#if only I could show this to my past self

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

���Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[healingpage]

Not made of glass - choi soobin

ꕥ pairing: choi soobin x afab reader

ꕥ genres: smut (basically pwp)

ꕥ warnings: soft!dom soobin to hard!dom, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected sex, big!dick soobin lol, oral m!receiving, so many petnames i melted, squirting, spanking

ꕥ wc: 2.9k

ꕥ a/n: the title is pretty much self-explanatory... my first smut for soobin! i want him so bad merry christmas to those celebrating!!

taglist: @hanhani29 @bloomngspring @hhoneyhan

A few months in since you started dating, Soobin is still ever the kind, composed and gentle boyfriend. Princess treatment is always on the maximum level, the reserved soft spot only for you that you can’t help but wonder sometimes how he is the same guy that can’t skip a day without getting into silly quarrels with Beomgyu. He takes you on a date at least every once in a while, knowing his hectic schedule you are more than grateful that he makes some time for you. His love language being act of service, you won’t have to lift a finger around him. Your friends call him a gentle giant, a nickname that makes you laugh every time you are reminded of it.

At the end of a date day, usually he would stay overnight at yours. You are doing your night routine by the vanity, onto the last part of your skincare when he creeps up behind your back, his arms finding their ways around your waist. His head rests on your left shoulders, lips attracted to your neck like how bees are to honey.

“God, I missed you so much,” his voice comes out much whinier than he thought. You put down your moisturiser on the table, turning around to face him. The wet hair that is evident from the earlier shower he had made his bangs droop down adorably, and sexy at the same time.

“Show me how bad then,” you say teasingly, the provocative smirk you give Soobin is enough to set him off as he lifts you from the ground, the placement of his hands on you careful to not hurt you in any way. Your giggles fill the entire room as he places you on the soft, silky sheets that you just changed this morning.

He leans in, his mouth hovering over yours as he mutters his words of love to you before your lips connect together. The ghostly touch of his hands on your shoulder first, slowly going down to your breasts making you gasp. You continue making out for a while before he lets go and cups your cheeks, giving a peck on your forehead. The intimate action gives you butterflies, watching him closely as he works around to undress himself. The eye contact is maintained, and it’s insanely hot you can’t help but blush seeing him.

“Like what you see babe?” he asks, completely aware of your flustered face. You reach out a hand to trace his toned muscle, his abs appearing even more prominent than the last time you saw them.

“Very. Looks so hot on you, oh my god—” your breath cuts short as he accidentally tugs the only thing left on your body, your bra to be exact, harder than he intends to as the fabric tears.

“Oh! Sorry baby, did I hurt you?”

Yes, he did. In fact, he ruined you. In the most sexy way possible. You stare at him closely, lips puckered as he tries to read your expression. When you say nothing, that’s when he inches closer, promising to buy you another, even ten sets of underwear if you would want him to. You chuckle lightly, both hands supporting his neck and pulling him closer.

“Soobin, I could care less about that. I like it,” you confess, his eyes soften. Without waiting for his reply, you flip him over. His length is already poking through, Soobin hisses when you touch him there, the feeling shoots him in like electricity when your soft hands contrast with the veiny muscle there.

“This hard for me?” you start with a kitten lick, his hand is flying to hold your hair in place for you, wrapping it nicely around his wrist like a ponytail. Always very attentive and gentle.

“Only for you, love,” he answers, lids drowsy as you start to take him down your throat. You’re long past caring about the drool that drips from your stretched lips to your sheets, Soobin coos at your state and mumbles a few praises as your mind overwhelms with the way his tip presses the back of your throat, the weight of one big hand never leaves stroking your hair.

Moments later, he finds you struggling with his length, eyes watery as you look at him, he can’t help but to anxiously remind you to take only what you can. Your hand that is placed on his thighs is gripping harder on it, yet you show no sign of tapping out like what both of you agreed on whenever any of you feels uncomfortable to continue.

“Y/n–” his own breath hitches, the feeling good to him as well, the urge to just push you further down on his cock blooming in his mind but he puts it aside as he looks at his darling, sweet girlfriend on the verge of tears.

“Love, you can stop now,” he incites, feeling bad for you. With all the constraints, you manage to shake your head, insisting that you can take much more. You relax your throat a bit, breathing through your nose as you push him in deeper. Soobin groans at the action, hips jerking and thrusting sloppily. You work your best to satisfy him, until he’s left a whiny mess, as he reaches his first orgasm of the night.

He’s humming softly, lost in his own world of pleasure while you fight to stifle your gag reflex, letting the liquid go down your throat before finally releasing him from your mouth. The drool that follows through as you backs away in search of proper breath is wiped away instantly by him, feeling bad as he strokes your cheek lovingly.

“Don’t push your limit if you can’t, baby, remember?”

You could only let out a smile, pulling him on top of you. “I have never not, Soobin. I promise I am okay,” you answer, his gaze on you feels a little too strong, so you continue, “It’s a good kind of hurt.”

“Really?”

“Uh uh. Now hurry,” you urge him, your puppy eyes paired with your pout instantly puts Soobin in position, in between your legs. He’s pushing your thighs apart, working his fingers delicately on your dripping core. You relax to his touch, responsive moans here and there fill Soobin’s ears. “So fucking wet…”

Soobin rarely swears around you, but whenever he does in bed it drives you nuts. The low voice of his, with a little bit of grunt on it and the fact that you're making him feel that way has you pooling down there.

“Am ready now, come on,” you whine out, almost running out of patience as he slowly works his fingers wonderfully inside your pulsing cunt. Soobin is far from stupid, especially in knowing how your body works, he knows it’s calling for something more. Something that only he can give you. You keep on squirming around, desperate for more friction than what he’s already giving you.

“Please—want you so bad, Binnie,” your voice comes out as weak, a high pitched moan follows after when he retracts his fingers.

“Shh, I know babe, just getting you prepared for me, don’t wanna hurt you, hmm?” he coos, spreading your legs further just so he can snug up in between comfortably. His length makes its way to your entrance, your joined moans breaking out as he gathers the slick to coat around it. The pleasure gives you goosebumps, finding anchor in his hand that holds on your thigh.

He finally pushes in his tip, his cock finally stretches you out. The sensation triggers him, watching closely how your walls are pulsing to let him in. Even though he was being gentle, nothing would help when you will never get used to his size. You could not even get a hold of it when a tear drop stains your cheek, his girth inside too overwhelming. His growing concern from earlier only expands, his thumb finger delicately brushes it off from you, pecking your lips after. “Baby…”

“No, I—ah,” you are cut off from one of his thrust, unknowingly hitting your sensitive spots, filling you to the hilt. “Feels so good, Soobin..”

As he sees you struggle and non stop squirming under him, he could not help but to feel bad, slowing his pace and rubbing the skin of your waist to ease you up to accept him. Your expression confused, quite dismayed at the slowing pace. He takes his time with you, stroking your messy hair, pecking every surface of your neckline yet you grow greedy and needier by time. With a desperate huff, you call out his name, he whispers a soft hum in your ear to ensure he’s listening.

“You don’t have to be that gentle with me, Soobin. I am not made of glass,” you say, eyes glistening with lust as Soobin cups both your cheeks

“Did I do something wrong? Do you not like how I act in bed?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you reassure quickly, scooting him closer. You reach out and take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re so gentle with me, Soobin. And I love that about you. You always make me feel safe. But...”

He tilted his head, lips pouting in focus, studying your expression. “But what?”

Your cheeks are warming, feeling intimidated by his stare. “Sometimes... I think you’re holding back. Like you’re scared of pushing too hard, saying too much, or being too... intense with me.”

Soobin blinks once, twice, his mouth parting slightly as if to respond, but no words come out. You almost melt at the sight, his perfectly shaped lips look very fluffy and inviting so you pull him down to you, giving a small kiss on his lips.

You massages his palm, your voice soft but resolute. “I want all of you, baby. The gentle side, the intense side, even the messy parts you think I am not capable of handling. I can take it. I want to take it.”

Soobin looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb now tracing over the smaller yours. “I guess... I'm afraid of hurting you. You mean so much to me, baby. I didn’t want to risk being too much, I don’t ever wanna cause you pain.”

“You won’t,” you deny firmly, voice stern. “I trust you. And I want you to trust me to take whatever you’ve got. Don’t hold back on me anymore.”

For a moment, you both stay in silence, the weight of his body on top of yours never feels uncomfortable, or too much.

"Do you trust me?"

"Babes, if I didn't I wouldn't be here. I would run away once I set my eyes on your big cock," you jokingly say to ease the tension, his dimple appearing as he chuckles.

“Alright. No more holding back, I guess. You asked for it.” He sinks his face further in your chest, leaving a few marks of him there. Your heart flutters, a spark of excitement dancing in your chest. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

The rest is history, you can't quite describe the feeling of being ravished by him for the first time. It is amazing. You are too fucked out, too weak to do anything besides moan and writhe underneath him, letting him use you as he wishes, limits all thrown out of the window as he rams inside you aggressively. You are more like a living fuck doll to be filled with him and his seed only.

“You like that, baby? Y/n?” He repeats his hard thrust over and over, distant noise ringing in your ears, his large and veined hands gripping your hips and leaving bruises on the soft flesh. Your body has been decorated with hickeys and bite marks, your wrists bruising from when he held them earlier.

Soobin then reaches around with one hand, rubbing circles on your swollen and overstimulated clit, tears rolling down your cheeks at the added sensation. He only grins at that, loving your response to his touches as two of his fingers rub circles on your sensitive bud. “Gonna cum for me? Come on, show me how good of a girl you are.”

“Yes! So good— argh!” you scream out as you reach your high, your cunt tightening around his cock as he pauses his thrust, waiting for you to loosen up a little before continuing. You lay weak in his arms, sweat trickles down your neckline at the heat. As you catch your breath and the overstimulation passes, your trembling hands come up to his hair, tugging on it a bit.

“More, baby.”

He laughs at that, iris darkening as he looks at your state. Eager for more, although it seems like you are on the verge of tears by now.

“Aren't you an impatient little one?”

“Want you to use me,” you demand assertively, eyes wide and round. Your lips pursed a little, Soobin leans down to steal a quick peck there.

“My baby wants more? You can take it?”

“Yes, of course, I love you—oh fuck!” your voice gets louder as his fingers hovers around your bud, he’s pressing some friction on it so your hands that are on his hair grasp it harder. He chuckles at your desperate action, your legs trying to escape from the euphoric pleasure so bad he has to hold onto it. “Soobin! Oh my–god!”

Your legs start quivering so much, the build-up is insane, three of his fingers start moving inside your cunt uncontrollably, hitting all the right spots. You squeal as his skilled fingers continue making a mess of you, the sheets wet with your cream as you feel your high approaching quickly. Soobin watches you closely in amusement, your thrown back head, eyes rolled to the back, mouth open. You never look so beautiful, gorgeous, very stunning, he could not take his eyes off you.

“Love you too, y/n. So much, baby. Come for me, hmm? I got you,” his soft voice accompanies your loud whines. Beyond his expectation, he’s getting more than what he wanted. As the pleasure increases, you could not hold it in so you suddenly squirt all over him. Your surprising outcome that shocks even you makes you squeal, as you hold onto his shoulder for support. You have never even squirted before.

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby,” Soobin groans, collecting the liquid to smear it all over your aching pussy. “You just did that, for me?”

You are given not much time to recollect your thoughts when you are suddenly being wrapped around his arms, he’s setting you into another position. The touch on your hips are far from gentle as you are manhandled on all fours before him. Before you can complain, his tip is already inside, soon you are swallowing his whole length. Your eyes widen at the change of angle, much more intense than before.

“That was so hot, babe, damn, you want me to ruin you that bad? You like it when I’m fucking you rough?” he’s whispering in your ears, hand coming down to land a smack on your pretty flesh bare on his hips.

“Mmngh, oh! Sen—sensitive, oh please,” your weak hands wobbly in finding support on the sheets, grabbing whatever you can to stay arched for him.

He stays silent at your plea, ignoring it as the slapping skin of his against your increases in sound, his thrust fast and precise for his own release. Your drenched pussy makes nasty noises as his cock rams inside, sounding like music to his ears. "You can take it, come on, be a big girl," leaves his lips wheneve your legs almost give up, his big hands hold you up, not letting you go anywhere further than now.

“Look so cute, you want to be filled, sweetie?” he’s dirty talking now, your mind already going anywhere you find yourself nodding desperately. His cock twitches inside, forcing you to take the whole of him, his tip dangerously poking to your cervix by now. And god, does it feel so good.

“Yes, come in me please,” the honeyed voice of yours could never make him deny you, you are his baby after all, his length buried so deep inside you before his hips shake. The thrust is now shaky and unstable as his cum spills, warming your inside. “Argh, fucking take it!” Soobin grunts.

Immediately after he’s done, he’s pulling himself out, letting the combined release of yours leak. Carefully, he takes your waist, helping you to lay on your back, head pillowed by the softness of your plushie on the bed. You moan at the sight around your legs, his lips pressing kisses around your thighs, anywhere near your pussy but there to not let the oversensitivity overcome you. Your eyes then follow his movement, kneeling to scoot closer to you as he removes the hair strand from your face.

“Satisfied?”

“Never have been so before. Thank you, I love you,” you confess. His hands are now finding home on your back, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

“Love you more, baby. Did it hurt?” he’s asking, eyes wandering around your expression for honesty, afraid he has taken it too far. Your head shakes as you smile, convincing him that all is good. He lets out a sigh of relief, your night spent together while he takes care of you like always.

[makeyoumine69]

Farewell Serenade (Memory Reboot Epilogue)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: You and Patrick are finally reunited, but there are still so many secrets the two of you have to unravel, and some of them could be dangerous, especially when the echoes of the past are still haunting you like ghosts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Tainted love vibes, blood kink, oral sex, penetrative sex, body worship, hand jobs, anal fingering, cum shot, spanking, marking, teasing and humiliating, dirty talk and slurs, pet names, praise kink, dark themes, angst, hurt/comfort, obsession, self harm, mental issues, Patrick and reader are switches. I might have forgotten something because this chapter is long, so forgive me if I really did.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 14k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: VØJ, Asketa — Farewell Serenade; Vowl.,Sace — 2000; FM-84,Ollie Wride — Running in the Night.

𝐀/𝐍: Hello everyone! I don't even know what to say except that I will miss this story so much, but it will always be in my heart. I want to thank everyone who supported me on this journey, I love you all!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST], [CHAPTER 5].

When was the last time you traveled outside of America? You didn't really remember because you never really felt the need to, but after all the stressful things that had happened in your life lately, your subconscious told you that you definitely needed a break—a reboot that would give your life a fresh start. So after the drug case was over, with the help of Vincent and your lawyer, who came to New York almost immediately when you needed them, you and Patrick didn't think much about going abroad—somewhere far away where no one could find you. And so it was that Vincent's random story about his last vacation in Germany, to Stuttgart to be exact, became the deciding factor in your choice of where to go. 

The flight to Stuttgart went as smoothly as possible, since Bateman couldn't stand anything but a private jet or the most expensive seats in first class, and although it wasn't your first time flying first class, this time it felt so different, so special and memorable. The thing that surprised you the most was that you didn't really talk much about all the shit that happened between you two. Although Patrick tried to bring it up several times, but after you asked him not to dwell on it and just enjoy the fact that the two of you were finally... Finally what? Together? 

At first this new reality was very strange and confusing.

All the negativity, anger, and despair began to disappear as you realized that happiness and the freedom to follow your own desires was the memory reboot machine you both were looking for. That only by accepting your true selves could you finally break the chains of depression that had been biting at your skin for so long.

A soft, barely perceptible breeze fanned your face and the sun shone brightly over Stuttgart, the scenery unfolding before your eyes more like a picturesque frame from a romance movie than reality. Even after spending several days in Germany, you couldn't believe that all these things around you were not a dream, but your new life. The villa you stayed in was absolutely amazing, as it had two floors and a huge outdoor terrace with a large pool—Patrick enjoyed swimming in it so much that one day he told you he was going to buy this villa. At first, you didn't believe him until he took you to the bank to close the deal. Was that necessary? Was it an act to show off his wealth? You never really asked, because you were taught that sometimes asking too many questions could only complicate your life, and you didn't want to spiral and start the cycle that you managed to break.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you splashed the water with your legs. The sun reflected off the water, making it shimmer as if someone had poured a bucket of little diamonds into it, and little ripples appeared here and there as Bateman swam around, ass naked, and you couldn't really remember how you'd imagined seeing something like that, nor did you imagine that one day things that happened in real life would outshine your fantasies.

"What are you thinking about?" Patrick's velvety voice stopped your train of thoughts, and before you could even react you felt him grab your ankle—he was half in the water, hot and pumped up after his heavy workout. "You seem...worried?"

You frowned, but then chuckled as he tickled your inner thigh. "Nothing special," you replied, looking at him and leaning down to stroke his wet hair. "It's just... don't you think it was a bit imprudent to buy this house?"

The man chuckled. "Why not?"

"Patrick," you cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to concentrate on what you were about to say. "You don't have to pretend...you don't have to throw your money around like you're trying to buy everything and everyone...you don't have to do any of that...not with me."

Bateman didn't say anything, his prominent eyebrows knitted together, and you already knew what that meant—he was already overthinking, overreacting, overstepping his own emotional boundaries.

"Hey," you tried to pull him out of his stupor. "I didn't mean..."

"It's my money," Patrick suddenly blurted out, still frowning. "And I can do whatever I want with it."

God, this man always made trouble out of nothing.

But he was right. After all, his money was his to spend, and you could only give him advice or opinions he would never really care about—such an attitude only irritated him—having the last word was something he couldn't live without. He was addicted to being in control of the situation, of the person he was interacting with. It felt as if he had the chance to control the whole world, he would, but who were you to judge him when you had already promised yourself never to try to change or fix him. Just because Bateman never really needed someone to fix him, he needed someone to accept him for who he was while he tried to fix himself.

"You're not listening? Again?"

Patrick let go of your leg and swam away from where you were sitting. Sometimes his childish behavior really got on your nerves, although you imagined you were in his place, acting like a fucking teacher trying to explain such basic things as being more human to a bratty kid who never really wanted to know—what it was like? Being more in touch with humanity.

"Oh, God," you almost cussed, splashing water with your foot. "Don't be like that! I didn't say anything..." a palpable irritation erupted from your chest. "Well, maybe I did, but you know I didn't mean to insult you."

Watching him swim as smoothly as a fish in water, you gasped without even realizing it, your eyes catching every glimpse of his toned muscles, his firm ass sinking under the water, but you could still see the outline of it—you wanted to fucking get a bite of it—but the moment was probably ruined by your rather offensive remarks.

"We're not in a school," Patrick answered suddenly from a distance. "And I'm not a schoolboy to be offended," his grumbling caused a soft, barely audible chuckle to fall from your parted lips, and at some point you caught yourself thinking that you were ready to admit that you were wrong, just to end this caricature conflict. "Will you swim for once? Since the first day, you just sit on the lounge chair or something, but you never go in the water," he added, and you crossed your arms in defense. "Are you afraid of water or what?"

Don’t even start it.

"I... I don't really want to talk about it," you stammered nervously, brushing your hair, hoping he would catch your eloquent gesture and change the subject. "The scars are still fresh..."

"Scars?" He repeated your words and swam closer to you, placing himself between your open legs. "This is getting interesting."

"No-"

"Oh, yes," the man snickered amusedly, stroking the inner side of your legs with his wet hands, causing you to shiver. "You can tell me...I promise not to...uh...I promise to take it seriously."

This liar.

With a heavy sigh, you took a moment to think about whether you should have opened up to him completely or if it was not the right time. Were you really ready for this?

"When I was a kid, I almost drowned," you confessed openly, but curtly. "And, you won't believe it, but I can't even remember the last time I talked about it with anyone...because...it's not the kind of thing you want to talk about."

Patrick didn't interrupt you. He listened carefully and rested his chin on your knee. You didn't even notice how you cradled his face and stroked his cheek, then the top of his head, how his brown soft hair was soaked in water, making it look even longer than it usually did.

"Was it..." he began to speak, cautiously, as if afraid to say the wrong thing—it amazed you. "Someone's fault or..."

You shook your head. "No! It was nobody's fault... I was just a reckless kid, but after that I have a terrible phobia of anything that has to do with water."

"You don't take baths?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to push him under, but his cocky, boyish smile made you stop, and instead of doing what you thought would teach him a lesson, you wrapped your legs around his shoulders, pulling his closer, the man purring in return, nuzzling against your skin.

"Of course I meant open water," you almost whispered, your voice getting deeper, softer, laced with not just arousal but pure affection. "That unfortunate day I was in LA with my family and there was a storm or something...but it didn't stop me from wanting to find some starfish...I literally ran away from my parents and got into the water...before I was washed away by a huge wave."

"I never thought you were such a bratty child," Bateman murmured, grazing the sensitive flesh of your thigh, his lips sucking the little marks his teeth left. "But now I'd remember that you can be even more foolhardy than you already are."

Bastard...my bastard.

Still amazed at his unnatural concern, you bent down to peck him on the forehead, but the moment you did, you almost slipped into the water, and Patrick, instead of preventing it, only helped you to literally fall into his arms, and once you were in the water, you squealed.

"Oh, GOD!" You panicked and began to wriggle nervously in the water. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?"

To your irritation, Bateman just laughed and held you closer. "Shh, I've got you," he grinned and wrapped his hands around your waist, lifting you up a bit. "You don't have to worry when I'm around, you know?"

Reluctantly, you wrapped your arms around his strong neck and let him press you against his chest. "Really?"

"Any doubts?"

The water was so warm, but his body was much warmer, you could practically feel the tightness of his muscles as he swam to the side, still holding you close; his question was hanging heavy in the air as you didn't know what to say. Did you really feel safe in his arms? 

"Do you really care what I think?" You asked him back, your eyes wandering down to his parted lips.

"Answering a question with another question..." he whispered above your ear, his nose brushing gently, almost sensually, along your cheek. "...is a thing I hate so fucking much..." With that, Patrick grabbed your ass, his mouth so close to yours. "Have the guts to tell me you don't trust me..."

"That's not....what I wanted to say," you gasped into his lips as the two of you became more and more aroused, twirling in the water like a couple of swans. "I trust you, I really do!" 

"'But something's wrong anyway?"

"No..."

"Do you think I'll hurt you again?" Bateman asked, looking intently into your eyes, his arms wrapped around your shaking body, although you were no longer panicking. "Leave you? Fool you?"

With a loud exhale, you tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let you.  "Stop it," you replied curtly. "Stop putting words in my mouth, okay?" 

For a brief moment, the two of you just stared at each other, at your intertwined limbs, your naked flesh, the way your breath mingled in a rapid flow—you were more connected than either of you could truly imagine. But if you were about to admit it, you couldn't be so sure that Bateman felt the same way about you.

"Look, we never really talked about it," you continued after a pause. "We never talked about us."

Now it was his turn to turn away and distance himself from you, but as soon as he let you go, an icy fear paralyzed you and made you cling to his shoulders, no matter how pathetic you looked.

"For God's sake...you're not going to drown...it's a fucking pool!" Patrick's words hit you like a high-speed train, but you didn't let him go.

After a short sigh the man leaned his broad back against the wall of the pool, your hands were still on his shoulders and he didn't take them off—a good sign, you thought as you slowly and carefully squeezed his muscles. Patrick let out a shaky gasp, you smiled at his reaction, but you were still not ready to let go of the current conversation.

"Patrick," you began in the sweetest voice you could muster before gently kissing his temple. "I just want to know-"

"Know what? Do you really want me to... confess or something?" His face broke into a wry, nervous grin. "In that case, I've got some bad news for you."

Why can't he shut up for a few seconds?

Annoyed, you suddenly put your hand over his mouth, shutting him up completely, causing his eyebrows to arch in shock at your audacity. "I don't need any confessions, believe me," you muttered, pushing him harder against the marble wall behind him, completely forgetting that you were both still in the water. "I just want you to stop talking for me... and giving my words the wrong meaning. Is that too much to ask?"

When you removed your hand, you didn't really expect him to say no; you just crushed your lips against his, not even giving him a chance to react and take control back into his hands. But to be honest, Bateman didn't really struggle, on the contrary, he made a muffled sound as you sucked on his tongue, your mouth so eagerly dominating his hot one.

"Fuck," he cursed between kisses. "You're driving me crazy."

"I know," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist under the water, his strong hands resting on the edge of the pool, watching you tilt your head back and almost immediately taking it as a call to action, leaning forward to kiss your neck. "Mhmm-we're not going to count that as a confession, are we?"

You could hear him moan softly in response, his soft lips pecking at your skin, sending tingles up your nerve endings, setting them on fire, but you did your best to keep yourself together, not wanting to give up first—not when you had another fight... or maybe this wasn't a fight at all?

Patrick didn't leave you much time to think, to breathe, to resist when his hands found their way to your body again, but this time he acted much more possessive, groping your curves with such a strong excitement as if he was doing it for the first time. Panting softly, you hugged him and pulled him closer to you so that you were literally hanging on to him with your hands and legs. The water supported both of you from underneath, giving you a strange feeling of weightlessness. It felt surreal and incredible. For a second, you stopped doing everything to just look at him, to make sure he was real. 

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked as soon as he noticed your confusion. 

Damn all the nicknames he used, as well as his ability to use them. "Nothing...just making sure everything is real," you chuckled a bit shyly. "That I'm not sleeping."

"You're not," Bateman sneered, pushing his hips against yours to grind along your pubic bone - you almost lost it. "Because I'm going to make you feel much better than you can imagine in your dreams."

"That's very arrogant of you," you teased him back, but in the next second you moaned as the man subtly slid his hand between your bodies to rub your most sensitive spot between your legs. "But I... I like it..."

A low, soft chuckle escaped his chest. He was playing with you again, but only because you let him. At least you wanted to think so—it made you less embarrassed, but after all, there was nothing wrong with being obedient to a man you thought you were in love with. Especially if he didn't mind being a little submissive for you as well. 

A bit later, when your lips were puffy from the kisses and you were both so drenched in water that you were starting to cool down even though your bodies were radiating an immense amount of heat, Bateman lifted you out of the water without saying anything and placed you on the edge of the pool while he still remained in the water.

"Huh?" You huffed and looked down at him, confused. 

"Relax," he winked and spread your legs, stroking them as if preparing you for something bigger. "Told you, I got you. Always."

Always.

That one word stuck in your mind like an engraving you never asked for, but now you couldn't even imagine your life without him: his walnut eyes, his deep baritone and all those little moles that covered his perfect body... Everything about him was too much, it was overwhelming. If you could fucking drink him up like some kind of medicine that would flow through your system, if you could become one with him in the most direct sense of the word, to know his thoughts, to understand his mind...

It was never enough—you always wanted more, but now, when he was right between your spread thighs, his mouth exploring your tender flesh, inch by inch, his lips sucking and kissing you here and there, forcing you to shiver and grab his hair to bring him closer, and he didn't protest or scold you for pulling his hair—maybe you had a mental connection, an invisible thread connecting your brains, because Patrick could literally know exactly what you wanted. He knew where to pull and where to push, everything he did felt amazing, like he was inside your head.

"Patrick...fuck...it f-feels so fucking right," you whimpered before bringing a finger to your mouth and then having to bite down on it to stifle the moans as Bateman increased the pace of his caresses, his mouth relentless and his hands holding you in place—spread out and open for him. "Oh shit, keep going...please..."

Smirking, the man let out a wet pop as he pulled away from your core to look at you. "You don't have to ask," he licked his glistening lips, savoring the taste of you on them. "Though I do like it when you beg for me."

Of course you do, slut.

You didn't say it out loud, your finger was still in your mouth as you balanced on the edge of falling apart as Patrick went down on you again, helping himself with his hands as you trembled more and more—he wanted to see you unravel under his touch, collapse right into his mouth and you were more than happy to give it to him.

"A-ahhh...Pat-Patrick...mmm-yes...keep using your mouth like that," you encouraged him, quivering and barely breathing, your teeth almost sinking into your skin from how hard you were biting your finger. "Fuck...I'm so fucking close..." you pinched your hard nipple, your legs shaking in his grip. "Mmm...I love it...a-arhhh-fucking love it so much..."

An overwhelming pulse coursed through your veins, you thought you were going to faint, but Patrick's raspy voice became your anchor to reality amidst this madness, your heartbeat pounding against your eardrums like a hammer. One second—his mouth so hot against your flesh; two seconds—you couldn't control yourself anymore as his growl sent little vibrations that pushed you over the edge and then you finally imploded, letting a shock wave crush you. Bateman didn't stop even when you grabbed his hands from being too overstimulated, as he literally drank you dry. 

"Damn it, Bateman!" You yelled, staring down at him. "Slow down... do you want to kill me or what?"

Just as you said it, the man stopped and blinked several times—there was something off about his reaction, but when you tried to pull away, he shook his head as if trying to fight the sudden delusion.

"Are you okay?" Your voice was so shaky when you asked him that, but you were really worried.

Panting, Patrick wiped his lips with the back of his hand and finally got out of the pool to hover over you, lifting your legs with a practiced motion and bending them to press against your chest. "If I wanted to kill you," he said suddenly, aligning himself with your tight opening. "I'd kill you already...I've had so many chances."

"What? W-what are you talking about..." You wanted to ask him what the hell it was, but he never let you; the man was as selfish as ever when it came to fucking you.

Bateman pressed you harder to the floor, leaning on his hands, his biceps flexing as he began to move inside you, slowly at first, but with each passing second his thrusting became harder and faster, as if he was trying to lose himself in you. There was nothing gentle about it—you were facing the whole other side of him—you could tell by the way he was grinding his hips against yours. The level of penetration was so deep that you could feel the curve of his dick brushing mercilessly against the walls of your inner channel, causing you to literally writhe under him, not really knowing if you wanted to push him back or pull him closer.

At one point, his thrusts were so painful that you had to claw at his skin, but that didn't stop him, it just made him go faster. You could hear his balls slapping against your ass with such a loud noise that it made you close your eyes in embarrassment, and you weren't usually a shy person, but... dear God, this man was like a barrel of power and you never knew when it would explode and if you would survive.

"Patrick...mhmm...so deep...fuck!" You couldn't help but moan, your legs lifted so high that they almost floated over your shoulders. "Wait..."

You tried to call out to him, but he seemed not to be listening, his brain clouded with a crimson fog of rage, violence, brutality, and God only knew what else. But here, with you, he didn't dare to hurt you the way he always loved to hurt people and it made him sick that you became his personal kryptonite and if someone dared to touch you even with a finger—he would fucking destroy that person.

"FUCK," the man cursed loudly, as if he had finally come back to reality. "Why are you like this?" Patrick snuggled against you even tighter, pinning your wrists above your head and jackhammering into you with reckless abandon. "Why do you let me... do this to you... fuck... you're so fucking... mine... that it hurts..."

"Pat!" You squealed as you felt him push too deep into you, his dick definitely hitting your belly. "I want you to... listen to me," you blurted out in a breathless voice, the words coming out like a broken record. "...and calm down. Please!"

Bateman let out a guttural growl and wrapped his hands around your neck, not squeezing it, at least not yet. Whimpering, you wanted to claw at his flesh, even though you knew he hated any marks on his perfect skin, but now, when he was about to lose his mind for sure, you thought it was the right choice. Without hesitation, you grabbed his hands that were still around your neck, almost scratching him, and he hissed, but never really stopped pounding into you.

"I love you," you blurted out abruptly, losing your own breath as you realized what you had just said, but you didn't hesitate to repeat it again, more confidently. "I love you so much that I can't even find the right words to express my feelings!"

And now you finally managed to reach out to him through the red veil of lust that clouded his consciousness—the man stopped, his eyes searching desperately for yours only to look somewhere behind you—he was shocked, frightened and speechless. 

Maybe this was not the right time, but you couldn't rewind time.

After a short pause, Bateman shook his head as if trying to wake up. "These... sentiments..." he murmured barely perceptibly, still deep inside you but not moving. "I never thought you were capable of them."

"Why? Am I inhuman?"

"No-"

"So are you," you cupped his face, his skin literally scorching your hands with its heat - he was burning from the inside out, but you didn't care. "You're more human than you think...believe me."

For a gliding second, the two of you just stared at each other as he suddenly removed your hands and pulled away from you—it all happened so fast you didn't even have time to think. One moment you were one, and the next you were lying alone, naked and soaked with water, watching the love of your life walk into the house without saying a word.

Why does he always have to be like this?

Barely holding back your tears, you slowly stood up and, unlike Patrick, took the towel and wrapped it around your aching body. How could he leave you like that? You decided to open up and he just left? Without saying a word?

Crybaby. 

Your first thought was to follow him and confront him for acting like a fucking schoolboy, but you stopped yourself and decided it wasn't worth it—you would let him have it his way, because you didn't want to stoop to his level, you weren't pathetic. But if he wanted to be pathetic, you wouldn't interfere— being a babysitter wasn't appealing to you.

Later that day, as the sun began to set and it became a little cooler, you were still sitting outside, not really wanting to go inside, even though you were about to freeze to death, you preferred to be alone. Sitting on the soft lounge chair, you wrapped yourself in a white fluffy robe, even though you dried yourself, you still felt uncomfortable, as if Patrick's last words stuck to your skin like something slippery. Something you couldn't scrub off even if you wanted to. 

Trapped in your thoughts, you found yourself thinking about just going back to America. Yes, you could just leave this place without even talking to him and pay him back with his methods. The question was, would that make you feel better? You doubted it.

A short, refreshing breeze blew around you, making you curl up on the chair like a cat. Too overwhelmed with various ideas, thoughts, excuses you could find to somehow escape this whole situation, you didn't notice an approaching figure. Gracefully as ever, Bateman appeared right next to where you were resting. He was wearing nothing but white sweatpants, his hair still wet and slicked back. When you spotted him, you were not surprised—on the contrary, you expected him to come back, because this man was impatient and always craving attention, but this time there was something strange about him—you examined his posture only to see two glasses in his hands.

"Here," the man offered you a glass with a golden liquid in it—probably whiskey. "This will help you warm up."

Devoid of any emotion, you turned away from him, demonstrating that you didn't want to talk to him, didn't want to see him, and didn't feel like having a drink.

"Listen, I want to tell you something," Bateman continued his attempts, even though his agenda was still unknown to you. "You're going to need this." With that, the man placed a glass on the lounge chair next to your feet, before nestling into the chair on the other side of you. "One day I decided to go to the Tunnel, where I met a girl," he paused and took a sip of his drink, not really looking your way, as if afraid to meet your gaze. "She was pretty... not really beautiful, but pretty. And she was young, I could say she was very young...but already so wrecked."

The way he chuckled—the dark edge in his voice—made something heavy fall into your stomach and you took the glass of whiskey, your hands suddenly shaking, cold shivers running down your spine. The pause was getting too long, but you had no intention of rushing him. 

"So I took her back to my place, and she was drunk as hell by then," you could see his fingers tighten around the glass until his knuckles turned white. "The bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut for a second. And then we fucked, but I didn't feel anything until I finally got my hands around her neck."

Eventually, you were glad that he had given you a moment to digest everything he had said. A sudden numbness washed over you, making it difficult to bring the glass to your lips, but when you managed to take a sip, the sharp alcohol burned your throat. But it didn't help. Not even a little.

With a shaky gasp, Bateman dared to look at you. "The thrill of the kill... was the only thing that could make me feel anything, but when I thought I was going to end her here and now... I realized she wasn't fighting," he paused again to finish his glass in one quick gulp. "She was fucking begging me to kill her... can you imagine that?"

You didn't know what to say, you were literally at a loss for words as itching tears began to well up in your eyes, and it had nothing to do with fear, it was all about the pain—you could feel it in every word he had just said. The unbridled, raw pain of a desperate man you happened to fall in love with.

"Why... why did you tell me all this?" You asked in a raspy voice.

"Because," he turned suddenly in your direction, almost getting up from the lounge chair, his breathing labored and uneasy. "I want you to know who you're dealing with... since you said you loved me..." Every word he said sent a shiver down your spine, adding to the already cold air surrounding you. "It's not too late to take back your words..."

"No. Not gonna happen," you cut him off, sipping more whiskey. What the hell was he talking about, how could you take back your words when you were absolutely sincere when you said them? "Even if I had the chance to erase your memory or use a time machine and go back in time... I wouldn't do it. Because I meant it when I said it, I really did, and you know it! That's why you're trying to push me away now, right? With all these spooky stories?"

Bateman didn't flinch even when you literally snapped at him, towering over his seated form and nearly splashing the contents of your glass right into his blank face. And now he decided to act as if nothing had happened? Now? After he literally dumped all that emotional mess on you like a bucket of cold water?

"I know it was stupid of me to even mention love... feelings... but instead of all this nonsense, you could just tell me that you despise me," you croaked through the tears that were stuck in your throat like a lump. "Because what you said...it's not funny to speculate about it!"

"It's never supposed to be funny!" Patrick retaliated and stood up as well, now standing very close to you, your lips just inches away. "Nobody takes me seriously! I'm so fucking sick of it!" His furious temper seemed to finally take over, revealing the true side of his personality, and you risked being drawn into its darkness. "Believe it or not... but that day when you called me from Paul Allen's place... I was ready to kill that bastard if I found out he touched you with his finger!"

Bateman's cruel words triggered the memories you never really wanted to remember—that fucking party you went to at Paul's apartment, those fucking hookers or models...or whatever they called themselves. Those fuckers who drugged your drink and tried to get their hands on you. That one moment when you rushed into the dimly lit living room to pick up the phone and dial the only number you could think of to hear the voice of a person who hated you the most, but at that moment felt like the only lifeline you could dream of. And when Patrick didn't pick up, each beep was agonizing and heavy—you thought you would die without hearing his voice.

Astonished, you nervously fixed your hair and let out a heavy breath. "You would...you would do what?" Your question wasn't supposed to sound like mockery, but it probably did, because the next thing you heard was a muffled crunch. "What..."

You didn't finish your sentence because you simply couldn't comprehend what had just happened—that crunching sound was the glass that Patrick simply crushed in his hand while you tried to call out to him through the depraved prism of his twisted mind—crimson drops of blood painted the floor in intricate ornaments, forcing your stomach to churn.

Why... Why are you doing this? Why do you want to hurt yourself so badly?

"Holy Christ!" You finally managed to blurt out, taking his injured hand in yours to open it and see the wound. "Why did you do that?!"

"And why do you care?" Was all he replied, staring at you through his half-lidded eyes. "You think everything I say is bullshit. Maybe this is not real either?"

And then, all of a sudden, he grabbed your hand with his bloody one, you could feel the shards of glass almost sink into your flesh, and even though they never did, you could feel the pain—his pain.

Pain. Everything is about pain.

"Please, Patrick," you almost begged, but didn't take your hand away as you watched the scarlet liquid cover more of your own skin. "Let me help you."

Bateman's cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covered his beautiful face, but he didn't even hiss, as if he didn't really feel any physical pain—that was terrifying, but you didn't falter. Carefully, without any hasty movements, you forced him to follow you into the house, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. 

The man didn't say a word, he was in some kind of trance, you couldn't even remember seeing something like this before, but now was not the time to ponder about it, not when he was bleeding like this. You had to use the sleeve of your robe to keep him from gushing out and staining the house.

As you dragged him into the bathroom, you opened the mirror cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit and found some bandages, antiseptic and tweezers. Humming something to yourself in desperation, you glanced into the mirror to see him suddenly slide to the floor with his eyes closed.

"Patrick!" You yelled and ran to him. What if he had damaged the veins? What if you could not stop the bleeding? "Look at me, don't close your eyes!"

As soon as you touched his face, the man brushed your hand away as if swatting an annoying fly. "I'm fine," he said, gritting his teeth, but no matter how hard he tried to hide the tremor in his voice, you could hear that nerve—he was crying. "Just... give me the damn bandages. I'll take care of myself."

"Are you...crying?"

Gently, as if he were made of porcelain, you tilted his chin up and brushed his wet strands away, his usually sparkling eyes so dull and empty it made your heart shrink in pain, but you didn't give up. Ignoring the overwhelming fear, you unpacked the bandages and soaked one of them in the antiseptic before pressing it against the wound, but then you just poured the liquid all over his bleeding hand when you realized there were too many small shards embedded in his flesh.

Embarrassed, Bateman could only sob softly, and he didn't even try to pretend that his defenses weren't down with the first tear that slid down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured abruptly, sniffling and shaking his head from side to side. "I didn't want it to end like this."

"Shh," you stroked his hair with your free hand. "Let's talk about this later." As you blew on his wound to soothe the itchiness of the antiseptic, you didn't even notice the way Patrick was looking at you under his messy bangs—he was looking at you like you were some kind of miracle—if only he could go back in time and not say all those things about him being a fucking psycho. But then again, would it be fair to keep that from you, knowing how dangerous it could be for you? "Uh, I'm not sure I can pull out all the pieces...maybe it's better to go to the hospital?

"Fuck that," Bateman snapped, swallowing his salty tears. "Not an option."

With a weary sigh, you took the tweezers and began to pick the pieces of broken glass out of his hand—if someone told you one day that you'd be sitting on the cold bathroom floor covered in Patrick's blood because that idiot forgot how to use the glasses, you wouldn't believe it. 

"You're the most stubborn man I've ever met," you said with a wry smile. "The most arrogant and self-centered and selfish..."

"Okay, okay!" Bateman held up his hand as a white flag. "I get it. No need to keep repeating it-uh!"

As soon as you heard him squeal in pain after pulling out the large shard of glass, you stopped in your tracks, barely holding the tweezers in your hand. "Oh, sorry!" You quickly apologized. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll be more careful!"

As you leaned down to better concentrate on your task, the man suddenly pulled you closer with his uninjured arm to press his heated mouth against yours. The kiss was nothing like the ones you had shared before—you could taste his tears, the saltiness of them, the agony and despair. At first you wanted to break away and scold him for being reckless and foolish, but he was the first to break the kiss, only to bring his bloody finger to your parted lips. On the verge of losing your grip on reality, you closed your eyes and allowed him to push his finger inside.

What is this madness with a copper-like taste?

Maybe this man was really a demon sent straight from hell to torment people and find out their most depraved desires, their true nature, which turned out to be something sinful and deranged?  Who else could he be if he could make you do such twisted things? If he could make you lose control and forget what the word "normalcy" even meant?

While you were busy processing the questions that would never be answered, the two of you were still pressed tightly together, the bloody kisses on your lips and then your neck only increasing the risk of losing your sanity here and now. However, the tweezers you held in your hand became your anchor to reality as the cold metal almost bit into your skin with its sharpness. 

"Patrick," you purred against his red lips, catching your breath. "Are we crazy? I know it's a stupid question, considering everything that's happened between us..."

"I guess you could say I've plagued you with my craziness...but I'm not sorry for it," he crooned in a mischievous voice, his lips curled into a slight smirk. "And I don't want you to take it as a joke or romanticize it."

How could he say that after he literally made you suck his bloody fingers? But wasn't it you who allowed him to do it? Who craved that in the first place? That thrilling aura of danger, mystery and darkness that always surrounded Bateman like a second skin. 

"I'm not gonna leave you," you said briefly, continuing to clean his hand of the shards. "I've lost too many people I care about."

Patrick listened intently without arguing, ignoring the urge to hug you again, to comfort you, to reassure you that you would never lose him, because this was not about him, this was about your safety. Your words about him being selfish stuck in his head like an obsessive melody. 

Selfish, egocentric, unsympathetic—a perfect bundle of traits for a psychopath like him.

The day you were about to leave and go back to New York, you couldn't sleep. When you woke up early in the morning, you rolled onto your back. The birds were chirping peacefully in the distance, and you were somehow jealous that you couldn't be as serene as those cute little creatures. Unlike you, Bateman slept like a baby on his side, holding a pillow and sometimes jerking slightly—probably having a vivid dream or something—his right hand was still healing, but thankfully the wound wasn't bleeding anymore. Although you were not well rested, you thought it would be more productive to get up and finish packing your things since you had a flight in the afternoon. Quietly, you pulled down the blanket and sat down on the side of the bed, but then you heard Patrick's muffled whimper, which startled you a bit.

Oh, no, not him having another nightmare.

Concerned, you crawled back onto the bed and hugged the shivering man from behind. "Shh, it's okay," you whispered into his ear, pecking the back of his head before nuzzling his neck—the mixture of his cologne and aftershave hitting your nostrils like an intoxicating haze. "This is just a bad dream."

Noticing that he was relaxing a bit, you slowly began to roll back onto your side of the bed, but suddenly his strong hands cupped yours, causing you to hug him tighter in a silent plea. This was not something he usually did—it stirred a deep feeling of affection in you—even in his sleep, Patrick seemed to have control over everything, including you, but now it was different.

For a moment you weren't sure if it was right to wake him up like that, but then you thought it was better than just shaking him and telling him he was having a nightmare. Also, how many times did Bateman not care if you were sleeping or not when he just got on top of you and started fucking you mercilessly? Well, you never protested or complained about it, but after all, you were not him.

When the man made the same sound again, you had to push all thoughts away—you would have plenty of time to think about things—now all you could think about was the softness of his skin, the shallowness of his breathing, the strong grip of his hands on yours. Patrick needed you, and that was the most tempting thing of all.

With a quick movement, you slid your hand under the blanket to caress his perfect tiddies one by one, the tip of your finger teasing his nipple with feathery touches. God, the things you wanted to do to this man frightened you in ways you never thought you could even imagine. 

Now was the time when you could finally agree with his statement about plaguing you with his insanity, for how else could you describe it? 

"Mmm," Bateman's low gasp that fell from his parted lips echoed through the bedroom as you lowered your hand and stroked his hard bulge in his Calvin Klein briefs. "I didn't kill her...I didn't," his mumbling was growing more and more erratic. "I just...wanted that bitch to shut her mouth..."

You couldn't hear it anymore. "Patrick, Patrick!" You called his name and shook him slightly. "It's just a nightmare! Please come back to me!"

Just as you said these words, his body went limp in your embrace, some cold buds of sweat sliding down his forehead as he opened his startled eyes and looked up at you. Bateman remained silent, his hands unclasping yours only to grasp the sheets in a violent grip. 

"What time is it now?" He asked as if nothing had happened.

"'Too early for you to worry about that," you tried to hug him again, but he pulled away. "You had a bad dream. Maybe it was not the best idea to watch horror movies before bed last night?"

Patrick sneered into the pillow, and although you couldn't see his face, you knew he was smiling. "I... I didn't mean to wake you."

"But you didn't-"

"I hate it, I fucking hate seeing any dreams," the man suddenly replied through clenched teeth, then Patrick looked at his bandaged hand—he was trembling. "Do you... do you see them too?"

"Most people do," you replied, planting a light kiss on his temple, his soft hair tickling your nose. "I think you just miss New York and your familiar surroundings. When we get back, you'll feel better, I'm sure. But for now, is there anything I can do to help you relax?"

Damn, that probably sounds so cheesy.

Finally, Bateman turned to look at you. "You can finish what you started," he replied with that classic boy-next-door smile that was his favorite and most useful weapon in seducing people, and you were no exception. Sometimes you hated being so weak to it, though. "I think I missed the moment when you became so bold, darling."

The air in the room was thick with tension, the little electric impulses cursed through your system by his raspy voice, which was nothing but a testament to his arousal and it only fueled your desire to make him moan, writhe like a caged bird, to make him cum on the sheets and still ask for more.

"Oh, I forgot the last time you called me like that," you droned, wrapping your hands around his waist and pressing against his tight ass. "Was it when I fucked you with that dildo I found in your little secret box?"

Meanwhile, you used the moment of his confusion to dip your palm into his underwear—his tender flesh was burning like fire—you had to use all your willpower to stop yourself from biting his neck. Patrick's panting became more uneven with each passing moment, but when you began to rub his swollen tip, smearing his thick pre-cum around it, he literally arched his back like a bowstring.

"You like it when I take care of you?" You licked his earlobe, then grazed it a bit, causing a low moan to erupt from his chest, but you needed more—you craved it like oxygen—the power he allowed you to bear was too addictive. "Talk to me... I want to hear my sweet boy."

Patrick groaned louder as you gave his dick a long, hard pump. "Damn," he closed his eyes and blushed uncontrollably. "Feels good... so f-fucking good."

Impulsively, you drowned out his moans with a lingering kiss, your tongue slipping along his in a relentless battle for dominance until he let you have your way and you sucked on his tongue with all your might, your hand massaging his tight sack, then switching back to rubbing his shaft and then his red-hot tip again. Eventually Bateman began to thrash around on the bed, thrusting into your hand, and you picked up the pace, jerking him off more vigorously, the wet, sloppy sound driving you both crazy. Each time the two of you had sex, the outside world ceased to exist; there was just the two of you, your inflamed bodies, your most sinful desires...

"Fuck," Patrick cursed, gripping the edge of the bed with one hand and pulling you closer with the other as you kissed again and again until your lips began to hurt. "How did you get inside my head... so fucking easy?"

It was not easy at all.

If only he could understand that.

With a mischievous grin, you nipped at his Adam's apple, then moved lower to his chest, flicking your tongue around his taut nipple and sucking on it with undisguised greed, but then you had to shush him with your mouth when he became too noisy.

"You've got a lot of secrets to unravel about me, baby," you sneered condescendingly and pinched his engorged peak, making him whimper so pathetically that you began to regret not taking that dildo with you. "Uh, you're shaking so bad already. Do you want to stain these expensive sheets again?" You teased him, your grip like a tight ring around his balls, squeezing them so perfectly that you could feel his dick pulsing in desperation for release. "Not that I care, but... I remember you telling me that you love to keep every drop of your cum inside me..."

With that, you gave his thick cock several quick strokes before letting go and moving your hand from his groin to his toned butt for a squeeze and then, before you knew it, you were outlining the rim of his puckered hole.

"Oh shit," Bateman bit his wet lower lip, his face flushed like fucking tomato juice. "You're not going to get away with this...you know that?"

You just giggled in reply. "Don't you think that's kinda irrelevant to say when you're lying here all splayed out for me like a bitch in heat?” You slapped his ass without a second thought. "I know what you're made of..." Another slap that made him moan. "I know what you want..."

"Oh yeah? And what is that... what do I want?"

By this time you were almost on top of him, grinding against his muscular body, but not afraid of him snapping at you, it took you several seconds to lubricate your fingers with your saliva before you plunged them into his tight inner channel, sending shivers right through his core, and it was fucking delirious to see him trembling like that and to know that you were the reason for it.

"This... this is what you want," you explained, pushing your fingers deeper before pulling them out and repeating the motion, stimulating his prostate with precise accuracy. "You're tired of being in charge all the time...and you wanted someone to take care of you without finding it your weakness."

And you were not even going to ask him to accept it—you just knew it was true—it was written in his every moan, every jerk of his hips as you were fingerfucking his ass. Everything was perfect the way it was—you were perfect for each other, no matter what flaws you both had, because ultimately these flaws were what made you you.

When there were no more words to be said and the sun began to rise, the two of you were still following the electrifying momentum of raw, unbridled lust. Moaning into each other's mouths, you continued to thrust your fingers as deep as you could, finding the best rhythm, while Bateman couldn't hold back any longer as he desperately jerked off in sync with your fingers until his whole body was strained to the point of exploding like a bomb. A loud moan of pure satisfaction pierced the room as he finally erupted in thick ropes that covered his flat stomach, but he never stopped pumping himself, not even when he began to suffocate.

"Good boy," you watched him convulse like a leaf shaking in the wind. "You're such a good boy to me. I love you."

For a brief moment, your heavy breathing was the only sound in the bedroom, as if everything outside it was nonexistent. There were no barriers, just you and him—his hand in your hand—his soul intertwined with yours.

Huffing, Patrick gasped greedily for air, but then, when your eyes met, he seemed to stop breathing again—the inner conflict could be seen behind those two dark pools that were his eyes. "I love y-you too...but if you ever dare to leave me again...I promise I will find you...and kill you."

Later that day, you took a cab to the airport. And even though you personally didn't care which class, business or first, you flew, Bateman grumbled the whole way, arguing that he hated being crowded.

"Next time we'll take a private jet," he grumbled, his hands crossed over his chest, the Rolex shimmering in the sunlight. "Why did I ever follow your advice?"

Rolling your eyes, you wanted to reply with something cocky, but then you noticed the way he fiddled with his fingers, nervously trying to hide his wounded hand. "Just because you have a lot of money doesn't mean you have to spend it like crazy," you explained, gently taking his injured hand in yours. "But next time, I won't give you any advice. Deal?"

From the confusion you could read in his face, it seemed to you that Bateman hadn't expected anything like that from you, and you were so damned pleased with yourself, because you were finally on the right track to understanding how to treat him properly, so that he would reciprocate with the same attitude. But even the most perfect mechanisms could break down sometimes.

"Oh, well," he sighed, looking down at your clasped hands, but not removing his own. "I didn't mean that I don't like your advice..."

"Forget it," you cut him off, smiling as you frowned at your words. "Really, it's nothing. I'm not your Mommy or Daddy to lecture you about your money.” 

"I think I've heard that before."

"Maybe."

"Mommy and Daddy," Patrick suddenly laughed like a maniac. "You know... I can be your Daddy if you want..."

"Jesus Christ, Bateman! Don't even start!" You nudged his shoulder slightly, but it only emboldened him to scoop you into his arms and seal your lips with his soft, loving ones. "How do you manage to say the cringiest things at the most inappropriate times?"

"Cringiest things?"

Dear Lord, have mercy.

Just as you were about to answer, the taxi driver suddenly turned around and gave you both a cheerful, genuine smile. "Wir sind fast da." (We're almost there)

Confused, Bateman narrowed his eyes before averting them from the cabbie, pretending to look in the window. As much as you wanted to laugh and tease him for his childish behavior, you returned a friendly smile to the driver and murmured: "Vielen Dank! Was kostet die Reise?" (Thank you! How much for the ride?)

The driver pointed to the meter, you nodded, and pulled out your wallet. "Bitte sehr. Behalten Sie den Rest." (Here you go. Keep the rest)

The longer Patrick remained silent, the more he looked like a small child who was offended that no one was paying attention to him. When the car pulled up at Stuttgart Airport, you thanked the driver and got out of the car before Bateman could say anything.

After taking your luggage, the two of you entered the busy area of the airport, people were rushing here and there, which of course made Patrick even more annoyed.

"I didn't know you could speak German," he managed to get the words out, but he still looked insulted. "Was it necessary to act like that?"

Hello, my name is Patrick Bateman and I'm a 27-year-old kid who can't stand being ignored for five fucking minutes.

Irritated, you stopped abruptly and he almost bumped into you. "First of all, I studied German in college, and since the company I worked for in Chicago did business with a lot of German partners, I needed to revive my knowledge," you blurted out, extending a finger in a stay-the-fuck-up gesture. "Second, I've been speaking German a lot since we got here, and you never bothered to notice! Really, Patrick? And what do you mean, was that necessary? Paying the taxi driver and thanking him for the ride? Are you serious?"

"I was talking to Bryce." Bateman's sudden words hit you like an avalanche of rocks.

For a fleeting second, you didn't even know what to say. What were they talking about? Had Bryce told him about the night you had spent together? Or rather, the nights. Shit, oh shit. That was bad. You knew it was going to be so bad for you because you kept it a secret and hid it from Patrick, but on the other hand, it wasn't cheating because, fuck it, Bateman married Evelyn just to make you what? Jealous?

"When did you ever find the time to do that?" You asked, trying to shake the anxiety off your shoulders.

"When you were in the shower before we left," Patrick's eyes scanned your face with a mysterious interest that made you swallow hard. "He invited us to Shinnecock Hills Golf Club, the one on the eastern tip of Long Island. A fucking golf club, can you imagine? That blonde bitch has already changed him so much."

"Blonde bitch?"

"Evelyn Williams."

"Uh, oh, yeah, Evelyn," you made a thoughtful face as if you could hardly remember who it was, when in fact you knew everything all too well, starting with the fact that Tim and Evelyn had been fucking behind Bateman's back before they got divorced, since Bryce had told you about it when you met several times after Patrick and Evelyn's wedding. You and Timothy used to fuck until you witnessed Bryce's meltdown over his fucked up relationship with Evelyn Williams. "It's just... you talk about it as casually as if you weren't married to her once."

"Was I?" Bateman arched his eyebrows theatrically and rubbed his chin. "I don't remember."

"We're going to miss our flight if we keep rumbling like this," you complained, pointing to the large information board. "And...I didn't know you guys loved golf?"

The two of you exchanged a few sly glances before heading for the gate where your plane was waiting for you. A plane that would take you back to the crazy city life of New York, the city you swore you would never visit again, but as the saying goes—never say never. 

My life was like a comedy that turned out to be a drama and I was the director who screwed up the script.

Imagine yourself praying that today would be bad weather, rain, thunderstorm or fucking snow (even though it made absolutely no sense) and you wouldn't have to go to the golf club to see Tim and Evelyn and pretend that nothing happened. If Patrick could pretend that nothing happened between the four of you, why was it so hard for you, almost impossible? You also had to take into account the fact that Patrick still didn't know about you and Bryce, and you had serious doubts that he would be as indifferent about it as he was about Timothy and Evelyn's affair behind his back, or maybe it wasn't even behind his back and he knew everything from the beginning? This did not make it easy for you to understand how you all got into this situation. Why did he marry Evelyn in the first place? 

"Hey, are you okay?" a familiar female voice pulled you out of the swamp of thoughts and when you raised your eyes you saw her—Evelyn Williams in the flesh. Even though the last time you had seen her was at her wedding with Patrick, which seemed to be so long ago (but wasn't), the woman didn't seem to have changed at all. "The boys asked me to bring them some drinks... Do you know how to call the staff here?"

Stunned, you looked around—the two of you were standing under the big tent that was located not far from the big golf course where Patrick and Timothy were practicing their shots, because there was a rumor that Paul Allen was about to join your little 'golf party', and of course nobody was really happy about it—especially you, but not because you didn't like Paul, you just didn't want to dig into the dirt, preferring to keep it all in the past.

"Uh, I think Patrick has a phone," you replied a little awkwardly. "I can go ask him."

As soon as you started to move, the woman stopped you with a polite hand on your shoulder. "Actually, they asked us not to bother them for a while."

"Oh," you stammered, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. "'Something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Evelyn grinned brightly and poured herself a glass of orange juice from the large decanter that stood on the narrow table. "Want some juice? Patrick told me about your little trip to Germany! I tried to convince him to travel when we were... well... never mind, he always refused!"

The blonde let out a nervous chuckle and took a sip of juice, your eyes never leaving her slightly embarrassed face. There was something wrong with this whole situation, but you couldn't reveal your fear. 

"I wonder what exactly he told you, but... I don't mind talking about it," you crossed your arms and leaned against the table with the non-alcoholic drinks. "Ask away."

Meanwhile, two rich men, dressed in the most expensive polo shirts and shorts of some famous brand from the latest fashion week, were discussing the latest news of the financial world.

"Those bastards we had a meeting with last week are a fucking bunch of freaks and believe me when I say they're so deep in the shit they're going to fucking drown in it one day. Now watch and learn," Bryce finished his expressive monologue with a practice swing of his club. As the ball fell into the hole, the man lifted his sunglasses to wink at his friend. "See that, Bateman?"

"Nice shot," Patrick mimicked Tim's actions, adjusting his sunglasses as well. "Although I still don't understand why you chose a fucking golf club out of all the places we have?"

Leaning on his club, Bryce turned to look at the tent, and the moment he did, Evelyn began waving at him as if she were the most ardent fan and Tim the worldwide golf star.

"It was her idea," the man replied, stepping back to place the next ball for Bateman. "She was bored with regular dinners and going to some nightclub was out of the question after that... story that happened at Le Bain."

Patrick frowned and quickly picked up his club. "Le Bain? Really? What were you doing there anyway?"

Bryce didn't answer directly, instead he rubbed his head, marking time, and that didn't really look like the Timothy Bryce Patrick had gotten used to knowing. "What kind of shitty story did you get into this time, Bryce?"

"Nothing serious," Tim replied, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You got a lighter?" With a soft click, Bateman opened a white-gold Zippo lighter, and after Bryce took several drags, he looked back in Evelyn's direction before finally starting to talk. "Almost crushed some asshole's skull," he said so casually that Patrick could only smile like an idiot for a moment. "The guy asked for it, I swear."

"You did what?" Bateman questioned after a boyish giggle that escaped his throat faster than he could even suppress it. "And I thought after rehab people should be calmer and more stable."

"Oh, fuck you! That scumbag tried to rent Evelyn out like one of those hookers, well, you know, hookers, whores, you know better than me-"

"I KNOW!"

Bateman's reaction really amused Bryce, who couldn't help but grin as he watched Patrick get more and more flustered by the second. "So after this incident, Evelyn doesn't want to go to clubs...unless it's a fucking golf club!"

Now it was Patrick's time to sneer. "I didn't expect you to become a henpecked husband so quickly," Patrick joked, finally hitting a shot—two men watched as the ball flew until it landed next to the hole, but never fell in. "Golf sucks. I fucking hate it!"

"Don't cry, Bateman, shit happens," Timothy tapped Patrick's shoulder in a mockingly comforting way, but then the man suddenly became very serious. " So, have you had any success with your love adventures?"

"More than you can imagine," Bateman took off his sunglasses and fastened them to his polo shirt. "Why?"

"Sometimes I want to fucking sink into the ground when Evelyn starts whining that we're sitting in one place...that New York has become too stuffy and all that shit."

"Sounds like a casual day from my family life with Evelyn," Patrick started to say something else, but then he looked at his Rolex to check the time. "Is Allen really coming?"

"Oh shit, I forgot!" Tim cursed and quickly began to remove his leather gloves. "Honestly, I don't even know why he decided to come."

"I have an idea why," Bateman frowned as he heard approaching footsteps and as soon as the man turned to the side, you and Evelyn appeared on the horizon—your face was grim and tense, which spoke volumes about the complexity of the current situation and Patrick's need to solve it somehow. "And where are our drinks?"

"Sorry guys, we only have non-alcoholic drinks here," Evelyn blushed a little as the two men looked at her. "Patrick, can I use your phone? I am going to call the staff since Tim left his phone in the limo!"

Bryce finished his cigarette but didn't throw it away because he knew that Evelyn would bitch about him making a mess, blah blah blah, end of story. "'Screw this," Tim exclaimed spontaneously. "We can take a golf cart and get our drinks in the main building...and meet Allen there."

At the mention of Paul, you literally trembled, but Patrick almost immediately placed his hand on the small of your back. Slightly surprised by his affection, you didn't even say a word as Timothy and Evelyn exchanged goodbyes and walked toward the golf cart.

"Did you get sunstroke?" Bateman crooned as he stroked your cheek to get you to look up at him. "I told you to stay under the tent, not with us."

"I'm fine," you tried to reassure him. "It's just that I don't really want to see Paul right now," your voice trembled treacherously. "Not in the best mood for... social activities."

Without saying anything, Patrick grabbed your hand and led you back to the tent, where the two of you had some healthy smoothies that you never really liked, but since Bateman told you that they were pretty good for your health, you pretended to enjoy them. Afterwards, the two of you sat on the small but comfortable couch with the amazing view. The man rested his hand on your shoulders and occasionally massaged the back of your neck, causing you to close your eyes in pleasure.

"You and Allen," Patrick muttered abruptly. "What kind of relationship do you have?"

This is it—no way to run.

"Just business," you explained without a hint of doubt. "Listen...I don't want to see him, not because we had some drama...it wasn't Allen's fault that the party was messed up. Someone brought up the prostitutes...or maybe they were models. I don't know!" You paused to catch your breath. "All the memories are so cloudy...but the one thing I remember clearly is that I started to feel weird after I drank some wine...then everything came in torn frames. Some guy tried to get his hands on me and I didn't know where Allen was and some other guys from P&P but not Tim or Craig or David...I'm sorry I called you...my poisoned mind decided it was the best idea to call you."

The whole time you were talking, Bateman was stroking your back, but when you mentioned the call, he froze in place, and it looked so creepy. "You mean...you called me...that night?"

Tensing up, you gave Patrick a confused look, but instead of saying anything, you just nodded. The lingering silence between the two of you felt so heavy and suffocating that at one point you thought it was a bad idea to tell him what had happened that night at Paul Allen's apartment, but now it was too late.

"What happened next? Do you remember the person who tried to touch you?"

"Not really," you replied in a dull voice. "I think after I called you... Paul told me we had to leave and we left and... fuck!" You cursed and grabbed your head as if it could help you remember more details. "It all happened so fast...I'm sorry I bothered you with that call, that was really stupid of me."

"You really did call me," he repeated over and over, repeating the phrase like a broken record. "You really..."

Confused, you turned to face him, only to see his pupils dilated and his face covered in a thin layer of sweat. "I did," you said curtly. "But...what's so special about that?"

But your question seemed to fall on deaf ears, Bateman blinked several times, his hands trembling a bit as he removed them from your back, and then you finally realized why he was asking you these particular questions, but the way he smiled in relief, delusionally thinking he had found all the answers he was looking for, who knew for how long, it hurt so much.  But what could you do now? You both had already come to the conclusion that Patrick needed help, that he would soon start seeing a psychiatrist recommended by Timothy, and that he would also resume taking pills to help control his impulsive temper. So the choice was yours.

After taking a deep breath, you glanced at him again—the man was looking back so expectantly, there was a spark of happiness in his eyes—a long forgotten spark, but there it was, and you didn't want to ruin it, even though you knew that the bitter truth was always better than the sweetest lie.

I hope one day you will forgive me for this, my love.

"Everything will be fine," your reassuring words were not for him, but for you. "You will be fine," you took his large palm in yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But... there is one more thing I have to tell you."

"What is it?" Patrick asked almost immediately.

"I..." you stammered as his grin widened, making him look so boyish and... cute? Fucking hell, why do you always choose the worst timing? "I fucked Bryce...several times...after you married Evelyn...but that was just sex...I mean..."

Even though he was still smiling, something changed in the way he looked at you now. The man took a moment to process the information you had just given him.

"That didn't mean anything! I swear," you were the first to speak again. "We... we both just found ourselves in one of the most fucked up moments of our lives..."

"Listen-"

"Wait! Let me finish!"

With one smooth move, Patrick brought you closer, so that you were sitting on his lap, and the suddenness of it left you speechless, which Bateman used to his advantage.

"See," he began, hugging you tightly. "You didn't say anything I didn't already know."

What? WHAT?

He was bluffing, no way Bryce told him everything, he would never do that to you, but on the other hand—why were you so confident that Bryce wouldn't tell his best friend to save their friendship? Even though you and Tim were close, Patrick and Timothy had a much closer bond.

"Tim told you everything?" You asked, feeling defeated and devastated.

"Not directly, but enough for me to understand the hidden meaning of the references he used whenever we talked about you."

You talked about me?

"I'm sorry," you laid your head on his shoulder before hiding your face in the crook of his neck and wrapping both of your hands around it. "I should have told you sooner."

"You told me when you were ready," he murmured softly, rubbing invisible circles on your back to soothe you. "I suppose you and I are finally even now."

"I guess you're right."

You cupped his face, pecking his temple, then the bridge of his perfectly framed nose, bathing his jawline with small kisses until you reached his lips to kiss him as lovingly as you could, wanting to convey all the emotions you felt for him through that kiss. 

This moment seemed too perfect, so when you heard a loud laugh that belonged to someone you knew quite well, you weren't surprised at all, because things couldn't be that good—not in real life.

"Oh, there they are, look at these lovebirds," Craig chuckled and then added. "Long time no see."

And of course McDermott was not alone, soon you noticed Van Patten and Bryce. "Where's Evelyn?" You asked, dismounting from Patrick and taking the seat next to him instead. "And Paul?"

Bryce smiled mischievously and pulled two bottles of alcohol out from behind his back. "I told Allen there was no alcohol in here, so he changed his mind," Tim said, placing the bottles on the small table next to the couch. "And Evelyn...she told me that she actually hates golf and that she'd rather go to the spa with Courtney—I didn't interfere. So are you just going to sit here or will you give me glasses?"

"You know, I was starting to like this new version of Bryce," David joked, rolling a cigar between his fingers. "Still a bitchy asshole, but with new functionality in his arsenal."

Everyone except Timothy began to laugh, Patrick being the volunteer who had decided to bring the glasses from the table on the other side of the tent terrace. 

"Have you lost the last of your brains or something?" Tim growled, smoothing back his hair, which was blacker than charcoal. "That chick you're with now will be the death of you, remember my words."

Bateman returned with glasses in the middle of the most intense part of the conversation about David's new girlfriend, who turned out to be the daughter of a very influential politician, and who had just returned from Cuba with a limited collection of cigars that Van Patten was so arrogantly bragging about. And somehow, you could finally admit to yourself that you missed the old days when you were a part of Wall Street life, even though sometimes you really hated it. But now, sitting among your ex-colleagues and your lover, you felt like you were in the right place, and that feeling was the most tranquilizing thing you had ever experienced.

Almost six months later, you and Patrick went back to Germany to attend Vincent and Andrea's wedding. This time, you didn't stop Bateman from taking a private jet for the trip, and it was your first flight on such a luxury aircraft—its interior looked even more lavish than in glamour magazines about the rich and famous. 

Sitting in the comfortable beige leather seat, you looked out the porthole where the clouds looked like a creamy dessert—the sight was mesmerizing and breathtaking, even though you weren't a fan of flying, but at the same time you couldn't say that you were aerophobic—you were definitely somewhere in between. While Patrick was away talking to the crew about something you didn't know, you had already finished counting the number of diamonds or other jewels that were used like a fancy decoration—there were about a hundred small gems all over the interior and it was insane because why would you need all of them in a damn plane? It wouldn't get off the ground without them, or what?

"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" Bateman's soft baritone echoed off the walls of the plane's interior. "You sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Yes," you replied and quickly adjusted the sleeves of your shirt. "I'm just wondering if Vincent and Andrea will like our gift."

"Who wouldn't? Everybody loves money," the man chuckled and sat down across from you. "I still don't understand how they decided to get married so quickly after dating for a few months?"

Frowning, you grunted. "They've been dating for more than six months now and they knew each other since childhood....Did you forget?"

The man just rolled his eyes and yawned tiredly. "Honey, I don't even remember Sean's birthday and he's my brother. What did you expect?"

Yeah, right, what did I expect?

"Uh, just don't say anything that will embarrass me at the wedding, okay?"

"I can keep quiet the whole wedding, it's no problem for me," Bateman winked at you and swirled his glass of scotch. " As long as someone decides to ask me some stupid questions."

"Like what?"

"Mmm...something Wall Street related," he purred in a sweet tone that was such a stark contrast to what he was actually saying. "’Oh, sir, are you really from New York City? I've heard a lot of stories about the bankers from Wall Street.’"

The way he tried to imitate a German accent made you slap his hand and shake your head in disapproval. "All the guests are educated people, stop acting like Europeans are less educated than Americans."

"I'm not gonna start this polemic," he chirped, suddenly standing up. "Sit here, I'll be right back."

And then he disappeared behind the elegant door, made of red wood, its surface shimmering from how polished it was, you could even see your own reflection, but you didn't see any reasons why Bateman was leaving somewhere again. Was there something wrong with the plane? Were we going to crash? A cold shiver ran down your spine at the mere thought of it.

Shake it off…just shake it off.

While you desperately tried to calm down, the door opened again, but you couldn't see anyone behind it. "Close your eyes."

Patrick's sudden order made you blink nervously in shock.

"Why?"

You heard him sigh in irritation. "Just do what I say. Is it so difficult?"

"Fine, fine! Just don't do anything crazy!"

"You'll like it, trust me," the man replied, closing the door behind him before coming closer. "Put your hands out in front of you."

Shit, shit, shit, why am I so nervous? What else can he do? He could just kick me off the plane... Jesus, what am I thinking?

Closing your eyes tightly, you obeyed and reached out to feel something soft, fluffy and warm. "Oh my God...WHAT IS THAT?" And then you heard a distinctive sound that you would never mistake for anything else—a meow. "Can I open my eyes? PLEASE?"

"Now you can."

As soon as you opened your eyes, you saw a little fluffy pile of black fur looking back at you with a pair of tiny blue eyes—you could barely keep yourself from bursting into tears. The black kitten meows louder as you bring it closer to peck its head and hold it gently.

"Patrick, I..." you could barely speak. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything—your reaction is enough," the man commented, sitting back in his seat. "I know we talked about you wanting a kitten...about you wanting to adopt a child," he paused, taking a moment to just admire your happiness at having one of your dreams come true. "I thought we should start with something."

This kitten was the most adorable creature you'd ever seen, so small, so vulnerable, that you would do anything to protect and care for it. "That's...you can't even imagine how much it means to me," you pecked the kitten again when you noticed something on its collar—something round and shiny—a ring...with a large diamond. "What an interesting collar decoration."

"Told you you'd like it."

"Wait," you stopped him. "Wait...is this...for me?"

"What exactly?" Patrick sneered teasingly and opened his arms. "This jet is for you...everything around you...is for you," he slowly got up and walked to your seat. "Including the ring. Will you marry me?"

Another meow pierced the room around you, and while you were still in a state of shock, Bateman didn't miss the chance to pet the kitten, whose little paws curled up to catch his finger.

Will you marry me?

This question suddenly reminded you of the countless times you had imagined him asking you this, and even though in your dreams you knew exactly how to act to make everything look perfect, when it finally happened in real life you were caught off guard, shocked, paralyzed.  With every second of your hesitation, Bateman grew more and more nervous. 

"Honey?" He called to you, tilting your head with his gentle touch to make you look at him. "Is something wrong? Don't you like the ring?"

"No..." you nuzzled against his palm, holding the kitten carefully in your hands. "It's perfect...everything is so perfect," and then you collapsed, letting the sparkling tears run down your cheeks. "Are you...really...sure you want this?"

To be fair, he was ready for anything, even rejection, but this—such a reaction was something beyond his understanding of human emotion—scared him to the point where he thought he might be doing something bad, something that would turn you away from him.

Still holding your chin, the man knelt down beside your seat. "How can you question my decisions after everything we've been through?"

"Patrick," you ran your hand through his slightly disheveled hair. "I just want to know that you're not doing this for me, but because you really want to."

The man paused and sighed. "Of all the decisions I have made, this is the most conscious," he murmured in a raspy voice. "Allow me to prove it."

Speechless, you could barely breathe, and when you nodded, Patrick carefully removed the ring from the kitten's collar and gently took your hand in his to place a ring on your index finger, then the man pressed a soft kiss on the top of your palm as if to seal the vow. 

"I love you, Patrick Bateman," you said as he stood and towered over you to press his forehead against yours, your noses rubbing against each other. "You are my greatest tragedy and blessing." 

With a soft chuckle, Patrick pressed you against his chest, hugging your shoulders with one hand and stroking the kitten with the other. "I'll take that as a compliment," he smiled, burying his nose in your carefully combed hair. "What are you going to name your new little friend?"

You hummed and looked down. "It's a boy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Mhmm...what if we name him Memento?" You asked, looking up at your fiancé. "Memento means memory-"

"Memento mori—remember you must die, I've heard it many times."

"Uh, yes, that remark about the inevitability of death. But before we die, we will make a lot of different memories...memories you will never want to forget....memories you and I will remember when we grow old."

You sobbed at your own words and Patrick had to shush you, pulling you closer into his warm embrace. "Shhh," he kissed the top of your head. "You're so full of sentiment, darling. That would be enough for both of us."

"We're going to live together for a long time, aren't we?"

"Of course," Bateman reassured you, stroking your hair. "And we will die on the same day. But before that, as you said, we would have a life to remember."

"And... if there is an afterlife?"

"Then I'll find you there," Patrick's voice was as calming as a mantra, enveloping you like a soothing mist. "But you don't have to think about it today. Or tomorrow, or fifty years from now. Right now, you better think about our speech at the wedding, because I hate the very idea of it."

Human memory is a very complicated thing—sometimes you want nothing more than to reboot your memory and erase all the bad memories from your head, but then you have amnesia, and people who suffer from it will do anything to get their memories back. Because memory is what makes us who we are, every little thing that happened to you in your life forms your personality, and sometimes a missing memory can feel like a black void inside your soul when you have a feeling that you forgot something, but you couldn't remember what exactly. After all, life is a kaleidoscope of ups and downs, a complex mixture of dark and bright colors, where every little detail matters. When you feel depressed, when you think there's nothing left for you to keep going—never give up fighting for your love and following your dreams, because we have only one life, and death is inevitable, but while you're alive, you're capable of doing anything. 

Memento mori, but never stop believing and living your best life.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[agentstarkid]

REVENANT ✦ DR3

The word "Revenant" originates from the French term meaning "one who returns", typically referring to someone who has come back from the dead. In a broader, metaphorical sense, it can signify a powerful return or revival of one's presence or influence after a period of absence or dormancy. Much like a phoenix rising from its ashes, a revenant embodies the idea of rebirth and transformation. This concept fits perfectly with the rebirth of someone's image, suggesting a dramatic resurgence where the individual re-emerges stronger and more resilient than before. Just as the phoenix symbolizes renewal and immortality, a revenant signifies the indomitable spirit of overcoming past setbacks and reasserting oneself with renewed vigor and purpose. In the context of personal reinvention, the revenant represents a profound metamorphosis, where an individual sheds their old self, overcoming the remnants of past failures, heartaches, and struggles.

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ PIT BOARD: social media au | ✦ FC: becky g

✦ TRACK LIMITS: just fluff and Rúben being a simp <3

✦ MAY'S RADIO: hooooli, guys! MERRY CHRISTMAS, FELIZ NAVIDAD!!! Sending you all big hugs and forehead kisses 🤗 it's been a while...*checks wristwatch* huh only six months 😅 if you are still here you have my full gratitude and love. Thank you for being patient with me 🖤 it's definiely been a crazy year for me, especially the second half of it! To the nonnie(s) that asked for more Rúben, this chapter is all for you 😘 and tysm for all the asks you send me, those are the highlight of my week! OH to the nonnie who didn't believe when I said it was coming this december...buen provecho, bebé 😏🖤

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JANUARY 3, 2023

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January 23, 2023

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yourinstagram Ain't got time for dying, I'm too busy thriving

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bohnes ✔ Song choice on point, attitude on fire 🔥

alexalbon ✔ YN, please, my girlfriend is on this app

lilymhe ✔ mooove I'm trying to stare at yn 😍 alexalbon ✔ lilymhe 😤😤😤 yourinstagram ✔ are we about to kiss rn?? lilymhe move noddle boy don't be greedy alexalbon

carmenmmundt ✔ oh my, yourinstagram drop the routine please 😍

rubendias ✔ Keep showing them how it’s done. That’s the woman I love ❤️

yourinstagram ✔ rubendias I know an amazing man from who I learn a lot from ❤️

andrew_allen ✔ can't stop, won't stop 🫡

chloestroll ✔ This is the energy we all need in our lives

pauljasonklein ✔ They weren’t ready for this level of unbothered energy 💅

lewishamilton ✔ Let your success be the loudest clapback

chappellroan ✔ They’re watching, wishing they had your strength

mariahthescientist ✔ some people are just background noise while you're center stage

taylorswift ✔ Imagine thinking you could mess with Y/N

saweetie ✔ mood: middle finger up, success all around 🖕💅

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FEBRUARY 1, 2023

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FEBRUARY 4, 2023

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yourinstagram 08.03.23 💋

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user EVERYONE GET UP POP LATIN EMERGENCY

lilymhe ✔ WE WILL BE STREAMING

tchalamet ✔ seated.

ameliadimz ✔ omg

user3 Can't wait!! what kind of vibes are we getting this time?

user4 WE ARE READY FOR THE NEW ERAAAAAAA

user5 This video has such powerful energy! It’s like Y/N saying, ‘I’m done with the bullshit and I’m stronger than ever’ Can’t wait to hear these songs 🤩

madelyncline ✔ i canceled my plans for this

user6 She’s burning it all down—those love notes are GONE. She’s rising from the ashes stronger than ever!!

sabrinacarpenter ✔ I forgot how to breathe omg

user7 ARE THOSE THE LOVE NOTES BEING BURNED???!!! AND SHE CHOSE TODAY OF ALL DAYS TO POST IT??? 😭

userA choosing what would've been her 3rd anniversary with daniel to post this video is a bold move lmao she is THAT BITCH and she done giving af as she mahfucking should 👏👏

user8 The flames reflecting in her eyes, the love notes, and then that last frame of her just looking unbothered?? QUEEN 👑

user9 Sis is burning down everything that doesn’t serve her anymore. This album is about to be a masterpiece of heartbreak and growth 🔥💔

user10 This video is EVERYTHING. She’s putting her past in the fire, and it’s only making her stronger. Album of the year incoming!! 🤩

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MARCH 1, 2023

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yourinstagram Last night was a dream I never imagined. Thank you, billboard, for the Impact Award – an honor I share with every single person fighting for change, for equality, for representation. 🌟

Using my platform to support underrepresented communities across the U.S. and Latin America is my greatest privilege, but the work is far from over. We have a long road ahead, and it’s up to all of us to keep pushing for a world where every voice is heard and every dream has a chance. 💖

I made a vow to my community, to my family, to my younger self that maybe the promise wasn’t that I wouldn’t leave where I came from, but that I would take where I’m from wherever I go. Without fear, there is no courage and with that same courage, we can make impact. This isn’t just my award – it’s for everyone who stands up, speaks out, and lifts others up. Let’s keep going, together ✨

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rubendias ✔ ¡Parabéns, anjo! Eres un ejemplo de cómo usar tu voz para el bien. Sigue brillando, mi amor 💖 [⥂ translation: Congratulations, angel! You are an example of how to use your voice for good. Keep shining, my love 💖]

userA WAIT HE SPEAKS SPANISH, TOO?! 😳 SHUUUUUTCHOO MOUFF 🥵 userB yourinstagram when's the wedding???

mrodofficial ✔ YESSS!! You’re a real one, always out here making waves. Congrats, mi reina 👑🖤

dovecameron ✔ no one's more deserving than you 🖤

user Some people tried to dim your light, but you’ve only grown brighter. You’re showing everyone what it means to rise above the noise and make a REAL impact. We’re so proud of you!

americaferrera ✔ An award that reflects the beautiful person you are, inside and out. You deserve this and so much more. Love you! ❤️

taylorswift ✔ So proud of you!! Your heart, your talent, your impact—everything you do inspires me and so many others. Congrats on this well-deserved award! 💖

user2 THIS is what we love to see—someone making waves and lifting others up. Thank you for being the role model we all need

user3 Seeing you win this award after all the struggles you faced… WOW. You’re a shining example of strength and perseverance

fioamato Girl, they tried to knock you down, but you’ve only risen higher 🔥

lizzo ✔ LEGEND. You inspire so many people and this award proves that. Keep shining, sis! 💫🙌

rosalia.vt ✔ ¡Felicidades hermosa! Esto es solo el principio de todo lo que estás logrando. Te quiero mucho ❤️🔥 [⥂ translation: Congrats beautiful! This is just the beginning of everything you are achieving. I love you so much.]

itsvittoriasousa What they don’t understand is that you’ve always been more than the noise. You’ve been quietly making waves, and now the world is seeing the real you ❤️

user4 While others were busy trying to tear you down, you were busy lifting others up. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you legendary 🙌

karolg ✔ ¡Esooo! Siempre tan increíble en todo lo que haces. Te lo mereces, Y/N. 💖✨ #BossLady [⥂ translation: That's right! Always so amazing in everything you do. You deserve it, Y/N.]

user5 You’ve faced the storm with grace and turned it into something powerful. Your dedication to helping others shows what a true queen you are. We love you, Y/N! 💕👑

iamdannaschwarz Congrats babe!!! You’re such a force, I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished. This is just the beginning. 💫💜

greeicy ✔ ¡Yasss! ¡Tú lo mereces todo! Proud of you, amiga, sigue rompiendo barreras y haciendo historia. 💪🏽💜

halsey ✔ Your heart is as big as your talent. This award couldn’t have gone to a better person. Congrats, love! 💕

evalongoria ✔ 👏👏👏 You’re a true inspiration, keep using that platform for good. So proud of you, love! 💖

anitta ✔ QUEEN! You’re killing it and this is just proof. Congrats on everything! 💃🏼💖

evaluna ✔ Te quiero y te admiro tanto!! You’re an inspiration to all of us. Congrats on this award, it’s so deserved ❤️✨

salmahayek ✔ ¡Esooo! Siempre haciendo la diferencia. You’re a true star inside and out. Proud of you, mi reina! 🔥💜

cardib ✔ Yessss!!! You out here doing big things, mama! Keep shining and making that impact 💪🏽🔥

ivyqueendiva ✔ Pa'lante siempre, mami! Este premio es solo un reflejo de la grandeza que llevas dentro. ¡Felicidades! 💜👑

nattinatasha ✔ ¡Orgullosa de ti, siempre usando tu voz para el bien! Congrats, amiga, te lo mereces. 💖🙌

sza ✔ Your power is undeniable, and your heart even more so. Congrats, babe! Keep changing the world. 🌍💫

user6 the video of her meeting lana is sooo cute!! you can clearly see how excited and nervous she was 🥹

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APRIL 2, 2023

liked by xtina, danielricciardo, rubendias and 2,145,873 others

yourinstagram I'm not a martyr, I'm a problem 💋 This record is my heart laid bare—stories of love, loss, strength, and everything in between. It’s raw, vulnerable, and unapologetically me. ✨ These songs are my heart in harmony, and I hope they find a place in yours.

This one’s for the fighters, the dreamers, and anyone who’s ever rebuilt themselves from the ashes. To everyone who’s been on this journey with me—thank you for waiting, supporting, and giving me your love through it all ❤️‍🔥 REVENANT IS OUT NOW‼️

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rubendias ✔ A masterpiece from a woman who’s already the greatest work of art 💯❤️

yourinstagram ✔ And yet somehow, you’re the one who leaves me speechless 😘

maya_hawke ✔ what the heck girl this is sooooo good!!!

luisinhaoliveira99 the queen is back ❤️ ily

phoebebridgers ✔ Creating magic with you was a dream. So proud of the song and so proud of you. 🖤✨

leonbridges ✔ It was an honor to bring superbloom to life with you. Your vision and talent are next level—this album is pure gold 🙌🏿

reesewitherspoon ✔ favorites so far: 1. Superbloom 2. Nightmare 3. Who's afraid of little old me?

kelseaballerini ✔ on repeat all day! ily, you beautiful mind

halsey ✔ They tried to bury you, but you grew roots instead

taylorswift ✔ Another masterpiece from the queen herself

yourinstagram ✔ what can I say, I have a great mentor 🤷🏽‍♀️💖

lewishamilton ✔ Even from the ashes, we still rise 💜

yourinstagram ✔ lewishamilton It’s not about how we fall but how we rise—and you’ve always reminded me of that. Love you, big bro 💜 Forever grateful.

natalie_pinkham ✔ Some stories are worth waiting for ❤️

userA can I just say that I love how all of Daniel's friends are always so lovely towards her even if they've been broken up for over a year, that kind of let's you know what kind of a person she is 🥹

martingarrix ✔ Proud to see you create something this special! Absolutely incredible 👏🏻

sabrinacarpenter ✔ I was NOT ready for this album! wow, just wow

lancebass ✔ I haven't even gotten through the whole thing because I had to keep playing so many over and over and over! You done GOOD Y/N! ❤️❤️

yourinstagram ✔ UHM HELLO?? I LOVE YOU??? ❤️

user A year of silence, and then BOOM! Y/N just reminded everyone why she’s untouchable. This album is art. 🔥

scottyjames31 ✔ I'm sure all of Monaco already knows every lyric from the album from being on repeat for hours 🤘🏻

user2 the important question here is... have daniel already listened to the album????? 👀👀👀

userA user BESTIE I THINK HE DEFINITELY DID HE JUST LIKED HER POST!!! userB somebody send the cia to his house bcuz I need to know if he is on the floor, on his knees, tears falling to the ground, pathetic, gripping his chest to try and stop the pain 😤

user3 I was honestly expecting more songs about Danielito on the album

userA bestie sameee! but I have this theory that she's saving those more heart-wrenching songs for later 😶‍🌫️ userB userA yes yes yes bc u can't tell me she only wrote like 9 songs for him?? fuck no, she's evil (lovingly) she's gonna drop those when we least expect it and leave us in shambles i just know it

user4 The best art is created from struggle and sadness,,, this album is sad and real and Y/N,,, It makes me wanna punch anyone that hurt that woman's feelings,,, but no one can punch them worse than Y/N and her piano, guitar and pen. happy she found happiness

noahkahan ✔ obsessed ❤️

reneerapp ✔ For the life of me, I can’t comprehend how someone can deliver a perfect song like camera roll? You have such an incredible tone, your pen game is unreal…

user5 She went through hell and came back like this?!! Y/N, you’re a literal goddess. This album is everything and more

sophiet ✔ girl you bet it's been on repeat ALL DAY LONG ❤️

keleighteller ✔ The charts are shaking already ❤️

user6 This album is a reminder that no matter what life throws at her, Y/N is always going to come out on top. She just keeps winning 👑

daughtry ✔ This is what music is all about—raw, real, and unforgettable. Huge congrats! 👏

user7 Why is ‘Camera Roll’ making me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel today? this song just ripped me apart & ruined me GOODNIGHT !!!!!

userA she just knows how to capture that bittersweet nostalgia perfectly userB knowing how much she loves photography I KNOW her camera roll is full of photos of Daniel 😭 I'd sell my soul to be able you go through each and every single one of them userC It’s not just about scrolling through pictures; it’s about how those photos hold pieces of a love that’s no longer there. As someone who loves photography too, it hits so deep—those little moments captured forever, but the person’s gone 💔 userD she was so right abt going through your camera roll. do not touch that shit. oh my god.

user8 'I’m Not a Woman, I’m a God' is THAT song. Y/N’s on her goddess energy and I’m here for every second of it 👑

user9 When 'Traitor' came on, I felt that in my soul. She put her whole heart into this one 💔😭 Daniel u better ruuuuuun #JusticeForYN

user10 the whole album going from being so full of rage and anger with the first songs to heartbreak and hurt to resignation and acceptance to finding happiness and falling in love again is just sooo chef's kiss!!!!

user11 was having a good day and then I listened to doomsday and now i’m crying in my car before work

user12 I can’t get over how vulnerable 'The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived' is. It’s so poetic but hits like a dagger 💔

userA that song is definitely about Sebastián The Rat userB "You didn't measure up in any measure of a man" sheeeeesh if I was him I'd go to the furthest place on earth and never show my face again userC he should have just stay quiet lmao she murdered him

user13 the smallest man who ever lived was written for people with exes who will never take accountability for their own actions , thank u y/n

user14 Quisiera borrarme la memoria y volver a darle play a “Space Cowboy” esperando que la canción fuera sobre un vaquero espacial y luego darte cuenta que es sobre dejar ir al vaquero del que estás enamorado porque ya no quiere estar contigo

user15 Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve is the darkest song Y/N has ever written. I’m literally nauseous, it was grooming point blank. And Y/N called him out on it

userA “Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first” is giving me chills userB sebastian's days are so very numbered I feel SICK after listening to it userC ‘Memories are weapons.’ The heaviness of that, and the way all of us that have experienced trauma felt that line. userD it was seriously so heartbreaking and her vocals literally sound like longing to be set free from those dark memories and wanting to erase the experience still having to bear the toll it takes on you

user16 i love how in dear reader y/n starts giving us advice and tells us to never take advice from someone who's falling apart and a few seconds later she's literally falling apart, even when she's giving advice you can hear a distorted voice say "you should find another" that song is a masterpiece

user17 I can’t stop cryinggggg with ‘Bigger Than the Whole Sky’ 💔😭 This song… I’m devastated. Knowing it was written for Daniel just makes it hit even harder. The emotion in every lyric is unreal

userA that song is so hauntingly beautiful. Y/N’s voice captures the pain of losing someone so perfectly. You can feel the heartbreak in every note, she’s singing all the things we never say when love ends. This one’s going to stay with me for a long time 🥺 userB "Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness" just cuts me so deep userC This song made me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel 🥺 is like Y/N’s goodbye letter to Daniel, but the love is still there, in every lyric. You can feel the weight of the love she lost in every single word 💔 userD She turned heartbreak into art, and now I’m over here crying my eyes out

user18 who the hell allowed y/n l/n to write “nothing new” and then ALSO have phoebe bridgers feature on it cause OW

user19 this whole album was so well curated like it went from female rage to heartbreak to sadness to a (small) "i'm in love again" interlude to acceptance and finally "this is me, i'm human"

user20 Rúben Dias has this girl in her feels, huh?

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rubendias To the world, she’s a superstar. To me, she’s everything 🌍💙 Orgulhoso, anjo 😘 Happy Revenant Day everyone!

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yourinstagram ✔ te amo meu céu 💙

jackgrealish ✔ if I had a dollar for every time u mentioned Y/N’s album these past month I’d be able to buy them all myself! 😂😂 big congrats youinstagram 💙 album is fire! 🔥

♥ yourinstagram likes this

zecondessa ✔ Ser o teu melhor amigo significa que recebo passes grátis para os bastidores? 👀

⥂ translation: Does being your best friend mean I get free backstage passes? 👀

bernardocarvalhosilva ✔ parabéns a ela por ser a super-estrela e a si por de alguma forma a convencer a ficar consigo! 😬 [⥂ translation: Congrats to her on being a superstar and to you for somehow convincing her to stay with you! 😬]

yourinstagram ✔ obrigada, bernardocarvalhosilva! hmm convincing might be a stretch—but his cooking did help to seal the deal. I stay well-fed and well-loved ☺️

ivandias03 Guess I’ll have to start saying "my brother’s girlfriend just dropped the best album of the year" now, huh? 😆 Parabéns yourinstagram 👏🏽❤️

yourinstagram ✔ ivandias03 obrigado Vanzinho ❤️

erling.haaland ✔ Mate you must have some serious charm because Y/N is in a whole different league! 😂 Congrats to her on the album!! big respect to her! 🔥

user THEY are everything to me

user2 he's acting like he's not the best CB in the world right now...

userA he's also the best boyfriend 😏 yourinstagram ✔ userA retweeted liked reblogged pinned userB yourinstagram QUEEN YOU ONLY DESERVE THE BEST OF THE BEST!!

mancity ✔ brb going to add the whole album to our game day playlist 🏃🏽‍♂️‍➡️

user3 Long live to the only man that matters: Rúben Dias 😍❤️

user3 he calls her "his angel" someone fucking hold me i'm sobbing

user4 rúben is so supportive and you can tell he really adores her. She deserves it 💖

user5 me adoptan? lavo los platos

user6 fan de su relación 😍

user7 I don't know which one of them is more gorgeous

user8 not to start any drama but Heidi whatchu doing here girl 👀

userA fun fact: her and rúben have been following each other for years userB she's allowed to like posts she likes 🤷‍♀️ userC it's just weird she's liking HIS post about the woman she replaced userD i think u all are reading too much into it. she's a known actress in portugal ofc he's gonna know abt her and he's a footballer in the portuguese nt so ofc she knows him

user9 Do you ever stop and think about how lucky Ruben is? Y/N L/N is an absolutely stunning latina billionaire who is genuinely sweet, hilarious, smart, can dance, speaks various languages, and also happens to be the one of the biggest artists in history. Those Aussies really fumbled the bag.

userA user9 and how lucky y/n is since ruben is a 6’2” professional athlete who happens to be on of the best in his position, took the league by storm, is emotionally very intelligent and absolutely handsome. Why do you guys keep mentioning another man when that relationship ended 1 year ago? let it go elsa userB "Those Aussies really fumbled the bag." What did I do? userC If you ask Ruben, there are no ifs, ands, or buts, SHE’S the prize. He worships her. Most likely he asks himself every day how he managed to snag her. But it is also true that he’s sexy af, sweet, rich, and the best there ever was in what he does. So, yeah, she’s also lucky. user9 All of y’all getting mad about this comment are funny. Of course she’s lucky to have Rúben, too. One glance at my profile will show you I’m a big fan of his. That’s just not what this comment was about. And you know who would agree with me about how lucky Rúben is? RÚBEN.

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APRIL 14, 2023

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yourinstagram Mi gente, did you know 96% of the population here in Coachella is Latino? ✨Pura raza✨This years festival lineup gives me so much hope for more space, opportunity & representation for our Latin communities. Honored to have made it to the main stage this year. There are no words. Agradecida y bendecida. It’ll take me a minute to process all that was these last two weekends. But for now, just… THANK YOU. ✨💖 #Y/NCHELLA

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user1 how did she have a glow up on top of a glow up on top of already being beautiful

oliviarodrigo ✔ Queen of Coachella right there 👑🔥 You did that!

lilnasx ✔ sis you SNAPPED!! You own every stage you step on

manuelturizo ✔ Lo diste todo, reina 🔥🔥 Felicitaciones por ese show tan brutal!!

jbalvin ✔ 💥🔥 Tremendo show, felicidades! ¡Orgullo latino!

user2 i'm sick bc why am i not there

zedd ✔ you brought the heat 🔥

fioamato Coachella just wasn’t ready for that level of slay, babe 🔥🖤

emmachamberlain ✔ The energy, the vibes, the stage presence!! You absolutely smashed it 🌈✨

YOU DID THAT BABY! 🔥🔥 We need to collab soon, for real!!

kaliuchis ✔ Coachella was YOURS! Such a beautiful and powerful performance 💖

luisfonsi ✔ ¡Qué espectáculo! So proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished 🔥

user3 come fa a essere sempre cosi divina

user4 she ate it so bad she’s REALLY an A LIST

user5 Say what you want about her but Miss Y/N can PERFORM!!

lelepons ✔ GIRL you were UNSTOPPABLE up there!! So much love for you!

theestallion ✔ Babe!! That was a SHOWWW!!! You brought the energy 🔥 Love you!

you ATE sis! That performance was wild

user6 O CABELO, A ROUPA, ELA, MEU DEUS QUE MULHER PERFECTA

♥ rubendias ✔ liked this

user7 not to be dramatic but this changed my life

haileesteinfeld ✔ Unstoppable 🔥🔥 You absolutely owned that stage. Congrats, love!!

user8 i am foaming at the mouth

user9 Queen energy all the way! You lit that stage up 💥👏

milliebobbybrown ✔ OMG YOU WERE UNREAL!! So proud of you, babe 💖

postmalone ✔ WILD performance!! You had the crowd going crazy 🔥 Congrats!

user10 i cried 2x, couldn't catch my breath 5x being there was life changing

userA the crowd actually went wild for her userB HER STAGE PRESENCE IS INSANEEEE

user11 She's an icon, she's a legend and she is the moment

user12 can't believe someone fumbled THE Y/N L/N

♥ rubendias ✔ liked this

user13 LOOK AT HER SHE'S IN HER I MADE IT MOMENT

userA Finally she deserves it userB now this is what I want to see at coachella userC she killed it! best performance of the day userD such a baddie

user14 when i tell you it was PACKED of celebs... THIS QUEEN DID THAT AND NOT ONLY ONCE, BUT BOTH WEEKENDS!!!

userA no fr shawn mendes, bad bunny, sabrina carpenter, billie eilish... userB LEWIS WAS THERE TOO!! userC my man was vibing hard throughout her whole set

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APRIL 28, 2023

Y/N L/N ON Heartbreak, Healing, and Reclaiming Her Power | Jay Shetty Podcast

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MAY 7, 2023

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yourinstagram Fast cars, hot nights and Miami lights 🏁🌆

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lilymhe ✔ In Miami the sun isn't the only thing that's blazing

redbullracing ✔ I thought we had something special 😔

yourinstagram ✔ redbullracing sorry, I also thought the same thing once about someone and... yeah 😬 redbullracing ✔ yourinstagram 😳😔💔 landonorris ✔ F in the chat fioamato 🍿🍿👀 userA Y/N 😲 LMAOOOO andrew_allen smh 😦😮‍💨

schecoperez ✔ Espero que hayas pasado genial. Es bueno compartir de nuevo! [⥂ translation: I hope you had a great time. It was good to hang out again!]

user WHEN I SAW HER ON BRUNDLE'S GRID WALK I SCREAMEDDD

userA martin is one of the girls, he also wants the tea lmao i mean asking her "I know you and some of the drivers go way back—anyone here you’re /particularly excited/ to catch up with this weekend?" and making specific emphasis on those words was wilddddd lol

user2 checo what are you doing here mate

landonorris ✔ Can’t believe they let you back in here…Good to see you haven’t forgotten your way around the paddock!

yourinstagram landonorris I just followed the sound of your whining and found my way back 🤷🏽‍♀️ glad to know things haven't changed, landito 😊 userA wtf why is she being rude to him??? userB userA relaxxx they're just joking!!! they actually get along well, they've always pretended to be annoyed by the other it's a running joke 😂

user3 not her posting a merc photo right after red bull posted her on their socials lmao

userA she's said she's a merc girlie userB nah she's a merc girlie by proxy, she's a Hamilton girlie she's said it herself

lewishamilton ✔ nice to have you back sis 💜

user4 so paddock comeback AND a world tour announcement?!? oh she SPOILS us for reaaaaal

user5 Okay, here we go. Focus. Speed. I am speed. One winner, forty-two losers. I eat losers for breakfast. Speed. Faster than fast, quicker than quick. I am Lightning ⚡

userA girl u okay? 👀 user userA i'm saying my affirmations and training my reflexes for when that tickets link drops getcha get my head in the game yk 🫡

user6 checo wants to see the world burn lmao

userA fr fr i can't with the fact that he invited her to the rbr hospitality when daniel and heidi were around the paddock lmao userB i NEED to know if they crossed paths!!! i want all the tea userC some gossip pages say that both parties tried hard not to cross paths, going as far as Y/N going to the hospitality only once the team made sure Daniel OR Heidi weren't there userB yikes that's a little petty innit userA userB if it were u in her shoes would u like to be face to face with ur ex and the girl he changed u for? i'd be even pettier ngl she deserves to be as petty as her heart desires

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MAY 14, 2023

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yourinstagram Happy 25th birthday to the man who somehow always knows exactly what to say—whether in his quiet, thoughtful pauses or his easy laughter, that deep, genuine laugh that’s impossible not to join in ❤️

I love the way you watch the world with that quiet, thoughtful gaze, noticing beauty where others might pass it by. I love the way you bring passion to everything you do—from the way you fold your shirts to the way you double-knot your shoes with that focused little frown, how you playfully roll your eyes at my ‘brilliant’ tik tok ideas that never leave my drafts, and always manage to know when I need a hug, even if I won’t say it out loud. I love the way you insist on folding towels just so, even when you know I’ll mess them up again. I cherish how you hum little tunes without realizing it, how you light up talking about home, about your favorite dishes (where you never miss a chance to remind me that bacalhau & arroz de pato are life 🤌🏽), and how you insist on making everything from scratch because, to you, life’s beauty is in the details.

Thank you for being the gentleness in my chaos, the warmth in my winters, for always reminding me to find my own light, and be the love I never saw coming. Thank you for being you ❤️ Here’s to more adventures, more laughter, and more nights cooking by your side.

I miss you!!!! Counting the hours to see you ⏳

Te amo un mundo, mi cielo ❤️‍🔥

tagged: rubendias

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rubendias ✔ God I'm so in love with you. You’re everything ❤️

ivandias03 ❤️

user oh don't mind me, I just got a "Thank you for being the gentleness in my chaos, the warmth in my winters" in my eyes 😭😭😭😭😭

jackgrealish ✔ love u both 💙💙💙

itsvittoriasousa Feliz aniversário, Gato! 🎉 obrigada por fazê-la tão feliz! ☺️

rubendias ✔ itsvittoriasousa Não tens de quê, ela é meu presente mais precioso 😌

user2 wait is she not at Goodison Park? I thought her last story from a plane was to go to Liverpool

userA I don't think so, tomorrow's Chloe & Scotty's wedding in Venice, she must be there userB wow so she'd rather go to a wedding than spent his birthday with him 🙃girlfriend of the year lmao userC userB 1. he has a game today so most likely he'll be focus on that so I don't think he'll have too much time to party tonight and 2. I'm pretty sure they've talked about their plans beforehand and both are happy with it sooo GET LOST!

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MAY 15, 2023

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JUNE 10 - 13, 2023

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✦ MAY'S RADIO: ok ok thoughts? wanna hear all about it, pleasee! 👀 I might've change the album cover and the songlist a thousand times already, and I might've done it again if I didn't post it now. I didn't wanna have too many t-swizzle songs because, well, she exist in this universe, but she's just too relatable ya know?

[meiusoo-twistedtwst]

NRC Faces the Sorting Hat…

Hear me out this is ranked by a serious Potterhead who has DELVED into the associations of each house so allow me to share my thoughts on which Hogwarts house the NRC guys would possibly be sorted into —>

TREY & Cater seem like master manipulators, especially if all those overthrowing Riddle to reclaim Cater’s title as dorm leader theories are true (haven’t read Cater’s ch. 7 arc I rlly need to😭)

Azul & Vil are literally so ambitious, like Azul tried to erase his own past to theoretically present himself as a whole new, blank-slate person with absolutely no embarrassments or flaws while Vil’s determination drove him to insanity as he cunningly used Neige’s trust to try to POISON him

I think Ruggie & Jamil are very self-explanatory as they’re both ambitious & cunning, scheming guys. I chose Slytherin over Hufflepuff for Ruggie as although he’s extremely hardworking & relatively patient (he cleans up after Leona, not a job for the impatient) but he’s not actually all that loyal I don’t think. He only bonded with & followed after Leona because it would benefit him though… (now as I’m writing this I’m starting to think he might actually be a Hufflepuff-)

Silver & Sebek both showed lots of Hufflepuff traits but ultimately the events of Ch.7 pushed me to place them in Gryffindor instead. Just imagine how difficult it would be to turn your sword against the guy you’ve known & loved your whole life? The guy you had once sworn absolute obedience & loyalty to? They’re prime reinforcers as to why Neville Longbottom was in Gryffindor (it takes bravery to stand up against your own friends)

Ace & Deuce: Same thing as above but to a less extreme extent. Arguably, if the Ace is a traitor theories are true then he’d be a strong runner up for Slytherin with how cunning he is. I was hesitant with Deuce since he might be a Hufflepuff, but his background as a delinquent & his willingness to rebel against authority (cough cough Riddle cough) when he could have just stayed completely loyal like Trey (who may have just been plotting Riddle’s fall from grace then) made me put him in Gryffindor

Floyd was between Slytherin & Gryffindor but I don’t think he’s actually all that cunning? Like he knows he’s intimidating & uses that to his advantage but otherwise he doesn’t actively use detailed plots the same way Jade or Azul do? Plus, he’s just not afraid of anything; very brave

Epel was brave for being rebellious & rejecting peer pressure for the most part- definitely hard to say no when your dorm leader is a literal celebrity & accomplished student. Jack is also very self explanatory with how he’s not afraid to stand apart from the crowd (seen in Ch. 2) & he was never so blindly loyal to Leona to the point where he’d ignore or not notice his flaws

+He wasn’t on the Tier maker but I’d put Grim in Gryffindor with how recklessly brave he is (literally so chaotic & constantly defies authority)

I know what you’re all thinking but hear me out… Crowley is a bad (or at least morally grey) Hufflepuff. He preaches love, graciousness, & kindness- which are all dominantly Hufflepuff ideals, & people always overlook this but you don’t actually have to be a nice person to be in Hufflepuff. Every house is capable of producing dark wizards (there was an evil Hufflepuff in Hogwarts Legacy !) so even all those suspicions that Crowley might be downright evil could still make him a Hufflepuff, just not the stereotypical one. If he 100% idealizes kindness, even if he doesn’t positively reinforce it, then he’s still a Hufflepuff (though he is admittedly really Slytherin too)

Kalim is self-explanatory but I did kinda consider Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. Kalim is brave to keep Jamil around even after he tried to defame him & he’s strong enough to keep a genuine smile on his face despite being betrayed & facing near death situations all his life. Now I know Kalim isn’t book smart but he has really high emotional intelligence, he knows a lot more than he lets on, as shown by some of the inquisitive things he says to others

my house :p

Crewel’s got that academically smart (alchemy must be hard) & creative mix (his passion for fashion), I feel like Sam values insight & knowledge mainly to increase sales but just valuing those things makes him a Ravenclaw, & I just put Trein in Ravenclaw because he likes history & different cultures (although he could be a Hufflepuff with his loyalty, dunno though since that’s really just him being a good husband)

Lilia could be a Hufflepuff, with his love & loyalty to the Draconia royal family, but his vast wisdom & eccentricity made me put him in Ravenclaw instead, though I am kinda hesitant about it. With Leona, I know he’d totally be a Slytherin with how cunning he is & although he’s very ambitious, he’s so lazy it’s counterproductive to his desires. But I put him in Ravenclaw because he’s actually so smart & very knowledgeable, wise even

The Shroud brothers honestly could have been in Hufflepuff with their family loyalty, but Idia’s attitude pushed him into Ravenclaw instead. He also loves delving deep into his passions & interests, using knowledge to his advantage. Same with Ortho since he’s a walking encyclopedia & also takes full advantage of his constant access to data banks & the whole internet. The Shrouds are almost like eternal, nonstop knowledge gatherers, especially with how their family literally devotes themselves to researching overblot

Rook is pretty self-explanatory with his intense curiosity & his pursuit for beauty could also be interpreted as a pursuit for diversifying one’s knowledge of the world so one could embrace all the beauty within different cultures & such. But he is also very Hufflepuff with how nice & insanely loyal he is… (so loyal to all he almost isn’t loyal….)

Jade could be a Slytherin, but I don’t think he’s as ambitious as Azul? He uses cunning much more often but otherwise, his genuine fascination with mushrooms & human life places him in Ravenclaw as at his core, Jade’s really into research & gaining more knowledge of a world on land that he was once a stranger to

I was thinking Slytherin could be a good fit for Malleus but I’m hesitant for some reason ..??

Don’t know much about Vargas’s personality & I wanted to avoid just tossing him in Gryffindor to mindlessly follow the jock=Gryffindor stereotype

I know many would put Riddle in Ravenclaw, & at surface level, I would do the same. But to be in Ravenclaw you actually have to believe knowledge is power…& Riddle doesn’t actually love constantly pursuing knowledge. Even if he thinks academics are important, he would have never been studying so diligently if it wasn’t for his mother’s influence and control over his childhood….

•°. *࿐ •°. *࿐ •°. *࿐

Where would you sort everyone?

🎄Merry Christmas everyone~

[luvzxr]

Little Pougie

Hi! I'm back from a long break. I've been working on this book that originally is posted on wattpad and it's ongoing currently. I wanted to branch out from my previous posts from video games to shows as well.

This story also is originally using my OC's name and I'm not very good with coming up with alternatives to make the story for people who want to use their OC's or their own names. I will do my best though because I also don't like using the (Y/N) stuff but we shall see. anyways, onto chapter one.

01. Kegger

I wish I had stayed at home, curled up on the couch with my hair up in a messy bun and some stupid microwaveable meal on the coffee table in front of me. I wish I never let my older brother, John B, rip me away from the comfort of our own home to come to a kegger, or in other words- a party that I most certainly did not want to attend.

"John B," I tugged the hem of his loosely worn shirt. I've been so uneasy the entire night I've completely forgotten what it means to be content, "when are we leaving?"

"Just a little longer, Poguie. I promise," He gave a soft but playful nudge with his elbow.

'Just a little longer' means we'll be here till daybreak or until I pester him enough to drive me home himself. Time meant nothing to him when a Pouge party was happening.

I was more than eager to go back home and I grew more and more impatient the longer I stood there in hopes John B would change his mind and offer me a ride home of his own free will but that would only happen if hell froze over.

Pouges had no reason to throw parties, they just would and at this point being the sister of one and considered one myself by our peers and friends you would think I'd have no problem with participating but the word parties always left a bitter taste on the tip of my tongue. In what way does a night filled with hammered teenagers and raging migraines the next morning sound appealing?

The time we spent there grew longer and once it hit ten o'clock I couldn't take it anymore and made the utter decision to leave my older brother's side and push past the sweaty bodies and blotched faces.

I was sure that John B would grow increasingly tense once he'd start to realize my absence and after having practically the whole town on a wild goose chase- only to find me safely at home and also find time to lecture me about how I need to stay with him at all times. Yet I couldn't find even just an ounce in me to care about the repercussions of leaving on my own.

Luckily, none of John B's friends were around to stop me from reaching the main road, as everyone I left behind were either trying to find any way possible of getting a free hook up or a free buzz.

All I could keep my mind set on was crashing on the couch and tuning out to either The Vampire Diaries or jamming out to a random playlist of mine on the stereo. To some that might be one of the most boring activities you could be doing on a Friday night but to me it sounded like absolute bliss.

I wanted to die, After what felt like hours of heaving and gasping for air, I had finally reached the house where I could kick off my Chuck Taylor's and crash on the couch with my original plan. But first, I needed a snack because my stomach was probably on the verge of kicking my own butt if I didn't prioritize the next five seconds of finding something to satisfy the hunger.

I make my way to our kitchen, flicking on the light, and began scanning through the different varieties of food held within the cabinets and fridge. I quickly settled with a chocolate pudding cup stashed in the very back of our cabinet that seemed my brother tried to hide so desperately.

"Little Pouge?"

"Jesus!" I shrieked, practically throwing my enclosed pudding cup as a poor excuse for self-defense. If there was an actual intruder he'd probably have already made off with what we had left that was considered valuable.

I relax my nerves upon seeing a much more familiar blonde boy standing in the doorway and not an intruder ready to high-tail out of here with whatever he could.

"Sorry." a sheepish grin creeping on his face, "didn't mean to startle you, Little one."

JJ Maybank is my big brother's best friend since the third grade and he's also one of the very few people I didn't mind stopping by whenever he felt like it and lounge around the house as if he lived here himself. He's been in my life for as long as I could even remember because John B was never without him and ever since our father went missing it was always me, John B, and JJ so that surely helped our bond develop over time.

'Little Pouge' however was a nickname given to me by my brother and his friends. It was something the Pouges wanted to have special for me considering to them that 'y/n/n' was too bland to call me. I don't know a single one of them who doesn't call me Little Pouge or Pougie. That nickname has been with me for so long that even Kooks seem to be catching onto the idea of being referred to as those rather than my birth name.

Many Kooks have tried calling me the nickname's just to get under John B's skin or even JJ's but a lot of the time that ended in the boys beating a Kook to a pulp and the rest of their night spent in a six by eight foot holding cell and the horrible back pains that came with it in the morning when I'd bail them out.

I feel my face grow hot from embarrassment, "What are you doing here JJ?"

"John B couldn't find you so he sent me out looking for ya," he says, giving a curt nod towards the direction behind him, indicating my brother sent him out to hunt me down.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. John B acts as if I can't spend even just a little bit of time by myself anywhere and that I constantly need someone to watch over me like a little kid- I'm not a little kid, I'm a year younger than him, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.

I let out a groan, "I'm not a little kid, JJ. When is he going to understand that."

He made his way over to me, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbow on the countertop and his chin in the palm of his hand.

"He's just worried about you (y/n). You're the only family he's got left other than our little group as far as he knows." JJ states. "Plus, with all the Kooks at the party too he was worried that maybe one of 'em kidnapped ya."

"Hm."

"Ah Princess, don't be like that. He's looking out for you." He ruffles my hair.

He gave a soft grin before making his way over to the couch, swinging himself over the top and landing perfectly in a comfortable seated position.

Why does he never just walk around the side like a normal person?

Not long after JJ made himself comfortable on the couch is when I decided to do the same thing.

I take a good look at him, at his side profile, the way he clenches his jaw ever so slightly out of pure justification. His father had beat on him so many times he'd probably never have the same jaw alignment as he once had and a part of me wished that I was closer to him than just his best bud's little sister because he didn't open up to anyone, he doesn't allow anyone to get too close to him and in a way I understand.

Being as close to JJ as I was now I could smell the severe alcohol on his breath. It was no secret that Pouges drank, it was more common than you'd actually think but I could only imagine how his liver must have felt and practically beg him to take a break. On top of that, I also knew JJ was into a lot of different kinds of substances. He used those as an escape route, a way to completely make the pain go away for a temporary amount of time before he had to rejoin the rest of us in reality.

He tended to do his best to stay away from pain, choosing to ignore anything and everything that even remotely had the chance to trigger the emotion. He tried to bottle all of it up and throw it out the window as if it had never existed in the first place but like every human being, there comes a time when that glass bottle fills to the brim and then it explodes.

"JJ."

"Hm?" He raised an eyebrow, turning his head towards me to give his full attention.

I paused. He wasn't going to like the question I had in store for him so was I really ready to potentially ruin the small, yet sweet relationship I had with him? Over being a little too nosey for my own good.

I decided against it and just shook my head, "How was the party?"

He tilted his head to the side, his tongue slid between both sets of his teeth and his mouth making the ever so slightest oval like he usually does- He was confused, and rightfully so. This man has been around since before my childbirth and every step after that, it was hard to keep anything from him. That is if he's sober.

Fortunately enough for me, he was not and wasn't the sharpest when it came to being intoxicated. JayJ and his love for alcohol for once actually saved us a conversation that I don't think either of us were fully ready to have. Nonetheless, the question still raked through my mind and I was only hoping that the curiosity wouldn't power through.

Why does he resort to things that destroy him? Does he seriously think that low of himself?

[prodixal]

"You misspoke. I believe you meant a 'malfunctioning' mind." he chuckles at his own silly little joke, knowing full well the childishness of it would likely annoy her extra hard. It was truly a pleasure. "I shall have you know I very rarely need to rid myself of clothes or dignity to inspire admiration. I simply need walk into a room." Varyn was much too aware of his own ability to turn heads and sneak his way into other peoples hearts and minds. It's not that Cersha was bad at doing the same, only she lacked the warmth he often exhumed that attracted people like pollen did the bees. She was calculated, educated, and she could read people in a way that allowed her to sneak past their inner walls. He was not so skilled, rather, he made people come to him, made them want him. "Eh, I suppose you're right. Though I am not the one marrying what is to become the most powerful person in all of seven kingdoms. I should say, if it were my predicament, I too would start acting a nervous fool. As you appear to do right now."

He raises his hands in defence to her snappy refusal of being 'lectured'. Though the words which proceed certainly imply the need of a lecture indeed. There's a small scoff, at the very forward strategy she put in place to make the other fall in love with her. Typical Cersha, everything was formulaic and perfectly structured. "So you intend to pretend? For the rest of your life? To be whatever sweet Vaelora would like you to be?" a roll of eyes follows and he'll press the wine against his lips. "If only you applied this idiotic approach to being a sister too. We'd all be much happier for it." he jokes again, more so in revenge for her previous reaction at his genuine attempt to provide advice. He should have known better. "Love is not rational, dear sister. You could be everything a person says or even thinks they want -- and they could still never grow to love you." words are casual, there was no doubt in his mind about it. "On the other hand -- you could be everything they truly hate, and they could still love you beyond it. Curious, isn't it?"

He would not speak on it further, nor offer advice should she not ask him to elaborate. If she was so keen on figuring it all out for herself. He would let her. And then laugh at her should she fail. As brothers do. Because much like his previous statement would suggest, no matter the distaste he had for her, he was also cursed with loving her nonetheless. It's how he knew she did not need to 'fake' her way into Vaeloras heart. There was plenty of her to love, just as she was.

Varyn is not at all surprised by the quickness of her response. Cersha had always lived her life with an aura and attitude of someone who knew exactly what they wanted. He wondered what that must have felt like. The confidence it must have inspired to be so sure, so certain of something. He also knew, with the sheer resolve of her voice, she would do anything to succeed. A self-fulfilling prophecy. It was almost...admirable. Though he knew better than to show it. "And rule you shall. You are a Lannister, they'll hear you roar yet sister." -- "And I've no doubt they'll be better for it." he clicks her glass with his own and rests back in his seat, eyeing her with a newfound sense of curiosity. "You will be happy, once you rule?"

---

As the conversation of his bastard is met with a reaction, he groans at the response. "Brothels are so...dull, so overused. There is no challenge to be had. Noble ladies on the other hand..." one had to work to get up their skirts. They were not so willing to risk their honour for just anyone. And lady Dayne, what a challenge she had been. "Suppose all this does reflect less badly on her. She's Dornish, they've no shortage of noble bastards." but they were not Dornish, and should the news get out this would absolutely reflect much worse on him than it would on lady Dayne. "Lucky for me I've a sister whose anticipatory stress has no doubt prepared her for this mishap long ago. --" her question seems out of relevance momentarily, but he can very well assume where it is heading, though he dare not answer. Instead he'll take another sip. "She loves the child." His eyes divert from those of his sister. Varyn always feared she could read his mind, when he was trying desperately to hide it. He cared for the boy. And she could never know.

Her refusal to let him dig further into her own affairs, as his are now 'taking priority' only causes him to wish ending it all sooner. "Go on, what am I to do then?" his arms cross over his chest, his whole body wishing to reject the question he just asked. There was something so humbling, in asking for her help. --- "We'll circle back to that, your betrothed...wishing to treat you equally." Cersha had been right. Something was off. "And trusting you...explicitly."

" IT DOES NOT PLEASE ME . it is simply a symptom of having a well functioning mind ." cersha snaps with a roll of her eyes , huffing in a way that makes her expression twist yet again . " not that you would know , clearly ." the words are bitten out as she brings her goblet right back to her lips , taking another healthy sip before she's narrowing her eyes sharply as he continues . the glare that is levelled his way is sharp enough to cut even if her expression barely twitches outside of it . when she was younger she would often imagine the power she would wield if her look alone could kill . ironically enough , that original thought as well was in relation to her brother . apparently some things never change . " i will have you know , they are already thoroughly impressed , varyn . not all of us have to rid ourself of our clothes and dignity to gain admiration ." perhaps the iciness of cersha's tone is only proving his point , but she sees little reason to change it . it's with a grand roll of her eyes that she scoffs . " and am i to believe a marriage with you will be joyful ? you leave far more pain in your wake than i ever have . at least my use of the pieces around me is for a goal rather than for sport ." some part of cersha is aware that she has gone on the attack instinctively ; a gut reaction in defense , born of a desire to protect one's soft underbelly from something a bit too sharp . and yet she can do very little to help it . what else is a lion to do but bite and claw and roar when cornered ? it is with a measured movement that cersha begins to top up her goblet , her hand steady even as clenches her teeth just hard enough to ache . the sigh that flows out of her nostrils is slow .

" i do not need you to lecture me , varyn . i am more than capable of making myself lovable ." the words are purposefully even as cersha moves to place down the bottle , as she unclenches her jaw with a conscious movement . it takes just as much effort to unclench her fingers from the neck of that bottle instead of hitting her brother over the head with it . the option is perhaps especially tempting with the lack of witnesses . " why do you think i am gathering information so diligently ? i do not seek to blackmail them for the entirety of our marriage ." cersha huffs as she looks into the liquid in her cup, staring at her distorted , reddish reflection within it even as she says , " once i know what she wants , i can be that and the love will come with it ." it is only then that cersha sighs and says , " besides , i have already begun and she seems more than pleased with who she believes her betrothed to be ." she moves to toss a curl over her shoulder primly as she says , " this is not something new to me ." love was a strange concept . on some level cersha would like to think she understood it . people loved what was presented to them . what they could see . what they could hear . if those cards were just right then adoration would follow . cersha has experienced it . from gathering the hearts of the lords and ladies that her parents entertained as a child , to collecting the affection of eligible lords and ladies in her adulthood , cersha understood love , and lust , and infatuation or what have you . it was something that could be trapped if you put out just the right bait . and one could create that bait with the right information . cersha knows that she was the bait . that she could mold herself into it . that she could become it . but she also knows that it was that bait that people found themself tempted by . that it was that bait that they'd come to love . that it wasn't her , truly . she could make herself into something lovable but was she lovable ? it wasn't particularly something she found need to worry over . after all , if you could trick people into loving you did it truly matter ? telessa loved her somehow , of that she was quite sure . varyn loved her , in his own strange way . and cedric , surely . perhaps her father as well , on good days . on cersha's good days , of course. her mother must have loved her at some point , surely . perhaps she may not have liked her , but she must have loved her for at least some time . maybe for that first moon . or for that first instant , even . perhaps she was born with claws and fangs , but there were some who loved her anyways .

but cersha knows to be loved is one thing , and to love is entirely another . and yet wondering over her capability to love would take up mental energy that varyn seemed intent to hog to himself at the moment . for just an instant cersha can't help but be grateful to him for it . at his question , she doesn't hesitate : " i want to rule , varyn ." cersha says with the same confidence that she perhaps came out of the womb with , her brows arching her brother's way as if the very question was somehow an insult to her resolve . " i was born for it . i would excel at it . and for that i should have a right to it ." it is with that that cersha shrugs , blunt as she says , " and the seven kingdoms would be better for it if i was in such a position ." it's all she has ever wanted . perhaps that in itself is strange , but it's the truth . cersha could not explain the feeling within her . the innate drive towards this end , the burning desire towards her goal . all she knew that it was there : burning endlessly . it had yet to so much as flicker since she realized its existence and now here she is . so close to it . so very , very close to it . she knows the flames won't burn her once she's engulfed in them . perhaps that is the immunity that uniting with a dragon will afford her . cersha arches a brow at varyn's gesture , studying him for a moment before she's moving to sit down with a sigh that is accompanied by a roll of her eyes . it is at that point that she settles in to listen , doing not much more than shrugging at the mentioning of catching her spiders ( after all , she had sent much more than two ) and merely blinking his way for the rest of it . cersha would like to say that she is dreadfully surprised . she would like to say that she is shocked . and yet at the end of his tale she can only sigh deeply again . " you are an imbecile , do you know that ?" cersha's expression is twisted with something deeply unimpressed , and despite knowing that getting drunk at these festivities is the very last thing she wants to do she can't help but take another healthy gulp from her goblet . " gods ." cersha's expression twists in something resembling annoyance as she pulls her goblet from her lips again . " i knew you would father a thousand bastards , so that is of no surprise to me , but a lady , varyn ? truly ?"

cersha could keep the judgement out of her voice if she tried , but thankfully there is little need to . the only one here to hear her scolding is varyn , who is apparently welcoming it . so cersha doesn't dull the cut of her tongue even slightly in response . " can you not just go to a brothel like any other depraved man !" she throws her hands up in frustration . " or god , exercise some semblance of self control for once in your life ." cersha takes a long look at varyn before clucking her tongue , her hand moving to pinch the bridge of her nose tightly as she takes a measured breath . " not to say she is innocent either . you both are at fault considering that the birth of a bastard would be the natural result of your joint carelessness ." a scoff as she shakes her head and gestures to him frustratedly . " and you lying truly helped nothing ! we should have been prepared for this and gotten ahead of it however instead you kept this to yourself ! and all you've done to rectify your mistake is to haphazardly slap a bandage on it ! " her lips twist then , her expression almost thoughtful before she glances to her brother . she looks at him a long moment then , expression sour and eyes tight before she sighs and says , " does she still love you ?" cersha can't help but scoff as varyn directs the attention back to her , brows arching . " oh no , you are not getting out of this that easily ." she points a finger to him then , brow arching . " do not detract from the point at hand . you will overshadow my engagement with your nonsense at this rate !" she snaps frustratedly . however it is with a slight huff that she waves a hand and adds , " but if you must know she trusts me explicitly and wishes to treat me as her equal ." cersha's brows raise pointedly with the words as she moves to take another sip from her goblet . " which is fundamentally a poor course to take all things considered but again ," a gesture to all of him as her nose wrinkles in frustration . " your mess has taken momentary priority ."

[alsoanyways]

2017 v. 2024

[someobscurereference]

Insane over the awakening trio again. We fought a war together, saved each other multiple times, and I know for a fact I can trust you with my life. We have never learned to socialize normally so we can't interact in a normal environment for five seconds without dunking on each other. I would follow you through time and space and abandon everything with you. You are the living reminder of every awful thing that have ever happened to me. Our traumas make us hurt each other at every turn. We're the only ones who know what lead to each other becoming Like That. Our jobs are barely in the same area and we don't even hang out that much outside of necessities. You are all I have left. I cannot fucking understand you. I am the only one in this entire world who has the ability to even try to.

x

[utilitycaster]

Sort of a distant tangent off my post about Ashton, but I'm growing more and more suspicious of the fandom claim that there's no time for small RP moments in Campaign 3. I do think that it's been challenging to get deeper party bonding or serious conversations that aren't about the big philosophical questions they're facing, since those do take much more time; but then I think about Calamity, or Candela Obscura. I can genuinely give you at least a couple paragraphs about pretty much every relationship in the two Circles, or in the Ring of Brass. I can also point to no shortage of small moments between characters in the Mighty Nein Aeor or Vox Machina Vecna endgame episodes, which were all extremely plot-heavy and fast-paced, and D20 consistently nails character relationships in a fraction of the time.

I think it really does come down to, as Brennan Lee Mulligan always says, the character creation phase. Laying down a solid groundwork in which everyone has a detailed, rich backstory and sense of personality and relationship history (in the case of characters who knew each other prior to the start of the series) is absolutely crucial, and even in the case of characters who don't know each other before going in, a good amount of time spent in character creation ensures that it's easier for them to develop those interpersonal relationships on the fly. I know in actual play there's some degree of finding the character as you play, but there are games for which there is a very short runway, and I don't think it ever hurts to do more extensive character prep than the bare minimum. And if there are gaps, I think it also helps to go back and fill those in mid-way, away from the table - Travis clarifying Chetney's backstory being a great example that allowed the history of Chetney and Deanna to feel realized and full, despite only a few episodes.

I'll also be blunt: most of the time when people complain that there aren't moments because the plot keeps moving...they're mad about shipping. Which has always rung hollow to me. It was a common complaint in C2, that no time was taken for character relationships, despite them taking an entire half of an episode for the Beauyasha date and despite no shortage of moments for all three of the other couples (and plenty of platonic moments between friends). The issue was never a lack of time; it was that the characters they wanted to talk to each other didn't actually have the relationship in canon that the fans had dreamed up, and so, when the chips were down, they went to other people.

It takes two seconds to say something like "I hold their hand", even in the middle of plot-heavy adventuring. If someone doesn't say it, it's rarely the GM rushing them; it's the player either choosing not to do so, or not remembering to do so, and either of those is quite revealing regarding how the player feels about that relationship and where it stands in their priorities.

[questwithambition]

This year I’ve been trying to embrace more and more the fun chaos of being in your early twenties and it’s such a delight. In the past week I’ve been to a gig and booked another one, a musical followed by a sleepover & staying up until 4am to sing and play the piano, museum coffee dates with friends, more sleepovers as I teach them crochet, carnival and drinks, having a 9pm nap followed by baking at midnight , saying goodbye to my current work project (and people!) and moving to a new one. And I’ve just finished cleaning the flat and putting a load of laundry on.

I wish I could show this to my 13 year old self. Life is chaotic and beautiful and messy and you’ll be so full of love.

[the-girl-with-too-many-ideas]

Does anyone else get the feeling that at their core, all of mxtx's works are about cycles of abuses.

[sealovinq]

i miss being here :((

[welcometogrouchland]

Also in the replies of the Steph concept art on twitter announcing she was gonna be in a new project at DC (posted by Travis Mercer), there were at least 3 comments saying "will Tim be there?" I don't care how hard you ship timsteph I'm exploding you with my eyeballs if you do that on my girls post again

[dramarants]

ah they just had the fiancee cheat with arguably the slimiest character in the show to try and balance out the leads finally kissing, all of a sudden spells aren't real and the curse is entirely forgotten they're solving everything with lazy ass writing okay

[23sanguinity]

The worst thing in fanfic is when you ship a poly ship but there’s not enough content for it so you read a fic with just two of the characters and they make another character you ship with both of them an ex? And it’s not the author fault, they weren’t writing for the poly ship but it still ruins what could have been a great fic because you don’t want them to be exs