#AGAIN like???? is 2024 just not my goddamn year?!

[clowningaroundmars]

idk what the hell is goin on this month but HOLY HELL i. not really human

h

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 28th. theodore nott. lorenzo berkshire — humiliation / degradation

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: never let enzo berkshire find out about one of your kinks. unless….

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, halloween ghostface costumes, threesome, fwb!theo, bestfriend!enzo, reader is involved in a bet unbeknownst to her, mask kink, humiliation on high, degradation, fingering, denied orgasm, oral m!rec, PIV, dirty talk, manipulation.

"Black cat mask?"

You shake your head, barely sparing the thing a glance.

"Mm, no. Too unoriginal."

"Right," Enzo sucks his teeth, tossing the mask back into the bin you're both half-heartedly rifling through. "Orange cat, then? That's far more fitting for you anyways."

"Enzo—no cats, please," you mutter, running a hand through your hair, staring down at the disheveled heap of plastic. None of it catches your eye, none of it sparks anything. "It's Halloween. I want something...scarier."

"Of course. Only day of the year you get to pretend you're as terrifying as me." He croons—half-laughing through the words. The tease itches in your mind, and you're halfway to some retort when he's already holding up another mask. "How about this one?"

You glance up, ready to dismiss whatever nonsense he's holding this time, but the sight of it stills the air in your lungs. A Ghostface mask. Stark white, hollow eyes staring back at you—it's grimace cast in a faded glow under tired shop lights. It's nothing—just a mask, just a piece of cheap plastic in Enzo’s hand—but your heart skips, stumbles, clutches at your ribs, and you can't look away.

And there's no goddamn reason for it, no logic—but you're already seeing it, aren't you? Your current fwb—Theo, standing over you; his face hidden, mask in place of those half-lidded eyes that you’ve learned to read so well. And you know—you know the thought is fucking absurd—yet, it knots something in your stomach, spreading heat like a fuse just lit.

"You alright there?" Enzo's teasing pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he'd been staring at you that entire time. "You're looking a little...hot."

Hot. Right. Of course he'd notice—of course your best friend would notice the way you went still, frozen in place as if someone struck you with Glacius. You're no good at lying to him, not even on a good day—and right now, your mind is in shambles, already too far gone into the fantasy and—

No. No more of this.

You tear away, fumbling for the edge of a cloak that suddenly seems like the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, your fingers tracing the fabric as if it can save you.

"It's...fine—it's nice," you blurt out, too quickly, too forced, the words tumbling over themselves. "Just—no, not really my thing."

But Enzo knows better. He can spot your lies from miles away. You hear him shift, the quiet rustle of the mask in his hands—and then, he's pulling it over his face, tilting his head just to spite you.

You don't have to look to know he's smirking behind it.

"Bullshit." He steps closer, casually closing the distance, but you know it's deliberate. "You're into this, aren't you?"

The warmth on your face feels like fire now, prickling heat across your skin. He shifts closer again, and for a moment you consider jinxing him—mind scattering into dark, unbidden places—filthy, wild things, flashing behind your eyes, too real. Enzo tilts his head the other way now, letting the mask catch the light, letting it grin.

"Should I get it?" He asks, as innocent as a serial killer. "For Nott, of course."

"No."

It scrapes out of your throat, barely audible, far too small to hold truth. You’re sure he can read you right now—all your depraved thoughts in the rasp of your voice, painfully transparent.

There’s a huff, a snort of sorts. "Are you sure? I think he'd love it."

Despite his insufferableness, he’s probably right. Theo has never shied away from indulging your kinks before. That’s what no strings is about. Maybe he would love it, you know you certainly would—gods how you’d love it—even if you’d rather die before admitting it.

The cloak—you focus on the deep purple velvet, the dark lace edging. "I'm sure. Put it back."

"You don't sound so sure." Gods, he's such an asshole—point only proved further as he takes another step closer. "Does this...does this turn you on?"

"Enzo—For Godric's sake, stop." The humiliation is suffocating. This is just a glimpse at your future should you ever decide to disclose this information to him. Relentless and bloody insufferable. "Let's just—pick something and go. Please?"

A pause, then, and you don't dare look up. The mask slips from his face with another soft, satisfied hum—you don't need to see him to feel the damage done. He knows.

"Sure, angel," he says, trailing as he turns. "Whatever you want."

————

"Matt—have you seen Theo?"

"Uh—not since earlier." Mattheo replies without even looking up, his focus on pouring another dangerous looking drink rather than on you. "He's probably just out for a smoke."

Yeah. Right. Forsure—because his smoke breaks last all bloody day. Doubt twists your stomach, but you nod anyway, grabbing your own drink—something bubbling, far too bright a green to be safe, but it burns down easy all the same. The room spins in a foggy haze, lights bleeding together over costumes, wizard and Muggle and something in between—and you struggle to tell who's who.

Theo had refused to tell you what he was dressing up as—claimed he wanted it to be a surprise. Now, that surprise is nowhere to be found.

"What are you supposed to be?" You raise a brow at Mattheo's striped inmate costume. “Your future?"

Riddle's eye flash as he pretends to be offended for about two seconds until his gaze drops to your own costume and his tongue darts over his lips, taking it in. Beer-maid, tight bodice, shorter than preferred. It's not what you were going for, not in the slightest, but it's all Pansy had in her closet to save you after you and Enzo failed to find anything interesting at the shop the other day.

"Maybe. But you definitely aren't dressed as yours." His attention shifts back to the crowd, a failed attempt at hiding his grin. "Way too much fabric."

You scoff, but that's just how Mattheo is—always a sly comment, always pushing. You roll your eyes and swat at him, but he sticks his tongue out at you and steps back, slipping off into the crowd with a final goodbye wink—and just as you lose track of him, Draco saddles up next to you, prattling on about something you don't care to listen to.

Great, that’s two annoying Slytherins accounted for. Where the fuck is Theo?

Five seconds into pretending to be interested in whatever Malfoy is babbling on about, you give up, turning back to the drink table and skimming over the options when someone new brushes up behind you—

"Enzo told me," the words barely register before you feel it—a hand settling low at your hip. "About your kink."

With lightening speed you twist your neck, glancing over your shoulder—only to fucking gasp at what you find there. That mask. The mask. The Ghostface one from the shop; the one Enzo hasn't let you forget, hasn't stopped teasing you about—you blink, your heart barrelling out of the room, fingers tightening around your cup until it hurts—

The mask tilts, just slightly. "Looks like he was right."

"Theo—"

"Go." His voice is muffled, but sweet Merlin—the sound of it makes your knees threaten to buckle right then and there. His hand slips lower, teasing against the ruffles of your dress. "Run, Bella. Let's play."

Your body locks up, muscles tense and poised on the edge of something feral. You can't look away. Can't think. Can't breathe. His fingers slip lower, lower, until you feel it—cold leather against the heat of your skin and your throat tightens, words dying dead on your tongue.

Run.

A slight lean, and the mask brushes your neck. "Now."

He steps back, a slow retreat, but it feels like he's tugging you with him. You spin to face him, smirking, your voice barely above a whisper—

"And when you catch me?"

"Find out." His head tilts toward the door. It's your cue.

Your feet move before your mind even catches up, slipping through the rowdy crowd, darting through the half-drunk revelers in their costumes—everything blurring into an afterthought as you push past the cobwebs, pumpkins, fake spiders, all the other Halloween decor filling the fogged ballroom. Your fingertips buzz from the adrenaline—pulse echoing in your ears as you dart down one hall after another, not quite sure where you're going, but knowing you need to keep moving.

Theo told you to run—so you run.

You sprint through the castle, the corridors empty save for your hurried footsteps and the scattered Halloween decorations lunging at you from the shadows. You round a corner, making for the dungeons. It's as good a place as any, right? Dark, quiet, somewhere to hide.

Few more minutes and you make it, lungs burning as you stumble into the dreary main hall. You realize the detention room is empty—and it's perfect. You take two steps inside, already thinking you'll be able to catch your breath when—

You slam headlong into something solid.

Head swirling, your vision barely refocuses before you feel a grip on your wrists, pulling you forward with enough force to make you gasp. Everything happens so fast you don't have enough time to process what's occurring before you're forced to focus on the thing you're seeing—ghostface. Staring down at you with those empty, gaping eyes. Unreadable.

It's then that you realize you're caught.

Something shifts behind the mask, an almost imperceptible movement of his head. You'd almost think you imagined it but given that there's nothing else to look at you know it's impossible. The silence is ballooning and you wonder if this is part of the game, if Theo is just savouring the moment, relishing in your reaction. The way you're trembling, your breath stuttering, the way you've gone still—waiting.

You swallow, throat drier than the Sahara, but something about this has you emboldened, the fact he's playing into your fantasy like this—so you decide to tease him, breaking the silence with a soft, breathless laugh as you pull one of your hands free from his grip.

He wanted to play. It's your turn to act the part.

"Looks like you caught me...Mr. Ghostface..." you purr—the silence sticks heavy, making the space between you feel thick, electric. All you can feel are his eyes devouring you. "And now...now that you've caught me...what are you gonna' do with me...hm?"

Gods—the thrill of this is so real, one your certain is more addictive than any drug. An adrenaline rush—not knowing what he's thinking, what he's about to do. Not being able to read him like you normally could. It makes your thighs quake—and there’s half a second where you wonder how much Enzo would pay to see this, how much he’d fucking taunt you for it.

But just as quickly as it came, you shake that thought—focused on Theo, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and sink to your knees, fingertips teasing from his chest to his abdomen, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

"...please don't punish me." You giggle—and the debauched absurdity of it all makes you nearly choke. "I'll be so good—I'll do anything, Theo—"

You feel him huff, tense, and when your fingers graze the front of his pants—just barely touching his crotch— his hand snaps down like a vice, gripping your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.

And then, you hear it. "Salazar sakes—shit—"

Your heart plummets. That voice—it's like being thrown into ice-cold water. No, that's not—it can't be—

"Enzo?"

Your voice cracks as you all but screech, your head whipping up so fast you feel dizzy. No, no, no—

Enzo, who you previously thought was Theo, pulls the mask off and all but verbally confirms it. Your nightmare born to life. Spooling to fruition right in front of you. He smiles, lips curled into something thoroughly entertained, and gods, how his eyes glint with pure assholery—you could fucking kill him.

"Enzo—" you stammer, horror flushing through you, burning through the mortification lodged in your throat. "Gods—what the fuck—"

"Surprise," he breathes, like this is the most casual thing in the world to him.

You scramble back, knees scraping against cold stone—mind spiralling in every direction at once—shame collides with shock and it all burns under your skin, the kind of heat that never settles. You know Theo's voice. You could never mistake it. You know for a fact that was him back at the party— but this, this makes no sense.

"What...what the hell-" your voice stumbles like you're trying to outrun the words. "Why would you—what were you—"

"Relax," he is all too fucking calm. "It was a prank."

"A prank?" You're still on the floor, and for some reason that makes everything worse. "You call that a prank? A—a funny little joke?"

"That's usually the definition—"

"No." You hiss between clenched teeth, anger strangling any hope for composure. "What were you doing in here? This— this isn't—you were trying to-"

"Trying to what?" He sounds so goddamn innocent but you know better. He's toying with you, making sure you know it. He's been your best friend since you were kids but you never said it was by choice. He steps closer. "I was trying to what, angel?"

Your blood boils, the heat spreading fast—pooling low in your core against all specks of your sanity. He's relishing this, drinking in your mortification like it's fine wine—and for some reason, it makes you weak.

"You—" words die with another one of his steps, the toes of his shoes brushing against your skin as he crouches down in front of you, elbows resting casually on his knees. You sit back, ass meeting cold stone. "Enzo—"

"Yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You just gonna' parrot my name all night? Maybe you're too embarrassed to speak?"

The constant mocking feels like ice and you want to slap that smug look right off his face but instead your fucking thighs tense. You have nothing to say—can only stare at him, lungs seizing further as you notice the smirk fading from his lips, something darker replacing it—

"You didn't even know who was under that mask, and you were ready to suck me off," he's whispering, but he may as well be screaming. "You'd do anything for anyone with a mask, huh? I wish I knew about this kink of yours sooner."

He leans in closer, his knees pushing yours apart—you and Enzo had never been strangers to toying the line of friendship one too many times while drunk, but this—

You blink. Staring at him. "You...you're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty as charged." His smile spreads wider, cockier, his eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. You shiver involuntarily. "I know I should have stopped you sooner, but seeing you on your knees...in front of me...I just..."

He shakes his head before he slowly stands back up—and his eyes flicker to your chest, lingering on your fucking tits and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Then, there’s a sound—the sound of the door creaking open.

You barely hear it, the faint shuffle of footsteps, but it's enough to pull the grin from Enzo's face as he looks up. You're not sure your heart can handle anymore of this—plummeting to the stone beneath you as Theo steps into the room, dressed just like Enzo—black robes, black gloves, Ghostface mask.

"Nott." Enzo's voice is too casual, too easy. "Great timing, mate."

Theo’s silent as he takes in the scene. You—still on the floor, dress hitched up, legs spread. Enzo standing over you, smug, unbothered. Theo's presence fills the room as he shuts the door behind him and locks it, stoking your humiliation into something even hotter, something impossible to escape.

Theo's voice is flat, his tone too even. "Looks like you got caught."

Wait—

"You—" your gaze jumps between them, a wild panic bubbling up inside you. You're so fucking confused. "What is this? You two—"

"Like I said, a prank." Enzo says as he steps toward Theo, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "A bet, really.”

Theo doesn't respond. He doesn't move. He doesn't look away from you.

"A bet?" You choke out, trying to piece everything together. "What bet?"

"Well, you see, angel," Enzo pushes away from Theo and slumps down into a chair just off to the side of you. You feel the dread rolling in like a storm. "I bet big Theo here you'd get so weak in the knees over the mask, you wouldn't even notice the switch. As usual, I was right."

Andddd, there’s the dread. Yup. As expected whenever Enzo is fucking involved in anything.

"Oh, wow—" you'd laugh if you weren't this utterly mortified by the entire situation. "You guys are—gods. You’re going after a whole new high score in the prick olympics, aren't you—"

"Oh, I don't know if you believe that, topolina...I think you're just being shy." Theo cuts through your rambling and you flinch at the sound of his voice. "It's clear this is a fantasy of yours."

Your head tilts up, eyes widening as they meet the empty, hollow eyes of the mask drawing closer.

"I bet you're just embarrassed," Theo's pressing—he's fucking pressing and you don’t think you’ve breathed since he walked in. "Embarrassed that you got on your knees for your best friend...or maybe you're afraid I'd be mad." He pauses, and his gaze sweeps down over you. "Which, to that I'd have to say, I'm far from."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "You're...you're not mad?"

Perhaps you were afraid of that—even if you and Theo are unofficial in every aspect.

His answer is instant. "No."

He crouches in front of you, gloved fingers finding your chin, tipping your head up so he can look at you— really look at you.

"In fact...I think you should let him watch..." his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, so soft, so slow—without thinking, your tongue flicks out, barely grazing the leather covered tip, and you hear the soft exhale he releases in response. "After all, this was his idea. He deserves some fun too, don't you think?"

Heat floods your cunt, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You glance at Enzo, sitting back now with his mask on—legs spread wide, leather hands clasped, calm—you wanted to kill him five minutes ago, but now—

Oh gods—you're really losing it.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely managing the word. "He probably does."

Theo's hand slides down to your thigh, leather fingers curling into the soft skin, pulling your legs open further.

"Mhm." He mutters. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Your breath catches, your pulse thundering in your ears as you nod, your eyes glued to Enzo. "Yes..."

"Say it." His fingers trail higher, teasing the soft skin beneath your dress, fingertips grazing closer—too close—just below the lace hem of your panties.

Salazar save you.

You bite your lip, and the air between you feels like it's thickening, growing too dense to breathe in. That fucking mask. You've fantasized over it. And now, there's two of them. Two sets of eyes—faceless, emotionless, and watching you. It's like something out of your fucking dreams.

"I—I like being watched," you manage to whisper, voice breaking between building lust.

"Louder," Theo growls this time like he's pulling it from somewhere deep in his chest—it sends liquid heat spilling through you. "Louder, topolina. He can't hear you if you're whispering."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and Enzo—gods, Enzo is still watching—stays silent, the mask concealing whatever reaction he might have, but his posture speaks volumes. Stillness, dark fabric of his trousers tight across his thighs, a coiled tension that radiates off him, permeates the space between you.

"I—fuck—" a breathless moan cracks through your words as Theo's leather-clad fingers slip under your panties, grazing your slick slit. "—love it. I love being watched."

Theo hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and rewards you by pushing two fingers into your dripping heat. So slow, the pace of his strokes torturous—slick sounds of leather working you open filling the room, mingling with your quiet, shuddering breaths. His thumb brushes your clit, teasing over it until you moan—hard and shameless—

"So loud," Theo mocks, your spine arching into him as his fingers curl inside you. "Eager, filthy little thing. You love being on display, don't you?"

A whimper catches in your throat, your gaze still locked on Enzo, watching him watch you.

You're shaking. You're close. Too close.

Your voice cracks again, nothing more than a whisper caught in a moan. "Theo...fuck—"

"You're so wet, bellissima," Theo breathes behind the mask. You're burning, every nerve sizzling. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You can't speak. Words don't exist anymore, only the pressure—only the way Theo's fingers curl inside you, the way your thighs tremble and ache from holding yourself open, from being watched, from being this goddamn humiliated.

"Y-yes," you choke out, desperate. "Yes, please, I—"

"Ask him." Theo's cuts you off. "Ask Enzo to let you cum."

The room spins. The air thickens into something cloying.

Ask him. Ask Enzo—

You swallow hard, your eyes darting between the two masks. Enzo is silent, still motionless, but he tilts his head slightly, the only indication that he's heard. That he's waiting.

"Please, Enzo—" the humiliation is sickening but you force past it. It’s a broken prayer, vulnerability in verbal form. "Please...let me cum—please—"

Time stretches. It feels like hours, an eternity where nothing exists but the weight of their hidden eyes on you, the way Enzo's fingers twitch, curl over the thick ridge at his crotch, leather knuckles tensing as if he's restraining himself from something primal. You're being devoured whole by this moment—by the unbearable tension, by Theo's fingers inside you, relentless in their assault, and gods��you're going to die if they don't let you—

"Yeah," Enzo finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Theo's gaze flickers to him, waiting. "Yeah, you can cum, angel…”

But as he says it, he shakes his head, and Theo—the absolute bastard—pulls his fingers out without a word.

"…just not yet." Enzo finishes.

The sound that leaves your throat isn't even human, some guttural, helpless whine torn straight from your throbbing, empty cunt. Theo shushes you.

"You'll get to cum, Bella," he coos, standing up slowly. "It'll be soon."

They're toying with you, playing you like a goddamn puppet on strings and it's infuriating in its deliciousness. You've known these men for years, yet it's almost laughable—the way they feel so foreign, so terrifyingly new.

"Oh, Enzo," you sigh, feeling your arousal cool, your body suddenly aware of the icy stone beneath you, of the wet heat slicking down your thighs. "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

Enzo snorts. "You're welcome to try."

Theo exhales a half-chuckle, helping you off the floor and onto a desk, his hands firm on your thighs as he spreads you open like he's done a hundred times within the last few months.

A moment passes before he moves to loosen his belt and you realize just how close Enzo is now—his chair right beside the desk, his hand palming the bulge in his pants, shameless in his observation. The sight makes you fucking dizzy with filth. Surely, you've lost your mind. This is madness. Every line between friendship and lust—between restraint and indulgence—has blurred and bled into something you can't define, and the thrill of it is intoxicating.

"This is insane," you hiss, breathless, feeling the way Theo's gloves scrape over your skin, two thick digits dragging in your slick. "You're both fucking insane."

"Too much talking," Theo mutters, so infuriatingly calm, even as he drags the head of his dick over your folds, teasing your clit. "So much attitude for someone dripping down their thighs. You want to stop?" The silence stretches, your eyes locked on his, and you can feel the smirk behind the mask. He nods. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me fuck this wet cunt."

His hands grip either side of the desk, his body looming over you—the scene from your fantasy you've envisioned a million times. Ghostface—dominant and rough—gods, you want it. So bad it fucking hurts.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes immediately finding Enzo's again—forgetting for half a second that he was even there. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his hand moving rhythmically beneath the denim, mask locked onto you with a single-minded focus that makes your breath stutter.

"Enz-ohhh—" you go to say something to him, but then Theo pushes into you—no warning, no slow build—just a deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs, and your voice cracks on his name, the syllables lost in the moan that spills out of you.

"Shit." Enzo groans in response. "Did you just—"

"She did," Theo snarls, his grip on your hips punishing as he slams into you again, harder this time. "The little slut just moaned your name."

There's cursing, from both of them, but it's all a blur in your ears, drowned out by the sound of Theo's hips slamming into yours, the fevered slap of skin on skin, the obscene sounds you can't help but make—

"Yeah, I noticed," Enzo mutters, and fuck, he sounds ruined, completely lost in the sight of you—his best friend, getting fucked by his other best friend. "Fuck."

Theo's hand finds your jaw, forcing your head back to face him, Ghostface mask looming above you like a delicious nightmare.

"Who's fucking you?" His voice is caught somewhere between a snarl and a purr. "Is it Enzo?"

"N-no—" you manage, trembling with every thrust.

"Of course it's not," Theo hisses, driving into you with punctual thrusts to make you feel him, making you cry out when he slams your cervix. "So why'd you moan his name? When it's—fuck—my cock inside you?"

"I—I didn't mean—" you whimper, eyes squeezed shut, but there's no escape. Not from the relentless pace of Theo's dick, not from the way Enzo's eyes never leave you, burning into you like fire. You can't form words.

"Mm—don't be shy now, topolina," Theo purrs, his voice thick with effort. His hips snap forward, and your back arches, a broken sound escaping you. "I think you just love having him in your mouth—his name, his—"

"Fuck, Nott, shut up," Enzo cuts in, his head thrown back, chest tense. "I don't want to hear your voice—"

You can hear the strain, the way he's barely holding it together—

"Look at him," Theo ignores Enzo's words. He lets go of your jaw. "He wants you. He's always wanted you."

Your eyes dart between them, head spinning, unable to form a coherent thought—Theo's fucking relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—and every time you glance at Enzo, you see the way he's breaking, hand moving faster, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths—

"I never knew you were such a voyeur, Nott," Enzo spits, trying to sound casual. "Never took you for being such a filthy bastard."

"What can I say?" Theo groans in response, propping your legs up over his shoulders to drive into you deeper. "Just discovered a new interest, you should try it sometime."

They're still bantering, like this is some kind of fucked-up competition, like you're not about to shatter into a million fucking pieces while your best friend watches—after he got you here and humiliated you with a fucking bet—gods, you'd laugh if you weren't so utterly lost to the pleasure ripping through you.

"And watch you get off on it?" Enzo spits back, voice rough. "I'll—"

Theo snorts, cutting him off. "I think there's more than one person getting off on—"

"Shut the-fffuck up—please-" you manage to moan, the words barely intelligible. You look to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. "Enz...come here."

"Yeah...?" Enzo breathes out, his voice catching, tipping his head back forward to look at you. “What?”

"Come here," you moan again, trembling, fraying under the pleasure that's building inside you from Theo’s insistent dick. "Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitates, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking because the goddamn mask hides everything. He's always been the calm one between you—always stopping your drunk kisses, always refraining from taking things too far. But tonight, there’s no more of that calm left in him—

He stands.

Each step he takes feels like a lifetime, but when he's standing next to your head on the desk, towering above where you're laid out like a feast, you don't know whether it's the mask or the situation itself that has your pulse racing. Erotic and terrifying, the not-knowing—a power exchange in its purest form. Theo growls infront of you, his thrusts growing harder, more vicious, as you reach out to pull Enzo's hips closer.

You're already eyeing the throbbing bulge in his jeans, your mouth practically watering as you stare.

"Go on," you rasp, lips parting as you look up through your lashes. "Take it out."

The breath Enzo sucks in is sharp, a hitch in the darkness. His fingers tremble, just barely, as he pushes his pants down his thighs, and the noise that escapes him when his cock slips out and smacks his stomach—low, strangled—makes you moan and clench in response—he's huge.

Your breath catches, a soft exhale of, "oh, fuck."

And the words are barely out of your mouth before both Theo and Enzo respond—low growls and breathless groans that echo in the shadowed room, vibrating through you like electricity.

"Open your pretty mouth," Enzo whispers and you obey without hesitation, tongue slipping out, wanting, eager. His breath shudders, and you wish you could see his eyes. "Good girl."

And then he's pushing into you, sliding hot and thick over your tongue, and at that exact moment, Theo thrusts harder, deeper, and suddenly you're overwhelmed—both of them inside you, filling you, consuming every breath. Moans ripple through the dungeon air, a chorus of sin, and you shake with the sheer intensity of it all.

Theo's thumb finds your clit, starts swirling over it, and you keen—eyes rolling back in your head, Enzo’s leather hands in your hair to hold you still. Tears stream down your face as you gag, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but neither of them stop—if anything, they're both lost in it, in the wrecked, messy beauty of it all. Your hands claw at the desk, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure builds, tightens, spirals out of control.

Time collapses. It's been moments—it's been hours.

And then it happens—all three of you tipping over the edge at once, crashing into a release so fierce it shatters you. Your climax rips through you, violent, leaving you shaking, milking Theo until he's spent—until he's pouring his cum deep inside your cunt at the same time Enzo groans deep and spills his own over your tongue. A moment passes, and then Theo is the first to pull away, panting, tearing off his mask and dropping into the chair beside the desk, and Enzo follows, tugging his jeans back up before slumping into another chair, mask still on—

Both of them are sprawled there, utterly spent, just as wrecked as you.

And then, after a few long, tense moments, you hear it—the clink of Galleons exchanged. You don't even need to look up for it to register. Theo tosses the coins into Enzo’s greedy palm because he was the true fucking winner here. The sound cuts through the stillness, and with it, that smug, unmistakable sneer in Enzo's voice.

"Told you she'd love it."

Asshole.

You roll your eyes. Your limbs feel like they're moving through molasses as you stand, your hands mechanically fixing your costume, adjusting the fabric against your thighs.

"You know, Enzo, if you wanted to watch Theo fuck me that bad, all you had to do was ask."

"What can I say," he shrugs, lazy, like he's discussing the weather. "I enjoy a bit of gambling."

Theo snorts, adjusting his collar, as if none of this fazes him. His eyes flick from you to Enzo. "Next time you'll be paying me."

"Next time?" You cock an eyebrow. "How generous of you."

"There will be a next time," Enzo says, flipping one of the Galleons between his fingers, that same smirk playing on his lips. "And I'll get my turn."

Your pulse quickens at the sheer arrogance of it, the way he says it like it's not even up for debate. You hate how much you like this side of him.

"Maybe next time you should."

They nod, both of them wearing their smirks like crowns. "Until next time, then."

[plsdonttakemyname]

Boothill x G!n Reader

A/n ; this post is literally inspired by this post on TikTok HDHAJBDHSJSJDH 'M CRYINFFG..... I'm so sorry I haven't posted for soooo goddamn long... forgive me if my writing has gotten even worse mggggrr .. Wrote this at 3am, please let me know if I did typos... :'3

Mentions ; Boothill, Cyborg body parts, Poor bby can't feel physical affections like hugs and hand holding :(..Fluff fluff fluff grrrr...I'm trying my best not to turn this into an angst..Modern Au (I guess?), :3 Reader uses lipstick (no gender mentioned), Use of nicknames for reader (Doll,Baby,Etc...), OOC BOOTYHILL :(...

.. 𝑳𝒊𝒑𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ..

You and Boothill have been dating for almost 2 years , right now he has you on his lap. You were testing out the lipstick you got recently on him and he agreed to it. His face now covered in different shades of lipsticks.

"mm, I kinda like this shade, what do you think about it 'hun?" he wrapped his arms around your waist while supporting you on his lap " I don't mind what shade of lipstick you use doll...you'd look absolutely stunning with anything" he answered as you smiled at his reply, leaning in to kiss his cheeks "Flatterer.." He lets out a small chuckle before leaning in again for another kiss "What can I say? I love my sweetheart this much" he said as you caress his cheeks, nuzzling her nose against his slightly while knowing it brings him comfort due to being the only place he can feel any real warmth. Yet you continue to show him you care in the small ways you can, showing you love him in these simple things. The both of you are resting on the couch and enjoying each other's company before he slowly speaks up and breaks the comfortable silence "Do my cyborg body parts bother you?" You were caught off guard by his sudden question. you shook your head, planting another kiss on his lips before answering him "No..of course not..what makes you say that?" He shrugged as he pulled you in closer in his arms while he nuzzled in the crook of your neck "Nothin'..I'm just askin.." you wrapped your arms around his neck in response as you ran your fingers through his silky white long hair while he cuddled with you on the couch. Minutes have passed when you suddenly remembered that your boyfriend is still covered in your lipstick..."Baby I think we should wash the lipstick away before it stains your face" with a few moments of silence, he pulled away and looked at you "good..let it stain then."

PLEASE THIS IS HORRIBLE WRITTEN,Im so sorry if I disappoint . :( my schedule has been very packed lately and I have to drive and pick my cousin up from school whenever I get free times.. Also wrote this at 4am without any sleep. I'm so sorry again if there's a grammar error. I feel so anxious when I post because I'm scared it's gonna be bad..but I'm trying my best despite having a packed schedule. But if you have any ideas, feel free to request , I'll try my best to take them when I'm free

© 2024 plsdonttakemyname do not repost, copy, translate, modify.

[scoops-aboy86]

Secret Admirer

Steddie Week 2024, July 1: Mystery / secret relationship / One Night Alone by Vixen

wc: 2131 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

cw: negative self talk (steve), allusions to unhealthy use of drugs and alcohol (eddie), and one horny paragraph

In the first few letters, Eddie had tried to disguise his handwriting. It occurred to him after a while, though, that there would be no reason for someone like Steve Harrington to recognize it, so he stopped. And he was right, nothing happened. 

Steve hasn’t figured out the secret admirer letters he kept answering were written by none other than the official Freak of Hawkins High. Hell, Steve hasn’t even worked out that he’s a he. Though a few vaguely worded sentences every now and then suggest that Steve might not be assuming she either, which is…interesting. Possibly nothing, but interesting all the same. And Eddie knows he’s probably just stringing himself along by doing this, but he’s about to repeat his senior year of high school for the third goddamn time and this is a better option than drinking or dipping into the harder stuff that Reefer Rick expects him to sell. Broken heart likely, but at least he doesn’t wake up with a headache or the shakes.

Now it’s well into summer, and the PO Box he’d had since he was sixteen (for Blueboys and other mags that would get him equally tarred and feathered if anyone finds out) gets mail every damn day.

Eddie looks down at the most recent letter, rereading it for the hundredth time with a joint in one hand, several empty beer cans littering the bedspread and floor of his room around him. 

Dear Secret Admirer, Hey, I’m sorry if I came on too strong in my last couple of letters. I get why you don’t want to tell me who you are. We probably went to high school together, right? You don’t write like a middle schooler and no one who graduates sticks around in this stupid town besides me. I guess that makes me stupid means you probably knew me when I was still a douchebag. Sorry about that. I hope I never said anything to you or let Tommy push you around. Except I don’t know why you would’ve started writing to me in the first place if I had? It’s not like I would’ve written back if I was still that popular guy who everyone talked to and thought was so cool. Yeah, I admit it, I thought I was hot shit back then too! But it turns out, they only give you the spotlight as long as you don’t put a toe out of line. Don’t point out when they’re being assholes. You wouldn’t believe the kind of shit some people will say when they think you already agree with them about everything.  Anyway, I’m trying to be better now. Genuinely, if I’m not, if I’ve been an asshole in these letters at all, please tell me. And it’s not like I’m tired of writing to you, I just. Wouldn’t getting to talk in person be even better? Or we don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to, that’s okay! You can come by Scoops and tell me it’s you and I’ll give you a free ice cream cone or something, whatever you want. Because actions speak louder than words, right? You keep sending me all these nice letters, and I’m not the best with words so I want to give you something too. (I don’t mean that like That wasn’t a come-on, I swear. Shit, I should rewrite this again but this is already the fifth draft, it’s not getting any better than this. Sorry.) — Steve PS, I don’t know if you have been to Scoops already, but if you’ve seen my coworker’s whiteboard I swear I’m not interested just because I keep striking out. Turns out I don’t actually know how to talk to girls without being weird. It’s weird being done with high school and not have that stuff in common to talk about, and I used to be this cool guy that I’m really not anymore so I panic and all this bullshit (who am I kidding) bullshit comes out my mouth and it’s EMBARRASSING. Anyway. I really like your letters, it’s been great having someone to talk to even if it’s not really talking a face to face thing, and I’m not just saying that because I’m kind of a loser now. Anyway, have a nice day! Fuck, Robin is right, I SUCK

The first bullshit in the postscript is crossed out so hard there’s a tear in the paper. All the scribbled out bits are borderline illegible, like Steve really tried, but Eddie can still make out most of it and can guess the rest from context. The very last word, for example, is totally obscured, but he has seen the You Rule / You Suck board, so. Yeah.

It makes his heart ache, the way Steve talks about himself sometimes. The way his insecurities bleed through artlessly on the page like coffee stains. Eddie alternates between wanting to wrap him up in soft things to protect him from whatever sharpness left him so cut open, and wanting to smother him with kisses for the bravery in being so genuine with a nameless, faceless stranger. 

Except Steve isn’t his. Steve is straight, for all he’s apparently being kind enough not to make assumptions, and could never want Eddie in the same way. And it’s not fair, the hanging back that Eddie’s been doing, holding out now that Steve has come to look forward to his letters just because of a little (huge, massive, life-threatening) fear of rejection. 

He’s been dragging his heels so long that Steve is feeling rejected, and that just won’t do. 

Sighing, Eddie takes another long drag before stubbing the remaining nub of the joint out. Scrubs his hands across his face and considers getting another beer. Or maybe forgetting the corner he’s backed himself into, with Steve wanting to meet—not only to satisfy the curiosity of knowing who his secret admirer is, but because he actually seems to like the person writing to him. (Actually wrote that they didn’t have to talk if Eddie didn’t want to, Jesus H. Christ, why did he have to be such a fucking sweetheart about that?) 

It’s late, and he’s already stripped restlessly down to just his boxers for bed. He could push it all aside, push his hands down the front of his underwear and get lost in different thoughts about Steve for a while, for the trillionth time. God knows that always works to clear his head, sometimes twice if he’s ambitious about it, enough for sleep to take him. 

Instead, Eddie drops the letter on his bed and hunts around on his desk for a notebook he can stand to tear a few more pages out of. Once he has what he needs, he chews on the end of his pen for several minutes  before putting it to the paper.

Steve, my beloved, It has been some time since I’ve replied. My deepest apologies for that, as it seems like you’ve taken that to mean something I absolutely did not intend. I received all of your letters, and “too strong” is not how I would describe them. They were lovely, sweetheart. I have reread them many times, I have slept with them under my pillow, I have cried happy tears over them for the thought that you might actually share my affection enough to want so badly to know who I am.  Very quickly, to address some of your questions and concerns: One, we did share some years in high school, yes, and I’m pleased to read that you think my writing is at a level appropriate to someone approximately our age. (I wish more of my teachers shared that view, but alas, I’m pretty sure that most of them hate me. Except for the drama teacher, who would let me get away with murder as long as I didn’t stain or break any of his props with the act.) Two, Hagan was a dick, but more to my friends than me directly, and the worst you ever did was laugh when I dropped my books a few times, that sort of thing. Water under the bridge, fuck high school, etc. etc.. Three, you have not engaged in any assholery in your writing, or in any of your actions that I’ve seen in a long time.  And four… you should’ve left the double entendre (i.e. the “I want to give you something too”); I wouldn’t have minded.  Obviously I think of you as prime boyfriend material—thoughtful, good sense of humor and humility, and whenever those younger kids swing by to pester you at the mall you put up a good front of being exasperated and annoyed, but through all that I can tell you care about them. (They say never trust someone who would hurt an animal, it works for kids too.)  But you’re also a total smoke show, baby. The effortless way you moved around the basketball court, same as in the water when you were still on the swim team, and in those indecently tiny shorts. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about running my fingers up the inside of those thighs. Or my mouth. Whichever you think you’d like best, baby, I’m not picky. And while I do like ice cream, particularly strawberry with rainbow sprinkles in a cone, I can think of something else I’d love to wrap my hand around and run my tongue over before any drips can escape. You just think about that, hmm? Maybe share some of those thoughts in your reply, if I haven’t scared you off with this paragraph.  It was a relief to write that, to be honest. I am not without my fantasies, you see; in a lot of ways, they’re all I have. The real reason I’ve been hesitant to respond to all of your heartfelt entreaties to meet, sweetheart, is that I’m afraid. I’ve been head over heels for you for so long—for your looks before anything else, I’ll admit, but the douchebag boy from high school that you mentioned is long gone. A man stands in his place, and what a man you are. In writing to you, I wanted to make clear first and foremost how ardently I admire and love you, lest my feelings be mistaken for mere tawdry teen lust.  And hopefully I’ve succeeded. If so, can you see now how actions can be carved in with the words? It is the intent that shines through, and I can read in between the lines, Steve, that you are being genuinely honest with yours. All those disparaging remarks you made about yourself in your last letter, both crossed out and not, are probably you being too hard on yourself, but they speak to the fact that you both understand you’ve made mistakes in the past and are trying to pay penance for them. That, along with your fantastic hair and magnificent ass, are just a few of the reasons I remain, as always— Your Secret Admirer P.S. I don’t mind weird. Like it, even. Bring it on, big boy.  P.P.S.  If all I could ever have with you is one night alone, I’d take it and be grateful.

Eddie’s letter is almost twice as long as Steve’s, but whatever. That’s par for the course; he never expected Steve to be much of a wordsmith, even though the guy is clearly putting in a lot of effort. Writes drafts, apparently. Unlike Eddie, who bangs all that out in pretty much one go and merely skims it before sliding it in an envelope, sealing it in, slapping on a stamp and address, and throwing it off the bed. 

Then he falls into bed and strips his dick to the thought of Steve reading the letter and thinking about his mouth, half in a hot anonymous way and half in some imaginary reality where Steve knows it’s him and wants this just as badly. Of Steve groaning out how good it feels and maybe wanting to hold him after, fall asleep together, like they’re…

The next morning (or afternoon, whatever, it’s summer vacation), Eddie reviews his slightly fuzzy memory of the letter after stepping on the envelope and realizing, oh, right. Overly verbose and dramatic, the way he always is but even more so when tipsy. And… fuck it. One horny paragraph, he decides, won’t be the end of the world. Maybe it will scare Steve off; maybe he’ll enjoy it. Let fate decide, just like at the dnd table. 

Eddie shoves the envelope into the mail drop box just outside the trailer park gate on his way into town and sends a prayer out to no god in particular that he hasn’t just rolled a nat one.

~

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve

Tagging some folks who expressed interest about this story in my Wiggly Wednesday post last week, let me know if you don't want to be tagged going forward: @steviewashere @cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve

@rozzieroos @lunaraindrop @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

[kwanisms]

Unbearable — s.changbin

» stray kids menu | changbin menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ werebear!Changbin × f!Reader wc: 8.9k summary: Changbin is a very reserved person. He tries to live a solitary and quiet life but after moving into a small studio apartment in what he thought was a quiet block of the city, his neighbor soon puts him to the test when she is extremely welcoming and outgoing. genres/themes/au: angst (heavy on this), fluff (again u gotta squint), smut; supernatural and lycanthropic themes, s2l, n2l; non idol au, supernatural au, werebear au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, alcohol consumption, thoughts of self doubt and self loathing, self isolation as a coping technique, mention of death, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglist! kinktober 2024 taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL NOT BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST.

a/n: i am so sorry this took so long to get done and posted! i just lost steam for writing a lot of longer oneshots but thankfully, i got that steam back and now Kinktober 2023 can finally come to a close! Thank you so much for those of you that have been patiently waiting for this and you will be getting a sequel to this part very very soon! Thank you so much for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), protected sex (it’s rushed and spur of the moment but at least Changbin uses his goddamn brain lmao), oral (both receiving), fingering (f receiving), strength kink, choking, body worship, facesitting (m receiving), use of pet names (baby, bunny, etc), power bottom!Changbin, sub!Reader, Binnie is a strong boy and Y/N really appreciates it and they are both kind of drunk off each other's presences. If I missed anything let me know! dialogue prompt: ❛ Don’t cover your mouth, I want everyone to know how good I make you feel. ❜

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The thing Changbin hated the most about his… condition, was having to move whenever things got complicated. His intense dislike of moving started as a child, moving from place to place because of his father’s work. He was in his final year of high school on a camping trip with some friends when the unthinkable happened.

Changbin wanted to try something new. He’d been camping in almost all the parks in Korea and wanted to go somewhere different. They decided to try Jirisan National Park. Most campers avoided the area due to the black pear population but Changbin’s friends were confident in their preparations.

They agreed to spend a week in the park; fishing, camping, hiking, and seeing the sights.

Most of the wildlife they encountered were small critters like squirrels and chipmunks and the occasional deer. Until their last night in the park.

Changbin had gotten up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and while doing his business, was attacked by a bear. It bit him, teeth tearing into the flesh of his arm. His scream alerted his friends who came to his rescue, scaring the creature off with mace.

Changbin was in and out of it from the shock and loss of blood but his friends later relayed to him that they called the ranger station on their radio and a helicopter was sent to airlift him to the nearest hospital. He was rushed into surgery and thankfully his arm was salvageable.

Changbin was lucky to be alive and he knew it. 

It was a month later when he realized things had changed forever.

The bear that had attacked him was no ordinary bear but was a werebear and Changbin had been cursed. He had been living with that curse for the last several years.

For the most part, he was able to keep to himself and keep his condition under wraps but occasionally, he slipped up and had to move which was the case yet again. He’d changed in view of one of his neighbors and had to make plans upon learning his secret had been discovered.

He found a new place, a small studio apartment on the outskirts of the city. Changbin’s goal was to find a place in the country but land was expensive.

He’d moved into the apartment, keeping to himself as he moved his things in. The apartment had come empty so he had to buy furniture to fill it and had spent an entire day building his own furniture alone. It wasn’t much but it was his and he’d have to make it home.

He had hoped to get through his two year lease without incident and left alone but his hopes were dashed when he ran into his neighbor who lived across the hall, Y/N. You were the opposite of him. Where Changbin was quiet, shy, and reserved you were bubbly and outgoing.

You had come back from running errands when you ran into him at the mailbox and immediately introduced yourself. Changbin was sure he had come off as very rude in this interaction but you didn’t seem to take it to heart, greeting him each time you saw him with a big smile.

You had told him that if he needed anything to not hesitate to ask and that you were happy to help.

You often brought him food, making too much for one person to eat and often gave him some of your leftovers. Changbin felt rude if he didn’t accept it and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. The food was good, he wasn’t going to lie and say it sucked. He just wanted to be left alone.

You were far too friendly and more generous than he was used to or felt he deserved.

He was working from home one afternoon, close to his heat, when he heard a knock on his door and got up from his desk to answer it. Peering through the peephole, he saw you standing on the other side of the door and sighed softly. He unlocked the door, removing the chain and pulled the door open just enough to peek out.

“Hey,” you said softly. Changbin could hear music coming from one of the apartments upstairs. “Hey,” he replied softly. In your hands, you held another tupperware container. “I made some stew,” you started, glancing down at the container. “And I made too much,” you continued. “Again.”

“I uh… I thought you might like some,” you said with an uncertain smile.

Changbin forced a smile and pulled the door open some more. “That’s very kind of you,” he said softly as you handed the container over. “I keep finding recipes for families,” you added. “Too many servings for one person.” Changbin nodded as you spoke.

“I’m sure you’re busy,” you noted and smiled at him. “I’ll leave you alone.” Changbin hesitated, wanting to say thank you but you turned and crossed the hall back to your door, entering your apartment and shutting the door.

He looked down at the stew and sighed again. 

The last time you had come over to bring him food, he’d just come out of a transformation and had snapped at you. He’d been irritable, unwell, and frustrated with his situation and when you offered him some of your extra chicken, he snapped at you, slamming the door in your face.

Despite that, you were still bringing him food and being nice to him. He felt awful as he closed his door. Even after being so rude and mean, going as far to slam the door in your face, you still thought of him and brought him extra food.

He set the container on his counter and stared at it for a few moments before sitting back down at his computer and opening a new tab on his browser. He’d decided to make it up to you. He typed away, looking up gifts to give neighbors.

He managed to find a few good articles before he got up, grabbing his apartment keys and pulling on his jacket. He headed over to the town center, finding a garden center. From the various interactions he’d had with you in the past, you always mentioned your love for plants.

Your apartment was apparently decorated with them.

Changbin didn’t know much about plants but nonetheless, he returned home with a small potted plant. A little light green succulent. He hoped you’d like it.

The next day, he had to go into work so he wasn’t able to give you your gift and by the time he arrived home and knocked on your door, either you were asleep or out as it was a Friday night.

That night, he heard you come home and upon peering out of the peephole saw that you weren’t alone. You had a friend with you and Changbin knew he couldn’t apologize just yet. Maybe in the morning but the next morning you didn’t answer your door.

For a whole week, you didn’t answer any of his knocks nor did he see you.

Finally, when he was getting his mail from the mailbox downstairs, you returned. Changbin felt relieved as you entered the building. He was starting to get worried. You didn’t greet him with a usual smile when you saw him. Instead you quietly got your mail, a week's worth of it, and headed up the stairs without even looking at him.

Changbin followed from a distance, glancing over as you unlocked your door and let yourself into your apartment, not even sparing him a first or second glance as the door shut softly. It made his heart ache that he’d clearly scared you off enough to limit your contact with him.

More determined than ever, Changbin returned to his apartment and grabbed the plant with the envelope that contained a handwritten apology addressed to you where he apologized profusely for the way he acted and that while it was no excuse, he’d just gotten over a bad bout of the flu and wasn’t feeling well when he snapped at you. It wasn’t as much as you deserved but Changbin had never been very good with confrontation.

He set the plant on your welcome mat with the envelope front and center with the word ‘sorry’ written across the front of it. He stood back up and knocked three times loudly before retreating to his apartment and shutting the door.

He peered through the peephole, hoping to see you appear. Luck was on his side as your door opened slowly, your head appearing and looking around before your head turned down, noticing the plant. You opened the door fully, leaning out to look down the hall. As you knelt down to look at the plant, Changbin watched as you lifted the letter and looked at it.

He saw your gaze briefly look up at his door and though he knew you couldn’t possibly see him watching you, it made him nervous anyway. He watched as you grabbed the potted plant and stood up straight, plant in one hand, his letter in the other. You retreated to your apartment, shutting the door and Changbin sighed a breath of relief.

He decided to go back to his work, hoping he might hear from you later.

Around dinner time, Changbin’s stomach growled and he got up from his desk, hanging his headphones around his neck as he walked down the hall from his studio to the kitchen to open the fridge. He cursed softly as he saw he didn’t really have much in the way of a meal in his fridge. Another forgotten grocery trip meant ramen again.

He shut the fridge and opened a cabinet, grabbing a pot to make his ramen in and as he moved to the sink to fill it with water, there were three loud knocks at his door. He dropped the pan in the sink with a metallic clang and hurried over to the door, hoping he might see your face when he looked through the peephole but he was met with an empty hallway.

His heart sank and he stepped back, unlocking the door and opening it slightly. His eyes immediately fell to a pot with a lid sitting on his mat with a small card. He opened the door and bent down to pick up the card to read it.

‘Apology accepted but only if you eat all of this! ~ Y/N’

He looked down at the pot and carefully picked it up by the handles. It was hot. He looked up at your door before retreating into his apartment, shutting the door with his foot. He carried the pot over to the kitchen island and set it down. He read the card once more, turning it over to find a small smiley face.

He smiled to himself, setting the card down and lifted the lid to find what he could only assume was budae jjigae. There were slices of spam, sausages cut into small pieces, ramen noodles, mushrooms, fish cake, and rice cake in a spicy broth topped with cheese and chopped green onions. It smelled amazing and Changbin couldn’t help but feel a small sense of guilt at how he’d previously treated you.

He glanced at the card once more before he moved to grab a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. You had offered to accept his apology but only if he ate everything and he wasn’t about to let this meal you’d made specifically for him go to waste.

A week had passed by and while Changbin hadn’t seen or spoken to you face to face, he could feel that whatever tension there was between you had dissipated. You had accepted his gift and he, yours. Things were almost back to normal.

His heat loomed a couple days away when he went to the gym to burn off some steam. It was never enough to fully satiate his needs but it was the best he could do since he wasn’t seeing anyone, nor was he about to go looking.

As he was working on his usual set, he heard the door open and a familiar scent hit his nose, making his heart rate increase more than the current workout. He turned his head and saw you walk over towards the elliptical. He turned his head back, internally panicking. He could tell by your scent that you were close to ovulating and it was sending him into overstimulation.

He didn’t want to end his workout early, but he knew if he kept going, he was going to do something he would regret and could possibly get him and you arrested. He finished his set quickly and got up, moving to grab the spray bottle and a few paper towels to wipe down the machine.

He returned the bottle to its stand, tossing the used paper towels away and grabbed his things, heading for the door. He glanced over at you which proved to be a terrible mistake. You were stretching before getting on the elliptical which was a good practice Changbin noted but you were bent over, ass on full display in your leggings. 

Changbin was no stranger to your figure. He was used to seeing you in dresses, skirts, or sometimes an oversize sweater and leggings but seeing you in form fitting athletic gear was something he was not used to. He wasn’t used to how it hugged your curves, outlining everything about your body he found insanely attractive.

He was so busy staring at your ass that he ran right into the trash bin beside the door with a loud bang that echoed in the otherwise small gym. You stood up and turned to look at him, an expression of confusion and concern on your face as he put the trash bin back, cheeks burning as he glanced back at you, giving you a nod before he quickly exited the gym, heading for the stairs.

He was glad there was no one else in the room and that no one had actually seen him run into the trash can. How embarrassing would that have been?

Changbin made it to his floor and entered his apartment. He showered and changed into clean clothes before heading to the kitchen. He’d actually gone grocery shopping this time and as he was browsing his fridge, he heard his phone ding from the kitchen island. Closing the fridge, he walked over to pick up the device, unlocking it and checking his messages.

It was a text from you and it sent his heart into a frenzy before remembering you had exchanged numbers shortly after he moved in because your packages kept getting delivered to his box instead of yours. It had been a while since then and your mail had gotten sorted out but he genuinely forgot he even had your number as he read the text.

Y/N Neighbor: hey, is everything alright? That sounded painful ):

Changbin grimaced. ‘Sounded?’ he wondered. ‘That means she didn’t see it. Good.’ He quickly typed a response.

Changbin: yeah! I wasn’t watching where I was going. Too busy looking at my phone 😅i’m ok tho 🙂

Your response was swift.

Y/N Neighbor: okay good. I was worried. Y/N Neighbor: hey, while I have your attention. Do you have plans for dinner?

Changbin chuckled, typing his response.

Changbin: why? you gonna leave another pot of stew on my door mat? Y/N Neighbor: no 😭i was actually wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner Y/N Neighbor: I got some really nice beef short ribs from the butcher and was planning to make some tteokgalbi. I found a recipe and wanted to give it a shot

A grin spread across Changbin’s face as he read your text.

Y/N Neighbor: and who better to ask than my only Korean neighbor? Y/N Neighbor: So how about it? Y/N Neighbor: Do you want to come over for dinner?

Changbin hesitated answering as he stared at his phone. On one hand, he would love nothing more than to come over and help teach you how to make one of his favorite dishes, eat together, and enjoy your company but on the other hand, he knew that he was tempting fate, being alone with you so close to his heat. He weighed the pros and cons but very quickly, his logic was beat out by the promise of beef short ribs.

Changbin: sure. I’d love to. What time?

He sent the message and waited for your response. It took a couple moments but he saw the read receipt appear and soon you were typing your response.

Y/N Neighbor: I’m almost finished in the gym and I’ll have to shower. So let’s say… 7PM?

He smiled before typing back, thumbs tapping against the screen of his phone.

Changbin: perfect. See you at 7 (:

Changbin stressed over what to wear as this wasn’t exactly a formal setting like a date but you had still invited him to dinner at your place and you were going to be making food but he would be helping so he opted for something comfortable. Black pants, a white tee, and a gray sweatshirt. He scoured his fridge and pantry for something to bring with and settled on an unopened bottle of wine in his fridge that he received as a parting gift when he left Korea.

With the bottle of wine in hand, he headed across the hall. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, resisting the urge to run and hide. He heard footsteps approach the door and after unlocking, the door opened to reveal your smile. “Hi,” you said breathlessly. Changbin returned the greeting and you opened the door wider to let him in.

He stepped over the threshold awkwardly, holding the bottle of wine tightly as he entered your apartment. It was smaller than his but you had a studio while he had a two bedroom. In the entryway you had tile flooring much like his and a shoe rack stood against the wall with various pairs of shoes from running shoes to much dressier shoes like pumps. There were even a couple pairs of boots.

Hanging over the shoe rack was a shelf that went from one wall to the other in the small entryway. On top of the shelf were various storage items inside pleasant looking boxes with drawers and small printed labels on the front detailing what was inside. On the underside of the shelf was a bar where you jackets hung including one heavy winter coat and various scarves for different temperatures.

Beside the shoe rack was a small bench with a cream and brown striped cushion where you no doubt sat and put on your shoes before leaving the apartment. You had already put on a pair of house slippers and to his surprise, a new pair of house slippers were sitting on standby for him. He quickly removed his shoes, a pair of crocs, and slid on the slippers as he followed you from the entry.

The rest of your apartment was just as small. There was a large flatscreen on the wall that separated the living area from the entryway. Under it stood a brown media center with a gaming console and inside the glass doors was a wide array of video games and DVDs. 

Your couch, a sectional, took up the back wall, squeezing into the corner and ending before the door to your balcony and was littered with pillows with a plush cream colored blanket, folded in half and draped over the arm. 

In front of the couch between it and the media console, was a coffee table with a few plants. Behind the couch was a window with a wide window sill which was full of potted house plants of different varieties and colors. The more he looked around, the more plants he saw. He was glad he had gotten it right and gifted you a plant.

Next to the living area was a small dining area with a four person bistro table pushed against the wall on the opposite side of the door to the balcony. Three of the four chairs were placed around the table and on top was a vase with a few flowers in it. Behind the table, another window with deep set sills littered with more plants. Next to the dining area was your bedroom area. It was separated by a curtain, hung from a track on the ceiling. The curtain was a sheer white one, allowing Changbin a glimpse past it to your bed. It was a queen size with a black fluffy comforter and matching black decorative pillows. The sheets were hidden but the pillows behind the throw ones were a cream color with a light floral pattern.

On one side of your bed was a nightstand with a lamp and alarm clock while on the opposite side was a tall chest of drawers, atop where a few makeup items and perfume bottles stood. He turned away before he could get a good look at it all and faced you. “Oh, is that for tonight?” you asked, nodding towards the bottle in his hands. He nodded, crossing the short distance.

“Yeah, I uh… wasn’t sure what to bring,” he admitted, holding the bottle out for you to take. You smiled, taking the bottle and moved behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge and setting the bottle inside on the door. Changbin looked around once more as you shut the fridge and turned to face him.

“So, shall we get started?” you asked. Changbin walked over to the island, looking at the items on the counter. You had the beef ribs sitting on a plate. Everything else had been measured out and was ready to go. He could see you also had soybean sprouts, spinach, zucchini, daikon, and tofu. “What is all of this for?” he asked, nodding at the other items.

“I thought we could also make some of the side dishes?” you asked, looking up at him. Changbin smiled, pushing the cuffs of his sleeves up as he moved around to join you at the sink and wash his hands. “So I’m guessing you have the stuff for seasoned soybeans, seasoned spinach, hobak bokkeum, daikon radish salad, and pan fried tofu?” he asked as you dried your hands.

You nodded before handing him the towel. “I’ve made them before, so I could prepare those while you prepare the ribs?” you offered. Changbin smiled, shaking his head. “We can make them together while the meat cooks,” he explained. “How about you cut the garlic and onions and make the marinade?” he asked. “That way you can watch how to prepare the meat.” You nodded with a smile. 

“Sounds good to me.”

You quickly cut the garlic and onions, adding them to a bowl while Changbin prepared the ribs. You continued making the sauce while he explained how to mince the meat and showed you. “And you leave it on the bone?” you asked. He nodded as he set one rib aside and worked on another one. You added the rest of the ingredients to the bowl and stirred it, mixing it well.

“How’s this?” you asked, showing Changbin the sauce. He peered into the bowl. “How does it taste?” he asked. You looked up at him and back down. “You can dip your finger in here,” he said with a chuckle. You did as he said and tasted the sauce. “It’s really good,” you answered, moving to rinse your hand again. Changbin finished the second rib and moved onto the last one, slicing the meat down to the bone. “If you want to start putting the sauce on the ribs,” he said as he continued cutting.

“Make sure to get it down into the meat,” he added as you moved to his other side and started scooping out the marinade, placing generous amounts onto the ribs while he finished cutting the last one. He rinsed the knife and your cutting board before washing his hands and drying them.

He leaned over, inspecting your work. “Don’t use all of it,” he said as you focused on the last one. You looked up at him inquisitively as he took the bowl from you with a laugh. “You have to save some for later.” You nodded and moved to wash your hands while he set the remainder of the sauce aside. “Is the oven preheated?” he asked.

You glanced behind you and noticed the little light, communicating this to him. “Perfect,” he said, picking up the cast iron pan. You hurried to open the oven for him and he set the pan in the middle of the rack and stood up, shutting the door and turning to you. “Now we can work on those side dishes,” he said with a smile.

You focused on the cooking while Changbin did all the cutting and seasoning. Your rice cooker had finished when you plated the pan fried tofu. “Do you want something to drink?” you asked Changbin. He looked up from the spinach dish. “Uh, sure,” he said as he mixed the spinach with sesame oil and garlic. 

You turned to open the fridge, eyes falling on the bottle of wine. “Want to open this wine?” you asked, turning back to look at him. He looked up from the dish, eyes wide. “Oh, yeah, sure,” he answered, returning his focus to the spinach.

He felt his heart rate speed up. He was already tempting fate by being alone with you like this but adding alcohol to the mix? That could only end in disaster. He knew from experience that mixing alcohol with his heat and someone as pretty as you were? It was surely to end only one way but he was determined to not let it go that way.

You opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses, putting the bottle back and gently pushing one of the glasses towards Changbin who thanked you and lifted the glass to his face, sniffing the liquid as you took a sip. Changbin followed, taking a sip before he immediately spit it back into the glass, as did you, exclaiming with disgust. You met his gaze and the two of you burst into laughter.

You retrieved the bottle from the fridge to inspect it while Changbin walked over to grab your glass, dumping both into the sink. “God, that’s awful,” you gagged. Changbin rinsed out the wine glasses, setting them aside. “Do you have anything else?” he asked.

You looked up from the bottle, setting it aside. “I might have some soju,” you said softly, turning to the fridge and opening it while Changbin watched, eyes roaming over your body and taking in your outfit. It was a simple cream dress with a pleated skirt that fell to the middle of your thighs. Over it, you wore an off the shoulder light pink sweater, showing the thick straps of the dress. He saw the white thigh high stockings you work and it took everything in him to not jump you right there.

“I do have soju,” you announced. “Soju sounds nice,” Changbin answered, drawing his eyes away from your backside. “Could you grab a couple shot glasses from the cabinet?” you asked, gesturing to the correct door as you grabbed an unopened bottle of Soju from the fridge. Changbin set the glasses down and grabbed the bottle from you.

“Want to see a neat trick?” he asked. You nodded, leaning against the counter and watching him attentively as he grasped the bottle firmly. “This is just something we do in Korea,” he said. “It doesn’t really serve a purpose other than to look cool.” You nodded and watched as he quickly turned the bottle so the cap was pointed to the 4 o’clock position before flicking it back upright quickly.

Inside the bottle, the liquid swirled around, creating a small cyclone. Your smile widened and you shifted on your toes. “Can I try?” you asked excitedly. Changbin handed the bottle over, showing you how to hold it before letting you attempt. The first try did nothing except make some bubbles.

“Here,” he said, moving to stand behind you, reaching around to place his hand over yours. “Like this,” he said softly, guiding your hand to the correct positions slowly. “Just like that, only faster. Try it.” You followed his instructions and managed to make a weak tornado appear in the bottle.

“I did it!” you said excitedly as he chuckled, taking the bottle from you. He twisted the cap off, leaving the small strip of metal attached. He poured your shot first before pouring one for himself. “The first one, we always cheer,” he explained as you both picked up your glasses. “How do you say cheers in Korean?” you asked. “Gonbae,” he replied, holding his shot glass up slightly.

You raised yours to meet his, giving it a small tap, the clinking of glass soft. “Gonbae,” you repeated before raising the liquor to your lips and tipping your head back, pouring the entire shot into your mouth and swallowing as Changbin mirrored your movements.

It was slightly sweet, very crisp, and clean as it went down smoothly. You set the shot glass down as Changbin finished his shot a step behind you, setting his glass down as well. You looked up to meet his gaze but before you could say anything, a timer went off, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“The short ribs!” you exclaimed, grabbing a pair of potholders while Changbin moved to take over the frying of the zucchini. You pulled the pan out and set it down. “Let’s transfer them over to this,” Changbin said, grabbing the cast iron sizzler pan, turning on the burner next to the other skillet. It heated up quickly and you helped Changbin move the ribs over to the sizzling pan, placing them face down on the iron and spooning the rest of the sauce over them.

“We’ll let those cook for a bit and then turn them over and let them finish cooking,” he said as he set the spoon aside. “This is done, by the way,” he said, moving the zucchini off the burner and turning it off. “Now, we just wait on the galbi,” he added.

You poured another shot for him before pouring one for yourself and quickly downed it. His close proximity earlier had made goosebumps rise on your arms and thighs and there was now a burning ache in your skin where he’d touched you as we all other places he had not touched.

The meat was done after a few more minutes and Changbin insisted you set the coffee table, opting to eat in the living room instead of the dining table as it was a much less formal setting. You moved the side dishes and bottle of soju over to the coffee table, also getting two bottles of water from the fridge as Changbin placed the sizzler pan on the wooden block that came with it.

Once you’d set the table, he walked over, setting the galbi in the middle while you moved a cushion to the floor for him to sit on. You admired your handiwork, looking at all the side dishes and the main dish. You had scooped two bowls of rice from your rice cooker and also heated up some leftover beef broth  and added green onions for garnish.

You sat down, Changbin across from you. “We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” you asked, looking up to meet his gaze. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “We really do.”

You made space for Changbin to sit next to you, opting to put on a movie while you ate, drank, and chatted. He showed you how to make ssambap, adding the meat, rice, and sauce to a lettuce leaf and eating the entire thing. It was all so delicious and you mentioned in passing that you should have him over more.

One bottle of soju dwindled and you grabbed a second which also slowly emptied as you ate your fill of the food. Most of the plates were empty when you poured another shot for Changbin before pouring one for yourself. You raised your glasses and downed the shots quickly.

“So,” you said as you set your glass down and looked up at Changbin. “Can I ask you something?” you asked, scooting a little closer to him, enjoying the warmth that radiated from his body. He nodded, resting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his palm as he looked at you with sparkling eyes.

“Why are you single?”

The question took him by surprise. He hadn’t expected you to ask that, let alone ask it so boldly. You had an innocent look on your face as you looked at him, expecting an answer. He mulled over his thoughts before choosing his words, carefully.

“I have a… complicated life,” he started. “There are things I have to… hide from people. Not because I’m afraid of how they’ll see me but because I’m afraid of scaring them off.” Your smile fell and you leaned closer, placing a hand on his forearm. “You’re a good person, Changbin,” you said softly in a reassuring tone. “There’s someone out there for you.”

He smiled at you, a small but genuine smile. “What about you?” he asked softly, looking at your hand on his arm, his heart rate speeding up as he looked up, meeting your gaze. “Me?” you asked. “I guess I haven’t found the right person. I’ve been burned too many times.”

Changbin felt his heart sink. The thought of you getting your heart broken made him both sad and angry. 

He didn’t know you that well but from what he’d experienced since moving in, he couldn’t imagine anyone purposely hurting you.

Changbin scooted closer, placing a hand over yours. The moment his skin touched yours it was like you’d been hit with an electric shock. You looked up to meet his eyes. There was a moment of unspoken tension between you as you stared at one another before something happened.

You weren’t sure who moved first but all you knew was that one minute you were sitting on the floor, using your coffee table as a table to eat at, the next you were straddling him, your lips on his and hands tangled in his hair as his hands slid up your back.

You moaned into his mouth, hands tugging at his hair as he grabbed your waist. “Wait,” he said breathlessly, pulling away to look up at you, his lips shining with your spit. “Maybe we shouldn’t. We’ve both been drinking. Maybe we should — mmpf!” 

You cut him off, taking his lips in another searing kiss, your lips parting his and your tongue sliding against his. His fingers dug into your hips, squeezing the plush flesh there as your lips started to plant wet kisses down the side of his neck over his pulse point. He let out a soft groan, letting his head fall back against the couch cushions as you kissed down to the junction where his neck and shoulder met.

You pulled the fabric aside, nipping and sucking on the skin as his hands guided your hips over his growing erection. “Fuck,” he gasped as you grinded against him. “Keep doing that, baby.” Your fingers inched up the back of his neck, curling into his hair before tugging his head to the side, trailing kisses and your tongue up the side of his neck.

“Is it bad that I kinda wanna sit on your face?” you whispered in his ear, making him groan. “God, please,” he groaned. “I’ll lay down right here if you’ll sit on my face,” he promised. You giggled as he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. You pulled back, gently wiping his bottom lip with your thumb. “I’m serious,” he murmured against your skin.

“Take your panties off and sit on my face.”

You shook your head. “You take my panties off and then I’ll think about sitting on your face.”

Changbin growled, pushing your coffee table back with his foot, wrapping his arms around your body as he got to his feet in an impressive display of strength, before carrying you over to the bed and dumping you unceremoniously on the bed. He climbed on after you, crawling over you.

“Before we go any further,” he said softly. “Are you sure about this?” You nodded quickly. “Yes,” you said, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it under your skirt to press his fingers against your soaked panties. “I want this, Changbin. I want you.”

He groaned, pressing his fingers harder against you as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, tongue hastily entering your mouth as his hand slipped under your panties, finding your soaked center quickly and dragging his finger against your clit. “Ch-Changbin!” you gasped against his lips as his fingers sank into your heat, groaning as he started to move, curling and pumping in and out of your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be so tight around me,” he growled. Your thighs spread on instinct as he fucked your hole with his fingers quickly, attempting to coax an orgasm out of you. “B-Bin,” you whimpered, grabbing his wrist as he moved faster. Your hands trembled as you held onto him, eyes dipping down to watch as his forearm flexed.

Seeing his muscles flex with the simplest of motions made a fresh wave of arousal course through you, your walls clenching around his fingers. Changbin could tell you were close but he really wanted to take up your offer to sit on his face. Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers from your pussy, ignoring the whine of protests as he kissed the pout off your face.

“I told you I was serious,” he said as he grabbed your panties, pulling them off and discarding them.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he added as he laid back on the bed, taking your hands and guided you over him. “Bend over slightly,” he said, pushing to over as he guided your hips into place over his mouth. “You don’t have to do anything,” he added as he licked his lips.

“Just let me have a taste.

You were about to speak but your words were cut short by the gasp that ripped from your throat as his tongue made contact with your clit. Your hands landed on his stomach to steady yourself as he licked slowly and deliberately, flattening his tongue against your clit.

“Oh god,” you groaned, fingers grabbing the material of his sweater. Your eyes fluttered open as you glanced down at his crotch, noticing the outline of his hard cock. You got an idea as he continued to makeout with your pussy. You moved your hand down, sliding it over his cock, making him groan against you. His arms flexed against your thighs as he wrapped them tighter around, hands spreading your folds as he renewed his attention on your entrance, tongue swirling around it before dipping in.

You started to palm him through his pants, pressing your hand flat against him and massaging slowly. He was only semi-hard and as you continued to massage and stroke him over the material of his pants, he started to grow harder and harder under your touch.

You moaned as he latched onto your clit and sucked, making lewd wet slurping noises as he hungrily ate you out. It didn’t deter you from your goal as your fingers worked to undo the ties of his sweatpants. Once you’d gotten them loose, you slid your hand under the waistband, slipping your hand into his boxers and grabbing his hard cock.

He let out a strained noise, moaning against your cunt as your hand started to work his cock inside his pants. His one movement started to move faster as you stroked him, as if to match your movements. “Oh shit,” you gasped as he gently nipped at your clit, the graze of his teeth making your hips buck against his face. You needed to get him to the edge before you came.

You pushed his pants and underwear down, freeing his cock as he latched onto your clit again. His cock was thick, veins running up and down the shaft. The head was dark, a bead of precum already leaking from the slit at the top. 

You wrapped your fingers around the base, ignoring the hiss and hot breath against your pussy as you started to slide your hand up and down, using your palm to spread some of the precum. It wasn’t enough and so you pulled back, spitting into your hand before resuming, your saliva creating a lubricant to move faster and faster.

Changbin let out another strained groan, head falling back against the bed as your hand continued to jerk his cock. Just as you thought you were gaining the upper hand, Changbin snapped out of it, pulling your pussy down onto his waiting mouth, tongue sliding over your clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His focus made yours waver as your hand faltered, sliding to the base of his cock.

“O-oh, god,” you moaned, head falling onto his stomach as he continued to lick, suck, and nip at your clit. Your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding against him as you tried to resume stroking his cock. Lifting your head, you did the only thing you could think of and gave the tip of his cock, particularly the slit, a lick before taking the head into your mouth.

Changbin groaned against you, giving your hip a sharp smack and you cried out, his cock falling from your mouth. Your lapse allowed him to regain control, tonguing your hole until he gave one final suck on your clit and you finally came with a moan of his name.

As your thighs shook from the aftermath of your orgasm, he lapped at your pussy, drinking up every bit of your release before you started to shy away from the contact. He helped you off him, chuckling as you rolled onto your back. Changbin grabbed his pants and underwear, pulling them up as he wiped his face with his shirt.

“I should have made you face the other way,” he said as he helped you out of your top, tossing it aside and pressing a kiss to your collar. His lips trailed down to your breast, running his tongue over your nipple and gently blowing on the wet skin as he kneaded your other breast with his hand.

He sat up, moving to kneel between your thighs, his hands moving up your thighs to your waist, eyeing your wet pussy. “Now that I’ve had a taste,” he said softly. “I want more.” You giggled as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in short, quick kisses. “C’mere,” he murmured, cupping the back of your head as he parted your lips with his, allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth, the taste of your cum on his tongue.

“Changbin,” you sighed, head falling back against the pillows as he kissed down your exposed chest, stopping to tease your nipples with his tongue once more before he sat up, gaze meeting yours, a lazy smirk on his face as he took in your disheveled appearance. A surge of pride swelled in his chest at the sight of you, knowing he was the one responsible.

“Binnie,” you cooed, reaching out for him. He took your hand, bringing your palm to his face and kissing it. “What is it, bunny?” he asked softly, lacing his fingers with yours. Your heart skipped a beat at the intimate gesture, wondering if this meant more to him than you initially thought.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked as he pulled your skirt down past your knees, tossing it aside before pulling his sweatshirt over his head. “Yes,” he answered, discarding the top on the floor with the rest of your clothes. He leaned over pressing light kisses up your body, ghosting over your chest briefly before he met your lips. You giggled as his hands slid up your sides, tickling you.

“I’ve never been more sure than I am now,” he added, mumbling against your lips. “I’ve wanted you for longer than I’d like to admit,” he continued, hands pushing his waistband down with one hand. “Where did you say you keep the condoms?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze.

“Back of the top drawer,” you said, pointing at your bedside table. Changbin scrambled over to the side of the bed, pulling open the drawer and finding the box. He grabbed one, putting the corner of the packet between his teeth as he quickly stripped himself of his pants and underwear before joining you on the bed once more. He tore open the foil packet with his teeth, removed the condom, and rolled it down his length slowly, avoiding your gaze.

Finally he tossed the remnants of the condom wrapper aside, promising he would clean them up later as he shifted into place, grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you closer in one motion, demonstrating his strength. “I promised I’ll be gentle,” he said softly. “But if I start to get out of control, just tell me, alright?” he asked softly, stroking the skin of your thighs. You nodded, licking your lips.

“I will,” you said softly. “But I should tell you something,” you added, watching as he tilted his head curiously. “What’s that?” he asked. “I like it a little rough.” Changbin let out a groan, fingers digging into your thighs. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he said, taking his cock in one hand, guiding the head to your slit. “Makes me want to ruin you.”

You let out a moan as you felt the head of his cock push into you, thighs instinctively squeezing his hips. “You’re tense,” he noted as he felt your walls grip him tightly. “Relax for me,” he added in a soothing tone. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” You took a couple deep breaths, forcing your body to relax, your grip on his cock lessening. “That’s it,” Changbin whispered. “Good girl.”

He pushed in further and it took all of your concentration to relax and not start tensing up again. “Fuck,” he groaned as he slid in without resistance. “Such a good little bunny,” he murmured. The pet name made you moan, clenching around him involuntarily. “Don’t do that,” he grunted, hips meeting the back of your thighs as he bottomed out. “I’m trying not to cum and if you keep doing that,” he said as your walls tightened around him again. “I won’t last.”

“S-sorry,” you stammered, waiting for your bodies to adjust to one another. Changbin let go of your thighs, instead, his hands moving to your hips. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, admiring every inch of skin he could touch. “I could stay like this forever,” he added. “Spend all night fucking you.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful. All your curves, all of this,” he said, running his hands up to your chest, giving you a soft squeeze before moving back down to your hips. “I love every single bit of it.” Your cheeks burned. “Even if I’m not the —” his hand moved to your face, pressing a finger against your lips. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said. “Your body is beautiful. All of it. You are beautiful.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in.

He gave you a thrust, testing the waters and when you moaned instead of wincing, he set a steady pace, hands moving up to your waist as your own hands gripped the sheets. “Oh s-shit,” you gasped, pleasure building in the pit of your stomach, a heat settling in your belly as the pace slowly increased. Changbin slowed down, letting out a chuckle when you pouted.

“I told you,” he said softly. “I’m not trying to cum immediately.”

His pace continued at a slow pace but each thrust was hard and powerful, making you see stars. “Ch-Changbin,” you whined. “Yeah, baby?” he asked breathlessly as he continued, his hips not faltering once. “M-more,” you whimpered. “More? You want more?” he asked. “More of what? Gotta be specific, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned under his gaze as he waited for a response. “F-faster,” you finally managed to squeak out. Changbin chuckled but obliged, giving in to your request easily. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin but not loud enough to drown out your moans. As he reached a fast but comfortable pace, you let out a loud moan, shocking yourself. You quickly raised your hand to cover your mouth but Changbin grabbed your wrist, pinning your hand against the bed.

“Don’t cover your mouth,” he said, shaking his head as he leaned over you, pounding into you, the sound of the bed hitting the wall made your cheeks burn even more. “I want everyone to know how good I make you feel.”

You moaned loudly, unrestrained. “P-pin me down,” you said suddenly, making him hesitate for a moment before he grabbed your other wrist and pinned it down, continuing to fuck you into the sheets. “You’re so strong,” you moaned, thighs squeezing his sides. Changbin let out a groan, cock twitching inside you. He pulled out quickly, making you whine in protest but he was quick to switch places, guiding you to sit on top of him.

“Ride me,” he said. You nodded, aligning his tip with your hole and sinking down on him, letting out a moan as his cock filled your cunt. “Fuck, that’s it, baby. Go on,” he said as you steadied yourself, placing your hands on the bed and raising your hips. Changbin’s hands ghosted over your hips, guiding your movements until you had set a pace.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty on top of me like this,” he groaned, bucking his hips to match your movements. “I like this. Can focus on touching you,” he continued, moving his hands up to cup your chest, kneading your breasts. “You can’t pin me like this, though,” you whined, making him chuckle. “You like that?” he asked breathlessly. “Like it when I hold you down?” You nodded. “I do. Makes me feel so weak.”

Changbin let out a groan, his hands moving, taking your hands. “I could hold your wrists,” he offered. “Or if you’re good and keep riding me like this, I promise I’ll pin you down and fuck you rough, like you want. Just keep going,” he said, placing your hands on his chest. “Keep going.”

You rolled your hips, chasing your high as he nodded and encouraged you. “That’s it, bunny, cum for me and then I’ll pin you down and fuck you just how you want it.” Your eyes fluttered shut as your thighs started to shake. “I-I’m close!” you gasped. “It’s okay. Go ahead and let go, baby.” You let out a moan as your orgasm washed over you. You hadn’t even fully finished when Changbin had flipped you over, pinning your wrists above your head as he took over.

He fucked you through your high, chasing his own as he pounded into you. “Fuck,” he cursed. “So fucking good,” he continued. “Gonna cum again?” he asked, feeling your cunt convulsing around him. “Y-yes!” you cried out, your voice bouncing off the walls of your apartment. “Be good and cum for me,” he grunted. 

You grabbed his hand, guiding it to your throat and he understood without you saying a word. He squeezed gently and a moment later, you came undone once more but this time, Changbin went over the edge with you, releasing into the condom with a moan as his hips continued to thrust weakly until he finally came to a stop, panting as you both let your orgasms sweep over you.

The hand around your throat moved, cupping the back of your neck instead as Changbin pressed a kiss to your forehead. He released your wrists and pulled out of you carefully. Your eyes fluttered shut as he moved about, discarding the condom. He returned to the bed a moment later, helping you into a pair of underwear and an oversized shirt. “We should shower,” you whined as he joined you on the bed.

“Hmm, later,” he replied, wrapping an arm around your midsection and pulling you into him. “It’s late, let’s just sleep,” he added and before you could agree or protest, slumber welcomed you.

The next morning you woke up first and carefully got up, heading to the bathroom to do your business. Afterwards, you returned to bed, settling under the covers with Changbin, accidentally waking him in the process. “Sorry,��� you whispered as you snuggled up next to him. Changbin murmured under his breath and pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you. 

“I spent the night,” he finally said and you nodded. “Yes,” you answered, looking up at him. “You did.”

He looked down at you as a silence fell over you. “I guess we should probably discuss what this means…” he trailed off as you smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean,” you replied. “If you aren’t looking for a relationship and only want a fuck buddy, I’m fine with that.” Changbin winced at the crude remark. “Or if you’d rather it be a one time thing, I’m okay with that, too.”

“I don’t,” Changbin said quickly. “I don’t want it to be a one time thing.” You smiled at him as he spoke. “But I’m not sure if I want a relationship either,” he continued. You pulled him into a kiss before rolling him onto his back as you straddled his hips. “Well, take your time,” you suggested. “Figure out what you want.” You leaned over to kiss him again, trailing your lips down his neck to his chest. 

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere any time soon.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[lovelytsunoda]

welcome to wherever you are // lance stroll

summary: weddings are supposed to be joyous occasions. but for lance's fiancee, the wedding is just another big milestone that her father never lived to see, like her first day of kindergarten, or her high school graduation.

pairing: lance stroll x hutchence!reader

warnings: depictions of greif, mentions of a parental death.

author's note: i've been on such a bender lately listening to inxs, they truly were one of the greatest bands of the 80s, and I think its a shame that things ended like they did with micheal's death in 1997. i could genuinely talk for hours about it, and about the very real daughter he left behind, but for now i'm going to let the fic speak for itself.

also i feel like i've only done smaus lately bc i've just been in a total idea rut and these are so easy to make lmao

y/n.hutchence just posted to her private story!

VOGUE Weddings: Inside the wedding between Aussie-rock darling YN Hutchence and F1 driver Lance Stroll (you might have to click on these to read them properly)

y/n.hutchence just made a post!

liked by lancestroll, kirkpengilly, officialinxs and 34,508 others.

y/n.hutchence today was a hard day, despite being the happiest of my life. like most milestones, it was bittersweet. while i spent most of my day in love, and excited for what's to come, part of me was also grieving. my dad should have been here to walk me down the aisle, to meet my husband. to give a speech at the reception. i miss you, dad. but i know that you'd be so proud of me.

to my lovely lance, thank you for choosing me, for loving me. for reminding me that its okay to feel all the emotions at once. i love you forever, my husband xx

see all comments

lancestroll i love you, my darling wife. you are so strong.

andrewfarriss michael would be so proud of you, kiddo

user the fact that she went public for the day just to speak about her grief on her wedding day . . . that's a caliber of person i could never be

sebastianvettel thank you both for including me in your special day

user she walked down the aisle to 'beautiful girl'....i'm totally not crying my goddamn eyes out

user im not crying you are

user her dad died over 20 years ago....she needs to let it go

-> user lmao imagine telling someone who never knew her father outside of how the media portrayed him after his death to 'get over it'.

mickschumacher 10/10 pasta bar, would come again. your harem of old men scared the crap out of me, though.

-> kirkpengilly old?? who are you calling OLD

-> y/n.hutchence you mean my non-biological uncles? mick, they're the biggest sweethearts

y/n.hutchence just added to her story

y/n.hutchence and lancestroll just posted!

liked by astonmartinf1, sebastianvettel, timfarriss and 29,808 others

lancestroll mr. & mrs. hutchence - stroll, march 2024, sydney australia

see all comments

y/n.hutchence i think lance hutchence sounds pretty great

-> lancestroll and i think y/n stroll sounds pretty good too

scottyjames you're taking her last name? good on you, bro

astonmartinf1 welcome to the family y/n! (or should we say 'welcome to wherever you are'? see what we did there?)

fernandoalonso did anyone else get a little teary eyed during the vows?

-> timfarriss i was right there with you mate

-> mickschumacher i saw esteban cry so hard he gave himself the hiccups

y/n.hutchence hey google, play 'never tear us apart' by inxs ( and say thanks to kirk for playing the sax almost all night)

(next part)

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @lorarri @cartierre @thatsdemko @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh

[minijenn]

Universe Falls art? By MiniJen? In the year of our Lord 2024???? What is happening here??????

What can I say? The Book of Bill made me nostalgic for this stupid ass mistake of a fic and especially for the two fusion blorbos I made up in my brain. Believe it or not, I miss Stepper and Maven so fucking much ya'll have no idea.

DISCLAIMER: Universe Falls is not coming back. I am not going back to writing it. As it stands, the fic is shelved. I am however not against drawing stuff in relation to it because its fun and I like it. Please do not be a fucking freak about me suddenly posting UF stuff again, I'm just being a silly nostalgic bitch. I know this goddamn "fandom" can be vitriolic as hell so please, use some fucking common sense before you go ahead and act a fool. Thanks, babes.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When private equity destroys your hospital

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 9-10), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!

As someone who writes a lot of fiction about corporate crime, I naturally end up spending a lot of time being angry about corporate crime. It's pretty goddamned enraging. But the fiction writer in me is especially upset at how cartoonishly evil the perps are – routinely doing things that I couldn't ever get away with putting in a novel.

Beyond a doubt, the most cartoonishly evil characters are the private equity looters. And the most cartoonishly evil private equity looters are the ones who get involved in health care.

(Buckle up.)

Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tcacik details a national scandal: the collapse of PE-backed hospital chain Steward Health, a company that bought and looted hospitals up and down the country, starving them of everything from heart valves to prescription paper, ripping off suppliers, doctors and nurses, and callously exposing patients to deadly risk:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-02-27-scenes-from-bat-cave-steward-health-florida/

Steward occupies a very special place in the private equity looting cycle. Private equity companies arrange themselves on a continuum of indiscriminate depravity. At the start of the continuum are PE funds that buy productive and useful firms (everything from hospitals to car-washes) using "leveraged buyouts." That means that they borrow money to buy the company and use the company itself as collateral: it's like you getting a bank-loan to buy your neighbor's mortgage out from under them, and using your neighbor's house as collateral for that loan.

Once the buyout is done, the PE fund pays itself a "special dividend" (stealing money the business needs to survive) and then starts charging the business a "management fee" for the PE fund's expertise. To pay for all this, the PE bosses start to hack away at the company. Quality declines. So do wages. Prices go up. The company changes suppliers, opting for cheaper alternatives, often stiffing the old company. There are mass layoffs. The remaining employees end up doing three peoples' jobs, for lower wages, with fewer materials of lower quality.

Eventually, that top-feeding PE company finds a more desperate, more ham-fisted PE company to unload the business onto. That middle-feeding company also does a leveraged buyout, pays itself another special dividend, cuts wages, staffing and quality even further. They switch to even worse suppliers and stiff the last batch. Prices go up even higher.

Then – you guessed it – the middle-feeding PE company finds an even more awful PE bottom-feeder to unload the company onto. That bottom feeder does it all again, without even pretending to leave the business in condition to do its job. The company is a shambling zombie at this point, often producing literal garbage in place of the products that made its reputation. Employees' paychecks bounce, or don't show up at all. The company stops bothering to pay the lawyers that have been fending off its creditors. Those lawyers sue the company, too.

That's the kind of PE company Steward Health was, and, as the name suggests, Steward Health is in the business of stripping away the very last residue of value from community hospitals. As you might imagine, this gets pretty fucking ugly.

Steward owns 32 hospitals up and down the country, though its holdings are dwindling as the company walks away from its debt-burdened holdings, after years of neglect that have rendered them unfit for use as health facilities – or for any other purpose. Tcacik's piece offers a snapshot of one such hospital: Florida's Rockledge Regional Medical Center, just eight miles from Cape Canaveral.

Rockledge is a disaster. The fifth floor was, at one point, home to 5,000 bats.

Five.

Thousand.

Bats.

(Rockledge stiffed the exterminators.)

The bats were just the beginning. One of the internal sewage pipes ruptured. Whole sections of the hospital were literally full of shit, oozing out of the walls and ceiling, slopping over medical equipment.

That's an urgent situation for any hospital, but for Rockledge, it's catastrophic, because Rockledge is a hospital without any hospital supplies. Steward has stiffed the companies that supply "heart valves, urology lasers, Impella catheters, cardiac catheterization balloons, slings for lifting heavier patients, blood and urine test reagents, and most recently, prescription paper." Key medical equipment has been repossessed. So have the Pepsi machines. The hospital cafeteria had its supply of cold cuts repossessed:

https://www.reddit.com/r/massachusetts/comments/1agc1j4/comment/kolicqo/

It's not just Steward's nonpayments that reek of impending doom. Its payments also bear the hallmarks of a scam artist on the brink of blowing off the con. The company recently paid off a vendor with five separate checks for $1m, each drawn on "a random hospital in Utah" (Steward recently walked away from its Utah hospitals; its partners there are suing it for stealing $18m on their way out the door).

This company – which owns 32 hospitals! – has resorted to gambits like sending photos of fake checks to doctors it hasn't paid in months as "proof" that the money was coming (the checks arrived 22 days later).

Steward owes so much money to its employees – $1.66m to just one doctors' group. But the medical staff keep doing their jobs, and are reluctant to speak on the record, thanks to Steward's reputation for vicious retaliation. Those health workers keep showing up to take care of patients, even as the hospital crumbles around them. One clinician told Tcacik: "I watched a bed collapse underneath a [patient] who had just undergone hip surgery."

Rockledge has nine elevators, but only five of them work – the other four have been broken for a year. The hospital's fourth floor has been converted to "a graveyard of broken beds." The sinks are clogged, or filled with foul gunk. There's black mold. Nurses have noted on the maintenance tags that the repair service refuses to attend the hospital until their overdue bills are paid. The fifteen-person on-site maintenance team was cut to just two workers.

Steward is just the latest looting owner of Rockledge. After the Great Financial Crisis, private equity consultants helped sell it to Health Management Associates. The hospital's CEO took home a $10m bonus for that sale and exited; Health Management Associates then quickly became embroiled in a Medicare fraud and kickback scandal. Soon after, Rockledge was passed on to Community Health Systems, who then sold it on to Rockledge.

Steward, meanwhile, was at that time owned by an even bigger private equity giant, Cerberus, which then sold Steward off. That deal was performatively complex and hid all kinds of mischief. Prior to Cerberus's sell-off of Steward, they sold off Steward's real-estate. The buyer was Medical Properties Trust, who gave Cerberus $1.25b for the real-estate: three hospitals in Florida and three more in Ohio. Steward then contracted to operate these hospitals on MPT's behalf, and pay MPT rent for the real-estate.

This complex arrangement was key to siphoning value out of the hospital and to keeping angry creditors at bay – if you can't figure out who owes you money, it's a lot harder to collect on the debt. The scheme was masterminded by Steward founder/CEO Ralph de la Torre. De la Torre is notorious for taking a massive dividend out of the company while it owed $1.4b to its creditors. He bought a $40m yacht with the money.

De la Torre was once feted as a business genius who would "disrupt" healthcare. But as Steward's private jet hops around "Corfu, Santorini, St. Maarten and Antigua" as its hospitals literally crumble, he's becoming less popular. In Massachusetts, politicians have railed against Steward and de la Torre (Governor Healey wants the company to leave the state "as soon as possible").

Florida, by contrast, is much more friendly to Steward. The state Health and Human Services Committee chair Randy Fine is an ardent admirer of hospital privatization and is currently campaigning to sell off the last community hospital in Brevard County. The state inspectors are likewise remarkably tolerant of Steward's little peccadillos. The quasi-governmental agency that inspects hospitals has awarded this shit-and-bat-filled, elevator-free, understaffed rotting hulk "A" grades for quality.

These inspectors jointly represent a mismatched assortment of private and public agencies, dominated by a nonprofit called Leapfrog, the brainchild of Harvard public-health prof Lucian Leape, who founded it in 2000. Leapfrog likes to tout its "transparent" assessment criteria, and Steward are experts at hitting those criteria, spending the exact minimum to tick every box that Leapfrog inspectors use as proxies for overall quality and safety.

This is a pretty great example of Goodhart's Law: "every measurement eventually becomes a target, whereupon it ceases to be a good measurement":

https://xkcd.com/2899/

But despite Steward's increasingly furious creditors and its decaying facilities, the company remains bullish on its ability to continue operations. Medical Properties Trust – the real estate investment trust that is nominally a separate company from Steward – recently hosted a conference call to reassure Wall Street investors that it would be a going concern. When a Bank of America analyst asked MPT's CFO how this could possibly be, given the facility's dire condition and Steward's degraded state, the CFO blithely assured him that the company would get bailouts: "We own hospitals no one wants to see closed."

That's the thing about PE and health-care. The looters who buy out every health-care facility in a region understand that this makes them too big to fail: no matter how dangerous the companies they drain become, local governments will continue to prop them up. Look at dialysis, a market that's been cornered by private equity rollups. Today, if you need this lifesaving therapy, there's a good chance that every accessible facility is owned by a private equity fund that has fired all its qualified staff and ceased sterilizing its needles. Otherwise healthy people who visit these clinics sometimes die due to operator error. But they chug along, because no dialysis clinics is worse that "dialysis clinics where unqualified sadists sometimes kill you with dirty needles":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-dirty-business-of-clean-blood

The bad news is that private equity has thoroughly colonized the entire medical system. They took hospitals, fired the doctors, then took over the doctors' groups that provided outsource staff to the hospital:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets

It's illegal for private equity companies to own doctors' practices (doctors have to own these), but they obfuscated the crime with a paper-thin pretext that they got away with despite its obvious bullshittery:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

The financier who decides whether you live or die depends on an algorithm that literally sets a tolerable level of preventable deaths for the patients trapped in the practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

Private equity also took over emergency rooms and boobytrapped them with "surprise billing" – junk fees that ran to thousands of dollars that you had to pay even if the hospital was in network with your insurer. They made billions from this, and spent a many millions from that booty keeping the scam alive with scare ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

The whole health stack is colonized by private equity-backed monopolies. Even your hospital bed!

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

Then there's residential care. Private equity cornered many regional markets on nursing homes and turned them into slaughterhouses, places where you go to die, not live:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

The palliative care sector is also captured by private equity. PE bosses hire vast teams of fast-talking salespeople who con vulnerable older people into entering an end-of-life system before they are ready to die. Thanks to loose regulation, the nation is filled with fake hospices that can rake in millions from Medicare while denying all care to their patients (hospice patients don't get life-extending medication or procedures, by definition):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

If you survive this long enough, Medicare eventually tells the hospice that you're clearly not dying and you get kicked off their rolls. Now you have to go through the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare of convincing the system – which was previously informed that you were at death's door – that you are actually viable and need to start getting care again (good luck with that).

If that kills you, guess what? Private equity has rolled up funeral homes up and down the country, and they will scam your survivors just as hard as the medical system that killed you did:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori

The PE sector spent more than a trillion dollars over the past decade buying up healthcare companies, and it has trillions more in "dry powder" allocated for further medical acquisitions. Why not? As the CFO of Medical Properties Trust told that Bank of America analyst last week, when you "own hospitals no one wants to see closed." you literally can't fail, no matter how many people you murder.

The PE sector is a reminder that the crimes people commit for money far outstrip the crimes they commit for ideology. Even the most ideological killers are horrified by the murders their profit-motivated colleagues commit.

Last year, Tkacic wrote about the history of IG Farben, the German company that built Monowitz, a private slave-labor camp up the road from Auschwitz to make the materiel it was gouging Hitler's Wehrmacht on:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Farben bought the cheapest possible slaves from Auschwitz, preferentially sourcing women and children. These slaves were worked to death at a rate that put Auschwitz's wholesale murder in the shade. Farben's slaves died an average of just three months after starting work at Monowitz. The situation was so abominable, so unconscionable, that the SS officers who provided outsource guard-labor to Monowitz actually wrote to Berlin to complain about the cruelty.

The Nuremberg trials are famous for the Nazi officers who insisted that they were "just following order" but were nonetheless executed for their crimes. 24 Farben executives were also tried at Nuremberg, where they offered a very different defense: "We had a fiduciary duty to our shareholders to maximize our profits." 19 of the 24 were acquitted on that basis.

PE is committed to an ideology that is far worse than any form of racial animus or other bias. As a sector, it is committed to profit above all other values. As a result, its brutality knows no bounds, no decency, no compassion. Even the worst crimes we commit for hate are nothing compared to the crimes we commit for greed.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/retaliation#charnel-house

[celli-ohs]

I Can't, I Have Rehearsal

pairing: socially awkward!park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: What happens when you get seated right next to the most handsome boy in your entire grade? Well you thought it'd be a great excuse to get to know him better, but the guy won't even talk to you! After a mishap in the science lab, you come to find out that Park Sunghoon, the cold-hearted prince of EN High, isn't in fact rude, he's just afraid of women.

before you read: character profiles

warnings: language, cooties, wild subplot, loser enhypen

word count: 2.03k

taglist (open):

note: part 1 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Log 2: Tuesday - March 5th, 2024

“I can’t believe you almost fainted,” Sunoo looks concerned as the six of them are again walking to school.

“I know, good thing I had that choco pie in my pocket,” Jaeyun smiles. “Thanks,” Sunghoon nudges his arm.

“I can’t believe you ate nothing all day and thought you wouldn’t faint.” Jongseong scoffs. “I always knew you were stupid, but that’s something Riki would do, not you.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Riki frowns. 

“Good, maybe that’ll get you to eat your goddamn vegetables next time.”

Riki opens his mouth to argue back, but Jungwon suddenly hisses.

“He’s back! Do something!” The younger boy’s eyes are wide as they catch sight of Heeseung randomly following the group.

Jungwon pushes not Jongseong, but Jaeyun, who stumbles as he approaches Heeseung. 

“Hey man,” He calls out awkwardly. 

“Oh! Jaeyun! Look, I brought this to show you!” As Heeseung digs into his bag, Sunghoon notices Jaeyun’s demeanor change from stiff to relaxed. 

Whatever Heeseung pulls out, it makes Jaeyun gasp. “Naur way!” He exclaims excitedly. 

“Damn, I thought he’d have more balls than Jongseong, guess I was wrong.” Jungwon pouts. 

In turn, Jongseong glares at the younger boy.

“You try telling him no! Look him in the eyes- his big, round, doe eyes that shine like he’s constantly on the verge of tears. You won’t be able to, trust me.” Jongseong spits. 

Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Jeez, fine whatever, I’ll just make Riki do it next time.”

Riki holds his hands up in defense. “No can do.”

“What? He’s got you too?!” 

“You just don’t get it Jungwon, that’s a homie right there, even if he’s a little weird and obsessed with an animated furry.” Riki shakes his head.

“Why are you talking like that? You need to stop hanging out with Riki C, he’s rubbing off on you.” Sunoo sneers.

“Riki C is cool! Unlike you.” Riki argues. Sunoo just rolls his eyes. 

“Hey,” Sunghoon finally speaks up. “Do any of you want to join the calligraphy club?”

“Pfft…”

“Fuck all of you.” Sunghoon groans, walking faster. As he walks away, he hears Riki cackling.

“Dude!” Jongseong calls out. “You know I've got baseball after, they’re really strict too, they wouldn’t let me.”

“I would love to ditch taekwondo to do nothing for you, but they all kinda suck so they need me there.” Jungwon sighs. 

Sunghoon turns around to his friends with a desperate look of pleading. “Sunoo?”

“I’m trying out for the theater club, sorry Sunghoon,” Sunoo gives him a sad smile. 

Sunghoon didn't even wait for Riki to answer, the boy was still laughing, wiping away fake tears.

“I asked Jaeyun yesterday, he said he can’t since he’s the new soccer vice-captain.” He mumbles as he slows down to allow his friends to catch up.

“You know, girls aren’t that bad. I mean what happened to you- that was years ago, you were seven.” Sunoo reminds him.

Sunghoon ignores him, waving him off. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Yo Sunghoon!” Riki runs over, throwing an arm over his shoulder. 

“Get off of me.” Riki doesn’t move as Sunghoon tries to shove him off. 

“Why don’t you try asking Heeseung?”

Heeseung? Now that could actually be a great idea in disguise.

A loser like Heeseung could drive you to resign from the calligraphy club, and allow Sunghoon to keep the club and old library.

He spins around, joining Heeseung and Jaeyun. 

“-totally come over and we can build a set-“

“Hey Heeseung, I have a question.” Sunghoon clears his throat. The older boy looks up at him curiously (he really did have big eyes).

“Sure, what’s up?”

Nervously, Sunghoon wavers.

“Would you- uh like to join the calligraphy club with me?”

Silence…

“Oh,” Heeseung wears an odd expression, one Sunghoon would later recognize as pity. 

“Sorry, I’m trying out for the basketball club this year. Calligraphy is kinda not my thing.”

Riki’s laughter echoed through Sunghoon’s skull all morning.

Sunghoon’s busy scribbling down notes in his workbook when you tap the side of his desk with your pencil. 

“Hey, Sunghoon,” You whisper. He freezes (because for some weird reason he still believes that if he doesn’t move, you won’t see him).

“Sunghoon,” You try again. 

Okay, so you can see him. He clears his throat, and slightly, slightly tilts his head towards your direction.

“What time are we meeting tomorrow?” You whisper. 

As soon as possible and as little as possible.

“Right after school. Thirty minutes.” He grunts.

“Only thirty minutes?! How about an hour?” You try to barter with him. An hour?! He can’t be alone with you for an hour.

“Thirty minutes isn’t enough time to learn calligraphy.” You explain quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see your hand as it grips your pencil. They look so much smaller and fragile than his own.

“Fine, an hour,” He concedes. He guess he did need to teach you the basics. He’d probably breeze through it in a couple of minutes, then let you do whatever.

“Cool, thanks.” You finally lean back into your seat, giving the boy some space. 

“-partnered up with the person beside you for the chemistry lab later today. Don’t forget to wear goggles and an apron.” Ms. Hong announces. The word partnered catches Sunghoon’s ear.

“Looks like we’re partners for chemistry too,” You say, sounding enthusiastic. “Are you any good?” 

Sunghoon doesn’t respond, because he can’t believe his fate.

“Are you a psychopath?” Riki asks Sunghoon as he eats his lunch. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it's gross.” Jongseong moves to smack his arm.

Riki ignores him, dodging his attack. “Like how the hell do you hate your seatmate, she’s hot!”

Sunghoon finally looks up from his plate to give Riki a nasty glare. 

“I don’t hate her. I just- did you just call her hot?” He’s a bit bewildered as all eyes fall on the youngest in the group. 

“What? I got curious, okay? I took a peek in his class when I went on a bathroom break earlier.” Riki explains. “And you cannot blame me for thinking she’s pretty, she is! Jaeyun, you've seen her!” He huffs, pointing to the other boy opposite him. 

“I mean yeah,” Jaeyun looks embarrassed as he admits this. For some reason, this has Sunghoon’s cheeks heating up.

“I don’t hate her, I just find it hard to talk to her.” Sunghoon explains. 

“Have you ever even tried talking to her though?” Sunoo points out. “Wait- actually, have you ever tried looking at her?” 

The table quiets as all the attention is now on Sunghoon. 

“I have! Remember I told you guys we made eye contact?!” He defends himself. 

“Okay but did you get a good look at her? What’s her hair color?” Jungwon asks suspiciously. 

Sunghoon purses his lips, squinting as he fishes through his memory. Unfortunately for him, the moment you two locked eyes was so traumatic for him, he practically deleted it from his brain. 

“...Bla-rown?” His friends all sigh, rolling their eyes.

“You’ve gotta get over your weird fear of women, it’s not like they’re all going to disappear one day.” Jongseong shakes his head. 

“Are you gay?” Heeseung pokes in. (When the hell did he get here?!)

“No, I’m not gay.” Sunghoon groans. “And I know I need to get over it, but it’s kinda hard when you know every single girl at school hates your guts.”

There’s an odd silence that overtakes the table, something Sunghoon doesn’t notice because of how distraught he is.

“Does he not know-” "Shhh!" Jongseong quickly shushes Heeseung. 

“We’re afraid it’ll get to his head, we haven’t figured out a way to tell him yet.” He mumbles under his breath. Heeseung nods cautiously.

Jaeyun awkwardly chuckles, patting Sunghoon’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay man, baby steps, maybe try looking at her back or something today.” The others nod in agreement, giving small encouraging words.

“Or maybe just stop being a pussy and-” “RIKI!”

Chemistry lab couldn’t come any sooner.

Sunghoon stands awkwardly to the side as you put on your goggles. When you turn to look at him, his eyes shift to the floor. 

“How do I look?” You ask.

He shrugs, putting his goggles on as well. He was genuinely trying to look in your direction, it was just hard to undo all the training his brain had adapted to. 

But Sunghoon knew he had to do at least one thing today: learn your hair color. That was his challenge he’d set up for himself (after becoming embarrassed at lunch).

He had to be able to do at least that. Hearing his friends and their concerns about him had Sunghoon reevaluating his life choices. Jongseong was right, he couldn’t avoid women forever.

And it’s not like he actually hated women… believe it or not Sunghoon has had a crush on a girl before, after his incident he might add. (It did not help that she rejected him and that kind of worsened his fear… but that’s beside the point.)

So as you’re busy going over what equipment you two need, Sunghoon is trying to work up the courage to turn his head around.

“I’m gonna be right back, we’re missing a beaker,” You tell him, stepping away to find your chemistry teacher. Once you’re gone, Sunghoon makes eye contact with Jaeyun, who is staring straight at him, not hiding his disappointment at all.

Go talk to her! His eyes read. Sunghoon shakes his head aggressively. 

You’re unbelievable! Jaeyun throws his hands into the air, sighing as he turns around back to his own table.

“I found us an extra beaker,” You sneak up on him, Sunghoon jumps at the sound of your voice. You don’t seem to notice him acting weirder than normal and continue to do your work.

After returning to your seat, you begin to lead the two of you through the procedure: measuring all the liquids out, writing down numbers, heating up substances on the bunsen burner. 

And Sunghoon quietly follows your directions, allowing you to hand him certain beakers and graduated cylinders that need to be weighed and recording data you call out.

In reality, he’s hyping himself up in his mind, trying to force himself to look up just enough to get a good look at your head. He begins to tune you out, much too worried about himself to focus on the class.

But maybe he was too distracted, - because it’s not until you’re less than a centimeter away from him, leaning over the table to grab a test tube does he notice the little distance between the two of you.

Suddenly his brain implodes, and in an attempt to save himself, Sunghoon leaps back. Only for him to trip on his own chair and land right on his ass, bringing his seat down with him.

You gasp, quickly pulling his chair away as Sunghoon begins to feel the pain from his fall.

“Are you okay? Here, let me help you up-”

Sunghoon flinches when you reach out to him, eyes wide as your delicate fingers try to grab ahold of him. 

“Sunghoon,” You scoff, sweeping your hair out of your face as you bend down, hand still open for him. “You act like I’ve got cooties or something,” You joke, laughing to yourself. 

But Sunghoon doesn’t laugh, he’s frozen, stiff with fear that you of all people have found him out. You stop laughing.

“Oh my god, do you actually think I have cooties?” You come to the realization, mumbling to yourself. 

This would be the second time (new record as Jungwon would say) Sunghoon meets your eyes. And just like he’d suspected you’re revolted by him. 

Not able to take the pain and humiliation, Sunghoon scrambles up and runs right out of the classroom. 

“Sunghoon! Wait!” You call out to him, but nothing could stop him from the immense feeling of shame as he ran off to hide.

He might not ever be able to return to school again, snatching Riki’s dream of being the resident high school dropout, but at least Sunghoon can say he now knows the color of your hair.

Maybe... he didn't get a good look.

Log 1: Monday - March 4th, 2024 | Log 3: Wednesday - March 6th, 2024

I Can't, I Have Rehearsal masterlist | and scene! series masterlist | kpop masterlist

reply/comment for taglist!

[mayakern]

upcoming store stuff & why we're doing a super sale

omg hiiii it's devin again, and this time i'm bringing store news

the short version: we're moving ourselves back to minnesota, and we're moving order fulfillment to a fulfillment center

wow, that's big news! maya and i are so so so excited to be closer to our minnesota friends (and also my family lol). i'm hoping to be back in northeast minneapolis, but let's be real we're probably gonna get priced out and into the suburbs

in addition to that, due to a variety of reasons i'll explain in more detail below, we're transitioning from in-house fulfillment to working with a fulfillment center (or 3pl, short for third-party logistics). we're at an awkward size that makes staffing difficult and have had issues with extended processing time. the 3pl should be set up by september, and we're working on the back end to have fulfillment centers in australia, canada, the UK, and eventually the EU. if tax authorities work with us we should have all that ready by december 2024!

to prepare for that we're doing a super sale. ash told me not to call it liquidation but she said that like 30 seconds after i hit send on the marketing email, sorry about that. items that we don't want to pay to move to the 3pl are discounted by 25-70%, with some of them priced at cost. under no circumstances will anything ever be 70% off again

if you're nosy you can read the q&a i made up in my head while eating pigs in a blanket:

how are the labor protections at the 3pl?

pretty good! we were shocked to find anything even halfway decent in the US; we went looking for a fulfillment center in the EU to handle all international fulfillment, and the one we found just so happened to have bought a US location two years ago.

they're located in ohio, pay $19/hr, and provide health insurance and 401k matching. that seemed too good to be true so we dug through employee reviews on places like glassdoor, and while there were some bad reviews those were all dated prior to when the facility was purchased by this new company. they also have a very low turnover rate which is a HUGE green flag

why are you transferring to a 3pl?

the serious

sometimes we have a high volume of sales, and it makes sense to have two full-time employees plus a part timer! but usually we have a low-to-medium volume of sales. we can float by on that, but it gets risky, and the economy is in a bad enough state that we're concerned about the longevity

related, the 2023 holiday sale showed us some major flaws in our fulfillment process. if the same issues were to happen this year the business probably wouldn't survive

we're moving cross-country in early 2025 and would've had to close this location anyway

the dumb:

i'm sick of dealing with commercial landlords and if i have one more wall leak i'm going to throw it into the river brick by brick

what about your staff?

unfortunately we will have to say goodbye to our office staff. they have been given 3.5 months notice and no-questions-asked PTO for interviews with a small severance

why are you moving back to minnesota?

troy was always meant to be a temporary move. initially the plan was to move to vermont or massachusetts, but after being out here for 7 years we just kinda want to go home. the weather in troy is perfect for us, we love the mountains, and we have some great friends here, but for some goddamn reason we want our eyelashes to freeze together.

will you be returning to midwest cons?

if we return to cons at all it will be with ariel and/or ash running the booth, maya will not be involved. this would likely be in california and/or in the northeast US.

my friends are begging me to go to CONvergence as an attendee so ig you might see me there? maya has pledged death before crowded venues tho

will you do any local events in minnesota?

we might do sample sales. honestly idk what we're gonna do with the samples we have in troy, most of them are terrible. do you want samples of the strangest low rise bell bottom pants ever created? please take them from me. my bush hangs out

also my kid brother has gotten really into library events and if he asks nice enough we might do some of those

is there anything else?

i mean probably, but i started this last week and i haven't had any other ideas on what to include

[achromatophoric]

Wenclairtober 2024, Day 30 - Hallows Eve

On Halloween night at Nevermore Academy, Yoko pounds on a certain dormitory door while flanked by Divina and Bianca. All three are still in costume (witches from Agatha All Along) and armed with anti-demon weaponry.

Yoko: OPEN UP, ADDAMS!! WE KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE!!

Bianca: I can’t believe that psycho summoned another one. Last year was bad enough.

Divina: You said it. I had nightmares for weeks after we finally banished that— that thing. *shudders*

Yoko: *pounds again* HEY! FULL MENTAL ALCHEBITCH, IF YOU DON’T—shit!

Yoko nearly falls into the room as the door swings open to reveal—

Wednesday: What do you want?

Yoko/Divina/Bianca: 😲🫢😧

Divina: *stifling urge to awww* Are—Are you dressed as Kiki from Kiki’s Delivery Service?

Wednesday: Yes. Again, what do you want?

Bianca: *shakes off surprise* Addams, we know you’ve summoned another demon.

Wednesday: Don’t absurd. I’ve done no such thing.

Yoko: Oh yeah? Then explain those horrifying sounds!

Wednesday: What sounds? I hear no such—

N̷̨͈̠͌͌͒̂n̸̲̮̗͚̄́̾n̸͖͗̑g̷̟̬̠̙̏̀̊̚ǵ̸̛͍͐̂h̴̭̦͔̍ḩ̵̣̂͋̾̿. G̵̳̥̈́̓r̴͚̙̈́̏̾r̵͖͝r̶̢̡̫̗̳̤͐̈̀a̶̧̻͓̦͊̂͗Á̸̲̙̺̲̹͍̆̚R̷̟͈̆ȑ̷̭̩̦͒̍̚͝ǵ̶̛̲̰̩͆͊̿̋n̸̤̙̖̦̫̦̄n̷͕͇̼̘̙̣̈́̊̃͋̄̍n̷̢͆g̷̪͊̃̾̚u̸̥͠h̸͕̮͒̾̈́. U̷̱͈͓͆̃̈́̚u̷̥͒͌̓̾r̵͔̻̳̫̳̀͘r̴̢̘̙͓͖̅̿̌p̵̫͛̅̑̈̃͜g̷̪͊̃̾̚. U̸̧̲̅̔͝r̵̛͍̙̩͇̥͔͋͊̑̆͊͛̋̈̃ȑ̶̛͈̰̖̜̠͂̈́͒͆̈̉̇̌̚͝g̵̨̢͔̩̥͙̱̼͙̰̞̟͒̄̀̄̈h̶̡̧̧̥̙̮̺͔̼͓͗̾̒̓̄̑͋̽̾͌̓͜͝N̵̛̺̦͕̘̣͖̙͖̍̀͒̋̃̽̈̊̽͘̕n̶͕̤͇̗̥̔u̷̱̠͖̮̘͈̟̯̺̘̗̔͗͆́̚g̷̟̟͗͋͐̏ͅͅh̶̛͙̗̤̐̈͐̾̇̓̾!

Yoko/Divina/Bianca: 😬😟🤨

Wednesday: 😒

Wednesday: Ah. Those sou—

Bianca: Yes those sounds! Now outta the way!

Bianca pushes past Wednesday and immediately raises her blessed rapier. The others follow, much to Wednesday’s annoyance.

Wednesday: How dare you enter—

Yoko: Now where’s that goddamn—

Divina: I’m really sorry, Wednesday, but—

Bianca: I think it’s coming from over—

Yoko and Divina accordion into Bianca, who manages to stay rooted in place.

Yoko: Hey! What gives, B! Is it the… whut?

Divina: Oh crap! I almost stabbed you! Why did… did… ohmygawd!

Wednesday: *resigned sigh* I apologize, mi lobita. I failed to keep them at bay.

At the far side of the room, before the iconic spiderweb window, lies the source of those demonic noises. It is massive, furred, and surrounded by a dense carpet of torn candy wrappers.

Enid: *groans pitifully*

Yoko/Divina/Bianca: 😬🫢😑

Yoko: *under breath* Lobita? More like loba gorda.

Wednesday: *shoots Yoko a venomous glare*

Divina: Ohmygawd. She— She’s dressed as TOTORO. *chokes down squeal*

Bianca: Okay. What the actual fuck am I seeing?

Enid: *fails to roll over in shame*

Wednesday: Is it not obvious? The people of Jericho were quite generous when presented with over four hundred pounds of glorious werewolf—

Bianca: *eyeroll* Who wouldn’t be?

Wednesday: —and thus we returned home with quite simply an apocalyptic quantity of sugar-infested delights.

Enid: *pathetic whine*

Bianca: *peers at Enid* Huh. Lemme guess. Fenrir here thought it was a good idea to eat it all in one sitting.

Wednesday: Yes. She… disregarded my suggestion to shift back and ration out her spoils.

Enid: N̵͇͉͐̍ṉ̸͍̤̟̎́͝g̴̠̰͍̈́͛̽̎h̸̛͔̤d̵̮͌̂h̵̫̩́ m̵̮̎ŗ̴̛͕r̵̥͎̣̙̽͘f̴͍̾̃.

Wednesday: *snaps* Just because your wolf can ‘fit it all’ does not mean that it should.

Enid: 🥺

Bianca: *sheaths rapier* Huh. Well uh— I guess you’re all good then. Let’s get outta—

Bianca looks around, only to spot Divina crouched beside Totoro’s Enid’s bloated form, throwing up a peace sign as Yoko takes multiple pics.

Bianca: 😑

Bianca: Hey! We’re going! I wanna finish that movie!

Divina: Awww, but Bianca! She’s TOTORO!

Yoko: *snickers* Yeah, if you rolled Totoro through Willy Wonka’s factory like Katamari Damacy.

Enid: *begins to growl*

Wednesday: *gritted teeth* Tanaka. Do not aggravate my—

The mountain of gluttonous wolf suddenly ceases growling, then abruptly jerks with something akin to a hiccup.

Enid: *distressed* Ú̴̲́͊͜l̵̺̝͙͎̖͙͛p̴̠̬̲̈͑̐̀̕!

Yoko: The fuck was that?

Divina: Oh no! Are you okay, Totoro?

Bianca: *already at door* Good luck, idiots!

Wednesday: *eyes widen* Enid? Oh. Oh no…

As the door swings shut behind Bianca, Wednesday makes a mad dash for the window’s portal. She frantically swings it open.

Wednesday: You two—roll her onto the balcony! QUICKLY!

Yoko/Divina: 🤨😯

The lovers share a look of confusion, only to have their attentions drawn back to Enid when a powerful shiver runs through her. It causes the floor to rattle with an intensity that nears seismic.

Wednesday: *hisses* You slack-jawed IMBECILES!

Yoko and Divina simply turn to watch as Wednesday tears for her desk. The seer verifies with a quick scan that every drawer is shut, grabs her typewriter, and makes a running dive for the window portal.

Divina: What is she—

Yoko: Bitch, what are—

Enid: *deep, gurgling breath*

The two remaining occupants go silent as, in unison, they turn to find themselves in the shadow of a hulking, heaving werewolf. Enid’s tongue lolls out of a gaping maw thick with drool, which happens to be aimed straight at—

Yoko/Divina: 😱😱

Enid Mount St. Clair: *ERUPTS*

— Outside on the balcony. —

Wednesday leans back against the window as it rattles violently in its frame.

Yoko/Divina: *garbled screams*

Wednesday: 🤔

Wednesday: Now the question is— Will it be rainbow?

[rinaforpages]

how (not) to survive academic invalidation

park gunwook x reader

hahahha...

using the american hs system bcs wow! im american... (i half wrote this at the end of last school yr so)

warnings: swearing, self-deprecation (obv), yn hits themself, angst with a bit of fluff at the end, reader is actually smart but surrounds themself with geniuses.

2.6k words

________________________________

# 1 dont compare yourself

"junior year kicks everyones ass." you wanted to kick whoever said that ass. not only was the school work kicking your ass, your friends and classmates seemed to be doing just fine.

they were working on ap chemistry minus laura and gunwook who were working on ap environmental science, and you, who took neither of those classes, felt extremely out of place, doing your ap us history homework.

"whats species richness again?" laura asked gunwook, who quickly answered her question. you looked up, planning to ask the soon-to-be early graduate a question, only to see him helping sarah with a chemistry problem.

you weren't like them and you despised that. your friends were top of the class, an average of a 4.4 gpa, an early graduate (and first in the 2024 class overall) and there you sat with your measly 3.75. they were in 3-4 ap classes, and you sat there, struggling through your 2. (in your defense, ap lang and apush are the two hardest aps juniors could take).

you didnt excel in any way shape or form. they had just about an a in every class (minus ryan in french, who had a b), and a b was your most common grade.

a good 10 minutes later you had finished struggling through apush, you moved on to mandarin. you were the only one who took mandarin, everyone else opting for french. the characters jumbled your brain as your friends spoke in french, seemingly coming easy to them.

you heard footsteps walk by, and ricky laid a hand on your shoulder, looking over. "thats wrong." he said simply. the french kids careened their necks to look at you. he grabbed your pencil and wrote the right character, then walked away. you hummed as you circled the characters you didnt know, opting to ask zhang hao over bothering ricky again.

"you ok over there?" gunwook asked. you scowled.

"i dont understand why there are so many idioms! im losing my goddamn mind." parker laughed, mumbling that you chose the language. you couldnt (or didnt want to) voice your doubts as you thought you could.

as they focused their attention on their homework again, you waved over zhang hao, who hanbin had asked to help cut fruits for you and your friends. he set down a plate in front of you, then sat down.

"what does 开夜车 mean zhang hao please im gonna kill myself." he laughed as hanbin looked up, extremely concerned.

"you know 熬夜, right?" you nodded "so its kind of like that but youre doing work. it literally means burn the midnight oil" you thanked him as he patted your head, pulling the plate of fruit away from your friends and toward you, gunwook making a sound of discontent.

you sighed, packing up your bag at a text from your oldest brother. he was home from his masters program in germany, apparently, and was now waiting outside the dorm. you loved your older brothers, you really did, but they were so much smarter than you ever will be. the oldest graduated magna cum laude from mit, now achieving an accelerated masters for mechanical engineering, and the younger was attending harvard for premed, both completely full ride.

your friends, finally re-noticing you, looked up. "where are you going?" gunwook asked, shushing yujin.

"brothers here," you mumbled, not wanting to wreck your self-esteem any more than you had. sarah pouted, but nodded, whipping out her phone. gunwook opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it. "bye hao, thanks for the help. bye, hanbin and jiwoong!" the three oldest members waved back, hanbin hugging you as you walked by. when you got in your fathers' car that your brother was driving, you spilled your guts.

# 2 dont fall behind

at some point, your motivation fell through. all you wanted to do was lie down and stare at the ceiling all day. sadly though, education laws (and school rules) prevailed.

as you trudged up the stairs from last lunch to pre-calculus, you cursed the architects of the three-floor building and whoever required you to go to school.

two of your friends—laura and ryan—had junior priv, which meant they left early. sarah and coral (who had missed the study session) were in ap chem, and gunwook left for a shoot. without your friends to motivate you to work harder, you felt there was nothing left for you to do.

you had fallen asleep in mandarin earlier that day, so why were you still exhausted?

quick answer: you had stayed up late finishing your apush bonus points.

actual answer: you had no motivation to do anything.

you were falling behind on homework: what used to be doing homework as soon as you got home turned into doing it right before class. a teacher had approached your freshman-year english teacher about it, the one teacher who you could talk easily to. yujin was standing right there; they mustve not have realized you two knew each other.

ricky and zhang hao had invited you over for a cdrama binge session. (ricky said "itll help you" in his texts.) but yujin quickly pulled you aside.

"youre falling behind?" he asked, pointedly. you sighed, nodded, opening your mouth to reply as gunwook walked by, asking what you were doing.

"nothin! ricky and hao invited me over." the words rushed out, and they were so not convincing, but gunwook shrugged and moved to sit down beside ricky and gyuvin. you hushed yujin and walked over and sat down beside hao. gunwook stared at you.

"come here." he motioned, shoving ricky off the couch. you hesitated as you made eye contact ricky, but eventually, there were only so many thumps against the couch you could take. "see? more comfortable over here" you hit him, and he let out a yelp.

"do you have much homework, yn?" taerae asked, setting down a bowl of popcorn.

"only a couple of classes," you replied, shoving a kernel in your mouth.

matthew laughed, "the usual suspects, im guessing?" you nodded. gunwook threw a (toned) arm around you as the two chinese members debated the drama.

"how much have you done? its sunday." gunwook asked, lightly, rubbing circles on your arm with his thumb.

"i can do it all tonight and tomorrow." you sighed, the sentence reminding you of where you are in school. gunwook hummed.

"make sure you get sleep, though. you need sleep, its not healthy if you dont." fuck. you were in deep shit in two ways. you were falling deeper into your rut, and you were falling deeper in love with your childhood best friend.

# 3 dont be too hard on yourself

...was easier said than done. your mind cursed you every time you got a bad grade. you wondered what was the point: you werent good enough to get into the likes of yale, or any of your colleges for that matter.

you had long since fallen off the ladder. it had injured you your 8th-grade year, and every attempt to climb back to where you were or any pushing from a 3rd party proved futile, as you only slipped and fell back down again.

the sat was fast approaching, and every practice test you did was never where you wanted them to be. every stupid math problem you got wrong brought a punch to your head. you had called gunwook, only realizing when he didnt pick up that he was in a shoot. panicked, you hung up before the voicemail. when he called you back (10 times with his members also calling you), you opted to ignore it. it was getting late, anyhow, and you had to go in early for apush in the morning.

apush lab made you want to kill yourself. sarah sat next to you, but everything always seemed to favor her. the quizzes, the teacher. it was unfair, really. american history was supposed to be your thing. so why were you struggling? after lab, sarah asked you what was wrong. "gunwook had called us in a panic because you didn't pick up." you shook your head, lying through your teeth.

"i had a question, but then passed the fuck out like 5 minutes later." sarah laughed and nodded, saying she was glad you got proper sleep, mumbling something about the aforementioned friend. when you asked, she waved you off, the man himself standing outside your classroom. he swung an arm around you as sarah walked in the opposite direction to her next class. he asked you the same thing. you lied to him too, but he looked less convinced. he didnt press you further, though, as you two began to walk down the stairs to your creative writing workshop—a senior elective you had begged your guidance counselor to take. gunwook took it to fill spots in his schedule.

the teacher loved him. as did everyone. you wondered if you could ever experience that. your oldest friend was everything you weren't and it was a point of contention inside your mind. you cursed yourself that you were nothing like him. gunwook nudged you in the middle of class when you were given an opportunity to work, asking what was wrong.

"i know thats not why you called me and then didn't pick up. you're also in your head right now." he pointed out, softly. you hummed, scribbling down something in your notebook.

"i just... i had a question but it was stupid. i figured it out." he looked at you pointedly, a look that told you to tell him the truth. "seriously! im ok!" he nodded, grabbing your hand for a squeeze.

# 4 do your best

you were nervous. ok nervous was an understatement. you rocked from heel to toe as you awaited the announcement that the doors were open. your friends chattered nervously around you. for them, this was the first time they were taking the sat. this was your second. you had gotten a 1340 on your first try—nowhere near where you wanted it to be. your brothers had gotten 1600 and 1590, respectively.

you were on call with all your friends the night before, gunwook coaching you guys through certain questions. he had texted you, (only you, but you didnt know that) wishing you luck. ricky and zhang hao had wished you luck as well.

everything seemed like bricks in your bag. it was only a couple of things—a computer, for the digital sat, a pencil, a calculator, a water bottle, and a banana. but it felt like you had hundreds of textbooks in your bag for no reason at all.

the doors swung open, and you rushed up to your assigned room. the setup was a blur, and the reading section seemed to be so too. during the break, your friends voiced similar opinions. then, during math, you began to struggle. somewhere along the way, though, gunwook popped into your head. you dont know if it was   because you wanted to make him proud, or you didnt want to disappoint your oldest friend and crush, but it worked. you powered through module 1 and 2, module 2 being the toughest one by far.

when the results came back two weeks later, you waited with baited breath as your friends skipped class with you to check all of your scores. gunwook held your hand as you refreshed the page.

"i dont want to look." you said, hiding your face in his chest.

"ill look for you." he mumbled into your hair, scrolling down. you felt him smile into the crown of your head, "i knew you could do it, sweetheart." you looked, and a big glaring 1590 stared back at you.

"wook!! holy shit a 1590!!" you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tight.

# 5 talk about it

you sat with your friends and the members as you awaited gunwook's family's arrival. gunwook smiled from his seat on the gymnasium floor, holding up his phone. almost on instinct, you all checked your own.

wook🩵: this'll be you guys next year. ill be up there watching you all.

sarah burst in to tears. laura full on sobbed, and ryan and carols eyes were brimming with tears. as you read the text again and again, you got a separate text.

wook🩵: i'm proud of you y'know? i saw you struggling a bit at the end there but you made it through. i love you, yn. im glad to call you my friend.

i love you i love you i-

"hey yn sweetheart!" gunwooks mom sat next to you. his brother waved, and his father gave you a curt nod.

"hi. you guys must be excited." his mom laughed, nodding, then shoving your shoulder.

"im more excited about something else." you opened your mouth to ask her what, but the ceremony started

giving gunwook his graduation flowers made him blush. he shook his head. "do you not like them, wook? i thought theyre your favorites." he shook his head again, dropping the flowers into his mom's hands, grabbing your face.

"you are clueless, yknow that? i gave you so many hints. everyone knows." when you asked him what he meant, "yn, you didnt think id notice you putting yourself down? you know i cant fucking stand that. sorry mom. it kills me that the love if my life doesnt realize how fucking amazing they are, and it kills me that they dont realize that im in love with them." at this point, you dont know what you were doing. because gunwook was confessing to you that he both likes you and that he knows about your self-deprication. so now, surrounded by friends and seniors, gunwooks family and members, you kissed him.

it wasnt like anything you had imagined. your first kiss, you mean. peering seniors were waved off by shouts from matthew and gunwooks brother—both burly enough that even the biggest varsity football players would shrink away.

gunwook smiled on your lips as your friends cheered amongst themselves. you heard a loud "闭嘴!" from zhang hao to what you presume was ricky chatting with the senior mandarin class. when you broke off, gasping for air, gunwook tore off his graduation gown, pushing it onto his poor unsuspecting leader. he grabbed your arm, and the two of you sprinted as fast as you could.

out the gymnasium doors, out back by the cafeteria, through the back-woods path. he stopped when he was sure no one would follow him.

"so whats going on? with the whole." he gestured to your head. you knew what he meant, so you nodded. you told him everything, how you compared yourself to everyone, especially your friends and brothers, you were falling behind, your motivation was close to 0, and you never really believed that you could do it. he was quiet for a while. you knew he was trying to find the right words.

you wanted to cry, or throw up, probably both. it felt like the trees and the birds and your boyfriend? were judging you. but gunwook just apologized, for not noticing sooner, for not knowing how to help. you shook your head, tears threatening to fall, but he shook his too.

"no, no, im your best friend, yn, i need to be here for you. im serious, you have people to rely on, you dont have to shoulder this all by yourself." the tears threatening to fall were not a threat anymore, and the dam broke. gunwook grabbed the back of your head, pulling you into a hug.

—

mandarin guide:

开夜车: kai ye che, lit. burn the midnight oil

熬夜: ao ye, stay up late

闭嘴: bi zui, shut up/close your mouth

[scoops-aboy86]

Realize You’re Living (Secret Admirer pt 5)

Steddie Week 2024, July 5: Reunion / exes to lovers or getting back together / Wasted Years by Iron Maiden

Sorry. Not for the delay in posting, I just think I'm gonna get yelled at for reasons.

wc: 2815 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

There isn’t time to send Steve another letter before Friday. 

There isn’t time, not through the mail, and there’s no way Eddie is risking physically putting something in the Harrington’s mailbox himself. That would mean running the risk of someone finding out, and that still ignites an old fear in the most primal part of his brain that screams at him to run. No matter who it is. 

On the other hand, standing Steve up for their phone date is not an option. The very idea makes his insides freeze over. They’ve both had to reassure each other that they want to continue this epistolary romance, Jesus H. Christ—there’s been too much hot and cold already to pull something like that. 

Eddie rolls over on his bed to lay face down and screams into his pillow. It's like they’re in a relationship, except Steve doesn’t even know who he is. It's absurd. An absolute clown town of his own making.

Okay. Okay, no, he can do this. (Can he?) All he has to do is relax and stay calm until tomorrow night. He’ll call at 10:30 on the dot and play Steve some Iron Maiden or something, maybe a little Dio, a smidge of Black Sabbath, throw in a dash of Judas Priest… Basically play the guy a mix tape, live. 

He whips his head up and all but dives for his side table, looking for the tin where he keeps his weed. It’ll help him chill out enough to come up with a song list. And he needs all the chill he can get. He’s lost his mom to cancer, his dad to addiction and prison, and his childhood home with them—he refuses to lose Steve if he has even half a chance of actually having Steve. Because if this whole secret admirer thing is going where he hardly dares to hope it is, this could be the most important mix tape of his entire goddamn life. 

Steve spends all of Friday so on edge that Robin starts threatening to drop banana peels in the circuit he keeps pacing behind the counter. 

“What is with you today, dingus?”

He stops, tapping his foot restlessly and removing his hat so he can rake a hand through his hair. “Nothing, nothing, I… have an important call tonight, is all. I think.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Oooh, is it a pretty girl?” she teases.

“Maybe,” he mutters with a halfhearted shrug. He really still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t seem likely he’ll find out tonight. “I’m not even sure they’ll call. It’s… kind of a blind date sort of thing.”

“A blind phone date?” Robin looks like she doesn’t know what to do with that, which. Fair. “Is that a thing?”

Steve shrugs again. He goes back to pacing. “It might be. I’ll find out tonight I guess.”

She gives him a minute before butting in again, spraying more Windex on the display case to get the lunch rush’s grubby child fingerprints off the cool glass. “...Is this because of the board?”

Again, Steve stops. “What?”

“The You Rule / You Suck board. Have I accidentally degraded your confidence in yourself so much that you’ve turned to blind dates as an alternative to trying to seduce any and every girl who walks in here?” 

Her tone is flippant, but because they’ve been on better terms recently—especially since Steve started offering her rides (and let her take control of the tape deck after that time she threatened to throw all of his Wham! tapes out the window)—he decides to take it as a genuine question. 

“No. Well—No, it’s more the hat than that. It messes up my best feature, you know?” He runs a hand through his hair again, fluffing it up more, then slumps against the back counter next to the milkshake blenders with a sigh. “It’s kind of a pen pal thing. We’ve been talking for a while but we haven’t met, but… I think it might be going somewhere good.”

Robin stops her bored polishing of the display case, only half of the afternoon rush’s smudges and fingerprints wiped away, to laugh with a slight shake of her head. “Oh wow, King Steve is a romantic. Who knew?”

“Not me before junior year, that’s for sure,” he scoffs honestly. 

She studies him thoughtfully for a moment. “Makes sense. Kind of lines up with something I heard the other day, when—”

But then they’re interrupted by a couple strolling in for some ice cream. Robin rushes through cleaning the rest of the glass so as to get out of their way, and Steve scoops and rings them up while she moves on to wiping down tables, conversation forgotten. 

Eddie’s finished his playlist and his plan is to call early. Not too early, just… a minute, five minutes tops. His uncle leaves for work before 10, so he has plenty of time and he’s buzzing with nervous energy. 

Way too much nervous energy to carry into the Big Call tonight. 

By the time Wayne is out the door, Eddie’s already started on rolling a joint and rereading Steve’s letters from start to current. If he’d been smart he would’ve written out copies of his own for a more complete read, that in depth analysis his English teachers never shut up about… but alas. 

Usually his memory is pretty good, especially when it comes to his own work. He also hadn’t expected this to go on as long as it had; not really. But now he can hardly imagine what it would be like to know Steve only from a distance anymore and that… colors things. Fuck only knows what he’s remembering wrong because of a simple difference in perspective. 

Because Steve has let him in, Eddie acknowledges as he lines the weed up on the paper. He’s written things about his home life, about his old friends, and definitely about his injuries over the past couple years (though oddly enough never much about what actually caused them) that Eddie would bet good money that no one else knows, if only because Steve doesn’t seem to have anyone else to tell. Maybe those kids he babysits (begrudgingly but genuinely dotes on, Eddie’s seen it from a distance). But really, how much can you realistically talk to a thirteen year old? Eddie remembers being thirteen; he hadn’t listened to anyone for shit. It was a miracle Wayne hadn’t just released him into the woods like a wild animal. 

And all Eddie’s been doing is pulling Steve close, while steadfastly keeping him out. God. 

He licks the joint to seal it, lights up, and keeps rereading. 

Steve is standing by the phone in his kitchen watching the second hand on the clock. How it sneaks around the clock face, slow but steady, until it laps the 12 line and it’s 10:31. 

He slumps back against the kitchen island with a groan. That had been an absolutely excruciating minute, and he’s staring down the barrel of another fifty-nine more until he can reasonably give up hope. Because anything under an hour is just running late, right? Something could have come up, something unavoidable like… family coming home unexpectedly, making a private conversation impossible. 

… Okay, maybe that was a stress dream he’d had last night about his parents, but something like it could happen to anyone.

10:32. The second hand barely makes it past fifteen this time before the silence is split by the shriek of ringing in the otherwise silent house. Steve multitasks, jumping out of his skin and lunging to answer the phone at the same time.

“HelloHarringtonresidence, thisisStevehowcanIhelpyou?” he rushes out. 

There’s no response except breathing on the other end of the line, which would be creepy if it weren’t exactly what he was hoping for. 

(Eddie is pressing a hand over his mouth, keeping in an equal parts amused and disbelieving laugh at how Steve had answered the phone, all flustered and cute and overly formal in an automatic sort of way that suggests an ingrained habit. From what he knows about Steve’s parents, he’s not terribly surprised, but it’s still such a delightfully dorky greeting.

And it seems like Steve really was waiting by the phone for his call, which makes Eddie want to fucking dance.)

“Is that you?” After a second, a light bulb goes off in Steve’s head and he adds, “Oh. Uh, tap once for yes, twice for no?”

It takes a few seconds, but then he hears a single tap against the plastic of the other receiver. 

(Smart, Eddie would tell him if he could. If he dared. He sucks hard on the last of his joint before letting the smoke billow from his nose like a dragon and putting it out in the ashtray by his bed. Maybe he mashes it in a little harder than necessary, blaming it for being late even though that’s really just another one of his bad habits at this point.)

Relief breaks over Steve like a wave. “Oh my god, it’s you. You’re the, um, my secret admirer?”

Tap. 

(Yeah sweetheart, it’s me.)

Steve does a little bounce on the balls of his feet and pumps his fist, too giddy to feel stupid about it with no one watching. “Holy shit. I mean, t-thanks for calling. Sorry, my parents make me answer the phone like that.” 

Nothing. 

(Eddie is smiling. Beaming, really. I figured, he imagines saying. At first it makes his heart feel full just thinking about it, but then has to stop that line of thought before his anxiety conjures up all the ways Steve Harrington, until recently Hawkins High’s resident ladies man, might react to the surprise of being on a phone date with a guy. Jesus, how is he high and still so nervous?)

“Right, you can’t answer. I mean, you can, if you want, but you don’t have to. This is, this is to see how I like your music.” Steve rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Did you want to play something for me now, or…”

Tap. 

(All the tapes are on standby, spread out in chaotic order around the second-hand player he got last year after Wayne’s old one crapped out on him. Eddie cranks up the volume as high as it’ll go; he’s used to it, the neighbors are resigned to it, and Steve won’t be able to hear it well enough to count through the phone otherwise.)

The first song starts, and Steve twists the phone cord between his fingers as he stands in his kitchen and listens. There’s a heavy beat and a noticeable bass line, even over the phone, nothing like the pop rock he usually listens to. But…

“… I definitely didn’t hate it,” he says once the last notes fade out. 

(Eddie is vibrating as he hits pause and ejects the tape, elated, a few of his worries already soothed. Steve doesn’t hate metal. That doesn’t necessarily mean Steve will like him, but it’s got to make the odds at least a little better, right? He wants to say fuck yeah or I love you or, fucking… shriek wordlessly or something, but presses his hand over his cotton-dry mouth instead, hard enough that his gums ache a little.)

“It kind of reminded me of AC/DC? Like Back in Black, or Hells Bells.”

(They’re not one of Eddie’s favorites, didn’t even make the playlist. But they’re harder rock than he expected Steve to be familiar with, and suddenly he has a wild urge to know what the guy thinks of You Shook Me All Night Long.)

“One time, the radio played Big Balls in the car and my mom literally clutched her pearls and said, ‘I don’t think he’s talking about ballroom dancing, Richard!’” 

(Eddie grins as the funny little falsetto Steve put on for the impression fades into a rich laugh, like he’s so tickled by the memory that he can’t help it. There was probably some appalled, classic white-anglo-saxon-protestant-sucking-on-a-lemon expression on her face that he’s picturing, while Eddie can only imagine. It’s okay, Eddie is too busy wanting to pour Steve’s laugh into a bathtub and soak in it.)

Tap. 

“Yeah, really not,” Steve agrees, his cheeks almost aching from smiling so wide. He feels lighter than air just knowing he’s on the phone with the person who’s been writing to him the past couple months, knowing he’s proving that they’re genuinely at least a little bit compatible. “So, what’s the next song?”

It goes on like that. Steve doesn’t know the artists or albums or track titles, but figures that Secret Admirer will fill him in with the next letter. There are a couple of songs that are more shouting than singing for his taste—“I like songs I can sing along to once I know the words, you know? Really belt out in the car after a long day, or something,” he explains, and gets a yes tap in response. 

(Eddie has to improvise. Instead of another WASP song, he reaches for an Iron Maiden tape he’d put aside as a half-assed backup and scours the track list, trying to decide… Ah, that one. He pops it in and turns the volume down for a second so he can check that he’s fast forwarding to the right spot on the tape.

This one’s for you, sweetheart, he thinks, lighting a second joint—not for nerves this time, but just for fun. He leans back and lets the smoke fill his lungs, fill his mind, send him floating off to whatever time of that big house Steve is curled up in so he can spiritually throw an arm around the other guy’s shoulders.)

Steve likes the instrumentals in the intro of this one. He doesn’t really track the words at first once they start—usually doesn’t, on a first listen-through, with so much new to take in. But he starts catching on to the shape of them by the first of what turns out to be the chorus. 

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years

Too much time on my hands, I got you on my mind Can't ease this pain so easily When you can't find the words to say, hard to make it through another day And it makes me wanna cry, throw my hands up to the sky

So understand Don't waste your time always searching for those wasted years Face up, make your stand Realize you're living in the golden years, hey!

He listens, slowly untangling himself from the long phone cord and taking a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island. When the song finally fades out and he hears the far-off click of the tape being stopped and taken out, he asks hopefully, “It’s about seizing the day, right?”

Maybe they’re building up to telling him who they are, or at least giving him a little more. 

(Eddie freezes, not expecting Steve—who had told him he didn’t get things on the first try—to venture any insights. Especially on a song that hadn’t been on his list, a last minute change-up that he’d picked with the transformation from King Steve to just normal guy Steve in mind and how Steve seems so hung up on apologizing for the douchebag he used to be. 

Or at least, used to be on the outside. Every day, Eddie gets a little less sure that persona went much further than skin-deep.

A tiny sound curls out of Eddie’s throat, a barely audible, inquisitive hum. Something that says please, keep going. He knows Steve has heard it because of the quick intake of breath over the line.)

Steve clutches the handset so hard that his knuckles go white. It’s the first sound, the first crumb that Secret Admirer has given him that’s really them, not a tap on plastic or other people’s music. Too quiet to make out any distinguishing features, but it’s something. 

It feels like everything. 

“You could, you know,” Steve says softly. “You could… make a stand? If you told me who you are, or just anything more about you, I… I really like you. I know for sure that I want to know you. Maybe that makes me a romantic sap, but it’s true. What if we find out we could have our golden years right now?”

(Eddie is freaking out. The mellow of his high isn’t helping anymore, all the floaty syrupy hopefulness of it stripped away. Oh fuck oh balls oh shit, shit, shit!

He’s hyperventilating, knows Steve can probably hear it, and he’s nothing but a goddamn coward in the end.

He can't do this.)

There’s a single clunk, and then all Steve hears is dial tone.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs

[bloodstainedsaint]

thank you thank you thank yooou!! And I don’t mind waiting for good stuff 🤷‍♀️

Okay so my idea kinda was in episode 7 when George and Lipton is in the same foxhole. So they get “hit” by the dud but the reader is so scared something actually happened to George, so she is running towards their foxhole and George is screaming for her to stay put cuz he’s okay and then she gets hit….or almost…I mean something tragic. I wanna bawl my eyes out.

And of course…feel free to not do it, if you think it sucks🧡 Love your stuff and have a good day !

louder than bombs (george luz x reader)

word count: 1800+

warnings: blood, gore, death, angst (w happy ending), bff! roe, mutual pining, i hint at both renée x roe AND baberoe

notes: used some hcs from this (shameless self-plug), and happy new year to all! i hope that 2024 is your year :)

“So, you and Luz, huh?”

Despite Lieutenant Dike’s request not to (like you'd listen to a coward like him anyway, even if he did have a good point), you and Eugene were sharing a foxhole — one a few meters behind where Skip, Penk, Don, and Luz were standing around in a circle, joking and laughing.

Taking your eyes off the man in question — you'd been staring at him from afar for too long, anyway — you turned to Eugene with a befuddled expression. “What do you mean, ‘You and Luz?’”

He took one look at your face and chuckled around the cigarette in his mouth. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean.”

“You say that as if we’re together or something, Gene,” you scoffed and held yourself tighter for warmth.

“Practically. Seen yourself lately? You blush and smile whenever he talks to you.”

Spluttering in response, you could feel your ears going red. “Well, Bayou, what if I’m blushing because it's zero degrees out here? And what if he’s just a funny guy in general?”

Eugene glanced over to the group of men, and, as if on cue, they were cracking up at George’s impression of the chickenshit lieutenant. “He’s a good match for you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, I'm so glad you approve,” you said, rolling your eyes at your friend. “Gonna read our wedding rites now?”

He put out his cigarette. “He makes you laugh. We could all use some of that.”

You inspected the faraway look in Eugene’s eyes, and you knew he was right. The fatal accident with the goddamned Luger that killed Hoobler recently, the barrage earlier today that sent both Joe Toye and Bill home with missing right legs, the overall misery of this frozen hell. You’d all seen your fair share of blood and open flesh; the company needed the beam of light that was George Luz.

Watching Luz as he was pulled aside by Lipton, you exhaled, nodded, and huddled a little closer to Eugene. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right.” After a few quiet, thoughtful moments, a small smile creeped back up on your face when you thought of something to bring up the mood again.

“You never heard me teasing you about Renée,” you muttered beneath your breath, loud enough for him to hear and correct you on because you had teased him about the Belgian nurse. Before he could, you pushed on, your grin growing, “Hey, what about you and Babe, huh?”

Now it was his turn to turn to you shocked. Your snickering was interrupted by the roaring, deafening sound of a bombardment shredding trees around you.

“Shit!” you cursed, the night sky lighting up with fireworks of yellow and white. Snow and dirt erupted from the ground like spurts of lava from a volcano. Through the ringing in your ears, you heard bellows of “Incoming!” and other indistinct cries.

Turning to the man next to you, you shouted above the din, “Eugene, you alright?”

“Fine,” he shouted back as he clutched his helmet tight to his head. “You?”

“Fine,” you echoed with a nod, though maybe your head had moved on its own with the shaking ground beneath you. You strained your ears to single out cries for a medic; you didn't catch any, and you weren't sure if that was because no one had gotten hurt yet or because they were dead within an instant.

You peeped over the edge of your foxhole. In the flashes of light, you could make out amongst the silhouette of wrecked trees George hurriedly crawling on the ground towards a foxhole with two soldiers in it, yelling for him to come on. If your hearing wasn't failing you, you recognized their voices as Skip and Penk.

“What d’ya see?” Eugene poked his head out of the foxhole.

Your voice was strangled in your throat as you helplessly watched George inch his way toward cover. “I—” you started, before a shell directly hit the two men in the middle of their calls. Frantically, you backed into your foxhole. “Skip and Penk, they’re…”

“What?” Eugene shouted, and you realized you had only murmured it.

“Muck and Penkala got hit!” you cried. The look you gave Eugene told him that there would be no saving them.

You got back up to peek over your foxhole and saw that Luz had vanished. Your heart sank in your chest, right down to the pits of your stomach.

Before your mind could register what was going on, your feet lifted you up and out of the foxhole. You could faintly hear Eugene yelling at you to come back, (Y/N), what the hell are you doing? You hit the ground at the same time a shell did just meters away from you, showering you in debris. Yet, you felt distant from the thought of danger or bodily harm, your raw instinct on overdrive; the only thing that was running through your mind as you dashed through the devastated forest was if George was okay.

Eyes flitting around, you caught a glimpse of him getting into a foxhole with Lip. As waves of relief washed over you, you jumped into a foxhole a distance behind them. A shell impacted nearby and swept the fallen trees acting as their cover towards you. You pulled your knees close to your chest and covered your head, staying like that as the barrage kept up.

Then, for just a second, it was silent. Closing your eyes, you caught your breath. A whistling sound ceased the brief respite, and you peered over just in time to see smoke coming from George and Lipton’s foxhole. Your mind disconnected itself from your body once again; it felt like you were moving in slow motion as your feet took you to them. That smoke clouded your senses, your thoughts — all you could see and hear were the vivid memories of Hoobler’s wound gushing blood and his dull eyes closing shut for the last time; you treating Bill’s still twitching leg while Toye’s shredded one was being bandaged by Eugene only feet away; and Muck and Penkala’s foxhole going up in a spray of dirt and a show of light, abruptly cutting off their shouting.

What were you going to see when you arrived at their foxhole? Bloodstained snow? Mangled limbs? Ruined corpses? Even the thought made you want to sob.

Your heart thundered in your ear, louder than any bombs or artillery the Germans could send at you, but you could vaguely discern George’s voice in your trance.

“Damn it, am I yelling medic? Stay right fucking there, (Y/N)!”

Right as you were shaken out of your own head, your eyes focusing on the two unharmed men as they yelled for you to stay put, a shell hit a tree hardly an arm’s length away from you. The burst launched you backwards, lodging shrapnel into your face and all over your body.

You let your eyes flutter closed as the screaming started.

-

“(Y/N)!” George bawled, witnessing the last shell of the bombardment blast the tree right next to you.

“George, get down!” Lip pushed George down into the foxhole from where he'd been peeking over to helplessly watch your unsteady advance.

George couldn't get the image of you shielding yourself at the last second out of his head. He broke free from Lipton and crawled out of his foxhole to your unmoving figure, relieved to find that you were still breathing out clouds of vapor, albeit unevenly. Your right cheek was cut and bleeding, as well as your arms, legs, torso — hell, was there anywhere you weren’t bleeding from?

He cradled your head to his, whispering that it's gonna be alright and you’re gonna be just dandy, (Y/N), even though he didn't believe those words himself. He lifted his head from yours and yelled for a medic with a hoarse voice, already scratched up from having to shout over the booming to tell Lipton that Muck and Penkala got hit.

George then realized that he had gotten extremely lucky that day; Muck and Penkala had been shelled just before he reached their foxhole, and the shell that had landed next to him and Lipton was a dud. Staring down at your bloodied form, he darkly concluded that maybe he wasn't lucky — maybe he just brought bad luck to everyone else.

Eugene seemed to materialize out of thin air at the panicked calls for a doctor and kneeled over you, ordering, “Set ‘em down, set ‘em down!” George laid you down on the icy ground, and he saw that your eyes were open now, darting around at your surroundings. You looked frightened and pained, yet when your eyes finally settled on him, you seemed somewhat at ease.

“Jesus, what did I tell you, (Y/N)?” Eugene reprimanded, but the concern in his voice was evident. He began picking out the shrapnel from your flesh, and you wailed out in agony. Ripping open a sulfa packet with his teeth, he then shook the powder onto your countless wounds.

In the back of his mind, George knew that your pained whimpers would haunt him forever if you didn't pull through, acting as the price of his "good luck".

“Told me to come back, Genie,” you smiled mirthlessly, which quickly became a wince with the gash in your cheek. The white medic band around your arm was stained the same color as the red cross on it.

Lipton was out of the foxhole at this point and assisting Eugene with bandaging your injuries. “You’ll be fine, alright? Just hang in there.”

George registered that he had only been staring, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed your clammy hand, to which you weakly squeezed back.

Grimacing while he injected you with morphine, Eugene said to Lipton, “They’re bleeding bad, Sarge; we gotta get ‘em back to an aid station.”

George’s voice sounded far off from himself. “I’ll radio for a jeep.” As he did so, his hand still clutching yours, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the excruciation on your face. For some reason, he felt guilty.

Though it felt like years to him, the jeep arrived shortly, and the three of them carried you to the stretcher on the hood of the vehicle and gingerly placed you upon it.

Gazing down upon you on that stretcher, your face streaked with crimson, your hair matted with dried blood, George wanted to say, “I still find you beautiful, Bloody Mary," but for what felt like first time in his life, the words weren't there and the wiseass comment just refused to come out right.

What came tumbling out of his lips instead was, “I love you.”

Pausing, Lipton and Eugene exchanged a knowing look and watched with bated breath. Meanwhile, George wanted to smack himself for letting the adrenaline coursing through his veins get to him; this was definitely not what you wanted to hear — rejecting him should be the least of your worries right now.

To his utter disbelief, you smiled, in spite of yourself and the grim circumstances. “I love you too, George.”

Once his brain wrapped around the fact that you needed him as much as he needed you, he implored, "Come back to me, alright?” He gently caressed your cheek, his voice sounding different to himself with the undertone of desperation. “I—I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You placed a feeble hand over his and turned to press a kiss to it. “I'm counting on it.”

The driver finally grew tired of the delay and urged them to get moving. George stepped away as Eugene hopped in the jeep’s shotgun seat to escort you back to the aid station.

Lighting a cigarette with trembling hands, George watched the jeep dissipate into the blanket of night.

-

Eugene let things sink in for a while; you were grateful for the time to rest as the morphine kicked in. When you arrived, though, you were awake enough to hear him ask again, a rare smirk hidden in his voice:

“So, you and Luz, huh?”

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @samwinchesterslostshoe, @fxxiva

[fruitcoops]

Best Beloved

Day Thirteen: our final day of Fic O'Ween 2024, brought to you by the most special girl in the world. She was spared a spooky movie, as she did not partake in the midight margaritas for obvious reasons. Characters (except our leading lady) belong to @lumosinlove, and MASSIVE massive thanks to @noots-fic-fests for organizing another wonderful year <3

Day 12 movie: Beetlejuice (1988)

Movie theme of the fest itself: Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), with a sprinkling of Freaky Friday (2003) for our dream-hopping, out-of-body experiences. I hope you enjoyed reading and following along as much as I enjoyed writing these!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

“How is it?”

“…working, but don’t tell him.”

Lily took a pointed sip of her hangover cure (courtesy of James) and rested her elbows on the kitchen island. Remus joined her a moment later, laying his whole head on his folded arms and abandoning his own concoction to the side. The ‘Whale of a Time!’ novelty mug from their Alaskan summer trip bore a cheerful orca waving its fin, directly at odds with his general aura of headache melancholy.

“I wonder what she dreams of,” he mused, muffled by the thick sleeves of his hoodie.

Below them, Hattie’s paws gave a twitch.

“Seems important,” Lily agreed. She braved another sip. It was disappointing how well the awful thing worked.

Remus hummed, and tilted his head slightly to the side. His eyes remained on Hattie’s side, rising and falling in an even pattern ever-so-rarely interrupted by a huff. Her nose wiggled; he smiled. “Nah. She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Evil squirrels,” Lily pointed out.

“They steer clear.”

“Rival gangs?”

Remus’ next breath was a laugh. “She has never met an enemy.”

Lily frowned. “Delayed dinner?”

Remus paused, blinking slowly. “Maybe. Aw, look, she’s chasing something.”

Fuzzy black paws picked up the pace. Quick flicks, back-and-forth, scraping just her smallest nail along the floor in tiny, inch-long crescents. Hattie’s nose wiggled again, searching for whatever eluded her in the land of beautiful dreams inhabited by the best-loved creatures. Even her eyelids fluttered.

“Hattie,” Remus called softly. “What are you doing, Hat Trick?”

Hattie’s tail gave a thump. She settled with a last hard puff that flexed her nostrils. Her paws fell quiet, save for one last stretch.

--

Hattie was having the most fabulous dream.

Her people, all her people, wandering about—then home, after discovering several dropped crackers when people started leaving. A car ride and bedtime and scritches and treats snuck under the table to her and every last one of her people petting her all night long, even through the thick Dad Shirt she had been put in before they arrived.

(That part was confusing. They had so many Dad Shirts in the house boxes, in all sizes. They got thrown into the weird bags with interesting smells and went out with her dads every day, but they always came home smelling like unfamiliar laundry and not the sweaty strangeness of their playing-with-friends clothes. Also, Hattie wasn’t usually dressed in Dad Shirts. Everyone else found it very funny.)

And now! Now she had a butterfly, big and yellow and bouncing just ahead of her snout. She had jumped at it first, then pranced after it, and now she was allowed to run-run-run across soft, flat grass.

It was wonderful.

--

“She was so goddamn cute in Pads’ jersey last night—”

“Oh my god, I know, I died when he brought her down in it.”

Lily buried her laughter in the rim of her cup. “It’s uncanny.”

Remus grimaced briefly around the dregs of the Emergen-C-Gatorade-Tums-Pedialyte smoothie, but his fond smile returned without issue. “It’s so…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “From day one, I swear. The eyes?”

“The hair!”

“It’s dead-on.”

“Sorry for leaving lipstick on her forehead.”

Remus shrugged one shoulder. “It blends in. She’s fine.”

“Animal testing,” Lily joked.

“The glitter, maybe.”

“The margs took over. I’m not liable for my actions.”

Their mutual wince made Remus pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Jesus, yeah, and they were so good.”

“It makes me so mad,” Lily mumbled into the cuff of her hoodie. “Like, come on, at least make it taste like danger.”

“That salt rim.”

“The fucking salt rim! French sea salt? Are you joking right now?”

“And the sugar sprinkled on the top.” Remus shook his head with a noise of faux disgust. They sat quietly for a few minutes. Outside, garage door hummed. Remus leaned over and knocked their shoulders together. “Thanks for coming over this morning.”

“Your husband actually begged mine to heal him.”

“And he did. You should keep him.”

Lily gave him a disbelieving look. “He’s not going anywhere.”

--

The butterfly led Hattie over bubbling streams and gentle slopes just meant to be sprinted down. The wind ruffled her fur and carried the bird songs right into her ears, no effort necessary. She was out of breath. It didn’t matter. The butterfly was right there—she almost had it.

--

“Hi, boys,” Lily rasped as the door to the kitchen opened.

James barely glanced up from kicking off his tennis shoes with a bag in one hand and coffee in the other. “Boo. Trick or treat?”

“Treat.”

“Everything bagel with scallion cream cheese.”

Lily buried her moan in the countertop and reached a blind, grasping hand out across cool marble. Wax paper crinkled; a soft greeting followed, then a kiss to the back of her head. She squinted in the low light of late morning as James paired it neatly with a second to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Dearly. Endlessly. Forever.”

His cheeks pinked. “Back at you.”

“Mhm.”

Remus was halfway through his own bagel when she looked over. Her stomach rumbled in pure jealousy.

“Oh,” Sirius said happily, pointing past them. “She’s dreaming.”

--

Triumph. Hattie rolled onto her back and stretched her legs out as far as they would go, each toe flexed and every joint extended. It would be better with belly rubs, but a wiggle of her shoulders in the moss was more than enough to satisfy.

The butterfly hopped between her back paws, then up to the front. It tickled the pads and the fur between them. She tipped her head to the side for a better look at the fluffy bits of its wings, but a flop of her paw startled it into the air.

The butterfly set off again, this time toward a rich green forest. Hattie leapt up with a bark and a bound, and didn’t look back.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for ditching my parents for my birthday?

Some backstory: I (17F) am turning 18 as of 2024. The 17th birthday is a lot more important in my culture because that's our country's age of majority, and my parents had insisted on celebrating it with a whole party/massive dinner like most other girls do, but I am in fact a loser and absolutely hate these festivities. I am also gender nonconforming/masc and the parties are like, think princessy stuff that I don't super vibe with. My mother is like me. She hates birthday parties and feminine clothing. I have no idea why she was pushing it so hard, but eventually her plans for my birthday fell through. I told her not to bother getting me gifts or anything because I thought I had evaded the celebration ordeal.

However. Much to my misfortune. My whole family decided to barge into my room at 2 in the morning to shower me in confetti!! Confetti!! It was all over the goddamn place, on my bed, in my clothes, etc. I hid under my blanket because there was nowhere else to go and my parents like to do this (barge into the one area of the house I occupy, and start demanding stuff) and my mother was telling me to at least come out for pictures. I was literally in my pajamas like dawg what.

I couldn't take it anymore and started screaming like a banshee because that was the only thing that would get them to leave, but they still stuck around for a couple more minutes being awkwardly like oh... sorry... you really hate this. My room was full of pink balloons (my favorite color is yellow???) and they got me an enormous cake with frosting. I hate cake and especially I hate frosting. It was actually hell.

Anyway more insane stuff happened, not important, but that's essentially the disaster of a seventeenth birthday that I had. I know they want to do something for my eighteenth. I really don't like celebrating things, nor do I particularly want to, but judging by that whole ordeal I think they're going to try something again anyway.

So my plan is to just... not come home after school. Or if I don't have school then I'd just go out in the morning. I don't leave the house, so I don't have curfew, and I don't even want to stay out that long. Just long enough that they're all passed out and I can escape ANY AND ALL ATTEMPTS at giving me gifts, congratulating me, and shooting confetti all over my fucking room.

They're probably not going to call the cops, I'd tell them I'm going out and not kidnapped, just not where and for how long. I also think they kind of can't call the cops on me because I've been a legal adult where I'm from since the disaster birthday. Maybe that will help with the plan. I honestly think I'm just going to go to a café and write or something. I'm so over it, I want to have a birthday that isn't messy, that day means absolutely nothing to me and confetti pisses me off. Since my childhood my birthday has never been about me, like I don't really get what I would like to get, so I'm cool with not celebrating it at all. It doesn't matter.

To me simply avoiding them for the whole day is such a win-win scenario but I don't really know if this is an underdeveloped frontal lobe speaking. I also know they're likely to buy a cake in advance and I may be ruining plans by disappearing. My birthday is late in the year, so I have time to think about it, but I do think my parents are kind of insane. I don't think I can talk them out of doing any more of this stuff. Sorry this got long, but WIBTA?

(And yes I would love to move out but capitalism)