pursed his lips like his mouth was a vinegar distillery and said: “Hardly Bartoli, but I suppose she’ll do.” 

Charles punched him in the shoulder. “Oi, mate, be nice.” To Crystal: “You’re loads better than Hannah Montana. Honestly I’m surprised he even knows who Hannah Montana is.”

Crystal could have walked then. She almost did. She was getting her life back together, out of her parents’ shadows and on her own terms; she didn’t need this shitty little band with its one-half shitty leadership. To this day she doesn’t know why she stayed. Maybe it was the open warmth of Charles’ grin, maybe it was the glint of challenge in Edwin’s eye — a heady combo of affection and spite bubbling up in her chest. 

“So what’s the name of this band?”

“It’s aces, you’ll love it,” said Charles. “Spooky Action At A Distance.”

“That,” said Crystal, “is the stupidest fucking band name I’ve ever heard.”

“It is a quantum science concept,” said Edwin frostily, “not that I expect you to understand.”

“It’s sad,” Crystal went on. “Literally, its acronym is SAAAD.”

“I am beginning to regret this,” said Edwin in a too-loud aside to Charles. “Must we have someone on vocals?”

“Look, will you two just jam together one time? It’ll be aces, I promise.”

“So what does Little Lord Fauntleroy play then?” Crystal snapped. “Does he tinkle on the pianoforte after supper?”

Charles chuckled. Edwin arched an eyebrow at Crystal and held out his hand to Charles, who reached down behind them and pulled out a goddamn Fender Strat.

Edwin played a few experimental chords, tuning up, and then his fingers slid and it was Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, but not like Crystal had ever heard it, wild lightning runs of arpeggios where every note was somehow picked out with the clarity of blown glass. Crystal knew her jaw had dropped, which she seemed unable to do anything about at the moment. The guitar sang in Edwin’s hands, and he never once broke a sweat or eye contact with her.

“Holy shit,” she said when it was over.

“I quite agree.” Edwin flexed his fingers, then stuck out his hand for her to shake. “Allow me to formally welcome you to our little band.”

[minnarr]

REFERENCE POST: very minor characters of Word of Honor

I originally gathered these blorbos together for a presentation called "Writing in the Margins: finding story in the minor characters of Word of Honor" (sometimes, in a pinch, I title slide deck party presentations like a paper because it's easy). My criteria for this presentation was that I wanted to highlight characters to whom a lot of people's reaction would be, "Who?" So characters like Gu Miaomiao and Gao Xiaolian and Deng Kuan, while my beloveds, are not here because they are just a bit too present in the story.

Why should you click through and read? Well, honestly, I'm adapting this as a resource for fellow fic writers who just want some folks to help flesh out the world. This post is divided into three sections: Chengling's Generation, Tianchaung's Orbit, and The Previous Generation. There's so much just going on in the background; let's take a look.

Chengling's Generation

Mu Yunge

Introduction: Episode 5* Suggested Episodes: 5, 7

* by "introduction", I mean the episode in which their name card appears, officially introducing them; for some characters, as with Mu Yunge, their first appearance in the show happens before that point

Mu Yunge is an interesting inclusion because I don't like him. He's pretty much there to suck, and then die. He's here for two reasons. One, he does a lot to flesh out his world; two, he's in the boyband in the concert they did after Word of Honor wrapped, and that is my favorite part.

I'm really only going to address the first one here. Oh, Mu Yunge. He's there to show how the Department of the Unfaithful operates, and how very present the violent misogyny they address still is in his world. He's also (to all appearances) a young man in good standing in the martial arts world. Deng Kuan is close enough to him that he's selected as one of the friends to take part in the deathmatch in his name. What does this say about the young men of that generation? And his death also has echoes in the background drama in the show: Mu Siyuan (his dad) becomes a loud voice against the ghosts and later Gao Chong.

Zhu Yaozhi

Introduction: 3 Suggested Episodes: 7, 14, & 24

Zhu Yaozhi is fascinating to me because he is such an encapsulation of what Word of Honor does with its larger plot. Because, like, there's all these moving pieces and a lot of them are moving in the background and the main characters don't really notice or give a shit, but they're definitely moving along arcs that make sense from their point of view.

This guy is a disciple of Yueyang Sect, Gao Chong's sect (along with Deng Kuan); we see him multiple times just doing kind of grunt work/investigation for them, most notably when he follows up on the guy Gu Xiang beat up for harrassing musicians and then is apologetic and embarrassed for believing his side of the story (episode 7). He's also buddies with Mo Weixu, Cao Weining's shixiong, and teases Cao Weining to him. (See this gifset for part of the scene in question, from episode 14). Early Zhu Yaozhi is a goofball who's just doing his job.

After Gao Chong's disgrace, he goes searching for Gao Xiaolian and we lose track of him until he turns up again in ep 24 being menaced by Mu Siyuan. Mu Siyuan wants him to say his master was evil and colluded with the ghosts, and Zhu Yaozhi refuses and tries to punch him. It's great. It also gives us Shen Shen to the rescue in the middle of his own loyalty/figuring out how to be truly righteous arc. I have a lot of feelings about this. He's such a useful character for showing us what Yueyang Sect is like and what becomes of it after Gao Chong dies.

Song Huairen (L) & Xie Wuyang (R)

Introduction: SHR: 5 / XWY: 8 Suggested Episodes: SHR: 5 / XWY: 9, 17

I've paired these because they're both Xie Wang’s competition, young men who also call Zhao Jing yifu. They are both disciples of Yueyang Sect; Song Huairen is supposed to be a favored disciple of Gao Chong. Xie Wang eliminates him the same night we meet him and plays it off to Zhao Jing as the shell game with the Glazed Armor going wrong.

Xie Wuyang meanwhile starts off as a character who makes Zhang Chengling’s life at Yueyang uncomfortable—up to and including whipping him during training. Very satisfyingly, Gu Xiang knocks him out when he’s giving Chengling a hard time in episode 11. Later on, after Zhao Jing has settled in at Yueyang, Xie Wuyang serves him in his private rooms doing stuff like giving him manicures. 

Mo Weixu

Introduction: 14 Suggested Episodes: 14, 26-28

Mo Weixu is the son of Mo Huaiyang (Cao Weining's horrible shifu) and Cao Weining's da-shixiong. When he first appears, he scolds Cao Weining for having no ambition but then shoos him off to check on Gu Xiang anyway, and we see this mix of sternness-as-concern and indulgence continue. He's kind to Gu Xiang, and helps guide her through greeting their shishu Fan Huaikong properly, but he also warns Cao Weining that she might not be everything she appears. He's kind of the level-headed ballast to Cao Weining's naivete and worries about him.

Mo Weixu is not at Cao Weining's wedding. Mo Huaiyang says he had to cleanse his sect because his disciple and shidi were bewitched by Gu Xiang. However, in episode 36, Xie Wang specifically says that they never found Mo Weixu's body, even though they definitely found Fan Huaikong's. Fellow fic writers: you know what that means.

Tianchuang's Orbit

Bi Xingming (L) & Cheng Zichen (R)

Introduction: 31 Suggested Episodes: 31

Disciples of Siji hidden in Tianchuang! These two were both taken as disciples by men within Tianchuang and took their surnames; Bi Xingming’s first shifu is Bi Changfeng, the guy who took the nails in episode 1. Cheng Zichen's is a guy called Cheng Xiu. They show up in like one episode but I’m obsessed with them. They lead the party of Tianchuang ducklings who rescue Zhou Zishu and then get inducted into Siji as Zhou Zishu’s disciples. Bi Xingming is specifically shown to be very eager about this, but is told he’ll have to wait to have a ceremony about it till his shixiong Chengling comes back.

Princess Jing'an

Introduction: 1 Suggested Episodes: 1

Talk about one-scene wonders—Princess Jing'an left an impression on me. What kind of past interactions does it imply that she calls Zhou Zishu Zhou-shixiong, but he doesn't know she and Jiuxiao were in love? I have questions and I want to answer them. Also even in her like 2 minutes of screentime we see her sharp and defiant and angry and it makes me want to write her SO bad.

Qingluan

Introduction: [N/A] Suggested Episodes: 30

She is literally mentioned in like 1 or 2 lines in episode 30 so she’s less fascinating for her Word of Honor appearance than for how she is mentioned here paired with her role in Qi Ye (the novel that's the prequel to the novel SHL is based on): In Qi Ye, Su Qingluan (originally named Su Cui'r) is a beauty who becomes part of the crown prince party, gets caught working against them, and is confined to a house as Helian Yi’s concubine for the foreseeable future.

In Word of Honor, she’s one of the people (the list also includes Zhou Zishu, Yunxing, Qin Jiuxiao, and Jing Beiyuan) who swore together in her courtyard to make Jinwang emperor, which implies a much more active role in their party than in Qi Ye. We also know she killed herself before the events of canon (or at least as far as Jinwang knows; in the same section, Zhou Zishu says that Jinwang poisoned Jing Beiyuan to death with a straight face). This seems to be part of the whole party splintering over time. Once more: implied story, free real estate (jazz hands).

Jing Beiyuan's six siblings

At one point Jing Beiyuan justifies being called Qi Ye (Lord Seventh) by saying he's the seventh kid in his generation. (There's a different, much more absurd, justification in the novels). I take him at his word just because that's the funniest option. I don't have more to say beyond just:

Six

SIX!!!!!!

are they worse than him? are they normal?

just

SIX

The Previous Generation

Qin-furen

Introduction: [N/A] Suggested Episodes: 12, 24

SIDEBAR: the moms. The dads have SO much narrative weight in the story in ways that most of the moms really don’t—they’re often nameless or fully invisible—so I leap at even the tiniest mentions of what they’re like and think a lot about them. Qin-furen’s the only one who really lands in the sweet spot for this post: enough info to play with and not make a total OC, not enough screentime that I expect to find many fics with her.

This is the wife of Qin Huaizhang, Zhou Zishu’s shifu. She’s mentioned in just a handful of lines and unnamed. She rescued rabbits and apparently was fearsome with her husband about it. She was friends with Chengling’s mom, who had a similar dynamic with her husband, according to Chengling. In episode 12, Zhou Zishu says, “I wanted to practice martial arts when I was a child. Sometimes, when my master forced me to play, I would seek help from his wife. She always stood by my side and criticized my master.” I have spent a truly stupid amount of time looking at her gravestone trying to glean info, and I’m still not really sure what we should be calling her.

Yue Feng'er

Introduction: 19 Suggested Episodes: 19

The eldest disciple of her generation at Healer Valley and the wife of Rong Xuan. She rough-houses with Shen Shen and is known by her own title as well as being the eldest of the Three Heroes of Healers Valley. She’s presumably well-known in the martial arts world, and woven right into the web of friendships that started off all this tragedy. And she also loved her husband so fiercely that when he was poisoned she used a forbidden technique and took the heart out of a living man to try to heal him. She’s a powerful healer and at least as much a monster as he is and I like her so much.