#Muster Hyde

[yore-donatsu]

I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE THEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM !!! THANKS HORI FOR THIS !!!  🥰😍

(Nooooo I didn’t forget to share this yesterday.... Nooooo !!!)

Quick sketch dump for @yore-donatsu. Thank you SO MUCH for the ☕️.

[atozfic]

splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance. 

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall. 

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it. 

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it. 

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit. 

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for. 

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do. 

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs. 

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest. 

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.  

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear. 

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear? 

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you. 

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there. 

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze. 

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

[coffeeshades]

—true blue ⭑ part ii

summary: two strangers meet in a city of millions, only to discover they've been searching for each other all along.

pairing: pedro pascal x f!reader.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: age gap, angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol, loneliness, nostalgia. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: happy reading <3

Several weeks had passed since Pedro’s last letter, and your heart had fallen into a state of quiet, private anguish. At first, you waved it off—surely, he was busy; perhaps work had claimed his attention. It was only reasonable, you told yourself. Your own days were heavy with work; your nights were weighed down by the kinds of dreams that stretch between waking and sleep.

You expected his silence would soon be broken.

But as each day drew to a close without word from him, your soul grew restless, your mind endlessly rehearsing the contents of your last letter. Did you overstep some invisible boundary? Did he, perhaps, see the words on the page and find them lacking?

It was a mad habit, replaying the messages, re-reading them through imagined eyes. Had you given yourself away too soon, foolishly assuming some intimacy that perhaps had never been there?

Resigned, you finally abandoned any hope of hearing from him again.

One bright Saturday in late autumn, you sought solace in Hyde Park. The air was brisk, threading itself with the scent of dying leaves. In one hand, you clutched a warm pumpkin flavored coffee, and in the other, the last book Pedro had given you, its spine softened by countless touches, as though he’d read it a hundred times before sending it on to you. The vibrant red of your cardigan caught the eyes of passersby, a bright, defiant spot against the muted colors of the late autumn landscape.

As you walked, you saw the shapes of couples in the distance, silhouettes tangled together as they strolled or lingered under trees. You were reminded of those precious, everyday moments—of your friend's comforting calls, your patients’ murmured thanks at the end of long days, the warmth of those early letters exchanged with Pedro. Each of these small flashes of light is a reminder that life held joy even amid decay.

Yet even those small joys paled in comparison to what Pedro had come to represent to you. He was more than just a light; he had become the sun, his warmth reaching some part of you long-buried, awakening hope you’d thought lost forever. You clung to that hope, fragile as it was, in your steps.

And then, as if conjured by some unseen will, he appeared.

You saw him, standing near a tree talking on his phone, dressed much the same as the first time you’d met, only this time his glasses were different. Your heart raced, a sudden jolt of fear gripping you. You shouldn’t be scared—you’d been writing to him for weeks. You’d spilled your guts on paper, sharing things with him you hadn’t told anyone else. Talking to him shouldn’t be a big deal.

But it was.

You kept walking, hoping to avoid him, but then you heard it. Your name—deliciously spoken in his voice, rich and deep. You stopped dead in your tracks, heart hammering in your chest.

Your footsteps slowed, your pulse quickening as you turned. There he was, hands tucked into his pockets, his smile just as soft, as if he’d known all along that you’d appear there on that same path.

“I thought that was you,” he said, taking a few steps toward you.

It was all you could do to muster a reply, your voice an unsteady whisper against the gusts of wind. “You’ve only seen me once,” you stammered, “and you remembered me?”

A laugh, gentle and reassuring, rumbled from him as he replied, “You’re hard to forget.”

“Oh.”

It was the only word you could manage, your brain still trying to process the fact that he was here, in front of you.

He glanced down at the book in your hand. “How’s it going?” he asked, nodding towards it.

“I’m halfway through already. It’s fast-paced,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual, even though your pulse was racing.

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled again. “You going somewhere?”

You glanced around, desperate to avoid his intense gaze. His brown eyes were impossibly warm, pulling you in. “Not really,” you said. “Just walking.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

From there, conversation flowed, interrupted only by the brisk autumn breeze, as if you hadn’t already shared your deepest thoughts in letters. He asked about your work, and when you told him you worked in healthcare, he teased, “Could you be a little more specific?”

You laughed. “I’m a doctor, actually.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “No way. That’s impressive. Beauty and brains.”

You blushed. Did he just—did he compliment you?

“It’s no big deal. I applied for a residency here a while ago, and now… here I am.”

“Where’d you go to med school?” he asked.

“New York,” you said, smiling softly. “Lived there my whole life.”

“Why not stay there?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It sounds silly, but I always dreamed of escaping to somewhere new. Somewhere no one knew me.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

You laughed, glancing down at the ground. “Pretty lonely.”

He frowned. “Lonely?”

“Not much different from my life before,” you added quickly, feeling too exposed. You turned the conversation back to him. “What about you?”

“Uh, well, I’m…an actor,” he said with a shrug. “That's why I'm in London, filming a movie. Been here for a few months now.”

You bit your lip, feeling the weight of the moment stretching out between you. You had to say it. It had been gnawing at you since that first encounter—this unspoken truth, hovering between the lines of every letter you’d exchanged.

“I... I know who you are, by the way,” you blurted out, the words rushing out faster than you intended.

Pedro raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, crooked smile. “Oh?”

You nodded, suddenly shy, feeling your face grow warm. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t sure at first. You look different, a little. But then when you signed the first letter with your name, I was like, ‘Oh yeah, it’s him.’ And then I didn’t want to ruin it or make things weird, so I didn’t say anything, but maybe I should’ve? I don’t know, I—”

You rambled on, your voice a frantic mess as the words stumbled over themselves. Pedro watched you, his eyes crinkling in amusement, letting you spiral out without interrupting. His quiet, steady presence only made you more flustered, the way he seemed so completely at ease, while you felt like you were falling over your own sentences like an idiot.

“Hey,” he said gently, cutting into your monologue. “Slow down. It’s okay.”

“Is it?” You sighed, feeling the ridiculousness of your own nervous energy. “I just don’t want you to think I’m only talking to you because of… you know. Who you are.”

He seemed unsurprised, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have kept this up if I thought it was just about… well, who I am,” he said, his tone softening. “Honestly, I was grateful for a reason to just… be myself.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relieved. “Thank you. It’s just… I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Pedro said, smiling again, but softer this time. “Actually, thank you for coming clean about it. If it makes you feel better, I knew you knew. I could tell.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m not exactly subtle, am I?”

“No, but I like that about you,” he said, eyes glinting with warmth. “You’re refreshingly honest, even when you’re rambling.”

Your nerves melted just a little at his words, and everything felt easy again, just like in the letters.

The walk turned into an invitation to lunch, and soon enough, you found yourselves tucked into a cozy corner table at a little restaurant nearby. The place was warm, with soft lighting and wooden beams overhead, the air carrying the scent of fresh bread and something savory cooking in the back. It was intimate, inviting.

Pedro picked up the menu, scanning it briefly before glancing at you with a playful grin. “So, what’s your go-to order? Something pumpkin-flavored, I’m guessing?”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Ha ha. Only the coffee. But sure, I’ll embrace the autumn stereotype.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I had a pumpkin spice latte the other day—didn’t hate it.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I knew you were the type. All that rugged, cool guy persona? A front for your love of seasonal beverages.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “What can I say? I contain multitudes.”

Lunch came, and so did the conversation between bites of food and sips of wine.

At one point, Pedro started telling a story about his first audition, a disaster that involved a broken chair and spilled coffee, and you nearly choked on your drink from laughing so hard.

“And then,” he said, shaking his head, “the casting director just looked at me, deadpan, and said, ‘Well, that was memorable.’”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, wiping your eyes. “I would have died.”

“I nearly did,” he said, grinning. “But hey, I got the part. Pity, probably.”

“Or charm,” you said, raising your glass. “Here’s to charming your way through life.”

He clinked his glass with yours, the sound soft, like the connection between you.

A nameless, delicate thing.

Laughter faded, and the conversation settled into a more vulnerable rhythm. The weight of what you had said in your letters hung between you, an acknowledgment that this was more than just books and thoughts shared on paper. It had become a bridge—fragile, intimate, but undeniably real.

“I know what that’s like,” you said, breaking the silence, your voice softer now. You swirled the last of your wine in the glass, staring at it like the answer might rise up in the reflection. “To try to mold yourself to fit into someone’s life. To make yourself pliable, digestible... because you love them. Because you want them to love you back. But I realized… that’s useless. You can change everything about yourself and still not be enough. So why betray yourself?”

Pedro’s, warm and deep eyes seemed to catch the weight of your words and hold them for a moment before he spoke. “That’s... yeah, I get that. More than I care to admit.”

You bit your lip, immediately feeling exposed. “I’m sorry,” you added quickly, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture. “I didn’t mean to get all existential on you.”

He shook his head, his expression soft. “No, don’t apologize. It’s real. Honestly, it’s refreshing to talk about this stuff. It feels like people avoid these conversations, you know? Too much noise, not enough... depth.”

You nodded.

“And please don’t think I’m, like, dreadfully sad,” you added with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I mean, yes, I am, but at the back of it, I promise there’s faith. There’s hope. And love. Lots of love.”

Pedro’s smile widened, just enough to deepen the creases at the corners of his eyes. "Same. I could tell from your letters."

"I don't know, I've always wanted this thing that's not quite love but something more."

“What is that?” he asked quietly, his voice dipping in a way that made the question feel more intimate, as if he already knew part of the answer.

You hesitated; the answer slipped out anyway. “To be understood.”

He didn’t speak right away, just took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours. His face was a map of tiny details you had already memorized in your letters—his dark hair streaked with silver, the subtle patches of white in his beard, more prominent under the soft light of the restaurant. His eyes crinkled at the corners, even when he wasn’t smiling, like someone who’d spent a lifetime both laughing and crying deeply. He carried it all with him—his history written in the lines on his face, in the way his hands moved slowly, thoughtfully.

“You know,” he began, setting his glass down, his voice low but steady, “there’s something from one of your letters that’s been stuck with me. When you wrote: ‘All I’ve ever known of love is how to live without it. I just can’t seem to find it.”

Your breath caught in your chest. You remembered writing those words late one night, fingers trembling as your pen hit the paper, thinking it might be too much to share. But now, hearing it come back to you in his voice, you realized it had struck him, too. Maybe he had been holding onto it, turning it over in his mind, just as you had.

“That…” he trailed off, shaking his head, his gaze falling to the table for a moment as if searching for the right words. “That hit me. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

You swallowed.

Pedro’s eyes met yours again, and this time, there was a quiet intensity behind them. “I do feel like that too,” he said simply. “I’ve felt that way for a long time.”

There was a pause. Not the awkward kind, but the heavy kind—the kind where things shift, where you realize the other person is carrying the same scars you’ve spent a lifetime hiding.

“I’ve always been good at feeling things deeply,” he continued, his voice growing quieter, more reflective. “Too deeply, maybe. And with love… it’s like this paradox, you know? You want to be loved for who you are, but you end up bending yourself into knots, just trying to be enough for someone else. And when it doesn’t work, you wonder what you did wrong. Why you weren’t enough.”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand through his dark hair, the streaks of white catching in the light. “I’ve been in relationships where I thought, ‘This is it, this is love,’ but it wasn’t. I was just... fitting myself into someone else’s idea of love. And I don’t think I’ve ever let someone really see me. Not like this.”

You sat in silence for a moment, his words hanging in the air between you. There was something profoundly human about his confession. He wasn’t just a famous face or a larger-than-life presence. He was a person, flawed and searching, just like you.

“I think that’s what scares me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That maybe I’ve never been seen either. Not really.”

Pedro looked at you then, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart thud harder in your chest—a softness, a recognition, like he understood you in ways you hadn’t even begun to understand yourself.

“I see you,” he said quietly, his voice steady, no trace of hesitation.

You blinked, feeling your throat tighten, not trusting yourself to speak. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The world outside the restaurant��Hyde Park with its autumn chill, the bustling streets of London—faded away. It was just the two of you sitting at that small table, the space between you shrinking.

Pedro leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers brushing the rim of his glass absentmindedly. “And what if,” he said, his voice low, “what if love isn’t something you have to find? What if it’s already here? In these moments, in the quiet spaces between words?”

Your heart fluttered, the weight of his gaze anchoring you to the moment. He wasn’t just talking about love as an abstract concept. He was talking about this—the connection between you, the letters, the words that had brought you both to this place.

And suddenly, you realized that you weren’t just yearning for love. You were already in it, knee-deep, feeling everything so deeply you hadn’t even noticed.

You smiled, a soft, tentative thing. “Maybe we’re both learning what love looks like.”

Pedro’s lips curved into a small smile, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t alone in your search.

You were here, in the mess of it. And that was enough.

a/n: don't forget to like, reblog or comment! and remember my ask is always open, would love to hear your thoughts!

next part should be up soon!!

[cerastes]

I try to be accepting in all I do but I still remember the time someone said to me with all the sincerity they could muster that Fire Emblem Sacred Stones was a difficult SRPG and that if you didn’t optimize and plan properly, you’d never win, and that I think unlocked a viler version of Mr. Hyde within me that I thought only capable of manifesting when criticizing Jacques Lacan.

[tylernation]

Plot to Season 2 of Wednesday based on the Leaks.

SO I DECIDED TO CREATE THE PLOT TO SEASON 2 USING THE LEAKS AND SEEING WHERE THEY FIT IN EACH OF THE EPISODES. SOME STUFF IS MADE UP, OTHERS ARE LEAKS. I CREATED THIS BECAUSE I LIKED SOME OF THE STUFF THAT WAS REVEALED AND I WONDERED HOW IT WOULD ALL FIT IN TO AN EPISODIC SEASON.

HENCE THIS POST. WHETHER YOU BELIEVE THE LEAKS ARE TRUE OR NOT, I DO HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY WHAT I WAS ABLE TO MUSTER…

MAIN CAST:

- JENNA ORTEGA - Wednesday Addams

- STEVE BUSCEMI - Principal Barry Dort

- EMMA MYERS - Enid Sinclair

- OWEN PAINTER - Maxim Dort

- VICTOR DOROBANTU - Thing

- HUNTER DOOHAN - Tyler Galpin

- JOY SUNDAY - Bianca Barclay

- MOOSA MOSTAFA - Eugene Ottinger

- BILLIE PIPER - Vice Principal Capri

- LUYANDA UNATI-LEWIS NYAWO - Sheriff Ritchie Santiago

- NOAH B. TAYLOR - Karloff

- GEORGIE FARMER - Ajax Petropolus

- EVIE TEMPLETON - Annie

- ISAAC ORDONEZ - Pugsley Addams

- LUIS GUZMÁN - Gomez Addams

- CATHERINE ZETA-JONES - Morticia Addams

RECURRING CAST:

- GRACY GOLDMAN - Gabrielle

- TEDROY NEWELL - Gideon

- PHILLIP PHILLMAR - Augustus Stonehearst

- JOONAS SUOTAMO - Lurch

Takes place between late August and mid October 2023.

CHAPTER I: “Here We Woe Again.”

• Takes place at the beginning of the new school year.

• Pugsley begins attending Nevermore, and Gomez and Morticia are now members of the Nevermore Board of Trustees under its chairman, Augustus Stonehearst.

• Donovan Galpin, having resigned as sheriff, attempts to get Tyler released from Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital. He goes before the board and asks them to take custody of Tyler and help him gain control of his Hyde. But the board refuses, citing their ban on Hydes and his crimes.

• During the first school assembly outdoors at night, Capri, the new Vice Principal, introduces Barry Dort, the newly appointed principal of Nevermore. Dort is a very polarising figure in the Outcast community due to his Magneto-style feelings towards Outcast–Normie interactions. His controversial appointment by the board leads to several students not returning such as Xavier, Yoko, and Divina. However, other parents and students welcome Dort following the near destruction of Nevermore at the hands of a Normie the previous year.

• Dort gives a welcome back speech and announces controversial new changes such as forbidding students from going into Jericho and disbanding the Nightshades.

• Dort’s son Maxim is introduced as a new student. He is very charming, and becomes instantly popular with the student masses except Wednesday.

• Everyone gets settled into their new schedules the next day as Wednesday and Enid attend their new classes.

• Enid notices Maxim checking her out, but she politely rejects him by citing that she has a boyfriend already.

• Pugsley befriends Eugene, and they both find themselves at odds with new student Annie, a high IQ telekinetic who becomes somewhat of an annoying know it all.

• Donovan goes to his successor, Sheriff Ritchie Santiago in regard to Tyler, but she too rebuffs him, and he soon finds himself at odds with his former deputies who express anger over Donovan suppressing evidence of Tyler’s crimes.

• Wednesday struggles to adjust living in a school where her family now resides also. But Enid likes it as it allows her to get closer to them.

• Ajax arranges a date between himself and Enid, but she doesn’t show when gets distracted trying to help Maxim who is still trying to find his way around Nevermore. Ajax is left hurt as it is not the first time Enid has bailed on a date.

• Tyler is woken up in his cell ominously by the person in the next cell (Karloff) calling his name.

CHAPTER II: “A Woe Within.”

• Tyler has been locked up at Willow Hill Psychiatric Hospital for the past several months alongside other outcasts who have been rendered as insane.

• Tyler attends a group therapy session along with Karloff. There he professes to Dr. Fairburn that he is an innocent kid and didn’t want any of this, to which she believes and really wants to help Tyler. But after returning to his cell and interacting with Karloff, he shows his true dark self and expresses no remorse over his actions.

• Back at Nevermore, Wednesday starts taking music lessons under the tutorship of a wise, elderly Nevermore professor.

• Dort continues to implement his new changes which causes a divide amongst the student body. There is skepticism in both Gomez and Morticia over Dort’s reforms. Though the board is still loyal to him.

• The board is revealed to be under the influence of Gabrielle Barclay, Bianca’s mother and a leader of Morning Song alongside her husband Gideon.

• Gabrielle is responsible for the board electing Dort as the new principal of Nevermore, secretly citing him as important to Morning Song’s future plans. They share Dort’s view of Outcast-supremacy.

• Bianca grows weary of her mother’s role as she knows how manipulative and conniving she can be, but Gabrielle feigns a genuine care by saying that her only concern is the well being of the school.

• Bianca also grows suspicious Vice Principal Capri, a fellow Siren, whom she feels might be affiliated with her mother and Morning Song.

• Morticia asks Wednesday to keep an ear out on what the student reaction is to Dort and his policies.

• Tyler and Karloff grow closer as their lives in Willow Hill are further explored. He confides in Karloff about he hates the life card he was dealt and wants nothing more than to make the world around him suffer because of it. He tells him that the world was never kind to him, so why should he be kind to the world.

• Ajax, after beginning to feel neglected in his relationship with Enid after she has repeatedly missed out on their dates, decides to break up with her which devastates her.

• Enid goes to Wednesday for comfort, but her lack of emotion struggles to resonate with Enid.

• Maxim takes notice of a depressed Enid and asks her out. Thinking it will help her move on from Ajax, she accepts. She tells Wednesday who is not sure what to make of it.

• Donovan visits Tyler at Willow Hill and tells him that he’s not going to give up on getting him released. He tells Tyler he will make sure he doesn’t end up dying here like his mother did. A resentful Tyler scoffs blames his father and his neglect for what happened to him. He then leaves his father stunned and heartbroken over his dark personality. Donovan grapples with guilt.

CHAPTER III: “Here She Woes.”

• The students are all assigned to go on a camping retreat at Camp Jericho, which has just been booked out for Outcasts only that weekend.

• The camp counsellors, both of whom are Normies, attempt to coax Wednesday into participating in the “fun” activities. But she instead ignores them and has Pugsley and Eugene orchestrate a series of pranks that turn the retreat into a nightmare for the counsellors.

• During the retreat, a few students start to go missing, prompting Wednesday to investigate as she doesn’t trust Santiago or the Jericho deputies to handle it properly.

• Enid helps her in her investigation, but she soon becomes distracted by her growing relationship with Maxim.

• Maxim offers to help in the investigation, but Wednesday, who is distrustful of him, rebuffs his help. Maxim clearly notices this and hides his anger over the refusal, but it can still be seen.

• Showing off, Maxim plays the guitar and sings to Enid (musical number) which she enjoys. The other students are impressed also.

• Wednesday gets kidnapped by one of the camp counsellors, Joanna, who has a creepy obsession with dolls. She reveals herself as the one responsible for the disappearances and plans on making them into her new playtoys in her basement.

• Wednesday manages to break free and subdue Joanna before releasing the students. Wednesday ties up Joanna and brutally kills her.

• The police arrive to attend to the rescued students, and Wednesday, who has hid Joanna’s body, lies and tells Santiago that she fled.

CHAPTER IV: “If You Woe What’s Good For You.”

• Following the events of Camp Jericho, Dort becomes further determined to keep Outcasts sequestered at Nevermore. He cancels all extracurricular events that were to occur outside school grounds and the students feel more isolated than before.

• Wednesday gets a letter, summoning her to meet her grandmother at her estate. When she is granted permission to leave by Dort, he gives a subtle remark about her grandmother which indicates he knows her. The remark leaves Wednesday somewhat confused.

• Uncle Fester arrive at Nevermore to visit the family much to the delight of Gomez and Pugsley.

• At Grandmama’s estate, Wednesday learns from her that she and Dort have a contentious history together. Grandmama was a former mentor of Dort and were good friends, but the emergence of his radical views following his wife’s death led to their estrangement.

• Wednesday learns through her grandmother that Dort’s wife was killed by Normies, hence his distrust and superiority complex over them.

• Dort attempts to bring Maxim into his plans by reminding him of his late mother and her legacy. Maxim, who sees this as an opportunity to prove himself to his father, begins to repeat some of his radical views which disturb Enid.

• Maxim uses his popularity to manipulate the students into accepting his father’s controversial changes as part of the greater good for all Outcasts.

• Fester bonds with Pugsley and Eugene.

• After meeting with her grandmother, Wednesday returns to Nevermore and launches an investigation into Dort. Enid offers to help, after starting to find herself at odds with Maxim.

• Maxim learns about Wednesday looking into his dad and becomes angry when he learns Enid is helping him. He confronts Enid and demands that she stop helping Wednesday. Enid refuses and Maxim gets rough with her by grabbing her arms and bruising her.

• Grandmama arrives at Nevermore unexpectedly to petition the board to get Dort removed, but her attempt is unsuccessful as the board is still loyal to Dort.

• Dort then learns of Grandmama’s presence at Nevermore and taunts her. She in turn gives him a chilling warning to him about messing with the Addams Family and to not underestimate Wednesday.

• Wednesday learns about the bruises Maxim gave Enid and tells her to end things with him at once. Enid gets angry at Wednesday and tells her that if she had comforted her and been there for her after her breakup with Ajax instead of putting up her stoic walls, then she wouldn’t have sought out that comfort in Maxim since he was the only one who offered it.

CHAPTER V: “Oh Hell Woe.”

• After her fight with Enid, Wednesday decides to pause her investigation on the Dorts and look into something new to keep her distracted.

• Thing offers her a missing person’s case that went cold the previous year. The missing person is a local Jericho resident.

• Enid decides to break up with Maxim. Meeting him in the Nightshades Library, she tells him that their relationship is over and that she doesn’t like how toxic he has been to her.

• Maxim becomes shocked and thinks it’s a joke. He angrily tells Enid that they are not over. She responds that they are and attempts to leave, but Maxim grabs her and prevents from leaving, causing her to use her claws to scratch his face. Maxim curses Enid as she runs off.

• Bianca notices Enid and comforts her.

• Sneaking into Jericho, Wednesday approaches Santiago and offers to look into the case, but Santiago brushes her off and doubts her abilities to get further than what the police could last year, but Wednesday reminds Santiago that her investigating prowess is what helped her figure out that both Tyler and Laurel Gates were responsible for the murders that took place last year. After hearing this, Santiago reluctantly allows her to have the missing person case files.

• Returning to Nevermore, Wednesday learns from Bianca about what happened between Enid and Maxim. Wednesday finds an emotionally upset Enid in their dorm. Wednesday reconciles with he by giving her a meaningful hug. Wednesday offers to go after Maxim in retaliation, but Enid declines wanting that, citing the principal as his dad.

• At Willow Hill, Gabrielle visits Tyler and offers to secure his freedom if he agrees to help her and Morning Song with their plans against Nevermore. Tyler is tempted by the offer to go up against Nevermore, but is not trustful of Gabrielle and her intentions.

• Gabrielle attempts rectify Tyler’s concerns by using her Siren Song to brainwash Tyler into allowing her to become his new master, but the procedure goes wrong and Karloff accidentally becomes his new master instead. Tyler has no qualms about Karloff becoming his new master as he trusts him fully.

• Karloff tells Gabrielle to leave as he wants Tyler to have no part in what she is planning. Karloff instead wants to focus Tyler on their own agenda.

• Maxim uses his popularity and influence to turn the student body against Enid and anyone closely associated with her, including Wednesday and Bianca.

• Morticia confronts Dort over Maxim’s behaviour, but he retorts that he has been lenient with Wednesday and her behaviour. He threatens to take further action against her if Morticia gets involved in the affairs involving Maxim.

• However, knowing that Wednesday and her friend group have been ostracised, Dort uses this as an opportunity to offer a new alliance to Wednesday.

• He dedicates an assembly ceremony to her by commemorating her actions in saving the school last year.

• Wednesday sees through the ploy and in a defiant display of rebellion, burns the poster in front of the whole school much to Dort and Maxim’s anger.

• Tyler continues to grow closer to Karloff, and they both bond over their dark desires. Tyler opens up to him about Laurel. He resents her for using him, but admits that he was the only one who cared for him and gave him any proper attention, unlike his dad.

• Returning to her investigation on the missing person. Wednesday learns that the last person to see her alive was someone who was a former patient at Willow Hill and resided in the same ward as Tyler. Wednesday suspects that he might have knowledge about the disappearance, which leads her to make a controversial choice.

CHAPTER VI: “Better The Devil You Woe.”

• After learning about Tyler’s connection to the missing person case. She decides to secretly go to Willow Hill to interrogate him for information. Enid offers to go with her due to her own resentment of Tyler, but Wednesday tells her that this is something she has to do herself. Before Wednesday leaves, she asks Thing to look out for Enid and to keep Maxim away.

• Maxim, still resentful towards Enid, begins to orchestrate an attack on her.

• Arriving at Willow Hill, Wednesday briefly interacts with Karloff, whom she finds creepy, even to her tastes.

• Tyler is surprised by Wednesday’s visit, but takes a sadistic glee in her visit by taunting her and how he almost succeeded last year.

• Morticia checks up on Thing in Wednesday and Enid’s dorm. She expresses her worry about how the school she loves so much is going under Dort’s direction. Morticia asks Thing if he thinks Wednesday will be alright dealing with Tyler, to which he responds that she can easily handle herself and take care of Tyler if need be.

• Back at Willow Hill, Wednesday begins pressing Tyler on the missing person who was once a former colleague of his at the Weathervane. But Tyler begins playing a cat and mouse game with her. He demands a Quid Pro Quo for the information he provides. He wants to be released from Willow Hill, but Wednesday angrily denies him to which he responds that she will not get a word out of him then.

• Tyler then proposes that she come visit him on an occasional basis. Wednesday warily agrees to do so on the condition that he agrees to tell her what he knows.

• Before Tyler can say what he knows, Karloff initiates an escape from Willow Hill, killing two security guards and an orderly in the process. Willow Hill goes into lockdown, trapping Wednesday and Tyler in the visiting room.

• Enid stays with Bianca and becomes closer to her as she tries to avoid Maxim. Bianca confides in Enid her worry about her mother’s intentions, to which Enid passes on to Morticia.

• Whilst waiting for the lockdown to lift, Tyler ominously tells Wednesday that something else is coming for Nevermore, but doesn’t tell her that it’s Morning Song. Wednesday thinks he’s just playing a trick on her.

• After the lockdown is lifted, Wednesday is about to leave when she learns it was Karloff who escaped. Tyler is shocked and angered that his “friend” left him behind.

• Wednesday becomes side tracked from her investigation in order to try and find Karloff.

CHAPTER VII: “Woe To The Wicked.”

• Both Dort and Santiago are warned about Karloff’s escape. Gabrielle is also informed, and realises that this is an opportunity to advance Tyler into her plans.

• Maxim orchestrates a group of mythical creatures to attack Enid during the full moon that night. Enid is wounded but manages to fight them off successfully.

• Enid is cared for by Bianca, Thing, Pugsley and Eugene.

• Wednesday continues tracking Karloff and follows him to the woods outside Jericho and Nevermore but manages to lose him there.

• During her tracking, Wednesday undergoes a series of visions that are designed to test her character.

• Morticia, after being warned about Gabrielle by Bianca, confronts her. The two clash in an interesting fight. Morticia threatens her to be extremely careful about who she is dealing with.

• Realising that the Addams Family are a threat, both Gabrielle and Gideon create a plan to keep them out of their way.

• Wednesday returns to Nevermore to be give an update to Enid.

• A deranged Maxim confronts Wednesday and Enid. Wednesday steps in to defend Enid, but she experiences another vision, leading Enid to defend herself against Maxim. Using her werewolf strength, she subdues him and knocks him out cold with a damaging injury to his head.

• Maxim is taken to Jericho General Hospital and is left in a catatonic state much to his dad’s shock and horror.

• Wednesday is impressed with Enid’s abilities. The two solidify their friendship.

• Gabrielle and Gideon track down and ambush Karloff. They kill him in order to sever his control over Tyler.

• Tyler feels his bond with Karloff severe.

CHAPTER VIII: “Woe Is Not Over Yet.”

• Dort starts to become deranged and vengeful after learning about what happened to Maxim at the hands of Enid. He becomes disgusted over his son being treated in a Normie hospital by Normie doctors.

• Dort becomes more tyrannical than ever before and imposes new and much harsher policies on the students who now start to rebel against him now that Maxim’s influence is no longer there.

• Dort attempts to get both Enid and Wednesday expelled, but fails after both girls convince the board that Enid acted in self-defense towards Maxim, as well as witness statements from Bianca, Pugsley, and Eugene about Maxim’s behaviour towards Enid.

• Ajax and Enid reconcile, though they agree to remain friends from now on.

• Resentful at being left on his own by the now dead Karloff, Tyler is taken to another session with Fairburn where he doesn’t pretend with her anymore and he breaks down and expresses his true anger and resentment much to Fairburn’s shock and pity. She tells him that she is not planning on giving up on him, but Tyler retorts that she is just wasting her time and that this is who he is meant to be. Fairburn doesn’t believe it.

• With Bianca’s help, Wednesday investigates Gabrielle. She gathers convincing evidence of her true intentions regarding Morning Song which is the plan to brainwash the Normies in Jericho to serve the Outcasts, as well as their intention to expand their plans throughout the whole country.

• Wednesday’s evidence is presented by Morticia and it is enough to sway the board to remove Gabrielle from their ranks.

• Wednesday gets an alert on her phone and realises that her stalker has reemerged. The stalker warns about getting too close, leading Wednesday to suspect that they’re connected.

• Morticia challenges Dort infront of the board by accusing him of being in league with Gabrielle and placing the school in danger. After much convincing by Morticia, the erratic Dort is finally removed from his position at long last as Gabrielle is absent to prevent the board’s decision. Dort protests, but the board’s chair, Augustus Stonehearst, believes that Dort is too emotionally distracted by what happened to Maxim to continue being principal of Nevermore. Dort silently but resentfully accepts. He departs the school.

• Gabrielle tells Gideon that Dort is no longer necessary for their plans and suggests that they move to next stage.

• Gabrielle launches a breakout at Willow Hill. After freeing Tyler from his chains, he transforms into a Hyde and escapes. But things turn sour for Tyler as he is ambushed and kidnapped by Gabrielle and her followers in order to be used for their upcoming plans.

• Gabrielle uses her siren powers to take control of the Hyde and prevents Tyler from transforming without her authorisation. Tyler becomes truly fearful as he is now powerless for the first time in nearly a year.

• The Addams Family learn about Tyler’s escape and abduction from Donovan Galpin who arrives and begs them into helping rescue Tyler.

• Knowing the harm Tyler could do under Morning Song’s control. Wednesday agrees to rescue him.

Note: I am developing my own original third season.

[geeks-universe]

Kiss of Death Pt. 3

Anthony Bridgerton x Assassin!Reader

Society has certain expectations of you. If only they knew of your nighttime activities…

He wasn’t able to do much at all that day, his thoughts wandering back to his encounter with you. When he made his way back to their family home, he half expected you to be there. He couldn’t help the slight disappointment when you weren’t, but he managed to ignore that feeling entirely in favor of promenading around Hyde Park with his family.

They were all in especially high spirits, abuzz with talk of their latest guest. He could hardly muster the same enthusiasm to discuss your marriage prospects and fashion choices. It was made infinitely more difficult as, while making their way around the park, a number of young gentlemen wishing to learn more about the princess approached him.

What was meant to be a relaxing afternoon out with his family turned into a more sordid affair, not granting his thoughts any reprieve from you and your earlier encounter. He couldn’t help but ponder if you were perhaps having similar thoughts on the carriage ride home, causing his mother to cast a curious look in his direction.

She cleared her throat when it was made obvious that he was not actually paying attention.

“It’s unfortunate that Princess (Y/N) couldn’t promenade with us today.”

The look on her face was expectant. She was fishing for more information, obviously placing the blame for his sudden distraction on the family’s guest. Which, to be fair, she wasn’t entirely wrong, but he wouldn’t give her the chance to meddle in his affairs.

“I am sure the princess needs all of the reprieve she can get before the onslaught of suitors.”

Violet hummed in acknowledgment, though Anthony could tell she wasn’t quite ready to hang up the conversation.

“I think it will be wonderful,” Daphne stated, smiling first to her mama, then to Anthony. “She is quite nice, and I should like more friends to converse with.”

“Yes,” Violet agreed, “She is a very sweet girl, and beautiful too.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes, his expression giving nothing away.

“She wasn’t too sweet with Anthony this morning,” Benedict joked, beaming at his dearest brother.

Before he could reply to his brother, his mother was quick to interject.

“I believe you owe her an apology, Anthony.”

“The matter is settled,” he assured his mom, repressing the urge to fidget in his seat like a child being reprimanded.

His family was much too sharp to drop it there.

“Settled?” Violet echoed, the smallest smirk tugging at her lips.

Benedict was obviously struggling to keep a laugh in, purposefully shrinking even lower into his seat.

“You apologized?” Daphne asked, surprise evident in her tone. “When did you speak with her?”

He met Daphne’s gaze with a long stare, feeling a bit of embarrassment creep up his cheeks. What he had to be embarrassed about, he wasn’t really sure, but he felt like his conversation with you was… private, intimate even.

“Now Daphne,” their mother warned, her eyes not leaving her eldest son. “It is best we don’t question this miracle.”

Benedict’s laughs were deep and cheery as he found entertainment at his brother’s expense. As did Daphne and Violet, considering their own laughter echoed Benedict’s closely.

Anthony ignored them, casting his stare out the window of the carriage, trying his damndest to think of anything but you.

Curiously, in his effort to do so, he thought he saw a movement on one of the rooftops, but whatever the odd trick of the light was, it was gone before he could properly investigate it. He frowned, wondering briefly when you would be returning from the business you were conducting.

Anthony was a businessman by intellect, as well as by birthright. He was extremely familiar with the other businessmen in London, as well as those that he dealt with in the country. The business dealings of your family though? He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what the royal family might do.

When the Bridgerton family returned home they eagerly awaited your arrival. It was as if the entire house were just watching the seconds tick by, waiting for some hint that you might be on your way.

There wasn’t any.

The sun slipped below the horizon, afternoon melding into the evening, and they weren’t any closer to finding you.

With little to no fanfare, the Bridgertons slowly began to depart for the night, eventually leaving Anthony to his lonesome.

He debated retiring for the night, but his mind was no closer to settled, so he chose to review the family accounts. There was little actual need to do so, but, as of late, the Viscount found the task exhausting enough to lull him into a fitful slumber a top his hard desk.

This night had been no exception. Before long, after the fire had dwindled to embers, and the house had fallen silent, Anthony fell into a light sleep with his head nestled uncomfortably in the book he had been reviewing.

Usually, when Anthony had found himself in this position, he wouldn’t awake until the late morning with a normal amount of self hatred and a kink in his neck. This time, however, he found himself jerked out of the prickly claws of slumber by a warm hand on his shoulder.

Again, he found himself hastily throwing his arms in a desperate attempt to ward off whatever attacker snuck their way into his office.

“Easy,” your voice cooed, once again easily dodging his erratic movements. He wasn’t sure how your instincts had been sharpened so, but he was beginning to be grateful they had been.

“Princess,” like he’d been plunged into the ocean in winter, Anthony jumped to his feet, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What are-“

“Relax,” you hushed, nodding to the window. From there, he could see that the morning sun was only barely peeking through the blanket of night sky. It still was hours before anyone would be awake.

“I returned late,” you offered as an explanation. “That didn’t look too comfortable, thought maybe you wanted to sleep in an actual bed.”

He nodded a few times, collecting his thoughts and running a hand through his no-doubt messy hair.

“Returned late?” He echoed finally, realizing the implication of that statement.

Were you just now settling in for the night? It was practically morning. Upon closer inspection, he could see the exhaustion heavy set in your eyes, the skin just below discolored and swollen. Not to mention, was that…

“Blood?” His back tensed, and he rushed forward with a handkerchief, pressing the garment to your cheek with care and haste.

You hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even bothered, really. Before you’d returned, you had been cautious to tend to any lingering wounds. You must’ve been so tired you missed the small cut on your cheek.

“Nothing to worry yourself with,” you assured Anthony lightly, finally interrupting his movements. You wrapped your fingers delicately around his wrist, watching with shining eyes as his gaze fell to where you touched him.

“It was nothing more than an accident.”

Not necessarily a lie, not really a truth, either.

“I shall be more cautious next time.”

Anthony was still frozen, glued to the same instant you’d reached for him. The moment you had deliberately touched him, even in such an innocent way, the steady thump of his heart had ceased. He was sure it would never start again, that he would be forced the relive the moment over and over again, left to marvel at the tingle that spread from where your skin met his to the base of his spine.

“Perhaps you need rest.” Anthony was unsure where the sudden words came from, as he was still rooted to the spot. His gaze wandered up the length of your face slowly, observing your expression.

Your brow was quirked playfully, and a devilish smirk was beginning to form.

“Anthony Bridgerton, are you suggesting I look tired.”

He puffed out a breath, letting the handkerchief slip between the two of you to the ground with a soft thud. His touch was slow and deliberate, the pad of his thumb running over the skin below your eye.

“I’m suggesting,” he repeated purposefully, tongue wrapping more cautiously over each word, enunciating with a purpose, “That rest would do us both good.”

You considered his words thoughtfully, finally nodding gently after a moment.

“Then I should bid you goodnight.”

Anthony tilted his head, considering the woman standing before him. You were steady, indomitable, but soft.

“Proper society would dictate that it’s morning,” he teased lightly, drawing his fingertips up towards a few stray strands of hair. Lightly, he pushed them behind your ear, surprising even himself with the gentleness of his action.

“Proper society would dictate that we should not be interacting at this time of day, much less without a chaperone.”

You both shared a quiet, breathy laugh, before the air grew dense with a shared awe between you. Anthony had furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the feeling. You frowned the second you realized how nice his presence was.

“Goodnight, Anthony.”

You retreated before allowing yourself to feel vulnerable anymore. Anthony was left to stare at an empty doorway, trying to listen to your fading footfall, but silence prevailed. By the time he entered the hallway, you had already retreated.

“Goodnight,” he whispered to the cold, dark hall.

The wind replied with a cold gust that caused him to grimace. With no other distraction, Anthony walked lazily to his room, intent on questioning you further in the morning.

Tag list: @mysticwitchcraftco @ajanauia @khaleesihavilliard @kariiiel

[mazm-imagines]

To both Dr. Jekyll and Hyde, have there been moments of synchrocity between both sides? Wherein you actually share the same idea or want at a certain point? A time where Jekyll actually actively wants that certain urge to do something bad, or a moment where in the midst of Hyde's evil there's a glimpse of Jekyll's good that he wants to do?

"..." Hyde clicked his tongue, unsure of what to say. Hell what to admit. He certainly didn't want to admit any 'weakness' on Jekyll's part.

But he could at least give a little something.

"I was created for Jekyll to be unapologetically himself. Of course we want the same things: money, flesh, success. What's the point of being good like this if it doesn't benefit any of us? It's bullshite otherwise. If you want a 'real' answer, go bother Jekyll..." A surprisingly docile yet helpful answer. That was all the 'good' he could muster before he walked away, mumbling to himself about nothing in particular.

Maybe he would hate to admit the good in him.

"My my, so many questions... but they're reasonable to ask, so allow me to explain." Jekyll cleared his throat, readying his voice for the lecture to come.

"Of course there are moments where we synchronize. We are the same. He was created for me to indulge without tarnishing my ego of 'Jekyll'. Hyde is my unrestrained capability of evil... but... I hate to admit it- Hyde is essentially a chemical mask..." He coughed into his hand out of embarrassment but continued.

"As Hyde... my own lack of restraint makes me utterly unrecognizable. And of course... there are moments where I falter in my judgement... Where I falter in my resolve. And perhaps Hyde would hate to admit it, but he too will have that good in him. You can't have light without the dark, or dark without the light. Does that answer your questions?"

[archiveoftara]

Fictional

Inspired from the song fictional by Khloe Rose. My mate @hufflepuff1619 suggested this amazing song and came up with the beautiful idea for this fic.

I hope you like it!!

Summary: Reader has gone through multiple heartbreaks and finds comfort in fictional characters (cuz same!) but this time her crush doesn't crush her feelings...you know what? Just read the fic. Bye

"Please, I can explain."

"What's there left to explain?"

"It's not what it looks like-"

"Please" I held my hand. "It's over. Thanks for showing me the truth."

I left the flat, eyes filled with hot tears. I can't believe he cheated on me with my best friend. I feel extremely disgusted and betrayed, without realising I found myself sitting inside a random train to London.

All I wish was to get out of this place, to escape the memories, The pain.

All my life, I've been the second option or the third wheel. Whenever I think I can give love a chance it just ends with a slap on the tits.

I will never go back.

……………………………………………...........................

It's been almost a year since I've moved to London. I work at a small bookstore. It's peaceful. My job is to stack up the books and take care of the back office.

It may sound boring but I find it fun. I get to read amazing books. Getting lost in a world where I am loved back.

It's a bright morning, still early for business. I just flipped the sign to "open" and went on with my business of cleaning up the shelves, when I heard a jingle of the door opening.

"Welcome to Lavender bookstore. How can I hel-"

My gaze got stuck on a set of warm brown eyes, he's got long eyelashes. His eyes sparkled under the sunlight. It felt so foreign.

"I..I.. How can I help you, sir?" The last bit came out in a high pitch.

"I'm looking for these books." Handing me the list.

"I have to check. Give me a moment, sir."

"Lockwood's fine."

Lockwood sounds great. Hot infact. He's gorgeous. Don't fall for him, don't fall for him. Be careful love He might be your next heartbreak.

I came back with the books and made the bill. "That will be twelve pounds, Lockwood."

"Here you go. Thank you, ms?" He asked.

"Y/n y/l/n." I beamed.

"Nice to meet you y/n. I'm Anthony Lockwood from Lockwood and Co. I'll see you around." He handed me his card and left the store.

Guess I got a new crush.

………………………………………………........................

This is the third time I run into Lockwood. Is it a mere coincidence or is this fate?

Better not get my hopes high as per my record I have bad luck in love.

I Remember the time when I had a crush on this guy back in highschool, the one I mustered up the courage to confess but he made fun of me in front of the whole school.

I also remember that time when a guy in University, I fancied so much, came with a bouquet in our dorm, I thought it was for me and he's gonna ask me out but he turned to ask my roommate instead.

"Um..y/n, are you okay?" Lockwood's voice echoed into my head.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"So when did you come to London?" He said while looking at me intently.

"A year ago. So what's your talent?" I changed the subject.

"Sight's my thing. How about you?"

"I don't have one. You're lucky." I pout.

"Not really but the risk is worth taking." He looked deeply in my eyes, I think my heart skipped a beat.

Shit

…………….................................................................

It's the weekend, me and Lockwood planned to hangout (it's strictly not a date) in Hyde park. As we both came to know we got things in common so he thought to have a nice (friendly) chat under the sunny sky. I dressed up in a floral summer dress and made my way to the park.

I think I have a friend now. When I reached the park I saw families who were playing with their children, couples under the trees , friends having a lovely picnic. I looked at my watch, we still got time. I pulled up a book and started reading where I left off.

It's been two hours, the sun was setting down, people slowly began to leave the park. I finished my book long time ago but Lockwood didn't show up.

I hope he's okay.

With a heavy heart, I made my way to my flat. My flat was near my workplace, I was absent mindedly walking when my eyes fell on the store. A familiar man in white shirt and black hair was sitting across a really pretty girl.

I hear something shatter.

Oh, it's my heart. How stupid of me to think that a guy like him will ever like me back?

I see Lockwood smiling at the girl. The girl lightly hit his arms and laughed. Before his eyes met mine, I ran away.

Well, I guess the third time's not a charm

Nursing a three times broken heart~~

It's been almost couple of months since I last saw Lockwood with that girl. I kept my distance with him. Whenever he dropped by the store I would hide in the back office or if he catches me off guard I would finish the conversation in one word.

I tried my best to avoid him but fate had other plans.

"Y/n?"

I was on my way home when I heard someone calling my name.

"Hi..?" I whispered.

"I wanted to apologise for that day. When I showed up at the park you already left, I had this important case-" Lockwood rambled.

"It's ok. I got it." I turned around.

"Wait. Y/n please talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" Trying my best not to cry.

"Please tell me what happened? I tried to talk to you but you're avoiding me. Atleast, tell me what did I do wrong? I'll fix it."

"YOU CAN'T FIX IT." I felt stream of tears running down my face. "It's.. I saw you that day, in the bookstore, with that girl. Laughing and talking and I'm so. I feel like a loser Lockwood."

"Y/n listen-"

"What's there to listen? I saw it with my own eyes. You know I came to London because my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. I wanted to start fresh. Forget the pain. I was doing just fine till you walked through that door with your beautiful eyes and eye blinding smile. There I was falling yet again just to break."

"I am such a fool."

"y/n"

"I forgot I'm not build for love, no matter how much I try because someone has to come and stomp on my heart just for fun.

"Y/n listen"

"No you Listen to me Lockwood, I'm not gonna get hurt this time. Yes I did fell for you and yes it is unrequited but I don't care long as I have my books with me-"

I felt a pair of soft lips against mine. My eyes widened for a second before kissing him back. I melted under his arms. He pulled me closer, I felt everything going blank inside my head.

"Sorry..I couldn't find any other way to shut you up" he gasped for air.

"Does..does this mean?" I asked.

"I love you idiot. I really really do. From the moment I first met you." He blushed. "And that girl, her name is Lucy. She's my new associate, we were working on a case when you saw us in the bookstore. I was pulling her leg, She was talking about her new crush. Y/n, she's a sister to me." 

"Oh…shit."

"I'm sorry, Lockwood."

"It's ok you can make up for it with another kiss." He smirked. I playfully hit his arm in response.

"Will you do the honour to be my girlfriend?" He held my hand.

"I will."

*Bonus*

It's so crazy we run into each other so much, do you think it's fate?"

I blushed in response.

"Now dear, you'll turn into a tomato if you don't stop blushing."

"Shut up Lockwood."

[lush-lavenders]

✾Wicked Game✾

Tyler Galpin x Reader

Summary: After being locked in a cave by someone you once loved, you have to chose - submit to his evil to escape your torment, or risk your life to fight for your friends.

Request: @scoopsahoyspidey "you should do a part 2 if you have the time" I did, in fact, have the time

Author’s Note: This is part 2 to Why Her, Not Me, but this could also be read as a standalone! Also, it took me so long to get this one out because I wanted to make it longer than the other fics I've been writing recently, and I'm glad I did! Granted, it's not too too much longer, but still.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Mild Cursing, Mild Violence, Angst

!I don’t own this gif!

Why Her, Not Me {part 1}

The world was on fire and no one could save me but youIt’s strange what desire will make foolish people do

The chains scratched at your wrists as you tugged on them for the millionth time.

The cave reeked of smoke and ash. Your clothes, hands, and arms were almost completely covered in soot. The fire might have covered up all evidence of Tyler’s entrapment, but that didn’t stop him from making it your prison now.

You stopped your struggle as you heard the echoes of someone entering.

“Y/N,” Tyler’s voice emerged before he did. “Got some more grub for you.” Slowly he approached you, kneeling in front of you as he set down an old-fashioned metal lunchbox.

“Tyler…” You mumbled as he rubbed his finger down your cheek. “Please let me go…”

He chuckled a little, reaching down and opening the lunchbox. “I can’t do that just yet.”

Tears started to prick in your eyes, a quiet choke leaving your lips. “This… This isn’t you…” This wasn’t the Tyler you knew. The one you cared about. “You can still make this right…”

What was it in you that still fought for him? He had hurt you beyond belief, physically and mentally. And yet…

“All of this is right.” He pushed the lunchbox up to you, making sure it was close enough that you could grab it. “Soon enough you will see.”

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like youAnd I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

With closed eyes, you focused on the earth and plants outside of the cave. The rocks around you weren’t indestructible, but would need more force than you thought you could possibly muster to cause just a crack.

But you were surrounded by plants. The more energy you could exert, the more plants you could bring to you.

Without letting your focus falter even once, it felt like hours had passed until you could hear the cracking of rock, followed by the sight of green slipping through.

With even more focus, the vines shot down and began to attack the chains around your wrists. They entered the keyhole, twisting and contorting in order to trigger the restraints to open. Which only took minutes.

The chains fell and clattered against the cave, the metal deafening as it echoed.

I don’t wanna fall in loveI don’t wanna fall in loveWith you

Your lungs burned as you ran through the forest. You didn’t know where you were, nor how to get back to Nevermore. You just needed to get away from that damn cave.

And that you did.

You didn’t stop until your legs gave out from under you, collapsing with miles of trees, dirt, and leaves surrounding you. No person in sight.

You stayed on the ground, just wanting energy and life to return to your legs and lungs.

Crickets chirped, the wind blew and rustled everything it could, but you were only able to hear the sound of your own breathing.

And the sudden crunching of footsteps…

“Y/N…?” A girl’s voice made your head snap up, only to relax just as fast. 

“W-Wednesday…” Your voice cracked, but was so quiet it was hard to even tell. You slowly rose to your feet and trudged to her, practically falling on top of her in a hug.

You felt her stiffen underneath you, which was enough to remember her hatred for everything, but especially touch. 

Prying yourself off of her, you stagger back onto your feet. “It’s Tyler. Tyler’s the monster. The Hyde, of whatever the fuck you called it.” You rushed to explain.

“I know.” She simply responded with. Turning her back toward you, she started on a march back the way she came.

You knew to follow her.

----

You bit your lip as you looked up to the full moon. Why did you agree to do this?

“I knew you were a smart and powerful girl.” His voice approached you from behind, causing your throat to tighten. “It just took you longer than it should’ve to prove it.”

You slowly turned to face him, willing your knees to stop shaking. “Tyler…”

He took a step closer to you. “Has Stockholm Syndrome kicked in, or have you really changed your mind?” A smirk started to form on his face.

You shake your head a little. “You don’t have to do this, Tyler…” You pleaded.

No matter how long you stayed in that cave, whether or not it was Stockholm Syndrome, you still cared for the boy before you.

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this wayWhat a wicked thing you do, to let me dream of youWhat a wicked thing to say, you never felt this wayWhat a wicked thing you do, to let me dream of you

You flexed your fingers out while keeping out down by your side. “I don’t want to hurt you…” The trees slightly swayed, even with no wind to manipulate them.

He chuckled, taking a couple more steps closer. “We both know that isn’t true. Deep, deep down inside you, there’s a part that would love nothing more than to wreak havoc. To help me purge the world of the people that called you a crazy plant pickney.”

You tensed up at the tormenting nickname that seemed to follow you around.

“You know what I’m talking about, Y/N/N.” He almost purred as his hand reached to play with a strand of your hair.

Your hand twitched, causing a branch from the tree towering over the two of you to fall, heading right towards Tyler.

In a split second, his hand shot up and morphed into a grotesque arm, catching the branch easily. With a light squeeze, the branch - half the size of a grandfather clock - was snapped in half.

The laugh he let out this time was inhumane. “A little tree branch? Come on, Y/N. You can do so much better than that.”

Just as after he changed right in front of you, just as his arm came swiping down to grab at you, a white wolf sprung out from nowhere and tackled Tyler’s Hyde form to the ground.

Now, I don’t wanna fall in loveNo, I don’t wanna fall in loveWith youWith you

His body tumbled to the ground, naked and covered in all sorts of cuts and completely bloodied.

Your instinct was to run to him, and you didn’t have enough time to think before your body started to move at a speed you didn’t know you were capable of. 

“Tyler…!”

He laid curled up, almost hidden among the green surrounding him. He wasn’t moving. Not even to breathe.

It took you to drop to your knees, right next to his body, to see the brief rise and fall of his chest. He was still alive.

You carefully moved Tyler so that, instead of lying on his side in the dirt, he would be lying on his back on you.

“You’re going to be alright…” You whispered, wiping some blood from his face. “You’ll see - this monster isn’t you. We’ll help you. I’ll help you…”

You didn’t know what good saying any of that was. It was all just words. And after everything he’s done, he didn’t deserve it. You gave him multiple outs, and he took advantage of you and your feelings.

But until your heart stopped, you’d still give him those outs.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but youIt’s strange what desire will make foolish people do

[ficoandleo]

Romeo was raised in a high society world of half truths and fake smiles and saying what people and cameras want to hear. He's learned to act and to present what's most likely to get his way. He speaks in a gentle voice to Kaito when it's time for him to pay his loan. He coos, honey sweet and almost childlike, to Hyde when they're working together. His words become seductive and his touch became intimate when convincing the honor student to do his bidding.

As a result, he finds that it often feels disingenuous if he says something kind or affectionate directly. He rarely thanks others or apologizes. Words often come out of him biting and aggressive. It's a show of honesty, a refusal to hide behind the masks he'd been taught to wear.

It isn't that he never truly sounds affectionate or gentle or sweet or seductive. It isn't that he never feels the need to say kind words or smile or laugh or comfort others. But he feels those things must come naturally, from his heart or his head without him unable to hold them back. Otherwise he worries they'll only sound like an act if he says them simply because he means them, says them in his stoic and condescending voice.

It used to be easier. Even when he spent time with the Frostheimers, trying to show his rightful place among them, he wasn't always dishonest when he talked with them. When he wasn't juggling a house and a business worth of responsibilities more or less alone while feeling distanced from and in conflict with the entire reason he'd come here, someone he loved dearly, he laughed more easily and smiled more easily and always held him, touched him, leaned on him, draped a leg over him, was as close to him as he felt he could be in public without it devolving into them needing to not be in public.

All of this to say that Romeo is beginning to wonder if he should try a different approach.

Not that yelling and scolding and snapping and threatening doesn't work most of the time but. . . .

Well there are times where it doesn't work and maybe those times would benefit from something different, if he could muster it. Just once. And he just had to hope that he was understood.

Although if he wasn't understood when he was biting and cold who's to say that the more gentle words would be any better? (Maybe he just. . .would never understand him again.)

[mach-speed-spin]

Ok @meowstix I know I'm probably not who this was meant for, but I'll do it. Also it's not an essay but but ramblings that I divided into sections. None of these are really worthy of an analysis post on their own so I took the opportunity to put them all here together

Also, I misread the tag and thought it said 3000 word essay. I was approaching 2k words when I saw that. Oops

Kai wanted to destroy his opponent

Kai, at first, wishes to utterly destroy opponents. A character like Reiji embodies this to the extreme, feeling physical pain if his opponent doesn't suffer. Kai's sadism doesn't come from a deep desire to witness others suffering, but rather from a need to feel stronger than his opponents. This peaks with Black Dranzer, which appeals very specifically to Kai's hatred of losses. In this sense, he's closer to Red Eye, who sides with the villain because he can't stand feeling powerless. Unlike certain characters with a "win at all costs" mentality (Barthez), Kai never even considers cheating. This is another similarity to Red Eye, who criticized Violet Eye for battling Wakiya in an unfair battlefield

This distinction between "destroy the opponent to show power" vs "destroy the opponent to make them suffer" is never really brought up in canon, but it clearly exists on a more meta level when looking at antagonists who fall into either category. The first includes Kai, Kyoya, Ryuga, Red Eye, Lui, and Rashad. What do they all have in common? They had times when they weren't villains. As for the second group, it includes Volkov (indirectly), Reiji, and Phi. Villains who fall under the second category don't tend to get redeemed in Beyblade

Kai's relationship with Tyson is the same as his relationship with beyblade itself

As Kai's relationship with Tyson progresses, so does Kai's view on blading. Tyson, especially in season 1, is defined by his outlook on the sport. For him, it's about fun more than anything (in stark contrast to both the Majestics and the Demolition Boys). Their battle in G-Rev was one that Kai thoroughly enjoyed, and is probably the biggest reason people ship these characters (because Kai acts coldly to most people, shippers don't have many choices). The obvious parallel here is Gingka's battle with Kyoya in the World Championship, where their love for the battle and desire to beat the other (without being a hero-villain situation) caused both of them to endanger themselves, get injured, and almost destroy their beys to continue the fight. Kai had no desire to destroy Tyson, he just wanted a good fight

At first, Kai considers Tyson to be naïve and immature due to his views on blading. When he agrees with Tyson's views, he changes his mind about Tyson. But other characters also battle for fun and he doesn't respect them (like Daichi). Why does he respect Tyson so much specifically? Because Tyson was the one to change his mind. Kai has a high opinion of himself, but recognizes when he's outclassed. Thus, if Kai is strong and Tyson is stronger, that means Tyson is very strong (aka being able to lift a heavy object is only as impressive as the object's weight)

Lack of villain loyalty

The number of times in Beyblade when a villain is betrayed by an underling is pretty high. Volkov, Zagart, Barthez, Doji, Ziggurat, Pluto, the Garcias, Ashtem, and Hyde all had underlings turn on them at one point (or more for Volkov and Doji). But what sets Kai's betrayal of Volkov apart?

Volkov was a piece of shit and everyone hated him. Volkov simply ruled with fear. This is similar to Barthez, Doji, and Ziggurat (with Zeo). Kai betrayed Volkov because, in short, he mustered up the courage to do what he always wanted. Kai is closest to the Barthez Battalion in his betrayal. The battle at the lake made Kai realize that a blader's strength comes from more than just the bey, and that gave him the confidence to stand up to Volkov

Kai was, for the most part before the Russia arc, on the protagonists' side. He had his own agenda, but his goals aligned with everyone else's enough that it was in his interest to team up. And he was only with Volkov for a few episodes before joining the heroes again. By making it so Kai never truly agreed with Volkov, it makes his return easier to digest. Had Kai acted more like Ryuga in Fusion, it would've taken far more time for the audience to accept his redemption. They basically half assed a villain on purpose because if they full assed it he might've been too much of a villain, and his "redemption arc" would risk coming off as underwhelming/ not enough (this isn't a post about Red Eye, but I should make one some time)

"Even if I win all my battles, if my teammates lose I'm eliminated"

This is a paraphrased quote from Kyoya in Metal Masters. It applies to Kai. Kai knows that in a best of 3, him winning his match might not make a difference. This is the primary reason, at first, why he wants his team to grow stronger. But in season 1, what started as a selfish reason evolved into a genuine connection. I guess Kai just got Stockholm Syndrome with the Bladebreakers

Oddly enough, this mentality fosters team spirit. It's counterintuitive, probably because it's often said by those who don't have faith in their team, but this mentality discourages having a single blader carry the whole team. We saw what happened with BC Sol in God due to relying too much on Free alone

[fantasywritten]

@dcmur3 (continued from here)

JEKYLL TRIED, as hard as he possibly could, to fight it. He was able to hold Hyde off, long enough to see the fear on Valerie’s face, long enough to watch her begin to leave. And once she was gone, Jekyll was suddenly SHOVED into the back of his own consciousness as Hyde took the driver’s seat. A sinister expression came across Hyde’s face, but ONLY FOR A MOMENT before he put on the best acting performance he could muster up. His voice, although MUCH DEEPER NOW, sounded panicked and in pain. As if he was in pain, Hyde called out. “Valerie…” Still holding his abdomen, he staggered towards the doorway before raising his voice one last time, his tone now flashing with anger. “VALERIE! Come… back… NOW.”

[firespirited]

Jekyll and Hyde #9

registered envelope: this is very a formal (for legal purposes) way of letter delivery so it’s unusual between friends.

glazed press: cupboard of some sort

phial: vial, small bottle

farrago: messy mixture

hansom: two wheel horse carriage

private manufacture: latinized way of saying handmade by himself

ether: solvent/anaesthetic

version book: notebook

flighty: unstable

bull’s eye open: lantern with a side open for a focused beam like like a flashlight

debility: not healthy (see also debilitating)

odd, subjective disturbance caused by his neighbourhood: unusual, personal discomfort caused by him being nearby. (Reading Stevenson is like piecing together a google translation sometimes!)

incipient: becoming obvious

At the time, I set it down to some idiosyncratic, personal distaste, and merely wondered at the acuteness of the symptoms; but I have since had reason to believe the cause to lie much deeper in the nature of man, and to turn on some nobler hinge than the principle of hatred: here he’s feeling this disgust everyone has felt for Hyde and wondering if it’s hatred or some kind of instinctual response.

ludicrous accoutrement: ridiculous outfit

misbegotten: despicable/hateful

sombre: dark, miserable

haunches: hips

would suffer me to muster: [as much politeness] as I could possibly painfully perform

my impatience has shown its heels to my politeness: metaphor where impatience and politeness are two people and impatience ran ahead of politeness

graduated glass: measuring cup

parley: talking

prodigy to stagger the unbelief of Satan: genius knowledge that could cause you to lose your faith, could even cause satan to lose his faith. This is written in such a way that evokes knowledge of good and evil from Eden, a Faustian bargain and also Satan/evil becoming banal. It’s some clever, if obtuse, writing.

what follows is under the seal of our profession: he’s saying he’s a doctor too and they are bound to patient confidentiality (and the Hippocratic oath?)

incredulous: sceptical

moral turpitude: moral depravity

[fragarach21]

How to Integrate Your Shadow

“Carl Jung stressed that an individual’s proper goal is wholeness, not perfection. The path to a greater character, to a more effectual approach to life, lies in integrating those elements of our psyche that for too long have been repressed and denied – the elements that make up what Jung called our unconscious shadow side. What is it that most people deny and repress into their shadow? All that is deemed bad or immoral by society, all that is frowned upon by our family or peers, all the traits that when initially expressed were ridiculed, shunned, or met with punishment.

But given that no moral code is perfect and no family or peer group is ideal, in adapting to the social world we not only repressed destructive elements of our personality such as our unbridled sexuality, anger and untamed animal impulses, but we also repressed positive and life promoting characteristics. Perhaps our assertiveness was frowned upon, our early attempts at creativity ridiculed, or maybe our competitiveness or ambition was felt by those close to us to be a threat. As a result of repressing elements of our personality into our shadow we were made tame, obedient, predictable – perhaps likeable – but at the cost of our vitality and psychological wholeness. In this video, we are going to explore how to integrate our shadow, and analyze the connection between our shadow and greatness of self. 

By not being aware of having a shadow, you declare a part of your personality to be non-existent. Then it enters the kingdom of the non-existent, which swells up and takes on enormous proportions…If you get rid of qualities you don’t like by denying them, you become more and more unaware of what you are, you declare yourself more and more non-existent, and your devils will grow fatter and fatter.”   Carl Jung, Dream Analysis: Notes of the Seminar Given in 1928-1930

Most people are horrified at the thought of questioning, or heaven forbid, breaking the moral code they were socialized into. They believe the value judgments good and evil imposed on them by their schooling, parents, peers, and society, are written into the fabric of reality itself. They do not understand that a morality, like a society, can be sick and in need of overcoming. And so, for the common man and woman the existence of the shadow poses too great a threat to their fragile self-image, a self-image that was constructed over years of adjusting to who they thought others expected and wanted them to be. But in never mustering up the courage to confront the elements of one’s shadow it does not go away. Rather, it puts one in the unfortunate position of susceptibility to possession by its destructive side, to following in the tragic footsteps of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. For in public, most people are conscientious, moral, and moderate. But behind closed doors and in the comfort of hearth and home, their shadow at times turns them into marionettes – unconscious victims of addictions, strange compulsions, fits of irrational anger, and myriad of other, self-destructive behaviors.  

As denying our shadow only renders us prone to possession by its destructive side, integrating our shadow into our conscious personality is crucial for our well-being. To gain some insight regarding how to do this, we are going to focus on the integration of one shadow characteristic many of us desperately need to integrate: that being, our aggression. In modern society, the word aggression typically stimulates thoughts of violence and destruction. In other words, we focus only on one side of the aggressive coin. For there is a healthy form of aggression that is imperative not only to our psychological health, but our survival. This form of aggression fuels our sense of self-ownership, emboldens us in the face of fear, and ignites the drive to explore and master the world outside us and within.  

If we have repressed our aggression into our shadow, how can we integrate it in a way that alleviates our anger and propels us towards wholeness and greatness of character? The following passage provides some pertinent warnings and clues: 

“There is no generally effective technique for assimilating the shadow. It is more like diplomacy or statesmanship and it is always an individual matter. First one has to accept and take seriously the existence of the shadow. Second, one has to become aware of its qualities and intentions. This happens through conscientious attention to moods, fantasies and impulses. Third, a long process of negotiation is unavoidable.”   Daryl Sharp, Jung Lexicon

After we take seriously the existence of the shadow, we next need to pay close attention to our moods and fantasies. Do we experience a simmering anger for no apparent reason? Maybe we have recurring fantasies born of resentment, bitterness, self-hate – the desire for destruction or revenge? In either case, it is likely we have not adequately integrated our aggression into our conscious personality. To initiate this integration process, we can seek safe, controlled, and productive outlets within which we start acting with more aggression. The most obvious outlet is to find a competitive sport, martial art, or exercise regime whereby we can begin to reconnect to our aggressive instincts. But we can also, for example, work on becoming more assertive in our behavior, more decisive in our choices, more declarative and protective of our personal boundaries, or more inclined to stand our ground when tested by our co-workers, family, or peers.

“Of all evil I deem you capable:” wrote Nietzsche. “Therefore I want the good from you. Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws.”

If we can extrapolate the integration method just outlined, and use it to integrate other shadow characteristics – perhaps those tied to our sexuality, our creativity, our ambition or desire for power – we will start to notice our personality transform in a myriad of dramatic ways. We will become more grounded, more secure in our skin, more independent in our moral judgments, more courageous and self-reliant. In short, in integrating our shadow we will move towards the ideal of psychological wholeness and this is the ideal that produces the greatness of character that is sorely missing in this modern world.”

[strangestcase]

Oh shit, insomnia is an all-time high and I just wanna ask this one little thing for your music-verse J&H.

I’m wondering if it’s different than the musical, if not better. I’ve only heard the concept album and it sounds like fanfiction (good fanfiction, tho). So, uh, what are J&H’s personalities like?

(Also hi I’m so so happy I mustered up the courage to finally message you. I love the heck outta my mutuals but am scared as heck to talk to them. 🥺😭)

It’s not exactly like the musical! It’s a bit like… a more direct adaptation of the book with a twist (though some elements are indeed lifted from the musical) but I imagine everybody sings and dances and there are musical numbers and stuff!

In Musicverse, Jekyll is. An incredibly angry person but he’s all smiles! Super bubbly, super sparkly, super charismatic and friendly and helpful… he genuinely means well but he’s so terribly tired and wants a change of pace. Also he’s pretty secretive and has an edgy side... Hyde is more openly dominant and arrogant, and he has a very nasty temper, plus he’s a HUGE edgelord. Rather than a full on villain he’s a morally grey antagonist but his anger and his dark aesthetic yell “bad guy”. He’s overdramatic and has a sensitive streak.

They both hate people 💚

[loloinlove]

The Ever After - Ch 1

Also on AO3 - Here

The view from the drawing room of Hastings house afforded Penelope a gorgeous spot to watch the sun rise over Hyde Park in the distance, a sight she'd never been privy to until coming to stay with the Duke and Duchess of Hastings. It was singularly gorgeous and she wished Benedict was there so she could ask him to paint it. He would no doubt capture it perfectly, though he was humble about his skill, as she had noticed the really good artists were. He would one day have to accept her praise, as it was true that not everyone got to be personally trained by Henry Granville, and she was sure she would be seeing his work in galleries soon enough.

As the sun rose, Penelope felt the stirrings of the last wisps of peace and calm wash over her. In not but a couple of hours Hastings house would be taken over by a pack of Bridgertons and Lady Danbury, all eager to see her wed later that afternoon. She wished she could muster up the same enthusiasm as Lady Bridgerton and Daphne had, especially as they had planned everything themselves, but she just couldn't bring herself to find more than the barest traces of joy that at the very least, she wouldn't have to suffer her mother's presence once she was married and safely ensconced at Aubrey Hall for the last few weeks of the season. Anthony had promised her that she need only return for the Queen's end-of-season ball, which they were required to attend, but then they would be heading back to Aubrey Hall for the rest of the off-season. Penelope was looking forward to it, as one of the other things Anthony had promised her was almost complete freedom within their lands. She could go walking around the gardens, go into town to the modiste or the bookshop, or even take a ride on the horse Anthony had gotten for her as a rather extravagant engagement gift. Penelope had never seen a horse so huge, and she had been a little wary of riding him, but Anthony had assured her that she would be perfectly safe, and had even offered her lessons if she would like. Penelope had appreciated the thought, though she knew it would be a while before she would take him up on his offer.

The doctor had told her it would take time for her to heal, and that she should take plenty of rest when she needed it, but she certainly didn't feel anywhere close to healed. She rested constantly, often feeling overwhelmed by the noise at Bridgerton house, and though she had been able to walk the grounds after a week in bed, somewhere in her felt stolen, like something was taken from her and she would never get it back.

Sometimes, she could forget about the feeling.

The quiet solace she found with Violet out in the garden while they walked, where she was not expected to be anything other than Penelope, was one of her favorite times of the day. Sometimes they talked, usually when Penelope was near to driving herself mad with her thoughts, but mostly they spent the time walking quietly, admiring the gardens in the early afternoon light.

On the days when the tug of loss feels stronger, Franchesca fills the drawing room with soft music on the pianoforte and Eloise joins her on the smallest settee where they curl up and read a book together until Penelope felt the need for rest once more and cloistered herself into the rooms they had graciously provided for her.

There are days the feeling overtakes her and it feels less like loss and more like a chasm has opened within her, pulling her down and down and down until her body feels shackled in place as if moving is an impossibility. Those days, Daphne comes to sit with her in her rooms, quietly reading a book, and other times just doing needlework and quietly humming.

A quiet knock interrupted her thoughts before they could darken further, and a maid slipped in to let her know that Violet Bridgerton had arrived to see her, and before Penelope could inquire, she was assured that Lady Bridgerton was alone, save for her lady's maid. Penelope slowly breathed out relaxing a little, feeling thankful that she was not expected to face so many people at such an earlier hour.

 Penelope slowly made her way down to the foyer to greet her future mother-in-law, noticing that the house was busier than she thought, getting the house ready to host quite a few members of the Ton. Daphne and the Duke had graciously offered their home for the wedding and reception afterward. They called it a wedding gift, but Penelope knew that it was really to keep her mother at bay.

As she walked through Hastings house she admired all of the artwork on display, especially when she got to the one of his Grace's mother. Sarah Hastings had been a gorgeous and unbelievably kind woman and she felt a deep sadness that the Duke had never gotten to meet the woman that bore him into the world.

Penelope couldn't imagine what it had been like to grow up without a mother, but sometimes she tried.

Violet's soft voice interrupted her thoughts as she descended the stairs, once more pulling her from the morose thoughts her mind had conjured. Penelope greeted the current Lady Bridgerton with a smile and a small curtsey.

"Good morning, dearest," Violet said, giving Penelope one of her small smiles. "I thought that we could take an early walk in the gardens this morning."

"That would be lovely, thank you," answered Penelope returning Violet's smile and offering her arm as they walked through Hastings house, trying to stay out of the way of the staff as they prepared for the ceremony.

It was a gorgeous morning, with dew still on the grass, a light breeze, and birds chirping in the distance. It was peaceful and Penelope wanted to bask in the feeling for as long as she could. They didn't speak as they walked along, and when they were far enough away from the house that they couldn't possibly be overheard, Violet sighed and slowed to a stop before turning to face Penelope.

"Oh, my darling girl," she started, bringing her hand up to brush one of Penelope's curls out of her face and gently cradle her cheek.

Penelope watched as the Matriarch of the Bridgerton clan grew misty-eyed. She wanted to say something, anything, to alleviate the growing ache in her chest-

"I know it is not under the best of circumstances, but I can not tell you how overjoyed I am that you will officially become a member of this family, though sooner than I had originally thought. I had known that you and Eloise would be great friends from the moment you two met, I'm sure I've never seen a friendship formed as quickly in all my years, and as you grew older, first into a young lady and now into such a beautiful and kind-hearted woman, it has been a pleasure to see you flourish through the years. Anyone would be lucky to have such a person in their lives, and I have always loved having you in mine. I ... hope you know that none of us hold any ill will towards you, nor do we blame you for what happened. We all know that none of this was of your choosing, and we are here for you. You are family, and as you may have noticed over the years, we do love each other quite a bit, and that has always extended to you as well."

Penelope was in tears by the time the older woman was done speaking, and it took her several minutes to collect herself enough that she could thank the woman for her kind words.

"If I may, what did you mean when you said I was joining your family sooner than you had thought?" Penelope asked, still sniffling.

Violet let out a laugh and gently squeezed Penelope's arm before putting it back through hers to resume their walk in the gardens.

"I had always thought that you might have married Benedict, as you are both artistic in nature, but I must admit that in a way I am glad it will be Anthony. Life has been very hard on both of you, and it is my dearest hope that you two will have a strong marriage because of it and take the opportunity to learn and grow together," Violet said, stopping to admire a particularly gorgeous patch of roses.

Penelope couldn't help but giggle at hearing Benedict's name chosen as a potential match for her, but she understood why Violet would think they could have been good for each other. Benedict was a kind person, as all Violet's children were, and less caring of the rules and roles society dictated. Penelope, being seen as someone outside of what society expected, had been placed on the outskirts as well, though not through choice like the second eldest Bridgerton.

"I would also very much like it if we could spend time together during the off-season going over what you'll need to know to handle the role of Viscountess," Violet continued, "I have the utmost faith in you, of course, this just means we'll still have time for our walks, as I do so enjoy the peace and solitude."

Penelope smiled and leaned in a little closer to Violet as they continued on, wondering if this was what it was like being comforted by one's mother, and deciding that she could get used to it.