#not too many tiny complicated pieces.

[eternalstateofoctober]

i’m GOING to make a quilt for the end of my bed if it KILLS me

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green Part 17

Somewhere in the back of Bruce’s mind, there a voice that was grateful that no one Bruce had slept with had experimented on their own child. With Talia and himself there were already lines that had been crossed, but what Danny had been through was another level of horrible. Which is why that tiny voice didn’t mater.

This wasn’t about Bruce, this was about Danny. Danny who looked ready to bolt again. Bruce reached out and placed his hand on Danny’s still cold cheek.

“Danny, being my clone doesn’t make being my son any less true.”

“That’s not—” Danny’s eyes welled with tears again and he leaned into the touch even as his foot scooted backwards. “That’s not how it works.”

“It does for us. Our family is messy. It’s complicated and confusing and… wonderful,” Bruce said. He spoke slowly both so that his words were clear, but also so that he could find the right words. “It’s a butler and orphans, assassins and demi-gods, sons and daughters and sometimes people who are neither. You being a clone is just one more thing in that mix. You’re still my son, if you’d like to be.”

“You can’t want me, I’m dead,” Danny insisted.

Jason set a pot down, loud enough that Danny’s eyes flickered to him.

“Kid, Danny, that doesn’t mater,” Jason said in a carefully controlled tone. “It’s the same as I’ve said before, they all know I died.”

Danny’s eyes widened, causing the tears to sleep free. He blinked rapidly.

“…Oh.”

-

They’re sat around the living room, each with their own mug of hot chocolate, even Bruce Wayne— even… well, Danny supposed it would be Tim Drake-Wayne, once he had shown up. He had flown through the door as he spoke through gulped breaths of air. He didn’t have a domino on either. They all sipped slowly at their drinks.

They were waiting for him to talk.

Talking seemed an insurmountable challenge.

Danny took another sip of the hot chocolate and licked the sugar sprinkle bat from his lips. He didn’t look at them as he spoke.

“Dick Grayson, Jason Wayne, Tim Drake-Wyane. Cassandra Wayne… Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne. I don’t know Spoiler or Oracle. I only… I looked up Bruce Wayne on a library computer after I ran. That’s why I know.”

“Close friends of the family,” Mr. Wayne said.

“And ex-girlfriends,” Night— Dick spoke up.

“Right. Red— Tim said him and Spoiler had dated.” Danny mumbled. He glanced over at Hood from under his bangs. Hood… Jason? Hood. Too many changes. Hood hadn’t said anything since he had revealed everything.

He must have noticed Danny looking though, because he sent a melancholy smile Danny’s way. “I get it. We kept a really huge piece of information from you, but we didn’t lie. When we said you had us no matter what Bruce Wayne did, we meant it.”

“But he’s your dad.”

“And that means we're all very good at not listening to him,” Tim said proudly.

Mr. Wayne just gave an amused snort at that.

“Dandelion,” Hood said, ignoring his family, “the first time that you looked up at Red and I we both clocked who you were instantly.”

“Not the clone part,” Red added.

This time it was Danny who gave a little snort.

(Fuck, they even snorted the same.)

Hood just flicked Red off. Tim. “Sure, not the clone part.”

“Because someone wouldn’t let me take DNA,” Tim interrupted again.

“It’s corrupted anyways,” Danny said and suddenly all eyes were on him again. He ducked his head down into a shrug. “From my death. This form I guess it would match enough? But my ghost form wouldn’t be any help.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tim said softly. “But also Hood was right, you didn’t deserve us doing that to you right then, even if I just wanted to help. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t know that you came from Bruce. You just came from him in a different way than we thought.”

“You were family right away, kid,” Hood said. “If didn’t matter your name or pronouns or history or if you’ve died or even that you’re a clone. As soon as we got a good look at you, you were family.”

Danny could feel the tears coming again and he wiped at his eyes in frustration. He wanted to just stop crying today.

“You could have been wrong,” Danny said. They didn’t get it, why didn’t they get it?

“Could have. But you were still a hurt kid that needed help,” Hood said.

“You don’t need blood to be family,” Dick said. “Me and Jason and Tim and Cass and Duke… Alfred, none of have blood with each other or Bruce and Damian. If you had turned out to not be related to Bruce at all? Well, you were already family.”

The tears came now and Danny couldn’t stop them. The hot chocolate was taken carefully from his hands by Jason while Dick pulled him into a hug.

“I don’t— I don’t get it,” Danny said through the sobs. “Why can you all— why can you all love me after a month when they— when my— when the people that were supposed to be my parents never did?”

“Danny—”

“They killed me!” Danny roared. He was shaking now and Dick help him tighter. “They made me just to kill me and cut me into pieces! I was their son! I was…. I was their son. Why couldn’t they love me?”

Between one blink and the next Mr. Wayne was up from his chair and in front of Danny. His large hand was so warm on Danny’s cheek. Danny sobbed harder.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t know because you are so loveable. It’s something wrong with them, not with you. I already know you’re wonderful and I can’t wait to get to know you more.”

Danny didn’t get it.

Danny didn’t believe it yet.

But god did Danny want it.

Danny flung himself forwards, landing in the arms that were waiting to catch him, and let himself cry.

-

“Nose bleed stopped and he’s resting now. Jay is staying in there with him in case he wakes,” Dick said as he closed the door to Danny’s bedroom softly behind him. A sad, wet blue lump was in his other hand. “We’ll try to get his bear dried out, it was in the bag he took.”

“See if the dryer has an air dry setting,” Bruce said. When both sons in the room looked at him in surprise he just gave a little shrug. “Dickie used to play with Zitka outside all the time. I learned to help make sure she was always ready for bed.”

Dickie gave a little laugh. It was heavily tinged with stress, but it was a laugh. Bruce would take what he could get right then. Jay still had a job, so he’d be alright for now. Dick would need to stay busy and close to people, but both those would do most of the work for the moment. It was Tim that Bruce had to worry about the moment; he was being very silent.

“Tim, chum, are you done with your drink?”

Tim blinked up from staring down at said drink. “What?”

Bruce crouched down in front of Tim (trying not to think of how he crouched down in front of a sobbing Danny just a bit ago) and took the mug. “What are you turning over in that head of yours, chum?”

Tim fiddled with his nails now that the mug was out of his hands. Bruce wouldn’t stop it unless Tim managed to make himself bleed. It wouldn’t be the first time or the last.

“Sweetheart?”

“It’s going to take him a long time to believe us— this,” Tim said, the words almost a rush.

Bruce nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“And he could run again,” Tim continued, still speaking quickly. “It could all be going well and then suddenly he could be thinking of running again because he’s doubting things.”

“Okay Tim,” Bruce said with careful words. His mind was running through all the times when Tim had pulled away from the family, “what do you think we can do to help that?”

Tim shrugged and looked away. “I guess— I mean, saying things to him is good but it won’t get as far as actions. And those actions need to include making him feeling useful.”

“But—” Dick started, the dryer now rumbling away in the linen closet.

“I’m not saying make him do work,” Tim interrupted. “But until he can consistently believe that we want him in the family, him feeling useful will help give him a reason to stay. As long as he’s useful, he won’t think that there’s no reason for him to stay when he thinks no one wants him around.”

Gently, Bruce reached out and took Tim’s hand away from where his cuticle had started to split and bleed. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the spot gently. “We’ll make sure to offer him ways to help out. We’ll talk as a family about where the lines will be and what sort of work is alright, especially as Danny is still healing.”

Tim took a careful breath and nodded. “Good.”

“And Tim?” Bruce waited until Tim was looking at him to continue. “I love you and I’m very glad that you are part of this family.”

-

Bruce sent Dick back to the manor after Cass arrived. They talked about what was best and agreed together that for Danny, Bruce still needed to be here in the morning. Bruce knew Dick hated to leave, but he was the other one who could handle Damian and whatever moods this may have invoked. And they were both worried about pulling Jason away from Danny right then.

Once Dick had wrangled Damian, they all had a meeting. Jason joined in with headphones Tim delivered and stayed mostly silent. Alfred lingered behind Dick’s shoulder.

Bruce went over the day, doing his best to treat it like a debrief just so that he could get through it without his heart breaking the rest of the way.

Danny had run of his own volition, afraid that those who had hurt him would find them. He was most afraid of them hurting Jason and Damian. (Dick pulled Damian close). He wasn’t Bruce’s son, biologically speaking, but his clone. They would try, with permission, to take some blood and analyze it soon. There were worries about the state of Danny’s DNA that Bruce wanted them to look into, for Danny’s safety.

There was worry any tests might set Danny off.

Danny knew about their identities, though they did not share Stephanie and Barbara’s name— both girls gave their go ahead. He seemed confused, but alright. They had to be ready for a possible out burst over it later after everything that had sunk in.

They would be sure to give Danny things to do that made him a quick part of the family, Bruce wanted everyone to think what those would be. There was to be nothing that was patrolling or anything dangerous. They would all agree on the list.

When Bruce ran out of things to say, Alfred stepped forward, there as always to help with the next step. “Is there anything specific I should prepare for his room?”

“Blue,” Cass suggested.

“Stars,” Tim said from where he was tucked into Cass’ side. “He likes space. Maybe one of those projectors that turns the ceiling into the night sky?”

“Soft blankets,” Jason spoke, a quiet addition.

“An air diffuser, natural scents like flowers and earth,” Dick chimed in.

“A… a pet,” Damian said, words uncharacteristically hesitant, though he straightened up defiantly at the look of confusion on everyone’s face. “If he is a flight risk, then a pet will be something he stays for. It will also be a responsibility for him that is little effort and not dangerous. Also, when he needs company but the family is… overwhelming, his pet will be there for him. There are many cats and some suitable dogsat the shelter right now, I will take him.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched up in a little smile. “That’s a very good idea, thank you. I’m sure Danny would like your help, after we introduce you two properly.”

Damian nodded, though that slight uncertainty was still there in the curve of his shoulders.

“Dami?” Dick prompted.

“When will I be able to meet him? Properly.”

“How about in a few days, before we move him to the manor, I’ll bring you over with me, okay ayouni? We can bring lunch with us and have a meal together,” Bruce offered.

Damian nodded sharply, a slight smile on his lips. “Acceptable.”

“Good. We will try to have everyone over before we move Danny, which will be mostly on his timetable. For now, everyone get some rest.”

There was a chime of voices agreeing to that and signing off. Bruce made sure he was the last to leave the call.

---

AN: It's... mmm... not great day, so you all are getting this now instead of tomorrow when ao3 updates. Stay delightful, darlings <3

[ltwilliammowett]

Cooking like a Sailor- Frisian teatime

Today it's going to be a bit Friesian again and this time the delicious treats come mainly from the North Sea islands and Halligen, where they usually originated before they floated ashore and were eaten or drunk there.

Now that we are approaching autumn with great strides, there are such delicacies. This was the time when many of the seafaring men returned home, which meant a rich harvest of specialities from foreign countries and often also the weddings were hold which were arranged the year before.

But let's start with the drink: tea punch, just the thing for the wet and cold season when it's stormy and raining outside.

Ingredients: Black tea, köm and kluntjes (brown sugar candy).

But even more important than the right ingredients are the way it is prepared and consumed. If you are in a hurry, you have no place at the tea punch table!

The tea punch is served as follows: The teapot is placed on the teapot warmer and the pre-heated bottle of Köm is placed on the table. Don't be surprised: the tea punch cups are tiny. This has nothing to do with stinginess, but with cosiness. And this is how it works: Pour tea into the cup, add a dash of köm and sugar to taste. Listen to the Kluntjes crack, stir and drink hot. Have a chat and then top up again.

This drink has existed on the islands since 1735, when a ship with tea chests stranded off Amrum at Theeknobs, although at the beginning there was no knowledge of how to prepare the tea leaves. As a result, the tea was drunk quite thinly, which was also due to the fact that tea was something special that was not always available, just like schnapps. Köm is a spirit similar to aquavit with caraway seeds. The yellow (geele) Köm is particularly common in the North Frisian region. This is a spirit, usually made with grain, which is mixed with caraway and sometimes with a hint of aniseed.

The tea punch was of course also known on ships, but here the köm was swapped for rum and the punch was used to warm up rather than for chatting. Sailors preferred to do this on land.

What do you serve with tea? Hallig Knorken or Friesenwaffeln are best. This wafer-thin delicacy has been around since the 16th century thanks to the Dutch who settled in northern Germany. They were light waffles that were made with rum and then served with plum jam and cream. Again, these delicacies were either brought by the men or had to be bartered or bought on the land, as the islands and Halligen did not have huge areas of land available for agriculture and so there was a lot of trade with the delicacies from the sea.

Ingredients for 4 people (this is the modern recipe) 4 eggs 200g sugar 250g butter 300g flour 3-4 tsp. cornflour 50ml rum 1 packet of vanilla sugar 1 pinch of salt

Bake the waffles in an iron and then serve hot with plum jam and cream.

Now we come to the highlight of every festive table - the Friesentorte. This magnificent cake is truly a precious piece. Because it requires valuable ingredients that were not always available back then and were therefore more likely to be found on festive tables. It is not known when it has been around, but probably since the 19th century, thanks to the sailors who brought many recipes with them from other countries. Like puff pastry, for example.

Today's variations also work with shortcrust pastry, but are not the original recipe

Recipe

Bake two puff pastry bases (you can use ready-made pastry) Brush one of the bases (the top) with egg yolk and sprinkle with caster sugar Leave the second (base) plain After baking, spread the base generously with plum jam Spread not too little whipped cream on the plum jam base Cut the top into 12 even pieces and then arrange the pieces on top.

The wealthier the family the more the cake would consist of several layers. Which made eating even more complicated, because how do you eat this monster without smearing cream all over your face? Well, you take the lid off, eat the inside and nibble the lid separately.

So there you have it and I wish you a delicious tea time of a different kind. Enjoy your tea and your tasty treats like real Frisians.

[keehomania]

Mark with big tits reader was craaazyy good 😵‍💫 what about mark with insecure reader bc she has tiny bitty titty (me)✌️

this is not a love story — mark lee (마크 리)

✧ WC: 15.8K

✧ SYN: you’ve never known love, no matter how much you believed you did. maybe it was never fated for you to cross paths, maybe it was never really there.

✧*. 18+

if there was anything you refused to allow yourself to believe in, it was a happy ending. taking things for granted seemed to come easy for humans, you thought. or rather, you knew, because you were a part of the majority. times were simpler when you were blissfully unaware. back then, you were just blissful, unaware of just how complicated life would get after those trial years.

you got your happy ending, you lived it until you turned fourteen, ready for a cruel beginning. it was easy to take the simple things for granted, and if you could turn back time, the first thing you would do is make sure to cherish it all. cherish staying up an hour past your bedtime, cuddled up with your mother, watching whatever show she had turned on. you didn’t care at the time, you didn't care for her midday soap operas or her nightly detective shows, but it was different now. now, you would give anything to watch just one more episode, curled up in her lap. you would give anything to get up early and get ready for school with your mother’s makeup, even though you hated going. you would give anything to watch cinderella one more time, to believe that happy endings really did exist.

your makeshift happy ending came to its final act when you turned fifteen. you had moved from busan to seoul just a few years back, and you were unable to adapt. a new school, new friends and a new way of life was awaitng you, but you had no idea how to make peace with it. it wasn’t too hard the first few years, all you had to do was keep to yourself. the thought of it was what kept you away from the other students, away from their cliques and personal politics, kept your grades steady and you to yourself. you were never in the eye of the storm, nobody had a reason to pick on you. like many other things, you had taken the peace for granted.

most of it started when you were fifteen, your own hormones teaming up against you. nothing had changed—not the silence, not the way those around you acted. nothing changed except your approach; you felt insignificant, like nothing you said or did mattered. you noticed the attention fall on the other girls from your class, the way nearly every boy was fond of them, showered them with praise. everything you had deemed irrelevant before had come back and hit you like a ton of bricks. why did nobody bother to give you that kind of attention? were you that ugly? was puberty doing everybody but you justice?

those kind of thoughts had started to flood your mind, seeping into every crack and crevice of your attention and ultimately stealing it from the things that really mattered. you started to focus more on your physical appearance, waking up an hour too early just to touch yourself up. you wanted to turn yourself into someone you knew you weren’t, to live somebody else's life just to feel better about yourself. everybody questioned the sudden change, no matter how little of important you deemed yourself. why was your hair straightened? had your lashes grown overnight? what was with the skimpy clothes? in a way, it was effective. more people had started talking to you, even if it was small talk. it made you feel good, but you knew you could do better.

you had traded what would later be a piece of your soul in exchange for temporary security. you entered your first real relationship that same year—it wasn’t real, it lasted five months. to a fifteen year-old girl with less than no experience, it was real. it was real when you held hands, kissed, when you lied to your parents to see him—even if it was for just twenty minutes, when he made you feel like you were the most important girl in the world. it was just as real to you when you had started smoking, drinking, doing all the things you swore not to do with him. it didn’t count if it was with him, right?

it became real when reality hit you like a physical blow to your stomach. ultimately, you had lost your virginity to him in a way that was so sudden, you knew in your head that it wasn’t love, but you weren’t thinking with your head. not when you wore your heart on your sleeve so proudly. it didn’t seem like a big deal to you, you didn’t even like it all that much. you just wanted to feel the love you so badly chased after, even if it only lasted five minutes. you told your friend all about it the next day, but you were so worked up and eager to share the news that you had forgotten just how much the kids your aged liked to blabber, and it was exactly what he did. you didn’t realize just how fast the news had spread, you didn’t register the dirty looks and condescending stares for a good while, until you had to.

the news of your distasteful encounter had reached the staff. the principal, the secretary, and the guidance counselor. when you were called into her office, you didn't know what it was you were expecting. the office itself put you off—white, sleek walls, a tidy desk, three chairs alligned perfectly to the side, and the sharp, pungent stench of medical supplies. everything about it made your stomach twist with fear, even though you didn’t know what it was that you were so afraid of. the silence only put you off further, but then, she finally cut through it. the sole start was just to ask you basic questions—how were you doing? have you been experiencing any issues lately? what was your life like at home, any concerns? it was meant to make you comfortable, to spread your soul open and go after its most tainted parts, but it only made you more queasy.

you wished the small talk had lasted longer, because you were absolutely unprepared for what followed. when she asked you if it was true that you had lost your virginity, you felt your world turn upside down. you were sure she had seen the way your face paled and heard the way your heart thumped in your ears, you were positive. your throat had started to close up and your lips grew chapped, no matter how many times you ran your tongue over them. in the end, you had to admit it, there was absolutely no way out of it. you had finished your confession with what worried you the most, begging her to honor the counselor code and to keep your parents uninformed. she promised to keep it a secret, but never intended on taking it to her grave.

in all fairness, you were fifteen. it wasn’t morally right to lie to you, but lying to your parents about such a situation would've been even worse. your mother threw a fit, broke down in the worst way possible and cried herself to sleep three nights in a row. your father had shut down—he was never mad, he was just disappointed. your mother had gone off like a time bomb waiting to explode, and she finally did. she exploded in a way that made you feel like you were the epitome of everything wrong with the world, and in a way that made her feel like she was the reason for it. you had blamed her for taking advantage of your future for so long, for forcing you to move with her just because she wanted to—because she longed for her city even if you liked yours better. you didn't think you resented her for it, even though she knew you did. she made peace with it, with the fact that you had both found a way to put a strain on your relationship.

your boyfriend was the first to break things off with you, even though you were the one instructed to do so. you had no intention of doing it, telling him all about what happened and his response being something generic and typical for a boy his age—you’d find a way out of it, he'd stay by your side, he’d wait as long as possible for you. you didn’t know it then but when you looked back at it, you felt like a fool. none of his promises were fulfilled, and you were left with a void in your heart for the first time in your life. it was a void you had filled with cheap cigarettes, shots of groccery store tequila, red hair dye and an absolute punch to your youth.

you were sixteen by then, and you had lost any and all touch with reality. the void in your soul was blocked by going to parties you swore you would never come across, befriending the hosts even though you knew they were shitty people, expanding your circle of friends you knew hated you deep down—but you didn’t care. it was a phase that took a toll on you and your reputation. during that phase, you had gotten yourself entangled in two more relationships. they were short-lived, shorter than your first one, but you didn’t wanna be alone. if you weren't with your friends or drinking, you wanted to feel loved. even if you knew it was temporary. you had given yourself up two more times to feel the love you thought you deserved, even though it wasn’t love. it didn’t faze you until people started talking about it, again.

this would happen four more times. four more times would you give yourself up to four different people you thought loved you. maybe some of them did, you didn’t know anymore. you had stopped believing in it a long time ago, you had stopped chasing the happy ending you thought awaited you. maybe you struggles weren’t all for nothing, you hoped, maybe the sun was hidden behind the clouds, but it wasn't. the sun had fallen and it was dark, and your only source of light was what was familiar. it wasn’t a good kind of familiar, no matter how useful the light seemed. it was a blinding kind of light and it, too, would succumb to the darkness at some point.

the cycle repeated itself four times, but you were too numb to realize just how bad it had gotten. the only time you had fallen in love during the whole ordeal was with the fourth guy. you were seventeen at the time, and he was a year younger than you. anybody listening would’ve assumed it was your shot at a happy ending, that it was everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost was. almost. you were out with your friend and her boyfriend, and he had insisted on going to one of the many bars in town, but your friend was reluctant. you had been texting a guy at the time and, though it was rather casual, he happened to be in the same bar. it was the only reason you agreed, promising her you’d be there for just a bit. the guy you had been texting wasn’t too eager to see you, thinking it was too soon, but it all changed when you walked in. as corny as it was, it was the truth. he hadn’t expected you to be so pretty, so charming and so gentle with him. you barely noticed him at first—when you walked into the bar, the first thing you felt was the stench of medical equipment in the bathroom assaulting your nostrils.

despite the rough start, it was a relationship that blossomed into something that was as beautiful as a foxglove. it came in different shades, patterns and shapes, but it was beautiful. it was beautiful when you took a glance at it, even a good stare. it was beautiful when you embraced it, even for a long while, but it was just as deadly if you held onto it for too long. that was exactly what you did. you held onto it until you had nothing to hold onto anymore, until the stem had snapped and the petals danced in the air. the petals were all that was left, but even they showed no mercy. he had broken it off after six months, claiming to have done it because you were dishonest with him about how many people you had slept with prior to him, but you knew that it wasn't true. you knew he had just gotten bored of you.

your breaking point came just after, and you grieved him far longer than you should have. eight months proceeding the split had been spent drinking, pondering and making a fool out of yourself—all because of a man. it made you spiral, shift and it was the sole reason you fell apart. nothing mattered anymore, not even the people that made it their mission to turn your the intimate details about your life into a public spectacle. you let yourself fall apart with nothing to catch you but your own too arms, and even they weren’t enough to carry the weight of your burdens. had you ever known love? what was the point of feeling the warmth of a home if it was built with cards? you hadn’t known love, and you were sure you never would.

you started to take yourself seriously when you turned eighteen. the people hated you, all the people your age. they all knew you based on the mistakes you had made, the most intricate details of your life that you prayed would never come to light, and the poor decisions on your behalf. your name had become such a taboo topic that you had detached yourself from the rest of the city. you spent a summer away in japan with your uncle, searching for a way to put your mind at ease. upon coming back, you were quick and pleased to discover that everybody had forgotten about you. you were no longer relevant, your scandals were no longer interesting to talk about. it was something that one of your exes, kim dongyoung, assured you that it was as if people has forgotten about you entirely. despite having a rough split with him, one that was entirely your fault, you remained friends with him, and he was good to you.

your final year of high school came to a peaceful and successful close. all of your time was devoted to your classes and extracurriculars, and nobody said a word about it. you had assumed tens of thousands of derogatory words would roll off their tongues, at least behind your back, but there was nothing. once again, you didn't matter, and you couldn't have been happier about it. you graduated as best as you could, and absolutely everything had changed, but you didn’t feel at ease. you didn't feel like you would get your happy ending, no matter how well you were doing.

the pressure that once felt distant was now inescapable, crushing you under its weight. you thought the relief would come after graduation, that somehow this looming sense of duty would evaporate as you took the next logical step—studying law, following in the footsteps your family had silently mapped out for you. but instead, the silence from everyone around you only added to your disquiet. the silence wasn’t praise, it wasn’t encouragement, it was indifference. you had worked so hard for nothing more than a polite smile, a generic “congratulations.” no one cared.

that was when the contract came in—a modeling gig, of all things. It was meant to be temporary, a short detour from the expected path. you figured it would be easy. why wouldn’t it be? pose for a few pictures, walk down a runway. In and out, no mess. you’d take some time, maybe earn a little money before heading to law school like you had always planned. you signed your name on the dotted line, not fully realizing what it meant. suddenly, you were in it—korea’s newest face, the nation’s ‘princess.’ the transformation wasn’t gradual; it was like waking up in someone else’s body. one minute you were a student, scandalous, spat on. the next, you were everywhere. billboards, magazines, flashing cameras. thhe whole country seemed to know your name, and for the first time, you felt like you existed.

but existence always came at a price. at first, it was small sacrifices. a skipped meal here, an extra workout there. you told yourself it was temporary, just until the next shoot, just until the next campaign. soon, celery and ice cubes became your daily staples, the only things you allowed yourself to consume. the emptiness inside you wasn’t just hunger anymore—it was something deeper, more insidious. your reflection in the mirror grew sharper, more defined, as if every pound you shed stripped away another layer of who you used to be.

the people around you noticed the changes, but not in the way you expected. the criticisms came, not from the people who mattered to you, but from strangers. overweight men with sagging bellies, women who would never fit into the clothes you wore—they all felt entitled to say something. a comment about your posture, the way your hips didn’t quite match their idea of perfection, how your eyes looked too tired. their words clung to you like grease, seeping into every pore until you began to believe them. but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. the insults only fueled you, driving you to work harder, push further, just to prove them wrong.

there were moments when you wanted to quit, when the exhaustion from endless workouts and starvation weighed you down so heavily that you felt your bones might snap under the strain. there were nights when you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you had made the right choice, if modeling had been easier than law—or if this was just another cage, more gilded but no less suffocating. yet, despite it all, something began to shift. it started with the way people looked at you. at first, you didn’t notice. you were too busy hiding your exhaustion behind perfect makeup, too focused on pretending that everything was fine. but then, you began to see it—the looks that weren’t pitying, weren’t dismissive. people weren’t looking at you like they used to, with that thin layer of contempt, the way they had in school. it wasn’t hatred anymore. this time, when they looked at you, it was admiration.

the way their eyes lingered on you wasn’t like before. It was different—soft, almost reverent. you could feel it in the way they stood a little straighter when you walked into a room, the way conversations quieted, as if your mere presence demanded attention. you started to recognize that look. it was the one you had given others, the untouchable, the perfect. they didn’t see you as human anymore, but as something beyond that. they saw perfection, or the closest thing to it that they could grasp.

it felt good. addictively good. the power that came with their admiration, their respect, it washed over you like a warm current, and you couldn’t deny how much you craved it. it filled the hollow places inside you that no amount of food or rest could fix. you had always wanted to be seen, to matter, and now you did. it didn’t matter if you were starving. it didn’t matter if you felt like you were falling apart behind the scenes. as long as they looked at you like that, it was worth it, wasn’t it? you had become korea’s ‘princess,’ but deep down, you knew. the crown was heavy, and it wasn’t yours to keep forever. you just didn’t know how long you could carry it.

the studio was a cavernous space, its high ceilings disappearing into soft shadows cast by the industrial lighting rigged above. a haze of white light bathed the room, diffusing over every surface, amplifying the sharpness of the scene in front of you. rows of expensive cameras clicked in perfect rhythm, each shutter a drumbeat to your performance. the set was minimal—sleek, modern, monochrome—a backdrop of muted grays and blacks that made your crimson gown blaze like fire.

you were the centerpiece, draped in a figure-hugging satin dress that pooled dramatically around your feet. the fabric clung to every curve, shimmering under the lights with every subtle movement. a slit ran high up your thigh, a calculated element of the designer’s vision. the neckline dipped just enough to tease, but not to scandalize. everything was deliberate, down to the last stitch. you had become a canvas, an embodiment of elegance, allure, and untouchable sophistication.

“alright, beautiful, chin up. yes, just like that,” the photographer’s voice echoed, smooth and precise. his name was han minseok, and he had a reputation for bringing out the best in his models. his praise came easy, but you knew better than to let it sink in too deep. you held your pose, lifting your chin slightly, eyes half-lidded as you stared down the lens with calculated indifference. “perfect, darling,” minseok murmured. the camera clicked again, rapid-fire. “you’re nailing it. hold it right there—perfect!”

your manager, jeong jaehyun, stood off to the side, arms crossed, observing the shoot with an approving smile. his eyes followed every movement you made, calculating, critiquing, but also proud. he knew how to push you, knew exactly how far you could go before breaking. and today, you were flawless. you could feel his approval radiating from him without him needing to say a word. you shifted your weight slightly, allowing the dress to catch the light in a new way. the faintest smirk tugged at your lips—a hint of danger, a whisper of seduction. you manqged to embody the theme of the shoot effortlessly. minseok lowered the camera, grinning wide. “that’s a wrap. fantastic work as always.”

jaehyun approached you, his smile soft but pleased. he handed you a bottle of water, and you accepted it with a gracious nod, twisting the cap off to take a slow sip. the cold liquid hit your parched throat, refreshing but momentarily distracting. when you looked back at him, you noticed it—the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes today. there was a sadness, a shadow lingering behind his usually confident demeanor. “jaehyun,” you said softly, eyebrows furrowing. “what’s wrong?”

his smile wavered. “sit down for a second,” he said, gesturing toward one of the nearby makeup chairs. your heart skipped a beat, a subtle prickle of worry crawling up your spine. you did as he asked, sitting gingerly, suddenly aware of the hum of the studio around you—the muffled conversations, the clinking of equipment being packed away, the janitor scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the floor in the corner. the sharp smell of cleaning chemicals stung your nostrils, cutting through the faint scent of hairspray still lingering in the air. you tried to ignore it, forcing your attention back to jaehyun.

“what’s going on?” you asked, your voice low and uneasy. he hesitated, a brief flicker of discomfort crossing his features before he spoke. “i’m being relocated. back to connecticut. it’s for a while—maybe a few months.”

you blinked, the words sinking in like a slow, cold weight. “what?” your voice came out quieter than you intended. he saw the look on your face, and he immediately stepped forward, taking your hands into his, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll be back,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “you’ll be fine, better than fine. you’re doing better than ever.”

the disappointment hit you like a punch to the chest, sharp and unexpected. “i can’t do it without you,” you whispered, your voice almost breaking. he shook his head, his expression softening even more. “it’s not me, it’s you. i’m the one who can’t do this without you.”

his words should have been comforting, but they only deepened the sense of dread coiling in your stomach. jaehyun had been with you since the beginning, guiding you through every high and low, through every mistake and every victory. the thought of him not being there, even for a little while, made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. he paused for a moment, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles before he continued. “you’ll have someone new. a friend of mine, just as experienced as me. i trust him completely.” you frowned, skeptical. “who?”

“you’ll meet him tonight,” he said, offering a small smile. “the whole team is going out for drinks, and he’ll be there.” you nodded, though the knot of anxiety in your chest tightened. even with his reassurances, the idea of working with someone new didn’t sit well with you. the trust you had in him wasn’t something that could be replaced so easily. sensing your unease, jaehyun leaned down, wrapping you in a hug. his arms were warm, familiar, grounding. “you’ll always be a star,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and comforting. “with or without me.”

you hated how much those words hurt. hated how much you had allowed yourself to rely on him. it wasn’t supposed to be this way. you weren’t supposed to get attached—not to anyone. but history had a cruel way of repeating itself, didn’t it? all you ever did was get attached. you didn’t trust yourself to say anything, so you nodded silently, letting him hold you for a moment longer before he pulled away, his hand squeezing yours one last time. he gave you a final smile—sad, but reassuring—before he turned and walked toward the door, leaving you alone with the weight of his absence already settling over you, even if he hadn’t left you yet. they all left, why was it so shocking that his turn had come?

your apartment was a modern contradiction—beautiful, sleek, but hollow. the wide windows let in a gentle glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows against the pristine white walls. it was elegant, like something out of a design magazine, all clean lines and expensive furniture. the kind of place that should have felt like home but never quite did. every corner was curated, from the marble countertops to the velvet sectional sofa that sat untouched most days. everything looked perfect, yet the emptiness inside you felt sharper here, in this space that was too big for just one person.

your parents hadn’t been to your apartment, hadn’t seen this life you had built for yourself. not that they cared to. you hadn’t spoken to them in months, not since they’d made it clear that your choice to model, rather than pursue law, was unforgivable. their silence hung over you like a cloud, heavy and oppressive, yet familiar. you were used to being left behind. your father’s words still echoed in your head, dismissive and final, “you’re wasting your potential.” your mother hadn’t said anything at all—her disapproval was cold, passive, like she had washed her hands of you.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, hands delicately applying makeup with a precision you had perfected over the years. the foundation smoothed over your skin, covering every flaw, creating the illusion of perfection you’d mastered long ago. the emptiness in your chest collided with the fullness of your apartment—so much space, so little meaning. it felt like you had filled your life with things, with a career that demanded all of you, and yet somehow you remained empty inside, hollowed out by the silence from the people who should have cared the most. your hands moved almost mechanically as you styled your hair, pulling it into loose waves that fell over your shoulders in soft, effortless curls. your outfit for the night was simple but striking—an off-the-shoulder black dress that hugged your frame, the fabric slinking around your body like it was made for you. it was elegant, understated, but you knew it would turn heads. you always turned heads.

as you stepped out of your apartment and into the waiting car, you felt a strange sense of detachment. the city lights blurred outside the tinted windows, a constant stream of life and movement, yet you felt removed from it all. the car ride to the bar was short, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach twisted tighter with each passing minute. you weren’t sure what tonight would bring, but something told you things were about to change. jaehyun was supposed to meet you, introduce you to your new manager. the thought made you feel uneasy.

when the car pulled up to the bar, you were immediately greeted by the flash of cameras. it never ceased to unnerve you, the sudden explosion of light, the shouts from photographers who called your name like they knew you. you squinted against the brightness, stepping out of the car as gracefully as you could manage, though the onslaught of attention left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. you half-expected jaehyun to come out and handle the situation, to shield you like he always did, but he didn’t. the door to the bar opened, and for a brief moment, you thought it was him. but it wasn’t.

instead, a man appeared, a bit shorter than jaehyun but striking in his own way. he wore a leather jacket rather than jaehyun’s usual denim, the dark material catching the light in a way that made him look almost dangerous. his jawline was sharper, more distinct, and his dark hair was swept down in front, framing his forehead. his eyes met yours, and there was something in the way he looked at you—something unreadable, intense. he didn’t say a word as he approached, discarding his jacket and spreading it open to shield you from the cameras. his movements were smooth, confident, as he draped the jacket over your shoulders and guided you inside. the warmth of the leather was a stark contrast to the cold, clinical detachment you’d felt all evening.

“who are you?” you asked, your voice soft but firm, laced with confusion. his eyes stayed locked on yours, his gaze steady, unreadable. “mark lee,” he said, his tone calm, measured. he paused, and for a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he let the silence hang between you. then, as if deciding to answer the question you hadn’t asked, he added, “i’m your new manager. didn’t jaehyun tell you?”

your heart sank slightly, the pieces falling into place—he was the one jaehyun had spoken about. mark studied your face as though he were trying to read you, to understand something you hadn’t yet said. a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost amused by your reaction. “it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said softly. you blinked, unsure of how to respond. the words you spoke felt disconnected from the thoughts in your mind. “the pleasure’s all mine,” you mumbled, though the uncertainty in your voice betrayed you.

mark’s gaze lingered a second longer before he turned, leading you further inside, away from the flashes of the cameras. the air inside the bar was warmer, thick with the chatter of people and the clinking of glasses, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled in your chest. even as he guided you to a table, the leather of his jacket still draped over your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was shifting beneath your feet. and you weren’t sure you liked it.

the bar was vaguely lit, the low hum of conversation blending with the soft clink of glasses. a few members of the team were already gathered around a table near the back, the familiar faces of the makeup artist, the stylist, and the photographer who had been on set earlier. they greeted you with warm smiles and the easy familiarity of people who had spent long hours together under bright studio lights. it was strange how these people had become your family of sorts, even if it wasn’t a family you had chosen.

jaehyun spotted you first, standing up with that easy grin of his, arms already open for a hug. “there she is,” he murmured, pulling you in tightly. his embrace was warm and comforting, but the knowledge that this might be one of the last times he’d be there for you made it bittersweet. “have you met your new manager yet?” he asked as he released you, his eyes glancing over at mark, who stood just a few steps behind you.

you nodded, unsure of what to say, the words getting caught somewhere between your mind and your mouth. you could still feel the weight of mark’s jacket on your shoulders, the leather warm against your skin, grounding you as you stood between the two men. you wanted to say something that sounded more certain, but you were scared of how it might come out—scared it might sound like you didn’t want this. mark stepped forward, a casual confidence in his movements. “she ran into a bit of paparazzi trouble outside,” he said with a slight chuckle, as if it was nothing new.

jaehyun clapped him on the back, laughing. “always on duty, huh? you must have eyes everywhere.” mark grinned, his laugh coming easy. “you have no idea.”

he pulled out a chair for you, the gesture small but thoughtful, as he motioned for you to sit between him and jaehyun. as you lowered yourself into the seat, your eyes met his for a moment, and there was something in the way he smiled at you that eased the tension in your chest just a little bit. you settled in, the low buzz of the bar around you offering some comfort, though you still couldn’t shake the feeling of change looming in the air. the drinks came quickly—classic cocktails, neat whiskey, and bottles of soju. jaehyun was the first to raise his glass, and you followed suit. “i’m going to miss having soju while i’m away,” he said with a sigh, swirling the glass in his hand.

you clinked your glass against his, a smile tugging at your lips. “we’ll drink it in your honor.” he laughed, and as you turned to clink your glass with mark’s, your eyes met his again. he smiled back at you, that same easy warmth from earlier. for a second, you forgot about the looming goodbye, about the shift that was about to happen. you let yourself smile, feeling a strange sense of calm in the moment. the drinks were strong, stronger than you’d realized at first. the warmth of the alcohol spread through your chest, loosening the tightness in your muscles, and you allowed yourself to relax into the night. laughter flowed easily among the group, the conversation light and comfortable, even as the weight of jaehyun’s upcoming departure lingered on the edges.

but eventually, the night began to wind down. one by one, the team started to tap out, heading home with promises of seeing each other soon. jaehyun was the last to stand, his expression softening as he looked at you. “i’ve gotta head out. my flight’s tomorrow,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of the goodbye that neither of you wanted to say.

you stood with him, the alcohol making you feel just tipsy enough that the world seemed to blur a little around the edges. as you hugged him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, and you realized just how much you were going to miss him. “mark will take good care of you,” he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. all you could do was nod, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. he pulled away, giving you one last look before turning to leave. you watched him go, the door closing behind him with a finality that made your heart sink.

you sat back down, the world feeling a little off-kilter now that jaehyun was gone. the noise of the bar seemed distant, the voices around you a dull hum. but then you felt a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and when you turned, you found mark looking at you, his expression gentle. “i know you aren’t thrilled about this,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. “but he’ll be back.”

you nodded, trying to steady the emotions swirling in your chest. “don’t be offended,” you said, your words a little slurred from the alcohol. “i must sound like an asshole. i’ve just known jay a long time.” mark laughed softly, shaking his head. “the models i work with are usually blunt and awful. you’re like a breath of fresh air.”

your heart fluttered at his words, though you weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or something else. either way, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush you couldn’t quite control. “really?” you asked, your voice soft. he nodded, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “yeah. it’s hard to meet someone genuine like that.” it caught you off guard, the way he said it. he hadn’t called you hot or beautiful—the usual compliments that were thrown at you without much thought. he hadn’t treated you like you were something to admire from a distance, something polished and perfect. he thought you were genuine. nice, even. and for the first time in what felt like forever, something mattered other than how you looked.

mark stood outside the bar with you, his hand wrapped loosely around his phone as he called for a cab. the air was cool, the kind of breeze that bit at your skin just enough to remind you you’d had too much to drink. the world felt like it was swaying beneath you, the soft blur of neon lights and city sounds blending into the haze of alcohol that had settled deep into your bones. you barely noticed the cab pulling up, but mark did. he grimaced the moment he saw the driver, his jaw tightening as he clocked the smirk tugging at the corners of the man’s lips.

“stay here,” he murmured, his voice low as he helped you toward the back seat, his hand resting at the small of your back to steady you. the driver’s smirk grew as you stumbled slightly, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. mark’s patience snapped, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could cut through steel. Without a word, he climbed into the cab beside you, his presence filling the small space in an instant. the driver’s smirk faltered, his bravado crumbling under the weight of mark’s glare, and he turned his eyes to the road, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“how much has she had to drink?” the driver asked, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of something slimy beneath it, something that made mark’s blood boil. “you’re being paid to drive, not make small talk,” mark snapped, his voice sharp enough to make the driver flinch. silence fell over the cab, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional shuffle of the tires against the pavement. you, oblivious to the tension, rested your head back, your eyes fluttering closed as the night swirled around you. you were out of it, the world fading in and out, each moment blurred by the alcohol in your system. you didn’t notice the way mark was watching you, his gaze softening, his features smoothing as he made sure you were okay.

if you had been more aware, you might have seen it for yourself—something tender in the way he looked at you, something protective. it wasn’t the predatory gaze you had come to expect from men, the one that made you feel small and vulnerable, like something to be taken. no, this was different. this gaze made you feel watched over, cared for. like, for the first time, you weren’t alone. “you’re taking me home?” you slurred, your voice breaking through the fog as you turned to him, disrupting his thoughts. mark glanced down at you, his brow furrowing for a second before he nodded. “yeah,” he said softly, “gonna make sure you get there safely, then i’ll head back.”

you frowned, your eyes half-lidded as you tried to focus on him. “you’re being too nice,” you murmured, your words a little wobbly, childlike. he chuckled, the sound low and rich, a warmth that spread through your chest despite the alcohol’s numbing grip. “this is just the tip of the iceberg,” he replied, teasing but gentle. the cab pulled over in front of your building, the harsh overhead light inside flickering slightly as mark handed the driver his money, glaring one last time before slamming the door shut behind him. he helped you out, his arm around your waist as he guided you toward the entrance. you leaned into him, your steps unsteady, but his grip was firm, holding you upright, never letting you fall.

when you reached your apartment door, you fumbled for your keys, your fingers clumsy as they searched through your bag. you couldn’t find them, frustration bubbling up in your chest, but before you could say anything, he reached in and pulled the keys out for you. he unlocked the door, holding it open as you stumbled inside, expecting—fearing—that this was when things would change. this was when history would repeat itself, when he would become just like the others, just like every man who had ever taken advantage of you in your weakest moments. but it never happened.

instead, he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both firm and soft, his warmth seeping into your skin. the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of alcohol, filling your senses. there was no pressure in the way he held you, no expectation. just comfort. when he pulled away, he bent slightly at the knees, his eyes level with yours as he spoke, his voice soft but clear. “get some rest, okay?” he said, pausing as his gaze flickered over your face. “we have work tomorrow.”

you nodded, your body too tired, too heavy to respond with anything more. he gave you one final smile, that same smile that had put you at ease earlier in the night, and then he turned on his heel, walking away without looking back. you stood there in your apartment, the door closing softly behind him, your mind struggling to piece together what had just happened. you had expected a lot, but not this. not someone who cared without asking for anything in return. not someone who saw you for more than just how you looked.

the pounding in your head felt like it would split your skull in two. you groaned, dragging yourself upright, the weight of exhaustion heavy in your limbs. the throbbing didn’t let up as you stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to chase away the hangover. the mirror reflected a face you barely recognized—dark circles under your eyes, skin pale and drawn. it was a far cry from the pristine, polished image you had to maintain in front of the cameras. right now, you were just tired. so tired.

you grabbed the bottle of painkillers from the medicine cabinet, shaking two pills into your hand and downing them with a gulp of water. the cold liquid soothed your dry throat, but it did little to chase away the hollow ache settling in your chest. you drank another glass, hoping it would make you feel less fragile, less breakable. your hands trembled as you set the glass down, the weight of the night before pressing on you, heavy and inescapable.

you wandered back to your bed, sinking into the comfort of the soft sheets, pulling them around you as if they could shield you from the world. but the world had already broken in. with a sigh, you reached for your phone, not ready but too curious to resist. you needed a distraction, something to pull you out of this haze. but as the screen lit up, you felt your stomach lurch. the first headline caught your eye, and the blood drained from your face as you read it.

your dark past—an anonymous ex airing out the ugly details of a relationship you thought you had buried years ago. the words stared back at you, cold and unforgiving, and each one cut deeper than the last. attention-seeking slut, slept her way through the scene and life itself. the accusations swirled around you, each one a dagger to the chest, every headline worse than the one before. it felt like the world was closing in, shrinking around you until there was nowhere left to hide.

you scrolled through the article, your hands shaking, your breath coming faster as the memories you had tried so hard to forget were dragged back into the light. this was worse than anything you could’ve imagined. you had been bracing yourself for the usual scandals—the kind of things models made headlines for. a wardrobe malfunction, a bad night out, maybe a ridiculous diet rumor. but this? this felt personal. too personal. and the worst part was, it was all out there, for everyone to see. you kept scrolling, hoping there was some way to stop the flood of accusations, but it didn’t stop. it never did. your heart pounded in your chest as the articles piled on, one after another, each one worse than the last. you reached the bottom of the page, bracing yourself for another wave of vitriol—but what you found was something different.

a response from your company. you froze, your breath catching in your throat as you saw the name attached to the statement—mark lee. your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you clicked. his words were like a lifeline, pulling you out of the darkness for just a second. “her past has nothing to do with her present, her career or her heart,” he had stated firmly. “anyone making defamatory statements will face legal action.”

it was a short, direct statement, but it hit you like a bolt of lightning. mark had acted fast—so fast that it stunned you. you hadn’t even had the chance to process what was happening, but he had already stepped in to protect you, to shield you from the fallout. your company hadn’t hung you out to dry. he hadn’t hung you out to dry. and it wasn’t even morning yet. you let the phone slip from your hand, your heart still racing, but for a different reason now. mark hadn’t just stood by and watched as your name got dragged through the mud. he had taken action, defended you without hesitation. the weight of last night’s events came rushing back—the way he’d walked you home, the way he had been so kind, so careful, without expecting anything in return. and now, this.

how had he managed to do it so quickly, without so much as a second thought? how had he known to step in before things got even worse? you didn’t know, but what you did know was that mark wasn’t like the others. he wasn’t just your new manager. he was someone who had your back. the room felt too quiet, too still, as you lay there, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t believe this was the impression you were leaving behind—a model being defended for her humanity rather than her appearance. a woman with someone in her corner, fighting for her, when she had never expected it.

you pulled the front door shut behind you, squinting at the early morning sun filtering through the leaves, casting soft dappled light across the pavement. you adjusted your sunglasses, preparing yourself for the day, your mind still tangled with the weight of the headlines and mark’s words from last night. but as you stepped down the front stairs, something caught your eye—a car parked just a few feet away. the sleek black paint gleamed under the sunlight, and as your eyes adjusted, you saw him. mark, leaning casually against the hood, a small, gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. “you look like you could use a ride,” he said, his voice carrying over the stillness of the morning.

your heart fluttered, the ease in his tone making the heaviness in your chest feel a little lighter. was it possible for someone to be this kind, this genuine, without asking for anything in return? you hesitated for a moment, still unsure, still caught in the confusion of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “are you sure?” you asked, trying to mask the uncertainty in your voice. mark rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but that smile never wavered. “just get in,” he said, moving to the passenger side and pulling the door open for you. he gestured toward the seat, a playful look in his eyes, like he couldn’t understand why you were hesitating.

you gave in, sliding into the car, letting the plush leather seat envelop you. the inside was immaculate—black leather, clean lines, the scent of something warm and subtle, maybe sandalwood, lingering in the air. it was the kind of car that screamed understated elegance, not the flashy, attention-grabbing kind you were used to seeing in this city. everything about it felt intentional, like mark himself, composed and thoughtful without ever needing to prove anything.

as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you kept your gaze forward, unable to meet his eyes. shame clung to you like a second skin, the weight of yesterday’s headlines still too fresh. but you could feel his eyes on you, watching you in that quiet, gentle way that made you feel both seen and safe. the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, until mark’s voice broke through. “you saw, didn’t you?” his tone was soft, almost apologetic, like he wished you didn’t have to bear the weight of it.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight as you nodded. “thank you,” you murmured, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. “i’m sorry you had to see those comments.” he paused, pulling out of the driveway, his eyes flicking toward you for a moment before returning to the road. “i can’t believe you’re the one apologizing,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

you frowned, confused by his response. “you were the one who had to deal with it,” you said, your voice a little firmer now. “you had to read those comments, engage with them.” mark glanced at you again, just for a second, but there was something in his gaze—something that made your heart ache, though you couldn’t quite place why. “you’re the one they were talking about,” he said quietly, the weight of his words sinking into the air between you.

you bit your lip, the familiar shame rising in your chest. “they didn’t lie about much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. mark’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “what do you mean?” your fingers fidgeted in your lap, the memories of your past flickering in your mind like painful old photographs. “i slept around when i was younger,” you said, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth. “i was ashamed. thought i was being loved, but it was the opposite.”

the silence that followed felt deafening. you braced yourself, preparing for the inevitable—a lecture, a judgment, the same disgust you had faced so many times before. you could almost hear the harsh words before they even came, could feel the sting of the shame that would follow. but instead, what came was something else entirely. “so what?” mark asked, his tone matter-of-fact, as if it were the most inconsequential thing in the world. you blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “what?” you asked, your voice small, barely able to comprehend what you had just heard.

he shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “you live, you learn. you make mistakes and move on from them. what about it? why would i hate you for it instead of hunting down those assholes one by one?” you were shocked. completely and utterly floored. you had spent so long believing that your past made you disgusting, that no one could ever look at you the same if they knew. and yet here was mark, looking at you like none of it mattered—like none of it could ever change how he saw you.

“you don’t think i’m disgusting?” you asked, your voice breaking just a little, your heart in your throat. he let out a dry laugh, the kind that held no real humor, only disbelief. “i could never think that about you,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a balm. the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, but this time they weren’t out of shame. for the first time in a long time, they were tears of relief. a small smile broke through the sadness, and you turned your head to the window, letting the tears fall in silence, feeling something you hadn’t felt in years.

mark’s presence felt like a shield as the crowd of paparazzi closed in around you, their cameras flashing incessantly. you could feel their hands tugging at your sleeves, jostling to get closer, to snap that perfect shot. their voices were a blur, shouting questions, making demands, their lights blinding you through your sunglasses. you froze, feeling trapped in the chaos, your breath catching in your throat.

but he was there, right beside you, his body tense and protective. his arm wrapped around you, and with a low, dangerous tone, he snapped, “back off.” his patience seemed to have worn thin, and his words cut through the air like a knife. the paparazzi hesitated, a few taking a step back, but some were still relentless. mark didn’t falter. he shifted, his hand moving to shield your face from the barrage of cameras, guiding you firmly toward the studio door. no one was getting a glimpse of you—not today, not like this.

by the time you made it inside, your head was spinning, your heart pounding in your chest. you felt exposed, even though he had done everything he could to protect you. as the door clicked shut behind you, the noise from outside was silenced, leaving only the soft hum of the studio’s air conditioning and the quiet, comforting sound of mark’s breathing beside you. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice small, barely audible. his smile was soft, but it reached his eyes as he reached up, gently sliding your sunglasses to the top of your head. his fingers brushed your hair back, and then, with the same tenderness, he removed the mask from your face, revealing the features you’d hidden from the world. “look at you,” he said quietly, his voice warm, “so pretty.”

it was a compliment, but not the kind that made you feel objectified or cheapened. it wasn’t the kind of praise you’d grown accustomed to—words that were always laced with lust, with ulterior motives. this felt different. it felt sweet, genuine. you smiled, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little as you savored the softness of his touch. before you could respond, the director called you into the room. you walked together, side by side, mark never leaving your side. his hand hovered protectively at your back, tracing small, soothing circles that grounded you. the nerves that had gripped you so tightly just moments ago began to ease, the tension in your shoulders melting away with each gentle motion.

as you entered the room, the director didn’t waste any time. “so, about the scandal,” he began, his voice clinical, detached, like it was just another problem to solve. “we need to do damage control.” his gaze flickered between you and mark, and you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “what do you have in mind?” mark asked, his voice calm, though you could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

the director’s next words were like a punch to the gut. “a blind date,” he said, his tone as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “with someone just as famous and prestigious. it’ll take the heat off the story.” your heart sank, your throat closing up. you wanted to object, to say something, anything, but your voice betrayed you. you couldn’t get the words out. why was it always like this? why did you always lose your voice when men made decisions about your life? why did you always fall first, always bend to their will?

but this time, mark spoke up for you. “no,” he said firmly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “she’s not gonna do that.” the director shot him a sharp glance, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “what makes you so sure?” he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

he scoffed, the warmth in his expression fading as his hand dropped from your back. “i’m her manager,” he said, his tone cold. “i’m not gonna let you pimp her out to the press over a scandal.” you blinked, stunned by his words. you tugged at his sleeve, trying to get him to stop, terrified that he was digging his own grave by standing up for you. you couldn’t bear the thought of him losing everything because of you, of him falling short just like everyone else had. but he didn’t budge. the director removed his glasses, staring him down. “watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low. “you’re only here because of jaehyun.”

mark smiled, but it wasn’t the warm, playful smile he usually gave you. it was something harder, more condescending, though when he looked at you, that hardness softened. “i’m not,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “i’m here because of her.” his words made your heart skip a beat, a smile tugging at your lips despite the tension in the room.

the director scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “is that so?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. when mark simply nodded in response, the director leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment before speaking again. “fine. then you’ll date her. make it convincing for the cameras.” shock washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless. your eyes widened, your mind reeling. date him? publicly? it was absurd, and yet you couldn’t find your voice to object. you were frozen in place, trying to process what had just been said.

the director dismissed you both with a wave of his hand, as though you were mere pawns in his game. as you left the room, you could feel the anger radiating off mark. not at you, never at you, but at the way the director had reduced you to a tool, something to be used for publicity. it made his blood boil, and you could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “i’m sorry,” he said as you walked down the hallway together, his voice low, filled with frustration.

you stopped, turning to face him. “you gotta stop apologizing,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “i’d rather be your fake girlfriend than anyone else’s.” his lips curved into a small, almost sad smile, but it wasn’t convincing. you could see the guilt still weighing on him, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. but he nodded, accepting your words, even if he couldn’t fully believe them himself. and despite everything, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t help but smile, too.

the photoshoot dawned bright and clear, the studio awash with sunlight that filtered through large, high windows. the space was a hive of activity, filled with the muted hum of chatter and the clinking of equipment. the walls were adorned with a pristine white backdrop that could be transformed into any setting the imagination could conjure. spotlights were carefully positioned to cast a flattering glow, creating a perfect balance between shadow and light.

you arrived once more feeling a mix of trepidation and anticipation. the scandal was still fresh, its edges raw and jagged, but you tried to set it aside, focusing on the task ahead. the concept for the shoot was a glamorous vintage look—a nostalgic nod to the old hollywood starlets, with a modern twist. the wardrobe was exquisite: a shimmering gown in deep emerald green that hugged your figure before flaring out into a dramatic skirt. the bodice was adorned with delicate beadwork that caught the light with every movement, creating a subtle sparkle that seemed to dance across your skin. your hair was styled in voluminous waves, cascading down your back with a glossy sheen. the makeup was equally flawless—classic winged eyeliner and a nude lip, complemented by a subtle, radiant glow on your cheeks. as you stepped in front of the camera, you felt the energy of the room shift. the crew's murmurs fell silent as they focused on their work, adjusting lights and angles to best capture the vision. mark was there, of course, standing just off to the side. his gaze was fixed on you, and in that moment, it felt as though he was the only person in the room who truly saw you.

the photographer directed you with practiced ease, calling for different poses and expressions. you moved fluidly, slipping into character with a grace that felt almost effortless. the camera clicked rhythmically, its shutter capturing each fleeting moment of your performance. you felt a growing confidence, bolstered by the soft, encouraging murmurs from the crew.

throughout it all, mark’s eyes never strayed from you. his gaze was unwavering, filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just that he was watching; he was absorbing, cherishing each glance, each expression. his eyes held a warmth that transcended mere admiration. there was a softness, a depth that suggested he saw something in you that went beyond the surface, beyond the glittering gown and the carefully applied makeup. as the photographer called for a brief break, he approached, his footsteps light, his expression a mix of admiration and something deeper.

he reached out, gently adjusting a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch that was both respectful and intimate. “you’re doing incredible,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the backdrop of the studio’s ambient noise. “you’ve got this natural grace about you.” his words were more than just praise; they were a recognition of your essence, of the way you moved and carried yourself. you could see it in his eyes—his admiration was palpable, sincere. it was a gaze that lingered with affection, with a hint of something that bordered on reverence.

the photographer resumed the shoot, and with each click of the camera, mark’s gaze followed, unwavering. there was no objectification in his stare, no hint of lust or superficial desire. instead, it was as though he was seeing you for who you truly were—a person who, despite the chaos and scandal, was captivating, beautiful, and worthy of admiration. there was someone who saw past the headlines and the flashing cameras, who saw you as more than just a face on a magazine cover.

when the session finally concluded, and you stepped away from the set, you felt a profound sense of relief and accomplishment. mark was there to offer you a genuine smile, one that spoke of pride and support. “you were amazing today,” he said, his voice laced with admiration. “i’m really proud of you.” you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had little to do with the shoot and everything to do with the way he looked at you.

“so, see you tomorrow?” he asked, his tone warm, laced with a hint of casual curiosity. you hesitated, a fleeting moment of uncertainty crossing your mind. “actually,” you began, “would you like to get lunch with me now? i mean, if you’re not too busy, of course.” you trailed off, feeling a pang of self-consciousness. “i don’t want to impose or sound desperate,” you added quickly, feeling the need to clarify.

mark’s smile widened, a reassuring glimmer in his eyes. “i’d love to,” he replied. “it’s no imposition at all. let’s go.” you felt a wave of relief wash over you as he guided you towards his car. outside, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a golden hue over the city streets. mark’s car—a sleek, black luxury sedan with tinted windows—stood out in the midst of the bustling parking lot. it had an understated elegance, the kind that spoke of both comfort and refinement. the interior was plush, with leather seats that exuded a sense of sophistication.

he opened the door for you and, once you were settled inside, slid into the driver’s seat with practiced ease. his movements were smooth and confident, and as he started the engine, you noticed his demeanor had shifted. he was more focused, more protective, shielding you from the cameras that lingered at the studio’s entrance. his eyes remained sharp, scanning the area to ensure you weren’t bothered.

the drive to the restaurant was marked by a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional hum of street traffic. mark took a scenic route, passing through tree-lined streets and past elegant boutiques, showcasing a side of the city that felt both serene and refined. you glanced at him occasionally, catching glimpses of his profile illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights.

eventually, you arrived at a spot tucked away in a quieter part of the city. its exterior was a blend of modern chic and classic charm, with large windows framed by delicate drapery and a welcoming sign that hinted at the warm atmosphere inside. mark escorted you in, and the hostess, recognizing him, offered a discreet nod and led you to a cozy corner table away from the prying eyes of the street. the restaurant exuded a quiet elegance—soft ambient lighting, tasteful decor featuring muted colors, and a faint, inviting aroma of gourmet dishes being prepared. as you settled into your seat, mark pulled out a chair for you with a courteous gesture, his attention never straying far from you.

over the course of the meal, the conversation flowed easily. his presence was soothing, and his attentive listening made you feel at ease. the menu offered a range of refined dishes, and you both opted for light, comforting fare—fresh salads, tender grilled fish, and a selection of artisanal bread. the food was delicious, but it was the company that truly made the experience special. as you ate, you found yourself opening up to mark in a way you hadn’t anticipated. “you know,” you began, your voice tentative but earnest, “i’ve been used all my life. it’s like people see me as something to exploit, and it’s only made them think less of me.”

mark’s eyes softened as he listened, his gaze attentive and caring. he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. instead, he simply took in your words, his expression reflecting a mix of empathy and understanding. “i’m sorry you’ve had to go through that,” he said quietly. “no one deserves to be treated that way.”

you felt a lump form in your throat as his words sank in. the vulnerability you had shared was met with genuine compassion, something you hadn’t expected. mark reached across the table, his hand extending to yours with a tender, reassuring touch. “use me,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “use me until you love yourself.”

you were stunned, the weight of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. the promise in his voice was profound, a gesture of support that went beyond mere words. you stared at him, trying to process the depth of his offer. but before you could respond, his hands enveloped yours in a gentle embrace. in that moment, you were acutely aware of the contrast between the performance you had to put on and the genuine connection you were experiencing. the touch of his hands, the way he stroked your fingers with a tenderness that was both comforting and intimate, spoke of something deeper. it was as though the boundaries of your staged relationship were dissolving, giving way to a reality that was more genuine than you had anticipated.

the conversation continued, but the focus shifted to lighter topics. you both shared stories and laughter, the tension of the earlier events seeming to melt away. mark’s presence was a balm, soothing your frayed nerves and providing a sense of security you hadn’t known you needed. as the meal came to an end, he paid the bill, his hand still holding yours as you walked out. the sun had set, and the city lights were beginning to twinkle, casting a warm glow over the streets. you were acutely aware of the contrast between the authenticity of your time with him and the world outside, which seemed to linger with its judgment and scrutiny.

when you reached his car, he opened the door for you once more, his touch gentle and respectful. as you settled back into the plush interior, you couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. the lines between your staged relationship and the genuine affection you felt were blurring, and while you knew that you were still performing for the cameras, the moments of sincerity you shared with him were undeniable.

as he drove you back to your house, the evening air outside was crisp, a gentle reminder that the day was drawing to a close. the glow of streetlights cast a warm, comforting light through the windows of the car, creating a cocoon of serenity around you both. the drive was quiet, filled with a comfortable silence that spoke volumes more than words could. when you arrived at your front door, he walked with you, his presence a steady comfort against the backdrop of your otherwise solitary home. the hallway was lit, adding a soft ambiance to the moment. he stopped at your door, his expression softening into a genuine smile as he wished you a good night.

but as he turned on his heel to leave, something inside you surged—a reluctance to let him go, a sudden, overwhelming desire for him to stay. “wait,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper. “spend the night.”

mark paused, his demeanor shifting as he turned back towards you. the smile on his face faltered, and his gaze became serious, filled with a mixture of tenderness and something you couldn’t quite place. “i can’t do that,” he said softly, almost apologetically. your heart sank. Were you so off-putting to him? was he so disgusted by you that he couldn’t even stay? the thought pierced you, and you had to ask, “why?”

his eyes met yours, and despite the gentleness that still lingered, there was an undertone of something raw and sincere. “because,” he began, taking a step closer, “i don’t think i’ll be able to control myself if i do.”

the distance between you was minimal now, so close that you could almost feel the heat radiating off him. his proximity made your heart race, the thump in your chest loud enough that you thought he might hear it. you swallowed hard, struggling to understand why you felt this way, why he was so close yet seemingly so far. “there are no cameras,” you reminded him, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to reassure him of the privacy you both had.

mark chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your breath catch. “i don’t care about the cameras,” he said, his voice a soothing murmur. “it’s not about that.” the weight of his words, the gentle touch, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to fill the space between you made you feel a sudden surge of vulnerability. you hated yourself for feeling so exposed, for being so willing to give in, to risk it all, and to let someone see you so completely.

in that vulnerable moment, driven by an impulse you couldn’t quite control, you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his. it was a kiss filled with raw emotion, a desperate plea for connection. to your surprise, mark’s response wasn’t fueled by lust or urgency. Instead, his kiss was tender, patient, as though he was savoring every second. his hands cupped your face with a gentle care, his lips moving against yours with a softness that spoke of deep affection rather than fleeting desire.

when he finally pulled away, it was with a smile that seemed to reflect genuine fondness. “look at you,” he cooed, his fingers lightly ruffling your hair. “so cute.” you frowned slightly, still trying to process the unexpected tenderness. as he leaned against the doorway, his smile widening, you asked, “are you gonna leave?”

mark shook his head, his eyes gleaming with a playful warmth. “no way,” he murmured, his voice filled with determination. “someone has to make sure you get some rest.” the way he spoke, the care in his actions, almost felt surreal. it was as if the affection he showed was almost too good to be true. yet, as he stepped inside, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, you felt the house grow warmer, more inviting with his presence.

he watched you from the couch as you moved around the kitchen, preparing tea. the dim light from the overhead fixture cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the delicate way your hands trembled as you worked. he noticed how thin you looked, the hollowness of your cheeks and the way your clothes hung loosely on your frame. it made him wonder whether this was always the way you were or if it was a consequence of the relentless demands of your career.

“do you need help?” he asked, his voice filled with concern as he stood up and walked toward you. the distance between you seemed to shrink with every step he took. as he approached, he gently took hold of your wrists, guiding your hands to pour the boiling water over the tea bags. the warmth of the steam contrasted sharply with the coldness he felt in his chest as he observed your fragile state.

you turned to face him as you finished, giving him a soft, appreciative smile. “thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. he could see the tremors in your hands, which you tried to hide by gripping the mug tightly. “you’re shaking,” he said gently. “shouldn’t you eat more?”

a sad smile crossed your lips as you shrugged. “i should be eating less.” mark’s smile faded, and he set the mugs back on the table with a determined clink. the realization hit him hard, the idea that you were expected to adhere to a standard that demanded you to shrink, not only in size but in presence. it was unfathomable to him that someone as perfect as you should be subjected to such dehumanizing expectations.

“why did you take up such a job?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and concern. as you sipped your tea, you reflected on the question, your eyes distant as if searching for the right words. “everybody likes the surface,” you said, your smile fragile. “nobody cares about what goes beyond it. it’s always been like that, so i may as well get some money out of it.”

mark’s heart ached at the thought of you being reduced to eye candy, your worth dictated by your appearance rather than your true self. the notion that your life’s goal was to be admired rather than valued for who you were made him sick. “quit your job,” he said abruptly, the words escaping before he could fully process them. you looked at him in shock, the tea still hot on your tongue. “are you crazy?” you asked, incredulous.

he shook his head, his expression earnest but troubled. “quit your job,” he repeated. “you should be doing something you love instead of being everything you hate about yourself.” his words carried a raw truth that stung deeply. no one had ever told you to quit before; it had always been about encouragement, about pushing through. his opposition was startling because it was clear he saw you for more than just your looks, something no one else had done. it clicked for you then—mark was the only person who seemed to understand and care about the essence of who you were beyond the superficial.

“you mean it?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of hope and disbelief. he didn’t answer with words but instead set his tea down and leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. the contact was so tender that it made your knees weak, tears threatening to spill over. it was a kiss devoid of urgency, filled with care and an earnest desire to comfort.

when he finally pulled away, his frown deepened at the sight of your tear-filled eyes. “how could anyone be cruel to you?” he murmured, his voice filled with sorrow. “so cruel that you cry at the slightest affection?”

your tears began to fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. mark, seeing the depth of your pain, gathered you into his arms without hesitation. “don’t cry,” he whispered, though it was the exact thing that made you let go, burying your face in his chest as the tears flowed. he held you tightly, his arms a sanctuary from the world’s cruelties. cry, he thought, let it all out. as if sensing his silent encouragement, you did just that, clinging to him as you let your emotions pour out. for the first time, you felt truly cared for, not for how you looked but for who you were.

as you pulled back from him, your eyes still glistening with the remnants of tears, he reached up with his rough fingers to tenderly brush them away. his touch was surprisingly gentle, the contrast between the coarseness of his hands and the softness of his touch creating an intimacy that felt both intimate and profound. small, reassuring smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked at you, his gaze filled with an affection that was deeply comforting.

you leaned in to kiss him again, but this time, it was different. the kiss was infused with a hunger that transcended the need for love or the fear of loneliness. it was driven by a genuine feeling of being cherished, an intensity that came from truly feeling valued. the kiss full of passion, and you could hear the heavy breaths escaping from him, proof of the fervor that both of you were experiencing. despite the heat between you, mark pulled away, his face flushed, and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“don’t,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, their closeness adding to the depth of his emotions. the word was almost a plea, a desperate attempt to maintain control despite the overwhelming feelings. you frowned, confused and yearning for more. “why?” you asked, your voice laced with vulnerability.

he shook his head, his fingers gently stroking your hair in a soothing motion. “i don’t wanna be like them,” he whispered. “i don’t wanna break you.”

the sincerity in his voice was audible, his hesitation evident in the way he caressed your hair. the thought of him being so considerate, so concerned about not causing you pain, only made you feel even more secure and cherished. you took a step back, but his fingers remained entangled in your hair, a subtle reminder of his presence and his care. “break me,” you encouraged softly, your eyes locked onto his. “i’m yours to break.”

the words hung in the air, laden with an openness that surprised even yourself. mark’s hesitation deepened. he was overwhelmed by your fragility, the softness in your eyes, and the way you looked at him with such trust. he didn’t want to cause you any harm, didn’t want you to feel used or sullied. “i don’t want you to feel used,” he admitted, his voice betraying his internal conflict. the tenderness in his voice and the way he looked at you with such genuine concern only made you feel more at ease. you didn’t respond verbally; instead, you kissed him again, your hands exploring the contours of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the fabric.

his resolve wavered as he felt the intensity of your touch. his initial urge to hold back dissolved as you made it difficult for him to resist. his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap, never breaking the kiss. in his mind, he battled with the thought of being gentle versus the desire to give in fully to the moment. his struggle was open, yet he knew he could be gentle, that he could offer you the care and affection you deserved. his thoughts raced as he navigated this delicate balance, his love and concern for you making him want to be as gentle as possible while also embracing the passion that surged between you.

his hands moved from your hair to your shoulders, then down to your breasts, cupping the small mounds of flesh tenderly. you gasped into the kiss as his thumbs brushed over your sensitive nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. his touch grew bolder, kneading and caressing, as you arched into his palms, your desire growing more urgent. the fabric of your shirt was the only barrier, and it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough for much longer.

mark felt your urgency, and his own desire grew stronger. he broke the kiss to gaze into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or fear. all he saw was the same trust and need that had been there before. with trembling hands, he began to unbutton your shirt, one button at a time, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation was present, a heady mix of excitement and emotion that made your heart race. as he undid the last button, his eyes shamefully drifted to the sides of your shirt covering your bare breasts, but he didn’t have time to feel shame, not when he wanted you to feel loved.

his hands slid inside your shirt, pushing the fabric aside to expose your soft, perfect skin. he took a moment to just look, his breath hitching at the sight of your nipples, pebbled and begging for his touch. his eyes filled with tears, not of pain or regret, but of pure love and the depth of his feelings. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion. you didn’t speak; instead, you leaned in to kiss him again, this time more urgently, your tongue dancing with his, as your hands found the hem of his shirt, eager to feel his bare chest against yours.

his own shirt was soon discarded, and you both sat there, breathing heavily, skin to skin. his strong hands continued to massage your breasts, his thumbs playing with your sensitive peaks, driving you wild with every touch. your own hands roamed over his shoulders, his arms, feeling the strength and warmth of his body. the connection between you was sickening, a silent conversation of love and lust that didn’t need words. “fuck,” you exhaled as his thumbs danced around your erect nipples, kneading the thin flesh of your breasts. you felt ashamed for a second, ashamed at the lack of what you had to offer him, at the dainty size of your breasts. you felt the need to cover up, to hide yourself from him, thinking it wouldn't be enough for him to enjoy. you crossed your arms over your small breasts, a shy look of embrassment in your face, but mark wasn’t having any of it.

his hands gently moved yours aside. “no, baby, don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his eyes filled with adoration. “you’re perfect. absolutely perfect. i love every inch of you, these too,” he said, tracing his fingers over your breasts again. his words were like a balm to your insecurities, a gentle caress to your ego. his warm mouth found one of your nipples, suckling it with surprising gentleness. the sensation was like a lightning bolt straight to your core, and you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands as he worked his magic on your breasts. the way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, made you feel so cherished, so loved. you lacked what other girls could easily offer him, yet he didn’t seem to care.

his other hand found its way down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, over your hips, and down to the button of your pants. with a gentle tug, he encouraged you to lift your hips, allowing him to pull them off. you were now fully exposed to him, vulnerable in a way that was thrilling and terrifying all at once. his eyes took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your bare pussy, glistening with arousal. he groaned, his own desire thick in the air. “so beautiful,” he murmured, his hand moving to touch you lightly.

his fingertips grazed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. you moaned, unable to hold back the sound, your legs spreading wider to give him better access. he took his time, teasing and exploring, his touch as tender as if you were made of the most delicate glass. he parted your folds, his finger sliding in easily, feeling the slickness of your arousal. you were so wet for him, and the sight of his finger disappearing into you made him even harder. “you’re so ready for me, fuck, like you were made for me,” he said, his voice full of wonder.

his thumb continued to circle your clit as his finger began to move in and out, his pace increasing gradually. your hips rocked in sync with his movements, the pleasure building inside you like a crescendo. he watched your face, reading your every expression, ensuring that he was giving you exactly what you needed. his eyes never left yours, filled with a fierce love and protection that made your heart swell. you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps, but he wasn’t done yet. he needed to feel you, to have you with him filling you up to the brim.

mark leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slid them off. his cock, hard and demanding, sprang free, and you couldn’t help but stare. he was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and the sight of him made you both nervous and incredibly turned on. he noticed your gaze and smirked slightly, a hint of pride flashing in his eyes. “aren’t scared, are you?” he asked playfully, his voice a seductive whisper.

you shook your head, trying to play it cool despite the nervousness that bubbled up inside you. “not at all,” you lied, your voice a little shaky. he chuckled, his hand moving to stroke himself slowly, the sight of his hand on his cock making your stomach flip. “you sure?” he questioned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you nodded, your eyes locked onto his hand, watching the way his shaft grew even more as he touched himself. no matter how scared you were, you knew he would take care of you.

mark leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his kiss gentle yet filled with a burning need. you felt his hand move away from your pussy and the loss of his touch made you whine into the kiss. but the sound was soon muffled by his groan as he pulled away, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. the tip of his dick was slick with precum, and you felt a thrill of anticipation as he pushed against you, just the tip teasing you. it had barely grazed your slit, yet you were soaking around him, the sight of it only clouding his mind even more.

his eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt, but all he saw was the same eagerness that reflected his own. with a deep breath, he pushed in, inch by inch, his big cock stretching you wider than you’ve ever been. it was a delicious pain, a sweet agony that you couldn’t get enough of. your nails dug into his shoulders as he filled you up, his gentle strokes becoming deeper, more insistent. your walls tightened around him, trying to hold onto his length as if afraid to let go. “you’re okay, baby, just hold on,” he encouraged softly as you whined, nails clawing at his skin.

his praise, his tenderness, it all felt so overwhelming that tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. it was too much, too beautiful, and it hurt in the most exquisite way. you nodded, your breath hitching as he reached down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as his cock pushed deeper into your pussy. your moans grew louder as he found a rhythm that had you writhing in his lap, your body moving with the gentle ebb and flow of his hips. “look at you, taking me so well,” he cooed at the sight of his cock tucked into the swell of your cunt, his fingers grazing the small creases of your breasts as you tightened around him.

his strokes grew more deliberate, his movements more powerful, yet never crossing the line into roughness. he was worried that his size might be too much for you, so he held back, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible without causing any discomfort. but you could feel the tension in his body, the restraint that was clear in every line of his face, the cords of his neck standing out as he held back. you didn’t want that; you wanted all of him, the beast that lurked beneath his tender exterior. “i can take it, break me, please,” you panted. his hands reached down, your hands wrapping around his, urging him to go deeper, to move faster.

his eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, and what he saw there was all he needed. he let go of the last of his restraint, his hips moving with more force. your pussy stretched around his thick cock, the feeling of fullness making you dizzy. each thrust was met with a wet slap, the sound echoing in the quiet room, mingling with your cries of pleasure. your walls clenched around him, trying to hold onto him, to keep him deep inside you, to never let him go. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that had you bucking your hips, trying to get closer, trying to get more. he was so sweet, his hair tickling your skin as he wrapped his tongue around your nipple, his tongue probing at the flesh. you wanted to feel insecure, but he was making it impossible.

his hand found yours again, his fingers interlocking with yours, as if to remind you that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. the connection was strong, and it only grew stronger with each passing moment. your orgasm was approaching like a freight train, and you could feel it building in the pit of your stomach. your breath grew shallower, your eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in the feeling of him inside you. his free hand was in your hair, tugging gently, his teeth grazing your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

his thrusts grew deeper, and the pressure on your g-spot was intense. you felt yourself tightening around him, your pussy gripping him like a vice. “cum for me, baby, cum on my cock,” he whispered in your ear, his voice a seductive rumble that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. the words alone were enough to send you over the edge, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. your body tensed, your pussy pulsing around him as you screamed out his name, your eyes squeezed shut, tears of joy streaming down your face.

his own orgasm was building, the feel of you tightening around him was too much. with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, groaning as he released his seed, filling you up without a single thought of protection. he watched as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your climax, his heart racing with the intensity of his own feelings. the sight of you, coming apart in his arms, was more than he could handle. his own eyes filled with tears, his love for you so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but cry with you.

he held you tightly as he pulled out, his cock still hard and glistening with your juices. his hand moved to stroke your hair, his eyes never leaving your face. “i love you,” he whispered, the words coming out in a choked sob. the weight of his emotions was palpable, and you felt your own heart swell in response. you leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his cum leaking out of you, a testament to the intimacy you had just shared. “i love you too,” you whispered back, your frail fingers wiping away the tears that stained his cheeks.

there was no shame in it anymore. there were no cameras waiting to capture the moment, no witnesses. there was nobody but the two of you. there were no mocking looks or harsh words to battle your self-esteem, nothing to fuel your insecurities. he was as raw as you were, but he was stronger than you. he didn’t cry because of the sex, he cried because of the love. you weren't too sure about a happy ending just yet, but a beginning was more than you could’ve asked for.

✧*.

a/n: to the doll that requested, hope u know ur absolutely perfect no matter what. never let anybody’s subjective opinion or the standards perpetuated dictate how beautiful you are and how beautiful you should feel. this goes to anybody reading, because i know there’s too many of you scrolling through tiktok and thinking, “why cant i look like that?” or “why do i have hip dips, why doesn’t my ass looks like that, why does she look like that and i don’t?” i promise all of your insecurities are illusions purposely projected by the media to make you give into what they’re feeding you. no, starving yourself won’t make you beautiful. neither will overused lips fillers or heavy botox or that botched bbl. there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, there never was and there never will be. cherish every part of yourself, you never know who may be looking at you and wishing they had what you do.

[colourstreakgryffin]

If you take Request for Stories / One-Shots, what about Velvette finds a lost Demon Child took it in and now has to deal with not only a very clingly toddler but also two Vee Uncles who annoy her with Ideas of making more Power and a good Name Image for the Vees newest Member? ^^

Haha. Awww. A solo Velvette as basically a ‘Mom’. I mean, I did do Dad Vox and Dad Valentino. Why not end it with Vel. Alrighty! Let’s try this out, shall we?

Velvette- Hourly Craze

Velvette’s a social media-obsessed teenager at the depths of her soul so when she finds a lost tiny demon toddler in her disposable ‘fashion’ bin, she was holding you out in front of her and going around asking ‘who’s baby is this?’. She doesn’t like babies!

Eventually, Velvette has to bring the baby… being you, into the Vees Tower and almost begged Vox and/or Valentino to take you instead but both decline rather quickly, leaving her STUCK with this brat! She was so pissed

So, when Velvette brought you back to her personal tower with how unhappy she is over this problem she’s in, she just threw you at her crowd of shaky employees hastily and ordered them to look after you. Continuing on, still on her phone and not caring

Although, Velvette begins to feel weird… very weird. She doesn’t get why but she is thinking about you, thinking about where you are. How you feel, what you’re doing or what you’re in but she tries and does well to ignore it

Velvette, after a few days, ends up way too frustrated with her own thoughts and wonder, to ignore them anymore so she finds whichever one of her employees that have you and demand you back. She doesn’t know what to do but she’s taking you anyway

Velvette, by the time she has you back, doesn’t know what to do with a infant so she struggles on how to look after you, even how to feed you so she has to rely on internet and social media and frequent calls to her friends on how to figure this out

Velvette struggles to adapt to your routines. Why are you always waking up SO early in the morning?! She gets so mad but then again, she looks at your face as she picks you up and her heart melts and she calms down instantly then this repeats

Velvette gets puffy a lot when you don’t eat your food or wonder out of your room but it’s because she has no experience with children but whenever she yells at you for annoying her, she instantly regrets it and apologises over and over and hugs you as you cry in her arms

Velvette cannot say she loves you but she doesn’t necessarily hate you either. She just kinda is now passively dealing with you, yet, she hates anybody else being near you nor even touching you so her relationship with this little toddler called you is a bit complicated

Velvette is always just a bit alarmed when she finds you clung onto her. She doesn’t know why you love her so much but than again, she appreciates it and has grown to like it too much to just stop it as whilst she has to half limp around to do her duties, it’s because you’re clung on her leg

Velvette will totally raise you as a iPad baby but she is also the same type to filter the shit out of the internet access so you’ll never ever find anything bad and if you do, she’ll force Vox to make a heavily modified tech piece for you to keep you safe from internet dangers

Velvette has grown more and more to liking you. She is not the best caretaker mother ever but she does actually try yet she isn’t that competent, however, she has her employees and her phone to help satisfy your needs better

Velvette likes to dress you up, put you adorable little outfits she either makes for her latest fashion lines or a piece of her own style that’s a direct copy, to fit you perfectly so you match her. She finds it pretty cute and she can’t help but takes pictures of whatever she dresses you in then shows it to her employees as a ‘learning’ moment since you rock the look better

Yes, Velvette does take pictures of you and posts them on her Voxtagram and many other social media platforms as she is quite proud of how cute and precious you are. You’re the cutest toddler in Hell and she wants everybody to know you’re hers!

Velvette gets quite pissy at Vox and Valentino for bothering her about you. Just leave you alone and trust me, she isn’t gonna be quiet about those feelings, she doesn’t like it when they even try to mention that raising you to be the next Vee would help raise more power. That isn’t happening

Velvette will absolutely name you something staring with ‘V’, such as ‘Vance’ or ‘Vienna’ or ‘Vernee’ as soon as she can. She just thinks ‘V’ fits you much better

Velvette may not know what she feels but she loves you, she really does love you. She is kinda rocky with caring for you but she is trying her best

“Babycakes! Come here! Yes! Look at the phone, come to the phone! Come to Momette! Good bubba! You’re doing it! Yes, this is perfect for my Voxtagram”

[child0feden]

DISGUSTING KIND OF LOVE

pelle “ dead ” ohlin x reader

♡ general dating headcanons for pelle!

୨୧ such a talented soul… there is only a tiny mention of his suicide but much more mention of his self harm! it would be kind of hard to make this without mentioning that unfortunately <3

♡ view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: disgusting kind of love by old funeral - what did you see by cemeteries

♡ let me be honest, you probably are not majorly fond of øystein or really any of the other members of mayhem!

୨୧ no matter how untrue and more complicated it really is, you would just absolutely hate how he seems to encourage pelle to self harm way too much on stage and almost doesn’t even try to help him after the concert ends…

♡ you have heated arguments with øystein about him seeming like an uncaring piece of shit a lot, usually whilst pelle just stands off to the side, staying completely silent and not wanting to get in between you two, not wanting to possibly just make things worse

୨୧ again, it is a very complicated situation and you most likely just feel a such a major protectiveness over pelle that it blocks out your ability to see things fully, blocks out your ability to see how complicated it all is with the band and how they handle his self harming tendencies

♡ it really just blocks out your ability to see that øystein and the other band members did care, at least for the most part, they just were not the best at showing it sometimes

୨୧ you likely absolutely refuse to call pelle “ dead ”

♡ the nickname just makes you upset and almost sick because pelle is certainly not dead to you, you know better than anyone that he has a personality, he has interests, he is not dead yet… so he is and always will be just pelle to you

୨୧ since to you it seems like almost no one in the band actually gives a damn about pelle and his health, you are usually the one waiting for him backstage with antiseptic wound wipes and bandages after an obviously eventful mayhem concert…

♡ of course, you have begged pelle many times to stop hurting himself so frequently and so deeply on stage but he just does not listen, it is in part just who he is and seemingly being egged on by the other band members and fans in the crowd certainly does not help the situation

୨୧ you give up after asking him to stop too many times, eventually just accepting that this is who he is, at least for now, and always just do your best to fix him up afterwards so that he never has to go to the hospital or lose too much blood

♡ i cannot see pelle being super sexually active with you, it is not that he does not find you attractive because he absolutely does, he finds you to be the most beautiful thing person he has ever seen and you look almost angelic to him, but he is just too malnourished all the time and you probably do not want to take away the small amount of energy he does have…

୨୧ the only times you guys do have sex is only when pelle initiates it, usually letting you know he feels like fucking by getting especially grabby with you, way more touchy than usual and staring at you until you feel his big blue orbs almost burning into you before you ask him what he wants

♡ pelle really likes to draw you, he has a whole sketchbook reserved just for his drawings of you!

୨୧ he never lets you see it though, he only lets you pose for the drawings sometimes but usually even the drawings are completely candid with you being unaware he is even watching and drawing you, unaware that his curious eyes are studying your every flaw and feature

♡ i can actually see pelle being pretty romantic in a strange way! he is definitely not your usual romantic type but he definitely actually tries a whole lot

୨୧ usually by gift giving! he will approach you with his back slightly slouched and head hanging low before showing you his hand which holds some kind of animal bone! well, you hope it is an animal bone, anyways…

♡ you always thank him before giving him a soft kiss on his pale cheek and he just nods his head before wandering off again with rosy red blushing cheeks or sitting down next to you and watching you

୨୧ usually you make the bones into pretty necklaces or little bracelets, wearing them proudly, thankful for his gift even if others might call it creepy or weird

♡ whenever pelle sees you wearing the necklace or bracelet, it always brings the tiniest but most genuine smile to his face! it makes him feel so appreciated and loved

୨୧ pelle is not super into pda, he is pretty shy and he just really likes to keep some things reserved for just the two of you, special for just the two of you

♡ the most at peace you ever see pelle are the rare times he actually sleeps…

୨୧ you like to admire him as he sleeps, slowly running a finger across his nose bone and gently brushing your fingers through his long blonde hair whilst being mindful of any small tangles, wishing you could just take away all of his troubles in life

♡ you really like taking pictures with and of pelle because i feel like deep down, as much as you hate thinking about it, you know there is a possibility he will not always be with you so you like to collect as many sweet memories in pictures as you can, just in case the worst comes to be…

୨୧ it is kind of rare but sometimes, just sometimes pelle will flash that big open mouthed smile at the camera for you, though most of the time it is just a small grin or a completely blank but intrigued face

♡ pelle really likes to write letters to you, he feels like he is not great at expressing his love and need for you through speaking and physical touch so he will often write it all in a letter and give it to you, pouring so much emotion into the paper through the ink of his pen

୨୧ you absolutely keep all of the meaningful love letters in a little lock box under your shared bed, pelle does not know about that though…

♡ if you are a night owl like him, which i feel like you kind of have to be, at least sometimes, in order to date him, you guys go on a whole lot of walks through the forest at night

୨୧ it helps calm the jumbled mess in his mind and you notice that, you see that, so whenever he is especially down and not looking too great, you always offer to take a walk with him…

♡ pelle does not talk much on these walks and neither do you but it is not an awkward silence, it is more so the peaceful kind, a calm and comfortable silence as the surrounding trees blow in the gentle wind

୨୧ you only ever speak up to point out any animal bones you see buried in the leaves which pelle promptly bends down to pick up and store away in the pocket of his tattered jeans, mumbling an almost unintelligible “ thank you ”

♡ those late night walks become some of your best memories with him! memories of peace and serenity, love and care <3

[reddesires]

hey, would you be down to write some Koba head cannons for if he reunited with the woman who cared for him for a short time when both of them were little, kinda like Caesar and Will except Koba was taken from reader and that’s when he got put in the labs and abused and all that. But years later while he’s hunting with Caeser or Caesar welcomes reader into the colony since they needed help and Koba recognizes them since they kinda raised him and pretty much the only human he’s ever met who was kind for him

Platonic please, may you also include Koba later getting Jealous if Reader interacts with any other ape

I’m so sorry of this is like too much for a request this is literally one of my first time requesting things on peoples pages and I have no clue how to go about these things 😭😭

Koba x Human!Reader [Platonic Headcanons]

Fandom: Planet Of The Apes

Rating: No Warning.

A/N: Here you go lovely, I appreciate being the one to writing your first request. I hope you enjoy it ❤️

(Primatologists are people who study primates, including apes, in their natural habitats)

•You were a primatologist who helped rehabilitate Koba when he was small, his mother had passed away and was refused by the other bonobos since they had babies of their own.

•You had a bond with koba unlike any other, he clung to you like you were his mother despite there being others that looked after him too. After seeing his distress of being apart from you, you took sole responsibility of the small bonobo.

•He became the light in your eyes. You would coo at him in a gentle tone as his small hands tenderly touched your face in fascination. This small creature captured your heart, and his eyes were your favorite feature of his. The intelligence and unconditional love he held for you became your source of motivation.

•the devastation of being separated from him after there was a financial cutoff for your program was like a punch to the stomach. he wasn't yours but he was in all the ways that truly mattered, you became his surrogate mother and you knew that getting feelings involved would complicate things but he needed you and loved you and felt the same.

•"NO! Please! Don't take him, I'm begging you!" You pleaded and begged. You just knew that if they took him away, you may never see him again. All you wanted was for him live the life he was supposed to, amongst his own kind but in the end they took him from your arms as your pleas' mixed with koba's cries, his tiny hands reaching out for you and your own hand reached out in desperation "Koba!".

•You searched for him for many years, making connections and reaching out to sources, but it always led to a dead-end, but you couldn't give up. You felt immense guilt, and you still carried so much love for him that helped you hold onto hope that you'll be reunited with the bonobo that you raised.

•One of your sources gave you info that one of the last times they heard of the group of apes that came from your program was when they were sold to a corporation for testing purposes in a lab, the doom you felt catapulted into you with such force that you felt your heart break into a million tiny pieces. You had no way of knowing which corporation and the location and it's been so long that you knew the damage was done and there wasn't a damn thing you can do, the shame you carried was an overbearing force as you came to terms. You were working in the San Francisco zoo as the up until the simian virus ravaged the human population, leading you back to the bonobo you were looking for.

                                °•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

•You had found refuge in the woods since other humans no longer welcomed others within their inner circles, you understood they were trying to protect themselves but you'd rather avoid the conflict entirely seeing as how scraped up you are already.

You knew of the apes within the confines of the forest but you'd rather your chances with them as you spent many years living amongst them during your primatologist years, but it was obvious their intelligence skyrocketed since then.

As you are gathering whatever resources within the area, berries being your top favorite and encapturing your attention as you're busy with your task, you start to hear slight rustling to the left of you.

You tilt your head only slightly, seeing two dark figures in your peripheral, you knew better than to react abruptly so you slowly straighten yourself out facing them your hands up in surrender to show you mean no harm. The two are cautious in their steps as they fully come out of the brush. It's a chimpanzee and Bonobo you observed.

The Bonobo has a defensive stance, a spear at ready and a snarl crossed on his muzzle and the chimp has a hardened scowl on his face and you feel a chill trail down your spine at his green stare but the primatologist in you tells you not to stare him in the eye.

"I mean no harm..just seeking safety.." You softly say, your throbbing leg shaking as you try to balance yourself upright.

"Koba." The chimp holds his palm up in front of the bonobo, the bonobo slowly lowering the spear, his stare hard and calculated as he sizes you up but nevertheless listens to the order given.

You feel your heart stop in your chest as the word hangs in the air, and you're practically breaking at the seams. He's not only a bonobo, but his name is Koba too.. it seems too much like a coincidence to not be him.

"Koba?" You say, signing his name the way you did back when you cared for the baby bonobo. You dropped your hand against your sternum, a circular motion you would reserve only towards the small Koba.

Time seems to hold still and resume after Koba drops on all fours slowly approaching you with an unreadable expression on his face as he stands in front of you, and you notice him extending his palm out.

You remember this motion. He did it as a small one often to you. He was expecting you to respond accordingly so you do. Your fingers slide across his palm.

It was you, after all. His mother.

                             °•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Bonus ending:

You were welcomed by Caesar into the colony after the revelation of your connection to Koba, you were in disbelief of finally getting reunited with your little bonobo and though he was different than what you remember you can still see remnants of the old him.

You came forward to Caesar with your knowledge of rehabilitation to help the other apes in the colony and heal their ailments, he accepted your helping hand concluding that you were now a valuable member of the colony due to your extensive experience and abilities.

Koba was very protective of you and he was in a way jealous of your attention to the other apes, after years of being separated and missing your motherly guidance you were the only human that'll he'll ever hold a torch for.

A growl rumbled from his chest as he watched a male chimp get too close to you for his liking. "Koba, be nice to the others."

"Hmpf."

[twoidiotwriters1]

I’ve learned something new (Monkey D. Luffy x Fem!reader)

A/N: I'm so excited for this One Piece era.

Words: 746

At this point, it becomes a special tradition for y/n and Luffy to always search for something to share. When the Sunny arrives at a new island, they have to find something new to share with the other one. 

A new fruit, plant, color, secret paths, traditions, words, games, jewels, a new handshake, rocks, bugs (Luffy’s favorite), etc.  

One day, she’s already on board at the Sunny, waiting for him. 

“Y/N! Y/N!” She smiles recognizing the voice. 

She turns around at the same time Luffy lands in front of her. They both smile at each other. 

“Yes, Captain?” she asks making him giggle.  

“Guess what?” he answers. 

“What?” she follows the same dialogue they always use. 

“I’ve learned something new!” 

She laughs at her enthusiastic captain.  

“What is it Lu—” she gets interrupted by Luffy’s lips against hers. Her eyes stay open in shock for the few seconds the kiss lasts. 

Luffy ends the kiss, and he looks at her with a big, pleased smile. 

“What? Why? When? What?” Y/N stutters. Luffy chuckles. “You- you kissed me.” 

“Yep!” 

“Why?” She frowns confused at Luffy’s reaction to the kiss. 

She knows him, they have been close since she joined the crew, and maybe, just maybe, she had a small, tiny crush on him, but being his friend, she could read how he processes many things, and relationships are something complicated to know for sure whether he gets them. 

He knows the meaning of friendship, nakama, and family, yes. But boyfriend, girlfriend, and all of that, she’s not sure. 

“I’ve learned something new at the island,” he points out. 

“You learned how to kiss?” 

“No,” he sings. “I found some nice people with Sanji and Nami. And they told us that, if you love someone, you must kiss them, so,” he chuckles, “I did it.” 

She stays in silence for a moment trying to figure out if he’s joking, or what. But Luffy’s innocent and excited smile confuses her. 

“I- I think you misunderstood them, Lu.”  

“Uh?” he tilts his head. “But, Nami said- wait,” he pouts. “You didn’t like the kiss?” 

Her heart jumps on her chest and her face blushes hard. 

“No- I mean yes. It- it’s not that,” she stutters confusing Luffy, as he keeps looking at her with his puppy eyes. She sighs. “Listen, what they mean… is for uh- a romantic partner? Like a boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s when you want someone more than a friend or a crewmate or nakama.” 

“Could someone be more than my nakama?” He asks surprised. 

She sighs again. 

“It’s different, Luffy. You must feel different for that person.” 

He keeps thinking her words while she’s having a mental debate, wondering if he had kissed her as a mistake or… 

She waits but Luffy gets distracted by something else, and he steps away. She lowers her shoulders in disappointment. Y/N wants to walk away and cry about how stupid she was, but Luffy’s hand wraps around her wrist and stops her. She turns to him. 

“No, wait, I was thinking something,” he adds with a frown. 

“It doesn’t matter, it’s okay.” 

“Nami and Sanji scolded me today,” he remembers. “’Cuz I said I wanted to kiss you, but then they explained to me like you just did and I-” he returns to his enlightened smile, “Sanji said that I could kiss you whenever I want to if you’re my girlfriend —or something like that—and that sounds amazing! So, will you be my girlfriend?” 

She looks at him surprised as he waits with a smile. He kind of understands what she said before, and now that he has Sanji, Nami, and Y/N’s information, he just takes whatever he likes about it. 

“Luffy...” she blushes. 

“I like the idea of being more than Nakamas, and I want to kiss you every day and hug you and be with you. And it’s different than the others… I don’t want to kiss Usopp, ew!” She chuckles at his disgusted face. “Do you want to kiss me too?” He asks with hope in his eyes. 

All the anxiety disappears, and she doesn’t want to think about anything but Luffy… or his kisses. 

“Yeah,” she answers shyly. 

He screams and laughs with joy as he wraps his arms many times around her waist to pull her closer to his chest.  

They kiss again. 

“Your lips are soft, I like them!” He informs. She giggles. 

“And I like you, Captain.” 

[phoenixcatch7]

Things tloz has not been consistent about that you'd think it would be:

Everything. Buckle up.

The hero being called Link. He's Link in the same way Frisk is the character. The player chooses the name in every SINGLE game up until botw, and that only happened because of the voice acting. It's just shorthand for the link between the player and the game.

The princess being called zelda. Wind waker, she was called Tetra.

The princess being in the game at all (links awakening)

There only being one princess (the hero of either hyrule or legend had two)

There only being one hero (hyrule warriors had three and also linkle)

The princess not being a playable character (hw, aoc, and upcoming EoW. There's also non canon games like cadence and smash bros).

The master sword being in the game (four swords, minish cap, triforce heroes (?), ooa/oos only have it as a linked game post story unlockable, zelda 1,2 and la it was the magical sword).

Ganon being in the game (basically the exact same as the last point minus the 1st 3 games)

Ganon being a bad guy (hyrule warriors and generously, GENEROUSLY aoc, where he's playable as an ally post game).

The master sword being needed to defeat ganon (in botw aoc and totk the master sword is entirely optional, and totally inverts the traditional 'zelda weakens and link deals the final blow').

Link being the main character (upcoming eow which I'm cackling about)

The existence of humanity

Link being in green (abotk made him blue :( and took his hat >:((().

Zelda being in pink (abotk)

Zelda being blonde (she's anything from blonde to brown to ginger)

Link being blonde (tp and lttp (why is he pink?! Zelda is blonde! There's brown haired people! Why neon pink??)

Gerudo having rounded ears (up until abotk)

Nintendo making the games (hw and aoc, cadence lol)

Teen/kid link (totk is the only Link over the age of 19)

Link having a companion (it's pretty evenly split)

Zelda having the companion (aoc and eow)

Link having two companions (hw with basically all of them)

The nature of humanity vs hylians

The story taking place in hyrule (literally so many... La, mm, ooa, oos, technically ww, technically ss, half points for lttp and lbw, tfh)

Just the one triforce (lbw)

Just three separate pieces of the triforce (ww)

Any triforce at all (okay this one is complicated bcz depiction/hand marks/Actual Wish Granting Triforce but hylia alone knows where the triforce was in abotk. I'm counting ooa/oos because opening cutscene. La has zilch and I'm pretty sure mc too.)

Literally any religion has come and gone INCLUDING IRL CHRISTIANITY

Knowledge of the triforce

Knowledge of hylia (it's literally just ss abotk and maaaybe lbw)

The existence of hylia (^^^

The general populace being useless (totk) (that's it)

Link being left handed (in ss and abotk he's right handed. Tp is 50% right handed because they flipped the controls (and world) for the wii).

Link being able to swim at the start of the game (only in the 3d games minus lbw and la remake)

Link succeeding in his quest (botw) (I'm not counting failed hero oot because it's a meta attempt at a working timeline)

At least a tiny bit of time travel (loz 1/2, la, fs, lbw, lttp, botw...)

The hylian shield (only appears in the 3d games! (-la remake and ww and mm))

Link using a bow! (surprisingly 50/50)

Epona!! (literally just oot mm and tp. Botk she's noncanon amiibo and she's in mc but doesn't belong to Link T-T.)

A tutorial (varying subtlety, yes, but there's a difference between the great plateau and a 'press x to open menu :D' prompt five minutes into the game while a knight is trying to kill you (lttp)).

Link having the hero's spirit (ww. I personally disagree but hey)

The hero being a hylian! (totk hero's aspect)

Sleepy boy link (botk he has power naps On Lock)

Link being masc presenting (linkle, hw)

The symbolic elements (3/5/7 combos, lightning/ice/water/fire/wind triforce, boar/owl/dragon/whatever tf)

Things tloz has been consistent about in every game:

Link being a gnc short king (tp is the beefiest he ever got and that was 4'9 male gymnast build at BEST).

Him not telling anyone anything important ever.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Gender has always been a shaky and loose ever changing category. People asking for a strict definition of a man or woman are always going to be unsatisfied with any answer you give them because their definition of man or woman is the only one they want to be true.

Usually men have beards. But not always. Usually women have breasts. But not always. Often in many cultures “men” are the ones who do the fighting. But not always. There are cultures where women fight as well or even form their own warrior or soldier groups. There are men who can’t grow beards. There are women without breasts.

Usually men have a penis. But not always. Usually women have a labia. But not always. Such as it is for every other characteristic associated with one gender or another. And the necessity of one characteristic or another for being considered a man or woman varies greatly between time, culture, and place. Not to mention the vast variety in presentation in physical primary and secondary sex characteristics.

It’s not a thing that can have a solid definition with no exceptions. There are trends in what we perceive in the cultural moment as being necessities for being this or that gender but those general groups of characteristics always have exceptions to them and are prone to change with evolving cultural attitudes from within a society and influence from other outside cultures.

And generally the characteristics that people associate being a “good man” or “good woman” with overlap a significant amount. Like if you ask someone to just sit down and list things there will be something like a 90% overlap or more. Characteristics like caring for others, resilience, being a good listener, intelligence, etc. tend to be valued in people of any gender. The line between being a good man and a good woman is often more aesthetic than any concrete set of actions or physical characteristics.

Why am I a non binary man? There’s a thousand small things I could point to in order to explain it. But none of those reasons fit into a neat one sentence definition. But if you ask a cisgender man why he’s a man like really actually make him explain it, he will likely have a similar level of complexity to his answer if he really thinks about it. If you really grill cisgender people about their own opinions on this stuff they are often surprised to find how many thoughts they actually have about gender and how much more complicated those opinions are than they thought.

Transgender, intersex, queer, and gender nonconforming people are often forced to actually look at gender in a way that cishet people aren’t. It’s easier to see all of the tiny puzzle pieces when none of the ones you were assigned fit in your life and you’ve got to find your own. Gender isn’t one solid mass. It’s a mosaic made out of a lot of tiny tiles that can be swapped out or removed and still generally look like something you recognize.

What’s a woman? Well, that’s a question with a million answers but if you step back you can get a general idea. Kind of like with pointillism. If you stand too close to it and try to pick out one bit that makes a woman a woman you won’t see much. Just a singular splotch of paint. But if you back up a ways you’ll see something there you recognize. And what you see will likely still be up to your own interpretation.

[igotanidea]

Lollipop: Dick Grayson x kid!sister!reader

(part 1 of 4 for the batboys x sister!reader)

This was not supposed to end up like this.

At least at first, cause it was showing signs of impending tragedy.

He was only going to be gone for like 15 minutes with the best intentions of getting his little sister the biggest lollipop available at the fair shop.

And the fact that this beautiful girl was standing there casually, throwing glances his way had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Yes, he was flirty chatty, I mean – can you seriously blame a man with his look and charm? No right? No, of course not.

But, being the responsible older brother, he grabbed his sister and carried her piggyback straight to the shop, while cracking jokes and making the five-year old laugh softly, in the way only little kids can. Literally lighting up his entire world and having a great brother-sister bonding.

„So. Which one of the lollipops would you like Y/N?”

„That one!” she pointed her little fingers to the red and yellow piece of Candy on the display.

„Sure thing, little one, let me handle it for you.”

„Your daughter is so cute…” the girl Dick had an eye on, appeared next to him, flipping her hair flirtatiously, flashing him a bright smile.

Daughter?!

Shit.

Did he look that old that someone might take Y/N for his daughter?!

Was his hair going grey or something?

Did he have wrinkles?

He wasn’t even 30 yet and now he was appearing as a father figure?!

He loved that kiddo, he truly did, but this?

Too much.

„She;s actually my sister” he managed to say even though there was a whirlwind of emotions inside him.

WAS HE OLD NOW?!

„Oh, so cute. And you’re on the babysitter duties I guess?”

„Something like that.”

„Dick!” Y/N squirmed on his shoulders getting impatient and wanting her sweet.

Under any other circumstances in any other company that little word coming out of the word of a five year old would be completely Innocent and harmless, however Y/N had no idea what kind of reaction it may get from a – well- stranger.

“Did you teach her such language?!” the girl frowned in rebuke.

“What?” Dick chuckled nervously “No, no, you don’t understand, this is not a curse, it’s—”

“It sounds like one to me.”

“No!” Dick grinned “It’s actually my name!”

“Your name?” the girl raised an eyebrow “Are you for real right now?”

“Dick!” Y/N cried out again, wriggling so hard she almost fell from his shoulders, but due to some miracle he caught her safely, torn between wanting to smooch her cute little face and hiding her somewhere so she wouldn’t embarrass him even more. “Shh, kiddo. The adults are talking.”

“But I want –”

“I know little one, but if you could just give me five minutes—” Dick held his sister tight to his chest, whispering in his ear but she was not going to take his mysteriousness.

“Hi!” she turned around in her brother’s arms and called upon the girl “you’re pretty.” Her words were only as honest as a kid can be. No filter, no hesitation, no embarrassment and no overthinking.

“Well thank you. I’m Elle.”

“I’m Y/N.” the little girl reached her hand to the older one, squeezing it with the most stern face she could produce still being the cutest human being to walk the earth. “And that’s my brother, Dick. Dick! Come say hi to Elle!”

“That really is your name?”

“It’s Richard actually. But everyone just call me Dick. No subtext, I swear!” he laughed seeing Elle’s sceptic face expression.

“He’s my favorite brother!” Y/N clung to his legs, wrapping those tiny arms around them “yesterday he braided my hair and all the girls in the kindergarten were looking at me with jealousy!”

It was more likely shock, cause “braided” in Dick’s dictionary meant doing so many complex swirls that the complicated hairstyle seemed to stay on the head only by a miracle.

“And he watched all episodes of Dora the explorer with me! He even learned the song, come on Dickie!!” Y/N pulled his trouser leg “come on, sing with me! Jump in! ¡Vámonos! You can lead the way! Hey! Hey!” every exclamation mark was highlighted by the girl's joyful jump.

“Hey! Hey!” Dick grinned getting carried away by the cheerful melody and only after a while realizing that he must be making a fool of himself. “Yeah… um….”

“My brothers love that cartoon too.” Ellie smiled

“Oh, you have brothers?” now that was something the resident flirt could pursue “may it be that they are Y/N’s age?”

“Five and three. Do you think maybe they could hang out?”

“Oh, I absolutely think they could hang out.” Right, because it was all about the younger siblings. “Care to give me your phone number so we can arrange the da--… I mean the acknowledgement?”

Five minutes later Ellie said her goodbye and Dick was left with the very valuable number saved safely in his phone.

“Great job Y/N.” he put his hand up (not too high) so the girl could high (again- not too high) five him.

“Duh!” she scoffed with the face of a girl boss. “But seriously, you should up your game Dick!”

“Up my--? WHAT?! Where did you heard that?!”

“Uncle Wally—”

“Uncle Wally will not get fast enough to run from me now.” Dick hissed

“Hey, Dick?”

“Yeah, Yeah, I know, let’s get you that lollipop first, my little diva. You deserve it.”

He picked her up from the ground and spun joyfully in the air.

Who would have thought that he would actually be the oldest brother to such a tiny precious human, serving perfect role as her guardian angel.

[nights-flying-fox]

TMNT STORY AU COMP COMPETITORS MASTERLIST (@tmntstorycomp )

☆ Danny Phantom ROTTMNT Crossover by @chasingrabbits-art

☆ Love me, Love my Dog. by @tothefiniteyou

☆ We're not babysitters by @theawesomeninja-xd

☆ (Too Many Leos) Put One Back by  @beeceit

☆ Mitosis = duplication and separation by @varianlikescheese

☆ The Loyal Remain by @daboyau

☆ Monster Inside the Man by @keepsdrifting

☆ A Tear in my Eye by @cartoonhostage

☆ ERICA by @13runningsomething

☆ Captainx2 by @veearrifarrariboom

☆ Black and brown fur AU by @haro0o

☆ Set a Course for Home by @los-ninos-tortugas

☆ Catch You AU by @mudlarkspur

☆ Same Story Different Font by @tmnt-obsessed-ace

☆ Saviors of the Yokai by @mostlyvoid-partiallyturtles

☆ Everything Stays by @oddpocalypse

☆ Twin-Sync (More Than You Think) by @little-banjo-frog 

☆ Dimension Hopper Leo AU by @nights-flying-fox

☆ Inverted Confrontation by @boots-with-the-fur-club

☆ Cardinal Rules by @m0ths-wanderings / @dluebirb

☆ Manhatten: TMNT FARGO AU by @jxstacey [au masterpost]

☆ Universal Mayhem by @trixanimations

☆ Reminiscing that Old Time by @misshowdoyoudo

☆ Old Soul au by @delicatechildwitch

☆ Prime Leo AU by @darth-sonny

☆ TMNT: Broken Trifecta by @genderfluid-envy / @ask-broken-trifecta-turtles

☆ Body Horror Baby by @bambiraptorx

☆ Tiny Lil Fruit Turtles by @mochi-myles

☆ Through Your Hollow Bones au by @idiot-mushroom

☆ One Turtle Short of a Lair by @bucketofbugz

☆ Kitty's TMNT-Verse by @kittynumyum

☆ Shattered Pieces Of The Same Mirror by @xcometstarx

☆ Soulmates (Evil) AU by @error-core-animations

☆ Oh Hades, Let Me Have This by @faggotdonnie

☆ Empathy is Learned by @alicat54c

☆ Teenage Mutant Beetle Turtles by @beetleviolet

☆ Wouldn't it be Easier by @14muffinz

☆ Teenage Turtle Ninja Mutants (ttnm) by @idiot-mushroom

☆ The Birds & the Bees

☆ Two Nardos one dream Sequence by @tinytinyturttlesoup

☆ Sub-Zero AU by @noxvee6

☆ An OC, Echo! by @smol-bean-boi13 & @percy-eats-souls

☆ It's a Complicated Equation by @leilanising-vault-of-knowledge

☆ Good Genes by @lordshroom

☆ A Ghost of the Ninja I Used to Be by @robin-with-a-pen

☆ Sanctuary by @aquietwritingcorner

[koolades-world]

Got inspo after that satan angst hc, here’s the link in case you haven’t seen it. also drew inspo from willow and lavender haze by taylor swift, my favorite normie artist LOL

hurt/comfort, happy ending :)

just like lilith

Loud crashes and bangs, followed by enraged, maddening screams echoed through the House of Lamentation late at night, a tell tale sign Satan was mad about something again. His brothers didn’t dare check on him and everyone who walked by kept as silent as possible. He really tried his best to not do that anymore, he really did. But some things just couldn’t be helped.

He toppled another bookshelf with both hands and knocked over another with the accidental lash of his tail, making him even more upset. Pages fluttered as the shelf hit the ground. He grabbed one book in particular that had been a gift from Lucifer and ripped it apart by the spines, throwing the halves to separate sides of the room. He hated Lucifer.

Stupid Lucifer.

Stupid Mammon.

Stupid Levi.

Stupid Asmo.

Stupid Beel.

Stupid Belphie.

Stupid Celestial Realm.

Stupid angels.

Stupid Devildom.

Stupid Lilith.

He didn't mean that... did he?

Diavolo, why did everything have to be so complicated? The name Diavolo alone sent him into another rage induced fit. He tore off part of his bed frame and threw it as hard as he could at the only mirror in the room. Despite it being enchantment, it shattered into hundreds of pieces. Part of the enchantment held up, as it stayed in its frame despite being in so many pieces. He snatched it off the wall and began hitting against any surface he could get his hands on. He tried his hardest to do any more damage to it, but it stayed intact.

As he tried clawing the mirror, he noticed himself again. Messy blond hair stood on it's ends. Obsidian horns curling out of sight. A ruddy face. Deep jade eyes, bloodshot and red in the whites. Tears actively fell from his eyes, streaking their way down his face.

When had he started crying? He saw hundreds of himself, each and every one coming to the same realization. He swiped his tears away. All of his mirror-selves followed suit. For once, he was unsure how to feel. He looked himself in the eyes, horrified yet transfigured to the spot by the sight of his own face.

He found his thoughts drifting and his rage slowly took the backseat. Was Lilith's hair as wispy has his? Did she have those little flyaways and that cowlick that refused to behave no matter what he did to it? Did she really have the same straw-yellow blond? Asmo always told him his eyes were breathtaking. Did he tell her that too? Were Lilith's the same? Did they reflect everything she felt? Were they really the same green, the green that could be both jade and emerald at the same time? With the same hints of yellow at the bottom the were reminiscent of the sun on the horizon before dawn or dusk? Was she also fond of beautiful things? He was sure if she was the rising sun, he was the setting sun.

Usually his fits were about Lucifer, and how he felt he could never escape his shadow. In the end, they were the same. Not this time though. This time, it wasn't even really his fault. If it wasn't his fault, who's fault was it then? Could he really blame his brothers for seeing their lost sister in him? They probably missed her so much it hurt. If she had survived, would they even want to see her like he was? He knew she would have taken his place as the Avatar of Wrath. If he and Lucifer were two sides of the same coin, what does that make Lilith to him? Were they the same face, or did were they too two sides of the same coin? What did that make Lucifer to Lilith once he was added to the equation? Did Lucifer subconsciously wish to have Lilith back? Is that why he was the way he was? Would he even be here if Lilith had lived? Would his brothers prefer that?

The thoughts were dizzying. It overwhelmed him. He threw the mirror as hard as he could across the room. It finally shattered. The tiny shards showered across the ruins of his room like snow onto a battlefield. He let his tears fall freely, and sank his knees in the small patch of moonlight coming in through his window. He let out an agonizing cry, one that everyone in the house could feel the pain deep from within. For once, his brothers felt bad. They would never understand. It felt good to get a little of that feeling off his chest. He wallowed in the silence after his shriek, until he heard a soft knock on his door. This caused him to snap to attention and growl at whoever was on the other side.

"Satan?" He heard an echo of the voice he knew so well. Their tone was gentle in a sorrowful way. No longer was it warm. This was waterlogged, droopy, like a small flower under heavy rain. "Can I come in?"

"Mc? Yes, come in." The door cracked. For a moment, he thought his brothers would be behind them, and that it was all a trap. But he was wrong. They were alone, still dressed in the fancy outfit from the dinner they had gone to as a family earlier that night. Their eyes were just as red as his own. They stepped into the small gap and shut it behind them. As they got closer, he noticed silent tears falling from their eyes. He got up and met them at the door, pulling them close to his chest. They began shaking, wracked with sobs. He quickly forgot about his own spiral that had taken place just minutes before. While he was raging, Mc had been out there somewhere, upset. He began to feel more awful about what he had done.

"What's the matter?" He ushered them over to his bed, one of the few mostly undamaged things. Part of his bed frame had been used to shatter the mirror, and at some point he had shredded a few pillows. They sat among this fluff, holding each other, Mc in his lap. It was silent for a while before Mc was calm enough to answer.

"I'm so sick of your brothers." They looked up at him with tearful eyes. He gazed back at them, knowing he probably looked exactly the same. "It's just... I love them. I really do. But I am so tired of trying to be my own person. I am not Lilith." Her name cut him like a knife. But as Mc placed their hand on his chest and leaned in, he could fell the cut heal. A small void within himself began to fill.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He wiped away their tears that had been steadily falling, like he had his own.

"You must be tired of hearing that name." They couldn't even bring themself to look up at him anymore. He felt guilt seep in. He had never even considered that. They had been hiding everything from him to keep him safe. He cuddled them closer, hoping to shield them from all the pain. "Lilith must have been so sweet, but I am not her. You are not her. We are not her. I've seen the way your brothers look at us when we're together. It's like they don't even see us. It's only Lilith to them. Part of me wishes we never found out. Maybe things would be the way they were before. I wouldn't even be here if everything hadn't happened the way it did, and maybe you wouldn't either. But they just don't seem to care about that and it's sickening how obsessed they are over the idea that we are what they lost."

"What happened after I left?" He had an idea of how this had all started. He had stormed off to his own room after they got home from dinner upon discovering his brothers wanted to retake a particular photo they had taken with Lilith but with him and Mc where Lilith was. That was the whole reason behind the dinner, and he and Mc were the only ones left in the dark.

"I wanted to go after you, but Lucifer wouldn't let me. I didn't know what had started the argument in the first place, so I wanted to get to the root of it. Everyone seemed uncomfortable. I get it now. They were feeling guilty about what they had decided to do. They filled me in on everything after I screamed enough. I said some things that would have made you proud." He could feel them smile weakly against his neck. "I told them I hoped they were sorry for what they had done. I honestly didn't mean to be so harsh with my words, but I think it was the wake up call that they needed."

"What did you say?" He stroked their hair, laying his head on top of theirs.

"I told them Lilith was dead and that she wasn't coming back. Lucifer slapped me and the force sent me pretty far. The others tried to act like they were concerned, but it was just as much their fault as it was his. I refused to let them touch me. And then I came here." After hearing that, he pulled them off his chest to look at their face. Tears were still bubbling over both of their faces. The room was dark, but he could see the bright red outline of Lucifer's hand on their face.

"Don't do that ever again. Not on my behalf. What if you got seriously hurt? What would I do without you?" It was silent for a moment. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to his questions or not. "Where does it hurt? Let me make it better."

"It hurts here. And here." He watched as their hand ghosted over their face, and to their side, their back and their leg. He could feel fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Holding them close, he muttered a spell that would take away the pain. Feeling them relax in his arms soothed him a little.

"I'm never going to let Lucifer near you again. I'm... scared. What happens if he gets his hands on you?" He wasn't used to admitting how he was feeling, but the moment felt raw enough to admit it. He took in a shaky breath and hugged Mc tightly like they might disappear.

"I want you to know that you're beautiful. Satan, the Avatar of Wrath. You're you, and nobody else. The man who established so many animals shelters across the Devildom. The man who got me through exam week time and time again. The man who took me in whenever I felt upset just to get away from it all. You are your own person, and I love you for that. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you." Mc burrowed their head into his chest to place a kiss over his heart. At some point during their conversation, he had shifted from his demon form to his regular appearance.

"I could say the same about you. You're also your own person. You've been there for me more times than I could count. I love you too. All the love in the world wouldn't be enough for me to give you. I wouldn't trade you for the world." He began to smile for the first time that evening. Mc lifted their head to meet his eyes.

"I have an idea. Diavolo owns me a huge favor. How does a spontaneous trip to the human world sound? Just you and me, for as long as we need, and as long as it take your brothers to really miss us?" The mischievous glint in their eyes was something he was so familiar with. He met it with enthusaism.

"That sounds wonderful. Where would we go though?" He thought about the logistics quickly.

"While my first thoughts were my house or Serenity Manor, but once they realized we weren't in the Devildom, they would look there first. Diavolo has mentioned this small, cute beach house he goes to from time to time on his own. He would let us borrow it. It's barley big enough for two, but we could make it work. It's in the middle of nowhere. Perfect for us." The more Mc talked, the more Satan liked the idea.

"I love that idea. When do we leave?" Satan was never one to agree to spontaneous idea like this, but in the moment, it just felt right.

"How does in twenty minutes sound? We pack right now and disappear before your brother realize we're gone. Diavolo has to be awake right now anyways." Mc brushed their hands over his face. Tears had stopped falling. The stains lingered but they could only see each other.

"Let's do it. I'll take you to your room first, just in case Mammon happens to be in there." He stood up, and hugged Mc for a moment more before letting them go in favor of taking their hand. Satan knew he would be in for a fun time. He could always rely on Mc, no matter what.

[queserasora]

SANJI X READER | FEM! READER, SHE/HER, 3.4k wc CW: Profanity, unprotected sex, groping, oral male receiving female giving, oral female receiving male giving, dry humping A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY:The one where Sanji meets someone at the saloon, he is bad at climbing stairs, shirts get ripped, and you don’t know my name’.mp3

You had your eye on him for a while now. 

They had been staying on your sunny and humid island for a few weeks; patching up something on their ship and seemingly enjoying their time on the sandy beaches. Him and his crew frequented the saloon you worked at, devouring and drinking everything in sight as if bounties for their heads didn’t exist. You were impressed at their bottomless pits and their audacity, but you were more impressed by the cook’s ability to stay sober under duress.

He had a soft but commanding presence that drowned out the din of the establishment the moment he walked in. You were helpless. You had no choice but to stare. You would watch him with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as he moved towards the table, making sure to steer the ladies of his crew in the right direction. It was unreasonable how jealous it made you every time. You could tell there was no genuine interest there between them and it baffled you how they were able to keep their hands to themselves for so long.

You hadn’t said more than a few words to each other. He probably didn’t even know your name. A sinking feeling dragged below your navel, filling you with anxiety. He could leave any day, and you still wouldn’t know the sound of your name rolling off his lips, the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin.

Desire fills you with little burning pockmarks; tiny little fires erupting everywhere. It becomes increasingly difficult to tear your eyes away from him. You are hypnotized by the way the cigarette hangs perilously on the corner of his lips; how smoke oozes and floats away from it towards the ceiling, rivulets of breath and promises. You wish to take it in–the scent of tobacco and alcohol in his mouth. You furiously clean the glasses behind the bar, anything to keep yourself from walking over right now and slamming your hand on the table.

Heart hammering in your chest, you blink rapidly, hoping it would cast out the impure thoughts running through your mind. You could picture yourself, slowly lowering yourself over him, picture yourself digging your nails into the softness of his hips. You could almost taste his precum on your tongue–if you focused enough.

If you left tonight without speaking your truth, if you went to sleep tonight without feeling him move against you–you would simply perish. No fuss. No complications. Just death.

You were a woman with a high sense of self preservation. That was your excuse, as you took pitchers of beer to their table unprompted. You valued your life above all else. That was your resolve as you took the opportunity his arguing crewmates provided you and leaned forward, breasts spilling over your top. You wanted what you wanted, and always grabbed it with unwavering hands. That was your call to war as your fingers ghosted over his forearm; lingering a bit too long, a bit too hot.

“I wonder,” you murmur close to his ear. You smell smoke in his hair, feel heat kissing your skin. “Are you getting bored yet?”

His eyes meet yours and you are blown asunder; pieces of you fall from the sky–the fire and brimstone of his gaze. Bright embers splash against his cheeks, a tempting pink beckoning sweetly. His lips part and you breathe in deep, wanting to trap his sweet scent in your lungs. 

He says nothing, and you feel like dying. So you grip his arm tightly, long fingernails leaving half moon marks on his skin. 

“Do you need me…” he asks timidly, breath hitching in his throat. “For anything, my lady?” You hum, stalling, swallowing the dirty dialogue prompts bursting in your mind. You needed him, yes. You need him,  badly, in so many ways. You nod in lieu of speaking, and release your hold on his arm. As you pull away, he is standing up, jaw tense. His heat is dizzying. Entrapped, you struggle for control, so you lead him by the wrist, fingers sizzling with frayed nerves at the touch of his skin.

He follows you like a puppy; eager and clueless. You resist the urge to laugh. You had waited this long and it had been this easy. Why had you hesitated? Fear of rejection? Fear of the unknown? You needed to know. Perhaps you’d find the answers on the inside of his cheek, or the curve of his dick.

Fortune was finicky but tonight she must have been feeling indifferent. As indecent turns of events would have it, the room you rented was just up the stairs of the building next door. 

Fate accompanies you up the steps, spotting Sanji’s back, as he wobbles and falters; you reach down to grab his ass before he’s even through the door. Crimson bloomed over his pale cheeks like bushels of roses on snow; but every rose has its thorns so you resist, this time keeping your hands to yourself. There was no need to stain your hands with your own blood. After all, you were a woman with a heightened sense of self preservation. You valued your life more than anything else. At least, so you thought.

Is that why you pressed your hands at the bottom of his firm stomach, hips quickly flushing against his? Is that why your lips brushed against his chin, his jawline until they found a particularly lonesome earlobe?

Your benevolence was unparalleled. The lonely, the downtrodden needed to be saved, you thought, so you take his earlobe with every ounce of tenderness you possess and suck. He is pliable, easy, soft. His breath is yeasty and he fidgets in your embrace. You are reminded of kneading dough, shaping it against the protests of its elasticity.  He moans as your tongue continues its ministrations. 

His vagabond hands grasp your ass with hesitation. It feels almost impossible; a hallucination of sorts. He is aware that this is his body, dealing with the blows of your hot mouth on his neck. He is aware that this is him, his hands now moving to your breasts, where they squeeze and grip, unable to memorize just yet the softness of them.

He is aware of this, and the rest of your heat swallowing him whole, yet couldn’t bring himself to truly believe it.

So he tries to lead; a clumsy spectacle of a waltz. One step, two steps, three steps. His hands seek your face, holding it like water. His mouth collides into yours, tongue darting between lips to devour your own. He tastes your soul in your breath, your convictions against the front of your teeth; that which makes you soft on the inside of your cheek.

One step, two steps, three.

The waltz was private and intimate; a step box of a dance that ensnared you. You pushed against its walls in rebellion. Your hands are on his chest, and you summon the rest of your force to drive him backwards. He falls on the mattress with a light oomph. You are on him, a tidal wave of desire and liberation. There’s a meek sound of protest trying to move past his lips but you smother it down with your tongue, running it flat against his bottom lip. Your fingers are devious things, undoing buttons as his muscles flex and contract from stimulation under the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Please,” he says, his voice dark and hoarse. He clenches his teeth–a feeble attempt at holding back a hiss when you drag your long nails down his naked chest. “I want to–” You silence him again, taking his tongue for your own. One of your hands finds his throat and you apply enough pressure to warn him. His gaze is on your mouth before he drags it to meet your eyes.

Your breath hitches; wings flutter like pests in your chest. It repulses you, so you do the only thing you can think of: grind down on his hardened cock. He moans, fingers digging into your hips. You lean forward, press kisses against his collarbone and neck. Your hips are vicious, moving against him, chasing down all his sighs and moans.

“Your name?” he asks breathlessly. “Please. I want to know your name.”

You laugh at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation–at your hypocrisy. Minutes ago you had been drowning in your angst spurred by the idea that he may never grow to know your name and now here he was; a beggar–your name the only scraps he wanted.

So why couldn’t you just fucking give it?

You lower yourself to lay between his legs and pull down his trousers. You palm his erection through his underwear, bringing your mouth to give kisses over the cloth. He feels thick and satisfying. You are mystified. Part of you couldn’t wait to get him in your mouth.  His hips buck as you move down the length of his shaft, one hand massaging his balls. You feel the precum wet through the fabric, and you squeeze at his tip gently, loving the way he whimpers and bites his lip. 

He looked vulnerable, frail. It tugged at your heartstrings but you didn’t have many to begin with. You pull at his underwear, and his cock bounces out–erect and alert. You curl your tongue around the tip of it, taking in the last of his precum with a moan. You hollow your cheeks and put his full length in your mouth, slow at first, then faster. His fingers are in your hair, twitching and pulling. You feel his hips thrust against you, slamming his cock against the back of your throat. Tears collect on the corner of your eyes but you do not resist, you don’t run. You fight him head on, pulling him out with a cough and a gag to suck on his balls and take them into your mouth sloppily and noisily. He grunts, and bucks, almost as if trying to get away from you. You follow him, mouth hungry and persistent.

The throbbing between your legs is starting to become unbearable  so you ease yourself back on his crotch, to grind yourself against him. You’re soaked and can’t wait to have him inside you, but you don’t want to beg; not you, but him. He moans, grips your hips. “Name,” he grunts with his jaw clenched. “Please.”

“I know yours,” you tell him instead; breath hot against your swollen and tender lips. Your hips move slowly. You enjoy the look on his face, equal parts pleasure and pain. His face is flushed, his neck and chest matching colors. He looks mortified, but unable to do anything. Is that why he held you so tightly? You lean forward to run your tongue along the shell of his ear. “My name doesn’t matter. You’re going to leave anyway.”

You swallow the bitterness, and hum at the friction of his cock against your swollen clit; a lewd prayer. You press your mouth against his ear. “Do you want to fuck me, Black Leg Sanji?” You reach down to your hip, unclasp his hand from where he was digging into your skin. You ease it forward under your skirt, push it between your heated cunt and his crotch. You move your hands, rubbing his palm against you, ensuring he feels the moisture seeping through your underwear, enough to coat his fingertips. “You see how wet you’ve made me?” Your voice is tattered; crumpling against his cheek. “Don’t you want to know what I’m like before you leave?”

His brain misfires; he’s sure. Static noise overpowers his thinking. Thoughts come flying like projectiles and his body responds before he can form a sentence. He flips you over, eager to prove himself. You consider giving in, giving up. A flash of white–a flag to surrender– crosses your mind’s eye as he rips your shirt in half. You whimper at a loss. His mouth is on the swell of your breasts, leaving wet sloppy kisses. He mumbles against your skin, sweet promises that will never stick; ones he will soon forget. You close your eyes and arch your chest as he runs his tongue over the edge of your bra.

“Your name,” he says gently looking up at you through his dark blond lashes. From where you can see his tongue is everywhere–tasting, and he pulls on the bra to expose your erect nipple. You don’t answer him so he runs his tongue around the edge of it; sending goosebumps running for their lives. “Your name,” he commands again, just as gently, and he takes your nipple into his mouth for a long and noisy suck.

Your back takes off the mattress. You are embarrassed at your reaction. He was not your first–far from it. You had worked many years at the saloon. You served more pirates than you could count, and bedded more than you should have wasted your time doing so. 

Then why was he so compelling? Your moan turns into a whimper as he uses his teeth to torture you deliciously; tugging and nipping at your nipple. His free hand flicked and twirled the other one between soft fingers. For a pirate his hands were dangerously delicate. 

He tries to hide his nerves so his hands never stay still; never long enough to show the way they shake. He can tell from the way you kissed him, from the way your eyes burn his skin wherever they gaze–that you are a woman he may never have the chance of pleasing. Your laugh earlier had wounded his pride but he tried to swallow it; ignored it for the sake of lust. Now, more than ever, he wanted to learn your name; earn it–and he wanted you to give it willingly, along with the rest of you.

So he takes action by slipping his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. He pulls them down in one swift move before you can protest. He adjusts himself between your legs, pushing your skirt up, and placing soft thick thighs over his lean shoulders. His breath is erratic so he takes a deep breath, a weak attempt at control. He takes in your musky scent, pressing his mouth flush against your entrance. His nose presses against your clit, as he drags his tongue ever so slowly up your dripping slit. His eyes roll back at your taste, his stomach twists in pleasurable knots. 

He takes sickening pleasure at the way your thighs twitch; at how you try to squeeze your legs together when he picks up the pace, tongue moving up and down. “Your name,” he says against the inside of your thigh, where he bites, and sucks hard enough to leave marks behind. He kisses over them to ask for forgiveness. “Will you tell me now?” He laps at your folds, drinking up every drop of you. He suckles on your nub, and chuckles softly when you grip his head with your thighs again. He doesn’t push your legs apart but sucks harder instead.

You find yourself letting out a yell when he inserts two fingers, quickly scissoring them inside you.

“Love,” he breathes out harshly against your puffy and sensitive cunt. “Beautiful girl, won’t you tell me your name?”

A sea of stars  swim behind your eyelids. You think it impossible that he can bring you so close so quickly. Your hands claw at his hair, you grip it trying to rip him off of your clit. You scream as the orgasm hits you, and a moan continues floating in a song. He doesn’t let up, flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. 

“Tell me,” this time it’s a growl against the softness of your belly. He kisses up, all tongue and teeth until he meets the underside of one breast. He grips the other with some roughness. “Tell me your name.” He bites on the underside of your breasts. Your legs quiver, and they part to allow him in between.. He pumps his cock, hard and sensitive, tip angry and red. He slaps your cunt with it eliciting a yelp from you.  Surprise makes way for arousal and you feel yourself get wetter.  “I need to know your name.” You feel his tip against your entrance. He slides it in, just enough to tease you before pulling it out. You bite down on your lip, your nails are on his back, leaving marks where you squeeze him.

He rubs the tip against your folds, rubs it in circles against your clit. You whimper, and pull him in for a kiss. You give in and melt into him. You are soft in his embrace, soft against his tongue. His fingers tangle into your curls, and he hears your mumbling against his lips. He breaks the kiss enough to catch your name tumbling out of your mouth. 

He repeats it against your cheek, against your temple. He says it a few more times, each time with a little more faith; like he had found a new religion. 

His fingers grasp a bundle of your hair and he tugs on it, forces you to look up at his flushed face, his bruised and moistened lips, the darkness of his cravings trapped behind two eyes. He says your name like a summons; a call to arms. He presses his forehead against yours and announces: “I’m going to fuck you now.” He helps you fold your arms around his neck with one hand, the other positions his tip smeared with precum against your entrance. 

He gives you a  kiss so tender it provokes you to dream–tricks you into believing in impossibilities, before he slams into you; hip to hip. You cry out at the suddenness. He is kind, you think, a damn gentleman as he stills inside you for a breath or two, waiting for you to adjust.

This moment of consideration is short lived. His hips begin to move against yours at a quicker pace, wanton noises collapsing from his mouth. He is awestruck at the feel of you; you are so hot and wet he can barely function. All he can think of is getting more and more of you. He says your name against your hair as he fucks you harder, holding you tightly against him. He tilts his head as he moans, before pulling away to look down at his masterpiece in the work. He bites his lip at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy; he loves the slickness of you, the way it coats him, and runs down your thighs. 

You watch him with the last dredges of your consciousness. His flushed face, and the noises he makes affect you more than you would like to admit. He is so eager to please, so eager to taste and learn. You run your hands over his chest, flick his nipples with your fingernails and smirk at the sounds he emits. 

“Do you like it?” you gasp, words paused. It becomes increasingly difficult to think the more he pounds against you.  He looks at you with a hazy expression, trying to process your words. He nods slowly, two beats behind. “Aren’t you glad?”

He laughs and collapses on top of you. His face is buried on the crook of your neck, he digs his fingers into your ass and lifts your hips up at an angle. He increases his pace, slamming his hips against you. You moan, as you feel his pelvis grind against your clit, feel the tip of his cock hit that spot that makes your toes curl. Your legs kick out slightly, as you feel your orgasm coming again.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, and he holds you tighter. He is dismayed at how quickly he becomes undone when you clench around him. His eyes roll back and he moans your name, pushing and thrusting inside you still as he cums, ribbons of hot white cum painting your insides. The squelching noises are embarrassing and you toss your head on the pillow even as he kisses your cheeks, still inside you, still moving slowly–so slowly. 

“You gave me your name,” he says, looking away from where he could see his cum slipping out from your cunt. “So I thought I should give you something in return.” He kisses you again, slow and tender. “It’s only polite.”

[uzurakis]

ok not nagumo but still sakadays. hear me out on academic rivals to lovers w/ natsuki. ooooh you hate each other so much you make sooo many essays dissing each others work and you loooovvve to annoy him and get up close and— god, he's pretty— whaaaaaaaaat?????????

“still convinced your essay on the evolution of weaponry is more creative than mine?" you say, dropping your bag onto the table with a loud thud.

the guy doesn’t even flinch at your intrusion. he calmly looks up from his notes, “duh,” his expression annoyingly indifferent. "yes, i am. because it is."

you scoff, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. "pleasee, your analysis of technology weaponry is soo dry, anyone could make that. but my piece on futuristic weaponry has, you know, imagination."

he raises an eyebrow, the only sign of his annoyance. "but imagination isn't everything. my work is grounded in reality, something yours severely lacks."

"grounded in reality? that's just a fancy way of saying boring." you lean closer, trying to get under his skin. "your essay is like reading a complicated blah blah textbook. mine's a thrilling adventure, hmph.”

natsuki’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but he catches himself. "thrilling adventures are for fiction, not academic essays, idiot. you're just using flashy ideas to cover up a lack of depth."

your mouth opens, ready to fire back another retort, but then you pause. the words get stuck in your throat as you notice something. up close, natsuki is.. pretty. his lashes are long and his eyes, sharp and focused, hold a depth you’ve never really seen before. his indifference suddenly feels like a challenge, and your heart skips a beat. you find your gaze drifting to the two moles below his right eye and the single mole beneath his left eye, tiny details you had noticed before, and and

whaaaaaaaaaattt????? since when did you start to pay attention to your rival? not just paying attention to beat him but literally, clearly, paying attention. his features and all, the person in front of you; seba natsuki, the one that crawls under your skin as long as you can remember. how? when? why?

wait, you just realized?

he tilts his head, noticing your silence. "what's wrong? run out of things to say?"

"uh, no. i was just.. thinking about how wrong you are." you blink, shaking yourself out of your reverie.

“right,” he narrows his eyes slightly, studying you. "you sure that's all you were thinking about?"

you swallow, feeling your face heat up. "of course. what else would i be thinking about?"

natsuki leans back in his chair, a hint of amusement apparent in his gaze. "i don’t know. you seemed a bit.. distracted."

"i’m not distracted," you say, a bit too quickly. "i just can’t believe how stubborn you are."

"and i can’t believe how stubborn you are," he counters, leaning forward again. "yet, here we are."

the proximity makes your heart race. you can see the faint stubble on his jawline, the way his lips curve ever so slightly. and those moles—how had you just noticed them before and didn’t think much about it? it’s infuriating how he can be so infuriatingly attractive.

"it’s impossible to talk with you," you mutter, trying to regain your composure.

"maybe ‘cause you're relentless," he replies, his tone almost.. admiring?

both fall silent, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. for the first time, the banter feels like a prelude to something else, something you can’t quite put into words. no fucking way.

natsuki breaks the silence first, his voice softer. "you know, maybe we’re both right in our own ways. different perspectives, same passion."

“huh?” you blink, surprised by his sudden shift in tone. "did you just.. agree with me?"

he shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "maybe. but i’m still the best around here. don’t get used to it."

"pft, wouldn't dream of it," you reply, thanking god you can still stop your own smile from forming. you find yourself stealing glances at him, those moles now etched in your memory, as the realization dawns that your competition might just be the spark of something.. else, something new.

and fuck, you don’t want to think about it. not now, not never. fuck. fuckity fuck.

n. i love u whoever sent me this prompt UGHHH U DON KNOW HOW MUCH A SUCKER I AM FOR RIVALS TO LOVERS AAGHHH *does a flipback* i love u did i say i love u nonnie @—@ i rlly hope u like it as i doo MUNCHING ON YOUR IDEA mwah xoxo

@uzurakis

[pacific-rimbaud]

i was reading your thoughts on how fans felt about l&oha and while i concur it is a perfect piece of work in my head and have reread it 5x, i wonder if you think fans tend to be harsher/more critical of hermione and let draco slide? i see it a lot in fics where he's more of an alphahole type

Oh, man. Okay. The can is open, the worms are loose. Rant under the cut.

I'm actually going to set men aside entirely. Just. To the side with you. I desperately need more realistically complicated men, too, but that's a whole separate discussion. Right now: women.

There must be whole dissertations out there on the phenomenon of readers hating female characters with negative traits. I'm a fandom old, so I didn't grow up identifying with Hermione, and wouldn't have even if I'd been young enough to. I did that "which character are you" test just now and my top three matches were Janis Ian from Mean Girls, Jughead from Riverdale and April from Parks and Rec, which, massive grain of salt, etc. BUT gives you an idea. I am not a Hermione and never was, so she's never been a comfort character or self-insert for me. Some of my favorite fictional women are Sophie Hatter (mean, irrational, petty, old and mostly loving it), Harrowhark Nonagesimus (evil stick), Phryne Fisher (zero fucks to give). What I like about Hermione is how imperfect she is. I'm a "cleverest witch of your age I've ever met" truther (book!Lupin is absolutely saying "you're the canniest 14 year-old child I have personally met, saying this as a guy who doesn't get out much," not "you are a once-in-a-century genius"), and from my perspective, she's often wrong and often a dick, and not in a fun and fiesty burn-down-the-world BAMF way. Which. Good for her! Be human.

And that's the thing. I personally don't want Hermione to be perfect, I want her to be what I think she is, textually, which is intelligent, hardworking, loyal, competitive, compassionate, controlling, belittling, rude, petty, insecure, vindictive, volatile. She has the right to be that way, because she's human. The desire for perfected women (or unapologetically and unstoppably awful ones, another brand of female power fantasy) is not limited to Dramione fandom. I think it's amplified in DHr by many readers who DO identify as former gifted children, books-as-coping-mechanism kids and Strong Female Personalities who felt marginalized in childhood and want to see Hermione have it all: she's slim, she's tiny, she's fragile as a bird, she'll break your neck, she'll step on your throat, she'll tear down the system, she'll heal all wounds, she does not need help, she holds all the knowledge, she holds all the cards, she is forever wronged, she can do no wrong, her vagina is tight, her nipples are hard, her hair is on point, her waist is tiny, her tits are bouncing, her ass is in the style of Now. And like. This isn't at all unique to DHr and Hermione. It's pervasive in fiction written by and for women. Female power fantasies are obviously feeding a massive hunger. It's just not what I personally want. Personally, I find it alienating and uncomfortable, which I know equates to, "That is wrong and shouldn't exist" to a lot of people, but that's its own tale as old as time.

There's a disconnect that happens too often where a reader wants one (1) thing from their fiction, and receives something else, even when the contents are clearly labeled on the tin. In this case, wanting a female power fantasy and encountering a woman who's written with flaws makes people upset. And maybe if we could be more honest with ourselves about what we're looking for when we read, work to accept that not everyone wants the same experience, and learn to close a book when it's not working for us and say, "No shade, this isn't for me," it would be less upsetting when we encounter a character who isn't written to meet our personal expectations. I will open a book, realize the FMC is a female power fantasy archetype and close it, because that's not what I show up for. I like my women gritty and weird and foolish and vulnerable and liable to hurt people and feel terrible about it. Give me all the exhausting chatterers and evil sticks and jocks with swords and their hearts on their sleeves (their hearts ripped out), give me shy Anne Elliot and her suitcase full of regrets and the ugly fuckup who never has a glow up, give me dirtbag stoners and Fleabag and Alicent Hightower apologetics and every role Natasha Lyon has ever played. It's not a moral high ground, it's about a preference for seeing actual, demeritus flaws on the page and on the screen. Blame that woman. It's her fault. She has so many faults. Then show me how to forgive her so I can figure out how to forgive myself.

The thing is, I love women. I love women so fucking much. I want to be around them, to get to know them, to read about them, to watch them on TV and see them in films. And personally, I like them ugly. Physically. Spiritually. Morally. Give a woman a Bad Personality and watch her succeed in the most self-injurious way possible, fuck you. Give her a gaping chest wound and line it with teeth. Stick a piece of grit in that girl's tightly sealed shell so that a pearl is her only option. Make her love other women, make her fuck it up, make her have to earn them back.

Thankfully I do feel like we're getting more ugly women in fiction, especially BIPOC, queer and marginalized women who deserve gross, weird, nasty representation and not just didactic moralism, patronization and misguided sainthood. Some readers won't want that, and that's fine. Again, personally (it's all so personal, please, please remember that when you hit that comment button), I'm here for it. If you write about women like this, know that you have a thirsty reader here. I'm swallowing them up. I'm smacking my lips. I'm smashing my mug on the cafeteria floor and calling for another.