#I don't like the way this one is worded but unfortunately I have a massive migraine right now. And I'm having trouble trying to focus | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohmybueckers · 4 months ago

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mad at me - paige bueckers x reader

Summary: After a bad game, you tell Paige to take her frustrations out on you, an offer she gladly accepts

Themes/Warnings: angry sex (safe words are present), orgasm denial, overstimulation, degradation, etc.

Word Count: 4k

Note: i genuinely don't know what came over me guys i swear i don't just write smut lmfaooooo. anyways here's a result of me being bored and angry and also to celebrate the triple digit win today, enjoy!!

There was something you loved about the smell of rain on grass on an early February day. While the winter season in Storrs was brutal, overly long and gloomy, the way the earthy notes filled your senses as you walked home, surrounded by a thick fog, would have given you a pleasant reminder of the incoming spring on any other day. Unfortunately, this was not any other day.

There was no sugarcoating it: the Huskies had an awful game yesterday. The team could not seem to get their shots to fall, shooting only twenty percent from three and forty percent from the paint against a team that should have been a hell of a lot easier to dominate offensively. Miscommunications led to numerous turnovers and lost opportunities for shots (you lost track of how many times a player failed to spot a wide open Azzi, leading to frustration from both her and Paige). You were unable to make the game, having a massive exam the next day and not having the time to spend even a few hours not being remotely locked in. Your attempt to focus was futile as you sat in the library, headphones in and struggling to pay attention to your Quizlet set as the announcers seemed to tear into every single decision your girlfriend made on the broadcast.

Paige ended up being thankful you weren’t there in person, not wanting you to see the carnage firsthand, but it didn’t make you feel any less guilty. Paige never took a loss easy, but it seemed like this one especially got to her. After your exam you checked in once again, only for her to say they would be spending the majority of the night in the film room watching the game. Afterward, she planned on staying on the court to practice her shot, eager to not repeat the same mistakes come March.

You loved how dedicated she was, you really did. But you were starting to get really, really worried about her.

You had fully accepted that you would likely not see much of her for the next few days, allowing yourself the night to unwind after a grueling exam (you were happy to say you’re positive you passed it, as low of a bar as that is). You let your muscles relax under the steam of your shower, the eucalyptus hanging from the shower head and the lavender in your body wash clearing your mind of all your worries from this week momentarily. That is until you realized you couldn’t completely enjoy it knowing that Paige was out there, absolutely destroying herself over something that was not solely her fault. She deserves to relax too, you thought with a frown.

After spritzing your favorite scent around your room, lathering your legs in your most moisturizing lotion, and crawling into your freshly washed sheets, you were prepared for a night of finally continuing your latest pleasure read (a book that had been thrown aside the past week in favor of a biology text book). What you weren’t prepared for is the buzz emitting from your phone about twenty minutes into your self care night, right in the middle of a sexually charged scene between the two love interests. Your confusion was quickly replaced with concern when you saw that it was Paige attempting to FaceTime you.

Upon answering, you noted how sweat pooled at the top of her forehead, which was creased in frustration. Her hair was in a slicked back pony, her UConn blue practice was soaked through, and she looked pissed as she stood in the middle of the court.

“None of my fucking shots are landing,” she grumbled before you could even greet her, wiping away some of the sweat with the hand not holding the phone. “I’ve been here for the past hour after Geno let us go, and I can’t figure out where I’m going wrong.”

She appeared to be getting even more worked up as she spoke, a flush rising to her cheeks. “I’m supposed to be one of the oldest ones here, I can’t be out here making rookie ass mistakes. It’s not going to go well in March, and it’s definitely not going to go well in the W.”

It broke your heart to see this. Paige always said pressure was a privilege, but you watched in real time as the normal pressure Paige had on her shoulders evolved into something deeper, something closer to self loathing. “Paige, baby, I think you need to take a break. You can’t perform well if you’re like this.”

She shook her head no, an action you anticipated. Picking up her water bottle and spraying some in her mouth, she continued, “Nah, I gotta keep going. I just need to figure out how I can fucking focus.”

You took note of the grip on the water bottle, the command in her voice, and her determination. The idea hit you like a runaway train, tumbling through your lips before you could hesitate.

“Take it out on me.”

Paige had made half assed eye contact with the camera the entire conversation, too frustrated and ashamed to face you, but these five words brought her wide eyes to face yours. You couldn’t tell if they were filled with disbelief or intrigue - maybe both. “What?”

It’s not like you and Paige’s sex life was completely tame. She was always down to try new positions, whether it be using fingers, mouths, or toys. There have definitely been nights where her teammates have sent her a strongly worded message letting her know that their walls were not as thick as she thought. But sex between the two of you had always been passionate, loving … never angry. Until now.

You would be lying if you said you never felt some type of way watching Paige get upset at the refs, wondering what that kind of attention would look like in bed. As much as you trusted Paige, you just didn’t want to run the risk of saying anything that would alter her perception of you. But here you were, sat in bed wearing an old high school tee shirt and pajama shorts (not the sexiest outfit on the planet), and there was no way of deleting what you’ve already said. Inhaling, you continue. “You need to get your frustration out before you can shoot. I’m just saying you have an outlet.”

The gesture to your body was not lost on Paige, who looked like a deer in headlights. You were so close to ending the call, pulling your fuzzy blanket over your face and pretending none of this ever happened, when she spoke. “Are you saying you want me to fuck you to get my anger out?”

Her tone was blank, but even through the pixelated call (damn the poor signal in the practice court) you could see the switch in her - what was now a confused expression shifted to a calm kind of fire, the kind only you could recognize from her. Your stomach flipped, realizing she was just as into this idea as you were. Thank God. “I’m saying I want you to fuck me like you’re mad at me.”

She looked to the side, throwing her head slightly back and showing off her jawline. Without another word she moved to the side of the court, grabbing her bag and her keys off the ground. “Leave your door unlocked. I’m on my way,” she announced, before ending the call.

You gulped, knowing all you could do was open Find My, watch Paige slowly drive closer and closer to your apartment, and wonder what the hell you just got yourself into.

—-

Paige had learned the code to your apartment long before, having been with you exclusively for almost a year. So when she arrived at your place, with you standing waiting for her with fidgeting thumbs, it took her almost no time to set her bag down and saunter over to you, cupping your face and smashing your lips together. It could almost be described as romantic the way she was holding you, how one hand reached down to your torso to stabilize you. You couldn’t help but moan quietly as you felt her cologne mixed with her own musk waft into your senses.

But then she began stepping forward, forcing your steps with her against the fake hardwood, until your back was pressed against the wall. Paige finally pulled apart from you with a look that could only be described as pure, unrestricted hunger. All the rage towards herself, the frustration toward the previous days game, it all manifested into her gaze. One hand trailed to the side of your neck as she spoke softly, yet with strength. “Pretty girl wants to help me, huh?”

You nodded all too enthusiastically, taking pleasure in this new side of Paige: the one who was completely in control, and proud of it. She seemed to be taking pleasure in it as well, grabbing your wrist carefully and guiding the two of you to your bedroom which had been eagerly awaiting her arrival.

“I want to do this right,” she began, removing her shoes as you moved to sit on your bed with your feet dangling. “Green means keep going, yellow means pause, red means stop. The second you don’t want to do something, we stop. Got it?”

You nod, expecting nothing less than a tender check in from your girlfriend who was currently walking slowly to meet you. In some ways, you felt similar to your first time with Paige: slightly awkward, filled with unknowns. But you wanted this. God, you wanted this.

She reaches the bed, pushing you down onto the mattress you were laying in earlier in the night, this time in a far different context. Her lips are back on you, this time sucking harshly on your neck in places that are certain to switch shades tomorrow. You cannot bring yourself to care much in the moment, however, allowing yourself to be consumed by all things Paige.

Her hands move to your hips, trailing under the waist band of your shorts and quickly making a move to discard them. Her fingers touched your skin, alternating between hard grips and smooth brushes. “Take your shirt off,” she muttered, her grip tightening around your thighs as she spoke into your underwear clad cunt.

You obey her, feeling as though you had entered a trance from the way she spoke with so much authority. You know you look a little strange as you rush to get the shirt over your head, but Paige pays no mind: her eyes are busy tracing your frame, memorizing every curve, every mark, and every texture as if it was the first time. A smirk spread across her lips, her striking blue eyes somehow looking darker. “Can’t wait to fucking ruin you.”

She peppered kisses down your body, the fire in her body feeling more like worship as she made her way down your breasts, your stomach, all the way to your clothed core.

Discarding your underwear, she began one of her greatest talents off the court. You felt her flick her tongue against you, shuddering at the mix of impact as well as the air conditioning hitting your skin. Her mouth explored you, prompting sharp cries from you as you fell back against your pillows. She took a break to nip at the skin where your thigh met your core, evoking something between a yelp and a moan.

“Pussy so fucking good,” she spoke, continuing her ministrations. It was like she was fueled by your pleasure, each drop spurring her on further. Her teammates always joked about Paige being a munch - if they only knew to what extent.

She delved her tongue in further, using her hands to spread you open.

You felt a very familiar knot begin to form, one that you could always expect with your girlfriend. “So good… Gonna cum P.”

As soon as she went to work, Paige got off, leaving only the harsh breeze in her place as you laid there dumbfounded. The knot within you, once welcome, was now dulling into something tantalizing and almost painful.

You whined, “Why did you stop?”

Her laugh that followed felt downright mocking, reaching down to caress your face once more. “You didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you baby?”

You pouted, knowing you looked fucking ridiculous. “But I was so close.”

Your girlfriend shrugged, taking no concern in the way your pussy drenched your sheets or the way your nipples puffed unattended. “Get me off and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

That sentence sent you into gear immediately, motivated by the urge to cheer up your girl as well as the selfish desire to get your way after your ruined orgasm. You scanned Paige’s body, drinking up every muscle as you shoved her shorts down along with her boxers. She laid down, taking your place with raised eyebrows looking nonchalant and cocky as ever.

You took your place between her thighs, offering kitten licks to her clit as her hands reached your hair. Your mouth opened further, allowing you to eat her out with the same fervor she was earlier.

You knew her well enough to know the tell tale signs she was enjoying herself - every sharp inhale, every squeeze of her legs, every hum she made. It all meant she was closer to what she wanted, and you were closer to what you needed. You just needed to hear it.

Pulling off of her clit with a pop, you shot your best doe eyed look at your girlfriend, who once again seemed to have a pool of sweat at her forehead. “Feel good baby?”

She responded not with words, but by shoving you back onto her core roughly, prompting you to continue your work on her. You looked and sounded like a fucking pornstar, moaning into her pussy as if you were the one getting off (which wasn’t that far off). You heard her grunt above you.

“Gonna cum on your pretty face.”

If Paige is one thing, it’s a woman of her word, so it doesn’t shock you when she fulfills her promise moments later. Her cum drips down your lips moments later, and you lap it all up. You live for this shit, watching Paige stare at you in amazement as she surrenders to your touch. The fire within the blonde settles, save for her continued labored breathing as evident by the rise and fall in her chest. She looks at you, her stare downright dangerous.

“Want me to make you cum, pretty girl?” From the way she said it, you knew she wasn’t asking.

You switched places once more, allowing her middle finger to slot itself in your pussy with the same vigor with which it once grabbed your head. She was pounding you, fingers focused on penetrating areas only she seemed to touch in the right way while her mouth payed ample attention to your clit.

You felt your legs jerk, eyes welling up. The familiar sensations of pleasure came back to you even quicker, flooding through you like Malibu waters. You were falling in so deep, your mind swimming in everything she was giving you.

Your legs gripped Paige’s head, an action that felt like muscle memory at this point. You didn’t even need to say it - she knew what this meant. And it meant she stopped once more, wiping her mouth and looking at you with a mischievous grin. You were just around ready to scream, gripping the pillow beside you.

“I did what you wanted, baby, please.” You whimpered, looking downright helpless at this point. “Please let me cum.”

You were so eager, and this was all so unfair. And yet you took it all, knowing that this was exactly what you asked for.

Paige raised an eyebrow, blinking a couple of times before nodding. “You wanna cum? You got it.”

She returns to your clit for the third time that night, gripping your hips as if you were planning on going anywhere but here, as if you were capable of not being consumed by her as she sucked. If eating pussy was an award winning sport, it would be yet another award on Paige’s already impressive roster. If there was one thing she loved doing more with her mouth than talking, it was making her girl feel good.

If you weren’t so focused on the way she was making you feel, you would maybe be a little more embarrassed about the noises you were making, how the pleas of “more” and “harder” emitted from you so easily. Paige had that effect on you, especially tonight when she was pulling out all the stops.

You nearly cried with relief when your breath quickened and muscles tightened and Paige didn’t fucking move, continuing to circle your clit with her finger while lapping you up like she was parched. Finally, waves crashed over you as you came with a shout of her name and a gush of fluid being deposited straight into her mouth, which she accepted happily. You rode out the feeling, Paige assisting with her reassurance. “Lemme hear you baby, fuck.” She moaned into you, a move that was teetering into the overstimulating category.

Little did you know that was just a taste of what was to come.

Taking time to lick up all the remaining cum from your pussy, she kissed up your body, finding herself at your awaiting lips once more. You sigh as you taste yourself, melting into the warmth of your girlfriend who just rocked your world. Based on the way she showed up to your apartment, you were certainly expecting more fire from her, but you were glad to end the night with a pleasant ache between your thighs.

You grin into the kiss, reaching up her shirt in order to get more contact only for her hands to grab your wrists, throwing them next to your head against the pillows before you could even process what she was doing. You take the time to look at her, really look at her, and see that the same tone is in her eyes, and that her fire hasn’t been contained. In fact, she looks ready to pounce. “I know you can give me another, right baby?”

Multiple orgasms in one night were not an anomaly for you and Paige, but typically there was time in between - the additional sessions usually happened after an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, or during a shower. You gulped, only able to nod as Paige trailed her hand back down to your spent pussy, cupping it before slipping a finger inside.

It was not lost on Paige the way your eyes squeezed shut at the intrusion, pain mixing with pleasure as she began moving. “Can’t take it baby?” She asked like it was a challenge. She was unsurprised when you shook your head no, determined to accept everything she was giving you. “That’s what I thought. Such a slut for me. Good fucking girl.”

A proud smile graced her face as she took note of the sopping sound of your pussy as she fucked you, the way your mouth couldn’t hold back moans and pleas for more, and it hit you: she was scoring, making up for her mistakes from yesterday through you. It only made the heat on your core worse, blurring your vision until everything felt hazy.

You could tell she was loving this shit, eating up how you were reacting to her. One hand trailed up, reaching for your tit and massaging it roughly. “Gonna let me do what I want to you, isn’t that right baby?”

You moaned as she spoke, relishing in the way that she was fully getting comfortable dominating you like this, fucking you like a dirty whore instead of her beloved girlfriend. She stretched you out so good, leaving no room for anything except her.

You felt the build up again, static rising in your body as you attempted to focus on your breathing. This effort would prove to be futile, as Paige knew you all too well. Her movements intensified, her breath growing heavy against your ear as she growled, “Who’s making you feel this good?”

You all but sob, “Y-you, P, fuck.”

She smiles, loving the way you sound as your pussy clenches around her with a fucking grip that anyone would die for. She was so fucking lucky. “Wanna feel this pussy cum around me, c’mon.”

You didn’t need to be told twice, your body shuddering as you released once again hitting your high like a drug as your back arched into her touch.Your cunt pulsed around Paige, causing a guttural moan to erupt from her lips as you rained down on her fingers.

She stared in wonder as she removed them once the majority of your high subsided, noting how they glistened under your lights. “Can do this all night. Pussy so fucking good.”

As much as you attempted to enjoy the remnants of your orgasm, the statement brought a wave of panic through you as you processed that you may not be done just yet. “Two’s enough, P,” you said, nuzzling your face in her neck.

Big mistake.

She jolted her head up, look at you intently. “What’s your color, baby?”

You paused, recognizing your mistake and the ache between your thighs. But there is nothing more that you wanted than to fulfill your promise to Paige, and you couldn’t deny the way heat rose to your face when you saw just how fine Paige looked when she was this focused on you. “Green.”

Paige grinned. “Then shut the fuck up.”

She flipped the two of you, hoisting you so her muscular thigh was pressed just at the right angle to give your spent clit undivided attention. A loud slap went to your ass, jolting you forward slightly and providing the first dose of stimulation as you rode her thigh in the process. “Paige, baby.”

She sat up quickly, pushing your body against hers as she helped you ride. She nibbled at your ear, whispering a series of sweet nothings as her firm grip on your ass never faltered.

“Ride me just like that.”

“I know you can go faster than that, c’mon.”

“Moaning for me like a fucking slut.”

Your memory beyond this point was a little faulty, coming and going in bursts. One second, you knew you were riding Paige like a mechanical bull, putting all of your (very little) remaining energy into giving her the best show you could, knowing that this is what she deserved. After a flash of white, moans and voices muffled, you awoke still sat on top of Paige. She rubbed your back, shushing you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

“You’re done, baby, it’s okay. Did so so good for me, my perfect girl.”

—————

“Didn’t go too hard on you, right?”

You turned to face Paige, who was laying next to you in your bed. The past forty five minutes had been devoted strictly to aftercare, with Paige refusing to let you lift a finger. She helped you take yet another shower, lathering your body for you and kissing your shoulders as she hugged you from behind. She stripped and replaced your sheets, running yet another load. And now the two of you laid there, glasses of water nearby, and Paige was looking at you with both curiosity and fear.

You grabbed her hand from the arm that was currently wrapped around your shoulder. “I would have told you baby, trust me.” You offered her hand a kiss, sparking a smile on the blonde’s lips. “Do you feel any better?”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against yours. “Just needed to clear my head. The pressure just- it’s a lot sometimes.” You nodded, understanding how overwhelmed she got with the eyes on her at all times. A shy blush reached her cheeks as she debated speaking again, before deciding in favor. “I also thought tonight was hot. Like, really hot.”

You laughed, her quickly following. Sure, you couldn’t fix all of Paige’s problems with sex. But it certainly couldn’t hurt to try.

#paige bueckers #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #wlw smut

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ovadzs · 13 days ago

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“sportscar”-

summary: you are an endlessly talented artist/model/influencer and adored by millions of fans, but remain stubbornly single. this doesn’t stop your fans from shipping you with Lando Norris, though. So your best friend (and agent) Clara decides to set some things in motion behind your back. unfortunately, what she didn’t expect was the fact that you fucking despise that man. but it’s only a week of shooting together, for his brand and for your new song: sportscar. so, how bad can it be?

word count: 7.6k

fic content/warnings: female reader, use of you/she, enemies to lovers (one sided), hate/anger, lando is kinda ooc, kinda angsty, not properly proof read!!

author notes: hi gang!! this was SO entertaining to write but longgg and exam season is KICKING MY ASS so once i’m done i have an oscar fic waiting to write 😙 (childhood friends/lovers, fluffy and with posts etc can’t wait!!) this fic is obviously based on tate posting that INSANE video in the lando jersey omg ??? also, pink haired diva Clara might be my new reoccurring character cause i LOVE herrr !! anyway enjoy

Sometimes you forget how truly famous you are. How expansive your fanbase is. An established model, with a mass following. And now you’ve just sold out your first stadium show. You never believed in those ‘I've made it’ moments, but you were sort of feeling that way.

And you managed to do all it, somewhat on your own. Sure, you had a bit of help. People you depended on. Unwavering support from your parents, and your best friend Clara-your agent. Soulmates existed, you were sure of it. She was a great example of that, and you loved her more deeply than you thought possible. She was truly your greatest friend. You meant more like, without a partner. You were too career focused, too determined, to let a man get in your way. A liability, not worth taking. You had a cat, and a fucking massive apartment, and Clara, and a family you adored. What else did you need?

Well, the fans sure didn't feel the same. They clung onto every arm in photos, every appearance. They were desperate to see you with someone, regardless of what you wanted. They really annoyed you sometimes, but you were eternally grateful. Their choice of eligible bachelor at the moment was Lando Norris, the F1 Driver. It was no secret that you enjoyed F1, because you regularly went to watch the Miami Grand Prix, occasionally making appearances at others. And you were often sporting some orange clothes, or sometimes even Lando’s iconic neon merch. So naturally, they wanted to see you together. A definite ‘power couple.’ But funnily enough, you’d never actually met him. Your social circles seemed to refuse to overlap. Sure, he commented on some posts, and vice versa. Consistent story likes and good luck messages. You’re pretty sure he attended one of your shows last year, but you don't know for certain.

However, what you did know is that you LOVED messing with your followers. So you fished through your drafts, and found a video of you in your LN4 jersey, lip-syncing to a snippet of your upcoming song, ‘Sportscar.’ Without thinking, you hit post, grinning to yourself.

And not even a minute later, it's blown up, likes and comments flooding in. And one catches your eye, from the man himself.

‘good taste.’

You smirk slightly but don’t bother to like it, you just wait for the inevitable phone call from Clara instead.

“Okay, as your unspoken social media manager, please please PLEASE!!! warn me before you start posting crazy shit.” comes her flustered voice, her surprise etched clearly on her face through the screen.

“Sorry, I had to. The comments are just SO funny.” you admit, laughing at your fan accounts literally losing their minds. Clara’s hands are stained pink from the damp hair dye in her hair, and you cackle at how overwhelmed she looks. “I promise I'll give you at least 30 seconds of warning, next time, okay?”

She huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I was going to ask this yesterday and forgot, so this is perfect. I’ve been talking to Lando’s equivalent of me, I think. I don’t really know what he does. And he was hinting how brilliant a collab would be. I didn't agree to anything,” she says hurriedly, “but it would be brilliant. For us, and for them. Just think of the publicity!” she clamours, and you hear a chaotic crash behind her.

You’ve covered this before, so that's why she asks so quickly, because she knows what's coming.

“Clara, come on. You know I don’t want to do any collabs, or anything.” you say truthfully, but she just sighs as you, exasperated.

“Look, you’re like- shockingly famous and successful. You’ve made a name for yourself, and this isn’t going to change that.” she replies, and you know she's probably right, but you just can't do it.

You crave that independence, that knowledge that you’ve never thrown names around or cozied up to anyone to chase money and fame. You worked yourself to death, sleepless nights humming to yourself, sewing outfits. So you didn’t want anyone, even Norris, putting his name near yours. You could deal with the speculation, but you weren’t about to get outshone. Watch as with each photo that dropped, you slowly becoming an extension of him. Sure, you both owned your corners of the world, neither one of you more famous than the other. If anything, you were possibly more known than him. But there was something so horrifying, about your brand slowly becoming infused with foreign faces and strangers that you don't care for. You wouldn't mind having your family or Clara or your close friends dancing with you in a music video, or posing behind you in shoots. But a cash grab, a weak attempt to rise up the charts, you refused. Maybe it was petty. Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn’t care.

“Clara, it just doesn't feel right. Sure, it fits with Sportscar, and yeah maybe the fans would love it. And I'm happy to drop the occasional video or whatever, and I wouldn't even mind meeting him, but I don't want him anywhere near my name or my brand. I don't want anyone to clarify. I’m sure he’s great, it's not personal. You can tell that to HIS Clara, yeah?” you say clearly, and you see her nod, distracted.

And even though you trust her with your life, that faraway look in her eye stresses you out. There are very few things you disagree on, and this is one of them. You both know it. And you know how easily she could make a contract, and that's it. You and Lando, official partners. Of business, obviously. But she wouldn't do that, would she?

***

Funny, how varied your evenings were. Last night, typing away on your laptop, cosied up in bed, facetime Clara. Now, dressed in a tiny outfit and possibly too much makeup for such a dark space, catching the club lights on your belt buckle. You were in the poshest, most expensive club you could find, but the people inside didn't seem to reflect that. Rich, but dickheads. You wondered what you were doing there.

Clara was long gone, dancing under the lights nearby, twirling aimlessly with a group of people as wasted as her. You were often envious of how magnetic she was, easily drawing in people. You questioned how she was in the one in the shadows, and you were the famous one, prancing around on stage.

“HEY! Look who it is. Glad to finally meet you!” came a shockingly loud shout, right into your poor, unsuspecting ear.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, batting away your assailant. You turn, expecting a crazed fan, but you’re surprised to see an offended Formula One driver instead.

“Oh. Oh! Lando, hey. Sorry about that.” you reply, dropping your raised arm. He comes too close to you again, shouting back into your ear.

“It’s okay!!!!!!” he bellows, and you have to resist the urge to hit him again. He’s slurring his words slightly, and you’re almost surprised he's still standing.

“Can you maybe, not? Shout in my ear, I mean. I can hear you.” you say matter of factly, suddenly feeling much more sober. You always got more irritable when you had something to drink, and right now Lando was getting on your last nerve, even if you’d literally just met.

“Oh yeah, sorry mate. I like your outfit, shame you’re not wearing my top though.” he says simply, swaying embarrassingly to the music. You smile at him gently, trying to stop your skin from crawling. It wasn't his fault, but you seriously didn't want to be there anymore. Maybe it was something about him being such a mystery, or some wild speculation. Him, being right there, barely thinking straight, was not what you wanted to see. You didn't even know why you'd come. You always hated clubs, the music was always too loud and you preferred dancing when you knew the choreography.

“Well, thanks. Didn’t feel like being a highlighter tonight though,” you joke, but it doesn't land. Probably because your arms are folded and your voice is deadly serious.

“Huh.” he says, clearly put off. “Thought you were a fan.” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. And maybe he's joking too, but the tension isn't right, so you just roll your eyes back at him, and he stiffens.

This was not how you imagined meeting him for the first time. It was almost weird, how dry the air was between you. You just, didnt mind him? He’d annoyed you a bit, sure, but that was forgivable. But there was no excitement, no tension, nothing.

“Do you want to dance, or something?” he asks suddenly, watching you eye up the door.

You pause, trying to be polite. “Sorry, I’m actually exhausted. I promise I'm not usually this tense, really. I’m just going to go home, but I need to let my friend know. The pink haired one, there. You see her?” you point, grinning at her as she points back between you and Lando, but you subtly shake your head at her. You hope he doesn't notice, but unfortunately for you, he does.

He straightens up by you, scowling a bit. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you around then, maybe.” he says firmly, and you just nod reassuringly. You let Clara know you’re leaving and she quickly hugs you goodbye as you make your way to the door.

As soon as you step out, and the cool night breeze hits your face, you immediately feel so much better. You almost want to apologise to Lando,since he was clearly just loud and irritatingly happy, but it's too late.

“Hey, wait up!!”

Maybe it isn't too late.

“Huh, Lando? What are you doing out here?” you ask, and he pauses for breath.

“I felt like maybe it was awkward back there? Like I was annoying you or something, and I wanted to apologise, in case I did something.” he says, still hiccuping slightly.

You laugh, it coming out colder than you intended. Like you were laughing at his average apology.

“No, it’s fine.” you say firmly, smiling gently now.

He nods, unconvinced. “So, why’d you shake your head, when fucking Pinkie-Pie in there asked about me?” he replies, sounding sort of angry. You can tell he didn't mean to offend you, but your jaw slackens.

“She prefers other animated characters. Starfire, at least. Although her personal favourite is being compared to Granmamare from Ponyo. However, her name works just fine. Clara.” you say decidedly, giving him one last chance, before you actually do get annoyed.

“Don’t know it, sorry. But hey, that's Clara, huh? She’s been in contact with my agent a lot recently, right?” he replies.

Thankful he dropped the head shake, you nod. “Yeah, but I don’t do collabs.” you murmur, still not warming up to him.

He seems to feel the same. “What, not good enough for you?” he replies snarkily, sneering at you.

“What? Of course not.” you fire back, earnestly, but he’s clearly got that into his head.

“One look at me, and you tell Clara it's not happening. One shake of the head,yeah? Not worth the time, yeah?” he continues, and hitting him crosses your mind for a second time.

“Oh, get over it! It’s not about you. You’re too loud, and too drunk. I don’t even know you, what are you doing right now? Coming up with another bullshit apology? I told you I was tired, how egotistical can you be?” you shriek, and it all comes spilling out of you.

You rarely take your anger out on anyone, but here he is. A drunk, angry, confused, Lando, who keeps fucking looking at you like you’re some elitist snob, like he isn’t filthy rich too. An easy easy target.

“Fucking hell, I chased after you because I DID want to get to know you, and thought I’d blown it just cause you’re in a bad mood. But no, turns out you’re just, mean? I’m not egotistical, just aware. Don’t try and act like I’m wrong.” he calls back, matching your volume.

You scoff loudly, stomping towards him. The air isn't dry now, it's full of venom and anger. Also, you’re freezing, and he’s evidently warm from his flushed face and the way you can feel his hot breath and the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m not mean, dickhead. You called MY best friend Pinkie-pie!!” you protest, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realise you’re definitely drunker than you thought.

He laughs at you, and you lose it.

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t do collabs, like ever. But I was close to thinking about reaching out to you. I thought you’d be cool, or whatever. And instead you're just a little boy, who can’t handle alcohol and bellows in people’s ear. You’re obnoxious!!” you shout, your faces practically touching.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head.

“No, no I’m not done!!” you continue, spinning away from him, laughing. “Yeah, maybe it was bullshit. I’m not tired. You just made me irritated. Like, those two lines of talking with you dampened my fucking mood. But you know what? What if I was just tired? Tired, and drunk, and walking home. And you were going to come over and what? Hound me for answers about some weird gesture I did to my friend. Call me an angry, mean, antisocial bitch?” you ask, letting all your emotions fly out viciously from your hoarse throat.

He’s visibly hurt, but also visibly impressed. He just blinks, unsure of what to do next.

“Soooo, Mr Norris. No, I will not be seeing you around, maybe. Thank fuck we aren’t collaborating together, huh? It would've been a nightmare.”

“A trainwreck.” he agrees, clearly bemused.

“Wow, glad we finally agreed on something!” you say sarcastically, turning around to begin your walk home. But you pause, flipping him off first, and you stare at him long enough to see him return the favour. And the only thing you can think to do, to essentially get the last word, is to stick your tongue out at him.

And then he's blinking again, surprised, and you speed off before you see any other of his facial expressions.

“For the record, I didn't call you a bitch.” he calls out, but you keep your finger firmly extended in the air.

***

The next day flies by, but you spend almost all of it in bed, replaying the night before. His stupid, smug, face. You actually start to hate him more now. Who was he, to think he had some claim to getting to know you?

What a pathetic little man.

You were desperate to ramble about your interaction with Clara, but she was knocked out, you presumed. She hadn’t been online for almost 18 hours.

So when her little icon changes from an offputting grey to vivid green, you grin, eagerly calling her.

“Oh my GOD Clara. He was not what I was expecting at all! Insufferable, really. I’ve been thinking about how I dodged a bullet, and I’m so seriously grateful I can avoid him indefinitely now. Might have to burn my merch.” you joke loudly, properly waking her up.

She freezes, guilt clouding her whole face. And then she bursts into the loudest fit of giggles you’ve heard in a while.

“What if I told you you didn’t dodge that bullet, like, at all? And at 10am tomorrow you have a shoot with him? Wearing his brand?” she stammers, still giggling and you feel a laugh bubble in your throat.

But when she looks at you, suddenly deadly serious, that laugh sours and viciously burns you. And you've never wanted anything more than to strangle her. So you hang up instead.

CLARA:

im sorry

lol

not that sorry

no wait yes i am

i shouldnt of gone behind ur back like that, ofc

but im not sorry that lando is an asshole

can i come watch pls

YOU:

stfu

ur lucky i havent fired you

wait

why havent i fired u yet ??

consider this a formal warning

CLARA:

hes hot tho

YOU:

this is ur boss

what r u talking about

CLARA:

lando ?

liek sure maybe hes annoying asf but

like***

you’ll defo look good together

YOU:

idk what ur talking about

hes not even the best looking driver on the grid

also hes punching

CLARA:

its just a shoot babe ur not betrothed

btw the contract goes both ways

ur not just modelling for him

YOU:

whatthefuckdoumean

clara

what did u do

…

clara this is ur boss

reply immediately

CLARA:

“boy dont make me choose”

guess whos playing said ‘boy’ in the sportscar mv

thank me later???

YOU:

oh my

please be joking

have u READ??? those lyrics

ur taking the mick

im going to kill you

this actually cant be happening

has HE READ THOSE LYRICS?

oh my god

cnacnel

abort immediately

CLARA:

10am tomorrow

ill send u the address later

enjoy x

btw u legally have to go

like u might get sued if u dont

not might, will. please go!!

YOU:

i want u on the set for sportscar too

CLARA:

umm, why? as your intimacy co-ordinator

hah im SO funny

YOU:

so i can run u over

you can admire him up close as you both become speedbumps

that wasnt funny btw

***

You barely sleep, and when the sun rolls into your room, you sigh, waving it away. Doomsday is a mere few hours away, and you can’t get his stupid fucking face out of your head. You actually hate him. Truly, hate him. And you hate hating people, so this really isn’t ideal.

Also, ‘sportscar’ is kind of insane, by your standards. Unhinged, maybe. You didn't even WANT to make a music video for it, but they are sort of your thing. So you thought something cool, you driving around or something. A strategic orange car (again, you enjoyed messing with fans.) but you hadn't thought about having really anyone else but you. It was an awkward video to film with anyone, sure. And you weren’t exactly, not awkward?

You raise your head from your pillow, just to throw it straight back down, exasperated. A shoot, you could get through, just. But some of the lyrics, the general impression of the song? Even you wouldn't be able to pass that off as a little joke, that was actually crazy. What was Clara THINKING? You curse her again, for the millionth time that day, and you watch the clock tick. Until you seriously do have to get up.

She’d instructed you to come with no makeup, nothing. Just show up, and his stylists would take care of the rest. The silence, the lights, flashes would all be bearable. But posing with him, fake-smiling at him? Definitely a challenge. You actually felt the life being sucked out of you at the thought. So you breathe, cracking a grin, and you let your face get used to it. Since you’d be plastering that all day.

***

The studio is nice. Modern. Not too big, but not cramped either. Plenty of make-up artists, hair stylists, designers flit around, but you aren't claustrophobic. That is until he walks in, and then suddenly the walls collapse on you.

He grins straight at you, overly cheerily, and you instinctively scowl back. Oops. Good start. In response he mimes like he’s just been shot, deeply wounded, on the brink of death. You just shake your head, rolling your eyes at his immaturity. That practiced smile, immediately disappearing.

About half an hour later, you’re both dressed and ready. You sport a more subtle LN4 themed outfit, with small details sewn throughout your matching top and bottom half. He’s wearing a more masculine outfit, in a darker colour, but you both look incredibly harmonious. And surprisingly, you realise Clara is right. You actually do sort of look brilliant together. Shame he’s so fucking annoying.

The photographer seems blissfully unaware of how much you detest the man to your right. Either he’s an idiot, or you’re an incredible actor. You assume it’s a bit of both.

So when he asks you to sit on a block beside Lando, and rest your head carefully on his chest, you almost start a riot.

Lando winks at you, and you swear you might just kill him, right there on camera. But you just breathe, not looking at him any longer, and you smile gently for the flash in front of you.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, murmuring into your ear. It's an improvement from when he deafened you, but you hate how close he is.

“Immensely so.” you hiss back, and he laughs at you bitterly.

So you decide to ram your pretty large heel straight into his foot, bitterly. And although he doesn't yelp, like you hoped, he grimaces and you feel him stiffen. Good enough.

“Sorry, are you uncomfortable? You sure look uncomfortable.” you whisper back, and you watch his bared teeth shift into a dazzling smile. ANd you realise Clara is right, yet again. A theme you were not liking. But admittedly, he was attractive. And that just made you even more annoyed.

The rest of the day went by about the same. You basically either looked like you wanted to die, or you wanted him to die, until you heard the click. Then you were smiling, like you actually didn’t mind staring at him warmly as the photographer walked around you.

Then came an unexpected brief- just talk naturally. Candids, they wanted. So they positioned you next to each other, spread out on the same sleek couch, your legs occupying the same small space, and told you to have a conversation.

You had nothing you wanted to say to him, so you waited for him to speak first. So he did.

“You truly are a professional, huh?” he comments, a permanent gleam in his eyes.

“Can’t say the same for you. I wouldn’t quit your day job.” you snap back, absent-mindedly.

“Wasn’t going to. I love racing.” he replies, shrugging, and you decide to give him a moment of respite from your disgusting looks and harsh words.

“Okay, that's common ground. Let's talk about it, alright? That way he’ll get his photos, and I can get out of here.” you say firmly, and he cocks his head to the side, staring at you inquisitively.

“Alright. Sure. So, what’s your favourite race you’ve been to?” he asks, and you pause.

“Miami, last year, was pretty good.” you admit, forgetting one crucial detail about that race.

He didn't, though. His eyebrows shoot up, hidden behind his curly hair.

“Are you kidding? My first race win, and that’s your favourite. And I thought you HATED me! Hah.” he laughs, triumphantly, and you groan.

“Shut up. And I didn’t hate you then. Cause I didn't know you then.” you say slowly, not realising how truly harsh your words are.

“You don’t even know me, now.” he replies, not missing a beat.

“I know enough.” you shoot back simply, but he just shakes his head at you, exasperated.

“You really don’t. Come on, you could give me another chance.” he mutters, and you hum back at him.

“Yeah, I could. But I pay a lot of attention to first impressions.” you fire back, and he smiles slightly.

“Pretty sure you flipped me off and then stuck your tongue out at me all in the space of two seconds, and I don’t hate you, so?” he sighs, and you just roll your eyes at him, suppressing your own smile.

‘I don't hate you, so.’

You think deeply, ignoring him getting up. Ignoring the photographer packing up. It isn’t until Lando sticks his calloused hand directly above you, helping you up, that you realise you’re finally done. How relieving.

And you take it gracefully, hoisting yourself up. But you just can’t help it. His smirking face. So you yank him backwards, throwing him back onto the couch, and you burst into laughter. The only genuine smile you’ve shown all day. And then you hear it, and you freeze. That stupid click.

And you see that idiot photographer, his face literally beaming. Like he’s just won the lottery. And as you admire the bewildered expression on Lando's face, you realise he has. It’s a great shot.

***

And two days later, your end of the bargain is over. You don’t give Clara any updates. You refuse. She doesn’t deserve the drama. All you tell her is that he’s as annoying as you expected, and you still truly loathe him, but you like his team. And it's funny, making fun of him. You tell her you preferred the Quadrant half of the deal, since you met the designer. How you thought she would love her. And how much you hate her for what’s happening at the weekend.

That’s when he messages you.

LANDO:

whats sportscar actually about?

me??

YOU:

ew no

i thought i blocked u??

get out my dms

LANDO:

harhar

seriously

drop those lyrics

YOU:

you don’t like surprises?

LANDO:

no,i do, but i see the way u look at me when i mention it

like u wanna scratch my eyes out

so go on

YOU:

u asked for it

*photo

LANDO:

i see

that will be fun

YOU:

careful

or i actually will block u

LANDO:

no u wont

your fans will notice

and then u cant randomly drop references of me anymore

which u clearly love to do

YOU:

“harhar”

goodbye lando

LANDO:

see u soon

YOU:

unfortunately

***

The weekend came too soon. No one knew just how much content you and Lando were about to drop. You’d agreed to drop the music video simultaneously with his new collection, so the explosion happened once, and you could face the aftermath together.

And this time, when you arrived at your own studio, your own set, you felt much more relaxed, even though the filming was much more daunting. This was your team. Photos of you and them scattered around. Your favourite director, waving at you. Costumes and lights and greenscreens. Your name, on a door. Clara’s, beside yours. So when he walks in, scouring the scene, your stomach sours. You’d almost forgotten he was coming, to disrupt the peace.

“So, your turf, huh?” he announces, reading your mind.

“Yup. You ever been in a music video before, Norris?” you ask, arms folded.

“Nope.” he replies honestly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. And for a moment, a tiny moment, you think he might just be a little bit nervous.

“Well, you’ll be fine, I'm sure. I said Clara could look after you. She’s more of a fan than I am.” you joke, signalling her over.

She practically skips over, grinning at you. “She’s lying. Not a clue who you are, really. She’ll never drag me to a stupid race. I just called you hot once. To annoy her, may I add. Alright ‘boy’, let's go.” she says rapidly, but choosing to drag the word ‘boy’ heavily, glaring at you.

“Hey, Pinkie-pie. I was looking forward to meeting you, truly. I would've introduced myself the other night, but we all know how that went.” he replies, mimicking her dramatic tone, and she laughs at him. And you hate that they immediately fit together, really well. There's no fire in his eyes when he looks at her, only light.

And she drags him away, so you sidle up to your director. Bardia smiles at you.

“I must admit, I was surprised that you brought Lando here. I didn’t realise you were actually together, I thought it was a big joke.” he huffs, and you stare at him, absolutely horrified.

“Please, never say that again. Lando and I are NOT together- that would be- actually-” you begin, trying not to gag. You’re glad disgust is your main emotion, because for a brief moment you were worried there. That maybe you didn’t hate him anymore. But with what you feel at that suggestion, you’re reassured that you do still detest that man.

He looks at you, confused. “You know we’re filming for ‘sportscar,’ today. Yes? As in, this song.” he begins, playing it from the speakers. And when you watch Lando hear it for the first time and his breath hitches, you find yourself pausing too.

“Yes, I know. Don’t remind me. Clara was an idiot. But seriously, we’re just acquaintances.” you stress, trying not to listen to your own voice.

He scoffs. “Fine, I’ll cut out some of the ideas I had. They definitely won't work if you don't get along, but you’ll have to act like you’re together, alright?”

You blink and nod, trying not to think of what ideas he was thinking of.

***

You love Bardia’s vision, as usual, and paired with Brett’s styling, you both look admittedly phenomenal. And other than a brief moment, when you accidentally exploded at him for getting in your way (you said a lot of things that were unbelievably cruel), it goes quite well. Although, after your outburst, he seemed to shrink a bit. He didn’t argue back, just listened to instructions. Pulled faces when you needed him to. And honestly? You liked him more like that. You were just happy to be almost done with him.

A lot of it was solo work, or you and a few backup dancers. So you made an effort to not watch him and Clara joke off set, laughing to each other. You just focused on the carefully curated choreography, satisfied when you hit each beat. But because you weren't looking at him, you didn't see him looking at you. Staring. His laughs to Clara were absent-minded. He focused entirely on each move you made, admiring your determination. Your subtle skill.

Bardia always shot in chronological order, so you were fucking finally nearing the end of the song, and your torture could end. So when you catch Clara staring at you wide-eyed as he tells her his plans for the outro, you realise this was going to become an actual nightmare.

A train wreck, as someone you know would say.

She rushes over to you as you sip on some water, trying to avoid eye contact with Lando.

“You’re about to blow up again.” she announces, a disgusting smile stretching up her face.

“What.” you say sullenly.

“How comfortable are you sitting on Lando’s lap?” she asks wickedly, and your jaw drops.

“Um, that isn’t happening?” you reply quickly.

“Well, you wrote it in. ‘We can share one seat,’ and all that.” she sings, and you drop your head into your hands.

“No, I refuse to do that.” you respond, shrugging.

“Huh, Lando said you’d refuse. Funny, knows you better than you think.”

“No, he just knows I hate him.” you mutter, shaking your head profusely.

“I don’t think it's that. He thinks you’re scared of him. That you don’t want to be too close to him, but not because you hate him. He’s very cocky, I’ll admit that.” she says, shrugging back.

“You’re JOKING. He doesn’t think it's that, trust me.” you shriek back, and she nods sarcastically.

“I think I’ve spoken to him more in the last half an hour than you have, well, ever. He definitely thinks you’re into him.” she laughs, and you get very very angry again.

“Well, he can fuck off. Fucking idiot. Tell Bardia I want this done, so let's hurry up.” you mumble, and Clara runs off. And across the room, you meet his stare, and you shake your head incredulously at him. He just blinks back.

***

“How come you’re looking at me so funny?” he asks, sitting comfortably in the driver's seat of the car they’d rolled onto set.

While you were dancing, they’d done some outdoor scenes with him, and you’d heard him rambling about the drifting he’d done, grinning about the car. He did look like he belonged behind the wheel -in all fairness.

“Because Clara told me about your stupid ideas.” you mutter, ignoring the confusion on his face as you clamber over the gap between the passenger seat.

“Um, okay. This is new. What ideas?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably as you climb onto him, trying to hide your awkwardness.

“That I was into you.” you huff, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“I didn't say that, but you are literally all over me.” he responds, sitting up straighter. He gently lifts your legs, giving him space to move to get comfortable, and you pretend to ignore how his hands burn your bare skin.

“Oh, come on.” you say, turning to face him. But the genuine innocence on his face is so believable you actually realise what happened.

Clara was SO lucky they had started recording. You’d never hated her so much as you did right now.

His comment earlier about you being a professional was absolutely correct though, and you were proving it. You sang along quietly, so quietly that Lando was probably the only person who could hear you, but it kept you on beat.

And every word you moved, leaned, gestured. To anyone watching, it would seem like you belong there, your limbs intertwined with his. That he isn’t making you uncomfortable, no, merely the opposite. That you dont want anything more than to get away from him, the skin to skin contact actually driving you insane. And with each thought, with each shiver, you press further into him, feeling the music. It was your song, after all. Clara was right, you had written this in. And as much as you despise her, that snake, you are absolutely loving the bizarre look you are getting from Lando. He has a cap on, that matched your top, and that was very lucky for him. Because he was, like you’d said, NOT a professional. His obvious confusion, and the way he kept looking away from you, was hilarious. So you pull down his cap, so it almost completely covers his face, meaning his curls poke out the back.

“Stop blushing, Norris. And stop looking like you want to run away. I’m trying my very best to act like I don't want to throw up right now, please do the same.” you whisper, your lips grazing his ear.

He doesn’t respond, but he reacts instead. He throws the cap off his head, as if to prove to you he isn’t flushed, but you’re not very convinced.

“Brilliant. We got exactly what we needed. I can’t think of a better scene for the outro, really. You should pay Clara for her originality, alongside her services. IF I’m not careful, she’ll be taking my job soon.” jokes Bardia, and if looks could kill, the one you shoot Clara would’ve had her dead instantly.

You practically leap off Lando, like he was burning you, and you charge straight for her.

“You need to fuck off, Clara.” you say, seething.

You very very rarely argue, and you’ve never been so mad at her, so this was new. This hostility. Between her and Lando, you couldn’t tell who was worse.

She looks taken aback. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just, I thought it was funny. I was going to tell him to change his plan, but he had a vision by then, and you’d already got on set-” she starts, but you just shake your head at her.

“Cut the bullshit apology. You’ve been such a pain about this whole thing. I let it go, that you even did this, and I shouldn’t have. But I did, because I love you. And every fucking day that I spent angry, and irritable, and stressed, I tried to not blame you. I think that's why I hated him so much. Because I just didn't want to be mad at you, because I NEED YOU. You’ve always been there. One of the few people I trust with my life. And you stabbed me in the fucking back. And here I am, anxious and angry and way out of my depth, and then you pulled out the knife, just to stab me again. But yeah, hope that was real fucking funny.” you shout, ignoring her cringing eyes and the sudden silence of the room.

“Leave Pinkie-Pie alone, yeah? Come on, let's get some water or something.” comes a voice, and a hand on your shoulder. And why he thought you’d want to talk to him, of all fucking people, is absurd.

“Her name is Clara. You two aren’t friends, unless you’re part of some fucking club to piss me off, maybe? I do not need you wading in here, okay? Leave me the fuck alone. We’re done, contracts over. Video launches in a week, and that's it. Never have to speak to each other again, Norris. Let's start now. Get out of here, please.” you snarl, not looking him in the eyes.

You pause.

“Actually, no. I’ll leave. You two can have a chat or something, maybe about how else you can go behind my back, and how you can then make me want to shoot myself!” you shout, shrugging, looking from Clara to Lando. And you turn and storm out, practically running home.

***

Its ‘sportscar’ release day. You've seen the video. It was actually great. And setting the emotions aside, the ending made sense. But you can't really watch it, past the first minute, without wanting to scream. So you don’t.

The fans however? They go mental. Like, inconsolable. Losing their minds.

Comments flood in, endless. All the same, your name and Landos. A few, about the song being great. A few, crediting the designers of Lando’s new merch, but it's a few. And it's exactly what you knew was going to happen, that you were so upset by.

Everyone, violent and relentless.

‘‘The way they look at each other!”

“this is an insane hard launch omfgg??”

“wait , r they actually together?”

“I KNEW IT.”

“Lando, one chance please.”

“They look so good together”

“i just died omfg”

Millions. Literally millions of comments all like that. And you hate it, that you were so not in control of this. That now, everyone thought you were dating a man you didn't even like. Someone who had made last week one of the hardest of your life. Every comment, a reminder of Clara, laughing. But you didn’t want to let everyone view you like this. So you had to do something.

Photos, videos. Of you and Lando, at each other's throats. Your arguments. Someone had even managed to get a video of you from that night when you first met. So you made a somewhat innocent photo dump, throwing in the occasional fight. In a way that genuinely presented you both as insufferable.

Your caption was harsh, but honest. “Crazy couple of weeks. Nice to meet Norris finally, but didn’t expect him to be so annoying!!. Anyway, hope you all like ‘sportscar!’ thanks everyone xx” @landonorris

He commented almost immediately.

“yeh, crazy is a good word. thanks for the new experience. sorry for being such a pain in the ass.”

It was sad. Not even that flippant. And you almost, almost, felt bad. Your anger, maybe misplaced. But, he was still undeniably annoying. Regardless if he deserved your wrath or not, that was still true. It always was going to be.

But someone who definitely DID deserve your anger was Clara. You hadn’t spoken since, which was shockingly unusual for you two. But you were hurting, and she still hadn’t really apologised.

CLARA:

hi! i know you probably dont want to talk, but can u open the door? can we talk anyway?

You huff, and get up. Classic. She hated knocking, never did. She just came in. She literally had a key.

You open the door, to see her sad face. Red, probably from exhaustion. She didn't cry often.

“Come in.”

And she does, sitting on your sofa.

“Look, I’m so so sorry. Like really. I just, I didn’t think about how you were feeling. I just thought about the numbers. And, you know, you. I thought that maybe you only hated him so much because you liked him, and you were scared. It wouldn’t be the first time. And, look, I know this is awful of me, but you know I’ve always loved meddling. And I didn’t say it back, but I love you too. Always. You’re literally my sister, and I don't know what I’d do without you. I mean, this week nearly killed me. I know forgiving me won't be easy, but I didn't have malicious intentions. Yeah, maybe I thought it would be humorous. I didn't think you really hated him that much, that you'd say yes just to prove him wrong.That's unlike you, really. I was surprised.” she explains, her voice cracking.

“I just, the fans, you know. They wanted it so badly. It seemed almost unreal. I don’t know, I just thought you were making a big deal out of nothing. And although I could totally see how and why he pissed you off, he was more tolerable than I was expecting. “ she finishes shakily, and you really stare at her.

Her bloodshot eyes. Her messy pink hair, plaited lazily. Still dressed in her favourite pyjamas, like she came here in a frenzy. Like this was eating her up. And you just couldn’t. You just couldn’t let this ruin you.

So you hug her tightly, feeling her melt into your shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. We’ll be okay.” you murmur reassuringly. And you realise that you will be, definitely.

“You didn't give me 30 seconds, by the way. Again. Before you posted that clear hatepost.” she mutters, her voice muffled.

You laugh. “Yep, sorry. The shipping was annoying. Thought that might make them back off.”

She sighs. “You don’t know your fans at all, do you? They think you rejected him, or something. Or you’re keeping it a secret. Or it was a joke, to cause drama. But most of them just think you’re madly in love, so. This isn’t going away. I’m sorry.”

***

Miami weekend. Upcoming anniversary of your favourite race, was how Lando was thinking of it. And you were coming. You’d been spotted around, a week early. Lando was also here early, because he loved Miami too.

You didn’t know that, though. So you weren’t expecting to bump into him in the city, surrounded by people in the busy street right by the track.

“Oh. Lando. Hi.” you say briskly, trying to walk on, but he stops you.

“Coming for the race? I’m going to win again, you know. Unless that would annoy you.” he replies, smiling weakly, but you know he doesn't mean it. That comment clearly hurt.

“Yeah, I am. Have your new hoodie in my bag, if you don’t mind me wearing it.”

He shrugs. “Of course not. Assuming Pinkie-Pie isn’t with you, I can get you into the garage, if you want.”

You pause. “No, don’t worry. And, you know I only posted that to try and shut up some of the fans. I didn't mean it.”

“Yeah, you did. It's okay. And I’m assuming you don't want to be seen with me then? All these fans, taking photos. Sorry. I’ll let you go now.” he nods, and he drops your hand. You hadn’t even realised he was holding it.

Shit, that wasn’t going to help, was it? Suddenly, you're hyperaware of everyone. Cameras, fans laughing and pointing, waiting for Lando to sign caps, or for a photo with you.

“You know, I’m sorry we can’t be friends. You know, maybe if we’d met differently. If we weren't stuck doing those stupid shoots. If we’d met, like here. Naturally. If the fans hadn’t built us into something. I don't know.” you mumble, thinking, and turning away.

“Well, I realised I didn’t want to be friends, like after we first met too.”

That takes you by surprise.

“Huh, was it the head shake? Or the middle finger? Or calling us an inevitable nightmare?” you ask, teasing. You walk back towards him, interested in what he was going to reply.

He shakes his head. “No, I meant I didn't want to be friends.” he responds, lowering his voice.

Oh.

And before you have time to figure out what to say back, or if you can run away, he looks directly at you.

“You know what? Fuck it.” he mutters, and then he’s right there. His face, right against yours. But he doesn’t move, just stares at you expectantly.

“Tell me not to. Push me away. Hiss in my face, tell me how fucking annoying I am. How much you hate me. Say it, right now, and I’ll fuck off. Genuinely, you’ll never see me again, like you wanted.” he whispers, daring you.

And you look at him, dead in the eyes. Admiring his curly hair, and the slight nervousness etched on his smile. And your heart is beating so loudly, it drowns out all the things you could say to him. So you say nothing.

And that's what he wanted. His lips crash onto yours, and your hands snake around his neck and into the bottom of his hair, while he wraps himself around you. You can feel him grinning against your mouth, and you pull away to laugh at him, and he laughs with you.

And he seems a lot less annoying when you go back to kiss him again.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #fanfic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando x you #formula 1 #tate mcrae #fanfiction #music #fame au #enemies to lovers #angst #fluff #cute #best friends #pink #mclaren

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euphoria-looney · 5 months ago

Text

Credits to the idea:

Batfam X Neglected Reader ( Squid Games)

Creds to the dividers: (?)

The Winner Takes It All by ABBA

When do humans get so desperate they give up their own lives for that small chance of money?

Money is a category in your history class dedicated to why money is the basis of your life. Economy.

I first witnessed someone leave everything had for money, my mother. When I was 5, I didn't know why my mother was leaving the manor with a huge suitcase, filled with cash.

My mother engaged to Bruce Wayne who only allowed her in as they procreated me. In her words, both sides should take responsibility, it takes two to tango, and why should she be the only one to deal with the consequences.

Which now is very hypocritical as she ran away taking everything but me.

I didn't want sympathy, but I didn't want to be treated like dirt for a mistake I didn't make.

For the next 13 years of my life, I tried to stay on the down low, no matter how many dirty looks, and the insults, not even when Damian would hurt me.

I just hoped they wouldn't mind if I stayed with them a little longer until I could find a stable way to leave.

That hope burst when Alfred came to my room and told me “Master Bruce has decided to kick you out and disown you, I'm so sorry, [name].”

I tried to somehow make it, promising myself, it was going to be okay.

I got into college, and the debt collected from that was massive, so I had to go get loans at the bank, and then get into a part-time job, but every day seemed like we were always getting robbed. My manager had no choice but to let me go.

“I'm sorry, sugar, but we aren't pulling in enough customers and I can't afford to keep too many employees, there's no easy way to say this but, you have to quit. I don't want to fire you, it'd look bad for any job you'd apply for next.”

I held onto her hand like a lifeline I begged and pleaded with no avail.

I tucked my tail in and went to the Wayne manor.

"Um, It's [name], could I... um..." I swallowed my words, afraid to say them, I mean, this was humiliating, 13 years since I'd seen them and the first thing I asked for was cash? "... borrow some money."

No surprise I was rejected, but that didn't hurt me it was the comments, how I was so much like my mother.

I waddled to the train station, if I was lucky, the train wouldn't be hijack or filled with gas tonight.

"Hey, you want to earn some money?" A guy next to me.

"No, thank you."

"10,000 dollars. Just a child's game"

I lifted my head to stare at him. I couldn't see his face, hidden behind a mask.

"It's a Korean game, visited it a few days ago, so would you mind playing it with me?" He gave an authoritative vibe, it made me want to back away, his aura was sinister.

I had already hit rock bottom, what could be lower? I hesitantly nodded my head.

I don't know how many times I lost, but I finally did it!

Handing me the cash and then handing me this weird card.

"If you ever need more, contact us." with that he walked away.

Third POV

“B, are you sure this is the right spot?”

‘Positive. Are you sure you want to join on this mission, Dick.”

Despite what anyone might think Batman, otherwise known as Bruce Wayne cares and loves his kids.

Changing into suits and golden animal masks, they went to the VIP room, make some bets on random numbers.

Oracle was doing the background work, hacking into everything, it wasn't like the movies and the stress was on.

The court of Owls was not just one villain working but a cult that was not only wealthy but influential, with their own members, called Talons who were armed and ready.

On the screen 456 players appeared.

“Today, we have prepared the game red light, green light. A child game.” The frontman introduced the V.I.P’s at the start of the first round.

[name]’s POV:

Waking up, the clothes I was originally wearing changed into the tracksuit outfit with a number on it.

A person caught my eye, it’s Astro! From the law department, I couldn’t help but approach him.

“What are you doing here?” Word got around that he was an academic genius, and many had hope for his bright future.

I could only remember how fond his mother was when talking about him, I thought I saw her the other day working.

“Oh, [name]. It’s been a while hasn’t it? What are you doing here?” He dodged the question.

“I… couldn’t afford college and took out a loan, eventually I got a lot of debt.” Our conversation got cut short as we headed to this random room.

Going to this machine it said ‘smile’

I gave a gummy like smile before making my way to the field

Playing red light, green light.

After explaining the rules everyone started running, nothing was wrong until a person got spotted moving during the red light, poor guy, going home penniless after making it here-

Spat

Oh.

There’s blood on my shoes.

It was like a stampede of people running to the door, stacking on top of each other. I was frozen out of fear.

Wha-

What do I do?

I’m afraid.

Someone tell me, what do I do?!

Before I knew it, I made it to the end.

Third POV:

Thankfully no one found the bat family suspicious or they would’ve noticed how they tensed up seeing as their daughter/sibling had the first contestant’s blood splattered not only on her shoes but also on her clothes.

A break had ensued as the game was over and everyone made their way to their individual rooms.

“What are they doing there?!”

“Should we stop it now?!”

“How?!”

“Quiet down!” Bruce had stopped the panic, but in reality he, himself didn’t know what to do either.

[name]’s POV:

Going back to the room, I felt like a doll and everyone sat on the floor.

The sickening feeling of seeing the gold lighting illuminating the clear pig, with money dropping down into it.

I could feel my stomach drop just thinking about it.

I didn't know what was happening until Astro got up and rebutted the guards.

“Clause three, The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, right?”

Thankfully, ending this sick and twisted game.

That didn’t last long though as a day had passed and I was back in this building. I think everyone who left was.

I talked to new people, especially this one old man who reminded me of Alfred.

“I could say the same to you. You’re young, and your debt is lower than most people here, so why continue risking your life for this money?” I shook my head, my face holding a sad smile.

“No matter how hard I try I just keep gaining then losing debt. But it’s different for you sir. Doesn’t the government give insurance and medicare for the elderly?” I held his hands in mine.

“The government isn’t as nice as you think, corrupt up in their high-paying jobs, but still greedy for more.”

As the games ensued I could feel myself deteriorate.

Third POV

Gripping onto the couch arms, and bouncing off one's feet could symbolize when someone is... anxious.

Or it could be showing anticipation.

So let's pretend that's what Bruce Wayne is feeling right now.

And if we asked his opinion on number ###, [name] [lastname]...

Most people would think, "Yes, he must be anticipating her death, how the blood would splatter, whether it be from losing a game or betrayal from another contestant." That's what most people would think of that entire family.

How could you not?

They shamed her, bullied her, and scorned her away from their home.

Wouldn't even provide financial aid much less.

Isn't that why she's here in the first place?

It was like they wanted her to grovel and die, die a death that would have no meaning, not even to this unforgiving world.

However, you'd be shocked that's not correct.

Anxiety is a scary thing it makes you make rash decisions. Good or bad.

It was nothing new to these vigilantes.

But oh. seeing her tired eyes, sweat dripping down everywhere, from her head to her legs. Her trembling form.

If you didn't know the context you'd already think she was a corpse.

No! That's wouldn't couldn't be true.

They couldn't allow it to be, she was going to be safe.

She had to be.

She was forgotten, but now, everyone's eyes were on her.

Anxiety is a scary thing, and with the current event, situation, there was nothing they could do but hope for the best, bounce their legs, and grip the couch.

It’s time for the next game.

“For this game we’ll be playing the marble game.”

—

There will be 2 endings choose which one. (I'll be making both.)

-> Thank you… for playing with me.

-> Astro!

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento (I think these are all the ones that wanted to get tagged idk though 😍)

#yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfamily x reader #neglected reader #yandere batfamily

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burningcheese-merchant · 4 months ago

Note

ANSWER THIS AND YOU GET A FUNNY BURNING CHEESE COMIC

Hear me out

The ancients giving themselves up to the beasts as sacrifices if they agreed to leave earthbread alone and never wreck terror or show their faces again

I'd say everyone besides Flour would go:

Say less Babygirl*hops into a pumpkin carriage and rides off into the sunset*

Maybe Salt would need a lot of convincing because... Holy shit it could be this easy, Milk you seeing this, quick Spice snap a photo this is a moment in history

Flour is just in massive denial but would find a way to agree to mke it seem like it isn't about love or anything

Unknown3doors, don't tempt me like that 👀 don't tempt me like that, unknown3doors 👀 you're playing with fire, unknown3doors 👀🔥

Pure Vanilla surrendering to Shadow Milk would be the happiest day of Shadow's life. He makes Vanilla repeat himself multiple times, makes him announce it through a megaphone, they do a radio broadcast, Shadow makes a TV special out of it, Shadow writes poems and essays gloating and taunting... And then he eventually agrees to Vanilla's terms (although, he DOES try to haggle for permission to continue annoying people). Pure Vanilla is HIS!!! HE'S FINALLY HIS!!! FOREVER AND EVER!!!!!!! (And the Soul Jam, technically. But WHATEVER!!! HIS SILLY VANILLY!!!). Now Vanilla must endure having to spend EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of his life within 10 feet of Shadow AT ALL TIMES, or else the deal is off and Shadow will commit genocide in retaliation. Why the long face, though? You agreed to this! You knew this would happen! Maybe if Vanilla behaves well enough, like a good little doll, Shadow will allow himself to be HIS doll for a time. Tit for tat. It's only fair. They can be each other's playmate for eternity now...

Eternal Sugar would be 100% awake for the first time in forever if Hollyberry offered herself to her - in exchange for anything at all, it never had to have been for keeping innocents safe. Typical of Holly, in her estimate; she's not necessarily surprised by this. Maybe she'll feign a bit of surprise just because, maybe she'll tease Holly about it... But all in all, she's quite pleased. Now she can keep those pesky subjects of Holly's away from her much easier (as well as her friends... Including that ridiculous dragon...). Holly will learn to see things her way eventually. Appreciate the little things. Like a nice, long nap in a warm bed, in the arms of a loved one... Pleasant, sugary sweet dreams that are too comforting to wake up from... No one ever bothering them about anything ever again. Free from their responsibilities, free from the burden of the shield and the crown. Just the two of them in their own little world, pursuing their own happiness. Won't that be nice?

Mystic Flour would struggle to even entertain Dark Cacao's presence, never mind his... proposal (oh gods, not that word). She would refuse, and refuse, and refuse again. But Cacao does not give up, stubborn fool that he is. Curse his Light of Resolution... Eventually, in lieu of plainly refusing, she tries to appeal to reason. What about his kingdom? His people? What would they say, think, do? Will he leave them behind just to keep her pacified? What about his friends? His son? Who will rule in his absence? Unfortunately, Cacao has an answer for every single one of her questions... and, with an even greater undertone of misfortune... she likes them. That part of her that likes HIM also likes this. That he always has an answer for everything she says. That he won't bend the knee to her, no matter what. His self-sacrificing nature, bordering on martyrdom... just like hers once was. In truth, every word out of her mouth is only serving to delay her inevitable acceptance of his offer. A feeble attempt at shooing him away, one final shot at denying her feelings towards him, for having him around her constantly would be too much to bear, and she might... She... She'll break. She knows she will. And she can't have it. She won't stand for it.

... Dark Cacao, stubborn, handsome, selfless fool that he is. He has undone everything she ever worked for. Her apathy meant nothing the moment they locked eyes. It means nothing now, as they go back and forth about this foolish deal of his. And it won't mean anything when she eventually says yes.

(But she'll try to pretend otherwise, for as long as she can. Neither of them could handle the truth...)

Golden Cheese: Burning Spice, if you leave everyone else alone, I'll give myself to-

Burning Spice: DEAL!!!!!!!!! *pounces on her before she can actually finish or explain herself any further... What he does next, I'll let you imagine/decide 😉*

Silent Salt... wouldn't even believe it at first. He'd be astounded. Dumbfounded, really, that White Lily would say such a thing... Is this really her? Is someone forcing her to do this? What is the catch? Enough reassurance from her would convince him that she's being real and sincere and every other word that can be used to describe her deal, and... he accepts it. No other ifs, ands or buts. His White Lily... now, she really IS his White Lily. Forever and ever... He doesn't mind having to keep away from society; that's hardly a punishment. It costs him nothing. And if his White Lily is there with him, he won't even notice the difference...

#can you tell I liked writing the MysticCacao one the most lol. I love toying with their dynamic it's fun #seriously though. there actually would be a fair bit of discussion/negotiation between PV/SM and DC/MF. Ironing out terms and conditions #ES wouldn't care too much about it in the moment. Too much work. They can talk about it later if Holly really wants to #BS really is the “say less babygirl” one lmao. Bird Wife mine forever? Yes! Me happy! Life good now #We fight! We kiss! We hug! We make babies! Many babies. And then we fight more! FOREVER!!! MY BIRD WIIIIFFFEEE #SS has always been the calmest one to me outside of MF. Also the most simple and straightforward one. No noise or fanfare or mockery #just... “you're giving yourself to me? you're serious? anything extra to add that I need to know? ok. deal.” the end #SS and BS just want their wives more than anything else tbh... they don't need much incentive #i can rant more abt this later if y'all want lol #cookie run kingdom #burningcheese #goldenspice #mysticcacao #hollysugar #silentlily #pureshadow #shadowvanilla

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a-very-tired-jew · 4 months ago

Text

Oh, that explains why I'm getting hate today. STA made a post about me. They must be really upset that a forensic scientist posting reasonable and measured takes, explaining how forensic science works, using their experience as a colloquially known "death expert" to debunk things, calling out propaganda, calling out antisemitism, and using their years of experience as a professor and scientist to address misinformation is undermining their entire grift.

But that's STA's MO. They have to lie about the content of a blog they don't like to villainize it. Especially if that blog isn't a massive vitriolic cesspit that instead offers nuanced takes and doesn't take radical accelerationist positions that are supported by appeals to emotion. For STA, if you come back to my blog, remember how you pretended to be an Israeli then got caught using a bad translator that used niqqud and put out stuff that modern Hebrew speakers said was wrong? Remember how you then retconned your backstory to being an Israeli-ex pat who moved to CT because of the war? Which still didn't explain why you couldn't actually write Hebrew like someone who grew up in Israel? So you then retconned again to someone whose family moved when they were a teen to CT? And that another retcon still didn't explain how you failed at faking speaking Hebrew so badly? Then when people checked with the CT communities and no one could verify an Israeli ex-pat family according to your backstory you retconned to just being "ethnically Jewish"?

Remember how you pretended to be a "Zionist" but were just pushing stereotypical Kahanist rhetoric to try and get Zionists to agree with you, and when jumblr called you out you then became a raging antisemite and got your original blog deactivated by staff? You remember that, right?

I guess your grift is going well since you're sending people my way, but I'm loving that they have to make throwaways to send me hate. Have fun with that.

And for anyone coming to my blog to spread said hate and attack me, a big red warning sign that an account is not run by an actual Jew is if they call other Jews they disagree with Nazis. We have words for that kind of person, Nazi is not one of them because the core of Nazism requires antisemitism. Only a Jew-faker who has a history of Jew faking and got their original blog nuked by staff would call a Jew a Nazi.

Notice how they don't call out Christian Zionists and focus solely on calling Jews the "real" Nazis? Yeah...that should be your first and only moment to realize stoptheantisemitism isn't who or what they say they are.

Unfortunately I know none of this will be accepted by their fan base and that respective circle of antisemites. But hey, one can hope. Right?

(Also, for clarity; the receipts are out there but the original blog that had them deactivated for personal reasons. Some of them are easily found whereas others are not. We, meaning jumblr, didn't screenshot and catalogue everything during their initial blog because we didn't think that the grift would be this bad. Personally, I yell at myself for not following proper forensic practice and take screenshots for evidence sake. I hate using personal experiences as anecdotal evidence, but that's where we are at. We're in a they said/they said situation. Which is why this is still going on)

#jumblr #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #intersectional antisemitism #Grifters gonna grift #Stoptheantisemitism is a grifter and you all are falling for it #stoptheantisemitism got outed as a Jew faker like the original tikkunolamresistance did #Yet somehow ya'll still believe they're one of us

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kangaracha · 2 months ago

Text

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 31

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n massive, massive shoutout to @rainfallingfromthesky and @kokinu09 who proof read this chapter and the next one at least four times, cheerled, encouraged, and came along to writing battles until it was done (and of course, another shoutout to them for helping with every single chapter of this fic, they're the real ones <3)

previous | masterlist | next

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"I'm fine," you insist in the face of Chan's concern, even though he hasn't said anything yet. "We really have to go, you know."

Chan doesn't move. Neither do his eyes, not even to track the staff that file past and out the door, the managers glancing back at the two of you. You nearly think that they’ll intervene and save you; but they only look at you without catching your eye and then depart, leaving you alone with him as he guides you back to the couches in the corner of the room, the arm around your shoulders just stiff enough that it is impossible to escape.

Not that you have the strength to pull away from him, your knees shaking just from the effort of lowering yourself onto the couch. Weak, as usual, as stupid as everything else you're doing.

"We really don't," Chan insists. "We're not getting any awards - it's not like anyone's going to miss us."

"There are cameras," you point out stubbornly. "And Stay watching. And it's rude to just disappear in the middle of a show-"

"And you don't look like you want to go out there at all." His voice cuts across you smoothly, his mouth quirking in a half smile despite the grave set of his eyes and the pinch of his brow between them.

A sigh escapes your lips, heavier than you'd expected when it feels like you can't draw a proper breath in. "I don't," you say slowly, trying to wrest control over the way that your voice trembles, the near slip of those tears that keep on threatening to fall no matter how angrily you choke them back. "But I have to at some point, so we might as well just go."

"Or we could just stop for a minute," he suggests.

"Or we could just go, because if I sit here for too long I'm going to cry and then it’ll be even harder when I do."

The words escape all in one breath, emptying your chest out as fast as you can fill it. You hope that they might take some of the tension that twists there away with them and relieve the pounding of your heart in your head - but the feeling of horror in your gut only grows as you say it, threatening to overwhelm you. Too late, then, to escape it. You should have slipped out the door when you had the chance, instead of hanging back long enough for him to catch you.

The thought breaks the dam you've been so carefully building in your mind, plunging you into the depths of the anxiety that gropes for you with both hands. The tears fall with the first small sob that hiccups from your throat, your lip bitten against it. A moment later, Chan's arms draw you into his chest, his body a warmth you can cling to in the storm.

"You can cry if you want," he tells you over your head. "You don't have to worry about what anyone will think."

"I do have to worry about what they think," you mumble into his shoulder, your eyes closed against the truth and the bright lights of the room. "My whole life depends on what they think. That's what sucks." Another sob shudders out on your breath, tears dripping into the fabric of his shirt.

"It's only one performance," he begins, a hand rubbing comforting circles into your back. "There'll be more, and your dance will be just as perfect as it usually is-"

"That's not what-" You cut yourself off just as quickly as you'd stopped him, pushing away from him as you gather the right words in your mind. "The mistake was - was fine. Not fine, but not...there was a fan sign on the barricade that was...directed at me. And it's really stupid, and I don't know why it made me so..."

The rest of the words stick in your throat, your voice trailing off mid-sentence. You fill the space it leaves by slashing furiously at the tears that track down your cheeks even as more fall to replace them. "You're not stupid," he says, when he's sure you're done talking yourself into a corner. "You're a person who's been going through something really hard lately, and you're allowed to cry about it if you want to." His hands reach out, squeezing yours. "You didn't even cry on stage. How's anyone going to know what their favourite idol does backstage?"

"I'm nobody's favourite idol," you sniff.

"You're my favourite," Chan says, so earnestly that you almost believe him. You manage a smile at the skip your heart takes anyway, and reach up to wipe away your tears.

"Am I?" you ask, sniffing again. "I feel like I'm so annoying sometimes."

"Well, you're not." He pauses, fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looks at you. "Neurotic, maybe. But not annoying."

The words do what they're supposed to do - startle you right out of your tears and the choke of your breath for a moment, your mouth falling open in disbelief. "Neurotic?" you repeat incredulously, and you don't even fight when he laughs and folds you into his arms again.

"You think that's more unbelievable than me enjoying spending time with you?" he asks as he pulls you close, his arms a security you hadn't realised you'd been missing.

“Maybe you should get on your knees and profess your undying love for me more often,” you answer in a droll voice, the sarcasm stinging like acid on the back of your tongue even as you say it. You don’t know where it wells up from; you don’t feel very funny right now, or even satisfied at the noise he makes when you say it.

“Answer the question,” he says instead of answering you.

A sigh exits your mouth instead of a laugh; you try to let some of the tension in your chest shudder out with it, try to find your centre of balance and a calmer trail of thoughts in your mind. "I never know what to believe," you mumble to him; not a truth that you've intentionally hidden from him, but one that you've been ignoring for yourself as well, in case acknowledgement of it made your life unbearable. "So many people say so many things about me every day...and I know I should just ignore it and listen to you, but…there’s so much. I can’t look at anything without seeing it. And some of it must be true."

Over your head, Chan's breath exhales long and slow, like he's trying to hold something in. You wish you could see his face - but his arms won't let you go, not for something as silly as that. "I think you're overcomplicating it a bit," he says, and sighs again. "Just because someone makes up a hundred nasty facts about you, it doesn’t mean any of them are true."

"And you're not biased at all?" you question, because it is easier than taking what he says to heart.

His answer is firm. "The people on the internet that hate you aren't biased?"

"I don't know." Your breath is ragged, in and out of your chest through lungs wound up too tight to do their job. Even here in his arms there is no escape from the writhing darkness in your gut, the thoughts that storm the walls of your mind.

"I'm sorry," you spit out when you have the strength to do it, another sob welling up in its wake. "I don’t know. I just...it makes me so angry sometimes. That's all. I just need to calm down - and think about it-"

"You know, if you need a break..."

"No!" Your answer is so sudden, it breaks the close of his arms around you, your hands slipping from the flat of his back as you sit up straight, staring at him with that fire from your chest burning in your eyes. "Stopping won't fix anything. I don't want to stop."

Chan's gaze never wavers, compassion writing itself into the crease of his brow. "You can't go on like this though."

"What else am I supposed to do?" you ask. "It's like you said when I debuted; it'll get better eventually. I just have to keep waiting."

"You shouldn't have to wait," he answers. "We just have to change something. We should have done it a long time ago."

"But what?" The frustration burns at you like a knife in your hand, past the maelstrom of sorrow and self-indulgent grief that had you in its claws before. "I don't know what they want. I don't know who to be for them."

Chan blinks at you. "You don't be anyone. You just be yourself."

"But they don't like me."

"Then you be yourself for yourself, and you stop caring what other people think."

A derisive snort escapes your throat before you can stop it, your eyes turning away before he can catch the sharp edge of your gaze, the anger that's not really directed at him. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can," he says, too soft. Too encouraging.

"No," you say again, the force of the word propelling you to your feet. "I can't. I have a company, and a contract, and all those people watching. I can't even pick what clothes I wear, or where I go, or who I get to film with. I can't say anything without a script because I'll say the wrong thing. I can't."

"You can't live like that either."

"You think it's better if every message Felix gets is about whether we're dating? That I just let them call me easy and - and a slut, because I want to wear a dress? Or shorts? Or they keep boycotting our albums until JYP decides we're more trouble than they're worth?"

"Yes." You don't miss the way Chan's eyes harden as you speak, his jaw clenched as if there's something he doesn't want to say held between his teeth. Your voice trails off at the sight of it, fear running up your spine at the thought that he might be angry at you - but when he turns, there is only the same patience there in his eyes that has been waiting for you this entire time.

"I don't care how ugly it is," he says, slow enough that every word burns itself individually into your brain. "I don't care, and you shouldn't either; and if we have no fans that can love you and we all end up going home, I won't care about that either."

It takes a moment for the sentiment to fully settle in your brain, working around the horror and the shock of the determination on his face, the way that your heart stutters and squeezes in your chest at the thought of a future where Stray Kids doesn't exist at all - where he gives it away just for you. It makes no sense, when you look at it from that angle. What mind would he have to be in for that trade to seem fair; you, for the entire group? You, for his career, his dream, everything he'd ever spent his life on?

"Y/N," he says, watching you with eyes that say far more than his mouth will. "I want you to be happy. That's all. I don't care about the rest."

"I'm not going to hurt the group just for my own happiness," you tell him. "I'd rather be miserable forever with all of you than out alone or in some other group."

"You think that you being miserable doesn't hurt us too?"

He catches you off-guard again, your mouth agape and your balance unsettled, your feet shifting to catch you. Slowly, you sink back down onto the sofa next to him, your head in your hands. "You make it sound so easy."

You can hear him shift in his seat, and then the warm press of his palm on your back. "It's not easy," he says. "But it can't be any harder than the torture you're already putting yourself through."

You hum in response, all of the fight you'd had before draining out of your limbs at once. Fatigue fills the space that it leaves; not just the ache of your body from months and months of endless dancing, but the ache of your head too, your thoughts sluggish and slow and reluctant to believe that any alternative option he's offering you could be a viable solution, even if, in your own common sense, you know what he's saying is true.

"What if I say I hate dancing?” you ask in a moment of weakness, the words a whisper on the edge of your breath that slips from your tongue before you can swallow it again. “Not - not hate it. But…right now…”

"Then stop spending every waking hour dancing," he says, suspiciously calm. “Pick the setlist for K-Con. Don’t dance again until we start practicing for Kingdom.” When you lift your head to look at him, you find him struggling to smother a triumphant smile, the urge to say I told you so writhing under his skin. "As long as you're not doing it to please a bunch of people who have decided they hate you."

The intensity of his gaze, the absolute sureness in the way he speaks, is uncomfortable, a heat that you can't bear. “Think about it,” he says when your mouth remains closed, speaking the promise for you.

"Don’t we have to go?" you ask, your mouth dry and your voice as weak as your body feels. You’re not sure how you’ll even rally the strength to walk all the way back to your seat, or if you’ll be able to feign attentiveness for the rest of the time you sit there.

"Probably," Chan admits - and then pauses, his eyes searching your face. "Once your makeup is fixed."

You blanche, dabbing at your cheek with one hand as if you can fix it yourself. "Is it bad?" you ask.

Chan shrugs, his hand moving in a so-so gesture. "If there weren't cameras, you'd be okay."

Cameras. Of course - they waited out there, along with the people, and the fans that would be wondering where the two of you were when the rest of the group had returned so long ago. A little of the old dread creeps in at the imminancy of that walk. You're surprised to find that it isn't the same all-compassing fear that you'd felt before; just a small gasp of the breath in comparison, a squeeze of your chest that is soon overruled by the squeeze of his hand in yours as he stands and crosses the room to the door, to find the team that are dutifully waiting outside.

The thought stays with you as they fix your face, along with all the others he's given you to dwell on in the time since; the fear, and his devotion, and the way that small squeeze of your hand sets your heart to fluttering instead of pounding heavily against your ribcage. In the moments you have before you walk out the door, you wonder at what it is he's thinking that you are missing, but you cannot figure it out, not on too little sleep and such high emotions.

Later, you promise yourself as you walk out of the room, his hand squeezing yours again when the manager that leads you turns his back. You don't have the heart to pull away from his grip until you reach the edge of the darkness that lines the passage from side-stage to the seating that you and other idols inhabit, clinging onto him like a lifeline in a raging storm even though you know it is dangerous. Just be yourself, he'd said; and you want to hold his hand, and so you do, and you don't think on why that is, or what other implications it might have.

---

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obsessedwithceleste · 1 year ago

Text

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Mattheo Riddle x Slytherin! reader

Prompt 4 of @thatdammchickennugget ‘s hogmarch challenge🫶🏽 and dedicated to this psychic anon request 💕

Summary: I’d kiss you as the lights went out, Swaying as the room burned down, I’d hold you as the water rushes in, If I could dance with you again.

word count: 4k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

You watch silently from across the Slytherin common room as yet another girl places her hand flirtatiously on Mattheo’s chest, batting her lashes with that seductive grin you knew all too well from watching all the other girls do it too.

“Go to the dance with me?” Her lips read as she leaned closer to your friend.

You can’t help but smile as Mattheo just rolls his eyes, moving away from the girl, not giving her more than a shake of his head.

The girl’s mouth hangs open in shock of the rejection. Really she should be flattered you thought dryly to yourself. She’d made it significantly further than others you’d witnessed.

Truth was, you’d had a massive crush on Mattheo since you were kids, and watching as he rejected girl after girl was much more entertaining than you cared to admit.

Growing up, you’d always admired his bold brashness, and willingness to say whatever came to mind. The two of you had always gotten into trouble together, bouncing mischievous ideas back and forth. The summer before coming to Hogwarts, your mother had given you a heart shaped locket, and Mattheo had insisted that a photo of the two of you go inside it.

"In case we don't go to the same house." The boy had reasoned.

But of course, he’d never seen you as anything more than a friend, and unfortunately, the cringey, cliche nature of the situation was not lost on you. Even now, as you mindlessly fingered the carefully disillusioned pendant while Mattheo stalked towards your group with an air of agitation.

“Bloody hell I can’t wait for this fucking Yule ball rubbish to be over and done with,” Mattheo states flatly as he sits down lazily on the sofa next to you.

“Just pick a girl to go with then. They’ll leave you alone if they think you have a date. Why do you think I asked Daph so early on?” Theo replies, not bothering to look up from his book.

Daphne whacks him with her textbook.

You watch as Mattheo tilts his head in consideration before his eyes shift over to you, a sly grin forming on his face.

“Don’t even think about,” you say, holding up your hand as if to block out whatever idiocy the boy was about to spew.

Now it’s Mattheo’s turn to open his mouth in shock.

“Wha- you don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“You were going to ask me if I’d go to the dance with you,” you reply dryly. “Honestly Matt, I’m not stupid.”

“Well will you?” He asks, giving you his most charming smile.

“I’m already going with Blaise.” You respond.

Looking back, had it been a bit of a rash decision? Yes. But you had made peace with the fact that Mattheo likely wouldn’t ask you to be his date, and Blaise was one of your best friends. You knew you’d have a good time with him, and all your other friends had been pairing up.

“Tell Blaise to go with Astoria,” Mattheo reasons.

“Toria is already going with Enzo.” Daphne intervenes.

“What about Pansy?”

“She and Millicent got accosted by Crabbe and Goyle last I heard,” Theo replies.

“He can go with Draco then! People already mistake them for gay lovers anyway.”

“Matt, you know Draco is trying to muster up the courage to ask Harry. Don’t be dense.” You reply.

“Oh come on! How do you all have this sorted out already? The ball was only announced yesterday!”

“We organized it at dinner,” Daphne responds, as if the answer was obvious.

“You mean while I was in detention?” Mattheo asks incredulously, only to be met with a chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘mhms’.

You look over as your friend slumps into the sofa in defeat, a wave of slight guilt washing over you.

“Lighten up Matt, you’ve already been asked by a handful of girls today, you’ll be able to find someone to go with easy,” you say.

“Not with anyone who matters,” he grumbles, so low that you almost miss it.

A week had gone by and you were about to lose your mind. You thought that after the initial conversation in the common room, Mattheo would relent and just pick one of his many admirers to take to the ball. You really should’ve known better. You’d known the boy long enough to know that once he had his mind set on something, there was really nothing in the world that could stop him. You just never thought that you would be what he set his mind to.

“Matt, I’ve told you a million times, I’m already going to the ball with Blaise,” you groan, collapsing on your bed as the raven haired boy follows you into your dorm.

“Well lucky for you, I have the perfect plan to steal you away from ole Blaisey boy,” Mattheo says, his signature smirk in place.

You roll your eyes, leaning back on your bed as you wait for him to continue.

“It’s easy. You just have to date me,” Mattheo replies, as if his idea was particularly clever.

You let out a rather unattractive snort as your heart clenches. It felt as though it might pound out of your chest.

“Matt, that has to be the worst idea you’ve ever had. And you’ve had a lot of really bad ideas.”

Though asking the girl that’s fancied him for years to pretend to date him, only for him to snatch it all away again a few weeks later probably had to be one of the cruelest, you thought to yourself.

“Oh c’mon. There’s no way Blaise would be offended if you ditched him if we said we were together. He’s a perfectly reasonable bloke. He’d understand!”

You shake your head once more. There was no way you were pretending to date the boy you had been pining after for this long. It was only going to end in one way. Heart break. And not on his end.

“Bloody hell. What if I can get Luna to go in your place. Will you do it then? We both know he’s been eyeing that loon up for months.”

“Don’t call her a loon Matty.” You tilt your head in consideration however.

If he was willing to actually encourage Blaise’s love life, and be willing to get intermixed within the logistics of it all, he must be desperate. And you had been dying to set the two of them up, you supposed.

But you just couldn’t shake the bad feeling this whole situation gave you. It couldn’t be all that bad though, right? You reasoned. You’d gotten this far without Matt realizing your feelings, a few weeks of bliss surely couldn’t hurt.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll tell Blaise we got together and that I want to go to the ball with you, only if Luna agrees to go with him instead.”

Mattheo immediately brightens at your words, a self satisfied grin spreading across his face.

“Good. Because I already told Blaise that we were together and that I was taking you to the ball,” he says quickly. “Also- considering Blaise is more of a yapper than people give him credit for, the rest of the group definitely already knows.”

Your mouth drops open as you glare at the boy in front of you.

“Matt. What on earth. Did you tell him?” You grit out, praying to Salazar that Blaise hadn’t embarrassed you too much.

Mattheo shrugs. “Just told him that we had been out by the lake on one of our walks and I kissed you. One thing led to another and I asked you out. He seemed to believe it pretty easily actually.”

The boy looked all too calm about making up a whole scenario in which he made out with his best friend for your liking.

You purse your lips, taking a deep sigh. What did you see in this boy?

“Mattheo.”

“Yes love?”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Can’t do that love, you wouldn’t kill your boyfriend.”

You continue to glare at the boy, fingers gripping tightly around your wand.

“Easy there, pretty,” Mattheo laughs nervously, slowly edging closer to you with a bashful grin.

“You better have thought this through Riddle. Because I’m telling you right now, that this is a bad idea.”

It was too easy. You know that much clearly. The two of you, you and Mattheo that is, walk silently along the streets of Hogsmeade, your friends surrounding you, shielding you from the brisk winter air. Mattheo's arm is wrapped securely around you, hand tucked into your jacket pocket, your fingers intertwined. It was so warm. So comfortable. So effortless, as if you had spent forever with his hands in your pockets.

Blaise and Daphne had been the only ones to know of your secret feelings towards your best friend, yet not a single one of the others looked particularly shocked when the both of you showed up in the common room wrapped in each others arms one night.

“Bout bloody time,” you’d heard Theo grunt to Draco from across the fireplace.

Daphne of course had been utterly elated for you, and Blaise had made sure you knew that there were no hard feelings about switching dates for the ball. Especially after he had secured one Miss Luna Lovegood as his date with the surprising help of Mattheo.

A warm squeeze of your hand shakes you from your thoughts as your group comes to stop outside of The Three Broomsticks.

“You sure you don’t want to come down to the shops, y/n?” Daphne asks looking back at you as she forges on with Astoria and Millicent.

“Bloody hell, yes! She’ll be fine with me. You can’t have her to yourself all the time!” Pansy says with exasperation, shooing the other girls away and linking her arm through yours on your free side.

The bell above the door rings lightly as the rest of your group enters the warm tavern, Theo and Enzo racing to secure your usual table.

“Hey Matty!” A voice shouts, stopping your trio in your tracks.

You turn to see another booth filled with familiar looking Hogwarts students and recognize one of the girls you’d watch Mattheo reject just a few days ago.

“Come sit with us,” she continues, attempting to wave him over.

Pansy gives the girl a sneer as you walk past, Mattheo not even sparing a glance in their direction.

“Don’t even know the bloody girl’s name,” he mumbles under his breath, causing you to let out a soft chuckle.

“Ey, what’s the hold up?” Theo shouts as you all hurry over to the table.

“Bloody hell. I thought y/n being my girlfriend would finally get those birds to back off,” Mattheo complains as he takes his seat in the booth.

His arm remains wrapped securely around you the entire time, sending warm tingles through you. It’s all an act, you have to remind yourself, pulling yourself out of your head.

Draco snorts at Mattheo’s grumbling.

“Half the school already thought you two were dating. Didn’t stop em then, so I don’t see why it’d stop them now.” He says matter of factly as the rest of the group nods in agreement.

“You lot are so dramatic. No one thought we were dating,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at your friends.

Their eyes flicker awkwardly back and forth between the lot of them. “Right.” Pansy says finally, bringing an end to the silence.

You glare pointedly at the girl.

“I’m going to the loo. Order me a butter beer Matty?” You say, standing up abruptly.

“I’ll come,” Pansy says quickly, going to rise as well.

“It’s fine Pans. I’m a big girl. Promise not to get attacked by a troll or nothin,” you say with a smile.

Mattheo opens his mouth to protest before closing it again and giving your hand a tight squeeze.

You make your way through the maze of tables, finally making it to the ladies room. Making a beeline to the sink, you take a breath, letting cool water splash against your face.

Salazar, you needed to get a grip. But everything about being with Mattheo felt so real. So natural. Which just meant it would feel all the more real when things ended. You take another moment to gather yourself, dabbing any remaining bits of water from your face. As your hand falls on the door handle to make your way back however, loud voices fill the hall.

“I don’t know what he sees in her,” a voice practically snarls. You can practically feel the malice, dripping from their lips.

“So it’s true then? Mattheo is taking that girl to the ball?” Another voice asks.

“I heard they’re dating.”

“They weren’t already?”

“I wonder if he’s taking her out of pity.”

A chorus of voices all say at once.

You immediately bristle, realizing they were talking about you.

“I hear she was the only one in their group who didn’t have a date and she practically forced him to take her.”

“I thought she was going with Blaise.”

Bloody hell. Where did they get all of this information?

“Whatever. It’s not like it matters either way. There’s no way they last. She’s a mess, and Mattheo has never been able to settle has he? It’s only a matter of time.”

You feel a deep frown form at the harsh words, but before you’re able to react, the bathroom door is pushed open and you’re face to face with the group of girls from before. The girl you had recognized as Mattheo’s reject smirks as she eyes you up and down before simply pushing past you. The rest of the girls follow, leaving you to wander back to your friends.

When you sit down again, Mattheo has a warm drink already waiting, and you let out a small smile as you cozy up next to the boy. No matter how hard you try to distract yourself however, the words of the girl’s echo through your mind.

Later that evening, you lay comfortably in bed with your head resting gently on Mattheo’s chest, hypnotized by the slow rise and fall. You hadn’t seen your roommates all day, and doubted they would be back if they weren’t there by now.

You lived for nights like these when Mattheo would bow out of whatever mischief Theo and Enzo had cooked up, and instead spend the evening holed up with you cuddling, talking, or getting into your own trouble. Your room had become a safe haven. A sacred oasis of sorts for the both of you to unwind, safe from the outside world.

“You were awfully quiet today at The Broomsticks.” Mattheo says, breaking the silence.

You only hum in response.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“How are we going to break up?” You ask, rather abruptly, as you look up at your best friend.

Mattheo looks surprised at the question.

“I don’t know. Didn’t really think I’d get this far in my scheming to be quite honest. I suppose I figured we’d just say that we figured we’d be better off as friends, or something of the sort. You can blame the split on me though if you’d like.” He replies.

You move your head to look down once more, picking at the blankets.

“No, no. The friends thing is fine. When should we do it?”

“Trying to get rid of me already, love?” Mattheo asks with a laugh.

“I just want to know what to expect.” You say quietly, causing Mattheo to grow quiet as well.

“Alright. Then how about a few days after the ball? We say that the dance made us realize we were better off as friends, and everything goes back to the way it was.” He says finally.

You feel your heart crack at his words.

“Yeah. Exactly like how it was.” You repeat.

Smoothing your dress out one final time, you turn around to hear Daphne gasp.

“Oh that’s stunning,” she gushes, her own deep blue gown cascading elegantly around her in waves of silk.

You’d spent the last several hours or so in her and Pansy’s shared dorm getting ready for the ball with the other girls, though where Pansy had wandered off to you had no idea.

All you knew, was that you were bloody nervous. You didn’t think you would be. It was just like any other night you reasoned. You and Mattheo were with each other constantly. What difference did a pretty dress make?

“I think the boys are ready for us whenever we are. Toria, come get these shoes,” Daphne shouts.

Astoria really did look like a princess you think to yourself, her soft yellow gown billowing gently with every movement.

“Ready to go down?” She asks, seeming to float over.

“As I’ll ever be,” you respond with a nervous smile.

Giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Astoria slips on her shoes before making her way down to the common room, you and Daphne following close behind.

The boys are already congregated by the fireplace; their loud chattering could be heard across the room, but as soon as Theo’s eyes meet Daphne’s he freezes and the rest of the boys quiet down, noticing the shift.

Your eyes lock onto Mattheo’s and you slowly make your way over, nervously picking at your skirt with trembling fingers.

“Beautiful as always, y/n,” he says, smiling down at you when you finally reach him. Gently, he raises your hand to his lips, barely grazing over your shaking fingertips before looking back at you with his signature smirk.

“Where’s Draco?” You ask, not quite able to stomachs the intensity of his gaze.

“Had to be there early. Something about the champions and their dates having the first dance or something,” he replies easily, his hand finding its ever familiar place on your waist.

“Oh we are not missing that,” you say, your nerves quickly being replaced with excitement.

Mattheo grins back. “I knew we’d be on the same page,” he responds, tugging you towards the doors.

Together, the both of you rush to the main hall just in time to see Harry and Draco getting herded into a lineup of the champions to be paraded into the Great Hall.

“I certainly hope he took Snape’s dance lessons to heart,” you giggle.

It doesn’t take much longer for the rest of your group to join the both of you and soon enough you find yourselves following the flood of students into the newly decorated Great Hall.

It really was spectacular. The house elves clearly had spared no expense with thick, green trees covered in tinsel and ornaments lining the walls. Floating candles cast a warm glow about the room and the floor had the appearance of being covered in freshly fallen snow.

You watch, hiding a laugh, as Draco and Harry move awkwardly around the dance floor, almost colliding with Cedric and Cho on more than one occasion. Salazar help them.

Slowly, other couples begin to join the champions on the dance floor, swirling together in a sea of shimmering color.

“May I have this dance m’lady?” Mattheo asks with a lopsided grin.

Before you even have the chance to respond however, Mattheo is pulling you onto the dance floor, a look of pure delight across his face. There were very few times you remembered him looking this happy, and it melted your heart.

As the night progressed, Mattheo refused to leave your side, his hand rarely leaving your waist. Really, you hardly left the dance floor either. The few times you were able to escape with Daphne or Pansy to the punch bowl, Mattheo tracked you down shortly after, pulling you right back into his arms.

To say that you were in heaven was an understatement. You had spent hours daydreaming about what it might be like to have Mattheo’s hard-won affection to yourself. And now that you had it, you were practically floating. Which just made it all the more heart wrenching as you anticipated the inevitable. It was as if every move you made, every dance the two of you shared, was done with your hands tied.

People really weren’t going to believe your break up if he continued on like this, you’d thought at some point. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tell him to back off, especially as it grew later. Your time with him was fleeting after all.

“Bloody hell, Matt. Give the girl some breathing room,” Pansy exclaims after Mattheo had sought you out for the third time.

Mattheo just gives her a guilty grin before spinning you out onto the dance floor once more.

“I didn’t realize you liked dancing this much Matty,” you tease as the two of you away slowly on the floor.

“Oh I don’t. Just making sure I take full advantage of the night,” he replies, looking intently down at you.

You cock you head to the side.

“With you as my girl, I mean,” he adds. And before you’re able to put together another cohesive thought, his lips are on yours. In the middle of the dance floor.

Immediately it feels as though the lights had gone out, leaving the two of you alone in the room as you let your eyes flutter shut, focusing on the softness of Mattheo’s lips on yours. They move slowly at first. Carefully. Before quickly growing hungrier, more determined.

You barely register Mattheo’s fingers digging into you as he pulls you closer, and find yourself lost in the gentle sway as everything around you burns to the ground, leaving behind a fire growing steadily in your chest.

And just like that, you’re back in Mattheo’s arms as the water comes rushing in, jerking you back to reality. You stand frozen staring up at Mattheo as couples continue to move around you.

Had that really just happened?

“Um- fresh air. I think.” You stutter out, all but dragging the boy from the dance floor, praying no one had seen or noticed.

Mattheo wordlessly allows you to lead him out to the courtyard entrance before you all but collapse on one of the stone benches, still in shock.

“Please don’t avada me! I didn’t think that through entirely.”

“I don’t want to break up.” You say in unison.

“What was that?” Mattheo asks in surprise.

“No- hold on. Why in Salazar’s green bed sheets would I want to avada you?” You ask incredulously.

“More importantly, you don’t want to fake breakup?” Mattheo asks with a grin.

“Of course I don’t want to break up! I’ve fancied you for years!” You blurt out, slapping a hand over your mouth as soon as the words escape.

Mattheo looks at you with shock.

“No. I’ve fancied you for years. Why else do you think I refused to take anyone else to the ball?”

“Because you’re a stubborn arse,” you retort, barely processing the boy’s words.

He liked you?

The two of you stare at each other for another moment, still not fully believing the other as your minds race to put the pieces together.

It’s Mattheo who acts first, surging to connect your lips once more in a heated frenzy. It’s addicting really, the feeling of his soft lips against yours. The pull as he brings your bodies closer together. The warmth you can feel radiating off of him.

When you finally pull away this time, Mattheo’s eyes are shining down at you with that familiar intense gaze.

“We’re a pair of oblivious idiots, aren’t we?” You mumble, leaning into the boy.

“Well, you are. I haven’t exactly been subtle.” Mattheo replies with a snort, hugging you to his chest.

“Don’t be a twat. You’ve had girls fawning over you for years. What was I supposed to make of that?”

“I never looked payed them any mind, love. Think of it this way. I’ll just have years to make up for tonight,” he says with a cheeky smile.

You feel a familiar heat begin to rise in you once more as Mattheo takes hold of your arm, leading the way back to the dungeons.

“Oh I’ll hold you to that,” you reply, a mischievous smile making its way to your face.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you, love.”

#Spotify #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys #slytherin #hogmarch challenge #theodore nott #draco malfoy #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #yule ball #matteo riddle #lorenzo berkshire moodboard #enzo berkshire #blaise zabini #mattheo riddle fanfiction

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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months ago

Text

lightning strikes twice 🖤⚡🎲

Synopsis: it all began with meeting Nanami Kento at a ruined MCR concert one night in Vegas that was as fleeting as it was passionate. But, sometimes fate has a funny way of repeating itself when he shows up as your blind date years later.

words: 11.8k

CW: x FEM! READER, READER IS SHORTER THAN KENTO WHO IS 6'0 AND HAS CURVES. College age emo!Kento, Post Shibuya scarred!Kento, SMUT(69, virginity loss(kento), protected p in v, elevator makeout), READER HAS SOCIAL ANXIETY, DRUNKENESS, ALCOHOL, SMOKING, ANGST, FLUFF.

a/n: written for @thesoftuglywrites for @unintentionalseductress blind date valentine's event. I profusely apologize for being late again.😭😭 I hope this is worth it!! 🫶🏽 I have two versions, this is the more general reader version and then there's the oc reader version based on your description.

No need to read both if you don't want to but I thought I'd include them both just in case. 🙂‍↕️Thank you so much for having me & reading in advance. 💕 dividers by @/saradika-graphics pics from Pinterest. My emo!Nanami inspiration as always: @actuallysaiyan.

@ambiguouslady42

Can lightning strike twice? Can the same piece of Earth be hit in such perfect succession as no coincidence of nature? Is such a formidable force destined to repeat itself despite the miracle of happening in the first place?

It is a rare occurrence, you would guess, and that is what many scientists would tell you. So, how can it be, as you stare, dumbfounded at the man across from you on a night like tonight, so similar to one you encountered him years earlier?

A face you knew once, intimately, similar, but the full weight of the time that had passed between you slowly became realized the longer you stare at one another, almost like he’s brand new.

A moment back then that was just like this one. A second strike of lighting landing directly in the same spot.

Maybe it can after all.

—---

Years earlier

It was spring break. When the temperature warmed up and the sun stayed in the sky a little bit longer. That trademark feeling of youth crept in the breeze that blew in your hair that felt like freedom with the weight of academics temporarily forgotten. You slowly worked up the bravery to take advantage of it while it lasted after a long, lonely winter of being frozen and cooped up in the same place.

That's how you found yourself on a plane to Las Vegas with a bunch of friends with unwise decisions brewing and holes burning in your pockets.

Every cell in your body was telling you that this was a bad idea. Normally the idea of going out would make your skin crawl and fill you with the exhaustion of running a marathon before you even stepped out of the house.

But FOMO would be an even more difficult force to contend with. Add the fact that My Chemical Romance was playing in Vegas, and that feeling tripled until you had no choice but to cave in and get through the vacation to the best of your ability.

As you got ready with your friends in your hotel room and jumped into the Uber, you prayed for the best and plastered on your best fake-it-til-you make-it-mask that you prayed would last the entire evening.

—-

Kento feels massively out of place in this endless sea of people. Doing his best to not let his attention linger on the strong stench of body odor, cheap liquor, and perfume, he absentmindedly bounced his knee as he surveyed the area around him, wondering how much longer he'd have to put up with the crowd before the show would finally begin.

This had all been Satoru’s idea, spending spring break in Sin City. He and Suguru were attached at the hip, of course, while Shoko and Utahime were in some kind of their own secret club, leaving him the odd man out. The fact that MCR was one of his favorite artists of all time was about the only factor keeping him here, aside from the unfortunate fact that he was effectively trapped since they were his ride.

“Nanamiii-PSSTT!”

Kento's eyes widened as he watched Satoru and Suguru roll like secret agents underneath the red ropes to the VIP section while Utahime giggled and looked around, holding them up as Shoko slid through, before following after.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me…” Kento grumbled and felt his stomach turn, looking quickly both ways to make sure the coast was clear before darting in as well before he could be seen.

—

It feels like an eternity that you've been standing in this same spot. You're excited for the show, but you were slowly being put to the test the longer you stood packed in like a sardine in an overheated and very loud tin can. Your friends are chatty with excitement due to the anticipation as well as the alcohol they snuck in, too preoccupied with taking selfies to notice your building distress.

As your social battery rapidly depleted, you feel yourself start to go nonverbal as you began envisioning how much better the air conditioned hotel room with some greasy food and a good nap sounds, and a sense of dread settles in your body because you don't want to miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to see MCR in all of their glory live.

“Give me one of those.”

You order one of your friends to hand you a mini bottle of Crown Whiskey, and they cheer you on as they watch you throw it back. The alcohol leaves a trail of fire down your throat and your body feels tingly, warm, and numb as it begins to work its impairing magic.

“Girl! This way!” Your friends call for you as they begin disappearing in a mischievous chain inside a random opening in the crowd.

Eyes watery, you grab the clammy hand of your friend who's bringing up the caboose right before she's lost in the crowd, letting them drag you to who knows where without a word of protest.

—--

Shit…oh, shit.

Coming to the realization that you and your friends illegally infiltrated the VIP mosh pit is not one you want to make while you're becoming more and more intoxicated. Judgement blurry, mind in a boozy haze where you couldn't think straight, you toss back one more mini bottle and that's when you clap eyes on each other.

“Sorry.” Kento mumbles as he feels himself stumble backwards into someone, and turns his head momentarily in half-hearted acknowledgement. He does a double take, and his pupils almost comically enlarge as the fact that the person he stumbled into isn't just some forgettable stranger, but a rather beautiful one, smacks him in the face.

The way that surprise was worn on your face as a sweeping dash of warmth spread across it that only complimented the sheen of the glow on your skin that was brought out by the stage lights, the way your hair fell around your face like petals framing the exquisite flower in the middle.

But, most of all, your eyes, the roaring depth of your irises echoed the other ethereal qualities about you that vacated his brain of all trains of thought like a vacuum of space.

An unexplainable force of nature that can only be likened to that first strike of lighting that smites him where he stands and his lips part a little.

The force does not go unexperienced by you, either. He's tall, and slightly lanky with skinny jeans and a black concert t-shirt to match. He has silky blonde locks with bangs that fall in his face that slightly cover one of his eyes that are subtly traced in eyeliner just around the edges that makes them pop. His gaze is gentle, contrasted with eyes an intense shade of amber brown like pools of darkened honey. He emitted an aura that was shy, reserved, and awkward even.

In a nutshell, he was absolutely perfect.

“Sorry,” he murmured again, the tips of his ears turning pink.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him. The alcohol has gone to your head, making you uncharacteristically chatty. “What's your name?”

The pink spreads to his cheeks as he leans in again for you to repeat your question over the noise in the venue. “Hmm?”

“What's your name?” You repeat closer to his ear.

“Kento.” He answers you, a little louder.

You beam, and that first glint of your smile sends a shudder through him. You were trouble.

“Yours?” He asks, since it was only the polite thing to do.

You give him your name and then more questions slip out from your loosened barrier. “Where are you from?”

“Japan.” He answers. “Japan.” He repeats when you lean in to hear him better.

“No way?” You answer, an incredulous look on your face as you gave him another disarming smile. “Spring break as well?”

“Yeah.” He nods in the opposite direction. “I'm here with some friends.”

“You seem like you don't belong here either.” You tell him.

He can't contain his blush yet again and shrugs as though you saw right through him. “Big crowds aren't really my scene.” He pauses, slightly at ease by your statement. “Not yours either?”

You shake your head profusely, grinning as you fan yourself a bit with your hand. “Fuck no. I'm trying to fight the urge to get out of here.”

The corner of Kento's mouth twitches a little in sympathy. “I hear you on that.”

The silence lingers between you for a moment, but neither of you want the conversation to die just yet.

“I’d stay if I were you, since you probably spent a lot on a VIP ticket. I would imagine.’ He adds quickly, not trying to appear as though he was prying in his statement.

You throw your head back and laugh. “Uhm, I didn't, actually.” You lean in to divulge your secret. “Technically, I'm not really supposed to be in here, sooo…” You nod in the direction of security.

“Ha, me neither.” Kento confesses with a chuckle.

“Hey, I won't say anything if you don't.”

Kento looks down as you offer him your hand, blush appearing yet again on his face as he accepts in a clammy handshake. “Deal.”

The lights go out and deafening screams echo throughout the venue as fog fills the stage. The crowd surges forward and you and Kento cling onto each other as it sweeps you up like a treacherous wave. The drums pound in your ears as Helena starts to play.

You can't help the butterflies that erupt all over your body as you're thrust into Kento's space and he can't either. But, right now as the music plays, you figure you'll just blame the lack of distance between you on the crowd.

You both bob your heads as you sing every word. You sneak glances of one another every so often, looking over at him, carefree and the most bubbly state you've seen him in all night as the lyrics you both know and love tumble out like muscle memory, broadcasting that gorgeous elusive smile of his that he tried so hard to hide in the beginning.

He also looks over at you, lost in the music with your eyes closed, hands in the air as you move to the beat. You both might still be considered strangers, but he can't help but feel like whatever connection that was drawing you to him ran much deeper than just passing acquaintances at a concert. Even though you were shy, your disposition was sunny and kind, almost like someone he used to know.

You trade small talk where you can between songs. Slowly, you piece together that he's also in college, loves the same music as you do, although you both would much rather stay in the comfort of your rooms and not leave the house.

It's almost uncanny, you think to yourself when he reveals that he also adores reading, though he'd rather opt for historical fiction or classic literature as opposed to your preference for fantasy. Though, he hates to admit, some of the romance isn't all that bad.

About halfway through, your view gets a bit obstructed by some taller attendees that stand in front of you. Kento clears his throat, wondering if he should say something, his fists growing sweaty again as he wrestles with how to breach the silence.

“Oop, my bad.” You giggle and he goes breathless for a moment as you use him as a wall to lean against as you try to stand on tiptoe in vain.

“Need a boost?” He asks shyly, nodding in the direction of the stage.

Warmth spreads through your body when you realize what he's asking. “Oh no, no I couldn’t.”

“I insist.” He nods.

“I don't wanna crush you!” You mouth to him over another roar of the crowd.

“You won't.” He answers assuredly, scooping you closer without a second thought. He stands you in front of him, slotting you between his legs, letting you balance your heels on his feet as a built-in chair, enabling you to see much better from where he's standing.

For someone who was a bit lanky, he's actually quite solid, and he smells intoxicating, a new brand of electricity ebbing and flowing between you as you adjust to this closeness to each other in which your personal space has all but disappeared.

Kento's face burns with a fever, but it dissolves into relief when you're finally in his proximity. A feeling of protectiveness fills him from the warmth you emitted from standing so close, the very faint waft of your floral shampoo that still lingered in your hair.

“Hey!”

Dread seeps in both your expressions as you realize you're right next to security and not wearing VIP wristbands.

“Run.” You mutter to him and before you know it, you're darting through the crowd propelled by nothing but pure adrenaline and the impaired judgement of alcohol coursing through your veins.

“Oh shit!” Kento curses but has no option but to follow after you, his own adrenaline banishing all rational thoughts for the time being as you both bobbed, ducked, and weaved through the crowd like a sweaty obstacle course of chaos until you make it to the finish line.

“And don't come back!!” The head of security shouts as you make your great escape into the night.

You both stumble onto the street, panting and breathing heavily as your heartbeats slowly return to normal.

He looks at you and you can't help but burst into raucous laughter, holding your sides as you felt like they were being split open.

“What's so funny?” He huffs but he can't help his own fit of giggles that slowly overtake him. The sound of your laughter was funnier than the non-existent punchline, and soon you both have tears leaking out of your eyes and sore ab muscles as you laugh together in disbelief.

“I'm sorry.” You sigh, throwing your head back as you dab your eyes with the back of your hand. “I just, that shit was unbelievable… You should've seen the look on their face.”

“I didn't.” Kento scoffs ruffling his hair. “Because you practically yanked my fucking arm off.”

You seize in a fit of laughter again and he shakes his head.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry.” You take a deep breath. “Really I am, cause I fucked up our night.”

“You think?” Kento asks you in mock disbelief.

“Okay, okay, now I really do feel bad.” You kick a pebble, trying to wrack your brain for ideas.

Kento shrugs. “It's alright, I guess.” He thinks for a moment then shrugs again. “Wouldn't be the worst night I've ever had.”

“Yeah, what was that?” You ask, curiosity piqued.

Kento pauses as he recalls his past night-outs gone wrong, but then lingers on the haunting memory of his true answer, cold walls of the morgue and a stale smell under his nose, a wet towel splayed across his forehead.

“Never mind, don't answer that.” You raise a hand as you sense his mind traveling somewhere far off, and he nods quickly in agreement, shaking himself out of that dark place.

“Hmmmmm…” you tap your chin as Kento retrieves a cigarette from his pocket, cursing when he can't find his lighter Suguru must have taken for the umpteenth time.

“Got a light?” He asks.

“Yeah I got you.” You take out a purple one from your bra cup, and Kento does his very best to ignore how warm it still was as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You reply with a thoughtful hum. “Well, there's always Fremont Street.”

Kento exhales a plume of smoke, and you do your best to hold his gaze, knees growing a little weak at how handsome he looked with the clouds of smoke around his honey eyes, cigarette balanced between two long, dexterous fingers.

“Fremont Street?”

“Yeah, I hear there's usually lots going on. We could wander, get some drinks. On me, of course, because I fucked up our concert.”

Kento shakes his head. “I can't ask you to spend money on me.”

“I insist! It's no big deal, really.” You state firmly, hoping he’d cave in. “Let me make this up to you so your trip to Vegas doesn't suck entirely.”

“Hm.” He pauses, looking around. Part of him was simply still in shock that someone as pretty as you took such an interest in someone as awkward and shy as him. Were you still tipsy from earlier?

“What about your friends?”

You sigh and shrug. “They'll be fine. To tell you the truth, they probably didn't even notice I was gone.”

Kento extinguished his cigarette against the side of the building, nodding in solemn solidarity before tossing it into a nearby receptacle. “Me neither, if I'm being honest.”

A part of your heart pangs a little with sadness at this revelation from him. How could anyone not find someone like him as a person they'd want to be around all the time? Besides, this whole situation was crazy and a little reckless, spending an evening in Vegas with some guy you barely know. But somehow, in its own odd, messed up, and chaotic way, it makes more sense to you than anything you've done on this entire trip.

“So, Fremont?”

That glimmer in your eye was so enticing, the spring breeze blowing wisps of your hair under the flashing neons. Was he really about to spend his last night in Vegas with some gorgeous stranger?

Well you know what they say: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

“Fremont it is.” He agrees with a hopeful smile.

—-

Fremont Street, like the rest of the city, is alive as ever.

Flashy animated graphics illuminate the ceiling of the street experience, with cartoon bunnies and brightly colored flowers dancing across it in a hypnotizing light show in the spirit of the incoming Easter holiday in America. People mosey past, many of them intoxicated, with boisterous laughter and drunken yells. Street performers line the open space: contortionists, musicians, magicians, and scantily clad show girls with almost nothing left to the imagination.

There are several stages playing live music, small audiences built up around them while some patrons hollered and raised their glasses from their patio tables of the numerous outdoor restaurants and bars, a mixture of tobacco,marijuana smoke, and opulent lights pouring out of the open casino doors on every corner.

You and Kento stand there, mouths agape, fascinated by the display as you observe and take it all in for a few moments. You spy a vendor who sells frozen fruity alcohol slushies that come in the outrageously tall plastic cups and your mouth waters.

“Want a drink?” You nudge Kento and he looks where you're focused, his eyes lighting up at the fruity concoctions.

“Y-Yeah, let's do it.”

—

Kento feels like a kid in a candy store as he walks the street with you, peering into the numerous gift shops as he sipped his piña colada and mango tequila slush with a curly straw as he watched you sip yours(paid for him despite your protestations), unknowingly endearing yourself to him by the minute as the slush turned your lips and tongue red.

It was a feeling of being carefree that he hadn't felt in so long, something he only got to experience in fleeting doses ever since he started school at Jujutsu High and he had to take on more responsibility than the average person at his age.

And that happiness became all but foreign to him ever since tragedy struck a few years ago and he had to eventually start college, barely moving forward while his mind still lingered in that dark space. But here, in the flashing city lights of Vegas, somehow you make it all vanish.

He's ripped out of his thoughts as you hold up matching I love Vegas hoodies.

“Can we get 'em, Ken, please?”

And who is he to say anything but yes to any silly, wild demand you make of him tonight?

Maybe except to going on the zipline.

—

“No way.” He shakes his head as you stand in front of the large marquee that read: “Slotzilla” in green letters. “There's no way that we're doing this.”

“You scared?” You ask him, voice playfully laced in a teasing taunt. The alcohol was working both of you into a pleasant buzz, but such a proposal was crazy enough to make even Kento think rationally for a moment.

“I'm not scared. I just think you're bluffing.” Kento folds his arms defensively.

“But it's Spring Break.” You answer, and you can't deny there's just a tiny shiver of fear that pulls at you as you look up at the riders flying by above your heads on the ceiling, taking in how high up you'd really be.

There's no denying the booze was turning you into a whole different main character tonight, but by God if you'll let anything else ruin this vacation for you after you fucked up the MCR concert for both you and Kento.

“I'm sure. C'mon, let's do it once, just so we can say that we did it and we'll never do it again.”

Kento swallows, keeping his eyes on the towering zipline.

“Together?” You ask, offering him your outstretched hand. His expression is reluctant at first but a grin of mischief spreads across his lips as he accepts his fate with a solemn sigh.

“Together.”

—-

“Allllright, you'll wanna stand right here where my foot is, yep, right there in front of the sign so we can take a picture of you and your girlfriend.”

The attraction worker moves Kento right next to you. Butterflies fill your stomach first as he wraps an arm around your waist, and his second when you lean into him with your hands on his chest, even more so when you don't correct the worker at all when she refers to you as Kento's girlfriend.

“Cuteeee!” The worker beams and snaps a photo of you, and you can't resist pulling one another even closer so your arms are wrapped around his neck and his hold around you is even tighter, with his chin leaning against your forehead as you posed for a few more shots.

Soon, you and him are bobbing in midair, lightly suspended over the platform in your respective harnesses, hands still intertwined as your hearts raced in mutual anticipation for the go ahead.

“Last chance to back out.” You grin, giving his hand a squeeze.

“No way. You wish.” Kento huffs returning with a squeeze of his own. “I'm all in.”

“Okayyy lovebirds, you're gonna have to let go of each other's hand for just a moment. I know, ugh.” The worker announces over the loudspeaker.

You both give each other bashful looks as you let go, and speed off down the ziplines.

The flashing lights blur past your vision as you become weightless, gliding and flying across the dome of Fremont Street, wind in your hair as the air of the nighttime floods your senses, a wave of adrenaline that bleeds into a fleeting glimpse of eternity as you watch Kento, beaming wildly with freedom as you two zip across the buzzing street below.

“I'm flying!!! Whooooo!!” You cheer with elation and Kento giggles beside you, going breathless for a moment, the cause he can't trace exactly to the adrenaline, or to how stunning you look in this moment, just like the one at the concert, where every answer to every question he's ever had somehow lies in those bewitching eyes, sealed permanently in your lips that bore solutions to his every problem.

As you both come to a halt and catch your breaths as you walk down the stairs and back onto the street, you can't help but feel closer than ever as you walk hand in hand, as though you've been doing this for ages long before tonight.

“I'm hungry.” You state as you both come to a stop in the middle of the street.

“Hmm…” Kento can't deny the rumble in his stomach either, his eyes perusing the choices available until they land on a neon orange sign. “How about some White Castle?”

“Yes pleaseee.” And he beams as you both follow the trail of the distant smell of fresh french fries.

—-

Soon you're sitting across from each other in the burger joint, splitting a sleeve of mini cheeseburger sliders and some freshly salted crinkle cut fries, feet touching under the table, sharing some more meaningful conversation about the latest anime you're both into, sipping sodas until you've eaten so much you can barely move.

—--

The night feels like it's winding down a bit, but the tension has only amped up to undeniable levels. It almost hangs in a cloud around your heads, as you walk to a less busy corner and stop to stand in front of one another, too afraid to confront the obvious question about how it would end.

“Well then.” You sigh and Kento puts his hands in his pockets, nervously fiddling with the pack of cigarettes. “I um…I should probably be getting back.”

Kento can't deny the wave of disappointment he feels, but he clears his throat in a weak effort to keep it from showing on his face.

“Yeah, of course.” It was foolish of him and kind of a douchebag move after all to assume you would want to go back to his hotel room, despite this accumulation of events tonight that makes him feel like he's known you for much longer.

“But, I could make a detour…” You give him a shy smile and he can't stop the disappointment from turning into obvious excitement on his face.

“Really?”

God, he was adorable without even trying.

“Of course.” You smile as the spaces between his fingers find their way between yours. “I'm okay with it if you are.”

Kento swallows. It's probably a horrible time to drop the very teensy but extremely important tidbit about him that he's actually a virgin. But, he doesn't want to let this opportunity to spend more time with you slip him by. The reality that you'd have to go back to your separate lives tomorrow was one that he'd just have to contend with in the morning.

“Definitely, let's go.”

—--

The Uber ride feels like an eternity as you sit in the backseat, thigh to thigh. The intoxication from the alcohol earlier has now been replaced with intoxication of the late hour, and the tensions that were at a boiling point and threatening to spill over with the implications of what would happen when you got to his hotel room.

His lips part softly, pretending to stare ahead as he realizes the circles you're drawing on his thigh are brushing dangerously closer to a spot he really wants them to go.

You lean in, pressing your lips to the vein in his neck as your pinky meets the inside of his thigh, and he has to clench his fists and bite back a sigh when you run the expanse of your palm over the outline where his cock throbs under the fabric.

He pulls you out of the Uber with an urgency you hadn't seen all night, a smirk on his lips as he leads you to the elevator, almost as though he was stirring up a plan for revenge for all the teasing you did in the backseat.

But, it seems you're both on the same page. As soon as the doors close, you pounce on one another immediately, a passionate meeting of lips and soft groans, and hands sneaking under clothes as you grabbed and stroked one another as though the closeness alone wasn’t enough to sustain you, and you had to consume one another to get some semblance of completeness.

The taste of his lips surpassed anything you could have expected. They were soft and messy, with just a bite of chill lingering on them from the cold of outside you just emerged from. His mouth is so addictingly sweet, a mixture of the tobacco he smoked, and the lingering pineapple and tequila as you kiss one another deeply in the ascending elevator.

You taste just as perfect, he thinks. Your lips are still laden with the subtle gleam from your chapstick, the sweetness from your drink intermingled with the promise of so many possibilities, like stepping into the sun after years of living in a world where it hid behind unmoving clouds of grey, the smoothness of your skin and how it seemed to melt into silk underneath his touch, his mind slowly going delirious until nothing but you occupied it, doing his best to use what little function he had left to take a mental picture he could retrieve at a later time before it slipped away from his grasp.

“Kento, put your hands on me…” you pant, bringing his hands higher up under your shirt until they reached your breasts.

“Oh God…”

He groans at this permission as he feels your nipples harden and pebble. He watches your back arch responsively to his own doing, almost going faint from the heat of it all whose intensity that he had never encountered before, before he goes back to concentrating on kissing you while carefully kneading your breasts.

You notice the walls of the elevator are mirrors, and you feel your descent into lustful arousal needlessly deepen as you open your eyes intermittently during this heated makeout session, observing how far gone he was to the throes passion with his eyes closed and a look of pleasure spreading quickly across his face, this normally shy and quiet guy you met hours earlier as he allowed you to peel back all his layers, revealing how pent up and aching for you he really was.

The doors open with a ding and you almost topple over on each other when a stunned older couple is standing there, shell-shocked. The shade of red he turns is deeper than a tomato, and you both sweat profusely, doing your best to revert to normal, though both of your disheveled appearances aren't fooling anyone.

The woman is clutching her pearls, averting her eyes with a disapproving tsk of her teeth and grumbling under her breath. The man gives Kento a sneaky pat on the back and a thumbs up as they shuffle into the elevator and close the doors behind them.

“What just happened?” You ask, out of breath as you make the walk of shame hand in hand down the hall to Kento's hotel room.

Kento dismisses the humiliation of the incident that was still fresh in his mind, and he wraps an arm around your waist, turning a bright shade of cherry yet again. “Umm, let's just forget about it.”

“Good idea.” You chuckle.

—

You splash a bit of water on your face, staring at yourself in the fluorescents of the hotel bathroom while he waits outside.

You tapped your fingers on the granite countertop, shaking your head as you stressed over your hair, a bit mortified that you were in this less than ideal state for the majority of the evening, trying your best to fix it.

Somehow, you could deal with your fears of being in public, talking to this handsome stranger, yeeting yourself across a zipline over a hundred feet in the air, and making out with him in an elevator. But ironically, this was by far the scariest thing you were up against all night long.

Finally, you gain some semblance of a grip, and take a deep breath.

“Don't be a coward.” You mutter to yourself as you slowly consolidate whatever scrape of bravery remains.

—-

Kento bounces his knee, staring at his faint reflection in the black TV screen, almost jumping when you open the door.

You ditched your jacket, he notices, as you slowly make your way towards him, the shadows of your curves being hugged in all the right places in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. He swallows as he lets his eyes roam, mouth watering as his lips long to be on yours again.

“Hi.” You smile timidly, coming to a stop in front of him, standing between his thighs where he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hello.”

His Adam's apple bobs as he cranes his head slightly to gaze up at you, tingles of warmth erupting on both your cheeks as you cup his face, those liquid pools of hazy amber with the power to submerge you from a simple glance. His hands tremble, a little uncertain as he brings them to your waist, already going a little numb at the feel of your softness he got just a glimpse of earlier.

“You can touch me, Kento.” You reassure him and his eyelids droop, his breath shuddering as you run your hands along his chest. “Can I touch you?” You check in with him, emotion welling inside his heart when you give him the sweetest kiss on the forehead.

“Course you can.” He answers softly, giving you a smile. You gaze down at him as you run your fingers through his hair, gently massaging the back of his neck, a hint of hesitation you can't help but notice still hangs between you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, leaning your forehead against his, as if to soak up any worries that were brewing in his mind. “You seem hesitant.”

Kento sighs, a bit of shame filling him. It's almost spooky, how well you can see through him. He silently dreads the truth that he knows he needs to come clean about, knowing there's a possibility he might lose you tonight before he even had a chance, not that he'd blame you one bit for backing out.

“Um, it's just that…I'm a virgin.” He says quietly.

You sit there for a moment in disbelief, taking a moment to process his words. “Really?”

Kento nods, the silence a bit unbearable as he holds his breath, unable to discern what you were thinking.

“Hey, that's okay it's just…”

He braces himself for the worst, averting his gaze to a spot on the carpet.

“Hey, it's perfectly fine.” You answer, turning his chin to look at you, your heartstrings tugging in response to his weary expression. You can sense the weight of the effort it took him to be vulnerable with you in this moment, something you won't take for granted. The implication of grave responsibility on your part in response to this new information is a lot to take in, but for him, you'll do your very best to rise to the occasion.

“That doesn't bother me at all, Kento. I just want to make sure that you're sure about all this. We don't need to have sex. But if we do, then I want to make sure that you're a hundred percent comfortable, and we can stop at any time.”

Relief floods inside of him like heavy rain, his heart immediately growing much lighter in his chest.

“I'm positive.” He gives you a reassuring grin. “I have protection too, just in case.” He blushes a little, all the anxiety quickly giving way to arousal at what was to come next.

“That sounds perfect...” You lean in and kiss him, the soft smack of your lips echoing in the empty space. You hold your face close to his, hearing him inhale softly as your lips linger closely together, not wanting to part just yet.

He makes the next move, leaning back in and capturing them again, his hand finding residence on the back of your neck. All bets are off now as you take that as permission to deepen the kiss, albeit slowly as you don't want to rush perfection, letting him soak in and experience his first time the way it was meant to be: tender and meaningful.

“Help me?” You gesture to your clothes. Your doe eyed expression sends him reeling, your lovely pout with wetted lips, the built up warmth between you only made the natural glow of your skin stand out even more like it was matter from displaced stars in the scarce light. The number of times you've rendered him speechless is practically innumerable by this point, but he nods earnestly again, not allowing himself to be derailed from his mission.

“Of course.”

The act of undressing you is slow, and a little shaky on Kento's part, but still every bit as sweet. You shudder a little as he gently peels your shirt from your body, entranced as your hair spills out of the opening, your bare breasts bouncing free from the cups of cloth in a hypnotic sway.

You can't remember the last time someone took their time with you like this. Hands that were usually impatient were replaced by his: tentative and nervous, but sweet in a way that was uniquely his own. Eyes that would devour you like a piece of meat with little regard to the soul underneath your exterior were replaced with the caring chestnut of his. His gaze was chaste, but only sensual when you allowed him to be. He looks at you like you were a piece of art to be appreciated first and foremost, and explored only second. From the invisible halo over your head, to your shoulders, to your breasts, to every curve and dimple that flowed to your voluptuous hips, now presented completely bare before him.

It's all you can do before your lips are immediately on his again with a newfound hunger, more strained under the building weight of passion you longed to burn inside this room together.

“Kento…” You whisper his name as your lips work their way away from his, leaving kisses in a heated path starting on the corner of his lips, to the juncture underneath his sharp jaw, and his throat that thrummed as your name left his lips in heady abandon.

He practically whimpers, his cheeks painted in that dusty pink you’ve come to adore so much on him. He was slightly embarrassed at how pathetic the sound was, but a low groan rumbles from the center of his chest, and his thumb grazes tenderly over the point of your chin when you don't seem to give a damn. If anything, you're even more aroused from his pleasure which is just as good as your own as you begin to slink lower down his body.

“Can I?” You purr as your hands pause at the studded belt buckle.

“Go right ahead.” His mind temporarily factory resets as he feels it unravel through the loops, the sound alone adding fuel to his fire as he scoots back a little more on the bed to allow you to straddle him, sliding his jeans down his long legs.

He's so hard in his boxers, and this preview of his size in just his underwear sends immediate warmth to your core. He blushes and can't help the feeling of self consciousness creep up on him as your eyes rake over him, wondering how on Earth all of him will fit if your eyes really weren't playing tricks on you.

Once he helps you strip away the confines of boxers, your suspicions are reaffirmed as his large erection bounces free, uncut and heavy, the tip a darker shade of pink than the one that so often showed up on his cheeks.

Despite his obvious well-endowment, the sight of him naked, laying there like a god, hairy in all the right places, a divine masterpiece of lean muscle with an even more dazzling soul underneath, didn't even begin to scrape the surface of wonderful things about him.

“You can touch, i-if you want…” Kento prays that he doesn't come off as perverted from this statement. Intimate touches like yours were a foreign concept to him. But, still he couldn't evade his desires and would often daydream about what such an experience would be like. It's all so surreal in this moment that might be coming true tonight.

“I'd love to.” You whisper, pulling another melody of moans out of him as you stroke. He's incredibly warm and responsive as he pulses and twitches in your hand, the evidence barely concealed in a blooming trail of precum flowing from the slit, coating your palm.

“But let me take care of you too.” He whispers sheepishly. “To be honest…I, I dunno if I'm gonna last so, s-so I wanna do what I can to make sure you get taken care of too…”

His honesty is endearing, and you can't deny that the pornographic image that his words conjured up in your mind is a deeply arousing one.

“You want me on top?” Your tone is sultry and the effect your mere words have on him are very apparent as his cock throbs again, leaking another bead of pearlescent precum from the bulky tip of his cock and drooling all over your fingers.

“Yeah…I mean, yes please.” Kento’s heart rate begins to accelerate, breath becoming irregular before it departs his lungs when a literal goddess is now on top of him, your juicy ass and glistening pussy spread to his hungry gaze.

He is equal parts enthralled and impossibly turned on as he gazes at the lewd sight in front of his face, followed by a low stirring of pride to his ego, knowing from the presence of your shiny slick that he could have that kind of effect on you.

It's an experience that almost borders on religion for him as he marvels in silent worship what you're so willingly offering to him in this precious moment.

“You're perfect…” He mumbles, as all other words seem to fail him at this time. Despite your numerous assurances, he still hesitates.

“And…I can touch, too?” He asks gently, swallowing a lump that he didn't realize had built in his throat, hands hovering over the globes of your ass.

“Yes, baby. I want you to.” You coo as you situate your mouth over his cock, pressing a dainty kiss to his tip that ripples in chills all over his body. Your first use of a pet name for him almost wrecked him on the spot. Getting used to the idea of being desired by someone was a concept he still had a long way to grasp. You can sense it, and right now, you want to do everything you can to make him utterly drown in it.

“Still okay?” You check in with him and he nods. You lean down, pressing little kisses in a circle around his tip, sticking out your tongue to caress and lick near his slit before you take him in your mouth.

The next moan that Kento makes is downright sexy, low and breathy as the plush, silky inside of your mouth swallows him whole.

“Fuck…me…”

Somehow, heaven for him appears just around the corner, his resolve crumbling exponentially every second that passes, his long fingers bruising into the soft flesh of your ass. It exceeded anything he could have expected, and he can only imagine how warm and perfect your pussy must feel if this delectable sensation was only from your mouth.

You lick and massage all along the forest of veins that run vertically along his cock before wrapping your entire mouth around his tip and bobbing your head in a rhythmic pattern, making sure you're not neglecting his heavy balls and the underside of his shaft you goad with your free hand, using the slick mess of drool and precum to keep him nice and wet.

He begins with slow, careful kitten licks to your syrupy folds, eager to deliver on his promise he made to you, before he lengthens his strokes and makes them more relaxed as he delves deeper into your drooling cunt, exploring the folds and crevices of your velvety warmth, wincing and groaning as he feels his balls tighten as his release creeps up on him even faster, his low husky sounds causing you to drip and leak more creamy nectar onto his tongue.

You feed off one another’s energy in lewd exchange, the more he savors your dripping cunt in prolonged fervid strokes of his tongue, the deeper you try and take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suckle and swirl your soft tongue over every inch of him you can reach, relishing the tang from the wafts of his natural scent from his pubes.

“Shit..shit, I'm gonna…” His stomach muscles tighten, unable to hold back his release for much longer.

He decides to do something he saw in porn, using his fingers to rub and circle over your warm clit, alternating using his other fingers and tongue to fuck you. You stop dead in your tracks and moan like a siren, your rousing gasps intoxicatingly angelic.

“Ken…”

There was no way a guy as inexperienced as him could be so damn good at this on the first try. But then again, he was full of surprises as you came to discover tonight, this one being no different.

He's patient and a speedy learner, something you pick up on as he focuses on just you for the time being, curling his tongue in just the right squishy spot inside you, inhaling deep breaths of your slick as your honey coats his jaw and chin, your cunt clenching tightly and leaking more juices with every careful flick of his tongue and massage of his fingers on your clit.

“Cum for me.” He mutters and only seconds pass until you do, and your beautiful climax is the straw that breaks him, hot cum dribbling in warm trickles down his thighs.

He seizes up when he feels your smooth mouth envelop him again, practically dissolving into a fit of twitches as you lick him up, cleaning up the milky gloss and swallowing him down your throat.

He leans in and does his best to clean you up too, his tongue tracing in warm trails between your inner thighs, collecting and slurping your juices into his mouth.

You roll off one another in a shaky mess and he stumbles to the bathroom, returning with a few fluffy towels as you help one another wipe up.

—-

You're underneath the covers now tucked against his chest. You can measure the slow, calming thrums of his heartbeat where your head is resting, a cozy feeling settling inside both of your bellies as this eventful evening draws closer to a close.

“Stay the night?” He asks, fingers dancing featherlight across the smooth skin of your shoulder.

“Absolutely.” You respond, turning to him and pouting your lips.

He smiles as he leans in to fulfill your request, giving you an adorable peck that lingers, once again begging to be more. He was tired, but now he figures he's got another good half hour or so in him if you're not opposed.

You take the lead, opening your lips and depositing the softest of moans into his open mouth that drip with sinful implications. He gets the message immediately as he rolls on top of you. The weight of his body, careful not to crush you and feeling of his cock lengthening and pressing against your belly makes you widen your thighs to welcome him, his tip oozing again already as you softly run the bottoms of your feet up and down his calves.

“Do you still want to try?” You gaze up at him from where he's positioned, long bangs falling in his face as he leans over you, caramel eyes somehow even softer in this moment if such a thing was even possible.

“I…I do. But only if you do.” He answers.

“I do.” You nod before puckering for one more kiss. He can't help his smile as he leans in again, the simple gesture feels awfully domestic, a simple demonstration of how comfortable you became with one another.

You bite your lip as he carefully slides the condom over his swollen length, taking the liberty of helping him out by playing with your pussy while you watch him in a trance, taking note of the smallest things about him: the tendons flexing in his arms, the spotting of freckles across his shoulder, the meat of his thighs, his strength that was ever present that made him look so majestic, so beautiful in this intimate setting despite his lean frame and dark clothes he had on earlier that concealed it. All of him, every inch of his beauty was plain as day as you inhaled him like the purest oxygen.

—

“Kento…”

He begins to push the tip of his cock into you, cradling your head in his hands.

“You okay?” He murmurs, the fog of lust was intoxicating, but not strong enough to not check on you, particularly after he knew it was a struggle for you to take all of him.

“I'm…perfect…” You whisper before your breaths bleed onto his lips in another stolen kiss.

“Fuck, you're good, so good… I'm gonna…gonna start moving…”

He mumbles haphazard words of praise as his body ripples slowly against you in a gentle dance. Both of you are long gone as you settle on a tempo together, hands intertwining against the mattress, cementing the memory of your hair and the way it looked against his pillow, that inimitable glint in your eyes like no other he's seen at the very moment you became one.

Time is a concept, a pest, a nuisance that has its place in the dreaded morning that you both pray never arrives. The things that currently matter inside this cocoon of warmth between you is pure carnality, absolution in the tender pace of his thrusts, euphoric release that fans the flames at the base of your spines as you stretch and clench warmly around him, his thumb thrumming in infinite circles on your clit to open you up even more when you struggle to take him, amorous moans and endless spilling of the others name, this piece of himself willingly, permanently, and hopefully entrusted to you.

“Gonna cum...”

His salty ropes eventually dribble into a final act of undressing his soul, filling the barrier between you, your cries swallowed into the hollow of his neck.

—--

The sun springs itself onto you without warning.

You sit straight up in a frenzy, heart sinking to your chest when you notice that the hour said you only had 30 minutes until you needed to leave for the airport, and had over 10 missed calls from your friends.

You dart around the room, cursing and seething the time that pulled the rug out from under you. Robbing you of the slow moments you were supposed to share with him this morning until there was nothing left, and you had no option but to leave him stranded.

You look at him when you're fully dressed, peacefully still asleep, trying to stifle the overwhelming sadness when the harsh pain of the cruel reality of living on opposite ends of the world becomes too much to bear.

As a final act of desperation, you jot your phone number on a stray piece of paper, folding it and leaving it on the desk.

You can't bear to look at him one more time, not noticing the wind from the closing door behind you sweeps the paper under the desk and out of view.

—----

He had never been in love, but somehow within the span of one night you brought him the closest to feeling it that he's ever been, while simultaneously depriving him of it in the same breath.

Sadness stings in Kento's chest as he sits on that long flight home, doing his best to hold back any tears as he replays the memory of you, which for now you'll remain, before it gives way to bittersweet gratitude. Whispering a silent “thank you” which he only hopes can reach you some way, wherever you are now.

He was grateful he was lucky enough to experience it, even if it was never meant to stay.

What happens in Vegas, stays there after all.

—-----

Years later-Japan

This bar that Shoko recommended is far too loud, but the drinks are fairly decent.

You tap your foot impatiently, staring at the clock on the wall that seemed to stay in place, taking out your phone to check the time as though that would make any difference.

Agreeing to a blind date felt so…juvenile. Almost desperate, even. Love was something you put on the back burner when negative experience after another slowly turned you off to the idea of it entirely.

But, there were good ones that were few and far between that had you holding out hope. Enough remained that led you to agree to this silly date, after all.

But you didn't like to linger on those memories, one in particular that was approaching the 10 year mark during one spring vacation in Vegas. Every now and then, you'll allow your self-restraint to slip and you'll daydream about that blonde man. The kind of lover you meet that's too perfect, that's almost doomed for failure because everything about him was too good to be true and too idealistic to fit into the ugly reality of a long term commitment.

You recall the tears you cried over him and the haunting of the phone call that never arrived. But, you made peace with the ending a long time ago, chalking it up to an isolated experience that was never meant to be long lasting. He didn’t owe you anything after that night, that, looking back, was honestly blurred with bad decisions.

It wouldn't have been practical in either case. Between you both starting college in opposite corners of the globe, you were only barely sticking your toes into the real world that you soon would learn was cruel, cold, and could spit you out as quickly as it swallowed you up.

You should be grateful you even had the opportunity to meet someone like him. Some happiness was better than none, no matter how much you wished at the time that things were different.

And, without even trying, you subconsciously looked for him in every person you saw, but it never came close to that first strike of lighting.

Sure, there were other storms, other wonderful people you met along the way that ignited feelings and taught you lessons, but none quite like him.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, recognizing you're being led by the alcohol in this moment, setting yourself in the opposite direction before you're too far gone, knowing it would be unfair to your incoming mystery date to dwell on loves of your past that need to remain that way.

—---

Kento does his best to stifle his thoughts as he preoccupies himself with his tie, over and through, secured in his usual knot. Routine and order as always, a mere shadow of the young man he once was a long time ago.

He checks the time on the Heuer watch adorning his left wrist, marred in pink scars that peek from underneath his navy dress shirt layered under his tan suit coat. He still has plenty of time, just as he planned. He sighs and looks at himself in the mirror, thoughts somewhere far away as he ponders the true meaning of what exactly he agreed to tonight that was so unlike him.

Was he facing the onset of an early mid-life crisis? Was he in denial about how lonely he really was, causing himself to make decisions uncharacteristic of him in the name of finding some semblance of humanity after going down fruitless paths, chasing aloof ideals like money and honor that left him more hollow than before?

Maybe he was reverting to old patterns, like when he ran away from the world of jujutsu and tried to force himself into a societal standard that was never meant for him?

He can't play mind games with himself like this.

Whether the task at hand was a mission, or something as frivolous as a blind date like tonight, his way of reframing his perspective and focusing on the present moment came into full play.

He nods and studies himself one more time, gaze shifting to where an eye patch now covers where his left eye used to reside, before he turns and walks down the hallway, the quiet click of the door closing behind him.

—---

You had arrived a half hour early, because you knew the only other option for you was arriving a half hour late.

The gentleman you were supposed to meet, according to Shoko, had a preference for punctuality and order. In all honesty, you were probably his worst nightmare in that regard.

Your anxiety about the situation continued to nag you the longer you stayed seated amidst the chatter and bustle of the bar. You bounced your knee, once again daydreaming about curling up in bed and forgoing this ridiculous date altogether.

Just as you're about to bail, he walks in.

The same piece of Earth hit in perfect succession as no coincidence of nature. That formidable force statistically at odds to repeat itself, unfolding before your very eyes as he approaches.

You would not recognize him under normal circumstances. The left side of him has undergone some changes that rattle you to your core as you realize their extent.

His left eye is missing, now concealed behind a black eyepatch. The skin underneath is mangled and pink, but faded in such a way that would suggest that some time had passed since he received them. He walks proudly with a slight limp, an air of propriety and confidence he exudes that's both attractive and extremely jarring in contrast to the shy and insecure version of him you once knew.

It's clear as he takes your hand in his that the old Kento is long gone, but that space in your heart that he latently occupied ever since that night came bubbling, unscathed to the surface.

A night just like tonight, so similar to one you encountered him years earlier. He undergoes the same reel of emotions that zip through him like lightning. The unmistakable hue of your eyes that gripped him the moment he saw them and knew he needed to walk away that night with more than just your name. The promise of your kiss, the way that freedom ran in your hair that decorated his sheets. That happiness he thought was permanently out of his reach that you managed to restore in him that night, leaving him with hope if not anything else.

A face you knew once, intimately, similar, but the full weight of the time that had passed between you slowly became realized the longer you stare at one another, almost like he’s brand new.

A moment back then that was just like this one. A second strike of lighting landing directly in the same spot.

“Hello, my name is Kento Nanami.” He greets you nonetheless in ritual decorum that was instilled in his foundation. His voice is slightly deeper than before, a sign of the mature man he grew into from his twenties.

“Do you remember me?” You ask, trying not to make your tone sound emotional as you feel like you're speaking to the ghost of not quite someone you used to know.

“I do.” He answers honestly, possibly the faint glimmer of a fond look he gives you in the subtle crinkle of the crows feet by his eyes.

Both of you sit in silence while the bar around you carries on, him emerging from it momentarily to order his drink: whiskey on the rocks. You note that his preferences have also changed, hardly believing they belonged to this man who once sipped a fruity cocktail slush with you on the Las Vegas strip.

You ride a bitter tide of emotions, bearing a mixture of sadness, resentment, bitterness, and nostalgia.

Why did he never call?

Instead, you ask him, “How have you been?”

He almost scoffs, as such a simple question requires such a complex answer from him. He keeps it casual for now.

“I've been well. What brings you to Japan?”

“You know Shoko?”

He pauses, slightly confused at how this is relevant, but answers your question nonetheless. “Yes, I do know Shoko.”

“And she…she set me-us, up on this date.”

“That’s how it would appear.” He sips his drink.

You stare, confounded at him, a bit miffed at how…nonchalant he was about the entire situation. But a part of you also was slightly relieved that he didn't make it as awkward as it needed to be.

You narrow your eyes. “Are…you using sarcasm?”

“I'm not, I'm merely agreeing with your observation.” He raises a brow as he looks at you. He seems genuine and you blink, a little embarrassed now at your question that you hoped didn't come across as an attack.

“Sorry, I- it's just. There's just so many memories, and I'm still in disbelief if I'm honest with you.” You shake your head as you take another generous sip of your cocktail.

He sits in silence as he observes you out of the corner of his good eye, slightly bemused as it seems some things about you haven't quite changed.

“It's alright.” He answers. “It's quite a lot for me to take in as well.”

“Is it?”

“Well, yes. You're not exactly who I imagined running into here tonight.”

“Mm, then who did you imagine?”

He side-eyes you and you roll your eyes in response, much to his quiet amusement.

“Actually, please don't answer that.”

“I figured as much.” He hums and he leans back a little, and cocks his head while you're not looking. Your charm was certainly one of the things about you he missed. And this bite you possessed was something rather new.

“You know, I enjoy this bar quite a bit, but there's a quieter spot I know of that we could go to, if you're up for it.”

You pause, getting used to this initiative from him that you're experiencing for the very first time. His suggestion is a very welcome one, you can't deny and you nod.

“Very well.”

“Splendid.” He stands, allowing you to pass in front of him first, leaving the cost of both your tabs on the bar as he follows you onto the street.

------

The vinyl shop is nearly deserted as you enter, much to both yours and his relief. It's a pleasant surprise as you take in your new location, the premise of a record store telling you that there were things about him that stayed the same after all, taking you back to that night as one of the things you bonded over.

“This is nice.” You muse, eyes coasting over the abundance of albums available to peruse.

He nods in agreement, also satisfied that you're pleased with his suggestion. “It is. This one has a better selection than most I've been to.”

You browse, occasionally aware of his hand nearly brushing as you pass him in opposite aisles, enjoying the mutual silence as he gives you a moment to recharge and explore the selection of artists since it's your first visit.

There's two elephants in the room, and neither will be easy to address. You still feel burned by him. But, if this was going to be a meaningful attempt at a new start of your relationship, then beginning it from a place of honesty seemed like a reasonable thing to ask of him.

“What happened to you?” You ask gently.

He looks at you. Questions about his looks used to bother him in the very beginning when they were still fresh. After years of healing, both physically and emotionally(which he would argue was the most difficult to recover from out of the two), he's taken emotion out of the equation. And in your case, given the intimate history between you two, despite it occurring almost a decade ago, he recognizes it's a reasonable thing for you to ask.

“Asking the hard hitting questions already?”

You turn your head quickly, a little horrified in case you offended him already, but the look on his face makes you sigh in relief when you realize he was being playful.

“No, I'm-”

“It's alright.” He reassures, resuming your walk along the aisles, putting his hands in his pockets. “For another time, though.” He promises you, and you nod in complete understanding.

“Of course.”

There is more, so much more to him now that he must have experienced that you can conclude from just his appearance alone. But, you understand that such an in-depth unraveling of him will need to take place in steps. You're at a loss of where to even begin. But, another issue begs both your attention.

“Do you have another one for me?” He prods.

“Yes, actually.” You state cautiously, doing your best to make your tone even, before you rip off the bandaid.

“Why didn't you call?”

He exhales softly through his nose as you continue your slow walk. “I wanted to.”

“But?”

“But you left me.”

You stopped, confused as you try to suppress your long buried anger that was attempting to resurface.

“No…” You correct him. “You left me.”

He experiences a bit of frustration as well. It was an old forgotten fling, after all, but delving with you headfirst into the source of your connection going cold overnight digs up all of those old, forgotten feelings of hurt, particularly over something that happened in his early twenties, it feels so childish, a fact he really doesn't appreciate.

“I recall the opposite.” He rebuffs, keeping himself calm.

“Well, I do too. So it seems we're at an impasse.”

“It would seem very much so.”

You pause together in stalemate, lost in the tangled mess of all things you long to say with no idea of how to say them. He recognizes you're emotional, and you sense the same from him. But despite the emotional charge behind your conversation, neither of you pick up on hostility from the other. Taking a moment to recognize that a passionate and short lived affair from your twenties ended badly for both of you, leaving a scar with no resolution, and now both of you simply want to use this rare opportunity to gain some closure if nothing else transpires from your meeting tonight.

“Please.” He gestures patiently. “You first.”

“I left you my number, and you never called.”

Kento raises his eyebrows. “I don't recall that.”

“Well, I did.”

“When?”

You scoff, a little frustrated by something that seemed so obvious. “On your desk! At the hotel right before I left! You were still asleep.”

Kento nods slowly, beginning to understand, “This…changes things.”

“What do you mean?” You respond, puzzled.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” He counters with a question of his own, leaning against a shelf.

“I didn't want to disturb you.” You look down meekly, the memory coming back to you all at once, including the rather intimate happenings that unfolded that night.

Kento remembers it too, similar feelings of warmth cascading throughout his body at the sensual recollection that would have made his younger self blush profusely.

“Well, I can assure you wholeheartedly, I did not get your message after you left. I was actually under the impression that you abandoned me, for some reason or another.” He shakes his head.

“I'm sorry.” You apologize softly, eyes full of regret.

“No need.” He replies firmly. “We were young, it was a misunderstanding. There's no harm done.”

“No harm done.” You echo with a hum.

“Precisely.”

Silence.

“Well.”

“Well?”

“Can we start over?”

He smiles, the first genuine one he's given you all night. “I'd like that.”

You both grin in mutual elation, slightly lost at first at how to transition into this fresh beginning.

“So.” You wrack your brain for ideas, meandering over to the section alphabetized, “M.”

“Do you still listen to MCR?”

He nods, offering you another closed lipped smile. “Every so often.”

“Really?” You finger through the vinyls, landing on Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. “Do you have this one?”

“I do, actually.” He muses, an idea popping into his head. “Why don't we get you started on your own collection?”

You shake your head quickly, stowing the vinyl back like it was on fire. “Oh, no. Kento, no, I really shouldn't…”

“I insist.” He glides next to you, retrieving it with a hum as he examines it before stowing it under his arm, moving on in search of the latest album from Modest Mouse.

And you can't help but accept defeat with an affectionate shake of your head. Definitely one of the things you remember about him that hadn't changed.

There was no winning when it came to debates over him doing you favors. So, in the spirit of starting fresh, you'd let him have this one for now.

—--

You stand outside of the vinyl shop, a new connection born between you, lots of old feelings mixed in with apprehension, yet hope for the future.

He studies you under the light from the city streets, noticing you're every bit as beautiful as the night he found you and lost you all at once.

He longs to close the space between you, reunite with what he had missed out on for so long that he was certain he'd never taste again, brought back to him by sheer coincidence, a gift of fate.

But, unlike last time, he knows he can't repeat his mistakes. And though you long to just as badly, you know you can't, either.

Instead, he sweeps you into a warm embrace. He smells different than you remember, but this new scent is every bit as intoxicating as the old one.

You stay like that, wrapped up in each other for the longest time, buying back some of it that had been robbed between you. This hug was the physical apology you owed to one another for everything that happened in the old chapter, and the cornerstone you needed to pass over into the new.

When you part ways, he doesn't allow his gaze to drift from you until he ensures you're safely aboard your bus, watching until it rounds the corner before he ventures in the opposite direction, mind full of you he has no plans to clear anytime soon.

And, just like that, lightning does strike twice. The clouds of the storm have receded to sunny skies, a rainbow of hope glimmering on the horizon.

He smiles as he walks away, your number tucked neatly in his breast pocket.

This time, he'll make sure he doesn't lose it.

---

205 notes · View notes

nullicaput · 4 days ago

Text

skinner and the rat. IV

Pairing: Han Su-gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1719

previous chapter.

"I want to tell you something."

You followed her as she walked to a room you did not know even existed. You really need to familiarize yourself with the layout of the school as soon as possible, especially with that demon around.

"What is it?"

"Come inside."

She opened the door to a restricted area that only staff and teaching personnel were allowed to enter. Discreetly, she looked around, as if she was checking if there were anyone watching somewhere. She showed you her phone and played a video where the teenagers you reprimanded yesterday were seen crouching, chuckling around with cigarettes in between each of their filthy mouths.

"This was a recent video," she started as she closed the curtains.

From her device, you heard the students' laughter piercing through your ears, reminding you of the days you used to work for the Han's. Although it was a video, you could smell the choking putridity of cigarette like there was an actual person smoking in front of you.

"I heard from a student about what happened in your first class," she said solemnly. "I apologize for not informing you sooner."

You understood the implication of her words.

You now have a massive target sign located on your back because you dared to point out their mistake, which they did not even feel the least embarrassed about.

She sighed and added, "Han practically owns this school, and if there were anything to happen to you, it would only be swept under the rug."

"Is that so?"

"Even that old lady, she was involved with the case regarding that video and still ended with nothing."

No one knows when will they torment you to get back at your audacity to stand up for yourself and not cower in fear despite being a temporary teacher in a school that the very person you unknowingly provoked owned.

"If only you were hired to teach first or third year students," she trailed of.

"Su-gang Han." You inhaled a lot of air before continuing. "He appeared to be the leader of their circle."

"Yes, he is. It was said that he has worked out since childhood and often beat his schoolmates."

Su-gang has never touched any training equipment and the like during the years you were tutoring him. Even though he had violent tendencies, he has no experience with physical activities because he was so focused on you and your sessions with him.

It seemed that this "since childhood," your co-teacher was talking about started after you left him for good and never to return.

Well, if you have learned about their ownership over the school earlier, you would have never applied for this job.

"A kid was once beat up by him, so he was expelled from that school and got transferred here."

"He's not a minor, is he?" you asked although you knew the truth already. "I'd assume he was held back due to this behavior of his."

"It's quite unfortunate that you were placed in a year where you would need to meet him ever single day until the first semester ends."

She gently put his hand over your shoulder in a motherly way, almost reminding you of your mama.

"Before becoming an official employee here, I want you to close your eyes and block your ears." She sent you a sympathetic smile. "Pretend to be a fool."

You wished you were like Si-min, being physically fit and all. Surely, she would not have any kind of difficulty on dealing with the type of students this hell hole has. Alas, the woman was a year younger than you and was currently graduating.

"Even if there we to be a conflict between students on campus, don't intervene and just patiently wait. Just let them deal with it, okay?" She held your hand this time. "Don't do anything, and then nothing will happen."

You nodded silently, trying to process the words that just left her mouth.

"Especially Su-gang Han."

"Especially Su-gang Han," you repeated.

After that, you came back to your table and popped some antihistamine tablets inside your mouth, wearing a mask after. You gathered your things and went straight to Su-gang's room despite it being half an hour before classes start. On your way, the students who were also early like you greeted you and jokingly asked about the candies. You returned the energy and told them that you have many candies to give those who will participate.

You opened the door, your mind somewhere else. You softly hummed a tune—the tune being the last song you have listened at the radio of the bus you rode to get to school since the subway was having some technical issues.

"How's your mother, Teach?" a male voice suddenly asked, causing you so snap your eyes to the back of the classroom.

Speaking of the devil.

Unlike yesterday, when he came late to school together with his little duck, Su-gang—alone—was already seated at his designated chair, feet on top of his desk and his vest acting as blanket over his upper body. He was sitting lazily, and he even had his head tilted up as though he was in his home and not at school.

"My mother?"

He really remembered you, which was already obvious at this point, but what he remembered about you was nothing but incorrect information.

"Yes, your mama."

Oho.

Look at this bastard trying to provoke you early in the morning.

"She's fine." You pinched the adjustable metal nose clip of your mask and opened your book to the page you annotated as your second lesson. "Why do you ask?"

"Fine inside an urn?"

That ticked you off, in all honesty.

"My, my, that's quite rude." You humorlessly laughed and put your left hand inside the pocket of your pants. "Especially when my mother's alive and well."

"Quit lying."

Based on his smug display, he was still under the impression that your mama was indeed your birth mother.

That kind woman, who watched over you during the days your biological mother had no other choice but to leave you to work faraway—the same woman who suffered before she died because if this monster's doing—was not and has never been your mother. However, perhaps it was a good thing that Su-gang thinks that you—his past tutor—were her daughter.

Because it makes denying your past connection with him easier for you.

"I'm not lying." You wrote the title of the lesson on the board with chalk, not minding the heat his stares were shooting. Even if I were, I do not suppose that it is your place to ask your teacher personal and rather invasive questions."

He clicked his tongue and peered at you without taking his head off of the chair's headrest.

"I own you, and I own your temporary teaching contract here."

It rather shocked you to see the child you practically viewed as your second younger brother acting like he has all the authority over everything in this world.

Still, you could not say that you regretted leaving them, especially after what they did to your mama—after what he did to your hand.

"Oh? Forgive me then." You picked up the eraser and wiped it over the wrongly written syllable. "You can always check my personal information stapled with my resume."

You were surprised that he did not just rush to you and bash your head against the board for disrespecting him. He was calm—concentrated and observant—and it unnerved you. It was as if he was waiting for you to stay still so he could leap to you and pounce on you like a rabid animal preying on a smaller, defenseless creature. This behavior of his reminded you of how he acted when he was still younger, and it did not fail to make your gut clench.

He then whistled, slow and provocative.

"Ignoring me now?"

He trudged to your direction while he loosened his necktie with his right hand. He used left hand to rub the lower part of his face, his eyes now stuck to gaze at yours.

You did not realize it the first time you saw him, but now that he was there, standing a meter away from you with no one blocking his body, you could see how he has grown from being that shorter boy to a man—no, far from being a man—that stood tall and prideful, expecting the world to turn for him and for its people to obey his words as if they were absolute. His cheeks were no longer chubby, and his face became more sculpturesque. His nose bridge was as high as his pride and arrogance. He had the eyes deeper than oceans, darker than shadows, more cavernous than any cave, their depth endless than the sky itself. His shoulders, even under the concealment of his three-layered uniform, were wide—wider than his patience, wider than his capability to act humanly to those around him.

"You're still mistaking me for someone else, aren't you?"

His tongue rolled along the space between the inner flesh of his lower lip and his gums, his face tilting slightly down.

"No." His lips turned up assymetrically—a smirk. "Not someone else."

"I don't know who you think I am, but I will assure you that I have never met you before."

He reached out a hand, and he touched your face with tenderness that could make a stranger mistake him for a kind person. He ran his thumb along the soft flesh of your neck and caressed the edge of your mask, a wordless threat that he will and can take it off if he so wanted to. Just like your job inside this glamorous and glorified cage where he could run free and terrorize other people's lives—of the teachers, of the students, and of the employees—he could take anything he wants when he wants.

"Don't take me for an idiot," he hissed. "I've memorized your eyes too well to forget—"

The bell rang.

You used the other end of your chalk dispenser to push his hand away, like the thought of you touching him willingly was enough to repulsed you.

"You shouldn't be putting your hands on others' faces like that," you lightly scolded him. "You're old enough to know that by now."

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23

#x reader #x yn #x y/n #x you #dark fanfiction #han su gang x you #han su gang x reader #han su gang #brave citizen #operant conditioning

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walkingnearfoxes · 3 months ago

Text

It's a Silly Name (Homelander x Reader Oneshot)

1.8k words. NSFW. Questionable established relationship dynamics with mildly dubious consent and dirty smut.

Who the hell came up with the name Gillman?

You are sitting on the couch in the Homelander's den, a blanket tossed over your legs to compensate for the freezing thermostat temperature your lover prefers. It’s unclear to you if he genuinely finds the coldness preferable to the heat, or if he’s using it as an excuse so you cuddle him for warmth. Presently, you don’t have to worry about that; the Homelander finally agreed to buy you blankets and he has his head nestled in your lap.

The Homelander is furiously watching the news as you look through the paperwork for his next publicity stunt. Ashley attempted to hand the packet of paper to him a few hours ago, but his venomous glare had her turn to you instead. Unfortunately for all people involved, Stan Edgar had made it clear that this plan was not a negotiation. There's been some social media backfire recently for the Homelander being...well, himself, but more blatantly to the public eye. His numbers have “suffered,” dropping him far too close to not being America's favorite supe. The plan is to make a documentary about his childhood life to remind the public about his all-American values. The whole fiasco has turned the Homelander into a massive grump and lucky you, you get to deal with him the most often.

The television is playing Victoria Neuman’s most recent takedown of him at a rally in DC. You don’t know why he insists on watching every bit of media that talks about him for good or bad, but he’s obsessed. Even when Neuman is doing everything in her power to turn the people against him, he can’t look away; you are the only one capable of turning his attention away from it.

"I don't get how that's supposed to fix anything," Homelander mutters, referring to the planned movie scope in your hands. "Just rip it up."

"It's not...terrible," You say, ignoring his sneer. It is nowhere near in your job description to review PR for him, but anyone at Vought with a brain cell knows you’re the only way to negotiate him into things. You try, anyhow. "I mean, I get it. They're trying to remind the public of your humble origins."

"By humble, you mean a no-name asshole from Bumfuck, Midwest," He mutters. Only you can hear the hurt behind his snark. He loathes his fake story. Vought took the torture that was his real childhood and twisted it until the white lab walls were white picket fences. He still didn't tell you everything about that lab, about the “bad room” he mumbles about in his sleep, but every tiny glimpse he gives provides more of a window as to why he is the Homelander.

You reach down and slowly card your fingers through his hair. A few months ago, he would have flinched. Now, even while feeling grouchy, he hums under his breath and leans into your touch. You told him once he was like an overgrown house cat. The glare he had shot you only proved your point.

"I'm sorry," You speak softly as you pet his head. "They really should get your opinion on more of these things."

"I know!" He whines, and you bite back a chuckle. "God, the baseball bullshit? Like I'd give a fuck about that game.”

You nod as you look back at the papers. The first page dictates the basics of the Homelander’s fake upbringing, assumedly for whatever poor soul will direct this mistake of a documentary. "The name they gave you is pretty ridiculous, too."

He laughs, bumping his head into your hand to get more of your scratches. "As generic as they could make it."

"John is fine, but Gillman?" You say, scoffing at the surname. "That should've gone to the Deep."

The Homelander pauses. You momentarily think he's silently returned to his hatewatch of the news. But then he speaks, his voice a bit lower. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it doesn't fit you," You explain, not yet noticing how he has stilled under your touch. "Gillman sounds like the Deep with him and...his...gills..."

You trail off as the Homelander slowly sits off of your lap. His body turns so he sits beside you, arms on his knees, his red boots flat on the floor. Like a bird of prey locking onto its victim, his head slowly turns to look at you. His smile is long and thin. "Are you comparing me to the Deep, sweetheart?"

Danger. Your heart rate spikes, and it makes his smile twitch up. It doesn’t matter that you know he can smell, see, and hear every part of you; your reactions are instinctive and will never go away. Truthfully, he barely needs his super senses. He knows you, and you made the mistake of forgetting him.

You should have known better than to bring up any other supes in his sensitive state - especially supes that have tried to flirt with you in front of him.

"No, of course not," You say quickly with a nervous laugh. "I was just saying the name was-"

"Stupid. Yeah, I heard you." He still isn't moving, far too rigid and dangerous in his spot beside you.

"I didn't say it was-"

He shushes you and slowly brings a hand up to cup your cheek. "Relax, honey," He purrs. His gloved hand slowly moves down the length of your neck and settles comfortably around the hollow of your throat. "I'm not mad. I just think I gotta remind you who I am."

~-~

One of the Homelander’s favorite parts of sex with you is the vulnerability. He loves to have you fully naked while he is still fully clothed. It's a blatant power play, but it goes deeper than that. He sees every inch of your skin as a work of art and can spend hours mapping you until you're trembling with need. With the news still quietly playing in the background, he has done just that.

He hasn't moved from his spot on the couch, but you are in a very different pose. He has you naked in his lap with your back to him. His hands are under your thighs to keep them up against your chest, your feet flat on the tops of his legs. He uses his hold on your hips to keep you situated with his cock buried deep in your ass. You can squirm and fidget as much as you want; nothing is breaking his grip.

"Now, remind me, sweetie," He murmurs into your ear as he lifts your hips up and entirely off of him, only to slam them back down on his cock. He ignores your loud gasp. "Who's fucking your ass right now, hm? Me? Or the Deep?"

"Y-you!" You cry out breathlessly. Your entire body is shaking and while he certainly notices, he says nothing about it. He had been very thorough in preparing you for this. After leaving your clothes in tatters on the floor, he ate your pussy and fingered your hole to the exact stretch he wanted. He didn't mind that you had already come twice; that wasn't the point of this.

"Such a little slut," He growls tugging your earlobe between his teeth. "You just wanna be filled up, don't you? Will you take any dick?"

"N-No!" You gasp as he once again bounces you down on his cock. "J-just you. Only you."

"Hm..." He easily holds you steady with one hand while the other slowly traces between your legs. The tips of his fingers swirl tight circles around your clit, and he chuckles darkly at the way your body spasms. "Aww, feeling sensitive? That's ‘cause this little pussy is mine."

He bucks up again, and then starts a steady rhythm while he keeps on talking. The Homelander thrusts into you so you're never wholly without his dick, and even as you feel him begin to swell inside of you, he doesn't pause for breathe. He doesn't break a sweat. His sinful voice breathes into your ear. "This tight little ass is mine. Understand me?"

It's hard for you to reply with how he's rutting up into you, and he rewards the delay with a pinch to your clit. You squeal. "Yes! I'm yours, Homelander. I'm yours."

He flips you with practiced ease so your stomach lands on the couch. You're not given time to reorient yourself before his cock is inside of you again, this time in your pussy. His hands, somehow removed from their gloves during the flip, both fall to your hips as he fucks you. The sound of him pounding into you is obscene - repeated, needy, and wet. He's done talking; he has a goal now, and that's making it so the only damned thing you can think of is him.

"H-Homelander..." Your voice is wheezy and desperate to your ears. "I'm gonna..."

"Oh, I know." He at least sounds breathless now, eager for a release only you can give to him. He moves a hand to your head. He curls his fingers into your hair and pushes the side of your face down onto the cushion. The strength flattens your body so he slides impossibly deeper into you. "Come. Now."

And you do. You come soundlessly, your eyes rolling back. You may even black out for a second, only vaguely aware of him pulling out to finish on your exposed back with a moan of your name that is near reverent. You are a mess of sweat and his seed, and he knows he’s done his job. Once again, you are thoroughly and exhaustedly and completely his.

He just looks at you for a long moment, and you’re too exhausted to comment. You eventually feel him shift off of the couch. His gloveless fingers stroke delicately through your hair, and you turn your head to see him kneeling beside you. His smile is now gentle. "And? How are we doing?"

You grumble and nuzzle the side of your face against the couch. "My legs are numb."

The Homelander chuckles and leans in to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. "I didn't hear a safeword..."

"Didn't need one, Mr. Gillman."

The sharp slap to your ass isn't a surprise. "You're lucky you're cute." He murmurs as he stands back up. "Alright, c’mon.”

He lifts you into a bridal carry like you weigh nothing. There’s an undeniable fondness in those blue eyes that reminds you as much as you belong to him, he’s yours right back. He smiles down at you. "Let's get you all cleaned up, huh?"

You lazily lean your head against his chest. "Can you get milkshakes after?"

The Homelander chuckles and gives your naked thighs an affectionate squeeze. "Yes. I can get milkshakes after.”

#the boys #homelander #homelander x reader #homelander x you #my writing #he won the poll by an inch good for him #soldier boy coming tomorrow probs bc i dont leave my house #someone bring me a milkshake plz <3

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mattyriddlesbitch · 3 months ago

Note

Hi, Tori (*^-^*)

I hope I'm not too late with requests, but I have a few ideas.

First, how about mistletoe kiss? A bit cheesy and cliché, but I think it would be great for holiday season rn.

Second, how about learning y/n to fly on the broom? Like we know that our boys are badasses and play quidditch really good. So maybe they want to show off their skills and teach the reader how to fly, or overcome the fear of heights, or just have a lovely moment with them under the stars, something like that.

Third, magical bond thing. Like a reader or one of our favorite boys open the box with some dark artifact and make them stuck together. It could be enemies to lovers to add some juices 🤭

I think that's all. Otherwise, I'd dash out a whole bunch of my ideas. As for who should it be with, I don't know. It's totally up to you. But I'm a huge simp for Mattheo *cough, cough*.

If you would like to write something based on any of these ideas, I'd be happy. If not, it's still cool. I will just wait for your other great writings from the other's asks.

Loves 💕

I kinda chose the second one. I hope this works for you.

Vows

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warnings: lots of cussing and some mentions of violence and hexing

Last thing you wanted to do was spend your time in detention with the boy who annoys you the most-Mattheo Riddle. You two hated each other, always bickered, always had competitions, always had nasty remarks to say to one another. Sure, you might find him handsome if it wasn't for his asshole personality. He has nice hair and a nice face and all, but, Merlin, every word out of his mouth wanted you to either jam knives in your ears or hex his mouth closed.

You don't even remember how this rivalry started. But it's been going on for as long as you've known him. Everyone knew that. Everyone either dreaded or loved having class with you two because of the fighting.

But maybe it went a little too far when you threw a hex his way that was supposed to swell his tongue to the point he couldn't talk properly. Unfortunately, he saw it and deflected it, only for it to hit poor Neville behind him.

So now the two of you were cleaning in the Room of Requirements. It was massive and was never going to get done, even if you spent a whole year cleaning it, but that wasn't the point. It was supposed to be a little lesson for you two, a punishment. So you got assigned a section and were supposed to clean together. ‘Figure out how to work together’ or something like that McGonagall told you two.

“This is entirely your fault.” Mattheo grumbled as soon as the Professor was gone.

“You wouldn't have been sent here with me if you just took the hex like a man instead of blocking it.” You retorted before looking around the section you were assigned, hands on your hips.

“I'm not that fucking dumb, sweetheart. I'm not letting you hex me. I think Longbottom is still in the hospital wing because of your nasty hex.” He complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, sit there and bitch all you want. I'm getting this done, with or without you.” You said, walking over towards one of the piles of random things and began cleaning and sorting it out.

“Then you can do it without me.” He huffed, walking away.

You just rolled your eyes, annoyed with his attitude. You could hear him going through stuff just out of sight from where you were. You could guess he was rummaging through the random things, opening up boxes and fiddling with stuff to figure out what it did.

It was only about ten minutes before you heard him yell. “Fuck! Son of a bitch!”

It sounded like he either got hurt or stuck on something and it made you snort. Serves him right.

He came around the corner, back over to you. “Help me get this off!”

“Why should I?” You turn to look at him and see something wrapped around his wrist. It looked metal and had some carvings on it.

“Just get this thing off of me! Please!” He nearly snapped, but you could hear the small bit of panic in his voice. It was a fair reaction. No one knew what any of this stuff was or what it could do.

“Fine. Only because you said ‘please’.” You said with a slight teasing tone in your voice.

He rolled his eyes but looked a little relieved.

You reached for the contraption around his wrist, going to tug on the material to test it. But as soon as you touched it, a chain materialized from it and wrapped around your wrist as well, replicating the metal bracelet around Mattheos's wrist with the same carvings.

“What the fuck?” You used your other hand to tug at the new restraint around your wrist. It wouldn't even budge.

“Well, that didn't work.” Was all Mattheo had to say.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” You yelled, trying to fight at the metal.

“I didn't do anything!” He yelled back.

“Why did you have to go through shit instead of helping me?”

“You said you would do it with or without me!”

“And look where we are now!” You both continued yelling, just angry at each other. You sighed, bringing your free hand to your face, rubbing it in annoyance. “Okay, just-we're not getting anywhere.”

“I thought you were smart! Get us out!”

“I'm thinking!” You inspected the cuffs, looking at the carvings. They were words. “Fides, amor, matrimonium.” You muttered aloud. “Ah, fuck. You gotta be fucking kidding me!”

“Fides, amor, matrimonium? What the fuck? Is that talking about marriage and love?” Mattheo started yelling again. The chain connecting the two cuffs started disappearing after he repeated the words that were carved into the cuffs. The metal parts around your wrists were still there.

“You fucking idiot! Do you have any idea what you just did?” You shouted at him, shoving him backwards.

“Obviously not!” He shouted back, catching himself on a random box and straightening back up.

“Those were marital vow chains!” You said like it was obvious and that's when Mattheo's face went pale. You'd heard of them, most people had, they were a very ancient tradition. The people getting married would wear them and repeat the words carved into the cuffs, just like you and Mattheo did, vowing your love and loyalty to one another. If the vow is broken, both people die. They were outlawed a long time ago to prevent any more deaths.

“Oh, fuck.” Mattheo muttered, obviously panicking again but for a whole different reason this time.

“I swear to fuck, Mattheo-if we die because of this, I'm gonna kill you!”

“I didn't mean to fucking marry you!”

“Well, you did! And you can't take it back! We'll both die!”

“Ah, fuck.”

“‘Ah, fuck.’ Indeed. Now what?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I-I-I don't-I don't-I don't know.” He stuttered, utterly in shock.

“This was just supposed to be a normal fucking detention!” You started pacing, so mad and upset that you couldn't even sit still.

“I'm sorry!”

“That doesn't fix this!”

“Fucking shit. We're married.”

“Yeah!”

“Holy fuck!”

“This is your fault, Mattheo!”

“Shit!” By now, he was pacing just as bad as you.

“I'm gonna fucking kill you. You just ruined our lives.”

“It was an accident!”

You finally stopped pacing and faced him and he mimicked you, stopping and facing you too. “You're gonna have to be the best husband in the world or I'm taking us both out. Do you understand me, Mattheo?”

“Yes.” He said and his face looked just like a kid caught doing something he shouldn't have.

“I-” You started but stopped just as fast. “Un-fucking-believable.” You turned around, trying to stop yourself from hitting him.

“You know, though…” Mattheo started stepping towards you slowly. “Since we're married, maybe we should kiss. Like an actual wedding. Since I'm your husband now.”

“Mattheo?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up and walk away before I punch you in the face.” You said, not even turning around to face him.

“Got it. Too soon.” He said before you could hear his footsteps retreating.

Fuck, what were you going to tell your parents?

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@yours-truly-5 @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@delulugirl2000 @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @satosugu4-ever @mattiesgirl @ur-local-wizard

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @dustie-faerie

@shaquilles-0atmeal @gillyweeds @pluto-9456

@hereticdance @cindyss @saint-marvel

@simpforromance @yours-truly-5 @kenjikishimotoswifey @fallingblackveils @simpforromance

@strxwberri-s @nickirae @esmerai-artemis @blu3b3rrymuff1ns @yootvi

@roseofsharron438 @abeoavita @rafesba @ter-luer @cminoko

#slytherin boys #ask #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle x reader smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #3k

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maxtermind · 1 year ago

Note

Imagine that the reader, Charles, Lando and Carlos randomly get the idea to go to Costco and try some viral food they saw on TikTok so when they go to buy the product, Charles grabs a separate cart and when the guys ask him why if they are only going to buy one thing, he says that the reader always ends up buying too many things and then has nowhere to put them so Charles is used to carrying an extra cart because he knows his girlfriend is a compulsive shopper.

retail therapy

★ : feat :: charles leclerc x reader ★ : genre :: fluff; crack ★ : word count :: 1.4k ★ : a/n :: i've had this in my drafts for so long. i'm so sorry love, i unfortunately suck and forget to schedule the post. thanks for the fun request <33

You found yourself in the expansive parking lot of a large store on an otherwise ordinary Saturday afternoon, accompanied by Charles, Lando, and Carlos.

The mission? To grab the viral food product that TikTok had unanimously declared a must-try: Shin Ramyun. It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out operation, but Charles had other plans.

”Why'd you grab an extra cart?” Lando asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion as Charles nonchalantly pushed the second cart alongside his own.

”We're only buying one thing,” Carlos chimed in, clearly perplexed.

Charles sighed dramatically, casting a knowing glance at you, who were busily scrolling through your phone to find the exact aisle where the magical ramen resided.

”You guys don't understand,” Charles began, shaking his head as if explaining a basic concept to toddlers before whispering so you wouldn’t catch it. ”Y/N always ends up buying too many things. It's like she has a radar for… unnecessary purchases.”

”Hey!” you protested, looking up from your phone. ”They're not unnecessary. They're uh- useful in unexpected ways!”

”Like the 50-pound bag of gummy bears?” Charles retorted, smirking when he saw your eyes widen. ”Or the industrial-sized jar of pickles you bought last time?”

”They were on sale,” you defended, crossing your arms. ”And you love pickles.”

”I love them in moderation, not in bulk.”

”You take that back, mister!”

Lando and Carlos exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

”So, what's the plan?” Lando asked, eager to get the show on the road.

”Simple,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. ”We go in, get the Shin Ramyun, and maybe... just maybe... see if there are any good deals.”

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. ”And this,” he said, gesturing to the extra cart, ”is why we can't have nice, quick shopping trips.”

You entered the store, greeted by the overwhelming scent of bulk goods and free samples. You navigated through the aisles, Charles dutifully pushing one carts, while Lando and Carlos alternatively pushed the other.

”Okay, the Shin Ramyun should be in aisle 12,” you announced, leading the way. ”But we should definitely check out the electronics section first. You never know when there's a sale.”

”We're here for food,” Charles reminded you, though his tone was more resigned than stern.

”And electronics,” you added cheerfully. ”Come on, it's right this way.”

Lando nudged Carlos, whispering, ”Ten bucks says our bill will be over two grand.”

”Mate, talk around five and you're on,” Carlos replied with a grin.

Sure enough, as you wandered through the electronics section, your eyes lit up at the sight of a massive flat-screen TV on sale.

”Look at this deal!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. ”We could totally use a new TV.”

The boys behind you just shook their heads and to appease them, you slowly started, ”I’m just saying that the bonus I got last week has got to—”

”You guys have a TV,” Lando snickered.

”Yes, but not this TV,” you said, gesturing dramatically. ”Think about movie nights! Think about the sports games! Think about—”

”Think about where we're going to put it,” Charles interrupted, though he was already losing the battle. The allure of a good deal was strong, even for him. You could see it in his eyes that he was already almost convinced.

”Fine,” you huffed anyway, moving along. ”But we're coming back for it if we have room.”

Lando and Carlos exchanged looks, trying to stifle their laughter.

”You guys are a mess,” Carlos said, shaking his head. ”This is better than Netflix.”

”Just wait until we hit the snack aisle,” Lando added, trying to be discreet but you caught it. ”That's when things get really interesting.” He just gave you a nervous cheeky smile in return as you glared.

As you made your way to aisle 12, you inevitably got distracted by various items along the way. A giant jar of Nutella? In the cart. A set of high-end kitchen knives? In the cart. A year's supply of toilet paper? In the cart.

Charles dutifully followed, pushing the now significantly heavier cart with an air of resigned amusement. ”See?” he said to Lando and Carlos. ”This is why I grabbed an extra cart.”

Finally, you reached the aisle with the viral TikTok food product. There it was, Shin Ramyun, in all its spicy glory, stacked high and tempting.

”Here it is!” you said triumphantly, grabbing several boxes and adding them to the cart. ”Mission accomplished.”

”Can we leave now?” Charles asked, though he already knew the answer.

”Not yet,” you replied, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. ”We need to check out the outdoor section. Summer's coming, and we could use some new patio furniture.”

Charles groaned, but there was no real annoyance in it. He knew this was just how your trips to the store went. Besides, there was something endearing about your enthusiasm for finding deals and stocking up on... well, everything.

As you wandered through the outdoor section, Lando and Carlos tried out various patio chairs and loungers, providing a running commentary that kept everyone entertained. You found a particularly nice set that you insisted would look perfect in your backyard.

”Think of all the barbecues we could have,” you said, looking at Charles with pleading eyes.

Charles sighed, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ”Fine, but this is the last thing. I mean it.”

”Promise,” you said, kissing him lightly while your friends fake gagged in the background.

You made your way to the checkout, carts overflowing with all manner of items. The staff recognized the boys and immediately started asking for photos and signatures as you guys waited for your turn.

That’s when Charles moved around and squeezed,”Gotta run to the toilet, I’ll be back in two?” He leaned down to whisper.

You shrugged and nodded your head, instead discussing Lando's new apartment with him. Failing to notice how Carlos was nowhere in sight either.

The cashier raised an eyebrow but didn't comment as she rang up the seemingly endless stream of products.

She was on the last few products when you heard Lando sigh under his breath and as you turned around, you saw Charles and Carlos carrying the box of the TV that you were eyeing.

Your own eyes widened as you jumped up and down and screamed,”No way, I love you!” Charles just snorted as skipped towards him.

He set the TV down and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. ”I couldn't resist,” he admitted, his voice soft. ”Your excitement is contagious.”

You beamed up at him, feeling the love and warmth in his embrace. ”You always know how to make me feel loved.”

Charles kissed your forehead, his eyes twinkling. ”Cmon, babe. It’s like breathing for me now”

Lando and Carlos approached, carrying the last few bags and boxes. ”You two are adorable,” Lando teased, nudging Carlos. ”A bit nauseating, but adorable.”

As you left the store, pushing your heavily-laden carts towards the car, Lando and Carlos couldn't help but laugh.

”I owe you ten bucks,” Lando said, nudging Carlos.

Charles wrapping an arm around you. ”What do you think we can do with our old TV?” You smirked before looking over at Lando and Carlos who were loading the car.

”You know the way Lando bought a new apartmen—” Your boyfriend threw his head back and laughed before you could even finish.

”God, baby, I love you! Compulsive shopping and all.”

You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling. ”And I love that you always bring an extra cart. Just in case.”

”So, what's the first thing we do with all this stuff?” Carlos asked, squeezing the last box into the trunk.

”Easy,” you said with a grin. ”We head home and have a fun game session with some Shin Ramyun and a movie on our new TV.”

Lando snickered. ”Sounds like the perfect end to a perfect shopping spree.”

”And if anyone asks,” Charles added with a wink, ”this was all part of the therapy. Sometimes, a little retail indulgence is just what the doctor ordered.”

”Retail therapy,” you said, snuggling into Charles as you drove off. ”It's cheaper than real therapy. Sometimes.”

Charles laughed, kissing the top of your head. ”And way more fun.”

(grid masterlist \ masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

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moolovesyou · 6 months ago

Text

finals week | angus tully x reader

a/n: just finished my last final, i have a massive headache, but i must do this or else the voices in my head will get me.

s: its time for finals and angus tully is not a very good study buddy.

w: sex mention, no actual smut.

wc: 1.7k

"Angus Tully, I swear to god if you don't walk away in five seconds, I will hurt you in ways the KGB couldn't even imagine."

You were just trying to study. You went the full mile, going to the public library for complete and utter silence. Unfortunately, Angus had spotted you from the Barton courtyard and followed you with the false intention of "also studying".

You rubbed your temples, staring at the chemistry book intensely in hopes it'll radiate into your skull. You could feel Angus's stare on you from across the table.

"I just wanted a pencil." He mumbled, scratching his scalp and adjusting his curls. "If I don't have one then I can't work, and then I really won't shut up."

You groaned loudly, erupting a sharp 'shhhh!' from the librarian on the other side of the library. You reached into your bag, grabbing a particularly dull pencil and basically launching it at Angus. He picked it up, analyzing the lead tip.

"This-"

You glanced at him with a glare that no curse word could've amounted to. With a single lift of your finger, you pointed him to the pencil sharpener on the wall, never taking your eyes off of your book.

"Thanks, angel." Angus winked obnoxiously.

You and Angus had a weird relationship. He would call you every pet name in the book and behave all chivalrous, opening doors and giving you his seat at fundraisers. You were a blushing mess all the time. You weren't as straightforward as him, but you had your ways. Angus would get flustered whenever you touched his hair or wore your uniform with one or two buttons left unbuttoned on purpose.

You two had something going on, but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it. Especially not now, during finals week. However, you couldn't deny the cloudy fuzz of seductiveness forming in your brain. When you were supposed to be thinking about atoms, you were thinking about Tully.

You looked up from your book with curiosity. It had been too quiet. Angus was stood at the pencil sharpener, standing incredibly still, staring at you with wide eyes. As soon as you noticed him, he perked up. He was waiting for you to look. He signaled the sharpness of the pencil, pretending to stab himself with it. He sprawled his hands out, leaning against the wall with a small 'thud'.

You couldn't hold the small chuckle from your lips. It egged him on. He sprung from his feet, marching stiffly like the royal guards to his seat in front of you.

"Are you gonna study now?" You scoffed, a small smirk playing on your lips.

He pursed his lips. They were chapped and slightly red from how much he chewed on them.

"Sure." He looked down at his book, realizing it was upside down, and proceeded to flip it and open to the first page. Not even one second past, before he opened his mouth again. "Can you help me here?"

"First of all, you are astonishingly smart. We both know this. Second of all, that's the table of contents." You sighed.

He nodded as if he was still trying to understand.

"Oh, you misunderstood." Angus reached forward, grabbing your free hand. He brought it to his chest and placed it directly over his heart. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. "I need your help here."

You could feel the thumps of his heart. Thump, thump. It was a speedy rhythm, which makes sense because Angus uses his nerves to deliver comebacks that George Carlin would holler at.

You grinned, "Oh my, yes you do." You spoke in a sarcastic, yet sultry tone. "Your heartrate is irregular. I reckon you have 1 more hour to live if the heart attack gets to you before I do."

He laughed, dropping your hand to the table. You faced your attention back to your book, writing your notes on your journal beside you. You had finished the chapter on the atomic structure, finally feeling some sense of relief. All that's left is the periodic table.

From under the table, Angus inched his foot closer to yours. He nudged your shoe slightly, then shoved it forcefully. You narrowed your gaze at him, moving your chair backwards for more legroom. It didn't seem to matter as Angus kept nudging you with his feet, trying to pull you forward by clamping one foot in between his legs and yanking backwards.

The chair screeched loudly and you almost slipped off your chair. Another 'shhhhhhhhh!' was heard, this time uttered with more silent rage.

Your gazes connected. His face was plastered with this look of feigned innocence. His face tilted forward, resting on the palm of his hand. He looked at you through his lashes, darting his tongue out to lick his lips. A small smile grew on his face. If he wants to play, we'll play. You took your chances and slammed your foot in between his thighs. Of course, you didn't actually castrate him right then and there, kicking low enough to hit the wooden chair. Yet, he took the message, immediately sitting up straight with a red tint all over his face.

You continued with your studying. The words were blurring together. Lectures were more your thing. Nothing was retaining. Every morsel of information was blocked by a big wall of boredom. It was frustrating.

From in front of you, Angus could tell you were struggling. He was going to offer to help, but his hubris urged him to push you to come to him for help. It was diabolical, but you were going to break soon. You just needed one more push.

You turned the page, pinching the bridge of your nose anxiously. Your brain felt like a foggy, humid morning. Then, interrupting the beautiful 6 minutes of silence since Angus spoke, a whistle. A whistle in the tune of 'Build Me Up Buttercup' by The Foundations. A song Angus listened to and thought of you so much that he began to taunt you with it.

It started off slow and barely above a whisper. But then, it grew gradually. He looked everywhere but you, minding his business. It got so loud you were about to call over the librarian like she was the national guard.

Then, it happened. You snapped.

You lunged your hand forward, scrunching Angus's cheeks together. The whistling stopped abruptly. His brown eyes widened. With your other hand, you reached it forward slowly. It hovered over his pencil, before you flicked it off. It rolled under the desk.

You kept your hand on his face, preventing any cheeky quip from spewing out. Your eyes never left his. He kept glancing between your face and your hand, as it moved over to your pencil. You picked it up slowly, raising it in the air, before dropping it to the floor.

"Oops."

You gave him one last glance before letting go of his face. You stood from your chair crouching down under the table. Angus practically threw himself off of his chair, banging his head on the desk in the process. He was on his hands and knees, trying to fit in the small space. You sat still.

Even in the dark, you could see the paleness of his face and that sculpture-worthy nose. Many times you just wanted to trace his nose with your finger. His eyes flickered between your face and the floor.

"Is this it? Are we doing it? I don't have a condom but I can pull out." He nodded excitedly.

"I needed a private place to hurt you. I want to pass this test before I get arrested." You gritted your teeth, picking up your pencil and holding it to his neck.

"Are you sure that's all you wanted to do? With the way your hands were on me, I think we could've covered a few more bases, angel."

Your lips formed a thin line, rage dissipating into exhaustion. You brought your knees to your chest, hugging your legs.

"I can't do this. I accept defeat. I'm gonna fail." You spoke with monotone.

Angus scooched closer, "Hey, you're gonna pass." He rested his slim hand on your knee, rubbing it softly. His act had dropped, he couldn't stand seeing you like this. "You're so smart, you're just a little tired. I can help you."

"Really?" You raised your head. Angus nodded with a smile, tilting his head cutely. His curls covered his face slightly. "I owe you."

"You don't have to do anything." He said in a soft whisper, eyes never leaving yours, sending pangs of exhilaration into your heart.

You bit your lip.

"What if I want to?"

He sat up immediately, hitting his head on the bottom of the table. He hissed, rubbing his scalp.

"Angus Tully," You leaned forward and you could feel his breath on your face. "If you help me, I'll go on a date with you."

"Really?" His face lit up, eyes squinting as his grin covered his whole face. "Next Friday? After finals?"

You nodded.

"Seal the deal." You whispered.

He put his hand forward, but you pushed it back down. He glanced back at you, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You leaned forward slightly, hoping he would take the hit. Angus let out a single nervous exhale through his nose, before closing the small gap slowly. Your lips interlocked for a soft kiss. His chapped lips were smooth and meshed with yours perfectly. You reached your hand forward, placing it onto the back of his skull. You scratched his head, and he leaned impossibly forward, applying pressure with more fervor.

You both leaned back, faces red with blush.

"Careful, before they actually think we're having sex." I warned. He ruffled his curls nervously, playing with the tie around his neck.

You handed him his pencil that had been forgotten. The both of you popped out from under the desk, earning a few curious glances from other studying patrons.

Angus hurried over to your side of the desk. He scooted his chair as close as possible to you. Your shoulders and knees touched. The two of you couldn't stop the smiles from showing on your faces.

"So, chemical reactions, huh?"

#angus tully #the holdovers #imagine #x reader #angus tully x reader #angus tully imagine #the holdovers imagine

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fixyourwritinghabits · 1 month ago

Note

Do you have any ways to check in a fanfic is written by AI? I have no trouble detect if a work email is written by AI but when it comes to fanfic, I just can't. English is my second language too. There are a bunch of fics of this one author on Wattpad that when I was reading, it feels weird? A little bit uncanny. I don't want to misunderstand them if it's just a me problem but I also hate everyone using AI to write so I'd appreciate a method or a tool to check. Thank you.

I don't have any solid indicators, however, if it feels off, you're likely noticing something off about the writing. The "em-dash" claim (that AI uses em dashes a lot) isn't really something to rely on.

(A better way to identify AI is an overuse of bullet lists, which, uh, I'm about to do, so here goes.)

Inconsistencies and repetition. This is a tough one right out of the gate, but all writers have a style. There's a turn of phrase, sentence structure, or common words that tend to pop up in their writing again and again. AI, on the other hand, does not stick to a distinctive style. It may repeat the same sentence structure over and over, or seem overly formerly written, especially in dialogue. The longer a document/fic, the more repetitive writing structures you will see.

Lack of depth or subtlety. Do the descriptions feel stilted or odd? Are the metaphors mixed together in a way that doesn't make sense (describing something dark using a comparison to something bright, odd comparisons that you've never heard before, etc)? Does it feel like the emotions are flat and not connecting to the story? All of these things could be things to watch out for.

Perfect grammar. I'm still finding grammatical errors in stories I wrote years ago. No amount of spellcheck will save me from a typo. AI never has that problem, but it also won't use punctuation to make a point (like using commas to indicate a speech pattern).

Updated too damn fast. If someone is uploading thousands of words a day, there's no way they're writing the story themselves. Massive, rapid-fire updates are something to keep an eye out for.

Now, all of these things alone do not indicate someone is using AI. Everyone's written a bad metaphor before, some people are great at grammar, and folks new to writing may have an inconsistent writing style. As you have noticed, speaking English as a second language makes folks overly prone to being flagged as using AI, which is also not helpful.

There's also no perfect AI checker, as most tend to throw up false positives. But the longer the story, the more indicators will pop up. Scenes might get repetitive, or sex scenes start to feel the same.

I also, unfortunately, don't have any advice for what to do if you feel like AI is being used to write fanfiction. You certainly don't want to falsely accuse someone of using it publicly (though I'd reach out to friends to see if they have the same suspicions). Ultimately, the best case scenario is that people will identify when they use AI (there's a whole tag for it on AO3), but I don't know how common that will become. In a pinch, when I suspect something has been plagiarized or written by AI, I shift the writer to my "do not read" pile and move on.

#AI Bullshit #fanfiction

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

Text

Missed Messages

Lucifer x reader

~ You have always tried to be self sufficient and fight your own battles. But when you reach your breaking point, you find yourself alone.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, physical and emotional feelings of stress, reader getting treated poorly for being a human, group projects.

~2.9k

You feel like there is a little stress demon bouncing around your chest. In the human world, group projects were annoying, and unfortunately, they still exist in hell.

For one of your classes, you were paired up with Olivier, a Greater demon from one of the Devildom's wealthy families, and his companions. Right from the get-go, he made it very clear that he had no intention of working on a project with a filthy human and that if you were to say anything about his refusal, it would make Diavolo's exchange program look bad if it appeared that the demons at RAD were not being accepting of humans.

At first, you thought his threat was silly. That he was simply a slacker who wanted to get out of work. But after a while, you realized that Olivier has a strong distaste for humans and could have the influence to cause problems for the exchange program if you were to speak out against his behaviors.

So, you put on your best face and ignored his prejudiced behavior. The subtle comments he would make under his breath when you asked questions in class, the way he would cleanse his hand with fire magic after coming into contact with something you had touched, and the way conversations would die out whenever you entered a room without one of the brothers, the Angels, or Diavolo himself by your side.

You have been tirelessly working on this massive project all by yourself; it has stolen all of your free time, and feelings of sardonic frustration are just welling up inside of you. Now, just like the too-heavy book bag that clings to your shoulder, You are nearing your breaking point.

The House of Lamination is a safe haven for you after your tiring days at RAD, but right as you enter through its massive double doors, you come face to face with Lucifer. The Avatar of Pride greets you with a loving expression, but he looks just as exhausted as you feel.

"Mc? Is something troubling you?" he asks, taking in your downcast features with a frown. You want to tell him of your little problem, but he is ridiculously busy and probably has more important things to do than dealing with your inability to play nice with others.

After all, a classmate not liking you is no excuse for you to receive a poor grade on your project…

"Not at all," you reply, flashing him a sweet, convincing smile. "I'm just getting a bit hangry, I can't wait for dinner tonight."

"I see," he says doubtfully.

"How are you doing?" you ask, changing the subject. 'You look a bit stressed."

"Is it that obvious?" he chuckles, raking his hand through his raven-colored hair. "Apparently, those rubber duck toys from the human world have become quite popular in the Devildom, and Lord Diavolo thought it would be fun to give them out at RAD. So now I am going through the student council finances to determine how many ducks and varieties we need."

"Sounds complicated, but why you?"

"No clue," he sighs, "But he seems to think that I have a hidden fondness for these toys."

"Well, I'm sure this Rubber Duck event will go off without a hitch," you say earnestly. "You are so organized and capable you can make anything successful."

"Do you really mean that?" he asks, a smile gracing his fine features. You nod as he gives you a soft peck on the forehead as thanks for your kind words. "I have to work through this paperwork now, but I feel more inclined to do it after your encouragement, Mc."

"Wait," you call after him. "You better make it down for dinner tonight then; if you don't, I will personally invite Solomon to come and prepare the next meal."

His eyes widen as a shudder courses through his strong back. "There's no need for that. I promise to be down for dinner."

Hours later, everyone is gathered around the dinner, eating some kind of Devildom variation of lasagna that Satan made.

Beel has a whole sheet pan to himself and is chowing down as he and Belphie seem to be having a telepathic conversation that no one at the table is able to decipher. Lucifer is at the head of the table, keeping true to his promise of joining you, but he is eating quickly, clearly in a rush.

Asmodeus sits to your right, talking animatedly about something that happened today when he was at the mall, you're sure it's an entertaining story based on the reactions of the others, but you are too lost in thought, poking at your dinner plate with a silver fork.

Although you have been working on your project for days, there is no way you are going to finish the damn thing on time. This workload was meant for a large group, not just one human.

"Mc? What are ya thinkin' about?" Mammon asks, stirring you from your thoughts. "Ya haven't touched yer dinner."

"Satan looks up at you from across the table. "Do you not care for this dish?" he asks. "I could make you something else if you would prefer it?" his dejection breaks your heart.

You shake your head quickly. "No, not at all," you say. "I love it; the sauce is really creamy, I just got distracted."

"Oh, I see." he nods as you take a bite of his dish. "I'm relieved."

"Gahhhh," Levi cries from his seat as he sets his game console down on the table. His screen flashing red tells you that he has just failed the level he was on. "I can't believe it, I was so close."

"Leviathan, what did I say about playing video games at the dinner table?" Lucifer asks the purple-haired demon sternly.

"N-not to." he sulks, slipping the little handheld off the table and into his deep jacket pocket.

"Thank you," the eldest responds. He clears his throat to get the attention of everyone. "Now, if I could just have a second of your time."

"One," Belphie deadpans, looking at his older brother. They hold eye contact, and it is clear the youngest is struggling to keep a straight face at his joke.

"Anyways," the taller demon continues, "I have a very important task to finish tonight, and I will need absolutely-"

"That's two seconds now." Satan interrupts with a snicker.

Lucifer, with the wisdom and patience of the oldest sibling, chooses to ignore the teasing and continue with what he is saying. "As I was saying, I require peace and quiet to complete these documents, so I will now be returning to my study and enchanting the door with a noise-canceling spell. I do not wish to be disturbed, so please only contact me if it is an emergency."

"Wait? So we jus can do whatever we wanna do tonight?" Mammon asks, his eyes sparkle with mischievous greed as he imagines the possibilities before him.

"Within reason, Mammon," Lucifer's crimson glare shoots to all his brothers. "But if I find out that any of you decided to waste your free time running about the Devildom causing problems, rest assured, I will punish you using everything at my disposal." The room falls silent as the Avatar of Pride rises from his seat and turns to leave. His massive cape swishes dramatically as he walks out the dining room doors.

Unsurprisingly, Asmo is the first to spring from his seat. His arms wrap around you as you inhale his sweet peach-scented cologne. "Mc, come to my room. I have the cutest top you can wear tonight when you go to the club with me." he purrs into the shell of your ear.

"No way," Mammon objects. "The human is gonna come to the Casino with the Great Mammon tonight."

Before the two demons try to drag you across the Devildom to party, you object. "Actually, I have a project to work on," you say, standing. "But you guys have fun."

"Wait, Mc," Beel asks softly, his big eyes full of hope. "Belphie and I were gonna go get some shaved ice for dessert. Would you like to join us?"

Your heart flutters tenderly at the Avatar of Gluttony's request, but the stress you are feeling is hitting you ten-fold. "I wish I could, Beel. But I really have to get my assignment done."

"May I join you two?" Satan asks. "I find myself in the mood for dessert."

"Me too," Levi quips.

"Sounds like a plan," Belphie says, looking at you with a pout. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I'm positive," you reply, giving them your most convincing smile. "Now, you guys should go before the shop closes for the night." Beel's eyes go wide with worry, and he hastily leaves the room. As the others follow him out.

Now alone, your body begins to tremble under the stress of the deadline looming over your head. The walk back to your desk is a long one, and tears begin to wheel in your eyes as you stare down at your assignment rubric and wonder how, in the three realms, you are going to be able to finish this project on time.

It's been hours of working. Stressing, erasing, and overthinking and you feel like you are nearing your wits end.

Your screen lights up with a message from Asmodeus. When you open it is a video attachment. Clicking on it you see that the 6 brothers are sharing a lush VIP booth at the Fall. "I wish you were hereeeee," Asmo yells into the speaker just above the thrumming base that belphie manages to sleep through peacefully. Their cheeks are ruddy from demonus, and they have the happiest smiles on their faces.

It brings a smile to your face as you rewatch the video. Just behind Mammon, you see a figure that has you seeing red.

He is double-fisting some kind of green demonus and wearing a ridiculous hat, but you see your classmates, the demon Olivier and the rest of your 'group' out partying without a care in the world.

While you are at home, working tirelessly on their project.

Something inside of you just shatters, and you turn away from your desk and throw yourself onto your bed. The soft pillows muffle your cries of frustration. Your DDD feels like a brick in your hand as you raise it to your eye level.

Your tired face stares back at you on the black screen, and you feel so alone.

You need to talk to someone…

But it's the middle of the night, Simeon and Solomon have gone to bed hours ago and Diavolo and Barbatos are off at a diplomatic conference. You know in your heart that Lucifer is still awake, hunched over his desk as he works through his mountain of paperwork.

Although he said he did not want to be disturbed, your feelings are too severe.

This feels like an emergency.

You call him, wanting to at least hear the soothing sound of his voice. The Dial Tone rings once, twice, thrice… but he doesn't pick up.

You sit there, listening to the dull sound of his answering machine. "I guess even in Hell, I have to leave voicemails," you murmur, waiting for the beep.

"Hey… It's me," you say into the speaker. It's a struggle to keep your voice steady. "I know it's late, and you have lots to do, but if you get this, could you ple-please come here. I just really need someone to talk to right now."

Just voicing your struggle is enough to send tears trickling down your face, and you quickly hang up the phone before you let out one of those raspy, croaking sounds loose from your throat.

Exhaustion courses through your body as you give up on completing the group project for the night. Perhaps when you wake tomorrow, you will have the energy to pretend your problems don't exist.

Lucifer wakes up with his head against the polished mahogany of his desk. A bit of drool wetting the surface as he runs his hands through his hair. "What time is it?" he mutters groggily, reaching out blindly for his DDD.

He pats the empty surface and sits up straighter. Finding that his device is not in its usual place on his desk. His brow furrows as he begins to look through the mountain of papers, trying not to ruffle the organized stacks that he completed earlier before dozing off.

Minutes later of flipping and straightening, he finds it under the center stack and sees that it is flooded with pictures from his brothers, who look like they had a great, but expensive, night out together.

It brings a warm smile to his lips when he sees their cheesing faces. But then he notices another notification he hadn't seen before. "Mc sent me a voicemail?" He clicks play.

"Hey… It's me. I know it's late and you have lots to do, but if you get this could you ple- please come here. I just really need someone to talk to right now." your voice sounds so weak and shaky it fills him with dread.

How could he have missed this?

He stands abruptly, papers flying everywhere from the movement, but he really couldn't care less.

You need him.

You needed him last night and he wasn't there for you.

He has to find you, hold you, and do whatever he can to make you feel better.

Apparently, falling asleep after hitting an emotional low does not constitute the most restful sleep. Your neck feels stiff as you pull your head up from your pillows. The fabric is still slightly damp from your tears the night before. There's this icky feeling in your chest, but it doesn't seem to go away. It only intensifies when you look over at your desk, your unfinished project littering the once pristine space.

Your door flies open suddenly as a gust of air reaches your skin. Lucifer stands in the doorway tensely. He looks ragged, tired, and his deep crimson eyes are muddled with heartbreaking concern. You immediately remember the voicemail that you sent him the night before

You stressed him out; you have to fix this.

"Good morning, Lucifer," you smile. But it doesn't reach your eyes. He can see through your little act. "I didn't mean to worry you with that voicemail; it was really nothing."

"What's wrong?" he says, coming forward, closing that painful distance with determination. His hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes.

It's funny how one simple touch has your self-assured act crumbling to the ground like a poorly constructed house of cards.

You find yourself spilling every detail to him, your exhaustion, the group project, the ostracization from your groupmates, and how you saw that they were out at the club last night."

All the while, Lucifer nods along with your story, his thumb gently running along your cheek in a soothing motion. His actions are caring and tender toward you, but there is a fire blazing in his eyes reserved for someone else. You may not know it yet, but Olivier’s days of comfort are numbered.

"Why didn't you tell me of this before," he asks softly once you finish your explanation. "Why did you take this burden upon yourself?"

"I was worried, "you admit. "I heard that Olivier comes from an influential family. If I said anything, he could cause problems for the exchange program that you and Diavolo have worked so hard for."

"Mc, I promise you, that little rat was greatly exaggerating his self-importance." Lucifer's hand rubs gentle circles into your back. "If anything, you have far more influence in Devildom politics than he does," he adds with an amused chuckle. "

"He's still a jerk, though." you sniffle, wiping your eyes. "Thank you for coming here to cheer me up."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he murmurs. "You needed me, and I let you down; please let me make it up to you today."

"You have nothing to make up for," you start, glancing back at your table. "Besides, I have to finish that project before tomorrow."

"Absolutely not," he says abruptly. "You will not lay a finger on that project since clearly you have done more than your share. I will make sure Lord Diavolo hears of this situation and you receive full marks on the work you have already done. I need you to know that you can rely on me. No matter how busy I am, I should never be too busy to come to your aid."

"I love you," you sigh, feeling the burdens lifting off your chest and disappearing into nothingness. "But I should've told you sooner. What do you think will happen to the rest of my group?"

He smiles and kisses the top of your head; as you lean into his touch, you don't see the dark look on his features. "Don't worry about them, Mc, I'll make sure they never cause you pain ever again. Now, let's get changed; I'll take you to that new cafe that opened up to Majolish and enjoy the rest of the day.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

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