#that is not very inspirational to people who do not believe in god. LOL

[oflgtfol]

like sorry i'm just thinking about last night at work. that lady who gave me the christian radio station. like the only reason things led to that is because i was talking to her and for like fucking ten minutes about shit. like i never used to actually talk to customers of my own volition but somehow the topic of bracelet making came up and im like oh yeah i love making bracelets and then somehow somehow ten minutes later she ruins it by telling me to go listen to this local christian radio station. like girlie i gave my heart to you, i actually had a genuine conversation with you as a customer, and this is how you repay me? by trying to spread your christian propaganda to me? you ruined it

[unproduciblesmackdown]

being alive at the time i gleaned some general elements abt encanto but never actually heard we don't talk about bruno beyond awareness it existed popping off & i think i heard like the title recited off key off rhythm but in a way that indicates speak singing nonetheless lol so upon experiencing it it's like oh but it's the Verses? while the last refrain goes harder but prior to that it's comparatively underwhelming to said verses which feels appropriate like verses / pieces of a larger picture & that a "we don't talk about him" as a disappointing Lid on infinitely richer more characterful & dynamic "but: talking about him" instances. like well personally it'd be like um seven foot frame....anyway besides being able to firsthand go like oh damn Real (the kind of thing you know exists if alive at the time) it's like alright hang on lol. one thing when a core theme is yeah like "is it a refuge if 'especial' vulnerability ultimately gets pushed out rather than made safer" subset like the parties whose even observation of truths (problems) & drawing attention to them is seen as Ruining Things, like if you're painted as Making futures that aren't simply what's desired or reassuring rather than a guidance via just observing & sharing the truth. but then it's like whaddaya mean living in fear of bruno stuttering and stumbling you could always hear him sort of muttering and mumbling lmao like now that's just Association between the Truth Perceiving & Telling behavior & behavior that's just apparently distinctive of the same person. & like Not Accidentally when [what if people were magic] specifics are obviously primarily abt a metaphorical meaning & like, indeed it was made clear like oh this situation isn't Just b/c [boo we hate your prophecies] & that [an Ability that isn't directed towards what anyone Wants / is "weird" even by these magic standards] isn't Coincidentally given to someone who just so happens to already be "weird" in other ways & be set up to have a different perspective & be pushed away due to having the supposed "extra" vulnerability of unmet needs / insufficient support, same as someone who doesn't "correctly" have any kind of magic ability....like yeah banger and also like Oh Yeah Kind Of Devastating re: that metaphorical resonance allowing for like [set the metaphor aside] now hang on with this about this disabled family member lol. misinterpretation to The Ruinerrr / The Problemmm / The Maliciousss etc (i.e. the scapegoatinggg) despite their efforts likely entirely to the contrary. then despite like, efforts aside, Just Existing, always kind of muttering & mumbling like & what of it. & then like oh sorry weird pets. weird [auspicious for adaptable tenacious thriving surviving; either way simply creatures, existing] pets.

truly like As Is The Idea I'm Sure quickly becomes like hands behind back standing at the window Uh Oh Sisters musing on all the [disabled person] metaphorical & already literal elements there. blair witching it in contemplation like We've All Been There whether being so resented for the mere disruption of "existing in a group as the 'abnormal' odd one out" or like people talking shit abt anything associated w/you as soon as you've left the room, which is also made relevant like, this wasn't Only directed at this person when seemingly permanently gone, nor were they unaware / unaffected prior....pacing in the Musing parlor like things don't Have to be compared to billions but i only ever even see so many things & it's like billions sure is like "get scapegoated rword" & then said scapegoating is presented as only beneficial & we hate autists & even beyond that it's like, grabbing billions, Imagine If Things Meant To Be About Something Were About Something. quite a contrast when they are & furthermore like, deliberate thought & Care for [who gets scapegoated & why] & the truth of like, people getting pushed aside & out who have a key perspective & are primed / liable to come through for others similarly vulnerable & the supposedly Ruinous, Problems Generating disruptiveness is actually the strongest effort to make essential changes to a group. & come through with like, it'd be undermining thee point if it was "reassuring" us like oh haha people will be supportive b/c bruno will be more normal, so great that it Didn't like no, no Normality Reassurance(tm), presence of abnormalities(tm), Good, & everyone Can Deal b/c if you don't then it's pushing this person away, is exactly what happens, including even if they're still Around but are being mistreated b/c that is entirely part of that pushing away like anyone's victim blaming is ready to pounce at any time but if someone can't stand to stay / leaves b/c they can't see another option like that's not out of nowhere nor Regardless of what full support & flexibility they were getting lol. these Active Measures everyone loves so much, which are everywhere always & would include Staying & Trying To Make It Work & those efforts would be "disruptive" & resented & Bringing It On Oneself & etccc smh

that is to all say like. Woww when clearly basically the core thread was these beats of like, the crucial site of [thee scapegoated], & why that comes down on someone & how that plays out. endless ideas about how someone weird(tm) & disabled (&/or queer. but there's no Or here lol. & again like it's a Context like, to even be the one person without kids? likely not living up to "full" correct sexuality in that way alone; any oppression's logics of "inferiority" being logics of ableism, ready examples being that "inferior" race, gender, sexuality (& their experiences as people classed as inferior) all being pathologized as disordered) are seen & treated as someone Ruining Things & who cannot belong like whew. bracing. winding. which, i also recall like i was watching with headphones & during this one dialogue pause i was like "?? what's this Extra Sound i heard there" & had to go over it like twice before being hit upside the head like well it Was still the dialogue pause but it was also bruno Stuttering in a very quiet whisper for the duration of that pause before continuing like iiiiiiii x_x

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[changbunnies]

Revelation (18+)

♡ Pairing: Vampire Priest!Jeongin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: very loosely inspired by midnight mass (tv), horror themes, vampire / human relationship, smut, possibly dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :')

♡ Word Count: 4k

♡ Summary: The suspiciously young and extremely handsome priest of your small-town church has a very big secret– and it's not until he's sinking his fangs into your neck that you discover what exactly that secret is.

♡ General Warnings: usage of typical vampire abilities (increased senses, strength, etc), descriptions of blood, religious themes (specifically catholicism focused), references to religious guilt + shame, reader does not trust jeongin at all (for good reason lol), very blatant manipulation, cult vibes? jeongin basically has the whole town under his thumb so. do with that what you will lol

♡ Smut Warnings: dubcon, vampire venom that acts as an aphrodisiac, sexual acts inside a church (specifically in a confessional booth), some gendered language (dirty + good girl), dom/sub dynamics, dom!jeongin, biting + blood drinking, thigh riding, fingering (f rec), a lil bit of praise kink, corruption kink?

♡ Notes: this is possibly niche but well. the vampire priest concept lives rent free in my head thanks to midnight mass, and innie said he wanted to be a priest + he'd definitely be a sexy vampire so here we are lmao. and sorry i'm suddenly posting out of age order for my late kinktober fics but i ended up finishing this before the other members i still have left :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There's something that isn't right about your local church's head priest. Firstly, his age doesn't make sense; who on God's green earth becomes a priest in their 20s?

At least, you assume that's around how old Father Yang, who notably prefers to be called Jeongin, is– you've never been told, and you've never asked, but he certainly doesn't look any older than that.

Secondly, why are his sermons always at night? In all the towns you've ever lived in, in all the churches you've ever frequented, this is the first time you've ever experienced your standard, weekly Sunday service routinely happening at 9 p.m.

And thirdly, why is it that everyone who meets with him for confession comes back looking delirious and.. euphoric, almost? You don't get it– sure, confessing your sins is freeing; asking for and receiving God's forgiveness is among the best feelings that can be experienced if you're a devout believer, but still.

Something about all of it just doesn't sit right with you– and to make matters worse, you seem to be the only person in town suspicious of him. You're new to town, have only been here a handful of months, so you get it– you're the outsider, you don't know him like they do, et cetera, et cetera.

But how can not a single other person in town be bothered by how strange it all is? There has to be an explanation– you don't know what it is, and you don't know why you're the only one who seems to care, but there must be a reason.

It's Sunday again, and you spend the entire sermon watching Jeongin like a hawk, trying to catch any sign as to what it is about him that has all these people so enraptured. And while it's not necessarily wrong for him to be, another thing that strikes you is that he's easily the most casually dressed yet stylish priest you've ever met.

He wears the standard clergy vest and rabat, as he should, but over it is a leather jacket, and he wears denim blue jeans instead of dress pants. His shoes are sleek and polished, he has pretty, ornate rings decorating his fingers, has expertly styled slicked hair and silver earrings dangling from his pierced ears.

Again, it's not necessarily wrong, but it's definitely something you wouldn't think a priest's Sunday best would entail. And maybe that's only because the priests in your life have only ever been old, and didn't put much thought into style, but maybe that's what people like about him?

Maybe it makes him seem more down to earth and approachable; maybe it's easier to confess your sins when, outstanding devotion to God aside, he seems like as ordinary a person as any other. Of course, that's logically always the case, but some priests have an intimidating "holier-than-thou" attitude about them, and it certainly helps Jeongin's case that he seemingly makes an effort to not give off that vibe.

And admittedly, he's charming– there's something so uniquely handsome about the way he smiles while preaching God's word, how his eyes twinkle while he recites a scripture and relates it back to a point he made several minutes prior; you can't deny that it's enthralling.

But when he looks over the attendees lined in the pews, it always feels like he's looking straight through you, seeing to the depths of your soul and laying it bare. It gives you chills, honestly; makes you feel exposed in a way that's indescribable; like with a glance alone, he knows all your secrets, your every sin, down to their most minute details.

It's near midnight when his sermon ends; you stay seated in the backmost pew to the left, brows furrowed as everyone shakes his hand or hugs him, thanking him for another "terrific service." It's so bizarre– and it's not until the last of the congregation exits the small, wooden church that you begin to rise from your seat.

Though you're sure the church carries electricity and that the lights can be flicked on, the priest never does so– he always uses candles, casting a warm yellow glow on the dingy, white wood of the walls. It casts more shadows, gives the place an almost unsettling air– and when he turns to you, just as he's closing the Bible in his hand and setting it down, it sends a shiver through you.

"You're still here," Jeongin smiles at you from where he stands before the altar, centralized at the head of the church. It's a kind enough one, but you don't trust it; you can't shake the feeling that something lies beneath it– something abberant and dark that you can't place, but are certain is there.

"Do you wish to confess?" he asks, motions to the confessional booth with his hand as he tilts his head. "No," you answer, perhaps too quickly– and his smile grows ever so slightly, as if he's amused. At least, that's how you perceive his expression; and it makes you narrow your eyes at him, the distrust that radiates off you certainly palpable.

Your opinion of him is no secret, really; and he can tell you're scrutinizing him, trying to catch him in whatever act you think he's playing– it won't work, but it does humor him that you're trying. He doesn't know what sort of wild conclusions you've come to about him, but if you see anything, it'll be because he himself wanted you to see it– until then, you won't learn a single thing about who he truly is.

"Is there a reason you're still here then?" Jeongin questions next, and you swallow, hesitant to answer. Admittedly, you only stuck around in case someone did decide to go confess to him– you intended to eavesdrop, to try to listen in and find out what's really going on behind closed curtains.

It would've been massively immoral, but you would've confessed and asked for forgiveness later– privately, that is. You have no intention of seeking the Father's help in such matters, given how little trust you have towards him.

But still, despite the fact that you were willing to sneak around and listen to private conversations, you aren't entirely willing to lie in the house of God– so after some internal grappling with yourself on what you should and shouldn't do in this position, on what is right and wrong, you end up admitting the truth.

"I don't trust you," you tell Jeongin plainly, and you can swear you see him trying to suppress a smirk.

"I'm aware," he says, so matter of fact that it almost sends you reeling. And it's not that you were so disillusioned into thinking you weren't being obvious; you know very well that you weren't being the most covert in your suspicion of him– it's how unbothered and amused by it he seems to be that really gets you.

Shouldn't he be offended? Question your reasoning? Try immediately to dispel your doubts and clear up any misconceptions you may have? Instead, he seems more than ready to just accept it for what it is– even seems entertained by it.

"Does it not bother you that I don't trust you?" you ask, and he almost laughs as he shakes his head. "No. There's no reason for it to," he answers simply; and before you can ask why, or what he means, he's already answering– you suspect he could already tell you were going to press him on the matter.

"God teaches us to love one another. So even if you do not love me, or trust me, I love you, just as God instructs me to," Jeongin smiles as he speaks, and again, your brows furrow. It's a perfect answer, really– but it feels.. inorganic, almost rehearsed.

And the glimmer in his eye throws you off; it doesn't feel like the pure, honest delight you'd see on a priest putting God's word into practice. It feels mischievous, deceitful– like he doesn't believe an ounce of what he's saying, but he wants you to believe that he does.

"I know what you're thinking," he says, and you swallow, stiffening where you stand as he continues, "And if you really want to know what goes on during confession, want to see for yourself what it is I do to help the people who look to me, I can show you."

If you're being entirely honest, the offer is tempting; and strangely, it also makes you feel.. bad, almost– makes you second guess yourself. Because if he's freely offering like this, surely it can't be whatever you've been making it out to be in your head.

There's no way he'd out himself, and whatever it is he does, just to gain the trust of one person out of hundreds who doesn't believe his pure intentions. And maybe the other townsfolk really do trust him for good reason; maybe you've just been examining the situation and looking at Jeongin and the church in the wrong light.

Maybe you've been blowing everything out of proportion with obscene assumptions, and maybe he really is just a good priest. Maybe he makes you feel so seen, heard, and whole, that all your worldly problems melt away, feel trivial and light in comparison to God's plan for you.

Because after all, you are the outlier here. You're the only one in the whole town that doesn't trust him; and surely that means you're the one in the wrong. Jeongin does things differently than you're used to, but that doesn't mean he's inherently bad. And maybe you should confess– ask God to forgive you for not being receptive to the word of one of His servants.

Jeongin smiles when you concede and start to slowly step your way to the confessional. You pull back the curtain, step inside and prepare to sit in the small, wooden booth seat, but you quickly realize he's followed you inside. You gasp as you turn around, back pressing against the intricately carved hardwood window of the booth as he closes you in.

"Sh-Shouldn't you be on the other side?" you ask, much too meek for your liking. It's a cramped fit given that the booth is only meant to fit a single person on either side at a time; it makes you unconsciously hold your breath as you're effectively caged inside the booth with him– nowhere to go, and nothing you can do but stare at him, bewildered.

"No," he answers as quick and simple as before, his smile once again growing ever so slightly. And maybe you could push him, try to dart past him if you manage to successfully make him topple back, but you feel frozen– because even in the dark, barely lit confessional you're in, you're certain that you see his dull canines become long, pearly white fangs.

"Don't worry, it will only hurt for a second," he assures you as he brings his hands to your arms, gripping them just below your shoulder as he leans towards you. You shudder, his breath fanning your ear as he inches towards your neck, "but after that– it's bliss."

You feel the sharp points of his teeth poke at your skin, and it makes you gasp as your head tilts to the side, making room for him to sink his fangs into your flesh. Instinctively, your hands search for something to grab; you end up reaching for his shoulders, twisting your hands in his leather jacket to ground yourself as his sharp teeth pierce into your neck.

Your legs wobble, and he forces one of his own between your thighs, uses it to keep you upright as he drinks from you. And there is pain, but it really is only for a second, just like he said it’d be– within seconds it melts away, and oh, you instantly understand.

It’s much, much more than bliss– it’s ecstasy, it’s rhapsody, it’s the greatest pleasure you’ve ever felt. Spreading from your neck to every last nerve ending in your body, every atom of your body becomes alight with euphoria as his bite sends tingles throughout you, raising goosebumps along your skin.

You cry out, an embarrassingly loud sound that you barely recognize as your own voice as one of your hands finds its way to his head. Your fingers thread into his hair, hold him to your neck as if you don't want him to ever separate from you– and to be fair, maybe you don't.

It feels so good, so exhilarating, intoxicating, that you almost don't want the sensation to ever end. Jeongin meanwhile lets out delighted hums, eventually slowly retracting his fangs to latch his lips around the sensitive, bruising skin, his tongue lapping away at the blood that pours from the two little marks left behind.

The beating of your heart quickens, breaths quickly growing labored as the inexplicable want continues to seep into your veins. Your thighs tremble as tension builds deep in your gut, and they try to press together to seek relief, but Jeongin's leg stays firmly nestled between yours, preventing it.

And were you not so utterly blissed out, maybe the incessant, desperate throbbing of your pussy would make you feel ashamed– but all you can think about is the deep seated desire overtaking every receptor, every tiny cell, every molecule within you, as if the very chemistry that makes up your being has been altered for Jeongin alone.

Unable to resist, you rut against his thigh, entirely shameless and feverish– because it's all you have access to, all you can do to relieve the growing ache between your legs. It’s sinful, your growing lust is– and the last place you should ever be doing this is inside of a church; but you’re too far gone to care, too gripped by the need for stimulation.

Jeongin lets go of your arms, reaches between your bodies to hike up your church gown, giving you easier access to his lean, muscular thigh. He’s gracious, tugs your soaked panties to the side so your clit can catch on the denim of his jeans– and the delicious friction makes you moan for him, loud and sweet. 

He pulls away from your neck to watch your desperate humping, eyes gleaming with mischievous satisfaction as he watches you pleasure yourself on his thigh. His eyes are perfectly adapted to seeing in the low light, and so he can easily see every little detail of you– from the mess your pussy leaves behind on his jeans, to the sweat beginning to drip down your temple, to the trembling of your bottom lip before you tuck it between your teeth. 

And when he smiles at you now, it’s like the fox that got the rabbit; even in the extremely dim candle light you can see the way your blood coats his lips, messily dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. His dark eyes are gleaming– because he has you ensnared, and you both know there’s no going back. 

You untangle your fingers from his hair, and you watch as he reaches for your falling hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his mouth. He holds your gaze as he kisses over the pulsing vein, and it makes your breath hitch, the blood on his mouth smearing over the surface of your skin, staining it crimson. 

“Should I bite you here too?” he asks, placing another kiss over your vein before he shoots you a grin full of fang, “you’re so delicious– I want to taste you even more.” You gasp and squirm as Jeongin presses the tips of his bared fangs against your skin– not quite biting just yet, but it’s enough to spread another wave of tingles over your body. 

“Yes, bite me, please!” you cry, voice almost frantic in its urgency– and you can see the corners of Jeongin’s lips twisting into a devious smile before he’s obliging, burying his fangs deep into your wrist within an instant. You wince, your fingers clenching as he squeezes your wrist in his hand, keeping it tightly pressed to his mouth. 

And just as before, within seconds the sharp sting dulls and ebbs into incomparable pleasure, goosebumps spreading over every inch of your heated skin. Faintly, you can see your blood dribble past his lips, slowly flowing down the length of your forearm before it drips to the floor of the booth. 

You can just barely see his tongue licking over his bite, doing his best to collect all the blood that spills from you, and it's mesmerizing– especially when he brings his fingers to your arm to swipe up what his tongue misses. Your stomach flutters as you watch him separate from your wrist and bring his bloodied fingers to his mouth; they're so long, so pretty and enticing– you want them.

Jeongin can see it in your eyes– how brazenly you stare at his fingers, how your eyes follow every move he makes with them. You're still panting, sweating, chest heaving from the exertion, but the rutting of your hips has faltered; and he grins as he gazes at you. You're once again left with the feeling that he sees through you– that all it takes is a glance for him to know everything you're thinking.

"You want them? Want me to stuff your cunt full with my fingers? Make you cum all over them?" he asks, entirely rhetorical; he already knows the answer. And he likes the way you writhe over the question, how you gasp over the sinful words he so freely spills in such a sacred place, your ears positively burning.

Even if your face didn't obviously show your desires, you don't think you'd be able to deny them; you've never wanted anything as badly as you want this, want him. It should make your gut twist with shame, because deep down you know this is wrong, know that you shouldn't want him to touch you as badly as you do– but the craving for Jeongin to bring you pleasure is almost primal, so deep and innate that your rational mind can't even hope to fight against it.

Slowly, almost playfully, he trails his fingertips over your thigh, and the anticipation is enough to make you unconsciously hold your breath. "You're so fucking messy," Jeongin says as he brushes his fingers over your soaking, sensitive clit, "so wet– you're a dirty girl, huh?"

You want to whine, want to shake your head and vehemently deny that you're dirty, attest to being a good, honest, and God fearing– but you're so overcome with your desire for him to touch you, that you don't. Instead you agree, concede that you are dirty, and messy, and that you want him more explicitly than you feel your own words could ever attest.

How easily you agree to being dirty seems to please him– and with a light chuckle, he slips his hand further down while carefully removing his leg from between your thighs. You wobble a bit when the support of his leg is gone, but he's quick to wrap an arm around you to hold you, effortlessly keeping you upright with the strength innate to who, or rather what, he is.

The cool, silver band that he wears on his pinky makes you jolt when it touches your feverishly hot thigh, and he chuckles again as he spreads your folds with his fingers. You're dripping for him, so slick with arousal that it hardly takes any effort at all for Jeongin's fingers to become coated with your juices.

You rock your hips against his hand, wordlessly begging him to give you what it is you crave most. "Oh look at you, so impatient, so desperate," he laughs as he presses the pads of his fingers to your hole, delighting in the way you look at him with glassy eyes and pinched brows.

It's obscene how badly you want him; you've never felt this needy, never been rendered so desperate for stimulation– and you're in a confessional of all places. This is the very last place on earth you should feel this way, or be doing something like this, and yet the shame you should feel is far from your mind– because all you can think about is your need for his beautiful fingers to fill you up and dull the throbbing ache between your legs.

Jeongin coos when you start to beg for his fingers, a rambling string of "please," and "want it, want you," and "need it so bad." You can tell how much satisfaction it gives him, and if your mind weren't so hazy from desire you'd certainly feel embarrassment build and twist from deep in your gut– but any such feelings are silenced by your body's need for his touch, by your craving for the sensations that only he can grant you.

It takes your breath away when he easily sinks two fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out slowly until he curls and bends them to find the spot that makes you see stars. "That's it, there you go," he grins when he finds it. He watches your eyes roll back, your hands clutching at his jacket as he continues to press the tips of his fingers into your most sensitive spot.

He returns to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin and nipping it with sharp teeth before he kisses and licks over the bruises he leaves behind. He applies pressure to your swollen clit with his thumb while relentlessly targeting your spot, an easy task for him thanks to the length of his fingers, and his hold on you tightens when the shaking in your legs grows more intense.

You're so, so close, and Jeongin can tell too– not just from how your pussy pulses and squeezes around his fingers, but because he can hear the loud, erratic thumping of your heart, as well as the rush of blood pulsing in your veins. "C'mon, let go– cum, you can do it, cum for me," he urges, speaking softly against the shell of your ear while swirling his thumb over your clit.

"There you go, good girl, just like that," he praises as you string out a loud succession of whimpers, your thighs closing tight around his hand as your high finally takes you. Your world feels like it’s spinning, your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you ride out your high, your release gushing messily around his fingers.

His hand stays in place until your thighs untense, and he’s careful as he slips his fingers out of you, though you can’t help but shiver and whine from the sensitivity regardless. You're unsteady on your feet following your orgasm, but Jeongin makes sure you don't fall over; he keeps his grip on your firm, carefully helps you turn away from where you were pressed against the carved window to sit in the booth's only seat.

He wipes the sweat from your forehead after you sit, leans down to fix and smooth over the skirt of your church gown as you try your best to collect your breath and calm your racing heart. He's reverted back to his kindly priest persona it seems– you can tell by the warm smile he offers when you look at him, his sharp fangs fully retracted.

Still, bits of your blood remain smeared over his lips– clear evidence that he isn't the saintly man he portrays himself to be. You watch breathlessly as Jeongin licks the last of it from his lips before he pulls back the curtain of the confessional booth.

He offers you his hand after it seems like you've recovered enough to stand again; your own hand trembles as you accept it, and with his assistance, you rise carefully from your seat.

You're a bit dizzy when you stand, equal parts consequence of blood loss and the euphoria still lingering and tingling in your veins, but you're otherwise steady; and he smiles as he squeezes your hand in his, the other coming to rest on the small of your back as you take your first step out of the booth.

"Come back to confession again sometime," Jeongin says with his characteristically deceitful, charming smile, knowing full well that you will. Humans always find the sensation of his venom irresistible, always become addicted to it once they've felt it– and you'll be no different. "I'll be waiting for you."

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in heaven (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: foul language, alcohol, book-accurate Roman lol, (and he is such a brat???)

summary: you really, really hate Roman Godfrey. but what you hate most, is that he doesn't notice you at all.

word count: 4,502

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8

I didn't like Roman Godfrey— not one bit. 

Everything about that spoiled brat was infuriating. All from the way he walked around as though he owned the town, to the way that he'd get a kick out of throwing tater tots at people. Fucking child. The amount of times I'd sat at the bleachers and watched him throw it at the cheerleaders, specifically aiming right down their shirts, made my blood boil.

Roman Godfrey believed that the world was his, including the people living in it. That's exactly why he dared to take such liberties. 

I specifically hated the way he'd move his hair out of his green, green eyes, the look he'd give me after he tugged my hair in the hallway with a sneer, and his sadistic need to claim his conquests in the absolute weirdest ways known to man. If we are to believe Brooke Bluebell from the cheerleading team, he also had an affinity for poking girls with needles in public just for the sheer thrill of watching them squeal. Because who would tell him off, right? I wondered if he was familiar with the word 'no' at all.

After the needle-rumour spread, I made sure to keep a few meters between us at all times. There was no way in hell that he would get away with doing that to me, anyway. 

And I would've stayed as far away from Roman as possible, had it been up to me. Sadly, my best friend at school was his cousin— just my luck. Letha, like the rest of the girls at school, was quite fond of Roman; since she was the oldest of the two, she somehow couldn't see that he had grown past the age of five, treating him as though he could do no wrong.

And this was why Roman was always invited whenever we would have study sessions at Letha's place. He would splay himself out on the bed, stretching out his long limbs, watching us as we worked and he lazed away. 

God, how I hated him. I hated the way his hair was kissing his forehead when he laid like this in Letha's bed, the way he'd grin whenever he watched me erase a wrong answer, and the way his cologne would linger in my system several hours after he'd left.

Currently, we were supposed to be working on the half-year assignment everyone in our year had to do. Letha was sitting at her desk with her back turned to us as Roman and I sat on the bed, each with our own computer. My meter-rule to protect myself from any incoming needles was impossible to implement on Letha's tiny bed, and I let out a huff as Roman's knee touched mine. I prayed to every God in the universe that he didn't have a needle in his pockets somewhere— I was quite fond of my knees, and would very much like to keep them intact.

"Five hundred bucks," Roman tried, nudging me. "Do this assignment for me and it's yours."

I rolled my eyes, shifting further away from him on the bed. "Do your own shit," 

He proceeded to sneer, watching me with his big, green eyes. "Six hundred,"

"No,"

"Seven?"

"Suck it, Roman," I cracked my knuckles, doing my best to get back into the flow of writing the assignment. It was so damn hard to focus when Roman's incessant sighing continued, almost as though he was being forced to take his own life. 

"Help me, then," he mumbled, moving closer to me. His leg was almost on top of mine, now. "How did you answer question b?" Roman leaned over me, his head now obstructing my view of my screen. In a flash of pure instincts, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair that was tickling my nose. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that smelled so good— him or the shampoo?

I got yanked out of my state when Roman pulled away, typing away on his own laptop, finally inspired. 

I couldn't help but sigh; I hated Roman. And I hated that he didn't notice me in the way I wanted him to. I hated the way he smiled, the way he'd so blatantly flirt with girls at any opportunity he'd get, and how my heart fluttered when he flirted with me once in a blue moon.

It only got worse when we were in chemistry class the next day, and Roman had caught me sitting all alone in the back. I wasn't sure what came over me and why I had allowed him to sit down next to me again— the last time had been an absolute catastrophe where he got the both of us kicked out for bickering too loudly, so I hoped it wouldn't be a repeat-situation. I really needed to make sure I was getting every drop of information out of class today, as we had a test coming up soon.

However, Roman was the absolute biggest distraction on earth. I knew this. He kept leaning over to draw crude drawings in my book, making me have to swat his hand away over and over; "Stop it!"

Roman huffed, leaning back against his chair with a bored expression on his face. "You're no fun," he whispered back. 

And this was when it hit me— maybe I wasn't fun? Did he really think that of me? 

... Maybe it was time to show him how fun I could be?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When Letha mentioned a party happening this weekend and the fact that Roman would be joining, I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of dread— I knew what that would entail for him. He'd either disappear with a girl upstairs and/or get absolutely shitfaced, as always. And was I really going to put myself through seeing him disappear with someone else again just to prove I wasn't boring?

Yes— Yes, I was.

As I sipped my drink, I couldn't help but feel my hatred for Roman simmer and come to a boil— I hated how he had me doing the most ridiculous things known to man just to get a sliver of his attention. Why was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer. 

As I stood in the kitchen with Letha, I spotted Roman passing by the door, laughing with a friend of his. My heart thumped hard as I let out a shaky breath; "Letha, I have to tell you something,"

She turned to me, a beer in her hand. "Don't tell me you've killed someone again? I don't have the energy to drag another body out of my car today,"

"Ha-ha," I mumbled; had this been any other instance, I would've thought it was funny... but not right before I was about to tell her why I had come tonight. I dreaded it; I knew she'd disapprove. But just as I opened my mouth, ready to put my friendship on the line, I caught Roman backtracking and appearing in the door again.

"Girls!" He walked over, looking tipsy as ever. Up close like this, Roman towered over the both of us, and I had to look up an unusual amount to meet his eyes. "I've been looking for you all over! They're playing seven minutes in heaven downstairs, wanna join?"

Had this been any other night, I would've given him an immediate no— but tonight was different. Tonight, I was fun. Shrugging, I glanced over at Letha to check her reaction.

"That's so childish," Letha mumbled, sipping her beer. "I don't know, and I'm sure grumpy over here isn't too keen on that either—"

"No, I'm in!" My words came out like a panicked squeal which immediately made my cheeks burn. 

Roman seemed caught off guard by my reaction, but he eventually reached out to pat my shoulder, looking smug as ever. "There you go," he cooed, clearly teasing me. "Maybe you'll finally get laid or something!"

I was abruptly reminded of why I hated him so much in the first place. Swatting his hand off of me, I brushed my fingers over my shoulder where he had touched me, feeling a lingering burn. "If you think seven minutes is enough for everything that goes into sex, I think you need to lower that ego of yours,"

Letha bit back a smirk as Roman's lips parted in shock. Maybe the spoiled rich kid hadn't gotten a reality-check from his long list of women before? He eventually recovered from the diss, rolling his eyes; "Well, seven minutes with me can be more than enough. Need me to show you?"

Letha let out a loud snort, shuddering; "Ew, Roman! I've told you not to talk to my friends like that!"

As they turned to each other, bickering like siblings, I gripped the counter behind me with all my strength. I was almost compelled to agree, to say yes to letting him have a go, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. After a few drinks, I knew I could get a little loose-lipped.

It didn't take long before we all made it downstairs, everyone spreading out on the couches and chairs scattered in the basement. Letha and I sat down on a few pillows on the floor, far away from Roman and his rumoured needles. 

I felt my throat go dry every time the bottle spun around, landing on random people from school who later went into the empty closet nearby. But my attention was elsewhere; I watched as Roman put his arm around the girl next to him, whispering something into her ear which made her laugh. It made me want to slam my head into the wall behind me— I would rather pass out and bleed out than witness him picking up another girl again. 

I swallowed hard as the people in the closet came back out and the bottle got spun again. The first person was picked; a girl with long, brown hair whom I remembered from history class; huge bitch. Holding my breath, I watched as the bottle got spun again— it eventually slowed down and pointed to Roman, which made the girl's friend group cheer as though they had won a million dollars. It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest as Roman got up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. The girl he had just had his arm around wasn't as happy, to say the least.

This whole display was making me sick. I bit the inside of my cheek as Roman closed the door to the closet and the previous drinks in my system threatened to come up. Everything about this was making me sick. I got up, taking hurried steps to the nearest bathroom, planting myself on my knees in front of the toilet just in case.

I heard a few knocks on the door before Letha stepped in, looking worried. "I told you not to drink that vodka crap," she mumbled, locking the door before she sat down next to me on the floor.

I felt my tears press on as I grew further nauseous. "Don't mind me," I breathed. "I just need a minute." 

This only solidified my absolute and utter hate for Roman. Spoiled fucking brat— why did he have to make me feel this way? Why was my jealousy making me so sick and bitter?

Letha put her hand on my back in an attempt to soothe me; "Maybe I should drive you home?"

"No!" I said, fighting my gag reflex. "I need— I need to get out there again."

This only made Letha sigh, her hand now reaching for my hair to be ready. "You have a crush out there or something...? You know that you don't need this stupid game to get whichever guy you want, right?" 

I did my best to get up from the floor without immediately falling back down. Of course she didn't understand. 

"Seriously, hold on—" Letha grabbed my hand, holding me back from leaving the bathroom. Her eyes were just as green as Roman's, and up close like this, I could see all their similarities; the upward curve of their nose, the same full lips, and the exact same way of weaving their brows together in worry. "You don't need to do anything just because you want to prove Roman wrong," she said, squeezing my hand. "I know you came down here to make a point, but... do what's best for you, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled, tugging at her hand. The seven minutes were almost up, and I wanted to see the look on that girl's face after she left the closet with Roman. I wanted to see the look of bliss in her eyes, the hint of red in her cheeks, and watch her inhale with soft, sharp breaths just like the rest of his girls always did. The best part of watching this, was imagining that the girl was me instead— that I was the one feeling euphoric, and not her. And on the other hand, the masochistic part of me wanted to feel my heart burn with jealousy and my chest tighten with the ache I had gotten so familiar with. "Let's go. Please."

My nausea dulled down as I sat back down on the floor, realizing Roman was back. Maybe it was good that I missed the moment they came out— maybe it was good for me to spare my psyche, just this once? As my eyes met Roman's across the room, I couldn't help but notice the dark satisfaction on display across his lips. It was almost as though he knew— or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked a little sick? Did he like the look of pain in my eyes? I was reminded of Brooke Bluebell and her needle story... how he liked imposing pain on girls he found to be vulnerable. The fucking needle thing would haunt me forever.

I barely noticed that the bottle had been spun again, and I was yanked out of my mind-storm when Letha nudged me. "You don't have to," she tried, nodding towards the bottle that was now pointing at me.

My eyes immediately moved from the bottle and straight to Roman, who seemed to grow further amused. There was no way in hell I would back down now— maybe this would change his outlook on me? I had to prove I was fun, after all. Shrugging, acting as though it was no big deal, I reached for the bottle, spinning it.

I couldn't help but ponder if someone up there in the sky was playing games with me when the bottle pointed at the one person I had hoped it would be.

The girl Roman had just been with protested; "What? That's against the rules! He can't go in two times in a row!—"

"Sure can," Roman shot in, watching my every movement like a hawk— something told me he was a little excited about this as well. He got up from the couch once more, walking up to me with confident strides, reaching out for my hand. 

As I looked up at him, breath short and choppy, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his. I had always imagined what it would be like to look up at Roman from this angle, to see the sheer look of satisfaction on his face as I— Oh no, my mind was wandering again, wasn't it? I did my best not to shiver as I accepted his hand, feeling our fingers intertwine as he smoothly got me up from the floor.

I didn't even dare to look at Letha in this moment, knowing how she probably felt about it, but I really didn't have time to dwell on it— and it didn't take long before Roman closed the closet door behind us, pulling me back into the moment.

We were quiet for a few seconds, the sounds of our breathing filling the closet— I didn't know what to say or do. The beating of my heart was so loud that I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the light in the small room was dim and warm, making it a rather disorienting experience. It didn't take long before I felt my back hit the wall, letting out a little wince; the alcohol was definitely doing wonders for my balance. 

Roman snorted at the sight, emitting a soft laugh; "Careful, there," 

I let out the breath I had been holding, happy that he had been the first one to say something. "It's the vodka," I mumbled, rubbing the part of my head that had hit the wall. 

Roman hummed; "Typical,"

"What is?"

"That you can't handle your drinks,"

I wanted to smack him— that was allowed in seven minutes of heaven, right? "So what if I can't? It's not a big deal,"

"Sure," Roman said, nodding to himself. "You just need to be broken in or something." 

I wasn't the biggest fan of his choice of words— I was also not a fan of the thought of Roman breaking me more than he had already done, all whilst being completely unaware of it. Choosing not to comment on it further, I switched the subject; "So when was the last time you didn't do anything with a girl in this game?"

He needed a few seconds to scour his brain; "Never, I think,"

Typical. "Even back in middle school?"

"... Definitely,"

I held back a rather large groan— I should've predicted this. 

Roman caught onto my eventual silence; "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"... Yeah,"

"Okay, I see," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, as he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've always wanted to try out and haven't dared to, now's the time."

My breath hitched as I hoped the thumping of my heart wasn't loud enough for him to hear. There were many things I wanted to try out, sure, but not here.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

... Oh? Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman yet, and I knew she'd be against it.

However, I was being served my biggest dream on a silver platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again? 

"Okay..." I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me, then?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he was holding a needle or not. One could never be sure... and this was how I knew my anxiety was through the roof.

"So... you want a kiss? That's all?" Roman asked, looking rather pleased with himself and the situation.

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would switch up and tell me no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he didn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what I was actually asking for before I fully understood it myself. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system. 

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

Doing my best to still my breathing and not faint, I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

For fuck's sake. I mumbled a curse as Roman laughed, clearly amused by the terrified look on my face. "No, I wouldn't do that," he teased, pulling away just a bit. "I'm not that bad, you know that, right?"

I huffed, not meeting his gaze anymore. Confessing to liking him had given him all the power over me in the world. "I don't know... You tend to be quite horrible,"

"And what horrible things do I do, may I ask?"

Oh, I was ready for this question— I had been ready for a while. "First of all, the fucking tater tots," I grumbled, meeting his amused eyes. "The fact that you pull my hair like you're five years old, you've drawn about a hundred dicks in my chemistry book, and the whole needle thing!"

"Needle thing?" Roman furrowed his brows— damn, he and Letha really had the same face, didn't they? 

"Yeah, the needle thing! Brooke told us!" Something about the confusion on his face felt rather satisfactory; your turn. "You pricked her and her friend Rachel and just... laughed, or something!"

Remembering the incident, Roman burst out laughing. "Oh, that!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, that was fun, I can't lie. So, okay, maybe I'm a bit bad, but... you still like me." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and I knew it could lead to no good. "You still want to kiss me, so you can't be too scared? Or maybe..." Roman's hand travelled up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he smirked. "Maybe you're just a massive masochist?"

"What? No!" My protests were quick and loud— I wondered what the people outside this closet thought we were doing. "Roman, just... Ugh, fuck this, I'm leaving."

As I reached for the door, Roman grabbed my hand with force I hadn't expected of him, pinning it above my head against the wall. Like this, he was even closer to me than he had been just under a minute ago, and my eyes went wide with the realization that I could physically feel his bottom lip against mine, not yet coming together in the kiss I so desperately craved.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," he whispered, words slow and low. Something about this whole situation was so intense, I nearly gave in to a shiver. "Whatever this will be, you and I... won't be easy."

"There is no you and I," I mumbled, feeling my heart beat up against his chest. "We do this once, and then we forget it." Please.

Roman hummed, a cocky grin spreading across his plush, pink lips. "You think you'll be able to? I have a feeling you've wanted me for a while,"

Fuck's sake. I hated him even more when he was right. My gaze hardened as it met his, and I wondered how much time we had left. No matter how mad I was at him, I still wanted to kiss him, just once. This might be the only chance I'd ever get, and I was going to take it. 

"Okay, then," Roman accepted my silence as an answer. Nudging my nose with his, he finally pressed his lips against mine with a softness I didn't know he had in him. 

This was not what I had expected. Something about this kiss was shaking up my whole view of the world, along with my view of Roman. The most obnoxious guy with an unmatched arrogance could... kiss like this? Like he actually had a soul? 

His lips moved against mine as though I was made of glass, and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine in the hand he was holding above my head. It sent shivers down my spine as my mind went haywire, wondering why he was being so careful with me. I brought my free hand up to cup his face, feeling how soft he was against my palm. I had expected him to be rough, aggressive... so what on earth was this?

Roman's arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, and I let out a shaky breath against his lips— heat swirled in the pit of my stomach, feeling as though I was burning up from inside. 

But just as it started to get heated, two knocks were heard at the door; Roman pulled away, a victorious smirk in place as though he had successfully proved his point. "Thirty seconds left," he said. "Now, convince me why I shouldn't tell Letha."

What? Still trying to catch my breath, I felt myself freeze up. How was I supposed to think clearly when I was in this state? Roman's hand slid out of mine, waiting for my answer; "So?"

"Just don't," I breathed, putting a hand on my chest to feel my heart— did all of this just happen? "Don't tell her."

"That's not good enough," His green eyes were drilling into mine, and it was clear that he wished to corner me. Sadist.

"I'll do your stupid assignment,"

"Nope,"

"I'll... fuck, Roman, I don't know!" 

Roman snickered at my panic, fixing his hair, checking his clock; ten seconds left. "Fine, I'll be nice," he said, reaching out to swipe his thumb along the edge of my lip, wiping away some lipstick. "But you owe me."

Owe him? I wasn't the biggest fan of making a deal with the devil reincarnate in front of me. However, did I have any other choice? I let out a sigh of defeat; "... Fine,"

And this was when it truly hit me; I hated Roman Godfrey with all my heart— I hated the fact that he could make my heart flutter with the smallest gesture, that he could practically walk all over me with no remorse, and that he always looked so fucking good. 

However, at the end of the day, what I hated most... was how much I wanted him.

(a/n: click to read PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8 here!! thank you for reading!<333)

[ssinboo]

Midnights To Come

summary: After finding campus heartthrob Kim Mingyu absolutely butchering his trousers trying to fix the hole he'd busted in them, you offer his your sewing abilities. As retribution, he thinks that nothing is more fitting than his ultimate mission: getting you laid.

or

You and Mingyu spend an unforgettable night together.

pairing: University!AU - Popular!Mingyu x Unpopular!F!Reader, reader does read on the thicker side? Nothing specific.

word count: 6.8k (30~ minute read)

warnings: protected sex (finally), fingering (F rec), drinking, partying

a/n: Thank you so much for the love <3 This is mostly inspired by Taylor Swift's older music lol I'm starting a new job soon, so I'll be mostly MIA for march and perhaps april TT

Kim Mingyu was the ex-boyfriend of a friend’s friend’s cousin, unforgettably handsome with the sort of beauty that belonged in Hollywood. A very tall glass of gorgeous with an incredible personality to boot, that’s why everyone adored him. He was majoring in business to follow in his father’s footsteps but was a star at football and made sure no one would forget just who was the best lineman on their amateur team. 

And you’d met once or twice, briefly. Definitely not enough for him to come even close to becoming acquainted with your existence, but more than sufficient for him to leave his mark. He was a campus Idol, a guy you admired for his popularity and his way with people.

It was at a senior’s party your friend had dragged you to, that you met again. You were quietly searching for some solace in an empty room upstairs, when you saw him fiddling with his pants – It was hard not to notice his large frame struggling with a pair of jeans in the dark bedroom corner.

Being quite fair, at first you believed he was relieving himself, carnally. That was a puzzling sight as horrifying as it would be— I mean, the man had lines of women throwing themselves to be his, why would he just jerk off?  And then, you noticed the stapler he was using to completely butcher the fabric in a desperate way to fix the large hole. 

“Oh my God, just stop!” You exclaim, not being able to watch such abuse any longer. He was known to wear brand-name goods and just the thought of high quality fabric being assaulted by staples made your skin churn.

You, however, had totally forgotten to announce your presence. 

Mingyu jumps, falling off the bed in a split-second, clashing into the carpet with a thunderous thump. Eyes blown wide like a moose in headlights, he stares at you from his half-down half-on-the-bed position, suddenly, completely aware of his nakedness.

“Oh- Fuck–!” He exclaims, stumbling off the bed and pulling the jeans to cover his brand-name boxers.

“OH!” You also seem to realise how inappropriate it was to simply barge into his intimate moment with the stapler. “I’m sorry!” You yell from behind your palms, eyes tightly shut. 

“...No problem?” It sounds more of a question than anything. I mean, it was the polite thing to say when someone says “I’m sorry” however, there was a problem. 

“Do you need any help?” You ask, still muffled and hidden behind your hands. Mingyu has no idea on how to reply, he is familiar with those words, especially coming from a lady, but this scenario is totally different from the sexy ones he’s accustomed to. “I’m a seamstress,” Your brain urges for an explanation, as to make the situation somewhat less awkward.

He seems to be content with that. “You are?”

“Yes!” You turn around, fishing around your purse for a small sewing kit, pink plastic box with teeny tiny everything. “I have some needles and thread.” 

“Oh, thank God!”

That’s how you find yourself sitting on some stranger’s bed with a half-naked Mingyu – You’re carefully patching up the seams on his jeans while he sits cross-legged with a pillow between his legs. 

Who would’ve known that years into University, your closest call with a boy would be such a weird scenario. Sitting with the campus heartthrob as you stitch up his busted trousers. What a story to tell your friends. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” He breaks the awkward silence, reaching out his hand; He then realises you are occupied and takes it back.

You tell him your name, eyes glued to the intricate detailing on the garment.

“Are you new here?” He asks, curiously studying your face.

“No,” You mutter, holding a needle between your lips so you can inspect your stitches. 

“How come we’ve never met?” 

“We have.”

Mingyu adjusts himself, leaning closer, “No”

“Yes?” 

“No!” 

“You dated my friend’s friend’s cousin,” You explain, though it doesn’t help.

“I’ve dated plenty of friends’ friends’ cousins’,” Mingyu half-chuckles, practically patting himself on the back for that one. 

You roll your eyes, “We met once or twice, nothing major.”

“I would’ve remembered you.” 

“You didn’t,” Laughing, you don’t even notice he’s taken offence to his own forgetfulness.

“I don’t forget a pretty girl,” It is said as a matter of factly, a worldly known truth of sorts.

“You haven’t.” 

“I forgot you, apparently,” Mingyu is more frustrated than you’d expect – Than anyone would expect for such a laid back guy.

“I’m not pretty, though?” 

Oh, he is furious at such a statement, “What?! Of course you are. You are a solid 7.5, no joke, dude.”

A solid seven point five? Wow. Coming from anyone else, that could be taken as an offence, I mean, what about you made them go so high up the scale yet not even give a full number? But you were talking about THE Kim Mingyu.

That not only tickles your ego in the right spot, but does get a good laugh out of you. Mingyu laughs along, not fully grasping the humour of it, but enjoying the sound of your giggles. 

“Thanks,” You smile, pulling out your scissors to clip the last of your thread. “Here, it’s done.” 

He widens his eyes, “So fast?!” 

With a nod, you put everything back in your pocket kit. Mingyu excitedly inspects his trousers and his jaw falls open once he can’t locate where your repairs are. 

“It’s perfect!”

You smile, “Great!” 

“Wow. You are some kind of sewing genius! Thanks! You saved my life”

Mingyu proceeds to rant about how great you are and how amazing your skills are and you should totally work with sewing – you are, and that you should make clothes – you do. All because you are just that good – from a small repair. 

You were happy with just helping him, seeing it as a finished mission, ready to pack up and head home but he would not have that, oh, no. Mingyu was laser focused on repaying your kindness – he said he hates owing people so you had to accept.   His manner of retribution? Partying and maybe, if you got lucky, getting you laid. It was his mission now.

So he dragged you downstairs to meet his inebriated friends, all surprisingly welcoming and not nearly as douchy as you’d expected – Soonyoung was especially keen on having you accompany him on the dance floor. Even drunk, his abilities surpassed any of your own and he absolutely demolished the floor with his intricate choreo. 

Seokmin pulled you from the dance floor to join him on a cheesy karaoke battle, the one feat no man can accomplish being as stone-cold sober as you were. His usually impeccable vocals suffered under the alcohol and strained over high-notes. So you just plucked the first poor soul you saw in the crowd to substitute you as Seokmin’s duet.  

Stumbling through the crowd and away from the karaoke, you finally find Mingyu, giving him “Help me” eyes. He laughs softly at your predicament, stumbling from his friend’s shoulder to wrap his arm around your neck — his exaggerated stature almost sent you crashing down. 

“Come on, no one caught your eye?” He slurs his words, wild tongue running over his pretty lips, classic red solo cup dangerously dangling from his long fingers. You can see from up close the drunken blurriness that glazes his pretty eyes with unhinged impulsiveness.

You chuckle, remembering his goal was to set you up for a “Hot date”. 

“Not at all. But I had fun.” 

“Whaat?!” He whines in frustration, stepping forward so you’re facing each other. His arm is still heavily draped over your shoulders. “You didn’t have fun!” 

“I did!” You argue.

“No…” Mingyu pouts.

“I did! I promise,” Offering him a smile, you await his response. 

“Have a drink with me?” 

God, he was a pro at puppy-dog-eyes. With pouty lips, glistening under the remnants of his drink and sparkling eyes with furrowed brows. 

“I don’t– I don’t drink,” You’re so upset with the idea of disappointing him and his adorable pout though he barely pays it any mind. 

“Then we can do something else! Come on!” 

“No, Mingyu–!” 

But he’s dragging you away from the party, placing the edge of his cup between his teeth so he can snatch his coat from the hangers on his way out. You’re stumbling under his weight and hurried steps, but the night air feels so refreshing after the stuffy frat house you practically forget his intentions. 

The house behind you thumps under the song that blasts through its brick walls, colourful LEDs flashing from open windows. The front yard feels almost completely separate from the party inside, a world apart from the drunk atmosphere that holds the stifling rooms. 

Mingyu drags you toward the pavement and standing before his car, you feel your stomach drop once you see him press the button to open the door. 

“Mingyu– You– You’re drunk. You can’t drive,” You stumble over your words, nervously fidgeting with your clothes, even if you left right now, would he still drive?

“I won’t. You’re sober,” He says as a matter of factly and you hadn’t even considered driving this insanely expensive sports car. 

Mingyu opens the driver’s door and stands there, gesturing for you to get in. A true gentleman. With a relieved breath, you do. 

It’s a convertible – Of course, it is, no other car would fit his personality as well. The chassis is coloured a blinding firetruck red and the rims are a polished silver, it’s so clearly well-maintained you feel nervous about driving it. The leather seats smell so vividly of his cologne, woody and fresh.

Mingyu closes your door and jogs to his seat, he jumps over his door with ease, settling onto the beige leather seat with a soft thump.

“Here’s ignition, turn signals, speed and all that,” He leans over and points to each item. 

“Is it stick?”

“Nah, I had it modified, it’s completely automatic.” 

“Wow, disappointed in you… I thought you’d drive stick like a real man,” You tease, leaning over to check the height for the seat – It’s obviously too far back so you adjust it forward.

“Too busy getting my dick sucked to worry about changin’ gears,” He sticks his tongue between his teeth, leaning back with a proud smile. 

“Oh, god,” You groan, “Should I be touching any surface on this car?”

“Nope.”

You laugh.

After putting on your seatbelt, you look over and notice that of course, he’s not wearing his. With a roll of your eyes, you lean over and pull the seat belt over his chest. Mingyu would’ve flinched had he not been tipsy, his eyes linger on your body over his, how your left hand holds the belt at his chest while your right hand fiddles with the lock. 

And you have such pretty long lashes that flutter along your cheeks as you focus on finding the clip for the belt. A soft furrow between your brows, you’re sighing and biting on your lower lip; He notices the pretty shade of red that you wear.

But you’re already done and it’s clipped on with a satisfying click. 

“Driver’s rules, shotgun shuts his mouth,”  You say before he can protest the safety measures.

You smile so brightly, happily turning back to the wheel, excited over this incredible machine that lays in your hands. More than the alcohol in his bloodstream, your joy is intoxicating.  

And the car comes alive with a satisfying roar, you feel the soft vibrating from the wheel course up your wrists. For you, following the speed limit felt perfect, the wheel turned so smoothly and the pedals felt the perfect height. But the little devil on the passenger’s seat kept egging you on to go faster. 

Caving to his wishes, you take the highway out of town, breezing through asphalt with no sight of other cars. The confidence that such a smooth ride gives is true, you feel yourself steadily increasing the speed much to Mingyu’s satisfaction.

The wind in your hair, caressing your face with the exhilarating night air, the thrilling constant hum of such a potent engine working to your heart’s content. Nothing could beat the constellation of artificial lighting that lit the night scenery, every building held its own collection.

“Where should I go?” You ask, suddenly remembering you’re supposed to have a destination, your eyes absolutely glued to the road. 

“Somewhere nice,” Mingyu hums, thinking for a second.

He leans back, his left hand is carelessly draped over your headrest and you can feel his fingers fidget with your hair so unconsciously. Any of his go-to destinations were made for getting hot and heavy, which wasn’t the goal tonight; He wanted to repay you for helping him out and you hadn’t shown any interest in… other manners of payment. So it left him with only one option. 

“Take a left next turn,” He says, leaning forward to dig through the glovebox. 

Mingyu finds a pair of sunglasses, putting them on despite the very obvious lack of Sunlight. He offers you a spare set, and though you’d love to enjoy wearing Prada sunglasses that probably cost more than your entire net worth, you also enjoy seeing anything on the road. So you push them on top of your head, pushing your hair back. 

Somewhere along the deserted road, Mingyu grabs the AUX cord, connecting it to his phone and going through his very generic musical taste. But the atmosphere is so perfect you can’t help but enjoy the bubblegum pop blasting from the dashboard. You even sing along. 

It’s a comfortable silence, filled with Pop music and laughter. 

You drive for almost an hour under his strict directions, until you reach a dirt road. There’s an alarm blaring in your mind, realising that you’re far from civilization, in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. I mean, serial killers were always described as charismatic, right? 

Making a deal with yourself, you decide that if he does anything even remotely suspicious you’re running the car off the road. You’ll die, but he’ll go with you.

Against your anxiety, however, he tells you to pull up at a clearing just ahead and once you arrive, there’s no doubt on why he chose this place.

From atop this hill, you can see far into the city, its blinding lights nothing but tiny stars on the horizon, the noise pollution of a bustling metropolis is totally gone and replaced by the calming murmurs of nature. Before he can even say anything, you’re leaving the car to admire such a view. 

The moon is full, a pale veil over both of you, standing in the starry sky as the queen, ruling over her stars. The light caressing your body with the warmth of the perfect Summer night.

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, leaning against the hood of his car. 

You can’t help but to briefly admire the picturesque scene he paints with his playboy aura and Hollywoodian beauty, leaning against this straight-out-of-a-movie convertible. He has this side smirk, knowing this breathtaking landscape can’t be topped by any of your past experiences. 

“It’s…” There aren’t words you can find to describe such a view.  “I– Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

He visibly relaxes, as if he was waiting anxiously for your opinion, “It’s my favourite place.”

“I can see why,” You laugh, joining him, though you have a little trouble stabilising your butt over the hood.

“Everything feels small when I come here,” He explains. 

Turning to face him, your stomach is filled with annoying little butterflies that flutter around and tickle your insides with foolish thoughts. 

His moonlit profile is somehow prettier than his beauty in any other lighting, his perfect nose and high cheekbones and his eyes, God, his eyes. They hold in their dark orbs, all of the stars and worlds, in its ethereal shine. 

You hum, prying your gaze from him before your brain gets any outlandish rushes of dopamine and creates unattainable ideas. 

Mingyu leans back, his lanky body hitting the windshield, his eyes stare up at the stars. At this moment, he wishes he knew constellations from the top of his head, then maybe, he could impress you with his astronomical knowledge. 

“You look like a movie star right now… I feel like I’m in a movie,” Joking, you lean on your elbow, unconsciously following his body with your own. 

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” He asks on a spur of the moment.

You laugh, “When I grow up?”

Mingyu realises what you meant by your question and laughs along, “You know what I meant.”

Though you’re caught aback, there’s not much thinking to be done, “I want to design clothes.”

He hums, “It suits you, I think.” He didn’t know you that well, but it seemed fitting.

You chuckle, “You?”

Mingyu lets out a long sigh, leaning on his elbows to stare up at you, “CEO, I guess.”

“Have you always wanted to be a CEO?”

His lips press into a thin line and he hesitates on how much he should tell, throwing caution into the air, Mingyu decides to open up. “I honestly… Don’t want to.”

You furrow your brows, “Won’t you take over your father’s company?” 

He nods, “That’s what I should do.”

“Then what do you want to be?”

It’s such an innocent question and in all honesty, sort of childish almost? Something you would ask a small child and just agree with whatever they come up with. But it’s something he was never allowed to question.

“I… Don’t think I know.” 

You hum, “You could be an actor,” It’s a bit of a tease as much as it is the truth. 

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, sitting up so he can face you properly. You have this soft smile on your face that holds so much warmth for a stranger like him, it almost feels undeserving. 

“An actor?” He prods. 

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You just have the vibes for it… Living a thousand lives in just one, I think you could play any character really well. Plus, you have the looks. I always told my friends you have a face that belongs in Hollywood.” It comes out so naturally, you barely realise what you’ve said until he’s staring at you. “I– Sorr–”

Mingyu smashes his lips into yours. 

You squeak, but don’t shy away from his plush lips. 

His left hand reaches for your jaw, fingers softly tracing your cheek with certain hesitancy but you lean into his touch so willingly he can’t help the bubbling feeling that comes to life deep in his belly. 

When your lips part, you feel the night breeze caress the parts of your body he touched and you find your body misses his warmth. 

Your brain simply can’t function. 

In your brilliant academic journey, romance had never been an aspect you entertained. You quickly learned at thirteen that a fairytale story only happens to cute girls with nice hair and pretty bodies. And not the one repeatedly being used as the butt-end of a cruel joke. 

Mingyu represented everything you would never have; A popular, rich guy with amazing hair and looks out of this world. And he was nice, too. Took time of his day to hang out with you and to repay what had been an instinctive action; help out someone. 

It could only have been a mistake, right?

Mingyu, noticing the dread that paints your pretty face, can’t help the cold shiver that takes over his body, “I… I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine! I won’t tell anyone.” You reply all too fast.

“What?” He blinks a couple of times, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, I won’t ruin your reputation…”

He practically jumps from the car, standing in front of you, “Say it again.” 

You look up, his towering height has never once been intimidating, until now, “...I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“No, what the fuck do you mean ruin my reputation, why would kissing you ruin it?” His voice possesses such anger you couldn’t even think he was capable of. But you feel yourself getting upset, how long will he torture you with this? Do you need to say with all words how undesirable you are?

“Because no one in their right mind should be seen with a girl like me!” You blurt out, feeling his anger seep into your body.

“A girl like you?” He huffs in disbelief. “A girl that indulged me, was nice to my friends and let me drag her to the middle of nowhere?” Mingyu leans forward, caging your body in between his arms. “ A pretty, kind girl, who helped me without asking anything for it? What kind of girl, tell me.” He orders, his voice in a low, hushed tone that tickles your nose when he speaks.

Speechless, you’re sitting there, face to face with a guy that genuinely shows interest in you, told you you’re pretty for the nth time tonight and has the most kissable lips you’ve seen. 

His jaw is tight with anger, almost as if he’s got a personal vendetta against you self-hatred, but your stupid lustful brain can’t focus on anything but the sharp cut of his jaw, deep veins bulging from tanned skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, so quietly you think you hallucinated it. But it’s very much true. 

He looks so irresistible, half-lidded eyes staring at your lips while he bites his own. 

“Please,” you exhale, melting into his body when he leans forward. 

You were never a woman of action, preferring when others make the move, but in this moment you have this newfound confidence, meeting his lips halfway, crashing into a fervorous kiss.

It’s nothing like your first, you feel the heat emanating from his body, scorching hot seeping into your skin, burning every nerve it touches with fervorous want. 

His tongue is in your mouth, anxious and exploring and he is humming against your lips such an intoxicating melody that for a second, you’re a stranded sailor falling for the voice of a siren and dipping into the arms of unimaginable beauty.

Saliva drips from your connected lips but he refuses to end the kiss, no. Because you taste of cherry flavoured hard candies, provocatively luscious with a delicious aftertaste that can only leave you longing for more. 

He parts the kiss, leaning back and practically tearing his varsity jacket from his body. You’re watching closely as he lays it behind you, over the car.

Right hand moving to your waist, Mingyu pushes forward until you’re laying on the hood, so pretty. Your body is still finding his, your chest leaning forward so you can mould into his warmth, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, closer, closer. 

You’re breathless, eyes trained on his every move with such incredulity as if you believed you were in a dream, hallucinating every moment so far. 

He can feel every curve of your body pressing tightly against his. It’s evident the effect you’re having on him, blood boiling in his veins with unadulterated desire.

There has never been a moment in his life where he genuinely cared to go slow, to show his passion and intent; Every partner of his had been as much into the act as he had been. 

But you, you’re so fragile and every moment he spends in your presence feels so ephemeral, he can not help the panic that rushes into his body to make it worth it, to make every second last.

His lips trace along your jaw, saliva coating the path he trails down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. And his lips are so gentle and enticing, with their sugary kisses that you lean into because you’ve never felt something so wonderful. 

He nibbles and kisses on your exposed skin, teeth grazing across the teeniest bit of cleavage showing from your borrowed dress. So far, you had done an amazing job at keeping the sounds he elicited from leaving your lips, however this once, you couldn’t hold the breathy mewl that escapes. 

Mingyu freezes, eyes slowly rising up until they meet your face. 

“Oh my god, do it again,” He huffs against your sensitive skin.

“W-What?” You ask.

“That sound you just did, god, you sound so fucking hot,” And he slurs against your chest. Not because of alcohol, no, he had sobered up on the windy car ride, but intoxicated on the effortless warmth that you exude. 

You lit a flame on his chest that burns incandescently with nothing but greedy lust, burning its way through his body with an unfathomable hunger that could only be satisfied by your sweetest moans. 

He struggles with the buttons that decorate the cleavage of your dress, trying to undo them and seriously questioning his soberness when they do not separate.

“It’s got a zipper,” You admit, but he looks so relieved. 

Mingyu leans back, pulling you by your hand until you crash into his chest and he can finally reach the back of your dress. You’re breathing so heavily against his skin, your soft hands grazing along the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair; He can hardly focus on the task at hand. 

His right hand runs under the skirt of your dress, clawing at your flesh with heavy hands, almost as if he wanted to hold you fully in his touch. Toying with the band of your panties, he sighs, watching your chest heave at the contact.

You pull your dress sleeves off, letting the fabric bundle around your waist, though you can’t be arsed to properly take it off. Mingyu does not mind at all, no, he’s absolutely hypnotised by the sight of your tits.

Shoving his face onto your cleavage, he’s pulling you closer into his body by your hips, sucking love bites on your unblemished skin. Leaving a trace of him that would last longer than your moments together, a mark of momentary possession that allowed his brain to indulge.  

And you’re contaminated with his boldness, clawing at his shirt with relentless anticipation. You suddenly have this peculiar urge to feel his skin on yours, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

Mingyu smiles against your skin, finding your hands that touch him fervently, wrapping his fingers around yours. And for a brief moment, you feel as though you might’ve wronged him, but he pulls your hands to wrap around his neck as he finds your lips again while his hands are pulling on the hem of his shirt.

The kiss is only parted once, when he pulls the white shirt above his shoulders and discards it somewhere across the soft grass; completely unimportant at the moment. 

And god, Mingyu is divinely sculpted with defined pecs and hardened abs that tense under your touch. You sigh at the dreamy sight of his tan skin completely exposed for your viewing only. 

He relishes in the adoring look you exhibit, eyes dripping wholly in an exquisite hunger you’ve never felt before; And he coerces this scandalous reaction from you with pride. Your hands are eager to touch him, so you do. You run your fingers down his supple skin, fingernails grazing in teasing lines. 

Smoothing out your hands up his chest, you find his neck and pull him toward your lips, wanting to feel his bare skin on yours, stealing his heat until your bodies are running at the exact same temperature.

His hands, large and calloused from playing professional sports, lay heavy on your thighs. Mingyu pulls at the waistband of your panties and takes a second to lock eyes with you, guaranteeing your approval. 

You can only hope you’ve got the good pair of underwear on. 

But it doesn’t matter, because he pulls it off at once, discarding it above his shoulder to fall somewhere along his shirt. 

Your dress is bunched up around your waist and you should’ve felt more embarrassed to be completely exposed before him but Mingyu looks at you with such reverent eyes, taking every inch of abundant flesh with care. 

“Fuck–” He groans, eyes glued to the spot between your legs. You can’t even close them in an attempt at modesty because he is standing right there and not going anywhere. 

He runs a slender finger across your slit, breathing heavier at the sight of moisture that pools along the lips. 

When you bite your lower lip, unknowingly coquettish and staring at him all bright eyed and pleading, Mingyu let out a strained sound that could barely be classified as a groan. 

“Can I?” 

His finger dances around your slit and he looks unsure. You nod with a soft “Yeah.”

Nothing like anything you’ve felt or done before.

That’s the only way to explain the feeling of having his long finger prodding at your hole with gentle movement. He soon joins another one, stretching you out with delicate scissoring motions, he’s not focused on making you cum, he wants to prepare you for him. 

And that very thought makes your stomach tighten in anticipation. 

You don’t even realise when your hips are thrusting against his hand, matching his pace. And you’re definitely not thinking when you ask in a gasp:

“A… Another one–”

Mingyu stills. 

“You don’t fuckin–” He leans forward, forehead flushed to yours, uneven breath tickling your sensitive lips. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me, babygirl.” 

You feel your body consumed with an unstoppable amount of confidence, knowing the grip you hold over Mingyu at this moment, you’re dizzy with power.

“Show me, then,” The lazy smile that finds your red stained lips is a sight to bear.

He smirks, knowing he will make you eat your words soon. 

As he pulls his fingers from your cunt, there is a thick string of arousal that coats his skin in a sinful glaze. With a confident smirk, Mingyu 

But he doesn’t expect when you lean forward, letting your tongue run all over, cleaning his fingers and tasting first-hand the pleasure he brings you. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

Mingyu could’ve cum right then and there. 

You’re giggling as he fumbles with his belt, he wishes he could’ve stopped to appreciate such a sweet sound, but he was way too horny to think about anything other than plunging his cock into you at once. 

When the night breeze hits his throbbing erection, Mingyu shivers.

You’re chewing on your lower lip, equal parts excited and terrified at his sheer size. He is large. And fat, with bulging veins running down his length and a thick head that’s trickling with pre-cum. 

“Oh my god.” 

Mingyu cowers at your gasp, “What?”

“You’re huge, fuck.” 

Oh, your praise runs straight down to his erection. His chest puffs out with absolute pride.

“Do you have a condom?” It was a silly question when aimed toward Mingyu, of course he did. He always does. 

He fishes out his wallet and pulls a fresh packet, tearing the foil apart with his teeth and pulling the pre-lubed rubber. Mingyu is about to roll it over himself when your hands find his. 

“Can I–?” You ask and he almost sighs. 

He watches you with bated breath. You’re delicate, small hands quietly rolling the condom over his seemingly unending length until you’ve reached the base. Your fingers linger in curiosity and he can’t help but to find it adorable.

Properly protected, Mingyu grasps his length as you position yourself better on the hood, legs wide open, dripping in anticipation. Oh, you couldn’t fault his desire to tease, could you?

Running his tip over and over your drenched core, he groans. You’re clenching around nothing, hands fidgeting with the bunched up fabric of your dress. Mingyu has a stupid confident smirk on his lips, watching you squirm at his minimal touch. 

“Mingyu!” You whine when he brushes against your clit. Reaching your right hand, you claw at his heaving chest. He doesn’t budge, however.

“What?” He plays dumb, toying with your hole. 

“F-Fuck me? Please…?”

Fuck seven point five, you were a ten, a twenty, a one-hundred, no fucking numbers could quantify your allure, no. You could charm your way out of any crime if you pursed your brows and pouted your lips like this, smeared red lipstick painting your soft skin, saliva dripping down your chin so indecently. 

And your hand was still, caressing his stomach, like a succubus ready to pounce and devour him like a five course-meal. Consume him whole, body and soul until he has nothing left to give. He would let you have him, any way you wanted, you just needed to say the word.

Just needed to let his name fall out of your pretty lips in a breathy gasp and he would be at your call. 

Mingyu enters you slowly, stretching out every millimetre of your walls with a burning feeling of fullness.

“Fuck–” He groans, “Relax for me, baby.” 

You take a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as much as your brain allows at the moment and he takes the chance to stretch you out further, hips pistoning forward. 

Mingyu feels the pleasure seep into his body in one fell swoop, dissolving in his bloodstream, filling his lungs with heat. You’re snug around him, clamping down on his sensitive erection, pulsing alive and throbbing. 

“Are you in?” You ask, not risking looking down and disappointing yourself at the remaining length. Mingyu is hovering just inches above you, hand taut on the hood, using every bit of restraint imaginable to not pound you into tomorrow.

“Just a little more,” He breathes out, head coming to rest on the crook of your neck as his hip comes to meet yours.

He allows you a moment to let the stretch lessen, to allow your discomfort to slowly morph into pleasure. And soon, you’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders, his almond eyes have completely surrendered to the dark gaze of lust, devouring you alive with their insatiable hunger. 

“You can move now…” You breathe out, fingers tangling around his silky smooth hair. 

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiles against your lips, hips finding themselves a languid, slow and torturous pace until you’re begging for more. 

The way his body feels against your is something unforgettably wonderful, every curve of his torso giving into your own, every inch of you filling into the gaps of his in an imperfectly perfect little puzzle.

With every thrust, you’re pulling at the roots of his hair, gaining yourself sharp hisses from Mingyu. Though he enjoys the tugging, leans into your scratching, presents his lips to you with total eagerness.

He fastens his movement, thrusting into you with sheer fervour. His hands are exploring your body, kneading at abundant flesh with excited fingers that leave trails of crescent moons shapes along your skin. 

Out here, in the middle of nowhere, caressed by the breeze and the moonlight, you’re whispering his name in an unanswered prayer, letting the syllables dance around in your tongue before you let them slip away into the starry night sky to be forgotten. 

You’re clenching around him with pleasure, feeling the knot in your belly tighten and tighten. 

“Feels– So good,” Mingyu hisses against your kisses, hips not stuttering even once. 

Brain an absolute mush, you can’t find any words to respond other than strained moans.

“So– Fucking good…” Nuzzling along your jaw, he grazes his teeth on your neck, painting your skin with love bites.

“I–” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He doesn’t even need you to finish your sentence to know what you meant.

“Yeah? Me too– Let go, baby.” 

Digging his hands into your hips, Mingyu hurries his thrusts, hitting your sweet spot again and again until you’re melting in his arms, singing praise of his name with your candied voice and luring him into his own orgasm. 

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a harsh kiss, hips slowing down as he comes undone, tainting the condom with heavy spurts. 

You’re both gasping in complicity, blanketed in the summer night.

Once the condom is discarded, Mingyu lays by your side and pulls you into his heaving chest. You both lay there in comfortable silence, letting the orgasms fade out into strained sleepiness. 

“Will you promise to remember me?” You ask, watching the twinkling stars that lay before you two.

“Where did that come from?” Mingyu chuckles. 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is a soft whisper that dissipates into a shaky, hesitant breath, “Do you promise to remember me?”

He laughs, but your eyes hold such urgency, he can not ignore the human need to sympathise with your woes. “...Why– Why do you say that?”

“Because…” You sigh, “Because I’ll remember you, – this,” Hands vaguely gesturing toward your conjoined bodies, “For the rest of my life… And I’m afraid even a decade from now, you won’t be able to recall my name or what I look like.” 

It’s serious, it’s a concern that has plagued your mind since the moment you laid down. However, Mingyu can only focus on the fact that you’ve assumed the two of you won’t see each other again, ever. 

Leaning forward, his slight smile does nothing to hide the clearly confused look that is plastered across his handsome face, “It’s like you plan to disappear. We’ll see each other again.”

You shake your head, “What are the chances, Mingyu? We’re just… Fleeting seconds in centuries. What are the chances alumni – Not even from the same major, – will meet again?”

“What if we promise to meet?” Oh, he’s absolutely set on it, but you find it adorable; this fervorous intent on defying the hands fate has laid before you.

“Then, what happens when we’re bored of each other?” You chew on your lower lip, but he discards your argument. 

“That might not happen,” He points out.

“We’re too different. It defeats fate to force it,” You sigh.

Mingyu doesn’t have an answer right now, but he’s seeking one with furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“Remember me like this, no wait–” You run your fingers through tangled hair in an attempt to fix the messing he’d done before. “Done. Like this.” You flash a smile, posing your body in the best angle it has, to construct the perfect memory.

But Mingyu sees your flustered cheeks, smeared lipstick that leaves behind a stained trail of hot red over swollen-kissed lips. Sleep hazed eyes that gaze at him with such warmth, that hold a longing he wouldn’t be able to grasp for another decade. You liked him, you truly did. And that’s why you would never allow your memories of him to be tainted by the grasps of time. 

You’d forever remember his dorky smile and dad jokes, his clumsy hands and warmth.

And Mingyu doesn’t realise it yet, but he would forever remember you as someone who marked him forever. To disregard the cards you’re dealt, make your own memories, remember it all fondly. 

Maybe in a couple years, you will have a wild dream about this very moment, a fuzzy memory that leaves behind a nostalgic smile that will follow you for the day, reminding you of this perfect feeling. You’ll look back with wistful thinking of the good days. 

And will keep it close to your heart.

Where it belongs.

You thought about it often the day after, but days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. And a decade later, you found yourself having a dream about the distant memory, and the sweet nostalgic feeling accompanied you throughout your routine. 

After university, you had found a simple job in your area that sufficed the need for experience and filled the empty stop in your resume. Though it was far from fulfilling. There was no creative liberty allowed and you often found yourself overworked and constricted by tight deadlines. 

The dream of your own line had yet to die, however. That’s why you had volunteered for such a demanding gig: designing for a historical movie. Luckily, your resume had allowed you a good position, overseeing the wardrobe and designing the pieces that would be forever captured on film.

The main character, a pretty young thing with curly hair, was extremely excited to work with you and almost cried when she saw the dresses she would be wearing. 

Today, you would be fitting for the lead male role and designing him some characteristic James Dean style clothes. Your assistant led him to your office while you were gathering your materials. 

When you enter the room and you’re met with those gorgeous almond eyes, you can’t help the stupid smile that finds your lips.

“This is the lead actor, Kim Mingyu,” Your assistant explains. 

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh. 

He stands up, a charming smirk plastered on his pretty face, “Hey.”

Your assistant looks at you with a puzzled look, “You know each other?”

Mingyu nods. 

“Yeah, I never forget a pretty face.” 

[erabu-san]

First of all, I would like to thank you so much for all your support and your kind message !! Thank you so much for being patient with me too !! (you will see, I thanks a lot in this post lol)

Haha tbh I believe that ignoring and move on is a great way too! Yeees when I read this anon ask, I was wondering if they are living somewhere where pale person are oppressed and they are personally in this case and it affects them so badly that they have so much hate in them or they are just being hateful toward poc w/o any explication ? It was a bit uncomfortable And what is appealing with Genshin Impact (for me) is the fact that they use real culture to create their game ; even in the last survey, they ask if we like Natlan's authenticity (weird they only ask abt environment and music, i think they know they have issue with character design bahaha). I learn a lot about persian, algerian, but also chinese and even about french culture ! It is because people recognize themself that they start talking about it. I know there is a lot of controversial topic in Natlan, but because of this, I learn a lot on Hawai'i 's culture too. So yes, even if it is fiction, representation *is* important. And it is because they take inspiration of their culture that there is people who want a better representation, and in my opinion, this is something to not ignore !

About taking well what anon said, thank you so much ! If i can be honest tho, I didn't take it very well neither, or just I don't know how do I really felt at the moment I am an adult but I still hard time to distinguish what is morally okay or not, what is bad and good ? So if someone doesn't tell me they are explicitly a bad person with bad intention, I won't get it haha (ofc I grew up and now I identify my value and morals, but I still questionning if my morals are objectively great or not- yeaaah i was called weird for that, I am aware) Since forever I always try to understand other so I can communicate properly (at least I try), and that's why I am always interested on how does people think, why do they react in this specific way etc etc. Pro, I am patient and can take even the most violent take "well" (all depends. I am still a human) Con, I give free speech to those who have a "bad" take </3 and I apologize for that aaaa

KFSDLFSD I wish to express my angryness sometime but I just don't know if it is really adequate What if I interpret their text in wrong way as they initially try to say ? I wasn't feel offended by what they said, I was just uncomfortable because their opinion is something I consider hateful. and what if i was wrong??? But reading you all's opinion just affirm that's they were indeed rude ! I should stop overthink, life would be easier Maybe next time I have a doubt I will ask my friends's opinion before answering ksdkfsf

Oh my god thank you !!! If i can be honest, I draw Kinich this way because when I draw him w a darker skin for the first time, I thought "Oh !!! he looks so cool !!!!" and seeing a lot of positive comment abt my Kinich just makes me happy so I keep him like this ! And thank you for sharing with me informations !<<333 This is not overstepping at all ! And it is a reciprocate feeling anon ! It might be a bit weird but "angry" is such a complex feeling for me. I feel it but I don't really know how to express it in the most healthy way and it is super frustrating. So... seeing people getting mad at something I also disagree on makes me feel better !! And for this, thank you all !

I SNORT SO HAAAARD Damn Macron you again..........!! I didn't put all ask here but I read them all !! Thank you for sharing with me your opinion and reaction, it is truly interesting (and way more relaxing that the hater anon kskskss) !! and again, your support is truly meaningful for me. You all have sincere gratitude Hope y'all have a great day !! Stay hydrated too <3

[icyg4l]

Pick-A-Girl Group: What Purpose Do the Women In Your Life Serve?

Continuing on with my Women’s History Month series, I am going to do a reading on how the women in your life feel about you and the effect of these feelings. I am going to be using the True Heart Tarot Deck and the Archetype Oracle Deck. These readings are supposed to uplift, relate to and inspire women so I hope they serve their purpose. I Without further ado, please pick your pile. 🫶

***Disclaimer: Regardless of your gender identity, the women that are in your life deserve to be celebrated as long as they have pure intentions. Much love. 🩷

Left-to-Right (1-4):

Pile One: If you resonate with the image of FLO, then you deserve the whole fucking world. Pile One, the women in your life absolutely adore you. You probably resonate with the song’s theme: recognizing beauty in yourself when everyone is against you, specifically as a black woman. You have come such a long way. The women that are currently in your life have seen you make mistakes and allowed you to do so. They recognize your evolution. A lot of you have a best friend who you’ve been friends with for a long time and she is so proud of you. She is proud of the person that you have become. This pile has some cheerleaders around them. I feel like the women in your life are meant to take inspiration from what you are going through right now. I think that you may be going through your redemption arc.You’re forgiving yourself for a lot of things that you’ve done in the past. The women in your life see that and are following suit. After all, living life does mean not being a robot. These women who are around you are all ears, very receptive to what it is that you are doing with your life. You’re like their Oprah, lol. If you have a story to tell, share it with her. She may need to hear it. I channeled the show: Beyond Scared Straight; specifically the parts where the prisoners talk to the kids about their life stories and the reasoning for why they should not end up in jail. I feel like you could be someone’s mentor, whether they’re younger or the same age as you, perhaps even older. You are someone’s Reesa Teesa too, lol. I get the feeling that you need to be talking about yourself, Pile One. There is an audience full of women who are willing to hear you out and listen. When I pulled from the oracle deck, I got the following cards: 

God: Benevolence and compassion. Recognizing the eternal force within yourself and others/Despotism and cruelty. Using power to control people 

Mother: Nurturance, patience, unconditional love. Joy in giving birth to life/Smothering or abandoning children. Instilling guilt in children for becoming independent.

Poet: Expresses soul insights in symbolic language/Turns a lyric gift to negative or destructive effect. 

Cards Used: 2 of Swords, 4 of Discs, 9 of Cups, Prince of Wands (RX), King of Discs, Four of Cups, Temperance.

Pile Two: If you resonate with the photo of Destiny’s Child, you got some ride or dies around you for real. I think that you’ve been through hell and back with the women in your life and they do not play about you. I think the women in your life want you to know that you are so worth it. I’m not going to lie Pile Two, it sounds like you’re in a toxic love situation and your girls want you out of it. Your friends, cousin or little sister could have told you that you need to exit stage left multiple times. They absolutely believe you deserve better. Hypothetically speaking, If y’all fell out today and an emergency happened tomorrow, they would be on the way to the hospital. I feel like family is so important to you. They feel like you’ve forgot about them but I don’t think that you have. Circumstances make it difficult for you all to see eye-to-eye. The women in your life want you to know that you are not alone. They will forever be there for you no matter what, even if you have lost your damn mind. These challenging times will make the bond between you and these women stronger. When I pulled from the oracle deck, I got the following cards: 

Artist: Expressing a dimension of life that is beyond the five senses. Inspiring others to see life symbolically / Using talent as an excuse to mistreat others. Posing as the Starving Artist to elicit pity.

God:  Benevolence and compassion. Recognizing the eternal force within yourself and others / Despotism and cruelty. Using power to control people 

Goddess: The feminine expressed through wisdom. Nature, life force, and sensuality / Exploitation of the female nature and form 

Cards Used: Ace of Discs, 9 of Swords, Princess of Cups (RX), Prince of Discs, The Hierophant, Princess of Discs, 4 of Cups (RX), The Devil (RX), 10 of Cups.

Pile Three: If you resonate with the photo of TWICE, you got the grandmother spirit around you. Did you grow up in the church? Or at least with a god-fearing grandmother? I feel like the women in your life hate to see you unhappy and this is what you’re feeling right now. I think that you may be uninspired/unfulfilled with what life is giving you right now. It’s not an uncommon feeling. But smiling can make all the difference. The women in your life want to see you smile, make you smile and laugh. They want to be there for you like how your grandmother was. No one will ever replace Granny but her presence is always there. You may be questioning God/your higher powers because of something that deeply affected you. But the women around you want you to not feel ashamed or want you to feel like they are judging you. They have been in the same predicament. They only want to see you get better. They hate to see you like this. It may be hard to do this but look at the glass half full, rather than half empty. They want you to get back to yourself, the version of you that isn’t defeated. When I pulled from the oracle deck, I got the following cards: 

Child: Nature: Friendships with animals. Communication with nature spirits / Tendency to abuse animals, people and the environment. 

Destroyer: Releasing what is potentially destructive. Preparing for new life / Intoxication with destructive power. Destroying others’ dreams or potential.

Child: Magical: Seeing the potential for sacred beauty in all things. The belief that everything is possible / Pessimism, depression and disbelief in miracles. Believing that energy and action are not required for growth.

Cards Used: The Devil, Princess of Cups, The Star, Judgment, The Moon, Temperance, Seven of Swords.

Pile Four: And lastly, if you resonated with the photo of the Spice Girls, you seem very sensual. Are you a SWer? Do you attend pole dancing classes for fun? Do you know someone who does either of these things? I feel like the women in your life appreciate how physical you are. You’re probably an artist and you're sensitive about your shit too. The women in your life feel as though you have a lot of talents. You’re very multifaceted and they love to brag about it, especially the older women. You could been the cousin who had to show off the latest dance move. So as a result, you became the leader of the pack. You can be naturally nurturing but it can drain you. The women around you feel like you need to put up some boundaries so that you can still worry about you. They respect your quality of being a giver, but do you even respect yours-[GUNSHOT]. There is a woman that you are close to that admires a quality that you hate. She compliments it any chance she can get because she wants to uplift you. I feel like people always try to touch you, whether it’s your hair, your arms, or even your butt. The women around you could immediately shut it down or call them out or defend it. They want to protect your innocence. Even though you are grown, you have that ingenue within you. They know how you can get (especially while under the influence) so they refuse to let you get that way. When I pulled from my oracle deck, I got the following cards: 

Servant: Delight in serving others with a free and loving heart / Using the lack of money as an excuse not to move forward with life 

Bully: Highlights your tendency to intimidate others. Helps you confront the inner fears that bully you / Conceals deep fears behind verbal or physical abuse.

Hedonist: Inspires creative energy to embrace the good things in life. Celebrates the beauty in yourself / Pursues pleasure to the detriment of health. Indulges at the expense of others.

Cards Used: The Star, The Lovers, Judgment, The Emperor, 7 of Cups, 10 of Swords, Ace of Cups, The Moon, 8 of Cups (RX).

[meelkiewee]

Hello!

As a first post i wanted to share my favourite bubbies and since tumblr seems more text oriented than the other socials I have, I'd like to explain what was going on in my head while doing their character redesigns~ [BOOKS SPOILERS MENTIONED]

INTRODUCTION

These character designs were made back in winter 2022 for a sort of animation thesis. Many things didn't go according to plan in that school year so for lack of time and motivation I've never really finished the animatic but I will include a wip at the end of this post. The animatic was about my interpretation of their story, finding a person to call home while in a crude and terrible world.

XIE LIAN

Xie Lian is the first of the two I made, his character design was very clear in my mind since the start. It's not largely distant from your official usual XL but I thought it already fitted very well.

The three main colors for XL are white, black and golden yellow. The prevalence of black and white colors was inspired by two main factors:

I personally see XL as a heavily dichotomy based character, not only in the association to the White Clothed Calamity but also in the way he's described as pretty as a flower but skillful with the sword, following a chaste path but mingling with a ghost king, all kind smiles to others but struggling with his own hope, etcetera, etcetera. He is in a constant struggle to find a third option that is better than simply bad or good, mostly in his early God's days, and also later on with ‘not knowing whether to laugh or cry’. So in here, black and white represent the reality of human nature, where you have bad and good qualities alike, a concept I think XL struggled with a lot since he was brought up as the perfect and pure prince that can do no wrong.

According to my research of the meaning behind colors in the chinese culture I discovered black and white can symbolize many things, some of which I found quite fitting for where I wanted to go with my character design. Black can stand for sadness and bad luck. White represents brightness, purity and innocence. In some instances, however, white is also associated with death and is a color commonly worn at funerals. Moreover in my own culture black and white, along with deep blue, are very elegant colors to wear. Simple and elegant is what my XL wants to look like.

Another important part of my XL character design is his bamboo hat.

Following some good old christian imagery I used his hat as an halo. Most of the time I even ignored perspective to make sure his head is always framed in this golden saintly circle In my animatic storyline specifically it represents XL perfection. Soon the hat is lost in the mud and brought back later on by HC with a new meaning of finding yourself in a safe environment with safe people. 

For most of the other design choices I took decisions based on pure aesthetics such as giving him a very elegant mole under the eye, very long and lucious hair and a very very long hanfu with some very very long sleeves. Yes, I wanted him to be very very everything because I very very love him!

Here are some other very very outfits i drew him in for fun and didn’t need for the animatic:

_____________________________________

HUA CHENG

As a premise to my HC character design I want to say I am very amused at people’s different reactions to it. They are usually neatly split in two: either they hate it with a passion or just fall head over heels in love with it, no in between. I personally am in the ‘love it’ side (duh of course I am, I designed it lol) but I also understand if your first thought is “WHO TF IS THAT?”, so let me explain my thought process here.

Firstly, hot take: official HC character is made to be your perfect cool-hot-mysterious-boyfriend™ that has it more together than you do and we don’t like that in this household, at least not always. Yes he is XL’s most devoted believer, yes he is a very powerful supreme, yes he’s always there for his Gege but in the end he’s also a very traumatized person that has had a crush for a guy for 800+ years.

What I’m saying is I wanted him to be a little more relatable and goofy than what books show us so I integrated some of his personality hidden away in E’Ming. From here I got the puffy messy hair, the big round eye and the doubtful expression.

Next up let’s talk about the palette. He also has, like XL, three main colors:

Blue. Mostly of the time he spends around XL he does it in his true form, wich is the form of a dead person (even dead more than once;;). This is pretty self explanatory, when someone dies the hue of their skin goes to blue and also ghosts in general are frequently represented pale blue or white in color. As a little side note to this, I really enjoyed the blue demons HuaLian episode in donghua S2, it made me feel less alone in my smurf choice lol.

Red. This is canonically HC’s color and rightfully so! Red is widely recognized as China's color of good fortune, and in my culture, it is frequently used as a symbol of passion and the color of blood. There is really nothing better than red for Mr. Crimson Rain!

Lilac. Although I'm not sure about my research on this color in Chinese culture, I've read that it modernly represents love or romance. However, growing up in my hometown, purple (and all its shades) was always associated with ugliness and was thought to be a bad omen if worn. Whoever had the nerve to wear it was regarded as a distasteful and ominous weirdo. I think it fitted perfectly with how every other Heaven Official other than XL sees HC; someone who makes blood rain for fun and a potential and actual threat to the Heavenly Court.

As for XL, other choices I made serve a mostly aesthetic purpose. HC’s boxy build, pointy ears and the opened robe to see tiddies(🤩) are some of the notable ones.

HC would not be complete without E’Ming, obviously. After comparing some different blades and trying to integrate a butterfly in the design, I opted for keeping it simple and I ended up with this wobbly shaped hilt made to resemble HC’s bang. The fact that now E’Ming looks like it has a big nose is just an added charm honestly.

CONCLUSION

Thanks for reading until this point I hope you enjoyed my yap and make sure to have a nice day/night! <33

I'll leave the link to my animatic wip here, please note once again that it is not finished in the slightes and there are also some funky expressions that don't really fit the mood lol enjoyyy!

-Sole

[jade-len]

guys, guys.

be honest with me. would anybody be willing to read any SVSSS x reader stuff (or, just SVSSS with reader fanfics in general?) like please i'm being so deadass right now. i am very willing to write, it's just that i have no clue if anyone would want to read that???

i know that the people in this fandom don't necessarily have any x or & readers, but i'm sad and pathetic and have a weird emotional attachment to the characters. like hear me out guys.

i present to you all a few ideas i have:

1. reader transmigrates into SVSSS and decides, fuck it, let's become a counselor/therapist/emotional support service pal. half of the conflicts in the novel would've been prevented if therapy, communication, and simple observation existed! mu qingfan, give me a chance!! i promise this will lower the qi deviation rates by at least 50%.

liu qingge? alright, let's work on learning identifying your feelings better and not respond via violence to every situation. shen jiu? hey, hey, it's okay to be vulnerable! no- please don't go self projecting yourself onto an innocent 14 year old. luo binghe? *pulls out 5 different documents* heavens, where do we even start? like, gods forbid any of them have a proper support system, or at least be able to express their feelings and deal with them in a healthy manner!

2. liu qingge x reader where he gradually stops painfully pining and gets the love that he deserves. he gets his pretty face cupped gently and kisses all over it. that's it. that's the fic idea.

3. bingge, the original luo binghe, gets sent back in time.. all the way back to right when his mother died. he believes that he's been given a chance to re-enact his revenge, play it smart all the way from the start and have an upper hand now that he has to relive this! however, that quickly changes when this random fucking person (aka, reader) just wont stop bothering him?? what the hell do they want??? (for this one, i'm not sure if reader should be a transmigrator who believes they're in SVSSS instead of PIDW and is unaware of the whole bingge thing, or just some npc that proves him wrong about kindness).

4. SVSSS hater (or someone who just has a very complicated relationship with it!) reader transmigrates into it after tweeting "stupid author, stupid novels". they then proceed to accidentally collect two husbands they were so actively against before. ugh! now that i'm here, i guess i'll try to help out with their relationship and give my advice so that they won't have so much conflict, ones that were super frustrating to even hear about!! shen qingqiu, that dense ass guy and unhealthily codependent luo binghe! wait, what? what do you mean they both want me to be part of their marriage now??

sincerely, very much inspired by this tweet (reader most likely isn't going to be an anti, though);

low-key might combine the first and fourth fanfic idea? will make reader gender neutral (or even male!) though. but overall idk. idk if people will even wanna see that at all, man. ok please give thoughts. or not lol

(10-11-23 edit: i'm currently writing the bingge one rn!)

[sunhowler-art]

was inspired by this post to design some hlvrai warrior cats!! i'm honestly shocked it took me 2 years to make a warriors au for it, i love making warriors aus...

some basic info below the cut!

sooo my general idea (it's pretty hazy right now. forgive me) for this au is that songfoot (benrey), nectarbrook (darnold), goldenberry (tommy), galeheart (coomer), scorchtail (bubby), and snakestar (gman) are all from the same clan... i'm between plain ol' thunderclan or a custom clan called mesaclan. i'm probably gonna go with thunderclan because i don't wanna bother with making other clans and lore and stuff LOL. there's some kind of threat outside of the clans that's affecting the environment a la the beavers in arc 4. it's something that starclan definitely caused, whether deliberately or accidentally, i dunno. main point is that snakestar sends songfoot, nectarbrook, goldenberry, galeheart, and scorchtail off on a journey to track down the problem and take care of it. while they're gone, the external threat kills snakestar and he spends all his time being a textbook unhelpful and cryptic starclan cat who just kind of makes things worse. as per a snakestar prophecy, the gang picks up gordon along the way, a kittypet whose owners abandoned her and she's been mostly unsuccessfully fending for herself since. oh and frostpaw (forzen) is part of bloodclan. bloodclan tries and fails to kill the gang, despite frostpaw's best efforts (he kidnapped goldenberry's bird friend, sunny).

some lil character facts and such:

gordon is an ex kittypet. she had a very very cozy and spoiled life up until her twolegs got evicted or something and tossed her out onto the streets. she wasn't out there long before the clan cats found her, and thank god for that, because she sucks at being a survivalist. she is fairly smart though, bringing a fresh perspective and problem solving skills to the group. she is consistently freaked the fuck out by clan cat culture, and the clan cats have fun gaslighting her about it. the only cat who doesn't play along with that is goldenberry, mostly because he doesn't really think its that funny. gordon picks up survival skills from the clan cats fairly quickly, but they still call her soft all the time. classic clan cat anti-kittypet prejudice.

songfoot is the warrior code's biggest fan. not because he really fully believes in its utility, mostly because he loves bossing people around. you can find him stalking around thunderclan camp looking out for anyone doing minor infractions. god forbid you take too much fresh kill from the pile, you'll never hear the end of it. he can't really do much about it though, because snakestar finds him vaguely offputting. his signature stare doesn't help much. his fellow warriors generally like him despite all his strange quirks. songfoot has some kind of starclan-given power a la The Three... my thought is that his vocalizations have supernatural mind-altering properties. it's kinda like sweet voice, but a hiss can make others mad, a purr can make others calm, a screech can stun them, etc. without fail. he's vaguely aware of this power, and he doesn't really use it for things starclan would like him to. he kinda does his own thing.

he's a fairly competent hunter and fighter, but he's generally physically non-confrontational. during battle, he prefers to slink along in the shadows and wait to strike.

during the journey, he loves following gordon along. initially it's because of his deeply embedded distrust of kittypets, but he realizes pretty quickly that he's interested in her in a different sense, one that really frustrates and confuses him... a warrior shouldn't wanna be mates with a kittypet. that's so beyond wrong. he's gotta do everything he can to annoy gordon into leaving the group so he doesn't have to confront his feelings about her (one of these tactics involves him insisting on calling her "gordie," saying it sounds much more suitable for a kittypet). unfortunately for the both of them, that doesn't work. what's worse-- his powers don't seem to work on her for whatever reason. they continue to butt heads for far too long before either of them opens up about how they actually feel. (it takes gordon far longer to admit to herself that she's feeling that way than it does for songfoot, but eventually it clicks for her.)

("song" comes from sweet voice, and "foot" comes from... y'know. but i imagine the in-universe explanation is that he spends a lot of time padding around and watching people. the name from the post that inspired this one-- sweetsong-- is perfect but i didn't wanna copy it. i really like the name songfoot though, i think it's really cute.)

nectarbrook is thunderclan's beloved medicine cat. sweet and silly, she has an affinity for collecting and mixing herbs to create new tinctures. they don't always work exactly how she wants them to, but they never have strictly negative effects, so... not too bad! she spends most of her time on the journey trying and failing to be a mediator, and cowering in fear while everyone else does the scary (and often stupid) work. she's got an intelligence to rival gordon's, and she's one of the only cats gordon fully gets along with.

("nectar" is about the closest warrior cats prefix to "soda," and "brook" just kinda sounds nice as a suffix to nectar. it's another liquid-related word too.)

frostpaw is a bloodclan apprentice. he's well beyond apprentice age, but he's pretty incompetent at warrior duties and such, so it's taking him a while. he just wants to graduate.

i imagine he used to be a cushy kittypet with dreams of being one of those cool cat gang members he sees outside every now and again. he's way in over his head.

("frost" comes from forzen. obviously. i initially envisioned him as a warrior named frostjaw. i don't know why i chose that suffix other than it sounding nice. but then i remembered the "i just wanna graduate" thing, and thought it would be funny to make him an apprentice.)

goldenberry is a highly skilled warrior and one of snakestar's kits. he has a very unassuming demeanor, often appearing clumsy or head-in-the-clouds, but he's one of thunderclan's most precise and deadly fighters. his long windclan-like limbs allow for quick movement. like his father, he strikes like a snake. despite his prowess, he doesn't like fighting at all, and he would much rather hang around camp with his friend songfoot and take care of menial tasks like an apprentice or test out new herb tinctures for nectarbrook. he's very helpful and kind, if not a bit blunt. before snakestar died, he had goldenberry in mind as the next deputy as soon as galeheart finally kicked the bucket. he only didn't make him the deputy in the first place because he was an apprentice at the time.

("golden" comes from tommy's signature yellow, as well as his father's perception of him as highly important. "berry" comes from his general sillyness and his affinity for nectarbrook's various little treats.)

galeheart is a gregarious senior warrior and thunderclan's beloved deputy. despite his small stature, he's incredibly strong and overzealous. he loves his clan to death and he loves fighting even more, often dragging everyone into unnecessary squabbles just for the thrill of it. his loud, booming voice commands everyone's attention. he's quite old and really should be in the elders' den at this point, but his love for the warrior life keeps him going despite it all, and he's still in great shape. snakestar isn't quite so satisfied with galeheart's behavior, but there's not much he can do about that, given everyone else loves galeheart to bits. snakestar partially send him on that journey in hopes he would die already, but he has an unwavering spirit and he can and will outlive snakestar.

galeheart and gordon get along for the most part, but gordon is a little scared of him.

("gale" comes from coomer's general energy. he is a strong gust of wind to me. it also brings to mind the color white, which... is what galeheart is! "heart" also comes from his Vibes, mostly his fighting spirit.)

scorchtail is yet another old coot who should be getting ticks picked off of him by apprentices, but his stubbornness keeps him in his warrior position. he's not even particularly good at being a warrior-- he's cowardly and his battle strategy can best be described as the real life version of button-mashing. still, he's far too prideful to retire to the elders' den. he tends to follow galeheart around, since they grew up together and share similar positions in the clan. he's very antagonistic towards gordon, even moreso than songfoot. he has a special hatred of kittypets, seeing their lifestyle as an embarrassment.

("scorch" comes from bubby's association with fire as well as his sassy disposition, and "tail" comes from the tip of his tail looking burnt.)

snakestar is a starclan cat who was previously thunderclan's leader. he's generally cold and and analytical, and not much of a fighter, preferring to make others do his bidding. this behavior carried over very well to starclan, where he spends all his time being appropriately cryptic and unhelpful. he holds a lot of love for his one son, goldenberry, who he's always watching over. he doesn't care much for his other previous clanmates. he visits gordon in her dreams often to tell her vague things about her "part to play" and how important she is and all that. he arbitrarily decided that she was the subject of a prophecy, for the most part. i like to think starclan just makes shit up for fun. i think maybe one of his ancestors visited gordon when she was a kitten and made some kind of deal with her. i dunno. i'm in the very early stages of this au.

("snake" comes from gman's general vibes, but it's also an allusion to snakes in mythology [particularly abrahamic myth] being sleazy dealmakers with ill intent. before he was a leader, his suffix was "sight," alluding to his tendency to sit back and watch rather than run into battle.)

thanks for reading my long-ass ramblings, if you did! :-P idk if i'll actually do anything with any of this, but it's fun to think about...

[14carrotghoul]

and you can tell everybody (unplugged)

Hi friends! Do not proceed if you don't want spoilers for my fic, and you can tell everybody! Album notes and extras are below the cut :)

ACD's early career is releasing covers and original songs with June on YouTube and later TikTok. Career takes off his first year of university and the rest of the band joins, agreeing to play for a few years to see what happens.

[unnamed] (2020) [very little info on this besides being very pointedly Mexican-American, but the genre is rock influenced by Mexican music, like Cafe Tacvba? Molotov? but more modern]

tex mex - Lyrical inspiration: "Somos Mas Americanos" by Los Tigres Del Norte

decisions (November 2023) [highly influenced by Omar Apollo, I promise the other albums are very different! I'm shoving him down your throats here and I know it lol]

1 new message - mellow r&b. Have suspected something is wrong, ignored it, and now the impact is hitting full force. Wrongly interpreted as Alex leaving a voicemail for an ex but it is a song written for his past self about missing his ADHD and bisexuality. Sound: "3AM" by Haim

reckless abandon - daddy issues song cowritten with Liam. Bilingual. Sound & lyrically: "Voice Inside My Head" by The Chicks

am I? - 'You raised me to disappoint you bc I could never live up to your expectations'/'It took me too long to find myself bc I've been trying to be who you imagined'. Sound: "Go Away" by Omar Apollo

new year new me - fuck expectations, I'm going to do what I want Sound: "Invincible" by Omar Apollo

very bad things - upbeat hookup song. breaking all his own rules and it feels good. "Mercury" by Steve Lacy

split household - child of divorce anthem. Sound: "Kamikaze" by Omar Apollo

seria una mentira - don't make me choose a side. I love you both and it tears me apart. Pointedly about parents. Sound: "Two of Us" by Omar Apollo

too much - Cumbia version of "Too Much" by Carly Rae Jepsen

never enough - never enough to convince people to stay. Sound: "Pram" by Omar Apollo. Also feel this song's outro is very fitting for this!

a light left on - Platonic June appreciation song about how safe Alex has always felt with her. Sound & lyrically: "Caminar Bonito" by Natalia Lafourcade

Good - First time he is told and BELIEVES he is good. "While U Can" by Omar Apollo

yrs - Dramatic love song. First time Alex uses rain motif. Sound: "Petrified" by Omar Apollo

seria una mentira pt. 2 - it would be a lie to choose something simple over choosing you. Sound: "Two of Us" by Omar Apollo but slowed down and more hopeful

spine/die climbing - vulnerable pillow talk. Sound: "Plane Trees" by Omar Apollo, Mustafa

miel - sacrilege bj song. Catches on with queer Latine audience and is memed similarly to Call me by your name by Lil Nas X. Grows the band's audience. Sound: "Te Mata" by Kali Uchis.

on purpose - I choose to be all the things that I am and am not picking a side. End album on a positive note. Sound:"Done With You" by Omar Apollo

vows (June 2024) [very American sound, dreamier, more optimistic]

no booty calls - voicemail w instrumental. Sound: "All Around Me Now" by Perfume Genius

apricot tarts - honeymoon period of a new relationship. Sound: "Someone to Spend Time With" by Los Retros

in dreams - extended version of Henry's in dreams email set to music. In this universe, they met and kissed on New Years at Pez's party and still did long distance and exchanged emails :) Sound: "In A River (Acoustic)" by Rostam

supersonic - secret, fun ode to karaoke night and letting loose on a night out. Sound: "Runaways" by The Killers

tapestry - thank god I'm bi anthem. Sound: "The Steps" by Haim

lipstick on her neck - sung by June. Essentially the lyrics of lipstick lover by janelle monae but in "ALLIIGATOR TEARS" by Beyonce Americana style.

then have me - tender I'm putting it all out there, all you have to do is take it. Sound: "Solar Pilgrim" by Twain

pride (and prejudice) - purposefully anthemic chorus. about being proud despite prejudice in a red state. Sound: "Delta Dawn" by Tanya Tucker

he is my choice - eloping in the rain. comedic/romantic song about how everything went wrong at a wedding. Sound: "Howling at Nothing" by Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

roasting Alex - jam session - the band lovingly roasts Alex. Sound: "Ballad of Hank Williams" by Hank Williams Jr., Don Helms

Not Just Friends - Liam to Spencer. Song about how they're frequently mistaken for just best friends and how happy it makes him to correct that they're more than that. Song chosen so piano and drums play the beats together. Sound: "A Little Honey" by Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats

Be Cool - Spencer to Liam. Quirky/self-deprecating song about his butterflies about being with someone he's in awe of. Sound: "Heart's Content" by Brandi Carlile

a romantic - June to Nora. Confirms that Nora is aromantic to public. June saying she would never need more from Nora bc she gets to wake up next to her best friend every day. Sound: "Tu" by maye.

bluebonnet - This place (Texas) was never a home to me until you showed me how it was a part of you and now I see you everywhere. Sound & lyrically: "I Think of You" by Rodriguez.

red-blooded (August 2029)

cover: Navy suit w white shirt and American Flag pin on lapel, cropped so only torso is showing

Americana sound again - about 50/50 rock and Americana. Features from Dolly Parton, Orville Peck, and Brandon Flowers

blue blood (August 2029)

cover: red British army dress, cropped so only torso is showing

British glam rock sounds. Features from Elton John, Brian May, and samples David Bowie.

co-written with Henry

-

AND as for where they go from the end of the fic:

Alex becomes a civil rights lawyer in Austin.

Henry's writing career grows but he remains relatively private.

June becomes a music journalist. Eventually ventures into exposes on the industry's shady practices and successfully pivots into investigative journalism

Nora does her own thing.

Liam stays in music industry as a band manager under Zahra's tutelage.

Spencer majored in music production/mixing(?) and gets taken under Pez's wing. Has a smaller solo career and produces for a few indie bands before he settles down and works as a sound mixer in the film industry.

Bea continues to play guitar and flit between collaboration projects.

Zahra is the band's manager and Shaan is Henry's publicist/mentor and they meet while officially strategizing Alex's coming out.

[meanbossart]

DU drow asks time

Lore questions/sweet messages/stuff that made me laugh that's about DU drow specifically that I decided to compile in a single post!

First of all, "outraged to be used as a medium for old man gay divorce" is a hysterical sentence LOL

As for his thoughts on the Ansur debacle? Negative ones. He hates the emperor, he doesn't care about his third-time-twist real identity, he doesn't particularly care about Wyll either (well - he kind of finds him entertaining, he's kind of really frustrated by him, it's complicated) but he saved his dad on a whim to spite Mizora anyway. BUT HEY, all that trouble would have been worthwhile if he's about to get an ancient dragon fighting alongside him - this old duke sounds a little too confident in this fairy tale, but stranger things have happened, right?

Then the situation unfolds as it does, and if he wasn't eager enough to use that orphic hammer before, he certainly is now. There is very little that the Emperor does past Act 3 that DU drow doesn't find a way to twist into something that confirms his resolve against him. If he could have taken Ansur's side in that fight, he would have - not that he shed any tears over killing him either.

Sick sword though, that helped soothe his nerves a bit and I'm sure spared everyone a little bit of a tantrum at camp later.

HAHAHAHA I can't confirm nor deny because I see so few large body-type elves as it is (which is fair, elves aren't usually... That massive). I did set age to 50% because it does look a little weird when it's all smooth. Maybe that's the trick?

Though I guess if you find it unsettling, then... No wonder it suits him! however this just looks like an impressively handsome fella to me, to be honest. I insist on fucking him up further whenever I draw him for that reason.

Thank you so much for following along and for giving the fic a try!!! And no worries, english isn't my native tongue either so I've been there 😎👍

I do actually have a couple of very short comics planned that take place pre-tadpole, but my backlog of WIPs is... Massive. Not to mention the commission work I do (currently not taking any more). I have one that's about his first interaction with Orin and another about a business dinner with Gortash gone-wrong, but I have no clue when I'll be able to work on them. Hopefully soon though!

You know, I've always hoped that after I died I'd be remembered as the guy who inspired others to make their nipples card-swipe-able.

Joke's aside, thank you LOL I love that my guys' nips have taken up non-insignificant room in your mind, it's always comforting to know that you aren't the only one.

Piercings and the such aren't really his style though. While he finds his scar-work weirdly comforting, he isn't so interested in aesthetic results as much as he just enjoys having pain inflicted upon him in a controlled environment, by people that he loves - He doesn't recall this post-tadpole, but the scars were a result of a kind of... Recurring ritual between himself and Orin that served to replace normal intimacy, pretty much.

Since you touched on it though, I do like to believe that Astarion finds his cut-up body fun, both on the eyes and on the hands LOL.

I'm starting to think you guys are all in on this. It's like the fifth time someone catches me in the act - god damn it, is it that obvious that I wanna slide down Peter Steele's cold corpse like he's a a ride at the Magical Ice kingdom... Which is to say, yes, both the guy and his music are not-so-lowkey a big inspiration behind a lot of DU drow's characterization!

That's all for now folks, thank you so much for the asks!!! This isn't all of them but I try not to spam people's feeds when I can help it/space them out. I see all of your messages and I guarantee you that if I have an interesting answer for them, you will see a reply eventually!

[girls--complex]

I just came upon your blog and it's given me Lots of Thoughts, even though I don't particularly believe in any God (that is to say, I think there might be something more out there, though I don't think it's God as it's portrayed by any religion and I need some sort of tangible evidence before I can confirm or deny that something like that exists. All that to say I'm agnostic lol), but I do think you have some very good points about a lot of things.

I find it kinda hard to understand some of the things you write since you use a lot of long and complicated words that aren't in my vocabulary since English isn't my first language and I've never left my home country, but I'm doing my best! (With the help of an online dictionary)

Either way, I really love your art and I'm taking some inspiration from your style to practice, if that's okay with you! I just really like how flowy, creative and loose it is and I really need to loosen up a bit about making things instead of constantly adding more detail and perfecting it until I lose interest because it becomes stressful instead of enjoyable to create something.

I also wanted to ask, since according to your comics you've done shrooms before, how would you recommend going about shrooms to someone who's not used to doing much of any substance? (I barely drink alcohol and I smoke weed so rarely every time I do it I end up extremely disoriented until I manage to calm down no matter how little I smoke).

I'm asking cause a friend of mine whom I've known for years recently told me they have some, and that he'd be willing to share them with me, and I'm curious about trying them out and seeing if I can learn something from that experience, but I wanna stay safe while making the most of it :3

Hi thank you for a long & thoughtful message

YOU ARE ALWAYS ALLOWED TO COPY OR "STEAL" OR WHAT EVER FROM MY DRAWINGS seriously this is so normal and allowed. I do this with other cartoonists and all the cartoonists I know also do this. We do it to each other. "I like how she draws eyes" or whatever and we absorb it into our own style. Or just copying drawings/ paintings/pages. This is good. Do it.

Thank you for taking the time to decipher my words. I know I use lots of large/obscure words N trying to get better at making me language accessible (& maybe use my beloved obscure words in enough context that a reader can figure out the meaning).

I think using psychedelics is something better to talk about with people who know U in person and can respond to your needs and goals. Maybe your friend can give some guidance or knows someone who has a shamanic streak that can. Or you can always go on erowid or reddit whatever kids are using now to do a lil research.

I don't really feel comfortable giving specific advice or even general advice that might color the experience in a certain way, hope u understand...

Thank u for saying Hi

[runawaymun]

so.. reading and looking at your fics and art kinda makes me wanna try my hand at some stuff too (they are just so beautiful and elicit so many feels), but. you seem so knowledgeable and familiar with tolkien/elves lore (and so does everyone else i've started reading in this community of elf-lovers on tumblr haha) and i'm most assuredly not. i don't get so many of the world-building allusions authors make about the history/culture/magic, which is easy enough to deal with when reading, but do you think i'd be able to write anything good with such limited understanding of the world i'm writing in? i'm not even confident enough for modern au's because idek that much about the character's relationships/connections with each other, y'know? but what do you think? would the holes i have or straight up inaccuracies rly weaken the story and interrupt the reader's connection to the world/character's, or could i still get by? tolkien's worldbuilding is so intimidating lol

Oh my goodness, this is such a sweet ask.

I'm really glad that you love my art and writing so much, and I consider it SUCH a huge compliment that it inspires you to make your own! That's what it's all about, honestly.

So first off I just want to address the anxiety around the lore-knowledge and the Tolkien fandom because listen listen listen, there are people of every level of knowledge creating art and fics here. Let me just say that when I first published And the Stars Shine the Same three years ago, I was mostly working off of film knowledge and some vague book knowledge, and I was petrified to post it because of how intimidating the Tolkien fandom seemed. I was so worried about getting this wrong and making mistakes -- so know that you're not alone in that, and it is a very common anxiety in this fandom. The thing is, when I posted that fic I found that people loved it, and that everyone was so nice, and really I have not had anybody (save maybe...one person off the top of my head) get very nitpicky about the lore/language/etc. Everybody else was very nice, loved the fic, and super receptive and friendly.

I promise you that there are so many lovely people in this fandom and that, while they're extremely knowledgeable they're also so friendly. Nearly everybody I know would be delighted if you came into their inbox and asked them a question about their specific area of interest with regards to the Silm and LOTR. There are amazing resources in this fandom, and everybody is very happy to help when asked. When I was getting started I mostly talked to friends, looked at other fanart (because honestly there is a LOT of information packed into how people portray characters in fanart for this fandom), and when I wasn't sure on something I just checked the wikis. I believe Tolkien Gateway is one of the best resources, though I also use The One Wiki to Rule Them All, and this is one of the best resources I've found for just a quick look at common Sindarin phrases, and for everything else I use Parf Edhellen which is an incredibly comprehensive dictionary for Tolkien's various elvish languages. And if you're not sure on something, just send a call out into the void because there are dozens of besties on Tumblr who are happy to offer suggestions for names or phrase translations. There's also so much information on Youtube.

I didn't even get around to reading the Silm and rereading LOTR until I felt like it. Honest to god I looked at the wikis and asked friends for most of the stuff I needed.

And I know how intimidating it can be to build your own story within Tolkien's world, but for me what I liked so much about his work is that--- while he is specific on some things, he's also very vague on others. There is a lot of room for interpretation and your own headcannons and worldbuilding. That was part of why I chose the historical spot I did for Stars and Boundless Sky, because it was sort of "dead space" so to speak with regards to Tolkien's own worldbuilding, and so I was able to play around and do my own thing without worrying too much about stepping all over lore.

But okay, all of that to say: yes you can write good stories without being super knowledgeable. Please believe me you can. You can write whatever you want, so long as you love it, and it is yours. If you have a story you want to tell in Tolkien's little legendarium then please, please do. Tolkien's legendarium is a mythology, and mythologies are meant to be retold and reinterpreted. Tolkien's canon is incredibly loosy-goosey. There are parts of unfinished tales where Christopher Tolkien wrote: "I really couldn't make sense of my dad's notes, so here's everything. Knock yourself out ig" (notably, "Of Galadriel and Celeborn").

And Peter Jackson was fairly faithful when it comes to the og trilogy. Like there are things that I take issue with that are pet peeves of mine, and I know that's the same for a lot of people as well. Everybody has their things they take umbrage with and things they like, but generally if that's your base for knowledge you're going to be just fine to start writing fic. If you decide you want to research more, then that's up to you and the story you are trying to tell! If you're working off of the Hobbit films, that's a little different, but in general the Hobbit fandom is pretty chill when it comes to that. I would suggest reading the book if you can find the time to. It's an easy read and short, and it is very, very different to the films.

With the LOTR books...I know a lot of people are book purists and that's okay, and a lot of people go "oh you really SHOULD read the books", but tbqh as a lover of both, I think the films do a good job of telling you the heart of the story (barring a few characters like...uh. Elrond, whom PJ absolutely butchers, but I digress sorry sorry). The books do add a lot and deepen the meaning for a lot of things, and flesh a lot of characters out (and they're just fun to read), but again... yes you can write good stories without being super knowledgeable. I will say that over and over again nonnie I am grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you dead in the eye: please write your story if you want to. Please do not be afraid to just give it a stab. If you find that your lack of knowledge is holding you back for some reason, just ask! So many people will be happy to answer your questions.

Fanfiction is for everybody. Tolkien is for everybody. You do not have to be the most incredible skilled writer or know the lore really well to be able to write it. Please believe me as a person who was scared to write for the Tolkien fandom and then fell in love: people really do not gatekeep much, and if they do they're assholes. I have met so many lovely, friendly, genuine people by creating stuff for this fandom. You will be okay.

So...ough this got long, sorry. But TLDR: Yes. You can write a good story. If you are worried about holes/the story/characterization getting weakened, try to find a beta reader. They're absolute life-savers. Barring that, start posting, find a friend who as insane about your blorbos as you are, and then share snippets and plot ideas with them and within that kind of community you can get a feel for what's working in your story and what isn't. All of my best friends I have made on here are people who read my fics and have been so helpful in offering suggestions.

There are many resources, everybody is friendly, it is not as scary as it looks. The most important thing is that you have fun. Write what you want to write. It doesn't have to be good. All that matters is that you enjoy it.

[yuseirra]

I've been thinking over this god thing over and there's another idea I have related to it!

Earlier I've said that ame-no-uzume(god of the arts) and her husband sarutahiko(the great bright god) may be related to Ai and Hikaru.

Their story might also have been inspired from Izanagi and Izanami and they're very famous, so I believe I wouldn't have to explain a whole lot, (and I bet there are people who know it in more depth) but.. Izanagi and Izanami (the creator gods of Japanese Mythology) have Amaterasu(the sun god), Tsukuyomi(the moon god) and Susanoo(the god of the sea and storms) as their children. Ruby has something to do with Amaterasu and we have a girl who goes by Tsukuyomi as a character, Aqua, with the full name being "Aquamarine" has a name that has to do with the sea.

The reason I've brought this up is because of the lore between Izanagi and Izanami. Izanami dies, and Izanagi tries to bring her back to life but fails. It rings a bell, right?

Yes, this story of theirs also aligns with the things that have been mentioned in Mephisto and Fatal. Those songs revolve around a person who desperately wants to meet their love again (who's likely passed away) but cannot.

I've been wondering just why the ED's title was named Mephisto. Mephisto is the name of the devil, right? When you have a wish and the devil in the same picture, it means there's some kind of pact.

If the person singing in the song's been kamiki (which I've been pretty much stressing over and over through multiple posts now) it'd mean he's had gone through something like that too, to revive the one he loves.

This could be why there is a "stage" that's mentioned in BOTH of the songs, he's in a deal that he can't back out from.

この舞台で足掻くことをやめない

I will not stop to struggle on this stage(Fatal)

だけどステージが逃がさない いついつまでも憧れ　焦がれているよ

But the stage won’t let go I'll keep yearning and longing forever(Mephisto)

At this point, I'm so sure kamiki HAS done something to bring Ai back. He's made some sort of sacrifice for Ai it seems, he's probably made wishes regarding it, that come with a price but he didn't really care about his life in the first place after she's gone so he was willing to risk it. The efforts were probably in vain, though. But it could be really close to being granted if something's "filled in"

あなたがいないと生きていけない 何もかも捧げてしまってもいい あなたの愛がまだ足らない 欠けたものは何で埋めたらいい？

Without you, I cannot live anymore I would sacrifice anything for you I can’t get enough of your love What should I use to fill in what’s missing?(Fatal)

compared to Mephisto, Fatal seems more.. eager? energetic? but in an insane way. The speaker is actively doing something to fulfill their end goal. That's why I feel kamiki's missions are probably close to finish- he's all right with dying after having completed it

but in ch 154 he's heard that Ai wants to "help him" along with her children. and that she loved him dearly. This is going to leave him so devastated and conflicted lol because he's probably way past hope at this point. He can't be saved. He can't fulfill what Ai wants, that's going to make him very miserable. That's my guess. It's like everything he's doing had him stray even further off from what Ai wants.

Or it could be that he can't give up on Ai EVEN MORE now since he KNOWS that she loves him back too. Who'd give up on someone like that? She was like the only person who understood him and loved him. I can totally see why he couldn't let her go after all these years (may it be twisted. there is still some ambiguity in his words and we can be backstabbed) she was the one for him and he was to her, too, at least that's how he's felt when they were together. So he'd do ANYTHING for her. That lines up very well with those lyrics too.

So yeah. If my speculations are right Kamiki's so doomed... and doomed because of all the things he did that he thought was for Ai. Aligns with the respective mythologies too~.. I'd be surprised if these have NOTHING to do with the plot that's going to be revealed in the future because it just WORKS. It starts making so much sense to me.